#Mom that was supposed to be MY personal private dark thrash!!!

[bxllafanficc]

¡Skate/sing your hearts out! (Yuri Plisetsky x reader)

(part one)

part two part three part four part five. Find the rest on; Masterlist

Summary: After last year's cancellation of Figure Skating Grand Prix, Yuri Plisetsky finds himself unable to bring out his inner skater after a year of doing nothing but enjoy life like a regular teenager. That's when you enter the picture; We Are Voice Grand Awards's currently hottest competitive vocalist come first place two years in a row. Just like the other competitors of Grand Prix, it turns out that Victor and Yuuri faces the same issue. With an arrangement between Victor and Yakov, they agree to travel to Japan and hire you as a mutual coach for Yuri and Yuuri to help bring back the emotion into their performances like before, maybe even more intense than ever. Yuri however, who's never experienced issues with his coaches before, for some reason finds this one particularly difficult to coexist along with in their (reasonably) odd partnership. Warnings: none

*Yuri's POV*

"Remind me once again why we're going to Japan? It's clear you'd never take us there just because you miss Victor and I know by experience that it's not because of his apprentice."

First class flight like usual. The view out the airplane window of the sparkling city at nighttime below them would stun anybody but at this point, Yuri has traveled so many times it's only become regular sights and the lights of the streets are only plain colored spots in a dark void to him these days. One thing he will never feel comfortable with though is staying in the same seat for hours on end until the airplane arrives at its destination. His legs are itching from wanting to move around. He'll just have to jog it off back on the ground like every other trip in the past.

"You'll be spending some time with Yuuri Katsuki and Victor the following weeks to gain your fighting spirit back. You need to get back in touch with your emotions, remember?" Yakov slightly turned his posture towards the Russian skater beside him, folding his newspaper in half and putting it in his lap.

He only nodded with a slight hum. He could see Yakov's reasoning, some parts of it at least. He HAD been lacking in emotional performance ever since the new year began and it was time to get back into the mindset of winning yet another Grand Prix gold medal like last year. No, not last year. Last year's competition was cancelled after a minor pandemic spread through Russia and the nearby regions. In fear of the virus spreading, all competitions cancelled and larger crowded areas were forbidden to take place. Therefore Yuri's only been able to practice by himself and keeping himself fit for a possible competition next year. But a year of doing nothing can really change your spirit and afraid to admitting it to his coach, he's been missing several opportunities to hit the rink and stayed home watching anime or scrolled through social media instead.

But one thing he doesn't get is how Victor and Yuuri are gonna make him get his mindset in the right track again. He already won his first gold medal at his senior debut and he doubt that the Japanese skater will be in any better condition than Yuri's currently in right now. Pig-man must've been in a much worse state considering his boo Victor had to stay in Russia during the pandemic, unable to keep an eye on Yuuri's routines.

"Besides, there's a little surprise waiting for you where you'll be staying with the two of them. It better work out fine or else I'm out of ideas."

That caught his attention to say the least.

"Well if it's supposed to save me from the deep end then why be so secretive and hushy with it? Spill the news, Yakov."

The old man only grunted and picked up his newspaper once again and hid his face behind it. Well now he really wanted to know what it was. Clearly he would have to make some effort. Soon the article about a Russian charity event taking place this weekend got replaced with a clenched fist going straight through the back of the paper. Yuri expected some kind of reaction but Yakov only sighed and leaned back in his seat without even a flinch.

"It's no surprise if I tell you. I promised Victor to keep it a secret."

"Tell me."

"No."

Yuri groaned and folded his arms with a sour glare. The display in the ceiling told the traveler's that it was 10 minutes until landing so he gave up his attempts and let his eyes rest for a while. At least he would find out tomorrow, he assumed. It was 2am and he would be staying at a hotel close to the airport since it was too late to make rest of the trip in one day.

Yuri was out with the speed of a lightning bolt the second the plane doors opened. He sped past everyone before him and he didn't stop when he finally got outside. His feet carried him to run circles around the plane meanwhile he was waiting for Yakov to get out the normal way. It's a silly habit of his and he knows he looks stupid doing it but his coach has given him strict orders to not run away at one random direction like used to do at first. It would take like half an hour for him to be found once he took off, but only if he got lost.

"Yuri! Get over here!"

Well, there's his cue to get ready and head to the hotel. Finally he's able to get some sleep before he's forced to wake up early at dawn to head to Hot Springs and meet the two most annoying people in Japan.

...

He didn't even have time to eat breakfast. He overslept and got rushed to the cab with an angry Yakov behind him, newspaper folded tightly in his fist. The trip through the beautiful Japan would've been pleasant if Yuri hadn't dozed off every 10 seconds. He didn't get much sleep after all. He spent at least three hours thinking about the special surprise and raiding the free mini bar before he finally got to rest. At 8am he was woken up with banging on the door and now, at 10am, he was standing at the entrance of Hot Springs waiting for Yuuri's mom to announce their arrival. She hurried away somewhere with her usual bubbly happy self that Yuri had no idea how a person could be so... not moody all day long.

The place was as crowded with customers as last time and the two Russians were told to step inside to the more private parts of the building where the family lived along with Victor at the moment.

"Victor! How come my brand new lotion is used? You smelled a suspicious amount of peaches and wild berries at breakfast and there's no point denying it!" A fairly soft and modulated voice was heard from somewhere to the left where the private shower stalls were located. A couple seconds later a giggly Victor and Yuuri came through the direction of the living room and greeted Yuri with happy cheers. The slender white haired Russian caught Yakov in a bear hug, much to the old man's surprise. Yuuri extended his hand towards Yuri but Yuri didn't give any effort in taking it.

"Food. I'm starving."

Yuuri dropped his hand with a light blush but Victor pouted and let go of his former coach. Strong and clingy arms were suddenly wrapped around his chest and he couldn't breathe.

"So unpolite... Yuriooo we've missed you! Haven't you missed us?"

Yuri thrashed like a fish caught in a net and tried to hit the arms of the bastard trapping him. Yuuri joined in, only to get a kick in the hip. His stomach growled angrily and the endless void in his body didn't lighten up the experience a bit.

"Let go you old man! You too piglet!"

"I hoped you'd say it out loud but I know that deep down you've been missing us, Yuriii." Victor went to whisper in his ear with pouty lips but was swatted away by a backhand in his face. That finally caused him to let go and Yuri jumped out of reach for the two males.

"Hm... Or not." The expression he got from Victor was sad and pouty and the man earned a hand on his shoulder, put there by Yuuri. Yuri could only sigh and shake his head.

"Victor! Did you steal my shampoo too?! I will- Oh? What now?" Yuri turned around abruptly by the unfamiliar yet familiar voice behind him. His eyes widened.

The girl was standing to the left of the hall, seemingly coming from the shower. A curious hand rested against the wall beside her and her face was covered in a grey clay face mask, a toothbrush lazily hanging from the corner of her lips. Her (h/c) eyes glistened with mild shock along with her mouth hanging slightly open.

"You are early... Victor, you told me they would arrive at 1pm1!" She pointed a strict finger at the tall man who scratched the back of his head with a hesitant laugh. Her eyes narrowed and she grabbed her toothbrush. Because even if she was standing unprepared in front of two strangers, she would at least not forget to brush her teeth in the process, as you do.

Yuri might've considered it normal if it wasn't for that she was almost naked. Two towels were the only fabric hiding her, one wrapped around her dripping figure and the other tied up in her hair.

"Yeah, about that! I kind of mixed up the time of their arrival and your meeting with the press, that's, by the way now when I think of it, not actually cancelled but later today. Silly of me to forget, right?"

She eyed him as though her bullshit meter was ticking in the red zone and let out a huff. Yuri had to advert his gaze when it suddenly felt intruding to eye her the way he did. He also turned away because a light tint of pink was creeping up his cheeks.

"Right. Thanks for the early update. I appreciate it, really. I'll be with you again in 30 minutes. Don't wait up for me." And with that, she was gone. The silence of the men maintained for a few moments until Yuuri coughed with an awkward smile, his red cheeks still visible even after the girl had disappeared. 'It's a little weird to blush at your almost naked sister' he thought.

"So food, right? Mom is preparing pork cutlet bowls for you, Yurio, since she remembered how much you liked them last time-" He didn't have to say it twice. Yuri was off to the dining area before the man even finished saying 'pork cutlet bowl'.

[marvel-lucy]

Kidnapping 101

A case of mistaken identity by some poorly trained Hydra agents 

I don’t think I ever posted this on here, only on AO3.  But I’m re-reading my old fics and feeling needy for validation so I’m going to repost it anyway, even though it’s two years old :)

-----

You weren’t supposed to be here. This was not in your calendar for today and you hated unscheduled meetings. You were pretty sure this kind of work wasn’t mentioned in your job description from Stark Industries either. And you had no idea if you could claim expenses for this – how would you code ‘damaged by Hydra during torture’ on the finance system...?

It was possible you were getting a little delirious

Earlier

You were the third person to find out that Pepper was pregnant, after her doctor and Tony. You weren't technically supposed to know, but after the second time you'd gone to look for her when she was late for a meeting, only to find her throwing up in her office's private bathroom, she took you into her confidence.

You'd been working with her for over a year now and right up until this moment you'd have said you were confident in your abilities. You had a law degree, you had a Masters in Business Administration, you had experience, but right now you felt as if you were the lowliest work experience kid, dressed in your Mom's too-big clothes and about to cry.

Pepper was due in a big meeting, right now, and instead she was lying on her bathroom floor, a mess. You'd accompanied her to all the previous meetings and knew the situation inside out but now she'd asked you to go cover for her. Alone.

It should be simple, right? It was a meeting about some new tech that another organisation wanted to link up with Stark on. Most of the details had been thrashed out, this was mostly just a show-around, glad-handing type, with a little bit of legal wrangling over croissants and fake smiles. You’d have a couple of legal assistants with you, you just had to not promise anything while sounding as if you were agreeing to all they said.

So, you grabbed documents, iPad, pen, paper. Straightened your skirt, brushed your hair off your face, plastered on a smile of fake confidence and hoped you didn’t make a deal that ended up bringing down the firm.

Of course, as it turned out, that might have been preferable. You’d entered the room, shaking hands and smiling and thanking them for coming, surprised rather at the amount of muscle in the room – you were used to the Avengers and their multitude of biceps and abs, but you didn’t usually see it in business meetings. Still, healthy lifestyles were obviously catching on. You offered coffee but head Muscleman (shit, you hadn’t caught his name. In fact, you hadn’t even introduced yourself. Too late now, nod and smile nod and smile) wanted to look around, his Muscleminions nodding in agreement. So you set off, chatting inanely, leaving the assistants to set up the paperwork. 

Mr Muscle asked to start the tour at the top, saying he’d heard the view from the top of Stark Tower was amazing, so you all squeezed into an elevator and headed up. You tried making small talk with one of the minions, a woman standing next to you but she looked at you pretty blankly and you decided that most of these suits were obviously here to make up the numbers, to impress Pepper.

“So, we’re as high as we can go now, as you can see New York does look pretty good from up here! As new business partners, you will of course be invited to Mr. Stark’s regular parties up…. HEY, what the…. Mmmmmffffff!”

Ms Muscleminion had grabbed you from behind and now had her hand clamped over your mouth. You kicked and struggled but there were far more of them than you, and suddenly one of the others was approaching, needle in hand.“Hail Hydra” he said, as he stabbed the needle into your thigh. You heard the sound of a helicopter approaching and everything went dark.

--

Next thing you knew, you were in a stereotypical evildoers’ lair. Honestly, you’d think Hydra could afford something other than underground-car-park chic or the abandoned-warehouse-aesthetic. Hysteria was setting in apparently. 

You were tied to a chair and had a feeling that bad things were going to happen. Yeah, this was definitely not on your ‘to do’ list for today.You were starting to feel uncomfortable. Your head ached from whatever drug they’d given you, your arms and legs were hurting from being held in one position, you were thirsty and you were seriously pissed off. There was a reason that you were called SheHulk on occasion; you were known for your temper.

The door opened and the man from the business meeting entered again. He pulled up a chair near you, scraping the metal across the floor. Presumably this was supposed to menace you but you rolled your eyes at the cliché.“So, Ms Potts, I assume you’re intelligent to understand you are now our hostage. Mr Stark will, I’m sure, provide us with whatever we desire, to ensure your safe return.” He grinned at you, and you couldn’t help but grin back. Oh god, they thought you were Pepper, this was hysterical (OK, maybe it wasn’t, but you weren’t thinking straight). You remembered realising you’d forgotten to introduce yourself in your nerves about the meeting. And they weren’t the first to make the mistake – even Tony had groped you by accident from behind at a party once, you and Pepper had identical hair after all. And they had been expecting Pepper… You opened your mouth to correct him then gulped and shut it hurriedly. They were not going to keep some assistant alive and healthy when they realised their mistake. You were going to need to play along.

“Tony doesn’t bargain with Hydra.” You eyed the man as your aching brain tried to think about what Pepper would do, what you should do, what they’d do…“Oh I think he will when he sees what we’re capable of, Ms Potts.” He grinned again and suddenly you weren’t feeling like grinning again.

A couple of his goons set up a laptop, its webcam aimed at you. That little part of your brain that was in hysterical mode wanted to ask what the wi-fi reception was like under all this concrete but luckily the rest of your brain was too busy panicking to listen.

All turned on and set up, you could see yourself on the laptop screen. You didn’t look great to be honest, they obviously hadn’t been too gentle carrying your unconscious body; there were scrapes across your face, dirty marks on your suit and your hair – Pepper’s hair – was every which way.

“Mr Stark, as you can see, we have Ms Potts. She is well… for now. That can change. You will find a list of our requirements at the end of this broadcast, along with details for how to contact us. You have one hour.”

You knew you needed to get Tony to play along when he saw this, not let on that you weren’t Pepper, so before they turned off the recording, you quickly spoke.

“Tony, it’s Pep here. Who knew Hydra would want to kidnap Pepper Potts, right…?” 

That was all you had time for before a resounding slap around the side of your head silenced you. You bit your tongue as your head snapped sideways and the real fear started.The three Hydra agents picked up the laptop and moved away from you, talking. You listened as hard as you could to their conversation.

“So what do we do? Email it?”

“No, he can trace the signal. Put it on a DVD?”

“What and post it?”

“No, idiot, that’ll take forever. Get a messenger. You do know how to burn a DVD?”

“I can google it…”

Oh. My. God. Apparently you’d been kidnapped by the least competent bad guys ever. Were they… trainees?! How humiliating!

“Look, we have to get this right, go get the DVD sorted, we have to be quick.”

“Yeah, does the one-hour deadline start from when we stopped recording or when he sees it? I mean, what if he doesn’t watch the DVD!?”

Great. Were you going to have to give them Kidnapping 101 just so they could get this right?!

“We’ve got to get that tech before the weekend. Once the General is back, we have to have something to show him or else he’s going to skin us!”

You are kidding, right. This wasn’t just a Kidnapping by Kids, it was unauthorised? What, they were trying to get extra credit on their Hydra Degrees by being proactive? You let out a groan and let your head drop, drawing their attention to you. They shifted and all headed out of the room, presumably to choose their favourite fonts for the ransom note. Jeez, I bet they wrote it in Comic Sans.

Once they’d gone, you were still in the same position. Tied up, uncomfortable, ear ringing still from the slap and the iron taste of blood in your mouth. To be honest, you also needed to use the bathroom, which did not put you in a better frame of mind.

They left you there for what felt like hours, while you wriggled your arms and legs inside their bonds in an attempt to get free. You could feel the bonds loosening – presumably they’d never got their ‘knot tying’ girl scout badge – but when the door opened again you felt yourself tensing up.

“He hasn’t responded. Why hasn’t he responded?!” The larger man put his face close to yours as he shouted and you could see the anger and anxiety in his face. A dangerous combination, he had a lot to prove it seemed and you were the material he had to prove himself on.

The laptop was set up again and the man stood behind you, grabbing your hair tight in his fist and yanking your head back. You let out a gasp of pain.

“Mr Stark. Do you really value your fiancée’s life so little? Would you like her returned piece by piece? You have the phone number you need, ring us within an hour of receiving this, unless you enjoy seeing your Ms Potts suffer”

At that, things took a turn for the serious, as the woman from the lift stepped forward and punched you in the stomach. You jerked forward involuntarily, but yelled out as the grip on your hair tightened. Unable to lean forward to relieve the pain, you gasped, winded. The SheHulk was released however and you started shouting.

“You piece of shit, you fuckers, Tony, blow this whole place up I don’t care!” You shook side to side in your chair, trying to loosen your bonds further, but another blow to your stomach left you unable to breathe again and dizzy from pain.The Hydra agents gathered up their things and left again.

The next time they appeared, after another agonising wait, you had regained your breath but not your temper. Your stomach ached and you were running on adrenaline. You’d managed to work all bar one of your bonds loose and were just working on the last when they reappeared.

“Mr Stark wants more proof that you are alive”. A phone was pressed against your ear.

“‘Pepper’, that you? Can you keep talking for a bit…?”

“Tony darling, I’m cold and sore in this damn underground bunker and I am going to claim so much damn overtime…”

“Enough.” The phone was taken away from your ear. That probably wasn’t enough to trace a call but it depended on how long Tony had been talking to the Hydra idiot before you and how long they talked now.

“You have our list Mr Stark, and the location for the drop… I don’t care if you don’t have all the components, you have to find them… Well I said one hour! Ok fine, two. OK FINE, THREE. You have three hours that should be more than sufficient to gather things from your other base. No you can’t talk to her again. No. Just shut up! OK fine!”

The phone was held up against your ear again.“You doing OK kid? This’ll all be over soon. Sooner than they may expect. Just don’t do anything stupid OK?”

“How can I, they’ve got all the stupid here” You grinned. ‘Sooner than they may expect’ made you think they were on their way.

The phone call was cut off and the man backhanded you across the face, probably for your rudeness. You spat out blood at him and he saw red. Perhaps he could sense this slipping away from him – kidnappers generally didn’t end up conceding so much to their victims, but Tony was good at that.

He went to punch you again but at that point, you really did hulk out. You pulled your arms and legs free from the loosened bonds just as he lunged forwards, and threw yourself sideways. Your legs nearly gave way after being tied up for so long, so you grabbed at the chair for support, then when he came at you with a roar, threw it at his face, stamping your feet and shaking your arms to get the feeling back, and regretting it as the pins and needles started. That just threw you into an even worse mood.

“I. Fucking. Hate. Pins and Needles. You bastard!”. As heroic lines go, it probably needed work, but your adrenaline was racing and your heart was pounding and you were furious. You threw yourself down as he ran at you again, knocking his legs out from under him, then pummelling his face before rolling him over and yanking his arms up behind him.

“Did you really think anyone working with Stark didn’t get to train with the Avengers, you MORON?”

You grabbed at the rope that had tied you to the chair and had him hog-tied within seconds, just in time as the other two came in the door and saw what you were doing. Your blood was up and your legs were working now and it was no great effort to take down two poorly trained and obviously low level Hydra fools, not when you had compulsory training with Captain America and Black Widow three times a week.

“THIS WASN’T ON MY SCHEDULE!!” You shouted as your arms blurred with the speed of your punches. Even with the two of them attacking you, it was no great effort and within a few minutes both were lying on the ground groaning. You panted hard, then looked up at the sound of applause.

Tony Stark, Steve Rogers and Sam Wilson were all leaning against the wall near the door, watching you and clapping.

“You bastards!” You panted, hands on knees. “You couldn’t have joined in?”

“Oh you looked like you were having way too much fun, ‘Pepper’. I know you hate it when I interfere in your business meetings.” 

The men walked towards you as Stark spoke, Rogers reaching you first and holding you up. Despite the sarcasm, you could see the concern on their faces at what you might have been through.You leant on Tony heavily as you left the room, leaving Sam and Steve to gather up – and laugh at – the Hydra idiots, kidnapping the wrong person and then getting taken down three against one.

Tony hugged you to him and whispered thanks against your hair.

“You owe me Stark. Overtime, a corner office, and…”

“Some more time off?”

“No, you can call the damn baby after me”

-----

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[cinnonym]

All of you:

Me: Oh, sure you can have that SQ fic from Robin Hood's POV, absolutely no problem, here you go:

The sheets are impossibly soft as I shuffle against them, soft and silky and way too comfortable for me to find sleep in. Years of making camp on mossy patches in the forest, never completely bare of sticks that press against the back at night, have accustomed my body to rough, imperfect underground and even the few nights I've actually spent in taverns or inns couldn't have prepared me for the luxury of this world. Thick bouncy mattresses and materials called polyester or elastane are as foreign to me as the twangy accent the people from the first curse have. Even Regina has picked it up, the tendency to pronounce the Rs like nobody did back in the Enchanted Forest, sharp and rolling, like stones scraping.

I groan as I turn to my side, a sudden pain shooting through my spine. The caving bed is poison for my back, but Regina loves it like that, enormous and fluffy for her to sink in. Her body is but a silhouette in the dark, the moon shining just bright enough through the shades for my eyes to make out the curve of her hip, pronounced even through the thick blanket. Regina is facing away from me, curled into herself like usual, breathing heavily and unevenly. Her hair is splayed over her pillow, gleaming black against the white and if I leaned over I would see her eyelashes painting a similar shadow against her cheek. She really is magnificent, even in her brokenness, and I have to remind myself again that she's not mine to fix.

As if she heard my thoughts, Regina starts murmuring. She's doing that a lot these days, almost every night, at first quietly, making it impossible to understand her words, than growing louder and louder still until she's screaming. It's always the same routine, and it's always the same couple of sentences: "No! There has to be another way." Sobs. And then "I love you."

It has taken me a while to figure out the meaning of it all. At first I was flattered, thought she meant me, thought this was her way of telling me what she couldn't say at day. At first I thought the eerie déjà vu I got from the phrasing, the feeling to have heard Regina say those exact words before, came from unconsciously listening to her while sleeping myself. Until Emma crossed my way through town, smiling wearily in the arms of her boyfriend, a faint shadow of the vibrant person I had met when I first came here. Now rings have formed under her eyes, almost identical to those Regina has after a particularly hag-ridden night.

Almost a year has passed since the blonde became the Dark One, since she more or less jumped into the black vortex that enclosed Regina and thrust the dagger forward, tethering her soul to it forever. Except forever apparently doesn't apply to saviours because barely two months later Emma got rid of the darkness already and, except for the incident in the realm we call Underbrooke, has lived fairly normally since. Most people have already forgotten about the time of Dark Swan, even I find it hard to remember that particular period sometimes. Hell, even Emma has seemingly forgotten most of it, though Regina claims she's still dealing with the aftereffects of wielding that huge amount of power and fighting not to succumb to it.

And there lies the problem really. Regina is the one still thinking, still worrying about the darkness affecting Emma. Regina is the one still dreaming of the night Emma sacrificed herself and Regina is the one still regretting not to have acted, not to have told Emma what she now cries out almost every night.

"I love you," Regina sobs next to me and some weeks ago my heart would have clenched. I was furious, sad, confused, most of all shocked. Soulmates are said to be an insurance of kinds, your true love, presented to you in a flourish, nicely wrapped in tattoos and pixie dust. They're not supposed to be in love with someone else, they're supposed to be your perfect match.

One week and four nightmares after my realisation, I had enough. When she started murmuring again, I seized her shoulders, shook her awake in tears, demanding answers.

"What are you even talking about," she mumbled, still half-asleep, and she was confused herself about the wetness on her cheeks and pillow. I stopped asking her after that, it was clear she knew less about what was going on than me.

And still the dreams continued, startling me awake when I managed to find sleep for once, until my body learned to stay awake during the hours when they usually occur. I tried to comfort Regina, but she slapped my arm away, thrashing around until I retreated into my half of the bed, at which point she curled back into herself and returned to sobbing. I tried to talk to her about what she saw at night in the mornings, only to find that though she awakes grouchy and tired she's entirely oblivious to the reason for it. There was nothing I could do for her, except hoping she would get better soon.

She didn't and so, for her own good, I have to let her go.

Everything is planned. I met Emma the other day, asked her in Regina's name to stay over at the mansion, told Regina that Emma asked for a sleepover. Only by making each believe it was the other's wish, I could convince them both to agree, and now Emma is sleeping in the guest's room across the corridor.

I fold back the heavy covers and tiptoe to the door. Regina's still crying behind me and for a moment I feel a pang of guilt for leaving her like this. But then the "I love you"s begin again and I know that for her and also my own sanity I have to go.

So I slip out of the door, leaving it slightly ajar, and make my way to Emma's door. I've already lifted my hand to knock, when it swings open and there's Emma, hair tangled and clearly just awoken, nonetheless staring at me with the urgent look she only gets when either Henry or Regina are in danger. Henry or Regina and oh, I should have understood it way earlier, but I've been blinded by pixie dust and a fairy's promise.

"Is that Regina crying? What are you doing here? Does she need help?"

For someone who threatened to hurt anyone who dared to wake her up before nine in the morning, Emma seems very harmless in her spate of questions. However, the force with which she pushes me away is to be reckoned with and it confirms me in my belief that I'm doing the right thing by stepping aside and playing the helpless boyfriend.

"I don't know what's happening. She started crying and screaming, but she won't wake up, do you know what to do?"

Just as I anticipated, Emma all but runs through the door, not even hesitating at the threshold as she would normally, wary to set foot in private chambers. But not now, not when Regina needs her help, and she kneels beside the bed and takes Regina's trembling hand, whispering soothingly words I can't make out. Miraculously, Regina calms, sobbing quieter until finally, she stills.

"Emma?" She suddenly murmurs, half-asleep yet but quickly coming to. I didn't expect this but it fits quite well with my plans, exceeds my hopes to be at least stooge for my soulmate's happy ending.

"I'm here, Regina," Emma whispers back, softer than I've ever heard her talk, and she strokes Regina's sweaty brow and caresses her cheeks. I can only see her profile but the devotion in her eyes is clear as day and it is time for me to leave.

Silently, using all my skills as a thief to not disturb the two women, I turn around and head towards the stairs. Except I'm stopped before I can reach them, by a pale hand and Henry's tousled shock of hair.

"I heard Mom scream," he says under his breath, the same urgency in his voice as in Emma's before. "Is she alright?"

"She will be," I reply, "Emma is with her."

Henry calms, then looks at me with eyes far too wise for a boy of his age and nods solemnly.

"Robin Hood, stealing from the rich and giving to the poor. You were never one to keep treasures for yourself."

I shrug, refusing to look back to the door that's still slightly ajar, and smile wistfully.

"You know she was never mine to begin with."

"See ya around Robin," Henry says after a pause and we both know this is goodbye. I will come back to the mansion, but if everything goes according to plan, it will never be the same again. I hope that Regina and I can be friends, were still soulmates after all, but I also feel that my heart will need time to heal before I can see her with Emma.

"Bye Henry. I'll send Little John to pick up Roland tomorrow morning."

Henry looks back at the smaller boy, allowed to sleep on a folding bed next to Henry's. He lies with a blissful smile on his face and I feel the familiar tug of guilt about forcing him to grow accustomed to yet another difficult family situation.

"He'll be fine," Henry whispers and I finally turn and descend the stairs. The front door is locked and I use my lockpicks to make sure it is again after I let myself out. Storybrooke's streets are deserted as I slowly make my way home to the woods.

The next day I get a message from Henry, the phone Regina talked me into pinging obnoxiously loud in the peaceful silence of the trees. I flip it open and the screen comes alive with the photo the boy sent me. It shows Regina's bed and on it two women, one blonde and one brunette, curled into each other. It's hard to make out in the pixels but it looks like both are smiling. Underneath, Henry just wrote two words:

"Thank you."

[rather-impertinent]

The Girl Next Door: Chapter 1

A/N: Hello friends! Here is my newest Carolight AU, as promised. This is just an introduction, I pinky promise it gets better, I’ve kind of wrote this AU backwards tbh hahaha! It will also feature lots of other familar characters and pairings down the line, so stay tuned! I hope you like it xo

It had been fifteen long hours since Doctor Dwight Enys had seen the exterior of his flat building. He welcomed the sight of the somewhat overly-aggressive modern building with the familiar fondness of home. He began the usual dissection of his large collection of keys as he searched for the one that unlocks the outside door to apartment Block C. He really needed to colour code these damn keys. Honestly, one would think he were a janitor or a soccer mom with too many hobbies as opposed to a single surgeon, who ironically held no particular talents where tidiness and cleanliness were concerned, nor did he have any children to speak of.

Once the damn door had finally been unlocked, he groaned as he opened it into the warm building, thinking of the three flights of stairs he would have to now climb to get to his bed. But that would spur him on: the thought of his bed. His lovely, cosy double bed; his dearest friend; his one true companion in this life. Dwight had also just this morning remembered to wash his bedsheets, and so luxurious, fresh comfort awaited him just a mere sixty steps away. Rejuvenated by his thoughts of rest, Dwight made for the stairway. He climbed the first one, smiling, the thought of peace and quiet appealing to exhausted mind when-

Thump, thump, thump.

He stopped short on the fourth step and sighed. So, the Hunters have fallen out again, he thought. He really did not have time for this. It was after ten in the evening and he had stitched so many wounds back together that his fingers physically ached. If either one of the sweet, yet clearly drug fuelled, middle aged couple tried to drag him into whatever ridiculous argument they were having, he would just have to jump headfirst out of the nearest window and die. He took the next few steps two at a time, holding his breath as he got to the second landing, anticipating either Joan or Robert Hunter standing in the small, carpeted space, shouting profanities and very nearly kicking their door in. He was amazed to find it empty until he realised, to his horror, that the banging was coming from above him: his landing. He took the next few steps three at a time and was met by the silhouette of a woman he had never seen before.

She had not noticed his presence and continued to bang incessantly and shout for someone named Horace. Normally, Dwight was not one to intervene in the lives of his neighbours, except to help with the odd shopping bag or carrying a pram down the stairs, but the young woman seemed so genuinely distressed that he felt it would bother his conscience if he just silently slipped into his own flat.

He tapped her shoulder gently and she started, almost comically so. “Um, hi, are you okay?”

The woman turned to face Dwight and, despite the long black trails of mascara down her face, she was very beautiful. Ridiculously so. She sniffed fiercely, “No, I – I went to go to the shop a while ago and I realised I had left my keys inside,” Dwight closed his eyes briefly in sympathy: the doors locked automatically when closed – a usually useful modern feature of the building, “it’s been a long day,” she tried to explain, “but the thing is, my darling Horace is now stuck inside!” She began to cry softly again.

Dwight stared at her, trying to wrack his brains as to how to help the poor woman. “Ok. It’s alright.” Even he winced at his pitiful attempt to comfort her. Jesus, you twat it’s clearly not alright. He knew that they would probably have to call the fire station or the police soon if they couldn’t figure out a way in, which would no doubt be mortifying for the young mother standing in front of him. “Is there anyone I can call for you?” He hoped she wouldn’t take this to mean he was copping out of assisting her, he just felt that if he had accidentally left his child in his flat, he would appreciate some familiar company.

The woman shook her head slowly and tried the door handle again, as if it would magically unlock itself.

He chewed his lip as he watched her fruitless attempts to move the stubborn door. Think, Enys, think. You’re a fucking surgeon. Use your brain. He made a slight eureka sound as he fully took in her form. He pointed at her hair bun and snapped his fingers, an idea forming in his head. “Your hair!” She looked at him with a quizzical expression and smoothed her hair slightly – worried it was a mess. Dwight chuckled mutely, “No, I mean, do you have any hairpins?”

“Oh,” she said, blinking. “Yes. Why?” She continued to stare blankly at him, not fully understanding his meaning.

“I think I can help you out, can you give me two of them?”

She nodded quickly at the handsome stranger and pulled all the pins out of her blonde hair, which then tumbled down her back like a golden waterfall. She offered him the small cluster of pins and he chose two from the pile, quickly biting off the small circular ends. The blonde nymph was about to protest at the destruction of her property before he straightened the black pins and began to pick at the lock. She simply gawped at him, wondering what the fuck he was doing and if she had somehow moved in next to James Bond. She didn’t see how it could even be possible for James Bond to unlock a door with only two small hair grips.

After a minute, he sighed in frustration and squinted his gaze at the light above them in landing, as if scolding it for not being bright enough.

The young woman quickly fished out her phone from the pocket of her dark jeans and wordlessly shined the torch feature at the lock, so he could see better. He offered her a small smile in thanks before trying again – this time with a new pin. She eyed him with keen interest. “You don’t seem like the type of guy who would know how to pick a lock,” she commented, her blue eyes curious. How could a guy who looks like he volunteers at an old folks’ home for fun know how to break into someone’s house?

The corners of his lips tilted upwards as he continued to pry at metal slit. “A good friend of mine had a dodgy phase while at uni and he taught me how – only for emergencies, like this, of course.”

“Oh.” Is all she can say.

Dwight curses and encourages the pins as he pushes anticlockwise on them with all his might.

Click.

“Yes!” He exhaled, and before the breath had fully left his body, the woman had shoved past him and bolted into the flat. Dwight stood in the doorway and decided to take a couple of steps inside to ensure the woman was alright. She stood with her back to him, staring out of the window at the city lights in the distance, soothing a bundle of blankets. Dwight smiled and was just about to leave as she turned around, her bright blue eyes wide with appreciation and relief. Dwight’s breath caught in his throat and he felt a strange desire to laugh.

“Oh, thank you! Thank you so much!”

He stared at her, dumbstruck, wondering if he was being Punk’d or something. Did they even still make that tv show? He blinked at the sight before him several times before he found his voice, “Horace... is... your dog?” She was still sniffing slightly, but looked at him as though he were the dumbest person in the world. “Yes, of course,” she told him, as though it were a detail she had already mentioned, and even if she hadn’t, that it should have been completely obvious.

They continued their awkward, confused stare off until the young woman looked at the beige pug in unmistakable alarm. “Oh, God. He’s breathing weird. Something’s wrong!” Fresh tears began to well in her eyes again.

Dwight had a good mind to leave, he had worked a fourteen-hour shift today and would repeat the torture in about ten hours’ time. Why was he wasting his time on some blonde ditz, who – judging by the lavishly decorated flat – could very well afford to pay a private vet for his or her services? Still, the expression on her face was one of such genuine distress and desperation, he felt like he would be failing in his duty as a doctor, as well as human being, to leave her by herself. “Let me see him,” he instructed in his best professional voice, stretching out his arms.

Her brows creased above her cloudy eyes and she held the dog even tighter to her chest. “What?”

His famed patience was growing thin. “I’m a doctor,” he explained, “and an aunt of mine used to have a pug, it had a lot of breathing problems, too. I might be able to help.”

The young woman took a seat on the sofa, with the pug firmly in her lap, and tapped the space next to her, encouraging Dwight to sit down. He did so, and then gently took the pug from her arms and placed it on his own lap. Despite its laboured breathing, it managed a decent growl in Dwight’s direction, which caused the woman beside him to chuckle. She watched with concern as Dwight poked and prodded the small creature.

He met her worried gaze and inhaled slowly. “His pulse is steady, and he doesn’t have a fever. But he’s had a fit, which are common in pugs,” he adds hastily as the woman sitting opposite him looks fit to burst into tears again.

She stroked the animal soothingly, obviously very fond of it. “Is there anything I can do?” Her tone was somewhat timid yet assuredly determined.

Dwight bit the inside of his cheek in hesitation before replying, anticipating a verbal or literal thrashing, “Yes. He is – uh – he’s too fat,” he stated plainly, and almost laughs when the girl gasped and covered the pug’s ears from the harsh truth of the matter, “but it can be easily remedied: take him for frequent walks, feed him less rich food, that sort of thing.”

She narrowed her eyes at Dwight and he winced almost imperceivably, but she then began to nod slowly. “Well, I suppose you are a doctor,” she conceded, watching him very closely, “and so I should listen to you.” Dwight did not know why but for some reason he felt like she was mocking him.

“He’ll be much less prone to fits if he loses some weight, it helped my aunt’s pug.” Dwight nodded politely and rose to leave, seeking the warm comfort of his bed at last.

She watched him go, somewhat annoyed that her first conversation of the day was coming to an end. “Did it, really?” She smiled as the doctor stopped in his tracks. “What was your aunt’s pug called?”

He turned back around to face the woman and Horace. “It did,” he confirmed. He chuckled then, fond childhood memories coming back to him. “My aunt Jane’s pug was called Doug. Doug the pug, you could never guess she’s a poet, eh?”

The siren laughed at his joke and smiled widely, her musical laughter ringing in his ears. He found himself unable to resist joining in, too. Once their laughter had faded and only an almost tense atmosphere remained, he coughed awkwardly, stood up to leave and walked several paces towards the door before stopping in his tracks once again, a thought occurring to him. “Your shopping. Or lack, thereof. Do you need to borrow anything? Like some milk or something?”

She shook her head and continued to stroke the pug on her lap. “No, it’s OK, thank you. I think after that experience I’d sooner have a shot of alcohol than of a cup of tea!”

“Now, that, I can definitely understand.” With a final smile, he turned his back and reached for the door handle.

“Wait!” she demanded in a light tone. His hand paused on the rectangular metal grip and he glanced at her over his shoulder, an expectant expression on his face. She pursed her lips, smirking slightly. “What is your name?”

[alexander-darling]

Skin

WIP (1/?) (a Clizzy/Malec/Saphael Royals au) @shadowhuntersaumondays

She sees Clary for the first time during her father’s fourth annual Winter Ball, under the soft blue lights that decorate the castle’s grand hall. Izzy watches her for what feels like hours; appreciating her long white dress, the way its sheer bottom shows off just enough of her legs that Izzy is shifting to get a better look. They don’t often have other noblewomen in the castle, unless they are there to try and impress Izzy’s brother, Alec; the prince and heir to the throne. So, whenever someone like this woman, beautiful and poised and all white toothy smiles shows up, Izzy can never seem to resist a peak.

The noblewoman in question is off to the side of the room, crystal glass filled with wine in her hand. She’s talking to a man about the same age as herself, and Izzy watches as they talk together, easily comfortable with each other. It makes Izzy a bit jealous; this other person stealing away the attention of this breathtakingly beautiful women, but Izzy has learned to deal with her unnecessary jealousy in the past years. So, with her head held high and her heart stuck in her throat, Isabelle Lightwood slides her way out of the room, missing the curious set of green eyes watching her as she leaves.

Izzy greets a few people on her way to find her brother, nodding along to the noblewomen and noblemen that try to start a conversation with her, prim and polite like she’s always been taught. Most people from the upper class understand when they aren’t wanted for a conversation, fortunately, and all of them let Izzy on her way after a quick greeting.

Entering into the private quarters of the castle, Izzy lifts up her dress gingerly as she climbs the stairs to her brother’s bedroom. She completely thrashed the last gown she wore for her birthday; tripping through the long dirt road in their backyard as her and her adopted brother, Jace, tried to sneak out. When Mother had found them, filthy and drenched on the outskirts of the property, she had been livid. So Izzy has been trying to stay in her good graces for the last few days.

When she reaches the top of the staircase, where Alec’s, Jace’s and her rooms were, she is shocked to hear a piercing crack, and a groan of pain come from her brother’s room.

“Alec?” Izzy calls loudly, wandering towards the room where the noises originated. Another, quieter moan is called out, and at the sound Izzy wrenches open the door, ready to defend her brother against his attacker.

And there is another man in Alec’s room, and they look like they’re fighting. The attacker has Alec pinned down on the bed, hands on his chest as he pushes him down. But, as Izzy looks closer, she realizes Alec’s legs are wrapped around this other man’s waist, and…

And they’re kissing.

They must be so wrapped up in themselves that they don’t notice Izzy, watching, shocked, as her brother lays intertwined with another man.

“Alexander,” the stranger coos softly, breaking apart their kiss to stroke at Alec’s face. Izzy watches as Alec smiles up at this man, in a smile so bright and happy and human that it makes a gasp come to Izzy’s lips.

They immediately fling apart to opposite sides of the bed, and Izzy watches as Alec’s body goes rigid and flushed, red spilling up his neck as he avoids Izzy’s gaze. 

“I am so sorry, my princess. Please forgive me.” The stranger catches Izzy’s attention, removing himself from the bed and bowing low to her. It’s then that Izzy can quietly inspect the man, taking in his spiky hair and sleek, black outfit. When he rises from his bow, she catches a glimpse of his eyes, a bright yellow colour, and turns a sharp expression to Alec.

“You’re sleeping with a mage?” She cries out, instantly feeling guilty when Alec flinches at her tone, burying his head in hands. The mage shifts to the other side of the bed where Alec sits, placing a soft hand on the small of his back. Izzy watches in fascination as Alec leans into the touch almost subconsciously, relaxing his muscles a fraction at the stranger’s hand.

“Magnus is a warlock, Iz, and didn’t you have a secret seelie boyfriend last year?”

“Meliorn was different, Alec!” Izzy feels like stomping her foot like a little girl, but instead waits to hear Alec out.

“Because I’m a guy, Izzy?” Alec’s voice is rough and his words shoot a rod of guilt down Izzy’s throat. “That’s why it’s different? Because at least mom can still marry you off with someone you would like, but I’m stuck with faking it with some other princess?” The mage rubs his hand soothingly down Alec’s back, and a surge of anger shoots through Isabelle.

“Don’t talk about things you don’t understand, Alec!” Izzy shouts, a bit louder than her original intent, thinking back to the red-headed noblewoman she saw earlier. Neither of them will ever really get what they want, not with their parents being who they are. But Izzy came to terms with that years ago. “Besides, you’re about to announce your engagement to the entire kingdom, are you not?”

Alec raises his head from his hands, startled at the question. He looks at his mage, sharing a concerned look with him, before facing Izzy.

“Did Mother say something to you? Do you know who she’s arranging for me?” Alec questions, jumping from his place on the bed, practically sprinting until he’s standing in front of Izzy. She notices the worry in his eyes; the way his forehead creases and how his tight his jaw is. These arranged marriages will hurt them both, Isabelle suddenly realizes, hurt them so much that they may not recover, because Alec wants a man, a commoner, a mage, and Izzy wants something that she refuses to say but is close enough to Alec’s truth that she knows how her parents will react. Because no prince falls in love with a lower-class, especially a when it’s a man, and no princess falls in love with a woman, because that’s not how royalty works. They have statuses to hold, reputations to keep intact, kingdoms to lead. That doesn’t leave time for things that they want.

“I haven’t heard anything from Mother or Father,” Izzy whispers to her brother, raising a hand to his arm. “But I have heard rumors, of the Branwells and their daughter, a Duchess from the kingdom to the west.” She admits this solemnly, stroking Alec’s arm in comfort before another thought suddenly pops into her mind. “And your twenty-first birthday is only a few months away.”

Alec’s face falls into an even deeper pool of despair, pulling away from Izzy’s touch like it is fire.

“I’m guessing in the land of the rich twenty-one isn’t just a celebration where princes throw their coming of age parties?” The mage speaks up again, rising smoothly from the bed and stepping to Alec’s side. He’s smooth in a way that Isabelle has never seen a commoner be, careful, yet still open with his movements, like he plans every muscle he shifts. Yet, it all seems to come completely natural; his regal posture that reminds Izzy of her years of training as a child, the way he holds himself with confidence, captivating the room. And he does captivate, and Izzy can’t help but wonder how the poor could do it so easily, when Alec’s been working on it for years and still does not have half the confidence that his lover seems to.

“Royalty get married when they turn twenty-one,” Alec admits, hanging his head to face the floor. He picks at the hem of his dark shirt, one of the ones that their mother hates because it’s covered in tears and stains, black but faded grey with overuse. It’s the same with almost all of Alec’s wardrobe, this untidy dark mess that he loves to wear whenever they aren’t at a formal event.

“It’s tradition,” Isabelle confirms, shrugging her bare shoulders. “Married by twenty-one, a couple of children before you’re twenty-five, carrying on the family name.” The man grimaces, shaking his head with a look of absolute disgust on his face.

“How is anyone supposed to find love like that?”

They don’t is left unsaid in the silence of the room.

Isabelle leaves the room shortly after, telling her brother that he should put on his formal robes and come celebrate before Mother comes to look for him before she slips out. The whole situation, with her brother and the mage and his unavoidable wedding has Izzy’s head in such a way that, as she walks down the corridor leading back to the grand hall, she bumps into someone’s shoulder, reflexes the only reason she stops the other person from falling to the floor.

“I am so sorry,” exclaims the stranger, mimicking the words the mage spoke to her earlier in her brother’s room. But these words, exclaimed by this clumsy stranger, are much more frantic than the ones she remembers from upstairs. This new man is nervous; flailing his arms and stumbling out of Izzy’s hold. He takes one look at her, and the second apology forming on his lips seems to fall onto the stone floors. “Oh my, you are the princess! I just bumped into the princess! Oh, please forgive me!” Izzy looked at him in confusion; not many people were aware what the children of the throne looked like, at least not enough to know them when they see them.

“You are forgiven,” she says, appraising the man in front of her. He’s familiar, with his wrinkled suit and light brown hair, and it hits Izzy suddenly as she’s studying. This is the man that was talking to the noblewoman earlier, the one who seemed to steal the redhead’s attention so easily, they had to be long friends.

Isabelle’s face twists into a grimace. “We should head back to the ballroom,” she suggests calmly, nodding to the man before turning swiftly, and almost knocking herself over, yet again, when she stumbles into someone else.

“Are you okay?” The woman asks, placing a steadying hand on Izzy’s shoulder. Izzy raises her gaze to the noblewoman’s face, biting her lip when she sees the sight before her. The redhead is even more beautiful up close; light brown freckles lightly colouring her face, her eyes big and cheeks pink. 

“Fine,” Izzy breathes out, “I’m Isabelle.”

“I know,” the woman says, smiling almost flirtatiously, at Izzy. She wants to melt into this woman’s arms. “I’m Clary. And what’s royalty like you doing parading around in theses halls instead of dancing in the ballroom?” Izzy realizes that Clary hasn’t let go of her arm, but doesn’t mind that much. May lean into the touch a bit too, if she’s honest.

“Maybe I was trying to get away from the people.” It’s a brash thing to admit, but Clary smiles, holds out her hand to Isabelle.

“Then you should come with me,” Clary says, ignoring her supposed friend’s words of uncertainty behind them, “we can have some fun?” It’s lust and curiosity and rebellion that makes Izzy take her hand, but it’s the warmth it cause that keeps their fingers intertwined.

An inappropriate shiver runs up Izzy’s legs into her chest, setting a flame alive in her lungs.

“I’d love to.”

[illdepths]

✿ / ❤ / ☁ / ★

@thscharmngman​

✿  +  ☁  –  five times my muse has thought about and almost texted yours and the one time they do something about it.

I. INSOMNIA

It’s late at night when he can’t sleep. The TV’s on low, the thrum of incoherent voices a modern lullaby for his restless mind. His eyes are on the screen, but he doesn’t see what’s going on. What he does notice is a guy on TV looks like Hartley. He doesn’t have Hart’s height or glasses, but the coloring is there. Moana smiles privately to himself. He picks up his cellphone on the bedside table and opens up his text messages.

to: trashy white boyjust saw you on tv

His hovers over the SEND button. This is stupid. Moana deletes it.

II. THRIFT SHOP

Weeding through some of the shirts on the rack, Moana finds something that looks a out of place with the plain dark T-shirts. He unhooks it off the rack. It’s a deep blue top that’s loose, kind of flowy, something one would relax in. The collar droops low, reminding him of those fashionable turtleneck. The sleeves are moderately short, probably stops right above the elbow. It’s a simple design, but has a mildly artistic refinery to it. He can see Hartley wearing something like this.

Moana snaps a photo of it on his phone.

to: trashy white boyit’s on sale. you want it?

On second thought, it’s better to surprise the man with the gift. If he doesn’t like it, Hartley can always return it. Moana’s not very good at shopping for other people, so he won’t be offended. He grabs the hippy shirt and a few more items before going to the checkout counter.

III. SICK

Once a year maybe Moana is under the weather, but for the most part his health is top notch. No one can say they’ve ever seen him sick, let alone cough or sniff, but Hartley gets to. He’s been lounging on his friend’s couch, bundled in a blanket, groaning pitifully. How does this even happen? Moana dresses appropriately for the weather, he washes his hands frequently throughout the day, and he feels completely fine when he crashes at Hartley’s place last night, too exhausted to go home.

Thinking over the events of their outing, he can’t think of anything that’ll give him a cold. Well, Hartley did sneeze in his face that one time, but that’s because he was chilly. Right?

to: trashy white boyi think you got me sick dickhead

If he has more energy, he might cuss Hartley out some more, but his eyes are bleary and it hurts to even have them open. Moana falls asleep before he can actually send the text. When he wakes up there’s hot soup on the table and Hartley hovering. He says something Moana doesn’t catch, but he throws the blanket over his head and furrows under it some more. This time he hears Hart chuckle. Moana wishes he has the strength to raise his hand to flip him off.

IV. HOOK-UP

This guy really doesn’t know what he’s doing. It’s such a disappointment because he’s actually kind of cute, but beauty doesn’t make up for lack of skill. Moana maybe twitches a little down there, yet so far getting it up doesn’t really seem to be happening. Moana watches with sheer disinterest as the guy on his knees is determined to get more than a wiggle from him. It’s his technique; it can use a lot of work. Not the right pressure, not the right suction, not even the right kind of teasing. Hart knows what to do.

Maybe that’s the thing. Moana’s been spoiled by Hartley’s dick-sucking skills that others pale in comparison. He bets if he tells Hart that his ego will fill all of Central Park. If it’s true, that Moana can get hard unless Hart’s the one responsible, then he’s going to be mad as hell.

        “You know what, let’s try something else.” Moana suggests impatiently, hauling the guy up, who looks slightly disappointed, but whatever.

Moana sits him down, tells him to use his hand instead. While he does that Moana plays with his ass, prepping him. It’s the sounds he makes more than the handjob that gets Moana ready. Apparently this guy is just shit at sex.

After he has the most dissatisfying orgasm of his life, Moana takes a piss, washes his hands, then re-enters the sea of thrashing bodies in the club. He looks for someone else in the crowd because that itch hasn’t gone away. Or maybe—

to: trashy white boyare you free tonight?

Wait, no. A woman just walked in who looks like she knows how to have a good time. Moana pockets his phone, then walks directly towards her. It doesn’t take long to get in the back alley and this time his experience is far better. Good to know Hartley doesn’t ruin sex for Moana.

Still, it could’ve been better.

V. AIRPORT

Delayed flights are the bane of his existence. Moana hates waiting around at terminals. There’s too many people, the Wi-Fi is shitty, the food is overpriced, it’s too loud, too bright—just too much of everything.

Scrolling through his Facebook, he sees a few updates on Hart. That profile pic is new; he looks good in it, if a little moody. Moana wonders when he’s going to ditch the beard and glasses. Does he actually need glasses or is that a fashion thing? Going through Hart’s status messages, he chuckles at some of them and gets that distinct yearning of missing somebody.

Gross, he’s getting attached. Moana considers that for a moment before he pushes it aside. He exits out of the Facebook app to go to his text messages.

to: trashy white boyyou need to shaveyou look like a poster boy for men in a mid-life crisis

Except his messages are rejected because the damn airport Wi-Fi sucks. It’s going to be a long wait.

I. BOREDOM

Hartley’s a good people to call whenever Moana has nothing to do. Generally they sit around watching Netflix, shoot the shit, or maybe go out somewhere if he feels like Hart’s been cooped up in his house for too long. A lot of the times they end up having sex. Maybe on the couch, maybe in Hart’s room, maybe against a random wall—it doesn’t really matter. He supposes he can ask for a bootycall, but Moana actually isn’t in the mood. All he wants is some company.

to: trashy white boyi’m coming over so take a shower. you probably smell.think of something for us to do. see you soon.

It hasn’t finished sending before Moana gets up to leave.

★  +  ❤  –  one time my muse thought yours looked breath-taking, but says they don’t love yours and the one time they admit it.

I. SLEEP

Seeing Hartley sleep is rare. Not because he doubts the man sleeps regularly, but because Moana doesn’t usually stick around for post-coitus cuddles or naps. He’s not sure why he does this time. It’s a little weird, he has to admit. This thing between them is suppose to be casual, but it stops being that, although he can’t pinpoint when. Moana just knows something is different now, especially because he’s never thought of Hartley as beautiful before.

Right now he does.

He looks peaceful, laying on his side, naked, only covered by a blanket at the waist. Moana can see a few freckles on his shoulders, something he’s never quite noticed before. Too busy trying to take clothes off and get instant gratification to actually appreciate the body of the person he’s with. Moana trails his fingers lightly over those patterns of brown dots, feeling the sleep-warmth of Hart’s shoulder seep into his touch. Hartley makes a drowsy noise, but doesn’t wake, just sighs softly and seems to relax more.

What makes Hartley stress out so much? His life doesn’t look complicated, but then again what does Moana know. They don’t really make a habit of talking about each other’s lives. Hartley doesn’t even know Moana’s dad is dead or that he has a daughter back on Oahu.

So is it even possible to feel something deeper with a someone he doesn’t know much about? Moana stares at Hart’s face like he’ll wake up to give him a answer, but he doesn’t. He keeps sleeping and Moana continues to watch while the sky gradually grows lighter and an alarm clock beeps to start the day.

I. HOUSEBOAT

This is a special occasion: it’s the first time he’s let anyone who isn’t family on his boat. The boat where Moana actually lives, not the apartment he’s taken Hart to many times, but his actual home. Does Hart have any idea how much of a big deal this is? Does he know that Moana is internally freaking out, despite looking like his normal calm, cool, collected self? His track Hartley as he roams the deck, taking everything in, then he follows his guest into the main cabin, the housing part of the entire structure.

It’s set up much like a normal house would be. Clearly it’s well lived in because there’s a few dishes in the sink, a couple of clothes on the backs of furniture, open DVD cases on the table in the den. But it’s clean and tidy and doesn’t look like a display for a realtor sale like his apartment does. There are personal affects on the walls and fridge, photos, letters, even amateur drawings in crayons.

Is it strange that Hartley looks like he fits in with these surroundings? Maybe that’s Moana romanticizing the moment, but he wants Hart to belong, although he doesn’t know when that becomes a wish of his. He just knows it’s not a trick of the light when he thinks Harley is stunning, standing in his kitchen in front of the fridge, hunched a little to check out the pictures the magnets hold.

Hartley carefully examines an illustration of a small girl, a woman, and man building a sandcastle on the beach. Despite the lack of fine detail and messy coloring, it’s easy to decipher the man is Moana. “Who are these other people?” Hartley asks, a question he’s been waiting for.

        “That’s my daughter, Kahiwa, and her mom, Minase.” Moana answers as casually as he can, but a timbre of nervousness enters his tone.

As expected, Hart looks surprised. “Are you married?” Moana shakes his head. “I had no idea. Why didn’t you say anything?” Moana shrugs and he can see the mild irritation in Hartley’s face. He hates that Moana doesn’t talk a lot. “This is all before you came here. You have a whole life I knew nothing about. I’ve known you for months. What else are you hiding?”

That’s a loaded question. One secret at a time. He doesn’t think Hartley is ready for the fact the guy he sleeps with murders people. Instead he blurts out something completely random.

        “You’re beautiful.”

        “I know I am, but—”

        “No, I mean it. Obviously you’re not ugly, but you’re just really… Sometimes I can’t breathe when I look at you. And lately I’ve been looking at you a lot and I didn’t use to before. I dunno what happened, but you’re on my mind a lot and I—”

        “Moana, what are you—”

        “I think I love you, Hart.”

The silence that follows is probably the scariest moment of Moana’s life.