#Drew him like a month ago for the hermit a day may thing but yeah. never got to post him as i couldnt draw any more of em

[jestroer]

Haven't posted anything in more than a month, have this lil Beef

[roxa-sos]

heaven's gate, part one - grief and her rich friends. (john b routledge)

john b routledge x reyna lance

tw; alcohol, teenage drinking, kissing + reference to it leading to sex towards the end

part one; reyna lance, born and raised in the outer banks, deals with grief in an unusual way.

a/n -- uh reyna is rich girl chaos. i love her too much.

×××

grief is weird when your family has money.

on one hand, you're probably looking at a big sum of money and access to a fund that whoever's dead left for you. that's a plus. on the other side, you just lost someone you were close to. but you can never be too close to anyone when you've got power over half of an island.

reyna lance. sixteen year old rich girl from figure eight. daughter of sean and tyra lance. she was only known for three major things - her dad's porsche, her messy breakups, and her alcohol problem.

problems were constant in the lance family. from tax evasion to fucking with stocks, it seemed like every other month it looked like sean lance was going to jail. he never did, though, which was quite the accomplishment, but expected with his kind of funds. everyone always thought that it would be jailtime that drew him away from the island. like always, though, he surprised the residents of the outer banks.

"reyna!" her mother called from the bottom of the staircase, banging on the railing to get her attention. her actions dragged the girl out of her room, in shorts, a tube top and some layer that resembled a kimono. "you can't hide from sean like this."

the girl groaned, throwing her head back before she leaned over the side of the staircase. she could technically hide from her dad for as long as she wanted, they had multiple properties, boats, cars, it would take a considerable amount of time for him to find her. nevertheless, she had to listen to her mom. it was hard saying no to that woman.

"you can't hide from sean like this," she echoed in a mocking tone, looking down at her mom.

tyra beckoned her down with her hand, crossing her arms. "your father told you an hour ago that we needed to talk as a family. that doesn't mean you hide away like a hermit, sweetie."

"okay, i'm here now. you want to talk?" reyna asked, taking her time as she climbed down the stairs to talk to her mother.

"your dad's in the kitchen. come on." with that statement, her mom turned her back on the girl and walked down the hall. this left reyna considering going back upstairs, but if her parents were so desperate to talk to her, she figured she may as well give them the time of day.

so, she followed her mother, trailing a few feet behind her after hurrying down the rest of the stairs.

upon entering the kitchen, she caught sight of a woman sitting at the kitchen table, her father leaning on the table next to her. "what is it now, dad, trouble with the IRS or some shit?" reyna asked, hardly looking at her dad while she grabbed a water bottle from the fridge.

"can you take this seriously, please?" her mother hissed at her, causing reyna to do a double take. her mom was usually a fairly passive aggressive person. she didn't yell, she didn't take disciplinary action, she just got frustrated with people. and disappointed, her favorite phrase was that she "wasn't sad, just disappointed." so the new tone of voice got reyna's attention.

"yeah... yeah," the girl trailed off, closing the fridge, facing her parents from where she stood. "so what's going on?"

"baby," her father finally spoke up, taking a few steps towards her. "i'd love it if you could meet karissa." he gestured to the woman at the table. she was blonde, young, and she looked professional.

"alright, uh, hi, then?" reyna shrugged, providing nothing more than a wave for the blonde.

"she's my... girlfriend."

reyna's father's words caused her jaw to drop. literally. reyna never thought that she'd be in a situation that would physically cause her jaw to drop, but there she was, staring at her father's... mistress? from across the kitchen, completely dumbstruck.

"i told you to ease her into it," tyra spat, obviously angry with the man.

"you're growing up, you know? i think you deserve to know when your dad's gonna be out of your life," sean ignored reyna's mother, trying to get into his daughter's line of sight to keep her attention.

reyna's parents were always rocky. she didn't have a fantastic relationship with her dad, and she always joked about how she'd choose her mom's side in the divorce, but she didn't actually think that a divorce was ever going to happen, especially considering how tyra was more of a trophy wife than a working one. "what are you talking about?" reyna started interrogating the man in front of her, shaking her head as if she didn't understand it.

"your mother and i are splitting up. it's mutual-" he began, before being interrupted by his apparent ex-wife.

"it's over karissa," she interjected before letting reyna's father continue.

"mutual. we fell out of love. you've always said that you wanted to stick with your mom, so i figured that it was just easier to relinquish custody." he continued, explaining his thinking as if it was going to make any sense to his teenage daughter.

reyna stood there for a few moments, eyebrows furrowed as she stared at her dad. 

"i know it's not immediate, but we'll be in court for the next few weeks sorting things out. okay? it's for the best that you're sticking with tyra. you two are good." sean clapped his hands once he was done speaking, not expecting a response from reyna. "good. good, we've cleared the air. saying that, you both have my number, i'll be staying at the other place until i officially move out. that's alright?"

"yeah, dad, that's alright." maybe it was shock, or maybe she'd just accepted it, but reyna didn't seem to be phased by a divorce being dumped in her lap.

reyna tended to be... insensitive. was she an asshole? kind of, actually, but not nearly as much as a majority of the kooks. but did she understand healthy relationships? hardly, and that was all thanks to the people getting a divorce. so maybe it was acceptance after all, because she never really saw them working out. 

"is that it?" she asked, looking at the adults in the room. tyra looked a little shocked to see the girl so done with the conversation, but she nodded carefully.

"that's it, but-"

"alright, cool, uh, you guys can do whatever, i'll be back later." she nodded, quickly backing out of the kitchen. 

she had a feeling in the pit of her stomach that she didn't understand at all. anger? she was pissed at her dad for being a whore when he was married and had a kid. sad? she was sad about... losing him? sure. there was something else there, though, and she couldn't figure it out.

and she wouldn't figure it out, at least, she didn't think she would. it was almost nine in the evening, and she was sure that there had to be at least one rager on the island on that fine friday night. it was the outer banks, there was a party somewhere every night, you just had to know where to look. usually reyna went to parties with friends. it was how you stayed safe, how you had a designated driver, and how you had fun. though, reyna wasn't looking for anything other than to get wasted and evict whatever feeling was overtaking her body.

so, instead of heading back to her room, she headed out to the garage. nothing like pulling up in your dad's porsche to wherever you were going. she got into the driver seat and pulled out her phone, and based on a few snapchat stories, it was easy to deduct that where she needed to go to get wasted was the boneyard, for a good old kegger.

it took her less than twenty minutes to get there, and she could've done it in ten if she hadn't pulled over to scream. screech at the top of her lungs, frustrated because she felt stuck. nevertheless, she got there, shoving the keys in her back pocket before finding her way to the crowd of people. a bonfire, a keg, and all different kinds of teens were scattered around the beach. with these different kinds of teens, she ultimately was able to spot one of her best friends.

"lance, never texted me back about the party, but you still showed up to it?" topper thornton referred to reyna by her last name as she greeted him with a disappointing shrug.

"you know i love leaving you on read," she joked, taking a cup of beer he offered to her. "is sarah around?" she asked about his girlfriend, not seeing the kook princess by his side.

"yeah, she's somewhere. you know, being sarah cameron." he rolled his eyes and sighed. reyna knew all about the girl just through topper himself, and not that reyna hated sarah... just that she was definitely topper's friend before she was hers. "did you steal your dad's car?" he asked, a hint of astonishment in his voice. 

reyna shrugged once more, a little smug smile on her face that time. "looking for new ways to piss him off." she admitted, gesturing to the vehicle. 

"well, when he kicks you out, i can probably sneak you into our guest bedroom." topper laughed, glancing down the beach. "you're kidding me, sarah's-" he began to explain before shouting her name once more and booking it down the beach. she was probably doing something dumb... being sarah cameron.

reyna clicked her tongue, swishing the beer around in the plastic cup she'd been given while nodding. "nice talk," she continued walking down the beach until she could spot some of the pogues, and took a drink to the fact that she had to see them. 

of course, she didn't get what she expected. she gagged on the alcohol, wincing at the taste. "holy fuck," she coughed, shaking her head.

"something wrong?" reyna heard a voice from beside her, and she could hardly bring herself out of her own disgust to look at the person it was coming from.

"yeah, this beer tastes like warm coors light, who serves warm coors light at a party?" she was half joking, but it was really bad. the guy standing next to her was hard to recognize from up close. he had somewhat long brown hair that was sticking out of the bottom of a baseball cap turned backwards. apparently he didn't have the time to button up his shirt all the way, so it sat open, two buttons holding it together towards his lower abdomen. of course, that made it hard for reyna to not stare at what was exposed. she brought her eyes to meet his, and saw a slight smile on his face as he looked down at her. 

"we do, i guess," he laughed, tilting his head to the side. he seemed surprised to hear her say something so... bold to him, but he brushed if off. "sorry for the shitty beer, then. i'm john b." he offered his hand for her to shake, and she took it out of habit. 

she recognized his name, and it was just her luck that he was one of those pogues. he had to be one of the most recognizable ones, now that she thought about it, but she'd never seen him face to face.

"reyna. reyna lance." she introduced herself in response, shaking his hand briefly before letting go. 

"oh, trust me, i know a lance when i see one," he nodded, letting her know that she didn't need to introduce herself.

"you do?" reyna asked, a little confused. she'd already managed to forget that the entire island knew her and her parents. even the kids from the cut, which they probably screwed over the most.

"yeah, i do," john b confirmed, taking the cup of beer from reyna's hand and downing it for her. "what i originally came over here to ask you is what you're doing alone at my party."

"we own parties now?" reyna laughed, raising an eyebrow at the boy. why was she alone? topper blew her off, of course, but she wasn't about to let john b in on her personal life. 

he rolled his eyes at her, his smile slightly growing. "whatever, i brought the beer, i own the party, you're just roaming around alone?" 

"just trying to get wasted, john b." reyna reassured him, patting his shoulder like they were old friends. it probably didn't help that he'd drank the rest of her beer, but she wasn't sure she could've finished the cup herself without throwing up.

"this, reyna, is what you should've said earlier." he immediately pointed out, motioning for her to wait a moment as he maneuvered through people to get to the keg. it didn't take him long to come back with another cup, earning a sour look from reyna. "don't look so bitchy, it's not warm coors light, just drink it." he handed her the cup, and resisting every muscle in her body that told her not to, she took a sip.

the drink burned the back of her throat, but that made her know it was strong.

"oh, wow," she coughed, blinking a few times. "wasting good alcohol on a kook?"

"looked like you needed it." john b said in response, arms crossed as he watched her take another sip. well, less of a sip, more of a chug. he had his own cup in his hand, hardly filled, but he matched her pace when he saw her continue to drink.

"shit, you're the best pogue i know," she breathed, half of the cup's contents having been consumed at that point.

"i better be," he responded briefly before returning to drinking, reyna following in pursuit. when he was done, he had to pinch the bridge of his nose and rub his eyes. "christ, our livers are shot."

"who gives a fuck about livers? as far as i'm concerned, i could die tomorrow night." reyna almost choked on her words by the time she was done with the cup, running her hand through her hair. 

"tomorrow night?" john b seemed a little surprised, but he went with it, "that doesn't give us a lot of time." 

"time to do what?" reyna shook her head, already feeling the alcohol taking its toll on her body.

he only shrugged, offering reyna the chance to answer that question herself.

"fuck it, then, i'm gonna go dance like i don't hate myself and then we'll see if i die." she shrugged, throwing her cup with as much force as possible towards the white trash bag that sat twenty feet away from them. it hardly made it in, but there were what looked like a hundred other cups scattered around the bag.

"have fun, then, i'm gonna go regret drinking this much," john b waved her away as reyna backed away from him and walked towards the music, leaving her to her own agenda.

it hardly took an hour for whatever had been in the plastic cup to really fuck reyna up. being wasted was an understatement by the time ten forty five rolled around. by then, people were dwindling. they'd run out of beer, so people had started to head home, or to other parties that were stocked.

reyna had to stick around, though, because the last thing she needed was to trash her dad's porsche, no matter how badly she wanted to do it. she said she was gonna die tomorrow night, not that night.

"still sticking around?" she heard that voice again, and turned once more to see john b right behind her.

"drunk driving is no joke, and i'm where you are, jb." reyna had already given him a nickname, acknowledging her unhealthy alcohol content.

john b laughed, looking reyna up and down. she was glistening with sweat from dancing and the heat, her hair was a mess, and when she smiled at him she had her bottom lip tucked between her teeth. he was just as wasted as she was, but he hid it a little better. "so, if i crash in the back of my van, you're there?"

reyna nodded, letting out a breath. she probably wouldn't have let herself get so lost if she wasn't trying to escape herself, but she didn't care about that anymore. honestly, as long as she could be anyone other than reyna lance for a little bit? life wasn't too bad, didn't matter if she was wasted or not.

and hanging with pogue boys didn't make her feel like a lance. "i'm there."

"good, because i can't leave you drunk and alone on this beach." he pointed out, moving his hand to her hip to keep her steady next to him. she was standing just fine, she was wasted, but not blackout drink. not embarrassingly drunk.

"i didn't expect you to be the kind of guy to leave drunk girls on the beach," reyna nodded as he walked her towards the van, which was a little further down the beach, away from her dad's car.

he could only laugh at her few comments, neither of them knowing why. even drunk, reyna didn't think she'd have a pogue laughing at her dumb jokes and comments. standing next to the van, her back to the door, he faced her, their eye contact overwhelmingly obvious to reyna.

his hands were still on her hips, and she gently rested her own hands on his shoulders in response. before she knew it, she'd pulled him towards her and crashed her lips onto his. he welcomed the kiss, pushing her up against the side of the van as she fumbled for the door handle to get it open. 

grief.

grief for whatever her life had been before? that was that feeling.

and grief made people do stupid things. 

taglist; @maebanks @dpaccione @outerbxrafe @jjbabyouterbanks @wtfstarkey

[spartanguard]

you ain't gonna be lonesome anymore

Summary: Emma discovers that there's more to the guy who lives alone in the woods than the town would lead her to believe—and may have just found a kindred spirit. (Modern AU inspired by "Joshua" by Dolly Parton)

A/N: In the spirit of Dolly Parton's Heartstrings, this piece was inspired by her song "Joshua", which I heard and immediately knew needed to be an AU. I had intended to wait until closer to the release of the series but...I couldn’t. Hope you like it!

rated G | 5.6k | AO3

On her way into town, through the narrow forest road that just barely held two lanes of traffic, Emma Swan saw it—a tiny little cabin hiding among the trees. It probably wouldn’t have caught her attention were it not for the light coming through the windows, practically a beacon in the dimming dusk, and the bit of smoke coming from the chimney.

And she probably wouldn’t have given it another thought were it not for the people of Storybrooke being the way they were. She just assumed it was normal for hermits to live in cabins in the Maine woods, but once she realized this town was full of busybodys who knew everyone and made everyone’s business their own, she saw the oddity of it.

Not like she was much of anything normal herself; this was just another stop on the road to wherever. Neal may have left her with a broken heart and jail time on her record, but she also couldn’t forget his words: “Home is the place, when you leave...you just miss it.” So far, she hadn’t missed anywhere; not Arizona, not Tallahassee, not Minnesota, New York, Boston—anywhere.

And she was pretty sure she’d be able to add Storybrooke to that list. It was almost too quaint to be true, and the people, while hospitable, were one step away from cloying. But winter was approaching, and this seemed as good a place to hibernate as any other before moving onto the next.

So she got a job at the diner and began putting names to faces of just about everyone in town. The grumpy miner, Leroy, liked his bacon; the cute sheriff, Graham, stereotypically enjoyed doughnuts. And so on. She got the gossip about the romance between the teacher and the recently divorced manager of the animal shelter, and the equally scandalous teenage pregnancy that prompted the young lovebirds to elope.

It was on a quick trip out of town—because Storybrooke had a terrible liquor selection and she’d be damned if she spent her birthday drinking the swill at the Rabbit Hole—that she saw the cabin again, looking just as cozy yet standoffish as it had a month ago, and it got her wondering. Now that she knew everyone, just who lived there?

“Hey Granny,” she asked a couple days later (once she was over her hangover). “You know that cottage in the woods, out by the highway?”

“What about it?” the diner’s owner barked impatiently, even though they were in the middle of the afternoon lull.

“Who lives there?” She could see Graham tucking away out there, or maybe it was Belle, the sweet but reserved librarian.

“No one worth knowing,” Granny grumbled. “And you won’t see ‘em around here, anyways. Good riddance.”

Emma frowned; that was antithesis to just about everything she’d learned about this town. Everyone was so keen to make sure she knew everyone else—so what was going on there?

“You talking about the Jones place, out on the ridge?” Leroy asked, the only other person in the diner.

“I guess so.”

“Yeah, don’t bother. He’s a dick.”

“What did he do?” she asked, making a move to refill Leroy’s coffee mug.

“He just...is. Anytime anyone has gotten close to his property, they’ve been run off. The one time I saw him, he was glaring at anyone who dared to get too close. There's all sorts of weird sounds and smells coming from his property. He’s just a nasty piece of work. Don’t you worry about him, sister—just keep your distance and you’ll be fine.”

Well, Emma had a terrible problem with doing what people told her. Now she was curious.

She tested the waters. She started to ask people when it was slow if they knew anything about the cabin in the woods, and got all kinds of responses.

“Stay away from him, dear; his heart’s as black as his hair.”

“My cousin got lost hiking and ended up near the property; guns started ringing out and he ran the other way as fast as he could.”

“I ran into him down at the docks one night. No clue what he was doing there but it didn’t look like anything good.”

“I heard he’s a werewolf, and that's why he lives all alone!” (That one was from one of the kids in town.)

“No, silly; he’s a pirate, with a hook for a hand! He’s got his treasure out there so that’s why he protects it!” (And that was said kid’s friend.)

“He’s evil, plain and simple,” she was assured by the pawnbroker—but given that man’s smarm and apparent Napoleon complex, she didn’t take his word as gold.

Emma had seen a lot more of the world than the residents of Storybrooke, and a lot more people; while she hadn’t had the best interactions with all of them, she knew that no one was as terrible as they all made this Jones guy out to be.

She also knew a thing or two about keeping your distance from people and the reasons one might have to do that—especially the people here; there were some days she figured he had the right idea, particularly after she’d heard some nasty things about the teacher said by the prudish old ladies. God forbid they ever learn Emma’s romantic history; it might kill them in their vinyl-covered seats.

And Emma had always been a bit of a rebel; that streak had gotten her kicked out of more than a few homes growing up and into several scrapes, but even at 28, she had no desire to tamp it down.

So on one of the last crisp days of fall, early in November, she decided she’d see what the fuss was about.

She packed up a few pastries purchased with her employee “discount” (otherwise known as “take them out of my paycheck, Granny”), a thermos of hot cocoa, wrapped herself up in her leather jacket and a scarf, and then headed off on what she told people was a “fall colors hike”. Which wasn’t entirely a lie, even if more leaves were on the ground than the trees at this point.

“Don’t go poking around that Jones place, you hear?” Granny called as she was leaving. “I’m not gonna drag your carcass home.”

Emma just rolled her eyes. She’d be fine.

Wouldn’t she?

She couldn’t lie—some of the stories started sending shivers down her spine the closer she got to the property. She’d never really been an outdoors-y girl, at least not by choice; there may have been a few nights spent on park benches, but only in the summer. And she generally preferred to stick to marked trails, but this forest didn’t have any—at least, not that went where she was headed. So it took all her concentration to make sure she didn’t slip on a slick patch or some protruding tree root.

Or maybe it was the trees themselves; they were tall and a tiny bit foreboding, as if they were telling her she wasn’t supposed to be there. (Maybe she wasn’t quite as rebellious as she thought.) Somewhere, in the recesses of her mind, the voice of Legolas was telling her how old the forest was. But then she laughed aloud when she remembered a meme that changed it to “old as balls”.

Her laughter was quickly cut off by a growl, though. Up ahead was a large, shaggy black dog—and he was standing his ground. Emma saw the clearing—and the cabin—beyond, and realized she’d arrived. Crap, had that kid been right about the werewolf thing? This dog was huge.

She remembered something about not looking a crazy dog in the eyes and was trying to avoid contact, but then a voice called out that drew both of their attentions.

“Who are you?”

Standing in the entryway of the cabin was who she assumed was the owner and—damn. She was not expecting a guy who looked like that to be living out here. The old lady in the diner had been right about black hair, but where she’d been expecting long and messy, it was short and slightly tousled. He had a bit of scruff and even from far away, she could see the way his piercing blue eyes and furrowed brows were studying her. And a strong nose, sharp jaw, and high cheekbones left him with a face much prettier than anything she expected.

He was dressed for rugged living, in a dark plaid button up and worn jeans, but the way they hugged his biceps and legs couldn’t possibly be practical. She wasn’t complaining, though—whatever he was doing out here was clearly good for him. He was probably the most attractive person she’d ever seen in person.

“Lass?” he called out again, and took a step out from the house. He had an accent that definitely wasn’t from Maine—probably from the other side of the Atlantic—and his voice was more than on edge. “What are you doing here?”

He didn’t sound mean, though—just wary. She couldn’t blame him; she probably would be, too, if some strange person was standing in her front yard and staring.

Oh, right—she was the strange person.

“Hi! Sorry, I, uh, I’m Emma. Emma Swan.”

The dog was still growling; she hadn’t noticed in her ogling. “Easy, Smee,” he said, and the pup finally relaxed, then trotted back to the man. He gave the good boy a scratch behind the ears before ushering the mutt inside and turning his attention back to Emma. “Can I help you with something?”

She could think of a few lusty somethings but it was then she realized that she had no real plan for actually finding anyone out here, despite the fact that she knew the place was occupied. “Oh, no, not really; I, uh, just—”

“Just thought you’d come out and see if the one-handed old coot was real?”

Busted. Her eyes darted away, focusing on an old barrel standing in the yard—though not missing the prosthetic hook at the end of his left arm—and she was pretty sure she was blushing in shame. God, why did she think this was a good idea? He probably had enough gawkers and clearly didn’t like people and—and he was laughing. What?

She looked back up and he was chuckling at her, giving her a bit of a wry grin.

“What’s so funny?” she asked, starting to get worried that he really was crazy.

“You’re the first person who’s had the guts to do that in broad daylight,” he replied, still amused. “Do you want to come in?”

She could feel her eyebrows disappear into her beanie—that was not what she expected at all. There was still part of her waiting for him to produce a shotgun and run her off the property, or wondering if she was about to be chained to a radiator Black Snake Moan-style.

That said, this was also the most entertaining thing that had happened since she arrived here, and she’d certainly made it through shadier situations. That and there were zero creeper vibes from this guy—something she was all too good at noticing. “Sure,” she answered casually.

He smiled—a brilliant thing, really, brighter than the autumn sun shining through the mostly bare branches—and beckoned her to follow him into the house. Leaves and twigs crunched under her boots as she followed.

He paused at the door, though, and turned back to her. “Oh, you can call me Killian, by the way. Killian Jones.”

“Nice to meet you, Killian Jones.”

“The pleasure’s all mine, Emma Swan.”

He led the way in and she was right behind him, stopping only to swipe her shoes on the doormat; she may be awkward, but she didn’t want to be rude and track mud in—especially once she got a look around.

It wasn’t a large cabin, she knew that, but it was surprisingly spacious inside and clean—much cleaner than the rural setting would suggest. The wood floors were immaculately waxed and there wasn’t even the haze of dust motes swirling in the light from the windows; she couldn’t say half as much about her cramped apartment.

There was a tidy living space with a couch, a recliner, and an inviting fireplace with a large TV mounted above it; a small kitchen area to one side; and a couple doors on the other that she assumed headed to bedrooms. Smee was draped over one end of the sofa, his furry head resting on the arm as he watched her—still judging, but not aggressive, at least. Then the sound of wood scraping against wood drew her eyes back to the kitchen, where Killian was sliding another chair up to the small table. “Take a seat,” he said with a nod.

“Thanks,” she answered, and complied; the furniture was well-loved but also in good shape.

“Rum?” he asked, but he was already pulling glasses from a cupboard.

“Only if it’s good.” If anything, she’d be glad to leave Storybrooke for somewhere with better booze.

“Trust me, it’s the best.” He set the glasses on the table and then went back to grab an old-looking bottle off the counter; vintage was putting it lightly: it was scuffed and scratched and had no label, only a cork in the top to protect the amber liquid.

She had to bite her tongue when he deftly pulled out the cork with his teeth, because the extra attention on his mouth just highlighted how supple—and likely kissable—his lips were. He poured a generous amount for both of them before setting the bottle down and taking the seat next to her.

He lifted his glass, but then paused. “I feel like I should toast to something, but I’ve no clue what.”

It did feel odd to be making a toast with an almost-total stranger, but Emma agreed; that and it felt rude to not make one, and she’d already been that enough today. “To good rum?” she offered.

“Works for me. Cheers.”

“Cheers.” She took a sip and— “Damn,” she sighed as it slid down her throat. “You weren’t lying.” It was the perfect blend of sweet and spicy, with a light amount of burn that warmed up the bit of her that had been starting to numb in the chill autumn air.

“I make a habit not to.”

“Good to know.”

They took a few more sips in companionable silence, until he set his glass down and stared into it. “So, um,” he started, then scratched nervously behind his ear. “What, uh, what are they saying about me in town?”

“Nothing true.”

He arched an eyebrow at her in disbelief. “You hardly know me, lass.”

“No, but I can tell that your heart isn’t as black as your hair.”

“Someone said that?”

“Yup.”

“Well, it’s poetic; I’ll give it that,” he chuckled. “Anything else?”

“Mostly that you’re rude and combative, although the kids tell some tall tales.”

“Such as?”

“Werewolf, vampire, pirate—take your pick.”

He laughed again (a sound she was finding she enjoyed quite a bit). “I suppose pirate is the most apt of that list.”

“You do have good taste in rum.” Damn good; this reminded her of the stuff she bought on her birthday. “But I thought pirates lived on the high seas?”

“I do have a ship.”

“Okay then.” That explained why people saw him at the docks. “But then why would you live up here?”

He shrugged. “I imagine you’ve seen what that town is like.” She nodded; that she had. “I wasn’t in much mood for company when I arrived here, so they took that as a slight on their perceived hospitality. They wrote me off from there, and if that was how they were going to treat a newcomer, then I wanted no part of it.” He took another long drag of his rum. “And given that I wasn’t much in the mood for company, this place seemed perfect. So I bought the property, fixed it up, and...here I am. Well, me and Smee.”

She understood that; it was easier to keep people at arms’ length than to let them in and risk them hurting you. Casual, passing relationships were fine; intimacy was off the table, even platonic.

The thing she couldn’t figure out, though, was what was happening in the present.

“And what about now?”

“Pardon?”

“Are you in the mood for company...now?”

He was still studying his drink, but glanced up at her through his long lashes, and the corner of his mouth ticked up. “I suppose I am.” He paused a bit, then added, “Are you?”

“Not usually,” she answered quickly. “But it doesn’t seem so bad at the moment.”

The fine lines at the corners of his eyes crinkled as he gave her a sideways smile that, to her astonishment, made her heart skip a beat; she couldn’t remember the last time that happened. And—was it just her, or the rum, or were his cheeks pink? Was he blushing?

How did she stumble upon what might be one of the most adorable people on the face of the earth in the middle of the woods?

“So,” he continued casually, as if he hadn’t just possibly taken up residence in a part of Emma’s heart that she wasn’t sure worked anymore, “just how did you end up in Storybrooke?”

“I drove here,” she said nonchalantly.

“Ha. But really.”

She initially blamed it on the rum when she poured out her whole sob story to him, but in hindsight, the reality was that he was the first person she didn’t think would judge her too hard on it—which was confirmed when he relayed his own, which wasn’t terribly different: unstable homes, absent family members, and then broken hearts. When he found out about her nomadic lifestyle, he asked about the places she’d been; she followed suit when he told her he’d been in the Navy, which was where he lost his hand.

“Okay, but really,” she demanded, voice a bit louder than normal thanks to the influence of the rum. “Even if you’re not in the Navy anymore, you could go anywhere; why the hell are you here?”

He shrugged and licked his (delectable) lips. “Everyone has to make port somewhere at some point.”

She gave him a disbelieving look. “Yeah, but...Storybrooke? What even is there to do here? Why not go to a place like New York or Boston?”

Staring into his now-empty glass, he chewed on his bottom lip for a moment, then cast her a sideways glance. “Let’s just say...some ventures in life demand a fair bit of privacy, which is also something I quite value.” He was silent for another moment, but then continued, “If I show you something, do you think you can keep it secret?”

She held up her right hand in a Vulcan salute. “Scout’s honor.”

Killian’s jaw hung open at whatever the hell she was doing (frankly, she didn’t know herself, either), before chuckling, shaking his head, and coming to his feet. “Follow me.”

They headed back outside, Smee trotting behind them, over to the far edge of the property, opposite the way Emma had come from. Hidden between some trees was a small shack that was just as clean and pristine on the outside as the cottage was on the inside. As they got closer, she picked up on a smell that wasn’t the forest, but did seem familiar—and, she hated to say it, Leroy was right: there was a weird noise coming from it.

“What is this?” she had to ask.

“You’ll see,” he answered casually, pulling a key from his shirt pocket to unlock the door.

Inside wasn’t very big, and it was crowded with equipment on one end and bottle-covered tables on the other. The spicy scent overpowered her and almost stung a bit; it reminded her of her brief career as a bartender in a strip club and the smell of stale alcohol that wasn’t properly mopped after a spill. Wait—was this? “Rum?” she said, almost in disbelief, turning to look back at him.

“Aye.”

She assessed the operation once more; it looked more like the inside of the chemistry lab she was supposed to go to in high school than a moonshine operation. It was impressive, honestly. “So I guess you really are a pirate, huh?” she teased.

He gave a mock bow. “Captain Hook, at your service.”

She giggled, but then it was like a lightning bolt or whatever went off in her head. “Wait—Hook’s Rum?”

“Ah, so you’ve heard of it.”

She snorted. “I got drunk on it on my birthday. Best rum I’ve ever had.”

“It’s always nice to make an impression,” he said with a smirk. God, he was a dork.

“How many times have people tried to break in?” she wondered as he slipped past her inside and grabbed an empty bottle.

“Are you trying to rob me?” he countered as he fiddled with something on the still, flipping a lever with his hook and letting amber liquid pour into the bottle.

“Nope.”

“Then none.”

She leaned against the doorframe as she watched him work. “So, using your legend of infamy to keep your illicit business practices under wraps. I like it.”

“I have a license,” he tossed back as he shut off the flow once the bottle was full, then turned to another surface where an odd machine laid. “How else would you have bought it in the store?”

“Fair.” He twisted the handle on the contraption, which turned the bottle. “But is that how you’ve managed to keep this secret out here?”

“Indeed.” Carefully, he wiped the bottle down, then turned and handed it to her; now it bore the semi-familiar label that had caught her eye in the liquor store on it. “I can autograph that, if you want.”

“But then I can’t drink it.”

“Guess I better give you two, then.”

He did—somehow raising his dorkdom to adorable (adorkable?) levels—and directed them back to the house. The sun was definitely lower than it had been when she left and her stomach was starting to grumble; hopefully, those pastries weren’t crushed. But hunger wasn’t the first thing on her mind, oddly enough. “So,” she started, “if you keep that hidden, why did you trust me with it?”

He didn’t answer until they were back in the house. “You’ve been honest,” he answered simply. “And you have that look about you.”

“What look?”

“The look you get when you’ve been left alone.”

“Pretty sure we established that.”

“Yeah. But it means...I knew you’d understand.”

She swallowed and suddenly felt like his intense blue gaze on her saw every thought she’d ever had. “Yeah, I do,” she said softly.

And then her stomach rudely growled, interrupting what had been a soft but heavy moment.

Killian’s low chuckle eased her mortification, but only slightly. “I was about to make some grilled cheese, if you’d like; unless you need to get back to town.”

That look he’d just been talking about creeped into his eyes, and she saw it for the out it was. But what kind of monster turns that down? “Grilled cheese is my favorite.”

“Excellent. Pick out a movie and I’ll get that going.”

His collection was extensive, but she found herself more drawn to his book selection. Most people were surprised to know she was an avid reader, given her life, but she’d learned long ago that libraries were an excellent place to get out of inclement weather, and when you were strapped for cash, it was cheap entertainment.

Something he must have figured out, too, given the stack with Storybrooke Public Library stamped on the edges. “Really? You go to the library?”

“Is that really so surprising?” he called back from the kitchen, where she could hear the familiar sizzle of buttered bread on a griddle.

“Seems odd that the town hermit would go to the second-most welcoming place in the city center.”

“Only second-most?”

“After Granny’s.”

“Ahh,” was all he said, but then she heard the sound of dishes.

A minute later, he was back in the living room with a delicious, gooey sandwich on a plate just for her. “Well, there’s little that can keep me away from a good book, and Belle is the only other person in town that I like.”

“Other than…?”

“You, obviously.”

“I moved up your list that fast?”

“You’re second of three; let’s not get too cocky, love.”

“Yeah? Who’s third?”

“Belle. Smee is first.”

“Oh, I see,” she threw back, amused. It was kind of insane how easily they fell into banter after only...wow, had it really been 4 hours since she showed up here?

He invited her to take a seat on the end of the couch opposite Smee while he settled into the recliner and they started to talk about books. Then movies, then TV a bit, but it moved onto their respective educations (Emma: GED; Killian: the equivalent of a master’s or something crazy that he got from the naval academy and was decidedly not using).

He got another bottle of rum out once they finished eating and continued to drink and talk through the night, about...oh, everything. Emma knew she had been talking a long time because she was trying to use the rum to rehydrate (which probably wasn’t working all that well) but it was hard to remember what all they had discussed when it was literally everything. And when she was honestly enjoying herself more than any time in recent memory. Even Smee had finally warmed up to her, resting his head in her lap as she scratched behind his floppy ears.

Had she ever fallen into conversation this easily? Probably not. But then again, no one else was like Killian.

She’d been vaguely aware of the changing color of the sky outside his windows as the night wore on—orange to blue to black—but when lavender crept in, she finally took a glance at her phone and was shocked to see the time.

“Oh shit—I have to get to work,” she cursed.

“At this hour?”

“Breakfast rush,” she explained, showing the clock on her phone.

Killian’s eyes grew wide. “I didn’t realize...I’m so sorry to have kept you, Swan.”

“Quit being such a gentleman; I didn’t notice, either. The only thing is…” At this, she giggled for some reason. “I haven’t slept a wink and I’m slightly tipsy. This will be real interesting.”

He made a beeline for the kitchen and put a pot of coffee on while she gathered her things and shoved one of the day-old pastries in her mouth; she had enough time to walk back into town but she’d have to head straight to the diner. Assuming she didn’t stumble and hit a tree on the way. No—she was NOT giving Granny the satisfaction of knowing her warning had come true and actually forcing the old lady to drag her body from the woods. (She’d rather Killian do that, anyways.) (Or, you know, do her, but she got the impression he wasn’t the one-night kind of guy—or maybe she just didn’t want him to be that with her.)

She’d just zipped her coat when a thermos was being shoved in her hands; by smell alone, she could tell this was better than the cheap stuff Granny served. “Hope that helps,” he said softly.

“It already is,” she answered, then took a sip, not caring if she burnt her tongue. “Damn—is everything you brew amazing?”

“I try,” he shrugged arrogantly, but then the cocky facade washed away in an instant, replaced with something bordering on sheepish. “You know, if you wanted to come back later, or any other time, my schedule’s pretty clear.”

“Well, hopefully you’re going to get some sleep.”

“Well, yes, that. But, um,” he stammered, nervously scratching a spot behind his ear. “Don’t be a stranger, is what I’m trying to say. I’m...you’ll always be welcome here, if you want.” He was definitely blushing, the color visible even in the faint pre-dawn light.

“I might take you up on that,” she answered, trying to be casual but ending up much closer to sincere—because she had a feeling she would. She was already kind of dreading leaving, even if it was just because she didn’t like the idea of working on no sleep and with a questionable BAC.

“I hope you do.” The weight of the sincerity of that statement settled over both of them for an intense moment that in itself was enough to bring her back to sobriety, if the coffee wasn’t doing it, too. But then he was overtaken by a jaw-cracking yawn that effectively killed it.

“Go to bed,” she commanded, with a light shove on his shoulder.

“Yeah, yeah, I will. Be safe.”

“I’ll do my best. See you later,” she farewelled, hoping he could tell she meant it.

“Until then, Swan.”

She let herself out the door and headed back the way she came, at first afraid to cast a glance behind her because she thought if she did, she might not want to leave ever. But she finally did when she was back on the edge of the clearing, and saw him watching her through the window on the door. She smiled and waved, which he returned, but she didn’t miss the bit of loneliness in his gaze as he watched her walk away.

It took considerable effort, but she managed to put one foot in front of the other and continue on her way. The sun wasn’t visible yet, so she still had time, but she needed to hustle if she’d make her shift.

Between the coffee and the gorgeous sunrise, it was definitely a pleasant hike, and was definitely helping her in the staying-awake department. Still though, there was a feeling she couldn’t shake—something completely foreign, yet vaguely familiar, and she couldn’t lie—it kind of stung. What the heck was that?

She took another sip of the coffee as she tried to figure it out, letting it warm her as it slid down her throat. She’d almost forgotten what good coffee tasted like, let alone when it had been made fresh and just for her. It was going to suck going back to Granny’s mass-produced bean water; she’d miss this stuff.

Wait—miss it?

Was that what she was feeling?

Not just for the coffee, obviously (though that was certainly part of it). Did she already miss Killian?

“Home is the place, when you leave...you just miss it.”

No. That was insane. She’d only been there for, like, 12 hours. You can’t find home that fast, can you? (Not like she’d really know.)

But she couldn’t deny that it felt like part of her had stayed behind in that cottage. Or that she was already counting down the hours until her work shift ended and she could come back. Or that the ache got just a little bit worse with each step that took her away.

Damn. That had to be it.

Who knew she’d finally find what she’d been looking for in the middle of nowhere?

The sun finally broke the horizon as she reached Granny’s front steps and downed the last drop of coffee. She still had a couple minutes, so she quickly stashed the thermos in her backpack and used the selfie camera on her phone to make sure she didn’t look too haggard, lest Granny get some uncouth ideas.

(Actually, Granny was probably dirtier than Emma was, in that regard; and she had the oddest sense that the old lady might be able to smell the forest on her, or at least the rum.)

With one last deep breath, if only to make sure she didn’t reek too bad, Emma smoothed her hair and headed inside, for what was sure to be an arduous shift.

But, unlike most days, she actually had something to look forward to at the end of it.

Hours later, she pulled her little old Bug up the semi-hidden driveway on the other side of Killian’s property, bearing sandwiches and onion rings. Killian came out to greet her, but she didn’t let him get a word in before she’d pressed up on her toes and stole his smile with a kiss. (That he quickly reciprocated. Until Smee interrupted with a friendly bark, looking for his own hello.)

A few weeks later, her belongings, stuffed into a few age-worn duffel bags, accompanied her on her now-daily trip to the cabin in the woods; she was spending all her time there anyways, as Killian had pointed out—may as well just make the move permanent.

It took a bit longer for either of them to admit it out loud, but they both blurted it one night while cuddled close, watching The Princess Bride with Smee at their feet: she loved him, and he loved her. There was no denying it. And then they couldn’t stop saying it.

Eventually, they grew tired of Storybrooke and its whispers. Eventually, Killian’s not-so-discreet rum business got more notice. So they went onto the next place without much fuss.

She felt a bit sad when they first left the cabin, mainly because it was where they fell in love. But her home wasn’t those four walls. No, it was with Killian—and Smee, and whatever other animals or tiny humans eventually joined them—wherever that might be.

--------------------------------------------------------------

thanks for reading! tagging some friends: @kat2609 @thesschesthair @optomisticgirl @xpumpkindumplingx @shipsxahoy @amortentia-on-the-rocks @mryddinwilt @cocohook38 @annytecture @wingedlioness @word-bug @distant-rose @wellhellotragic @welllpthisishappening @let-it-raines @pirateherokillian @bleebug @its-imperator-furiosa @fergus80 @killianmesmalls @sherlockianwhovian @effulgentcolors @laschatzi @ive-always-been-a-pirate @nfbagelperson @stubble-sandwich​ @lenfaz @phiralovesloki @athenascarlet @kmomof4 @ilovemesomekillianjones @whimsicallyenchantedrose @snowbellewells @idristardis

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Just little more klance again

More klance fics ive read.

Remember read author tags! There are some triggers, smut etc. So read with care yes?

the missing part   

"I can hear your thoughts," Keith nearly whispered.Lance went pale, but that wasn't what Keith was focused on.  Because he could feel the horror creeping up inside himself as Lance heard his declaration.  Because he could feel his own heart skip a beat in time with Lance's.  Because he could feel the rejection bubbling up inside him as Lance frantically worked out what all this meant."Wh—what are you talking about?" Lance said, stumbling over his words even while his mind screamed clear as day please say you're lying just say you're fucking with me don't play these kinds of games with me—

In which the paladins are subjected to the unfortunate consequences of a broken mind meld program.

20,357 words   AO3

What a Healing Pod Can't Repair

The compromised wormhole was ripping apart at the seams, sending everyone spiraling away in completely different directions. Lance could feel himself being pulled and bent in ways he was definitely not supposed to be

Stitching the team back together after everyone is separated is difficult, and for one Paladin rescue wouldn't be coming for a very long time.

55,777 words  AO3

Silver Tongued

One way or another,

His truth they will learn

Although perhaps the message

For them, incapable to discern

14,848 words   AO3

I'll Walk on Water to Lend You Some Air

(I've Never Loved a Darker Blue Series not completed 29,895 words 2 works)

Keith comes out of a healing pod having no idea how he ended up in it. The other paladins won't fill him in but everyone is acting weird, especially Lance. Keith is determined to find out what happened but when another mission goes wrong, he may not get the chance...

11,403 words  AO3

Love & Cheese

He’s a teenage boy, in way over his head. He’s a college kid, delivering pizzas on a bike that his mom bought for him when he was twelve. He’s a media major, a movie buff, and a total moron who’s madly in love with the snooty heartthrob at the Deli, who always gives him an extra slice of cheese. He’s a trainwreck, a total lovestruck fool, and a hopeless romantic who always says the wrong thing.

But today, despite everything, his one true goal in life is to tell the cute Deli-guy, loud and clear, “It’s not Lucas, it’s Lance.”

115,421 words   AO3

nothing's quite as sweet

Keith is a barista who hates his job. Lance works at the cat shelter across the street.

50,369 words   AO3

can you tell me 

(Coffee and Crowns Series not completed 51,487 words 2 works)

Keith works in his brother's coffee shop for the summer, expecting a boring break before college. Lance changes all of that.

The boy is still in the front of the group, but he doesn't take off his glasses so Keith can't tell what he's really looking at -- either the menu or Keith. Keith feels a flash of annoyance but smothers it and pins his smile in place.

28,058 words   AO3

The Bet

Something about the casual way Lance spoke to him, with easy grins and direct words that made Keith feel comfortable, but at the same time put him on edge. Like he wasn’t supposed to be feeling this ok around someone, not him. Keith, who barely had friends until college, shouldn’t have someone who could coax him into such a sense of security that he found himself agreeing to do things he’d never thought he’d do.

35,847 words   AO3

of florists and tennis shoes

'Lance wasn’t sure if he’d imagined the brief tremble at the corner of Keith’s lips or not, that slight stutter that promised a smile. But before he could guess further, Keith gave his knee a shove and got to his feet. He reached out to him, “I’m done here, and I’ve still got some daisies to sell you.”

“Yeah,” Lance agreed, looking down at the extended palm, noting the little Saturn tattoo on the inside of Keith’s wrist where the sleeve hiked. He took the hand, “better not overprice those too, you asshole.”'

63,783 words   AO3

Written on your skin

Keith is your typical troubled kid who's just trying to sort his life out. Things aren't perfect, but he's attending night school to get enough credits for university, he loves hanging out with Shiro and Matt on the weekends, and he's prepped to be the youngest member of his martial arts club to get his second Dan black belt. Things are looking up for Keith!

That is until strange notes start to appear on his arm.

They don't come off. At least, not when Keith tries to remove them. And they're written in handwriting that Keith knows isn't his.

So where are they coming from?

34,384 words   AO3

Unknown     (Series not completed 9 works, 123,151 words)

It’s been a few months since Keith’s dad remarried, leaving Keith at a new school with no friends, no mom, and no hope. The only thing that keeps him from going completely insane is Lance Fuentes, the charming, funny, and surprisingly intimidating boy that Keith’s been admiring (read: pining after) from afar since day one.After a bad day leaves Lance miserable and embarrassed, Keith takes a chance and uses the Garrison’s school messenger system to comfort him as an anonymous admirer named Unknown. What was supposed to be a one-sided message of hope turns into the strangest friendship in the school, and soon Keith finds himself closer to Lance then he’d ever dreamed he would be. But keeping a secret this big is hard--especially when a few chance encounters lead him to become friends with Lance in real life as well.Unable to explain to Lance that he’s Unknown, and equally unable to fade away as he’d first intended, Keith soon finds himself trapped in a web of secrets and lies. As he becomes desperate to keep his identity from being discovered, Lance becomes just as desperate to find out who Unknown really is. The question is, just how far are they willing to go?

82,141 words   AO3

You and I Collide    

Lance likes to sing in the shower.

Keith lives in the apartment next door and the walls are not very thick.  And you can bet when Lance wakes him up at 7:30 in the morning, Keith has something to say about it.

72,256 words  AO3

Follow My Lead

Becoming “hook-up buddies” with Lance Sanchez was just supposed to be a small, insignificant fraction of Keith’s life. But of course, things don’t work out that way at all.

117,792 words   AO3

A Sky Full of Stars

Lance's life is hectic between his civilian and superhero identities - that is, until his soulmate and a new villain arrive to town on the same day. What's more, this villain seems to have a few secrets of his own and it's possible that, whoever is behind that mask, may not be who he claims to be. Lance is determined to figure out just who this Red Paladin is.

63,596 words   AO3

Chivalry Is Dead

Prince Lance was an adventurer. That was all there was to it. So, when he's suddenly assigned a new knight to follow him around, all Lance can think is that his freedom is being taken away, and it's all because of the red-clad, mullet boy named Keith, who is honestly just trying not to lose his job on the first day.

61,071 words   AO3

Jealousy Thy Name Is Keith   A/B/O

Keith narrowed his eyes as he watched a large alpha lean close to Lance, saying something that caused the omega to bring a hand to his mouth and laugh as though it were the most dirty thing he’d ever heard.

Now that? That, was where Keith drew the line. He slammed the empty glass that had once contained alcohol, down onto the bar lined in purple neon lights, and made his way over to the omega, his friend, Lance. Keith draped an arm over the omega’s shoulders, smirking slightly.

14,268 words   AO3

Fated

In a world of magic, Lance is a wizard and traveling performer. He possesses a special talent, the talent to read the fates of those he meets, which he uses to bolster his act. Life is good, though lonely, until he meets a hermit wizard named Keith, and both have their fates changed forever.

11,283 words   AO3

fuckign witches

Keith Kogane wasn't really interested in the art of witchcraft until he found a small shop in the city - and it honestly was one of the best decisions he ever made.

38,111 words   AO3

just like heaven

Keith's got a second sight that comes with a lot of burdens. One is being saddled with banishing an obnoxious spirit haunting Hunk and Pidge's cozy San Francisco loft.

The other is dealing with said obnoxious spirit, a guy named Lance, who doesn't remember who he is, who his family is, or what he did before falling into a coma.

But with Lance's life on the line, the pair make a deal to figure out how to save him, and fast. Along the way, they find out fate tied them together in more ways than one.

37,784 words   AO3

Mr. Fahrenheit

Thousand of years ago dragons ruled the land. Burned shit. Caused a ruckus. Number one on everyone's shit list.

That stopped when Witchers, hunters of monsters and experts in combat and death dealing, arrived and drove dragons to the brink of extinction.

Now, less than a thousand dragons roamed the earth and Lance was one of them.

His new neighbor, Keith, happened to be a Witcher.

What could go wrong?

38,932 words   AO3

Arrest Me, Officer, I Dare You

"Stay still! Anything you say can and will be held against you." Keith said, voice firm. Blue's eyebrows shot up and his eyes crinkled in what Keith could tell was a smirk. The same smirk that made Keith want to punch him.

"Officer Kogane." Blue replied, the name rolling off his tongue easily. "Does that mean you'll be held against me? 'Cos I'd happily let that happen."

Keith is a police officer who seriously wants to arrest a certain blue-eyed thief.

Though, things don't usually go as planned.

37,619 words   AO3

[forged-through-trials]

Before we left the city, for what was sure to be a long exodus, I decided to pay one more visit to Mercator at “A Fighting Chance”, to see if he’d made any progress with Mephala’s blade. To my surprise, he’d made quite a bit, actually, producing a number of replicas of amazing quality, in an assortment of dagger, one-handed, and great-sword variants. ...all of which were WAY too expensive for me to actually buy. By the Nine, the great swords were all over twelve-thousand Septims, each! I could buy a house for that kind of dosh! ...but they’re kataaaaanaaaas! I waaaaaaaant theeeeeeem! So I guess I have a new goal in life; to afford one of these magnificent swords. I’ll be sure to add it to the ever-growing list of things I need to do, including the Mobius Strip of; “Fight vampires, get legendary sword, use it to fight vampires.” And hey, since Mercator was done with the sword, he said I could take it back. So... I now once again own this thrice-cursed blade as a reminder of all the innocent blood spilled due to Mephala’s conspiracies. ...yay? That done, Ruin and I vamoosed as quickly as we could. I told Ruin that I had ‘convinced’ Soris to part with the staff with a lot of smooth talk and a little coin, and he seemed to buy it. The trip back was just as unremarkable as the trip there, and after a few hours, we were back in Bravil! First up, was delivering the package we’d picked up, and as fate would have it, I was to deliver it to Aryaire at the Bravil Mages Guild. Perfect, since once I was done, I could turn right around and talk to Kud-Ei about that Recommendation.

Kud-Ei: “You’re back. And you have the staff? Excellent!” Trials: “I hope Ardaline appreciates what I went through for this; having to deal with both a creepy stalker and a crazy hermit.” Kud-Ei: “Your efforts will not go unrewarded. You’ll be granted a glowing recommendation from me, and I’ll even teach you a new spell to sweeten the pot.” Trials: “Oh, sweet, free magic lessons. Lookit me, Ruin, I’m turning into a real mage and stuff.” Ruin: Gave a thoughtful smile and turned to Kud-Ei. “We thank you, madam. May we ask, what is the word around town?” Kud-EI: She paused to ponder that a moment. “Well, have you heard the story of the Loches? Particularly, Aleron Loche, who has gone missing. Poor Ursanne has been beside herself since he disappeared, but hasn’t been able to find anyone willing to help.” Trials: “So that makes at least two people in this town who’re missing that the guards aren’t doing anything about.” I rolled my eyes. “Well, looks like it falls to the Forged-Through-Trials Detective Agency to do the guards’ job for them, again!” Kud-Ei: “With you on the case, I’m sure Aleron is as good as found. “You’ll likely find Ursanne at the chapel. She’s spent most of every day there praying for her husband’s safe return.”

With that tip-off, we made for the chapel. We got a few dirty looks after delivering that package the other day, but I just ignored them and looked for Ursanne Loche, whom we found weeping and praying, as was predicted. Ursanne: “You... I’ve seen you popping in and out of the Fighters and Mages guilds. I’m sorry to impose--” Trials: “Oh, it’s no imposition at all. I’ve heard around town that your husband was in trouble, and helping people is what I do!” Ursanne: “R-really? I’m... not wealthy, you know. I’m not sure I could afford to pay for your help.” Trials: “Hmm... payment is nice, but listening to your story, at least, is something I can offer for free.” Ursanne: “...oh, thank you!” She leaned over, and draped her arms around me, squeezing me dearly in her gratitude. Trials: “Aww, don’t thank me until I actually agree to take the job. So, what’s the whole story?” Ursanne: She drew back and wiped her eyes. “My husband has, well, a gambling problem, you see.” Trials: “Hey, it’s only a problem when you’re losing.” Ursanne: “Oh, he lost, and lost big. Big enough that he started barrowing money from a usurer to cover his losses and place new bets. “Well, doubling down didn’t quite pan out for us, and he ended up owing up to five-hundred gold to a ‘Kurdan gro-Dragol’. Kurdan breathed down our necks about the money for a while, until recently, when he sent for Aleron to meet him at the Lonely Suitor Lodge. My husband hasn’t returned since, and I’m sure Kurdan has something to do with that.” I furrowed my brow pensively at that. Back in Morrowind, I’d know a few slaves who’d gotten themselves into the life due to debts they owed. It was a viscous catch-twenty-two situation; they were in bondage from debt, but as slaves, could never earn the money needed to buy their freedom. For that reason, I had a healthy distrust of loan-sharks. I don’t know if Kurdan had sold Aleron into slavery or not, but that story got my hackles raised. Enough so that I decided right there and then, that even if Ursanne couldn’t pay, I’d take the case. Ursanne: She was visibly shaking. “I fear for my husband’s life. Kurdan isn’t known for his patience. I’m not wealthy, but I’ll find some way to repay your help, just please save my husband.” Trials: I crossed my arms, and gave a nod. “I’ll take the case, Ma’am. I‘ll have your husband back to you in a day or two!”

Ursanne gave us our first lead; the Lonely Suitor Lodge. It was just at the south end of town, so we made there, and asked around within to find Kurdan.

We found the man in his room on the second floor. Trials: “Ho, orc!” Kurdan: “Piss off, lizard!” Trials: “...okay, rude! Jeez, we just wanted to ask you about an ‘Aleron Loche’.” Kurdan: “I don’t know nuffin’, and even I did, I wouldn’t tell you!” Kurdan was evasive, and not too interested in talking, but I readied the spells Kud-Ei had taught me, and with a cast of the two of them, he finally opened up... somewhat. Kurdan: “Alright, maybe I know where Aleron is, and maybe I don’t. Maybe, if you’re willing to do me a little favor, it might loosen my tongue.” Trials: I sighed and grumbled. “Where to, and how many?” Kurdan: “One of my stupid relatives lost a prized family heirloom, the ‘Axe of Dragol’. But I’ve tracked it to Fort Grief, which is on an island in Niben Bay. I want you to go get it back. Do that for me, and I ‘might remember’ what happened to Aleron.” Ruin: “This sounds very suspect. What would happen were we to refuse this request?” Kurdan: “Then Aleron may not be coming home from his... uh, journey, for a very long time. Like, permanently!” Trials: “Yeah, yeah, we get it. So, how’re we getting to Fort Grief?” Kurdan: “I just so happen to have a boat you can take. It’s docked in the water behind A Warlock’s Luck. Now get moving, meat!”

Ruin and I agreed, this request seemed sketchy as all heck. But we were out of options, so we agreed to do Kurdan’s favor. We found the boat just where the orc promised it would be, and after an hour’s ride, we’d arrived at Grief Island. Embarking from the doc, we followed the short trail to the gate that led into the Fort. A nearby leaver opened the gate, and we embarked inside... finding a smear of blood upon the wall that led deeper into the Fort. Oh boy is that a bad omen. I feel like a month ago, I probably would have just turned tail and left without a second thought... but I’d made a promise to Ursanne Loche that I would find her husband and bring him home. Danger or no, we were going in!

Well, that was fast. There’s the man himself, standing right here, as if waiting for us. Aleron: “It appears as though Kurdan has tricked another pair of poor souls with his ‘axe’ story.” Ruin: “...I knew that story was suspect.” Aleron: “That’s right. There is no ‘Axe of Dragol’. It was just a ruse to lure you out here. I fell for the same trick. In my case, he told me if I retrieved the axe, he’d erase my debts. I was such an idiot to believe him.” Trials: “So why has he lured us out here? I’m guessing he’s not going to jump out from behind that pillar with sweetrolls and wine.” Aleron: “You might say that we’re here to play ‘the most dangerous game’.” Trials: “Is that the one where you lay your hand on a table and poke a dagger between your fingers and see how fast you can go?” Aleron: “...” He shook his head. “Uh, no, this is the one where wealthy psychos pay Kurdan to kidnap people so they can be hunted for sport.” Ruin: “...ah, yes, I know this game. Back in Black Mash, we used to call it; ‘Tirdas’, and whoever one got a prize!” Trials: “...by the Nine, Ruin, your old home society sucked.” Ruin: “Why do you think I left?” Trials: “Anyway, Aleron, we have a boat. We can just skip out on this sick game and bounce back to Bravil.” Aleron: “Don’t bother. The door to this place is now locked. The only way to get out is by descending into the Hunter’s Run--the dungeons under Fort Grief--and killing the hunters. One of them will have the key to the door. That’s Kurdan’s rules, and the only way we can ‘win.’“ Trials: I sighed and shrugged. “Can’t we go anywhere without having to leave a trail of bodies??” Aleron: “I wish I could help, but I can’t fight. I’ve never held a weapon before in my life.” Trials: “I’d never held a weapon before until a little over a month ago. Mastery comes surprisingly fast once you understand that the pointy end of the sword goes into the other guy.” Aleron: “...” He turned to Ruin. “You’ll save me, won’t you, Male Argonian?” Ruin: He shrugged and grunted.

Such was our job; to descent into the dungeon, and kill the sickos who came here to kill us for the fun of it. A dark and bloody task, but it’s them or us... and given the choice, I’d rather it be them. Dying hurts, Gentle Reader, and I plan to do as little of it as I possibly can! This was also my first real opportunity to try out the Night-Eye spell I’d worked so hard to master. With a wave of my hand, my eyes tingled, and began to glow in the gloom of this dungeon. And as you can see from the pictographs, the image was nice, bright, sharp, and clear! Now I can actually show off what I get up to in these dives! And can watch me kick some tail in bright, crisp color!

To the left of the entrance was a locked gate. Just beyond, I could see a lever, much like the one that let me into Fort Grief in the first place. The lock was too complex to pick, even with my best tools, so it seemed indeed that my only option was to win the Hunter Run. Just me and Ruin, versus a group of highly practiced loonies. Wish us luck! We’re going to need it.

[soulintostone-blog]

heart for me

Rating: Explicit (smut, dirty talk, partially angsty, drunk sex)

Word count: 4.6k 

Harry is your ex. You two had broken up around three years ago, and you meet each other again at a bar when meeting up with your mutual friends.

A/N: This is my first attempt at self-insert fic so I do hope you enjoy. I’ll gladly take requests for any fic ideas you have if you do. This series may be continued, I’ve got a few ideas knocking around so let me know if that’s something you’d be interested in. Thank you. Han xx                   

You hadn’t meant to run in the same circles again, although something tells you this was always meant to happen.

“We’re going for some drinks next week; will you be around?” Ella had asked you, the background of the phone call filled with sounds you knew, the middling chaos of London’s streets. You knew you would be, the only time you’d left London over the past 4 months had been a weekend visit to your parents’ house, craving the creature comforts of the only place that felt like home. Your work and lifestyle for the time being hadn’t particularly lent itself to much down time. You told Ella you would be around, and that you’d love to see everyone, a tentative feeling pulling at the back of your mind that you immediately quelled. The week passed as it always did, though you looked fondly forward to blowing off some steam.

That night, you hurried home from work and straight into the shower. With minimal time to get ready, and in line with your inherently clumsy nature, you flew round your house getting ready in a whirlwind, still amending your lipstick halfway out the door.

The city at night never failed to impress you as you passed softly through it from the back of a taxi, the lights that glittered across the skyline reflecting against the raindrop-stained window. London in the day tended to feel almost morbid to you. London at night, however, was always teeming with possibility. It excited you.

“Y/N!”

You heard someone yelling as you entered the bar, waving at you through the dark. You pulled slightly at the hem of your dress as it clung to your thighs. Ella hurried over to the bar, ordering two Cosmos for the both of you and pulling you into a hug. “It’s been so long, it’s so good to see you!”

“You too! Well, I guess we’ve all been busy, but it’s lovely to do this again.” You both grinned back at one another. “Who came in the end?”

Ella faltered slightly, almost unnoticeably. “Um, Georgia and her new boyfriend, Jack, Leah and Sarah, Glenne and Jeff are here as well. There’s some new people I want you to meet. And possibly Harry, but we don’t know for sure about him yet.”

You suppose you knew it had been a long time coming. His friends and yours often crossed over, and you had had a few awkward encounters soon after your breakup, but it had been long enough that whatever was between you both was in the past. He had dated again (as the tabloids so kindly loved to shove in your face), as you had, and you now felt nothing more than that of a healed scar: you had known that pain, and it had faded, leaving behind the memory and a quiet happiness.

“Oh, okay,” you said as Ella handed you your drink. “Harry?”

“Shit, that’s okay right? I figured it had been long enough. I mean, he might not even turn up, I think he’s playing tonight.”

“No, of course, it would be nice to see him.”

Ella brought you over to the table, before disappearing again to exchange pleasantries with some socialites she seemed to know. Your friends piled on the hugs, yelling in your ear about how lovely it was to see you, and kindly shoving shots in your hands. Apparently they had a mission to get you good and drunk. You could definitely appreciate that.

The night followed suit, the music edging around you, growing louder as lights faintly strobed from the direction of the dance floor. Ella only seemed to appear next to you with drinks in hand, before disappearing into the blurred darkness again. You and Jack had been catching up in the corner, slowly descending from poised conversation into sloppy, unabashed giggles, losing yourself in the night. You couldn’t name the last time you’d felt so in the moment.

Scanning around the room, you went to join the group lined up by the bar, with Jeff on the phone at the bar’s end.

“How are you feeling?” Glenne asked you, placing a light hand on your shoulder.

“I’m feeling great; it’s been a while since I’ve been out. And free shots from friends are always welcome.” You knew you were tipsy when your voice started to rise in volume, feeling your underlying anxiety dissipating. “How’s your trip going?”

The words just leave your mouth as you see Harry arrive at Jeff’s side as he brings him into a hug. You, as expected, felt a lurch in your stomach.

Harry saw you then, his eyes widening and just as quickly calming again. You knew he wasn’t one to panic.

“I had no idea you were gonna be here,” Harry said tentatively. “It’s really good to see you.”

“Ella let me know everyone was out, thought it had been too long.”

“Yeah, I guess it has.”

That faded scar then felt like an open wound.

“I’m just gonna go say hi to everyone, but I’ll come get you a drink in a bit, yeah?” Harry said with a grin, leaving as quickly as he arrived. He was never anything but a wanderer.

Ella caught your eye from the side of the bar, raising her eyebrows. You flashed her a smile, turning back to Glenne to hear how they were finding London this time.

An hour must have passed before you saw him again, but after your time together you knew Harry was seldom in one spot for too long. Things to do, people to see. He was a natural networker, as you were too, and so you unintentionally circled one another around the room, catching occasional glances. You thought of the night you met, and how he still drew your attention just the same. You couldn’t quite admit quite how good he looked, a faint sheen of sweat on his skin and a glint in those eyes you knew so well.  He wore a suit so loud in its floral pattern that even in the darkness you could always see him, clear as day. Glimpses of him reminded you that you would always have that innate attraction to him, it was just so easy to want him. You suspected the whole room felt the same.

“What you drinking, darlin’?” You heard an invasive drawl at your ear as you stood at the bar alone. What looked like a cheap suit and a prematurely receding hairline met you when you turned your head. He slurred his words and blinked slowly with a stare that made you nervous.

“I’m good for now, thanks.”

“Nah, come on, love,” the man sloppily placed his hand on your shoulder and brushed down your arm as you tried to manoeuvre yourself out of his grasp. “Wanna get you a drink, babes. Wanna get t'know ya.”

You felt a shadow approach behind you. “She’s with me, mate.”

“Well, the lovely lady was talking to me, actually,” the man slurred.

“And now she’d like you to go, please.”

Harry’s hand went to grip your waist.

The man shuffled away, mumbling to himself, and you wondered whether he was even aware of where he was. Just as quick, Harry removed his hand and moved to stand in front of you.

“Sorry if that wasn’t cool, he just didn’t look like he was buggering off any time soon.”

“Had your eyes on me, did you, Styles?” you quipped, falling back into what felt so easy with him.

“Happened to look over,” he said as a matter of fact, only breaking into a smile as you shot him a knowing look. “Thought you’d gone, was looking for you.”

Your breath hitched.

“S'alright, it’s unfortunate but most blokes won’t get the message until they feel some kind of threat, so cheers, saved me a lot of bother,” you smiled and he smiled back, like the pair of smitten teenagers you used to be.

“Still up for that drink?”

“Is it free? Then yes, always.”

Harry winked at you, and caught the attention of the bartender, and returned with two cocktails and two jägerbombs. “For old times’ sake.”

You snorted and knocked it back, the sizzling burn in your throat taking you back to the quiet hum of a pub on Christmas Eve, and the feeling of a tipsy Harry with his head resting on your shoulder, giggling as you and Gemma attempted to outdrink one another.

“How’ve you been?” Harry asked as you both moved further through the bar from the music so you could at least hear yourselves think.

“I’ve been good, thanks. Work is busy, as always. Been a bit of a hermit recently, but this has been really fun, even if I feel like I’ll be holding Ella’s hair back in about half an hours’ time.”

“Think she’s taken care of, love,” Harry quipped, directing your attention to where she’s being all but eaten against a wall of the bar.

“Blimey, she’s really going for it,” you said as Harry burst into laughter, one of those big whole body laughs that you had adored, where his body was so full of joy he could barely contain it. “Well, he’s her problem now.”

“At least I didn’t walk in and see you like that.”

“Bugger off, Styles, I’ll do as I please, thank you very much.”

He laughed again. “Go on then.”

“I mean, I could, but I think I’m good for now. I mean, how else am I going to avoid creepy men without my big, strong fake boyfriend to turn them away?”

“I reckon you can handle yourself, don’t you?”

“Of course I bloody could, it just saves me plenty of time if you’re around me tonight.”

He looked at you with a familiar gaze, and you could see he wanted you. He looked drunk enough, and you sure as hell knew you were. Although, you had passed the point at which you could determine whether or not this was a wise idea, coming back to him in any way. And you didn’t much care.

“How’s the famous life?”

Harry smirked, pushing his hair back and finishing off his drink. “Y'know, can’t complain. Album was the best, tour is going well. Living the dream, etcetera.”

“Ah yes, that old chestnut,” you smirked to yourself, feeling his eyes burn into you still. “I remember it well.”

“You do?”

“Couldn’t forget it. The damn universe refuses to let me. Got your face wherever I look, don’t I?” You turned your head back to him, but his smirked had faltered. Maybe he remembered it all too.

“Mhm. Suppose I found things a little easier without that. I have missed you though. You know that.”

Your breakup hadn’t been exactly been clean cut with a smile and wave. More like a bloody tear with a scream and a trashed hotel room. You had been drunk, and you tend to act out of sorts when you’re drunk, especially when faced with the fact the love of your life was leaving you.

“I do. And you know I missed you too. You broke me, Harry.”

He can’t look at you anymore. You hope he still feels that guilt. You shouldn’t, but you really, really do.

“I know, and it messed me up a lot too… but it was for the best, wasn’t it?”

You paused. “The very best, unfortunately. I broke, and then I healed. But I’ll tell you one thing, Harry,” you took a breath, and leaned closer to Harry as he sat opposite you, holding his gaze, “now I feel like fucking steel.”

Something happened then, as you stared back at one another, your faces inches apart. Harry’s jaw clenched as he gulped, his eyes flickering from your own to your lips and back up again. It’s taking everything inside you to not pull his hands to touch your skin.

“I want you,” he whispered, “is that bad?”

“I don’t think it’s bad. It’s a bad idea, but it’s not bad.”

You watched him as he chewed at his lip, still staring at you. Whether it was the alcohol in you or the adrenaline, you felt the urge to lean further, your lips grazing his ear. “I want you too, Harry. Always will.”

You felt him snap, and his hands slide up the back of your neck and into your hair, pulling your lips to his own into a crushing, desperate kiss.

Harry’s hands moved down to your waist as you wrapped your own behind his neck, pulling each other closer and closer, wanting, needing to drink each other in. The music around you felt like it died then, and all you could hear was the sound of Harry on you, around you, completely yours again, just like the first time. It always felt like the first time.

You felt your neck being trailed with sloppy kisses and bites, and boy, did he know what that did to you. You tried to suppress the moan that escaped your throat, and he let out a light laugh. “Like that?”

You didn’t need to answer, just involuntarily moaning again, almost writhing in his arms. He kissed you again, hands reaching down to grip at your arse and pull you against his cock that you could feel getting harder with every movement. He let out a long groan as you brush against him, one hand back in your hair and pulling you back just to see you, see your dazed and hungry face that you just hope he’s thought of in the early hours of the night and craved after all these years.

“Harry…”

“Fuck, you feel so good,” Harry said, dipping back to kiss you again, “fucking missed this, babe.”

“Me too,” you breathed out, “wanna make you feel good.”

“Tell me what you want, love,” he said in that stern tone.

Your eyes almost rolled back then as his hands spread further up your thighs and pulled you round, pressing you forcefully back against the wall to suck at your neck again.

“Wanna go back to yours, wanna take your cock in my mouth,” you whispered against his ears, in an almost moan, “haven’t felt you inside me in so long, baby.”

“I wanna feel you, fuck,” his earnest want makes you ache, you could barely contain it, “you always looked so good wrapped around my cock.”

He pulled you back up from against the wall then, his grip around your hand pulling you along behind him. You see him nod at Jeff who nods back, which makes you cringe slightly. You didn’t want to know how many girls Harry has taken home from nights like these and followed this routine. It would hurt more, if the alcohol hadn’t numbed so much. You barely notice the flash of the cameras as you fell into the backseat of the taxi.

Harry kept his gaze out the car window and his hand on your thigh, occasionally grazing his fingers further up, and it aroused you beyond belief. You keep your moans at the back of your throats as you feel yourself getting wetter, craving his touch to relief your tension.

You pressed your lips to his ear. “I’m so wet, baby.”

Harry doesn’t falter, keeps that same gaze on the London that passes by you, but his grip on your thigh only tightens. “Y'wet for me, doll?”

You only breathed heavier, your hips writhing. Harry pressed his hand against you, keeping you still and (near enough) composed.

He still doesn’t look at you as you leave the taxi and walk through to his place, but you know what he’s doing. You remember this game. He likes to feel in charge, like you’re his completely. And what he loved the most, was how much you loved it and needed it too.

“On the bed, love,” he said as he unlocked the door, kissing you once, slowly, and trailing his hands down your body. You felt him try his hardest not to pull you into his completely.

You complied, walking over slowly, feeling his eyes burn into you as he watched your body intently. You sat on the edge of the bed, and watched Harry follow you over to stand in front of you, taking off his suit jacket as he stared you down.

“G'on then, doll, give us a show. Can see you’re dying to.”

You smirked, standing up and sliding off your heels, slowly stepping out of your dress. Harry sat up against the desk in front of the bed, his hands balling into a fist as he saw your body again. You could see him biting his lip, and that made you shiver.

As you sat again, you trailed your hands from your hair to your neck to your chest, down your middle and stopped just at the seam of your lacy underwear. Your breath was heavy and peppered with quiet moans, with Harry’s stoic stare in front of you turning you on all the more. “Shou-,”

“Not yet. Not until I say, you remember now.” Harry uttered, unbuttoning his shirt and sliding it down past his arms. You groaned and your head fell back. All you wanted was his hands on you and his thick cock so deep inside you. “You look amazing, babe. Can you turn over for me? Arse up.”

You nodded, doing as he said, crawling onto all fours and pushing your arse out towards him, desperate for his touch. You could feel him edge forward, reaching a hand tentatively to graze your skin. He lowered his head to kiss and bite your arse cheek. “Fuckin’ hell. Touch yourself.”

You breathe heavier then, reaching down past your underwear and feeling just how wet and dripping you were, touching around your folds and pressing and feeling slowly around your clit. Your whole body tensed, finally taking care of the built up arousal, and you began to moan, loud and quick.

“Harry, please, I-”

“Louder, darling.”

You moaned, louder, like he wanted, and you felt him smile against your skin as he rubbed his hand possessively down your back and arse.

“So fuckin’ good for me, aren’t ya? Always have been. So wet and desperate for me. Love watching you writhe like this, and hearing you get loud. Think about it all the time, can’t believe I’ve got you right in front of me lookin’ so filthy.”

“Please, touch me, Harry, I need it. Need you now.”

“I will, doll, just love looking at you like this. Missed it,” you thought that was his drunk way of saying he missed you, “love it when you beg for me. Can I take these off, love?”

You nodded, a quiet yes leaving your mouth and with that, he pulled your underwear over your arse and down to your knees. He wasted no time in reaching his head down and licked a stripe up your pussy, following his movement with his fingers, getting them wet on you before pressing one deep inside you.

“Fuck, fuck, baby,” you mewled, needing more, more, always more.

“I’m here,” Harry said calmly, licking at you, your wetness dripping down your thighs as you pushed back against his face, needed his hot wet tongue against you. He pushed another finger inside you and groaned as he licked hard around your clit, “you’re so tight, babe, fuck me. Taste so good. Never gonna get enough of you.”

You couldn’t stop the panting and moans from leaving your body as Harry thrust his fingers against your sweet spot again and again, keeping a steady pressure against your clit, occasionally lifting his head to lick around your arse hole. You’d remembered he had a bit of a thing for your arse, and although he’d never fucked you there, when he was drunk he always got a little sloppy, licking around your hole and pressing a finger inside, never anything more, watching you wrapped tight around him, overstimulated and writhing beneath.

“Turn over, love,” Harry said, his hand pulling at your waist as you turned to face him. Your eyes were lazy and full of lust, your body so completely focused on him.

You moved forward and kissed up his neck, sucking slightly, hoping the pain would rile him up, and moved to his lips. You kissed him deep and desperate, pulling at his hair, moaning sweetly into his mouth as your tongues slid along one another. “Wanna suck you off.”

Harry almost giggled at that. “Okay, babe, have at it,” he whispered against you, moving to lie by your side as you climbed over his thighs, haphazardly undoing his belt trousers and pulling his hard, throbbing cock out, quickly leaning to lick at the head as Harry hisses through his teeth. He breathed in and out, the grip of your hand and your hot, wet mouth feeling far too good, “fuck, babe, so good for me. Look at me, shit, love how you look on your knees, those lips wrapped around me. Christ.”

Harry wrapped his hand round the back of your neck and into your hair, gently pushing his cock past your lips and back into your throat. You thought he might have remembered you saying you liked him fucking your mouth, liked the burn and the feeling of being full. The thought of it sometimes woke you in the middle of the night, thinking of times he’d fucked your mouth hard and fast and wet and he came so hard you could have done the same just looking at him. He grunted and moaned, letting out long strangled sounds the further down your throat you took him.

“You like that, love? Feel it filling you up? Want to fill your pussy, love, really fucking do. Want to fuck deep into you and watch you fall apart,” he moaned, “come up for me, darling.”

You left his cock with one last fat lick up the underside, and you could feel him shudder just at the sight of you.

Harry wrapped his hands around your waist as you climbed over his thighs, your wetness dripping down between you with the smell of sweat and sex filling the air between you. He finally unclasped your bra and pulled it off, taking your nipple into his mouth and sucking and sliding his tongue over your skin, looking up towards you. It could almost have been you in charge of him, and oh, how you had loved to make him whine back then. As much as he loved making you fall apart, Harry felt a quiet yearning to be ordered around, and you adored to see the way his eyes used to glaze over when you had him at your mercy underneath you.

You kissed lazily, grinding up against one another. His cock bumped against your cunt, hard and red; Harry quickly took a hold of it and rubbed the head of his cock up through the folds of your pussy, eliciting a tortured groan from you.

“Baby, please, need you, need you to fuck me. Want it so bad, fuck me hard.”

“You want it hard, yeah? Want your legs thrown over my shoulders as I pound deep inside you?”

Your eyes rolled back into your head, you could have blacked out with how he made you feel.

Harry flipped you both round with ease, kissing all over your skin and taking your thighs in his hands as he licked down between them again, feeling your tightness with his fingers and lapping at your clit. You ran your hands through his hair and pulled when he hit that perfect spot, unable to stop the noises that left you, but he loved how loud you could be, so everyone around knew just who was making you feel that good.

“Gonna make you feel so good, babe, shit, wanna make you come.”

He reached over to the cabinet and pulled out a condom, tearing it open with his teeth. You watched him rolling it over his cock, and as soon he could he leaned over your body, taking your face in his hands and pulling you into a deep kiss. You both felt a quiet moment then, and he placed his forehead against yours for a beat, before trailing his hands down your body, lining his cock up against your middle and pushing deep inside you. You moaned instantly, in unison, mouths pressed against each other and clinging desperately to skin on skin. This is where you felt right.

You stayed there for a moment, just breathing each other in, until you felt Harry push back, and thrust quick and hard back into you. Your head rolled back, a spike of pleasure you hadn’t felt since the last time rolling up through your body, as Harry gripped at you harder, pushing into your cunt again and again, reaching down between you to slide his fingers against your clit. Your legs shook as you groaned against him, Harry matching your noises low in his throat.

“So good, babe, so good for me,” he whispered, pushing your hair back from your face, “can’t believe how you’re makin’ me feel.”

Your arousal wrapped you up, and everything around you was Harry. You’d forgotten just how good that felt, and just how it felt to lose it.

The tension built and built within you as Harry fucked you harder, the sparks pooling in your centre. “Harry, I’m-fuck, I’m gonna come, babe, right there, fuck!”

“Come for me, love, fuck, come on,” he panted, driving his cock deeper into you, pushing your legs up over his shoulders and gripping the swell of your thigh to steady him, “let me see you fall apart.”

With those words, and the fast, unrelenting pressure of his cock pounding into your hot, wet cunt, you yelled out in pain and pleasure and clung tight to Harry’s shoulders, finally giving into that sweet release, a euphoria spreading through from your core to your fingertips.

“Fuck, babe, so gorgeous,” Harry moaned, grunting with every thrust inside you, “you’re gonna make me come.”

His breath quickened and with a few thrusts and escaped moans Harry gave into the tension, holding himself deep inside you as you held him in your arms, feeling his thumping heartbeat against your chest. You lay there together, one and the same, your patterns of breath matching as you placed your lips to his temples. Your heart rates lowered, your breathing evened out and together, you settled into the quiet night.

You stir occasionally through the night, though you only wake when you notice the loss of a body next to your own. This twinge of pain you had known many times over. A scar, to a wound, to a bleed.

You notice only a post-it note on the cabinet, with a message on it in a familiar scrawl:

Morning sleepyhead,

Thank you for last night, I had a lot of fun. I’m not in London for a while now, not sure when I’m back, but the door will lock behind you when you go. Sorry to run.

See you soon.

H .x

Now this is something you’ve done before, a thousand times over, though the last time was the hardest of all. When Harry leaves, everyone else has to acclimatise, and be expected to pick up where they left off the time before. It’s not his fault, or something he does with malicious intent, it’s just the way his life works. It’s one of the main reasons you were never able to make it work out between you both, in the end. And whenever he returns, you think that maybe this time will be the time he stays.

Even after all this time, you know that it isn’t this time. It never is.

[hardcheapknock-blog]

We did it! We passed the time for 50 days by providing memorable Star Wars related content for you the humble and gorgeous viewer(s). Holy craps what a ride. Well, we are on day zero and probably have seen or are seeing The Last Jedi as we speak. So for now here is some bonus goodness from some of our beloved authors before we go on a much needed holiday hiatus and Last Jedi binge. See you in 2018!

Gundy

The Audacity of A New Hope

Our 50-Day Countdown was really tough. What really surprised me about my performance during the countdown is I never really ran into a creative block. My biggest challenge was finding the time to do what I wanted in the time allotted. If it became clear that I would not have enough time to create the post I wanted, I somehow found a way to post something faster to buy myself extra time.

Each of us had to publish every four days, and with each other as our own best critics, the posts had to be solid. JERMAINE SOLID.

Sometimes an idea hit me and I had it turned around in 24 hours: “Rey Mind Trick“, “Midichlorox“, and “Chalmun’s Cantina Sippy Cups” are good examples of this. One post, “‘Made To Suffer’ by Guest Artist Edvard Munch“, actually happened by accident and I just followed it to the new conclusion which was really fun!

The Red Arm Diaries

C-3PO’s red arm was a source of hilariousness for me. It’s absurd how it is introduced, made to be an object of mystery and speculated upon, and then by the end of The Force Awakens, replaced with the normal, gold arm.

I’d planned to focus almost entirely on the Red Arm in a series called “The Red Arm Diaries”. This would include equally-absurd theories of how the red arm came to be. Yes, I am aware that the real story behind the red arm is out there to be discovered, but the average movie-goer isn’t going to do that. I had planned to create one-page vignettes around what transpired between Episode 6 and 7 that could account for the red arm.

In the end, I only did one comic, “Reunite Us, Interruptus“. I’m not sure if I got tired of drawing old Goldenrod or just lost faith in the idea. The other ideas that I did make a priority are still things I’m very happy with. In general, I just wish I’d done more comics.

The Reject Pile

Here are some ideas I decided NOT to do…

“The Red Missile”

I had the idea for a short comic where “Holiday Special” Boba Fett’s backpack missile kept getting him in trouble whenever he wanted to rent a creature to ride – by accidentally firing and choking them. So he’d have a reputation for just being a lousy customer and not the bounty hunter everyone fears him as.

In starting the research, it made me really sad to hear about all of the incidents in the 70s that led to toys no longer being able to fire missiles on which children can choke. So I scrapped that idea. I really wanted to make that pop culture reference work, but not on the backs of dead children. Well, this time.

“The Shortest Fan Cut of ANH”

I thought it would be funny to show how simple things would be if R2-D2 had simply started flying as he did in Attack of the Clones but in A New Hope.

So, the droids land of Tatooine… C-3PO mounts up on R2, they bypass the jawas and the Lars farm and simply fly to Obi Wan’s hermit hut. They fly to Mos Eisley and hire Han and Chewie AND they are able to arrive on Alderaan before it blows up! Later, they simply mount a bomb on him and send him into the exhaust port, flying, kamikaze-style. The end.

“A Christmas Falcon”

I have a lot of great photos from my childhood, opening Star Wars toys on Christmas morning, wearing Star Wars pajamas. I just couldn’t think of a way to make that slice of nostalgia into a post.

Yeah! The Imperial Troop Transport!

Christmas Falcon! PJs!

Whoa, how did this get in there!

Thanks for reading!

Samson

It really doesn’t surprise me anymore about how much back story can be created pertaining to the most random stuff in A New Hope. Case in point, the large skeleton of some beast that roamed the Dune Sea of Tatooine, which 3PO just happened to walk by, in search of rescue. I don’t know when they first started calling it a Krayt Dragon. It must have be a while back ago, cause when I was looking up images of the skeleton, I knew to look up “Krayt Dragon.” Apparently they are the apex predators of Tatooine. Too bad we didn’t see a living one in the film take down a Bantha or some Jawas.

My problem isn’t so much with all the back story stuff, be it official or fan fiction. My problem is with all the art being created hypothesizing what the creature actually looked like in the flesh. All the renderings pretty much show a traditional, elongated dragon head complete with horns around the back of the head. Even Terryl Whitlatch, who designed a lot of the creatures for Episode I, drew her dragon with fairly long snout. I really love the illustration, but that skull just doesn’t match the source material. If you look at the skull in the film, it’s a stubby head with no horns. It almost looks like a Camarasaurus (sauropod dinosaur) head, but with pointy, needle teeth. The only illustration that comes close to the skeleton on film is a painting by Ralph McQuarrie depicting two sand people hunting a Krayt Dragon. I think it was part of the original pitch art he created for Uncle George, but I’m not entirely sure about that. It may have been done much later for some book, regardless the head on this dragon looks rather stubby. Either way, there sure is a crap load of stuff for a background skeleton that only appears for a few seconds on screen. But that’s the appeal of Star Wars. All these little details, bringing the world to life, that people will obsess over and latch onto… even 40 years later.

FlippyCrap™®

Counting down origin

Well a quick tale of truth is 2 years ago I decided to countdown the days till The Force Awakens by myself despite Phil Collin’s song Against All Odds. Well take a look at me now Phil! I started at 100. That’s one more bottle of beer on the wall per the song and I don’t even drink! And without any preparation or knowledge of Star Wars(lie). Yeah in retrospect it was a crazy venture seeing how there is life. But I went with it. Using facebook as my vehicle of display, each day I posted something new. In the beginning it was just me googling the hell out of SW related items and trying to find the funniest or most interesting ones. But then I started to actually create my own. It seemed more ownable and frankly the kids (7-12 friends) loved it.

Some of those “classic” ones were inserted into this countdown because dammit I could do what I want. Those were The Star Wars Halloween Special (day 45) and Thanksgiving message from the bounty hunters (Day 22). But the rest were new, fresh and stupid! Just don’t forget to tell Kanjiklub!

So short, long story brief, my colleagues at HardCheapKnock decided to do one together for The Last Jedi. This way it was not as daunting with multi folks on it. In truth it still was tough but we frickin’ did it!

Writers notes

Some of the inspiration behind my posts:

Yoda’s Suffering (day 35) – this was intended to be a message about the struggles of children in Uganda. You should read about it on the web if you have time.

Not again Threepio NSFE (day 35) – again about Uganda

Walrus Man Discount Replacement Limb or Other Club (day 2) – This one took about a month to do. Mainly the drawings of every body and part. Actually I had this mostly done before we even started the countdown. Just tweaking it along the way.

Utini Speeder Wreckers (day 15) – This was a homage to a local CHICAGO TV commercial from the early 90’s. Took about 2 weeks to do. And if you think the quality looks shitty that was the intention so wah! Here are some clean behind the scenes photos then jerks.

Anyways God bless you if you sneezed within the hour (otherwise this is void). And God bless Star Wars.

As a reminder although the countdown is over you have 11 more days to enter the: LAST JEDI COUNTDOWN CONTEST! We are giving away a $100 Dollar Fandango Gift Card!!! We know you are going to see The Last Jedi…so we want to buy your second, third or fourth viewings! So it’s quite easy to play. You can do one or all of the following for a chance to win:

Visit Hard Cheap Knock on Facebook

Follow us on Pinterest

Follow @hardcheapknock on Twitter

Post a tweet

List the hidden numbers you found throughout the countdown – HINT there are 7 of them!

All of the above options must be activated through the fancy little entry form below:

Entry-Form

  The more options you do the more your chance of winning increases! Enter today through December 25, 2017. Must be 18 years old to play and be a resident of the USA. For full official rules click here. 

0 Days to The Last Jedi! We did it! We passed the time for 50 days by providing memorable Star Wars related content for you the humble and gorgeous viewer(s).