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spicycreativity · 3 years

Text

Post-PoF + Moceit + gnomes

Wordcount: 4k

Content Warnings: N/A

In which Patton solves the mystery of the gnome-distriburing secret admirer

Notes: Lmao I've given up on writing Patton's POV at close narrative distance. He's too ditzy I can't do it!!! So enjoy your slightly greater narrative distance 🤪 This fic did NOT want to be written but I persevered and it's actually pretty cute (if I may say so myself 😌). Also all the sides have ADHD but Patton has Super Hyperactive ADHD

In Which Patton Makes a Friend

At times like this, Patton just had to take a deep breath and remind himself that at least things weren't as bad as they used to be. Even as he white-knuckled the handle of his second-favorite mug, swallowing back the bitter aftertaste of chocolate and discomfort as he watched Logan sink out in a sort of tight-lipped rage, well. At least things weren't as bad as they used to be.

Roman and Virgil were already glaring daggers at Janus, who shifted so he could rest his jaw against his fingertips.

"Nice one," Virgil said finally.

"He didn't mean that," Patton said, looking first at Virgil and Roman, then at Janus.

"I did," said Janus, "he was being rude."

"Like you're never rude," Virgil shot back.

L'appel du vide was a siren song in Patton's ears. He tore his gaze away from Janus and stared instead at the coffee table, where Logan's empty mug now sat. "Maybe," he started weakly, "...they were both wrong?"

The silence that met him was chilly, unimpressed.

"Patton—" A rustle of fabric, then a gusty sigh. Roman's voice was gentler when it came again: "That can't be the answer to everything."

"I'll go," Janus said. Patton jerked his head up. Janus wore an expression of practiced nonchalance, but the set to his jaw told another story. "You can tell Logan that the big bad snake is gone." He transitioned seamlessly into a mocking pout, refusing to meet Patton's eyes. "Tell him I'm so sorry for hurting his feelings." And he was gone.

There was a split second of silence before Roman's frustration exploded outward at Patton. "How can you expect us to get along with him when he's— He's so—"

Patton didn't answer. What was he supposed to say? 'I'm sorry' would have been a lie. He wasn't sorry, not for befriending Janus, not for trying to help everyone get along.

"Let's just go," Virgil said.

And they both sank out, leaving Patton alone with the bitter taste in his mouth and four abandoned mugs where his friends had been.

He stared at them for a moment. Then he stood. The mugs were empty enough that he didn't have to worry about their contents splashing over the side if he was careful. He picked them up one by one: Virgil and Roman's vanilla hot chocolates, Logan's black coffee, Janus' improvised mocha (half hot chocolate, half coffee, and a little bit of Roman's vanilla syrup that he'd snuck in when Roman wasn't looking). Patton smiled at the memory on his way into the kitchen. It was pure chance that he'd caught Janus at all, having turned around to ask if he wanted mini marshmallows. Janus had winked and pressed a finger to his lips, and the resultant wave of electricity had made Patton's toes tingle.

But that was over now. Patton held the memory close as he poured out the mugs in the sink one by one. He rinsed them and then turned away, suddenly nauseated by the mingled smells of chocolate, coffee, and lemon dish soap. He didn't have to wash them, could just imagine them clean and be done with it. But there was virtue in working with your hands. He stood there, caught up in guilt, studying the far counter—

Hold on.

On the spice rack, nestled between the cinnamon and the cumin, was a little ceramic gnome figurine.

Forgetting his woes entirely, Patton stepped over and picked it up. The cool porcelain figure fit neatly in his palm and he held it for a moment, grounding himself with the sensation of rounded edges digging into his skin. Then he adjusted his grip on it to properly examine it, though there really wasn't much to examine. It was a gnome. Pale skin, rosy cheeks, red peaked cap, purple tunic. And of course, a bushy white beard. This gnome was wearing mismatched oven mitts and smiling down at a tray of cookies balanced on his palms.

Patton smiled as well, tucked it in his pocket, and turned around to wash the dishes.

In Which Patton Conducts Some Interviews

"No," said Logan, looking gratifyingly perplexed. These days, he was usually scowling so any expression, neutral or otherwise, made Patton's heart sing. "It's not mine." He handed the gnome back to Patton.

"I kinda figured," Patton said. Then he smiled. "Get it? Or should I say 'figurined'?"

Logan shut his eyes. "'Figurined' is not a word, Patton."

"I know, Logan." Patton softened at once, regret burning in his veins. "I was just making a joke. The gnome wasn't a joke, though."

"Oh," said Logan, and the clouds seemed to disperse from his face. "Where did you find it?"

"It was in the kitchen," said Patton. "On the spice rack."

"Do you know who was in the kitchen before you?"

"Everyone," said Patton. "Well, except…" He hesitated despite himself. "Except Remus."

"Then you're on the right track," Logan said. "I suggest you ask Roman next. He seems like the type to waste his time with—" Logan cut himself off and frowned, his eyes flicking first to the gnome still in Patton's hand, then to Patton's face. "I suggest you ask Roman."

As much as Patton ached to ask Logan what was wrong, why he had shut himself down like that, he knew now when a conversation was over. It wasn't his place to push. So he nodded. "Thanks, Logan."

"Of course." Logan shut his door and Patton turned to leave.

He paused and looked at the smiling little gnome. "I don't think you're a waste of time," he said. Then he set off to find Roman.

These days, Roman and Virgil were a two-for-one deal more often than not. Even if they weren't talking or sharing an activity, they could usually be found in the same space. Patton still had it in him to be happy about that, that they could hang out now without constant bickering.

See, he would tell himself, ignoring the circumstance of their newfound allyship, at least it's not as bad as it used to be.

Today, he found them occupying a new room, styled after the media rooms of the early internet age. They lounged on beanbag chairs with their legs stretched out toward each other at odd angles, like they wanted to close the gap but were too scared to take the plunge. It was an uncomfortably familiar sight. Sometimes sitting next to Janus on the couch felt like staring at him from the opposite side of the Grand Canyon, like it couldn't be that easy to just reach out and take his hand.

A hot wave of shame brought Patton back to reality. Fearing that Virgil and Roman might still be angry with him, he wielded the gnome as a sort of statement of intent, a tiny ceramic guardian. "Hey, kiddos!" he said in his best gnome voice.

"Hang on, Pops," Roman mumbled, not tearing his eyes away from the retro flat-screen TV. "Can't save in the middle of a battle."

"Pokeymans, huh?"

"Dude," said Virgil, "you can't just keep spamming Earthquake."

"Watch me," said Roman, pressing a button on his controller with a flourish.

"I'm using Charizard!"

Roman and Virgil continued to bicker against the clicking of their controllers and the noises from the TV. Patton pinned the corners of his cheeks up despite the way it ached, and searched for happiness. Instead he found the three-inch gap between Virgil's ankle and Roman's toes. Did it ache for them, too? Did they feel every centimeter of that distance like a knife in the chest?

Probably not. That was probably another one of those Patton Things, like dad jokes and cumin on everything.

"Okay, Dad-erpie," Roman said after a long moment. "What's up?"

Patton blinked, leaving Virgil to finally tear his eyes away from the TV and explain, "Like Caterpie. A Pokémon."

"Oh," said Patton, clawing his way back to his presence of mind. He held up the gnome again. "'Patton found me in the kitchen and now he's trying to figure out who I belong to. Do ya recognize me?'"

"Not mine," Virgil said.

"Not mine, either," Roman said, barely sparing it a glance. "I don't do gnomes. Usually. Maybe I should."

"Anyway," said Virgil with a pointed eyebrow raise at Patton. Whatever he meant to say with that look, he couldn't seem to hold it long enough to make Patton understand. He looked at the gnome again. "You sure it's not yours?"

"Maybe," Roman interrupted, "it was a gift from the subconscious. Thomas and I did have a dream about Santa Claus last night."

"I don't know if Santa counts as a gnome," Patton said thoughtfully. "Isn't he supposed to be an elf?"

"Elf, gnome." Roman shrugged and fiddled with the joystick on his controller.

These days, Patton could take a hint. How many brush-offs had he missed before? How much resentment had built from his inability to leave when the time had come? He swallowed down the sadness and hiked up the corners of his cheeks, which had slipped since his last manic attempt at a smile. "Well, thanks, guys. I'm gonna go ask—" There was only one person left. "Someone else."

It wasn't Remus. Patton had already decided that, and he decided it again, harder, as he set off to look for Janus. Although, what Janus would want with a ceramic gnome, Patton had no idea. But there was no one left, because it simply wasn't Remus. So it had to be Janus.

By now, Patton knew Janus' favorite haunts. Or rather, lack thereof. Janus spent a lot of time in his room with the door closed, although recently he had slipped Patton a hint that he didn't mind visitors, so long as they knocked softly.

Patton didn't typically pay much attention to the amount of noise he made, but he tried not to use too much force when he tapped his knuckles against the bright and glossy golden stain of Janus' door.

After a moment, it swung open with an eerie creak and Janus' voice resonated from within: "Enter."

Patton inhaled and pushed the door open, but the scene that greeted him was perfectly innocuous: Janus had himself arranged artfully in an armchair, thick book open in his lap. "Whatcha reading?" Patton asked, squinting. For all the world, it looked as though Janus' book contained no words nor pictures to be seen.

"Nothing," said Janus hurriedly, shutting the book with a heavy thump. "What brings you to my hive of depravity?"

Patton felt the joke as it whizzed over his head, reflexes drawing the compliment out of his mouth: "Don't say that! Your room is lovely!"

Janus made an odd face, his lips twitching. Half a face, trying not to smile. "Thank you; you're a dear."

"I always thought of myself as more of a Papa Bear," Patton said.

"Good one," said Janus, and winked. "If you're going to stay, why don't you sit down?"

"Oh!" said Patton, remembering himself. It was easy to get lost in Janus, uncomfortably intoxicated by the newness and the unexpected loveliness of him. Patton pulled the gnome out of his pocket and held it up so Janus could see. "Yours?"

"Is this a joke?" Janus' irises found Patton's, and the befuddlement on his face was surprisingly polite, all things considered. "Yes, I've been looking everywhere for that."

"It's really not yours?"

"Look me in the eyes and ask me that again."

"Aw, Janus, you don't have to get offended. I think he's cute!"

"That's sort of my point." Janus straightened up in the chair. "What would I want with something so kitschy? Eh, no offense. Really."

"He's cute!" Patton insisted, pocketing the gnome once more. "He's really not yours? Nobody else claimed him."

"Well," said Janus, grinning asymmetrically, "you know what they say. Finders, keepers."

In Which Patton Loses at Chess, but Wins Anyway

Patton sighed and stretched, little stabs of pain jolting through his shoulder blades as a few joints cracked. No one seemed to notice, Virgil blasting music through his headphones, Roman having snuck away, and Janus and Logan talking animatedly about chess strategy. It had been worth it, Patton decided, having to sit through round after agonizing round of chess, if it meant that Logan and Janus were finally talking like… Well, like friends. Or at the very least like colleagues.

The chess board was the kind that doubled as a box for the pieces, with a joint and hidden hinges. Patton flipped it over in his lap and began to slide the plastic pieces off the edge of the coffee table. Then, subtle as a wink, something colorful caught his eye. He fished it out of the box, a funny suspicious feeling growing in his mind. And sure enough, sticking out of the pile of cream and black chess pieces, was a ceramic gnome. Patton looked around, but no one was looking at him. No one was laughing with sheepish pride at their little prank. No one had noticed Patton's silent confusion at all.

He studied the gnome. This one wore a green cap and a blue tunic and was perched on a small stump, one hand to his temple as though deep in thought.

"I found another one!" Patton announced, accidentally steamrollering right over Janus' pseudo-impassioned defense of the Elephant Gambit.

"Huh?" said Virgil, taking off his headphones.

"I said" —Janus waved a hand at nothing— "it all comes down to the element of surprise."

"The elephant of surprise," Patton muttered.

"No, not you." Virgil waved his own hand in dismissal and looked expectantly at Patton. "What's with the gnome?"

"I found it with the chess pieces," Patton said.

Logan leaned in, brow creasing behind his glasses. "How is that possible? If it had been there the whole time, we would have noticed it before."

"I dunno!" Patton said blithely.

"Finders keepers," Janus said, sing-song. "Any objections?" Silence. "Wonderful. Congratulations, Patton, on the new pet."

"He needs a name." Patton held up the gnome so everyone could see. "A smart name for a smart little guy."

"Gnome Chomsky," Logan and Janus said in unison.

"It was low-hanging fruit," Janus muttered, crossing his arms. "Logan, was that a pun?"

"As you said" —Logan adjusted his tie, not looking anyone in the face— "it was simply the most obvious choice."

"Chomsky?" Patton asked, forgoing the opportunity to tease Logan. He really did seem to hate it.

"Noam, N-O-A-M, Chomsky is a philosopher, among other things," Logan explained, finally looking up. He seemed poised to go on, even taking a sharp breath, but did not continue speaking.

"Gnome Chomsky it is!" Patton said. "He can live on my dresser with the first gnome."

"What'd you name that one?" Virgil asked.

Patton beamed. "Gnomer Simpson!"

Interlude: In Which Patton Gains a Small Army of Gnomes Over the Course of the Following Events:

1) During an otherwise ill-fated attempt at board game night

2) During movie night, wherein Remus was not invited and Janus did not stick around

3) During a painfully awkward group meeting with Thomas

4) During yet another forced hang-out session that turned into an argument

5) During yet another forced hang-out session that turned into an argument

6) During yet another forced hang-out session that turned into an argument

7) During yet another forced hang-out session that turned into an argument

In Which Logan is a Rubber Duck

Something wasn't adding up. These days, Patton walked the halls with his pockets full of small, ceramic gnomes. They clicked against each other with the movements of his legs but never seemed to break or chip. Little talismans of cheer, they always smiled at him when he pulled them out to examine them. A reminder that someone was looking out for him.

But who?

It wasn't the sort of thing Patton could solve on his own. When he tried to think about it, his thoughts got tangled up like schoolyard jump ropes and he would inevitably trip and land in another topic entirely. Logan could probably figure it out. If he wasn't too busy.

So Patton went to Logan.

As it turned out, Logan was not too busy and in fact seemed quite content to sit back and listen to Patton explain his problem.

"Let's talk it through," he said once Patton was done. "If you have confidently ruled out the subconscious—"

"Which I have, because usually I can figure out why something happened or I do it on purpose." Logan pushed up his glasses and raised his eyebrows. "Sorry!" Patton covered his mouth briefly, a nonverbal apology for interrupting. "I just wanted to get the thought out."

Logan was silent for half a moment longer, giving no indication either way if he was upset. "If you feel you can confidently rule that out, then the next most plausible explanation is that someone has been hiding the gnome figurines, presumably for you to find."

Here, Logan paused, so Patton jumped in without remorse. "But I asked everyone and they all said no! Except, ah— Except, Remus. I didn't ask him." Dizzying dread rang through Patton's skull. "Oh. You don't think…?" He looked at Logan with wide, beseeching eyes.

"I see three explanations," Logan said, calm as ever. "One: You're mistaken and you have been subconsciously manifesting the gnome figurines. Two: Remus is responsible for his. Three: Someone else is responsible for this and lied to you when you asked."

Sparks of truth swarmed giddy in Patton's chest, fireflies of hope all blinking and spinning with the force of his breaths. "Lied?" he repeated, thinking of the way Janus had smiled when Patton had shown him the first gnome.

Logan nodded, studying Patton's face. "That makes you… happy?"

The absurdity of it all teased a laugh from Patton's chest. Yes, he was happy about the idea of being lied to, and he didn't quite know why. He was nearly giddy with it. Could it really be Janus? "I, uh." Patton shook his head, bringing himself back into reality before his train of thought could derail. "Thank you, Logan!" Remembering his newfound goal of being more attentive, kinder, he centered himself with a deep breath and looked Logan square in the face. "Really, thank you. I appreciate the help."

Logan adjusted his glasses, his hand lingering in front of his face for far longer than was necessary. "You're quite welcome, Patton. What are you going to do now?"

Patton shrugged. "Nothing, I guess."

In Which Patton Does not do Nothing

Patton was not idle by nature. Quite the opposite, in fact, he found himself brimming with energy whenever he tried to relax. It was half the reason he even bothered imagining up meals to cook and movies to watch and games to play. He needed to do something, needed some outlet for all the boundless love that Thomas was capable of.

And as much as he told himself he was going to let Janus be (if it even was Janus distributing the gnomes), Patton found himself beholden to his impulses. To his credit, the meetup in the kitchen was wholly impromptu— he'd started baking and the smell had caused the others to come filing in one by one. All except for Remus, who would have slotted in nicely, if only Virgil were willing to stand closer to Janus.

Patton swallowed down a strange pang at the realization, almost having to remind himself that he didn't like Remus. Yet the kitchen felt strangely empty without one more body, the spaces between everyone gaping like insurmountable chasms.

As he turned to put the vanilla extract back, Patton's gaze found Janus. He was settled back against the wall by the doorway (always by a doorway, never in a corner) with one hand tucked casually away behind his back. It was too casual, and the more Patton studied the pose, the more it looked like a façade. He caught Janus' eye and looked, in silence, down to Janus' hidden hand, then back to his face.

Whatever he had meant to communicate in those milliseconds fell by the wayside as the oven timer beeped and Patton turned to get the oven mitts. His gallery of observers remained silent, content for the moment to watch him work.

All except Janus, who, when Patton turned around yet again for the cooling rack, was gone.

He came back after the cookies had been eaten, when the shattered remains of Patton's family had scattered back to their corners of the subconscious. He was left once more alone with nothing but a mess to clean up and the dangerous echo chamber of his own thoughts.

That is, until he looked up and found a yellow gloved hand presenting him a small, ceramic gnome.

"Is this yours?" Janus asked, putting on his beloved faux-innocent act. "I found it by the sink."

"You know, Janus," Patton began, affecting a false innocence of his own, "I was talking to Logan earlier, and he mentioned that someone could have been leaving those around the mindscape for me." He didn't like tiptoeing around the point like this, but it was worth it to see the way Janus' shoulders visibly relaxed beneath his capelet, the line of his jaw softening.

"You'd better take it, then. Wouldn't want to put off your secret admirer."

"Oh?" said Patton, startled out of playing coy. He stared at Janus, waiting for the insults and the backtracking.

"Well," said Janus, tensing up again, "one might assume, given the nature of the gifts, that the giver might harbor some admiration for you. Or maybe it was all a trick to see what you would notice. What slips past that steel trap of a mind you have."

"Don't be mean," said Patton, though he was less bothered than he might have been. He harbored no delusions that he was particularly keen of mind.

"My arm is getting tired," Janus said, brandishing the gnome.

Patton took it. "It's really too bad I don't know who's leaving these for me," he said, looking at Janus sideways. "I'd love to tell them how much it means to me and how much these little guys have cheered me up." Seeing Janus falter, he added, "What do you think they would say back?"

"How should I know?" Janus snapped, backing away by degrees. "Probably something unbearably soppy about how your smile lights up the room and they wish you would do it more so they started sneaking you these stupid little figurines in the hopes that bring half as much light into your life as they have into theirs." His eyes were fixed on the microwave, his human cheek a startling shade of scarlet. "Or something stupid like that."

Patton couldn't take it any more. He sprang forward and wrapped his arms around Janus, who stiffened until his muscles began to tremble. "Thank you, Janus," he whispered, despite the small voice in his head screaming that he should let go.

But Janus relaxed after a moment, and his arms crossed behind Patton's back. A loose embrace, but an embrace. His breath was unsteady against Patton's neck, nervous and rapid.

Realizing the trap he had accidentally set, Patton said, "Um, I mean. If you ever find out who's been leaving the gnomes for me, please thank them for me. And tell them I want to talk to them."

Janus' arms tightened around Patton until he was hugging back with as much force as Patton was, until there was no suggestion of empty space between them, no vast, excruciating gap. "I will," he said. And he didn't let go.

#moceit #sanders sides #sanders sides fic #sanders sides fanfiction #patton sanders #janus sanders #post pof #spicywrites

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when-they-write-stuff · 4 years

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Hi! We’ve never talked but I adore your blog and writing 🤗 I would love to see 38 from the prompt post maybe?

38. “Nothing about us is conventional”

- -

Stiles kissed Derek first.

He’d always thought that one day, after the man got his head out of his ass and realized Stiles was downright irresistible, Derek would be the one to initiate things. But then at the beginning of senior year, after a summer of Stiles spending every waking moment at the loft, Derek still hadn’t done anything.

So Stiles kissed him first. He thought he was allowed to do that.

And the thing was, Derek responded.

Stiles liked to believe that one day, he’d break down all of the Sourwolf’s walls. He knew he’d gotten even further this summer than he ever had before, but Derek was a fortress. Just when Stiles thought he’d broken down the man’s last level of grumpy-growly defense, he was faced with a whole other line of barriers.

One day, Stiles thought. One day, he’d get the man to fully trust him. But for now, he thought things were good enough.

Except, he forgot Derek was a hard-headed asshole.

“This,” Derek said, coffee in hand and a brown-haired woman standing at his side, “is Amy.”

Stiles blinked intelligently at her for a moment. Her cheeks were pink and she looked nervous, the barista’s apron wrapped around her waist. Stiles supposed it wasn’t ‘Amy’ who surprised him, but the fact that Derek knew anybody outside of his little loft hidey-hole.

Also, that the man was introducing them. Maybe he was proud of making a new friend?

Derek waited with a raised eyebrow and Stiles blinked out of his thoughts, pushing a half-hearted grin onto his face as he nodded, not quite sure where this was going. Derek confused him sometimes. “Okay.”

Some of Amy’s smile faded. Derek shot him a warning look. “Stiles, this is that friend I was telling you about.”

‘Derek’ and ‘friend’ still took Stiles off guard. He supposed if he thought about it, Derek had mentioned meeting someone at the cafe a few weeks ago. He’d said something about how she was ‘nice’ and ‘funny’. Stiles was pretty sure he’d been complaining about his single woes from Sophomore year, then. He hadn’t really been listening to Derek or himself, to be honest.

Sometimes, Stiles just felt the need to talk.

“Oh,” Stiles said. Then a sudden panicked realization hit him like a truck. “Oh.”

Derek’s forced smile looked more murderous than usual. But before Stiles could make up an excuse to run, Amy was stepping forward, Derek was stepping back, and Stiles was left alone with no coffee and apparently a… a... wait, was Derek wingmanning him?

Stiles’s stomach did something entirely new and he was pretty sure he wasn’t okay with it.

Amy started to say something but Stiles’s mind had gone blank. Three days ago, he and Derek had been making out on the couch and now the man was trying to set him up? Or maybe… maybe… no, the kissing had not been a fever dream. Stiles had gone right home afterward and proceeded to have a panic attack followed by the literal eating of a giant tub of ice cream in celebration.

His dad had been giving him strange looks ever since.

“Stiles?”

Stiles snapped out of his thoughts, looking at Amy with round eyes. She held out a slip of paper with her number on it and he stared for a moment, before plastering another grin on his face and taking the paper from her hands.

“So you’ll pick me up at seven?”

“Seven?”

Amy’s smile flickered. “For dinner at that new Italian place I was just telling you about.”

“Oh,” Stiles said. “Um, oh, yeah. Italian! Love Italian. Yeah, I’ll be there. At seven. Because this is a date?”

Amy was looking a lot less impressed now than she was five minutes ago. Stiles thought that was usually how things went when he talked to girls, wingmanned or not. But she still nodded and then turned away, moving back behind the cafe counter.

Stiles just stood there for another few moments, staring at the slip of paper in his hands as his brain tried to catch up.

Derek had just wingmanned him. Derek Hale has just wingmanned him. Then left. And now Stiles was going on a date. Tonight.

“Oh my god,” Stiles said, shoving the number into his pocket.

That stubborn-headed Alpha bastard.

Stiles showed up at the loft a lot later that night with a suit jacket hanging off one shoulder, a tie half undone, and exhaustion under his eyes that he couldn’t even begin to explain.

Derek sat on the couch and tensed up the moment he spotted him in the doorway. Stiles held his gaze for a long moment before trudging over and dropping down at his side with a sigh. If possible, Derek tensed even more.

“Did you have a… good date?”

“Dude,” Stiles said, glancing over. “I think my wallet is crying.”

Derek’s brows furrowed. Stiles leaned heavily against his side, just wanting to burrow up and maybe sleep for the next day or two.

It wasn’t like anything had gone wrong, exactly. In fact, Stiles would say he’d been the proper gentleman. He’d shown up on time, he’d paid for dinner and dessert. They’d walked around town after and when Amy told him things ‘just weren’t like she’d expected’ Stiles nearly full on agreed. But he was a gentleman. So he’d just nodded, driven her home, and decided he was never letting Derek wingman him again.

Which really shouldn’t be a decision he had to make.

“I just want curly fries and sleep,” Stiles said. “But that restaurant was so expensive, I don’t think I can even afford curly fries right now.”

“So… it didn’t go well?”

Stiles glared at him. “I blame you for this.”

“What.”

“Dude!” Stiles said, drawing back a few inches. “What? What? When you said ‘let’s go get coffee’ this morning, I expected to be walking out with a nice hot mocha, not a date!”

Derek gave him a blank look. “I told you days ago this was happening.”

“Uh, when?”

“When I told you Amy was looking for someone and you said ‘oh yeah, I know that feeling’.”

“Because I do! I have! Not now, but—”

“Then I told you I could try and set something up and you gave me a funny look and said ‘yeah, Sourwolf, you do that’ and proceeded to walk out of the loft.”

Stiles blinked at him. For some reason, those words did sound familiar, but he wouldn’t go around saying something like that unless… “Dude, I was joking! Are you serious right now? I’m like, ninety percent sure we had just finished making out before that conversation!”

Derek stared. Then his face turned bright red, he frowned even harder, and proceeded not to say another word. Stiles shoved himself off the couch, throwing his hands up.

“Oh my god, Derek! Are you serious?”

“What.”

“Stop ‘what-ing’ me! Do you really think I go around kissing people and then letting them set me up with someone else? That’s a douchebag move. That’s a Jackson move!”

The man looked at him with a blank expression. Stiles scoffed and turned away, waving a hand over his shoulder.

“You know what, fine dude, whatever. I’m going to go beg spare change from my own father because I’m in desperate need of curly fries but I can’t even afford any right now. Please, feel free to make up a list of everyone else you think I should attempt dating. Clearly I need it.”

Derek didn’t answer. Stiles gave him one more look over his shoulder but the man just crossed his arms, arching one brow. Stomach twisting, Stiles stalked out of the loft and made sure to slam the door behind him.

He was tired earlier. Now he was downright pissed.

When he made it to his jeep, he didn’t drive for a long moment. Instead, he glared at nothing and tried to keep himself from stalking right back up to the loft. What the hell did Derek think they were? What the hell did he think Stiles had wanted in the first place?

He tried to replay the last few weeks over again in his head. The first time Stiles had kissed him; all nerves and a sudden rush of adrenaline. Then small kisses on the couch, or in the kitchen, or when Stiles came by the loft after school.

And Stiles… Stiles hadn’t known what exactly to call it.

They didn’t mention anything to the pack but Stiles thought that might just take time. And Derek didn’t really acknowledge anything was happening until Stiles was kissing him, but he thought maybe that was just another one of the man’s walls.

Sighing, Stiles dropped his forehead against the steering wheel. Was he the idiot here?

No, he couldn’t be. It was the hard-headed, grumpy growly, big bad Alpha werewolf who was most likely up angsting in the loft and—

A knock on his window startled Stiles out of his thoughts. He squawked, head snapping upward, and his elbow banged on the steering wheel, the alarm almost instantly going off. Derek jumped back and Stiles swore, quickly turning it off.

For a moment, they just stared at each other. Then, groaning, Stiles opened his door and pulled himself back into the night, crossing his arms against the faint chill.

“What, Derek?”

“You weren’t checking me off a list.”

Stiles stared at him for a long moment before finding words. Derek’s face turned bright red and the man dropped his gaze. “What?”

“You weren’t checking me off a list or experimenting with… another gender, or—”

“Dude, what the hell?”

Derek looked up, a ‘caught in headlights’ look in his eyes. Stiles swallowed hard, searching his face.

“That’s what you thought I was doing?”

“You’re a teenager, Stiles, it’s the expected and conventional behavior of—”

“Conventional,” Stiles said, cutting him off.

Derek nodded.

“Oh my god,” Stiles said, rubbing a hand over his face. To be honest, he really should have seen this coming. One of Derek’s biggest walls was ‘I’m not deserving of actual love’ but Stiles had been hoping he’d broken that one down already. Apparently not. “Derek, nothing about us is conventional.”

Derek just looked confused. Stiles sighed and stepped forward, tilting his chin upward.

“You’re a big bad grumpy Alpha werewolf. I’m the token human with a baseball bat who Isaac compares much too often to Little Red Riding Hood. We fight monsters every other week and attempt to live normal lives in between. Also, I’m eighteen now. I’m like, a couple years away from getting grey hairs.”

Derek rolled his eyes at that. Stiles grinned, reaching up to brush the pad of his thumb across the man’s lower lip.

“Also you’re like, really hot. I’ve been wanting you to kiss me since Sophomore year and if we’re being honest, I kissed you first with the hopes that we could keep doing that. For a long time. Like, a really long time. Like, maybe until we actually do have grey hairs and—”

Derek moved forward and cut him off, slightly chapped lips pressing against his own. Stiles startled for only a second before melting into the man’s touch, his hand moving to cup the back of Derek’s neck.

“You,” Derek said around his lips, breaths warm against his skin. “Stiles, I want you too.”

“Good, you big idiot, because I’ve been pining for two years now—”

Derek seemed to notice how effectively he could shut Stiles up by just kissing him. Because the man only growled at the back of his throat and pushed Stiles against the jeep, one hand catching a handful of his hair and tilting his head back a few inches before kissing him harder.

Stiles wasn’t really complaining.

And yeah, he thought Derek was kind of a big idiot. But to be fair, he could be too. And maybe it took two years, one chaotically pining summer, and an accidental wingmanning situation, but Stiles was pretty sure he’d broken down another wall tonight,

There were probably more.

Like, a lot more. Like enough to give him grey hairs even as a teenager more. But Stiles might be a little okay with that. One day, he thought, he’d get the man to fully trust him. One day, he’d break down all of Derek’s walls. But for now, things were good enough.

Derek was always enough.

- -

I had so much fun with this one! Thank you so much for the prompt, you’re so fantastic. And I hope I did it justice!

(if you enjoy my writing, consider supporting your underpaid student writer? You can also request a prompt if you’d like!). https://ko-fi.com/rh27writer

#sterek #teen wolf #prompts #stiles stilinski #derek hale #ficlet #all the fluff humor and angst #1gurgi1

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pilot-boi · 4 years

Text

Shouting In Cafes: Chapter One

Neptune keeps getting dumped and is honestly about to give up on dating all together. He'd much rather focus on his crappy job, and his schoolwork. Anything but dating. The universe, as always, conspires to ruin everyone's plans.

Or: The coffee shop AU that nobody asked for or wanted, but that I wrote anyway.

(In the same universe as Coffee Cup Woes, but before that timeline wise)

Unfortunate Meetings

As far as first impressions went, there was probably some way that this could have gone worse. But you’d be hard pressed to think of one of those ways.

AO3 LINK

Neptune was working his shift more than a little hungover from last night. Plastic cups kept toppling out of his hands and coffee streams began shifting just to the right of the mugs. Thank god for dim aesthetic lighting and the constant smell of coffee beans pumping through his senses.

It had happened again. As soon as Neptune finally got a straight dude to realize how not straight he really was, the dude thanked him for this realization and left. Leaving Neptune with a bottle of wine to mull over alone.

How many times had this happened? Five? More? Numbers were a little fuzzy at the moment. Neptune silently thanked god that he wasn’t working the cash register.

“Excuse me?” a bored voice called, followed by a harsh tapping on his shoulder.

Neptune blinked and jerked his head upright. Oh god, his head. Dull pain pounded against his skull, black spots popped up in his vision. How much did he actually drink last night? This was not at all healthy.

“Huh?” Neptune asked.

“Your turn to work register.” God dammit. He should have known it was too good to last.

“Fine,” he managed after a pause.

“Dude, you’re drunk as hell.”

“Just very hungover.”

“Why are you here?”

“Do I look like I can afford college?”

“I mean, a little. You’ve got some fancy ass hair.”

Neptune groaned out a sigh. “Thank you, I try.”

“Good luck.”

His coworker clapped him on the back and the spotty vision returned. This was going to be an extremely long shift.

After a moment, Neptune registered a blurred moving object passing in front of his face. A second later, there was a snap by his ear that his headache did not appreciate, and then someone said. “Hello? Dude, can you take our order?”

More blinking. More time to register. There was a lot of blue, but maybe it was a face.

“Welcome to the Daily Grind. What can I get for you today?”

“Um, buddy, my eyes are up here.”

Neptune was a tall guy. Like, annoyingly tall. Sometimes he hit his head on door frames tall. But Neptune actually had to tilt his head up to look this guy square in the eye. Guy was a basketball player. He had to be. What else could he be doing with all that height.

In a moment of horror, Neptune realized he had been talking directly into this customer’s chest.

“You’ve got quite a pair of pecs,” Neptune heard himself say. The hangover was doing bad stuff to his brain. For some reason he was combing his well refined casanova talk with his already terrible mocking talk, and it was turning out awful. The embarrassment didn’t register.

As soon as the words left his mouth, the guy’s face registered. Very high cheekbones, very spiky hair, and a very surprised expression on his face.

“What?” the customer asked, eyebrows trying to escape into his hairline.

There was a light giggle beside the customer and Neptune felt his eyes drag a foot and a half down to where a pretty brunette was covering her mouth and giggling. Neptune tried to push away the judgement. It wasn’t like he was any better after all. And he had practically just catcalled this paying customer’s chest. Oh god, what was he doing?

“Oh Lord. Sorry, sir. I’m a little out of it,” Neptune admitted. It kind of felt like the entire coffee shop was suspended in honey and his mind was trying to keep him afloat.

A hearty laugh burst from the customer’s mouth. Hearty? Was hearty the right word? It started a ship captain’s bellow and dissolved into woodland pixie giggling by the end. “I can tell. Who says that? Kind of ridiculous thing to say right off the bat.”

Well. Even though Neptune was in the wrong, he still had pride in himself.

“I’m guessing a black coffee and a unicorn frappuccino? I’m not sure whose is whose though,” Neptune commented, shooting a sideways glance at the pair of them.

The customer prickled. His date laughed again.

“Hey, dude, what the fuck?” the guy said. He said “fuck” loud enough for some heads to turn. “I’m on a date right now.”

“I see that, and honestly, she seems to be enjoying the company of a horribly hungover guy more than a douche in a wifebeater.” Neptune should probably stop. The leftover alcohol was making his tongue and his brain disconnect.

The girl laughed again. It felt good that he could seduce someone through a pounding headache, but also awful because it was her date she was laughing at.

Her date was a douche, though. It was a moral grey area.

The customer pointed at Neptune. Pointed at him! This was a coffee shop! The fury in his eyes said murder, the finger said the time was now. His nails said he hadn’t ever seen a nail clipper other than his own teeth.

After an intense stare down, the finger was lowered, and the customer spat out a “Grande white mocha and a plain cappuccino.”

“What’s the name?”

“Sun.”

Neptune smiled. “Just a few minutes until that’s ready, Sun.”

His smile was returned with a glare and snarl. Again, this was a coffee shop. Not a wrestling match. Neptune wouldn’t be surprised if he was called out onto the street to throw down after the order was made.

He could feel himself punch in a few numbers while making deliberate eye contact with the guy, Sun. As soon as his receipt printed out, Sun reached across the counter and snatched it out of Neptune’s printer before moving down the line to wait at pick up, staring and squinting all the while.

As soon as they were out of each other’s sight, Neptune caught somebody else’s glance: Sun’s date. She wore a tiny smile on her face as she slid by, pupils following Neptune until they couldn’t. She was cute, though not really Neptune’s type.

“What just happened there?” Neptune’s coworker, Jaune, appeared beside him. It would’ve made him jump had his brain not been moving so slow.

“Asshat in flip flops talked back to me.”

“He’s a paying customer, Neptune!”

“And an asshat, Jaune!” Neptune slumped onto the counter. Lucky for him the coffee shop was so tiny and crummy. It was always slow, giving him some well-earned time between customers to mull over his life choices. “He pointed at me!”

“Pointed at you?”

“With his finger! Right in my face! Who does that?!”

“Who started the argument?”

“It was…” Neptune thought for a moment. “Technically me. But he said ‘my eyes are up here’ when I was staring at his chest.”

“Why were you staring at his chest.”

“I’m very hungover.”

“Why are you hungover.”

“I got dumped last night.”

Jaune paused, sighed, and opened his arms for a hug. Neptune raised an eyebrow. He did not hug. He did not show the urge to display physical affection.

“Neptune, give me a hug.”

“No.”

“Neptune.”

“I don’t want a hug.”

“You got dumped. You’re hungover. You need a hug.”

Neptune gave into the hug. Jaune was a very soft person, emotionally if not physically. So even though their similar heights made it awkward, all his hugs were very comforting. The perks of having like a million siblings. And Neptune kind of needed it, though he would never admit it.

The wine had been swung back between fits of crying, but the more wine he drank the more he would cry and by the time the sun started to peek through his curtains, there was a bottle gone and Neptune had to deal with the fact that he’d been practically inhaling a bottle as he fell asleep.

He didn’t even like the guy that much. But five times is a few times too many to get denied just when you realize you like someone. It hurt. And the hurt had been building up for a while.

“I just can’t keep a guy,” Neptune said into Jaune’s shoulder. His curling blonde hair smelled like dish soap.

“Maybe you have bad taste in guys?” he asked.

“I do not have bad taste in guys.”

“You obviously do if they keep dumping you!”

“Hug over.” Neptune tried to pull away but Jaune resisted. That oversized sweatshirt hid the strength of a mammoth.

“Hug not over. Stop bottling everything inside! It’s annoying.”

“I can’t not bottle, Jaune! I’m not a feelings guy!”

“You could be if you tried!”

“Let go!”

“Ahem.”

There was a customer waiting.

“Shit,” Neptune said. Jaune finally released his grip and pushed Neptune out of the way and into the syrups.

“Sorry about that, ma’am! What will you be having today?” Jaune said in his brightest customer service voice. He caught his eye for a second, giving him a look that said, ‘You’re really out of it. I’ll take care of the cash register. Go do something useful.’

Neptune silently thanked god for Jaune Arc.

Only two more customers came in during the thirty minutes Neptune was on syrup duty, leaving Jaune and Neptune to make idle chatter. The whole time, Neptune kept glancing back to the dude from before. Sun. He kept laughing with his date, pounding on the table and overall being very loud.

Everything about him was loud. His sandals, his shorts, his shirt, his hair spikes that defied gravity and Neptune could verify just how weird they were because he saw them with his own two eyes. Why the hell would this dickhead dudebro come into a tiny local coffee shop with crummy staff and crappy food? On a date?

Sun’s date would still softly giggle when it looked like Sun had cracked a joke, but Neptune caught her writing something on her straw wrapper when Sun turned around.

And then they were leaving.

No fight, no duel, no screaming match. They were just leaving. The only suggestion of bad blood was the glare Sun shot Neptune as he opened the door for his date. Other than that, nothing.

Nothing except Sun’s date passing something to Neptune without looking as they passed by the bar.

Neptune unfurled the crumpled straw wrapper in his hands and stared at the telephone number written there.

“What’s that?” Jaune asked, leaning on a broom.

“A number.”

“Oooo. Is he cute?”

“She. And I guess.”

“You gonna call her?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Why not?”

“She was the date of that douchebag.”

“Oh, wow.” A pause. “Oh wow! I guess the date didn’t go well, then?”

“Who could've guessed?”

“And you’re not gonna call her.”

“Why would I?”

Jaune smiled. “I’m proud of you, Neptune! And here I thought you were gonna call her in an act of revenge against the shorts and sandals guy you initiated the fight with! I guess people can-”

“I’m gonna call her.”

“There it is.”

#rwby #neptune vasilias #sun wukong #jaune arc #seamonkeys #mine #my writing #shouting in cafes #chapter 1 #writing wednesday

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rmg91 · 5 years

Text

The Woes and Antics of Living Together-9

I did not want to write the first scene in this chapter for various reasons (mostly I still haven't figured out how to write Creek) but I felt it was a necessary part to include. I also had such trouble writing the middle part (aka a scene I've been dying to write, heehee) because I just couldn't find the right words for it. Anyway, I'm still pretty happy with the final product and I hope you enjoy it.

Previous Chapter/Next Chapter; AO3/FF.net

@writerofberk Kind of a short chapter but I think (and hope) you’ll like it all the same c: Poppy has a moment.

~*~*~*~*~*~

The afternoon was a bright, if somewhat cloudy, blue with a cool breeze rustling trees and bushes alike, a far cry from the gloomy morning it had been. Poppy skipped merrily beside Creek as they walked down the sidewalk past stores and boutiques, a bag of fresh craft supplies hanging from her hand. She felt she couldn't be happier at the moment after the lovely few hours they'd spent together. Poppy wouldn't call it a date-date, Creek still hadn't officially asked her out yet, but she had enjoyed the nice lunch they'd shared and time spent walking around town, exploring different shops and visiting a few favorites.

Right now they were heading toward the cute little cafe a few blocks from her apartment building for some coffee and a treat before he walked her home. Poppy couldn't help the giggle that escaped, Creek was always such a gentleman. He always walked her home or made sure she had a trustworthy ride if he couldn't and always asked for her to text him when she made it home. He even held out doors and chairs for her like some prince~! She was positive he'd be the absolutely perfect boyfriend, he practically was already, whenever he asked her to go steady.

“What are you giggling about?” The Guru asked, a kind smile on his face.

“Oh, nothing~ Just how much of a gentleman you are.”

Creek gave her a small grin, “It's not hard when you're accompanying the prettiest girl in the world.”

Poppy giggled again and gently nudged him in the arm, he could be such a flirt, “Stop it~”

“I shall not.” He gently nudged her back before stepping in front of her as they reached the cafe and opening the door, “After you, Princess.”

“Oh, thank you, kind sir!” More giggles escaped her as she entered, Creek joining her at her side.

Once inside, Creek gently shooed Poppy to go sit at a table while he ordered their treats. Bouncing off with a smile and blown kiss, the pinkette found a cozy seat by the window looking out over the street. She happily watched people walk up and down the street before turning her gaze to watch her not-yet boyfriend. He was so handsome. Tall, light-tanned skin and lovely dark blue eyes that helped give him the calm aura he always had around him. His long, ombre hair was kept in a low ponytail and always so soft. Poppy was sure he must have some magical shampoo he used even if he always claimed he didn't.

Along with the great looks, he had also had an amazing personality. Poised and calm, Creek always let bad things roll off his back, no matter how horrible they could be. He was kind and gentle, funny and always has advice for her and their friends when they needed it! He also knew when to cut back and have a little fun when stress was high. And he was a great dancer and singer! He really was almost too perfect.

Poppy sighed dreamily as she watched him, imaging just how great things would be when he decided he was ready to date her. Their friends wholeheartedly supported them already and were brainstorming up ship names for them. He was also a big hit with all her followers and subscribers, who always commented on how much a cute couple they made. Poppy squealed happily to herself, excited for all the romantic prospects the future held.

“And what are you squealing about?” Creek's voice cut through her daydreams as he sat a large Double Chocolate Mocha in front of her alongside a yummy looking muffin.

“Oh!” She grinned up at him, “Nothing~”

“Nothing, eh? Well it must have been quite intriguing if it distracted you.”

Poppy gave him a little half smile, “Well, I thought it was. It was tall and handsome.” She took a sip of her drink, “Thank you.”

“Of course, Sweet.” He grinned, “And just tall and handsome? Not dark?”

She laughed, “Of course not! There's nothing dark about you. Just light and...calmness!”

Creek chuckled indulgently at her, “Calmness, it's what I strive for.”

They spent almost the rest of the afternoon there, chatting and flirting. Poppy even posted a few cute pictures of the two of them on Instagram before they decided to leave to show what a good time they had. They strolled leisurely in the direction of her home, Creek reaching out to hold her hand which had Poppy beaming at him. She was just contemplating about maybe leaning her head against his shoulder, which would have been more romantic had they been in the park, when his phone buzzed with a text message.

“Hmm...” He hummed as he read it.

“What is it?” Poppy asked, hoping it wasn't anything serious.

Creek gave her am easy smile that helped calm her worry, “Nothing serious, Love. I've simply been asked to come help with a new student at my work. They're having a bit of trouble emptying their mind for meditation. My boss feels I'm the most suited to help.” He frowned at her then, “Though I'm afraid that means I must leave you now.”

She grinned at him, “That's alright! We're not that far from my apartment and it's still daylight. I'll be fine!” She playfully waved her hands at him, “Shoo, shoo. Go help that person find inner peace!”

He chuckled at her, “Very well. Do text when you get there though, alright?” He lifted her hand up and kissed the back of it, “Take care, Sweet.”

“I will~” She giggled before watching him hurry off in the opposite direction. He was so cute when he worried about her.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Poppy sang merrily to herself as she finally arrived home. She had spent another hour or so wandering her way though some other shops on her way home after Creek left, happily talking to anyone she met. She couldn't help the little twirl in front of her door as she thought about Creek again. Today had been an absolutely fantastic day and she was so ready to be his girlfriend, if only he'd ask her.

Hopping inside the apartment, the pinkette tossed her purse and scrapbook stuff onto the table before peaking inside the fridge. Hoping to see something yummy marinating, she was surprised to find nothing new and frowned. Branch had said he had been planning on making tacos tonight but it would seem that wasn't the case and that had Poppy wondering why. That was when she keyed into the shower running and realized perhaps that her roommate may have gotten home shortly before she had and hadn't had time to prep anything. Shrugging, she closed the fridge before flopping to the couch, she'd ask him about dinner when he was done.

Playing on her phone, Poppy easily lost track of time and when her stomach growled it was almost thirty minutes later. She lifted her head to stare down toward the hallway and wondered just how Branch could take such long showers when the water turned off. Figuring it was a good time to bug him about dinner, she scurried over to the bathroom door. Snickering to herself as her knocking would most likely scare him, Poppy raised her fist.

“Hey, Branch~!” She knocked out a little tune, “Come out, come out, come out!”

“What?!” He cried, opening the door, “Can't I have two minutes of peace?!”

And suddenly Poppy forgot what she wanted to say as her roommate was standing before her in nothing but a towel.

Staring at the sight before her, the young woman couldn't help but let her eyes roam. Damp, tawny skin stretched over a strong chin and wide neck that led down to broad shoulders and surprisingly toned muscles, everywhere. Poppy couldn't help but to wonder just when did all this happen and why hadn't she noticed before as she watched a drop of water slowly drip down his chest. She caught sight of the faded scar from where he fell on a sharp rock as a kid on the right side of his torso before watching his stomach muscles ripple as he breathed. Mesmerized by another droplet of water, the pinkette let her eyes fall farther downward and wondered just what his hips looked like under that towel.

Branch was surprised at himself for answering the door before throwing something to wear on but ignored the sudden self-consciousness for glaring at Poppy, “Poppy! What did you want?!”

“Huh?!” Amber eyes blinked back into focus and Poppy felt herself blush as she faced Branch's icy-blue glare, “Oh, uh....” Right, she had wanted something.... “Dinner!” She practically screeched, “Just wondering what's for dinner! Yup! Uh-huh!”

Branch groaned and threw his head back, “I don't know! Leftovers! Is that all?”

She nodded rapidly, “Yup! Okay! Great! See ya later!” She then practically fled to the living room.

Poppy fell heavily onto the couch and stared blankly at the TV as she processed what she had just discovered. Holy freaking cupcakes! Branch was hot!!! Really, really hot! And she wasn't sure how to feel about that. Sure, she had checked her friends out once or twice but those times had never...meant anything! She hadn't wanted to reach out and touch them. And she certainly hadn't wanted to trail her hands down that little path of dark hair and find where it ended or hold onto strong looking shoulders while she was held against the wall and-No! No, no, no, no!!!Bad Poppy!!! She liked Creek! Creek was charming and cute and a gentleman and liked her hugs and didn't yell at her for singing too loud or leaving glitter on the table. She was attracted to Creek and wanted to date Creek. She most certainly did not want to have those thoughts about her roommate who was her best friend.

Shaking her head to rid herself of those silly and inappropriate thoughts, Poppy made a vow to herself not think about Branch like that anymore. He was very slowly learning to trust her again and she didn't want to lose that over having the sudden thoughts of how attractive he was that had entered her mind. Plus it was probably just a momentary lapse, Poppy assured herself, she was mostly in shock over realizing her best friend had grown up. It didn't mean anything.

Meanwhile Branch stood in the bathroom doorway, staring confusedly after Poppy after she fled. That had been weird even for her and he wondered just what had happened to cause that reaction. Because, after all, he must have imagined her checking him out and blushing as there was no way she would find him attractive. She had only gaped at him out of surprise. Sighing, he retreated back into the room to get dressed and to try and forget about Poppy's reaction to seeing him almost naked.

~*~*~*~*~*~

It was later that night when Poppy quietly knocked on Branch's door. After convincing herself that it wasn't a big deal that she suddenly discovered her best friend and roommate was attractive, she had felt bad for essentially disturbing his privacy. She completely blamed her hunger for her lack of patience. Now she felt she should apologize to him, least things get awkward between them.

“Hey...” She greeted, opening his door and peaking inside.

Branch glanced up from writing in his notebook, “...Hey.”

“I just...” Poppy fidgeted in the doorway and Branch had to try very hard not to find it adorable, “I wanted to say sorry.”

He looked at her confusedly, “What for?” Probably for finding him repulsive but as this was Poppy, Miss I-Never-Say-Anything-Mean, he doubted she would actually admit it.

“Well...for not waiting for you to come out of the bathroom.” She shrugged her shoulders, “I could've waited till you at least opened the door to ask about dinner. I'm use to just going in from sharing with my previous roommates and the girls, you know?”

“...Right.” He turned back to stare at his writing, “It's not a big deal.”

“But-”

“It's fine, Poppy.” And really it was, he knew she hadn't meant to react the way she had. Poppy tried so hard to make sure everyone was happy and if that meant apologizing for something trivial she thought upset him, she would do it.

“Alright...” She was convinced he didn't believe her as she turned around to leave so she turned back and rushed over to his bed to give him a huge hug.

“Ack! Poppy! Get off!” He shouted.

“You're my best friend, Branch. I hope you know that and don't leave because of this.” She said into his hair.

He groaned and rolled his eyes, “I'm not gonna leave just because you saw me a towel, geez.” He had thought about it, started making a plan for it even, but he just couldn't bring himself to actually implement it. He was too attached to this crazy woman to do that.

She giggled, “Alright. And hey!” She pulled back, signature grin back in place, “That means we hit half of a roommate checkpoint! 'Seeing each other in a towel', You just have to catch me in one and it'll be even!”

Branch blushed at the thought because he so totally did not want to see Poppy wrapped in nothing but a towel. He didn't think he'd be able to handle the reality of it vs his imagination of the event. He pushed her off, “No thank you! Get out! Go to bed!”

Giggling, she pushed herself to her feet, “Fine, fine. I'll take it easy on you tonight, Bud.” She flounced back to his doorway, “Night, Bestie~!” And then she was out the door.

Branch sighed and sank into his pillows. Bestie, Best Friend, friends, right. That was all he would ever be to her. Glancing at his poetry, he growled at the flowery words before shutting it and tossing it to the foot of his bed. What was the point of writing any of that when she would never see it and never know his true feelings for her?

Punching his pillow in sudden aggravation, Branch turned over and tried to ignore the ache in his heart. He knew he was in for another sleepless night as he stared at the wall and found all he could think about was the beautiful, pink haired woman in the next room and how she would only ever see him as a friend and never as something else. That would never, ever happen. No, that's what perfect, nice, good looking Creek was for.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Oops, this got a little angsty for Branch at the end.

And Poppy 'Just a friend' Meadows, you are in hard denial. You just haven't realized your actual feelings yet. Also wow you went from 0 to DTF in like 2 seconds there XD

More to come!

#Dreamworks Trolls #Branch #Poppy #Broppy #Fanfiction #Human AU #Modern AU #Roommate AU #dreamworkstrolls #Heeheehee

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hulaherron · 6 years

Text

Starbucks (J.M)

Your daily coffee run to visit a certain someone sends you on an unexpected hunt with a pleasant surprise.

Words: 1,926

The perfect start to all of your mornings was coffee. Specifically, coffee from the Starbucks with the extra cute barista that just happened to work the morning shifts. He was your daily motivation to roll out of bed at the first alarm, style your hair and do your makeup, and put on an extra cute outfit. Having followed that nearly perfect routine this morning, you strutted into the crowded coffee shop as confidently as you could, hoping to catch his eye. Unfortunately, he was too wrapped up in serving a frail old lady who couldn’t figure out what to order. You sighed and joined the long line of grumpy work goers. You fiddled with your clothes-unbuttoning and re-buttoning your blouse, tugging on your skirt, rearranging your rings- attempting to pass time quicker. It seemed to have worked, as you were at the front of the line in no time. You walked up to the register with a flirty smile, eyeing him up.

“Hey Ethan,” you greeted him, “may I have a venti white chocolate mocha, please?” The attractive boy grinned and nodded, punching in your order.

“Sure thing, Y/N, right?” He remembered, casting you a playful wink as he scribbled your name and another message onto your paper cup. You giggled and nodded, pulling out your phone to show your Starbucks app. You scanned it quickly and passed through the line, Ethan’s eyes glued to you. You joined the cluster of people waiting, watching Ethan’s every move. You monitored how he smiled, how he laughed at customers, how gently he passed back change. You were almost positive that you were in love with him. You were snapped out of your daydream by a different barista rattling off names, yours included. She slid all the drinks onto the counter, the irritated group pushing you forward. You saw the corner of your name on one of the tall coffee cups, so you quickly grabbed it and made your way back outside.

You sighed and took a sip of your favorite drink, only to find that it was bitter and strong. You nearly spit out the scalding coffee, your mouth tasting disgusting. You watched the flood of people leave in a hurry, unable to figure out who had taken your favorite drink and your secret message. You groaned and moved into the passing crowd, glancing at every coffee cup in hand. None of them seemed to brand your name, leaving you disappointed. You looked back at the cup in your hands, reading the name: Jonah with a smiley face. You took a deep inhale and summoned all your confidence before screaming, “Jonah!”. You yelled it over and over, people sending you weird looks and bothered glares. You pushed your way around, continuously calling out the man’s name. Finally, you heard the reply you were looking for.

“Y/N? Yeah, Y/N! I have your coffee!” You saw a hand with a Starbucks cup shoot up in the air across the street, but you were too late to cross and caught the light. You groaned, running your hands through your hair in frustration. All you wanted was your stupid mocha.

Time seemed to move incredibly slow as you waited for the tiny walking person to appear again, allowing you to seek Jonah out. You called out for him again, but found that he had already split in a different direction. You groaned in failure, grumbling about how icky his coffee was. You complained under your breath the entire way to work, your day ruined. You flashed your badge at the security guard before moping to the elevator doors, joining others as you waited again.

“Waiting, always waiting. Coffee, street lights, elevators,” you huffed miserably, crossing your arms over your chest. “Always something to wait for.” As soon as the doors slid open, everyone shoved their way inside, leaving very little space for you to squeeze in. You pressed your office floor number and waited as the door began to close. But just before they clamped shut, you noticed a tall young man holding a coffee cup bearing your name. You lunged forward to attempt to stop the elevator from leaving, but the man in front of you prevented it and up you went. Just your luck.

People slowly trickled out of the elevator at each floor, leaving you for last. As the elevator stopped at the very top floor, you stared down at the coffee in your hand. You hesitantly put it up to your lips and took another small sip, still gagging at the taste. While you might need morning caffeine, this was not how you were going to do it. Plus, you had a slim chance of finding Jonah again since he did work in the same building. You stepped out of the elevator and headed towards you desk, your favorite coworker already seated at his. You plopped into your rolling chair, glaring miserably at the stack of work already piled in the corner.

“Good morning, Miss. Grumpy pants,” Ryan greeted you with a small smirk. “What’s wrong?” You leaned forward, propping your head in your hands.

“I grabbed the wrong coffee this morning,” you moaned. Ryan held back a laugh, making you stick your tongue out at him. “So not funny. I think Ethan even left his number on my cup this morning too, he was scribbling something on it beneath my name!”

“Dude, that totally sucks. Just go in after work and tell him what happened,” Ryan advised, shrugging as he began to work on his computer. You groaned, collapsing on your desk.

“He only works morning shifts!” You answered. “Now he probably thinks I’m not interested so he’s going to write his number on some other girl’s cup and she’s gonna actually get her drink and they’re going to get married and have beautiful barista babies!” Ryan laughed at your delusional theory, making you frown again. “Woe is me, Ryan.”

“Y/N, chill. Just look in the building directory and find the name of whoever’s coffee you kidnapped and track them and your Starbucks down. Easy fix,” he told you. You lit up, smiling at the dear boy. “Good, I fixed sad Y/N. Now start working.” You logged into your computer quickly, clicking around until you found the directory. You hit the ‘search’ box and typed in ‘JONAH’. Fortunately for you, there were only three results: Jonah Erikson, Jonah Clyde-O’Donald, and Jonah Marais. You grabbed a Post-It, scribbled down all their names and their company names, and shot up from your chair. You quickly grabbed the drink and began to run towards the elevator.

“I’ll be right back Ryan!” You shouted over your shoulder, waving to him. He laughed and waved back before returning to his paperwork. You called the elevator impatiently, ready to head down to Erikson’s business first. You got in the car and pressed ‘2’, ready to track down your mocha and your phone number.

You reached Erikson’s office, only to find that the desk was empty and the lights were off. Not number one, you thought before turning on your heels and going back to the elevator. Clyde-O’Donald was on the fourth floor, so you headed back up.

You hurried through the cubicles, scanning each name until you found the man you were looking for. He was holding a Starbucks cup, but it did indeed bear ‘Jonah C-OD’ on the side. You sighed, scurrying away before he caught you lurking behind him. The last Jonah, Marais, was on your floor, so you pressed the ‘7’ and went back up, silently praying that he had your coffee.

You went to the opposite side of the seventh floor, finding all the desks vacant. You groaned as you noticed that everyone had gathered in a conference room for a meeting. You shuffled over to the door, peeking in through the window. Sure enough, the boy from the elevator was there. You gasped and went to the nearest desk, grabbing a piece of paper. You scribbled ‘Jonah!’ On it in big letters, then pressed it to the window. A few others noticed and chuckled, but your target was too busy daydreaming to see. Thankfully, the lady beside him poked him and pointed at you. You grinned broadly, holding up his coffee cup. You watched as he awkwardly excused himself and met you outside.

“Dear God, Y/N?” He asked, pointing to your coffee. You nodded eagerly, thrusting the black Americano into his hands and snatching your own drink. “How the hell did you find me?”

“The building directory. It wasn’t that hard, there’s only three Jonahs who work here,” you answered nonchalantly before gulping down your mocha. By this time it was the perfect temperature, allowing you to chug and finish the entire thing.

“Oh man, that’s kinda cool actually,” he answered. “Anyways, it’s cool to meet you, Y/N.” You smiled, meeting his eyes. It was then you noticed how extremely attractive he was. He had chocolatey brown curls and matching dark brown eyes. He had a strong jaw and a built body. He towered above you surprisingly.

“O-oh yeah, nice to meet you too,” you stuttered, your cheeks feeling flushed. He laughed before sipping his coffee. “I accidentally drank some of your coffee, it was pretty…different.” He smiled, shrugging.

“It’s better than whatever sugar bomb you had there,” he replied with a smirk. “Seriously, how do you drink that without throwing up?” You laughed easily.

“I could say the same about yours,” you replied sassily.

“Oh, by the way, Ethan’s not into,” Jonah said casually, glancing back towards his meeting. The muffled voices sounded bare and boring, so you understood why he was stalling. You sighed, glancing over the note. ‘Y/N— I hope I wasn’t sending the wrong message. You’re sweeter than this drink, but I don’t like you that way. See you tomorrow morning :) - Ethan’. “You know he’s gay, right?” Your jaw dropped.

“No he isn’t, no way in hell,” you replied, shocked. Jonah nodded knowingly. “Oh my God, I’m so stupid! And after all this time!” Jonah chuckled, rubbing your arm sympathetically.

“That’s why I get a smiley on my cup everyday. Unfortunately, I have some rough news for Ethan.” You both laughed lightly. “It’s okay, we form a weird, coffee-based love triangle, don’t we?” You tilted your head curiously.

“I guess we do,” You thought, still a bit confused. Jonah shook his head with a smile at your expression, grabbing your coffee cup and a sharpie from a nearby desk. You watched as he scribbled on it, then handed it back to you.

“I’m definitely no Ethan, but you still ended up with a number on your cup,” he told you cheekily. “I better head back in there. Talk to you later, Y/N.”

“Later, Jonah,” you murmured, smiling at the ten numbers on your cup. You watched him disappear into the room before heading back to your desk. You set the cup down with a satisfying sigh before taking some of your papers and beginning to log them in the computer system. Ryan watched you anxiously.

“So… I see Ethan’s number?” He asked hopefully. You shook your head ‘no’, making him frown.

“No,” you replied slowly and thoughtfully, “but I think this number is a lot better.” Ryan shrugged and continued to work. You smiled at the cup again, your face heating up even though he wasn’t around. Maybe you should have grabbed the wrong cup sooner.

#jonah marais #daniel seavey #zach herron #jack avery #corbyn besson #wdw band #wdw boys #wdw imagine #wdw music #coffee #why dont we #why don’t we imagines

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chaotic-good-hawke · 5 years

Text

Most Attractive Quality

I was tagged by the ever-talented, @mocha-writes!!! THANK YOU!

I used this quiz.

I will tag: @dickeybbqpit, @pegaeae, @jawsandbones, @ocean-in-my-rebel-soul, @occorner, @veridium-bye, @star--nymph, @free-the-mages, @tevinter-amatus, @musically-magic, @linguini17, @a-roaming-halla, and whoever else would like to (no pressure and sorry if you have already done this!).

I will do this for my inquisitors!

Astrid Cadash and Cat Bell

You Are Compassionate!

You are a natural nurturer who exudes ‘I will take care of you’ vibes. You may be very reserved and are very careful about who you let into your life, but once someone is a part of your inner circle, you will do anything to be there for them. This trait may not seem hot and steamy, but everyone desires someone to comfort them and listen to them. People are able to pour out their woes—or heart—and you will surely respond to them wholeheartedly.

Sekmet Adaar And Ronan Trevelyan

You Are Loyal!

You do not like to be alone. Because of this, you make an excellent partner to others, especially for those who crave closeness at all times. You will do anything for those you love and will do anything to make a relationship work. You are often described as an artist of love. Building bridges is your lifeblood, and traditional courtship activities are your way of life: graceful words, flowers, beautiful music, greeting cards, and dining out. In short, you are often trusted by many. These are the small but powerful romantic gestures that will go a long way with you.

Hela Lavellan

You Are Intriguing!

You are known for your creativity as well as your penchant for invigorating conversation. You might not even know it, but you will always unconsciously keep others on their toes. You are quirky, frequently off in your own headspace, and often tilts your perspective simply by being. You are also an engaging conversationalist, who meets people's interests with a dazzling ability to pluck info out of the air. You are the ultimate individual who don't care for rules or precedents. You make your own fun! You are also a notable intellectual. People around you will never ever be bored with you. (Psst.. And if things have cooled off in the bedroom, You will likely be ready to spice things up.)

Fenrir Lavellan

You Are Brainy!

You are known for being perfectionist, but this is just a symptom of your incredible intelligence. You have the ability to see through others and truly understand them. You are the sexy intellect in your group of peers. You have both a keen analytical mind and an efficient, direct way with words, and can make sense of anything. You not only push yourself to be the best you can be, but you also push others toward greatness. You are someone who can see the best in everyone, even when they can't.

#dragon age inquisition #the inquisitor #MY OCs #Astrid Cadash #Cat Bell #Sekmet Adaar #Ronan Trevelyan #Hela Lavellan #Fenrir Lavellan #I was surprised about Astrid's and then I thought about it and yeah #this her #Hela's is so freaking on point #Sekmet's is questionable #Ronan's and Fenrir's make sense #dragon age

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katie-dub · 7 years

Text

Never Forget You

Emma Swan needs a break - and to stop crashing into a mysterious stranger who she just can’t get out of her head. Unfortunately the universe has other plans.

Happy birthday @phiralovesloki! I’m sure you have all heard of this fabulous lady, but she is the sweetest. Not only does she write awesome fics, but also she’s massively supportive - her tireless cheerleading of The Masks We Wear has kept me writing though many a bad time. And she is even amazing enough to devote her time to running the @captainswanbigbang like a champion, and to step in and help with betaing Heathens for @mahstatins when I was struggling with Life Stuff.

Basically, Phira, Mothy, my dear, have a fantastic birthday and enjoy a little *cough* nearly 9k *cough* trope mash up for your special day.

Huge thanks to @sambethe @mahstatins and @killiancygnus for beta reading this for me.

AO3

Emma Swan is many things: sheriff, orphan, loving mother, junk food aficionado and - as of two minutes ago - killer.

Well, potentially.

She leaps out of her car to see what has become of the man she just hit with her car. He’s sitting on the curb, clutching at his ribs. He looks up as she approaches and fuck, he’s gorgeous, all messy dark hair, piercing blue eyes and chiseled jaw.

“Hey beautiful,” he wheezes out, trying to throw a winning smile her way. His honeyed voice and British accent are as beautiful as he is. “You know, there are better ways to get a man’s attention than attempted murder.”

Her automatic response is to roll her eyes at the blatant flirting. She ignores the charm and drops down beside him with concern. “Shit, I’m so sorry. Are you OK? Do you need a doctor?”

“You just knocked the wind out of my sails, love. I’ll be fine.”

She cocks an eyebrow in disbelief at his blasé attitude. He chuckles at her and waves his prosthetic at her. “I’ve had worse, believe me. Although, should you want to kiss it better…” He trails off, licking his lips suggestively.

“Seriously? Does that sort of thing ever work for you?”

“A devilishly handsome face, exotic accent and charming personality can work wonders.”

“And so modest too.” Emma can’t quite decide if this guy is for real, enjoying his company in spite of herself.

“All part of my charm.”

“Right.” Emma checks her watch, she has to go if she’s going to have time to grab a mocha before work. She looks back at the stranger. He certainly looks fine, his flirting muscles are definitely completely functional and he did say that he’s fine. “I’ve got to go, if you’re sure you’re OK?”

He nods and waves his hand at her to leave. It doesn’t feel quite right leaving the man she just ran over sitting on the side of the road, but he did say he was OK, so with a nod of thanks she jumps back into her car.

She’s so caffeine-deprived that the first sip of her cinnamon-topped mocha tastes like ambrosia - an actual gift from the gods.

She breathes a deep sigh of relief and lets the chocolatey goodness wash away her woes. Nearly killing a man was pre-coffee Emma, practically a whole different person. Post-coffee Emma can forget all about it and look forward to a day of superior sheriffing.

It’s with this thought in mind that she strides to the door, happy and confident that today will be a good day after all.

So of course she’s startled by someone shoving hard on the door just as she gets to it. She takes a step back, jerking her drink out of range of the fast-approaching obstacle. She manages to avoid getting hit in the face, and while that’s definitely a win, her mocha ended up all over the unsuspecting stranger’s hand in the process. Her scalding hot mocha. Shit shit shit.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry!” Emma shrieks in distress, grabs a stack of napkins she spots at a nearby table and thrusts them towards him. “You’ll need to run that under cold water so that you’ll keep some of your skin.”

“It’ll be fine, love,” a familiar voice wheezes. Emma freezes. No. It can’t be the guy she hit with her car. It just can’t. She looks up into the same blue eyes from earlier. Right, it’s going to be that kind of day.

He grins at her and takes the proffered napkins. “Throwing a drink over someone is certainly an improvement on your last flirting tactic, but next time you should try simply throwing yourself at the object of your desire.”

The sentiment is punctuated with a poorly formed wink. She smirks in spite of herself and quirks a brow at him. “If you think that you’re the object of my desire, buddy, you’re going to be seriously disappointed.”

“If what you’re telling me is that you aren’t trying to get my attention, I find that hard to believe.”

Emma shakes her head at the cockiness of a man whose hand is covered in boiling liquid yet stops to flirt. Fuck. His hand is covered in boiling liquid! “Think what you want, but you really should see to your hand.”

“It’s really alright, love. Not a whole lot of feeling in it anyway.” Emma frowns and looks down and is reminded that it’s a prosthetic.

She winces, feeling like that’s something she should’ve remembered. “I’m sorry anyway, can I buy you a drink to apologise for this and the other thing?”

“Hitting me with your car you mean?” he asks, eyebrows raised. “I knew this was all a ploy to get me on a date.”

“It’s not a date, it’s coffee. I need a new one and buying yours is the least I can do.”

She starts walking back to the counter wearily. “If I can have the pleasure of your company, we can call it whatever you want.” He’s close to her and she feels his words murmured into her ear. She shivers slightly, then curses her body’s involuntary reaction to the stranger.

“Oh no -” she turns to glare at him “- I’m just buying the coffee, then I have to get to work.”

“Whatever you say,” he says with a smirk. She ignores him and the strange attraction she has to him as she orders and pays for their coffee. She doesn’t exactly mean to be rude. She just wants to be clear that this is an apology and nothing else, so that he doesn’t get the wrong idea. It’s not that she needs reminding of that too, because his handsome face and ridiculous flirting does absolutely nothing for her. God, she couldn’t even believe her own lies.

He surprises her by following her lead: he doesn’t say a word until the barista hands her her coffee and she’s heading out the door. “Next time don’t feel you need to injure me to get my attention, love!” he calls after her. She rolls her eyes and shakes her head.

It’s a surprisingly busy day for Emma. Her brother and deputy, David, is busy at the hospital with his wife who’s gone into labour, and while things are usually a bit slow with him there, there’s just too much work for one person.

That’s how it gets to 3pm before she’s had any lunch. She doesn’t actually feel all that hungry, but she can hear Mary Margaret’s voice in her head tutting about “proper nutrition” and she could use a break.

She’s strolling down the main street when she notices the new florist that’s just opened. On a whim she decides to pick up some flowers for Mary Margaret and heads inside.

She’s staring at the dizzying array of choice when she’s startled by a familiar voice behind her. “Need any help, love?”

She whirls around and her mouth drops open at the sight of scruffy hair and piercing blue eyes. “You’re a stalker!” she exclaims and he quirks his brow at her in amusement.

“You came into my shop.” He steps closer. “And it’s you who molested me on our last two meetings.”

Emma blushes at the memory. “I said I was sorry! And I got you that coffee…”

“I’m only teasing. You can make attempts on my life anytime.” Emma narrows her eyes at his words, but he barrels on, suddenly all business, before she can speak. “Now I’m assuming that you aren’t here just to see my devilishly handsome face, so what are you looking for?”

“My sister-in-law is having her first baby, so I wanted to get her some flowers.”

“Do you know what she likes?”

“Pretty ones?” Killian chuckles and Emma shrugs. “Sorry, I don’t know anything about flowers.”

“No problem, love, that’s my job. Do you know what she’s having?”

“A baby..?”

“We’ll steer clear of pinks and blues then?” Emma nods and the florist rubs his chin thoughtfully. “What’s her style? And how much do you want to pay?”

“40 bucks?” Killian nods approvingly. Emma squints, picturing the Nolans’ loft. “Her things are kind of vintage and cutesy. Although she’s kind of feisty, like if Snow White were a bad ass bandit?”

“I can work with that. Do you want me to talk you through it or do you want to trust me to work my magic?”

“Knock yourself out.” She half expects him to make a comment about earlier, but he contents himself with a meaningful look and sets to work.

She finds herself mesmerised as he twirls about gathering up flowers and leaves and all forms of decorative things to create Mary Margaret’s bouquet. She half wonders if he actually can wield magic - she’s sure that she couldn’t create anything half as beautiful with twice the time and 6 extra hands. And that’s before she considers the hypnotic effect his graceful dance has on her. She never would’ve considered flower arranging a turn on, but damn if her insides aren’t melting at the sight. It’s definitely some form of witchcraft. In no time at all, he’s completed a relaxed, stylish arrangement of white flowers and forest foliage. He carefully wrapped it into a special bag with water inside to keep it fresh and that bag is inside a cute but sturdy brown paper bag with lace handles. “What do you think, lass?” He asks, presenting it to her and watching her reaction carefully. “A nice gender-neutral bouquet for your feisty fairytale friend?” “It’s perfect -” she falters, realising that she hasn’t yet found out his name. “Killian,” he supplies, “it must be because I had such a stunning muse.” He grins at her and yep, she has totally turned to goo, like some starry-eyed teenager who doesn’t know better. Pull yourself together, she chides herself.

“Yeah, well, it’s great.” She brushes off the compliment and hands over her credit card. She makes a point of focusing on her card to avoid embarrassing herself further by looking at his pretty face.

“Thanks, Swan.” She looks up startled by his use of her name. She’s almost flustered enough to ask how he could possibly know that, when she remembers it’s printed on her card.

Deciding that she can’t trust herself to talk - or act - normally around this man, she bites her lip and keeps quiet as she signs her name and he hands her the receipt.

She mumbles her thanks and heads for the door. She thinks she’s got away without further flirting, but he calls out as she goes.

“Goodbye, Swan.” And because she’s a glutton for punishment, she turns back to him. “Feel free to stop by to make use of my services anytime.” He licks his lips and dammit if she hasn’t seen porn that’s had less of an effect on her.

She blushes hard. “I might do. You’re very good at handling flowers.” She winces at her poor word choice. She’d been aiming for breezy, but that was anything but.

“Oh I assure you, they’re not the only thing I’m good at handling.”

She’s glad he’s still behind the counter. It means she can tell herself that he is far enough away to not notice the lust in her eyes. Of course, that also means she can’t tell if their little exchange has left him feeling as hard up as she is.

Oh God, she groans internally, unable to stop herself from wondering if he’s stayed behind the counter so that she can’t see how hard to handle he’s found their encounter. She hopes he has, she wants to take a look.

“Please, you couldn’t handle it.” The flirtatious words are out of her mouth before she can even think. What are you doing? she shrieks at herself.

“Perhaps you’re the one who couldn’t handle it,” he returns and fuck she needs to get a grip. And not on him. She has a clear image in her mind’s eye of grabbing him and kissing until they’re both panting and flushed. And the way he’s looking at her, she almost thinks that he’s seeing it too.

But that’s not possible. It’s only soulmates who share dreams and fantasies, and all that fairytale bullshit isn’t for her. It’s for good people like David and Mary Margaret. (And frankly while the shared dream of being Snow White and Prince Charming was cute - if a little saccharine for Emma’s taste - the whole concept of sharing nightmares alongside dreams was downright terrifying.)

“Bye then,” she throws out, before she can do something dumb like act out her fantasy. She leaves the florist as fast as she can, ignoring his goodbye and trying not to think about why she’s so drawn to him.

She’s still trying not to think about Killian as she gets ready for her monthly night out later that day. Mary Margaret’s stepsister, Regina, had taken to Henry when he was still a baby and had kind of adopted him as her own, offering to take care of him at least one night a month so Emma could just be herself. To a young, single mother it was like a dream come true, and even now that she was 29 and Henry was 11, she cherished this time.

Normally when she was feeling keyed up like she was from meeting Killian she’d go to a bar in the next town over and find someone to help her scratch that itch. This month though, Zelena had been very insistent that they had to go to The Rabbit Hole. She couldn’t remember why, but thinks that a hot guitarist had been mentioned. As it was, she didn’t hook up with men in Storybrooke, she just couldn’t face the town gossip. It was hard to have any respect as sheriff when the folks you’re trying to arrest know that you like to wear red silk underwear when you’re out to get laid. (Or worse, they know first hand what your O face looks like.)

Still, a few shots and some girl talk with her friends would be fun. And with any luck the hot guitarist would help get Killian out of her fantasies.

The universe is laughing at me. That’s all Emma could think as Killian stepped up to the mic. If she wasn’t fuckstruck before, she definitely was now.

He uses his right hand to pick out the chords and strummed with the prosthetic on his left. His fingers are so nimble that she can’t help but imagine how they’d feel on her body, working her up. He locks eyes with her as soon as the thought crosses her mind. He bites his lip and tilts his head to study her. She’s left with the uncomfortable feeling that he knows exactly what she is thinking about. Overcome with embarrassment, she turns her attention to her friends.

“See? Isn’t he luscious?” Zelena whispers to them all, with a pointed wink at Emma.

“I’d eat him,” Ruby growls softly, dreamy-eyed.

“I’d get him to eat me,” Tink exclaims. “Look at how he uses that tongue, he definitely knows what he’s doing.”

And of course Emma pictures him between her thighs. It’s enough to make her blush deeply and study the floor, sure that he’ll somehow be able to read her dirty thoughts all over her face.

He starts playing Summer of ‘69 and as he does she has a vivid fantasy of them in the sexual position of the same name. It’s enough to make her gasp and her head snaps up to look at him. He’s looking straight at her, eyebrows raised in what looks like a challenge and he deliberately licks his lips.

What is she saying? The only way that could have been deliberate would be that he knew what she’d just seen. And the only way for him to know that would be…

“Bathroom,” she announces, abruptly leaping to her feet and running for the facilities. She thinks she hears Zelena calling something like “don’t worry, Emma, we’re all that wet!” but she can’t be sure - and really doesn’t want to be.

She hides in the bathroom for long enough to calm her impending panic attack. While going home is tempting, she decides that she couldn’t cope with all the jokes about taking care of herself she’d face if she did. Besides, a stiff drink would really help right now. In fact she may need several, she’d quite like a dreamless sleep. Just because her imagination sucks right now, she’s not at all concerned that she might be sharing wet dreams with a certain handsome, guitar-playing, British florist.

She gives herself a hard look in the mirror. Stop this bullshit, you’re not the soulmate type, you’re just horny and he’s hot. Perhaps not the best pep talk, but it did the job.

She orders a round of tequila then goes back to her friends with a tray of shots.

It’s much later and she’s much drunker when she hears his voice in her ear. “Been thinking about me, Swan?” She can’t help the sudden vision she has of being on her knees before him, licking and sucking as he moans. She realises that he’s actually moaned out loud into her ear and she automatically jumps away from him.

Deciding that she really needs to regain her cool, she retorts, “in your dreams.” She tries to lean nonchalantly against the bar, but she’s lost all coordination and misses, her elbow slipping and causing her to stumble.

Killian catches her and murmurs, “oh no, Swan, in yours.”

She shoves him backwards and fixes him with her best glare. “Whatever,” she mutters.

“You’re something of an open book to me.” As he says it, he reaches up to scratch behind his ear and subconsciously she moves to push her hair behind her own ears when she sees it: His soul mark. The one right below his right ear that is a perfect match for the one she sports.

She stills her hands in shock but whimpers, “fuck no.” She half-knew already, but she really didn’t want actual proof.

“Everything OK, love?”

“You’re my fucking soulmate?” she blurts out.

“I thought that was obvious already? Let me tell you, you can get on your knees for me anytime you like…” His eyes are shining with pure sin and she’s equally aroused, humiliated, and anxious at the unavoidable truth.

“This is bullshit,” Emma declares, feeling furious at the world for this strange twist of fate. “My life isn’t some rom com and nobody chooses who I fuck but me.” Through the haze of alcohol she notices how crestfallen he looks. She ignores it. She’s not going to have sex with someone just because fate tells her to. It’s ridiculous to even entertain the thought.

She turns to leave and Killian grabs her arm. “Will you let me walk you home?” Her eyes dart down to where he’s holding her arm. He instantly drops it. “I don’t mean anything by it. You’re just quite intoxicated…”

“That’s none of your concern, Killian. Just forget about this whole -” she can’t even say the word soulmates, just gestures wildly “- thing. I don’t do relationships. Stay out of my dreams and don’t even think about playing the hero and following me.”

As she stalks off, she hears him softly reply, “as you wish.”

***

Emma wakes up to the sight of her Hot Roommate™ (as Ruby insists on calling Killian) standing over her looking guilty.

“Sorry, Swan, I didn’t mean to wake you, you looked cold so I was just…” He gestures to the blanket that’s now draped over her.

“Oh, that’s OK.” She sits up and rubs her neck. How long was she asleep for that it now hurts so much? “I shouldn’t have fallen asleep on the couch. But, thanks for this.”

Killian rubs behind his ear awkwardly, gives her a little nod and strides towards his bedroom.

She has a vague memory of her dream, meeting Killian over and over again, eventually learning he was her soulmate… with all that entailed. She blushes at the thought of the racier parts of the soulmate deal. She may need to get laid. And while she’s thinking about it, she makes a mental note to ban all rom coms from her next movie night with Mary Margaret. She doesn’t care how pregnant and hormonal the woman is, Emma needs to protect her subconscious from the onslaught of Hollywood meet-cutes.

She sits up, stretches lazily and reaches for her phone.

Ruby’s sent her a photo of herself dressed to kill in a little black dress to their group chat with the caption “hot af, amirite?” Zelena’s replied with the winking kiss emoji. Tink offered up heart eyes. Mary Margaret said “I’d do you… and not just because the hormones are making me horny.”

Emma laughs uneasily, trying to scrub the information from her brain. Something about jokes like that from Mary Margaret always made her feel uncomfortable - like she’d imagine it’d be to hear your mom make sex jokes.

“What’s everyone else wearing? You know I’m too pregnant for girls’ night, so I have to live vicariously through your pics.”

Oh God, girls’ night. Emma checks the time - she’s only got half an hour to get ready.

She speeds through her routine and manages to stroll back into the living room exactly 29 minutes later with only her shoes to pull on. Killian’s hovering near their front door, with his back to her. Her eyes slide over his form - his fitted jeans do such wonders for his ass that it feels rude not to check him out. (Just because she has a policy against dating, fucking, or getting romantically involved with a roommate in anyway doesn’t mean she can’t appreciate the goods. She knows Ruby calls him Hot Roommate™ for good reason.)

As if he feels her eyes on him, he turns around, looking dejected. His eyes light up as soon as he sees her.

“Swan! You are looking stunning this evening. What terrible miscreant are you sending back to jail tonight?”

“This isn’t for a perp, I am going out with friends.” She feels awkward under his appreciative gaze. “What about you, dressed up all fancy, got a hot date?”

His grin twists into a frown. He opens his mouth to speak, but sighs instead, shaking his head.

“I did, but it seems that she has reunited with her ex and has decided it would be bad form to allow another man to take her to dinner.” His hand flies to the back of his neck and Emma feels sorry for him.

“You should come out with us.” Killian looks up in surprise, with a tiny hint of delight in his eye. “Come on, you’re all ready to go out, we can find you your next hot date.”

“I don’t want to intrude -” he blusters, sounding terribly British in a way that makes Emma think of Hugh Grant. A loud knock on the door interrupts him before he can say anymore.

Emma opens it and Ruby, Tink and Zelena burst into the apartment. She slings her arms over her Ruby’s shoulders and looks at Killian mischievously. “Ladies, Killian here has been stood up, don’t you think he should join us and find himself a better date for tomorrow night?”

Their eyes fill with glee, their smiles seductive and wicked. “Oh absolutely!” says Zelena.

“You’re far too hot to stay home and sulk,” continues Ruby. “We’ll find someone to keep you warm tonight, Killian.” She winks at him and Emma feels a flash of jealousy. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all.

It definitely wasn’t a good idea.

There’s a brunette at the bar running her hand along Killian’s arm while he murmurs in her ear. Emma imagines forcibly removing the woman’s perfectly manicured fingers and replacing them with her own. She really needs more rum.

“You know, if you want it to be you caressing your pretty roommate, you’ll have to go stake your claim on him.” Zelena practically purrs the words into Emma’s ear.

“I don’t - I wasn’t - it’s not like that.”

“Why not, Emma? If I had a genuine Hot Roommate™, you know I would ride them like a train.” Emma rolls her eyes at Ruby but doesn’t reply.

“You should definitely ride his pretty face. That man knows how to use his tongue.”

All the girls turn to stare at Tink. Emma’s jaw drops in shock.

“Are you telling me that you have hooked up with Killian and we are only just hearing about it?” Ruby damn near shrieks.

Tink just shrugs. “It was years ago. You know we’ve been friends for a long time. He lives with Emma because I introduced them when he moved to town, remember?”

“But you didn’t say that he’s your ex!” Emma’s glad that Ruby is saying all of this. She’s been struck dumb by the conversation and if she thought seeing Killian flirt was bad, this is a million times worse.

“He’s not my ex, we were more like friends with benefits back in college. We were barely even that to be honest. There was this bar, Neverland, we went to occasionally and we’d go home together after a night there. Or there was one memorable time when we just got down to it right in the bar -”

“We don’t need to hear about this,” Emma cuts Tink off. This is torture. (And not just because she’s got a bit of a thing for fucking in unconventional places and her very vivid imagination is showing her porn-worthy imagery right now.)

“Yes we do!” Ruby protests, but goes quiet at the look on Emma’s face.

Emma’s decides then and there to say screw it to her no roommates policy and go fuck that beautiful man. It would be a crime not to.

She stalks her way to the bar, ignoring the wolf whistles from her friends and the soundtrack of fantasy moans in her head.

Halfway there, Killian notices her. He catches her eye and smiles. His smile quickly turns sinful as he sees the look in her eyes and the sway of her hips. The brunette who previously had his attention looks pissed, but as he licks his lips Emma knows that girl is forgotten.

Tonight Killian is hers.

She falters at the thought. Can they have just one night? Will that be enough? Is it too much?

And as if her insecurities aren’t enough to ruin a night of fantastic fucking on their own, that’s when she sees him. Her last roommate - and almost fiancé - Walsh. The cheating asshole has a pretty girl on his arm and Emma’s paralysed by the sight.

She’s trying to calculate the best way to escape when he spots her and saunters over. She tries to smile and prepares for the worst.

“Emma! Long time no see!” She opens her mouth, but before she can say a word, there’s an arm sliding around her waist and a rum being pressed into her hand.

“Just play along, love,” Killian murmurs quietly into her ear. His voice sends shivers down her spine. She has to force herself not to imagine him whispering nasty things into her ear while they fuck in the corridor. “Here’s your drink, love,” he continues at a normal volume. “Who’s your friend?” He looks at Walsh expectantly.

“Thanks, darling, this is Walsh, my ex roommate.” Emma deliberately stresses the “ex” so that Killian’s in no doubt as to who she means. (She silently thanks whatever God will listen for that drunken night of sharing sob stories. Sure it was embarrassing at the time - they’d only been living together a few weeks - but it means that he knows exactly how much of a prick Walsh is.)

“Walsh?” Killian tilts his head as if trying to remember why the name sounds familiar. He has a twinkle in his eye that tells her that he knows exactly who she means. “Ah yes, he’s the one you found fucking his boss in your bed, before you could tell him whether you’d accepted his marriage proposal or not.” He looks at Walsh innocently. “Right?”

Emma tries to hide how stunned she is. She never would have dared to say the same, but she is thrilled that Killian did it for her.

“He did what?” Walsh’s date gives him a look of utter contempt and storms off.

“What did you do that for?” Walsh demands.

Killian shrugs, a falsely sheepish look on his face. “Sorry?” Walsh narrows his eyes but huffs and chases after his date.

“Was that OK?” Killian asks, pulling away from her. She snuggles back into him.

“You better stay close in case he comes back. I want it to be clear that I won the break up.”

“And no better way than by letting him think you upgraded to a roguishly handsome devil like me.”

Emma rolls her eyes. “Let’s just dance, OK?”

She’s forgotten all about Walsh and is just enjoying dancing with Killian when he pulls her close. “Walsh is watching,” he explains in a whisper. She bites her lip and nods. No need to tell him that he really doesn’t need an excuse.

“Swan, was he always this creepy? He won’t stop staring.”

She doesn’t want to answer, knowing that the truth is that yes, he was. She was just too in love with the whole idea of their relationship to see it then.

Killian saves her from having to answer by murmuring, “why don’t we really give him a show?” She looks at him curiously, and he waggles his eyebrows and taps his lips playfully.

“Please, you couldn’t handle it.” She’s not sure where the words came from, she’s been wanting to kiss him all night (since they met really), but they feel right.

“Perhaps you’re the one who couldn’t handle it,” Killian shoots back. Emma never could resist a challenge, so she grabs his shirt -

And feels something cold and sticky spread across her back as someone crashes into her. She looks over her shoulder and sees the brunette that previously had Killian’s attentions giving her an evil grin. “Oh sorry, I didn’t see you there!” she says, not the least hint of remorse in her voice.

Emma wishes she could be one of those people with a perfect witty put down for every scenario. But she’s not and the moment’s passed with Killian and she feels awkward as hell.

She starts for the exit, ignoring Killian’s concerned “Swan?” and the strange green mist that swirls around her as she leaves.

***

She wakes up and struggles to shake off her strange dreams.

“Swan?” Her best friend Killian saunters into her bedroom, and stops short at the sight of her under the covers. “Aren’t you having a party, love? Not the best sign if the host can’t be bothered to get up… Unless the ‘party’ was all a trick to finally get me into bed after all these years?” His eyes wiggle suggestively and Emma rolls her eyes at him.

“Please, you couldn’t handle it.” As soon as she says that she remembers her dream. She blushes to think how she was about to pounce on Killian and kiss him. Admittedly, it’s not the first time she had a dream like that. (Although usually they got to the more enjoyable activities before she woke up, but this really it isn’t the time to think about such things.)

“Perhaps you’re the one who couldn’t handle it.”

Emma stares at Killian, confused. How is he quoting lines from her dream? He blushes and scratches at his ear.

“Huh. You said that to me in my dream.”

“I did?”

“Yeah, you were a pirate… No wait, my roommate. Or maybe my soulmate?”

Killian smirks. “You’re dreaming that I’m your soulmate?”

“I’m having some kind of crazy inception style dreams within dreams. I think soulmates was the first level. I called bullshit on it.”

Killian throws back his head and laughs. “You called bullshit on your dream?”

“It wasn’t realistic!”

“That I might be the one for you, your soulmate, your ‘True Love’?” He looks deeply offended for all of 5 seconds before he cracks a wide grin.

“You forget that I have witnessed your Jack Sparrow impression and know it comes from a deep-seated love of all things pirate. You’ve dragged me to far-flung places in search for new additions to your collection of rare rum bottles. And I know that you speak ancient Greek.”

“You say that like you expect me to be ashamed of any of those things.”

“All I’m saying is that you can’t fool me with your leather jackets and your moves, I know that you’re a total nerd.”

“Nerds are cool, Swan.”

“Keep telling yourself that, Jones.”

“I don’t have to help you get your flat ready for your party, you know?”

Emma leaps out of bed and throws an arm around his shoulder. “Oh but you will, because I’m your very best friend and you love me.” She gives him her best puppy dog eyes and he shakes his head at her, laughing. She heads out of her room to start getting her apartment ready, not noticing the longing look Killian sends her way.

It’s much later and the party’s in full flow when Zelena announces that they should play spin the bottle. Emma’s buzzed, but not quite enough to not think that that’s a good idea.

“What are we, 12?” she scoffs, rolling her eyes. Zelena’s eyes flash with fury leaving Emma wondering if she had inadvertently interrupted a scheme for the redhead to hook up with someone.

“How about truth or dare?” Killian suggests and Zelena grins wickedly. Emma’s relieved that she’s pleased, her demeanour is so deranged when she’s in a bad mood that it’s mildly terrifying. (So much so that Killian jokingly calls her the Wicked Witch.)

Emma’s not sure how it turned into some kind of excuse for all their friends to make out, but it has. And most of them seem to be intent on making out with (or rather forcing other people to make out with) Killian. It’s not that she’s jealous, but it was all just so awkward.

She had enough of the Tink/Killian drama back when they were hooking up and who’s to say the nostalgic kiss wasn’t going to restart that train wreck? (She’ll never forget asking Killian how they could stand to be in the same room for long enough to fuck. Apparently constant fucking had replaced constant bickering as “she’s less irritating when her mouth is otherwise engaged”. She really wished she hadn’t asked and didn’t want a repeat of it all.) Ruby got overly handsy in a way that didn’t feel quite decent in a room full of people and if it made her uncomfortable, she’s sure Killian felt the same (however into it he seemed). And seeing him lock lips with David felt weirdly like watching him with her dad - it was just wrong.

Really she should have seen it coming. Of course someone would dare Killian to suck face with her. Everyone was always asking why they weren’t a couple anyway, meddling and trying to push them together. What she couldn’t have predicted is that he would forfeit the dare in favour of a truth. And of course Zelena shoots back with the obvious question: “you’ve kissed half the room already, why not Emma too?”

Emma runs out of the room before he can reply. She really doesn’t want to hear this. She’s already been humiliated enough.

“Swan! Swan! Bloody hell, stop. Emma!”

“Save it, Killian. I don’t want to know.” He gently catches her arm with the hook of his prosthetic.

“But I need to tell you. You think I wouldn’t kiss you because I don’t want you? It’s because I want you too much.” His eyes are so beautiful and desperate, searching her face for some sign of understanding. Emma feels her cheeks wet with tears, surely he can’t mean it like that? That the most secret wish of her heart has come true - he wants to be with her? “You’re worth more than some drunken kiss in front of all our friends. When I kiss you, Emma,” he steps closer, “and I will kiss you, it won’t be because of any stupid dare. It will be because you want me.”

Emma’s breathless with the sincerity of his words. She sways closer, but he steps back.

“Not today,” he says with a small smile and boops her nose. “Let’s wait until I know for sure that this isn’t just some rum-soaked spell, aye? Come, let’s get back to your party, I believe I need to wreak my revenge on the Wicked Witch. Now, what shall I dare her to do?”

He slings an arm over her shoulder and leads her back to her apartment. Neither one of them noticing the green mist that creeps down the corridor behind them.

***

“Jesus,” Zelena mutters, rolling her eyes. “What have they got against happiness? Surely it shouldn’t be so hard to get two people to kiss?” She grins as an idea comes to her. “Maybe I’ve been going wrong trying to give them romance. All I need is a setup where they have to kiss after all.”

She waves her hand and, unbeknownst to them, Emma Swan and Killian Jones’ lives change again.

***

A hammering on her front door interrupts Emma’s breakfast. She stomps to answer it, unimpressed by the distraction from her morning pancakes.

She opens the door to a pirate decked out in leather complete with a hook. She’d call him handsome, if he didn’t look so ridiculous.

“Emma Swan?”

Her eyes narrow in confusion. “Do I know you?”

“I’m Captain Hook, here to deliver a message of deepest affection from good Sir Walsh to his lady love, Swan.” Emma’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “I’m a kissogram,” he explains with what Emma assumes is meant to be a wink, although it’s really a lopsided blink. His tongue runs along his lips, and he moves forward.

Emma moves on pure instinct, kneeing the man in the groin and shoving him back with one hand. He staggers backwards, doubling over in pain. Emma almost feels guilty, but he did just try to force his lips on hers. Kissogram or not, that’s assault in her books.

She shuts the door behind her and shakes her head. She really needs to have words with Walsh about acceptable displays of affection. Single roses and dinner dates, good, kissograms and oversized helium balloon bouquets, bad.

God, he’s probably the type to present her with an engagement ring in her dessert. She should probably end it before they get to that stage. She saunters back to her pancakes, forgetting all about the pirate outside her door.

***

“Oh for God’s sake, what is it going to take to get these two to kiss?!” wails Zelena. “Anyone would think that they don’t want to be happy!”

“You know, there are simpler ways to get rid of the pirate and the Saviour than playing matchmaker,” Gold mutters darkly. It’s not that he actually wants Zelena to succeed, but this is getting tiresome.

He watches her warily as a wicked smile unfurls across her lips. “I’ve had an excellent idea. Use their past against them.” She conjures up her crystal ball, and sees what she needs at once. “Ah yes, Neverland.”

***

Emma’s in a leafy grotto, skin damp from the sweat caused by the oppressive heat. Neverland. Her skin prickles. Why is she here again - and, more importantly, how?

“I thought he deserved a little credit.” She jumps, startled by the sound of her father’s voice. She watches as a scene from her memory plays out before her. Killian’s looking away from her, not wanting to meet anyone’s eyes. How had she never noticed before how bashful and uncomfortable their praise had made him?

Her mother toasts Hook, Regina refuses to, and now it’s her turn and she almost forgets herself. Manages to take the flask just before she drops it.

“To Hook.” That’s what she says, right? That’s what she’s meant to say. She’ll thank him for saving David, he’ll taunt her to deflect from how he feels, and they’ll kiss and everything will change.

(God, how had she not seen it at the time? It’s so clear now. When she kisses him, he’ll realise that he’s opened his heart up to her, that he’s let go of his first love. It’s all too much pressure for a simple kiss.)

“Did you really save his life?” she hears the words coming out of her mouth, but she feels detached from it all.

“Does that surprise you?”

“Well, you aren’t exactly, how do you say it? Mates.” She cringes at the way she impersonates his accent. She isn’t very good at revealing her emotions, so here she is, undercutting the sentiment she’s trying to convey.

Gratitude.

Oh God, gratitude is in order… She has to change the script and fast. Dimly she’s aware that he’s stopped speaking and she should reply. It’s time for her to show her thanks. She’ll try to be sincere and Hook will feel as uncomfortable as she does. So she’ll kiss him. It’ll save them both from the awkwardness of the moment, but cause a whole lot more.

Until I met you…

She stares at him, silent, unsure what to say or do. His face morphs from sincerity to discomfort under her steely gaze, finally settling on concern.

“Is everything alright, love?”

“I don’t know, I -” There’s a gust of wind and a fine dust fills the air. It clings to her body and she inhales it, coughing as its sticky sweetness fills her nose and her lungs.

“Bloody hell.” He sighs out the words. The horror and frustration she hears in his breathy tone confuses her - so they’ve got a little dusty, it’s no big… She looks at him and it hits her. She’s never felt more aroused in her life and she needs to touch him, to kiss him, to feel his skin against hers…

“Stay away from me!” he moans, “run away, tie yourself to a bloody tree, just don’t come near me!”

“But I - I need - fuck -” She gasps and realises the truth of the words at once. I need to fuck him. The thought consumes her, overwhelms her. She tears at her clothes.

His hand and hook seize her wrists, forcing them behind her as she’s shoved against a tree. For one blessed moment his body is pressed against hers then he’s moving away, tying her to the tree.

“I should’ve known you’d like it rough, Captain.”

He stares at her then, half crazed with lust. He looks so delicious, she just needs a taste -

She leans closer to him and he must have mimicked her actions, because his lips are so close. “Not like this,” he pants and runs from her.

“Fuck.” She hears Zelena’s voice crying out through the trees as a swirl of green mist surrounds them.

***

Emma blinks around her in confusion. Her lust fades as she realises that she is back outside the Wicked Witch’s house with Killian by her side.

She glances at him out of the corner of her eye, biting her lip in embarrassment at the memory of what she had just said and done. His stance is defiant, but she can see the traces of a blush on his cheeks that let her know that he feels it too.

“I was being nice to you,” Zelena huffs, “offering you a world where you could just kiss your pirate all day long. Considering how desperate you are to leave Storybrooke, I thought that would make you happy, but you seem to want this miserable existence as the Saviour.”

“All of that was you?” Emma doesn’t understand Zelena. Of all the crazy schemes she’s come up against since coming to Storybrooke, this has got to be the strangest.

“Well, you two are so adorable, I assumed that you just needed a little romance to get you to kiss him, but you are so very stubborn. What’s the matter?” Zelena tilts her head to the side with an expression of mock concern. “Is he not very good at it?”

She remembers Neverland and how good it felt to kiss him. She stamps down the thought as soon as it occurs to her, focussing instead on the rage she feels over the whole situation.

“The next time you want to take my powers, why don’t you try cursing the lips of someone I’ll actually kiss?” Emma side eyes Killian, trying to ignore the lingering throbbing between her legs that proves her words a lie. He is studying his feet and whether it’s the shame of his curse or hurt at Emma’s words, she can’t be sure.

“I did try doing this the easy way, Emma, but I guess we’re stuck with the hard way. So Emma, you’ve got a choice: you can keep your magic that makes you oh-so-sad. Or you can save the man that you can’t wait to run away from.”

Gold flicks his wrist and Killian flies through the air. He lands face down in a watering trough, which of course is full.

Emma has whiplash from all the conflicting thoughts in her head. Anger at Zelena. Confusion as to how someone goes from inventing fantasy rom com lives for their enemies to straight up drowning them. Wondering what all the feelings she had in all those fantasies meant. And above it all absolute terror that she might be about to lose Killian.

She runs to his side and tries to pull him free from the water. Zelena’s monologuing at her but she tunes her out; she’s got a pirate to save.

He thrashes wildly, but she can’t free him until he goes limp. It’s then, after he’s already stopped breathing, that she yanks him out. His face is pale and she curses herself for not just kissing him before, when it would have been perfect. Even if it wasn’t real, she wouldn’t have to live with the memory of him looking like this, so close to death.

She shakes him, shouts at him. “Hook! Hook! Hook, wake up! Killian. Come back to me, Killian.” She doesn’t want to let everyone down by losing her power to save him, but what will her life be without him?

“Oh God, son of a bitch!” she yells out, swearing that she will find a way to hurt Zelena for what she’s done.

She leans down to breathe life back into him. She feels her magic drain out of her, and she hopes that it is enough. She’d give almost anything to save him.

“Hook, come back to me,” she whispers, stroking his face. He coughs, spitting out water and gasps for breath.

“Swan?” He raises his hand to his lips and looks at her in horror. “What did you do? What did you do?!”

It’s tempting to taunt him, point out that a little gratitude is in order, but she’s so relieved that he’s OK that she’ll let it slide just this once. She stares at him, feeling awkward now that she knows he’s safe. She gets to her feet and offers her hand to help him up. She manages to resist the urge to pull him in for a hug, but she squeezes his hand tight for just a moment before dropping it.

“Come on, let’s get back to the hospital,” she mutters, staring at the ground and trying not to think about everything that just happened.

***

Emma’s lying on her pillows, gloriously sated. She’s finally had sex with Captain Hook after they time travelled because the Wicked Witch opened a portal and they almost stopped her parents Snow White and Prince Charming from meeting. Some days she wants to claw her own eyes out about how ridiculous her life is, but today? Today, she just got laid and all she can do is giggle.

“What’s so funny?” Killian asks her sleepily.

“I just fucked Captain Hook.”

“Aye.”

She turns to him, and props her head up on her arm so she can look at him properly. “And it was the best sex I’ve ever had.”

He grins and kisses her deeply. “It may have been the greatest moment of my long existence.”

He says it sincerely, but she can’t help but giggle again: she’s just so happy. “In all my fantasies, I never thought to account for your centuries of experience. How did the woman you slept with ever let you out of bed?”

“There was this one woman who tied me up. I thought it was all just kinky fun, but then she didn’t want to release me afterwards.”

“Oh yeah?” Emma arches her brow. She isn’t exactly jealous, she’s reaping the benefit of all his precious encounters and she is the one who brought it up. But still, it’s kind of odd to think of this man who is now - maybe, hopefully - hers with someone else. She’s just not quite ready to hear the intimate details.

“Luckily for you, I’m a hard man to keep tied down.” He seems to sense that it’s not wise to dwell on the subject so he turns to her with a devilish grin. “So tell me more about these fantasies of yours.”

“You already know some of them.”

He cocks an eyebrow at her. “I do?”

“Remember when Zelena went all rom com happy on us?” She stops short of mentioning why; it’s still something of a sore point. “Well when we were soulmates, I gathered that you got some of the highlights?”

“Oh yes.” He slowly and deliberately licks his lips. “You thought a lot about my oral skills as I recall. Were they everything you hoped for?”

“I don’t think you need the ego boost.”

“Oh I see, they were better, weren’t they?” Emma just smiles, honestly she didn’t know oral sex could feel that good, but she wasn’t kidding when she said he didn’t need the ego boost.

“It was kind of nice though wasn’t it?”

Killian looks offended and exclaims, “nice? I clearly did something wrong if all you can say is nice. Should I try again?”

Emma rolls her eyes. “I’m not going to say no to more oral, but I actually meant the whole soulmates thing. Being so connected? It felt good to be a part of something.”

“Oh, Swan.” He gently reaches out and pulls her towards him. She settles her head against his chest, and it feels perfect. “I preferred being your best friend.”

“Hmm?” She’d been lost in running her fingers through his chest hair and had temporarily lost track of their conversation.

“I liked the version of us where we’d been friends for years more.”

Emma thinks for a moment, oh right, the party with truth or dare.. She pushes up to glare at him. “Is that because you got to kiss everyone?” She tries to forget the memory of Hook and her dad passionately making out. She really, really does not want to think about it.

“I can remember vividly that I only had eyes for one person that night and if I had my way, my lips would have touched none other.”

“Yeah, yeah…” Emma says awkwardly, brushing off the compliment, even though she loves it. She drops her head back to his chest. “So if it wasn’t all the making out, why did you like that best?”

She feels him shrug. “It just felt more like us. We just understood and accepted each other, it was lovely.”

She considers that, it really was nice to already know each other inside out, but the closeness? That was all them. She looks up at him. “They were all us though, weren’t they? I always felt like me and we kept doing the same things over and over?”

“Aye. I can’t say that I appreciated all of that. I could’ve done without a repeat of you kicking me in the crown jewels because I tried to kiss you.”

“Zelena really was insane, wasn’t she?”

“Yeah.” Killian shakes his head. “I don’t understand why she didn’t just dose us with sex pollen from the start.”

“Sex pollen?”

“The dust that coated us in Neverland? I had to tie you to a tree and run away.”

Even the memory of that feeling is intense. Emma wonders how Killian managed to resist. “How did you do it?”

“Do what?”

“Fight that lust?”

“It wasn’t my first experience. I knew that it would fade with time and I couldn’t bear to take you like that. I may be a pirate, but I believe in good form, and that is not how one treats any lady, let alone the woman you love.”

Emma’s heart melts a little at this and she reaches up to kiss him softly. The kiss soon deepens, becomes wilder and more passionate. She pulls back from him, breathless. “Perhaps sometime we could try it together?”

“Sex pollen?” he asks, eyebrow raised.

She nods, biting her lip. “If that’s OK?”

He grins. “As you wish.”

She kisses him again hard, happy to be here, with him and thinking of all the thousands of ways their love story could have played out. One thing she’s sure of - whoever they are, whatever they’re doing, and however long they take to get there - they will always find each other.

#cs ff #cs ff au #cs fanfics #ouat ff #katie dub writes #never forget you #phira birthday extravaganza #katie dub arts

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probably-enjolras · 7 years

Note

writing prompt idea thing: les amis reacting to marius's pining over cosette (full on brickTM style with a 15-page love letter)

this will either sound fancy or completely insane and it will probably be a horrible mix of the both LET’S GO!

“But how else should I be able to see when the only light in my life has been extinguished?” Marius wailed, resting his head onto Grantaire’s lap. “She is everything I have ever wanted brought together into everything I have ever needed! And yet I cannot have her!”

Enjolras rolled his eyes, looking for solace from Combeferre. “Let him be, we’ll only hear more about this girl if we argue against him.” Combeferre stood, taking strides across the room to stand next to Courfeyrac. “He is your friend. Shouldn’t you be the one consoling him?” Combeferre kept his respectable stance but his eyes were pleading with Courfeyrac.

“I understand that, but I spend the entirety of my life listening to his bawling. This woman, Cosette is her name, has taken his life into her hands and she has no intention of letting go. Besides my beloved, was I not the exact same before I had you to myself?” Courfeyrac looked into Combeferre’s eyes, his own holding an impish immaturity.

Combeferre blushed scarlet but his mocha skin hid his rosy cheeks well. “I suppose you make a valid point, though I wouldn’t let Enjolras hear you say that if I were you. He is already suffering from hearing about Marius’ woes. Should he hear you, he might lose all hope.”

Across the room stood Joly and Bossuet. The two men couldn’t understand the whole situation. How would Enjolras allow this man to take up his time with his troubles. But they appreciated the utter devotion that flowed from each of Marius’ words. They remembered their darling Musichetta, and how their love adored both her boys. Bossuet leaned down and blessed a kiss upon Joly’s hair.

Next to the two lovers were Bahorel and Feuilly. Feuilly’s face matched his firey hair as his mind projected the man next to him on every word that fell from Marius’ lips. Unbeknownst to him, Bahorel was doing the same thing. The two desperately tried to keep their eyes fixed to the ground, unable to face each other.

Then there was Grantaire. Even as he allowed Marius to unleash his sorrows, he kept his sunken eyes focused on Enjolras. “Marius, your light hasn’t left, you just have your eyes closed.”

Jehan stood in the corner, smiling. The poet wrote their sonnets, each one reflecting upon the love filling a room that stood in a world of hate. Maybe their revolution wouldn’t work, but they had this, and that was enough.

The twist is they are all pining and Jehan just loves love

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mysteryshelf · 7 years

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SF & FANTASY WEEK - The Four Worlds

Welcome to

THE PULP AND MYSTERY SHELF SF and Fantasy Week!

DISCLAIMER: This content has been provided to THE PULP AND MYSTERY SHELF by Silver Dagger Book Tours. No compensation was received. This information required by the Federal Trade Commission.

Interview with the Author

What is something unique/quirky about you?

I’m a left-handed pescaterian and I love cooking and mixing drinks.

Tell us something really interesting that’s happened to you!

When I was 15 I went on my first trip out of the country. I spent ten days in Panama City, Panama. I got to see historic sights like the Panama Canal, but the experience that stuck with me was visiting one of the native indian tribes. It took an hour long bus ride and from there a 45 minute canoe trip to the hill they lived on. The tribe welcomed the group with a traditional indian dance, they painted us with unique symbols and fed us. I’ve never had food so fresh and delicious in my life. The tribe didn’t wear clothes and in some cases the children ran around butt-naked, it took some getting used to, but no one was ashamed or embarrassed about it. They lived in tree houses, not the kind of tree houses we think of with walls and a roof, but basically a platform in a tree. Since they didn’t have lights, when it got dark outside we went to sleep and slept under the stars. It was one of the most beautiful experiences I’ve ever had and it made me feel close to the environment and nature.

What are some of your pet peeves?

I don’t have too many, but one of them is when people make sweeping assumptions without doing research. I like to be open minded and understand there are differing perspectives and situations. Seeing things from different points of views helps me to become a better writer.

What are your top 10 favorite books/authors?

I’m an avid book lover and read about 50 book a year, if not more. Some of my top favorites are:

The Sugar Queen by Sarah Addison Allen

The Forgotten Beasts of Eld by Patricia A. McKillip

A Threat of Shadows by JA Andrews

Ready Player One by Ernest Cline

When Tomorrow Calls Series by JT Lawrence

Dark Matter by Blake Crouch

The HitchHiker’s Guide to the Galaxy by Douglas Adams

The Legend of Eli Monpress by Rachel Aaron

The Redwall Series by Brian Jacques

Lord of the Rings by J.R.R. Tolkien

These are all books that inspire my writing. As you can tell, I read a wide variety of genres.

What inspired you to write this book?

I love telling stories. The Four World Series is was inspired by my love of storytelling and also inspired by the games I played in my childhood. I grew up with 4 sisters, we are all quite close and enjoyed using our wild imaginations. I’ve noticed in reviews, reviewers often talk about my imagination and it honestly came from my childhood.

I started writing The Five Warriors because I had a dream about a warrior, standing on the edge of a battlefield. He’d been through a lot and he stared out with relief. When I dreamed about him, I knew I had to write his story. His name is Marklus. The Five Warriors opens with him in prison.

What can we expect from you in the future?

Currently, I’m working on the final novel in the Four Worlds Series. From there I have a couple of additional series that happen within the Four Worlds and about 20 standalones. All in all I have about 50 novels and novella in my queue and will be releasing them over the next 25-50 years, depending on how long it takes me to write them out. While the main genre I write is fantasy, I’ll dive into sci-fi, romance, thrillers, and other genres along the way.

Do you have any “side stories” about the characters?

I do! I adore side stories and digging into some of the side characters to learn more about them, their histories and their motives. My first stand-alone with a side character is Myran. Myran tells the story about Eliesmore’s mother and why she behaves the way she does. It’s a dark fantasy novella, and I will release more like it in the upcoming years.

What did you enjoy most about writing this book?

I love seeing the characters come to life, it’s the best part of writing. They are good and bad, light and dark, they argue, have insane motives, stand up for each other and enjoy a good fight. They don’t always make the right choice, they make mistakes, but once you get to know them, you love them, despite how crazy and annoying they get. There will be characters you root for, and others you’ll want to choke out and remove from the book altogether. It’s a wild ride with these characters.

Tell us about your main characters- what makes them tick?

When did you first consider yourself a writer?

This might sound a bit odd but I’ve always considered myself a writer. I did not consider myself an author until my first book was published in 2015. Now, when I meet people and they ask me what I do, I tell them, I’m an author. It feels good.

About the Books

The Five Warriors

The Four Worlds Series Book 1

by Angela J. Ford

Genre: Epic Dark Fantasy

“The characters were well-written and well-developed, the story was clear and enjoyable without being predictable, and there were a couple of evenings I stayed up later than I intended just so I could get to the end of a chapter. If you’re a fantasy fan, you’re going to LOVE this!” —Amazon review

What if…

your best friend started a rebellion in the middle of a war?

your lover awakened a deep evil and helped it grow?

your people were too cowardly to face a battle?

you stole an ancient power source?

you gambled with the fate of the world?

Join five powerful warriors each with a unique ability and magical weapons. Their quest is to discover where the transformed creatures are coming from and put a stop to it.

Along the way they run into treacherous immortals, sea monsters,

powerful beasts of the air and talking animals.

Each has their own reasoning for joining the quest, but one carries a deadly secret which just might be the destruction of them all.

“Angela’s imagination has brought these characters to life and the

worlds they live in.”

—Amazon review

Add to Goodreads

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The Blended Ones

The Four Worlds Series Book 2

Over 100 years after The Five Warriors saved the Western World, the Blended Ones have become a curse in the Eastern World. Beware the Blended Ones…

Phyllis and her 17 year old twin sister, Ilieus are Blended Ones. But Ilieus suffers from visions of darkness she is unable to discern. Forsaken by their parents the two cross the country in search of the Order of the Wise for help.

Cuthan the Charmer is mischievous enough to change anyone’s mind with a smile and a wink. Born into a family of treasure hunters, he s searching for the key to unlocking his dormant powers.

Pharengon the Horse Lord was born to be King. Young and inexperienced he

seeks a weapon to turn the tide of the war in his favor. But when his very own army betrays him, he will have to turn to the Lost Ones for assistance.

Caught in the fate of the Eastern World the youths destinies become twisted together in a frightful quest that will change the course of time. In the midst of their whirlwind adventure, they discover love, loss, and uncover the truth about who and what is behind the chaotic, spiraling events in the Eastern World.

This can be read as a stand alone novel

Add to Goodreads

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Eliesmore and the Green Stone

The Four Worlds Series Book 3

Changers have arisen, wreaking havoc as they harvest the world, searching

for the Green Stone. The South World sinks in despair, holding its breath, waiting for the One.

Eliesmore is a Blended One, growing up on the edge of the forest of the creatures of the wood. Young, headstrong, and inspired by magical rituals, he spends his time between his overprotective mother and sneaking out to dance with the wild things.

His courage is tested when Eliesmore discovers that he is the One who is meant to save the Four Worlds from the Changers. Unwilling to accept his fate, he turns his back on the prophecy and the futile quest to dissolve the Green Stone.

But Eliesmore will soon learn he cannot escape his destiny. Beset by creatures of the deep and hunted by servants of the Changers, Eliesmore finds his task will test the loyalty of his companions and help him answer the ultimate question:

Can he trust the immortals – or are they the reason the Changers

have come to power?

Add to Goodreads

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Myran

A Tale of the Four Worlds

Darkness has fallen in the South World, a land ruled by forces of evil and dark powers. Those who would resist live in hiding, hoping for the prophecy concerning the One to come true.

Born into a shadowed world Myran experiences her first loss when her parents are murdered before her eyes.

Adopted by the Green People she makes it her goal to hide from the woes of the world. As she grows older, she discovers her actions will birth the most significant change in all of the Four Worlds.

Recommended: Read this after reading “Eliesmore and the Green Stone”

Add to Goodreads

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Brought up as a bookworm and musician, Angela J. Ford began writing The Four Worlds Series—a fantasy series—at the age of twelve. The storyline of those books was largely based off of the imaginative games she played with her sisters.

Angela originally finished the series when she was sixteen. After college, Angela began to rewrite The Four Worlds Series, bringing it from a child’s daydream to an adventure young and old can enjoy. Since it is inspired by fairy tales, high magic, and epic fantasy, Angela knows you’ll enjoy your adventures within the Four Worlds.

If you happen to be in Nashville, you’ll most likely find her at a local coffee shop, enjoying a white chocolate mocha and furiously working on her next book. Make sure you say hello!

Website * Facebook * Facebook Group * Twitter * Instagram

Google + * Bookbub * Amazon * Goodreads

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SF & FANTASY WEEK – The Four Worlds was originally published on the Wordpress version of The Pulp and Mystery Shelf with Shannon Muir

#shannon muir #pulp and mystery shelf

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