#I’m home alone and my parents have had half a thing of rum in the pantry for ages

[coolguycy]

Turns out rum tastes like shit

[buzzcutlip]

hiiii! can I get a request for lip with a shy!reader where they like know each other from school but it’s like later seasons lip like working at the shop or the construction job and she starts to develop a crush on him but he doesn’t think he’s good enough for her so he distances himself and dates other girls and she has to watch from the sidelines until a guy asks her out so she goes for it and lip gets jealous and realizes his feelings. i’m in an angsty pining jealousy mood but with a happy ending still if that makes sense! but honestly feel free to run with it if it’s something you’re interested in writing bc I love your writing! 💗💗

Hi anon! I love this prompt, thank you very much for sending it my way! <3

This is a very first time I'm writing something with our dear boy Lip Gallagher, and I hope I'm not messing it all up.

Lip Gallagher/Fem!Reader Mature 1561 words

You admired Lip Gallagher. He was smart, intelligent, witty, and—alive. Despite the , he made it to college. You didn’t know the details but heard people talking about those nasty Gallaghers. You saw him take his little brother, Liam, to classes, to your study group. The little boy living temporarily in a dormitory made you sick with worry, but it was obvious that Lip took great care of him. You mostly felt for Lip—that he, as young as he was, had to take on his parents' responsibilities. And still, he did so great at school and had two jobs on top of it. He went home for weekends to help around the house. But that life sucked him back in, never giving him a solid chance, as much as Lip fought for it. He left the school, left the crime scene behind, and left an empty space in your chest. You never told him how you felt. Never wanted to, anyway.

Occasionally, you still meet each other at parties he gets invited to—or invites himself to—and you chat easily, sharing a drink or two. You’re happy to see him, to hear about his crazy jobs. Sometimes he brings a girl along and you smile politely at her, shake her hand. The whole school knew about Amanda and Mrs. Robinson. Besides wanting to protect yourself, you don’t believe Lip could ever want more than friendship from you, which makes interacting with him easier. ‘Cause you’re not trying for anything with him. He’s just a good bad boy. Who cares if you’ve had a crush on him since day one?

So what you expect from Lip when you introduce him to your date, Jacob, at one of these lame parties is that he shakes his hand and says hi politely. Which doesn’t happen; he just grumbles something and leaves for the kitchen. You roll your eyes and tell Jacob not to mind. Inside, you’re a bit embarrassed and disappointed. Why? You’re not sure. Maybe because Jacob’s a bit boring and you still keep seeing him. Letting him kiss you and put his fingers in your pussy and never do anything back. Because he doesn’t attract you. “But he’s nice,” your friends say. You say, for Christ’s sake! He is nice but oh so boring. You don’t feel anything, but you don’t want to be alone anymore. And most importantly, you don’t want to think about Lip when you masturbate, when Jacob fingers you, when boys half-heartedly fucked you in the past.

But as much as you want to forget Lip, you see him again. It’s a bar this time. Filled to the brim with a Friday crowd.

“Hey,” someone says behind you, laying a hand on your shoulder, and you know it’s him before you turn around. You smile at him, sucking on a colorful paper straw.

“You still drink that? Rum and Coke?”

“Yeah,” you laugh shortly, looking at the dark brown drink in your hands. “Spiced rum!” you clarify.

Lip leans closer to you, the sudden proximity doing things to you, as always, and you have to bite your bottom lip.

“Is your boyfriend here?” he asks casually, but you noticed him scanning the crowd just a few seconds ago.

“Yeah… Jacob’s here—but he’s not my boyfriend. We’ve been just—seeing each other for a bit.” You don’t want to talk about Jacob with Lip and it’s clear in the way you talk. You’re more focused on your elbows touching on the bartop.

Lip just laughs shortly, doesn’t say anything. It irks you. You frown. “What?”

“Nothing,” Lip shrugs, drumming his fingers on the wooden desk stained with beer and sweet, sticky liquor. He’s lost some of the baby fat in his face. You notice the sharpness of his cheekbones. He tilts his face downward as he blinks at you.

“You never had a boyfriend at school.” He probably wants to say "When I was at school" but that doesn’t interest you that much now.

“So what?” You grow even more irritated by his questions. Why does he care? You never discussed boyfriends, or his girlfriends, for that matter.

You turn your head away, grimacing, but Lip, on the other side, seems entertained. Intrigued.

“Nothing,” he says, smirking stupidly, and doesn’t stop looking at you. “You’re pretty when you pout.”

Your whole face flushes in an instant. Lip never talked like this to you. Never flirted. Of course, at the beginning, you had been disappointed, but you quickly decided that mutual respect for friendship is much better. Safer.

Unsure of what you’re going to say, you tilt your face back to him, but when you look at Lip, he’s not smirking anymore. He reaches for you, hand catching your burning face, his thumb sweeping over your cheek.

It takes you a moment to bat his hand away. “What’re you doing?” you ask, horrified. And shocked. Flustered with your shyness.

Lip shakes his head. “I don’t know,” he mumbles while you’re looking around, all wild, to check for Jacob.

This time it’s Lip who frowns. “You said he was not your boyfriend.”

“Are you, like, jealous or something?” you say only to say SOMETHING, head shaking in disbelief. The silence that follows almost shocks you. You never thought about what you would do if Lip felt the same about you. Never dared to think about that scenario.

Scared to find out what you’ll find out, you peer at him. His face is serious, jaw tense.

“Oh my god, you—you’re jealous,” you whisper, hand going to your mouth to cover it. Your expression must be hilarious—eyes wide, mouth open in disbelief. Lip starts fidgeting with the paper coaster on the bar, eyes flicking all over the room.

Angry tears begin to cloud your vision. “You have no right to be jealous now,” you seethe. “Have you only noticed me now? When I’m seeing someone?” The hurt is unmistakable in your voice. You ball your hands into fists, blinking against the tears welling in your eyes. When Lip doesn’t say anything, you turn on your heel. If you don’t get some fresh air now, you’re going to suffocate.

Once outside, you find a quieter spot away from the smoking people, propping against a wooden table. When you look up you wish you could see stars in the night sky. But the light pollution’s making it impossible. Sighing, you wrap your arms around yourself to protect yourself from the chill. You’re glad that Jacob knows people here too, otherwise you would probably feel bad for leaving him.

Before you get a chance to really sort your feelings, you see Lip approaching you in your peripheral vision.

You sigh, defeated, making a point of not looking at him as he stops a mere foot from you. You’re terrible at confrontations.

“You mad?” Lip asks, and you can feel him studying your face. There’s a cigarette burning between his fingers.

You shake your head. No.

Next, Lip shrugs off his hoodie, cigarette held between his pouting lips, and drapes the garment, warmed by his own body heat, over your shoulders. “Here.”

Suddenly, you’re enveloped in Lip Gallagher. In the smell of tobacco, laundry detergent, and boy. You close your eyes tight against the feeling that’s surfacing from within you. It’s spreading like wildfire, and when Lip steps in front of you, reaching to move the zipper up, up, up, the heat reaches your face, pinks up your cheeks.

Lip leans into you, putting both your bodies into contact, thighs to chests. He slides one of his hands into the pocket of his hoodie, right where your hand’s hiding too, and twines your fingers together. Then he rubs his cheek against your own, as you meet in the middle, and your heart stops. You didn’t know Lip would be like this. That brash, cocky Lip Gallagher with a womanizer reputation treating you with such tenderness.

But you don’t want to end up as a notch on his bedpost.

“I don’t think I’m your type,” you say simply, looking at the ground, hoping that’s enough for him to let it go. To let you go. Even though deep down, it’s the last thing you wish for. You don’t want Lip to let you go. You want him to do the exact opposite.

Lip scoffs, closer to your ear than you expected, making you jump. “And what’s my type?”

“I mean—” you swallow hard, finding the courage to say the next words, as nonchalantly as possible, “I’m from a functional family. I don’t use drugs, I don’t deal drugs. I’m pretty sure I don’t have any personality disorders,” you list.

“Wow, so you’ve done research on me, huh?” Lip asks drily but he doesn’t move, stays close to you.

You decide to come out with the truth. “You know, I had a crush on you at school, and I think I was not as subtle as I thought I was. I mean, most of my friends knew about it.”

Licking his lips, he says,“I always thought you were cute. I was just—”

You're not letting him off that easy. “Busy fucking through the entire school?”

“I didn’t think it was a good idea to make a move.”

“Why do you think it’s a good idea now?”

“Because I can’t stay away from you anymore.”

[ctrlsznwrites]

SAY SOMETHING

introduction — movies for one.

about — [your name] is left at home after a scheduling conflict on sam’s part. now, since her best friend left her home alone on a saturday night, she decides to watch some new things on netflix.

pairings — sam wilson x black!reader

w.c — 851

previous

SERIES MASTERLIST | MASTERLIST

[Your Name] walked into their apartment ready to forget her troubles at work and just to hang out with her best friend watching movies. They had been planning this night for about a week since they haven’t had much time with each other as of recently. She smiled, setting her keys down on the table taking off her cardigan making her way to her bedroom to change clothes, and ordering the pizzas for tonight’s activities.

[Your Name] was ready to hang out with her best friend because life had just been beating her behind lately. She got passed up for a position at work, which another one of her coworkers who does half of the work she does get. Her love life was non-existent and mentally she was just exhausted. She just wants to be around one of her favorite people and not think of anything else just for one night.

She quickly made her way out of the room going to Sam’s room knocking on the door, having noticed his keys when she walked in. He answers her telling her to come in, she does so ready to ask him what he wants in his pizza when she notices him dressed up. A look of confusion takes over her face as she looks over his outfit.

“You’re a little bit dressed up to be having a movie night with me tonight, wouldn’t you think?” She questioned leaning against his door frame.

“That’s tomorrow night, [ Your Name ] remember we agreed on Saturday. I told you I had a date tonight!” He exclaimed looking for shoes to match his outfit.

[Your Name] looked at Sam surprised knowing they didn’t talk about anything pertaining to what he is telling her now. She hummed in agreement nodding her head at him while she ordered her pizza knowing she would be by herself tonight.

“Yeah, so let’s say you did tell me all of this Sam. How would we be doing this tomorrow night when tomorrow my parents are coming into town and I’m spending the entire day with them?”

“No, they come in next week. I know that because – fuck! I’m so sorry [Your Name], I forgot can we reschedule?” He pleases putting his shoes on, she nodded giving him a small smile before leaving his room making her way to the kitchen.

She quickly made herself a glass of rum punch taking a few sips before making her way to the living room to set up Netflix. [Your Name] scrolled through the streaming service trying to keep her emotions under control until Sam left. She quickly chose the show All America having heard it’s a decent show. [Your Name] sat down her drink grabbing her blanket and tried to get into the show but all she could think about was how Sam had been standing her up a lot recently.

Especially for this new chick, he was seeing, and she didn’t really know how to feel about it. She had felt with him dating before so she can deal with that pain, but one thing he never did was stand her up. He always made time for her no matter who he was seeing, so it felt weird for her to be living so close to someone yet feeling so far away from them.

Sighing she reached for her phone, going to text her best friend Willow to see if she wanted to hang out tonight. Less than two minutes later she found out that Willow had a date with her new man, which caused [Your Name] to throw her head back and groan.

She quickly closed her eyes trying to keep her tears at bay, because she was just tired. All these things hitting her at once she just wants to go away for a little bit to escape. But in the economy, there is no way possible with her salary that she could do that. Which is why tonight was so important to her, she just needed one of her close friends to take her mind off of some things.

Her eyes shot open when she heard Sam’s footsteps coming towards the living room. She continued to look forward pretending to watch the show. She eventually zoned out that she didn’t hear Sam calling her name.

“Hey, again I’m sorry about this. Maybe we can have a movie night Sunday night?”

“Yeah, that’s fine Sam, just let me know what movies you want to watch. And you’re paying for my food and snacks since we had to reschedule.”

He chuckled softly walking over to her giving her a kiss on her cheek. “Alright, I’ll be back later don’t wait up.”

“I never do!” She shouts back as he closes the door.

[Your Name] sat back on the couch with a feeling of uncertainty in her stomach. She was happy for Sam for getting back into the swing of dating after his last relationship was a roller coaster that never stopped. But she couldn’t help but feel a little jealous that whoever the woman was she had Sam’s undivided attention.

next...

[horansqueen]

It Feels Like Christmas - Part 1

It feels like Christmas Just like Christmas It feels like Christmas with you...

Click Here if you want to be on the update list

MIMI

It's Christmas again. It's that time of the year again, and I couldn't find a good reason not to visit my family. It's not that I didn't love them, in fact, I loved them more than any other humans on the planet. They put up with me when I walked into their life and they loved me through all the obstacles I brought them despite myself. No one else had even showed me love the way my parents had and I was totally thankful. The problem was not a lack of love, it was the whole Christmas thing. The parties, the traditions, and all the memories that came with it... including the bad ones. No, Christmas was definitely not my favorite holiday and probably never would be.

The airport was crowded and I had to admit I was not a fan of that either, but I still managed to make my way to the counter before finding a seat. Waiting was the worst, and I closed my eyes, almost falling asleep a few times but waking up every time my head would fall. I was extremely tired because of the last few weeks at work and I just wanted to lay down in my bed, blankets over my head, and sleep for a month. The beds at my parents' were comfortable, of course, but they were not my bed and that was their only but still very big flaw.

I blinked a few times, forcing myself to open my eyes, and turned my head to look at the large window. It was barely possible to see anything except snowflakes falling and I started nibbling my bottom lip. I was normally not scared of flying but in these conditions, it was slightly stressful. I gripped the sleeves of my hoodie hard and twisted the fabric. Was that a good excuse to leave and just go back home? To spend the holidays at home, watching action movies on my couch and napping in-between?

I was still lost in my thought when a message from the airline company echoed in the large room.

"Due to the bad weather, all flights will be delayed. More information will be provided later."

Something inside of me seemed to light suddeenly like a switch was flick, as I thought of the possibility to just go back home. It seemed like I was blessed for no reason, like someone had heard my prayers and that I was going to get what I wanted this year without much effort.

I watched everyone get up and rush to the counters to talk to employes and at that moment, I was so happy I was not working there. I remained sitting without moving at all as everyone was panicking around me and closed my eyes again. I thought about how excited my mom had sounded when I told her that this year, I would spend Christmas with them and somethin stirred in my stomach. It was guilt. Of course, I had to go. It was the first time in the past 5 years that I would spend Christmas with them. I hated it, that much was true, but I could make an effort, right? It was only a few days... right? Suffering a few days to make my parents happy seemed like a very tiny sacrifice and after a while, I sighed and my eyes fluttered open.

I inhaled deeply to gather some courage and finally go get my stuff back. When I got out of the airport, it was late and although I should be hungry, I was actually slightly nauseous. I felt my heart jump in my chest and walked quickly to the closest cab, opening the door and bringing my luggage with me.

"Wow, I'm so lucky." I let out with a chuckle before I noticed someone sitting next to me. "Oh, I-I'm s-so sorry!"

The man next to me looked young, maybe a few years younger than me, and he seemed as surprised as I was. I could see part of his brown hair under his beanie and when his blue eyes met mine, I held my breath.

"Sorry miss, but he was here before you-"

"No, no of course, I'm really sorry." I grabbed the handle of the door but stopped immediately when I felt the young man's hand over mine. It was warm despite the cold weather and I turned around to face him, blinking a few times.

"Where are you going?"

My mom taught me not to share that kind of information with anyone but I just licked my lips and raised a shoulder. "Closest hotel, I guess."

His lips curled slightly and he nodded once. "Me too. We can share the cab if you want."

I didn't want to get back in the cold with my stuff and try to find a new cab. I just wanted to get in bed and sleep after a drink or two, perhaps. I let my eyes roam on his face before I pressed my lips together. A cab ride wouldn't kill me. In fact, there was probably a hotel nearby and we would just split the bill and party without ever seeing each other again.

"Thank you, that's very sweet of you." I agreed, my lips curling into a smile.

"Christmas spirit!" he chuckled and shrugged. "It's the most wonderful time of the year!"

"I guess." I replied softly. I thought the exact opposite but what was the point of telling him? Besides, I knew it would bring many questions that I didn't want to answer.

The ride was silent but I noticed him glancing at me from time to time and every time, I couldn't help my heart from skipping a beat. We reached the hotel and paid the driver before bringing our stuff in the hall of the hotel slowly. He seemed tired too but when we reached the counter, I leaned against it without sending him a second glance.

"I'd like a room, one night, please."

"For two?" the woman in front of me asked, raising her eyebrows.

"No." I chuckled tiredly. "One for me, alone."

I paid and ended up in the elevator with a key. I yawned as the doors were closing but the guy from earlier stopped them to join me and once again, I felt nervous.

"I had already booked a room before leaving the airport." he explained when I sent him an awkward smile. "Your flight was delayed too?"

"Yea."

He nodded and I started biting my bottom lip, holding the handle of my luggage even harder., so hard that my fingers turned white. I didn't know why but he was making me nervous, and when the door opened again, I rolled my bag behind me until I heard his voice again.

"Hey." he let out, making me turn around. "I'm gonna go to the bar on the first floor, to get a drink. If you want to join me, you're welcome."

I looked at him for a few seconds, debating if it was a good idea or not and if I should actually go, until I noticed the doors close again between us, making me jump slightly.

"Uhm, okay."

I spent too long just looking at the closed doors, motionless and alone on the hall of the 6th floor. I didn't know this man but somehow, he made a short impact on my night and when I took my shoes off and sat on my bed, he sitll hadn't left my mind. I was not the type to talk to strangers let alone befriend them, but somehow, i felt lonely in this stupid hotel room. I got up quickly, leaving my bag there, and walked to the bathroom to look at myself in the mirror. I had left my coat on the bed along with my boots next to the door and what I was looking at was horrible. My make up was almost all gone, leaving small traces of black under my eyes,  and my hair was a mess. I looked at my reflection and sighed. It was a miracle someone had invited me for a drink. Perhaps, he was desperate or very lonely himself.

I just wanted to take off my jeans and put on sweatpants but instead, I closed my eyes and shook my head. The truth was, a drink would be very appreciated. I grabbed my wallet, my phone and my key before walking out of my room and taking the elevator again. I felt my heart beat harder the whole ride and when the 'ding' was heard, telling me I was on the main floor, I swallowed hard.

It was mostly the kind of person who carried their friends through decades. I wasn't good at making new friends or even opening up. Going to meet a strange at a hotel bar was very out of character for me but somehow, it was thrilling.

As soon as I walked in I noticed him but instead to talk to him, I walked to the bar and asked for a shot and a drink, if only to ease my nerves. Everything stressed me. from spending the evening, drinking with a stranger, to going back to see my parents for Christmas, and it was not easy to handle. I grabbed the shot and swallowed it quickly before giving my room number to the barman and taking a long sip of my 'sex on the beach'. It took about a minute and a half until the man in the cab sat next to me and I licked my lips before turning to him.

"Niall Horan." he just said, extending his hand.

I grabbed it and shook it slightly with a small smile. "Mimi. Armstrong."

"Thank you for accepting my invitation, Mimi." he just said as his lips curled. "I would have paid for your drink, you should have let me."

I raised my nose up and shook my head a bit. "Na, it's cool, I'm not here because you invited me." I joked, making him chuckle. "I just needed a drink. Cheers?"

He clinked his glass of what looked like rum and coke against mine and I laughed a bit.

"So, Mimi Armstrong, where were you going?" he asked as I was swallowing what was left of my glass. He made a sign to the bartender and pointed my drink before pointing himself and I felt my heart skip a beat when I realized he was putting my drink on his bill. When was the last time something like that had happened to me?

"It's the holidays, of course I'm going in my family." I let out, not really mentioning that I normally never spend Christmas with my family. "What about you?"

He twisted his glass in his hands and chuckled sadly. "I'm going back home. My mom is probably already there. I invited her for the holidays. I just hope I can get there in time. I don't want her to spend a lonely Christmas, that's why I invited her in first place."

"Where are you from?"

"Ireland, and you?" he asked, raising his eyebrows.

I turned to Niall and blinked a few times. I should have guessed from his accent that he was Irish but for some reason, I didn't. His blue eyes roamed on my face and I suddenly felt self-conscious. Why did he even invite me here for a drink? It was ridiculous to be lonely to the point of inviting a random stranger like me to drink for the evening.

"Oh, here and there." I admitted with a shrug. "I don't really know."

"Wait." he frowned, tilting his head slightly. "You don't know where you're from?

I stared at him for a few second again until the bartender put an other drink in front of me. I grabbed it and sipped half of it quickly from the straw, not really sure I wanted to answer sincerely his question. After all, I didn't know him, and I was not the type to open up anyway.

"I'm from everywhere and nowhere, it doesn't matter."

[captaincartervalues]

My Stubborn Alien (for the fic title thing)

“Jus truuusst me, Lena thi- thisis a greaaat idea!” Kara empathically waves her hands.

“Kara, you’re drunk and this is most definitely not a good idea.” Lena replies matter of factly.

“Imnot drunk. Yooou’re drunk.”

Lena shakes her head at her girlfriend in exasperation.

“N Ssure it is! S’its what the peeople want. ANd it’s gunna be gREAt for ma image! No more ‘Oh Supergirl’s sooo uptight’ or ‘Oh Supergirl is toooo muchofa goodie tooshoes’ or ‘out of touch with the people’!” Kara airquotes.

Lena raises her eyebrows and tries to conceal her smirk.

“Imma be hip! Imma be wit da people, LenAa!” Kara reaches out to boop Lena’s nose as she’s making her last point. “Supergirl is CoOl Ssupergurl is sFun! Thhiss is gonna show everyone that. Okay? Okay.”

“Does this have something to do with the article Andrea had William publish this week?” Lena asks gently.

“NooOoo.”

“So this has nothing to do with her saying Supergirl isn’t the kind of hero you wanna have a drink with?” Lena presses.

“Uhh noo.” Kara insists defiantly. “It’s about the gAys!” Kara comes up with.

“What?” Lena laughs out.

“Nia said Tiktok is on the rage and the gays love it! And I wannabe something the gays love toooo” Kara points out.

“Darling, I’m pretty sure the gays already love you...”

“Yeeaaaahh BUT do they knooow I love them back?! Isdunno... Isss why I need Tikstok!” Kara exclaims as if her reasoning is flawless.

Lena looks at the innocent face on her drunk girlfriend and knows they’re going to be in trouble tomorrow. “There’s no talking you out of this right now, is there?”

“NOpe!” Kara smiles triumphantly.

Lena sighs as she acquiesces “Fine.”

Kara jumps up and down with exuberance.

“But I’m not taking any of your complaints when you regret this tomorrow.”

———

Kara wakes up with a decent hangover, which wouldn’t be so bad, if she didn’t also wake up to an empty bed and no Lena to snuggle.

With a pouty face and her eyes half closed, Kara glacially shuffles out towards the kitchen and freshly made coffee. Although, she quickly realizes her and Lena aren’t alone this morning when she hears a whispered conversation.

“Alex? What are doing here so early?” Kara inquires as she excitedly spots the donuts her sister must have brought over.

“Oh you know just catching up with my future sister-in-law about how your night was.” Alex says sharply.

Kara brushes past the sister-in-law comment and looks skeptically at Alex as she eats her second donut. “It was fine. Pretty low key.” Kara says with her mouth full.

Alex scoffs “LOWkey?! Mmm and how much of it do you remember there, Kar?”

Kara looks to Lena with questioning eyes but Lena won’t quite look at her as she chuckles behind her coffee cup. “Most of it...I mean I don’t really remember going to bed once we got home but -”

Lena bursts out laughing at Kara’s unassuming admission.

“This isn’t funny, Lena.” Alex chastises.

“I mean it kind of is, Alex. Come on, it wasn’t that bad in the end” Lena argues.

Kara cuts Alex off before she can argue back “What wasn’t that bad?”

“Oh why don’t we just show you superstar!” Alex quips.

Lena takes pity on Kara’s still confused face and pats the seat on the couch next to her “You’re gonna want to sit down for this one, honey.”

Kara takes the offered seat as Lena hands her phone over to Kara after opening the Tiktok app. Kara’s mouth immediately drops when she sees herself in her Supergirl suit on the screen.

“Oh no!” Kara gasps.

“Oh YES.” Alex digs. “Go on, press play.”

Kara presses play and immediately regrets it as she watches herself stare back with ‘sexy’ eyes and lick her lips before lip syncing:

“I wanna put you in 7 positions for 70 minutes. You get it babe. You got a lot on your mind and I want to ease it up and lick it and slip it in. You do a light scream on the ice cream when I scoop it and dip it in.”

“Oh. My. Rao.” Kara groans as she presses pause to stop the video. “Why am I seducing the camera in my Supergirl suit?”

“That’s a great question, isn’t it Kara?” Alex jabs sarcastically. “Lena?”

“You said it was trendy and that the TikTok gays would appreciate it.” Lena offers.

“Why didn’t you stop me??” Kara whines.

“I tried!” Lena defends. “You told me it was homophobic and a hate crime not to post it!”

“I am never drinking Vahorian Rum again.” Kara says as she sinks into the couch.

“You said that last time.” Alex mocks.

Kara glares at her sister before attempting her patented optimism. “Okay, so I made a TikTok as Supergirl last night. At least it’s just this one video with only - um” Kara checks the phone “3.6 million views...”

Kara sighs, “It could be worse.”

Alex and Lena exchange a knowing look and Kara’s eyes go wide.

“I made MORE than one video?!?” Kara postures.

“Try like six.” Alex huffs disapprovingly.

“Oh Rao!”

“Weeelllll, she only posted six...” Lena adds.

“OH RAO!” Kara groans. “Show them all to me now.”

The three of them proceed to watch all of Kara’s drunkenly produced TikToks from the night before.

“Ayyyoooooo bisexual check!”

Kara doesn’t even know how she manages to roll the sleeves and pants of her supersuit but she watches herself do it before putting a beanie and chucks on, grabbing her ukele, and topping it off by replacing her cape with a bisexual flag.

“I don’t even have a bisexual flag!” Kara blurts.

“You do now.” Alex points to it draped over the dining table.

Kara looks at Lena baffled.

“You said it was ‘essential’, yelled ‘brb’, and came back with the flag and some candy before I could open my mouth.” Lena explains.

Kara sighs and scrolls to the next video.

“Ayyyoooooo everyone thinks my cousin is hot check!”

This video turns out to be just Kara rolling her eyes and shaking her head with embarrassment in front of a bunch of pictures of Kal in his Superman suit. Most of the comments on the video are either ‘well they ain’t wrong doe’ or ‘not as hot as you Supergirl’ and Kara isn’t sure which she hates more.

The next one starts with Kara and Lena standing next to and looking at each other with background music and the caption ‘whenever Lex tries to take over the world’ and ends with them not missing a beat as they turn towards the camera and lip sync:

“What kind of fuckery is this?”

“Okay this one is kind of funny.” Kara cautiously proclaims.

“Yeah I liked that one too.” Lena admits with a smile.

“Should have said ‘whenever Lex does anything’.” Alex corrects. They all burst out laughing at that.

With the mood slightly lightened, Kara scrolls to the next video.

“Ayyyoooooo jawline check!”

Kara is already cringing again as she anticipates watching herself show off her jawline but is surprised when the camera flips to Lena rolling her eyes as Kara’s hand turns her head to its profile to hype up her girlfriend’s impeccable jawline.

“I’m so sorry” Kara says sheepishly.

“It’s okay, babe.” Lena reassures her as she presses a quick kiss to Kara’s lips.

“I mean...Lena’s jawline was made for this trend sooo...” Alex concedes.

Lena rolls her eyes again as Kara shrugs, “She’s not wrong, babe.”

“Yeah, yeah. Just watch the last one you posted because it’s Alex’s and mine’s favorite.” Lena says as she and Alex laugh in anticipation.

“Oh no.” Kara sighs before scrolling.

Music plays as she watches stock images of Superman, the Flash, and the Arrow pop up before Kara appears and lip syncs the last line with a cocky grin:

“These boys ain’t shit.”

“Oh my - Lena! How could you let me post theeeese?” Kara tries again.

“Listen,” Lena starts “you’re very stubborn when you’re drunk and it took everything I had to keep you from posting the other videos!”

“Do I even want to know?” Kara questions.

“I do!” Alex says taking a little too much enjoyment in Kara’s suffering.

Lena pulls out another phone.

“At least you guys were smart enough to use one of Supergirl’s burner phones and not your personal phones.” Alex says.

Lena tosses Alex a side eye. “Do I look stupid to you?” Lena asks rhetorically. “I also added extra layers of encryption to the app and the phone just in case.”

“Well I don’t know! You were stupid enough to fall in love with this idiot.” Alex mumbles as she points toward Kara.

“Normally I would be offended, but after last night, you might have a point.” Kara says.

Lena pulls up the the drafts she refused to let Kara post.

The first one is Kara floating with Lena in her arms in a bridal carry and the caption ‘when you save Lena Luthor from an attack’. Kara is looking at Lena before she turns to the camera and lip syncs:

“I think. You know. Where this about to go.”

Drunk Kara added some eyebrow raises and a wink before kissing Lena at the end.

“Okay it’s probably a really good thing you didn’t let me post this.” Kara admits.

“You think?!” Alex chastises.

Kara clicks on another video in the drafts to avoid Alex’s judgmental gaze.

This video is Kara and Lena standing in from of the camera facing each other as Kara lip syncs to her:

“You say we’re just friends....”

Kara smiles and pans to the camera. “But friends don’t know the way you taste.”

Kara smirks as Lena’s mouth drops and she goes to stop the recording immediately.

“OHkay I did not need to see that last one, Lena!” Alex complains.

“You asked for it.” Lena shrugs.

“She’s right. You did.” Kara backs up her girlfriend.

Alex glares at them both. “You two are lucky no one pieced together where you were or who you are!” Alex scolds as she points at Kara.

“I think it helped that Supergirl and I have a known working friendship.” Lena admits. “No one questioned why she was drunk and with me.”

“What has been the overall reaction to these?” Kara inquires.

“Honestly, it’s been mostly positive with most fans loving the content and an inside look at playful Supergirl.” Lena explains.

“Though there have been some critics questioning why a hero would get drunk at all with the responsibilities you have.” Alex levels. “And some negative responses from parents about the appropriateness of some of the content.”

Kara sighs resigned to the damage she has done.

“But. On the positive side, you were right!” Lena adds with encouragement.

Kara tilts her head quizzically.

“The gays LOVED it and they loved that they now definitively have a shot because you like girls!” Lena teases.

“Oh Rao! I can not believe Supergirl came out as bisexual on TikTok! Kate got an incredibly well written and thoughtful article on what it means to her and the world that Batwoman is gay and I got thirst traps! THIRST TRAPS!” Kara groans.

Alex shakes her head and Lena tries to hold back her laughter.

“I can’t believe you let me do this, Lena!”

“Hey, I told you it’s not my fault! You’re one stubborn alien when drunk.”

“But I’m your stubborn alien and you’re responsible for me.” Kara counters with a whine.

Lena sighs as she takes Kara into her arms. “You are my stubborn alien...with a drunken propensity for thirst traps.”

———

Kara embraces her drunken mistakes and utilizes her newly created TikTok fame to connect with the people and kids of National City on a more human level. She does PSAs and educational material in her videos as well as more lighthearted fun ones that people love.

She also managed to convince her superfriends to be in videos with her. The most liked videos on her page are the ‘flip the switch’ videos she’s done with the other heroes where the light goes off and they swap costumes. It started with Dreamer when Nia told her about it and convinced her to do it. Then Kara got Barry to do one (pretty easily) and then Sara, Killer Frost, J’onn, Mia, Constantine, and even Kate (after a lot of convincing). She also roped Kal into doing one with her old suit so he ended up in a skirt. That one is definitely her fav.

Generally, Supergirl’s official account has veered aware from making any more thirst traps, but that doesn’t seem stop other creators from making raunchy thirst traps about Supergirl.

Though, after some time and much convincing from Lena, Kara releases the last video in her drafts from that first drunken night.

“They say drunk words are sober thoughts” a sober Supergirl says as she shrugs and the video cuts to the clip of her drunk sprawled out upside down on the couch “Women are just like...sooooo HOT”

A lot of women liked that post.

[samwrights]

I’m sorry but ukai with a breeding kink😳yes PLEASE

I swear I saw another ask that asked for Ukai with an impreg kink

*ahem* anyways—WOW this one was a doozy but holy shit did I have fun writing it. 11k words you guys. 11. K. It is a lot so grab some cocoa or coffee and a blanket because this is a read. It even has to be split into two parts because I hit the fucking text limit, BUT this also means there is no actual smut in this portion. You can find that here.

If you guys need some ear candy, I recommend the following:

Day N Nite (Crooker’s Remix) by Kid Cudi

Pursuit of Happiness (Extended version with Steve Aoki) by Kid Cudi

Breaking Me by Topic

C’Mon by Ke$ha

Flannel by The Cardboard Swords (it has to be sad somewhere)

Magic in the Hamptons by Social House

Fun fact: Ke$ha was actually the primary inspiration for this fic and for DJ!Ukai. God bless her.

Warnings: language, nicotine and alcohol consumption, implied drug use, implied emotionally abusive relationship, breeding/impreg kink, dirty talk, rough sex, risky sex, road head, slight dub-con, praise, multiple smut scenes, 3rd person POV reader-insert—because the word ‘you’ just didn’t seem to fit.

Without further ado, please enjoy the filthy depths of my brain followed by a relatively happy ending that I’ve titled, “Between the Lines’” :-)

“You’ve been more tired lately, and you’re showing up right when practice starts. Is everything okay?” Was the question that Takeda had asked Ukai Keishin that haunted him for years to come. Sure, he had wanted to gain more independence from his parents, wanted to start being more adult-like and take over the mortgage and the bills so his parents could finally rest. At the age of twenty-six, it seemed like a good idea at the time. With four years passing, however, Keishin was so damn tired, but it wasn’t like he could just stop working.

He was still tending to crops every morning, tending to the shop, coaching for Karasuno, but in the four years time, he had adopted one more job on the weekends—Ukai Keishin was a local nightclub DJ. He’d discovered the job opportunity one fateful night that he was out with his friends from the neighborhood association. To this day, he was still unsure of why he was approached with the job, especially considering he didn’t know the first thing about being a DJ, but the woman who had offered him the position had taught him everything he needed to know.

It turned out that he had a natural affinity for the position, seeing as he was still at it years later under the alias Spira. Ukai kept telling himself that he would quit the gig eventually because there was no way he could continue working four jobs—it was inhuman and the money didn’t even really matter to him. Okay, that last one is a lie; his DJ gig has been a substantial contributor to his savings funds to the point where he was even able to afford a newer, larger, (and slightly) used SUV in full compared to his tiny, old yellow beater. Even his mortgage bills were starting to look less daunting with the current cash flow.

Who needs sleep anyway? Ukai survived and thrived off of nicotine and caffeine anyway. Besides, sleep was the last thing on his mind whenever he set foot into the club. It was impossible to think of anything other than the writhing bodies of sweaty, young adults that were already drunk or high or were practically fucking each other with their clothes on. Perhaps that was part of the reason Keishin felt the need to quit this job—he was envious. Envious of the fact that he never got to indulge in his youth like these kids did; he started working and helping his family out right away after college. Sure, he went out here and there, but these twenty-something-year-olds were living their best life, while he was thirty and catering to their whims.

To say he was a bit bitter would be an understatement.

Bitterness aside, however, it did him good to see the youth enjoying exactly that—their youth. They got to do as they pleased between exams and becoming functioning members of society and, while he was jealous, Ukai was proud to be able to contribute to their pleasure.

He’d arrived to the club early, as he often did, to try to grab a drink before he was due for stage time. Ukai was thankful the bartenders knew him enough that he didn’t have to verbally order considering the music was too loud to hear him in the first place. A rum and coke manifests itself in a small, plastic cup that the blonde raises in thanks before weaving and bobbing around the various partygoers. For the most part, he’s successful in dodging the flailing bodies as he mutely notes the very upbeat remix of some female pop artist playing.

But only remotely successful as Keishin attempts to salvage his drink from spilling as he raises it over his head as one of the partygoers is pushed into him. “Hey, careful!” He snaps toward the younger, [hair color]ed woman. She only looks half-offended by the scolding, but otherwise unperturbed. If anything, the dominating expression on her face was confusion.

“Coach Ukai?” He’s surprised to hear both his given name and his title, let alone coming from a club patron, as they all knew him as Spira. Recognition slips his mind entirely—he’s never met this girl in any way that he can remember. Certainly, he would never forget crossing paths with this beauty, even if she was dressed in a similarly juvenile fashion to the other ravers. Tight crop top tee cinched together by a knot at the midriff, with army green high-waisted shorts attempting to cover the bare skin, face painted with makeup, glitter, and sweat; even underneath the garb, she brought forth no recollection. “Uh, d-do you remember me?” It’s a challenge to hear over the music, but she presses forward close enough that her lips are right in Keishin’s ear.

“Can’t say that I do,” he yells right back into hers.

“Karasuno class of twenty-twelve, I was Sugawara’s girlfriend.” Oh.

Oh.

Now he remembered, vaguely, but he doesn’t ever remember her looking like this. The last four years had been incredibly kind to her, in more ways than one. Back in her Karasuno days, [name] had always looked pleasant, for lack of better term. But there was always a lifeless, matted, dull glaze to her eyes that screamed she was searching for something more. While it was still somewhat present, there was a substantial joyous air around her. It looked good on her. However, as much as Ukai wanted to stay and admire, he had to go get set up for the evening. Or rather, that was the excuse he used when he said he would catch her after the show. “[name], did you know who that was?” The woman in question gives a nod, confused at the sudden star struck gawks that her friends held.

“Uh, yeah? My ex-boyfriend’s volleyball coach?”

“No dude, that was the DJ, Spira.”

“What?”

Being the closing act meant a lot of different things to Ukai Keishin. On the negative spectrum, it meant he was going to have to tend to crops as soon as he finished cleaning up his set. That also meant he wasn’t going to get to go to bed until nearly eight in the morning after his shift at the farm. Yet, for him, the positives greatly outweighed the negatives. For Keishin, watching the audience lose themselves in euphoria, albeit probably a drug-induced one, just hit different for him. It was a sense of satisfaction that only came from a select few activities, with coaching volleyball being the other major contributor. There was just something about the way the crowd was overwhelmed and screaming the second underground remixes of old Kid Cudi tracks with his own twists overtook the speakers that granted Keishin a sense of enlightenment.

For him, being a DJ allowed an audience to flow and vibe with the journey of his life and all its constant up and down motions while under the guise of anonymity. As Spira, Ukai opened up the complexity and conflicting feelings of his inner mind and brought it to fruition through his mixes. He felt that in his soul, he’d done his art of storytelling justice. The audience felt it. Hell, his mom at home probably felt it. Perhaps it was one of the main reasons this dingy, hole-in-the-wall club kept asking him to come back every weekend.

His mind wanders further as he clutches an electronic cigarette in his hand, mixing beats on the turntable while taking hits of nicotine in between. He wonders if the girl he had ran into just a few minutes prior had been frequenting here as often as he had. Then, thinking back to what little information she supplied earlier, Ukai’s mind drifts off to the former third-year setter from when he first started coaching. Sugawara was a nice boy with a firm, almost parental, hand that walked dangerously along the lines of being a partner and being a control freak. When it came to his relationship, things had to go his way. And while his girlfriend that came to every tournament was much more outspoken yet easy going, she was opinionated and didn’t shy from confrontation.

Now that the coach had given it more thought, it was a wonder that one tolerated the other at any point in time. If anything, Ukai imagines the two of them would typically be at each other’s throats. From the few times he had interacted with her, she was always more free spirited and couldn’t be weighed down by any one else’s opinion, but seeing her now was different—she was in her element in the dingy, dark club with the glitter on her cheekbones refracting light off of her face. There was laughter and true, unabashed joy on her face. She had a light of her own—like she was ray of sunshine in the center of a storm.

Three hours past midnight when the club closed was always Keishin’s sign to leave, regardless of the countless attempts to attend the after party he’d been invited to. He had to go to work, after all. Sure, a part of him had always been a little green with envy at all the DJs that got to hook up with club patrons after, but after being at this gig for a few years, he figured that the right girl for him would eventually come to him if he continued working on himself. After all, he didn’t want to just have a string of one night stands with a bunch of fresh adults that could barely function after the small drop of Malibu rum—he was too old for that.

“Uh, coach?” [name] felt strange calling him that, but she didn’t feel familiar enough with him to address him otherwise. He was halfway in his car, the blonde ready to leave for the weekend to go back to his regular day-to-day work. “You coming to the after party?” [name] asks when Keishin only looks at her in question, cigarette hanging betwixt his dry lips.

“No, I actually have to go to work right now.”

“Oh,” she doesn’t mean to express her disappointment, but it slips anyway, “guess I’ll catch you later then?”

“Uh, yeah.” A tight lipped hybrid of a pained grin and grimace crosses her wet, gloss covered lips. Without another word, Ukai closes his car door, a little more brusquely than he intended to, before backing out and leaving the young woman to her own devices. His mind wanders once again with him humming absentmindedly to the soft acoustic punk playing over the car radio. His eyes are focused on the passing greenery, the cars that are weaving and bobbing off the freeway—hell he even noticed the way the tendrils of the sun are just barely starting to peak over the horizon because it reminded him of her. A thought he banishes immediately because he feels creepy for even thinking that.

Yet no matter how much scenery flitted through his honey eyes, his mind keeps traveling back to one thing, or rather one person, only.

Goddammit.

On Monday’s practice, Ukai Keishin’s mind is flooding and drowning in memories of his first year as the volleyball club’s coach. It was as if his mind was coercing him to attempt to reach out to the girl that plagued his mind for the last forty-eight hours or so. Though, he had no way of contacting her. Instead, with every step along the wooden floors, he can remember the way she would walk Suga to practice, almost physically seeing her standing in the doorway to kiss the third-year setter goodbye. As if he could see her sitting underneath the third window from the left, quietly doing homework and exchanging small talk and airy laughter with Kiyoko and Daichi. As if he could see the same sunny smile she gave in the audience from Saturday night at the club between the lines of the woodwork in the floorboards.

It was a repeating pattern day in and day out that was beginning to make Ukai question his sanity.

“Hey, man,” his assistant coach and fellow Karasuno alumni, Tsukishima Akiteru, places a hand on his shoulder and looks at him in worry. “Are you okay? You’ve been out of it all week.” In what world did a week translate into three days, the older blonde coach didn’t know.

“I’m fine, just tired,” Keishin all but bites back. He didn’t want to admit his conscious had been running rampant with thoughts of a girl he’d briefly met at a club. It felt almost as disturbing and perverted as it sounded in his mind.

“The team’s worried about you. Why don’t you take an early weekend and get some rest? We’ll see you back on Monday, yeah?” Normally, Ukai would have vehemently refused. However, his circumstances were far from normal and he was gracious for an assistant coach he trusted wholeheartedly to do the work that needed to be done. And so, Ukai heeded Akiteru’s advice and went home before practice even began on Thursday afternoon.

It was slightly disorienting for him to go home and nap, but he was incredibly thankful for the gift. Waking up just before he was technically supposed to start his shift at the shop, Keishin jumps into a cold shower to bring him to life before heading downstairs. A bellowing yawn passes his lips through his teeth as he starts his evening. Maybe his team was right—he really did need a break. Thankfully, he knew that the second the doors to the Sakanoshita were locked, he was done for the evening and wouldn’t need to reawaken until three the following morning. Just a few more hours until then, he thought.

With it being a slower evening as well, Ukai was able to kick his feet up on the counter as he always did, pull open the newspaper from earlier in the morning and casually flip through. Briefly, he considers giving up one of his four jobs because this was something he missed doing. But consideration aside, he was far too in love with the cash flow and the thought of paying off his mortgage to entertain the thought for long. Maybe one day, he would finally sell the Sakanoshita store or quit helping on the farm—

“You still work here?” Huh. Her voice sounds different when it isn’t drowning under the speakers of a nightclub.

“I do own this place, you know.” Ukai snarks at the woman who’d been consuming his brain for the last week. She looks different without glitter reflecting off of her unreal cheekbones or the heavy layers of foundation and eyeshadow. Even more than before, Keishin definitely recognized [name] now. “What are you doing here anyway?”

“Shopping,” she snorts as if it were the most obvious thing, “why else would I be at a store?”

“Dunno, maybe you’re just here to see me.” Ukai responds without skipping a beat, turning the page of the paper to play into his guise that he wasn’t the slightest bit surprised at [name]’s presence.

“Uh...actually...” her voice is quiet, prompting the coach to quirk a brow and fold up the paper he was now pretending to read. It wasn’t like he could focus on anything right now outside of the woman standing before him, spearated only by a thin counter. Without talking again, his brown eyes lock with hers, silently goading for her to continue speaking. “I-I just...I don’t know. It was just really weird to see you at the club and then to find out that you’re Spira on top of that. I haven’t seen anyone from Karasuno since I graduated and—“

“Woah, kid, breathe.” Ukai interrupts her before she can continue spewing word vomit at a hundred miles an hour. “So what if I’m Spira? Though, you better not tell anyone that. My stage name is a secret between us, alright?” For a moment she’s quiet, gears turning in her head. The secrecy didn’t make sense to her because, if anything, he should be proud of the fact that he’s rather well known in the underground electronica scene. Or at least, she was in his stead, because [name] would have been proud of Ukai regardless of whatever occupation he held.

She supposed it came with the territory of having an unrequited crush on the coach years ago, that continued well beyond high school and even university, back when she was still dating Sugawara Koushi. It was the reason she had even bothered to come sit in on his practices and partially the reason she would come to his tournaments and matches. Not that she didn’t want to be supportive of her then-boyfriend—it would have been a fight had she not—but seeing the hot older coach was definitely a bonus in her book. “But why?” She offers, not wanting conversation to end despite her not having actually bought anything.

“If the school ever caught wind of me doing that, I could lose my position as the coach. Some shit about Karasuno’s image or whatever.” [name] gives a small nod, fidgeting subconsciously, as an attempt to shake her nerves and anxiety, by sifting through various candy bars that were in front of her before grabbing her favorite. Without a second thought, she peels the wrapper before placing the candy between her lips, the puffy pink skin greatly contrasting the chocolate coating. “Ya gonna pay for that, kid?” Ukai irks, his honey brown eyes steeling over in irritation. The nickname she’s given hits the final nail on the coffin and seals away [name]’s trepidation. Instead, her own sass comes out to join the fun.

“Nah,” she hums playfully, the chocolate-covered wafer cookie crunching between her teeth. “Quit calling me kid, coach. I’m a lady,” the irony isn’t lost on either of them as she speaks with her mouth full.

“Still a kid, kid. And quit calling me coach, I’m not your damn coach.” The familiar, grumpy attitude of his brings [name] back to the Ukai she knew back in high school. In a mix of nostalgia, warmth washes over her as the haughty tone in his voice sent shivers down her spine like it did a few years back.

“Sure thing, coach,” she teases again before tossing the wrapper of the stolen candy bar into the nearest bin. “You’re at the club tomorrow, right?” The question adds a bit of context and confirmation to Ukai—it seems she knew when Spira was performing, meaning she must have been a patron for a decent amount of time. Part of him wonders how she never realized who he was before, another part wonders how he’s never noticed her considering she could make all traffic stop if she stood in the middle of a freeway. At least, that’s what looking at her did to his heart.

“Yeah?”

“Maybe this time, you’ll join us at the after party.” Without another word, [name] pushes herself away from the counter she’d been leaning on while talking to the blonde man. With Akiteru giving him the weekend off, he actually entertained the thought of attending this time. Even if her invitation was rather blasé and indirect, he didn’t see the opportunity of him attending one presenting itself any time soon. He may be old, by his own standard, but there was a unknown allure to the thought of showing up to a wild party with a woman that was so adamant of his attendance.

Or rather, adamant in his mind. Whether she actually wanted his company remained to be seen, but the curiosity was gnawing at him, and was something he would have to unearth sooner rather than later.

Having an entire night, or a day’s worth, of rest was a rather disorienting, yet pleasant feeling for Ukai. After tending to crops and returning home in the early hours of the morning, the blonde coach was able to catch a solid nine hours of sleep before his shift at the Sakanoshita store with another chance to nap before he needed to head to the club. Despite knowing he had the ability to do so before another restless night, his mind felt the need to keep him awake and alert. Even after showering and styling his blonde tresses into their usual mane—mundane acts that usually came to him automatically—he was hyper aware of the slightest unruly flyaways.

Ukai Keishin was nervous.

He didn’t know what to wear or if there was a dress code or if anything he typically wore would be deemed worthy of an after party. A part of him wanted to leave it alone and let him sport his usual white track pants and tight, maroon muscle tank, but that part of him immediately drowns in the ocean of his anxiety. Another string in his brain prompted him to dress up just a little bit to help him look the part—it had nothing to do with impressing a certain club patron, no—he tried to convince himself. A miserable attempt, but still one nonetheless.

Eventually, he settled on crisp, dark-washed jeans that hugged his muscular legs without being suffocating, paired with a vibrant, crimson muscle tee that hugged his biceps all the same. Ukai still felt a little out of place in the attire, as he often had back when he first assumed the alias Spira, but headed out the door of his apartment before his conscious could dispute it.

He was early again, even more so than normal. Desperate for a drink to calm his nerves and replace his blood with liquid courage, Ukai worms his way around to the bar, signaling the attendant for his usual. Rum and coke in hand, the DJ stands off to the side, hiding like a wallflower, while he studied the sweaty, dancing bodies. Did he know why he was looking for her—no. Maybe partially to tell her she owed him for the candy bar, maybe to tell her he was joining in on the after party this time around.

Maybe to just see her.

Keishin banishes the last thought with a shake of his head before skulking off to the attached patio to smoke. Pulling a cigarette from his pack and a lighter from his pocket, the flame torches the end of the filter at the same time the blonde inhales. Forcefully pushing the smoke out past his lips, Ukai takes a hearty sip of his drink until it’s nearly gone. He was going to need something stronger tonight.

“Is it that time already?” The older man’s head snaps to the voice that had been haunting him subconsciously.

Part of him wishes he didn’t look.

As if to play into her question, [name] checks the large, rose gold watch on her right wrist—an incredibly stark contrast to her outfit for the evening. Maybe it was a hunch when Ukai felt that he had been underdressed, as if his intuition knew that she was going to be dressed to the nines in a black skater dress. Even with a modest neckline, the lace cut out detailing on the sides of the dress accentuated her curves impeccably, playing well with the volume of the skirt, while the open back she was sporting dipped dangerously low.

It took everything in Ukai to not throw every milliliter of restraint and inhibition out the window and fuck her right then and there.

Taking a lengthy drag of his cigarette to hold himself back, Keishin inhales deeply, the smoke billowing past his lips emerging densely and grey in color. “I’m a little early—needed an extra drink today.” The man manages to choke out, downing whatever is left in his little plastic cup for added emphasis.

“Need another?” [name] chirps politely; almost too politely as if to deliberately dispute the salacious thoughts flooding the coaches mind.

“I can get—“

“I owe you anyway,” she reminds him, alluding to the candy bar she had eaten without paying for from the previous night. “Pick your poison.”

“Double rum and coke.” He concedes. [name]’s lips twitch upward slightly at the corner before she plucks the empty cup from Ukai’s hand. He doesn’t miss the way the shellac on her nails grazes against his skin, leaving the whispers of contact to run warm. Immediately, the blonde man uses the nearly dead cigarette between his teeth to light a fresh one—heaven or hell knows he needed the nicotine right now.

Given the silence, Keishin takes the opportunity to absorb his surroundings. From the general direction that [name] initially came from, she wasn’t around any of her friends or really anyone that he knew. That was good at least; there wasn’t anybody else that knew of his presence. [name] returns, two clear plastic cups in her hands and surrenders the darker of the two to the man awaiting. “Hold mine for a sec?” Without thinking, Keishin holds his cigarette between his left index and middle fingers, his drink in the same hand, while taking hers. To his surprise, she pulls out her own pack of menthols and a torch lighter, setting the leaves ablaze before taking her obvious vodka cranberry back.

“You took up smoking?” The older of the two asks in surprise, noting the way her lipstick leaves the slightest bit of residue along the brown filter. [name] gives a shrug.

“Surprised you didn’t notice it sooner, coach. I’ve been smoking since second year.” Ukai gives a roll of his eyes at the use of this strange pet name he’s been dubbed by her. But he thinks about it, thinks about how Suga must have felt probably knowing that she did. Thinks how it just added to this strange, sassy yet happy, wild and free exterior she now had. And [name] notices instantly the very same look Ukai had in his face when he was trying to strategize, trying to figure out a way to navigate a conversation with his team about becoming better—she knows what’s coming next. “Yeah, yeah, I know I should quit or whatever. Suga lost that argument a long time ago.”

“Can’t really tell you what to do when I’m just as guilty.” Ukai gives a laugh—one that is embedded with bitterness and envy at the mention of the third-year setter—yet is just as vivacious as he is. A sound entirely different than she’d ever heard leave his lungs before. She likes it.

After finishing his smoke, Keishin gulps down a hefty swig of his drink before patting [name] on the shoulder before announcing his departure. “I’ll see you inside,” the girl, woman, calls out thoughtfully as she gives a small wave with her cigarette filter between her fingers. Ukai doesn’t verbalize the same sentiment. He doesn’t want to slip up and admit he’ll be looking for her.

But it’s painfully obvious that he is when he takes over the booth. Unable to hide the fact that with every chance that he looks into the audience, he’s searching for that black skater dress that hugs her all too perfectly, [hair color] locks swaying as she moves in the crowd. Ukai can’t hide it at all—not behind the turn table or new remixes meant to get the crowd moving.

He can’t hide the urgency he feels to find her outside in the crisp evening air, smoking on the back patio of the club after his set. [name] is talking and laughing with her friends while thin grey smoke billows from her open mouth before her eyes land on him. Some of her friends take notice to the tension and their shared gazes, some of them whispering his alias in excitement. But [name] just smiles knowingly, if not a little cocky, because she can see that urgency, that desperation, that Ukai was trying to hide. “Wait, [name], do you know Spira?” A bystander asked. Clearly, they weren’t present the last time this was brought up.

“Yeah, I may have met him once or twice,” the woman in question snickers as she strides over closer and closer to the aforementioned DJ.

“Cute,” Ukai sneers teasingly at her jab before instinctively reaching for the half-gone cigarette she pulls to her stained lips. At first, she thought he was going to put it out, considering their little conversation from a few hours ago. Instead, the volleyball coach puts the filter to his own lips, noting the damp fabric probably from her freshly applied lipgloss, and takes a drag. It tasted like watermelons and mint.

“Cheeky,” [name] returns, plucking her cancer stick back from the blonde man. While her friends are still behind her murmuring about the familiarity between the two of them, Keishin and [name] are lost in their own little world. “So since your set is over, and considering you’re still here, I’m assuming you’re joining me for the after party? Or do you have to go to work again?”

“I told them I’d be out of town this weekend,” Ukai tries to play it off as nonchalantly as he could, ties to swallow it down his nerves with rum and nicotine. It proves rather difficult considering the coy smile on [name]’s face is wearing and cracking through his resolve rather quickly. But at least, to him, he could confirm his mind was not playing tricks on him and [name] was just as adamant about his attendance as he initially thought. Even more so with her next statement.

“Cool. Your car or mine?” It took him a minute to process her words even—lust thickening and constricting the flow to his brain at the vague question. Ukai was getting far too ahead of himself, but goddammit how could he focus when the fabric of her skirt hit her mid-thigh and framed her like a Venetian goddess—“I don’t mind driving there.” She adds to coax him away from his silence.

“Nah, I got it. We’ll take mine.”

“Lead the way,” [name] chimes sweetly as she wraps an arm around the coach’s forearm. The physical touch is everything he’s been fantasizing about for the last few days—hellfire and brimstone and sunlight and goddammit why did he wear jeans that were only getting tighter and tighter?

Ukai opens the passenger door to his SUV, supporting the woman as she clambered in cautiously so as not to stumble from her heels. Getting settled in, the coach surrenders his unlocked phone to allow her the entirety of his music library. The irony of the DJ surrendering DJ rights to the passenger was not lost on either of them. Much to his surprise, [name] put on soft acoustic punk as he usually did on his way home from the club. The kind of softness one would turn on to accompany the fragile pitter-patter of rain against the windshield. “Cardboard Swords?” Ukai asks in surprise, more than familiar with the band.

“Flannel is a favorite of mine. I’m kind of surprised it’s in your library.” She adds after she begins directing him to this evening’s party location. From the corner of his eyes, he can see the way her full lips are moving along each word with expertise. He sees the way her [eye color] orbs soften slightly and he can tell this song hits home for her.

She’ll never say why—she’ll never tell him this was the song that helped her move on from Sugawara Koushi while restoring her inner peace.

But Keishin is no fool. He can tell that this is physically hurting her—crushing her soul into the leather seat of his car and, instinctually, he wraps a large hand around hers that’s resting in her lap. “I came out tonight to have fun with you, so don’t you go getting sad on me.” He means each word with innocent intent, yet he cannot ignore the almost hidden, salacious drip to each syllable and neither can she. How could she when his touch sent volts of electricity through her skin?

“Right, right,” she says in a conceding tone, switching the audio to something much more upbeat and a little flirty. “Why did you agree to go out tonight?” If Ukai had an answer, then it died on his lips as he let go of [name]’s hand to reach for another cigarette. The process of lighting the tube, inhaling, and exhaling bought him an extra minute to come up with an excuse; her doing the same giving him another thirty seconds.

“I don’t know.” It’s a blatant lie—a lie that [name] believes all too easily—but Ukai can’t bring himself to admit the truth. He can’t admit out loud that she’s the only thing that’s been on his mind all week or that he jumped at the opportunity, created one even, to be able to have a one-on-one moment with her. Keishin can’t admit that he can tell there are intricate webs spun in her mind and that all he wants to do is untangle them one by one.

And he certainly can’t tell her that even the mere sight of her sends his brain into overdrive and all he wants to do is repeatedly fill her over and over with his seed until she is entirely his, inside and out in mind, body, and soul. There was no way in the nine circles of hell that Ukai Keishin was going to admit to his sinful thoughts.

“It’s just up here.” [name] points with gaunt fingers, cigarette between them as her voice is half choked from inhaling her own smoke. Mirroring the man’s actions earlier, she indulged in her own nicotine habit to quell the budding disappointment from Ukai’s lackluster response. They drove up a slight winding hill and as the trees pass by, the itch for her truth and her history was gnawing at him. He wanted to know why this rambunctious party girl invited him all week to these elusive after parties. Why Flannel ate away at her insides like it did his. Why did her and Sugawara breakup?

But he decides against it for the moment.

“Where are we?” Ukai asks. There’s cars all lining the sides of the road of varying worth—he felt even more out of place than normal with his older SUV, even if it was an upgrade for him, considering the large number of luxury vehicles.

“Bevelle’s house.” [name] says simply, pointing to an empty space in the streets as she throws the butt of her cigarette into the road. The casual way she name drops the owner of the club makes him gawk, catching flies in his mouth had there been any at the hour. With a satisfied, cheesy grin, she hops out of her seat and walks in the grass to meet Ukai on the other side as he clambers out of the vehicle as well. In familiarity, she grips into his forearm once again as they walk towards the forest mansion.

Keishin wasn’t sure what to expect when the two of them walked in, but a home full of people screaming his pseudonym and her name was not on that list. Younger hordes had surrounded [name], greeting her warmly and telling her how glad they were to see her again for the evening. Others were approaching Ukai, telling them how rare and a momentous occasion that the infamous artist Spira was amongst their midst.

“Glad to see you could join us, Spira.” His boss and club owner, Bevelle, approaches the mismatched couple. Bevelle was an alias used by the middle aged woman, her real name unknown to those that didn’t know her know her, and was once upon a time her stage name. While she had chosen a quiet location in the Miyagi prefecture, Bevelle was quite known in the underground scene. Granted, Ukai didn’t know any of that when he’d taken the job. If anything, it was all thanks to her that he was able to learn for his own success as well as granting him the opportunity to learn in the first place. “Good to see you too, trouble.” Bevelle affectionately goes to muss at [name]’s hair, to which she only replies with a cheeky grin.

“How do you know Bevelle?” Ukai presses his lips towards the ear of the woman still hanging onto him as she expertly leads the way to the kitchen. The car ride left her feeling slightly uncomfortable, ashamed even though she would never admit to that, and she knew she definitely needed a drink after it. Part of her was heavily rebuking herself for trying to pry into his mind by asking why he came along, even more so when she put on the one song that shattered her heart every time she heard it. It just excited her that he had it in his library, that he even knew who The Cardboard Swords were, and that he enjoyed the same obscure taste in music as much as she did.

“She’s a close family friend!” The chirp that [name] gives isn’t entirely convincing, like she isn’t telling the truth. Regardless, Ukai washes down his doubt with the beer he was handed, figuring she probably had her reasons. And as soon as the plastic is in each of their hands, [name] downs the contents immediately, hoping to drown out the nerves ebbing from her stomach with vodka. She should have been ecstatic—her old high school crush, her unrequited crush, was here with her, drinking side by side but she can’t help but feel the tension between them—sexual or otherwise.

Just as the two of them down their second round, a piercing voice cuts through the thicket of the masses, calling out her name and capturing her attention. “It’s your song! Come on!” A shrug and a smile crosses [name]’s features as she’s all but dragged away to a different part of the mansion. Much to his surprise, she grabbed onto Keishin to drag him along as well.

The two of them are presented with a myriad of sweaty, rolling bodies—much more gone than Ukai had ever seen at the club itself. It was oddly...sensual, if it could be called that, to see the fluid movements between party goers. Sensual, intimate, strange—all of them could be used interchangeably at this moment.

[name] is dancing with another woman, mouthing all of the words to the current pop song while bobbing and jumping around excitedly before her eyes lock on his. She’s in her element now. All sunshine and smiles like Ukai had seen from on occasion from years ago or most recently at the club, but they’re directed at him for once as she pulls him closer onto the dance floor. The taunting beats and repetitive call of “come on” and the way [name] loosely wraps her arms around his neck as she dances brings Ukai to the realization that this was the end of the line.

The end of the line, because Keishin can’t hold himself back anymore.

Not with the way her hips are grinding against is and she’s laughing warmly and heartily at his slight discomfort and her teeth are glittering off the lights in the dark room like stars in the night sky. Not with the way her head is thrown back and her dress drops low enough to flaunt the expanse of bare skin of her neck and collar bones that are just begging him to sink his teeth in. Not with the way her [eye color]ed orbs are locked with his as she sings along with the music, oddly enough alluding to some form of confession of her feelings.

He can’t fucking take it anymore.

The large hands he has on her hips move just under her arms to hoist her up, [name] instinctively wrapping her legs around his waist to keep her balance. Their eyes are locked, honed in on each other with the rest of the party melting into the background. With her deepest, most wild high school fantasy driving her actions, she grins. “Hi,” is all she says before Ukai cranes his neck back to cover her lips with his.

His kiss is everything she imagined it would be after years of pining. The smell and taste of smoke and wood floods her senses as his tongue laps at the watermelon lip gloss on her bottom lip before seeking refuge within her mouth. His hands, now wrapped around her thighs give intermittent squeezes, either to keep them grounded in reality or just because he needs something to clutch at—she’s unsure of which. In response, her manicured fingernails tangle into his messy blonde locks. Their kiss pours out their desperation, laying it all out on the table for the both of them to see clear as day.

The only thing that prompts them to break apart is the ending of the song.

“You wanna get out of here?” Ukai asks as he tenderly puts [name] back on the ground. As if he weren’t just making out with her moments ago, the motion is delicate and gingerly and almost loving.

“Not yet,” there’s a knowing, smug lilt in her voice as she turns on her heel and throw herself back into the throng of party people. Or rather, attempts. While she’s attempting to flee, Keishin snatches her wrist, pulling her closer until their chests are flush against each other.

“Nuh uh,” the blonde man tuts, “you’ve been asking me to join you at a party all week, now here I am. The hell makes you think you’re leaving my side tonight?” [name]’s grin only grows wider.

“I’ve waited for years for this opportunity, coach, so if you think I’m not gonna have fun with it, you’re dead wrong.” The word ‘years’ constricts the man’s heart—forces his pupils to blow into dilation with her modest, yet blunt confession.

“Years?”

“Years,” she repeats, “ever since that first practice you stumbled into the Karasuno gym as the temporary coach. Why do you think I came to every single exhibition match and tournament? Or came to study and do homework while you guys had practice?” This girl was grinding at every steel line of self-control that was left in Ukai’s body because every word spilling past her lips added an additional ten volts to the sexual tension between them.

“We’re leaving.” He bites out despite the delicate tone. Wrapping his hand around hers once again, Keishin tugs her along time dodge the party goers that threw the two of them curious glances, wondering why they were quick to leave shortly after their arrival. Just to tease him further, [name] almost wants to offer a rebuttal and tell him that they should stay longer and enjoy the show. However, she knows she’s done enough waiting and if he was taking her home, she wasn’t going to argue.

While urgency and desperation was their game, Keishin didn’t cut corners when it came to presenting himself as a gentleman as he helped [name] back into the car. Hormones be damned—he was still going to help a lady into the passengers seat. “You never did tell me why you finally agreed to come out tonight.” She says quietly, as if the two of them hadn’t been making out and dry humping a few minutes prior. “And it’s clearly not because you knew I had a crush on you all throughout third year—“

“Don’t act like you’re the only one with feelings in this.” Ukai grits out, speeding much faster back home than he did on the way to Bevelle’s house. Paying that no mind, [name]’s ears perk up at his own wayward confession. When she asked for clarity, a rumbling groan shakes his chest as he patted down his pockets in search for his nicotine sticks. “I didn’t recognize you the first night at the club because you look different now. Happiness looks good on you.”

“Happiness?” She echos confusedly, turning to face Ukai fully after lighting her own cigarette.

“You used to always look content back then—just barely content and nothing more. And I can’t stop thinking back to those days because you’re this ball of sunshine, kid, and I can’t stop wondering what the hell Suga did to you to dim your shine that badly. I haven’t stopped thinking about you all week.”

[name] is quiet for a moment at his own rendition, his own version, of a confession and she’s stunned. And she can’t tell if she wants to cry or kiss him because this is not that way she ever fantasized this conversation going. It was going better than she dreamed. Better, because the words that Ukai is saying adds an entirely new layer to his amped up personality—he wasn’t just the sexy volleyball coach that she used to pine over. He was a person with deep rooted feelings for justice in the sense of wanting to understand how someone could inflict damage to the innocent and he wanted to rectify said injustices. He wanted to know how someone like Suga could try to dampen her sunlight instead of allowing her to thrive and bloom.

She wants to kiss him, she decides, but since he’s driving, she settles for placing a chaste one on the corner of his mouth. “Serves you right,” she jokes when she pulls away, “it’s been a long four years for me. It’s your turn to suffer.”

“Trust me, this car ride is torture enough.”

[ next ]

[entertainment]

Entertainment Spotlight: Minhal Baig, Hala

Writer and director Minhal Baig recently released a feature-length film, Hala, about a Pakistani-American teenager that uncovers a secret that threatens to unravel her family, which premiered in the U.S. Dramatic Competition at the 2019 Sundance Film Festival. She previously served as a story editor on Bojack Horseman (Netflix) and staff writer on Ramy (Hulu). In 2017, she was chosen to participate in Ryan Murphy's Half Foundation Directing Mentorship. Minhal took some time out of her busy schedule to answer some of our questions:

Without any spoilers, what scene, moment, or line from Hala are you most excited for audiences to see?

The scene between Hala and Eram in the shopping mall parking lot was a turning point in the writing process for me. Their relationship is fraught and because the story is being told from Hala’s perspective, we’re more aligned with her than we are with her mother. But in this scene, the perspective opens up a little bit. Eram makes some valuable points, albeit in a harsh way. She chastises Hala for marginalizing her and even asks her, rather bluntly, whether she looks down on her. This was a difficult scene to write because it came from such a personal place. I reflected on my own experience of treating my mother this way, and how differently I look back at those interactions now.

The story of Hala is one that will resonate with many people grappling with similar issues in their own lives. What do you hope that audiences take away from the film?

I hope that viewers can take away that we are more similar—in complicated family dynamics and coming-of-age—than we are different. Hala came from a very specific place, drawn from my lived experience. It’s not autobiographical, but there was emotional truth in Hala’s search for self. It’s not a search defined by her ties to her culture, faith or even her sexuality; it’s all of these things at once. I want people to be moved, to extend compassion, to be feel less alone.

What inspired you to write Hala?

Hala came out of a place of processing a pain that I experienced in my own adolescence. I was wrestling with my own identity as a teenager and my relationship with my family. It was a difficult time in my own life when I chose to leave home for college. I don’t think my parents were ready for that, but I also wasn’t quite ready, either. I was forced to learn a lot on my own and much of that is reflected in Hala’s own journey. While the film drew upon my personal life, it eventually became her story and needed to be true to the character.

If you could give any character from the film a piece of advice, who would you speak to and what advice would you give?

I think about how much pain and anguish could have been avoided had I been more open with my family. There was so much that I hid and continue to hide, not necessarily out of a sense of self-preservation anymore but because I didn’t want to burden them with the reality that I was not living up to their expectations. If I could talk to Hala, I would let her know that she’s not alone in her experiences and that vocalizing her feelings to her family, while difficult, might be what brings them closer together.

What’s the first thing that you remember being a fan of?

I remember seeing Jurassic Park and Hum Aapke Hain Koun with my family in a theatre. They were early cinematic experiences that I’ll never forget. For a little while, we could forget everything and just live in the world of a movie. It was everything.

Do you have any interesting facts about the filming of Hala that viewers would be surprised to know?

The high school that we filmed at, Northside College Prep—is where I went to school in Chicago. It was a very surreal experience to shoot in a classroom that I’d been in ten years ago as a teenager.

Who are your biggest influences?

Andrea Arnold, Lynne Ramsay, Celine Sciamma, Asghar Farhadi, Ruben Ostlund, Claire Denis, Maren Ade, Kelly Reichardt, Sofia Coppola, Debra Grafik, Abbas Kiarostami, Paul Thomas Anderson, Apichatpong Weerasethakul and Xavier Dolan.

The biggest film influences on Hala were 35 Shots of Rum, Fish Tank and A Separation.

Can you take us through a typical day on set?

Every day is different depending on what I’m scheduled to shoot that day. If it’s an early call time, I head to set early with the cinematographer and go over our shots. We walk through everything together and then include the assistant director in our conversation. Then, I check in with my actors—to make sure they feel comfortable with what we’re shooting. Once I’ve done all of that, we read through the scene, block it, and the actors go away to get dressed while the various departments work to bring the scene to life. When the actors return, I usually do a rehearsal and once I feel that it’s ready, we shoot. I like to keep things moving and reset instead of calling cut, or do a few takes in a row so that the actors’ momentum isn’t lost. We finish a shot and if it’s good with everyone, I move on. The usual day on Hala required us to shoot five or six pages a day with multiple location moves, so imagine doing all of this at a relentless pace all day. Once we hit twelve hours, we call it a day.

What’s next for you?

I’m working on a film that centers the live of children, and specifically, the friendship between two nine-year old boys. It’s set in 1992. I’ve spent the last two years, on-and-off, taking a very journalistic approach to this story, spending a lot of time with people whose lived experiences I’m hoping to reflect in the final film. It’s a labor of love while I work a day job writing television.

Thanks for taking the time, Minhal! Hala is now available on Apple TV+. 

[divagonzo]

Knackered

A/N: Praying this the start of the writer’s block crumbling away...

While I didn’t know about any Secret Santa exchanges (and being low on spoons) I did get some mild inspiration to write tonight. This goes out to everyone flying solo tonight at home, missing friends and family in the middle of all this madness and mayhem.

May your new year be better than the last one.

Note: This was partially inspired by my getting completely pissed Christmas night and posting an AMA and getting nothing. So tonight I’m sober and listening to Rand purring while asleep in my arms, while I wrote this up.

Rated PG-15/15/M for alcohol consumption to excess, consequences of drinking way too much, and some citrus notes at the end. 98% ace safe. 

Demarcation line for 2021 damnit!

Hermione was sitting at home, in her favorite chair by the fire, completely pissed.

Harry was at work and so was Ron. Ginny was off at Holyhead for the New Year's Day match against Puddlemere. Luna was off... somewhere doing Merlin knows what and her parents were in Ibiza on Holiday and patently didn't invite her along. Their relationship was hardly there anymore. She felt that painfully with every day she didn’t hear from them.

Hermione gave Kreacher the night off and bade him a good night.  She went to her beaded bag, which was beyond time for replacing yet she found she couldn't do an hour without it within reach, and pulled out a large brown paper sack containing two bottles she had picked up from Gerry's Wines and Spirits after work. She's popped in, taking in the selection of items and knowing exactly what she wanted tonight for her pity party of one she wanted to have. What kind of world was it that she was celebrating the turn of the new year, a new Millenia, the way some were saying, and all of her friend and family weren't present in her life, whether for work or for holiday. So instead, she'd have a pity party, indulge in more than some wee libations, and fall asleep by the fire tonight since she wouldn't see Ron until Sunday morning.

She wouldn’t see Harry or Ginny until late tomorrow night, if not Sunday morning either. She'd stood in the store, trying to decide on the spirit of her father's tastes - Balvenie, single malt, the older the better, or the tastes of her Mum - Rum, lightly aged, the darker the better.  Then again it wasn't like she was going to pop back up to see Aberforth and get a bottle of his Firewhiskey, not after the incident earlier in term and Ginny spouting off on things that shouldn't have been said in front of first years. She had enough for both and settled on that, knowing that she could take the other as a gift to the parents if she didn't indulge in them herself. Once Kreacher was off for the night, she plated some cheese and pickles and other finger foods and stood at the counter in the kitchen trying to decide on which. She settled on the Scotch her father loved drinking - Balvenie - and she opened the top of the bottle she'd chosen and took a sniff. Compared to her father's tastes, this one smelled a delight, with the color of Ron's hair with the evening sun drifting through it, reminding her of a particularly lovely evening at the Burrow out beyond the pond where he'd made love to her before they fell asleep under the stars. "Accio glass," she thought and a small heavy glass hit her hand easily. four ice cubes tinkled on the sides of the glass before she poured a full measure - two fingers, if she recalled, and took her plate and drink with her back to her chair by the fireplace.

"I better lock up before I start in on this," she muttered to no one, not even Crookshanks, and pointed her wand at the fire, locking the fireplace for the night. Even then locked was subjective, since Ron and Ginny and Harry could easily bypass the fireplace with the wards in place. Bill saw to that, strengthening the enchantments on Grimmauld Place when Harry moved in permanently the previous Summer. It was Harry’s residence but he also allowed Ron and Ginny in since he was also the Secret Keeper.  Sure she had a book, and her small and less than filling meal, and would miss her best friends on this cold night in London. But she had to let them live their lives on their terms, not on hers. She'd promised herself that once Ron and Harry made the Aurors and Ginny signed off on her contract - that she would keep quiet on the nights she would be home alone, by herself, no friends to speak of to have any sort of company. She lifted the glass to her lips and took a sip, savoring how smooth the beverage was on her lips. Then she reached for the little bit of prosciutto and brie and took a bite, then another drink before setting it down to read by the fire. It wasn't like Ron didn't know how she felt about his work, or how he stretched himself too thin sometimes, working full time with the Aurors and then so many extra hours with George. While the Aurors have him the notoriety and professional satisfaction he needed and craved, George was where he made his money, with his ideas and creativity. He had a real knack for coming up with an idea, one that George could run with, and make something of it, then refining it to sell it for profit. Just the few ideas of his that made it to production were enough to pay for their upcoming vacation to Athens, even if it was in the off-season but their first real vacation as a couple, for the two of them, and no finding parents or enormous stress behind finding them.

She picked up the glass and found it empty. "Accio Balvenie," she said aloud and waited, seeing it eventually settle down on the table in front of her. She poured another measure of the caramel brown distilled liquor, enjoying the taste enough to not mind the other effects, of which she wanted to enjoy, like quieting the anxiety in her head of Ron coming back to her.

Harry wasn't so much of a worry, given that Ron was there too. They had a sibling kind of love, one involving the occasional row and some days of not talking to one another, but deep down there was the respect and love forged in fire between them. One short conversation with Ginny was all it took to make things right for them, especially after burying the past actions that affected and harmed so much.

She'd been given a third chance and by God! She was going to not throw it away.

The plate forgotten, Hermione poured another measure. She hadn't been this inebriated since that night in Australia, where she had a meltdown to rival anything she'd had in her youth, and gotten pissed on brandy from a local store, hiding in the bathroom drinking heavily until she passed out. Ron eventually returned to find her, sobbing into a stinking toilet. Ron pulled her from the toilet seat, crying her eyes out and smelling of used brandy. He tidied her up, gave her a few glasses of water, tucked her into bed in his arms and let her sleep for almost twenty four hours.

It was the first time she'd truly felt alive after all the shite they'd gone through the previous year, including magically altering her parents memories to erase her from their existence. It was only earlier that night, before she ran out of their rented house on the Gold coast, apparating to the location nearest to the wizarding hotel they were staying in, and then spent half the night walking the streets, drinking brandy until the wee hours of the morning until she stumbled into their shared room, waking Ron from his fitful slumber, and promptly retching up everything she'd eaten in the past year.

Through all of the tears, the rage, the anguish, Ron was there, cleaning up her mess, tending her tenderly, and listening to everything and letting her vent her spleen of everything in her soul.

"Why couldn't he be home tonight when I need him?"

She picked up the bottle and poured one more, knowing that she would have a repeat of that night on the Gold Coast if she had more than that. She was a lightweight compared to Ron and Ginny, for sure, as long as it wasn't a particular kind of elf-made wine. Firewhiskey they could drink like a grouper and suffer no ill effects but a glass of elf made wine and they were having her reaction after too much brandy.

"Damn it, who schedules a raid on New Year's Evening? What bloody criminal is so mental to be out committing crimes worth catching tonight? I need Ron home, in bed with me."

She had a sniff and finished the liquor in her glass, looking forlornly at the fireplace. "I need him home to quiet the noise in my head. It's too loud in there."

Crookshanks came strolling in, purring loudly, having chased something earlier upstairs. He wasn’t Ron but he would certainly do for now. 

"Ready for a quiet nap in my lap?"

Sure enough, the territorial bundle of furr jumped in her lap and started kneading her legs, turning circles before purring as he fell asleep.

"At least I can comfort someone," She said to herself before falling asleep, the book in her hands forgotten in her inebriated slumber.

*******************

Hermione stirred, hearing a noise from the kitchen. She checked her watch, seeing it was past one am, and heard it again. "Kreacher must be back," she said to herself before hearing what sounded like a glass breaking and a "oh shite," erupting. 

Crookshanks jumped down when she wobbled up onto her shaky legs, pulling the black walnut wand from her hidden holster on her arm. While she was far from sober, the magic she felt growing inside along with the bone deep terror of someone in the house with her was enough to focus her mind on the coming task - seeing who was breaking things in their kitchen.

She stumbled slightly along the wall, using it to support herself up while holding the wand in her right, keeping a nasty curse at the front of her mind. Auror Jones taught her a few things she hadn't sussed out that would be just a hair under the line of being illegal curses. 

A light at the bottom of the stairs lit up someone in the kitchen, bent over the cooling cabinet. She took two steps and heard the step creak. "Shite," she said aloud, bringing her wand up.

And felt it soaring from her hands, landing in the outstretch hand of the person at the bottom of the stairs.

"Hermione?"

Ron stepped into the lights and she felt some relief wash over her followed by a moment of abject terror. 

"It's me. Christmas night I read a chapter of Hogwarts, a History, to you when you had trouble falling asleep."

Hermione took a step and felt her legs giving out, falling firmly on her bum on a step. "Whoa, easy there." Ron was up the stairs in a flash, picking her up and bringing her downstairs to sit at the enormous dining table in the kitchen. "Why are you home? Was I asleep that long? Is it Sunday morning?" Ron sniffed. "You had alcohol, didn't you?" 

She felt defensive a moment before that thought evaporated in her brain haze. "Yes I did. It's New Year's Eve and you were at work. I was all alone so I said I'd have a pity party." She looked him up and down. "Why are you home? And where is Harry?" "He's still at work, writing up some reports. I'm home because our mission ended early. We caught him almost immediately and I'm caught up on my work so Robards sent me home early, said that there were enough bailiffs and aurors on duty that he didn't need me tonight." He turned around and when he turned back he had a glass of water for her. “Drink up," he said softly. She did as he asked and felt a little better. "Do you want me to get a sobering potion from the cabinet? You know we keep them now for these occasions." "Yes, please," her voice was tiny compared to his. He laughed but did as she asked, handing her a vial of what looked like had been drug from the bottom of the Thames. "I hate this potion," she said aloud and chugged down the 45ml of potion, fighting the gagging reflex on the consistency of it. Slowly the fog lifted from her mind, negating all of the alcohol in her system. Ron knelt down in front of her, looking worried. "Drinking while home alone isn't a good idea, Hermione." "I know but I missed you terribly. I am being selfish, expecting you to be home when I want you here and not when you are here. It's foolish of me." "No it's not, but we can talk about it tomorrow after we've had some sleep. I'm knackered and I know you are too, just by looking at you." She stood hugging him tightly. "Quiet the storm in my mind before we fall asleep, please?" She looked up and saw him smile softly. "Promise me that you'll sleep 'til noon tomorrow if I do? I need the sleep too, ya know? And if you wake early, let me sleep in?"

The look of love on his face melted her. She’d do anything to see that smile she loved. He gave it to her willingly, without reservations, never holding back. That was part of why she loved him so much.

”I will. Promise.” Ron held her tight before she felt the magic surround them for the short apparition trip upstairs to their bedroom, for a fast and dirty session before she would sleep for hours - or at least let him sleep in. It was the absolutely least thing she could do for him coming home to her early.

[theladyofdeath]

Alone in the Ashes {5}

A Court of Thorns and Roses fanfction, characters belong to Sarah J Maas. Modern au. Revolves around Nesta x Cassian, Feyre x Rhysand, and Elain x Azriel. Other characters appear throughout. Based on multiple prompts sent in by anons tbr below.

Warning: Mature content. Alcohol abuse, verbal abuse, sex, language, eating disorders.

For summary & chapter index, click >  Alone in the Ashes {Acotar}

Word Count: 4.9k

A/N: Dinner at the Archeron’s, part 1.

Comment to tell me what you think, or to be tagged! x

“Let me tell you this: if you meet a loner, no matter what they tell you, it's not because they enjoy solitude. It's because they have tried to blend into the world before, and people continue to disappoint them.” ― Jodi Picoult, My Sister's Keeper 

Azriel sat on a bench in the middle of the courtroom. 

Mila was with Rhysand, out for breakfast, before he had to go into work.

It had been a long week. After Amarantha had shown up at his apartment after being released from the hospital, she enlightened him that she would have a hearing, and was not expecting good news. 

You fucking overdosed, again. Mila found you, couldn’t wake you up, and went to your neighbor’s house...A four year old! Azriel had spat at her. You have fucking drugs in a house with a toddler! It’s not your fucking four year old’s responsibility to save your ass.

Amarantha hadn’t said anything back. She simply nodded, and brushed it off.

They’re going to send me to jail, Az. To prison. For a long time. Amarantha almost seemed guilty at that, but the haunted look in her eyes didn’t last long. She was shaky, jittery, unnerved. Her mind wasn’t really there. Her mind was still on whatever it was she was recovering from. 

Now, he watched as Amarantha sat before the judge. 

He didn’t feel guilty, felt no remorse, as she was charged.

Possession. Distribution. 

When I get out, she’s going to be a young adult, at the least, Amarantha had told him as they sat around his kitchen table, four days earlier. Believe it or not, Azriel, I do love my daughter.

Azriel shook his head, but had nothing left to say. 

I want you to take her, Az. Care for her. I have told them as much, social services, through my lawyer. That you are her only relative, and that she’s close to you.

She was selfish, cruel, and Azriel had been forced to put up with way too much of her shit over the years.

But he couldn’t have Mila going into a home. 

“Twenty years in the Velaris state prison,” the judge said, at last. “You will be detained straight from here. Mercifully, I will give you a moment to say goodbye to your family.” 

The judge dismissed the courtroom, and a pair of burly cops followed Amarantha to where Azriel stood. 

“You didn’t bring my daughter?” she asked, brows raised.

“As someone who just lost twenty years of their life, you don’t seem too bothered,” Azriel muttered. “And, no, I didn’t think she should have to watch her mother be dragged away. Again.” 

Amarantha shook her head. “At least bring her to visit me?” 

Azriel didn’t respond. “I have to go meet with cps and make sure Mila isn’t thrown into the system.”

Like we were. 

Much to Amarantha’s protests, Azriel turned his back to her and walked out of the courtroom. He didn’t know why he hated Amarantha more: because she was a selfish bitch, or because she reminded Azriel of his mother.

It was an addiction. Azriel understood that. It was called an addiction for a reason, it was hard to shake, hard to stop, hard to get rid of. But, it still pissed him off. It all pissed him off, unbearably. 

Azriel had been eleven when he got home from school and found his mother, unconscious on their living room floor, again. Only that time, she hadn’t woken up. After that day, he was forced into the foster care system, tossed around from home to home and eventually placed with a couple, and Amarantha, none who could care less about him. 

All because of that damned, selfish addiction his mother had.

That Amarantha had. 

His meeting with cps hadn’t lasted long. Amarantha had told them about him, she was honest about that. Perhaps in some way she did care about Mila, even if she didn’t show it.

They did a background check on him. The only thing they found was a few speeding tickets and that one time he spent the night in jail, at seventeen, because he’d had too much vodka at a party. 

“Look,” Azriel said, once they said they had heard enough and would give him a call. “I love my niece. And she needs me. She knows me, she trusts me, she’s stayed with me for half her life. You can’t put her into foster care. I was in foster care, it’s...you can’t put her into foster care.”

The woman behind the desk smiled softly at Azriel. “I’m just the interviewer, but I will pass the case along, and they will give you a call soon, I promise. You’re Mila’s only relative, aside from your foster parents, but they don’t wish to have a part. You have no criminal record. You have your own home. I see no reason why they would not leave Mila in your care. When they do call, and they approve of her staying with you, there will be paperwork to fill out. We will have you back in the office at that time. Until then...comfort that child. She just had her mother taken away.”

Again, Azriel added, silently, for the hundredth time that morning. 

“Thank you,” he said, attempting a smile as he stood and left the office. 

Azriel made it to his truck and shut himself inside. His eyes closed in the silence. Deep breath in, slowly let it out. Repeat once, twice, three times.

He had to go get Mila from Rhys so that he could go to work. Azriel had to get to work himself, work on the garage at the Archeron’s. 

All he wanted to do, though, was sit in silence for a minute. Five minutes. Ten. 

Fuck addictions.

Fuck substance abuse.

Fuck it all. 

Azriel leaned his head back against the truck seat and ran his hands through his hair. He thought of his mother, then realized he could barely remember what she looked like. He remembered the dark hair, like his, the hazel eyes….he could also remember she always had dark shadows beneath her distant eyes, that she was way too thin. He remembered the way her hands shook.  

He couldn’t remember what she looked like when she smiled. 

Azriel put his car in reverse and left the courthouse.

He kept the radio off. 

~~~~~

“You’ll be there tonight, right?”

Nesta had said yes every day since Elain asked at the beginning of the week. “Yes. Seven?”

“Six, I thought we could have drinks while dinner is being made,” Elain beamed. “Oh, Nesta, I’m so excited. So is dad. Feyre’s bringing Rhys along. Oh! Is Tomas excited? We can’t wait to meet him.”

Nesta froze. Tomas. She had completely forgotten. “Oh, I-”

“You’ve never brought a boy home,” Elain continued. “I mean, this is monumental! He must really be special.”

“About that-”

“I hope he likes chicken. He does like chicken, right? I mean, everyone likes chicken. What’s his drink choice? Bourbon? Rum? Or, is he just a beer kind of man?”

“Elain-”

“Oh, I’m so happy, Nesta. This house deserves a little party. For once, it won’t just be me and dad.” Elain sighed. It was the first time Nesta had heard her become excited in quite some time. “I’ve got to run to the store. I’ll see you at six, right?”

Nesta’s eyes shut. “Right.”

“Okay, bye!” Elain beamed, hanging up.

Nesta was left sitting in her apartment, groaning. “Fuck!”

Tomas had left. To go where? Nesta had no idea. He hadn’t called, but he texted a few days before saying he was leaving town. Even if he had been in town, the chances of him going to a family dinner were slim. He wasn’t the family dinner type.

Nesta dug through her purse for a cigarette, but the box was empty. She had to make a drug store run before she completely lost her shit. 

There was one on the corner that she made it to in five minutes, and after fueling the tobacco industry, which even she didn’t happily endorse, she was walking back home, a cigarette between her lips. 

“Do you ever have a good day?”

Nesta twirled around.

Cassian was walking toward her, sweating, his dog on a leash. 

“You look pissed,” he went on, “literally at all times.”

“And you have a way of sneaking up on me when I don’t want you to,” Nesta drawled. “Which is always.”

Cassian chuckled. “Well, whatever it is today, hope it gets better. The drink offer still stands. Come over if you wanna get hammered.” 

A thought entered Nesta’s mind, but she quickly pushed it away. No. She would not become desperate. She would go to dinner, alone, and tell Elain and her father that there was no Tomas, not anymore, that even Nesta drove away a worthless bastard like Tomas Mandray. 

She would endure their disappointment and answer all the questions they had. She would absorb their sympathetic glances and be told, Don’t worry, a man will come along some day by her father, just as he did when she was in high school. 

The thought made her want to vomit.

“You’re free tonight, then?” Nesta blurted.

Cassian stopped midway up the stairs, on the landing. He turned around, brows raised. “Coming for a drink?”

“Eh - no. I was wondering if you wanted to go to dinner,” she grounded out, attempting to sound pleasant, but fully realizing she was not. 

Cassian blinked. “Dinner? With you?”

Nesta nodded, slowly.

She needed a shot.

Or two.

Cassian grinned, hazel eyes glowing. “Yeah. Alright. That sounds...interesting enough for a Friday night.”

Nesta scowled. “Be ready at five-thirty.”

Cassian’s grin widened as he nodded, turned back around, and walked his dog up the stairs. 

Nesta had a feeling she should go back to the drug store and get a bottle of tequila.

Which is exactly what she did.

She would need it.

~~~~~

“Mor and Amren will both be here tomorrow afternoon,” Feyre called from the bathroom, where she had just finished drying her hair and was applying her makeup. “We should all go out tomorrow night.”

“Yeah,” Rhysand agreed, his voice quiet from his bedroom. “We should.”

“Have you heard anything else from Az?”

“No,” Rhysand said, and she could hear him sigh. “I can’t believe Amarantha….what a bitch.”

Rhysand had his own reasons for hating Amarantha, on top of her putting Mila in harm’s way. They had dated for a little while the summer after high school, even though Amarantha was a few years older than them. She was a bitch then, too. Amarantha moved on from Rhysand fairly quickly, her drug problem got significantly worse, and then she got pregnant. 

“Poor Mila,” Feyre agreed, putting on a pale, pink lipstick. “At least she’s got Az.”

Rhysand agreed and met her in the threshold of the bathroom. He looked impressed, eyeing the gray sundress she wore. It reached halfway down her thighs, the fit loose, but hung low enough across her breasts to catch an eye. 

“You look nice,” he smiled.

She shook her head, unable to stop a smile of her own. “You say that like I hardly wear anything cute, ever.”

When Rhysand didn’t answer, she punched him in the shoulder, and he laughed, and that tingly sensation filled Feyre to her very core. It had been happening more within the last week. She would catch Rhysand, watch him when he wasn’t aware, and find him attractive, want to run her fingers through his hair, across his skin. She would lay awake at night, pleasuring herself, and it would be his body, that chest covered in ink, that she would picture. 

And he had no idea.

And she would keep it that way. 

“I do prefer you in your scrubs and sweatshirts, yes,” Rhysand grinned, eyes mischievous. “But, the dress looks good.” 

“Thanks for coming with me,” Feyre said, zipping everything back up into her makeup bag. “My dad always liked you.”

Rhysand nodded, shoving his hands into his pockets, humor fading. “Of course.” 

Feyre pushed past him, her shoulder brushing along his arm, as she hurried into her room. “Should I wear sandals?”

“I assume they’ll come off the minute we walk through the front door, so does it really matter?” Rhysand asked, following her and dropping himself onto the side of her mattress. 

“Yes,” Feyre said. “It does.”

Rhysand chuckled. “Fine. Yes, sandals.” 

“Brown or white?”

Rhysand pretended to think about it for a long time. Too long. 

“You are the worst at helping a woman get ready,” Feyre laughed, bending down to observe the shoes in the bottom of her closet.

Rhysand snickered, but he didn’t deny it. His eyes lingered as he watched her bend over. “Wear the black ones.”

Feyre gave him an intrigued glance before pulling on her black sandals and looking at herself in the floor length mirror. 

She turned to Rhysand, brows raised. “Good enough to impress my father, whom I haven’t spoken to in months?” 

“Well,” Rhysand began, eyes soft, “I think you look beautiful. Who cares what he thinks.” 

“You’re too nice to me.” Feyre meant it as a joke, but her voice came out quiet. She had a feeling her cheeks were turning pink, but she hoped that they weren’t, or that he didn’t notice.

He was watching her, his gaze unwavering. 

And then he sucked in a breath, stood, and smiled. “Well, ready? We should get going.”

Feyre nodded, that feeling still flying about wildly in the pit of her stomach. “Ready.”

“Alright. Let me get my shoes and my wallet.” 

He left, and Feyre finally let out the breath she felt she’d been holding.

The way he was looking at her…

She didn’t think she was imagining it anymore. 

~~~~~

Elain had a long list of things to do that day and she had managed to get through them all. Now, she was at her final stop, a flower stand outside of the grocery store. Her reusable bag was tossed over her shoulder, full of goods that would make up their feast. Now, she needed to arrange a beautiful centerpiece. 

“A dozen tulips,” she smiled, once the owner had asked what she would like. “Pink and white, please.”

He nodded and gathered a bundle before wrapping them up and handing them over. Elain paid, thanked him for the beautiful flowers, and stepped to walk away.

“Lain!”

Elain spun around, smiling at Mila, who was running toward her, Azriel close behind. 

“I didn’t see you today,” she said, wrapping her arms around Elain’s legs. “I missed you!”

Elain had spent every day for the last week playing games with Mila while Azriel worked. She was a great kid - kind, funny, polite. Elain enjoyed her time with the little one.

“I’m sorry I was gone. I had a lot of errands to run today. My sisters are coming over for dinner tonight. It’s a big dinner.”

“Ah, Rhys mentioned that,” Azriel said, taking Mila’s hand to keep her from straying on the busy sidewalk. “We weren’t there too long, today, anyway. Had some stuff to get done this morning, unfortunately. Took longer than expected.”

Elain nodded. That may have been the most he’d said to her at one time. Azriel was distant, she noticed, not having to speak unless spoken to. He hadn’t said a word to her all throughout high school; but, then again, she hadn’t spoken to him either.

They were from two different circles, two different worlds. 

“Well, I hope everything is okay,” Elain replied, quietly.

“I like your flowers,” Mila’s little voice popped up, before Azriel could respond. “They’re sooo pretty.”

Elain smiled and knelt down so that she met Mila at eye level. “Which ones do you like better? Pink or white?”

“Pink!” Mila said, then stuck out her foot. “They match my shoes.”

Elain laughed, softly, as she nodded. “You’re right, they do.” She pulled a pink tulip from the bouquet and handed it to Mila. “Bring this home with you and put it in a nice big cup of water. Make sure it gets sunlight, too.”

Mila’s eyes went wide and she threw her arms around Elain’s neck, who laughed and patted her back, trying not to lose her balance.

“I will,” Mila promised, smiling at the flower, her flower.

Elain stood back up to find Azriel watching her, curiously.

“Well,” Elain began, cheeks heating. “I’ll see you on Monday, then?” 

Azriel nodded.

“Okay,” Elain breathed. She turned back to Mila. “Bye, Mila.”

“Bye, Lain,” she smiled.

As she turned to walk away, Azriel called out, “Elain?”

She turned around.

He was rubbing the back of his neck. “Thanks. For the flower. And for watching her, too.”

Elain nodded. “You’re welcome.”

She walked away, wondering if he was watching her walk away, but too nervous to look back and find out. 

On the walk home, her mind wandered. She wondered what their story was, why Mila was staying with her uncle. They seemed to have a strong bond. She wondered what had happened to Mila’s parents. 

Azriel didn’t seem like a horrible person, either, no matter how intense he seemed to be around her. She remembered the first conversation they had, when he told her that he remembered her from high school, and what he remembered her for. Cheerleader. Valedictorian. She was perfect, goody-goody Elain Archeron, top of the totem pole. 

Oh, how far she had fallen on that totem pole. 

She wondered what Azriel thought of when he looked at her, wondered if he truly got to know her what he would think of her, then. But she wanted to know him, wanted to dig inside of his mind. He was mysterious, a notorious rebel - at least, he had been. She didn’t think much had changed since high school. He was still mysterious, still unreadable. 

And utterly handsome. 

Elain got home and started marinating the chicken before finding one of her mother’s old vases and setting the flowers inside with water. She set it in the middle of the table, took a step back, and smiled.

Even with one pink tulip less, it was breath-taking. 

~~~~~

Nesta pounded on his door at five-thirty. 

When a second passed and he didn’t answer, she pounded on it, again.

“Hold the fuck on!” he shouted, then she could hear his heavy footsteps.

The door swung open and she rolled her eyes. He’d yet to put on a shirt, but he was wearing jeans and his boots. His hair was tied back and his eyes were amused.

“In a hurry?” he asked.

“Yes, we have to be at my dad’s in half an hour,” she muttered.

He lifted a brow. “Already meeting your dad, am I?” 

As he went to grab his shirt off the couch, Nesta sighed, “Look. I’m not….on the best terms with my family right now, and my sister has been going through a shit time. She was excited about me bringing my boyfriend, but he bailed a few days ago. I couldn’t tell her that I’d be coming alone, because that would just open a huge can of disappointment, which is basically what I’m known for in my family. So, I asked you to come along and take his place.”

Cassian watched her while the words poured out as he buttoned up his shirt. “I see. So...I’m your boyfriend, then?”

“Pretend,” Nesta added. “Obviously.” 

Cassian tilted his head. “And here I was, thinking you had finally come around and wanted to spend time with me.”

Nesta snorted. “Don’t come if you don’t want to. You know what? This was a mistake-”

She turned to leave but Cassian beat her to the door. He leaned against it, crossed his arms, and grinned. “Say you want me to come, and I’ll come. I’m great with parents.”

“What?” Nesta asked, exasperated.

His grin grew. “Say you want me to come, and I’ll come.”

Nesta shook her head. “I’m not saying that.”

The dark barked from the corner, sensing her tone from where he laid on his bed.

“Down, Bryaxis,” Cassian ordered, eyes still on Nesta’s. “Say it.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’ll please you,” Nesta snapped. “And I don’t want to please you.” 

“Fine, then I’ll stay here, me and Bryaxis will have a drink or two…”

He stepped away from the door and opened it up, gesturing for Nesta to leave. She wanted to slap him in the face, punch him in the balls, but all she managed to do was stomp toward the door, eyes narrowed.

And then she imagined Elain’s disappointment and her father’s endless string of sympathetic questions.

She stopped at the threshold and looked at Cassian, seething. “I want you to come,” she whispered. 

“What?” Cassian asked, pointing to his ear. “Sorry, can’t hear you.”

“I hate you,” she mumbled.

“Hmmm?” Cassian crooned. 

“I want you to come,” she said, over-pronouncing each word. “So grab your fucking keys.”

Cassian’s hand flew to cover his chest, right over his heart. “I love it when you talk dirty to me.”

“Fuck off,” she mumbled, before exiting his apartment, her middle finger raised high in the air.

Cassian’s laughter just pissed her off more. 

They got into his truck and he drove, the radio on a random rock-station. The sun was bright, although it would be going down soon. 

“So, if I’m playing the part of your lover, I should probably know a little bit about you.”

Nesta sighed. “Fine. What do you think is important to know?” 

“What did you do after high school?” he asked, eyes still on the road. 

“Worked,” Nesta said.

And when she didn’t say anything more, Cassian looked her way. “Mind telling me where?” 

“Odd and end jobs, mostly. The last few years I was a bartender, but I got fired this week.”

Cassian was quiet. Then, he said, “Sorry to hear that.”

Nesta shrugged and looked out the window. 

“What do you like to do for fun?” Cassian asked, hoping to take on a lighter tone. 

“Read,” Nesta said. “Drink.”

“Together?” Cassian asked, brow raised.

Nesta snorted. “Everything is better when you drink.”

“Agreed,” Cassian smiled. 

“I prefer we keep my current lack of employment a secret for the night,” Nesta mumbled. She didn’t want to give her father any fuel. 

“I can do that,” Cassian agreed. “Anything else I should know? How did we meet?” 

“At the bar,” Nesta suggested.

“At the bar?” Cassian asked. “How romantic.”

“Trust me, no one will be surprised,” Nesta said, under her breath. “Up here, first house on the right.”

Cassian pulled into the driveway and parked behind Rhysand’s car. 

It was going to be an interesting night. 

~~~~~

Elain was a natural planner, she was completely in her element.

Feyre caught her eye every now and then and smiled. It had been a long time since they all were under the same roof.

The front door opened and Nesta stepped inside.

She wasn’t alone.

“Cass?” Rhysand asked, looking back and forth between him and Nesta. “The hell are you doing here?”

Cassian smiled, arm flung around Nesta’s shoulder. She tensed, but quickly relaxed. No one could say anything more before Elain hurried in, carrying a tray of cut fruit. 

“Hi! You must be Tomas,” she smiled. “I’m Elain.”

Feyre opened her mouth to say something, but when she did, she came up speechless.

“You can call me Cassian,” he said, smiling in that charming way of his. “Tomas is my middle name, and Nesta prefers it. Apparently, Cassian is a shit name.”

Elain blinked. “Oh, well, nice to meet you, Cassian.” 

“You, too,” he said, before walking into the room and taking a seat by Feyre. 

As Elain went to finish up dinner, Feyre turned to face him. “What the fuck?”

“Long story,” he muttered. “Play along and I’ll fill you in later.”

Feyre had met Tomas before and she was perfectly aware that he and Cassian were two very, very different people. She also knew that her sister didn’t know Cassian that well, so asking him to come was her being desperate.

Feyre had never known Nesta to be desperate.

Nesta sat, too, although she didn’t acknowledge Feyre. Feyre didn’t care, didn’t think anything of it. Her and Nesta had hardly talked in years. 

Her eldest sister stayed quiet while the others chatted and ate Elain’s fruit platter. Half an hour passed before Elain appeared, once more, and invited everyone into the dining room. 

“Where’s dad?” Nesta asked, the first words she had spoken.

Elain’s smile faltered as they all took a seat. “I’m not sure. He said he would be here-”

The front door burst open, and through the opening of the dining room, they could see Isaac stumbling inside.

His brown eyes were wide when he looked up and met everyone’s stares. “I’m-I’m sorry I’m l-late.”

Feyre’s shoulders fell as she looked over to Elain. 

He was trashed. 

Her eyes were wide, her lips parted at the sight of their father, clearly disheveled, clearly drunk. “Dad, it’s family dinner night, remember?” 

“I know, I know, yes,” he said, hurrying into the dining room and taking a seat. “I-I said I’d be here. This looks delicious, Elain, you did wonderful.”

Elain cleared her throat and tried to smile. “Well, let’s dig in, then.”

Feyre loaded her plate with chicken and vegetables, looking around the table as she did so. Rhysand had moved closer to her, as if sensing her discomfort. Nesta was staring at her plate, empty. Elain was picking at a pile of broccoli. And Cassian didn’t know what the hell was going on. 

“You must be Nesta’s boyfriend,” Isaac said, looking at Cassian. “What was your name?”

“Cassian,” he provided.

Isaac shook his head. “N-No, I don’t think so.”

Cassian took a bite of corn. “Pretty sure my name’s Cassian.” 

Isaac looked confused, but he shook it off. “Nesta, I-I’m glad you came. I-I didn’t think you w-would.” 

Nesta’s mouth tightened.

The table fell into silence as everyone picked at their food. 

“What have you been up to?” Isaac asked, looking at Nesta, then to Feyre. “What have any of you been up to? I don’t hear from either of you anymore.”

“Just work,” Feyre said, so Nesta wouldn’t have to. “I broke up with Tamlin a while back. I’m living with Rhys in the city.” 

Isaac looked at Rhysand, eyes wide as if just realizing he was there. “Finally a couple, are you? That’s-That’s great. I always kn-knew you two would end up tog-g-gether.” 

Rhysand paused, but continued eating a second later.

“Just friends, dad,” Feyre said. 

Isaac scoffed. “Whatever you say. We all know w-what’s really going on.”

“Dad,” Elain breathed. “Could you not?”

“And what about you, hmm?” Isaac said, eyes on Nesta. His fork had a piece of chicken stabbed on the end, but he wasn’t eating it. “Are you living with this...Cassian?”

“No,” Nesta answered, shortly. 

“Still scared of commitment?” Isaac asked, leaning over the table on his fist. “She always had trouble with that. Never trusted anyone, pissed off at the world.” 

Nesta said nothing.

Her plate was still empty. 

“I think she’s doing just fine,” Cassian assured him. 

Feyre was still looking at Nesta, on the way she concentrated on the white porcelain disk in front of her. She couldn’t remember the last time they were all together, especially in the same room as their father. Nesta and her father never gotten along, but it had really gone down hill after their mother passed.

“Still making drinks for a living?” Isaac asked, as if Cassian hadn’t said a word. “That’s what I hear you do. M-make drinks.”

Nesta didn’t answer.

“You always get so angry that I’m not there for you,” Isaac slurred. “But here I am, as-asking about your life, and you’ve got nothing to say?”

Nesta slowly looked at her dad. “You’re drunk.” 

Isaac’s eyes narrowed. “I am not.”

Feyre shook her head, and just as she was about to speak, Nesta beat her to it.

“You really think we don’t know when you’re intoxicated?” Nesta laughed, humorlessly. “We’re not children. And we’ve seen you drunk plenty of times. Elain tried to prepare this nice dinner and then you come in here acting like a teenager who snuck into his dad’s liquor cabinet!”

Isaac shook his head, finally setting his fork down. 

Elain looked like she was about to cry. 

“You c-can’t talk to me that w-way,” Isaac said, voice quiet. “I am your father.” 

“Dad-” Feyre began, but Nesta held up a hand, cutting her off.

“I am a grown ass woman,” Nesta said, with a deadly calm. “You’re an embarrassment.”

“Me?” Isaac asked, brows shooting up into his hairline. He looked to Cassian. “Run now, son. This one is going nowhere with her life.”

“Please,” Elain breathed. “Stop.”

Rhysand had his hand on Feyre’s knee under the table to keep it from shaking.

“I think you should go up to bed, dad,” Feyre said, lifting her chin. “Sleep it off.” 

“No,” Nesta said. “Let him say what he has to say. Drunks always tell the truth.” 

Isaac stood and wavered on his feet. “Your mother...good thing she didn’t wait to see how you turned out.”

Elain gasped, and Isaac turned to leave.

But as he did, he fell to the ground, out cold against the hardwood. 

The room was met with silence. 

“Help me get him upstairs,” Feyre mumbled.

Rhysand nodded. 

Elain was in tears.

Nesta was fuming. 

Cassian was sitting in his chair, perfectly still. 

Feyre grabbed her father’s legs as Rhysand lifted him up from under his arms. As they carried him up the stairs to his bedroom, Feyre felt like she was in high school all over again.

Family fights.

Taking care of her drunk, passed out dad.

Isaac telling Nesta that their mother would be ashamed. 

Yeah.

Just like high school.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tag List (to be tagged, comment or send me an ask!)

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@empress-ofbloodshed​

Prompts:

{ “I’m gonna fuck you so hard that you forget you ever met that asshole” - Feysand } -anonymous

{ “How about Nessian needing to fake date when they go home for the holidays?!” } - anonymous

{ “could u pls do like an elriel fic where azriel is like this mysterious bad boy and elain is a goody two shoes lik aaaaa i cant get that image out of my head” } - anonymous

[let-it-raines]

CS JJ Day 13: The Spectacular Ms. Swan (1/1)

1959. New York City.

Women aren’t supposed to have their own voices and opinions, and they certainly aren’t supposed to be funny. Emma Swan, however, has a lot of opinions and is damn funny. She also doesn’t care what anyone thinks. 

Except maybe Killian Jones, a comic who has been her supporter since the day she bailed him out of jail after one of his comedy routines. 

Rating: Teen (language mostly)

a/n: I wrote this one-shot last month after watching the Marvelous Mrs. Maisel and told @shireness-says that I was determined to get it finished before my baby showed up, and she said that baby girl would probably show up early out of spite. She didn’t and @shireness-says doesn’t get bragging powers about being prophetic or something. ❤️

Thanks to the admin at @csjanuaryjoy for keeping this GREAT event running!

Found on AO3 | Here |

-/-

It started on accident.

Really, most things in her life do.

There was the getting pregnant at seventeen and then having to get married because it was 1952 and all sins could be forgiven if she was married to the man she slept with.

“He’s a good man,” her mother had said. “A wealthy man. You’ll never have to work a day in your life. Think about the child. Think about your reputation.”

Then there was being a mother and learning that she actually liked it even if she did have things she wanted to do with her life beside spend her days cooking and cleaning and reading every book in existence to Henry until she had to begin making up her own stories to fuel her son’s seemingly never-ending creativity and imagination.

There’s nothing and no one in the world who Emma loves more than Henry, and that will never change.

But he certainly wasn’t in her plan.

Neither was actually falling in love with Neal or enjoying their life together, at least for the first few years. Because, well, he wanted her to be a housewife who always wore heels and measured her waist and her thighs every day to ensure she didn’t gain weight, and Emma much preferred wearing flat shoes and eating a hot dog at a Yankees game instead of a salad at home or some overpriced restaurant. So, of course, like any man who had a wife who didn’t fit into his carefully drawn out lines, Neal wandered away with woman after woman and always came back…to his secretary.

Emma saw them in her bed in the middle of the day, and as much as she had turned a blind eye in the past, she couldn’t do that anymore. She didn’t say anything that day. What she did, instead, was drop Henry off at her parents’ apartment, go to the Rabbit Hole downtown, get drunk off her ass, and then get on stage and tell a room full of strangers the very intimate details of her life.

They laughed.

And laughed and laughed, and a woman sitting in the back of the room came up to Emma with a business card in hand and said to call her tomorrow when she was the slightest bit more sober because she thought Emma had a career in comedy.

So Emma called.

And now, three years later her son is seven, she’s divorced (thank goodness, she thinks, even if her mother is still disappointed in her), and Emma is traveling around the United States as the opening comedic act for the singer Sky Manhattan, which might be the most ridiculous stage name Emma has ever heard.

But she doesn’t care. Not at all. She doesn’t care about stage names or what kind of airplane or train she’s traveling on. She doesn’t care if she’s wearing the newest brand of shoes (she is) or the most on trend dresses (she’s got those too) with a fabulous collection of hats. All she cares about is that she has this thing that’s hers and hers alone. No one can take it from her or threaten to take her to court over it (well, actually they can, but not if she watches her language while on stage) and it’s hers. It’s not because of her parents or her shitty ex-husband who dumped his secretary for a woman who works at the Revlon counter or anyone else.

It’s because she’s damn funny, and she’s accidentally made a career of it.

She’s not making much money and still can’t afford her own place, but it’s a start. Who cares what anyone else thinks?

Oh, she cares about Henry. That’s the one thing she cares about most of all, and if he asked her to give it all up, she would. He’s the only one she’d do that for, and he’s also the only one who wouldn’t ask. Her mother thinks this is worse than getting pregnant out of wedlock, her father happened to walk into a show where she made a joke about her parents’ sex life, and the both of them have repeatedly asked her why she’s doing this and to stop doing this.

Now, they support her, but they also don’t understand. They both come from wealthy families, her mother the heiress to an oil fortune and her father a lawyer, and they’ve never understood why she’d want to go up on stage and tell crude jokes for a living.

(They’re not all crude, but it does happen sometimes. Okay, most of the time. It depends on the venue. But she’s gotten smart about that because jail is not something that appeals to her.)

But this is what she does, and when she’s finished touring, she’s going to fly back to New York, settle into her parent’s five-bedroom apartment in Manhattan, and spend all of the time that she can with her son. Neal never wants to watch him anyway despite his custody threats, so Henry’s always with her parents when she’s gone.

(“It’s not the man’s job to watch his child,” Neal says. “I’ll take him for a beer when he’s old enough.”)

The only bad thing about her job is leaving Henry, but they talk on the phone every night. She’s doing this so she can be happy, like she wants him to be happy when he gets older and is chasing his own dreams, and so maybe one day she can have a little something for herself that she didn’t have handed to her.

“Emma,” Ruby yells out, “be ready in five minutes. And remember today is a clean show, and what’s our number one rule for clean shows?”

“Don’t say ‘fuck.’”

“And our second rule?”

“Don’t say ‘fuck.’”

“You’re a genius, darling,” Ruby sighs, blowing Emma a kiss before walking out of the room with her heels clacking behind her. “And I’m the best manager on the planet.”

That quip was for Sky’s manager to hear, and Emma has to bite her lip to keep from laughing. Whale will kill her if she laughs at that. Or cut her set time in half. Emma would prefer neither, but she guesses dying won’t really be that bad.

-/-

She only says fuck once during her set, it’s a complete accident, and only two people walked out of the restaurant.

Emma would call that a success.

-/-

“With olives please,” Emma tells the bartender, holding up two fingers.

“You know, you can simply order a bowl of olives, and they’ll bring it to you.”

A smile creeps up on Emma’s face, and she swivels in her chair at the sound of a familiar and far too cheeky British accent. “Killian Jones, as I live and breathe.”

“Emma Swan, as I breathe to live.”

“Oof, not one of your best jokes.”

“Wasn’t meant to be.” He leans in to press his lips against her cheek, one side and then the other. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“At a bar in a hotel in Miami? The better question is what are you doing here?”

Killian scoffs and settles down on the barstool next to her, shrugging his suit jacket off and handing it to her. When she raises her brow, he nods down at her lack of sleeves on her dress and all of her pebbled goosebumps. “You’re chilled, and I don’t think your boy will take it well if you freeze to death on my watch.”

“It’s Florida in May. I’m not going to freeze to death. But aren’t you a gentleman?”

“I’m always a gentleman.” He turns away from her quickly and holds up a finger to get the bartender’s attention. “Can you get me a glass of whatever your best rum is and a bowl of olives? And put her drinks on my tab.”

“You are not paying, Jones.”

“I am paying. It’s not often that I see my favorite comedian.”

“You’re full of shit if you say I’m your favorite comedian.”

“Well, if we’re being technical, I’m my own favorite comedian, but I felt that was a little too much to say. I’m trying to be less of an asshole.”

Emma leans her head back and laughs before tugging Killian’s suit jacket around her shoulders. This bar is cold, probably to combat the sweltering heat outside, but she’d never admit that to him.

“I don’t think you can be less of an asshole. Being an asshole is who you are.” The bartender puts their drinks and a bowl of olives in front of them, and Emma immediately pulls the olives off the toothpick in her martini. “I’m the opening act for Sky Manhattan. That’s why I’m here. We’re on tour.”

“What kind of name is Sky Manhattan?”

“It’s his stage name.”

“Fucking dumb stage name.”

“You’re so eloquent with words.”

Killian winks. “That’s why they pay me to talk on television.”

“They pay you to talk on television because you’re funny and you look like a man in every catalog on the shelf at Bergdorf.”

“You flatter me.”

“I try. I want your ego to become so big that your head explodes and you can no longer pop up in random places.” She takes another sip of her drink and leans over to gently push his shoulder. “Seriously. What are you doing in Florida? You live in Manhattan in a fancy apartment.”

“Says the trust fund baby who lives with her parents in their fancy apartment.”

“Hey.”

Killian holds his hands up in mock apology all the while his grin reaches from ear to ear so that his eyes crinkle and the blue of his eyes shines under the dim light of the bar. “I’m working on a show here. It’s only temporary. My contract is up at the end of June, and I’ve had this lovely place to call home for a month already.”

“You’re staying here?”

“Aye.”

“In the land of pastels and peppy waitstaff? Where the bathrooms are pink?”

“It’s a nice change of pace, and since I’m not paying for it, I don’t give a damn.”

“That’s more like you,” Emma laughs, twisting a little further on her stool and leaning into his space. “I’m going to be here for two weeks. Why don’t you come to a show? I think you’ll really like my routine and the guy singing after me is pretty good too.”

“Is that all you have to convince me?”

Her heart picks up its pace as Killian’s hand brushes over her thigh, a light and fleeting touch. “I can get you a free drink and all of the shrimp cocktails you want.”

“I was going to say no, but the shrimp cocktails really do it for me.” He leans in, closer now, and Emma very nearly closes her eyes in anticipation. Of what? She knows, but she won’t even let her mind go there. “I have to run to work. Why don’t you meet me here Saturday night? I’ll take you to dinner and show.”

“I’m working Saturday night.”

“We’ll go after.”

And with that, Killian Jones is throwing cash onto the bar top for a tip and then walking away, leaving his jacket with her.

Damn, she missed him.

-/-

“How was your last day of school, kid?”

“We had cupcakes, and I had two.”

“Two?”

“I wanted three, but Mrs. Horowitz wouldn’t let me have another one.”

“I bet she didn’t want you to spoil your dinner.”

“Cupcakes could have been dinner.”

Emma laughs and stands from her bed, pulling the cord on her phone with her. “Cupcakes are not dinner. Has Grandpa been feeding you cupcakes for dinner?”

“Nope. But he does give me chocolate.”

“Ah, of course he does. I’m going to be home to see you next week before we go to the Catskills for a few days and then I go to Vegas. Are you excited?” There’s no answer on the other end of the line, just a bit of static. “Henry? Kid? Kid?”

“His friend Avery is here, Mrs. Cassidy,” Ashely says over the phone. “He went to play.”

“It’s Swan, Ashley,” Emma huffs. She doesn’t want to snap at Ashely because she’s a sweet girl and helps with Henry far more than she should as her parents’ housekeeper. “Neal and I are divorced, and I changed my last name to my middle name.”

“I have to go, Mrs. Cassidy,” Ashely mumbles. “The boys are climbing on your father’s bookshelves.”

At that, there’s no one on the other end of the line, and Emma doesn’t get the chance to speak to her parents or tell Henry she loves him.

This is her life.

-/-

“Ruby Lucas, I am not going on a date with someone you met today.”

“Why not? He’s from New York, is here on a trip, and he’s cute. I think it could be a good match, and it’s been so long since you dated, which is different than sex, mind you.” “I’ve been divorced for two years and on the road for most of that. I don’t think many men want to date a divorced mother who is a stand-up comedian. Half of them think I’m a witch.”

“That’s because men are idiots.” “And yet you want me to date one?”

“One date,” Ruby sighs, slipping on her heels and smoothing out her skirt. “He’s got money, and he knows people who can sponsor you. Think of it as a business dinner and not a date.” “Well, I can do business dinners, but I can’t tonight. I’ve got plans after the show.”

“The dinner is before the show. What the hell do you have going on after the show? I don’t have anything booked for you.”

Emma turns from Ruby and fixes her blouse, tucking it in before raising her finger and brushing away the red lipstick that’s strayed to her skin. “Killian Jones is in town. He’s taking me to dinner.”

“Ah.”

“What?”

“Well, if you’d told me the man you were sleeping with was in town, I would have changed the date of your dinner with Walsh despite me thinking you need to go on more actual dates and not just sexual rendezvous.”

“I am not sleeping with Killian.” “Please. You can lie to me about a lot of things, but I know when you’re fucking someone.”

“I have never slept with him.” She turns around so Ruby can see her eyeroll. “He’s a friend. He helps me with my routines when we’re in the same city, and he sends Henry an absolutely useless gift at least three times a year. So we’re going to dinner to catch up, and maybe I’ll get some new material for you.”

“I wouldn’t care about new material if you’d fuck Jones.”

“I’m going to fire you as my manager.”

“Never, darling. Now, tits up. You’re meeting Walsh Osbourne in the bar at six. Sweet talk him until you get a meeting for some commercial auditions.”

“I’m doing this for commercial auditions?” “We’re doing this to get our foot in the door for television. You can’t hop straight to one of the variety shows your lover Jones is on.”

“I will stab you with my heel.”

-/-

“Yeah, my son is really into baseball. I got him some tickets to the batting cage and a new bat for Christmas. He – ”

“You’re not funny,” Walsh mumbles after interrupting her in the middle of her answer to his question about what her son is interested in. “I thought you were supposed to be funny. What’s the point of dating you if you’re not funny? I knew women couldn’t be comedians and that you were just a nice piece of ass and a good pair of tits.”

It takes two seconds for Emma to pick up her glass of wine and slosh it across the table at Walsh. She’s been sitting at this table for fifteen minutes, and she doesn’t plan on sitting here any longer.

“Fuck you.”

“You’re also apparently a bitch,” Walsh spits out as she stands. “I have connections, and you can say goodbye to all of them.”

“I don’t need the connections of a sexist pig who doesn’t think women are capable of being funny. I can guarantee you, Mr. Osbourne, that we are, and if you take offense to women not laughing at your jokes or not telling their own jokes all the time, maybe you should look in the mirror and figure out that you’re the one who couldn’t tell a joke to save his life.” “Fuck you. I hope your performance is a failure tonight.” “It’ll certainly be better than yours.”

-/-

She kills it in her set. She’s fucking spectacular and funny, and everyone who thinks otherwise can screw themselves.

Everyone who thinks she has to spend her days only being funny and coming up with jokes can screw themselves as well.

-/-

She sees Killian slip out right before she closes and introduces Sky.

-/-

“Was I funny?” Emma asks, tugging Killian’s suit jacket around her shoulders. She was going to give it back to him tonight, but it’s chilly again. Plus, he’s wearing a different fitted black suit tonight, and he doesn’t need it back right now.

“Pardon?” “How’d you like my set? I know you were watching.” “Was I?” he ponders, tapping his finger against his lips. “I wouldn’t know.”

“You’re being an ass, and you said you were trying to stop that.”

His brows move across his forehead, that same cheeky smile still on his lips. “I may have been there.”

“And what’d you think?”

“Buy me dinner first, and then I’ll tell you.”

They go to a restaurant that doesn’t seem to believe in white-colored light bulbs or volume limits, and Emma loves it. A band is constantly playing, dancers moving around the floor, and the steak she has is quite possibly the best steak she’s ever had.

Killian Jones has always known how to plan an evening and pick out a restaurant.

“Shall we dance?” he questions as Emma leans back into her chair, absolutely full even if she feels lighter than she has in quite some time.

“What?”

“Dance with me, Swan.”

“I don’t dance.”

Killian stands and holds his hand out for her, blue eyes sparkling even under all of the colored lights. “All you need is a partner who knows what he’s doing.” “And you do?”

“Of course, love. I’m an expert in…movements.”

Emma rolls her eyes, but she takes his hand anyway and melts into the warmth of him as his fingers curl around her palm. “That wasn’t your best work. You’re slacking lately.”

If he responds, she has no idea. The music is too loud already, and it gets louder when they move closer to the band. The songs have been fast and upbeat all night, and yet the moment they start to dance, it changes into something soft, slow. It’s probably for the best. Emma really doesn’t know how to dance (or sing) despite everything asking her why she isn’t a dancer when she tells them she’s a comedian, and she’s pretty much got two left feet out here. So she places one hand more firmly in Killian’s, another around his neck, and they sway back and forth.

It’s not proper how close they are, body pressed tightly against body, but she’s never cared for proper.

She’s never cared for rules and expectations, and while that stung when Neal told her that was one of the reasons he strayed from their marriage, she knows that nothing he says is anything she should listen to.

It’s okay if he strays from the conventional path sleeping with her without them being married and going off and fucking his secretary, but the moment she doesn’t want to cook a ham every night, she’s the one who’s too wild.

He never thought she was funny either. That should have been the first sign.

“I’ve been thinking, love.” “I never like when you do that.”

“Yes, yes you do.”

Killian hums and turns them in a circle, his hand sliding lower on her back. “What were you thinking, Jones?”

“You’ve made comments about my jokes being off, and I don’t know…I suppose I don’t feel the need to be funny around you, and it’s nice. There’s not all that – ”

“Pressure? Expectation? The need to always be thinking two steps ahead?”

“Exactly. As much as I like bantering with you and coming up with new material, I like that I can talk about whatever the hell I want without worrying that I’m being too boring.”

Emma looks up at him and sees his soft smile and blue eyes she finds more charming by the minute. “I like that I don’t have to be funny with you, too.”

“Good.”

-/-

“So, quite the nice night.”

“I’m pretty sure it’s five in the morning.”

“Ah, well,” Killian sighs, waving his hand out to the ocean and the few boats moving over it. The sun isn’t rising, not quite yet, and she can still see the stars twinkling in the sky. “We haven’t gone to bed yet, so I still consider it night.” “Well, if you consider it to be night, how can I deny that?”

“You can’t. Where’s your room?”

“Fifth floor. Where’s yours?”

“Seventh.”

They walk in companionable silence until they find the outdoor staircase that leads to their rooms. Emma’s heels are in her hand, have been for the past few hours, but her feet still ache. She should have changed into her flats after the show, but she didn’t stop to think before heading to meet Killian at the bar. Suddenly, they’re standing on the fifth floor, two doors down from her room, and then they’re there standing on either side of her hotel door.

Killian blinks, and Emma blinks back, not sure whether to speak or to search for her keys. She might be too tired to think coherent thoughts. She also might not want this night to end. It’s the first time in a long time where she hasn’t spent hours trying to impress someone, and if she goes to bed, that’ll be over.

(She doesn’t want it to be over.)

(She wants just this one thing, this one night.)

“You’re staring.” “So are you.”

“Well, I do have a particularly pretty face, love.”

She scoffs and rolls her eyes, leaning against the wall and closer to Killian. “Are you going to tell me what you thought of my act now?”

Leaning closer, Killian brushes his hand over her forearm and up her shoulder until he’s tucking her hair behind her ear. A shiver runs down her spine, working its way into her bones, and her skin pebbles. “You were fucking spectacular, Ms. Swan.”

Emma’s cheek blush, and since she can’t look into the ridiculous blue of Killian’s eyes, she digs for her keys in her clutch and pulls it out, sticking it into the lock. The door swings open, the bed immediately in sight, and Emma feels Killian’s intake of breath. She also feels him stepping away.

It’d be so easy to ask him to come inside and ask him to unzip her dress and untie his tie until they’re both undressed and panting against each other, but it’s also just as easy to step inside without him, right?

Right.

(Maybe not just this one thing on this one night.)

“Goodnight, love,” Killian tells her. “I’ll ring you when I’m back in New York.”

“Henry and I will both be waiting.”

-/-

Neal calls her when she’s in Las Vegas two weeks later to tell her that she’s a horrible mother.

He’s seen his son once (for an hour) in the past month, and he lives ten minutes from him.

Emma has seen Henry three times, one of which was for four days in the Catskills, and she’s traveling the country on tour.

She is not a horrible mother, and she will not let Neal’s voice get in her head. Not anymore.

One more month of this, and then she’s home for two months before they go to Europe for the rest of the tour. She can do two weeks in Las Vegas and two more in Palm Springs.

She can.

-/-

Killian sends her a postcard from New York in the beginning of July.

I’m back in New York. Your boy has already convinced me to take him to a Yankees game. I’m sure we’ll be on our fourth visit by the time you get this.

I promise I’ll try not to corrupt him while you’re gone.

Killian’s an asshole.

But a good asshole.

(And maybe he’s not really an asshole at all.)

-/-

“Ah, that sweet smell of urine and concrete,” Ruby sighs as their taxi pulls in front of Emma’s apartment building. “I’ve missed you.”

“There’s been urine and concrete in all of the places we’ve been.”

“It’s not the same, and you know it.”

“I know, I know.” Emma leans over and kisses Ruby’s cheeks. “It’s been fun, my friend, but I don’t want to see your face for at least a week, okay?”

“I don’t want to see your face for two weeks.”

“Then we have an agreement.”

Emma laughs as she exists the car and motions for the doormen to come and get her bags. She definitely has far too many of them for as much as she doesn’t care about clothes, hers seem to keep expanding. She takes one suitcase and a hatbox and quickly walks into the building and to the elevator, and the operator hits the button for her floor. She’s bouncing with excitement, her feet nearly coming out of her shoes, and she’s so close to Henry she might buzz right out of her skin.

“Mom,” he yells when she opens the apartment door. Emma drops her bag and her box and bends down until Henry is running into her arms. “You’re home.”

“Yeah, kid,” she whispers, cupping the back of his head. “I’m home.”

-/-

“My mother wants me to meet a man.”

“Excuse me?”

Emma brushes past Killian into his apartment, and she lets out the low whistle she always lets out every time she’s here. Whereas her apartment is filled with antiques and furniture that can’t be sat on (thanks Mom and Dad), Killian’s apartment is sleek and modern. It’s all clean lines and black and white decorations with little pops of blue. It’s a man’s apartment, and she’s always loved it.

Plus, the view of the Hudson is spectacular.

“I never wanted to be a woman whose entire life revolved around cooking, cleaning, and waiting for their husband to get home to not acknowledge any of that,” Emma rants, kicking off her shoes and immediately walking to his liquor cabinet. She can’t reach the shelf with all of his good stuff, but there’s a cheap bottle of rum just within her reach. “My mom seems to think that I need a husband to rein me in from my ‘rebellious’ phase.”

“You had a husband. You hated being married.”

“I didn’t hate being married. I hated being married to him.” “Ah.” “What?”

“Well, there’s a difference?”

“Yes, there’s a difference! I imagine being married doesn’t suck if you like the person you’re married to and if he doesn’t sleep with every woman he meets.” She pours both she and Killian a tumbler of rum and hands him his glass. He eyes her but doesn’t say anything. Instead, he tilts the glass to his lips and takes a large gulp. “I just…I don’t know why my mom thinks it’s imperative for me to get married again.”

She walks over the couch and curls her legs underneath her while Killian sits in on the other side, propping his feet up on the coffee table. “How old are you?”

“Twenty-five.”

Killian clicks his tongue again, and she’s never noticed how much ginger is in his beard before now. “Well, you’re basically an old maid.”

Emma kicks her foot out at him. “You’re the worst.”

His lips curl into a smirk. “I am undeniably the greatest. And look, your mum is old-fashioned. She doesn’t get why you wouldn’t want to marry just anyone or why you want to spend your days traveling around the world making dick jokes. The one about his dick being so big it was a Richard was inspired, by the way, even if I did know that it was inspired by me.”

“I will stain your white rug with my drink.”

“I’ve got a very nice woman named Greta who knows just how to get that out.”

“Who knew being crude on late night television paid so well as to have a Greta?”

“You did, Swan,” he laughs, taking another sip of his drink before placing it on a coaster. “But back to your mother.” Emma rolls her eyes, but Killian pays her no attention. “She thinks the way to happiness is being married to a nice man and having him provide for you. You have to let her know that you don’t want another Neal or someone you’re only with because it’s proper. You want someone who you love and who lights that fire in your soul that you don’t want to be put out.”

“Someone who I don’t feel the need to be funny around.”

“Yeah,” Killian says slowly, a red blush dusting his cheeks, “someone who you don’t feel the need to be funny with, someone you don’t have to put on an act around.”

There’s always been something about Killian Jones that has unsettled her and yet made her feel comfortable. The night they met she had to bail him out of jail because one of his performances was deemed too crude by the police presence in the bar, and they’ve been circling around each other ever since. He’s wormed his way into her life, and she never really noticed. It’s been in short conversations and trading jokes at a bar, but then it was getting together for dinner and him taking Henry to Yankees games. It was dancing in clubs and almost, almost, almost asking him to come into her hotel room.

It was having him know her better than anyone else knows her.

Slowly, Emma rises from her spot on the couch and walks over to Killian, pressing down and placing her knees on either side of his thighs before she raises her hand and thumbs at the scar on his cheek while her other hand brushes his hair back. Killian blinks up at her, his mouth no longer smirking. Instead, he’s softly smiling at her, and Emma feels a long-forgotten flurry in her stomach.

“Emma – ” She leans forward until her forehead presses against his and until her nose is nudging against his. Killian’s hands are warm against her waist, and she feels it all the way down to her bones, seeping deep within her. “What do you think you’re doing, sweetheart?”

“Being with someone I want to be with, someone who I don’t have to put on an act with.”

His lips are soft and gentle, a fluttering of a movement against her own, and it’s the exact opposite of what she thought kissing Killian would be like. She thought, if anything, they’d be drunk and stumbling across the room, clothes falling to the ground and lips not marking their intended target. She thought her mind would be too fuzzy to think.

That’s not at all what’s happening.

All she can think about is how much she’s wanted this, even if she didn’t realize it but in fleeting moments after nights of alcohol, and how natural it feels to have his scruff burn her chin and to have his lips caress hers.

This is good.

This is a fire she would never want to put out.

“You’re not going to regret that and talk about it in your act, are you?” Killian chuckles while kissing the corner of her cheek and then her jaw, his lips like magic.

“Regret it? No. Put it in my act? Absolutely. I’m not sure how I’m going to make it funny, though,” she sighs, pressing herself further into him, “because there’s nothing funny about this.”

“No, love, I don’t think there is.”

-/-

She wakes up the next morning to Killian kissing her bare skin and whispering words to her that have chills running down her spine.

They go to a Yankees game with Henry, and Killian buys far too much ice cream, not that Henry would complain. Not the Emma would either. She’s too damn happy for any of that.

And he doesn’t judge her for eating a hot dog.

-/-

All Killian wants for Emma is to be happy and live life how she’s always dreamed of living her life, not by whatever standards are expected for her.

Oh, and to keep on being the spectacular Ms. Swan.

(It’s Mrs. Jones now, but the stage name of Ms. Swan has a nice ring to it.)

(She keeps on being damn funny.)

-/-

-/-

Tag list: @csjanuaryjoy​ @stahlop @shardminds @carpedzem @captainsjedi  @galaxyzxstark @thejollyroger-writer @kmomof4 @tiganasummertree @xellewoods @idristardis @karenfrommisthaven @shireness-says @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 @spartanguard @snowbellewells @hollyethecurious (because we talked about it yesterday...let Lenny live 😉)

[mrsalwayswrite]

Christmas Morning (Alfie Solomons x Reader one-shot)

This piece is dedicated to the always lovely @evelynshelby​. Merry Christmas, my dear. 

And to everyone else, Merry Christmas, happy Hanukkah, I suddenly can't remember anything else (I’m so sorry). This is just a short one-shot of pure fluff because who doesn’t want a domestic, fluffy Alfie to celebrate Christmas? I don't normally write one-shots or straight up fluff so if this is terrible...I’m sorry. *shrugs*

Warnings: Swearing, some mild sexual content, pure fluff. 

Word count: 2k

~Christmas Morning~

“Daddy! Daddy Daddyyyyyy!”

Alfie braced himself as much as he could before being bombarded with small, energetic bodies intent on destroying what he had left of vitality. He had been sleeping deeply, enjoying the extra sleep that he normally lost due to either his hip bothering him or the creatures he called children demanding his attention. 

“Oi! Wot ya buggers want, eh?” He grumbled as at least two children raced into the bedroom, slamming the door violently open and jumped enthusiastically on the bed and another child poked him repeatedly in the ribs.

“It’s Christmas!”

“Kissmas!”

“Mum says ya gotta up now.”

“We’re Jewish. Don’t celebrate that none. Go back to bed.” He rolled onto his back, knowing whatever hopes of more blissful sleep to be had was gone. Peeking his eyes open, the faces of his four children greeted him in varying positions on the bed and expressions of excitement on their little faces.

“Presents!” They chorused, the two middle ones jumping gleefully on the bed, making the toddler bounce precariously on the edge.

“Who said ‘em presents are for ya? Mmm? They s’for me…full of socks and knickers they are.”

“No, Daddy.” His beautiful four year old girl cupped his cheeks, her earnest blue eyes staring fondly at him. “One has me name on it. I drew youse a picture downstairs. Mum said I gotta wait to gives it to ya.”

“I bet it’s beautiful, love.” He kissed her nose making her giggle. However much he wished he could continue to rest…these little, joyful faces were worth getting up for. His heart swelled with love as he watched his children play on the bed, fighting for his attention or pulling on him to get out of the bed.

“Alright kids, daddy is up.” You say from leaning against the doorframe. Four kids, only one a girl, most of the time your home felt like occasionally controlled chaos…but it was the chaos you made with the man who had held your heart from your first date. You would not trade any of it for the world. “Why don’t you go wait for Grandpa and Grandma by the window? They should be here any minute.”

“Yay!” Ellie slid off the bed, taking off running in competition with her five year old brother, James- the biggest trouble makers of the house. Their hurried feet sounded like a stampede down the hardwood floor and down the stairs to the main floor.

“Jacob, take Little Sam with you please. When I come down, you can take Cyril outside, alright?” You say, picking your toddler off the bed.

“Yes, mum. C’mon Sam…” Jacob, your eldest at seven, grabbed his youngest brother’s hand and walked slowly with him out of the room telling him about all the presents they were going to get from their Christian grandparents.

Once the children were gone, Alfie flung himself back onto the bed with a groan. “I’m gettin’ too old for this. Me bones are creakin’ like wood.”

“Uh huh, sure.” You moved to stand by his side of your shared bed, gazing down at him. “Don’t forget, you were the one who wanted a houseful of children. Might need to start keepin’ your hands off me if that’s the case. I’m pretty sure you just wink at me and I’m suddenly pregnant.”

Alfie opened his eyes, smirking that devilish grin of his that could still make you weak in the knees even after almost a decade of being with him. “I’m fairly sure that s’impossible, love. Not me fault I can’t keep me hands to meself, you just too fuckin’ beautiful.”

“Sweet-talker.” You leaned over him and gave him a quick peck on this lips before straightening. “You do need to get up. My parents will be here soon.”

“Ughhhh….fuckin’ bloody ‘ell and all them…”

“I know, I know. You just loooove when my mum comes over. Remember this is for the kids.”

He snorted, slowly pushing himself up and swung his legs over the side of the bed. Honestly, he could not stand your mother. He only tolerated her because of the family relation now and even with that, he found himself drinking whiskey, rum or whatever was in easy reach a bit more on days where she was around. Not that she was all that endearing to him herself. Part of him thought she still held a grudge towards Alfie for taking away her beloved daughter and somehow putting a love spell on her. Since what logical, sweet, devoted girl would fall in love with an old, cranky gangster with blood on his hands. Luckily the old hag had become more tolerable once grandchildren came into the picture.

“And how s’the little one?” He gently placed his hands on your stomach, feeling the slight bulge there where his newest child was growing. “I didn’t ‘ear ya up in the night at all. No sickness?”

Unable to help yourself, you ran your hands through Alfie’s hair. He would need a haircut soon but you absolutely adored playing with it in the meantime. “Slept great. I think the nausea has finally passed, about time really. The other kids never kept me sick for this long. Although, I’m confident my breasts got bigger overnight.”

“Mmm…” His roving hands slowly traveled upward over the bathroom robe you wore until he cupped your breasts. “It’s hard to tell, yeah, in this. Might need to undress ya to double check.”

“Alfie…Alfie, no!” You protested, trying to push his hands away but your giggling counteracted your supposed stern demeanor. “My parents…”

“Fuck.” He groaned and dropped his head onto your stomach, the thought of playing with your fuller breasts had him at half-mast already.

“If you promise to be good today, I’ll give you a sneak peek of your present right now.”

That caught his attention. “Present, ya say?”

“Best behavior, Alfie. All day. No threatening to castrate my brother again this year…or teaching the kids curses in Yiddish so my mother can’t understand what you’re saying.”

“You drive a hard bargain, woman. Me present better be somethin’ special.”

“Promise?”

“Yeah, yeah, I promise.”

“Good.” A coy smile grew on your lips as you took a step back, maintaining eye contact with your husband. Slowly, you pulled on the tie, keeping the robe together around your body. Just to torment him further, you ran your tongue over your lower lip then bit it, knowing that action drove him crazy. Sure enough, you could see his pupils expand as he greedily watched you. The tie came off and you dropped it to the floor, keeping your movements slow and purposeful. Then you let the robe ease off your shoulders and slowly opened it up to reveal what was underneath.

Alfie’s jaw dropped slightly, his eyes widen at the sight before him. There stood his gorgeous wife in a silky lingerie piece that teased more than it actually covered. All that bare skin, breasts offered up like a present and just the faintest hint of fabric covering your womanhood to tempt him to delve into your depths and make you scream his name in ecstasy. His brain ceased all function. His cock fully erect and demanding attention. Since having children, you rarely wore lingerie and it had been years since you bought a new piece to surprise him. He reached out, wanting to touch you and make sure you were not a dream come to life. “Y/n…”

Abruptly you wrapped yourself back up and picked up the tie to keep your robe together and conceal what lay beneath. That coy smile still graced your lips, but you could feel the sudden dampness between your legs at the hungry look in Alfie’s eyes as he stared at you. Playing it off, you brushed your hair back over your shoulder and winked. “Best behavior…then I’ll let you touch it later.”

“Love…you can’t do that to a man. Teasin’ him like that. Just ain’t right.”

“It’s your incentive. I plan on wearing this all day since only my parents are coming over today. Now you know what is waiting for you later…as long as you’re good.” As you spoke, you slowly walked towards the door, fully intent on heading back downstairs to check on your children. Who knows what they were getting up too? Each one seemed born with Alfie’s knack for finding trouble.

Suddenly Alfie leapt up out and raced around the bed to where you now stood. Roughly he pushed you against the nearby wall and pressed himself against you. Keeping his knee between your legs, one hand cupped a breast over the robe while the other pulled on your thigh until one of your bare legs wrapped around his hip. His mouth ghosted over your neck, his hot breath causing goosebumps to appear on your skin. “I’ll be good, so good…then when we’re alone, I’m gonna get ya back, you temptress, for this. So many wicked, naughty things I have in mind for ya, yeah? You won’t be able to walk tomorrow.”

“Promises, promises, Captain Solomons.” You purred lazily, knowing how much your husband loved when you called him by his military title while making love. Anyone else would receive a “fuck off” and a good whack with his cane. Something about how you said it in the moment, he had confessed years ago that it turned him on. Not that you complained, it certainly did things to you too. The current haze of lust growing from his strokes and kisses made you close your eyes and moan wantonly as he trailed kisses along your neck and onto your chest.

As if a challenge was issued, he redoubled his efforts. His lips and tongue worked over your skin while his hands touched and caressed all the spots that he knew make you wet for him. Soon you were both panting, tugging on each other’s clothes and grinding against one another seeking friction like horny teenagers.

“Dad! Mum! Sam is eatin’ Cyril’s food ‘gain!” Jacob called up the stairs.

And with that, reality set back in.

“Fuckin’ hell.” Alfie muttered, dropping his head onto your shoulder. After a couple ragged breaths, he yelled back down. “Comin’! Put Cyril’s food bowl on the counter, yeah?”

“Ok! Ellie spilled her milk all over the table too!”

“Did not! S’James did it!”

“Golems. The lot of ‘em. Not a moment’s peace, I swear.” Alfie mumbled, begrudgingly stepping back from you, attempting to control his cock that certainly had other plans than dealing with the unruly children it helped create.

“You love it.” After adjusting your robe so it covered everything, you moved to head out of the room. “Don’t take too long, Captain. Your soldiers are waiting for you. Just think of my mother and that should help calm you down.” With that final parting thought, you whisked out of the room smiling to yourself.

Well that thought certainly helped somewhat. Alfie walked over to the chair against the far wall and picked up his own bath robe, tying it around himself. Ten years ago he never would have imagined himself here. Yet you were right, like usual. He did love it. Each one of his children seemed to expand his blackened heart until he thought it would burst with love and joy. You were his shining light and love of his life. Family…his own. That was something he never would have guessed for himself ten years ago.

Alfie made a quick reminder to call Ollie once he made it downstairs. The bakery was still running smoothly, for the most part. Ollie had finally grown a set of balls and managed most of the day to day stuff when Alfie was not around. A truce had been made with the Shelbys that was mutually beneficial, plus Tommy had his sights set higher than London so he paid no attention to Alfie and his doings. The Italians had lost their standing years ago, and no longer were a threat in any form. Yes, life was perfect right now…something he never would have foreseen for himself. And it was all thanks to you. For accidently spilling your drink all over him at a club then offering to clean him up…with your tongue. The following conversation had been most entertaining and although no tongue action happened…it was not too many weeks later when Alfie first kissed you and knew right then, you would change his life.

Now if only he could figure out what to do with your mum…

[namjoonsyoongi]

blurred lines | namgi

summary: what’s a few blowjobs between friends?

rating: M

word count: 4610

genre/tags: friends to lovers, friends with benefits, university au, comedy, crack, fluff, angst 

ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18663031

Namjoon and Yoongi have known eachother for as long as they could spell their own names, but that wasn't enough to keep Namjoon from wanting to slap his friend upside the head sometimes.

What did keep him from doing so were the little things. The song Yoongi wrote him for his seventeenth birthday, a last minute rap that lasted all of fifty seconds written on a crumbled sheet of lined paper; A song that Namjoon wouldn’t be able to remember even if someone put a gun to his head and told him to recite it. The way that he could read his mind on any given day and act accordingly, and how they’d have a conversation with one another through brief glances and raised eyebrows alone.

Yet he still managed to discover a way to be utterly infuriating.

The other night, the all too allusive Min Yoongi, cat-eyed and full of indifference, crawled into his bed in the middle of the night. Have you ever watched the flicking tongue of a snake as it slithered toward a mouse, and then looked away before it could swallow the mouse whole? That's what Yoongi was to Namjoon on nights like these, intruding into the covers and tangling himself in Namjoon's longer limbs.

Namjoon wouldn't have any issue with a few nighttime cuddles, Yoongi's was just one of the many affectionate boys in their group of friends, and wasn't anywhere near the worst of it. Jimin could be more attached to him than his own skin, and Taehyung was like a puppy in the way he needed constant verbal and physical affirmation to make sure they were, in fact, best friends forever.

Yoongi's not like that, not most of the time. He came with a purpose.

"What's wrong?"  

"Nothing's wrong," Yoongi was simply laying by Namjoon's side at this point, before rolling over into him. "I'm just annoyed with this project. I texted my lab partner, Seungwan, and she’s more lost than I am. I'm never gonna finish this dumb fucking -- stupid fucking -- fuck this project. I'm getting pissed just thinking about it."  

"You should have never took engineering."

He really shouldn't have, but Namjoon knew why he did. He'd spent enough time at his house growing up to know of the expectations his parents had for him, as did every parent. Namjoon had almost fallen into the same trap, on track for medical school until one day, with the lyrics of Epik High's Fly on loop in his head, something stirred in him to stand up and say no. Namjoon spent his first year as a music major estranged from his parents, while Yoongi spent it as the epitome of the perfect son, and unhappy.

Namjoon spoke again. "On the brightside, only one more year."

"Shut up, please."

That was not the first night, where everything was different. Where those lines between friendship and lover blurred, for just an hour, sometimes two.

Yoongi, rather than sulk and complain, opted to release a kiss onto Namjoon's neck - and then another.

"Mm."

He keeps going, further and further, and Namjoon never tries to stop him, even when he knows he should. He palms the bulge in Yoongi's track pants, which seems to be exactly what he wants, and gets to work, going for just long enough until the warmth was enough to burn away any remaining irritation.  

Namjoon never went all the way with Yoongi, but it would probably be pretty nice.

Yoongi's lips had that sweet taste of rum the first time, and it calmed the bitter flames of the vodka present in Namjoon's throat. He couldn't say for sure who made the first move, but he could perfectly recall the pleasant fuzz that clouded his senses, and the way Yoongi moaned as if no one could hear them, as if Jin wasn't in the next room over.

When Namjoon awoke, the faint memory of Yoongi's weight in his mattress was all that remained. Any semblance of permanency floated into the air like dust, he greeted a smirking all-knowing Jin the next morning and went to class none the wiser. A dream, he chalked the whole thing up to, just a weird dream.

"Can I be honest?"

"Go off."

"I'm starting to think Yoongi isn't exactly straight."

Silence.

Like a choir, Hoseok, Jimin, and Taehyung burst into loud, screeching laughter, accompanied with celebratory hand clapping and Hoseok throwing himself into Namjoon's lap because he can't keep his balance with the sheer humor of it all.

"-And you just realized this!?"

Namjoon swallowed something stuck in his throat.

It's during a brief period of peace with Yoongi, who's laying sprawled against Namjoon's chest, when he asks about it. Namjoon had meant to approach such a subject with the utmost eloquence and thoughtfulness - You can trust me with anything you know, sometimes I feel like you tell the others things you won't tell me. I never would have judged you if you told me you like more than just girls. Do you even know how much respect and appreciation I have for you? That I'll always have for you?

But what came out of Namjoon's mouth is, "Do you give all of us blowjobs?"

Yoongi didn't answer immediately. Namjoon lifted his neck, but all he could see was the black waves of hair on the top of his head, leaning against his chest. The air in the room fogged with the added tension, and Namjoon could only guess what Yoongi's face looked like.

He said nothing. Nothing . He shuffled out of the covers and away from him, leaving the room with the mundane click of the door closing behind him.

That was something Namjoon had always known about Yoongi, his silence was louder than anything, he never had to yell.

"Fool me once? Shame on me. Fool me twice? Shame on you. Suck my dick a third time and 'no homo' is officially off limits." Jin yelped into laughter at his own joke before Namjoon could even process the words.

This was why Namjoon came to Jin for absolutely nothing.

"You're not funny."

"You're gay," Jin said, practically basking in the glare he's earned from Namjoon. "-No excuses, you sucked his dick."

Namjoon rose from his seat. "Don't tell the others."

"Why not? The rest of us admitted we were at least a little gay freshman year, we've been waiting for your coming out for years - years!"    

So you knew about Yoongi too? Namjoon wanted to ask. There was something humiliating about the fact people who Yoongi had known for three years knew more than the one who knew him for fifteen; An anchor of shame dropped silently into his empty gut.  

"Not about that," Namjoon said instead, digging into the fridge for a can of beer. "About me and Yoongi, what we've been...you know."

"Oh no, I won't. That'd scar Jungkook and you know it, that's like when you find out that your mom and dad have sex for the first time."

He tossed the can of beer in his hand, not caring enough to see where it landed, if it smacked against the handsome face that was the older's pride, or broke something along the way.  

"...I don't."

Namjoon detached from him, and Yoongi groaned once the cold air met his wet length. "Wh-What?"

"I don't give the others blow jobs, you're an asshole for saying that."

"I know, I'm sorry. Really." Namjoon, about to dip his head back under the covers, stopped to continue his thought. "Also, It's really hard to have a conversation with you while your dick is in my mouth." He moved to go under for a second time, and halted again. "Also, neither do I."

"Neither do you what?

"Give the others blowjobs."

"Good."

Shards of glass could cut you so easily, a sharp end that sinks deep into your skin, yet you don't immediately feel it when it does. That was the thing about them, he and Yoongi; Their bond was like glass, clear and delicate, it could break at one wrong move, with the simplest of words that hit the other in just the right place.

With someone as clumsy as he was, who has broken more than enough glass made objects, a connection like that was futile. Or that's what he thought, cause no matter how bad the fall, no matter how worse the cut, they somehow put themselves back together as if it had never been touched.

"Joon, your cup!"

Snapped forcefully from his reverie, the weight that had been steady in his hand slipped out before he could save it. The jarring sound of shattering glass cut out the white noise that had been playing as a soundtrack to his own thoughts.

He cursed, watching the reflective shards twinkle menacingly on the tiled floor. "Shit."

"You know, sometimes me and Jimin talk about getting a plastic set just for you." Jungkook jokes, it wasn't anything new to him.

"Let me guess! Namjoon bumped into something again." Jimin calls out, turning around the corner to be met with the new mess decorating the floor of his kitchen.

"He spaced out, I think."

"The last time you did this shit, I was stepping on tiny - like I swear microscopic pieces of glass that we couldn't clean up."  

Jimin ushers Namjoon out with mumbled reassurances that everything was fine and the two of them would clean it up. Today was one of their regular get-togethers, but it'd be the last one before they'd return home for the holidays. Jimin thought it appropriate to replace their soft drinks with alcohol, alcohol which Namjoon had just spilled half a glass of onto the ground, along with the cup.

In the living room, sat the rest of them, gathered close around Jungkook's flat screen. Namjoon could hear the muted yet very present sound of crunching as Jin and Taehyung shared a bag of chips. Hoseok lounged in a recliner, leaning back and huddling into his blanket, mindlessly flicking through Netflix.

With midterms having marched to and fro and subsequently ruined their lives, Yoongi had been a bumbling mess of yawns and naps for the past month. All both Jin and Namjoon had seen of their roommate was him fast asleep on their couch and drooling on his study notes, and glimpses of him going to and from the school before locking himself in his room.

He wasn't here, Namjoon's shoulders slumped.

"Where's Yoongi?"

"Canceled," Hoseok muttered with a deep-set pout, not looking away from the screen.

"Since when?"

"Five minutes ago."

"Hobi's still pissed." Jin chimes in, the bag rustling as he picked it up and held it out to Namjoon.

Namjoon took a handful of chips, and watched as Hoseok’s pout only deepened, a rare darkness in his eyes that only appeared when you had truly committed the worst of his friendship sins. "I wouldn't be if it weren't for this being our last night here, or if he weren't ditching for Seungwan. I would never...we would never!"

The room lapses back into a silence, as if they imagine Namjoon can understand every word and name that had just left their mouths.

"Seungwan?"

Despite everything, Yoongi was always the one to initiate things. Even when he wore his favourite black skinny jeans, and Namjoon's eyes became glued to the gentle curves of his thighs and the belt that hugged his waist. Even when, just like that snake, he wanted nothing more to devour him whole - he didn't, he waited for him.

It felt strange to take what he knew wasn't truly his.

Then came those past two months, where Yoongi tiptoed around Namjoon, as if coming any closer would break him. Namjoon thought it all in his head, Yoongi was busy, he was an engineering major, he just had to focus. Namjoon thought he was the one who could always make him focus, rejuvenate him, perhaps he was wrong. He was fine with that.

In reality, however, there was Seungwan. Pretty girl Seungwan, with her delicate face and cherry coloured lips. Slim and yet plump just where it mattered.

Jin's words hit so cold that icicles could have formed from his lips. "Seungwan and Yoongi have been dating for the past 2 months."

Why didn't you tell me sooner? Namjoon wanted to yell back at him. Why didn't any of you tell me sooner? Why didn't Yoongi tell me sooner? His heart raged against his ribcage, it wanted to scream and shout too, it wanted to run away from the man child it was stuck in, and who idiotically decided to fall in love with his best friend. The best friend he didn't know was gay until he found his way into Namjoon's sheets, the best friend who never spoke about their moments of passion in the day, the best friend who couldn't care less.

"I'm gonna go get another drink," he said instead.

And so he moved on, moved forward. Swallowed the feelings and let them dissolve somewhere in his gut. The next time he'd see Yoongi, with Seungwan hanging off his arm, he'd smile graciously and greet the both of them. Observing Yoongi as he'd mask on a disinterested demeanor when he did something thoughtful for her. He'd welcome Seungwan like the morning sun, he'd laugh at the jokes she'd quip about all the little ticks Yoongi had that Namjoon was long accustomed to and support her when she’d eventually come to him with questions like “what type of food would Yoongi want me to get?”, “Do you think Yoongi would like this as a gift?”. He'd listen attentively to every word, as if she wasn't just echoing the thoughts and feelings that had planted into his very being like a weed, sprouting once again every time he thought he’d picked it out.  

Or at least that's what he would have liked to say happened, and that's what would have happened, had it not been for the long road trip he was stuck on the morning after Namjoon found out about her.

A blanket of mist settles across their driveway like smoke. The overnight storm pelted away the flames of his intoxication, but the subsequent hangover pounded just as relentlessly.

By the car, a phantom stood, posture hunched. Yoongi looked like he was sinking into a black hole with his oversized winter coat, it was almost endearing.

Cute. Adorable actually.

Yoongi smirked. "Wow, who hit you with a bus?"

You.

The grey scarf flew from his pocket as he wrapped it around his neck and up his face, until all but his swollen eyes showed. "Let's just get this over with," He uttered, voice muffled.  

It wasn't a ritual more than it was convenient for Yoongi to drive him back home for the holidays. Their houses were five minute walks between each other respectively, and Namjoon, with his immense lack of grace and poise, has never dared touch a steering wheel in his life. Yoongi liked to say he was his personal uber, then again he also liked to complain about how annoying that was.

On the passenger's side, his eyes catch a rip edged into the cushion with the tiniest of threads holding it together - How is this piece of shit car still alive, honestly? There he sits down stiffly, another place he has essentially spent the past several years making a home of, and the two set off.

The nausea was already striking, and not just from the hangover. Something boiled unwelcome in his chest, and ran all the way down to his abdomen.

Apparently he isn't doing a good job of hiding it, cause Yoongi speaks up and says, "Don't throw up in here."

"I won't. " He snaps back.

Fuck.

He used to think he was better than this, better at setting emotion aside in favour of the overall peace that'd remain instead. Lips zipped shut meant tranquility, and Namjoon valued that; Especially with him, he who he hates more than anything right now.

How...how? How did he fall for this badly acted charade, of course Yoongi never wanted him - like that - if he did, he would have said so.

Stop. Shut up. It isn't that serious.

His jaw locks.

But it really is.

Namjoon's an atheist, but for the first time in years he prays.

He prays that this ride will proceed in silence, because if not, the emotions he didn't have enough time to bury will overflow and drown whatever was left of he and Yoongi's relationship.

Fortunately, the prayer is answered, though sparingly. Identical looking streets pass by wordlessly, with Yoongi twisting and turning through roads and towns that Namjoon can't recognize. His eyes are too exhausted to focus on anything, not that there was anything worth looking at; Every building becomes a blur of mild colours, and the sky is as gray and dull as watching cement dry.

"We're close," Yoongi says.

Namjoon hums, along with the engine as the car slows down, going up a soft incline into a gas station.

The driver's side door opens, Yoongi huddling into his coat as a gust whistles into the vehicle. "I'll be right back."

Don't come back. Just leave me in here to shrivel up and die.

When Yoongi returns, rushing into his seat before shutting the door and ramming the engine again, he says nothing. But Namjoon can hear him, his indifference, a quality which he once admired.

He'd cut his tongue out if it meant he'd keep his mouth shut, but all he can do is sink his teeth into his bottom lip, deeper and deeper as the car pulls out.

"...Yoongi?"

"Yeah?"

Don't say it.

"What am I to you?"

The engine whines, filling the emptiness of the car.

"My best friend."  

The nonchalance cuts Namjoon to the bone, until his lungs are clinging for life. His labour breathes repeatedly stab through the silence, and all he can do is stare, unanswered questions overflowing in his skull.  

They've never talked about - them, what they were and what they did. Any conversations that went past platonic stayed in Namjoon's room and Namjoon's room only. Which is why now even implications of their deeper relationship felt forbidden, his lips clipped shut when the vaguest of words pass his mind.

But Namjoon doesn't have to be the one to say it.

Yoongi laughs, scratching his ear. "Maybe a best friend with benefits?"      

The sharp edges of his eyes go a deeper shade of red, the hurt settling into the crevices. Acknowledgment, shouldn't that satisfy him?

"Still?" Namjoon asks, his voice barely a whisper.

The pink that dusts over Yoongi's cheek is rare. The sight nearly makes Namjoon's heart swell, until he's hit with the thought that Seungwan is on the older man's mind.

"I mean..." Yoongi clears his throat. "Yeah...if you still want-"

"And what about Seungwan?"

His brows furrow, almost offended. "What about her?"

The response boils in Namjoon's ear, like an off key note.

"Can't you be straightforward with me? Like you usually are?" Namjoon says.

"I am."

A snap cuts out his next thought.

They return their attention to the windshield, and watch as the wipers twist unnaturally before flying off the car into the highway, making a couple vengeful scratches across the windows along the way. All that's left of them is two little useless black nubs, which twitch as they try to operate without their second half.

"Aw, shit!" Yoongi curses, a veil of white particles smudging onto the windshield. The flight of snow has accelerated, rushing to the ground and with nothing to push the snow off their windshield, their view of the road is being eclipsed in white at an alarming rate. "I've gotta pullover."

The gravel hisses as Yoongi's car pulls over into the side of the road, coming to a full stop and leaning into his seat with a groan. "The wind must have been too harsh, they completely snapped off. I'm gonna have to call my parents to pick us up, we can't drive like this."

"Are we just leaving the car?"

"We'll lock it and probably get like - I don't know - someone to pick it up. That's gonna cost a shit load."

Namjoon expects the older of the two to pick up his phone and call his parents, but he doesn't and favours sulking back in his seat, hands rubbing his eyes and grumbling to himself. The stare catches onto his peach lips, and the way he's nibbling on his bottom lip.

"Yoongi..."

"Hm?"

"You looked stressed."

"Do I?" He remarks sarcastically, a grin pulling his lips.

Thoughts of Seungwan sink into the very corner of his head as he stares at his companion, someone who he truly has loved so dearly for as long as he could remember. He just wants to pretend he’s his, and hold him so tight that the mere thought of him ever leaving can’t cross Namjoon’s mind.

I just want to be with you, even if it’s only for a second.

"Do you want me to help?" Is all he says.

There's a pause, one that sucks all the air out of him. Yoongi almost laughs, a giddy smile on his face. But slowly, agonizingly, Yoongi's hands tumble down his face until they settle onto his neck. His eyelashes hover, and Namjoon follows them until they finally open and take in the eager and desperate man right in front of him. Yoongi's eyes, so deep and dark, swirling with a curious lust that the other is sinking into.

He doesn't speak, he nods earnestly, as if it was the question he’d been waiting to be asked all day, He leans into Namjoon's space, until their gazes tangle together. His lips, slightly chapped, barely brush over his, testing him.

Namjoon says yes; His large hands envelope his thin wrists, and pulls him forward so that their lips connect. Starting from the soft plump surface, the fuzzy feeling that alcohol can never recreate the same way runs into his veins, and he feels his heart already urging him forward with the strong and abrupt ache that develops.

He goes further, deepening the kiss as Yoongi's arms find their place around Namjoon's neck.

He doesn't know how long the kissing last until he manages to groan out a husky "c'mere," between the mess they're becoming. He breaks the kiss, waiting for Yoongi to come to him as the smaller tries his best to crawl onto Namjoon's lap in the cramped car. It's in that quiet moment that Namjoon realizes both of their coats are already off and probably somewhere in the backseat, lost to the heat of the moment.

He can already feel the growing bulge in the Yoongi's jeans, and the man impatiently moves to pull down his own zipper before Namjoon halts the action.

"Let me." He demands, voice husky and out of breath. His fingertips barely graze the metal, and stay there, playing with the sharp criss cross that leads up to the metal tab and enjoys the way the other fusses. Yoongi's head scurries into Namjoon's neck, biting in some kind of retaliation.

"Yoongi..."

"Godammit, what!" He exclaims, huffing warm breaths onto his neck.

"I want to go all the way - well, I wanna fuck you, I guess is the proper way to put it."

He feels the way Yoongi tenses up, and thrives in the flustered tremble that sticks to his voice.

"Y-Yeah. Then...Okay."

Finally, he pulls the zippers down, and helps Yoongi to raise himself up and pull it down to his ankles. Namjoon's hands strokes the newly exposed skin of his thighs, pale and covered in goosebumps.

Yoongi's hands in the meanwhile, begin to fiddle with the leather belt looped around Namjoon's own jeans. His eyes glazed with steam, like fresh mocha. Namjoon, for a first, lets him have his way as he loosens the pants and fights to pull them down.

"-And one more thing..." Namjoon whispers, leaving a kiss on the shell of his ear.

"What?"

"I love you. You know that right?"

"I love you, too." He says, adding the last part after a hesitant pause. “As more than...best friends. A lot more, actually.”

Namjoon smirks, lips trailing down the length of his neck.

"...Then prove it."

"Do you think it worked?" Jimin's voice flutters into the air; His chin is on the young Jungkook's shoulder, watching as his nimble hands maneuver a paint brush across the canvas, lips tight in concentration as he adds a strike of black.

Snowflakes dance gracefully across the glass window to their side, the ice that had once tangled into the earth leaving a mild frost in its wake. Nothing but whispers of the raging winter night was left.  

"Of course it did. It was my idea." Seokjin declares, hands on his hips as he views the large gallery in Jungkook's workroom. He's bullied the youngest more than a few times about having a useless major, but his collection of artwork never ceased to amaze him. Maybe he won't be a beggar on the streets once he graduates afterall.  

"What if they hate each other after this?" Hoseok says, a pout weighing down his face, a real one this time.

Seokin's broad shoulders shrug. "Then you'll have to live with the guilt, couldn't have done it without your A plus acting. Can't wait to see you at the Oscars next year."

A furious slap from Hoseok lands right on his upper arm, and Seokjin cries out as if he's just been stabbed, doe eyes wide and flickering with false innocence.

Taehyung grins, linking arms with Hoseok. "Don't worry about it too much, Hoseokie. Namjoon and Yoongi aren’t stupid, it won't be that long until he figures out Seungwan and Yoongi were never dating."

Is that so...Because they also spent the last year certain that no one but Seokjin knew about their frequent late night rendezvous, something Seokjin quickly learned was quite the opposite.

"Can someone remind me why Jin said they were again?" Jungkook chimes in.

"Jealousy makes the heart grow fonder, Kookie." Seokjin claims, the eldest always seemed to have wisdom to pass on, even if such words of wisdom fell on deaf ears. "Or I guess, more possessive."

"Why can't people just say they love someone when they love someone, it's not that difficult." That was easy for him to say. Jungkook's one and only crush throughout his first years of college was currently leaning over him and giggling softly into his ear, arms hugging his center.

Whenever he recounted he and Jimin's personal love story, it was a few short sentences, and went something along the lines of "met him at orientation and I thought he was cute. Became friends, then I told him I wanted him and we've been going strong ever since."  No one in the room could even imagine a world in which Jungkook's desire could be rejected, or not returned back tenfold, let alone by lovestruck Park Jimin.

The pause in conversation lasts too long, and Jimin pipes up. "They're probably fucking in the car as we speak."

The room bursts into a series of gasps, boos, and broken laughter. The ringing that follows is barely audible, but Seokjin feels the phone buzz in his back pocket. He hushes the rowdy group, before picking up the call without much as a second thought.

“Hello~?”

There's a shuffling of clothes on the other side, but Yoongi's exasperated voice eventually comes onto the line.

“Each and every one of you are so fucking dead to me.”

[frankpanioncube]

I really like writing about Mammon and Winter being good friends who are so OBVIOUSLY into eachother but need HELP figuring that out.

And this is based on a real life event. The real story involves myself with my highschool best mates taking me out and aforementioned best mates driving down to downtown Toronto and going to play DDR at an arcade and us forgetting where the car was and then said mates lying to my parents about where they took me. 

The car had not escaped Winters’ notice. She spent about half of her free time with Mammon.

And then, there was The Road Trip. Capital T, R and T. 

Winter was generally not one to rile stuff up. If there was aggression to be had out she did it with Beel out on the Fangol field.

However being friends with Mammon did offer the opportunity for slip ups and that was how the problem started.

“Do you ever drive the car?” she finally asked one night.

“Yeah fer sure. Can’t keep somethin’ that nice in the garage!”

Winter chose not to mention that Mammon’s ‘room’ was the House of Lamentation’s garage. Mammon chose not to mention his slip up, Winter also chose not to mention that it was the coldest room in the house and that was the argument for sharing a blanket because as was very noted - they were ‘just friends’.

“Okay. But why haven’t you ever taken me for a drive.”

Mammon’s gaze fell on the unopened bottle of Demonius sitting on the table. “Well...neither of us has had anything to drink yet, Let’s go out.” 

So that was how Winter found herself buckled into the passenger side of Mammon’s car as they peeled out of the garage door in Mammon’s room.

“Where are we going?”

“Casino.”

“No thanks Gambling’s a sin. I’m still an angel, AND I’m definitely not doing this to babysit you while you fritter away money. Try again.”

“Okay fine. I’ll treat you to ice cream. And in return because I’m bein’ generous here ya have to leave me dinner when you an’ Beel get off after Fangol practice tomorrow because you know you make the best stuff for him.”

Winter grinned. “Okay. BUT I get to drive the car.”

It was a sign of how much Mammon liked her that he pulled over to the side of the road and the duo swapped seats.

Of all the things Mammon expected from his angel companion - gunning the engine and sticking her head out the window was definitely not it.

“DO YOU HAVE ANY GREY POUPON”

Mammon stared gobsmacked at the angel presently sticking her head out the window yelling at oncoming cars on the freeway and going 100 kilometers.

She brought the car to a screeching halt a half a block away from the ice cream place.

After the ordeal it was a rather calm ‘mint chocolate chip’ and ‘rum raisin’

Until the aftermath.

“Mammon you had alcohol so that means I will drive.” Rum and raisin ice cream probably did not make anyone actually drunk but in the Devildom that was something not to be trifled with.

The duo walked out of the ice cream parlor. 

“What direction did we park the car in?” Winter asked

“You don’t know!?”

“Sorry. I forgot!”

Mammon sighed. “Ya know that car’s like almost on par with Goldie!”

“It’s okay! It’s a block either way.”

The demon looked at his watch. “Lucifer’s gonna be pissed.”

“Well don’t worry about it.” Winter advised. “I’ll say it was my fault.”  

Mammon smiled. There was a hug between just friends.

“Wait I recognize this street. This is where you parked, and I have the keys. I’ll jog ahead. Would you like me to carry your purse?”  

Winter gave it to him, as she was one of a very few people who Mammon definitely didn’t steal from. As he disappeared around the corner a siren went off.

“This looks bad.” Winter commented as Mammon came around the corner followed by a police car. “But I can handle it.”

Apparently the angel had a leadfoot (if that was not already obvious) as she managed to get Mammon and herself home in time for Lucifers’ bedroom check. 

“I’ve been knocking on your door for the past hour.” MC said through the door as both the angel and the demon exited the car and tried to sit quietly on the couch “I’ll leave you two ‘friends’ alone.”

[captcas]

Last Night

LAST NIGHT

Pan's curse is coming. Emma Swan has a lot left unsaid and only one night to make it happen.

read on ao3

If the world was ending, you'd come over, right? The sky'd be falling and I'd hold you tight. And there wouldn't be a reason why we would even have to say goodbye.

A curse was coming–– of course a curse was coming, is a curse ever not coming–– but for some reason Regina looked more terrified than usual.

“We’ve beat curses before, we’ll do it again.” “That’s a nice sentiment, Charming, but not curses like Pan’s.”

Emma could tell when Regina was bluffing or being overdramatic, and she kept waiting for this to be one of those times. Now she is sitting here three days later coming to terms with the fact that she was going to lose everyone once again. Regina had already decided Emma would take Henry over the border, that was non-negotiable, but what about her mom, dad… Hook.

Anyone who was brought over with the first curse would be displaced. Dropped somewhere in the “real world”, without magic, without their memories, without their family . She feels like a child when she whines about how unfair it all is, but she’s tired of being the bigger person. Two years ago she wandered into this town expecting to drop off the crazy kid and high-tail it back to Boston. She didn’t expect to become best friends with her mother, find and confide in her father, and develop feelings for Captain Hook.

There it is, the elephant in the room she’s been tripping over since the moment she ran into Killian Jones at Granny’s her second day in town. He sat at the counter nursing a cup of soup and a tumbler of rum and, when she sat three stools away, he glanced in her direction. His blue eyes were hypnotic and when they caught hers, the connection could only be broken by Ruby dropping a grease covered paper bag between them.

Five days later she saw him again in the exact same spot except, this time, with only the rum. When she sat next to him, he merely looked at her out of the corner of his eye before muttering, “you again,” not so subtly under his breath.

“I’m sorry, did I do something to you?”   “Not a thing, love.” “Not your love. Have a nice night.”

She chuckles to herself as she remembers the extreme distaste they had for one another for no apparent reason. It was the moment he saved her from Jefferson that turned their relationship around and when he had her back after Graham and the custody/sheriff battle with Regina… she no longer felt alone. He always seems to be right there, his eyes never falling off of her for more than a second or two. She’d think it was creepy if he didn’t continually prove himself to be a better man than the legends the locals were quick to share of the dastardly Captain Hook.

When the first curse broke, there was a lot of emotion. Killian and David had actually become close friends but as soon as their memories returned everyone was quick to turn on Hook, everyone except Emma. She herself can understand good people turning to bad habits. It didn’t take long for her mother to step in and remind everyone that each person deserves a second chance and that Storybrooke was that chance.

Between their first year together in Storybrooke, getting swept back to the Enchanted Forest, climbing a beanstalk, and their adventures in Neverland, Hook has become one of the most important people in her life. Maybe that’s why now, as a proverbial Armageddon approaches, he’s the only one she can possibly want to spend time with. Henry will, understandably, be with Regina and she cannot bear to think about the look on her parents’ faces should she spend the entire night with them.

This is definitely how she finds herself standing at the end of the docks with a bottle of rum and a pit in her stomach. She doesn’t do emotional confessions and goodbye kisses, but she also doesn’t usually have all her time cut short by a curse threatening to rip apart everything she’s built.

“If you take a picture it’ll last longer, love.”

Emma can’t help but jump at the way his accented voice cuts through the silence.

“I wasn’t staring, Hook. Just deciding if I actually wanted to talk to you tonight or if I’d rather spend the night being smothered by my parents.”

“Parental clinginess and emotional crying or rum with a pirate. It seems like you’ve stumbled yourself right into a conundrum.” He’s smirking as though he’s already won and somehow he’s now standing at the end of the ramp leading to his ship… a mere foot from where her feet feel glued to the floor.

“Keep talking and the choice will actually be quite easy, Jones .” She’s not sure if it’s the implication of her leaving or her teasing use of his last name, but his gaze suddenly turns stoic and serious. It hits her that by this time tomorrow he won’t be Jones anymore. He won’t remember who he is, losing another piece that ties him to his long lost brother. He won’t even remember Liam, his name meaning nothing more than it’s Irish origin. She gives him a soft smile, not sure how else to calm the storm she’s watching brew behind his eyes. She holds up the bottle, “I brought rum! Let’s go.”

She grabs his hand and he all but flinches at the unexpected contact. She’s never been this forward with him, not since their kiss in the foliage of Neverland, but it’s the last night they’ll ever see each other so she figures there is little to no consequence.

Emma leads him to his ship, the deck feeling like an old friend after becoming two years acquainted with it. They spent many days aboard the vessel in Neverland and she feels at home among its rigging and hardwood. Hook is the first to break the silence, “I suppose this is my last night with her as well.”

Awhile back Emma would’ve been confused as to what he was referring to but she knows him well enough that she also knows the fear of losing his ship is probably as great as losing anyone else in his life. It’s the only thing besides his name that connects him to his brother and he’ll lose that too. She’s not sure how to answer so she offers him an understanding smile and the bottle of rum. As he takes a swig, she involuntarily shivers, her body realizing she isn’t dressed for the chill the night has taken on. Ever vigilant, Killian quickly removes his heavy leather duster, placing it gently on her shoulders.

“It will be more comfortable below deck, love.” She nods and follows him down the steep steps to the small dining area. Her eye flickers to the captain’s quarters, remembering the especially cold night on their journey to Neverland where he offered his bed and she insisted they share. His sturdy warmth enveloped her and ever since she’s craved it like the most addictive of drugs. They’ve had very little time alone since that night, her father protective and her mother clingy for the daughter they’ve had so little time with. She must visibly wince at that thought because Killian shoots her an inquisitive look. “It’s just–”

“Aye, your parents. If you need to go to them, I understand, Swan.”

“I need to be with you.” The gravity of her words doesn’t escape her and they seem to hit Killian like a brick. Before she can backtrack, he hurriedly walks towards her. She thinks she hears a shot glass shatter against the floor as he bumps the table, but she is too busy forcing her brain to remember this moment. She pleads with it to never forget the way his eyes darken as she loops her fingers through his belt loop, curses be damned.

In no time at all he’s kissing her. This kiss has every bit of emotion as the one in Neverland. It’s riddled with everything left unsaid and everything they want to say before they’re ripped apart. He cradles her head as he walks her backwards, lifting her with no effort to lay her on the table. She hears more glass shatter but she’s only focused on the man whose eyes have haunted her dreams for two and a half years. Her hands begin to cramp from clutching his undershirt so desperately, ever worried that if she let’s go the curse will consume them sooner than predicted. He’s chasing every kiss, their foreheads or lips never parting, as though he’s convinced separating will secure their fate.

“Emma…” It’s not a question, but a plea. It’s as though he’s carving her name to memory, hoping to etch it into the fiber of his being. She takes a moment to breathe and looks directly in his eyes, no longer afraid of the emotion he’s kept hidden behind them.

“Don’t be a gentleman, Hook, there’s no time. We have less than 24 hours and I want you to hold me. I want you to hold me and I want to tell our stories. I want to live through all the things we’re being cheated out of. I want to fall in love with you, Killian Jones.”

“As you wish.”

His mimicked sentiment from their time in Neverland shoots shivers down her spine. Then he’s kissing her and they’re losing layers and Emma is feeling everything she’d been silently dreaming of for at least a year. Then it’s over and she’s scared to move, scared to lose it all. She doesn’t… he doesn’t. They lay there entangled in every way possible until Killian speaks up, “I can’t believe I’m going to lose you.”

Emma doesn’t know how to respond. She doesn’t do deep conversations, she runs. So she sits up and pulls her tank top over her head. “Scariest thing you’ve ever encountered on your 500 years of adventures.”

Killian rubs his hand over his face and laughs, Emma knows it’s at her inability to be serious about… well about anything, but he answers cheekily, “I assure you, it’s closer to 300. Either way, you without your morning coffee puts  the fear of Poseidon into me.” Emma swats at his chest playfully and gently kisses him.

They do this for hours. Playful banter, gentle kisses, heated make out sessions…  everything which should’ve slowly progressed over months or even years, they desperately cram into one final night. Not falling asleep until dawn hits the horizon and their tiredness overpowers their need to be together.

. . .

Emma wakes up to the sun in her eyes and a firm arm wrapped around her waist. She finds herself once again unwilling to move. It’s only amplified by Killian’s even breath acting like a metronome on the back of her neck as, in sleep, he pulls her closer than she thought possible. She grabs his hand, still entwined in hers, and kisses each knuckle. Hook begins to stir and slowly his breaths become kisses to her spine. She flips around to face him. He smiles softly through his ruffled hair and mound of blankets, “Good morning, love.”

“Morning,” Emma reaches for his hook, careful not to roll onto it, but only finds skin. She sees him flinch as she gently caresses it with her thumb. “Killian…”

“I’ve known I was going to love you since the day we locked eyes at–” “At Granny’s, I remember. Me too… I just had to see it over your big head… and my walls.” She kisses him softly, reveling in their last moments before reality inevitably sets in.

“I wish we had more time, Swan.”

“Me too. Killian I–” Emma phone buzzes loudly on the wood floor. The screen lights up with a selfie of her and her father from the night the first curse broke. She quickly rolls out of bed, wrapped in the covers and grabs her phone on the last ring. Gesturing for Killian to keep quiet, she puts the phone on speaker.

“Dad?” “Emma! Where are you? Doesn’t matter. Get to Regina’s as fast as you can. She’s figured something out–” “Ok, I’ll be right there. Should I, uh, let Killian know?” “Yes, he should come too. See you soon, Emma… Killian.” Emma blushes at her father’s detective skills and Killian’s ears turn bright red, but before she can answer, David has hung up.

“It seems we really are fitting everything into the last few hours, darling, even the cringy family moments.” He chuckles and his laugh is bright but the sparkle is missing from his eyes. There is sadness there and it hits her in the pit of her stomach. She moves back to the bed, positioning herself between his legs. Emma grabs either side of his face, hoping her gaze expresses everything she doesn’t have the guts to say and Killian gently grabs her chin between his thumb and forefinger. He dips her chin for her and kisses her on the forehead. She feels tears well up in her eyes, as his find their way through the cracks in her fingers. She gives him a soft smile, allowing a tear to escape down her cheek as well. Killian brushes it away with his thumb, “We should go, love. Whatever your father needs sounds important, we shouldn’t keep him waiting.”

“You’re right. Killian, I–”

“I know, Swan. Me too.” She’s grateful he isn’t pushing her to pour her heart out in sappy goodbyes. Although at times it can be infuriating, she’s grateful he can read her like an open book. They clean up what they can and head off to Regina’s together, neither wanting to chance a look towards the ominous purple fog creeping its way towards the center of town.

“There’s not a day that will go that I won’t think of you.” “Good.”

[selfishsunnies]

i wish you sidewalk pennies - JJ x reader

warnings: not more than the show

notes: This is just a filler chapter... so much is ab to go down you guys I am so ready. we just gotta get there. Feedback & questions are apriciated!!!

word count: 2,300 roughly

CH. 2- “melodies & giant plastic dinosaurs”

It had been a few days since that night after the party. Kie had to work a few shifts at the wreck, so that left Alice alone in the house. It’s not that Alice wouldn’t help out at the restaurant, they just hadn’t asked. It left her with a lot of free time. She didn’t really remember the island, so she couldn’t head to the beach nor did she feel comfortable going by herself. Alice didn’t really trek outside of her comfort zone very often, but this whole summer was miles out of her little box.

With the cell phone towers down often and the wifi in the house being spotty, she spent a lot of time reading. She had brought a few books with her, but quickly finished those and had to resort to Kiara’s bookshelf. It was outdated, probably stuff she had read in middle school. Alice didn’t really mind though, she had read most of them, too. She picked up one she hadn’t and began reading. She quickly lost track of time and before she knew it, her aunt was home. She knocked lightly on Alice’s door, peeking her head in. The woman looked tired, bags under her eyes, her eyebrows pinched together. 

“Hi, dear. I hope I wasn’t interrupting.”

“No,” Alice said, closing the book, “it’s okay.”

“How’re you doing? The first few days can be rough.”

“I’m good, Kiara’s friends all seem super nice and I’m loving the weather.”

Her aunt pinched her nose when Alice mentioned Kiara’s friends, but smiled softly. She thought about what she’d said, about being good. This wasn’t a lie. Alice really was having a good time. She felt relaxed for the first time she can remember since her parents began fighting. She didn’t miss her friends as much as she had imagined, although she wished she could group facetime and show them around the house or update them more often. She certainly didn’t miss her parents’ arguing. Her dad had lost his job a few months ago and it seemed he had no intention of getting another. Alice tried not to be home as much as possible to avoid them both. She kept busy with her job, school, and soccer practices, but now, all that was over. 

And Kiara’s friends did seem nice. They were all instantly so accepting. She felt like they were all little kids again. She wished she remembered when they were.

“Well, we’re here if you ever need anything, baby.” She placed her hand on Alice’s cheek and kissed the top of her head. Alice nodded, grateful.

The next night, the four of them had dinner together at The Wreck. It was past closing time, but it was the end of a long week and Kiara had the weekend off. Her father had been working late hours to prepare for the height of the season, he was calling it. This meant they celebrated the last few moments of calm before the storm. 

“So, Alice,” her uncle started, a glass of rum and coke in his hand, “are you still singing?”

Alice blushed at the question, “Not like I used to.” She tried to laugh it off. Alice used to train extensively, lessons twice a week, binders filled with sheet music, always doing a vocal warm up. That all changed when she got to high school though. She started playing for the school’s soccer team, her classes got a little harder and she needed more time to study. She started going to lessons only every other week, missing recitals for soccer games, until one day during senior year, she just didn’t go back. She never did the school’s musicals, though. When people learned that Alice could sing, they always assumed that meant she did theatre. It did not. Alice was a terrible dancer and didn’t particularly like acting. So, she stuck to singing. 

“Aw, really? I remember you used to love coming down here because it meant you got to skip lessons. That didn’t stop you from singing though.” Kiara said, laughing.

“Really?”

“Yeah, you don’t remember?”

Alice shook her head sadly.

“Oh come on,” her uncle started again, “you never stopped singing. Used to make kie and the neighborhood kids perform talent shows for us and your parents in the backyard, couldn’t have been older than five.” 

This earned a laugh from everyone at the table, “No way!”

“Oh, it really was the sweetest thing,” her aunt sighed, reminiscing. 

The thought of John B and JJ performing in a backyard talent show had Alice nearly in stitches, Kie too. 

“Oh, I cannot wait to hold that over their heads,” Kiara exclaimed. The laughter soon died down, making everyone realize how empty and quiet the restaurant was.

“Well, maybe I’ll start again. I’ve got tons of time,” Alice said with a smile. She was only half kidding. She really did love to sing.

“There is that fundraiser event at the end of the month.”

Kie sighed, loudly, “Mom, that is such a kook thing. Where does that money even go? Who are they even fundraising for?”

“Dear, they’re-” She started to reply, but was cut off again by Kiara ranting, “They’re a waste of time and good money that could be given to an actual cause.”

They went on like this for a few minutes before Alice could butt in, “Uhm. What?” she asked. 

“The kooks are planning a fundraiser event for god only knows what and I am being forced to go.” Kiara shot a look at her mother.

“Of course we are going, it’s a really big deal. Everyone’s going to be there and,” she reached out and placed her hand on Alice’s arm, “and they need entertainment.”

“Oh, I don't know. That’s kind of-”

“Mom, please. No.”

“Honey,” her aunt's tone was tight, the crease between her eyebrows returning, She turned her attention towards Alice, “Just promise me you’ll think about it.”  

Alice nodded her head in agreement. She silently made the promise to herself that she was not doing it. Alice had been out of practice for too long to just begin performing for an important event like this. The thought of singing in front of more than about five people made her stomach swirl. That was a different part of her life, one that Alice has left behind when coming here.

A few hours later the girls wound up at John B’s. Him and Sarah were laying in a hammock out back, tangled up in each other. JJ was rolling a joint while Pope sat next to him, talking about some tv show he just finished, “No, dude, it was crazy.” When they walked into the yard he stopped talking to kiss Kiara on the cheek and then returned to his spot next to JJ. He waved a nice hello to Alice and Sarah yelled her hello’s from the hammock. Her voice was smooth and a little giggly like she had been drinking. 

“Kie, you want a hit?” JJ asked, holding the lit joint closer to her. She took it from him and formed O’s with the smoke she exhaled before handing it to Alice.

“Oh, I uh, I don’t know.” She stuttered out. 

“Just like this” Kie demonstrated, very poorly may she add, before handing it back to Alice. She tried her very best, and still managed to choke. She coughed and coughed. This earned a laugh from JJ, “So I take it you don’t smoke?” 

“I’ve just never tried, no one smokes back home. I guess it’s just not a thing.” 

“You’re telling me no one where you’re from smokes weed? Bullshit. You’re just not going to the right parties.” He was laying in the grass, arm tucked under his head, a smug look on his face.

“I go to plenty of parties,” Alice said in defense. It’s true, Alice rarely turned down an invite to a kegger back home. She had only ever lost one beer pong game, and that wasn’t even really her fault. 

“I don’t deny that. I’m just saying you ain’t going to the right ones if there isn’t weed.” JJ took another drag and formed O’s of his own. By now Kiara had moved to sit in between the two boys and was leaning against Pope. Alice sat on his other side, leaning back on her hands. 

“I don’t know dude, even if it was there I couldn’t smoke it anyway. At least not in high school. Shit messes up your breath support and stuff.”

“She used to be a singer,” Kie clarified, “a natural talent really.” She said, poking fun.

“Ah, cool. So like musicals and stuff?” Pope asked, bless his heart. She felt her face light up now that the attention was all on her.

“No,” Alice answered with a chuckle, “like choir and recitals and all that.”

“She’s being humble, Miss first in the state.” Kiara shot back.

Now it was her turn to clarify, “That was like sixth grade! And it was just a junior competition. Anyway, enough about my miserable singing career, what’re we doing tonight?”

JJ raised his head to look at her, “this.”

“What? What about crazy adventures? You’ve all told me the stories.”

“We’ve retired,” John B spoke up for the first time since she’d been there that night. 

“Retired? At the young age of 18, that’s quite a shame.” Kiara giggled at Alice’s sarcasm. 

“Maybe if we didn’t spend a whole summer being chased by the police and a bunch of big men with guns, we wouldn’t be so tired.” Pope spoke up.

Sarah started to chime in, “Yeah, or get stranded in the Bahamas.”

“Facts.” John B said.

“Okay, okay,” Alice began, “I’m just saying, it’s a little depressing.” The crickets were loud in the trees and she closed her eyes, taking in the silence, the lack of cars speeding by. Truthfully, Alice didn’t mind sitting here all night. At home, there was always something going on, somewhere to be, someone to be with, but here everything felt like a choice. One that Alice could decide whether or not to pick, and the outcome was always good.

*********

“This is it,” John B said, gesturing outwards. Alice looked around at her new friends.They were all smiling wide staring at her, waiting for her reaction.  After much convincing, everyone agreed to go on an adventure that night. They didn’t tell her where they were going, but when they arrived, she was confused to say the least, “Uhm. Okay.” Kie swung her arm around Alice’s neck, “You really have to take it all in.”

“I- Okay. I just don’t understand why?”

“Why do you have to take it all in?” She responded.

 “No, no. Like why is it here of all places and why a dinosaur?” 

Alice tilted her head staring at the massive dinosaur statue in front of them. They had all piled into the van and drove for what felt like forever until they arrived in a little town Alice had never been to. They parked and walked to the center of town to come across this. It was huge, really. It’s neck and tail longer than three of her on top of each other. And it was surrounded by hedges and flowers and a few benches. It was the most random statue she had ever seen and it was right here in the middle of a town.

“I don’t know. Some historical shit.” JJ said, “Bet I can climb it.”

“No, JJ.” Pope dismissed and then turned to Alice, “It’s a replica of brachiosaurus. Part of it’s leg bone was discovered here in the 1800’s, so they built it to commemorate that.” Alice smiled at this explanation, thankful for Pope’s knowledge.

When they turned back to look, John B already had JJ sitting on his shoulders, trying to lift him further up the statue. 

“Guys, stop!” Sarah yelled, but she couldn’t help but laugh. He was close to hooking on to the neck. 

“This is just pointless, what are you going to do when you get up there?” Kie asked, coming over to stand where Alice and Pope were. The two boys ignored the question, obviously struggling to get JJ’s leg over. Alice couldn’t help herself and took out her phone to record a video. 

Finally, they did it. JJ was sitting on this massive dinosaur, posing cheesily for pictures while everyone laughed and egged him on.

“Imagine riding one of these things down the street,” he yelled from the top, “no one could stop me. I’m on top of the fucking world.” They were doubled over with laughter until someone spotted a cop car pulling up, “shit.”

“I cannot get caught right now,” John B said, quickly turning away from the car and grabbing Sarah’s hand. 

“JJ jump!” Pope yelled. The others were on the move down the street and ALice could see the two cops approaching the group. 

“Pope I can’t jump! Do you see how high I am right now?”

“Yeah,” he muttered, “In more ways than one.”

Alice kept her eyes on the police, inching their way to them, “C’mon!” 

JJ swung his leg down and got as close to the ground as possible before leaping off and tumbling to the ground. He laid there for what felt like an hour before getting up and beginning to sprint away. The cops started to chase after them, but Alice was frozen on the scene. When she went to move, she realized Pope was already gone. 

“Bro, move!” JJ yelled and grabbed her wrist, dragging her alongside him. They ran until they saw the van, Pope behind the wheel and Kie on the passenger side. Sarah was holding the back door open and the pair made it with just enough time to drive away. 

[wistfulcynic]

To Keep It All The Year (1 /4)

Not long ago @katie-dub​ asked me if I was planning to write a Christmas fic. I said sure, I’m doing the CS Secret Santa. And then I thought about it, and I thought actually maybe I’ll write a little something for Katie because she is a delightful human, a kind and supportive friend, and one of the people I feel honoured to have got to know over the past year, and she deserves every nice thing. And then I started to think about what she might like and I had IDEAS which of course soon grew far beyond my original concept. And then @thisonesatellite​ egged me on (with REAL EGGS) and here is the result: an angry and broken Killian, a struggling single mother Emma, a precious wee Henry, and the healing power of Christmas magic. 

Katie, my dear, I can’t begin to tell you how much your support has meant to me these past few months. You are the loveliest and most loving person, and I hope you enjoy this little offering 💕

SUMMARY: Killian Jones is a broken man, betrayed by everyone and everything he thought he could believe in. He’s all but given up on life until a fateful meeting with bartender Emma Swan and her son Henry gives him a reason to live again, and a chance to redeem his past. 

All it takes is a little Christmas magic. 

On AO3

Tagging all the folks from the last tag list, PLEASE do let me know if you want to be added or removed.  @kmomof4​​​​​​​​ @shireness-says​​​​​​​ @snidgetsafan​​​​​​​ @darkcolinodonorgasm​​​​​​ @snowbellewells​​​​​​​ @stahlop​​​​​​​ @mariakov81​​​​​​​ @courtorderedcake​​​​​​ @jonirobinson64​​​​​ @tiganasummertree​​​​​​ @ohmightydevviepuu​​​​​​​ @shardminds​​​​​ @jennjenn615​​​​​ @superchocovian​​​​​

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PART ONE: THE PAST

He’s still broken when he meets her. Broken and bitter and angry. So, so very angry, the kind of angry that lodges in a man’s chest just below his heart and and rots there. Rots, but doesn’t rot away. The putrid tendrils of it twine and twist through him like the tentacles of the kraken he heard tales of as a boy. They fuse to his bones and mix with his blood and he welcomes them. His is a fury born of betrayal, by everyone and everything he thought he could believe in, and it’s all he has left of his life. It’s all he remembers how to feel. 

He’s come to this place for escape, for peace, but there’s precious little of either to be found. Not here. Not in this neighbourhood of once-lovely houses built tall and proud and so sturdy their ruin takes decades, a slow attrition of cracked windows and crumbling corners and decay that sinks into the walls and consumes them from within. But it’s the best he can afford on what he has that’s his, and he finds that the atmosphere suits him. A broken place for a broken man. 

He doesn’t have to work so for a while he doesn’t, spending his days walking the streets of the city on feet that carry him eventually, inevitably, to the docks. And there he stands, sometimes for hours, watching the horizon and the boats that move across it, stewing in his bitterness. 

He prefers to do his drinking alone on the ratty sofa that doubles as his bed, his only company the blinking neon and the traffic noise, and the smell of pot smoke that wafts from the apartment below. His thoughts are tumultuous then, memories of writhing seas and wind and waves and Liam, of courtrooms and lawyers and just accept the payout, Commander Jones. They’re the bloody Royal Navy, they have resources you can’t hope to match. 

Sometimes though his solitude becomes oppressive, a heavy darkness that sucks the air from his lungs and drives him back onto the streets where he breathes the filthy smog in heaving gulps and then again he walks, among the crowds but not of them, until he finds a bar where people look like they won’t ask questions. 

It’s on one of those days—of all the good days in the year on Christmas Eve—that as he trudges through the greying slush barely a block from his apartment his eye falls upon a door he feels sure he’s never seen before. It’s not in any way a special door, plain brown wood and a foggy window with writing he can’t quite make out, but a jolly little wreath is hung upon it and though he feels about as far removed from the Christmas spirit as any human creature could be, he finds himself pushing it open and going inside. 

The bar he enters is small and worn in the way of well-loved things, the gouged wood of the tables polished to a soft gleam and the cracks in the leather seats carefully mended. Tall rows of bottle-laden shelves line the brick wall behind a carved oak bar that looks far too ancient for this modern land. It takes him all in a rush and flutter of memories back to the England of his childhood, to his mother still untouched by disease and his father not yet embittered by loss, he and Liam free from care as children should be, sneaking from their beds on Christmas Eve and down the back staircase to hide in a toasty corner of the pub and wait for Father Christmas. 

He always awoke on Christmas morning in his bed, presents piled at the foot of it. A small pile, he knows now, but big to his young eyes, and he would wonder aloud how Santa managed to get him and Liam back to bed and deliver their presents as well. And Liam, six years older, would scoff and tell him don’t be stupid, Santa can do anything.   

“What can I get you?” 

The question snaps him back to the present and he realises he’s taken a seat on a leather topped stool at the bar. The woman behind it is smiling at him, a smile he’s certain she gives every patron but its bright warmth soothes him all the same. 

“Rum,” he replies.  

“Any particular kind?” 

“The cheapest you’ve got.” 

She grabs a bottle of a brand he knows is far from the cheapest and pours out a generous measure, places it on a cocktail napkin and slides it in front of him with a look that dares him to make something of it. He accepts her kindness with the most gracious nod he can manage, saluting her with the glass before taking a sip. It goes down smooth and he closes his eyes on a sigh, savouring the spicy richness and mellow burn, a far cry from the second cousin to paint stripper he’s grown accustomed to.

“Thank you,” he says. 

She smiles again. “Merry Christmas.” 

He sips the rum slowly as he falls back into his memories, the earlier ones of brighter days he hasn’t thought of in years, so long they almost feel like they belong to someone else. To the person he was when he was happy, and it surprises him to recall that he was happy, that despite what came later he was once a part of a loving family. It saddens him, how thoroughly he’s forgotten this. A melancholy sort of sadness that makes him long for a different life. 

And that, he thinks, is why he forgot. 

 The moment his glass is empty a new one appears at his elbow; although he didn’t speak to the lovely bartender it seems she anticipated him. 

He doesn’t want to stare at her and yet she draws his gaze. There’s a light within her, a warmth that illuminates her golden hair and makes her green eyes glow. He watches from the corner of his eye as she goes about her job, pouring shots and pulling pints, always with a smile and a kind word. She brightens everything she touches, leaves it a bit better than she found it. 

She’s magic, he thinks, then shakes off the foolish thought. 

He’s deep into his second glass when she pulls a phone from her back pocket and her smile falters as she reads the screen; her light seems to dim and flicker, and without a word she turns and runs from the bar. 

She returns moments later with a small boy in her arms, a lad who can’t be much more than three or four. He’s sound asleep against her shoulder and she cradles him protectively as she confronts the dark-haired man who’s emerged from the back office wearing a stern frown, arms crossed over his chest.

“Emma, you know you can’t have him in here,” the man says. 

“What do you want me to do, August, I can’t leave him home alone!” she implores. “He can sleep on the sofa in your office, he won’t be any trouble—” 

“We can’t have child unsupervised in the bar—” 

“He’s not unsupervised if you’re in the office—”

“I’m heading home in half an hour.”

“August, please—”

“I can look after the lad.” He’s not sure what prompts the offer, perhaps because he’s been recalling his own childhood and the patrons in his father’s pub who never minded him under their feet, who entertained him with tales of their lives on the sea and who, he’s come to realise, lifted some of the burden of childcare from his parents’ shoulders so they could do their jobs. Regardless of where it came from, he means it. It seems the least he can do for this remarkable woman.  

The woman—Emma—turns to him with a look of surprise. “Would you?” 

“If the only obstacle is not having anyone to sit with him, then yes, it would be my pleasure.” 

Emma fixes him him with a hard, searching look, and he is conscious of being measured and assessed and weighed in the balance as never before. Then she nods. “What’s your name?” 

“Killian Jones.” 

“Well, Killian Jones, you’d be saving my neck.” 

He smiles. It feels strange on his face after so long an absence, but also right. “It’s a neck worth saving, love.” 

She laughs. “I’m Emma Swan, and this is Henry. We just live across the street, if you could—” 

“Of course.” He grabs his coat and follows Emma as she heads for the door. 

“August, I’ll be back in fifteen,” she calls over her shoulder. 

“Make it ten.” 

—

The cold outside is bitter, biting. It comes as a shock after the cosy warmth of the bar, and he’s glad Emma was being truthful when she said she lived just across the street. Across it and a bit to the left in a building much like Killian’s own, with solid brickwork and elegantly wrought cornices obscured by grime and years of neglect, its pointing crumbling away under the weight of creeping moss. She leads him through the outer door—its lock is broken, he observes—and up a chilly staircase several flights to a door where he’s relieved to see that the lock is both sturdy and new. He’s prepared to bet Emma installed it herself. 

She unlocks it, balancing Henry on her hip in a practiced manoeuvre, and leads him into a tiny apartment that from his cursory observations strikes him as far too familiar for his liking. He follows her into the bedroom where she lays the boy on a child-sized bed in one corner of the cramped room. There is an adult single bed in another corner, along with a sturdy bureau that takes up most of the remaining space and a rickety chair draped in clothes. A few toys litter the floor around Henry’s bed, and Killian is impressed by the way Emma navigates around them even in the dark. 

She tucks the blankets around her son then gently shakes his shoulder until he wakes. 

“Mom?” Henry murmurs groggily. “Has Santa come?”

“Not yet, baby, but he will. You just have to go back to sleep first.” 

“You woke me up,” Henry points out. Killian feels a grin tug at his lips. Clever lad. 

Emma’s mouth quirks as well. “I know, but Mrs Lucas had an emergency so Killian here is going to look after you until I finish work,” she says. “Is that okay?” 

Henry blinks at Killian and once again he feels his measure being taken by one who knows how to take it. 

“Okay,” says Henry. 

“Good. Just go back to sleep, baby, and if you wake up again Killian will be here.” 

“’kay Mom.” Henry’s eyelids are already drooping. Emma touches Killian lightly on the arm and indicates with a slight jerk of her head that he should follow her again. They retreat to the living room, closing the bedroom door quietly behind them.

“If you need me just call the bar,” Emma says. “The number’s on the fridge and I can be here immediately.” 

“I’m sure everything will be fine, love.” 

She looks at him for a moment with an unreadable expression. He wonders what she sees, and what she thinks of it.  

“Thank you for doing this, Killian,” she says. “Truly.” 

His first impulse is to shrug away her thanks but something deep within him refuses to allow it. She doesn’t often ask for help, of this he’s certain, and although he has no notion of what might have led her to do so he’s deeply honoured that she’s asked it of him. Her gratitude deserves acknowledgement. 

“You’re welcome, Emma,” he replies with another rusty attempt at a smile, rubbing at a spot just below his right ear. “Um, hadn’t you better get back to work? I imagine that boss of yours is counting the seconds until your return.”  

“Probably.” The corners of her lips dance in amusement. “I’ll be back in a few hours.” 

“I’ll be here.” 

—

After she leaves he finds himself at a bit of a loss, unaccustomed to being alone in other people’s living spaces. He doesn’t want to turn on the television for fear of waking Henry, and Emma doesn’t have much in the way of books. With no other means of passing the time at hand he wanders around her apartment, not wishing to snoop but intensely curious about this young woman and her son. 

The curiosity is new.

Their place is on the surface much like his own, the run-down building, the un-insulated windows, the mould in the corners and the general overlay of grime that no amount of scrubbing could ever shift. It’s grim, the sort of grimness that creeps its way into the soul and slowly sucks it dry.  

And yet. There’s plastic on Emma’s windows, a thin film of it attached with double-sided tape and fitted with a hairdryer. Do-it-yourself insulation. She’s built shelves that hide the cracks in the wall and decorated them, with candles she actually burns and small framed pictures—some of which are clearly Henry’s work—plus some other little knickknacks and art projects of his. In the corner is a small Christmas tree decorated with coloured lights and a few bright baubles jumbled alongside ornaments made of uncooked pasta, glued in the shape of stars and painted gold, and cut-up paper snowflakes. She’s creative and clever and so is her lad, and the effect is far homier and more festive than Killian would ever have imagined it could be. 

She’s trying, this Emma. There’s not much she can do with a place like this, but still she tries, and there’s valour in that effort. It brings a lump to Killian’s throat. How long it seems since he stopped trying. 

He jumps as a noise comes from the bedroom, a small cry that lengthens into a wail. 

“Mamaaa,” cries Henry. 

Killian rushes into the bedroom and then stops, unsure of what to do. He sits on the edge of Henry’s bed, his hand hovering over the small form huddled beneath the blankets. 

“Henry? Lad, it’s Killian. Do you remember me?” 

Henry’s tearstained face appears and he snuffles, and rubs the back of his hand across his nose. He stares at Killian for a moment then nods. “I remember,” he says.

Slowly Killian lets his hand fall on the boy’s shoulder, rubbing it in a way he hopes is soothing. “Your mum’s still at work, but I’m here. What’s the matter?” 

“I had a dream.” 

“A scary one?” 

“Yeah.” Henry’s lip quivers. He looks so distraught, and Killian surprises himself by sliding further onto the bed and reaching out his arm. Henry dives immediately beneath it and snuggles against Killian’s chest, burying his face in it and sniffling some more. Killian swallows past the lump in his throat, breathes through the squeezing pressure in his chest at the feel of the small body pressed against his, at the unbelievable honour of this show of trust.

“Do you want to tell me about your dream?” he asks. 

“No,” says Henry, the word muffled against Killian's sweater but no less decisive for it.  

“Oh. Erm... shall I tell you a story then?” 

“Do you know any stories?” Henry looks up at him, wide-eyed. 

“Aye. Sailors are renowned storytellers.” 

“Are you a sailor?” 

“I was.” 

“Okay.” Henry snuggles closer, adjusts himself so that he can look at Killian while still resting against his shoulder. “Tell me a sailor story. Please.” 

Killian weaves him a tale of a ship lost upon uncharted oceans, of a sailor with a broken heart who in a fit of despair cursed a true lovers’ knot and flung it overboard, which heedless act awakened an eldritch beast from out the briny deep. He tells of how the brave sailors fought against the beast to save their ship, and of how they succeeded, though at the cost of their souls.

It’s rather a dark tale for a child perhaps, but one he loved himself at Henry’s age. He can remember sitting before the fire in the pub, curled in Liam’s lap listening, as wide-eyed and rapt as Henry is now, to the old and weathered sailors as they wove it skilfully around him. Henry is enthralled but as the story unfolds his eyelids grow heavier and his body more relaxed, and by the time Killian has finished recounting the sailors’ terrible fate the boy is sound asleep.

Killian tries to ease him back into his bed but Henry clings to him, tiny fist tight on his sweater. With a sigh, Killian settles down and makes himself as comfortable as possible on the small bed, cradling Henry securely beneath his arm and tucking the blankets around them both. He closes his eyes, just to rest them, he thinks, and moments later he falls soundly asleep. 

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