#needed a bit of privacy for a bit and kept a hidden blog.

[chaoticgeminate]

You're So Classic (vi)

Summary: When you own a diner there are a variety of people that come to get a seat, Zach has become familiar with the constant and changing guests that come in through those doors. The good, the bad, and the ugly all with their own stories and their own lives. He’s witnessed first dates, last dates, engagements, anniversaries, job gains or losses, and birthdays galore.

Enter Nanette Dougherty.

Former pageant child, debutante, and swimsuit model fresh off a bad date and needing to be somewhere that her roommates and agent won’t try to find her. Where better than a diner full of things she’s never allowed to eat? What Nanette never counted on was the handsome diner owner to change her life.

Pairing: Zach Wellison x Nanette Rose Dougherty [ofc]

Rating: Explicit (Blog is 18+ regardless but this is going to be a bit of a heavy story)

Notes and Warnings: Series will involve some heavy topics including but not limited to body dysmorphic disorder (BDD), eating disorders, body acceptance, PTSD, anger problems, toxic narcissistic parents, and abusive relationships both platonic and romantic. This installment features toxic level parenting, bad relationships with Christianity, and corrupt authority. Beta read by the beautiful, lovely, amazing @leslie-lyman 💙

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BLT (k)

Zach wasn’t usually the type to buy style magazines, he hardly ever saw the need before, but now there was definitely a small stack he kept at home. All of them shared one thing, Nanette was featured in the spread somewhere, and his initial idea was to make a cut-out collage as a sort of time capsule for the growth of her career. Something tangible she could keep since the fashion world was so cutthroat, designers rose and fell in the same day even, but then he’d seen the pictures.

Beautiful, of course, there was no denying that she looked stunning. But Zach could see where the photos had been edited, where the few freckles she had were hidden with make-up and digital touch-ups, her waist was far too narrow here than what he knew it really was. But keeping these around felt like it might be a bad thing, taking into consideration her reaction to waking up bloated, he’d never forget that haunted look he’d caught so briefly on her face as she panicked about it and tried to hide it from him.

Instead he kept the magazines on his bookshelf, he knew that Nanette was aware of them since she’d giggled when she saw the first one earn its place on his side table, but she herself never looked through them so he had opted to put them up. He wasn’t going to assume the worst about what she might be going through since that wasn’t his place, but he kept those concerns in his back pocket for now until he felt they were valid or if she addressed it first.

Ramirez had seen the narrow magazine spines on his bookshelf when he’d shown up but he wasn’t willing to ask questions yet, Zach knew the other man had plenty of them but there was a lot of respect for privacy between the two of them. He’d let Ramirez disappear for two weeks, no questions asked, and just told everyone else it was a vacation when Zach knew it was much more severe than that; he didn’t know the specifics but it hadn’t been his business, and he refused to let the man go jobless because of whatever it was. Since then they’d been close, the other man had plenty of opportunities to leave and just hadn’t, and Zach knew that he had someone in his corner who would go to bat for him at the drop of a dime.

“Miso butter roasted potatoes. What do you think?” He was recipe testing with Ramirez, the other vet was not only his head chef but one of his best friends, and once a month they would spend a day or two off together to tweak the menu here and there. Ramirez hummed as he took a bite of the lightly crispy outside, fluffy inside, potato and the other man nodded in approval. Zach tried it and hummed too, putting a check onto the recipe card and dropping it into the box for approved recipes, and then Ramirez was handing him a ramekin with fish pie inside.

It was a European thing, he was sure, maybe even a specifically British thing but he didn’t know quite yet and would have to look it up later; the soft mashed potatoes and creamy filling were good, it wasn’t necessarily his taste but he couldn’t deny that it was worthy of popping up on the specials board. His diner definitely was known for American classics but LA was a food melting pot and the occasional times he offered something more international always earned new diners coming to check it out.

“This is kind of heavy but it isn’t bad, like a shepherds pie but with fish.”

“That’s what I was thinking, I put a little more mustard than what the recipe suggested to try and brighten it up a little bit. I think we should play with the filling flavor a little because we’re working with US ingredients compared to UK stuff which is bound to have even a little different flavor profiles, but I think this one works.”

Zach watched Ramirez go back to the pie filling and smiled, moving on to the next recipe on the list, and he smiled at the general peace involved with the routine of it all. A knock on the door made him exhale a little, patting Ramirez on the back after washing his hands, and Zach nearly froze at the sight of a police officer on his doorstep.

“Are you Zachary Wellison?”

“Yes, Officer. Is something wrong?”

“I need you to get down on your knees and keep your hands where I can see them. You’re being detained for questioning based on reports of assault.“

Zach found himself blindsided as he was handcuffed, though the officer did allow him to at the very least slide into his slip-on sneakers so that he wasn’t marched barefoot to the squad car, and the officer’s partner was reading off his Miranda rights. Ramirez was talking with the initial officer about options for bail if it led to an arrest. 

None of Zach’s neighbors were home at least. Maybe it was stupid but he didn’t want them to think he had actually done what he was being accused of. It was harder to prove yourself innocent than it should be in this day and age.

He didn’t ask questions, he didn’t speak up, because he knew that he needed to get a lawyer stat, but he was genuinely confused. From the wording it sounded like he was a suspect, not that it was a hard accusation, but he had no idea who would even accuse him of something like that. When he did go out to bars with others he never allowed himself to get drunk, he never allowed himself to have more than a few beers or drinks in general because he knew that he was sloppy, but even then he’d never been an aggressive drunk.

The squad car moved through the traffic with ease, finally arriving at the station, and Zach was led into a room with a metal chair and cheap table. As he took his seat the officer took off the cuffs, allowing him to rub his wrists slightly, before someone who could only be a police detective entered the room and sat down across from him.

“Hello Zachary, I’ve got a couple of questions for you.”

“I’d like a lawyer first, please.”

“Of course, there’s one on their way. I don’t want to keep you here longer than I need to, son.”

“I understand that, sir, however I will not be answering any questions until a lawyer is present as is my right.”

The detective leaned back in his seat and nodded, leaving Zach to stare at the table in silence as they waited, the ticking of the clock and the low hum of the fluorescent lights filling the void of the room with background noise. He didn’t know if it had been hours, or days, before the detective got up when a low buzz sounded and someone else walked in. The woman was professional, her salt and pepper hair in a loose bob that fell to her collar bones, and her eyes were sharp.

“Hello Zachary, my name is Margaret McCall. I am your state-provided legal representative.”

“Hello ma’am, thank you for coming.”

“Of course, young man, I appreciate your manners. Now I understand you’re being detained due to accusations of assault?”

“Yes, ma’am, that’s all I know at the moment as I refused to speak with the detective until I had a lawyer.”

Margaret nodded her head in approval before looking at the glass mirror, the detective returning and sitting down his his folder once again.

“Zachary, where were you three nights ago?”

“At work, sir, I own The Chow Hall. The diner on-“

“Ah, yes, the diner for veterans. So you’re a veteran then, thank you for your service.”

His jaw tightened as he gritted out a ‘thank you for your support’ despite wanting to be silent, the cops always seemed to think that just because he was ex-military that he bled blue, and the detective pulled out the photograph of a young woman.

“Do you recognize this woman, Zachary?”

“She comes into the diner after a night out drinking with her friends, it’s a pretty common event, usually weekly. But I only help on the floor when the servers need me, usually I’m in the office or the kitchen.”

“That’s the only place you know her from? You don’t go out partying in her circles?”

“No sir, I only know her from the diner.”

The detective put the photograph away and crossed his arms on the table.

“You have proof that you were at work, son? The whole shift?”

“Yes, sir, we have security cameras. I can access the feed and records from my phone, if you want that proof immediately.”

“Give me a few minutes, son. Let me check with the tech team.”

After he left the room Margaret hummed, scribbling something in her notebook, and Zach glanced at her as she closed the front page.

“The good news is that they have nothing to hold you here, especially with security footage proof on your end as to where you were, so you shouldn’t be detained much longer. In the event that they find something, do you have the name and number of friends or family I could call to confirm details of your week?”

“I do, would you like me to write them for you?”

“Yes, please, Mr. Wellison.”

He scribbled down the information for Ramirez and after only a moment’s hesitation for Nanette as well, though he did make sure to leave a note that she was currently visiting family in Texas and would only be available via video call if they needed to see her face for any reason. He looked up as the door opened and the detective sat down, empty handed this time, before Zach was handed his cellphone.

“If you could access those cameras for me, son, while I can watch you do it I would be appreciative. We’ll need you to send us a copy of the records from 20:00 to 03:30, unaltered. If they’re tampered with we will know.”

Zach made sure to keep his phone tilted so that the cameras in the corner could pick up what he was doing as he accessed the camera app, opening the video feed from three nights ago and creating the clipped segment that he sent to the detective’s e-mail. Once it was received, after the details were confirmed, Zach locked his phone again and handed it back. Margaret waited until the detective left to scoff.

“While I know you’re just looking to prove your innocence, they do require a warrant to request information from your personal devices.”

“I know, ma’am, I just want to go home.”

It felt like hours had passed as Margaret gave him her information, on the chance that they tried to pursue this case further, and the legal protections he had if they tried to disrupt his life over currently unconfirmed charges. He appreciated that she spoke as if he were innocent, because he was, but still with the reality that sometimes innocent people were convicted despite evidence he felt respected.

“You’re free to leave, son, your security footage is clear. Apologies for disrupting your day, thank you for your cooperation.” Zach took his phone back and Margaret led him out, making sure he had her information, and she slipped a piece of paper into his hand behind her business card as she shooed him away. Zach waited until he was in the car with Ramirez, who came to pick him up, to look at it.

Check your phone case for tracking and listening devices.

Zach hadn’t thought about that possibility and held up his finger to silence Ramirez when the other vet went to ask him what he was doing, and the man went on talking about the other recipes he’d gone over while Zach had been in the station instead. Zach found a small device tucked in the back of his case, barely the size of the top of his thumb, and he could see the microphone hole easily. There was even some sort of location tag tracker on it, no doubt they’d be trying to get it back, and he grinned as Ramirez pulled over at the gas station so Zach could drop it in the trash.

Only after he was sure his phone was safe did they head back, sharing a disgusted rant about the LA cops as Ramirez theorized someone had paid the woman to make the accusation against him, and Zach was willing to dismiss the idea. He didn’t have anyone out there who disliked him that badly, at least he hoped not, and the only thing that made sense would be someone who didn’t like that he was a veteran or that his diner was doing well.

Cassie’s nose was busted up but the proud smile on her face had Nanette grinning too, fussing with a rag to clean the blood off as her little sister cradled her trophy, and she could hear Paul’s nerves about facing her mother with Cassie this busted up. It had been right after the last game of the season ended that the goalie from the other school team had gone after one of Cassie’s smaller teammates, who had managed to get a shot past into the net, and Nanette’s sister had jumped in the second she realized Heather was going to get punched and pulled the smaller girl out of the way in exchange for a bloody nose.

“No matter what Paul or mother have to say, Cassie, I’m so proud of you.” Nanette ignored the look Paul shot her in the rear-view mirror, she’d chosen to sit in the back with her sister on the drive home, and focused solely on Cassie’s smile as the teen held the rag in place now.

“Thanks, Nana. Means a lot to me.”

“I’m serious, you’re killing it out there, I have the coolest little sister.” Watching Cassie’s smile turn shy made Nanette glance at her step-father, who was pulling into the neighborhood, and Paul scowled deeper when he realized she was watching him. He knew as well as Nanette did that her mother was going to lose it, the two of them had already been fighting over Paul allowing Cassie to pursue sports instead of pageants and débutante events, and Nanette knew it was in part because her mother didn’t want any other kids and Paul felt slighted that he’d only had one that was his to raise.

The two of them were just selfish and Cassie was being caught in the middle; Paul would always let her get the brunt of their mother’s temper for choosing sports over pageants.

Paul looked even more alarmed when Nanette’s phone rang, since he knew she wouldn’t take a personal or work call inside, and Cassie began heading in with her season MVP trophy. He knew as well as she did that without her going inside beside him that he couldn’t slip away while Nanette dealt with her mother’s anger on the subject of Cassie’s nose. Nanette answered the call and watched Paul skulk inside, hearing her mother’s shrill outrage even from out here, but she ignored it in favor of the call.

“Hi Delaney, is something wrong?”

“Do you remember Francesca’s friend, Lillian?”

“Lillian Hunt? Yes, she wanted to model but refused to follow the calorie restrictions and now she’s looking into acting right?”

“Correct, I called to warn you. Lillian went out three nights ago to celebrate getting a role in a commercial; Cheyenne called me because she showed up to film with bruises all over her and claimed that a stranger assaulted her. The man she described sounds like your boyfriend.”

For a moment Nanette felt that slither of surprise work its way through her, because that was definitely a surprise, but it turned into anger quickly.

“Delaney, first and foremost Zach would never put his hands on anyone like that and I’m insulted you would even believe that of him. Secondly, he was at work at the diner three days ago for a night shift, if the cops were called to the diner it would have been all over social media.” The Chow Hall wasn’t some massive Michelin Star restaurant but it was a very widely known place in LA being so focused on veteran hiring and rehabilitation to civilian life, the countless articles and travel blog posts about it had made it into an internet famous diner.

“As I said, I was just concerned. Please be careful trusting him.”

“Delaney, you are being ridiculous, Zach didn’t do anything like that. Now I have to go, my mother is not patient when it comes to disrupting family time. I’ll see you in a few days when I get back.”

“Of course, Nanette.”

As she ended the call Nanette sent a text to Zach first, asking him if he was okay, and when she didn’t get an answer she simply tucked her phone away. He was recipe testing with Hector today so there was a chance his phone was on silent, it wasn’t a huge deal, and her mother scowled when Nanette stepped inside.

“Was that your agent?”

“Yes, mother, that was Delaney.”

“Are you going to break up with that boy now that he’s proven he’ll run around and hurt people?”

Nanette stared at her mother in disbelief and realized that Delaney had called her already, likely during the game when she hadn’t been answering her phone, and that anger from before returned even as she fought to keep her tone level.

“Mother, Zach didn’t do anything like that and he would never do anything like that, he’s not a man that would go around hurting people. He was at work the night of the incident, if you must know, and the woman who made the accusation simply described someone that looked like him and everyone is up in arms for no reason. Do you know how many guys in LA have close cut brown hair and wear flannels? The answer is, a lot of them.” Nanette kept her tone as dismissive as possible, wanting to just cut this conversation off before it could lengthen, and a part of her felt guilty because the second she did her mother would just start in about Cassie’s nose without a care for how the injury happened.

Watching her mother’s perfectly shaped eyebrow raise and those pale pink colored lips curl into a disappointed expression had Nanette instantly on the defensive. The relationship they had was nothing like when she’d been a child now that she was living on her own and able to see how terrible the woman was. But any time she made the move of cutting her out entirely Nanette would panic and break within days. Her mother had always pushed her to do better and want more for herself, the idea of giving up her family like that was terrifying and she wasn’t brave enough to do it. Nanette’s mother wasn’t a good person but that was her mother, the woman who loved her and raised her, so instead she was as vocal as she could be trying to change her mother’s beliefs.

“Nanette Rose, I understand that you think you love him. I do, honey, I was there once too remember? But the fact that you’re willing to settle for a man that owns some diner in LA when you’re so much better than that feels like a slap in the face for everything I’ve ever done for you. I don’t mean to make you feel like I’m attacking you or your choice, God knows you’re like me and have to learn things the hard way, but I just don’t want to see you hurt or ruin your entire career over him.” The resigned tone of her mother’s voice felt like whiplash when compared against her expression, making Nanette back down since it was pretty obvious that her mother was not going to listen.

“He’s a good man, and a great partner, I hope that soon you get to see that for yourself.” Honestly she missed him, a lot, maybe it was the honeymoon phase or whatever but she really wished he was here; his comfort and care was something she could use right now. It was true that she’d begun spending a lot of time with him but Zach brought calm to her life that she hadn’t even known she’d been missing, and his consideration for her work was unparalleled. He respected her even though she was a model, not once had she heard him make any remarks about her intelligence the way others often did, and he even helped her learn about field hockey so she could talk with Cassie about it with no judgment.

Zach was nothing like some of the male authority figures she’d had in her life, who tried to talk down to her because she was a woman or act like her doing pageants and débutante events made her stupid by default.

“Alright, if you say so, just remember that you can always call if you need help okay? Now, please tell me you understand why I hate this sports thing your sister is doing, or are you delighted that her nose is leaking blood all over?” Nanette couldn’t help it, her eyes rolled and she let out the softest laugh.

“Mother, Cassie is having fun and she’s great at the sport, you have a daughter who has pursued modeling and fame. Let her live her life, please? Sometimes it seems like all you want to do is live through us.” The swat to the side of her head with a rolled up magazine was to be expected and her mother looked absolutely thunderous, the sting was just present enough to be annoying, and Nanette scowled right back.

“Don’t imply that I’m some washed up crone, I don’t live through either one of you, I only want what is best for you both. If I hadn’t taken you in after the divorce your father would have put you in an early grave with his drinking habit, all I ever did was give you opportunities.” Nanette’s ire faded as she was reminded, yet again, just how ugly the divorce had been for her mother; she’d talked to her dad who had confessed at the time he had a drinking problem. He’d told her that he didn’t know if he would have been able to step up and be the dad she needed at that point in her life.

“I’m sorry, mother. I know it wasn’t easy for you, Dad even admitted he didn’t know if he could have stepped up back then, but there was a lot of stress I was under trying to live up to your expectations that I couldn’t tell you about because I never wanted to disappoint you. Please don’t put Cassie in that position, let her play field hockey and be who she is, just let her be a kid while she still can.” Her mother’s annoyance softened to a resigned look as she shrugged, nodding and waving her hand to dismiss the conversation, it was a relief and slightly irritating that her mother would just end conversations she was tired of without a resolution but there wasn’t much Nanette could do without risking her mother getting angrier.

Cassie was sitting in bed, nose patched up and changed, when Nanette walked into the room; the three-bedroom house had one room converted into an office, for Paul, so the ‘guest’ space was the bunk bed in Cassie’s room. It was a twin over double style, so whenever there were guests usually Cassie was relegated to the top bunk, but Nanette was more than okay with her baby sister cuddling up to her so they shared happily and talked most of the night.

“Is mom really mad still?” Seeing the very worried expression on her sister’s face made Nanette immediately exhale softly and sit down, pulling her sister into a side hug gently.

“Not as mad but she’s still pretty heated about it, I’m sorry I can’t do more to help you.” It was hard to navigate standing up for her sister, and herself, while still showing her mother respect.

“I don’t blame you, Nettie, you had it worse than I did with all those pageants and stuff. I don’t know how you put up with it.”

“You’re braver than I was back then, I just wanted to make mother proud. I started to like it more as I got older but that isn’t me telling you to give up what makes you happy. You are Cassandra Dougherty, not Nanette or Marcelline Dougherty, you have to make your own way in life; as long as you’re true to who you are then I’ll always be proud.” The two of them switched to sitting on the floor so Cassie could tell her about the different plays, and how she was excited that she was set to be the Captain at twelve if she kept doing what she was doing, and Nanette helped her sister come up with easier ways to memorize the plays so that she had a better chance at achieving that spot.

If she finished out middle school as the field hockey captain for two years then it would make her more likely to get a good spot on the high school team, since Cassie was having a good time so far Nanette wanted to make sure her sister was able to do the things she aspired for. They were discussing teammates and who was cooperative for extra practice when her little sister got quiet, looking very shy, and Nanette waited for her to broach whatever topic it was she had on her mind.

“Nettie? What does it feel like to have a crush on someone?” Nanette’s brows raised a little and she felt her heart stop only momentarily, trying not to recall the days of her own youth when her mother would take her on dates with boys when she didn’t really want to. This wasn’t that situation at all.

“They make your face feel warm, your chest feels like it's exploding with butterflies, and when they’re telling you about something they really like -even if you don’t understand it- you always want to listen because seeing them happy makes you happy.” Nanette thought about Zach, about how infectious his own happiness was, and Cassie’s brow furrowed.

“Is it… is it normal to feel that way with… with another girl?”

“Absolutely, and don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. People around here think it’s against the word of God, that it's immoral and disgusting, but it’s not.” Nanette’s chest was tight with concern, outrage on behalf of her sister who hadn’t even figured out life but was already questioning it and would likely be mistreated for it because of how it was around here, and Cassie must have sensed it as she fiddled with her tee shirt hem.

“I don’t know if that’s what it is but I’m scared, I know that Harry’s mom kicked Mason out as soon as he was eighteen because he said he liked boys -she told the whole team all about it because she was really upset about losing her brother like that- and I think I like Nora but I don’t know.”

“Cassie, you’re eleven, you don’t need to know all the answers to everything. Did you know there are people mother’s age who realize that they’re actually gay or lesbian, that they’re trans or bi or anything people would consider ‘not normal’ in our community? You don’t need a label if you don’t want one, and there’s no rush at all to try and find one. Just be careful with who you talk to about this, okay? There’s only so much I can do from LA. Harriet seems like she’d be able to keep your secret, from the sound of it, even if it’s total nonsense that you need to keep it a secret to begin with.”

Cassie’s eyes welled up and Nanette crawled over to hug her, letting her little sister work through whatever she was feeling and glancing at her phone when it chimed. Zach had confirmed he was okay, a relief since she wanted to focus on her sister right now.

Zach glanced at Nanette as she read through articles on her tablet, ever since she’d come home she mentioned needing to do some heavy reading and he’d told her to come to his place since Francesca was doing line reads with other peers at theirs, and he had his music on very low so he didn’t disturb her. He trusted her to tell him what, if anything, was wrong when she was ready to do so and for now he focused on finishing up dinner for them both. He’d just gotten the bacon fried up when he felt Nanette’s forehead come to rest against his back, the light grip she had on his flannel making him smile, and Zach set things aside to turn around and pull her into a hug.

“Need to talk or do you just want me to hold you, pretty girl?” Nanette’s lips curled into a smile against his shirt, the very light giggle that escaped her at the pet name proved her mood wasn’t the worst it could be, and Zach wouldn’t ever be able to describe the warmth in his chest when she hummed thoughtfully since it always came with an explanation. He felt honored to have her trust him enough to share what was on her mind, good or bad, to be her safe place to just voice all the things bothering her.

“My sister thinks she might have a crush on her friend from field hockey, Nora, and I can’t begin to tell you how badly that would go over with the people in my hometown. Much less our mother and her father. I want to help her but shy of convincing mother to let her live with me, meaning I’d have to find a place to stay, there isn’t much I can do except tell her to be mindful of who she tells that she’s even questioning it.” He was floored for a moment, digesting this information, but Zach could hardly believe just how wonderful Nanette was sometimes.

“I think telling her to be cautious about who she opens up to about her feelings is the best given the circumstances, she’s really lucky to have a supportive older sister you know. I would hope that maybe your parents might think differently since it’s their little girl but you know them better than I do so I will not try to challenge what you foresee happening here.” Zach felt Nanette nod lightly, felt the way she was holding all sorts of tension over this, and made her sit at one of the tall bar stools so he could finish making dinner.

“Are you okay with telling me more about your parents? Why they’ll go nuclear about this?” Nanette looked surprised for a second and then offered a small, embarrassed, expression.

“Of course, I thought I’d told you about them already. My mother, Marcelline Dougherty, is also a former pageant champion but she never got into modeling; she became a cosmetologist and pageant coach, as soon as I was old enough to compete I was in kiddie pageants too. My step-father, Paul McReynolds, has been her husband since I was six but he wasn’t really a father to me since my dad kept shared custody and I lived with him two weeks out of the month. He lived nearby up until I was going into Middle School when he confessed to me how he wanted to move a little bit away, I gave him the green light because I just wanted him happy, so he moved to a different town in the city that was far enough that he wouldn’t see mother all the time.” He didn’t voice how odd it was to him that she used the title mother but also the title dad, all that told him was who she was closer to in terms of her parents. Zach held up an avocado after slicing up the tomato and earned a nod.

“Mother and Paul are both very religious, if I wasn’t at my dad’s house or doing pageants I was usually at church or bible studies, they don’t see their bigotry as anything but following the word of God -even if they do cherry pick what they follow and what they’re lenient about- and there are plenty of people who have straight up cut ties with their children because they ended up coming out. Cassie is terrified, and unfortunately she should be, so I’m just trying to figure out how to help her.” Zach set Nanette’s sandwich down in front of her along with a small plate of kale chips for them to share, he’d looked into some alternatives for chips and he didn’t mind these so much, but he could tell it was bothering her.

“Would you be able to get a place on your own? Or are you contracted to live where you are? If you got a house of your own, I mean, couldn’t you just tell your parents you want Cassie to get out of the local area and become a temporary guardian until she’s eighteen?” Nanette chewed on her lower lip for a second and shrugged, looking more than a little lost, and he had no doubt that her parents were the nosy type given the way she was addressing this.

“Mother probably wouldn’t care but Paul wouldn’t like it, Cassie is his daughter -his only kid since mother refuses to go through childbirth again- and he’s the reason she’s even allowed to do field hockey instead of pageants. Even if he won’t actually have her back when she needs him, which is frustrating.” Zach found himself nodding, already disliking the man for putting his daughter -and step daughter- in this position at all since it sounded like Marcelline was the worst kind of bossy Southern woman.

“Well, I can help you go over your employment contract to look at your clause for residency, if you need me to, or I can help figure out what you’d need to put down on a place. I can also just mind my business and let you handle this, I don’t want to overstep.”

“I think I’m going to just learn what I can do to support her for now and if I need to take her in I absolutely will, I don’t want to rush her into thinking she needs to come out with some sort of label right away either, Cassie is only eleven so I’m just trying to be mindful of allowing her to start making her own choices.” Zach nodded and unlocked his tablet, to flip on a video to watch while they ate at the table, before he found himself with another question. He’d left the tablet on his messages application, which had Nanette’s question if he was okay from the day of his almost arrest.

“Hey, uh, that day you messaged me? Why did you ask if I was okay? You never said.” He had confirmed he was fine and sent her a question mark in reply. Nanette blinked and swallowed the mouthful of food with her hand covering her face as she tried to eat quicker. It was a cute habit of hers, to cover her mouth before speaking if she was eating during a meal.

“Delaney called me being super annoying about a false accusation, one of Francesca’s friends named Lillian apparently described someone like you as her assailant when she went out drinking and Lillian’s agent called him so he was all worried about me. I reassured him that she was wrong and you’d been misidentified, but it’s still really annoying. He was so upset about it he called my mother while we were at Cassie’s field hockey game, I mean come on really? I knew you didn’t do what they tried to accuse you of, not only were you at work that night but you’d never do anything like that.” Zach felt torn between relief that Nanette so firmly believed in him and immediate confusion that her agent knew about the incident. He didn’t think it was totally left field for the two agents to know what another, but it didn’t sit right with him.

“Is that a normal thing, those two talking?” Nanette hummed as she looked up from the video before rolling her shoulders in a shrug.

“Kind of? Cheyenne -Lillian and Francesca’s agent- takes a lot of aspiring models that refuse to do the calorie restrictions to try and get them minor film roles. I couldn’t imagine why she’d bring it up unless Lillian’s condition is worse than what I’ve been told, and according to Francesca you wouldn’t even know she’d been hurt looking at her. I kind of think she faked it for attention, wouldn’t be the first time and her boyfriend is a make-up artist.” The food he’d eaten sank like a rock in his gut and Zach excused himself, hating what he was doing as he stood in the bathroom and messaged some of his old contacts. He’d been willing to let it go until Nanette mentioned Lillian’s condition and that she’d faked things like this before.

A confirmation and a promise to dig into it from an old commanding officer of his sent him back to the table and he hoped, against all his doubts, that maybe he was wrong.

All Fics Taglist: @haylzcyon @wordsnwhiskey @pagannightwitch @radiowallet @tauralmie @amneris21 @trickstersp8 @practicalghost @alwaysdjarin @alexxavicry @all-the-way-down-here

Just Pedro Taglist: @maievdenoir @beecastle @littlemisspascal @writeforfandoms @aynsleywalker @lovesbiggerthanpride @mswarriorbabe80

You're so Classic Only: @green-socks @whataperfectwasteoftime @harriedandharassed

[luminousophie]

Hm. I might post here, again.

[lovlychan]

seventeen: your friends with benefits

pairing: 95 line x gn! reader genre: romance, fluff warning(s): suggestive language, swearing request: Hey omg I love your blog sm already and I can’t wait to see what u make in the future :) I was wondering if u could do a svt reaction/head cannon to y’all being fwb but they catch feelings? 👀 if not I totally understand/gen 💙 note: omg hi!! thank you for the support, i really appreciate it! here’s 95 line; i originally was meant to write for the entire hyung line but these got a bit long for my taste lol :^)) feel free to request for the others <3 ALSO i’m finally back from dying over finals, please expect more work within the next few weeks :DD my requests are open as always!

seungcheol

two friends that just needed a way to blow off some steam

while this setup of yours with seungcheol was exciting and fun, the two of you agreed to keep it a secret

you both valued privacy, and neither of you wanted people to know about your business

that meant you guys would always be lowkey when in public; leaving the bathroom at separate times, wandering hands from under the table

while you seemed perfectly fine with keeping things hidden, it was suffocating seungcheol

even before your current arrangement with him, he always thought there was something special about you, something that drew him closer and made him want more

and getting to see you, all of you, made it harder for him to remember that there shouldn’t be any feelings involved

one night, he calls you, asking you to come over

when you get to his apartment, you can tell the mood is completely different from the past situations when you’d visit

it’s evident on his face that he called you over for something way more serious than just hooking up, and you begin to grow worried

“cheol are you oka–” “we need to stop this."

“i can’t keep doing this anymore. being able to touch you but never actually have you, it’s fucking with my head. knowing that behind closed doors, i have you all to myself but the moment we’re outside you’re no longer mine, it hurts. i’m in love with you, y/n.”

jeonghan

100% obsessed with you behind closed doors but acts like you’re strangers out in public

but recently, it feels like you guys are strangers on all levels

every time you’d hit him up, you’d get the same response

“busy 2nite, sorry”, “my roommate’s home”, “i have hw”

at first, you didn’t mind his excuses

it’s college, of course he’s busy

but after two whole weeks of blowing you off, your patience was wearing thin

it wasn’t like him to just cut things off without an explanation

he never even messages anymore, so at this point, you guys aren’t even talking

you haven’t seen him in so long, so the moment you run into him outside the library, you corner him to ask why he’s been avoiding you

he’s awkwardly fidgeting, avoiding eye contact, but you won’t leave until he explains himself

he knows you won’t give up, and he tells you with frustration evident in his tone

“i have feelings for you, okay? i knew that if we continued what we were doing i’d only fall deeper. i thought the only way for me to get over you would be to cut you off, but i realized it just made me miss you even more. is that what you wanted to hear?”

joshua

childhood friends that both wanted to lose their virginities, but the sexual chemistry was good so you guys just kept going

everyone knew you guys were close, so no one really questioned why you’d spend the night at each others’ places so frequently

after another night of your usual activities, you guys have pizza delivered to joshua’s apartment

when the food arrives, you answer the door, clad in one of shua’s old shirts 

the delivery guy thinks you’re cute, and he even asks for your number

you’re about to give it when joshua takes the pizza box from the guy’s hands and slams the door shut

he looks annoyed, but you’re annoyed too

“what was that for? i was about to give him my number”

you’re just waiting for his reply, and he looks at you with an unreadable emotion in his eyes

desperation, maybe?

“please don’t go out with someone else. i’m in love with you. i think i have been ever since the start. i want us to be more than what we are right now, if you let me. i’ve already gotten a taste of how it feels to be with you, and now i can’t imagine ever letting you go.”

[brighteyedbushybrowed]

𝐀 𝐍𝐨𝐭-𝐒𝐨-𝐊𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐇𝐢𝐬 𝐒𝐩𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐜𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 (𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟏)

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 (Koner x Spellcaster!GN!Reader) When Koner turned up at your door asking to do business with you, you didn’t expect your agreement to turn into something more. 

𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 No smut but the next part(s) will have 18+ only content so MINORS DNI SOD OFF AWAY FROM ME AND THIS BLOG. A little bit of angst if you squint, brief mentions of sex, more of the lead up to the relationship than anything, barely proofread because it’s the middle of the night and I’m tired lolol. 

𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬 Yes, I bent the lore of GoT for magic because I say magic rights and don’t care what George R.R. Martin says. The next two parts will be smut and will also be the same as each other but one will be written for v owners and the other will be written for p owners so that I’m not limiting it to a specific set of anatomy. I didn’t feel up to writing smut, so I wrote this instead with the intention of writing smut in separate parts. Honestly I’ve had to take a short break from writing because doing smut all the time can be a bit draining for me for personal reasons. 

The quiet and solitude of your little home you’d made for yourself in the small village a few miles from Winterfell was something you’d grown accustomed to. You’d lived with your parents for most of your life, but when the time came you built up a life away from them, although still in the same village so that you could be there for them if they needed your help.

Your house was a simple one and resided at the outskirts of the village. Your parents visited from time to time, but apart from that you never had company over. If you were to meet your friends and spend time with them, you did it in the local tavern or at their house. Of course, you were questioned about why you never invited anyone into your home, and you would wave it off saying that it was simply too small to adequately entertain guests. It was a believable enough excuse, and one that meant you were never bothered by anyone unless it was your parents wanting to catch up or spend time with you. However, the true reason behind you never having guests was nothing to do with the size of your home.

You were a spellcaster.

You had known from a young age that you were able to use magic. However, your parents made sure that you only ever used it within the family home so as to not raise suspicions. Magic wasn’t banned as such, but it was long thought to be dead and nothing but fanciful stories and old wives’ tales. If anyone thought there was even a chance that they could use magic and obtain the kind of power that could be utilised by an enemy to overthrow Winterfell, you and your parents would never have heard the end of it. So, you kept it hidden and only used it in the safety and privacy of the family home. Now, as an adult, you practiced your magic in the solitude and emptiness of your own house. It was difficult, of course, because you still weren’t sure of the limits of what you could do even after growing up using magic. You could do small things like summoning small flames into your hands and lighting fires with the blink of an eye, but when you tried to venture into other possible disciplines of magic you just didn’t seem to be able to do anything else.

It was while you were practicing your magic, trying to see how large of a flame you could conjure into your palm, when you received a knock at your door. You swiftly extinguished the fire you’d created and wrapped yourself up in your moth-eaten blanket then opened the door. Before you stood a man wearing the uniform that the Winterfell soldiers donned, confusion etched onto his features as he tried to look behind you into the house.

“Can I help you?” you asked, a polite smile on your face as you tried to close the door a little to stop him being nosy.

“Didn’t you just have a fire lit in there?”

You shook your head. “A fire? No, sir. I’m sure you’re mistaken.”

He fixed his eyes on you and you noticed immediately how dark they were. If it weren’t for the lighter flecks of hazel mixed with the brown, you’d have thought they were black.

“No, I definitely saw a fire. Why did you put it out? Are you trying to freeze to death in there?” he said, clearly determined to get an answer out of you.

“Instead of arguing about this imaginary fire you claim to have seen, why don’t you tell me why you’re here? What brings you to my home, soldier?”

As if remembering that he wasn’t there to ask about fires, his frown morphed into a smile that you had to admit was rather pretty. “I was told I could find herbal remedies and medicines here for a reasonable price if I asked nicely enough.”

You narrowed your eyes. “And who told you that? What’s wrong with the remedies and medicines up in Winterfell?”

His eyes raked up and down your body, making you let out an involuntary shiver. “None of them are as easy on the eye as you are, pretty thing. Who told me where to find you is none of your business. I have my ways.”

You let out an indignant huff but opened the door a little wider and stepped aside. “Get in, before I change my mind. Quickly now, you’re letting out the warmth.”

He smirked as he brushed past you and entered your home. You slammed the door, irritated, and made your way over to the fireplace. If he knew about the herbal remedies and medicines that you crafted, that meant he likely knew about your use of magic and there would be no point in hiding it from him now. However, that didn’t mean you weren’t going to make sure you didn’t need to start preparing to leave at a moment’s notice.

You gazed down at the kindling in the fireplace and clicked your fingers, delighting in the gasp the man let out when it caught alight and began to warm up the room. You quirked a brow as you turned to look at him and took in his expression of amazement.

“Don’t act so shocked. People don’t come to me asking for my services without knowing first at least a little about what I am, and aside from my parents nobody else knows the truth of why I live out here alone. So, tell me the name of the fool gawking at me like I’ve just grown a second head and then tell me who directed you to me.”

The soldier was quiet for a moment before he responded. “Koner.”

You nodded as you moved over to the shelves filled with remedies and medicines you’d concocted and perfected over the years. “Is Koner your name or the name of whoever needs flaying for putting both of us at risk?”

“That would be me.” You heard the man – Koner – pull out a chair from the table and assumed he’d taken a seat there. “So, is it true what they said? You make your own medicines and sell them to other outlying villages to make some coin?”

You glanced over your shoulder at him. “Yes, that’s the long and short of it. I suppose they also told you what I am as well, did they? That I use magic once thought to be extinct to concoct my remedies?”

“Yes and no.”

You picked up a couple of potions you’d put together that took care of one’s general health and placed them in front of him on the table before taking a seat opposite him.

“They told me about your business. I’ve come by here more than once but ended up never knocking on the door. I’ve seen you through the window a few times making fire out of thin air and realised that must be part of how you make them.”

Admittedly, that wasn’t the answer you’d been expecting from him. You were concerned that you would need to track down whoever had discovered your secret and put an end to their rumour spreading in order to protect both yourself and our parents. However, Koner seemed to be telling the truth, though you didn’t completely trust him yet. If he became a regular customer, you would have to see if his words were true or if he was lying to cover for someone else. One thing was for sure: you were going to need something to cover up your windows if you wanted to keep your secret exactly that.

You lifted one of the potions and observed him as he watched in interest. “This takes care of general health. Think of it like a tonic or a pick-me-up. As long as you promise to keep your mouth shut about what you know, I’ll provide you these for free if and when you need them. Other remedies and such will still cost you.”

Koner nodded, a stray brown curl slipping from beneath his hood. “Of course. Will I need to arrange with you a place to meet and trade?”

“And risk someone catching me in the act and following me home? No. You will come to me when you need something from me,” you told him, placing the potion back down on the table.

“And if someone sees me? Asks questions? What shall I tell them?”

A playful smile teased your lips. “That you’re getting an easy fuck from the village hermit.”

You laughed when he choked on his own spit, his eyes wide with shock.

“I’m joking,” you told him. “Nobody would be mad enough to come to me if sex was what they wanted, although I certainly wouldn’t say no to you given the time to get to know you better. Just say to them that my parents have asked you to check in on me regularly. I’ll make sure they know to corroborate your story should somebody discuss it with them.”

Once he agreed, the two of you spent another hour or so becoming better acquainted with one another. You found out that Koner was an only child and both his parents had died five years prior not long after he’d turned twenty. After that, he’d become a soldier of Winterfell to keep himself afloat and had been welcomed with open arms. He’d grown up in the North, but a couple towns over from the village you lived in. Frostbite had almost taken his fingers of his left hand in his first year as a soldier, scars from the ice adorning his fingertips. In turn, you’d told him about growing up as the only person in your family who had magic and how you’d found that other kinds of magic had escaped your capabilities no matter how hard you tried. You regaled him with tales of close calls and the time you’d accidentally burned your mother’s best dress when you panicked as a child, unable to control your magic as effectively at such a young age. You showed him the scar on your knee from when you’d fallen out of a tree when your childhood rival Bram bet you a fresh loaf of bread you couldn’t climb to the top.

When Koner left with the potions you gave him, it was with the promise that he would be back soon if he needed anything else. You bid him farewell with a smile, knowing that he would keep his word and likely return before the week ended.

 ***

 As weeks passed, you and Koner settled into a routine. Every Friday, once the sun set and never a minute before, your curly haired soldier with his chocolate button eyes would rap his knuckles against your door in the pattern you had both devised so that you new who was at your door: two short knocks, a pause, two more, another pause, and then one last knock against the wood. Then, you would let him in and swiftly shut the door behind him before proceeding to close the shutters on all of your windows. He’d then tell you what he needed, you would put the requested items in the satchel he’d bring with him, he’d pay you, and then you’d spend the next couple of hours talking. Sometimes it was about something that had happened that week. Other times it was more questions so that you could become more familiar with one another.

What hadn’t been planned as part of your routine was falling for him. Koner was undoubtedly a handsome man, but his personality – his kindness, the strength of his spirit, the softness behind the hardened exterior of a soldier – was more handsome still. You would spend your days apart hoping that he would drop in unexpectedly one night to spend more time with you, always keeping your home more organised and tidier just in case. The money he paid you for your homemade remedies and medicines had been enough to keep you better fed and you had even given some of it to your parents so that they too could live a better life. Even when you told him he didn’t have to pay you as much as he did, that you would reduce the price just for him if he wished, he would always pay you the full amount.

One evening, when your mother came to visit your home, she’d asked you about your relationship with Koner.

“When are you going to tell him, love?” she’d enquired.

You gave her a frown in return. “Tell him what?”

“That you’re in love with him.”

Those six words had hit you harder than you thought they would. You merely shook your head.

“He doesn’t see me in the same way, mother. Besides, he’s a soldier. He could have anyone he wanted. Why would he want the lonely village hermit with their little parlour tricks and potions?”

You glared at her when she smacked your arm.

“I will not have you speaking of yourself in such a way! If he cared so little for you, would he still insist on paying you no less than the full amount of what your potions are worth? Would he bother to stick around after getting what he needs? Would he try so hard to get to know you better and treat you with such kindness? I think you underestimate him and his feelings.”

“And what if he really doesn’t care for me at all?” you murmured, your head bowed to avoid her gaze. “What if all of this is him being polite? He’s a soldier of Winterfell, mother. There must be countless men and women who would do anything for him at the tip of his hat. What makes me so special?”

Her arms wrapped around you from behind and pulled you into her warm embrace. “You always were too stubborn to take mine or your father’s word for it. If you asked Koner how he felt, I know that he would say he feels the same for you that you do for him.”

Even with your mother’s reassurance, the voice of doubt still lingered in the back of your mind.

 ***

At the four month mark of yours and Koner’s friendship, he knocked that now comforting rhythm at your door and you opened the door with a smile to be met with a sight you weren’t expecting.

He’d brought you flowers.

“I hope you don’t mind, pretty thing,” he said sheepishly. “I saw them on my patrol when I walked past the flower stall and thought of you, so I bought them. If you don’t like them, I can always throw them away. It was a bit forward of me really and I wasn’t thinking when I bought them. I apologise if –”

You took the small bouquet off him before he could change his mind and stepped aside for him to enter, inhaling the scent with a grin. “They’re beautiful, although I’m not sure what I did to deserve such beautiful flowers.”

Koner closed the door as soon as he was inside and shrugged off his cloak. “That’s why I’m here, actually. Tonight will be the last of our business together.”

His words filled you with ice cold as you stared at him. “Oh. I see.”

He continued. “I’ve been considering this for a while. I can’t continue pretending anymore.”

At this point, you could feel a knot forming in your stomach. “Pretending?”

“Pretending that I see you as a friend.”

Your hurt must have shown on his face because he quickly backtracked.

“No, wait, that came out wrong. I meant pretending that I see you as just a friend.”

You licked your lips and placed the flowers down on your table, busying yourself afterward by closing the shutters of your windows so that nobody could look in. A jolt of shock ran through you when a pair of firm hands turned you around once the last shutters were closed, those same hands coming to rest on your hips as you gazed into his eyes.

“And how do you really see me?” you whispered, your heartbeat hammering in your ears.

“Something I don’t have a word for.” His thumbs caressed your sides soothingly. “You are all I think about when I’m on patrol and carrying out my duties as a Winterfell soldier. I work as hard as I can, hoping to be paid extra if I work hard enough, in the hopes that I can buy even more from you and have an excuse to stay here longer every Friday. It never works, and the lads tease me relentlessly for it, but I don’t care. When my comrades boast about the latest whore they’ve laid with in the brothel in the next town over, all I’m able to think about is how I wish I could lay with you. One of them tells me a joke and I think about whether you would laugh at it too. I see Lord and Lady Stark and the love they share, and I feel a need rooted deep inside me to have that with you regardless of what others would think or say. I dream of you some nights, dreams that I dare not repeat out loud, and when I wake up you occupy every inch of my brain until I swear that I’m about to lose my mind.

“So, you see, I can’t continue to see you every Friday without hoping that you feel the same way. If you can see me only as a friend, then please tell me. Tell me now so that I don’t keep getting my hopes up and deluding myself into thinking that you care for me as much as I care for you.”

Speechless and unable to think of the words to say, you cupped his face and brought his lips to yours in a kiss that you hoped conveyed just how deeply you felt for him. How hard you’d fallen for him over the past four months. He pulled your hips flush against his and you started to relax when he returned the kiss, lips moving over yours messily as you tilted your heads for better access. You hadn’t even realised you were both moving until your back hit the wall. Your fingers buried themselves in his hair and tugged at his brunette curls, his soft moan making you smile against him.

Your lungs crying out for air, the two of you parted and broke the kiss but still held onto one another as if one of you were about to disappear.

“Fuck, I wanted to do this properly,” he muttered, making you laugh.

“Koner, you still have the chance to ask if you so wish. I won’t stop you.”

He blushed as his eyes flickered to and from your lips. “Very well. Y/N, would you do me the honour of blessing me with your presence on a horse ride away from the village, lest I corrupt you and ravish you here and now?”

The thought of him having his way with you had you biting your lip, but that could wait for a later date. He wanted to romance you properly, like a gentleman, and who were you to deny him that?

“I would love that, my sweet man.”

Beaming, he pulled you in for another kiss.

[kakashiswilloffire]

hiiiii. congratulations on 200 followers! you deserve so many more and i can’t wait to see your blog grow & grow & grow.

If it’s still available, i’d love to see perfect for you with kakashi.

thank you so much & congratulations again! 💕

thank you so much!! this was so much fun to write and i hope you love it!!

perfect for you

ao3 & song

words: 1.2k

warnings: marijuana use

It was not often you could convince Kakashi to get high. Though he would never confirm it, you were at least a hundred and ten percent certain that he was in ANBU, and ninety-eight percent sure he was the operative called Hound. If he wasn't, you'd have one more missed opportunity to blame on Hiruzen. Because of how often he needed to be on call and mission-ready, he rarely consumed sake, let alone recreational drugs. But there comes a point in every shinobi's career that sparked mixed opinions: mandatory paid time off.

You were firmly pro time off, especially for your workaholic boyfriend who took every mission he was physically qualified and available to take. He was always gone on one A rank or another, and several that you suspected were actually S rank. In fairness, you were also frequently out of the village on your own missions. But you had saved your time off until Kakashi had been forced to take his, and you now had a full week together at an onsen outside of the Leaf, and had made it clear you were not to be contacted.

You both laid on a mound of pillows, your head on his chest as you basked in the after-dinner glow. The miso soup followed by a selection of sushi was exactly what you needed. The luxury and comfort of your solitude and privacy together, in a room with no windows on an upper floor, meant that Kakashi was able to eat in front of you without rushing to replace his mask. A few kisses had kept him out of it. Then there was the small pipe you had packed and lit and were passing off to him.

You reminded him quickly how to pull, making sure he covered the small hole with his thumb, and had him take a couple of shallow, experimental breaths. He got his short coughing fit out of the way, then began smoking with you in earnest.

It didn't take long for him to feel the effects, melting into the blanket beneath him and cracking a lazy grin. You made sure to limit yourself, prepared to babysit him if necessary, relishing his fall into relaxation.

He started with scrunching his fist over and over, the grin growing as he felt the spark and glow spread across his body. He rolled over, propping himself up on his elbows and reached out to you, ghosting his fingers across your jaw, thumb hovering over your lips. You popped your mouth open just enough to lick the tip of it, causing him to jerk back and giggle. God, if his giggle was the last sound you heard, you’d die happy.

You both continued like this for a few minutes, letting him explore his modified senses as he settled in to the high.

“Konoha’s shinobi structure is shit.”

You paused, confused what prompted Kakashi to offer that recognition so suddenly.

“Hiruzen is borderline incompetent sometimes. And, the pollution in the Nara river is at an all time high, and I’m not sure what Danzo is doing with the Foundation, he approached me about it last year and I shut him down, remember? The newest batch of academy students have all the major clan heads and right now they’re not showing any promise. Also, there’s so much litter? Like all over the village?”

You chuckled hesitantly, not sure why he had chosen now to start analyzing flaws in the Hidden Leaf. “Kakashi, that’s true, and I hear you, but—”

He rolled over again, sitting up and grabbing you by one shoulder. “I’m trying to tell you I love you.”

What?

It had been almost eight months since you had gotten together, and you had both made it clear that there was no pressure to say “love”. Sure, there had been some hope that the romantic atmosphere of this trip away might lead to the right moment for you both to confess some feelings, but like this?

Before you could say anything else, your boyfriend continued his tirade.

“We’re still dealing with the fallout of the Third Great Ninja War, and there’s always rumors of the Fourth. Then the kyuubi attack, and Minato-sensei, Kushina-sensei, all the civilians lost— and the fucking environment! Did you know this summer was the hottest on record Konoha’s ever had?”

You took the hand Kakashi was gesturing with and held it between both of yours, lowering your head slightly to give him a firm look. “This is one fucked up seduction, ‘Kashi.”

He shook his head, twisting his hand around to hold yours.

“I’m just one person and it doesn’t matter how many missions I take, I can’t save the world by myself. The more I travel, the more issues I see, and there’s already so many problems at home. The whole planet is kind of fucked. But, I know that there’s still hope, because this disaster of an existence managed to give me you.”

He hooked a hand around your ear, his thumb brushing your cheek as he continued and his warm palm holding lightly to your jaw.

“Babe, I could be perfect for you. I mean, I know I come off as lazy and don’t have many friends, not the way Asuma does, but Gai tries, and you try, God, you try so hard to bring me out of my head—” He paused, a cough catching him off guard. “And I’m a bit of a stoner,” he grinned, gesturing at the pipe you had brought along, and you giggled together, rolling your eyes at him.

Kakashi took a breath, focusing in on you with deadly seriousness. “Despite all my faults, I’ll make myself perfect for you, if nothing else. I mean, you’ve done more for me than I could ever dream of asking anyone. You eat my tempura and you order extra miso for me, just to start.”

You shook your head, letting a warm laugh spill from your lips. “You’re something else, Kakashi. I’m just a shinobi, just like you. Not nearly as brave as you are.”

He squeezed your hand in his, bringing you into his reality. “Fuck that. You’re incredible. You’re so creative in how you strategize, and you’re so kind and smart and strong. My dad would love you.” You took the compliments, swallowing down the urge to downplay yourself.

“I can’t fix what’s fucked up. But I know that you’re not, and that we’re not. Everything else in the world can turn to shit tomorrow, but I know that we’d still be here, we’d still be okay. I love you, babe.” He leaned forward, wrapping you in a firm embrace, though still a bit clumsy. You kissed him, trying to pack as much love in between you as you could in the short span.

“I can be perfect for you, too, Kakashi,” you finally whispered when you pulled back, pressing your forehead to his.

He grinned, running his hand through your hair and down your spine, settling around your waist. “Let’s be perfect together, okay?”

[starkerscoop]

Vacant Mind (Ch. 1)

Tag List: @thatrandomsomnia @longlivestarker @geen-beems @consciencecoward @aoifelaufeyson @rebel13lion39 @katzenbaby1  @helaisthequeen @im-a-goner-foryou @hornvey @darker-soft-starker  @nerdylocksandthethreebears @canreadbutcannotwrite @carelessannie @bluestarker @briesb1tch @skimparker @idiyeet @blushing-starker-queen @buckettbarnes

Let me know if you want to be removed from the tag list, or added to it. The first three chapters of this fic are being reuploaded from my old blog, so that everyone can access them from this one. If you don’t want to be tagged for the first three chapters, but do want to be tagged for the remaining ones, let me know. 

Let the “didn’t know they were dating” fic commence... again

- 

Peter trudged through the streets, biting back a groan whenever the bustling passerby would bump into him. He felt hot, unnaturally so, and the sweat plastering his hair to the nape of his neck did nothing to cool him down. He wondered dimly when it had gotten so warm. The snow at his feet clung to his shoes, reminding him of the chill he was meant to be feeling, but he only felt uncomfortable in his jacket.

He shrugged it off, allowing the cold air to encompass his heated body. He stuffed the jacket into his backpack as he walked, and caught sight of the Spider-Man suit nestled at the bottom of the bag. Any excitement he might have had at the prospect of patrolling was replaced by dread. He was too tired to patrol, but saving lives was a job he took seriously, and so he ducked into an alley and donned his suit.

Karen switched on the heater in his suit the moment he put it on, and Peter barely restrained his complaints. Karen was programmed to keep the heater on in temperatures below 55℉, and had been ever since Tony found out that Peter couldn’t thermoregulate. If he switched it off, Karen would notify Tony, who would then badger him until he confessed that he wasn’t feeling well.

It was a protocol that Peter had thought was sweet when it was first installed. It made him feel like Tony cared about him beyond making sure he didn’t die in battle. Now, it was a thorn in his side.

Peter could only endure the additional warmth for two hours. In that time, he stopped a robbery, helped a man find his dropped hearing aid, and returned a lost dog to its crying owner.

By the time he arrived home and pulled off the suit, his body was slick all over with sweat, and his cheeks were flushed with a deeper red than he’d ever seen. He staggered over to his shower, pushing aside the curtain and falling in. He groped around the shower blindly until his hands caught the knob, which he twisted desperately until cold water started running down his face. He grasped the wall and stumbled to his feet, swaying in place as he let the water rinse off his sweat.

His head felt faint, and as his eyes roved over the stall in search of his shampoo, his vision started filling with black spots. Peter reached for his shampoo bottle once he found it, but lost his balance and fell towards it. His head smacked into the wall, and he was out like a light.

-

A hand combed through his hair, gently tugging and undoing the knots in it. Peter leaned into the comforting touch, an entirely different warmth to the one he’d been suffering from earlier filling his chest. The hand paused its ministrations, but didn’t pull away.

“Are you waking up?” a hushed voice murmured by his ear.

Peter struggled to open his eyes. His eyelids felt heavy, refusing to do anything other than twitch, and so he stared into darkness as the hand in his hair resumed its motion. He relaxed into the bed, giving up for the moment. He let himself drift in the darkness, the hand on his head his only tether to reality.

“It’s alright,” the same voice sighed fondly. “You do like your beauty sleep. Don’t worry, Pete. I’ll still be here when you wake up.”

Peter let himself slip away further at the assurance. He felt safe in the presence of that voice, warm and loving as it was.

The darkness wasn’t all that frightening now.

-

The steady beeping of the machine at Peter’s side roused him from his sleep. He shuffled in place a little as he craned his neck to the left, where he was met with a heart monitor that sounded in time with his heart. He swallowed thickly, wondering how he’d landed himself in the Med-Bay again.

“How are you feeling?”

Peter jumped in surprise, his head swivelling to the other side, where Tony was perched on a chair and watching him earnestly.

“I’m okay,” Peter took a moment to survey himself. “I have a small headache, but other than that, I’m fine.”

“Good,” Tony said, before his expression hardened. “Now, what were you thinking when you decided to patrol with a fever of 104 degrees?”

Peter groaned. “I didn’t think it was that bad.”

“You fell and hit your head in the shower,” Tony stressed. “What if you’d fallen while swinging? I doubt you’d have gotten away with only a headache if you fell thirty stories.”

Peter’s lips turned downward when he noticed the fear hidden behind the anger in Tony’s expression. “I’m sorry for scaring you.”

Tony didn’t deny his fear, though he didn’t acknowledge it, either. “I’ll be adding more protocols to your suit. This isn’t happening again.”

Peter didn’t argue.

Tony’s shoulders lost some of their tension. “Are you hungry? I had someone restock the Jell-O.”

“Do you have red?” Peter’s face lit up.

Tony reached into the pockets of his slacks and brought out two cups of red Jell-O. He handed both to Peter, before setting a plastic spoon on top of them. Peter thanked him before peeling off the wrapper on one of the cups, and dunking his spoon into it. He scooped out a spoonful of the strawberry jelly and stuffed it into his mouth, paying no mind to the thin trail of it that trickled down his chin.

Tony swiped his thumb along Peter’s chin, clearing it of the jelly before sucking it into his own mouth. Peter dropped his spoon into his cup, watching with wide eyes until Tony pulled his thumb out of his mouth and cleaned it with a napkin.

“I’ll get someone to check you out and see if you can be discharged,” Tony patted his thigh as he stood. “Stay put, sweetheart.”

Peter’s jelly lay forgotten once Tony left. He had called him sweetheart. Just yesterday, Peter was trying to get him to drop the ‘kid’ moniker, and now he’d been upgraded to ‘sweetheart’? What had changed in the span of twenty-four hours?

When Tony came back, he was followed into the room by Dr. Althea Roberts, whom Peter was more than familiar with. Dr. Roberts treated him every time he ended up in the Med-Bay, and with how often he got injured, he got to know her well. Their friendship and Dr. Roberts’ talent in the medical field made her his favorite doctor.

“Mr. Parker,” she shook her head sternly. “What you pulled yesterday could’ve gotten you killed.”

“Yesterday?” Peter’s brows knitted together.

“You woke up a few times, but for the most part, you slept for a day,” Tony explained, taking a few steps back towards the door. “I’ll give you your privacy.”

Tony was leaving the room before Peter could tell him that he didn’t mind him hearing his conversation with Dr. Roberts. Still, he appreciated the space. Tony’s worry tended to morph into nosiness, the need to know everything wrong with his friends and rectify it driving him to budge his way into places he didn’t need to be in. Peter was glad to see him working on that — it was a byproduct of his anxiety, and one that Tony himself didn’t like.

Dr. Roberts started speaking as soon as the door swung closed. “You had a high fever. When you went to shower, you hit your head and got a concussion. If your head hurts, or you’re feeling confused, that’s normal and it will stop soon. You might experience some memory loss, but it shouldn’t be anything extreme. Any memories you might have lost will come back.”

“Okay,” Peter nodded to show he understood. “How did you find me in the shower? I was alone.”

“According to Mr. Stark, a friend of yours stopped by and found you in the shower. He called Mr. Stark, who brought you here to be treated.”

Dr. Roberts asked him some preliminary questions before giving him approval for a discharge. Once she finished speaking with him, she had a nurse come in and unhook him from all of the machines surrounding his bed. The nurse brought him the spare clothes he kept in the Med-Bay for when he’d inevitably need them, and he swapped his hospital gown for them. When he finished getting dressed, he exited the room he’d been staying in, and found Tony standing in the hallway with his phone in hand.

Tony slipped his phone into his pocket. “We can go now?”

“Yes,” Peter wrung his hands shyly. “Thank you for staying with me. You didn’t have to.”

A grim look settled over Tony’s face. “I needed to make sure you were okay.”

“I am okay, if that helps,” Peter offered.

Tony wrapped an arm over his shoulders, tugging him into his side as he led him to the reception counter he’d be discharged at. Peter tried not to sink into the touch, wanting to avoid giving away how much it pleased him to be so close to Tony, but he couldn’t help curling just a little bit closer.  

“It does.”

[melodiesofblueroses]

Yo, your blog is so cool! I don't usually see people who write for sanrio boys so me finding this blog is a big win :) could you please do Yuu, shunnsuke and ryo with an s/o who is really close childhood friends with kouta?? Thank you! Please stay safe!

Aww thank you so much for your kind words! I'm glad that you enjoy my sanrio danshi writings, especially since I love writing them. I do think that there needs to be more content for our boys 💕 Remember to stay safe and hydrated and to take care of yourself! Thank you so much for the request and hope you enjoy <3

»»————————-　♡　————————-««

𝘗𝘢𝘪𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴: Yuu Mizuno x gn!reader, Shunsuke Yoshino x gn!reader, Ryo Nishimiya x gn!reader

𝘎𝘦𝘯𝘳𝘦: Fluff

»»————————-　♡　————————-««

♡ Yuu Mizuno

the two of you actually first met through kouta

since kouta was hanging out with yuu and all the other sanrio boys quite often, he introduced you to them one day since he wanted all of his friends to get along

and in yuu’s eyes, any friend of kouta’s was a friend of his

the two of you immediately hit it off, either because you both shared the same interests or because yuu was a charismatic and got along with practically everyone

before long the two of you were constantly chatting and hanging out together

at times kouta and the others felt like they were third wheeling you guys because of how engrossed in convo the two of you were lol

you guys never paid attention to anyone else and always found yourself getting separated from the rest of the group (one time the two of you had walked off to a totally different part of town without having realized so)

so it’d come as no surprise to everyone when the two of you started dating

(kouta loved to tease you about how you considered yuu a better friend than him since you spent so much time with him)

at first, it might be a bit weird for kouta whenever you all hung out since his childhood best friend and his other friend were now a thing and the two of you could get a bit clingy with one another (yuu was naturally a touchy person)

but he’d also be really supportive of you two! he’s always looking out for the two of you and making sure the two of you were happy

honestly, he was happy to see his best friends getting along, a bit too well at times frankly

»»————-　♡　————-««

♬ Shunsuke Yoshino

much like yuu, the two of you first met through kouta

however, i think the two of you would first be at odds with one another, or rather, you guys didn’t really converse much at first

shunsuke was always so stoic and emotionless, so he might’ve scared you away at first since he seemed like the type that didn’t want to be bothered

at first, you were reluctant on hanging out with him, but since your best friend insisted on doing so, you gave in

every time you tried to talk with him or initiate conversation, he would always give a blank stare or reply with one or two words, so things got awkward rather quickly

it may have taken some time for the two of you to warm up to one another, but once you guys found common ground or any similar interests you may have shared, well, the ball got rolling pretty quickly

even if he was quiet, you began to find comfort in shunsuke’s presence, and you knew that he was always listening intently to whatever you had to say

before you know it, the two of you had developed feelings for one another and began going out

it’d be pretty lowkey at first, and the others wouldn’t find out until a few months after since the two of you never really brought it up

kouta, upon figuring out the you guys were dating, would quite happy that you had finally warmed up to him, though he might be a bit pouty that you kept it hidden from him

the two of you were practically siblings at that point. how could you hide something this big away from him? (he completely understood that you needed privacy though)

overall, kouta would be happy to know that you were going out with such a great and dependable guy, however, since he really did cherish you and only wanted the best (plus, it was someone that he knew)

»»————-　♡　————-««

✿ Ryo Nishimiya

since ryo was so harsh towards kouta in the beginning and even dissed his love for pompompurin, you had a bit of malice towards ryo

your first impression of him wasn’t the best considering that you were quite protective of kouta ever since the two of you were children

and the fact that he hit such a sore spot in your best friend only made you hate him more (you were there when kids used to bully kouta for liking “girly” things and you knew just how much it impacted him)

right off the bat, there was tension in the air, and ryo swore that he must’ve died a hundred times from your glare alone

although kouta was trying his best to convince you that they were now on good terms, you were still wary around him and refused to interact with him unless absolutely necessary

every time the two of you were together, there was an awkward silence that the others would try to break

however, as the two of you began to hang out more since ryo was always around kouta and his friend group, you began to understand him more and even found it in yourself to forgive him

you were beginning to stand being around him, and as the two of you continued to chat and hang out, you both began to develop feelings for one another (a classic enemies to lovers, at least that’s what yuu liked to say)

at first, kouta would be absolutely bewildered at the fact that the two of you were going out considering that he recalled having to hold you back upon your first meeting

overall, however, he’d be relieved that the two of you were finally on good terms and may even tease you about how you used to hate the man that you now so dearly loved

[kettle-on]

(Oh woops, this is a lot longer than it was supposed to be, but I got carried away. Still not super happy with it, but I figured I'd post it sooner than later, before I changed my mind completely!)

Monty Python and the Barbados Fic

Eric x Michael x OFC

Chapter 4

attn: @jessm78 @coincidence-ithinknots-blog

Evenings at Heron Bay were lively, silly, rowdy, and populous. The Pythons had decided they would have guests to dinner every night, and surprisingly this proved not too difficult. Apparently Barbados was hopping with friendly famous faces at this time of year.

Mick Jagger continued his regular visits with Jerry on his arm, and one or two pairs of glamorous mystery Misters and Misses. It was revealed through many rounds of Charades that the Rolling Stone had an extraordinary talent for both miming and deciphering interpretive dance. His rendition of “the eruption of Mt Vesuvius” was met with roaring applause, and his “Sex Pistols” brought the evening to an un-toppable peak.

Things would take a turn, however, when an entirely sober Graham introduced a favourite game of his called “Poor Pussy” in which the chosen “pussy” approaches guests and, through meowing and distinctly feline behaviour, must make the guest laugh whilst they attempt to pet pussy’s head and say with a straight face three times: “poor pussy.” When one does laugh, they become the new “pussy.” This last rule changed quickly when it arose that multiple “pussies” had taken over the room, and hardly a word could be spoken from the guests through their laughter.

Perhaps the most uncommon news, however, came from casual chat. A visiting Keith Moon explained his plans for a new house in Malibu, anxious for acres of privacy and leaving behind his celebrity neighbours. Jagger the Charades king told of all-night New York City parties, to which Graham countered: “At least in London, one has the good sense to wrap up before sitting down to breakfast.”

Y/N was sure that, had she been keeping a list, she’d have been privy to the business of every star in modern comedy and rock and roll.

The next morning came too early once again, but Y/N was this time drawn to the bedroom window. From here she could see the team of gardeners hired to keep Heron Bay looking lush and groomed. She couldn’t help but feel that with each day that passed she was floating further and further away from what she remembered normal life to be like.

Not wanting to disturb a sleeping Eric, she made her way to the morning room that looked out to the curved courtyard. At one end of the room was a large painted screen of columns in some beautiful ancient scene. Each table surface in this room was topped with a floral arrangement, antique candlesticks, and photographs of visitors and houseguests. Decades of beautiful faces and elegant dresses, men in uniform, and posed portraits looked back at her from their frames.

What was this world? she had long wondered. Painted screens, stone pediments, beaches, house staff, tennis courts, and private ponds. Marriages, affairs, and cover-ups. Churchill, the Duke of Edinburgh, Lord and Lady Something of Somewhere Unpronounceable, and movie stars and rock n roll gods. And who was she in all of this?

From the near distance, she heard puffs of exertion and approaching steps. Michael had committed himself to continuing his disciplined daily morning jog and here he was returning.

“Ah,” he panted, “Morning.”

“Good morning. Nice run?”

“Well,” puff, “it’s not Holloway, but it’ll do.”

When he caught his breath, he noticed her uneasiness. With a smiling face and a tone he’d learned from his mother, he suggested:

“Tea?” --

It was much later that night that Y/N found herself again wandering the corridors alone. The afternoon had passed with a visit from Eric’s friend Ricky Fataar with whom he’d made The Rutles the previous year, and his wife, Heron Bay’s proprietress Penelope Tree. The couple had dropped in for what they called a “business luncheon,” and extended an invitation to the Python household out for a “business dinner.” The two Terrys and Eric accepted, (the Terrys hoping they might throw in a bit of “money talk” regarding their upcoming film budget) and by the time the day’s activities had come to a close, the outward dinner guests had yet to return.

In the rare quiet of the late-night, Y/N knocked on the door to the room where Michael was staying, and a friendly hum invited her into the room. A single lamp lit up the walls and floor, and a Michael in repose who was making edits to his well-kept journal.

“Do I recall correctly you said you’d brought a small library with you?” asked Y/N from the door.

“I did, indeed!” he responded, setting his journal on one of the nightstands next to the bed. “What’s the matter – can’t sleep?”

Y/N shook her head with an apologetic smirk.

“I see, and what sort of thing are you after?”

“Something, uh... gentle, I suppose. Something to escape.”

“Escape? From here? A tropical island and you’d like to escape – now that’s puzzling.” He drew back the thin blanket that covered his lower half, and swung his mostly bare legs over the side of the mattress.

“No, no,” she started, “Just something to, y’know, get out of my head for a bit.”

“Mm, is there something troubling you?” Michael eyed the three stacks of books casually adorning a side table, and inspected the choices of titles.

“Just feeling a little…” Y/N searched for a believable excuse, “homesick.”

He was not convinced. Putting his book task on pause he raised his eyebrows, requesting her further explanation. Y/N both appreciated and hated this look. Michael, though the gentlest and kindest of the troupe, would not let anything go unexplained or hidden for long, and his generosity and patience invited her to open up.

“I’m not really sure what I’m doing here,” she confessed. “I feel like I’m just getting in the way, y’know? You’re all working hard on what I’m certain will be a brilliant film, and what am I here for?”

“You’re on holiday,” he declared with what he hoped was an assuring smile.

“A holiday from what? What do I even do?” She felt the agitation rising in her voice. “It’s like I just exist day in and day out with no purpose or point. No goals and no…”

Michael’s stare was intense and he waited for her to continue.

“…future.” Her voice dropped to almost a whisper when she noticed she’d drawn his undivided attention. A quiet Michael was a rare thing, and the silence stilled the air between them.

“So, I thought... maybe a… a book might help,” she attempted, but Michael was already smoothing down the bedspread, offering a space beside him which she gratefully filled.

“Is this what it’s like being famous?” she asked heavily, taking a seat. “Always surrounded by extremely talented, important people, and constantly comparing your own worth and accomplishments?”

“I suppose it is, yes. Sometimes.” Michael was usually very good at telling the truth in a palatable way.

Nevertheless, this acknowledgement only supported her anxiety. Her face fell and she closed her eyes, sensing exhaustion was on its way. She silently prayed for one of Michael’s rambling speeches, and he intuitively delivered.

“But it doesn’t have to be,” he began. “None of this comes with the expectation that you’ve earned your right to enjoy things. You don’t need to have won a Nobel Prize or sold a million records to deserve fine cutlery. But when you’re well-known, everybody wants to know you and bring you lovely things, whether or not you think you deserve them. When that happens, I think what helps is to recognize what’s there for you, and appreciate that there are all these things you can access if you’d like to. What’s important to remember is that you have options, and lots of good ones, too.

“And as far as goals and a future, well… I can’t tell you that. All I can tell you is that you’re already building a future just by living. And learning, and asking questions, and thinking, and wondering, and loving, and caring.”

Y/N had stayed quiet. The past few weeks of indulgence, creativity, and celebrity drama had left her feeling in a way excluded, and far away from herself. It wasn’t something she found she could explain to Eric without seeming ungrateful.

Michael continued:

“So right now, you’re on holiday somewhere you’ve never been, and learning how the other half lives. And what am I doing? Well at the moment I’m enjoying a few weeks on a beautiful island, with marvelous weather, with my wonderful friends. Together, we’re finishing up a script for a film which, if all goes well, we’ll be making later this year. That’s my job, and it keeps me working, but I’ve got the rest of my hours and days, too, and that’s when I’m living. That’s when life happens, you see, in the in-between time.

Y/N had secured a point of focus on the floor, and found it fitting that Michael’s was one of the few rooms in the building with wooden floorboards instead of the palatial stone. In this room she could be almost anywhere in the world, and at this moment she was happy to be somewhere closer to home.

“There’s no rush,” Michael added, noting her half-daze. “Life is short, but... there’s so much of it. You can stop and start and chop and change as many times as you like. It’s all life,” he slowed his pace, carefully observing her softened expression, “and it’s all yours.”

Y/N leaned back onto her elbows and contemplated her bare knees.

“I don’t think I’ve heard that one before,” she mused. “Hm. I’ve got a lot of time to fill, haven’t I?”

Michael gave a warm hum of agreement and joined her sideways, propping his head on an elbow, attentive as ever.

“And what are you going to fill it with first?” he asked.

This prospect was suddenly overwhelming, and it showed in her eyes. She took a breath and decided to choose levity for a change.

“I could work on this tan, I guess,” she playfully suggested, kicking a leg up and indicating her knees, “What do you think?”

“Very nice,” he approved. In fact, he had long admired her knees, and was grateful to the January Barbados weather for getting them out of trousers and wool tights. The previous summer at many a pub garden evening, he’d envied Eric’s long fingers resting atop Y/N’s knees, giving an occasional squeeze, and more than once catching sight of a slow glide up a thigh, disappearing under a skirt hem.

“Looks like you’re off to a good start there,” he said, allowing himself an extra-long, fully permissible eyeing up of her legs.

“And you?” she asked, “What’s next in the in-between time?”

“Well, I thought I might see what life by the ocean is like. I don’t see it very often. They’ve got waterskiing down at the bay - I might give that a go. I doubt I’ll be any good, but at least then I can say I’ve done it. Obviously a very valuable skill in London. I can see it: there I am, shooting across the lakes of Hampstead Heath. Or better still, an aquatic commute! I could start off from Blackfriars in the morning, and be in Molesey by tea-time, how’s that?”

Y/N laughed, tired from the day but grateful for Michael’s silliness. She liked this. Why couldn’t Mike be around more often? Or could she have a mini-Mike to keep in her purse and take out for impromptu pep-talks and compliments, please?

“I wonder,” he said carefully when her laughter died down. “Rather than in the way, do you think perhaps you might be feeling a bit overlooked?”

This caught her off guard. Overlooked? She never felt ignored or unappreciated. On the contrary, Eric’s attention and gestures of love came in spades. But what was it for? What really did she have to offer? She hardly expected to stand out next to her accomplished and celebrated partner and his career, nor did she wish to dull his accomplishments or stifle him. Stability would be very nice, but so too would making a name for herself be. So what did she want – life or recognition?

“Maybe,” she finally said in a small voice, too tired now to analyze any further.

How fragile she now seemed to Michael. She had opened her heart to him, and the sense of duty and the care with which he held it felt so natural. He wished he could hold it for a little longer.

Stroking kind fingers down her forearm, he took her hand, willing her out of her trance. With a closed-eyed focus on her hand, he drew her knuckles to his lips.

“So I’ve got options,” Y/N re-stated.

“Mhmm,” sounded Michael, whose lips were still appreciating her fingers.

“And I’m building a life every day,” she continued.

"Every day,” he repeated, his thumb now taking over addressing her knuckles.

“And mine is no less important than anyone else’s?”

She knew the answer, but the question brought their eyes to meet, and he held her gaze with tenderness.

“I think anyone who meets you feels lucky that they did. I know I do.”

Y/N felt whatever was left of her distress dissolve with a heavy breath. She had been heard, and she knew with certainty that her cares were safe with him.

Slowly, she wrapped her arms around his torso, and he enveloped her shoulders with a tight grip. His voice was low in her ear:

“You know, if it was a book you were after, I rather thought you’d have asked Terry.”

Y/N wasn’t going to bother mustering the energy to protest or to come up with a nonsense reason why she’d chosen to see Michael. She was here now, and she was perfectly content with it.

“I’m very glad you didn’t,” he confessed, and having exhausted all words, he began a slow exploration of her neck, starting with nuzzling the delicate space beneath her ear. Sensing no resistance, and hearing her approving sigh, he continued down to her shoulder, leaving soft, open-mouthed kisses as he went.

He was kind and patient and open, Y/N remembered as she felt herself giving over to the moment’s tenderness, her curiosity duelling with her fatigue.

With restrained eagerness, he moved along the underside of her jaw before,

“Stop stop,” she hushed.

She was fighting with her enjoyment, but this was not a good time to discover feelings. All she wanted now was comfort and sleep. She looked at her kindred Michael half-apologetically, and he shifted aside, making a space for her to lie down and sleep. He reached over to switch off the bedside lamp, and gently pulled the sheet up to cover their spooning bodies.

Out on the patio under the moonlight, Eric lay on a lounge chair, gazing into the sky and contemplating several things: Ricky and Penelope’s marriage, Mick and Jerry’s affair, and the concept of unfaithfulness. And the very nature of frivolity, and luxury, and everything he learned from the swinging sixties of liberation and self-indulgence. And, unexpectedly, Michael.

He wriggled in his spot, unable to relax. I need to write this, he thought. He worked most things out through writing, and now he would turn to his typewriter, get his musings out on paper, and try to make some sort of sense of his brain soup.

[lucifers-horror-harem]

Kinktober Day 13: Voyeurism with Max Sonnen

Okay so a bit of a preamble with this one here. For those of you who have known me on my main blog, you’re probably aware of my Jeffrey Dean Morgan thirst across his many characters, Max from The Resident being one of them. I’ve chosen to bring him to this blog because I think he would fit in better with the other characters I write here, mostly because the way I view him is darker than how other people have viewed him in the past. I’ve also been talking with my dear friend @kijilinn​, who wrote the first Max fic I ever read that we both missed Max and writing about him, so she allowed me to use the last name she gave him in that fic as a way to better tag him as his own character. So anyways, aside from this big huge explanation I really hope you enjoy my writing for Max. I kept this story as kind of an introduction to Max and The Resident as I’m not sure how many people have seen it. Hope you all enjoy <3

Warnings: Voyeurism, stalking, and brief breeding kink mention

Max Sonnen x AFAB Reader

Max knew since he first saw you in the little cafe across the street from his apartment building that you were the one. You always spent your mornings in the cafe, drinking coffee with whatever flavored creamer you felt like that morning, munching on some sweet pastry as you typed away on your laptop. Your hands were so fast, fingers nimbly moving across the keys as Max imagined you were trying to keep up with your hurried thoughts. He couldn’t get enough of how small your hands were, and longed for the day when he could hold them in his.

That’s why when he overheard you talking to a friend on the phone that you were looking for a new place to stay he knew he needed to act fast. You couldn’t say no to what he could offer, a beautiful spacious apartment with a gorgeous view of the city. Hardwood floors and antique lighting fixtures on the walls, a place that he would offer at such a reasonable price that there was no way you could refuse. 

So after waiting many long days for you to notice the tenant wanted ads on the cafe cork board, you finally had come to see the apartment, no, to see him. He couldn’t help but watch as you took in every inch of the apartment with awe, turning to him every once and a while and asking again if you had heard the amount right. You were so precious, your smile warming his core as he essentially handed you the answer to all of your problems on a silver platter. 

He made sure to always be around when you needed him. How cute it was when you acted like helping you was a chore, when really it’s all he could imagine himself doing. The smell of your shampoo always clung to him, making him desperate to bury his nose in your hair. But that was still too early.

Max noticed your sidelong glances, not certain if you were feeling the same way he did about you but taking advantage of that opportunity anyway. You were always hesitant to go further, not wanting to make the landlord-tenant relationship strained. But only if you knew how willing he was to throw all of that out the window if he could put a ring on your finger right now. He needed you so desperately, and when you weren’t able to make time for him, he found other ways.

The renovations he had done on his building weren’t simply to modernize it for prospective tenants. He had always been an exceptional handyman, working on this building with his grandfather August for as long as he could remember, and he knew each floor inside and out. He discovered that he could connect his room to yours with a hidden passage within the walls of the apartment. He could see you any time he missed you, which was every time you weren’t beside him. 

He had initially felt bad about the two way mirror in the bathroom, he didn’t want to invade the privacy of his future bride. But he needed to see. What if you were hurt, he needed to be able to watch over you and protect you. He told himself that’s what the hidden hole in the wall in front of the bathtub was for as well, but even he had to admit there were ulterior motives for that.

He couldn’t resist the curves of your body, how soft your thighs looked as they peeked out of the water while you gave them a scrub. The suds that pooled around your breasts as you washed them as well, imagining himself touching them. How would you react? Would your mouth hang open all prettily as you moaned for him? Would your thighs twitch and your body quiver, that plump bottom lip of yours sucked between your teeth to prevent you from being too loud?

Max hadn’t intended to see you in your most intimate moments until you were with him, he really hadn’t. But he didn’t turn away as your hands would sink beneath the water, your head tilted back as he saw all of these expressive faces he had never witnessed on you before. He needed to see them, see them as you would hopefully moan out his name the way you did as you neared your peak. He certainly hadn’t expected his name to come out of your mouth on a couple of these occasions. You thought of him like that. Max knew it was true and he was even closer to having you all to himself. You wanted him and he wanted you.

One evening, when Max simply had to have more, couldn’t take it anymore, he created a distraction; a thud on the other side of the apartment, courtesy of him banging his fist against the wall. As you dried off and hesitantly wandered to the kitchen to see if something had fallen, he pulled at a hatch in the wall and slunk out, his bare feet touching the cold floor of your bedroom as he slowly circled your bed. 

He waited as long as he possibly could until he had to drop to the floor, swiftly sliding under the bed as you entered the room. He watched as your bare feet neared the bed, preparing to climb in. You were so close to him, Max could practically reach out and touch you, but he knew better. Breath held, he watched as your feet disappeared, the bed dipping above him as you settled in. 

Max couldn’t help but palm himself through his jeans, not realizing just how tight they had gotten. He bit his lip as he listened to the little sounds you made as you sunk into the mattress, trying to get yourself comfortable enough to drift off. As your breathing slowed, he let out a soft exhale, trying his best not to moan. 

Max didn’t know how much longer he could live like this, with you sleeping so soundly alone in your bed when he knew how much you wanted him. He wanted to be the one in bed with you right now, arms wrapped around you as he held you to his chest. He bit his tongue as he imagined how he would get to hear those little moans of yours every night, pleasing you like you deserved to be pleased. How desperately he wanted to put that ring on your finger, take you, his wife, into the bed every night, and rub over your belly as it would eventually begin to swell with his child.

No, he had to stop thinking about that right now. He couldn’t get carried away. You would come to him in time. If he had to come up with more excuses to be around you, then so be it. He would do anything in his power to ease your worries and take care of you for as long as you both lived. Because you loved him, after all, whether you were fully aware of it yet or not.

[wastelandlovingscenarios]

Hello, I’m so excited to see your new blog! Can I request on how the companions would react if they were looking through the drawers f!ss home and found a painting (by a ss whos VERY good at drawing) of them and the f!ss while shes sleeping?

my first request and it’s so cute!! i’ll make it preromance & crushing. also i’m really rusty with my writing bc i haven’t written in a while, so pls don’t mind! ❤️

he looked at her face with awe, wondering how someone could be so beautiful while doing something as simple as sleeping. he wanted to trace her face but resisted the urge to do so and decided to just explore the comfort of her home for the time being. ‘a little won’t hurt’, he thought as he rose from the chair, opening one of her drawers. who knows? maybe he’ll score and find a cute baby picture of her. he found some prewar books, along with some neat jewelry but as he dug deeper into the drawer, his eye caught a glint of something colorful hidden beneath all her belongings. he carefully pulled out the item, his breath hitching in his throat as he took in the full picture. it was a painting of him and sole, his arm draped over soles shoulders as she showed a peace sign. if it wasn’t for the rough texture and small little paint splatters on the canvas, anyone could’ve mistakened it for a picture..

Danse:

danse felt his face heat up immensely at the painting, feeling his heart beat against his chest. he wanted to put it back where it belonged but something in him was screaming to observe every inch of it. danse saw how his hands shook as he ran it against the painting, speechless. then it hit him. how was he supposed to face sole without bringing up the fact that he looked through her valuables? he had been denying his admiration for her for the longest time, merely shaking it off as a passing feeling. but now? he was sure that he had fallen for her. his gut turned at the realization and came to somewhat accept it.

looking back at soles sleeping form, he wondered how it would really feel to have his arm draped over her shoulder. how her skin would feel against his and how soft her lips looked- danse flushed, getting mad at himself for having such inappropriate thoughts. ‘get it together, danse!’ the next day as him and sole went out to a mission, she noticed how danse kept sneaking glances and complimented her more often. confused, she just shrugged it off and returned the affection with a smile. danse would never have the heart to bring it up to her, at least any sooner.

Deacon:

“and what do we have here?” deacon mutters, tracing the outlines of their figures on the painting. he let out a big grin as he fully took in the picture. oh, how he wanted to wake up sole so bad just to see the look on her face. but he resisted the urge and decided to settle with admiring the painting. deacon let out a low whistle, his eyes lighting up with admiration. he thought he knew everything about sole, but somehow, she always managed to surprise him with something new. he put away the painting right where he found it, almost making it seem untouched. he sat back down on the chair, closing his eyes as he let out a content hum.

when they returned to hq the next day, deacon was cracking more jokes than usual, often hinting at the painting to sole. sole, being the oblivious person she is, didn’t catch it and laughed at every joke, not sparing a single comment. as sole looked at the mirror to fix her hair, he put his arm over her shoulder, imitating the painting and saw how she shot him a confused look. with a shiteating grin, he boasted, “look familiar boss? almost like a painting, right?” soles cheeks reddened at the comment, her head snapping towards him, “hey! how did you-“ “i have my ways boss.” deacon pulled down his glasses and sent her a wink that would for sure linger in her mind.

Hancock:

for once, he was glad he didn’t fuck himself up with his usual dose of chems and jet. if he did, he wouldn’t get the chance to even admire the beauty of this painting. he let out a chuckle as he noticed how sole took in every detail of his face in her artwork. the leatherness of his skin, the way the dirt smudged on his clothes and how high he looked. god, sole made someone as ugly as him look fantastic in a piece of art. hancock put the painting on the counter and sat on edge of her bedside, a soft smile on his lips.

“geez, you really are something sunshine..” he whispered under his breath, that sweet nickname he’s always wanted to call her escaping his lips. he took a strand of her hair that covered her face and put it behind her ear. on the inside, hancock cheered, now knowing he may have even the slightest bit of chance to win her heart. of course, that was for another day. the next morning as sole wakes up, hancock wraps his arms around her as he hums happily. sole jolted in surprise, soon returning the hug with a confused tone in their voice. “hancock, what’re you-“ she stops midway, seeing the painting on the counter with half lidded eyes. now wide awake, she blabbers a bunch of nonsense as hancock smirks, “care to explain?”

Nick Valentine:

“heh, ain’t that a surprise.” nick chuckled, appreciating how sole had a talent that was definitely rare in the commonwealth. he saw sole painting the past few days, but everytime he came in to check on what she was doing, she yelped and hid the painting, shooing nick away. now that he’s able to see the painting close up, he understands her actions. all in all, nick meant no ill intent to look through soles items or breach through her privacy, but had no regrets in doing so. he put the painting against the wall and walked over to sole, taking in the view before letting out a breath. how could someone as perfect as her admire a bucket of bolts?

he let out a small smile, pulling the blanket over her body and allowing her to sleep peacefully. the following day, sole groggily made her way to the mirror as she rubbed her eyes lazily. as her vision slowly came back, she saw the painting through the reflection and a look of horror crossed her face. connecting the dots, she dashed outside her door, only to find nick leaning on the wall, lighting up a ciggerate as he smiled warmly at her. “morning doll, you look surprised.” “n-nick! you wouldn’t happen to see the-“ “-the painting? i apologize for looking through your stuff, sweetheart, but i’m more than glad i did,” he said with a spark in his voice, “do you mind if i hang that painting up in the agency? i’m sure my clients would love to see my amazing partner.”

Maccready:

maccreadys a big baby. his bottom lip quivers as tears well up in his eyes. he holds in a choked sob as he wipes his eyes furiously. no one has done something as amazing as this for him since lucy. he knew he was somewhat a part of sole’s life but never knew he was such a big enough impact for them to make a painting, a flawless one at that. “dang it sole. you’re making this harder for me.” he said, his heart fluttering at the thought of his crush on sole growing stronger. he was just thankful no one was there, especially sole, to see him tear up like a child. he grabbed a pen and a paper, sitting down on her desk and scribbling something down.

as soon as sole woke up and got ready for the day, she was confronted with a blushing maccready, who was shyly looking away. “morning mac, did you need something?” he let out a nervous cough as he fumbled through his pockets, almost dropping the paper he handed out to her. she took it and saw a (horrible) drawing of him and sole posing together with their guns, the words ‘best duo!’ written on top. “this is so cute! i love it.” she grinned childishly, clutching the paper to her chest. mac just let out a small grunt and spun, walking towards the exit of her room. he grabbed the door frame as he spoke in a low, shaky voice. “hey boss,” sole let out a small ‘hm?’ as she looked up at the nervous mercenary, “yours is far better than mine and uh.. i just want you to know that i love it. really.” he left the room, his heart pounding as he left a blushing sole behind.

[kieraswriting]

Coffin Chapter Twenty-Eight

Masterpost

Roman ran into the living room when he heard Patton screech. “It’s what?!”

“What is?” Roman demanded.

Patton shushed him, gesturing emphatically at the tv screen.

“As according to even the lowest reports,” the lady was saying . “95% of the vampires have been rounded up now. There will still be people available to take your calls if you suspect you’ve seen a vampire, and we highly encourage you to keep turning them in. We will still be here to serve you, just in a less invasive manner.”

“What’s going on?” Roman whispered.

“She said the sweep is over.” Patton whispered back, his eyes fixed on the screen.

“It’s what?!”

“Shh!”

In the next weeks, we’ll be working on transitioning the vampires into controlled work environments. They will be in public, but carefully controlled. There is no reason for fear if you should see them. However, we would ask that you refrain from bothering the handlers, as that increases the risk, however slightly.

•^*^••

“They’re what?!” Dee said, turning the radio up.

“Yes, we can confirm that the sweep is over. The vampires of course will still be arrested if they are discovered, but there will be no more searching of homes without warrants.”

“Well, that’s good.” The other person on the radio program said. “As much as I’m glad to have the vampires gone, it’s very disconcerting to have people storming into your house.”

“Yes, that is a large part of why the sweep has officially ended. Individuals will have to take more responsibility to hand in the remaining hidden vampires, but this way we can have back our freedoms and privacy.”

Dee looked over at Thomas, who was just as wide-eyed. “Can we…?”

“Not home, they know us there. But we can make a new home.”

Dee was just as fine with a new home as with the old one. He nodded enthusiastically.

•^*^••

Liam searched the house. According to reports from the neighbors, Logan had been seen here, but no sign of Patton, and there were only three people staying in the house.

So Patton and the vampire that held him under thrall were somewhere else, but that didn’t mean that there weren’t clues. However, everything he saw was merely personal items. And they didn’t seem to match the supposed inhabitants. Perhaps they’d managed to kick out the original inhabitants. Some vampires did seem to have hypnotic powers.

He kept searching, letting out a slight growl under his breath in frustration, and ignoring the looks his men were giving each other.

•^*^••

Virgil hadn’t had a phone in ages. He had… not really friends, just some nice people online he used to talk to sometimes, and he wondered how they were doing.

Between the three of them, they had Roman’s phone and a burner phone that couldn’t do much other than call.

Part of it was that he was bored, part of it was that he was just thinking about old times, and part was just the relief of the sweep being over. But he wanted to try talking to his fr-- acquaintances, really, and it had been at least a year since he’d talked to any of them, they probably were even less than that now. But still.

“Um… Roman?”

“Hmm?” Roman looked up from the fire. That had been his way of not getting bored, keeping the fire going. Between cutting work and tending the fire almost constantly, it seemed to be working for him.

“Can I…” It felt weird… bad… asking for something as personal and valued as a phone. “CanIborrowyourphoneIswearI’lltakecareofit--”

“Woah, slow down, you want my phone?”

Virgil hesitated, but nodded.

“Yeah, sure. It’s plugged in on the kitchen counter. We’ll do the bonfire in an hour or so, but you can have it till then.”

Virgil was very surprised that Roman would just let him have it, without asking why or anything. “Thanks.”

“Oh, wait, you’ll need a password. Uh… I don’t, really want to tell you, it’s kinda personal, but if you bring it here I’ll type it in.”

Virgil was even more surprised, but the password was quickly typed in and Roman handed him the phone back, cracking a joke about not downloading any viruses.

Virgil waited a long few minutes, sitting up on the kitchen counter and just staring at the home screen. It had a picture of Roman, Patton, and Logan, with Roman and Patton squishing Logan into a group hug. He felt a pang of guilt that he was the one here with them, instead of Logan.

And then he got over his anxiety enough to sign in to tumblr. Yeah, yeah, he knew it was technically ‘dead’, but that didn’t matter. He could be strange there, and instead of picking at him or just leaving him alone, everyone else was pretty strange there too.

He wasn’t terribly surprised to see 99+ notifications, since he hadn’t checked it in a year or two, but he was surprised to see that so many of them were mentions and direct messages. He nearly broke down in tears seeing how concerned people had been for him. They’d left kind messages, ‘for whenever he came back’, and they’d started chains of ‘loving V hours’. One of his old friends had sent him a message every week, even if it was something like ‘hey, come back, idiot, we miss you’.

So he messaged them first.

Ummm….. I’m back?

They didn’t respond immediately, probably didn’t have notifications on, or busy or something, and Virgil started scrolling through his dash. The tears swimming around in his eyes fell when he saw the post. It was someone advocating for the vampires. Saying that, no matter what they’d done, they didn’t deserve to be massacred. Virgil went to the blog, and saw that she was getting a lot of hate, but was making and reblogging things supporting the vampires, and ‘conspiracy theories’ about how they were treated that he knew to be true. He followed immediately. He kept scrolling, and found a few people agreeing with her, a very few supporting and sharing information around.

He’d always been interested in conspiracy theories, in cryptids, he wouldn’t be giving himself away to reblog some of these.

A fwip sound made him jump and then smile.

V!!!!!!!!! Where’ve you been!!!!!!????????

Virgil smiled wide. Lost my phone, kicked out of home, you know, all the stuff you warned me about. It’s really nice to hear from you.

Nice to hear from me???? Do you have any IDEA how nice it is to hear from YOU??????!!!!

XD I’m fine.

Did you really get kicked out of your home?!?

Lol, kinda. I’m staying with some nice people though. They’re even letting me use their phone.

That’s good, but what happened????!!!

Virgil thought about it. How much could he say? They didn’t know where he lived, and he didn’t even live there anymore. They knew his full first name, but not his last name. He’d… probably be safe talking to them. He always had been, when he told them about other things.

I saw the things you’ve been reblogging. Man, things are crazy. Are you doing alright with it all?? You didn’t have police bothering you or anything, right?

It’s a long story.

You think after this whole time that I’m not dying to hear long stories????!!!! I haven’t heard from you in ages! I want to know everything!

Well, you know about my dad, and all that….

He’s an abusive douchebag, yes.

Virgil had to give a small smile at that. They’d been the first person to call his dad abusive, and they’d helped him realize it too.

So… Dad was also a vampire…

Not surprising, all things considered. Did he hurt you?????

You remember that one lady I told you about?

The creepy fae lady? Did. Your Dad. Hurt you? I will find you and bust his face in, V, I swear.

I mean… kinda? Well, I guess I can’t say kinda. So he’s been drinking from me my whole life, and he went… way too far one time. The lady found me, oh, and she’s a vampire too, and she turned me to try and save my life. I went to live with her for a long time.

There was a long wait, and then a meme of John Mulaney, “Now we don’t have time to unpack all of that.”

So… you’re a vampire now?

Yeah.

And you’re safe. No police?

At the moment.

Ok, I’m gonna need a bit to adjust to the whole you’re a vampire thing, but before that-- At. The. Moment???? Who hurt you now????!!!?

There came the tears again. It was far too easy to cry right now. But to have his friend accept him so readily… and still ready to rail at people who would hurt him?! It was just a lot. More than a lot, and it made him so happy.

And don’t you dare say long story! Tell me what happened!

I got caught by hunters, before the sweep.

Another meme, “Now we aren’t just gonna skim past this like you didn’t just say what you just said.”

Please. Slow down and tell me what actually happened. You’re hitting me with some big revelations, and I need some details in between those.

Virgil went back to the beginning, writing out his story, and just avoiding names and places, just in case. It wasn’t easy, and by the end he was fighting back tears again. His friend wasn’t, they kept sending sobbing faces, and alternately saying how sorry they were that something like this would happen and raging against the people that had done it.

V, you don’t have to do this, but I think you should write that down. Make a post of it. I’ve seen the theories I don’t even know how many times, but I never got close to guessing how true they were. You… you really, really, don’t have to, and definitely don’t put your face in them, but taking pictures of the scars would really make it a lot more real to people.

Would it do any good?

I think it could do worlds of good. I’ve never heard things like this. NEVER. I absolutely believe you, and I think other people would too. Use a fake name, make a new blog, heck, make a whole new account, you don’t want people tracing this. But I really think you should do it.

Virgil hesitated again. He didn’t think he could take hate online.

I’ll help you, and I’ll get some other people too, if you don’t mind me telling them your story. I won’t tell them your name or anything.

You think… an ask blog? In case people have questions?

Yes. That’s a brilliant idea.

I won’t have a phone all the time…

I’ll help run it, and answer as best as I can.

It’s… It’s so nice to have you here, and here for me.

Always, V.

•^*^••

Virgil was quiet during the bonfire, but it was the thinking kind of quiet, not the anxious kind, which helped Patton feel better about it. They’d managed to get marshmallows, and to roast them. Virgil had hoped he could eat just one without problems, which, well, didn’t work out, but after that he ate a whole lot of them, ‘just to spite his body’.

They ended up laying on blankets near the fire, looking up through the leaves at the few stars they could see.

“Thanks for keeping me with you,” Virgil said. “I’ve… I’ve been thinking about the past, and if you’d sent me back, or…” his voice strangled a bit. “Or kept me in that coffin…”

“Virgil, I’m so, so glad that you’re here with us now.” Patton said. “I wouldn’t be the same person I am without you. If… Looking back on it, the very idea of leaving you there makes me sick.”

“You’re an important kid, and I’m glad we have you,” Roman said.

Virgil just nodded silently, curling in on himself a little.

Patton locked eyes with Roman, and they each had the same idea, moving to Virgil’s blanket and sandwiching him between them. There was no protest from Virgil, and he even grabbed their hands, squeezing silently.

Patton gave a soft squeeze back. “We’re here now, and we have you, and we won’t let go.”

“No, we won’t.” Roman echoed.

“Thank you,” Virgil said, his voice rather choked up, but a watery smile on his face.

[theshadowedqueen82]

what you’ve kept hidden (i’ve always known), 7.2k words, Marinette Dupain-Cheng/Jim Lake Jr.

My Jimari Secret Santa gift to Aly (let me know if I should tag you!) combining the prompts for a confession with angst and a cute first date. Also on Ao3.

The video is blurry, filmed from a cellphone camera just behind a nearby building, but it's the best they have. There aren't any news crews in the area, but Toby is diligently looking for any other coverage on his phone. Jim doesn't think he could be watching this without him.

The camera is shaking as it shows the back of a man in a purple suit, holding up a girl with one hand and reaching for her earrings. Ash falls from the sky around them, and there are sirens in the distance.

It can’t end like this, is all that Jim can think. Ladybug's too strong, too skilled, too smart to be caught like this. She must have some sort of plan, some kind of power that can fix this. He’s seen her do it before.

Reports of magical heroes in Paris had slowly made their way to Arcadia a year ago. While most people had thought it fraudulent or some kind of publicity stunt, Jim was far less likely to dismiss claims of magic these days. He’s followed her rising career through a few blogs and home videos, watched a couple of newscasts, and found some comfort in the idea that he's not the only hero out there. He almost envied Ladybug for being able to go public with her identity, being able to see and communicate with the public she was protecting. At the moment all he feels for her is cold dread.

Hawkmoth makes a quick movement, and there's a shimmer of pink light. Jim wants to look away, grant her the privacy he knows is being violated, but can't seem to make his eyes move. As the costume falls away revealing a very familiar looking face, his jaw drops.

“Marinette?”

—

Jim doesn't quite remember when it started. Somewhere on the forums for one of the many games they both played, teaming up to defeat virtual monsters and chatting only through text. Over the years they’d grown closer, started voice chatting and then video chatting, beginning to share a little more of their lives and themselves. Their relationship had lasted far past the usual expiration date of online friendships and they were still going strong. She was the only reason he still spoke French, and he helped her with her English homework. They had fallen into an easy pattern of late night gaming marathons in middle school and homework sessions in high school, calling each other to chat during the time zone window where neither of them were sleeping to chat and swap baking tips and laugh over bad jokes.

She was the first person he’d told about Claire, back when he had time for things like crushes. She’d encouraged him to ask her out, and Jim had countered asking when she was going to do the same for Adrien. He wanted to tell her about the amulet, but knew that there wasn’t a chance. Besides, what would she be able to do? She was an ocean away, and even if she was here it wasn’t like she could grab a sword and fight Bular for him. Or so he’d thought.

“Is it Steve again?” she’d asked one afternoon, when training had gone rather poorly and he’d signed into their video call exhausted and with the beginnings of a rather sizable bruise on his shoulder. She couldn’t see it, but she was perceptive enough to notice the wince every time he moved.

“It’s not him,” he promised. “I’m doing some… extra curriculars. After school credit stuff.”

“Oh?” Marinette asked, her eyebrows rising. “Like what? I thought you had to turn down culinary club.” It felt like almost a lifetime ago, when he’d been occupied with trying to keep his grades up and take care of the house, when the fee for participation had been enough to make him put off joining until he could find a summer job and pay for it himself.

“Yeah, I joined… wrestling,” he decided, racking his brain for what kind of extracurricular could involve physical injury. “Trying to get my phys ed mark up, I haven’t been doing so great.” Which was true, due to a lack of attendance rather than ability but Mari didn’t need to know that.

“Wrestling?” she echoed, confusion in her expression. Jim had wondered if she was going to press, felt a cold knot form in his stomach at the thought of lying more to her. But to his relief she’d only frowned and accepted it, saying that it sounded dangerous and she hoped he’d try to be safer before changing subjects.

Now his mind is running through those old conversations, wondering if he’d missed any of the same signs from her. Any sprained ankles or healing cuts, any sign of a burden they could have shared.

“Marinette is Ladybug? Your Marinette?” Toby is saying, but Jim can hardly hear him over the buzzing in his ears.

Hawkmoth has dropped her, and she's coughing. Jim realises that he’d been strangling her, that she’d have a necklace of bruises marring her neck tomorrow. If she makes it that far, a nasty voice in the back of his mind whispers, one Jim immediately shoves away.

“Come on, Marinette,” he whispers, leaning closer to the screen like he could reach her through it. Hawkmoth has grabbed her arm and is starting to drag her away, but another figure strides forward and stops him. Chat Noir, Jim thinks with a rush of relief, and then anger, because how dare he let this happen to her? How could he let it come this far, let her be unmasked on live video, let her stand up to a supervillain by herself?

He redirects that anger, since Chat Noir has been trying to protect her, is probably taunting Hawkmoth right now trying to get him to release her. They're too far away for the video to pick up on their audio, but not far enough to keep Jim from seeing how he raises a hand, threatens to slap her. And how she flinches.

Then Chat Noir moves, lunges forward and there’s a flash of light that turns the video into a blur of static. They sit there in horrified silence for a moment before the feed shuts off completely, leaves them staring at a dark screen with an error message.

“NO!” Jim screams, and Toby’s scrolling through his phone but he’s not fast enough, Marinette is in danger RIGHT NOW and Jim doesn’t know what’s happening. Can’t see if she’s hurt more, can’t see if she’s gotten free, can’t see if she’s even still alive and nothing matters in this moment except the fact that there’s an ocean between them keeping him from helping her and he’s terrified.

It’s the longest two minutes of his life until they find another video, but this one’s only Rena Rouge. “-all okay,” she’s saying to the reporters who have finally showed up, far too late to catch anything other than a repaired and empty street with their cameras. “Hawkmoth has been defeated and turned over to the proper authorities, and everybody is safe.”

The reporters are falling over themselves asking questions, most about Ladybug ( what’s her name , like it’s not going to be all over the internet within the hour), and Rena declines to comment. “There will be an official statement released in the future,” she says before leaving, a pale and shocked reporter taking her place in front of the camera. She can only repeat facts Jim already knows, so he turns off the television and sits there in silence.

“She must be okay,” Toby finally offers, and Jim nods. Marinette has to be okay, not because of the reporters’ questions or Rena’s composure or even because she’s Ladybug, but because the alternative is too terrible to think of.

“Do you ever feel like you need to be perfect?” Marinette had asked him once, when Jim had noticed the dark circles under her eyes and the flat tone of voice, dulled from her usual vibrancy. “Like everything’s depending on you, and if you aren’t enough then people will get hurt?”

All the time, was his answer, but he couldn’t say why so he didn’t say it at all. “Do you feel that way?”

“Sometimes, yeah,” she said, and he knew that she too really meant always. “It’s just a lot, you know? With school, and the bakery, and…”

“And the akumas,” Jim guessed. The previous day had been a particularly drawn out fight between Ladybug and an akuma, and while he’d been confident Ladybug would win he still worried. This was Marinette's home, her friends, her school. And although they hadn’t discussed it in detail, Marinette trying to change the subject whenever he asked questions until he figured she simply didn’t want to discuss it, he knew the akumas fed off emotion. What was that like, being unable to let yourself be truly angry or afraid, with the constant threat of being weaponized hanging over your head?

“You don’t need to be perfect,” he’d told her. “You just need to be you. That’s all anybody can expect.”

“And what if I’m not enough?” Mari had asked, and Jim had wished that he could place a hand on her shoulder.

“You’re always enough,” he’d said.

Now he's wondering how many other conversations they’d had that were really about Ladybug, and wondering if there was anything he could have said that would have been better. Encouraged her more, made her job the tiniest bit easier. He can't remember saying anything monumentally stupid like let Ladybug handle it, but he wouldn’t put it past his memory to be a bit faulty on this matter.

How had he not known? How had he missed all the signs? Him of all people, who knows exactly what it's like to be fighting evil in between classes, how it feels knowing that you're the only person standing between genuinely evil beings and your home, what it's like keeping everything secret as you attempt to live a double life without either side crumbling.

He’d messaged her as soon as he got home, a quick are you okay before he realised that her phone was probably turned off if she wanted to have any peace. If Jim was exposed as the Trollhunter, everybody would be too busy with the underground secret society of trolls to really bother him. Ladybug was a national figure, and she’d just been unmasked on live television.

So Jim starts stress baking, because while he can’t make sure that Marinette was okay he can make sure that this pie crust stays perfectly golden brown. It doesn't help much, Marinette and baking being permanently linked in his mind after too many nights spent on the phone trying out new recipes together, but at least he’ll get some muffins out of his anxiety instead of just a sleepless night.

“What happened?” his mother asks when she comes home to a kitchen filled with assorted baked goods. She knows him too well for him to pass it off as nothing, and besides he’s tired of lying, but he doesn’t want to tell her about Ladybug. Maybe she’ll find out, but it’s not his secret to give.

“Marinette’s in trouble,” he says. “I haven’t heard from her, and I can’t...” he trails off, unsure what to say. Can’t stand not knowing, can’t help her from here? Can’t breathe properly until he hears her voice, hears from her that everything will be okay? All true, but saying it won’t change it.

“Oh honey,” his mom says, and she’s hugging him and Jim lets himself fall into the embrace. He hopes Marinette has her parents with her right now, hopes they’re hugging her and letting her melt like he is now, hopes more than anything that she’s safe and happy because she deserves to be.

If she were here nothing would keep him from getting to her house. He’d scale the wall and meet her on her balcony, wait by the back door until somebody let him in, do whatever it took to see her. But all he can do is wait for her to reply.

His phone is ringing. In the moment it takes for his half asleep mind to register the noise he’s already reaching for it. The ringtone is a familiar rock song, one he associates with Marinette before Jagged Stone, and a shot of adrenaline clears all the remaining drowsiness from his mind when he remembers why this call is so important.

“Marinette?” he says, the words tumbling out of his mouth as soon as he presses the button and lifts the phone to his ear, and he hears ragged breathing on the other side.

“Jim,” she gasps, and he feels as though a weight has been lifted from his shoulders.

“Are you okay?” he asks, standing and starting to pace.

“I’m fine,” she says, and then she’s crying. “I wanted to tell you. I’m so sorry.”

“Mari,” he says, wishing that he could be next to her, wrap an arm around her shaking shoulders and hold her close. “I don’t care about that, I’m just glad to hear that you’re safe. You don’t know how worried I was.”

“I didn’t mean to,” she replies, and he can still hear the tears in her voice. He hates the sound, hates her choked gasps as she cries, but would take them any day over not hearing from her at all. “I wanted to tell you, I just couldn’t. Hawkmoth... “

“I know,” he says. “I understand.” And he does, more than she knows, and a knot of guilt forms in his stomach. He knows how it feels to want to tell, to share this incredible burden with your best friend, and he understands exactly what prevents that. “I’m just glad you’re okay. You don’t know how scared I was.”

“I know,” she says, and she sniffles. Her tears seem to be running out, and Jim takes a deep breath.

“What happened?” he says, and then it all comes spilling out. She talks about the plan they had, how she was going to be the distraction, how it all went wrong when they found Hawkmoth’s identity (and something in his chest clenches at that, the scar of an old betrayal aching again), and how the ladybugs repaired all the physical damage but they couldn't undo the unmasking. All of Paris knows who their hero is, after she’s worked so hard to keep it a secret.

“I was so worried you’d be upset,” she says. “It’s been such a big part of my life, and I wanted to tell you, but… ”

“I understand,” he says. “Superheroes always have a secret identity.” She gives an embarrassed laugh at that, and he could picture the blush spreading across her face. “Marinette, would you promise me something?”

“What?” He had been sitting down but now he stands, walking over to the window as he decides how exactly to make his request.

“Please, don’t do this again,” he says. “I know you’re a hero, I know you’re smart and capable and strong, but please. Don’t put yourself in danger like that again.”

“Jim… I don’t think I can promise that,” she says, and Jim nods. It’s part of the job, and he can’t make the same promise back. Though she doesn’t know it he's been as much danger as she was, if not more. And he probably will be again.

“I know, I know,” he sighs. “Just… be careful. Seeing you in danger, and I was too far away to do anything, and I… I haven’t even gotten to tell you…” he trails off as his mind catches up with his words. Tell her what? That she makes him smile more than anybody else, that hearing from her always makes his day better, that when he thought she might have been killed the world felt wrong until he heard her voice? All true, but not what he’d been about to say.

“Jim?” Marinette prompts, and he mentally shakes himself.

“We haven’t even gotten to meet,” he says. “In real life. And you’re not allowed to be hurt before that happens.”

“Right,” she says, a bit of a smile returning to her voice. “But all bets are off after, right?”

“It’ll be different after we meet!” A smile begins to tug at the corners of his mouth. “I’ll be able to protect you.”

“Which one of us is the superhero again?” And just like that they fall back into their usual easy banter, and it feels like nothing has changed. It’s like he always knew, like no secrets have ever hung between them, because more important than her being Ladybug is her being Marinette. Yet woven through it all is a pattern of relief, a whispered we’re here and we’re safe as steady as a heartbeat carrying their conversation.

They talk well into the early hours of the morning, and when his alarm wakes him Jim finds the phone fallen on the pillow next to him. They must have fallen asleep talking, as the phone informs him they spent far more hours on call than he remembers, and there’s a text from her. Goodnight Jim! Thank you.

He holds his phone to his chest and stares at the ceiling, eyes stinging from not enough sleep, and wonders just what he had been about to tell her.

—

They parked a news van outside her house. She kept the curtains drawn and couldn’t go out, communicated to her friends and other heroes over phone calls and video chats. The official press release had been delivered by Rena Rouge and Carapace. Chat Noir had vanished; Marinette told him that his identity wasn’t her secret to share, but he was safe and recovering. But Paris still wanted to hear from Ladybug, and she just wanted to be left alone.

Chloe had surprised both of them by hiring a full bodyguard detail to guard the shop. Marinette thought it was her way of apologizing for some of her earlier behaviour at school, but she was mostly grateful that she hadn’t asked any questions. Her parents were trying to run the shop but kept getting people who just wanted to meet her, and had ended up resorting to mainly doing deliveries to keep gawkers out of their house. Marinette couldn’t leave, and although she tried to stay positive Jim knew she was feeling trapped.

“Come stay with me,” Jim had said, the words out of his mouth before he could think them through. But it made sense. In America less people knew or cared about Ladybug’s secret identity; she could take a vacation and wait out the media storm, return when she could take a walk outside without needing to worry about paparazzi.

It had been a whirlwind of planning, dates and phone calls from both their parents, but the day has finally arrived. Chloe lent Marinette her private jet; her parents will follow in a few days once they can close down the shop and move into a small condo they’ll be renting. So Jim has prepared a spare bedroom, given what little Ladybug memorabilia he has to Toby with threats to keep him from showing her any of it, and warned the trolls that he’ll have a houseguest. He has not informed them that he’ll be telling her about being the Trollhunter. It’ll be easier to ask forgiveness than permission, when they don’t know Marinette like he does. She can keep a secret, and she deserves to know.

He had thought about bringing a sign, but was worried it might call unwanted attention so refrained. Now he wishes that he brought one, if only to have something to hold. What’s he supposed to do with his hands? It’s ridiculous, this is Marinette, but it’s also the first time they’ll be seeing each other in person and he can’t help but feel suddenly uneasy, like something will go very wrong the moment she steps off the plane. What if he steps forward to greet her and steps on her foot? Or trips and falls into her? And that breaks her nose? Or maybe he’ll knock her over completely, and...

His catastrophic thoughts ground to a halt the moment he sees a flash of hair so black it’s almost blue, and suddenly he’s running forward and so is she. They have never met each other before but they’re flying into each other’s arms, and she fits so perfectly it’s like they’ve done this a million times before.

“Hey,” he says, a little breathless as he pulls back to look at her in the eyes, and he’s smiling so broadly that his cheeks hurt. Marinette’s smile is even more beautiful in person.

“Hi,” she replies, and they stand there for a moment in each others’ arms only to jump apart when his mother clears her throat.

“Marinette, it’s good to meet you,” she says, pointedly ignoring the blush spreading across Marinette’s face. Jim can feel his own cheeks heating and suddenly finds the floor very interesting as he attempts to gather himself, to concentrate on all the words he was planning to say instead of only thinking of the way she felt in his arms.

“It’s lovely to meet you too Ms Lake,” Marinette says, composing herself quickly and holding out her hand.

“Please, call me Barbara.” His mom shakes her hand with a warm smile. “How was your flight?”

“It was good, thank you,” she says.

“First class treatment! What was it like?” Jim asks, and she grins at him.

“I saved you some of the pretzels,” she says, pulling out a package of them from her pocket. 

“And this is why we’re friends,” he says, and she laughs.

“Because I give you food?”

“No other reason,” he says.

“Glad to hear your friendship is so easily bought,” she teases. “A single pack of stale airline pretzels?”

“Private jet pretzels,” he says. He returns her grin and then their smiles soften. “It’s really good to see you.” The words aren’t enough, can’t convey the sense of rightness he feels at having her here, but she seems to understand anyways.

“You too.” Marinette blushes and tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. The moment is broken by a man clearing his throat, somebody who looks like he just walked out of a Men in Black movie which is contrasted by the pastel pink suitcase and duffel bag he’s holding.

“Excuse me ma'am, we can bring your luggage to the vehicle,” he says, and they’re both stepping forward in tandem.

“Oh, thank you but that’s okay,” she says, while he’s saying “I can take that for you,” and thankfully the man doesn’t fight as they pull the luggage from his hands (her with the duffel, him with her suitcase) because even with his Trollhunting-obtained muscle Jim’s not sure he would win a tug-of-war with him.

“Shall we?” his mom says, leading them out to the car, and Jim feels a rush of excitement as it begins to sink in that he can finally show Marinette his home.

“It’s not a limo, but I hope it’s fancy enough,” he says, and she rolls her eyes.

“I’m sure I’ll manage.” Then her mouth quirks up in a grin that he recognizes, and she takes off after his mom. “Race you!” she calls.

“You don’t even know which one is ours!” Jim shouts back, while trying to convince the wheels on her suitcase to maintain a pace they were never built for. They fall into the backseat with flushed cheeks and racing heartbeats, and he spends half the drive home pointing out things for her to finally put an image to and the other half admiring how much better she looks in person compared to a video feed.

—

The creaking floorboard wakes him up. Not that he’d been sleeping too well anyways, his dreams a confused muddle of anxiety he's thankful didn’t break out into a full nightmare. He considers rolling over and trying to go back to sleep, but then remembers that Marinette is here and there’s a chance Draal has ignored all of his warnings and decided a midnight snack is appropriate right now. It takes a moment to locate his house robe and shrugs it on over his pyjamas before creeping into the hallway. Marinette’s door is also open.

He finds her in the kitchen, softly opening cupboards. She’s already located a mug and it’s waiting on the kitchen island, and her eyes go wide and she winces an apology at him when she sees him.

“I didn’t want to wake you,” she says, and he shrugs as he heads for the drawer where they keep their tea bags.

“It’s fine,” he says, holding them up for her to inspect. “Chamomile?” She nods and he starts the kettle boiling. “Jet lag? Or something else?” She looks away, and the dark rims under her eyes are too pronounced to come from one night.

“I don’t think I want to talk about it right now,” she says, and Jim nods. He pours them both a cup and beckons her over to the couch.

“If we use subtitles we can watch something,” he says. “Unless you’d rather be alone.”

“No,” she says, sitting down next to him. She’s wearing a blanket over her shoulders and pulls it up, tucks it around her until only her head and her hand holding her tea are poking out. “Company is good.”

They don’t say anything else as Jim pulls up Beauty and the Beast (the Disney animated one, she’d told him years ago it was her comfort film) and sets the subtitles to French. They’d been speaking English all day with only occasional slips into French, but he thinks she might need something familiar right now. Halfway through the villagers singing about how strange Belle is she shifts and her free hand creeps out of the blankets to the couch cushion between them.

“I keep seeing their faces,” she whispers, the words solemn and heavy. “There were casualties when we fought him.” He hasn’t heard anything about casualties, probably because Lucky Charm always fixes everything at the end of the battle. Everything but the guilt in her voice, the fear in her eyes, the way she flinches when he reaches out and takes her hand in his.

“It was his fault,” he says. “Not yours.” Her breath hitches a little, and he knows she’s on the verge of tears. “You saved them. You did everything you could, and you won.”

“Are you disappointed?”

“What?” He turns and looks at her, the movie forgotten as he tries to figure out what on earth he has to be disappointed about.

“I know you admired her,” she says, her eyes flicking over his face. “Ladybug, I mean. And to find out that it’s just me, and that I’m…”

“Marinette, you’re amazing,” he says honestly, squeezing her hand. “You’re brave and selfless and kind, and the only difference between you and Ladybug was that she had superpowers. You’re a hero with or without them. I could never be disappointed.”

Maybe she moves towards him or he moves forward first, but however it happens they’re bundled together in a hug. She’s shaking, and Jim wishes more than anything that he could take this from her. She doesn’t deserve this burden even if she is strong enough to carry it, and it’s a tragedy she has to.

She pulls back a little and they watch Belle sing about adventure, still wrapped in an embrace made mostly of blankets, and when Maurice heads into the castle he shifts slightly and reaches forward for the box of tissues, silently offering it to her.

“Thank you,” she says, grabbing a few.

“I wish I could help more,” he says, and they both know he’s not talking about the tissues. She looks at him, eyes still a little too wet, and gives him a smile.

“You did,” she says, quiet conviction in her voice. “Jim, you were my rock. Some days the only thing that kept me sane was knowing that I’d be able to talk to you afterwards, even if I couldn’t tell you the details.” He tightens his arm around her shoulder but says nothing, and her face scrunches up in a frown. “It’s true, you know,” she says. “I didn’t need you fighting beside me. I just needed a friend. And you were always there, no matter what time it was or how little I was saying.”

Their minds are likely both flashing over other midnight conversations, texts sent in the middle of classes and calls made by sneaking out of study hall, and although they were sparse on some details like names and events they certainly hadn’t hidden how they were feeling.

He still feels guilty, still wishes that he could have been next to her in that final battle and all the previous ones, but he has to trust that whatever little he was able to offer was enough.

The movie goes on and he feels something in his chest tighten at the library scene, as all the characters sing about something there that wasn’t there before. But was it really, he wonders? He always wants to protect his friends, always wants to help people, but sometime when he wasn’t looking Marinette quietly claimed a piece of his heart that he only just realised was missing. Falling in love with her was so easy, so natural, that the landing was soft enough to go unnoticed.

“I think I’m in love with you,” he whispers as Beauty and her Beast dance through the dazzling ballroom, and his stomach falls at her silence until he looks down and realises she’s drifted off to sleep, head using his lap as a pillow and hands curling around the blanket. 

I’ll tell her soon, he promises himself as his own eyelids start to droop. But they have time, and right now they both just need to rest.

—

It was an awful fact that whenever one promised to do something tomorrow the fated day never arrived, forever shoved aside in favor of endless todays until it's suddenly Marinette’s last day staying with him. She still likely has a few more months in Arcadia, but the packed suitcase in the hallway makes him feel like his window's closing. It was so easy to let their conversation be light and easy, to spend their days biking through the town and introducing her to his friends, that he’s managed to put it off until now. But today would be the day.

They’d planned a picnic. Just the two of them, and if he’d actually had this conversation before this could be their first date. She’d insisted on finding a red checkered blanket to spread on the ground (they’d eventually found one in a thrift store) and they’d made each other weird sandwiches (peanut butter, bacon, and banana for him, pear walnut for her), and everything was loaded in his picnic basket. The amulet was in his back pocket.

Maybe it’s better this way, he thinks, staring at his bike like it'll offer some sage wisdom for the situation. If she doesn’t feel the same it would be awkward if she was still in the same house. Or if the trolls freak her out he supposes she won't mind moving, but he can’t help but feel that confession will be the easier out of the two. After all, he’s met Tikki, and kwamis seem a bit more shocking than trolls.

“Ready to go?” Marinette asks, closing the door behind her, and Jim nods and smiles as she mounts her bike.

“No earrings?”

“I think Ladybug deserves a day off,” she says, and he wonders if Tikki knows some of what he wants to say and has decided to give them alone time. “Let’s go!”

She’d memorized the layout of the town very quickly, something she credited to years of biking being her main transportation through Paris. She also had a bad habit of looking for cars driving the wrong way while crossing the road, and he was trying to at least get her to look both ways before darting out into the street. His caution has sadly not yet caught on, and she’s quickly outpacing him as they ride towards the woods.

They dismount and leave their bikes behind a bush before walking further into the woods, Marinette admiring the surroundings with wide eyes.

“No forests in Paris?” Jim asks, and she shrugs.

“There’s some parks, but nothing this size,” she says. “And this is just here. You can walk in any direction and run into more forest.”

“Maybe we can go camping,” Jim suggests. “When your parents have gotten settled in, we can spend a weekend at Yosemite or something.” He hasn’t gone camping in years, but he’s learned plenty of wilderness survival skills from Blinky. Granted he was fairly certain only a few of them applied to humans, but it would still be fun. He’d probably find trollish lessons fun if he was doing them with Marinette.

They plan their camping trip as they cross a river, and Marinette’s laugh distracts Jim enough that his foot slips off a rock and ends up drenched in river water. She’s concerned at first but soon enough they’re both laughing over it, and they finally reach the clearing. Buttercups and daisies dot the grass between dandelions, and they spread the blanket and lie down, looking up at the cloudless sky.

“I bet the stars out here are beautiful,” Marinette says. “We have to come back some time at night and stargaze.”

“I can try and borrow Toby’s telescope,” Jim agrees. “Have you gone stargazing before?”

“Not really,” she says. “You can’t see too many in Paris from light pollution, and my nights were usually too busy to stop and look. You?”

“Same,” he says. “I’ve tried to pick out constellations a few times, but I’m terrible at it. They all look the same to me.”

“You just have to start with what you know!” Marinette says. “Find Orion’s belt or the Big Dipper and go from there.”

“So you have gone stargazing!” He props himself up on an elbow to look at her, and she shakes her head.

“No, I’ve just used star maps,” she says. “I was making a skirt design that used constellations and I wanted it to be accurate!” 

“You know you could probably just make random dots and nobody would know the difference, right?”

“I would know the difference!” she says, sitting up. “Haven’t you ever taken pride in your work? Done it right for the sake of doing so?”

“Of course! I used to drive my mom crazy by insisting on making pie crusts from scratch.”

“They taste better that way!”

“Exactly! But I never had time to make them, so we went without pie for a while until I caved and went store bought.”

“Jim!” she gasps, her hand covering her mouth in faux horror. “Never let my parents hear you say that, they’ll never let us speak again!”

“Scandalous, I know!” he agrees. “But if I have you to ask for help I won’t need to resort to such desperate measures in the future.”

“You can spend all day baking with my dad, he’ll love it,” she says. “He thinks that’s the best way to get to know somebody, so expect an interrogation while making a layer cake.”

“An interrogation? Don’t they already know me?” Marinette blushes and looks away.

“They do, but not as well as they want to,” she says. He sits up, but she still refuses to meet her gaze. “After all, they think… well…”

Tell her now, his mind screams at him. This is the perfect time! But suddenly his tongue is made of lead. “Marinette,” he says, and it’s a wonder she can hear him over the sound of his suddenly too loud heartbeat. But hear she does, and her head turns towards him maybe a little too quickly.

“Yes?”

“I…” And despite how much he wants to tell her, for whatever reason the only words he can force out of his mouth are “Would you like a sandwich?”

“Oh,” she says, deflating a little. “Yeah, sure.” His hands tremble a little as he opens up the picnic basket and passes her the food. He grabs his as well; the plan is for them to take the first bite at the same time, but he’s not sure if he can manage to eat anything from the way his stomach is twisting. “Ready?” Marinette says with a grin, but it’s not as wide as it was before.

“Wait,” he says, and she wrinkles her nose at him.

“This is a bad time to tell me you’re allergic to peanut butter,” she says, and he smiles.

“Not that,” he says. “I was actually going to tell you… well, I…” She doesn’t say anything, just stares at him with eyes bluer than the sky, and Jim wonders why this moment is harder than leaping into the Darklands.

“Marinette, you’re a great friend,” he says, and he wants to kick himself as he sees her face fall. “That’s not what I meant!” he says, and now she just looks confused. “I mean, I wanted to say that while I love our friendship, I also… I might think of you as more. More than a friend.” HIs cheeks are ablaze and he can’t meet her gaze, instead choosing to focus on his sandwich. The pickle juice will make the bread soggy, but eating it is the last thing on his mind.

“Jim, is this a date?” Marinette asks, and her voice is soft enough that he can’t discern her feelings.

“Maybe,” he says. “It can be, if you want it to be.” And he’s so ready to hear her gently turn him down (he knows she likes Adrien, and he’s just Jim! He can’t hold a candle to an actual model) that he almost misses her reply.

“Yes.”

“What?”

“Yes, I’d like this to be a date.” He looks at her, and he’s never seen anybody look as happy as she does in that moment.

“You mean you-”

“Yeah,” she says, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “I think I’ve liked you for a while now. I just wasn’t sure how to bring it up.”

“Me neither,” he says. “I thought Adrien-”

“We’re friends,” she says. “And Claire?”

“Friends,” he says. They went on a date once and it was terribly awkward, and at the end they agreed a platonic relationship was better. But he doesn’t want to think about Claire right now, not when Marinette is there and she apparently likes him too. “I figured it out when I was watching the battle,” he confesses.

“Because you learned I was Ladybug?” she asks, and he shakes his head.

“Because I realised I couldn’t lose you,” he says. “It was more of a catalyst than a deciding factor.” It’s not Ladybug he fell in love with, it’s Marinette and all the little things about her that make her extraordinary.

“I figured it out on the plane ride over,” she says. “Alya told me to tell her all the details about ‘my new boyfriend’ and I spent the whole flight thinking about that.”

“Oh,” he says, and his cheeks are beginning to hurt from his smile. “I should have told you sooner, shouldn’t I?”

“Yes!” Marinette agrees with a laugh. “We could have been dating this whole time!”

“It’s only been a few days,” he says. “And besides, I don’t think we would have done anything too different.” Now that he thinks about it a lot of their excursions around the town could have been dates: going to the museum, petting the dogs in the pet shop, eating at his favourite cafe, visiting the library.

“I could have done this sooner,” she says, and she leans forward and kisses him. It’s a quick peck on his cheek, but he feels as though a shock of electricity has gone through him. “Sorry,” she says, pulling back. “I should have asked first.” But he puts down his sandwich and reaches out for her, slowly cupping her cheek.

“May I?” he asks, and she nods. And he lowers his lips to hers. 

It’s not like a dream, or something magical. It’s better than that because it’s real, he’s really and truly here with Marinette and they are kissing, and when he finally pulls back he can’t help but marvel at the flushed and beaming expression she’s wearing because of him.

“You’re lucky I did that before I ate the sandwich,” he says, and she laughs.

“I’d let you even with pickle breath,” she says, and not even the strange food combinations they’ve made can cause their smiles to dim. They eat and exchange the second half of their sandwiches, and drink lemonade and eat apples and toss the cores as far as they can (he’s got more strength, but yo yo throwing has made her accuracy unbeatable). And as the shadows are beginning to lengthen he doesn’t want to leave, exit this perfect afternoon and go to the next moment where he’ll have to let the rest of the world into this new and wonderful thing, but decides that since the future will hold second and third dates and hopefully many dates after that it won’t be so terrible letting this one end.

“I'm really glad that you finally told me,” she says as they pack up the picnic, shaking the crumbs off the blanket before folding it. “Despite how hard it was to get the words out.”

“Next time I’ll just use Romeo’s speech,” he says. “But soft! What light through yonder window breaks? It is the east, and Marinette is the sun.”

“I’ll need to brush up on my Shakespeare if I want to keep up,” she says, and he shrugs.

“If you want, but I can’t think of anything better than you,” he says. “The words you speak, I mean. And the way you say things.” His cheeks are burning again, but she smiles at him and gives him another kiss.

“Sometimes you talk too much,” she says, and he nods and kisses her again. All good things must come to an end, as kisses are limited by lung capacity, but he can’t bring himself to mind now that the prospect of many more kisses await both of them in the future.

“If this is the result, I don’t think I mind being unmasked,” she tells him, and he nods. “Plus, we don’t need to play the awkward secret identity game this way.” With a flash he remembers that there were two things he wanted to tell her about, and while he doesn’t think this will be a dealbreaker he’d much rather get it out of the way sooner rather than later. He’s learned his lesson about hiding things from Marinette.

“Actually, there was one more thing I wanted to tell you about,” he says, reaching into his pocket and pulling out the amulet.

[redstainedsocks]

First Night

Another prompt for @amonthofwhump‘s escape!week, “first night”. Set immediately after First Mile to Freedom from two days ago. About to make you all real sad with some sock related content, which is only right given my nickname 😎

Warnings: box boy universe, past abuse, early stages of post-trauma, conditioning and unhealthy thought processes, pet whump, dehumanizing thoughts, disassociation, exhaustion, kneeling, scared and confused whumpee, brief mention of a head injury.

Word count: 1.4k

The house they pulled up in wasn’t anything special, not really. One level, set back from the road by a rough lawn, lit windows covered with heavy curtains.

Kit stumbled from the car, one hand clutching the back of Libby’s coat, the other holding his blanket around him like it could offer some kind of protection from what was to come. He had no idea what awaited inside, or what he’d be expected to do once he was in there.

He tugged on her clothes until she stopped, a few feet from the door. “Is this your house, you… you live here?”

“Umm, no, not usually. I live closer to campus, for, well for school, but I am going to stay here with you for a bit. If you want me to, I mean?” She turned a tentative smile to him and his nerves quietened a little.

He nodded. Having her around while he transitioned to whatever kind of ownership awaited him next sounded good, as long as it didn’t put her in harm's way. “I don’t know anyone else.”

It sounded like a secret, like some kind of hidden thing, but it was true. In all the world he really only knew three people; one he hadn’t seen in weeks since an argument, another was led away in handcuffs earlier that day, and she was the last.

“Well that’s about to change, there’s a few people here who are eager to meet you.”

His pulse skyrocketed again and he gulped. Lots of people to please sounded difficult, with too many needs to anticipate he was sure to mess up sooner rather than later. He breathed, in through his nose out through his mouth, short sharp breaths that didn’t help. He gulped and straightened his shoulders, panicking wouldn’t make this any easier. “I’ll do my best to serve them.”

“No, no, don’t think like that. Hey, Kit, easy it’s alright. I know you’re really tired and I’m sorry it’s all happening like this. But listen and please believe me, no-one here will treat you like those people in the store, none of them think pet ownership is good or should even be allowed.”

“Then… then they won’t like me?” He took a halting step backward, eyes darting between the windows of the house.

“They’re gonna love you, they’re just not going to treat you like a pet. They’ll treat you like everyone else.”

She tugged his hand and he followed, but he wasn’t in his body anymore he was floating outside it, numb and cut off from his emotions. It was safer not to feel.

When she ushered him inside it was to a busy house with more people than he knew how to handle. She walked him through a short hallway, and he saw three, then a forth, then a fifth—the driver, John, sitting at a kitchen table nursing a coffee—in mere moments. He stood in the doorway to a small lounge and every pair of eyes in the room turned on him. Two hands waved, three voices said hello, Libby caught his eyes and nodded encouragingly.

He dropped to his knees and pressed his forehead to the floor.

  ~   ~   ~

It was a blur of faces, of people not touching but urging him to sit up; of being handed water and a little food, and then later left in a bathroom with a washcloth—he gave the shower a wide berth—and soap. He didn’t look in the mirror, not needing a reminder of how awful he looked with the gash on his face and the memories that surfaced every time he dwelled on it.

The socks he’d been handed to wear with his clean clothes gave him pause. He didn’t think he’d ever owned a pair. It felt like luxury, soft and warm and utterly alien. He worried about slipping on the smooth floors and shuffled ungainly down the hallway toward the voices, not taking his eyes off his feet or his hand off the wall.

He was so tired he couldn’t think or see straight but he was ready and willing to serve, if they needed him to. He caught Libby’s voice, more attuned to it than the ones he didn't know.

“Not yet, let’s just… let’s not give him any more to handle tonight? I’ll tell him, it should be me.”

“He’s going to take a while to settle in, but I think we can all manage a few days of sticking with the name he knows.”

There were murmurs of assent and he stopped in his tracks. They wanted to change his name? He supposed that was just one more thing he’d have to get used to.

“Here he is,” said the same quiet, low voice he’d heard respond to Libby. There was a lilt to the accent that he liked, it didn’t sound like anything he’d experienced before.

“I’m ready sir.”

“Just Mateo, calling me Mateo is fine.”

“Oh-okay? Thank you. Umm for the socks, thank you.”

“Oh that was Alf’s idea, he thought you’d probably be without.”

He lifted his eyes and looked around for whoever this ‘Alf” was. Someone was looking at him with a bright smile and he zeroed in on it. “Thank… you? I can do, make up for it, uhh I mean, whatever you want in return I can…”

Libby came up and put her arm around him. “They don’t do that here.”

“Then how do I…?”

“You said thank you, that’s enough, that’s plenty.”

“Libby, do you want to show him where he’s sleeping?” Mateo asked. “We set up a bed in the guys room, it’s a bit cramped but it should be comfortable.”

“Sure thing, I got the couch right?”

“If you don’t mind.” Mateo nodded, and leaned against the doorframe, smiling softly.

“Not at all, probably more comfortable than my dorm room anyway.”

She turned to lead him away and he pulled back, his thoughts moved as slow as molasses but he knew he needed to understand the rules. “Wait, umm please I don’t know w-when I should be up in the morning?”

She shushed him and kept walking. “Whenever you get up is fine, you can sleep as long as you need.”

The room she led him to was large, but filled with three beds all squashed up against the walls it made it seem like a smaller space. She sat him down on a neatly made one that was pressed up against a glass door leading outside; the view through the glass was utterly black and she hastily pulled a blind down, blocking out the nightmarish rectangle of dark space.

“You can sleep here.”

He touched the soft sheets and springy mattress. “On the bed?” He felt suddenly alert, but the moment passed as exhaustion swamped any excitement or thrill of nerves.

“Yes, on the bed. I’ll be down the hall if you need me.”

“Libby I…” he paused, fumbling over his words, his fingers plucking at the sheet.

“You can say anything here, there’s no wrong words.” She settled into a crouch before him and put her hands on his knees.

“I don’t know who’s in charge. Who do I listen to?”

She smiled, a little sad around the edges where it didn’t reach her eyes. “Well… it’s Mateo’s house, but no-one is really in charge, they just all live here. Respect everyone's space and privacy and you’ll fit right in.”

“But who gives me orders? Tells me what to do?”

“For tonight, your only requirement is to sleep and rest. I don’t want to put too much on you at once, but… you, you make the rules now Kit, for yourself. We’ll help you work out what that means, we’ll help you make decisions, but you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do.”

He sat, numbed, the floaty feeling starting again, dragging him away and out where it was safe and his body could function without him. She brushed falling tears from his cheeks and he leaned into her touch, it grounded him, pushing away the sensation that wanted to carry him out of his body.

She laid him down, and let him sob. He whimpered with little breathy cries that he didn’t know why he was making. He was making a bad first impression he knew, but couldn’t stop. He was so tired, so, so tired and his head hurt, and he’d do better tomorrow he promised he would.

He must have mumbled something because she shushed him.

“Sleep, sleep is the only thing you need to do right now. Let go of everything else.”

Without knowing what else he could do, he let himself slip and deep restful sleep took hold before he could question it.

Tag list: 

@haro-whumps, @theycomeinthrees, @whumpthisway, @samanddeaninpanties, @teachunks, @draganies, @pepperonyscience, @whump-it, @castielamigos-whump-side-blog, @untilthepainstarts, @galaxywhump, @kiretto-laorentze, @lonesome--hunter @slaintetowhump @just-a-raccoon-with-wifi​

[our-jensen-ackles-love]

Dancing With A Stranger

Demon!Dean x Reader 

-- After a bad break up, you need to get out of the house per your best friends suggestion. The night is bound to be one you’ll never forget.

Word Count: 1355

Created for: @purpleskiesandcherrypies and @spnkinkbingo

Warnings: choking, unprotected sex

Masterlist  Ko-Fi  Feedback 

Square Filled: Breath Play

Author’s Note: This was written for @purpleskiesandcherrypies 4k Challenge and my prompt will be bolded in the story. And this also fills my Breath Play space on @spnkinkbingo 

You hadn’t been out in what felt like years.

No one ever tells you that when you get settled in a relationship, exciting things like nightclub trips with the girls start to dwindle down next to none. Part of it fell on you because you wanted to spend every waking moment with your new boyfriend, but then the other part was because they stopped asking you to join them when you kept shooting them down.

Imagine your surprise at finding out your boyfriend of six years was seeing one of his co-workers behind your back for the last two of them. You had been under the impression that a proposal was in the works. But they had been clever, deleting texts, stealing moments at the office and finding ways to hook up at work events without anyone knowing. It was honestly by a fluke that she had messaged him late one night and you picked up his phone thinking it was yours.

When you confronted him about the affair, he didn’t even try and deny it. He even admitted that things were getting serious with her and he was ready to break things off with you. The whole situation had left you completely devasted and bedridden for the last two weeks.

Until tonight.

Your best friends showed up at your doorstep at just the moment you were expecting the pizza delivery man to arrive, forcing their way into your unkempt apartment, pushing you into the shower and double checking that you had shaved your legs. You knew how they were, there was little to no privacy with girlfriends, so them stripping you down and dressing you up as their own lifesize Barbie doll wasn’t a shock.

And for once you didn’t fight it. You’d be lying not to admit you were a tad excited about the whole thing.

Upon arriving at the excessively loud bar, your friends were quick to load you up on several kinds of their favorite drinks. You knew it was in an effort to make you forget and let you get out of your comfort zone, but holy hell, you weren’t expecting it to work that quickly.

At some point in the night, you were leaning on the bar, trying to keep your balance, and your friends had disappeared briefly to try and grab up some good looking guys, did a man wearing a beautiful maroon color button down approach you. You faintly recalled saying such a thing to him causing him to eye you up and down while giving you that side smirk.

There was little to no conversation before you found yourself hidden away in the dark alleyway behind the nightclub, his lips pressed harshly into the crook of your neck while his hands wandered around aggressively, making you silently thank your friends for pushing you to clean up before heading out.

His hand slid to the hem of your dress where there was a brief pause before his fingers found their way under the cotton fabric on your panties. You gave a low groan as he played with your sensitive nub of nerves, knowing the alcohol was making everything much more heightened.

“Do you like that baby?” He whispered softly into your ear while applying a bit more pressure where your body was pushing into his palm.

“Uh-huh,” you said breathlessly, reaching forwards to tug at that red shirt of his in a desperate attempt to feel some of his skin.

He seemed to approve of your answer as his hand continued to travel towards your core, running a long finger along your soaked entrance, his voice dropping as he slid his finger inside. “Fuck,” he drew out the vowel, pressing his mouth to yours harshly. “You’re making me want to do all kinds of things to you right now.”

“Who says you can’t?” You asked, your question was mumbled against his mouth as you arched yourself closer to him.

That appeared to be all the permission he needed as you found your cheek pressed against the cool brick of the wall while he hiked your dress up just enough that he could slide your panties to the side. There was another low groan from him as he teased your pussy an agonizing moment longer with his finger before you heard the familiar sound of a zipping descending.

The man didn’t need to ask once more if this was what you really wanted, your body was answering for you as he slid the tip of his cock against your entrance making your stomach clench in anticipation. He gave no warning as he slammed into you so hard you let out a loud yelp while his hands positioned themselves on your shoulders, giving him more leverage over your smaller frame.

He muttered something as he slammed into you once more, trying to and succeeding in finding just that right spot that made you want to buckle your knees under him. His grip held onto you tightly as began to move with some sort of rhythm, you began to have a hard time catching your breath between the way you were positioned and the wall holding you up. As he rocked into you once more, you felt his slender fingers shift and move in towards the base of your throat, wrapping around your neck gently at first, but with two more pumps and they were clamping around so tightly you were beginning to see stars behind your eyes.

Your immediate reaction was to begin to struggle, trying to push yourself upwards against the wall.

“Shh, baby, shh,” he cooed softly, gripping you tighter and fucking you harder as you fought against his overwhelming amount of strength.

He didn’t let up as he pumped you hard and rough, his grasp on your windpipe straggling the mixture of yelps and moans as the darkness began to creep into the corners of your eyes. Just when you were sure that everything was going to fade out were you able to catch your breath again in the same moment that your legs began to wobble with the level of high this stranger had put you on.

Holding you in your place, he fucked harder, pushing your cheek deeper into the stone that you were positive you’d have a set of scratches until he came as you slowly recovered from your own climax. There was a satisfied groan when he stepped back, you stood there catching your breath while listening to the way his jeans shifted before turning and looking at him.

“Uhm, what the fuck was that?”

He offered you a shrug and a smirk, almost making you want to return the favor of almost strangling him. “You enjoyed yourself didn’t you?”

Thankful for the cover of the night sky, you felt your cheeks heat at the realization that you hadn’t had an orgasm like that, in well, forever. You adjusted your dress, smoothing it down your thighs as best you could. “That’s not the point.”

Another shrug before he reached up and ran a hand through his hair. “If you’re looking for an apology, you came for the wrong guy.”

Completely dumbfounded by his behavior, you scoffed at his shadow. You knew you shouldn’t be all that surprised considering he had just fucked a complete stranger in an alleyway, but it still didn’t excuse the fact that you felt like you were about to die for a moment.

“Go to hell.”

A car sped by, giving you a brief glance of his chiseled features, which at the moment had a wicked little smirk pulling at his pout. “Oh, baby, where do you think I came from?”

What was supposed to be the first amazing lay of a newly single woman, turned out to be her last; rumors of an onyx eyed man filled the papers for weeks afterward, but there was no trace that he ever really existed. The only person who knew what happened that night was tucked away in a room in a world that no one would find - to be only used to get that high they needed to survive.

FOREVERS: @spnwoman @jerkbitchidjitassbutt @xalgaliareptx @shayrey @winchesterhound @yourvoiceislikearose @chocolateturtlepeanutopera @alexwinchester23 @earthtokace @hobby27 @pisces-cutie @babykalika2001 @dean-winchesters-bacon @itssmallerontheoutside-13​ @aeonian-forever @mirandaaustin93 @queenslandlover-93 @spnbaby-67 @akshi8278 @gh0stgurl @closetspngirl @waywardrose13 @theselilwonders @lizzietheizzie @mogaruke @roonyxx @maddiepants @daughterofthenight117 @adoptdontshoppets @spn-dean-and-sam-winchester @deansyahtzee @screechingartisancashbailiff @rainflowermoonlibrary @wishingbuttercup @sandlee44 @whit85-blog @1000roughdrafts @another-wayward-sister

[mayquita]

Pictures of Reality (11/16)

Hi everyone! Here we go again. I’d like to express my gratitude to all those who have given this story a chance, thanks for your likes, comments, kudos and reblogs. It means the world to me.

Summary: Emma Swan returns to her birthplace, Storybrooke, in search of a fresh start after a life marked by abandonment and betrayal. After a year there, she finds the stability she needed and also the possibility of learning about one of her passions, photography. Killian Jones, a former British war reporter with a tragic past, establishes himself in the same town as an instructor of photography, following in the footsteps of his best friends, the Nolans. What will happen when their paths cross? Will their common passion for photography help them heal old wounds?

Rating: M (Language, mature themes, implied sex)

Warnings: Alcohol abuse, mentions of the loss of a limb in an armed conflict.

Other ships / Characters: Although, obviously, this is a cs fic, Snowing plays a major role here, mainly David. In fact, the story contains three different points of view, those of Emma, Killian and David. Also, Henry appears in the story as Regina’s adopted son but he is not Emma’s biological son.

Beta: I’d like to express my gratitude, as always, to my beta @jarienn972 I’m aware that you have had to deal with a monster of more than 100k words and English is not my mother tongue, so I value your effort even more.

Artist / art: Go visit @imagnifika’s blog and enjoy her amazing art. The art that accompanies this chapter perfectly captures a decisive moment in the story.

Art for the prologue/ Art for chapter 1 / Art for chapter 2 and banner / Art for chapter 3/ Art for chapters 4-5  / Art for chapters 6-7/ Art for chapter 8 / Art for chapter 10

Special mention to @saraswans , thank you so much for your perpetual support, for believing in me when I doubted myself and for offering ideas to make this story grow.

Don’t forget to go read and enjoy the rest of the amazing csbb stories and art.

Word count: ~ 6400 (116k total in 16 chapters)

Also on (From the beginning): Ao3 / Ffnet (Current Chapter) Ao3 / Ffnet

Tumblr: Prologue Chapter 1 Chapter 2Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11

What to expect from this chapter? This chapter is going to be a bit intense... for reasons.

CHAPTER 10

My dearest Emma,

I still can't believe that we've finally been able to see you, actually see you, on your twenty-eighth birthday. Perhaps I could have left you this letter right there, along with the rest of the gifts you received on your special day, had the circumstances been different.

Maybe you wonder why, despite having been here for a few months, crossing paths each day with you through the streets of the town, or attending the same place for dinner, we haven't yet approached you. Or why we haven't told you the truth and we settle for observing you from a distance, to at least make sure that you are living the life that you deserve so much and that had been denied to you until now.

Well, maybe the answer is not the most satisfactory for you, or is it just a reflection of our cowardice, and I wouldn't blame you for thinking like that, but the reality is that the moment we arrived here and Regina told us about your past, we felt completely devastated and consumed by guilt.

Believe me, sweetheart, if we had the certainty that our confession would serve to alleviate your sorrows, we would willingly have bared our souls in front of you, although it would likely have meant that we would lose you forever.

But considering your traumatic experiences that have led you to run on more than one occasion and the history of abandonment and betrayals that you have suffered, we didn't want to risk ruining your life once more. I couldn't bear that because of our fault, you might lose everything you've achieved since you return to Storybrooke.

Because, as I see it from outside, you have become a strong and brave woman, ready to pursue your goals. You're also a caring person with the people you feel comfortable with, like Ruby, Graham, or Henry. And you have achieved all this without our help, so, if for you to maintain stability in your life we must stay away, so be it.

In addition, irony, or perhaps destiny, has decided to give us something beautiful and promising. We learned just yesterday that you will be one of the people who attend the course that Killian will start teaching in a few weeks.

Our Killian and our daughter, united by their passion for photography. I don't care if it's destiny or a simple coincidence, but the fact that you two are going to meet under such circumstances was unimaginable until a few weeks ago and now it has become a reality. You and Killian are going to cross paths and, fortunately, we are going to witness it even from the distance.

Who knows? Maybe Killian finds that hidden gem, that talented person that he always seeks, someone whom he can help develop full potential. Maybe I'm totally biased here, but I'm hoping it's you. Either way, you are already a gem for us, even though we aren't yet able to prove it to you.

Maybe some day...

Until then, your father who loves you and never forgets you,

David.

Emma Swan. Storybrooke - February 26, 2018

When Emma woke up that Monday, the light had barely begun to filter through the window of her bedroom. Still reluctant to get up and continue with her morning routine, she snuggled up between the sheets and let her thoughts wander for a while, bringing to mind the memories of the previous day.

Yesterday…

Emma had learned about Killian's birthday through his friends. The information had also come with a warning. He did not celebrate his birthday since his brother passed away. Even so, they always managed to spend the day with him and they hoped that this time she would join that kind of non-celebration.

Again, that feeling of belonging that was becoming habitual since she came to Storybrooke, settled in her stomach, spreading a warm feeling all over her body. Even so, she also felt some hesitation, not quite sure how to act in front of Killian, wondering if it was more appropriate to continue to respect his wishes or on the contrary, to subtly encourage him to move on with small details like being with him on that day or offer him a small gift.

The talk a few days ago with Mary Margaret had allowed her self-confidence to take hold, so she decided to let herself go, loosening the control she used to have over everything and instead be attentive to the little hints she would find along the way that would help her to follow the correct direction.

It was like that, quite literally, as she found the perfect gift for him. She was walking towards Killian's apartment when her gaze caught something that made her stop short in front of the pawn shop window. Right there, as if it were calling her, she found a vintage photo album bound in leather, with a small message engraved on the cover — ‘Collect Beautiful Moments’. That album definitely had Killian’s name on it so, without thinking twice, she went into the store and acquired it, writing inside a personalized note with the aim of explaining with her own words the symbolism of the present.

Sometime later, while waiting for Killian to arrive, she had a nice time with the Nolans while they showed her old photo albums full of memories. Unlike Christmas, she did not feel like an intruder at a family event, but rather included, as if she really belonged there, with this unconventional family, with these friends who really acted as proud parents of their son while offering to his girlfriend some embarrassing details of his youth, or remembered all the experiences they had lived together.

Although she longed to know more about Killian, to know everything about his origins, and she was more than grateful with the Nolans for offering her these happy glimpses of his past, she could not help feeling a little thorn in her heart since, again, she had to settle for witnessing the happiness of other people, while the craving to experience something similar washed over her.

Her mixed feelings faded into the background the moment she noticed Killian's presence. She had been so engrossed in the conversation with the Nolans and in her own thoughts that she had not heard him arrive. But now that he was there, everything around them seemed to vanish, her only goal to look up and make sure he was okay with that little surprise.

What she found did nothing but increase the endless feelings that danced within her. She detected how his body was tense although his troubled expression and his stormy gaze quickly morphed to an almost awe expression as his gaze softened when it met hers.

After a tentative first approach, he clung to her, as if he was afraid that she would disappear. Since she was not good with words, she chose to assure him through her acts and her displays of affection that she was not going anywhere.

Killian Jones was a complex man, no doubt, but also a challenge for her in the sense of trying to climb those walls that acted as a barrier and discover the real Killian behind all those layers that covered him. And she was more than willing to keep trying.

The tension did not completely disappear from Killian for the rest of the day. She sometimes detected a glimpse of something akin to resignation, but at least that stormy expression had softened, allowing them to enjoy a quiet and pleasant evening, the four of them together, adding up memories that would be immortalized both in the photographs they took and in her own album of memories that she kept in her heart.

She waited for his friends — maybe now it was appropriate to use the term ‘their’, at least she felt it, she hoped that the feeling was reciprocal — to leave to give him her humble gift since she preferred to do it in privacy, turning it into a moment just for them.

For a moment, she thought she had made a terrible mistake, holding her breath as she watched Killian's reaction intently. He stiffened, holding the object in an awkward way as he stared at her, as if he couldn't believe what was happening.

After those first seconds of shock, his gaze fell on the album while his fingers slid delicately over the leather cover in an almost reverent way. After reading the handwritten note she had left inside, his gaze traveled back to her, staring at her in such a way that her head began to spin, her heart fluttering furiously against her chest.

"Thank you so much, Swan, you didn't need..." He reached up to scratch behind his ear, but his gaze never left hers. "I'm not sure I deserve this." His lips pressed together drawing the ghost of a smile.

She shrugged her shoulders. "It's just a photo album."

"Aye..." Killian remained pensive for a moment, his tongue darting out to wet his lips, "but just for the record, I have every intention of you appearing on all these pages with me."

It was a simple phrase, innocuous enough, but she did not lose the intrinsic meaning. She had offered him the possibility of a future and he was offering her, in return, the possibility of being part of that future. That was the only thing she needed at the moment.

The alarm clock announcing the time to get up got her out of her reverie. Even so, she still remained a while longer in bed, lying on her back with her arms folded and her hands under the back of her head, allowing herself a few seconds more of introspection.

Even though her wounds from the past had not yet healed enough and Killian's still seemed to continue to bleed from time to time, she was going to hold on to any possible future that awaited them together. They were meant to be together, she felt it in the depths of her very soul and she was going to do everything possible to make that happen.

And that began by acting and fighting for what she wanted. And if there was one thing she was sure of, it was that she wanted Killian, the charismatic teacher, the traumatized war reporter, the loyal friend, the glimpses of fiery lover she had gotten.

With a new goal in mind, she hurried out of bed feeling a surge of energy take over her body. She was not going to stand by letting the opportunity pass, she was going to cling to it. And if that meant starting to share breakfast with her boyfriend — yes, boyfriend, she was no longer afraid of that word — as a normal couple, so be it.

Killian Jones. Storybrooke - February 26, 2018

The irony decided to show its face to Killian once more, as if it was laughing at his expense. He remembered having serious difficulties finding an available flight when he had needed to travel urgently because of some unforeseen event. However today, it only took him five minutes to acquire a plane ticket that would take him back to London tomorrow.

The moment his finger pressed the button that would allow him to finish the purchase, a wave of regret seized him. That sinking feeling accompanied him for the next few minutes, when he took the suitcase out of the closet and moved it to his living room.

The purchase of the ticket did not change anything, he could still decide not to take that plane. In addition, it was a round trip ticket with the return scheduled within five days. It was not like he was fleeing forever, he tried to convince himself - without much success, really.

If he himself wasn't convinced, he doubted that he would convince Emma and his friends. With Emma, he would have to resort to a small deception, adding one more weight to the burden of guilt he carried. In regards to David and Mary Margaret, he had decided to tell them that night during dinner.

He expected his friends to understand his reasons. He didn't do it as a desperate measure to force them to confess the truth to Emma, but rather the contrary, to allow them to experience some more time together, getting to know each other more. He only intended to give them more time to figure out how to approach the subject.

The image he had witnessed the day before had pierced his heart. It was undeniable that Emma should know the truth; it was unfair that she was involved in this game of lies. That was what was killing him inside, the helplessness and frustration of being between a rock and a hard place when all he wanted was for the three of them to achieve the happiness that had been denied to them before.

He was aware that he was carrying out an act of cowardice, at least in the eyes of the others, but he felt so pressured that he was no longer sure what he was supposed to do. Should he behave like the honorable man and confess the truth to Emma, even at the risk of betraying his friends? Should he keep the secret, knowing that this would mean the impossibility of maintaining a relationship with Emma?

There was something of which he had absolute certainty, though. He was not going to, under any circumstances, ignore that secret with the sole objective of keeping Emma by his side. If he already felt ashamed for his weakness, for not being able to resist her charms, for having fallen under her spell, he could not forgive himself continuing to take advantage of her ignorance.

The doorbell announcing the arrival of someone brought him back to reality. He realized that he had remained standing in the middle of the room, lost in thought while the empty suitcase was in front of him waiting to be filled.

He shook his head, brushing aside those thoughts for the moment as he wondered who was visiting him so early. David would probably already be in the newspaper office and Mary Margaret would have already arrived at school. Maybe it was Emma, on her way to the town hall. The corners of his lips instinctively rose at that thought, while his heart fluttered in anticipation, though her presence in his apartment at that moment would mean inflicting one more torture on his already battered heart.

"Hey," Indeed, it was Emma who had decided to pay him an unexpected visit. She was wearing a cute beanie, her hair falling in soft waves over her shoulders, her cheeks colored with a slight pink halo due to the cold and a wide smile pulling at her lips. She was a vision with the ability to take his breath away. "I brought breakfast." He forced his gaze away from her face, his eyes sliding to the paper bag with Granny's logo she was holding.

He swallowed hard as he managed a smile that he hoped was enough to hide his inner turmoil. "You've read my mind, love. I could do with a cup of coffee." 

She grinned at him, gave him a peck on the lips and, without waiting to be invited to come in, she passed by his side in the direction of his kitchen. He could not help feeling somewhat marveled by the ease with which she seemed to move through his apartment, demonstrating how comfortable she felt not only with him, but with what surrounded him.

His satisfaction was short-lived, though. Just as she was walking through his living room, she stopped in her tracks, her eyes fixed on a particular point in the room. Holding his breath, he followed the direction of her gaze to find the empty suitcase on the coffee table. Bloody hell! He had completely forgotten the damn thing.

"Are you going somewhere?" Her head turned in his direction as she gave him an inquiring look, her eyebrows knitting together in confusion.

His hand reached out to rub the back of his neck while his brain began to scramble frantically for a convincing enough excuse. Bloody hell! He had thought he would see her later for lunch so he still hadn't had time to look for an explanation that might work.

"Aye... something has come up... I have to travel to London to make some arrangements before starting the new course." He managed to mumble a poor excuse that did not sound convincing, while he hated himself a little in the process.

"London?" Emma blinked a couple of times as if she were processing the information. Her previous carefree expression gave way to one of confusion. "When?"

"Tomorrow afternoon." Her eyes widened slightly, so Killian hurried to offer something that would help reassure her. "It will only be a couple of days."

Emma nodded subtly, pressing her lips together into a thin line as she made her way to the kitchen and deposited the paper bag on the counter. Then she turned, standing in front of him, her arms crossed over her chest, her head tilted slightly.

"You know, if you had told me before, I could have accompanied you. I've never been to London… I could have taken a couple of days off…” A shadow of hurt crossed her gaze but she seemed to recover immediately, the corners of her lips twitching into a tiny smile as she shrugged. "Anyway... we better start breakfast or I'll be late and Regina will kill me."

He felt utterly miserable, a new wave of guilt tightened his gut, threatening to further weaken his fragile composure. The image of Emma discovering London through his eyes and his experiences was so damn tempting that for a fraction of a second he was about to send everything to hell, grabbing her by the hand and getting out of there, the two of them together, missing from the rest of the world for a while. He had no choice but to restrain himself, though, and instead, he offered her a poor substitute. "I apologize, Swan, the trip came somewhat unexpectedly, but I'd like to travel with you to London one day."

The faint smile she returned did not reach her eyes. He had to hold back a sigh of frustration as he approached her and began to pull the food out of the bag in an attempt to make breakfast distract him enough. It didn't work, she did not even bother to take off her coat, implying that her visit would be brief. Although they made the effort to keep a carefree talk, he could feel the tension in the atmosphere.

Ten minutes later, she got up, going to the front door. "I really have to go. See you later?" The hint of insecurity in her voice caused a new pang of guilt piercing his heart.

"Sure, I'll grab some lunch and go find you at the city hall." He affirmed in an attempt to reassure her.

She nodded, the corners of her lips moved slightly upward. "I... you know ... Do you want me to get you to the airport tomorrow?"

For all response, he pulled her to him in a tight embrace, the need to feel the warmth of her body against his too overwhelming. "Believe me, Swan, there's nothing I'd like more." He whispered in her ear. “I’ll come back to you in a couple of days.”

The moment the door closed behind her, Killian was aware that he was making a terrible mistake. Letting out a deep breath, he leaned his back and head against the door while pinching the bridge of his nose.

How could he have been so blind as to not realize the reason behind the vulnerability shown by Emma? How could he not only have neglected her abandonment issues, but feed them with his evasive attitude? He resisted the urge to bang his head against the wooden surface in frustration. Instead, he groaned inwardly while his hand curled into a fist.

He could not take that flight. Not when it meant leaving Emma, even for a couple of days. He would meet her for lunch and tell her that there had been a change of plans, that he could travel with her at another time. He had no choice but to regain the strength necessary to face what was to come. He only hoped that he would be able to protect Emma in some way.

Emma Swan. Storybrooke - February 26, 2018

He is leaving, leaving, leaving. Emma tried to block that thought, make it disappear from her mind, but she felt too weak or helpless, unable to cope with that sinking feeling that had settled in her stomach.

Deep down, she knew that she was being irrational, that Killian would never abandon her. But the suitcase, his evasive answers and his expression of ill-concealed guilt had awakened her old demons who soon emerged from their hiding corner and began tormenting her.

She did not even know how she got here to the office, too consumed by those disturbing sensations. Even so, she made the effort to get involved in her work with the goal of getting distracted enough. And she got it for half an hour. Until she had to talk on the phone with someone who, without her asking him, told her that he had just arrived from London.

Fucking London... He had to travel to the damn other side of the ocean... And to think that the morning had started well, with her determination to develop the next step in her relationship with Killian. And all that she found was a sudden trip sprinkled with evasiveness. She tried to find a logical explanation, though, still reluctant to think that she had been betrayed once again.

That spiral of sensations and thoughts did not disappear when Emma was called to Regina's office to deliver some reports. That's what happens when you lower your walls, that you risk being hurt, her inner voice reminded her...

"Emma!"

The unexpected shout caused her to flinch and wake up from her reverie. Feeling her cheeks flush, she looked up and found Regina staring at her through her narrow eyes.

"I pay you to do your job, not to be there absorbed, thinking God knows what and ignoring when I speak to you." Regina's authoritative voice caused her to straighten her back, as she tried to get Killian out of her mind for at least a few minutes.

"Sorry, I got distracted for a moment." Emma mumbled an excuse as she focused her gaze on the documents she was holding.

"Okay then, spit it out."

“What?” Emma looked up at Regina again, not sure that she understood correctly.

Regina rolled her eyes as she pursed her lips, she was losing patience, clearly. "Just tell me what's going on in your head. We'll deal with it and move on to what's really important, my job and this town. I'm a very busy person, in case you forgot."

Emma had to suppress a gasp of surprise. Was she being serious? No way was she going to confess her worries to Regina. She was not only not her friend but also her damn boss. But on the other hand, she had a point... Emma shifted uncomfortably in her seat while appreciating Regina's proposal. She really needed to expel those thoughts, for someone to tell her that she was being ridiculous. And Regina was the person available right now...

"He's leaving." To her horror, the words came out of her mouth without her having had time to process it.

"He? Who?"

Emma groaned inwardly, wishing she were anywhere else instead of here, feeling like a student in the principal's office. "Killian, he's leaving for London." The way Regina was looking at her did nothing to alleviate her inner turmoil. Something flashing in her gaze as her features darkened slightly. "Look, I know it's stupid - he's coming back in a couple of days, so can we continue with the meeting and forget all this?"

Luck was not on her side that day because, after remaining pensive for a few seconds, Regina muttered almost to herself, "So that boyfriend of yours is also a coward - just like his friends."

Emma felt her stomach drop to her toes as her eyebrows knitted together in confusion. Far from reassuring her, her boss's words had left her even more uneasy. "What are you talking about?"

She held Regina's gaze for a few seconds studying her features in an attempt to find out what was happening. Regina’s face remained impassive, but Emma did detect a shadow crossing her gaze, perhaps shame, maybe regret, she was not sure. After what seemed like an eternity, Regina let out a deep sigh as her shoulders slumped a bit. "Taking into account that the photographer hasn’t managed to handle the situation and has decided to flee instead, I guess it's only fair that it's me who tells you the truth. I brought you here in the first place, after all."

The truth? What truth? A myriad of thoughts, each more disturbing, crowded in her head causing it to start spinning. What do Killian’s friends have to do with all this? And what about Regina herself? A wave of panic began to creep from her stomach to her throat, as the desire to run away from there became more intense. In the end, her curiosity won, "Just tell me what's going on." She hissed in a tone perhaps sharper than she intended but this whole situation was getting on her nerves.

Regina's features softened and even Emma detected a glimpse of something akin to pity. That could not mean anything good. She didn't want pity, she didn't need it, did she? She felt a strange sensation taking over her, like a bad omen approaching unstoppable. She held her breath as her stomach tightened into knots.

"It's about your parents, Emma."

My parents ... Her blood froze as she clung to the desk with such force that her knuckles turned white. "What about them?" She managed to mumble in a trembling voice.

"Let me clarify something before continuing, if I'm telling you this, it's because I don't get why after all that they have gone through... and also all of what you have gone through... they still prefer to keep hiding..."

"Just tell me." Emma cut her abruptly, causing Regina to flinch slightly in her seat. At the moment, she didn't want explanations or excuses, she just wanted to know what the hell was happening.

"Killian... well, both he and I know who your parents are." Regina finally admitted in an apologetic tone.

Far from bringing some light to the situation, Regina's confession left her even more confused. How was it possible? Killian had been in Storybrooke for only four months, there was no way he knew this information when he had been living all this time in London... The only contact he had ever had with anyone from here was with…

"No!" It can't be! No no no. She felt all the air leaving her lungs while she refused to accept that possibility, trying to block her mind. Her attempts were in vain though since her brain began to act on its own, tying up loose ends and processing all the information. Killian was the one who had introduced them to her, he had also been the one who had propitiated the first encounters, who had talked to her constantly about his friends...

Any doubts she might have had disappeared when Regina confirmed in words what she had already deduced. "I'm afraid so, Emma. David and Mary Margaret are your parents. They..."

"No!" Emma raised a finger in warning. She did not want to hear anything else. It was as if someone had ripped her heart from her chest and was squeezing it slowly with every memory that came to her mind, with every moment shared with them, inflicting even more suffering.

"Emma, let me explain..."

She shook her head as she rose abruptly and headed for the door, unable to look Regina in the eye. "I gotta go." Emma said, her voice even, though she felt her blood boiling. The weight of the betrayal was so high that she was not sure she could maintain the little composure she still had left. She should get out of there immediately. Ignoring one last call from Regina, she went to her desk, grabbed her purse and coat and then walked to the exit.

A raw rage began to bubble inside her. Unable to handle everything that was happening, she blocked the thoughts about Regina's involvement and completely ignored the revelation about the Nolans. Instead, she focused all her fury on one target - on the person she had blindly trusted. To whom she had given her heart.

//

The ride to Killian's apartment, far from appeasing her anger, increased that sinking feeling that had settled low in her stomach as she was assimilating all the information received. Tears of humiliation threatened to slide down her cheeks, but she blinked stubbornly holding them back.

Gradually, she realized that she had remained oblivious to a whole plot that had been hatched around her. Emma wondered bitterly how far the threads of these machinations would reach, while the bubble of stability she had lived in when she came to Storybrooke exploded, splashing her with a whole series of questions to which she hoped —or maybe feared— to find an answer.

It was as if everything she had experienced since arriving in the town was part of a huge farce, from her job, the photography course, or even Killian's feelings. A wave of shame and rejection washed over her when she remembered the conversation she had had with Mary Margaret a few days ago, causing her anger to boil again in her veins.

Fortunately, the arrival at the building where Killian's apartment was located stopped that escalation of feelings. Instead, she directed all her energy and anger into a single target. She would have time to deal with everything else, later.

There was a brief moment of hesitation when she reached his door. She felt all her emotions radiating off of her, like a volcano about to erupt. Maybe if she went home and tried to calm down enough she would be able to keep a cool head when the inevitable conversation with Killian took place. She rejected that idea almost at the same instant it crossed her mind. The need to expel those feelings that bubbled inside her was too tempting, although, in the brief lapses of lucidity that dared to appear among so much contained anger, she was aware that she was opting for the easy way. "I don't care." She muttered to herself as she pounded on the door hard.

The moment the door opened, she marched directly towards Killian poking a finger into his chest. "You damn asshole - how dare you?"

He recoiled at her advance, his eyes widening in surprise. "What are you talking about, love? What's wrong?"

"You don't have to keep pretending, I already know the truth about your friends." She threw the last words with contempt, knowing the impact they would have on him. She wasn't wrong. His face suddenly paled, his mouth fell open on a gasp.

"They told you?" He asked in a small whimper.

She huffed, while shaking her head, "It was Regina." She placed her hands on her hips in a defiant attitude. "It seems that your friends are just cowards like you."

To his credit, he seemed genuinely affected, his face contorted in an expression reflecting a mixture of hurt and shame. But she didn't let herself be daunted, hardening her features as she continued her verbal attack without even waiting for a reply. "I trusted you, Killian! How could you do this to me?"

"Emma, let me explain, please." He almost begged, tentatively advancing towards her.

She jumped back instinctively, raising a hand in front of her, thereby avoiding the possibility of her body betraying her due to his proximity. "You lost your chance to explain yourself at the same moment you decided to lie to me. How could you take advantage of me like that?" Emma forced herself to swallow the lump that was forming in her throat. In no way was she going to break in front of him, although the truth was that she was dying inside. She repressed those feelings though, leaving them for the privacy of her apartment.

To her surprise, he did not try to defend himself or repel the attack. He simply dropped himself on the couch, breathing out on a shaky exhale, his shoulders slumped, his lips pressed together in a thin line. He seemed defeated. "I'm so sorry, Emma." He muttered as he ran his hand through his hair.

Emma hesitated for a moment. She needed to fight, to expel these feelings that were threatening to drown her, but she couldn't do it with someone who was already defeated. He wasn't even going to try to hit back. "That's all you have to say? That you are sorry? Are you aware that you've ruined my life? That I don't know what is real in my life anymore?" Frustration and impotence began to take their toll, her voice slid between her lips in a broken murmur.

This time Killian did seem to react. He looked up, seeking her gaze. "I assure you, Swan, that my feelings towards you have always been real." For a moment, she was lost in the intensity of his eyes, they had always had a hypnotic effect on her, even in this moment of such tension. But she shook her head breaking the spell. She was not going to be distracted by two pretty blue eyes.

"You have a strange way of showing it, don't you?" He flinched at the harshness of her tone and the sarcasm of her voice. Something caught her attention at that moment. The suitcase, the original cause of this situation, was no longer on the coffee table. Still, that didn't prevent the pain of a possible abandonment for being more bearable. "And you know what is the worst of all? That in spite of my abandonment issues, you were willing to do just that. At the moment when things get tough, you leave, don't you? Maybe you couldn't bear the pressure of lying to me? Or did you decide it wasn't even worth the effort?" This time Emma had to suppress a sob, but she could not stop thick tears from starting to run down her cheeks.

"I was coming back to you, Emma. The return trip was scheduled for next Saturday." He defended himself in a weak voice. It wasn't enough for her, because she still did not know the reasons that had made him travel in the first place. She was about to reply when he continued. "I wasn't abandoning you. I just needed a few days to think about all this. I also know what it is to lose someone. I could never do that to you, Emma, I promise."

Emma hesitated again, her heart beating frantically in her chest. The hurt was evident both in his broken voice and in his expression. But when she processed his words, she felt a new twinge go through her. "It's not the same and you know it. Your mother, Liam, Milah, they all died. They're dead." She was aware of the damage he was inflicting with her words, but she was unable to stop, a whirlwind of thoughts and feelings swirling inside her, struggling to surface. She did not have the strength to fight against them. "They didn't choose to leave you. But what about me? Starting with your friends, they all chose and decided that I wasn't enough. Everyone - even you."

"That's not true, Emma, they chose to come back for you." Killian got up trying to reach her.

"No!" She stopped his advance, feeling an extreme exhaustion overtake her. "I can't continue with this." Her voice trailed off as she wiped her tears and began to walk in the direction of the front door. She felt again a lost girl, confused and adrift, without anyone to turn to, without knowing who to trust anymore.

"Emma, wait!" She stopped but didn't turn around, unable to hold his gaze and his stormy expression again, "I understand and accept that you are mad at me, but they are your parents. They love you. Please, Emma, I'm begging you, give them at least an opportunity to explain themselves."

A new wave of tears began to slide down her cheeks. Parents... She not only hadn't been enough for them when she was born, but neither was her when they found her, choosing not to confess the truth.

There was something even more painful, something that squeezed her stomach to the point of feeling almost physically sick. They, her parents, had chosen to act as substitute parents of another person, precisely the person she had fallen in love with and who had betrayed her in a cruel way. Because of them. They had chosen Killian over her - taking care of him instead of doing it with her when she needed them the most.

"My parents died in a traffic accident when I was three years old." She muttered before finally leaving his apartment.

Killian Jones. Storybrooke - February 26, 2018

Killian watched helplessly as Emma left his apartment without him being able to do anything about it. The moment she disappeared from view, he felt as if all his energy had been drained from his body, noticing how a sense of emptiness invaded him and left him dazed. Before dropping back onto the couch, he grabbed his phone and typed a quick text.

She already knows. I'm deeply sorry, Dave. KJ

Then he switched off the device and left it on the coffee table. The feeling of despair was so intense that his body began to tremble slightly. He closed his eyes resting his head against the back of the sofa, but that did not alleviate his internal agitation. He had failed not only Emma but his friends. He could never forgive himself.

//

TheLadySwan .........

//

I'm sorry, again... Thanks for reading. Let me know what did you all think :)

What to expect from the next chapter? As many of you had already imagined, Emma hasn't taken well to know the truth. We will see how she feels after her confrontation with Killian and how Killian and the Nolans deal with this new unfortunate situation.

[cindylouwho-2]

RECENT NEWS, RESOURCES & STUDIES, late June - early July 2019

Welcome to my latest summary of recent news, resources & studies including search, analytics, content marketing, social media & ecommerce! This covers articles I came across from June 21 to July 13, although some may be older than that.

I may not be able to do the next update until early August, given the upcoming Etsy search changes and my schedule, but I will continue to tweet big news, & may do a short post or two here. 

TOP NEWS & ARTICLES

On July 9, Etsy announced it would be giving “priority placement” in US searches to items that have no additional shipping cost starting July 30th. Obviously we don’t know how this will really work until we see it in action, but the outcry has been predictable. I summarize the facts in my blog post here. There is also an admin Q&A thread, a survey, and plenty of news coverage:

Etsy's Free Shipping Push Sounds Like a Marketing Gimmick (Motley Fool, through Yahoo)

Etsy faces backlash over attempt to push free shipping (Engadget) “And while a large business can take advantage of economies of scale to lower the shipping cost, that's not usually true for an individual crafter who may only sell a modest number of items.”

Etsy sellers aren’t happy with the platform pushing them to offer free shipping (The Verge) “Implementing flat shipping fees in prices can pose a challenge to international sellers who ship worldwide. Cambridge-based artist Katie Fuller, whose run her Etsy shop since 2015, says including the cost of shipping in her products would put her at a disadvantage. “If I [raise my prices], then I’ll be making my prices uncompetitive for customers elsewhere. Most of my customers are in the UK; it wouldn’t make sense for me to do it so it sounds like I can wave goodbye to my American sales.” 

Etsy Will Start Pushing Sellers To Include Free Shipping (Fortune)

Why Is Free Shipping So Important to Etsy? (Inc.) “... 75 percent of consumers today now expect their delivery to be free even when orders are less than $50 according to a survey published by the National Retail Federation earlier this year. That number has increased from 68 percent last year.”  

As marketplaces compete with Amazon on shipping, sellers are shouldering the burden (Digiday UK) “Like Etsy will soon do, eBay said it does prioritize items that ship for free in its search results and offers sellers pricing tools to help them better figure out how to factor in shipping costs.”

Etsy Stock Is Getting a Lift as It Jumps on the Free-Shipping Bandwagon (Barron’s) “Etsy stock rose 4.3% to $66.78 Tuesday afternoon as the S&P 500 was about flat. ... Roughly 70% of items sold on Etsy in the U.S. weren’t available for free domestic shipping in the first quarter, according to Etsy; it wants that number closer to zero.”

Remember, Etsy started boosting items that ship free to Canada in Canadian searches in January, but they never announced it, or gave us tips, or tools, etc.  We won’t know if the US version will work exactly the same way as the Canadian until the former is released; a short test in the US in late May-early June generally took the first three rows of search for free shipping items, even if they weren’t all that relevant. 

ETSY NEWS

Just in case you didn’t receive an email, Etsy is making changes to their policies. They include the fact that all new listings will be set to auto renew as of July 25 (but you can change them to manual), and info about their advertising tools. Keep an eye on the latter - I think they might be releasing something new soon.

Etsy will be releasing upgrades to the sales tool in August, including the ability to offer sales in specific countries only. Hidden in that post is also a promise to increase international advertising & promotion: “We’ll also continue to invest in the success of our international markets. In the coming months, you’ll see increased marketing efforts across many channels, all aimed at bringing more buyers from your country to Etsy.” (I suspect this is related to the free shipping announcement which came a few days later; they want to reassure non-US sellers that they won’t lose too many sales.)

Etsy released new attributes and sub-categories again, including in Accessories, and Bags & Purses. 

Shops in vacation mode are now showing up in search, as of July 10. The number of shops found in a shop search nearly doubled, to over 2.8 million, but only about half of them have active listings. No word on whether or not this is a permanent change; for many years, shops with no active listings have not been searchable on Etsy. 

Etsy is working on personalizing search by using image recognition identifying 42 different styles, and the engineers involved are presenting a paper [pdf] on this topic at a technical conference. They are about to start testing this, so expect to see more personalized results soon. I need to do a short post on this topic alone, but right now I need do some more research before that will be possible. I found this interesting, though: “Since sellers don’t reliably convey a product’s style in their descriptions, scanning text alone produced results that were “okay but not great,” says Fisher.” Quit being unreliable describers, folks! 😁

SEO: GOOGLE & OTHER SEARCH ENGINES

A common question: how long does it take to get to page 1 of Google search? Answer: it depends, plus it might not even be worthwhile if the search doesn’t convert. The article explains why. 

How to fix the 5 biggest SEO mistakes website owners make.

Writing a title for Google search is very important, and many people do it wrong. Here’s how to do it correctly. 

Long-tail keywords: definition, why & how. And even more on why you definitely should aim for very low-volume keywords. (I do a lot of this.)

Somewhat advanced content: how Google's neural matching works, and how to optimize for it. “Based on the information Google has given us about neural matching over the past nine months, it appears to be most active when users have a problem they don’t know how to describe... To capture these opportunities, you need to know what problems your target audiences are facing. You also need to pinpoint what information is going to solve their problem, help them accomplish tasks and make decisions.”

Link building doesn’t require a lot of technical skill, but it does involve marketing skill. Or some public relations (PR) skill. [video & transcript] Remember, some types of links are definitely better than others. (If you don’t know what link building is, read this.)

Advanced content for people who code their own sites: Google says you won’t be able to use “noindex” in robots.txt as of September. (Bing never recognized it.)

How to game Google to make negative results disappear. I don’t expect anyone here will be paying for these services, but it is useful to see what you are up against when you are trying to get your own website to rank. More of us may also be up against AI-generated spam in Google rankings sooner rather than later. Someone is always trying to game Google. 

Was there a Google algorithm update around June 19th? Maybe. The big update at the beginning of June hit the Daily Mail hard, and the so-called “diversity update” apparently didn’t change much.

CONTENT MARKETING & SOCIAL MEDIA (includes blogging & emails)

The best time to post on social media depends on the platform, your target market, and what you are posting.

Sell health products? Beware of the changes to Facebook’s algorithm, which are designed to limit views on fake health claims. 

Facebook outage gave insight into how their machine learning process describes your photos. “... a lot of internet users don’t realize the amount of information that is now routinely extracted from photographs”. 

Facebook will be reformatting their Business Page layout, & removing some sections, so make sure you check this out & move any content you want to keep by August 1. 

What works best on Instagram has been changing; here’s what you need to keep up with. Brand engagement rates on the platform have been dropping this year, likely due to the increased competition. Get some of that traffic back with 8 SEO tips for Instagram. 

Want people to watch more of your YouTube videos? (Pro tip - that’s part of the search algorithm, so you should.) Here’s 3 things you can do to get people to stick around longer. 

LinkedIn has some good marketing tools, including ad tools & analytics. They’ve also recently changed their algorithm to show you more things you might be interested in, as opposed to just the things that go viral site-wide, among other changes. 

Twitter ends tweet geotagging, supposedly due to low use. 

A judge in Hawaii ruled that repinning a photo on Pinterest can infringe copyright. 

ONLINE ADVERTISING (SEARCH ENGINES, SOCIAL MEDIA, & OTHERS)

Retailers are spending less on YouTube ads overall, possibly due to the US struggles for brick & mortar stores, as other sectors are actually spending a bit more than the previous year.

Amazon’s share of the online ad market is expected to increase to 8% by 2023, compared to 3% now.

STATS, DATA, OTHER TRACKING

For tracking activity on your Facebook page, set up Facebook Analytics & Facebook Attribution.

Advanced content: new coding tools in the Google Search Console. 

ECOMMERCE NEWS, IDEAS, TRENDS

Amazon’s Prime Day is actually 2 days this year - July 15 & 16. Apparently it is now the official start of back to school shopping for many people.

Beware of Alexa if you care about privacy & data retention: Amazon admits that Alexa data is kept “indefinitely”. “...for Alexa requests that involve a transaction, like ordering a pizza or hailing a rideshare, Amazon and the skill's developers can keep a record of that transaction. That means that there's a record of nearly every purchase you make on Amazon's Alexa, which can be considered personal information.” (Google Home is not necessarily better - they are letting subcontractors listen to your random conversations, not just your instructions to the device. “According to the whistleblower, the recordings presented to them are meant to be carefully annotated, with notes included about the speakers presumed identity and age.”)

Walmart’s ecommerce division may lose as much as $1 billion this year. Their brick & mortar business is still doing fine, however. 

You can now “try on” Gucci sneakers through its app. Expect to see more of this happening fairly quickly, which is something that people who sell clothing, accessories & jewellery should be watching closely. 

A. C. Moore is launching a new handmade marketplace, which you can sync to your Etsy & Zibbet listings. So it looks like that was their reason for investing in Zibbet a few years back. It’s not yet clear that they’ve put the work in to make this successful, but we’ll have to wait to see how it looks once it is launched, and how much they advertise it. 

BUSINESS & CONSUMER STUDIES, STATS & REPORTS; SOCIOLOGY & PSYCHOLOGY, CUSTOMER SERVICE

Dark patterns: how websites manipulate people into buying things they weren’t shopping for. [NY Times article - paywall after your limit of free monthly articles.] “... researchers developed software that automatically scanned more than 10,000 sites and found that more than 1,200 of them used techniques that the authors identified as dark patterns” including outright lies. 

Call-to-action phrases [infographic] that can help your pages convert. These work on web pages, emails, social media etc. My favourites are in the “lower-risk” section; I don’t think enough articles focus on this aspect of conversions. 

Wedding gift buying may be changing as traditional wedding registries drop in popularity. Apparently lots of people want cash to pay for their own expenses & trips now. 

MISCELLANEOUS (including humour)

Great list of marketing definitions you will find helpful if you do much industry reading & research. (Pretty sure I posted this before, but it has been updated.)

Chrome is becoming more & more like spyware; the author suggests using other browsers. 

The Wayback Machine now compares current web pages to their previous versions. “One of the best uses of this feature I can think of is to track changes in privacy policies.”

How not to design a payment app: make it easy for anyone to change the password.