#IT WAS THE LITERAL DAY AFTER HALLOWEEN AND SHE HAD A FUCKING CHRISTMAS TREE UP AND TINSEL AND EVERYTHING

[starfire-0283]

Why hide this in the tags when your truth should be shouted from the rooftops

i decided to skip the holidays, and the holidays hunted me down regardless. this bloodthirst must be exsanguinated

[hargrove-mayfields]

Day 31 of the Horror on Cherry Lane Challenge! Today’s prompt was authors choice!

Halloween used to be a thing in their family.

Ever since Billy was a kid, it was always tacky group costumes and homemade decorations, special dinners and so, so much candy. It started with his mama, a lady who was never one for Easter or Christmas, much to her husband's dismay, and instead put all of her effort into all Hallow’s Eve.

But a couple years back, Billy got caught with just a little too much makeup on, couldn’t play it off as just for some dumb costume Max put him in, and that was it. That was just the final straw really. They’d been balancing on the edge of losing all holidays in the Hargrove house since the moment Billy’s ma walked out the door without a second glance, taking all the festivity with her.

Still, it’s not entirely gone. Neil still let’s them decorate the outside of the house, even though they’re barely unpacked yet stringing some orange lights and a few cobwebs on the porch, but that’s the end of their festivities.

Now, usually, that means no horror movies, no costumes, no  candy, and Max isn’t allowed to trick or treat either,

But since they’re in a cozy little neighborhood now, where nobody knows about Neil Hargrove’s temper. The old man’d be damned if he didn’t at least try to build a good reputation after he let it slip back home.

They don’t got the money for it, but he takes Max to buy a costume and a huge bag of candy for Susan to hand out anyways. Because that’s what he does. Pretends everything’s just fine at any literal cost, spends more money on their reputation than he does on the goddamn necessities.

He even lets her pick out a pumpkin to carve. (Outside, Maxine. Get that shit on my carpet and I’ll beat your skinny ass)

Now, that’s not him being nice and they all know it, but they’ll take those little moments of kindness when they can get them. So much so, Billy takes the opportunity to try and get something for himself.

And it backfires. Real bad.

The conversation goes something like, Billy trying to convince his dad that if Max is allowed to go out, he should be too, say, to that party he got an invite to in the good part of town.

But that only reminds Neil that there’s a bad part of town, and he’s letting his step-daughter, herself known for misbehaving whenever possible, out into it. He informs Billy rather bluntly that no, he can’t go to the party. He has to take Max trick-or-treating.

Fuck.

It’s one thing to have to watch after the little twerp, but this is a whole other level he’d never had to stoop to before. Not even when he was twelve and young enough to do this shit while they were pretending to be a family for the first time did he have to show her off in her stupid little costume.

That’s all it is anyhow, is showing off for the new neighborhood, so Billy tries to find a loophole, make a case for himself.

Again the conversation is short lived, goes something like, “Hey dad. You know this Tina chick is like, super rich and popular, and the fact that she invited me to this party is like, a major honor. It would be weird if I didn’t show up, and you know, I don’t wanna miss an opportunity like that, bein’ new here and all.”

“Good try. Trick-or-treat starts at 6:30.”

“Yessir.”

So that’s how he ends up in the half-assed costume he was going to wear to Tina’s, leading around an equally as annoyed Max through unfamiliar streets and past so many fucking trees you’d think they were lost in the woods. They just sort of wander, none of the houses they pass are lit up, and they’re not dumb enough to go knocking, so its just walking on nonexistent sidewalks forever until they finally spot a group of ghostbusters Max wants him to stop for.

“Go stand over there. I wanna scare my friends.” She insists, shoving her mostly empty candy bag into his chest and shaking her mask out to put it back on.

Billy takes the bag, because that’s his job and he’d rather be useful than here for no reason, but he still crosses his arms, looking less than thrilled about Max bossing him around, “You sayin’ I ain’t scary?”

“With your hair poofed and your jacket zipped all the way up, not really.” Max snarks, unbothered by his attempt, so he just fires back a simple, “Oh, fuck off, shitbird.”

Max laughs at besting him, turning on her heel and running off towards her supposed friends, and Billy vaguely hears the shrieks of the little nerds as she sneaks up on them, but his head is somewhere else, distracted by the familiar face he sees, hovering awkwardly behind the kids in the same way Billy himself is.

Steve Harrington, arms crossed. Bored frown on his pretty face. Billy can’t resist, if not just because he’s the only other person out tonight over the age of fourteen. He saunters over, past Max catching up with her nerds, “Harrington? Thought you’d be at that party t’night.”

Steve pushes a pair of shades up into his hair. A Joel Goodsen costume clearly not meant for carting some kids around town. Snarks back at Billy, “Could say the same about you, Hargrove. You still got a reputation to build, I’ve already left mine behind.”

“The fact we know each other says I’ve done enough work already.”

“Hm. I think the fact that you’re carrying your little sister's candy bag instead of my record means you still have some more to do.”

“Hey fuck off. You’re out here doin’ just the same thing.”

They’ve caught the attention of the kids by now, the curly headed Stantz interrupting at that point, “It’s even worse, ‘cause Steve’s not related to any of us.”

“That so?”

“What? Someone’s gotta look after these little shits. You never know what the hell is lurking in these woods.”

“And I wouldn’t like to. M’not even s’posed to be wandering the streets of this run down town anyhow. Should be at Tina’s party, where there’s fucking walls to keep that shit outside. ‘N maybe some fuckin’ central heating.”

Steve hums knowingly at that moment of bitching Billy let slip, “I see. California boy not used to the cold?”

Billy takes the opportunity, wagging his eyebrows and remarking, “Well I ain’t got anything on under this jacket.”

It’s then that Max herself interjects loudly, “Okay, that’s it. Can we please get back to trick-or-treating?”

“One sec, Maxine.” Billy puts his hand on her face and pushes her back, making her complain more, “I’m serious, Billy. There’s only an hour left of trick or treat and we’ve only hit like, ten houses.”

Before he can argue, Steve “Just head up the street. That’s where all the rich old ladies give out the full sized candy bars. Tell ‘em you know the Harringtons if they start givin’ you any trouble.”

Billy gives them a moment to scamper off, breaking the non-silence, “So. Where’s that leave us?”

Steve hums, slowly turning his eyes away from the receding group they're supposed to be babysitting, that gaze laced with something , “How do you mean?”

Billy tries to keep it under wraps, shoving his hands in his pockets but still talking animatedly, “You sent the kids away, but ain’t either of us makin’ it to that party before everyone worth talking to is shitfaced. Or before the brats get bored and come back. What are we doin’ here?”

“We wait for them to get back.”

That’s disappointing. “Aw come on. S’a little tame for the supposed king.”

“Please. You’re standing here talking about it with me. If you thought I was too tame, you’d’ve left by now.”

“Alright, alright. Can we quit it with this pissing contest shit though?” Billy shrugs, then decides to tack on to the end, “I dunno who told you I was after ya, but I couldn’t care less, man. Makes me sound like my old man, all worried about reputation and shit. S’not what I want.”

There’s more than curiosity in Steve’s tone as he asks, “What do you want then?”

“Depends on who’s askin’.” Billy tries to deflect, put on the spot, but again Steve is quicker than him, taking a step closer and answering, “I am.”

“From you. I want whatever you’ll give me.” It’s another attempt at not sounding as flustered as he feels, thank god for the biting cold that gives his face enough of a tinge to hide the blush that slowly covers it, and too, to make sure he knows what he’s getting into before shit goes too far and he can’t take it back.

Lucky for him, Steve has all the bravado Billy just impersonates, giving a decisive, “How’s twenty minutes alone before the brats finish their loop through Loch Nora sound?”

“Make it thirty and you got yourself a deal.” Billy proposes, his tongue pinched between his teeth, Steve’s own assuredness giving him the confidence.

Steve just rolls his eyes and grabs his wrist, leading him to it doesn’t matter where, “Come on, asshole.”

[let-it-raines]

What a Lie We’re In (1/3)

All Emma was doing was trying to be nice. Her roommate didn’t have anywhere to go, so she invited him home for the holidays. She thought it would be fine and Killian would be a good buffer for a week at home with her parents. That is until her ex-boyfriend showed up, and while she was freaking out, Killian told him they were dating.

That would have been fine except her parents overheard it.

(A Christmas Fake Dating AU)

Rating: Mature 

a/n: What? A holiday fake dating story? So original, you say? No one has ever done it before? Especially not me. lol. Forget all of that, and let’s jump into this trope-a-palooza of a holiday story!

Big thank you to @resident-of-storybrooke for reading over this and convincing me that I still know how to write ❤️

ao3: | HERE |

-/-

“Did you eat all of my candy?”

Emma opens another cabinet, looking inside to the wine glasses and tumblers, before closing it. She’s been keeping her bag of candy in the cabinet where they keep their plates and bowls, hidden at the very top behind some reusable water bottles. Killian is a healthy eater, always stocking the fridge with fruits and vegetables and food she doesn’t think is actually real food, so she didn’t think she had to hide her junk food that well.

Hide it, yes. Hide it well, no.

Until now.

“What was that, love?”

Emma slams another cabinet closed and turns to look at Killian. He’s walking out of the bathroom, chest still damp, and only has a white towel wrapped around his waist. When he first moved into the apartment six months ago after Ruby abandoned Emma to go live with Dorothy (live with, get married to, same thing), Emma was taken aback by the lack of clothes wearing Killian partakes in. He’s an attractive man. She’s not blind. He goes to the gym as often as she does, but mostly, he spends a lot of time doing heavy lifting at his job as a contractor since he apparently likes to be hands-on, literally. His body is toned, and the son of the bitch knows it. He also knows he’s got the face to be able to get away with a lot of…well, a lot.

At first, it was all disconcerting, but now, he could walk around with his dick out and Emma wouldn’t care.

What she cares about is where her candy is. That’s the real priority. But she knows Killian will try to use his lack of clothes to distract her. Never worked in the past, not gonna work now, bud.

“My candy,” Emma repeats. “Where is it?”

He wipes behind his ear with the small towel in his hand. “I wouldn’t touch the stuff. You don’t like the good candy.”

“Well, my good candy has been moved, and we’re the only two people who live here.”

Emma places her hands on her hips, staring him down hoping he will somehow be intimidated by her stare and fess up to everything. He won’t be, but Emma can try. They both have their tactics.

Killian clicks his tongue. “What about the fellow you brought home last week?”

“Do you mean the plumber?”

“Was that who he was?”

“You know I don’t bring guys back here.” Emma moves from the counter and opens the fridge, taking out a handful of grapes from the fridge. She probably needs to eat some of them and not candy anyway. As she pops one into her mouth, that’s when it clicks. “Your girlfriend ate my candy, didn’t she?”

He scoffs and keeps drying his hair, but she sees the way he scratches his ear. Gotcha, Jones. “I don’t believe I have a girlfriend.”

“What? Tink break up with you because you wouldn’t let her eat dessert on your dates? Wait, I heard it. Don’t make it dirty.” Killian walks toward her, getting in her space, and she knows him well enough to know he wants her to flinch, to move, to stop her line of questioning. That’s exactly why she doesn’t want to. Emma pops another grape in her mouth. “Did you eat my candy? Was it your way of wallowing? It’s okay if you did. I’ll take another bag for payment.”

“For your information, Swan,” he whispers as he places his hand on her hip, “we are no longer seeing each other, but it was mutual. She did, however, eat your candy when she was last here. If you really want to know, we used it to – ”

“Stop,” Emma groans, pushing him away and running to the other side of the kitchen. “Nope. Don’t take that any further. Some things should be left private.”

His head tilts back as he laughs, the underside of his jaw black with stubble, and then he’s reaching into the cabinet above the fridge and tossing her the bag of sweets.

Oh.

“I hid it after Will and Rob found it while we were playing cards last night. Will nearly went through all your milk duds before I realized what was happening.” He raises his brow. “You have something you want to say to me?”

Emma knows what he’s aiming for, and she isn’t going to give it to him.

“Yeah,” Emma says, “you need a thicker towel. I don’t think you want people seeing you when you look like…that.” She nods her head down and then picks up a handful of Kit Kats. “I gotta go to work.”

“Off to die inside at your cubicle, love?”

“Oh, you know it.”

Emma grabs her purse and unlocks the door only to hear Killian speak. “It’s December. How do you still have Halloween candy leftover?”

Emma shrugs. “I bought one bag to pass out to kids, two bags for me.”

“Bloody brilliant.”

“I do what I can. See you tonight. I’ll try not to wake you up from your nap when I come in.”

“That would be the least you could do.”

Emma rolls her eyes, but then she’s officially walking out the door of her apartment and down toward the elevator, a Kit Kat bar hanging out of the side of her mouth.

The thing about Killian Jones is that he’s simple to her.

He likes his friends, his job, his rum, and his women. There’s not much else to him, and Emma is okay with that. While her last roommate was her best friend, this one doesn’t have to be. He can just be a guy who pays the bills so she can keep living in a nice place and who, on occasion, talks shit about other people with her while they binge watch TV.

That’s all she needs.

And all and all, Killian Jones is a…fine roommate. Yeah, fine is an accurate way to describe him at least eighty percent of the time.

Even if she does get annoyed when he brings his dates home. But that’s only because it’s always on the nights she plans on going to bed early, and the noise of other people being around keeps her from catching up on sleep.

Emma is not one to mess around on sleep.

But yeah, he’s fine. Annoying as hell over half the time, but he’s fine in the small dosages she sees him in. He works odd hours, isn’t always on the job, and she is stuck with regular hours in her office. There’s not a lot of glory in working HR for a small engineering company, but that’s what happens when you make dumbass decisions like Emma did. She’s lucky she has a stable job. She’ll try not to complain too much about it.

That’s what she tells herself every morning when she sits in her car and stares at the drab brick building.

Money. She has to make money.

And hey, she gets almost an entire week off for Christmas next week, and that’s fucking incredible, even if she does have to spend it in her hometown with her parents and their Hallmark-like attitude toward the holiday and the events it puts on. Her mom is a teacher at the elementary school and produces the Christmas play every year while her dad is a vet and outfits all his patients in little holiday bandanas and bows. He even has a tree in his office decorated with bone ornaments.

It’s…a lot. But it’s family, and as Emma stares at this building that’s sucking the life out of her, she can’t wait to have a change of pace and some home-cooked meals, even if there are as many downsides as upsides to going home. Her Kit Kat bars aren’t giving her the nutrients she knows she needs.

Being an adult is not all it’s cracked up to be sometimes, especially when going home for the holidays is seen as more of a burden than a gift with a fancy bow on top. It’s more like that turkey that dries up and falls to pieces in National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation.

Well, that and the squirrel crashing every decoration in the house.

Happy holidays.

-/-

“Nah, mate, I don’t have any plans.”

Emma quietly puts her keys down on the table next to her front door, laying her purse down with it, and she kicks her boots off until they topple over each other and lay in the middle of the hallway. She can hear Killian talking, and it gets even louder when she walks into the kitchen and turns on the coffee maker.

“No, no, well, you know, I rarely do anything, not since Liam.” There’s a pause as the coffee begins to percolate and Emma grabs another Kit Kat from her bag. “I went home with Milah once, but that was years ago…no, mate, it’s alright. I don’t mind staying here by myself…yeah, I think Emma is going home to her parents.”

And that’s when she realizes what Killian is talking about.

Christmas plans.

He doesn’t have any. Emma didn’t know that. She didn’t really bother to ask. She doesn’t bother to ask much of Killian. She picks up pieces here and there, as she’s sure he does to her, but they mind their own business.

He doesn’t have a family to go home to? She knows he’s originally from England, but still. There must be someone.

“I’ll talk to you later,” Killian says. “I promise if I need anything, I’ll let you know. Alright, bye Scarlet.”

The coffee finishes, and Emma picks the pot up and starts pouring, filling her large mug halfway before getting hazelnut creamer out of the fridge and making the coffee drinkable. Killian joins her in the kitchen and perches himself on one of their stools.

“Good day at work?” he asks.

“Eh, it was a day. You?”

He shrugs. “The same. I’m finishing up on this house tomorrow, hopefully, so tomorrow will be a good day.”

Emma nods and sips on her coffee as Killian taps his fingers on the counter, the rhythm the same as the song he usually hums when cooking. “So, when are you heading for Storybrooke?” he asks.

“Monday after work.” Killian nods and keeps tapping his fingers, and Emma, stupidly opens her mouth because despite what her exes have told her, she does apparently have a heart. “If you don’t have any plans and have off work, you’re welcome to come with me. My parents are always thrilled to welcome more people. Just be prepared, it’s like a Hallmark movie up there.”

His eyes widen, the blue lighting up, and his upper lip starts to quiver, laughter very obviously waiting to break through. Dammit, why the hell did she decide to be nice? This is going to give him all of the wrong ideas.

“Why, Swan,” he smirks, leaning forward and resting his chin in his propped-up hand, “are you inviting me home for the holidays with you? You’ve been harboring a crush this entire time, haven’t you? I can’t say I’m surprised. I see the way you look at me when I finish up in the bathroom. Don’t be ashamed of it. Most women find me attractive.”

Emma flicks Killian’s forehead, and really, he should be thrilled she didn’t dump her hot coffee on his lap like she wanted to.

“I was just trying to be nice. You didn’t have to be an asshole about it.” Emma rolls her eyes and turns on her heels to walk away. She is going to her room. She doesn’t have to put up with his shit. “Forget I even offered.”

“Wait, wait, Swan.” Emma’s shoulders tense, and she doesn’t turn around. “Are you serious about your offer?”

“I mean, it would have some conditions in that you are a slightly less obnoxious version of yourself, but yeah, if you don’t have anywhere else to go, you can come home with me.”

“I’d like that.” Emma twists around, trying to size him up, and for once, everything seems genuine. “I have a condition as well.”

Idiot. “What could your condition possibly be?”

He winks, and she already knows this is going to have her eyes rolling so far into the back of her head they get stuck there. “Don’t go falling in love with me.”

What a cheesy ass sarcastic line.

“In your dreams, Jones.”

What the hell has she gotten herself into? This is absolutely the last time she lets her conscience guilt her into doing something nice. Emma was already going to be miserable, but now she’s miserable with a buffer.

At least her mom will be happy getting to go into hostess mode.

-/-

In the days leading up to them leaving for Storybrooke, Emma convinces herself Killian is going to back out of the trip. He’ll realize this is awkward and not a good idea. They live together, sure, but they don’t actually know each other. They’re not close friends.

But Killian never backs out. Instead he asks her things like what the weather is like there, if her parents drink wine, if he needs to bring his own bedding. He asks a million questions a day, and they continue when they’re in her bug making the drive from Boston to Storybrooke. He wants to know what her parents do for a living, what their hobbies are, pretty much everything someone needs to know when they’re about to spend half a week in the house of strangers.

Strangers who don’t actually know they’re having someone stay at their house to awkwardly sit on the sidelines as Emma’s family celebrates the holidays and has their usual holiday arguments.

Yeah, Emma didn’t ever tell her parents Killian was coming. She knows her mom well enough to know the moment Emma mentioned bringing someone home, her mom would have stopped listening before Emma could explain that it was just her roommate. It would have been this whole big thing, and Emma knows she can handle explaining it better in person when she can snap her mom out of getting excited about nothing.

Plus, who doesn’t want a Christmas surprise?

(Emma doesn’t.)

After Killian stops being one of those obnoxious kids who never stops asking questions, they sit in relative silence for the car ride, music entertaining them, and little by little, cities fade away and more trees pop up, evergreen forests surrounding them. It’s always the sign for Emma that she’s leaving her life and going back to her old one.

That and the “Welcome to Storybrooke” sign.

Everything about the town is the same. The buildings are small and kind of dingy downtown, and when she passes Granny’s, she bets those onion rings are the same too. God, she hopes they are. This is probably the only thing that can get her through this week. She should have texted Ruby and made sure her grandmother hadn’t changed any of the recipes. If she had, Emma definitely would have stayed home.

People walk down the sidewalk all bundled up in their coats and scarves, saying hello and chatting with others they pass. It’s the opposite of Boston where Emma can go her entire day without having to say hello to someone, and a little shiver runs down her spine at the thought. She needs to get out of here as soon as possible and to the isolation of her parents’ farmhouse, even if that presents her a new set of problems.

Storybrooke, Maine is, decidedly, not Emma’s favorite place for a hell of a lot of different reasons.

Killian, though, seems to be taking it all in with the wonder and confusion of someone who has never lived in a small town like this and who is a bit shell-shocked.

Get used to it, buddy.

“Oh, hey, one more thing,” Emma sighs as she pulls up to her parents’ street a few minutes later. “My real last name is Nolan. I changed it after high school, so my parents’ names are Nolan. The whole ‘Swan’ thing is a sticky situation for them even though it’s my mom’s maiden name.”

Killian’s eyes narrow, and she has definitely shared too much about herself now. “Am I allowed to ask or…”

“No. just try not to call me ‘Swan’ around them.”

“Whatever your heart desires, love.”

Emma slows down as the road turns from paved to loose gravel leading up to their driveway. There are several cars parked alongside it, and either they now own extra cars or her parents have friends over. Great. Just what she needed. Other people around when she’s coming home and surprising her parents with a guest. At least Killian will likely be that buffer she keeps hoping he’ll be.

They get out of her car, and Emma pops the trunk for them to get their bags. Killian grabs the bigger ones despite her arguing with him about it, but she’s fine to just carry her purse and the bag with presents. Emma closes the trunk, slamming it shut, and squares her shoulders.

This is fine. This is all fine.

Until ten steps later, it’s not.

Her parents have this incredible wraparound porch with swings and rocking chairs, and sitting in one of them is Neal Cassidy.

What the hell?

She doesn’t…she can’t…why is he here? He has no right to be here, no business being here, and seeing his face makes her want to vomit.

It makes her want to cry, too, but Emma can’t give him the satisfaction.

Instead, she’d like to sink into the dirt and never emerge again.

“Shit,” Emma mumbles, stopping and turning toward Killian who is looking down at her with an arched brow. “Shit, shit, shit.”

“What is it?”

God, she can’t believe she has to tell this to him. It’s too many pieces of her past in too short a period of time. This isn’t something she ever wanted to talk about again and certainly not to Killian. She was really hoping she never had to see Neal’s face again.

Honestly, she never considered it to be a possibility.

If only.

“That guy sitting on my porch is an ex of mine. And I’m talking about a bad ex, not one of those who you can be friends with afterward.”

“What the bloody hell is he doing here then?” Killian looks over her head to look at Neal, but Emma grabs his hand and yanks on it until he looks at her. “What?”

“Don’t look at him,” she hisses. “I don’t know what he’s doing here, but I’m sure it has something to do with my parents. Just…I don’t know what to do.”

“Do we need to turn around?”

“No, no, that’s pathetic. Just…maybe he’s going to leave soon, and it’ll be a quick hello and then I never have to see his face again. Let’s get it over with.”

“If you’re sure, Sw – Emma.”

“I’m sure.”

She’s not sure at all. Mostly, she wants to take Killian’s suggestion and run far, far away.

Once more, Emma braces her shoulders, and she moves forward. If she stops and thinks too much, she’ll chicken out. It’s how she is. If she thinks about something for too long, it ruins every bit of courage she has. Now isn’t the moment for that when this week is one that makes her need courage.

Maybe, Emma realizes, she didn’t invite Killian here just to be nice. Maybe she needed that buffer to keep her old demons at bay, even if just barely, and that was her motivation all along.

That really makes her asshole of the year. Well, after Neal. She hasn’t seen him in years, but he still gets the asshole of the year award.

Neal sees her before she can get to the front steps. He rises from the rocking chair and moves toward her. He looks older now. He was always older than her, but she can actually see it now. There’s gray in his beard and more lines on his forehead. His features are similar, but she swears there’s an eeriness to his eyes and a lie to his smile. Maybe those were always there, but Emma imagines she was blind to it all when she loved him.

Amazing how opening her eyes to love blinded her to so much else.

“Emma? Is that you?”

No, jackass, it’s some other blonde woman walking into her parents house.

“Hi, Neal.” She forces a smile that she knows is awkward, but he was never good at reading her enough to know the difference between a real smile and a fake one. “What are you doing here?”

“You’ve just seen me for the first time in half a decade, and your first question is what I’m doing here? Nice to see you too, Ems.”

It’s illegal to murder, Emma, she reminds herself. You don’t want to end up in jail because of him.

“It’s my parents’ house. I’m supposed to be here. You’re not. So, again, what are you doing here?”

He shrugs and ignores her. “Who’s this?”

Emma turns to Killian who is staring ahead, his jaw clenched, and he speaks before she gets a chance to. “Killian Jones,” he begins, dropping a bag and reaching forward to shake Neal’s hand, “Emma’s boyfriend.”

Emma nearly chokes on her own air and possibly her own lungs and whatever else is down there, and she’s stuck. Her brain and her feet and especially her mouth are all stuck. What the hell is he doing?

“Emma’s boyfriend,” Neal repeats, his voice incredulous like the fact that she could have a boyfriend is ludicrous to him. “Really?”

“For awhile now,” Killian lies. Wow. Has he always been this good of a liar? “It’s nice to meet you, but I think Emma and I need to get inside and put our stuff away. It’s been a long drive.”

Neal nods, but Emma catches his eyes glance over at her. What was that? “I understand. I need to get my fiancée from inside, but then we’ll be on our way.”

Fiancée?

Neal has a fiancée? Who is in her parents’ house?

What kind of upside down hell has she walked into and how does she reverse time and get back to the place where things are normal?

“Nice seeing you,” Emma lies, but Neal is already walking inside, leaving the door slightly ajar behind him as if it’s his house to go into. She quickly turns to Killian and hopes her face conveys the “what the hell” look she’s going for. And in case it doesn’t, she hisses, “what the fuck was that?”

“Forgive me, love, but you obviously didn’t want to see that man, and I figured there wouldn’t be any harm in saying that. You weren’t planning on ever seeing him again, aye?”

“Not if I can help it.”

“So what’s the harm in him thinking you have a devilishly handsome new boyfriend?”

Emma rolls her eyes, ready to take the piss out of him, when her mother comes running out the front door.

“Emma, you brought a boyfriend home?”

Well, that’s the harm, Jones.

-/-

Emma tries explaining to her parents that Killian isn’t really her boyfriend, that he’s just her roommate who came home with her because he doesn’t have any family, but she never really gets the chance with Neal still hanging around. That would be mortifying, so she rolls with it, hoping that she can clear it all up sooner rather than later.

But Neal never seems to leave.

His fiancée, Tamara, apparently teaches with Emma’s mom, and from the looks of it, they’re great friends. She can’t imagine any other reason why her parents would let Neal Cassidy in their house, but then again, they have always been great at doing the exact opposite of what’s good for her. It’s torture, and as the night goes on, it seems like it’s never going to end.

When are they going to leave?

When can she stop listening to Killian falsify their life?

She’s got to say that he’s fantastic at taking truths and turning them into lies. According to him, they met when he became her roommate (true) and got to know each other as friends first (eh, a half-truth). Then, slowly, feelings started to develop in the little moments, and they decided to give their relationship a chance (unequivocally false).

He’s got this uncanny ability to make everything feel…not ridiculous. She doesn’t know the word she’s searching for, but she’s sure as hell that Killian could find it and incorporate it into a story to make everyone here think they’re in love.

Emma has no clue how they’re going to get out of this without her parents being heartbroken because Emma can see the hope and happiness in her mom’s eyes. She’s over the moon. Her dad, however, doesn’t seem to be.

Of course this is how it goes. Her mom is thrilled because she’s not a spinster, and her dad is upset because she’s not a spinster.

“So what do you do, Killian?” he asks. “You need a roommate apparently.”

“Dad,” Emma hisses, wanting to sink into the couch, especially because she knows she’s the one who needs the roommate and not Killian. “Don’t.”

“What? I’m not allowed to ask about the man who my daughter is dating?”

“You are, but you’re not allowed to interrogate him.”

Killian places his hand over Emma’s on her thigh, and God, this really is the worst night. Why do people have to go home to family on the holidays? At least she didn’t automatically flinch at the feeling of Killian’s hand on hers.

“I’m a contractor,” Killian tells her dad. “I used to work with my brother. It’s his business, but I’m the head on projects now. It’s hard and unpredictable sometimes when my job is to make it predictable, but it’s good work. There’s a lot of good new housing popping up in the neighborhoods outside of Boston. Beautiful new construction.”

“What happened to your brother?” her mom asks.

Killian’s hand tightens over hers while his other hand scratches behind his ear. “Liam passed last year. Car accident.”

Mary Margaret places her hands over her chest while Neal and Tamara look at each other, obviously ready to go. Emma, meanwhile, tries not to act shocked. She should know this. She should know that he had a brother who died. She’s heard him talk about Liam before, but she thought…she thought he was alive, just that he lived really, really far away or something like that.

“I’m so sorry, Killian,” Mary Margaret sighs.

“Thank you, Ms. Nolan.”

Silence falls in the room, and it feels like a lot of her time in high school when she got caught doing something she wasn’t supposed to be doing. At least now she can have alcohol or drive away. One or the other, though, obviously.

Or she can go back to that sinking into the ground thing. That seemed like a good idea.

“Oh, would you look at the time,” Tamara sighs with a clap of her hands. “Honey, we need to go.”

“Won’t you stay for dinner?” Mary Margaret asks.

What the hell, Mom?

“We really have to go,” Tamara insists. “It was nice seeing you guys, though.”

“Oh, it was wonderful seeing you, sweetie. Good luck in New York. You’re going to be great at your new job.” Mary Margaret hugs Tamara. “Nice seeing you as well, Neal. You’ll fit right in, but I know your dad will miss you.”

Emma is so busy trying to take in all of this brand new information that she doesn’t hear the rest of the conversation. Through blurred vision, she sees her mom hug Neal, and yeah, Emma wants to go home. She wants to go back to her apartment where she doesn’t have to put up with this kind of shit.

Where there’s no Neal and his fiancée and especially where her mom isn’t hugging her asshole of an ex and treating him like he’s a good person.

There’s a squeeze on her hand and suddenly, Killian’s fingers are wrapping around hers. That’s when everything snaps back, and she realizes Neal is telling her goodbye.

“Yeah, bye,” Emma mutters, putting on that fake smile again.

“Maybe we could go for lunch while I’m still in town,” he suggests.

Emma bites her tongue to keep from scoffing, but she can’t help the words that come out of her mouth. “Yeah, that’s not happening. Have fun in New York.”

Neal looks like a wounded puppy when Emma manages to look at him, but she doesn’t care. He shouldn’t have had the audacity to ask her in the first place, not after everything he’s done.

Happy holidays to them all.

“Emma,” Mary Margaret hisses as soon as the front door has shut and Neal and Tamara are gone, “that was so rude of you! You can go to lunch with Neal.”

“Oh my God, Mom,” Emma groans, letting go of Killian’s hand and standing up. “I am twenty-eight years old. I’m not going to go to lunch with the man who ruined my life because you don’t like being rude. Just…let’s eat dinner, and you guys can tell me what we have planned for this week. Killian is thrilled to go to the play. I told him all about it.”

“Emma, I still don’t think – ”

“Come on, Mary Margaret,” David sighs as he claps his hand on her shoulder. “Let’s get these two dinner. They had a long drive, and I’m sure they’re starving. You like ham, Jones?”

“Love it,” Killian says as he stands from the couch. “Can I help with anything?”

“You can get a wine bottle from the rack.”

They’re all going to need it. Or at least Emma is going to.

Dinner is, well, awkward, which Emma expected, but she expected the usual awkwardness of having dinner with her parents after going a year without seeing them. This is an entire other level. Killian tries to ease it. He’s put on his most charming smile, his accent coming through thicker with each story he tells, and while her Dad seems put out, her mom is every bit as charmed by him as Emma would expect.

That makes it all fine and good until Emma’s reminded that her parents think Killian is her boyfriend, and his place would go down in flames if she told the truth now.

As much as she would like to spite her mom, that is the last thing she needs.

“So, Killian, you can stay in Emma’s room,” her mom says as they finish up dinner. “I’d have you stay in the guest room, but it’s currently filled with props and costumes for the play. But you're both adults. Who are we to keep you apart at night?”

“The couch would be fine,” Killian insists, holding his hands up.

“Nonsense, you are a guest here. You need to be comfortable. Let’s get you all settled and ready for bed.”

It’s almost like she’s in a trance as her mom guides them up the stairs to Emma’s old room. She vaguely hears her tell stories of different pictures hung on the wall by the staircase, but she doesn’t really notice. Instead, she hangs back with her dad who does not look thrilled at the whole situation.

For some reason that offends Emma. As far as her dad knows, she’s brought a man home for Christmas. A man who she loves enough to bring home, which is not all sunshine and roses for her. Once again, she’s jealous of the people who go home for the holidays and know it’s going to be a happy time.

“You know, you don’t have to act like I’m sixteen,” she tells her dad. “I live with this man. I think it’s okay for us to share a bedroom here for the week.”

“What makes you think I’m not happy about this. If you’re happy, I’m happy.”

Emma stops at the landing and turns to her Dad, crossing her arms over her chest and staring him down. Or up. She forgot how much taller her dad is than her.

“Try a little harder to make that believable.”

David laughs and leans forward to kiss her forehead. “Welcome home, kid. I’m glad you and Killian are here.”

-/-

-/-

Tag list (You can be taken off or added at any time): @qualitycoffeethings @marrtinski @klynn-stormz @scarletslippers @elizabeethan @jrob64 @snowbellewells @therealstartraveller776 @thejollyroger-writer @inth-trees @galaxyzxstark @galadriel26 @idristardis @karenfrommisthaven @teamhook @spartanguard @searchingwardrobes @jamif @shireness-says @ultimiflos @onepunintendid @bluewildcatfanatic @superchocovian @killianswannn @carpedzem @captainkillianswanjones @mayquita @mariakov81 @jennjenn615​ @onceuponaprincessworld​ @a-faekindagirl​ @scientificapricot​ @xellewoods​ @ultraluckycatnd​ @stahlop​ @kmomof4​ @tiganasummertree​ @singersdd​ @tornadoamy​ @cluttermind​ @lfh1226-linda @andiirivera​ @itsfabianadocarmo​ @captain-emmajones​ @ilovemesomekillianjones​ @capthamm​

[so-why-let-your-voice-be-tamed]

With the year coming to an end, here is everything I’ve written in 2020. I had quite a productive year, and wrote some fics I’m very proud of. I’ve also met wonderful new people and I’m going to participate in the big bang next year, as well as hopefully join more fests! Thank you to everyone who has helped me create these 12 fics!

March:

🤴 with no way out and a long way down Larry, 31k, T, written for the @hlroyaltyfest​

Prince Harry is ten when he receives his soulmark.

May:

✈️  driving down a one way road (to something better) Zouis, 26k, T, written for the @wallsficfest​

“I’m at the airport.” It’s followed by a bitter laugh. “I’m - I’m literally at the airport, hiding away in the toilets to make a phone call. They’re probably going to barge in here in a minute, thinking I’m doing something illegal, but I didn’t know what else to do Lou.” He sounds desperate, wild, nothing that Louis is used to associating with Zayn. “My flight leaves in an hour, and I wasn’t gonna do this, but, I didn’t know what else to do.”

Louis frowns. “What do you mean, love?”

“Can I - Can I please come and stay with you?” It’s barely more than a whisper, and Louis honestly isn’t sure if he’s heard it right, but the lack of an immediate response on his part makes Zayn’s breath come out all shaky and Louis won’t stand for that.

“Yes,” he decides, repeats it, in a softer but no less certain voice, when he knows Zayn is about to protest. “Yes. Of course. I’ll be there, yeah? I’ll come pick you up. When will you get here? What airport?”

---

When Zayn breaks up with his boyfriend, he needs a place to stay. Louis wouldn't be Louis if he didn't immediately open his doors to him. Never mind the fact that he's been in love with him for two years. That's not important, right?

July:

🏥  my love will never leave you Larry, 10k, T, written for the @wordplayfics​ challenge week 1

In a world where memories are used as currency, Louis will do anything it takes for Harry to get better.

🗝  sadness is a little boy looking out the window Ziam, 6k, T, written for the @wordplayfics​ challenge week 2

Liam is twelve when he receives the key. It’s given to him on his birthday, in a red velvet box, and something about the weight of the box in his palm gives him pause, makes him hold his breath when he unwraps the bow around it.

The bronze key looks innocuous, but Liam knows better. He’s grown up with the stories, as many people have. Has been told about the keys, and that most people except for an unlucky few got one at birth. Some were immediately gifted to them by their parents, others had been kept away from them until such a time that they were deemed responsible enough to understand what it meant.

Because this kind of key, it doesn’t just open any door.

It reveals what you need most, when you need it most, and it can only be used once.

✨  it’s time to find your wings again Larry, 12k, T, written for the @wordplayfics​ challenge week 3

The first reports are dismissed, as tall tales or folklore. As mental illness, poor Bathilda, she’d gone loopy. As people simply getting scared in the dark woods and seeing things, making things up. Magic isn’t real. Mythological creatures aren't real.

But then the first one is caught. A faun, that little Meg from around the corner swears has attacked her in the woods, and everyone comes to the marketplace to see the faun be hanged for its crimes. Louis doesn’t want to go, but at the same time, he finds himself unable to stay away. Not when this proves what he’s wanted to believe all along, that magic is real.

*

Louis is twenty when he starts working at the prison. His fascination for supernatural creatures had turned into something most closely resembling loathing over the years, due to the many stories of their evildoing, and although he still doesn’t believe in hanging them for their crimes, he does believe in keeping the town safe. In making sure that his siblings get to grow up without fear of being kidnapped or hurt. As the oldest son, it feels like his duty to make sure that no creature in the wide area will ever pose a threat to anyone.

🍛  it’s a long shot just to beat these odds Ziam, 14k, T, written for the @wordplayfics​ challenge week 4

Zayn: how many years in prison would I get for murdering a popstar???

He scrapes the plates clean, resists the urge to kick the trash can, his breathing still feeling shallow and high in his chest. He wants a cigarette. And a cuddle from Louis. But a text is the most he can realistically ask for now, and luckily Louis doesn’t leave him hanging.

Louis: ?????

Okay, so it isn’t that helpful, but Zayn knows his anxiety well enough that just distracting his mind is usually enough to keep from having an actual attack. It doesn’t matter that the subject he’s discussing is the one thing his brain is actually panicking about, just trying to formulate words into a text is helping.

Zayn: I served him raw chicken. RAW. And he was kind enough to want to try and eat it too. I could have killed him!!!

That would’ve made headlines for sure. FORMER BOYBANDER GETS POISONED ON FIRST DATE, more on the ten p.m. news.

Louis: well that’s one way of making sure he’s not going to go on any of the other dates. Bit drastic though mate.

August:

💌  if you’re lost just look for me Larry, 9k, T, written for the @wordplayfics​ challenge week 5

Let your dreams set sail.

Louis blinks at the sticky note, sitting casually in between a flyer advertising an upcoming gig for one of the many bands on campus (the heavy metal graphics implying that the music is not to Louis’ taste) and an ad for a yoga club (Louis is going to have to give that one a miss too). It’s small, barely noticeable unless you’re paying attention, just tucked away as though it’s been left there for Louis to find.

He snorts. “Let your dreams set sail. What a fucking joke.”

*

Louis' first year of college is everything he had hoped for it to be.

It’s why it’s so hard to swallow that his second year is everything but.

*

A fic where motivational quotes, no matter how cheesy, might just make everything better after all.

💐  the birth of love like a force of nature Ziam, 22k, T, written for the @ziamfantasyfest​

After moving into a new house, Liam decides to introduce himself to the neighbours. The next thing he knows, he’s tied to a chair and threatened by a small army of fairies.

October:

👻  these days I watch you from afar Larry, 666 words, T, written for the @1dtrickortreatfest​

“Are you talking to me?”

The boy blinks, blue eyes thoughtful as he cocks his head. “Yeah?”

“You can see me?”

🎃  love me like we don’t have tomorrow Ziam, 666 words, T, written for the @1dtrickortreatfest​

"Are you going to see him again?" Louis asks. He’s sitting on a ruined wall, inspecting his long, dark nails. Talons, Zayn thinks. He nods.

“How many years in a row is this?”

Zayn glances at his best mate, doing up the buttons on his coat. “Dunno,” he says, even though he can recall, with perfect clarity, all the times he’s met up with Liam. Every Halloween that he’s spent with him.

"And he still doesn't know?"

☠️  be the end of me Zouis, 666 words, T, written for the @1dtrickortreatfest​

"Who are you?" Louis asks, and Zayn can tell that he already knows. He's tense, poised for a flight from the inevitable.

Zayn still answers. "Death."

December:

🎄  room for your love underneath this tree Larry, 11k, T, written for the @1dchristmasfest​

“IwannameetHarryStyles,” Daisy mumbles, and Louis blinks.

“What?”

“She says she wants to meet Harry Styles.” Phoebe pipes up, and Louis blinks again, absently switches the camera to himself because he knows that his followers will want to catch his baffled expression.

“You-” he starts, and then stops himself, because he did tell her she could ask for anything she wanted, and how can he go back on his word and tell her that he doesn’t actually have the power to make that happen?

Because Harry Styles is -- he’s next level kind of famous. Louis has two million subscribers on his YouTube, but Harry has eighteen times as many followers on his Twitter alone. He’s had three number one hits in the last year, and his last album had charted at the top spot for a record breaking 27 weeks. He’s a singer, actor and philanthropist, and there is no way in hell that Louis can get him to come meet Daisy for Christmas.

So of course he laughs, even if it’s a little bit breathless, and nods at her. “One Harry Styles for Christmas, coming right up.”

[florenceandthemachine]

(my @911giftexchange contribution for @brcttshvghes!!) Relationships: Evan "Buck" Buckley/Eddie Diaz (9-1-1 TV) Characters: Evan "Buck" Buckley, Eddie Diaz (9-1-1 TV), Henrietta "Hen" Wilson, Howie "Chimney" Han, Bobby Nash, Athena Grant Additional Tags: First Kiss, Christmas, Secret Santa, Idiots in Love, Mutual Pining

Last Christmas, Eddie had—as Hen would put it—his ‘oh’ moment.

No, it wasn’t when Buck had thrown himself into action to help some random dad see his daughter sing for Christmas.

No, it wasn’t when Eddie caught Buck trying to sneak extra presents (for he and Christopher both) under the Diaz tree.

No, it wasn’t even when some random elf had complimented Buck on his “beautiful family”.

Eddie’s ‘oh’ moment came when Athena announced that she was saving them all from themselves, when he walked into the firehouse loft and saw his kid standing there, beaming like a megawatt spotlight, smiling not only up at his dad but at Buck; and suddenly things clicked into place. Buck had set all of this up, and sure, it was for the whole house... but it was also for him. Buck had done this all, for him. He had Chris in his arms, he had Buck by his side, and Eddie realized—not for the first time, but for the first time with this level of severity—that this was exactly what he wanted, for the rest of his life.

Forever.

Hence the ‘oh’ moment.

(Hen had suggested calling it his ‘no fucking shit, you clueless moron’ moment instead. Eddie had politely declined.)

--

The ‘oh’ moment was one thing. The ‘oh’ moment was great.

Afterward, though, afterward everything was kind of sucky.

Valentine’s Day was rough. Watching Athena lock up a newlywed couple together, that was fun, sure, but seeing Buck with Ali? That was... literal torture.

--

The tsunami sucked. The bomb sucked.

The lawsuit, that really fucking sucked.

But pulling Buck into his arms underneath some shitty Halloween decorations, being back together again, that... that was almost worth it.

Even if he had to watch Buck bat his eyes at Taylor Kelly a few days later.

--

“Why don’t you just tell him?” Hen had asked the next month, sprawled out over the couch in the loft, idly kicking Eddie’s thigh as he groaned, full of Bobby’s turkey and homemade cranberry sauce.

“And risk it all?” Eddie had asked, long since beyond the point where he wanted to even pretend that he didn’t know what Hen was talking about.

And when Abby reappeared in Buck’s life with a fiancée and two stepchildren, Eddie knew staying quiet was the right idea. He wouldn’t risk it. He couldn’t risk it.

--

“Hey, Eds, hand me another nail?”

So now here he was, almost a year later (“A full year of pining, Eddie, seriously, if you don’t say something by New Year’s—“ “I hate you, Hen.”), staring at Buck’s ass as he struggled to hang another loop of garland haphazardly throughout the station.

After a moment of hesitation, he did as he was asked, sighing as he held up another couple of tacks that Buck could push into the wall. “Why are you even doing all of this, Buck? I don’t know if you noticed, but the station was already decorated.” Eddie said with a hum, leaning back against the wall as he looked up to Buck, not-so-subtly admiring the way Buck’s entire body reacted as he laughed.

“Please, it looked like Pottery Barn threw up in here. We needed something other than stark white garland and red ornaments, Eds.” Buck descended down the step ladder and stepped back to admire his handiwork as Eddie looked around the station—as much as he hated to admit it, Buck was absolutely right. The station had been decorated by what looked like the night crew after one too many cups of coffee; too clean, too pristine, all glittering white garland neatly tacked up to every corner with a giant red bauble tacked at every intersection.

Needless to say, once Buck had gotten through with things, it was... definitely far from a professional looking decor job. Buck had rigged up huge wreaths made of fake garland and bows made out of giant, floppy, silver and gold ribbon, and hung them all over the station.

He had all but stapled his hand to the wall hanging up Christmas lights—the old, slowly blinking type, on the thick green cord, the type where if one light went out they all went out. There were twinkling, colorful lights all over the walls, mounds of fake snow around the staircase, big, fake poinsettias all over the kitchen.

At some point in time, while Hen and Chim were passing time upstairs in the loft and Bobby was stuck in his office doing paperwork, Buck had even rigged up his iPhone to play Christmas carols over the entirety of the station PA system (“Don’t worry, Eddie, calls will still come through and cut out over the alarm,” Buck had assured him, and Eddie was struck, not for the first time, with pride as he realized how much planning Buck really put into things like this).

The station was a mess, honestly. It was a jumbled, disorganized, chaotic explosion of Christmas. The station had gone from Pottery Barn to looking like a Yuletide grenade had gone off.

Eddie loved it.

“There! All finished. Back up, Eddie, I’m coming down.” Eddie blinked as he was jerked back into the present, standing back to admire the latest (and apparently the last) wreath that Buck had woven on the wall, acutely aware of the closeness that he and Buck shared as Buck beamed up at his handiwork.

He managed to look away from Buck’s smile—glowing didn’t even begin to cover it—right as Buck turned to look at him, clearing his throat. “Alright, Buck, what gives? Not that I’m mad about the extra decor you’ve doused the place with, but this is even bigger than what we did last year. There another surprise party that I’m supposed to be aware of?” Eddie asked, smiling as Buck threw his head back and laughed.

“No, no, nothing like that,” Buck started, looking over his shoulder as he folded up the ladder, heading back through the gym to the utility closet. “We’re still on for Christmas dinner at the station with everyone’s family, and unless Hen or Bobby has something else planned—because let’s face it, Chim would forget it was Christmas all in all if Maddie didn’t remind him—that’s all that we’re doing as a station. I just figured we needed as much holly-jolly as we could this year.”

His words were innocent enough, but Eddie had known Buck for years now, and the last year had been spent watching Buck a little more… closely than usual. So he knew that Buck’s innocent smile was just a shade on the wrong side of sneaky, how his words were carefully chosen so he wouldn’t be technically lying. Buck was smart—seriously, Eddie didn’t understand how people always forgot that—and they were the kind of things that Eddie would have missed if he wasn’t so… invested.

Sure. Invested. That was the right way to think about it.

“Hey, Eds,” and damn, a nickname shouldn’t bring him that much joy, “can you open the closet up for me?” Buck asked, the smile on his face seemingly innocent as Eddie rose a brow, stepping around him and just taking the ladder from his hands, pushing the door open behind him, not missing the look of surprise on Buck’s face.

“Wait, Eddie—no, I can—“

“Buck, it’s a step ladder, it’s no big deal. Did you take anything else out of the closet, or was it just this?”

“Well no, but it’s just that—“

Before Buck could continue his protest, the Christmas carols died out throughout the station, the siren blaring in its place, and for a split second, Buck looked absolutely crushed, which was weirder than anything else Eddie had witnessed that morning, because Buck loved going out on calls.

The moment was gone in a heartbeat, but it still made Eddie’s mind reel as they darted off to their lockers to suit up, mind racing with questions as Buck was all laughs with Hen as Chim got behind the wheel.

Something was up, and Eddie was going to find out what… even if the day had other plans.

--

There were two ways that shifts around the holidays were destined to go. Either the 118 would be dead quiet, or the crew would be completely dead on their feet.

Unfortunately, today seemed like it would be the latter.

No sooner than they had been cleared from their first call of the day did another roll in, and then another, and then another, to the point where the only time that Eddie had to text his kid was between calls, and the 118 was probably trapped in their turnout gear for a good five hours without a single break.

Buck, to the surprise of absolutely no one, only grew more and more alive with every save—he had an absolute knack for riding the rush that came with the job, and by the time they finally pulled back into the 118, Buck and Eddie couldn’t have been in a more different place in their lives.

“Alright, six calls in five hours. I think I’ve earned a fucking nap.” Eddie grumbled as he slid out of his designated spot next to Buck in the ladder truck, barely even waiting to get to the rack on the wall before he started pulling his turnout gear off, impatiently tugging at his sleeves and kicking his boots off before he bothered to even loosen anything.

While the sound of Buck’s laugh behind him certainly raised his spirit, he still pouted as Buck sauntered up beside him, easily removing his own jacket and boots and hanging them up with a certain sense of maturity that Eddie couldn’t muster at the moment. “Come on Eddie, a nap? Did you turn fifty while I wasn’t looking?” Buck asked, the teasing tone of his voice bringing a smile to Eddie’s face as he shoved Buck’s shoulder playfully.

“Just because you can keep up with Chris’ special blend of all night holiday nonsense doesn’t mean we all can, Buck.” Eddie started, rolling his shoulder as he hung his turnout coat back up. “Right now, he’s probably running Carla through literally every last strip mall in the state, trying to find a perfect present for our Buck, and… uh.” Eddie cut himself off, far too late, cheeks pinking up as he clamped his jaw shut.

He feared the worst for a moment when Buck looked at him with stars in his eyes, thinking that his slip hadn’t gone unnoticed, and he had to work to hide his sigh of relief when Buck grinned. “He’s getting me a gift? I mean, I know he doesn’t have to, and you know he doesn’t have to, but… fuck, Eds, I’m all excited now. Okay. Forget it. Anyway, come on. I want to completely obliterate you in Mario Kart.”

Eddie sighed softly, his smile big and dopey on his face as Buck got himself all excited, shaking his head as he kicked off his boots, finally leaving his gear behind. “Buck, if you think I’m going to add insult to injury and let you completely wipe the floor with me, you’re sorely mistaken.”

“Fine, then you don’t have to play. You can just hang around and bask in my awesome.” Buck said, his effort at being nonchalant almost going over Eddie’s head, just barely catching the sidelong glance that Buck shot him while he was re-lacing his work boots.

He narrowed his eyes for a moment as he watched Buck’s shoulders tighten, sighing as he shook his head. “Fine, but you better fucking dazzle me, Buckley.” he said as he started walking to the tiny corner of the bay they had set up as a miniature rec area (a fancy word for three couches and a big-ass television, courtesy of Chim’s baby brother), but not before he saw the abject joy that bloomed over Buck’s face.

As much as he wanted to believe that that much joy could simply come from Buck getting to spend time on a couch with Eddie, he had a sneaking suspicion, much as he did earlier, that something else was up.

“Who knows, maybe you’ll learn something by osmosis, and actually stand a chance against your kid the next time he—“

Buck was cut off by a bang as the firehouse door hit the wall, a panicked cry pulling Buck and Eddie’s attention as they both automatically started to move.

“Help! Please, please I need help, I don’t think she’s breathing!”

Eddie and Buck were both immediately moving, Chim and Bobby close on their trail as they came down the stairs from the loft, Hen already opening the back of the ambulance and yanking out one of her bags.

Eddie slowed himself down as he reached forward to take the body of a young girl from her clearly distraught mother, Buck already a step ahead of him as he put a braceboard down on the ground, placing her too-small body down on it.

(Eddie still hated situations that involved kids.)

The little girl was conscious, but only barely, wheezing along as Eddie laid her down, taking her pulse instinctively as he gave her a simple once over. “Signs of angioedema, breathing is shallow, pupils are tight, plenty of hives across the neck and chest. Ma’am, does she have any allergies, any—”

“No! I mean, I don’t think so, we tried a new recipe for our christmas cookies this year… uh, almond, maybe? I don’t know!”

“Okay, we’re gonna give her some epinephrine, you need to look into an epi-pen, Buck?”

Buck nodded, grabbing a pen from the ambulance, pressing it against the thickest part of her thigh (she was so tiny, Jesus) and plunging the needle into her skin. “Alright, now, we’re going to take her to the hospital, so hop in the ambulance—” Bobby started, nodding to the vehicle as Hen and Chim jumped into the drivers cab, “—and you can ride with or follow along, whatever you want.”

Eddie and Buck had the gurney popped up in a heartbeat, wheeling it in the back of the rig as mother and daughter were loaded up, doors slamming behind the pair of them as Hen practically burned rubber.

Eddie felt his heart rate start to slow back down to a regular, human level as the ambulance tore out of the bay, and even he couldn’t keep the small smile on his face as he turned back to Buck, expecting the expression to be mirrored on his partner’s face.

So, you could imagine his surprise when Buck just looked… tired.

“Buck? You good? You still wanna get a round of the… uh… whatever?”

He rose a brow as Buck hitched his smile back on, giving a half shrug as he shook his head. “Nah, Eddie, it’s good. I’m gonna get started on Bobby’s chore list.”

With that, he started up the stairs to the kitchen, and Eddie was left in the metaphorical dust, staring up to Buck’s retreating backside as he was left alone on the main floor of the 118.

The fuck was going on?

--

buck fifty: why do i have to clean the kitchen if bobby and athena are just going to be cooking in an hour anyway

sent: Because, Buck, normal people clean the areas where they’re going to be preparing food.

buck fifty: miss me with that logic i havent had food poisoning in weeks dont @ me bro

Eddie let out a breathy bark of a laugh as he pushed up on the leg press again, his back drenched in sweat as he read over Buck’s reply. As much as he hated doing anything even remotely close to leg day, he figured that now was the time to work it out—a workout did better than a nap to help him wind down from back-to-back calls (and a near poisoning, Hen and Chim weren’t even back from the hospital yet), but it was a great way to keep his hands free so he could text Buck.

It was kind of sad, honestly, how many decisions that he made in his day to day life that were focused on Buck.

Today, though, the mission was a little more ‘what the fuck is up with Buck’ than it was anything else—Buck was a weird dude, sure, but he was acting jumpy and weird all fucking day today. Even in the moments when they were out on call, and Buck was in the zone, he still felt a little… off.

It was like there was a fucking satellite delay between them, and there had been all day. Eddie usually prided himself on being able to read a room, but today, it was like Buck was intentionally throwing walls his way.

Not that he was that attuned to Buck’s everyday emotions and mood, anyway. Nope. Definitely not.

…

fuck.

sent: Why don’t you come down here and do a few reps with me? Burn off some of that energy.

sent: Oh, wait, that isn’t an option for you yet. How sad.

buck fifty: look its not my fault that you happened to finish your chores earlier and i didnt

sent: …Buck, that is 100% your own fault. Are you good today? You’re weirding me out.

“Hello, 118! Did someone order a chef?” Eddie looked up as he heard Athena’s voice echo throughout the station, a smile on his face as he waved over to her. He loved the way that she had fit together with the station so well, and how she and Bobby got along as well as they did (even if he felt like he had to pay for it whenever Hen shot him a knowing look, less and less subtle with each passing day… okay, month), but he loved even more that she usually brought food, especially now, in what Eddie sincerely hoped would be a new tradition — Christmas dinner with his work family.

Make no mistake, Bobby’s cooking was phenomenal, but there was something about Athena’s family style everything that settled right in Eddie’s soul.

Maybe it was because she had the uncanny knack at seeing through his bullshit and calling him on anything and everything that he tried to pull when she was around, in a way that was both kind and hilariously firm.

Or maybe it was because she actually understood how to make a decent tex-mex meal.

Either way.

“Eddie, where’s our boys?”

Eddie looked up as Athena closed the distance to his machine in the gym, smiling as he did another rep. “Hey Athena. Buck’s cleaning up the kitchen, getting ready for you and Bobby.” he said easily, his legs giving a little wobble as he realized what he had said, eyes snapping to her easily. “Uh, I mean—“

“Diaz, please, we both know that was who I was talking about.” Athena said, cutting him off before he could answer, the knowing smile on her face making Eddie wish the ground would open him up and swallow him whole, but apparently LA was fresh out of earthquakes for the moment. Thankfully, Athena took some pity on him, keeping the conversation moving easily as she looked around the station. “I see he got a hold of the decorations. Good, the place looked too… clean before.” she said, and Eddie laughed even as his face flushed red, swinging his legs off the machine, the familiar burn in his thighs anchoring him in the moment. “Yeah, it really did. Buck said it looked like a Pottery Barn threw up.”

Eddie shook his head as Athena laughed, that same smile on her face again, but it was different now—easy, familiar, like she was seeing the answer to a puzzle that Eddie only had half the pieces to. “He’s a good man, Eddie. Both of you are. It’s just such a shame neither of you would know what healthy communication was if it bit you in the ass.” She said, shaking her head dramatically as she started up the stairs, leaving a completely baffled Eddie to grab his phone off of the machine as it buzzed again.

What the hell was she talking about? He and Buck communicated all the time.

buck fifty: ok now you have to help me

buck fifty: if athena and bobby are going to be in the kitchen together im going to wind up drowning in mushy

sent: How is that my problem? And don’t think you got by avoiding my other question.

buck fifty: eddie plz

sent: Use your words, Buck.

buck fifty: u gotta get up here and save me

sent: Have you cleaned out the oven yet?

buck fifty: ………

buck fifty: save me by helping me clean the oven

Okay, Eddie may have already lost the fight, but—

buck fifty: pleeeeeeeeeease

—but that didn’t mean he had to admit how wrapped around Buck’s pinky he was. He could still whine about it, he could still complain about it, he could still bring this up the next time he and Buck argued about who’s turn it was to go and answer the door when they ordered takeout. Cleaning the oven, that was absolutely something he could hold over Buck forever.

He made a quick detour to the locker room to change out of his gym clothes as he heard Athena greet the boys upstairs, his own smile begrudgingly pasted on as he remembered what Athena had said.

His boy. She had called Buck his boy.

It was… well, it was nice to dream.

He was basically floating on air as he made his way up the stairs, to the point where he almost walked straight until Bobby’s chest from where he stood at the top of the stairs. He let out a very masculine noise as he jumped back, nearly dropping his phone as Bobby clucked his tongue.

“Nope, Eddie, you know the rules. You and your black thumb need to stay far from the kitchen while we’re cooking.”

Eddie tried to sputter out a protest even as Athena laughed from her position near the fridge, unloading what looked like an actual mountain of groceries. “Come on Bobby, I’m sure he can’t be that bad—“

“He’s burned pasta, Athena.”

“That was one time!”

Eddie felt his face heat up as Buck immediately came to his defense, equal parts pleased and perturbed, as Bobby shook his head. “Not taking that chance, kid. Especially not while Athena is armed with two whole hams. Come on, go downstairs, shower up, and then we can find a way for you to help get ready for dinner that keeps you far away from the kitchen.”

“Cmon, Bobby—“

“Buck, you can clean the oven on your own. Now let’s go, we all got work to do.”

Eddie felt his mouth snap shut as Bobby dismissed him—not unkindly, nothing that Eddie hadn’t heard before, but the way that Buck was looking over at them was nothing short of tragic. He hadn’t seen Buck look that defeated since their run in at the grocery store in the midst of the lawsuit-that-they-didn’t-talk-about-seriously-Buck-we-both-apologized-it’s-fine.

Eddie’s brain continued to churn as he showered, nearly drowning himself beneath the scalding hot water as he tried to understand what the fuck was going on.

Buck had been acting weird. Which, honestly, wasn’t that unusual for Buck. Buck was a good man. He had his heart on his sleeve, like, constantly. He was happy when he was happy, he was sad when he was sad, and there was no hiding it when he was down.

And now, somehow, Eddie was bringing him down.

Or… when Eddie really thought about it, the lack of Eddie was bringing him down…

Eddie didn’t get to spend time with Buck, and Buck looked like someone had just stamped out his dreams.

And that… that was interesting.

The last piece of the puzzle finally sank into place as he toweled off his hair and stepped out of the locker room, right in time to hear Athena’s laugh ring through the station. He looked up to the loft in time to see Bobby dipping her into a kiss, but that wasn’t where his eyes focused—no, they were instead focusing on something red and green. Something red and green and small and something that was definitely not there before Buck started his redecorations this morning, hanging in front of the oven.

The oven that he was supposed to help Buck clean.

Eddie felt his eyes narrow as he looked around the station, trying to retrace his steps throughout the station from the moment he walked in that morning. The utility closet… the recreation area… and back to the kitchen again.

He felt a small smile, in spite of himself, spread across his face, something dangerously close to hope blooming in his chest. Fate seemed to smile on him as Hen and Chim pulled back into the firehouse bay, and he took the opportunity to smack Hen’s arm as she walked past him.

“Ow, Eddie, what the f—“

“I’m gonna risk it, Hen.” Eddie said, effectively cutting her off, knowing that she would pick up on what he meant immediately. “But I need some help. You got a minute?”

--

“Buckaroo, will you take these plates down to the table? Here, bring Eddie some silverware.”

“Yeah, no problem Chim.”

Eddie elbowed Hen away from him as Buck started down the stairs, trying his best to act like he was doing anything but listening up the stairs. He and Hen had been busy setting up the table (and a few other things) while Chim was assigned on running interference upstairs, which turned out to be the easiest job of all while Buck… well, while Buck moped.

Eddie hated Buck moping. Almost as much as he hated how cute he thought it was, now that he knew what Buck was up to.

Or, at least, he thought he knew what Buck was up to. He was still painfully aware of how wrong this could all go—maybe it was the magic of the season, maybe it was a year in the making, maybe it was Hen egging him on, but Eddie…

Eddie actually felt like he could do this.

Even if it meant that he had to play completely oblivious in the meantime.

“Alright, Buck,” Eddie started, taking the stack of plates out of Buck’s hand, somehow fighting the smile as Buck handed them over, “what’s wrong? You’ve been acting weird all day.”

Buck grumbled as he tugged at the corner of the table cloth, straightening out a few placemats as he shrugged. “Nothing, Eds, I’m fine. Just a weird day, I guess. Dinner should be good, though!” Buck said, hiking a smile up onto his face. Eddie did his best to hide a little laugh as he nodded to Hen, who had slipped into the cab of the ladder truck.

“Buck, come on. I’ve known you for years, you’re not fine. Weird, yes. Fine, no.”

Buck stuck out his tongue as he started to dole out forks and knives, the little lighthearted gesture doing something to ease the worry that Eddie felt at the base of his spine, but he could still see the tension coiled through his best friends shoulders.

“Seriously, Buck, I—“

“It’s fine, Eddie! I just…” Buck’s shoulder slumped as he started to deflate, the harsh tone of his voice giving way as his face flushed. Setting the last fork down, he started to pace in earnest, speaking with his hands as much as he was with his voice. “I just had a certain thought about how things might go this year, and fate, or destiny, or whatever, has made it very clear that’s not going to be how it goes. I dunno, I thought I could make things… different, or special or whatever?” he started, and Eddie seriously had to swallow the words that were threatening to spill over his lips.

Buck wanted to make things special. Buck wanted to make things special. For him. Like Buck didn’t do that kind of thing every day simply by existing.

“Anyway, it doesn’t matter, you don’t have to worry about it.” Buck sighed as he put the last fork down and started pacing at the head of the table, and Eddie had to make sure his voice wasn’t going to waver when he spoke again.

“It still can be special, Buck—“

“Eds, it’s whatever. It was stupid anyway.”

“Buck.”

“No, Eddie, it’s okay, I shouldn’t have—“

“Buck. Stop. Breathe.”

Eddie grabbed both of Buck’s shoulders to stop him from pacing, raising his eyebrows as Buck finally made eye contact with him.

“Are you breathing? Okay. Great. Good. Now look up.”

“Eds, what are you talking about?”

“Buck, for the love of God, listen to me for once in your life and just look up.”

Eddie took a moment to savor the complete confusion written on Buck’s face as he finally comprehended what Eddie was asking (with a murmured complaint of “I always listen to you”), and Eddie let his eyes lock on to Buck’s face. Mostly because he wanted to see Buck’s reaction, but partially because he was afraid of what said reaction would be. Even if Buck was seeing the mistletoe above them for the first time, that Eddie had painstakingly tied to the top rung of the ladder that Hen had extended over the table from the truck, this was the moment of truth—and Eddie already knew what was up there.

Besides, Buck was a much better view than some green garnish.

“That’s, uhm.” Buck started, and Eddie finally gave up trying to keep the smile off his face. “That’s mistletoe.”

Eddie hummed thoughtfully as Buck looked back to him, “It is. I pulled some from the kitchen, found a sprig near the rec room, one from the utility closet…”

Buck actually had the decency to look surprised as he looked back to Eddie, literal stars in his eyes. “And you… put them together. And tied them to the ladder, and… got me to stand under it with you.” Buck continued, slowly, and Eddie gave a little chuckle as he nodded his head, taking a step closer. “I did. I mean, unless I’m misreading this entire situation, in which case I have no idea what you’re talking about, and if that’s the case, I’m going to go dig a hole out back and throw myself—mmhph.”

Eddie was more thankful than anything when Buck took the step forward to close the distance between them before he could start rambling, one hand on Eddie’s jaw to tilt it up (god he loved that Buck was taller than he was), the other warm and heavy on his hip (god, he loved Buck’s strong hands), lips slotting together with an ease that Eddie had never experienced with a first kiss before (god, he loved kissing Buck).

He also loved Hen and Chim, because no sooner did Chim hit the switch near the bay doors to dim the lights around the ladder truck did Hen manage to restart Buck’s Christmas playlist, Irving Berlin’s voice crooning about a white Christmas over the station speakers as Eddie’s arms wrapped around Buck’s neck.

When they finally pulled back to breathe, Eddie found himself tiptoeing up to chase Buck’s lips, his face flushing bright red afterward when he realized what he had done. They both started laughing as Buck’s hands dropped down to Eddie’s waist, Eddie following suit and letting his hands rest on Buck’s shoulders, fitting together in a way that Eddie had only imagined.

“So… I guess the mistletoe worked out for you in the end.” Eddie said with a smile, and Buck laughed, shaking his head, that beautiful ruddy color staining his cheeks again. “Eds, I, uh… I’ve kind of been working up the courage to do something like this for weeks.” He said sheepishly, and Eddie couldn’t help but laugh, smacking Buck’s shoulder.

“Weeks? To think, you still had months to go before you were anywhere close to my level.” Eddie said as he pulled away, sighing as he smoothed over Buck’s collar, a smile on his face as he turned and left a stunned Buck in his wake.

“Wait, Eddie, what?”

Eddie shook his head as he walked back into the locker room, Buck following suit shortly after.

“Eds, no, wait! How long did I pine without needing to?? Eddie!!”

[marauders70s]

a collection of dumb hp-p&r text memes

dumbledore, gesturing: could a depressed person make this???

mcgonagall: your hand is literally rotting off

---

harry: sometimes I feel like arguing with you is like arguing with the sun.

hermione: WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT I AM SUPER CHILL ALL THE TIME.

---

pansy: you look awful

draco: what up bitch i just ran a 5k

pansy: really?

draco: no i threw up blood in the shower

pansy: that fight with potter really got ya down huh

---

harry: hey ron are you okay

ron, wearing the locket, staring straight ahead at a tree: yeah i'm fine it's just that life is pointless and nothing matters and I'm always tired.

harry: hermione it's your turn

---

sirius, at any minor convenience: everything hurts and i'm dying

---

goyle: I once knew a guy for seven years and never learned his name. best friend i ever had. we still never talk sometimes, because he's dead.

---

oliver: sometimes you gotta do a little work so you can ball a lot.

mcgonagall: that is incorrect

---

james, during house arrest: If I keep my body moving, and my mind occupied at all times, I will avoid falling into a bottomless pit of despair.

lily, from the couch: oops

---

snape, at a christmas dinner: I can still smell her hair at night

dumbledore, pouring a generous amount of mulled wine: Put some alcohol in your mouth to block the words from coming out.

---

ron: hermione, i'm not using your color coded talking planner

hermione: we need to get good grades on our OWLs!

ron: there's nothing that could motivate me to use it

hermione: well, there's nothing we can't do if we work work hard, never sleep, and shirk from all other responsibilities in our lives.

---

harry: Professor, I wanna go home early. Ooh, hold on actually, hang on. Yeah, no, I wanna quit and never come here again.

---

ron: i'm going to tell you all my secrets

hermione: you don't have to do that

ron: I once forgot to brush my teeth for five weeks

ron: I didn't actually break charlie's wand all the way I just hid it and forgot where

ron: I don't know who scrimgeour is and at this point I'm too afraid to ask.

ron: when they have 2 sickles a scoop on salamander eyes i'm not sure where the rest of the salamander goes

ron: when i was a baby fred turned my teddy into a spider and i got so scared my mum took me to a mindhealer and they wrote a textbook about me

ron: i once threw a garden gnome so hard that it hit my sister in the face and began attacking her

hermione, looking up from her book: what did ginny do?

ron: she bit it and it ran off.

hermione: classic

---

severus: no matter what i do nothing bad can happen to me. i'm like a white wizengamot official who pretended they were mind-controlled after the fall of the dark lord

lucius: I resent that

---

sirius: thank merlin my great uncle alphard just died so I am fluuuuusheeeeeed with galleeeeooonsss

remus: I'm going to regret this flatshare

---

seamus: i passed up a gay halloween party to see this troll. Do you know how much fun gay Halloween parties are? Last year I saw three Peverell Brothers make out with three Viktor Krums. It was amazing.

---

luna: We need to remember what's important in life. Friends, unpredictable creatures, and school. Or unpredictable creatures, friends, school. It doesn't matter. But school is third.

---

tom riddle: I totally hear you, but I also don't like what you're saying. So if you say no, I will release a giant snake in the bathroom

---

luna: would you like some -

hermione: no! I am going to run for minister of magic someday, so no, thank you. I mean, not that I haven't - I ate a brownie once at quidditch cup party. It was intense. It was kind of indescribable, actually. I felt like I was floating. Turns out there wasn't any potions in the brownie, it was just an insanely good brownie.

---

sirius: do i look like the kind of person who drinks water

---

neville: flying is the worst. I know it keeps you healthy, but merlin, at what cost?

ron: okay, you don't have to join the pick up game -

neville: no no i want to be included. i'll come

---

james: What I hear when I’m being yelled at is people caring really loudly at me.

sirius: that's not right

---

mcgongall: I think you’ve got several options. They’re all terrible…but you have them.

peter: this career counseling session is getting a bit intense

---

neville: how are you handling the...breakup...

ginny: I’m gonna buy some sweat pants and a Gilderoy Lockhart novel. Might as well lean into it.

---

dumbledore, in the staff room, extremely intoxicated: Who hasn’t had gay thoughts?

---

james: Goodbye, Lily Evans, my head girl partner. Hello, Lily Potter, my fallopian princess.

lily: i should have never married you. or at least made you wear a condom

james: what's a-

---

sprout: I’m a simple lesbian. I like pretty, dark-haired women, and man-killing plants.

---

sirius: A couple more rules: if you ever read a sad book, you have to wear mascara so we can see whether or not you’ve been crying. There’s no noise allowed on Mondays. And no magic after breakfast.

peter: er i'm sorry this was the dorm assigned to me...

---

remus: Hogwarts Library is headed by the most diabolical, ruthless bureaucrat I’ve ever seen. She's like a death eater but instead of avada kedavra and crucio she uses shame and shhhing.

james: she wouldn't let him into the restricted section without a note

remus, choking back tears: I AM A PREFECT

---

pansy: I have never flown the high road. But I tell other people to ‘cause then there’s more room for me on the low road.

---

hermione: If I had a stripper’s name, it would be Equality. for house elves and all beings.

ron: if i had a stripper's name it would be sugar striped candy pole for my -

harry: hermione, DON'T -

---

sir cadogen: You know, in the 1880’s, there were a few years that were pretty rough and tumble here at Hogwarts. This depicts kind of a famous fight between Morpheus Rane, a prefect in Slytherin house, and Wilhemena Batlock, a Hufflepuff seventh year. The original title of this painting was ‘A Lively Fisting.’ But y’know, they had to change it for…obvious reasons.

---

bellatrix, in the afterlife: i regret nothing. the end.

---

harry: I don’t want to be overdramatic, but today felt like a hundred years in hell and the absolute worst day of my life.

tofty: I'm sorry but you WILL have to repeat your history of magic OWL

---

james: Lucky for me, I’ve processed all my feelings. And I’ve gone through the five stages of grief - Denial, anger, picking on Peter, cat adoption, reckless dueling, cat returning to the adoption place, reading all Martin Miggs books in the series (what i was picking on peter for actually), and not giving a flying fuck.

remus: you can't say fuck

james: oh great i'm going to have to start the process all over again.

remus: peter, you'd better run

---

dudley: I’m allergic to magic candy. Every time I eat more than 80 sweeties I barf.

fred: how about...81

---

sirius: I’ll have a glass of your most expensive red wine mixed with a glass of your cheapest white wine served in a dog bowl. Silly straws all around, please.

remus: this is why we can't date in public

---

neville: I’m gonna get drunk and then I’m gonna order a three course meal where each course is made of dessert.

---

arthur: I promised myself I was not going to cry tonight, and I’ve already broken that promise five times. But I will not break it a sixth.

bill: dad maybe you shouldn't give a toast while fleur's family is still here

---

gilderoy: I have no idea what I’m doing, but I know I’m doing it really, really well.

---

pansy: Use him. Abuse him. Lose him. That’s the Parkinson motto.

draco: I thought the Parkinson motto is don't look at me you whore.

pansy: the motto is really more like a chapter book.

---

harry: You’re ridiculous and pureblood rights is nothing.

voldemort: wow

---

tonks: I would like a glass of red wine and I’ll take the cheapest one you have because I can’t tell the difference.

sirius: cheers i'll drink to that

remus: put. the bowl. down.

---

eh, and just one for the road: “I wonder who else was born in Eagleton. Voldemort, probably.” – Leslie Knope

[puckinghell]

Let It Snow | William Nylander

Summary Request:

alternatively, our flights get cancel and we’re two strangers who rent the last available car together (it might be a little dangerous but we’re living on the edge)

and

we always carpool home for the holidays from college but a storm hit and now we’re taking the last room at the local b&b 

and

we don’t know each other that well but i found out that you’ve never been sledding skating and feel like it’s my personal mission to change that

Words: 10k (I’m SORRY) Note: So, a few things: I wrote most of this when I was either drunk or sick, so excuse any grammar/spelling mistakes. Second of all, you guys wanted one long thing instead of parts, so here’s 10k of word vomit. Third of all, this is cliche central, and I’m not even sorry. And lastly, I know Will’s family doesn’t live in Calgary anymore but I very well couldn’t have them drive to Sweden.

---

“I hate snow.”

It’s meant to be mumbled under your breath, for nobody to hear but you; you didn’t even really mean to say it out loud, but it kinda slipped.

You really hate snow.

The guy that’s sitting opposite you looks up. So far, he’s been engulfed in his phone, but now there’s an interested look on his face as he takes you in.

“Why?” he asks.

As if that’s a totally normal thing to ask a complete stranger in the middle or a crowded airport.

You shoot him a dirty look, take a sip of your coffee before answering him, your voice deadpan. “Have you looked around you?”

The guy looks, as if he actually hadn’t noticed before that the airport around him has been getting busier and busier, the people there more annoyed and miserable looking by the second.

“Oh,” he says.

Yeah, oh.

You huff and return your attention to the announcement board again, hoping the message is going to magically change.

It doesn’t. Flight delayed, it says.

“Are you going to Calgary too?” the guy asks.

Now it’s not really his fault: he hasn’t personally caused a huge snow storm to hit Toronto and he’s probably just trying to be nice, but you’re already in a bad mood.

So you snap: “No, I’m just sitting here for shits and giggles.”

“Never mind,” the guy mutters, and his eyes fix on his phone again.

Great, now you feel like shit about that.

However, the universe needs to give you a break. This has literally been the worst week of your life and it’s only Thursday: the only thing that has pulled you through so far is knowing you’re going to see your dad, and now it’s looking like that might be going up in flames.

“Excuse me, may I please have your attention,” a voice sounds over the speaker at your gate, and you perk up in your seat. “We regret to inform you that, due to the upcoming snow storm, all air traffic in this area has been cancelled until further notice. Your flight will not depart today. For more information, you may contact the information desk.”

“Fuck.”

The guy opposite you raises an eyebrow. “If you don’t want people to start a conversation with you, you might want to stop talking to yourself.”

He stands up leisurely, as if the cancelled flight is no bother to him at all, and grabs his suitcase. He points to the board, where it now says Flight cancelled instead of Flight delayed – fucking fantastic – and motions at it, as if to say “what can you do”.

“How are you so chill about this?” It’s more that you’re wondering out loud than actually wanting an answer, but of course the guy grabs the opportunity.

“Well, it’s still four days to Christmas, and Calgary isn’t on another continent. It sucks that there won’t be any flights anytime soon, but you can’t change the weather.” He smiles. “I actually love snow, personally. And a little snow has never stopped me before. So I’m gonna rent a car and drive to Calgary.”

You stare at him. “Drive? To Calgary? That’s insane.”

“I mean, not as insane as spending Christmas away from my family,” the guy reasons, and….

He might have a point. You could stay here, and be miserable alone, or you could drive to Calgary and spend time with your dad like you planned. You could be enjoyed your dad’s pancakes, drinking hot chocolate by the fire place watching Elf, within a mere 40 hours, if you put the gas pedal down.

It’s, objectively, insane.

“I’m gonna rent a car too.”

“Great,” the guy says, jovially. “We can walk together then!”

And that was not really your plan, but to be fair, you don’t really know where you’re supposed to go to rent a car and this guy is walking as if he does this every day, so you dutifully follow him.

You take this time to look him over; he looks funny, in sweatpants with white sneakers – in the snow! - and a hoodie with a coat. He has a beanie on and there’s a few blond streaks of hair escaping from under it. He’s wearing thick black framed glasses. The suitcase he has with him has the Gucci logo on it, and you find yourself wondering if it’s real.

The guy is dressed like he’s either super rich but doesn’t care, or is slightly blind and got a 13 year old high school boy to pick out his clothing at a weird second hand shop.

“What’s your name?” the guy asks, and you frown.

“Why do you care? I wasn’t aware we were going to become best friends in the time it takes to walk to the rental car booth.”

“Nice to meet you,” he says, remaining completely unbothered as if you didn’t just snap at him. “I’m Will.” He glances over at you, seemingly amused. “It’s just a cancelled plane, you know. Not the end of the world.”

“It’s not just about the plane.” You almost tell him about the week you’ve had, but you decide it’s not worth the trouble. After all, you’re just going to rent a car and then you’re going your separate ways, and you’ll never see him again.

That’s the plan, at least. But it wouldn’t be this time in your life if your plan didn’t get ruined.

“I’m sorry, miss, that was the last car we have available,” the woman behind the computer says, right after she’s handed Will some keys. “Everyone is trying to get outta here by car, now that the planes aren’t going.”

You nearly, nearly, start to cry.

“What do you mean the last car? Surely you have a car somewhere,” you beg. “Any car. A bike. I don’t care. I have to get to Calgary for Christmas, you don’t understand…”

“I understand,” the lady interrupts, the friendly facade sliding off her face. “Unfortunately, I cannot help you. Have a good day.”

Have a good day?

“Look, lady…”

You’re about to yell at her some more when you feel someone tap your shoulder. Of course, it’s Will, beaming down at you with the keys to your last option in his hand.

“Yelling at her won’t work, you know. It’s not gonna make you feel better or stop you from being in a mood.”

Something inside you snaps.

“In a mood? You wanna know why I’m in such a mood, Will? I’m in a mood because this Monday, I got told my residency at the hospital I work at might not be available to me next year, because they’re cutting personnel at the department. On Tuesday, I ran my legs out of my body for 15 hours before they told me that I shouldn’t come back after Christmas. On Wednesday, my boyfriend of almost a year broke up with me because he’s looking for different things in life, whatever the fuck that means. And the only, only thing I was looking forward to was seeing my dad again, and now this stupid snow has ruined that for me as well. So excuse my mood, but I will yell at whoever I want to!”

Will blinks at you, then raises an eyebrow. “Feel better?”

Slowly, you exhale through your nose. You do, actually, feel better, and Will seems to know that because he’s grinning.

“If you’re done yelling, I was gonna ask you…” he trails, “do you want a lift?”

 ---

 Arguably, this is a bad idea. You don’t even know this guy. He could be literally anyone.

“You could be a serial killer,” you tell him, putting on your seatbelt and sinking into the passenger’s seat. “You could drive me out of the city, murder me, dismember my corpse and leave me in the woods.”

“Hmm,” Will hums, as he starts the car. “I could, but that would massively delay my arrival time.”

You kick up your feet on the dash and play with the radio; the only songs you’re getting are Christmas songs, and that’s just not the right mood. Of course, as soon as you settle on some station that’s not playing Christmas music, Will frowns.

“Do you hate Christmas? Cause if you’re the Grinch, I’m gonna have to kick you out now.”

You look out the window; Toronto traffic is bad as always and you’re standing still barely out of the airport.

“I’m not the Grinch. I just don’t love Christmas.”

“How?” Will exclaims. “Christmas is the best holiday of the year!”

“I prefer Halloween,” you say, and Will rolls his eyes.

“And I’m the serial killer.”

“Christmas is overrated. I don’t care for trees in my house, creating a mess, Christmas movies are cheesy, Christmas songs are objectively bad and everyone is just stressed around Christmas time, trying to find gifts and decorate and wear stupid sweaters and go to parties with people they don’t like.”

You don’t tell him that you also don’t like Christmas because when your mom left, she said she would send you a Christmas gift.

As if that made it okay for a mother to leave her 12 year old daughter behind.

“Grinch,” Will mutters under his breath. You reach out and smack his arm, and he yelps in surprise. “Hey, don’t hit the driver, we could crash!”

“We’re literally standing still.”

“I could accidentally press the gas!”

“Then you’d be an idiot!”

You sigh and drop your head against the headrest, staring out of the window at all the headlights surrounding you.

It’s gonna be a long trip.

--

For the first few hours of the drive, it turns out the not be the worst. First, you and Will talk about your families a little: he’s got four siblings and his parents are still “very grossly in love” (his words) and you tell him that you’ve got just your dad and grandma left.

You don’t tell him what happened with your mom and he doesn’t ask, which is probably good judgement from his side.

Most of the time, however, you nap and Will drives or you drive and Will sleeps; you both decided that you want to get to Calgary as fast as you can, and not stopping is the way to do that.

It feels like it’s been days, but in reality you’ve only been driving for about 8 hours when Will stretches beside you and yawns.

“We should stop for gas,” he says, “and get me at least two liters of coffee to inject into my veins.”

“Probably a bad idea,” you deadpan. “That volume of liquid into your system would probably kill you instantly, and if it didn’t, the caffeine would give you a heart attack. Also, if you have to pee in an hour I’ll kill you.”

Will grins. “No good outcome possible for me, then, huh?” He points out the window. “Gas station.”

While you’re driving down the lane, he turns to look at you.

“You’re a nurse,” he says, and you frown.

“Yeah, I told you that.”

“I know, but like, you’re an actual nurse. I didn’t think about what that meant. But that’s really cool.”

You sigh. “Well, yeah, but if I don’t find another residency I’m gonna be half a nurse. And that won’t pay the bills.”

“You’ll find one,” Will says, easily enough, as if it’s a mere fact, and for the first time since you got the news, you feel some of the anxiety in your stomach settle.

It’s probably strange, that the fact that this guy, who you have only spent one day with, can tell you it’s gonna be fine and you believe it.

Maybe it’s because he seems truly genuine in his conviction. Maybe it’s because you’re just that desperate.

“Coffee?” Will asks, and you shake yourself out of your thoughts.

“I’ll go get it, you fill the tank,” you say, because you really want to stretch your legs. You spend your time wandering the little shop, getting two large coffees and also a few snacks for the road – what else is there to do in a car but eat and nap – and when you finally reemerge, Will is talking to someone next to the car.

“So awesome to meet you, dude, huge fan,” the man says. You watch as Will scribbles something on a napkin with a pen.

“Anytime. Sorry I don’t have paper.” Will smiles at the man politely as he hands him the napkin.

“No problem!” The man seems very excited about the napkin, and as he walks back to his car, he looks at Will again over his shoulder and waves. Will waves back, then turns to you and makes grabby hands for the coffee.

“Gimme!”

“What was that?” you frown, holding the coffee out of his reach. “Who was that?”

“A guy,” Will deadpans, “and a napkin. Coffee, please?”

You don’t hand it to him but he somehow manages to snatch it out of your hands; he’s faster than you’d think he’d be, and he’s back in the car before you can ask again.

Luckily, he’s stuck with you in this car for a while.

“That wasn’t just a guy,” you say, stubbornly. “He was really excited to see you. Does he know you?”

“I don’t know him,” Will answers, and that’s about the best deflecting you’ve ever heard.

“Not what I asked.”

Will sighs. “Fine,” he grumbles. “Do you watch hockey?”

“Hockey?” you repeat dumbfoundedly. “Like, where people skate after a piece of rubber? No, why?”

“But you know hockey is a pretty big deal in the city, yeah?”

You don’t know why Will is pressing the issue; you’re more interested to find out who the man is, but Will seems very intent on this line of conversation, so you decide to let him get away with it for now.

“Yeah, my boyf… ex boyfriend is a big Maple Leafs fan.”

Will snorts, but before you can ask what he means by that, he points to your phone, that’s laying in your lap.

“Google Maple Leafs number 88.”

“Why, is he hot?” you tease, but you do as he says.

William Nylander, your screen tells you, and beside it is a picture of Will.

“Kinda,” Will says blankly.

You look at Will, and then at your screen. Then back at Will. “That’s you,” you bring out, and Will chuckles.

“Well, yes. Does that explain enough to you?”

And it does. You might not watch hockey – you don’t really watch sports anyway – but you know from your ex how big a deal it is to some people, and you can imagine what it must be like to be a Leafs player living in Toronto.

You also remember your ex screaming at the television screen.

“Rough season so far, huh?” you say. “That why you wanna go to Calgary so badly?”

Will smiles, but it doesn’t fully reach his eyes. “Yeah, kinda. I mean, new coach, new opportunity, I’m excited, it’s just…” He pauses, seems to ponder his answer. It doesn’t sound like a rehearsed media answer, when he finally speaks. “I really need that new start, but I need a little break to empty my mind a bit, first. Put it into perspective, I guess. My dad is really good at helping with that, and so is my brother. Alex plays in the NHL too, and my dad used to. It’s… They know what it’s like, but they’re not on my team, so they offer more of an outside view.”

“You can tell me?” you offer. “I don’t know shit about hockey, so I’ve got an outside view.”

Will is laughing, then, and his eyes are twinkling and the car feels strangely small, suddenly.

“What do you do when you suck at your job for a while, and everyone loses their faith in you, and then you get better but nobody believes in you anymore?”

For the heaviness of the question, his tone is light, and he’s tapping his fingers on the steering wheel in beat with the music, as if he asked about your holiday plans.

You think of your mom.

“When I was little, I used to patch up my dolls with plasters and tell my mom I wanted to be a nurse. She said I couldn’t because I fainted at the sight of blood.” You shrug. “You just have to show them, I guess.”

Will nods slowly, then breaks into a smile. “Did you really faint at the sight of blood?”

“Shut up,” you chide, and the mood is lifted. It’s getting dark outside and you know you’ll have to start napping soon if you wanna take over driving in two hours, but for now you’re perfectly happy listening to Will’s chatter and the soft rumble of the engine in the background, as the car speeds down the highway, getting a little closer to Calgary with every passing minute.

---

Your eyes flutter open to darkness around you, and the car sitting in the parking lot of a gas station.

You turn just enough to see Will: he’s behind the wheel, eyes closed, his mouth slightly agape as his head hangs back.

The car is surrounded by snow: white flurries of it floating down to the ground, hitting the car.

For a second, you wonder why you’re not cold. Then you catch sight of Will’s coat, draped over your legs and stomach. You can’t help but smile at it, and then you close your eyes again.

The situation feels safely serene and safe, and you might as well take advantage of that and get some more sleep.

--- 

When you wake up, it’s to the sound of Christmas music coming from the speakers, Willy’s voice singing along.

“Not the time for Christmas carols,” you groan, and Will laughs.

“It’s always time for Christmas carols, Y/N,” he chides. You hear rustling, and you finally open your eyes.

“I stopped for a few hours,” Will says, “just to get some sleep. But we’re up and running again.”

Ah, that explains the scene you woke up yesterday. You glance at the clock: 7am. The sun is slowly starting to rise.

“It’s too early for you to be this happy,” you grumble. You haven’t had any coffee yet and that means you’re really not in the mood to have Will radiating energy around you.

“How are you not this happy?” Will asks. “Look outside!”

Outside is the road, but you understand what he means. Everything is covered by a thick layer of snow.

“It’s… white,” you say, because that’s about as far as you’re getting.

“It’s beautiful!” Will’s eyes are lit up with excitement.

“You’re insane,” you state, because that has been proven by this exchange.

“No I’m not! Snow is amazing. It’s beautiful, and it’s fun. Everything gets better in winter.”

You crank up the heat in the car and rub the sleep out of your eyes.

“Everything does not get better in winter,” you frown. “First of all, it’s cold. Everything is slippery because of the frost, the snow turns to yellow mush within a few hours. You have to shovel the driveway.”

“Or you could build snowmen with it. You can go skating on the ponds. Have snowball fights.”

You snort. “Snowball fights? What are we, 12?”

Will’s eyes widen slightly. “You’re never too old for a good snowball fight.” His voice is fond as he continues. “I play in the snow with my younger siblings every winter when I’m home. That’s like, the best part of Christmas.”

And, well…

“I can kinda get that, in concept,” you say softly. “There was never really anyone to play with me, I guess.”

Will’s eyes are a little sad as he glances over at you, but he doesn’t say anything. You appreciate that: you’re not ready to share anything more and it’s like he senses that. Instead, he changes the subject.

“Hey, have you ever been skating?”

“Nope,” you say, and the grin Willy shoots you is a little wicked.

“We’re changing that today.”

--- 

What Will means, apparently, is that it’s a good idea when you’re halfway between Toronto and Calgary to stop in a small little town and find an ice rink.

“This is insane,” you protest. “We’re losing time!”

“We’ve got 48 hours til Christmas,” Will shrugs, “and only an 18 hour drive left. Come on, after this we’ll drive straight through. It’ll be fun.” His eyes are shining and you can literally feel the excitement buzzing off of him, and, well…

Skating did always seem like fun to you. When you were younger, you asked your dad to take you once, but renting skates costs money so it never happened. You remember the disappointment in your dad’s eyes as he had to tell you no, so you didn’t dare ask again.

“I’ll buy you hot chocolate after,” Will coaxes. You don’t understand why he wants to go that badly: he spends most of his days on the ice, anyway, surely he’d be happy for a break.

“Fine,” you grumble, and you can’t help but laugh at the smug look on Willy’s face as he pulls the car to the side of the road.

The rink is small and filled with people. There’s a lot of small children that are skating behind little chairs, and you can picture yourself being there too.

“I’m gonna be so much worse than them,” you whine, at the same moment one of the kids falls onto the ice. A woman helps the little girl up and she goes right back at it.

You don’t think you’re gonna be that brave.

“Oh, shush, I’m not gonna let you fall,” says Will, and you try to ignore the butterflies in your stomach.

This whole situation is so freaking cliche, and you are not going to fall for it.

You rent skates for you and Will brings his own, because of course he brought skates in his suitcase. You’re struggling with the laces on the bench next to the rink, mostly to stall for some time; your heart is beating fast in your throat and your hands are a little clammy.

“Need some help with those?” Will is sitting sideways on the bench, and he’s grinning at you amused while you struggle. Feeling a little bold, you swing your leg into his lap.

You can tell he wasn’t expecting it because his eyes widen slightly, but then the grin only broadens and he starts carefully lacing up your skates. You watch as his fingers work the laces expertly – it’s clear that he’s done this a million times before – and then, his hand curls around your ankle.

“Other one,” he orders, and you switch legs.

Finally, the skates are on and Will hops to his feet, extending his hand and helping you to your feet. You’re already wobbling and you’re not even on this ice yet.

“If I break my leg, I can’t drive,” you say, mostly because the thought pops into your head.

Will rolls his eyes. “You’re not gonna break your leg.”

“If I hit my head and have a concussion, I can’t drive either.”

“Y/N.” Will’s voice is firm enough that you look up at him. He’s frowning. “You’re not gonna break anything, or hit anything, or fall. If you really don’t want to do this, we can leave now, but if there’s any part of you that agrees that this could be kinda fun, I promise you I’ve got you.” His eyes are a little shiny as he adds: “Trust me?”

And it’s stupid, you know it is, because you barely know Will. You’re pretty sure you’d have found out if he truly was a serial killer or any other type of psycho, but you can’t be sure he’s not irresponsible – although he did pull over in the snow – or prove that he’s trustworthy in any way.

And yet…

“I trust you,” you say then, and the blinding smile that crosses Will’s face is worth the fear in your heart when you place your first foot on the ice.

You can feel it slipping right away, but Will literally hops on the ice next to you, two feet planted firmly on the slippery surface, and places his hands on your hips, steadying your waist. In a reflex, your hands curls around his biceps, and once again you are reminded that holy shit, he’s a professional athlete.

“Wow, easy,” Will hums. He slowly guides you further away from the door, and your other foot adds to your first, and then you’re gliding.

You can’t call it skating: Will is moving backwards and pulling you with him, but you’re not necessarily moving on your own.

The first round goes like that, and then you decide to be brave and start moving your feet.

To be fair, Will keeps his promise. He never leaves your side, his hand firmly on your lower back even when you do start skating yourself, ready to catch you whenever you stumble – which is a lot.

“I’m doing it,” you yelp excitedly, when he finally lets his hand hover a little away from you. “I’m skating!”

Will laughs. “Proud of you, babe.”

And it’s probably just something he says; he probably calls a lot of people babe, it probably means nothing, and yet…

“Help,” you manage to squeak, and then your arms are waving in the air and your feet are slipping from under you and you try to maintain your balance, but you can pinpoint the second it’s a lost cause.

For a split second you’re plummeting towards the ice, but then two arms are wrapped around your waist and you just kinda… hang there.

“Thanks,” you say dryly. You’re hanging in Will’s arms as he’s hysterically cackling out laughter above you. It takes him a few seconds to compose himself and pull you up.

“Majestic,” he giggles, and he tightens his grip on your waist when you slap him in the chest.

“Rude,” you grumble, but you can’t help the smile that’s tugging at the edges of your lips.

It’s weird, but suddenly you notice how close he is, and when his eyes travel to your lips the smile falls from his face and you can tell he noticed too.

You stare at him, and it’s like the air is charged with something; your heart is beating in your throat and you swear he’s moving closer.

Oh, you think, we’re gonna kiss.

Strangely enough, the thought doesn’t send panic to your throat the way it did when your ex kissed you the first time, the way it always has when someone kissed you. Instead, it’s like everything inside of you goes calm and quiet.

You want him to kiss you. And it’s a little scary how not scary that is.

You’re interrupted by a small voice.

“Mister Nylander?”

Will startles, yank back fast enough that you nearly tumble straight back down to the ice, but one firm hand on your waist keeps you standing. He turns around then, to face the little girl that spoke: she can’t be more than five years old and is wearing a helmet with a cage, holding a hockey stick in her hands and staring at Will with wide, starstruck eyes.

He bends down into a squat – on skates, literally, how – and smiles at the girl.

“Hi, yes, that’s me. You can call me Willy, though. What’s your name?”

“Amanda,” the girl beams. “Can I get your autograph, mister Willy?”

“Sure, kiddo,” Willy says. “How about I bring my friend here to the safety of the ground and I shoot some pucks with you, huh?”

Amanda looks like someone just offered her the entire world and everything in it. “Please,” she says, and Will quickly guides you towards the side of the rink.

“I won’t be long,” he promises, and he almost looks apologetic, which…

Which is ridiculous. Because you can tell that him just being here made that little girl’s day, and you think of the things you wanted as a little girl and the heroes you never got to meet, and…

“Take all the time in the world, please,” you say. “I’ll go get myself that hot chocolate.”

For two hours you sit at the side watching Will with the kids. Somehow after Amanda more and more kids appeared and now he’s created somewhat of an impromptu hockey team because they’re all playing and the adults cleared the rink.

It’s entertaining, to watch Will with the kids. He’s a good teacher, and you can see them hitting the net more and more as time passes on, and he clearly makes it fun: they’re all laughing and screaming and at one point, a few of them tackle Will to the ice, where he rolls around and pretends to be unable to get up, yet hops to his feet the second the kids get distracted.

It’s insane, how comfortably he moves around. Like, you knew this, because he’s a professional hockey player, of course he can skate, but you didn’t really think anything of it until you see it in action. He’s obviously not even trying to do anything fancy, and he’s probably not trying to be fast either, but he is, and he stops without problem and turns in any direction and even jumps over a puck, at some point.

You can’t lie. It’s kinda hot. But then, you’ve always had a thing for people who were clearly good at something.

For example, your ex was a really good painter. He was also really good at being a lying, cheating bastard.

Before you can go too far down that rabbit hole, there’s commotion on the rink, someone crying and then Will’s voice, too loud: “What happened?”

When you look up he’s kneeling in front of a little boy, who’s crying and staring at his hand.

You jump up, worrying, but Will has already lifted to kid in his arms and is skating towards you now, with big strides.

“He took a skate to the hand, we’re gonna need some bandages,” he says, and a parent yells something about getting a first aid kit while Will puts the kid on his lap on the bench. “Can you look at him?” he asks you, worry evident in his voice even though he’s clearly trying to remain calm. He’s a little pale, but you don’t have time to deal with that right now.

“Hey, buddy,” you coo at the kid, kneeling in front of him, placing your hand on Will’s knee to steady yourself. “What’s your name?”

“Tim,” the kid cries. “My hand hurts!”

“I know it does, Tim. But the good news is that we can fix it,” you promise him, examining the hand. It doesn’t look too bad: there’s a cut, but not deep enough to perforate anything more than flesh, so you’re not too worried.

The first aid kit arrives and so does Timmy’s dad, who doesn’t seem too bothered. “He falls all the time,” he says, “that’s what hockey is, isn’t it?” He preens at Will, who dutifully ignores him in order to talk to Timmy in a low voice.

You wrap up Timmy’s hand and tell him to take it easy for a few days, and then before you know it you’re in the car and Will is holding the steering wheel so tight his knuckles are turning white.

“Do you want me to drive?” you ask tentatively. There’s no answer, but Will isn’t turning on the car. “He’s gonna be okay, you know.” Silence. Another try. “It’s not your fault.”

“I just can’t believe,” Will starts, but he seems to choke on the last word and lets the sentence die, drops his head and inhales sharply. It takes a while, but finally he speaks, a little more composed. “I hate when parents tell their kids that hockey is about pain and sacrifice. It can be, sometimes, but it shouldn’t be, not for a little kid. It should be about fun, and learning skill, and being with teammates, and loving it. It shouldn’t be about falling and injuries.”

He sounds so frustrated that it tugs at your heart strings, and for a split second you allow yourself to wonder what Will was told by his dad, when he was a kid himself.

“He wasn’t even trying to soothe him,” Willy bites. “He was too busy fawning over the presence of a professional hockey player, and I don’t… I don’t wanna be the person these idiots believe I am.”

“And you’re not,” you blurt out. “Will, these kids had so much fun with you.”

Will smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “I just… Me and my brother, we always had fun skating. My dad told us it was important to always have fun. But I’ve seen it happen to friends. They were so passionate about hockey, but their parents pushed them, wanted them to be better too quick and told them to suck it up when the skates hurt their feet and it just fizzled out, you know? Until one day it wasn’t any fun and they quit.”

“It’s a shame,” you echo. “But your dad…?”

“He was hard on us, sure.” Will shrugs, smiles for real this time. “Pushed us to be better. But he always made it fun.” He turns to you. “Your dad… He stood behind your dreams?”

You remember you told him your mom didn’t think you could be a nurse, and you laugh. “The blood thing, you mean? Yeah, he didn’t agree with my mom. He always told me I could be whatever I wanted to be, and if I decided I wanted to be something else, I could be that, too. He’s always been there for me.” You shrug. “I’m lucky to have him. My mom… She left when I was 12. And I…”

You stop, for a second, wondering if you’re really gonna tell this to a complete stranger. But the thing is, Will doesn’t feel like a complete stranger anymore. Talking to him feels more comfortable than talking to most of your friends, and you can tell he really cares about what you’re saying, and you just, you want to tell him, so you do.

“I don’t like Christmas because my mom left right before Christmas, and she said: ‘I might not see you for a while, honey, but I’ll send you a Christmas gift.’ She didn’t, and I never saw her again.”

When you glance at Will, he’s frowning, a deep crease edged into his forehead. “That’s messed up.”

“Yeah, but, it was a long time ago. I’m mostly over it, I just never learned to love Christmas the way most kids do, I guess. My dad tried to make it fun for me, but it was always the reminder, you know, that I didn’t have a mom and other kids did.” You laugh, a little bitterly. “And then this year my ex-boyfriend dumped me on the 16th. My mom left me on the 17th. So I guess December is just not a good month for me.”

“Your ex is an asshole.” Will says it with such force, gritting his teeth, that you can’t help but reach over and put your hand on his knee.

“It’s okay,” you muse, and the tension leaves Will’s shoulders as he carefully wraps your hand in his.

His hand is warm and a little rough and there’s something hammering in your chest, and you wonder how it’s possible that you met him two days ago and he’s already making you feel more than your ex-boyfriend ever had.

You guess you never really liked that guy as much as you told yourself you did. 

“It’s not,” he says, but he doesn’t so upset anymore. “And if he was here, I’d punch him in the face. But I’m glad to see you didn’t let him hurt you too much.” Will grins. “And now you’ve been skating, so, like, fuck him.”

“Fuck him,” you echo, and Will starts the car.

18 hours to go. And then you’re in Calgary, and you’re gonna see your dad, and you’ll probably never see Will again.

For some reason that thought leaves a sinking feeling in your chest.

--- 

“Psst.” You groan as someone softly tugs your arm. You try to turn around, but there’s something digging in your back and you can’t quite get there. The tugging gets more persistent. “Hey, Y/N.”

“What?” you grumble, finally forcing yourself to open your eyes, and it’s only when you see Will’s face in front of you that you realize you’re not in your bed. You’re in a car, it’s pitch dark outside, and you’re standing in front of a lit up building.

“Snow storm is getting really, really bad,” Will says. “We have to stop for the night. It’s not safe to keep driving.”

You’re about to tell him to stop being such a baby, and you’ll drive, no problem, when you risk a glance out the window and see… nothing.

Literally, almost nothing. Just a big building, and some lights that could be from streetlights or UFOs, for all you know, because there’s a big blanket of white covering your sight. Snowflakes are streaming down in a curtain, and you can hear the wind howl around the car.

Okay, yeah, maybe it is unsafe to drive.

“Where are we?”

“Hotel,” Will says. “I checked, only hotel within 10 minutes of the highway. Pray that they have a room for us.”

He leaves you in the seat to wake up a bit more, and goes to get your luggage; he swings your bag over his shoulder and hauls his suitcase out of the trunk, and finally opens your door.

“Come on.”

You grab his hand and let him pull you out of the car, although you walk in front of him to enter the hotel. The woman behind the desk looks up as you open the door.

“Please close that behind you,” she says, friendly enough, “I swear if that cold comes in I might freeze, here.”

“Hi,” you say to her, “I know, it’s bad, right? We were hoping you have two rooms available for us, so we can escape the storm?”

The woman types something on her computer, then frowns. “I’m sorry, it’s very busy at the moment. Lots of people stopping in from the highway. I have one room left, if you’d like? Double bed.”

Oh, fuck. You’re not sure if you’ve quite wrapped your head around in, when Will chimes in next to you.

“Cool, we’ll take it.”

“We…” you start protesting, but Will raises an eyebrow and looks at you with so much attitude that it shuts you up.

“Would you rather freeze to death in a car?” he asks pointedly. “I’ll take the couch or the floor, or whatever, chill. I promise I won’t murder you in your sleep.”

Getting murdered is not what you’re worried about, to be honest. You’re worried that sharing a hotel room with Will is just gonna make these feelings in the pit of your stomach worse.

But there’s not really another option.

“Fine. We’ll take it.”

“You know,” Will chirps, when you’ve got the keycard and he’s taking the luggage up the stairs, “there’s a lot of girls that would kill to be forced to share a room with me.”

“That’s because they’ve only looked at your face, and don’t know your personality,” you drawl, and you know you’ve made a mistake when Will’s face lights up.

“You think I’ve got a pretty face?”

“Not what I said,” you answer quickly; too quickly, because Will is looking way too smug as he takes the keycard out of your hand and opens the hotel room door.

The room itself is nothing special. It’s small, but the bed looks comfortable and it’s warm, so you’ll take it.

“Shotgun on the bathroom,” you say as soon as you get in, and Will rolls his eyes but dutifully flops on the bed and starts typing on his phone while you find your toothbrush and disappear to the bathroom.

When you walk out, Will is laying sprawled over the bed, although he’s luckily still on top of the duvets. His hoodie has ridden up a bit and his sweatpants are – dangerously – low on his hips, so there’s a strip of skin showing.

Your mouth goes funnily dry, all of a sudden.

The thing is. You might not have wanted to be stuck in a hotel room with a guy you met at the airport only 2 days prior, but if it had to happen, Will is not a bad guy to be stuck with. He’s, objectively, very hot – you’re not blind – and he’s funny, and easy to talk to, and he’s been nothing but nice, even when you were a teeny tiny bit rude to him at the airport.

Did you mention he’s very hot?

“I’m gonna shower,” he says, jumping up from the bed.

While he’s doing that, you lay in bed and scroll through Instagram on your phone. Maybe you stalk Will on Instagram, only for a little bit, and you find a picture of him with his siblings that’s so cute it has you smiling at your phone.

“What are you smiling at?” Will’s voice surprises you so much that you drop your phone on your face with a yelp, and the sound of his laughter rings in your ears as you bury your red hot face into the pillow.

You hadn’t even heard him open the bathroom door again. Luckily, you don’t think he saw, but you lock your phone just in case.

Then, you look up, and if you thought you couldn’t be any redder in the face, boy were you wrong.

Because Will is wearing boxers, and nothing else. Now, you think to yourself, as you glance at him before shamefully returning your gaze to your hands, if you had a body like that, maybe you’d be more keen on showing it off too, but…

“You’re gonna be cold,” you tell him, and you can hear, more than see, his eye roll as he says:

“Okay, mom.” Then, he opens the closet and takes another duvet out. “I’ll be fine, I have this.” He grins a little cheekily, as if he fully knows what he’s doing to you. “Normally I sleep naked, but…”

“But not today,” you squeak, and he’s laughing again.

Not wanting to give him the satisfaction of letting him know that he’s getting to you, you throw the second pillow at his head and then roll to your side.

“Goodnight, Will.”

“Goodnight,” he answers softly. You listen as he potters around the room; probably tries to get his ‘bed’ for tonight as comfortable as possible. Finally, the lights click off.

You can’t sleep. You know it the second the lights are off, and Will’s breathing evens out. Your mind is going a million miles per hour and there’s so many things that happened, that you’re going to have to overthink before you can sleep. What’s not helping, either, is the fact that Will keeps tossing and turning.

You’re starting to feel a bit bad. You’re in a bed that’s big enough for two – maybe even three, it’s that big – and Will is laying on a cold, hard floor, with just one duvet and a pillow.

Outside, the wind is howling, and you know if you looked out the window the entire world would be covered in white. The room is warm enough, but you picture how there must be a draft, so close to the floor, and suddenly you can’t take it anymore.

It’s selfish, to make him sleep on the floor all because you’re worried about wanting things you can’t have.

“This is stupid,” you say, sitting up. “You should just sleep in the bed.”

For a second, it’s quiet. When Will speaks, he sounds unsure. “Are you sure? I mean, the floor isn’t great, but I don’t mind, I promise, if you’d rather not…”

“Look, we don’t have to, like, cuddle, or anything.” You can feel yourself blush but in the darkness of the room, there’s no way Will can see, so you keep talking. “You stay on your side, I’ll stay on my side, and it’s basically the same distance as having you on the floor. Just, the floor is cold, and uncomfortable, and there’s no need to…”

“Okay,” Will cuts you off, and he jumps up, duvet in hand. He’s grinning as he slides into the bed, curling the duvet around himself. “You don’t have to convince me, I was just being a gentleman.”

You snort. “Don’t do it again, it freaks me out.”

“You drive tomorrow, then,” Will hums, and it already feels better, to hear his voice right next to you instead of from somewhere at your feet. He sounds better, too; lighter, and more comfortable. “Hey, Y/N?”

“Hmm?” you answer, finally closing your eyes.

“If I had to cross the country in a Kia during a snow storm with anyone from that airport, I’m glad it’s you.”

You think of what you were thinking before, and smile.

“Me too, Willy, me too.”

It’s quiet again, and Will’s breathing starts evening out. For some reason, you still can’t calm down: you try to match your breathing to his, but it’s too shallow and you can feel your heart beating in your chest.

“You’re fidgeting,” Will says then, his voice loud in the quiet room. Only then do you notice that you have been twisting the duvet between your fingers time and time again. Will goes to lay on his stomach and turns his head to you. “You okay? I can sleep on the f…”

“It’s not you,” you interrupt him. It is, of course, but not in the way he thinks.

“Okay,” Will says slowly. “Then what?” Before you can answer he reaches out and slowly wraps his hand around yours, causing your fingers to dis-attach from the duvet.

And, the thing is…

You could tell him to mind his business. You could tell him a lie, or something that’s kinda true but not the real reason.

Tomorrow, you’ll be in Calgary. On your dad’s couch, drinking hot chocolate. And Will is gonna be in his own house. And then after Christmas, you’re both flying back to Toronto, but you’re not stupid. Will is a famous, and really attractive, athlete. You just got out of another failed relationship. You’re not good at relationships, turn out; you don’t even know if you really believe in love, anymore, don’t know if you even think it’s worth it to try.

But right now, you’re here, and he’s here, and you swear you’re not imagining the way he looks at you, sometimes.

You’ve had to deal with cancelled planes, problems at work, a dumb ex boyfriend, and this stupid everlasting snow, ruining your life one day at a time. So, you might as well give yourself this one thing that you want.

“Or, it is you,” you say, and you can feel Will stiffen beside you. “But it’s not that I don’t want you in this bed with me. In fact, it’s kinda the opposite.”

You can feel your cheeks flush: you’re not good at this, don’t really know what to say.

But then Willy grins and suddenly he rolls around, his body now hovering over you as he pushes himself up on his forearms.

“So does that mean I finally get to kiss you?” he hums, and you answer by pressing your lips against his.

---

Hours later, you’re both naked, a mess of tangled limbs in sheets, and Will’s chest is rising and falling with every peaceful breath. You close your eyes and bury your face in his neck.

Outside, it snows, and it snows, and it snows.

---

You wish you could enjoy the next 10 hours.

First, you spend 2 hours getting showered and ready – it would’ve been a lot shorter if Will hadn’t slipped in the shower with you, so it’s his fault if you’re late – and then you have breakfast at the hotel while Will tells you more about his family.

His face lights up when he tell you which Christmas gifts he’s got for his siblings and it’s adorable.

Then, you drive. The final 6 hour drive, and it flies by so fast you would’ve believed it if someone said it was just 2. You drive the first few hours and then Will takes over for the last part, and you chat the whole way there.

At some point, Will starts singing along to Christmas songs, and you don’t even change the channel.

“Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow,” Will croons; you can’t help but laugh and then you’re both laughing and singing along at the top of your lungs.

You wish it never had to end.

“So,” says Will, “this is your street, huh?”

You decided he would drop you off and take care of returning the rental car, and you’re almost regretting that decision cause you would’ve liked those 20 extra minutes with him. However, you know that that is, objectively, insane, so you ignore the knives that are being ran through your heart when Will parks the car on the curb.

“Home, at last,” he says, softly. He’s not smiling anymore. “So, when we get back to Toronto, we should…”

“Don’t,” you interrupt softly. “We both know this is where it ends for us.”

At this, Will frowns. “It doesn’t have to.”

“Yes, it does.” You swallow heavily, try to get rid of the lump in your throat. It doesn’t feel right but it is, and you need to let it end here before you end up with hopes that will crash and burn and expectations that will never be met.

“What if I don’t want it to?” he asks quietly.

As much as Will might believe he wants to see you again – and you don’t doubt that he’s being truthful about that - it’s just not realistic.

People don’t meet the love of their life in an airport after a cancelled flight, don’t live together forever after long a cross-country drive, don’t live happily ever after after a snowed in hotel.

People do leave their husbands and kids the week before Christmas, they do cheat on you, they do break your heart.

Snow might make things seem more magical, but after all, it’s just frozen water.

“But I want that.”

Will’s face falls, his eyes sad and honest, but he nods slowly. “Okay,” he says. “Thanks for the drive, then.”

His voice is distant, now, cold and impersonal: you know you deserve it but it hurts, anyway, and you scurry out of the car, take your suitcase out of the trunk.

You’re standing next to the car, ready to walk down the driveway, when the window opens.

Will’s head pops out, and he sends you what you think is meant to be a smile. It’s not a real one, and he still mostly just looks sad, but he’s trying, you think.

“I know December is a hard month for you, but I truly do hope it’s gonna get better. Merry Christmas, Y/N.”

The window closes and the car drives off, and something inside of you breaks.

“Merry Christmas, Will,” you whisper with tears in your eyes. You could’ve stood there for hours, but the front door opens.

“Y/N?” your dad’s voice calls. “I’m so glad you made it, you won’t believe the snow we’ve had…”

--- 

There’s a blanket on your lap as well as Snuggles – your dad’s cat – and you’re drinking tea while Elf plays on the television.

Your dad has been talking excitedly all through dinner, but now it’s quiet as he watches the movie. He seems happy, light, and it soothes something inside of you.

Sometimes you worry about him.

It’s not until the end credits roll that your dad turns to you. “Are you gonna tell me what’s wrong?” he asks tentatively, and that’s all that you need to hear in order to break into tears. “Oh, honey,” he sighs, then takes your hand in his. “What happened?”

You have no idea where to start.

“Dad,” you whisper, “do you think you can die from a broken heart?”

Your dad smiles sadly, shakes his head. “If you could, I would’ve been gone by now, probably,” he jokes, but it doesn’t land. “Is this about that boyfriend of yours?”

And, well, the funny thing is, you haven’t told your dad about the break up, but it doesn’t even matter. Your heart is broken and it has nothing to do with your ex.

So you tell him about Will. You tell him about how you almost weren’t here, tell him about cancelled planes and one lone rental car, about how he went from Will to William Nylander right back to Will, about coffee breaks and sleeping on the side of the road and skating and the little kid who hurt his hand, about snow storms and a hotel room with one bed – not about anything else from that night, though – and finally you tell him about goodbye.

When it’s all said and done, your dad frowns. “You keep saying it had to end. But honey, it sounds like you really like this guy.”

You do, oh God, you do.

“Why would it have to end?”

You don’t say anything, but as always, he knows exactly what you mean.

“Just because it ended for your mom and I doesn’t mean it always has to end, you know. Sometimes it’s worth to try.” He pats your hand. “I think you should call him.”

And that’s when it hits you. It doesn’t really matter if you’d wanna call him. 

You don’t even have his phone number.

--- 

“Y/N! Patient in room 11!” your colleague yells. “I’m going to the kid in room 4 if you need me!”

You sigh and throw down your clipboard. You have no idea why the hospital is so busy; it’s December 28th, which promises a disaster on New Years Eve, which is usually your busiest day of the year.

Fireworks, man.

You’ve been on your feet for 9 hours but you don’t even really mind. Just the thrill of working in a new hospital has been keeping you going; it might have something to do with the fact that this hospital will let you finish your residency, too. They called you the day after Christmas.

Some might call it somewhat of a Christmas miracle.

“I’m on it,” you call back, then start making your way to room 11. You nearly bump into the doctor you’re working with today, and she halts you by putting a hand on your arm.

“Are you a Leafs fan?” she asks.

It might be the weirdest thing someone has randomly asked you; the conversations you have had with this woman have ranged from “can you get me some blood from the vomiting boy” and “in what room do I find the catheters” and now she’s asking you about your sports teams?

Your heart clenches tightly as you think of Will.

“Not really,” you answers. That seems to be the right answer because the doctor smiles and waves towards the room, telling you to enter. You’re still confused by the whole exchange when you walk into the room and nearly trip over your own feet.

“Oh,” Will says slowly, “that’s quite a coincidence.”

It’s like your tongue has grown two sizes; you can’t speak, can’t even begin to think of what words to say, when suddenly you notice something.

“What the hell happened to you?”

There’s blood all over the hand he’s clutching to his chest, and his face is white as a ghost. Next to him is an equally pale guy wearing a Leafs sweater, who is staring at you with wide eyes.

“Uhm, I fell,” Will says sheepishly. “Turns out snow is quite slippery.”

It hasn’t snowed in Toronto in days.

“He didn’t fall in the snow,” the guy next to him grumbles. “I tried to wrestle the remote out of his hand and he fell into the Christmas tree and sliced his hand open with an ornament.”

“And Kappy has just promised to clean everything up, right, Kap?” Will asks with a sly smirk. Some of the color is returning to his face, which is more than you can say for his friend Kappy.

“Okay, well, let me have a look,” you mutter, and you gather some of your supplies before sitting next to the bed.

If you try very hard to avoid Will’s eyes and focus completely on the gash on his hand, that’s between you and the hospital room.

“So, first aid, huh?” Will asks. “Found a new job? Told you.” He sounds stupidly smug, so you raise your eyebrow and press the gauze to the wound. He inhales sharply. “That’s mean.”

“I’m trying to clean it,” you tell him sternly. “Sit still. God, Timmy was a better patient.”

“Hey,” Will protests, offended. “I’m a perfect patient.”

When you see how deep the wound is, you wonder how it’s possible that Will is still so chatty, and you also feel a little nauseous; it’s always different when it’s someone you care about.

“I’m gonna go get doctor Summers,” you say, and your voice is a little unsteady.

You’re probably imagining the edge of disappointment to Will’s voice when he says: “Yeah, okay.”

While doctor Summers examines Will’s hand, his eyes are fixed on you, and you keep yours fixed on your shoes. There’s so much you want to say to him, so much you want to do, but this is not the time or the place and also you have no idea how to start a conversation like that.

You tune back into the here and now when you hear the word “surgery.”

“It’s not a real surgery,” doctor Summers says, “I just think we need to set a bone and we also need to stitch up the muscles.”

Will is a little pale again as he nods.

You get send away to prepare the necessities for the procedure and when you come back, Will’s friend is gone.

“He’s gonna pick me up when I’m done,” says Will, who sees you looking. “Are you gonna… Are you gonna be here, while she does it?”

“Nope,” you answer, and this time you’re definitely not imagining the way his face falls. “Are you gonna get in trouble with the team for this?”

Will pulls a face. “I’ll probably get a stern talking to from Kyle.” When he sees your expression, he laughs. “My boss.” He sighs, looks out the window.

It’s started snowing, again, because apparently the universe loves taunting you.

“You know what the worst thing is? I ruined my tree.”

“That’s definitely not the worst part,” you roll your eyes. “It’s after Christmas, you should’ve probably taken it down anyway.”

“I couldn’t take it down yet,” says Will, his face completely serious, “there’s still one Christmas miracle I’m waiting for.”

He’s staring at you intently and you can feel your heart beating in your throat.

There’s no way he means…

But what if there is?

You make a decision then, and when Will is getting his hand worked on in a different room you run to the cafeteria.

“Hey,” you yell at the lady behind the counter. “I’m gonna borrow this for a second!”

She looks at you like you’re a crazy person and you can’t blame her: you’re literally standing in your scrubs, screaming at her from the middle of the cafeteria after having just yanked a tiny Christmas tree from the table.

“Okay?” she yells back, and it sounds more like a question than a blessing, but you take it and run anyway.

Room 11 is still empty; although Will’s coat is still lying on the bed, so he must be coming back. You take the tiny tree and put it on the bed side table, plug it in.

There’s only about 10 lights in the tree, but when you flick off the big lights, it still looks pretty Christmassy.

And so, you wait.

To say you’re nervous would be an understatement; there’s every possibility in the world that Will has changed his mind since you last saw each other, and the last thing he wants is you confessing how much you like him in a hospital room after just having destroyed his hand, but you have to try.

Every time you think about bailing, you hear your dad’s voice in your head.

Sometimes it’s worth it to try.

This is one of those times.

“No strenuous activities, take it easy…” Finally you hear doctor Summers voice and you stand up.

The door opens tauntingly slowly, and there is Will. At first, his eyes widen as they catch the Christmas tree, and then his head swivels around and he sees you; a slow smile spreads across his face.

“A Christmas tree?” he asks.

“Well,” you smile, “you did say you wanted a Christmas miracle…”

“But you don’t like Christmas,” Will points out.

And that’s true, but…

You take a step closer and Will raises an eyebrow, questioning but not looking like he wants to run away.

“I don’t,” you admit. “I didn’t. But then something happened… Or, well, someone happened. And now I’m thinking that I might have to give Christmas a chance.” You’re standing right in front of Will, now, and he had all the time in the world to back off but he didn’t. Instead, he’s looking at you with an amused expression on his face, the corners of his mouth curled into a tentative smile.

“I think there might be a few things I have to give a chance,” you finish.

“God,” Will breathes. “I really hope you mean us.”

Instead of answering, you kiss him.

It feels somewhat familiar and yet as if you’ve never been kissed before: there’s fireworks in your stomach and everything feels warm and fuzzy, like nothing matters except for the feeling of Will’s lips on your lips, his chest pressed against yours.

“Y/N!” someone yells from the hallway, and you reluctantly pull away.

“I have to get back to work…”

“Okay,” Will whispers, pecks you cheek quickly. “But we’ll talk…”

“I’m done with work in an hour,” you interrupt.

Will nods. “I’ll tell Kappy he doesn’t have to pick me up.” He grins. “Unless you’d rather not drive in the snow?”

“Shut up,” you tell him, but it’s with nothing but fondness.

You’re already running to the hallway, ready to see the next patient, when you hear Will yell after you: “You said you hate snow!”

And that’s kinda true, but…

Sometimes, even if it messes up your plane, or gets you stuck in a snowstorm, or makes you fall on your ass…

You just have to let it snow.

[brideofcthulhu10]

Behold another Lost Boys holiday special! It was between this and Valentine’s day, but honestly I love writing Christmas specials, its such a cozy time despite the high suicide rates, but lets not get into that. A BIG SHOUT OUT TO @imlostinsantacarla FOR HELPING ME EDIT MY FINAL DRAFT!

Fun Fact! My husband, David (yes, that is actually his name) actually does have the bah humbug hat I mention in the head canons. He’s a heavy metal goth so when I found it at the store I had to get it for him. And you just know if our David found that, he wouldn’t be able to resist it!

Christmas with the Boys

Alright, so the whole touchy, feely and mushy feelings that surround even the topic of Christmas time is not something any of the boys will ever openly admit to enjoying. After all, they see themselves as these bad ass brutal killers who thrive off of death instead of holding hands and caroling with the goodie goodies of this coastal town. 

Yet, it's challenging for them not to get sucked into the glitz and glam of the holiday season. Everything is a big deal in Santa Carla. Dia De Los Muertos, Halloween, Thanksgiving- everything! But especially Christmas.

Christmas in Santa Carla dwarfs the frenzy craze of Halloween. The entirety of the boardwalk is decked out with red and green lights that are tightly wound around palm trees, red bulbous bows are wrapped tightly around street lamps, the reds and whites of velvety fabric swirl down the posts, creating the effect of candy canes. All the store windows are painted to appear frosted, or covered with painted snowmen whilst several rooftops are covered with white felt in which mimics the texture and sight of snow. Even the boats in the harbour are all extravagantly decorated in a sea of lights that parade around brightly at night in every color imaginable.

Between the dates of the 30th of November all the way to the 24th of December the city of Santa Carla hosts a plethora of wondrous events in it's annual Holiday Festival. Large green, white and red kiosks are erected, selling a wide range of baubles and treats, from delectable chocolate coated rice krispy Santa Clauses, elf candy apples caked in a plethora of dark chocolate and peppermint, to a variety of Holiday hats, masks and even hand made costumes by the many local artists. Even hand carved candles in wondrous scents of pine, mint, or spice.

Currently, David possesses a black fur Santa hat which he acquired on a night out that boasts the words "Bah Humbug" proudly sewn over the front. It's the only holiday attire he'll even humor. Last time Marko attempted to place reindeer antlers on his head, David had set them on fire roasting atop a pan of chestnuts. Now it's not to say that he's a grinch persay. Rather, the complex and intense emotions that come hand in hand with Christmas can leave him perpetually indifferent at best, disdainful at worst. The whole occasion leaves him displeased. After all, he was an orphan who had been almost eagerly abandoned by his hooker mother left to fend for himself from the beginning, and  of course never met his father. Even she could not identify which of her many clients may have been responsible. Most of his mortal life he had lived as a street rat, barely making ends meet by picking the pockets of tourists and Santa Carla citizens oblivious to the true dangers of the lower side of town. The rich and uppity classes who often snubbed their entitled noses his way would never suspect as he lurks between alleyways, leaving them cornered at knife point. It was scarce that he ever did see a kind face in the sea of those who had little interest for anyone that was not themselves. Back then it was rather uncommon for anyone to step outside their own little lives, which led to most interactions, outside of the other boys, having been met with great hostility, thus he had learned to be just as equally hostile in turn. Even the mere thought of anyone suddenly dawning a false kindness due to a certain time of year simply agitated David. It rattled him to the very core in a way very few other things did. Why bother with the lies? Couldn't people just face the very basic fact that they weren't nearly as charitable as they often deemed themselves to be? I mean, the young man had seen firsthand a family having previously snubbed a dirty homeless man with appalled disdain at the sight of his muddied clothes and dirt stained skin, only to then begin volunteering at a soup kitchen to purge whatever guilt they carried on their conscience once the holiday season began. The whole ordeal was pitiful! Nevertheless, - more so for Paul and Marko's sakes than his own -, he did humor these traditions amongst the holiday's festivities. Ruining a good time just wasn't his style. Unless they started fucking singing.

Most traditions David could tolerate, some he even enjoyed slightly; although he would never be caught dead admitting something as embarrassing as that! However, he just couldn't stand Christmas carols! They were the bain to his immortal existence. The repetitive nature of these overly cheery jingles left him covering his ears lest they nest in his brain leaving him humming the same damn melody for weeks. This was the case because the dynamic duo of dumbasses were well aware of his hatred for Rudolph the Red Nosed fuckin' roadkill! Stupid red nosed abomination. 

“OOOOOOH-,” Paul begins with cheerful mischief.

“Don’t. You. Fucking. Dare.” David seethes through tightly clenched teeth, eyes screwed shut in indignance. 

Paul hesitates. He looks at Marko. Marko looks at Paul. Wicked grins of agreement spread wide like wildfire across their faces as their master plan comes into play. Full throttle. What’s more fun than annoying the shit out of David? One on the left, the other on the opposite side of the cave on the right. This was nothing but Divine perfection if you asked the two troublesome vampires.

“OOOOOH DASHING THROUGH THE SNOW!” Paul belted out at full volume.

“IN A ONE HORSE OPEN SLEIGH!” Marko followed in suit, the widest eerie grin plastered on his face.

“OVER THE HILLS WE GOOOO” Paul howled enthusiastically. 

“I WILL FUCKING KILL YOU BOTH!” David's voice hit a whole new octave it had never in all his life so far. All the while Dwayne had opted to vacate the room lest he be caught in the middle of the escalating madness with Laddie in tow. He loved these guys, but not enough to dive head first into their fuckery.

Paul thrives during the Christmas holidays! How could he not? The food, the punk rock covers of Christmas songs, the absolute babes prancing around the town in Santa hats under mistletoe?! He loved it all! You can find him sneaking under mistletoe with many sweet honeys on a constant basis, regardless of whether or not he's acquainted with them. Most do roll their eyes or laugh it off, but every once in a blue moon the guy will get a little lovin' from a beach babe in the Yuletide mood. What else could he ask for? You can bet he’ll run into the woods December first, and quite literally RIP a pine tree out of the ground to bring home like a wee carrot being plucked from the ground. The bigger the better! He may even drag Dwayne or Marko along with him if it's too big for him to carry himself. And all the boozy drinks he can concoct up? This boy is in his element! Mulled wine, spiked eggnog, candy cane vodka, butterscotch bourbon hot chocolate?! Yes! David straight up refuses to try anything that Paul creates himself (remember the concoction he made in Max's kitchen? Those poor goldfish....) which is also another reason why he has Dwayne help him. Or rather, the other boys insist the most responsible of them monitors the blonde lest he poison them with some sickly brew. That, and the fact that Dwayne's the least likely out of all of them to blow up the damn kitchen!

Dwayne is indeed the designated cook during the holiday rush, albeit a field even he tends to struggle. Avoiding the kitchen catching aflame, perfecting his craft lest he blow up the stove, leaving only a pile of ash in its wake. As previously mentioned, ever since the dreadful chain of events that lead to the unfortunate destruction of Max's kitchen, this raven haired vampire has attempted his hand at learning to use a stove properly: Although he often finds himself forgetting ingredients either in the midst of cooking or after the final product is done and he's taken a big bite. 

“Shit! I forgot the milk and eggs!” Dwayne grumbled with a mouthful of dry crumbs, a true disgrace of a cookie.

Paul always gives him crap for it of course.

“Oooh I just thought you were going for a sandy, dusty dry cookie kinda thing.”

"Yeah man, these taste like ass!" Marko would cough out in midst of choking. 

"And what, like you dumbasses could do any better," Dwayne retorts with a huff. Only Star manages to have any manners when testing his failed baking endeavors.

"Well I mean, the taste isn't that bad. Just a little dry is all."

"At least Marko wouldn't be choking to death." David would mutter from the darkest corner of the room, a little late in the conversation.

In all honesty, Dwayne's biggest motivation when it came to improving his skills was obviously Laddie. The kid never got much of a Christmas whilst living with his mom, so now that he was with the boys, he wanted to ensure that Christmas's were something that Laddie would remember for all eternity. Though granted, it is quite the mess when he was helping in the kitchen. But when the mini vamp grins from ear to ear whilst coated in flour and rapidly stirring an overflowing bowl of chunky cookie dough--the sight is too freaking cute!

Since Laddie joined the boys, they participate in Secret Santa every single year, which definitely includes Paul bursting through the entrance of the hotel as Santa on Christmas day. We won't talk about the fact that each year he almost falls flat on his face and swears, ruining the surprise for the kid. 

"Santa where are your reindeer," he'd question, to which Santa Paul scoffs

"Pff, reindeer, I don't need any fucki- Ow," cut off by a firm and covert kick to the shin from Star, Paul quickly changes his response. "Oh! Ho ho, well, you see little boy, Santa can fly too! On his, uh, uhm… magic motorcycle! Yeah, that!"

But it's okay because Laddie already KNEW (he figured it out a year or two ago after Paul's beard fell off not once, but three times), he just doesn't have the heart to tell any of them because, well Paul really gets into it. And he knows the others are playing along for his sake. But to be fair, Laddie would have to be pretty dumb to believe it was Santa. I mean, the beard Paul's wearing is hanging half off his face by this point! But anyway, just like Paul's style, the entirety of the goody two shoes schpiel is thrown out the window, replaced with sleeves that have been ripped off, muddy boots, spiked bracelets and his Metallica shirt in full view beneath his flared red coat. He calls this BIKER CLAUS!

Laddie is not a squasher of traditions! But there was the one time that David had to intervene when Paul and Dwayne thought it would be great to use Laddie as the star at the top of the tree. David practically had a heart attack. Well, that's impossible but it still felt like he was having one!  

“Ho ho ho! Now, don’t be a bitch, little David or Santa will have to give you coal.” Paul stated mockingly to David, brows furrowed. 

“Well, Santa,” David scolds, a wry smile developing on his face when setting down the eight year old now off to shake his presents beneath their behemoth of a tree. “You best be careful. You never know what's in those milk and cookies, hm?”

Each year Marko buys bird toys for the pigeons in the hotel. Well, buy is probably the wrong word. More like he liberates the stores of their stock. And then for the next six months, David has to hear the agonizing jingle of bells. David almost roasted one pigeon in particular that kept flying over him to drop the ball with a bell in it on his head. That was Paul's entertainment for the next five hours, hell, he'd try to find it if the bird lost it and give it back. Marko defends the pigeon. Between running through stores buying up surprises for his friends, he's helping Paul throw out decorations for the cave. The dollar store has some surprisingly unexpected treasures, allowing him to deck the fucking halls to the max. Tinsel here, ornaments there,  tiny light up trees to hide around the caves, a butt ton of cinnamon pine cones which he ends up throwing back and forth with Paul.

And Paul often steals his gifts or goes dumpster diving for any hidden gems. He forgets to take the tags off of them the majority of the time, which is always an indicator whether or not its new. Any time Star asks where he got them from he refuses to answer. Just gets up and walks away. But for David's gift? Well this lucky bastard has found coal in the dumpster and chucks it to David when he's not looking and he sighs deeply in disappointment because this is the third year Paul has done this. 

 "Huh? What? Who did that? Wasn't me. Somebody's throwing stuff."

Other than that he'll find a fat bag of charcoal and just tape the name David on it. David is certainly not amused. Dwayne will actually try to figure out what the others want, and has the sense to save the money taken from their previous meals. After all, they're dead, they wouldn't have much use for it anyway. He's not about to waste his hypnosis on some poor cashier. That would be a waste of time in his eyes. 

When Christmas did arrive the tree was piled with mysterious boxes crudely mashed and taped together with bows and ribbons underneath it. It's obvious which ones are from Star since those gifts are wrapped in neatly pressed paper, wound tight beneath curled ribbons that remind the boys of her hair. Marko often goes on a food run rather than allow them all to be subjected to a potentially charred turkey, no offense to Dwayne of course. So, with a table covered from end to end with copious bowls of gravy, potatoes, candied sweet potatoes, a beast of a turkey in the center packed to the brim with cornbread stuffing, the boys cram into their chairs knocking back beers and spiked cider. Keeping to their own traditions, after fattening up, they gather around the tree and play card games, just as they had over eighty years ago on that frigid night. David still slays them in poker, and Marko is an utter dark horse when it comes to blackjack. Paul insists they try Go Fish. No one ever wants to play Go Fish. Closer towards the end of the night Dwayne will slip away to Jasper's shrine and bring him a fresh glass of rum as well as unwrapping what he got him that year. While Dwayne is there, the other boys will join him - omitting Star and Laddie left unaware of the Lost Boy they'd never met - in celebrating the last hour or so of the Holiday season with their fallen comrade.

Although Christmas time is often about uncomfortable mushy moments and emotions that create deep, unfamiliar times for David. The entire ordeal becomes that for everyone of the boys and Star. But God forbid anyone who even mentions it! I mean, it's kinda obvious though considering he's spending it with the people he always called family, knee deep in traditions that are sentimental to himself and the boys. There's a fluster of emotions running rampant during this particular Holiday Season, and although the blonde brooding vampire decides to squint at it with skepticism he savors these moments, knowing like Jasper, it could all be swept away with a single ray of light or the foolish hand of a hunter. So as they sit, drunk, full, and laughing beside Jasper's grave he can't help but smile at the sentimentality of it all. Christmas is a pain in the ass, but… it's a pain he'll gladly sit through for his brothers.

[atc74]

New Adventures

Warnings: Established poly relationship, fluff, pregnancy, birth, slight angst if you squint, fluff. 

Summary: Jared, Jensen, and Y/N give an exclusive interview, breaking the news of their relationship and pregnancy to the public. Baby is born and they celebrate Christmas. 

Pairing: J2 x Reader

Word Count: 1916

Beta’d by: no beta, all mistakes are my own. Images found on google and pinterest. 

A/N: This has a few time jumps in it to fit it in for the Holidays! This is the last installment of To New Beginnings, which originally started as most definitely not a request from @supernatural-jackles, who told me she would love to see me write a J2 x Reader. It has exceeded my expectations and I hope yours too!

As a reminder, this is a work of fiction and should be regarded as such. No harm is intended toward the actor(s) or their families.

The days following the wrap party were filled with nerves for Jared, Jensen, and Y/N. After deciding to invite Samantha Highfill and Entertainment Weekly into their home, giving them an exclusive about their relationship and the baby, they were all excited, but definitely nervous. One month felt like a long time, but before they knew it, there was a camera crew set up in their living room.

“How do you feel now, having said goodbye to Dean and Sam Winchester, and Y/C/N?” Sam started off easy. 

“We’ve had this question at conventions before and even now, the answer is the same,” Jensen began. “It’s not goodbye. Sam and Dean have been a part of us for the last fifteen years. I know Dean as well as I know myself and he’ll always be here.” He patted his chest. 

“Jensen’s right. I was Y/C/N for only five years, but she’ll always be a part of me. We put so much of ourselves into our characters, that they’ll never truly be gone,” Y/N added. 

Jared cleared his throat, clearly already a little emotional. “Never. As long as we, and the Supernatural family, are around, they’ll always be here.” 

The easy questions continued for about thirty minutes, not that the next question Sam asked was difficult, but they all knew it was coming and this was the one they had prepared for all week. 

“So what projects are on the horizon for you guys? Jensen, what do you have lined up?” Sam looked to Jensen first. 

“It’s odd, you know? For the first time in twenty-three years, I am officially unemployed. I decided to take some time off, indefinitely. We’ll still be doing conventions here and there, and there’s the charity work, but I haven’t signed on for anything, filming wise,” Jensen informed her. 

“Nothing caught your eye, yet?” Sam assumed. 

“No, it’s nothing like that. We’ve all had some very interesting scripts sent to us, but for the time being, we’re concentrating on ourselves, our family, for the first time in a long time,” Jared added. 

“What about you, Y/N? You taking time off, too?” Samantha inquired, hoping at least one of them had some interesting news to share. “Tell me you’ve got some top secret role up your sleeve for us.” 

“There’s literally nothing up my sleeve, as you can see” Y/N laughed lifting her arms in her flowing tank, growing a little more nervous now that the attention was solely on her. “But I am taking on a new role before the end of the year.” 

“That’s great! Care to share some juicy details about your new role?” Sam exclaimed. 

“Well, I can tell you I am incredibly excited and terrified at the same time. It’s going to be a long term role, but I have the two best partners a girl could ask for going into it. It will be my most extensive and hopefully my most prominent role ever,” Y/N rattled. 

“Sounds exhilarating! Is the role filled with some badassery in true Y/C/N fashion?” Sam winked at her. 

“She will definitely be the badassest in this new role,” Jared laughed. 

“Dude, that is not a word,” Jensen sighed. “I think what Jared is not so eloquently trying to say is that while the role is still being developed, Y/N here will be amazing and more than perfect for it.”

“Thank you both. I know we’ve got you more than a little perplexed, Sam. It’s motherhood. I’m pregnant,” Y/N finally blurted it out. They hadn’t told many people, only their immediate family and close friends. It felt real telling someone they barely knew and only in a professional capacity. 

“What? Wow! Congratulations, Y/N! Who is the lucky man?” 

“Well, that’s another story altogether,” Y/N said quietly. Jared and Jensen immediately picked up on her increased nervousness. Each of them picked up one of her hands in theirs and held tight. 

“We are,” Jared and Jensen said at the same time. 

The look on the journalists face told them she definitely was not expecting their answer and it took a moment for her to pull her thoughts together. “The three of you are...together then?” 

“Polyamorus relationships remain taboo in this day and age, but throughout history they were quite common. No one person can give you everything you need. There are so many facets to a relationship and being someone’s everything is a hell of a lot of pressure, when you think about it. I personally feel that’s why more than half of marriages end in divorce. We’ve been together for about eighteen months now and every day keeps getting better,” Jared explained. “And the new roles we’ve embarked on are going to be our most extraordinary.”

“I’m thrilled to be a father. Scared as hell, but I know it will be worth every sleepless night,” Jensen interjected. 

“Do you know which one of you is the father?” Samantha asked. 

“We don’t know and we’re not going to find out,” Y/N began. “To us, it doesn’t matter. This baby will be loved beyond belief.” 

“Our DNA? Mine or Jared’s, won’t dictate how much love we already have for this baby. We’re halfway to meeting our little bundle of joy and none of us can wait to truly begin this new chapter of our lives,” Jensen elaborated. 

“It’s all about nurture for this baby. Nature will have nothing to do with it,” Jared added. 

The interview continued for a few more minutes and as soon as the door closed, Y/N collapsed into a heap on the sofa. “I’m exhausted!”

“That was intense, but you were great, darlin’,” Jensen sat beside her, pulling her feet into his lap and rubbing them gently. 

“I know we said we were ready, but now, I’m even more nervous,” Y/N admitted. “What if people hate us? They’re going to think we’re crazy!”

“Hey, hey now. We talked about this. Those that matter don’t care and those that care don’t matter, right? All that matters is how we feel and what we know to be the truth,” Jared reminded her, taking a seat as well, placing her head in his lap. “There will be haters no matter what, but there will also be a fuck ton of people that are really happy for us.” 

“I know and you’re right. Thank you. I’m going to take a nap, but we’re still going shopping for the nursery, right?” Y/N looked up at both her men and they nodded in agreement. Jensen covered her with a light blanket, both of them kissing her softly before letting her rest. They decided to finish cleaning out one of the spare rooms that they planned on for the nursery. The next four months would go by in the blink of an eye. 

~*~

“I hate you both!” Y/N screamed at the top of her lungs as another contraction seized her body and she pushed once again. Y/N had been admitted to the hospital four hours earlier after her water broke. 

“Darlin’, you’re doing such a good job. We’re so proud of you. Just a few more pushes and you’ll be done and we’ll have our baby in our arms, okay?” Jensen encouraged from his spot on her right. One hand under her knee, the other in a death grip in hers. 

“You’re so strong, baby. We love you so much,” Jared cooed, pressing a gentle kiss to her sweat soaked hairline. Her body relaxed slightly as the contraction eased, but he knew they weren’t done yet. 

“I love you. I’m sorry I yelled,” Y/N cried. Her body was sore and exhausted from the labor. She didn’t think she could go on and then another contraction hit. 

“Okay, Y/N, one more and the baby’s head should be out. Push hard for me,” the doctor instructed. “Dads, help her out, we’re almost there.”

Tears feel freely from her eyes as she bore down, Jared and Jensen each pushing her legs up and her back forward as she pushed. Screams tore through the room. Jared and Jensen caught each others eyes, both wet with their own tears, because they knew there was absolutely nothing they could do to make it easier on her. 

“Okay, the head is out! One more hard push, Mama, and your baby will be here,” the doctor informed them. A moment later, a cry sounded and it gave Y/N the strength to keep going. 

Y/N gave it her all and she felt the pressure ease. “It’s a boy!”

Born one week early on Halloween of all days, Jack Winchester Padalecki-Ackles weighed in at a very healthy eight pounds, three ounces and twenty-one inches long. Wrapped in a soft blanket, he slept peacefully in his mother’s arms, a bright orange pumpkin cap on his head. 

~*~

The room was lit only by the lights of the Christmas tree and the moon shining through the large glass windows overlooking the mountains of Vancouver. Y/N sat nestled comfortably on the sofa, nursing Jack before bed. Christmas had been a busy time for the new family with all three sets of parents visiting to spend time with them. 

Jensen carried a tray of hot chocolate and set it down on the table in front of her. As she shifted Jack over her shoulder to burp him, Jared swooped him up, Jensen handing her a steaming mug. “Take a break, darlin’.” 

An enormous belch escaped their baby and the three of them giggled softly. 

“Our first Christmas as a family is in the books,” Jared said quietly, Jack dozing in his father’s arms. 

“And a great Christmas it was,” Jensen added, taking a sip of his cocoa. 

“Mhmm,” Y/N agreed, yawning contentedly, a small smile tugging at her lips. “But it’s not over yet. Jen, would you check Jack’s stocking one more time, please?”

“What did you do now, Y/N?” he chuckled, getting up and moving to the mantle. He pulled a small package from inside the hand knitted stocking and returned to the sofa. 

“Well, open it!” Y/N insisted, the smile on her face growing with each passing second. 

Jensen tore the paper open and revealed a small flat box. Ripping the tape from the sides, he lifted the top and his eyes went wide as saucers. Jensen looked up from the gift, meeting her gaze first, then Jared’s. “Are you serious?” 

She nodded excitedly. “I know we didn’t exactly talk about it, but we also didn’t do anything to prevent it. By next Christmas, we’ll have another baby. Merry Christmas, Jen. And you too, Jared.” She leaned over kissing them both, before placing a soft kiss to the top of Jack’s head, his fine hair tickling her lips. 

Jared took the box from Jensen and looked at the small shirt inside. “Big brother.” 

“I’m loving this new adventure,” Jensen declared, wrapping his arm around Y/N tightly and kissing her lips. 

Jared reached over, taking her hand in his. “This really is the best adventure ever and there isn’t anyone I’d rather share it with than the two of you and our little ones.” 

The Whole Enchilada: @iwantthedean @dolphincliffs @mrswhozeewhatsis @meganwinchester1999 @cherrycokegirls1 @closetspngirl  @roxyspearing @flamencodiva @blacktithe7 @sis-tafics @just-another-busyfangirl @evansrogerskitten @amanda-teaches @hannahindie @wotinspntarnation @winchesterprincessbride @winecatsandpizza @kickingitwithkirk  @wi-deangirl77 @hobby27 @mogaruke @gh0stgurl @alleiradayne @idreamofplaid @seenashwrite @manawhaat @crashdevlin @thoughtslikeaminefield​ @emoryhemsworth

The Dean’s List/Jensen’s Jamboree: @jerkbitchidjitassbutt​ @dean-winchesters-bacon​ @maddiepants​  @adoptdontshoppets​ @supernatural-jackles​ @akshi8278​

The Sam Sin-dicate / Jared’s Menagerie: @supernatural-jackles

[surveys-at-your-service]

Survey #306

i’m v talkative today so pardon my jabbering below.

What is the strangest type of candy you have eaten? I think I've had one of those lollipops with a bug in it before as a kid? I don't remember. What would be your most ideal profession? A freelance photographer. But I'm honestly starting to lose hope. Have you tried those coloring books for adults? Yeah; it's funny you mention 'em, 'cuz a family friend got me one for my birthday earlier this month. What is a topic you definitely don't want to talk about with anyone? I don't like talking about my sexual history, doesn't matter who you are. It's just uncomfortable. What was your first gaming console? An Atari. Is there something you're eagerly waiting for? What is it? *SLAMS FISTS ON TABLE* MAY NEEDS TO FUCKIN' HURRY. My tattoo appointment is set then. :''') Do you/have you ever belonged to an organization? If so, which one? I was a Girl Scout when I was young. What is something you're very passionate about? Nature conservation, gay rights (equal rights in general, really), the pro-choice movement, and then there are less "important" things like certain hobbies interests and such. I'm sure there are more big ones that are just slipping my mind right now, considering I feel passionately for a shitload of stuff. What are you studying or what was the last thing you studied? I majored in Art & Design with a focus on Photography in college. But guess who dropped out. What was the last present you gave someone? I don't know... I mention enough that I don't have a source of income where I can really buy anything. I think the last thing I did was a Christmas gift for Mom a year or two back of a drawing I did of our late dog Cali, whom she absolutely adored. Do you enjoy plays? If so, what was the latest one you saw? Not really, no. What was the last thing you achieved? PHP has helped me focus on little victories, so prepare for an underwhelming answer haha, but it's something. I Facebook messaged an old friend I really wanted to catch up with, and everyone in group cheered for me. :') It was really heartwarming. What a shocker that this program is really helping me once again. What is something you would like to achieve at some point in your life? I would love love love to take at least one "famous" or award-winning photograph. It'd be such amazing validation that I'm talented at something I love so much. What is one philosophy you have regarding life/living/purpose? That's... difficult to answer seeing as I'm trying desperately to find my purpose. I do try to live by this old quote a therapist said once: "Deal with life, or life deals with you." I think it holds an incredible amount of depth and meaning in such a short phrase. How would you design the inside of your own home? I don't know the details of it, really, besides that shit is gonna look like a Halloween house year-round. I can imagine wanting black furniture, too, and having loooots of decor expressive of what I love and find comfort in. Gotta make a house feel like a home just for me. What is a band you remember liking from your childhood? Backstreet Boys, duh. Do you ever get mad at people for not having the same opinion as you (i.e. abortion being wrong/right, meat-eating being wrong/right)? Two things: it depends on the topic, and "get mad" is the wrong term for what I feel. It's more disgust; ex., I'm repulsed by anti-gay rights people and want absolutely nothing to do with 'em, but I'm not like, mad at them. Do you edit any of your pictures? In what ways? Oh yeah, and it definitely depends on the raw photograph. I edit depending on the mood it emanates; like if you've seen my roadkill photography versus nature shots, there is an extremely distinct difference in editing style and vibe. I'd say in general though, I tend to like to brighten my photographs and add more vibrance. If you like to take pictures, what is your motivation? God, I could write an essay on this. I just love and am so thankful for the fact we can literally freeze time forever with the click of a button and look back on fantastic sights, beautiful moments, memories... It's just magical to me, and I adore contributing to that art. Would you ever consider living anywhere cold? Well yeah, that's my preference, actually. What is your absolute favorite food? The spicy shrimp fritas from Olive Garden, jfc. Would you ever wear snake-skin pants, or other animal clothing? Fuck to the absolute hell no. What foreign country would you like to go to for a shopping spree? Idk, considering I'm not well-versed in the artistic creations of other countries. Perhaps India? Japan? I dunno. If you met your favorite musician, what would you ask him/her? I'm asking for his fucking autograph and a hug while I smile my face in two AND cry lmao. What do you spend most of your day thinking about? I ain't gonna bullshit nobody, my PTSD. In some way or another, he's lurking in that head of mine through memories, flashbacks, wonders of what could have gone differently... but thank God it's no longer in the forefront of my mind after my first PHP. I've come very, very far, but especially when trying to blank out my mind to fall asleep, parts of PTSD strangle my brain until I'm just finally out. I really hope that changes someday. Where is a busy place you would like to go to? Yikes, nowhere, really. I like to avoid busy locations. Do you think video games cause people to become violent? Absolutely not. You are responsible for the decisions you make; music, games, movies, etc. have no deciding voice in stupid shit you do, and it's bullshit that people blame art and entertainment for such things. Vocabulary: What was the last word you learned? I'm unsure. Have you or could you build your own site? Absolutely not from scratch. The closest I've gotten to that is my photography website, but it was through the assistance of Wix. What's the best thing you can cook yourself? Scrambled eggs, haha. I do make some bomb eggs at least. Are there a lot of graffiti around your neighborhood? No. Do you have a hobby that forces you out of the house? If so, what is it? Nature photography. Would you stop eating meat, if you had to raise and slaughter it yourself? Absolutely. God, I want to go vegetarian again... Besides English, what other languages can you speak? I can speak a very little bit of German. Took four semesters of it in high school and became very good at it, but lack of practice has pretty much ruined that. Besides English, what other languages can you read? I can read German well; as in, I can pronounce most words I see, but that doesn't mean I understand what is written. Do you think you could make it as a chef? Gordon Ramsey would deadass kick me off his show on day one, lmao. What's your favorite kind of tea? It marvels me JUST how many tea and coffee questions are in surveys. Anyway, I don't like tea. I am an embarrassment to NC culture. What thing/person/happening has made you the happiest you've been? lask;dfjal;wekrjwe What's the most freeing thing you've ever done? Stealing my happiness back from someone who had no right to hold it all in its entirety. That shit's mine. Do you think today's kids are really impatient? Most, probably, but in some ways I can understand it - at least, in the sense that with the assistance of modern technology and advancements in satiating our wants so quickly, kids just expect it. I definitely believe that patience is something to try to be deeply instilled in everyone, though. I don't have an ounce of it (in most situations) and wish I did. Have you ever tasted birch sap? No. How about the young buds/shoots of spruce trees? No. Which edible flowers have you tasted? One of my favorite Southern experiences is finding a bunch of honeysuckles and tasting the honey (is it technically even honey??). Tastes amazing. My family's hairdresser lives down a beautiful path that sprouts a massive amount of them, and as kids, my sisters and her two boys would go tasting them while our parents talked for so long, or if we were waiting our turn. Good memories. What has been your worst restaurant experience? I'm not sure, really. What's the most immature, adolescent thing that still makes you laugh? "Inappropriate humor type jokes." <<<< They can get me sometimes, too. Have you ever had a life-threatening condition? If so, what was it? No, thankfully. Have you ever had a custom print done on a shirt? If so, what was it? I don't believe so, no. Besides making a tye-dye one in HS with our school colors. Wasn't my idea and never wore it, haha. Do you ever read other people's survey answers? It depends on the person. If it's a friend, absolutely, because I love learning usually obscure things about them I wouldn't have known otherwise. If it's a user I don't know from wherever I got the survey, sometimes, depending on how short the answer is and my eyes kinda just scroll over it. Do you like daytime or night time better? Why? Daytime, especially mornings. I'm generally happier when there's light around. What's your highest level of education so far? Some college. Describe your ordinary day: My average day is embarrassingly uneventful. It's sitting on the laptop doing shit on various sites, none of which are actually important, and playing WoW, which is also without true substance, save for social interactions with my friends on there. I spray Venus' terrarium everyday multiple times as well to keep the humidity up, and obviously eat and handle that kinda bodily needs stuff. Would you ever have a UV tattoo? Ugh, that'd be so dope. I've seen some awesome ones, but idk if I'd get one, considering when am I actually going to be under UV light?? Like I wanna be able to see my tat. What is the brand and color name of your favorite lipstick? I have one black lipstick, but it comes right off so I don't even like it. I only ever put it on to take pictures. What do you like on your tortilla? Just ham and cheese. How about inside your pita bread? I've never had pita bread, actually. What do you like in your burger? It depends on where I'm getting the burger. My basic is cheese, ketchup, mustard, a bit of mayo, pickles, and a light sprinkle of diced onion, but sometimes I add bacon and take away the onions. How about on your pizza? I have three I tend to pick from: pepperoni, jalapeno, or meat lovers. Do you work better alone or in a group? Alone, definitely. Which body part would you not mind losing? I'ma be extremely honest, with just how horribly weak my legs are, I could live without them, I guess. Not saying I want to by any means, it's just exhausting using them. Ideally, I'd take away something minor, like a finger or something. What common saying people use is absolute BS to you? “'Everything happens for a reason.'” <<<< Fuckin' colossal "same." I won't rag on people who believe it, especially if it gives you courage to keep moving forward, but I don't believe it in the slightest. If it were so, I'd like to talk to whoever is in control of those "reasons," please. What is the most interesting thing you’ve read or seen this week? I had no idea elephants were pregnant for two years, like holy shit, can you imagine. It was in an article I saw on Facebook about a mother and daughter elephant who are both expecting and doing well. Wonderful to hear. What’s the most useless talent you have? Ha, I'm a master in the arts of catastrophizing and jumping to conclusions involving people hating me in one way or another. What’s something everyone looks stupid doing? I'm one of those people who hate dabbing done by anybody, like you look like you're just smelling your armpit. Which kids’ movie scarred you for life? I wouldn't say "scarred me for life" by any means, but when I was little, I was terrified of the Wicked Witch from The Wizard of Oz and even had nightmares about her. It sucked because my little sister was obsessed with that movie, haha. In one sentence, how would you sum up the Internet? A source of incredible knowledge but also hate and misinformation. What would be the most ridiculous thing for the government to make illegal? I literally dread the idea of Roe vs. Wade being reversed. Banning abortion would kill so many people with operational uteruses and cause absolute pandemonium. How many friends do you have on social media and how many of them do you know for real? On Facebook, I have 124 friends, and I'd say I know most of them "in real life." However, having been on the Internet since I was so young and befriending loads of incredible people, a good chunk are "online friends." Hell, I'm more interested in their lives than most "real" ones. Long-distance friendships are so valid. What fact amazes you every time you think of it? Lots of things, generally regarding the stupidity of humanity. What’s the most spontaneous thing you’ve ever done? Probably going to the beach w/ my old friend Colleen. We had zero plans of doing it, but she just called me one morning and asked if I wanted to go, and off we went. It was a fun day. What has taken up too much of your life? I'ma be real, WoW. I don't think I'm addicted to it like I once was seeing as I go through spans where I barely want to play it at all and don't, so I truly am capable of not playing it, but rather it's just the most entertaining way to kill time in my life. I just don't like how much time I've invested into a game over six or seven years regardless. Where do you not mind waiting? Uh, nowhere lmao. Is there an app you hate to use, but still use every day? No; why would I use it if that was the case? Who is the funniest person you know? My friend Girt is fucking hysterical. What three words describe you best? Complex, passionate, and creative. What makes you think you’re smart? Lol who says I think I'm smart? Who inspires you? Korean Jesus. Okay on a serious note, not just him, of course, but he's #1 in an entire universe of ways. Do you aspire to be like somebody else? If so, who? No; I want to be my own authentic self. How did you meet your best friend? YouTube, back when it had more social aspects. Which one of your accomplishments are you the most proud of? I want to say my recovery, but like... I wonder a lot if it's "enough" to be proud of with how scarred I still am? I still struggle with a lot and feel like I could be so much better by now if I tried harder. If I'm completely honest with myself, I think it's finishing high school in the top percentile of my graduating class. There was a ceremony for the handful of us and all, and I cherish my plaque probably too much. Reminds me of a time when I knew what the fuck I was doing. What's the strangest thing you ever did as a child? Thinking I had "animal powers" where I could invoke the traits of certain animals at will, like what the actual fuck, Brittany. What did your mother teach you? Christ, a lot. Dad didn't do a lot of the raising, honestly, so much of my core values and whatnot were instilled by my mother. She taught me to care for and be nice to others, respect myself, try my best in everything, and most importantly that she is always there for me and my sisters no matter what and can tell her absolutely anything. She was very serious about us going to college and saving sex for marriage when we were younger, but she diverged from those ideas as absolutely necessary with experience. I'm extremely lucky with who I call my mom, overall. What did your father teach you? Eek... Read above. Not a lot as a kid (save for riding a bike and playing softball); most he's taught me has come following reuniting with him after my parents' divorce. I remember we went to lunch once and talked about my breakup, and he talked to me about sometimes, you just have to let people go in order to be happy, like with him and Mom. He's very serious now about ensuring us girls know that he is always there for us and will help us in any way he's capable. What makes you feel powerful? "Powerful" isn't something I really feel, if I'm being real. What are you ready to let go? It would be inexplicably fantastic if I could let every speck of Jason go in both my head and heart. What is your most bizarre deal-breaker? I don't really find any of my expectations and limits as "bizarre?" They're all valid to me. Well wait, idk if you'd find it strange that I absofuckinglutely would not date someone who hunts, but it's not to me. That's a difference in a very serious value to me. Would you rather be hated or forgotten? Hated. God, I don't want to leave this earth having given just nothing. I can live with some people hating me for whatever reason. What’s the biggest personal change you’ve made? Accepting my bisexuality, probably. That's something that I consider pretty big for two reasons: 1.) I could end up with a woman forever, and especially 2.) I was originally homophobic. I still have difficulty in fathoming how I ever was. What are some of your short-term goals? PHP is finally starting to make me build these again. I want to get better at selfcare, draw, write, and read more, I want to drink a lot more water, exercise way more... Lots of things, really. What is the weirdest thing about you? Uh. I dunno. Probably that I RP meerkats, which is a very obscure RP niche for sure.

[crystu-cii]

OF COURSE!!!! I'd say you're hella close to it!!! Definitely closer than I am XDD 💖💞💝💕💝❤️💕💕❤️ A G R EED /hj XDD

Yeah ;w; oohh that sounds super interesting!! I can understand not pursuing a story tho, stories are d i f f icult-- XD fun, but difficult, and you need an attention span for them! (Why do you think I only write one page stories??)

OMS yessss that's so accurate tho-- like I haven't changed much if I'm being honest (I spend a LOT of time inside.. XD) awww-- I can understand that- in japan we didn't have a backyard, so I stopped going outside much at all-- occasionally I biked to convenience stores or walked to vending machines, that was cool, but no backyard :/ having no backyard sUCks, like where am I supposed to scream into the void?? INSIDE?? /j

OMS-- CRYS XDD what a Mood™ tho- "oh I'm gonna continue this thing!!" *does something else entirely*

XDD It was done Against My Will™ (get Against My Will on the album I Haven't Awoken Well Rested Since I Was A Child by the band The Bags Under My Eyes Aren't Makeup! XD) MOOD-- I spent the quarantine summer doing nothing but staying up until the sun rose and sleeping until it was at its peak- where did the time goooo

I AGREE HOW DARE HE- LIKE EXCUSE?? YOU TINY HEATHEN??? anyways now I'm trying to go back to squirting him with a squirt bottle to startle him(even tho he's a fan of water, the harsh spray startles him) but anyways thank you crysss I'm never getting a cat in my life now bc of this rude child (dogs are superior anyways /hj)

(and now time to reply to the OTHER ask cause I'm efficient and not going to send two separate asks to respond to things that can be responded to at the same time.. ....why did I even ramble about that wtf henry(huh I never refer to myself by name that felt weird))

Okay!! No worries dude, you can always take your time with replies, I just don't trust tumblr XD 💞❤️💕💝💝💖💕❤️💖 of course!!! Thank you!!! 💖💕💕💖💞💕

Oooh!!! That sounds super fun!!! Man I miss hanging out with my friends-- but my closest friend(lives in my neighborhood) has a parent who works in other people's houses, so high risk, and the rest live several hours away :)) but anyways yeah that sounds hella!!!! I love that y'all were just like "okay well. we're gonna hang out anyways." XDD

Aww-- I'm glad you are!! My brother and his bf were supposed to come but I think we have to postpone that cause someone in his workplace tested positive for covid :( YESS FOODDDD-- oooh cheesecake?? I've never heard of having it on Thanksgiving!! Usually we have pumpkin, cherry, apple, and pecan pies!! (We're having pumpkin and cherry ones this yeah!! Two pumpkin pies, a cherry pie, and a cherry cobbler--) I... Have never heard of pineapple pie in my life! Sounds like it would make pineapple-on-pizza haters burst into tears tho--

YOURE WHAT-- CRYS YOU HEATHEN IT IS NOVEMBER!!!!! /j I can't stand Christmas music, being a choir student made me not be a huge fan of it-- too much Christmas music.. ugh. (Straight no chaser is tolerable at least. And Pentatonix. And covers by artists I like. But if I have to hear Jingle Bells ONE MORE TIME--) YESSS BESTOW UPON ME THOU'S PRESENCE AND PRESENTS... Ooh nice!! Pfft XDD Yess- I have multiple on my wishlist-- mostly for the switch-- OMS I CAN'T BELIEVE I DIDN'T ASK FOR THSC-- MAYBE IM THE HEATHEN--

Okay, it's January 5th! Literally not even two weeks after Christmas-- Feel free to scream happy birthday at me :3 XDD now I'm curious, what's yours?

awhhh thank you ;w;; 💕💞💕💞💞💕💞

and legiT- and omg- also what i do a lot is thinking i have a story all in control but then i realise that i only focused on the main parts and nOT the transitions and all that shit and then i end up last minute thinking them- XDD and ngl one page stories sound SOO much better- imo- not just for writing- but for reading as well- whenever i go to see a fanfic I always read the ones that has one chapter- dunno how to fully explain it- possibly cause its satisfying to see a story actually have its end other than a long lasting series that will never end- XDD oneshots are my FUEL

buT WoW omg this topic has now made me realise how i barely go outside- XDD i wish there would be other thingd around my neighborhood other than a "park" that has DEAD GRASS and the sprinklers go off like every hour for some reason- duNNo what the builders were thinking but i guess i dont mind- i stay in my house a whOLELE lot xD

and YESS IT GETS ME EVERYTIME- "hey lets draw-" *-WRITES-* XDD AND ABHAHAHAHA (NOW ON YOUR LOCAL MUSIC STORES- XDDDD) and omG MEEE- the times i would usually sleep would be around 3 am to 6 am- ironically my mom has a more screwed up schedule than i do- and SHE STILL HAS- last night she told me that she hasnt slept in 48 HOURSSS- MaMAAA PLEASE SLEEP

GO AWAY CAT HEATHEN- XD and omG a squirt bottle of water yes XDD and awh i definitely understand now how youll not get a cat- sounds like a hecka pain ;0;; i never even had a pet before (or not that i would recall- oh wait i think i had fish but i have an embarrassing story that made my mom ban fish from the household- OH MAN the shame)

and yeahh oh man- i hope you are okay with all these topics XDD and thank you!! 💕💞💕💞💕💞💕💞

awwhh i see- i wish you can hang out with your friends without it being too risky! that reminds me of that one time where my friend said "hey so uh you guys can hang out at my house since at my parent's workplace someone was positive for covid" and then immeadiately after they were like "SO WE NEED TO GO TO ONE OF YOUR GUYS' HOUSE" and Im LIKE- UH- NOO??? nOt AfTEr you just say THAT- nuh uh- thankfully we didnt hang out that day- better safe than sorry xD

and omggg those pies sound AWWESOMEEEE- i always wanted to try pumpkin pie before but when i asked my mom that she was like "nO iTS diSGusTing" and im like "*visible confusion*" and lOwKEY SAME- pineapple pie just sounds a bit off but my mom was really hyped to make it xD i'd actually say its not that bad! but im still not a fan of pineapple so uhhh xD (aNd YEAH IT DOES feel like it would make those haters cry-- XDD)

and PFHAOHFA IM A LIVING HEATHEN- XDD omg at this time of year- it gets CRAZYY for me- first off- Tree is a true filipino- right when it was the first day october- youd hear them say "FUCK HALLOWEEN"(and id just whine to them like "BUT HALLOWENENENEN") and then their family set up a whole christmas tree and over-the-top decorations- and omg- if you hate christmas music- you would despise the philippines sO MUCH- when the FIRST day of SEPTEMBER hits- CHRISTMAS MUSIC ON ALLLLL THE STORES- it will drive you WILDDD ( yeah its actually a normal filipino thing- not that i ever went to the philippines myself at tHAT time of year- but my friends and family tell me all about it- filipinos are the true christmas maniacs XDDD)

and awhhh choir must be a pain ;0;;; that would remind me how on one concert- the beginners class of choir screamed on purpose even though they werent supposed to- the teacher got so pissed XDDD and YESSS PRESENTSSSS- and awh man- i actually dont own ANY consoles at all- so the only things i can ask for is steam games- last year for christmas i got just shapes and beats- which was WORTHHH

and oo YAY- now i shall mark that on my calander- XD and mine is february 7!

[yootaesowlwrites]

Gif Credit; XXX.

Requested by; MICKSCHUMI

Request; This one with Mick please 😍 You can use the name Juliet 👀

Scenario; E9- I hate the holidays more than anything in the world and you drive me nuts because you love the holidays more than anything in the world and this is why we aren't friends (enemies to friends to lovers hello)

It was that time of year again, Christmas, and Mick’s new neighbour was obsessed with Christmas and decorated everything which kinda irritated him considering he wasn’t the biggest fan of the holiday, the only time he and his neighbour spoke was when they passed each other when she went to work and he got his mail. but the second Halloween was over the Christmas decorations came out and were placed on the front lawn and on the porch, Mick stood by his mailbox glaring at the mail in his hands as he heard his neighbour putting the decorations up.

“Hello, Neighbour!” Juliet says seeing Mick, he lets out an irritated sigh.

“Hello,” Mick grumbles and closes his mailbox.

“Wonderful day, isn’t it?” Juliet asks.

“No.” Mick says turning to go back into his house.

“No? What’s wrong with the day?” Juliet asks, Mick stops in his tracks.

“Everything.” He says

“It’s almost Christmas, why are you so grumpy?” Juliet asks, Mick spins around to look at her from his yard.

“Because I hate the holidays! And you’re driving me nuts with the decorations!” Mick says loudly, Juliet looks at him with hurt clearly in her eyes. “It’s stupid and that's why we aren't friends.” He says, Juliet let’s out a defeated sigh and slowly retreats into her home not sure how to respond to him, Mick lets out a sigh knowing he had hurt her feelings but he was outraged with the holidays and decided to retreat into his own home.

It wasn’t until later when Mick once again heard Juliet outside since their encounter earlier that day, he stood up from the couch and walked to the window and saw her talking to a neighbour while putting up her Christmas decorations, his mind hasn’t rested since he saw her retreating into her home with her shoulders slumped and her feet dragging at what he had said.

Go talk to her… you should apologise

His mind said to him.

No… no, we’re not friends.

He argued back, why should he go apologise?

Because it’s the right thing to do and you know it.

Mick lets out a defeated sigh.

“Fine,” Mick says to himself grabbing his coat and leaving his home.

“Bye, thanks for helping me.” Juliet’s soft voice says as the person that she was talking to leaves.

“Anytime, if you need any more help, give me a call,” Arno says, Arno wasn’t Mick’s favourite neighbour in the neighbour either but for many different reasons, Juliet spots Mick and quickly stood up from the grass about to retreat into her house.

“No, wait, wait,” Mick says as he rushes towards her, Juliet reaches her porch and turns around to look at him, he stood at the bottom looking up at her.

“We’re not friends, you said it yourself, so why should I wait?” Juliet asks.

“Because I have something to say,” Mick says.

“I think you said enough this morning,” Juliet says. “Now excuse me, I have things to do inside,” Juliet says and turns around.

“I’m sorry!” Mick says loudly, Juliet slowly turns around to look at him. “I’m sorry about this morning.”

“Why?” Juliet asks.

“Why?” Mick asks not sure what she meant.

“Yes, why are you sorry? it sounded like you meant what you said.” Juliet says.

“I did… I meant what I said, but the way you looked at me… you were hurt.” Mick says, Juliet slowly nods her head. “The look in your eyes… I couldn’t really shake them from my mind and I felt like I needed to apologise to you.”

“Okay,” Juliet says.

“Okay? Just okay?” Mick asks.

“Yes… just okay,” Juliet says. “Anything else you want me to tell you?”

“I uh… no, I guess not.” Mick says.

“Then excuse me,” Juliet says and turns around, she steps into her house when Mick rushes up the steps.

“Wait,” Mick says, Juliet looks at him ready to close her door. “If you need help…”

“Help? from you?” Juliet asks, this time it was Mick that felt hurt by her comment. “You literally told me this morning you hated the holidays and now you want to help?”

“Oh… right, I guess I did.” Mick mumbles. “I’m just… offering help, if you need it.”

“Thanks… but Arno already offered, maybe next time.” Juliet says, Mick clenches his fists hearing Arno’s name. “See you around.”

“See you around,” Mick says and slowly retreats from her home, he spots Arno across the street giving him a cocky smirk. “Fuck off,” Mick mumbles going back to his home.

A few days past and it was almost the 1st of December, Mick stood in his kitchen making some food for himself when he heard a knock on his door, he wipes his hands clean and walks to the front door and opens it.

“Juliet?” Mick asks seeing her.

“Uh hi… is this a bad time?” Juliet asks innocently, Mick shakes his head no.

“No, no, this isn’t a bad time,” Mick says. “Did something happen?”

“You uh… you offered your help… a few days ago…” Juliet trails off, Mick nods his head.

“I uh did, yes,” Mick says. “The offer still stands.”

“Okay um… you totally don’t have to do it but I need help…” Juliet says. “I wanted to go ask Arno but he seemed… pre-occupied if you know what I mean.” Juliet says.

“I know what you mean, he’s a man whore.” Mick blurts out, Juliet slowly nods her head.

“Uh yeah… You’re allowed to say no.” Juliet says.

“What do you need help with?” Mick asks.

“Well… I can’t reach a shelf that has some things on it that I need…” Juliet says, Mick looks at her questingly.

“How did you get it up there?” Mick asks.

“I didn’t… okay, my friend, as tall as a tree, placed it there thinking I was tall enough.” Juliet says, Mick nods his head understanding.

“Uh sure, let me just turn to stove off and I’ll be right over,” Mick says.

“Oh, if you’re busy eating you can come by later, I can wait,” Juliet says.

“No, I don’t mind, I’ll see you in a moment,” Mick says, Juliet nods her head.

“Thank you,” Juliet says, Mick goes back to his kitchen and turns the stove off and makes his way back to the front door, he grabs his jacket and leaves the house, he makes his way to Juliet’s home with her by his side.

“How are the decorations coming along?” Mick asks.

“Are you really interested or are you trying to make conversation?” Juliet asks.

“I uh…” Mick begins not sure if he was interested or if he was just trying to make conversation.

“It’s okay, you don’t have to pretend to be interested,” Juliet says, she unlocks her front door and they enter the house, Mick could see the Christmas decorations everywhere and a half decorated tree in the living room.

“Oh no… I was just wondering.” Mick asks. “I want to prepare myself when the music is going to start.”

“Oh… uh, there isn’t any…” Juliet says. “I didn’t bother with the music.”

“Oh…” Mick says, they enter the kitchen and Mick spots the high shelf. “Uh, what were you trying to reach?”

“The flour and sugar,” Juliet says, Mick nods his head and grabs the flour and sugar from the shelf and puts them down on the countertop. “Thank you.”

“No problem, what are you making?” Mick asks seeing several different ingredients on the table.

“Cookies…” Juliet says. “It’s a tradition to make cookies for Christmas.”

“Really?” Mick asks.

“Yes, my family always makes cookies before December so we would have enough for the entire December,” Juliet says.

“So Santa will get some also?” Mick asks, Juliet gives him a soft smile.

“Uh no… Santa isn’t getting any this year I’m afraid.” Juliet says.

“Why not?” Mick asks.

“Because there aren’t any young kids in this house, so I’m sure this house will be skipped,” Juliet says, Mick nods his head.

“Oh uh… do you need help with anything else?” Mick asks.

“I don’t think so, thank you for getting me the flour and sugar,” Juliet says.

“Uh yeah, no problem,” Mick says, he was getting ready to leave but stopped by the door. “I can help you bake,” Mick says nervously, Juliet looks at him not sure if he really wanted to help or if he was just offering to be nice.

“If you want to… you don’t have to,” Juliet says.

“I want to, afterwards we can finish your tree,” Mick says, Juliet drops the spoon she was holding and marched towards Mick, he was sure she was about to push him out of the door but she instead placed her hand on his head. “Wh-what are you doing?” Mick asks.

“Are you sick? Are you feeling feverish?” Juliet asks. “Are you doing drugs? You smoking?”

“What? No, why?” Mick asks pushing her hand away from him.

“Because you just offered to help me with the Christmas tree,” Juliet says.

“I um, yes, I’m trying to be nice about this holiday thing,” Mick says, Juliet slowly nods her head not believing him.

“Okay… can you heat the butter? It’s a little frozen.” Juliet says, Mick nods his head and picks up the bowl with the butter in it.

Several weeks past since Mick had helped her bake cookies and helped her finish decorating her tree and they quickly became friends after that, Mick tried his best not to let her see how much he hated it but Juliet saw it, but she appreciates that he at least tried even though he didn’t have to, it was close to Christmas and Mick was in the mall searching for a gift to give to Juliet, a year ago he never would have been seen near the mall when it was this close to Christmas but here he was, searching for the perfect gift, what he didn’t know was that Juliet was also searching for a gift to give to him, even though he hated the holidays she wanted to give him something.

On Christmas eve, Mick was over at Juliet’s home drinking hot chocolate while waiting for her to finish dinner.

“We can order take-out,” Mick says.

“No… no, besides, who is open on Christmas eve?” Juliet asks, Mick shrugs his shoulders.

“I don’t know… but we could call different places.” Mick says.

“I’m almost finished then we can go sit on the couch,” Juliet says, Mick nods his head and watches her she adds the last thing to the dish before pushing into the oven. “Okay, all yours for the next 40 minutes.”

“Okay, great, because I have something for you,” Mick says.

“Yeah? I have something for you also.” Juliet says.

“Really?” Mick asks as they enter the living room, Juliet goes towards the tree and picks up the only gift that was underneath it.

“Uh yeah… I know you hate the holidays but I couldn’t help myself.” Juliet says, she and Mick sit down on the couch. “So here you go.” Mick takes the wrapped present from her hands.

“You didn’t have to get me anything,” Mick says.

“I know…” Juliet says, Mick smiles to himself before putting the gift down and fishing into his jacket’s pocket. “Is something wrong?”

“No, no, I have something for you too,” Mick says pulling out the gift he had gotten her. “I wasn’t sure what you liked or what you needed, so If you want me to return just let me know.” He says handing her the gift, she takes it from his grasp.

“You got me a gift?” Juliet softly asks, Mick nods his head. “That’s really nice of you, you didn’t have to.”

“I know… but you’ve been so nice to me even when I was an ass to you, so… you deserved a gift.” Mick says. “Are you going to open it?”

“Yes… I am, don’t rush me, I’m just letting the moment sink in.” Juliet says jokingly, she tries her best to carefully unwrap the paper.

“Just tear,” Mick says.

“No, the wrapping paper is so cute,” Juliet says.

“Rip it apart,” Mick says, Juliet lets out a sigh before ripping the paper apart revealing a box, she opens the box and saw a silver necklace.

“Oh,” Juliet says admiring the piece of jewellery. “I love it… thank you.”

“You do?” Mick asks, Juliet nods her head.

“I do,” Juliet says, Mick smiles and leans over not thinking clearly and gave her a soft kiss, he quickly pulls away when he realises what he was doing.

“Oh I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to…” Mick begins.

“You didn’t mean to push your lips against mine?” Juliet asks, Mick nods his head. “Why are you sorry?”

“I uh… didn’t think…” Mick says.

“Do it again,” Juliet says.

“Do it again?” Mick questions, she nods her head. “Are you sure?”

“I’m sure…” Juliet says, Mick brushes his lips against hers caressing her cheek as the kiss deepens, to say it was the best Christmas he ever had was an understatement.

[nomorelonelydays]

kick your pretty feet up on my dash

Part 1 | Part 2

 -

Two days after the Instagram account opens, Sidney unofficially gets put on naming duty.

 The strawberry shortcake biscuit is named The Taylor.

 The cream cheese-stuffed banana muffins, crusted with dark chocolate ganache, is The Fleury.

 The slice of warm spiced peach cobbler (available for just two weeks), topped with a generous portion of thick, whipped cream and vanilla ice cream, is The Deidre.

 He shares the account password with her, but she seems more interested in digging up her mom’s old recipes from an ancient box filled with yellowed index cards than photographing.

 “I’ll leave that up to you,” she says, then passes him a card titled, ‘Cherry Layer Chocolate Cake.’ “I think I’ll make this for the holidays. What do you think?”

 Deidre makes just one and a half cakes for a trial run (the other half, which had come out lopsided, is sitting in the back of Sidney’s fridge). It’s another instant hit.

 Sidney watches a couple, two teenagers who are making it pretty painfully obvious that they’re on their first date, split a slice in a corner seat. She’s chasing the cherry around the plate with her fork, and he watching her like she hung the literal moon. He laughs a little too hard at her jokes, his eyes crinkling like Geno’s when he’s chirping Sidney. But with the way she’s beaming, it’s clear that she doesn’t mind at all.

 He’s not jealous—or, at least, he doesn’t think he’s jealous. Having hockey and having a boyfriend have always been mutually exclusive. But now, with no obligations to the NHL, he’s supposedly free to do everything that he’s wanted to. He doesn’t dwell too long on it though, because the last thing he needs is to have an existential spiral in Deidre’s store over whether or not he’s missed his his golden hour to be happy the exact minute the Penguins drafted him all those years ago.

 He finishes lettering the card for the cherry chocolate cake and slides ‘The Jack’ neatly into its proper holder.

-

Geno calls him on Thursday nights now, like clockwork. He’s grateful for the routineness of it, especially when he knows how much Geno lives on spontaneity. It’s always the same—updates on how the team is doing (good, the weather over in Pittsburgh (not so good), another dumb prank the rookies are trying to pull (hilarious, but slightly unoriginal with the shaving cream), even though it’ll never be as good as the ones Flower used to plan.

 “How are you?” Geno asks one night, while Sidney is puttering around the kitchen to figure out what he wants to make for dinner. “Your tomatoes grow?”

 “I think those are a goner,” Sidney grimaces. The entire plant had shriveled up weeks ago, despite Sidney faithfully watering them. “Guess I’ll just have to stick with the storebought ones.”

 Geno is silent for a bit. Then, “Is quiet in locker room without you.”

 Sidney pauses. “I doubt that’s true.” There’s plenty of rookies every year, eager to prove themselves on the ice and to establish themselves as a personality on the team. Besides, Sidney has never been the life of the party—that’s always been Geno himself.

 “No, is quieter.” Geno sounds like he’s swallowing a yawn. “Different without you.”

 Sidney’s heart flounders, and he has to blink a couple of times before his throat unclogs. “Maybe you should get to sleep. It’s pretty late over there.”

 “No, I’m not tired,” Geno mumbles, sounding very drowsy. Sidney can almost picture Geno, hair-mussed and sleepy eyes about to close as he curls up on his mattress. “Want to keep talking.”

 “I know you have practice tomorrow, G,” Sidney says. “You have the C now, you can’t get there two hours late anymore.”

 “I’m never late,” Geno huffs. “You too early.”

 “Get some rest,” Sidney says gently. “I’ll still be here next week, same as usual.”

 “Maybe I call tomorrow.’

 “I won’t go anywhere.”

 “Wish you still here, Sid,” he murmurs. “Miss you so bad, some days.”

 Sidney doesn’t miss a beat. “I miss you, too,” he whispers, because any louder and he knows his voice will crack. “I’ll be here tomorrow. And the day after, if you still want to call.”

 “Okay,” Geno says. “Okay.”

 -

 Sidney’s restocking the brioche rolls when Deidre’s voice casually pipes up from the coffee machine, “You have a secret admirer, you know.”

 “I know. It’s Samantha. PTA President,” Sidney says, trying to not sound exasperated. He only knows her name and title because she must’ve giggled it at him as a greeting every single time she’s marched in. “She asked me what the main ingredient was in the banana muffins and I told her banana like, three times.”

 “She just likes to hear you say banana. And no, it’s not Sam.” Deidre makes a come hither motion with her hands and slides a napkin towards Sidney. “Yesterday afternoon, there was a young man, maybe around his 30s, who stopped by for a latte and he asked where you were.”

 “Oh.” There’s something he can’t name fluttering in his stomach. The words on the napkin scrawled out, Jeremy, and a string of numbers. “What did you say?”

 “I told him, ‘He’s a cute one, isn’t he? He’s the store eye candy, bringing in all the sales.’”

 “Dee, you didn’t.”

 “I did, and he went full red. It was adorable. And I told him that you pop in in the mornings and in the afternoon to help with opening and closing.” She leans forward, grinning. “I’m just saying, think about it.”

 He thinks about it.

 At night, he tells Geno, “I think I have a secret admirer. Or a stalker.”

 Geno’s voice suddenly becomes infinitely more awake. “Have what? Someone stand outside your house? I read about this before, you need call police.”

 “No, it was at the bakery. I got his number on a napkin. Well, the owner gave me his name on a napkin, so I don’t really know what he looks like. He could be 100. People in this town are usually…around that age range.”

 Geno still sounds perplexed. “So say no.”

 “What?”

 “Say sorry, only go on dates with girls. But thank you.”

 Sidney’s brain feels like it’s stuttering to a pause. “Geno, what the fuck?”

 “What?”

 “I don’t ‘only go on dates with girls.’ I—” Well, to be quite fair, he hasn’t gone on any dates at all. “You know this.”

 It takes a full ten seconds for Geno to crackled back to life on the line again. His voice is hesitant. “You only bring girls to events. Like Halloween, or—”

 “They’re my friends, I’ve told you. I’m not going to bring a guy in front of you guys,” he exclaims, then reigns in his voice. His heart is beating like a jackhammer boring straight through. “Hey, listen, I have a pretty early day tomorrow, I’ll talk to you next week, okay?”

 “Sid, wait—”

 He hangs up and puts his phone face down on the nightstand. It’s not his proudest moment.

 -

 I’m sorry(((, the text reads. The timestamp indicates that the message had been sent at 2 AM. You should go on a date with secret guy. Maybe he’s secret Ryan Reynolds.

 Geno’s texts are never longer than five words, usually cryptic versions of a yes or no, accompanied by eyeless smilies. Sidney wonders if he’d been painstakingly worrying over each word since Sidney hastily ended the conversation.

 I don’t think he’s Ryan Reynolds, Sidney sends back. Besides, no one in this town knows hockey. That’s gonna be a problem.

 Geno’s reply is instantaneous, as if he’d been waiting.

 Picky)))))

More messages follow in quick succession, before Sidney can even start typing. 

But always best for u. Deserve the best only.

 He laces up his shoes and heads to Dee’s.

 -

 It snows a little mid-December.

 He helps Deidre with the decorations, hanging up tinsel and little snowflake cutouts on the window. She has a box of Christmas lights stored away in a dusty box from the attic, which definitely looks like they haven’t been disturbed since the 80s, but the one of the bulbs dies with a sad fizz the moment Sidney plugs it in. So they have to make do with the other nonflammable options.

 The store looks nice. ‘Well-loved’ is a better word for it, with its mismatched decorations and ancient garlands. He snaps a photo of the mini tree on the counter for Instagram before he goes to help Deidre frost the rest of the ornament-shaped sugar cookies.

 There’s commotion on the streets from all the tourists and families coming back for the holidays. He thinks about flying to Nova Scotia for the holidays, but then he realizes that none of Deidre’s children will be coming to Cardwell Point.

 “They’re busy,” she shrugs indifferently, but she turns her back to Sidney as she busies herself with rearranging the shelfs. “It’s alright. That’s what Skype is for, right? Besides, I have to watch the store.”

 He thinks about Geno, who’s probably headed to Florida soon to escape the onslaught of winter chill that he absolutely abhors, no matter how much he loves the city. He could Skype Geno, or Facetime him. Except Geno would always have the angle wrong, and Sidney’s sure he’d just get an on-brand mugshot of Geno’s nostril from the bottom up for the whole conversation. 

He did ask Sidney if he wanted to go to Florida, except the way he had asked had felt like a given tagged with a question mark at the end (Florida w me this year?). Nonetheless, Sidney had been tempted.

 But he also wonders if he’d feel even more homesick when Geno is physically standing in front of him again, all tall and loud and too big, too much, too many years of his unrequited love staring at him and making Sidney think that he has a chance. He doesn’t want to go to Florida to watch Geno pick up strangers at a club.

 “I’m not going anywhere, either,” he tells her.

 She looks over, finally, pursing her lips like she’s trying to hold back her smile.

 @DeesBakeryandCafe

Season’s greetings and a happy New Year to our wonderful customers and families here in Cardwell Point. Hope everyone is spending time with their loved ones this holiday season.

-

 Winter refuses to go. The clouds hang over the streets stubbornly, and each days trudges on like it’s dragging its feet.

 He misses skating.

 He misses Geno. Especially as it gets closer to February and teenagers and adults alike start coming to the shop in twos, their gloved hands clasped together as they squeeze through Dee’s tiny corridor when it’s really much easier to be in a single-file line.

 He’s not jealous. He is not.

 But he is lonely. And really fucking cold.

 He serves up at least thirty slices of The Jack, which is apparently the most popular item these days thanks to Instagram. Deidre switches up the decoration, so the cherry-glazed design in the middle forms a big, gaudy heart. The Internet completely eats up. Sidney doesn’t understand it.

 “It’s like a Titanic reference, right?” a customer asks, as he picks up the cake for his wife. “Like, an ‘I’ll never let you go,’ kind of thing. Jack and Rose?”

 “Sure,” Sidney says. It’s really for his first childhood crush, but he can work with the Titanic.

 The moment Deidre fills her last custom order of The Jack (and there had been plenty of those, for anniversaries to birthdays to just becauses), she tells Sidney that she’s figured out how to make her mother’s cheesecake.

 “Finally worked out how to stop the goddamn filling from clotting,” she says, cutting him a slice. The cake has a brownie bottom, and the inside is perfectly creamy and smooth and dotted with dark chocolate chips. “What do you think?”

 “I’m biased,” Sidney says, trying to not scarf down the whole thing like an animal. “I love cheesecakes. This one is my favorite so far.”

 “Good,” she tells him. “You can name this one, then.”

 His fork stops mid-air. “Weren’t you going to call it ‘The Lily’?”

 She pats his arm affectionately, not unlike the day she did when Sidney told her why he ended up at Cardwell Point. “I figured she wouldn’t mind. This can be our second February special. God, I’m sick of The Jack.”

 The next week, Sidney carefully slides The Geno in its display cabinet.

 (Deidre doesn’t ask about the peculiar name. She never does, and Sidney is grateful.)

 After over a decade in the NHL, he’s well aware of what he can and can’t have. But lately he’s been feeling selfish. He snaps a photo of the cheesecake and sends it to Deidre.

It’s a good photo.

-

 “I got invited to a neighborhood potluck yesterday,” Sidney mumbles into the receiver, when Flower asks him how retirement is treating him. “I don’t know what to bring. Maybe I’ll bring something from the bakery.”

 “Do you officially work at the bakery or are you just there because the owner is blackmailing you? Does she know who you are?”

 “I just help out when I can. And no, I told you, it’s not a hockey town. They do have competitive knitting here. It’s a thing.” Sidney doesn’t have much to do these days, aside from working out and catching up on reading, which means that he does end up doing most of the latter in the café. Maybe he should take up competitive knitting. “I started an Instagram for her shop. We just hit 200 followers.”

 “You know how to do that?” Flower asks, because he’s a little shit. “I’m kidding, I know you’re not actually a senior citizen.”

 Sidney rolls his eyes. “I haven’t checked it in a while though. I let Deidre handle the posting now. It’s her shop, anyways.”

 “What’s the handle?”

 He tells him. Flower is quiet for a bit as he searches through the page. “Pretty cool, eh?”

 “Yeah,” Flower says, his voice slightly off. “Yeah, it’s—it’s good. Looks like the real deal.”

 “What’s that supposed to mean? Of course it’s the real deal.”

 Flower makes a noncommittal noise. “Nothing. Cheesecake looks good. Does Geno know?”

 “No,” Sidney says. “I mentioned the bakery once or twice. He didn’t ask. Not, uh—not after I told him about Jeremy.”

 “Secret napkin man?” Flower remembers. “You didn’t go on that date?”

 “No, I didn’t go on a date with ‘secret napkin man,’” he mimics. “I don’t think he’d care.”

 “I think he’d care.” Flower always sounds so sure when he wants to be serious, and it’s one of the things Sidney missed most when he left for Vegas—there’d been a metaphorical hollow within the team for a good few months following his departure, and that void never quite got replaced no matter what.  

 “Maybe.”

 Sidney can only hope. But he’s a little too old for hoping these days.

 -

 Foot traffic is slower when they hit March, but Deidre promises that it’ll pick up when Cardwell Point’s 11th Annual Theater Festival starts in the middle of the month, because that’s apparently the other big thing aside from the 4th of July Carnival Bash. Sidney has just packed up another dozen of red velvet cupcakes for Samantha the PTA Queen when the front bell jingles.

 “Hello? I’m look for—”

 Sidney heart leaps to his throat.

 “Sid,” Geno says softly. He looks like the wind knocked him in (it probably had), mismatched Frakenshirts and all. “Hi, Sid.”

 Samantha may as well not have even walked into the store at all.

 “How are—“ He must be imagining things. But Geno takes another step, until he’s right in front of the counter and Sidney can reach out and touch just how real he is. He hasn’t changed much--still the same eyes, the same nose and lips, and maybe his hair is a bit thinner but he still makes Sidney’s chest feel too small and too big all at once. “Where did you—how are you here?”

 “Fly,” Geno says sheepishly. “Wanted to see you.”

 “What about—”

 “No games until Friday.” He’s staring at Sidney like he’s looking his fill and he can’t get enough. “I—I see your post, and I just—buy ticket.”

 “What post?”

 Geno pulls out his phone and flips through it until he lands at a familiar Instagram account. He passes it over to Sidney, his hands warm as it brushes against Sidney’s fingers.

 @DeesBakeryCafe

‘I love you’ tastes a lot like our chocolate chip cheesecake, The Geno.

 “Oh,” Sidney breathes. “Oh.”

[let-it-raines]

Storybrooke Haunted Farms

“Want to be chased through a corn maze? Take a ride in a trailer full of hay in the middle of the woods? Play paintball with zombies? Explore a haunted ghost ship? If this sounds like fun to you, come to Storybrooke Haunted Farms where the fun is cheap and the thrills are terrifying. Open from October 1st - October 31st.”

Emma Swan has been working at Storybrooke Haunted Farms for the past four years, and she’s done everything from work the haunted hayride to chasing paying customers through a corn maze with a fake chainsaw. It’s always been a good way for her to make a little extra cash for the holidays for her son, and it’s most likely the best time she’s ever had working.

That is until her assignment changes and she’s made to work on the pirate ship exhibit with Killian Jones, quite possibly the most obnoxious man alive.

Rating: Teen-ish

A/n: I told myself that I didn't have time to write a Halloween story, but then my brain was like “what if” and I figured I’d do something for @cshalloweek​ even if this doesn’t really fit a theme. So here we are! I hope you have a spook-tacular time reading 🎃

Found on AO3 | HERE |

Tagging: @captainsjedi @wellhellotragic @galaxyzxstark @thejollyroger-writer @spartanguard @searchingwardrobes @snowbellewells @kmomof4 @tiganasummertree @xellewoods@idristardis @karenfrommisthaven  @scientificapricot @captswanis4vr @a-faekindagirl @ultimiflos @jamif @dreameronarooftop15 @nikkiemms @resident-of-storybrooke  @bmbbcs4evr @onceuponaprincessworld @jennjenn615 @mayquita @teamhook @kmomof4 @ekr032-blog-blog @superchocovian @ultraluckycatnd @cs-forlife @andiirivera @qualitycoffeethings @jonirobinson64 @mariakov81

-/-

Laces tighten around Emma’s back, and her breath hitches as her lungs are very literally constricted from the corset that’s being tightened to cinch her waist and push her breasts up several inches higher than they should ever be.

The money may not be worth this.

There’s another tug, and Emma gasps as she leans forward to curl her fingers around the edge of the antique vanity in front of her, her eyes squeezing shut as she imagines herself to be literally anywhere else.

Anywhere.

And she hasn’t even had to put on the skirts or the top or had her hair pinned back so that bobby pins are sticking into the back of her neck to give her a headache.

“Mary Margaret,” Emma gasps before clenching her teeth as yet another lace is tightened, “it’s too tight. I’m not going to be able to breathe.”

“You’ll become accustomed to it. I promise. It’s really not that bad.”

“You only say that because you’re not wearing one, which is complete and utter bullshit by the way.”

Mary Margaret sighs behind Emma as she tugs again, and Emma’s eyes fly open so that she can see her face in the mirror. And her boobs. And an unnaturally tiny waist. This is not normal, and there’s no way that she’s going to become accustomed to it.

“You know I don’t make the decisions on the costumes. That is completely and totally out of my hands.”

“Your mother owns the place.”

“Step,” Mary Margaret corrects. “Step-mother. She owns it.”

“Yeah, but your mom owned it first. It was her brain child, and I feel like you should get some say in what costumes and attractions people get to work in. I wore jeans and a plaid shirt last year, Marg. I’m having to wear a full-on corset and medieval dress this year. How the hell am I supposed to run?”

There’s a final tug, and Emma almost pops out of the corset. “I don’t think you are. I mean, the haunted ship is our newest attraction, and it’s not going to be like the hayride or the corn maze. There’s not a lot of running after people. It’s more like jump scares.”

“But I hate jump scares.”

“You like the money, and you fit into the costumes we ordered. If you really hate it, I’ll see if you can get put on the rotation for the zombie paintball.”

“I would rather walk around this place in nothing but my underwear than be a team member for zombie paintball.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

It takes another fifteen minutes for Emma to fully get into the costume. There are layers to it, far too many skirts than should ever be necessary, but it’s apparently some kind of authentic costume for a bar wench that would serve pirates in whatever century is being depicted on the ship. Emma doesn’t know, and she doesn’t really care about historical accuracy. All she cares about is the fact that every night for all of October, she’s going to be putting on fifteen layers of a dress and a corset and having her hair teased to look like it hasn’t been brushed in days. At least her makeup is relatively normal.

If smearing mascara down her cheeks and powdering her face to make her look paler than usual is normal.

At least they’re not doing her hair or her makeup today. Just this dumb costume.

Leaving the trailer where the costumes are kept, Emma makes her way outside as a gust of chilled air moves over her, causing goosebumps to immediately rise on the exposed parts of her skin. At least her legs won’t be cold with all of their layers. The rest of her might just freeze to death, however.

It’s only September right now, but from experience Emma knows just how miserable October nights are when not wrapped up in coats and scarves and the warmest knit cap that Emma owns. With how things are now, she knows that this year is going to be even more miserable.

Sucking it up, Emma kicks her leg forward to give herself more space to move, and she follows the pathway in the woods down to get down to the pier. The leaves have already started to change colors, most of them beginning to fall to the ground, and they crunch underneath her feet as she follows the familiar path. There are men up in the trees setting up rigging and hanging props, and she spots Jeff hooking up the speaker system that plays throughout the grounds for music and in rare cases, emergency announcements. Emma has only heard of children getting separated from their parents in her time here, but she does know that there was once an issue with a chainsaw and someone’s foot.

That’s why everyone has to sign waivers now – employees and customers alike.

Welcome to Storybrooke Haunted Farms: The Scariest Place in Maine.

Emma’s been working here for the past four years. It’s a seasonal job, only half of September for training and costume fittings and the month of October for actual work, but it pays better than being a waitress at Granny’s does all year. It’s a great atmosphere working there, but the tips are not great unless she gets one of the good shifts. She needs more money than she’s getting, and scaring the shit out of people isn’t a bad gig.

Well, it wasn’t when she was hopping up onto a moving trailer full of hay and people and frightening the people who were screaming the loudest as well as those who were quietly shaking in fear. The haunted hayride through the woods is by far the least terrifying attraction that they have here, but it’s definitely the most fun for employees to work. Then again, Emma loved working in the corn mazes where people paid her to chase after them with a chainsaw (fake) or in the set that was made to look like an abandoned hospital wing. Though, in that last one she had to wear one of those awful slutty nurse’s costumes, and heels, and that was difficult to move around in as well.

Not like this costume though.

She keeps having to kick her legs to not trip over the stone pathway as the thatch of trees thins out and the ocean comes into view, salt thickening in the air and the sun shining a little brighter down onto her skin. And there, in all of its glory, is a massive ship with tall white sails that are currently being sliced up and painted to look battered as fake moss is added to the sides of the dark wood. None of this will be noticed in the dark, of course, but Regina is nothing if not excessive in her decorations. Anything to make more money when she doesn’t exactly need it.

At least she never shows up to the actual site. That would be more of a nightmare than any of the attractions.

(It’s also how she’s going to get out of having to wear this costume every day.)

“Emma,” a voice calls out, and she twists around to look at Graham Humbert standing with several planks of wood over his shoulder like that’s not big deal.

“Hey,” she greets, not really stepping closer for fear of getting accidentally knocked out. “What do they have you building today?”

“The bridge to the ship. She’s a beauty, don’t you think? Are you working on her this year?”

“What gave it away?” Emma reaches down to grab at the sides of her skirts, picking them up before letting them fall down with enough power that leaves scatter beneath her. “I don’t exactly know my role yet, but they’ve got me in this costume for it. I wish we could do dress rehearsals in normal clothes.”

His eyes flicker up and down her body, and instinctively, she wants to reach up to cover her chest. However, she knows that will just make her boobs looks bigger, and as nice as Graham is, she’s simply not as interested in dating him as he is with her. He’s more of a friend to her than anything, and he’s a really good influence in Henry’s life. If she were to date him, she’d just fuck things up and make him no longer want to spend time with Henry. That’s what happens every time she gets involved with anyone.

“Authenticity, I believe,” Graham finally says back, his eyes landing on her face. “I think it’ll be a fun attraction to work. I’ll have to come by and check it out once you guys open.”

“Is the Sheriff really supposed to pay to be scared by other people?”

“It’s a fun time. I don’t know anyone who doesn’t come here at least once a year.”

“Well,” Emma starts, already the slightest bit uncomfortable with the way that Graham is swaying closer to her with the wood, “thank you for your contribution that goes toward my son’s Christmas gifts. I’ve got to go to rehearsals now. Make sure that this bridge is steady so I’m not falling into the ocean, okay?”

Graham salutes her before she’s stepping away from him and heading down to the docks, nearly tripping over her dress and the uneven ground. If this continues, she’s going to the costume department and getting a pair of pants to work in. Pants would definitely be better than this.

People are already milling around down here, most of them in tattered pirate costumes with cups of Starbucks in their hand, and while she recognizes a few of them, most are new to her and must not frequent Granny’s too often or only come during Ruby’s shifts at night so that Emma would have never run into them. She recognizes Will Scarlet, though, and she waves to him before turning to take a shaky step up onto the ship where she comes face to face with a man dressed in all black leather with a red vest that’s nearly unbuttoned all the way to his navel.

What in the world?

Emma trips again on a piece of loose board before catching herself and looking up past the dark chest hair and skull and bones silver charms only to a stubble-covered jaw that belongs to a man with some of the bluest eyes that she’s ever seen. He must have gone through makeup today because his eyes are lined with black eyeliner and his hair is messily coiffed, and Emma feels the slightest bit of fire stir in her belly that she immediately tampers down.

Who the hell is that?

“You okay there, lass?”

Emma almost stumbles again at the deep timber of his voice, and she is definitely asking if she can get an alternate costume that includes pants. This is ridiculous.

“I’m fine,” she huffs, brushing her hands against her skirts and turning away from him. “It’s this damn costume. I’m so uncomfortable.”

“Your discomfort is a cross I’m willing to bear”

“Ha,” Emma scoffs as her eyes roll and her mind immediately decides that she hates this guy. Who is he to try to joke around and compliment her? She doesn’t even know him. “You’re hysterical. Is the abundant amount of cleavage you have showing your choice or the company’s?”

“A combination of both.” He uncrosses his arms and his legs and steps forward so that he’s back in her space. A chill runs down her spine as the ship rocks beneath them. “I’m not particularly modest.”

“I assumed.” “What about you, love?”

“Not your love, and what about me?”

“Is the amount of cleavage your choice?”

Emma curls her hands into fists and turns to look at this obnoxious man who is way too comfortable with her, and the smirk on his lips does nothing to lessen the hatred that’s simmering beneath her skin. “It is obviously not my choice.”

“It’s a pity nothing can be done about that.” He sticks his hand out in front of her, and she almost laughs before she realizes that he’s serious. Begrudgingly, she reaches forward and takes his hand in hers. “Killian Jones.”

“Emma Swan.”

“Swan,” he repeats back, his tongue visibly running behind the back of his teeth. Is it possible to hate someone so much within one-hundred and twenty seconds of meeting them? “I like it.”

“Oh, well, if you like it, I guess I’ll have to keep it forever, won’t I?”

Killian winks, and she imagines him having to wear a corset so tight that he can’t breathe too. It’s a weird form of torture, but it’s all she can focus on right now. Obviously the blood can’t reach her brain right now, and there’s only so long she can live like this.

She’s got at least six weeks.

Shit.

Emma opens her mouth to say something, most likely to tell him to go screw himself but in less friendly terms, but then there’s a loud clap from across the deck where David is standing on top of a barrel with a clipboard in hand. He was made to be a detective and a cruise director all at once. Emma doesn’t think that he married Mary Margaret simply so that he could be a part of the Blanchard-Mills Storybrooke Haunted Farms legacy, but she wouldn’t be surprised if it was part of the initial appeal.

Holidays are kind of a big deal in this town, and being in love with them is pretty much a requirement for living here. If they (whoever they are) find out that you don’t buy flowers for Valentine’s Day or candy for Halloween, they have the power to kick you out.

Probably not, but Emma has heard rumors. This is the best place she’s ever lived, and she’s not really a big fan of the thought of having to leave. Henry wouldn’t be either. He’s too in love with Ruby for him to want to leave.

“Okay,” David starts, his voice louder than the sound of a hammer hitting against wood and a saw cutting down the beams for the bridge between the docks and the ship. “So welcome aboard the Storybrooke Haunted Farms team. We’re excited to have you here, whether or not you’re new or have worked for us before, and my wife and I want you all to remember that while we want you to scare the ever-loving shit out of people, we also want you to have fun. But also to be safe. If you haven’t signed a waiver, please see Belle to my right to sign your forms.”

People shuffle across the dock over to Belle, and she begins handing out papers as Emma shifts her weight to one side, trying to put as much distance between she and Killian Jones as possible. He’s got to be one of those obnoxious people who thinks his looks can excuse his actions, and she is not here for that. But she’s also not here for causing issues at work before it even really starts, so she doesn’t want to make it too obvious that she’s moving away from him.

“So, this our newest attraction,” David continues with his arm outstretched to show off the ship, “and you guys are going to be our guinea pigs, so please bear with us on any issues or problems running it. We’re counting on you guys to notice problems and report them, so if you see a way we need to improve, don’t be scared to ask. Only our customers are supposed to be scared around here.”

There’s an awkward laugh that emits from everyone. It’s really a shame that David isn’t a dad yet because he’s already got the jokes down.

“Now, after all of our waivers are signed, Belle and I are going to hand out your roles before we start practice out here. We’ve got two weeks before opening, and while that’s not a lot of time, I know that you’ll all get the hang of things.”

“The Nolans are quite the optimistic bunch, aren’t they?” Killian questions, his breath hot as he leans into her ear. She jumps away, this time visibly putting space between them, and if someone doesn’t smack the smirk off his face before the end of October, Emma is doing it the day she gets her final paycheck.

“How do you know the Nolans?”

“Dave went to the Police Academy with my older brother.”

Great. That means Killian is here as some kind of friend to David, and Emma is going to have to be nice to him. This feels a hell of a lot like when she tells Henry to be nice to his classmates even when half of them are six-year-old devils.

She’s a really good mom, obviously.

“How do you know them, love?”

“Not your love,” Emma repeats as she steps away from him and moves to where Belle and David are handing out paperwork. “And they’re pretty popular in the town. Everyone knows them.”

“Well, I’m new to town, so I guess I’ll have to get used everyone who is popular  in town.”

“Okay.”

At that, she tries to dodge out of his way, but that’s a bit difficult when it’s a small area crowded with dozens of people all headed into the same direction, so he’s constantly at her heels. At least he’s not talking any longer, but it’s almost like there’s this overwhelming presence following her around, like he’s peering over her shoulder and waiting for her to slip up or fall into the charms that he very obviously thinks that he has.

“Emma,” David smiles when she walks up to him. The annoyance she’s felt from Killian fades away, if only for fifteen seconds, at the sound of a familiar voice who isn’t going to annoy her or try to flirt with her. “Your costume looks fantastic.”

“You know, that’s what I said, mate, but she didn’t seem to like my compliment too much.”

David’s eyes glance at her before fliting behind her to look at Killian, and from the smile that’s still on his face, Emma can tell that he does, indeed, know Killian Jones.

Of course.

“Do you two know each other?” David asks.

“No,” Emma blurts out.

“We just met a few minutes ago,” Killian explains as he bumps his shoulder into hers like they’re old pals. “I think we might be fast friends, me and Swan.”

Emma can’t hold back her scoff, even when David’s eyes slant at her. “Yeah,” Emma sighs as her hand moves behind her to slap Killian’s back, “fast friends. That’s exactly how I would describe the two of us.”

Her stomach drops, which really doesn’t help anything when the corners of David’s lips turn up and stretch all the way up to his eyes.

“That’s actually perfect.”

“And why’s that?”

-/-

“He has me playing some kind of damsel in distress,” Emma huffs out as she paces back and forth in the kitchen of her apartment, a glass of wine in her hand that she really wishes had more alcohol in it. “I mean, it’s not technically a damsel in distress, but it pretty much is. I have to work with this jackass who thinks he’s all that and a bag of chips with his pirate costume and deep accent and the way that he swaggers across the deck, and the two of us have to act like some kind of old-timey couple on the bow of the ship pretending that we’re in love and having a fight to distract everyone from the people sneaking up behind them before he’s pushing me off the side of the boat.”

“What’s a jackass?” Henry asks her from his seat on the couch in the living room, and Emma immediately reaches her free hand up to cover her mouth.

“I shouldn’t have said that, kid,” Emma apologizes, flashing him a smile as Ruby snickers from her spot sitting on the counter. “That’s not a word we use. I’m sorry.”

Henry shrugs his shoulders and goes back to watching his Ninja Turtles Show. There’s no reason she should have such a good kid, but the universe obviously decided that she needed some kind of good luck.

By far the best thing ever to happen to her even if the circumstances of her pregnancy sucked.

“Is it really that bad, though?” Emma’s head snaps back over to Ruby to see her tossing a piece of popcorn into her mouth. “Like, I saw this guy when he got into town. He’s apparently moving here and staying at Granny’s until he gets an apartment. He’s not a bad looking guy, Ems. In fact, I would say that he’s attractive. How bad can it be to be paid to flirt with him while he’s wearing all kinds of leather and eyeliner and looking sinful?”

“I am hooked up to a rigging system and get thrown off the side of the boat.”

“Okay, granted, that part is bad, but it’s not all bad. You literally used to have to run for hours a night with a chainsaw to scare people. This is much better.”

“I don’t think you understand how bad this guy is.”

Ruby arches a perfectly manicured brow and tilts her wine glass to her lips. “Do you want to know what I think?”

“I usually don’t.”

Ruby’s eyes look over to Henry, and that’s when Emma knows that she really  doesn’t want to hear what Ruby is going to say. “Henry is how old? Six?”

“Mhm.”

“And you’re twenty-four, correct?”

“Yep.”

“And you’ve had one boyfriend since he was born, right?”

“It’s been more than one.”

Ruby holds up her hand and bends one finger back before pointing that one finger at her chin. “Walsh Osbourne is the only one I can think of. Would you like to enlighten me as to who the others are?”

“I have been on dates with men other than,” Emma makes sure to lower her voice so that Henry can’t hear, “Walsh, but I haven’t introduced any of them to Henry after him. I can’t take the risk that Henry is going to get attached.”

“Which is exactly why you won’t date Graham.”

Emma’s cheeks flame up. She really needs more wine, but she’s working the early shift at Granny’s tomorrow and still has to go to practice tomorrow night. “I don’t want to date Graham. He’s a nice guy, but I’m just not in the mood for dating. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I literally spend most of my day working multiple jobs. When I’m not working, I’m taking care of my kid. That’s what happens when you get knocked up at seventeen and have literally no resources.”

Ruby raises her hands in the air, an apology already on her lips, but then the volume mutes on the television and Henry is moving over to them in the kitchen, his mop of brown hair messily situated on top of his head as he opens up the fridge.

“What are you looking for, kid? I’m pretty sure you ate dinner at Granny’s with Ruby.”

“Yeah, but I’m thirsty, and water just isn’t cutting it.” He turns to smile at her then, and Emma’s heart aches over how much he looks like Neal. Couldn’t he at least have gotten a little bit of her in him? Would that have been too much to ask? “Can I have orange juice?”

“No,” Emma says as she steps over him and grabs the gallon of milk from the shelf and turns around to place it on the kitchen countertop while Ruby hands her a glass from the cabinet. “There’s too much sugar in orange juice for you to have it this late at night.”

“But it’s Friday, Mom.” “And?”

“I don’t have school in the morning.”

“Yeah,” she smiles as she pours him a small glass of milk, “I know. You’re spending the day with Mary Margaret and David tomorrow while I’m at work, and I can almost guarantee that one of them will give you all kinds of sugar so that you never go to bed ever again.”

His lips stretch into a smile so large that Emma can see them under the clear plastic glass. “That would be the coolest thing ever. Can I wear my Ninja Turtles costume tomorrow?”

“Now, that, is something I can agree to.”

Henry nods his head and walks back to the couch, and Emma smiles to herself before turning back to look at Ruby who is sipping her wine. Emma wonders if maybe just maybe she’ll have forgotten the conversation they were having, but that’s unlikely.

“Hot pirate dude makes you all tingly inside, and you’re nervous that you’re going to act on it.”

Yep. Ruby isn’t going to let this go.

“That is not true. I am not going to sleep with him.”

“Whatever you say. I think he’d be a good one to bang one out with so you can release some of the tension in your shoulders.”

“I’m going to kick you out.”

“No, you’re not,” Ruby sighs as she gets down from the counter. “You and Henry love me too much to do that. Isn’t that right, kid?”

Henry doesn’t say anything, too furiously blushing at having Ruby talk to him to form words. Poor kid has it bad.

-/-

The morning shift at Granny’s on Saturday is as hectic as ever, none of the tables ever emptying out and nearly every single person being annoyed until they get their coffee, and if Emma didn’t like the tips that came with working one of the busiest times of the week, she’d request another time. One day she’s going to have to find another job, garner some skill set that will actually give her normal pay and normal hours, but she hasn’t exactly figured that out yet.

Thankfully, cost of living in Storybrooke is not high.

Being a waitress still sucks sometimes, though. She has enough of cleaning up after other people at home, and if one more person tells her to smile when she’s cleaning a table where their kid spilled syrup, she will lose it.

And then probably lose her job.

But she does finish work around two with a little bit more cash in her pocket, and that’s all that really matters. That’s also all that matters as she drives her yellow bug across town to Storybrooke Haunted Farms so that she can get into costume and go to practice.

(Mary Margaret agreed to letting Emma buy a costume with pants for some of the nights, and she’s never been so excited over such a little thing.)

The grounds are pretty much empty when she gets there, and it’s weirdly peaceful that way. It’s a beautiful place, almost completely out in nature, and if it wasn’t for the fact that someone is driving around in a golf cart with a pile of fake dead bodied behind them, Emma could forget that this is all one big Halloween event.

Mary Margaret said that she was down by the docks with Henry supervising the continuing construction on their pirate ship, so Emma heads down that way, not bothering to change out of her uniform quite yet. She just tugs her red leather jacket a little more tightly around her as the air gets a little bit cooler the closer she gets to the ocean.

Emma sees Mary Margaret first. She’s sitting in a golf cart, the red one she always drives, but there’s no Henry. If Emma didn’t know that Mary Margaret was one of the most responsible people on the planet, she’d take off running looking for her kid, but there’s no way that Mary Margaret has lost him.

“Hey,” Emma greets as she slides into the seat next to her and catches a glimpse of Mary Margaret’s text to David, “where’s my kid?”

“Killian is giving him a tour of the ship.”

Emma blanches, and it takes everything in her not to run down to the docks and pull Henry out of there. Why the hell would Mary Margaret pass him off to a stranger?

“You just let my son go hang out with a stranger? That seems safe.”

Mary Margaret looks over to her with a shake of a head. “Killian is not a stranger, Emma. We’ve known him for years. Plus, you know him. He’s your scene partner.”

“I’ve known him for less than a week. I don’t send my six-year-old off with people I’ve known for a week.”

Mary Margaret clicks her tongue, and Emma scoffs before crossing her arms over her chest. What is this guy’s deal?

“Killian is a nice guy, maybe a little rough around the edges, but Henry saw him walking around in his pirate costume and lost his mind and begged to go talk to him. Killian played along with it, acting like he really was a pirate, and Henry asked him if he could show him the ship. It’s really not that big of a deal.”

“The big deal is that the guy is a flirtatious ass, and he didn’t need to know that I had a kid.”

Mary Margaret’s lips part, but she never gets to say anything. “Mom,” Henry yells out as he runs toward the two of them at what she knows is his fastest speed, “Mom, Mom, Mom.”

“What?” Emma laughs, willing away all of her negative emotions to put a smile on her face as Henry gets closer to her, Killian unfortunately following right behind him. “You’re going to be out of breath if you keep running that fast.”

Henry keeps running until he comes to a skidding stop right in front of the golf cart. His cheeks are red and his chest is heaving, but there’s an undeniable joy in those brown eyes of his. As annoyed as she is that Mary Margaret sent him off with a guy who she doesn’t like, at least he’s happy.

“Mom, I have had the best day. I got to eat pancakes with David and then they let me go up into the treehouse and then I met Killian and he gave me a tour of the pirate ship. Is it true that you get to work with him on it? Really? Do you get to be a pirate? I want to be a pirate! Can I be a pirate for Halloween?”

“Woah,” Emma laughs as she pulls Henry up onto the cart so that he can sit in her lap as she pushes some of his hair back, “slow down and take a deep breath. Not even the Flash goes this fast.”

“I want to be a pirate for Halloween,” Henry says a bit more slowly, his words still coming out the slightest bit stilted, “because pirates wear cool clothes and have swords and get to talk all funny sometimes. And they hunt for buried treasure. Do you think there’s buried treasure here?”

“I – ”

“There might be,” Killian adds in, and Emma is going to bite off her tongue and fill her entire mouth with blood to keep from spewing every word she’s told Henry that he can’t say out at Killian. “I think we’d have to find a treasure map to know for sure.”

Mary Margaret gasps next to Emma, and she quickly turns to the side to look at her.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“No, seriously. What? You don’t get to just gasp like that and then not tell me what’s going on.”

“I will tell you later when we aren’t around so many people, but I have an idea for an activity.”

Emma narrows her eyes, but Mary Margaret doesn’t pay any attention to her, immediately pulling her phone back out and typing something in that Emma can’t see because Mary Margaret turned the brightness down.

“Or,” Henry suggests to Killian, obviously still stuck on this whole treasure map thing, “we could use those things that old men use on the beach to find money.”

“We could, lad, but do you know where we’d get one?”

“Probably from an old man.”

Emma squeezes Henry a little tighter and buries her face in his hair to try to stop laughing. He needs a shower, but that’s going to have to wait until after her practice.

“Henry,” she begins, “why don’t you and Mary Margaret go check out what else is going on around here while I go to practice? I’ll come get you when I’m finished, and then we’ll go to dinner, yeah? I’m thinking grilled cheese.”

His eyes light up with his smile, and Emma’s heart pangs the slightest bit. “Really?”

“Yeah, really.” She leans down to kiss his cheek over and over again until he’s a giggling mess. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

It takes a few minutes before Mary Margaret and Henry drive off, and then she’s left alone with Killian as he kicks his heel into the ground and digs up a bit of dirt and sand. He’s in his costume today, the same one as before, but this time a long black duster has been added. If it’s anything like her dress, Emma knows that it has to be heavy, but he doesn’t seem to have any problem moving around in it. And she swears that even more buttons are undone on his shirt so that she can see more of his stomach and the hair that seems to go all the way down.

Who even is this guy?

“That’s a nice kid you’ve got there, Swan,” he tells her. She nearly jumps at the sound of his voice, and Emma realizes that she let her defenses down, if only for a moment.

She shouldn’t have.

“I tend to think so, and no, I’m not biased at all.”

Killian flashes a smile, and her stomach flips without her permission. “I think so without any bias. He was so curious about everything. It was great. I think I’ve turned him into a pirate yet.”

Emma’s lips curve up before she remembers who she’s talking to. It’s so easy for her to forget things when someone is gushing about Henry – she likes to think she isn’t a total screw-up when it comes to him – and she doesn’t need to be doing that, especially not around this guy.

“Look,” Emma starts as she crosses her arms over her chest, “thank you for spending time with Henry today. That was really nice of you, but I’m not going to suddenly fall into your arms because you know how to charm a kid. And I don’t want you thinking that I’ll date you if you’re nice to Henry. That’s not how this works, so if you’re using him to get to me, you can stop.”

His brows furrow together, two dark black patches of hair nearly forming into one, and the smile that was on his lips curves downward into a scowl as his shoulders straighten up to make him taller than she knows that he is. “You may not believe me, love, but I had no intention of using your kid to get in your pants. Don’t think so highly of yourself.”

And at that, he turns around and walks away, his coat swirling behind him, while Emma is left standing there wondering what the hell just happened.

-/-

For the next two weeks, Emma splits her time between waitressing, spending time with Henry, doing final run-throughs for Storybrooke Haunted Farms, and very occasionally sleeping. It’s hectic. Honestly, she might be delusional and imagining some of the things that have happened, but she’s going to chalk that up to lack of sleep and extreme physical activity. Her feet probably don’t fit in anything other than her sneakers because they’re so swollen from her standing for about eighteen hours a day.

It’s a lot.

But it’s also her favorite time of the year.

The temperatures have officially dipped to the point where she can wear jeans and a thick sweater every day while sipping on hot chocolate, and all of the leaves have changed colors so that everything just feels like fall. It’s the best time of the year, and Emma will not change her position on that.

Except, well, the fact that working at the Haunted Farm is an actual nightmare for her this year.

(They do, however, have a new kid’s attraction that’s a treasure hunt and not at all scary, and Emma is thankful that Mary Margaret got the idea and executed it so that Henry has somewhere to stay for a little while before Granny picks him up and takes him home to go to sleep.)

It’s going smoothly, relatively speaking. She’s got her routine down, even the part where she falls off the ship and suspends in the air while a speaker plays a splashing sound as fake thunder roars above them, and she’s got all of her scenes with Killian memorized to the point where she doesn’t jump when someone screams anymore….but it’s all like torture.

Emma has always prided herself over not caring too much about people she’s not close to so that she can save that emotional energy for something more important, but something about Killian Jones makes her feel horrible for pretty much being a bitch to him all the time. He is most definitely still this conceited, self-centered, far too flirtatious guy, but he is also the first person to help someone out when they get too freaked out by the jump scares, the guy who will bring people coffee (even her), and he never fails to make Henry smile even though Emma’s pretty sure that she scared Killian more than she has scared any of the people who pay to come to the Haunted Farms.

She hates it.

She hates that he’s probably a good person who wasn’t actually using Henry to get into her pants. That’s not something she’s totally decided on, but she feels a little more guilt every single time he opens his mouth to say something, takes one look at her, and then either turns away or makes some kind of innuendo that causes her cheeks to flame up.

Nothing about Killian Jones makes any sense, and for some reason her mind wants her to care about him.

It’s the law of proximity or something. That has to be it. They’re spending over half of their day together, every day, and it’s some kind of biological reaction to be tricked into wanting to know the other person so that things aren’t awkward.

Emma would honestly rather things just be awkward.

At least right now they’re in the middle of a shift, and there’s not exactly time to make awkward small talk. Instead, she’s sitting on a wooden barrel in the corner waiting for a new set of customers to walk across the bridge so that they can get this show on the road.

Or on the sea. It’s whatever.

The music starts playing over the speakers that are attached to the ship, and Emma slowly stands from the barrel, smoothing out her skirt and rubbing her hands over her arms to try to get the chill bumps to go away. It’s a little past ten o’clock, the sun having set several hours ago, and the only real light is coming from the way that the moon reflects off of the ocean. They’ve got these smoke machines out here to make everything look a little hazier, but it’s really not needed. It’s already hard to see a damn thing.

Killian follows right behind her, his duster hitting against her back, and she’s the slightest bit jealous that he gets to wear a coat. It’s under forty degrees out here right now, the ocean not helping that at all, and Emma is never going to be warm again.

“You ready to do this again?” she asks Killian.

“Aye,” he whispers back. “You know, I don’t mean to upset you Emma, but I think we make quite the team.”

A chuckle escapes from her without her permission, but she quickly corrects it and gets into position so that she and Killian can begin their fake fight.

Getting paid to fight with an (kind of) asshole? Quite possibly the greatest job she’s ever had.

They start their back and forth as people move closer to them, their eyes wide as they take in the ship from a new perspective, but Emma makes sure that her eyes only stay focused on Killian as he glowers above her with his hands resting on the buckle of his belt.

“But you said you loved me,” Emma screams out, pushing her hands against Killian’s chest.

“I’m a pirate, darling,” he seethes, stepping into her space and dipping his head down so that they are eye-to-eye. “I don’t love, especially when it comes to a bar wench like you. You’re more entertainment than anything else.”

Emma pushes back at him as she steps backward, moving closer and closer to the edge of the ship while Killian crowds her in, still spitting words at her to keep everyone entertained. Emma feels her harness tighten, the technician obviously preparing to fling her off of the ship now, and Emma sucks in a deep breath in preparation.

She is not working this attraction next year.

“It’s a pity that you thought I loved you, truly. I think you would have been nice to keep around.”

Her heart quickens at the sound of Killian’s words, the ones that are the final warning sound before she’s flung off of the ship, and then she’s being pulled back and suspended into the air, the harness tightening around her chest as the fake thunder rolls over the speakers and the audience gasps. They’re about to be scared shitless too. They just don’t know that part yet.

And then there’s a snap.

And Emma’s falling.

It’s quick, really. She doesn’t have time to think or do anything, not that there would be anything for her to do, before every last breath is being shocked out of her as sharp icicles poke around her and everything goes black.

The water is freezing around her, and her lungs are like bricks inside of her, the heaviness of her dress weighing her down, and even though Emma knows that she needs to swim to the surface, the shock of it all is making it a little difficult. She can’t see or breathe or even think, and her legs are simply kicking while her arms are flailing in search of something, anything.

She is not going to drown in the ocean wearing some kind of medieval dress.

She is not going to leave Henry this way.

Henry.

Oh shit. That seems to knock a bit more sense into her, or at least some kind of panic, and her arms are even more frantic as she’s moves through the icy water, just trying to find air.

She needs air.

Suddenly, Emma feels hands on her arms, and there’s actual movement happening, her body feeling it as she moves in what direction she thinks is up, and then for the first time in what feels like hours, she can breathe.

And she can see.

“Swan,” a voice gasps out, and she blinks away the salty water to see Killian’s face directly in front of hers, his hair matted down against his forehead. “Swan? Are you okay? Emma? Emma, are you alright, love?”

“Cold,” she manages to gasp out, and he nods his head in response before they’re moving again.

Emma’s senses are beginning to come back, but her head is still foggy. One moment she’s drowning in the darkness and the next she’s being pulled onto soft sand, her clothes feeling too heavy for her body to hold up. There are so many noises, voices and screams and the damn music still playing over the speakers, and Emma can’t focus on any of it. It’s too much stimuli, too many distractions, and she barely even notices the fact that Killian rips off a few layers of her dress before hoisting her into his arms while murmuring words she can’t quite pick up or understand.

What is happening?

“Emma,” Killian repeats, and all the sudden she looks around and she’s inside of one of the offices near the front of the farms. “Emma, I really need you to look at me, okay?”

She blinks a few more times before turning away from looking at the office to looking at Killian. His eyes are so blue. How is that possible?

“Do you think you can strip out of these clothes yourself? Or do you need help? I can do it or we can wait for Mary Margaret to get here. She’s on her way.”

Those words snap Emma back into reality, and she can feel absolutely…everything. Her lungs are burning, her skin is like ice, and it hurts to breathe right now. She probably hasn’t stopped shivering in hours.

“I need…you’ve got to undo the corset, and then I can do it.”

Killian nods his head before walking around her, his fingers quickly undoing the corset until it’s no longer constricting her chest, and that makes her breathe the slightest bit more easily. When he’s finished, he tells her to undress and change into the clothes that are sitting on the chair in front of her while telling her that he’s going to step into the other room to do the same.

Why does Killian have to do the same?

Oh, right, because he was in the water with her. He pulled her out of it.

Laughter bubbles up within her belly, warming her, while she sheds the last of the wet clothes and picks up a t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants that have Storybrooke Haunted Farms written across them in this awful orange color. But it’s either freeze to death naked or put them on, so she puts them on with still shivering limbs and laughter still escaping her lips.

Her harness broke, and she fell into the freezing cold ocean.

Holy shit.

“Swan?” Killian asks as he steps back into the room wearing the same awful clothing that she’s wearing. “Why are you laughing?”

“Did I,” she starts, unable to finish. “Did I…did I…did I fall into the fucking ocean and have to be rescued while working at a fake haunted ship? Is that a real thing that just happened to me?”

“Aye,” he says a bit hesitantly before picking up a blanket and wrapping it around her while his hands rub up and down her shoulders. Holy shit that feels good. “Are you okay?”

“No,” Emma laughs, leaning forward to bury her face in Killian’s shoulder. He’s warm. How is he warm? He was in the water too. She knows that she didn’t hallucinate that. It was real. “No, I’m not okay. What even is happening? This is ridiculous, and I’m still not convinced that I’m not going to roll over in bed and wake up to find Henry having poured a bucket of ice down my back or something like that.”

Killian’s chest moves beneath hers, and she feels his hand shift from her arm to her back, quickly moving up and down over the blanket. It feels so good and warm, and she might stay like this forever.

“Is that something the lad would do?”

“No, not at all. He’s too good for that. It’s something I did as a kid, though.”

“Yeah?”

“Mhm, I hated my foster dad one time, and he refused to turn the heat up to make it warmer in the rest of the house, so I poured a bucket of ice on his bed. I got reassigned to a different house two days later, but let me tell you, it was worth it.”

Killian laughs again, and she feels it underneath her cheek. “That sounds exactly like something you would do. My brother used to pull shit like that, too, to our dad. He was always getting onto me for misbehaving, but then he’d cut holes in the crotch of Dad’s trousers.”

“This the brother that went to the Police Academy with David?”

“One and the same.”

“Where does he live now? Is he moving here too?”

Killian’s hand stills against her back, just for a brief moment, before starting up again as Emma nuzzles her nose a little further into his t-shirt that smells like detergent. Later, Emma knows that she’ll regret holding onto him like this, but right now, all she cares about is the fact that she’s finally starting to feel warm.

“Liam was killed in the line of duty two years ago, so I don’t think he’ll be moving from his plot in Boston.”

Emotion burns in Emma’s throat, weighed down by everything else that’s happened tonight, and someone should probably take her to the hospital for lack of airflow. This can’t be healthy. “I’m sorry, Killian.”

“Don’t be. ‘Tis not your fault. It is why I moved here, though. Believe it or not, it wasn’t to push you off of a ship while people are chased around by zombies wielding paintball guns. It was somewhere with a familiar face without having to move back to England, where I haven’t actually lived since I was a teenager.”

Emma huffs into Killian’s neck before wrapping her arms around his waist and rubbing up and down his back in the same way that he’s doing now. She doesn’t like to think that she needs saving, and she usually doesn’t…but tonight she did, and the least she can do is help to warm him up in the same way that he’s doing to her.

“I moved from Boston too, actually.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” she sighs. “That’s where…I met Henry’s dad the summer before my senior year of high school. He was older, cooler, you know? And I found out I was pregnant halfway through that year. It was…” She stops, not really wanting to get into all of it with this man she doesn’t really know as well as not wanting to relieve it for herself. “It wasn’t a good time, pretty much, and I needed someplace new. This town has pretty much been the only thing that’s kept me on my feet.”

“Technically, it knocked you right off of them tonight.”

It’s the perfect time to make a joke. Honestly and truly it is because Emma could already feel herself pulling away and becoming uncomfortable with where this conversation was heading. She doesn’t just tell people about Neal or being in foster homes or any of it, and here she is letting it all out to a man she told herself not to get close to.

It’s also the exact moment that Mary Margaret walks in followed by David, and she and Killian spring apart so that they’re no longer standing together. Mary Margaret worries over the two of them, talking far faster than usual and giving them both jackets and more blankets along with socks, all of them from the merchandising table, before David hands them cups of hot chocolate, which may be the best hot chocolate that Emma has ever had.

That’s saying a lot considering how Emma is with her hot chocolate.

Things are overwhelming and wild as David explains the mechanics behind her harness snapping, and as quickly as David and Mary Margaret come in to check on the two of them, they’re having to leave to go check on the crises that are happening around town, and she’s left sitting in an office, still shivering the slightest bit, wondering where the hell does she go from here.

The answer to that question is apparently nowhere. She and Killian get sent home that night with instructions to come back in the morning for new assignments and to fill out some paperwork over the incident. They’re having to alter the performance that happens down at the ship, apparently, and while Emma expects to simply have her role slightly change, she ends up getting assigned to the hayride path with Killian. It’s a little sad to have to do this halfway through the month, but at least now she can wear jeans and flannel and hide her hair under a terrifying mask instead of having to have it teased every day.

And she won’t be falling into icy cold waters either. That’s definitely a plus.

Killian takes to scaring people on the hayride like a champ. He easily manages to jump up onto the trailer, oftentimes without anyone noticing, before screaming bloody murder and making everyone else do the same. One time, he manages to sit down between two couples without them noticing because they’re too busy sticking their tongues down each other’s throats, and the way they jump when Killian claps his hands together makes Emma jump off of the trailer and stumble back into the woods so that she can laugh without breaking character.

What she would give to have their faces on camera.

Things…shift in a way once they start working on the hayride instead of the ship. Emma had seen Killian’s good side before, had acknowledged it if even only to herself, but she still rejected it in a way. She didn’t want to see him as anything other than a cocky asshole who was using being nice to Henry to get into her pants, so Emma didn’t let her perception of him change.

Not until now.

Killian’s still a cocky asshole, but Emma’s starting to understand that the innuendos and his flirting might be a defense system. There’s something underneath the smirks and moving eyebrows, and while Emma doesn’t necessarily want to find out what it all is, she wouldn’t necessarily be opposed to it.

And he really is good with Henry, which Emma actually appreciates.

Apparently, when Killian isn’t scaring people for money, he works at Henry’s school as a receptionist for the front office as some kind of temp job, something no one seemed to deem important enough to tell her. Emma only found out when she called up to check Henry out to take him to a dentist appointment and she heard a familiar voice on the phone.

And now, somehow, he’s sitting across from her on a park picnic table as Henry climbs up and down the playground, his movement only slightly stilted by the giant puffer jacket that Emma has on him. She has no idea how Killian was out here running with only a thin pullover on.

“So, is he still going to be a pirate for Halloween tomorrow, or has that changed now that his mum has gotten pushed off a pirate ship and shunned to the hayride? I guess he could be a scarecrow, but I’m pretty sure six-year-olds aren’t into that.”

“No,” Emma sighs as Killian moves across the monkey bars and Emma braces herself for disaster, “I don’t think he would be. He’s got the pirate costume and still wants to do that. I’ve had to keep him from wearing it around the house so that he doesn’t mess it up before tomorrow.”

Killian raises his brow. “How exactly are you going to take him trick or treating when we have work? Isn’t that something that happens once the sun has set?”

“He’s six. we go in the middle of the afternoon, and then I drop him off to stay with Granny for the night. It’s not the best situation, but it’s what works for us.”

“You’re a good mum, Swan.” Emma feels hear rise in her cheeks, and she reaches up to brush her hair behind her ears. “With a good kid.”

“Yeah, he is pretty great, isn’t he?”

“Mom,” Henry shouts as he jumps down from the playground and runs toward the two of them, his cheeks flushed and hair pushed back off of his forehead, “I have an idea.”

“Oh yeah?”

He nods his head, bright smile on his face, before stepping closer to her and cupping his hands around his mouth up against her ears. “Killian should come trick or treating with us tomorrow, and you can give him some candy to tell him that you like him.”

Emma nearly falls off the bench, and her heart takes off like a freaking rocket. For one, Henry just said that loud enough for everyone in Storybrooke to hear, but mostly, he just said that so that Killian could hear.

But also, why in the world does Henry think that she likes Killian? Where the hell did he get that idea.

Hesitantly, Emma looks over to Killian to see that he’s on his phone, very obviously faking texting someone, and as much as she appreciates it, there’s no getting around the fact that he heard Henry say that she likes him.

Which she doesn’t.

Not at all.

That would be ridiculous. And dumb. And a horrible, horrible idea.

But he is a very pretty man on, like, a vain level, and Emma will admit that she can sometimes be a little bit into vanity. And he is good at banter and flirting and making her laugh and causing a smile to curl onto her lips. Maybe, just maybe, there might be butterflies the flutter around in her stomach, but Emma has very adamantly been chalking that up to the fact that her eating hasn’t been the most healthy lately.

No, she doesn’t like him. That’s not a thing that happens.

Except maybe it is because she does get excited to go to work, possibly a little bit more than usual, and there are times when she purposefully makes sure that she inches a little bit closer to him so that they have to talk.

Oh shit, her six-year-old just had an emotional revelation for her, and she doesn’t know how to feel about it.

Feelings are not her strong suit.

And neither is dating a man who her son is attached to. That’s just…what happens when he leaves? They always leave, and while Henry hasn’t known Killian for that long, she just knows him not showing up anymore would upset him.

But Killian wouldn’t do that, right?

“You know what, Henry,” Emma starts slowly, her voice cracking a little bit, “you have to ask Killian if he wants to come with us, okay? He might be busy.”

“Okay,” Henry whisper-shouts back at her before walking across the table and whisper-shouting into Killian’s ear as well. “Will you come trick or treating with us tomorrow and let my mom give you candy because she likes you?”

Emma groans and lets her head fall to the picnic bench, not caring about the weird stickiness that’s left there. Anything could be better than this.

“Yeah, lad,” Killian chuckles, and Emma peeks up to see Killian winking at her, “I think I can do both of those things.”

Killian shows up at her apartment the next day wearing his full-pirate garb, eyeliner and fake jewelry included, and it goes along perfectly with Henry’s costume as well as the costume she’s wearing. It’s not the bar wench one because that is in a trashcan somewhere, but it is the one that includes pants and these really cool boots and a vest that she’d probably like to wear on days that it’s not Halloween. Emma ignores the fact that they look like a family, especially when at least ten different people comment about how cute they all are, because this is about Henry and his happiness. This isn’t about the battle that’s been happening in her mind for the last thirty-six hours.

There is absolutely no reason for her to be able to have good things like this. She’s a screw up foster kid who has never had anyone love her the way that she thinks she’s supposed to be love, but she has this kid who, even on his worst days, she would do absolutely anything for. He came from such a dark place in her life, one that she didn’t think she could get out of, but here she is in a town that supports the both of them.

With someone who has spent the past hour talking in a strange accent to indulge Henry and make him laugh while they stuff their face with more candy than Emma would usually allow.

Today is a good day.

And it continues that way when she drops Henry off with Granny so that she and Killian can go to work, the two of them changing out of their pirate garb and back into comfortable jeans and flannel with the ridiculous masks that they’ve been changing up every day. It’s one last day, one last night, and Emma can’t wait to share the shit out of some people.

-/-

“Did you see her face?” Killian chuckles as they walk through the woods back to the clearing behind the front office building. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone be so terrified by a clown mask.”

“Clowns are creepy. That’s why they make horror films about them.”

“Aye, I know, but you have to admit that the woman’s face was priceless.”

Emma bumps her shoulder into Killian’s, and he looks down at her to smile, the moon reflecting off of half of his face. Those damn butterflies are not moving around in her stomach at the sight of his smile. Nope. Not at all.

“It was,” she admits as a few hundred people come into view, all of the employees over the past month gathering together for the wrap party that Mary Margaret and David throw for everyone full of drinks and junk food and all of the Halloween candy in the world. “That’s what will have to carry me over until next year.”

“Good. You want to grab some pizza and a few beers and go hit the hay?”

“You want to go to sleep?”

“No, Swan,” he laughs as his hand comes up to wrap around her shoulder, “not quite yet. I meant we can go sit in the trailer of the hayride. No one seems to have occupied it.”

Emma’s eyes glance over to where the trailer is parked, and it is, indeed, empty. “Yeah, I think that would be okay.”

They load up on food and drinks, carefully balancing them in their hands, before walking over to the trailer and easily climbing up onto the trailer, settling down into the middle and placing their plates of food up onto the haybales. She’s probably going to have hay stuck in her clothes and her hair for the next week and a half, but it might almost be worth it.

The pizza and beer are cheap, but after hours of running around, that doesn’t matter to Emma at all. Besides, the conversation is good, Killian telling her about his adventures in interviewing with Leroy to see if he can get a job on his construction crew since that’s apparently what he did back in Boston after he left the Navy earlier than planned due to Liam’s death.

There’s so much that she doesn’t know about him, that she can’t know after only knowing him for a month and a half and only tolerating him for a little less than that, but maybe Henry was right in his assumption that she might just like the guy who pushed her off a ship and almost caused her to accidentally drown.

Something she likes to remind him quite frequently only for him to remind her that it wasn’t his fault and that he did save her.

They can agree to disagree.

(They’re both technically right.)

A sharp wind comes moves through the woods, and a shiver runs down Emma’s spine so that she has to tighten her coat around her a little bit more. She needs a beanie, pretty much desperately, but there’s not a lot she can do about any of that right now. She’s been colder than this before. She’ll last.

And it’s such a nice night with the stars up in the sky and the moon shining overhead, no deadlines or schedules looming over her for at least a few days, and all Emma can do is relax in it, leaning back into Killian’s shoulder and sighing in relief.

He taps his foot against hers then, and Emma ignores it. But then he does it again and again and again until she looks over at him to see him holding a Kit Kar bar in between his fingers.

“What?” Emma groans. “Why are you being so annoying?”

His eyelashes flutter down then, just for a moment, before he’s looking up at her with a soft smile that she’s only seen from him a few times before. “I want to give you this piece of candy.”

“Um, why?”

His eyes roll, and Emma doesn’t know what to think of it because there’s really no reason for him to be so exasperated. “Your son, brilliant lad that he is, told me that if I like you, I should give you some candy. This is me giving you candy.”

Oh.

Emma’s heart stutters. Actually, it probably completely stops. She’s having a hard time knowing exactly what’s going on when her head is a mess, a mix of alcohol and confusing feelings and a little bit of being terrified of making the wrong mood, but Killian most definitely just took dating advice from a six-year-old and told her that he has feelings for her.

She’s really not ready for Henry to start dating if he’s going to be able to do things like this.

With a small, trembling smile on her face, Emma turns around and finds a red Starburst on her plate and reaches over to hand it to Killian, whose smile stretches up to his eyes now. “Okay, but just so you know, this candy is going to come with some stipulations, okay?”

“Like what, Swan?” Killian asks even as the rough pads of his fingers come to cup her cheek, pulling her closer to him so that their mouths are so close that she can’t tell whose breath is whose as it comes out in white puffs of air. “Because if it’s about Henry, he’s already given me a stern talking to about how I’m only allowed to make you happy and not sad like his dad did.”

“Did he really?”

“Aye, love, he did. And I understand that there will be boundaries and limitations and that Henry comes first. I want him to come first, always. I just – ”

Emma doesn’t let him finish before she’s pressing forward and gliding her lips over his and wrapping her arms around his neck in one swift moment. They’re both still at first, and Emma takes in the fact that his cold lips taste like pizza, beer, and chocolate. It’s not the best combination in the world taste-wise, but it is pretty good in general. So is the kiss when Killian starts moving his lips against hers, tugging her closer with his hand and tilting her head to the side to deepen the kiss, mouths quickly opening and tongues lightly swirling together in a slick, wet slide.

She’s had first kisses before, more than she’d care to admit, and as absolutely magnificent as a lot of them were, Emma doesn’t think her heart has ever felt quite this way – like a mix of happiness and magic and a little bit of Halloween spirit.

It is the best holiday of the year, after all. She can be whoever she wants.

Right now, though, she doesn’t want to be anyone other than Emma Swan or be anywhere other than in this moment.

-/-

They don’t tell Henry that they’re dating for four more months. It’s hard to keep from him, honestly, but Emma knows that it’s for the best. Things could still go wrong, her fears are still valid, and Henry is easy to accept the fact that Killian sometimes spends a little bit more time with them than usual. But still as his mom’s friend.

It’s pretty easy for Henry to accept when Killian makes the transition from friend to boyfriend.

Even easier when he goes from his mom’s boyfriend to his step-father. It makes picking out family costumes for Halloween even easier.

(Emma is ignoring that Henry will eventually grow out of liking doing that.)

Killian gives her a piece of candy every day to make sure that Emma knows that he has feelings for her.

She’s got a pretty good idea.

[v-hope]

3 a.m.

Pairing: Kim Taehyung x Reader

Genre: Fluff, slight angst, College!AU, moody Jealous!Reader

Word Count: 1.7k

Request by @bright-amber-lights:

21. “Oh my God, I think the crystal ball is working. The spirits are telling me you’re a dumbass.”

22. “Anybody else notices the small child staring at us?”

By one in the morning, it was safe to say you were pissed at Kim Taehyung.

Why couldn't he be a normal person and invite you to a Halloween party instead of camping in the middle of nowhere? But no, that wasn't it. You weren't mad at him and his choice of scenery, no. You were not mad either at the fact that he had made you think it would be just the two of you, only for you to be surprised the second you arrived at the bus stop, finding out he had invited more people. It had been alright, honestly, until you saw that one girl who did not belong to your friend's group stuck by Tae's side. That you were mad at.

Now, you weren't the jealous type, you were really not, but how could you not feel the unpleasant green monster growing inside of you when it had been exactly four days since you and Taehyung had kissed for the first time? It hadn't been a cheesy kind of love confession, you had just been caught up in the moment and leaned in so your lips could touch – that being everything you needed to know just how dearly and strongly you felt for each other. And given the quite long make out session you had had one day ago, it was kind of obvious you were implicitly together. Or so you had thought, because now he for some reson had brought along another girl?

You were hurt, to say the least, which is why you had been avoiding him he whole day, deciding on clinging to Guk the whole time so you didn't have to deal with him. On the other hand, you had been kind to the girl, what fault did she have anyway? But God, were you frustrated.

By half past one in the morning, you were indifferent, only following hot on everyone's heels after Hoseok had pointed out there was a noise coming from far into the woods and Namjoon had proposed for all of you to go try and find out what it was about; neither of you would've been able to sleep otherwise.

And by two in the morning, when all of you had ended up running for your lives and splitting up, finding yourself lost in the darkness and on your own, with no signal and praying for your battery not to die as you used your phone's lantern to lead the way, you swore you were absolutely done with Kim Taehyung.

“Anybody else notices the small child staring at us?” you mimicked his previous words with a high pitched voice, which obviously didn't sound like him at all, but you were so pissed off you just wanted to ridicule him. “Of course we didn't, otherwise none of us would've been so calm until then” you spoke to yourself, this time with your normal tone.

Turning left as you tried to find your way back to your tents, you kept on cursing him under your breath. “Seriously, how stupid does he have to be? Of course everyone would freak out and split up, for fucks sake”.

After turning right where you thought would lead you back to where everyone else would be, you found yourself being even more lost. Were you going in circles? You could’ve sworn you had gone past that same tree like two other times by now. But, then again, every damn tree looked exactly the same.

Sighing, you decided to stop for a while to calm yourself down and collect your mind. Your feet hurt and the black hoodie you were wearing was not doing much for you anymore as the temperature started to drop.

You rested your back against one of the trees, running your hands down your face. “Kim Taehyung, I hate you so much, I swear to God” you let out your anger for what must've been the tenth time during those few minutes you had been lost.

Good thing you didn't get scared easily.

Or so you thought, because the second you felt a branch being stepped on, you jumped up – all your senses immediately being on alert.

Then there were footsteps.

Shit.

Asking who it was would most probably guarantee you would get killed like in the movies, right? Halloween night, lost girl, alone, woods. Of course. You were not doing that. However, the second you felt someone rush to your side, you let out a squeaky scream, lifting up your right arm to hit whoever it was with your phone.

“Woah, easy!” that deep voice you knew so well exclaimed, instantly bringing some comfort to your exalted self. “I've been looking for you like crazy and this is how you welcome me?”

Any other time, you would've lighten up at not only his words, but also his presence. Given the circumstances, nonetheless, Taehyung got no reaction from you at all.

At least you were no longer alone. And, much to your despise, it did feel nice to know he had been looking for you.

You sighed, lightly touching his upper arm to make him keep moving, not feeling like answering his question. “Let's go back with the rest”.

You didn't know if he knew there was something off, but you were glad he hadn't tried to initiate a conversation – deciding to just walk by your side in silence. When he tried to grab your hand out of habit a few moments later and you didn't let him, though, you knew he most definitely had noticed. Still, he said nothing; instead keeping the sudden hurt to himself.

After what must have been like fifteen minutes of the two of you wandering around with no direction, you reached an open field. With no trees covering the moonlight anymore, you could finally see clearly without needing the help from your phones.

“Hey, look” you felt Taehyung leave your side to go a few meters away. Kneeling down, he picked up what looked like a crystal ball, instantly going back to you. “You think it can tell us our future?” he wiggled his eyebrows at you.

You, however, were still not having it.

“It's literally a Christmas crystal ball, Taehyung” you rolled your eyes, taking it from his hands so you could examine it better. “It even has a little Santa in it”.

He snatched it out of your hands. “What if it belongs to the child” his chocolate eyes opened wide in feigned fear. “What if this is where he lives” he whispered.

Being done for the millionth time, you walked past him, determined to resume your way back to your camping. “There was no child. Stop messing around and let's go back”.

His carefree façade was dropped for once and for all – he had really tried not to take your upsetting mood personal, but now he knew whatever was wrong with you had to do with him.

“Okay, why are you being so cold towards me?” his words made you stop in your tracks.

“I am not” you furrowed your eyebrows, trying to convince not only him but you as well. “I just… don't understand why you're here. Shouldn't you be with Jieun?”

As soon as that last sentence left your mouth, you cursed under your breath at how petty it had came out, and even more after seeing the pouty lips and confused eyes your words had earned from him.

“Why should I be with her, I'm with you”.

“You are?” it was your turn to be confused.

Taehyung was silent for a few seconds, trying to process the fact that you were so confused by his statement and what it meant. “Y/N, what's going on?” he took a step closer to you, “I thought we were together”.

“So did I until you arrived with her and you guys were glued together the whole day”.

His expression went blank. “Wait, is that why you've been avoiding me?”

“Can you blame me?”

And then he laughed. He laughed.

Unbelievable.

Before you could turn around to leave him there, he reached his hand out to grab yours, pulling you into a hug as he laughed it off a little more.

“You moron” he breathed out, hiding his face in your hair, “I just invited her because Guk has the hugest crush on her and asked me to since we have a class together, but he chickened out, as you might've seen, so she stayed by my side because I am the one she knows the most, I guess”.

Your body stiffened, and so another sound of amusement escaped his throat, this time lowering his head so he could place a few kisses in the crook of your neck, trying to get you to relax into his touch, which worked instantly.

“I thought you were with her now” you sheepishly admitted.

Shaking his head, he pressed his lips on your shoulder.

“Wait, do you hear that?” he snapped up, breaking the hug.

You instantly missed his touch, frowning at his sudden action. “What?”

“Oh my God, I think the crystal ball is working” he gazed down to the ornament in his hands – eyes fixed on it and teeth biting on his lip as he tried to figure something out. When he was done, he blankly stared back at you, making you expectantly raise one of your eyebrows. “The spirits are telling me you’re a dumbass”.

Letting your jaw fall in annoyance, you slapped his arm – playfully turning around to make it seem like you were offended.

Taehyung chuckled, grabbing your hand to pull you back into his embrace.

“You really are an idiot for even thinking I could ever be interested in someone who's not you”.

“Stop attacking my intelligence” you whined.

“I'm just saying what the spirits told me” he shrugged.

Joining him in his laughter, you pressed your forehead against his chest, allowing him to tighten his hold on you. It might have only been a day, but you had truly missed being so close to him.

“You will have to make it up to me for making me jealous–”

“Unintentionally” he remarked, cutting you off mid-sentence.

“And” you emphasized, “for insulting me, or I swear you won't be kissing me for a while”.

As if he would let that happen.

“Okay, but hear me out” one of his hands found your chin, pushing it up just enough for you to face him. Lowering his head, he gently brushed his lips against yours, “how about I make it up to you by kissing you”.

You couldn't contain the smile that was already forming on your lips. “I'll take it”.

And so, by three in the morning, with your lips attached together and your breathings becoming one, you cared neither about still being lost nor about the possibilities of a ghost child haunting the place.

By three in the morning, you were no longer mad at Kim Taehyung. It was quite the opposite, in fact.

[museswithinx]

mistletoe { for Adrian, on purpose LOL }

send me   ‘ mistletoe ’  for my muse’s response to being underneath mistletoe with your muse.   specify whether it’s accidental or on purpose.

@sirenmother

Adrian had thought Halloween was bad, but Christmas was just a whole other level of obnoxious around here. If his ears weren’t being assaulted with festive music 24/7, he was having the holly jollies of the season being shoved down his throat in the form of bad Hallmark movies. Or he was being dragged out to some Christmassy event or other. Hell, even Seph’s whole house was looking more like Santa’s fucking workshop than a house they lived in these days.

He wasn’t a Grinch, exactly, though Seph and Ronnie both liked to team up and taunt him about that because he wasn’t bleeding holiday cheer like everyone else. All these holidays just felt way over hyped for what they were, and he wasn’t sure he understood why. However, even if it didn’t show, he did like seeing everyone so happy for a change instead of being afraid and worrying. Even if the cheerfulness was overkill most days.

After helping Seph haul some stupid tree into the living room, Adrian settles on the couch in the other room while she goes about her festive bullshit. It was best to stay out of her way now because she was about ten times more annoying when she got in this mode. 

Clicking through the channels to find something non-Christmas related to watch, he settles on some football game. However, the peace is soon interrupted as his five foot, three inches of infuriating annoyance comes into the room with one of those smiles on her face. There was something she wanted or was about to annoy him with, he knew the look well.

“Whatever it is: no,” Adrian tells her firmly before she can start. However, Seph was never really one to listen or care about his protests. They had never stopped her in the past, so why should they stop her now. She siddles up right next to him on the couch anyway, noting the grin that she wore widening as she then raises some mistletoe above their heads; shaking it expectantly. Glancing up at it before looking back at her, he gives her one of those looks that seems to say ‘are you serious’.

“You are so goddamn ridiculous,” he remarks, but he’s laughing to his own surprise. He was literally dating the most ridiculous woman he’d ever met in his life. She loved these stupid holidays and their traditions. She enjoyed bad films and, more specifically, torturing him with them. And she pretty regularly annoyed him for her own personal enjoyment. She was his polar opposite in so many ways.

And yet he had fallen in love with her anyway. Life really was full of surprises.

“I cannot fucking believe you dug that stupid thing out of a box just to come in here with an excuse to kiss me.” He was laughing again. Adrian didn’t understand the whole ‘kiss underneath the mistletoe’ tradition of Christmas. Especially for people who were already in love and didn’t need reason to initiate kissing. The whole thing was just plain ridiculous and bizarre to him, but that was just Seph. She did things he thought were ridiculous or annoying or both but those were also reasons he loved her.

Taking her face between his hands, he murmurs, “I’ll humor you. Just this once. But for the record, I don’t need any excuses to kiss you.” Adrian draws her in then as his mouth collides with hers; softly at first, but then the kiss grows a little more fiery. They linger there like that for a bit before he finally pulls away, pressing one last brief kiss to her lips.

Something told him this wouldn’t be the last time the mistletoe came into play. But maybe he didn’t mind that particular tradition as much as he let on.