#dealing with wankers should pay better

[breakfastteatime]

I will not do or say anything that will get me fired...

[goldenlilium-ocs]

October 7th, 1993. 

There was a harsh bite to the chill in the castle as winter loomed. With two more classes on his plate this year, Mattheo was throwing himself more into his studies to keep on top. Not that he told anyone that. Theo and Blaise were under the impression that he was in detention for a scrap he’d gotten into during potions, but Snape preferred to deal with the teen as little as possible. The fewer people knew about his little spot of haven in the library, the better. 

There were footsteps in the aisle behind the bookcase he’d been leaning against, halting his movements with his quill over his notebook. There were sniffles and the thump of another body settling against the shelves. Mattheo tensed, grip tightening on his quill. He’d have to leave, somehow, without being caught in the action.

 As he twisted to push himself up off the ground, he peered through the shelves above the hardbacks. Shit. Even without his need to keep tabs on everyone he met, he’d probably recognise the back of that head anywhere. He turned back, leaning his head back against the shelf and weighing his options. He couldn’t just leave her like that. Nobody would. That’s what he continued to repeat to himself as he closed his journal. “You okay there, Bishop?”

The witch sniffled again, her breaths coming out ragged. At first, Mattheo worried she might not have even heard him or was having a panic attack. “Sorry, I didn’t know anyone was back here. I can leave. I’ll leave.”

He heard shuffling and panicked. “Wait!” Quiet again. “I can’t in good conscience let you leave here in tears.” He’d never seen her cry before. Not on the platform at King’s Cross, not when students were being petrified, not even when she fell from her broom during Quidditch.

“Do boys have a conscience?”

Mattheo smiled imperceptibly at the sourness of her tone. He’d been forced to grow up so fast, the teenage woes of his classmates amused him. “I don’t know. Why don’t you talk to me and find out?” 

There was a moment of quiet once again. Maybe she was questioning whether she could trust him. He was used to it by now.

“I punched Cormac McLaggen.”

Oh. Mattheo had to fight a laugh. McLaggen probably deserved it, but the last thing Mattheo had been expecting from the witch was to hear that she’d punched her own boyfriend. He’d pay good money to have seen it.

“You punched Cormac?” He couldn’t help but sound impressed. He was, but now wasn’t the time.

“In the face. Outside Flitwick’s classroom. He…I caught him with someone else.”

Oh. “Wanker.” Mattheo muttered under his breath. There was a hint of a smile in the witch’s laugh that had Mattheo’s fingers itching to grab his quill and draw it. He leaned his head back against the shelf and sighed. “You shouldn’t waste tears on guys like that. You’re probably not even the first. You can’t take it personally.”

“So…you’ve never cheated?”

“It’s not a ritual activity, Bishop. Not every guy you meet is a cheater.” His flings didn’t even last long enough. It was an unwritten agreement that most girls usually got with him to see what it would be like ‘flirting with danger’. Mattheo didn’t mind. He didn’t care enough to let it hurt him.

“Right, sorry. That was stupid. Just…there’s a lot of rumours about you.”

He shouldn’t have been surprised that the rumours had reached her. It did surprise him that that was the one she was most inclined to believe, rather than the lies that he was some insane sociopathic murderer like his father. “Cheating is for assholes too cowardly to confront the fact that something isn’t working out. It’s not some ‘bad boy’ agenda, which I never signed up for. Nobody should be made to feel like they aren’t enough.” That being said, he hadn’t had much of a chance to be a cheater, but it didn’t seem like something he wanted to do. What could be worse than being the reason for somebody’s tears?

“I just thought I was smarter than that.” She sniffled.

Being the reason someone couldn’t see their self-worth. That was worse. Mattheo fucking hated people like that. “You are smart. You just…don’t expect to be let down so easily.” Mattheo couldn’t help but be in awe of what that must feel like.

“Yeah, well, I wasn’t smart enough.” There was a self deprecating scoff from behind the bookcase. “So desperate to be deserving of love that I fell for the smallest branch of kindness handed to me. I just…didn’t expect it to feel this way.”

“It’s not supposed to feel good.” He leaned his head back against the shelves and frowned. How could she ever think that? He was the person who could never be loved, but she glowed too brightly to be anything like him.

There was another long moment of silence, though Mattheo could vaguely hear the sound of turning pages. “Have you ever loved someone who mistreated you?”

“I’ve never loved anyone at all.” Mattheo confessed. He didn’t know why he did. It probably made him sound just like his father. Juliette didn’t question it. He liked that about her. “Did you love him, then?” The very thought left him unsettled.

“I think I just wanted someone to love me. I wanted to feel chosen,” came a defeated whisper from the other side of the shelves.

Mattheo had to close his eyes to prevent the swirling emotion in his chest from manifesting into something real. There was nothing worse than not feeling chosen, something he’d had to deal with his entire life. I’d choose you. Mattheo opened his mouth to speak, but then another voice spoke out from behind the bookcase.

“There she is! The entire year is talking about how you handed McLaggen’s ass to him.

Kingston Chance. Satisfied that the witch was now in the safe hands of someone more qualified to be giving advice, Mattheo took the opportunity of distraction to make his escape.

***

There was a ringing in Mattheo’s ears, blocking out the jeers of the surrounding crowd. It was all he could hear, along with the Gryffindor’s words reverberating in his head. Girls like that are easy. They just need you to pretend you see them. And yet, despite the internal noise, Mattheo’s face was the portrait of calm composure.

“Just let me explain.” Cormac offered, trembling. His left eye was puffy and purple. Mattheo really needed to stop thinking about how good it must have looked, seeing Juliette cuff him in one fluid motion. “Oh, I’ve heard everything I needed to hear.” 

In seconds, he had McLaggen up against the wall, feet dangling helplessly below him. McLaggen had got a couple of hits in, but it felt like weak vermin compared to his animalistic fury. “You stand there acting so fucking tough, but you’re just another elitist dick.” 

His fist found refuge in Cormac’s cheek, splitting skin. It wasn’t enough. Nothing he did now would change anything, but the dakrness had taken over. Mattheo’s hands had closed around McLaggen’s windpipe before he’d even realised what he was doing. A voice in his head hissed in encouragement. It would be so easy. Cormac’s face purpled so easily in his hold. Every pathetic wheeze was a release of wasted oxygen. Not long now. He should draw it out, try to make it last. A minute for every broken heart. Every tear shed at his expense. 

McLaggen was flailing less and less, his pitiful gasps coming in fast and furious. It wouldn’t take much more pressure, he just had to-

“I said snap out of it.” A voice snapped in Mattheo’s ear. His grip slackened as he was hauled away from McLaggen, but the hiss that suggested he’d scratched Cormac’s throat in the struggle satisfied him.

“What in Salazar’s name was that, Riddle?” Dani pushed him to sit down on the couch in the common room. Theo took a seat on the arm of the couch and tutted. He was one to talk. There was a dull ache above Mattheo’s eye that was fast growing into a throb. He was grateful when Danielle approached with the common room first aid kit. The last thing he wanted was to match the asshole. 

“Look, I get you’re the Slytherin heir or whatever, but you shouldn’t go punching every asshole.”

“Maybe she shouldn’t date such an asshole.” Mattheo uttered under his breath, and he could’ve sworn Dani purposely pressed the swab harder against his wound. “Do nice girls always go for dickheads?”

“Do guys always go for girls they can’t have?” Dani arched a brow and Theo snorted.

“Well, guys go for you.”

Mattheo tensed at the words, not wanting to get in between another sexual tension-filled argument, but Dani didn’t even bother to look at him.

“I’m not unobtainable, Nott, I just have standards.”

Theo glanced away, his jaw tense. Mattheo was staying out of it, instead letting Dani patch him up without further complaint. “What happened to finishing fights but not starting them?” The blonde asked, her movements gentler than they’d been moments prior.

“He cheated on Juliette.” Maybe it said something about the fact that the two didn’t even need to press further about who he was talking about. They were too busy exchanging looks with one another.He seriously hated when they did that.

“Did she ask you to beat him up?” Theo asked, and Mattheo turned a dark glare on him.

“She didn’t ask for anything. She had it handled. I just heard him talking about it when I was walking past. He got what was coming to him.” His friends were still looking at him in disbelief. “I was just trying to help. Merlin forbid I try to play the good guy.”

“If you say so,” Dani shrugged. She had finished cleaning the wound now and was packing away. “She’s a nice girl, Mattheo. But nice doesn’t get you anywhere. The best thing for her is to avoid people like us. People like that have their lives planned out from the moment they’re born. Best not to interfere. She has friends. She doesn’t need you.” Mattheo’s hands tightened into fists. They were right, he knew they were right. He wasn’t a hero. He’d been told the opposite his entire life. Juliette Bishop would have been just fine without him. It wasn’t like she’d ever acknowledge him again. 

“Just try not to lash out again? We thought you were going to kill him.” Dani laughed, the sound like a breeze. 

It only made Mattheo’s stomach churn at the memory. Mattheo’s aunt always said that the past didn’t matter, so long as he could be proud of who he was now. Could he be proud of himself for playing into the story that had been written for him?

“If they want to believe I’m a monster, let them. I wasn’t fighting for myself.”

“Then try not fighting at all. I’m going to the dorms. Listening to Binns drone on has given me a headache. Not that it’ll be a problem, but don’t smile too wide. You’re lucky that lip doesn’t need much healing.” Mattheo nodded and thanked the blonde, grateful that she and Theo had been there to stop him.

Theo moved from the arm to sit beside him, watching Danielle’s retreating form. “Do you get the feeling there’s something she’s not telling us?”

“She’s a girl. There’s probably loads of shit she doesn’t tell us.” He shrugged. He was no therapist, and he certainly wasn’t an expert on women.

Theo’s brows furrowed, his teeth teasing his lower lip. “She’s been getting sick a lot lately.”

“It’s flu season. Listen, she’s probably just using it as an excuse to hide herself away with Greengrass and gossip about us. Girls do that sort of thing at this age.” He’d heard Blaise say something along those lines.

“She’s hiding something. She’s not the only one either.” Theo’s gaze was so unusually intense, Mattheo flinched away. “You gonna tell me what happened back there?”

Nott wasn’t usually so observant, but when he was, he was uncannily accurate. Mattheo felt his walls rise, and he stood up, walking over to the mirror above the fireplace to check out his split lip. “You were there, weren’t you?”

“And we’re concerned about you. We didn’t think you were going to kill him. You were killing him. I’ve never seen you like that before. It felt like you disappeared. If we tell Snape-”

“If I tell Snape I’m hearing voices in my head, I’ll be on the first train out of here. It’s nothing I can’t handle myself.” Mattheo didn’t want to think about that. He had to see it through to the end. Dumbledore was only giving him one chance. 

If he couldn’t be a hero, the least he could do was refrain from ending up like the villain.

Theodore appeared at his side, watching him in the mirror before he held up a bottle of firewhiskey. “Life’s semi-natural painkiller.”

[oh-for-fic-sake]

Dress Codes,Nooky And  Cock Blocks

Masterlist

Henry tries to be a white knight and realizes Kal is to smart for his own good.

Request/Prompt: Henry and Kal meets you from work after having a bad day. Playing with Kal to make Henry jealous. Shutting kal out for some nooky but Kal sits outside the door barking and howling.

Warnings: Smutty Almost Smut! Fluff, Swearing

A/N: so this has combined two ideas one of which is from the lovely @being-worthy This was going to be a Pooh bear chapter two but hasn't quite fit the bill. Anyway I hope you all enjoy.  P.S I 100% belive Kal would be a little shit!!!

Taglist: @two-unbeatable-beaters​ @thatgirly81​ @angelofthorr @iloveyouyen​ @sofiebstar​ @thefangirlsblog​ @harrysthiccthighss​ @loserrlauraa​ @tumblrnewby​ @isitmine​ @tinabean37​

This was a fucking piss take your manager was an asshole! You huffed about the office still trying to process the stupidity he just fucking spouted at you. You moved to the ladies room phone in hand ready to vent locking yourself in a stall fingers poised to rant in a long ass text message but you froze. Henry was home well at the gym to be more specific. He was over the moon having just snagged the role of Geralt of Rivia and had been working tirelessly on bulking up for the role especially now that he was getting the dates for shooting. You paused taking a deep breath. No. You cant vent to him and ruined his day to. You growled and moved leaving the bathroom slamming the door thankful that you only had another hour, at least the prick had the decency to wait until the end of the day.

You through your phone down into the bag sitting at your desk for a few moments. You cast your eyes over the computer screen seeing the little bimbo...His little bimbo Stacey there was an office romance between your asshat of a manager and this little blonde. She ran about the office in small tight skirts hair immaculate and thick makeup smeared across her face and fuck me glasses that were an accessory not prescription like yours. She had a snug fitted blouse and pencil skirt on flitting about the office in some dangerous looking heels. More feminine? Was you supposed to jump up and say 'yes sir of course Sir, anything to keep this job sir' then flutter your lashes at him?.

Fuck that, and fuck this be more feminine bullshit, there was no written dress code and as far as things had gone you were doing your job pretty damn well and you didn't need heels to do it!

You scowled seeing the blonde slip out followed by your manager it mus be time fore their discrete get away a make out in the copier room...How original. You sighed clicking your mouse scanning through the next lot of appointments...No more today but there was a shit tonne tomorrow. You sighed getting down...Was your job really on the line over skirts,  makeup and heels? Sure you were on probation but they couldn't sack you for breaking a non existent dress code...Could they.honestly you wouldn't put it past Dave he seemed to have some fucked up traditional views.

Your attention was quickly drawn down to your phone buzzing you smiled seeing it was Henry quickly tapping the notification.

'Bbe you still at the office?? Miss you! 😘😘' You smiled softly heaving a deep breath then began typing.

'Yep still here not for long though finish in 1hr thank god 😘😘 u 2 at the gym still??' You sent the text and got a reply pretty quick you smiled he must have left the gym to reply so quick. Your thoughts wandered a daydream of the huge glorious man puffed out and sweaty ugh yes that's what you needed right now your man to just ruin you fuck the stress and doubt right out of you!. Your eyes scanned the new text he had sent pulljng you out of your raunchy thoughts.

'No just left walking Kal around the park he got a bit excited need to wear him out, so have a good day?'

'😂 good luck with that. And its been okay...G2g shopping after apparently I need to dress more feminine😒😒 so will be home late' You frowned hearing the two love birds enter the office again wrapped up around one another professionally you rolled your eyes as the blonde pulled away from your manager giggling and made her way to the computer opposite you instantly reaching for her compact mirror trying to correct the smeared lipstick across her face. Your phone pinged and you looked down face lighting up a little seeing the anger emojis. Henry felt the same ass you.

'😡😡🤬WTF? wats tht sppsd 2 mean?' you cringed maybe you should have just kept your mouth shut but it was too late now you sighed trying to placate him.

'I need to wear skirts and shit...be an office bimbo no big deal🤷‍♀️🤷‍♀️ just get a few skirts thts all' you typed back his reply was immediate almost as if he'd been typing the same time as you. Wincing you prepared yourself for the worse, Henry was a very protective man and you knew he hated the whole gender roles thing.

'😡😡You dnt need makeup and shit!! ur gorgeous dnt u listen to that wanker!! Can't u leave early?? Say ur going shopping?? Just get out of there! please love dnt let this get 2 u!!🥺🥺 I love u, ur perfect!!😍😘😘😍' You grinned got flushing rereading the words a warmth in your chest. You knew that he meant every word. Stacey looked over with a smirk snapping the compact shut and pointed a false nail in your direction.

"Oh? Is that a blush? Who are you texting? Someone cute?" You flicked your eyes up to her you didn't have anything against her per say but you were different people, she was all Instagram, kardashians and trending and you were all gaming, books and cosy pajamas. You never really spoke to her if you could help it.

"Err yeah...My boyfriend" you admitted looking down seeing another text from him. Another round of compliments and reassuring words lit up your screen.

'I mean it bbe I know u! dnt beat urself up over it! Dont u let him get 2 u!😘😘' you smiled softly yes he did know you and he knew this had not only made you angry but also insecure. You thought you looked good at work you always made a point to look 'put together' but it wasn't enough?

"Ooo was that him again? You never told me you had a boyfriend! Is he new? How long have you been together? What does he do? Whats he saying!?" You gulped as she got up quickly scuttling around the desk as fast as she could in her heels and skirt.

"We've been together a few years...He's just asking me to leave early and catch diner with him but I don't think Dave would like that..." Stacey's face lit up and she beamed at you. She was happy to have something else to gossip about.

"Oh! that’s so sweet~ he wants to steal you away for dinner! You know I wish Dave would do that but he only really pays attention to me at work....So does this sweet mystery man have a name?" You looked up at her tilting your phone away a little so she didn't see Henry's on going threats of 'coming down there and teaching Dave some manners by ripping his tongue out his ass' you shook your head as you caught the ass end of a long text full of emojis...You sort of regret teaching him the meanings of them....Was that an eggplant in the middle?.

"Henry...His name is Henry and he's an actor" Stacey squealed cupping her face completely excited for some reason.

"Oh that's so cute! You know its always you shy ones that nab yourselves the boho guys...You know I always wanted to date the 'boho' type myself but never did, they were all to....Just not my type I like clean cut guys, you know ones who fill out a suit" You squinted what the fuck was she getting at? You schooled your features standing taller quickly and made your own little dig.

"Like Dave?" she flushed and nodded excitedly missing the whole sarcastic droll over your words. She clapped her hands completely missing the fact you were poking fun at the scrawny 'stud' sleazeball who Henry could easily snap over his thigh if he wanted to.

"Yes just like my Dave~! Ugh anyway do you have a pic...Come ooon! Let me see your man~" you sighed tilting your head to her...She was pretty harmless...And dippy so it shouldn't do any harm she didn't strike you as the type of person to watch Henry's movies so shouldn't recognize him. You nodded sweetly it was actually a little fun you rarely got to show off your man,  most people who knew him knew you were dating. You twisted the phone eying the screen and froze seeing the last texts he sent you whilst you spoke to Stacey.

'Have you got out early??🧐🧐'

'Babe don't ignore me!😤😤 Is he still there!?😡'

'Woman you better answer me! Stop ignoring me bbe it wont help😤😤'

'Im serious y/n do I need to chat with him? Do you want me to help?🧐🧐'

'Look out the window'

"Oh hell no!" you huffed out under your breath then stood up scrabbling to the large office window Stacey followed you alarmed. You freaked and quickly opened the window poking your head out to scream at your sweet but very dappy boyfriend. As irritated as the texts were he didn't look it, well until you really looked he was tense and it wasn't just because Kal was puling excitedly.

"Oh my god?! HENRY?! WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!....GET OUT OF THE GOD DAMNED ROAD!!" lone behold when you looked down you saw Henry standing there with a huge bouquet of Roses and a bag you suspected held a box of chocolates, Kal was barking up at you spinning in circles and jumping up super excited almost dragging the huge man over in all the excitement. It would seem the walk was not enough to wear out the bear. Henry grinned up at you you heard Stacey from beside you gasp.

"Holy shit is that your boyfriend??" you turned to her and smiled smugly to her nodding then glanced back down to him seeing him quickly navigate the people bustling around the car park heading for the doors. You froze. You can't let him up here he sounded angry earlier...He'd kill Dave. You ran back to your desk quickly logging off the pc and snatching up your bag.

"Where do you think your going y/n?" Dave called after you you stopped seeing him there arms crossed giving you the filthiest look he could muster seeing your bag slung over your arm then there was the distinct buzzing of someone Henry at the door trying to be buzzed in. You pointed to the door opening our mouth to fake sickness or something but was interrupted.

"Oh Dave leave her alone...All the times she's here early let her go early for once, we don't need her anymore today and it means we get the office to ourselves for an hour~" your eyes bugged out as Stacey came to your aid fluttering her lashes to your manager. He heaved a sigh and nodded to the door in a 'get out of here' motion.

You smiled quickly darting out down the stairs to the ground floor seeing Henry standing there unimpressed finger holding the button down in one long irritating ring. You shook your head at him through the glass as he held the button.

You slapped the exit button opening the door and Henry tried darting past you into the building chest puffed shoulders ready to give your boss a piece of his mind but you caught the frightening man by his ridiculous bulging bicep. You spun with him digging your heels into the worn carpet.

"No no no! Henry no!" he carried on to the stairs dragging you with him passing you the roses and Kal's lead as the dog bounced around you both yipping like the over excited pup he was. Henry had hoped filling your hands would give him time to jump up a few steps out of your reach so he could have a chat with Dave about this whole misogynistic bullshit. Henry swore when you scampered behind him hooking your arms around his forearm and leant back, if he moved you'd drop like a rock and up the few steps as you both were, you'd hurt yourself. He stopped heaving a deep sigh looking to you.

"Just five minuet's babe is all I need! fucking feminine my ass he just wants to oogle your peach of an ass!! And that's not- that ass is mine!! fucking no one NO ONE fucking upsets my baby!" Your body flushed skin prickling at the shear alpha tone the possessive growl that seeped into his words made you tremble swallowing dryly you managed to shake it off and focused on the task at hand fucking could come later for now you needed to stop him from ripping your manager a new one. You moved crouching down bearing your weight down giggling at him as he still tried to thunder up the stairs. Kal helped to pulling at his lead it was a joint effort.

"Henn love?! I'll be sacked if you go up there and make Dave piss himself! Please lets just go home it's Friday I can find a few things over the week end for now can we please leave" he stopped and looked up to the brown ceiling and flickering light sigh he clicked his tongue then looked to you slowly with a heavy breath.

"....Fine, but next time I'm having him!" you smiled finding his protective side arousing your tummy clenching just knowing you big strong man could rinse the little twat upstairs made your pussy clench you always had a thing about strong men and Henry was the most physically fit you'd ever met. You somehow managed to coax him out of the door in the direction of home taking a detour picking up a Chinese on the way.

You giggled rolling around the floor with Kal. after a quiet dinner and snuggle with Henry you had been ushered away so he could do his nightly reading of his new script.You didn't mind at all you loved seeing him so invested in his roles. you caught a glimpse of the red roses sitting proudly in a glass vase on the fireplace almost blocking the view of the tv but not quite. You loved this, just being home with your favorite boys enjoy a nice quiet night in. you scoffed mocking kal who was pulling hard on the black rope trying to out witt you with quick flicks of his head, playing tug with Kal was a workout huge as he was he had the weight and strength to out match even Henry. You did not stand a chance just holding onto the black rope hoping to slow him down but he was full of energy today.

Henry was sitting on the sofa feet up reading his witcher script pen in hand as he read his page, one a night was the deal. But honestly trying to pull him away from this particular script was a hell of a job fair enough he was trying to memorize lines and scribble down alternatives in the margins. It was sweet how excited he got, he already knew the character in and out so could already tweak things around so it felt like Geralt. He was happy had been chasing the role for a while so you didn't mind that preparing for it was taking up most of his time. but you were still horny from earlier and wouldn't complain to a night of nooky. But alas Henry was drawn in by the script and you were trying to find other ways to distract yourself from the bubbling arousal in your loins, like playing with Kal. But that’s not to say you wasn't going to tease your man, there were ways to get his attention~

You smirked putting a plan into action bending lower wriggling your ass, craning back so your shorts rode up just that little bit more. Then once in place you squealed loud gaining the mans attention as Kal tugged dragging you across the floor growling playfully bouncing his weight back jerking you around, it was only then that Henry grunted in annoyance, your voice had been high he loved you keeping Kal entertained he really did, but sometimes he needed a little quiet. Especially when he was trying to concentrate.

"You know if I keep this up I'll have bigger muscles then you~" you giggled out a you tried to hold your own against the mighty bear. Henry smiled and watched shaking his head as Kal dragged you under his legs to the free space on the side of the coffee table. As much as he was trying to concentrate you could never get on his nerves for long, he just loved you to damn much. Henry frowned as you were pulled again wincing anticipating an accident as Kal was definitely getting to invested in the game.

"Or a dislocated shoulder" he commented as Kal did another particularly painful looking shunt and shook his head side to side still growling loud around the toy. It was then that he looked at you properly and what he saw made the man pause and suck in a breath air getting trapped in his throat at the innocently erotic sight. Seeing you bent over any time was a pleasure but here and now? Bouncing deliciously on your knees being half dragged about the living room added another dimension to the whole thing. Your arms and back stretched out low on the floor spine arched slightly, sitting with your knees tucked under you, the bouncing making your ass jump deliciously.

Two full ass cheeks peeking out of you short shorts as Kal carried on his jerky movements. You bit your lip grunting and tugged back pulling with all your might successfully gaining a few inches which Kal stole back and more making you yelp and moan as you were sprawled out on the carpet again. This time dragged up on your knees into a position he he spent many nights enjoying to his fullest. were you doing this on purpose? he wouldn't put it past you...Maybe you needed a fuck, a proper fuck.

Henry couldn't help the twitching in his groin, the first tremors as he got a front row seat to the two perfect globes of your ass seemingly clapping against one another with the shorts acting like a thong shucked up your ass. Fuck you wasn't wearing Knickers again. Little fucking minx. He lowered his feet to the floor now far to invested in watching you roll around in the tiny shorts. swept up in the way your body swayed taunting him. you turned to him with a sly smile and sent him a quick wink that he almost missed.

He gaped at you, you were doing it on purpose!! His script laid completely forgotten on his lap as he watched you turn back to Kal innocently dipping down low again shoulders to the floor stretched out taught in front of you face tucked into your arm as Kal fought you for the coveted rope. God...It had been a while since he fucked you like that. He licked his lips. Too long in the busy days since snagging the witcher role he had only had time for a two quickies. Two fumbled quickies in three weeks and they wasn't even that good. Well not his usual hour long foreplay teasing and touching then good few rounds. They were just a flurry of fast rutting motion's, less fucking more jerking trying to finish as quickly as you could just wanting that high. he bit his lip watching you watch him out of the corner of your eye definitely teasing him.

"Babe come here~" You froze and twisted your head back you knew that tone.Grinning knowing you'd got your way you looked seeing Henry eyeing you hungrily biting his lip tilting his head, legs spread wide making his thighs bulge in what should be a loose set of black shorts but actually became skin tight on this Goliath of a man. You flushed under the gaze but managed to hold into the rope not giving the still pulling pup an inch. His eyes were a dark ocean blue pupils nearly swallowing the color completely, you wondered how far you could push him. you pouted at him before teasing him further opening your legs wider letting the material of your shorts almost completely disappear.

"Henry...I'm playing with Kal-" he squinted at you then quirked a brow before shaking his head snapping shut the folder holding the script and let it drop to the floor by his foot with a decisive thump. You gulped. But didn't move instead you heaved back pulling the Akita across the floor.

"Babe...Come here Kal's had his playtime..." you rolled your eyes hearing the silent 'now I want mine' sometimes he was a man child. You twisted your head to him with a flutter of your lashes and cheeky grin.

"Well I'm playing with Kal you have to wait your turn-HEY? HENRY THAT’S CHEATING!?" You yelped as Henry quickly bolted up right and stomped on the rope whilst using his considerable size and strength to pull you up off the floor making you release the toy.

"Well that’s enough playing with Kal, time to play with me. I wont be cock blocked in my own house by the dog~" you giggled as Henry quickly began climbing the stairs laughing kicking your feet, watching as Kal stayed two steps behind rope in his mouth excitedly following his parents, you were all going to play!. It was only when the dog found himself shut out of the bedroom did he realize you were in fact not going to be playing with him anymore tonight. you could hear the indignant huff through the door.

You wriggled as Henry fell onto the bed with you wrapped around him slowly devouring each other with deep kisses tongues and teeth roaming each other. It had been a good few weeks since you both explored one another properly. Henry pulled away chuckling at the soft scratches at the door. Kal was not impressed.

"Kal go lie down! We will be finished soon" Henry called out and ignored the high whines and more insistent scratching at the door and leaned over you sucking at your neck decorating it as he saw fit leaving marks of red and purple biting his mark into the crook of your neck then lower tracing a warm wet train over your thin shirt. You moaned clutching his waist trapping him between your thighs using the grip you had to rock up onto him trying to ease the burning in your core.

"Oh whats this? Someone is impatient considering she wanted to keep playing with Kal?" His voice came out as a deep rasp making you gasp cupping his face.

"You treating me with your Geralt babe?" He smiled latching onto your ear rocking down onto you drawing out soft mewls. You vaguely heard Kals whines become louder barks out side the door hearing the dog jump up pawing at the handle of the door trying to break in.

"Oh you like?~" You sighed quickly trying to rid your tshirt panting feeling just how wet your slit had got, you were embarrassingly wet considering you hadn't even done anything yet.

"Fuck yes~ oh god its so-ah fuck its so hot Henry~" he pulled back growling in the new low tone you hadn't known he was capable of, his large hands helped remove the tshirt throwing it across the room and latched onto your tits biting and sucking slow flicking his tongue across a pebbled nipple as his hands stripped you of your shorts. he chuckled seeing the damp patch, your arousal sticking to the material in one neat line.

"Oh you really do need me don't you love~" you nodded to him whining when he pulled back grunting a growl biting your boob and sucking harshly. You both moved in tandem rolling around the sheets grinding ,rocking ,biting and grunting both intent on ignoring the pup crying outside the door. He would wear himself out and get bored. Well that was the plan anyway.

Henry finally pinned you and descended on your core like a starving man given the sweetest fruit. You cried out fingers in his hair unsure what spurred on this heated frenzie but would happily indulge him. One thing you loved about him is he was always up for eating you out, the man thrived on it! He seemed to get a massive kick out of feasting on you until you came all over him. You grunted as he suckled on your bud teasing and twisting his supple lips across it Nipping you began to loose yourself panting and jerking up into his mouth chasing a sweet release you hadn't known you needed and then you heard it.

A deep loud echoing mournful howl. Even Henry stopped frowning up at you from between your legs. That was new, Kal wasn't a howly dog, he barked and yipped giving off the weirdest groans and moans. But never howled. You both burst out laughing unable to stop it as the howls were all over the place, loud and quiet raspy and uneven like Kal was an apprentice learning on the job.they were less 'howls' and more 'how-wo-wow-wo-wow' It was clear this was his first time but bless him he was trying to be the wolf of the house. You panicked as he began to get the hang of it and patted Henry's shoulder. he was still chuckling finding Kals new found voice hilarious.

"Quick stop him! If he learns that we'll never hear the end of it!" You chuckled pulling the thin sheet over you as Henry swore and quickly slinked off the bed racing to the door opening it stopping Kal in his tracks. The Akita smiled panted a few breaths thumped his tail on the floor then collected his rope entering, jumping on the bed without a care in the world.

"Babe?" You asked biting the inside of your cheek trying to stop the giggles as Henry began to scowl at the fluffy bear sprawling out on his side of the bed a flush building up his chest settling over his face. He cleared his throat.

You and Henry watched as Kal moved dropping the rope by your hand waiting for you to continue your game of tug. You flopped back in peels of laughter at Henry's face. The man looked amused and livid at the same time as realization struck. Kal, lovable cute baby boi Kal had just played Henry like a fiddle. You didn't know whether to laugh or cry at the fact your boyfriend, your chosen mate had just been outsmarted by a dog.

"Yes love?" He said none to happy with how things had turned out, here he was standing at the foot of his bed painful hard on and there you were naked and willing...In his bed...With Kal. This was not the plan.

"I hate to break it to you...But you've just been cock blocked in your own house by your dog....For a game of tug!" You giggled as you threw Henry's previous words back at him petting Kal who was still fiddling with the rope trying to make you grab it.

"No shit...Can we still fuck? I mean he can have my side! I'm gonna be on top of you anyway?" You gaped at him as he rounded the bed fulling intent on rolling on top of you sliding home. You held up your hand to him.

"Nope! No way am I fucking you next to Kal!" Henry ignored you crouching over you trying to lay you back down to finish what he started before being rudely interrupted by the Akita now in bed with his girlfriend.

"Oh babe why not? this is painful, look I'm going purple...Besides you started it its your responsibility~" he whined trying to bat away your pushing hands leaning in to capture you with a burning kiss. You dodged anticipating his next move, his kisses were always a sure fire way to make you completely melt and give in to him. you quickly twisted away throwing your legs over the side of the bed placing your hands either side of his naked hips, pressing him back as he still tried to gain on you. you swallowed looking up at him meeting his lopsided grin, trying to ignore the proud cock swaying in front of you almost tapping your heaving breasts.

"How about the shower? He's scared of the bathroom since his last bath?" Henry snapped his fingers and clapped face lighting up as he patted your hands slowly easing them off of him.

"Fuck yes! Babe you are a genius!" He moved over and kissed your face making you bat him away and then he turned to Kal wagging a finger at him.

"And you my four legged son are a pain in the ass!" You shook your head patting Kal as he tilted his head  he looked offended with his dads statement. You looked to the bathroom door as Henry's pert ass vanished around the door frame.

"Daddy didn't mean it baby boy~ you know how he is when he doesn't get his way...Just a spoiled man child~ he loves you really" Kal whined ears flattening  as he heard the shower switch on. You patted the dog with a sigh and got up padding across the bedroom to the en suit.

"Don't worry baby you stay there and daddy wont get you in the mean old shower~" you giggled scratching his ears as he huffed  in defeat. His daddy had got the better of him and the Akita wasn't pleased. He grumbled as Henry poked his head around the door frame wriggling his brows at you as you passed him getting a playful smack on the rear. then he faced the dog and stuck his tongue out childishly to the dog who huffed and turned around choosing to give you both a clear view of his ass.

[themattgirl]

Hiii, I was wondering if you could please do another part to breathless? I would like to see where she confronts the friend please?

Hii, I‘m sorry that this came so late. The past year has been shit and I just couldn’t motivate myself to write anything because i knew it’d be something depressing and I didn’t want to do that because that would result in me being even more depressed sooo anyway... I‘m finally back and ready to deliver. Enjoy, my lovelies! ✨

Please read Breathless first to understand this if you haven’t already.

Relentless

Sequel to Breathless

Right in front of the door a white Tesla is waiting for Y/N. The guy sitting behind the steering wheel is looking out of the rolled down window with a cigarette between his index and middle finger, facing the street opposite Y/N’s and her boyfriend’s living place. He jumps in shock when he turns his head to face the person who cleared their throat only to find Harry standing there bent down and looking down at the smoker.

“This spot isn’t for you to park your car in, sorry.” Harry speaks after the boy’s face doesn’t look like he just saw a ghost anymore.

“I was waiting for her actually,” he tells him a little nervous and points to Y/N behind Harry. “We’ll get lost in a sec, c’mon babe, get in.”

Harry turns around and looks at her just so the guy doesn’t see the smirk he can’t keep at bay. Y/N hides hers by licking her lips. Harry faces forward again, but points over his shoulder with his thumb. “Oh, you mean Y/N? Why would she get in your car? How do you know her?” he asks questions he knows the answers well enough to.

“We’ve been friends since forever. We were gonna hang out today, but I don’t understand how that would be any of your business.”

“Ah, sorry, yes. You don’t know me. Let me introduce myself.”

Harry walks around the front of the car to the passenger side, Y/N right on his heels. He opens the car door and slides himself into the seat, not shutting the door yet, but holding his hand out for the boy to shake. “I’m Harry Styles,” he puts on a smile that shows his dimples while Y/N climbs onto his lap, now straddling him.

She cups Harry’s face and turns it so he faces her and leans down to lock their lips. It was just a simple kiss, lips meeting lips.

“I’m Y/N’s boyfriend,” Harry tells him, the smile turning into a mischievous smirk when he feels his girlfriend’s lips on his neck. “Who are you?” he keeps talking as if Y/N isn’t sucking a hickey right below his ear.

“I-I didn’t... uhh. Woah, s-sorry I–” the boy stammers with wide eyes, his cigarette long fallen from between his fingers to the ground out of the window. Y/N doesn’t seem to care about anything he has to say, because after kissing the dark red spot on Harry’s jaw better, she grabs his face and turns his head to her again so she can connect their lips again. This time she uses her tongue, too. It’s not a simple kiss anymore, they are full on making out in the car of someone who only came because he expected to have his dick sucked in the next 20 minutes.

“I didn’t know you had a boyfriend, I was told you give head for free,” the poor boy seems very confused.

Y/N separates herself from Harry and faces the third wheeler, “I do, but that deal only applies to that one here, I’m sorry.”

“No, you’re not.” Harry laughs.

“He’s right, I’m really not sorry at all.”

“Wait, so–” The guy starts but cuts himself off to think before deciding to speak again. “So, does that mean I’d have to pay? How much–”

This time it’s Harry who interrupts his talking, “No, you prick. It means the only dick she swallows is mine.”

He has been friendly throughout this whole exchange, but this is the moment he was waiting for so patiently. The moment this scumbag proves he is a scumbag. How dare he assume that precious Y/N would seriously do anything with him, that she would want to do it with him? How does he translate her sitting on Harry Styles’ lap, making out with him, giving him hickeys and even saying she doesn’t do whatever he heard she does into it meaning she’d suck his little thing for a ridiculous amount of money?

His stupid question got Y/N just as mad, he can see it in her face and hear it through the way her breathing changed. And as much as Harry wants to just punch that wanker in the face and cut the top of his head off to check if there’s a brain inside, he promised Y/N he’d let her handle it herself. She didn’t tell him what she was thinking of doing though, so he’s curious to see what her crazy mind came up with this time. He is also kind of apprehensive because he knows when Y/N gets mad, she gets mad mad. And to see the put on guilty look on her face already meant trouble for the tosser in the driver’s seat.

“The only person whose dick I take into my mouth is Harry’s and honestly it’s more than enough for me. He’s quite big, you know? He fills me out completely and not only my mouth, you should see us fuck. Oof. Look, I don’t usually have to gag from anything but sometimes when he’s fucking my mouth it just happens. I gag around him and I can’t help it, it’s just too much sometimes. Do you think your little friend would make me gag?” She speaks lowly, but somehow still sounds innocent in a way. Harry squeezes her hips in question after that last sentence but Y/N rubs his cheek with her thumb as a way of telling him she knows what she’s doing. He trusts her enough to relax again. She continues.

“Hm, we can’t check that obviously. But do you think I’d be overwhelmed if we tried? Imagine my lips wrapped around your cock, my hands gripping your thighs-” she places one hand on his thigh, “-because I can’t keep my balance from how hard you’d fuck my mouth. And tears starting to make my vision swimmy because you keep hitting the back of my throat with the head of your dick. Would I gag? Oh gosh, the imagination is starting to make me wet.” She starts rubbing his thigh, very close to his crotch but not quite where he needs her hand to be.

“I wish I was in a bed right now, getting fucked. Sex with Harry is incredible, he’s very good in bed. Are you? Do you think you’d hit all my right spots? Well, Harry knows everything about me already so I guess it’d be unfair to compare, right? In fact, he knows me so well he can make me cum with his fingers in only fife minutes. Oh and one time – actually, it was more than once – it took him only seven minutes with his tongue on my pussy to get me there. It was phenomenal. God, I remember how hard I came. I doubt you could do that to me but I bet I could bring you to cloud nine really fast.” She hears his breath picking up and getting heavier.

“I won’t do anything with you obviously, but still. I know I could. Oh my God, maybe you could watch? Wouldn’t that be nice too? Me and The Harry Styles getting each other to cum multiple times? Do you like it soft or rough? You look like someone who likes rough sex. Maybe you could watch Harry tie me up and fuck me until I’m screaming. Or would you rather enjoy it if we’d tie you to a chair and make you watch us doing all the things you wish you could do. Yeah, you’d like that, huh?”

Finally, when Y/N looks down on his lap she sees the bulge in his jeans and retrieves her hand from his thigh. She leans more into him and notices his eyes fluttering shut. When her mouth hovers in front of his ear she whispers, “Go get yourself someone else to take care of your little problem here because I surely won’t.”

She pulls back, pecks Harry’s lips once and gets off his lap and out of the car. Harry throws in a quick “It was nice meeting you” and hurries after Y/N who is already walking in the direction of her own car.

Once he catches up to her and they both get in the car, he waits until she drives off before he speaks.

“What the fuck was that?”

Y/N knows he isn’t mad, but she can hear how thrown off he is. He certainly did not expect this.

“Got him hard and left him to go home with blue balls. Good, huh?” she smiles, but doesn’t take her eyes off of the road.

Harry is silent for a few long seconds, which worries her a little, but then he laughs out loud, even throwing his head back and clapping his hands twice. “Amazing!”

Y/N relaxes and chuckles along with him.

“You said you were getting wet, though. Were you?” he asks when the laughter dies down.

“Ew, no. Are you crazy? I probably would have if it wasn’t for him being there and me bringing up his dick throughout the whole... story.”

“Yeah, same.” Harry agrees.

“You would’ve been hard from what I said?” Y/N smirks and glances at him for only a second before watching the road again.

“Shut up,” he laughs. “Where’re we going?”

“Kickin’ ass.”

Once in Y/N’s ex-best-friend’s dorm room, their mood changes completely. The first thing they see is a poster on the wall next to the small single bed with a shirtless Harry Styles on it.

“Oh God,” Harry murmurs behind his girlfriend.

“What are you doing here?” Jade, the owner of the room asks.

“You hang up a poster of my boyfriend right after I move out?” Y/N ignores her question and throws in one of her own instead.

“Not a poster of your boyfriend. A poster of Harry Styles, the singer I have liked ever since I discovered music.” Jade tries to explain.

“The singer who happens to be my boyfriend. And it’s a shirtless picture, for fuck’s sake. If it was anyone else’s room I wouldn’t care to look twice and laugh about it. But the facts it’s you just makes it weird.”

“It’s not weird, it–” Y/N cuts off whatever bullshit Jade was about to say.

“It is weird and you know it. Or else you wouldn’t have waited until I was gone to hang it up.”

“Why are you here anyway?” She asks when she fails to think of something to say to Y/N’s fact.

“Get the rumours out of the world,” Y/N crosses her arms over her chest while demanding it, Harry doing the same behind her.

“Or what?” Jade has the audacity to ask.

“You don’t want to risk finding it out. Do what I said.”

“I’m not scared of you, princess. And how would I even do that anyway?”

“The same way you started it, princess. I don’t care how you do it. Go on, I’ll wait here until it’s done.” she leans back against Harry who is quick to wrap his arms around her from behind.

“If so then you can move back in, ‘cause I won’t be doing shit. It’s your problem, not mine.”

“Oh, is that so?” Y/N smiles devilishly. That’s exactly how she expected this conversation to go. Honestly, she hoped it would.

She walks further into the room and sits down on the chair by the desk, Harry behind her with his hands on her shoulders and Jade’s open laptop in front of her. She closes all the open tabs – and if there was an unsaved 28k word document then oops – before opening Twitter. Luckily Jade was logged in, just like she expected.

“I wanted to give you the chance to choose what you want to say to clear things up, but it looks like I’m gonna have to do it myself. And it’s gonna end up bad. For you, obviously.” she chuckles quietly before she starts typing away on the keyboard of the laptop in front of her and reads word for word out loud for Jade to hear.

“Get your hands off my stuff!” Jade steps forward to try and stop Y/N but Harry quickly gets in the way. He doesn’t even have to touch her, all he does is block her way to Y/N.

Y/N types and reads, “Hello dear twitties.”

Harry couldn’t help but laugh.

“Ridiculous, right? That’s how she starts off every single one of her Tweets,” Y/N laughs with him. “Anyway, how should I start this?”

Jade tries to get a word in but Harry speaks over her. “Make her admit she’s a liar and make her sound like a crazy bitch.”

“Mmh, I like that,” Y/N turns her head and smiles up at him, “Gimme a kiss.”

Harry leans down with a smile and does so.

Y/N faces the laptop again and starts typing, “I’m sure you all remember my post about Y/N giving BJs on campus for free. This is embarrassing to admit, but it was a lie. So I would like to apologise to her and to all of the guys who got turned down by her because of that lie. I have some good news for you, though. I did it because I wanted to see if there would actually be people contacting her and now that I’ve seen it work, I’d like to announce that I’m taking her place. I’ll be the one to suck you off. Please leave her alone and call me instead.”

“Wait, I’ll give you her phone number,” Harry suggests and fishes Y/N’s phone out of her jeans. Once the number is typed beneath the text she clicks the Tweet button so it’s for everyone to see. Then she closes everything again, but before she can shut the laptop, the picture Jade has saved as her screen wallpaper catches her eye. Not only is it a picture of Harry, but one where she herself is edited into it so it looks like he is kissing her cheek.

“Alright, this is getting too weird. C’mon babe, let’s get outta here.” Harry pulls Y/N up off the chair and leads her out of the room.

“This is a joke, right? She can’t be that sick,” Y/N murmurs more to herself than to anyone else.

“Let’s just go get you a new phone number, please.”

[welllpthisishappening]

On This Night and in This Light (1/3)

Emma Swan knows she's pretty good at what she does.

Helping the magically afflicted and affected find jobs in this realm isn't the most glamorous thing in the world, and, sure, there's a lot of paperwork, but she figures she's helping people and that's the important thing. It's structured. Calm, even.

Until. It's always until.

Killian Jones shows up with his stupid smirk and his tendency to lean against the door frame in Emma's office and his distinct lack of magic. Or knowledge of what they're really doing at Mills Personnel. Everything kind of goes off the rails after that.

----

Rating: Teen, but I’m me, so kissing is guaranteed Word Count: About 6.5K this chapter AN: About a week ago @shireness-says​​ sent me this post, about a job agency that specifically helped people with supernatural abilities or supernatural problems find a job. I believe my exact response was “Don’t do this to me” and then Devon probably laughed or something and over the course of the last three days I wrote about 19-thousand words. Nonsense is guaranteed, as is the kissing, hopefully some banter and a bunch of magic. The next two chapters probably Tuesday and Thursday of next week? 

|| Also on Ao3 if that’s how you roll ||

----

“So, that’s basically it. The guy was cursed, super greedy and—” “—Babe c’mon, that’s my dad.”

The guy shrugs. 

Which Emma figures is pretty fair, all things considered. Although she also can’t remember his name, so maybe she’s a quasi-villain in this story. She’s fairly certain it’s in the paperwork. The guy’s name, not her potential villain status. 

In her defense, that one lightbulb above her head is very distracting. Flickering on and off, she’s going to have to tell Graham about it, which will probably somehow alert Regina and Emma isn’t sure she’s capable of dealing with Regina right now. It’s been a very long morning. 

At— she glances at the tiny string of numbers in the bottom corner of her computer monitor, nine twenty-six in the morning. 

“Jeez,” Emma mumbles, drawing the attention of both of the people sitting in front of her. Not very often that a pair comes in. She supposes that’s nice. 

In an overwhelmingly, romantic kind of way. 

God, maybe she’s bitter. 

She’s totally bitter. Thinking anything else is ridiculous. 

And if Emma doesn’t get some coffee soon, she’s going to fall asleep at her desk and inevitably offend this nameless, albeit nice-looking guy who until recently was spending his days as a solid-gold statue in front of an antiques store on Broome Street. 

“Not—not you guys,” Emma says quickly, and the girlfriend’s eyes widen. Her name is Abigail. Emma’s, like, forty-six percent positive. 

“You know he didn’t mean it,” maybe-Abigail says. “It was...well, Freddie was very heroic about it. Protecting my dad and—he was head of security at the building. Kids thought it’d be funny to try and break in, but Freddie was—” “—Courageous?” “Very. The kids wanted my dad’s gift, but Freddie wouldn’t let them near him. Of course that made sure he was close to my dad and he...well, he got touched by accident and....”

Humming noncommittally, Emma lets the rest of the details float into the back of her mind. She doesn’t particularly want to hear this story. Most of them are the same, anyway. Heroic deeds beget undeserved rewards, and there’s always some sort of deus ex machina fix that’s inevitably magical, and she figures that’s part of the deal at this place, but that bitterness of hers runs far deeper than she’s willing to admit. “And you didn’t want to go back to work at the cursed dad’s office?” Freddie shakes his head. “Not really all that interested in security anymore. Ya get frozen for three years and it kinda loses its shine, y’know?” “Makes sense,” Emma replies, and she hates to admit it takes her that long to realize what he just said. Maybe she should have read the paperwork closer. She didn’t have time. “Wait, wait did you say three years?” “And, uh, like fourteen days. That’s right, right babe?” Abigail smiles. That must be the answer. “We’re just looking for a fresh start. My dad is—well, maybe greedy is the right word. He doesn’t view this as a curse, it's...I called it a gift before, didn't I?” Emma nods, trying desperately to ignore the state of that light bulb. “Nothing we do is going to change his mind. He’s going to keep it, and he tries to be careful, but—one wrong move and there’s a golden something right in front of you. We don’t want to risk it again. That’s why we came here. It’s supposed to be the best placement service in the city.”

Biting back the immediate retort of it’s the only placement service like this in the city, Emma plasters what she can only hope is an encouraging smile on her face. The lightbulb stops flickering. 

It dies. Completely. 

She hopes that’s not a sign. 

“Yeah, yeah, of course,” she stammers, before turning back to her keyboard and a monitor with time that must be going backwards. “So, three years removed from any interaction with society and that’s—” Her smile is making her cheek muscles ache. “What kind of skills do you have, Mr. Greyston? Any specific interests or ideas about what you want to do?”

Freddie does not have any ideas. Or interests. Or concerns besides Abigail, it seems. Who is not just his girlfriend, but his fiancée, and a rather vocal wealth of both ideas and interests, none of which fit any of the potential jobs Emma spends the next forty-seven minutes finding. 

Something is wrong with each and every one. Wrong location. Too far a commute. Weird hours. Requires a uniform and—“Have you seen the width of Freddie’s shoulders? There’s no way he’d be able to wear a mass-produced jacket like that.”

Emma hasn’t been paying much attention to the width of Freddie’s shoulders, honestly. 

She’s far more preoccupied with the pain blooming behind her left eye and, somehow, at the base of her skull and she’s a few seconds away from turning both Freddie and Abigail into frogs when she hears footsteps approaching her half-open office door and he actually has the gall to cross his feet at the ankle when he leans against the frame. 

“What about personal training?”

Both Abigail and Freddie freeze. One of them tilts their head. Presumably in thought. Emma can’t be bothered figuring out which one. 

Not with her fingers hovering over her keys, the pop of her lips as they fall open sounding far louder than it should and the stranger leaning against her door frame smiles at her. 

Smirks, really. One side of mouth tugs up, and the sleeves of his shirt are rolled halfway up his forearms. It’s offensive, that’s what it is. 

As is the overall shade of blue in his eyes. 

“Can I help you?” Emma asks. Demands, honestly. One word comes out sharper than the last, drawing a soft chuckle from the questionably good-looking stranger and that’s—

No. No compliments. Just insults. Of the sharp-tongued variety. 

Most curses require a sharp tongue, in Emma’s experience. And she suddenly finds herself fantasizing about the several different ways she could curse this self-assured bastard to the other side of the office. 

“I think, love,” he says, leaning forward like that’s allowed, “I might be able to help you. Couldn’t help but overhear—” “—Because you were eavesdropping?” “Inevitable when your voice carries the way it does.”

Her mouth is already hanging open, so Emma can only imagine what she looks like when it feels as if her eyes are also intent on falling out of her face. Not great, if the increased smirk'ness of the smirk is any indication. 

Smirk'ness is not a word. 

“Personal training could be kind of cool,” Freddie muses with interest. Abigail beams. Emma comes up with twenty-nine different curse possibilities. “Don’t you need something for that, though? Like a certificate or something?” Blue-eyed bastard, fuckface chuckles again. “You do, in fact. ‘Fraid you can’t simply approach strangers and start training them. But the requirements aren’t hard to complete and there’s always a fairly high demand for trainers. People want to get in shape, y’know?” Suggesting that there’s no way this guy with his stupid sleeves could know the exact tone Freddie had used to a voice very similar question not even an hour earlier is as stupid as his sleeves, but Emma cannot rationalize any of this and she should have known he was out there. 

Lurking in the hallway, as it were. 

There’s always some sort of—signal. A smell. A flicker of familiarity that ripples up her spine and latches to the back of her brain and she assumes the migraine that now seems pretty inevitable is not that. It’s just painful. 

Nothing else. She didn’t feel anything. She should have felt something, unless—

“No,” she gasps, and she’s got to get a handle on her audible reactions. “I, uh—I mean, no, no, that’s a great idea, actually. What do you think Mr. Greyston?”

Freddie narrows his eyes. “I...I just said it sounded cool.” “He did,” the wanker with that one piece of wayward hair hanging across his forehead says, “I heard it. Didn’t you hear it?” Nodding emphatically, Abigail is far too quickly swayed by all of this. “I did and that’s—Emma, why didn’t you think of that before?” Anger curls low in Emma’s gut. Rises in the back of her throat and threatens to scorch every inch of her tongue, like that’s something an emotion is capable of. Fisting her hands under her desk, the edges of her nails leave crescent-moon shaped cuts on her palm, but she doesn’t have another outlet for the energy running through her. 

Especially if she’s right. 

She’s seventy-two percent positive she’s right. Which is better than how she felt about Abigail’s name, and she was totally right about that, so. 

Math, or whatever. 

“Didn’t even cross my mind,” Emma admits through clenched teeth. “But thankfully we’re a collaborative effort here at Mills Personnel, and it’s always good to get multiple opinions, including some from our newest—” Swallowing her tongue isn’t the most embarrassing thing Emma can do in a moment like this, but it’s starting to feel somewhere in the top five and if this guy doesn’t stop staring at her like that she’s going to scream. 

Or self combust with magic. 

Her magic appears to be running on overdrive. 

“Killian Jones,” he says, answering a question she hadn’t actually gotten around to asking. “It’s my first day,”

“Is it just?” His answering hum isn’t as sarcastic as Emma’s was. She supposes that’s another failure of hers today. Her brain’s already started making a list. “Did you know they have an espresso machine in the break room?” “I work here,” Emma answers. 

“As I can see. Just—” “—Trying to tell me about espresso?” The other side of his mouth moves. That suggests Emma is staring at his mouth, which she might be, honestly. When she isn’t wholly preoccupied with his eyes or that one strand of hair, and she can’t believe that one strand of hair exists, but she’s also a witch and Freddie was made of gold and she never did ask how they managed to fix that. 

Emma’s starting to wonder if she actually sucks at her job. 

“Make conversation,” Killian says. “And maybe help a little bit. That’s the gig, isn’t it?” None of the muscles in Emma’s neck are particularly interested in nodding, but her hair moves so that must mean she accomplishes at least some sort of movement and the two pairs of eyes sitting in wholly uncomfortable chairs opposite her are watching the scene with open interest. “Alright,” she says brusquely, certain Killian’s eyes get brighter, “Mr. Greyston, let’s start working on a plan for getting your certification and then we can set up some contacts with area gyms.”

She’s not sure when Killian leaves, exactly. 

Only that he doesn’t try closing the door behind him and when Emma walks into the breakroom thirty-one minutes later, there’s a post-it with ridiculously swirly handwriting clinging to the espresso machine. Try this one, it says. 

And that doesn’t really make sense. It’s an espresso machine, there aren’t a ton of different options. Emma’s almost charmed all the same. 

It wasn’t True Love’s Kiss. 

Frederik Greyston wasn’t released from his gilded prison by the most sweepingly romantic bit of magic in the world. It was water from Nostos, which Emma knows is expensive and hard to come by, but knowing the little she does about Abigail’s father, it makes sense and she’s disappointed all the same. 

Six years working at Mills Personnel and still not a single person has been saved by the power of True Love’s supposed Kiss. 

She’s starting to think it doesn’t even exist. 

Honestly, the whole thing is Mary Margaret’s fault. 

She’s the one who got Emma the job after all, and maybe that’s more a commentary on Emma’s disinterest in joining the traditional workforce or being a functioning member of society, but she’s also quick to argue that society hasn’t really done much for her lately. Not a ton of professional options for someone with a record and the tendency to glow every now and then. 

So, Emma had agreed to the interview. 

On a Thursday at two in the afternoon, at the office tucked into the bottom floor of a building on 62nd Street, with etched letters on the door. 

Mills Personnel, it said. 

And still does, really. Not much has changed since Emma first walked into Regina’s office, least of all the lettering on her door, but she’d like to believe she’s maybe a bit more confident than she was that time and—

“Regina, is this a joke?” Emma asks, not able to sit in one of the chairs. Pacing seems entirely more reasonable, even as the muscles in her calves start to ache. “Because it can’t—none of this makes any sense.” “Why not?” “Repeating myself is redundant.” Making a noise Emma can only assume is an agreement, Regina doesn’t bother looking up from the paperwork in her hands. Another client. Another problem. Something else Killian Jones can probably solve. 

Nearly a week after the incident in Emma’s office, the new guy is apparently some kind of job placement wunderkind, able to match any person with their dream position while also boasting a wealth of contacts across the city. Yelp reviews have appeared in droves — sent to Emma nearly every morning because apparently Ruby has some sort of sick sense of humor, and only a few of them mention Killian’s rolled-up sleeves. 

That’s insane. 

Emma can’t imagine not mentioning his rolled-up sleeves.

Maybe she’s part of the problem, actually. Just like—with society, as a whole. 

“You want to repeat yourself, don’t you?” Regina asks knowingly, drawing a strangled sound out of Emma that nearly makes her trip mid-pace. One should not affect the other. And yet. Everything seems to be falling apart in rather quick succession, the kind of worry that’s already taken root in the center of her and wrapped its way around every single one of her ribs, and she’s got no idea how many ribs she’s currently in possession, but she figures it’s got to be a lot. 

Based almost entirely on the constant tightness in her chest. 

“How are you not freaking out about this?” Regina shrugs. “Nothing’s going to happen. People love him.” “People think he’s got a good-looking face.” “You think that and—” Sputtering on her own inevitably witty retort, if only she could get it out, Emma can’t do much more than dramatically exhale as soon as Regina does lift her eyes. Leveling her with that same look she’d used during Emma’s initial interview, like she’s got all the answers in the world and will be willing to share them. 

Eventually. At her leisure. 

“He doesn't have magic,” Emma hisses, feeling as if she’s lost her last tether to reality. No one else is worried about this. Ruby has at least eighty-four opinions on Killian’s face. David’s not totally swayed, but thinks the guy’s at least doing a good job so far. Mary Margaret wants to invite him to game night next week. 

To play goddamn Settlers of Catan. Like they’re normal people. And not witches, or some other unnecessarily gendered description of magic-users. 

“He—he,” Emma continues, and now her hands have joined the fray. Waving them around her head only makes her feel more insane. “How can you think that he’ll be able to place people in jobs when he doesn’t know why they really need jobs?” Her voice cracking on the question can’t help her cause much. 

But Emma needs this to stay the same. She needs consistency and maybe not comfort, but comfort-adjacent and the fucking Settlers of Catan. At some point, she’s going to win that dumb game, she’s positive. 

And Killian Jones poses a very real threat to all of those alliterative sentiments. 

Because Mills Personnel is not a normal job placement organization. Emma’s not even sure it’s an organization, technically. Maybe an LLC.

She’s not a lawyer.  

The point is, it caters to—a slightly different sort of clientele. The kind that’s been affected by magic. Whether that’s because they’re in possession of it, or have been cursed by it, or are only spending some time in this realm while hiding from a revenge-prone dragon in their homeland, who also happened to be their mother, and need a job while they wait it out. 

That last one has always been Emma’s personal favorite. Lily spent three years working for an appraiser on Park Avenue. 

She was really good at it. 

And Emma is good at this. At helping. At providing people with their own plan, and their own possibilities and she has got to get off this alliterative kick because—

“Hey,” Regina mutters, nodding towards Emma’s hands. Both of which are dangerously close to phosphorescent “Reign it in for me, huh?” “Seriously, how can you be so calm about this?”

“He needed a job.” “What? How did you even find him?” Squeezing one eye shut, Regina clicks her tongue thoughtfully and it’s almost enough to make her seem like a normal person. Instead of a person who can regularly summon fireballs from her palms. “Friend of Robin’s. I think you met him last solstice party, but—that’s not the important part. Anyway, we worked with Scarlet once. Or David did, helped him get a job in Brooklyn after he’d been stoned in Wonderland.” “I’m sorry, stoned in Wonderland?” “Mmhm, literally. Anyway, his girlfriend’s known Killian for years and he just moved to New York and one thing led to another and here we are.” “Here we are,” Emma echoes. “The repeating thing isn’t just redundant, it’s obnoxious,” Regina sighs, finally moving the papers. It’s not a victory for Emma. Not when it only ensures Regina can also lean back in her chair, cross her arms over her chest and tilt her head at that very specific angle that practically radiates judgment. “He just needs some money for a couple of months. He’ll be out of here before anyone will have a chance to enlighten him on what he’s actually doing.” “Giving jobs to magical people.” “Not all of them are magical,” Regina argues, “some of them have just been impacted by magical forces.” “Yuh huh. And how exactly are we hiding all of these magical forces from Killian Jones, totally mortal human being?” The head tilt’s at nearly forty-five degrees now. “You are mortal, you know that right? It’s important that you know that.”

“I know that,” Emma snaps, flickers of light falling from her fingertips for good measure. “I just—when you hired me, you made it very clear that the line between magic and the rest of the world was tenuous at best. We just...we exist and hope no one burns us at the stake, but now you’re totally cool with some inherently normal guy being here. Everything we do is going to freak him out.” “It hasn’t already. And so long as you stop sparking at regular intervals, I think you’ll be fine.” “I’m not worried about me.”

Widening her eyes, Regina's judgment reaches across the questionably originate mahogany desk, hangs in the air for all of fourteen seconds and then smacks Emma squarely across the face. In a magical sort of way that makes her skin tingle. 

“Not cool,” she mumbles, but Regina doesn’t do much more than sneer. “Alright, fine, fine, you think this is a totally great idea—” “—I didn’t say it was great. I said it wasn’t going to be as bad as you thought it was going to be, and we’re doing some old customers a favor.” “Sounds suspiciously like nepotism.” “Or good business.”

Emma rolls her eyes. She’s getting another migraine. “Tell all your friends about Mills Personnel, the only option for the magical and magic-damaged to ensure they can keep paying their rent.” “Not as catchy as I’d like, but I accept that it’s a work in progress.”

“Yeah, yeah, something like that.” Having never sat down, it’s easy for Emma to make a quick and relatively drama-free exit from Regina’s office, swinging open the door and marching into the hallway and—

“Ah, fuck,” she grunts, slamming into something far too solid to be anything except another human being. Who smells suspiciously like laundry detergent and salt water. 

“Swan.”

She blinks. Once. Twice. Tries to remember that she is in fact mortal, and that requires a consistent stream of oxygen in her lungs. But breathing is something of a challenge now, and he’s smirking at her when she finally lifts her head. “What are you doing?” “Walking,” Killian answers easily, but there’s a hint of laughter clinging to the word that manages to frustrate Emma and do the exact opposite all at once. “Do you have somewhere especially important to go?” “No, no, that’s—why do you say that?” “Seems you’re in something of a rush.” “Or you take up way too much of the hallway.” Full-blown laughter is at least twenty-thousand times better than the clinging variety or whatever sound Emma’s managed to imagine he makes in the last week or so. She hasn’t imagined it that much. She’s a God awful liar, actually. 

“That might be true,” Killian admits, taking a step back, and there’s a pile of papers resting on his hip. A pen barely stays behind his ear, that same wayward strand of hair taking up residence across his forehead and the rolled-up sleeves of this shirt appear to have some sort of floral pattern on them. 

“What are—” Emma swallows. Licks her lips, Tries not to spend too long thinking about the undeniable way Killian’s eyes fall to her lips. “Where are you going?” “Back to my office. Woman in there who claims her only talent is singing, but she’s not too keen on performing. Says she doesn’t want to draw a spotlight. So, trying to come up with some other options for her.” Mind racing, Emma tries to figure out what the woman actually is or who she’s hiding from, but explaining any of that is impossible and she’s admittedly having some trouble forming sentences when Killian keeps doing that thing with his face. Having one. 

“Any suggestions?” he asks, and there’s no sarcasm. No joke. Just blatant interest and possibly some veiled hope, which is not a word Emma’s all that familiar with. 

That’s more Mary Margaret’s schtick, and at least this is passably cyclical. Somehow this has to be Mary Margaret’s fault too. 

“What about working for a promoter or something?” Emma ventures. “You know—backstage sort of stuff. Keep her in the industry, let her work with other talent, but none of that pesky spotlight. Probably plenty of people looking for an assistant or something.”

Stunned surprise could be very insulting, as far as expression-based responses go. Luckily for Killian and his face, it’s a pretty fantastic look. Particularly when it’s directed at Emma. And mixed in with something that feels suspiciously like awe.

She’s not especially concerned with the adjectives. All she knows is it makes her magic roar in her ears, threatening to knock her knees together. 

“Wow,” he mutters, “that’s genius.” “Happens from time to time.” “More often if breakroom information is anything to go by.”

On second thought, embarrassed regret is her new unexpected favorite. Color dots Killian’s cheeks, a red tinge to the tip of his ears and it really says far more about him than Emma’s powers of observation that it’s only now she realizes he’s missing his left hand. 

“I, uh—” Killian stutters, and Emma can’t help the stretch of her smile, “well it’s not that I’m gossiping about you per se, just...making conversation.” “And I’m a hot topic of conversation?” “No, no, you’re just—” His inability to finish sentences is also oddly endearing, the muscles in his throat moving as he swallows back what Emma can only hope would be a slightly twisted compliment. Regarding her and the word hot. “Well, I appreciate the help. Sometimes it feels like it’s impossible to get a straight answer out of these people. None of them know what they want to do.” Cold sweeps over Emma, in the form of crushing realization and a return to a reality with starkly-lit hallways. He doesn’t know. Can’t know. About this place, or what it really does, and Regina’s surprisingly cavalier attitude aside, non-magic users finding themselves in the entirely magical world never ends well. 

Someone always gets hurt. 

“Yeah, no problem,” Emma says as she takes her own step back, and that shouldn’t be as difficult as it is. “If—I mean if you ever get another hard one or…” 

Her face is on fire, she’s sure. Spontaneous combustion would be a small miracle, giving her a legitimate out of this conversation and the latest expression that’s now standing several feet away from her. Self-satisfied, that’s the word. 

Or phrase, as the case may be. 

“If you need some more ideas,” she clarifies, “I’m around. You helped me with that Greyston case, after all.” It’s not a cease fire or metaphorical hatchet buried under Regina’s questionable taste in carpet, but it’s something and if this is going to happen, then Emma reasons she might as well try and keep it all in check. Helping Killian helps everyone, really. 

She’ll repeat that on mental loop for several hours if necessary. 

Right after she stops obsessing over the precise way he leans forward, ducks into her eye line and says, “thanks, Swan.”

It isn’t until she’s managed to plug her phone in, exhaustion creeping up her spine and fluttering behind half-closed eyelids that Emma realizes she never once told Killian her name. 

When she was twelve years old, she lit up. Like, her whole body. Light hung from the ends of her hair and circled her right wrist, wrapped its way up her arms and settled on either one of her shoulders until it was difficult for anyone to spend too long looking at Emma. 

None of it was on purpose. 

Magic’s always been something almost instinctual, at least for Emma, and the yelling from the living room of the latest foster home she’d only recently been shipped to had been grating on her ears long enough that she didn’t know what else to do. She reacted. Power rippled off her in perfect cadence with her frustration, and she hadn’t known all those words when she was twelve, but she’d known exactly how everyone would respond and Emma was not disappointed. 

At least not like that. 

Standing halfway down the steps, she’d glowed. Bright and determined, like being strong enough would protect the rest of the kids in that house, and that was never really Emma’s job, but she always felt like she could do something more, or should do something else and—

They’d sent her back the next day. 

Something about a bad fit and just not right and that second thing could have been the sub-headline of Emma’s entire life. 

Just not right. 

Nothing about her was right. Her magic was often untempered and prone to outbursts, flashes that Emma couldn’t always control and inevitably led to lingering glances and confused stares that rather quickly morphed into fear when they looked too long. 

Sometimes people pretend they’re not totally freaked out. Sometimes they tell her that she’s ok, every lie settling under her skin like it’s something she should believe in, and it’s been awhile since Emma’s allowed something like that to happen, but she imagines there’s a cliché about scars and the way they don’t always disappear and—

That’s not important. 

History is just that and Emma’s not one to make the same mistake twice. Or at least make it more than twice, and she might be intrigued by Killian Jones, with his smirk and his stupid sleeves, but she doesn’t entirely trust him yet. 

She can’t imagine that changing any time soon. 

She nearly runs into whoever is opening the Mills Personnel front door at five-oh-four on a Friday evening. 

It’s a habit Emma would like to break sooner rather than later, this trend of not looking where she’s going — although, if she’s being honest it’s also because she’s distracted, and has been since the game night announcement, and the phone in her pocket hasn't stopped buzzing for the last hour, the most recent texts regarding pre-game night plottings and alliances for Settlers of Catan or whatever else they decide to play. 

She has respond to Mary Margaret soon. 

Presumably after she apologizes to the woman she very nearly plowed over, and it’s almost the end of business, but this woman doesn’t look like she operates on traditional schedules and—

“Sorry, sorry,” Emma says, backing up quickly. Partially because of good manners. And the rest because of the look on the woman’s face. 

Furious. A little threatening. Decidedly magical. 

“I’m looking for Ms. Mills.” “Right, yeah, of course. She’s, uh—” Emma’s phone buzzes again, and she knows it’s another message about games. What she can figure out is why that particular thought leaves her feeling frozen and a little threatened and the woman’s eyes narrow at the first shift of Emma’s magic. “Still in her office, I think. I can let her know you’re here, if…” The woman doesn’t nod. Doesn’t move, really. And all Emma wants is to sprint out of that office and maybe to her couch, but she can’t seem to move any of her limbs and the clack of Regina’s heels is strangely hypnotic. 

“Zelena. What are you doing here?” Rolling her shoulders back, the woman Emma assumes is Zelena only looks passably annoyed at being addressed by her first name. “We have some things to talk about.”

“That so?” “Several, I’d say. You have a few minutes?” It doesn’t sound like an actual request, hackles that are more likely part of Ruby’s genetic makeup than Emma’s rising as Zelena breezes by her. Glancing over her shoulder, she notices a muscle in Regina’s temple jumping.

“You want me to stick around?” Regina shakes her head. “No, I’ll be fine.”

“Ok, but—” “—Go, Emma,” Regina finishes, and there’s no mistaking the command in those words. She nods once, not running into anyone else on her way out and hoping the sense of dread currently twisting itself around one of her kidneys is only those pessimistic tendencies of hers, instead of the warning she’s worried it actually is. 

The problem is, she likes him. 

Like, as a human being. Mortal or otherwise. No other reason. Nothing to do with his hair or his eyes or that dim, but still visible scar on his left cheek. 

She just—

They might be friends. Emma hopes they’re friends. 

Over the next two weeks she comes to realize that Killian is not only very good at his job — the siren who was certain her only talent was singing in dimly lit clubs and inevitably luring grown men to their doom, but wanted to turn over a new leaf, without telling him any of that, of course, sent a gift basket to thank him for all the help — but he’s funny, and more than capable of working the espresso machine so it doesn’t produce its usual bitter swill, and, Emma realizes, one Wednesday afternoon, a little lonely. 

“Trying to find somewhere to live in this city is impossible,” he announces, slumped in one of the breakroom chairs with a stack of files splayed in front of him. “Like a needle in a haystack.” “Try finding somewhere with laundry on site,” Emma grins, “and then talk to me.” “Sounds like a palace, and that’s far too mythical for me to believe a place like that exists.”

Stomach flying into her mouth, Emma bites the side of her tongue so she doesn’t do something stupid like list all the clients of hers who, at one point, lived in a vaguely mythical palace. She can think of at least a dozen off the top of her head. “No palatial experience wherever you are now? Where are you now, actually?” “Scarlet’s couch.” “Ah, so decidedly non-palatial, then.” Killian grins. “Not as such, no. Although if you could not mention that to him, that would be great. Bastard won’t ever say it, but I've vastly overstayed my welcome and I’m pretty positive he and Belle spend their nights plotting ways to kick me to the curb.” “Metaphorical or…” “Absolutely literally,” he says, and that smile is nearly blinding in a way that isn’t quite like Emma’s magic, but feels as powerful. “You didn’t hear it from me, but I’m pretty positive they want to have a family soon.” “You think I gossip about Will Scarlet way more than I do.”

His ears do that thing again. That blushing thing, that apparently only Killian’s ears are capable of, but it’s also entirely possible that Emma is just far more aware of Killian’s ears than anyone else’s. She’s also perfectly aware what a psychopath she sounds like. 

“Did I apologize for that?”

“For?” “Not necessarily gossiping,” Killian says, “because it wasn’t entirely that, but—getting information on you, I guess.”

Tensing, Emma’s jaw clenches hard enough that she’s briefly worried about what it will do to her teeth. And it takes her a few moments to school her features — more than enough time for Killian’s eyebrows to lift, and the ends of his mouth to tilt down, but she’s almost confident she doesn’t look like she’s totally freaking out when she opens her mouth. 

“What did you find out?” Ah, so not freaking out was a total lie, then. 

Killian’s lips twist as he stares at her, like he’s considering the exact tone of her voice and how to properly proceed from there. Leaning forward, his hand inches towards hers and for one genuinely blissful second Emma is certain he’s going to cover her fingers with his. He doesn’t. He pulls away at the last moment, clearing his throat and sitting up straighter and that’s fine. It’s fine, everything is fine and great and—

“You’re very popular here,” he replies, “good track record of even better work, which is why If we’re also keeping track of required apologies, I should mention I’m sorry for butting in on the Greyston case. Was an absolute dick of a move.” “Would you use of in that situation?” “I mean, I just did so—” “—You were kind of a dick,” Emma agrees, “but that was mostly because you were showing off and it totally worked.”

His eyebrows get higher. Pointier. It’s absolutely absurd. “That so?” “Don’t sound so amazed, you know it did. Freddie the former—” She’s about to say statute. The word sits on the tip of Emma’s tongue, waiting to be said because if she was talking to anyone else she’d be able to say it, but she’s not talking to anyone else and doesn’t really want to and she can’t imagine it’s very comfortable sleeping on someone’s couch for the better part of a month. “Former security guard,” Emma exhales, “is reportedly doing really well at the new gig. Ruby said she saw a bunch of social media posts advertising his recently-certified personal trainer services.” “An ambitious start for Freddie.” “Eh, you know how it is when you get psyched about something. Full-speed ahead and all that.”

“I believe that is the appropriate cliché, yes. So what do you think?”

“About?”

“Accepting my apology for being something of a dick, and because Ruby is the absolute worst gossip in this office who told me in no uncertain terms that she thought our prospective children would be very attractive.”

Emma’s not drinking anything, so the choking sound she makes at that bit of information is not really correct for the situation, but she can’t stop herself. Laughter bubbles out of her, mixing with something that isn’t quite stunned surprise, but might be a hint of put-upon frustration and the overall width of Killian’s smile is in the realm of overwhelming. 

“How did you end up here?” Emma asks, and she’ll blame the state of her teeth on her inability to censor her own questions. 

His smile falters. For just a moment, before it’s back and a little less legitimate than it was a moment earlier. “Worked with Belle at the Central Library in Boston. For years, actually. And you know how it is when you meet someone who...well, they’ll go to bat for you?” “Another good cliché. And yeah, I do.” “It was like that for us. She’s—it’s pedantic to suggest she’s my best friend, but that’s what it is and what it’s been and we’ve always helped each other. So, couple months ago when they cut staff, she told me to come to New York.” “She was already in New York?”

Killian nods. “Has been for a while, ever since she met Will.” “And how did she meet Will?”

If he’s put-off by her twenty question approach, Killian doesn’t show it. He just keeps leaning into her space, like there are magnets involved or several other words and feelings Emma’s wholly incapable of dealing with right now. “Strictly happenstance as far as I know. She was in New York for a library conference—” “—They have those?” “Mmhm, whole bunch of nerds losing their minds over recently stocked books and stories that fascist governments said we should burn.” “Do those normally go together?” “More often than you’d think,” Killian laughs. “Anyway, Will was working at the bar he owns now and—” “—He owns it?”

“If you keep interrupting, I’m never going to get to the interesting part of the story, love.”

Goosebumps explode on her skin. Her heart threatens to explode out of her chest. Magic rushes from the top of her hairs to the toes of sneakers that are now emitting a faint gleam, and maybe Emma should trim her nails. 

So as not to keep cutting up her palm. 

“Took him some time to save up the money to buy the bar,” Killian continues, “but if you know Scarlet, you’ll know he’s something of a stubborn asshole. Which also circles us right back around to the romance of the story. Suffice it to say, there were conversations, requests for phone numbers, a refusal to let time or distance damper their connection and—” He clicks his tongue. “—Two years ago, I gave a very impassioned speech regarding the power of love at a wedding that made several people cry.“

“You included?”

He winks at her. Not very well, but it’s the thought that counts or something and Emma’s starting to have several thoughts about Killian.

None of which are going to make it any easier to keep her magic a secret. 

And part of her isn’t even sure she wants to. The other part of her wants to stretch across this wobbly table, some of which is deceptively sticky, grab the front of Killian’s floral-printed shirt and kiss him until neither one of them think about anything except how fantastic they are at kissing. One another, specifically. 

So, really, she’s absolutely and monumentally fucked.

[chilledplantmum]

IF YOU FEEL TRIGGERED OR FEEL SIMILAR IN ANYWAY YOU DESERVE BETTER YOUR LIFE MATTERS YOU DESERVE BETTER!

Help numbers:

Life line: 13 11 14

Men’s help line: 1300 789 978

Beyond blue: 1300 22 4636

1800 RESPECT

Kids helpline: 1800 55 1800

And

CONTENT WARNING: suicide, mental health, abuse of women and children, death, rape, sexual assault, racism, ableism, sexism, homophobia.

You know what does my absolute head in?

This:

CIS WHITE OLD MAN: it’s a baby from conception

WOMEN: okay cool awesome I’ll agree but if I agree to that then my miscarriage gets to have a birth certificate, a death certificate and a name?

CIS WHITE OLD MAN: Ohhhhh but a miscarriage isn’t a baby if you have a stillbirth you're a murderer.

WOMEN: Butttt there’s not enough funding or research to prevent it.

CIS WHITE OLD MAN: But the thing is you’ve got to keep your legs closed to prevent pregnancy

W: can I have birth control?

CIS WHITE OLD MAN: and we will make birth control illegal.

W: Okay so can men take birth control?

CIS WHITE OLD MAN: Nope sorry it’s too hard on their mental health.

W: Okay so I can I get my tubes tied.

CIS WHITE OLD MAN: Nooo you might want kids and you need your husband's permission it’s not your body it’s his body too.

W: Okayyyy then but I don’t like men I’m a lesbian.

CIS WHITE OLD MAN: no sorry no tubes tied it’s not worth the risk to your future babies and your non-exsistant change when your not gay anymore.

W: Okay cool but can I donate my body parts when in dead.

CIS WHITE OLD MAN: You can sign up but your family or husband says no, then no we can’t take your organs.

W: Okay but I’m going to die if I carry a baby.

CIS WHITE OLD MAN: No sorry it’s a baby from conception and you're a murderer if you choose to abort.

W: Okay then can you tell men not to rape me.

CIS WHITE OLD MAN: Sure as long as you don’t lie and ruin his career.

W: Okay I promise not to hurt men.

CIS WHITE OLD MAN: Good.

W: But what if he takes the condom off and I don’t notice.

CIS WHITE OLD MAN: You asked for it you should have kept your legs closed. And when did I approve condoms? Ehem it feels weird with condoms.

W: okay I’m pregnant can I have some help with the money I have blood clots in my lungs and I’m bed bound.

CIS WHITE OLD MAN: The Audacity! if you go on welfare your a drain on the system a drug addict and don’t deserve anything and you had the kid because you’re too lazy to work, they call it the baby bonus for a reason and you took advantage of it.

W: But I’m 10 and my uncle raped me.

CIS WHITE OLD MAN: 1. You should have kept your legs closed

2. You probably did something to piss him off.

3. You need a court order to have an abortion and

4. You can deal with the protesters calling you a murderer and giving you death threats.

W: But I’m 10.

CIS WHITE OLD MAN: A life is a life.

W: Okay I don’t want to live anymore this is too painful for a 10yo.

CIS WHITE OLD MAN: You are sooo selfish to imagine killing a baby like that? You’re so selfish it’s the cowards way out.

W: Okay I choose to give birth but I had a miscarriage.

CIS WHITE OLD MAN: Prove it.

W: what Umm how?

CIS WHITE OLD MAN: You’re smart you’ll work it out. Otherwise, I’ll charge you with murder.

W: my boyfriend pushed me down the stairs.

CIS WHITE OLD MAN: excuse me? That is a good guy, the whole community loves him there’s no way he would snap you must have done something to provoke him.

W: well I yelled at him for cheating on me and slapped him on the face.

CIS WHITE OLD MAN: well there you abuse happens to men too I’m charging you with abuse.

W: Okay I proved I miscarried. can the baby that I decided to live to have a birth certificate.

CIS WHITE OLD MAN: No it never lived it wasn’t a person.

W: Why? you said it’s a life from conception.

CIS WHITE OLD MAN: Yes correct but it died before 20 weeks.

W: but...

CIS WHITE OLD MAN: no buts that’s the law.

it never took a breathe it wasn’t a real person.

W: Okay I’m a grieving mother.

CIS WHITE OLD MAN: Wrong again you never gave birth to a living child you’re not a mum.

W: Okay I’m pregnant again because my partner who I trusted refused to wear a condom.

CIS WHITE OLD MAN: what did I say about condoms?

W: can you ask the father to pay. I don’t want to be on welfare with a kid.

CIS WHITE OLD MAN: Nope prove he’s the father because he never signed the birth certificate.

W: Okay can you ask him for a paternity test?

CIS WHITE OLD MAN: No he won't give consent.

W: okay can you fund my childcare so I can go back to work so I can start contributing to society, also building up my superannuation.

CIS WHITE OLD MAN: hard no we are trying to rebuild the economy.

W: can you adopt the baby. I’m can’t do this anymore. I’m getting bigger and bigger as all I can afford is noodles.

CIS WHITE OLD MAN: obesity is a choice, how dare you neglect your child’s dietary needs, go for a walk.

W: please I’m tired I need help I’m in debt up to my eyeballs, the banks won’t give me money and I’ve pawned everything I own.

CIS WHITE OLD MAN: No. Just No. you asked for this.

W: Okay I’ve killed myself can you donate my organs.

CIS WHITE OLD MAN: No your parents said no and you’re going to hell.

W: Can I rest now.

CIS WHITE OLD MAN: No your a demon and you can burn in hell.

W: Okay can you tell the guy who raped me he at least did the wrong thing?

CIS WHITE OLD MAN: Nope you’re wearing a short skirt and tube top he can’t control himself. He’s a good bloke.

W: But my male dog knows how to sit-stay and when I put his favourite food in front of him he won’t eat it unless I give consent.

CIS WHITE OLD MAN: Are you comparing men to dogs?

M: Well no...

CIS WHITE OLD MAN: not all men are dogs how dare you to generalize a whole gender. Not all men are like this! Men are so forgotten when it comes to abuse.

W: But but but I love men, my best friend took her boyfriend to the psychologist but he killed her because his mates called him a pussy.

CIS WHITE OLD MAN: Nope shut your legs, be quiet and go back to the kitchen and make me a sandwich.

W: I can’t I’m dead and burning in hell and me and my best friend are drinking cocktails and dreaming about how we can firemen into the sun.

CIS WHITE OLD MAN: how dare you joke about killing men! Your grandfather died fighting for our freedom!

W: yer he’s here to giving me a cuddle and having a beer and shaking his head at how much of a wanker you are.

CIS WHITE OLD MAN: how’d he die? A man who served in the army should never be in hell?

W: someone coughed on him in the aged care center and he died from COVID 19.

CIS WHITE OLD Man: but why is he in hell?

W: he decided to join me because not all men are twats.

🤦🏼‍♀️

[imaginexmeintheuniverse]

Locker Room Madness

Pairing: Nathan Young x Fem!Reader

A/N: because I haven't written anything ~steamy~ in a while and i have restored my immense crush on this irish fellow... ALSO i wrote thus months ago but upon doing a file cleanup realized i had never posted it so enjoy ~

Tag: @expellimarvelous

——————

"So when are you and Nathan going to stop eye-fucking each other and do it for real?"

"Alisha!"

"What?" Alisha shrugs, but also wears a smirk as though what she's says is a simple observation. "You know each other better than anyone and you're totally hot for each other."

"It's true," Kelly pipes up from behind you. "I bet you could tell me exactly what he's thinking right now."

You all turn your heads to look at him performing his regularly scheduled idiotic antics, and then you look back at her with an eyebrow raised.

"Please, everyone knows what he's thinking—"

"He can feel it in his balls—" the three of you laugh simultaneously, not even trying to stay quiet at that point, earning you a few turned heads with eyebrows raised in questioning from the boys.

When you've calmed down a little, you cast another glance back at Nathan and your eyes lock for a brief moment before you tear your gaze away from him. Your head falls back and you dramatically let out a exasperated groan, "Ugh, you're right."

"I always am," Alisha then closes her locker and slings her bag over her shoulder, ready to leave. The two girls connect eyes for a moment and you give them a suspicious look when Kelly nods at her.

"We'll just leave the two of you alone, now," Kelly says and your eyes widen as you realize what she's doing.

"No- A-Alisha!" you call after then in hushed shouts, but they ignore your protests. "Kelly?!" They give you innocent smiles and wave as they exit with the rest of the crew, leaving only you and Nathan in the locker room.

You're all too aware of this as a silence falls over, the only audible sound being you rummaging around your locker and shoving your items in you backpack. After closing your locker, you turn around to the bench and raise your foot to tie your shoelaces.

And that's when the silence is broken.

The bloody perv doesn't even bother to be subtle about checking out your ass. You can hear him sucking in a breath through his teeth.

On his end, he would say that he can't help it because the way your jeans fit so perfectly and the sublime curvature of both you butt cheeks are begging to be admired by his wandering eyes.

"Enjoying the show?" you ask expectantly as you stand back up. You're not going to give him the satisfaction of letting him know you're the least bit flattered. "Maybe you should take a picture."

"You know, I tried once, but the reactions weren't favourable," he sniggers, assuming his casual class-clown persona.

You let out a small chuckle at his reply, before the two of you fall into another silence.

"You know, there are only a couple of thin layers of cotton separating our genitals," he breaks the silence once again and you're reminded that every time you think you might feel something deeply for him, he always pulls off some ridiculous stunt or says something incredibly stupid that makes you want to rip your hair out. God, he's hot, but this kind of emotional immaturity is what's made you repress the hell out of your feelings.

"You're not so bad when you aren't being such an arsehole," you snip, crossing your arms over your chest. "Perhaps you should consider dropping the act every now and then."

"Oh, but darling, it's a part of me," he feigns being hurt by your comment, dramtically bringing a hand to his chest. "If you can't accept it, this isn't going to work out!"

"Oh, babes," you play along, but in your own sarcastic manner. "I suppose we should call it quits, then!" With a final roll of your eyes, you swing your bag strap over your shoulder and turn to leave.

But you're stopped by a hand grasping your arm, the long fingers curling around your bicep.

"Nathan what are you—" the rest of your sentence dies in your throat when he spins you to face him and those enticing grey eyes of his bore through you. There's a certain intensity to his gaze you've never seen before.

"I think we should try to work it out," he continues the banter, but all humour has drained from his voice. It might be the first time since you've met the wanker that he sounds even remotely serious. "Don't you think, baby?" The sound of the nickname sends a shiver up your spine.

Shaking off the feelings that threaten to surface, you take a stumbled step backwards. "What are you doing, Nathan?"

"Y/N," He takes a moment to muster up some courage. Being an idiotic arse is easy for him, but bearing real emotion is a hell of a lot harder. "I fancy you."

"You fancy me?" you ask, a teasing smile shaping your lips.

"All right, all right! I really like you!" he shouts, voice echoing throughout the locker room as he throws his hands up. You can already sense him slipping back into character from the threat of having to deal with emotions.

He starts to ramble on like some dramatic monologue and you let out a sigh of exasperation because there's no way you're going to suffer through it.

"For fuck's sake," you mutter, rolling your eyes and taking a step towards him. "Do you ever shut up?!"

You can only think about how needlessly tall and lanky he is as you grab the collar of his shirt and yank him down to bring his lips crashing onto yours.

The two of you collide in a bruising kiss and it takes him little to no time to respond. His lips move against yours insistently and you swallow up a moan he lets out as you deepen the kiss. Releasing your grasp on his shirt, your hands slide up his chest and over his shoulders, and pull your bodies flush.

Despite your bodies already being free of any distance, Nathan's palms lay flat on the small of your back, pushing you impossibly closer and you find yourself being nearly lifted off the ground as he straightens his spine. The tips of your toes brush the floor as you continue to kiss.

It's messy, yet there's still a sort of innocence in the feelings behind the heat of moment. He takes it upon himself to nibble on your bottom lip, and when you gasp in response, he takes the opportunity to glide his tongue over yours. You move your tongue against his as the two of you enter a battle for dominance that probably won't have victor.

You're set back on your feet when he spins the two of you around and pins you to his locker. He does so gently as to not hurt you, but hard enough to make the smacking metal sound— essentially, enough to make it hot.

His mouth leaves yours and you chase after his lips until his hands pin your shoulders back to the cold surface to keep you in place as he kisses his way down to your neck where he begins to suck harshly on the skin. It's all you can do to hold back a whimper as you bite down hard on your bottom lip and let your hands glide up to tangle your fingers through his curly locks while your head falls back against the locker to give him easier access. You feel him moan against your neck as you give his hair a light tug. His tongue glosses over the fresh bruise as an unapologetic aftercare, an action that makes you release a content sigh. Lips ghosting their way back up the column of your throat, he then resumes kissing you again.

His fingertips slide under the fabric of your jacket to push it off your shoulders and you shake it off your arms without giving a second though as it falls to the dirty floor. You bring your hands back up to strip him of his hoodie. Keeping his flare for the dramtic, he flings it to the other side of the room.

His body slams back into yours and you dodge his lips, angling your head to kiss down his jaw. You make your way down to the cruve connecting to his shoulder where you then slide your tongue over the tendons of his neck, not paying any mind to the taste of sweat. His hands are all over you, gripping and clutching to every bit of clothing and exposed skin as you continue to work wonders on his neck.

Feeling his back starting to cramp up from being bent over, his hands slide down to your ass, giving it a cheeky squeeze to signal you. "Why are you so fucking short," Nathan snips before lifting you off the ground and holding you up against the locker. Reattaching his lips to yours, he fully presses his body against yours and you can feel him getting hard down there.

"Please, you're too tall for absolutely no reason—" You let out a cross between an annoyed huff and a happy sigh against his mouth as his tongue darts out to slide over your lower lip.

His hands grip your waist under your shirt as you clamp your legs tighter around him, providing him him with some much needed friction. "You're so hot," he breathes out against your neck, only thinking about how there are one too many layers of clothing still standing between your bodies.

[aion-rsa]

Friday Night Dinner: the Best Episodes

https://ift.tt/3urFJpq

Friday Night Dinner is ten.

That’s ten years of crimble-crumble, humble bumbling, manic misunderstandings, and more lovely bits of squirrel than you could shake a dead fox at. For thirty-seven Friday nights across six glorious seasons the Goodman family – shirtless dad, Martin (Paul Ritter); long-suffering but ever hopeful mum, Jackie (Tamsin Greig), and their visiting prank-wanker sons Adam (Simon Bird) and Jonny (Tom Rosenthal) – served up a banquet of laughs to a hungry nation, ably assisted by chronically persistent, reality-adjacent next-door-neighbour, Jim (Mark Heap) and his faithful dog, Wilson, and a host of other regulars and monstrously memorable one-offs besides. 

In celebration, then, of one of the most smartly-observed, perfectly-cast comedies of recent years, in chronological order, we count down ten of the show’s best.

The Sofabed

Series 1, Episode 1

Most first episodes – nay entire first series – of new comedies can be scattergun. Maybe the characters haven’t quite coalesced, or their fictional universe doesn’t feel ‘lived in’ yet. Not so with Friday Night Dinner. The show arrived fully-formed, with the Goodmans seeming as real as any family in your street; perhaps even your own family.

All of the gags, rituals and dynamics destined to run and grow and fold back in upon themselves throughout the series’ run are here: Martin’s secrets, conspiracies and hearing difficulties; Jim’s constant interruptions; Adam and Johnny’s brutal one-upmanship; the salt-in-the-water prank; Martin’s fondness for shouting ‘shit on it’.

The first episode revolves around the selling of a sofabed (with a brief sojourn into conspiracy when Martin inveigles his children into helping him hide the old magazines Jackie has ordered him to destroy), a simple enough transaction that turns to tragedy when death comes (quite literally) calling. Martin’s mis-hearing and misunderstanding of a crucial piece of information whilst standing at the bottom of a stair-and-couch-based conga line brings the series first proper belly-laugh, and with it the realisation that Friday Night Dinner is going to be something special.          

Mr Morris

Series 2, Episode 2

Mr Morris, played by Harry Landis, is a marvellous comic creation. With his predilection for getting topless and dressing people down at the dinner table, he’s like a malignant, mirror-universe version of Martin. With the eyes of Mr Magoo and the moustache of Adolf Hitler – and something of the bearing of both – Mr Morris, Granny’s new and very married boyfriend, quickly establishes himself as the dinner guest from Hell.

After crashing into their house and blaming them for the damage, the pugilistic, preening, proud, petty, and pretty much certifiably insane pensioner goes on to engage in horrendously public displays of affection with Granny; shout angrily over the phone at his 95-year-old wife; make Adam and Johnny pay for the, well, johnnies he later planned to use on their grandma; accuse Adam of sexual assault, and then challenge the whole household to a half-naked fist fight. Just another Friday night at the Goodman’s. 

The Mouse

Series 2, Episode 6

‘Mouse’ marks the first time that Jim manages to get his feet under the dinner table of the Goodman home, and it’s everything you could have hoped for. And more.

Normally the family manufactures its own chaos during the weekly meal – with extra helpings of misunderstandings, feuds, schadenfreude, embarrassment and horror – but here the Goodmans are cast as the straight men to Jim’s one-man reality-wrecking crew. While interpersonal connections and rituals are alien to Jim, the Goodmans’ set of mannerisms and catchphrases are his greatest challenge yet. His interpretation of their Jewish faith is equal parts sweet to absolutely bonkers, and only Jim’s anxiety, eagerness to please, incomprehension, and molten naivety keeps things from becoming insulting.

All of the Goodman rituals to which the viewer has become accustomed rain down on Jim in a hail of friendly fire, leading him to gargle on ‘Jewish water’ and scrutinise his dinner plate for hints of squirrel. The moment where Jim briefly considers whether he should eat the episode’s eponymous mouse as it scurries onto his dinner plate is pure comedy gold. 

Christmas

Series 2, Episode 7

This episode features the first appearance of Rosalind Knight as Martin’s mother, or ‘Horrible Grandma’ as she’s known to the family. Christmas is supposed to be a time of peace and celebration, but that’s not an easy ask when your guest of dishonour is a terrifying little lady who’s equal parts Livia Soprano to the Shushing Library Spook from Ghostbusters. Very few Christmases contain the line, ‘Thanks for raping our grandma’s dog on Christmas day’, fewer still see a grandson sharing his grandma’s dog’s oxygen mask, but then nobody does Christmas like the Goodmans. And they’re not even supposed to be doing it.

There’s a surprisingly beautiful moment at the end of this episode, courtesy of resident oddball, Jim, that – like all of the other rare occasions on which the show veers towards sentimentality – is quickly undercut by a well-timed, and very welcome, gag. 

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The Girlfriend

Series 3, Episode 1

Adam finally meets his match: an eight-year-old girl who blackmails him into a chaste but never-the-less irritating and inappropriate ‘relationship’ following the discovery of a racy, unsolicited picture of his girlfriend’s sister on his phone, while his girlfriend is there at the Goodman house for dinner. Thus unfolds an evening of unusual foot-washing, forced transvestism, secrets, lies, panic, and a stunning coup de grace from Jonny, who helps put the final nail into the coffin of his brother’s fledgling relationship.  

The Fox

Series 3, Episode 2

Martin likes to squirrel away a great many things, many of them ridiculous, most of them out of sight of his wife. But Johnny and Adam probably weren’t expecting to discover a dead fox in their father’s chest freezer, much less find themselves enlisted to help move it around town like a hitman’s hairy bounty until the heat died down long enough for their father to have it stuffed. The funniest thing about Martin’s many hare-brained (or, in this case, fox-brained) schemes is the energy he throws at them, the sort of logistical chicanery seldom seen this side of the CIA. Watching the men of the family toddle around hither and thither with a dead fox, hiding it in the dining room, hurling it in cupboards, wedging it through windows, is exactly as funny as it sounds, and – as always – just when you think Martin’s got away with it… he hasn’t.  

The Two Tonys

Series 4, Episode 1

Martin is an exceptionally quick-thinker. Unfortunately, his speed of thought is seldom married with precision, and he usually finds himself blurting something out at the start of an evening and spending the rest of that evening teetering on the edge of oblivion, with his long-suffering wife ready to push him off. His blurt-out in ‘The Two Tonys’, though, is perhaps his most desperate and ill-considered. In a bid to encourage Jason Watkins’ Tony – a loathed associate from years ago Martin had invited to dinner believing him to be another, better Tony – to leave the Goodman home, he forces Jackie to go along with the ruse that her mother has just died. This gambit, like all Goodman gambits, backfires spectacularly, and what follows is a farce worthy of Frasier, everything culminating in a desperate chase and the furious weaponisation of a pineapple. 

The Funeral

Series 4, Episode 5

Friday Night Dinner deals with death incredibly often, and incredibly well, wringing joyous laughter from that most terrifying and inevitable of our shared fates. Here we have another delicious dose of Horrible Grandma, who’s in town to lay to rest her dear departed brother, Saul. Martin is pressured into giving Saul’s eulogy, even though he never really knew or liked his uncle all that much. Cue a day of stress, arrests, tense stand-offs and tantrums, ending with an uninvited Jim appearing at Saul’s graveside clutching four black balloons, while Martin proceeds to recite Saul’s death certificate in lieu of a proper farewell. Immediately following a Grand Prix-inspired coffin malfunction, Jim’s dog Wilson enters stage-left to put a necro-quasi-cannibalistic spin on the ending of Todd Solondz‘s Happiness.      

Dad’s Birthday

Series 6, Episode 4

Horrible Grandma might make for a terrible dinner guest, but she makes for a perfect guest star. This time, we bid her goodbye for good, but not before a great deal of caustic put-downs, cathartic showdowns and perhaps the funniest, most macabre magic trick of all time, courtesy of resident ‘magician’ Jim.

Females

Series 6, Episode 6  

‘Females’ wasn’t intended to be the final episode of the series, at least according to comments made by series’ creator Robert Popper immediately following its transmission. And it still might not be the end. But it’s hard to imagine a better, funnier or more touching swan-song for the show, with or without the tragic death of Paul Ritter.

Adam and Jonny finally have ‘females’ (as their progressive dad has always called their prospective girlfriends) in their lives at the same time, and Jackie is overjoyed to be welcoming them into her home. She thinks the evening is going to be perfect, which is rather naïve of her considering that she’s married to Martin.

Sure enough, Martin manages to contaminate every course of the meal with shards of broken glass, a calamity he’s forced to reveal to everyone but Jackie, going on to enlist their help in somehow preventing the matriarch from choking to death, while simultaneously preventing her from discovering the depths of his dangerous ineptitude. Martin is, of course, thoroughly rumbled, but before Jackie can strike him down with great anger and furious vengeance, two pregnancies are announced in quick and joyous succession.

‘Females’ is solidly, classically funny, but it’s the episode’s smaller, more intimate moments that will linger longest in the imagination: the brothers’ new-found, prank-less affection for each other; the subdued but sincere affection between Jackie and Martin as they discuss their new roles and the future; and the now suddenly larger Goodman family dancing as one in the living room. As codas go, it’s a damn near perfect one.

If Friday Night Dinner comes back, let it be in twenty years when Adam and Jonny are middle-aged. For now, I hope Martin gets to enjoy many long years as a granddad.

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Friday Night Dinner series 1-6 are available to stream in the UK on All4 and Netflix.           

The post Friday Night Dinner: the Best Episodes appeared first on Den of Geek.

from Den of Geek https://ift.tt/3p1fS6G

[dammitadolfnomorecake]

Once Bitten, Twice Stupid prt.30

Lance was wallowing. His stomach hurt, he’d run out of snacks, though they hadn’t been a smart idea, and the TV remote was out of reach. Blue had bitten his toes when the blanket had slipped off his feet, and Keith wouldn’t take care of him because Lance refused to admit he needed his help. Thanks to his dumb mouth, he’d blundered. He’d kissed Keith. He didn’t remember it. His first kiss and he didn’t remember it. He remembered everything, but he didn’t remember that. Hearing the vacuum turn on, he dragged his blanket over his head. He wasn’t even allowed to wallow in peace. Now he had blood coming out of places blood wasn’t supposed to come out of. He was stuck permanently semi horny, and he smelt like someone had dumped potpourri over his head. The weekend was upon them, again, and that mean Pidge and Hunk would be making an appearance. Further interrupting his wallowing. He’d locked himself away to spare Keith how sick he felt, but stupid Keith had to worry and he had to go be happy he had someone to worry over him. As the vacuum cleaner drew closer, Lance groaned his annoyance its loud noise, he groaned again as his wallowing was interrupted by Keith pulled the blanket off from over his head as he stepped on the power button, cutting the obnoxious noise

“What was that for?”

“Just making sure you hadn’t permanently expired”

“I’m wallowing”

“I noticed”

With a huff, Lance pulled the blanket back over his head

“I’m allowed to wallow. It hurts”

“I didn’t say you weren’t, but try to shower today, before you start going mouldy”

Keith turned the vacuum back on, Lance hissing at the blasted appliance. If Keith had to clean, then he could at least use a broom, or a carpet sweeper, something that didn’t sound like the hordes of hell stabbing at his ears with their screaming wails. And who was Keith to imply he was going mouldy? He’d had a shower that morning, not that it helped with the cramping or the smell. He did have some pride left. It wasn’t very much, but seeing Keith was acting like their whole screaming match didn’t happen, Lance was following his lead.

Lance got exactly 5 minutes peace between the vacuum turning off and the doorbell ringing. Keith dropping Blue on his head when Lance made no motion of coming out. Clawed by Blue, Lance’s face was used as a jumping pad, his precious baby running away without so much as a lick or a purr. Blue wasn’t getting any wet food until she started loving him again. Listening to Keith walk through the house, Lance tried to cover his head with the couch cushion, but the damn thing was sewn in, leaving him only covered by his blanket.

“‘sup, loser?”

“Hey, Pidge. Hey, Hunk. Come on in, Lance is in the living room”

There was the sound of running feet before Lance was crushed by Pidge sitting on him

“You’re sofas too hard. You should get a new one”

Wiggling her butt, Lance groaned. Of all the place she could have sat, it was on his side, weight irritating his sore stomach

“We all know the lump is Lance. He’s wallowing”

“Oh no. Don’t tell me one of his shows finished? One time he didn’t move for like a week because he didn’t like the ending”

“He’s had the shits all day. You might not want to squash him too much”

Keith could go fuck himself. Lance would have a spun a much better lie if their positions had been reversed

“Ew! Dude, that’s way TMI. Maybe it’s genetic, I hear diarrhoea runs in your jeans”

Hunk groaned at Pidge. Keith, the arsehole, snorted

“I wonder if you’ll find it funny if you squash it out of him”

“Yuck! No thanks”

When Pidge climbed off of him, the gremlin lifted his feet and sat herself down in the opposite corner. Pulling the blanket down to his chin, he pouted at his friend

“I’d still love you. Despite the shit you do”

“I’d love you too, but if you actually crap yourself, I’m never letting you live it down”

“Says you. I still have very vivid memories of a certain blue top...”

A certain blue top that Pidge had managed to cover in vomit as she argued with a taxi driver about some mathematical term that Lance didn’t get, because she’d been too drunk and kept mixing equations. Thankfully they were outside the taxi, Lance paying for the ride, while tipping the man generously as he apologised profusely over Pidge

“Shut up. I was drunk”

“Very. Very, very, drunk. I seem to remember that night you learned that lollywater and beer didn’t mix”

“It was so green”

The same shade as radiator coolant. Blueberry vodka did not go well with beer at all. Poor Pidge had burst into tears, Lance carrying her home and cleaning her up so Hunk wouldn’t have to

“It was. I’m wallowing because I can. What brings you guys over?”

“It’s the weekend. You promised you’d come with us to a certain pub”

Fuck him and his past self making stupid, unreasonable, promises

“I don’t remember that”

“You said we couldn’t go to the mine. Apparently some tourist was checking things out and found the door open. The stupid council has welded it shut now”

“Thank god for that”

Pidge poked him in the leg

“That tourist wouldn’t be you, would it?”

Yep. He was that tourist. The tourist that nearly lost a dog down there. Keith wasn’t a dog, but he did have aspects of being an oversized puppy. And he had followed him down the mine despite the fact he really could have gotten lost

“Nope. They probably went past the cemetery just to see what was there and saw the door open”

“Wankers”

Shuffling over to him, Hunk sat carefully on the arm of the chair

“Dude, how are you sick again?”

“Keith cooked and poisoned me”

Pidge laughed

“Oh man, that’s what happens when you leave two men in a house together. What he did make?”

“There was egg and vegetables with extra egg shell and burnt bits”

Pidge giggled. Lance had cooked dinner last night, this was all about him getting revenge on Keith

“Damn, he’s worse than me”

Hunk didn’t believe him. His best friend staring down at him. Great, he was worrying, Lance wished he had a way too soothe Hunk that wasn’t the truth

“Man, why didn’t you tell us? We would have been over sooner to help out”

“Keith’s doing all the house work in apology. Not the first time I’ve had food poisoning... it was better than some of the other things he’s tried to feed me. He tried to give me meat so rare that it was bleeding”

Hunk wrinkled his nose, knowing Keith wouldn’t have taken the proper precautions for handing raw meat

“I could have made meals for you”

Lance wriggled down as he pulled his blanket tighter

“I’ll be fiiiiine, buddy. Plus, Keith’s been working hard. He’s already vacuumed and done two loads of washing, oh, and he’s been picking on me. He’s on a roll”

“I might be on a roll, but you need to roll your arse off that sofa and go shower. You stink”

Keith sounded annoyed with him. Lance was looking at Hunk so he didn’t have to look at Keith and deal with the whole kiss thing

“Your face stinks. I had a shower this morning”

“Was that before or after you decided to wallow?”

“During. Besides, I’m totally allowed to. I’ve run out of things to watch”

“Then get off the couch and get ready so we can goooooooo”

Pidge poked his leg again, Lance really not feeling like leaving his precious house, but for his friends, he would

“Fiiiiiiine. Don’t let me wallow then”

“TV shows are hardly a good enough reason to be wallowing at it is”

“Says you”

Pidge had done some pretty bad wallowing each and every time a show she was watching ended the way she wanted

“Stop being dramatic and get ready, already”

Changing clothes meant finding something to wear that wouldn’t be too tight against his tender lower belly. Dragging himself off the couch had been enough effort as it was. The shirt part was fine. Not to brag, but he did pull most things off rather effortlessly. A light blue half sleeved button up lay on his bed, as he walked around in his boxer briefs. Seeing he was going out, he wanted to look good. But if he looked too good, then Pidge would tease him about Keith. Lance’s step faltered at the thought of Keith. They’d yelled at each other they wouldn’t mind kissing each other and Lance couldn’t take it back... Big, dumb, stupid, emo Keith. His enemy... who wanted to kiss him. He didn’t know how to kiss people... he didn’t even know how to do what people did next... Did Keith want to date him? But Keith would be leaving soon and he’d probably do his damn best to forget all about their time together... but Matt was moving in, and Shiro was Matt’s best friend... which probably meant Shiro would wanna come visit Matt... or at least talk to him... which kept open that connection to Keith... and... fuck... he didn’t know what to do about that. He liked Keith. He was pretty sure going around in circles the way he was, had to mean the he liked Keith and his dumb mullet. He didn’t want to like Keith. He’d spent his whole life running away from liking people. Especially humans. Humans were so complex... and a constant reminder he was on the outside... Keith was warm... soft... and so very much alive. The hunter deserved a warm loving family after all he’d been through. Lance was barely warm, and his perpetual tiredness left him not overly loving when it came to people who weren’t in his immediate friend circle.

“Lance? You okay, or you having some kind malfunction?”

Lance looked to Keith. Why’d the idiot have to come annoy him in his room... when he was...

“Close your eyes!”

Covering his already covered junk, Lance was mortified

“Relax, you big baby. You’ve got nothing I haven’t seen before”

“Pervert. What are you doing up here? Why are you watching me get dressed?”

“Because you’re taking forever, so Pidge told me I had to come get you. You haven’t even got pants on yet”

“No shit. I’m trying to decide what to wear. Not everyone’s wardrobe consists of black on black”

Keith shrugged

“Black’s my colour. Besides, I’m wearing what Coran gave me to wear. What’s your excuse?”

“I don’t want to look too good, or Pidge will tease me”

“Then put some jeans on”

“I don’t want to wear jeans”

“Why not?”

“Because my stomach hurts. Or did you miss the whole reason for my wallowing?”

“Honestly, I was starting to wonder if you were trying to milk free housework for as long as possible”

Lance abandoned covering his junk in favour of crossing his arms

“You’re the one who told them I had the shits”

“I’m sorry? What else was I supposed to say?”

“That I’m lazy and was taking a nap?”

“I’ll remember that for next time. Did you at least shower?”

“I already showered this morning”

“And I’m telling you, you need to shower again. You smell really sweet”

“Really? I hadn’t noticed”

Keith opened his mouth before realising Lance was being sarcastic

“You’re a douche”

“And you’re a dick”

“Just put some damn pants on. Whatever you pick will look fine”

“I don’t want to look fine, I want to look good”

Keith groaned at him, covering his face with his hand as he shook his head

“You just said you didn’t want to look good”

“Yeah, well... whatever. Now go away so I can get dressed without you perving on my body”

“You wish I was perving”

“That’s beside the point”

Neither of them spoke for a moment. Keith making the first move by walking away from Lance’s open door. What was he doing?! Why was he flirting with Keith? He didn’t want to flirt with Keith! He wanted to be embarrassed over being seen in his underwear, instead his brain decided he need to blurt out a stupid line like that. Keith was right. He was definitely malfunctioning...

*

In Keith’s opinion Lance should still be resting. The vampire had dragged his feet since climbing off the couch. So Keith had volunteered to check on him when hadn’t come back downstairs after 10 minutes had passed. A very long ten minutes at that. Hunk was cranky with him for accidentally poisoning Lance when Lance was finally on the mend. Pidge was cranky that the council had sealed up the mine. Keith was cranky because he was stuck in a house of cranky people.

Piling into Hunk’s car, Lance called shot gun, the hunter having the feeling that Lance was back to avoiding him all over again. Now Keith might be backwards on social cues, but Lance had definitely flirted with him more than once. He wanted him to kiss him, and at this point, Keith would happily kiss Lance if meant this awkwardness would fuck off already. Sure, it might take some liquid courage, but it wasn’t like they weren’t headed to a pub, and it wasn’t like he didn’t have his bank card in his pocket. Pidge was all for exploring now they’d been granted access, while Keith was simply happy over being able to buy his own drinks. He was in the mood to drink this situation under the table and deal with it like any respectable adult would, kiss Lance, then have everything go back to normal. That was it. That was his whole plan, but given his company for the night, he really shouldn’t have planned on it being that simple.

Reaching the pub, the party was already underway. Pidge pushing through the flock of people to reach the bar, where she impatiently waited for service. Hunk was a little more nervous about it all, and Lance seemed very focused on his showed instead of watching where he was going. Taking Lance by the arm, Keith guided him away from their friends, worried Lance really wasn’t up for tonight at all

“What... what are we doing away from Pidge and Hunk?”

Lance blinked at his surrounds like he hadn’t noticed the pub was full

“I wanted to talk to you first. You seem pretty out of it”

“I’m fine, Mullet”

“Bullshit. Look, if you’re not up to this, we can go”

“And leave the pair of them alone? I think not”

“You’re still sick”

“And I’m fine. I mean, I can’t change what’s happening. So I might as well be here where I can help”

“You’re no good if you’re the one who collapses”

“I said I’m fine. God. Get off my back already”

“I’m worried about you”

“Worry about yourself. I’ll be fine. I don’t need your pity, Keith”

Keith wasn’t aware that he was “pitying” Lance. He thought he was going down the whole route of friendship and worrying about a friend. Angry at him, Lance squarely bumped into his shoulder as he marched past him. Well, fuck him. If Lance was going to be a moody bitch, then Keith was going to mind his own business, starting with getting himself a large drink of something strongly alcoholic.

Pidge derailed that plan before he even got to order

“Keith, finally. I know you’re not a people person, but we were waiting for you”

“I was talking to Lance...”

“Yet Lance still joined us before you did. Are you ready? They said we can’t film in the pub, but once we’re in the tunnels it’s fine”

“Or I could stay up here while you poke around down... never mind”

His choice was made by Lance stepping on his boot to shut him up. If Lance didn’t want him worrying, then shouldn’t he be all for leaving Keith up here?”

“Damn straight, “never mind”. We explore, then we do some serious drinking to celebrate. I’ve been trying to get into this place for years”

Great... Pidge and Hunk were going to get wasted. The tunnels were going to be cold and dusty... nothing like what they’d found down in the mine. That’d been... that’d been something special down there. Him and Lance, laying eyes on a sight no one around had seen... Kind of like a secret moment in a secret place... Not under a local pub where they couldn’t take their time and be themselves. Maybe that was why Lance was keeping him at an arms distance? Afraid Keith would dob them in over their own little adventure? Nah. Lance should know that was a moment just for themselves. Keith wasn’t in any hurry to piss Pidge off. Nor to have her and Hunk asking a million questions, though in Hunk’s case it was more likely he’d be telling them off for being reckless. Which meant everything came back to Lance flirting and feeling guilty for doing so. Something he couldn’t exactly fix... or... maybe he was being conceited by thinking that it related to him at all? Maybe it was Lance acting out, out of fear of what his body was becoming? Sure, Keith’s body might not be changing like Lance’s, but there had been a distinct change in him. Wondering what kind of things he’d say to Lance. Wondering what kind of expressions he was making as Lance talked to him. Wondering if he’d able to forget Lance as easily as Lance seemed to think he would. Everything came back to Lance. He didn’t want to hurt Lance. Not physically and not emotionally. He hated that Lance was a vampire, because Lance made him think of Adam, but Lance was Lance. He wasn’t Adam. Why did all of this have to be so hard? Was it his fault? Was he making it hard for Lance? Was it the blood thing? He’d stopped offering, but the offer still stood. He just... he wanted his friend back... and not to be snooping around in abandoned tunnels when said friend wasn’t alright.

[thecursedhellblazer]

The Taste of a Promise

(( So, @sirhisslot, I saw this picture that @thedemonconstantine made for you yesterday and, since I was already planning to write a piece with John and our favourite sassy bird, I thought to uh...sort of dedicate it to you? It seemed just fair since it’s all thanks to you if I got to enjoy all the shenanigans you guys have come up with! ^^ ))

(( It’s a bit of a piece of trash and I’m so very sorry for it, but hopefully the thought will make up for its lack of super high quality! Happy delayed birthday from this random twat person! ))

John slowly blew out a mouthful of smoke, watching as it raised up towards the night sky before dispersing in the chilly air. The scratch on his cheek was still stinging like hell, even after it had been cleaned and disinfected, and so did all the other small gashes and light cuts that covered most of the skin of his arms and chest. His shirt, while not exactly torn to shreds, would have probably ended up in the trash the next morning. The time and the effort he would have to put in repairing it wouldn’t have been worth the poor results.

Sticking the cigarette back between his lips, Constantine muttered a heavy curse under his breath. Normally, he would have paid no mind to that kind of wounds, since he was used to dealing with much worse, and by now he should have made peace with the fact that his clothes got ruined more often than not. It was part of the risks of the job, something that couldn’t be helped and that he had to put up with, no matter how aggravating for both him and his wallet it could be.

However, in that particular occasion, the culprit also happened to be the source of his current bad mood and, if there was something John was good at, it was holding grudges, even, and especially if he had to be honest, for the most stupid things. The events that had taken place that night were part of an overused, bad script that, somehow, never seemed to get old and kept repeating itself over and over and over, much to the magician’s chagrin. The fact that he was to blame for all that as much as his opponent was, in his eyes, a detail of no import. It didn’t change the fact that he had been forced to flee outside and get some air, instead of being inside with the others, enjoying his drink.

“Bloody fuckin’ bird,” he muttered under his breath, moodily chewing the butt of his cigarette.

His eyes moved up towards the sky. The feathered fucker constantly glared at him, no matter what he did or said, no matter if he had been paying any sort of attention to him or not. He probably thought that John was a bad influence and that he could exert his role as such even just by existing in the same room where Tim was. And deep down, even if he wouldn’t have admitted it out aloud, the magician might have almost agreed with the owl. However, that didn’t give the bastard any right to attack him at the slightest pretext.

Constantine let out a low groan. He wasn’t even sure of how the fight had started this time. Maybe he had said a word too much, maybe he had glared at the bird for a bit too long. Or perhaps it was because he had messed a little with the winged wanker’s food. Chas had advised him against doing it, but of course he hadn’t listened. In his defence, Tim had been around for a few days and John had really tried to behave at first, but it had been impossible for him to keep the act up. The two of them just weren’t capable of getting along. Why exactly, it was a mystery and John’s guess would have been as good as any, if he had cared enough to make one. It seemed to be one of those things that simply were as they were, almost as if they had been meant to be.

Oh, he was bad at handling those. Very, very bad.

The wandering trail of his thoughts was interrupted by the light sound of wings flapping and Constantine turned his head on his side, already scowling before his eyes could properly land on the bird that had come to perch on the railing next to him. There were several feathers missing from his plumage and the magician couldn’t help smirking in smug satisfaction, knowing that he had been the one to do such damage. He might have gained his own wounds during the fight, but the bastard looked just as worse for wear as he did.

“Woh’s up now? ‘Ell, can’t a bloke ‘ave a bloody fag n’ some bloody alone time?” He grumbled under his breath, turning his head away once again. “Didn’t yeh get enough already? Sod off, yeh tosser. ‘M not in th’ mood to go again rite now.”

The sharp look that Yoyo shot him was even harsher than John’s tone had been, but then the owl seemed to choose to ignore him and instead he started to preen, trying to make up for the mess that had been made of his feathers. That moron was a jinxed menace,  a walking magnet for trouble, and he reeked of alcohol, cigarettes, bad habits,  misery and, literally, of Hell itself. He shouldn’t be allowed near anyone, especially not his human companion.

And yet, for some reason that kept evading him, Timothy seemed to have grown quite fond of Fate’s Fool, against what most people would have surely agreed was common sense and good taste.

Seeing his words falling in death ears, John rolled his eyes and went back to his cigarette, barely holding back the impulse of blowing out the next mouthful of smoke directly in the bird’s face. His gaze, however, kept darting towards the owl. He didn’t trust him not to sink his cursed claws or damned beak back in his flesh the moment he had turned away for a moment too long.

The silence stretched for a few minutes, the time that Constantine needed to finish his smoke and lit out the new one, while Yoyo kept  trying to cover the holes in his plumage, taking the time to shoot the man an outraged look every time he lifted his head to move his attention to another spot.

“Yeh know, if me presence offends yeh tha’ much, yeh can’ fuck off,” John eventually commented, after the umpteenth glare. “Christ. Yeh could even jus’… ” He waved a hand, gesturing to his unwanted guest to scoot away. “Lots of space on dis bloody railin’, innit?” 

Once again he was ignored, just as he had expected to be, and he glanced away, muttering one more curse. He didn’t know what was worse, not being able to relax and breath, which was what he had come out to do, or the sparks of irritation that kept being fed by the bird’s snobbish attitude. It was another thing that he would have never admitted out aloud, not even under torture, but the fucker and his insistent scowling managed to make him feel every bit like the piece of trash he had to be in the bird’s eyes.

Something sharp suddenly jabed him in his side and he started. “Oi! Yeh fuckin’ wanker!”

He whipped around to fully face Yoyo. He had meant it when he had stated that he wasn’t in the mood for another round, but, if the bastard wanted to go for it, he would have made him regret it. However, he paused when he found the owl with one wing extended, pointing towards the window of the balcony.

Look, you idiot.

The displeased expression didn’t abandon Constantine’s face, but he reluctantly did what he was being told, his eyes landing on the small scene that was playing inside the apartment. Tim was sitting on the couch, holding a glass that was probably being kept dutifully refilled by Chas. Tha cabbie had to be spinning one of his stories, because he was gesticulating animatedly, perhaps a bit more than it was strictly necessary, most likely in the attempt of keeping the teen as involved as possible in whatever was being told.

Despite himself, John found himself grinning slightly. Poor old Chas. He probably felt like he was failing miserably with Tim barely offering polite nods to show his participation, even if the lad had to be appreciating the snacks that kept being shoved in his way, considering how quickly they disappeared from his plate.

What a domestic scene, carrying the taste of a normalcy and of the tranquility of daily life none of them was truly used to. An old cassette playing in the background, complementing the warm lights that lit up his best friend’s flat, the lingering smell of the homemade dinner they had shared. It tasted like warmth, like safety, like home. A thin and yet sturdy shield against all the possible, ugly realities they had witnessed.

The promise of a better, brighter future.

John turned back towards Yoyo, finding that the owl was staring at him expectantly. And, hell, if he couldn’t feel the weight of those expectations. He groaned and the bird hooted at him, irritated and firmly, preventing the magician from just ignoring him as he had been tempted to do.

So? Did you get it or are you that thick?

Constantine puffed out a bit more of smoke, but then nodded, glancing briefly towards the window one more time. “…Aye, aye, got th’ fuckin’ message,” he grumbled under his breath. “Loud n’ clear, mate.”

Those words, however, didn’t seem to satisfy Yoyo because the owl pecked him once again, a bit harder than he had done to get his attention. The flash of satisfaction that touched his dark eyes when the magician winced was impossible to miss.

And?

“N’ ‘m tryin’, alrite? ‘M fuckin’ tryin’. Fuck, it ain’t easy, yeh know? N’…good t’in’s ain’t exactly me forte,” John was forced to continue, rubbing his forearm. Yet another bruise to add to the list. “But, if there’s somet’in’ I can do to stop all tha’, too keep ‘im ‘ere, wit’ us, away from…wohte’er ugly fate’s waitin’ ‘ed for us…Be bloody sure tha’ I’ll do it. N’ I’ll leave not’in’ untried. No ma’er th’ cost.”

Their gazes met for a moment and, after squinting at the man for a moment, Yoyo this time seemed pacified. His faith in John Constantine wasn’t the strongest and it would have never been, but he could recognise heartfelt sincerity when he saw it. There was no reason to believe that the magician’s attempts would have been enough, because history had often shown how useless will and good intentions could be at the end of the day, but it was a start. And it was something they could agree on. Some common ground, together with their shared despised for that filthy crow.

Fine. Truce. At least for tonight. But be ready to meet my wrath if you even just think about making a false step around Tim.

“Wohte’er,” John replied, bringing the cigarette back to his lips. Then a smirk opened on his lips. “…Fuckin’ stinky duster.”

The peck that reached his hand was strong enough to make him yell, but he found himself laughing mere second after, holding his bleeding fingers, not giving a damn about how Yoyo had puffed out his chest and his feathers, wings opened in a clear threatening pose.

His shout had been loud enough to attract Chas’s and Tim’s attention and the cabbie was already getting up from his seat, most likely to come and retrieve him, and perhaps even to give him another scolding about how he needed to stop poking the bird, but he found that he didn’t care about that either.

He grinned, widely, waving his injured hand, and damn. Behind the facade of offended anger and ruffled feather, he could have sworn that Yoyo was smirking right back at him.

[senlinyu]

Dramione- draco blackmails Hermione

“What do you want?”

Draco quirked an eyebrow and leaned back in his chair. “Want?”

She scowled at him and pulled an envelope out of her bag, throwing it venomously down on his desk. The force caused the flap to open, several pictures slid out.

They featured Granger’s extremely recognizable face involved in a scene that would, even conservatively, be termed an orgy.

She wasn’t engaged in anything illegal, but the very existence of the photos was career ruining in a culture as fastidiously conservative as the British Ministry of Magic.

Draco only glanced at them for a few moments before looking back up at her.

Her cheeks were stained scarlet as she glared at him. “I assumed this envelope was from you—given that you’re the only one who continues to see the need to interfere and try to destroy everything I do.” Her voice was shaking and slightly choked sounded. Her teeth were bared and she looked nearly feral. “So—obviously: you. What do you want?”

Draco leaned back and gave her a hard smile. “Now, now, Granger, think of how much weaker an opponent you’d be if I hadn’t been here all these years, going to all the trouble of bringing all your legislative loopholes and vulnerabilities to your attention.”

His smile grew razor-sharp and he laced his fingers together, resting his chin on the knuckles. “I must admit I was beginning to question whether I’d ever manage to knock you low enough to finally come crawling into my office. But even the Muggles know the higher the climb the longer the fall. It just goes to show that none of us are perfect, not even you.”

His eyes peeled away from her and he reached down to pick up one of the photos. He stared at it for several seconds while Granger seethed.

“Since we’re here, alone, I have to ask,” he finally said without looking away from the photo. “What on earth possessed you to do something this idiotic?” He glanced up at her. “You’ve had your eyes on the Minister’s seat since before you graduated. You had to have known this kind of—indulgence had the potential to destroy all your dreams in a manner both permanent and spectacular.”

He tsked and shook his head before flashing one of the photos at her. She immediately averted her eyes.

Granger’s cheeks were stained red but the rest of her face was steadily growing whiter and whiter.

Her mouth worked soundlessly for a moment before she swallowed visibly. “It wasn’t my idea,” she finally said in a strained voice.

Draco snorted. He was tempted to roll his eyes and assure her that that much abundantly obvious, but instead he waited to hear her try to explain it.

“It was—it was—” She actually looked as though she were on the verge of fainting in front of him. “He—he said I treated my job like it mattered more than our relationship. That I—always based my decisions on it, rather than him. It was—it was supposed to—“ her throat bobbed, “to spice things up. I didn’t know it was going to be—like that. He promised it was very discreet.”

Draco snorted again and glanced at the date on the back of the photo. “Anything Pucey knows about does not fall anywhere in the realm of discreet. You should have asked me,” he leered over the photo at her. “I could recommend several places that take the privacy of their clientele seriously—if this is your kind of thing.”

His eyes slid over her, and then flicked back to the photos on his desk.

Her chest was heaving sharply. “What do you want, Malfoy?”

He cocked his head slowly to the side, laying the photo down and tracing his fingertips lightly over it. “Come now, Granger, put that oversized brain of yours to work. What do you think I want?”

A decade earlier and she probably would have cried. Granger used to cry about things. When she was angry, or overwhelmed, or happy, or sad, she cried.

She appeared to have rooted out the habit at some point, although not—he noted, some of her other ones. Her fingernails had been bitten to the quick and she stared at him with her lower lip caught between her teeth.

“I won’t withdraw the bill,” she said after a moment. Her voice almost a whisper but nearly vibrating with determination. “I don’t care what you threaten to do with those. You can ruin me.”

Draco snorted and rolled his eyes. “Gracious me, Granger, you still have all the subtlety of a beater bat. How exactly would forcing you to withdraw your beloved house-elf protections bill benefit me?”

“I don’t know.” She appeared to be shaking with rage. “How have any of your attempts to block my legislation benefited you? At this point I just assume you exist to try getting in my way.”

“I didn’t say a word in opposition to the WRA,” he said, raising an eyebrow. “It was legislatively flawless. I believe I even sent you a congratulatory note on your excellent work.”

She looked angry enough to spit.

Draco shrugged and gathered up the photos again, flipping through them slowly. He paused at one and stared at it for several seconds before turning it so she could see. “This is a lovely shot of you. You have better tits than I would have credited you with.”

She twitched and her jaw started trembling minutely. “Just—tell me what you want. You have infinitely more money than I do, unless you just want to ruin me financially. Do want me to remove my name as a sponsor of the bill? Are you expecting me to withdraw from politics altogether?” The trembling appeared to have spread from her jaw into the rest of her body, she was swaying like a broken tree branch. “Just tell me what it is, I’m sick of trying to guess what you’re doing.”

Draco looked down and slid the photos neatly back into the envelope. “As it happens, Granger…” he said her name slowly. “There are several things I’m interested in.”

She stared at him for a moment and then her eyes widened and she looked as though she were on the verge of screaming or bolting.

He chuckled under his breath and tapped the sharp corner of the envelope on his desk. “You do have a filthy mind, even if a sex club wasn’t to your—tastes. No, despite how surprisingly lovely your tits are, I’m didn’t send this because I wanted a turn as well.”

She didn’t relax in the slightest.

Draco leaned back and stared coolly across his desk at her. “I want you to add my name as one of the sponsors for your house-elf protections legislation, and I want you to include me on whatever your next campaign is. I want to be consulted, I want to be a co-sponsor. I want a seat at the highly exclusive little table of do-gooders, and you will be the one to get it for me and ensure that I stay there. And—“ he gave her a slow smile, “you’ll owe me favour, which I will call in someday whenever I happen to feel like it, and you will do it whatever it is I that I ask.”

He straightened as he watched her reaction carefully. “In exchange, I will ensure that these photos never again see the light of day.”

Granger stood frozen for several seconds. Her expression was masked but there was confusion behind the obvious strain in her eyes.

“I won’t do anything illegal,” she said in a tight voice.

Draco rolled his eyes. “It will be an entirely legal favour.”

“Fine,” she finally said in a voice that only had a hint of tremour underlying it. “I want a blood oath.”

When it was done, Granger gripped the vial in her hands as she backed away from him towards the door.

Draco stepped back over to his desk and caught up the envelope, flashing her a final grin. “Did you want these as a keepsake?”

She shot him a look of pure loathing as she disappeared through the door.

The smile dropped from his face the instant she was gone. Draco slid the envelope into his robes, withdrew his wand, and cast a quick disillusionment on himself before stepping out of his office. He moved slowly in order to make as little a visual disturbance as possible.

At the first hallway, he turned and walked quietly down it until he stood outside an innocuous, and difficult to notice broom closet.

He pressed his ear to the door and listened to rapid, hyperventilating sobs for a few seconds before stepping back and pulling the envelope out of his pocket. He slid a photo up just enough to verify the date on the back once more.

Just days before her very public breakup with Adrian Pucey.

He tapped the envelope against his fingers for a moment before heading up towards the Ministry floo.

——

“Zabini.”

Blaise cracked an eye open and found Malfoy staring down at him with an icy expression on his face.

He blinked, pushed off the naked witch draped over him, and sat up. He hadn’t seen Malfoy in years and hadn’t expected to wake and find him in his bedroom.

“Why the fuck are you blackmailing Granger?”

Blaise rubbed his eyes and gave the pretentious wanker a droll smirk. “Easy target. Easy money. Mother’s training.” He shrugged as he stood up. “How did you find out?”

Malfoy’s lip curled. “She assumed this was from me. Did it not occur to you she’d have trouble paying you off if she didn’t even know who sent them.”

Blaise yawned and pulled on a robe. “I fancied leaving her to stew and panic about how bad it’d be before moving in for the kill. She must be frantic if she went straight to you. It’s convenient you came by, you deal with her all the time. How much would you say she’s worth?”

He eyed Malfoy while he stretched his shoulders. “I’m thinking installments rather than a lump sum. She’ll probably be good for a few years at least.” His pulled a velvet chord on the wall to call for a late breakfast and coffee. “I couldn’t believe my luck when Pucey brought her through the door. I think she must have sedated herself, she went with it for less than an hour, then panicked and bolted.” He nodded towards the envelope in Malfoy’s hand. “Stayed long enough though.”

Malfoy was staring at him expressionless. “I want to buy all of them.”

Blaise froze as he stared at his old schoolmate.

Malfoy was politically weaker than Granger, but financially he was a larger fish by several orders of magnitude.

Blaise hadn’t considered seeking out a third party for the photos. Granger was beloved by nearly all, with the very notable exception of Malfoy, who had an inexplicable vested interest in attempting to subvert or fuck her over with any political machinations he could scheme up.

He grinned at Malfoy. “How much is finally ruining her worth to you?”

It turned out, it was worth more than three times Blaise’s annual income.

Malfoy held the cheque lazily between his thumb and index finger and stared at Blaise with glittering eyes. “This sum is conditional, Zabini. I want a list of everyone there that night.”

Blaise started to open his mouth and deny keeping records, but Malfoy leveled him with a cold glare. “I’m certain you have one. The last thing I need is to have her claiming it was polyjuice, I want to know exactly who the corroborating—participants are.”

Blaise shrugged and retrieved it from his logbook. As he held out the list of names and extended his hand for the cheque. Malfoy held it back.

“I also want an Unbreakable Vow. I don’t want to worry someone that else is going to fuck up my chess pieces once I have them in place. I want a Vow from you that I have all the photographs and any other evidence, and that all the particulars of this little business arrangement will die with you.”

Blaise’s throat tightened as he noticed the burning intensity in Malfoy’s eyes. The man was deranged in his vendetta against Granger. Then he looked at the figure on the cheque.

“Fine.”

————

Draco stopped at Gringotts in the evening after a day’s work. He sat silently beside the goblin as the cart raced into the depths of the bank, beyond the Malfoy family vault, to a smaller private vault.

Draco unlocked the door, stepped inside, and closed it with the attending goblin waiting outside.

He pulled the file with all of Blaise’s pictures out of his robes, along with the envelope that Granger had brought him.

His jaw tensed as he stared at them. His hands shook slightly and the photos abruptly burst into flames.

He dropped them on the ground.

He walked over to all the boxes of mind-bogglingly detailed analysis of several hundred legislative documents. He dragged a finger along them as he wandered through to the far wall.

A small postcard was pinned to the wall.

“Men of sense often learn from their enemies. It is from their foes, not their friends, that cities learn the lesson of building high walls and ships of war.”

He stared at it for several seconds and then sighed and turned around. The room was burning, the fire consuming the photos had spread to the boxes.

He watched the fire.

Feuding with Granger legislatively had honed her into a lethal political weapon far more rapidly than any advisor could have hoped to.

Advise Granger about weaknesses as a friend and she had a habit of dismissing it and assuming the best about others; come at her as an opponent and she‘d strategize, strengthen her position, and then coldly outmaneuver them.

Draco had thought she was nearly untouchable until that morning. He ground his teeth together. Her personal life would be the one area that she’d remain vulnerable.

Obliviating Pucey had been by far the most satisfying aspect of the day. Draco had thought he wasn’t a killer, but he very seriously reconsidered it when he’d had a wand leveled at Pucey’s face.

Draco walked slowly around the burning boxes towards the door of the vault.

He paused by the door and stared at a newspaper clipping on the wall.

It had faded after nearly a decade.

1998. Granger was standing in the witness stand, testifying on Draco’s behalf during the post-war trial. If Draco had been found guilty, he’d be up for release in three weeks.

Hermione Granger Wants To Save The World.

He stared at the picture and nearly reached out and touched it.

Becoming her political rival has been accidental. She’d gone straight to the Ministry after school and begun her magical rights campaign with righteous fury and no training. Her team had been equally oblivious to political pitfalls.

Draco had not been, but no one listened to him.

So—he wrote an editorial pointing out all the potential risks of Granger’s legislation until she withdrew and reworked it. Draco kept publicly harassing her until it was ironclad.

It became a bizarre type of political chess. He unapologetically hounded her over her political vulnerabilities and she rapidly learned to protect herself, and spot her own legislative weaknesses without him.

Draco was tired of feuding with her.

He hadn’t considered that she’d see their rivalry as personal or malicious until she appeared his office. He considered there to be a vast difference between being politically at odds with someone and actually wanting to ruin their life.

Not for Granger. For her everything she did was morally rooted.

He sighed as he pulled the vault door open and stepped out.

Someday—he should probably admit he’d fallen for her.

[writingformadderton]

The Book of You and I - Part 2

Ship: Madderton

Word Count: 2634

Summary: After finding out that Taron forgot their encounter at the hospital, Richard can’t imagine working with him. He’s avoiding Taron and coming as late as possible on set, which doesn’t go unnoticed by Dex. Dexter confronts his friend, which leads to small chat between T and Rich. But will a new start really be that easy?

Additional Tags: hurt, comfort, fluff, argument, driving, Honky cat

I’d like to take a moment and thank my dear friend @taron-eggmcmuffin, who is not only an amazing person, but also helped me not to slip into a writer’s block over the last couple of weeks. I wouldn’t have finished this series without you, which is why we’d like to dedicate this series to you hun❤️ -Nati💜 

Part 1  Part 3

They have three weeks until one of the first shoots of the film and Richard doesn’t feel good at all. He’s feeling sick, can’t sleep and is suffering from tremendous headaches. Just the thought of being close to Taron, dancing with and kissing him drives him crazy. It seems as though everything has been moving so fast since the accident. Dex told him that they wanted to include a scene of them making out and potentially a sex scene. That sent Richard’s mind into a loop. How on earth could I do that? Bad enough I have to play his ex-lover. This role would destroy him from the inside out until there would be nothing left. He downs his drink in one go and gets up sighing, getting his car keys.

He arrives at the meeting with a bad stomachache, feeling nervous. He quickly steps in and sits down. Richard came very late on purpose so he wouldn’t have to talk to anyone. He keeps his eyes focused on the table most of the time and can barely concentrate. Taron is opposite of him and is trying to pay attention to what’s going on. Eventually, the meeting comes to a close and Dex turns his attention towards Richard.

“Rich, what do you think?” Dexter asks, noting the spaced out look on his face.

“I think that’s a good idea.” Richard says and sees Dexter’s grin and hears Taron chuckle. “What?”

“You’re alright mate? ‘I think that’s a good idea’ isn’t really the answer to where should we grab some food?” he laughs a bit and sees Richard’s weak smile. His mind was clouded, Dex recognized that look.

“Sorry, I’m tired. Can’t really focus at the moment.” he says and looks away quickly. His hands resting on the table holding his attention.

“Then it’s a good idea to take a break.” Dex answers and gets up. “T, could you ask Giles if he wants something as well?” Taron nods with a smile and stands. As soon as the Welsh left the room, Dexter looks at Richard again. “Rich, what the hell are you doing?”

“Hm?”

Dexter rolls his eyes a bit. “Look at you. You’re pale and look like you haven’t slept in a week. Listen, if this is about T-.”

“Not everything has to do with him, Dex.” Richard snaps a bit. He gets up, starting to back away from Dex and this conversation. Of course it was because of him, but who cares?

“You don’t look at him. You don’t talk to him. Taron honestly thinks you don’t like him.” he raises his eyebrows as he shrugs his shoulders. “Come on, get yourself together and talk to him. You can get to know him again. He’s just as sweet and kind as before.”

“That’s exactly the problem, Dex. He still is the person I fell in love with. He just doesn’t know it anymore.” Rich presses out and grabs his car keys. “I’m gonna go home now.”

“Richard.” Dexter says warningly and Rich raises his eyebrows, challenging him. Maybe Dex would kick him off the project if he kept on behaving that way and his problems would be gone. Doesn’t seem like such a bad idea actually.

But before either of them could get a word out, Taron comes back and steps into the doorframe, that same smile on his face from before. “Okay. It took a minute, but Giles doesn’t-” He looks up at the two, but there’s a sudden tension in the air that wasn’t present before. “Is everything okay?” T asks, seeing the mixture of hurt and anger in Richard’s eyes and the annoyance in Dexter’s.

“Richard wants to go home.” he says and steps back.

“Oh…okay.” Taron says lowly and plays with his hands nervously. What happened while I was gone? “ Are you okay, mate?”

Richard turns towards him slowly and just shakes his head. “Not really, but it’s just something I have to figure out on my own.”

Dexter growls a bit and walks out of the room. T watches him walk off for a short moment before stepping inside and closes the door. “Can I help you anyhow?” He asks soft and hopeful. But the Scottish shakes his head and looks back down at the floor again. “I-I don’t know what happened in your life, but if I can help you anyhow, please tell me.”

Richard presses his lips together and looks up again. “I don’t think you can fix this.” he says and his voice shakes. God, he hates how emotional he became over the last few months. All because of the accident. Keep it together!

“Maybe talking will help a bit. You wanna tell me about it?” he asks while keeping his eye on the man. His body language shows his hesitation. What the hell happened to him?

“I-I can’t.” he says and frustration wells up inside him. He never told Taron about them exactly. So naturally, he wasn’t going tell him how him forgetting their relationship is killing him softly. It wasn’t his fault.

“Is it that bad?” Taron asks and watches him carefully. Richard looked trapped, caught up in thoughts and his emotions. He doesn’t like seeing anyone this way and he wants to help him.

Richard lies his car keys back on the table and remains silent for a moment. “I lost someone really important a few months ago and I haven’t figured out how to cope with it fully yet.”

“Oh, Rich. I’m sorry to hear that.” he says and his eyes soften, his heart hurting for him.

“It happened without a warning and that makes it a bit tougher to deal with it. He just was gone over night.”

“Gone like dead?”

“Kind of.” Richard says and shakes his head at himself. Kind of? Come on, Rich.

“How do you mean?” he asks confused.

“I…..” He bites his tongue. It was too much. “Would you mind if we stopped talking about this now?” he smiles at him weakly and looks away from him when he feels the tears threatening to fall down his cheeks.

“I don’t know what exactly happened, but I’ll do my best to cheer you up a bit, okay?” he asks and walks over to Rich. “You’ll get through it and you’ll be okay again. And if you ever wanna talk, I’m all ears.” he rubs his shoulder shortly and smiles softly when Rich looks up to him with tears in his eyes. “You look like you could use a hug.” he carefully wraps his arms around Richard and bites his lower lip nervously.

Richard’s thoughts start racing, but he wraps his arms around him as well. He buries his face in his shoulder, taking in the familiar sweet scent, and feels himself calming down. At the same time, his throat tightens as he tries to bite back the tears. Being here in his arms didn’t particularly make it better. Not in their current circumstances.

“I thought maybe something was wrong on set or you didn’t like me. You seemed a bit distant.” Taron says while rubbing his back smoothly.

“I’m sorry about that. You remind me of him sometimes.” Rich says and decides to cover it up with another lie. Well it wasn’t exactly a lie.

“Oh, so he was a clumsy dumbass as well?” T asks giggling.

Rich chuckles. “Yeah, sometimes.” he pulls back a bit. “I’m sorry. It isn’t your fault what happened that night. I’ll try to get myself together.”

“It’s okay. We can struggle together.” he says with a soft smile and takes a step back again. “Come on. I’m sure Dex is waiting in his car impatiently.”

“I’ll bet he got something while we talked.” Rich laughs and grabs his own car keys.

“Let’s see.” T opens the door and they walk down the corridor towards the door. Just when he moves to open it, Dex comes in with some Chinese food for the three of them. “Oh come on!” he giggles and Richard starts laughing.

“I told you so.” he grins and Dex just watches them with raised eyebrows.

-

Later that day, they sit on the sofa together reading the lyrics to Honky Cat again. They marked their lines and Taron is humming the tune. Richard feels more relaxed now and it almost feels natural. As if this was their everyday lives.

“Mate, can you hand me the marker again?” T asks while looking at his piece of paper.

Almost. “Here.” Rich grabs it and holds it to him without looking up.

“So, how are you feeling about it?” Taron asks and looks at him shortly. “The singing.”

“Not sure. Singing isn’t one of my strengths to be honest.” he admits and meets Taron’s blueish green eyes.

“I don’t believe you.” Taron giggles and watches him observantly. “I don’t know why, but I don’t believe you.” he says.

Richard watches him surprised and raises his eyebrows. T loved to sing with him all the time. “Well you’ll hear it soon enough. Then you’ll see why.”

“Exactly. We’re the last ones here, so let’s do it.” he gets up and walks over to the microphones. “Come on!” Taron was like a giddy schoolgirl.

Richard gets up, groaning softly, and walks after him. “Taron, come on. I don’t wanna do this now.”

“Don’t be such a pussy. Come here and let’s have some fun.” T says and looks up from his notes. “Sorry.” he laughs when he sees Richard’s jaw drop.

“Bloody wanker.” he says through gritted teeth.

“I heard that.” Taron says, taking out Richard’s air pods from his jacket.

“You were supposed to. And those are mine.” he chuckles and steps next to him, looking down at the microphone.

Taron just grins and connects them to his phone. It only takes a second, and it makes him raise his eyebrows. “Never worked that quick before.”

Rich bites his lower lip and his eyes widen a bit. “Mine always do.” he says and knows how dumb it sounds. But it makes the Welsh next to him laugh, so he brushes it off.

Taron starts the memo of the melody on his phone and puts one of the air pods into his ear, giving the other one to Richard. He starts dancing around, hearing the melody. And then he starts singing. Rich falls in love with his voice all over again.

“When I look back, boy I must have been green. Bopping in the country.” he raises his eyebrows at Rich, who gives in.

“Fishing in the stream.”

“Exactly!” T cheers. “Looking for an answer.”

“Tryna find a sign.”

“Until I saw your city lights, honey I was blind.” T winks at him, smirking, and dances around happily.

Rich grins shortly before starting the chorus. “They said, get back, honky cat. Better get back to the woods. Well I quit those days and my redneck ways and I-.”

Both of them continue the duet and Taron’s eyes shine happily. Richard becomes more comfortable with his voice and starts fooling around with Taron. Before they can actually realize it, it’s over and both look at each other grinning.

“See? You fucking liar.” Taron says smirking and punches him on the arm playfully. “Sounds like fucking Michael Bublé and shits his pants because of a little song. I can’t believe it.”

“Stop it.” Richard laughs and shakes his head, taking his air pod out of his ear.

“I’m serious. Your voice sounds amazingly smooth.” Taron compliments him and hands him back his air pod. “You’re gonna do great. Just calm down and breathe. We can even record it together if you’d like.”

“I’d like that.” Rich says with a soft smile and folds his notes together. “Let’s wrap it for today.”

“Yeah.” Taron agrees and they get their stuff. Outside, Taron gets his phone out and searches for a number.

“How are you gonna get home?” Richard asks confused, only seeing his own car in front of the building.

“Cab.” Taron says. “Don’t like driving on my own to be honest.”

“Oh, yeah.” Rich says and thinks to himself. He was able to sit behind the steering wheel and drive again the next day with a rental car. Thinking back now, it seems strange to him, being the one who drove. “I can take you home if you want?”

“Oh, don’t worry. You don’t have to drive me around. I can take a cab.” T assures him.

“I have to drive in that direction anyways.” Rich says and wants to slap himself immediately. Idiot!

“And you know that because-?” Taron asks giggling. His mate couldn’t have known where he lived. He’s never been there.

“Just a feeling.” Richard gives back and walks over to his car. “Come on, now. It’s late.”

-

Sitting in a car with Taron again is strange. It makes him nervous, so he drives slow and carefully. He wouldn’t let anything happen to him again in a car. Taron shifts in the seat a bit and starts tapping a nervous rhythm with his fingers on his thigh. “Are you alright?” Richard asks when he stops at a red light and looks over at him.

“Nervous.” T says and he doesn’t sound as happy as before. “I hate driving.”

“I’ll be careful.” he promises and continues driving again.

“It’s not your fault. I can’t remember the crash, but it’s just not a good feeling sitting in a car.” Taron mumbles and looks out of the window, trying to distract himself.

“It’s okay. We should be at your place soon.” Taron hums a yes and leans back in the seat, taking a deep breath, and closes his eyes. Richard knows the physical signs in Taron’s body and sees how scared he actually is. He knows they’re only a few minutes away from his apartment and decides to stop his suffering. He turns on the hazard lights and parks in a public parking spot. Taron looks at him confused. “We’ll walk the rest.” he says and gets out of the car.

Taron blinks confused for a moment before getting out as well. He feels bad for this. “It’s okay. I can-.”

“I said I’ll bring you home, so that’s what I’m doing.” Richard locks the car and starts walking. Taron chuckles and follows him quickly. “You’re extremely scared of it, am I right?”

“Mm.” T admits and looks down at the ground, blushing in embarrassment while walking. He didn’t admit to others how damn scared he really was. He felt stupid and weak about the whole thing.

“That’s alright. You had an accident that changed your whole life. Don’t be embarrassed because of the fear it brings. It was a traumatic event.” Richard says and looks at him while they walk to Taron’s apartment.

“Thanks, I’m trying.” Taron says lowly and smiles at him shortly. “It’s just strange because I don’t know exactly how it happened and I don’t wanna look up my name in the internet. It’s only gonna show me a life I am not living anymore, and I don’t wanna get depressed about that as well.” he sighs and gets out the keys to his door. “Thanks for the ride and walk.” he says with a smile and they hug each other to say goodbye.

Richard takes his phone out as he walks back to his car and texts Keeley.

Time to talk? - Richard

For you, always mate :) - Keeley

He had a lot to tell and his friend was the best person to do so with. His life had gotten stranger over the last few months and he had to learn that it wouldn’t be the same ever again, no matter how much that thought may hurt.

 @sarahegerton96 @multicoloredchicken @primaba11erina @anxiety-at-the-classroom @naptitimadderton @maddertonmyheart @madderton-obsessed @fuseburner

[s13e06]

The Black Lake

Draco Malfoy / Female Reader

Harry Potter AU

Warnings: some swearing and allusions to heavy depression

Words: 5.2K 

-

The sound of chattering in the halls accompanied by the clatter of hundreds of footsteps as you made your way out of potions class was the only reminder that you were still in any form of reality. You had just gone through a rather insufferable ordeal at the hands of Snape. It went without saying that he didn’t like you considering he was less than friendly with those he did.

It was your fault in all reality, you supposed. Accidentally putting rat spleens instead of bat spleens into your cauldron, causing your potion to go totally sideways. It was an honest mistake considering how tired you had been all day, having difficulty focusing on Snape’s words as he droned on. However, there were no simple mishaps in his eyes. Snape immediately came down on you for being so utterly incompetent and foolish. He even took the liberty of subtracting 5 points from your house, causing your housemates to all glare at you with disdain.

It was absolutely humiliating and given your tendency to be overly self-critical you couldn’t help the fact that your mind began to drift to slightly darker thoughts. Wondering why you even insisted on moving forward when every day you just proved yourself to be a failure. Everyone could see it… and so could you.

You weren’t particularly picked on or excluded by anyone. It was more so that in the eyes of other’s you felt like you barely did more than exist. You don’t think anyone hated you per se. You had some friends and were known to get people laughing at times with your quick-witted humor. But, in spite of it all, you couldn’t help but feel utterly worthless. Maybe they were all pretending to laugh at your jokes. Maybe your friends were just stuck with you.

You hated the way you always went into this mindset of self-doubt but… you just couldn’t help it.

As you let your feet take you further and further through the castle (not really caring where you were going, just wanting to walk as your mind rattled) you suddenly found yourself outside. Stopping, you took a quick look around wondering where you should head to next.

Then to your right, you spotted the Black Lake, vast and still. There was always something slightly eerie about the large mass of water if you happened to stare at it for too long. But at the same time, the mysterious shimmering surface was almost inviting.

Without really thinking too much of it you made your way to the lake, hoping to find a nice quiet place to sit for a while and simply allow yourself to exist.

You sauntered through the grass slowly, relishing in the way your feet slowly sunk into the thick grass with each step. You were so transfixed on watching your own feet that by the time you looked up again you saw that there was somebody else sat by the lake.

At first, you were a little unsure of who it could be considering that their back was to you as they peered out onto the lake in a deep concentration. But then you took notice of the strikingly platinum hair atop their head and the green lining of their robe.

It was Malfoy. Draco Malfoy. Of course, it had to be him of all people. You thought to yourself with a little flicker of frustration beginning to flare in you.

Draco had never been particularly rude to you, never teased or bullied you. No, nothing of that sort. In fact, you don’t think a single word had ever been exchanged between the two of you. But he definitely was someone you were indifferent about and you most certainly didn’t appreciate the way he spoke to others. You found him down right vile.

Deciding that it was best just to leave before he noticed you, you took a step back to turn around. But just as you did so your foot made a kind of squelching sound as it sunk into the wet ground. You froze at the noise and just as you feared, Draco turned around to look at you.

For a moment the only sound that could be heard was that of the breeze rushing by. You were just standing there, not sure what to say, or if you should even say anything at all. You thought that maybe it would be better to just leave like you planned and ignore his stare. But then you noticed something odd. As you studied Draco’s face you noticed that something was slightly off about it. Instead of his usual snarky smirk or venomous glare, he wore a kind of sad and pitiful expression. As if he was simply observing you silently, only because he had no energy to speak.

By this point it had been nearly half a minute before Draco just turned back around and continued to stare out at the lake, completely ignoring you. But as you stood there, staring at the back of his head, you realized what it was that you saw in his eyes a moment ago. It was loneliness.

Against your better judgment, you began to make your way over to where he sat and after a moment of hesitation, you plopped down onto the grass next to him.

Draco turned to you then as he noticed you sitting next to him, a look of shock and confusion washing over his face.

“I know that we aren’t friends and we haven’t really spoken before… but I just noticed that you seemed a little…” you trailed off, looking into his eyes for any trace of anger considering your sudden intrusion. However, he simply looked at you with a blank expression, waiting for you to continue. “A little sad…” you finished in a whisper.

At your words, he moved his eyes back ahead as a scoff left his lips. It seemed as though he was preparing to say something snarky and for some reason, you didn’t want him to totally cut you off yet.

“I know that you’re probably upset with me for just barging over here uninvited… and I know you probably don’t like me making assumptions about your mood. But, it’s just that, I know that even people with a reputation such as yourself have things to deal with.” You started, anxiously awaiting the moment he would interrupt you with an insult and tell you to mind your own business. But he didn’t say anything at all. He simply kept his eyes on the water s you continued to speak. “I don’t know what it is you’re thinking about that has you looking so sad… but I suppose I just wanted to tell you that whatever it is, it’s ok. You’ll be ok and if you ever wanted to maybe talk about it… well, I’m quite good at keeping secrets.” You offered to him with a small smile.

Draco seemed completely taken aback by your words as he watched you with his mouth slightly opened, maybe searching for what to say. An anxious feeling started to overwhelm you as his discomfort was becoming quite clear. You frowned at him a little as you noticed a slight pink shade was setting on his face. Worried that he was becoming angry with you, you quickly spoke up. “S-sorry if that was rude of me to say! I uhhh… I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. Promise!” You said to him with a nervous tone.

In the flash of an eye, he was on his feet. He looked down at you as a slight frown set across his face, cheeks still flushed. “It was a little rude of you,” he said as he quickly turned around and walked away. Leaving you there totally stunned, wondering if you’d just unintentionally made him despise you.

Twisting your head back to face forward you let out a sigh as you eyed the lake before you. You couldn’t help but question his uncharacteristic actions. Wondering just what it all had meant.

-

Turns out that what it had meant was nothing but trouble.

Following your encounter at the lake, Draco no longer withheld from any interaction with you. As a matter of fact, he had started to pay you a lot of attention. Except that it was far from positive.

For example, whenever you happened to pass him in the halls he would send a nasty glare your way and make some kind of snide remark about you. They were usually along the lines of “What a pity some women don’t even bother to take care of themselves anymore” or “Hey, Y/L/N been sticking your nose in anyone else’s business lately?” and of course your favorite, “Watch where you’re going, Y/L/N” which he would say after purposely knocking his shoulder into yours, usually causing you to stumble a bit.

Although his insults where terrible and completely unwarranted, you never let him have the last laugh. Each stupid little insult he threw at you was counteracted with one of your own. Often they were replies like “Fuck off you wanker” or “Shut your bloody mouth, you spoiled little git”.

The first time he had insulted you he seemed completely thrown off by your instant rebuttal. Perhaps he had expected you to simply bow your head down and walk off in shame. But you didn’t and for some reason, he seemed pleased by this. Always walking away from you with a sadistic little smirk, which coincidentally you did as well.

You had a feeling that to him this was all some sort of little game. He seemed to be getting off on the way you snapped back at him with irritation. You should probably hate him for it, be mad at least, and curse his name to the sky or something. But instead, you found yourself rather amused by this little back and forth thing he had started.

Not to mention the peculiar way you had caught him staring at you lately. You hadn’t quite noticed it at first but when you did you couldn’t help but wonder when it had started. Every time you’d catch him staring he’d quickly look the other way as nonchalantly as possible. Once you could have even sworn you saw a tinge of red on his ears and cheeks, but you quickly wrote it off. He was probably just studying you to formulate his next insult to throw at you in the hall.

This sort of odd relationship between the two of you lasted for some weeks before one day it shifted into a slightly different one.

-

You were sitting alone in the library staring down at a piece of parchment, quill in hand, and not one word written. You were meant to be writing out a paper for your Herbology class about the various uses of a certain plant of your choosing. But as you stared down at the blank page, absolutely no inspiration or motivation came.

Just as you sighed for probably the fifteenth time since coming to the library you heard a cough come from beside you. You looked up to see Draco standing there. He looked from you to your blank parchment and then back to you. You felt a rush of embarrassment wash over you as a smirk spread across his devious little face.

“Having a little trouble are you?” he asked smugly.

“Well, not that it’s any of your concern, Malfoy, but actually yes, I am,” you said, surprising yourself at your own honesty.

Without saying another word, you watched Draco pull out the chair beside you and sit down, looking to you expectantly. “Alright then, what do require assistance with?” He asked you with a smirk.

You were completely baffled by this. This had to be some kind of trick. There was no way Draco Malfoy had suddenly found it in his heart to start tutoring fellow students in his free time.

You eyed him questioningly as you chose your next words carefully. “It’s just a Herbology paper. I still have a few days before it’s due but I’m having a little difficulty with which plant to write about…” you finished while giving Draco a skeptical glare. He had to be up to something.

“What about it has got you so indecisive?” he asked you with a little laugh.

You don’t think you’d ever heard him laugh before. Well, not like that away. Usually, he would scoff and let out a rude laugh laced with mockery. But this one was seemingly genuine and almost… dare you say… cute?

“I’m not sure really,” you said honestly. “Maybe I just don’t want to choose the wrong plant to write about… what if my paper isn’t good enough? I know it’s a silly thing to worry about but Herbology isn’t my best subject and I can’t afford another low mark,” you admitted to him with a pitiful sigh.

He smiled a little at your words. “That is pretty silly.”

You glared at him a little before breaking out into a laugh.

“Well, Malfoy, did you come here to gloat or do you need something?” You asked easing a smile onto your face, letting him know you weren’t upset.

“I came over to see what could possibly have you sighing so much. It’s not a crime to be curious is it?” He asked a little sardonically.

You felt yourself relax at his teasing, sensing the Draco you were used to interacting with.

“I suppose it’s not a crime,” you said to him while dramatically waving your hand at him in defeat.

“I could help you, you know,” he told you with sly eyes. Oh, he was up to something. “I’m doing quite decently in Herbology myself, could probably give you some helpful pointers.” He offered you with a grin.

“How could I refuse such a noble offer,” you said to him sarcastically.

“But of course… it will come at a price” he told you with a glint in his eye.

Of course, it would.

“Alright then, name your price,” you said to him with a little laugh, not taking his offer quite seriously.

“I’ll let you know when I think of it. But until then… I suppose you’ll be indebted to me” he smirked while offering you a hand.

You glanced down at it, wondering if you should agree to something so ridiculous sounding. For all, you knew he could ask you to be his personal errand runner for a month as payment. Knowing his evil ways, you were sure he wouldn’t simply forget about it.

Despite the voices in your head screaming at you to decline his offer, your hand came out as well to grasp his own. Shaking it firmly and without much more thought you looked him in the eye, smiled, and said “deal”.

-

You had met Draco in the library the following two nights before your paper was due and to your surprise, he really did help you. He was actually quite smart, which didn’t shock you necessarily. But it was interesting to see this sort of hidden intellectual side to him. The banter between you two as you worked was much more lighthearted than you expected it to be and when you had handed your paper into Professor Sprout you found that you were a little sad it was over.

In a strange twist of fate, you had found yourself quite enjoying Draco’s company. He wasn’t so unpleasant when he wasn’t trying to impress anyone. After all, you weren’t anyone worth impressing. You figured this was all just something to occupy some of his free time, he was most likely bored and figured he could get you to owe him.

And yet, although your paper was finished and turned in, you still found yourself in the library at the usual meeting time. Not that you were expecting him to show or anything. There was no harm in simply doing some light reading was there?

After sitting in the library for about ten minutes, you notice a certain platinum-haired boy walk in. You looked back to your book and tried to act as casual as possible. Quickly realizing that it would actually be quite embarrassing to admit to him or even yourself that you had hoped he would show.

You didn’t dare move your eyes from the pages of your book until you heard the chair across from you move. Risking a peak you slowly drifted your eyes up to the person across from you.

It was Draco. He didn’t say anything. Just sat there and watched you with a lazy look, his elbow propped onto the table allowing his head to rest in his hand.

Deciding to indulge yourself in a little conversation you raised your head up and smiled.

“Fancy seeing you here… Run out of things to do I take it?” you asked teasingly.

You saw a faint blush raise onto his cheeks as he processed your snarky remark.

“That’s hardly the case” he replied defensively.

“Oh, then what exactly are you doing here?” you urged, enjoying the way his arms had folded across his chest like a child who was trying to stand his ground.

“That’s none of your business” he spoke quickly.

“Well, you’re sitting right across from me of all places so I think I’m well within my rights to question your motives,” you told him as you folded your arms as well, hoping he’d take notice of your mimicking.

“No motives. I just thought I’d come to the library. I am a student after all… and I just so happened to sit in this chair. I wasn’t aware you had sovereignty over them.” He told you with a huff.

“If you say so” you responded with a grin as you brought your face back down to your book. Relishing in the way you saw his face shift into slight disbelief at your choice to ignore him now.

You found it adorable actually. The way he stammered to find excuses for his odd behavior. You still weren’t sure exactly what he was getting out of all this, or why he was here in front of you now. You couldn’t even fathom the thought that he might just want to spend time with you. That assumption alone made little to no sense in your mind.

It was silent for a while as you continued to read your book, trying your hardest not to spare a glance at Draco who surprisingly, was still sat across from you.

A small cough broke through the silence. You peered up and met the gaze of two piercing silver eyes. Draco had been the one to cough and by the way he was fidgeting with his sleeve, you wondered if it was on purpose.

You raided your eyebrow to him in questioning, daring him to finally, speak.

“Have you got trouble with any other classes? I could probably be of some more help if you required it,” he told you in a smooth and sure voice. The sound of it directly contradicted the way his eyes shot from you to random areas in the room as he awaited your answer.

You tried to hide the expression of amusement on your face as you decided on how to reply. He was actually offering you help now? The situation was almost laughable. The Draco Malfoy was sat across from you, trying to act cool while he offered his help, and you could not figure out why on earth he would do such a thing.

“Well, now that you mention it… I’m not doing all that good in Potions at the moment” you confessed to him with a sheepish grin.

His eyes instantly lit up at your words, suddenly seeming quite excited about something.

“You’re in luck then, Y/L/N. I just so happen to be excellent in Potions” he said while puffing out his chest in confidence.

You smiled at his little show of pride, noticing the way his face shifted into a warm toothy smile.

“I suppose I am quite lucky then” you replied.

Draco instantly started telling you about all his recent triumphs in potions and how even Snape had praised his efforts. You could tell this was something he was actually quite proud of.

You listened to him talk for a bit, adding in a little commentary of your own along the way, and as the conversation grew more natural you basked in the way he smiled at you while he spoke. A strange tight feeling grew in your chest and before you knew it you could feel those rose-colored glasses falling into place. Finding it a little bit exciting how your heartbeat became more and more rapid as you shared each other’s company.

-

From that point on you and Draco would meet up several times a week in the library to “study”.  The reason you couldn’t quite classify it as studying was that although you did do schoolwork, a lot of the time was spent just having a casual conversation. He told you about classes, how they were going and what he thought of the subjects being taught. He told you about the people who annoyed him, why he thought they were inadequate and what they should do to improve themselves. You always gave him a glare and a little kick under the table whenever he would begin to speak too rudely about others, reminding him that everyone has their own issues to deal with and he shouldn’t be so cruel. He never really challenged you further on this.

But most of all his favorite thing to discuss was Quidditch. He loved to go on and on about his many victories and challenges. Always making sure to paint himself in a good light as he recalled the events to you.

It wasn’t all one-sided of course. In turn, you told him about your family, some of your interests, your favorite classes, and even some embarrassing things that had happened to you before.

He listened intently each time that you spoke.

As the weeks went by it was becoming more and more clear to you had developed some pretty intense feelings for Draco. By this point, you felt comfortable calling yourself his friend. But you wanted more.

But how could you possibly expect anything to happen when you weren’t even sure he considered you a friend as well. You didn’t even dare to let yourself think for one second that he could ever be interested in you. Not the way that you were with him anyway.

By the time you realized the relationship between the two of you would never be anything more than a ridiculous one-sided love, you felt yourself begin to sink.

You couldn’t help it, not really. All the voices in your head reminding you of your place. Constantly keeping you in check. Never letting you fantasize about such ridiculous things as love.

The time you spent with Draco in the library had once filled you with excitement and butterflies. Always stealing secret looks at him when you were meant to be taking notes, memorizing the sound of his laugh, and wondering what it would be like to hold his hand just once.

Now each moment you spent with him was almost agonizing. You felt sick and anxious. Constantly aware that the feelings you had for him were unrequited. Each time he smiled at you it was a stab of sadness that hit you instead of pang of happiness. It was starting to become unbearable. Being around him was like torturing yourself. A constant reminder of what you would never be good enough for. It hurt so badly and you simply could not handle it anymore.

So… you did the one thing you were best at. You started to distance yourself. You showed up to the library less and when he would question you in the hallway about it you’d simply say you were busy and brush him off. Unable to look at him for too long. Feeling suffocated under his gaze.

Eventually, you stopped going to the library all together… and pretty soon he stopped confronting you in the hallways. For some reason that hurt even more. The fact that he had just stopped caring. You knew that you had done it to yourself. But it still hurt… this kind of sick self-punishment.

Once you no longer had the library as your safe space you began to simply wander the halls. You thought that maybe if you kept on walking reality would never be able to catch up to you.

This particular day however you found yourself walking to that oh so familiar Black Lake. You weren’t sure why your feet had taken you there. But as you sat down and stared out at nothing in particular, you felt an odd sense of calm that hadn’t washed over you in a long time.

Not long after you had been sat there you heard the sound of someone stepping behind you. They weren’t too close to you though and in hopes that they would just leave, you kept your eyes forward.

But they didn’t leave. In fact, they were coming closer to you. Becoming a little anxious at the thought of some random person invading your space, you began to twiddle your thumbs.

Then before you knew it there was someone sat next to you, you could see them just barely out of the corner of your eye. It was a boy. But quickly you realized that this was no stranger. A sick guilty feeling settled into your stomach as you waited for him to speak.

“Why have you been avoiding me?” He asked in a whisper.

You still didn’t dare to look at him.

“I h-haven’t been,” you said, cursing yourself mentally at the way your voice broke.

“That’s a lie and we both know it,” he said letting out a frustrated sigh. “Did I do something to make you upset?” He asked and although you weren’t facing him you could tell that his face was twisted into a confused frown.

“No, of course not. Nothing like that” you told him quickly, guilt racking your body as you processed his words.

“Then what happened?” he asked while staring at the side of your face.

Knowing that you couldn’t stay silent forever, you slowly turned to face him. Emotions began to overwhelm you as you took in his appearance.

He had dark bags under his eyes that stuck out boldly in contrast to his fair skin. His hair was uncharacteristically disheveled and his eyebrows were bunched in confusion as he looked at you with a hurt in his eyes.

Was this your fault? Had he been worrying about what happened between you two? The last thing you had wanted was to be a burden on his life. You never wanted to be the reason he was frowning. Why had it bothered him so much? Why was he so distraught over someone like you?

That’s when you felt it. A single tear had made its way down your face as your throat constricted painfully. All the hurt you had caused yourself and apparently, Draco as well came barging into your mind and you felt so utterly helpless.

You cried right there in front of him.

You must have been quite the pitiful sight because through your blurry vision you watched his face fall into complete shock.

“Y/N, why are you crying? W-what’s wrong?” he asked you as one of his hands came out to shakily rest on your own in an effort to comfort you.

“I don’t w-want to t-tell you” you sobbed, feeling like a pathetic child.

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to,” he told you softly, hand still grasping yours. “Just please stop crying.”

You felt him squeeze your hand in reassurance and your heart started to pound harder than ever before. So many emotions were coursing through you as you began to stop crying. You could see him clearer now. The way he was looking into your eyes with nothing but concern. Your head was swimming and without thinking at all you said it.

“I love you”

For a moment neither of you said a word. You just stared at each other in complete shock, his hand still in your own.

Regret and fear started to flood your senses as you realized what you’d just done.

“I-I’m so sorry forget I said anything. I’m sorry” you panicked while pulling your hand away from his, preparing to flee.

But before you could move another inch you felt yourself being pulled forward rather quickly. You were completely dazed as without saying a single word, Draco crashed his lips into yours.

You kept your eyes open at first in complete shock but you slowly closed them too while your palms began to sweat and heart pounded against your chest. You kissed him back feverishly as his hands made their way to rest on your sides, your skin tingling where he touched.

You slowly brought your arms to drape around his neck, pulling him even closer, as if that was possible. You felt his tongue glide across your closed lips, silently asking for entry. You immediately obliged, letting out a little gasp as your tongues began to intertwine.

The only sound you could hear was your own labored breathing and the only thing you could focus on was the way he kissed you as if he had been dying to do it.

Of course, you could only go at each other for so long before someone pulled away, that person being you.

As you opened your eyes again to look at him you were blown away by his appearance. His eyes were clouded with something unfamiliar to you, his cheeks were a burning shade of pink that spread to the tips of his ears, and his lips were slightly parted as he breathed heavily. You wondered if your face mirrored his own at that moment.

Unable to stop your mind from freaking out over what had just happened you began to stammer.

“W-what exactly does that mean?” you asked stupidly.

Draco looked at you in disbelief as he let out a laugh.

“You know… you’re actually quite daft aren’t you?” he asked while reaching for your sweaty hand. He didn’t seem to mind though, as he stroked your thumb with his.

You looked down, watching the action before looking back up to him with an unsure face.

He only sighed before smiling bigger than you’d ever seen before and said something you never thought you’d hear.

“I love you too”

Before you could say anything else he was leaning back towards you, connecting your lips, and colliding your bodies together once more.

As you relish in the feeling of having him there against you, the boy you loved, the one who just told you that he loves you too, you couldn’t help but laugh a little against his lips.

You were here with him now at the same lake that you’d first spoken to him. Finding him that day in one of your darkest times, noticing that it was a similar situation for him. Now he was the one finding you. It really was a mysterious lake after all and you couldn’t be more thankful that it had been so inviting.

---

Author’s Note: Wow so I worked on whatever the hell this is for a few days. It’s kind of a mess but I hope you guys like it??? Idk I just got this overwhelming urge to write out something kinda cute like this. Also, I'm sorry it’s so long, I don’t know how that happened???

[fromdecemberwithlove]

She closed the door to her flat and leant against the wood, dropping her bag onto the floor.

Exhausted.

She was exhausted.

Her day had been a disaster and she felt miserable and cold. Between spilling her coffee on her blouse that morning (when that prat Cormac had bumped into her on purpose), being forced to work through lunch to prepare for her appearance in front of the Wizengamot (last minute changes in their seemingly endless list of stipulations) and having the horrible surprise to argue against that vindictive old bat Griselda Marshbanks instead of the lazy, half wit Ernest Hawkworth… the day couldn’t end fast enough.

It hadn’t been grueling enough, apparently, and as she reached the Apparition point, the sky had finally opened after days of looking angry and sullen and sinister, drenching her.  

She didn’t bother with a drying spell and headed straight for her bathroom to treat herself to a well-deserved bath. As she waited for the water to fill the tub, she summed a bottle of red wine and a glass from the kitchen, undressed and dried her hair with wave of her wand before pinning it at the top of her head and settling beneath the soft bubbles.

Hermione heaved a deep sigh and took a sip of wine. Her body relaxed with the help of the salts and the deliciously warm temperature of the water, but she still felt heavy; still felt dejected. She didn’t know which way the Wizengamot was going to vote and they wouldn’t give her an answer until Monday. She’d have to spend the entire weekend worrying and fretting about it, no doubt driving herself crazy in the process.

She closed her eyes and savored another mouthful of her drink, letting her head fall back against the white porcelain.

She missed Draco.

He always knew the perfect way to distract her from the vicious mind games that the Authorities That Be liked to play with her. If he were here, he’d probably take her out, take her some place she would be able to relax and forget, take her to dinner, take her dancing… take her to bed.

Yes, if he were here…

But Draco was in Austria, until the end of the month, and it was on days like these that the weight of his absence pressed down on her chest harder: closing her throat, bringing tears to her eyes. She didn’t want to cry—it was absurd, really, and entirely pointless. She knew it was the accumulation of days working long hours for what she believed was right catching up with her.

She could owl him.

She considered that for a brief second before dismissing it. She knew he would find a way to come back early, and she didn’t want to take him away from his responsibilities.

Despite her protests, she loved that he put her first. Always. His quiet devotion, more so than his seemingly insatiable desire, left her breathless sometimes.

She sighed again. Half her glass was gone and she twirled the carmine liquid inside, lost in thoughts.

It was excellent wine.

She snorted, rolling her eyes at the ceiling. Of course it would be. After all, it came from the illustrious cellars of Malfoy Manor, made in the equally illustrious Malfoy Vineyard in France. She smiled, remembering his face when Ron and Harry had shown up for her 27th birthday celebration with boxed wine.

He’d looked horrified, features frozen in shock and tense with outrage. But as she’d watched him accept the offering, his eyes glaring at the box with barely contained disdain, and shake hands with each of her best friends without a single snide remark, Hermione’s heart had swelled with love and joy. After the guests had left, he’d practically run back to the kitchen to set the offending object on fire in the sink. She had laughed hysterically as he went on a tirade about unsophisticated people and ridiculous bad taste and where the fuck did they even find that? Surely they didn’t pay for it? Don’t tell me they made it themselves! 

She’d calmed down enough to explain that it was a Muggle product and that she and the boys had this little tradition about drinking it on each other’s birthday. He’d stared at her in stunned silence for a full minute, before promptly declaring, as he washed away the ashes down the drain with a flick of his wand, that they needed a new adult tradition and that it was high time for all three of them to learn about the finer things in life.

Hermione set the now empty glass on the floor. Thinking about him always gave her a measure of peace and serenity but it also made his absence infinitely more acute and almost palpable. The only remedy to her current languor was a good book. 

She wrapped herself in his Slytherin bathrobe, ignoring her Gryffindor one on the hook behind the bathroom door (a gift from Blaise because, as he’d declared, “why not?”) and left behind the wine and her clothes on the white tiled floor, electing to deal with the mess in the morning.

She pushed her bedroom door open and her heart stopped. Her breath caught somewhere in her throat and a strangled gasp fell from her lips.

Draco.

For a moment, she thought she was hallucinating. Her wide eyes took in the blond man in his rumbled suit sleeping on his side in the middle of her unmade bed, with an orange fur ball curled up against his stomach, and she felt certain it was all some sort of mirage; that she’d blink and he would vanish.

Crookshanks opened his eyes, raised his head to look at her and yawned.

She blinked.

The man was still there.

Draco was still there.

Her cat stood, stretched and jumped down, grazing her bare legs as he sauntered past, leaving them alone. As if he’d stood guard there, simply waiting for her to come home and take her rightful place next to the sleeping man.

She didn’t realize she had moved until her shins hit the edge of the mattress and she was standing over him. It still felt like a dream. To make sure, to reassure her that this was not some trick of her mind - because she missed him so much, the pain felt like a physical wound -, her hand reached down and brushed his hair off his face.

Real.

His eyelids fluttered and sleepy grey eyes stared at her.

“Hey you,” his voice was hoarse with sleep. 

“Hey,” she whispered, her fingers trailing down his cheek. He gave her a lazy smile, grabbing her wrist and placing a gentle kiss in the palm of her hand.

She opened her mouth to say something else—to ask him what he was doing here, how come he didn’t tell her he’d be coming back earlier than expected? but the only thing that came out of her mouth was a broken sob.

Startled, she watched him look up at her and frown. Then his hand came up to her face and he wiped her cheek.

She was crying.

“What’s wrong?”

She tried to speak, tried to tell him it was nothing—she was just tired, had a bad day- wanted to assure him that she was fine.

But she couldn’t.

She sank onto her knees on the bedside rug, collapsing under the crushing weight of her breakdown. The silent tears gave way to loud weeping—sharp hiccups tore from her lungs and violent sobs shook her entire body. He immediately sat up and gathered her in his arms, dragging her onto the bed.

“What happened?” he tried again, but all she could do was shake her head as the tension of the past week washed out off of her in waves. She clung to him and he held her and let her cry against him, her face buried in his chest, no doubt ruining his expensive suit further.

When the hysteria abided, Hermione sniffed and slowly pulled away from his embrace. She wiped her face with the sleeves of the bathrobe and took a deep, cleansing breath. She felt considerably better, lighter but also utterly mortified.

“Are you okay?” his worried eyes scanned her face, hands running down her arms.

She nodded, a blush creeping up her cheeks, burning her face with embarrassment.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know what came over me,” she said, looking down at her comforter, hating the way her voice sounded so vulnerable.

He placed his hands on either side of her face and tilted his head to look at her.

For the longest time, he didn’t say anything and simply stared at her like he could read her—like she was his favourite book and he recognized this particular chapter.

“Bad day,” he finally said.

It wasn’t a question.

He knew.

He understood.

Just like that.

She nodded again.

“Wizengamot tug of war?” he handed her the box of tissues from her nightstand. Despite his half-smile, there was still some lingering concern in his eyes.

She barked a short laugh, wiping at her nose.

“Yeah, had to deal with that awful Marshbanks woman because Hawkworth is out with dragon pox”

“Isn’t he like a thousand years old, how hasn’t he contracted it before?”

She shrugged.

“What else?”

Before she could stop herself, she blurred out:

“Cormac bumped into me, made me spill coffee on my shirt,” it was childish, she knew, like tattling on a naughty classmate to her favourite teacher, but she was feeling raw and exposed and it didn’t feel right to start hiding things seconds after cleansing herself from everything.

“That fucking useless wanker!” the surge of anger made the grey of his irises look like the stormy sky outside.

“It’s okay,” she said but his eyes narrowed, “well not okay but whatever, it doesn’t matter.”

“Of course it bloody well matters! You should report his incompetent arse!”

“For what? Being a prick?”

Cormac was many things, but incompetent wasn’t one of them (unfortunately).

“Absolutely,” he nodded vehemently, “I’ll report him myself!”

She stared at him in silence… and burst out laughing. Full blown, belly clenching, can’t-breathe laughter. She fell onto her side, the crystalline sound filling the room, tears of mirth tracing the same path as her earlier ones as he looked at her with a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips, fighting the urge to join her while trying to hold on to his self-righteous anger. She flipped on her back and tried to catch her breath.

“Oh Merlin, thank you for being so awesomely ridiculous,” she said, calming down.

He sneered but his eyes were soft now.

“I meant it,”

“Oh I know you did, that’s why it was so hilarious.”

“Maybe I’ll ask Potter to do something about it,” he mused.

“No,” she sat up, shaking her head, “it doesn’t matter, just drop it.”

“—or perhaps Weasley, he can’t stand him either,” he carrying on, as if she hadn’t spoken.

“Draco!” she grabbed his upper arms as if to shake him from his nefarious plotting.

He gave her a playful smile, “all right, all right.”

She watched him, knowing full well that he was going to do whatever he wanted in the end but dropped it because she didn’t want to dwell on stupid Cormac any longer.

She intertwined their fingers, her thumb tracing the inside of her palm absentmindedly.

“When did you get back?”

“Lunch time, I think. I was going to owl you, but… I fell asleep,” he said, avoiding her eyes.

His cheeks tinted with a light pink hue.

He was embarrassed.

It was adorable.

“I thought you needed to stay until the end of the month?”

He shrugged, “I wanted to see you.”

If she hadn’t just cried herself raw, she knew her eyes would have smarted.

She couldn’t help her reply though, “but what about work?”

“I’m the boss, work can wait,” he waved a dismissive hand.

She rolled her eyes, “Honestly!”

“Don’t give me that look, Granger, I know you’re ecstatic I’m here,” his lips stretched in that familiar arrogant smirk.

She chuckled, “I wouldn’t say ecstatic…”

“Oh, really?” he quirked that damned perfect eyebrow, “what would you say then?” he was leaning towards her, a predatory gleam in his eyes. It sent a thrill up her spine.

Oh-oh.

She tried to bolt out of bed but he caught her waist and began tickling her mercilessly.

“Stop, sto-stop, Draco!”

“Say you’re ecstatic to see me,”

“I’m, ah, stop!”

“Say it,”

“I’m ecstatic to see you,” she practically yelled, sucking in a breath when he let up.

He gave her a peck on the lips and pulled back.

“Say Mclaggen is a tosser and should rot in hell,”

She began to roll her eyes but he started tickling her again and she tried to grab his wrists and push him with her knees. But he had her completely pinned down.

“Mclaggen is a to-tosser and, stop! He, he should rot in-in hell,” she huffed.

“Say I’m the best you’ve ever had,”

“Now you’re just being ridiculous,”

He was also absolutely right.

Draco grinned down at her and his fingers dug into her sides again, making her yelp and squirm.

“Say it, witch,”

“You’re-you’re the best I’ve ever had!”

“Say you’ve missed me,” he stopped, his hands still on her sides, his body hovering over her, his eyes boring into hers.

“I did, so much,” she said. She felt the ache again, pressing down on her chest, pressing, pressing, pressing.

He kissed her deeply and took it all away.

“Say you love me,” a plea against her lips.

“I love you,” her fingers in his hair, her mouth on his.

He swallowed her confession and she moaned, melting under him.

“By the way, you look amazing in this,” his eyes roamed over her exposed shoulder and collarbone, the sides of the bathrobe having slipped open during her struggle. He pulled the cotton fabric apart further, dropping his head to kiss and nibble at her skin.

“You want to switch?” she quipped, “use mine from now on?”

He laughed against her throat, “hell no.”

“You’re a man child,” 

“Whatever you say,” he mumbled, his mouth trailing down between her breasts, his hand pushing her legs open.

She closed her eyes, and let him make her forget, the way he did best: With his hands and his lips and his teeth and his tongue. She lost herself in the sound of his groans and the feel of his skin and the taste of him and inhaled his scent like he was the only air she ever needed.

They remained tangled in the aftermath, his fingertips running leisurely over her back, her head on his chest as she listened to his heart slowly returning to a steady rhythm as they watched the rain outside beat against the window in the same cadence.

______________

Written for Prompt Thursday  @dramionefanfictionwriters Prompt : Red Wine (in the rain)

I actually wrote this the day the prompt was issued but decided to not post it and take my time editing it. 

Thank you for reading

[theunderdogwrites]

Green Lives Matter

My favorite Halloween costume from my childhood (age 10) was The Hulk.

For three reasons:

1.       I made it myself

2.       I wore it two years in a row

3.       It made my outside look how I felt on the inside – tough but complicated

I cut up an old pair of jeans to look as though my tiny legs had busted through the seams and to make it appear like I’d grown taller. I took an old white dress shirt and shredded the sleeves to symbolize my biceps exploding in rage and slightly shredded away the length. I put black (safe) spray paint in my hair and painted my legs, arms and face in Hulk green to complete the look. There is a photo of this masterpiece somewhere in an old album, I just don’t have access to it right at this moment. I know I looked magnificent because I remember the feeling of hiding behind this larger than life character for a night while grunting for candy or else “HULK SMASH!” your front door down. I love this memory.

Now let’s address this – I did green face.

I refuse to apologize and if The Hulk wants to come find me and break me like a hard pretzel, well then he better bring backup because even though I am no longer painting my face green… I have turned myself into a Hulk. Ok, a mini Hulk. But I can conjure up a temper and throw a tantrum while also being completely unreasonable and void of real direction. So... yeah, he’s going to need someone other than Black Widow to come with him.

I should mention that I am white. And not just white – I am Scottish white (Scottish heritage, born in Canada). Fair skinned, blonde hair, green eyes and I once thought mashed potatoes were the best food of all time. Until I discovered garlic mashed potatoes. Mind blown.

“I love humanity, but I hate humans.” – Albert Einstein

Let’s not lie – being white has its privileges. Do I know what all those privileges are? No, probably because I’m privileged in some way. But I find myself going back to the same bit to explain so much that I encounter in life:

Until my high school guidance councillor explained to me what suicide was, I had no idea it was a thing. I had no idea it was a possibility and I certainly did not know that many people were actively participating.

My lack of knowledge wasn’t due to privilege but rather because suicide had never been apart of my life experience. Would we call that ignorance? Some definitely would because it literally means ‘being unaware’. I feel an ignorant person is not only being unaware, but also a first-rate wanker because they won’t educate themselves or evolve and wish to remain blind to reality.

Once I became aware of suicide, I didn’t pretend it didn’t exist. I started to pay attention. I didn’t brush it off as an experience that didn’t affect me but rather a symptom of fragile mental health and I gave it the consideration it deserved as something that many people were suffering through… most of the time alone. If I see something that is wrong, that I know needs my support – I am there.

That is not my privilege speaking, that is my humanity.  

 The senseless murder of George Floyd ignited a firestorm.

(A firestorm is a conflagration (an extensive fire which destroys a great deal of land or property) which attains such intensity that it creates and sustains its own wind system. It is most commonly a natural phenomenon, created during some of the largest bushfires and wildfires.)

When I saw the footage on the news – I didn’t understand. I didn’t understand the blank, almost twisted look on that officer’s face as he drove his knee down on George Floyd’s neck. I didn’t understand the blatant inaction of the other officers while witnessing this brutal extinguishing of a human being. I didn’t understand why this level of aggression was necessary on someone who was already subdued. And I didn’t understand why the words “I can’t breathe” didn’t invoke an ounce of compassion or relief.

Then came the protesting. Then the riots. Then the looting. And I still didn’t understand.

While some people want to group all three of these events, in my mind, these are three separate actions. Because by attaching the riots and the looting with the genuineness of the protesting…  it lessons the cause, blurs the intention and distracts from the truth… therefore painting the protestors with a brush of violence, greed and chaos. And that is beyond unfair.

The PROTESTS are NOT out of control.

The pain and frustration are what’s out of control and more importantly the injustice is out of control and people are responding to a situation where they feel angry and powerless. Yes, the fires, destruction of property and looting are awful collateral here but it’s important to not loose focus on what caused this current situation. We often look at with contempt and criticize reactions while forgetting the action that started everything.

And that is another injustice.

I wouldn’t even know how to begin writing about Black Lives Matter or Antifa. I say this because of the controversy surrounding both movements. And if you dive deep enough into the internet, like I did, you too will begin to suffer from what I like to call ‘I don’t know what to fucking think anymore-itis’.

So, I’m going to escape talking about these two groups with this:

“Instead of feeling threatened by and hating a movement, be glad you don’t need a movement.”

 My experience with black people is pretty limited. Not by choice, but rather due to geography, common interests and quite possibly socioeconomics. I can count on one hand the number of black people I knew throughout my school-aged years. My area was diverse in other ways, so no, I did not grow up in White Breadville. I mention all this to lay down a bit of background before I continue.

“I don’t see colour.” How many of us have said this at least once in the last six months? I have. And I probably said it to prove to myself or someone else that I wasn’t racist. But I no longer say that… because the truth is, I do see colour. I see ALL the fucking colours and they are beautiful. It’s people who are ugly.

If you were to ask me point blank if I was racist, I’d tell you point blank – I am not. And I’d say this with absolute belief in my character and sincerity. I care less about your skin colour and nationality and more about you returning your shopping cart to its proper location. That is the truth. Your religion doesn’t bother me at all (as long as you’re not cramming it down my throat) but your ability to treat others with genuine kindness and compassion sure matters to me. And I don’t give a flying fuck how you want to identify… be a Martian, I’m totally cool with that, but bully others in my presence and I will come at you with the full force of nuclear pasta (look it up).

The last handful of months (I’m assuming here) has caused most of us to pull up and examine those deep in the corner of our brain concepts. You know the ones – the ones that might get you questioned by The Thought Police if they existed outside of fiction. It’s ok, we all have those little bastard notions creeping around… no matter the skin colour. I started to take a closer look at some of the things I think and how they would affect others if I wore those thoughts on a t-shirt. Needless to say, I’m not super impressed with myself. Because while I know with all my heart that I am not a racist person, I do recognize that I buy into and perpetuate some stereotypes. And I have zero excuses. This admission makes me a bit uncomfortable, but I’m ok with that… I can learn through discomfort.

I hear many people talking about and referring to white guilt.

-          White Guilt: ‘the feelings of shame and remorse some white people experience when they recognize the legacy of racism and racial injustice and perceive the ways they have benefited from it’.

I do not feel shame and remorse as a white person. As a human being, I am ashamed of how many of my fellow humans treat those who do not look the way they do or do not come from the same background. Do I believe there is a legacy of racism and racial injustice? Yes, 100%. Have I benefitted from this because I am white? I may be too dumb to answer this correctly. Or maybe too white? Or maybe I’ve had blinders on because based upon my own level of perception, I’ve always struggled to navigate my own existence therefore only know what has directly prevented me from being who and what I want in this world?

I underlined ‘level of perception’ because as the quote goes: “I stopped explaining myself when I realized people only understand things from their level of perception”

Earlier I said there were so many things I didn’t understand about George Floyd’s death and the protests etc. but here is something I do comprehend - there’s a big difference between understanding someone’s plight and being understanding of someone’s plight. Sympathy doesn’t require a total understanding of what problems other people are experiencing.

I may not fully grasp the struggles of those in the black community because it is not my experience but I will not ignore, deny or challenge their struggles. I will however educate myself on the issues, observe my own reactions and offer support in the ways I can and offer compassion to anyone who is willing to accept a little love from a min Hulk.

Nothing I write here is meant to change your mind. It is not meant to offend or shame you for how you may feel or think and nothing I write here is meant to lessen the seriousness of the current situation facing an entire community of people. As a writer my only goal is often to just disrupt your thoughts. Period.

[joshslater]

Putting Reek in Greek

Essentially just a repost of walkamongyou’s excellent What Happens in Malia... with few tweaks thrown in. I take his feedback “Love how plausible you've made it“ as high praise, as that was the goal.

Thank fuck the week is almost over. It all started because I booked a discount holiday to Malia, like a fucking egit. The flights were cheap and the advert promised it’d be a ‘Great Gay Getaway’. It started out with a delayed flight, adding 4 hours of waiting in a packed terminal on top of the 3 hour uncomfortable flight. We were late to the crappy hotel, my room had already been given to someone else, and I got downgraded to a filthy cupboard with a narrow bed and no shower. The indifferent staff told me the price difference would be reimbursed on my credit card within two weeks and that I could use the pool shower.

I could have lived with giving up my beach view room with queen size bed and marble bath tub if there were some great gays to get away with, but no. Had I done any research I would have known that the place is littered with pubs and chippy shops for plebs who want to get wasted and watch footie in better weather. To top it all off I’ve coincided directly with all the trashiest stag and hen dos known to man. Everyone’s a chav, everyone’s English and worst of all, everyone’s straight as a ruler. Definitely nothing to offer a cultured gay man from South London. So here I am, sat in a tacky cocktail bar with two nights left, and can’t wait to get the fuck back to work. I just got what might be the evening’s last Old Fashioned, contemplating going to bed early when they enter.

They’re a classic example of everything that’s wrong with the Brits. They stagger in, singing and chanting “OI OI” and “Lads! Lads!”. They’re young, comically sunburnt, with identical chavvy haircuts, short on the sides and long on top. A group of working class boys on a lads’ holiday. One of them’s wearing a t shirt that says ‘On it till we vomit’, another that says ‘Pussy Patrol’ and a couple of them, of course, have football shirts. They’re a ridiculous cliché, drunk and rowdy. One loud-mouthed guy, their leader, is particularly handsome. He’s topless despite this being a public place, revealing a toned, athletic body; he wouldn’t look out of place dancing on a podium in Soho. His hair is dark brown and spikey, he has a diamond stud in both ears and a mischievous expression on his face as he starts chanting ‘Shots! Shots! Shots!’ and soon they’re all joining in. A row of tequila appears from the bar and he cries out “What happens in Malia stays in Malia!”

I don’t want them here. I resent their misogynistic ways and the atmosphere they’ve created. Not to mention I’m having a terrible day, so the London boy in me does the only thing he can think of and seeks out the bouncer, a bald, robust figure in a tight black T-shirt stood by the doorway. “Is there any chance you can get those guys to leave? They’re making people uncomfortable.” He shakes his head “Sorry, sir, there’s nothing I can do.” “Are you sure? It’s not fair on everyone else in here” “As long as they don’t break any laws, pay their bills, don’t fight or break anything they are welcome to stay.“ Normally I’d give up, but I’m miserable and exhausted from sleeping with an AC unit rattling outside my room, so I feel a lie come to my lips. I even shock myself as I say it. “But they are breaking the law. I’ve seen them at another bar this evening and they’re dealing drugs.” He looks at me, the irritable expression gone from his face. “What did you say?“ “I said they’re drug dealers. They’ve been selling cocaine.” Suddenly, his expression is deadly serious. “Thanks for letting me know. You have a good evening now.”

I watch them covertly, with a slight smile as the security guard approaches them. There’s a confrontation, voices are raised, and like kicking a beehive they buzz around the bar collecting their shit. They glare around the bar, even in my direction, before they go and peace returns. I chuckle to myself. What happens in Malia stays in Malia… Stupid chav cunts.

I go back to the bar stool and finish my cocktail at a leisurely pace, sit for a while and listen to the music they’re playing. At least I think that’s what I do. Everything starts going fuzzier and fuzzier, warmer and hazier. I need to get out and get some fresh air.

“Mate, wake up…” I’m groggy, I’m parched, my head’s pounding and I’ve no idea where I am. “Wake up, fella!” I feel a strong pair of hands shaking me, gently at first, and then roughly. My eyes slowly open, but everything’s dark and for a second I’m terrified that I might have gone blind, until a pair of sunglasses is pulled from my face and I’m blinded instead by the bright Malia sun. It’s high enough for breakfast to be over. Leaning over me is a handsome man; he’s wearing a grey t shirt and a backwards cap, but I recognise him instantly as the topless guy from last night. I panic, try to move but my body doesn’t want to respond and instead I slump to the ground. “Whoa…whoa…”, the man says, catching me in his arms and holding me tight against his broad chest. “Thank fuck you’re a skinny bastard.”

He props me back up on the deck chair I was sleeping on, holding my head upright, his face close to mine. I can smell chewing gum and cigarettes on his breath. I’m sure it’d be erotic if I wasn’t so frightened. "Now dickhead, I want you to listen very carefully to me. Blink once if you understand.” He’s using a hushed, calm voice, but with more than a hint of viciousness. I manage to consciously blink, though even that is an effort. “Good. Now, it seems like you had your drink spiked. Unlucky for you, but fortunately I here to help you. I left you out in the sun for a bit to sober you up but clearly it didn’t work. You’re wankered…” He ruffles my hair and my head instantly slumps to the side without him supporting it, so he takes a hold of my temples and pulls me sharply back upright.

He barely whispers now. “OK, listen to me, you little prick. You messed with the wrong lads last night. We’re no drug dealers, but it cut close to home for some of my mates, so they are divesting certain personal pharmaceutical investments as we speak. Personally I ditched my stash of slow release growth hormones by giving you quite a liberal dose. It should have you set well into the next quarter, perhaps longer. Russians really now how to cheat...” He chuckles darkly and stares straight into my eyes. Back to normal voice again. “Don’t look so scared mate. My job is to keep you in sight and entertained until they are back. We’re going to have a great day together… Now, what’s your name again?” I try to respond, but can only groan. “Sorry, I didn’t quite catch that…” He laughs, coughs and then spits on the floor. “Well…my name’s Caine, and to be honest, fella, I don’t give a shit what your name is…But what I do give a shit about is that you ruined a proper good vacation for me and the lads.” My body tenses at this accusation “No worries though… tonight’s a new night, as they say… and you’re going to make it unforgettable. You’re about to become the newest member of our Lads on Tour group: Gaz. That’s your name, right? Gaz? Blink once if it is…" I sit there, not responding. My name definitely isn’t Gaz. He grunts and lands a hard slap across my face. “I said blink if your name’s Gaz!” This time I do blink. “Good lad. You’re not as thick as you look. Now, Gaz, let’s get you semi-functional. We’ve got lots to do today and a big night ahead of us. Drink this.“ He shoves gym water bottle in my mouth and squeeze it lightly. I can do nothing else but drink it, though I happily do. It tastes like an isotonic drink. Sweet, salty, slightly sour and slightly bitter all at the same time.

I’m staggering down the street, with Caine supporting me. A lot of passers-by are shaking their head or trying to not stare at us…well, me; to an outside eye he looks like a well-meaning boy helping out his mate who’s had one too many. Nobody would guess he was a straight chav with a perverse sense of justice, propping up a sedated gay man.

But it’s not only this apparent display of friendship that is making people stare. Despite not having had a good look at myself, it is clear even to me I’d been out in the sun for far too long. “You look a bit burnt there Gaz. I thought I lathered you up pretty well with sun lotion. Looks like I took the tanning oil by mistake.”  My usual pale skin was a painful, blazing red all aside from a tan line where he’d left a pair of sunglasses on my face and an equally ridiculous set of white lines where he’d dressed me in an old wife beater; I was now modelling what most Brits would call a ‘twat tan.’

It wasn’t just any wife beater either. In contrast with my normal, well accessorized shirt, chinos and brogues look, I only had a total of four items on my body. One pair of orange Jägermeister promotion flip flops. One pair of blue, slinky adidas football shorts as, perhaps not less expensive, but certainly cheaper looking stand in for board shorts. And finally, the crown jewel, someone’s black wife beater that read “I HAVE THE DICK SO I MAKE THE RULES” in outlandish red letters. All of it covered in traces of what must have been at least one out of vomit, food and cum, and I could definitely smell both sweat and alcohol wafting from it.

All of this I piece together painfully slow, as I’m practically carried by Caine along the scorching street towards God knows where. I’m paraded around town like an effigy of the worst of Britain, unable to do anything to shield myself from, or even look at the passerby.

Suddenly Caine steers me into a building. As he guides me through the door, I notice the spinning red, blue and white of a barber’s pole. It’s a Turkish barbers; the two men working there turn around and eye me up and down, one is unable to quell a small laughter, the other barely hiding his disgust. It’s a far cry from the warm welcome and prosecco I get at Toni & Guy in London. The decor is ugly and cheap, with neon lights and linoleum. The two men discuss something among themselves in another language, ignoring us, until one finally comes forward with a neutral “You want a haircut?”

Caine throws me in the barber’s chair. I notice whatever I’ve been spiked with is starting to wear off as I’m now just about able to support my own head. The barber is behind me, glaring and tutting like I’m an idiot. I see him take in the stains and slogan on the tank top as he puts the cape around my neck. “You look unwell.” he states. Caine’s voice comes from behind me. “Yeah man, he’s just taken a lot of shit. You’re a pussy but you’re right as rain ain’t you Gaz mate?” He slaps me hard on the chest. It’s agonising on my sunburn, but I can barely flinch. The barber seems appeased, rolling his eyes, and taking another look at the photo Caine is showing him on his phone. “While we were out Gaz gave me strict orders to get him a fresh cut before we hit the town again today. When he sobers up he’ll be gutted if he isn’t looking his best. He even said he’d pay triple, didn’t you Gaz mate?”, he laughs. “You stupid stoner bastard.” The barber nods OK. I’m sure he’s being deliberately rough as he sets to work, shoving my head from side to side and pressing the clippers tightly against my scalp, totally ignoring my sunburn. Still, while my muscle control is coming back, I’m feeling fatigued, and before I know it I doze off. When I come to, the barber is holding a mirror up to the back of my head and tapping my shoulder impatiently. “Your haircut, sir.”

I see Caine’s reflection appear behind me, smiling broadly, flashing his perfect white teeth, then see my own eyes widen as I take in this new look. Gone is my fashionable London haircut. In it’s place is a modernised fusey bowl cut; the top third of my head is covered, but below that is a harsh line where I’ve been shaved bald. The barber must have done something to the hair he left on my head, as it’s now blow dried into a ridiculous, voluminous mess. I look like a giant iced gem. It’s a style I’ve only ever seen on the stupidest chavs and builders trying to copy their favourite stars from The Only Way is Essex. “Oi oi, Gaz, a perfect lad’s haircut for a night out with the boys!” Cain shouts in my ear. “Great idea with a perm innit?! You get this do for half a year without any work in the morning.” He reaches across to shake the barber’s hand. “Thanks, I promise Gaz is smiling too, aren’t you mate? Thinking of all the pussy you’ll get with your new do ain’t ya?” Both men laugh as Caine reaches into his pocket and pulls out what I see is my wallet, cramming a handful of euros into the barber’s hand; well above what I assume is triple their going rate it. “Keep the change mate.” The barber smiles. “Have a good one lads…” He turns to Caine and lowers his voice. “Please help your friend take a shower. He really needs one.” 

“I can’t wait to tell the lads how you were too stinky to stay in that Turkish barbers! Classic Gaz! Gaz the Stinker! Must be all the growth hormone that is starting to kick in.” Caine howls as he leads me down the pavement, people are staring at us. The sun is above us, so it must be about lunch time.

“Now, Gaz, mate, we’ve got one more stop before we’re ready for our special lads’ night. But I want this one to be a surprise. Drink up.” He handed me the gym bottle again. Still thirsty I eagerly empty it. “Good lad. I added something extra, so it’s not just electrolytes and that mental patient docile stuff you had before. It’s time for you to have another little sleep. Not even a stab in your guts would wake you up…”

Eventually I do wake up, this time to the distant sound of buzzing. I know the drill by now; I try to speak, but no sound comes out. My senses clear and I feel the gentle touch of someone rubbing me with lotion. It stings. As I look around I realise with horror exactly where I am. He’s taken me to a fucking tattoo parlour. I don’t even have any tattoos…well, correction, I didn’t. I feel a lump in my throat as I dread to think of what Caine has in store for me. As if on cue, he appears. “Morning you lazy bastard! You’ve woken up just in time; quite a few helping hands worked together to sort out all those tats for you in time. But we got it just like you wanted, Gaz!”

I wonder what tattoo artists would work on an unconscious client, but I know Caine is a ruthlessly smooth talker. I remember articles I’d laughed at in the Daily Mail of people who’d had ridiculous tattoos done on holiday. Now, thanks to Caine, I could add my own name to that illustrious list.

“You guessed it mate, you’ve got some sick new ink. What’s better is Phoebe here is treating them with burn victim lotion. Seals those fuckers right in, so you can go swim tomorrow if you like. Makes them a bit blurry, but it’s no worse than any one year old tat. Let me show you on my phone…” With a manic glint in his eye, he slowly scrolls through the photos of the artist’s handiwork in front of my face with careful glee, enjoying how I can’t really react, but I still find myself gasping at what he shows me.

My body has been turned into a ridiculous canvas of male clichés; there are British flags and patriotic slogans, roses, poppies and images of football players I don’t even recognise on my arms, legs, neck and chest. There clearly is a wide range of styles and level of abilities represented. But the blazing centrepiece is a huge Celtic print of three letters across my back; a name, not my name, a name bestowed upon me today: ‘GAZ’, underlined with the grammatically incorrect phrase ‘Malia 2017. Lad’s on tour’

Caine locks eyes with me in triumph. “On other guys I’d think this much ink was stupid, but on you, mate, it’s fucking on point. I’m happy it came out perfect, since red and yellow can’t be lasered.” He swipes to the next photo, showing a gaudy glass stud in my earlobe. “It’s acid treated, so you don’t have to worry about the piercings growing shut.”

Everything is starting to blur together. Perhaps I’m in shock, and you would think for all the sleeping I’ve done today I would be on top of things. Caine has led me back to the cheap holiday apartment where this hellish day began. This time I can feel tingling, like pins and needles, of movement returning to my body. I’m able to stand up on my own, and I’m in the middle of a bedroom with Caine in front of me. He’s dressed really nicely in a white linen shirt, breathtakingly handsome. In spite of all that’s happening I can feel my penis bulging in the adidas shorts he put me in this morning. I don’t want to get hot for him, and perhaps this is another of his additions to the water, but I suspect he just is that hot. “Now, mate, let’s get the final touches for the finale. I want you to have a say in this, since you’ve been so good all day. Which footie top is it going to be for the big night? What do you say, Stinker? Red, or blue?”

He spins me around forcefully and I gaze up at two football shirts hanging on the wall. I assume they’ve both already been worn by one of my new ‘friends’ the night before. My shoulders slump in defeat and I quietly nod in the direction of the blue one. He pulls it over my head. As expected it smells of stale sweat. “Nice choice, mate. I think the red would have really brung out your sunburn. You really should get some aloe vera on that, you daft twat. No time for that now though, the lads are waiting and it’s taken you all fucking day to get ready.”

We’re in front of a club, waiting in a queue. Everyone is dressed nicely, in collared shirts and dresses, and I feel so conspicuous in my sweaty football gear. I’ve regained a lot of movement, but I’m lumbering and everything’s still fuzzy around the edges. “Sorry everyone!” Caine shouts “Gaz here has had five pints too many!” As we reach the front of the queue, a dapper bouncer blocks the way. “Identification, Sir.” The bouncer stressed the Sir a bit extra, dripping with disapproval. There was an awkward pause. I check the flimsy pockets of my football shorts, but they were as empty as I had expected them to be. “Oi, Gaz I have your new passport.” Caine handed over a passport to the  bouncer. It was one of those temporary passports embassies issue for people daft enough to lose it while abroad. The bouncer opened it, made a quick look, and handed it back. With far fewer pages than a normal passport it looked flimsy. I opened it and flipped to the identification page. Most of the fields were what I would expected them to be. Height, sex, number all as expected. The expiration date was only a month in the future. Again, nothing surprising for a temporary passport. But the photo made me nauseous. It was a photo from today, though I had no memory of it being taken. My mouth was slack jawed open, eyes bloodshot, sleepy and unfocused, skin unevenly tanned. To crown it all, that ugly haircut and two slits shaved in my left eye brow. I had no memory of that being done either. I raised my hand to confirm. I was painfully aware that had the photo been shot a few hours later there would also be a pair of cheap studs in my freshly pierced ears and an ugly tattoo snaking up from the tank top, on the side of the neck.

Just as horrifying as my run-down visage was the name in the passport. Instead of John Holland, my name, it says "Gaz Taylor". As if he could read my mind, though that wouldn't be that hard at the moment, Caine spoke again. “The lads were kind enough to submit a deed poll to correct your name before getting your temp passport. With any luck your new permanent ID card should be waiting for you when you get home. I say permanent, but you can of course change name again in like 2 years, or whatever their hold off time is.” The club is classy, expensive and busy. Caine guides me across the room, his hand pressing firmly into the small of my back, over to a group of men who are chatting among themselves. Of course it’s the same group of lads as the day before, my new ‘mates’. “Fellas…you remember Gaz? He’s very sorry about last night and really keen to make it up to you all!” They turn, and I feel their eyes on me, taking me in; the tattoos, the outfit, the piercings, the hair. They’re all dressed nicely, suave and in sharp contrast to the ridiculous figure Caine has shaped me into; there’s a moment of silence before they burst into raucous laughter.

Soon I’m being shoved from person to person, they’re all shaking my hands, offering me swigs of their pint, clapping me on the back and eager to spend time with their new ‘mate’. I feel that even with those minuscule amounts of beer, my tired body is sinking fast. One of them squeezes my bicep, asking me if I’ve started to swell yet and if I watched the match last night. Another asks me if I knew there was a dress code, pointing at my top and loudly shouting “Classic Gaz”. Someone named Chris tells me he knows a guy who needs concrete workers, and write a number with a marker pen on my arm. Another pulls me over, asks me what the capital of Thailand is, before slapping me hard in the balls and saying “Bang cock!” They are all taking the piss out of me.

I’m standing with a guy called Shaun, who is showing me a top he picked up for me that day that is also ‘Classic Gaz’, a lime green t shirt proudly emblazoned with the words ‘MUFF DIVER’. However, this presentation is cut short by lights flashing from outside in red and blue, and the music in the club stops abruptly. The boys scatter and I feel a lump of joy in my throat. Somebody must have informed the police; finally my nightmare is over!

Four police officers quickly advance towards me. I look around and Caine is no where to be seen. In fact I don’t recognise anyone around me. I don’t realise how drunk I am until two of the officers roughly restrain me and put me in handcuffs. I try to speak to them, but they completely ignore anything I say, and as I’m shoved into the back of a police car I can hear the music start in the club again.

I wake up as they drag me out of the car. Everything is so unreal. Like it is happening to someone else. A police man is asking me questions and I think I answer them. Two officers take me to a well lit room and tell me to take off my clothes. Flip flops, shorts, shirt. Every piece can be removed in one motion. They take photos. They look in my mouth. I lie on my belly on an angled, padded table. I’ve had things in my ass many times before, but this wasn’t what I hoped for. I get dressed again. They take me to a small cell, and I can finally fall asleep.

When I wake up again for a few seconds everything feels fine. Nothing hurts. A bit thirsty perhaps, but nothing more. Then I see a horrible football tattoo and a cellphone number scribbled on my arm, and all the memories of what has been done to me floods back. There is no clock in the cell, so I don’t know exactly how many hours I sit there until someone comes to get me, but I have plenty of time to consider my situation. I understand what Caine meant with growth hormones producing smelly sweat, because it is definitively me and not the clothes that stink the worst.

When someone finally come and get me it is a police officer explaining they got a call about a drug dealer matching my description. While they didn’t find any drugs, I was clearly under the influence and they kept me in custody. The blood report showed a whole buffet of different drugs, but being under the influence isn’t an offense in itself. He further informs me that a report has been sent to Europol so I should arrive airports an hour earlier from now on, as I can expect thorough searches. With that he wishes me good luck and hope I can get my life back on track. He has no idea.

Lastly he hands me a sports bag. I had been checked out of the hotel while in custody, and the bag was the only thing in my room. A last laugh from Caine. The bag contains a wrinkled bundle of damp clothes. Joggers, sweatshirt, t-shirt, a pair of seriously worn trainers and three socks. No underwear. It’s as if someone did a hard workout and then put his clothes in sealed bag for a day. No matter how I am getting home, it will be just as unpleasant for any travelers close to me, since without wallet this is what I’ll wear.

In the side pocket is a hotel envelope containing three papers. The checkout folio from the hotel, a Ryanair boarding pass for the evening flight back in the name Gaz Taylor, and a fax from my employer. Or rather former employer, as it reads “Upon receiving the drug use report we are hereby terminating your employment effective immediately in accordance with section 18 (e) of your employment contract.” I look again at the phone number scribbled on my arm.