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isolated-bug · 3 years ago

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The Great Debate: Is Silco Bad for Jinx?

Am i obsessed? Yes. Do i care if that annoys people? Nah XD

ARCANE SPOILERS - DO NOT READ IF YOU HAVENT WATCHED THE FULL SERIES

(this rambling was originally written before the Therapist Reacts video about Silco and Jinx came out :P ) So i have been starved for more Arcane content and thus taken to re-watching the series (8 times now). Watching specific scenes upwards of 30 times, etc. And, of course, twitter and tumbler for arts and head cannons and memes and the like. A common thread i am seeing all over the place is a huge disagreement about Silco. The fandom is divided. There are the people who think he truly cared about Jinx and those who think he only saw her as a tool or a weapon. The thing is... i understand where both sides are coming from, but i firmly stand with the side that says he cared. My first watch-through of Arcane i 10000000% thought Silco was just manipulating Jinx into being his tool. Isolating her, making sure she felt that she could only form a bond with him, etc. And then the bridge scene happened after the Ekko fight and i was like.. wait.. does he care? but i quickly thought, no... he just wants the weapon and she is the only one who can do it. It wasnt until when Silco was having his negotiation with Jayce and responded to the demand to hand over Jinx with "Those were not her crimes, she was following my orders" that i really started to give thought to the idea that Silco actually cared about her. And then, I had nothing else to go off of until the end of ep 9 and i thought.. hmm y’know... maybe? shit... maybe he actually does care? But i still wasnt sure. I still was leaning towards... ok, maybe that stuff he said at the end was just a big manipulation. maybe his dying breath was used to make sure she will continue his legacy. A big "fuck you" to Vander and Vi. This is where i think all of the people saying Silco didnt care ended their opinions. I think that they had the same perception of it that i did from my first watch. I wonder if any of them have watched it multiple times and paid attention to Silco’s body language and expression in his eye and tone etc. in his scenes to really understand him. I have re-watched the series a good 8 times now and the specific scenes with Silco and Jinx in them dozens of times. I am firmly of the belief that Silco cared. From the first scene we see him with Jinx, at the end of ep. 3, when she is crying in his arms he immediately hears her words and looks at Vanders form lifeless on the ground, then back to Jinx. He relates to her pain immediately. He sees his own struggles in her and wants to help and protect her. Now we dont get to see how he raised her; we dont get insight into those interactions. But we do get a handful of journal entries from Jinx on the council archives in which she firmly believes Silco loves her and she has a clear understanding of him and how broken he is. These ramblings show that she did not immediately trust him (his eye isnt so scary *anymore*) etc. I dont see these reflecting as manipulation. She sees he is broken and hurt too. She has real honest insight into him.

We also visually see that he lets her draw all over his desk and his ceiling and his possessions. We are shown that he keeps trinkets and the monkey mug that obviously could have only come from her. Why do this if he is a big tough crime lord and doesnt care? Doesnt this show weakness? shouldnt he not have those around? He could EASILY make up an excuse for why he wont have them there about how it would ruin his boss-man image.

When he says he needs to find Jinx, we hear Sevika ease his worries about Jinx's safety and whereabouts - why do that when Jinx isnt around to hear it if its all just grooming and manipulation? Jinx also has ZERO hesitation in approaching Silco. There is not a power dynamic relationship between them. She gets in his personal space, she climbs all over him. She does NOT flinch or give dirty looks when he grabs her wrist to get her attention. She does not show any signs of discomfort or fear with Silco. And he does not show signs of aggression with her, he holds her wrist gently, just enough to get her attention to re-focus on him. When she apologizes she doesnt recoil.. she leans in. She feels comfort over her mistake with the person who the mistake cause a disruption to. So we can tell from this body language and interaction that he was never aggressive or abusive with her. And was always very patient and receptive. Creating an environment and relationship in which she felt safe with him, even when she fucked up. Which, by the way, Vi did NOT do. Now, this is NOT a “Vi Sucks” perspective. Vi had her own issues and a lot of pent up rage etc. Vi had to grow up fast. I totally understand why Vi was how she was. but *regardless* of that, Vi was not a safe place for Jinx at all times. When Jinx made a mistake she hid behind a door eavesdropping to see how bad it was to figure out if she could approach her sister or not. There was definite hesitation/fear. I am not saying Vi abused or intentionally made Jinx fear her. But it is obvious that Silco was very careful to always regulate his appraoch with Jinx in consideration for her needs and be a safe space. Vi did not.

So we can confidently establish there is no physical abuse or any sense of lack of trust or discomfort in how Jinx perceives Silco. I already see the argument coming of how he yelled at her in her workshop and grabbed her tool as well as grabbing her wrist in his office. He raises his voice when he was frustrated and she was blasting music. LIKE A DAD. He grabbed her tool for the same reason he grabbed her wrist. She was getting distracted and he needed her present in the conversation. He was redirecting her attention. He was not aggressive. He did not squeeze her wrist to cause harm etc. Its like when you have a 5 year old bouncing around. you grab their hands and say “look at me, i need you to hear my words”. If you think those things were abusive then you lived a VERY cushy life. Do you know what he does with others when they fuck up? he shoots them o-or... idfk, turns them into shimmer monster experiments. He makes not-so-veiled threats about what will happen next. He gives them an icy stare that says “try me bitch, i dare you”. He doesnt do that with Jinx. He is very vulnerable with her. He even openly speaks his mind about his concerns knowing she is in his rafters and can hear him. With the ONE exception of Vi, he doesnt hide anything from her. Ok so we have now solidified Jinx does not perceive her situation as being manipulated, abused, trapped, etc. and her body language, demeanor, and even speaking cadence with him shows she feels safe, loved, and comfortable in his presence. So Silco. If Silco was trying to isolate or groom her, she would have been more behaved and she would have been on a shorter leash. We would have seen her complain about how he controls her etc or, if we want to go with the whole “she doesnt know she is being groomed” mentality than we would see, at the very least, that she is still very insecure on her own. Instead, we see that he gave her an entire workshop to do whatever the hell she pleases with it. Furthermore, that workshop was strategic in keeping his bomb loving daughter safe with its big ravine below so if an explosive she was working on went wrong she had a place to safely dispose of it. She is CLEARLY able to wander around wherever and whenever she wants. She goes back to old haunts like the arcade, freely wanders around the Last Drop, etc. and her graffiti can be seen in tons of scenes so we know she goes wherever she pleases without any restrictions *or* monitoring. How do we know that she isnt monitored? We see it. Silco would have known her whereabouts if she was being followed and monitored. He trusts in her to move about as she pleases. If anything, the only worry i think he would have about it is if someone attacks her and tries to harm her. But this is why he raised her to be strong and independent and a good fighter etc. He wanted her to be able to protect herself *without* him. If Silco was trying to isolate her as a form of dependency manipulation he would not have allowed that level of freedom. And he could have had easy excuses again of “i have a lot of enemies and want to keep you safe” etc. I mean, look, if you still arent convinced, at one point Jinx even stabs him MULTIPLE TIMES in the face. He shows NO signs of irritation or aggression at this, and instead just endures the pain. All he is focused on is assuring Jinx he did not betray her trust and did not know about Marcus hiding Vi ALIVE in prison. And trust me, these animators focused a LOT on portraying unspoken emotion in expressions and body language and the voice actors added to that with exceptional talent in character tone and delivery. It would have been there to see if Silco was just trying to manipulate in that moment. So we take all of that into consideration and then we have Silco running to Jinx and picking up her dying body, cradling her so gently and so close to him.. his fingers stroke her hair and he gently leans her head against him before moving his hand on her back to collect her and stand. Now this next bit is my interpretation, but i really think when he saw the hextech stone in her hand there he thought something along the lines of “she got hurt and did all of this for that stone?” I really believe he is starting to see that stone as bad for his daughters health at this point. Like the sacrifice wasnt worth it. And even feels guilty. After all, the scene between them right before this was him telling her he needs her now more than ever to finish the weapon after she had calmed down from stabbing him. But at this time Silco didnt know she had lost the gem to the Firelights when they took Vi and Cait. And him telling her that Vi and Cait were there for the gem made perfect sense to her awareness of the events that had occurred. So Jinx was on that bridge looking for round 2 and to redeem herself and get back the gem that she assumed Vi and Cait were returning to Piltover. And that whole scene met her expectations. Vi, Cait, and the Firelights (Ekko) are working together to take the stolen gem back. That is what she sees. She resolves in this moment to fight, feeling betrayed and deceived, yet again, by her sister and to recover the gem for the weapon. So anyway, bridge scene. Silco rushes her to the doctor. He does all of this himself. He doesnt have his goons carry her. He does. And we know he carried her the whole way as fast as he could because he bursts into the doctors door out of breath and looking panicked and disheveled. When she makes a noise on the table he rushes to her side and gently strokes her head and gives her a soft kiss on the forehead. There is no need to put up an act for all of this. if Silco didnt care, he would have ordered his goons to carry her there. He wouldnt be so gentle with her unconscious form. Some people think that this scene plays into “he sees her as a weapon” because of what we saw shimmer do before and the monstrous form it gives people. But you have to recall that Silco puts a variant of shimmer into his own eye DAILY for its healing properties. This scene is years after the prior shimmer monsters we had seen. Shimmer is more developed now with variants for different purposes. Hell, people in the wealthy area of Piltover use it as a drug. We dont see signs of ANY Piltovians turning into rogue monsters. So he was not JUST trying to preserve her life for himself as a tool. He was taking her to someone whom he knew had developed a reliable healing aide to restore his daughter.

Ok, outside perspectives in case you are thinking Jinx is manipulated and cant see through it and Silco is too power thirsty to have emotions The two people that know Silco best, aside from Jinx, are Sevika and Singed (the doctor). BOTH of them in their talks with Silco clearly view Silcos care for Jinxs as a father-daughter dynamic and both of them say as much to him. Singed by saying “i too once had a daughter” and Sevika with her speech about how she and Jinx arent too similar but she relates to the perspective of having a fight with your father. Sevika ALSO tells Vi in their fight that “she’s like a daughter to him” though arguably that could have just been Sevika trying to manipulate and shock Vi and throw her off her game; which it did, congrats.

I truly truly believe that Silco loved and cared for Jinx the best he knew how from the moment she cried in his arms. I think that Silco was intentionally written to be misleading and make you think otherwise so that his relationship and closeness to her towards the end of the first season would have a bigger shock factor and we would view him as a slimy villain for longer. I think when Silco confronted Vi about how he originally thought ‘Vi was the prize of the family but Jinx is so much more’ was not a power grab but more so him telling Vi she will never live up to Jinxs potential in angry vindication of his daughter. Much like how a parent might tell another parent "well your kid might be good at sports but MY kid is going to be the president one day". It was him trying to hurt Vi and raise up Jinx above her. Telling Vi she didnt see the worth in Jinx and made the wrong choices leaving her. He was spitting poisonous words and cruelty with a calm and intimidating demeanor to get back at the sister that abandoned his beloved daughter and caused her this lingering pain and suffering. In the tea party scene, he desperately tried to free himself, in my opinion, to help his daughter from having a psychotic episode and suffering. i think he shot the gun at Vi to protect Jinx from Vi’s words as he watched the painful effect it had on Jinx. She likely wasnt moving around as much as in her vision.. but i guarantee you it was all over her expressions and in her dissociative eyes and her eyebrows. Now, to the credit of the people who still feel he is a slimy bastard, I DO think Silco wanted to get rid of Vi out of a fear that Jinx could possibly abandon him as well but i think most of his motivation was to protect Jinx as he knew Vi’s return would cause some serious mental fuckery and he didnt want her to have to face that. I also think that his last words were to try and reassure her.... Silco knew Jinx struggled with the guilt of being responsible for her family and friends deaths... he didnt want his death to be another source of blame and fault and guilt. I feel that he honestly wanted to let her know she was loved and forgiven and to try and ease that burden from her mind. Thats what "you're perfect" meant... it meant "dont blame yourself, you didnt do anything wrong". And maybe, even, Silco was proud of her... because even in her state of mind, being haunted by her demons, she still was able to react well enough to protect herself. So maybe, just maybe, he felt a little bit of peace in dying feeling confident that no one would be able to hurt his daughter... she was strong enough now, he did what he could to support her and she was perfect. Even Silco himself couldnt fight like she could. He had to surround himself with a criminal empire to be safe. Jinx will never need that. So parenting... is Silco a good dad? Personally i think yes. I understand people who say no. He definitely helped his daughter grow into a criminal who was comfortable with violence and murder and definitely didnt take her to a therapist or get her meds for her madness. He absolutely could have done better. But we have to take into consideration where they were. They were in the slums where violence was like currency and a necessary survival tactic. We have seen no proof of therapists even existing in Piltover but if there are any, i am certain Zaunites dont have access to them. But within their circumstance, within the understanding that BEFORE having this daughter he had already built up a criminal empire and the foundation for being a drug lord, he did what he could for her. He tried his best to meet what he perceived to be her needs. he taught her his coping methods for what he perceived to be his similar trauma. And he did a pretty good job at that. He saw that she didnt want to be left behind and abandoned. So he left his space wide open for her to intrude on whenever she wanted. She felt insecure about being weak and unable to help so he taught her how to fight and defend herself in a place where that is necessary to survive. She wanted to feel like she was helping? He gave her a job, made her a valuable part of the team even if others didnt want to work with her. He tried his fucking best to fill ALL those gaps and insecurities and give her strength, independence, and confidence. And notice, btw, in scenes with Silco EXCEPT for the final scene we NEVER see Jinx have a full blown mental breakdown. She is always calm and collected and confident and comfortable and safe with him. She doesnt have visions of the dead around him. She isnt haunted by her guilt and her fuck ups with him. Yes, her insecurities cause visions as a result of his conversation about Savika cleaning up a mess. sure. and yes, when she TELLS him about a freak out she has a mini pull back to it in her head and he immediately helps her snap out of it back to reality. Yes, she went to the bridge to recover the gem because she “needed to complete the weapon” and she didnt want to seem like a fuck up to him. And yes, she thought he was going to choose the nation of Zaun over her and turn her in. but those were because of her internalized fears. Because she had been abandoned and left behind by those she loved and trusted before. So she could never really be 100% confident that it wouldnt happen again. but Silco did his best to support her and be there for her at all times and to never make her feel that way. To me, a HUGE contrasting difference is that every time she is with the firelights or with Vi we see her struggle and grapple with her mind. There is not a single time she DOESNT have visions with those interactions.Villain or not, at the end of the day... i think that Jinx was better sticking with Silco. I think her mind had a better chance of healing with Silco and she had a better chance of feeling truly valued and loved with Silco. Vi would not have accepted adult Jinx as she is and would have brought back her lack of confidence 10 fold, telling her she needed to be different. We hear it, MULTIPLE times that Vi had that intention. She didnt see Jinx as who her sister is. She saw Jinx as a manipulation that needed to be reversed. She told Silco she would “erase whatever fucked up delusions” he put in her head. She told Jinx “its okay, you did what you had to to survive” from the perspective of assuming Jinx was forced into this behavior otherwise she would be killed. Even at the tea party Vi says “You’ll never have to see him again”. All of Vi’s statements come from this idea that Jinx is something that needs to be undone via removal from Silco. She never ONCE considers that Jinx IS Powder. This is who Powder is when she is empowered and confident and can handle things herself. If Jinx would have stayed with Vi when younger, in the aftermath of the death of Milo, Clagger, and Vander, i think Vi would have had trouble controlling her rage and would have let outbursts of blaming Jinx slip. And much to Jinx’s detriment, Vi also would have always tried to protect and shield her from the cruelty of Zaun and never really let Jinx thrive and grow into someone who could fend for themself. Vi says this herself as well. She tells Vander she grew up knowing she was less than them (Pilties) and her place was in Zaun. She wanted more for Powder and a different life for her. And thats fine, i understand the love of wanting to protect your little kid sister and hope to give them better than what you had. That would have been Vi's way of loving her sister. Trying to protect her from the cruelty of the world. I get it. But i dont think that was realistic... Vi would have known how hard it was to get out of Zaun and how unlikely that was to happen... and Jinx would have grown into someone who cant survive in Zaun without her sister there at every turn. She would have continued to be insecure, scared, etc. At the end of the day i really think Silco was a great father to Jinx and really truly loved and cared for her. Vi not being able to see that because she had her own predetermined notions about Silco... when she tells Jinx "its okay" in response to Jinx killing Silco vs "you're a jinx" and blaming her for Vander and the others... It just saddens me how much that must have hurt Jinx further... how that was like salt in the wound. Jinx hears Vi perceive THIS death as okay. because it didnt mean anything sad or bad to Vi. It was what Vi wanted. But all of those deaths meant something to Jinx... all of them... and whether Vi liked him or not, Silco had been in Jinx’s life a long time through significant developmental years. He was important to her. He was so important to her that she immediately threw down pow-pow to run to his side. Knowing that Cait was on the floor and could grab it again. Knowing Zapper was on the floor by Silco. She made herself completely vulnerable to rush to his side. Hurting him snapped her out of her delusion. And she immediately had pain and fear and sadness in her voice. Vi would have seen and heard all of this... She would have seen how much this death meant to Jinx... but still... her response was “its okay”. I wish we could have seen more of Vi's face in that scene... from what we do see and based off of the dialogue before his death, i think Vi is glad Silco is dead. I think she said "it's okay" as a celebratory "it's okay, you are free now" not a sympathetic "it's okay, i understand your pain right now over this persons death" In the moment Jinxs bangs are covering her face and Vi says “its okay” you can see.. just for a moment, that Jinx goes from the heavy breathing of processing her grief to a moment of a huff at that comment and it just doubles down in my mind how painful this scene is for Jinx... she just realized her sister doesnt see her.. not really. Her sister wants something they can never get back. Everything Vi said in that tea party scene.. Jinx had an expression of... not quite disgust and not only disappointment. Maybe contempt or disdain? i cant think of the word... but it was like “yeah, of course... whatever”. But every time Silco spoke to Jinx at the tea party her expression softened, she felt truly loved and impacted by his words, it was just so hard for her to let go of the idea of Vi. Im really curious to see if Silco becomes one of her headspace buddies or not... i imagine if he does, it will be a comforting one. Encouraging her rage and violence? sure. but not to make her doubt her own thoughts... to make her double down on them and feel more confident. I know a lot of people think she built Fishbones for Silco... and i LOVE that sentiment... but unfortunately Jinx had Fishbones way before. The council archives i posted above have a reference to Fishbones and there are screenshots of her kid drawings in The Last Drop when she was little of Fishbones’ early designs. But i like to think that the fucked up eyes were an addition she made to the original design from childhood as paying homage to Silco. And she could have turned any weapon into the one to take the gem. She CHOSE to modify fishbones.. maybe because of Silcos love of the creatures.. at least that is what i like to think. Either way, i am so very excited for season 2. Sorry - long rant is long lol

#Trying to clean these up a little and condense where i can >.<#long brain rambles are long #Arcane #Silco #Jinx #Bad dad?#Good dad?#this show is soo good at showing character depth and complexity #it hurts my heart #Someone please love me like Silco loved Jinx

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astriefer · 4 years ago

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I will elaborate more later, but I reached 100 followers on Tumbler and I just find it? So? Amazing??? I don't get why someone would follow me but I love you all a lot!! <3

Thank you @kit-12 for dealing with my incapable mind and helping me get the courage to post it. You're the best :3

Warning: bad writing and possible fluff.

"Come here," Cordelia wheedled, spreading her arms. "Come to your sister, azizam."

Their sibling, sitting on the other side of the carpet, was too busy playing with his toy to notice. He was bubbling and giggling as he shook the Persian doll vigorously.

"This is ridiculous," commented Alastair from his place on the armchair. He laid there, twisted so one leg was over the arm of the chair and the other fell to the floor. He also, for five minutes straight, kept saying how ludicrous Cordelia's attempts were.

"You will see," she retorted, redoubling her effort for the sake of proving Alastair wrong. She reached out her arms and signaled their sibling to get closer. "Come on, Baraadar-e koochektar. Let's prove our ill-tempered brother you can do it!"

Alastair rolled his eyes, cutting his gaze back to the newspaper in his hands. "He still too young to crawl. Leave him off alone."

"No," she insisted. She looked at her brother with a keen look, despite his eyes rested on the printed words on the newspaper. "He will. Have some faith, Alastair."

"I have faith just alright," he said. "But he'll do it when he's ready."

Cordelia didn't resist making a face. Their baby brother laughed at it, a toothless grin that reminded Cordelia of Alastair's.

That was one thing she and Alastair would argue about frequently: Whose smile is more like the baby's smile, what weapons would he use growing up, would he like Persian literature and art like them and Maman, what food he'd like, what music he'd prefer (Alastair stated their brother loves classical music, she's certain he prefer Blues much better).

"You talk as if I make him walk on a five feet tall rope. It's just crawling." She smiled fondly at her baby brother. "Oh, little one, I hope you won't end up like Alastair." She pretended to shudder from the thought. "Great Lord, I'd do all in my force to prevent such tragedy."

"Very amusing," Alastair said dryly.

Her brother looked up at her, chubby cheeks flushed from glee and expression clear of any fuss. Cordelia smiled to him encouragingly, coaxing him up to try and reach her. He glanced at her innocently for three steady seconds before ignoring her again in favor of the toy in his hand.

Cordelia stared blankly. Alastair mumbled under his breath, and she turned to glare at him. He pressed his lips together, clearly suppressing a grin.

"What?" she demanded.

"Maybe he just doesn't want to come to you," he suggested. She captured the smug smirk playing on his lips and narrowed her eyes at him.

"What is it you implying?" she demanded, peeved already.

Alastair didn't seem bothered by her exasperation. He cocked his eyebrows. "Nothing, sister. Nothing at all."

She crossed her arms on her chest. "You think he is not trying because he isn't interested in coming to me, especially."

"How observant of you."

He was indifferent to her irritation, which made her even more annoyed. She huffed at Alastair's irksome demeanor. "You won't do any better on this field."

"Of course I will," her brother said in a superior voice. "You clearly don't know how to capture his eye."

"And you do?"

"Yes, most obviously, " he responded.

It was Cordelia's turn to arch her eyebrows, a challenging smile on her face. "Oh, really? So why don't you, dear brother, try to make him crawl toward you?"

Alastair made his signature eye-rolling. "Because it's childish. And because he can very well do so on his own."

She clicked her tongue. "Are these excuses? Besides, you said a moment ago he's still too young."

"He is," Alastair clarified.

"But he's a Carstairs, we always come ahead of our time," she smiled at him. She swept imaginary dust away from her dress. It was too late, she knew; Alastair's challenge was accepted - and she was determined to prove him wrong. "If I didn't know better, I would say you don't think he'll come to you, seeing as you refuse to prove your saying of him not wanting to crawl only to me. You should have no problem then."

He squinted at her, grumbling, and she thought he might simply go to his room and ignore her for the rest of the day. However, he tossed his newspaper aside and looked her straight in the eye. "I know what you are trying to do."

"I have no doubt," she answered. "But it's working, isn't it?"

He didn't reply but glanced at their brother. Their sibling has been rolling over, rocking, and dragging himself on his belly in the course of the last months. She always was fascinated and full of joy to see their baby brother stumbling around; pushing himself to sit, reaching to whatever near to grab or investigate with dark curious eyes.

"Just give him a toy he likes. He is fond of that baby rattle with the dragons' decorations as much as this Persian doll."

"Ah," Cordelia said, faking the incredulous tone in her voice. Her glinting eyes and curving smile failed her, though. "You need to bribe him with toys! How poor of you, Alastair."

He rolled his eyes again. Cordelia chuckled. "Let's make a deal. If I lose, I will give you one of my books."

Alastair tilted his head quizzically, but his look was drab. "A book?"

"It's a very fine book," she protested. "Tessa Herondale bought it for me, a rare book in Farsi, so it's sentimental. Just to show how gravely I take it."

"I am not convinced," he revealed pensively.

Alastair hummed and looked over at her, and she scowled. She knew what he wanted to hear. "I will not say it."

"You already know my answer, then."

She restrained herself before she could stick her tongue out at him. She begrudgingly nodded. Then, "As you may. But if I win, you have to perform a song in front of all my friends."

His eyes widened and he made some sort of choking sound. "Pardon?"

"You heard me," she smiled mischievously. "It's only fair."

Alastair considered her, still thunderstruck. "In what world is it fair? A song in exchange for a book I don't desire? I eat my hat before this would ever happen."

"So to Maman, Papa, Risa, and myself. And our sibling, of course. Be that as it may, I agreed to add the second part to your request, so I want a song."

Alastair shook his head but seemed less strained. He scowled - not unlike she did before - but deemed it fair. "Alright."

She pushed it far enough already. Yet, she gave it a last try. "Include that little say you made me add, and we are on our way."

Alastair's expression made his answer clear. Cordelia rubbed her hands together. "Your face when you lose will be enough, I suppose. The song is just a benefit."

Alastair snorted. He lifted himself to his feet and reached to them. "We will see."

He sat cross-legged on another edge of the carpet, so both were in front of their baby brother on different corners.

Cordelia spread his arms, twisting her fingers to gesture to the baby to come. Alastair was a bit stiff as he called their brother's name, too self-conscious to do the same thing. Their sibling seemed baffled by the additional attention drawn toward him, ruthlessly rattling his doll and staring at them.

"Look how surprised he seems by getting your attention," Cordelia pondered. Their brother rocked back a forth on the muted carpet, pushing his hand into his face as if he was wondering what he should do.

"Nonsense. He always looks like that," he dismissed.

"I decided to ignore your remark. Azizam, come here," she cajoled, concentrating on her mission. "Would you not like to play some music with me?"

One thing both siblings agreed on was their brother's attachment to music. Once, left on the kitchen floor, he took a wooden spoon and decided to hit a pot with it, ostensibly creating music for his own ears. He later threw it, unintentionally, at Cordelia. Alastair could barely keep his face straight when it happened and reminisced it for weeks.

"Who's bribing who now, Cordelia?" quipped her brother, and was rewarded by a giggle from their brother. He twirled an eyebrow. "It seems like he got my sense of humor."

"A natural disaster, really," she teased. Alastair gave her an amused look. A small sound made her glance forward. The word 'music' apparently intrigued him because their sibling's eyes were fixed on her.

"Oh, Would you like that, baby brother? " She smiled victoriously, spreading her arms. "Come to me, and we could play together."

"Or, I could play the piano, unlike Cordelia," suggested Alastair. He changed position so that he knelt now, pressing his hands on the knees. He leaned forward as if sharing a secret. "And you could assist with the drums."

Cordelia pouted. "That was my idea," she complained. "And I will be a much better companion to play music with."

Alastair rolled his eyes again. "So to speak."

he opened her mouth to tell her older brother he is wasting time and is wrong about what he is trying to prove when she saw the movement in the corner of her eye. Their brother left behind his toy. He swung his legs, slipping more than once, putting one small hand after the other as he attempted to crawl.

"Alastair," she gasped, forgetting their banter. "He is doing it! He's crawling!"

She turned, elated, to share her awe with Alastair. He looked at their brother wonderingly - It was a rare, open expression on her brother's face that made her smirk wider. His lips turned upward and tinted his face with a smile. She suspected her expression is similar.

The older Carstairs siblings observed as their brother made his way toward them on the carpet. Cordelia decided no matter whom the baby will come to, she couldn't be more joyous. "Mother should see it," Alastair mumbled.

Cordelia nodded. "It would be a nice surprise when she gets back from tea with the Lightwoods."

Alastair swept his head so swiftly a few strands fell on his eyes. "Wait," he stuttered out. "Which Lightwoods?"

Cordelia flushed and turned her attention back to her little brother. She watched as he tried to move his leg unsuccessfully. "Come to your sister, Baraadar!"

"Layla," he said, his voice informing her he won't let her away without an answer. "Is Mother with Sophie and Gideon Lightwood?"

"Maybe," she conceded. She kept her eyes on their brother "Maybe not."

"Cordelia-"

"It's our brother's first time crawling, do you really want to miss it?"

"We'll talk about it later," he snapped, and Cordelia found it inequitable. She had nothing to do with whom their mother went out with, and it was certainly not her fault Sophie and Gideon Lightwood happened to be Alastair's partner's parents.

Now fully settled on their brother, they watched as he ungracefully wiggled himself toward them. They encouraged him to get up when he fell and smiled at him when he raised his head to their voices. Cordelia even clapped her hands.

The baby crawled, not fairly straight, but if she reached her hands out she could hold him now. So could Alastair, but she tried her luck. "I think it considered my win."

"Not quite yet, Layla." The baby fell on his belly. He struggles to find his balance and continued to come closer, his visage as if he wondered himself what was going on.

They watched in astonishment as he kept wiggling his legs and hands, and then passed them. They both changed confused glanced and turned over, watching as a pair of hands grabbed their sibling's small figure.

"Risa!"

Their baby brother snuggled himself contentedly in Risa's embrace, and she gave the both of them amused looks. She turned away to leave the room.

The Carstairs siblings locked eyes with one another.

"That's unjust!" She exclaimed. "Risa wasn't one of the choices."

As Risa walked away, they heard her laughter echoing from the corridor. Alastair's eyes lent on hers again. "So, what was it about Mother and the Lightwoods?"

Cordelia just grunted and shook her head.

_ _

Thank you for reading so far! I hope you liked it!!

This is still very weird to me. 100 followers??? I suppose some doesn't remember they followed me at all, but I am still quite honored 🥺

I can make the 100 followers celebration thingie🙈 although I'm not as crafty as others I don't think someone wants to know me better, I can answer asks about my opinions, headcanons, maybe a fic if it's Alastair centered, stuff like that :p Please tell me what you think and if you'd like that!!

I'll tag some people who I much regard as mutuals or friends here! I am glad I got to meet you all, no matter if we don't talk at all. If you are reading this, you are amazing 🌺

@fairchilds-and-herondales @littlx-songbxrd @upsidedown-cats @nott-the-best @rinadragomir @gummybears-4u @aceofjesper @dianasarrow @no-scones-allowed @stitchkiss @stxr-thxif @itsdaughterofthemoon @shadowhuntertrash @doitforthecarstairs @banescrown @greymistttt

#me trying to add the gay sitting agenda thing #you can't understand how many headcanons I put into this small thing #also me headcanoning the baby is a boy bit we'll see #Only you know I headcanon the Carstiars siblings to playfully arguing over who is the best sibling #and that is what Alastair wants Cordelia to say but you didn't hear that from me #it's top secret don't tell anyone #didn't give the baby a name I didn't want to #~get attached~#Also them talking with their sibling in Farsi makes me soft :)#ok finished ranting for now #I haven't made a gif in centuries I forgot it's can be complicated but fun #Thank you all so much!!#100 followers #100 followers fic #cordelia carstairs #alastair carstairs #baby carstairs #cordelia and alastair #tlh #the carstairs siblings #carstairs family #I couldn't settle on a name #sad

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revalise · 4 years ago

Text

Afterdate | UshiOi

Pairing: Ushijima Wakatoshi x Oikawa Tooru

Genre: Fluff, first date

Rating: SFW

Words: 6900+

A/N: This was for UshiOi Week (@ushioiweek2020) but I wasn't able to make the deadline. I wrote Ushijima and Tendou scenes on a writer's block, phew. Thank you to Risa for beta reading this! I owe it all to you!I have quite a number of Haikyuu one-shot ideas, including thrillers and angst, I still need to write. But uni is taking a lot of my time and I haven't fully surpassed my writer's block yet (hence, why I've been posting less and less). If you enjoyed it, don't hesitate to comment. See you on the next! Nevertheless, I hope you love the story as much as I loved writing it!

Masterlist

Ushijima stared at the slightly breathless wonder in front of him as he skidded to a halt. His eyes twinkled, just a bit—in a way they usually did when he was amused but tried hard not to be. Oikawa looked spectacular. Utterly and completely spectacular. A little stiff on the edges, but spectacular

It was a terrible date. Until it wasn’t.

The usually loud metropolis was quiet as a wraith as Tendou and Ushijima waited for the bus home. The kiss of smooth, cold breeze enveloped them both, making Tendou shiver.

Tendou rubbed his hands on his arms as the condensation of his breath blew against the low temperature before whipping his head to the side, only to see Ushijima dart his gaze to the road, patiently waiting. He didn’t care at all about the freezing temperature, standing still as the bus finally arrived, making Tendou frown at their differences.

He would always find himself beside Ushijima as it seemed they always came in a pair. And he knew how different they were. Tendou was the lively one, while Ushijima remained as composed as ever. For a moment, he thought he’d never outdo the captain of the team, but Tendou had a girlfriend waiting for him, waiting for a message regarding his whereabouts.

That alone was enough to make him think he was ahead of the stoic captain. And as a serial dater, Tendou knows how girls turn into something else when their boyfriends don't text back in two minutes.

But when he took out his phone, it was dead.

So the horror that produced sweat on his forehead cascaded down from his neck, even in the temperature, was accompanied by a hammering chest. He knew he needed to shoot his girlfriend a message.

He was left with no choice but to ask Ushijima to borrow his phone. As he fumbled through his friend’s phone after he had no choice, something piqued his interest.

Tendou paid a short glance beside him and his mouth formed a sly smile. The shock mixed with amusement on his face was inexplicable when he saw the Tinder app on his best friend's phone. He covered his mouth to stifle a snort, careful not to wake passengers in their slumber in the back row, late at night from volleyball practice.

Ushijima directed his attention at Tendou, who was looking at him maliciously. The moment his eyes landed on the phone, he understood why.

He tried to hide his surprise, but failed miserably as he quickly tried to retrieve his phone back from Tendou.

Thanks to all the blocking techniques Tendou learned from the team, he held the phone as high as he could out of Ushijima's reach. There was no way Ushijima could retrieve his phone without pushing Tendou over and making a scene since he sat on the window side.

"Hm," Tendou teased. "Since when did you have this?"

"I don't know why it's in there. Give it back," Ushijima argued with a straight face, but the falter in his voice was enough to prove that he was lying. And he wasn't a good liar.

Tendou wiggled his brows, tilting his head. From Tendou's above peripheral, the app successfully loads, and he immediately turns his attention to it, raising it further from Ushijima's grasp.

He pressed on Ushijima's profile. Gods above, did it make him cringe, not to mention the photo Ushijima used for his profile taken about four years ago.

Ushijima, 20

Miyagi Region

"Ugh," Tendou released a sigh. "Have you ever dated anyone from here?"

Ushijima sighed, sitting straight as he set his head down, "No, I don't understand it. I only swiped, and then nothing."

So nobody swiped for him, Tendou thought, feeling both sorry and amused for his friend at the same time. He should change his picture on the app. He looks like an annoying know-it-all, 15 year old. Nobody would go for him.

"Well, that's why you have me," Tendou grinned and head-locked Ushijima. "I'm going to help you get a date!"

The volleyball captain slowly looked up at his friend, "How?"

Tendou only smiled, "Leave it to me."

All Ushijima could ever do was sigh and look over the window as the bus moved further away. He kept his eyes on the bright and warm lights of establishments outside that elongated from the bus’s movement.

He knew that fighting Tendou was futile. In all these years, he had known how the redhead always did whatever he wanted, and how he was good at getting all that. Besides, Ushijima felt too tired to argue anyway.

The continuous clicks of the camera brought his conscience back from almost spacing out. Immediately, he turned his head over to the source beside him to see a smiling Tendou holding his phone as if he’d just come up with something interesting of some sort.

“Did you know it's rude to take photos of somebody without their knowledge?”

The redhead only rolled his eyes with a grin, turning the phone over to Ushijima to show the new profile he’d arranged. "And did you know I only did that as a favor?"

His new bio now read:

Ushijima, 20

Miyagi Region

I must be in a museum because you are a work of art

The four year old photo he once had as his profile picture was now replaced with the one Tendou took.

It was Ushijima's side profile looking outside over the window. The lights of the establishments they passed through created a nostalgic aesthetic along with the slight blurriness of the photo, but never missing his straight, high nose and the sharpness of his jaw. Oh, and that aura of both seriousness and mysteriousness that Tendou knew would catch the attention of anyone who’d look at it.

Ushijima stared at the phone closely, reading the new bio Tendou wrote for him, "That doesn't feel like me at all."

Tendou ignored his friend's remark, giving the phone back to him. "Now try swiping again."

Ushijima took his phone back, observing what buttons to press as he had forgotten how to use the app between the long months since he used it. Finally, the profiles load and he's greeted with a certain boy with light brown hair looking rather cheerful in his picture.

Oikawa, 20

Miyagi Region

If nothing lasts forever, can you be my nothing? ;)

Ushijima scrunched his nose, making Tendou roll his eyes as he grabbed the phone back from him.

“You don’t just stare at it, okay?” He swipes right and a match appears, “See? You swipe and then that will appear if they like you too.”

“Why would they like me if they don’t even know me yet?” the captain asked, tilting his head to the side.

Tendou grimaced, looking a little funny at the innocent question asked of him. “They like your face, okay?” he replied. “Okay?”

Oikawa couldn’t remember how long he’d been talking to the brunette he met on Tinder. Yes, Ushijima was a dry texter, but for some reason, for some reason, he couldn’t stop himself from talking to him. Not even when every topic shifted to thinking if they’d ever had milk from the same cow. Because Ushijima took him to a place where he only knew two things: that he couldn’t stop smiling and couldn’t stop looking forward to all his replies.

The smell of sweat and the sounds of bouncing balls and shoes scraping against the gym floor sang around Oikawa as he made himself comfortably seated all alone on the bench, taking advantage of the fifteen-minute break the coach lent the team.

He laced his phone around his nimble fingers while the other danced around the clean, white towel he used to wipe his forehead before setting it down beside him, placing it along various colored tumblers that belonged to his teammates.

Iwaizumi watched Oikawa from a distance, gulping down on his tumbler, rivulets of water running down from his lips to his Adam's apple, all the way down to his chest. He narrowed his eyes at the flamboyant big shot as he lowered his drink.

He didn’t know why exactly, but there was something different about Oikawa today.

One could say that there was something quite off about the confident captain of the team. Usually, he’d be socializing with the team, or annoying Iwaizumi during breaks, but today he chose to confine himself in the corner, craving what little quiet the noisy gym could offer. Of course, underneath the winks, smiles, exaggerated swagger, and childish antics lies a much more serious persona for when a situation demands it, channeling all that bravado in his pursuit.

But what was so important that could possibly bring Oikawa’s tenacity and attention completely locked on his phone, which he hasn’t put down since the first minute? What could possibly have Oikawa on edge that he couldn’t keep his right heel from lifting and dropping over and over, restlessly?

Oikawa couldn’t stress how long he’d been waiting for Ushijima to ask him out. He wished to have Ushijima beside him, wished he could inhale his scent—and how he probably smelled of dark wood with a hint of vanilla, wished Ushijima’s fingers threaded his hair, and how he wished they were something more.

Truthfully, he couldn’t explain why he’s so intoxicated with the man. He couldn’t determine or distinguish the weight of various reasons why, as if translating them into words would be translating symbols into letters.

Perhaps, the first time Oikawa let himself be swayed by the awkward and dry texter was after he had only slipped into his blanket. Ready to go into a deep slumber after reviewing tapes of his enemy team a day before the match to chalk out strategies, when his phone lit up, the light coming from the screen illuminating a halo around the corner.

From: Ushijima (sent at 9:43pm)

No. You’re the only one I talk to.

His breathing hitched, and he rose as quickly as he laid on the bed. In the small light, his bronze eyes glittered. A corner of his mouth twitched upwards and he wondered, Only me?

Oikawa had teased Ushijima about staying up late to reply to others. Vague, but just the right words to get the exact answer he wanted from the male: if he’d been talking to anyone else other than him. But he found himself kept up by the lingering messages from Ushijima.

A few weeks after that conversation, and at the mention that Ushijima also played volleyball, here he sat anxiously alone on the gym bench, trying the same scheme yet again.

Another word, another hint that he was interested in meeting Ushijima.

To: Ushijima (sent at 4:30pm)

Yeah, volleyball is good! But I miss hanging out sometimes >_<

Oikawa bit his bottom lip, anxiously staring at his phone that had just shifted to a black screen as he waited for a reply. He sighed, dropping his eyelids as he slumped his shoulders back from all the tension he didn’t know had been building up.

His phone pinged, almost sending his body into a full gallop, immediately raising his gaze to the screen. His heart jumped at the sight of the text preview, Do you want to…

This is the moment. He’s finally going to ask me out. Oikawa smiled to himself, regaining his composure as he sat upright. He inhaled slowly, swiping his fingers to unlock the message. Nevermind the smell of sweat. This is the moment.

From: Ushijima (sent at 4:32pm)

Do you want to play volleyball?

Oh. The corners of his mouth dropped just as soon as they pulled upward at the reply. His shoulders sagged, setting his head down in disappointment. Oikawa couldn’t quite make it up, but sometimes, Ushijima seemed to be out of place.

Sometimes, he’d read signals as fast as he misinterpreted others.

This is hopeless, Oikawa laughed to himself. The array of possibilities he set for himself and Ushijima smeared like oil in the air, drowning out his suave as he tried to shut them all down. Then he tipped his head back, breathing in deep. Breathing in the disappointment, taking it into his head that Ushijima was most likely not at all interested in that way. Anxiety and embarrassment mingled into his chest.

But his phone pinged another time, and it sent his body into another jolt.

From: Ushijima (sent at 4:33pm)

I mean, do you want to go on a date?

And for a moment, he couldn’t breathe under the crushing weight that pushed in on him.

“Are you going on a date or to a Sunday morning service?” Tendou cackled as he watched Ushijima put on his necktie over his deep violet long sleeves he paired with black slacks, sitting comfortably on the bed.

Ushijima reciprocated Tendou's gaze through the full body mirror, his eyes squinted, fingers securing the knot of his tie, “What's wrong? Isn't this presentable?”

“Formal. Too formal!” he said as he raised his hands up to stress his remark, barely unable to stop the wide, malicious smile.

“Then tell me,” Ushijima sighed in defeat, realizing that his friend might be right. “What should I wear?”

He was so hopeless that Tendou wondered, What would he do without me? What would have become of him if it weren’t for me guiding him in the big world out there?

Tendou could go on and on about teasing Ushijima with the kind of clothing he chose to wear. Who goes to a date wearing a church outfit? But he saw how Ushijima needed genuine help and pushed his remarks to the side, lending his friend a helping hand on his first Tinder date.

Actually, his first date in general.

“You sound like that time when you finally asked your match out on a date,” Tendou chuckled. “Oh, it was thanks to me.”

Ushijima turned to face Tendou, “I thought it was obvious.”

“Obvious?” Tendou’s hand reached for his stomach as he laughed at his best friend’s words. “How is asking someone to play volleyball flirting? How is that considered flirting?”

Thanks to Tendou, Ushijima was able to make a correction. He was fast to take the latter’s phone in his hand and send another reply. The shock that reverberated into Tendou’s body only dispersed once they received an enthusiastic reply. A feeling that Ushijima would never have felt because of his inexperience.

“But I don’t just ask anyone to play volleyball,” Ushijima replied, tone low and neutral, completely clueless. If he was embarrassed, it didn’t show. Rather, his face remained distant as usual.

The red-haired cleared his throat. It was one of those rare moments when he thought he should be honest with Ushijima before he ventured into a world he hadn't stepped into: dating.

“You’re hopeless. But there’s one thing I can tell you,” Tendou clicked his tongue, eyes shifting left and right trying to search for the perfect words.

He weighed in the list of possibilities that could happen to Ushijima and his date. Of course, there was already a high probability that both of them would be as awkward as ever. But Tendou took notice of the amount of emojis Ushijima’s date uses, so he couldn’t be that boring.

Sometimes, there are just people who could make everything boring. Unfortunately, Ushijima was part of that.

Tendou chuckled inwardly at his thoughts.

Ushijima was intimidating, and he doesn’t speak much. But when he does, he can come off as blunt. He was the kind of man who spoke no lies. He didn’t hesitate to speak what’s on his mind. He didn’t have any concerns. Only that he disliked things he didn’t understand.

He had the oozing air of confidence and reliability about him. He was a fantastic player on the court, but he was just a regular person outside of that. And sometimes, Tendou wondered if Ushijima had any fun at all.

His scrutinizing gaze brought Ushijima’s eyes to meet his through the mirror as the lad unbuttoned his shirt to change. “Have fun.”

Oikawa’s blood pumped through him in a strange rhythm. With every step he took, his feet felt heavy, lightweight, soft, and hard all at once, dragging them to move. He was tizzy as he approached the cinema—where he and Ushijima agreed to meet, biting down on his bottom lip.

The man walking in front of him paid him a short glower as if he’d been suspecting Oikawa for his stalking gait. Oikawa reciprocated the man’s hostility with an apologetic smile, halting his steps and embracing the frigid weather around him.

He took in a few deep breaths as he closed his eyes. Then he opened them, and the big ‘CINEMA’ sign glowed red in the light of the dark and the busy streets and youth passing by.

The first snow still hasn’t touched the ground, but it was felt in the frigid cold. He posted himself beside the entrance. He could feel the warm temperature coming from inside the hall whenever the doors opened. There was that burning need to invite himself in, but he stood outside, patiently waiting in the cold.

All around him, there were laughs and smiles from people around his age. Mostly couples, but he spotted friends who came in groups. Some were buying tickets from the booth manned by a straight-faced fellow, who impassively bid goodbye by saying, “Enjoy your movie.”

Some, he guessed, were waiting for someone. The restless tapping of their foot against the ground, the constant checking of time, and the biting of their lips. All of which Oikawa recognized. Because he was doing the same thing.

He raised his left hand, pushing aside his long, blue sweater sleeves to reveal his leather watch, “6:47…” he whispered.

There were still thirteen minutes left to see Ushijima for the first time. Thirteen minutes to hold on to his dear sanity.

He tapped his foot restlessly against the pavement once more, releasing another breath that condensed in the air, making him push his khaki scarf upwards to cover his mouth.

As soon as he raised his gaze towards what’s in front of him, he saw the man he’d been yearning to see. Behind the screen. Behind all those words. Behind all the smiles. And on that cold night, he saw him for the first time.

Oikawa’s eyes widened as he watched Ushijima from only eight feet away.

Ushijima’s body was turned to the side, giving Oikawa only the picture of his long coat, cropped light-colored trousers, and loafers. His side profile boasted that high nose and that brown hair—and Oikawa wondered if it was as smooth as it looked.

It’s literally unfair how attractive he is, Oikawa groaned in his thoughts. He knew how strange it was to look at Ushijima. But he found difficulty in not staring at him. He couldn’t find the courage to tear his gaze away from him. Not when Ushijima had that mesmerizing aura about him.

He was all too aware of how cliche he sounded, and he smiled like a fool when he realized that, maybe, he liked it. And he was still smiling like a fool when Ushijma whipped his head in his direction, locking their gazes.

Ushijima narrowed his eyes, making Oikawa’s smile drop as soon as he realized. But Ushijima was already walking toward him, and Oikawa couldn’t breathe.

“Good evening,” Ushijima greeted as soon as he was in front of Oikawa. If he was nervous, if he was shy, it didn’t show.

Oikawa noted the aura Ushijima emitted. He was, perhaps, more than what he had expected. A little too unreal, maybe. He swallowed, but his throat was too dry. “Hello…”

Ushijima’s lips twitched a little upwards. Even as he smiled, there was still something serious left in the air. “Have you been waiting long?” he checked his watch then returned to the speechless Oikawa.

He’s so pretty. I think I’m gonna faint, Oikawa thought before he realized he was asked a question. He shook his head to disperse himself of unwanted thoughts, creasing his brows as he leaned a little forward. Ushijima’s scented soap caressed his nose, a touch of wood… and is that baby powder? “I’m sorry. What was that?”

“Have you been waiting long?” Ushijima repeated.

“Oh. No,” Oikawa retreated. “No, I haven’t. I just got here,” he chuckled, trying to conceal the awkwardness in his tone. Feeling a little anxious, he asked, “And you?”

“I also just got here,” Ushijima answered dryly. Then his eyes went past Oikawa, and both felt the warm temperature from inside the hall, the noises sounding louder as the door swung open before it shut on its own and the noises died down with it.

Ushijima brought his gaze back to Oikawa, “Would you like to go inside? I’ve got the tickets.”

“Sure…” Oikawa smiled awkwardly.

Ushijima pushed the door open for Oikawa, to which he thanked him for. As soon as Ushijima couldn’t see his face, he closed his eyes in frustration. Say something!

Oikawa found himself speechless around Ushijima. It seemed like all of his confidence had died at the very sight of him. There was something intimidating about Ushijima that he couldn’t quite explain.

Yes, he’d been waiting for this moment for so long. And he hated himself for feeling as if he wasn’t even trying hard to connect with him.

The thundering drum in his heart pulsed through his ears, drowning out the sound of talks and the smell of popcorn invading his nose. He was shifting his weight from one foot to another as they waited in line for the cinema room, pocketing his trembling hands as he started at his feet.

He squeezed the bridge of his nose with two fingers, then lifted his head as he smiled at the staff that manned the entrance to the cinema room before following Ushijima ahead. His throat was tight in nervousness—a feeling he wasn’t very much familiar with—even as they sat in their seats.

Oikawa shifted his gaze over to Ushijima, and found he kept his eyes on the big screen, the flickering light from the changing scenes illuminated the planes of his face. He could watch Ushijima the entire time. Nevermind that Romeo and Juliet movie using the original dialogue. He couldn’t even understand it.

Then his eyes shifted towards his hand that rested on the recliner, making him frown. Since the movie started, he already placed his hand where Ushijima could hold it. But the movie was probably half over already, and nothing.

A child’s cry drowned the actors’ voices and shook the whole cinema, turning everyone’s attention to the source in the row behind them. Only Ushijima did not bother to pay a glance towards the disturbance.

Oikawa thought, Why make a child watch Romeo and Juliet?

He stifled a laugh and his hand flew to cover the corners of his mouth from twitching upwards as cheese popcorn fell from right above Ushijima’s head.

That was all it took to have Ushijima turn his attention to the annoying child. The audience expressed annoyance through angry muffles, but Ushijima remained calm and collected, politely accepting apologies from the man, whom Oikawa guessed as the father, as he tried to soothe the crying child.

Ushijima caught Oikawa’s attention, but it was too late for him to hide his smile. Oikawa laughed awkwardly, then hoisted his drink he hadn’t touched from the recliner to hand over to Ushijima.

“Drink water,” he said even as he himself was dehydrated.

Musicians took up spots inside the restaurant that Ushijima booked for the date. The room was filled with a blend of soft conversations, the clang of plates, and violins. Such a beautiful sound, if only that one musician knew how to carry a tune.

Oikawa and Ushijima kept straight faces, looking at each other as if they could tell what the other was thinking.

It was grand, but terrible. The dishes were too small. Certainly not enough to satiate their hunger. And that music? Gods above.

He registered the change in Ushijima’s face as he watched him intently across the table that separated them both. His ears were turning a little red, his forearms braced on the table. While Oikawa, on the other hand, leaned on the back of his chair, sitting like a king.

“How do you do it?” Ushijima asked quietly, his eyes almost pleading.

“Do what?” Oikawa grinned, raising his head high, teasing.

Ushijima gave him a slow smile and a flicker of light moved across his eyes, “How do you ignore that irritating sound?”

“My teammates are louder, and much more annoying than that,” Oikawa laughed, stealing another glance at the stressed-out musicians who wasted no time in poking at the one who couldn’t play the right strings. He would’ve felt sorry for him, really, had it not sparked an interesting conversation between him and Ushijima.

Ushijima traced the rim of his glass, “Louder and annoying?” his brows narrowed slightly.

“So,” Oikawa tilted his head, keeping a smile on his face as he recalled moments he spent with the team. “There was this one time when we went to a training camp. And I couldn’t sleep on the bus because they were all so obnoxiously loud and kept singing.”

Oikawa was the leader of that fiasco, but he would never admit to it.

“I had to snap their foreheads one by one to make them stop,” he shrugged. “It was fun though.”

“You have a very different definition of fun,” Ushijima chuckled, so soft and so mellow. The sound was better than the horrible quartet playing in the background, and Oikawa wanted to hear it again.

“Well,” Ushijima started, “do you want to get out of here?”

Somehow, it didn’t seem like goodbye.

“Wait!” Oikawa laughed when the tail of the scarf around his neck got caught in between the restaurant door they walked through.

Ushijima took a step closer, opening the door for Oikawa to pull out his scarf. A slash of a grin spread across his face, “What are you doing?”

Oikawa could only laugh as Ushijima stared at him with the same intensity. They stood in front of each other. No words, just stillness. But they were sure something changed. Even when they’ve only had a short time to get to know each other.

From the short distance that separated them, Oikawa watched as Ushijima’s brown eyes turned molten from the warm lights all around them. He couldn’t brush off the rush of having Ushijima look only at him, trying not to get lost in those strange, enticing eyes.

Oikawa winced as a gust of icy wind blew the tail of his scarf and froze his ears. He took that sign as an opportunity to pull it tightly around him.

“Walk with me?” he asked gently.

“I would love to,” Ushijima nodded. “But I’m afraid you would have to lead me instead. I’m not quite familiar with the road down there.”

Oikawa smiled even as he rolled his eyes, “Don’t tell me you’re the kind who gets picked up?”

Ushijima tucked his hand behind his back as they strode forward through the cobbled streets. He fumbled for words, but he did not drop his grin as the golden lights twinkled across the city, “Not really.”

“And I’m supposed to believe that?”

“Do you have a reason not to?”

“Okay, you’re good,” Oikawa complimented when he couldn’t counter his quick remark.

“Thank you,” Ushijima chuckled, deep and slow.

Oikawa frowned, “You actually look more handsome with honesty on your face.”

“I do?” Ushijima grinned, boasting those white teeth, brows knotting.

“Yeah, yeah,” Oikawa waved him off. “You’re cute. Stop smiling at me like that,” he added, averting his gaze from Ushijima. “Your lack of self-awareness is deeply troubling.”

Ushijima pocketed his hands, “And you? Are you honest?”

“Yeah, I mean,” Oikawa shrugged and smiled roguishly, keeping his gaze on the lights ahead. From a distance, he could see the head of the illuminated fountain by the park they were nearing. “Maybe I’ll just be straightforward about taking advantage of you.”

Ushijima laughed but said nothing. No one spoke as they realized that the space between them felt strangely intimate.

“What about the violin in the restaurant earlier, huh?” Oikawa followed with a tease.

“What on earth,” Ushijima drawled, sounding exasperated, “is all I have to say to that.”

With a turn around the hedge, the gush of water from the fountain park enticed them both. A strong gust of wind made them feel that the air had turned colder with the time, ripping through them as they observed the golden lit decorations surrounding the park.

“Do you want to..?” Ushijima didn’t finish the words, extending his arm and pointing his index towards the brightly lit fountain.

Their date should have ended the moment they stepped out of the restaurant. But the beautiful fountain in the center illuminating their faces signaled that it had only just begun.

Before Oikawa could sit on an empty bench—only a few feet away from the fountain, Ushijima dusted it with his hand, making his date smile appreciatively at the effort. In the touch of freezing cold, it became their spot to just sit and watch the fountain as a silent acknowledgement that neither were ready to part ways just yet.

“So,” Oikawa said as he crossed his legs, turning to Ushijima as the latter sat down. “Tell me more about you.”

“About me?” Ushijima’s brows creased, setting his eyes on his hands that rested in his lap. Oikawa realized how there was no progress in terms of skinship between them, but he wasn’t complaining. “There’s nothing much about me, really.”

“Impossible,” Oikawa shook his head. “There’s never nothing about anything or anyone.”

Oikawa’s eyes glittered as he stared at Ushijima’s hand, and his heartbeat quickened when his gaze rose to his face.

“How about us?” Ushijima asked.

A flush of pink bloomed on his cheeks as his heart hammered against his ribcage. He hadn’t been expecting such an honest question, such a question that flushed all the bravado he tried so hard to muster.

“Is there a reason you’re blushing like that?” Ushijima tilted his head.

Oikawa kept his gaze averted, biting his full bottom lip. Because of you!

“Oikawa?” Ushijima called.

He tried not to let it show what it did to him to have Ushijima remember his name. Or to hear him say it. To have him let out the words from his lips.

“Are you okay?” Ushijima asked, but made no move to touch him.

Good. Because Oikawa wasn’t entirely certain he could handle his heat hovering against him. He took a breath, and that same impish grin swiped back. “You should know by now,” he teased.

The silence that followed after didn’t lay as heavy as it used to be. Instead, Oikawa straightened himself, resting a hand on the bench in the short distance separating both, gazing at the fountain that kept them company.

“I like mushroom risotto,” he said out of the blue.

“Mushroom risotto?”

“Mushroom risotto,” he repeated, still keeping his eyes averted.

There was a short pause before Ushijima spoke, “Did you know that mushrooms are made up of 90% water?”

Do you want to go try mushroom risotto next time? Do you want me to bring that for you one day? Do you want me to cook that for you? Such questions were what he thought would’ve followed next. Questions that would make them meet each other again. Never a random fact he didn’t expect.

Oikawa turned his head towards his date. “What?” He choked on a laugh as he asked it.

“Yeah,” Ushijima gruffed, completely unaware of what left Oikawa in disbelief. “They’re also a fungus. Did you know?”

“No,” Oikawa shook his head. “I didn’t.”

“We should forage for mushrooms next time.”

Next time, the words rang in Oikawa’s head. Next time.

“And you?” Oikawa followed. “What’s your favorite food?”

“Curry,” his date answered plainly, his free hand discreetly traveling towards Oikawa’s hand on the bench.

A faint warmth bloomed in his chest. The brief touch of Ushijima’s fingers through Oikawa sent a pang of desire through him so strong he wanted to pull him in closer. It had taken all of him, all his self control to keep his breathing steady as he gazed back at the fountain.

That was all it took to have Oikawa’s gaze back at the fountain again, “These lights are familiar,” he started. “From my recitals from those years ago. It’s kinda nostalgic.”

When Ushijima didn’t say anything, he took it upon himself to turn his head back towards him. With the look written across Ushijima’s face and those eyes, he understood.

“I will pretend I haven’t heard the question in your eyes,” he groaned.

“No, tell me,” Ushijima leaned a little forward.

“It’s nothing, really. I just took up dancing a while back. Then I shifted to volleyball,” he eyed him, searching for any sign of mockery.

“Dancing?” Ushijima pondered, running a finger along his lips—the sight making Oikawa swallow—before returning his gaze to the other, “Could you, perhaps, show me?”

“What?” Oikawa asked in disbelief, turning left and right. “Here?”

Ushijima nodded.

“What?” he shook his head. “No!”

But Ushijima stood up and offered his hand. Oikawa stared at it for a moment, creasing his brows, but a ghost of a smile remained plastered across his lips. He looked around, searching for prying heads.

“There are people,” he argued in a whisper.

Ushijima shrugged, “People are too busy to care about anyone other than themselves.”

Oikawa let out a long sigh before he took Ushijima’s hand. Narrowing his eyes, he said, “Fine.”

He cleared his throat and lumbered, positioning himself in the center from where they stood. Ushijima could never tell him, but he looked like a perfect decoration in front of the fountain behind him.

Oikawa gazed across the stone pavement. Sliding his foot back and the other forward, he extended his arms in front in a smooth motion that truly suggested he had some background in the art. He was dancing, then his arms were flailing in the sky with feline grace. His scarf spun around him as he whirled, and he was thankful for the cold that he wouldn’t sweat. He felt like flying, until the ground was beneath his feet again.

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d done this. And why did he stop?

Ushijima stared at the slightly breathless wonder in front of him as he skidded to a halt. His eyes twinkled, just a bit—in a way they usually did when he was amused but tried hard not to be.

Oikawa looked spectacular. Utterly and completely spectacular. A little stiff on the edges, but spectacular.

Oikawa picked up his scarf that fell on the ground. Then his eyes rested on Ushijima, whose hands were pocketed in his coat. A tug on the corner of his lips issued the bravado he’d been keeping.

“What? Amused?” he teased with a conspirator’s grin when he closed the final distance between them.

Ushijima just stared at him, taking in the warm gleam in his eyes. He said nothing, but his hand flew to Oikawa’s scarf. Both said nothing as Ushijima wrapped the it around him, “It always becomes loose when you’re the one putting it on.”

A delicious heat kissed its way down Oikawa’s neck to his spine as if there was some warmth left despite the winter.

“Perhaps I will take up dancing again,” he said in a little more than a whisper, his throat constricting at the moment.

A hush had fallen between them, but Oikawa felt as if there was something inside him that found it to be a perfect piece in their merriment. It went beyond his expectations. He enjoyed his time with Ushijima.

“Let’s take you home,” Ushijima said and Oikawa only nodded.

The streets were too quiet this time of the night—so quiet that only their footsteps and chuckles and moments of conversation lingered in the sleeping city. They were still talking and laughing, and it had been that way since they left the park, stepping forward with the wings of conversation.

“What was your favorite part?” Ushijima asked, his eyes not on the streets before him but on Oikawa. Such wild ecstasy, he noted.

Oikawa paused, his brows creasing as Ushijima waited for his answer, thinking. Then his eyes widened and met Ushijima’s, “Oh, you mean the movie?”

Ushijima only chuckled, “Yes, the movie.”

“Not the baby?”

“Yeah, and maybe that too,” a faint smile stretched Ushijima’s lips.

“Hmm, let’s see,” Oikawa looked forward, brows knotting yet again as he acted. His finger tapped on his lip in a way that forced Ushijima to remind himself to keep his focus on Oikawa’s eyes, “I like the part where the dad,” he stared back at Ushijima, “picked up the baby and they went outside. That scene was amazing!”

Ushijima chuckled, looking away from him and Oikawa realized how manly Ushijima’s voice was. Then Oikawa’s eyes scanned the street before him, how the establishments and the crooked, dark streets were becoming more and more familiar to him.

“You laughed at me earlier,” there was a hint of a smile on Ushijima’s lips.

Oikawa felt a little embarrassed, but he laughed, “You’ve gotta admit. It was kind of funny.”

“It was fine,” Oikawa answered seriously.

“Same here.”

“No way. I thought you liked Shakespeare,” he said in disbelief.

“I thought you liked Shakespeare,” Ushijima countered.

He assumed that Oikawa was interested in Shakespeare because, sometimes, he would post quotes from Romeo and Juliet. What Ushijima didn’t know was that: it was Oikawa’s literature teacher who originally posted those, and he only wanted to get on their good side.

“It took me some time to understand the words,” Oikawa admitted.

Ushijima’s smile widened, revealing his white teeth, “For saints have hands that pilgrims’ hands do touch, and palm to palm is holy palmers’ kiss.”

Oikawa’s hand flew to his mouth that went agape, “How did you memorize that?” he asked with amusement in his eyes.

“Say your lines,” Ushijima urged him.

“You are reciting Juliet’s lines,” Oikawa narrowed his eyes in thought, but the grin didn’t disappear from his lips.

“Say your lines,” Ushijima repeated, ignoring his remark.

Oikawa rolled his eyes, his brows knotting trying to remember the right words, “Have not saints lips, and holy palmers too?”

“Ay, pilgrim, lips that they must use in prayer.”

“You’re annoying. Mine is long,” he frowned at how fast Ushijima replied and how long he remembered the next line was. But it took only one grin from Ushijima and he started speaking.

“Something. Something,” his eyes almost bawled upwards trying to remember the words. “Let lips do what hands do. Uh. They pray grant thou, lest faith turn to despair..?” he finished with uncertainty. “Wait. How do you even memorize these?”

“Saints do not move, though grant for prayer's sake,” Ushijima continued.

“Then move not, while my prayers’ effect I take,” Oikawa grinned with how fast he recited the lines as he halted in front of his house and Ushijima did the same.

“Thus, from my lips,” Ushijima said hoarsely. Oikawa didn’t mean to, but his eyes went down to Ushijima’s lips, “by thine, my sin is purged.”

His heartbeat quickened when his gaze rose to Ushijima’s eyes, “Then have my lips the sin that they have took,” he said in a little more than a whisper.

The night was honest and his eyes whispered of how they met, how there was an unspoken understanding between them. And being with Ushijma was like staying in the rain, he still wanted to be in it one more time.

Through a clearing in the skies, clusters of stars could be seen and the sliver of the crescent moon shone above them as they stepped into the pool of moonlight.

“Good night,” Ushijima said. “You’re probably tired.”

But he was not tired, he was not done. There was still greed and want inside of him that made him want to pull Ushijima closer. The longing for a wave of touch and friction of joy that only grew bigger and bigger by the minute.

“Good night,” was all he replied, his voice so soft and mellow.

Oikawa turned his back on Ushijima, his steps feeling heavier by the minute as he trudged away from him. But he looked back, and the greed must have shown because Ushijima stood there, watching him, thinking.

He grinned and crossed his arms, “You do realize what time it is, right?”

Ushijima shrugged and pocketed his hands, “I just want to see you walk in.”

That was all it took for Oikawa to do the opposite. He went closer to Ushijima, closing the gap between them. There was only the absence of conversation and how much he wanted to touch Ushijima.

“It was enchanting to meet you,” Ushijima said quietly before his ears filled with the softness of Oikawa’s laughter.

“Do you know how cliche you sound, Romeo?” he teased.

Oikawa watched the way Ushijima’s lips widened in a smile and died down slowly.

“I think,” Ushijima started, the words were barely more than a strangled whisper, “I like you a lot.”

The longing blinded him, and he flung himself on Ushijima, breathing in his scent and the slight trace of cheese in him. He memorized the feel of him and the heat of Ushijima’s body hovering over him.

“We probably should just go to McDonald’s next time,” he teased.

“As long as I’m with you,” Ushijima chuckled against Oikawa’s lips. “I would like that very much.”

It was only that, and their lips touched.

#haikyuu #haikyuu fanfiction #haikyuu fanfic #ushioiweek2020 #ushioiweek #ushioi #ushioi fanfic #ushijima wakatoshi #oikawa tooru #ushioi fluff #fluff #first date #terrible date fanfic #ushijima wakatoshi x oikawa tooru #revalise #like and/or reblog

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kazosa · 5 years ago

Text

Summary: Dean could see the writing on the wall and he knew what he needed to do. It was what he always did. He protected the ones he cared about, at all costs, and killed monsters. Only, this time, The End, he wasn’t sure he could protect the woman he loved.

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Female Reader

Warnings: heavy angst, major regret, bad language, terrible choices

Word Count: 2963

Tags: @briagallen @cosicas-cuquis @squirrelnotsam @coffee-obsessed-writer @sorenmarie87 @his-paradox

A/N: the above banner was created by the amazingly talented @coffee-obsessed-writer She somehow manages to get in my head and see what I am thinking and puts it in an incredible piece of art for me. Many thanks, as usual!

Eight months had passed since the end and Dean hadn’t spent more than two nights in one place the whole time. It wasn’t that he had somewhere to be. In fact, the opposite was true. No one was looking for him, no one missed him. No one needed him. For the first time in his life, he was obligated to no one… and he didn’t know what to do with himself. Everywhere he went, someone, some place, some dirty back road to nowhere made him think of all the people he’d lost and he would need to move on. It was too hard. And, as much as it pained him to sell his car, it hurt far more to not see Sam sitting in the passenger seat. Instead, he roamed the roads on a motorcycle that looked like had been thrown together. He just needed it to go everywhere and get there fast.

“Hey, pal, last call was twenty minutes ago,” the bartender reminded him.

“Right,” he downed the beer, “don’t have to go home, but you can’t stay here.” He stood up from his barstool, taking out his wallet throwing a few bills down on the bar, then grabbed his helmet, ready to leave.

“You want me to call you an Uber?”

If Dean hadn’t become a functioning alcoholic, he might have thrown up at the thought. He didn’t do that hipster crap.

“Nope.”

“Can anyone come get you?” the bartender asked again.

Dean kept walking, “nope.” The only thing he’d managed to do in eight months was become a meandering mess who reeked of some kind of booze, as he rode across the country verifying that everyone he ever loved or cared about had died. The end had been a massacre and he had been the only one to make it out alive.

“You don’t know that,” the annoying voice at the back of his head chimed in.

Dean yanked his helmet on, his beard prickling against the chin guard. He pulled the scarf up around his neck and made sure the ends stayed tucked inside his leather jacket as he got on his motorcycle. There was one person who had been on his mind. One of the last ones he hadn’t yet checked up on, mostly because he couldn’t bring himself to know one way or the other… yet.

2008

“This place reeks of school,” he said under his breath.

Sam rolled his eyes. “Its a college library Dean.”

“Whatever,” he snorted. “You go do your nerd thing. I’m gonna see what the librarian knows.”

“I hope you’re going to change tactics,” Sam warned.

When Dean gave him a questioning look, he continued. “That ‘tutor’ line never works.”

“When you get more numbers than me, then you can judge,” he scoffed.

Dean still caught a hint of his disapproving look before he left him behind to go talk to the librarian. Unlike Sam, he’d scoped out the library the day before. He knew how to do homework, just not the kind that got good grades. He hoped the one he saw the day before would be working again.

As he rounded the corner, an older woman was behind the counter furiously shelving books to the return cart. She wasn’t the one he was hoping to see; he would have remembered seeing this one. She wore clothes from a few decades before, thick glasses on a chain, and though her hair hadn’t fully grayed, her hair was done in what he assumed was a beehive.

He sidled up to the counter. “Hey, sweetheart.”

The woman let out an exasperated huff and slammed down the barcode scanner she was using to check in books. She folded her arms in front of her and leaned on the counter to look at her most recent annoyance.

“My name is Gloria, not sweetheart. What do you want?”

Dean cleared his throat and wondered why his obvious charms didn’t work. “Um, I’m looking for a tutor….”

“You really think I’m going to believe you’re a student? Honey, this isn’t my first day.” She unfolded her arms and stood back from the counter, her impatient look not changing.

“Easy Glo, he’s one of mine,” she suddenly appeared; the one who’d caught his eye.

“You need to quit having your boyfriends come here,” Gloria chided.

The woman looked at her co-worker, “Mm quite right.” She turned to Dean. “Honey, how ‘bout you come down here?”

“Have a lot of boyfriends?” he followed her to the end of the counter. Finally, he saw the name on her tag. (Y/N).

“I you don’t strike me as the exclusive kind,” she teased. “How can I help you?”

I could be, he thought. “I need a tutor,” he leaned on the counter towards her.

She leaned forward and put her hands on his. “Gloria is watching and I’m usually affectionate with boyfriends.” Her nail traced a line up his wrist making his skin tingle. “What are you really doing here?”

This was not all how he planned on having things go. “I, um, I’m looking…”

“If you’re a student here, I’ll eat my shirt,” she stayed perfectly in character with Gloria watching. “You’re here about that stuff with Jenny and Keith, aren’t you?”

“Just looking into what happened. Not buying what the papers and authorities are saying. Looking to get the truth.”

Somehow, she had a pen and was writing something on his hand. He would have looked at his hand, but he couldn’t draw his gaze from her.

“What’s your name, honey?” she looked him in the eye.

“D-Dean,” he stammered. “Dean Winchester.”

“Well, Dean, I’m off at four and we can talk then,” she said, rubbing the top of his hand. “Better get out of here before Glo turns you into Security.”

Dean sighed heavily as he started the motorcycle. (Y/N) had been a wild card right from the start. He’d been thinking about her a lot lately. She was the only person giving him hope. He couldn’t, or wouldn’t, think of her as anything but alive, but what was he supposed to do? Live on blind faith that she was alive and well? He didn’t have faith in anything. Not after the End, except maybe her… of all people, of all hunters, she being alive would mean he wasn’t alone. And if anyone could cheat death, it was her.

Getting settled before he rolled out, he felt the weight of his gun and knife press against his torso. He knew how to get to Purgatory. In the last eight months it had become a more and more appealing option. Why not just go there and do the only thing he’d ever been good at? ‘Cause (Y|N) won’t be there,’ he answered his own question.

He could just wait for Billie to come get him, but for what? She was there… at The End… she’d said, “This ain’t in your book, honey” as he sat on the ground, covered in blood and screamed into the night at the sorrow and unfairness of it all. He still didn’t understand how living had been his fate…

2013

“Nope,” his heart hammered in his chest as he pulled her into his lap. He took (Y/N)’s hands and held them on her chest. “You’re not going anywhere. We’ll get you fixed up in no time.” In his head, he screamed for Cas to come.

Sam held pressure on her leg and did the best he could on her abdomen. (Y/N) had been with them in some way for the last five years. She was a natural hunter and her knowledge of the supernatural had bailed them out of tough situations more than once.

“Deuce, c’mon. You gotta stay with me,” he used the nickname he’d thought up for her.

(Y/N) sighed and groaned at the same time. “Ungh, stop calling me Deuce, it sounds like shit.”

Dean looked at Sam, who tipped his head to the side in silent affirmation.

“...wild cards though,” he muttered.

“I don’t want… the last words I hear from you… to include… shit. Clearly… I’m the Ace in the Hole,” she said between labored breaths.

(Y/N) looked up at him and laughed. She went down hill at breakneck speed. Sam couldn’t keep enough pressure on her wounds, even with an extra hand from Dean…

He’d watched her slip away from him once and he didn’t want to do it again. Cas had come, but not in time to heal her before she died.

“Please, Cas…”

Dean didn’t know if it was he who’d said it, or Sam. Either way, the angel reached out his hands, making (Y/N)’s wounds glow with his healing touch. She’d gasped awake and immediately clung to Dean. ��Man, she held on tight,’ he thought. And so had he. At that moment, he knew he would never let that kind of harm come to her again.

Rolling on the throttle, the motorcycle carried Dean away from the bar and down the road…

2013

It had been a few months since it happened. Dean sat in the library. His chin resting on his hand on the table. With his other hand, he rolled the tumbler of whiskey between his thumb and middle finger. The light from the above pendant lighting penetrating the amber liquid in the crystal glass.

(Y/N) was in Sam’s room watching some nerd show, or something, and that left him alone to dwell in his thoughts. Nor did he care for the feeling of jealousy that had been rising in him, so he’d decided to have a drink about it.

“Hey,” (Y/N) said, walking into the room.

Dean didn’t move from his spot at the table. He still looked at the whiskey in his glass and barely raised his hand in greeting. The whiskey had done its job warming his heart and… slightly… numbing his feelings.

(Y/N) pulled out the chair next to him. He rolled his head to the side, resting on his arm to look at her. He almost hated how much he loved her eyes. And he definitely didn’t hate how she was looking at him.

She put her hand on his arm and gave him a little squeeze. “Why’re you out here pouting?”

Called out again, he said what came to mind first. “I’m not pouting, you’re pouting.” Dammit.

“Yeah, okay. It’s funny how you still think I can’t read you like a book,” her voice was soft. She slid a hand down to his wrist, her thumb stroking his skin. It always seemed to tingle when she did that.

Grudgingly, and with more effort than he cared for, he managed to peel himself off the table to sit up. He wondered what she thought she could see written all over him.

He watched her as she stood up, forcing him to lean back a little in his chair. He never knew what she would do next and it both excited and scared the shit out of him, and not ever in a bad way.

Her hands, how he loved when she touched him, went to his face and hair. If he hadn’t already had the whiskey, he might feel drunk off her touch alone. She slowly leaned down further. (Y/N)’s lip touched his and he thought maybe he was dreaming. She kissed him like it had been something they did all the time. He fantasized on it plenty…

Before he knew it, she was gone and looking over her shoulder at him from the doorway, whiskey in hand.

“You coming?”

If he’d ever been drunk, he’d sobered in a hurry and followed her. What resulted was not just an amazing night of love making. It had also resulted in a relationship he hadn’t known she’d wanted… just as much as he had.

The chill of the night air cut through his thin layers. Most of the time, he just ignored it. He’d been through worse. He could withstand anything. He just didn’t know if he could stand living in a world without (Y/N) in it.

The ‘what ifs’ ran through his mind again. If he waited for whatever end was coming to him, there would still be no guarantee he would see her again. There was no way he could go on living in this world if she wasn’t in it…

2019

It was a quiet morning. Sam was somewhere with Eileen and that left him and (Y|N) with the bunker to themselves. These were the mornings that were his favorite. (Y|N) was tucked into his side, her arm draped across him. They didn’t have a case to work. They had nowhere to be. All they needed to do was lie in bed all day.

“What’re you thinking about?” she asked.

Dean ran his hand over her arm across his chest, “Just about how lucky I am.”

“It’s true,” she kissed his jaw, “you are super lucky.”

Five years. He’d had the love of a good woman for five years. They were a great team. He had everything he ever wanted. Somehow they had managed to balance the hunter life and ‘normal’ life. They worked well together and played well together.

“What’s the plan for today?” he asked.

“Staying in bed all day sounds good to me,” she answered. “Oh, hold on, I made you something.”

(Y|N) handed him a spiral bound book. Inside were pictures of the two of them, Sam and Eileen, Jody and Donna, Rowena…

“It’s us. All of us,” she explained, “our story.”

It was mostly the two of them. They were in the bunker, road hotels, in Baby. She never asked him for more than what he could give, but he still found himself wanting to give her more. He wanted to live in a house, have a kid or two. He wanted more. A real life.

Dean kept the small scrapbook with him, always. He didn’t need to bring his father’s journal anymore, the End made sure of that. The journal came with him out of habit now. Dean brought the scrapbook because he needed it, more than he cared to admit. He needed to see their faces, to remember the good times, and to see her…

Dean slowed the bike to a stop at a red light. Turning right, he would go to her house. To the left, he would take the road to nowhere. Going straight, he would forge ahead.

The End was coming and, unlike so many times before, they had known it was coming. All Dean could see were all the things that were trying to kill them. He just wanted to make sure she was safe...

“I want you to leave.”

“What? Your room?”

“No, the bunker. I don’t want you here anymore.”

“What? Why? What’s wrong?”

“You’re reckless and too unpredictable. You’re either going to get yourself killed or someone else and I can’t have that on my conscience.”

“No, that’s bullshit.”

It didn’t end there. The next day was more of the same, but he’d stood firm on his decision. Break it off clean, get her away and to safety.

“Just promise me you won’t keep hunting.”

“No.”

“Ace.”

“No. You’re being stupid. You know I can help and you know I won’t stop,” she was mad and near tears. “When this is over and you’re done being stupid, come find me. You love me, Dean.” She turned back before she got in her car. “You better not fucking die, ‘cause when this is over, and you come find me, I’ll kick your ass.”

His heart left that day when she tore down the dirt road that led away from the bunker. Maybe that was why he did the things he did at The End, showing no mercy… nothing but brute force brawling…

Dean turned right and continued on. Was he done being stupid? Probably not. What he did know was that the dumbest thing he ever did was force her out of his life and he needed to know, for sure, one way or another, if his life was worth continuing.

For the first time, in a very long time, he had hope…

He knew where she used to live, it had been a few years since he’d seen her and… he just didn’t know… was she alive? Boyfriend? Girlfriend? Married? Hunting? Normal job? If she was still alive, she’d be there.

It was late, the house was dark, too dark for anyone to be awake. He should give a damn that he was about to knock on the door and disturb the residents, but he didn’t. He waited long enough and needed to know… to see her face… to have hope again. He climbed the stairs, feeling lighter with each step he took. His heart raced as he stood at the wood door. gargoyle door knocker seemed to mock him as he stood there, unable to move.

“Shut up,” he grumbled as he grabbed the gargoyle and made it rap loudly, twice, on the door. Dean was about to try again when the porch light flicked on. His eyes rebelled at the sudden glare from above. He shaded his eyes, but didn’t look away from the gargoyle. The sound of the locks turning shifted his gaze to the door’s opening. Time slowed to a crawl. Dean swore he could hear the antique metal rotate as the person on the other side of the door turned the knob.

It all came down to this. Would she be there? Would she be the one to open the door? Would she be happy to see him? What if…

The door cracked open. His heart jumped in his throat as the porch light fell on the face inside.

“Hi.”

#dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #spn fan fiction #end of series fiction #Dean winchester x female reader #angst #the end #kazosa #sorry for that ending #not sorry at all actually #who do you think is on the other side of the door?

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senlinyu · 5 years ago

Note

A Draco x Hermione prompt: Meet me in the stairwell in a second for a glass of gin. (From the song ‘Nobody Else Will Be There’ by The National)

One would think, what with magic having been around for several thousand years, basic illumination wouldn’t be so hard to come by in the Wizarding world, but there wasn’t even a bit of candlelight in the service hall.

It was pitch black and I realised, after my shins collided with a fourth wooden packing crate, that my wand was in my bag, in the main hall where the banquet was still going on.

I cursed under my breath and leaned over to rub my shin. I should just go back out. It was absurd to be sneaking around like a teenager in an unlit hallway, trying to find someone who probably wasn’t even there.

I straightened and sighed. I was about to turn back with a burnished red light glowed briefly in the darkness before disappearing.

I swallowed and released a low breath. “Malfoy.”

The butt of his cigarette glowed again, longer, bright enough to illuminate his eyes.

“Granger.”

The way he pronounced my name curled and wafted through the air like the smoke. I could hear the cigarette in the corner of his mouth.

It made his drawl more overt. More caressing.

He’d always liked to toy with words with that poisonous tongue of his; experimenting with the inferred meaning of a particular form of emphasis.

Why say what he meant when he could imply it a dozen different ways without the inconvenience of real commitment?

Like the rest of us, he lived his life on a short leash. His was the shortest but most luxurious lead that the Ministry kept constantly under its heel.

His constraints had caused him to make the unspoken a type of art form.

I envied the ability as often as it annoyed me. I wished sometimes that I could keep from saying what I meant.

I have never been coy. I am “sincere.”

“I thought you’d quit smoking,” I finally said.

The cigarette glowed again.

I made my way gingerly towards the light.

“I am exclusively a social smoker these days.” He’d pulled the fag from his mouth. His words were crisp again.

I extended my hand, trying not to run into anything or trip over him as I kept moving towards his voice.

A hand slipped under mine, as though he were escorting me onto a dance floor. His fingers drew me forward and downwards onto the rickety service stair he was seated on.

The stairs were narrow and could barely accommodate the width of both our hips. As I settled in beside him, the cigarette glowed again, just long enough to illuminate his profile.

I stared until it faded and then glanced away. “How does this qualify as social smoking?”

A pause. I heard him breathe.

“You’re here.”

He shifted slightly so that my hip bone stopped digging into him.

“There are about five hundred people on the other side of that wall,” he added after a moment.

I snorted and angled myself towards him in the darkness. “The wall being imperative. You aren’t attending a party if you spend the entire time sitting in a dusty service passage smoking.”

“Ah…” his tone was light. “But only if you’re operating with a Grangerless presupposition. I’m not. Your interference is presumed, therefore my eventual appearance is inevitable. I’m smoking preemptively.”

I folded my hands and sighed. “It will get easier—eventually.”

He snorted. There were several seconds of silence before he spoke again. “You keep saying that.”

“It’s what everyone keeps telling me.”

I reached out, trying to find him in the darkness. My fingertips grazed his robes and I let them trail down his arm until I found his left hand.

I hesitated a moment before I slipped the cigarette out from between his fingers and brought it up to my lips.

My hands were shaking and my throat caught nervously as I took a long, slow drag.

I closed my eyes and exhaled heavily.

I reached out and found his hand again, resting on his knee. I slowly laid my palm against the back of it. My fingertips traced lightly over his knuckles as I stared into the darkness.

It felt natural to sit there with him. It had become a habit, maybe even a tradition. I’m not entirely certain where the line of distinction is drawn between the two.

We fell into it over the years.

I was the one who’d brought cigarettes the first time.

At some point over the years, the strange unspoken interlude between us had became the point of every event. The dark, silence and his hand under mine until my hands stopped shaking and I could go back out to the room with the blindingly bright lights beating down and the constant camera flashes.

Before I left, I always said, “You should make an appearance, just for a few minutes. It’ll be noticed if you don’t.”

He never said anything, but he’d show up just long enough to be photographed.

That was all that happened until the next event. Somehow, without exchanging a word, we always found each other in the dark.

He could rarely leave his manor. Visitors required Ministry approval and all applications and visits were public record; as were his correspondence and his floo calls. They called it government transparency.

I don’t know how he’d managed to get ahold of cigarettes.

I brought my hand up to my lips and took another long drag.

No matter how many Ministry events I’d attended, they never felt natural. It was like re-agitating a wound and inserting needles. Every year I’m angrier and more on edge until I wonder if I might just shatter until the spotlight.

Smoking with Malfoy for a few minutes had become the only thing that got me through.

My hands were shaking less when I brought the cigarette to my lips for another drag. I caught sight of his face. He was watching me carefully.

“That bad?”

I shook my head, averting my eyes. “It—it was fine.”

“You know…” his voice was hushed. He leaned closer until I could feel his chest against my shoulder. His breath stirred my hair and I could hear the smirk in his voice. “—they have potions—”

I elbowed him away while rolling my eyes. “I can’t consume alcohol if I take Calming Draught or anti-anxiety potions. It’s like hanging a sign over my head announcing that I have “trauma”.” My throat tightened and my hand gripped his briefly. “Everyone’s watching out there...”

My hands shook again. I forced my voice to relax. “Besides—I promised someone a drink if he showed up.”

I quickly brought the cigarette back to my lips.

Malfoy shifted closer. His long fingers slid up to cradle the base of my skull and he drew our faces together.

I stiffened until I made out the unlit cigarette dangling from his mouth.

He touched the tip on it against mine and paused.

I inhaled slowly and watched his narrow features illuminate. Our faces were only inches away from each other. His eyes were dark and glittering in the dim glow. The reddish light caught in his pale hair.

His hand slid away and he sat back, taking a quick drag.

“You could have used your wand,” I said when my heart stopped pounding.

“I’ve always wanted to try that. You’re the only one I know who smokes.”

“I don’t.” I put the remains of my cigarette on the step and lifted my heel and bore down. “Normally—I don’t.”

His cigarette glowed as he lit another and slipped it between my fingers without a word.

My right hand found him in the darkness. I ran my fingers over his knuckles lightly, tapping them as though they were an instrument and the movement drew the darkness and quiet more tightly around us.

After several minutes my hand finally stilled against his.

He shifted and I could hear the sound of sloshing liquid.

“About that drink. I brought firewhiskey—but when I was moving the boxes off this staircase, I found something new.” His voice was conspiratorial. “I believe it’s Muggle. It tastes like alcoholic pinecones.”

I’m never sure if he was being serious or just trying to amuse me when he said things like that.

I snorted. “Gin? It’s made from Juniper berries.”

He was silent for a moment. “Ah. That explains it.”

I gave a low laugh. As I was bringing my cigarette back to my lips, we were suddenly illuminated and I could see him clearly for the first time.

The first time.

We’d always stayed in the dark. We’d smoke and drink and then I’d leave without a wand ever being lit. I didn’t know why he was suddenly changing things.

I stared at him like a startled deer.

His cigarette was dangling from his lips and his hair was tousled. He was dressed to the nines in that casual, effortless way of someone who wore their clothes rather than being worn by them. It was a distinction that I never felt as though I’d managed.

There was nothing about him to indicate why he was there rather than in the next room with everyone else. I’d assumed nerves or rage like me—but as I stared at him, I didn’t see any of it.

His eyes were glittering as he slipped his wand into my limp fingers and reached into his robes, pulling out a set of tumblers.

He lifted up the gin bottle beside him. “Look, it even has a hat.”

He deftly poured two fingers into a glass and handed it off.

I stubbed out my cigarette and took the tumbler while he was pouring a glass for himself.

He smirked and toasted me with a lazy salute. “To all you war heroes, cheers to your bravery.”

He plucked his cigarette from the corner of his mouth and knocked back the drink, his eyes never leaving mine.

This wasn’t what I’d come for. The comfort of darkness was a place to loosen my armour and breathe without fearing anyone was watching to catch sight of my vulnerabilities and old scars.

Now there was light—like sunlight beating down on an exposed nerve and the illusion had faded away.

I was sitting in a filthy service passage, smoking to ward off a public panic attack with someone that I haven’t publicly spoken to in a decade.

In a matter of minutes I would reappear at the celebratory banquet. I had to be seen taking measures sips of wine and consuming dessert in a manner that gave no indication of any type of eating disorder. I had to sit with my hands in my lap and laugh on cue while refraining from picking at my fingernails.

Then I would go home and find out from the morning paper whether I was deemed stable and coping or not.

I brought the tumbler to my lips and took a small sip.

Malfoy studied me carefully. “You prefer firewhiskey?”

I glanced away. “Combining alcohol with tobacco increases the risk of throat cancer.”

“Right...”

I took another slow sip of gin. Alcoholic pinecones. The corner of my mouth quirked. The comedic absurdity is as glaring as the light.

I wished I’d asked for firewhiskey. I could use some courage, even false courage.

The solace was a mistake indulge in. I could see that in the wandlight.

I set the tumbler down on the steps by my feet and stood, handing him his wand. “I should go back out before I’m missed.”

He didn’t say a word. His eyes had contracted into indolent silver.

I inhaled slowly until my lungs ached, staring down at him. “You should make an appearance, just for a few minutes. It’ll be noticed if you don’t.”

He nodded slowly. He looked so outwardly collected. There was a part of me that wanted to reach out muss him up a bit, lace my fingers into the hair at the base of his head and light a cigarette against his lips.

“Goodbye, Malfoy.”

I looked at him a moment longer before turning and going back the way I’d come.

The wandlight vanished before I was a dozen feet away.

I found the wall and slid my hand along it, trying to remember the location of all the crates I’d run into earlier.

The roar of the hall got louder when I neared the door I’d left ajar when I slipped out. The chattering. People were happy. People were mourning. At that point almost everyone was drunk, except the reporters who stayed sober and alert in order to pick up any and all potential gossip.

My fingers grazed the knob and I stood hesitating, trying to brace myself for what I was about to be re-immersed in.

Each additional year of adulthood made me a little more enraged on behalf of myself and all the other students. We were children. Every year I’m more staggered by how young we all were.

How was it ever seen as natural for us to be the ones fighting the war? That families had sent their children back to Hogwarts while the Carrows were there. That everyone kept their heads down when the Muggle-Born Registration Act was put in place.

As an adult it staggers me more, how natural it seemed at the time for the war to fall on our shoulders.

A generation of paper war heroes.

Typecast into our roles at Sorting and now watched daily for signs of wear and tear.

The majority of the Wizarding world wasn’t willing to lift a finger to fight the war, but they’re all too eager to diagnose us with trauma from the comfort of their armchairs.

My hands were threatening to shake again and I clenched them into fists for a moment before I reached to open the door.

It was stuck. Lodged. I glanced up and saw the dim outline of a hand, pressed against it.

Malfoy had materialised behind me. I’d barely turned before his chest pressed against mine. His hand slid down the door to my shoulder and his fingers cradled the base of my head. There were no cigarettes between us as his face drew closer.

“Hermione—”

I didn’t know what it meant when he said my name like that. What inference or implication was intended.

My eyes widened as my breath caught in my throat. “What—?”

His lips brushed against mine.

Then he waited.

It was an unspoken question.

My heart was pounding in my chest and my fingers were trembling as I reached out and drew him closer.

#dramione #draco x hermione #hermione x draco #senlinyuwrites #asks #prompts #drabbles #anthology collection

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purplesurveys · 4 years ago

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962

Do you have a pair of Beat headphones? I used to have a pair. I mean it’s still around in my closet, but it’s completely broken now with the cable all given out and the cushion for the left ear has been missing for a while. I just don’t have the heart to throw it out because it was my absolute favorite pair of headphones that gave me good memories during a particularly shitty time in high school.

How was your week? A little better. I’ve gotten into the groove at work so I’m no longer shy when it comes to asking questions and giving inputs, and I’ve gained a better grasp of the workplace’s dynamic so it’s also been easier to communicate with people. Heavy life stuff is still around and it won’t be leaving for a while, but they were easier to ignore this week.

Are any of your electronics not working properly at the moment? Not really, but my phone’s charger cable recently stopped working. I have a backup that I’m using at the moment and while it’s able to charge my phone, it’s starting to fray and I’m not feeling too good about the wires that I’m starting to see hahaha. I just don’t know how to take care of my cables, guys. Anyway, this question made me paranoid so I took a few minutes to wrap a shit ton of electrical tape on the frayed area so I think it’s all good for now.

Are you excited to pick out your wedding dress one day? I like thinking about my wedding but I truthfully dread the wedding gown part. I’ve never been able to decide what look and style suits me best and I’ve just never been good at determining things like that. I like to imagine that I’d leave that bit to whoever my maid of honor will be, because I’d definitely prize a second opinion more than my own.

When was the last time you felt relieved? Yesterday, 6 PM when I exited the last Google Meet for the day. It was a Friday night and it meant my work week was over :)) I mean I love what I do, but Friday nights will always hit differently.

Does it bother you when an artist remakes a song that one has previously done? I wouldn’t say it bothers me but covers are definitely a hit or miss for me, with way more misses than hits. Nothing wrong with acts putting their own spin on an already existing song, but I’m personally the “if it ain’t broke don’t fix it” type when it comes to music.

What brand of chapstick do you use? I don’t use any mainly because I’m bound to lose them within a week. Same goes for other care products.

Do you really think someone could be perfect? No. Everyone has their flaws and that should be okay to acknowledge.

When was the last time you cried? Wednesday, I think. It’s been three days! I’d count that as an achievement. But idk, my sadness comes in waves so I shouldn’t be celebrating too early. I’m sure I’ll feel a pang soon and be crying again over the weekend.

What’s a food that you like every once in awhile but not often? Cake. Too sweet and rich; I wouldn’t enjoy eating it every day. What letter is the song you’re listening to under? Not listening to music, but I have a YouTube video on.

Would you rather visit the 60s or 70s? 60s would be the lesser evil, I guess. I would NOT want to live through Martial Law in the 70s...I originally wasn’t even going to go with 60s because I think the world was a bit chaotic at the time, but I think my country was mostly unaffected by the political/cultural things happening then so it’s whatever.

Are you the type of person that enjoys getting hugs? I don’t actively seek them out but it feels nice when someone likes me enough to extend their arms out to me for a hug. I haven’t been hugged for a while and I feel kinda empty.

Do your socks say anything on them? I think some of my socks have the brand name on them but that’s it.

Name a TV channel that only has three letters in it. AMC.

Have you found out who your true friends are? For now, yes.

Gray or Grey? I use both spellings for no particular context. I simply like changing it up lol.

Will you be buying concert tickets any time soon? LOL of course not. And I’m very picky when it comes to concerts that I choose to attend anyway, so I doubt I would’ve bought any tickets in the last six months even without Covid unless it was for Paramore or Beyoncé.

Have you seen the movie The Perks of Being a Wallflower? Did you like it? Nope, but everyone was hyping that movie up when it came out. It never really looked like my thing < Yeah pretty much. I feel like it’s such a teenage-y movie so I was never drawn to it. I also think it would be too triggering for my depression, so I’ve felt wary about checking both book and movie out.

Is there something you’d fall apart if you didn’t have? One of my biggest fears is to end up alone, so I always have to have some form of a support system to fall back into. I would be very lost if I didn’t have at least one person to rely on.

How many weddings have you been to? I can think of four off the top of my head. I was either a flower girl or a junior bridesmaid for all of those.

When you smile, are you confident? Most times I am; I like to smile. But sometimes I smile just to fake it and avoid any questions.

Have you ever not done something because you were afraid of getting in trouble? Yesss, all the time. I’ve always been all about following the rules and I’ve never seen the appeal in breaking them. That makes me sound boring but at least I’ve never gotten in serious trouble lol.

Was the weather beautiful today? For me it is, but only because I like the rain and cloudy weather. Others might find it bleak and sad, but I feel right at home.

Do you have to have a fan on when you sleep? Yeah, all year long.

Would you rather have an orange, red or gray bedroom? If I had my dream modern/brutalist home, grey would be soooo fucking perfect for the bedroom.

Would you ever dye part of your hair blue? I’m open to it, but I don’t think it’ll be a good match for my black hair as both are darker shades as it is. If I could dye my hair I’d pick lighter colors like green or even go all the way to blonde.

Have you ever gone to a private school? Yeah, from kindergarten all the way to high school. Private schools here typically give a better quality of education and they don’t give off the for-lazy-spoiled-kids vibe that I always hear from private schools in other countries, which makes them the norm for middle and upper-middle class families.

Is Finding Nemo a favorite movie of yours? I have other favorite animated movies, but that doesn’t stop me from loving Finding Nemo. :) I would always tune in for the whole thing if it were on.

Does/Did your school have a uniform? I had to wear one in my first school, but I didn’t need one for college.

Turn on the TV. What channel are you on? No TV where I am. I think my parents are watching a movie on their TV, but it’s on Netflix rather than a channel.

Does your house have security cameras? It does not.

Does a popsicle sound good right now? Eh, I guess it sounds fine but I’d rather have a pint of ice cream. I think that fits better with the weather and the mood that I’m in today.

What’s your favorite exercise workout? My weight training class last year was a lot of fun. I always felt dead after every session haha but I definitely felt healthier. I wish the semester had gone on longer just for that one class.

What’s your favorite thing to do? Lol I love doing many different things < Same lmao this question is so vague??? My favorite thing to do these days is binge-watch Rhett and Link content, but I like doing so many other things too.

What did you do for your 17th birthday? I was with Gabie that day and we went to a local art museum, as well as to a restaurant that she had wanted to take me to.

Does your local Walmart have benches in them to rest? We don’t have Walmarts.

Was your favorite stuffed animal really a teddy bear growing up? I never had stuffed animals. Well I was given a few of them as gifts, but I was never into them and they always ended up being owned by my sister.

If your house was haunted, what would you do? Not even think about it. Just show them that I couldn’t care less, lol.

Are you good at swimming? I can do a few strokes and am pretty good at treading, but I'm prone to panic-kicking when I can tell that the water is too deep.

What’s worse: Slow internet or slow walkers? Slow internet is such a pain in the ass. Shouldn’t even have to be an issue in 2020 anymore.

What is the rudest thing a guy has ever done to you? Cat-called, whistled at, winked at, lunged at. One good thing about this lockdown is that I haven’t had to deal with men as much as I used to. Do you sleep with the sheets tucked in or out? Well I only have one layer of bedsheet and it’s the one that covers up the mattress, so it’s tucked in by default. I have a blanket to cover me up when I’m cold.

What do you do to fall asleep faster? I find a few videos to watch as that tends to make me feel sleepy the quickest.

Do you carry a bottle of water wherever you go? I used to have a tumbler/water bottle in college but I forgot it at the gym one day and when I came back for it, somebody already stole it :( It was such a handy water bottle because it kept my water cold all day, so it sucks that I lost it. I’m planning to buy the same model again soon.

Are you afraid that one day you might get cancer? It doesn’t really run in my family save for one grand-aunt who had cancer, so I’m not too worried. But I’ve accepted the fact that it is at least a possibility.

Are you a fast or slow walker? I like being in the middle. Slow walkers are annoying so I try not to be one, and walking fast just reminds me of my mom and how quickly she walks at malls when she’s supposed to be spending time with her family lol.

Do you usually have to wear a belt with your pants? No. They all fit me just fine.

Does it bother you when people’s underwear hangs out? Eghhh, it really does. I know it shouldn’t but it really does. I just feel like it’s so invasive and it gives me a lot of secondhand embarassment.

Are you usually the person to try new things with your hair? Not really. I like staying safe with my hair. The most daring thing I’ve done with it is get bangs tbh, and I don’t plan on going any further than that.

When’s your birthday? April 21st.

What age do you look forward to reaching? I don’t feel that way about any age. Whenever I reach ultimate satisfaction and security will be a good enough age for me.

Name a state that begins with the letter M. Minnesota.

What’s the first thing you do after a car accident? Think about how to tell my parents. D:

What do you use to get rid of bad breath? Brush my teeth, drink water.

What exercise do you hate the most? Pull-ups.

What do you do at a party? Drink, socialize, tell stories, eat allllllll the food ha.

#survey #surveys

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shippingtheswann · 6 years ago

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FOOLS RUSH IN:

Summary: Emma Swan has been married since she was five years old. Under the old oak tree, she wed Killian Jones, her neighbor. Then, he moved away, but made one final promise, that one day he would marry her for real. See what happens when he returns to make good on his promise.

Fools Rush in Chapter Eleven

Rating: Mature/Explicit

Warning: SMUT

Read from the beginning here

A/N: Thanks to @captainswanbigbang for once again organizing an amazing event. I've been missing Captain Swan for the past year, and having this has helped so much! Thanks to Lana @high-seas-swan and Kaitlyn @spartanguard for their beta help. Go check out Lana's story when you get a moment as well – it's amazing! Thanks to Rachel @ladyciaramiggles for the art she has provided. Also, thanks to Kris @sambethe for the cover art for the story and for beta help! All of you have made this story what it is! I hope you all enjoy what's happening and what is coming up! Warning for this chapter: there will be lots of smut! Enjoy!

Monday came too quickly. Everyone always says that, but waking up curled up against Killian, knowing that her alarm was going to break the perfect silence of the room made Emma feel almost murderous. Normally she loved Mondays. She loved getting to start a new week at school. But that day, all she wanted to do was snuggle deeper against the mass of perfect body behind her.

How was it that in two days' time, Emma went from being someone who hated to share the bed - so much that the thought of doing it gave her a mini panic attack - to someone who now thought she would never be able to sleep in that bed alone again.

Of course, Killian was the answer.

The way he held her in his sleep, with enough pressure to make her feel safe and warm without feeling trapped or confined; the way he managed to send goosebumps up her spine at the mere inhale of his breath against her shoulder made her realize that she had been missing out.

His arms snaked around her hips, pulling her in closer, as if he knew instinctively that she was awake. He didn't say anything, just like the previous morning, and he didn't need to. His giant erection said everything she needed to hear.

She wasn't going to push it though. She thoroughly enjoyed their time the previous morning, but when Killian pulled away from her, she could see in his eyes that while he was physically ready to give her everything, he may still be slightly damaged in the emotional department.

She wanted him though; even though she slowed down and allowed him his space, she wanted him - desperately.

Never in her lifetime had she wanted someone as much as she wanted him. Sure, she had sex before, and it was pretty decent. But she never felt the attraction towards someone that she did towards him. Even when she would stare at his profile picture for hours, she was more captivated with it than she was with any of her boyfriends.

Probably because she only ever dated jerks. Neal, Jefferson, August. They were all the same. They may have given her pleasure, but none of them made her heart skip a beat the way Killian did.

It was probably the way he looked at her. At least, that is what she thought. Killian's eyes tore into her in a way she never thought possible. He could read her instantly. There wasn't hiding anything from him. On top of that, the passion he held in his blue eyes was something Emma had only seen once before. It was the stuff stories were made of - a look that claimed someone, a look that said you belonged to one another, and nothing would ever tear you apart.

Mary Margaret and David looked at each other like that. She had caught glimpses of it when she would hang out with them. It was a look that said neither one of them was really living without the other, like life wasn't worth living if they weren't together.

Truthfully, she had always wanted that, but she knew true love wasn't real. Or, if it was, it was too rare for her.

That was until she saw the way Killian looked at her.

It scared her a bit, how deeply he cared for her. She didn't want to call it love, but she was pretty sure his feelings were almost there.

It was the reason she didn't want to get up that morning, it was the reason she had spent all day thinking about blue eyes that looked into her soul, the way none had ever looked at her before. If that was how Killian made her feel, she wanted to wake up feeling that way for the rest of her life. Shit, she thought; she was in deep.

While she was pretty sure his feelings for her were deep, she didn't think hers were as strong as his. At least emotionally. She knew her physical feeling; like the constant feeling she wanted to jump his bones; were stronger than his. Maybe it was because of how she had to not only protect her own heart, but Henry's; maybe it was because she had never really had the opportunity to really feel what it was like to have someone hold her the way Killian did; maybe it was just something in her DNA; all she knew was that she was beginning to fall for him.

Sure, she loved Killian. He was her best friend, there would always be those feelings, lurking in the corner of her mind. It was why she was able to forgive him so quickly, it's what kept her thinking about him all those years, however, the love she had felt for him at one time was nothing compared to what she was feeling for him now. The love she used to have was a friendly love; similar to the love you have for your parents, or siblings. It wasn't a passionate love, it was a love that bubbled around in your veins causing you to forget every little bad thing that may have happened.

When she walked out of her bedroom an hour after leaving Killian's side, she found coffee waiting in the pot, hot steam rising off her coffee mug that was already filled. The small hole in the top allowed for some of the heat to escape. She loved the mug that had been chosen.

She had been collecting coffee mugs from Starbucks since she was in college. Anytime they released a travel mug, she got it. One of her cabinets was almost completely filled with mugs, including ones her parents had gotten her on their travels around the world. Yet, her favorite out of all of them was one Henry had made for her with the help of Mary Margaret and David. She had to go out of town for a conference the year before and the couple offered to watch him for her. David had taken Henry out early for hunting and on their way back stopped at Starbucks to get David some coffee and Henry a cake pop. Inside, Henry found the tumbler. It was a simple mug, but allowed the person owning it to personalize the design. Henry spent the weekend decorating the white background, placing a picture of him and Emma right in the middle. She cried when he gave it to her. The words I love you Mom caused her to break down.

Getting ready in the morning was a routine for Emma, and she knew Killian needed to leave for work before she would be ready. He gave her a quick kiss goodbye, struggling to not give into the temptation that they were both feeling. As she felt his lips against hers, and heard the moan escape, she wanted to pull him in closer and demand that they both take the day off to really get to know each other, but she also knew it was better that they take things slowly, especially after the small anxiety attack she had.

Next to her mug was a brown paper bag and a note.

The note was short, but sweet.

Emma love,

I am sorry to have to rush out like this. I've packed you a lunch, I hope you enjoy it. I wasn't sure if you had a lunch pail or anything.

I will be thinking of you all day. Getting any work done is going to be a real challenge when all I want to do is spend more time with you.

I also packed Henry a bag that he took with him as he rushed out the door. He said something about needing to meet Avery about a project.

I hope you spend the day thinking of me, the way I am going to be thinking of you. Your kisses are so sweet I am not sure I want to eat my own packed lunch, in fear of losing the feeling of you.

Have a wonderful day and I'll see you tonight.

XX Killian

Emma smiled down at the note that was written in almost perfect penmanship. She could almost hear his accent in his writing. It warmed her heart that he had told her about Henry, showing he cared enough already. She knew Henry was going to leave before her, but she was wondering why the house was so silent when she left her bathroom after curling her hair. Henry hadn't run into her room shouting that he was leaving, so Killian must have told him he would relay the message.

She peaked inside the bag to see a couple of plastic containers. She wasn't sure what filled them, as they were stacked on top of each other. However, there were a couple of leftover cookies wrapped in plastic wrap at the top, which made Emma smile.

Her phone pinged in her bag as she grabbed the rest of her items of her counter and moved to head to work.

You have a lot of explaining to do!

Mary Margaret's text came through and all Emma could think about was Mary Margaret yelling at her in a Cuban accent, the same way Dezi Arnez used to yell at Lucy. It was like Emma was in her own little episode in I Love Emma.

She sent back a thumbs up and started her way to school. It was only a ten minute drive from her home to Storybrooke Middle School, not enough time in her opinion. Emma loved riding in her car, singing along to the music. She had an extensive playlist on Spotify. Every morning she sang along to her favorite songs, getting her in the mood for the upcoming day. She only wished she had longer in the car because ten minutes was not enough time to jam out to Journey in her opinion.

Mary Margaret was waiting outside her classroom door when Emma approached, keys out and ready to unlock the room. Her friend tried to look annoyed at whatever Emma had done, but the woman was too sweet to really look mad. There was still a slight smile on her face, and her eyes were bright and happy. It was a look that a kid would get when looking at their parents after they did something they knew was wrong. A look filled with innocence yet mischief.

"How was your weekend?" she asked as Emma opened the classroom and flipped on the lights.

Emma loved her classroom. It was bigger than others, thanks to the need of lab tables. She was able to have a giant fish tank that sat on the back table. One of her favorite parts of the new school year was having a competition to see which students would get to name their class pets. It was thanks to Mary Margaret that she had so many aquatic life forms anyway. She had suggested that Emma get the animals that were in Finding Nemo. So she requested funds from the school to have a saltwater tank, in addition to her freshwater tank she got on her own dime, to show students the differences in biodiversity and ecosystems.

Walking to her table, Emma tried to ignore Mary Margaret's question, one that she knew held more than just a simple inquiry from a friend. Emma chose to not have a traditional desk in her classroom. Instead, she sat and utilized the demonstration desk, so she didn't have to walk far.

Mary Margaret's eyes raised when Emma looked over.

"It was good," she responded, not giving much away.

"Don't be coy, Emma - something happened; Henry told David last night," her friend said, throwing her another look that said I'm not an idiot, Emma; I know about everything.

At that moment, she silently cursed getting Henry that phone. Henry had begged Emma for a phone, saying all of his friends had one. It was like she was sixteen again, except she wasn't begging her parents for something, it was Henry. Emma could remember how she felt when her parents told her no; how she felt like an outcast because her parents didn't want her having a MySpace or AIM profile. So, she caved, and bought Henry an iPhone. But, unlike most boys his age, he didn't spend time on it messaging girls on snapchat or being a creep; he used it for his gaming, streaming videos of the different challenges he got into while gaming, and searching information about gaming. He was even obsessed with Pokemon Go, and had begged Emma to take him down to New York one weekend so he could catch some rare Pokemon that he would never find in Storybrooke. Emma had raised a wonderful kid.

"And what did my son say?"

"He said that you had a date over and that said date was now living with you all." Emma was surprised how calm Mary Margaret was being about all of this. Even the line of questioning was calm for her friend. She would have expected this response from Ruby, but not Mary Margaret. Hell, just the other day, Mary Margaret freaked out when Emma said she had met Killian, so to hear her friend question the new man in her life and the status of his living arrangements in such a clam and even manner freaked her out a bit.

"And?" Emma responded.

"And, why didn't you tell me?" she questioned. A smile came across the woman's face and her eyes lit up. Emma could tell the excitement was coming.

"I was going to tell you today at lunch," Emma said, sending Mary Margaret into the tizzy she had been waiting for.

A squeal escaped Mary Margaret's lips and she ran to Emma, giving her a hug, causing Emma to wobble a bit on her heels. There were now tears in the woman's eyes, causing Emma to roll hers.

"What?" she questioned.

"I just never thought I would see the day that you opened yourself up like that. Emma Swan is in love," she exclaimed.

"I am not in love. Killian just needed a place to stay that's all. He had been staying with his brother and it was becoming cramped, so I offered him a place to stay," Emma explained.

"If you say so," Mary Margaret countered.

While Emma may have always had the power to know when someone is lying, Mary Margaret could always tell when she was. Not many people were able to read Emma the way her best friend could. She had tried many times in college to lie to Mary Margaret. She never lied about something as big as this, but she had tried to pull the rug over on her a couple of times; but Mary Margaret could always see through the bullshit Emma was serving. And just like that moment, Mary Margaret never called her on it. She always replied If you say so and left it at that. Most of the time Emma didn't care that Mary Margaret knew she was lying, and just left their conversation where it lay, but on the big stuff, Emma always felt guilty lying to her. She knew her friend was only trying to support her. Besides, eventually, Emma always told her the truth. Sometimes it would take a while, or a large amount of alcohol, but the truth always came out.

"Fine," Emma sighed.

She had said she wanted to keep the arrangement with Killian a secret from her friends, at least until they came to a decision on where they stood, but Emma needed to talk to someone – someone other than Killian.

At first, she thought she could tell Ruby, but that girl had a hard enough time keeping normal secrets; so she couldn't trust her to keep track of one as big as this. Also, while Ruby was good to talk to, she was sometimes too straight forward. Her focus wasn't what Emma needed at the moment. Mary Margaret, though, would listen to Emma; she would ask Emma the probing questions that would get Emma to admit things she didn't even know she felt.

"So, at dinner the other night, Killian said something that got me thinking about our relationship," she began, and Mary Margaret's nod told her to continue. "When we were younger, Killian promised he would come back one day and marry me – for real."

Mary Margaret's jaw dropped to the floor. Emma smiled a bit at her reaction; it was rare that Mary Margaret was so surprised by something. Once she had gotten over the initial shock of a proposal, her best friend let out a soft ah. She had told Mary Margaret about her past "wedding" to Killian during one drunken night in college; and Mary Margaret can't hold her liquor, so Emma thought she forgot about it. But now that her friend was sober, she was a lot more aware of what Emma was saying.

Emma was in for it now.

Mary Margaret had always wanted Emma to have exactly what she had with David. She wanted to see Emma married to her "true love," pregnant and barefoot, padding around her kitchen. It was something she always brought up whenever she visited Emma's home; she would walk down through the hallway into the second bedroom and comment how it was the perfect size for a nursery. For a while, it bothered Emma so much that she insisted they only eat at the Nolan's. She knew Mary Margaret only wanted to see her happy, but Emma had come to terms that she would probably never find someone that made her stop in her tracks the way David made Mary Margaret. That was, until a few nights ago.

Waking up next to Killian, falling asleep with him there made Emma wish she had what they had; made her wish that she could turn back the clock and be with him sooner – that she had left the country after high school to attend college in Ireland, or chase after him in some way. Looking back at all the wasted time, she hated herself for letting him go the way she did. Yet, she knew that things wouldn't be the way they were now if they hadn't had time to grow up apart.

"We were stupid kids," Emma responded, unsure of what to say next.

"You weren't stupid kids; it's cute, actually. You loved him even back then," she responded, taking a seat in the front of the classroom, like she was waiting for Emma to teach her something she didn't already know.

"I guess you could call it that. He was my best friend. He got me. I never had to say what was wrong when Killian was around because he already knew." There was a tone in her voice when she spoke about their past that she couldn't place. She had never spoken about anyone this way.

"So, he's back and what? He wants to marry you for real?" she asked.

"Yeah, he does," Emma whispered, but not quiet enough for her best friend to not hear her.

The squeal that came out of Mary Margaret's lips was decibels above her squeal from earlier. The shriek pierced the air and her friend was way too giddy with excitement. She jumped up from the seat she had just sat down in and did a little dance before she came to Emma – who was still standing at her desk, looking at her friend in confusion.

Well, slight confusion. She knew Mary Margaret would be happy that Emma was finally on the "right path" – according to Mary Margaret – but she didn't expect her to have no negative reaction. She at least thought she would get the gaping mouth again, like her previous confession. Maybe it was just that Mary Margaret had been patiently waiting for the point of the story, or maybe she had already guessed what had been happening – either way, Emma was expecting a harsher response – one that called for patience and a jump back into reality.

"Oh Emma, that's wonderful! He wants to marry you – oh, tell me everything! What did he say? How did he do it? What did you say? When's the wedding?" Just like the other day, Mary Margaret let her excitement get the best of her. When she was excited like this, she turned into a yappy Chihuahua, not pausing to take a breath and getting overly excited over something with so few details.

Emma rolled her eyes a bit as Mary Margaret continued to ask question after question. Emma pulled out her chair that was behind the demonstration desk and took a seat. She knew that she had to let Mary Margaret talk herself down.

"Sorry," Mary Margaret finally said when she took in Emma sitting down with her arms crossed.

Her friend meant well, cared about her; but also knew she could sometimes overdo her emotions.

"It's OK," Emma smiled, unfolding her arms and leaning forward.

"Hmmm, now where should I start? You had so many questions," Emma responded with a bit of sarcasm, smiling at Mary Margaret, who had thankfully sat back down across from her. "First, I know it's kind weird that we are even talking about this. Especially after I have only known him again for a few days. But things just feel right."

As she explained, Mary Margaret's face beamed. It was contagious. Yes, Emma had been feeling very nervous about all of this - how could she not? But seeing how happy Mary Margaret was for her, seeing her friend's excitement over love finally coming into Emma's life, suppressed those feelings.

"Secondly, we haven't planned anything, because there wasn't really a question," Emma explained.

"What do you mean there was no question? He asked you to marry him, right?" she questioned, a bit of annoyance lacing her voice.

"Well, not really. We were talking about life when Killian asked if I remembered our childhood promise. It caught me off guard a bit and kinda threw a wrench into the night. But, as he walked to my car, I thought about it. If Killian really did want to marry me, would I really say no? I knew I couldn't. He is my oldest friend. He knows me better than anyone else does, including you; even though we've been apart for years," she spoke, hoping to not hurt her friend's feelings. But, it was true. She loved Mary Margaret, and was very thankful for her friendship; but the woman didn't get Emma the way Killian did.

Over the past few days, Emma had seen that the connection that was between them was still as strong as it used to be when they were younger. Killian knew instantly when something was wrong with her; he also seemed to know exactly what was bothering her before she even realized it herself. It was how he knew she was upset about his nonvisits before she even wanted to admit it to herself.

"Ok, so he didn't ask you directly?" she asked for clarification.

"I guess, he said he was joking, so I decided to joke with him – I told him if he was serious, I would," Emma smiled at the confession, because she really was joking at first.

"So what does that mean then? You aren't getting married? But he is living with you," Mary Margaret was still confused.

"Let me finish," Emma huffed. "So of course, my little joke stunned him a bit, but got us both thinking about it. The next day, you know I had plans with him that afternoon; after everything went well at brunch, I decided that you had been right all along."

"What do you mean?"

"I have been fighting love and relationships for years. I know it's stupid; but since Neal fucked up everything, I've been living as if I don't need a relationship to be happy, or at least living as if a relationship can't help. But, you were right. In college you told me I can't stop fate and once I found the right guy, I would know. As I was driving, I realized something. Maybe Killian has always been the one for me. Maybe fate, or destiny, or whatever the hell you want to call it; maybe it decided that it was finally time for Killian and I to be together. I wasn't 100% sure that he thought the same about me, and I wasn't sure if he was serious or not about the whole promise, so I just asked him," Emma confessed.

Mary Margaret was stunned again. It was surely going to be a morning she would never forget in her life. First, Emma was living with a guy whom she had a "relationship" with; second, Emma had told her that she was right; now, Emma was confessing to asking a man to marry her.

Now, Mary Margaret wasn't against the idea that a woman could ask a man to marry her, she was very much a feminist; but the idea that Emma would ask a man to marry her was just mind-boggling. Emma had never been the relationship type of person; and while Mary Margaret had wished Emma would find someone that made her smile and feel the way David made Mary Margaret feel, she knew she was grasping at straws (didn't stop her from trying to set Emma up, though). In a matter of days, Killian made Emma do a complete 180 in her thoughts on men and relationships; and Mary Margaret couldn't contain her excitement.

"You asked him?" she asked, wanting to make sure she really did hear it right.

"Yes," Emma rolled her eyes again, the torment of the questioning getting old.

"And he said yes?"

"Well, not exactly. I kinda attacked him," she blushed.

Instead of asking any more clarifying questions, Mary Margaret just arched an eyebrow, telling Emma to continue with her story.

"I could tell he was over thinking everything – so I kissed him. I didn't want him thinking. He always did that when we were young. I was always the mischievous one – jumping from trees and willing to do anything once without thinking, whereas he was always the one to think about what may happen. You know, there was a time when I thought we should climb a tree in the park near our homes. It was one we hadn't climbed before, but I wanted to climb it. It was one of the biggest in the area. I was running right up to it, taunting Killian to join me; yet he kept saying we needed to make sure it was safe first. That same look I saw when I was five, I saw Saturday afternoon. I didn't want him debating himself out of it," Emma explained.

"Ok, so what happened?"

"Well, he said he had always dreamed of marrying me, that he had always thought about it, but never thought it would happen. He also said he didn't want to screw anything up, so we should try it out first," she said.

"So that is why he is living with you?" Mary Margaret pondered.

"Yeah. For thirty days, we are going to act like a married couple. We are doing a trial run. And, if at the end of the month, things are working out, we will get married," Emma smiled, sending up a small prayer to whatever Gods may be listening, asking for them to make it the thirty days.

"And what does Henry think of all this?" There was a scolding tone behind the question.

"Henry doesn't know. And he isn't going to know either," Emma began. "You are the only one who knows, actually. We aren't telling anyone. Shit, I wasn't even supposed to tell you anything – but I can't lie to you."

"If Henry finds out, he is going to be pissed," Mary Margaret countered.

"I know, but we didn't want anyone influencing our decision. Killian was right; we needed to not jump into this. We need to make sure that it's what we really want. I don't want to screw this up, and I know that if I told anyone – well apart from you – that I would be setting myself up for failure," Emma countered.

"Alright," she conceded.

"Really?" Emma wondered, rarely did Mary Margaret conceded the way she did. Emma was kinda hoping that Mary Margaret would tell her that what she was doing was stupid, since a small part of her did think that.

"Of course! If you are happy, then I am happy. Sure, I may not 100% understand what you are doing; but it is kind of romantic if you think about it. Childhood crush promises to come back and make good on a promise one day and they have to get to know each other better in a short amount of time. Hell, Emma, that is what romance dramas are based on," her friend smiled, standing up to walk over. "I understand your hesitation to tell anyone – we all know Ruby can't keep a secret for crap – just don't forget you can always talk to us if you need to. You say Killian was the over thinker out of the two of you; but you probably do just as much overthinking as he does – just in different areas in your life."

The bell shrilled inside the room, signaling the start of the school day. They had ten minutes until the students would start infiltrating their rooms for homeroom.

Mary Margaret hugged Emma tightly. "I'm so happy for you."

Emma smiled as her friend left, happy that she was able to tell someone. Happy that things were finally starting to fall into place.

The rest of the week went by at the same rate that Monday did. Nothing exciting happened, but it didn't stop Emma from smiling as she left the school on Friday.

Monday night had her, Killian, and Henry eating homemade pizza and talking about Henry's upcoming field trip to Financial Park – an "amusement" park that was designed to teach middle school children how to budget and run an economy. David had found the place a few years earlier and ever since had taken the kids each year. Henry was claiming it was a stupid field trip. Who wanted to go to an educational amusement park? No one, that's who – at least according to Henry. Emma knew though that the experience would be good for him.

Emma was shocked, though, when a question came from Henry's mouth.

"Would you go with us Killian?" he asked before stuffing his mouth with a slice of pizza.

Emma was sure if anyone looked over at her during the question, they would have seen someone who had just been slapped in the face. Henry had never asked her to go on a field trip before, and now he was asking Killian.

"You mean like a chaperone?" Killian questioned.

"Yeah," he said. "Mr. Nolan was saying that there weren't enough teachers to go and he needed chaperones. I thought about you right away."

Killian's smile was too big to contain. Emma's matched when she saw the joy in his eyes.

"Well then, of course I'll go with you, lad," Killian answered after he took a few deep breaths – which Emma was pretty sure he took to calm himself from the excitement.

She didn't have to tell Killian just how big of a deal it was that Henry asked Killian to go with him. She didn't have to tell Killian how it was hard for Henry to form relationships with people – especially adults. She didn't have to tell him that Henry's time in the system had changed how he looked at people. Killian already knew.

"Even though you won't be living here?" Henry had to ask him the question that Emma was scared to ask herself.

What if their situation didn't work out? What if, after a month of living together, they decided that they weren't meant to be and he moved out? Emma didn't want to think about that. She wanted to keep thinking that in a month she would be getting married, and getting one step closer to adopting Henry. And seeing the way that Henry was looking at Killian, she really hoped that it would happen.

"Aye, even if I am not living here," he replied, giving them both the reassurance they needed.

Even if things didn't work out between them; she wanted Henry to not be affected. It was one of the main reasons she rarely dated. She didn't want him becoming attached to anyone that might not be around in a couple of weeks. But Killian was her friend, her oldest friend – and deep inside, she knew that even if they didn't work out romantically, he would always be her friend.

Tuesday began the same way Monday did – with Emma waking up wrapped in Killian's arms. Again, she had to fight the need to ask him to ravish her. He did kiss her passionately before he let her get out of bed to get ready. The way his lips moved against hers had her almost begging. Yet, she enjoyed just kissing him. It was like she was back in high school - making out with a boy on her bed, not wanting to go any further in case they got caught.

Before she knew it, it was Friday and there was a message from Killian.

Every day since Monday, he had left her a cute little note with her lunch. She kept each one – one inside of her planner that told her he couldn't get her kisses out of his head. Another she kept in her purse. Another she pasted up in her cabinet at school, next to the mirror where she hung up her coat; it told her how beautiful she was and how she was captivating. He was seriously spoiling her with the compliments, but she wasn't going to complain.

She had never had someone talk to her the way Killian did. Not only did he leave these little notes, but he told her every chance he got – when she was washing the dishes after dinner, as she folded the laundry, as she walked outside to collect the trashcans. Each time, she blushed.

The text she had received during lunch told her to not make plans for the next evening. He had planned a romantic evening.

She was clutching her phone, a huge smile plastered on her face when Henry walked in her classroom.

"Hey Mom," he sang.

She didn't notice him at first, causing him to ask again.

"Oh, hey, kid," she responded.

"What is it? Why are you smiling like that?" Henry asked.

"I'm not smiling like anything," she said, quickly trying to correct her face. "So, what are your plans for the weekend?"

"Why, you got a hot date with Killian?" his question came out and surprised Emma. He was unashamed of asking; in fact there was a laughter to his voice.

Emma wasn't able to respond. Did Henry really just figure out what was going on with the adults in his house, or was he just kidding around?

"You two aren't very sneaky, you know." His confession was all Emma needed to start hyperventilating; worried about what her son may think. This was exactly what she was concerned about.

He was right though. All those notes he left her, all the little compliments that were given in whispers weren't really stealthy. Emma didn't realize it at the time, but Henry was usually in the room when Killian would say something. Hell, he probably saw all the notes Killian left her. Shit, she thought, especially thinking about the note that talked about her kisses. That wasn't something she ever wanted Henry to read. It was like how she never wanted to know about her parents and their sex life. Sure, as she got older, she realized her parents had to have sex – how else would they have been "trying" to have kids – but she never wanted to know about it. She didn't even like watching them kiss. So, if she was in Henry's shoes, and read a note from her dad to her mom about them kissing, she probably would have thrown up. So how was he being so nonchalant about it?

"Henry…" she tried to start explaining the situation but no words came out. She just stared at her son, noting his smile and the brightness in his hazel eyes.

"It's OK, Mom," he said, reaching out to place his hands on hers.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you," she began. "I just didn't know how to tell you. It's always been me and you. I didn't want anything to change us."

"Like I said, it's OK," he smiled.

"You mean you're OK with Killian and I dating, and him living with us?" How was it that she had a kid like him?

"I kinda figured that he was more than just a friend when I met him. He couldn't stop looking at you. He makes you happy; that's all I care about." With his words, the bell rang, signaling the start of the next class period.

"Thanks, kid," Emma replied.

"And I'll ask Avery if I can stay the weekend again," he said with a wink as he walked to his seat.

She was hoping that tonight would be the night. The night where they finally found out if they were truly compatible. If the sparks that ignited around each other could cause a fire or would be quickly extinguished. Especially after the previous night's activities.

On Thursday, Emma finally had to take things into her own hands, quite literally. She was frustrated. The sexual tension between them had come to the highest it had been. She had been washing the dishes after another delicious meal that Killian had made. Henry had said something about needing finish a book report and retreated to his room. That left Killian sitting at the table staring at her. She knew he was staring, too. He wasn't trying to hide that. His eyes roamed over her body.

Maybe she had worn the dress on purpose.

She rarely wore dresses to school – they limited her mobility and she needed mobility in the science lab. But, she had a parent teacher conference that afternoon with a rather unruly child; so she picked out a dress. This dress was made for her.

It was a black and grey and fit tight against her body. The cap sleeves accented her strong arms. The fake a lapels of the grey top looked as if they could be on a man's suit; which made Emma feel powerful. There was a straight cut against her chest, which showed off just a slight amount of cleavage. The black skirt hit high on her waist, and showed off the small amount of curves she had.

Killian had been caught staring at her ass in the dress multiple times since she arrived home. Because of the tight fit of the dress; her ass looked even better than it normally did.

Emma was blessed with good genes. She really didn't have to work out to get the trimmed body she sported. That didn't mean she didn't exercise – she just didn't have to work really hard at it. She went every other day after school, using the middle schools weight room that they shared with the high school. She spent thirty minutes using weights and another thirty minutes running on the elliptical.

This week though, with Killian being here, and Emma not wanting to miss a minute of his company, she skipped the gym.

When she arrived home late, thanks to the irate parent who refused to hear that her precious son was misbehaving in all of his classes, she was met with a wonderful aroma. Killian had made homemade Chinese food. She didn't want to wait any longer to eat, so instead of changing, she took a seat with the two guys sitting at the dining table and dove in.

She had watched as Killian took in her figure as she came to the dining table. Every time she got up to get something, she caught him staring.

As she washed the dishes that were left over, she thought he might do something. His eyes were burning into her, so she was pretty sure his touch would sizzle if he made contact.

She felt him move towards her; the hairs on her arms were standing at attention as he inched closer to her. Her hair framed her face, so she wasn't sure what he was doing behind her exactly. But, she could still feel his eyes on her.

Suddenly she felt a large hand wrap around her stomach, pulling her back from the sink and the dirty dishes that laid waiting. His lips were instantly on her neck, pressing small kisses into her skin. She shivered from the contact, goosebumps rising.

"You look positively ravishing today, love," he whispered into her ear, making her lean her head back. It came to rest on his shoulder and his arms snaked farther around her waist.

"Hmmm," was all she was able to get out.

He twirled her around and kissed her. His hands came up from her waist to grasp her hair, pulling her head back to give him deeper access to her mouth. Her hands gripped his t-shirt, which he had changed into when he got home. She had only seen him in his uniform once since he moved in and it annoyed her a bit because he looked good in that uniform. Yet, the shirt he was wearing now was soft and Emma could feel his strength beneath it. She made a mental note to "borrow" that shirt.

His tongue danced with hers, his teeth nipped at her bottom lip, his hips pushed against hers. Her mind was starting to go blank.

His hands moved from her hair to her waist again, this time picking her up as if she was a ragdoll and placing her on the counter.

Within seconds, he was back, devouring her. Her legs instinctively opened up to allow him to move closer. The shirt she was still grasping with her hand was seconds away from being a wrinkled mess on the floor. The skirt of her dress was riding up and the tops of her thighs were exposed. One of his hands traced a line from the top of her pantyhose that was held in pace with a garter belt to the hem of her dress.

His other hand was working its way back up her body, grasping at her breast. He pushed with his hand, sending shocks through Emma's system as she felt him touch her, just as he moved his hips, teasing her through her panties. She was about to suggest they go to their room when a call came out from the hallway.

"Mom, my computer's broken," Henry shouted before appearing in the doorway.

Emma jumped down from the counter and had pushed herself far enough away from Killian to hopefully shield Henry from the truth – if only she had known he already knew – and started toward her son.

"Aye, let's go take a look," Killian responded, turning to shoot Emma a wink as he disappeared from the room.

She huffed a bit, blowing a piece of hair that had fallen in her face from its spot. She was frustrated. She wanted Killian; wanted to know what it would feel like to be pinned underneath of him, wanted to feel his hot kisses trailing down her body. She wanted to shake from ecstasy as he had his way with her.

Emma Swan was horny.

She walked down to the bedroom; hoping that she would be able to meet Killian there and finish what they started. She changed in the darkness of the room, not wanting to turn on the lights and face reality. The darkness held the sensual mood that had once been in the kitchen. She decided tonight wasn't the night for her traditional sleep attire, but for a slutty little piece of lingerie that she had gotten on her last trip into the city. It was something she did whenever she went into Boston with the girls. She would go to this little boutique and buy a pair of sexy panties and a bra. She didn't have anyone to show them off to; but she loved the way she looked in them and the confidence they gave her. So far, she had over 20 outfits in her dresser drawer that she was waiting to try on for a special someone; and she thought she had finally found the person who deserved to see her in them.

She had worn one little outfit to school today, underneath her black and grey dress. She didn't think Killian would get to see her in the dress, since most of the time when she got home from school, she changed quickly while Killian waited in the living room to hear about her day; but she was feeling sexy and decided it would be fun. Plus, maybe he would get to see if it tempted him into joining her in the bedroom. It was why she had worn the dress in the first place. She had hoped that Killian would be distracted enough by the dress to follow her into the bedroom and watch her change, seeing the surprise she had on underneath the dress for him. There was no way he would say no to Emma looking the way she did.

Too bad that stupid conference threw her plan for a spin.

Instead, she had to work with what she was dealt.

Now she just had to plan out how Killian was going to find her. Would she be lying on the bed with her stockings still on? Would she be waiting under the covers so that he would find her out as he slid in behind her? Would she wait in the bathroom and then walk out as he came into the room, showing off the outfit as a whole?

All of the ideas were good ones, but she wasn't quite sure which one Killian wouldn't be able to refuse.

She had decided to wait in the bathroom. In there, she was able to sit down and pump herself up.

It felt like forever before Emma took a glance at the phone she had brought into the room with her. It had been almost thirty minutes since she came into the bathroom, which meant it had been at least forty since Killian went down stairs with Henry. That was forty minutes without his hands on her body and it annoyed her.

The longer she waited, the more frustrated she got. What was taking him so long? She was pretty sure that all Henry's computer needed was a restart. It should have taken him a few minutes to turn off the computer and reboot the thing. It was a newer computer that Emma got Henry when she first fostered him.

The feelings from earlier were starting to dwindle, the passion and excitement diminishing. She was sitting in a lighted bathroom, in sexy lingerie, waiting for Killian, and he was taking forever. The tightness in her belly was only getting heavier. The wetness between her legs was still there, but she wished Killian was there with her to see how turned on she was just thinking about the things they would do together.

Emma's hands acted as if they had a mind of their own. They began to raise to feel her own breasts, but Emma imagined it was Killian. One hand dropped and began the same path that Killian's hand did earlier that evening. Her fingers dusted across her panties, sending sparks through her system, her hips bucking instinctually. She continued to move her fingers, as her hand grasped her breast through her lace bra. The lace rubbing against her nipple caused it to peak. She was thinking about everything she wanted Killian to do to her.

She thought about him taking her right there in the bathroom if he happened to walk in on her touching herself. She thought about them together in the shower, suds running down their bodies as he pounded into her from behind, her hands splayed against the shower door. She pictured them in her large tub, his head thrown back as she rode him. She saw them on her bed, with his head in between her legs, sucking and licking her until she begged him to stop, until she couldn't take it anymore. She wanted him to push her to her limits, to really take her in a way she needed to be taken. She wanted him to whisper dirty secrets in her ear as she leaned on all fours, his cock slowly dragging in and out.

She pressed her lips together tightly, in order to muffle the sound of her orgasm as she came , her hand leaving her breast and grasping at the sink for help.

It had been ages since she had an orgasm like that. Sure, she masturbated occasionally, she did have needs; but she never came so hard, especially not without a toy or a man.

The orgasm that she had was well welcomed, and relieved Emma a bit. She wondered where Killian was.

She peaked out the door to see Killian lying in bed, fast asleep.

Fuck, she thought to herself, he's been here the whole time.

Her feet didn't make any noise as she walked over to where he lay. His shirt from earlier was balled up on the floor. Emma picked it up and put it on. The soft feel of the cotton made her smile. The scent of him wafted over her. How long had he been in bed?

She wanted to wake him, wanted to finish what they had started in the kitchen, but he looked so peaceful. His lips were parted slightly and a small smile was there.

So, instead of waking him, she just crawled into bed with him, his shirt and her lingerie still on. Who knew, maybe there would be time in the morning.

As she wiggled herself into a comfortable position, she heard Killian move. Turning to him, she saw that he was still asleep, but his body must have sensed her presence, because he was now facing her, his body on it's side, arms moved to welcome her into his chest. Emma scooted over to place herself between his arms.

Sleep was beginning to take over as she heard Killian whisper something. It was mumbled as he was still dreaming, but she could have sworn he said I love you.

She arrived home, noting Killian's car sitting in the driveway. It looked good sitting in the spot, right in front of Emma's house. His Jeep wrangler was a deep blue color and it didn't have it's top on. Emma had never ridden in a car without a top, and she hoped they would take his car out that night. The night was already setting in. The sun hung low in the sky, casting gorgeous colors across the clouds. The breeze was slow, but brought in some cooler air from the sea. It was early October and they had been lucky that the weather was still nice. Emma could remember one year where it actually snowed for Halloween.

Entering her house, she heard music coming through the speakers that were sitting in her living room. She had never pegged Killian for a country type of guy, yet Luke Bryan crooned through the speakers. The song felt right for the night that was starting.

"Killian?" she yelled, dropping her bag in the entryway and kicking off her shoes.

She heard him respond from the bedroom and headed that way to find him. When she entered, he was sitting on the bed, pulling on his boots.

"Hey," she said.

"You ready for tonight?" he asked, a smirk appearing on his face. He was up to something. Emma just knew it.

She just smiled at him from the doorway.

He stood up and she took him in. His hair was getting too long and she knew he would need it cut soon, but she liked it. His blue eyes sparkled, the lining of charcoal around his lids made them pop even more than they normally did. His clothes were casual, the green of the shirt stretched nicely across his chest. A bit of chest hair poked out the top.

His boots made a light sound as he came to stand in front of her. She couldn't meet him in the eyes, knowing that if she did, a huge grin would appear on her face, giving away her happiness, a happiness she wasn't willing to admit yet.

"Well?" he said, pulling her chin up, making her look at him.

"Yeah, I'm ready. Do I need to change?" she questioned, looking back down at what she was wearing. She had been wearing her favorite pair of jeans and a green top that matched his. She wondered if he had picked out the shirt based on what he saw her picking out the night before.

"No, you look wonderful," he smirked. "And you don't need to change."

She wanted to crash against his lips at that moment, not wanting to leave the bedroom. She wanted to stay where they were, in their little bubble. She had already felt the attraction between them begin to ignite when she entered the room and she didn't want to lose it. The way she felt in the room was something she wanted to grow. The bubbling in her lower stomach grew as each second passed.

Killian, though, was on a mission. He grabbed her hand and led her down to his Jeep. The only stop they made was to grab her purse from the entryway, picking up two hats and sunglasses as well.

Emma was giddy with excitement as she climbed up into the Jeep and buckled her seatbelt. Her cap was secured on her head, her makeshift ponytail popping out of the back.

"So, where are you taking me tonight?" she asked as Killian climbed into the driver's seat and started the ignition.

"It's a surprise, Swan, but trust me, you'll love it," he smiled as he put the car and gear and backed out of the driveway.

The drive to Killian's mysterious date was a thrill ride. Emma wanted to throw her hands up and feel the breeze on her fingers. She wanted to pull herself up and bask in the diminishing sunlight that was coming through the trees. Her hair whipped around her head even though the hat was keeping most of it in place. The smell of the asphalt and engine was something she had never experienced before and Emma didn't think it would smell as wonderful as it did. If Emma had to put a scent to a mood, what she was smelling was adventure and new beginnings.

Storybrooke was a pretty small town; going anywhere will take less than twenty minutes. So as they hit the forty minute mark on being in the car, Emma's excitement over the date grew. Not that she wouldn't enjoy a nice night in their town, she just wanted more.

After an hour of driving, they pulled into the parking lot of one of Emma's favorite places – Dave and Buster's. She loved playing games there, plus the food was decent and the drinks strong and cheap. The atmosphere was what she went for, though. It was rare that she got to go there, since it was an hour away and she always spent too much money there. But, at least once every two months, she packed Henry into her car and they spent the night playing games and binge eating appetizers. Henry always stuck to the driving and shooting games, while Emma liked the coin dozers and trivia games. At the end of the night, they would pool their tickets and get a prize for the house. In fact, there was a little stuffed penguin in the guest room that they won the last time they went there.

Emma's smiled grew as she walked towards the restaurant.

"I'm guessing I picked a good place?" Killian questioned, reaching out to pull her hand into his, holding it tight as they walked inside.

"Yes! Henry is going to be so jealous he missed this," she exclaimed. However, she had to ask, "But why did you choose this? I thought you were planning a romantic evening? You know, a fancy restaurant, walks along the beach, candlelight."

Killian laughed a deep chuckle. His head tilted back a bit as he tried to contain himself.

"Swan, romance comes in many forms. It's not all candlelight and moonlit walks in cold water. Sometimes, it's simply knowing the person you are with and doing something with them that they would enjoy. I know you, Swan - you don't want walks along the beach or a stuffy dinner at some restaurant that is overpriced. You want fun, excitement, and the thrill of a game," he said, pulling her towards him, his arms wrapping around her waist.

She had to admit, he was right. Emma didn't enjoy the traditional romantic shit that most girls like. She found it all too clichéd. Romance didn't equal love. It didn't mean that the person knew you. Emma would have hated a fancy dinner, at a restaurant where she would get hardly enough food for an outrageous price. She loved chains and loved the fun that some of these restaurants had. She wanted something different, and Killian was giving it to her. He must have remembered how she hated the beach as a kid. Sand sucked. It got everywhere and Emma hated the way it made her skin feel. She hated that she would find sand in placesc for months after a trip to the beach. She preferred the pool over the ocean, too – in a pool, she could see everything, whereas in the ocean, she never knew what was swimming around her feet.

While she was in her mind, he placed a kiss on her lips. It was a quick kiss, similar to all the other ones he had placed on her as she was leaving for the day or they were laying down to go to bed, but this one held a small promise. A promise saying there was more to come, that there would be some traditional romance if she was only patient enough to let it happen.

"So, what do you say love, you ready to play some games?" He wiggled his eyebrows with his question.

"Bring it on, Jones," she winked and pulled him into the restaurant.

They played for hours, snacking and drinking every so often. Emma enjoyed Killian's company, and the ease at which they talked and flirted.

"So, other than the douche you dated in high school, who else struck your fancy, love?" he questioned as they took a break from the games, sitting down on the high chairs they had claimed a few hours earlier.

"No one else really. Neal was my first, and only real, boyfriend," she confessed, heat rising to her cheeks. She was embarrassed by the fact that she hadn't experienced what most got to.

"Really?" he asked, a disbelieving tone laced his words.

"Yeah. It wasn't for lack of trying either," she explained. "After Neal, I took some time to myself. I had spent a good portion of my teen years dating the same person, so I wanted to just have time to myself. Mary Margaret tried to get me to date during our later years at college, but no one really made my heart stop, ya know?"

Killian just nodded his head. There was something he wasn't telling her.

"I'm not a virgin though," she blurted out, the redness showing in her cheeks.

She was pretty sure it was one of the most embarrassing moments of her life; divulging her sexual history to a man she was pretty sure she would marry in such a brazen way, but she had to let him know. Maybe it was the look he gave her when she told him there hadn't been anyone of importance in her life. All she knew was that she couldn't go on another minute without him knowing that.

He just raised his eyebrow in response. There was no noise coming from him. He just took a sip of his water and ate a buffalo wing.

"I mean, I lost my virginity to Neal a few weeks before I found him cheating on me. In college, I had a few drunken one night stands, but none of them meant anything," she explained, rambling on, hoping Killian would interject.

"It's hard to believe they didn't want anything more," he finally said.

"They did, I didn't," she began. "August was the first guy I was with after Neal. Mary Margaret tried to get us to date; she was obsessed with August. He wanted to be a writer and she thought that was romantic. We hung out some; he didn't want a traditional relationship, and I didn't want any kind of one, so we went our separate ways. Jefferson was the other. That's a story for another night, but after the craziness of that, I decided to just stop trying."

After Neal, she didn't want anything serious. She didn't want to put herself through that all over again. The pain and betrayal she felt, combined with the suppressed feelings she still had about being adopted, made it hard for her to really trust anyone not to leave and abandon her.

"I'm not either," he said, looking up from his wings. "A virgin that is," he added as Emma's curious look crossed her face.

"Oh?" she asked, a pang shooting through her chest.

She shouldn't have been upset. They both had separate lives before he moved back home. Of course it wouldn't be weird for both of them to be sexually active. Yet, she was a bit sad that someone else knew Killian in a way she so desperately wanted to know him. She had to wonder if he felt the same when she confessed her status to him?

"Yeah," he started, "her name was Sophie. We weren't dating or anything. Well, at least we weren't serious. Or, I wasn't. She had had a crush on me for years. All of my friends were dating and losing their virginity, so I thought, hell, why not?"

Emma leaned forward, her elbows coming to rest on the high table they had chosen. Her hand reached forward and picked up a French fry, and popped it in her mouth. She mimicked Killian's facial expression and raised an eyebrow, silently asking him to continue.

"I felt like shit about it afterwards; still do. The whole experience was just crap. Of course it was, we were young and had no fucking clue what we were doing, no pun intended. It was awkward and just plain bad. And afterwards I acted like nothing had happened, and ended everything with her," his eyes held sorrow with the confession.

"Ouch," Emma responded.

"Aye, I was an ass about it. Thankfully, Sophie was a lady. She never spread rumors or anything. She did confront me at graduation though, asked why I had been such a jackass to her. I apologized, blamed it on being a teenage boy. She went on to marry a local boy, has three kids now," he said as a way of wrapping up his story. There was something more he wasn't telling her, but she wasn't going to press it.

"She wasn't the last though, was she?" Emma asked, not really sure if she wanted to know the answer.

She was pretty sure Killian had other conquests. Someone that looked the way he did probably had women throwing themselves at him left and right. Plus, the way he acted after Emma would mention something, told her there was someone important in his history that he hadn't mentioned. Emma could also tell things with that person didn't end well, and not because of him.

It hurt her heart to admit that to herself, but she knew Killian had been in love before. He had been able to experience something she had never really felt. Jealousy filtered through her veins. The woman who once held his fancy, his heart, whom had his love, turned Emma into a green-eyed monster. She knew it wasn't right to think it though. They hadn't been in contact for years, she couldn't hold it against either of them. But she knew, if she had had that chance, no one would have gotten to know Killian in the way she so desperately wanted to know him.

"No, she wasn't," he said, reaching up to scratch his ear.

Emma wanted to pull his hand away. To hold it close. To take the hesitation away. She wanted him to feel he could tell her anything. She was; or at least she was getting there. But, at least she knew he would never hold anything against her, that he would forgive her for anything she had done. At least, she hoped so.

"You don't have to tell me," she said, reaching across the table, ignoring the food placed between them.

"Thanks, it's just hard," he began, reaching out to grasp her hand, "I've never talked to anyone about Milah before; well, anyone other than Liam."

He chuckled when he mentioned his brother's name.

"I get it," she said, rubbing circles against his skin.

"Milah was the first girl I thought I loved, she was the first person to get me, and really get me. Liam hated our relationship; and looking back on it now, I get why."

Emma listened intently as he began to weave his tale of Milah.

She was surprised to hear about their age difference, her mouth popped open at the confession. It was hard to picture him with her. It didn't matter that he described their relationship in great detail, his eyes shimmering as he reminisced on their time together. It didn't matter that she could hear his feelings for the woman. Emma just couldn't picture it.

It was hard to picture a young Killian falling for someone old. Even though he described her as young, with deep brown hair and bright eyes; all Emma could see was an aging woman who was desperate to feel young again. She saw wrinkles and the passage of time. She saw someone who took advantage of young boy, one who was still processing his mother's death, his father's departure and the loss of a life he so desperately wanted to live. She saw a seductress, she saw red.

She tried to listen as he continued to weave their story. She heard him discuss how they hid their relationship for years, trying to hide from the judgement that they were sure they would face. She heard him talk about the college years; how Milah wanted to party and the lack of support he received from her.

She tried to keep her mouth shut. She didn't want to rag on his previous relationship - it was over and done with, and she was his future. But it pained her to hear how horribly he was treated, how there was no real support. It angered her that she hadn't been there to stop the whole rotten thing.

"You're awfully quiet over there, Swan." His voice pulled her from her thoughts.

"I'm just taking it all in," she explained, trying to keep any hint of judgement from her voice. It wasn't Killian's fault he fell for Milah. You can't help who you fall in love with. But Emma couldn't believe that Killian had let that woman take advantage of him for so long.

"Looking back on the relationship, I can see all these red flags, but in the moment, I was only focused on what she was giving me," he added.

"Well, it's all in the past now. All of it is; we learned from our past and now we can move forward," she suggested.

"Aye, that we can," he said, his eyes meeting hers.

There was something different in them now. It was if everything that had been holding him back from being with her was now non-existent. The way he looked at her was deeper somehow. Even though she hadn't said much, just letting him tell his story; it was as if just the act of listening to him cured him of some ailment.

"Let's go home," he suggested, but didn't wait to hear her response. There was a hunger to his voice, an impatience. Maybe he was starting to feel what she had been feeling.

His hand was already grasping hers, pulling her towards the door.

The drive back to their place, Emma smiled as she thought about her calling it their place; was silent. The tension between them was electric. His hand rested tightly on her thigh, sending shocks through her system every few seconds when he would loosen his grip, rubbing his fingers along her jeans.

Emma was thankful Killian had stopped drinking earlier in the night. If he hadn't, she was sure she wouldn't be able to last a Lyft ride back to her house without her lips on his skin or feeling his hands run against her back. She would have made out with him in the back of that imaginary Lyft; probably scaring the driver and getting her a one star rating.

Killian had settled up their tab right before she blurted out that she wasn't a virgin. So, they were able to make it to the car without stopping. Killian's hand still grasping hers, while he held a bag with prizes in the other. Another thing he had thought of. While Emma's brain was drunk on the presence of Killian, and the vodka she had been sipping on, he had been planning the evening out.

Whether he had been planning to pull her from the restaurant after the confession of Milah, or not, wasn't something Emma wanted to focus on. Instead, she wanted to think about what was waiting for her when they got home. If the heat that was radiating off his hand was any indication, she would finally see if what she had been feeling all along was true; and she couldn't wait.

Killian's POV

Telling Emma the broad story of him and Milah had been cathartic. It was like all the shit he had been holding inside, all the toxic thoughts from his past relationship, had been cleansed. He was a new man. All from simply telling his best friend about her.

He didn't tell her some of the more horrible details. Not that he was scared to tell her; he could just tell she didn't need to hear it. He watched her face as he recounted the relationship with Milah. With each passing moment, with each new confession, he saw every emotion she was feeling. Most of the time, Emma was a statue, hiding her true feelings; but she couldn't hide them from him, not any more. He had seen the passion and once that had been shown, he quickly began to see everything else.

Emma couldn't hide the disgust in her face when Killian mentioned their age difference. She tried to keep her face stoic; trying to hide her real feelings, but she failed. He had seen that look a million times when friends had found out about their age difference or when he and Milah would walk down the street hand in hand. Most of the time, the faces didn't bother him; but seeing the look on Emma's did. It was something that had always worried him, as evidenced in the letters he wrote to her. He was worried of the judgement from Emma; worried about what she would say. Yet, even though he saw the disgust and worry on her face, he knew it wasn't directed at him.

When her eyes met his during his story, they told him that all she cared about was his well being. All she cared about was him. He knew that if they didn't have any unanswered feelings between them, and they had been friends all along, that Emma would have been supportive of him and his relationship - once he had been a bit older and if Milah's behaviors had changed.

Once he finished and he heard Emma state that it was all in the past, he knew they were both ready to really try this relationship out.

He had been waiting patiently. It took every ounce of his will to do it, but he made sure there was no rush to what they were about to do. He wanted them both to be ready for it because he knew deep down that once he had Emma Swan, once he felt her beneath him, once he had her, he could never let her go. He knew what his feelings meant. And after watching her listen to him, after seeing the emotions cross her face as he described the love he once had for Milah, he knew her feelings matched his.

There was nothing but their breathing as they drove back to the home he now considered his. Her breath spreading up with anticipation as they walked from the Jeep into the darkness. Outside, they had the stars and moon to light their way. He was able to steal glances, just to see how the moon reflected off her features as she watched the road. But now that they were inside the house; the darkness engulfed them.

Killian could swear there was an audible crackle of static as they stood in the entrance way; both a bit unsure of what was going to happen.

Ideas floated around his brain the whole way home; from not bothering with ceremony and taking her right in the hallway to making the entire ordeal last all night, only giving into their urges as the sun rose the next morning.

Neither one of them initiated what happened; not really. Or, they both started it. Their bodies crashed against each other as they came together at the exact same moment. Everything had been leading to this - to this exact moment. All the shit that had happened in their lives were leading them to this.

His arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her to him as her hands fisted his shirt, helping the movement. He heard her pant quickly before his lips met hers. They kissed as if they had never kissed before, saying everything they hadn't been brave enough to say aloud. It was strong and forceful, demanding. It was like an eruption that had been building up for thousands of years.

The tension was finally cut and there was no going back. In a million years, Killian knew no one would ever compare to Emma. Not only did she make him feel alive again, she understood him, down to the smallest atom in his body. They were made for each other, and the moan that escaped her mouth as he kissed her told him as so.

Without breaking the kiss that was still happening, his arms snaked down around her ass and lifted her off her feet. He felt her fingernails scrape against his scalp before she hooked her fingers around his neck. He walked them towards the bedroom, deciding he wanted her in their bed for the first time. They had the rest of their lives to christen the house.

Their clothes still clung to their bodies as they made their way into the room. A soft light shone through the windows that framed the bed, casting a soft glow on everything it touched. He was stunned at first, standing in the center of the room, trying to make up his mind on what to do next.

With Milah, there was never any chance to take pause. She dominated him in the bedroom, telling him exactly what she wanted, when and how. With Emma, things were different. He could already tell they were equals. Yet he also knew she would let him take control. So he had to decide-would he undress her here or on the bed? Decisions, decisions, he thought to himself.

He wanted to see all of her, so it was the bed he decided. He walked her over, lips still pressed together, tongues still in their dance. He gave her ass a squeeze, making her pull up and away from him with a delicious moan. Without ceremony, he tossed her on the bed, causing her hair to fan out around her. Her hands went to her shirt as she giggled, pulling it up over her head. He didn't need to tell her what he wanted, and she didn't need to speak. Their bodies already knew what to do.

The shirt he was wearing stayed on, since it would have hindered his view of Emma. He would have missed her shimmying out of her pants, her tight body coming to rest on the bed. The sight before him had him sucking in a breath, a hiss escaping his teeth. She was breathtaking. Her pale skin was set off against the deep blue of the bra and thong she was wearing, the lace that surrounded the fabric looking delicate against her body. He was in heaven.

She eyed him, raising her eyebrows, in a motion that told him her patience with his clothed body was waning.

He quickly tore off his shirt and pants, standing before Emma in his boxer briefs, allowing her to fully take him in - his erection standing at attention, waiting to feel Emma around him. A smile crossed her face, and her eyes burned into him.

He was on her in an instant, her legs opening to allow him access to her. She sat up on her elbows to meet him and his lips begged for more. He moaned loudly as his erection came into contact with the apex of her thighs, feeling the heat radiating off her skin. His hands roamed her body, mapping every inch of her.

One of his hands came to rest over her bra, fondling her though the fabric. She moaned into his mouth, urging him on. A heel of her foot pushed into his back, making him press into her harder. She needed him desperately and he wanted nothing more than to give himself freely to her.

His other hand snaked down her body, until he pulled him away from her for a moment, allowing his fingers to skirt over her panties.

"Shit, Emma," he said, when her felt just how wet she was for him. "You're soaked."

A small smirk crossed her face before a look of agony followed.

"Please," she begged.

The agony was of passion, and her need for him to take her. He had seen a sample of the look on her face before, when things almost got out of hand, but the desperation on her face now wasn't something he could ignore. He wanted to please her, to make her scream in pleasure.

His fingers played with the fabric of her panties, spreading the moisture around.

"Are you sure, love?" he questioned.

"Yes!" she screamed as his fingers danced over her nub through the fabric.

The panties that were soaked with her juices were quickly removed, his large hand taking their place. He moved from on top of her to her side, allowing him to not only watch her as he teased her into a frenzy, but also to watch what he was doing. He wanted to watch his fingers move through her folds, watch as her hair curled in between his fingers.

"Fuck, Killian," she moaned as his fingers picked up their pace. His other hand exposed her breast from their cups, the slightly cool air hardening her nipples. He didn't want to miss what was right in front of him, but he couldn't help but lean down and take one of her peaked nipples in his mouth. As he suckled and bit, he slid a finger into her slick hot core. She bucked at the contact, but the moan that was screamed told him to keep going.

His eyes flicked up to see Emma's head thrown back in ecstasy, a slight blush to her face and her bottom lip squished between her teeth.

Moving slowly, his finger moved in and out of her, sliding out of her to ghost her clit, then descending back inside. He could see her getting closer and closer to release. Her walls clenched each time he pulled out of her, begging his fingers to stay inside. He wanted to keep watching her, wanted to keep seeing the build up, but he also couldn't wait to see her fall apart and to feel her do it all over again wrapped around his cock.

Adding a thumb into the mix, he took her nipple in his mouth, biting the tiniest bit and rubbing a hard circle into her clit right as he hooked his finger inside of her, sending a shock straight to her system. It sent her over the edge.

She yelled out a curse, contorting her whole body. He didn't know where to look, as every part of her was intoxicating and flushed with pleasure thanks to him. Her toes curled, grasping at the sheets. Her hands knotted in her hair, her head flung to the side as her mouth was thrown open in ecstasy. Her chest heaved. She clenched down on his finger hard.

He didn't withdraw the digit. He did stop all motions, though, allowing her to come down from her high. After he came, he was always so sensitive, and was pretty sure Emma would be too. Not moving allowed her to calm down enough, just enough. It was like a roller coaster ride. At least that was how Liam explained it to him when he was younger, inexperienced and needing advice.

He explained how roller coasters had a build up, then some action, like a loop or drop, but there was always a pause where the ride slowed and sometimes came to a stop, allowing you to get your bearings again, before sending you through to an even bigger thrill.

It was something Milah always commented on. She said he was her only lover who ever allowed her a true break before getting to the good part.

Shaking off the thought of Milah, he watched Emma come down from her high. Her breathing slowed, but the flush to her skin stayed. She was still slick as Killian started to play with her again, silently asking if they could continue.

"That was amazing!" Emma's exclamation was soft, but held so much emotion. It had Killian wondering if Emma's past lovers ever really made her come or it she just faked it.

"That wasn't even the best of tonight, love," he almost giggled, trying to sound sexy, but failing just a bit in his joy of hearing her so happy about what they just did.

"I can't wait," she said, reaching her arms up, to drag him back down on top of her, her lips pressing against his.

For the next few minutes, he built her back up. His touches were light and teasing. He didn't stay long in any place, his hands giving her entire body the once over. He grinded against her as he felt her tight ass.

He couldn't hold out any longer, especially with her wiggling beneath him, her body begging him to bring her to the edge again. She was soaked again, her juices glistening against her thighs.

Seeing it as he positioned himself above her left him wanting to taste her—needing to.

He kissed his way down her body, goosebumps rising along her skin with each peck. He loved the feeling of them - mixed with the heat of her skin, it was exhilarating knowing he caused it.

As he reached her pelvic bone, his kisses got longer, his tongue darting out to lick her skin, nibbling a bit too at the tight skin over her hip bones.

He breathed her in before getting to what he really wanted. Once his tongue hit her clit and he felt her almost explode, he was hooked. Between her legs was now officially his favorite place to be; she tasted sweet and smelled delicious. Her moans kept him going, not wanting to stop licking and sucking. He added in a digit or two for a short time to bring her right to the edge, before pulling them away.

The teasing was his favorite part—well, second favorite after seeing her come undone. He loved the little squeals of begging when he pulled away, her pleas. He loved the way her body responded to his and he didn't want it to end. He wanted her to drown in the pleasure he could give her. He wanted her to need it the same way she needed air to breathe.

"Please Killian, please let me come," She was hoarse as she begged, the whimpers surrounding the please were not only sexy but cute at the same time. She was completely at his mercy, and he knew he had her right where he wanted.

He gave into her pleading and didn't pull back the next time his fingers entered her and his tongue played against her clit. He even nipped at the nub a little, just as his two fingers curled inside of her, sending her over the edge for a second time. Her screams were even louder, with more pleasure mixed in. A huge smile crossed his face as he licked her down from her high, stopping as soon as her body stopped its release.

Before he had a chance to move atop of her; she was on him, using the surprise to move him against the mattress, tugging him up and flipping him, pinning him beneath her.

"I need you, Killian, been needing you," she mewed.

"Take what you need then, Emma; take it all," he said, almost as a beg. Now that she was on top of him, her thighs gripping his, her soaking wet core pinned against his strained erection, he needed her the way she needed him.

While he enjoyed licking her, tasting her, he wanted that tight quim around him.

They hadn't talked about protection, so he was surprised when she leaned over and reached for her nightstand. She pulled out a long trail of condoms.

The smile that crossed his face was bright. He loved that she was prepared, since it was the one thing he really didn't think about. It wasn't that he didn't care about it; but he felt it was jinxing it.

"I don't want to ruin the mood, but I'm clean. I'm also on birth control, have been for decades. So…" she trailed off, a bit shy. His smile grew. She was cute. They had just done some pretty dirty things and here she was, shy about protection.

"Emma, I will have you whichever way you feel comfortable. I'm clean as well, I actually have my last test in my drawer. The Navy requires a test each year," he explained.

She tossed the condoms to the side.

"I don't think we need these," she said sheepishly.

"If that is OK with you. It may not seem that way, but you are in charge, love," he reached up and cupped her cheeks, pulling her down to kiss him.

"Take me, Killian; make me yours," she said, deepening the kiss.

Killian had never been with someone without a condom, and he was pretty sure Emma hadn't either. He really was going to make her his.

It was awkward, but he was able to get his boxers off without breaking the kiss from Emma. Finally there was no barriers between them. They could finally be together in every way.

"You sure, love?" he asked one last time, wanting to be one hundred percent sure.

"Yes, Killian," she said impatiently.

She hovered above him, taking him in her hand, giving him a squeeze. He finally understood what he had been doing to her the whole time. The teasing squeezes on his cock were driving him insane. He fit perfectly in her palm, and even though he knew what was coming, he didn't want her to let go.

He watched as the glorious form that was Emma situated herself above him, his cock lining up directly with her opening. She slowly sank down onto him.

Her head was thrown back as she got used to his invasion. He closed his eyes, allowing the pleasure of her walls against him to wash over him. She felt perfect, amazing, heavenly. She was tight, fitting him like a glove. She took him in deep, pausing when she hit the base of his cock.

"Emma, you feel so good," he said, sitting them up so he could take her in a bit deeper. The moan that escaped her told him she liked the way he felt.

She didn't move at first, adjusting to him.

"You're so deep," she whispered, her head leaning against his neck, as his lips suckled at her neck.

"Move for me Emma," he said between nips.

He laid back down, his hands coming to rest on her perfect hips, ready if she needed help moving. The way her silhouette shone against the night backdrop accented each and every curve she had. Her breasts were heavy and hung beautifully against her. Her hips jutted out, giving her ass an even fuller look. Her arms were toned and firm as she reached up to hold onto her hair, that looked silver in the moonlight.

Slowly she raised above him, using her perfect legs to guide her. The movement of her thighs against his as she lowered herself back onto him was purely amazing. As she got used to his length inside of her, she moved faster, bringing a hand down to rest against his chest, using it as leverage. Her nails dug into him, as they interlaced with his chest hair.

Her rhythm was picking up, her breasts bouncing with her movements. He was in awe of her. One hand left her hips and came up to grasp one of them, pinching her nipple and causing her to moan his name loudly again.

"Fuck, Killian, it feels so good," she cried out.

"Ride me, Emma, keeping going," he groaned.

His hand on her hip gave her a squeeze, making her speed up.

Emma took the lead, pulling Killian's hand from her hip, placing it on her clit.

"Play with me Killian, make me come again," she purred.

"As you wish," he growled, rubbing his thumb against her clit.

He wanted to kiss her, to bruise those perfect lips even more, but he couldn't pass up another opportunity to see her fall apart, especially since the view was so different and fascinating.

"Fuck!" she stuttered as her walls clenched around him for the third time. He would never get tired of the feeling.

She fell apart around him, her rhythm being thrown off by her orgasm. He tried to keep up the pace, pounding into her as she rode through the high, but he was going to come undone inside of her; especially with small squeezes she was giving.

He came quickly, just as Emma was coming down from her high.

"Emma," he cried out, as he jerked up, his hand leaving her clit alone, his hands going back to her hip so he wouldn't fall away into a void that he was sure now surrounded him.

He collapsed back into the bed, pulling Emma onto him. Curling them onto their sides, he nuzzled into her, their naked bodies still entwined. There were beads of sweat around her neckline that he licked off of her, stroking her stomach.

She purred against him, sinking into him.

As they laid there, basking in the pleasure of their activities, Killian knew he would never want anything as much as staying in this moment. He was content and happy and from the sounds Emma was making, she didn't want anything different either.

They drifted off to sleep like that, curled against each other, in pure bliss.

#CSBB #Captain Swan Big Bang #Captain Swan #Captain Swan Fan Fiction

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sasuhinasno1fan · 6 years ago

Text

Unlocking for you

So it's a bit later than usual, but I had been working on making things for my book arts class which also involved me cutting myself really badly. It's ok though. I'm kinda not looking forward to tomorrows date because I can't write YouTuber aus, even though I wrote a whole birthday series. So if I don't post a fic tomorrow, don't be too worried. Also, this is a Now You See Me au, if the words The Eye and Four Horsemen didn't make a ton of sense. Movie AU

“You are such a fucking control freak! I can’t believe I have to be in a group with you!” Lance screamed from the other room.

Pidge really wished they hadn’t broken their headphones. Granted with the fact they were working under the sponsorship of Daibazaal Industries, it would be totally easy, but nothing was easy to get from Zarkon. That’s why they were building their cred as the Four Horsemen so he’d easily fall into their plan. They needed at least one more show to truly get his full attention so they could start their final plan. Pidge wasn’t sure how alive they’d be for this with the way Lance and Keith kept arguing though.

They knew a bit of the relationship the two had, some parts filled in by Hunk’s mentalism. Lance had been Keith’s assistant back when he was just starting out as a magician. Apparently, there was a falling out and Lance was replaced with another assistant. In Pidge’s opinion, Lance was better. Lance then went on to working his own act of being an escape artist. Keith left comments on his website that at first at first glance seemed kinda nit-picky but Pidge actually noticed they were good criticism to keep Lance safe anytime he dropped into water. Lance could complain all he wanted, but Pidge noticed Lance actually listened to those comments. Hunk had figured out the two used to date but it ended badly, something about Keith not giving a ton of attention to Lance. Point was, there was a lot of tension between them. Of course, with the pressure of doing what The Eye wanted them to do, things were getting worse.

“It’s a shame Keith knows how to tune into my tricks. I could have hypnotized him and had him and Lance solve their issues.” Hunk said, lifting his hat from his face from where he was sleeping on the couch.

“Then Lance would have kicked your ass like he keeps threatening to do.” Pidge reminded.

“Oh yeah. Can’t forget what he did to that handsy stage hand can we?”

“Or what Keith did to him after when Lance wasn’t looking. But I swear this is getting out of control. If this keeps up we could end up messing up and losing Daibazaal and lose our chance at The Eye.”

“I’m sorry that you can’t seem to understand basic instructions. Apparently, all the water you keep drowning in has gone to your head!”

“Basic instructions? Who the hell put you in charge you K-pop star reject!”

Pidge was focused on the lock they were trying to undo when Lance’s screaming broke their concentration and they heard a snap. Their pick broke. The pick they had as part of their kit since their brother gave it them. The same brother they couldn’t talk to by order of The Eye ‘for protection’ they said.

“What happened?” Hunk asked.

“I just broke my lock pick because they’re fighting. You know what, screw hypnosis. I’m taking care of this myself.” Pidge stood up and grabbed their bag from the table, dumping everything out and grabbed a pair of handcuffs. They’d been giving them problems because the tumbler wouldn’t unlatch to unlock the handcuffs. And now, it was their problem. They walked into the room Lance and Keith were arguing in and quickly latched the cuffs around their writs.

“What the hell? Pidge?” Lance asked.

“Uncuff us now.”

“No. thanks to you two, I just broke my lock pick, the one my brother gave me before we got started on this whole crazy plan. So you two can spend all day together, because even I’m having trouble unlocking these.”

“You can’t be serious.” Lance said, tugging his hand, like he could break the cuffs apart.

“Oh I’m very serious.”

“We have practise in an hour.” Keith reminded.

“Then it’ll be just like old times. See you there. Hunk and I are going for lunch. Come on Hunk!”

“What the hell? Pidge!” Lance yelled, trying to go after them but stumbled back when his wrist was tugged.

“Ow! Lance!”

“Have fun you too!” Hunk called from the living room before the front door was closed.

Lance glared at Keith, “this is your fault.”

“How is it my fault? And by the way, aren’t you the escape artist?”

“With a hidden key I can.” Lance reminded.

“Well apparently you can’t do your job properly.”

Glaring at Keith, Lance kicked him hard in the shin, not realising that Keith collapsing would drag him down as well.

“Pidge, what the fuck!”

“That’s a very interesting way to practise.” Zarkon said, raising an eyebrow at Lance and Keith handcuffed together.

“You can thank Pidge for that.” Keith said, shooting a glare at Pidge, who shrugged helplessly. None of them were expecting their sponsor to show up at their practise.

“I’m practising my lockpicking skills and thought I should try on someone other than myself.” Pidge explained.

“Well then, I look forward to the practise.”

“Of course. Excuse us.” Keith said, grabbing Pidge by the arm and dragging them, and essentially Lance, to the side. “Get these off of us. We’re not going to be able to practise with these on and especially not with Zarkon right there.” He hissed.

“See, um, slight problem. Those handcuffs are giving me issues unlocking.”

“High and might ‘nothing is ever locked’ can’t unlock a pair of handcuffs?”

“I was working on them but you two arguing was starting to piss me off and you made me break my lock pick by the way.”

“Then find a paper clip or something because if we’re still stuck together when it’s time for us to get up there for practise, I’ll make you disappear like I do my cards got it?” Keith threatened.

“Alright fine. You two just stay in the green room. Hunk, you first.” Pidge called jumping off stage.

“Alright then.” Hunk said turning to the theatre staff, who all looked a bit nervous. “Who’s first?”

Lance tugged at his hand, making the cards Keith was shuffling fall from his hands. He hadn’t really meant to do that but Keith’s constant moving was hurting his hand. Keith always had a deck of cards on him, shuffling through them with ease. Lance knew Keith always wanted something to do with his hands. He remembered back when he was his assistant. Due to the fact they were late, they climbed into a cab and Keith had his cards in the suitcase in the trunk. Keith had started picking at his hands to the point where he was starting to draw blood so Lance took his hands and started drawing with his fingernail in his skin. He’d calmed down after and even though he never got a thank you, there had been a black rose on Lance’s bag at the end of the show. Lance tried giving Keith one back after they’d been reunited, but it seemed Keith didn’t remember.

They did date back when they were working together. They depended on each other, held each other up but Lance wanted more support than Keith could give. Maybe at that time, they thought they were more than ready for and wen things started not working out, they took it out on each other. Lance wanted to work things out with Keith. Part of him still felt the same but the other part of them still hated Keith.

“Where the hell is Pidge?” Keith groaned.

“Probably got dragged into practise probably, which we still have to get to.”

“This isn’t like back in the old days Lance. we can’t exactly do our old trick up there.”

Lance had a small smile to his face. “It would certainly make things interesting. I remember when you let me try my first escape trick on stage.”

“You lost the key and had to then clip me to the saw.” Keith felt like reminding.

“It worked didn’t it? I got the audience very impressed with me.” Lance bragged.

“Yeah, that’s one word for it.”

“Course, you never let me even try to even do anything else after that. Guess you didn’t want me screwing up anymore.”

Keith didn’t say anything but started to shuffle his cards again and then fan them out. Lance went ahead and took a card without prompting.

“Compared to now, your skills weren’t nearly as good. You still manage to get yourself stuck in bad situations because you can’t get to your key quick enough.”

Lance tried not to bristle at that. Thing was Keith was right. But Lance had wished Keith had told him this back when they were working together instead of making him feel like he was constantly disappointed in him.

Shoving the card back into the deck, Lance snapped, “Sorry I wasn’t good enough.”

“I never said that.”

“It sure felt like that half the time. You know, I was hoping with how we have to work together that maybe we could fix things from how they’d been before but you could apparently care less. I don’t know why I’m so surprised. Where the hell is Pidge?”

Keith handed Lance a card not looking at him. Lance took it, still annoyed at Keith but stopped when he saw what was on the other side. It was an old picture of Lance, locked in his chains. “Unlock your mind to the newest escape artist, Lance McClain? What is this?”

“The flier I would have made you pull before we broke up. The show at that big theatre? I was going to give you the stage. But I guess my usual behaviour had finally pushed you over the edge.”

“Why did you never tell me this?” Lance asked, stunned that Keith had actually been thinking of giving him a show, like a complete show.

“Would it of made a difference? It might have fixed things with us for a little while but we both know we weren’t right for each other then. I can’t give you a show now, but I can at least help you get into the one thing I always said had to be a myth.”

“Guess you have changed.” Lance said. “Well not everything. You’re still a control freak.” Lance said.

“Thank you.”

“Ok,” Pidge said, finally coming into the room. “Sorry, I had to pull Hunk away from hypnotizing Zarkon’s wife and practise a few card tricks. Thankfully, I did grab his wife’s brand new broach, sharp end and all. Hold still. Also can I just say I’m surprised you two didn’t kill each other while I was gone.”

“Yeah, don’t hold your breath. I’m sure I’ll say something that’ll piss Lance off later.” Keith said.

“Yeah, we’ll see if I can hold me tongue.”

#klance au month #now you see me au #magician keith #escape artist lance #mentalist hunk #jack of all trades pidge

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tilltheendwilliwrite · 7 years ago

Text

Balance on the Head of a Pin

Chapter Sixteen

Previous Chapter

Pairing: Loki Laufeyson x OFC | Word Count: 5637 Warnings: Swearing and Lauren’s horrid family.

They were on the back lawn playing a game of croquet with the children after their break for refreshments when Cissy sauntered out on the patio in a pair of pink shorts. Her tank top was peach, and so tight Lauren could tell she hadn’t bothered with any sort of brazier. Cissy had always had breasts perky enough to be envious of, but that didn’t excuse her flaunting her assets - the shorts barely covering the cheeks of her behind - in front of Lauren’s beau.

Her dark hair was piled high on her head, thrown into a casual top knot, but Lauren knew better. Cissy had likely spent hours making it look effortlessly arranged. Her makeup was artfully done creating cat eyes which enhanced the blue into near cobalt, while high heeled sandals the same colour as her top lifted her butt and elongated her legs.

The little hussy was doing it on purpose.

“Well here y’all are!” she smiled, evidently delighted to find them. “Why, I looked everywhere for you, dear sister. I thought we could spend the day together, let me get to know my handsome brother-in-law to be.” She fluttered her lashes Loki’s direction.

It amused Lauren to no end when Loki cast Cissy an uninterested glance and went back to assisting Sara to put her ball through the wicket.

Lauren had given Loki a swift crash course in the art of Croquet before the children had taken over. Sara insisted he play with her as she was the very best at teaching. She’d taught her best friend Lily from school how to play as well.

Lauren hadn’t expected Loki to take to them as he had, but he’d been patient, kind, and relaxed.

They, in turn, had taken to Loki like flies to honey. Part of that, she figured, was due to the fact he talked to them like they were small adults. Everything they said was important, and though he often crouched to be closer to eye level with them, they didn’t seem to mind.

He listened very intently to all they had to say no matter how trivial. Whether it was Sara’s loose tooth, or Benny’s scraped knee, talk of tea parties and tutus, or you trucks and critters, Loki appeared to hang on every word.

If he glanced at her once in a while for clarification on things he didn’t understand, she didn’t blame him. They chattered like happy magpies and almost as quickly.

But with every sweet interaction, with each boop of Sara’s nose or tug of her braid, with each ruffle of Benny’s hair, Lauren felt an answering tug in her heart. He was so good with them it made her heart ache to watch.

When he’d lifted Benny up after a particularly brilliant shot and tossed him skyward, causing Benny to shriek with excitement, Lauren had her breath catch for two reasons.

The first was merely because good sweet night he threw Benny a long way up! The second… Benny’s shaggy mop of dark curls was a very close match for Loki’s. Add in how the God of Mischief’s eyes were blue with happiness, lacking even a hint of his magic, and they could have been father and son.

She’d had to turn away, afraid he would hear the pounding of her speeding heart and know the longing which suddenly burst upon her. The idea of one day holding a child the two of them created together… it took her breath away.

Cissy, however, did not.

If anything it had Lauren sucking in more air to keep from laughing heartily at the miffed expression on her dear sister’s face. “I’m afraid Loki and I spent most of the day down at the river.”

“A perfectly delightful experience,” Loki purred her direction, his eyes growing warm when she smiled.

“That it was, peaches.” Winking at him, Lauren wandered away from the balls and wickets toward Cissy, eyeing the tumbler full of amber liquid she was carrying. “Ain’t it a little early for drinking?” It was hardly even closing in on the dinner hour.

“Prude,” Cissy sniffed. “It’s never too early for scotch.”

Lauren crinkled her nose. “You could at least do better than the stuff daddy keeps on hand.”

“What would you know of quality liquor?”

“I work for Tony Stark, Cissy. The man is a connoisseur of quality… everythin’. And every so often Thor shows up with somethin’ Asgardian. He doesn’t let us mere mortals try all of it, but they do make this really great fruit wine…” she trailed off when she noticed Cissy’s icy glare.

“Oh please, Lauren, continue with all your braggin’. I so love hearin’ about all your big city adventures when I’m stuck in Podunk nowhere.” Venom leached from every syllable.

Taken aback, Lauren blushed and dropped her eyes to the flagstone of the patio. “I was just… you asked.”

Turning to face her, Cissy leaned closer. “Marabeth is right. You really are puttin’ on some fuckin’ high an’ mighty airs.”

“Priscilla Elizabeth! There are children present. You watch your mouth!” Lauren hissed glaring harshly at her sister.

Cissy’s chin jacked up definitely. “As I’m certain they’ve heard worse comin’ from the mouths of their own parents, you don’t have nothin’ to worry about… sister.”

“That don’t mean you’ve got to make things worse by speakin’ the same filthy words!”

“Oh, poo,” she simpered. “Have I offended your delicate sensibilities? Will you run off and cry in your room like you used to?”

“I’m not a child anymore, Cissy. Neither you nor Marabeth can bully me any longer, so keep your snide remarks to yourself!” Raising her own chin, Lauren stared her down until Cissy’s eyes widened in surprise and she looked away.

In a huff, Cissy bolted the last of her scotch. “No need to get your feathers in a flap.”

Ignoring her, Lauren watched Loki, and the kids continue on around the course with much laughter and giggling.

“How can he stand it, all that… noise?” Cissy sneered.

“Children are inherently noisy, Cissy.”

“Don’t be condescendin’, Lauren. I know the little brats are noisy, it’s why I stay away. How can he stand it?” Before she could answer, Cissy kept on. “Someone of his refinement shouldn’t be forced into placating Marabeth’s spawn. Whatever were you thinkin’ makin’ him spend time with them?”

“He likes them!” Lauren snapped, annoyed with nearly every word of her rant. “And I didn’t make Loki do anythin’!”

“He’s a god, stupid! Why would you ever think he would want to do idiotic things like swim in our dirty river or play with the aggravatin’ little beasts?”

This time when Cissy turned on her, she took a step into Lauren forcing Lauren to retreat.

“You’re a fool,” Cissy said, keeping her voice low. “You aren’t now, and never will be worthy of a man like him. He’ll grow bored of you eventually. They always do, and I’ll be waitin’ to offer him solace when he can no longer stand you.”

Heart racing, Lauren lifted her fingers to her throat where the pendant rested. She felt the warmth fill her, his strength hers when she needed it. Once Cissy’s words would have had her doubting herself, had her questioning the man with her, but no more. “You’re wrong, Cissy.”

“Am I?” she snickered. “I saw the way he looked at me last night while I was standin’ in your doorway. He may have been diddlin’ you beneath the sheets, but it’s my body he wants. You probably don’t even know how to handle a man like that.”

“If I were you, Cissy, I’d walk away real fast. I slapped Marabeth last night for talkin’ wrong about my Ástvinur. Push me, and you’ll feel the weight up my palm, too. Loki is mine! Your claims are nothin’ more than the deluded ravings of a jealous bitch!”

Setting her glass on the patio table, Cissy’s hand latched hard around Lauren’s arm. “Don’t threaten me, Boo-Ho, or you’ll regret it the same way you did when we were younger.”

Lauren jerked at the long hated, horrid nickname which had haunted her through her middle and high school years. She had always been quick to cry, even now she still was. Gran had said it was because she had a soft heart, easily bruised but quick to heal and full of love. But her sisters had taken Gran’s affectionate term of Lulu and turned it against her.

“Don’t call me that, Priscilla.”

“Why not? It fits so well,” she sneered. “Always a crybaby. Couldn’t take a little teasin’ when you were a scrawny brat, can’t take it now. Maybe nothin’s changed after all.”

“Stop it!” Lauren snapped.

“Make me,” Cissy said, eyes gleaming brightly and breath foul with alcohol. “Give me what I want, and I’ll quit.”

Not being stupid, Lauren shook her head. Cissy would quit, but only until the next time Cissy wanted something from her, then she would start up all over again if Lauren paid her off this time. And Lauren knew precisely what Cissy wanted. “I’m not givin’ you the belt.”

“But I want it!”

The pressure on Lauren’s arm increased. “It’s gone! Loki changes my clothes on a whim. The belt’s gone!”

“Then I’ll have this instead.” Cissy grabbed for the brúðr steinn, but her hand never made contact.

Holding Cissy’s wrist in an iron grip, Loki bared his teeth in an angry snarl. “Take your hand from my Ástvinur before I take it from you permanently!”

Cissy whimpered but let go. Loki only jerked her around, dragging her up by both wrists so that she was firmly caught against him. They were nose to nose when he spoke in soft, deadly tones. “If I ever see you touch my beloved in that manner again, I will not hesitate to use you to test the sharpness of my knives.”

Lauren had never seen him so angry. Not even with George had he been this deep into a cold rage. His voice was no louder than his normal speaking tone, but it was somehow much scarier than when he’d roared his anger at her ex and broken his arm.

“But I swear by the nine realms, if you so much as think of taking the brúðr steinn from around Lauren’s neck,” he let go with one hand to cup and squeeze Cissy’s chin, causing pain and fear to fill her sister’s eyes, “I will wring your neck, and I will do so without remorse.”

“Loki!” Lauren gasped.

His head turned slowly to show the red which was beginning to colour his eyes. “She seeks to take what belongs to you, my heart. What will only ever belong to you. That is unacceptable!”

“I’m sorry!” Cissy whimpered, her feet scrabbling, toes barely touching the ground. “I won’t do it again!”

He returned attention to Cissy, tilted her chin up, and forced her to meet his eyes. “You cause all this pain to one you claim as family, one you’ve tormented for years. Lauren loved you, has always loved you, but you treat her like she is less than the dirt on the sole of your shoe. I pity you, foolish mortal. You’ve allowed the hatred of another to cloud your own judgement and turn you from the truth with lies.” Giving Cissy a shove which sent her stumbling, Loki sneered, “Get out of my sight.”

Tears of fear were streaming from Cissy’s eyes when she ran back inside the house.

“What did you just do?” Lauren whispered horror in every word.

“I stood up for you.” Loki turned to face her.

“Yes, and then threatened to kill my sister!” Lauren shouted before remembering the children. Shooting a look their direction, she found a second Loki playing with them.

“I left an avatar and shielded them from this confrontation.”

When he reached for her, Lauren jerked backward. “No.”

Growling low, Loki simply materialized behind her, trapping her in his arms when she struggled. “Stop and listen!” he hissed.

Unable to escape, Lauren complied though she wasn’t happy about it.

“Yes, I threatened your sister. On any given day I threaten a number of people. Would I actually go through with their killing? Doubtful. The threat is often enough to get my point across.”

“And this time?” Lauren asked. “I’ve never seen you so angry, Loki.”

“No one takes what is yours, my love. No one. And no one touches the brúðr steinn. Should someone try to take it from you by force, I would gut them where they stand. It is yours! Foraged by my hand for you in the flames of Valhalla! A brúðr steinn is a sacred gift among my people. On Asgard, no one would even think to disparage my gift, look at it with loathing, or dare try to remove it from your neck. It is sacrilege and would see them dead at my feet should they try.”

“This ain’t Asgard, Loki!” When he spun her around, she was shocked by the state of him.

Eyes wild, skin tingeing blue, he looked near to breaking.

“I know that!” he roared. His hands opened and closed on Lauren's arms as if he wanted to shake her but wasn’t willing to hurt her by doing so. “I am holding myself back, my love. Holding on by a thread, but you are my Ástvinur! My very heart, Lauren! There are rules and actions and instincts which have been engraved in me since I was old enough to sit at Odin’s knee and hear the tales of our ancestors. There are things I must do, and protecting you, even against your own family, is one of those things!” He released her to pace away, thrusting his hands through his hair.

Coming to a stop a few feet from her, he let his arms drop to his sides. His shoulders bowed, the weight heavy upon them. “If that means I must threaten the family that picks away at your soul with each interaction, then I will do so… even if you hate me for it.”

She moved toward him and slipped her arms around his waist, letting her head fall to his back. “I don’t hate you, Loki. I may not like that you threatened Cissy, and I’d be really, really angry if you hurt her…”

“But?” he asked, voice full of hope.

“I could never hate you, peaches.” Lauren rubbed her hands up and down his torso. “You surprised me. I knew you could hear what she was sayin’, but when you didn't come over… I thought…”

“Thought what?”

“That you trusted me to handle it.” She deflated and took a step back. “Guess I was wrong.”

“Lauren.” Loki took her in his arms. “I do trust you, and I did believe you were handling it. It was why I stayed with the children. They did not seem inclined toward their aunt. Now I know why.” He tilted her chin up. “It was only once she tried to take this from you that I needed to step in.”

When he traced his finger over the branches around her throat, Lauren shivered. “What is the brúðr steinn really, Loki?”

He smiled, full and genuine. “It is my pledge, my public declaration you are mine, courted by me and under my protection. It will keep you safe, guide me to you should you ever be lost or taken. It is my very heart,” he leaned closer, till his mouth was an inch from hers, “as you are my very heart.”

Sighing, Lauren lifted up on her toes and kissed him, her heart much too full to keep such love to herself. When they parted, he’d calmed, and she smiled before the small giggle interrupted. Looking down at the beaming face of Sara, Lauren blushed. “I thought you were playin’, sugar cube?”

“Was.” She giggled again, hand covering her mouth. “Then Loki disappeared, and he was over here with you.”

An exasperated sigh left Loki’s lips. “You are far too distracting, Lauren. I keep losing my focus.”

“Guess it’s a good thing you don’t have me around when you’re workin’.” Laughing, Lauren patted his chest.

“Loki?”

“Yes, precious?” he asked, smiling at Sara.

She reached out and took his hand, tugging a little to get him to come closer. When he did, crouching down for her, she crooked her fingers on her opposite hand to have him come even closer.

“What is it, little dove?”

Watching intently, Lauren tried hard not to have her heart burst from her chest with how adorable they looked, dark head and light tipped together as they were. Sara brought her hand to her mouth, glanced shyly at Lauren, and proceeded to whisper in Loki’s ear.

“Well, that would depend, Lady Sara.”

“Oh,” the little girl’s face fell. “On what?”

“On whether your aunt would want to be one.”

“Who wouldn’t?” Sara asked, eyes shocked. “I would! It would be ever so nice!”

“Ah yes, but your aunt likes her quiet life. We wouldn’t wish to disrupt that now would we?”

Sara shook her head. “I guess not. Still, if she wanted to, would she be one?”

Chuckling, Loki nodded. “Yes, precious. She would most certainly be one.”

A smile blossomed along with Sara’s erupting squeal of excitement. “Would I be one?”

“I’m afraid not. It doesn’t work that way.”

Pouting, she crossed her arms. “That seems unfair.”

“Very,” he answered seriously. “But I was not the one to make the rules.”

“Who did?” she demanded.

“Oh, some stuffy old king, I am certain.”

“Could the now king make new rules?”

The look of eternal mischief and trouble crossed Loki’s face with his devious smile. “You could certainly petition the new king. Most definitely.”

“What’s pet... petition mean?”

“It means you’d have to make a reasonable argument with my brother Thor. Explain to him why the rule is unfair, and ask him to change it.”

“Loki…” Lauren cautioned, thoroughly confused but knowing he was making trouble of some kind for Thor. “What are you up to, peaches?”

He held up his hand to get her to wait. “Could you do that?”

Nodding enthusiastically, Sara leaned forward and kissed Loki on the cheek. “I can! I will! Thank you!” Spinning on her heel, she skipped back over to where Benny had gone from putting balls through wickets to simply whacking the balls around.

“Alright, spill. What mischief did you just make for your brother? What in the world did she ask you?”

Getting back up, grin wide and full of wicked delight, Loki wrapped his arms around Lauren’s waist. “Smart little Sara was wondering if I, a prince of Asgard, were to marry her aunt if you would then become a princess of Asgard.”

“What?” Lauren whispered, staring up at Loki like he’d grown a second head. “I would… what?”

“Only if you wished it.” He shrugged. “Well, technically even if you didn’t the title would still be yours, but no one would force you to do anything about it. If and when we went to Asgard they would defer to you as your highness, but that is neither the here nor there of it.”

Lauren’s palm closed over his mouth. “Stop talkin’ before I pass out,” she wheezed.

He rolled his eyes and removed her hand. “Don’t be foolish. You had to have at least thought of it? If a seven-year-old could make the connection surely you did.”

“No, no… I don’t think… nope… nu uh,” Lauren gasped. She’d never once even had her thoughts drift that direction.

“Darling,” Loki cupped her cheeks, “take a breath. It is unimportant. We would be rarely seen on Asgard, though I am quite certain the people would adore you. And it is not as if the people here treat me with the deference my title implies so very little would change.”

She looked up into his laughing eyes and gave him a gentle swat. “Warn a girl before you go makin’ such declarations! You nearly gave me a heart attack!”

With a laugh, he hugged her close and lifted her off her feet for a short second. “Hence the reason I told Sara only if you wished it. I think she thinks you would be mad not to accept your title… Princess Lauren.”

“I’m not one for the spotlight, Loki,” Lauren said. “Besides, this,” she looked at her ring, “still not really real. After all, it ain’t like you ever properly asked me to marry you,” she teased.

“Is that a hint, my love?” His arched brow and curious expression made her laugh.

“No, elskan min. I think two days might be a little quick of a courtship even by today’s standards.”

“One could argue it has been three.” Another sly grin curled his lips.

“Well then, by all means, that makes it completely socially acceptable.”

“Such cheek in you.” Smirking, he nipped into her lower lip.

She gave him a saucy wink. “I know how much you like it.”

“That I do, minx.” The rumble of a near growl vibrated against where she was pressed to him.

Lauren carded her hands through his hair, enjoying the quiet moment even with all the teasing. “What was so unfair?”

“Ah, yes. It seems Sara is quite put out by the fact she will not be a princess by association as your niece.”

Eyes widening, Lauren inhaled sharply before bursting out laughing. Her head fell to his chest when she couldn’t get control of her giggles. “So you set her on Thor?”

“Indeed I did,” Loki said smugly. “He will get to disappoint her by denying her entry into princess-hood, and I will be able to retain my title as the fun one of the two of us.”

“Oh, that’s terrible… and not very smart of you.” Lifting her head, Lauren shook it continuing to fight her giggles.

“I beg your pardon? It was genius!”

Turning so she could see Sara and Benny playing, Lauren motioned toward them. “You just set the most fearsome, yet somehow still adorable little girl on the biggest suck of the entire team. Your brother will take one look at her enormous eyes, quiverin’ lip, and sad face and cave like a house of cards!”

Loki stiffened as the implications took root. “Fuck…” he hissed quietly, causing Lauren to snort out a new round of giggles. “You think this is so funny, don’t you?”

She nodded, continuing to laugh and hold her middle.

***

Once again Loki found himself seated at the dining table, but the group was much subdued from the previous time. He’d been concerned for Lauren, seated across from her mother, but he shouldn’t have been. Magnolia was not present, and Lauren had explained it was typical when her mother was planning an event. The night before she spent it aggressively going over all her lists, plans, and preparations to see everything was perfect.

The Annandale Fourth of July gala was the unofficial start of summer for the town of Greenville. Everything had to go off without a hitch or Magnolia wouldn’t take it well.

Loki was sorely tempted to see things went horribly wrong, but that would not make Lauren happy, and right now, his Lauren needed happy.

Dinner was not a happy, joyful occasion. It was not even the mildly annoying ones he’d sat through with his teammates. It was certainly not the loud, boisterous ones of Asgard where food and drink flowed in abundance.

This was stilted conversation laced with underlying meaning. Marabeth and Samuel had clearly not solved their differences, each one sniping at the other when they weren’t trying to belittle Lauren. Hoyt appeared lost to it all, steadily drinking, ignoring the food on his plate and looking the worse for it.

Cissy sat next to Marabeth tonight casting fearful glances his way and hate-filled ones at Lauren.

But it was the question thrown at him from across the table which had Loki wondering at the gall of these people.

“How much do you make annually as an Avenger?” The question had come from Samuel, who looked entirely too impressed with himself for it.

“What need of I for money?” Loki asked, sipping from the relatively decent glass of wine.

“So you don’t get paid?” Samuel asked.

“I did not say that. I asked what need I have of money. Anything I wish can be created at the snap of my fingertips.”

Samuel stuffed in a mouthful of the tender roast Sue Ann had prepared. Loki could see why she was a sought-after chef for she was talented, watching Lauren’s brother-in-law eat it, however, was akin to watching a cow masticate. It was close to being nauseating.

“I’m curious how much of my tax dollars are going to line the pockets of a man who has no use for money.”

“Samuel!” Lauren gasped. “That’s uncalled for! And as for tax dollars, The Avengers aren’t paid by the American people. They are funded by Stark allowing them to remain impartial. They don’t take money for helpin’ people cause they don’t ever want someone to say they were bribed for their assistance.”

Samuel’s eyes swept up, narrowed behind his glasses. “Must be nice to be richer than Christ almighty. Lettin’ all these supposed heroes live off him.”

“Samuel!” Lauren snapped. “They are good people doin’ the impossible on a regular basis! You’d do well to remember that.”

Loki only patted her hand. “Do not fret, darling. The team is more than capable of defending themselves from the naysayers. In fact, I doubt Stark would put much stock in anything your brother-in-law in his plebeian brain has to say.”

Pushing back from the table, Samuel stood to his feet. “Once I’m governor of this state he’ll have to listen.”

“Why?” Loki asked.

“Because I will be governor!”

“So? You are not… governor of his state.”

He pounded his fist down on the table, making plates and stemware jump. “One day I will run for President, and when I’m elected-”

“I think you mean if. I may not understand your politics as well as I do my own, but I assure you, it will be a warm day on Jötunheim before you are elected leader of this nation.”

“Is that a threat?”

Loki waved a dismissive hand. “It is a statement of fact. Take it as you wish.”

“You know nothin’ about me!”

Loki picked up his wine glass and rolled the stem back and forth between his forefinger and thumb. “Oh, I know enough to know any sort of scandal would seriously damage your run for governor.” Sipping he watched Samuel over the edge of his glass with an air of amusement. “Now… what was her name?” He pursed his lips in thought. “Oh yes, Crystal isn’t it?”

The colour drained from Samuel’s face.

Red quickly suffused Marabeth’s when she rose to her feet, sending her chair sailing over backward to the floor. “Leash you mongrel, Lauren!”

Closing his hand over Lauren’s fist, Loki tsked softly. “I hate to disappoint you, pigeon, but I am all wolf.” He smiled a full bearing of teeth Marabeth’s direction, showing a set of nice and sharp elongated canines. When the colour drained from her face, Loki closed his lips.

Storming from the room, Marabeth left, Samuel following close behind.

Cissy whose demeanour had stayed relatively contrite bolted from the room as soon as he looked her direction. “It seems I have quite offended your family, my love. Pity.”

“Put them in their place is more like it,” muttered Hoyt.

“Daddy?” Lauren asked.

Leaning forward, Hoyt reached out and touched her hand. “I owe you an apology, Lauren.”

“What?” she whispered, surprise in every syllable.

Loki watched the man age before his eyes. He went from large and hard to small, almost frail with a breath and a heartbeat.

“This family has been out of hand for a long time. I’m… sorry I didn’t do nothin’ about it when you were younger. Your mama… she’s not an easy woman at the best of times, but she had you girls and… things changed.” He shook his head. “That’s no excuse for letting them get on you all the time. Never could understand what drove them to it. Then I found out about Magnolia and…” he cleared his throat, looked away.

“You knew about George?” Horror laced Lauren’s words. “And you were tryin’ to shove me back at him!”

“No!” Hoyt clutched at her when she tried to pull away. “No, I didn’t know nothin’ about… about Montgomery till last night. I’d never…” he shook his head. “I was supposed to be at the club, forgot my wallet, came back only to find her comin’... comin’ from his room.”

“Oh, oh daddy!” Lauren gripped his hand.

“Things with your mother haven’t been good for a long time. Long time. We’ve each had our fair share of… mistakes, but that was… and he was… I’m sorry, little girl.”

“It’s okay, daddy. I understand.”

Loki sure as hell didn’t. “Sorry is all well and fine, but you allowed a child of yours to be abused in this house by her own sisters!”

“Loki!” Lauren bit out.

“No, no, he’s right, peaches. I was a crappy father. Now I’ve had to watch two of my daughters muck up their lives. I won’t watch a third make the same mistakes.” Hoyt looked from Lauren to Loki. “You’re one scary son’ bitch when you wanna be, but I can tell you only want the best for my Lauren. At every turn, you step between her and the rest, doin’ what I should have been doin’ all her life. If you’re who makes her happy, then I ain’t going to stand in her way.”

Still, Loki eyed Hoyt. “I wish to know why? Why you allowed this to happen?”

“Loki, that’s not necessary.” Lauren shook her head.

“I’m afraid it is, my sweet. The bullying is one thing, but the stealing, the violence of your elder sister, none of it is excusable.”

“Loki!” she protested.

“There’s no one to blame but me,” Hoyt spoke, overriding Lauren’s protests. “At first it was work, takin’ care of this family and its fortune is harder than you’d think. Then, like I said, your mama ain’t no peach to deal with on her best day, but after she had Marabeth she became… obsessive. She was so… crazy with everythin’ it was easier to simply nod and give her what she wanted than to fight her on the trivial things. Then, trivial wasn’t trivial anymore. When we had you, I thought she’d settle down some but… things got worse. Then Cissy and… I stopped tryin’ to be involved where I wasn’t wanted.”

“I wanted you,” Lauren whispered, tears tracking her cheeks. “I wanted you, but all I got was mama tellin’ me I wasn’t good enough, pretty enough, smart enough.”

“I know, little girl.”

“And you always took mama’s side. Always believed Cissy or Marabeth when I was the one tellin’ the truth.”

“I’m not proud of what I let happen, Lauren.”

Lauren pushed back from the table and got to her feet. “I… need to think about this…” she glanced down at Loki, “alone.”

Heart aching for her, Loki nodded, stroked his fingers down her arm, and watched her walk away looking hurt and confused. She’d made a snap judgement to forgive, but he knew her well enough to know she would want the why, and if the why wasn’t an answer she could understand and forgive, the forgiveness already offered would eat at her.

He returned his attention to Hoyt and drained the rest of his wine. “I do not understand you humans. You force yourselves to suffer in these loveless marriages built on wealth and lies and wonder why you are miserable. Asgardians have millennium together, and we certainly would not suffer to live with a shrew of a woman. Your lives are but drops in the sea compared to ours. Staying together is a mistake.”

“Leavin’ isn’t that easy,” Hoyt sighed.

Having once heard the Captain waxing poetic on the virtues of lost love, Loki muttered, “Take it from someone who knows. Don’t wait. You never know what happiness may await you if you only reach for it. This,” he motioned toward where Lauren had been, “was only the start. You are the patriarch of this family. Odin would have never tolerated this kind of behaviour.”

“And what would Odin have done about it?”

Loki shook his head. “I cannot tell you that. I was always the one on the receiving end of Odin’s displeasure. I was his… son after all.” Shaking his head, Loki smirked a grin before getting up and leaving Hoyt alone.

For all his protestations to the later, all the times he’d denied kinship, Loki had come to a startling and long overdue conclusion tonight. He was a son of Odin. No matter how he fought against it, no matter how he refused to acknowledge the truth, in his own mind he often referenced what Odin would or wouldn’t do.

He’d grown up under Odin’s tutelage, under his rules. Though he didn’t abide by all of them, Loki still lived beneath most of the moral code Odin had tried to impart.

He was an Odinson, how ironic.

Chuckling softly, though he wished to go in search of Lauren, he knew from the feel of her brúðr steinn she was conflicted but alright, walking the balcony beyond their bedroom door.

But in another part of the house, two small voices cried out in distress.

“The children,” he snarled and raced for the stairs.

Next Chapter

#balance #loki #Loki Laufeyson #loki fanfiction #loki laufeyson fanfiction #Avengers #The Avengers #avengers au #avengers fanfiction #southern belle #testy

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ramblingthoughtsofayoungadult · 7 years ago

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Meet the Parents-Marlon Brando Imagine

Requested: Yes

Warnings: Fluff

Marlon was known for being one of the toughest, most macho men in Hollywood as well as one of the finest actors around. However, no one would have believed me if I told them he was a nervous wreck days before meeting my parents. Honestly, I almost couldn’t believe it either. In my eyes, my parents weren’t intimidating at all: my mother was a children’s book author and my father was in advertising. In spite of these facts, Marlon got extremely nervous when I told him that they wanted to have dinner with the two of us.

“What if they don’t like me?” Marlon asked.

“Impossible, everyone likes you...I think.”

Marlon narrowed his eyes at me in response and I laughed. Making fun of everything was second nature to me since it’s what MGM paid me to do. “This isn’t funny, Y/N.”

“Just do us both a favor and breathe before you turn blue,” I said, resting my hands on his shoulders.

He huffed before shrugging my hands off him. “I need a drink.”

“Yes, because alcohol definitely helps clear everyone’s head.”

Marlon didn’t say anything as he walked over to the bar in his living room and poured some expensive whiskey into a crystal tumbler. I reclined on the couch and watched him sip the liquor. It was extremely endearing that he was getting so worked up about meeting my parents. Marlon could be tender at times, but there were other moments where he could be downright cold and unemotional. Watching him get so anxious showed that he really did care for me.

“Isn’t it too soon for them to be meeting me anyhow?”

“We’ve been going steady for three months and my parents don’t believe every headline they read. They want to see the real Marlon Brando who has won their daughter’s heart.”

Marlon smirked. “So, I won your heart?”

I rolled my eyes. “Don’t get cocky.” I slipped off the couch and grabbed my bag. “I have to head over to the studio now but dinner’s at eight so swing around to my place at seven thirty.”

“All right.”

Swiftly, I pressed a quick peck to his cheek before slipping out of his house, thankful that the paparazzi were too busy with a different movie star to camp outside of Marlon’s home. Marlon had been hounded by the paparazzi practically since his first picture, but it only got worse when we were open about our relationship. In a way, I understood why people were so intrigued by our relationship since I was simply a funny girl who somehow got the attention of a bona fide Hollywood hunk. To be honest, I sometimes wondered why Marlon and I stayed together since I had a unique talent for irritating him and pushing his buttons.

The next night, Marlon seemed a bit more relaxed and calm when he came to pick me up. He was wearing one of his cool dark gray suits and a matching fedora. He gave me that weird grin of his when I opened the door for him.

“You better hurry inside, Mister, my boyfriend will be here soon,” I teased.

“He’s an idiot if he left a girl like you all by her lonesome,” Marlon said.

I chuckled and stepped aside to let him in. “You seem calm.”

“I’m an actor.”

“That explains it.” I cinched my pearl bracelet on my wrist and straightened out the skirt of my deep blue dress. “Well, what do you think?”

“You look good, Y/N, you always look good.”

I grinned and kissed him quickly. Marlon seemed to have different plans because when I pulled away, he grabbed my shoulders and pulled me closer. I smiled further into the kiss. “Marlon, stop, we have to leave.”

“We have time,” he muttered.

I managed to pry myself away from him and he reluctantly followed me to his shiny red car. It took all of ten minutes to get to my parents’ modest house in Los Angeles. The ivory white fence in front of the house as well as the perfectly manicured green lawn and yellow rose bushes flanking the front steps made it look like a stereotypical suburban home.

“So, this is where you grew up?”

“Glamorous, I know.”

Marlon parked on the curb, got out of the car, and opened the door for me. I placed my hand on his arm and we walked up to the front door together. I rang the high-toned doorbell before turning to Marlon.

“Don’t forget to breathe now.”

“I won’t.”

His curt tone was enough to make me burst into giggles, but I rubbed his arm for comfort as I suppressed my laughter. A short moment later, my mom opened the door, her eyes were as wide as saucers when she saw Marlon and she wiped her hands on her pink apron quickly.

“Mr. Brando,” she whispered dreamily.

“Hello, Mrs. Y/L/N,” Marlon said politely.

“Mom, I’m here too, you know.”

Mom blinked and turned to me. “Oh, Y/N, of course!” She pulled me into a hug. “Come in, come in!”

We walked into the cool house, the smell of roast chicken, potatoes, and green beans thick in the air. Dad was sitting in the parlor area, smoking a pipe and looking thoughtfully at a copy of the Times.

“Y/D/N, they’re here!” Mom said.

Dad glanced up, placed the newspaper on the coffee table, and stood to greet us. “Hello, Y/N, how are you doing?” “I’m doing great, Dad,” I said as we hugged.

When we pulled away, Dad turned to Marlon. “So, you must be Marlon.”

“Yes, it’s nice to meet you, Mr. Y/L/N,” Marlon said.

“Please, call me Y/D/N.” Dad maintained strong eye contact with Marlon as they shook hands. “Strong handshake you got there, Marlon.”

“Thank you, Y/D/N,” Marlon said.

“You can call me Y/M/N, as well. Dinner’s almost ready, Y/N, won’t you help me with it?” Mom asked.

Marlon shot a glance at me that communicated all his fear of being left alone with my father. I smiled warmly in return as I agreed to join Mom in the kitchen.

“He’s even more handsome than he is in the pictures! Why didn’t you tell me?” Mom whisper-hissed.

“I thought it would be a nice surprise. You could be a little more subtle about your crush on him.”

“Oh, honey, he should be used to that kind of attention. Isn’t it his job?”

I rolled my eyes but laughed as we started bringing the food to the dining room. Once it was all set up, we called Marlon and Dad into the dining room and it seemed as though they bonded over boxing.

“Joe Lewis front and center, impressive,” Dad noted while taking his seat at one head of the table.

“It was----had to dodge out of the way to avoid getting blood on me. If you’d like, I could take you to the next fight.”

Dad’s eyes widened. “You’re serious?”

“Of course.”

“Besides, it’s not like I was interested in watching two men try to beat each other to death,” I said as I took my seat across from Marlon.

“It’s an art, Y/N, you wouldn’t understand,” Dad said. “Am I right, Marlon?”

“Yes, Y/D/N.”

Mom was too busy admiring Marlon’s good looks to catch my annoyed glance and I almost had to laugh. We started eating dinner and as we ate, I could tell Marlon was getting more and more relaxed.

“Y/N, you never told us how the two of you met,” Mom said.

“It’s exactly as the magazines put it: he romanced me while we were on the French Riviera a few months ago.”

Marlon chuckled while Mom narrowed her eyes at me.

“Y/N, answer your mother,” Dad said.

“We ran into each other at the studio----literally.”

“Actually, you ran into me, Y/N.”

“I was running late to set and our pictures just happened to be filming on the same lot. Unfortunately, I ran straight into Marlon while trying to get to my set and nearly knocked him over.” “You were running pretty fast, but you did apologize about fifty times.”

“Because I was sincere!”

My parents chuckled over their meals.

“For some reason, I found your sincerity quite charming and decided to look for the girl in the crazy wig who ran into me after I was done filming for the day,” Marlon said.

“We started talking and that was pretty much it.”

“Such a charming story,” Mom said.

“It’s one of the better ways Y/N’s met a beau,” Dad said with a chuckle.

“What do you mean, Y/D/N?” “Dad, please don’t, I’m too old to be embarrassed by you,” I whined.

“Come on, Y/D/N, Marlon doesn’t want to hear any of those stories,” Mom said.

“Actually, I am very interested to hear about who Y/N dated before me,” Marlon said.

I wanted to smack that grin off his face but refrained myself by playing with the green beans on my plate.

“Well, at the ripe age of five, Y/N had her first beau because he apologized for biting her on the first day of school,” Dad said. “What was his name?”

“Richard Collins,” I muttered.

“Oh, Richie! He was a sweet boy,” Mom exclaimed.

“Until he broke up with me by shoving me into a wall,” Y/N muttered.

“And then there was Brandon when you were thirteen. She told us he was the love of her life. They held hands and everything,” Mom said.

“Oh?” Marlon asked. “How long did that last?”

“About two months. We broke up because he was a bad kisser.” “Y/N!” Mom and Dad exclaimed.

I shrugged. “It’s the truth!”

After we were done rehasing my dating history, Mother excused the two of us to clear off the table and to prepare coffee and dessert. Marlon and Dad went into the parlor to smoke together.

“I would ask what you think of Marlon, Mom, but after that show, I’d be surprised if you didn’t ask him out yourself.”

“You know I would never do that to your father, but I do think that Marlon is a very nice man and he treats you well, doesn’t he?”

“Yes, he does.” I smiled to myself as I set the small dishes of coffee cake on a tray.

“Do you love him?”

“Yes.” “Then I hope he makes an honest woman out of you soon.”

“Why can’t I make an honest man out of him, Mom?”

“Oh, you know what I mean. I saw the way he looked at you, absolutely precious it was.” Mom set the silver coffee pot in the center of the tray with the coffee cake. “Most women never get looked at that way by a man for their whole lives. You’re a fortunate one.”

“Thanks, Mom, I’m glad we have your blessing.”

“Of course, you do, my grandchildren are going to be beautiful.”

“Mom.”

At the end of the night, Marlon was extremely happy to hear that my parents were practically in love with him----specifically my mom. Fortunately for me, it seemed as though Marlon didn’t mind my weird little family.

#marlon brando imagine #requested #old hollywood #old hollywood imagine

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thefortyeightlawsofpower-blog · 7 years ago

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LAW # 30 : MAKE YOUR ACCOMPLISHMENTS SEEM EFFORTLESS

JUDGEMENT

Your actions must seem natural and executed with ease. All the toil and practice that go into them, and also all the clever tricks, must be concealed. When you act, act effortlessly, as if you could do much more. Avoid the temptation of revealing how hard you work—it only raises questions. Teach no one your tricks or they will be used against you.

KANO TANNYU. MASTER ARTIST

Date Masamune once sent for Tannyu to decorate a pair of gold screens seven feet high. The artist said he thought black-and-white sketches would suit them, and went home again after considering them carefully. The next morning he came early and made a large quantity of ink into which he dipped a horseshoe he had brought with him, and then proceeded to make impressions of this all over one of the screens. Then, with a large brush, he drew a number of lines across them. Meanwhile Masamune had come in to watch his work, and at this he could contain his irritation no longer, and muttering, “What a beastly mess!” he strode away to his own apartments. The retainers told Tannyu he was in a very bad temper indeed. “He shouldn’t look on while I am at work, then,” replied the painter, “he should wait till it is finished.” Then he took up a smaller brush and dashed in touches here and there, and as he did so the prints of the horse-shoe turned into crabs, while the big broad strokes became rushes. He then turned to the other screen and splashed drops of ink all over it, and when he had added a few brush-strokes here and there they became a flight of swallows over willow trees. When Masamune saw the finished work he was as overjoyed at the artist’s skill as he had previously been annoyed at the apparent mess he was making of the screens.

CHA-NO-YU: THE JAPANESE TEA CEREMONY A. L. SADLER, 1962

OBSERVANCE OF THE LAW I

The Japanese tea ceremony called Cha-no-yu (“Hot Water for Tea”) has origins in ancient times, but it reached its peak of refinement in the sixteenth century under its most renowned practitioner, Sen no Rikyu. Although not from a noble family, Rikyu rose to great power, becoming the preferred tea master of the Emperor Hideyoshi, and an important adviser on aesthetic and even political matters. For Rikyu, the secret of success consisted in appearing natural, concealing the effort behind one’s work.

One day Rikyu and his son went to an acquaintance’s house for a tea ceremony. On the way in, the son remarked that the lovely antique-looking gate at their host’s house gave it an evocatively lonely appearance. “I don’t think so,” replied his father, “it looks as though it had been brought from some mountain temple a long way off, and as if the labor required to import it must have cost a lot of money.” If the owner of the house had put this much effort into one gate, it would show in his tea ceremony—and indeed Sen no Rikyu had to leave the ceremony early, unable to endure the affectation and effort it inadvertently revealed.

On another evening, while having tea at a friend’s house, Rikyu saw his host go outside, hold up a lantern in the darkness, cut a lemon off a tree, and bring it in. This charmed Rikyu—the host needed a relish for the dish he was serving, and had spontaneously gone outside to get one. But when the man offered the lemon with some Osaka rice cake, Rikyu realized that he had planned the cutting of the lemon all along, to go with this expensive delicacy. The gesture no longer seemed spontaneous—it was a way for the host to prove his cleverness. He had accidentally revealed how hard he was trying. Having seen enough, Rikyu politely declined the cake, excused himself, and left.

Emperor Hideyoshi once planned to visit Rikyu for a tea ceremony. On the night before he was to come, snow began to fall. Thinking quickly, Rikyu laid round cushions that fit exactly on each of the stepping-stones that led through the garden to his house. Just before dawn, he rose, saw that it had stopped snowing, and carefully removed the cushions. When Hideyoshi arrived, he marveled at the simple beauty of the sight—the perfectly round stepping stones, unencumbered by snow—and noticed how it called no attention to the manner in which Rikyu had accomplished it, but only to the polite gesture itself.

After Sen no Rikyu died, his ideas had a profound influence on the practice of the tea ceremony. The Tokugawa shogun Yorinobu, son of the great Emperor Ieyasu, was a student of Rikyu’s teachings. In his garden he had a stone lantern made by a famous master, and Lord Sakai Tadakatsu asked if he could come by one day to see it. Yorinobu replied that he would be honored, and commanded his gardeners to put everything in order for the visit. These gardeners, unfamiliar with the precepts of Cha-no-yu, thought the stone lantern misshapen, its windows being too small for the present taste. They had a local workman enlarge the windows. A few days before Lord Sakai’s visit, Yorinobu toured the garden. When he saw the altered windows he exploded with rage, ready to impale on his sword the fool who had ruined the lantern, upsetting its natural grace and destroying the whole purpose of Lord Sakai’s visit.

When Yorinobu calmed down, however, he remembered that he had originally bought two of the lanterns, and that the second was in his garden on the island of Kishu. At great expense, he hired a whale boat and the finest rowers he could find, ordering them to bring the lantern to him within two days—a difficult feat at best. But the sailors rowed day and night, and with the luck of a good wind they arrived just in time. To Yorinobu’s delight, this stone lantern was more magnificent than the first, for it had stood untouched for twenty years in a bamboo thicket, acquiring a brilliant antique appearance and a delicate covering of moss. When Lord Sakai arrived, later that same day, he was awed by the lantern, which was more magnificent than he had imagined—so graceful and at one with the elements. Fortunately he had no idea what time and effort it had cost Yorinobu to create this sublime effect.

THE RESILING MASTER

There was once a wrestling master who was versed in 360 feints and holds. He took a special liking to one of his pupils, to whom he taught 359 of them over a period of time. Somehow he never got around to the last trick. As months went by the young man became so proficient in the art that he bested everyone who dared to face him in the ring. He was so proud of his prowess that one day he boasted before the sultan that he could readily whip his master, were it not out of respect for his age and gratitude for his tutelage.

The sultan became incensed at this irreverence and ordered an immediate match with the royal court in attendance.

At the gong the youth barged forward with a lusty yell, only to be confronted with the unfamiliar 360th feint. The master seized his former pupil, lifted him high above his head, and flung him crashing to the ground. The sultan and the assembly let out a loud cheer. When the sultan asked the master how he was able to overcome such a strong opponent, the master confessed that he had reserved a secret technique for himself for just such a contingency. Then he related the lamentation of a master of archery, who taught everything he knew. “No one has learned archery from me,” the poor fellow complained, “who has not tried to use me as a butt in the end.”

A STORY OF SAADI, AS TOLD IN THE CRAFT OF POWER, R.G. H. SIU, 1979

Interpretation

To Sen no Rikyu, the sudden appearance of something naturally, almost accidentally graceful was the height of beauty. This beauty came without warning and seemed effortless. Nature created such things by its own laws and processes, but men had to create their effects through labor and contrivance. And when they showed the effort of producing the effect, the effect was spoiled. The gate came from too far away, the cutting of the lemon looked contrived.

You will often have to use tricks and ingenuity to create your effects—the cushions in the snow, the men rowing all night—but your audience must never suspect the work or the thinking that has gone into them. Nature does not reveal its tricks, and what imitates nature by appearing effortless approximates nature’s power.

OBSERVANCE OF THE LAW II

The great escape artist Harry Houdini once advertised his act as “The Impossible Possible.” And indeed those who witnessed his dramatic escapes felt that what he did onstage contradicted commonsense ideas of human capacity.

One evening in 1904, an audience of 4,000 Londoners filled a theater to watch Houdini accept a challenge: to escape from a pair of manacles billed as the strongest ever invented. They contained six sets of locks and nine tumblers in each cuff; a Birmingham maker had spent five years constructing them. Experts who examined them said they had never seen anything so intricate, and this intricacy was thought to make them impossible to escape.

The crowd watched the experts secure the manacles on Houdini’s wrists. Then the escape artist entered a black cabinet on stage. The minutes went by; the more time passed, the more certain it seemed that these manacles would be the first to defeat him. At one point he emerged from the cabinet, and asked that the cuffs be temporarily removed so that he could take off his coat—it was hot inside. The challengers refused, suspecting his request was a trick to find out how the locks worked. Undeterred, and without using his hands, Houdini managed to lift the coat over his shoulders, turn it inside out, remove a penknife from his vest pocket with his teeth, and, by moving his head, cut the coat off his arms. Freed from the coat, he stepped back into the cabinet, the audience roaring with approval at his grace and dexterity.

Finally, having kept the audience waiting long enough, Houdini emerged from the cabinet a second time, now with his hands free, the manacles raised high in triumph. To this day no one knows how he managed the escape. Although he had taken close to an hour to free himself, he had never looked concerned, had shown no sign of doubt. Indeed it seemed by the end that he had drawn out the escape as a way to heighten the drama, to make the audience worry—for there was no other sign that the performance had been anything but easy. The complaint about the heat was equally part of the act. The spectators of this and other Houdini performances must have felt he was toying with them: These manacles are nothing, he seemed to say, I could have freed myself a lot sooner, and from a lot worse.

Over the years, Houdini escaped from the chained carcass of an embalmed “sea monster” (a half octopus, half whalelike beast that had beached near Boston); he had himself sealed inside an enormous envelope from which he emerged without breaking the paper; he passed through brick walls; he wriggled free from straitjackets while dangling high in the air; he leaped from bridges into icy waters, his hands manacled and his legs in chains; he had himself submerged in glass cases full of water, hands pad-locked, while the audience watched in amazement as he worked himself free, struggling for close to an hour apparently without breathing. Each time he seemed to court certain death yet survived with superhuman aplomb. Meanwhile, he said nothing about his methods, gave no clues as to how he accomplished any of his tricks—he left his audiences and critics speculating, his power and reputation enhanced by their struggles with the inexplicable. Perhaps the most baffling trick of all was making a ten-thousand-pound elephant disappear before an audience’s eyes, a feat he repeated on stage for over nineteen weeks. No one has ever really explained how he did this, for in the auditorium where he performed the trick, there was simply nowhere for an elephant to hide.

The effortlessness of Houdini’s escapes led some to think he used occult forces, his superior psychic abilities giving him special control over his body. But a German escape artist named Kleppini claimed to know Houdini’s secret: He simply used elaborate gadgets. Kleppini also claimed to have defeated Houdini in a handcuff challenge in Holland.

Houdini did not mind all kinds of speculation floating around about his methods, but he would not tolerate an outright lie, and in 1902 he challenged Kleppini to a handcuff duel. Kleppini accepted. Through a spy, he found out the secret word to unlock a pair of French combination-lock cuffs that Houdini liked to use. His plan was to choose these cuffs to escape from onstage. This would definitively debunk Houdini—his “genius” simply lay in his use of mechanical gadgets.

On the night of the challenge, just as Kleppini had planned, Houdini offered him a choice of cuffs and he selected the ones with the combination lock. He was even able to disappear with them behind a screen to make a quick test, and reemerged seconds later, confident of victory.

Acting as if he sensed fraud, Houdini refused to lock Kleppini in the cuffs. The two men argued and began to fight, even wrestling with each other onstage. After a few minutes of this, an apparently angry, frustrated Houdini gave up and locked Kleppini in the cuffs. For the next few minutes Kleppini strained to get free. Something was wrong—minutes earlier he had opened the cuffs behind the screen; now the same code no longer worked. He sweated, racking his brains. Hours went by, the audience left, and finally an exhausted and humiliated Kleppini gave up and asked to be released.

The cuffs that Kleppini himself had opened behind the screen with the word “C-L-E-F-S” (French for “keys”) now clicked open only with the word “F-R-A-U-D.” Kleppini never figured out how Houdini had accomplished this uncanny feat.

Keep the extent of your abilities unknown. The wise man does not allow his knowledge and abilities to be sounded to the bottom, if he desires to be honored by all. He allows you to know them but not to comprehend them. No one must know the extent of his abilities, lest he be disappointed. No one ever has an opportunity of fathoming him entirely. For guesses and doubts about the extent of his talents arouse more veneration than accurate knowledge of them, be they ever so great.

BALTASAR GRACIÁN. 1601-1658

Interpretation

Although we do not know for certain how Houdini accomplished many of his most ingenious escapes, one thing is clear: It was not the occult, or any kind of magic, that gave him his powers, but hard work and endless practice, all of which he carefully concealed from the world. Houdini never left anything to chance—day and night he studied the workings of locks, researched centuries-old sleight-of-hand tricks, pored over books on mechanics, whatever he could use. Every moment not spent researching he spent working his body, keeping himself exceptionally limber, and learning how to control his muscles and his breathing.

Early on in Houdini’s career, an old Japanese performer whom he toured with taught him an ancient trick: how to swallow an ivory ball, then bring it back up. He practiced this endlessly with a small peeled potato tied to a string—up and down he would manipulate the potato with his throat muscles, until they were strong enough to move it without the string. The organizers of the London handcuff challenge had searched Houdini’s body thoroughly beforehand, but no one could check the inside of his throat, where he could have concealed small tools to help him escape. Even so, Kleppini was fundamentally wrong: It was not Houdini’s tools but his practice, work, and research that made his escapes possible.

Kleppini, in fact, was completely outwitted by Houdini, who set the whole thing up. He let his opponent learn the code to the French cuffs, then baited him into choosing those cuffs onstage. Then, during the two men’s tussle, the dexterous Houdini was able to change the code to “F-R-A-U-D.” He had spent weeks practicing this trick, but the audience saw none of the sweat and toil behind the scenes. Nor was Houdini ever nervous; he induced nervousness in others. (He deliberately dragged out the time it would take to escape, as a way of heightening the drama, and making the audience squirm.) His escapes from death, always graceful and easy, made him look like a superman.

As a person of power, you must research and practice endlessly before appearing in public, onstage or anywhere else. Never expose the sweat and labor behind your poise. Some think such exposure will demonstrate their diligence and honesty, but it actually just makes them look weaker—as if anyone who practiced and worked at it could do what they had done, or as if they weren’t really up to the job. Keep your effort and your tricks to yourself and you seem to have the grace and ease of a god. One never sees the source of a god’s power revealed; one only sees its effects.

A line [of poetry] will take us hours maybe; Yet if it does not seem a moment’s thought, Our stitching and unstitching has been naught.

Adam’s Curse, William Buller Yeats, 1865-1939

KEYS TO POWER

Humanity’s first notions of power came from primitive encounters with nature—the flash of lightning in the sky, a sudden flood, the speed and ferocity of a wild animal. These forces required no thinking, no planning—they awed us by their sudden appearance, their gracefulness, and their power over life and death. And this remains the kind of power we have always wanted to imitate. Through science and technology we have re-created the speed and sublime power of nature, but something is missing: Our machines are noisy and jerky, they reveal their effort. Even the very best creations of technology cannot root out our admiration for things that move easily and effortlessly. The power of children to bend us to their will comes from a kind of seductive charm that we feel in the presence of a creature less reflective and more graceful than we are. We cannot return to such a state, but if we can create the appearance of this kind of ease, we elicit in others the kind of primitive awe that nature has always evoked in hu mankind.

One of the first European writers to expound on this principle came from that most unnatural of environments, the Renaissance court. In The Book of the Courtier, published in 1528, Baldassare Castiglione describes the highly elaborate and codified manners of the perfect court citizen. And yet, Castiglione explains, the courtier must execute these gestures with what he calls sprezzatura, the capacity to make the difficult seem easy. He urges the courtier to “practice in all things a certain nonchalance which conceals all artistry and makes whatever one says or does seem uncontrived and effortless.” We all admire the achievement of some unusual feat, but if it is accomplished naturally and gracefully, our admiration increases tenfold—“whereas ... to labor at what one is doing and ... to make bones over it, shows an extreme lack of grace and causes everything, whatever its worth, to be discounted.”

Much of the idea of sprezzatura came from the world of art. All the great Renaissance artists carefully kept their works under wraps. Only the finished masterpiece could be shown to the public. Michelangelo forbade even popes to view his work in process. A Renaissance artist was always careful to keep his studios shut to patrons and public alike, not out of fear of imitation, but because to see the making of the works would mar the magic of their effect, and their studied atmosphere of ease and natural beauty.

The Renaissance painter Vasari, also the first great art critic, ridiculed the work of Paolo Uccello, who was obsessed with the laws of perspective. The effort Uccello spent on improving the appearance of perspective was too obvious in his work—it made his paintings ugly and labored, overwhelmed by the effort of their effects. We have the same response when we watch performers who put too much effort into their act: Seeing them trying so hard breaks the illusion. It also makes us uncomfortable. Calm, graceful performers, on the other hand, set us at ease, creating the illusion that they are not acting but being natural and themselves, even when everything they are doing involves labor and practice.

The idea of sprezzatura is relevant to all forms of power, for power depends vitally on appearances and the illusions you create. Your public actions are like artworks: They must have visual appeal, must create anticipation, even entertain. When you reveal the inner workings of your creation, you become just one more mortal among others. What is understandable is not awe-inspiring—we tell ourselves we could do as well if we had the money and time. Avoid the temptation of showing how clever you are—it is far more clever to conceal the mechanisms of your cleverness.

Talleyrand’s application of this concept to his daily life greatly enhanced the aura of power that surrounded him. He never liked to work too hard, so he made others do the work for him—the spying, the research, the detailed analyses. With all this labor at his disposal, he himself never seemed to strain. When his spies revealed that a certain event was about to take place, he would talk in social conversation as if he sensed its imminence. The result was that people thought he was clairvoyant. His short pithy statements and witticisms always seemed to summarize a situation perfectly, but they were based on much research and thought. To those in government, including Napoleon himself, Talleyrand gave the impression of immense power—an effect entirely dependent on the apparent ease with which he accomplished his feats.

There is another reason for concealing your shortcuts and tricks: When you let this information out, you give people ideas they can use against you. You lose the advantages of keeping silent. We tend to want the world to know what we have done—we want our vanity gratified by having our hard work and cleverness applauded, and we may even want sympathy for the hours it has taken to reach our point of artistry. Learn to control this propensity to blab, for its effect is often the opposite of what you expected. Remember: The more mystery surrounds your actions, the more awesome your power seems. You appear to be the only one who can do what you do—and the appearance of having an exclusive gift is immensely powerful. Finally, because you achieve your accomplishments with grace and ease, people believe that you could always do more if you tried harder. This elicits not only admiration but a touch of fear. Your powers are untapped—no one can fathom their limits.

Image: The Racehorse. From up close we would see the strain, the effort to control the horse, the labored, painful breathing. But from the distance where we sit and watch, it is all gracefulness, flying through the air. Keep others at a distance and they will only see the ease with which you move.

Authority: For whatever action [nonchalance] accompanies, no matter how trivial it is, it not only reveals the skill of the person doing it but also very often causes it to be considered far greater than it really is. This is because it makes the onlookers believe that a man who performs well with so much facility must possess even greater skill than he does. (Baldassare Castiglione, 1478-1529)

REVERSAL

The secrecy with which you surround your actions must seem lighthearted in spirit. A zeal to conceal your work creates an unpleasant, almost paranoiac impression: you are taking the game too seriously. Houdini was careful to make the concealment of his tricks seem a game, all part of the show. Never show your work until it is finished, but if you put too much effort into keeping it under wraps you will be like the painter Pontormo, who spent the last years of his life hiding his frescoes from the public eye and only succeeded in driving himself mad. Always keep your sense of humor about yourself.

There are also times when revealing the inner workings of your projects can prove worthwhile. It all depends on your audience’s taste, and on the times in which you operate. P. T. Barnum recognized that his public wanted to feel involved in his shows, and that understanding his tricks delighted them, partly, perhaps, because implicitly debunking people who kept their sources of power hidden from the masses appealed to America’s democratic spirit. The public also appreciated the showman’s humor and honesty. Barnum took this to the extreme of publicizing his own humbuggery in his popular autobiography, written when his career was at its height.

As long as the partial disclosure of tricks and techniques is carefully planned, rather than the result of an uncontrollable need to blab, it is the ultimate in cleverness. It gives the audience the illusion of being superior and involved, even while much of what you do remains concealed from them.

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