#loft bed staircase

[mathewvq]

San Diego Transitional Kids Remodel ideas for a medium-sized transitional boy's bedroom with blue walls and a dark wood floor.

[yourcousinvinnie]

I moved my brother into his new apartment today

why the hell is this guy allergic to living on the ground floor?

[caitmayart]

MORDRED MANOR!

By popular demand - MORDRED MANOR! SPOILERS AHOY There were 9 total backgrounds for this set! Any space with white in the windows is where you'd get a glimpse of the graveyard outside :) Starting off with the Graveyard, the Kitchen, and the Foyer

Next up we've got Lydia's room, Sandra Lynn and Jawbone's room, and the Staircase ♥

And finally Adaine, Fig, and Kristen's rooms!

Fun little thing here - I originally wanted to give Adaine a bunk bed, since Aelwyn lived there too. But when I learned she'd moved out I turned it into a desk and loft bed, and then the props department MADE the bed to match the art!

[thyme-in-a-bubble]

the unveiling

buttercup, chapter five

a/n: I mean, I just had to make him wear the black suit.... (said in a foreshadowing way)

summary: you only mustered two steps down the stairs before you spotted a surprising, yet familiar masked man sprawled out on the living room floor, unconscious and bleeding.

warnings: matt murdock x baker!reader, smut, neighbours to lovers, rape recovery, ptsd, the black daredevil suit, injuries, kissing, dirty talk, fingering, protected sex, penetrative sex, multiple orgasms

word count: 3236

∼ gentle reminder that feedback, but especially reblogs are the way you support writers on here ∽

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Your eyes fluttered shut a moment as you felt the cool night breeze caress your features. You hadn’t bothered with a coat, so it was simply a woollen blanket you clutched around your pyjamas. 

Jumping slightly, you whirled around as you heard one of the doors up to the rooftop creak open. 

“Oh!” you clutched your chest as you discovered the identity of the intruder, “it’s just you.” 

“Hey,” Matt closed the door that led directly down into his loft. 

“I was just about to call you actually, or knock on your door, but then I figured that you were probably asleep,” you eyed the dark sweatpants he wore as well as the t-shirt that clung to his brawny arms as he stepped closer to where you stood, a vision that caused sinful thoughts to stir within your mind, “how did you know I was up here?”

“Uh, I didn’t,” his touch found your lower back as he reached you, “I just heard a noise.”

“Well, it’s just me,” you turned your gaze back to the night sky. 

Tilting his head, he checked, “you okay?”

“Yeah, just couldn’t sleep,” you nodded, “but I’m okay.”

His eyes twitched slightly as the faintest of smiles threatened at his lips, “so you didn’t wanna call me because something was wrong.”

“No…” you bit down on your smile, “I was just thinking about you…” the smug smirk that then bloomed on his face caused you to instantly chuckle with regret, “oh, that came out sounding a lot more dirty than I intended it to,” the meaning behind your words had been dirty, but he didn’t have to revel in it. Curling his arm around you, his laughter mixed and mingled with your own as you soon exhaled, “man, I should probably head back to bed soon, try and give sleep another chance. I just–, urgh,” you let out an adorable groan and buried your face in his broad shoulder, “I don’t wanna leave now that you’re here.”

“I mean, you don’t have to, if you don’t want,” he suggested, his tone staying on the lighter side as to not build up any pressure, “you’re welcome to come sleep in my bed if you want to.”

“O-oh,” your gaze fluttered up to flicker across his face, “alright, sure.” 

Stepping inside and descending the creaky staircase, the living room was lit up in bright fluorescent shades of lavender by the huge billboard directly outside. Letting the blanket around you drop to the coffee table, you eyed Matt’s dark bedroom before his hand found yours. 

“What side do you prefer to sleep on?” you asked as you neared the dusty grey linens adorning his bed. 

“I’m fine with either,” his fingers gently brushed across your knuckles before you let go of him. 

“Alright,” you slipped in under the silky covers on the side of the bed nearest to you. As he crawled in on the other side, you drew in a sharp breath, “well,” tugging your knees up further towards your chest, you didn’t dare to twist and look at him even though you wished for so much more than a glimpse, “goodnight, Matt.”

His knuckles briefly found your back, caressing it just for a second before he uttered, “night.”

You had never been further from slumber than you were lying there in Matt’s bed. Just the knowledge of him resting right behind you had you hyper-aware of everything. Lying as still as a rock…your ragged breathing… your wild pulse… but mostly the throbbing between your thighs…

Turning slowly to lie on your back, your hand came down to rest on the mattress but landed instead on Matt’s gently closed fist. Instinctively, you yanked it back, recoiled from his warmth just a second before you carefully let your fingers shyly slide across the covers to find him again. The coy dance beneath the duvet was playful till his digits unravelled and welcomed yours. 

“…Matt?” your voice came out no louder than a whisper. 

“Yeah?” 

Glancing over at his visage in the darkness, you asked, “are you very tired?” 

With a gentle smile blooming on his lip, a soft shake tilted his head from side to side against the pillow, “no.”

Curling closer, his arms tangled around you in an instant. When your lips brushed against each other at first, for a while it was just this sweet and slow midnight kiss, nothing more, nothing less. But when you nuzzled in nearer, the simple peck grew into something much more heated. 

Your leg curled up over his hip, gliding it lavishly against him as his tongue slid across your own. His strong arms felt so incredible around you, but you wanted more, you needed more. 

On an exhale, he rolled onto his back, but you weren’t quite sure if he had dragged you with him or if you had clung to him, perhaps a mixture of both. All you knew was that now you were sprawled out on top of him, completely melted against his chest as his lips were still locked with yours.

When you adjusted yourself slightly and shifted down further, your hips instinctively rolled enticingly as you settled atop of his growing hardness, already straining against his sweatpants and desperate to be hugged by your warmth. He let out a low groan as his wide palms slid down the length of your spine and over the curve of your ass. 

Parting briefly, you breathed, “Matt?”

“Hm?” he hummed as his lips nipped at your jaw. 

“You sure you’re not tired?” your eyes threatened to flutter shut. 

“I’m sure,” his hands slid back up to your waist as he let his kisses fade.

Blinking down at him in the darkness, you felt as if your heart could burst out of your chest at any moment, “do you wanna, maybe–, uhm… you know…”

“Do you want to?” his thumb soothingly circled your side and your hips unintentionally rolled once more. 

“Yeah,” you nodded. 

Your confirmation caused a smile to tug at his lips as he uttered, “okay.”

“Can I–…” your teeth briefly caught your bottom lip, “can I take your shirt off?”

A warm chuckle rumbled within his chest as he nodded lightly. Sitting up, your frame followed along as you didn’t shift to get out of his lap. As your fingers dug into the soft cotton of his t-shirt, he let you pull it off of him yourself. 

You couldn’t make out too many of the fine details that decorated his physic, but perhaps that was a good thing, perhaps that’d make it easier. You could always study every millimetre of him later. Right now, the dim vision of him the night granted you was more than enough to turn you into a puddle. 

Running your hands over his bare skin, they only stayed a moment before straying away from the warmth to yank your own top off. 

One of his hands swiftly soared up and gently caught one of your boobs. A shuttering moan flew from your lips, inadvertently letting Matt know that his intuitive move wasn’t unwelcome, allowing his assurance to grow as he permitted his caresses to move more freely. 

Seizing your lips as he softly squeezed your peak, his kisses then began to migrate and dance down the column of your neck till they reached your tits, his palm cupping one closer to his attentive mouth.

“Oh, fuck,” you whimpered as his lips enclosed around one of your pebbly nipples, his tongue swirling over it before he nipped, causing your core to clench around nothing. 

You couldn’t help but stuff a hand into your pyjama pants and offer yourself an ounce of relief. 

Gliding his touch down to your bottom, his fingers fleetingly dug into your ass before they slid up to your hips, hooking his digits in the fabric. And with his face still buried in your tits, littering the soft skin with hickeys, Matt slightly tugged at your waistband, “do you want these off?”

Your answer came out sounding breathy, “yes,” before you stopped playing with yourself as he then helped pull both your pants and the soaked underwear beneath them off. 

As you settled back down into his lap, he pulled you in and seized your lips. Fingers finding your glistening folds once more, his soon joined yours, digits briefly weaving before your own touch began to falter and you let him take over entirely. 

Your head tilted back when he eased a finger inside of your creamy cunt, your juices swiftly coated his digit and dripped down his hand as he caressed you at an overwhelmingly slow pace. His touch made you feel as if you were floating on a cloud and you were already so far gone that when he filled you up with another finger, dreamily giving your eager pussy just a little bit more, you tumbled over the edge. 

Eyes only half open as you watched him curve down to plant soft kisses all along your ribs, both of his solid arms wrapped around you and keeping you up as you panted, “do you have a condom?”

“Yeah,” he murmured, “you wanna keep going?”

“Please,” your fingers then tried to push down the remainder of his clothing, “I wanna feel you,” he swiftly aided your efforts and slipped his dark sweatpants off, “I wanna feel all of you.”

Reaching a long arm over into the nightstand’s drawer, Matt fished out a little foil packet. Your foreheads joined and pressed up against one another as he rolled the latex on. 

His fingers grasped onto the base of his girth, silkily stroking himself as you supported your wobbly balance on his broad shoulders, steadying yourself as you raised your hips further up. Reaching a hand down, your touch met his as he teased his tip against your puff, nudging at your swollen clit before parting your petals in a lush motion. Your palm briefly floated up to your mouth and collected a dollop of saliva before you lowered it back down, only taking a second to glisten his throbbing cock up with it before you dragged him down towards your entrance. 

“Oh my god…” you moaned shakily as you slowly began to sink down upon him, shallowly at first as his arm tightened around your waist to support you, “fuck…” 

Trailing his other palm up your quivering thigh, he groaned, “that’s it, take your time,” before his fingers settled where you united, “fuck, you’re doing so good,” he rolled your clit slowly under his calluses, your nectar dripping down his length as you gradually slid further down.

When his dick eventually settled so deep within you that you thought the night sky would appear on the ceiling of his bedroom, you pressed a breathless kiss to his lips. 

As you gave his shoulders a slight push, his frame rested back down against the mattress and you followed suit. Tits smooshed down against his chest, his fingers had disappeared from your puffy pearl as you just stayed there a moment, frozen as you took in the staggering sensation of what he felt like buried so deep inside of you that it made you lightheaded.

“This,” you uttered thickly, “this is what I thought about earlier,” your laboured breaths fanned across his face, “and you wanna know what?”

“What?” his answer flowed from him swiftly.

A smile bloomed on your lips as your hips began to roll, “my imagination couldn’t even come close to how amazing you feel.”

As you found a gentle pace, a low moan escaped Matt’s lips as the details of his cock dragged against your silky walls, “christ, sweetheart,” he couldn’t help but buck up into you, an instinct that earned him a lewd whimper of approval.

Keeping up his own efforts, you briefly stole a sloppy peck from him before your spine straightened back up and you established a new and intoxicating rhythm. 

“Fuck, that’s it, there you go,” he grunted as you rode him, the majority of his length never strayed from the warmth of your pussy as you electrically rolled and rocked atop of him, “atta girl,” his fingers dug into your hips, “god, you feel so good, fucking perfect.”

As your fingers lowered to find your clit, the bouncing pace you’d found slowly began to waver as you felt yourself begin to near the end once more. Your form then collapsed back down against his as your hips tried and failed to keep up the same euphoric pattern you’d found before. 

But as soon as Matt’s hips thrust beneath you, effortlessly hitting a molten spot deep within you that you’d barely managed before on your own, all of your brief worries melted away. 

“Matt-,” your face smooshed against his chest as you panted, “h-holy shit!”

Holding your hips steady, he ravenously bucked up into you, “please keep making those noises for me, sweetheart,” his low growl harmonised with the lewd melody of his desperate efforts, “you sound so fucking good.”

As you felt your pussy clamper around him so hard it nearly halted his movements completely, your fingers sought out your nipples in a harsh pinch, trembling above him and crying out as you came undone. 

With how tight your cunt clenched down around his throbbing girth, even if Matt didn’t wish for the marvellous moment to end just yet, perhaps fantasise about dragging it out till the sun rose, he couldn't help it as your pussy milked him so perfectly of all of his worth and he joined you in the boneless tangle of satisfaction. 

Sluggishly, you clung to him, utterly melted atop of his frame even as he carefully pulled out and nimbly snaked an arm between your limp forms to peel off the spent condom and toss it. 

His chest rose and fell with every deep breath beneath your head as he eventually asked, “how do you feel?” 

Letting yourself ponder a second and uncover the answer through your haze, you only found yourself thawing further down against him as you let your eyes flutter shut and uttered, “safe.”

Rain hammered against the windows as you rushed out of the door. The sun was nowhere to be seen yet, but your day had already begun. 

As you locked your front door with a dull click, a worrying thud halted your feet from scurrying along. 

Whirling your head around, you glanced to the source of the concerning crash, at your neighbour’s door, before slowly walking up and letting your fist softly collide with it. There never came an answer, not even when you tried again, that time more forcefully.

Unable to shake that unsettling concern off of you, your feet carried you up to the roof and the apartment’s emergency exit. As your fingers enclosed around the cold knob, you momentarily snapped yourself out of your unease.  

Maybe something wasn’t wrong. Maybe Matt hadn’t hurt himself and desperately needed help. Maybe, even though your ears had interpreted the sound as something troublesome, it could have just been that he wasn’t alone, that perhaps you weren’t the only girl he let into his bed, perhaps one more prone to making a ruckus. 

Either way, it wasn’t under any circumstances appropriate for you to not only invade his privacy, but literally break into his home, yet you still found your fingers slowly twisting the door handle. 

Just one peek. If he didn’t need someone to call for an ambulance, then you’d slip right back out, even if whatever the true cause was broke your heart. 

You only mustered two steps down the stairs before you spotted a surprising, yet familiar masked man sprawled out on the living room floor, unconscious and bleeding.

You scarcely breathed as you slowly neared him. Even in the low pre-dawn light, you were able to make out the slashes that tore up parts of his black suit. Carefully, you kneeled down beside him as your eyes scanned over his wounded frame. 

You had to do something. The vigilante had saved your life, so the very least you could do was repay him the favour. 

Spotting a trickle of crimson drip down from beneath his black mask, streaking down across his gruff jaw, with a trembling hand you pulled the mask further up to get a better look at how grave the injury was, only for you to discover who was hiding behind the disguise.

“…Matt?”

Settled on the couch and with a dark blanket draped over him, only covering some of the scars the darkness hadn’t let you spot previously, Matt stirred awake. 

From one of the armchairs, you hugged your knees closer to your chest as you uttered, “hi,” your voice came out sounding small and fragile.

Freezing up, Matt’s head tilted toward you, “Y/n?” he cautiously spoke, “what–… when did you get here?”

“A few minutes before Foggy did,” his friend had shown up, concerned out of his mind when Matt hadn’t answered his phone after recklessly throwing himself into a stupidly dangerous plan. He’d stayed a while, for as long as he could till he eventually had to leave, “I heard a noise, thought something was wrong and you needed help…”

“You–… you know…” he stated, and you just let your crushing silence confirm it, “…did you patch me up?” 

“No, that was a friend of yours that Foggy called–, Claire I think, but that was a while ago. You were out cold for a really long time,” you averted your gaze and stared down at your hands, letting the silence momentarily consume the space before you hesitantly opened your mouth once more, “…how do you–… Foggy tried to explain to some extent, but how do you–, how do you do it?” 

“It’s complicated,” he said slowly, letting out a hushed groan as he carefully pushed himself up to a seated position. 

“Complicated, how?” 

A low exhale flowed from his lips before he uttered, “…I know that yesterday you worked with strawberries. You didn’t eat any, but I can still smell them beneath your fingernails from when you cut them up… I know you’re hungry right now and the only thing you’ve eaten since breakfast was an apple a bit ago. I can still taste it off your lips… and I know that me telling you all of that is making you uncomfortable… because I can hear your heartbeat… but I’m not scaring you.”

Blinking back at him, you saw your chest rise and fall rapidly in your periphery, “wow… I mean, Foggy did say that your senses were sharp, but that–… I can’t fucking believe it…”

Bowing his head lightly, his jaw clenched, “you have every right to be angry–”

“Angry?” you repeated, your eyes growing wide, “Matt… it’s you. It was you…” tears began to blur up your vision, “did you–… did you know who I was when I moved in here or was that first when I told you about that night?”

Staying quiet a moment, he eventually nodded, “yeah. I knew… I am so sorry.”

“Why are you sorry? Matt,” rising from the chair, at an instant, you’d crossed to his side and sat down on the couch beside him, “you helped me, you saved me. That was you. You’re–…” hands drifting up to carefully cup his scruffy cheeks, you uttered, “you’re him.”

© 2024 thyme-in-a-bubble 

[hometoursandotherstuff]

This 1927 Spanish style mansion, "The Cedars," in Los Angeles, CA is crazy. It's Old Hollywood Glamor, and the 10bd, 12ba home is $32M. You just have to see it. The owner is fashion designer Sue Wong, who restored it.

The grand entrance hall and staircase. There are a variety of styles throughout the home, from Baroque to French Art Deco. That ceiling is amazing.

Look at this hall. It talks about all the styles, and says that it includes the property next door, but it doesn't say anything about the furnishings.

How's this for a living room?

And, the dining room- it's an open concept.

This is a little more casual seating and it's Art Deco. Love the round room and view of the garden.

Then, this sitting room is more Spanish Villa. What happens w/the very wealthy? After they renovate & decorate, they get tired of the house?

Up these stairs there's a beautiful iron and glass gate.

The formal dining room. So, even if she takes all the furnishings, the buyer will still have the curtains, chandeliers, and ceilings.

Smaller, casual dining space. I wonder if the cabinets are built-in.

The kitchen is impressive. Look at the faux finish on the celing. It looks like no one's ever cooked in this kitchen.

Here's a little larger everyday dining space. This one has a built-in cabinet.

Check out the ceiling in the primary bedroom. Odd choice of color bedspread, though. Red, orange, blue, gold, and a pink bed.

The bath is nice. Not as elaborate as I thought it would be.

And, look at this orange bedroom. The shape of the ceiling and faux finishes are great, but the gold fireplace in the corner is the focal point of the room.

Off this room is a lovely conversation room.

And, look at the bath. Maybe this is the primary bedroom.

These halls. I see a built-in cabinet down the hall and these windows open- you can see the iron barrier, so it's like a terrace.

Elaborate canopy bed in this room.

Writing desk in here. Must be a guest suite.

Marble tiles and look at the tub.

Another sitting room with cute spiral stairs going up to a loft.

This looks like a rooftop deck with a pergola.

Bridge over a koi pond and a covered sitting area.

Stunning home. That must be a pool b/c it has stairs, but it also has grass.

Fountain and water feature.

The .51 acre lot is 1/2 an acre, the house is huge, but they really made the most of the grounds. The gardens are stunning.

https://www.zillow.com/homedetails/4320-Cedarhurst-Cir-Los-Angeles-CA-90027/20810967_zpid/

[dianadeadwing]

This is my second draft of layout of the apartment above Bob’s Burgers. This time with a color key eye droppered directly from screen shots in order to be as accurate a reference as possible.

Underneath each room label I’ve included a color swatch of:

1. The main wall color

2. The main trim color

3. The main door color if different from trim color

This is still not 100% accurate and somethings surrounding that staircase are just never going to make sense. Particular areas of concern are the hallway closet/ washing machine, the opposite side of Bob and Linda’s room, general spatial issues, and updating Louise’s room for the loft bed.

[kinardsevan]

wip wednesday

tagged by @evanbi-ckley. Used my own inspiration to at least get this far on this idea:

Tommy slides his jeans back up over his hips with a small hop, pulls the button together and seals it as he glances back over towards the bed at Evan. There’s a look on his face that Tommy can’t quite place, but he stares at him for a moment, quirking an eyebrow up. 

“You okay,” he asks, leaning forward for his maroon t-shirt on the floor. 

Evan nods, leaning up on his elbows. He’s not about to complain about his leg when he just had hot sex with possibly the sexiest guy this side of the Mississippi. 

Tommy nod then, smiles at him as he finally zips his pants. He crosses the space in the loft to the bed and leans over, stopping just short of Evan’s lips. He’s so close that he can feel the blonde’s breath on his face. He smirks and then reaches across the space, grabbing his phone where it somehow ended up getting tossed. 

“We should do this again sometime,” he rasps with a quick waggle of his eyeborows. Evan blushes at the statement, his gaze dropping as he nods, unable to hide the smile on his own face. 

“Sure,” he replies gruffly. Tommy pecks him quickly and then turns towards the stairs. Where the hell did his socks end up? When did he take them off?? After a moment, he shakes his head, decides it’s not that important. He’s got plenty more at home. 

He’s three-quarters of the way down the steps before Evan pipes up that he’s found them, and before Tommy can stop him, the blonde is already coming down the stairs behind him.

“Evan, really it’s fi-..” His words catch in his throat at the bottom of the steps as Evan slips, his legs buckling under him as he skids down several with a generous portion of the weight coming down on his cast. 

“Fuck fuck fuck fuck,” he growls, socks slipping from his hands as he settles on one of the stairs, reaching for his leg as though holding the cast will eliminate the shockwave of pain that’s just shot up from his heel to the middle of his thigh. “God damn it, fuck!” 

Tommy races back up the few stairs between them, leaning a knee down on own as he rests a hand underneath the plaster, gently lifting Evan’s leg off the staircase. 

“Are you okay,” he asks, concern in his tone. His gaze shifts back and forth between the damaged leg and Evan’s face, of which he has no way to lie his way out of at the moment. 

“I-…” His jaw clenches and his eyes are glassy as his fingers wrap under his calf. He glances up at Tommy, just for a moment, before he’s looking back down at his leg again. It’s throbbing like holy hell, but he doesn’t want to say anything because for as good a time they just had a few minutes ago, Tommy is just a guy he met in a bar tonight. He owes him no obligation. 

“Don’t lie to me,” Tommy admonishes him. 

Evan’s face twitches from the pain, his gaze drifting back up the maroon shirt to Tommy’s blue eyes. “I-it’s not… I-I mean I’m not, your obligation.” 

“I’m not about to leave you like this,” Tommy informs him. “So you might as well admit it.” 

[suashii]

꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ 𝒞𝐿𝒪𝒰𝒟 𝟫

info ⭑ nagi seishiro x reader. 1.4k wc. sfw ﾉ fluff 

nagi doesn’t think his apartment has been this clean since he first moved into it.

to be fair, it hasn’t ever been really messy—not by his standards, at least. just cluttered. the only person who ever visits consistently is reo and despite his thinly veiled complaints about the lack of tidiness, nagi feels no need to impress him. you, however, are a different story.

he thinks it might be a little bit rude and even more embarrassing if his home is in any sort of disarray the first time you get to see it. that’s why he set his alarm early and spent his entire morning cleaning; organized all the pairs of shoes he carelessly kicks off at the entryway, washed the dishes he had neglected last night, and folded and hung up all the clothes tossed on the unused lounge chair in the corner of his bedroom.

nagi’s lighting a candle when he hears your knocks and muffled sing-songy voice announcing your arrival. once he’s sure the wick is burning, he tosses the lighter onto the coffee table before scrambling towards the door. in his rush to let you in, nagi misses the little step that separates the small foyer from the rest of the apartment. his hands stick out to catch himself in just barely enough time and he curses under his breath at the blunder. after righting himself, he pulls open the door, revealing your figure on the other side.

you’re smiling, but it looks like you’re holding back a laugh.

“everything okay?” you ask as you survey him from head to toe. you could have sworn you heard something—or someone—hit the door only a second ago.

nagi nods, his snowy white bangs bouncing up and down with the gesture. he’s sure you can piece together what happened without his input and he’s not too keen on admitting that he tripped on the way here. instead, he turns his body to create some space for you, jerking his head in the direction of his living room. “come in.”

“you can put those on.” nagi points to a pair of new slippers that he bought just for you. he figures you should have your own since you’ll be around more often. well, he thinks you will—people who are dating hang out at each other’s houses, right?

you do as he says, trading your sneakers for the house shoes (that fit perfectly) while glancing around his apartment. it’s neat, neater than you expected. the scent of dish soap and lemon cleaner tips you off that he had cleaned before you arrived and his effort brings a smile to your face.

“so,” he twirls the fine hair at the nape of his neck around his finger, “i have mario kart if you want to play. and we can get takeout if you’re hungry.”

“sounds good,” you assure him, following the man to his living room. other than the pop of green from his cactus situated on the table beneath his television, everything from his furniture to the lack of décor is neutrally colored. that much doesn’t surprise you but you’re curious to see if his bedroom has more character.

in your search for his room, your eyes catch sight of a narrow staircase leading up to a lofted area. “is your bed up there?” you point at the landing.

pulling his gaze away from the handheld console in his hold, nagi’s dark eyes follow the path of your finger and he hums in confirmation. “you can check it out.”

you take him up on his offer and make your way up the steps. the space you find at the top is just as simple as that of his first floor but twice as cozy. there’s a hammock chair in the corner that slightly swings with the air of your arrival and at least three throw blankets in varying shades of gray strewn across his mattress. your foot gently taps the soccer ball resting on the light hardwood floor, sending it rolling toward the wall, as you approach his bed.

shedding yourself of your slippers, you flop onto the mattress with a soft thud. your body sinks into the cushion as though it’s a marshmallow—it certainly feels as soft and pillowy as one. you’re two seconds away from calling down to nagi to comment on how comfortable his bed is when you turn on your side to face the table settled beside said bed. the surface you’re met with is littered with taped-on photo strips dating back to when the two of you first started hanging out.

the series of pictures are arranged chronologically like he’s been adding them as they’ve been taken. and you can see that, with time, he grew more comfortable with the camera—with you. poses that were once awkward peace signs turned to tight-lipped smiles and eventually he even went as far as crouching down so you could hold your fingers above his head like cat ears.

in his bed, swathed by his familiar scent, nagi’s little gesture leaves your heart floating and fluttering in your chest. you have your own identical set of these photos at home pinned to the bulletin board that hangs above your desk, you look at them every day—yet there’s something different about seeing them stuck to the spot that nagi stares at before he closes his eyes to go to sleep.

“hey, the game is—” nagi cuts his sentence short upon seeing that you’ve found the souvenirs from your visits to photo booths across town. he wasn’t even thinking about them when he told you to help yourself to explore his room. your silence blankets him with a strange sense of unease. nagi knows the two of you haven’t been dating for very long but he hopes the display doesn’t make you uncomfortable.

at his voice, you sit up on your knees to meet nagi’s eye. his finger is nervously twirling at his hair again and the tips of his ears and the apples of his cheeks are flushed a rosy pink. despite his height, you’ve never seen him look smaller.

you figure he’s embarrassed about you stumbling across the pictures. the both of you are still settling into your new relationship status, clumsily fumbling with couple-like behavior and romantic actions. although, he has nothing to worry about. it’s cute—his growing collection of memories.

you jerk your thumb over your shoulder, gesturing to the prints with a small smile. “mine are hanging in my room, too.”

the tension in his shoulders practically melts away with your words and his feet no longer feel anchored to the floor. nagi joins you on his bed, the mattress dipping underneath his added weight. he leaves a safe amount of space between himself and you but he’s considerably more relaxed than he was a moment ago.

“look,” you start, pulling your phone out of your pocket. nagi’s newfound proximity and his exhibit of your shared photo excite you and make you want to share one of the many ways you are beginning to fall into the designated role of significant other. you tap the glass surface of the device which lights up with your action, revealing an image of the two of you that reo took. your arms are wrapped around his waist and one of his hands sits atop your head. neither of you is looking at the camera, your gazes are focused on each other instead. with a smile, you turn your phone to him, “we’re even on my lock screen.”

nagi silently stares at the captured moment displayed on your screen. the day wasn’t long ago and the memory of it is still fresh in his mind. it was the first time you referred to him as your boyfriend in the company of someone close to him. just looking at the photo makes his heart skip a beat like it did when he heard the foreign-sounding word spill from your lips. only when the screen returns to its sleeping state does he look up to you.

he’s never had a way with pretty words and even now he’s struggling to voice his feelings, so instead of saying something sweet and saccharine fitting for the occasion, he blurts out the first thing that comes to mind. “wow, you’re mushy.”

“shut up,” you tell him through an unconcealed laugh. your thumb and index finger come together to flick the center of his forehead. the fluff of his hair lessens the impact but he still rubs the spot instinctively as a small smile tugs at the corners of his lips. you smile back at him before smoothing your hand over his head. “let’s go play.”

hihi~ sua here :3 ! thank you for giving this a read! if you enjoyed, please consider reblogging and/or leaving a comment! much love from me to you ❤︎

[forgeofthenine]

Once night falls

Just a short drabble about how Dammon might end his day. Gender neutral reader/Tav as always.

The clatter of metal on metal rings even louder than usual as Dammon sets down his hammer. It's been hours since the last rays of the sun's light graced his forge, and it seems it's much too late for any other respectable Baldurians to be out. His neighbours might find relief in the fact he believes working in candlelight leads to less than satisfactory results, the final reason for him resting his tools for the night. This commission is a killer, he knows that, but the rewards for a job well done were too good to pass up for the tiefling still finding his feet in his new home.

The door hinges give a low creak as he pushes his way inside, tail heavy and dragging on the wooden floor as he pulls off his apron and wanders over to the staircase. Dammon knows there's food in the kitchen for him, something delicious and homemade that he promised he'd eat later. Now that later is here, though, all he wants is to sleep.

Only the sound of the stairs quiet groaning in protest follows Dammon as he makes his way up to the loft. It's here that the tiefling drags his work top off, shaking his head drowsily as the soft cotton catches on his horns. Trying to get his pants off without his tail getting in the way is equally a challenge, but at the end of it he finds himself near nude and by his bedside.

It's then that Dammon pauses, looking for a moment. There's a lump in his bed, under the covers, slowly rising and falling with the sound of each breath they let out. A small pang hits his chest, then. His partner, the one he loves so dearly, curled up in his bed waiting for so long for him to join them. He knows the long hours he keeps aren't ideal, and that their patience with him is truly a blessing he shouldn't take advantage of, but finding a balance still proves difficult. Slowly, carefully, he slips himself under the covers too and shuffles closer.

A wave of comfort overtakes the tiefling as his fatigued arm rests carefully over his lovers side, a sleep filled hum leaving their body as they press back into his firm chest. Gently, his tail maps it's path up their leg, wrapping oh so carefully around their calf despite Dammons eyes already drooping, and his face finds the crown of their head. He matches their low hum with a quiet, rumbling purr of his own, unable to stop the sound when he feels this content. It's only then, with his lover wrapped in his embrace and the soft warmth of them against him, that Dammon lets sleep take hold of him and finally drifts off for the night.

Just as an aside, I'm a firm believer you can use a Tieflings tail to tell their mood and that when Tieflings are overwhelmingly happy/content that they purr. So of course both had to be included in this little drabble, hope you guys enjoyed.

[joelswritingmistress]

Camp Crystal Lake: Chapter 2

Requested by @yellowjacketsbuzzbuzz

Joel Miller x f!reader (romance/horror)

Setting: Camp Crystal Lake

The reader is taking on the position of a camp counselor at the infamous Camp Crystal Lake. While she begins to enjoy her summer, even crushing on the camp director Joel, a killer lurks in the woods unbeknownst to anyone. 

I made my way back around to the front of the cabin to find a young man and woman of about my age on the porch. He was a muscular, shaggy-haired blond guy sporting a hat and she had a head of bouncy curls and wore a big smile as she looked at him. The two of them, arm-in-arm, noticed me right away.

“Hey!” The girl gave a friendly hello.

“Hi.” I smiled and waved back, retrieving my suitcase first before reaching for the gym bag.

“Jeff, go help her!”

“Oh, sure. Yeah.” The blond guy, Jeff, hurried down the set of steps.

“Oh, it’s fine,” I assured him, but he heaved the bag up over his shoulder before I could resist the help. “Thanks.”

“No problem.”

“I’m (Y/N),” I introduced myself, waving at the couple as I walked side-by-side with Jeff up onto the porch.

“Sandra,” the girl held out a hand and I shook it. “This is my boyfriend, Jeff.”

“Hi.” He nodded, still holding my bag. It looked light as a feather on his arm.

“Thanks for carrying that, you don’t have to,” I assured him.

“Come on.” Sandra waved me into the cabin, “There’s a pretty decent room upstairs,” she explained. “I can show you if you’d like.”

I nodded, “Sure. Yeah. That’d be great.”

Sandra patted Jeff on the butt of his jeans, making him turn and smirk at her. “Second floor, tough guy.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he responded, rolling his eyes with a lopsided smirk.

I snickered to myself at their interaction but ultimately followed them up the staircase, taking in the collection of faces that lingered in the open living room area.

“This is (Y/N),” Sandra announced as the three of us clunked our way up the wooden stairs, “We’ll be right back.”

The cabin was more spacious than it looked. I passed the loft area at the top of the stairs and took a short, rustic hallway down past a pair of bedrooms. In one of them was a pair of bunkbeds. In another were two twin beds side by side.

“Those two have been claimed,” Sandra informed me.

“That’s fine,” I said, “I’m not super picky.”

She nodded toward a room at the far end of the hall, “That’s Joel’s room, the director.”

Jeff made a face, “Not trying to share a wall with the boss man.”

Sandra laughed, “We took this room.” She used her thumb to motion to a closed door, “But once the kids come we alternate bunking in the main cabins with them every other night.”

“We better get the same nights off,” Jeff remarked, making her smirk at him.

“What rooms are available?” I asked.

“These two,” Sandra said, motioning to the two doors closest to Joel’s, on the left and right. I pushed one door open, seeing another set of bunk beds and a twin on the opposite wall. The other had a set of twins.

“I don’t mind roommates,” I claimed. After spending four years at a university, it didn’t bother me. I enjoyed being around people. “I might take the bottom bunk over here.”

“Not the top?” Sandra asked with a laugh.

“I know, I’m weird.” I laughed with her, “I always preferred the bottom. It always had a little extra room.”

“That’s true.” She motioned, “Jeff, to the right.”

“Yes ma’am.” He slugged my bag into the room I chose and tossed the bag onto the bottom bunk. “There ya go.”

“Thank you,” I said, “For helping me bring my stuff up.”

Jeff flexed, “The beach is that way.” He pointed with his finger, making both Sandra and I laugh.

“He’s a meat-head,” she claimed, rolling her eyes.

“I’m good for something.”

“Thank you,” I repeated, “Really.”

“Want to come meet everyone?” Sandra asked, “I know more are coming but the people we’ve met so far are nice.”

“Yeah.” I nodded eagerly and then couldn’t help but add, “Joel seems.. cool.”

“Hot, right?” Sandra asked.

I glanced up at Jeff, who just laughed. And so I responded, “Sorta, yeah.” The two of us laughed and I could see Jeff was comfortable enough in the relationship to give a nonchalant eye roll.

“He’s like forty, calm down,” he joked.

“Jealous?” Sandra asked.

“Ehh..” Jeff shrugged and then scooped her up off her feet, making her giggle and give him a quick kiss. “Just a little.”

“Aww.” She continued to laugh and they linked hands as they made their way down the staircase a step ahead of me. I’m not going to lie, I liked them already. They didn’t seem like one of those annoying couples that fought all the time or who was too lovey dovey. My first impression of Jeff and Sandra was that we could end up getting along quite well. I already enjoyed their lighthearted goofiness.

I glanced at the front door as it swung open as we neared the bottom of the staircase. It was Joel.

“Hey boss,” Jeff greeted with another lopsided grin. He adjusted his hat and leaned an elbow on the banister.

“Can I propose a first informal meeting?” Joel asked, glancing around the room, finding my gaze last.

I nodded and followed to where people naturally gathered on the couches around an unlit fireplace topped with a television. There was a tall, lanky red-headed guy who was goofing around with a dark-haired guy with wavy hair and blue eyes. I heard one of them address another girl of about my age as Teri. She looked like a model with hair just below her ears and, what I would consider, a perfect physique. She held a little white dog under one arm.and sat beside a short, dark-haired girl on the couch.

“Hi, I’m Mark,” another guy wheeled over in a wheelchair wearing a red football style jersey.

I introduced myself and exchanged a handshake. “Nice to meet you.”

“Alright guys.” Joel’s voice snapped me back to reality and I found a seat in a chair beside Mark. “I know everyone is getting settled and some of you had long drives, so I’m not going to put you up to too much today. Tomorrow we’ll get a little more serious. There’s a lot of painting to be done, we definitely have to straighten up the dining hall and when Annie arrives she’ll take the lead on what she wants done in the kitchen.”

“Who’s Annie?” Jeff asked.

“She’s going to be our lead cook,” Joel informed us.

“Does she get here tonight or are we ordering pizzas?” The redhead asked, making everyone laugh.

“You guys didn’t pack peanut butter and jelly to make in your rooms?” Joel joked. He smiled wide just after, “For ttonight, since there’s only a handful of us here for a little while, I bought a bunch of hamburgers and hotdogs. I figured we could have a little barbecue, maybe get a fire going-”

“Tell ghost stories?” Mark asked, again making everyone laugh.

“Sure,” Joel said with a shrug.

“The legend of Jason,” Jeff added, “I think everyone knows that one.”

“Did you get stuff for s'mores?” Sandra asked Joel.

He raised his eyebrows, “Actually.. I did.”

The small crowd cheered and Joel laughed.

“Okay, okay,” he waved his hands to settle everyone down.

“Can, uh.. Since, like, the kids aren’t here yet,” Jeff began but Joel cut him off.

“You want to know if you can drink,” he assumed.

“We’re all over 21.” Jeff looked around, “Right?” Everyone began to nod.

“I’m the old goat at 25,” Mark joked.

“24, I’m right behind you,” the girl sitting next to Teri told him with a wink.

“When the campers arrive, there is a zero tolerance policy on alcohol,” Joel explained, “But..”

“But..” Jeff said with a grin, leaning forward.

“But, in the couple of weeks before they arrive, as long as it doesn’t interfere with your work and the progress we need to make, I don’t mind if you have a drink here or there at night.”

More cheers.

Cool, I thought. But I didn’t have any booze on me.

“I’m not gonna lie, we have two thirty packs in our trunk,” Jeff explained, making a face, “You know, just in case.”

“So, just to clarify,” the red head asked, “Is the rest of the day a freebie? Like barbecue, swimming, getting to know each other?”

Joel gave a slow nod. “But I’m going to have jobs posted for you that will start tomorrow at noon. And then every day thereafter starting at eight o'clock in the morning. Fair?”

“Fair,” the group said collectively.

“Alright,” he said, “Well, finish getting yourselves unpacked. And then enjoy yourselves a little tonight. I know you’re giving up your entire summer for this, so work hard for me but enjoy the last few weeks of freedom.”

“What time should we BBQ?” Jeff asked.

Joel shrugged. “What do you think? Five? Six?”

People looked at one another and began to nod, exchanging glances and agreed to meet out back near the lakeside in a few hours.

I wandered back up to Joel and smiled. “Thanks for letting us ease into this.”

“I know you guys probably had a long day,” he said, “And everyone should get to know each other before we really get into it.”

“I think my ride was the shortest,” I told him with a laugh. “I’m a townie.”

“So am I.”

“Really?”

Joel nodded. “I thought the town needed to be revived a little bit. I know this place has a bad reputation, but maybe we can make a difference and rewrite the script a bit.”

“Yeah, I think that’s a good idea,” I said to him with a nod.

“You majored in child psychology?” he asked.

I smiled wide and nodded, “Yeah.”

“So, you get it then.” He shrugged, “These kids need the outdoors these days more than ever.”

“Definitely.” I nodded. “I think it’s great what you’ve organized here for the kids.”

“I hope we can at least make a little bit of a difference.”

“We will.” I nodded to him. His smile back at me made me blush.

The two girls from the couch came to introduce themselves and Joel gave a little wave as he made his way to Sandra and Jeff.

“I’m Vickie,” said the shorter of the two.

“Teri,” said the other.

“I’m (Y/N/),” I said back, attempting to make small talk with my fellow co-workers.

I then met Ted, the redheaded guy, and Scott the dark-haired guy. It wasn’t long before we were helping Jeff cart the beer down toward the wooded beach area, where we met Joel who supplied most of the food.

“If only Annie were here,” Ted teased, once we were all gathered ready to eat, drink and be merry as the sun began to set.

“We need some firewood,” Mark claimed, staring at the empty pit inside the circle of bricks at the woods’ edge.

“Oh, I got it,” I said at the same time that Joel said he’d take care of it. We looked at one another and shared a little laugh. “We can carry twice as much between the two of us.”

Joel smirked and nodded. “Come on. Safety in numbers, right?”

I joined him on the short walk toward the cabin where he’d been chopping wood earlier.

Jeff shouted to us as we wandered up a short path away from the beach.“Beware of Jason!”

CLICK HERE FOR THE NEXT CHAPTER

@gissellec1 @cattt777 @mellymbee @armybts20137 @yellowjacketsbuzzbuzz

[toasttt11]

sixteenth birthday

June 8, 2020

Carter looked up from her phone hearing a knock on her door and then three more knocks followings she smiled knowing it’s Connor, she walked across her dorm room opening the door seeing Connor standing there with a box in his hands, Connor stepped towards her handing Carter box, “Happy birthday!!” Connor smiled towards the person that had become his best friend in the last few months.

Carter looked down at the box smiling taking it from him, “Thank you Con, come in.” Carter moved out of the way letting Connor into her dorm, watching him jump onto her bed like he always does.

“We’ll go on Roo! Open it.” Connor put his arms behind his head smiling at her.

Carter fondly rolled eyes sitting next to Connor on her bed and untying the green bow on the box and taking the lid off seeing a stuffed animal gently picking it up seeing what animal it was, a kangaroo. Carter laughed knowing why he picked the stuff animal, “Thank you it’s adorable!” She held up to her chest feeling how soft it is.

“Thought it fit you perfectly Roo.” Connor smiled knowing how much Carter adores Kangaroos and that’s why he calls her Roo.

Carter layed down next to Connor cuddling her Kangaroo enjoying spending her birthday with someone as she couldn’t see any of her family for her birthday this year because of Covid.

Also because she was lent to the Sweden Hockey team being able to practice and play some hockey during Covid, not knowing when she would be going home luckily Connor had been lent too and their are sharing a common room that connects to their own dorms, meaning they are quarantined together and spend basically all their days together.

“Want to go to the cafe?” Connor turned on his side facing Carter, as she turned to look at him.

“Yeah!” Carter got out of bed slipping on a pair of sandals and setting her Kangaroo on her bed againt her pillows before grabbing her phone and slipping it into her small purse before throwing her purse over her body.

Connor hopped out of the bed heading to the door opening letting Carter walk through and then closing it behind them. They got into their common room both grabbing their masks that were hanging by the door slipping them on before leaving their common room and walking through the doom halls and. the million other hallways before walking down the staircase and walking out of the large building to the outside.

They walked for about five minutes before reaching their favorite street, a few of their favorite places they have found are all on this one street.

Connor helped open the door for Carter as they walked into the Cafe, “You go find a seat, and i’ll order.” Connor shook his head seeing Carter about to protest, “Nope it’s your birthday you’re not buying.”

Carter reluctantly nodded knowing Connor can be just as stubborn as her before walking away and going up the stairs in the cafe to the loft area, that has a small library in it.

The loft has Connor and Carter favorite spot, a small little booth and table in the corner right by the window with a pretty view of the city and the beach.

Carter and Connor found the cafe within the first week they were in Sweden and it’s become the place they like to hang out together, and where they end up doing their school work most days.

Carter sat down on her side of the bench looking towards the window, opening it and immediately getting hit with the smell of the fresh water from the beach close by, she was so focused looking outside she didn’t realize how much time had passed and Connor was already upstairs and setting their stuff on the table, gaining her attention.

“One Strawberry, Blueberry, Spinach, Peanut butter smoothie and a chocolate crossiant for the birthday girl.” Connor smiled sliding into his spot next to her, taking his mask off setting it on the table next to Carter’s who took her’s off already.

Carter smiled always touched that Connor always remembers her smoothie order, “Thank you. Chocolate crossiant?” She knew that wasn’t apart of their diet and usally Connor was the more strict of the two for following their diets.

Connor fondly rolled his eyes, “It’s your birthday.”

Carter just smiled at her best friend.

Carter never understood growing up how her brothers all had that one best friend that they were so insanely close with.

Carter doesn’t love making friends and has always been find with her brothers friends and her brothers but she met Connor and she understood.

Connor just snuck into her heart and she knows he has no plans to leave, not that she would want him to anyway.

Connor pulled out his phone, not loving having photos taken of him but he does like taking photos of and with Carter, enjoying looking at them later.

Connor snapped a photo of Carter smiling with her crossiant before holding the phone in front of them as Carter stuck her tongue out for the selfie and Connor silliy grinned at the camera.

Carter gently grabbed Connor’s face with her hand and squeezed his cheeks together with a big grin on her face as she looked at the camera and Connor looking at her.

Carter laughed with Connor as they looked at the photos together and they spilt the chocolate croissant.

Carter did miss her family that day but she ended up having an amazing birthday spending it with her best friend.

[writingcold]

Hello!  Welcome to Chapter 5 of CD&FE.  

Pairing: Jake X Female Reader 

Summary: This is an AU that starts with the release of GVF’s first EP, Black Smoke Rising, and follows along life paths over the course of twenty plus years.  More life happening without each other.     

Content warnings: Language, smoking, drinking, adulting? Mentions of sexual situations, no smut in this chapter either.

Word Count: approx. 5.1K 

@edgingthedarkness and @takenbythemadness thank you ladies.  For all of it and everything.  💚

CD&FE, Part 5.1: Her POV

     The metro area of the Twin Cities is home to many beautiful parks and green spaces that meander along the Mississippi River.  I had found myself unpacking boxes in my new kitchen overlooking the river along a stretch in the historic district.  The loft apartment had come open and had caught Frankie’s eye immediately.  It was close to his university and it was close to my office.  Somehow it made sense to move in since we had invaded each other’s spaces so much that it made no sense to keep up with two places.

      “You doing okay up there?”  I yelled out as I was setting up stemware to hang in the cabinet of the whet bar.

      There was no answer.  I turned down the volume on my phone and asked again with a little more volume.  Still, Frank gave no answer.  Finishing up the wine glasses, I set the empty box on the stack to break down before walking through the long living room and up the spiral staircase.  I found him standing at the window, eyes frozen on the river.  I wrapped my arms around his waist from behind and stepped close.

      “You okay?”  I asked, pressing my cheek to the back of his shoulder.

      He placed one of his large hands across my wrist and gave a little squeeze.  “Just daydreaming.”

      “Oh yeah?”  I sighed as I melted a bit against him.

      “I know marriage is off the table,”  he said, tone full of warmth, “but what about something else.  Something for just the two of us.”

      “Well, we have this home.  We have us-”

      “Y/n.  I’m talking about a commitment to us.  Something formal.”

      I breathed in deeply.  I loved him.  Our relationship was steady and filled so much of me.  But marriage scared the fuck out of me.  It was not something that I wished for - not even as a little girl.  All the friends would pretend to be beautiful brides with elaborate ceremonies and giggling fits over what happened that night.  Hell, even Patrick would volunteer to be the groom and wear his ugly tux t-shirt and pretend to kiss the girls.  Ick.  I just never needed any of that.  Even when my friends started to get married, it just did nothing for me.  

      “After buying this place,  do you doubt my commitment?”  I asked drifting away from him and feigning interest in the closet.

      “No.  Not at all.  Even if we didn’t buy this place, I would not doubt it,”  he answered, scratching at the beard on his cheek.  “It wouldn’t change anything - not between us if you didn’t want to, but I just have this desire.  Something that is meaningful for us.”

      I frowned at the notion.  I know, I know.  Selfish, but I just didn’t understand the sudden shift.  The night previous, we were fucking in every niche and corner of the apartment to make it all our own.  Puffing out my cheeks I decided that it wouldn’t harm anything to perhaps continue the conversation.

      “What kind of thing are you talking about?”  I asked, sitting down on the corner of the bed.

      “There’s so many different ways to show commitment, love,”  he said, finally turning from the window to look at me.  “Handfasting would be lovely.”

      “Does it mean that we dress up and stand in front of all of our friends, and it costs a ridiculous amount of money to sign a paper?”

      “Boy, someone is jaded,”  he teased.  

      I instantly threw up my defenses.  “Come on, I don’t-”

      “I’m teasing.”  He caught me by my hands and tugged me closer, though I tried to fight a bit.  “It could be as simple as just us - no one else has to be involved.  We just write our words out that we mean to say to the other.  If you want to dress up fancy, you can.  Hell, I’d be more than happy to have you there in those gross sweats and flops.”

      At the sound of his laugh, I relaxed.  I knew he was looking for a more outward show of commitment.  I parted from him with a ‘I’ll think about it’, and it wasn’t lost on me that it was a rather romantic notion.  I spent the better part of an hour trying to unpack books and albums and pieces of memories that would look good on display.  My hands paused on the Deep Purple Gatefold.  It had been ten months since I had seen him during the pre-show meeting.  Billie had recovered and taken back control of the account and everyone went about their merry way.  

      I had avoided anything dealing with the band and even more importantly, Jake.  I threw my whole focus into my relationship with Frank and of course, work.  The job was taking another turn and growing all the more for it.  I had insisted on keeping some contact with editing and creating, but was finding myself more and more in the wining and dining of new clients.  It was fine.  Way more glamorous than I ever was, but new accounts meant more business.  

      I found myself unable to sleep a few nights after the last box was unpacked and discarded.  Frank was deep asleep.  I slipped out of the bed and wandered down to the kitchen for a cup of chamomile tea.  The night was warm and thick with pending storms.  I watched from the sliding doors, not wanting to deal with the security code that I seemed to forget about at least three times a week.  The lights of the bridges across the river rippled gold and silver on the murky water.  It was beautiful.  The constant strum of traffic and the stirrings of life was always welcomed, even beyond the glass I was staring through.  

     I tucked myself at the dining table with my laptop.  Work was not what was calling to me.  Frank's words about handfasting - whatever the hell that was - was prickling in the back of my skull case.  I took a sip of tea and started searching for the ceremony, digging deeper and deeper.  At first I was panicked that it was part of a wider wedding ceremony, but finally landed on the fact that it was just the piece that he was talking about.  It was a lovely concept that could be tailored to just us.  

      “Caught you,”  he said sleepily from behind me.

      I grimaced in surprise.  I was holding fast to my chest as he dropped a kiss to the top of my head.

      “Why are you up?”  I grumbled as I started to reach for the laptop in an attempt to hide what I was looking at.

      “I discovered my love was missing,”  he answered with a smile.  I knew he had seen it.  “I like that you’re looking at that.”

      No point in being coy as he moved into the kitchen for a glass of water.  I shrugged and wrapped my hands around my mug.  “What about it?”

      “Isn’t that what I should be asking you?  Did you like what you found?”  he asked, leaning his lean frame against the counter like a damn model.  

      I couldn’t really hide, so instead decided to be open.  “It was interesting…”

      I watched as his eyebrows raised and lowered with thought.  I wasn’t giving him enough.  I knew I wasn’t.  Clearing my throat, I set my cup aside and found my feet.

      “I liked the idea that we could do this just for us.”

      “Yeah?”

      I nodded.  “I understand that you want this to be more so to show your commitment to us.  I love you for it, too.”

      “But.”

      “But nothing.  I think we should do it.”

      The smile that lit his features made my breath stutter.  My beautiful man was all messy hair and flustered at two in the morning.  His excitement was easy to catch myself in.  He started talking about the cording and creating our own bindings.  We planned it out right then and there - because that’s what we were.  We would then secretly celebrate it calling it a housewarming party.  Perfect.

      True to tradition, we selected the color of our bindings according to the meanings of specific colors.  We decided to create our own cords, based on our commitment to each other, then twist them together.  The first day of May found us on the roof terrace overlooking the river.  Frank had poured us two very expensive glasses of wine while I found a pretty playlist for the afternoon.

      “Where do you want to start?”  I asked simply, my heart pounding clear out of my chest.

      I was fingering my cord as I held it tightly behind my back, hoping like crazy that it would be up to his expectations.  God, it was just the two of us and it still felt like there were a few hundred people watching.  He bent and kissed me, robbing me of my stabbing thoughts.

      “How about we share our bindings?”  he said, taking his out of his back pocket.

      I held mine out with a heavy sigh.

      “What was that?”

      I was finding myself swept over a tide of emotions that I did not expect.  My chest felt like it was full of fire while my throat was coated with concrete.

      “Baby, it’s okay.  Just us here.”  He trailed his fingers across my cheek.  “Do want me to go first?”

      I nodded my head mutely as my eyes totally betrayed me.

     His warm laugh filled me with all the more feelings.  I let out a stupid sob as he wiped at the ridge of my cheek.

      “I picked red for passion.  You have shown me nothing but passion in so many parts of you that are important.  Your work, your life, your thoughts and beliefs are so full of this passion that it’s hard to not think of you without passion being involved.

      “Next was blue for devotion.  You make loving you so easy that it is hard not to imagine myself being devoted to our life together.

      “Gray is for balance.  You showed me that I don’t have to be so serious - all the time.  There is a balance to our life together.

       “Pink to show you that we can have romance.  Silver to let you know that you are treasured.  And finally, purple - this relationship is sacred to me.”

       I cursed softly as I wiped at my face.  He just smiled his perfect smile, holding the three feet of cord before me.  I swallowed hard and held mine up.

       “Black, green, gold, brown and white,”  I struggled through these stupid words.  No way I could be as poetic as him, but he was smiling the whole time.  Those eyes encouraged me to continue.  I let out a groan as I practically danced from foot to foot.  “Strength, health, longevity, grounding, and peace.  Everything that I hope we can share.”

       I sucked in a huge breath like I was about to stumble into a panic attack.  He leaned down and captured my mouth in a kiss.  He whispered his love as he twisted the two cords together and took my hand in his.  I watched full of sniffles and jagged breath as he wrapped our joined cords around our hands.  I have to admit, in hindsight, it was beautiful.  And it was just ours.  

      “Until this love ends,”  he whispered.

      I nodded as he cradled my face.  He snapped a picture of the moment and we carried on, getting ready for our party.  Patrick was the first to arrive with Sidney in tow.  They were lovely as they filled our space with the warmth that all them.  The housewarming was a success.  Pat felt for sure something was up, but he dropped it when I finally just immersed myself in some conversation with Sidney that he found too boring to participate in.  

       In the night’s stillness, we made love until we were both complete messes of each other.  He sacked out so completely that he did not realize that I was once again slipping out of our bed, unable to sleep.  This time, a cup of hot chocolate was my comfort and my laptop was open to the main screen.  There was a scrap of betrayal in my heart that was pulsing.  Grinding at me like a virus that needed to be addressed before it delivered a murdering strike.  

      I pulled up my socials page.  There were notifications from all sorts of friends, and on the professional side, those from contacts around the world.  I ignored them.  I tapped my fingers to the trackpad in debate.  I had awoken because the shadow of him had strayed into my slumber.  The shade of old love lay stoked in a fold of my heart that I was sure had been gone.  But it wasn’t.  I found myself on Jake’s private page, frowning that I was still allowed to be in such a space.  But there he was.  The array of pictures of him and his family and her was astounding.  I felt like I was trespassing.  He was happy.  Every picture was that genuine joy that just radiated out of him like a beacon.  I found myself wondering if he ever married the girl, but there was nothing regarding a wedding.  

       Feeling like a stalker, I closed out and shut everything down.  I missed him.  The absolute polarizing moment that felt like my entire self was being shredded in two - I was so in love with Frank.  He got me.  Held me.  Elevated the idea of us.  I could only imagine the awful hurt that he would feel if he knew I clung to this tiny shred of love that was never to be.  What more, if he would ever find out that that love I held for Jake burned brighter than anything he could ever share with me, I’m sure it would be the end of me.  Fuck.  I felt myself crumble a bit under the weight of my own self hatred.

CD&FE, Part 5.2: Jake’s POV

      “I’ll be right back,”  she said, pointing towards the bathroom.

      The airport was beyond busy.  I sat down with a heavy plunk and the sigh that followed was filled with weariness.  I wanted to be anywhere but heading out to Portland for yet another one of her friends’ gallery openings.  It was great - don’t get me wrong.  It was just literally us getting back from Sydney and jumping right on a plane without getting home to try to shift to changing time zones.  We weren’t in our twenties anymore.  We had just wrapped another tour, this time actually making it all the way around the planet.  It had taken every bit of time for two years, but we did it.  

     Clara had lived through every time change, every plane trip, every bus misadventure - everything with me.  All the while she had accepted the isolation and the absolute chaos that went along with being on tour.  She somehow found the time in those long stretches of me being busy to wander.  Her painting was really beautiful, and seemed to evolve as each month and each destination passed us by.  She never complained.  She never seemed to lag behind or want to return to Nashville and her studio.  In all honesty, I was concerned that we could not flourish under such conditions, but somehow, we were doing just fine.

      Except for at that moment in the Nashville Airport, it was absolutely packed due to weather delays.  My head was throbbing and my patience had been worn beyond thin.  I noticed that she was gone for quite some time when I started to look around to see if perhaps she made her way to a kiosk or was just walking to stretch her legs.  A fan stopped with a look on her face and I was happy to oblige with a quick picture.

      I started to scroll through my phone in hopes that perhaps Clara had found coffee or some form of super caffeine to power through this sludge of jet lag.  I responded to texts from Josh and Mom.  I checked the socials to find that Danny had posted up pictures of his boys playing on dad’s kit.  I grinned at the auburn haired boys in their feral joy.  

      “Hey!”  Clara called out as she was practically running towards me.  “Grab our stuff.  You’ve got to see this!”

      The excitement was just roiling off of her.  Her smile was beaming as she was grabbing at my hand to rush back the way she came.  Her words were pouring out, most of which were lost due to the noise around us, but she was definitely chirping about seeing something while stretching her legs.  She tugged me all the way back to the shops, stopping in the window of one of those stores with all the decor and little trinkets.  There were poster prints framed along the upper walls.  Clara was pointing up towards the top and was practically bouncing.

       “It’s so strange to see something of mine here!”  she said, her frame bounding with excitement.

      Indeed it was one of her pieces she had done a few years prior when we were in Scotland.  It was rough and wild and muted and perfect.  

      “That’s amazing, babe,”  I said as I wrapped my arms around her.  

      It was not the first time we saw her work someplace, but any time we saw it, it solidified that she was truly a professional artist, not just a hobbyist.  We bumbled back to wait for our flight, which finally made it out only four hours later.  Portland came quickly after falling asleep on the plane.  I fought my own self to drag my body off the plane and not be grumpy about it.  At least the hotel was close by.  

      Clara was all full of energy.  I was not.  I might’ve been a bit of a dick about it.  She had already been on the phone with the friends to meet up at a bar.  I knew, however, the moment my feet entered our room, there was no leaving it.  At least not that first night.  She called me old, but you know, I didn’t care.  At least we didn’t argue about it.  She was cleaned up, changed and out the door before I could fully figure out that I really didn’t need to be in public.  

     I wandered down and found a few beers to drag back to the room with what looked like some kind of sandwich.  Perfect.  I chewed my food mindlessly as I scrolled through my feeds.  Somewhere in the course of beer number two, I landed in less familiar territory.  I found myself looking into Y/n’s page.  It had been close to a year since I had last found myself anywhere near her sphere.  It had been nearly five years since the last time I saw her in person.  She looked good.  Beyond good.  She looked happy.  It looked like she was still with the same guy.  Imagine my surprise when she posted up a picture of her hand being held by him with a cord wrapped around it.  I had no clue what it was supposed to mean.  I finally had to look it up only to find that I wanted to vomit.  She was pretty much married to this man - something she had proclaimed to never truly desire.

      I tossed the phone onto the night stand with a curse.  She was happy.  That was all that counted.  I was happy with Clara.  Things were beginning to wear thin on the whole engagement front.  It was really getting old to have the folks question when they could expect us to either show up married or invitations.  Her family was scattered, but the friends were beginning to question if I would ever really commit.  Some voices were louder than others.  But Clara, herself, was beginning to lean towards making it official.  There was a piece of me that just resisted.  I was sure this was the part of me that was still dedicated to the idea that I would finally land in a place where Y/n and I would be together.  It was juvenile hope that drove that desire, but it was there.  Rooted deep in the shadows that Clara just couldn’t reach with all of her sunshine.

      To see Clara in her element was something special.  The night of the gallery opening, we were there, dressed well and champagne in hand as she glided through business partners, friends, and colleagues alike.  She had several commissions that she had been working on that were coming to a close soon.  It was like watching a bird on a branch that was ready to take flight.  She was so talented and unique.  Her nature spilled out into every stroke of her art.  Sometimes, I wondered if she was putting her literal spirit into the paint.  At some point in the show, I found myself off to the side in a darker corner, alone.  There were people around her that I had no idea who they were or what they wanted from her.  And I was fine in my little corner.  I did the partner thing - smiled and waved whenever her gaze turned to mine when she needed reassurance.  Eventually, though, I found myself alone completely.  Her friends were nowhere to be found and Clara was gone.

      I couldn’t help the pang of anger until I dug my phone out to see I had the Do Not Disturb on.  When I turned it off, I was quick to hold my hand over the speaker to dampen down what seemed like a million notifications.  Finally a text had come in that Clara was discussing a show in Chicago with a gallery owner who was quite taken with her collection.  She said to head back to the hotel if I wanted to.  

     Wow.  Dismissed.

     I didn’t like the feeling that washed across me.  I landed in the hotel bar drinking a double bourbon and feeling sorry that I was sitting on that ugly assed stool in that ugly assed bar.  I knew I was being stupid.  This was basically what Clara did all of the tour - waiting.  Waiting for those few hours each day that we could be together uninterrupted.  I could at least extend her the same kindness.  Honestly, though, through the jet lag and the lack of courtesy, I just felt slighted.  

      Up to the room and I once again landed face first into the socials, staring at that picture of Y/n with a short description of what she said was handfasting.  Hurt.  She hurt me each time she would not accept my love for her.  She hurt me with a show of ability to formally love some other man.  Did it squelch the spark that lingered in my soul that was only for her?  No.  God that woman fucked me up in ways no one else could.

       We were in Portland for three more days.  I spent most of the time buried in the bed at the hotel.  Clara was apologetic, but it was work.  Her work.  When we finally reached home in Nashville, it was quiet.  She was in her studio working.  I spent time with the family, and she was working.  I flew up to Michigan to spend some time with the parents, and she was working.  She was really on the precipice of something big and I sure as fuck wasn’t going to step in the way.  I allowed her that space just as she allowed me mine when I was working.

       We were off for eight weeks.  I had eight weeks to write.  With Clara in her own space, I worked with Danny and Sam dusting off a few projects that we had set aside.  I can’t lie, I was feeling a bit of distance between us when it came time to start the festival circuit for the summer.  It was the first time that she stayed behind.  Her opening in Chicago was the last weekend of July.  I promised that I would get a ticket and be there as it happened to be on an off day in between shows.  We were supposed to be in Denver for the start of one festival on a Friday and heading to New Jersey to finish another on Sunday; so really, the events were thankfully lining up right.  No way I would miss that show.  Her big debut.

       I had not been alone on tour in years.  It felt odd.  Sam had brought his whole family since the kids were off for summer vacation.  Danny, too.  Josh and his partner were thick as thieves with their small brood.  And I was alone.  I struggled.  Clara and I tried to connect over video calls and texts.  Late night phone calls did not work as she was either still working or dead asleep from hours of work.  I fought my own selfish need for her to be with me.  To watch my nieces and nephews tear around like we did when we were little made me feel a little removed.  I loved playing with them.  I loved being Uncle Jake.  However, knowing that I had only myself at night while my brothers had the love of their families so close - hurt.

     July had come storming through.  We had criss-crossed all over, soaking up the summer crowds.  I was busy.  Somehow, Denver arrived and I had forgotten to purchase my own ticket to get to Chicago.  I had been saying for weeks that I was going to get a ticket.  Each conversation with Clara, I was literally looking at airlines, and yet, I never purchased said ticket.  The day before the show, I was talking with Josh about the debut.  I was proud, showing off pictures that she had shared with me of what had been selected to be featured in her show.  Mom had called earlier in the week.  Her and Dad were already in Chicago, taking the opportunity to visit family there before showing their support for their almost-daughter-in-law.  I was so caught up in the shows and little things that I simply forgot to get my ticket.

       The night of the Denver show, I was on the phone while waiting for sound check.  One of the assistants took pity on my stupidity and offered to help.  After our check, he returned to me with a few options, all were just impossible.  One option was to fly to LAX first before Chicago.  Another was to fly to Pittsburg then back to Milwaukee with a car rental.  There was a private flight on one of those death traps, but my gut threatened to vomit all over the place just with the thought of being on one of those things.  I could also rent a car - and try to make the fourteen hour drive.  I was fucked.  The best I could do was fly standby.

      “I don’t understand.  I thought you had the ticket purchased,”  Clara said, her voice thin on the phone.

      I was shoving everything into my backpack as fast as I could.  It was seven in the morning and I had a cab waiting for me downstairs.  I was going to sit in that airport and force my way on any flight heading to the Midwest.  I would make it.  I could hear the stress in her tone.  I could hear the disappointment between her unspoken words.  I texted her when I scored a flight to Rapid City.  From there, I’d be on standby, but it was more likely to get me to Chicago before the end of the show.  I would be there.  No matter what.

      I didn’t hear from her.  I knew she was probably beyond pissed off with me.  I had been careless.  I got to Rapid City and found myself stuck.  Storms to the east across Minnesota had stalled my trek.  I could fly back to Denver and hope for the best.  Really?  

      “It was a noble try, Jake,”  Josh said, just before the chaotic mass of Kiszkas and Wagners were boarding the flight to Newark.  “Just get your ass here and you’ll have to sort it out later.  I’m sure Clara will understand.”

      “This was her fucking debut!  I can’t miss this.  She expects me to be there,”  I barked loudly.  

       He was right.  He knew it.  I knew it.  Our obligation was to get our asses to the next show.  It was thirty minutes until her opening when I called.  She didn’t want to hear it.  She knew that I tried but was too busy with her task at hand.  She said she would explain it to my parents before she hung up.  

       Exhausted, I surrendered to a red eye flight to Newark, but had a stop in Minneapolis.  My heart gasped with a deep ache.  It was hard not to feel that it was Fate poking a five pound block of salt in the wound.  Bitch.  

       I didn’t make it to New Jersey until somewhere around five in the morning the day of the show.  Management scolded me, but sent a car around to pick me up.  I slept a few hours before hitting the stage before a crowd of 40,000 people.  I wondered if anyone noticed that I was off that night.  I swear my chest was flayed open for any and all to see how I had fucked up.  

      I tried to call before and then after the set, but Clara didn’t answer.  I called Mom and she gushed how good the show was and how impressive Clara had been.  I knew that she would handle it with grace, but…

      “She’s angry,”  I said, allowing myself to feel my own disappointment.

      “Clara’s got all the right in the world to be angry with you,”  she responded in between talking with Dad.  

       “I can’t fix it, can I, Mom?”

       “I’m not sure, honey,”  she answered truthfully.  “All you can do is show her that you still love her.  That she’s your center, Jacob.  Time will make it up.  Just means you have to try harder at her next showing.”

      I flew home the next day.  Everyone else had a week to spend with the families before a show in Toronto.  I found her in our room with her bags packed and boxes waiting to be filled.  I really had fucked it up beyond repair.

😐  I know.  Just hang in there.  Next posting is messy.  I mean, messier than this one.  

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[snowbellewells]

Self Promo Sunday: "For Once, Don't Let Go"

This week's re-run is a Modern AU one shot I wrote for the @cssns event in 2020. I had not ever written much of anything supernatural involving ghosts before, and we were all dealing with the effects of loneliness and being more alone/lonely than normal during that time. Those were the themes I was exploring here. I'd love to hear what you think - if you're revisiting it, or if you're reading it for the first time. Enjoy!

*My artist for the story was @hollyethecurious and she created a stunning picset that I am still in love with!! *

Summary: In some ways, Emma Swan has always been a ghost - alone and floating through life without much to tie her to anyone or any place. However, when she wakes up in an unfamiliar old house and realizes she is stuck haunting the last place she went while alive, it takes a while to reconcile the fact that she is an actual ghost and that there must be something keeping her in the world after all. Then she learns she isn’t the only lost soul in the house. And that changes everything.

Also available on AO3, if that's your preference...

by: @snowbellewells

In some ways, she has always been a ghost. Never fitting in, never belonging anywhere. Abandoned, and so closing her heart on the need to be accepted before she could be denied. It was for that reason, on the first morning of her afterlife, as she blinked awake in a chilled grey dawn that seemed just like any other, Emma Swan did not at first realize she was no longer part of the living world.

There was a strange quiet surrounding her, as she sat up from the bed, which strangely felt much softer, plusher than hers usually did at the end of an exhausting day or the morning after when her bones still ached and her mind never felt quite rested. It was those two things combined - the unaccustomed silence and depth and comfort of the sleep she’d emerged from - that put Emma off balance. It was never that still in the heart of the city, no matter how early in the morning. There was a constant humming undercurrent, a long-accepted background noise accompanying her life in Boston: sirens, horns, the grating and beeping of constant construction, the hubbub of voices, sounds unending. If she were deeply honest with herself (which she didn’t often allow) it was part of what she loved most about the large city on the eastern seaboard; there was so much noise that she could ignore her own thoughts. She didn’t like to dwell on or analyze her motivations for choosing a job where she tracked and found deadbeats who skipped out on those they should have stayed to support. She didn’t acknowledge - not even to herself - that each skip she hauled into the nearest precinct and collected her reward for gave her a sense of satisfaction that almost dulled her unanswered questions about the runners she hadn’t ever found - the parents who left her just after she was born.

So, she was already on edge as she found her feet and moved through the room she was increasingly aware did not look at all like the one in the loft apartment she currently rented, nor were any of her things scattered around as she usually left them. Moving from the room into the hall beyond, and then down a staircase into an entry hall that she knew her small apartment didn’t possess, Emma’s mind struggled to fully wake and understand where she was and how she came to be there.

It wasn’t until she reached the front door - tall, solid wood, but nondescript and standard, nothing too out-of-the-ordinary - that two more revelations struck her almost at once. Reaching out her hand to turn the doorknob, step outside and see if the outside of the house or its surroundings jogged her memory, Emma was shocked to find that her hand wouldn’t grip the metal knob at all, instead passing straight through both doorknob and door itself, sending her sprawling forward with a yelp of startled disbelief. No matter how impossible it seemed, the rest of her followed her outstretched hand, passing through the wooden door as if it simply didn’t exist.

Blinking and stunned from where she had landed on the top step up to the porch outside the strange house she’d woken up in, it was more than a bit hard for Emma to put together what had just happened. She knew her mouth was hanging open, “catching flies” as one of her more affectionate foster moms along the way had playfully called it, but somehow her surprise only increased when she took in the place’s exterior. She did know where she was, despite being at a loss for why she would have woken up there. This was the place where she had tracked her most recent skip last night.

Furrowing her brow in concentration - and admittedly trying not to consider how she had just slipped past a solid barrier and what that might mean - Emma attempted to pull up more from her memory than that. This newest skip had proven pretty slippery; both Ruby and her seductive honey trap skills which Emma didn’t even try to match, and Mulan with her fighting ability and clever moves worthy of her Disney namesake, had failed in previous attempts to bring the guy in and moved on to more productive marks before Emma took on the case. However, she was just stubborn and competitive enough to have wanted to bring in the skip who had become a thorn in the agency’s side; plus, as he kept evading them and the court date grew closer, the price for bringing him in kept climbing. Emma had been thinking just how she might enjoy the whole week off she could afford to take once she caught this scumbag as she’d sidled up next to him at the seedy bar’s pool table and batted her eyes. She’d still been thinking it even as the jerk brushed her off and left soon after, and so she’d followed him - quite stealthily, she believed - to this place later that night. Fine, if he wanted to play hard to get, she wouldn’t play gently either. She welcomed a challenge, and this avoided the awkwardness she had to extricate herself from once honey traps were sprung anyway.

Emma was realizing now, however, that maybe she had been a little too obvious, a little too preoccupied to see that her skip might have been onto her. Had he been suspicious of her from the start, and that was why he didn’t take the bait? Or, had he known what she was truly after the whole time?

The evening dark had been falling in that strange hour where one could still see outside but surroundings were obscured, shadows lengthened and a person sometimes had to squint to find her goal. She had almost hung back, after watching her mark slip in through the unmarked door of the abandoned house at the end of a rather quiet and rundown street in an outskirt suburb. But she’d spent too long tracking the loser - and she wasn’t about to admit any hesitance or unease. Clearly the guy now had either breaking and entering or squatting in his extensive repertoire, and he needed bringing in before he expanded to something more dangerous.

That was what she was telling herself after waiting an interminable twenty minutes and then climbing the rickety steps as she’d watched her perp do. She wasn’t trespassing anymore than he was, the house wasn’t in his name, and if anyone asked… here she tried the door to find it unlocked and opening as she quietly tried it - yep, she could say it was open.

Emma had just taken a steadying breath and inched the door open enough to enter, when she caught movement in her periphery. She tried to duck, wondering wildly if the culprit had been lurking behind the door, when something long and solid swung towards her head too fast for her to avoid. It felt as though the air cracked, then crumbled around her, and everything went black…

That was all she could bring up, no matter how doggedly she tried to remember what came next. After that shattering impact was simply… nothing. And with that sickening fact, Emma knew. She was dead. Some lowlife bail jumper killed her to keep himself from getting caught. Whatever she was hit with, it was done viciously enough to mean her end.

Feeling a tremble begin throughout her legs and arms, up into all her extremities, Emma tried to fight back the swell of emotion - anger, injustice, hurt, loss that clamored to the surface. If there were any justice at all, she ought to at least be free of feeling all the painful emotion she had spent her entire adult life roughly tamping down. But really, she shouldn’t even be surprised. This wasn’t the first time she’d paid the price for someone else’s wrongs - though apparently it would be the last. The blank unfairness of it was what truly got under her skin. Was she always doomed to end up this way? Sprawled out with a cracked skull in the entryway of some old, empty house, punished just for trying to make a living and her own way in the world while exacting a little much-needed justice? No one would even miss her or know she was gone until she didn’t show up to work Monday morning, ready to gloat and collect congratulatory muffins for bringing in the mark her colleagues lost.

As she passed back through the door (and no, that weird sensation of sliding without feeling past a solid barrier did not become any less upsetting or disconcerting) Emma saw the rough wooden board on the floor where her killer must have tossed it afterward and the dried blood - her own, she recognized with a shiver - that she had missed before. She didn’t want to stay there, but she felt pulled back to the upper floor where she had awakened. As if she was not meant to leave yet. Maybe she couldn’t. Maybe she just had nowhere else to go…

Head bowed in resignation, she mounted the stairs, but instead of going back into what had seemed a nondescript bedroom on her first glance, she moved on to the end of the hall. She seemed to have all the time in the world to rattle around this place, reflect on her loneliness and why she was still there. It couldn’t hurt to put off that depressing train of thought and find out what else was there.

Bypassing the room she’d exited earlier that morning, Emma moved toward the end of the second floor hall. Clearly the place had been empty awhile, dust tickled her nose more the more she moved throughout the house, but the color of the rich, deep wood floors, the tall ceilings and eye-catching nautical knick-knacks and framed pictures on the walls showed her the place was once well-loved and lived in with care and pride. By the time she reached the furthest door on the left, almost tucked into a corner of the house, Emma was curious in sprite of her strange situation and uncertainty.

Upon stepping in the room, Emma felt her mouth drop open once again, immediately captured by the sight of four walls of floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, interrupted only by the large, cushioned windowseat under a huge picture window in the wall facing the door. There were books piled on the floor near the windowseat as well, as if to be in easy reach of whomever had sat there to read. Heavy, larger leatherbound tomes that appeared to be atlases or maps also rested on the impressive cherry wood desk in the room’s center. While all of this was stunning, with an air of warm invitation that had Emma blindly inching forward, none of the furnishings were what truly stunned her one more time in a past hour full of riveting surprises. Standing behind the desk, with back turned to the door and studying the wall of books with concentration was a tall, quite formally dressed, man. 

At Emma’s rather stunned noise, the figure turned to look over his shoulder, looking at her with dark arched brow. The gasp that had just escaped her was sucked rather inelegantly back up her throat. The man - well, fellow ghost apparently, as she could hazily see the spines of books lined up through his broad-shouldered form - was the most handsome specimen she had ever seen. His stunning bright blue eyes threatened to again steal the breath the she supposed she shouldn’t possess to begin with.

Wow, that changed things.

~~~*~~~~*~~~*~~~~*~~~*~~~~

Surprised in the large library that had stood silent and empty for so many long, uncounted days, Killian Jones couldn’t help scrutinizing the fair haired lass standing on his carpet. The strange haze around her let him know she was a spirit, much as he had been forced to accept he was himself. Still, some nearly forgotten and rusty echo of his former flirtatious nature rose to the surface and her surprised gaze clearly studied him up and down.

“Well, hello there, beautiful,” he murmured, a crooked smile crossing his face as he drank in her blonde hair, sparkling green eyes, and generous curves in equal measure. “You aren’t some marvelous hallucination are you?”

Those sharp eyes rolled in exasperation, the stunned look finally leaving them as she shook her head and shrugged off the compliment. “Hardly,” she snorted, taking a few steps closer to him. “Apparently, I’m a ghost.”

Her words startled a huff of laughter from him with their droll humor. Reaching up to scratch behind his ear, he managed, “Not quite what you’d pictured, I wager?”

“That’s putting it mildly,” she allowed, seeming to understand her welcome and meandering over to sit facing him on the cluttered windowseat’s edge.

Killian allowed a wry grin of his own and nod of agreement. There wasn’t much else to say, but he did understand where she was coming from. It had been rightfully upsetting, earth-shattering, and confusing when he realized he was no longer living and breathing but still wandering the rooms of his house. He was sure there had been a lot of ranting, questioning, and items thrown against the walls before he had accepted his new reality. By that measure, this lovely woman before him was handling her sudden entrance to the afterlife quite well in comparison.

She looked up to capture his eyes with her own and he found he couldn’t look away again. Her face was open, searching, almost as though she were trying to take his measure and decide if he were trustworthy. When she seemed to make a decision and smile warmly at him, Killian found himself swaying closer to her almost unconsciously, rounding the desk to stand before her as though pulled by a magnet. Dipping his head in a sort of playful bow, he offered, “Forgive me, where are my manners? I’m Killian Jones. And you are?”

She reached out her hand to shake, unaccountably grateful that she was able to feel his larger fingers clasp hers without passing through, that she somehow still felt warmth and a zing of awareness at the contact, even if none of it made any sense. “Emma…” she replied, her voice going lighter and more thready than she’d like, “Emma Swan.”

“Hmm…” he murmured lowly, a rumbling hum that she felt along her arm as he brought her hand up to place a kiss on the back of it. “And just who are you, Swan?” he mused.

Swallowing hard, she dove in with the plain truth. “Just a stubborn bail bondswoman who went after the wrong skip this time,” she sighed.

His eyes registered the sadness, the disappointment and melancholy, the resignation to this fate slowly settling over her. He wanted to say it would get better with time, but time was now a funny, nonexistent sort of thing that was impossible to measure and not much help. Instead, he took in her features with understanding and tried to offer what comfort or cheer was possible against the self-doubt, blame, and ‘what-ifs’ beginning to hover. Not only that, they zeroed in on the broken skin, dried red and the purpled bruising at her temple, clearly the killing blow that had been dealt her. His hand reached up of its own volition to touch the soft hair above the wound, a tender brush of fingertips that Emma closed her eyes and leaned into with a relieved sigh. Almost as if he knew how very rare such concern had been in her life - maybe because it had been the same for him. Whatever the reason, they lingered there, two ghosts in the golden morning light through the picture window, drinking in the first real contact either had felt in far too long.

Something linked within them in that very moment - and everything changed again.

~~~*~~~~*~~~*~~~~*~~~*~~~~

It would have been funny; in fact, Emma would have laughed in the face of anyone who suggested - even a week before - that she would be killed on an assignment, end up a ghost, and then meet another ghost who would soon know her better than anyone had in life. And yet, within days she and Killian had shared more than she had ever allowed with co-workers, her handful of casual friends, even foster siblings when she’d still been a kid. Granted, she didn’t have much to lose, but it was more than that. She came to learn that Killian was more like her than she could have thought possible; orphaned as a child except for an adored older brother, that brother then killed in service of the British Navy just as Killian had been preparing to finish secondary school and join his elder sibling in service. Apparently the death had been some sort of accident during a routine exercise, and Killian had been awarded a healthy settlement as his brother’s only living relative, but naturally he hadn’t wanted the payout, just his only family back. Since that wasn’t the choice before him, he had taken the money, gotten out of England, and vowed to do something with it that would honor Liam and help someone else - even if it could do nothing for his own shattered heart.

That was how he’d come to befriend a frightened young mother and her infant son not long after he reached Boston. He’d been renting a motel room on a weekly basis until he figured out what he planned to do in the long run. He took a lot of long, aimless walks in the sharp, chill wind off the Atlantic, and one late afternoon he had stumbled into the public library, hoping to warm up, maybe distract himself a bit, and instead had found Belle sniffling as she attempted to read to a fussy Gideon where they were huddled in the children’s section. It hadn’t taken long for them to become friends; easily one of the best friendships he’d ever had. And in short order, Killian had known this was how he could use Liam’s money for good. He’d found a house, invited, then wheedled and cajoled, her to move them into one of the unoccupied wings and stay with him there. It was much too big for him alone he’d argued, and he needed the company, noise and bustle of even the smallest bit of family in his life. Belle had been hesitant, feeling it was too much, too good to be true, but trying to find a living and make a good, safe home for herself and her boy, while also staying unnoticed and under the radar of her wealthy and well-connected ex-husband was becoming more and more impossible. She’d assured Killian that the man had never been physically abusive, but emotionally and mentally he had left his mark. He had been a master of manipulation, had known the law and its loopholes, could afford the best attorneys money could buy and Kilian had not needed psychic abilities to see the woman was terrified he would come to haul her back - or at the very least take her little lad away from her.

That last admission had been uttered some weeks on in their acquaintance - or at least Emma thought it had been weeks, time was hard to measure when one was no longer on a clock and the days flowed from one to another in a similar stream - one night as they sat by a crackling fire in the hearth of the long unused den. Emma had shared a fair amount of her own scars by then. She had been curled up on the opposite end of the sofa, thinking that this would be the perfect occasion for a hot cocoa with whipped cream and cinnamon, what had been her favorite way to unwind in the evening, and marveling at the good heart this man before her possessed, be it beating still or no. Not just anyone would have done so much, given so much of himself, to help a person he barely knew. Nor kindly helped a complete stranger like her adjust to her new reality beyond the pale either.

Suddenly it seemed like there was nothing else to do but to scoot across the sofa to the other end where Killian Jones sat still as a statue. The pain in his eyes, and blame she could see that he carried, broadcast over every line and shifting shadow of his face. Emma couldn’t help but bring her hand up to touch his cheek, to trace along his tightly clenched jaw as his eyes slowly dropped to follow the path of her fingertips, watching her intently as they continued to brush softly over his skin. Emma had wondered numerous times why she couldn’t physically make contact or grasp other objects but she could touch him. Why could they feel each other so strongly? Was it because they were both ghosts? On some other plane together? Or was it something else, something a less jaded person might call Fate or magic?

Whatever the reason, she was grateful for it as she held her breath, catching her lower lip between her teeth awaiting Killian’s reaction. She found every nerve alive and anxious as she watched him, caring more than she ever had about what someone else thought. Was that the key? For so many years in group homes, with foster families, even for a time homeless on the city streets, Emma had shut the world out. She had been born and grown up without the unconditional love and care all people should know, and the natural childish illusions about people’s selfishness or the world’s indifference had been stripped away far too early. Life had turned its back on her, and she had done the same in return. She had closed herself off from emotion and learned all too well that putting her trust in others made it easy to get hurt.

But now, in this old house, with this wonderful, vulnerable spirit before her - all the feelings she had shut off for so long were breaking free. She couldn’t hold them back, and she didn’t want to. She couldn’t really be harmed, wasn’t hustling to get by, and maybe that allowed the fear to recede enough to peak over the top of her walls. Maybe it was just that - despite only knowing him for a short time - she had never met anyone like Killian Jones when she was living. If only she had, she wouldn’t have been lost for so long.

He was blinking away a tear when her focus turned back to his face in that moment. Smiling back with a tiny, empathetic quirk to her lips, Emma brushed the escaped droplet from his skin, whispering, “He found them, didn’t he? Her ex?  Even though you tried to keep them hidden…”

Killian’s head of thick, dark hair bowed, his eyes falling to their laps instead of holding hers. Running her fingers through the coarse strands, Emma ached to comfort him, to somehow lessen the weight he had lost hope of lightening. Whatever had occurred, it couldn’t have been his fault. He had only tried to give them shelter.

His voice was muffled when his forehead had come to rest on her shoulder, and she wrapped her arms around him, cradling him closer in an embrace more binding and intimate than any she had ever experienced. “I don’t know for certain, Swan,” he sighed, his words rough and coming forth in choppy fragments. “It has always seemed so…  Both being expats, Belle and I came to enjoy tea… in the afternoons… I had come home early that day...had a new toy for her Gideon...and I - I couldn’t wait to show it to him. ...When I walked through the front door… I knew immediately….something was wrong… too quiet.. I walked into the kitchen… and the table was all set for tea.  But the plate of biscuits was… strewn across the table… broken crumbs everywhere… and her - her favorite teacup was shattered on the floor…”

Emma tried to take in the devastation he must have felt, the panic and helplessness, all while making soothing noises, almost sorry she’d asked him as the story was wrung from his lips bit by bit. She kept holding him, hoping that her hand stroking over his back and her fingers brushing the hair at the nape of his neck could give some solace. She had never longed to fix someone else’s hurt more than her own. It was frightening in the desire’s intensity, but all she could do was hang on.

“I failed them both…” Killian husked, his voice even more soft and ragged than before. “Of course… I reported them missing… but the case came to nothing… no leads turned up.  He got to them… just as she feared... “

She wished she could tell him otherwise. Her own unshed tears stung in her throat - both for the poor woman and little boy she felt as if she knew through Killian’s stories, and for his pain. Her chest ached with the anguish he had harbored for so long, feeling it as if it were her own. If she could take his pain onto herself and give him peace at last, she would do it without hesitation.

As if in response to her thought and the desire to lend her strength, Emma saw a starling light, nearly blinding her as it appeared over Killian’s shoulder.  She didn’t pull away, but she squinted trying to understand what had materialized from thin air right in front of her. It looked like...yes, it was a door. There, where an archway normally lead from the den to the kitchen, was a simple grey door, but for the brilliant white light emanating from around its edges. It couldn’t be ignored for all its radiance, and it almost seemed to beckon her near, drawing her in.

Her eyes widening, Emma forced herself to turn away, breathing in Killian’s scent from against his neck, hoping that the masculine, spicy aroma he somehow still carried, even in his ethereal state, would reel her in as it had before. She knew what must be making itself known before her, and she couldn’t bring herself to acknowledge what it meant.

Up until that very second, she would have sworn she wanted that door to appear, to pass through it and leave the cold bitterness of Earth behind. She wanted that door opening up for her to move on, but she just as surely wouldn’t leave Killian as she had been left so many times. She couldn’t abandon him.

For the first time Emma could remember, she didn’t want to change the way things were.

~~~*~~~~*~~~*~~~~*~~~*~~~~

She shouldn’t have thought the open door would escape Killian’s attention. The man was ridiculously intuitive and seemed to read her like the pages of a favorite book. She had not said a word, had turned back to him, focused on the muscle in his jaw working as he brought his emotions back under control, and managed to ignore the blatant signal beckoning to her until the glow dimmed and the door faded back out of existence. The archway between kitchen and den was just a curve of plaster and paint once more.

But as days passed, Emma coudn’t help worrying occasionally in unguarded moments if a person only got one door. Had she missed her only chance to move on? It wasn’t that she never wanted her peace and rest, or to know what was waiting on the other side. Yet, she couldn’t truly regret her decision either if the alternative had been leaving Killian alone, even if the consequences did trouble her mind.

So she wasn’t sure how Killian had figured it out the morning she came down the stairs to find him already in the kitchen gazing out the window over the sink and bathed in the rising sunshine. Maybe the man was genuinely able to read her mind. He was always able to tell when she entered a room, she conceded as he turned to face her, even before she stepped from the last stair. She felt him the moment he drew near her as well: an awareness, a prickling along her skin, the buzzing sensation of need and desire she had always resisted in life electrified by his presence. Maybe there was no hiding when someone was that close.

With the window and the sunrise at his back, Killian seemed almost outlined by a halo of gold. He came to stand at the counter facing her, and Emma moved to meet him, smiling easily. “Morning,” she offered in greeting, still fighting years’ worth of habitual impulses to start brewing coffee and digging throught he cupboards for cereal - sustenance that she no longer needed.

“Swan,” he’d spoken gently, calmly, but in a way that drew her up and demanded her focus. Reaching out his own larger hand to cover hers where it rested on the countertop, he went right to the heart of the matter. “Emma… what were you thinking?”

She shrugged, trying not to meet his eyes fully as she pretended she didn’t know exactly what he was talking about. “What do you mean?” she asked blankly.

He sighed, that apologetic depth of sorrow in his eyes making her swallow hard when he spoke again. “You saw the light at the end of the tunnel, didn’t you? Your door appeared… The evening we spoke of Belle and Gideon’s disappearance…” He paused, spearing her with the intense blue of his gaze and not allowing her to look away. He cupped her chin between his thumbe and forefinger, stroking along her cheek as he did so, the expression on his face begging her to help him understand. “Why didn’t you step through, Love… and go on to your reward?”

The worry and fear on his unfairly beautiful face showed that he already new exactly why she hadn’t, but he deserved the truth. Emma couldn’t give him anything less. Placing her hands over his, squeezing tightly with feeling, she leaned forward until their noses almost touched. “Killian, don’t ask question you already know the answers to,” she breathed shakily, trying to keep the tremble from her voice long enough to speak. “You must know, surely… it was you.”

His head back as he heaved a deep, rattling breath - breaking away from her as he did so. “I hoped I was wrong,” he admitted. “I don’t want to the reason. You shouldn’t be held back from your paradise because of me.”

For a moment his eyes wouldn’t meet hers as he struggled to regain control of himself. Then, he reached out to wipe the pad of his thumb over her cheek and brush the solitary tear she’d shed away. Not letting him have an out, Emma caught his eye once more. “Paradise, huh?” she tried to tease weakly, desperate to make him smile. He was breaking her heart. “You think an awful lot of me, Buddy. We both know I was no saint.”

A huff of air escaped him that might have been a disgruntled laugh in spite of himself, but he pulled her into him, almost clinging to her for several long minutes before finally breathing in her ear, “Nonsense, Emma. You were meant to be an angel. Don’t give up your peace on account of me.”

She hugged him back, but made no such promise. They would have to disagree on that, and he knew it too. They were both too stubborn to change their minds, so days went on and they went back to almost-normal without speaking of it again. Emma simply had to hope he understood. She didn’t want to argue with Killian, or to ignore his wishes. And she did want to go through her door as well, but when the time was right. She realized now that would have to be when they could both go throught it together.

~~~*~~~~*~~~*~~~~*~~~*~~~~

It had been March when she’d met her fate in the quiet old house, and she and Killian had drifted through the spring and summer and early autumn, growing ever closer to each other. They had sat on the porch for long hours talking without getting too hot or worrying about bug bites or sunburn; spent evenings curled together under one quilt in the large windowseat of the library watching lightning flash across the sky and thunder roll on August nights. As September came, they snuggled under the comforter on the bed, her head resting on his chest, her ear over his heart as though she could still heart its beat. If she had thought before that she couldn’t leave him, there was no way she could even imagine it again.

There was a chill in the air the September afternoon a thick, cream-colored envelope landed on the front porch, addressed with Killian’s name and a Ms. Belle French scrawled in top left corner. Emma heard the soft sound of the thick paper landing on the proch slats, and didn stop to question how it had gotten there, why the ghost resident of an supposed abandoned house was receiving mail again, but had hurried to where Killian reading in the library, letter in hand.

A more lovely autumn day had never been than when a slant of later afternoon sun lit Killian’s face as he scanned the letter’s contents, a smile dawning over his countenance as if he coudn’t believe the words before him on the page. “They’re alright,” he murmured, half to himself and half to her. “They got away… thought I should know.”  His eyes continued to skim over the handwritten lines quickly, but his beckoned her close, and stunned smile on his face and light in his eyes that did Emma’s heart good. She could see the guilt and the hurt he had carried lifting from his shoulders with each passing second as she came to perch on the corner of the desk at his elbow.  “They didn’t want me to have to harbor a secret… just missed the people who trashed the house that day, and didn’t want to continue putting me in danger…”

He shook his head in disbelief and then stood to sweep her up in his arms, spinning her around as if he didn’t have a care in the world. Maybe, finally, he didn’t.

It was only as Killian set her back on her feet again, as he picked up her hand to kiss the back of it tenderly, and she hummed in contentment, swaying closer to him that a warm inviting light touched the side of both their faces. Turning as one, Emma recognized the sight that had graced her vision once before, but Kiliian’s eyes widened before turning to hers.  “Is that…?” he breathed, hope and uncertainty and awe blending in the question as it trailed off on his lips. 

She nodded, no words coming to her that she could speak past the lump in her throat.

“Well, then, Swan,” he smiled with the beauty and joy of a man whose heart was free at last. “What do you say we embark on a new adventure?”

“I’d follow you anywhere,” she said with a certainty she felt to the bottom of her soul. Clutching his fingers in her own tightly, she walked with him toward the door wreathed in light that had appeared in middle of the bookshelf. As long as she didn’t have to let go of Killian’s hand.

Tagging a few who might enjoy: @kmomof4 @searchingwardrobes @jennjenn615 @whimsicallyenchantedrose @laschatzi

@jrob64 @apiratewhopines @optomisticgirl @tiganasummertree @xsajx

@teamhook @revanmetra87 @bluewildcatfanatic @jonesfandomfanatic @motherkatereloyshipper

@spartanguard @therooksshiningknight @donteattheappleshook @elizabeethan @the-darkdragonfly

@booksteaandtoomuchtv @anmylica @xarandomdreamx @undercaffinatednightmare @everything-person

@bdevereaux @ultraluckycatnd @gingerchangeling @gingerpolyglot @drowned-dreamer

@kday426 @myfearless-love @eastwesthomeisbest @resident-of-storybrooke @goforlaunchcee

[hometoursandotherstuff]

1989 home is a conglomeration of Contemporary, Art Deco, and Castle. If you like your modern homes extra, this one in Highland Park, IL has everything you could want, but not necessarily need. 6bds, 7ba, $1.495M.

The entrance hall with 2 metal doors, marble floors and a swirling staircase. What is that hole in the floor on the right.

Straight ahead is a room built in a room, with double doors and glass block.

There's a dining area next to the structure, with a rounded wall and a fireplace.

Wine rack in the wall. From the dining room are 3 steps to a bar & lounge. (Why do they do that?)

Tipsy guests could fall.

Lounge area in front of a fireplace.

The lounge is between the dining room and the kitchen.

Sterile looking white and stainless steel kitchen.

Why do they put mirrored walls in bathrooms? They're so mind boggling.

Contemporary home office with a pink neon strip. Interesting medieval decor thrown in.

The most baffling room is the 2 story primary bedroom. It has a terrace, room for a sitting area, lots of windows, a spiral staircase to a loft, and a round bed with a sloppy square inflatable mattress.

Large 2 room en-suite. Note the blue lights in the glass block platform.

There's a separate area in the closet/dressing room for a makeup vanity.

All of the other bedrooms are also spacious and have access to terraces.

This looks like the kids play/TV room.

Must be the mud room. Everyone has a viking hat.

Look at the locker room. I don't see any sports facility in the house.

Huge rec room.

Glass block bar in the corner.

Home theater "lobby." The owner's name must be Sanan, so the new owner will have to change the marquee letters.

The theater is surprisingly plain.

Another mirrored bath.

Pool out back of the 1.02 acre property.

https://www.zillow.com/homedetails/1949-Browning-Ct-Highland-Park-IL-60035/4902415_zpid/?

[the-glacian]

MORNINGS, COFFEES AND HOPES

Buck/Tommy ficlet ○ 911 TV ○ 859 words ○ Rating: M ○ post-706 ○ Slice of Life

The blinds have been left untouched, and the sunlight breaking through the window is stinging. Buck rolls onto his back, shielding himself from it with his pillow. There’s a weight of something moving with him. Stirring atop of him. An arm. A breath, puffing across his cheek.

Tommy. His boyfriend.

Buck’s mouth stretches into a grin both at the idea that still feels novel to him and at the memory of what they got up to last night. Not all the way. He doesn’t think he’s there yet, and Tommy, accommodating as he is, didn’t even ask. But clothes had been discarded across the hardwood floors and the staircase until they reached the bed, falling in a heap of joined flesh in tandem.

The excitement grips his insides even now. Would Tommy object to another round before they have to get up and go to work?

Buck doesn’t know that. There’s so much he doesn’t know about Tommy, but he can’t wait to start learning. Can’t wait to dive in head first. All or nothing.

He bites his lip to stop himself from sounding giddy as he says, “Hey. Morning, Tommy.”

The arm secures its claim on his middle. “Morning, Evan.”

A special kind of thrill surges through him. His name. He used to hate the mere suggestion of it, but, rolling so effortlessly off Tommy’s tongue, Buck can’t get enough of it. Almost wants to ask him to say it again – soft, fragile and succulent. Wants to lick it from Tommy’s lips like the cake they’ve stolen from the hospital to share in post-coital bliss.

With his mind unable to find release, he wriggles from the pile of blankets they’re both buried under until Buck has Tommy on his back. Pinned under Buck’s body, his hands on either side of Tommy’s face. Someone expels a grunt of surprise. It might be him. But, judging by last night’s emphatic events, it’s most likely Tommy.

For a moment they stare at each other, waiting for the other to make the next step. Yet another step out of many.

Tommy cocks one eyebrow at him. Ever the smooth one. “Are you suggesting what I think you’re suggesting?” He asks, but his fingers have already found the band of Buck’s boxers.

His hips jerking out of their own volition, Buck sucks in a breath. “Would it be so bad?” He forces past his lips. Thinks he doesn’t know what goes where in the broad daylight, and would Tommy—

Before he stops thinking altogether. Because, in one fell swoop Tommy captures his mouth, and Buck decides he can figure out the logistics of the remaining issues later.

Afterwards he leads Tommy downstairs to the kitchen area, gathering their scattered clothes as he does so. With every step his body aches in all the right places. Some of them he wasn’t aware could ache.

“Coffee?” He says with a sheepish smile, “I still don’t know how you take it.”

Not black and strong, that’s for sure. That leaves him with only a million other versions.

Tommy snatches his jeans out of Buck’s grip, leans in until his nose brushes against Buck’s ear. “Where’s the coffeemaker?” He murmurs. “I’ll show you.”

His skin still tingles when Tommy steps away to pull them on. Or when he then proceeds to navigate his way around the kitchen.

In the end, it’s nothing like Buck has imagined. With too much whipped cream and way too sweet. But, when Buck considers it mid-sip straight out of Tommy’s cup, it’s rather befitting of Tommy’s persona.

They sit too close, still only half-clad, listening to each other’s stories from their past cases. When he’s particularly amused, Tommy’s nose scrunches in a funny way. Buck thinks he can get used to it. To not being alone. To being understood inside and out. To being at home and feeling like it.

Inadvertently, his gaze drifts to the vacant spot on the other side of the loft. He’s kept the space unoccupied for a long time. Some might suggest too long. Some might point out that it’s too soon and he has a propensity for rushing.

But right then and there it feels right.

“Hey, Tommy,” he starts and trails off.

His ribcage is too tight. His eyes bounce from the emptiness to his boyfriend, whose face, the longer Buck struggles to find the words, starts contorting with worry.

“Everything all right, Evan?”

The air rushes out of Buck’s lungs. And in the same breath he blurts out, “Do you want to help me pick out a couch?”

The realisation is a slow process. They’ve never discussed the significance of a single piece of furniture in Buck’s existence, after all. Even then, it’s more of an internal predicament. One day he’ll tell Tommy all about it, and hopefully it won’t chase the man away. But he’ll cross that bridge when they’ll get there.

For now Tommy sighs with relief as he cups Buck’s hand with his and tells him, “Of course, Evan.”

And when they seal the deal with a sirupy kiss, Buck’s afraid he’s beaming too bright. It might start an accidental fire.

Read on AO3

[rebelspykatie]

Rushin’ through me like a fire Part 5

A Steddie Club AU

AO3 | Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 6 | Part 7

They stare at each other for a beat before Steve nods. He takes Eddie’s outstretched hand when they untangle their bodies. The spark from before still ignited and burning quietly under his skin when Eddie smooths a thumb over the back of his hand and drags him along the corridor. 

At the top of the spiral staircase, Eddie opens a plain black door to reveal a stunning, open floor plan loft. On the opposite side of the room, there’s a huge bay window with a cushioned seat in the alcove, a guitar propped up beside it and a stack of journals scattered among the cushions. The walls are the same dark color as downstairs in the bar, but there are personal touches everywhere. A wall of polaroids, a stack of albums and a beat up record player in one corner, odd trinkets on top of a dresser. 

Tucked away in one corner is a low set bed, unmade with black bedding. The rest of the loft is pretty standard, a couch, a recliner and coffee table in the middle of the room, a kitchenette opposite the bed. The only separate room is the bathroom beside Eddie’s bed. Steve wants to explore every inch of this place and soak up all the little details, learn something about Eddie like what kind of cereal he likes, or what’s written in those journals. 

Steve thought after their heated makeout in the hallway, Eddie would drag him straight to bed, but he stops about halfway there, kicking off his shoes towards the dresser and turns to Steve. “You want some tea?” 

It’s about the last thing he expects to come out of his mouth, so he stares at him probably longer than is necessary to answer, but Eddie doesn’t seem to mind, just watches Steve with those big expectant eyes. “Tea sounds great.” 

“Make yourself at home, I’ll just-” he moves towards the kitchen, not finishing his thought, just nodding and skittering away.

Steve takes off his own shoes, placing them at the end of the couch before he settles down into the worn brown leather. Eddie holds up packets of jasmine and chamomile tea, Steve points to the chamomile. 

He watches Eddie work, the strong line of his shoulders and how the muscles twist when he looks through a cabinet for some mugs. The dim lighting of the bar didn’t do Eddie justice. He’s not as broad as Steve, but there’s a soft muscular tone to his shoulders that speaks to a hidden strength. 

Maybe it’s because he hasn’t been with anyone in awhile, but something about the way he gets to watch Eddie move around his own space makes him feel more at ease than he has with anyone he’s slept with recently and they haven’t even made it to the bed, yet. There’s a coldness to those one and done interactions. Bed, bathroom, gone. There’s no buildup, or morning after, or moonlight tea before they crawl into bed together. It makes this situation feel different in a way Steve needed. Confirmation that he made the right decision following Eddie up here. 

As Eddie brings the drinks over, he says, “I heard you earlier.” At Steve’s questioning look he adds, “When you said you didn’t want to sleep with that guy.” He sits on the couch, but backs himself into the corner, facing Steve, propped up against the arm rest, leaving space between them with his socked toes almost touching Steve’s thigh.

“Oh,” Steve stares down at the mug he was offered, cradling it in his lap and watching the wisps of steam evaporate in the air. “He just didn’t care. I’m not looking for a quick fuck, if that’s what you were thinking when you pulled me up here.” 

Eddie takes a sip of his tea and stares at Steve over the rim of the mug, that same unnerving look that feels like it’s digging underneath his carefully constructed layers of defense. “We don’t have to do anything until we’re both ready. It’s certainly been a long time for me.”

“No one’s ever made me tea before,” Steve says quietly, not looking at Eddie. “People look at me and see one thing. Ever since high school, when I was just a dumb jock, people just wanted another notch on their belt. None of them really wanted me. It got old after a while. I’m not looking for that anymore. Haven’t really been looking for anything at all.” 

He finally chances a glance at Eddie, who’s kind eyes unmoor him. “I got lonely, though. Robin’s been gone a lot lately and I realized how little I have outside of her. I know I don’t need another person to make me happy but I don’t do well alone. Got it in my head that I should go out and try again.” 

“Well it got you here, to my couch,” Eddie smiles that dimpled, bright smile that lights up the whole room. “That seems like a pretty good start to me.” He pauses to take a sip. “I didn’t want to pressure you into anything after hearing that earlier.”

“You’re not,” Steve reassures him. “You’re different. It feels different with you.” 

“Is my tea that good?” 

Steve laughs, throwing his head back on the sofa, turning to look at Eddie with a wide grin. “It’s actually kind of shit, but it’s the thought that counts.” 

“Oh, so it was my awkward dancing then that reeled you in?” 

“Those bony hips really know how to tease a man.” 

Eddie’s flushed red again, hiding a bit behind his mug with mirth dancing in his eyes. “I could think of some better things to do with our mouths, if you’re ready.” 

Steve sets his mug down on the coffee table, then takes Eddie’s mug, too. Without breaking eye contact, he swings a leg over Eddie’s thighs and sits back on his heels, jeans tugging on his knees, but he doesn’t care. As long as Eddie keeps looking at him like this, with wide eyed reverence and a slack jaw, his jeans can cut off his circulation and he wouldn’t even notice. 

AO3 | Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 6 | Part 7