#chase try not to make me hate you all the goddamned time challenge

[glue-enjoyer]

There’s a legitimate episode of this fucking show where Cameron does METH????? And nobody told me?????

[whatitshouldvebeen]

GUN has really shot themselves in the foot with TCM recently. I'm going to rant beneath the cut, feel free to let me know your thoughts too.

I main family (Johnny, Cook, Nubbins, or Leatherface if our team needs it) with my husband and we absolutely hate going against 4 man squads. They bully the shit out of the family and then act like they won the Olympics as they t-bag at the exits until we come to watch their asses grind the dirt.

If they get the valve on, someone has to camp it the rest of the game. Often, two people have to guard it in case two victims team up to chain backstab the poor guy.

Now that they've hidden groups and levels, I feel really ambivalent about playing family anymore. I used to enjoy playing with lower level victims and giving them a fun game, letting them get away, and generally ensuring they aren't turned off from the game. Or playing against non-teamed high levels for a fun challenge. Now I have to treat every game like I'm going against the aforementioned t-bagging Olympic athlete Navy seal 4-man team and it isn't fun for me to try hard every goddamn game. But if I don't, and they do turn out to be a 4 man squad of level 80+, then I've fucked myself going easy on them. And you can be assured they will act high and mighty about beating me.

But it isn't even just four man squads. Let's face it—Texas Chainsaw maps are puzzles and most victims have them figured out. Now the entire game is patrolling doors and if you somehow miss them on your patrol they're out and you're fucked. You can't re-lock doors. You can't guard almost opened doors like you can generators in Dead by Daylight until they regress. And dont even think about going into the basement as anyone other than Sissy and Nubbins because they'll disappear into any one of the cracks never to be seen again and while you're fruitlessly chasing them, Connie has blown a lock and escaped.

And now they're nerfing Cook's ear stacking even though while he's stacking it he's literally standing still AND you can counter it by 1. Stopping running or 2. Clear all stacks by going into a freezer/dresser.

It takes minimum TWENTY MINUTES to find a match now, even if one of us plays Leatherface. And even though there's 1 family player per 50 victim players, the victims still treat us like they're hot shit and we're piñatas there to be beaten up for their entertainment. And that's not even to say we're bad, we're actually quite good at family. But when we do win, victims have some shit to say.

Not all victims are shitheads but so many of them are and I'm sure you non-shithead victim players have had to listen to your teammates rant at the family in the end game lobby.

And GUN is not making anything better. They could, idk, make it so only ONE fuse and ONE valve spawn on the map so at least the victims have to look a little bit longer. They could give the family a fucking mini map so we have knowledge of our own property. They could give us shirtless Johnny all-fucking-ready.

But no, we must instead suffer not knowing what sort of victims we're going against and completely annihilating newer players just in case they do turn out to be those four man 99 squads we so dread. As 2 players with a random, we just can't coordinate well enough to properly face off against a 4 man. They should make lobbies for full squads to go against full squads so solo q and duos dont have to be shit on, on either side.

Idk man. I love Texas Chainsaw. I have almost 300 hours in it. And I still have a MASSIVE crush on Johnny Slaughter. But... I think I'm going to quit. I'll come back and play for a week when new maps come out so we can all enjoy the freshness of no one knowing what's going on, but the moment that map is solved, I'm not gonna deal with it. Playing family is hell, most of the time I feel like the victim.

[beobhcm]

SANDMAN FANFIC: IS THIS A DREAM, OR IT’S JUST HALLUCINATION?

CHAPTER 4.

“What the fuck is this? Don’t tell me…” Desire looked around and noticed they were inside the abyss. But when? They were staying on a planet far away… Could it be? The moment they chased after Morpheus, which meant the illusions had led them here. Turned out, the abyss was more dangerous than they thought. They already saw the pure darkness through Dream’s helm, but it was way more suffocating when they felt it themselves. Although Desire was a bit frightened, they could easily pull themselves together since they had a back-up plan at least. The Sacculum would definitely fix it.

“Where is it?” Desire froze as they were not able to find the watch. They remembered keeping it by their side. The last time Desire checked it was still there. No, no, no. The Sacculum really disappeared at the time they needed it most. What the fuck was going on? How could they be this careless?

After a few challenging minutes searching for their father’s watch, Desire gave up. They had to find another solution, much better than finding an object in the dark. Calling Dream for help? No, Dream would scold them for bringing more troubles. Their pride did not allow them to be humiliated by their brother. If they already got in, they should face this bullshit on their own.

The Hecate said there was the light at the end of the tunnel, and hope would lead the way. Ironically, Desire understood the riddle, but they did not know how to hold on the concept of hope. Kept believing just like their brother told them? Okay, maybe they should give it a try. There was nothing else they could do anyways. The only light they had was the reflection on the helm, like a little star gleaming, sparkling among the darkness. A tiny hope to lighten up the path they were putting their footsteps on. Desire walked, then rested, they walked, and rested again. They had no idea how many times they had repeated these actions as they began to lose the awareness of space and time. Feeling completely exhausted, Desire fell on their knees. Normally, an Endless would travel through billions light years, but it seemed the abyss had been absorbing their energy so they could not take it anymore.

“When will I see the light? It’s no use trying!” Desire had lost their patience. “Dream on, big brother! I won’t call you!” They looked at the helm, saying the hateful words towards it. They were at their stubborn self, sounded alike their late brother. Desire stood up and continued their journey, until they slowly got unconscious and stumbled on the ground.

"It seems you don't understand the definition of hope, Desire."

Morpheus's voice echoed in their ears, and there he was, standing before their very eyes. Desire swiftly knelt on one knee and getting up. They raised their head, staring closely at the figure.

"You are always against me as you don't believe hope can be found at the brink of desperation.”

”So what? You think you are the one who brings hope to the livings? Why not paying attention to your problems first rather than talking meaningless stuffs here?” Such familiar, Morpheus used to harass them with those goddamn words, and Desire had to speak up for themselves. They hated losing their brother, even in a small argument.

“You used to challenge me and lose in your own silly games multiple times just because you always denied it. Until now, you are still the same, arrogant, stubborn, selfish.” His hollow eyes sparkled as sharp as knife-edge.

”Don’t act like your realm is more superior than mine! You think those knowledges will make you a wise anthropomorphic personification?” Desire released all their wrath on the figure.

“If then, have you found a better answer for your problems?”

”I…I…” They stammered.

“Your immaturity and shallowness have led you to be stuck here. Will you learn your lesson, Desire?” Morpheus pointed at them.

"Shut up! Go screw yourself, big brother!" They shouted. The abyss really knew how to play with their emotions that they could not take it anymore. He had been humiliating them during centuries, but this time, they were not able to hold back as they burst into tears. Morpheus might have gone, but the hatred they had for him would forever remain in their mind.

“Keeping this childish behavior would bring you nothing, the way to escape this place for instance.”

The figure lowered his tone. Desire could feel the dread through their spine as Morpheus walked behind them, pinning them down. He grabbed their neck and strangle them. Suddenly, the black surface turned into a bed of water. His force held Desire tight in place. Though the Endless did not have an actual physical body, this force could still damage them as it pierced through their core. They were extremely painful. It was like molten lava burning every cell of them as their flesh was torn apart. Once they lost all their hopes, the abyss would immediately devour them before they could figure out what happened. Desire struggled in helplessness but it did not work.

“Dream… I…need…your…he…” In a short moment when they were about to be swallowed, Desire held the helm, closing their golden eyes and mumbling. Unfortunately, they had not finished their words yet. The helm slipped out of their reach as they were no longer able to hold it. The Endless was shrunk deeper and deeper. So…that was it. They would soon be drowned in eternal darkness, their fate was meant to end here. A hand touch them, maybe it was their big sister’s hand. They were ready for this despite the fear they had before. A strong light appeared and brightened up the whole scene.

---

As Desire woke up, they saw the man in white sitting by their side. He was using the sand to cure their ruined body.

“Dr…Dream?” They murmured while shivering.

“Stay still, my sibling. Your body is not yet recovered.”

In Dream’s point of view, Desire right now was nothing but a dried corpse which had been strongly deformed. They did not look like a human, neither any existing creatures. A total mess, maybe. Dream’s sand was helping them rearrange their cells, and from that, regaining their ability to form a physical appearance. The healing progress was painful as hell, but they had no energy left to speak out, only grunted. Eventually, their flesh exposed outside had connected together, then shaping into their usual humanoid look, with perfect curves, gorgeous and charming, but also weak and vulnerable. Desire could finally sit on their own as Dream used his white cloak to cover up his sibling’s naked body.

“The abyss… It’s gone?” Desire turned their head and realizing the abyss once there had disappeared. A new circle of life was recreated and replacing all the ruined in that area.

“Yes, it has. I have successfully found the light and reversing the abyss’s function.” His eyes gleamed as he used his serious voice tone. “Lucky for you, while I was opening the way out, I heard you calling me. You already knew the consequences if I did not come in time.” The sand in his palm changed its color into black, then faded.

“No need to remind me…” Desire pouted.

“I have told you to stay. Why did you go inside the abyss?” Dream harshly confronted them.

In spite of telling him about the unexpected incident, the younger Endless remained silent. They did not want to explain for their carelessness or argue with him. Instead, they stared at the starry sky from distance. The light had exposed the exhaustion through their face with heavy eye-lid, messy blond hair and lifeless pale skin. As the progress was almost done, Dream transported them to the threshold of desire so they could have a rest. He placed them on a soft red mattress. Under the power of its heartbeat, Desire regained a small energy as they pulled off Dream’s cloak and formed themselves a comfortable ivory silk dress. They adjusted their hair, then putting on light make-up. No matter what, they must look neat and clean. They could not bear their current terrible situation, especially in front of their brother. Then, Desire fell in a deep sleep since they were too tired.

Desire woke up on their bed. Their head hurt and their body was aching. Though they might be physically healed, they were completely powerless because the abyss had drained most of their energy. The Endless had rested on their bed for hours as they were not eager to step out and began to recall everything happened before. The warmness of the coat Dream put on them, the feeling when Dream carried them on his hands, such gentle gestures and it felt…weird. Desire had got used to the old Morpheus who would not give a shit about them and they chose to be ignored rather than being treated like a helpless victim by this Dream. They preferred to be on their own as they did not need anyone’s help.

“My sibling, I am touching your sigil. Give me a sign if you can hear me.” While Desire was drowning in thoughts, Dream suddenly summoned them.

“Dream?”

“So, you are awake Desire. Are you well?” Dream asked.

“I am great.”

“Good. May I come to your place? I have something to ask you.” At first, Desire was hesitant when the man in white visited them. He acted caring much more than before as he carefully checked on them to make sure his sibling was fine. Gross! He was not Morpheus, he was not Morpheus, Desire repeated. After talking to them for a while, Dream turned to Desire’s gallery, glancing at the position placing his sigil. Without letting his brother-sister a second to think, he summoned his helm, which astonished them since they thought they had lost it.

“Do you forget anything else, Desire?” Noticing his sibling was gluing their eyes on his belongings, Dream expressed his doubt towards them. Desire’s face turned red. In their very last minute, they desperately held his sigil and calling for him, hoping he would come to them. Despite their effort trying to reject his help, he was the one saving them.

“You could have ruined our plan and get both of us killed due to your foolish recklessness. What’s your purpose this time, Desire?” He frowned.

“It was an accident!” Desire finally admitted as they did not want to hear his insulting any longer. "I wore your godamn stupid hat to watch over you and I did not expect the abyss could lure me although I was standing far away from it." They told him the whole story, except the part they saw Morpheus's illusions. “The abyss made me lose my way. If it had not been the darkness, I would have handled by myself!” After finishing their words, Desire immediately froze. They had dropped another important thing besides Dream’s sigil, the Sacculum. Damn, how would they speak to their old man? Though Desire reckoned they shall not see Time in next one million years, they still got a bit unpleasant somehow. Whether they met their father again, he would surely give his ‘loving’ words to them in any of their conversations.

“You forgot my warn not to stay in the dark for too long, but I guess things all makes sense now.” As if read their minds, Dream continued to surprise Desire by showing them a pile of sand flowing out of his loose white sleeves and forming into a tiny watch. “I think you also drop this one.”

Desire was shocked. The fact that their brother was able to find his helm might be understandable, but the watch, how did he know?

“I know you were hiding the Sacculum all the times. To be honest, I don’t expect to see this powerful object again as I have just returned it to father recently.” He already found out the reason why Desire kept the watch on their side, and he was glad they had taken this mission serious and preparing a back-up plan for them. Dream put his trust on them so he left them outside. Unfortunately, things had gone wrong, but at least they were safe after all.

“You are not really good at keeping people’s stuffs, aren’t you?” Dream smirked.

A few minutes ago, he complained about them, and now he was mocking them, which hurt their pride even more and they hated it. Not only had Dream saved the universe from being destroyed, he also rescued them and returned all the stuffs back. Basically, they did not help anything but being useless? Morpheus sometimes made fun of them, but this Dream had a ‘better’ way to mock them. Humiliated, irritated, embarrassed, those words were describing their feelings. Desire had never felt so pathetic in their entire existence.

“Fuck off, Dream! Your main purpose for summoning me is to degrade me, right? I have had enough!”

Dream said nothing and disappeared, but they could still see the smile on his face. Was that a sarcastic smile? Forget it! They should lay in bed a bit more, before going to the living world since they would be able to regain their power in a place full of desire.

[kazewhara]

cherry kisses.

# — pairing: kazuha x gn!reader

# — characters: gender neutral reader, kazuha

# — summary: n/a

# — warnings: slightly suggestive (brief description of making out); minors proceed with caution or dni

# — tags: modern au, fluff, you're a candy thief and kazuha's a tease, making out

# — notes: okay look, i was eating a cherry lollipop and this idea hit me so fast, i damn near blacked out. it's also probably not my best, but goddamn if i'm not so fucking happy i managed to write smth! anyways, as always, reblogs and reactions are appreciated, and i hope you enjoy!

wanna join the tag list?

✧ — 🍁 — ✧

"have you seen it?"

"have i seen what?" you sit up on the couch to get a better look at kazuha, whose brows are drawn with confusion. "what're you looking for?"

your boyfriend pushes a hand through his hair. "i thought i had stored some candy away from my travels, but," he sighs, "maybe i was wrong. i was tired when i put them up."

you run your tongue over your teeth and glance to the side guiltily. so that's what that candy was, you think. you'd found a bag of little red candies inside your night table and helped yourself to a few. they're still there, but it appears kazuha hasn't checked there yet. you press your lips together to try and school your expression. you don't have the heart to come clean, not when he looks so miffed about his missing candy.

it's not like kazuha will blow up at you or anything, but you don't want to be on the receiving end of his disappointed smile. it never quite reaches his eyes -- it's definitely at the top of the list of things you hate.

so you hum absently, hoping you don't look as culpable as you feel. "is there any chance you can buy more of them?" you ask. when you look back at him, you find that kazuha is already staring at you. you feel your stomach twist into a small knot; does he know that you ate them? he couldn't possibly know from what you've said so far -- he doesn't even know that you know where they are. he couldn't possibly--

in the blink of an eye, kazuha crosses the room and stands in front of you, his eyes narrowed. there's no real heat to his stare -- he looks entertained by something and it's making you more nervous by the second. you try not to react too much as he shuffles a bit closer, standing between your legs.

"something wrong?" you try to ease your back onto the couch cushions but kazuha stops you, his hand flying to your jaw and keeping you in place.

"i think i know where they went." he says softly. his fingers tighten on your face ever so slightly. "and i think you know as well."

"you'd be thinking wrong," you mumble. kazuha's fingers slide up to your cheeks and he mushes your face, chuckling when you try to pull out of his grip. "lemme go!"

kazuha tilts his head to the side with a grin. "tell me what happened to the candy, and i may consider it."

so clearly, he knows. you're too annoyed to feel bad about it anymore. you won't come clean either -- not when he's being such an ass about it. you huff and push his hand down, but he doesn't let go of your face. "what are you, a cop?" you bite. "what if i don't talk, hm?"

you regret those words as soon as they leave your mouth. every time you challenge him, you're usually bluffing, but kazuha always plays along -- maybe a little too well. he has far too many means of getting answers out of you. and when you see him raise an eyebrow in response, you know he's already got one such method in mind.

"you know i have my ways, petal." kazuha all but croons at you. "shall i try one of them?"

"no." is your immediate response. your boyfriend laughs, but you inch back, retreating like a threatened animal. there's been many a time in which kazuha has chased you around your shared apartment, and you suddenly feel the need to add another instance to that list.

kazuha inches closer and tilts your head up. is he trying to--

"i promise," he whispers as he leans in, "you'll love this one."

before you can question him, his mouth is covering yours, silencing you completely. you're always on edge whenever kazuha initiates kisses -- he only does it when he has some sort of agenda. and since you have no idea what he's trying to do, your fingers twitch as they hover just over kazuha's skin, unsure of if you should give in to him or not.

to your surprise, it seems like kazuha plans on dragging the kiss for as long as he can. you can't fight him for much longer, anyhow; not when he tugs at your bottom lip with his teeth like that. you fall victim to your boyfriend like you always do, getting caught in his trap like a fly in a spider's web. the very second your breath hitches, kazuha takes his chance to brush his tongue against yours, widening the opening you've made for him. you know he's doing this on purpose -- you know good and well that he's lowered your guard with such a sensual kiss for a reason -- but you're not exactly the strongest when it comes to kazuha.

and he knows that.

kazuha's got you hook, line, and sinker, but after a few more seconds pass, he realizes that he'd gotten carried away. reluctantly, he pulls away; he got the information he needed out of you more than three minutes ago, but he couldn't help himself. teasing you was clearly just as much fun for you as it was for him, and your reactions are so dizzying to him.

your eyes are a little hazy, but you can still see the impish grin on your boyfriend's face. before you can ask why he kissed you, he beats you to the punch, lightly brushing his thumb over your bottom lip.

"you ate it, didn't you?" when you blink at him in a daze, kazuha puffs a quiet laugh. "the candy, love. you ate it."

your mind takes a few moments to reboot. when you finally put the pieces together, you feel your face starting to burn. he probably figured out that you ate the candy the second you avoided his eyes a little while ago. but knowing kazuha, he wanted to make you confess in his own little way.

in this case, though you didn't speak a word, your mouth still did all the talking. kazuha confirmed his suspicions through taste.

the very thought makes you shiver.

you avert your eyes, too embarrassed to look at your boyfriend any longer. you can't believe you decided to love someone so... shameless. you peek at him for a quick second only to see his eyes softening as he breaks into giggles. he enjoyed that way too much for your liking, but... damn it, you have to admit that you did, too.

kazuha's laughter is too infectious for you to stay upset at him. you sigh, defeated. "what'd it taste like?"

thank god kazuha knows what you're talking about. he presses a chaste kiss to your forehead in apology.

"you were very sweet," he confesses, chuckling at the way you squirm at his words. "like cherries."

✦ YAYAHAHAA I WROTE SMTH I WROTE SMTH AND I'M KINDA PROUD OF IT clearly i'm not good at writing suggestive stuff BUT I GOT SMTH OUT AND I DIDN'T BACK DOWN, I'M SO FUCKING COOL 🏋🏾🏋🏾

[soft--dragon]

Any Sneeg Headcannons Dragon? *Slides coffee over*

*grabs the coffee like a gremlin and chugs it*

Thank you for that, needed the sustenance, and sure! I don't think I've seen many hc's for Mr Sneegsnag so here we go with some headcanons of my own!

Ler (cc!)

Right. I get mad ler vibes from this man

He has the energy of a playful ler, laughing with his lee and teasing them with compliments/light-hearted mocking

I also envisioned him pretending to be a tickle monster or a bear, chasing down his victims and wrapping them in a bear hug to tickle them (have you seen his arms? jesus christ, once he's got you he is not letting go)

The kind of guy to coo at you laughing then call you an idiot (playfully) when you fall for a tease "Sneheheeg dohohon't!" "Don't what?" "Tihihickle mehe!" "Tickle you? That's what I'm doing already, goddamn Sherlock Holmes over here."

Can and will pin you down easily and not let you go until he's done, kick and squirm all you want, he's stronk

Lots of "awwwwing" and cooing when his victim does something cute

Big fan of raspberries, he's got facial hair so he knows it only gets worse from that

Does that little "ehehehehe" laugh as he tickles someone and inevitably makes the lee laugh more at how silly it is

100% makes puns and fart jokes as he wrecks someone, you cannot convince me otherwise

Blows raspberries into people's skin and makes sure it sound a lot like a fart then goes "Goddamn, what did you eat?? That smells terrible dude."

Ler (!c)

In his Origins form, he is such a fucking menace to society

Climbs onto people to tickle them, especially evil when he tickles your neck cause you can't escape

Goes into 'hunting' mode (aka ler mood) and will track down his victims without warning, leaping at them and scribbling into their ticklish spots for a bit and bolting before they can catch him

Makes it a game to see how many people he can tickle before they figure out it's him. Ranboo is his favourite to go after due to the enderman's inability to see someone wearing a pumpkin, so he takes advantage of that and lets Ranboo believe it's someone invisible wrecking him. Ranboo is randomly gasping different names of people that could be tickling him until he guesses it's Sneeg, then the little blue guy lets up. After how many times people prank Ranboo with a pumpkin, it's not his fault he doesn't guess Sneeg right away

Seen so much fanart of Sneeg having little antenna and wings like a moth so you can bet he'll use those too - ruffling his wings and dragging his antenna against someone's skin to make them giggle squeakily

Point is, mans is evil with his ler abilities and starting a tickle fight with this man will surely end in his favour

Lee (cc!)

Not as strong on the lee side, he prefers being the ler, so when you do tickle him be prepared for revenge

Has deep laughter that's incredibly contagious

Can and will fight back - it's not that he hates the tickling, he just finds it more fun to make it a challenge for every party involved - so it's best to go for one of his melt spots first so he essentially becomes mush

I headcanon his knees, ribs, feet and thighs to be quite bad spots

He will try and wrestle so he can get out of the predicament, so it's advised that you have a good hold on him, or there's more than one person attacking

Snorts!!! Snorty man!! Big snorts!!

Also wheezes are very common when he laughs! If you scribble in a bad spot for long enough his laughter will just devolve into cackles and wheezes

Cracks jokes while he's laughing to make the ler laugh too. Hey, he can't be the only one giggling here, if he's going down laughing, he's taking you with him

Loves tickle fights!! The general playfulness and roughhousing makes it fun for him, and the laughter that comes with it is such a bonus! Even if it is him on the receiving end sometimes, he does enjoy the fun of it

Lee (c!)

C'mon, small man causes chaos and doesn't get wrecked back in return? Yeah like that's realistic

Once caught, Sneeg can just be held in someone's hand and tickled with one finger (he tries to avoid this when he can cause it's so embarrassing for him to be taken apart with a single digit)

There's two ways his sensitivity could go due to his Origin:

Option One: he's not that sensitive due to his small frame being battered around by the world constantly, and this gives him naturally tough skin for protection against the elements

Option Two: He's quite sensitive due to his species - soft moth boy go brrrrr - and he's got a light bit of fuzz to his body to protect him from the cold/wind. He bundles up warm as well which keeps his skin from being damaged in any way, which in turn, makes him more sensitive

Both of those options have good possibilities to them

- Sneeg thinking he isn't ticklish only to be proven wrong with specific places and his friends being eager to show him his sensitivity

- Sneeg is quite ticklish and his friends are eager to tease him about his sensitivity

Hope these were adequate Bat ^^

[cdroloisms]

haha your snippit abt the dispenser got me thinking.

Dream gets let out of prison and he talks constantly, whatever is on his mind. And he's positive all the time. To a fault where people walk over him. And it doesn't make sense because he was tortured right???? But after an incident they find out it's because he hates the sound of silence and needs constant reminders that other people are there. Also he was punished for any negative emotions in the prison so his default is happy now,,,

hi anon !! this concept makes me SO goddamn sad ,, the idea that he Has to be happy bc anything else would mean punishment im so *punches the walls*

this ,, ficlet is honestly. pretty ooc, not really related to the ask at all, and mostly an excuse for me to cry abt c!dream and c!punz for an excessive amount of time (technically the vote on twitter was supposed to have this as c!sapnap pov, but i just wrote one for him so i went for c!punz instead. mostly bc i wanted to write him LMAO). hopefully someone enjoys it despite *gestures vaguely* all of that mess

tw: trauma, disordered eating, implied torture/abuse, blood, injuries, unhealthy coping mechanisms, emotional distress, thoughts of murder/mercy killing, mentioned animal death, dark content

In the end, it’s all rather anticlimactic, the complete opposite of Dream’s vault and the whole fiasco of adrenaline and theatrics that had made up that day. Quackity ended up having one too many drinks, bragged about the wrong thing to the wrong person - Punz doesn’t know the specifics, only knows that one thing has led to another and suddenly Sapnap was screaming at his ex-fiancé, sword pointed at his chest and tears streaming down his eyes in the middle of the Community House floor, everyone else stood around and watching. A look into Quackity’s office said everything he didn’t - the chests and chests of used and new tools, shiny and sharpened and completely rusted over with blood and everything in between. There’s been a balled up shirt in the wastebasket, completely unsalvageable from how saturated it was with blood, more red than white, and perhaps most chilling of all the calendar, marked with X after X in red pen, going back months and speaking to their utter failure to see what had been happening all but right in front of them.

With Quackity down, Sam caved not too long after, and with his input getting into the prison was no challenge at all. The only thing holding them back were bad memories and the tense, worried edge to Sam’s jaw as he led the small group of them - himself and Sapnap, actually entering the facility, Bad and Puffy waiting outside - carrying them through winding corridor after winding corridor and lava pit after lava pit, until they’d come to stand before a chasm filled with flowing lava, slowly draining before the main cell.

“I- I have to warn you,” Sam had muttered, uncharacteristically hesitant, “it looks…pretty bad,” and Punz would’ve questioned him further, but the lava had fallen far enough to reveal the topmost edge of the cell, so they let Sapnap hound the Warden for information as they directed their full attention on the cell itself and holy shit.

Nothing Sam said could’ve possibly have prepared them for the sight - it was a complete fucking bloodbath, crimson painting the walls and smeared over the floor and splattered over every visible surface like some abstract art experiment gone wrong. The stench of iron and burning flesh and viscera was awful, even over the gap marked by the still-draining lava. Punz strained his eyes; at the very back of the cell, huddled, unmoving, was a similarly bloodstained shape that must’ve been Dream. They remember the crack of Sapnap’s knuckles meeting Sam’s face and breaking his nose, remember themselves chucking a pearl and feeling along Dream’s neck desperately for a pulse - everything beyond that became a swirl of voices and panic and crying that makes their head hurt to think about, so they don’t.

Recovery is…messy. The physical side had been bad enough - pulling Dream out of the cell, barely breathing, limp in his arms and far too light, all Punz could think about was a sheep he’d found a year ago, frail and struggling to breathe, one he’d ended up killing - quick and painless - with a sword through the skull because it seemed kinder than letting it suffer. Watching Dream struggle on the bed, laid up in Bad’s mansion because none of them knew if he’d survive going any further, body resisting the potions they’d slowly forced down his throat after being so over-saturated on them, temperature spiking and heat baking into his skin like the lava from the prison had been imprinted onto his body, Punz feels the same strange mixture of pity and unease, wonders if it’d be a hell of a lot kinder if they just put him out of his fucking misery.

Still, because Dream is a stubborn bastard, against all odds, he ends up surviving - his fever breaks, the potions begin taking effect, and a few tireless, aching days later his eyes flutter open, lucid for the first time in a week. Punz isn’t even in the room when he wakes, only knows that it happens because the too-quiet room suddenly erupts in noise and activity, muffled thumps and sounds of a struggle undercutting Bad’s frantic calls for someone to help, anyone, and they run into the room to find Dream thrashing on the bed, wounds reopened and blood dripping onto the sheets, eyes wild and wide as his head whips from side to side so hard Punz is half-afraid that he’ll straight up break his neck. Somehow, worst of all, not a single scream falls from his lips, nothing but muffled whines squeezing past his mouth, clenched shut, and for a singular, awful second they wonder how long it took before he realized that screaming was useless.

Fortunately enough for them, or unfortunately, it’s not like he can tell the fucking difference anymore, the panic and strain end up with Dream passing out altogether, and they trade uneasy glances with Bad before going to clean off the worst of his wounds. If everything they’re doing feels hopeless, dressing up wounds that’ll be torn open hours later when Dream is awake enough to feel fear but not much else because he’s forgotten what it’s like to not be afraid - well, that’s for them to think and everyone else to pretend not to agree with.

Weeks pass along the same vein - Dream wakes up, panics; they try to calm him down, fails; he falls back into unconsciousness, and they move on and pretend that they’re cleaning up wounds from battle and not from someone that’s literally been tortured for months on end. People stop by, occasionally; Puffy spends more time than not inside the mansion, but hardly ever enters the door into Dream’s room, Sapnap and George drop by occasionally with potion brewing supplies that the rest of them can’t go out to get; once, he’d gone out to the front door to find a chest with an enchanted golden apple, sender nowhere in sight. He knows that the server is busy; Quackity’s admission had brought more than a few secrets to light, and from what they understand, the political fallout has been pretty damn messy. Still, he stays in the mansion, and watches.

He doesn’t exactly know why he stays. They’re not a stellar healer, not beyond what they know to dress their own wounds, and spend most of their time doing odd-and-ends tasks for Bad, who looks more tired than ever. Maybe it’s because he’s seen Dream at his worst more than the rest of them, had been there through his entire fall from grace, watched as his eyes became clouded with anger and madness and a single, desperate hope that he’d chased at the cost of his world and himself. Maybe it’s because they have no ties to the rest of the server - not to Las Nevadas, falling apart under the scrutiny of the eyes that now fall upon it, not Snowchester, caught up in the chaos, not the Badlands, half-dissolved after the fiasco of the Egg and with Sam’s actions having just come to light. Maybe it’s because above everything else, he feels guilty.

They’d thought the prison was the answer. It’d seemed too simple, back in that Vault - a perfect answer, because everyone else was perfectly happy to watch Dream die another time and some part of them had clenched painfully at the thought even thought they knew it was for the best. The prison meant that he’d be alive, if angry, and at some point when he had the time or the nerve or the guts he could go and visit, and they would talk, and Dream would be angry but with time maybe he could even understand.

They hadn’t wanted this. He can’t imagine anyone wanting this.

“Punz?” They don’t jump at the voice at their back, they don’t, but Bad still has a tiny, tight-lipped smile when they turn around anyway, eyes creased in the corners and still not as bright as they’d been before the Egg. Bad looks at him knowingly, setting a bowl of soup into his hands. “For Dream, if you can get him to eat.” He shifts a pointed gaze towards the door. “Maybe you two could talk.”

“About what?” The words come out harsher than they intend, and they take a moment to bite back the mostly self-directed anger that Bad doesn’t deserve to receive the brunt of. “I just-” he waves his hand in the air, trying to articulate the mess that is his relationship with Dream without the words to explain it. “I don’t know, man.”

“You don’t have to talk about everything,” Bad says, calm as always, eyes flicking down to the bowl of soup in his hands. “Just start with the soup.”

Punz sighs. “I’ll try.”

He enters the room in a single, fluid motion, mostly because he knows that if he were to stop at the door then he’d never actually make his way in. Dream flinches back when they enter, eyes going wide and stance going rigid, and the familiarity doesn’t make the sight any easier to bear as they wait, as always, for Dream’s eyes to clear enough for him to realize he’s in the mansion and not stuck in that same obsidian hellhole.

“I brought soup,” they say, finally, when Dream looks up. Dream’s lips twitch up in what he probably means as a smile; between the still-healing gashes on his face and the fear that flashes over his expression, still, it comes out as more of a grimace.

“Thanks.” Dream looks away. “I’ll eat it later.”

Liar, Punz thinks tiredly, moving closer to set the bowl down on the nightstand by the bed. They frown as Dream’s expression goes slack and distanced, again, eyes fixed to stare blankly at the wall once again.

“You should have some now,” he tries, careful to keep his words even. “You need the calories.”

“I’m good,” Dream says, automatic, just shy of sincere. “Thank you.”

“Dream,” they don’t quite succeed at keeping a displeased sigh from falling from their lungs, and bite back a curse at themselves when Dream pulls back with a silent flinch. It’s so goddamn hard, to talk to this version of Dream, both of them feeling around the edges of their relationship like walking on goddamn eggshells. A few months ago, he would’ve straight up called Dream out on his bullshit, get it through his thick skull that the whole ‘I’m fine and don’t need anyone’ act was stupid and completely failing to convince him. Here, they bite back another sigh, look forlornly at the bowl of the soup on the nightstand, sure to go uneaten once again, and force themselves to sound completely neutral when they speak again. “Alright. You’ll have to eat at some point, though.”

“Mmhm,” Dream hums noncommittally, once again staring at the wall. Punz stares at his hands. This is so fucking pointless.

“So,” they say after a few seconds, Bad’s words echoing in their head - they can try to make an effort to talk, sure. It’s just that Dream’s not going to cooperate. “How are you, man?”

The words come out stilted, awkward. He looks up to watch Dream’s expression, as the other man begins to gnaw on the inside of his cheek.

“I’m good,” he says, words deliberately light. “You?”

“Dream…”

“I’m fine.” Dream’s voice sharpens suddenly, breath hitching, before he shakes his head and turns his head away. “I’m fine.”

Punz looks at him incredulously. “Are you serious? Do we need to get into exactly how not-fine you are?” They wave a hand in his direction, jaw clenching when he rears back. “Do ‘fine’ people lose their minds from someone waving at them, now?”

“I-” For a second, Dream glares at him, eyes burning with a familiar, irritated fire that Punz knows all-too-well from having it directed at him a few too many times, before it suddenly dies and Dream is swinging his head back to the bedsheets, hands tightening on the cloth as he stammers. “I- What do you want?”

Punz breathes a soft sigh, regret blooming in the center of their chest. “Sorry,” he mumbles, careful to keep their gestures overly-telegraphed and away from the other man’s face. “I’m just- you’re not okay, man. No one’s expecting you to be okay after...all of that.”

“But why?”

Dream’s voice is small, nearly a sob, and Punz directs wide, alarmed eyes to where he’s hunched in over himself, knees pulled to his chest, hands staring at the sheets pulled over them. “Why?” he says, again, quieter, lip trembling slightly.

“Because you were tortured,” Punz begins, words slow as they watch Dream’s expression, trying to pull out the thoughts behind his averted eyes, “Because the cell was inhumane, and nobody deserves to be treated like that. Because you were hurt very, very badly because of what we did, and none of us are expecting you to be fine right after going through months of trauma.” He pauses. “You know that, right?”

“But I’m out,” Dream says, quiet, disbelieving, instead of answering their question. “I’m out of there. It’s over. It’s- everything’s good,” he whispers, more to himself than to them, hands curling into fists and then uncurling. “I’m- they said I would never get out. And I’m outside, and it’s not- not the cell, and I get real food, and Quackity doesn’t visit anymore,” he shakes his head, eyes squeezing shut as his breath catches in his throat. “I’m happy- I should be happy. Right?”

“Oh Dream,” the other man flinches back, breath quickening, and Punz’s hand stops short from where he’d almost let it fall onto the other’s shoulder. “You don’t have to be happy, man. Not- not after all of that. Not if you’re not ready yet.” Dream’s eyes, wide and wet, rise to look at their own, and they feel more than hear the soft, wounded noise that leaves their lips. “It’s ok to be hurt. It’s ok to be scared. No one’s blaming you, alright? No one’s gonna hurt you anymore.”

This, more than anything, seems to be the breaking point, because Dream collapses forward, hands flying up to pull at his tangled hair before Punz manages to ease them away and into his own hands, watching as he grips onto them until his knuckles go white. His breathing shudders, quiet, even his sobs muffled as to make as little noise as possible, and they murmur meaningless croons and hums as he cries into their chest.

“I wanna- I wanna be okay,” he hiccups, and Punz smooths his hair back behind their hand.

“I know,” he swallows around the lump that has risen in his own throat. “I’m sorry.”

[hangezoeenthusiast]

Minecraft

m!reader

pronouns:he/him

fluff

person: sapnap (im not going to use his real name, since he is uncomfy with people using it)

words: 1530

warnings: cursing, yelling

you were at sapnap's house on his bed, watching him stream and play minecraft. he was trying to speedrun minecraft. "hey babe, what'cha doing?" he asked. "just watching you." you replied.

"you wanna come over here?"

"but what about the face cam."

"chat could give less of a shit, or i too."

"ok then babe, let me just get some water."

you went to the kitchen to get a glass of water, then went back to the room. you grabbed one of sapnap's extra chairs and sat next to him. "hey chat, how you doing." chat spammed y/n so many times, you could barely see anything else in there.

"hey my boyfriend, how you doing." a dono said

"im doing good y/nismyboyfriend, good name btw, how are you?"

"heyyyy, your MY boyfriend." sapnap whined. "it's ok baby, im yours and your mine." chat spammed simp, then sapnap buried his head in your heck. "y/nn, make chat stop bullying me." "chat stop bullying my WONDERFUL boyfriend." you emphasized.

after that little situation, you just sat in your chair, zoned out, and just watched. "babe, hey babe, baby are you ok?" sapnap asked. you jumped at the sound of his voice, "sorry, i zoned out, what were you saying." "damn, im not that important to you then that you zoned out." sapnap pouted. "oh shut up you big baby."

"excuse me, don't make me fight you bitch." "sapnap, do you realize i took karate as a kid right?" "that was years ago." "so sapnap, i can still beat your ass with a blindfold." he looked shocked and amazed at the same time. "ok then." he said shyly.

you looked content (like this face 😏), "so what you needed sapnap?' "oh yeahhh, do you want to play minecraft on here?" you were absolutely shit at minecraft, you already tried once, you weren't going to try again. (flashback to the conversation you had with sapnap the first time you ever played minecraft)

"sapnap, how do you move on this thing, this is so complicated" "it's just because your a boomer y/nnn, here, its wasd." "EXCUSE ME SIR IM NOT A BOOMER, APOLOGIZE RIGHT NOW." "NO I WON'T APOLOGIZE, YOU APOLOGIZE." "WHY DO I HAVE TO SAY SORRY, YOU'RE THE ONE WHO WRONGED ME." "AHHHHHH" you guys are so weird :/ /j

"no, im not, im shit at it, you made fun of me plenty of times, no, no times infinity." "come on baby, that was what, like 1 time." "YEAH, ONE TIME TO MANY." "pwease, for me." he whispered. you looked at his pouty face and didn't crack (MOMMA DIDNT RAISE NO SOFTY /j). "ok then, but the second you make fun of me, i will beat you up so bad that-" sapnap interrupted you, "THANK YOU SO MUCH BABE, but i wont guarantee that i won't make fun of you." he got up, put you in his chair, and standed behind you. "now y/n, the last time you played, you sucked absolute balls, so NOW i will guide you through everything, yaknow, be your sensei." you made a straight face, and looked behind you, seeing him look at you as well.

you had a staring contest. both eyes were locked, eyes squinting, trying to withstand the others. his blinked first, "YES I WON, WHAT'CHA GONNA DO SNAPCHAT, WHAT'CHA GONNA DO?"

"just forget everything that happened in the last 10 seconds, let's do this thing." he guided you towards everything, like moving around, crafting, fighting zombies and skeletons, and even breaking blocks. you were doing fairly well, but there was one, no two, no three things you absolutely sucked shit at that you HAD to master. one was mlg watering, two was building a nether portal, and the last was fighting the ender dragon.

you goal was to beat the game and make new records ;), well, you did, but not without some challenges.

1. mlg water

you crafted a bucket and went to the nearest river/sea. you filled up the water bucket. "hey sapnap, what do we do next?" "next, my darling y/n, we shalt try to mlg." "so what do we do?" "we first, tower up." you pulled out your stacks of blocks, and stacked all the way up to the sky. "so what do i do next?"

"so pull out your water bucket, and then when you almost hit the ground, place the water on you." you jumped of the tower, and failed mlg. it was so ridiculously bad, that goddamn satan wouldn't let you in hell for that little stunt. "NOOO, WHAT THE FUCK, I PLACED IT BELOW ME." "You didn't do it good enough." "SHUT THE FUCK UP SAPNAP."

2. nether portal

obviously if you failed mlg, you would SUCK at making nether portals. "since you fucking sucked at mlg, lets try making a nether portal, it's kinda easier, but still hard. so what you do is make that shape there" "oh no, do it there." "nooo y/n, you're doing it wrong, do it that way."

you made a nether portal, but you obviously messed up, there was cobblestone everywhere. you pickaxed it, but that didn't come with a good thing. "NOOOO, FUCK, WHY WAS THERE LAVA." yeah, that's right, under the cobblestone was lava, and you fell in it, barely salvaging any of your items. well that attempt went horribly

3. ender dragon

after getting to the nether, getting blaze rods and converting them into blaze powder, trading with hoglins to get ender pearls, not having enough ender pearls from the hoglins, killing endermen and dying from them while getting ender pearls, crafting eye of enders, finding the stronghold, placing the eye of enders in the stronghold frame, while dying along the way, you finally got into the end.

finally all this suffering and mocking from sapnap would end, and you would finally beat the game. but, obviously, with you having little to no minecraft skills, it came with A BUNCH of problems, like destroying the crystals, making sure you wouldn't anger endermen, avoiding the dragon of dealing damage to you, and flying into the void.

1. destroying the crystals

sapnap ordered you, "use your bow to destroy the crystals." you aren't and weren't no minecraft god, so you couldn't destroy all the crystals, but you did one of them tho 👍

so he gave you another try, to use blocks to climb the side of the pillars, and destroy the crystals that way. you died, to put it shortly and bluntly. "AHHHH," you screamed. you got exploded by the crystals. that happened with EVERY. SINGLE. CRYSTAL you happened to try to destroy.

but eventually, you destroyed all the crystals.

2. endermen

after you destroyed the crystals, you had the task off not angering the endermen by eye contact. that went horribly wrong. sapnap had the courage to tell you that you couldn't look them in the eyes, and that you would anger them if you would. "WHY ARE THEY CHASING ME," you shouted. "y/nn calm down, just kill the ones that are angry at you."

"WHAT DO YOU MEAN, ALMOST ALL OF THEM ARE CHASING ME." you overaggerated. "no, it's almost 3 dude, just kill them."

you killed them, and then you had the task of the dragon.

3. the dragon dealing damage

sapnap took control of shooting the dragon in the air with the bow and arrows. when the dragon would come down to the middle, you would hit their head (im doing the enderdragon as nonbinary, yaknow, they are a lesbian, nonbinary lesbians are vaild :D).

4. the void

the last thing you had trouble with in the end was the void. the darkless pit that leads to nothing except death. the dragon was throwing you around like a little puppet, you doing nothing except being flung around the place. "FUCK, FUCK YOU DRAGON," you screeched. the dragon was getting on your last nerve.

after all the trouble,and death, you finally beat the dragon. "YESSS, YESS, FUCK YOUR DRAGON, SUCK ON MY 10 IINCH DICK." sapnap cheered you on through your little victory speech. "bye chat, imma stop streaming now, since it has been 6 hours, we need to go to sleep." "bye, chat, love you guys."

you and sapnap ended the stream, feeling exhausted. you went to do your skin care routine, and found sapnap waiting for you in bed. "how was the stream y/n, did you enjoy it?" "yeah, i enjoyed it, only the dying part i hated."

"it's ok, babe, we can try it another time, maybe next time you won't die as much, at least you made a new record."

"what record sap?"

"the record of dying the most in minecraft." you slapped him around his head, not finding his joke funny. "hey, don't hit me, i'm fragile."

"sorry you big baby." you responded. you both got under the blanket, and snuggled (i don't know why, but the word snuggled is enchanting), huddling together, and basking in each others warmth. even if you died 4,234 times in minecraft, at least you had your favorite person at your side while doing it.

[beeexx]

The missing Tarlos scenes from 2x06

Word count: 4.8    Read on ao3

.......

“You know you need to tell him this, right?”

“No, no, I really don’t.” TK protests loudly, by banging the frozen bag of chickens into the counter, hoping they will shake loose with the excess force he is using. Carlos lifts an eyebrow from where he is standing in boxers and an old tank top, too much skin on display for it to be good for TK’s health, cutting onions into small, stupidly neat pieces on the chopping board. 

“TK….” Carlos begins, in that voice of his and TK turns around, eyes flashing.

“Carlos.” 

Carlos huffs.

“Babe, this is clearly bothering you, and taking it out on our poor dinner isn’t ideal.” He points out.

“Oh, sure Carlos, I’ll just tell my dad that him having another kid is a terrible idea because I’m a prime example of how they messed up with the first one.”

“TK…” 

“Oh and while I’m at it I might as well bring up how I am feeling about it and make it all about myself like I always do, that ought to go down really well.” He snaps and Carlos sighs. 

“You don’t make everything about yourself.” TK lifts an eyebrow and Carlos snorts. “Okay, sometimes you do, but often not without a legit reason and this is definitely a situation I feel you’re entitled to feel whatever it is that you’re really feeling and express that.” 

“Okay, well if we’re on the subject of telling parents what we really think then why don’t you take a page out of your own book and tell your parents that you have a boyfriend, oh, or better yet, the way you’ve been feeling for years about them refusing to acknowledge that you’re gay.” As soon as the words leave his mouth TK regrets them and he winces at the wounded look Carlos sends his way at his harsh words.

Fuck. 

“That’s not the same thing.” Carlos mutters, he sounds bitter about it and were it not for the deeply thoughtful look also making its way across his features TK would take the words back immediately.

“I could have gone about that differently, sorry…. But, but isn’t that exactly the same thing as this is though.” 

“We were talking about you.” Carlos points out in an attempt to deflect and TK just chooses to let it go because he doesn’t have the energy to have an argument about two different things at the moment. His head is enough of a mess as it is. 

“My point still stands, talking to your parents about all the ways they have hurt you is fucking hard, okay?”

“Yes, okay I will agree with you on that.”

“And if you really want to make this all about me this time then fine. Try telling my dad, Owen Strand, Captain of the 126, adored by his crew, envied by even more, hero, cancer survivor, the list could go on for a long time Carlos, yes try telling that person that oh yeah by the way dad you neglected me as a child and now I have both abandonment issues, self esteem issues and a constant fear that no one is ever going to love me because I am not worthy of it, that will go down real well.” 

He hits the bag three more times against the counter and lets out a triumphant sound as the frozen chickens finally rattle loose inside and he turns to hold it up to Carlos, a sly little smile at the corner of his lip, because his tactic did work even though Carlos had doubted it would. Carlos isn’t smiling though, he’s frowning, concern written all over his face, eyebrows pinched together and TK drops the bag in confusion.

“What?”

Carlos puts the knife down and takes the bag from TK, throwing it lazily, without looking in the direction of the kitchen sink before he steps up close, wrapping his arms around TK and pulling him close. TK lets out a huff of air, taken aback by the fierceness of the action. 

“I hate it when you do this to yourself…” Carlos starts and TK sighs, wraps his arms around him back and nods against Carlos’ neck, can’t help but breathe him in, feeling the calming effect of it already working through his system. 

“Sorry.”

“No, no don’t apologise.” Carlos leans back and TK looks up to meet his stormy eyes. He opens his mouth but he isn’t sure what to say. 

“I love you, okay? So much and I wish I could hit that into your thick skull sometimes but I can’t, so I’m just going to have to spend every day in this relationship proving that you are indeed worthy of love and no past damage or mistakes will change that, okay?” TK can only nod, his throat suddenly thick with emotions he doesn’t know how to express.

“With that said, you’re not very good at keeping things bottled up, especially not for a long time and especially not something this big, so you should probably really think about what you actually feel about this whole situation before you choose to do that.”

“Judd said I was jealous.”

“Jealous?”

“Yeah, something about me wanting to push the baby down a well or something because I couldn’t handle not being the only child anymore.”

“He said what now?” TK chuckles at Carlos’ incredulous look and he shrugs.

“It was some biblical reference I don’t know. Prodigal son?” 

“Oh, like Cain and Abel, like a lesser known older brother and the jealousy that stems from it because it’s natural to resent the baby because you’re scared it’s going to take your place.” Realisation dawns on Carlos’ face and his eyes light up like they always do when he gets to talk about things he knows, which at times is a surprisingly big amount of random shit.

“Yeah, yeah, exactly that.” TK says sarcastically, gives Carlos a curious look.

“What? I read.” He shrugs and smirks proudly. TK hums. ”Well Judd is good at a lot of things, maybe giving advice isn’t his forte.”

“And yours is?” TK lifts a challenging eyebrow. 

“I am an excellent advice giver, I’ll have you know. The issue isn’t me, the issue is everyone else and no one listening to what I’m saying.”

“Oh, so you have a lot of experience then, giving advice?” TK bites down his smile as Carlos glares without heat.

“I chased Michelle around for years when she was getting in trouble searching for her sister. I definitely have a lot of experience.” TK chuckles and leans up to kiss his nose. It wrinkles adorably and TK’s heart tugs in his chest. He loves Carlos so much.

“I love you too, so much. And I’m sorry for bringing up your parents again, that wasn’t nice of me.” TK apologizes and Carlos nods and watches back with quiet brown intense eyes.

“It’s okay, you were right though.” He grudgingly admits. 

“Maybe, but there is no pressure, as I’ve said you can take all the time in the world that you need to figure it out and I’ll support you either way.” He promises and Carlos gives him a soft beautiful smile.

“Thanks.” Carlos whispers, grateful and TK nods, and gently starts scraping his knuckles against Carlos’ scalp, pulling at his curls in a way that makes his face soften immediately, eyes falling shut in contentment and his arms tighten around TK, breathing heavily. His reaction tells TK that Carlos feels really comforted by the way he is touching him and that he needed it more than he let on.

TK has always responded well to touch, Carlos picked up on that a lot quicker than most, but it’s also not uncommon for Carlos to like it as well. He just doesn’t always express it, so TK’s taken to doing it when he senses it’s something Carlos needs, while not always being aware of it himself. It’s these small gestures TK’s learnt, that you do for the other person and that they do for you that love really is. 

Carlos’ eyes are closed and he’s letting out soft sounds of pleasure, it’s distracting as hell, and it’s making it even more difficult being this close to him and not kissing him, so TK does because he feels he can’t not do it, and angles Carlos’ head down and captures his lips in a searing hot kiss. As always when they kiss like this, starting out soft, but then growing with intention and heat, the slowburn of arousal starts to make its way through his veins, electric energy flooding his system. Only Carlos has this effect on him. 

When Carlos reaches to grab at his hair and then bites at his lip it makes TK whine and chase after him when he moves back. 

“Dinner, remember?” Carlos reminds him, but with his curls standing up unruly and his pupils dark with want, it’s very hard for TK to remember the reason why he can’t skip dinner all together and eat Carlos out instead. Carlos huffs and his hands tighten around his sides like he can read TK’s mind.

“After dinner.”

“Is that a promise?” TK asks slyly. 

“Yes.” Carlos reassures and the slow self satisfied grin tugging at his lips is fucking obscene and TK cheekily grabs his ass in retaliation. Carlos knows the effect he has on him. 

“You know cooking in boxers can be a fire hazard.” He points out.

“Good thing I know an excellent firefighter then.” He says and kisses TK hard on the lips before he steps away, walking back to his mostly finished chopped up onions, giving TK a very nice view of his ass in the black tight boxers he’s wearing. God, his boyfriend is hot as fuck.

The rest of the evening is so nice in fact that for a moment he doesn’t think about his parents or the baby, or anything other than how much he loves Carlos and how lucky he is to really have him in his life.

…….

TK unlocks the door to Carlos’ place, throws the bag towards what he hopes is the direction of the shoes, and puts his keys down in the bowl by the door, where Carlo’s are already lying. He steps inside and almost jumps out of skin when he sees his boyfriend sitting on the stairs, frowning and very clearly waiting for him. Most of the lights are off and it casts his features into stunning relief, even when angry, Carlos is too good looking for his own good.

“So, you heard?” TK gulps and Carlos nods.

“Yes, yes I did hear, from the group chat, but not just that, every goddamn news station in the state is covering how two firefighters jumped through a minefield to save two boys that were hurt.”

“Well, only one of them was hurt.” TK shuts his mouth when Carlos levels him with a deeply unimpressed look and he takes a slow step forward and tries again.

“In my defense, I am certified and I was qualified to do it.” TK stops, draws in a sharp breath, backtracks. “Are you mad?” 

Carlos lets out a deep breath, and his features soften slightly before he shakes his head, scrubs a hand through his face and when he looks up his eyes are wide and sad.

“No, no, of course I’m not mad. Just extremely worried.”

“Oh?” TK asks, feels confused, scrambling to catch up with the change, having been expecting that Carlos would be upset with him. Carlos huffs and opens his arms and it’s all TK needs for him to take a few steps forward before he sits down between Carlos’ legs, wrapping his arms around his neck, pulling him close. Carlos plants a kiss in his hair, and tightens his grip around TK, almost unconsciously starts stroking his hands down his back and TK lets him, can’t push away the guilt that’s come on so strong, mixing badly with the elevation he’s also feeling after the day he’s had. But when his boyfriend reacts like this it can’t help but leave an acid taste in his mouth too.

“I’m not sure whether I want to never let you leave my arms ever again or brag to everyone that I am for sure dating a hero.” Carlos says and were it not for the slight tremor of his voice that he tries to conceal, TK would laugh. 

“I wouldn’t mind never leaving your arms.” He admits because it sounds appealing, especially now, when adrenaline is starting to make way to exhaustion instead. 

Carlos huffs. 

“You’d get bored after a day or two.” He points out and TK shakes his head.

“You underestimate the excellent sex we do have, I’m sure I could be convinced for three days or so.” Carlos laughs, but then one of his hands wrap around TK’s wrist, feeling out his pulse, comforted by the steady thumping of it. TK lets him, allowing himself after the hectic day he’s had to tuck his face into the crook of Carlos’ shoulder and neck to breathe him in. They both have different ways of calming themselves down when the other one is near and on certain days they need it a little more than on others. 

“Your pulse is beating insanely quick.” Carlos points out after a while and TK hums against Carlos’ neck, gives himself a moment before he detaches himself slightly so he can look at him. 

“Adrenaline.” He shows Carlos his hand that’s still trembling slightly and Carlos’ eyebrow pinch in concern.

“I’m sorry -” TK begins because he really does hate it when Carlos is sad but Carlos shakes his head and interrupts. 

“No, no, this is on me. I know you have a dangerous job that sometimes requires that you take risks, I just wish they didn't have to be this big, a minefield, that’s just insane.” TK nods, he understands.

“But also really cool.” He can’t help but let slip out, eyes alive in excitement and smirking. Carlos snorts and pokes his nose, a little hard maybe, but only a little.

“Yes and designed to give me a goddamn heart attack, you know I’m not even 30, by this rate I’ll be going grey before I hit 35.” He points out, gives TK a look that speaks volumes about how offended Carlos seems to be over that. He laughs and reaches for Carlos’ hair, tugging gently on it.

“I think you’d suit grey really well to be fair.” Carlos wrinkles his nose in distaste and it’s so adorable that he can’t help but laugh again and Carlos distaste slowly melts into something much softer and he sticks his tongue out instead like a mature 26 year old that he is. “And if we’re pointing fingers, remember that hostage situation a while back where an office was shot and I thought it was you because you wouldn’t answer your phone?” Carlos winces and he looks momentarily guilty about that because TK had been so fucking worried he could barely even do his job that day and when Carlos hadn’t answered by the time they were both off shift TK had lost it a little bit. 

“Not my finest moment.” Carlos admits.

“No, so don’t go pointing fingers.” But he’s mostly joking even though that day had been scary as fuck, he so very much understands Carlos’ worry today, he really does. Carlos hums.

“How was it then?” He asks and TK bites at his lip, trying to figure out how to word everything. He turns towards Carlos and sits up on his knees, bringing him eyelevel with him and wraps his arms around his neck. Immediately Carlos’ hands come to rest on his waist, his fingers slipping underneath TK’s jumper to trace skin. 

“It was incredible, well the minefield aside which was scary for sure, but after that I’ve been feeling like I’ve been on this incredibly long lasting high ever since.” Carlos lifts an eyebrow at the metaphor and TK shrugs sheepishly. 

“Yeah, but it’s an apt metaphor for the feeling. I guess I haven’t felt good like that in a while.”

“No?” Carlos asks and there is no trace of judgement or anything in his voice, just kind and curious eyes looking at him. TK nods.

“The only other times I’ve felt this kind of high is you know actually getting high and when I’m with you, I guess the job’s been missing that spark for a while.” Carlos smiles and leans forward to plant a kiss on his nose.

“I’m not totally sure about comparing this relationship to a high.” He points out and TK snorts.

“I’m not, I’m comparing the feeling. Being with you is like pure happiness you know? I feel, just, like I’ve never felt before and even when it’s tough it’s worth it because I love you so much and I know deep down that you love me too and I never don’t want to spend my time with you, so yeah, the feeling is addictive for sure. I really just love you.” He goes quiet and Carlos' eyes have softened and he’s met by a look of pure love and a breathtakingly beautiful smile breaks across Carlos’ face before he pulls TK close and kisses him softly and slowly, making TK’s toes curl inside of his shoes. 

“Fuck.” Carlos whispers against his lips. “I love you too, so much.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Carlos says with adoring eyes and voice full of love before he runs his hand through TK’s hair and gently pulls him close, kissing him hard on his lips again. It’s TK who pulls back though making Carlos lift an eyebrow in surprise because it’s unexpected for TK to be the one to do this, so before TK can chicken out he blurts out the words.

“But I might have done something stupid…”

“Oh?” Carlos asks, amusement dancing in his eyes like he’s totally expecting it. 

“Yeah, I might have handed in my resume to Vega for the position to become a paramedic.” He rushes the words out, hates the silence between them and can’t help but feel ridiculously nervous all of a sudden waiting for Carlos' reaction. Carlos opens and closes his mouth a few times then shakes his head.

“Okay, wait, I think you need to back up a few steps here so I can follow.” He says, confusion evident in his eyes. But he’s giving TK an encouraging look at TK takes in a deep breath.

“The minefield was not fun and the thought of what could have happened to me and my dad while out there was really scary. I’m not trying to take massive risks anymore, not when I have you to come home to.” Carlos smiles, lovingly, and gives him an encouraging look spurring TK on. “But I knew someone had to get to the kid and with the help of my dad and Vega that I could do something about it, so I volunteered. And the elevation afterwards, that all came from saving the kid. It just… it felt really good to save someone, to be the one to actually do it.” TK confesses loudly for the first time since his shift ended and he in the spur of the moment added his name to the pile in Vega’s office, and saying it makes him feel a little calmer than he has ever since walking off the field. 

“Oh, okay.” Carlos says, not fully understanding yet what TK is trying to say, and yet being so patient with him, waiting for TK to figure it out. 

“I don’t know, I sometimes feel like I’m not doing enough in the field, like I could do more... and while I also know that’s not the case because every day we all go out in the field doing our best together. But I think I’ve been carrying this with me for a while now, it’s just that this year has been a lot, and even when there is a pandemic going on people still forget to turn their stove off, and they get into car accidents or have their cats escape up in trees unable to come down. The world hasn’t stopped, it’s been moving and I’ve been moving with it without having the time to reflect a lot on myself and the job. But today, I don’t know, I felt like something just clicked while out there and when I could really help him...I guess, I really liked doing it.” TK blushes because he’s been ranting and he’s averted his eyes but they move back to Carlos by their own accord and Carlos’ eyes have cleared from all earlier confusion, instead understanding has taken over and he nods his head thoughtfully.

“And that’s why you handed in your resume? Because you want to continue doing it?” Carlos fills in and TK nods biting his lip.

“D-do you… Do you think it’s a good idea?”

“It’s not up to me to tell you what to do babe, but you know what?”

“What?” TK asks, hanging onto every word he’s saying. 

“I think you’d be good at it.”

“Yeah?” He asks, hopeful, and Carlos smiles.

“Of course, you’d be amazing at it, if it’s what you want.”

“It is yes, it’s what I want.” TK says with certainty. It’s just clicked, like all that has been shaking loose and upended recently inside of him finally settle a little more.

“Then yes, it’s an amazing idea. You’re going to be so good.” Carlos grins and TK melts because while he doesn’t depend on Carlos’ approval for this it’s so nice to see him be actually happy for him.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Carlos promises and TK releases the breath he wasn’t aware he’d been holding and his own face breaks into a relieved smile. 

“I think I could be good at it too.” He confesses a little shyly and Carlos beams and pulls TK slightly forward, his forehead resting on his and everything just settles for TK because nothing beats this, nothing beats Carlos. 

“I’m proud of you.” Carlos says and TK can’t bite down the smile. But it falls off his face after a moment and he moves back, looks a little unsure again.

“I might have done something else that wasn’t very smart.” Carlos huffs, lifts an eyebrow, so ever patient with him.

“What did you do now?”

“I didn’t tell my dad…” He trails off and Carlos grimaces but then a look of determination takes over and he shrugs before he gently grasps TK’s face between his hands, stroking a thumb lovingly along his cheek.

“Well, you know what I think?” TK shakes his head. “I think it’s not any of his business really.”  

That surprises TK to be honest and he lifts an eyebrow.

“W-what? I mean really?”

“Yeah, I mean maybe you should have told him before you just went and did it, but it’s your life and not his. And as long as you’re not doing it for someone else then it’s not really his choice to make.”

“I’m doing it for me, it’s what I want.” Carlos’ lip lifts in a proud smile and he nods.

“Good.”

“But, what if he’s not happy?”

“I don’t think he will be unhappy, maybe a little surprised and maybe give him a moment. But if he knows you like I do, then he will realise it’s a good thing.”

“Okay, I hope so.” TK musters up a wane smile, still can’t push away the spikes of anxiety about the conversation he’s going to have to have with his dad. But it can wait, for a little while at least. 

“You know Vega is going to bust your ass right?” Carlos jokes, eyes full of mirth, smirking and TK snorts.

“Yeah, yeah I know.”

“I remember when Michelle started training under her, the stories she would tell me, Vega is badass and she taught Michelle who is also a badass, I’m expecting she’s going to do the same to you.”

“I’m already a badass.” TK reminds him and Carlos chuckles. 

“True, I think she will do you some good though. Challenge you and allow you to really thrive under her, she has that effect on people.” TK nods.

“It’s a tough job…”

“Yeah, but as you said, you’re already a badass, you’re going to do great.”

“It will be nice to be the paramedic, rather than calling one.” TK says and it grows a little more serious between them. 

“I mean -” TK clears his throat at Carlos’ silence. “I have experience of being on the other end and I know what it’s like being helped. I guess a part of me is looking forward to doing the helping.”

“I see, well you care so much about people and if you get a chance to show that, to show them this.” Carlos' hands move to cover TK’s heart and it flutters in his chest, warmth spreading to every cell of his body and he smiles shyly. “Then, well, you’re going to be very good at it.” TK bites his lip and nods.

“It feels… I don’t know, just right.”

“Good, that’s amazing.” TK doesn’t know what to say but he’s grateful, more than how he knows to express at the moment but in the way Carlo’s face softens, maybe he can read between the lines.

“Have you talked to Owen about the baby yet?” TK groans, can’t help but glare, the moment between them broken suddenly, like a bucket of ice cold water has been thrown at him, and he moves his head away, hiding in the crook of Carlos’ shoulder and neck and nibbles at his skin making Carlos chuckle, twitching in his arms.

“No, not yet…” He says though, voice muffled by Carlos’ skin. 

“Well, do you want to talk about it?” TK sighs but takes his head away and meets Carlos’ eyes. 

“I feel… I mean I am happy for them of course but...” He bites at his lip, hard and Carlos reaches forward with his thumb to gently stroke it over the swollen redness making TK stop the action. He takes in a deep breath instead.

“But they always do this, and I don’t even think they are realising it, but they get so single-minded and focused on themselves that they forget everything else. The fighting isn’t fun, I’ve been in the middle of it and I know how lonely and unwanted you can feel when it happens. What they’re doing, it feels like they are just falling into the same patterns as before without even realising that they are, and it’s not going to last if they do it that way.” 

Carlos looks thoughtful and TK feels annoyed and frustrated because he can’t help but think it makes his parents feel so irresponsible and it’s hard to come to terms with that because his parents in their own right are extremely competent people, it’s just when together, they aren’t always. 

“I support you, I always will and your feelings here are valid and to be worried is honestly a sign of growth.” Carlos begins.

“Oh, you're calling me mature, that’s unusual.” TK jokes, changing the subject.

“I mean you’re definitely a hot mess, a terrible terrible driver for sure.” Carlos easily fires back.

“God, did Judd text you?”

“And filmed some of it. This is why I’m never letting you drive my baby.”

“Hold on, I thought I was your baby, and here I find out you have someone else on the side?” Carlos’ arms tighten around him, biting his lip, the smile threatening to take over. 

“What can I say, I really like that car and I paid a lot of money for it.”

“It’s a terrible car for making out in.” TK reminds him and Carlos smirks, reminded of the few times they’ve gotten frisky in it. 

“True, still not letting you drive it.” He teases and TK glares. 

“Rude.”

“Maybe, but I care too much about the possibility of my greying hairs to get here sooner than I’d like to, to get into a car where you are driving us.”

“Well I might be a paramedic soon, so at least you'd be with someone where your odds are fractionally better if you were to get in an accident.”

“Still not letting you drive it Strand.”

“Worth a shot.” TK laughs and Carlos smiles.

“So, do you want dinner or?”

TK shakes his head.

“No, I’m good, but I’m getting too old to sit on my knees like this.” He grumbles and shifts to get the blood running again. Carlos chuckles and makes it all the easier by just scooping him up in his arms. TK yelps and Carlos grins, delighted by the sound. TK wraps his legs around Carlos’ waist, tightens his arms around his neck.

“Please don’t drop me.” 

“Wouldn’t dream of it baby.” Carlos reassures grinningly. “So, bed?”

“Bed.” TK agrees.

He lets Carlos carry him up the stairs and into the bedroom, feeling so safe in his arms, that whatever conversation that’s waiting for him tomorrow with his dad, doesn’t matter as much anymore.

[wyn-n-tonic]

Golden, Like Daylight -- Part II

Word Count: 1,846 Warnings: References to drug use. PTSD. Ben Affleck. As always, if I forgot anything please message me and I'll amend this warning. A/N: Protect Francisco Morales at all goddamn costs, honestly. 

MASTERLIST | PART: I | II | III | IV | V | VI | VII | VIII | IX

“Fish?”

He cringes inward at his military nickname, it rips at his heart hearing it drip from his best friend’s mouth now. This man he would die for, almost has died for. None of the others had called him that in years, he insisted on Frankie with them. But he’d barely heard from Santiago, had no way of telling him.

He hears the words he’s saying, same shit he always says:

“I need a pilot. I can’t do this thing without you."

Years of that shit pulling him into another tour here. A deployment there. Again and again. Long after he served his sentence and was free to go.

“I don’t know, man. I got the new baby now,” he beams. Santi didn't know Luna and all Frankie wanted to do was tell him about her but he holds back, opting instead for, “And my lady isn’t into my doing this kinda shit anymore.”

He looks back at Will, a knowing look exchanged between the two. He is begging for his brother to step in, say something. Save him. He’s throwing Leah under the bus but, fuck it, it’s true. She isn’t into him doing this kinda shit anymore. And she wasn’t the biggest fan of Santi, always coming up with shit to get the rest of the boys into.

“Wha—what does that mean?”

Frankie lets out a breath he feels like he’s been holding all day and stands, knowing he’ll start shaking if he doesn’t. The knee bouncing is getting out of hand but he was hesitant to seek out anti anxiety medication while detoxing. He’d just sweat it all out anyway. Santiago’s droning on behind him, hell bent on staving off rejection.

“Did you read the text? This can change you and that baby’s life forever.”

Leave it to Santi to exclude Leah, he wasn’t necessarily her biggest fan either. But to just gloss right over her? Didn’t even fucking ask Luna’s name.

He crosses his arms, “What happened to that bullshit about going back to your mother’s homeland and empowering the people to police themselves?”

Santiago stares him down, a power grab of a laugh escaping him.

“Anyway, I lost my license. I can’t even fly right now.” Please just drop it, please just drop it, please just drop it.

Benny’s wrapping his knuckles. William’s looking between the two. And Santiago? Santiago is closing the space between them.

“I don’t need a pilot with a license, I’m in with the army down there,” he says as if that makes things better. It doesn’t. He knows it, Frankie knows it, the Millers know it. But if there’s one thing Santiago Garcia gets, it’s his fucking way.

“Yeah, I don’t think so.” Frankie’s firm, he’s not fucking doing it this time. He’s worked too goddamn hard on everything. Built a life out of rubble and was this close to pissing it away, he’s not gonna seal the deal on Leah’s promise to go.

Santi paces, frustrated, “Lorea is destroying that country. So we get to take out a very bad man, and, oh, by the way, there’s a winning lottery ticket stuck to the bottom of your cowboy boot.” He says that last bit with a mock tone and he’s smiling, believing he’s got Frankie now. A bit of a tease to rile his best friend up, get him laughing, get him in it. “Every guy in that gym would jump at this.”

“Come on, focus, guys! It’s fight night.” —————

“Hey!” He catches up with Santi in the hall, “I didn’t mean to call your shit bullshit.”

He didn’t, really. He knows where Santiago’s coming from but he can’t be the one in the thick of it anymore.

Another of those cool, indignant laughs, “It's all right.”

“I got busted,” Frankie says coolly, like he’s letting you know he left the light on, “it’s not a big deal.”

Santi’s head snaps to the right.

“Actually,” the taller of the two continues, “It's a big deal.”

“Coke?” Santiago’s trying not to let Frank’s addiction shock him, scoffing, “Jesus, Frankie.”

“Technically, it’s a suspension, I’m still under review but… it fucked everything up with Leah. I’ve been detoxing in Will’s spare room for weeks.”

“You’re telling me she didn’t know before the suspension? I don’t buy that.” Frankie tried to ignore the venom in his words.

“No, she knew. We’ve been in couple’s counseling while I’ve been getting clean, she said she didn’t know it was as often as it was. Just thought it was a hit here and there.”

“So things are good still?”

Frankie takes a deep breath, “We seem to have gotten back to good but that’s not where I wanna be, Pope. I wanna be great.” He looks to Santi and then Will, “What about you? What are you gonna do?”

There was no doubt in the world where Benny stood. He’d follow Santiago into hell. He pretty much had on more than one occasion but Benny always was a wildcard. Will was too calculated for that bullshit, he needed a plan. He needed foundation under his feet, not just charisma and Frankie would follow him. Frankie owed him his life. Will was the one to convince Frankie to hang it up. The one putting a half dead Frankie in cold showers and pumping his fucking stomach on no sleep. Will was the one Leah called when Frankie got too close to the edge. His brother, Luna’s godfather.

“I said if Redfly’s in, I’m in.”

Fuck! Fucking Tom. Frankie takes his hat off, adjusts his hair. I fucking hate Tom. —————

“Tom is not in our wedding,” Leah glared down the kitchen island at Frankie, arguing again about the goddamn wedding party. She didn’t even want it anymore. Had thrown her hands up, on more than one occasion, and begged to just run down to the courthouse.

And it all circled back to Tom fucking Davis.

“We served together for ten years, Leah! It’s a bit fucked up to have the rest of the boys up there in tuxes, Tess as our flower girl and Tom is,” he flails his hands out, “Three rows back with that one coworker who brings you coffee every Friday.”

“Bold of you to assume I’d let Tom sit that close to the altar, Francisco Morales. And next to Alexa? She is my angel and Tom Davis will be nowhere near her, do you understand me?”

“Then marry Alexa, babe!”

Leah put her hands on her hips, “Bitch, I might.”

He breaks and laughs, lifting his hat to rub at his forehead, “What do you want me to tell him then? You have plenty of friends who could be a fourth bridesmaid.”

“How about you drop Benny too?” She shrugs, “Just keep Will and Santi and I’ll keep my sisters. Two and two.”

He throws the hat on the counter, “YOU LOVE BENNY!”

“You're right, baby,” she laughs, eyes bright. A challenge on the tip of her tongue. "Drop Santi.”

He charges after her, ready for her words, and chases her through the house. Their house. Still nowhere near unpacked after a month and he’s cursing the unintended obstacle course he’s laid out for himself. She’s making quick work of it but, fuck, he’s out of shape.

He runs up the stairs, back screaming with every step as he gains on her. It helps his legs are much longer than hers.

She makes it to the bedroom, spinning to close the door but he grabs her before she can, pinning her down with all his weight. She insisted on the nicest sheets they could find and almost never made the bed, preferring to fall right into the softness without much work.

He ran his hand down her body, drumming his fingers in a soft rhythm until he reached her thigh, hitching it over his hip.

Her heart was still racing from the chase but Frankie felt it tick upwards as he placed his lips on her neck.

“Francisco,” she whined, “we can’t do this right now. We have to do grown up things.”

He smiles into the soft skin, “this is grown up things.”

“You know what I mean.”

He looks up at her, “hmm…” He’s got her right where he wants her, none the wiser as he reaches down to her knee and—

“Frankie, what are you doing?” Her voice comes out an octave higher, panic in her eyes pleading with him not to when the corner of his mouth crooks upwards and—

He digs his fingers into the soft flesh at the bend of her knee, smile blown wide as she screams out like a hyena.

“Stop! Stop!” She laughs through labored breaths, “baby, it was just a joke.”

“You're not funny,” he lulls with a kiss.

“Let’s get one thing straight,” her eyes filled with hurt and conviction, “I'm hilarious so… ya know, jot that down.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“But Tom fucking Davis is not in our wedding or I swear to god, Francisco Morales, I will call the whole goddamn thing off. It is my day and I’m not having his big Irish head in my wedding photos for the rest of my life.”

He laughs again, “Fine. But what should I tell him?”

“Tell him I fucking hate him.”

“You don’t hate anybody, baby, I don’t think you’ve got that in your heart. Be serious with me, please. What do I tell him?”

“Tell him,” she thinks for a second, because she absolutely does have the capacity for hate in her heart, “that I can’t choose amongst my friends for a fourth bridesmaid and so I just want to keep the party small with only my sisters.”

He seems satisfied by that, nodding his head. “But I am keeping Santi.”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

“But…”

Her stare is like daggers, “I’m not talking about Tom anymore.”

“No. No, it’s not that,” he’s laughing, his life is all laughter now. “I just still think we should set Pope up with Kristyn.”

She’s pushing out from under him, sitting up for the higher ground. Her finger is in his face, her words are measured, “If Santiago Garcia even so much as looks at my little sister, I will do what so many have tried and failed to do before.”

“And what's that, sweetheart?”

“I will kill him.”

The whole bed is shaking with his laughter now, “You're right, baby, you’re hilarious.” —————

Will’s in front of them now, hands on his knees, “What's the verdict?”

Tom looks at Frankie, then to Will, “I'm in for the recce if you guys are.”

The world goes quiet, replaced by a high pitched ringing in Frankie’s ear as he downs the world’s shittiest beer.

Fuck.

“Fish?” Santiago’s voice cuts clear through, always had.

Frankie lowers the plastic cup, “When is it?”

“We leave Thursday.”

Fuck.

Again, he lets go of a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding, staring off into the ring. Staring off at nothing and everything.

“Okay.”

This could change his family’s life forever.

Fuck.

TAGLIST: @justanotherblonde23 | @greeneyedblondie44 | @icanbeyourjedi | @notcookiebelle | @princess76179​ | @bbuckysbeardd​

[holylulusworld]

Comfort Zone

This is my entry to @negans-lucille-tblr​‘s awesome 5k senses challenge. Congratulations to your milestone, hun.

Prompt: There’s nowhere your hands haven’t been

Sense: TASTE - Your fic must include oral sex

Summary: You always played on the safe side, stayed in your comfort zone, and dated the less wild brother. What happens when the other brother turns up on your doorstep with not so good intentions?

Pairing: Demon!Dean x Reader, Sam x Reader (brief)

Warnings: angst, language, dirty talk, blow job, cocky demon Dean, cheating, smut, unprotected sex, dub con (it’s demon Dean folks), doggy style, hair pulling, mentions of nudes, kidnapping, threats, anal play (barely), degrading (name calling)

Words: 1772

A/N:Divider by @writeyourmindaway

A harsh knock at your door followed by someone growling your name at 2 am makes your body jolt up in your bed. 

Usually, Sam calls to tell you that he is in town and needs a place to sleep or well, to screw your brain out for a few hours. If you get lucky he stays for a few days and it feels like you have a relationship.

Sam and you never put a label on what you are or rather what you are doing when his elder brother is not around.

Dean knows you are Sam’s friend, the one he turns to if they need you to stitch them up or to hide for a few days. The elder Winchester does not know you and Sam like to chase each other naked through your house to screw on any surface.

“OPEN THE DOOR!” the voice grows more impatient and you stumble down the stairs, still dizzy from waking up the harsh way. “NOW!”

“Jesus, Sam,” you snicker, unlocking the door to rip it open. “Do you have your panties in a twist, Winchester?”

“Hello, sweetheart,” not your lover looks down at you, a dirty grin on his lips, but his elder brother.

His eyes roam your body and you suddenly regret you are only in a loose shirt and panties. Somehow he makes you feel unease and you are close to slamming the door into his face when he presses one palm against the wooden door, making you budge.

“Not nice to not invite a friend in,” he gives you a cocky grin when he hands you a red rose, with roots on it.

“What do you want here, Dean?” he is waltzing into your house, acting as if he belongs when you close the door behind him. “Dean, where is Sam?”

“Sammy couldn’t make it so,” Dean steps closer to brush his thumb over your cheek, “I thought I could come around and say ‘hi’ to an old friend. Have a beer and talk about the weather or crap.”

You would lie if you told anyone Dean’s closeness is not intoxicating or that the way he roams your body is more than a friendly look over. 

“Did you get hurt on a hunt again, Winchester? Jesus, take your clothes off and I’ll have a look,” now his eyes darken, and you regret your words. “I mean, to check on the wound.”

“You know, Y/N,” Dean steps closer, gripping your upper arms tight enough to hurt a little, “there’s nowhere your hands haven’t been but,” he slides his hand down your right arm to grip your wrist, pressing your hand to his crotch, “here…”

“DEAN! WHAT THE FUCK!” you would backhand the hunter, but he holds your hand to his crotch, smirking as you can feel his cock twitch. “I am with Sam.”

“Yeah, I know,” he dips his head now, smirking devilishly before his lips silence your protest. “Makes it even hotter when you go down on your knees and touch me where I need you the most.”

“What is wrong with you, Dean? Sam is your brother and even though we are not officially dating or crap he’s kinda my boyfriend,” wiggling in Dean’s grip you look up at the hunter, feeling your legs give in when his eyes flash black. “No, no!”

“Shhh, calm sweetheart,” his arms are around your body to keep you from running away. “I’ll not hurt you or a little to make you feel good.”

“Get out of Dean’s body, monster,” while you try to recite an exorcism Dean thrusts his hips forward, grinding against your hand.

“Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus, omnis satanica potestas, omnis incursio infernalis adversarii, omnis legio, omnis congregatio et secta diabolica.

Ergo, draco maledicte ecclesiam tuam. Secura tibi facias libertate servire, te rogamus, audi nos.”

“That tickled a bit, sweetheart,” Dean smirks moving his hands to your ass to grope it roughly, playing with you. He can see the fear in your eyes, and he cannot deny it, his cock strains painfully against his pants when a tiny whimper leaves your lips. “I can smell your arousal, Y/N. This tight little cunt is dripping for me.”

“No,” you lie, not wanting the demon to know there is a tiny kinky part of you that always wondered how Dean would taste. “I want you to let me go and leave Dean’s body, demon bastard.”

“All me, Y/N. No one is inside this body but me,” he coos, nuzzling your cheek with his face. “I want you to be my good girl, go down on your knees and touch the last part you never gave attention.”

“Dean, please…” you feel his hand twist your panties, making you cry out when the fabric gets ripped off your body. “Don’t…”

“Last warning, sweetheart. Down and open my pants, give me some attention,” Dean fists your shirt, a dark grin on his lips before it falls victim to his strength.

For a moment he admires your tits, the way your chest heaves up and down but soon enough he gropes your breasts, smirking as your arch your back, pressing your hardened nipples into the palms of his hands.

“So responsive. Now on your knees,” the dark look on his face does not accept any argument so you slowly go down on your knees, looking up at Dean with doe eyes.

“Sam can never know,” you whisper, moving your hands over Dean’s muscular thighs, rubbing your cheek against his clothed crotch. The hunter groans, moving his hands to your head to pat it gently. “Promise me.”

“Promised,” with skilled fingers your undo his belt, never breaking eye-contact with the demon your lover’s brother became. “Such a good girl,” you hate his praise leaves you dripping for him but you try to ignore the tingling in your body when you deftly unbutton his pants to shove them roughly down to his ankles.

His cock springs free, slapping against your cheek, smearing pre-cum onto your skin. “Look at you, on your knees, ready to serve me.” He smirks down at you, something sinister in his eyes when you spit into your hand before you reach out for his throbbing length.

For the first time since he came to your house, you have the upper hand as the demon throws his head back, praising you when you slide your thumb over the tip, gathering pre-cum to torturously slow start to run your hand up and down his cock.

“Harder. Faster. Use your goddamn tongue, slut,” Dean fists your hair, giving you a warning look whilst you grip him tighter, pumping him in your hand. Eyes angry you lean closer, darting your tongue out to lick all over the tip.

You earn a hiss from the demon and a smirk when you run your tongue up and down his length, moaning as you like the taste of him.

“Needy slut, ready to take any Winchester dick,” Dean chuckles darkly, watching you finally part your lips further to slowly take him in.

“I bet you’d like to give me a nasty comment but you know what?” his hand fists your hair, to shove you down his length, causing you to choke around him.

Dean doesn’t seem to care, rather enjoys your throat contracts around him, whilst he guides your head up and down his length. “Such a good little fucktoy I found. I bet Sammy would like to have a few pictures.”

You whimper, gripping Dean’s thighs to make him stop but he simply shoves you off his dick to grasp for his phone, snapping a few pictures of you kneeling naked in front of him, chin covered with his slick.

“Turn around, I wanna take a picture of your dripping pussy,” he purrs, kicking his pants off, followed by his shirt hitting the floor. “Now, kitten.”

“No! You promised…” a second later you find yourself throw over his broad shoulder while he hums to himself.

“Look at this...a masterpiece,” you would give Dean a snarky comment, but he used your torn panties as a makeshift gag while he restrained your hands behind your back.

Now your face is pressed into your favorite pillow, your legs spread wide and your cunt, well that treacherous bitch has a grand time getting railed by the demon.

Dean growls low in his throat, almost like a feral animal whilst he watches you submit to him. You gave up to tell him it is wrong to fuck your lover’s brother the moment he buried his face between your thighs.

Both of his hands grip your hips as he kneels behind you, using the grip on your hips to pump harshly into you.

“D…” you whine with every deep thrust, praying the demon will not show any of the pictures to Sam. He’s ruling your body, keeps you under his spell but your mind is racing.

“Yeah, moan for me, kitten. That is much better now,” you can almost hear the smirk in his voice when he feels your walls grip him tightly. “Do you want to cum, kitten? Cum all over my demonic dick?”

Dean smirks, looking at your ass while he uses your body. “I bet you want to, little slut. All this ‘I love Sammy’ was a lie to get dicked down hard by me,” You moan, fighting against the high you can almost taste. If anything, you want at least try to keep your dignity and not cream all over a demon’s dick.

Your pussy has other plans. While your mind tries to fight the pleasure, the coil winds up too fast. Your toes curl and to your shame, you cum all over his length the moment Dean slaps your ass harshly, calling you his whore.

“Did Sammy ever make you grip him that hard? Jesus, you are milking me like a hungry little cum slut,” you hate yourself, even more, when he pokes your tightest hole with his index finger, just slipping the tip in and you cum again, choking out his name.

“That’s a good hole to keep…”

Hours later Dean has you in the backseat, handcuffed, gagged, and angry but still, he is sure you will be his good girl from now on.

Whilst you fight against the handcuffs and try to spit out the gag he made from his boxers, Dean sends one line to it his brother, attaching all the pictures he took of you.

‘If you do not stop looking for me Sammy, my cock is not the only thing I will shove into her body…’

Tags in reblog

[widdlefangs]

mc being jealous towards bobby?

*cracks my knuckles* *cracks my wrist* *cracks my anterior longtitudinal I*  *cracks every bone in my body because we’re going to get PHYSICAL here* 

Upon hearing what she heard in the mean tweets challenge, MC felt the familiar claws of jealousy tapping at her heart.

She watches him from a distance as he happily bakes cupcakes for Lottie. She approached them and he explains to her briefly that Lottie was upset so of course he was kind enough to bake her cupcakes. 

She smiles and supports Lottie as she knew that her friend was hurting 

And honestly, Bobby is so sweet and caring and loving to cheer her up 

Unlike her, who spends her time doubting and angry that he was a good friend. 

She should try to be more like Bobby, who goes out of his way to make cheer people up. She takes a good look at the cupcakes and they look so delicious. 

She was offended when Lottie frowned at them and basically rejected his offer (wtf who would reject such a kind gesture). She was about to tell him how she’d gladly eat those cupca---oop, there he goes chasing after her. 

It stung.

It really did and she was left reeling. A few seconds later she realizes how ridiculous it was that she felt so strongly about what just happened. 

Man, she met Bobby a week ago on a godforsaken tv show. 

She’s known classmates for a whole semester and never talked to them once. He’s practically a stranger.

And yet, she’s shaken to the core at how she feels about him. 

He’ll destroy her. Without him ever even knowing he did. 

So she distances herself, ever so subtly. Not enough to notice. 

And he doesn’t notice. Honestly, he seems ok with whatever she does. Even encourages her to graft on other people. 

If that doesn’t spell “not that into you, babe” she doesn’t know what does. 

Honestly, she was a little thankful when Lucas picked her during the disaster recoupling. If only to see the way he was affected. 

Lucas’ odd attachment to her was new. He would hover over her, hands on her back, fingers entwined, a look in his eye that tells everyone around them, “mine.”

And then Casa Amor happened and what a fool she must have looked like on national telly 

Coming back to the villa expecting Lucas to couple up with that girl so her and Bobby could be single. together.

She didn’t even care about the whole jealousy shit it was silly of her she just misses him so much she aches inside

Only for him to direct the little disappointment he felt towards Marisol of all people.

And he had the audacity to invite Lottie to share a bed with him like she didn’t even exist. 

She’s had it. 

She didn’t see this but Bobby was actually observing her during the whole bed-sharing scene. He wanted to gauge her reaction. 

Her storming off was the sign he needed. 

Letting Lottie take the bed and following her to the roof terrace. 

He found her curled around one of the throw pillows, face buried into it, fingers clutching it he was afraid she’d puncture the fabric

“Lass...” he didn’t know much guilt he felt until he heard how weak his voice sounded. 

She was silent for a moment. Not looking up. Until finally she did and his heart lurched to his throat. 

“I’m done with this, Bobby.” 

Fear. Gut-wrenching fear. The kind of fear that seizes and halts all your bodily functions. That’s what he felt. 

“I’d like to think of myself as a fairly reasonable person so when I get these feelings of irrational jealousy I just want to fucking rip my own lungs out. And i know it’s not your fault, you’re just being a good friend, and at the end of the day, it’s me and my own insecurities that kill me. I hate feeling like this. I hate feeling like a jerk. I hate that I feel so connected to you that I want to keep you all to myself when in truth you have so much love in your heart to give to everyone around you. And I feel like I’m suffocating you and for godsake I met you two weeks ago on a goddamned tv show! You’re practically a stranger and that just makes my feelings all the more fucked up and irrational and I’m just done hating myself, Bobby.” 

He did it. He did the exact opposite of what he wanted. 

“I can’t love you the way you deserve to be loved.” she said, looking into his eyes for the first time since she bid him farewell. 

Guilt. The kind that makes your knees quake. He felt guilt because she was so utterly wrong. He’s not a good person. His actions were deliberate. He deliberately did good deeds for others just to see how she’d react. He deliberately refused to deny the player tweet. He deliberately kept his distance in the relationship, masking his growing feelings with casual playfulness. He deliberately chose to ignore her after casa amor and invited Lottie instead to share a bed with him. He deliberately treated her like everyone else so that it wouldn’t be so apparent how he was spiralling deeper into his feelings for her. And he hated how deeply and quickly he was falling and it’s just like before when he was burned and he never wants to be in that place again. So he deliberately manipulated her into chasing after him. 

He manipulated her. And she was having none of it now. 

Regret. Pure and unfiltered regret. So much so, he felt like throwing up. 

He didn’t know how he ended up curled around her whispering his apologies over and over and over again but he was. 

He apologised over and over and over again until he felt her soft kisses peppering his face. 

That night, they learned the meaning of the word vulnerability. 

And how it was essential to a relationship in order to build trust. They had to be vulnerable enough to love each other the way they deserved. 

Rest assured, Bobby spent the rest of his days assuring her exactly how he feels. 

Which is deep, unencumbered, trusting love. 

I hurt myself writing this. Now I have to wake up with puffy eyes. This turned out to be longer than I expected, man.

[utterlyhopeful-fics]

Love you too.

A/N: This was initially supposed to be smut but my brain went hay wire and ended in angst. More Mayans coming next week! 

MASTERLIST

Also, if I keep tagging you and you’re not interested or want to be tagged; please let know!

Word Count: 2210

Ezekiel Reyes x Reader

Warnings: language, angst, Ez being an asshole, heartbreak, more angst 

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Ezekiel couldn’t resist ogling Y/N from across the overly crowded bar. Cigar smoke filtrated throughout, pool cues ricocheted, and Y/N dawned that brilliant smile of hers. Her candied glimpse combined with her impeccably short dress, and irrevocably sexiness drove Ez to the brink of combustion. Ez perched an elbow against the wood bar top watching Y/N’s hypnotizing demeanor. She shot him a playful glance unwilling to draw her attention elsewhere than from the beautiful man across the room.

Her voice oozed of alcoholic flirtation as she bit her lower lip catching his interest and walking his way.

“Come here often, hotshot?”

There was no denying the sly chuckle that slipped off his lips; “Smooth line. How often does that one actually work?”

Her kittenish nature only stoked his fire lighting a fire in his belly.  

“Well…my boyfriend usually falls for it but he’s kinda into that cutesy bullshit. Come to think of it, you might know him. Tall, dark, and handsome? Ring any bells?”

Her insinuated attitude was driving him crazy. Unbeknownst to Y/N, his cock stirred in the confines of his jeans. She wanted to force his hand, compel to his more dominant side. His blood seethed as his eardrums hummed of desolate waves. Ez bit his tongue to stop the trickle of words begging to slink from his lips.

“Sounds like a sucker. Didn’t think a pretty chica like you to be taken? Such a shame.”

Y/N’s raised an eyebrow in curiosity wondering how much longer she could push him before he turned into putty.

“Now, now. I don’t appreciate you talking shit about my man. It’d be best if you watch yourself.”

Y/N excelled when a challenge presented itself.  Defiance buried in her very pitch as she scooted closer to the man in question. Now elbow to elbow, Y/N rested her cheek against her knuckles coyishly.

“Baby, if you keep smiling like that, my panties will be drenched before we have the chance to do a damn thing about it.”

Leaning closer in;” Please don’t fuck it up.”

“Oh, so you’re admitting I turn you on…make you wet?” There was no hiding the devilish grin cemented on his perfect face.

Her face furiously flushed at his choice words; “Most definitely, E. In all honesty, I’m not wearing underwear because matter of fact just looking at that gorgeous jawline of yours is way too much for my ovaries to handle.”

His tongue met the roof of his mouth creating a tsk sound reverberating from his mouth. Y/N rubbed her thighs together in hopes of alleviating her eccentric inner bits. Y/N pushed her falling tendrils from her face tilting her head his direction. Her hand made quick work caressing her inner breasts as Ez watched her chest beat rapidly.

“Mmmhm, and this girl is hoping her boyfriend just might be able to sneak away from his boys for a minute to properly fuck his girl. But I’d hate to force your hand….”

“I hope you know the punishment that ensues for this behavior baby girl…”

“Oh, so you admit you’ll punish me? God, I’ve been dying for you to fuck me all night. Finally, you got the hint, Prospect.”

Ezekiel chucked at her cleverness. He’d long fallen for the woman before him, but he appreciated the constant challenge she reciprocated time and time again.

“What are you trying to hint at, Y/N?”

“You know exactly what I want and you’re playing coy if you don’t.”

Y/N rested her hand atop his shoulder as his hand perched upon the dip of her luscious hip. Leaning in dangerously close, she trailed sleek kisses against the slick of his neck. Each smooth trailed upwards towards his ear as Y/N leaned in seductively close.

“It’s cute thinking you don’t want to fuck the shit out of me here. Your bashfulness never seizes to amaze me.”

Her hands grazed down his defined abs brutishly stroking the outer layer of his jeans.

“But your dick seems to tell another story.”

Ezekiel gazed around the room watching his brothers too distracted by pool cues and babes to notice their interaction laughing aloud.

“If you haven’t noticed I’m still their bitch boy and I can’t just slip away without someone noticing.”

“Oh, but I promise you won’t have to travel far. The bathrooms are only a few feet away. So, if you’re interested in fucking your super-horny girlfriend, meet me there in five minutes. If not, I’ll just have to do the job myself. But don’t worry, I’ll send you the video.”

“You’re such a goddamn brat, you know that? …” Ez moved his hand grazing his clothed crotch as a moan alluded her.

“Can’t you feel how hard I am for you right now? It turns you on, doesn’t it?”

“Oh yes, dear boyfriend. If you’re bating me then yes, I do want to fuck you here and now.”

“So quick to make demands when you’re in no position to do so. Shit, I can’t wait to nestle so fucking deep within you, to hear you begging for me. Someone needs to fuck the brat outta ya.”

“Oh, it’s so cute you think I’ll beg. My pussy is your haven, don’t forget that.”

Y/N added just an inch of space between their sweltering bodies unwilling to give into him so easily.

“So, I’ll take your erect cock as a yes. You know where I’ll be…”

Y/N walked by him dripping in her own seductive nature. Ez reached towards her gripping her arm in exchange; “You have no idea what I want to do to you.”

“Well guess you can prove it to me.”

“Oh, you tease….”

“That’s my name, don’t wear it out!”

“You little…”

“Brat? That’s right, only one person makes me act this way, feel this way and that person is you. So, whether you like it or not, deal with it.”

“Oh, I’ll deal with you alright. Soon enough you’ll be begging me to fuck you.”

“I completely intend on it. In fact, I’ll leave the ball in your court.”

Y/N sauntered past him making sure to graze her breasts against his trunk; “You know where I’ll be.” She winked his way hoping for Ez to catch her hint before walking towards the bathroom hoping the one person she’d hoped would follow. Ezekiel Reyes was genuinely her other half, someone who understood every intricate design she’d been allotted.

 Coco approached the Ez clasping his shoulder; “How are you the luckiest bastard outta all of us, Prospect? You get to tap that on the daily? Not fair cabrón.”

His angelic curls fell gently upon his forehead as that signature smirk of his appeared.

“In my defense, she’s a little shit that she tests my patience every damn day. But, yes, I gotta agree with you. I’m the luckiest bastard outta all of us.”

“So quit fuckin talking to me and go get yo girl, newbie.”

Ez nodded agreeing with Coco. He was torn between his club obligations and chasing after Y/N, his eyes bouncing back and forth.

“Don’t worry. I’ll cover you. 10 minutes… now go before I change my mind!”

“Thanks, brother. I owe you one.”

“Damn right you do, now go!”

His boots pounded against the wood; his strides picked up taking him quickly to his destination. Ez’s anticipation peaked as he neared the bathroom door rattling the handle. Ez stood dumbfounded to find the door locked…

“Querida, I know you’re in there. I’m gonna have to teach you a lesson, ain’t I?”

Y/N whispered back through the door; “I’m counting on it.”

The click of the door gave way unlocking as Ez stepped inside swiftly shutting the door behind him. He eyed Y/N like she was his last and final meal wanting to devour her from the outside in. The startled look in her misty eyes only excited him more. He stalked towards her; Y/N walked backwards in sync with him. Soon enough, the back of her thighs met the cold cabinet. Her skin crawled of goosebumps as her panting increased significantly.

“You bait me all night, wearing this ungodly short piece of fabric that barely covers anything on this gorgeous body of yours, and you have the audacity to talk shit?”

Electricity stifled their small quarters as Ez’s hands played with her hemline. Wet kisses tickled down her collar bone. Y/N tilted her head allowing Ez easier access. Torturously slow, Ez pressed the material upwards above her curvy hips revealing her bare pussy.

“No underwear. Glad to see you weren’t lying.”

Y/N slapped his chest in jest; “One thing I will never do is lie to you Ezekiel Reyes.”

“Yeah, yeah.”  

Only adding fuel to the fire, Y/N grasped his chin between her fingers forcing his gaze to remain on her and only her. She squeezed tightly enough to grab his fleeting attention.

“I don’t joke about that shit, E. I’ve never felt this way before. Don’t spoil it just yet.”

The crow’s feet near his eyes softened exhaling all the excess air loitering in his lungs. His infamous puppy dog looks triggered charging their electricity. Forgetting her momentarily exposure, Y/N closed the gap kissing him with every inch of might fathomable. She mustered every ounce of desire to which Ez gladly reciprocated.

Their moans intermingled as Ez tapped her thigh signaling to jump on the counter. Her legs spread unconscious creating the perfect amount of space for him to slide into. His hands travelled along her sides before finding home and squeezing the globes of her luscious ass.  Every dimple and indention turned him on. An illicit squeak was the only other sound accompanying their heavy breathing.

“Please, E.” A whiny undertone whirred to life.

“Please what? I’m right here.”

Her legs wrapped around his hips securely pulling him closer. His jeans rubbed deliciously against her exposed thighs only teasing her further.

“I want you. All of you, Ezekiel Reyes. Forever.”

Something unexplainable shifted in that moment as Ez gazed down at the girl pinned beneath him. For so long, he’d wanted this, dreamt of her, and now he wasn’t sure how to handle himself. The last time he gave himself so freely to another ended up burning him. Emily was his first love but Y/N, Y/N was his epic love. The twinkle in her eyes welcomed him time and time again silently begging for permission. Suddenly it wasn’t just about sex and pleasure but an opportunity of redemption.

“You feel it too, right?”

Y/N pulled back from his grasp embarrassed at her newfound honesty. “Ugh, I’m fucking it up, aren’t I? I didn’t mean for things to get so intense in a fucking bathroom of all places?”

Just as she moved to hop down, Ez stopped her. His this, this life he chose was no place for a woman like Y/N. And though his heart beat victoriously in his chest, Ezekiel knew what had to done. There was no way in hell he’d allow her to morph into his fucked-up life. He wanted to shout it to the rooftops; I’m in love with you too.

He was ripping at the seams dying to scream his unprofessed love but once again denying the beast within him. His silence was enough of an answer. Y/N frowned trying to hide the quiver of her chin. Looking away, Y/N furiously blinked hoping to will her unshed tears into oblivion. Her purity and compassion were too much at risk to sacrifice.

“Y/N….”

“No, don’t Ezekiel.”

“I think we want different things, things I can’t offer you.”

The rumbles in her chest cascaded violently like waves attacking a cliff. His rejection stung like ravenous bees.

“You can but you won’t. There’s a difference! God! I fall for this shit every time. You lure me back in and just when I break through your heavily guarded walls you pull back and shoo me away. How many times do you have to remind me you don’t want me, E?”

A lone tear streaked down her cheek. Sadness swallowed her whole plummeting to an unimaginable depth. His thumb inadvertently reached for the droplet but she flinched in the nick of time. Defeat coursed through his blood. His subconscious screamed for him to speak but nothing came out. Her words seared him, his own personal brand of pain. Calm down heart.

“Tell me you feeling nothing and I’ll never ask again.”

The somber quietness remained suffocating both parties. It was then that the truth finally dawned on him like boulders falling from the sky. Sometimes the hardest battle we fight is the battle within ourselves.

“Jeez, Ez. Guess I got my answer. Next time you have one of your urges, don’t call me, ever.”

Her warm palm pressed against his pectoral lightly shoving him. The minute distance was enough to destroy him. Her rejection simmered into her movements. With her strength fast depleting, Y/N craved fresh fall air. She stopped in place looking over her sunken shoulder; “It’s sad when someone you know becomes someone you knew. Have a nice life, Reyes.”

Now that she had nothing to lose, she was free. Free to mourn the love she so tragically denied. She distracted herself to save herself. After all, how often do we get a second chance…

~~~~~

Tags:  @twistnet @ifoundmyhappythought @angelreyesgirl89 @carlaangel86 @imagineredwood @gemini0410 @mayans-mc @reaperwalking @prospectfandom @emmaveale123 @peaky-marvel @kind-wolf @scorpio4dayzzz @starrynite7114 @penny4yourthot @breanime @thegirlwhowritesfics @star017 @threeminutesoflife @woahitslucyylu  @summertimesadnesswithadashofsass @blessedboo @lady-pswrld  @bigcreatorwombatdreamer​  @claytoncardenasbabymama @angelreyesgirl89 @cocotheclown​ @trulysuccubus @janeexo @itsjusttaralove @soaronmywings @bigcreatorwombatdreamer​ @sarai-ibn-la-ahad​ @starrynite7114​ @hermankopusortizorsumshite​ @fvckthisbxtchup​ @noz4a2​ @lharrietg 

[codename-adler]

the sad song of aaron

“It’s not that I don’t care about Exy, Kevin. It’s not that I don’t like it,” Aaron said, “I hate Exy. I hate the logistics of it. I hate the brutality of it. I hate the environment it’s set in. I hate the equipment. I hate the uniform. I hate my number. I hate the numbering. I hate to chase after a tiny fucking ball and getting bitch-checked for no other reason than winning. I hate winning.

“I hate it so much, Kevin. I hate that Exy didn’t choose me, that it chose my brother, and that I had to be reduced to a package deal. I hate that I fit the Foxes’ profile. I hate that I have to coexist with a bunch of fucked-up kids because of a fucking sport. I hate that Exy is supposed to help channel my traumas. I hate that it’s taking time away from Med School. I hate that Med School is considered nothing next to Exy. I hate that all of you think that. I hate that Exy is what brought Neil into our lives. I hate Neil. I hate that I don’t really hate Neil, just that he was granted a miracle and not me. I hate all of you.

“I hate that I’ve given Exy years of my life. I hate that after my Mom, Exy picked me up and took over the chore of beating me nonstop. I hate that I traded one tormentor for another. I hate that this new one is adored all over the world.”

Aaron took a breath, tugged at his hair. He blinked back tears. Kevin was still staring at him, his forest eyes forever watchful.

“I hate Exy, Kevin. Mostly, I hate that it’s given me that stupid ‘found family’. I hate that this family doesn’t always like me very much. I hate that it doesn’t try to understand me more. I hate that fucking Exy was the thing that saved me. I hate that this goddamn sport is what keeps me connected to the world, to people, and to myself. I hate that Exy put me on the path of people who constantly challenge my views of the world, and of myself. I hate that if I hate Exy too much, I lose everything. I hate that I’d lose my scholarship, my brother, my team, my self worth, my sanity.

“But above all else, I hate that Exy is your whole world. I hate that I’m not a good enough player for you. I hate that I can’t make Exy my only purpose and desire. I hate that without Exy, you can’t see me. I hate that without Exy, I don’t count. I hate that even with Exy, I barely count. And I hate you, Kevin. I hate that I have to play your fucking game to get through to you. I hate that unless you can see a fucking number on the back of my jersey, I don’t count for shit to you. I hate that you live for Exy. I hate to think that your life will amount to that only. I hate that you think my life amounts to nothing. I hate that next to Exy, I’m nothing to you. I hate that next to Exy, you are everything to me.”

[yehet-about-it]

I Like Me Better | 10 - An Evening Interrupted

~ A Wayv Social Media AU Series ~

< Prev || Series Masterlist || Next >

Synopsis: You’ve just moved into a new apartment with your best friend Yangyang, but you’re immediately faced with a problem: your incredibly noisy upstairs neighbour Xiao Dejun, or to friends, Xiaojun. You spend the first few weeks of your acquaintance hating his guts, but after a sincere apology and a fascinating revelation about his passions and motivations you slowly begin to see past his cold exterior to discover the real him. What will happen as you get closer to this troubled boy and how will those closest to you react?

Pairing: Reader x Xiao Jun

Themes and Warnings: Explicit language, mild sexual content, mild violence and references to drinking/alcohol. Deals with themes of toxic masculinity, insecurity, gaslighting (sort of), and jealousy…

A/N: Sorry it's late today! I forgot to schedule the post for today and it took a while to edit!!

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Word Count: 1.9k Summary: This is literally just Kun being a badass dad friend... Not my best writing, but enjoy! ;)

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You sighed contentedly as you washed up the last of the dishes, draining the sink as Kun folded the dish towel, neatly hanging it on the towel rail. You’d had a pleasant evening cooking with him, making a number of Chinese dishes you’d wanted to try, like hot and sour stir-fried napa cabbage and beef noodle soup. You’d originally wanted to do all the cooking yourself and surprise the boys, but seeing as though now it was just the two of you, you’d thought it probably best to make use of Kun’s culinary skills. Having thoroughly tidied the kitchen and boxed up all the leftovers for Winwin and Yangyang, the pair of you made your way to the living room, dropping down onto the sofa which had become your pride and joy of your apartment. “Ahh I’m so full,” you said, exhaling heavily. “That was so good!” Kun chuckled. “Yeah, it turned out quite well,” he said, shifting the cushions behind him. You internally fist-pumped, secretly a little bit pleased that Kun enjoyed your meal. To be complimented on your cooking skills by chef Kun himself was the highest honour, although you couldn’t take all the credit since he’d actually done half the work. “Mainly thanks to you,” you said, smiling at him appreciatively, to which Kun chuckled dismissively. “Ah, you did most of the work, I was just your assistant,” he said. “A very helpful assistant,” you replied pointedly. “Wanna watch a movie then?” you asked as you reached for the remote control off the coffee table. “Sure, what were you thinking?” “Hmm, I’m not sure,” you said, wearily switching on the TV and xbox. You spent the next few minutes browsing Netflix to find something to watch and once you’d settled on a film you shifted closer to Kun, reaching for the blanket which had been lying haphazardly at the end of the sofa to keep you both cosy.

A few minutes into the movie, you felt the ceiling begin to vibrate and the heavy echo of pounding bass surge into the room. Kun turned to you to give you a look that seemed to say ‘what on earth?’ and you leaned your head back, letting out a frustrated groan realising that yet again it was your neighbour’s ridiculously loud music interrupting what was supposed to be a relaxing evening. “Is it always like this?” Kun asked, frowning. You shrugged. “I mean, it’s not everyday, but it’s pretty much always this loud…” You pouted sinking lower under the blanket. “I didn’t realise it was this bad. I’m surprised you get any sleep at all. I mean how can people be so inconsiderate?” You could hear the irritation in Kun’s voice. You were pretty angry about the constant noise emanating from upstairs, but you were generally quite passive whereas you could clearly tell Kun was starting to get pissed. “Yeah, I don’t know. It sucks, but I guess we’ve kind of gotten used to it now,” you replied. “How are you supposed to get used to it when you can barely even hear your own TV over it? You shouldn’t have to put up with it.” Kun said matter-of-factly. You groaned in response, burying your face in the blanket. “Aghhh I know, but it’s not like I can do much about it, I already tried asking him…” you whined, looking up at Kun in exasperation, but he met you with what can only be described as an unsympathetic look. “Of course you can do something about it! Why don’t you just talk to him again? And actually assert yourself this time? Or if that doesn’t work just talk to the building manager or put in a complaint or something. Honestly, you and Yangyang are hopeless…” He did have a point. There was plenty you could do but you just didn’t have the guts to do it. You were rather non-confrontational and didn’t want to end up in a nasty row with your neighbour after only one month of living there, but it seemed Kun had other ideas. “Ughh Kun, you know I don’t like confrontation. I don’t want to end up with a neighbour that hates me,” you said. Kun sighed. “So you’d rather have to put up with this everyday for the foreseeable future than have some asshole who’s not worth your time potentially dislike you?” You looked back at Kun sheepishly, almost as though you were a student who’d just been caught acting up by their teacher. You knew he was right, and you were being irrational, since Dejun’s music caused you problems daily, not to mention reducing your nightly sleep to an average of 4 hours, but you just didn’t have it in you to confront the issue. There was a pause before Kun pushed the blanket off his knees and stood up. “Well, if you’re not going to do anything then I will,” he said, before taking off toward the entrance hall of your apartment. “Wait what?!” you shreiked, panic bubbling up inside you at the thought of what he was going to do, and leaping to your feet you scurried down the hall after him. Kun swung your front door open as you caught up to him, and marched out of your apartment, turning to go up the stairs to the next floor. Now realising his intentions, you halted at the door, too embarrassed to also make an appearance at your neighbours door. Instead you stayed in the doorway peering round to the stairs and watching as Kun ascended. “Kun!” You squeaked. “What are you doing?!” Kun barely paused to look back at you before continuing on upwards.

As much as you wanted to chase after him and drag him back down the stairs, by the determined expression on his face you knew there was no point, so you stayed put, but after wedging your door open with one of Yangyang’s shoes that was cluttering up the entrance, you moved a little closer to the bottom of the stairs so as to try and hear what was going on. Soon you heard the clunk of a door opening, but clearly the walls were too thick, or something like that, as all you could hear was a faint mumbling, and you could only pick out one or two words. Nonetheless, you decided to stay there and listen, waiting in anticipation for the outcome of Kun’s abrupt disturbance of your neighbour’s evening.

~ Upstairs – Kun’s POV ~

“Yeah?” Xiaojun answered the door wearing a black long-sleeved t-shirt and sweatpants, his dark brown hair flopping softly down over his equally dark eyes. His expression was one of disinterest, Kun thought, which only served to fuel his irritation. “Hi, I’m Kun. I’m a friend of y/n downstairs?” Kun faltered a little in his conviction. Confrontation wasn’t really in his nature, however his years battling to make it in such a competitive industry as his had taught him to take control and make a stand when he needed, so after taking a split-second to recompose himself, he spoke again, this time his voice much firmer. “We were wondering if you could possibly turn your music down. It’s incredibly loud and right now we’re trying to watch TV and it’s quite distracting. And actually y/n said it’s been a problem before.” “Huh. Why doesn’t y/n come ask me herself then since she’s the one who actually lives here?” Xiaojun challenged. Kun growled internally. The cheek of this guy. “I believe she already did, but apparently you didn’t listen, so I thought you might need a reminder,” Kun jabbed, becoming a little passive-aggressive. Xiaojun raised his eyebrows, sensing the frustration in Kun’s voice and scoffed. “What, you her boyfriend or something?” With every passing second Kun grew to dislike Xiaojun more and more, and that remark certainly didn’t help one bit, thus, deciding that he’d had enough of the shorter man’s attitude he decided to throw all pleasantries aside. He was done being nice. “So what if I am?” He said, standing taller, but to Kun’s displeasure, Xiaojun just chuckled darkly looking at the ground before lifting his eyes and smirking at the older man in front of him. “Heh, pretty bad boyfriend if she’s still using Tinder…” Kun clenched his jaw. Clearly that Lucas guy had been talking, making his tactic completely useless, but who the hell did this guy think he was? This level of antagonism was completely unreasonable, and over what? Turning some goddamn music down. “Look,” Kun said. “I don’t want any trouble, but could you please just turn the music down? Y/n’s tired all the time these days because your music keeps her up all hours and she has to get up to go to work early in the morning. Just because you’re a failed musician or something doesn’t mean no one else has jobs to go to.”Kun hadn’t intended on saying the last part of his speech, since he knew himself how hard an industry it was to break into, and it wasn’t really his style to shame someone like that, but something about Xiaojun’s attitude just made him annoyed beyond reasonable reaction and boy did his outburst hit a nerve. “Excuse me?” Xiaojun replied, his voice much louder than before and his posture much more aggressive compared to the casual position he had been in just seconds ago. But Kun wouldn’t be intimidated, and glared at Xiaojun, looking him directly in the eyes to make one final comment. “Just keep it down, or we’ll be putting in a formal complaint”. “Yeah, whatever,” was the only reply Xiaojun gave, before stepping back and shutting the door in Kun’s face. Could’ve gone better, but it certainly got the message across.

~ Downstairs – Your PoV ~

You stood in the stairwell fidgeting your hands and straining to listen to the exchange between the two men upstairs. It had only been a couple of minutes but it was making you tense nonetheless. You were silently willing Kun to waltz down the stairs saying everything was fine but suddenly you heard a voice from upstairs much more clearly. Your eyes widened and you cringed as you heard Xiaojun’s raised voice rhetorically asking “excuse me?!”, realising the conversation wasn’t going as pleasantly as you had hoped. You weren’t sure you wanted to hear the rest of it, but you kept on listening. Luckily for you however, the voices returned to the same muffled humming as before, until you heard a door slam, Kun emerging on the stairs a moment later. “Kun! What happened?!” you whisper-shouted, as though you were afraid Xiaojun might hear you, moving out of the way as Kun strode past you before following him back into your apartment. Kun stopped in the hallway briefly to look at you. “Lets just say I don’t think he’ll be bothering you anymore.” You wanted to ask what on earth had gone on, but clearly that was all Kun was willing to say on the matter, so you simply followed him back to the living room where he flopped down onto his place on the couch. “Come on then, now we can actually watch the movie,” Kun said, stretching his arm out to you as you wandered towards the couch. Obediently, you took his hand and he pulled you down next to him so you leant against his shoulder, throwing the blanket that had earlier fallen to the floor over you both, and with that you spent the rest of the evening watching the film in peace, but with the niggling thought in the back of your mind that your neighbour Xiaojun may very well have just put you on a vendetta list.

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[welllpthisishappening]

All These Things and More

Festive nature is not something Emma Swan is particularly familiar with. Even less so after nearly breaking her ankle in the middle of Central Park, and she can’t believe it isn’t someone’s job to de-ice those stairs. 

As it is, her ankle appears to be swelling with every passing moment, and she can’t get her keys off the floor, and she’s pleasantly surprised she doesn’t flinch when the door across the hall from her apartment opens. Or when the guy who presumably lives behind that door offers his help. With her dropped keys, and, it turns out, just about everything else in Emma’s life. 

‘Tis the season, or whatever. 

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Rating: Teen Word Count: 8.8K, let’s all act surprised that these keep getting longer AN: Today’s prompt(s) come from @illicitaffairslongingstares and while she did say “or,” my mind was like LET’S USE ALL OF THEM, so here we have: "people are jerks, but not you.""a thunderstorm is rolling through town and you’re scared of lightening/thunder so i’ll protect you.""this is probably a bad time, but marry me?" Thank you for the prompts, babe. I hope you enjoy this massive pile of fluff. 

|| Also on Ao3 if that’s your jam || 

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“Are you alright?” Emma bites her tongue. So as to also bite back the rather immediate and far too snarky response sitting there. Of course she’s not alright. She doesn’t normally walk like this — trying very hard not to bend her knee because somehow that makes everything hurt more, and she can’t quite believe that anything could hurt more than the twelve blocks she essentially dragged herself down, but there are also scrapes on either one of her palms and the lack of any creaking floor behind her means the voice has not left yet. 

That only kind of frustrates her. 

Hopping on the one good foot she has left, Emma nearly falls over more than once. Which is very impressive, actually. Both because she hasn’t moved very much and because the lack of stability in either one of her knees isn’t entirely biological. 

He’s stupid good looking. 

The voice, who she suddenly realizes belongs to that guy across the hall and she knew that guy across the hall had very nice eyes, from the few times she’d allowed herself to acknowledge such a ridiculous thing, but now she’s also got to deal with the knowledge that his hair kind of artfully falls across his forehead when he bends his neck at that very precise angle and—

“How did you manage to get up the stairs?”

Shoulders slumping, Emma lets out a breath she wishes she hadn’t been holding. She’s already running low on functioning body parts, doing any extra damage to her lungs just seems like a bad choice. Although that could be the sub-headline of her night at this point. 

“Sheer force of will,” she replies, not quite able to keep the sarcasm out of the words and that almost feels like a vaguely twisted victory when one side of the guy’s mouth tugs up. The one she’s inexcusably staring at. 

So as to distract herself from the overall color of his eyes. 

Maybe she’s concussed. 

That’d make her feel better, honestly. 

“Still not really an answer, though.” “I’ve almost forgotten the question,” Emma mutters, and she’ll use her injury as an excuse. For the continued sarcasm, and what feels suspiciously like a fluttering heart because the guy’s mouth is starting to twist into something that looks suspiciously like a smirk. 

Directed at her. He’s wearing gym shorts, it’s absurd. And no socks. 

“Aren’t your feet cold?” Absolutely smirking. Still at her. There’s no one else in the hallway, it’s two in the goddamn morning. “They are, in fact,” he nods. His hair moves. It looks very soft. So she’s probably insane now. “But you’re very loud, so—” “—Shit, did I wake you up?” “Not really. I was admittedly a little concerned you were being attacked over there, though.” “Were you going to defend my honor from unknown enemies without any socks on?” “I was seriously considering it.” Laughing somehow makes several different muscles and at least half a dozen joints ache, but Emma can’t seem to help it and the overall tightness between her shoulder blades lessens ever so slightly. “Very gallant of you.” “That’s my schtick, for sure,” he agrees, far too charming and far too easy and Emma’s keys are still on the floor. That was her problem, really. 

Getting her keys out of her back pocket was something of a challenge when she was trying to balance all her weight on her right foot, and the lack of feeling in her fingers after spending the last four hours chasing a skip through Central Park made it all but impossible to get the kind of grip she needed and, well—

Cursing every single God she could think of when she dropped those keys and then was apparently unable to bend the right way to pick them back up seemed entirely reasonable. 

She hopes her ankle didn’t swell too much. 

She hopes that skip also trips down some ice-covered stairs in Central Park and twists one of his ankles. Either one, Emma’s not going to be specific. And she hopes every single member of the New York City Department of Public Works gets coal in their stocking. Or whoever is in charge of de-icing Central Park stairs. 

God, she hates Central Park. 

Navigating that place continues to be an insurmountable challenge, no matter how long she lives in this city. 

“So, uh,” sockless, very good looking neighbor guy continues, leaning across his doorway and Emma can’t believe she doesn’t know his name. She can’t ask him his name now. Then he’ll know she’s as insane as she absolutely is. “Should we rehash, then?” “About your question?” “And if you’re ok.” “Oh, right, right, right, I’m uh—”

Lying should be easier. Should be second nature, honestly. Lying’s part of the gig, lulling skips into a false sense of security that makes catching them easier and getting paid inevitable, and Emma would very much like to lie. If only to try and convince herself. 

She shakes her head. 

So, that’s a weird chance of pace. 

Sockless, very good looking neighbor guy whose shirt is actually far tighter than Emma realized, gives her a tight-lipped smile, nods his head once, like that’s that and crosses the space between them. Which also feels much smaller, all of the sudden. 

He picks her keys up on the first try. 

Figures, he’s still in possession of two functioning ankles. 

“Which one is it?” “Hmmm?” “Your keys, love,” he says, as if that’s something he can say and it’s entirely possible Emma simply imagined that. Delirium is admittedly starting to sink in just a bit. Everything hurts. 

“Oh, uh—the uh...the one with the dot. The—the green dot on it.” Humming, he somehow makes sense of her garbled instruction and neither of them try to move closer to each other, but it happens all the same and he’s undeniably solid when Emma slumps against his side. 

She still doesn’t know his name, it’s ridiculous. 

She swats her hand against the wall as soon as her door swings open, finally finding the light and illuminating her apartment. Which is not very welcoming. Now or ever, really — but the inherent loneliness of the place feels as if it reaches out and slaps Emma in the face, while the very good looking sockless guy with questionably jacked arms is standing next to her. 

Her cheeks ache. When she forces herself to smile. 

“Thanks,” Emma says, “for the willingness to defend while not properly clothed and—”

One of his eyebrows lifts. “Do you not think I’m properly clothed?” “You’re not wearing any socks.” “You know more curse words than any sailor I have ever met.” “Have you met a lot?” Lifting a shoulder in what Emma can only assume is a shrug and a wordless brush-off, the glint in his eyes dims ever so slightly, but she also should not be noticing any sort of glint and she’s got to sit down. She’ll fall over otherwise. 

“You should go to the doctor,” he says instead, nodding towards an ankle Emma can’t bring herself to look at. Feels like it’s swelling. To grapefruit-level proportions. “Urgent care, or something. Like—as soon as possible.” “Are you a doctor and a knight in sockless armor?” “You might be obsessed with my feet.” “Nah, there’s a name for those kinds of people and that’s not—” Heat rises in Emma’s cheeks when she notices him smirking again, and it’s disappointing to realize this is the first time a guy has been in her apartment in months. She’s so lame, it’s ridiculous. “If I tell you something will you promise not to laugh?” “Scouts honor.” “You were not a boy scout,” Emma challenges, which is patently unfair when she also doesn’t know his name, so—“Can I insult you if I keep referring to you as sockless guy in my head?” Leaving out very good looking is a victory she will cling to for the foreseeable future. 

As is his answering laugh. 

Not quite boisterous, but loud enough that his shoulders shake and his hair moves and she deserves at least two medals and possibly a plaque for not pushing her fingers into the strands.

“I’d rather you didn’t insult me at all,” he says, “but it does seem rude not to introduce myself when I know your name.” “Less knight-like, honestly.” “One of your friends has a habit of kicking on your door and shouting your full name. It’s exceedingly loud and absolutely impossible to ignore.” “You’re an eavesdrop.” “That’s not the right way to use that as an adjective, but your ankle is closing on pumpkin-type dimensions and—” An arm slips around her waist, directing Emma back towards her couch before she can even begin to object and she doesn’t want to object and he smells like soap. Nice soap. The kind of soap that could help lull her to sleep. As if that’s something a cleaning product is capable of. “Anyway,” he adds, “my name is Killian Jones, we should stop discussing my sock situation and I promise not to make fun of whatever you’ve already forgotten you were going to tell me.” “Rude.” “Your friend is ridiculously loud, do you know that?”

Emma nods. “That’s part of Ruby’s charm. And, uh—I don’t know that I can get back down the stairs. Plus, this isn’t really that bad.”

Liar. 

Lying liar who lies. And Killian’s other eyebrow moved that time. 

“I’d hate to see what could have possibly been worse. So, fine—don’t go down the stairs by yourself, then.” “Do you see a lot of other people in this apartment?” Bitterness replaces the sarcasm, which is far too telling an emotion and quite possibly Emma’s base emotion, but Killian doesn’t blink. He smiles, waving a hand through the air and it’s only then that she notices there’s only one hand and she’s got more questions and vaguely distracting thoughts about his eyes and his face and her lungs are doing that thing again. Not functioning properly. 

“And here I thought we’d gotten past the insults.” Emma’s jaw drops. And pops slightly in the process, which is one of the more embarrassing things that’s happened to her that night. “You don't know me,” she argues, louder than she’d like, but she’s so ridiculously tired and that’s a much more sweeping commentary about her life than she’s willing to admit. “I could—I could be a murderer!” “Can’t be all that good at it if your murders end with broken ankles.” “Ah, shit you think it’s broken?” Killian shrugs. “I’m not a doctor, or a murderer. For the record as it were.” “Saying it makes me more suspicious, quite frankly.” “That is frank,” he chuckles, “and it’s not a trick, or anything except the kindness of relative strangers. Which, as everyone knows, gets accentuated at Christmas.” “Not for another two weeks.”

“Christmas lasts for all of December, don’t you know that, Swan?” Last names probably don’t count as endearments. This one sounds that way, though. As if it’s easy for him to say, and that probably has something to do with the return of the glint and her growing obsession with the various shades of blue in his eyes and Emma’s nodding before she’s totally come to grips with what she’s agreeing to. He gets her Tylenol before he leaves. 

It’s not broken. 

So, that’s something. And about nothing else. Negative else. 

Purple bruises and some other color that almost resembles black swirl across the skin covering Emma’s absolutely worthless ankle, a pair of crutches under either one of her arms that are already starting to chafe her sides, and she took a perverse pleasure in the overall circumference of Killian’s eyes when let out a deluge of curse words in the Urgent Care office. 

Part of him almost looked proud, though. 

Which is just—it’s ridiculous. 

Emma blames his ability to smirk as potently as it does. It’s throwing her off entirely. Although that might have something to do with her inherent lack of balance as well, and this might be Bill de Blasio’s fault. None of the sidewalks in this stupid city are clear. 

And that is why, Emma will eventually argue, it makes entirely perfect sense to hobble up the stairs back towards her locked apartment door, drop her keys in Killian’s upturned palm and say—“Do you want to come in? I have tequila.” “It’s eleven in the morning.” “Ok.” The smirk gains power. Festive-based power, because they walked by at least four stores with garland in their windows and Emma’s always prided herself on her ability to ignore such emotional nonsense, but now this guy who is presumably wearing socks since he’s also wearing boots, keeps looking at her like she’s fascinating and not entirely depressing and there’s this little inkling of hope in the pit of her stomach. 

‘Tis the season, or whatever. 

It just kind of happens, really. 

Over the next five days, Killian Jones doesn’t quite move into Emma’s apartment, but he becomes something of a presence at the end of her couch and he’s very good at dialing for delivery, and reminding her to take the medication the doctor at Urgent Care prescribed, and it’s so goddamn nice she cannot begin to cope with it. 

He makes her laugh with startling regularity — helpful since August had adamantly told her she couldn’t come back to work without another doctor’s note because, as he put it, he wasn’t getting sued, Emma, but that also meant it was very difficult to get a paycheck, and it’s far too easy to fall into this routine. 

Even when she starts to wonder—

“Don’t you have a job?” Emma asks on day six, which also happens to be a Friday and it’s kind of insane he doesn’t have something better to do on his Friday night. Than sit in the corner of her couch and scroll through GrubHub listings. 

She’d do something drastic for some Indian food. 

“Of course.” Widening her eyes, Emma waits for the rest of the explanation. It doesn’t come. Patience has never been one of the virtues she possesses, though. So. “And that job is...”

“Are you worried about my ability to pay rent, Swan?” “In theory. And curious, I guess. About—” “—Me?” Killian quips, but he’s far more accurate than Emma wants him to be and the overall force of his ensuing smirk sends her flying into the metaphorical stratosphere. Of friendship, or whatever. She figures they’re friends now. 

If he orders her extra garlic naan. 

“I teach,” he continues, “some gen-history classes at CUNY. Finished the semester about a week and a half ago, which is why you only sort of woke me up before. Grading is exhausting, and occasionally depressing and I was trying very hard not to fall asleep on top of all the essays like a giant cliche, when you announced your presence to the hallway.” Gritting her teeth, Emma fights off the wholly unacceptable wave of disappointment cresting her consciousness. She’d sort of—well, she’s not really sure what she hoped for, honestly. Maybe something sort of sweeping. 

As if he simply had a sixth sense that she was in need of a quasi-rescue, and woke up to do that. Finding out she’d just interrupted his job is almost a little crushing. 

In a friendship type of way, obviously. 

“How does one become a teacher of gen-history at CUNY, then?” “I’m a professor, technically.” “Shit, that sounds very fancy.” He grins. Wide and honest, and almost like he’s preening a bit under Emma’s less-than-genteel praise. She’s going to eat at least three samosas too. “It’s exceedingly fancy,” Killian agrees, “and care of the United States GI Bill, which—” “—Didn’t stop after World War II?” “You learn something new every day, love.”

Flicking her finger against his arm happens far too easily. As if this has been going on for months, or years and that’s probably not a sign. Emma’s still firmly entrenched in Ebenezer Scrooge territory. 

Although, some soft and distinctly traitorous part of her mind is quick to point out, even Ebenezer Scrooge had a girlfriend. 

God, if she gets visits from obnoxious ghosts any time soon, she’s going to be really annoyed. 

“Is that why you knew sailors?” “Past and present tense,” Killian amends, and the grin is still there but it also looks a little forced and Emma’s leaning forward. When exactly she decided to do that, she’s not entirely sure, and it obviously doesn’t matter when Killian’s hand flips. 

Against hers. 

He’s very warm. 

Not a sign either, she’s positive. 

A million more questions jump to the tip of her tongue, and Emma’s spent way too much time thinking about her tongue in these last six days. She doesn’t voice them. The questions, or the thoughts. Not when she can see the muscle in his clearly clenched jaw jumping with an almost alarming rhythm, and she’s always been very good at reading people. 

It’s what’s made her such a good bail bonds...person. At least when she’s not nursing a high ankle sprain, and she hardly notices Killian’s hand shifting against her calf. To move that same ankle back up onto the pillows piled on top of her exceedingly wobbly coffee table. 

Goosebumps explode everywhere. Possibly in her heart too, just for maximum absurdity. 

“What’s the most random and historic Christmas fact you know?”

Narrowing his eyes makes it difficult to see whatever shade of blue they’ve evolved into, but Emma’s a bit more concerned with the inevitable pink on her cheeks and she desperately needs Killian to move his goddamn hand. To several other places. Across her body. Ebenezer Scrooge probably didn’t want to make out with his girlfriend this much. 

Would have scandalized Bob Cratchit. 

That wasn’t the right timeline for the story at all. 

“Jingle Bells was written as a Thanksgiving song initially,” Killian says, “and was also the first song to be broadcast from space.” “Very different aspects of this fact.” “I like to bring a lot to the table.” “The Thanksgiving one?” “Any holiday,” he shrugs, expression not quite as lined and just a hint easier and Emma’s heart sputters. Like it’s flipping and flopping and possibly expanding, which is a totally different pop culture reference and she’s starting to lose track. “I think Trans Siberian Orchestra is overrated.” “Sounds suspiciously like an opinion.” “That’s also absolutely right,” Emma promises, and she doesn’t get into specifics. For what is very obviously an opinion of the emotion-based variety, and Killian doesn’t press and they order enough Indian food for the entire apartment building. 

She doesn’t know anyone else in the building. 

That’s not as depressing as it once was. 

“Screw Steve Jobs.” “That’s the spirit, for sure.” “What about the other one?” “What other one?” Killian asks, not glancing away from the TV screen or the streaming options that limit their Christmas movie-viewing choices. “Are you just shouting names at me?” Emma tuts, wrestling the remote from his hand. “There’s no shouting involved, I’m just expressing my frustration at whoever is in charge of Apple now, and Steve Jobs and his legacy and how it’s preventing me from watching A Charlie Brown Christmas.” “I’m not sure how those things go together, but I can get behind hating on Apple if that’s actually what we’re doing.” “It is. Do people actually pay for Apple Plus, or whatever it’s called?” “If the overall popularity of that soccer show is any indication. And that one with Reese Witherspoon got a bunch of Emmy nominations, I think.” “Why do you know that?” His shoulder bumps hers when he shrugs. They’re sitting very close. “I know everything, I thought that was obvious.” “Can you get A Charlie Brown Christmas to play on my TV without giving any money to Steve Jobs?” “Technically, I think it’d just be his estate getting the money.” “Don’t get technical.”

He nods once, all confidence and charm and there’s got to be something else he could be doing with his time, but Emma doesn’t want him to be doing anything else and he pulls her laptop across the coffee table. She will never admit to counting the minutes it takes, or the exact way his eyes flit her direction more than once during those minutes, but then the laptop dings and Killian announces “done,” and asks if she “has an HDMI cable?” She doesn’t. 

It takes three minutes for him to jog back to his apartment. And back, hooking up several things that genuinely impress Emma, and the first few notes of the Vince Guaraldi Trio tug on whatever heartstrings she’s still in possession of. 

He calls her out for mouthing along with the lines, laughter clinging to his voice and the crinkles she’s only just realized exist around his eyes and Emma shifts out of habit. When the Peanuts start dancing on stage, all too aware of Killian’s eyes. 

And how they linger. On her, specifically. 

She’s less prepared for his wrist to flip the way it does. “May I?”

Thinking seems stupid in a situation like this, so Emma doesn’t think and the calluses on his fingers are enough to inspire a whole slew of other ideas, and they don’t really dance. Neither do the Peanuts, though — so, there’s something to be said for consistency and lower-body strength and they just kind of bob in time together, content to exist in each other’s space and there’s not that much space and that’s not necessarily a bad thing. 

Neither are the tears that sting Emma’s eyes nearly twenty minutes later. She always cries during Linus’ speech. 

Going stir crazy is inevitable and happens at precisely two forty-seven on the Tuesday before Christmas. The walls of Emma’s apartment suddenly feel much closer than they were at two forty-six, and she doesn’t bother grabbing her crutches. Before huffing out a frustrated breath, hopping across the hall and effectively falling against Killian’s front door. She resists the very legitimate urge to knock with her head. 

And it doesn’t matter anyway. 

The door swings open, another pair of gym shorts that make Emma’s brain short-circuit just a bit and Killian’s hair is damp. “Were you in the shower?” “No,” he shakes his head. 

Oh. Oh. So, she’ll probably just die in this hallway then. That will inevitably be preferable to the realization that he works out, and she kind of knew that already because there’s absolutely no way people just have biceps like that, but she also cannot deal with even the idea of him doing something as absurd as burpees in his apartment. Not when the walls were already doing that thing before. “Should you be in the shower?”

Leaning against the door frame feels like cheating. On his part. Crossing his feet at the ankles is even worse. “Are you suggesting I should?” Killian drawls, and Emma’s come to realize he’s got this habit of only lifting the left side of his mouth when he’s trying to tease her. It’s very effective. 

“Maybe before we go out.” “You want to go out? Where, exactly?” “I don’t know,” Emma admits, “anywhere. Somewhere. That is not my kitchen, or like—the mailboxes downstairs.” “I’ve gotten your mail.”

That’s true. He figured out which key it was on his own too, which shouldn’t have any lasting effect on Emma’s pulse at all. “Whatever,” she grumbles, “that’s not the point.” “What is, then?” “I want fresh air and—” “—Where are your crutches?” “In my apartment.” “Did you hop over here?” 

Nodding, she’s not entirely prepared for the force of his laugh or the hand that lands on her hip as easily as if there are magnets there. “You’re going to have the most impressive calf muscles of any bail bonds person in the greater Tri-State area.” “Flatter me some more when we’re outside, please.” “I should probably shower first.” Emma hums, biting her tongue until she can taste blood because suggesting anything involving Killian and water and a distinct lack of clothing is only going to get her another smirk she cannot possibly be expected to deal with. He smirks all the same. So, the world hates her apparently. Waving an arm behind him, Killian ushers Emma into the apartment like it’s not the first time she’s hopping inside. “Make yourself at home,” he says, already halfway down a hallway that must lead to the bathroom because that’s what her hallway does and the layout is almost identical. “There’s coffee too.” “Do you drink coffee while you work out?” His eyes goddamn sparkle. “Sit down, Swan. Then we’ll figure out where else you can hop.”

He’s gone before she can even consider an appropriately sarcastic response, leaving her balanced between his living room and kitchen and there are very soft-looking blankets draped over the back of his couch. Music plays softly from a nearby speaker, not quite festive, because it’s 90s rap and Emma can’t decide which part of this is the most endearing. 

Probably the frames. 

Lining nearly every flat surface of the multiple bookcases he has, smiling faces gaze back at Emma from what looks like a dozen different places, and several faces repeat themselves. A woman with soft brown hair and a smile that makes it clear how nice she inevitably is, her shoulders are often covered by another man’s arm and occasionally that man’s in uniform. 

She has to hop to the next frame, another uniform, although it has more medals, and this man’s eyes are familiar. Not blue, but the glint in them is unmistakable. Especially when he’s standing next to Killian. 

Their smiles make something ache in the very center of Emma, the kind of deja vu she doesn’t want to understand. The man’s only in a few of the pictures. He looks happy in all of them. 

Overjoyed, occasionally. 

The water in the bathroom turns off. 

And Emma only just manages to throw herself into the corner of the couch before Killian’s back in the living room, a towel pressed to even more damp hair. “You ok?” he asks, a very symmetrical question she can’t answer. 

With the wad of emotion currently taking root in the middle of her throat. 

Piecing things together is one of her better skills, after all. 

“Fine, fine,” she stammers, “can we go?” “Have you decided where you’re going to hobble?” “Ah, that’s mean.” “Am I going to have to carry you down the stairs?” “Don’t be a dick.” He smirks. The bastard. And doesn’t really carry her down the stairs, per se — even if there’s more leaning involved than Emma would like, but that also means she gets to take full advantage of just how warm he is, and she’s starting to wonder if Killian retains heat solely for her benefit. It’s a very dangerous thought. 

This can’t last forever. Not with modern medicine the way it is, and she’s been taking the medicine and the swelling has gone way down and—

Emma gasps when she puts more weight on her ankle than she’s entirely prepared for. Spinning on the spot, Killian’s center of gravity must be better than hers and that probably has something to do with sea legs, and waves, and his hands are back on her hips. 

She’d very much like them to stay there. 

First kisses aren’t supposed to happen in the middle of the sidewalk. 

Outside a Duane Reade.  

If she doesn’t kiss him soon, she might scream. 

“C’mon,” Killian says, tilting his head towards the automatic doors and this wasn’t quite what Emma had planned. She had no plan, but it did not involve Duane Reade carpet or the holiday aisle, and Killian’s hands don’t move. They direct her. Towards that aisle, and the gingerbread houses on its shelves and he grabs one that has deluxe in the name. 

“Makes it fancier,” he explains, presumably when he notices the overall height of Emma’s eyebrows. She doesn’t argue. Inflating his ego anymore isn’t part of her unplanned plan, either. 

And there’s not really much of a discussion, but they somehow end up back at his apartment, pieces of gingerbread strewn across his kitchen counter while he changes the music, and—

Emma tosses a sugar plum in the air. So she can catch it with her mouth. “Color me impressed,” Killian says, and it’s her imagination. There’s no allusion. Nothing passably secret or unspoken in those words, and Emma refuses to let herself consider the possibility. Not with Bing Crosby in the background. 

He was kind of a jerk in real life. 

“Although,” he adds, “you’re using up all our decoration.” “They give you so many sugar plums! Who would need this many?”

“Mr. and Mrs. Gingerbread.” “I’m sorry, what?”

“Mr. and Mrs. Gingerbread,” Killian repeats, “who live in this deluxe, undeniably fancy gingerbread house.”

“Why would their last name be Gingerbread when that’s what their house is called? It’s like someone being named—” “—Wood?”

Emma sneers. “I’ll throw sugar plums at your face.” “Then we’ll really run out, and the peppermint swirls aren’t as decorative.” “Because peppermint is the inferior Christmas flavor,” Emma announces. “Tastes like you’re eating toothpaste, also they don’t make houses out of wood anymore. Learn about the industrial revolution, please.” He’s already started positioning gingerbread walls. “Mr. and Mrs. Gingerbread met by happenstance. Had passed each other in the Sugar Forest before, but—” “—These are absolutely horrendous names.” “You’re ruining the flow of the story, love.” Emma mimes zipping her mouth shut. “Anyway, they’d noticed each other before, but hadn’t ever spoken, until fate and festivity intervened, and they realized they had more in common than they expected and got along very well, and eventually they got married and lived happily ever after.” “Just like that?”

Her voice likely does not crack the way she imagines it does. That would be impossible. It’s because of the sugar plum, and all that extra sugar. Caking the inside of Emma’s throat, or something and that’s a kind of disgusting idea, but Killian’s staring at her with enough intensity that her cheeks are starting to heat on their own and it’s a crime she hasn’t gotten her fingers in his hair yet. 

“Just like that,” Killian echoes. 

He’s moving. Emma’s positive he’s moving. Maybe that’s her. Or the entire goddamn Universe. Flying off kilter and possibly right into the sun and it’s so stupid when she opens her mouth. 

“How’d they get engaged?” The left side of his mouth tugs up. “They went ice skating.” “Did that not dissolve their legs?” “It was magic ice.” “Oh, right, right, yeah of course.” Definitely getting closer. “And the future Mrs. Gingerbread had fallen over. Wasn’t used to the skates, which Mr. Gingerbread found oddly enchanting, and while she was sitting there on the ice, cursing every one of Santa’s elves, he bent down and said, ‘This is probably a bad time, but marry me?’”

“What’d she say?” “She swatted at the sugar plums on his chest, but she was also swooning a bit and—” “—Losing frosting from sitting on the ice?” “That’s not how frosting works at all.” “They don’t give you much here,” Emma says, not a perfect change of course, but she wasn’t the sailor in this relationship and she's so stupid it's painful. “Can you make more?” Killian nods. It makes his hair move. And Emma’s pulse trip over itself. “Absolutely.” They make several batches of frosting, because deluxe gingerbread houses are apparently thicker than usual and require more, and at least half of it gets wasted when Emma keeps eating it. And swiping some across the bridge of Killian’s nose. 

Neither one of them mention Mr. or Mrs. Gingerbread again. 

Their house turns out very nice, though.

She blames the medication. 

For telling him about the one high school she went to in Minnesota where they decorated their lockers for spirit week, and how the foster house she’d been living in gave her exactly one roll of dollar store wrapping paper and a box of ancient tinsel, and Killian barely flinches at the words foster home in that particular order. 

He’s a rapt audience, like this is fascinating information, and not decidedly Scrooge-like, and “we didn’t have that at my high school,” he tells her. Which just about seals the deal, as it were. 

Emma nearly kills herself more than once, burrowing through her closet and calling in favors from Ruby who only furrows her brows slightly when she shows up on a Thursday morning with a bag of Christmas decorations that—

“What are we doing, exactly?” “Decorating,” Emma says, and to her credit Ruby doesn’t object. Or kick on Killian’s door. Which is in fact, what they’re decorating. Lining the frame with garland, and lights that require an extension cord and are probably breaking their lease somehow, but he doesn’t wake up and no one tells them to stop, and the whole thing turns out pretty fantastic. If Emma does say so herself. 

They opt not to hang ornaments off the door. For fear that they’ll shatter. But there are window clings taped to the imitation wood now, in addition to the garland, and Emma can’t imagine where Ruby found tinsel, but it’s appropriately festive and she uses her crutch to knock. 

Killian only needs five seconds to answer. 

Blinking at the scene in front of him — and an almost overjoyed-looking Ruby, who still mercifully hasn’t expressed the opinions Emma can practically hear vibrating around her skull, but then Killian’s turning and exhaling softly and the press of his lips to Emma’s cheek is jarring and sudden and absolutely perfect. 

“You’re blushing,” Ruby drawls, soft enough that it can’t be heard over Killian’s praise of what may be lower Manhattan’s most obnoxiously decorated door. 

Emma’s crutch collides with her shin. 

“Thank you, love,” Killian says. Sincerity colors every letter, that particular shade of blue like the sky and the ocean and it’s not exactly a holiday color, but it might be Emma’s favorite color now and her mouth is very dry. 

“That should be the other way around,” she objects, “for everything you’ve done and—” “I wanted to.” Ruby’s still standing there. With that specific wolf-like smile on her face. “Well,” she proclaims, “I’m going to go, eventually we’ll get officially introduced across-the-hall guy who’s very cute and—” The tips of Killian’s ears go red. More festive. “Take care of Emma on Christmas, will you?”

She leaves almost as soon as the question’s out of her mouth, Killian staring expectantly at Emma because she hadn’t admitted to the inevitable singularity of her Christmas in three days, but she just kind of figured he’d have other things to do and she didn’t want to be depressing. 

They’d progressed past depressing by now. 

And even the thought of going back to Storybrooke made her ankle ache. 

Because well...what if he didn’t have actually anything else to do? What if he was home alone too? What if she left and there wasn’t anyone here and—no, Emma’s not doing that. She hasn't asked. She’s willing to risk the answer. 

Or admit it to anything. At least not completely. 

“You’re not going home for Christmas?” Killian asks lightly, but Emma can hear the rest. She shakes her head. “Ruby wants me to, and I’m friends with her friends, but—” Her shoulders don’t move very easily on that shrug. “My ankles still kind of messed up, and they’ve got families and traditions and it always feels like I’m—” “—Overstepping?” “Something like that, yeah.” “You want to order Chinese food on Christmas Eve or Thai?” “Both?” Killian beams. Emma’s cheek is on fire, she’s positive. “Deal.”

“Lift with your legs!” “Would you like to come down here and help?” “Not really, no,” Emma laughs, leaning over the railing at the top of the second-floor landing, and the Christmas tree guy at the end of the block had been understandably concerned that they weren’t going to get the tree back to their apartment in one piece. 

Neither one of them mentioned that they live in different apartments. And aren’t a couple. Or dating. Whatever, Emma’s too worried about Killian straining something to care about other adjectives. 

“Invalid,” he calls back. Her smile’s going to stretch her face muscles. 

“Put those arm muscles to good use!” “Are you ogling me, Swan?” “You show them off.” “Little of column A, little of column B.”

She clicks her tongue, the smile obvious in his voice even when there’s a tree blocking his face and they put the tree in her apartment. After getting a blanket out of Killian’s closet to put underneath it, and the guy had taken pity on them earlier, adding in the star as part of the tree cost because it was Christmas Eve and no one else was buying trees and Emma honestly does not mean to fall asleep with her head on Killian’s shoulder. 

Waking with a start, Emma has to blink. More than once. To make sure she’s not still dreaming, but if she were there’d still be a shoulder under her cheek and preferably an arm around her waist, or maybe less clothing, and none of that is happening, so this has to be real. 

“Are you ok? 

Her voice doesn’t entirely sound like hers — still tinged with sleep and Emma’s only marginally worried there’s bits of tinsel in her hair, because obviously she’d had an extra box of tinsel from the door decorating and they’d thrown that, quite literally, at the tree. The one that almost appears to be shimmering in the bit of moonlight creeping through her curtains, Killian staring out the window at the—

“Is it thundering out?”

He nods without glancing at her. “Happens sometimes. Not often in the winter, but—” Another clap echoes around them, and that must have been what woke Emma up. Not the lack of shoulder, or her recently-acquired ability to read the exact angle of Killian’s shoulders and what that means and he flinches. 

“Hey,” Emma says, almost able to walk towards him without wincing, “what’s going on?”

“I didn’t mean to fall asleep.” “That’s not a big deal, what’s happening with your shoulders?”

Turning slower than any human should be able to, Killian levels Emma with an incredulous stare. She juts her chin out. In something akin to almost romantic defiance. “Staring at my arms, now my shoulders. You’ll give a man a complex.” “Stop being an idiot, then.” “Huh.” Lightning joins the fray, snow swirling just outside that window and Emma’s not sure she’s ever been so grateful to be inside. Warm and maybe not entirely content, at least not yet, but definitely safe and even more happy, all of which seems as good a reason as any for everything that happens next. 

“What happened to your brother?” Killian’s eyes widen, surprise mixing with something that’s almost dangerously close to anger. Only to disappear just as quickly, morphing into what Emma’s sleep-addled brain can only describe as disappointment. “He’s dead.”

“And?” “That’s usually the end of things.”

“Nuh uh,” Emma objects, which isn’t the worst thing she’s done, but Killian flinches again when she rests a hand on his tension-filled shoulder. “It’s depressing.” “Why’d you wake up?” He tells her. Only after forcing her back onto the couch, because “your ankle’s going to start swelling up again, Swan,” but then the story is as depressing as advertised, with storms and ships and the dead brother who has since achieved hero status in Killian’s brain. And the tears clouding his eyes don’t ever actually fall—which is probably for the best, because Emma isn’t convinced she’d be able to do anything except kiss them away, but he doesn’t look away from her either, and at some point her fingers start tracing over the blunt edge of his left arm. 

He doesn’t move. 

Doesn’t tell her to stop, or pull away. Just lets her trace over scars that are equal parts metaphorical and literal, and that’s enough. To help ease the cracks in her, swallowing once and meeting his depressing with equally atrocious, and to Killian’s credit there’s no interruption. 

Not through foster home explanations, or the whole thing with Neal, meeting Mary Margaret and Ruby, and how it’s never felt like that life could be totally Emma’s, even when she wants it so much she’s certain it’ll explode out of her. 

Minutes turn into hours and evolve into the middle of the night, and the snow doesn’t stop and the thunder doesn’t stop and there’s enough light lingering around them that Emma’s able to notice the flickers of blue in Killian’s eyes and the quirk of his lips and—

It was about time, honestly. 

Her fingers curl into his t-shirt, all but yanking him closer because not kissing him is the dumbest thing she could possibly do right now. And she’s not dumb. So, that’s her only option, really. 

And it takes him a second to respond. 

Like he hasn’t also been counting down to this one, exact moment. It’s that moment that almost gives Emma pause, ancient worries rising up in the back of her throat and threatening to spill out her mouth, but then Killian’s mouth is moving and there’s more tongue than she’s entirely prepared for and fingers pushed into her hair, and she genuinely has no idea how she ends up in his lap. 

Not that she’s complaining. 

Makes it easier to find a rhythm, anyway. Rocking against each other with a sudden burst of friction that’s somehow not nearly enough, roaming hands and lips that trail across the side of Emma’s neck and underneath her chin, and it takes all her willpower not to groan too loudly when Killian laughs. 

As soon as he notices the goosebumps on her skin. 

“A complex,” he mutters, but it sounds like a compliment and something close to a promise and Emma’s rolling her hips before she can think of all the reasons she shouldn’t. 

The groan she gets sends her flying. Metaphorically, literally. Some other adverb that doesn’t matter when there’s an arm around her waist and her legs wrap around Killian on instinct. 

They don’t stumble once — although Emma’s feet never touch the ground, so she’s not sure she should be part of the equation, and her laugh bubbles out of her as soon as her back bounces against her bed. 

Strictly speaking, the rest is a bit of a blur. Clothes are thrown with abandon, tossed this way and that, and Emma’s teeth find her lower lip when Killian pulls his shirt off, but then his eyes noticeably widen as soon as her leggings are gone and that’s a rather large boon to her confidence. And his hair is somehow softer than she expected it to be. 

They’re also very good at kissing. 

She considers both things very important. 

And Emma’s got no idea what time it is by the time she’s flopped back to her side of the bed, only that there was no discussion about sides and that leaves her feeling warmer and safer and—

“Don’t leave, ok?” Killian flips his head. To smile at her. Like he could—no, not yet. They’ll get to that eventually, maybe. “I don’t really want to.” “Good, thunder kind of freaks me out anyway.” Sheets twist underneath them when he inches closer, and for half a second Emma wonders if he’s going to kiss her again, eyes already fluttering in anticipation. He does, just not where she expects. Not her lips. Everywhere else. The bridge of her nose, either one of her cheekbones and the edges of her eyes, across her brows and the tiny wrinkles in her forehead, each one feeling as if it stamps something onto her soul and her heart and she’s such a goddamn sap at whatever time it might be.

“I like you,” he whispers. “Yeah?” “Yeah. “Good.”

Snow covers the street when Emma blinks awake on Christmas morning, the scene looking like some idyllic version of a city that only a few weeks earlier left her with an abnormally large ankle. Now she can’t feel much except how much she loves this place, and this slightly drafty apartment and—

The noticeably empty right side of her bed. 

Huh. 

Flopping onto her back, Emma tries very hard not to let her mind wander, but her mind is already in the hallway and there’s talking in the hallway. The loud kind, not totally annoyed, but sounding genuinely confused and that cannot be the first time Killian has grumbled “this is not a big deal” in that exact tone.

Not thinking is really Emma’s greatest talent. 

She doesn’t bother putting on shoes before she opens her front door, hair still a tangled mess and there may very well be hickeys on her neck if the look on the face of the guy standing outside Killian’s apartment is any indication. 

“Oh,” the woman breathes, and there are apparently two people in the hallway. Emma’s admittedly staring pretty intently at Killian. 

Who is not wearing anything on his feet either, and the whole thing is symmetrical and confusing and it takes her way too long to recognize the hallway people. From the frames. Ones that also included uniforms and wide smiles and the guy sticks his hand out like this isn’t the weirdest thing in the history of New York City. 

“Will Scarlet,” he says, “and this is my fiancée, Belle. You must be the ankle girl.” Killian pinches the bridge of his nose. 

“He did tell us your name,” Belle adds, and Emma’s breathing very loudly. Out of her mouth. Which is hanging open. 

She can’t believe she’s not wearing socks. 

“Were you stalking me?” she asks Killian, who immediately flushes and grits his teeth and it would be very easy to fall in love with him. Potential felonies not withstanding. 

“No, no, no, that’s not what’s happening here.” “And what is happening?” “We’re inviting you both to Christmas,” Belle explains, “because Killian said he couldn’t come if you were here and—” “—You’re certainly here, aren’t you?” Will adds. Killian punches his arm. 

Emma’s frozen. Stuck, and still breathing abnormally, eyes like pinballs as they try to figure out who exactly she should be glaring at, but none of the emotions currently churning in between her ribs resemble anger. Confusion, definitely. Possible attraction to the exact way Killian squeezes one of his eyes shut. But nothing even in the realm of frustration. 

Huh, again. 

“Explain what’s going on,” she demands. Both Belle and Killian’s arms move when Will opens his mouth, a soft grunt of pain that should not be as gratifying to hear from a stranger. 

“Can you walk?” Killian asks. 

“Are you kidding me?” “No, we kind of forgot about the medicine last night, so—” Hands flying to her mouth, Belle barely manages to contain her response, and Will doesn’t seem to bother, noise bouncing off the hallway and its ugly carpet and Killian’s hand finds the small of Emma’s back when they move. Away from his door and her door and he hisses in a breath through his teeth. “There’s no stalking involved, I swear.” “What is it, then?” “Pining, maybe?” “Pining?” Emma echoes, and the noise Will makes is way closer to a guffaw now. 

Killian grimaces. “Not—I mean, not in a totally creepy way. I just...I wasn’t kidding about Ruby being very loud when she kicks on your door. So I’d seen you, and heard like...of you and—” Flustered is admittedly a good look on him. They all are, but Emma hasn’t had any coffee yet and there’s a peanut gallery watching this entire conversation, which is more accidental symmetry and Killian visibly exhales when her hand finds his chest. Still questionably solid. “Anyway, uh—you know how you’re aware of people and think they’re good looking?” “You think I’m good looking?” “Did I not make that obvious enough yet? That’s disappointing.” It’s her turn to blush apparently, ducking her gaze to stare at her bare feet so she doesn’t do something ridiculous like jump him. Emma’s ankle isn’t capable of doing that yet. “And then I heard you cursing Poseidon or whatever Gods you were beseeching that night—” “Ok, Poseidon was not involved,” Emma argues. 

Killian’s thumb taps the side of her jaw. She doesn’t snap her teeth. Points. Christmas points, even. “So I opened the door, and found you there. Not being attacked, like I was legitimately worried about, and it all just—” “—Happened?” “Kind of. You kept inviting me inside.” “Well as far as I know you’re not a vampire, so that wasn’t a requirement to come inside, but—” “—I wasn’t just going to barrel into your apartment, Swan.” “No, no, I know,” she promises, waving her hands because she’s suddenly kind of flustered and she never responded last night and she’d like to respond with some emotions, but that’s never really been her thing, so all Emma can do is mumble, “most people I know are jerks, not including Ruby or Mary Margaret, who you don’t know, but—” Killian catches both her wrists in one hand. It’s patently absurd. “That’s not the point.” “What’s the point?” “You’re not.” “A jerk?” “No,” Emma says, trying very hard to smile without crying and it doesn’t really work. Tears land on her cheeks, throat apparently collapsing, and only one of those things seems like the end of the world. Until there are lips on her cheek again, following a pattern that can’t possibly be the one he traced last night. 

Or this morning, she supposes. 

That’s not the point, either. 

“Why?” “Why?” Killian repeats softly. “Because you’re very easy to like.” “That’s not true, at all. I’m—prickly, and angry and I hate Bill de Blasio.” “Everyone does, that doesn’t make you special.”

Exhaling the way she does only ensures she sags against Killian’s chest, and he doesn’t mind all that much. If the way he smirks at her is any indication. “I didn’t want to go to Mary Margaret and David’s for a gazillion reasons, but it wasn’t just my ankle and I—” Her fingers tighten in his shirt. That helps, honestly. Makes her a bit braver and bit surer and kissing him once is more than enough to make Emma’s lungs function normally. “I like you too,” she says, loud enough that she kind of sounds like she’s announcing it and she supposes she almost is. “With or without all the Christmas stuff, but the Christmas stuff was really fun.” “That’s the first time I’ve cared about Christmas in a very long time.”

“Rude,” Will shouts, but Killian’s eyes don’t leave Emma and at some point these imaginary Christmas points became very important to her internal dialogue. He’s got, like, forty billion now.

At least. 

“I would have wallowed,” Emma admits, “sat on the couch and hated on everything festive, but...well, I kept calling you good looking in my head.” “When? Before the cursing?” “Yeah, but especially during the cursing and like...now. Were you going to blow off your friends to spend Christmas Day with me?” “Yes,” he says, easy as anything and that’s absolutely, one-hundred percent a sign. One Emma is very willing to read. For as long as she possibly can. “Because he’s only a jerk to us,” Will yells. “You can come too, Emma. We weren’t going to leave you here by your lonesome!” “Except we wouldn’t call it that,” Belle adds, “because this isn’t a Dickenson’ian novel.” “She’s a librarian,” Killian explains when Emma glances questioningly at him, and his fingers are very close to the hem of her shirt. 

“Oh yeah, yeah, that makes sense. I should probably shower before we go though.” Eyebrows jumping and smirk settling onto the mouth Emma is totally staring at makes it all but impossible to do anything except ignore the slight twinge in her ankle when she pushes up on her toes and kisses the ever-living daylights out of the good looking guy she hopes is her boyfriend now. They’ll get to that, eventually. 

“What are you doing on New Year’s Eve?” she asks, not bothering to move away from him even as Will and Belle jeer from the other end of the hall. 

“Whatever you want, Swan,” Killian says. They probably lose some Christmas-type points when he flips off his friends. 

They don’t go out for New Year’s Eve. 

It’s snowing again, and while Emma's ankle is the right color, it’s easier to claim sitting on the couch is a relationship-tradition when they’re both very eager to use that particular qualifier, and it’s more fun to make out that way. They'll go ice skating eventually.

[wickedbarnes]

m o n s t e r.

pairing: ransom drysdale x reader

prompt: ransom absolutely hates being rejected. he loathes it, it wounds his ego. so when he finds out that you weren't interested in him, the sheer determination of having you slowly turned into an unhealthy obsession.

trigger warnings: smut. non-con. dubcon. drugging. blackmailing. dark!ransom. do NOT read if any of these make you uncomfortable. 18+ readers ONLY.

note: i'm sorry if the smut may not be that good. i promise i'm trying to improve my smut writing skills :(

Ransom was the type of man who always gets what he wants one way or another. He wasn't the type to back down from a challenge nor was he the type to lose. He always makes sure he wins at the end. For him, nothing tasted so sweet than to have things go his way. He was that type of man and he was proud to admit that.

If he wanted a new car, he'd get it. If he wanted to party on the other side of the goddamn world, he'd book a ticket in a blink of an eye. If he wanted to fuck a girl or two, he'd get them on his knees in an instant. Ransom was a man who had everything. Power, wealth, good looks, you name it.

Being a Thrombey had its perks after all despite how much he dislikes his family.

But of course, there was this... unfortunate fact that not everything went his way. And he realized this the moment he laid eyes on the newest maid inside his grandfather, Harlan's mansion.

Y/N is what they called you. You were only working part-time as a means of earning money while you studied at college. It won't be long 'till you graduated so the student loans that you had needed to be paid and Harlan was generous and kind enough to pay you well.

Ransom took note of how full of life you were. Your eyes held some sort of innocence and purity in them. In fact, he'd be surprised if he ever found out you weren't a virgin. You seemed like the type that had never been properly touched by a man before. Either that, or you just hid that secret so well.

You greeted everyone kindly with a smile on your face and Ransom was sure everyone would be doting on you in no time. But when your doe eyes had fell on him, he saw the hesitation in them. But you quickly masked it with a faint smile, not quite as bright as the one that you gave to the others.

"Welcome back, Hugh." You'd say. And dare say, Ransom was impressed that you already knew he preferred that he was called Hugh by the helpers.

And you did. The first time you were hired, Marta and Fran were kind enough to show you around and taught you how things worked around here, even showed you how to properly serve Harlan's family members. However, it was Marta who told you about Hugh. You could remember her telling you to strictly steer clear from him and that whatever you did, you will only refer to him as Hugh.

And you, being the obedient employee that you are, you weren't planning on causing trouble and made sure to make mental notes of what she said.

So far, you were doing great. You were confused however, as to why she'd tell you to avoid him but when you saw how he treated his family members and the helpers that served him, you instantly understood why you needed to do so.

An asshole.

That's what Ransom Drysdale was.

Days passed during their visit to the mansion, you found yourself trying to stop yourself from giving Ransom a piece of your mind. You just couldn't handle rude people. They never settled well with you. And as quiet and bashful as you were most of the time, you had quite the mouth on you when someone deserves to be taught a lesson.

But by extension, Ransom was kind of your employer. If you upset him, there was no way in hell he wouldn't tell his grandfather. And you didn't want to disappoint Harlan now that he had done so much for you.

So instead, you kept your mouth shut and just continued to do your job.

But your reactions didn't go unnoticed by the cold-hearted playboy. He knew you disliked him. And in a way, he found it amusing. It wasn't the first time he heard of people not being quite fond of him. Most of the time, he didn't care. But with you, it somehow makes him chuckle.

In all honesty, he found you adorable trying to suppress what you wanted to say to him whenever he talked shit to his family or to Fran or Marta. He saw how you'd scowl and walk away from the scene just so you wouldn't burst and make you put him in his place if that's even possible. As if he'd let anyone dominate him.

It started out small, really. He had woken up early and found you wiping the windows clean. You wiped the sweat that was forming on your forehead as Ransom went downstairs, making his presence known. You turned around and saw him smiling softly at you.

"Good morning, Y/N." He greeted you and to say you weren't quite taken aback would be a lie. But you weren't rude like Ransom and he knows that. So instead of ignoring him, you forced a smile back and slowly brushed passed him to make your way to the laundry room. But not before you greeted him back.

"Good morning, Hugh." You'd say. And just like that, you were out of his grasp.

After that exchange, you'd find Ransom out in the garden with you as you watered the plants, in the kitchen where you'd help prepare food, in the laundry room where you tried to clean everyone's dirty clothes. He was there, trying to start up a conversation with you. But all of which you gave such limited answers to.

You didn't want to indulge him of trying to get to know you. You knew better than to let your guard down with men like Ransom. He was the kind of man that your mother had warned about. And you knew better than to be fooled by him.

Your headstrong personality despite your shyness and innocence showed through whenever you'd politely tell Ransom to leave you be. And that surprised him a lot.

Because no one had been able to tell him to leave them alone. When it came to women, they would lunge themselves and kneel down at Ransom's feet, worshipping him as if he were God in the flesh. They would do all that just to get a taste of the infamous Thrombey Golden Boy. But you, you had asked him to leave you be.

"I'm working, Hugh. And I would gladly appreciate it if you don't distract me. I'd like to finish early I still have homework to finish." You'd say as you busied yourself by cleaning one of the guest rooms that was bigger than your apartment itself.

Ransom stood there silently and you worried for a moment as to why he hadn't said anything. Turning around to look at him, you saw him frozen on his spot but soon enough, he nodded his head briskly and left you in the room without a word.

But if he was being honest, what you said had offended him so much. That was the closest thing to "No" that he had ever received from a woman. And it drove him fucking crazy.

Oh but no, he wasn't going to give up. You were just playing hard to get that's all. Women love a good chase. And you were simply not going through your senses. Ransom was confident that soon enough, you'd realize just how lucky you are that he was even bothering on paying attention and pouring his time on a maid like you.

He could have any girl he wanted. Models, cheerleaders, business women, fucking porn stars and yet he was focusing on you. Sometimes Ransom forgets why he was even wasting his time but then he remembers that he doesn't take no for an answer.

You were beautiful, he admits that. You weren't a model nor were you an actress but you were beautiful nonetheless. Ransom was sure that you could turn heads whenever you walk in public. That was one of the reason why he seemed so hooked up on you.

But another was that you were unlike any woman he has met before. You were innocent but you weren't an idiot. He could see fire in your eyes and he sensed that you were the kind of woman that would easily carry herself. You didn't need a man by your side to help you. In fact, you didn't even need a man to make you happy.

And that kind of a whole new thing to Ransom. You were like the fresh apple in the forbidden tree. So ripe for the taking You were like a breath of fresh air to him. All the other women he had been with, they all seemed to want to depend on him. They all seemed as if they couldn't even stand on their own two feet.

But that wasn't you.

And Ransom realized you weren't playing hard to get. The real problem was that you weren't interested in him at all. It took him days to realize that. Days of silently persuading you to at least pay attention to him. Days of silently hoping you would fall into his trap just like all those girls he trapped back then. But no, it didn't work on you.

No matter how much he pretended to be nice, no matter how much he had tried to make a conversation with you, even trying to mellow down his attitude towards his family and the helpers, he just didn't stand a chance.

And that. Drove. Him. Insane.

Ransom couldn't have this, no. He had to have you. It wasn't something he wanted to do. It was something he needed to do. It was as if having you was something that his life depended on it. He needed to take you. Stake his claim and make you his. He had never wanted to claim someone so much as he did with you. You had that effect on him now.

All because you refused to let him have you.

The more you refused, the more he craved you. The more he got addicted. The more he got obsessed at the thought of finally having you writhing underneath him.

But that was just that, a thought. An imagination for him. A sick dream of his that made him wake up with a raging boner that pushed him to stroke his own throbbing member but not before he moans out your name from his lips.

That was, until it finally turned into reality.

The Thrombeys had thrown a little get together and almost all of them got drunk. Thankfully, you didn't have class tomorrow so you didn't mind staying in so late. You can just call a cab or stay in the maid quarters until you can go home. It was also your day off the next day anyways.

The wealthy family had finally retrieved to their respective rooms leaving you to clean up all the empty glasses and liquor bottles that were strewn all over the table. The Thrombeys really do get roudy when they're drunk.

Fran had to tend to Harlan because of Marta's absence. According to her, she had important matters to attend to and that left you with the duty and washing these glasses and putting them away.

You were finally finished with the task when you turned around and jumped when you saw Ransom leaning in against the doorway with a faint smile on his face.

"Jesus, Hugh, you scared me." You'd say, putting your hand over your chest making him chuckle as you walked out of the kitchen and into the dining room where you began to tidy up the table again.

"I told you, you can call me Ransom." He replied but you just sighed in response, refusing to call him that, not wanting to give him what he wants no matter how small.

"You should be in bed." You said already knowing he'd notice the change in the subject.

"So should you but here you are cleaning." Ransom walked over to you and placed a glass of champagne in front of you while another was in his hand.

"What's this?"

"Champagne." He answered as if you didn't know what was in front of you.

"I know but why are you giving it to me?"

Ransom let out a breath and traced the rim of the glass with his calloused fingers.

"You'd been working nonstop today, I thought you should treat yourself somehow."

You sighed, "Hugh, I can't take this. I can't drink while I'm working. Plus, it'd be inappropriate of me to drink with my employer's grandson."

"Oh, come on, Y/N. It's just one glass, it won't hurt. My grandfather even offered you some earlier. I'm sure he wouldn't mind if you drank one right now." He picked up the glass and pushed yours into your hands so you had no choice but to grab it or else, the glass would break and the drink would spill.

"Come on, just one drink. I promise it won't be that bad. And then I'll leave you alone to rest." Ransom smiled down at you and your gaze averted back and forth to him and the glass of champage in your hands.

Maybe one drink wouldn't hurt, right?

"Ugh, fine. Just one though, that's it." You replied, finally giving in and Ransom had to bite the inside of his cheek hard to keep himself from smiling too wide from what he heard.

He raised his glass to you with a smirk on his face, "To working hard and paying student loans."

You rolled your eyes at him but grinned at his words before you clinked your glass with his.

"To working hard and paying student loans." You said before you took a big chug of your drink, finishing it in one go and you had completely missed the way Ransom had looked down at you with a devilish look in his eyes as he drank his champagne the same time as you did.

You placed down your glass on the table and quietly thanked him for the drink. You walked passed him but Ransom stayed at his spot and finished his champagne and as if he timed it perfectly, he heard a thud on a floor that caused him to smirk in a sinister way.

The drug worked fast just like he knew it would. Usually it would take time but he didn't have the patience for that so he doubled the dosage. Ransom grabbed both your empty glasses and washed it neatly before he put it in the dishwasher.

He didn't want to leave any trace of evidence after all. But it wasn't like you were gonna tell anybody anyway.

Ransom came back to the dining room and gently picked you up in his big arms bridal style, making you look like a damsel in distress who just got rescued by a knight in shining armor. Except, it wasn't like that at all.

He quietly made his way upstairs, looking down at your face every once in a while. Grinning at how adorable you looked while you were unconscious in his arms.

Soon enough, Ransom had successfully walked into his room and placed you down on the bed gently. He walked by the door once again and made sure it was locked before he made his way to your sleeping figure once again and took his time to just admire your features.

He stroked your cheek gently as he took his time to appreciate your gorgeous body that was still clad in your clothing. And Ransom wanted nothing more than to rip everything off of you but he knew he had to wait until you woke up.

So instead, he pulled away and took his time by taking a bath.

Meanwhile, your eyelids were starting to flutter open, your body felt heavy and you couldn't even bring to at least move your fingers. God, what happened?

When your vision finally adjusted, you realized that you weren't in your apartment nor were you in the maid quarters. Where were you? Did you pass out? How'd you pass out?

But then you remembered. You were cleaning the dining room when Ransom came in and offered you champagne. And then you finally agreed to take a sip. After that, you passed out. Realization hit you like a truck and you willed yourself to at least sit up. It took some time and your body felt like jello as you did. As if every limb was asleep.

It was then that you realized that you were in Ransom's room. Why'd he take you here? Did he help you when you passed out? Why did you even pass out in the first place? Was it because you were exhausted? Or was it-

"Oh, you're awake." Ransom's voice caught your attention and you turned to see him walking out of the bathroom, his chest damp from taking a bath as droplets of water trickled down to his torso. He was only wearing a towel around his hips to at least hide his modesty.

You weren't blind to the fact that Ransom was indeed a handsome man. But looks didn't matter to you if the person was a complete dick. So you groaned and looked away, rubbing your temple as your head pounded quite a bit.

Ransom didn't like your reaction at all. Usually, women would gasp or at least their jaw would drop upon seeing him half naked in front of them. But you, you looked away. You didn't even blush. Nor did you at least stare at him.

Did you not find him attractive at all? No, that's not it. Maybe you were just distracted by the drug he induced inside your drink. You were just waking up from it after all.

"What happened, Hugh? How'd I pass out? I don't remember having a drink too many." You'd ask and carefully placed your legs down onto the floor as you now sat on the edge of the bed, not quite noticing how your skirt had risen up to the middle of your thighs.

"You didn't, yeah. Thankfully my dosage was right to just knock you out and not send you into a coma." He answered nonchalantly and your head shot up as you looked at him confused.

"Dosage? W-What are you talking about?"

Ransom rolled his eyes and slowly made his way over to you and you found yourself scooting further away from him while gripping onto the blanket right next to you.

You never noticed just how big he was compared to you. Not until now when he looked as if he was stalking his prey and he was the predator.

"You're really pretty, Y/N, you know that, right?" Ransom stood in front of you, his crotch leveling with your face but you were somehow thankful that he put his finger underneath your chin and tilted your head up to look at him.

"What are you doing, Hugh?" You asked him, your voice shaking quite a bit now as fear began to course through your veins. You knew Ransom had his moments and he had them a lot. But never did you realize he would get so... so aggressive. You were scared to say the least. Because then you never realized just how dangerous Ransom Drysdale could be until now.

"What am I doing? Oh, baby, I think I should be asking you that. You know, all this wouldn't have happened if you just spared a glance at me, you know? You walk around here looking all innocent with your head held high as if you didn't want my head in between those precious thighs of yours."

Your eyes widened, "W-What? What're you- Hugh, that's ridi-"

"Call me Ransom." He said, cutting you off as he gripped your jaw with his large hands, "God, do you even realize how much I fucking hate it when you call me Hugh?"

"But didn't you prefer the help calling you that?" You backfired but your voice seemed so weak. You wanted so bad to break away from him but you were afraid of what might happen if you did.

Was he armed? Would he hurt you? Would he... no, Ransom wouldn't do that, would he?

Would he?

"I do. But I can't let my best girl call me Hugh it... it really gets on my nerves, Y/N. Sometimes I think you're doing it on purpose. Just like how you haven't given into me all this time that I've been here. Tell me, were you playing hard to get? Is that what this is, you love the game of cat and mouse? You love the chase, hm?"

You were so confused. Why was he so round up? Why did he seem so angry? And what the hell did he mean by playing hard to get? Your thoughts were cut short when Ransom held your face harshly in his hands, looking down at you with dark eyes instead of his usual azure colored orbs.

This was a completely different Ransom. Hell, was this the real Ransom all along? Predatory and dangerous?

"I'm fucking asking you a question here, baby, I expect a fucking answer from you." His voice was deep, husky and it only sent shivers down your spine because of how scared you were right now.

"I don't understand what's going on, Hugh." You whimpered as your hands slightly began to shake on your lap, "I don't know why I'm here or what you mean by playing hard to get, I'm not playing hard to get, I'm not playing any games with you I was just doing my job."

Tears began to cascade down your cheeks and Ransom's face softened a bit. But he was shocked when he felt as if he was guilty for making you cry. He had made many women cry but he never felt any ounce of guilt before. Why'd he feel it when it comes to you?

Ransom shushed and cooed at you as he gently wiped your tears away with his thumb.

"Don't cry, doll. Well, as much as you look pretty when you cry, I'd prefer it if you didn't." He smiled before he crouched down in front of you.

"I just don't understand, Y/N. I did everything I could. I tried to act nice, I tried to help you around with your chores even if you'd tell me countless of times that you didn't need my help, I even convinced my grandfather to give you a raise because of how hardworking you are. Why did you think you were getting paid more than the other helpers around here, huh? I did all that and all you do to repay me was to pull away? That's quite rude, baby." He tutted and began to trace random patterns onto your thighs which made jump and push his hand away.

"See now, that's what I was fucking talking about. You always push me away. No matter what I do, no matter what tricks I have up my sleeve, you break away and dare I say I'm starting to lose my patience here."

He sighed and put his hand back on your thigh and you let out a sob as you couldn't push him away now. Your body still felt like jello you could hardly move your limbs properly. And you knew that if you break away, Hugh would catch you, it would be useless.

"I did all that I could to lure you in, to let you fall into my charms and let me have you but no, I guess all of that didn't work. Do you realize just how many women would kill to be in your place, hm? How they'd pay you millions of money just so they could replace you? And yet here you are, being so ungrateful. But I commend you, Y/N. You're the first woman to ever reject my advances. And as much as I fucking hated it, I'm impressed."

You brows furrowed as you finally put two in two together. That was all it was? All of this because you had wounded his large fucking ego? The fear on your face was replaced with anger and the fact that Ransom was looking at you amusingly didn't help at all.

"That was all this, Hugh? All of this, all the drugging that you did to me, all those pretentious acts that you pulled was all just because you could get me to sleep with you? All because you can't take no for answer? How fucking desperate and idiotic can you be?" You spat but it all happened so fast when Ransom suddenly slapped you across the face causing your head to whip up to the side.

His eyes widened as you turned back to look at him, your cheek now sporting a red mark. You were shocked. But you quickly gathered your composure and uttered words that caused Ransom to see nothing but red.

"I'd return the slap if I even took you as a man, Ransom." Ransom. You finally uttered Ransom from your lips. He should be happy you finally called him that. But his name accompanied by those words made something in him snap.

Ransom pushed you down on the bed and placed himself in between your thighs as his hand wrapped around your throat but not enough to choke you just tight enough to instill fear back in your body. Your skirt hiked up and Ransom smirked at the sight of your white cotton panties fully in display for him now.

Even your undergarments were as innocent as you.

"I've had enough, Y/N. You really pushed my limits now. Didn't your mother taught you how to respect your superiors, hm?" His hands rubbed your thigh up and down and before you could even reply, he quickly yanked down your skirt causing you to shriek but Ransom quickly silenced you as he put his large hand over your mouth.

"You should know better than to fight, doll. Make this easier for the both of us, will you? You have no idea how much I fucking hate it when someone tells me no. Especially when it's coming from you." Ransom brushed his fingers against your core causing you to jump a bit and squirm in his arms but held you firmly in place causing you to still down on the bed.

You eyes widened as you felt Ransom pushing your panties to the side before you felt his finger sliding up and down against your folds. Although you had masturbated quite a number of times, you were a virgin. You were untouched and made a promise to yourself to give your virginity to a man that loves you just as much as you loved him. Who deserves to have every part of you.

But instead, it was going to be forcefully taken away from you by Ransom. The grandson of your employer. The Thrombey Golden Boy. The devil in the flesh.

Your eyes were wide and filled with fear and Ransom liked that. He liked how powerless you were compared to him. He liked having the control he has on you now.

Slowly, he took his hand off your mouth but not before he gave you a warning.

"If you ever scream for help or even wake anybody up inside this goddamn mansion, I'll be sure to ruin your life and we don't want that, do we?" You instinctively shake your head no and Ransom seemed satisfied by your response.

"And if you ever tell anyone about this, I'll find out. And when I do, you'll be unemployed in the blink of an eye. Your degree gone in a snap. In case you didn't know, we Drysdales are stakeholders at your school. I can easily demand to get you expelled. And if you make me unhappy, I'll even fabricate a story about you. That's not something you want to happen, right?"

You couldn't believe it. You couldn't believe what you were hearing. And it doesn't seem so real. How could Ransom be so cruel? Did the vanity that was coursing through his veins finally fucked his head up? Or was he always like this? Always craved for power and control?

Your questions remained unanswered while you managed to give Ransom another meekly nod causing him to smirk.

"Good girl. See, you're learning. And good girls deserve a reward." You felt his fingers rubbing circles on your clit. You gasped and shook your head as if you silently told your body not to give into the pleasure he was forcing on you.

Your slit began to get slippery and Ransom cooed at how embarrassed you seem when you started to get his fingers all soaking wet.

"No need to be embarrassed, baby, it's just me. I'll take care of you." Tears streamed down your face causing your cheeks to get all blotchy but even then, Ransom still wouldn't budge. In fact, he found you beautiful when you cried. It made you look more innocent and pure. As if you needed to be dependent on him.

"You're getting so wet, sweetheart. You don't mind if I slip a finger in, do you?" Ransom didn't even give you anytime to answer before he slipped a finger inside your tight hole. You hated how a soft moan had escaped your mouth when he pushed it in.

"Oh, that's it, Y/N. Those are the noises I want to hear from you." Ransom pumped his finger in and out of your pussy and your cheeks heat up when you heard the sound of your own slick pussy. No, no, it shouldn't feel this good.

Your mind and body were at war. Your brain was screaming at you to push him away and scream for help but your body writhing against his hand as if you were begging him for more even if that wasn't the case.

Ransom looked at his glistening hand that was soaked with your juices and it only made his cock throb against the towel that was wrapped around his waist. Pulling his fingers away, you thought it was over until he ripped your panties off of you along with your blouse leaving you in nothing but your white laced bra.

You watched as Ransom licked his lips hungrily at you and it seemed as if the bra that was covering your breasts bothered him. So much so that he roughly pulled the straps down and reached behind you to unhook them with ease letting your tits be exposed to him.

You lifted your arms up to cover your chest while you pressed your thighs together but Ransom growled disapprovingly. He forced your legs open again and pinned your arms above your head with his hand as he stared down at you with his lust clouded eyes.

"Are you going to fucking behave or do you want to do this the hard way?" He spat and you felt so small as a quiet sob emitted from your lips while you stayed still.

"Good girl." Ransom whispered as he pressed a kiss onto your lips before pulling away.

"I think it's time I have a taste of you, baby. I hope you're as sweet as you look." Ransom spread your legs open and positioned his face in between your thighs. The towel that was wrapped around his waist had finally let loose and fell onto the wooden floor, letting his cock spring free.

Ransom gently blew on your pussy causing you to flinch. You lifted your head and shook your head at him.

"P-Please, Ransom... let me go, I won't tell anyone I just- Ransom!" You gasped when you felt his tongue laying flat on your cunt before he glided it across your clit. You propped yourself on your elbows and shook your head vigorously at him but Ransom held your legs in place, keeping them apart with his strong hands.

"Yeah, fucking watch me eat your pussy, baby." Ransom would say before he started to lap up your juices and even going as far as to tease your hole with his tongue by pushing it in and out of you before he paid attention to your throbbing clit.

You should've looked away. Looked somewhere else rather than the man that was in between your legs, tongue shoved up your pussy. But you can't. He looked so erotic while he sucked on your sensitive little bud. Is this how it feels to get eaten out by a man?

"Don't fight it, baby, just give in." Ransom would tell you as his fingers slid up and down your wet folds, getting them all lubed up before he pushed it up inside your pussy.

A whorish moan escaped your lips and you quickly put your hand up against your mouth to at least muffle the noises you weren't supposed to be making.

You hated this so much. You hated it because you were giving in. You hated it because it felt so damn good. You hated it because you found yourself wanting more.

You didn't plan on it but it was as if your body has gone on autopilot when you hips began to grind up against Ransom's mouth and fingers. Your hands finding its way to tangle themselves onto Ransom's hair.

Sinful moans escaped your mouth and Ransom moaned against your pussy as it was music to his ears. You tasted so sweet on his tongue and it only drove him crazier than he already was for you.

His personal little peach.

Ransom picked up the pace and curled his fingers up to hit your g-spot repeatedly while he was to busy sucking and licking on your clit. It was too much, it felt too good. Your eyes rolled at the back of your head as you felt the familiar pleasure boiling up in the pit of your stomach.

You were close.

"Fuck, baby, I can feel you getting close." Ransom moaned against your soaking wet pussy. You were sure his chin was glistening with your juices.

"No, no, no..." You chanted and shook your head as if you remembered that you weren't supposed to like this at all.

"Yes, yes, come on, baby. I know you wanna cum for me. Do it. Fucking do it." Ransom encouraged you and fingerfucked you harder as he pulled away, his thumb now rubbing circles on your clit in a fast pace.

He wanted to see you come undone for him.

"Do it, Peaches, do it. Be a good girl and cum for me." He ordered you and you were far too gone to tell yourself no.

"R-Ransom!" You turned your head to the side and bit down on the pillow that was right next to you to muffle your screams. You body convulsed underneath Ransom's as you came hard on his fingers. Your legs shook as avalanche of tears streamed down your face due to shame and the pleasure you felt.

Ransom was speechless. It was as if you were being possessed by a demon. You were shaking underneath him, moaning his name as if it was a prayer you had memorized. No one had came this hard for him. No one had been so wet for him before. It was you. It was all you.

He pulled his fingers away and as much as he wanted to lick it clean, he wanted to see how you'd look while you were sucking on something.

You fluttered your eyes open and looked up at Ransom when you felt his weight on your body. He held his soaking fingers against your lips with one demand for you.

"Suck." And even you didn't want to, you found yourself doing what you were told. You wrapped your lips around his fingers and sucked your juices clean off his fingers.

You knew you should've looked away. You knew you should've pulled away but instead, you looked deep into his eyes and swirled your tongue around his fingers, giving him a sneak peek on what you'd look like if you were to suck his cock.

Ransom was taken by surprise. You're naturally a tease. But as much as he wanted to let you suck on his cock, he knew he didn't have the patience for that yet. Instead, he positioned himself on the bed and threw your leg over his shoulder. Your eyes widened as you shook your head began to move away from him but Ransom only pulled back to where you were by your ankles.

"Don't misbehave now, Y/N, you were doing so good." His voice was dark, indicating how he disliked that you pulled away.

"Ransom, you don't understand, I'm inexperienced. Very different from the girls you've fucked, I... Please, let me go, you already made me cum." You pleaded but you could tell on Ransom's face that he wasn't having it.

"Please, Ransom... I'm a virgin, I-"

"You're a what?" Ransom asked, completely cutting you off.

"I'm a virgin." You repeated yourself, confident that Ransom would change his mind about all this once he finds out that you had no experience with sex.

But your confidence went as quickly as it came.

Ransom's face lit up as he leaned down to capture your lips in his, kissing you passionately. You wanted to pull away but he held your face in place as if he sensed you'd be doing exactly that.

Pulling away, Ransom smirked at you.

"How much more innocent can you be?" And with that, he threw your leg over his shoulder and began to line his cock up against your entrance after he slid it up and down to use your juices as lube.

"Ransom, no, it's not gonna fit- Ahh!" You shrieked and closed your eyes shut as the stinging pain shot throughout your body. You whimpered as Ransom cooed at you while he gently pushed his thick length inside your virgin hole.

He was stretching you out so much it felt endless. You let out a helpless sob when he finally bottomed out, his cock now fully deep inside of you. Ransom cupped your face and peppered kisses on your cheek and lips as if that would help diminish the pain you're in.

"You're so tight, Peaches, you fucking know that?" He groaned and stayed still as if any movement would cause him to spill his cum inside you.

"Ransom, please, I don't want this..." You pleaded yet again but Ransom's eyes darkened as he smirked down at you.

"You will." And with that, he began to thrust back and forth into you, his cock pumping in and out of your tight cunt. You gasped and expected there would be pain but there was none. Pleasure started to overtake your body once again and you realized you had finally adjusted to Ransom's length.

You shook your head, praying to whatever deity there was that existed to make this all stop. It shouldn't feel good, it shouldn't. But your body told you otherwise.

Ransom groaned and looked down to watch his cock go in and out of your cunt. The sight was mouthwatering. He remembered how he just dreamt about this but now it was real. And it was better than he imagined.

"Fuck, Y/N, you're gripping me like a vice. Ruining other bitches for me." He moaned and threw his head back, his mouth parted open as his brows furrowed.

Your breathing became uneven and you found yourself meeting Ransom's thrusts causing him to push deeper inside of you, making him hit your g-spot repeatedly. Sinful moans escaped your lips and you could no longer control what your body desperately needed.

By the look of how desperate you were to chase your own orgasm, Ransom was certain he has you now. He was certain that he had you wrapped around his finger. He was certain that you're all his.

"R-Ransom..."

"I know, baby, I know. Just a little longer, Peaches." He fastened his pace and licked his thumb before he rubbed your throbbing clit while he pounded your cunt. The action made you arch your back and your moans to get louder and you quickly put your hand over your mouth, not wanting to wake anyone up.

Either you didn't want to get caught and make Ransom stop or you just didn't want to face the consequences that he gave you if you got too noisy and alarmed everyone in the house.

"R-Ransom, I'm close, I'm-"

"Me too, baby, fuck! Oh God, I'm gonna fill your pussy up." He groaned and with one final thrust, he shoved his cock so deep up your pussy that you couldn't help but spasm around him once again, biting his shoulder as you screamed out in pleasure as you came hard.

"Holy shit, Y/N..." Ransom moaned as he felt you milking his cock up completely. You felt him shoot load after load of his cum while you shook underneath him.

When Ransom slowly pulled away, you couldn't help but cry silently as a sob escaped your lips. He used you. He used you for his own pleasure and you let him. You let him. And there was nothing you could do.

Ransom looked at you with pity. He knew you were still confused. Soon enough, you were going to thank him for the things he's done to and for you. He gently placed your body on the other side of the bed before he lied down and placed the duvet over your bodies.

"You did so good, Y/N. I'm proud of you. See? I told you it'd be easy if you just gave in." He smiled fondly at you and gently wiped the tear that slipped down from your eyes.

"You had me. You used me like a piece of fucking meat. Now will you let me go?" Your question made Ransom laugh out loud. It was rare for women to make him and somehow, you did it. You were truly full of surprises.

"Let you go? Oh no, Peaches, I think you're mistaken." His smile turned into a menacing one as fear began to spark up inside your body once again as he traced your bare shoulders with your fingers.

"I've waited for this moment for a long time. This is the longest chase I've done. And now that I have you, I don't think I'll ever let you go. Plus, you're quite the fighter. You were quite the challenge and I like that. From here on out, you're mine, do you understand?" Ransom gently pulled the blanket off your body as the cool breeze of air hit your skin. His fingers traced your erect nipples before his hand squeezed your breasts a bit.

"You." He pulled the blanket off of him.

"Are." Ransom spread your legs again and placed himself in between them.

"Mine." He whispered against your neck before he pushed his hardening cock back inside you again.

A monster.

That's what Ransom Drysdale was.