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nct-jungjaehyun · 4 years ago

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broken promises and long distance with jung jaehyun

this came out a long longer than i expected but i hopeyou love it nonetheless! please check out my pinned post if you can, it would mean a lot. happy reading with jung jaehyun.

the calendar stared back at you in disappointment. january 19th. it felt like just yesterday when you first brushed your hands on this leather sofa and promised yourself that you would tell him everything.

after boyfriend!jaehyun’s long pleads and whines, you finally stepped away from the states and came back into his arms. you graduated from college last year during late may, but you created a handful of excuses to lengthen your stay there.

jaehyun did not mind waiting. he had been waiting for 14 years, what was a little more time? most of all, he was determined that time was not his enemy, distance was. friends and family warned him that your heart might stray, but he remained unmoved by his own heart. even when you had posted a picture of yourself being piggybacked by another man while posing on the top of the mountains, he never brought it up in your text messages. he never showed a hint of jealousy. while he never doubted your love for him, he was filled with constant fear that he would chase you away. whether he was on stage or filming a variety show, he made sure to keep his distance from all females and earned himself the title as the idol who cannot flirt for his life. however, his text messages with you tell a different story. his text bubbles would all fall under the category of lovey-dovey. the batches of cringey voice messages he delivered every week still sat unopened on your end.

you, on the other hand, returned his packages of text messages with lesser words as the months slipped by. for a college student as busy as you, a simple ‘okay’ seemed more than sufficient. you always wondered how jaehyun had endless time on his hands to send you paragraphs of text, some felt longer than the english assignments you were given.

before you went to the states, your entire world knew about jaehyun’s feelings for you. jaehyun’s world was much bigger, incomparably bigger. he had his fans to worry about and his members to stress for. you felt like a speck of dust in his life. the constant reminder from your parents that jaehyun will be the ultimate husband lost its meaning somewhere in between.

moving to the states meant that a whole new planet will be added into your life. it was fascinating, all the people and places. at first, your motivation behind your english major was jaehyun. you wanted to communicate with him on another level, as well as to impress his members and fans if they were to ever find out about your relationship. during your second year in college, you considered giving up on your studies. the hundreds and thousands of dollars that jaehyun had poured from his own wallet to support you in college would have gone to waste. the guilt was enough to keep you up at night, questioning everything that you were doing. what were you going to do with this knowledge? you were staying up night after night to rush papers that lacked passion and energy. like a ghost, you floated through the crowded halls and sat through classes as an invisible. eating and sleeping turned into things that required immense effort. jaehyun sent his support not only financially, but also spiritually: “don’t forget to eat breakfast!” or “sleep tight!” in the end, you failed to meet his expectations.

the wobbly tower you tried so hard to keep upright collapsed. a classmate took you to the hospital when you fainted at the library one day. he stayed at your bedside until the nurses informed him that you were replenished with all the nutrients and vitamins your frail body desperately craved for. it was not a long process, but the nightmares and loneliness the first few nights were unbearable. that is until he began coming by after class every day to tend to you. he was different from jaehyun. he was younger, but he carried a sense of maturity and sophistication that other men around you failed to demonstrate. unlike the other man across the world performing his heart out for his audience, this man on your bedside was willing to hold your hand and be the first person you see when you open your eyes.

on the day of your graduation, you gave jaehyun another chance to grasp the tiny bit of hope to spark your relationship again. the first chance was at the hospital. you told yourself that you would clench your teeth and fight through the rest of college if he can show up right then. sure, a figure walked through and, we already know, it was your classmate, not jaehyun.

graduation day. you stared at the mirror and took a deep breath. “jung jaehyun,” you said, at the image of him pulled up on your phone, “be here for me and i promise i will be there for you for the rest of our lives.”

you waited and waited. they called your name and from the podium your eyes squinted into the sea of proud family and relatives of the class of 2020. sitting in your designated seat for valedictorians, you twist your back to search for him. again, nowhere to be found.

you called him the moment that the ceremony was over, hoping that you had simply missed him in the crowd and he was lingering somewhere on the grassy field with your parents.

the call went to voicemail. maybe his phone was on silent. you called again. nothing. the monotone voice that instructed you to call again played back quicker this time.

out of nowhere a hug engulfed you from the back. you broke out into a huge smile, realizing that jaehyun was still the same romantic and cheesy boy you knew best.

you were wrong.

turning around, the one who had hugged you was your classmate. in his arm, the object that spiked your back, was a bouquet of flowers. they were crysanthemums, your favorite. “congratulations,” he said, his cheeks blushing a strong pink, “i’m very proud of you.” it surprised you when he leaned down to kiss you on the cheek, but you did not dodge from it. it was sweet and charming of him.

today is january 19th and it was time to tell jaehyun everything.

right on schedule, you see him coming through the main entrance of the sm building. he patted your head and asked, “hey, why did you want to meet me here?”

“it’s been a month since i came back and you’re already tired of me?” you laughed.

he shook his head, laughing with you, and invited you to the practice room. “the members are out shopping together. we have the practice room to ourselves.”

it always felt stifling to be around him. jaehyun was a delight, but sneaking around like criminals just to talk was not.

walking up to the practice room, where a plaque with the words NCT were engraved on it, felt like a blur. your heart was pounding and your legs somehow found it difficult to walk on flat ground. walking with him was not that bad if you compared it with what came after. the both of you broke out into an all out fight.

“what do you mean you found someone else? i waited so long for you to come back!” he shouted, arms flailing.

you flinched at the volume of his voice. you can not remember the last time that he raised his voice at you. “jaehyun, we were never really a thing. normal things that normal couples do, we never did any of those. you know that. we promised each other that we were going to get married when i finished college, but deep down we both knew that wasn’t gonna happen.”

“i don’t know about you, but i believed it was going to happen. why are you giving up on us so easily?”

“you’re telling me that you will be willing to let our relationship destroy your reputation and threaten your career? do it right now and we’ll get married.”

you left him speechless. it never occurred to him that he would have to choose. he felt that it would just happen, that he will have both. you and his career.

“when i was in the hospital-” you started.

“when were you in the hospital?” he interrupted, rushing forward to hold your arm. his eyes glanced down once, as if making sure he did not miss a broken limb.

“i forgot to eat my meals and i stayed up to finish work. no one was there to take care of me. i don’t blame you for that, but i silently wished, i wished hard, that you would show up. if you did, i was willing to give up everything, just to be by your side.”

“if i showed up...” jaehyun wondered how much this would have all changed if he would have listened to his heart. he missed you so much but when he thought about all the faces in the audience, he knew it wasn’t a decision for him to make. he had a responsibility to be a part of NCT. he assumed the love you two had for each other would be strong enough to withstand all of the obstacles.

“my graduation ceremony, where were you?” you questioned, although you already knew the answer. you surfed the web that night and realized that he had another ceremony to attend, an award ceremony. his group won best artist of the year.

when he didn’t answer, you answered for him, “congratulations on the award. i wasn’t sure if i should have mentioned it before...”

he took a step back, furthering the gap between the two of you. his eyes were growing teary and so were yours. “he was there... both times when i wasn’t?”

you nodded and stared at your feet as tears dripped onto your shoes.

that gap was restored when he leapt forward and gripped you tightly against his chest. he was sobbing now. “i’m sorry. please don’t leave. we can fix this. we can fix- we can still- we still love each other, don’t we?”

you sniffed back your tears, “don’t do this, jaehyun. it’s time to let go. we wasted 14 years bounded by this obligation to love each other. we loved each other too much.”

the knives that stabbed into your heart felt like they were being pulled out. one by one. all the wounds were opening, vulnerable for bacteria to infect it.

he pulled away and turned around to wipe away all of his tears that strayed from the rest which had soaked into your shirt.

your phone rang from the pocket of your jeans. jaehyun tensed at the new ringtone. it used to be the tune of his song, try again. the new ringtone was unfamiliar to him, but it was a song that you heard often. it was a piano recording of your favorite song played by him.

“don’t pick up. we’re not over. you can’t do this to me. tell me, what did i do wrong?” jaehyun was getting desperate. you wanted your relationship to work out as much as he did, but the only person who can heal the wounds in your heart was not him, it was the person who was calling you right then.

you picked up the call and put his voice on speaker. i contrast, his voice was soft and assuring, “hey, i’m outside, are you ready? i can drive around the block if you need some more time.”

you smiled at his attentiveness. it felt as if the world was put on hold and only you and him existed—something you once felt with jaehyun. “i’ll be right there, two more minutes, okay?”

jaehyun’s strong breaths pulled you away from your phone call. you glanced at him for a moment before talking into the phone, “hey, i’m really hungry, can we go to my favorite restaurant for dinner?”

you can see his smile despite not seeing him in person, “i already made a reservation, love. i also got you your favorite flowers, crysanthemums.”

“i’ll see you soon, alright? bye,” you ended.

“bye,” a barely audible kiss sound came from the phone before you tapped end call.

jaehyun did not hesitate to pick at your boyfriend’s words like a lawyer, “your favorite restaurant is not open today. your favorite flowers are roses. he doesn’t even know you.”

you sighed and grinned at him, trying your best not to look apologetic, because there was no need for apologies. “my favorite restaurant changed. it’s a new name that originated from the states. i never liked roses. your favorite are roses. i was never fond of the color red.

“things change, jaehyun, our hobbies, our favorite foods. these are all feelings. don’t ignore these feelings. right now, i only have feelings for him.” you raised your phone towards jaehyun at your last word, reminding him that the person you grew a newfound love for is real.

lifting the necklace from underneath your shirt, you twirled the ring that looped on the rope. “he gave me this promise ring. he has one, too. it’s a commitment. we’re both going to keep this promise.”

with that said, you turned away and headed for the door.

you paused after two steps, without turning around, you added, “be happy, jaehyun. find someone who will keep your promise and make sure to put them on top of all of your other commitments. i’ll pay you back all the money bit by bit. it’ll work out somehow.”

you heard a loud thump on the floor. it must be jaehyun. a part of you wanted to go back and comfort him, but going back would mean never moving forward.

the one outside waiting for you was willing to move forward with you. he inspired you to use your english major for private tutoring and perhaps someday write a book.

holding your head high, you took a deep breath. you were glad to finally put jaehyun behind you.

you did not want to dream of the future anymore, but one thing that you knew for sure: don’t lose sight of the one you have right now and love him with your whole heart.

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sweater-daddiesdumbdork · 4 years ago

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Rose Red’s All Hallows Eve: Shall We Go Inside?

Summary- 5.3k Charles Blackwood x You. You were sent a ticket to the exclusive fund raiser at Rose Red on Halloween Night. You are to visit the character Charles Blackwood, played by your forever crush Sebastian Stan. He supposed to take you on a tour of the famous haunted manor, claiming it to be the home of his Aunt Ellen Rimbauer and Uncle Wilford Rimbauer. What a once in a life time opportunity! You might just never want to leave.

Warnings- its a ghost story, creepy descriptions, mentions of suicide, death.

A/N- written as my last submission to @jtargaryen18 Haunted House 2020. This will be the final piece I write for Rose Red’s All Hallows Eve, and I hope you all enjoy a glimpse and some back story of Rose Red that wasn’t given in the Curtis chapters. The story is from Stephen King’s Rose Red which was a TV mini series. Excellent Halloween movie if you can find it. Its hard to locate now. Dividers made by @firefly-graphics Happy Reading and Haunting. 😈🎃🌹

Masterlist

You couldn’t get over your good fortune when you checked your mailbox that morning. Inside was an envelope, with wispy handwriting with no return address. When you opened it, there was a ticket, an exclusive ticket to the Rose Red All Hallows Eve charity function.

Your jaw dropped, cause even though you had been trying everything to secure a ticket for months, no one would sell you one. And you tried finding scalped tickets, willing to take a chance for one, only to be turned down. It was an invite-only, only the elite were getting to tour the mansion and meet some of their favorite movie actors in their darker roles.

Your hands trembled as you brought the ticket closer, reading the fine print to see which person you were getting to meet. Not that you were picky, you would take the chance to meet anyone. Chris Evans, Sebastian Stan, Frank Grillo, Scarlett Johnson, or Chris Hemsworth. Just being able to get into the mansion was worth all the months of begging and trying just about anything for tickets.

Your eyes roved back and forth, trying to pick up a name when you saw the fine print announcing that you would be escorted around Rose Red by Charles Blackwood from We Have Always Lived In The Castle. You gave a little squee of excitement, having really wanted to meet Sebastian Stan. What a better character on Halloween night then the devious cousin Charles. Your plans for tonight went from working on a project for your boss to getting red wine drunk and watching the movie on Netflix to get reacquainted with Charles Blackwood. Research, of course, you didn’t want to be meeting the famous “Charles” without having done your research after all. Happy in a way you haven’t been in a while, you went to pour your wine and binge, wishing you had someone to call to tell your news to. But you were a bit of a loner and didn’t tend to connect with people.

But whatever, this well this was going to be the best Halloween yet for you. No getting sloppy drunk in a bar to bring home some wanna be cowboy or that one time you brought home a clown. A disgusted shudder went through you at the memory. That wasn’t a Halloween you were particularly proud of. Not this year though, this time you were going to one of the most haunted places in New York and seeing Sebastian Stan. Wonder what it would take to bring him home? Making yourself grin like an idiot, as your major fan girl crush made your heart race. You poured almost the entire bottle of red wine in the goblet.

“How did the saying go? Treat Yo Self.” Lifting the glass you took a rather large swallow.

Charles stood at the entrance, waiting for the next patron he was to bring through the mansion. They should be arriving soon, the time on the ticket said 11 pm sharp. Waiting at the gate, his back leaned against the cold stone of the wall and his gaze fell upwards to see a bit of green creeping over the wall, sprouting thorns sharper than any dagger. Charles hummed softly with a bit of a smirk to see the creeping vine, a small bud twisted as it grew in size. The bigger it got, the more it tinted from green to blood red, and it spiraled open to a single rose. Reaching up, he pinched the stem, clipping it off and bringing it down to admire it. The perfect petals are just as soft as a woman's lips when he brushed his fingertip along one, and when a thorn bit into his palm, he hissed at the sting, that too just like a woman. Don’t respect her, and she will cut you down. Blood welled up and spilled towards the ground before he brought his palm to his mouth and sucked it clean, inspecting to make sure there wasn’t any of the thorn left in his palm. Snipping off the thorns, he let them scatter into the gravel under his feet.

Charles was fixing the rose into his shirt pocket, when you started to come out from between parked cars, your hands smoothing against your thighs with a bit of nerve and you just looked so innocently sweet. The corner of his mouth quirked up while he inspected you. She’s a perfect choice, he thought maliciously as his features shifted to warm and welcoming. “Welcome Dear to Rose Red, my family's Manor. My name is Charles Blackwood.” Plucking out that flower from his shirt pocket, he gave a slight bow and held it out for you. Your giggle went right through him, making his toes curl in his shiny black Louboutin’s all the way to the base of his neck where his expensive Tom Ford collar rubbed. You looked up at him with a touch of innocence that should make him feel bad, but it didn’t.

You dug out your ticket and showed them to Charles Blackwood, which he inspected closely and pulled out his wallet to pocket it. You bubbled with excitement and lifted the rose he had just given you to your nose, letting the tip brush against the edges of the petals. “Thank you. I shall press it to dry it when I get home Sebastian. But I have no place to put it.” You started to figure out a way to hold onto it and not get it ruined when he took it back and wedged it into the stone wall behind him.

“It will be safe here Dear, and Charles, please. I don’t know this Sebastian you call me.” He gave a wink and you nod in understanding. It was supposed to be just the characters showing you around. So it made sense that you were supposed to call him Charles, not Sebastian. You bit your lip and nodded.

“Of course, Sorry Charles.” you loved how well he fell into character, offering his arm to you that you curled your hand around his forearm, falling into step together once you two went through the iron-wrought gate.

“No harm is done, Dear. I’m very excited to show you around my Uncle and Aunts family home for the evening. It’s not often I have such a lovely woman on my arm.” He leads you up the stairs and opens the massive door to the mansion. “After You. There are a few groups inside, but we won’t be running into them.”

Your head tips back to look all around, taken in by the deep wooden double staircase sweeping up to the upper floors, gleaming marble floors and a crystal chandelier that as you and Charles walked underneath it, you couldn't help but tip your head back, mesmerized by the glinting of the crystalline shards. “One of Ellen's nicer finds. She had the chandelier shipped from France, each crystal carefully wrapped.”

“This whole place, it looks completely restored. I thought it was condemned, banned from the public?” You question as he leads you into what looks like a sitting room, another room that spoke of decadence, with plush chairs around a large fireplace that seemed to take up half the wall, large vibrant persian rugs sat atop rich wooden floors, and in the glow of the lamps light up around the room showed carvings in the wall, cherubs dancing amongst vines and roses. You shuddered a bit looking at them high above you in the molding. The innocence of them felt wrong in this place, malicious.

Charles directed you towards a small staircase that went halfway up the room, climbing while answering your question. “Ahh yes. Well it is technically. But I have been told that Rose Red might be reopening soon to the public. For tours, the occasional overnight ghost investigations.”

Once you two reached the landing, you saw the ornate dollhouse. Charles was able to turn it around on a turnstyle stand, and flicked a switch, lighting up the inside. Leaning down, you peeked inside in awe. It was a perfect replica of the house, the lower levels showed a large massive kitchen, sitting rooms, library, offices. Then up the stairs a ballroom of sorts, another library, bedrooms, and other odd rooms that seemed to serve no purpose.

“This is beautiful.” You muttered and straightened, clasping your hands behind your back to keep from picking up the matching furniture to look closer.

“My Great Aunt Ellen had this made for her daughter April, who was confined to Rose Red due to her bad health. She was a lonely child, her father sending her older brother off to boarding school. Wilford wanted little to do with his daughter. She had a deformity to her arm from birth. Withered. He would have disowned April, but Ellen wouldn't allow that. Upstairs, is a whole play room dedicated to her.” He pointed to a corner of the upstairs, which you peeked in to see a soft pink rose colored room filled with toys and dolls for a little girl.

“What was wrong with April, to cause her to have a withered arm?” you asked and Charles shrugged.

“It's said that Wilford wasn't faithful during his and Ellen's honeymoon, passed on a exotic disease to Ellen. She was ravaged in the years following their return to Rose Red. Which was also a honeymoon gift. He promised her anything she wanted. So the two years they were gone Rose Red was being built by one of the largest crew of men seen at the time. They even installed a train to bring in supplies from the harbor.”

Charles directed you down the stairs to go look out a window, and far off beyond what looked like a greenhouse was a large train, like a black ghost of the past, rusting away under the vines wrapped around the engine. Squinting you could have sworn you saw a couple of women following a lantern down the path. “Rose Red experienced the first deaths with that crew. The train was derailed, killing hundreds of men on the grounds at once.”

You shuddered while pulling away your gaze from the train. “How awful.”

“How awful indeed.” Charles nodded, and tilted his head. “Some believe that such a massive tragedy stains the land, maybe what brought the house to life. Come, some of the more interesting rooms are upstairs.”

Crossing the room for the massive grand staircase. “Do you actually believe that Charles?”

“No, no I believe something else powers this house. I have my theories.” Charles gave a secretive smile, the two of you started up the many flights of stairs. He gave a bit more history of the house, including the most recent events that officially shut the doors for good to all further investigations till now. “A team of psychics led by a college professor came in. There were four men and five women with varying abilities. One woman disappeared, one died when she refused to leave, and two men died on the property during that weekend.”

You pulled up a bit hearing this, closing your arms around yourself as if to protect you, like that could protect you. “Wait, should anyone even be here?” You said fearfully, and Charles looked back at you with a reassuring smile.

“I assure you the house is dormant. The state of New York wouldn't allow us to have a charity here unless it was perfectly safe. I myself have been here many times.” His voice was smooth and confident, letting you relax a bit. Giving a nervous chuckle, you eased back into holding onto the crook of his arm, his other hand patting yours. He dropped a gentle kiss on your cheek. “I will keep you safe, this is my family's home.”

After several flights of stairs, Charles led you into a massive hallway, doors lining each side. The symmetry while looking down the hall gave the illusion of it going on forever, you could just barely see the end of the hallway, or maybe it was getting smaller the further along it went. “This place is trippy.” You muttered to yourself but Charles happened to hear you.

“Yes, it was purposely designed by Ellen this way. She had her own way of doing things that didn't necessarily make sense to anyone else.” He studied doors as you two went along, your eyes kept roving up to see what looked like the ceiling slowly getting lower when he turned you towards a door. “Ahh, the first room on our tour of interest. As I said, Aunt Ellen, well she got creative when designing rooms.”

Opening a door, you went in and quickly paused as you weren’t entirely sure what you were looking at. Before you were upside down lights, standing upright, and covered in dust and cobwebs. What bothered you looking at them was that they should be hanging above you and that's when you tilted your head up to look above. Unlike any room you've been in before, desks were hanging above you, each one set up to have someone sitting at it as a chair was tucked in. Trays for papers, cups with pencils. It was just what you would expect to see in an office above you. Out of instinct you jumped back, half expecting it all to come crashing down, just to have yourself bmp into Charles' chest, making him chuckle as he embraced you gently. “Easy Dear, it's all safe.”

You took a few steps away from him with an apology, your head tilted back to look around. “What in the world?”

Charles, strolled along next to you, hands in his slacks, as he looked up at it all, chuckling. “Aunt Ellen's idea of a joke to her husband. He didn't seem to appreciate it as much as she did. Really it was just another room to show off to guests who came to visit.” You couldn't stop gaping at the details, wandering away from Charles who remained at the door. Even the walls had bookshelves filled with books, reading chairs above your head.

“I will be right outside, take your time.” Charles slipped out, leaving the door open while you paced over to get a better look. A lamp clicked on to your surprise right above your head, and what your eyes saw made you jump back and yelp. Sitting in the chair on the ceiling looked to be a woman in a cocktail dress, her head tilted back. Decaying grey skin peeling and black hollow sockets where eyes should be was matched with a gaping smile. “Come now dear, don't be shy. You are the newest guest right?” Her head tilted and creaked, giving you what was once probably a seductive smile, but now the lips were stretched too tight and split to show decayed teeth beyond them. You stumbled back into a chandelier that was on the floor, and fell to your backside. Looking back up, the lamp above you was back off, and the chair empty. “CHARLES!” You push off the floor and run to the door, wrenching it open to stumble back into the hallway that Charles catches you as you fall into him. “What's wrong?”

“I just saw- well I think I saw- there was a person, a woman sitting up there. But not a woman, she was rotting, old clothes.” Your words stumbled out as Charles straightened you back up.

“Sounds like you ran into one of Rose Reds resident ghosts, Deanna. A famous actress who went missing while freshening up during one of Ellen’s parties.”

You looked over your shoulder at the door and moved away from it. “Why is she here?”

Charles rubbed on your arm, to calm you a bit. “She never returned to the party that night. Local police came out and searched the entire grounds for days. But she never recovered. You're pretty shaken, do you wish to continue?”

You gave a chuckle and rubbed at your hands against your thighs to dispel the nervous energy. You should go, hell your heart was hammering so bad that you might just keel over any minute. No one was ever to see any actual ghosts on these things. Then that's when it occurred to you, side eyeing ‘Charles’. Sebastian was perfectly staying in character, that all this was. Actors, all of it. You almost laughed at yourself for getting caught up in the whole Halloween spook.

“Yes… I just. I cant believe there are actual ghosts here.” you played along with a shrug, brushing yourself off where you fell in the dusty room.

“Rose Red is full of many surprises.” Charles smiled in that charming way of his and offered his arm to yours. “Aunt Ellen, well she had a taste for the macabre. Holding frequent seances without her husband's knowledge, as he was away often. It's bound to attract some… interesting energy in a place like this.”

He seemed to be counting doors, and you were right at his side, willing your hammering heart to calm down. “You're not going to leave me alone again, right?” you worried your fingers into his sleeve, as if weaving him closer, to not let him go. Sure they were just actors playing a part, really good actors. You couldn't begin to guess how they got her to sit upside down like that on the ceiling, but there was nothing to be scared of.

“No, I'm surprised that the house is actually this active tonight. Maybe it's all the people passing through for the charity. But you're perfectly safe. I assure you.” Another door opened and you hesitated while stepping in.

The floor shimmered oddly to you at first, till you looked down and went stock still. You were standing on a mirror, the whole floor stretched out in a mirror, and all you could do was picture you stepping on it, and it shattered. Charles took several strides forward, and chuckled softly. “It's perfectly safe. This glass is made to be walked on.”

You take a few precautionary steps and chuckle. “Another one of Ellen's jokes?”

“Yes, she took great pleasure trying to come up with oddities to fill the house.”

You continue being mesmerized with the mirrored floor, watching as you walk across it. “Why? Why so many odd rooms?”

Charles hummed a bit, tipping back and forth on his heels to toes, watching as you sweep across the floor, grinning to yourself in such an innocent moment. “Well, after April disappeared, Ellen is said to have lost her mind. She claimed that Rose Red must never stop growing. It's in fact true that no one really knows how many rooms Rose Red has. At this point there are rooms like these, staircases that go to nowhere, hallways that narrow to where you have to crawl through. Doors that lead to the outside on these upper floors. It is easy to get turned around here. Rooms seemingly from nowhere appear still. They are not on any official floor plans.”

You gulp and shake your head. “It all sounds… so unreal. Rooms building themselves? Impossible.”

“One would think.” Charles chuckles. “But every time it is attempted to be documented, and then when it's double checked, nothing adds up. There’s missing rooms that seemed to have disappeared, only to have reappeared elsewhere, another staircase, the halls won't match up.”

You paused, still looking down at yourself in the mirror. “You said April disappeared?”

“Oh yes, she was playing in the main kitchen under the watch of one of the staff. The woman walked from the kitchen to collect something for just a moment. When she came back, April was gone, her beloved doll abandoned on the floor. After a search, again, the staff was brought to the police barracks. She was unable to leave after the questioning.”

“So they arrested her?” You start to feel cold, chills creeping up the back of your neck like a light touch, sweeping up your back and to the base of your hairline. You reached behind to rub at your neck uneasily.

Charles seemed to not notice your discomfort, sliding his gaze from you and around the room. “Oh no, they didn't arrest her. No, she was beaten to get a confession as to what she had done with April. Ellen swore her innocence, but Uncle Wilford… oh he paid them to get it out, by whatever means necessary. Her injuries were too severe. She ended up dying here once they finished with her and brought her back, another victim of Rose Red in a way, I suppose.”

You couldn't help the sadness that seemed to overwhelm you hearing the story.

“In fact this room also has its own tragedy. Wilford’s brother who also happened to be his business partner hung himself here. From… that light fixture actually.” Charles pointed up at it, but you were looking at its reflection, and the light fixture swayed, a rope tied around it. A heavy set man all blue colored hung at the end of the creaking rope, his feet twitching and his tongue bulging from his mouth. Your eyes shoot up to see nothing above Charles.

Charles himself gives you an odd look, and you look back in the mirror, he's still there, a swollen hand reaching out as if to grasp you.

Your own hand was shaking as you pointed down at the mirrored floor. “Right there! You don't see it Charles?!” Your finger points near his feet, in which he looks down and it all seems to disappear. At the same moment, it felt like a heavy rope slid around your neck, and tightened all in a second making you gasp. Your hands fly to your neck, trying to pry at the noose that isn't actually there. When you collapse to your knees, trying to drag in a breath, you happen to see a little girl, in various stages of decay, a withered arm clutching a doll against her chest waved at you from across the room near the door, and an older woman in the same state standing next to her with an arm around her shoulders, merely watching you struggle for air. Your vision started to go in and out, the burning in your lungs now first and foremost in your mind. Charles stepped into your view, kneeling down next to you and you focused on him.

“Hey! Hey! Y/N, what's wrong.” He yanked your hands away to check your neck, and you were suddenly able to take a gasp of air with a frightened sob, curling yourself in closer to him, and your arms going around his neck.

“Get me outta here please! I don't want to be in this house anymore.”

Charles moved to a stand, his hands grasping yours and pulled you to a stand. “Okay, we will end the tour here.” Hurrying you along, you both shoot into the hallway and turn to head back to the main stairway when at the end of the hallway, when the woman you had seen in the upside down room beckoned you two to her. “Come child, the parties this way, I just need to go freshen up, get you dressed for the party.”

You pulled up sharply in fear with a panicked scream, and Charles spun you around. “This way, there's another staircase at the end of the hall.”

Now your running with Charles to get away, every door and corner you two ran into became a blur. Once in a while a door would open, some nightmare of a person beckoning you to step in and join them, child like giggles echoes around you or hisses of your name just out of sight made you try to run faster, gasping for air as your lungs burned from running through the endless hallway. Charles was getting winded as well when he came to a staircase but that too was also blocked. This time with a wailing woman, her eyes rolled back to just the whites and clutching her purse to her chest, a dress looked like it had been shredded. Her skin was wrinkled and paper thin looking, what remained of her clothing something from a decade earlier. “I was just here to tour the house, can you show me the way out?” she screamed at you two, below her on the stairs were others, begging to be shown the way out. Now you froze, your mind in shock.

Charles yanked on your wrist to pull you away as you teetered on the edge of the stairs, continuing to another hallway.

“The servant's stairs are this way. They lead through the kitchen.” Charles rattled a door knob trying to get it to open, and you looked over his shoulder when there was a flash in your peripheral vision. The carpet in the hallway rolled as if something was racing underneath it, and of course, it was coming right for the two of you.

“Oh fuck, Charles, Hurry it up” Your hand grasps the handle to, yanking on it. “CHARLES IT'S COMING.” You scream, feeling the weight of panic crushing your chest whenever you looked up, whatever was coming for you was speeding up, flapping dust up from the carpet into the air and you screamed when it was almost on you. The door yanked open for you both to fall in, and slam it behind you, leaving you and Charles in the pitch dark.

“Oh god, fuck, get us out of here Sebastian.” dropping his characters name, you were over this fun house of hell crap they had made for the charity.

“What do you think I'm doing?!” He snapped, losing his cool control as he fisted his hand through his hair, taking deep dragging breaths. “Once you hit the kitchen, the door is to your left.” You both start racing down the stairs, trying to be as quick as possible without falling and when you reached that door, you yanked it open and sprinted into the room, expecting to see a stove, cupboards, tables, anything.

But that's not what you came into, you crashed into a whole other room. Confusion blurs your mind when you take in the attic like dusty interior. Spinning around, a couple times trying to make sense of it.

“AN ATTIC? WE WERE RUNNING DOWNSTAIRS, NOT UP!” You twist to go back out the door, but Charles slams it shut, and throws a bolt.

“Oh no Dear, were just where we need to be.” Charles smoothed his hair back, the panicked demeanor completely gone as he fixed his appearance. You backed away from him, licking your lips and panting with a wheeze.

“I d-d-d-don't understand why we are up here, how we got up here. I want to leave.” Your foot comes down as if you're about to throw a tantrum. “Now. I demand you to take me out of this, keep my money. I don't care Sebastian, I'm all done with this game.”

Charles crooks a brow, and smirks, striding in close in which you panic and back up further.

“As I told you before Sweetheart, I don't know who Sebastian is. And there is no leaving. Rose Red needs you, needs you to grow.”

“To grow? Your fucking crazy.” You start to look for another way out, and your back comes up to a large stained glass window. The famous stained glass Rose that adorned the front of the Manor.

“Yes, Ellen is still building, don't you see. She needs to feed, and as her great nephew it's my duty to keep her alive.”

He’s fucking lost it. Hollywood has snapped Sebastian's mind.

“Just let me go, I swear Seb-” His eyes snapped at you. “Charles… I won't say anything.”

“Auntie, do you want to let her go?” he asked with a cold grin. “You want to keep building Rose Red right? Keep building for April?”

Your eyes darted around trying to figure out who he was talking to. But there was seemingly no one there.

“I will donate more, give you money to keep building.” You felt around your pockets and pulled out your wallet, yanking out your billfold. “See a card.” tossing it at him in the delirious hopes that would appease him. He simply stepped over it.

“That won't work darling. Auntie Ellen, she needs other materials.” That cold touch you felt before in the mirror room, made you jolt, and you spun away from Charles to see the decaying little girl with her withered arm folded up against her chest.

“Play with me and baby?” the girl asked, her withered decayed hand shaking as she reached out to touch you.

You reared back and stumbled away to keep her from touching you, momentarily forgetting about Charles till you landed smack into his chest and a forearm locked around your neck. “Why are you scared of cousin April. She just wants to play?” He sneered into your ear, and you started clawing at his arm and trying to kick at him.

How did you get here, and maybe this was some crazy dream. Your gasping the more his arms tighten, giving one hard clawing motion on his face when you reach back and kick backwards to cause you both to tumble.

“You little bitch.” Charles twists to grab at you while you're crawling away, and you kick back one more time, catching him in the shoulder hard enough for him to let go of your foot.

“Fuck off Prick.” you scream, and yank yourself up, about to run towards the door. You're so close to going back into that hellish fun house when you are stopped right in your tracks, like hitting a wall.

The lady of the manor stood before you, long off white gown clinging to a corpse. She would have been beautiful once upon a time as your eyes roved her up and down, like all those pictures you saw when you googled Rose Red before your trip, but now she was a nightmare, you stuttering before her with a whimper. “Please... please let me go.”

“But Dear, Rose Red needs you.” Her voice had a tinkling sound to it, meant to soothe.

Her brown leathery skin that clung to a skeletal frame creaked when her bony clawed hands cupped your face in a loving gesture, and your terror filled eyes lifted to see her lip less mouth showed what appeared to be fangs. Pale dead eyes softened for a moment, until her claws sunk into your face, tearing through skin and muscle, piercing your skull and her mouth widened to a fang filled gaping rotten hole.

This is it, this is how I die. Your mind screamed in terror as she descended on you, your vision going dark, and your life just draining away. The pain fades, and your eyes roll back to see nothing. The last thing you will experience in your life, the overwhelming scent of fresh roses.

Charles wiped at his face when he came to, looking around the attic and seeing nothing more than your still body. Moving to get himself up, muttering to himself. “Fucking bitch, got my suit all dirty.” He walked past your body, and looked to see his aunt picking up a hammer, April standing next to her playing with her doll.

“I know, more souls for you to feed on Auntie.” He opened the door and made to go back down the stairs, his decaying aunt giving a slight nod in agreement.

Whistling as he safely strolled through Rose Red, he made his way out the front door, and down the walkway back towards the iron wrought gate. Once he returned, he leaned back against that stone wall, feet crossing at the angle and reaching up to pluck that red rose he had placed there earlier, twirling it back and forth.

Within ten minutes a couple young women strolled up to him, and he gave them a flirtatious smile, and held out the rose to one of them. “Ladies, welcome to Rose Red Manor, my family home and one of the most haunted sites in New York. My name is Charles Blackwood. Can I have your tickets please?”

#jshauntedhouse2020 #Rose Red's All Hollow Eve #charles blackwood #charles blackwood x reader #charles blackwood x you #amber writes #sweater writes #halloween #halloween 2020

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sheerbeautyreigns · 4 years ago

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Desire

Part 1

I started writing this in Spring 2020 so it's a bit of a saga so I'll be uploading a chapter everyday. It was my first time writing in a long time so hope you like it!

Nothing felt better than a shower right now. The pressure of the hot water beating against his aching back. He would need to see the masseuse soon but for now, this would do.

He turned the spray off and sighed, running his hands from his forehead right through his long black strands of hair, pulling it collectively into both hands and wringing out the excess water. Grabbing the nearby towel, he patted his face dry, moving down to his muscular, tribal tattooed chest.

There was a knock at the door of his changing room. Lowering the towel and securing it snuggly around his waist he padded towards the door.

“Hey man,” Colby greeted with a smile as Joe held the door open for him. “Great match tonight, you OK though? Looked rough!”

“Well Drew’s a big guy. He”s pretty intense but it’s all good. “ Joe went about reaching into his bag, pulling out a fresh pair of boxers. He allowed the towel to drop to the floor. Colby had seen him naked a number of times before, back in the early Shield days, when they shared a locker room together with Jon. So much had changed since, Jon was now in AEW so they barely kept in touch anymore.

Colby eyed Joe as he slid into his black boxers. “I’ll be glad to get home Tuesday. I’ve got a tag match tomorrow against Drew and Shane. What about you?” he asked pulling a white t-shirt over his head. It made his skin glow more than usual. Everyone was so used to seeing him in all black all the time.

“Nothing too crazy, just a match with Sami. I was gonna say, I’m going out for a few drinks with a few of the guys tonight if you”re up for it?” Colby offered with a smile.

“Not tonight man, I’m gonna give it a miss. I just wanna sleep,” Joe gave a wry smile pulling up his comfy black jogging bottoms.

“I get that, but if you change your mind, call me.” Colby offered. “OK I’m gonna shoot.”

Joe had finished packing his belongings and was already on his way to the hotel when a notification flashed on his phone.

“Good job tonight. You looked great.” Joe eyed Paul’s words. He was surprised to hear from him.

“Thanks,” was all he could reply. Paul was already typing.

“You feeling OK?” Joe paused for a moment, staring out into the city lights.

“Yeah fine, just going to the hotel.” He rested the phone on his lap. It had been months since Paul had messaged him. Sure, they would see each other amongst the staff and talent at the arenas but never just one on one. Any meetings usually had Stef, Shane, Vince or other key higher ups involved. His phone lit up again, this time ringing. It was Paul. Joe pursed his lips, pausing before pressing accept.

“Hey,” came that familiar gravelly tone causing Joe to shift a little in the back seat of the car. “I wanted to see you before you left the arena.”

“Yeah I just wanted to have an early night. Colby and some of the others are out for drinks-” he started.

“I’m at the hotel now. Can I see you?” Joe swallowed. Those four words. He was sure he’d never hear those again, especially from Paul. “Joe?”

“I, um…” he started.

“It won’t be long, I just want to talk to you.” Again he paused. The car was now pulling up to the front of the hotel. “Hold on- right here is perfect, he instructed the driver. “Thanks,” Joe tipped him and got out of the car.

“Do you want me to come up to your room or?” he asked producing his key card from his wallet, walking towards the elevator. “Yes. I’m in room 392.”

“OK I’m just gonna drop my things off in my room and I’ll see you then.” Joe informed him. He shoved the phone back into his pocket.

Things had been so strange since December. It seemed like both men were doing their best to avoid each other and it seemed to be working. Until now. What’s made Paul want to get in touch after all this time? Maybe he felt awkward too? Joe had always gone against mixing business with pleasure but there was something in Paul that he could not deny. He paced around his room, head muddled with thoughts of that night. His phone went off again in his pocket.

“You coming?”

#roman reigns #Triple H #paul levesque #seth rollins #Colby Lopez #drew mcintyre #fic #Fanfiction #Wwe fanfiction #Writing

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reviewsvid · 5 years ago

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Top 5 Best Wallets for Men in 2020

watch video on tubehttps://youtu.be/kpvjlkEI804

#Top 5 Best Wallets for Men in 2020

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hookedonapirate · 4 years ago

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Figure of Speech

Summary: Killian has been in love with Emma Swan ever since he was eleven and she was his babysitter. The last time he saw her was the day he kissed her, thinking they were having a special moment… right before she headed off to college with her boyfriend.

When their paths cross years later, he’s just happy she remembers him—because while he’s a talented, free-spirited journalist who takes risks and has a knack for finding trouble, Emma is an accomplished and sophisticated politician who’s planning to run for President of the United States.

Sensing Killian Jones—the boy who once knew her and supported her long before she entered the soul-sucking world of politics—is the key to unlocking a part of herself that’s been dormant for so long, she hires him as her speechwriter. As she travels the world to launch her 2020 presidential campaign, he is by her side, helping Emma find her voice again.

The attraction between them sizzles, but when they eventually give into it, will their relationship withstand the demands of the election and scrutiny of the public?

A/N: Thank you @ultraluckycatnd for beta reading and @onceuponaprincessworld for your help with this! Thank you @captainswanmoviemarathon for starting the event and everyone on discord for all your help!

Before you read, there are a few things I want to clarify.

First off, this story is heavily based on the movie, Long Shot, for the Captain Swan Movie Marathon, with some elements of OUAT weaved in. What I’m referring to mainly is that the president in this fic is in no way based on President Trump. In other words, I am not using this fic to bash the current U.S. president in any shape or form, or any other real-life president. So if you plan on going into this with that mindset, I beg you to hit the back button right now. This story in no way reflects my opinions or views, I mainly stuck to the plot of the movie.

Secondly, I hope that I have made it perfectly clear in the beginning scene of this chapter that Killian is not actually a white supremacist, he is only going undercover to get his story. Nor is he Jewish like Fred Flarsky is in the movie. He’s the Killian we all know and love. So please don’t send me hate messages accusing me of either being a racist or writing Killian as one. I was very torn whether to include this scene or not but I feel it is relevant to the plot and shows Killian’s character in this story as very passionate about what he believes in and is a big risktaker when getting his point across, so I decided to keep it.

Third of all, I know some of you are sick of hearing about politics, especially since the U.S. election is so close. But this is not a political movie, it’s a romance. There is of course some talk of politics, but I’ve tried my best to keep it to a minimum. So if you’re worried about that, please don’t be. The movie genre is a romantic comedy.

Writing this fic was a huge wake-up call for me because it’s the first one in a while that I’m not proud of, for lack of a better word, because I have not been able to spend much time on it. I have so many wips in my docs it’s not even funny and I think that has really impacted how this chapter turned out. But because of this fic, I decided to take some time and work on finishing some of my wips before posting them, with the exception of this one because today is my posting date.

With that said, because I’ve been pushing myself to finish my wips, I finished writing my first original novel after working on it for two years, and I will be publishing it soon. So be sure to look out for Follow My Lead, a romance about a former ballerina and a gym owner.

Okay, now I am done with my rant, so please enjoy!

AO3 FF.N

Rated: M

2018

“So you guys are fairly active on social media, right?”

“Yeah,” Jaxon answers absentmindedly, his eyes focused on the cue ball as he lines up the shot.

“How many times a day would you say you Tweet on average?”

Jaxon taps the ball, sends it into its pocket, and high-fives Marcus, ignoring the question.

“Hey Rogers, ready to get a Swastika tattoo?!” Richard calls from the other room as the tattoo artist is finishing up with him.

“No, that’s okay, I’m cool,” Killian replies nonchalantly through the large lump in his throat, glad his British accent didn’t leak out as he takes his turn.

“Oh, come on, man, we’ve all got ‘em!”

Killian gulps and looks around the room, all the members pulling up their shirts to show their tattoos on the left side of their chest. He was hoping it wouldn’t come to this, but he can sense Jaxon is already suspicious of his motives. He forces a small smile, pointing to himself with his free hand as he holds up the cue stick in the other one. “You want me to get a swastika tattoo?”

“Yeah!” the group chants in unison.

“Then I’ll get a swastika tattoo,” he agrees submissively, hoping the anxiety he feels isn’t clear in his voice. He removes his leather jacket, or rather the jacket he borrowed from Victor, depositing it in a chair before he walks into the adjacent room where the tattoo artist is waiting for him. He sits in the parlor chair, his stomach twisted in knots as he chooses his left bicep for the tattoo and cringes at the thought of getting it. He’s never gotten a tattoo before, and not only is he afraid of needles, but his beliefs don’t at all resemble anything a swastika symbol resembles. Tattoos are removable, though, right?

When the needle pierces his skin, he pinches his eyelids shut and yelps, “Blo-ooooody he-eeeell!” He realizes his mistake immediately when the words screech out in his thick, British accent. Plus, bloody hell isn’t exactly an American phrase.

He’s praying no one noticed, because if they did, they would know he’s lying about who he claims to be, but when he flips his eyelids open, everyone’s staring at him.

Fuck.

Jaxon, the leader of the group, enters the room with Killian’s jacket in one hand and wallet in the other, raising it for everyone to see Killian’s driver’s license. His heart flitters with panic. “Look at this. He’s been lying to us. His name isn’t John Rogers,” Jaxon announces angrily. Marcus appears next to him, holding up his laptop. On the screen is the Storybrooke Advocate website with Killian’s profile pic on the page. “It’s Killian Jones. He works for the Storybrooke Advocate! He’s a fucking journalist!”

“Wait, wait, wait, I can explain!” Killian pleads, raising his hands in surrender.

The members circle him like sharks, and everything becomes a blur as they yank him from the chair and slam him against a table.

“What are you doing, trying to fucking embarrass us, huh?!” Jaxon screams at him. “Who sent you?!”

“No one sent me!” Killian claims adamantly, fear and pain crippling him as he tries to think his way out of this. “I was just…”

Before he can finish his sentence, Marcus reaches into Killian’s jeans pocket as the others hold him down, and pulls out his phone. Which is currently recording everything. “He’s been recording us this entire time!”

Jaxon’s face is red with anger, steam practically emitting from his ears as he grits his teeth and fists Killian’s shirt in a vice-like grip, pulling him so close that Killian smells his wretched breath. “You infiltrated our group! You’re gonna fucking die!”

They say your life flashes before your eyes during your very last moments. They say it’s like reliving every moment that’s ever stuck with you—every moment that’s ever made an impression on you. Killian always thought when he was finally shuffled off to sleep with the fishes, his life would appear in sequence or at least in random order, featuring all the people who have played a vital role in his life—his parents, his brother, his best friend—but he never thought one person would stick in his mind. He never thought all the images flashing before his eyes would be of one person and one person only.

The woman he’s been in love with since he was eleven years old.

Killian remembers when he first fell in love with her like it were yesterday. Or at least an eleven-year-old boy’s version of love. He remembers the song, It’s So Hard to Say Goodbye to Yesterday by Boyz II Men, was playing on the boombox. He remembers what day it was, what he was wearing and the fuzzy feeling in his chest. He remembers thinking about one of his favorite movies, The Sandlot, how Squints tricked the lifeguard, Wendy Peffercorn, into kissing him and how she eventually married him even though she was older and way out of his league.

Back then, a three or four year age gap seemed like a huge deal, but maybe because he was so young and she was… well she was so grown up and mature and very beautiful for her age. Not Wendy Peffercorn. Well, he supposes Wendy was too, but Killian had his real-life version of the movie character. His version of her was also blonde. She may not have been a lifeguard, but she was his next-door neighbor and also his babysitter ever since his brother left to join the Navy. Killian’s bedroom had an excellent view of her backyard and he would occasionally watch her sunbathing by the pool as she listened to music on her headphones or read a book in her bikini. Not only did she have a beautiful body, but she was wicked smart. She was passionate about the environment and the things she cared about. She was super nice to him—which went a long way with him—and had a ridiculously cute, dimpled smile. She was perfect. An angel.

Maybe that’s why, right before his death, she’s the only one he sees.

Before he met her, he never considered kissing a girl, or even liking one for that matter. He thought girls were gross and had cooties. But Emma was no girl. Not even at fifteen. She was a woman.

Emma Swan was his Wendy Peffercorn.

She still is. Even as he’s being threatened by a group of angry white supremacists.

She’s all he sees.

“Did you know that every year, the school throws away over five hundred tons of recyclable garbage? And no one cares!”

“Aye, it’s rubbish. But how do you get muppets to care about stuff they don’t care about?”

Emma shrugs. “They’ll just…” She bites her bottom lip, hesitance etching her features, “they’ll just c-care because it’s the right thing to care about.” She may not have all the answers, but she’s the most inspiring person he knows.

He smiles and rests one elbow on the counter, his chin perched in his hand as he admires her passion for the environment. He admires how beautiful she is in simply a snug pair of blue jeans and a white t-shirt with a picture of a buttercup on the front. He admires her waist-length, golden hair, how it glows radiantly in the sunlight cascading through the kitchen window and how it swishes from side to side when she turns around to grab a mitt and pull the pizza out of the oven. Delicious aromas of crisp, baked bread, melted mozzarella cheese and sweet tomato sauce waft through the kitchen, making his stomach growl. Licking his lips, he jumps off the stool and heads over to grab a slice from the pan.

She gently swats his hand away. “Don’t touch, kid, you’ll burn yourself. Let it cool, first.”

He frowns as he returns to his seat. He hates it when she calls him that. He doesn’t want her to think of him as a kid; he’s almost a teenager! Heeding her warning, he does his best to resist the temptation of getting up again and grabbing a slice, even though the gooey, golden cheese, colorful toppings and toasted crust look amazing. Instead, he places the hand she’d touched on his cheek. He never wants to wash his hand or his cheek ever again.

Emma continues the speech she’d prepared for her Student Council election. She’s running for president, and he is not only her biggest supporter, but he also came up with her campaign slogan, ‘Stay calm and vote for Swan’. He was quite proud of himself when she actually thought it was clever enough to use.

“I would definitely vote for you, Swan.”

“Thanks, Killy,” she says, ruffling a hand through his hair.

Now that’s a better nickname. Though he hates when his brother calls him Killy, he never minds when Emma does.

Once the pizza is cool enough to eat, Emma returns to the oven, using a pizza cutter on the pie. She plates two big slices, one for each of them, and brings them to the counter, sitting next to him. They eat their pizza in silence at first, besides the yummy food noises they make.

“Thanks for helping me. I know it’s probably boring hearing my speech over and over again.”

He shakes his head. “Not at all,” he mumbles through a mouth full of pizza. “I’m just happy to help,” he smiles. His hand pauses midair, still holding his half-eaten slice of pizza as he locks eyes with his beautiful babysitter. He wonders if she feels the same way he does, and normally he wouldn’t think it was possible, but the way she’s looking at him right now makes him rethink everything.

She reaches out to him, and he closes his eyes as she caresses his cheek. His heart slams against his chest and he loses all the air from his lungs. And that’s when he knows he’s totally and completely in love. Her hand feels so wonderfully warm, he wants to spend the rest of his life feeling her touch and immediately gets a chill when she pulls her hand away.

“All better.”

His eyes flip open to see Emma wiping her hand with a napkin. She looks up at him and smiles. “You had some sauce on your face.”

He chuckles on the outside, but internally he’s berating himself for being foolish enough to think someone like Emma Swan could possibly like him. She’s way too good for him.

Especially when he’s thirteen and has to wear glasses. As if hitting puberty isn’t bad enough, he also has to sport the most hideous pair of thick-framed glasses. By then, his father said he was too old to have a babysitter, so he didn’t get to see Emma as much. He mowed the Swans’ lawn occasionally, but she was gone most of the time with extracurricular activities and prepping for college. He convinced himself she could never be into someone like him. Someone who was nerdy and awkward and four years her junior.

Until one day when he’s fourteen and she’s eighteen.

She’s leaving for college and he’s been in his room sulking while listening to It’s So Hard to Say Goodbye for two weeks, not looking forward to her departure. He’s afraid he’ll never see her again. But he’s also happy for her. She’s off to better and greater things, greener pastures as they say. She’s going to Harvard and leaving him in the dust.

He’s on the front porch, sitting on the top step, his chin in his hands and his elbows propped up on his knees as he watches Emma and her parents packing up her things. He wants to offer his assistance, but this seems like a very important bonding moment for the three of them and he doesn’t wish to interrupt. He can tell Mr. and Mrs. Swan are both incredibly sad but also very proud of their daughter, and there are lots of hugs and tears by the time the car is packed. Then Emma says something to her parents and they wave at Killian. He smiles and waves back before they head inside.

Emma walks over to him, and he immediately stands up, making his way down the remaining steps.

“Hey,” she murmurs, smiling at him.

“Hey,” he parrots, offering a small smile. “So, you’re all packed?”

“Yeah, we’re leaving soon.”

Nodding nervously, he scratches behind his ear as he looks away, not sure what to say.

“Look, I’m not a goodbye person, but — ”

“Let’s not say goodbye then,” he suggests and offers his hand. But instead of shaking it, she throws her arms around him. Killian’s stunned, and can’t even move at first, completely paralyzed in her embrace.

Emma’s hugging him.

He slowly molds into her body, his arms wrapping around her waist as she tightens her hold. Her hair smells like strawberries and cream as he buries his face there. He never wants to let her go.

“I’ll miss you, Killian,” she whispers in his ear.

His heart does a little somersault, and he whispers, “Not a day will go by when I won’t think of you.”

He feels her smile against his neck. “Good.”

That one simple word does something to him and he grins into her hair, holding her tighter.

She breaks the hug long before he’s ready, and he’s still awestruck as she leans in to kiss him.

Bloody hell.

Emma Swan leans in for a kiss as he springs forward to meet her halfway. Their lips finally connect like they had so many times in his dreams, but he doesn’t fail to miss how surprised she is when a gasp escapes against his mouth. She doesn’t pull away, but he knows he probably should after realizing she was actually going for his cheek. But her lips are so soft and warm and taste like cinnamon and cocoa, and he swears they move ever so slightly against his. He still has his arms around her, pressing her to him, and her center suddenly moves away from him. Forcing himself to break the kiss, he looks down and notices the very prominent and very hard erection tenting his pants.

Fuck.

His cheeks are on fire as he looks up, apology and embarrassment flushing his face. He’s expecting her to either slap him or storm away and never look back, but she stares down at his groin, her mouth agape.

“Bloody hell, I’m so sorry, love.”

“It’s okay,” Emma squeaks as her eyes snap up to his.

Just then, a ‘69 Ford Mustang pulls up in front of Emma’s house, the music booming through the speakers at an obnoxious volume.

He panics when Emma’s boyfriend gets out of the car and makes his way over to them. Killian forgot Neal was riding with Emma to Harvard, where he was certainly not attending. Neal could only get into a community college.

Killian quickly pulls off the backward baseball cap from his head and uses it to cover his obvious boner.

“Hey, babe, ready to go?”

She nods and looks at Killian, a small smile tilting her lips.

“Bye, four-eyes,” Neal taunts with a condescending sneer as he wraps his arm around Emma’s shoulders.

Really?

Killian bites his tongue as he rolls his eyes. That nickname really gets old. Can’t he think of something more original?

“Don’t call him that,” Emma scolds her boyfriend, swatting his chest. “He has a name.”

“Sorry, I mean Killian,” he says insincerely before turning around and pulling Emma with him.

As Killian watches them walk away, pushing up the bridge of his glasses with his finger, he would give anything to be the one with his arm around Emma, the one leaving with her instead of being the one she leaves. She cranes her neck to look at him as she walks away. He swears she’s looking at him longingly but he’s sure he’s only imagining it. She’s still gazing at him until her parents emerge from the house. Neal doesn’t even have the courtesy to open the door to her parents’ station wagon for her, and instead hurries into the back seat.

Arsehole, Killian thinks bitterly as he watches the vehicle pull away from the curb. Emma stares at him through the passenger’s window, and their eyes connect. He flashes one last smile and waves. She smiles back at him and presses her palm to the window before she disappears down the road and out of his life, leaving a permanent gaping hole in his heart.

He always thought not being able to see Emma anymore was the scariest thing he’s ever experienced. But that was before he was inked with part of a swastika tattoo so his cover wouldn’t be blown. That was before he fell from a two-story building and landed in a dumpster. Luckily the trash bags cushioned his fall and didn’t contain any glass or other sharp objects. He hadn’t really thought that through when he jumped. But then again, he didn’t really have time to do anything but run for his life while Marcus and Jaxon were busy trying to figure out how to stop Killian’s phone from recording. Killian took advantage of the distraction and plucked the phone from their hands, sprinting for the nearby window.

His phone.

Killian quickly lifts his hand to see that not only is his phone still in his hand but it’s still intact. He climbs out of the dumpster, his entire body sore, but he lands on his feet. He’d left his leather jacket up there, but it wasn’t even his. Killian doesn’t wear leather jackets, he’s content with his hoodies. He borrowed the jacket from his best friend, Victor. He’ll be pissed, but oh well, Killian will buy him a new one.

Three of the members are poking their heads out the window and Killian looks up at them, throwing the hand that’s still holding his phone in the air. He feels like Bennie in The Sandlot when he finally gets the baseball from the beast and hurdles the fence, still holding onto the ball. The difference is the beast chased Bennie down. The difference is the beast in the movie was not actually a beast at all. He can’t say the same about those white supremacists, though.

“We trusted you, man!” Richard calls out. He’s the one Killian had contacted through one of their social media groups.

“Sorry, mate,” he says in his British accent, his words lacking any sort of apology as he spins around. “Peace!” he calls behind him trying to sound as American as he can, and instead of saluting the members with two fingers, which is not a peace sign for Brits, he flips them the bird as he goes.

∞∞∞

“Tonight on Walsh News, we take an in-depth look at Emma Swan, a Rhodes Scholar, a Pulitzer Prize winner and a protégé of President Gold who tapped Swan two years ago to be the youngest Secretary of State in the history of this nation.”

As sore as Killian is from that jump out of a two-story window and as much as he hates that arsehole, Walsh, and everything the media mongrel represents, he lifts his eyes from his MacBook. He pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose and manages a small smile when he sees Emma on the television screen. He knows what he’d done to write his article and expose the White Power group was worth it. He may have lost faith in humanity long ago, but Emma’s passion and ambition and hope have always stuck with him. He wants to believe the support he’d always shown her when they were young has always stuck with her too, but he doubts it. She doesn’t need his support. She never did. She was never a helpless duckling, and even after she lost the student council election to August Booth because of his stupid two prom platform, her wounds healed and she eventually spread her wings and soared high in the sky, leaving Storybooke in the dust.

As Killian gazes at her wistfully at the screen, he sees the elegant swan he always knew she’d become. While everyone he knows had hopes and dreams they gave up on long ago, Emma is the one person who made hers come true. Well, not quite all of them. She always talked about saving the planet, but he knows her work isn’t nearly finished. She’s only thirty-seven, and even though they haven’t spoken to one another since the day he watched her ride away in her parents’ 1987 Pontiac Safari Station Wagon, he still believes in her. He’ll always believe in her.

∞∞∞

Emma sucks in a deep breath as she twists the knob and opens the thick, wooden door, entering the Oval Office with a little bit of forced enthusiasm. President Gold had been vague over the phone about what he’d wished to discuss with her, but his tone of voice indicated it might be something big. “Good morning Mr. President,” she greets with the smile she had practiced in her bedroom mirror repeatedly that morning.

“Hello, Ms. Swan.” He rises from his chair and rounds the desk, gesturing to one of the couches. “Please, have a seat.”

She sits down and crosses her legs, folding her hands in her lap as he sits on the couch across from her and rests his elbows on his knees. “Ms. Swan…”

“Yes, sir?”

He blows out a long breath as if whatever he’s about to tell her has been weighing on his mind for quite some time. “I will not be seeking re-election.”

Emma’s sure the awestruck expression on her face doesn’t even come close to how surprised she actually is. “Really?” Did she hear him correctly?

He nods, clapping his hands together. “Look, I know how absurd it sounds seeing as I’m only halfway through my first term—”

“And you’re incredibly popular, sir.” But she knows most of his popularity stems from being a television star before he took office. He hosted the popular game show, Let’s Strike a Deal.

“And I’m going to use that popularity to transition into something more prestigious than the presidency. I wanna make it in the movies.”

Emma blinks, not believing what she’s hearing. She opens and closes her mouth several times, trying to process this. “Yoooouuuu… want to leave… the presidency… to be a movie star?”

“I know it’s tough to make the leap from television to film, but I think I’m going to give it a shot.”

After the initial shock washes over her, she sees this as an opportunity. She had planned on running for president in 2024, but with Gold leaving office at the end of his first term, perhaps she can use this to her advantage. And she knows just how to go about it. Gold may be good at convincing people—he is an actor after all—but Emma not only has far more education than him, her extensive political background has helped her greatly improve her cajolery tactics over the years. After she lost the Student Council election to August Booth in high school, she’s learned that in order to get ahead, sometimes you have to use a little sleight of hand to get there—give the people what they want, so to speak. Or, in this case, help Gold realize just how legendary his presidency could be.

“Mr. President, have you given any consideration as to whom you might endorse? I’m sure you’re probably thinking of Yang or Crowley. Sound choices,” she nods and purses her lips, averting her gaze, a look of contemplation on her face. “It’s so strange because I was considering a run in 2024, and I can’t stop wondering what…” she looks at Gold again, “what it would do for your legacy to endorse the first female president. I mean, wow. ” The word is breathy, almost a whisper. “Now that’s a legacy.”

Gold presses his joined hands to his lips and has a thoughtful expression embedded in his features, but she can’t discern what he’s thinking.

She looks at the floor between them while he ponders her words.

“Emma?” he finally says after a moment.

“Hmm?” She reverts her eyes to him.

“I would like to endorse you to be the next President of the United States.”

Her entire body is thrumming with excitement and her stomach is full of butterflies; she doesn’t even care he said it like it was his idea. She’ll even give him credit for it. Besides, trying to convince him otherwise would be like trying to teach a fish how to bark. She closes her eyes and refrains from jumping up and down on the couch. She opens her eyes again, trying to hide the excitement in her voice but fails, her tone coming out unusually high pitched. “I mean, if you think that’s a good idea, sir, I trust you completely. I’d be… I’d be honored.”

He reclines back, wagging a finger at her. “I’ll be pulling for Team Emma. Because you’ve been a great secretary.”

“Of State,” she adds.

“Whatever. You’ve done it well, Dearie.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“So stay focused. Don’t make any major screw-ups. Don’t kill anyone. That’s probably not a problem for you. I don’t know what you’re into. Whatever. And before you know it…” He rises from the couch and hums the US Presidential Anthem.

“I like the sound of that,” Emma says with a jubilant smile as she stands up.

“Hey here she comes, it’s the first lady president,” he chants.

“Thank you, sir.” She heads for the door, Gold following behind her still singing.

“Who can believe she is actually a woman. She’s got a big brain and a couple other assets.”

Emma opens the door and walks through, not even giving another thought to how incredibly sexist Gold is being. She’s floating high on a cloud as she sashays proudly down the hall and raises a subtle victory fist in the air, whispering to herself, “Yessss!”

∞∞∞

“You’re gonna love this,” Killian raves as he hands the piece to his boss. “I almost died for this.”

Sidney lowers the mug from his lips, swallowing his coffee down. He offers a tightlipped smile as he glances very briefly at the draft before looking up at Killian, a serious expression clouding his face. “Got a second?”

“Of course.”

“Come with me.”

Killian follows Sydney into his office and sits across from him at the desk, setting his satchel on the floor.

Sydney sets down Killian’s article and his coffee mug, folding his hands together on the desk. “I have some great news, Killian. We’ve just been bought by Walsh Media.”

Killian pales and his stomach drops. “What?!” Blood bubbles under his skin at the thought of the wanker buying the Storybrooke Advocate. The thought of him owning something Killian has literally put his blood, sweat and tears into. “Bloody hell. Are you fucking kidding me?!” Ever since he was a kid, he’s dreamed of being an investigative journalist, so he’s been nothing but loyal and dedicated to the company from day one. But in the blink of an eye, Walsh has managed to ruin all that for him.

“Look, I knew you would have a poor reaction—”

“A poor reaction?!”

“Killian, this is a good thing.”

“How?! That wanker represents everything we’ve been fighting against since day one. The whole point of this paper is to fight giant media conglomerates. Now we’ve been bought by a giant media conglomerate.”

“I see the irony,” Sydney nods.

“Irony?!” Killian stands from his chair, his voice growing louder with every word. “He’s going to turn us into a giant propaganda machine! And not the good kind!” Anger pulsates through him as he paces back and forth in front of Sidney’s desk; he’s never been this worked up before in his entire life. And that’s saying something for him.

“Killian, we’re running out of options. We’ve been running as long as we can on ads for weed doctors and escorts.”

Killian stops in his tracks and raises his hands in the air. “Then run penis enlargement ads or something!”

“Come on, Killian,” Sydney admonishes.

He sighs in exasperation, trying to calm down, his voice calmer. “This Walsh guy ran fake stories to get Gold elected.”

Sydney shakes his head and raises a finger at him. “No, they couldn’t prove that.”

“We proved it!” He holds up three fingers. “I wrote three articles about it. You published them!”

Sydney nods, lowering his face into the palm of his hand. “I did.”

“The shite that comes out of this guy’s mouth? He said same-sex marriage caused tornadoes! He represents everything that’s wrong with this country!”

“Killian, it’s done, alright?”

He freezes. “It’s done?!”

“They’re upstairs, finalizing the deal right now.”

Killian presses the pads of his fingers to his temples and turns away from his boss as he tries to process this.

Sydney stands and rounds his desk, sitting on the edge, pleading with him. “Look, we have to cut two-thirds of our staff.”

Killian turns around, devastation in his features. “Two-thirds?”

“Yes. But we want to keep you on. They want to keep you on. It’s just,” he blows out a hesitant breath, “you just have to tone it down a little bit.”

Killian furrows his brows in bewilderment. “I don’t know how I can tone things down any more than I’m toning them down, mate,” he mutters through gritted teeth.

“Okay look, Killian, you’re a brilliant writer…”

“Thank you.”

“You’re funny, you take risks, you connect with people…”

Killian’s brows pinch in suspicion. “Why am I sensing there’s a big but coming?”

“You have a distinct, authentic voice… but… ”

“And there it is…” he sighs.

“But, sometimes you’re a little too much.”

Killian is taken aback. “I don’t think I am too much. I actually think I’m the perfect portion,” he says defensively.

“Look, you have your job, so focus on that and just toe the line a little bit.”

Killian is enraged. Toe the line a little bit?! He’s not toeing any lines. “I quit.”

Sydney’s face twists with a mixture of shock and disappointment. “Oh, come on, Killian…”

“You should quit, too. Everyone should bloody well quit.”

“No, I’m not quitting, I need my job.”

“I need my job too. I’m broke. But I can’t work for that tosser.”

Sydney sighs. “At least let me fire you so you can collect unemployment.”

Killian slices a hand through the air over his chest. “No bloody way! I want nothing from him. Besides, I want him to know I quit.”

“He’ll never know it, he’s never heard of you. You’re going to destroy your life to spite a guy who’s never heard of you?”

“Yes! You said it best! That’s exactly what I’m doing. Fuck this.” Killian grabs his satchel and walks out of Sydney’s office, closing the door behind him, announcing to all his former coworkers, “Journalism died today, people!”

∞∞∞

“So the headline is, you’re in great shape,” Mary Margaret, the polling team manager, points out as she displays the next presentation slide.

Emma’s sitting at the meeting table between her Chief of Staff, Regina Mills, and Deputy Chief of Staff, Robin Locksley, trying to follow along with the presentation, but it’s difficult for Emma to focus when her stomach is full of butterflies. She still can’t believe she persuaded Gold to endorse her. Her head is spinning.

“Ninety-two percent, that’s good,” Regina comments.

“It’s very good,” Mary Margaret agrees exuberantly and moves on to the next slide, which shows Emma’s personality traits and how they were ranked. “Your sense of humor is eighty-two, which is solid.” Mary Margaret cocks her head to the side, as though she has to rethink that assessment. “It’s solid, but we wouldn’t mind seeing that number go up a few points… or more.”

Regina leans in to speak to Emma as she takes notes. “I’ll get some writing samples from some funny speechwriters.”

Emma sets her pen down and smiles. “Thanks, Regina.” She rests her elbows on the table, clasping her hands together as she reverts her attention to Mary Margaret and says, “But I’m really interested in knowing how people feel about my accomplishments.”

“Right, so we don’t drill down on specific policies, and that’s only because people don’t seem to care.”

Well, that’s a blow to the gut.

“With that said, if you could broker a deal that gets you out there talking about something you feel strongly about, that would be really great.”

“Well, that’s perfect,” Emma says enthusiastically, sitting on the edge of her chair. “We’ve been looking for an opening to start a conversation about the environment.”

“That sounds great,” Mary Margaret says with a grin, but Emma’s not sure if she’s being sarcastic and trying to hold back a laugh, or if she’s being sincere. “Now, if I may, onto your romantic life…” The brunette shows a photo of Emma and Graham Humbert smiling for the camera.

Emma refrains from rolling her eyes as she rests her chin in her palm. She doesn’t have a romantic life. One make-out session with a world leader she barely knows doesn’t constitute a romance.

However, the way Mary Margaret gushes as she looks at the couple in the photo, one would think they were actually a couple. “Remember the stir online when you and the Canadian Prime Minister were seated next to each other at the Global Business Forum?”

Emma nods, wishing she were taking a nap right now. She doesn’t care about improving her personality traits or starting a romance that will raise her numbers and appease the public. Although she is quite proud of her two highest scores, elegance and charisma, both ranked at over ninety-five percent.

“A relationship like that,” Mary Margaret points to the photo of Emma and Graham, “could push you into the high nineties.”

“High nineties? Wow,” Regina murmurs to herself, making note of it.

“That brings us to…” Mary Margaret switches to the next slide, showing Emma’s wave.

She knits her brows in confusion. “What’s wrong with my wave?”

“That kind of elbow movement is um…” Mary Margaret purses her lips as though she’s trying to figure out how to put it delicately, but then gives up, “well, it stresses people out.”

“You know what? It’s just an area of improvement,” Robin assures Emma after sensing the offended tone in her voice.

She supposes the movement in her elbow is a bit too much. It makes her look like a robot actually. “Fine, I’ll work on the wave.”

∞∞∞

“I’m not going to a fancy rich person party,” Killian declares after Victor proposed going to the World Wildlife Fund benefit in Philly tonight. Killian had shared the details with Victor and now they’re walking down Main Street discussing their plans for the evening. But Killian thought Vic was trying to make him feel better. Going to a fancy, rich person party will only remind Killian how rich he is not. He had something else in mind, something involving the closest bar and lots and lots of rum.

“Oh, come on, Jones. Don’t be so judgemental. There will be free booze and pandas and shit. People love pandas and shit.”

Killian shakes his head. “I just lost my job, I’m not really in the mood to mingle.”

“Fine, just sit at home and do nothing. Don’t hang out with your best friend and Boyz II Men.”

Killian’s ears perk up and he stops in his tracks. “Boyz II Men will be there?”

Victor stops walking and turns around, nodding. “Yep. They’re bringing their timeless blend of R&B and hip hop to the party. The fancy rich party doesn’t sound so bad after all, now does it?”

Not at all. He used to listen to Boyz II Men and other popular musicians in the nineties. But mostly Boyz II Men because it’s what he and Emma would listen to when she was over at his house babysitting him. He didn’t know Victor then; they met in college before Victor went off to medical school, but they have similar tastes in music. Which is how Victor knew exactly how to persuade Killian into going to a fancy, rich person party. “Okay, I’m in, mate.”

“That’s the spirit!” Victor pats Killian on the shoulder, and they walk again as Victor sings Motownphilly.

∞∞∞

“I’m starving. Why didn’t you power bar me?” Emma asks Robin as they make their way down the staircase, Regina and her Secret Service agents following behind them.

The Grand Room glitters like something out of a fairy tale, all candlelight and crystal chandeliers and gilt and sophisticated shine. The attendees glitter, the women dripping in diamonds and other precious stones and the men donning suits and black ties.

“I tried to, but you pushed my hand away,” Robin chuckles.

“Hopefully they don’t have skewered foods. I can’t eat skewered foods gracefully; I always look like a fucking cavewoman.”

“And there are cameras everywhere.” Regina points at a dutiful photographer who’s unobtrusively circling the perimeter of the room, taking pictures of as many of the guests as he can. “That would hurt your elegance score.”

“That’s my best score.”

When they reach the buffet table, Emma’s relieved to find that not all the food is on skewers. But even so, she’s so hungry, she may still look like a cavewoman trying to stuff as much food into her mouth as she can. “Cover me?”

“Of course.”

Regina and Robin both stand behind her like walls as Emma makes her first selection, grabbing a saucy meatball on a toothpick and bringing it to her mouth, being careful not to drip any sauce on her black dress.

“Oh my god, these meatballs are really good,” Emma mumbles through a mouthful of food.

“Graham Humbert is approaching,” Regina warns her. “He’s about nine feet away.”

“Shit,” Emma whispers and shoves another meatball into her mouth before wiping her lips and chin with a napkin. After swallowing it down and discarding the napkin, she spins around, offering a bright smile.

When Graham approaches her, giving her a once over, Regina and Robin disperse.

“Graham… how are you?”

“Good evening.” His lips twitch in a pleased smile as he takes Emma’s hand and presses a kiss to the back of it. “I am so sorry I missed you at the White House a few weeks ago,” he says in his thick, Irish brogue. He was born in Canada, but his parents are originally from Ireland, so naturally, he took on their Irish accent.

“Oh, it’s fine.” Emma waves off his apology with a flick of her hand. “Maybe next time?”

“Well, I—”

“If I may?” the photographer interrupts, holding up his camera.

“Aye, of course,” Graham turns toward him, and Emma relents, remembering what Mary Margaret said about how being seen with Graham would raise her score. She supposes if she’s going to be running for president, she must endure some things she may not like, in order to appease the public. Besides, it’s not like Graham is bad looking; in fact, he’s rather handsome with his curly brown hair and grey-blue eyes. But her hectic schedule doesn’t allow time for a romantic relationship.

Graham wraps his arm around her as she places a tentative hand on his back. The camera flashes a few times as Emma and Graham hold their smiles.

“One more,” Graham says, just as Emma’s about to pull away.

A few more successive shots are taken before Graham thanks the photographer and they break their pose, turning toward each other.

He inches closer, speaking intimately in her ear. “What do you say we get out of here? Grab a drink somewhere a bit more… private?”

The music changes from something soft and elegant to something more familiar. Very familiar actually.

Motownphilly.

Emma looks over Graham’s shoulder and her eyes light up when she sees Boyz II Men on stage. “Yeeeessss!”

When Regina told her about the World Wildlife Fund benefit, she failed to mention Boyz II Men would be performing.

“Yeah?” Graham asks, a big smile spreading across his lips.

While he’s thinking she was saying yes to his invitation, Emma had forgotten his presence as soon as she heard the music. Not that she would’ve accepted his invitation anyway. But now she sees this as an opportunity to avoid the question altogether. “Oh my God!” Emma scurries over to the crowd that’s gathering around the entertainers of the evening.

“Alright, alright, alright, alright. Philly, make some noise. Make some noise!”

The crowd whistles and cheers, and Emma is taken back to when she was a kid again. She was ten when this song came out—when she bought their CD—and listened to it constantly throughout her teen years.

Graham joins her on the dance floor as she moves to the music, not even caring about her elegance score. She literally hasn’t danced like this since high school, but she feels more carefree than she has in years and she hasn’t even had a sip of champagne. Stuffy music and champagne have never been her thing. But this… this is her music.

“Duty calls.” Graham’s deep voice in her ear makes her jump, and she spins around to look at him. “I’ll take a snow check on those drinks. Canadian for a rain check,” he winks.

“Okay,” Emma says, forcing a small laugh at his joke.

“Good evening,” he bids her, slowly walking away.

∞∞∞

“I feel very underdressed,” Killian grumbles as he peers down at himself. He’d never thought to change out of his blue jeans, t-shirt and black hoody, and here he is drinking champagne in a room full of rich people who are wearing tuxes and formal dresses.

“Don’t worry, you look fine,” Victor says as they make their way through the crowd.

Killian knows he’s just being nice though. Even Victor is wearing a dress shirt and blazer, but then again he blends in more with the other rich folk because unlike Killian, he’s not jobless or poor; he’s a doctor who makes more than a decent living.

Killian finishes his champagne and places the flute on a tray when a waiter approaches, and snatches another one, gulping it down like rum.

“Easy, buddy. You’re pounding those drinks pretty hard, don’t you think?” And that’s coming from Victor, who’s at the bar every night he’s not on call.

“I got fired today, mate.”

“I thought you said you quit?”

Killian’s gaze moves across the room as he turns his head to look at Victor who is standing next to him. “I was forced to quit because—” His words die in his throat, his jaw dropping when his eyes land on a gorgeous blonde dancing.

But not just any blonde. Killian recognizes her.

It’s the Secretary of State. It’s Emma Swan. His first crush. His first kiss.

He hasn’t seen her in person since she was eighteen, but she’s even more stunning as a grown woman. And she’s even more stunning than she is on television.

#cs ff #long shot au #captain swan

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forgadgetsandgizmos · 4 years ago

Text

Boys Like You

Written for Day 1 of Malex Week 2020 | Prompt: Meet Ugly | In all honesty, this is probably closer to meet awkward than meet ugly, but. . . close enough.

Summary: Alex has coffee with Maria's one-night stand, a man who he definitely does not have a crush on.

Read on AO3

Alex shook coffee drops off the small spoon on the edge of the cup he just finished stirring and took a gingerly sip, wincing as the hot liquid rushed over his tongue. He’d barely had time to swallow before a thud followed by a hushed curse made its way from the hallway leading to Maria’s room.

A man, half-dressed and frazzled, hopped on one leg into the kitchen, his other leg being shoved into a pair of pants gripped tight in his hands. The man finally succeeded and immediately turned his gaze to the floor, apparently too focused on his search to notice Alex’s presence in the room. Judging by the man’s bare feet and empty pockets, Alex would guess he’s looking for his shoes, perhaps a wallet or keys. Neither things Alex had noticed laying around since waking up, but it was just after 5:30 in the morning. It was possible he’d missed them.

Alex took another small sip of his coffee, content with watching the man fumble about the house. As he bent over to search the floor, his still-unfastened pants dipped to reveal a slim, muscular back and black briefs. He wore a white t-shirt, frayed and stretched around the collar from wear. The shirt’s tight fit around the man’s shoulders and arms revealed modest but impressive muscles, especially when he flexed them to lift up the living room coffee table. Curly, dirty blond hair (the mere description ‘curly’ felt like an injustice) twisted in every direction off his head, a sharp contrast with the scruff darkening his strong jawline and scowl-ridden face.

Alex made a mental note to compliment Maria on her excellent taste in men.

A few seconds of fruitless searching later, Alex took pity on the man. “What are you searching for,” he asked loudly.

The man — Curls, Alex decided to call him, in absence of a better name — tensed at his voice, twirling around. His eyes landed on Alex and narrowed. “Who are you?”

Alex arched an eyebrow at his defensive tone. “Maria’s roommate.”

“What are you doing up so early?”

“This is my house,” Alex answered, waving his hand around the room as if to display the evidence. “I should be asking that of you.”

Curls tilted his head as if to begrudgingly acknowledge the truth of his statement.

“What are you looking for?” Alex repeated when it seemed like Curls wasn’t going to say anything else.

He shoved his hands into his jean pockets with a short, high-pitched chuckle. “My, uh, shoes and wallet.”

Alex allowed himself a moment of satisfaction for guessing the missing items correctly before responding. “I haven’t seen them in here” —the kitchen, he means— “and you seem to have checked the living room pretty thoroughly. Try the hall by the front door.”

Curls complied, ducking out of sight for a few seconds before returning with shoes in hand and a square-shaped bulge in his back pocket. He nodded his thanks, plopped down onto the nearest couch seat, and slid the shows on. He paused and looked to Alex before asking: “Got any coffee?”

Alex couldn’t say no to that head of hair and hopeful expression. He motioned to the coffee maker behind him which held the leftover coffee from the pot he was currently drinking. “Coffee mugs are in the cabinet above it.”

Curls rubbed his hands together eagerly and made his way towards him, briefly brushing his arm against Alex’s on his way past. He grabbed a cup from the cabinet as directed and poured the rest of the coffee from the pot into it. It was enough for just under a full cup.

“Don’t have cream, but the sugars still out,” Alex offered apologetically. He felt strangely responsible for feeding the rough looking man, despite usually avoiding Maria’s occasional one-night stands.

“This is great,” Curls assured him. He grabbed the clay sugar holder and lumped the sugar straight into his cup, not bothering with the spoon on the counter.

Alex’s eyes widened at the minimum of half-a-cup of sugar disappeared into the dark liquid. Alex liked a spoonful or two here or there, but part of what he enjoyed about coffee was the bitter flavor. It did wonders for waking him up. Curls apparently felt the opposite.

He wrapped his hands around the mug and took a big sip, unfazed by the high temperature. Alex followed suite with his own and they stood in comfortable silence for several minutes.

Suddenly, Curls sucked in a breath. “Shit, I’m running late.” He downed his drink and reached past Alex to rinse it out with soap and water before placing it in back in the cabinet where he got it.

“Oh, thanks,” Alex said, appreciative of the action. “Where do you have to be?”

“Old man Sanders’ Junkyard. I’m a mechanic. He likes early mornin’s.”

Alex nodded and leaned against the counter. He watched Curls pull a set of keys (hell yeah, he was right about that too) from the same pocket as the wallet and head towards the door.

Before he turned the corner into the hall, he spun on his heel to face Alex and grinned, tipping his head towards him in a mockery of the ‘hats off’ gesture, though without the hat. “Thanks for the coffee, Private,” he drawled, relaxed and swaggering. Without missing a beat, he finished his spin and turned the corner.

Alex didn’t move until he heard the slam of the front door shutting behind him.

(It didn’t occur to him until almost ten minutes later when he was putting on his fatigues that Curls had called him private when he hadn’t even told the man his name, much less that he was in the Air Force. It wouldn’t be until after dinner that night when he was doing the dishes that he’d wash the Air Force issue mug he’d brought home from base and realize it was the mug he’d been using when he and Curls had shared coffee.)

—

He didn’t see Curls again for a month. He’d forgotten about him, really, until the man stumbled into his kitchen on a Saturday morning the same way he did last time. He’d replaced the white shirt with a similarly worn grey one, and his jeans had darkened to match. His namesake, his golden mane matted on one side from sleep, hadn’t changed at all.

There was no pandering this time, no awkward questioning. The man merely looked up, smirked, and said, “You again!”

“Me again,” Alex agreed. “What are you doing up so early this time? It’s a Saturday.”

“The work doesn’t stop. If anything, we get busier. People got plenty of time to bring cars by when they don’t need ’em for work. What about you, Private?” Curls asked, tilting his chin up towards Alex’s outfit of sweats and coffee mug in hand.

“I like to keep a schedule, even on the weekends. Otherwise, I’ll never get up during the week.”

Curls made a noise of understanding and took a hesitant step forward. “Got any coffee this time?”

Alex smiled and nodded. “Same as last time. You remember?”

“Of course.” Curls face scrunched up, the meaning behind it clear, at least to Alex. Obviously, he was saying.

Alex reminded himself he couldn’t find it adorable, not when it was on the face of a man who seemed to be somewhat of a favorite of Maria’s. He watched him pour the same, overly large amount of sugar into his coffee as before and swirl it around.

“Spoons are in the drawer beside you, if you need one,” Alex offered.

Curls took a sip before making a face. “Yeah, I probably do,” he said, smacking his lips. He slid the drawer open and grabbed a long spoon from the back holder to stir the sugar. With the spoon still in the cup, he took another testing sip. “Much better,” he announced.

“Good.” Not sure what else to say, Alex fell silent and turned his attention to his drink.

“Sorry to steal your coffee and run, but I woke up late on purpose, so I gotta go,” Curls said, almost apologetically.

“I get it,” Alex chuckled. “Not everyone’s a morning person.”

“I’m definitely not.” Curls finished chugging what was left of his coffee and cleaned out his cup, putting it back up like last time.

“You know where your stuff is this time?” Alex asked.

Curls laughed at that, bright and loud. “I do, yes. Little less drinking involved this time around.”

Damn. That meant this, Curls and Maria, was probably going to become a thing. Alex watched him leave and felt a sort of familiar resignation settle in.

—

Alex decided he was crazy. Or hallucinating, maybe. What other reason was there to feel this kinship with a man he spoke to for a half hour twice a month, three if he’s lucky? And yet he did.

He tried not to feel guilty over Maria sleeping in her room during their talks.

—

They were three months into their morning coffee talks when Alex finally figured out Curls’ real name.

The jeep needed an oil change. He could do it himself, he knew how, but his leg made a lot of simple, physical labor overly complicated. It didn’t hurt that the best mechanic in town also happened to be a certain, curly-haired man who worked early mornings at Sanders’ Junkyard.

When he arrived, he stepped out of his jeep to find a familiar pair of boots sticking out from underneath a car parked walking distance from a visibly lived-in Airstream.

“Michael Guerin, the mechanic?” Alex asked, taking a hesitate step forward.

“That’s me,” the voice called. “Give me a second, I’ll be right with you.”

Alex clicked his tongue in response and shoved his hands in his pocket, letting his feet drag through the dirt and sand under him. He didn’t have to wait long before wheels screeched, and the man slid out from under the car.

He stood quickly, wiping grease off his hands with a dirty towel he grabbed off the hood of the car he’d been working on, asking: “What can I help you with?” as he turned to Alex. When his eyes landed on Alex he froze, eyes comically large. “You?”

“Me,” Alex said. “I need an oil change. A friend told me you were the best mechanic in town.”

“A friend, huh?” Michael asked, stepping closer.

Alex nodded. “You and Maria broke it off.”

Michael tilted his head. “Was that supposed to be a question?”

“I guess not.”

“You don’t seem like the kind of guy to need help with an oil change,” Michael stated, looking him up and down.

Alex smirked. “Was that supposed to be a question?” he returned.

“Okay, I deserved that,” Michael chuckled.

Alex’s mouth dropped a little at the sight, suddenly breathless at the sight of the sun’s kiss reflecting off Michael’s immaculate working-cowboy look with his torn jeans and stained black hands.

“You drove all the way out here for an oil change?”

Moment of truth, Alex supposed. “I drove all the way out here for you to give me an oil change.”

A beat, and then, “You know Maria and I are done. She tell you why?”

Alex shook his head slowly.

“We weren’t serious, at most friends with the occasional benefit when we were bored or lonely,” Michael explained.

Alex hunched over and took a half-step back. What was the point in telling him this? Alex had been there; he didn’t need a recap.

“We broke it off whenever one of us found someone we were interested in, no harm done,” he continued, either not noticing or not acknowledging Alex’s reaction. “I broke it off this time,” he said with an air of finality. He met Alex’s eyes expectantly.

Alex didn’t need him to continue to fill in the blanks. He broke it off because he found someone better than either of them. “Congrats?” Alex offered weakly, regretting letting Maria talk him into driving out here.

Michael huffed and rolled his eyes dramatically.

“You, goof.” Michael shook his head, an incredulous expression on his face.

Alex blinked. Him?

Oh.

Alex didn’t even try to stop the grin spreading over his face. He took two large steps forward and kissed him exactly what he’d been wanting to do for months. Michael’s lips melted under his, soft and pliant. He deepened the kiss, letting his hands tangle in Michael’s hair, but was interrupted by a whisper of a laugh against his lips.

He pulled back just enough to rest their foreheads together and opened his eyes, meeting Michael’s shining back at him. “You’re laughing at me,” he mumbled, not moving. His fell back to Michael’s lips, stretching in a small smile.

“Shut up and kiss me, Private.”

And of course, Alex obliged.

#malexweek20 #roswell new mexico #roswell nm #malex #fic #alex manes #michael guerin #my writing #alicewrites

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xxsycamore · 4 years ago

Text

ii. We laughed

NAPOLEON BIRTHDAY PROMPTS 2020 - Day 2 - école Prompt: “ En garde!”

Ao3 link in source!

“En garde, Napoleone!”

Four boys half Napoleon’s height were striking at him at once with their wooden swords, sparkling eyes and with big smiles on their faces. But they certainly weren’t the only ones having fun – their fencing teacher was so caught up in the half-serious half-playful match that sweat was forming on his brow.

At the other side of the street, someone was watching him with a matching smile on her face. She walked with her usual busy step, even under the weight of the grocery bags, then stopped and leaned against a nearby building. They had a meeting here - as usual on the shopping days, she would go around the market place while Napoleon was at his école, and in the end they would go back home together. Along with Isaac who was now with his own group of little students somewhere – finding a comfortable place where they could sit down and write becomes difficult, and she could see that. She thought about talking to Comte about renting a room in town.

Her eyes followed the movements of Napoleon’s little opponents as they tried their best to take their teacher down. Wood meeting wood, Napoleon’s actor skills showed as he made himself appear to be struggling to stand on his feet under the force of the boy he was facing. When he decided it was long enough, he made a dramatic scene of falling to one knee and groped his wooden sword against the pavement. The boys shouted in joy, prideful that they defeated their strong teacher.

The woman giggled from her spot. The childish excitement seemed to have gotten to her too. Pushing herself off the wall, she carefully sneaked her way to where Napoleon was standing with his back to her.

The boy offered a hand to Napoleon, just how he was taught a good opponent should do, and when he got to his feet Napoleon ruffled his hair, praising him. “I’m no match for you anymore, am I? Bravo.”

“Napoleone, behind you!”

“Huh?”

Before Napoleon could turn around, he felt a pair of hands sliding around his waist in a tight hug.

“En garde, Napoleone!”

A faint blush got to his cheeks, realizing that it was his lover who attacked him out of nowhere. He turned around, brows knitted but his gaze softening when he saw her big smile.

“Nunuche! Don’t do that!”

The boys giggled and greeted the woman as she pat the youngest ones on their heads. Then she turned back to Napoleon, “But you’re leaving your back open! That’s why you keep losing!” she looked around, a look of am I right? in her eyes as the boys nodded in approval.

Napoleon sighed. He sure would be asking for his revenge tomorrow, but being mocked by the little guys was nothing to the feeling of pride he was feeling to be their teacher.

It wasn’t uncommon for the boys to be arguing who was the best today. The one who did that final blow was suddenly pushing a fist against the chest of another one who refused to admit his defeat.

Napoleon willed his laughter to stop, even if the little friendly conflict was too funny for him. He cleaned his throat and pat them on their shoulders.

“That wasn’t very nice now. Are we grown-up men or what?”

The comment made them stop what they started, even if they refused to look at each other for the time being.

Napoleon sighed. He knew of something that can fix this.

He pat them once again, harder, “C’mon, go pick up some flowers for me.”

“Flowers? Napoleone are you a grown-up man or what?”

Napoleon’s brows knit together, so is it being used against him now? He ruffled his hair, “They’re not for me silly. Go now.”

He watched them run off before they were out of sight behind the two-floor houses of the district. Then he nodded to himself, taking his turn into the direction of the pâtisserie, taking his wallet out his pocket. He beckoned the woman with a nod to come with him, taking her bags in the meantime. She tried to question him, but he shushed her with a sneaky kiss on her cheek.

***

It wasn’t long before they heard two pairs of boots returning back from their short journey.

“There you are. Attention!”

The boys came to a stop, straightening their position with shoulders back and heads up. They had fun even when Napoleon was giving them drill commands; playing solders was something very common amongst kids their age.

“At ease. You can now give me this.” He took the two bouquets they held and collected them in one hand, “See, I’m taking those two together, as one bouquet. And in turn, you can have this.” Napoleon gave them what he was holding this whole time, one of the biggest baked desserts that the pâtisserie offers. “It’s your award for fighting so hard today. And remember, it took more than one of you to defeat a foe. If you can’t do something alone, don’t take the pride in being the best. Think about the others. Someday the two of you might have to lead the people, are you still going to argue who did better? Now go. Share what I gave you with the others, as equals.”

Napoleon then watched them for a bit with that same prideful smile that was always on his lips when he was around them. It was time to go now; he let them know where he would be waiting for them tomorrow and what time Isaac said to come to him. They waved for goodbye.

Once alone on the paved streets, Napoleon turned to his lover.

“And this is for you, mon amour.”

He handed her the bouquet. It was a simple one; but just by knowing it was from the children that she very much adored, and the work of their loving teacher – it was enough to make her press the hand that held the flowers to her chest.

“Thank you! I can’t wait to put those in a vase… Sometimes you’re truly fascinating me, Napoleon.”

“I am?”

She nodded, a faint blush blossoming on her face – she looked to the side and Napoleon took the chance to poke her on the side of her waist.

“Hey!”

“If you think I’ve forgotten how you surprised me today, you’re wrong. I intent to make this my victory, just so you know.”

“Napoleon!! Don’t you dare start to tickle me in the middle of the street!”

She moved away from him but he just followed back; “In the middle of the street? I was thinking of saving it for the carriage.”

“Then I will lock it from the inside before you can get in!”

And she rushed her step again, and he chased after; nearly running into another couple but still laughing carelessly. She desperately wanted to tease him about it, he appeared so mature just a few minutes ago, what happened to that?

#ikemen vampire #ikevamp napoleon #ikemen vampire napoleon #ikevamp #NAPOLEON BIRTHDAY PROMPTS 2020

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lire-casander · 4 years ago

Text

dancing to the peppermint twist

[1,630 words] [general audiences] [beta’ed by @meloingly. any remaining mistakes are my own] [title from til new year’s night by hanson] [carlos isn’t usually this oblivious] [tk strand, carlos reyes, owen strand][fluff] [written for @buckieys 12 days of tarlos 2020, day 2: happy hanukkah] [author’s notes: i know nothing about hanukkah; everything depicted in this fic comes from my own research through the internet, so sorry if i got something wrong. if you see something wrong, please let me know and i will do my best to fix it. if there’s something offensive, please let me know and i will take the fic down and will apologize]

[carlos isn’t usually this oblivious]

dancing to the peppermint twist

The sun has already started to set when Carlos exits the precinct after a twelve-hour shift. Work always becomes crazier around the holidays — too many parties and too many drunks and too many people trying to get the latest toy for their children — and he usually picks up longer shifts to cover for his colleagues who often ask for shorter shifts to be with their families. It’s been a while since Carlos has been able to spend Christmas with his own family — they're currently scattered across the globe, but they always make a point about talking on both Christmas Eve and Christmas Day, and Carlos always travels up to Las Cruces in New Mexico to spend Three Wise Men Day with his parents and whoever sister of his who manages to fly back home.

Carlos checks his wrist watch as he fishes for his car keys in his front pocket. He still has time before his favorite bakery closes for the day; he wants to buy some marzipan and a few traditional Christmas sweets to treat TK and Owen tonight after their weekly dinner together. He hops into his car and joins the already crazy traffic of the evening as he reflects on how his life has changed during the past few months.

He hadn’t been expecting what he’s found in the Strand household — acceptance and love and a familiarity he hadn’t experienced in a long time. Ever since moving to Austin to attend college, and later staying to become a cop, Carlos has always missed the warmth of family during the holidays — and even the rest of the year. He’s really a family man, he calls his mother daily, but obligations and adulthood always come in the way, and even though Austin is open-minded enough, Carlos has never felt fully accepted in his close circle, with the exception of the Blake sisters. Michelle — and Iris, even if she’s not herself these days, just a version of a shadow of the woman he loves — quickly became his best friend, and she’s always defended him. But he’d been living in Austin for over a decade before crossing paths with TK Strand and having his life turned upside down.

He arrives at La Mexicana to find a parking spot by the entrance door. He can’t believe his luck — the place is usually busy around this time of the year and it’s nearly impossible to find a good parking slot in a few blocks around. He makes quick work of his seatbelt and grabs his wallet as he saunters outside of the car and into the bakery, greeting Maria and Lola as he approaches the counter.

“We have your usual ready,” Lola announces as Maria disappears behind the curtain, only to come back with a cardboard box topped with a green and red ribbon.

“Thanks,” he says with a small smile. “I’d like some marzipan as well,” he adds. When he’s met with Lola’s arched eyebrow and Maria’s confused stare, his smile widens. “I want to impress someone, and yours is the best marzipan in the whole town.”

Both women squeal in delight. “Is that someone the hot firefighter you’ve brought to The Picnic some Sundays?”

Carlos chuckles. He’s run into Lola and her husband Marcos at the food truck park near his house some weekends when both he and TK had the day off, before they even made their relationship official. “Yeah, he’s TK,” he explains. “Remember I introduced you to him last time? I’m having dinner with him and his father tonight. It’s our last night together before actual Christmas, and I want to give them something tasty.”

“You’ve come to the right place!” Maria starts picking some marzipan figurines with her clips and putting them in another carton tray. “They’re going to love it.”

“I hope so,” he mutters. He swipes his credit card over the dataphone when Lola presents the device to him a few minutes later, punching his code into it before grabbing his two packages with one hand. “I don’t think I’ll be able to come here before Christmas,” he says with a frown.

“Merry Christmas, then, Carlos,” Lola wishes, the sentiment echoed by Maria. “Come back soon!”

Carlos opens his car once again and gently leaves the packages on the passenger’s seat before sliding back into the vehicle and driving to TK’s house, halfway across town. It takes him a little longer than usual, traffic being as crazy as expected, but he’s soon pulling up by the Strand’s driveway and killing the engine. The sun has long ago set down, and the whole neighborhood is dimly lit by the streetlamps when he steps out of his Camaro and picks the packages up with great care. There’s a soft glow coming through the half-closed blinds in the house, guiding Carlos inside. He reaches the door and rings the bell, waiting a bit nervously.

“Carlos, come in, come in,” Owen greets him upon opening the door. He smiles at Carlos as he steps aside to let him in. “What’s that? You know you don’t have to bring anything, right, Carlos?”

“I know, Cap—I mean, Owen,” Carlos corrects himself just in time. Owen chuckles slightly and shakes his head; they’ve been back and forth with this exchange several times before, and Carlos is slowly getting used to not using Owen’s status within the Fire Department as a way to address him outside the job. “These are traditional Christmas treats and the best marzipan I’ve ever had.”

“Thanks, Carlos,” Owen says sincerely. He reaches out and takes the packages from Carlos’ grasp. “I’ll put them in the kitchen. Why don’t you go chill with TK in the living room? Remember I’m right here!” he calls out as an afterthought when Carlos moves towards the room where he sees TK’s shadow moving around.

Sure enough, when he sets foot inside the living room he sees his boyfriend with his back to the door, leaning over the mantelpiece where Carlos spots a singular lamp over the fireplace — six medium-sized candles lit and a bigger one taking up a place of honor, also burning. He stops dead in his tracks, his arms already stretched out to hug TK.

“Is—” he stammers out. He can’t believe he has missed this. “Is that a menorah?”

TK turns around with a bright smile. “Carlos! I hadn’t heard you coming in!” He covers the space between them in two strides and slots himself in between Carlos’ arms, face buried in the crook of Carlos’ neck.

Carlos inhales the smell of TK’s shampoo, hugging back and getting lost in the scent before he realizes what’s going on here. ��Hey, TK,” he starts softly. His boyfriend takes a step backwards without breaking their contact, and cocks his head at him. “Do you celebrate Hanukkah?”

He can tell TK is holding back a laugh from the way he’s biting down on his lip. “Uh, yeah, Carlos. It’s the sixth night. Did you just notice the menorah?”

“I—I, uhm, I don’t know what to say,” Carlos mutters, looking away and blushing.

“You’ve come here at least twice since Hanukkah started,” TK jabs at him. “You’re quite distracted these days, Officer Reyes.”

Carlos chuckles. “You distract me, Firefighter Strand.”

TK’s hand slides down Carlos’ arm until he can intertwine their fingers, and he pulls Carlos along with him to the couch. They both sit, TK snuggling up to Carlos in search of some warmth. “I know we haven’t talked about religion yet, or better, about how important religion is for us.”

“I just feel silly because I’ve brought a pound of Christmas sweets and I didn’t even remember you guys are Jewish,” Carlos pouts. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be disrespectful.”

“And you aren’t,” TK reassures him. “We love candy and sweets, even if my father won’t admit to it because of his obsession with, you know, healthy diets and stuff.” TK waves vaguely in front of them.

“As if you aren’t obsessed with it as well,” Carlos mocks him. “I still remember the ten minutes you spent filibustering about bobba tea on our last not-official date.”

“Hey, you said it’d been seven minutes!” TK protests.

Carlos cups TK’s cheek with his hand, effectively shutting him up. He gets lost in the sea of green that is staring back at him in the softly illuminated room, and only when Owen clears his throat from the door does Carlos — and TK, as well — flinch back into reality.

“I see you guys have made yourselves comfortable,” Owen smiles fondly at them, the white porcelain plate in his hand gleaming under the candles’ light. “I hate to break your bubble, but dinner’s ready. I can’t wait to try your marzipan, Carlos.”

“Let’s go eat,” TK suggests, standing up and offering his hand to Carlos, who grasps it as though his life depends on it. Maybe it does. “Later we can enjoy dessert,” he adds suggestively.

Carlos huffs out a surprised laugh and gestures toward Owen, who’s had his back on them already.

“I heard you, TK!” Owen quips lightly.

TK pecks Carlos’ lips softly as they walk towards the dining table, hand in hand. “Are you spending the night?”

Carlos nods. He already has a drawer full with some change of clothes from all the nights he’s spent in TK’s bed. “I am.”

“Great,” TK sighs. “I sleep better when you’re around.”

“Me too, Ty,” Carlos replies sincerely. “Happy Hanukkah,” he adds in a whisper.

TK simply huddles against him when they’re both seated at the table, and lets out a contented sigh. Carlos would kill to hear that sound every day for the rest of his life.

Maybe he should ask his mother for the family ring sooner than he’d anticipated.

[la mexicana bakery does exist, and you can totally check them out at their website!]

#12daysoftarlos #lire's fiction #tarlos fic #tk strand #carlos reyes #owen strand #carlos reyes/tk strand #day 2: happy hanukkah #fluff #snowed in

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