#2) very grateful to have his keychain back

[hastalavistabyebye]

Don't lose your anchor

Ao3 version

Spiritual sequel of The Keychain story (part 1 and part 2 here). I think it can be read as a stand alone, but only at the same degree as any other ficlet of this universe 😅 it's better to have read some others at least, but can be managed on its own.

Neyo wasn’t one to lose his composure easily. But this campaign was hell warmed over. It had been supposed to be a simple recon mission, two squads, backed up by the rest of the Battalion to take the city, once the path was clear. Of course it went tits up faster than it takes him to change his ammo. 

As any Clone Commander, he hated when someone (generally his jetii) said they had “a bad feeling about it”. For once, he had been the one with a bad feeling at the start of the mission. It was getting worse now. Like a jittery, itchy feeling in his fingers, crawling up his arms and down his back. Admittedly, the blaster fire they were receiving didn't help. 

He ducked under cover at Allie’s side, both of them covered in red dust, making them blend with the surrounding walls of stone that formed the canyons they had retreated in.

“What’s the situation, sir ?” He shouted more than asked, over the loud detonations of the fight around them.

“We’re getting there, Commander. We just need to clear the path a bit more and we’ll be able to blow up those rocks, up there, and close the entryway.”

He barely had the time to think “If they don’t explode it before us” when a loud detonation ringed in the entire gorge. 

“Kriff. Sitrep !” He ordered through the comms. 

“It was us, Commander. No casualties from our side,” was the quick answer he got.

He didn’t have the time to sight in relief when a second explosion made the stone tremble behind them. This one came from the corridor Windu and Ponds had disappeared into with a squad, to secure the path and hopefully acquire them an escape route.

Neyo and his General exchanged a look, before both commed the two officers of Lighting in a single movement. Neither of them got an answer.

It didn’t take long for them to get a report on what happened -Ponds and Windu followed a small group of clankers who ended up blowing up the passage on them. It took them even less time to make sure everything was settled on their end, organize the research for a way out of this labyrinth and run to the second explosion’s site. 

Thankfully, only four people had been trapped under the rubble. Of course, Neyo’s ori’vod and his Jedi were part of those four people. 

The dread growing in him only got worse when he found a small salamander keychain half buried between a few rocks. Bacara was going to kill him, he thought derisively, while carefully freeing the little talisman. It was a bit scratched and the leather rope crooked, but still in good shape. Small mercies. It should still have protective capacities even if a bit banged up. Surely it wasn't supposed to be its owner’s anchor and compass thanks to the straightness of the rope. He stood there, observing the precious object cradle in his palm, when General Allie came at his side. 

“I can still sense Mace, Commander, even if weakly. We’ll find them.”

Neyo nodded once, before turning determined eyes to his general. The visor of his helmet never stopped her from perceiving his gaze.

“Could this help you establish a more precise area of research ?” He said while showing her the little salamander head. The gorge was wide here, and there was too much rubble for them to clean it all up, especially not quickly enough to be of any help. “Ponds always has it on him.”

Neyo knew for a fact that his ori’vod only put it down long enough to shower, and not a second more. And that was only because he didn't want to damage the leather. He always had it with him. That knowledge definitely didn’t help with the icy worry eating at his mind.

“Yes, yes it could !” The Jedi smiled at him, a little less stiff and concerned than it had been seconds ago. 

She thankfully didn’t try to pry it from Neyo’s hand, just placed her fingers delicately on top of the purple stone, eyes closed. A minute later, she was lifting a massive stone out of the way, revealing a small cavity hidden in the middle of the rubble. Neyo and a few of his troops extracted the four rescapies -injured but thankfully alive- in record time. 

Once the medics cleared from Ponds’ side, Neyo lightly threw the keychain into his lap. His ori’vod was in a too pitiful state for him to smack the back of his head, like he would have loved to do. The dikutla would have deserved it, jumping under explosions like a kriffing jetii -that it was to save someone else was irrelevant. 

“Don’t lose your anchor ever again, dikut. Bacara would kill us both.”

The small, warm chuckle that earned him made the last of his worry dissolve.

[alienaiver]

Birthday keychains

Sugawara Koushi x gn!reader

made for @cup-of-fluff​ ‘s birthday!

warnings: there’s mentions of a birthday being held alone but otherwise super fluff for my fluff-queen! wordcount: 1.7k content: fluff, post-timeskip, sfw, birthday present to a friend!, gender neutral reader, canon compliant, reader is also a teacher but the subjects are undefined, confessions, unbeta’d, no use of y/n, comfort, sugawara thinks hes smooth in theory but suddenly halts when he needs to put it into practice,

notes: i am LATE! LATE LATE LATE like the rabbit in alice! it was my precious friend, luna’s birthday around 10 days ago but sadly my brain wasn’t working those days, so i hope youll still accept this even if im late!!!! ilsym, i hope you still had a good day even if the plans weren’t big <3 i was thinking of you the entire day!!!

Sugawara stretches his arms over his head and yawns, grateful that he was able to end his class a little early. Mondays can be rough for anyone and he can definitely feel the jitters from his students rub off on him during the last stretch of the afternoon, too. So when the opportunity rose, he took it.

He likes to treat them sometimes, too.

So now he’s on his way back to the teacher’s lounge to grab a cup of coffee and work through the final part of this year’s curriculum – there’s some gaps he has to fill in from another teacher retiring, making him impromptu take over some classes. Usually, he’s more prepared than this.

 He nears class 2-A that he knows you’re currently teaching and as he passes, he hears ruckus and scattered cheering before the sliding door flings open.

On her way out, a student named Sakura looks back into the classroom and yells out, “oh, and Happy Birthday again!” before she runs out into the hallway, followed by her classmates.

Birthday? Who?

“Thank you, Sakura!” he hears your voice yell out from the room and he can’t stop himself from popping his head into the doorframe to make sure he heard right. You’re by the teacher’s desk, gathering up papers, small talking with the students still fizzling it out in waves.

“My, my, is it my favorite teacher’s birthday?” Sugawara leans against the frame and try to send you what he hopes is a charming smile and the way you perk up gives him hope.

You laugh at him sheepishly as you put the stack of papers against your chest, seemingly trying to gather yourself, your cheeks burning. You don’t look him in the eyes as you near him. He thinks you’re adorable.

“…Yeah,” you admit, passing him into the hallway but you stop to signal that you want him to follow you. His lips feel wobbly as he happily pushes himself off of the doorframe to follow you down the hall.

There are many things that he loves about being a teacher but he has to admit that one of his favorite parts is the interactions he gets to have with you. Your smile brightens any day, no matter how grey and the habit that the two of you have worked out with the morning coffee in the teacher’s lounge is the best part of his day.

“So… Why was I not aware that today’s your birthday?” he asks as he matches your pace, keeping an eye to dodge the unruly students running around the hallways. He’s supposed to scold them for running, the back of his mind reminds him, but he’s too focused on you. It’s an interesting thing, to keep a birthday hidden. Says a lot about a person.

You seem to straighten your back, “oh!”

You then sigh and relax again, “I’m not sure. Just didn’t think it was that important to mention.”

Sugawara inwardly winces – he’s afraid he hasn’t been clear enough about his intentions of getting closer to you. Whether or not you’d ever return his feelings romantically (he might be going too far with his wistful thinking he reprimands himself), he’s still very much interested in a friendship. Maybe he hasn’t been clear enough?

“What!” he exclaims, surprise so evident on his face that you stop in your tracks, your eyes locked to his expression. He then says your name with fervor and subconsciously reaches out for your hands but stops himself in the last second.

“I would’ve gotten you a present!” he confesses, pouting before he turns his back and starts walking. He hopes you follow. It’s been a while since he’s used flirting tactics that he used to teach Sawamura. He feels silly and he wipes the palms of his hands on his pantleg, hoping you don’t take notice.

“No, you really shouldn’t!” your voice sounds strained as you follow him. He slides open the door to the teacher’s lounge and signals for you to enter first. When you’re in, he hurries ahead of you to grab you a cup of coffee, bowing slightly as he hands it to you. You chuckle at his antics, shaking your head in affectionate confusion, “what is this, Sugawara?”

He smiles warmly at you, “you deserve royal treatment on a day as today!”

 You sit down by your desks next to each other and Sugawara sorts through a bunch of papers to look important. He clears his throat and tries to sound as nonchalant as possible, “so, are there any exciting birthday plans today?”

You hum out a reply that he can’t discern, not looking up from your papers either. He leans his head on his palm and looks towards you, “I bet you’ll be treated to tons of fun, right?”

You stop what you’re doing and sigh, collecting yourself before you confess, “actually… nothing special’s going to happen this year. I’ll probably treat myself to my favorite dish at the Family Mart and watch my favorite show at home, feet on the coffee table.”

You wince at the way Sugawara’s hand falls to his desk in surprise. You knew he’d react like this, he’s a good guy. But bringing up your birthday felt intimate and you weren’t sure how close you were. Maybe he’d think you were attention seeking or fishing for presents if you mentioned it – what if he only saw you as a work acquaintance?

He inhales sharply before he turns his head back down to his desk again, continuing his mock-work. “What’s your favorite at Family Mart then?”

You pause at the question. That was unexpected. You tell him with an unsure voice, ending it in a question mark. He hums and smiles at you, “I’ve never tried that one. Can I join?”

“Eh?”

It’s all you get out before he laughs warmly at you, the bright smile blinding you as he once again leans on his palm (which really is a charming position for him), “it sounds like the perfect start of the week!”

You nod, processing what he just asked. Before you can come up with a yes or no, you mentally walk through the state of your apartment. Is it messy? Have you left anything out in the open?

You’re safe, you conclude. So you nod again, “I mean… if you don’t have anything else to do?”

He laughs again, “nothing as important as this!”

  You reach the Family Mart with your palms sweating, the distance between your hands so close that your heart is currently stuck in your throat. He’s so close. It’s close enough so that if you just swung your hand slightly, you’d touch him.

And then you could hold onto it.

You shake your head at the thought to collect yourself. After picking up the drinks you want and the meals, you go to the counter.

“Would you like me to heat it up?” the cashier asks and you politely decline, looking for your wallet.

“Would you like a bag?”

You nod and she starts collecting your items in the bag for you. You announce you want to pay with card but Sugawara puts a final item on the counter and announces, “I’m paying with cash for it all.”

It’s a keychain. It’s not fancy or big. It’s a little black crow in chibi-style. You’re frozen in confusion staring at the small item, following it as the cashier puts it in the bag as well.

You’re not back in your own body before Sugawara gently pushes you by your back to signal you to move, and he guides you out the store, bag in hand.

When you get out you stop in your tracks, “ah! Did you get the receipt? I’ll pay half!”

Sugawara shakes his head with a smile as he goes through the content of the bag, exclaiming a small sound of victory when he finds what he needs. He pulls out the keychain and hands it to you, his cheeks burning red.

“I swear I would’ve gotten you something way better if I’d been prepared. I’ll even make it up to you with a delayed present at another time! but I thought you might… like this… one as a small substitute.”

He laughs awkwardly when you neither reply nor move. Did he mess up? “You don’t have to… accept it, if you don’t like it…”

That makes your brain restart as you inhale, “please! Don’t think I don’t like it! I’m just…” you struggle to search for words but decide to just hold out your palms, “I really, really love it… and that’s two really’s!” he seems to visibly relax as he puts the small item in your palm, flinching at the contact with your hand – he wants to grab onto it so badly, “I think I’m just… overwhelmed, I must admit.”

Sugawara sighs deeply, “phew, I’m so glad I didn’t weird you out!” he admits and you hurry to shake your head, “no! No… you could never! I just wasn’t sure of… how the closeness of our relationship.”

Sugawara’s mouth opens and closes soundlessly. He’s not sure if he should tell you now – it feels like the perfect time but what if he’s reading it wrong? He straightens his back and steels his resolve.

Without thinking, he bows. He grimaces as he looks at the ground – that move wasn’t part of his confession plans he’s made up in his head the past few months.

“I actually really, really like you! With two really’s!”

He’s afraid to straighten his back and look you in the eye. There are so many emotions going through him right now, fear being the most prevalent one.

 You clench the keychain in your hands, the meaning of it soaring through the sky even higher than when he first gave it to you. You smile as you say his name with a wobbly tilt to your tone, “I like you, too.”

Sugawara wants to pump his arms into the air in victory but he settles on just looking up at you with stars shining in his eyes, “really!? That’s amazing!” he leans forward to hug you and you yelp out in surprise. You don’t hold back from taking in his scent though – it fits the one you’ve been imagining for so long.

“Happy birthday, again.” He whispers into your head and you laugh into his chest, “this might be the best one yet.”

[maruren]

hi there, it’s probably been eons since you’ve thought about sugar apple fairy tale, but i just thought i’d stop by and say thanks! your post on hugh and kat’s relationship made me feel a little less lonely in my delulu- and also really grateful for people who are able to keep whimsy and fun in fandom spaces- so thank you, from the other kat/hugh shipper floating aimlessly on this app,,, i’m happy your here!

Oh you are welcome, precious. Your words were really heartwarming, I'm glad my little art inspired someone to love this ship. Honestly, when I first saw them in the anime, my first thought was "Wow, you have a spicy relationship for JUST ex-friends". But there was very little direct interaction between them in the anime. So I found the full novel (all 17, I think) in Japanese and threw it into the translator (which was quite an experience, I literally broke Google Translate). In the next books, after the end of season 2, their relationship gets more and more interesting. But no one in the English community knew about it! So I may have been the first one to start drawing for this ship. Heh, I still have two paired keychains with them. Maybe I should find those fanfic crumbs of them I wrote last year and throw it on AO3. Anyway, here, my dear, some extra art of them for you that I forgot to post a while back.

[ladychandraofthemoone]

6️⃣SUDRIANVERSE:HAPPY LATE 6/6 DAY!!6️⃣

Have:

Percy Avonside

Lord Harry Patrick Barrane Andreas Roldan Guerrero Hidalgo Hunslet I legit thought he was number 6 until I went back to his series and it’s actually 2 welp I’m dumb so here’s he’s msr #6 xD

Duncan Barclay (I’m so very sorry sweetie I didn’t finished you)

rambling time:

alright I knew I wanted my percy to be inspired by raggedy Ann dolls specifically the hairstyle and the overalls, I gave him a scarf 🧣 to represent “a scarf for Percy” episode and of course they’re little hat with the sodor mail logo and her mailbag with their whistle and lucky bell as keychains (I forgot to to draw them but say it’s behind her back) 🔔 I was gotta decorate her boots more but I it slipped out my mind and I was originally gotta make them red. Of course they have their pins on their bag a bear pin for “wooly bear” a butterfly 🦋 for aeg (I know I know people still don’t like it please don’t come after me) and their gender-fluid and pan pride pin.

Patrick or Harry was the easiest to be honest like nearly all of my cfr designs was mainly inspired by glowynviator except I added some minor changes like an orange scarf 🧣 his boots and pants color change and design and he got classy pristine gloves and earrings and of course a pompadour which is fitting for his nature (I know it’s looks like wally darling xD that’s the idea 💡)

long rant on stuff cause it gets dark on some parts and cause Duncan and Andreas’s storyline takes place

Andreas I was originally searching up Argentinan fashion for him cause he’s afro Argentinan in my human au cause his basis was sent there but it was formal dress wear so I went with that along with fancy British style cause my Andreas comes from old money an wealthy family and he totally shows off like Gordon he’s also got a cape jacket like him but I couldn’t decide which one cause I did so many of them I’ll post them later and maybe do a poll on it even though knowing me I’ll use all of them haha

(Gordon 🤝 Andreas they r besties they gossip have coffee and Gordon was the first standard guage driver to visit Andreas in the hospital 🏥 after the accident this does apply for Alfred as well but he’s was a prick and he and Andreas got into arguments) and also like Gordon has his own fair share of toxic dysfunctional relationships ridiculously high standards and the pressure to be perfect though unlike Gordon Andreas was originally engaged through an arranged marriage by his family mainly his abuelo which secretly stressed about it for he had no feelings for her and if he was honest never felt attracted towards girls even though he was well liked and known and popular and that his stomach often churns at the thought the same goes with more intimate activities that he doesn’t really wish to have children at least not yet and gosh-

Like y’all  (his main inspiration was Encanto Isabela and her family I guess you can say he’s a genderbent version as despite his own emotions thoughts and fears he was determined to not frightened of disappointing his family and being the golden child and the oldest (he’s meant to be a foil to Gordon and Alfred who are meant to be parallels to one another’s it’s complicated) he’s very grateful he managed to convince his abuelo to let him have the opportunity to work on sodor under the excuse it would be good to have more connections the railway needs assistance and this would be great experience in an effort to put the marriage on hold among o th her things (cause he did fight in the war with his engine but his family mainly his abuelo was too worried of losing him and practically begged him to return back home even giving money 💰 to Andreas superiors and Andreas ends up returning early like less than a few months athough the marriage was cancelled after his family found out after his accident later on still wondering if some of his family members move to sodor which Andreas deliberately put off and revelations are revealed which leads to huge arguments and Andreas is no longer welcomed into the family not officially disowned but it’s was more of a like until he got his act together to him and it stung cause they couldn’t tell it to his face yet at the same so relieve cause he felt like he couldn’t handle so many people in the room overall it’s extremely messy but he still feels thankful that he got a support system on sodor and he got out of a rather toxic and kinda forced heteronormative environment 

Duncan has so many outfits and hairstyles  that I’m drawing out cause my guy goes through the wringer he’s got so much character development going on but I went with one of a more healing style he wearing something’s that’s causal yet comfortable (of course I drew him with a guitar he finds comfort in music and yeah he’s in his pride colors) he’s not pretending to be this overly happy guy in an effort to please others as his way to cope with the situation but ge wrote his red outfit I’m leaning towards boilersuit/jumpsuit (which he ends up burning and throwing away cause well it’s kindave stained while he was doing his hardest to recuse Andreas like he accidentally injured himself in the attempt to free Andreas think suletta and her hands but he was freaking out in full panic not thinking and now every time he looks at it looks st himself his stomach turns to kits he stays seating he’s shaking cause it reminded him so much of what was Andreas when he was recused and how he was almost…killed… BY HIM…he was severely injured and barely alive but still somehow breathing 

First time you see him he’s got a Mohawk, it’s messy but cool looking but to others on a outsiders views he appears not to care about appearance which does rub (mostly Andreas who’s obsessed with making perfect appearances and self-importance) leads to them butting heads a lot like it’s kinda an isa and Mira situation where they’re both envious of one another where Duncan is jealous over how between the two numbers 6’s here it’s appears that a majority of folks prefers Andreas while Andreas even though he’s in an environment where he can express more freedom and won’t be punished for it he still can’t downright be more vocal towards authority (at least till the hours of the incident where he argued with the  supervisor but it was more on the lines of safety and not recklessness)  treatment or say everything on his mind with vulgar languages  and he is a bit impressed on that but wishes Duncan had common sense and not just complain about everything and anything

So yeah they rubbed one another all the wrong ways and Duncan calls him “mister perfect” Andreas retorts to him being a hypocrite yet didn’t hesitate to put his life on the line and recuse him and Duncan just felt excruciating amount of guilt and also reeling from that situation since it’s also traumatic for him like he was right there when Andreas getting crushed and unfortunately the first actually see how bad lead injuries were on Andrea’s and it ran and it wasn’t a pretty sight and I will let you guys fill in the head. It’s but for Duncan, his mental health was taking a toll on him 

A majority of his colleagues (the msr the ones who knew  Andreas was he longest they held him responsible some even  right blaming him (like I wrote that Andreas family were gotta sue him as well as the railway but that was stoped by Andreas but that didn’t do well for Duncan emotionally) for everything others not speaking or or even acknowledging him like he’s existence leave it like glares they’re grieving they’re dealing with this situation and it doesn’t excuse their actions or their treatment of Duncan but it explains it it’s still not right but it’s like all sadnes all around. Even though Duncan has  the support and comfort of the Skr members he still feels like he’s responsible and begins to overwork himself like bag eyes despite his smiling attitude like his hair outgrew the passing couple of months and he’s putting it in a  braid or ponytail he’s wearing less red (I got an idea on his that looks like) yet he neglecting his own health then he comes back after his run in with the scientists where he was knocked unconscious and he’s wearing yellow like he  dyed his hair he subconsciously changes to match Andreas ponytail and a more fitting attire and ugh my heart

[miekasa]

mie….could we please get college au eren headcanons👉🏽👈🏽

Of course. I’m always thinking about his big head anyway <33 might as well put it good use.

One thing he learned in college is how to make his hyperfocus/fixation episodes work for him; that’s why he schedules all his classes as close together as possible. He’d rather have class back to back for 5 hours, than have it spread out with hours in between lectures, because that increases his changes of cutting.

You can always tell when he’s in class and/or what class he’s in by how much he responds to your messages. If he doesn’t text back at all, he’s in a class that hard or one he enjoys, or both. But if he’s sending you iMessage games, then you know he’s in his elective that he couldn’t care else about (and is probably cheating in someway somehow lmfao). 

He usually puts his phone on dnd when he’s in a class that’s important, but you’re in his favorite contacts, so your messages always ring through. What if it’s an emergency and you need him for something? Advanced Roots of Human Biology can wait. 

Some days there are one or two our breaks between his lectures, that’s just how the scheduling works out. When that happens, he usually sneaks into one of your lectures, or goes to your place to take a nap. Your roommates have become accustomed to him, honestly they’ve been considering giving him a key. 

Once, he didn’t realize that your lecture was basically a seminar, with you, the prof and maybe six other students. He still stayed lmao, and the prof was so amazed by his dedication, that she didn’t even mind. Occasionally, you’ll catch the two of them talking after lecture. It’s pretty cute the way she’s adopted him into the class even tho he’s not on the roster. 

You... have to show him where the library is lmfao. He genuinely has not stepped foot in one until you bring him to one. He likes it tho lmao once he gets used to it. 

Speaking of which, do not give him standard directions to find your classes on campus because all you’ll get is, “Babe, I’m gonna keep it real with you, I’ve never heard of the ‘West Quad’ a day in my life. What building are you near.”

He usually comes to see you in the library after all his lectures are done for the day. Sometimes he does homework, sometimes he’s just fucking around on his computer, sometimes he’s just bothering you. When you have to leave to go to class, he stays behind to watch your stuff so you don’t have to pack everything up and come back. 

Very protective when it comes to keeping your seat for you. No, you cannot take that chair to your table you good for nothing freshman; it’s reserved for you. 

He’ll drag you out of the library if you’ve been cooped up all day, tho. Eren will use his height and his strength against you to get you up. Placates you with kisses when he sees your angry expression, and promises to buy you food.

He takes your backpack for you when you’re walking together,m. His backpack is frustratingly light all the time, even during midterms. You swear all he’s got in there is a pencil and some flashcards. 

If you have night classes, he sticks around to walk you home after, especially in the winter when it gets dark faster. If he’s not already on campus, he’ll walk/drive back to meet you; he just doesn’t like you going home alone. Even if your friend/roommate is in the class with you, Eren will walk or drive the both of you home for his own sanity. 

He plays sports, so he usually has practice most evenings, but he’ll find a way to make time. If practice was particularly brutal, he’ll probably crash at your place.

He loves it when you come to meet him after practice. His whole face lights up and he waves obnoxiously, before he gathers up his stuff and all but sprints towards you. You get a cold water bottle to the face, or a bit of water splashed on you usually, which he takes immense amusement in. 

He knows it’s not possible for you to make it to all of his games, and usually it doesn’t bother him much; you’ve got your own life, and work to worry about. All he asks is that you wear his jersey, or any item of his sports apparel/merch on game day (he’s partial to hoodies).

By the time junior year rolls around, he’s not all that interested in attending parties that aren’t hosted by your friends; so, unless it’s at Connie, Jean, or Reiner and Bertholdt’s place, Eren will usually decline. Even team parties, he’s not crazy about unless it’s to celebrate a championship or something. He’d much rather celebrate with you. 

He does get excited about hosting parties though, and he and Jean become pretty damn good co-hosts. They don’t throw ragers, and that’s probably why Eren likes it so much. It’s usually your friend group and a couple plus ones, some good music, games, weed, and take-out. 

He’ll buy you coffee whenever you ask for it. The first time, he just orders something plain, not really knowing the difference between anything; but give it two or three tries, and he’ll get it perfect. He becomes so good that he can order you something new/different and you’ll love it. 

That’s kind of the start of his own coffee addiction, and more often than not, when he buys you a cup, he’s on his second or third of the day himself. The flavor has really grown on him, okay. 

He much prefers your apartment, but on occasion, he’ll ask you to come to his. You’ve been studying for so long, a change of environment should do you good, he claims. He’s a fucking liar tho because that’s all Eren Talk for “I do genuinely want you to come over, but my plans are to coerce you out of doing your assignments and doing me instead.”

Lmfao he adds you on Apple Watch Rings just so you can see him close his rings every day and laugh at you. Even if yours get closed by virtue of walking around campus or working out or whatever, his numbers are stupidly high because he fucking has practice at least 4 days of the week. 

Of course when you’re running on a soccer field for 2 hours every day, you close your Move Ring five times, Eren. Leave the rest of us alone. 

He buys you guys matching accessories for your keychains. It’s something pretty cute, and slightly random, but it reminded him of you. It also serves as a reminder to himself to take his fucking keys with him when he leaves his house. 

He sleeps like a fucking rock, so do not let him fall asleep in the library. Waking him up is a mission, and he’s never happy to be woken up. He looks kinda cute tho. 

He schedules dates for you and his friends. Usually by accident, but hear me out. Sometimes he’ll make plans with Armin, then forget that he has class or a test or something; so his solution is to text you, “hey, i forgot min and i were supposed to go some aquarium tomorrow but i have a midterm so here’s the pdf of my ticket, go with him for me, thanks babe love u” then, boop, you and Armin have an aquarium date Friday evening. 

The same thing happens with Mikasa, though, she usually catches the scheduling conflict before Eren does, and invites you out herself. You and Mikasa hang out quite a bit anyway, so it comes to the point where she tells you when she’s gonna hang out with Eren, so you can make yourself free for when he inevitably remember he has a game that day. 

Mikasa is most amazed that you’ve put up with Eren this long lmao. You’ve certainly lessened her Eren & Armin babysitting hours, and for that she’s eternally grateful. Also, she’s just happy to have another close friend. She loves Eren and Armin, but they’re not the most social beings, and she was literally their only friend besides the other for all their childhood PLEASE she’s so happy you’re around. 

It’s Mikasa, however, who babysits you and Eren whenever you both get too drunk. Says you guys are two peas in a pod (affectionate<2)

If you tell Eren something important that happened, like an internship you got, or a good grade in a class, or something, he usually relays that information to his mom pls. He texts her every day, and if she doesn’t ask for an update on you first, he gives her one.

Carla calls you sometimes, too. At least once every few weeks, just to check on you herself. She really likes you for Eren, and is grateful someone is willing to put up with her hotheaded son. 

Eren’s always using your fucking chapstick. Always. You know he has his own, so why he needs to use yours is beyond you. Finds time to make some dumbass comment about how it’s an “indirect kiss” every time he uses it too. Like bro, we’re dating, and have had many direct kisses why are you like this.

He posts on Instagram every few weeks or so, but you’re on his story every few days. Usually, it’s just a video of you minding your business and doing your work while Eren slowly zooms in before making some loud noise to surprise you, all so he can get your reaction on video and laugh at it. He’s annoying. 

He’s a bit of a copycat when it comes to the products you use. He’ll buy the same brand of pens as you (for that matter, all of his school supplies mirror yours because what does he know about the difference between A4 and A5 notebooks?), put a little hand sanitizer on his backpack like yours (and a lotion, too, for good measure), he even copies your Starbucks order until he finds one he likes for himself. It’s one of his love languages <3

If you’re wondering where your eyelash curler went, Eren stole it to try it on himself, hurt himself, vowed to never use it again, went back because he wanted to “do it right and not give up,” liked the results when he didn’t pinch his eyelid, and now it’s his. 

That being said, stop trying to put your Fenty lipgloss on him, it’s never going to happen. Eye makeup, maybe, only if you sit in his lap and he can have his hands on your ass while you do it. 

What he does love is letting you do his skincare. He will set aside dedicated skincare nights, he adores it. Easily one of his favorite things ever. 

You have his wallet. Not because he’s your sugar daddy or anything (although, if you want something, he’d definitely let you use his card to get it; and even if you bought something without asking, he wouldn’t think twice about it), but because he put it in your bag once and never took it out. 

When you tried to give it back, he just shook his head and told you to keep it, “I have my ID in my phone case anyway, and you’re less likely to lose it. Plus I put all my cards on Apple Pay, so I’m good.”

When you do make it to a game of his, he’s all over you when it’s over. Not in a cocky athlete boyfriend kind of way; in a very sleepy boyfriend kind of way. He’s usually got ice on at least one part of his body, and he’s got half his body weight on you as you walk to the car. 

By the time you guys get back to your place, he’s practically sleep walking. The only thing on his mind is taking a hot shower to soothe his muscles, and heading to bed. The aftermath of game days aren’t all that bad though, because even if you didn’t show, you’re always there to kiss him when he’s home and massage his shoulders, and cuddle him to sleep; and that’s his favorite part. 

[slasherholic]

Contains: gender neutral reader, torture, forced scarification, bondage, spanking, fear play, body horror, threats of violence, mentions of drugging.

Asa Emory x Favorite!Victim Reader | One More Chance | Chapter 2

part one here

He stops in front of the elevator. Green-grey mold climbs the peeling beige wallpaper on either side of it like creeping fingers. The tarnished doors sit locked away behind a rusting barred gate. You had tried to use this exact same elevator when you almost got away from—

When you disobeyed him, interjects the part of your brain that just spared you your limbs. You had tried to use this elevator when you disobeyed him.

But he had locked it up tight from the top floors, too.

Upon realizing that, you nearly went slinking back to your room. You remember thinking that if you went back, if you crawled back inside your trunk and shut the lid, if you curled up very tight and very small, if you were good for him, when he found you, he might forgive you. There would still be a punishment for jimmying the lock; but if you showed him that you were sorry, ready to obey, ready to let him keep you without a fuss, the punishment might be bearable.

Then you had discovered a vent with a screw loose. Loose enough for you to peel back the grate.

The moment your slow descent to the lobby through the vents began, you knew forgiveness was out of the question. If he caught you before you made it out of this hotel, you would be tortured for it.

There is not a single doubt in your groggy, muddled, drugged-up mind that you are still about to be tortured for it.

He lowers your body to the grimy floor and unhooks his keychain from his belt. The keys jangle as he flips the ring once around his finger and catches it again. 

A shrill cry leaves your throat when his boot comes down on your temple.

He presses the rubber firmly into your cheek, smushing your face against the cold floor, covering your eyes. He’s not going to let you see this part. 

You hear him flipping back and forth between the keys, in no particular hurry to find the correct one.

One,

two,

three locks click open.

The pressure on your temple lifts mercifully away. You watch his boots as he slides the grated rusty door barring the elevator open. When he picks you up again, he slings you over his shoulder, his hand coming down to hold your naked thigh.

There are fifteen amber buttons on the chrome panel inside the elevator. You know your room is on the eighth floor.

Dread knots your stomach when you see the counter above the doors pass floor number eight.

He’s not taking you back to your room. 

The elevator stops on floor fourteen. He steps out, and into a part of the hotel you have never seen before. He starts down the decayed hall.

You pass one of his dolls. You don’t shut your eyes in time before you see her.

The first thing you see is the woman’s guts.

Shimmering in a slippery wet blue-purple pile on her abdomen like a tangle of worms, leaking blood down her ribs from stress-worn ruptures in the meat. The stench of her insides hits you like a kick to the face. You realize you must be smelling the chemicals of her stress and fear, cortisol, adrenaline, the pungent amalgamation of everything her panicking brain released when he did this to her.

It must have been recent; nobody could survive this for long.

She whimpers weakly at the sound of his approach. Where her eyes are meant to be, there are only bloody, glistening hollows. 

Reaching out, he grazes her IV line with his fingers, letting his hand brush her face tenderly as he walks past.

The woman’s whimpers rise into a steep pained cry that twists her features and dribbles quickly back to whimpering when she seems to realize that he has continued on walking, and isn’t going to linger to touch her more.

He takes you to the end of the hall. You hear the jingling of his key ring, the squeal of a turning handle.

The room inside is utterly unlike the rest of the hotel. Clean, tidy, well-furnished, well-lit. The cream colored wallpaper is spotless and adorned with charts boasting detailed portraits of various species of beetle and moth. All the furniture looks new.

He carries you to a long leather ottoman and starts to push it with his leg away from its resting place next to a bookshelf. In the middle of the room, he deposits you belly-down across it. Your arms fall limply to both sides. He steps out of view.

A radio crackles and sputters to life. Some melody plays faintly over it.

This is some sort of study.

You stare blankly at a locked glass case on the opposite end of the room as he moves somewhere behind you where you can’t see him. Sat upon the shelves are rows upon rows of insects preserved in jars of orange fluid.

Except some of them are very clearly not insects.

You shut your eyes, not caring to see what’s in those jars. Behind you, he opens a cabinet door, and starts to push a trolley cart with a squeaky wheel. You open your eyes when he gets too close.

There are two trays atop the cart. One white, one silver. You watch him lift a thin tool out of the silver tray, turning it over in the light, and your heart falls into your stomach.

It’s a scalpel. He’s holding a scalpel.

You launch right back into your desperate pleading frenzy.

Wait, wait, no no no, I’ll be good, I’ll be good—

The words come out as pitiful, slurred garbling. The drug has paralyzed your tongue.

His gloved hand shoots out. He seizes the underside of your jaw, cruelly. The pleading catches in your throat.

“No more of that.”

The order is stern, yet his voice remains unnervingly steady. It is the first you’ve ever heard him raise it above a whisper.

Fresh tears prick the corners of your eyes. You obey him without thought and fall silent.

From a desk in the corner, he pulls up a three-legged stool, and sits down next to you, knees level with your face. The simple proximity to him has your heart beating out of your chest. He wipes your back down with something cold and then his fingers alight to trace your shoulders gingerly. He rap-tap-taps the scalpel he’s about to use on you against the leg of the stool. 

Steadying you with a hand pressed flat on your back, he starts to work.

The bite of the scalpel is unforgiving. Your tears come fast. Before long you’re shrieking, sobbing, struggling to breathe. He doesn’t tell you to stop, doesn’t tell you to be quiet. His incisions are swift and skillful. You can feel the little flicks of his wrist as the blade sinks in and out of your back.

You see him wiping thin bloody slivers into the white tray on the rolling table, pieces of you. The sensation of the warm blood streaming down your back and shoulders turns you clammy and cold. He wipes the runny red up with a cloth from the trolley before it gets on his ottoman.

When it is over, your mind is soup.

You gape like a fish as you suck in shuddery breaths and stare blankly at his gloved hands as he sets the dripping scalpel down in its tray again, passing it through the light once more, watching it shimmer with your blood.

Your body flinches reflexively as he stands suddenly from the stool. Straddling you over the ottoman, he rearranges your legs to make room for him. His shins graze the back of your thighs as he sits. Pressing his palm flat against the small of your back, he traces your skin gingerly, examining his work. You whimper and cry. He pats your cheek.

Getting up, he goes to his desk. When he comes back you hear the click of a camera, the whirr of a picture printing. With two fingers, he slides a polaroid photo onto the ottoman, and tells you to look.

You tremble and cry. You don’t want to.

“Do I need to repeat myself?”

You obey him and look.

You start choking on your own sobs.

Butterfly wings. He’s given you butterfly wings. Wings with intricate, skillful patterns. Their graceful swooping tails reach all the way to your lower back. Bright red pools in the raw pink divots where he removed layers upon layers of your skin.

His hand closes firmly around your wrist. He cleans your fingers with a wipe. Rotating your hand behind you, he makes you feel the slippery cuts.

You whine at the sting, trembling in his strong grip. The wounds are just as deep as they look.

“It’s going to scar,” he states, matter-of-factly.

He leaves the polaroid sitting on the table next to your face as he begins to dress the wound. The cleaning hurts almost as much as the cutting, and though he’s being gentle now you think it would be more bearable if he was being cruel. His light brushes leave you trembling like a leaf.

On goes the adhesive bandaging. You watch him through shimmery tears as he gets up, goes to stand at the glass case, undoes the lock, and squats to reach the bottom shelf. He removes an empty jar and a bottle of preserving fluid.

Going back to the trolley, setting the jar down, he screws off the lid. The preserving fluid sloshes as he pours it inside. Reaching into the white tray, he carefully sets the thin pieces of what he sliced off of you into the preserving jar, one by one. You watch them flutter down and settle at the bottom. He screws the lid back on and writes something in cursive in black marker on the label. Going back to the case, he carefully moves aside a beetle specimen, and places his new collection piece on the top shelf.

He checks his watch. Peeling off his gloves, which are wet with your blood, he deposits them in a small trash can in the corner and removes a new pair from his back pocket.

He doesn’t put them on. When he walks past the ottoman he trails the gloves lightly across the nape of your neck. Your body winces and shudders. You don’t hear him shut the door as he leaves the room.

His confidence in his drug is accurate; by the time he comes back, the only movement you’re able to accomplish is a useless twitching of your fingers and toes.

You aren’t facing the right way so you can’t see the chains he’s holding in his hand but you can hear them and the sound makes a pang of dread explode inside of you. They clank and rattle as he drops them beside the ottoman. He greets you with another soft caress of your nape. His gloves are wet again, with someone else’s blood.

He peels off the dirtied second pair and doesn't bother putting on another.

He crosses your arms behind your bandaged back as you sob into the leather. Snap. The pair of thick shackles close around your wrists. The cuffs are tight and uncompromising. He measures the circumference of your neck with a measuring tape, wrapping it taut around your throat, holding it to the base of your skull with two fingers.

You make fragile broken whines as he fits a stiff steel collar around your neck. You hear the click of a padlock. His warm knuckles come down to stroke your cheek. 

His hands go under your body and he lifts you, sinking down on the ottoman in your place, splaying you across his lap. He grips the chain shackling your wrists behind your back, securing your arms tightly. In his shadow, you see him pull back his hand.

Whack.

A shattered sound rips out of you at the impact. You think for an instant that he has taken his knife out of his pocket and stabbed your backside.

With the next smack, you realize that it's his palm, and that he’s spanking you.

One more and you know he’s about to ruin your ass.

Ten seconds on and your sharp yelps are rising into screams. Thirty seconds and your cries are animal. Your cheeks are burning, blood rushing to the spanked area. His palm comes down again and again. 

You feel him switch hands. His fingers curl around the front of your throat, gripping you above your collar, hot from the friction of his slaps and your own swelling skin. He rests his palm on your bruised bottom, groping the stinging flesh.

“Count,” he orders. “Out loud.”

Whack.

You obey his order through tears, blurting out the numbers between strangled sobs.

Whack. Wham. Whack.

The slaps are brutal. He’s putting all his strength behind it. Your lips are trembling as you count your punishment. You realize you can feel his clothed erection pressing against your side and that makes you sob harder. 

At five, he stops. His hands leave your body, and you hear him fidgeting with his mask. The unlaced black fabric concaves in on itself as it falls to the floor, resting next to his boot.

You can’t look him in the face. You wouldn’t even if you could. You don’t want to see him. 

Gripping your jaw, lifting your chin, he presses his nose and mouth to your ear.

“Shh… Shh shh shh...” He shushes your whimpering quiet.

Brushing your cheek with his knuckles, he informs you that five is the number of days he’s going to feed you with nothing but the tube he’s about to shove down your throat.

[fluffytuffles]

So I Saw Cats (Again)

SATURDAY, MAY 7TH

This is gonna be shorter because it’s gonna be just Saturday stuff, either small differences from the Thursday show, stuff I noticed for the first time (especially from the balcony versus front of orchestra), or changes with cast differences.

Same disclaimers apply.

Word count: 1950

BEFORE THE SHOW

Unlike Thursday we got to the theater with plenty of time and got to look around and be the first at the merch booth when it opened (an hour before the show). I got the book of music, the pin, and the keychain. I also dabbed on Macavity.

SHOWTIME

Zach Bravo was back as Tugger, Lauren Louis as Demeter, and Alexia Waites as Tantomile. Elana Valastro was on as Teazer again, and I was a little disappointed to not see Allison, and even more so that Kelly wasn’t back yet, but Elana is a delightful Teazer and it would’ve been hard to be actually disappointed even if I tried.

ZACH

Yes, he gets his own section. Biggest difference from the Thursday show was that Zach was on as Tugger, and I think seeing the first show without him only made me appreciate his presence more, if possible. The charisma and energy Zach brings to Tugger is unparalleled. He has such great chemistry with the rest of the cast and it really shines through. This was his second-to-last show and he was giving it as much as ever. He had the audience wrapped around his finger. I’m sad to see him go but so, so grateful we had him as long as we did. I hope he has a well-deserved rest, and goes on to receive every dream he’s earned.

GENERAL

So so so glad I got to see it twice.

Like Thursday this happened to be the 2nd show of a 2-show day again.

It was fascinating getting the same show from two very different vantage points over just a couple of days. Thursday we were fourth row center in the orchestra; Saturday we were up in the balcony center, about halfway back in the theater. We were toward the front still, with no one blocking our view of the stage (the LA Lakers couldn’t show apparently, iykyk). So it might’ve been in part our unobstructed view, but the experience was in no way diminished from being farther away. Actually, for some elements this was an improvement, as we could see the whole stage and all the characters at once.

There was no cast board in the balcony area which was odd. I happened to see the board from a distance before I went upstairs so I knew Elana was on as Teazer, and that someone was covering booth but I couldn’t tell who. Previous and subsequent boards suggest it was Megan Arseneau.

Something happened with either a mic or the orchestra that one of the instruments was missing from the arrangements during Act One. This seemed to be fixed at intermission, wouldn’t have been noticed by anyone not so familiar with the score, and not overly distracting for someone who was. (I actually liked how it affected the Platoria dance during the Ball so that was neat to hear!)

I had a much easier time watching everyone on stage from the balcony (and also having already seen it).

It was still pretty easy to make out facial expressions, especially on those I indicated as mugging (affectionate) last time -which makes sense, being why they do it in the first place.

Seeing almost all main cast with this show I can say for certain and finally that everyone was impeccably cast in their roles. This is the most talented company I’ve ever seen.

CHARACTERS

If I don’t mention a character, assume I have nothing to say about it that I didn’t say in the Thursday review.

Demestrap didn’t have the chemistry I was hoping for, but I think that’s because they have fewer moments together than I remembered. I also literally just might’ve missed it while I was watching other cats.

Paul’s Misto has such fantastic chemistry with Zach’s Tugger but like we knew that.

Old Deuteronomy in this production has a relationship with everyone in the tribe and that’s so lovely to see.

Actually, many of the characters have pretty clear and consistent relationships to one another.

Zach and Nick gave strong big-brother!Tugger, little-brother!Munk energy

I like Nick but I would’ve liked to see José go on for one of the shows.

SONGS

If I don’t mention a song, assume I have nothing to say about it that I didn’t say in the Thursday review.

“Overture”

We could see the light display much better from the balcony.

“Jellicle Songs”

Like with all the big group numbers, it was so much easier to see and appreciate the choreography (and the performances thereof) from a higher angle.

“Gumbie Cat”

Preferred Gumbie Trio with Lauren’s Demeter

“Rum Tum Tugger”

Zach my beloved. Iconic. The only Tugger for me, thanks.

Obviously COVID meant I had no chance of Tugger sitting in my lap but–

Tugger’s extended finale to play to the audience, what a ham.

“Old Deuteronomy”

Zach and Nick sound great together.

Tugger is so sweet with Old D.

“Jellicle Ball”

This is one you definitely want to see from the balcony. Absolutely incredible.

“Memory (prelude)”

Grizabella’s “fail dance” works a lot better when you can see the big empty stage she’s standing on. It really communicates how alone she is.

“Gus the Theatre Cat”

Bow’s comedic timing in coming back on after the applause and Jelly tries to escort Gus away was just delightful.

Victoria’s so excited to hear her name, even if it’s not referring to her. What a cutie!

There’s a slight variation in the “blood-curdling noise” that also got a big laugh out of me (and everyone).

“Pekes and Pollicles”

Tugger gives Tumble head scritches and Sillabub a paw touch for doing such a good job (*sobs*)

“Macavity/Macavity Fight”

I prefer Lauren’s Demeter to Megan’s

I still don’t like the song but they perform it very well.

“Mr. Mistoffelees”

I actually tried watching for Deut coming back onstage but literally did not catch him and at this point I don’t want anyone to ruin the magic.

Deut gesturing for Misto to run at him, I cry.

“Memory”

Tayler’s Grizabella feels so much more tragic than a lot of other versions, especially modern versions.

STAGE DOOR

If you’ve made it this far in my screed I imagine you like me enough to tolerate my self-indulgent stage door notes, and if that’s the case, thank you. :)

I’m writing this partly to share what my experience was like and partly to remember it for myself.

I was convinced I was too anxious to do stage door until right before the show, that I couldn’t be normal around them. But I realized that if I didn’t at least try to meet them, I would only ever regret it. And I’m so, so glad I did.

As a whole, they were all so nice. Their kindness and patience actually made it so much easier for me to feel comfortable interacting with them and I couldn’t thank them enough for taking the time after a very, very long day to meet with fans.

I deliberately addressed them by name if I was trying to get their attention, and if I thought to, mentioned a fan work by, or interaction with, me that they might remember. I think it helped them know that I was an actual fan of theirs and genuinely excited to see them, not just any cast.

Huge, huge love and thanks to @dilfstrapisanormalword​ for taking the time and energy to do this with me. I know you didn’t want to, that you only did it for me, and I hope the couple of autographs I got for you too was worth it. Also, again, shoutout to @munku-collar​ for lending me an extra marker. I’m sorry I lost the cap but I’m glad Aiden and Taylor found it.

(I also did see Chris Salvaggio, Max Craven, and I think Nick Davis but if it was Nick I couldn’t tell with the mask on, and Chris and Max didn’t seem to be up for meeting, which is completely fair.)

Dominic Fortunato (Pouncival) - Dom looked like he was leaving at first but he hung back and was the first one I worked up the courage to approach (which I did by myself). I told him the kitten trio was giving me life during the show, and he didn’t really react so we parted then. He came up to me a minute later to say he hadn’t heard what I said and he wanted to thank me. What a sweetheart.

Aiden Pressel & Taylor Rosenberger (Plato/Macavity & Coricopat) - Taylor seemed really excited to be recognized, which was lovely. I told them it was my first time doing stage door and that I was super nervous but I’d been following them since September and they’d always seemed so approachable, which they were happy to hear.

Tayler Harris (Grizabella) - Tayler seemed to be in a bit of a rush and I was pretty starstruck honestly but I told her what a wonderful job she did and she was grateful for that.

Sean McManus & Vinny Andaloro (Tumblebrutus & Alonzo) - I mentioned my tiktok username to Sean because we’re mutuals on there and he said he was happy to be able to put a face to the name, that he felt like he’d known me forever from tiktok. He also called Vinny over from a few feet away with “Vinny this is Litsy-K from tiktok” (in a previous livestream he’d pointed out me saying hi to him). Sean asked if we were from around here and Karyn bonded with both of them over being from New Jersey. Also Vinny is smaller in person; almost everyone was but especially Vinny. 

Zach Bravo (Rum Tum Tugger) - Zach was as amazing offstage as he was onstage. When I mentioned I’d sent him the card and Zugger necklace back in November he said he’d meant to write back but he’d only had so much time at home. I don’t know if he forgot he did send me a signed playbill or if he’d actually meant to go even further than that? Incredible. He offered a photo and after Karyn took it for me he asked her if she wanted one too. My hands were shaking so much with nerves that I had to try multiple times to get a decent shot. When I told him I was super nervous about meeting them he offered a hug. I got a hug! Absolutely wonderful person.

Lauren Louis & Chelsea Mitchell (Demeter & Bombalurina) - I met them together and they were the last before I had to leave. I mentioned to Lauren that I was the one who made the trace art of her as Demeter and Bomba for her birthday and she was so excited to hear that. They were both so sweet.

CONCLUSION (FINAL)

So yeah, that was Cats! I honestly couldn’t have wished for a better production, or a better person to see it with. I’m so grateful I got to see Zach’s Tugger before he left. Fate really was kind to me in general, as not only were all my long-time faves on, but I got to meet and talk to them after the show. Truly an unbelievable and unforgettable experience.

I’m a little sad that it’s over now; I won’t have the chance to see them again before their run ends next month. But I’m excited to follow them into their next projects, and in their bright futures.

Stay jellicle, kitty cast.

[jlsadphoenix]

a map and a shovel (to my achilles’ heel)

The evolution of Emma and Killian’s thoughts for each other, told through the early events of their lives together. | 2/2 | AO3

KILLIAN

EMMA

because how the hell had this man managed to see right past her walls in the few hours he spent in her company, when people who’ve known her months, years, had trouble doing the same?

for as long as she’s known him, even with his flowery language and pirate regalia and cluelessness to modern conveniences, he’s always felt the realest person around

Tagging: @teamhook @lillpon @ownedbycaptainswan @inwordsthatnobodyknows1121

1.

“Hey,” Emma starts, noticing a hand reaching out from a pile of bodies. “Hey, there’s someone under there!”

The man they pull out is thanking them, but there are alarms going off in her head. Something’s wrong, this doesn’t make sense. Their eyes meet, his eyes are fearful, yes, grateful as well, but just a bit calculating, too, and her instincts say there’s something more to him.

He sits at the table looking exhausted as Emma asks Mulan (shit, how was this her life, fucking Mulan) more. The story Mulan tells her about the man seems perfectly plausible, but, “Why would Cora leave a survivor?” It’s too messy for someone like Cora. So she offers him some water.

He starts to explain how he hid under the bodies to survive, but there’s something wrong. He’s — not lying, not completely, but Emma’d be damned if he’s telling the full truth. So she leans her elbows down on the table, bringing her head level to his, I’m pretty good at knowing when someone is lying to me, she keeps her voice even, calm, face sympathetic, until —

“I’m telling you the truth,”

Her lie detector goes off.

Got you.

He’s good, she has to admit as she plasters on a sympathetic smile for him, but not good enough. I can guide you —

Ha, not a chance.

So Emma grabs him by the hair, pulls out her knife, and puts it to his throat.

“You’re not gonna guide us anywhere until you tell us who you really are,” she really can’t help the bit of pride that swells up at the flash of surprise in the man’s eyes.

2.

Just looking up at the beanstalk seems daunting. They had to climb that thing?

Whatever story you think you know, my dear, is most certainly wrong, has her scrounging her memory for what she remembered of Jack and the Beanstalk. Something with a cow, she remembered, and — was it a goose or a harp? Ah, she’s getting distracted, and Hook’s amused look and drawling voice really isn’t helping. Very bad form, he finishes his story.

“The treasure remains, and amongst it is the compass,” he says, focusing on her again, and really, why is he always speaking like she’s the only one in this group? “Once we get it, steal the ashes from her, then we’re on our way,” he finishes jovially.

“How do we know you’re not just using us to get the compass for Cora?” Mulan asks suspiciously, and really, Emma could become good friends with her, the way they easily agree.

Hook answers seriously, ‘cause you four are far safer company, clear of any deception. Good enough for now, she supposes, and suggests they start climbing. They’re wasting time sharing stories here.

Then Hook laughs a bit, says only he and one other can climb, and he is seriously getting on her last nerve, don’t be afraid to, y’know, really get into it, he grins, bouncing on his feet, looking completely delighted by this, and why did Captain Hook have to be gorgeous and not all perms and wax mustaches?

They move away from Hook, and she tilts her head back to peer up the beanstalk as the others argue. Damn, she can’t even see the top. How long would that take to climb? She absently hears them arguing over wars or something or another, and out of corner of her eye, she can see Hook trying to hide his impatience despite his earlier words.

The fact that she can relate to that irritation has her interrupting the others, because HenryHenryHenry; who cares about number of wars or who has more to lose when Henry is waiting for her? But she can’t trust Hook either, so she tells Mulan to cut the beanstalk down in ten hours if she’s not back down, makes her promise to bring Mary Margaret home.

Hook smiles cheekily at her, I was hoping it would be you, and she rolls her eyes as he puts the cuff around her wrist.

“I can’t climb one-handed, can I?” He protests, and begrudgingly, she gives him the hook, but, “Don’t think I’m taking my eyes off you for a second,” she warns.

He simply smiles, I would despair if you did, and up they climb.

3.

He’s talking.

She’ll ignore him, she will ignore him, she will ignore him, she will — “I’m concentrating,” Emma finally snaps.

“No, you’re afraid,” he says, and what? The hell does she have to be afraid about? “Afraid to talk, to reveal yourself,” he slows his climb to let her catch up to his side. “To trust me.”

Trust? Really? From him, of all people? “You should be used to people not trusting you,”

Hook only rolls his eyes, ah, the pirate thing, as if it was just some afterthought. You’re something of an open book, he tells her then, and Emma can’t help but pause, can’t help the faint amusement and curiosity, because she’s been called many things in life, but open book was definitely not one of them.

“Let’s see,” he starts, voice deceptively mild, “you volunteered to come up here because you were the most motivated, you need to get back to a child,” and Emma nearly scoffs, because he’s an eavesdropper, big surprise.

“Ah, but you don’t want to abandon him the way you were abandoned,” and still, his voice is casual, as though they were just talking about the weather, but Emma stills, because how could he know —

He looks away from her briefly as he explains something about Neverland, and Lost Boys, but she’s still scrambling to cover up whatever hell hole in her walls he managed to see past. The look you get when you’ve been left alone, but she didn’t come from Neverland, she’s not from some fairytale world despite what Henry says, she was just —

“But an orphan’s an orphan,” he continues. There’s something in his voice, but she won’t focus on it before this gets into more dangerous territory, but he doesn’t seem to notice, pushing on, love has been all too rare in your life, hasn’t it, and, have you ever even been in love, and no —

— nope no no no, absolutely not, she will not go there, will not think of her stolen bug, of stolen convenience store food, of a stolen keychain, of stolen moments in stolen motel rooms, of stolen watches, of a stolen future in a cold, empty jail cell with a positive pregnancy test, of two stolen years in —

No, she answers him, because how the hell had this man managed to see right past her walls in the few hours he spent in her company, when people who’ve known her months, years, had trouble doing the same? So she pushes ahead of the climb, resolutely ignoring his too perceptive gaze burning into her, focusing on the climb to run away from the memories that were threatening to resurface.

4.

She starts to turn away from the giant, to head back to the beanstalk, compass in hand, but then, try something new, darling, is ringing in her ears, and she hesitates, glancing back at the pile of rocks Hook is trapped under.

She can’t trust him, she can’t, she tries to convince herself as she asks the giant to keep Hook trapped but unharmed for ten hours. Every instinct she has tells her that he can be trusted, that he hasn’t once lied to her. Every instinct says that she can take a chance on him, that they could be allies, friends, maybe —

No.

No, no, he’ll turn on her the first chance he gets, she tries to think rationally. But he’s grinning at her, pure exhilaration on his face, and he calls her brilliant and amazing, without any lie or underlying motive, and he stares down at the compass in awe, and she can’t help but think of how human he looks when he’s like this, so far removed from any fairytale or cocky pirate captain persona or the man who would go to any lengths for his lost love.

Hook reaches for the compass and doesn’t even look all that bothered when she pulls away, simply smiling and offering up his hand, eyes bright, face open, and come, let’s go, and she takes his hand but she can’t.

If she’s wrong about him, she could lose Henry, could lose her way to Storybrooke, he could leave her cold and empty and lost in some dead realm, reminiscent of a cold and empty jail cell, lost for two years in Tallahassee.

She stares back at his bright and open face, watches as he gives her a tiny, encouraging nod.

She has no reason to be wrong about him.

She closes the shackles around his wrist.

His face goes slack with the shock, and it has her up and scrambling back out of his reach.

What are you doing, the way his voice trembles in his attempt to stay calm only serves to make her feel worse, eyes falling away from him. Her voice fails her as she tries to explain, explain that — that he — that she can’t—

“Emma, look at me,” he pleads, “have I told you a lie?”

He hasn’t. Not since she called him out on the blacksmith act, since she put a knife to his throat, since she tied him to a tree, and left him to ogres until she heard him call out to her, good for you, irritated and a little sulky and just a bit of grudging respect.

He didn’t lie when he smiled down at her, I was hoping it would be you, didn’t lie when he called her an open book, when he bandaged her hand with his scarf with a no, it’s not, or when she pressed him about the name on his wrist, despite the way he had shut down fast, faster than anything else she had seen from him yet.

His voice is still calm as he tries to reason with her, why do this to me now, gaze steady, as though it can still be easily brushed aside if she just lets him go, but —

“I can’t take the chance that I’m wrong about you,” because despite what her instincts say, she refuses to take that step (refuses to try something new), and “I’m sorry,” because she is. But he turned so quick on Cora, he could do just the same to them, turn back to Cora with the compass, and —

“You’re sorry? You’re sorry?” Hook pulls against the chain as he tries to move closer, voice furious. She’s shutting down, and fast. She can’t let him change her mind, she can’t take that chance, the chance she’s wrong, the chance of him betraying her, the chance of losing her way to Henry, the chance on him.

“And you’re not gonna die,” she refutes him, “I just need a head start, that’s all.”

And she’s turning away from him, walking back to the beanstalk, and he’s calling out to her, furious and desperate (betrayed, abandoned) but she won’t, she can’t look back, because —

She shuts her eyes against his shouts.

She leaves him behind.

(Because, despite her rationalizing, the more her instincts say he can be trusted, the more she wants to take that chance, to listen to her gut, to — to —

The more it terrified her. The more she needs to distance herself. What better way than to leave him in chains in some cold, empty room with a giant?)

5.

The compass disappears from her hand, and appears in Cora’s as she stares gleefully at it.

No.

No, what — ?

Emma pushes uselessly at the cell gates as Cora thanks Aurora for her help.

Thanks Auro—?

What?

She turns on her, furious, how would you do this, but she registers belatedly that Aurora looks as bewildered as them, and Cora’s crooning voice only confirms this as she pulls out a red, pulsing, beating heart. “You took her heart?” She stares, horrified. This — this is what it means when Regina — when Graham — when —

“Actually, I did,” Hook corrected her, voice low. Emma turns to him then, having tried and failed to ignore him leaning casually against the wall, staring fixatedly down at his hook, “it was a gift.” He finally turns to face them. He doesn’t say anything more, face completely closed off in a way she hasn’t seen on him aside from when she had asked about Milah, doesn’t flinch as Cora clenches her fist, Aurora crumpling in pain, doesn’t move until Cora passes him, pushing off the wall to follow.

“Hook,” she tried, desperate. She can’t lose the compass, lose Henry. “Wait,”

He pauses.

She breathed shakily, a desperate, irrational swell of hope as he turns to face her. “Please don’t do this, my son is in Storybrooke, he needs me.”

He moved towards her then, slow, measured steps, and just from the look on his face she knows she fucked up. “Perhaps you should have considered that before you abandoned me on that beanstalk,” his tone low and dangerous.

She shakes her head because that — it’s not — because — you would’ve done the same, and she keeps her grip against the bars, keeps her voice cool and knowing.

“Actually no.”

It’s said flatly, just plain fact.

That — that can’t be right.

She left him behind before he could do it to her, before he could do what he’s doing now, except—

He’s pulling out a bean on some sort of necklace, and she reaches desperately for it, unsuccessful, and this is a symbol, dangling the bean just in front of her, “something that was once magical, and full of hope, possibility... Now look at it,” once again his voice is deceptive, mild and unassuming, and she follows his gaze. “Dried up, dead. Useless. Much like you,”

He’s walking away, Emma realizes with increasing panic. Is this how he felt?

Just as I’m done with you, is this revenge for the way she left him chained up on the beanstalk, helpless but to watch her retreating back? Fitting, she thinks dimly to herself, watching him walk away.

He did betray her, just as she thought (because she did it first), and she thinks of her way back to Henry, fading with each step Hook takes away from them, thinks dimly of trying to call out to him (just as he did to her), thinks dimly of what could’ve happened if she had trusted him, trusted herself, would she still have wound up here, thinks dimly of how flat Hook’s words were to her, how closed off, a complete turn from the start of their climb up the beanstalk, thinks I did this, I did that to him, I got us caught in this trap —

She thinks maybe she should have trusted him, but now she won’t get a chance to right that wrong, doesn’t even know if she would want to if she got the chance.

6.

How could you not? You don’t believe in your parents. Or in magic. Or even yourself.

Goddamn Rumplestiltskin — Gold — whatever his name was now.

When have you ever taken a real leap of faith?

Because what they needed right now — when Henry was missing — was to separate.

You’re still just that bail-bonds person.

What the hell did he know, Emma thought bitterly, the burn in her muscles not doing anything to clear her mind. She paused a moment to catch her breath, pushing back the swell of frustration, the burning in her throat. Henry is missing. That’s the fact of the matter. This is no time to doubt herself, to —

“Aw, don’t stop on my account.”

Hook.

Of course. Because she needed more things on her mind, needed more questions she couldn’t find the answer to. “What are you doing?”

Getting ready for a fight, she manages to ground out, ignoring Hook’s quip, because like hell she would tell him that she was doing her own equivalent of a pep talk, of going through mindless, repetitive motions to try to clear her mind of Gold’s words, or tell him that she was starting to believe them, not because Gold had said it flat to her face, but because it was all already in her head.

And in what is starting to become a frustrating pattern, she doesn’t need to tell him anyway.

“Don’t let Rumplestiltskin get you down, love,” is said gently, free of any judgement, and dammit, how does he see through her so easily (open book), he had done it on the beanstalk, done it in Granny’s with a simple why are you really doing this, and the more time she spends in his presence, the more she understood the weight of her own words when Emma had told him you and I, we understand each other — God, was that just a couple hours ago?

“What do you want?” Because there was no chance she was going to go further with this. He pulls out a key as he starts to talk about Neal.

Yes, because an even better topic conversation with the man who can read her like no one else was her recently killed ex who she still has a shit ton of mixed and complicated feelings for.

Hook offers her a sword, then, a quiet this was his, has her looking up and taking a look at his face.

Emma might have a harder time understanding his particular motives right now, but she is not the only open book on this ship, she thinks, noting the way his eyes don’t meet hers, the way his head sways, the edge to his I’m not when she accuses him of being sentimental. What a terrible liar, she muses, trying to ignore the warm feeling starting to replacing the cold dread that Gold’s words had left.

“I just thought you could use it where we’re going, you know,” he hands her a shot glass, and Hook may be a terrible liar, but he’s certainly good at deflecting, she thinks, as he drawls out, “to fight.”

He pours her some rum, and somehow, the moment the glass was filled, she realizes that this was exactly what she needed. Not some pull ups to get ready for a fight, not to talk about her feelings with her parents, not pointless reassurances or empty promises and words. Just a moment to take a breath and process, free of outside influence. Thanks.

“To Neal,” Hook offers simply, and they toast and they drink and they sit in silence, and it is ridiculous how easy it is to be in his presence.

He comes with no expectations of who she should be, no underlying disappointment throughout every interaction when she is nothing expected, no pressure to be a lost daughter, or a mother who lost ten years with her son, or Neal’s ex, or some savior responsible for everyone’s happiness, or princess, or even a bail-bonds person.

With him, she simply is.

So she asks about Neal, because she can’t imagine him young and a teenager, playing pirate with Hook, because no matter how much he had broken her heart, how much just his name reminds her of the cold metal of a cuff around her ankle as she gave birth, or the cold metal of the watch on her wrist that night, being in Neal’s presence made her feel sixteen and recklessly in love again, and seeing him die made her wish for better closure, and being in Hook’s presence was easy and calming, and he was the only other person she knows who she could talk to about Neal.

(who she feels she could someday tell the whole story of her and Neal, without judgement or expectation or suggestions to forgive and forget)

Naturally, Hook sees right through her question, and true to form, as she is starting to learn, answers plainly and free of judgement or amusement or those stupid sympathetic looks that make her want to hit something. “Long enough to know I miss him, too.”

Their eyes meet. No more words are said, and it is quiet. The room is heavy. And it is easy.

7.

“Hook,” David says as soon as he separates from Mary Margaret. “He saved my life.”

Emma’s heart skips a few beats, focusing sharply on David, trying to find any injuries.

“Are you sure you wanna tell them that, mate?” Hook asks him cautiously, but Emma is far too worried about the idea that those two were in any situation at all that called for someone’s life being saved. Are they alright, what happened?

“On our trek,” David starts, “we were ambushed by Lost Boys. Pinned down, outnumbered, but Hook — he risked his life to stop me from getting hit by a poisoned arrow.”

He what? Now she turns to look at Hook, but he shifts uncomfortably, looking away from them all, forcing up a short smile as David approaches. “If it wasn’t for Hook, I wouldn’t be alive. Your flask, please,” Hook seems to be able to meet only David’s eyes as he hands him the flask. I thought he deserved a little credit.

Only now does Emma’s heart slow down a bit, because just how close had she come to losing her friend — her father? Thank you, Hook manages, but still looks supremely uncertain and uncomfortable, even with the gratefulness softening it just a bit. They pass the rum about, but Emma can’t help but stare.

Once again he surprises her, and once again, she sees that honorable gentleman peeking out from underneath that cocky pirate captain persona. She saw it when he took her hand, insisting on bandaging it, when he had smiled at her, so bright and open, her heart had skipped a beat, saw it when he had put himself to pains to reach for Aurora’s heart, when he had so blatantly thrown their fight at Lake Nostos (No way did she beat a pirate in a sword fight when she had only held a sword for a week), saw it when he turned his ship around, gave her the bean with a simple, maybe I just needed reminding that I could, saw it below the decks of his ship when he offered her Neal’s sword and they drank a toast to his memory.

To Hook, she murmurs, taking a swig of the rum, before turning back to him as the others return back to their camp.

He is turned away from her completely, staring fixatedly on a tree, and the words come out before she can stop herself, “D’you really save his life?”

“Does that surprise you?” he asks, and he barely glances at her before turning back to the tree. She gives back the rum.

“Well, you and David aren’t exactly... how do you say it? Mates,” she mimics his accent, expecting a smirk or a small laugh.

Instead, he finally turns to face her, serious and honest, “Doesn’t mean I’d leave your father to perish on this island.”

Thank you, is all she can say to the sincerity in his eyes and voice.

A slow, teasing grin spreads across his face, and she knows he’s putting up an act, directing their conversation to something much lighter, but regardless, Emma feels the mood lighten almost immediately, feels herself start to feel just a bit giddy, giddy from speaking to Henry, from David and Hook making it back safe, despite the sextant, from the rum, from this man standing across her, who constantly keeps her and her expectations on its toes, who she’s felt connected to since they climbed the damn beanstalk and he revealed just a bit of himself when he tied that damn scarf with his damn mouth, and turned his ship around and offered his assistance in helping Henry when there was nothing in it for him.

Perhaps gratitude is in order now, he muses, tapping his lips with his finger, and she can’t help but return his teasing smile, because “Yeah, that’s what the thank you was for,” but he just makes a quiet noise in the back of his throat as he takes just another step forward.

“Is that all your father’s life is worth to you?” Hook asks, and that giddiness seems to swell just a bit more, because, he saved David’s life. He turned his ship around, gave her Neal’s sword, gives advice freely, directed them to Tinkerbell, showed them what plants are safe to eat and which to avoid, even with all the doubts the others throw his way, and all the while, he simply turns to her, smiles, calls her excellent, backs all her ideas, and never once does he seem to doubt her.

“Please, you couldn’t handle it,”

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

He pops the t, the corner of his lips tugging up, and he stares at her with bright, open blue eyes, so so reminiscent of the look he had given her when she pulled him out of the rubble, calling her brilliant and amazing, and asking to see the compass, and offering his hand up to her.

She should leave.

She should walk away now, head back to David and Mary Margaret and Regina.

Oh, fuck it.

Her hands close around the collar of his coat, dragging him in for a kiss even before she could finish the thought. She keeps a death grip on his collar as the other winds up in his ridiculously soft hair, and his lips taste of rum and Neverland fruits, and he doesn’t move for a moment, far too surprised, before his hand comes up her own hair and he breathes in harshly through his nose and he responds, and oh.

Hook kisses the same way he does just about anything else; with everything he has. It has her burning, because he kisses like he’s challenging her, kisses like a drowning man taking a breath for the first time, kisses like she’s the sun and he hasn’t seen daylight in years, kisses like he’ll never kiss anyone again.

They separate, but their foreheads are pressed together, and she still has a death grip on his coat, and they are breathing harshly, and all she can think is, oh.

That was —

“That was...” and he sounds wrecked, stunned, as if he hasn’t just given her the best kiss of her life, and oh, oh, oh, oh no, but even with the growing panic, she feels good, and he feels good, and they feel good together, and —

A one-time thing, she forces herself to step away, to turn and head back into camp, and she makes the mistake of looking at his face, as stunned and wrecked as he sounds, brow furrowing at her words, and the words taste a bit wrong in her mouth, tastes like a lie, but it can’t be a lie, because there’s no chance she’s letting herself —

“Don’t follow me,” she instructs him, not letting herself look at him again, “Wait five minutes, go get some firewood or something.”

“As you wish,” he calls at her back, and the smile that spreads on her face is completely involuntary.

Her heart is still pounding, lips still burning, and she still feels so so good, for the first time since Henry was taken, she was in some semblance of a good mood, and he was the one to put it there, with his stupid easy faith, stupid smiles and compliments and suggestions, urging her to find a way to speak to Henry, and saving David’s life, and the stupid way he doesn’t even expect anything back, not even acknowledgement, and the stupid, goddamn way he kisses like his life depends on it, why the hell does he kiss like that.

What the hell made her think kissing him would be a good idea? She can panic about this later.

(She can still taste the rum and fruits.)

(She thinks maybe she really couldn’t handle it.)

8.

The whole Neal thing isn’t enough to distract from the burn on her lips, the memory of those bright, open blue eyes, or the teasing voice, or that damn kiss, like Hook was breathing air for the first time.

“I kissed him,” Emma blurts out the moment she and Mary Margaret are out of earshot from David and Hook.

“What?” she asks, “Who?” As if there’s an abundance of options she has of people to kiss.

“Hook, I kissed Hook,” and the memory of his lips on hers are still so fresh, the taste of rum and fruits, that bright, giddy feeling he had managed to bring out of her still echoing in her chest, even as the thought of finding Neal makes her heart ache.

“Oh,” says Mary Margaret, voice high, with surprise or suspended judgement or maybe both, maybe neither, Emma doesn’t know, “Wh-why?”

Because he sees her and has no expectations for her, because he doesn’t lie to her, because of the way he had smiled at her, the teasing lilt to his voice, the easy faith he puts on her, because he came back and offered to help save Henry, saved David, and because they shared a drink, shared moments on the ship, on the beanstalk, in this damn island, because try as he might, he just can’t hide that gentleman underneath the selfish pirate persona.

I don’t know, she says instead, “I-I was — it’s been a while, I was feeling good —“

“Did it mean anything?”

Yes, she thinks instinctively, except she doesn’t know what it means, doesn’t even know why she brought it up, because it was a one-time thing, and, it was just a kiss, because it should have just been a kiss, but her voice is starting to pitch defensively, completely involuntary, and she can still feel the pull of his lips on hers, the taste of fruit and rum, and the way he had kissed like —

“I’m sure Neal will understand,” completely falters her thoughts, because the hell does Neal have anything to do wi—

Oh, right, they’re on their way now to rescue her apparently not-so-dead-ex, the father of her son, who she said I love you to right before he fell into the portal, and she had just told her mother she kissed another man. It must seem like Emma was worried about what Neal might think, which — No. “If he’s still alive,”

“Emma, I get what you’re doing, you know,” says Mary Margaret carefully, “you don’t wanna open yourself up the the hope that he’s alive, but you should,” completely stops her in her tracks.

Why, She stares at Mary Margaret, heart sinking.

She had wanted some closure from Neal, yes, she deserved that closure after all that he’s done to her, the memory of that damn alleyway, cuffs closing around her wrists, and months in a cell with nothing but a keychain, car keys, and a positive pregnancy test, the way she couldn’t even bear to look at her son after she gave birth because then she’d never be able to let him go, to give him a life he deserves, the two years in Tallahassee waiting, just waiting, had her building up her walls higher and thicker than when she had left the system.

But with Neal gone, Emma had thought she could finally let it go, move past that part of her life, could live without the constant worry she had lived with for years that she would see him again someday, except she did, in possibly the worst way, slamming into him in some New York alleyway, with him getting mad at her for bringing Gold to him, scoffing and dismissing her like she was still sixteen and he hadn’t set her up to take the fall fo his crime. No, then he followed he back to Storybrooke with a fiancée who wound up kidnapping Henry for Peter Pan, even as he and her parents had dismissed all her suspicions as some petty jealousy.

No, she wanted to get closure and move on. She wasn’t sixteen and in love with the cool, older guy who had understood her anymore. She didn't want to feel sixteen anymore. She wanted to feel at ease, like she feels around Henry and his endless faith and belief in everything, around Mary Margaret before things became so much more complicated, around Hook, of all people, when he offers her a drink, when compliments and praise slip freely from his lips but seems to expects nothing in return, when he is always so open and easy to read when they are alone, when he reads her unnervingly well, not needing her to speak her doubts before he replaces it with that easy faith and a small smile.

“Because you deserve a happy ending, Emma,” Mary Margaret turns to face her, earnest, “and happy endings always start with hope,”

But what did it mean if the only hope she feels regarding Neal is the dark, grim hope that this was just a trick?

9.

“I thought Emma would wish to have something to remember you by,” Hook’s voice is terse.

“Oh, thanks, but she’s got me now,” and what? The hell is this about?

She holds out an arm to stop Hook from following Neal, woah, what was that about, but Hook is standoffish, can’t meet her eyes right, and dammit, he’s been having difficulty doing that since the Echo Caves. His words are halting, tense and just a bit uncomfortable, “I assumed he heard my secret, I also assumed you told him of our shared moment,”

“Why would you assume that,” she asks sharply. This time, he has no trouble holding her gaze, because I was hoping it meant something, but that is not the point, that is not what meant something, because it occurs to her that the only time Pan could’ve told him about Neal was immediately after their kiss, and still — “What meant something was that you told us Neal was still alive. Thank you,” she seems to be saying that to him a lot, and each time, she means it more and more. “Otherwise you could’ve kept Pan’s information to yourself.”

“Why would I have done that?” he asks genuinely, as though it never once occurred to him, as though he didn’t have everything to gain and nothing to lose if he kept the information to himself.

“Maybe Pan offered you a deal, why else would he tell you?”

“It was a test,” he says simply, unbothered, “he wanted to see if I’d leave an old friend to die, even if that old friend happens to be vying for the same woman I am,”

She stares, and thinks of how refreshing it is to speak with him, the way he doesn’t beat around the bush, the way he states his intentions plainly, never bothering with a lie, thinks of that gentleman he mentioned once, so long ago, shining through again, always there, underlying most of his actions, “And you chose your friend,” she doesn’t mean to sound so surprised.

He only shrugs, “Does that surprise you?”

She thinks she’s more surprised by how unsurprised she is.

Emma has learned so much more about Hook in their short time together, thinks of how easy it always is to be with him, to speak with him, to understand him, because he never says the words, but she knows the reason she is an open book to him is the same reason he is an open book to her.

You are a pirate, she says instead, smiling at him, wanting him to smile back, to laugh, but when he does, it is tinged with an uncharacteristic self-deprecation, yeah, that I am, and he looks down, looks away from her, and Emma thinks he shouldn’t sound like that (thinks she doesn’t want him to sound like that).

He takes a step closer, and somehow, she doesn’t feel even slightly uncomfortable by his closeness, by his openness, his sincerity, “But I also believe in good form. So when I win your heart, Emma — and I will win it. It will not be because of any trickery. It will be because you want me.”

She’s already known this, deep down. He never mentioned saving David voluntarily, even cautioned against David’s acknowledgement, he decided to be the first to speak his secret, to bear his heart to save Neal, never once bringing it up as a point of praise, and he’s so so honest, expecting nothing in return, simply happy to lay his heart down in her hands. She has to turn this conversation away from the direction it’s going, she has no time to examine her own feelings and desires, not while Henry is still in danger, she isn’t nearly as brave enough to examine herself, too scared to find out what that answer may be, where it may lead her to, and she’s nowhere near as brave as Hook to simply put herself out there like he is. “This is not a contest, Hook,”

“Isn’t it?” he questions mildly, “You’re gonna have to choose, Emma. You realize that, don’t you? Because neither one of us is gonna give up,” he gestures towards Neal’s general direction, but —

“The only thing I have to choose is the best way to get my son back,” she corrects him, because Henry will always be her priority, now, on Neverland when he’s in constant danger, back in Storybrooke where he is happy and surrounded by family, even regardless of whatever danger Storybrooke winds up in, and even when there’s no danger to be had.

“And you will,” says Hook simply, as though there isn’t even a single shred of doubt in his mind, and once again, Emma is struck by his simple faith. The answer is plain on his face, in his voice, in the silence of her lie detector, but somehow, the quiet doubt constantly on the back of her mind is calling out to her, and she can’t help but ask, can’t help the creeping vulnerability, you think so, because she has the feeling he wouldn’t laugh, wouldn’t brush it away, or mock or whatever else.

I’ve yet to see you fail, and there’s a shadow of a smile on his face as he stares back at her, but Emma knows it’s not a smile of mocking, “and when you do succeed,” he continues, uses when because in his mind, her victory is already guaranteed, no matter if they have no concrete plan to get to Henry, to defeat Pan, to leave Neverland, “well, that’s when the fun begins,” and he’s smiling properly now.

“Guys!” Neal calls out then, and Hook’s eyes dart to somewhere behind her, his face smooths out into his usual vaguely disinterested expression, hiding away the heart he so easily opens when they’re alone, but Emma is slow to tear her eyes away from him, because she still shaken, moved by his confidence and belief in her, the same that she’s only ever seen on Henry, with his unfaltering faith in the goodness of people, even ones he’s called evil, with his but I believe in you, before he collapsed and leaving her in panic and believing in magic, for him.

(She thinks she could be in serious trouble with this man.)

(She thinks she might already be in serious trouble with this man.)

10.

Emma doesn’t want to leave. Not when she had finally found her parents, found her son, found a place she could belong (a place she could call home). She’s barely holding back her tears, can see Henry doing the same, and they’re at the town line, her Bug already at the edge, but she doesn’t want to go.

Hook approaches her as soon as she moves away from the crowd, and she starts to feel even worse.

She doesn’t know what to say to him, what she wants him to know, and judging by his uncertain expression, he feels the same.

“That’s quite the vessel you captain there, Swan,” he attempts lightly, and it brings out a smile from her, however shaky, because he always seems to be able to do that to her.

She doesn’t know what she wants to say to him, but she knows she could very possibly regret not saying anything at all more than anything else.

If she has to leave, if she can never see him again, Emma knows she has to say goodbye, knows she owes it to him, owes it to herself, owes it to them.

But the smile fades from his face, and he looks about the same as she feels, and “There’s not a day that will go by that I won’t think of you,” and she knows he is not lying, does not need to use her superpower with him because he wears his damn heart on his sleeve when it comes to her, because if there’s one thing she can count on, it’s Captain Hook — Killian Jones’ honor and dedication and honesty, knows that when he makes a promise, he keeps it, and she doesn’t even have to look much further than how they met, him dedicating himself to centuries avenging an old love.

There was something building between them, she knows. It’s why she ran from him in the first place so long ago on the beanstalk. She doesn’t need his open honesty about his feelings, doesn’t need the Echo Caves to know. She was in trouble with him from the start, since he read her like an open book, and she ran from it, and she knew the moment she kissed him that whatever it was, it wasn’t something she could keep running from forever.

Until now.

(Until she felt that she might not really want to run anymore.)

But even now, when they’ll never see each other again, when there’s no consequence to keeping his heart hidden from her, he tells her the truth, tells her he won’t stop thinking of her, and she thinks, for once, he deserves some honesty in return, because she may not know what she feels for him, may not return whatever it is he feels for her, but dammit she cares about him, and she’s going to miss him. So she says good, because that’s all she can manage to say, but he still manages to understand her meaning, and he smiles, and steps back.

(She thinks her heart might just break a bit more.)

They may never know what it was that was building, but she has never met another person she could understand so well, who could understand her so well, who she feels she could someday let her walls down for, who she felt truly connected with.

She never knew what kindred spirits meant until she met him.

But then Regina says she and Henry will lose their memories, lose the years they spent in Storybrooke, lose the knowledge that she had found her family, the knowledge that she was wanted, and that Henry has more family than he could possibly know to do with, but could still easily love enough to fill his big heart, and her own heart breaks, breaks for her son, for herself, for her parents and Regina, who can’t even have the comfort that they would be thinking about them, and for Hook, who had promised her everyday but she can’t even return the favor for one more day.

(somehow, she knows, even without her memories, she would have regretted not saying goodby to Hook.)

But they are out of time, and she and Henry get into the Bug, and she starts driving.

She can feel her parents gaze, can feel Hook’s eyes, can feel her memories fading, being replaced, but she holds on as long as she can, until there’s nothing left to hold on to.

(She wonders, later, at the incredible sense of loss she feels, wonders at her acquired taste for rum, wonders at the melancholy she feels when she stares out at the ocean, or when she watches Disney movies with Henry, wonders why everything just feels wrong, feels like there’s something missing.)

11.

Emma had started to wonder who was more insane; the madman dressed head-to-toe in leather rambling about curses and family — or her for thinking, for feeling, that some part of what he’s saying actually made sense.

The moment he had turned up, nothing felt right anymore (nothing had felt right all year), felt strangely like she had known the man who showed up at her door, felt very much insane for actually leaning into the kiss for a split second, felt like she wanted to trust him, felt so much like she was missing something, something so, so, important.

Except nothing the man had said made any sort of logical sense, and she can’t get him out of her thoughts, her head, and Walsh’s proposal wasn’t helping her keep her head straight, and even when she’s throwing him in jail, she can’t help but seek him out again. But she needs answers, and he’s just pleading with her to take a baseless leap of faith, to trust him, trust herself, and he hasn’t lied once to her, no matter how insane the words spilling from his lips are.

(Everything in her is telling her to do it, to try something new.)

“As much as you deny it, deep down, you know something’s wrong, deep down, you know I’m right,” he insists, but it’s not possible, and how could she forget all of this?

He pulls out that tiny blue vial again, offers it out to her again, and again, Emma is struck by the strange familiarity of the action struck by the feeling that she knows what it feels for him to offer a drink, (for her to take it). “If you drink this it will,” he says quietly, and it’s all insane, he is insane, and she must be insane for wanting to take it, because —

“If — if what you’re saying is true... I’d have to give up my life here,”

“It’s all based on lies,” he insists.

“It’s real,” she protests, “and it’s pretty good! I have Henry, a job — a guy I love!”

His face falls, and he looks down at the grown as though he can’t meet her eyes, as though it will give him something to say, give him courage, and “Perhaps there’s a man that you love in the life that you’ve lost,” and Emma —

Stares. He’s talking about himself, she realizes. Knows it in herself, knows it like she knows anything else, although, perhaps that’s the wrong analogy now that he’s turned her life upside down in the span of a day.

“Regardless,” he plows on, as though he hadn’t really meant to reveal so much, like he’s trying to cover up his vulnerabilities, cover up the heart he hadn’t meant to open up to her, “if you wanna find the truth, drink up. Do you really want to live a life of lies? You know this isn’t right, trust your gut, Swan, it will tell you what to do,”

“Henry always says that,” she says quietly, staring at him, and he stares back, open, honest, earnest, and she thinks that maybe her resolve has crumbled.

“Then if you won’t listen to me, listen to your boy,”

Emma has no reasons left, not when he clearly means well, not when all her instincts are saying he can be trusted, that she can take a leap of faith with him, not when he’s looking at her like that, not when both he and Henry trust her to trust herself, when he had — intentionally or not — revealed himself to her with a man that you love in the life that you’ve lost.

So she takes the vial and drinks and —

She remembers, remembers lighting a candle on a cupcake, remembers Henry smiling at her on her doorstep, remembers Storybrooke, the clocktower moving, the dragon she fought when she finally believed, remembers Henry, cold and pale and lifeless until he woke with a kiss, remembers her parents, Neal, shot, falling through the portal, remembers Hook, the way he had looked at her at Echo Caves, remembers saying goodbye, remembers leaving —

She hadn’t even realized she had closed her eyes until she opens them, sees Hook watching her, anxious, worried, and oh, “Hook,” she breathes out, and he lights up at her, smiles like everything is okay, alright.

“Did you miss me?” he grins, and Emma wonders if it’s possible to have missed something she never even knew she had lost, but she remembers now, remembers the drinks they shared, the moments they had alone, the words and promises given, remembers the times she had wondered why she suddenly had a taste for rum, had a strange sense of melancholy whenever she took Henry to the seaside, knows now that yes some part of her had missed him even when she didn’t know she had lost h—

(He is not hers to lose, she reminds herself.)

(But she also remembers ‘until I met you’, remembers ‘when I win your heart’, remembers ‘not a day will go by’, and she simply knows, knows from the way he looks at her now that he had kept that promise, and she thinks, somewhere deep, deep down, that he just might disagree with that.

She wonders at how she is more scared at the fact she isn’t as scared at that as she should be.)

Later they are sat at her apartment, and she sets down two glasses and a bottle of rum as he recounts what happened after their return to the Enchanted Forest, recounts his return to piracy, and “Glad to see you haven’t changed,” she quips, because her mind is still reeling, the sudden simplicity and comfort of her life the past year twisted upside down, the sinking feeling that her memories of holding Henry as a baby, of changing her mind, of taking care of him and raising him are just stories, and nothing feels real anymore, nothing feels right, and if just one thing, just one person could still be the same, that would be very much appreciated.

But Hook only picks up his glass, “There wasn’t anything for me in the Enchanted Forest,” he says simply, “Why would I stay?”

And Emma has nothing she can think of saying, but she wants to say something, because again, he’s talking about her, knows he is, even if he never says the words, thinks (hopes) he hadn’t just disappeared off all on his own, thinks maybe he doesn’t do all that well on his own, thinks of the centuries he had spent on revenge for his first love, thinks of the promise he had made her in Neverland and at the town line, and thinks just maybe —

She opens her mouth, but before she can scrounge up something to say, he tilts his glass for a toast, and she falters, tapping her own glass to his. “And all was well,” he continues, leaning back in his seat, “until I got a message, a message saying there was a new curse, and everyone had been returned to Storybrooke, the message told me that the only hope — was you,”

“You came all the way back here to save my family?” she doesn’t mean for it to sound so doubting, but once again, there was absolutely nothing in it for him, he clearly hadn’t even been caught up in the curse, hadn’t even been with any of them for a year, yet he had gone to pains to track her down in New York, gone to pains to keep trying to convince her to trust him, no matter how long it had taken, how many times she called him crazy, or had slammed the door in his face, or left him to prison.

I came back to save you, is said plainly, so matter of factly that it nearly sounded flat, and Emma doesn’t know what to say to that, because again, he isn’t expecting praise or gratitude, isn’t saying it for anything other than to keep honest with her, because he had again, come back for her, because even back in Neverland he never kept his feelings a secret from her and she can’t even bring herself to return the favor, because he isn’t even expecting her to return the favor, and just how had he managed to find her, get to her?

So instead, she asks him who could’ve done this, but he knows just about as much as she does, alas, you’re the Savior, not me, and he downs the rest of his rum, but Emma can’t help but laugh, because, “You know what I was yesterday? A mother. Until you showed up and started poking holes into everything I thought was real. Drinking that potion was like waking up from a dream — a really good dream,”

She wonders at how easy it is to confide this to him.

“Well you have what matters most — your son,”

“Now I have to figure out how to explain this to him,”

Hook looks apologetic, “Alas, I could only scavenge together enough for one dose of memory potion,”

“I’d better start figuring out what I’m gonna tell him,” she replied quietly, and dammit how the hell had her life just gotten so much harder, so much more complicated in a single day? She has no idea what to even say to Henry, how to make this not sound absolutely insane, and —

The door buzzes, and Hook asks who it is, but oh shit how had she forgotten about Walsh? Henry invited him, she explains, and Hook turns, offers to get rid of him, but her life may not have been real, her memories all jumbled up and twisted and messy right now, but whatever lives she and Henry had made this past year was real, the eight months she spent with Walsh was real, and I owe him an explanation, even if she doesn’t know what that explanation is, or even where to begin.

“What are you going to say to him?” Hook asks, and Emma just feels very tired, just wants to take a damn moment to process everything, take a moment without having to figure out how to explain this insanity to Walsh or Henry, but Hook has been honest to her, and the least she can do is return that honesty.

“I don’t know. But I care about him too much to drag him into all this. Wait here,” she requests.

But turns out she hadn’t needed to think of something to say to Walsh, because Walsh is a fucking flying monkey and Walsh had just tried to kill her, because of course. Why had she even thought that having some semblance of a normal life would be possible for her?

Hook comes bursting through the door to the rooftop, calling out to her in worry, because of course he did, what the blazes was that, but Emma just feels the betrayal, the grief, rage, bitterness swelling up, and maybe the stress of the whole day is getting to her, because again, she just answers him honestly, “A reminder. That I was never safe, that what I wanted — what I thought I could have was not in the cards for the Savior,”

The way he looks at her just makes her feel a bit worse, like he knows exactly what she’s referring to, like he wants to disagree but wouldn’t know if he would be overstepping, like he wants to say something but doesn’t know what, but she’s exhausted, drained from the day, from finding out her life is a lie, from Walsh, so she pushes past him, “We leave in the morning.”

(The next morning Hook pounds on the door, she lets him saunter in and he greets her with a wide grin, looks amused at Henry asking if he skipped bail, looks offended at the slight against his clothes, and she calls him Killian for the first time, it’s strange how right it feels to use his name, no matter how wrong it feels lying to Henry, and she reaches for her red leather jacket, reaches for her armor, because she needs it after Walsh, after how her life turned out to be wrong, after how easy it was to confide in Hook.)

(Somehow, she feels that not even her armor can help her much when it comes to Hook.)

12.

“You’ll look for any excuse to use that thing, won’t you?” Emma doesn’t bother hiding her amusement as Hook shakes at the berries with his — well, hook.

“At least we know we’re in the right place, what now?”

“Now we start searching.”

“You know something, Swan,” he starts lightly, “whenever you’re around, I inevitably find myself trekking through some manner of woods or forest courting danger,” he drawls.

“And here I thought you weren’t afraid of anything, always looking for the next adventure,”

“Oh, is that what this is?” he questions her.

“Isn’t it? The hell were you doing for the last year alone on that ship? I’m guessing it was one swashbuckling tale after another. Until you decided to come back and save me,”

She isn’t being fair to him, she knows. But something happened to him in the past year, something has that melancholy constantly in his eyes shining even stronger, something he’s hiding from her, and Walsh is still fresh in her mind, just one more person she had opened her heart to, only to have been hiding something, only to have been lying, just one more person she hadn’t expected the worst from, only to turn around and betray her, and the bitterness at the memory is just rising, frustration from everything going on building, and she still doesn’t know why he came for her.

She isn’t being fair to him, Emma smiles bitterly, because Hook may not be lying, but he’s certainly hiding something from her, and she’s incredibly tired of people not being who they say they are, and fuck she’s stressed and frustrated, frustrated from Walsh, from the lack of answers, from the new curse, her false memories, lying to Henry, and Killian is right there.

“Exactly,” he answers her shortly, and Emma thinks this is the first time he’s really lied to her since they met, and her frustration grows. She isn’t being fair to him but she’s too frustrated to care right now, you’re lying, she turns, confronts him, and Hook’s eyes go flat. “Excuse me?”

“What happened back there, what aren’t you telling me?”

“Nothing,” he says cooly, “It’s my tale and I’m sticking to it,” but I still don’t believe you, and she’s only half aware of why she’s still pushing it, still desperately wants answers, wants to know what was so bad that he’s lying to her, wants to know what he’s been doing, how far he had to go to find her, why he went through all that trouble to return her memories, return her to Storybrooke, why he came for her at all, because as much as she wants to trust him, as much as she already trusts him, experience has taught her there has to be more.

But he’s not budging, he’s standing tense, he sounds frustrated as well, “Let’s just leave it at that and you can just say thank you,”

“For my memories? I already did,” and then he mentions Walsh, calls it a would-be loveless marriage, and that — that wasn’t — is that — “Is that what you think you’re doing?” because as good at Hook is at making her feel good, feel at ease, he’s equally good at pushing, getting her on the defensive (just as she knows she is equally good at doing the same to him).

“He was a flying monkey,”

“I didn’t know that,”

“Were you considering it? His proposal?” he asks quietly, and why is he — does it matter, because she really doesn’t want to get into this with anyone, with him, “Humor me,” and Emma kind of wants to laugh at the situation, two people who can read each other ridiculously well, keeping their secrets close to their chest, pushing for answers, but neither willing to budge. But as frustratingly as ever, as much as she wants to shove him away, wants to keep her own feelings, own thoughts in check, he is frustratingly good at pushing her, pushing her buttons, frustratingly easy to speak to.

“Yes, okay,” she snaps, “I was in love, so of course I was considering it. But as usual, he wasn’t who he said he was, and I got my heart broken, that enough humor for you?”

Because the lies, the betrayal is still raw, because she had lived a damn good life in New York, with her son and a guy she had loved, because Hook had shown up on her doorstep and woke her up from that life, because now, once again, she’s been burned by love, betrayed by someone she trusted, because Hook is frustratingly good at bringing out all sorts of feelings she’d much rather keep locked away, because she had started pushing him for answers and in the end, she was the one spilling her secrets, and now she’s even more upset and frustrated than when they had started speaking.

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but I’m glad to hear that,” he says instead, and what? Is there any right way to take that? But because it’s Killian, she knows he means what he says, and she has already let him see past her walls, showed him a piece of her heart, so she gives him the benefit of the doubt, you’re glad to hear I had my heart broken, because she wants to know —

And he’s taking a step closer to her, “If it can be broken,” and her sharp intake of breath was completely involuntary, because he’s so close, he hasn’t been this close since their kiss, and the way he looks at her — “It means it still works,”

She had wanted answers from him, but he’s answering the wrong questions. She doesn’t need her superpower to tell he’s sincere, not with the way he’s looking at her, like he’s speaking from experience, like it’s a lesson he had recently learned (like it’s a lesson she had been the one to teach him), but she has nothing she can say, nothing she wants to say, not when he’s still hiding something, not with Walsh still fresh in her memory, in her heart, not with this damn new curse, and goddamn everything, not now.

Not when, as much as she trusts him already, trusts him to have her back, to be around Henry, she can’t trust him with her heart.

So she does what she does best and runs. (She can hear it takes him several moments to follow, wonders what he was thinking, wonders why she cares about what he thinks.)

13.

Her magic swells, and she can feel the hot cocoa in front of her disappear, shift, reappear over to the booth Killian sits in, on top of the book he’s reading, and the success has her slamming her hand down the counter in delight, “Boom! Granny’s to-go. I should open a franchise,” she sings out, because she feels great, and it’s always so easy to be with Hook, and even just thinking about him makes her think of what he did for her, for Henry, for Ariel, and she feels good, dammit.

“It’s impressive,” he offers, and what, that’s it? She settles into her seat across from him, and she wants him to look impressed, sound more impressed, but he’s been looking drawn and exhausted since he helped Ariel, and she wants him to smile at her, laugh with her, tease her, wants him lighten up, to open up about whatever is bothering him.

“Wanna see something really impressive?” she asks him, pleased smile spreading as she looks at him, and he only sighs, looking back, and nope, that isn’t lightening up, so she waves her hand, feels the surge of magic, and hears the clink of his hook falling onto the coat rack. The continued success has her giggling (god, giggling, what the hell does being in his presence do to her?).

She wants him to laugh, to smile, to make some snarky comment or casual praise, or tease her, wants to help remove whatever cloud has been settling on his shoulders, whatever it was that had him distant, closed off.

Instead, he scowls, getting up to retrieve his hook, that’s bad form, Swan, tampering with a man’s hook, and if she hadn’t already been worried for him before, she certainly would be now. “Okay, seriously, what is up with you?” she keeps her tone light, because maybe she’s reading too much into it, but she’s still curious, worried for him.

“I apologize for my rudeness,” he sighs, getting back to his seat, “It’s a long story, too long for now,” and he takes a swig from his flask, and clearly she wasn’t reading too much into it, but now she is properly worried for her best friend.

Oh god.

Emma had to stop and take a moment as it occurred to her. Because somehow, somewhere along the way, between Neverland and New York and the Wicked Witch of the West, Killian Jones, Captain Hook, had become her best friend — her confidant.

Because in this completely fucked up town filled with fairy tales, where her parents are Snow White and Prince Charming, and she’s after the Wicked Witch with her friends Belle, and the Evil Queen, and — yes, Captain Hook — for as long as she’s known him, even with his flowery language and pirate regalia and cluelessness to modern conveniences, he’s always felt the realest person around, both of them equally cynical and sarcastic, both burned by the world, both had to learn to fend for themselves early on.

How was this her life.

But regardless, something serious is bothering him, and she has confided in him many times before, back in Neverland, in New York, about Neal, about Walsh, about her doubts, her frustrations, and for once she wants to be able to return the favor, “Okay,” she starts slowly, “obviously, something’s —“

But then Belle slams the door to the Diner open, stumbling in with a great, old, massive book, calling out to her and dropping the book on the table hastily. “Zelena’s plan,” and she must’ve been running to them because she’s still panting, “I figured out what she’s doing,” and suddenly Emma has more to worry about than how Killian had managed to secure his spot as her best friend, has to take a rain check on figuring out what was wrong with him, has to push her worries aside for now.

(They may not be in the forefront of her mind, but it certainly resurfaces every time her eyes fall on him, sees the shadows in his eyes, sees the way he looks like he’s holding the weight of the world on his shoulders, sees the way he has no patience for just about anything, the way his quips are born more often from frustration than attempts at humor, and the way she doesn’t know how to help.)

14.

“I never should have brought Henry back to Storybrooke,” Emma tells Hook, because no matter how pissed of she is with him at the moment, he’s still the easiest person to talk to.

“You did what you felt was right,”

“I did what you manipulated me into,” and yeah, she isn’t being all that fair to him, knows she’s not being rational, knows it was very much her own choice, but she’s still so angry, still lashing out at him, because he lied to her, put Henry in danger, and she cursed me, and had broken her trust, and he’s talking about her parents and the town needing her, but “Henry, also needed me. We were happy in New York, and when I’m done melting this witch, I’d like us to be happy again.”

“You know, as content as you were in that city, it wasn’t real,”

“It was real for me,” she denies, “For him, everything that happened, happened,” but, as always, Hook isn’t afraid to keep pushing her, even when she’s already furious with him, when he knows she’s angry, and like it or not, a big part of you and Henry belongs in this town, but Henry had nearly died today, Neal had died in her arms, Zelena’s after her unborn sibling, Killian himself had been cursed, been turned into a weapon against her, turned into an attempt at taking her magic.

“What does the boy think?”

“He’s a kid! He wants chocolate milk in his cereal, I’m his mother, I know what’s best for him.”

“What’s best for him?” he asks, slowing his walk to face her properly, to urge her to a stop as well, and he looks rather unimpressed by any of her arguments, “or for you?”

“Excuse me?” she scoffs, pushing past him.

“You’ve taken care of the boy quite well here,” he points out, catching up to her “you talk about danger all you like, but it isn’t that. So tell me, what is it? Why are you so scared of staying? I think it’s because you can see a future here — a happy one,”

She does not want to get into this with him, doesn’t want to consider just how right he might be, doesn’t want to look any deeper for why she wants to run back to New York, so she reaches for the nearest thing she can to push him away, “Let me guess — with you?”

It hits the mark, and before Emma can even start to feel guilty at the look on his face, the look she put there, Zelena interrupts, drawling sarcastically, and Emma has no patience for her, the weeks of frustration that had been building in her, the fear for Henry, for her parents, for her sibling, the anger for Neal and Hook —

“Next time you try taking my power, why don’t yo try enchanting the lips of someone I’ll actually kiss,” she snaps at her.

“See, Emma, you’ve got a decision to make,” and Emma’s just getting more annoyed by the tone of her voice, “You can keep your magic, which makes you oh-so-sad, or you can save the man that you can’t wait to run away from,”

She barely even has time to register Zelena’s words, to question her, before Gold sends Hook flying and into a water-filled well, holding him in place, and —

Her heart leaps into her throat, any anger she had been holding on for him rapidly fading in the face of him being in danger, and she’s running for him, grasping at his shoulders, pulling and pulling, but he doesn’t budge, he’s trapped and drowning and he’s struggling, struggling, and Killian is the one drowning but Emma can’t breathe, because his fight is fading, he’s falling limp and —

“Try all you like,” Zelena calls out to her, and Emma snaps out of it, turning to her, “you can’t free him,” and Emma thinks the coldness of her voice might just be worse than the mocking, because she’s staring down at them impassively, only the faintest smirk on her face, but Killian is still underwater, and she disappears in a cloud of green, and only then does she finally, finally, pull him free.

The relief is short-lived.

She’s calling out his name, but he’s just lying there, and he’s not responding, not breathing, she’s calling his name but he still won’t wake up and he can’t die, she couldn’t handle it, Hook, wake up, she thinks of Graham, thinks of Neal, and she couldn’t bear to lose one more person she cares for, and Killian, come back to me, she doesn’t even care if she’s begging, because he’s too still, he shouldn’t be this still —

Not this man who’s always so animated, who speaks thousands of words with just a look, who wears his heart on his sleeve, who feels and shows his emotions with all his whole being, who’s constantly emphasizing his words with hand gestures or his stupidly animated eyebrows, or his deep blue eyes, who’s smile and humor always manages to brighten her own mood, who had come back for her, who keeps coming back for her.

She can’t lose him.

She has nothing to help him with, but he’s still lying in front of her, Hook, she tries again, but there’s nothing around, and she’s out of options, but they still need her magic to stop Zelena, but Killian is dying, and she thinks the last time she felt this all-consuming fear was when Henry had been cold and limp and breathless, under the sleeping curse, and when he had given his heart to Pan.

She can’t lose him.

But without her magic, they’ll be out of options, out of weapons.

See, Emma, you’ve got a decision to make.

She can’t lose him, magic be damned.

Son of a bitch, she mutters, before pinching Killian’s nose shut to give him CPR.

(As if there’s any decision to be made.)

She feels her magic drain, feels the wrongness of it, but Emma pulls back, and he’s still not breathing, and she’s starting to get desperate and she’s cradling his face, and, Hook, come back to me, she whispers, she pleads —

And then he’s twisting, coughing out water, and Emma thinks maybe she could cry from the relief, she certainly feels herself slump over a bit, and her hand comes up to cradle the back of his head just before it slams back on the ground, and he’s saying her name, and it’s shaky, it’s weak, still just a bit waterlogged, but Emma can’t remember the last time she felt so relieved, so happy to hear someone just say her name, but Hook’s hand comes up to his lips and —

“What did you do?” he asks roughly, “What did you do?” because of course he cares more about her magic than his own life, because he’s so ridiculously selfless despite what he pretends, because she had been furious at him just minutes before, had told him she couldn’t trust him anymore, didn’t give him the benefit of the doubt, because she keeps pushing him away, keeps running from him even when he’s the easiest person to talk to, confide in — maybe because he’s the easiest person to talk to.

But she won’t take this from him, not now, not when she had nearly lost him, not when she can’t bear to lose anyone else she cares for, not when all she could think of when he lay limp and lifeless was how much he means to her, his smiles and jokes and sarcasm and cynicism and even his damn broodiness, how much she couldn’t stomach the idea of losing him, losing what he is to her, even if she doesn’t know what that is yet.

Right now, right this moment, all that matters to her is that Killian is still alive, that Killian is breathing, and she’ll bask in this for now.

15.

David’s calling her.

She should answer, but she can’t think of anything to say to him, doesn’t particularly want to talk to him about this, doesn’t want to try to get him to understand. You’re making a mistake, Hook calls out, because of course he’d be the one to come after her, to follow her, and if she didn’t to speak to David about this, she definitely doesn’t want to speak to Hook, who’s far too good at knowing how to push her.

“Don’t listen to me, listen to your son,” he says, undeterred, slowing only once he’s reached her, “he thought this,” and he pulls out the stupid, goddamn storybook out of his satchel, holding it out to her, “might remind you of what you’re leaving behind — your family.”

“Henry is my family, and I am taking him where he is safe.”

“No, Swan, safety first nonsense is just that. You defeated the bloody Wicked Witch, you defeated Pan, you broke the curse — but you keep running. What are you looking for?”

Because he always seems to know that there’s more, always manages to read her fears, and really, there isn’t much point in lying to him, either, so she answers quietly, home, hopes he’ll leave it at that. Except he never does. “And that’s in New York?” he questions doubtfully. “That wasn’t real,”

Except the last year, the last year when she had some semblance of a normal life, with her son and a job (a guy she loves), and yeah, they were fake memories, but she and Henry can go back and make new memories, make it real, make it feel like home, but Hook shakes his head, “Why can’t you do that here, with your entire family?”

And her eyes fall to the storybook he’s still holding out to her, and she’s reminded, again, of the story her parents were telling her new brother, some ridiculous first meeting with a robbery, and ogres, and knights, of magic and True Love, and Emma?

Emma is no fairytale story, no outlandish adventures, no balls and gowns and crowns and ruling kingdoms — just foster home after foster home, either unwanted by the family or she herself making the decision to leave, to run. She was just a bailbonds person with a criminal record and a son from a teenage pregnancy, and she may have magic, may be from True Love, or whatever else fairytale story she hears, but that’s all they are — stories — and she snatches the book from his hands impulsively, “Because of this! I don’t see my family here, I see... fairytales, I see stories of princes and princesses and — that’s not me. I was never a part of any of this,”

Because Emma feels that if anyone can understand her, it is Hook. “Then what are you a part of, Swan?” he asks gently, because her instincts about him are rarely wrong, and she realizes, suddenly just how swapped their positions are now from the year before, when she told him he could become a part of something rather than going off and being alone.

He had done it, had helped them rescue Henry from Neverland, had found her and returned her memories, brought her to her parents, stood and helped and fought at her side, and is now — one of the heroes. And now he sits with her, asks if she is a part of something, if she would rather try and be a part of something or go off and do what she does best. “Besides being with Henry, I don’t think I’ve ever been a part of anything,” she answers him honestly.

“But you could be,” Killian finally moves to sit beside her.

Emma sighs, shutting the book, turning to face him properly. “Look, when I was a kid, I ran away, it’s just what I did,” she would get no judgement from him, she knows this, “The first time I did it, I had the same exact thought. I wondered, what if I’m making a mistake, what if I miss this place?”

“And did you?”

“Not the first time. Not any time.”

“So you just keep running,” and Emma can’t quite figure out what’s in his voice, but she has never found a home, never found a place she missed when leaving, and home is the place, when you leave, you just miss it, and she couldn’t miss what she never even remembered she had, couldn’t miss her parents or Storybrooke or Hook, not the past year, couldn’t remember if she ever, truly regretted running from some place, something, someone, and really, she doesn’t even miss New York, only the vague idea of a normal life, and until she feels that? She’ll just keep moving, keep running, keep her walls high up, keep doing what she does best, keeps being alone.

“So you’re just going to leave your parents then? Don’t you even care about them? Or anyone in this town?”

He’s not talking about the town. Emma knows this as well as she knows he had been talking about himself in New York, perhaps there’s a man that you love, but does he really not know? She still remembers him cold and lifeless, not waking up no matter how hard she shakes him, how loud she calls his name, still remembers the cold terror that she might lose him, remembers all the drinks they shared, the times he was her first thought when looking for someone to take care of Henry, remembers him sitting across from her in an empty diner, the weight of his curse leaving him distant, snappish, and all she had wanted was to hear him tease her again.

She thinks sometimes he is the only one she wants to talk to, thinks he might be the only one she feels comfortable telling all of this to, thinks she’s —

She’s leaving, but she doesn’t want him to doubt, “Of course I care. I just have to do what’s right for me, and Henry, and —”

There’s a great, glowing beacon reaching up to the sky, and she’s up and heading towards it before she even registers getting up from the bench, and, again, Hook is up and calling after her, chasing her.

16.

“You might not be able to move, Swan,” Hook starts, sounding mildly amused, “but you cut quite the figure in that dress.”

Emma can’t stop the pleased grin spreading on her face. You’re not so bad yourself, pirate, she thinks delightedly, but before she can speak, Midas approaches and greets them, who do I have the honor to welcome into my home, and oh shit, they hadn’t discussed aliases, and Hook is being absolutely no help, “Charles, Prince Charles,” she interrupts his stammering, “And I am Princess... Leia.”

Henry would be so proud, she thinks as she curtsies. They move in, and she’s been told so many stories, but now she’s living it, thinks of all the time Mary Margaret and David mention this or that ball and, “What’s the big deal about these things?” she asks Killian, but he doesn’t answer.

He doesn’t have to, after all, and Emma stares at the people mulling about in lavish clothes and sharing food and socializing, and stares at the center of it all, where people have paired up, dancing smoothly to the music, and it really is as fairytale as it sounded.

“You were saying?” he whispers teasingly, and only then does Emma realize she’s gaping, and all these princes and princesses, dancing with one another in unfamiliar movements — what am I supposed to do?

But Hook is taking her hand gently, slowly tugging her into the crowd, and he’s got a look on his face that Emma doesn’t want to name, smiling at her delightedly, blend in, and for a pirate, he doesn’t look remotely out of place, looks completely at ease with the situation, and hang on, wait, so many things could go wrong, she doesn’t know how to dance, and, “Wait, are you saying you know how to do — whatever this is?”

“It’s called a waltz,” he says cooly, settling one of her hands on her shoulder, moving the other to his false hand, and “There’s only one rule,” he continued, gently resting his hand on her waist, and he’s so close to her, their eyes meet, and and he’s completely open to her, another one of those moments when he’s completely dropping his pirate persona, the flirtatious bravado, letting her see that gentleman beneath, and he’s staring at her like he’s —

“Pick a partner who knows what he’s doing,” he grins and starts to move, and it isn’t difficult at all to follow his lead, because they make a great team, they always have, and that partnership had always carried over, whether it was knocking out giants, or getting around Neverland, or fighting Zelena, or even in quieter moments, when they are alone, when they have a conversation with a single look, or their easy banter, or, apparently — dancing the waltz.

He’s grinning at her like he just can’t help himself, and she’s smiling back because she just can’t help herself, and with Hook it’s so easy, and once again, she is so unspeakably glad that he is here with her, that she wasn’t alone falling through the portal, that he is the one who somehow managed to be by her side through this. She still doesn’t know if he had fallen in like she had, or if had simply followed her, because he always follows her, and she can’t think of anyone else she’d rather have by her side right now.

(she thinks she’s falling in —)

“Watch the mocking, I’m actually getting the hang of this,” she whispers to him, because there can’t be any other reason for why he’s looking at her like she’s the greatest thing he has ever seen.

“I’m not mocking you, Swan, I was just thinking about what you said in Storybrooke, about not being a princess,”

“Really,” she nearly laughs, “You get my first dance at my first royal ball, and all you can say is ‘I told you so?’”

“I believe what I’m trying to say, your Highness,” he corrects her, “is that you appear to be a natural,” she spies her father across the room before she can respond, and they quickly look away before anyone can notice them staring, and it isn’t all that hard to pretend to focus on Killian’s face, because she doesn’t have to pretend at all.

They dance, and Emma is helpless to grin back when Killian is looking at her like that, and Emma thinks the feeling of his hand on her waist feels right, and he feels good standing this close, and they are good together, they always have been, and Emma thinks that right this moment, the world consists only of the two of them, because she thinks she’s already halfway in —

17.

“But you can,” Killian insist, “All he said we need is magic, you’re the Savior, Swan, you can do it,”

“Not anymore, I lost it,” she reminds him, because she still can’t really feel it, can’t reach her magic, no matter how much she tries.

“When Zelena dies, all of her spells were undone, your powers should’ve been restored,”

“Believe me,” she snaps, “If I could make it work, I would, you think I’m faking it?”

And clearly he isn’t interested in holding back his opinions much longer, “I think not having magic makes it a hell of a lot easier for you to run back to New York and pretend to be somebody else,” and Emma thinks this is the first time he really gave her his own opinions on her leaving, gave her his true thoughts, told flatly and matter of factly, rather than just a vague disapproval and gentle persuasions to change her mind.

“But listen to me, Swan. You’re not. It’s time to stop running.”

Except Emma already knows this, has finally accepted it after one to many blank expressions, her parents looking at her, but not seeing her, of Ruby giving nothing more than polite conversations, of Blue’s knowing looks, and even the way Killian’s past self had looked right through her, missing all of their shared moments and connection, just another warm body to take to bed for the night.

“Yes, I run away, that’s how I’ve always survived, but believe me, I want this to work, I wanna go back. I wanna stop running.”

Almost immediately, Killian softens, “What’s changed your mind?”

And she remembers the way they were all helpless to watch her mom get executed, the way she had panicked, so scared of losing another loved one, remembers the way Killian had pulled her into him, remembers the way all she could do after was replay that single moment over and over until Killian mentioned his brother, until they realized Snow was still alive. She thought of the way she leapt forward to hug her mother but she had simply smiled politely before moving on, thinks of how her father had helped with her escape from Regina’s dungeon but barely gave her more than a curious look, remembers the way Killian had wiped her tears, the way she had watched her father fall in love with her mother, thought of what Mary Margaret had said to her so long ago, back when she had just been her roommate, thought about how she had been so busy trying to keep out pain with her walls, she hadn’t been able to let love through, either.

Not her parents’ love for her, not her own love for them, for her new baby brother, had constantly kept Killian at a distance because of how he made her feel, regardless of how little reason she has to not trust him, regardless of how much she feels she could someday return his feelings (especially because she feels she’s already on her way to returning them).

“I had saved and lost her, too. And that’s what I’ve been doing to her since I met her. It’s gotta stop,” Killian is only watching her patiently, encouragingly, and it just makes the words tumble out of her mouth, “When Henry brought me to Storybrooke, he told me I was the Savior. I didn’t see what he was really doing. He was not bringing me back to break a curse, he was bringing me home.”

And she misses it. Misses the loft, misses the diner, the clocktower and library, misses the docks and the forests, and her parents and her brother, and Henry, misses the grilled cheese and onion rings, misses the cocoa with cinnamon, the coffee at the sheriff’s station, misses the feel of magic and Leroy’s screaming about danger, misses it all, and Neal was right, because she feels at home in Storybrooke, at home with Henry and her parents and her brother and she wants to go home, because “Being with my parents these last few days but not really being with them — I’ve never missed them more.”

She’s ready to accept it now. “Storybrooke — it’s my home,”

But Killian is smiling down at her, knowing and proud, and she doesn't know why he’s smiling, but it’s Killian and she can’t help but return his smile. “What?”

“Look down,” is all he says, still looking entirely to proud and pleased and smug, and the wand is working, and she’s just staring, looking back at him to see if it really is, if she really does — “I’d say you’ve got your magic back,” he says simply. “Now, shall we go?”

18.

Emma’s home. Emma’s home, and she’s called her parents mom and dad and Henry is delighted by the fact that they're staying now, and she is too, except —

Except something isn’t right, something is missing, someone is missing, and she has told the story of her fairytale adventure, has shared her success to he mom and her dad and Henry, and even her baby brother but —

But Killian, who had been by her side throughout it all, who was the only piece of home she had left as they were trapped in the past, Killian who had taken her to Rumplestiltskin, helped plan Snow stealing the ring, who had taken her hand and led her to the dance floor, who had opened himself to her as they danced her first dance at her first royal ball — Killian who had pulled her close when she thought her mother was about to die, who comforted her and wiped her tears, who she is halfway —

He is not at her side now. She misses him.

He isn’t even in the diner. She finds him alone outside, and her heart aches at the lonely picture he paints, playing with his flask.

She does not want him to be alone.

“So,” she starts lightly, taking the seat closest to him, “do you think Rumplestiltskin is right? I’m in the Book now. He said everything besides our little adventure would go back to normal. Do you think that it is?” She does not even know why she’s asking this, just knows she doesn't want him to sit alone.

“He’s right,” he says, “Otherwise I’d remember that damn bar wench I kissed.” he eyes her slightly, and Emma has to laugh, how would that prove anything, because Hook had looked right through her as well, does not look at her like Killian does, like he’s in —

But Killian just smirks at her, looking unfairly attractive as he reminds her, “I know how you kiss. I’d have gone after her. But I didn’t, my life went on exactly the same as before.”

“Must’ve been the rum,” she murmurs, because he isn’t lying.

“Everything’s back to normal. You’re a bloody hero, Swan,”

“So are you,” she reminds him, because sometimes it seems he needs the reminding, and he only chuckles, only looks away, but Emma won’t let him dismiss it that easy, not when he has done so much for her and for her family, not when he had brought her back from New York, “I wanted to thank you, Killian.”

He looks up, meets her eyes, and he looks so confused, as if she has no reason to thank him, and it just makes her want to push this further, regardless of the more dangerous territories the conversation might head towards. “For going back for me in the first place in New York. If you hadn’t —“

“It was the right thing to do,” is all he says, and Emma — Emma has wondered, for so long how, how he found her, how he tracked her down, for he crossed realms to find her, to save her, to bring her home. She’s been dancing around the question for so long. “How did you do it? How did you get to me?”

(Emma doesn't even know if she’s talking about New York or her heart.)

“Well, the curse was coming. I ditched my crew and took the Jolly Roger as fast and as far as I possibly could to outrun it.” he says it like it’s nothing, you outran a curse, but she should really stop being so surprised by him, “I’m a hell of a captain,” he laughs, and continues, “And once I was outside the curse’s purview, I knew that the walls were down, transport between worlds was possible again... all I needed was a magic bean,”

“Those are not easy to come by,” he shifts, then, looks away from her, looks uncertain and melancholic and suddenly, Emma feels that she is missing something major, and Killian looks like he doesn’t want her to press anymore, but —

“They are if you’ve got something of... value to trade.”

“And what was that?” she asks lightly. How many doubloons or jewels or gold and treasure —

“Why the Jolly Roger, of course.” he says as if it’s obvious, as if it’s something anyone would do, as if it was just another object, another piece of jewelry, like it wasn’t possibly one of the biggest sacrifices he could make, and Emma —

Stares.

Stunned.

Because he’s plastered on a forced smile, kept his tone light, because he’s trying to shrug it off like it’s nothing, trying to keep his bravado up, as if it’s —

Maybe she heard wrong, you traded your ship for me, but he only drops the act, and he’s staring at her, honest, “Aye.” and she knows, knows what this means to him, to her, knows he’s giving her his heart to keep or break, knows he likely wouldn’t care either way, because he came back for her, took her to Neverland, helped save her father’s life, helped save Henry’s life, and he bore his heart to her for the first time on the beanstalk, and again under the decks of his ship, in Neverland, at the town line, in New York, in the forests of Storybrooke, in the past, knows she has had his heart for so long now, and she knows he wouldn’t break her heart because he is who he says he is.

Because he’s saying it not to gain favor but simply because she had asked and he didn't want to lie. Because she thinks she might already be halfway in love with Killian Jones. Because she’s tired of denying that she couldn't bear to lose him in her life.

So she kisses him, and he doesn’t even move until her lips are pressed to his, letting her take the lead and they are kissing for the first real time, because Neverland was passion and attraction and heat of the moment, but now, now doesn't kiss him for his ship, or as thanks or for some diversion tactic, she kisses him because she can’t bear not to, because as much as she had buried away her weaknesses, as much as she put up mile high walls around her heart, he sees right through them, and waits patiently for the ones he can’t get past, and she wants to let him in.

They stop for a breath and she smiles at him, because it’s perfect, and he smiles in return, and this time he is the one leaning in, and Emma’s letting down her walls to love her family, to love her home, to someday, maybe, love Killian, and she’s letting down her walls to be loved in return, and she has never felt more safe, has never felt more at peace.

She thinks she’s finally ready to take that chance and let him in.

[phoenix-downer]

Love’s Cost Chapter 5: Soaring Seas

1045 words. Post-Canon. Family AU, SoKai Parents AU. Angst, Trauma, Hurt/Comfort, Healing. This is a sequel to After Ever After. There are five chapters total and the story will update weekly on Fridays.

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5

Summary: Sora and Kairi’s kids are thrown into danger, and their parents will have to draw on old memories to heal fresh wounds.

Sora regained his strength day by day, and Kairi couldn’t help but smile when he was finally feeling well enough to chase the kids around the yard. Haruto went one way while Miyu carried Emi in the opposite direction, and Sora tried in vain to go after first Haruto and then Miyu and Emi. When he’d given up on catching them, he told them to come after him instead, a challenge the kids gladly took to heart. Before long everyone wound up in a screaming, laughing pile on the ground with Sora at the center of it all. 

When he looked at her, it was with such love and delight in his eyes that she was reminded of why she’d fallen in love with him all over again. 

“Mom, come here!” Haruto crowed.

Sora’s mischievous smile appeared. “Yeah, come join us!”

She smiled and shook her head. “Uh-uh. I’m just gonna watch.” 

Sora raised an eyebrow but said nothing, so she sat on one of the lawn chairs on the patio and rested her hand on her belly. She hadn’t told him yet, let alone the kids, but she was eating for two again. Baby #4 hadn’t exactly been planned, but then again, what in life was? Sora loved their kids, she loved their kids, and another baby would just add to their joy and delight. Especially because this baby was a celebration that they were all safe and sound after their ordeal. That Sora was alive and whole and hers.

She just had to laugh at herself. Pregnant again at thirty-seven, eight years after her youngest was born. What were the odds? Maybe it would be another boy this time. Two girls and two boys, that would be nice. Hopefully Emi would be okay with no longer being the baby of the family. 

“Alright,” Sora said as he got up and dusted the dirt off of his pants. “That was some good warm-up, now it’s time to train.” 

He went to the toolbox on the back patio and rummaged around for something. He made a big show of picking out various wrong things to make the kids laugh till at last his eyes went wide. “A-ha!” 

In his hand was the old play sword he’d used as a kid, and he strolled over to Emi and got down on his knees so he was at eye level with her.

“Emi,” he said, very seriously. 

“Yes?”

“This is for you,” he said as he handed the play sword to her. “So you can practice with us until you get your Keyblade.”

Her entire face lit up. “Thank you Daddy!”

Miyu and Haruto smiled, and Kairi was grateful Sora had found a way to include Emi in their training. Maybe she wouldn’t feel so left out anymore.

“Now,” Sora said, turning to Miyu and Haruto, his face very serious once more. “Your mom told me that you were saying something about giving up your Keyblades?”

They fidgeted and looked at each other, then at Sora’s feet.

“Well, after the monster attack, we kinda got what you and Mom meant about us being too young,” Miyu said.

Haruto nodded. “Yeah. I dunno, Dad, I’m just not sure we really deserve Keyblades—”

“Nonsense,” Sora said. “Any child of mine, any child of Kairi’s, has a heart strong enough for a Keyblade.”

He turned to Kairi, and she smiled and nodded.

“You sure?” Haruto said, his face twisted into a scowl.

Sora rested a hand on Haruto’s shoulder. “The Keyblade knows your heart,” he said. “If you can summon it, your heart is strong enough, which means you deserve to have it. End of story.”

“If you say so,” Miyu said, then held out her hand. A few seconds later, her Keyblade materialized in her grasp. The blade was silver with a purple and white hilt, and the keychain had a vibrant red heart attached to it. 

“See?” Sora said. “Now your turn, Haruto.”

Haruto held his hand out, and after a few agonizing seconds, his Keyblade appeared too. Sora smiled, and Kairi smiled along with him. Hopefully this would reassure their kids they still deserved their Keyblades. 

Sora summoned his Keyblade with a triumphant grin on his face. “Now, where were we?”

With that, they began. Kairi loved watching him train the kids. He was a patient teacher, always willing to explain things and demonstrate what he meant. Very encouraging and enthusiastic too. But that was just who he was. He’d always been great with kids, especially his own. 

Today they were going over various ways to dodge, and Kairi could’ve spent hours watching her family. The kids were happy, he was happy, and she couldn’t help but be happy too. But when the kids went inside to get water, she sensed that now was the time. She just couldn’t keep her secret to herself anymore.

“Sora?” she said as she got up from the lawn chair. The sunset shone behind him, and he was wiping the sweat from his brow with a towel. She loved how his strength was returning, how the muscles in his arms showed off his hard work to restore his endurance. He was in even better shape than before the monster attack, and while it was partly to protect the kids and partly for his own sake, she knew it was partly for her too.

Seventeen years of marriage and he still wanted to keep the spark alive. She blushed a little and giggled into her hand. He was still managing to charm her like she was a lovestruck teenager instead of a married mother of three with a stable job and duties and responsibilities. 

“Yeah?” he said, and the way he looked at her, she knew that she had the same effect on him too. “What’s up?” He rested the towel on his shoulders and walked over. She bit her lip and smiled, hardly able to contain herself or her exciting news.

“Kairi?” he asked, a smile of his own tugging at his lips. His eyes flickered down before meeting hers again. “Is this what I think it’s about?”

She reached for his hands and wove their fingers together.

“Yes. You’re going to be a father again.”

[theydontknowaboutusimagines]

Valentine’s Day Surprise - Harry Styles Mini Series (Part 4)

Part 1 

Part 2 

Part 3 

As soon as Harry got out of Jeff’s car, he went straight into the airport. He still had about an hour to kill before his flight took off, but luckily he would be able to board sooner. He went through security and was now waiting for them to call his flight. Taking out his phone he scrolled through his social media accounts. Just because he didn’t post on it very often, didn’t mean he didn’t check it. 

Harry didn’t know why he felt nervous or anxious, but he did. Maybe it was because he couldn’t wait to see you or he was worried something would go wrong. He really needed to figure out what he was going to get you. Of course, he should have thought about this weeks ago, but he was distracted. He couldn’t believe he was one of those guys who waited until the last minute to get their girlfriend a present for Valentine’s Day. 

But then again, he was currently the guy who waited until the last minute to actually go see his girlfriend in person. While he was waiting, he decided to head into one of the airport gift shops to see if anything caught his eye. He really didn’t want to get you something from there, but surely if it was worth getting did it really matter where he bought it from. 

Everything in the gift shop was your typical gift shop items, LA merch, keychains, t shirts, and other random things. He sighed shaking his head as he grabbed some snacks to snack on while he waited. As he was checking out, he heard his phone ringing in his pocket. He saw Jeff’s name appear on the screen, so he answered it while he handed the clerk his cash. 

“What’d you forget to tell me?” Harry asked. 

“Don’t get on the plane!” Jeff blurted out. 

“What? Why? What’s wrong?” He asked. 

“Y/N’s here!” Jeff said. 

“What?” Harry grabbed his change and his snacks before heading out into the lobby. 

“She’s here. In LA... at the airport,” he breathed out. “Don’t get on the plane.” 

“The fuck, you better not be playing with me, Jeff,” Harry said. 

“I’m not... just... meet us at the door,” Jeff said quickly. 

Harry didn’t need to be told twice before grabbing his things and booking it through the airport. 

**

You and Jeff quickly ran into the airport, but of course, you could only go so far without tickets. 

“Do you see him?” You asked, standing on your tip toes. 

“No,” Jeff sighed. “Even if I did, he wouldn’t hear us.” 

“Maybe we should try his cell, just in case,” You said. 

“Already on it,” Jeff said putting his phone to his ear. 

“Don’t get on the plane,” he blurted out. 

“Y/N’s here,” he said again. 

“She’s here in LA... at the airport,” he breathed out. “Don’t get on the plane.” 

“I’m not, just meet us at the door,” he said before hanging up the phone. 

“You got him?” You asked. 

“Yeah, don’t know where he’s at, but hopefully he’ll be here soon,” Jeff said. 

Hearing that, you’re stomach filled with butterflies. Your legs bounced with excitement as you tried looking through the crowd for your boyfriend. There were a lot of people heading past security, but surely you would be able to notice him as the only person walking the opposite direction of everyone. 

“Come on, come on,” you mumbled. 

It literally felt like an eternity, when in reality it was probably only like ten minutes before you finally saw his big head peeking up in the crowd. A smile grow across your face and you wanted nothing more to run to him like you were in a romance movie, but the scary security guards were certainly prevent from your moment. 

Harry didn’t see you until he got closer and as soon as he did, he picked up his pace. Once he was passed security, you ran to him, wrapping your arms around him and jumping into his arms. 

“Oof,” he laughed wrapping his arms around you to hold you against him. “What are you doing here?” 

“I uh... came to surprise you. Had I not called Jeff when I got off the plane, you would have fucked up my plan,” you said. 

He laughed, “Sorry,” he said. 

“Um, guys, hate to uh, break up this lovely moment, but we should probably get going,” Jeff said, looking around at all the people standing around. 

“Oh, right,” you said, jumping down. 

Harry grabbed your hand and the two of you follow Jeff to his car. You both get in the back and as soon as Harry’s in behind you, he pulled you in for a kiss. You giggled against his lips while Jeff shook his head. 

**

When Jeff pulled up to the house Harry was staying at, Harry got your bags and his own before waving Jeff goodbye. 

“Be safe!” Jeff smirked out the window as he backed out of the driveway. 

You giggled following Harry inside the house. Once you both were inside and the door was shut, you heard bags drop to the floor and felt arms wrap around you. 

“I can’t believe you’re here right now,” he smiled into your neck. 

“I know. I can’t believe you were about to flying to England when you already told me you weren’t going to go,” you laughed. 

“Yeah, that slight change of plans literally happened this morning,” he winced. “Jeff got some things rescheduled last minute.” 

“So, that means either way you have the next few days completely free, right?” You smiled. 

“It does,” he smiled. “What about you? How long are you going to be here for?” 

“At least the week,” you said. 

“I love you,” he smiled, pressing kisses all over you face. 

You laughed turning around in his arms to face, “I love you, too.” 

“You must since you came all the way here,” he smiled. 

“And you must since you were willing to go all the way home and back,” you smiled. 

“Guess we’re just made for each other, huh?” he smirked. 

“Yep,” you nodded, jumping into his arms and wrapping your legs around his waist. “Now, I do have one request.” 

“And that is?” He raised an eyebrow. 

“Feed me. I’m starving,” you laughed. 

He laughed, “I’m sure I have some thing I can whip up in my kitchen.” 

“Thank you! I had this whole plan of going grocery shopping or getting take out on my way to meeting you, but that got fucked up thanks to you,” you joked. 

“Well, this is one way for our first Valentine’s Day together to be memorable,” he laughed carrying you into the kitchen. “Speaking of, do you have anything else planned since you were the one to make the trip here?” 

“You’d think, but not really. I thought maybe it would be better for us to make a plan together, plus I wasn’t sure if you would the day off,” you said. 

“I do,” he smiled. “I’m not needed on set until later this week and since it’s the weekend, I don’t have any of my meetings until Monday.” 

“I thought you said your meetings got rescheduled?” You asked. 

“Some did,” he said, looking through the fridge and pantry. “But the ones that weren’t, I’m doing on zoom.” 

You nodded. “So, I probably shouldn’t walk around naked then?” You joked. 

“I wouldn’t go that far, love,” he winked. “Just stay clear of the camera.” 

You giggled, nibbling on some fruit he took out. 

“Anyway, what about you? Do you have any work shit to do?” He asked. 

“Other than checking in with my beta readers and editor? Not much,” you said. “I finished my other draft before I left, so I can’t really do much with it until I get all the feedback. I do have some other things I can look over, but nothing too pressing for a deadline.” 

“So, what you’re saying is, we technically have a lot of free time together over the next few days?” He asked. 

“Yep,” you smiled. “So much you’ll probably get sick of me.” 

“Yeah and by then you’ll be on your way back to London,” he joked. 

“Fuck you,” you laughed, throwing a strawberry at him. 

“Hey, I’m more than willing to take you right here and now, but I’m trying to be a gentleman and feed you first,” he smirked.

“My hero,” you laughed. 

“Anyway, back to our plans,” Harry said. “Would you mind if I was in charge of them?” 

“I don’t mind,” you smiled. “If that’s what you want to do.” 

“It is,” he smiled. “You came here, so I want to make it special.”

“We’re together, so it’s already special,” you said. 

“Then that means I don’t have to worry about too much,” he joked. 

“Ha, ha,” you laughed. “But seriously, you should know me. I don’t care about fancy dinners or anything. I’ll be grateful and happy with anything you plan.” 

Harry smiled kissing your head as you wrapped your arms around his waist. You smiled leaning into him because your actual Valentine’s Day celebration hadn’t even started and it was already your favorite one. 

**

Part 5 will be the last part! Let me know if want anything included for Valentine’s Day! 

[retrievablememories]

date night | mark

title: date night pairing: mark x black!reader genre: fluff, non!idol au request: “I was wondering if you could do something about a first date with mark (and black reader). I don’t really care what the date is, you can choose” word count: 2.9k warnings: none that i can think of except some cursing a/n: iu’s “friday” is a very cute song and i think it could fit with this. on another note, tumblr & my computer hate me and erased the changes i made to this twice, so if there are errors bare with me...i’ll fix them later

“Do you think this outfit is okay?” you ask your friend over FaceTime, scanning the camera across your form so she can see what you’re wearing. “I don’t know. It’s just the fair, right? So it shouldn’t be anything too fancy...but…”

“Girl, it’s more than okay. Knowing Mark, he’ll like literally anything you wear. I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

You hold the phone back up to your face again, giving your friend a skeptical look. “You better be telling the truth. You’re the one who arranged all this!”

“I didn’t arrange shit, I just gave Mark a little nudge in the right direction! You should thank me, he might've never asked you out on his own, the poor boy.” Your friend lies back on her bed and reminisces on her matchmaking skills, clearly pleased with her work this time—even though neither of you have any idea if the date will go well. Well, she already has her mind made up, but you can be a little harder to convince.

You hope it goes well, anyway. You really do like Mark, and you want things to work out with him tonight. You’ve never hung out with him alone before; it’s always been with a group of your friends, and your conversations with him were usually carried by the help of your friend’s interjections or Haechan’s jokes. 

For a while, you just figured that Mark was shy around new people, but he soon warmed up to your other friends who he hadn’t known before. But he still struggled to have a decent conversation with you. 

You didn’t understand any of it at first. You even thought that maybe he didn’t like you and was just terrible at hiding it. But after your friend got tired of seeing you angst over him, she let you in on what was really happening—he had a crush on you, too.

Now, you’re here—about to have your first date with Mark Lee and completely nervous about it, to say the least. You sigh at your friend’s smug expression.

“I’d hardly call what you did a nudge, but alright. Whatever you say, best friend.”

You know Mark and Haechan’s apartment complex is not far from yours, and yet it still catches you by surprise when you hear the knock on your front door. “Oh Lord, that’s probably him, I have to go!!” Your friend barely gets to say goodbye before you’ve ended the call. You scramble to grab your things and give yourself another once-over in your mirror before hurrying down the hall to open the door.

You stop at the door for a few moments and try to relax, attempting to make it seem like you weren’t rushing. Then you open the door to Mark standing on the other side.

“Hi Mark,” you say as naturally as possible, even though you’re practically jumping on the inside. He’s so handsome and cute that it’s unbelievable, even just standing there with his hands in his pockets, looking bashful and equally eager.

“Hi Y/N. You look really pretty today...I mean, you look pretty everyday, but today you’re especially, uh—a-adorable.”

“Thank you.” Your face is hot from his compliments, and you’re glad that he can’t tell past your brown skin. You step outside and lock the apartment door after you, turning to him with your heart beating wildly in your chest. “Are you ready?”

“Born ready,” he replies.

The place where the fair is being held is only a couple of streets over from where you live, so you both had already decided to walk there while planning the details of the date. You’re thankful it’s a nice summer night, not too hot or cold, though you’re both wearing jackets; it’s at the point of the season where the night starts getting chilly.

You and Mark make small talk on the way there, talking about casual stuff like what you did this week and what TV shows you watched the other night. He seems less nervous about talking to you than he is when you’re in a group with the others, but you can tell there is still some anxious energy around him.

Which doesn't really bother you, because you feel the same way and would rather be nervous together than anxious alone.

You can tell you’ve reached the fairgrounds when you start seeing more people gathered around and hear the loud festival music and screams of excitement; there’s already a considerable line to get in.

“Looks like we’ll be here for a minute,” you say, turning to Mark, though you aren’t really upset about it.

“That’s okay, I can be your entertainment until we get in.”

“Oh really? What are you gonna do, The Amazing Mark?”

“Whoa! That actually has a nice ring to it.”

“I know, right? Maybe you could use it as your performer name...so, Mr. Lee, how are you gonna impress me tonight?”

Mark decides to come up with a little freestyle rap on the spot, and you giggle at his enthusiasm. When he’s done, you give him a round of applause.

“Maybe you should be a rapper, you’re actually really good, you know.”

Mark feigns shock, pretending to be offended, and you laugh more. “Did you think I wouldn’t be?”

“Well, you—” You’re interrupted when someone behind you clears their throat loudly—the line has already moved up and you didn’t notice it. You grab Mark’s arm and pull him along with you. You decide to keep your hand there, looping your arms together. Mark blushes at that, a bashful smile on his face though he tries to hide it, not wanting to seem inexperienced.

When you finally get your tickets and go in, you and Mark debate over which rides to try first. You convince him to ride the huge looping rollercoaster, though he’s more than a little apprehensive about it. You can practically see the sweatdrops gathering on his forehead.

“Are you sure? If we get on the most exciting ride right away, the rest will seem boring…” He chuckles, scratching the back of his neck.

“I’m sure! But, you don’t have to get on if you’re too scared.” You tease him, letting go of his arm and walking towards the ride by yourself. “You can stay here!”

“No way—I-I’m not scared! You’re not leaving me behind,” Mark catches up with you as you go over to the ride and you smirk to yourself, glad that your reverse psychology worked.

You and Mark end up going on most of the rides the fair has to offer. You laugh at him once you both get off the rollercoaster, his hair windswept and sticking up in different directions. The ferris wheel makes you a bit dizzy, especially when you reach the very top, but Mark distracts you from the height by pointing out how pink the sky looks from this angle. The sun is close to setting, and its shining rays make Mark’s hair and eyes look like they’ve been set ablaze with warm, brown light. He looks back at you, and you abruptly bring your gaze up to the pink sky, pretending as if you weren’t staring at him the whole time.

Even the merry-go-round is fun with Mark pretending like he’s in the middle of a classic Western, riding his noble steed and playing the part of a brave, handsome cowboy.

You eventually take a food break when you get hungry, and you’re secretly thankful for the pause; your head’s spinning with how many rides you’ve been on. You don’t know the last time you’ve had this much fun at a fair, though, and you’re grateful for the change in your usual routine.

While you’re walking around the fairgrounds, you spot one of those ring toss games where you have to hit a certain number of bottles to win a prize. Mark notices your interest.

“Do you wanna play?” he asks.

“Hmm, maybe…” you say, your eyes drifting along the wall of prizes they have. One of them is an adorable stuffed dog with its little red tongue hanging out, and you immediately fall for it. You turn to Mark with your eyes shining. “Hey, Mark…”

He laughs, already one step ahead of you. “I’ll try it, then.”

In the end, Mark only gets the ring around 2 bottles. You giggle all the while, watching him give his best throws and still miss. 

“Hmm, that was just a warm-up round,” Mark insists once the game ends and he still hasn’t made any more wins. He cracks his knuckles and does an exaggerated stretch. “Check this out.”

“Oh, if you say so…” You smile as you watch him go for another round. The employee manning the game gives him a half skeptical, half amused look but lets him have another try. Unfortunately, the results are the same—he manages to get rings around two of the bottles while the rest remain untouched.

You walk up to Mark and pat him on the back once the game is over, and he gives you a sheepish smile in return. “Sorry, Y/N...I tried.” He turns back to the employee. “What kind of prize can I get with that?”

They pick a small keychain off the wall and hold it up. It’s a tiny replica of your city, with the name of it written in blocky, fun letters. “Pretty much this.”

“I’ll take it.” You hold your hand out for it and the employee passes it over. You give them a smile in return and look back at Mark, holding the keychain safely in your palm. “Let’s go! I don’t think we’ve tried the Tilt-a-Whirl yet...”

You and Mark don’t leave the festival until well after dark, and it’s a half hour to 10 when you check your phone. Even though it’s so late already, you’re still buzzing with energy and ready to hop to the next best thing. Mark seems to feel the same way, talking excitedly about all the things you saw and did at the fair.

His eyes sparkle with excitement, and it’s like his sheer elation transfers to you. Sometimes you wonder how he can manage to still be so childlike, but it’s endearing. The keychain sits safely in your purse, attached to your key ring where you clipped it immediately after getting it.

“I hope you enjoyed yourself today...even though I couldn’t get the stuffed dog you wanted.” Mark bites his lip.

You shake your head. “No, I had so much fun, that doesn’t matter! Really. Anyway, it’s not everyday you can go on a million rides in a night.”

“Forreal. Actually, I think might have permanent vertigo after this...”

You pause as a few drops of water hit your skin. They seemingly come out of nowhere, and it’s hard to tell if the sky is cloudy or not from the cover of night. But as more start hitting your skin, there’s no doubt about it—it’s rain. 

“It’s raining,” you gasp, and you barely have time to say anything else before the droplets start coming down harder. “Shit, my hair!”

To your surprise, Mark sheds his jacket and holds it over your head, pulling you closer. “We should make a run for it before it gets worse.”

“Where are we gonna go? Everything’s closed at this time of night,” you ask, but Mark is already pulling you along with him, and you can only speed up your pace to catch up.

“Whatever shelter we can find!”

Just like he predicted, the rain turns into a downpour and the water quickly permeates into your clothes, making you sticky and a little cold. You scream but keep running, not wanting the alternative of standing there and getting even more drenched.

You and Mark find a nearby coffee shop that’s still open and duck into it, shaking off as much rain as you can. You’re a little too soaked for it to be effective, but you’ll dry off eventually. One of the workers gives you both a weary look from behind the counter, and you know they’ll probably have a time cleaning the water up later.

You and Mark stand at the front counter and order your drinks, then take turns laughing at each other’s reflections in the counter’s metal surface. Your hair managed to avoid the worst of the water thanks to Mark’s noble move, but his own strands are plastered to his head. You nervously brush a few of them away from his forehead, saving him from the slow drips of water that keep falling in his eyes.

“You good?” you ask. You want to feel sorry for him, but you can’t stop yourself from cracking a grin at how cute and disheveled he looks. Like a soggy puppy.

“I’m fine,” he says, taking your hand that was just in his hair. “It’s just a little water...we can stay here until it stops raining, anyway. Are you okay?”

“Oh, I’m alright.” You nod in agreement, not knowing quite what to say—you’re a little distracted by his hand holding yours. When you get your drinks, he lets go of you to take both cups, and you’re momentarily disappointed by the lack of contact.

You go to sit down at a small table near the window. It offers a clear view of the rain still pattering on the roads, and you watch cars kick up puddles of water as they drive past.

“That was kinda fun,” you say after taking a sip of your drink. You give a pleasant sigh at the feeling of the drink warming you up on the inside. “I mean, not so much the ‘getting soaked’ part...but the whole thing sorta reminds me of those romcoms.”

Mark cringes and laughs. “Are you into those kinda movies?

“It’s not a crime! They’re cute sometimes.”

“Is that a roundabout way of saying you want to be kissed in the rain? ‘Cause like, I-I’m up for it if you are,” Mark’s attempt at flirting is made unintentionally hilarious by him stammering midway, and you hide your face in your hands.

“Oh my God,” you groan. “You are really something else.”

Thankfully, the rain lets up just as the coffee shop starts closing up. You and Mark dispose of your cups and walk back outside, heading towards your apartment complex. You’re surprised at how much rain came down in such a small amount of time—the sidewalks and streets are completely waterlogged, and some of the water soaks into your shoes as you walk through the puddles. It’s still sprinkling a bit, but that’s better than being drenched.

The walk back is pleasantly quiet, the both of you finally having burned off the last of your remaining energy. You’re soon back at your apartment—maybe more quickly than you wanted to be—and standing in front of your door. You step away to look at Mark, pressing your back against the apartment door.

“So, I guess this is it?” You’re suddenly nervous again, unsure how the date is going to end—or how it should end. Will there be a kiss? Will he want to see you again? You’re sure he had a good time with you, but self-doubt can be a cruel mistress.

“I guess so,” Mark echoes. “Um, I—well, uh…” He seems like he wants to say something, but he gets a little stuck on the words.

“Maybe we should stop being so nervous around each other,” you blurt out, feeling your skin warm with embarrassment. Mark nods, scuffing his shoes along the floor.

“It’d probably be less awkward,” he admits, throwing you a nervous glance. 

You shrug, trying to seem more nonchalant than you feel. “I enjoyed myself, though. And, y-you know, I definitely wouldn’t mind going on another one…if you’re up for it?” You look at Mark from below your eyelashes, and he meets your eyes too, a cute grin spreading across his lips.

“Of course! Y-yeah, absolutely, we can text each other about it.”

“Great!” You clasp your hands together, racking your brain for something else to say. Lucky for you, Mark helps you out by asking,

“Can I....kiss you?”

Your breath hitches and you look at him with wide eyes. “Y-yes.”

Mark steps closer to you and his hand goes to your waist. You’re almost afraid you’re going to melt from all the different emotions you’re feeling, but you try to keep a steady expression as his face moves closer to yours. When he kisses you, his lips are gentle and sweet, like him.

You both smile shyly when you pull away, until you finally remember you’re standing outside your apartment door and need to unlock it. “Ah, right…” You unlock the door and step inside, looking back at Mark once you do. “I’ll see you later, okay?” You give him a small wave, and he returns it.

“See you.”

You allow yourself to let out the breath you were holding once you get to your bedroom. You want to throw yourself on the bed, but your clothes are still wet, so you opt for screaming into a nearby pillow. After dancing around the room for a moment or two, you dig into your purse so you can text your friend, and your hand bumps into your key ring.

You pull it out and look at the little keychain again, holding it carefully between your fingers and studying its design. It’s tiny, but it’s cute and wonderful and it reminds you of Mark, making little butterflies rise up in your stomach. It’s perfect.

[ivyuns]

moral of the story ❆

han jisung

genre: angst

word count: 2.8k

warnings: hella sad breakups + cheating + language

A/N: listen to moral of the story by ashe + i need to stop falling asleep while writing, istg this was better in my brian

part one | part two

masterlist

so i never really knew you, god i really tried to.

you started dating your best friend since you were a kid and never regretted one bit of the memories you two shared. you knew dating an idol would be tough but jisung never made it hard for you. sure some stays didn’t accept you, but stray kids was there to help you get through it. after two years of the relationship, it was still healthy or that’s what you wish it was.

stray kids was currently in japan for their tour for two months and god, you missed your boyfriend. the past now four months was hell for you. jisung started to stay in the studio all day and night, then coming home for two hours then went back to the studio. you would stay up for him to come home then him just ignoring you, feeling neglected. all you wanted from him was at least one ‘i love you’. you don’t even remember when was the last time he said it to you.

thought we could really this but, really i was foolish.

you could remember the day he was head over heels for you before he asked you out. exactly two years ago, hyunjin who was jisung’s best friend had told you that jisung had a crush on you. you never understood since you always saw jisung flirting with other girls which broke your heart. you wish you were the only girl for him.

you ignored hyunjin and continued walking to your next class til someone pulled you back and kissed your lips. you widen your eyes as you see it’s your best friend kissing you; han jisung. your mind can’t process anything after you just had your first kiss by a man you loved ever since you were a kid. a for this day, you won’t forget about that very special moment of yours.

4 months go by and you and jisung had your first fight. it was stupid. so stupid. you visited jisung after changbin texted you to come feed your baby since he was producing songs at such a late time. you made his favorite meal and drove to the jyp building where jisung was.

you showed your id to the scanner to open the security door for the building and was greeted by jyp himself. “hello y/n! here looking for you boyfriend?” he laughed. you smiled and did a 90 degree bow. “hi jinyoung!” and laughed. “ah y/n, you don’t need to be so polite. your mother taught you so well! anyways, jisung is the studio room where he always is.” he patted your back and left after you said a thank you.

you go to the room where he is and there you see, a stress jisung with his hair messy and eye bags under his eyes. you go up to him and placed the bag of food in front of him. jisung automatically looks up and sees your beautiful face, his one and only. he smiles with tired eyes and hugs you.

“baby when did you get here?” he muttered and peppers you with his kisses. “like 5 minutes ago, your boss kept me for a minute.” jisung quickly lets his arm loosen around you and panicked. “did he ask to break up with me!?” he lightly shouted. “no baby, he was telling me where you were” you smiled. jisung exhaled our loud, thankful for jyp for accepting you.

you two cuddled on the chair til jisung let’s you have a sneak peak of their new song. you strected your limbs and felt your hand touch a random button. the music was peaceful til all you heard was statics. your head faced jisung’s as he let go of your body, making you stand up while he went to check on the song that was saved on his laptop.

jisung’s hands started to pull his hair off of his scalp as he tried to not yell at you but failed. “are you serious y/n?! that took weeks to finish and you just corrupted the file!” jisung shouted. your lips quivered in fear, not knowing how to reply. “jisung, babe, you can make a new one. its oka-” .. “no its not okay!”. words after words, jisung had a few ugly words spit out of his lips that made you feel more useless. “all you do is come here and annoy me and the boys when we need to work our asses off. just because we act nice to you doesnt mean the boys always have a soft spot for you in their heart. just go and never come back. why did i even like you in the first plac-” jisung was cut off by a door slamming shut.

oh how much did he regret saying those words to you. he knew you were insecure, especially when you feel like youre bothering others. he sat down in his chair and wiped the tears off of his face after seeing the face look you had before you left, full of fear.

you on the other hand was walking to the exit of the building with you head down. ‘hes not going to run after me anyways’.

you walked inside your apartment, full of sadness as you can’t get the words jisung had said about you out of your head. you lay on your cold and empty, but soft bed. looking beside you is where jisung is supposed to be at. turning to your bedside table, you see a picture of you and jisung on your first date as an official couple. you had a cotton candy cone in your hand as you tried to feed a piece to jisung til he kissed your lips. how grateful you were for hyunjin to take a picture of that very special of yours.

tears started falling as you drifted to sleep, not noticing the missed calls and messages from stray kids, especially jisung.

the fight had lasted for almost two week and you felt like shit. you haven’t ate a full meal and haven’t left your bed unless it was for your hygiene reasons.

you stood up a bit too fast and stared feeling weak. you shrugged it off and continued walking to your bathroom which was connected to your room. as you turn on the bathroom lights, your eyes were blinded and started to see black and fell.

jisung on the other hand felt so different. his mind wouldn’t focus on the music, instead it was you. he went to your apartment the past 5 days to talk to you only to see the pin number to enter your apartment to change. first he tried your anniversary day with him, then his birthday, then your birthday, then day when you and jisung got your very first couple pet but nothing worked. today, he went by as he left notes under the doormat everytime he came by, only to see the notes untouched when he went to place another one.

he felt something bad had happened to you so he quickly ran to the dorm to search where you placed the ‘emergency key’ for your place in case something happened. jisung bursted through the entry way of the dorm as he scared the other ‘00 liners. “woah hyung, what are you doing?” seungmin asked.

“i’m trying to find the key for y/n apartment” jisung panted while looking everywhere, “you know the one for emergencies?” hyunjin stood up with his keychain in his hand. “oh you mean this one?” and showed the key with a little picture of you and jisung on it.

jisung immediately grabs the keychain and runs back to your place with a yelling hyunjin behind him, telling him to be careful.

he arrives at your place and places the key into the lock. he rushes to every room to see if his sunshine is in one of the room. he went upstairs and to the room. he saw the bed looking all cold, even feeling cold with your phone thrown at the wall in the corner and picture frames of you and jisung faced down. he went to the closet and felt relived as you didn’t try to run away. lastly, he went to the bathroom and rushed to your cold figure.

he sees your pale figure and realizes you’re not breathing. tears sprung out of jisungs eyes as he rushed you to the hospital.

“i’m so sorry baby”.

you woke up with the sun beaming to the room, a unfamiliar room. you turn your head to see jisung with his hands linked to yours and tears staining his face as he peacefully sleep. your hands twitch and jisung lifts his head quickly. he looks at your with worry eyes and hugs you, “im sorry my love. if i didnt yell at you that night, you wouldnt be in this state. im so sorry y/n.” jisung sobs into your shoulder.

“jisung, baby, its fine. as long as you realize your mistake and come back, its fine. thank you but what happened? why am i here?” your smiled coming down as it dropped as you remembered what happened.

“the doctors said you were lacking nutrients for your body and lost a lot of weight. those could making you feel lightheaded and a risk of passing out. god y/n, if i didn’t go back to the place, you would still be laying on the bathroom floor with no help.” jisung starts to sob even more as you bring his head to your chest, hugging him and telling him ‘it’s okay’.

i said ‘some people fall in love’ with the wrong people sometimes.

you came home after a long day of work. you unlocked your door to see jisung’s shoes on the side and smiled. you walked upstairs and you swore you heard a female voice .. on a call?

the bedroom door was cracked open so you quietly eavesdropped. “i gotta go babes, y/n is home” jisung whispered to the phone. babes? “ok sungie i’ll see you later!” a high pitch voice came out of the phone.

jisung got up from the bed and went to open the door, looking for you as you pretended you just came up from the stairs. “hi baby, how was work?” jisung asks innocently. “it was a lot. can we cuddle?” you went up to him and hugged him. jisung nodded and led you to the bed to cuddle, eventually falling asleep.

it was currently 2 am and you woke up with jisung still sleeping next to you. you almost fell back asleep til you heard a notification from jisungs phone. as his screen lit up, you saw the name of the sender and it broke you.

jiseo 💗

i thought you’re coming over baby ?

please don’t tell me you’re with that bitch still.

i thought you were gonna break up with her today babe?

so this is why hes been so distant. you put the phone away and fall into your slumber, wishing it was just a nightmare.

some mistakes get made. that’s alright that’s okay.

you waved a goodbye to jisung and the boys as they headed to their plane for their japan tour. the night before, you talked to their manager and asking if you could follow along. the manager agreed so now you wait for the next day to go to japan.

you packed all your belongings and headed to the airport. you passed security and handed you ticket to board the plane. as the plane took off, a notification lit up your phone.

jisung baby 🐿💕

hi baby we just finished rehearsing

i miss you already

y/n 💓

i miss you too, stay safe baby <3

after sending jisung a quick message, you exited the app and saw your wallpaper of you and jisung on your first year anniversary date. where the relationship was still full of love. a tear fell onto your screen, missing the feeling of being loved by your significant other. after a little session of your crying, you decided to take a nap of the remainder of the trip.

you think that you’re in love when you’re really in pain.

you arrived at the airport close to where stray kids was touring at. you had called their manager to pick you up, also letting him know you had landed safely to see your jisung.

you waiting about 10 minutes til you saw a car window roll down in front of you, yelling your name. you looked up and saw the driver, noticing it’s their manager. you got up and brought your luggage to the car with the help of him.

during the car trip back to their hotel, you told the manager about you and jisung. you tell him how he’s been really distant and you don’t feel loved again. all he tells you is that everything will be okay and he’s probably just stress from all the comeback and producing.

you two arrived at the hotel and walked in. the manager gives you an extra key card to jisung’s shared room with jeongin. “what if jeongin is in the room with him?” you asked him, feeling worried. “ah don’t worry y/n. i told jeongin that you’re coming to surprise jisung so he’s in the room with seungmin and changbin.” he reassured you. you thanked him and went to the door number of where your boyfriend was staying.

you put the card in the key holder and opens it. you walk inside and lift up your head to see a naked jisung and a naked girl under him. seeing the sweat glistening on his perfect golden skin and hearing moans and grunts made you sick. this must be the jiseo he’s been talking to.

“han jisung!” you yelled out to get the two people’s attention. jisung quickly turns his head to the door to see you with tears falling down your cheeks.

“baby i-” you cut off jisung.

“no! now i know you’re so distant to me. because you cheated on me. i came here to surprise you, not to see you put your dick in someone.” you paused for a second after harshly wiping the tears falling. “i don’t understand what i did wrong jisung. w-was this 2 years just a joke to you? our best friend days?” you sobbed. at this point, the girl who was under jisung had escape from his embrace and ran away after putting on her clothes.

“y/n i can explain!” you roll your eyes in annoyance, not wanting to hear his side after you found out everything. “explain what!? that you’ve been cheating on me? i loved you even when you still went behind my back and cheat on me.” your fingers touched the promise ring on your left ring from jisung which was from your first anniversary.

“jisung, from today and so on, we’re broken up. please don’t try to contact me.” you took off your ring and threw it to him. you grabbed the handle of your luggage and left his room. after hearing the door shut, loud sobs left you as changbin who heard everything went to comfort you.

jisung, who heard your sobs aftwr the door shuts made him feel weak. he doesn’t even know why he ended up cheating on you. you were the best girlfriend anyone could ask for and he just ruined everything.

he went to pick up the ring and saw the inside of the ring. ‘sunshine <3’ he read. jisung slid down the wall with the ring still in his hand and started bawling. ‘i’m sorry y/n’.

after the comfort from changbin, you broke the hug. “changbin, please tell jisung i said thank you for everything and his stuff will be on his bed.” thanking changbin and gathered you stuff and flew back to korea after spending your savings in under a day for a jerk.

you got back to your place and quickly went to pack jisungs gifts he gave you, his hoodies, and the memories placed in the photo frames. from best friends to lovers, and now exes. looking at the pictures made you cry more. after what he did, you still love him.

finally getting everything together, you went to go to the boys dorm to return jisungs stuff. you entered his bedroom and placed the box on his bed, waiting for his arrival. you went to look for a paper and pen and wrote:

‘ily’

after putting the materials back where they were, you saw a picture frame of you and jisung on his nightstand. you grabbed the frame and opened his nightstand drawer to storage it, only seeing something that caught your eyes; a small black velvet box. you open it to see a diamond ring. a ring you always dreamed of. 

quickly putting the items back in his drawer, you looked at the whole dorm, reminiscing the memories made here. you left the key that jisung had gave you on the table and opened the front door. making sure to lock it before you leave. wiping the tear the threaten the fall after remembering the ring he was going to propose to you with, you shut the door and went back to your apartment.

in the end its better for me. thats the moral of the story babe.

-

END <3

lmao i might just do a part two-

[sortavibing]

hi! i’d like to request a haikyuu matchup :) i’m a straight girl who’s 5’3 i’m mixed (blasian) i have shoulder length dark brown curly hair and brown eyes. my hogwarts house is ravenclaw but i have a lot of hufflepuff qualities, my mbti is infp, my enneagram is type 2, my zodiac is capricorn, and i’m a bit of an old soul I LOVE boba and studio ghibli movies. my interests are photography, reading, writing, and playing video games. I also love talking about dreams and horoscopes and their meanings. my fav song rn is “21” by gracie i’m a closeted weeb I’m kinda shy when you first meet me but once you get to know me i’m pretty outgoing and crazy but overall i’d say that i’m more of an ambivert. I’ve been told I can get a bit stubborn but that’s only because it’s when i do something i’m not used to or it’s something i’m against. but i like to keep an open mind going into new things. I’m pretty artsy and i like expressing myself through different mediums. I don’t play a sport but I love to run and workout. I absolutely love flowers I like to surround myself with people who have good vibes and bring out the best in me as well as themselves. I feel like I could get along with ppl who are introverted and extroverted! tyy

hello! thank you for requesting! i love studio ghibli movies omg- howl’s moving castle- we stan. anyways, here’s your matchup!

generating matchup…

matchup: complete

i match you up with sugawara!

one of your first dates was at a boba shop, where you guys just spent the entire time talking about whatever you wanted to. suga was a great listener, and always knew when to put his opinion to keep the conversation. you both got to know each other very well, and after you guys finished at the cafe, he took you to a small pastry shop and you guys bought a small snack for the trip back home.

at least twice a month, you and suga have a movie night, where you guys attempt to make dinner and watch a studio ghibli movie. his favorite is probably ponyo, and you guys have tried to make the iconic ramen that is shown in the movie, and it actually turned out pretty well. the movies are always pretty funny, because suga always makes shady comments about the characters he doesn’t like, and will be lowkey mad if anything turns out good for those characters.

suga got you a polaroid camera for one of your anniversaries, and whenever you are out on a date with him, you will take a couple of pictures and give a few to him. he keeps all of them hung up on a wall in his room, and whenever he is missing you, he will look at them and remember which date each one was from. sometimes he will return the polaroid photos with little notes and doodles on the pictures, and they always look so cute, and the notes are so sweet.

you and sugawara often play pretty chill video games together, but he will get super competitive if you are ever playing a game where there is a definite winner and loser. he is actually pretty good at whatever games you play, so he will usually beat you, and be kind of smug about it for the rest of the night. his favorite games to play with you are stardew valley and valorant.

if you are ever up for it, sugawara will go on morning runs with you, so he can train for volleyball while still being able to spend time with you. he often takes you running while the sun is coming up, and after you reach the distance you guys wanted to reach. you and suga will stop and just watch the rest of the sun coming up, while vibing with each other in comfortable silence.

you guys learned how to make flower crowns together, so whenever you and suga are in a place with a lot of flowers, you guys will make them for each other, and just be a cute aesthetic couple. if suga ever surprises you with a bouquet of flowers, they will always be wildflowers, because he just thinks it makes the gift seem more thoughtful and personal.

if it is nice outside, he will surprise you with a chill painting date, where you guys go to a local park and just paint the scene together, while playing some chill music and just laughing and vibing with each other. because of you, suga has gotten pretty good at art, and the karasuno team is really surprised when they see what he’s made.

he will leave little gifts (pressed flowers, a stick of gum, a small keychain etc.) in your books, so when you get to that page, you will find his surprise. he loves to see your reaction when you find them, and now you started putting small things in his volleyball bag, binders etc, and whenever he sees that you put something there he gets really happy that you like him enough to gift him little things as well.

whenever you guys are travelling somewhere on public transportation together, he will always bring some earphones to share with you, and let you choose what music to listen to. sometimes suga surprises you with a loud bad bitch song like WAP, and he pretends that it was an accident, though you know he just wanted to get a reaction out of you.

overall, you guys are super cute together, but you and suga can still get chaotic when you want to. people envy how aesthetic your dates are, and suga loves being around you, and he just wants you to know how grateful he is to have someone like you to keep things interesting and enjoyable at the same time.

i hope you enjoyed!

[rixxy8173571m3w1p3]

The Truths Found On Petram Viridios IV (5/5)

A/N: The last chapter to this fic. It's a long one and I gotta say that I've had a lot of fun with this one. After I post this chapter, I'll be sure to post the masterpost for this fic. And of course it'll be available on ao3 soon enough.

Read Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4

__________

Chapter 5: Adore You

If you had to draw a map to find the way home once you were captivated by the gaze of those trustworthy, soft eyes of his, you would surely run out of ink; pools of blue, unwavering in their affection, drew you in, and you were willing to drown in them. There were facets about them that fascinated you as much as the scales of a butterfly did; they did not shimmer, but they gleamed and sparkled; it's what made you pause and search for a wisp of an acquaintance that very first time you saw him; finding a familiarity that threatened to sweep you away. Why you even found fire in those eyes; it was there in his moments of determination and passion. Oh, how their color shifted with his moods was a type of magic you wanted to spend the rest of your life being mesmerized by. To be sure he wasn't mistaken, he dare not blink; exhibiting the full spectrum of what Billie Eilish described as ocean eyes; he had to be sure. "Y-you do?"

"Yes," you giggled. "I do."

It wouldn't occur to you till later, that he had given you a choice. For instead of the typical proposal question, where it was more asserted, Rick asked in a manner in which there was equal footing; it spoke volumes of the respect he had for you. With shaky hands, he slipped a ring whose stone was as clear and blue as his eyes and cut perfectly like a rose, the band covered in gold vines and silver leaves which weaved together; he made it himself, and if you thought back far enough, you could remember when he was ambiguous about his plans to create a new type of stone. Honestly, you didn't realize it would be for this.

"Gosh," he sniffled. "I-I promised myself that I w-wouldn't cry."

But cry he would; fat, sloppy tears that blinded one's vision. He wiped at his eyes with the sleeve of his sweater, and fought to regain composure, but lost to the new wave which followed. You gently pried his hands away from his face, softening at his tear-stained cheeks. "It's okay, you can cry if you want to. I already know how tender you are."

Goodness, how long had he wanted to do this? For while it had almost been two years in which he had last attempted to, it might've been on his mind for much longer than that; eating away at his clarity; at the self-confidence that was torn down and repaired daily. You were grateful and proud that this man wanted you; that he finally gathered the courage to ask and do as he intended and wanted. You….you had wanted this to happen, but did he know that? Your ocean of inquisitions thought otherwise.

However, it was time to quiet and quell his despondent thoughts. Your fingers dug into the collar of his sweater; the tang of nervous sweat and something so him which wafted off him made you yearn to bring him closer. The puffiness about his eyes didn't discourage you from pressing a kiss at the corner of them and from his throat came a choked sob and you were surrounded by the sounds of his disbelief; this cacophony was breaking your heart. There had to be something you could do to ease him. "Ricardo," you started, "considering the suddenness of the occasion, should we, in like fashion…my dear honey man, would you like to get married today?"

This new tidbit caught him off guard; so much so that he stopped crying; good. Now, he was the one who was unsure of whether this was real life or a simulation. He ran his fingers through his hair, double-checked his equipment, sprayed himself with water, and completed equations that had taken this earth dimension's leading mathematicians decades to understand. What you thought was odd was when he caught a pigeon, scanned its anatomy, and found it was sound; you were going to have to ask him about it later. "Rick, did you hear me?"

"Y-yes," he focused, "but what d-do you mean today? How?"

You figured he would have easily come to a conclusion, but then again, what do spacemen have to do with the price of bread?

"I mean that we don't have to wait if you don't want to." You slid your palm over his tattoo, memorizing with your fingertips where his skin was slightly raised. "We can just go down to the justice of the peace if you'd like."

"And y-you would be my wife today?"

"Yes," you giggled. "I think that's how it works."

"But what about a-a…"

"A wedding ceremony?" you interrupted. "Well, we can have one later. We can plan it however you want, and invite all our friends. There can be so much celebration that we'll be knocked out for a week. Until then, I just want to make you happy, and I believe the sooner the better. Okay? So, if we're going to do this, just tell me now and I'll go get the proper paperwork."

It never ceased to amaze you how easily he flitted through emotions as though it were the weather, and with vigor, he lifted you up and vibrated with joy. "Boy, golly gee…this really - this really razzes my b-berries! This is…wow, I-I can't believe it."

You couldn't believe his word choice either. "Oh, you better believe it, because now you're stuck with me and I have you all to myself. However, you're going to have to put me down now because the office closes at five. There are a few things I need to do before then."

Letting you down, he happily waved goodbye despite the fact that it wouldn't take long to get what you needed for this impromptu occasion. Though, when you entered your house, you took a moment to think about your father. There were things you still didn't understand, like why he never told you about his friendship with Rick, or why you two never really discussed what he'd do if you got married; if he had been here, maybe you two would have talked about which flowers would look best as centerpieces; like whether roses or mums were cheerful enough or if this really was a good idea; if such an age gap was surmountable. Yet, in a way you felt as though you were honoring him; for your father and your mother had been unconventional and had gotten married without all the showy displays then road tripped a bit before settling here; you were simply following tradition.

Maybe, you didn't have to know about the why's and what-ifs, but focusing on what you could do seemed a whole lot easier to do. You kicked off your sneakers and dashed upstairs. You knew where your important documents were, but you thought that choosing a cute outfit would take a little longer. You wanted a certain vibe, one that would make things easier on him and then it came to you; why not revisit an old favorite; one that reminded you of his eyes; always, forever blue.

When you returned, you found him pacing around. He was deep in thought, and it took a moment for him to notice that you had returned. Almost comically, his eyes widened as he took in your appearance, and he started to cry again. "That's th-the dress. From that one time."

"It sure is."

With a twirl, you flaunted the blue chiffon dress, and felt like a dream; his visible adoration was not lost on you. It was a relief that this time you hadn't taken an hour to fuss or worry that you weren't dressed for the part, and you weren't wearing shoes which would kill your feet, but instead rocked some converse. "These shoes are made for walking and that's just what I'll do."

Unlike you, Zeta-7 wanted to fuss and choose something dressier, but you somehow managed to convince him that his blue button-up would be fine, and no tie was necessary; hidden ray guns were allowed just in case this happened to be the day that the Gromflomites attacked; not even Earth-based military scanners would be able to detect them. Though, you did allow him to fix up his hair, because one, you thought he was quite handsome with it combed back, and two, it's what he felt he needed to do to look the part. "How do I-I look?"

"Like the man I'm going to marry. Are you ready handsome?"

With a nod, he grabbed the folder with all the documents he needed. "Y-you bet."

______________

At the courthouse, the entire security staff grouped together and teased you about your keys; you should've known that you'd face trouble once you went through the metal detector; you had a lot of keychains; they were from the days when you and your father would go shopping together. Like Rick, he liked yard sales and thrift stores; sometimes he'd get grab bags and there would be vintage keychains, and he'd give them to you knowing you'd like them. You were told by one of the older guards that it wasn't natural for a grown woman to have a set of keys that weighed five pounds. Zeta-7 began to worry, but you told him you could handle it, and you figured the guards were bored and had nothing else to do. What you didn't tell them was that the main reason your keys were heavy was that you were carrying two sets; yours and your father's old keys; Rick knew, but he respected your wishes to leave it be.

Despite this, you two made your way to the right office; it only took fifteen minutes of going to lobby after lobby, free coffee, and endless rugs in all this indoor nothingness. And nobody knew better than Rick when it came to how much you hated paperwork, but nonetheless, you went through the painstaking process of signing this and that, wondering why they didn't make it easier for people by asking yes or no questions; this better not become someone's confetti. Rick breezed through it all, and you were slightly jealous that he knew what he was doing, but it was due to the fact that citadel paperwork was a lot more frustrating and difficult; he had to go through stacks of it weekly; poor man. While he sat quietly, you were in-between forms that had to be signed in triplicate and heard the gossip coming from the people who were working in the back of the office. What they didn't know was that their ignorance made you more determined; you'd fought your own expectations, that of others, as well as what seemed right to do long enough and no one, not even death itself was going to stop you from doing this; it was the best thing you could ever do for yourself and for him as well. You breathed a sigh of relief when you and Rick finally signed the marriage certificate; finally, it was done, and he watched rapturously as you set down the pen so that he could kiss you without refrain.

If you hadn't known better, you'd say the world shied away; dissolving into a plane of nothingness as he enveloped you with a strength that was deceptive for a man of his years; he had become a little more confident; it might've taken a few years, but all you knew was that it suited him. Being nurtured and cared for, as well as loved in the right sort of environment did wonders on Zeta-7; so much so, that he could hold the world in the palm of his hand and still manage not to damage it. It wasn't shocking that some found this outward display sweet, and you almost had hope for humankind, but then there was a laugh or two from the back; you made a mental note to consider moving off Earth. No one was going to ruin this moment for him, and relishing the moment, you chased his mouth for a second kiss; you know, to prove your point.

And if you hadn't already been proud of him, what made you even prouder was what he said on the way out. "Please stop laughing at m-my wife. Th-that's very rude."

His wife? Yes, you were his wife now. It's strange how you could wake up and wonder what you should have for breakfast and be here where you were now; in a whole new chapter of your life; wondering what will come next. Confusing yes, but not something to be afraid of; you welcomed this happy transition.

Back at the car, you were still recovering from his earlier outburst; the like which was almost out of character. "Did you see the look on her face? I thought it was going to fall off with how far her jaw dropped. Wasn't it a sight?"

Though, he was busy staring at the ring on his own hand which you had picked out when you two made a stop at a consignment shop earlier. It wasn't that complex like yours, but he loved it. "All I could see was - was you."

"You flirt."

You gave his shoulder a playful shove, and in turn, he laughed a full-on belly laugh; this happy noise was music to your ears. "Gosh, I-I mean it. Y-you, look so pretty today." A bit shyly, he commented. "Blue looks very good on you."

"Thank you. So, how should we celebrate? A trip to the moon perhaps? Going across the universe? Maybe a kaiju fight with Matango? Or watching Spiderman 2? Honestly, I'm game for anything."

You had decent shoes on and didn't care what he wanted to do because you were happy if he was happy. And as though it were just another afternoon, he glowed with happiness when he asked. "Mrs. Sanchez, do you - do you want to go get some ice cream?"

Some things will never change and you didn't mind that. "I'd love to. As the author, L.M. Montgomery once said, 'I guess ice cream is one of those things that are beyond imagination.' And, you know, it's so true. I intend to go all out with the toppings today. It's certainly that kind of occasion."

______

He couldn't seem to want to let go of your hand; as though the world would fall away if he didn't and that this would turn out to be a cruel dream. Still, you humored and spoiled him. As intended, you got all the toppings; Rick thought it was a kids dream come true with the amount of candy you had in your waffle bowl. And since you had enough to share, you took the liberty to feed him. He chatted on; offering charming stories from his band days; unlike other Ricks who were in a rock band called Flesh Curtains, his band had been a jazz and bossa nova trio; the band name had been comprised of a numerical equation; if you had named them you would've called them the Zeta Bytes.

Now, Rick wasn't a messy eater, but during one of his more excitable stories, he spilled a bit on the corner of his mouth. Ready with a napkin, you wiped it away, and couldn't help but laugh at how boyish it was. Giving your hand a squeeze, he absentmindedly brushed his thumb on the back of your hand; adoration coloring his voice. “You're t-t-too good to me.”

"There's no such thing. If anything, I gotta spoil you rotten."

You found no hindrance in his mood and this time he didn't think twice about kissing you then and there as he liked while you were still holding the napkin; fear and shame of public displays of affection being one less thing to worry about now. Who cared if your ice cream was melting, because your heart was melting; his mouth tasted of chocolate and promises. A soft chuckle escaped him as he pulled away; his promise whispered against your lips. "I-I promise I'll be good t-t-to you."

Being loved suited him; it really, really did wonders on his countenance and it made you wonder what else he could now do.

_________

By now you were a little tired, but Ricks contagious energy invigorated your spirits; you bet he could've come up with an invention and completed it today if he stayed this hyped up. Instead, he used that energy to make fresh rolls to go with the leftover acorn squash soup; you hadn't been that hungry, but you enjoyed it nonetheless. And when dinner had been eaten, you helped him with the dishes; nothing you hadn't done before, but his spirit was lighter and more at ease; he even bumped your hip with his as a gesture of playfulness. After cleaning up the kitchen, he decided that he'd like to take a shower and refresh himself and in the meantime, you stepped out into the backyard to enjoy the beauty of the night. In this part of town, despite the light pollution, you could see a fair amount of stars.

You had never studied astronomy, but Rick had shown you in diagrams and in textbooks of their names and explained how they were formed; to him, their complexity was like poetry, and it made them beautiful. You couldn't recite it by memory, but you had a feeling that beyond your current comprehension perhaps there was life amongst those heavenly bodies, despite the heat or deadly gases; if you had learned anything about space, it was that worlds were more along the lines of art and beauty than fields of science which were easily explained. Yet, in the air, where there was a sweet perfume, thick, but intoxicating, only where you were currently mattered; you saw that in the leftmost part of the yard there was jasmine which was currently in bloom; its blanket of flowers reminding you of snow. Hadn't you read of this somewhere before? Maybe.

In the grass near your feet, grasshoppers leaped away, and crickets chirped their songs. And you relished the strong breezes and the song of the night which may consume a melancholic heart if it were searching for tragedies instead of sweet dreams. And it had only been a few hours ago when you had thought that all of which transpired might've been a dream. Though, whatever truths that had come to light in the hours after the simulation, you were glad of them.

In the dark, sights and sounds were heightened and mesmerizing, albeit curious in its own right; if it hadn't been for the sound barrier Rick had on his property, you would've heard the obnoxious sound of the next-door neighbor's TV as they watched infomercials. Still, it was a beautiful night. Sitting on the bench which overlooked the whole yard, you thought of what wonderful things you'd like to share with Rick, and then he found you. For his part, he had changed into something more relaxed; into a light blue button-down that was similar to the one he was wearing earlier, but this one was softer, and it was paired with navy pants; it reminded you of blue pants Rick with his attire, but it was cute and suited him. With him, he had brought over a tray of goodies and you two ate cookies and cakes and drank earl grey under the moonlit night.

The pause in conversation gave allowances for observations. For example, you took a good long look at him as he sipped his tea; admiring how casual he appeared tonight. Without his labcoat or sweater, his identity seemed separate from that of his dimension jumping, scientist self; making way for the person deep inside; the friendly neighbor who won your heart without even trying. He noticed eventually that you had been staring at him, and he broke the silence with his inquiry. "What are y-you thinking about?"

"I'm thinking about you cutie. You um….you look really good in those blue pants of yours. Thinking of taking up modeling anytime soon?"

"N-no," he answered with an air of obliviousness that you found endearing. "not unless my next work assignment requires it. Gee, why do you ask?"

"Hmm, it's because you wear your clothes well. I always thought you did, but I don't believe I ever mentioned it."

He ruminated on what you said for a few minutes, before setting down his cup. "Did you - did you always find me attractive?"

"No," you confessed. "but you're the only person I've ever really been attracted to. I…..I always liked the fact that our relationship was built on something more substantial. You see, the more I got to know you, the more irresistible I found you. Though," you winked. "those teeth of yours were always too cute to resist."

This truth of yours made him comfortable enough to relinquish one of his own. "C-can I tell you a secret?"

"It's not much of a secret if you tell me dear, but you can tell me anyway."

Wringing his hands together, he confessed solemnly. "That day y-you tripped on the sidewalk nearby my house, I-I almost decided not to cross the road."

Not cross the road? Hmm, it had been an option. In your mind's eye, you could imagine it; the tall, lanky figure of a man debating against his better judgment on what he ought to do; so close but so far; knowing that he was altering the course of his future and putting yours at risk. Poor man, having to wallow over a moral dilemma like that. "Why is that?"

"Gosh, y-you….I didn't want to take advantage of the situation."

It could've been taken that way, but you never thought so. "So what changed your mind?"

"I thought you were going to cry, and I-I didn't… I didn't want you to suffer anymore. I thought t-to myself, that if I got t-t-to know you, then you wouldn't have to be lonely anymore."

When he said this, you nearly couldn't look at him; not because he knew more than he let on, but because who knows what paths you two would've taken if he hadn't shown up that day. Tears bit at the back of your eyes, and your nails bit into your palms. "Dear, love isn't always a cure for heartache," He tensed up at this, but you knew you had to tell him. You weren't upset because you had guessed as much, but being assured of it cemented the fact. "but I'm sure that without you, without your friendship, I might not be here right now. I think I was depressed, and from time to time I still feel that way. I…I have thought of ways to make my troubles end, ways you might not have been proud of, but you've shown me a better way to live. I think…no, I know that by expanding my horizons, I understand now that there's so much to look forward to, and not to take life for granted. Why," you paused, fighting the tears which threatened to fall. "you reminded me that I gotta make the most of this crazy, unpredictable life, and I'm happy that I'll get to do that with you."

He understood and accepted this answer and gave you a look of adoration and pride; the like that you hoped you'd always remember. And when you two were done with tea, you both took a walk about the garden. The sweet perfume of jasmine intermingled with that of the scent of his soap, and combined with the candor of his speech made this place feel like a well of comfort. He followed behind you as you two spoke, and you were conscious of the fact that with his freshly washed hair brushed back, it made him more appealing. His hands were in want of yours as he matched your pace, and you felt slightly mischievous as you'd skip or teased him to catch you; it wasn't long until he gathered you in his arms and laughed, and you asked without much seriousness for him to let you go, but while he loosened his grip, he didn't let go entirely. "Gosh, y-you make me feel so young. It - it feels so good to have you in my arms."

"Oh, really?" you giggled. "That's great to hear."

Pressing a kiss to your temple, he sighed. "It's unfortunate that I'm so old."

"That's okay. I like you as you are. It goes well with your personality."

"Thank you mi corazón. It feels good to hear that. However, can I-I ask you something?"

"Mhm."

"¿Si hubiera s-sido más joven, habría marcado la diferencia?"

"If you had been younger? I don't know. Possibly," you admitted. "I might've been less reluctant about my feelings at the beginning, but I truly don't know. I'd like to think that I'd still would've fallen for you anyway. You're a wonderful man Ricardo, you don't have to doubt that, anyone can see that. It doesn't matter how old you are, but it's who you are."

"Y-you're right." With reluctance, he allowed his arms to drop to his sides, and he wondered. "It um - it's getting late. Should I-I walk you home?"

Was he forgetting that he didn't have to? Maybe not. Perhaps he needed a sign; one that said that any suggestion of further intimacy was alright. "I thought I was home." you answered, "Don't you want me to stay?"

Scratching the back of his neck, he nodded. "Yes, I-I-I-I do."

"Then it's settled. We'll have a big sleepover," you brightened. "and it'll never have to end. I'll borrow a pair of your pj's and hog all the blankets because I'll get cold."

"And in - in the morning," he added warmly, "w-we can have pancakes."

"Yeah, and watch enough interdimensional cable to make us go blind."

"But I-I might have to work tomorrow."

"Oh. Well, then I guess I'll just have to eat all your snacks until you come back. We might have to take a trip to Costco at some point because they sell these mushroom crisps that are to die for."

Standing under the persimmon tree, he stepped forward and gave your shoulder a squeeze. "Y-you can have whatever you want," With a strong arm slipping around your waist, you felt almost shy at the way he smiled protectingly down at you. His warm breath ghosted about your ear, and his voice was above a whisper as he confessed. “because I-I-I finally got you princess and I'm not - I'm not going t-to let you go.”

At the sound of this pet name, you felt a slight warmth rush to your cheeks, but you didn't laugh it off as you had once but agreed with warmth. “You may do as you please, Mr. Sanchez.”

And so he did. Without hesitation, he lifted your chin and brushed your lips with his thumb. His eyes sparkling with humor, promise, and a confidence that was somehow so very appropriate on his face. "I love you. I-I-I always have. From the time I first held your hand, I knew it had to be you. I would've been a fool if I - if I hadn't tried. Even now, it's hard to believe, but it's starting to sink in."

"Me too. It's unbelievable, but it's true and we have the paperwork to prove it."

Leaning down, he pressed a sweet kiss onto your lips. It was so gentle, it was as though you might break if he tried otherwise. Kissing you again, he sighed against your lips. "It's beautiful out t-tonight."

"It is."

Pressing a hand to his cheek, you softened. "But I think I'm ready to call it a night. Why don't we go in?"

Weaving his fingers with yours, he softened. "Okay."

You used to think to yourself and wonder if his house would ever be ready to receive you, but what you now realized was that it had always been ready, and only you had been waiting for it all to catch up; for him to know what he wanted and to be courageous and say; for you to know what you needed, and to accept that being yourself didn't make you any less attractive or unique and that you weren't alone; you had never been alone, for he had always been waiting. His home, why it was always home, but it was always home because he was what grounded you and you were what grounded him. And you felt so married to him then, and everything felt as it should. Nothing had really changed, except for a title, and a promise; for you two were friends as you had always been; him the happy go lucky old man, and you the silly neighbor who met him by accident, but you couldn't deny that you loved him with your entire being and so did he. As promised, he intended to do everything in his power to protect you, even as you two were getting ready for bed. His body seemed to curl around you as to shield you from whatever monsters could be hiding in the dark.

So, when it happened that you rested your head upon his chest and felt the temptation of sleep washing over you, you pressed a light kiss to his cheek and confessed softly. "I can't wait to wake up next to you."

Fin

[caffeinatedfantasy]

The Seal pt 15: London Falling

{ Chris: [bio] Pt [0.5] [1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8] [9] [10] [11] [12] [13] [14]/ ?? [Starting 11-7] [ AO3 Link From Beginning ] 

Being back in the human world after being in Devildom for as long as I had filled me with such a rush of emotion that I stood there, unable to move for... I didn't know how long. My chest was tight. Too tight, breaths coming in fast and shallow. I was panicking. I could feel the sting in my eyes and I didn't even know why it was affecting me like this, but it was and there wasn't anything I could do, there wasn't anywhere I could go and--

Lucifer stepped in front of me, looking at me with concern through Satan's face. I don't know what expression I was making, but my panic must have been clear, as he placed a gentle hand on my shoulder and pulled me closer. ["Wh-where?" I heard myself say, but didn't actually remembering asking.]

"We're in London. You're okay. You're safe." Why the fuck was I panicking? Why the fuck was I panicking? Why the FUCK was I panicking like this? I closed my eyes as he spoke and started to breath slowly. Deep Breath In. Deep Breath Out. I'd never even been to London, so for it to give me a panic response like this just didn't make sense... "We brushed against one of the layers with that spell. You shouldn't have been effected, but perhaps with our being in unfamiliar bodies..." He stopped speaking for a moment, trailing off and letting me breath. Deep Breath In. Deep Breath Out. "We'll be more careful on the way back."

I nodded. My heartbeat was returning to normal and his touch was oddly grounding. The others seemed to finally notice that we were standing there like that, because I heard Mammon's "Hey! What are you doing over there?"

I smiled at Lucifer gently, gratefully, before letting it turn teasing and turned my attention to Mammon. "He was just lecturing me not to go running off."

Explaining to Mammon that I'd been having a panic attack didn't seem like a great idea. He was already overprotective of me sometimes. And he was now seeming to be in a better mood than when we'd left and I didn't want to ruin that. 

We stopped at a pub to get our bearings, and he was overjoyed at the options to drink. Shaking my head, I walked back to the boys with my cider.

I'd always wanted to go to London. My gran was from further north, but it was a small town she'd always insisted that nothing interesting really happened in. I just wished we could spend more time here, rather than in and out for Lucifer's sake.

"Thought you didn't want to come to the human world, Mammon." I teased him as he extolled the virtues of human world dark beer, a small grin on my face. It sparks a back and forth between the brothers that has me smiling as I drink. Mammon's attitude made me smile. I could appreciate the idea of making the best of a situation once in it, Hell, I could argue that's what I was doing in Devildom [since I hadn't exactly planned it], but he committed to it with an eagerness I just could never match.

His eagerness throughout the trip was contagious and it was easy to forget the panic attack I'd had when we'd arrived as he dragged me around, holding tightly onto my hand. Unlike his brothers, I let myself get caught up in his excitement rather than getting embarrassed. It made my own excitement about all of it pale in comparison. Especially as he helped me attach the keychain to my bag and smiling for the photo he took of us.  It wouldn't send just yet, he told me, but he was gonna put it on Devilgram the moment we got back, he insisted. I hummed as I glanced at the photo, a wicked idea coming into my head.

"I don't like how I look in that pic, do you mind taking another one?" He didn't hesitate a moment at my request, re-positioning his DDD to get a good shot of the two of us.

"I'll put the timer on, kay?" He said, and I nodded, grinning. Making a peace sign, I squished in close to him as the timer went down.Two. One And-- I turned and kissed him on the cheek right as the camera clicked, catching him unaware. I took the phone from him, ignoring just how red he had gotten, and looked at the picture.

"Perfect!" Luck had been on my side and it had taken the picture at just the right time without much blur. Humming [and not ignoring his stammering embarrassment], I sent the picture to myself. Handing him back his DDD, I walked over to Lucifer and Satan, still grinning a bit, despite their raised eyebrows. Half of the fun was letting Mammon get all flustered about the little dose of affection.  

The trip got away from us a little bit after we got on the train, though. Mammon had recovered from his embarrassment enough to rush headlong right back into excitement. Which ended up with him headlong into being accused of murder. Which Lucifer, Satan and I had to solve. Mostly Satan and I. Myself out of concern for Mammon and what might happen to him if he let him be punished for it, and Satan out of an unexpectedly nerdy excitement to solve the crime. [I really shouldn't have been surprised by him being a fan of the show. He was so into these sorts of things that it only made sense.]

It also was no surprise that the whole incident of his accusation had been because he had been stupid and ignored the sign saying keep out, letting someone else take advantage of it and get him into trouble. Which sounded very familiar. But by the end of it, we found the correct killer and Satan and Lucifer were back in their own bodies thanks to their witch friend. While the brothers were talking and figuring out what we should do before we head back to Devildom, the ghost turned towards me.

"Chris, was it?" The voice asked me, and I nodded. Grisella continued. "Before the Scotland Yard gets into my things, go into my luggage and find a slim leather case. Take it with you. It should be useful for you."

I paused, frowning at the request. I'd never had a stranger tell me to essentially steal from them before. But who was I to argue? It was a gift from the dead. I nodded. "Alright. Thank you."

Like that, she was gone.

And several hours later, after some shopping and some final tourist-ing, we were on our way back to Devildom. I hadn't told the guys what I had taken from Grisella's bag, and I wasn't even sure if they'd noticed anything amiss. I'd have to hide it and figure out how it was supposed to be useful to me when I was alone. I needed a place where Mammon wouldn't snoop either [I'd noticed his habit of looking through my things, and my attempts at dissuading him had made little difference], which was going to be a problem.

I held onto Lucifer as we went back through the gate, my head tucked into his chest. Just in case. It hadn't been the same this time. I hadn't come back out of the spell on the verge of panic and ready to bolt. And that had been all the sign Lucifer had needed to assume that I was alright and that it had just been a fluke of the body swap, even as he rubbed my hair comfortingly. But it wasn't. It hadn't been as strong as before, and I'd been prepared for it, but I'd still felt it when we'd brushed by the layers and I hid my shaking hands from the oldest demon, sending him the best reassuring and grateful smile I could manage.

But my heart was pounding as the emotions whirled in me. I took in a deep breath as we walked, trying to let the feelings simply drift back out of me as best as I could. They weren't mine. That I could tell. But they still clawed at the back of my throat, the taste of blood and bile burning at me. And only Lucifer spared me another glance as we made our way. [I wondered if he could tell that the panic had hit me again? Or if he had some other motivation behind checking on me as we walked.] I wasn't lagging behind them, keeping fair pace with Mammon, whose excitement was muted, but was now sending off the photos he'd taken to their respective places.

No one even questioned me when I went straight to my room back at the House of Lamentation, yawning with genuine tiredness from the trip. I was surprised that Mammon didn't follow me, but I supposed that he was trying to avoid annoying Lucifer now that he was back in his own body again. And it did give me time to hide the leather case in a thin slot in the new wall to my room. [The stone had apparently not been reattached properly when it had been fixed after Beel's rampage, and it was already hidden mostly by the shelf.] I changed into my pajamas and tried to sleep.

Mammon still didn't come to my room, and I'd debated texting him to see if he was awake, knowing that the restless feeling left in me was going to cause issues. But my DDD was plugged in, desperately needing to charge after that trip. So I slipped out of my room, making my way down the hall, intent on finding Mammon and perhaps he'd let me sleep in his room tonight. But I hesitated. He was likely to ask why I'd come to his room.  Because if he could tell I was upset, he would ask. I knew that he would. And tears were already starting to sting the corners of my eyes.

I took a deep breath in. AND he was so strange when it came to any of my emotions. If he saw me upset he'd freak out. Hell, even if I managed to hide that, he likely would get embarrassed. His hesitancy with affection was still weird to me, and while I wanted to see him, I worried that he wouldn't want that. So I kept walking past his room, stopping at the door and raising my fist to knock before I even realized where I was.

Lucifer's room was an even worse idea and I didn’t know why I’d gone there. Sure. He'd been the one to calm me from this feeling earlier, and he'd done it so effectively that I would have sworn he'd done it by magic, but... Would it be a blow to his pride to know that the layers had still affected me? He'd been so sure that it had been a mistake last time that he might assume that it had been a failure on his end that caused this in me. And if he didn't assume that, would he try to figure it out?

Would he start asking questions I wouldn't know how to answer? About when I'd started feeling the emotions and magic of others?  Would he get upset that I'd hid it from him? Would he--

My heart was pounding in my chest, anxiety flooding back through me and I stepped back from the door, lowering my hand. I couldn't go there either. I'd have to go back to my room and deal with it on my own.  I sighed and began my trek back to my room before I spotted Beel, on his way to the kitchen and I smiled, jogging to catch up with him.

"Hey Beel, I got you something from the human world." I told him as I appeared at his shoulder. To his credit, he didn't jump, but he appeared not to have noticed me until then. I didn't give him much time to respond before I continued, "I'll grab it from my room and meet you in the kitchen!"

Beel wouldn't ask me questions, at least. I'd share some of the cadbury chocolates I'd gotten with him and ask him if I could stay in his room tonight. Unlike the others, he knew I had nightmares too. And I could trust that he wouldn't ask too much.

--

Seemingly full for the night [or as close as Beel ever really got], Beel smiled at me. We hadn't talked much as we ate, him plowing through a few plates of what I assumed had been leftovers saved for his midnight snack, while I munched on cadbury fingers. But he smiled in contentment, and I couldn't help but smile back at him softly, holding out a chocolate biscuit for him. He considered me for a moment before leaning forward and taking it from my hand. I couldn't help but laugh at his antics.

"Should probably get to sleep..." He said after a moment, standing and stretching.

Now would be the time to ask if I could join him. See if it would be alright if I just stayed with him. It shouldn't feel so difficult to ask, because I'd done it before, after all. Hell, I'd suggested it a couple of times out of concern for his nightmares. I didn't know why it was so difficult to do so now. And he was already in halfway out the door and I hadn't figured out how to get my mouth to ask for anything.

I chewed on my bottom lip, annoyed at myself for my sudden anxiety about it. He stopped just outside the door and turned back, looking at me. "You coming?"

It was a very simple offer and it said all I needed to know. Whether he had sensed I had needed it, whether he needed it, or whatever, he was offering. I nodded and followed him to his room. As I'd hoped, he didn't bother to ask. He just led the way back to his room and climbed into his bed, holding the blanket for me to crawl in after him. The bigger demon gave me a small smile as I curled myself against his chest, wrapping an arm around me and pulling me against him.

I felt him press his against my hair for a moment before tucking me under his chin as I wrapped an arm around him in turn, my other resting against his chest. I felt him fall asleep next to me, his slow steadying breaths a soothing rhythm that I focused on in order to sleep. And it did help. "Thanks." I muttered into his chest as I drifted off to sleep.

[zhydoesart]

Date Night (ch. 2/2)

Chapter One

Ships: DLAMP

Warnings: gender dysphoria, sympathetic Deceit

AO3

Side note: Expect me to post a lot in the next few days. I’m working on some plotless LAMP fluff and some more DLAMP.

On the way to their seats, Virgil had spilled his popcorn, so Patton had offered him some of hers, and now they were sitting next to each other so they could share the bowl. Meanwhile, one of Roman's arms had snaked around Logan's shoulders, and Logan was trying to pretend as though it hadn't happened so as to maintain his composure.

Virgil's's thoughts on the movie came in the form of wondering why they'd picked a cliche romance, whereas Logan secretly liked it. Roman's eyes were teary, as he'd always had a soft spot for love stories, while Damien simply watched quietly. However, Patton wasn't doing too well, as the sensation of her- no, his now- chest tightening began to creep upon him.

Patton tried to focus on the movie again—some Asian dude dressed like a pirate was declaring his love for an Indian princess—but to no avail. The hum began to build in his ears, and he had to get out of there.

Abruptly, Patton stood, running out of the theater, ignoring his boyfriends’ whispered cries of his name. He beelined for the bathrooms—at least there he could be undisturbed—but found when he got there that there wasn't a third bathroom—only 'male’ and 'female,’ and he couldn’t, he just couldn’t.

Instead of entering one, Patton turned around and ran—where to, he didn't know, but he halted as he noticed a little nook of sorts behind a cardboard prop, and he squeezed himself into that nook, knees pulled up against his chest as he rocked forward and back.

His phone vibrated in his pocket to a pattern of long-long-short, and Patton recognized the vibration pattern as that of Damien. Pulling his phone out to check, he read the message.

[Dee<3] why'd you run out like that

[Dee<3] what's wrong pat

[Dee<3] where are you? Virgil said to check the bathroom since that's where he'd run to hide but I checked the men's and I don't think people would take kindly to me going into the women's

Patton rested his head in his hands before replying.

[Patton] behind the cardboard cutout of The Rock

[Dee<3] I see you

A shadow appeared, and Patton looked up to see Damien looking down at them. After a moment he sat down next to Patton.

“So, sugar, what's the issue?” Damien didn't look at Patton as he spoke; instead his eyes traced the lines on the back of the cardboard, and Patton was suddenly glad Damien wasn't watching him.

Patton played with a loose string on the hem of his skirt. “I'm still wearing a skirt but I feel like a guy now, and I don't know what to do.”

“Hold on, I'm going to text Logan,” said Damien, pulling out his phone to type something. After a minute, his phone vibrated. “He's the closest to your size, and he says he's got an extra pair of pants in his car,” Damien informed Patton, who, once again, was very glad for his boyfriends. “He's going to bring it to you, and you can change into the pants, is that okay?”

“That's perfect, thank you.” Patton beamed. They were so close together now, and his eyes kept darting back to Damien's lips. He couldn't help himself. He caressed Damien's jaw, turning his face towards him, and they both leaned in as Damien closed his eyes.

Logan nodded as he spotted the cutout of The Rock Damien had mentioned, and he crouched next to it to see Damien and Patton locking lips.

“Guess Patton's not feeling too bad anymore.” The two broke apart at Logan's teasing tone, looking vaguely guilty. “Here.” He tossed the pants into Patton's lap.

“Thanks,” Patton said. Slowly, Damien stretched his legs as he got up, and then Patton crawled out from behind the cardboard.

He flashed Logan a grateful smile, but not without a sheepish demeanor.

Patton changed into the pants in a stall in the men's bathroom. He weighed the barrette in his hand for several minutes until finally slipping it into a pocket in case he wanted it later, but he kept the makeup on; Roman had done such a good job and he wasn't quite ready to wash it off yet.

When he emerged from the restroom, Patton found that not only were Logan and Damien waiting outside, but Virgil and Roman had joined them. Apparently the movie was over now.

They all stopped by Patton's car so he could drop off the skirt in the back, and then they headed to their next destination, which happened to be a surprise to everyone but Patton.

It was an old-timey, 50s-style ice cream parlor, complete with antique bar stools and booths. Roman exclaimed that it was “adorable” and Logan admitted he did like the “feel” of the place, whatever it meant when Logan said it.

Patton decided on a large bowl of chocolate ice cream, while Roman chose dulce de leche. After some debating, Logan eventually settled on green tea, Virgil got moose tracks, and Damien had butter brickle. (Logan had, of course, questioned the name of Damien’s choice of ice cream, and Roman had reminded him to “Loosen up, mi amor, it’s a date!”)

Somehow Roman had convinced Virgil to spoon-feed him his ice cream, and Virgil complied reluctantly for one spoonful, then went back to eating his own, even as Roman pouted that Virgil hadn’t done more. Patton quietly giggled as he watched.

Their third destination had been picked out by Logan, and happened to be an art museum. Logan had quietly admitted that he had a “secret soft spot for art,” since he himself claimed to be far from ‘good’ at it. It may have been an unexpected choice for a date location, but Patton was sure they all enjoyed some part of it.

Roman took it upon himself to pose dramatically in front of every large landscape painting, and kept calling to Damien to take pics, who did, rolling his eyes every time. Meanwhile, Virgil seemed to have a liking for some of the darker paintings and color schemes, which was a surprise to no one. Patton enjoyed the bright colors on certain paintings, as well as the abstract. He kept noticing Damien, when Roman wasn’t calling him over to be photographer, reach out a few inches away from some of the people-filled landscapes to brush his fingertips against air, while Logan could only state clinically and sometimes in very disjointed sentences what he liked about certain pieces of art, particularly several of the more modern sculptures.

While everyone looked around the gift shop, Patton discreetly purchased little gifts for them. For Logan, a space pen with the museum’s name printed on it, he was sure Logan would find the particularly balanced pen intriguing. For Damien, he’d managed to find a miniature version of one of the pictures he’d been so longingly gazing at, while Virgil’s was a keychain shaped similarly to a statue he’d admired. Last, for Roman, he bought a T-shirt in his size that read, “I don’t make art | I AM art,” which he knew Roman would love. He stowed the bags in his car, and they drove to the fourth location; this time only taking two cars as opposed to three.

It was dark out when they reached Virgil’s destination, and Patton could only gape at the brilliance of the stars, to the point where he tripped on his way up the hill. At the top, Virgil unrolled a large blanket he’d retrieved from his car, and they all picked a spot to lay down. Patton was in the center, Logan and Virgil on either side, with Roman next to Logan and Damien next to Virgil.

Patton, quite lost for words, gazed, amazed, up at the dark blanket of sky stretching out above them, marred only by the shining dots of stars freckling the navy blue expanse. Nights like this reminded him how small he was in the general scale of things, but all the same, he knew there were people who cared for him, to whom he meant a lot, and he smiled softly as he made out the quiet murmuring between Roman and Logan. Virgil’s warm hand slipped into his own, a sharp, yet somehow welcome, contrast from the chill air surrounding them, and Patton felt at peace, even as he felt himself slipping into ‘they.’

The last place they were going to go to was Logan’s house, courtesy of Damien. Logan’s family was fairly wealthy, so his house was huge, completely surrounded by wrought-iron fences, and Patton, despite having been there before, was still surprised that there weren’t gargoyles perched on the roof, guarding the house, ready to defend it if some unsavory person were to enter.

That was how the five ended up in Logan’s living room, cuddling on his couch, rewatching Parks & Rec for Patton’s sixth time on a TV wider than any of them was tall. There was easily more than enough space for them to spread out on the couch, but still, they chose to be close, packed in like sardines. Virgil’s hand was resting on Logan’s thigh, much to his distraction, and Patton was sitting in Roman’s lap, while Damien sat between Virgil and Roman, holding hands with both.

When Virgil fell asleep on Logan’s shoulder, Patton decided it was time to go to bed, and they all ended up curling up together in a gay mess of limbs in Logan’s gigantic, probably-expensive, rich-guy bed.

And Patton knew they would never be happier than in times like these, when each of their boyfriends was content, when they could all just be carefree and in love, and they hoped nothing would ever come between them and that ‘happy ending’ to their fairytale.