#I dropped one of my in life albums and bent a whole corner a bit ago which is great

[chqnified]

The feeling when you accidentally drop or rip an album

[suituuup]

pieces - chapter one

Five years ago, Chloe dropped off the face of the Earth. Beca sees her again in the most unexpected place.

rating: M (drug abuse, mention of sexual abuse in later chapters) word count: 2,100

ao3 link

*

“Any messages, Gina?”

Beca Mitchell strode out of the elevator, high heels clicking on marble flooring on her way to her office.

Her assistant rushed to walk alongside her, notebook opened as she handed Beca her second coffee of the day, which Beca took with an appreciative smile.

“Mr. Mendes needs to push back his meeting to Thursday, and Mr. Hozier-Byrne is waiting for a call back, preferably before 2 as he’s five hours ahead.”

Beca rounded the corner to her office and dragged her leather desk chair back, shrugging off her woolen trench coat and draping it over the back. “Got it, remind me what I have planned today?”

“You’re having lunch with Mr. Zimmer at the Plaza to discuss Jesse’s project, and apart from the weekly team meeting at five, you’re expected at Edgy Reggie’s party from 10 pm at the Sapphire.”

A groan surfaced from Beca’s throat and her eyes slammed shut as she plopped down on her chair. “I forgot about that. Luke can’t go?”

Gina winced and shook her head. “Family dinner.”

“Family dinner, my ass. His whole family lives back in fucking England,” Beca muttered before she could help it, throwing her assistant an apologetic smile. “Sorry. Thanks, Gina. Hold my calls until ten, please?”

“Of course, Ms. Mitchell.”

As she did every morning while sipping her coffee, Beca listened to demos over the next hour, forwarding them to Luke if any of those yet-unknown artists spiked her interest enough to sign them into their label.

The rest of the day consisted of two meetings, a dozen calls, countless email exchanges, and not enough studio time. A thick blanket of darkness had veiled the city by the time she closed her laptop and called it a day. She stretched her neck and took a moment to gaze at the lit skyscrapers through her floor to ceiling windows, sighing softly.

It was sometimes weird to think about how this was her life. How the asocial, grumpy freshman from thirteen years ago had made it to the top of the music business and now co-owned one of the biggest labels throughout the country.

Scratch that, throughout the  world.  

Snapping out of her daze, Beca stood and slipped on her coat, plucking her phone off the desk to call herself a Lyft home. She had just about time to take a shower and eat dinner before heading to that stupid party.

*

Beca could think of a million things she’d rather be doing right now as she strode down the wet sidewalk towards the lit  GIRLS  red neon sign in the distance a couple of hours later.

She told herself one drink, an hour tops, then she could head home, put on her pajamas, and finish that true-crime TV show she started yesterday.

“Name?” A dude bulkier than the freaking Rock asked her as she made it to the club door.

“Um, Beca Mitchell. I’m Edgy Reggie’s producer.”

Her artist had privatized a strip-club for his celebration party over his album hitting Platinum, and Beca couldn’t  not  show up, as... well, he was an important client and brought her label the big bucks.

The guy checked his clipboard and nodded, hitching his thumb over his shoulder. “You’re good to go.”

Casting the bouncer a nod, Beca ducked inside the dimmed, crowded club, wincing at the crappy music heavily pumping through the speakers. Three girls in bikinis and heels stood on platforms, twisting their bodies around dancing poles as dozens of dudes reclined back in leather sofas, shamelessly ogling their forms.

Beca’s nose crinkled as she scanned the room for her artist.

“Yo, Beca!”

Her gaze snapped to the left corner, catching sight of Edgy Reggie (he didn’t want to change his stage name, no matter how much Beca insisted) waving her over.

“Hey,” she cast him a tight-lipped smile, tucking her straight hair behind her ears. She nodded at the other dudes sitting around the low table. “What’s up.”

“Guys, this is the girl behind the magic of my album,” Edgy Reggie explained, throwing an arm over her shoulders before Beca could squirm away. “She is  fire. ”

Beca chuckled awkwardly, then pointed over her shoulder. “I’m gonna go get myself a drink.”

Maybe two come to think of it, so she could get herself through this.

She headed to the bar and ordered an old-fashioned, fishing in the inside of her coat pocket for her credit card.

“Thanks,” she muttered when the barmaid (also clad in a bikini that left very little to the imagination) came back with her drink, handing her her card just as the club’s speaker made an announcement.

“Ladies and Gentleman, please welcome to the stage…  Ariel! ”

The crowd cheered and hooted, Beca glancing over her shoulder to see what all the fuss was about.

There was no amount of alcohol that could have prepared her for the scene unfolding before her.

There, on the main stage, strutted in a redhead, only wearing a silver g-string and high heels. Beca would have recognized that shade of hair anywhere, and while the lighting in the club was low, there wasn’t a doubt in her mind that this girl -- Ariel -- was her former best friend.

Her former best friend who had dropped from the face of the Earth almost five years ago, without so much as an explanation. She hadn’t just stopped talking to Beca, but to all of them, even Aubrey. She was nowhere to be found on social media and when Beca had tried calling her after six months without news, she found out Chloe’s phone number had been disconnected. It wasn’t like they talked on a daily basis before that. After three years spent living on opposite sides of the country, the texts started coming further in between, their communication coming down to a few check-ins a year and on birthdays, until they eventually stopped.

Fearing the worst, Aubrey had called Chloe’s parents, who assured her she was fine, working as a vet in NYC and in a committed relationship. While relieved, the news stung Beca, as it was clear Chloe had deliberately ceased contact.

It took some time, but Beca eventually stopped thinking about her so much, especially when she started getting successful as a music producer and pouring her time and energy into her projects. She soon won her first Grammys, Gold, and Platinum records featured in notorious magazines and talk shows. She could stop working tomorrow and money wouldn’t become an issue, but Beca didn’t like to boast about her fortune, or fame, for that matter.

Despite being insanely busy, she still kept in touch with the other Bellas in their group chat, but she hadn’t seen any of them in a couple of years, missing the last reunion because of her job.

Beca’s mind steered back to the present, where the once most important person in her life was currently dancing for money. Men were staring hungrily at her as she sensually moved around the pole or bent over with her ass in the air to collect dollar bills from the floor, and Beca suddenly felt sick.

This couldn’t be her dream job, right? Something  had  to have happened for her to settle for this.

Beca grabbed her drink and knocked it back, flagging the barmaid down for another as her mind reeled as to what to do.

She needed to talk to Chloe. In private. Tonight, as soon as she finished… parading in front of these disgusting fuckboys. Only… she wasn’t sure Chloe wanted to talk to her.

“Hey,” she said when the barmaid came back as an idea struck. “How do I get a private lap dance with one of the girls?”

The girl raised a surprised eyebrow. “Backroom, hun. Who do you want?”

“Ariel.”

The platinum blonde let out a curt laugh. “Ariel doesn’t do lap dances, babe.”

Beca’s eyebrows knitted together in a heavy frown. “Why not?”

“Because she’s the boss’ favorite.”

Beca didn’t know what that meant exactly, and she wasn’t sure she wanted to find out as another wave of nausea swept over her insides. “Is your boss here tonight?”

The barmaid scanned the room quickly, nodding. “He’s the guy over there in the suit.”

“Thanks.” She took her drink and headed over to where the fifty-something dude was talking to another guy. Stepping up to them, she ignored their glares over her interrupting their conversation. “Hey. Are you the manager?”

The dude who looked like he ran a mafia mob turned a bit more towards her. “What’s this about?”

“How much for a private dance with Ariel?”

His gaze flickered over Beca’s shoulder towards the stage, then sized Beca up, unimpressed. “She’s not available, kid.”

Beca gritted her teeth at the condescending tone of his voice. “Not even for ten grand for twenty minutes?”

He slow-blinked, then burst out laughing. “Yeah, right.”

“I’m being serious. Ten grand, twenty minutes. Alone in a room, just the two of us.”

The man’s expression hardened. “And I said she’s not  available .”

“Twenty grand.” Hell, she’d throw half a million on the table if that’s what was needed to talk to Chloe. After a beat, she added, “And no touching. That’s not what I’m here for.”

The manager seemed to consider her offer for a handful of seconds. “You got the money?”

Dammit.  She couldn’t withdraw that much right now, she needed to call her bank. “Tomorrow night.”

He smirked, snickering. “I’ll believe it when I see it.”

He turned back to his buddy, leaving Beca grumbling under her breath as she turned around and stalked out of the club. She couldn’t stay. She couldn’t stand the sight of Chloe objectifying her body for money.

As soon as she got home, Beca fired up her computer and typed in Chloe’s name in her browser. Apart from old stuff on the Bellas, she found nothing relevant. Chloe appeared to still be MIA from any social media.

Beca grabbed her phone and scrolled through her contacts, bringing the device to her ear.

“What’s wrong?”  

“How do you know something’s wrong?”

“We call each other twice a year on our respective birthdays and stick to the Bellas chat for the rest.”  

Beca nibbled on her bottom lip. “I found Chloe.”

A long stretch of silence on the other end of the line followed.  “What?”  

“I saw her tonight, Aubrey.”

“Where??”

“At a strip club. She’s… a stripper.”

“What? Did you talk to her?”  

“No. She was performing on stage. But I will. I’m… buying a lap dance from her tomorrow. I figured… she’ll have to listen to me since she’s being paid for it.” Her eyes slammed shut, scrunching up her nose. “I don’t know. It might be a bad idea, but-- I just wanna make sure she’s okay, you know?”

“Yes, of course. Keep me posted?”  

“I will. Talk to you soon.”

Beca shuffled to bed after that, but sleep never came. Her mind kept reeling about Chloe, about what she might say to her once they were face to face, and the possibility that Chloe might shoot her down and refuse to talk to her.

She spent her Saturday trying and failing to make some progress on an ongoing project, willing time to tick faster so she could head back to the club. Mid-afternoon, she headed to the bank to withdraw twenty grand, tucking the envelope in her purse.

“Why does it feel like you’re doing something illegal, Beca?” She muttered to herself on her way out of the bank, slightly paranoid about carrying so much cash on her.

The club was just as crowded when she got there around 10 pm. A different girl danced on the main stage and the manager was nowhere in sight, so Beca perched herself on a stool at the bar, ordering herself another old-fashioned.

“Is your boss around?” She asked the barmaid, a different girl from last night.

“Who’s asking?”

“Tell him the person who wants Ariel is here.”

The girl’s eyebrows shot up at that but she didn’t say anything, nodding before strutting away. Beca sipped at her drink for the next twenty minutes, keeping her back to the stage.

The manager eventually appeared in her peripheral, and he leaned an elbow over the counter, lacing his fingers. “So what’s so special about Ariel?”

Beca slowly set her drink down and fished for the envelope, pushing it towards him while keeping her gaze straight ahead. “I like redheads.”

He plucked the envelope off the counter and peered inside. Twenty stacks of ten hundred dollar bills in exchange for twenty minutes with Chloe.

He nodded. “Follow me.”

Beca finished the rest of her drink, the alcohol managing to muffle her nerves some as she followed the manager towards the back of the club, and down a set of stairs. Her heart pumped hard in her ears and her palms started to sweat as she was led inside a dimly lit room with a handful of sofa chairs and a small stage with a dancing pole, some kind of music that seemed straight out of a porno carrying through the speakers. A spiral staircase was tucked in the right corner, and she guessed that is where the strippers made their entrance from.

Beca wondered how far things usually went in these kinds of private rooms.

She wondered how far  Chloe  went.

She cast the guy a tight-lipped smile and a nod before he closed the door, and paced the room for a little while, eventually lowering herself on one of the leather chairs and wiping her palms on her designer slacks.

The clicking of heels over metal made Beca’s spine snap straighter. She resisted the urge to look over her shoulder as the steps grew nearer, digging her nails into her thighs as a new round of nerves gripped her insides.

“Good evening, sweetheart,” the huskiness of Chloe’s voice made Beca swallow, and she felt a hand run over her shoulders as Chloe approached from behind.

Glancing up, Beca met familiar, ocean blues.

[fucking-zawa-sensei]

Opulence - erasermic fanfic

Title: Opulence

Pairing: erasermic

Rating: Explicit

WC: 9k+

Summary: 

When they’re done, when Hizashi is finally, finally laid bare and beautiful across their sheets, still shimmering and sparkling and flushed a delicious pink, the blond is breathing heavily, sweat drops gathering along his hairline and in the ridges of his collarbones. 

He looks absolutely filthy in the best kind of way.

Notes: An incredibly late birthday gift for my friend, @rootistabootus(it has been 4 months girl I am so sorry), who can always make me smile any day, any time, who sends me the best memes, who supports my love for characters she doesn’t even know, who is quite possibly one of the bubbliest, most positive people I have ever met.  Who makes me feel like I can do anything, who inspires me to create and take risks and stop letting fear dictate my life. She’s selfless and one of the hardest workers I have ever met. Her optimism is fierce and strong and makes me think that anything is possible. Thank you for always being there for me and making my life that much brighter. You are an actual piece of sunshine fallen down to Earth and I am happy to have the opportunity to bask in your endless warmth. I love you! 

Read full fic here on AO3

Opulence

It was a normal occurrence, something that happened probably once a month at least.  

Hizashi would come home, door swinging open and caught just before smacking into the opposing wall, the telltale clack of expensive heels giving away that this wasn’t a post-patrol late night entrance. His costume boots sounded the way all heroes’ did: like nothing at all. 

Underground or not, every hero needed to be capable of stealth when the situation called for it. 

With villains who had guns for fingers and steel wire hair, the situation often called for it. 

Hizashi rarely dressed up for the studio either, unless he had a celebrity guest joining him on air. Shouta still remembers the glittery gold suit pants Hizashi wore when his favorite DJ was in town. It was hard to forget, with the way they threw speckles of rainbow light across every surface in their bedroom each time Hizashi opened the closet on the rare nights when Shouta forgot to pull the blinds shut. 

Modeling was something that came with any popular hero’s list of duties, along with interviews, commercials, cameos in movies or TV shows, presentations at hero schools, the list went on. 

The more public you were, the more the public wanted you. 

Hizashi hadn’t gone the way of selling albums or cologne in magazines. Instead, he’d used his agency’s desire to sell his body in print and pixels to gain himself a spot in the fashion industry, a passion he’d had for as long as Shouta had known him. He once saw the young hero-in-training cutting out swatches of colors and patterns and pasting them inside his notebook, erasing any useful study material beneath. 

Not like Hizashi ever needed to study. 

Shouta didn’t quite understand the difference between couture and editorial, but he liked the way Hizashi’s smile looked when he ran his fingers over a sequined body suit or a faux fur shrug. 

He never paid it much mind when his husband came home from a photoshoot, knowing the first place Hizashi would go was the bathroom to wash off any lingering glue and makeup, working gel and temporary dyes out of his hair. He’d spare a glance, curious to see what the other man had been zipped into that night, Hizashi somehow convincing designers to gift him the outfits more often than not, but that was about it. 

Here and there he’d make a comment, a low whistle if it was particularly sexy, something more snide, like, that is not staying here for more than a week, if it was something they both knew Hizashi would never wear outside the house again. Shouta can still remember the great purge of spiked leotards and pointed shoulder jackets they’d been forced to endure last year when they’d run out of room in the closet for their actual clothes. 

Tonight is different.

Tonight, as Shouta casts his eyes over his shoulder from where he is spread out on the couch, half-finished book in his hands, he is unable to turn away. 

The smirk on Hizashi’s face, as he tilts his head up from where he’s bent down, unlacing the long, knee high black stiletto boots hugging his calves, said he hadn’t expected anything less.

Shouta’s eyes can’t pick one thing to focus on, generously grazing over every curve and dip in Hizashi’s body, all deliciously on display. 

Hizashi’s shimmering, gold nails release their hold on the metallic painted laces, his hands running lightly over his knees, and then his fishnet covered thighs, before settling on his hips as the blond straightens into a standing position. He leans back a bit, the way he always did when he was feeling confident and hungry for attention, cocking a hip seductively. 

That grin, accented by glimmering, glitter dusted lips, stays in place. 

Shouta’s gaze is ravaging his husband. 

Tonight, they’d put him in a long sleeved leotard, something Shouta was pretty used to seeing. This time, though, the material was all a shiny, smooth faux leather, with a delectably deep plunge from Hizashi’s collarbones down to just below his navel, his belly button piercing shiny and vibrant like all the other accent pieces to the outfit. Shouta is pretty sure they must have the suit taped over Hizashi’s nipples because there was no way it would be staying in place otherwise. 

He also knows for a fact that they didn’t have Hizashi take out his nipple piercings, as the little ball studs were just as prominently on display as the perky flesh they were slipped through. 

The whole suit looks like it was engineered to be one size too small, hugging Hizashi’s lean frame like a second skin, accentuating the angles of his hips and the deep V between them, the curve of his biceps as he shifts his arms, even his ass, never particularly all that large, looked plump and delicious with the hall light falling over the tight fabric. It left nothing, absolutely nothing, painstakingly nothing, to the imagination. 

Shouta knows before his eyes dare to fall on the space between his husband’s legs that the bulge will be there, but he doesn’t expect Hizashi’s manicured fingers to wind up in his view as well, casually caressing the growing mound as Shouta continues to stare. 

As if this wasn’t enough, as if the thought of his husband walking from their apartment’s parking lot and through the lobby in this incredibly sexual outfit wasn’t already getting Shouta’s throat to dry up, whoever designed this shoot had decided to take it a step further. 

Hizashi had a natural beauty that was impossible to deny, and a sinful ability to turn on the heat when needed. 

So why they’d decided he needed to be slicked up in a shimmery, glittering body oil was beyond Shouta. 

As he finally rips his eyes away from the blond’s fingertips, still stroking over his erection as it pulls against the taute fabric, he sees Hizashi’s chest looking dewy in the same way it did in the moments before orgasm. A fierce, unrelenting heat begins pooling quickly in Shouta’s lower belly. 

“Like what you-”

“Yes,” Shouta cuts off Hizashi’s teasing words, clichéd and useless. Of course he liked what he saw. Who wouldn’t? The whole point of dressing Hizashi up like this was to make any witless fool who picked up the magazine have to resort to using it to cover themselves up. 

Hizashi exhales softly through his nose, one arm coming up, hand moving toward his face, and it all feels like it has slowed down, like each miniscule movement takes one whole rotation of the little hand around the analog clock hanging on the wall next to the kitchen entryway. Shouta watches the way the fabric relentlessly constricts around Hizashi’s body, as his hand runs through his hair, disrupting all those flawlessly smooth locks. They hadn’t styled it in any way tonight, letting it all fly free over the man’s broad shoulders. The golden shine of Hizashi’s hair broke up the predominantly dark outfit nicely. Shouta could see why they’d made the decision, but it certainly isn’t helping the uncomfortable way his jeans are getting tighter by the second. Hizashi lets his hand fall carelessly to his side when he’s done running his fingers through his hair, a few strands getting caught on his lip gloss and his long, fake lashes. Hizashi blinks slowly, eyes downcast, and Shouta doesn’t think it’s possible to get to the bedroom fast enough. 

Judging by the way Hizashi’s next breath brings forth a small shudder as he releases it, he’s feeling the exact same way. 

Shouta isn’t one to rush anything, though. 

He closes his book in one hand, his middle finger still stuck between the pages, and slowly, slowly, leans forward, never breaking eye contact with Hizashi, to set it on the coffee table in front of him. Still bent over, he extracts his finger just as languidly, licking his bottom lip as the digit slips out. Hizashi swallows loud enough for Shouta to hear it from across the room. 

“Are you going to take those boots off anytime soon?” Shouta asks, falling back against the couch, sinking lower into the cushions and lazily letting his legs spread wide. He lets one of his hands fall into his lap, just close enough to his crotch to stroke one finger lazily over his growing erection. He rests his head against the cushioned back and tilts it toward Hizashi, wearing a smirk of his own now. 

Hizashi might have got him going with his outfit, but Shouta knew exactly how to get the other man just as riled up. 

Hizashi hated waiting, and more than that, hated when his pleas for attention went ignored. 

Shouta watches as the corner of his husband’s perfectly painted lips twitches. The blond flips his hair over his shoulder, brushing away the pieces that had stuck to his gloss, before sliding his legs and feet out of the high boots. The fishnet stockings go all the way to his toes, as does the body oil, despite never being in the photographs. 

Hizashi steps up out of the entrance way, one hand still firmly planted on his hip, and begins sauntering across the hardwood floors like he’s gliding across a runway at fashion week. Each and every step pulls at the tight clothing, the light catching every curve, every dip as he moves, one foot in front of the other, bare thighs rubbing against one another, his hardon pressing up against the leotard, his slicked chest rising and falling with heavy, hot breaths. 

The hand not stroking himself through Shouta’s pants is now curled into a fist beside him. Shouta clenches his jaw to stop himself from jumping off the couch as Hizashi finally stops in front of him. The blond’s last step is a powerful stomp that leaves his legs spread wide in a triangle, one hand still firmly planted on his hip, the other comes up to run over his own chest, fingers impossibly sliding beneath the bodysuit. Shouta watches with interest as Hizashi’s fingers make their way to the small bump of his nipple, everything so easily visible despite the fabric. Hizashi’s eyelids slip closed, long lashes caressing his upper cheeks. He throws his head back, letting his mouth pop open, as he pinches and rubs at the sensitive bud. Hizashi lets out a moan that Shouta knows is only half real, is entirely constructed just to get Shouta even more bothered than he already is, but it doesn’t matter. 

His mind doesn’t care if Hizashi’s putting on an act. 

His mind is hardly there anymore, all the blood gone rushing down to Shouta’s crotch the moment his husband had passed through the door. 

So when Hizashi finishes gasping and tilts his head back up to stare down at Shouta, he stops playing games. 

Shouta’s hands latch onto that deep plunged neckline and pull. 

Hizashi comes all too easily, as if he’d planned the whole thing, as if he knew full well he’d end up straddling Shouta’s lap, their clothed cocks rubbing against each other with each and every panting breath they took. 

He probably did. 

Shouta doesn’t particularly care if it’s all going to Hizashi’s plan. He’s too busy fastening his mouth to the blond’s throat, kissing and licking over his adam’s apple, his collar bones, his jawline. 

An annoying little voice in the back of his mind thinks I hope this oil is edible, but it doesn’t stop him from enjoying the soft, supple feeling of Hizashi’s skin beneath his lips. 

It’s made all the more better when one of Hizashi’s hands comes to his chin, pulling his face away from the other man’s collar bone and toward his mouth. He knows when they part he’ll have that glittery lipstick all over his mouth, that they’ll be laughing about it tomorrow morning, still tangled together beneath their sheets. Shouta’s stomach jumps in the same way it does each time he looks outside the school’s windows and across the courtyard to the other side of U.A.’s towering building, where Hizashi and he cross paths during third period, separated by far too many walls and windows and trees, but the other man never failed to send him a large, shining Present Mic grin. 

It was the little things that got Shouta’s heart skipping, which brought a light pink flush to the tips of his ears. 

Right now, though, his whole body was warm, as Hizashi’s tongue drags him back to the present. 

The blond’s thighs tighten around Shouta’s, and Hizashi shifts positions, bringing his chest closer, pressing into Shouta’s, so he can settle his ass over Shouta’s achingly hard cock. He starts grinding on Shouta’s lap, bringing a gasp from his lips. Hizashi hums into their kiss as Shouta’s hands move from the blond’s hips to those two plump cheeks, digging his nails in just hard enough to get a rouse from the other man, but not enough to leave a mark. He never liked bruising Hizashi, though the blond sometimes seemed to enjoy rougher treatment. Shouta didn’t think it was good to have any tender spots on your body when you were a hero, no matter how many times Hizashi insisted no villain was ever going to get close enough to his ass for that to be a problem. 

Hizashi’s hands make their way into his hair, curling around Shouta’s wavy, unruly strands. He pulls, just enough to get Shouta moving back, their lips separating, both gasping, panting for air. Hizashi stares down at him, his hips stilling as he catches his breath. 

“Y-” Hizashi tries to start, but clearly needs another second. He swallows, takes another breath and says, “You ready to cut me out of this thing?” 

Shouta raises an eyebrow, a smirk coming to his lips. 

“Are you saying you can’t get out of that yourself?”

Hizashi rolls his eyes, “I’m trying to be sexy, Sho!”

Shouta doesn’t give in. 

“I think it would be sexy if you did a little strip tease,” he says, squeezing his hands around Hizashi’s ass cheeks, making the other man jump.

“F-fine,” Hizashi says, an additional blush rising to his face atop the lovely glow that had already formed during their kissing. “I don’t know how they packed me in here and I don’t know how to get out.”

Shouta snorts as Hizashi’s eyes dart away, his lips coming dangerously close to a pout, and Shouta’s heart skips. 

Hizashi could come home bare naked and he’d never be more attractive than like this, natural, guard down, no personas or masks or other personalities fighting for attention, just pure Hizashi.

Shouta releases his grip a bit, bringing a hand up Hizashi’s back, rubbing soothingly across the smooth faux-leather. Hizashi’s eyes and mouth soften at the touch, before he leans back in for a less hungry kiss. 

This one feels like it lasts too little, but the message it leaves is far more than just lingering, it’s persistent, unending. 

I love you. 

Hizashi smiles as he pulls back, head titled just enough to the side to make Shouta see him in another time, japanese maple trees framing him, the orange autumn glow shining through their leaves and cascading over Hizashi’s shoulders.

Hizashi’s thumbs brush along Shouta’s scruff covered jaw. 

“Bedroom?” Shouta asks on the tail end of a breath he’d been holding for far too long, bringing his hand to Hizashi’s front, finally dipping into the space left bare by the deep plunge neckline, casually playing with the longest jewel that hangs from Hizashi’s belly button piercing. He turns it over between his thumb and forefinger, watching how the lamp light beside the couch plays in all the little rivets of the small stone. 

“Please,” Hizashi begs, his hands dropping down to Shouta’s shoulders, squeezing at the same time as he jerks his hips forward just enough to get some friction on his aching cock. They let out matching hums of pleasure and the heat in Shouta’s belly becomes more insistent. 

“Then let’s go,” Shouta says, his voice deep. 

For how weak his legs feel right now, he still manages to wrap his arms around Hizashi’s back and lift them both out of the chair, the other man quickly crossing his long legs around Shouta’s waist. Even this feels like too much, too similar to all the times Hizashi and he had pressed one another up against one of the many walls of their home, too distracted by the others’ body to make it anywhere near a horizontal surface. Hizashi had always joked it was a double workout, could be counted as training, but the hungry look the blond gave him each time he slipped his thigh between Shouta’s, rubbing up against his crotch before hoisting Shouta up the wall, said keeping in shape was the last thing on Hizashi’s mind.

Admittedly, Shouta gives a couple glances toward the smooth, sturdy surfaces framing their hastened walk as he carries Hizashi down the hall. The other man doesn’t help, doesn’t seem to care at all that Shouta’s hands are digging further and further into that faux leather as Hizashi sucks harshly under his jaw and along his collar where his shirt has been pulled down by Hizashi’s weight. 

Read the rest here...

[jojparasol]

storms [part three to silver springs]

Ah, it’s finally here! I apologise for not posting in such a long time but here it is. The final part. As usual, it’s a Fleetwood Mac song. I’d like to thank everyone who has read all the other parts x

Part one , Part two

The one where Y/N is getting back up on her feet but then they meet again.

Word count: 3.3k

Warnings: swearing and angst??

Y/N had to admit, life’s quite alright. She felt like she was free with no sort of worries on her shoulder, staying at home with no care in the world. So when her friend invited her to lunch, she happily obliged, getting out of the usual scenery of her cosy apartment. It was refreshing, to say the most. But once Y/N had finally gone out to see the outside world, she realised how much she preferred a familiar view rather than a crowded one. 

So when a few hours drifted away, Y/N waved her goodbyes to Brielle, clutching onto her handbag under her armpit as she ambled in the other direction. Her small heels made a slight clicking sound against the hard concrete floor as she adjusted her sunglasses on the bridge of her nose. She cursed slightly at how far she parked because the restaurant Brielle insisted on was quite the tourist attraction with quirky drinks and mouth-watering food. Hearing a ding from her phone, Y/N couldn’t help but pull it out. Now, she knows it’s a little dangerous to walk on the streets with her head in her phone and quite annoying to any passerby but to her defence, it would be the quickest glimpse.   

But of course, it was dangerous. And she learnt her lesson when she bumped into something and with the sudden startle, her phone left her hand as the sound of it kissing the ground ringed through her ears. 

“Holy shit.” 

Taking off her sunglasses to get a clear vision, she looked up and frowned at the all too familiar face.

“Always told you to look where you’re goin’.” Harry chuckled, running a hand through his hair as she stepped back, leaving a generous amount of space between Harry, the phone and her. 

She let out a heavy breath, shaking her head in disbelief at fate as she bent her knees to pick up her phone, examining the now cracked screen. “Fuck.” 

Y/N pulled the sleeve of her cream sweater with her fingers, covering the palm of her hand so she could rub circles around the black screen. Harry watched in amusement at the whole situation, thanking his luck that he got to see her again. He took advantage of being able to note every single detail on the way she looked today since Y/N was too distracting in testing if her phone works or not. 

Harry realised she had her hair curled a little more than usual and got a small trim. She was wearing makeup but it wasn’t much - only gloss and blush. She also looked a little taller, considering that she had replaced her old Nike shoes with a beige strapped heel. But other than that, she didn’t change much. She still looked just as gorgeous as before, maybe even more. 

“I could pay for it if you want,” he offered, shoving his hands in the back pockets of his jeans as she glanced back up, her eyebrows knitted together as if he had just said something offensive. 

“Course you could,” she remarked, a hint of anger lacing in her voice as she caressed the small cracks on her phone.   

“Y/N…” He trailed off, sighing at the fact that she was clearly bothered by his seemingly nice gesture. 

Shaking her head, she realised her attitude so she snapped herself back to reality, shoving her phone and sunglasses into her unzipped handbag. Finally focusing her attention back to the man in front of her, she admitted that damn, did he look good as if nothing’s changed. 

“Don’t worry about it. Do you want to move over to the side, y’know where no one’s at?” Y/N pointed to her left, a little walk down and there was a closed shop patio that held an empty spot away from the moving crowds since she didn’t know how long the conversation would last. Y/N always knew to be cautious with Harry out in public which he was grateful for. Nodding his head, they ambled towards the designated area. 

“So how have you been?” She painted a small smile on her face, facing her body towards him where she could also peer at the footpath where everyone else was. His figure was faced her instead, so no one would know who she was talking to. 

“I’ve been well,” he answered, nodding his head. “Started writing more songs for the upcoming album. What about you?” 

Y/N nodded along. “Yeah, haven’t been doing much but it’s been alright.” Something in the back of her mind refrained her to ask about Delilah. She didn’t know if she was ready to but deep down, she needed an answer. “Anything else going on?”   

Her hint was taken well as Harry cleared his throat. “She said yes.” No, she didn’t. He’s been lying straight to her face. Whenever he picked up his notebook, all his lyrics were scribbled out. And Delilah did the opposite of saying yes. He didn’t know how his voice managed to pull through his ongoing lies, but he was used to it by now.   

Y/N shifted her body to one side, her shoulder tensing as her eyes dropped to gaze at the concrete floor, her view filled with her pointed heels and Harry’s worn-out shoes that she’s also worn countless times before. She could feel her heart pulsing out her chest, the driven pounds laced to her brain. All her feelings ran back to her body and she almost forgot why she ever left him. 

Glancing back up, she bit the inside of her mouth before a small parting between her lips created a whiff of breath before she spoke up, her voice like a delicate whisper. “Congrats." 

Harry’s lip stretched into a modest smile before taking a deep breath. He knew he wanted to see her again. God, it was refreshing to see her again. To Harry, it didn’t seem like that night happened. She was still Y/N. His best friend, Y/N. “Do you need a ride?” He asked, attempting to make his time with her long and worthwhile. Even if it meant asking stupid questions, it still meant that he’d be with her for just an extra second.   

“My car’s right there.” She shook her head, pointing behind him were a few blocks down, her car was parked. Although they couldn’t see, it was self-explanatory. Harry followed her direction, turning his head, nodding as he realised he had probably strolled past the little black vehicle without notice. Y/N decided to skim through her handbag, attempting to find her car keys with a hum to occupy the silence. “Besides, don’t you have other plans?”  

Successfully finding the keys with a metallic jingle, she laced it around her index finger as Harry shook his head. 

“No, was jus’ taking m’ daily stroll.” Lies. Lies. Lies. He could feel his phone vibrate in his back pocket, probably from all the ongoing texts from Jeff because Harry was supposed to meet him at the studio. 

Y/N thought his answer was odd considering the fact that Harry never takes morning strolls after 9am and he wouldn’t ‘stroll’, he runs. Nevertheless, she ignored it. 

“Do you want to come over?” He thought he would’ve regretted asking her but he took his chances. He asked her because he missed her. He really did. She was finally in front of him and it wasn’t just his imagination. It was her. His y/n. Her whole physical being and all he wanted to do was devour himself into her presence before she disappears for probably even longer than the dreadful three months. 

A breathy laugh emitted from Y/N, she almost found the idea ridiculous. She’s been going alright without him but at the same time, although it was ridiculous, she could also see herself easily accepting it.   

“I don’t think that’s a very good idea, Harry,” she denies, trying to shut him down before she has the urge to drop down on her knees and hail before him. It was useless, spending endless days building up all her walls before torn down by the same man. 

“C’mon, Y/N. Doesn’t have to be too long. ‘avent seen you in ages,” he almost begs, he was almost scared that she would vanish in the warm, humid air. He hadn’t seen her enough. Only a few hours would satisfy him. He reached out to touch her hand, holding on to it.   

“There’s a reason why you haven’t,” she grits the words between her teeth, feeling herself being tugged towards him but she left his hand there.   

“Jus’ this one time.” He stared at her right in her blurry eyes, trying to speak through his gaze, adjuring her to say yes. For one last time. 

And Y/N received his feelings well. Almost perceiving that he was looking straight into her soul and Harry knew her weaknesses. He knew she would say yes. She convinced herself that it would only be for a few hours. Maybe a small chat here and there to sort whatever they had left - if they even had anything left. 

Then her walls were officially knocked down with a simple nod of her head. At least she can say she tried.   

- 

The sound of Harry’s keys jingling as he unlocked the apartment filled her ears as she stepped back into a haunted memory. They had obviously driven in separate cars since she didn’t want to leave her’s out in the street. The apartment didn’t seem too different, it still had the homey feel to it. But from the truth, Harry didn’t want to do anything that would remove her out of his life so he didn’t bother decorating his apartment like most people do. 

“Where is she?” Y/N didn’t dare to say her name as if it was an unbounded curse surrounded by rose thorn bushes. 

“Not here,” he replied simply as she welcomed herself onto the couch. She felt uncomfortable, knowing everything that happened in this place - she didn’t belong here anymore. Her eyes settled upon his guitar in the corner of the living room and she had a sudden rush of flashbacks. But it was all too quick when Harry interrupted her. 

“Apple juice?” He offered, knowing well that he had a carton in the fridge and that she’d prefer that beverage over coffee or tea. 

“If you have any.” She seems distracted, observing the room like she had just discovered a new area. Like this place wasn’t familiar anymore.   

“‘f course I do,” he mumbled under his breath, strolling towards the kitchen to grab her a glass. To her luck, she had heard him but didn’t react, only pursing her lips. Heck, she wouldn’t even have known how to react if he knew she heard. 

A few minutes pass before Harry comes back to the living room with a cup of apple juice gripped in his hand as he takes a seat next to Y/N who watched attentively. With a quiet thanks, she brings the glass to her lips, taking a small sip before setting it down on the coffee table in front of them. 

Placing her hands on her lap, she didn’t know what else to do. What if Delilah walks in? What if she sees her car outside? What if- 

Her thoughts cracked when a pair of lips crashed onto hers. And it was an instinct to kiss back. God, she was finally able to feel the warmth of his soft lips upon hers and the second she kissed back, she felt him smile. But as he did so, she was quick to pull away. Their breaths were uneven, she was still close to the point where he could feel her breath fan against his lips.   

“We shouldn’t be doing this.” She stared into his deep eyes, almost feeling herself sinking into him. But when he didn’t answer, she gave up. Bringing herself back to his lips, he happily obliged. They missed this feeling. Both of them missed the way their mouths moulded together perfectly.   

Before they knew it, they were breathless. So Y/N was the first to pull back again. God, she knew she was back to falling in love with him again. 

“I missed you so fucking much,” he breathed out, swallowing his thoughts. 

“Delilah should be home soon right?” Reality drowned her. She realised that he still didn’t love her the way she could. It was all just ‘I miss you.’ Not ‘I love you.’ Why was she expecting him to say ‘I love you’ after that kiss? 

“Stay.”   

“Why am I here?” She ignored him again. She didn’t know if she was asking Harry or herself. What did she expect when coming over to Harry’s? Clearly whatever it was didn’t happen. Maybe she wanted him to really confess. After three months, she thought he would’ve. Or maybe she thought they’d run the same route to bed.  At least he could’ve said something worth coming to. 

“Cause I missed you,” he choked, knowing she was slipping from his hands unlike before. 

She shook her head, knowing that when she kissed him, she expected more. “You and I both know that. There’s more to this than ‘I miss you.’” He could tell her softness started fading away, she was testing the waters. 

Harry never really liked the way Y/N always searched for an answer to things, she was always persistent. Well, he liked it when he questioned others because he would always observe how she could crack them easily. Until she tried figuring out Harry. He finally knew what it was like to be the victim of her limelight. And from then on, any questions thrown at him would only result in her winning.   

After a year with broken heartstrings, it seemed like a lifetime's past. And Y/N couldn’t deal with the road that Harry tried paving for them when they were best friends because her love seemed to shatter everything they had. She never really dealt with Harry well. But when Y/N gathered her courage, it was his turn to break - and with that, it leads to the infamous night that haunted both parties. 

“Why am I here? I mean, I said my goodbyes already. I left you with something more than you deserve,” she continued, watching as he remained emotionless. “You miss me but god forbid, do you love me? Cause that’s why I'm here, right? You kissed me and maybe then I thought there was a reason to why I’m here with you right now. But I don’t know anymore. Tell me why I’m here Harry." In that instant, it became frail. Her voice becoming a deadly call to Harry’s heart. 

“No. Y/N, you know I love Delilah,” he finally spoke, managing to show no sort of emotion. He was good at that. 

“Fuck. Then why am I here?” She cried out, her frustration ripping at the seams. Her faith crushed into tiny pieces that she couldn’t pick up anymore.   

“I don’t fucking know.” Yes, he did. 

What broke her was when she finally took a good look at Harry, he almost seemed fine. Like he was not being affected at all by Y/N crashing right in front of him. He wasn’t bothered. 

“This one time, Harry. This one time wasted.” She pointed a finger, standing up as her knees felt weak. But she held up her pride, standing strong as she swaggered towards the closed door. Her instincts told her to take one more glimpse before she once again, disappears but she fought herself, cursing that she needed to not be the weak one here. 

Harry seemed to be frozen in time. He couldn’t process anything. All he did was watch Y/N but the thing was, he couldn’t seem to move. Inside, he was practically screaming at himself to stop her - stop her before she walks out forever. 

“Please,” he gasped out just as she opens the door to be greeted with a breath of fresh air. “You’re here because we both feel something,” he admitted to her and himself as he realised she had stopped in her tracks, waiting for Harry to answer her. “God, Y/N. I’ve heard that door slam shut way too many times. Someone’s always walking out of that door. They’re walking out of that door and out of my life. Please don’t, I can’t let you leave. Not again."  

Turning around, her heart already broken but it felt like it was clinging on as if there was one last hope. She wanted him to continue so she stood there with her arms crossed, protecting the leftover pieces of her heart as he recollected himself, putting the puzzle pieces into the right words. 

“Delilah said no. She knew there was something wrong with me since I ignored 'er for months with no end. I had to ignore her when all I could think of was you. Heck, ‘verything reminded me of you. You’re hauntin’ me and I know if I don’t admit what I’m feeling, you’ll follow me to my grave." 

Y/N stayed still, containing all her overwhelming emotions in one sport before they spread like wildfire. She felt conflicted. Part of her loved him but there was still that over-consuming thought that she was better than him. After all the shit she’s been through, was there really anything worth it? 

“So after all those times ‘ve asked you with the highest hope that you love me back, you lied?" 

Harry knew lying always created a mess. His mother would always tell him with a disapproving finger that ‘lies brew up the perfect storm.’ And as simple as it sounds, he realised that Y/N and him were a storm - the perfect one. 

The storm that would gather the darkest clouds to form the brightest strike of lighting. The storm that would hurt anything with its blinding flash. The storm that thunders against the ground, rain washing everything clean. The storm that Harry would use to hide from, his fingers covering his ears because his five-year-old self couldn’t handle it. The storm that Y/N would sometimes flinch at, even today. They were a storm. 

“’m sorry. I’m fucking sorry about everything. Delilah was there to fill some void that was left and to you and the world, we were a couple but it was nothin'. When you told me you loved me, I couldn’t bring m'self to say anythin' and I don’t know why. Bloody hell, I don’t know what 've been doing at all. But one thing’s for sure, I love you Y/N and I’m so sorry for everything. God, please let me make it up to you." 

It’s almost like everything’s been a joke to Y/N. Like this whole thing’s been wheeling her into a roundabout of lies and knives. She almost wanted to laugh, finding everything humorous. Like all the excruciating pain she suffered through was for nothing. And the sad thing was, Harry watched her. Watched her fall under him, for him to simply knock her down. 

“After all I’ve been through. Jesus Christ, it’s like whatever I’m getting at the end of this battle is not worth it because every night you broke my heart. Your ‘I love you too,’ doesn’t seem real, nor does it seem enough. I’m done, H.” 

And Harry had this feeling where he knew that it was the final straw. He was gonna lose her for good. He knew that their storm could’ve turned into a rainbow. But he knew he wouldn’t be to see it. At least one things for sure, Harry would be waiting on the other side. But Y/N loved him from the start, just not till the end. 

With a shut of the door, he was left alone. Their broken hearts became heavy. Their rose garden dreams were set on fire by fiends. And not all the prayers in the world could save them.

[xautunno]

I Don’t Want Your Love - Munto Fanfiction

Summary: Save it for the living.

Please Note: This piece took quite a while to put together. As a whole, I'm not entirely sure how I feel about it, but I'll you be the judge of that.

The song that is included (in the italics) is "Save it for the living" by Smash Into Pieces.

I hear your thoughts,

I bid farewell

~

Nozomi sobbed as they lowered the casket. Her husband stood dutifully by her side, not complaining when her hold on his arm became unbearable.

Their son stayed a few feet behind them, unable to watch.

Nozomi rooted herself in place unable to will herself away, to leave her first-born alone. But, her husband tugged at her, persistently, until she agreed. He led her to the car, making sure she was situated in her seat and then, did the same with their son.

She didn't cry after that. She didn't smile either.

~

I see you cry,

I feel like hell

~

Shigeru spent many sleepless nights outside on the steps. A bottle in one hand and a photo album in the other.

He'd flip through the pages and weep. His time to openly grieve and the only time his son saw him shed a tear after the funeral.

It was its own form of hell, to open the photo album and replay her life until the end. Yet, it offered a bittersweet solace to the father.

He tried not to dwell too much on the thoughts that consumed him at night during the day. Work kept his mind busy and the thought of Nozomi's and his youngest kept him moving forward.

Shigeru didn't want the loss to swallow him, to leave his baby boy alone. He was a child. He hadn't known grief or seen his mother so unrepairably broken before. He needed guidance in times like these. He needed his father.

Several weeks after the funeral, Shigeru put away the bottle, to save for happier days, and left the album on the shelf.

~

Don't sacrifice the rest of your life missing me,

Wish I could see you happy,

Get on your life without me

~

Ichiko spent her days by the ruined park. Sometimes she'd sit close to the Ferris wheel, sometimes on it.

The pillar, carved with symbols and design of ancients, still stood as a reminder of when armageddon knocked on their door. Yumemi answered the call to help stop the world's destruction, and in the end, could not stop her own.

Being one of the three witnesses to the brutal event left ichiko scarred. Shadows frightened her. Imposing statues and building stretched their shadows out long and she swore she could see his shape take form in the darkness. It left her heart racing and gut twisting.

He had been so… alien to her. Completely without conscious. Without humanity. But, thoughts of the giant brought thoughts of the King, the man with red hair.

Red. Red made her angry. Sad. And on a day like today, cloudy with sprinkles and cold wind, red made her heart lighter and content. Yes, content.

The thought of him holding Yumemi so close and tenderly… She'd swear they had known each other for a lifetime kind of like… like old lovers.

His rage at her sacrifice, at how her death was never part of any plan… It soothed that voice of worry and put to rest some of her pain.

He had - did - care.

For her, that would be enough.

~

Think of me as something beautiful,

Not the bitter end

~

Her doorbell rang causing a rush of panic through her.

Date night.

Suzume opened the door, her pitiful form in baggy sweats and in one of his old t-shirts. Something that comforted her on bad days. They were more frequent than not.

Kazuya smiled and handed the bouquet of flowers to celebrate their anniversary.

"We don't have to go out to the movies." From behind his back, he pulled out three DVDs. "We can stay in."

Suzume grinned and gave a small laugh, more so out of relief. She let him come inside as her parents rounded the corner.

Her mom smiled at her daughter's forgetfulness and gladly made them some dinner.

Suzume's parents watched as their daughter's gloomy day brightened. With a good movie, a home-cooked meal, and her boyfriend, she laughed and smiled.

~

I'm the reason why you feel your life is broken,

So hear me (please!)

I don't want your love,

Save it for the living

~

Chikara played his game per usual. His mother would glance over at him from the kitchen before going back to watch the storm clouds.

He sighed as he died again. It would have been frustrating, but he didn't have the energy to care.

Try again.

Chikara swiveled around, but he couldn't find the speaker. He swore she whispered in his ear.

No one was even near him. Especially not her. She couldn't be.

He turned back around.

There in the mirror, Yumemi was bent over him. Her hair fell down her shoulder, away from him. He could see her rosy cheek press against his.

She didn't say anything, only smiled with emerald eyes closed. Soft. Content. Her arms wrapped loosely around his neck. A gentle hug.

"Yu-Yumemi!" His choke sob drew his mother's attention.

Chikara let loose a sorrowful cry, eyes glued the mirror. Tears streamed down his face relentlessly and reddened his cheeks.

Nozomi dropped the kitchen towel. Frozen. Like at that moment in time, she had forgotten her role as a mother. The experience, the instinct, all gone out the window, carried by the storm's fierce winds.

Then, it all came flooding back to her. She calmly walked to where her son cried and kneeled before him with a smile on her face. The first smile she had in almost a month. She held his face in her hands and wiped away his tears.

Chikara stopped crying, a bit confused by his mother. She said nothing, keeping his attention focused on her while she silently soothed his tears away.

"It's okay." She picked up his controller and placed it in his hands. "Why don't you try again?"

~

I hear you calling,

Wish I could take it,

Guard your mind next to my grave,

Like I'm the one you need to save

~

He sat at the table, watching clouds roll by underneath him. She had sat with him, not too long ago, curious about the world she found herself in.

Toche swung his feet, an inch away from the grass that bent to the wind's force. Like they did. Bending whichever way destiny commanded. No matter how many times he told himself that, he couldn't bring himself to accept the fact her destiny was to die. To save them, strangers who had once sought to bring an end to her kind, at the price of her life.

He left the island, stopping when the sky's blue began to dissipate at the wave of a soft pinkish hue. It looked happy and Toche didn't what to feel about that.

~

Wish I could see you happy,

Get on with your life without me,

Think of me as something beautiful,

Not the bitter end,

I'm the reason why you feel your life is broken,

So hear me,

I don't want your love,

Save it for the living

~

Rui and Sheza stood in silence. The courtyard had been restored to its former beauty, but that's not what they were watching.

"I believe she had been on her way to Ryuley. She waved to us below." Sheza crossed his arms, partially disturbed by the whispering words.

"It is coming from the hill…" Rui turned to address the few others who stood with them.

"If it is the princess, then why-"

"Who is she here for? That should be obvious." Ryuley came from the path to their right, hands folded gracefully in front of her. "She's only here for one person." If her words didn't get the message across, her sideways glance to Rui did.

"Hope she can get through to him," Rui's mumbled words caused Ryuley to raise a refined brow.

"She saved the heavens twice. I doubt there's not much she can't do." The others nodded to Sheza's words.

"This is Yumemi-hime we are talking about!"

~

I want you to fill the emptiness while you're alive,

I want you to find someone to take my place,

I want you to save it for the living

~

Munto slammed his cup on the arm of his throne and stood. He could not allow her to distract him. There were treaties to draw up and sign.

He reached the doors and stopped to look back at the silver guardian which watched him intently. With a tic in his jaw, he slammed the doors behind him.

"Save what for the living? There is nothing left to save." Munto strode into his study, grabbing a stack of papers to bury himself into.

She continued to talk, her voice going in and out like a bad radio signal.

"Enough!" Her presence had moved closer despite his obvious protests.

~

Hear me! Hear me!

You save it for the living!

~

Munto gripped the quill, increasing his hold until broke under his frustration. Tears welled in his eyes at the thought of which she implied. To move on. To say goodbye.

He had hoped she would have stayed. Gone shopping with her friends. Have dinner with her family. Work on her studies. Visit him when time permitted.

"I wanted you to stay." He nodded to her response. "Leave, Yumemi. You do not belong here any longer." He locked his jaw once more at his harsh words and wiped the moisture from his eyes.

~

See you on the other side.

[choicesaddictionwriting]

Stay the Night / Drake x MC (Tess)

SUMMARY: After a tense plane journey back to Cordonia, it is becoming seemingly obvious that Liam is gearing up to propose to Tess. Unable to bear the pressure that mounting and the fact the time is running out she runs and Drake is the only person knows where she would go. When he finally catches up with her we see the events and confessions that lead to there first and possibly last night together

Stay the Night/Drake x MC (Tess)

He knew exactly where she was and yet he still called, frantic and panicked. Just in case. Just in case he was wrong. Just in case he didn’t know her as well he thought he did. He knew he was being irrational, crazy even. But just in case. Perhaps it was because a part of him, even though it was small now, but still a part of him believed that everything he had with Tess. Was just something he felt. He knew it wasn’t true but he couldn’t help be riddled with that dreaded feeling. He was never good enough, not for anyone and especially not for her.

So he called incessantly, cursing her out under his breath as his hands gripped the wheel. She never answered her phone, she kept it on silent alway no matter how much he told her not to, and today was no different. It was already late by this time too. She never thought about anything before she did it. She was just so impulsive, Drake thought. Didn’t she think about how worried everyone would be if they thought she had gone? What if someone else had discovered she had gone? Did she not think about how much he would worry? Maybe she had, he acknowledged, maybe she knew that he would know where to find her if he was worried, and he was.

Ever since he discovered her room empty after going to check on her when they arrived back at the palace from New York, he had been calling. She must have taken it with her. The ride back had been tense as Liam had told Tess that they need to talk the morning of their flight back which had been rescheduled much sooner than planned after Tess name had been cleared rather spectacularly. Drake knew what was coming, so did Tess, but unlike her knew unlike her that the court mandates that all official royal engagements take place in Cordonia.

She was different on the flight, so he knew something was wrong. Only speaking when spoken too, curled up and looking out the window, the whole flight. She had avoided everyone to the best of her ability. Hana, Maxwell, Liam and, of course, Drake himself. Her natural excitement low and her eyes dull.No one else seemed to notice but Drake had. Which was why he had gone to check on her, hoping that they could talk and he could see what was wrong, now they were alone even though he knew why.

He knocked like he always did. But her voice didn’t ring out saying that he could come in only for her to remember that it was locked so she had to open the door herself. No, there was none of that, just silence.He knocked again, knowing that if he did she would eventually answer,  but to no avail. There was just silence. Then he realized the door was open. He called again saying that he was going to come in but still no response.

He walked into an empty room and he just knew that she was gone.  

Not too far though, Drake sighed in relief. Noting that all her stuff was still here. He knew that she would come back, eventually, if at least to get her stuff before hightailing out of Cordonia. She must have slipped out while everyone was distracted settling back into the palace.

There was only one place she would go when she felt like this.  

Their place.

Their bar.

The bar was basically deserted besides a few regulars and a brunette sitting on the floor, guitar in hand, playing and singing along to the song playing. Drake watched her for a moment. Lost in her world. All the anxiety, worry and fear slipped away and relief, happiness, and simple admiration flooded his system. Damn, she was beautiful. The song was drawing to a close as he walked over to her. She didn’t even notice him approach her.

“Yea we're so far gone. So I'll just say what you won't say…” He let her sing as the music ran out.

“You know I listened to that album,” He commented, staring down at her.

She jumped at his voice before looking up relieved. Drake bent down beside her, on the balls of his feet.

“Drake, what are you…” Tess went to ask before stopping herself.

Stupid question. She knew why he was here. She avoided his eye contact guiltily, lowering her head to the floor and taking a swig of the beer that sat beside her.

“Aren’t you going to ask?” Drake promoted a smirk on his face.

He knew that she thought he was going to rail on her for leaving, running, making him worry. But he wasn’t. She didn’t need that right now. She needed him.

“Ask what?” She questioned, turning back and looking at him confused.

“What I thought?” He continued, grinning.

“Of what?” She asked.

“The album,” He sighed, she was so forgetful.

“Oh,” She let out, her eyes lighting up.

Knew that would work, Drake thought to himself.

“What did you think?” She inquired.

“Eh,” Drake shrugged, sitting heavily beside her.

“Drake!” She chuckled, punching him in the arm.

“What?” He exclaimed defensively.

“Nothing,” She grinned, “You’re right. It isn’t the best, is it?”

“And yet it’s your favorite,” He commented, “Says a lot about your taste,”

“Do you really think you’re in the best position to mock my taste?” She sighed, leaning her head against her shoulder, “You know why it’s my favorite and you know that it has nothing to do with the quality,”

“Because of the emotional connection,” He mocked jokingly.

Tess laughed again, bumping against him.

“You’re such an asshole,” She giggled.

“Guilty,” He shrugged.

“I’m sorry I left without telling anyone,” Tess apologized.

“You can do what you want, you’re an adult,” Drake shrugged.

“But you were worried,” She pointed out.

“It’s not about me right now,” Drake comforted.

“But it is.” Tess insisted, shifting so she could look at him, “Do you not care at all that tomorrow…”

“I’m trying not to think about it,” He confessed, knowing that he couldn’t keep off the facade.

Especially not with her.

She just nodded in response, looking at the floor.

A heavy silence hung over them.

“How about we just pretend that tomorrow isn’t coming?” She suddenly suggested, “How about we just pretend that we’re…normal?”

“Hmm?” He prompted.

“You heard me,” She smirked.

“Why not? I’m not busy,” He shrugged but there was a smile on his face.

“Okay,” She smiled shyly.

Another silence hung over them.

Where to begin?

“Do you mind if we get off the floor Carson?” Drake suddenly asked, shifting uncomfortably, “I don’t know if you’ve noticed but this place is hardly the cleanliness.”

“Sure,” She agreed as Drake got up and helped her up after.

Drake looked at the bar one more time, just in case. Before slipping his hand into hers as they walked towards the bar. He sat down heavily on his stool and expected her to do the same but instead she dropped his grip and ducked under the bar and popped up behind it, right in front of him.

“What are you doing?” He questioned, confused, looking around for an actual

“Harry left me in charge for a bit, he had to go home for something. He should be back in about half an hour.” Tess quickly explained, grabbing a whiskey bottle, “Drink?”

“How do you do that?” He asked, nodding before she slid the drink over to him.

“Do what?” She asked innocently, taking a sip of her own drink.

“You’ve been here what? Four times?” He elaborated, “And the owner trusts you enough to leave you in charge of the bar. You’re something else,”

“Or I just talk to people instead of brooding in the corner drinking whiskey,” She commented seriously before descending into laughter.

“I don’t do that,” Drake insisted, “And I talked to Harry!”

“What’s his last name then?” Tess inquired, leaning across the bar and raising her eyebrows.

“Alright, maybe I did do that,” He admitted reluctantly, “Before you started coming with me and ruined everything and made me talk to people,”

“Sorry for trying to broaden your horizons,” Tess chuckled, taking another sip as Drake did, “Do you remember the first time we came here?”

“How can I forget?” Drake sighed, leaning back in his chair and smirking at her.

“Was it really that bad?” Tess asked, narrowing her eyes at him.

“You got me drunk and made me sing in front of everyone!” He exclaimed.

“And you have the time of your life,” Tess insisted grinning broadly, leaning over the bar again and shaking his shoulders.

“I have nightmares,” He mentioned with a fake shudder.

“Did you see the picture?” She asked, ignoring his comment, turning around and quickly scanning the decorated wall for the right picture.

“What picture?”

“They took our picture after we won the singing contest or should I say I won and was gracious enough to include you, remember? They framed it and put it on the wall,” Tess explained.

“God why?” Drake muttered.

“Don’t worry you look great,” Tess winked, looking back momentarily at him before turning back and plucking the frame off the wall and walking back over to him.

She handed Drake the picture and he glanced at it. All the memories of that night came flooding back. Tess was getting restless one night right at the beginning of all of this so Drake decided to invite her to his favorite bar which was around twenty minutes away from the palace. He didn’t know why he did it. Maybe because he knew how overwhelming all this could be and he didn’t want to see her snap like all the others? But why did he care so much about her? Because Liam had asked him too, well at least that’s what he told himself. They drank, they talked and unfortunately sang in his case. They were there all night just talking up until 4:00am. He remembered it vividly. It was one the best nights he had in while. Hell, it was the best night of his life.

A smile sprawled on Drake’s face.

“Heh,” He let out, grinning down at the picture.

Tess and Drake had their arms around each other, in a friendly way. Tess was looking at the camera beaming with her large plastic trophy in her hand. Drake, on the other hand, had a drink in his hand and he was looking right at her. Because that’s when he knew.

“What?” Tess prompted, noticing his change in expression.

“Nothing,” Drake responded shaking his head and handing her back the picture but the smile remained on his face.

“No, tell me!” Tess demanded, putting the picture back up and circling back around.

“It’s nothing,” Drake insisted.

Tess narrowed her eyes at him once again.

“I’ll kiss it out of you,” She said sternly.

“Okay,” Drake shrugged, “Though I can’t really tell you anything if my mouth is occupied,”

“Fine,” Tess stated, “I’ll deprive kisses it out of you,”

“What?” He asked.

“I won’t kiss you until you tell me,” She explained.

“Now that’s more of the threat,” He admitted.

“I know how you tick,” She said smugly, circling him dramatically before quickly snatching his whiskey, “And you’re cut off too,”

“Hey!” Drake protested.

“Tell me,” Tess persisted, getting really close to his face, “Please,”

He couldn’t resist her and she knew it.

“Do you really want to know?” He sighed, rolling his head back.

“Ah huh!” Tess grinned, sitting beside him and leaning in, “Tell me,”

“Fine,” He gave in, leaning in himself so their face were only inches away, “I was thinking about how that was the night I realised…I…”

“You what?” She encouraged, her big brown eyes looking straight into his.

“Well, if you let me finish,” He snapped gently before taking a deep breath and continuing, “It���s the night I realized that I liked you,”

“As a friend?” She asked.

“No,” He corrected, “I mean like like you like you,”

“Oh, you mean romantic styles?” She teased, wiggling her eyebrows at him before throng her head back in a laugh, at her own joke.

“If it didn’t sound childish already,” Drake huffed.

“I didn’t know that,” She smiled shyly now.

“If I haven’t ever told you,” He reasoned.

“That was weeks before we had our ‘talk’ at the Beaumont’s,” She recalled.

“We had to let the tension build,” He joked dryly, “I guess I never thought that I would tell you how I felt,”

“But you did,” she said.

“I did,” He confirmed, “Best decision I made. The second one being bringing you here that night,”

“Was it really your decision though?” She questioned, “I’m the one that started the conversation,”

“Well, I finished it,” He insisted.

“I kissed you, remember?” She reminded.

“I don’t recall,” He joked, taking a drink.

“Was it that forgettable?” She sighed, faking sadness.

He shrugged, looking at her expectantly. Tess chuckled at his expression before grabbing her face and kissing him. And she made sure that she did it exactly how he liked it. When she pulled away he was breathless and she was smirking.

“Try forgetting that,” She winked.

“Wasn’t planning too,” He breathed heavily, shifting in his seat.

The reality of what was going to happen struck them both to again and the sadness reduced them to a heavy silence.

“Do you know when I knew I liked you?” She asked.

“Romantic styles?” He tried to confirm.

She nodded.

“When?” He prompted.

“Do you know when I was told you that I was having trouble sleeping?” She inquired.

“How can I forget?” He scoffed, “You ranted for twenty minutes,”

“Well, do you remember what you brought me the following night?” She continued.

“A white noise machine,” He offered.

“Because?” She encouraged.

“Because I figured based on what you said that you’re problem was that you couldn’t sleep because it was too quiet and you’re used to loud,” He explained, avoiding her gaze.

“It’s one of the sweetest things anyone has ever done for me,” She revealed.

“Seriously?” He questioned, surprisingly.

“Yeah,” She confirmed, “To me, it was proof that you didn’t hate me and that you were there for me.”

“I never I hated you. Don’t ever think that.” He corrected.

“I know that now,” She soothed.

“And I’ll always be here for you. No matter…” He continues debater choking on his words and looking down.

Tess placed her hand over his. His were gripping the edge of the bar tightly, his knuckles turning white.

“I know,” She comforted.

But he continued. Because he knew she had to hear this.

“No, I need you to know that…regardless of what happens tomorrow or who you become after that. That I’ll always be here for you. Not that I think you need me because you’re one of the strongest people I’ve ever met. Despite all the shit you’ve gone through and you are still fearless and so optimistic and you believe in people. Even screw-ups like me. Which is probably why I’m so in love with you…” He persisted, pausing at the start in search of the right words before everything else came pouring out, only stopping himself when he heard what he said.

“I love you too,” Tess replied without hesitation.

“Tess…” He began.

“I said I love you too,” She interrupted and repeated before adding, “And you Drake Walker are not a screw-up. You’re a great man. And that’s why I love you. So don’t you dare say anything like that again or you’ll have to go through me, understood?”

He nodded.

“Good,” She said, blinking back tears and breathing heavily.

“Do you think it would have been different if we met like normal people?” Drake asked.

“What do you mean?” She countered.

“Say if we met at your bar in New York and I was alone would you have said anything to me?” He clarified.

“Well, I don’t know,” Tess admitted, “What do you think? We both know you’re the one with the overactive imagination,”

He rolled his eyes at her but he could feel his cheeks reddening.

“Well, I would definitely have tried to get your number. Probably fail miserably at it,” He suggested.

“Why?”

“It would have been awful,” He groaned, “And I probably wouldn’t even say it right because I would be so nervous,”

“Nervous, huh?” She teased.

“You’re really pretty,”

“You’re not too bad yourself,” She returned, “But tell me what would this line be?”

“I don’t know something like…” He began before pausing and offering,“Is there a non-creepy way to hit on your waiter? If so, please text it to me.”

Tess cackled loudly, rocking back and forth in her chair.

“I know it’s bad,” He agreed, trying to get her to calm down.

“No,” She tried to say, still giggling, “I’m laughing because it probably would have worked,”

“You think?” He chuckled.

“Oh yeah,” She agreed, “I’m a sucker for awful pickup lines,”

“Awful?” He demanded, in mock offense.

“You literally just said it was bad,” She defended.

“I know,” He grinned, “But I’m the only one that gets to say it,”

At that moment Harry returned to the bar and relieved Tess of her position.

“We should head back before someone notices we were gone,” She sighed reluctantly.

“Hmm,” Drake agreed, getting up himself, “So when is Liam coming to talk to you tomorrow?”

“11am,” She informed.

“Knowing him he’ll be right on time,” Drake smiled sadly.

The heavy silence returned.

“That’s still eight hours away,” Drake commented.

“It is…?” Tess confirmed, peering at him strangely.

Drake swallowed hard. Are you really going to do this, he asked himself. She could easily get engaged tomorrow, to your best friend. He knew that she was going to have to make a decision tomorrow. One that they had already talked about. One in which he knew what would happen and yet, he still held on. Even though he was the one that told her what to do, she argued and rebelled but he insisted. It was the right thing to do.

But right now he didn’t care about what the right thing to do was. He had been putting it off for weeks, avoiding the subject. Tess wanted it and she made that clear and he wanted it to. He never gave in though. But after tonight, after tonight, possibly their last night. Could he really miss out on the opportunity to show her how he felt about her?

No, he couldn’t. Neither of them were willing to spend the rest of their lives wondering what it would have been like to have actually been together.

And they said they were going to pretend tomorrow wasn’t coming.

“So that’s still eight hours away,” He continued, “You’re still mine for eight more hours,”

“I am,” She nodded, “And your mine,”

“So…do you want to come back to mine?” He asked nervously. “What are you saying?” She asked, even though she was dying to say yes, she just had to make sure.

“Do you want to…stay the night?” He clarified in an attempt to be humorous by making a reference to her favorite album but his eyes were serious and gaming into hers.

Tess blushed wordlessly but there was a smile on her face with and an air of understanding around them. She reached out and grabbed ahold of his hand and interlaced their fingers.

“Let’s go, Walker,”

[eala-captian]

Dream On, Dreamer (1/?)

Guys this is it. This is the MC thats been clawing away at my brain for the past few months. I’ve had so much support from you guys on this, and I can’t wait to see where this world takes me.

This is a Musician!Killian AU. There will be pain, there will be heartache, there will also be an unbearably fluffy happy ending. I promise. 

Warning: 5 year old Killian content. Character Death.

                                      Act I: Songs Of Solitude

Jan 1, 2018.  Jones Residence- Storybrooke, Maine

Well, I’ve been running from this story for years, The ghost keeps chasing me, the grounds keep breaking me, I’m not really lost, I just haven’t found it yet. There is no place on earth where no misery exists.- Killian Jones

Light spilled through the window, and Emma Jones had never felt more content in her whole life. 2018 was their year. After all they had been through the last few years, this actually felt as if they were starting again. Killian was scheduled to meet with the band today. She was starting her new job in a weeks time. It all felt right again. She rolled over to find her husband staring at the ceiling. Brooding. It's what he did. Sometimes when you have gone through so much in life you tend to blank out and focus on negatives. At least that's what his therapist told him. Not today though.

She rolled farther over, snuggling into his chest. He wrapped an arm around her without looking away from the ceiling. “Hey, are you ok?” she whispered. He slowly looked down at her, giving her a half smile then looking upwards again.

“No, but this...my story needs to be told. This is something I owe my fans. Something I think will bring closure for myself.” He said while swiping his other hand over his face and into his hair. “No, I’m not ok, but I will be. Because I have you, and I have Liam.”

“You know you don’t have to do this Killian. Don’t feel like you owe an explanation to anybody. The fans would understand if you didn't want to talk about it.” He looked back down at her like she was the light of the world.

“I know that. I do, love.” He reached his hand down to stroke her cheek “But the whole reason I started the band with Liam was to help people get through pains in life. This is a great way to show that not everyone is perfect.”

“You are an amazing, beautiful, selfless man, and I love you. You know that?” She leaned up to brush a quick kiss to his lips before snuggling back down into his embrace again.

She felt him relax around her.

“Aye I know, I love you too.” This was good. He was good. He was writing a new album starting today. She had seen his lyric sheets laying around the house for the last month and a half. The lyrics she had read on them had been positive. So far from the words he sang just before they met.

Just as she was starting to doze back off the alarm started to ring and signal the true beginning of the day.  He groaned and sat up. His hair a complete mess. She took a moment to admire him. He glanced her way, smirk appearing when he noticed her eyes on him.

“Like what you see love.” He smiled

“If you mean crazy beadhead, sleep eyes, drool on your cheek, and morning breath, then yes I love what I see.” He leaned in kissed her softly on the cheek before pulling away.

“View isn’t too bad from up here either.” With that he walked towards the bathroom suite and dropped his boxers, almost tripping over them, on the way to the shower leaving him naked in the doorway. The bastard turned and winked at her tossing his underwear her way.

“That supossed to be a strip tease Mr. Jones? I thought strippers knew how to take their clothes off without almost busting their face on the doorframe?” She asked as his boxers landed just short of the bed.

“No, that was an invitation to save some water this morning Mrs. Jones.” She hopped from the bed and chased him in to the bathroom laughing.

…

They were eating breakfast with Liam when the doorbell rang. Killian looked at her and then back down at his plate. He let out a sigh then picked it up and carried it to the sink, rubbing the top of their sons head on the way. A murmured “Finish your breakfast, son” tossed out over his shoulder.

She made her way to the door and opened it to welcome their guests for the next few months during the writing and recording process.

“Mrs. Jones, my name is Sydney Glass and I’m a writer and director for AP Magazine. Thank you for allowing us into your home to film.” The man at the door had a whole film crew unloading a truck in their driveway. “Eric Prince from Rise Records is also here with his film crew to capture footage for the documentary that will appear on the album.”

“Come on in Mr. Glass, we’ve got the front room all cleared out for your equipment.” Emma replied stepping out of the doorway to usher them inside. As she turned around she saw her husband leaning against the wall in the back of the foyer. He made eye contact with her before nodding his head in an attempt to silently let her know he was ok.

As Eric walked in, Killian smiled and it was a real smile, one of the ones that lit up his whole face. Emma could pick those out by now. She watched as her husband walked up to Eric and shook his hand.

“Been a long time Jones. You look good.” Eric said letting go of Killian's hand. “Hey! You idiots make sure you take your shoes off before you come in this house.” He yelled as some of his crew carrying equipment tried to slip by unnoticed.

“You would have thought I would have had them trained by now.” Killian laughed and Emma couldn’t have been more relieved.

“It’s alright mate. We have a three year old running around pretending to be a pirate every day. We’re used to it.” Emma stepped up to stand beside Killian putting an arm around his back.

“Eric this is my wife Emma, Emma this is the guy that made a bunch of young musicians look like award winning actors for the first few years of our careers. He shot every one of our music videos.” She reached out and shook his hand as he laughed.

“To be honest with you I was just a film-student when we first met. I had no idea what I was doing.”

“Worked out alright if you ask me mate.” Killian said “Come on in, we can head to the studio. I assume that's where we are going to do this?”

The sound of feet and squeals sounded coming through the living room from the kitchen. Liam rounded the corner heading straight for Emma. “Mama! Mama! I cleaned my plate.” The blur of a child yelled as he crashed head first into her legs. “Papa said finish my breakfast, and I did mama! I even ate the baby oranges, I don’t even like those.”

“Can’t blame you lad.” Killian replied “Gross.” Emma swatted him across the chest. His reply was a wink to his son who giggled at his father. “Eric this is little Liam.”

“I’m not little papa! I’m young!” Emma glanced at Killian who smiled, and then at Eric who was looking at Killian with a knowing gaze.

“Hey, Liam. I’m Eric. I’m an old friend of your papa’s.” Eric said as he bent down on one knee to be eye level with the youngest Jones.

Liam retreaded behind his mother's legs. “Hi.” He said quietly sticking his head out from behind the wall of his mother's body.

“Alright Liam, time to get ready to go to Mary Margaret and David's house for a little while.” She said leaning down and picking him up. “ I’ll be back soon. Just gonna drop him off and head straight back, Ok?” she said directed to her husband.

“Sounds good love. Liam have a good day, lad. I love you.” He said kissing his son's forehead. “And I love you too.” he mumbled as he laid a kiss to his wife’s lips.

“That’s gross.” Liam said with a disgusted face. Eric snorted from the other side of the room. He was now holding a huge case Killian assumed was a camera.

“I’ll see you soon love.” He replied as Emma turned to carry Liam down the hallway to his room to get dressed for the day.

“Well, Eric. Shall we?”

“We shall.”

…

Killian was sitting on the couch in the corner of the studio when Emma returned. He was surrounded by a team of people making sure his hair was just so, and his face wasn’t washed out by the lights they had set up all over the room. She also noticed he had changed from his casual clothes into the clothes she had seen him wearing, on so many tour videos. He had completely transformed from her Killian to Dream On, Dreamer Killian in a matter of thirty minutes. She liked it. The bad boy, rock and roll look on him was always a welcome sight. He had chosen a black s-HEART shirt that showed just enough chest hair, the necklaces with a skull and sword his brother had given him, black pants, and black converse. It had been years since he so much as looked at the closet he kept his tour clothes in. At the same time it was the same clothes he had been wearing when he was rushed into the hospital all those years ago.

“Hey, love. Is he all settled with David and M’s?” He stood up and walked away from the hoard towards her. The woman fixing his hair gave him a death glare as he interrupted her work, to top it off he ran his hands through it to place it back the way he had worn it the past five years. “Bloody people all around me, they need to let me be. I don’t need anyone fixing my damn hair for me. Where’s Eric?” He stopped in front of her, laying his head on her shoulder, breathing hard.

“Hey calm down. It’s all going to be alright. Eric is getting everything ready upstairs. Just breathe for me.” That was another thing that had been a new characteristic for Killian within the past five years. Any bit of change, or large groups of people set him off. He was constantly on edge when he wasn’t secluded from the world at home, but he had just invited the world into it. This was going to be hard. “ The stylist is just doing her job, babe. And Liam is just fine. David was ready with the legos the second we walked in.”

“Good. I’m just worried. I’m sorry.” He lifted his head back up to look her in the eyes. He leaned in a placed a kiss to her lips. “I’ll be fine.” It was probably the one-hundredth time she had heard that today. He was trying to convince himself.

“Killian! We are about ready to start if you want to take your spot on the couch.” Eric yelled from the other side of the studio.

“Showtime.” Killian mumbled as he turned from her, forcing a smile onto his face. A fake one, she noted. He walked towards the couch and sat down with his elbows on his knees.

“Alright, what's going to happen is Sydney here is going to be asking you some questions and you can answer them as thoroughly as you want to, or not answer them at all. The ball is all in your court brother.” Eric addressed him as he walked to the small screen in the soundbooth.  

“Alright. You don't need me to do anything other than talk, right?”

“Nope, this is going to be raw. All you. No pressure.” Eric smiled. “Alright guys, Roll camera.”

“Rolling”

“Sound speed.” Emma glanced at Killian as he took a deep breath and looked into the lens.

“Speed.” He closed his eyes as the slate was placed in front of his face. It was dropped.

“Action.” As soon as that word was said he opened his eyes and Emma knew. She knew he was determined to do this. He was going to tell this story. He was going to write this album. He wasn’t okay. But he would be.

“I’ve been givin the great pleasure to sit down and talk with Killian Jones of Dream On, Dreamer in his studio as he writes this new album. It’s been about five years since you went off the radar as an artist and a sort of public figure. Are you ready to talk to us about it?” Sydney started.

“Aye, mate. As we are starting the writing process of this new album I felt like it was important for me to address my absence, and what better outlet to do that than through music and a documentary for the CD.” Killian answered while leaning back and making himself comfortable on the couch.

“Where did the idea for the band come about in the first place?” the reporter asked, looking down at his notes.

“I’m uh..I’m not quite sure where you want me to start. A lot in my life has influenced who I am today and what I’ve been through is quite a huge part of that.” Killian stated. Emma noticed he was slowly spinning his wedding band on his finger. The same finger coming up to scratch that spot behind his ear that he always seem to gravitate towards when he was nervous.

“How about we start at the beginning….”

…

April 24, 1991. Jones Cottage- Kinsale, Ireland

Killian hated oranges. Always had. For some reason his mother always seemed to put them on his plate right beside his toast. It made his toast soggy. The juice from the offending fruit making his bread taste bad as well. She always told him fruit was good for him. So was spinach, but you didn't see him standing at the fridge eating it out of the bag, now did you? She meant well thought. Even at five years old Killian knew she wanted what was best for him, and he loved his mother so very much.

That’s why today felt weird. They said his mother had a doctors appointment. Why did they say it like it was the end of the world. She had other appointments recently as well. His brother seemed to know something he didn’t. Why would he keep something from him?

“Killian. Are you going to eat your oranges?” Said brother asked him. He shoved his plate over the table to where Liam sat.

“You can have the toast too.” He replied getting up from the table.

The walk to his and Liam's shared room took him through most of the little cottage that they lived in. It was a fairly nice size house for their town. His dad always said he should be thankful that his father had a job that could support them well, compared to the rest of the people in his little town. His father was always gone and came home at late hours.

His father was nice enough. He tucked him in on nights that he was actually home before Killians bedtime, and read stories of pirates and princesses to him and his brother. Sometimes though, sometime his father got mad when he spent too much time in town with his friends. He came home smelling funny and couldn’t talk right. Killian had no idea what caused him to be this way. He knew his brother always went to the fridge and made marks on a clear bottle that Killian had been told not to touch. Every time he saw it the liquid was below the marks.

“Have you got all your bags packed?” He heard his father ask his mother when he walked outside their closed door. He stopped. If his mother was going to the doctor why did she need to pack things. Killian leaned closer to the door.

“Yes, I believe so.” His mother replied while trying to stifle a cough. “I do hope I will be coming home soon though.”

“We all hope so. Are you going to tell the lads?” His father questioned. “Killian is so young. I don’t know if he will understand when you don’t return this evening.”

“He has you and his brother. Liam is a strong boy. He knows more than he leads on. I’m sure he has already figured out what's going on by now.”

What was going on? Why did his mother need a bag if she was just going to a doctors appointment? Was she leaving them? He loved her too much for her to go. She couldn’t. Tears started to well up in Killians eyes as he started to panic. It was too much. He burst through the door to his parents room to find his father hugging his mother. She was holding a bloody handkerchief.

“Mamaí, you can’t leave us! What’s going on? Why do you need bags? I’m scared Mamaí.” Killian yelled as he all but jumped into his mother's arms. The tears were freely flowing now. Liam must have heard him yelling from the kitchen because when he turned in his mother's arms his brother was standing in the doorway.

He looked towards his father to see him staring at Liam like he would rather sink through the floor than have this conversation with his two young boys. Killian slowly sank back to his feet, and sat down on the side of the bed. Liam walked over and put his arm around his little brother.

“Mamaí, Da, what's going on?” Liam asked as he consoled his brother.

Their parents looked at each other silently having a conversation. They seemed to settle on a decision before Killian could comprehend what was happening.

“Boys, you mother is sick.” His father said while kneeling down to be eye to eye with them. “ She is going to spend some time at the hospital to try to get better. Do you understand?”

“Are you going to come back?” Killian asked. “I don’t want you to go.” He wiped his face on Liam's shoulder.

“Ma? It’s bad isn't it?” Liam asked nodding at the handkerchief she still held.

“It’s...It’s not good, but that’s not saying I can’t get better.” She said giving her boys a small smile.

“What’s wrong Ma?” Liam questioned.

“Your ma, we found out a few months ago she has cancer.” Killian felt Liam stiffen at the confession.

“What’s cancer? What does that mean?” Killian yelled.

“Killian my inquisitive little boy.” His mother said smiling at him. “Our bodies are made up of lots of different parts.” She came and sat beside him on the bed. “When someone has cancer, it means that something has gone wrong with one of these parts and it’s stopped doing what it’s supposed to do.”

“Like when I get sore throat?” Killian asked.

“A little bit.” She replied grabbing his hand. She started coughing again using the other hand to conceal the blood that came with it.

Killian looked down to his hand in his mothers. The tears started to flow again.

“I’m going to be going to the doctor so they can try and fix what's wrong inside me.” At this Liam angrly ripped himself out of their embrace and left the room.

“I’ll go talk to him.” His father said rising from the floor to head towards the door.

“Can..Can I get it?” He asked his mother after his father had left the room.

“Not from me, no.” She squeezed his hand. “Just know that no matter what, I love you.”

“I love you too Mamaí.”

…

His mother had been in the hospital for three months, and despite his bothers constant presence he felt completely alone. His father had been at home with them, and was more on edge than ever. Always calling in a sitter so he could spend more and more time in town. Whether that was with his mother, or with his friends, Killian didn't know.

He had hardly seen his father in two weeks. The last time he did see him he was in the living room looking at a photo of their family. He turned and threw the photograph at the wall shattering the glass into a million pieces. Liam led him away from the room.

“Boys get dressed.” His father said pulling him out of his thoughts. “We are going into town to see your ma.”

Killian hated these days. He hated seeing his mother like this. He wanted her better and at home with him. He felt so worthless, and so so lonely. These days were also the longest he could ever remember. Spending time with his father made him feel like a burden.

When he entered the hospital room he could tell something was wrong. She had been getting her medicine through a machine, but now the room was empty except for her bed.

“Mamaí?” He said as they walked into the room.

“Hello boys.” was her weak reply. “I’m glad you came to see me today. I’ve missed you.”

Liam walked around her bed and sat silently at her bedside as he did every time. Killian ran over to her bed and hopped up in it with her. His father stood beside the door. He looked back to his mother who looked nothing like she had only two months ago. She was smaller Killian noticed. She looked weak.

“Boy’s I’m gonna give you a few minutes alone with your ma, okay? I’ll be back soon.” Their father left without another word.

“Come up here Liam.” She said to her eldest boy patting her bedside. Liam reluctantly climbed up onto the other side of the bed. “I know a lot of things in life are going to be hard. You are both strong boys and will be men before you know it. I want you to remember to always be honest with yourselves. Always support each other. I always wished I had a sister to grow up with, to help me when I was going through rough times in my life.” Killian snuggled up into his mother shoulder with unshed tears in his eyes. “Stay with each other, help each other when you fall. Liam I’ve seen the way you look out for Killian, don’t ever stop.” Liam was crying now. He couldn’t remember the last time he saw his brother cry. He was so strong, he didn’t cry, but he was crying now. “Killian, I know you are so young, but I look at you and see a little boy who wants to chase his dreams.”

“Dream on, little dreamer. Dream on.”

…

Jan 1, 2018.  Jones Residence- Storybrooke, Maine

“That...Uh….That was the last thing she ever said to me.” Killian looked away from the camera and found her eyes. “It seemed fitting we honour her wishes in naming the band Dream On, Dreamer.”

She had heard this story before during the nights of Killians recovery. It still hurt her to know he had to endure that pain. A part of her was happy Killian got to have memories with his mother. She herself never got to experience that. At the same time she wished she could take the painful memories away from him.

She heard Killian suck in a breath holding back his tears. Like this, raw and exposed, he was so like the little lost, broken and lonely boy he spoke about. “I don’t remember much about her. I was only 5 when she passed away. Just random good memories from time to time. Liam used to tell me stories of her.”

He looked down at his hand. There sitting on the inside of his right index finger was a tattoo of his mother's name. Alice.

“Alright. Times up for today.” Emma heard Eric say quietly from the other room.

She immediately crossed the room and sat next to her husband on the couch. He put his arm around her. “It feels good to finally explain the bands name. That felt good.” he said as he wiped at his face. “I feel like I need to write now.”

“Go ahead. The rest of the guys should be here soon. I’ll send them down when they get here?” she asked slowly rubbing his back.

“Yeah. That’s fine. Thank you love.” She held him close as the crew filed out of the room and left him to work in peace, only Eric remained with a single camera to record the writing process.  “And Emma, you are a fantastic mother. I love you.”

“I love you too, Killian.”

C.A.N.C.E.R, This is the burden we all carry together. And when we all fade away, and this world can't bare another day, there will be no fight in broken bliss. Respected will we be at the end of this. C.A.N.C.E.R. -Killian Jones

Tagging all the wonderful folks who reached out to me when I needed a push. Thank you guys.... @andiirivera @winterbaby89 @gingerchangeling @icecubelotr44 @teamhook @walkerfairytales @laurnorder

And to the lovely @ladyciaramiggles this is where it all began. 

[wannawrite]

Sushi? Sue Me

who?: Yuehua’s Justin Huang

genre: 🌸 

type: scenario 

word count: 2K [2017 dabs] - can write a lot about food I’m sorry

blog navigator.

• based off this prompt Iris sent to me 

• sushi is really addicting full offence

dedicated to my baby Iris @alliwannado-w1 tysm for always saving my ass, I’ll protect you always 💖and the TWO anons who wanted Justin fluff, I’m here with it. Sorry if it took long!

- Admin L

“So babe, what do you want to eat this time?” Justin asked, squeezing your hand as the both of you walked along the pavement of one of the hottest food streets in the city.

Justin reached up to pull his hood over his head so the fit was more snug. He loved the Autumn weather but it was nice to stay warm and toasty.

Mhm, toast. Toast and ice cream....

His face was already tinged the lightest shade of baby pink from the cold, yet he craved ice cream. But before deciding on what you two should eat for lunch, he needed your opinion. If his baby was happy, he would be happy too. But honestly, Justin was not picky about food, as long as the food was tasty.

“Who’s paying?” You shot back, cheekily.

You and your boyfriend had a systematic way of deciding on who pays the bill if you chose the restaurant, you pay. As you were slightly more particular about the food you wanted to try, your wallet ended up throwing out more cash than you tucked in.

Justin shrugs, pouting a little. “Ah, you paid last time so I can, but you can choose for today. I trust your intuition.”

He glanced at the watch on his wrist, fifteen minutes had passed just wandering around the food street. He rubbed his lips together, wondering if there would be enough time.

“Do you mind sushi? Other than raw fish of course,” you suggested, pointing to a mid-range sushi restaurant that was featured in the newspapers recently. You only ever read the restaurant recommendations section of the news, cutting out write-ups of places that seemed appetising and creating a mini album of those. Whenever your friends needed a recommendation, they reached out to you.

“Sure!” Justin replied, grabbing your hand and rushing across the street.

Even though it had been a couple of months since you started dating, sparks still ignited when Justin held your hand, or when he hugged you, or whenever he said anything remotely sweet to you.

You poked his padded shoulder gently once you had safely reached the other side of the road. “Hey, won’t your nutritionist scold you again?” you pointed out. “Remember last week?”

As a trainee, there was no doubt that Justin followed a strict diet plan and exercise regime. After you had taken him out for fried chicken and ice cream on last week’s date, his trainer had given him an earful. Justin hid that fact from you and it was Ahn Hyungseob who had told you about that incident.

Justin ignored your question, continuing to make his way down the road to the restaurant door.

“Justin! Don’t get in any trouble okay? I’ll be watching you and the number of plates of sushi you order.”

If he got into more trouble, would he be dropped as a trainee?

Sometimes, you really worried about him and his hectic, demanding lifestyle. He deserved to eat sushi, a lot of it.

As you both approached the main entrance, the queue that snaked halfway around the block caught your attention. Your eyes widened in shock.

I guess it is lunch hour now...

It seemed as if everyone in the district had flocked to this particular restaurant for lunch. It was maddening.

There were groups of teenagers, a crowd of office workers grumbling about bitter coffee and adorable families with small children. Sushi seemed to bring everyone together.

“Oops, be careful,” Justin hummed when a toddler walked out of the red rope and into his leg. legs for days

He bent down to the child’s level, beaming. “Hi, go back safely to your parents, okay?” Justin gently pushed him back into the queue where his family was, away from the scary outside world.

You let out a soft ‘aw’ at the boy, before a staff came to break that moment, but only for a good reason.

“Hi, this queue will take an approximately thirty minutes to clear and sushi takes at least fifteen minutes to create and serve,” she informed, ushering the next customers in and answering anxious questions.

A disgruntled groan left your mouth, Justin did not have the luxury of time as his lunch break was only for an hour before he had to return to training. You did not have forty-five minutes to wait around for sushi, no matter how good it may taste. Justin had to return to training.

You bit your lip anxiously, turning to Justin, who in reply, sighed and shook his head.

“Babe, I’m sorry. We can’t eat here today,” he apologised, a blush filling his cheeks. It upset him too, knowing that his training did get in between dates with you.

You reached up to brush a stray lock of blonde hair out of his handsome face, smiling reassuringly. “It’s fine! We can always come again, no worries. Do you mind convenience store sushi and onigiri?” 

You knew full well that microwave meals were something that Justin was unfamiliar with, being brought up in an upper-class family definitely had its perks.

However, Justin agreed and sought out the nearest convenience store, hand in hand with you.

“At least now I’m eating a fixed portion,” he joked, picking out the packaged sushi from the refrigerator. “Oh babe, I remember you liked this kind of sushi, take another box.”

Your wallet said goodbye to another couple of dollar bills but at least, it was much less than elsewhere.

Guilt rooted within you, Justin was supposed to enjoy a nice lunch before heading back to Yuehua for more sweat and tears to be shed but here he was, at a convenience store he was probably sick of.

A frown was etched on Justin’s face when he saw the crestfallen look you carried, hands not ripping open the packet eagerly like you usually did. His hand reached to lift your jaw, such that you made direct eye contact with him.

“Babe, relax. I’ll take you there another time, okay?” he promised, smiling cheerfully. “You know I’ll love anything, just as long as it’s with you.”

“Cheers?” Justin offered, letting go of your face and offering his sushi - clasped between his chopsticks - to you.

The corners of your lips turned upwards as you bumped your sushi against his. Justin really knew how to cheer you up little by little.

“Cheers.”

Sushi was the last thing on your mind when Justin called you a few weeks later. He gave vague details but they promised a brunch date, and you were not one to argue with free food.

And quality time with your boyfriend, of course, that was your first priority.

You had long forgotten about that upscale sushi restaurant, it had been pushed to the very back of your mind, hidden in one of the small crevices.

The rain had drizzled a little just before you arrived at the busy food street. The ground was still dark, damp and puddles were a common sight all over the pavements. Despite the dreary weather, the food square was in full swing, bustling with life and traffic.

“Bao Bei!” someone hold me

The calls of your boyfriend were enough to send a smile playing on your lips, to ignite fireworks within you.

“Hi,” you greeted, sighing dreamily while clutching his hand. “So what’s the plan for today?”

“Remember that sushi place?” he questioned, anticipating your - hopefully - positive response. A smug look was written all over his face when you let out a shriek of excitement, hands flying to cover your mouth.

“Serious?”

It was genuinely touching how he remembered your eagerness to dine there, how much you wanted to grab a delicious Japanese meal with him.

Justin nodded, leading the way and even holding the door open for you. Even the smallest gesture still made your heart flutter.

After giving the menu a hasty once-over, you turned to him, locking eyes. “How much sushi can I order?”

“Well,” Justin paused to prop his head up with his hands. “How much can you eat?”

Your jaw dropped, then you pursed your lips, regaining composure. “Is that a challenge? Are you really asking me that?”

Justin grinned playfully, tapping a finger to his lips, pretending to be immersed in his deep thoughts.

“Maybe.”

My dad is going to kill me when the credit card bill comes...

Justin thought grimly, biting his lips in anxiety as he mentally counted the number of sushi plates stacked up.

Ahh, the red coloured plates cost more than the pink ones. Shit, there are more reds than pinks.

The restaurant was the kind that displayed platters of sushi on a conveyor belt that ran through the whole dining area. Ever since you occupied the booth, there were significantly fewer plates offered to the next couple of tables. A group of teenage boys seated directed behind your table groaned and spewed their complaints.

It was no secret your table was taking most of the plates, there were three stacks, each one organised by colour.

You walloped sushi like there was no tomorrow, as if you had been starved and deprived of the goodness of it. Truthfully, you were watching your diet and it had been awhile since you paid a visit to a sushi bar.

Justin managed to lick a lot more plates clean than you could, but to be fair, he was paying so he should eat the most. Honestly, the bill was at the very back of your mind when eating.

Ah! Five pink plates, two red ones and...eight blue plates? Add on the tray of sushi we ordered and shared....

It was giving Justin a headache just counting the final amount. He did all the calculations mentally, it would be too obvious if he whipped out his phone and went to the calculator app.

“Oh my gosh! I didn’t think they would have it here,” you exclaimed, scooping yet another pink ceramic plate off the belt and onto your table, wasting no time in digging in.

And that is another $5.50 added to the total which makes it...uhh

All Justin could do was try to sip his matcha and look nonchalant, but at the same time, his eyes trained on you.

Let’s be real, all he wanted was for his baby to be full, satisfied with the good food and enjoying themselves. He wanted to take you to this restaurant for forever. It seemed like you were having a blast, finally.

Ahh, what the hell. Money is really no issue, why am I fretting over that? I need to prioritise my sweetheart’s happiness. They look so cute just enjoying sushi and stuffing their face, what the hell man. I don’t even look this good while eating.

A dreamy look glazed over Justin’s features, it was satisfying to see you have a good appetite. He knew about the diet and all, even he had cheat days so you deserve them too.

After a long time, you noticed Justin’s unwavering gaze on you. His eyes were brimming with contentment.

“What is it?” You added the pink plate to the existing pile, gasping softly when you realised how much you had taken.

Ah, whatever. Today can serve as my official cheat day.

Justin chuckled and shifted in his seat, shaking his head slowly. His hand swiped another sushi platter off the conveyor belt. he needs to eat too okay

“Nothing.”

You furrowed your brow, setting your cup of matcha down after taking a long drink. “Ah yes, sure, you staring me like an Mnet camera is absolutely ‘nothing’. Believable.” you shot back, taking a sip of your tea again.

Justin dismissed it with a wave of his hand, stifling a laugh, he knew Mnet - maybe too well. His warm eyes scanned over you again, he nearly melted there and then.

“Come on, tell me! Is there something on my face?” You grabbed your pocket mirror and examined your features closely.

“Ah, whatever,” he said, almost shyly as a blush crept its way across his cheeks. “You just look cute as hell when you stuff your face with sushi.”

[peopleandrhythm]

Episode Five: We Argue, We Don’t Fight

With a gasp, Klaus jerks upright, his hand clawing at his chest. The sun streaming through the front window is disorienting; he has no idea where he is or what time it is. His fingers finally assess that the gaping wound in his chest has healed over, but it still takes him a few moments to catch his breath. His wild eyes land on a thick-bottomed glass on the coffee table, half-full with blood. There’s a pale yellow sticky note beside it: Drink me. With a wry smile, Klaus downs the blood, and then stands up. His body still aches after a decade and a half as a prisoner, so he moves through the tiny house slowly.

There is little evidence of life here. Boxes tower in corners and along walls. There are no pictures hung, though some are framed on tables and shelves. They’re all of Hope, at various ages. Klaus stops before one frame, several photos collaged into one image. He picks it up off the table, enraptured with the visual proof of his daughter aging up. Last night, when he saw her standing before him, wide-eyed and tall, he couldn’t imagine her as anything other than the baby he once held in his arms. But now, in his hands, he sees her at six, all freckles and missing teeth; at ten, her gangly limbs hanging out of a car window on a beach; at fifteen, leaping off a dock, her red hair a crown around her head. His eyes start to prick, and he drops the frame, suddenly unable to hold it any longer.

He hears a loud clang from the kitchen, so he investigates. He finds Hayley pouring herself a cup of coffee, pajama-clad with her hair pulled back in a messy ponytail. He leans against the doorjamb. “You used to drink tea.”

She turns at the sound of his voice. She smiles and shakes her mug a bit. “Yeah, well, when you’re raising a five-year-old bent on seeing every single sunrise, you learned to adapt pretty quickly.”

Klaus’s expression shifts to something more awkward. “Where is—is she…”

Hayley nods to her phone, which is sitting on the counter. “She should be home soon. I sent her a text.” She takes a pull from her mug, and then leans against the stove. “Listen, Klaus, there’s something I have to do today. I’ll be gone for a little while, but I figure that’ll give you and Hope some time to…get to know each other.” She eyes him warily. “Do you think you’ll be able to…” She chooses her words carefully. “Have you had enough to drink?”

Klaus juts his chin out. “Are you asking me if I’m going to hurt my own daughter?”

With a tired sigh, Hayley says, “Can we not do this? I’m just trying to make sure she’s safe—”

“And who else could she possibly be safer with than her father?”

Hayley takes a deep breath. “Fine. I was just checking. I need to go get ready.” She knocks back the last of her coffee and sets the mug in the sink. “Help yourself to…whatever. Honestly I haven’t gone grocery shopping in forever. Things have been a little crazy.” She brushes past Klaus to head for her bedroom, leaving him alone.

Chirping birds are the girls’ wake-up call, late in the morning when the sun is already heating the sky. They’re a tangle of blankets, one of Hope’s arms crooked awkwardly around River’s shoulders, and River’s leg hitched over her stomach. Hope creaks an eye open with a groan, and when she tries to stretch she accidentally elbows River in the neck. “Oof, sorry!” she says with a sleepy laugh.

River twists so that they’re no longer a confusing mess of limbs. Instead, they’re both laying on their sides, facing each other. “Morning.”

“Morning.” Hope places a hand on River’s face for a moment. “How are you feeling?”

“Like shit. But less like shit with you here.”

Hope smiles warmly. “I am here. I’m sorry I wasn’t before, but I am now.”

“Where did you go?” River asks. “I mean—I’m not mad. It’s not like you should have expected your girlfriend to…” She trails off, leaving the deed unsaid. “Anyway, your mom seemed surprised that you weren’t coming home.”

Hope hesitates. When she and River were first getting to know each other, she told her the same lie she’d been telling for roughly a decade: her father was dead. She hated the lie, hated the way her stomach twisted at the thought of never having the chance to know him, but at some point the lie was easier to tell than the truth, and considering she never stayed in one place long enough for the lie to become a problem, she thought there was no harm being done.

River is different. River is someone she never wants to lie to, never wants to keep on the outside. But she’s also dealing with the staggering information that she is the last of a werewolf bloodline and that her parents kept her wolf heritage from her for her entire life. And Hope hasn’t even had the chance to speak with her father yet, much less figure out how to talk to her girlfriend about him.

So, she hedges. “Someone—a friend of mine needed my help. He was in a…situation, and asked me to help him. Obviously, if I had known—”

“No, no.” River grabs her hand and brings it up between them. “Don’t feel bad. You’re a good friend. A good girlfriend.”

Then why do I feel like shit, Hope thinks. She says, “So, my mom said she was going to meet with you today, give you a sort of Werewolf 101.”

“Yeah.” River sighs, presses her face into her pillow. “Still hard to wrap my mind around, you know?”

“The fact that you’ve been a wolf in waiting this whole time? Yeah.” Hope tilts her head forward so that her forehead is resting against River’s. “But my mom’s been a wolf, well, my entire life, and if I’ve learned anything about them, it’s that they are brave, and they are strong, and they are loyal. They’re survivors.” She kisses the tip of River’s nose. “That’s you to a T.”

River smiles and wrinkles her nose. “I can’t do this without you, you know.”

“You won’t.” Hope stretches her arms out to pull her girlfriend into a hug. River curls into Hope, and Hope says, “You’re not alone.”

Hope walks through her front door in the late morning, her bag slung over one shoulder. She drops it just inside and walks to the entrance to the living room. There she sees her father, seated on the couch, flipping through a photo album. He looks up quickly when he senses her presence. “Hope.”

She gives a little wave. “Hi.” Hope walks into the living room and sits in a chair opposite Klaus. “Um. How—how do you feel?”

Klaus looks at her as though he’s not entirely sure she’s real. “I feel…I’m fine.”

“Good.” She drums her fingers atop her thighs. “Good.”

The awkwardness is suffocating; neither of them knows what to say to the other. Klaus opens his mouth several times to speak, but nothing comes out. Finally he says, “Where…where did you go last night?”

“Um.” Hope gives a small smile. “My girlfriend’s house. I just, um. I just needed some space.”

Klaus’s eyebrows raise. “You…have a girlfriend.”

Hope raises her chin, just a bit. “Yes. River.”

Klaus nods, and they fall silent once again. Hope doesn’t know what to say, doesn’t know how her dad might feel about her dating another girl. Quietness squeezes both of them like a vice. Once it becomes truly unbearable, Hope points to the photo album. “Mom made that.”

Klaus looks down. “Oh?”

“Yeah. We were moving around a lot, but she always made sure to take a lot of pictures. You know, to show everyone. She didn’t know…you know. How long it would take. To get everyone back together.” She smiles wryly. “Guess she didn’t expect it to be fifteen years.”

Klaus flips through a few more pages of the album. “So many years…” He stops at a page full of pictures from their time in upstate New York. Many feature Hope, roughly eight years old, in her bright yellow swimsuit, swimming in Lake George. “You look happy.”

“We were. We are.” Klaus looks back up at his daughter. “Moving around wasn’t, like, a blast, but…I met a lot of really amazing people, all over the country, plus Canada. And I had my mom. I always knew that as long as I had her, I would be okay.” She pauses. “But I did always wonder. You know, what it would be like? To have that family, the Mikaelson family that Mom told me about? Sometimes it really felt like I was missing out.”

Klaus’s eyes are large and watery. “It was my doing. My actions, my…hubris were what tore this family apart.”

“No, Dad—” Hope’s up in a flash, moving to sit beside her father. She grabs his hand, and his eyes blow even wider. “I don’t blame you for this. I don’t blame any of you. I don’t even blame Marcel.”

“Marcel—”

“Because it doesn’t matter. Who did what or why or when. I just…” She sighs. “I have you back. For the first time in my life I have a dad. Can we just…can that be enough for now?”

Klaus nods and pulls Hope into hug. He rests his chin atop her head and closes his eyes, the happiest he can remember himself being in well over fifteen years.

Hayley’s waiting for her in a little coffee shop, a steaming mug in her hand. When River walks through the door to the chime of a tiny bell, Hayley waves her over. River approaches slowly. “Hi.”

“Hi. Do you want anything to drink? My treat.”

River shakes her head. “I’m already pretty nervous.” She pulls out her chair and sits down. “Don’t really need the caffeine.”

Hayley smiles sympathetically. “Yeah, I bet. I’m glad you agreed to meet with me.”

“I’m glad you offered to help me. Otherwise I’d be pretty screwed come the next full moon.”

“I know what it’s like to do this on your own. No one deserves that.”

Taking a deep breath, River says, “So! What’re the basics of…” She glances about furtively, then whispers, “…being a werewolf?”

Hayley laughs a little. “Well, generally speaking, it’s not the thing we should be talking about in public. But I figured you might be a little freaked out if I asked you to meet me somewhere like the Greenway,” she says, referring to a popular hiking spot in town.

River’s eyes widen. “Is that where you go to turn?”

“Um.” Hayley hesitates. Truth be told, she’s only turned once since moving to Tallahassee. Since she’s a hybrid, she doesn’t have to turn at the moon; instead, she’ll choose to become the wolf when she needs the time to clear her head. The last time she’d gone out to the woods at night was months ago, when her last lead on the Malraux bloodline turned up nothing. But she doesn’t want to tell River that she doesn’t have to turn, doesn’t want her to feel even more isolated. So she says, “Yeah. There are a lot of acres, plenty of places to roam, and it’s safe.”

“Is that where I should go?”

“No.” River looks disappointed, so Hayley explains. “Listen, River, the first time you turn, hell, the first few dozen times you turn, you are not going to be able to control anything. You are going to be a wild, bloodthirsty beast, so for your safety and everyone else’s, you’re going to have to be chained up.”

“Chained up?” The thought makes River look sick. “That sounds…”

“It sucks. Like, really sucks. A lot of being a wolf sucks. The chains, and the time it takes out of your life, and the pain—”

“Pain?” River’s voice is small. “What pain?”

Hayley sighs. This is the part she’s been dreading. “The turning process…it’s not just—” She snaps her fingers. “—and you’re a wolf. It’s…long, and it’s agonizing. Every bone in your body has to break so that you can…become the wolf.” River’s face has gone ashen, and she looks like she’s going to throw up. “The first time is the worst. It gets easier as months go by, but…” Hayley reaches across the table to grab River’s hand. “I don’t want to scare you, River. I just want you to be aware of what you’re in for.”

“I don’t know if I can do this,” River whispers.

Hayley squeezes her hand. “You can. I know you can. You are strong, River. You are a wolf. That’s not nothing.”

“I don’t feel strong,” River insists. “I feel like a kid about to…I don’t know, go into a war zone.”

“It’s not a bad analogy, actually.” Hayley smiles softly. “Look, I know that for me, I’ve always felt my strongest around my pack. For a while, my pack was a group of wolves in the Appalachian Mountains I was running with for a while. Then it was the Crescents, the pack I was born in. It’s still them, but it’s also Hope, and the rest of her family. Your pack are the people who matter to you, the people who make you feel safe and loved.”

“Like my parents.”

“Exactly. And if you’d like, I can be a part of your pack. I can be a person you come to when the shit starts to hit the fan.”

River laughs, rubs at her eyes a bit. “Yeah. Yeah, that would nice. Wow, you’re good at this. Both making me feel better and being a wolf.”

“Well…” Hayley leans back in her chair. “I’ve been both a wolf and a mom for a long time. I’ve had a lot of practice.”

River’s brows knit in confusion. “Yeah, that’s something I was wondering about. I looked up the lunar calendar this morning, to see when I would turn? And I realized that during the last full moon, I was at your house. You definitely didn’t turn into a wolf. That I would have noticed.”

That catches Hayley by surprise. Well, fuck it. “That’s because…I’m a wolf, but I’m not quite a wolf like you are.”

“What do you mean? Because you’re from a different pack?”

“No, um. I’m a hybrid.”

River stares at her blankly. “A hybrid of what?”

“I’m half wolf…half vampire.”

River feels like she’s been punched in the gut. A little gasp escapes her, and she shakes her head. “I—I don’t know—” Her mother’s words echo in her ear: You promise me, right now, that if you ever meet a vampire, you will run away, leave them behind—or, if you can, kill them.

River jerks to her feet, her chair squeaking harshly along the floor. “I have to go.”

Hayley looks concerned. “River?”

“I’m sorry.” She backs out of the coffee shop, eyes wide, until she disappears through the door, leaving a little jingle of the bell in her wake.

Hope sits cross-legged on the floor of the attic, wedged between Freya and Rebekah’s open coffins. Klaus rests against Kol’s, looking down at his sisters. “Did your mother tell you that you spent the first months of your life with your aunt Rebekah?”

“Yeah. She told me that you guys had to fake my death to keep me safe.” She pauses. “Was it really that dangerous? Living in New Orleans, back then?”

“That city would have seen your death,” Klaus says gravely. “Witches who wanted to sacrifice you for power, vampires who could use you to get to me, wolves who sought to overthrow your mother. It nearly killed me, handing you over to Rebekah. But we knew you would be safest with her, at least for the while you needed to stay hidden.”

“I had a vision of her.” Klaus tilts his head, intrigued. “In our family home, when I went there to get you. I had this brief flash of her.” Hope smiles. “It was a happy memory.”

“Our family created many happy memories in that home. We created many terrible ones, too. It is my hope that one day I may return you there, introduce you to the city that gave you life.”

Hope wrinkles her nose. “I don’t know. It seems weird, to be tied to one place. I know I was born there, that it’s an important part of my life, but…I’ve lived everywhere. I kind of stopped getting sentimental a long time ago.” A pensive look crosses her face. “That being said…I felt something, when I was there. This…belonging? I don’t know if that makes sense. It was a feeling like…” She struggled to find the right word.

“Home,” Klaus supplies. “It felt like your home.”

“Yeah,” Hope breathes. Silence reigns as the moment lingers, but Hope breaks it by saying, “Tell me a story about Uncle Elijah.”

Klaus makes a face. “Surely your mother has spoken of Elijah often enough.”

Shaking her head, Hope says, “Mom doesn’t talk about him much. I mean, I’m not stupid. I know she loved him. Loves him.”

Klaus laughs. “Oh you are a Mikaelson, aren’t you?” He sighs and looks over at his elder brother’s closed casket. “It’s true, your mother and my brother loved each other. I’m certain Elijah loved her from the moment he saw her, which was, among other things, annoying.” Hope grins. “Truth be told I have my brother to thank for you.”

“What do you mean?”

“I…wasn’t the most receptive when I was confronted with a pregnant werewolf girl I knew once. I thought the entire ordeal was a trap, a charade concocted by my enemies seeking to weaken and destroy me. But Elijah…the noble Elijah, always the smartest of us all, saw you for what you were.”

“And what was that?”

Klaus smiles down at his daughter. “Our family’s hope.”

The emotion gets caught in Hope’s throat, threatens to choke her with its intensity. All she can manage is a quiet, “Oh.”

“So your uncle did what he always does best: he forced me to step up, to do the right thing, the noble thing.” Klaus kneels down, right in front of her. He places his hands on her cheeks. “And nothing I do can ever repay him for making me see that you are the greatest joy I will ever know in this long, long life.” He kisses her forehead tenderly.

The tears come hot and fast, and Hope wipes at them furiously. Klaus tugs her into his arms again. As Hope works on pulling herself together, she says quietly, “I want to bring them back. All of them. I want my family.”

“I will stop at nothing to make it so,” Klaus vows. “Your mother tells me the Malraux bloodline is dead, but I will find a way to save Elijah and Kol without its venom. I will fix what we broke, this I promise you.”

Hope stiffens in her father’s arms. The reality of her dilemma washes over her once again; she needs River to heal her shattered family, but the last thing she wants to do is drag her girlfriend into this dangerous world. So, like a coward, she pulls away from her father and says, “Come on. I can show you more photos.”

There’s a loud banging at the door, and Hope looks up, confused. She stands, leaving her father on the couch, surrounded by a sea of photos. “Hang on,” she says, “I’ll get it.”

She opens the door, and River pushes past her. “What the hell, Hope?”

Hope closes the door. “I could ask you the same thing. Is something wrong?”

“Wrong?” River’s eyes flash dangerously. “Why didn’t you tell me that your mom is a vampire?”

Hope’s face grows grim. “River—”

“I mean seriously, Hope, what the hell.”

“Is there a problem?”

River whips around to see a man she doesn’t recognize leaning against the entrance to the living room. “Um.”

Hope moves to stand by Klaus. “Uh, Dad…” River’s eyes grow impossibly wide. “This is my girlfriend, River.”

“Why the hell is your father in your living room?” River stands in the middle of Hope’s bedroom, hands curled into fists at her side.

Hope paces a little, her own hands a fluttering mess. “I—I didn’t mean to lie to you—”

“Didn’t mean to lie to me? You told me he was dead!”

“No, I mean—it was a lie I’ve been telling for years!”

“Is that supposed to make it better?”

“No, no, I don’t mean—” Hope steps closer to River and tries to grab her hand, but River jerks it away. “Look, my dad’s been gone my entire life. What was I supposed to say, that he was the prisoner of some über-vampire in New Orleans? And I didn’t want to tell people that he abandoned us because that wasn’t true, and he didn’t deserve that! Telling people…telling people that he was dead was just…easier.”

“And what about me?” River’s eyes are brimming with tears. “I’m not just some person, I’m your girlfriend.”

“I know, I know, and I’m sorry, but you weren’t my girlfriend at first. Everywhere we go, we don’t stay long, so I never have time for the lie to catch up with me. But then there was you, and even though I was, like, head over heels from the minute I saw you, it wasn’t like I could just tell you the truth. I didn’t know if I could trust you, or how long we’d even been in this town.”

River buries her face in her hands for a moment, and then says, “And what about your mom, huh? When were you going to tell me that she’s some werewolf-vampire hybrid?”

Hope bites her lip. “That wasn’t my secret to tell.”

“And your dad? What’s he?”

Quietly, Hope answers, “He’s a hybrid, too.”

River barks a laugh, loud and derisive. “So both your parents are half-vampire, half-werewolf. So what in the hell does that make you?”

Hope swallows thickly, on the verge of tears. “I’m a witch.”

“Oh, of course!” Now River starts to pace, her hands moving wildly as she talks. “Of course, what else could you be? Two halves of a vampire plus two halves of a wolf make a witch, obviously. Can’t believe I didn’t put that together myself.”

“Will you calm down, please?” Hope begs.

“Do not tell me to calm down!” River snaps. “Do you have any idea how this feels? To find out that your girlfriend is a part of some crazy mixed-up supernatural family? And god, just days ago I had to find out that I’m the last of some werewolf bloodline, that that Malraux name my parents made me hide when I was five meant something massive, apparently. Just—god, I’m sick of all the lies—”

“What did you just say?”

Both girls twist their heads sharply at the quiet voice. In the doorway stands Klaus, a dark, ominous look in his eye.

Klaus ushers the two girls into the living room. Hope positions herself between her girlfriend and her father, not sure who she’s shielding from whom. “Dad—”

“Did you know about this?”

Before Hope can answer, Hayley appears in the doorway beside Klaus. “What’s happening?”

Klaus turns to glare at her, gesturing violently at River. “Did you know that this girl is a Malraux wolf?”

Hayley squares herself. “Yes.” Klaus starts to react, but she cuts him off. “It’s been two days, Klaus. She’s been a wolf for two days, and she’s your daughter’s girlfriend. We just need some time—”

“Time?” Klaus roars, and the girls flinch. “They’ve been locked away for fifteen years, it’s been enough time!”

“What’s going on?” River whispers in Hope’s ear, frightened.

Klaus answers for his daughter, his eyes flashing dangerously. “You are the key rescuing my family from their terrible fate. Or rather, your venom is, once we pry it out of you.”

“Dad!”

“Klaus!”

River looks at Hope with wide, terrified eyes. “What the hell is he talking about?”

Hope runs a hand through her hair. “It’s—it’s—your venom. It’s the…” She sighs, defeated. “It’s the final ingredient in a cure that we need to save the lives of my uncles.”

River closes her eyes, tears falling down her face. “Did you know?”

“River—”

“Is that why you dated me?” River opens her eyes, face twisted in pain. “Did you only speak to me because I you needed my—my venom?”

“River, no, I didn’t even know—”

River steps away from Hope, shaking her head. “I can’t do this. I can’t take any more lies, any more secrets.”

Hope reaches out to touch her, but River turns and heads for the door. Klaus makes a move to stop her, but Hayley pins him to the wall. “Let her go,” she growls as the front door slams shut behind River.

“What the bloody hell are you doing?” Klaus snarls. “We need her—”

“I need her!” Hope shouts. She takes a few shuddering breaths, trying not to cry. “What the hell have you done?”

Klaus looks at his daughter’s anguished face and goes very, very still.

River’s halfway down the street when she hears her name being called behind her. She doesn’t turn around. Rapid footfalls approach behind her. “River, please—”

“Stop!” River whips around. “Just stop. I can’t do this.”

“Please,” Hope begs, “please listen to me. I just found out that your name is Malraux, and you just turned into a wolf, and I just got my father back after fifteen years, and everything is happening so fast, and I don’t know what I’m doing!”

“He said he wanted to rip my venom from me!”

“I’m not going to let him hurt you!”

“But you want it. My venom. You need it to save your family or—or whatever.”

Hope nods and whispers, “I do.”

“Well you can go to hell,” River spits. “I want nothing to do with this. I just—I just want my life back.” River turns and starts to run, leaving Hope calling for her in the street.

Hope bursts through the front door. “Dad—”

“He’s not here.” Hayley’s waiting in the living room. She hugs her daughter tightly. “I’m so sorry, kiddo.”

“He threatened her, Mom.”

“I know, I know. I should have—I should have told him, or made sure that River stayed away—”

“This isn’t your fault.” Hope steps away, straightens herself. “This is his fault. Where did he go?”

“He took off. He doesn’t handle disappointing people well.”

“Well he sure was a disappointment tonight.” Realization washes over Hope. “If he left…what if he went to find River?”

“He can’t get into her home without an invitation, so she should be fine.”

But Hope knows River, knows how she acts when she’s stressed, when she’s scared. She runs. Hope’s eyes go wide. “I don’t think she went home.”

River’s a blur through the city, lost in a maze of side streets and cul-de-sacs as she tries to outrun the reality breathing down her neck. The air in her lungs burns, but she can’t stop, can’t let it catch up to her. Her muscles ache so much that her thoughts are reduced to mere concepts: Hope. Hybrid. Witch. Venom.

She makes a wide turn onto a road she doesn’t recognize, and within a few seconds she realizes it’s a dead end. She slows a bit, making a circle to head back out, but comes to a skidding stop when someone is standing at the mouth of the street. “What the…”

He’s shrouded in darkness, with no streetlight to reveal his face. “I don’t appreciate the way you spoke to my daughter tonight.”

River scoffs. “Yeah, well, I don’t appreciate the way your daughter lied to me for nearly a year.”

Klaus takes a few loping paces closer. “I understand that you are important to her. It is not my wish to cause you harm. But I need your venom, and I will have it.”

Taking a few rapid steps back, River says, “Don’t come anywhere near me.”

Klaus suddenly appears inches away from her. “You cannot outrun me, wolf.”

River’s heart is pounding in fear, choking her as he inches forward—and then there’s the flash of headlights, and Hope is leaping out of her car, the engine still running. “Dad, stop!”

Klaus appears behind River, facing his daughter. “Hope, go home.”

“No!” Hope beckons River forward. “Come on, come with me!”

River wrenches a foot off the ground, but Klaus grabs her arm. “I’m sorry, I can’t let you leave.”

And then he’s howling in pain, releasing his grip on River to clutch at his own head. Hope’s eyes are narrowed, fists clenched at her side. As he doubles over, River speeds over to Hope, who throws her arms around her. “I’m so sorry,” she whispers. Keeping one arm around her girlfriend, Hope turns to glare at her father, who’s just starting to recover from his series of aneurysms. “What the hell is wrong with you? She’s not some—some pawn in your games, Dad. I love her and she matters to me.” River sucks in a deep breath, but honestly Hope cannot right now. “If you come near her again, I will put you down. If this is what our family is, I want no part of it.” Then she walks River to the passenger seat and gently ushers her into the car. Closing the door, she walks back over to the driver’s side. Before she gets in, she spits, “You are not the father I was hoping for.” Then she gets in the car, slamming the door behind her, and drives away, leaving her father aching and speechless on the dark dead end road.