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ajpikeisamenace · 3 months ago

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Just Desserts | Chapter One: Chocolate Chip Pancakes

Summary: 10 Years after Theresa Lisbon broke his heart, Marcus Pike has retired from the FBI moved to the small town of Culver Creek, West Virginia. He serves as the Sheriff of Culver County, and he's sweet on Emma Crocker, who runs the cafe in town...

Culver Creek is idyllic; nothing ever happens there... but during a blizzard, Marcus and Emma find themselves stuck together for the night... And in the morning, a grisly crime scene unfolds....

Note: I know that in many places in the USA, the county sheriff is an elected position, but for the purposes of this story, it’s a job one can apply for, because “Sheriff” sounds more like a small town, and Culver Creek isn’t big enough to boast its own police department, so it makes sense to have a county sheriff. It’s also a fictional place I made up so I can do whatever I want. Nyah.

The story will switch back and forth between Emma and Marcus's POVs. POV switches will be notated.

TRIGGER WARNING: My usual trigger warnings apply (sex, alcohol use, foul language, etc) but this story is a little different. In addition to the usual fluffy Marcus Pike smut, it also explores some REALLY dark themes, such as murder, Domestic Violence, Racially motivated crimes, rape, abuse of minors, and more.

As this story talks about the exploitation of a marginalized group, I wanted to share resources for those who would like to get involved, help, or just be more informed: https://www.nativehope.org https://www.niwrc.org https://www.nativewomenswilderness.org/mmiw https://rainn.org/ https://www.thehotline.org/ https://www.lacasa.org/ https://communitycare.sistaafya.com/

If I have misrepresented any minorities with what I've written, I apologize, and I am open to education on the matter.

Chapter One: Chocolate Chip Pancakes

Emma

The morning is cold and bleak, and already a flurry of snowflakes dances on a bitter breeze as I drive through town. The sun is rising, but little light or warmth penetrates from the heavy white-gray clouds that cover the sky.

I pull my old truck into the parking lot of the small bakery and cafe I own. Five years ago, when I came back to Culver Creek, I decided I was done living for other people, and to do what I love instead. So I opened my bakery.

People told me that I must be crazy to open a cafe in such a small town. Maybe I am, but time proved me right, and I’ve turned a steady profit. I will never be rich, and “Emma’s” will never be a household name, but I live comfortably.

I flip on the lights and hang my coat and scarf on the rack by the door, tucking my gloves into the pocket of my coat.

Culver Creek is situated along the Highland Scenic highway in West Virginia, and a good amount of traffic flows through her at various times of the year, and my little cafe sees a fair share of it. I doubt that I will see any on this particular morning, though, as the weather report is calling for snow squalls starting in the afternoon. Snow squalls aren’t uncommon in this part of the world, but familiarity with them doesn’t make them any less dangerous. I don't want to be caught in it. Most folks who've spent any time in this part of the world would agree; some chances you just don't take.

By the time I’ve finished the morning prep work and flip the sign on my door to “Open”, a thick dusting of snow coats my truck and the parking lot. I debate flipping the sign to “closed”, locking up and heading back home, but headlights pulling into the parking lot catch my eye. The sheriff’s black jeep parks next to my truck, and I feel a small flutter in the pit of my stomach. I go over to the coffee pot and pour a large mug for him.

A few minutes later, the jingling bells at the door chime and I hear a familiar deep voice call out:

“Mornin’ Emma.”

“Mornin’ Sheriff,” I say, setting the mug down on the counter for him.

“How many times do I have to ask you to call me Marcus?” He asks, stamping the snow off his boots before stepping off the old gray mat in front of the door and coming to sit at the counter. His goatee has a few snowflakes melting in it. He gives me a smile, his dimples making him look younger, almost boyish, though I know he must be about forty-five or so.

“At least one more time,” I say, returning his smile with interest.

“Please call me Marcus,” he says, blowing into his hands, trying to warm them.

“Don’t you have a pair of gloves?” I ask him. “Marcus,” I add with a teasing emphasis.

“No,” he admits sheepishly. “I mean, I do, I just can’t find them, and I just keep forgetting to get new ones.”

“You better get a move on,” I say. “This is your first winter here, isn't it?”

“Yes ma’am.”

“If you want me to call you Marcus, you’d better stop calling me ma’am,” I threaten playfully.

“All right, all right,” he says, holding his hands up in mock surrender. He takes a sip of coffee. “Yes, Emma, it’s my first winter here. I just missed it last year.”

“December isn’t too bad, but in January and February, you’ll want to find your gloves,” I say, crossing my arms over my chest and leaning back against the prep counter behind me. I love the layout of my little cafe: Three cozy booths, a half dozen bistro tables, four stools at the counter. The back kitchen is where I do the baking and prep work, hidden behind a bright pink door, but I have a griddle and prep area behind the counter too. I usually woman the cafe by myself in the mornings, but I have help from one of the girls in town after school. May Anne Collins does most of the washing up and such from three to five. Recently, she’s graduated to making the jams I serve at breakfast. She’s a bright, chipper girl, and she’s set to go to UMD in the fall.

“If January is colder than this, I might have to rethink my life choices,” he grumbles, but there is a twinkle in his deep brown eyes that makes my stomach do that stupid fluttering thing again. He looks over at the little chalkboard next to the griddle.

“No menu today?”

“Nope, I doubt I’ll see more than two or three people this morning. I’ll probably shut up shop at noon,” I say, making a mental note to call May Anne and tell her not to come that afternoon. I would still pay her for the day though. That girl is going places, and I want her to have every penny for college. “So whatever you want, within reason.”

“So no "Benedict with smoked salmon and caviar"?”

“Decidedly not,” I say with a smile. “I might have some smoked salmon, but if you want caviar, you’ll have to go back to DC.”

“Well I won’t be doing that, because then it wouldn’t be breakfast with you,” he says, and I feel my cheeks warming slightly. I bite my lip.

“So, do you want your usual?” I ask, trying to keep my voice even.

Just then, the bells on the door jingle again, and I look up to see old Mr. Mason toddling into the cafe. He is ninety if he is a day. He and my grandfather were best friends all their lives, and probably their fathers and grandfathers, too. Mr. Mason and his wife Ms. Alma had one daughter, who never married or had kids of her own. She passed away two years ago, and I more or less consider myself the only family he has left. He’s almost all the family I have left, him and May Anne.

“Mr. Mason,” I chide him. “What are you doing out in this cold?”

“Now you know,” he says, wiping his feet on the mat. He is wearing huge boots, at least three pairs of pants judging the number of cuffs I see bunched up around the top of the boots. His massive down overcoat makes it so he couldn’t quite lay his arms flush against his sides. “I had to come check on you. You didn’t answer your home phone.” I idly wonder what the old fool thinks he could possibly do to help me if I were in some sort of trouble. He doesn’t have a cell phone.

“I told you Mr Mason, you have to call my cell phone. I left the number taped to your refrigerator in big print.”

“Well, you shouldn’t be working today in this weather, you know you won’t be able to get up your driveway by this afternoon.”

“I’m shutting the doors at noon,” I say to Mr. Mason. “And don’t worry, that old truck can still get me up the driveway just fine.” At least I hope she will. I am well overdue for an oil change.

“Well as long as I’m here, why don’t you let me have one of them eclairs for my breakfast?”

“Because Doc Amron said you can’t have sweets any more! You’ve got high sugar.” I swat his hand away from the glass domed cake stand. I hear a light huff of amusement from Marcus.

“Doc Amron would have me eat like a rabbit. I’m ninety years old. What am I staying healthy for?”

“Someone’s gotta walk me down the aisle,” I say. “Should I ever be foolish enough to do it again.”

“Well get a move on,” Mr. Mason grumbles. “I miss cookies.”

“I know you do, you old goat,” I say affectionately. “How about some oatmeal, and I’ll put some strawberries and cocoa powder in it?”

“How about one of them muffins?”

“Or you could have plain oatmeal,” I warn.

“Strawberries, please,” he says dejectedly. I chuckle and then turn back to Marcus, and as our eyes lock, I feel that little flutter in my stomach again.

“And how about you, Sher-Marcus?” I ask, correcting myself as my cheeks heat up again.

“If you’re up for it, chocolate chip pancakes?” He leans back on the stool slightly, crossing his arms over his chest. I try not to stare at the way the fabric of his uniform shirt pulls against his broad shoulders.

“I’m up for it,” I say grinning. “All right, I’ll be right back.” I swat Mr. Mason’s hand away from the cake stand again. I move it to the far side of the counter and I give both men a reproachful look. “If there are any eclairs missing when I come back, you’re both on notice.” I threaten. Marcus chuckles, holding his hands up again. I feel my knees falter slightly as I turn, and I catch my elbow against the door frame.

“Shit,” I hiss, and I rush through the door so that my scarlet red cheeks aren’t on display for Marcus to see.

I lean against the prep sink and I try to control my breathing. Marcus is not what I describe as classically handsome; but he’s still quite good looking. He has a large, sharp nose that adds a certain amount of character to his face. His smile, though… It’s a thousand megawatts, and his dimples are frequently on display. His deep brown eyes are large and kind, though they are often a little sad. He keeps in good shape, and I’m embarrassed to admit how often my gaze lingers on his well developed arms, his broad shoulders, his trim waist.

“Pull yourself together,” I mutter as I get the strawberries out of the reach-in refrigerator. I turn the water in the prep sink on and run it over the berries, right in the plastic container, and then I gather the rest of the things I need, taking them back out to the griddle.

Marcus looks a bit awkward as I step back into front of the cafe, and Mr. Mason makes a show of looking around, avoiding my gaze.

“What are you two up to?” I ask, narrowing my eyes suspiciously. I cast a look over at the eclairs, but none are missing. I look back at the two of them.

“Nothing,” Marcus says evasively. “Just chatting about the weather.”

“Sure,” I say, but I don’t believe them. While the griddle heats up, I start preparing Mr. Mason’s oatmeal, cutting the strawberries and adding a dash of cocoa powder to it.

“There you go,” I say, placing it in front of him. He gives me a small smile.

“I know you’re just trying to take good care of me, Emma,” he says as he takes a bite of the oatmeal.

“I am, so you’d better listen to me,” I threaten in a teasing tone. I turn to the griddle and start mixing the batter for the pancakes.

For a moment, the cafe is quiet, the only sound is Mr. Mason’s spoon against the ceramic edge of his bowl. I cast a look outside, and I see that the snow is coming down heavily.

“Mr. Mason,” I say as I clear his empty bowl away. “Don’t think me unkind, but you need to get home before the snow gets any worse. I don’t want to have to call Jimmy to come pull you out of a ditch.”

“All right, all right, I can tell when my welcome’s worn out,” he says, and he pays for his breakfast before toddling out the door. I flip the pancakes over on the griddle and I hear Marcus chuckling again.

“What?” I ask him, feeling a smile tugging at the corners of my lips.

“It’s just sweet, how you two carry on,” he says.

“Thanks… Our families were always pretty tight, going back generations. But… We’re all that’s left now,” I say, trying not to think about how our two once proud family trees have whittled down to splinters.

“You don’t have any other family?”

“Well, I’ve got cousins and such, but no siblings, and both my parents have passed on.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” he says, taking a sip of his coffee. I slide three fat pancakes onto a plate for him before I fetch the syrup and butter.

“This smells amazing,” he says, leaning forward slightly and inhaling deeply. “Is that vanilla?”

“Yeah, I always mix a little paste into the batter.” I lean against the prep counter again. “What about you? Siblings?”

“Yeah, a brother and a sister. My parents live out in El Paso, but my sister’s in New York, and my brother’s in Florida. When I was living in DC, they used to all come see me for Christmas, because I was sort of but not really in the middle,” he explains fondly. “I guess I still kind of am, though I don't really see my sister in a place like this.”

“Are you the youngest or oldest or middle?”

“Oldest,” he says, cutting his pancakes carefully before liberally pouring syrup over them. “My sister is two years younger than I am, and my brother is 5 years younger.”

“That’s nice, I bet you were a good big brother,” I say softly. We don't often get the chance to chat like this, just the two of us.

“I tried,” he says, flashing me that dimpled grin again. “Were you lonely growing up?

“In a way, but we always had animals. Goats, chickens, ducks, all that stuff.”

“Cows? Pigs?”

“No, strictly small farm animals… We had a couple miniature donkeys, but nothing bigger than that.”

He chews thoughtfully for a moment.

“So you’re closing up shop at noon?”

“Yeah,” I said, looking at the clock. It was nearing nine, almost late enough to call May Anne.

“Good, I don’t want to have to call Jimmy to come pull you out of a ditch,” he teases, repeating my threat to Mr. Mason.

“You won’t,” I say with a grin.

“Good,” he says again, softly, and he holds my gaze for a moment. “Listen,” he says huskily, but before he can go on, the bells on the door jingle once again. I look up, smiling instinctively, but the smile dies on my face.

Deacon Crocker, my ex husband, all six-foot-six inches of him, stands in the doorway. He’s wearing a dirty carhartt jacket and oil spotted jeans.

“What are you doing here?” I say darkly.

“I wanted to talk to you.”

“There’s nothing to talk about. You have something to say to me, you can say to Ann Larian, of Larian, Diemel and Olson.” I cross my arms over my chest.

“Em, don’t be like that,” he says, his eyes wide. He self consciously runs a hand through his messy hair.

Deacon was a good looking man once upon a time, tall, blond and blue eyed. He played minor league baseball for the first eight years of our marriage, but drank himself stupid during the last two. From the looks of things, that has not changed. I can see he’s getting a belly, despite the fact that he’s only thirty five, the same age as I am. His skin is red and blotchy, maybe from the cold, maybe from the whisky he loves so much.

Marcus shifts in his seat slightly, turning just enough that the Sheriff patch on his shirt is showing. He doesn’t speak, but I see him look Deacon up and down before crossing those arms over his chest again. Deacon pays him no mind.

“I don’t have anything to say to you,” I repeat. “Please leave, there’s no loitering.”

“I’m a paying customer,” he says, pulling out his wallet.

“I have the right to refuse service to anyone for any reason,” I say, pointing to the door. “Please leave.”

“Em, come on,” he pleads once more. “Just hear me out.”

“No, Deacon, I will not.”

“Em-”

“You heard her,” Marcus says, his voice quiet, almost deadly. I’ve never heard him sound like that before. It sends a shiver down my spine. “Get out.”

“And who are you? Some deputy of Roy’s?”

“Roy retired last spring, I’m the new Sheriff,” he says, turning more fully in his chair and standing up. Deacon has a good six inches and close to a hundred pounds on him, but Marcus didn’t seem bothered by that. “I’ll say it again. Emma asked you to leave, so go on, before I arrest you for trespassing.”

Deacon sizes Marcus up to see if he’s bluffing, but I know Deacon doesn’t want any more trouble with the law. He’s still on probation for a DUI a few years back. He puts his hands up in surrender, similar to the way Marus did earlier, and backs out of the cafe.

“See you around, Em,” he says.

“No if I see you first,” I mutter as the door shuts behind him. Marcus turns back to me.

“Are you all right?”

“Fine,” I manage to say, but I realize that my breath is coming out in quick gasps. I make a concentrated effort to control my breathing.

“Does he do this often?” Marcus asks, sitting back down. “Show up out of the blue, I mean?”

“He used to do this all the time just after our divorce was finalized, but I haven’t seen him for about a year, maybe eighteen months,” I say. “He never wants anything good. He’ll whine and moan about wanting me to take him back, but then I’ll hear down at the IGA it’s because some floozy he took up with kicked him out.”

Marcus lets out a huff of laughter.

“I’m sorry, it’s not funny, not really, I just… This is a small town. I forget that sometimes…But I thought he didn’t live around here anymore?”

“He doesn’t, but his sister Evangeline does, up to Wisteria Acres Trailer Park,” I say. “She’s good friends with Patty Pritchett, and if you tell Patty anything, you might as well paint it on a billboard along the highway.”

“Noted,” Marcus says dryly. “Deacon and Evangeline?”

“Yeah, there are a whole mess of Crocker Siblings with names like that. Deacon, Evangeline, Rook, Pally, Fina-”

“Fina?”

“Like Tina, but with an F,” I say. “Fina was my friend growing up, that’s how I got to know Deacon.” Fina left Culver Creek around the same time I did, but she never moved back, even after her own marriage fell apart.

Marcus eats slowly, chatting with me while I lean back against the prep counter, watching cars and trucks driving slowly down the highway, splashing slush and ice as they go.

The morning ticks by as we laugh and joke and talk, and I feel those damn flutters in my stomach again. He’s so charming and sweet, and all I want, more than anything, is him to ask if he can come by some night to go to dinner or to take me to a movie.

A while later, my cell phone rings and I look at the display. May Anne’s home phone number.

“Sorry, I think May Anne is calling to see if I’m open today,” I tell Marcus apologetically. “Hello?” I answer, stepping back into the kitchen.

“Emma?” The voice doesn’t belong to May Anne, but her mother. There’s an undercurrent of desperation to it.

“Hi Ms Opal,” I say. “Is everything okay?”

“Is May Anne there by chance?”

“No, I was gonna call her in a bit and tell her not to come in today.”

“Oh,” Ms Opal says, and I can hear her let out a shaky breath. “If you see her, will you tell her to call me?”

“Sure Ms. Opal. Wasn’t she home this morning?”

“She was supposed to stay over at Jess McNally’s house last night, but she promised to come home this morning before the storm got too bad. I called over there just now to see if she wanted her daddy to come pick her up, but they said she left almost an hour ago. It shouldn’t have taken her that long to get home.”

“Sheriff Pike is here having his breakfast,” I say. “Do you want me to tell him to get one of his deputies to go look for her?”

“I hate to bother him. I’m sure I’m just being a worrywort,” Ms. Opal replies. “I just can’t shake this feeling that something's wrong. It’s a five minute drive. Her daddy went out to see if she slid off the road.”

“He won’t think it’s a bother. I’ll talk to the Sheriff, I know you don't want to take any chances with this weather,” I promise.

“Thanks Emma,” Ms. Opal says, and I can hear the worry in her voice. “Thank the Sheriff for me too, please.”

I hang up, and feeling worry in the pit of my own stomach, I step back out into the kitchen. Marcus looks up at me, smiling, but the smile changes to concern when he sees the look on my face.

“What’s wrong?” He asks.

“That was May Anne’s mother,” I say, my mouth dry. “She was supposed to be home an hour ago, but there’s no sign of her.”

“Is she answering her phone?”

“She doesn’t have a cell phone,” I say. “Her family is pretty poor, and she wants to go to college in the fall, so she’s been getting by without one. Service out here is so spotty most people still have home phones anyway,” I rambled nervously. “I was going to ask if you could ask your deputies to keep a look out for her.

“Sure,” he says. “Was she on foot?”

“No, she drives my mom’s old buick skylark. It’s light blue.” Marcus seems surprised by that.

“You two are close, huh?”

“I think of her like a little sister, I guess,” I say. “She reminds me a little of myself when I was her age, but she’s so much brighter than I ever was. She has a full ride to UMD in the fall and I wasn’t using the car anyway.”

Marcus nods gently and asks me for more information about May Anne before he calls the Sheriff’s station and asks dispatch to radio his on duty deputies to have them on the lookout for May Anne.

“I’m sure she’ll turn up,” he says. “Does she have a boyfriend?”

“Not really. She has a crush on Billy Johnson, but he doesn’t like her back, according to her. And May Anne isn’t the type to run off without telling anyone where she’s going.”

“We’ll find her,” he assures me. “I’m sorry Emma, I wish I could stay here where it’s cozy and warm, and smells like vanilla pancakes all day but duty calls.” He pays his tab and pulls his coat back on. “She’ll turn up,” he tells me again.

I nod bleakly, but I can’t help but worry. Culver Creek isn’t a big place, but it’s still plenty dangerous. Wild animals like Bear and Elk are plentiful, and the roads are narrow and winding. She could have hit an animal or swerved to try to avoid hitting one and wrecked. I shiver, hoping she turns up.

I am no more good the rest of the morning. I spend the hours pacing the length of the diner, looking out the window at the falling snow, and checking my phone obsessively for texts or calls about May Anne.

I only see one more person that morning, the driver of an 18 wheeler that pulls up in the parking lot just after 10. The driver gets out of the truck and makes his way up to the cafe. I’ve never seen him before, but that’s not an uncommon thing. Lots of Truckers stop through here, traveling through the scenic byways to avoid weigh stations.

Something about this man unsettles me a little bit, though. He’s older, mid fifties at least, with a little bit of a belly, but he looks like he’s pretty strong. He’s got a ruddy, weatherbeaten face, and white-blue eyes. His fingernails have muddy grime stuck beneath them, and a heavy odor clings to him; a mix of unwashed flesh, mustiness, cigarette smoke and something else I can’t place, but the smell is so strong, I can feel my eyes watering even across the counter. He stares at me as I get his order together, black coffee and the rest of the eclairs.

“You here all by yourself?” he asks in a rough, low voice.

“No, my husband's back in the kitchen doing inventory,” I say breezily. Maybe he’s harmless, but something tells me that I don’t want this man thinking I’m here alone. He gets up, taking his coffee and eclairs with him. He gets in his truck and drives off, but I see him pull into Jimmy’s Texaco just up the road and turn off his lights. He might just need fuel, I tell myself, trying not to let his unpleasant smell color my perception of him. Some time later, I look out again and he’s gone.

Finally, a little before noon, I lock up and turn the lights off. I head out to my truck, trudging through the deepening snow… But as I walk up to it, I notice the tires are flat. All four of them.

“Shit,” I hiss. I pull my cell phone out and call Jimmy.

“Baker’s Towing,” he answers crisply.

“Jimmy, I need a tow.”

“I can’t help you for a couple of hours Em, I’m on a call for the state,” he said. “Big accident up in Dour County.”

“All right, well give me a call when you’re freed up,” I say.

“Sure will Em.”

I am about to go back inside to wait for Jimmy, wondering how long he’ll be, worrying about May Anne, and worrying about my animals back at my little farm, when I see headlights pulling into the parking lot.

Marcus. My stomach flutters again. He pulls alongside me and rolls his window down.

“I wanted to swing back by to tell you to get on home, the roads are getting bad, but also to tell you that we haven’t found any sign of May Anne. Ronald is talking to her parents now.”

“I’m headed home,” I tell him, but I see his eyes look past me, at my tires.

“Doesn’t look like you’re headed anywhere,” he says, putting his jeep in Park and climbing out of the driver’s side. He walks over to my truck and then he realizes it's all four tires. “Son of a bitch,” he says. “Come on, hop in.”

“Jimmy’s gonna come give me a tow.”

“Jimmy’s gonna be tied up with the state all day. I heard it on the radio. He’s not gonna turn down state money. Come on Emma,” Marcus says, holding the passenger door open for me. “I’ll drop you off at home and we’ll figure out what to do with your truck once the worst of the storm passes.”

“You really don’t have to-”

“I know. Get in.”

I hesitate, but as another icy blast of wind cuts through my coat, my sweater and my clothes, I shiver and climb inside his jeep.

“I suppose you know how rare it is for four tires to spontaneously go flat,” he says as he turns the heat up slightly.

“I do,” I say. “Deacon isn’t exactly the sharpest knife in the drawer.”

“You wanna file a police report?”

“Yes, and no. I should, because it’s the right thing to do… but I don’t wanna fuck up his parole. I mean-” I blush a little. “Sorry, I shouldn’t swear.”

“Be a lady,” my father would admonish me.

“I don’t mind,” Marucs says softly. He carefully navigates the jeep back on to the highway. “Anyway uh… Maybe you should fuck it up.”

“What makes you say that?”

He keeps his eyes fixed on the white road ahead of him.

“Sometimes guys like him need to go to jail for it to sink in.”

I don’t reply to that. We travel along in silence for a while.

“I’m sorry, I don’t remember where the turn is.”

“Oh, it’s about five miles up, on the left,” I say as we pass Jimmy’s Texaco station. The main highway is plowed, I know from years of living here that the backroads probably won’t see a plow til the morning, maybe not for a few days, depending on how bad things get. Marcus pulls off the highway and makes the first turn.

“So you really lived here all your life?”

“Yeah… I mean, I left for a few years after I turned eighteen.”

“College?”

“No, with Deacon,” I say. “I didn’t go to college.”

“How come?”

“No money, and I was young and dumb and though I was in love.”

“Now you don’t?”

“My idea of what love is has changed,” I say. “The next turn is coming up. It’s just up around the bend, on the left,” I tell him.

“If Deacon’s back in town…” he says, but he pauses. “Just… You can call me if you need anything. Even if you’re just scared.”

“That’s sweet of you, but I’m fine,” I assure him. “That’s my driveway. You can drop me-”

“I’m not dropping you off in the middle of the street.”

“No, I just meant-”

“I’m dropping you at the door and waiting til you get inside,” he says firmly. He pulls the jeep up the steep drive and turns into the little parking turn out by the front porch.

“Thank you for the ride,” I tell him.

“You’re welcome,” he says softly.

I reach for the door and step out of the jeep, but suddenly, the world is flipped upside down and I feel my legs sliding in two opposite directions. There’s a popping noise and pain radiates through my ankle. I let out a small cry, and get a mouth full of snow for my trouble.

“Emma!” Marcus says, and in a flash he’s out of the Jeep, kneeling beside me in the snow. He carefully brushes snow off my face and out of my hair. “Are you okay?”

“My ankle,” I say, and I feel tears stinging my eyes. “Fuck,” I swear.

“Come on, put your arms around my neck,” he says.

“Don’t, I’m too heavy.”

“You are not. Come on.” I put my arms around his neck and he pulls me to my feet. “Can you put any weight on it?” He asks, carefully holding me. I try, but I immediately fall against him.

“I’ve got you,” he says, getting a good grip on me, pulling me close to him. Despite the pain in my ankle, the cold, and my own embarrassment, my brain can’t help but clock how good he smells. “Easy does it.”

In one fluid motion, he lifts me up in his arms, carrying me up the porch steps. He holds me steady as I unlock my front door, and then he carries me inside, setting me down gently on my couch.

“Let me take a look,” he says.

“It’s fine.”

“Emma, I heard a crack. It might be broken.” He looks up at me, those big brown eyes of his so full of concern. “Please, let me help you.”

I swallow hard, and I nod.

“All right,” I almost whisper. He gently unlaces my boots, and I hope that my feet don’t stink. He pulls off my sock and rolls up the hem of my pant leg slightly. His hands are cool against my skin as he gently feels my ankle.

Then he sees the long ugly scar that runs from the top of my foot just past my ankle bone.

“You broke your ankle before?” He says, his brows knitting together.

“...Yeah,” I say, but he catches the moment of hesitation. I bite my lip.

“Deacon,” he says darkly. I nod. “He beat you up?”

“I figured you knew, no one in this town can keep their mouths shut. It was the first time he put me in the hospital. I’m embarrassed to say it wasn’t the last.”

“You don’t need to be embarrassed about that, Emma.” He continues to examine my ankle. “I think it's just a bad sprain, but you’ll need to stay off it until Doc Amron can take a look at it.”

He glances out the window at the snow, which is still falling heavily.

“I have animals to tend to,” I say before I can stop myself.

“I’ll do it,” he says.

“No I-”

“Emma,” Marcus says gently. “You’re hurt, and I ca- I’m your friend. Let me help you,” he repeats, his voice that same, low husky tone from earlier.

“You don’t know what needs to be done or where anything is.”

“I’m sure you can guide me.”

I start to protest again, but his deep brown eyes catch me off guard.

“Thank you,” I finally say softly. I give him the rundown of where to find things, and he heads back out into the cold. The wind is howling something fierce and a distant rumble of thunder causes me to shiver.

A half hour later, Marcus comes back into the house, and to my surprise, he takes his boots off by the front door and hangs his coat on the coat rack.

“The animals are all fine,” he says. “I fed your ducks and goats. You didn’t mention your cat though, so I wasn’t sure where to find her food.”

“I don’t have a cat,” I said, and I felt my eyebrows knit together.

“Well, you have a visitor then. She was quite friendly, so I thought she must be a pet.”

“Poor thing, she must have wanted to get out of the cold.”

“Yeah, she’s curled up in the barn with your goats.”

“She’s welcome to ride out the storm with them,” I say softly. Marcus looks around, a smile playing around his full lips.

“What?”

“Your house doesn’t seem very… You.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well the Cafe seems like you, with all the pink and stuff… This… not so much.” He gestures to the dark wood paneling and the blue and green plaid furniture.

“No, this is my dad… I’ve been so busy getting the cafe up and running that I haven’t done much in the way of fixing up the house since I moved back here.” I say.

“Can I get you anything or do anything for you? Ibuprofen? Blanket?” He asks.

“yes thank you. There’s some ibuprofen in the medicine cabinet in the bathroom, it’s just down the hall over there,” I point. “Please.”

“Coming right up,” he says, and he disappears. He comes back a few minutes later with a small cup and the bottle of ibuprofen. I take three and swallow the water in one gulp.

“I don’t like the idea of leaving you here with your ankle like that,” he says. “Why don’t you come back with me to town? I have a spare room that’s comfortable.”

“What about my animals?” I ask.

“I’ll come back in the morning to take care of them.”

“I doubt the roads will be plowed. It’s supposed to snow all night,” I say. “I’ll be fine.”

“Are you always this stubborn?”

“What do you mean?”

“Just that…You seem to have a hard time asking for help, and a hard time accepting the offer.”

“I’m just used to doing things on my own.”

“You don’t have to, though.” He sits on the couch, not quite next to me, and looks at me for a long moment. I feel the fluttering in my stomach again. He opens his mouth to speak again, but before he can, a terrible gust of wind rips through the afternoon, and the house shudders. The lights flicker for a second, and a loud clap of thunder booms almost directly overhead. I look out the front window, but all I see is white.

“Wow,” Marcus whispers. “I’ve never seen anything like this.”

“Snow Squalls are pretty common out here,” I say. “They’re dangerous.” I cast a look over at him. “You can’t drive in that.” The words are out of my mouth before I can stop myself. “You can stay here,” I go on, again before I can seem to stop myself, my heart pounding a little faster.

“I’ll be fine, I’ve got snow tires on the jeep-”

“It’s more than that,” I blurt out. “You won’t be able to see anything. It’s white out conditions. You don’t know the roads this far out real well yet, and-”

“Emma-”

“Please,” I say. “Don’t try to head back to town. You might think you know, but Marcus… If anything happened to you…” My voice trails off. “Please stay.”

“I don’t want to impose on you Emma.”

“You just told me I could stay at your place because of my ankle,” I argue. “Now who’s being stubborn?”

“Touche.”

“You can’t drive in that,” I say again, and to illustrate my point, another gust of wind causes the house to rattle again.

“No, I don’t think I can,” he agrees, getting up and going over to the window. “I can’t even see my jeep.”

He looks over at me, a small smile on his face.

“I can sleep with the goats. If it’s good enough for a cat, it’s good enough for me.”

I feel myself smiling despite the pain in my ankle.

“I have a spare room, too, you know.”

“I didn’t want to assume.”

“I wouldn’t make you sleep with the goats,” I say, still smiling.

“I could do worse,” he says. He sits back on the couch. “I’d love to stay, thank you for the offer.”

“Thank you for everything,” I return.

“What are friends for?”

Friends, I think, and I can’t help a little pang of disappointment at the word. My cell phone rings. I give him an apologetic look as I answer it.

“Hi Ms. Opal,” I answer

“Emma,” she says tearfully. “She still isn’t home.”

I feel terrible. With Deacon showing up, my ankle, and now Marcus spending the night, May Anne had slipped my mind.

“I’m with Sheriff Pike right now,” I look over at him. “One sec,” I tell Ms. Opal. I mute the phone and look at him. He shakes his head, and I understand his meaning. No updates, no news. But then to my surprise, he holds out his hand for my phone.

“Ms. Opal, hold on, he wants to speak to you.” I hand him the phone.

“Hi Mrs. Collins,” he says. “I have my deputies on the lookout for her, but with the storm, there’s not much we can do. Hopefully she’s just holed up with a girlfriend-”

I hear Ms Opal’s desperate voice interrupt him.

“I understand how you must be feeling, and I’m so sorry, but you need to stay indoors until the storm passes. It’s too dangerous to be out in it. We’ll have a better chance of finding her once the snow stops and the roads are plowed.” His tone is low, patient and kind.

More crying, and I feel sick to my stomach with worry.

He talks to her for a while longer, never losing his patience, repeating his words of comfort over and over. Eventually Ms Opal hangs up, and he looks at me sadly.

“I’m so sorry,” he says to me. “I’m sure she’ll turn up after the storm passes,” he tries to reassure me.

“It’s not like May Anne not to at least call,” I say.

“I know, but Emma, she’s a teenage girl.”

“May Anne isn’t a normal teenage girl. She’s not the kind of person to let her parents worry.”

“Even if she was seeing someone they didn’t approve of?”

“She wouldn’t keep that secret from me,” I say. May Anne confessed many a crush to me over the years.

“Even if she thought you wouldn’t approve?”

I don’t know how to make him understand, so I just shrug.

“May Anne is the most responsible person I know,” I say after a minute. “But I hope you’re right.”

A long silence passes between us.

“You were going to say something earlier,” I say after a moment. “Before Deacon showed up.”

“I was? Huh, I don’t remember now,” he says, but he avoids my gaze as he says it.

“You’re a lousy liar,” I say.

“I am,” he replies. He looks back over at me. “I dunno if now’s the right time.”

“Why not?”

“You’re worried about May Anne, your ankle… Deacon…”

“Trust me, Deacon is the last thing on my mind.” I shift slightly on the couch, wincing as I do.

“Are you in pain?”

“It’s not bad,” I say. “Anyway, I could use something to take my mind off of it… And off of May Anne, since I can’t do anything until the storm passes anyway.”

Marcus sighs.

“There’s about a million ways I’d rather do this… Smoother, more charming ways.”

“Do what?”

“I was going to ask you if you’d like to go to dinner with me sometime,” he says.

I blink, surprised.

“I…”

Next Chapter

#pedro pascal #fanfiction #Marcus Pike #plot with smut

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musicalcastingideas · 1 year ago

Text

Dropout Does The Guy Who Didn't Like Musicals

So my theory about overlap of Dropout and Team Starkid seems to be accurate, and people seemed to like my Dropout does Nerdy Prudes Must Die post, so I'm back for another. Same method and criteria as my previous post, you can go see that if you want to know what they are. Also, I have previously done a similar list with Internet Personalities that included a handful of Dropout people, but I'm gonna try to make this one different.

Also spoilers for potentially anything in the Hatchetfield verse

Paul: Ross Bryant

Ross is a great straight man (in the comedy sense, I don't know his sexuality) while being very funny in his own right, and I think, while Paul has a lot of his own funny moments, it's very important that his character is also the more normal guy reacting to the madness around him. Also, he would slay the Jekyll and Hyde homage that is Let it Out.

Emma : Siobhan Thompson

I think one of the essential parts of Emma's character is an underlying exhaustion with the world, and that is very Adaine Abernant and Ruby Rocks, so I think Siobhan would embody that very well.

Charlotte: Vic Michaelis

I don't think I've ever heard them do a transatlantic accent before, but I just have this gut feeling they'd be so good at it.

Ted: Ify Nwadiwe

While I do genuinely think Ify would be great in the part, if I'm being fully honest, this casting is because I (despite my better judgment) find Ted Spankoffski hot, so casting arguably the hottest man in Dropout in this part makes me seem less damaged for being attracted to the self-proclaimed sleazeball. Also him and Vic seem like they would be great playing off each other.

Bill: Brian "Murph" Murphy

He just has "refuses to drink during the apocalypse so he can be the DD" energy.

Mr Davidson: Brian David Gilbert

Since I'm splitting up all the parts, this basically turns Mr Davidson into a Princess Track where the actor just shows up, sings about desire and being choked while he jerks off, but laments how he can never achieve his dreams, and then pretty much leaves, and I don't know why, but that seems right up BDG's alley.

Melissa: Lisa Gilroy

Lisa Gilroy seems nice, but also kinda scares me, and those are the correct vibes for Melissa (#heymelissacore)

Sam: Jacob Wysoki

My only concern about this casting is that he'd go SO HARD in You Tied Up My Heart that he would keep breaking the handcuffs and/or chair, but that's fine, it would be worth it.

Nora: Katie Marovitch

The "Decaf?" parts of Cup of Roasted Coffee already sounds a bit like her TBH.

Zoey: Rehka Shankar

I feel like Zoey is such an underrated, funny side character in the show (I know she's a very small part, but like every line she has is a banger) and I feel like Rehka is a very underrated performer, so this is a good match.

Greenpeace Girl: Persephone Valentine

Making up the Save the Sea Turtles campaign is such a Sam Nightengale move, and also she would eat up Lah Dee Dah Dah Day.

Alice: Surena Marie

She's got a bit of a baby face (I thought she was like 25) and I think she would handle the change from Alice to Hivemind Alice really well.

Deb: Emily Axford

I'm definitely not just casting this because I want Emily to be my protective and caring girlfriend...

Professor Hidgens: Josh Ruben

I don't have an explanation for this one, this is vibes alone.

General MacNamara: Brennan Lee Mulligan

"Wear a Watch" and a song highlighting how the hivemind is essentially fascist and using the military to destroy any resistance to their regime is so Brennan core.

Homeless Man: Ally Beardlsey

I just feel like this is the part they'd want.

Dan Reynolds: Lou Wilson

Icons play Icons.

Donna: Aabria Iyengar

Icons play Icons

Hard Cuts:

Jacob Wysoki as Ted

Mike Trapp as Paul

Emily Axford as Emma

Jess Ross as Charlotte

Lily Du as Zoey

Grant O'Brien as Professor Hidgens

Grant O'Brien as Ted

Ally Beardlsey as Ted

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d8nielaa · 7 months ago

Note

can you write a jason schmidt x reader story :)

Reader goes to college in California so she has not been able to see him perform in the outsiders and that of course makes him sad but he understands until one day she decides to surprise him and he sees her when he is doing stage door.

if not i understand!! thank youuuu :)

Authors Note: yes ofcc anon! im a little hesitant to write and post this because i know how people are when it comes to writing about real actors and celebrities. im a little scared cause the other day i got some really degrading messages for the brody fic but, i think ill be okay because I have posted more than 5 Dan Berry fics sooo

I’m Here

Jason Schmidt x fem!reader

I didn’t want to leave New York, I love that place with all my heart. But I knew if i was gonna go to college, it had to be out of state. I wanted more than just tall skyscrapers and noisy streets. I wanted more space, and to meet new people. So when i opened my acceptance email from CSUN, i was thrilled. But then, i remembered that I’d be leaving Jason. Before previews for The Outsiders.

Now, i was second guessing my decision. But it was already too late. My bags were packed and the ticket was booked, I’d be staying at the dorms they have over there. It’s gonna be hard. The busy schedules and different time zones, we’d barely have time for each other.

But i was determined to make it work. I would stay faithful and keep Jason in my heart. All i could do was hope that he did the same. Which he did. We would call every chance we got, to which we always expressed our feelings and how much we missed each other. Which was enough to keep me going, but recently, I’ve been missing him more. Way more than I should be.

So, i booked a ticket and packed my bags for a week. I was going back to New York to see Jason.

It was around 4 am when i left, my flight left at 7. I made it on time and bordered my flight, which i never thought I’d be able to do alone because i hate flying.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

After about 5 hours and 30 minutes later, I made it back to New York. Back home. I was able to get a very last minute ticket to tonights show, so I quickly dropped my stuff off at a hotel and made my way to the theater. Where I would see Jason again.

Yes it has only been a few months, but you can't blame me for missing my boyfriend. You'd feel the same.

I got to the theater, giving the usher my ticket. He handed me a playbill and escorted me to my seat. A few minutes later, the show started.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The show was amazing, everything I had expected it to be. Jason's singing and acting..Gosh it just blew me away. I have never been so proud of someone like that before. Jason was one of the most talented people I've ever known, and I'm glad he's my boyfriend.

Once the show ended, I quickly made my way to the stage door. Jason's friends/coworkers slowly began coming out. Emma Pittman remembered me, and pointed me out to Brent Comer, who smiled and hugged me over the barricade.

"Jason's gonna be so happy to see you, he misses you like crazy." He said, patting your shoulder before moving on to the next person.

Daryl Tofa, also remembered me.

"Yooo, y/n/n! Oh my gosh, it's so good to see you" Daryl said, hugging me over the barricade, just like Brent and Emma had done. I smiled, hugging him in return.

"I think Jason's comin' out right no-" He was cut off by the sound of the stage door opening and the fans at the barricade screaming. Me and Daryl both looked and saw Jason, who was ready to sign a load of playbills.

However, when he turned his head and saw me, everything changed. Daryl backed away as Jason practically ran up to me, hugging me tightly against the barricade. I hugged him back, despite the slight pain that came from the metal bars being pressed against me.

Jason seemed to notice this, and held onto me tightly, pulling me up and over the barricade with the help of Daryl. He put me down on the floor, hugging me tightly as tears came to my eyes. I of course hugged him back, not really caring if the girls at the barricade were recording this interaction.

"I'm here Jason..I'm here"

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Authors Note: Heyyy guyss!! yay another upload! I got another fic coming soon and I'm sorry for the slow uploads, school has made me so tired and im actually crashing out 😋

#the outsiders musical #the outsiders x reader #x reader #paul holden #jason schmidt x reader

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allwormdiet · 8 months ago

Text

Shell 4.1

As much as I wish Taylor could ride this high forever, unfortunately looks like it's back to school

Taylor. Honey. Dearheart. You keep being really complimentary about your bullies' physical looks, and this does not in any way undermine the hurt they've done to you or your resentment thereof, but it does muddy the waters a little bit as to whether resentment is the only thing you're feeling

The back-and-forth actually feels so refreshing compared to every previous interaction with the bullies, like. My god. Did Taylor just have to rob a bank to get the confidence she needs to not worry about these fuckers? I never thought that John Dillinger therapy would take off but maybe there's a future in that

Better the devil in plain sight than the devil you can't see at all.

John Dillinger therapy! This is what I'm talking about! Let's go Taylor, show that inner strength! Shed the burden!

I mean hell, maybe, or maybe this is an upturn where she finally gets sure enough in herself to get these jerks off her back forever. We'll see how it plays out, right?

The idle speculation on Mr. Quinlan is a little wild but well in keeping with my own experiences. Sometimes teachers just passively generate rumors around them.

This one stupid bit about John Dillinger therapy keeps paying off, this is great, real joke investment opportunity

Honestly Taylor I think you can feel bad about it while also living with it, I'm not gonna pretend to be some expert on morality or philosophy or whatever but I feel like you're allowed a certain number of felonies after enough suffering in your life

Technically not a career boost for the Undersiders, at least not as far as public renown, but making your enemies look like clowns is just as good if not better. Like yeah, those tools on the other side are getting their pay docked because of that bigass hole in the roof of the bank, and you're way richer from the same event

Expanding our understanding of the city a bit more, and honestly this sounds dope as fuck. I'd love to visit every once in a while and just soak in the culture, although not if it meant living in Brockton Bay. That seems. Bad.

Ugh, these kids

Honestly I'm not quite this hardcore but damn if it isn't a mood. I've yet to see proof of Rachel being wrong

Yeah I know she had her dogs attack Taylor, Taylor's an aspiring snitch, it's okay to maul a snitch

I think I knew this part already but honestly I'm more excited to have Rachel lore than anything

I wonder how much leniency can be provided for crimes that happen in the immediate aftermath or because of a trigger event. Maybe not a ton, or maybe enough to get away with murder. I'd be curious to learn more about that, if it ever comes up.

And uhh, yeah, that'd fucking get you dead bodies alright. Wonder if that's why she's so hardcore about the training, making sure that never happens again. Entirely for the dogs' benefit, or only mostly and then there's some part of her that thrives with that kind of control?

Alec you cheeky little shit, you're endearing yourself to me

Honestly Taylor, just try and breathe easy for a little bit, I don't think you've been able to do that in over a year. Take your time, enjoy your walk on the wild side.

Maybe I'm biased but I love these two interacting on their own, so I'm fully in favor of this plan Lisa

Well I'm sure if Lisa ever killed anybody they deserved it, or if nothing else she arranged circumstances so that they ended up deserving it after some mild provocation

it's fiiiiiiiiine

Current Thoughts

This story has such good slice of life, I want more of it every time and every time I get cut off before I'm satisfied. Is that on purpose? If that's on purpose Wildbow might be a more sinister intelligence than I'd thought.

School segment was so blissfully short and Taylor managed to fight Emma to a standstill so this is a huge improvement over every other second she's spent at school

If Rachel ever kills anyone on purpose they deserved it, and if Rachel ever kills anyone on accident it's okay bc everyone makes mistakes

Honestly I'd be willing to accept any of these kids as having a good reason to render someone cadaverrific. Brian and Lisa have good heads on their shoulders and at this point I'm starting to suspect that the lazy gamer thing Alec has going on is like, at least partially a front for a deeper personality, and he's trying to be shallow on purpose, so idk what that means for him being a killer but I somehow doubt he's a fucking Hannibal Lecter type when we're not looking

...Actually come to think on it the only two members the Protectorate has info on is Grue and Bitch, right? Tattletale is an unknown and Regent has almost nothing about him. I'd suspect Grue to be the second killer but I'm not sure if that's a red herring.

Find out eventually, I guess.

...I might have another chapter in me before sacking out for the night. We'll see.

#parahumans #worm liveblogging #liveblog #worm shell #wormblr

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middlemistcs13 · 4 months ago

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Gingerbread Houses and Plays and Christmas! Oh My! Captain Swan Secret Santa 2024

For @whimsicallyenchantedrose! Surprise! I'm your Santa and here is, as promised, Part 1! Part 2 will be up within a week! I hope it suits your desire for canon and fluff! This is slightly canon divergent-Season 7 doesn't exist, Robin is still alive and well, and Emma and Killian did not wait as long to have Hope! I hope you enjoy!

Part of @cssecretsanta2020 for 2024!

Rating: G

Word Count: 4.6K

“I don't know Henry,” Emma said, unsure of her son's idea.

“Mom, it would be so much fun!” Henry protested.

“She's four, Henry.”

“And I'm seventeen. What's that got to do with anything?” Henry asked.

“She's just a little young to participate in that. How much could she really do, anyways?” Emma said, knowing damn well Hope could participate.

“Are you serious right now? She's so artistic and she loves helping in the kitchen. Especially with baking. There's no reason she can't make a gingerbread house.” Henry reasoned.

“But-”

“No. Buts. She can do it. You just don't want her to. Or do you not want to?” Henry asked, realizing his mom might be dragging her feet for another reason entirely.

“It's not that I don't want her to, it's just a lot of sugar for such a little body. And it's so messy,” Emma replied, finally finished with washing the dishes.

“Mom, all baking is messy to a degree. We'll just put out aluminum foil and it will be easier to clean up. Hope will help clean up too. I think she would love to make a gingerbread house.”

“I don't think I trust Killian not to make a mess and go overboard either,” Emma hesitated, still insisting against making gingerbread houses. Henry finished wiping down the kitchen table and counters, giving Emma a pointed look.

“Killian would love to make a gingerbread house. He'd go overboard, but it would be so fun. He'd like make the Jolly Roger or something. We'd have so much fun!” Henry said, excitement lacing his words. He was getting more excited about seeing what Killian would make than fighting for Hope to make a gingerbread house.

“A lot is going on right now, Henry. Christmas is coming up and we've got like 22 parties to attend or host, and I just don't think-” Emma started.

“Have you ever made a gingerbread house before?” Henry interrupted.

“What?!” Emma asked, startled by his bluntness.

“Have you ever made a gingerbread house before?” Henry repeated, slower this time. They were standing just a few feet apart near the kitchen sink.

“I heard what you said!”

“Then why did-” Henry began.

“No! Okay! Fine. I've never made a gingerbread house before. I don't know the first thing about it besides that those kits are expensive for no reason. I never lived with a family around Christmas where we made gingerbread houses, and I wasn't exactly in the position to request something so frivolous. I was lucky enough to have a bed and not be out in the cold. How am I supposed to teach Hope how to make a gingerbread house if I have no idea how to do it?” Emma finally elaborated, talking with her hands while tears lined her eyelids.

“Mom, why didn't you just say so? We could learn and help Hope and Killian too. I've only ever made one once, and that was last year with Roland. Mom didn't buy the kits for me growing up, she would just make some other desserts or whatever. I'm glad I had her, but Christmas was lonely with just Mom. I don't want Hope not to have memories just because I've never done it before. Where's your sense of adventure? Did going to Neverland and the Enchanted Forest and the Underworld really never prepare you for some gingerbread houses?” Henry asked, trying to make his mom see how ridiculous she was being right now. Emma had light tears running down her pink cheeks, smiling sadly at her son.

“I'm sorry I wasn't around to-”

“Stop, Mom. It's alright. Everything worked out like it should. I think we should try our hands at gingerbread houses. How bad could the Jones's really be at a baked house?”

“Fine. But if there's a giant mess, you're cleaning it up.” Emma agreed. They shared a quick hug before they were off for the day. Emma had to go to work at the Sheriff’s Station, and Henry had to go to school to take a fall semester final. Killian had left with Hope right after breakfast to take her to her preschool, and then Killian was going to work at the Sheriff’s Station as well.

-------CS-------

Later that day after his final, Henry met up with Killian for lunch at one of the small restaurants on the Storybrooke pier that sold locally caught seafood. Henry was excitedly telling Killian all about the tradition of making gingerbread houses.

“How do the walls and ceilings of these homes stay upright? Are the pieces of this gingerbread soft and moist?” Killian questioned.

“Literally never say “moist” again.” Henry chided his stepfather.

“Why not? It's a great adjective to describe other things. The moist air, the moist oatmeal, the moist pork roast, the moist-”

“Stop! It's literally the grossest possible word to describe something with. Just say ‘wet’” Henry said, contorting his face to visually display his disgust.

“You are quite dramatic lad. It's just descriptive terminology.”

“Oh my God you're the oldest person alive!” Henry nearly whined.

“Well, quite possibly besides your grandfather on your father's side. He's several centuries older than-” Killian said.

“It was a figure of speech, Killian,” Henry replied. There was never a dull moment with Killian. “And anyways, no, the gingerbread pieces are hard. You use frosting or icing to stick the pieces together. You also decorate it with icing and you can add little pieces of candy, sprinkles, chocolate chips, gumdrops, candy canes, edible glitter or-”

“Edible glitter? What a horrid invention. Why would one want to ingest that creation of Hades!” Everyone knew that Killian hated glitter, which became especially apparent when his beloved daughter had quite a talent for art and enjoyed glitter as an accessory to her art.

“It's just something people use on gingerbread houses. We don't have to get any. It's just something that exists. So, are you in?” Henry asked.

“In? If my wife, daughter, and son are involved, then yes I'm in,” Killian replied. “I just have one further question.”

“Shoot.” Henry said, ready for another ridiculous rampage about the English language and the ‘teenage vernacular’ as Killian loved to call it.

“Does one have to create a house?” Killian smirked.

-------CS-------

Emma was tired. It was the Christmas Season, and she hadn’t seen her Mom so excited about anything until it was December and time for Christmas. Snow had planned out seemingly the entire month of December. Between their family get-togethers with different parts of the family, the Storybrooke tradition of a holiday party at the town hall, and Christmas shopping and decorating- they were busy. Emma had another excuse altogether to be tired, and she was determined not to ruin the surprise and let her parents know early. Killian and Henry helped plan the perfect opportunity to tell her parents that Emma and Killian were expecting their second child at the end of Spring. Emma would be over four months pregnant by the time it was Christmas, and she had been so careful not to show signs of tiredness or morning sickness in front of her parents. Luckily it was winter, so she’d been able to bundle up with oversized sweaters, sweatshirts, and jackets to prevent her nosy mother, or the rest of the meddling town, from realizing that she was showing.

“Emma!” Someone called her name from her side, ending her musings. She looked to her left to see Belle walking up.

“Hey Belle! How are you?” Emma greeted, happy to see Belle. In the last several years, Belle had really blossomed. Motherhood suited her well, and she loved Gideon more than anything. Gideon loved playing with the other children all related to Emma somehow or another. Gideon and Emma's younger brother Neal were close, as there was only a two year age gap between them. Neal was 10 now, and Gideon was 8. They also enjoyed playing with Zelena’s daughter Robin, who was nearly seven. Hope was a little younger than them at 4, but she still tried to join in when all the kids were together. Mostly Hope played with Emma's younger sister, Margaret Ruth. “Ruthie” as she was lovingly called by some of the kids, was a year younger than Hope. They might as well be twins for as much as they are together. Ruthie had dark black hair like their mother, and Hope had Emma's blonde curls, but the girls were clearly related. Emma was standing outside the preschool entrance of the elementary school because it was her day to pick up Hope and Ruth from preschool before walking around to the elementary entrance and picking up Neal. Emma typically ran into Belle, Zelena, or Regina while picking up the kids, so it was not at all odd that Belle was standing in front of Emma.

“I'm doing good! We have been planning like crazy for Santa's visit to the library happening tomorrow. After ‘Santa’ reads the kids' group a Christmas book, all the kids in attendance can take their picture with Santa. We still have a few more finishing touches, but I think we are ready to go other than that. Gideon and I are heading back to the library to finish up.” Belle explained. Despite the stress of her event, Belle looked energized and excited. Emma wished she felt half as energized as Belle looked. “How are you doing?” Belle asked.

“I'm alright. Just tired from everything going on right now. I mean between working and Hope being a toddler and Christmas gatherings and gift wrapping and ugh. It's just a lot right now. But I'm glad to hear your event at the library sounds like it will be smooth sailing!” Emma said as enthusiastically as she could manage.

“It is a busy time, and I am so glad I don't have a toddler on my hands! Gideon has been a lot of help around the library and at home. Are you still planning on stopping by with Hope at the library tomorrow?”

“Well, kind of. Hope and Killian will be stopping by, and I think my dad and Margaret Ruth are coming as well. I'm at the station all day tomorrow so I might be able to stop by, but Killian is for sure bringing Hope.” Emma explained.

“That sounds lovely! I'm excited to have the girls there!” Belle finished right before Hope's voice stopped the women's conversation.

“Mama! Hi! I missed you today!” Hope excitedly yelled while running towards Emma.

“Be careful little love! We don't need you falling and hurting yourself!” Emma said, genuinely thrilled to see her daughter. Hope threw herself in her mother's arms and Emma hugged her close to her chest. “Hey sweet girl,” Emma murmured in her daughter's soft curls. “I missed you too.”

“Emmy!” Margaret Ruth called, prompting Emma to put Hope down and embrace her sister.

“Hey Ruthie, how was your day at school?” Emma greeted the toddler.

“Good! We makes some ornaments for da twees! Our faces on dem!” Ruthie said, excited to tell her big sister all about her class’s craft.

“Oh, your picture is on the ornaments you made? Mommy and Daddy are going to love that Ruthie girl.” Emma said, taking both girls by the hand before walking with Belle towards the elementary school entrance. The preschool was released about 10 minutes earlier than the elementary school, which gave parents of kids in both grades time to get their kids. The girls were both excitedly telling the women about their school day, and before long, Gideon and Neal came barreling out of the school doors and headed straight to the women.

“Hey, Ems! Ruthie! Hopey!” Neal called before embracing all three in hugs. Despite their age difference, Neal loved Emma and the two were close. Neal also loved Henry and followed him around wherever Henry went. “Hey, Mrs. Belle!” Neal greeted.

“Hey Neal, it's good to see you. Behave for your sister this afternoon!” Belle said before the Gold's said their goodbyes and headed off toward the library. Emma, Hope, Margaret Ruth, and Neal all headed towards Emma's house.

“After snack when we get home, I think Henry wanted to practice the play with you guys. Aunt Regina will drop off Roland and Robin in a bit so you guys can practice. Gideon has to help his Mom today, but he'll be back to practicing soon.” Emma said, trying to prepare the kids for play practice.

Henry had this grand idea that the kids of their family should reenact a story from one of their adventures in front of the entire family on Christmas Eve night at Regina and Robin's house. Henry was using this opportunity for his senior project for school. He was using his storytelling abilities through writing, directing, working with children, artistic design, and theatre for his project, and he was determined that they would be ready, toddlers and all, by Christmas Eve where he would film the performance and submit it in the spring semester. They had started practicing last week, and none of the parents complained about free babysitting during the busiest time of the year.

-------CS-------

“Emmy! Emmy! Emmy!” Emma woke with a start, her little sister's hands on her arm. Emma took in her surroundings and saw that she was on her couch in her living room, and there seemed to be no apparent enemy or villain or situation wrong.

“What's wrong Margaret Ruth?” Emma asked, wiping sleep from her eyes. She didn't even remember sitting on the couch, let alone falling asleep.

“I had an accident! I ti-ti-ed in my pull-up!” Margaret Ruth said, panic on her face.

“It's alright! We'll get you cleaned up and in a new pull-up. Come on kid,” Emma pulled her sister towards the hall bath and got her cleaned up. As Emma was helping her on the step stool to wash her hands, her sister spoke up.

“Why you sweepy, Emmy?”

“I don't know, kid. I'm just really tired.” Emma replied, trying to end the conversation. Her little sister, however, was exactly like their mother and was not about to let something go.

“Did you not go to bed when Mommy said so?” Margaret Ruth questioned.

“Remember I'm a big girl. Mommy doesn't tell me when to go to sleep because I live in my own house.” Emma answered.

“You live here with Uncle Kilwy and Henwy and Hope!” Margaret Ruth responded.

“That's right. And since I'm a big girl and I don't live with Mommy and Daddy, they don't tell me what to do or when to go to bed. When you are a big girl and you live in your own place, you won't have to listen to Mommy and Daddy anymore either” Emma explained.

“But you still listen to Mommy,” the toddler said as she finished wiping her hands on the hand towel with Emma's help.

“Not all the time,” Emma said, thrown off that her sister would call out her listening skills.

“Mhmm! When Mommy says you have to come to our house, you do! When Mommy says to pick me up from school, you do! When Mommy says to make pasta for dinner, you do! You listen to Mommy all the time!” Margaret Ruth exclaimed, using her hands for emphasis. Emma stared at the child realizing that she does listen a lot to their mother. Before Emma could continue this conversation, there was a knock on the door.

“Who do you think that is, Ruthie?” Emma asked, walking towards her front door.

“Mommy!” She said, running towards the door.

“Don't open that until I see who it is!” Emma warned. Upon seeing that their guest was, in fact, their mother, Emma unlocked the door and opened it to reveal Snow standing on the front porch, cheeks rosy from the cold.

“Mommy!” Ruth cried again, leaping into their mother's arms.

“Ruthie! It's my two girls!” Snow said, before stepping inside and embracing Emma in a hug too. “How are you, honey?” Snow asked the toddler.

“Emmy was asweep Mommy!” Ruthie said, telling on her older sister.

“Asleep?” Snow said, giving Emma a questioning look.

“I just dozed off on the couch for a few minutes while the kids were downstairs with Henry. Ruthie is convinced that I didn't go to bed when you told me to last night,” Emma said, smiling playfully at her younger sister.

“Emma doesn't go to bed when I tell her, honey. She's a big girl. She goes to bed whenever she wants. Maybe she was too busy to go to bed early last night, Ruth,” Snow said, giving Emma a pointed look.

“Mom!” Emma said, cheeks reddening at her mother's implications.

“Why were you busy, Emmy?” her sister questioned innocently.

“I wasn't!” Emma said sharply. Luckily, Henry called for Margaret Ruth to come back downstairs so they could practice the play one more time today. The little girl leaped out of their mother's arms before heading downstairs. Although her sister was gone, Snow's pointed eyebrow raise and smirk were another battle entirely.

“What?” Emma asked her mother.

“Why were you asleep?” Snow asked.

“I told you. I was tired, so I dozed off for a few minutes while the kids were downstairs,” Emma said.

“But that's not like you. Why were you so tired?” Snow pushed.

“Mom, it's Christmas. I have a toddler. I guess I didn't sleep well last night. Why are you making a big deal about this?”

“I have a toddler too. Why don't you just drink some coffee to wake you up?” Snow said, watching Emma's facial expressions closely.

“I don't drink a lot of coffee,” Emma said evenly, not falling that easily into her mother's trap.

“Emma, dear, what's going on?”

“Nothing. I'm tired. It's a normal feeling. I'll make sure I go to bed early tonight.” Emma replied.

“Were you up too late making pancakes?” Snow asked bluntly.

“Mom! No. Would you stop!” Emma said, cheeks heating up again.

“Come on, Emma! We can talk about these things!” Snow pleaded.

“No, we cannot! You are my mother. I am not talking to my mother about my intimate relationship with my husband! This has never been something I want to talk to you about!” Emma said, slightly annoyed that her mother still didn’t get the picture.

“But we were friends first! We've talked about this stuff before!”

“Yeah, before I knew you were my mother and David was my father! Now, I don't want to hear about your relationship, and I don't want to talk about mine!” Emma snapped quietly, knowing the kids were just down a flight of stairs from their PG-13 conversation in the kitchen. The front door opened abruptly, quieting the women as their husbands walked through the front door in an animated discussion. David and Killian were excitedly engaged in some conversation that sounded suspiciously like gingerbread making.

“Dad! Great. Glad you're here. Please, please! Take your wife home. Oh, and your kids. But mostly your wife.” Emma said, giving her father a pointed look that meant Snow had gone too far with something.

“Hey, Emma. Glad to see you too, sweetheart,” David replied, giving his daughter a quick hug before embracing his wife. Killian hung his coat up and slipped off his boots before he made his way towards Emma, enveloping her in a hug that warmed Emma's soul.

“Hi, love. It’s good to see you” Killian commented, running his hand absentmindedly up and down his wife’s back. Emma cuddled closer to Killian but kept a wary eye on her mother, afraid she would again bring up Emma’s tiredness or Emma’s relationship in the bedroom. The last thing she wanted was to talk to her Dad of all people about anything involving her intimate time with Killian besides surprising David with a third grandchild.

Before Snow could bring up anything about Emma, Henry and the kids came up the stairs, with Henry telling the children he was proud of them for their hard work. Before she had rounded the top stair completely, Hope had seen Killian and bounded towards him, cuddling herself in his arms when he bent down to pick her up. Margaret Ruth and Neal headed for their parents, but Neal couldn't help from stealing a hug from Killian, and another from Emma. Roland and Robin headed out the door with goodbyes as they walked home. The Charmings were quickly out the door, and then it was just Emma, Killian, Henry, and Hope in the Swan-Jones household. Henry began animatedly telling his parents and sister how the play practice was going. He wouldn't give up the specific adventure that was being reenacted, but he did say it was going well and he was excited for them to see it all together at Regina's house on Christmas Eve.

“That's a fortnight away, lad. Do you think all the children will be ready by then?” Killian asked as he prepared dinner for the family.

“I think so. It will be better once Gideon can come back and play in his role” Henry said after pondering his stepfather's question.

“Why wasn't Gideon over today?” Killian questioned.

“Oh! Babe, the Santa library book reading thing!” Emma said, forgetting the name of Belle's event.

“The library book reading thing?” Killian asked, confused by his wife's description.

“The event Belle is hosting at the Storybrooke Library. Santa is going to read a story to the kids' book club then there will be pictures with Santa after. I was going to take Hope, but tomorrow I'm working all day. I told Belle you would take Hope, and that Dad would take Margaret Ruth.” Emma elaborated.

“Ah, yes. Belle was telling me about this event just the other day. I had forgotten what day it was. Very well, the little pirate and I will venture over to the library as soon as school gets out tomorrow,” Killian replied.

“Oh! That reminds me, I need to tell Dad the plan. Let me call him right quick!” Emma said. She walked out of the room to call her father, while Killian just shook his head and smiled good-naturedly.

“Your mother's more scatterbrained than usual,” Killian mused aloud, making sure to be broad enough that his daughter wouldn't pick up on why her mother was scatterbrained.

“Yeah, and not telling Grandma and Grandpa is slowly killing her. Margaret Ruth found her asleep on the couch earlier and told all the kids about how ‘Emmy’ was asleep and that she was too busy to go to sleep early last night,” Henry told Killian.

“Gods, your grandparents could still figure it out yet. I think Emma would be crushed if they found out before we told them. She's been trying so hard to hide everything from them” Killian responded. Emma was back in the kitchen before long, and the family enjoyed their quiet evening together before Emma did, in fact, go to bed early.

-------CS-------

“David! It's good to see you mate!” Killian said across the schoolyard. The men were waiting for their preschoolers to get out of school so they could go to Belle's event at the library.

“Hey Killian! You too. How was this morning at the sheriff's station?” David responded.

“Slow. Just a few citations for illegal parking, but nothing crazy. I am thankful for the slow days,” Killian replied just as the doors to the school opened and some preschoolers came running out. Hope and Margaret Ruth came towards the men, both excitedly greeting their fathers.

“Hi Grandpa! I saw Grandma today in the lunchroom! She gave me a hug!” Hope excitedly explained.

“That's awesome sweetheart. I'm so glad you got to see her today. Are you two ready to see Mrs. Belle at the library?” David greeted his granddaughter.

“Yes!” Both girls squealed. The four headed towards the library, with the two girls hand-in-hand a few steps ahead of the men.

“So, Killian, how's Emma been doing?”

“Emma is fine. You saw her last night, Dave,” Killian responded evenly.

“Well, I know I saw her, but how is she actually?” David inquired.

“She's actually fine,” Killian mimicked.

“No, listen, Snow was telling me last night that she's concerned about Emma. Said she was really tired recently and even fell asleep yesterday afternoon and Margaret Ruth woke her up. It's just unusual behavior for our girl who seems to be constantly running and always on the go,” David elaborated.

“Oh, you needn't worry, mate. Emma's just tired because we've been staying up later than usual wrapping presents and decorating the house for the holidays. Emma's just worried about making it a good Christmas for Hope since she will probably remember this Christmas. We've been putting Hope to bed and then wrapping presents together in the evenings. It's just a busy time.”

“So, you're sure she's alright? I mean Snow brought up that her appetite has been weird and fluctuating and she's been irritable and short with people. We're just worried parents,” David replied.

“A few weeks back Emma had a sinus cold, which was affecting her eating patterns. She's been stressed about Christmas and holiday gatherings and such, so that's probably why she's appeared short-tempered. I assure you, mate, Emma is in perfect health. And if something was truly wrong, you know I would tell you and Snow.” Killian said, trying desperately to dodge the Prince’s questions and assure him that Emma was fine. That wasn't a lie. Emma truly was fine and healthy. They’d been to their OBGYN out of Storybrooke to check on the baby, and everything was progressing smoothly. Killian was honestly shocked they'd both been able to get away for an afternoon or morning under the radar with no further inquiries from Snow.

“I guess you're right. I know you take care of her, more than I could have asked for. I believe if something wasn't right, you would have already told us. It's just - you know how Snow is. She's -”

“A meddler?”

“Well, yeah. She's-”

“Overly concerned about things that are not her business?” Killian jested.

“Hey! Well, she can sometimes be overly concerned about things. She just didn't get the chance to be Emma's mother for 28 years. She is trying to make up for lost time and can sometimes be a bit overbearing and dramatic.”

“I know, mate. Now that I have a daughter of my own, I don't know what I'd do with myself if I lost the opportunity to watch her grow up and raise her for 28 years. I can't imagine how difficult it has been for you both. I know I speak for Emma too when I say that we are thankful to have you both in our lives, and I know she's glad her mother cares so much. It can sometimes be a bit much, that's all.” Killian said seriously, making sure to look his father-in-law in the eyes when telling him how both he and Emma felt.

“Thank you, Killian. It means a lot. I'll try to calm Snow down and reassure her she doesn’t have to ask Emma about her tiredness. Heaven knows I'm exhausted just from having a toddler, let alone it also being almost Christmas!” David replied before the four of them were at the doors of the library and were welcomed inside by Belle dressed as a Christmas Elf. She excitedly greeted the girls inside, helped them find a seat up front, and managed the entire event with grace. Belle truly showed the town how important it is for Storybrooke to embrace the Christmas spirit by giving, being kind to each other, and spending quality time with loved ones.

#captain swan #emma swan #killian jones #once upon a time #ouat #captain hook #captain swan secret santa #csss2024 #cs fluff #fluff #christmas #christmas fluff #christmas fic #cs family fluff #cs fanfic #csgiftexchange

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spartanguard · 1 year ago

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when Emma falls in love [from the vault]

Summary: When Emma falls in love, I know that boy will never be the same | When she came to Storybrooke, finding love was the farthest thing from Emma's mind. Until she started to get to know Ian, the bartender down at the Rabbit Hole. A crush is the last thing she needs—not when she's in the middle of a murder investigation and her son keeps talking about curses. Or maybe it's exactly what both of them need. [Inspired by "When Emma Falls In Love" by Taylor Swift] A/N: This is the next in my series of fics inspired by Taylor Swift's vault tracks (mostly from Speak Now (Taylor's Version), but there will be more!). Wanted to post this before we all died from TTPD tomorrow ;) I think this is also my favorite of the ones I've written so far; hope you like it, too! And, as always, thank you to @optomisticgirl for being the best beta ever. rated T | 6.2k words | AO3

When the door swung open, Emma was half expecting it to be someone from downstairs yelling at her to stop her pacing; too many years living in crappy apartments had done that to her. But it was just Mary Margaret, coming home from work.

That said— “Uh, you okay? If you pace any harder, you’re gonna wear a hole in the floor,” her roommate remarked.

“Ugh, sorry,” Emma answered, taking a seat at one of the barstools at the counter. “It was that or attacking the toaster again.”

“You didn’t get fired again, did you?” Mary Margaret asked as she set a bag of groceries on the counter. “‘Cause last I checked, you were your own boss.”

Emma scoffed. “No; just…other stuff.” She swallowed. “Boy stuff?” (She wasn’t sure why she said it like it was a question, other than the fact that she’d never been one to talk about relationships or anything—never had anyone she could talk to about that, so she wasn’t sure if this was the right way to start.)

“Well, that’s convenient,” Mary Margaret said, and reached into the paper sack. “I bought wine,” she finished, pulling out a cheap screw-top bottle of rosé.

“Might need more than that.”

“Good thing I got two,” she answered, producing another.

They curled up at opposite ends of the couch, not even bothering with wine glasses. After a few (hefty) sips, Mary Margaret looked at her pointedly and Emma was suddenly very aware of why her students respected her so much. “Okay. Spill.”

Emma sighed, but obliged. “Okay, you know the bartender down at the Rabbit Hole?”

“Not well, but I know who he is. Ian, right?”

“Yeah, Ian Johnson. He, uh…I mean, I…” She hummed. “I think I like him.”

“Oh my god, you sound like one of my fifth graders,” Mary Margaret replied. “You’re attracted to him? Or maybe a little more?”

Emma took another pull from her bottle. “Maybe a lot more.”

“I sense a ‘but’ coming.”

(His ass was fantastic, but that was beside the point.) “But…you know how I am. My history. It hasn’t really been that long since Graham…” She still had a hard time saying died.

“I know,” Mary Margaret said softly. “No one says you have to rush into anything. But if you’re feeling something, it doesn’t hurt to pursue it. Especially if he seems to reciprocate.”

Well, that was her other conundrum, wasn’t it: did he? Much like her, he wasn’t really prone to showing emotion—not noticeably, at least; he wore an air of apathy as well as he did his dark-wash jeans. In fact, she didn’t give him much thought after she first met him—when she’d been called to the bar to drag Leroy to the drunk tank on one of her first overnight shifts as a deputy.

She’d definitely seen him, though; Ian was certainly easy on the eyes—perfectly disheveled hair above light blue eyes, just the right amount of gingery stubble, and a hint of chest hair visible through the open vee of his appropriately tight henley—but her thoughts towards him didn’t go deeper than the surface. She also hadn’t missed the quick once-over he gave her, though she couldn’t tell if it was in appreciation or merely assessment.

It wasn’t until her following visit (Leroy’s next trip to the station’s overnight accommodations) that he did more than hum at her, but there was very little effort in the casual pickup line he threw at her (and she did her damnedest to ignore the lilt of his foreign accent).

She knew his kind—or so she thought: the type of asshole who hid behind a pretty face and a quick come-on and that was all it took to get into a girl’s pants. Frankly, that was something she’d fallen for a few too many times, but not here—not in Storybrooke. Not when Regina was constantly looking for a reason to send her out of town (even if she won that sheriff election fair and square, Gold’s involvement notwithstanding) or limit her time with Henry.

It wasn’t until the first time she got a call at the bar after Graham died that she exchanged more than passing pleasantries with him. Ian wasn’t the first to express his condolences, but he was the first to say, “It’s just not fair.” That was exactly how she felt, too. And that’s when things started to shift between them.

(Apparently, he and Graham went way back—he didn’t specify how far, but it sounded like a while, the kind of vague forever that seemed prevalent in such a small town. Graham had helped him out of a few scrapes, and vice versa. “He was a good man,” Ian had concluded. “Seems those always go too soon.” It felt like there was more to go with that statement, but then “Only the Good Die Young” had come on the jukebox and it was a little too on the nose and she had to get out of there.)

But it really took a turn the night he intervened while she was breaking up a bar fight, getting in the way of a drunken punch meant for her and taking it in the cheek instead. (That was also the night she finally noticed his left arm ended not in a hand, but a prosthesis, as she made the assailant wait in the squad car while she put together an ice pack for Ian’s face; she also found out that night that he mixed a mean whiskey sour.)

So they were…she wasn’t sure if they could really say “friends” after that—not quite a team, either; allies, maybe? Whatever it was, it was definitely something she needed.

She started to run into him at Granny’s after that. The first time, she was getting her morning coffee before heading into the station; he was getting some tea before heading home after closing the bar. Then they’d see each other at lunch hour; if the diner was full, they shared a booth. But then that became something of a habit, too, on the days he didn’t close and she didn’t work overnight (though they eventually started another of sharing a drink at the end of their late-night shifts).

Admittedly, it was a little awkward at first; Emma had never been great at the whole small-talk thing (and even worse at the making-friends thing)—but on the bright side, so was he. She found out little things, like when a favorite song would come on (“Behind Blue Eyes” was up there, unsurprisingly/heartbreakingly), or when she’d ask for a liquor recommendation (rum—always rum). She let slip at one point how much she enjoyed Motown, and he quickly picked up on her hot chocolate order.

More solid information came to light later; as she’d guessed, he was a loner, too—no family left, and had drifted around England and the US until he ended up in Storybrooke, somehow. He made an appreciative comment about her being a fellow jailbird over a beat-up copy of that awful article in the Mirror, but his face fell when she mentioned how old she’d been—a rare emotional moment for him. (But not as intense as when she’d commented on the tattoo on his forearm late one night, and the unmistakable look of loss took over; all they could do at that point was make a toast to living through heartbreak.)

It was…she didn’t want to say easy, but it was nice—there were no expectations, no responsibilities. Just the pleasure of each other’s company, and a sense of kindred comraderie.

She was also aware, but ignoring the fact, that the less she knew, the better. There was less chance that he was lying to her or holding something back; less chance for him to get disappointed in who she was. (Less chance to be hurt.)

“He does, right?” Mary Margaret’s question dragged her back to the present.

Which brought Emma to the downside of being attracted to someone whose walls abutted hers: it was hard to get a read on what was going on in his head, especially when he wasn’t outwardly expressive (more than when they first met, but it was still rare). All she could do was shrug at her roommate and take another pull of wine.

“Yeah, he’s always come off as kind of aloof,” Mary Margaret agreed. “Not altogether unfeeling—more like, not a lot?”

Emma was the last person to make any comments there. What was it she’d said to Graham? “Not feeling anything is an attractive option when what you're feeling sucks.” They both had reason enough for that.

“But it looks like you’ve gotten closer to him than anyone in a while,” her roommate went on, “and vice versa?”

“More or less,” Emma conceded. “Present company notwithstanding.”

“I’m honored. And you know what I say about hope,” she answered.

Emma did, but wasn’t sure she was ready to say she was that far in. She extended the end of her bottle to Mary Margaret, who clinked her own against it in solidarity.

By the end of the night, she had no further clarity on the situation and the beginnings of a hangover. Maybe she was overthinking it—or maybe it wasn’t even worth overthinking; it’s not like these things ever worked out in her favor anyway.

But…she did keep thinking about hope.

———.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.———

Her friends eventually dragged her out to the Rabbit Hole for a girls’ night. They’d cited the fact that she missed all the excitement on Valentine’s Day, with Ashley’s engagement, so she needed to make up for it.

Despite still being new to the whole having-female-friends thing (having any friends, really), she had fun. Ian poured the drinks strong and sent more than a few small, sideways grins her way as he watched her dance with the others. She was hoping her subsequent blush could be blamed on exertion or alcohol, except—

“Oh my god,” Ruby yelled at her as they returned to their booth for a refreshment. “Just go screw him already.”

“Excuse me?”

“You’ve been eye-fucking the bartender all night! Go do something about it!”

Well, now her cheeks surely matched her bright red dress—and, to make it worse (or better, Ruby would probably say), when she glanced over at Ian a moment later to see if he’d heard, he was smirking and raised an eyebrow as soon as she caught his eye.

(They hadn’t crossed that line yet but—it had been close. She’d been all too aware of the proximity of their lips when she was helping him shut down last week and they’d collided in the back hall—her hands on his firm chest, his coming to her waist, the dart of her eyes to his mouth—she’d basically sprinted out of there.)

There was definitely an itch to scratch, but she wasn’t about to go there with him. Because she knew, with him, it would be so much more than that. (And if he didn’t reciprocate…that would be even worse.)

“So I hear you’ve been hanging out with the bartender,” Regina asked her one day after she dropped Henry off at the mayor’s house.

Emma shrugged. “I guess,” she answered, downplaying whatever it was they had—if only because she had a feeling Regina would find a way to weaponize it.

(Also, he was good with Henry—like, really good, maybe even better than she was. For someone who didn’t appear to care much about…anything, he always seemed to brighten and engage so much more around her kid whenever they ran into him at Granny’s. He even indulged Henry’s theories about the “curse”, but her son hadn’t decided who Ian was in this supposed other life. Emma didn’t have any ideas, either, if only because that meant Ian was the one person safe from Henry’s childlike scrutiny.)

“Even with everything he’s done?”

That got her attention. “What has he done?”

“More like what hasn’t he done; you’re the sheriff—you could look up his rap sheet. He’s got some blood on those hands—well, hand. Has he even mentioned how that happened?”

“No,” Emma said stiffly. “He hasn’t.”

“I don’t suppose he’s mentioned anything about his ex either, then. Who was married.”

“Uh, no.”

“Well, maybe you should look into it—so you can be aware of just who you’re allowing around my son.”

The mayor pointedly closed the door at that, leaving Emma alone with her thoughts—never a good combination. She was mulling it over on the drive to the station—how much did she actually believe what Regina was saying?

But her curiosity was too piqued to let it rest. She felt like the biggest asshole, but after she got settled for the start of her shift, she ended up in the records room, particularly in front of the drawer labeled H–J.

As much as she didn’t want to—she had to know. She slid the drawer open and dug through the folders, until she found the one near the back labeled Johnson, Ian Brennan.

It was thick. His ‘jailbird’ comment from a while back returned to her; she thought he’d been joking at the time.

She didn’t look inside until she was in her office, with the door shut—not that she expected any visitors, least of all him (he was working anyways), but she still felt like she was doing something wrong, even if she had perfectly legal access to these files.

She took a deep breath and flipped it open.

Ian was glaring at her from the photo paper-clipped to the stack of forms—a bit younger, a bit angrier than the man she knew, with a fire in those blue eyes she’d never seen, even from behind a layer of guyliner and shaggy bangs.

Beneath it, typed out, it listed his name, birthdate (although the year was smudged beyond recognition), that he was born in England, and a charge for drunk driving.

The next sheet: illegal possession of a firearm.

The next several that followed included a handful of drug-related charges, mostly involving the transporting of them.

The last page said manslaughter.

She slammed the folder shut and threw it in the empty bottom drawer of her desk.

In vain, she tried to pretend she hadn’t seen it. Maybe someone planted it there? She wouldn’t put it past Regina, though as to why, she couldn’t guess. The comments about an affair, though—she’d done the whole dating-a-married-guy thing; it hadn’t ended well, but it still wasn’t something she was keen on.

For the next week or so, she managed to avoid him—took all her Granny’s orders to go; sent Ruby to deal with anything at the bar; and one time, ran down an alley when she saw him coming the opposite way down the sidewalk. (She didn’t say she was mature about it…or subtle.)

When she got home later that week, there were two bottles of rosé on the counter again. “My turn,” Mary Margaret said, handing one over.

Was infidelity just a thing here? Because now her roommate was dealing with it, too. Emma’s opinion of David wasn’t the highest at the moment—he couldn’t string her best friend along and stay with his wife—but the longer Mary Margaret pursued this, the more heartache it was gonna cause.

“Thanks for talking to me about it,” she said, halfway through the bottle. “What about you? How are things with Ian?”

Emma took a long, long drink.

“Gotcha,” Mary Margaret said knowingly.

———.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.———

It came to a head when she was in the station one morning, having arrived to her shift early in order to avoid seeing him at the diner. She was dealing with some paperwork when she heard the front door open. “In here,” she called out, assuming it was Regina telling her off for something she hadn’t done right. Footsteps approached. “What would you like to yell at me about today, Madam Mayor?” she asked sarcastically.

“I hadn’t planned on yelling, but I did want to ask why you’ve been avoiding me.”

Oh shit. Ian was there in the doorway, a coffee cup and bag from Granny’s in his hand, and a serious set in his stare.

“I haven’t,” she lied, then turned back to the computer screen (not that it was doing anything—it still ran Windows 98, after all). “I’ve just been busy.”

“See, I’m actually quite perceptive,” he replied, then stepped forward to set the foodstuffs on the corner of her desk. “And this? This is avoiding.”

She closed her eyes and sighed. “Yeah,” she had to admit. They’d always been honest with each other, even if they’d clearly withheld some things. And given how poorly her attempted lie a moment ago went, it would be dumb to try to again.

“What is it, love? Did I do something wrong?”

She opened her eyes to look up at him, and regretted it—he looked genuinely hurt. What she was about to do probably wouldn’t help.

Staying seated, she bent down to open the bottom drawer on her desk, and then pulled out his file. Then she carefully set it in front of her.

He immediately recognized it, she could tell. “Ah.”

“I’m sorry; I was talking to Regina and she said some things and—curiosity got the best of me.”

“I see.”

She couldn’t tell if he was angry or hurt—or both—but either way, she felt like an ass. May as well throw fuel on the fire. “She mentioned something about your ex, too—specifically, her marital status.”

“She did, did she?” His words were suddenly emotionless.

“Is…is that all you’re gonna say?” she eventually asked quietly.

He blinked slowly, as when he opened his eyes, they were just a bit duller—a bit more reserved. (That was worse than anything else she’d seen recently.)

“What else needs to be said, Swan?” he shrugged. “You apparently have all you need to know right there, between that and whatever the mayor has told you.”

His gaze settled somewhere near the floor and silence stretched uncomfortably between them. Even louder to her, though, was the fact he was just…accepting it.

“Seriously?” she snapped. “You’re not gonna defend yourself, or fight back at whatever is incorrect in my assumptions?”

He furrowed his brow. “What good would it do?”

“Show me you give a crap!” she shouted, standing so fast it sent her rolling chair sliding into the wall. “Because I’m trying to figure out whatever the hell this is,” she went on, gesturing between them, “but I can’t tell if you actually care or not.”

Finally, something steely settled in his gaze.

“Not feeling anything is an attractive option when what you’re feeling sucks,” he stated, plainly but pointedly.

She swallowed at the recitation of what she once had said to Graham. She already knew she wasn’t the first sheriff to strike up a friendship with him, but she was probably the only one Ian had thrown their own words back at.

“Yeah, but that doesn’t make it go away,” she countered.

“If you do it long enough, it does.”

“And then what? You just never feel anything for the rest of your life?” God, Mary Margaret was really rubbing off on her—though that didn’t mean her calling him out wasn’t a little hypocritical.

“It had been working well for me.”

“Fine then,” she spat. “You can go back to your lonely existence and I’ll fuck off to mine and we’ll just leave it at that.” She crossed her arms and curled in on herself; she was definitely pouting, but the alternative was flopping back in her seat and crying.

His face relaxed, almost going the other way into a frown. “Bloody hell, that’s not what—no, love, I—I just thought you knew me better than that,” he admitted, almost apologetically.

“Well, apparently I don’t,” she parroted back. “I’m wondering if I know anything about you. This is some serious shit, Ian.”

“And I thought you of all people might understand that,” he said matter-of-factly. “I remember the headlines after you arrived in town; just because you have a badge now doesn’t mean you’ve always been on the right side of the law, either.”

“I’m not pretending I didn’t!”

“Neither am I. I just don’t go broadcasting it, given that I still have the option not to.”

“Yeah, I don’t think I’d be telling people I killed someone either.”

“I—” He started to talk, but then closed his mouth and clenched his jaw. After taking a deep breath, he said, “Not that I really need to, but can I tell you the full story? Before you completely write me off?”

She nodded, but held back what she was really thinking: that she didn’t want him to write himself off.

“I did get into some bad shit,” he started. “My brother was gone, my ex had just died, and I was suddenly an amputee, so I was alone and spiraling. Fell in with the wrong crowd—classic story. Got in deep with a drug ring, and then I got caught. Killed a member of a warring cartel in the process. But, by some miracle, I had a great lawyer. They got a few of the charges thrown out for lack of evidence and I reached a plea deal on the others, along with a heavily reduced sentence for my cooperation in taking down much of the rest of the ring. Did my time, now I’m here. And I regret it every day.”

“Damn.” That was heavier than expected.

“Aye.” He scratched nervously behind his ear. “Anything else?”

She chewed her bottom lip; she was nervous to ask, but she had to. “So, your ex…”

“My ex was married when we met. But it wasn’t a happy marriage. And I didn’t lure her away, or whatever may have been said—she ran off with me. But I loved her, so I went with it. Until her husband found us and went mad. Tried to cut off my hand; stabbed her. Doctors had to take it the rest of the way off,” he explained, raising his prosthesis. “Add that to the list of reasons why I fell in with the wrong people.”

Fuck. “Yeah, that’ll do it.”

“Indeed.” He toyed with the fingers on his false hand for a moment, and then looked back up at her. “But Swan, why couldn’t you just ask me that? Rather than take the word of a woman who we’ve all seen lie to you—to everyone—before.”

She swallowed. “Because I couldn’t take the chance I was wrong about you.”

“Were you?”

It took her by surprise. “Was I what?”

“Were you wrong about me?” He was staring back at her intently, like he hadn’t just asked a simple but potentially earth-shattering question—but also looked like he was bracing for impact.

She nearly stopped breathing. Not that she had planned any part of this conversation, but when she imagined talking to him again, she thought it’d be more about her figuring out whether he’d let her inside his walls. Logically, it was only fair that he did the same; it was just the first time anyone had followed her in—not to mention challenged her once they were there. (Especially not someone with intense blue eyes, bolder than she’d yet seen them.) And she didn’t know how to respond.

“Because I know I’m not the biggest catch or anything—I’m certainly not Graham—” he went on (and apparently knew where to sting her), “and yeah, I probably still drink a bit more rum than is advised, but other than this—” he nodded at the folder, “—I’ve been nothing but honest with you. So now it’s up to you to decide: whatever it is you’re worried about—were you wrong?”

It had been a long-ass time since anyone had been that bluntly honest with her. (And never someone she was interested in.)

He was right—her lie detector had never gone off with him, either. (It also hadn’t when Regina was gossiping, but it was a little less accurate with noticing exaggerations or omissions.)

He’d never really answered her earlier question, though. “I just need to know one thing,” she said as she stepped around the desk. “I’m not alone in feeling…this, right?” she asked, blatantly stepping into his space.

“No,” he confirmed on a breath.

“Then no, I wasn’t wrong. I think what I was actually scared of…was that I was right.”

“Right?”

She grabbed the lapels of his jacket and quickly found his lips, kissing away any further confusion. (As she was finding out, they were both a bit better at nonverbal communication.)

(And he did taste a bit like rum, but—she liked it.)

———.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.———

She wanted to say things changed from there—they took it fast, or slow, or whatever—but in reality, their relationship really didn’t change. There were still the meals at Granny’s, the nights at the bar. She’d never really been a date-night kind of girl. But emotionally—woah.

It was like she was seeing a whole other side of Ian—but at the same time, it felt like it had always been there, just hiding below the surface. It wasn’t a universal thing—he was still a bit reserved while at work, or around just about anyone other than her and Henry—which made what they had feel all the more special.

There were also more than a few makeout sessions sprinkled in there, too. (Being chased out of the back hall of Granny’s by said proprietress, giggling like teenagers, was one of her more cherished memories since arriving here.)

For a short while, it was simple and sweet and it made her happy. For a little bit, she maybe had the kind of life she’d always hoped—with her son, friends, and a guy she really liked.

But it was like the universe noticed or something—no, Emma Swan couldn’t simply have nice things. Shit always, inevitably hit the fan.

Starting with having to arrest and book her roommate for murder.

She texted ahead and he had a shot waiting for her when she got to the bar after, then a couple more after that. She was definitely loitering—and he could tell. “What is it, love? Aside from the obvious.”

One thing she’d realized: he was exceedingly good at reading her, like a book he couldn’t put down.

“I don’t want to go back to the apartment,” she admitted. “It’s not that I’m afraid to be alone, but knowing that she’s in a cell and I’m there—and that someone may have been in the loft—I just…it freaks me out a bit.”

He swallowed. “Forgive me if this is too forward, but…I could go with you,” he offered. “At least to make sure everything is safe.”

“I’d like that.”

The walk to the loft from the Rabbit Hole was short but filled with energy; there was literally no reason for her to be any sort of excited, but she never invited guys back to her place. Even if she had no plans of anything intimate happening, this was something of a big step for her.

Of course, it ended up being anticlimactic—there was nothing amiss in the flat—but she was still hesitant to want to leave his presence, while at the same time not wanting to seem needy or like she was coming onto him in a subversive way.

“I, uh, could sleep on the couch, if you’d feel better,” he offered, doing that adorable nervous scratch behind the ear. Right—it had been a while for him with this kind of stuff, too.

“Um, yeah, I would. Thanks.”

That was the night she learned he snored—but the sound eventually lulled her to sleep, too.

As it did for the next few nights.

Then came the one after she narrowly escaped that crazy Jefferson’s house with Mary Margaret. She was still shaking as she took the stairs to the apartment and almost didn’t notice Ian sitting on the landing, nearly tripping over his feet.

“Swan, what’s wrong? You never answered my texts so I got worried and came here and, well—I wasn’t sure who to call when the sheriff is the one missing.”

She invited him in—or tried to, but she was trembling so much, she could barely get the key in the lock. Not until his steady hand wrapped around hers and helped.

Once inside, she nearly collapsed just closing the door—both out of relief, and because her adrenaline was finally wearing off. But Ian caught her. And for the first time in years, she let herself be comforted by someone else. (She didn’t cry—she wasn’t ready for that kind of vulnerability yet—but this was kind of a big deal.)

“Do you want me to stay on the couch again tonight?” he murmured when she began to sway, fatigue winning over. She shook her head into his shoulder. (Also: he smelled good. Like, real good.) “Should…should I go?” She shook her head again.

Emma wasn’t a spooner. She took what she needed and then she left. But that was the night she understood why people enjoyed it so much. And waking up still wrapped in his strong arms was a kind of comfort she hadn’t known existed.

There was a brief—but weird—reprieve from the emotional heaviness when it turned out Kathryn Nolan was miraculously alive (despite her heart supposedly being outside her body), and then they held a party to welcome Mary Margaret back home. She shared (more than) a few drinks with Ian after the former; their first official outing as a couple, if it could be called that, was the latter. Mary Margaret arched an eyebrow and smirked at her as she and Ian moved around the kitchen getting ready. Emma just blushed—and then blushed harder when Ian pressed a quick kiss on her cheek as he stepped past her.

Then August kind of went crazy—his offer of help in dealing with the Regina-Sidney-whatever turned into another journey of emotional whiplash. She slumped onto what had become her usual stool at the bar, just a few minutes before close. Ian put some tea in front of her rather than anything stronger and took her upstairs after he’d locked up. He lived there, apparently, in a pretty spartan studio apartment.

“Tell me,” he said gently. Not long ago, she would have brushed something like that off—but not anymore; not with him.

“I’m just tired of all this crap. Not just Regina—the whole curse thing, too. It was fine when it was Henry and I could play along, but now August? And he just—expected me to solve his problem? Just like that? No—no way.” She sighed. “It’s like everyone wants something from me or to fit some role; no one wants just Emma.”

“Ah, that’s where you’re wrong,” he teased lightly. “Because I do.”

Well. She couldn’t argue with that.

And it became all the more obvious when she attacked his lips—and realized the rest of him was in agreement. She’d hesitated to take their relationship to that level; physical relationships were what she was used to, but adding in the emotional layer was something else—something more.

But, as she learned, that was in a good way.

And while drifting off into a post-coital slumber while wrapped in Ian’s steady arms, she didn’t really care what went on in the outside world—as long as she had this.

———.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.———

Should have known that’s when it would all really, truly crash down on her. Henry—god—seeing him in that hospital bed…and not being able to do anything…but it worked: she believed. In magic, the curse—everything. (Especially once Regina confirmed it.)

So now she was on a mission, practically storming from the hospital—when she ran into a pair of arms she’d give anything to just be able to take shelter in right now. “Love—is Henry okay? What’s going on?”

For a minute, she just looked in Ian’s eyes: that now-familiar blue that carried a wisdom beyond his years and echoed his every emotion, so different now from when she’d first met him—but in a good way. The way his worry creased his brow, the weight of his hand on her waist. If the world was about to change, she wanted to memorize him—them—in this moment. “Is everything alright?” he asked again.

She rose up on her toes to give him a firm, but all-too-brief kiss. “It fucking will be,” she told him, then ran off to save the world—or something.

———.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.———

An eternity later (really only a couple hours, but holy shit did it feel longer), she had fought a dragon and then apparently broken a goddamn curse with True Love’s Kiss. All that really mattered was that Henry was okay, but all around her, everyone was coming to terms with what had been done to all of them.

She’d never expected to find out the waitress was a werewolf, or the therapist was a freaking cricket—and really never thought she’d be reunited with her parents. It was amazing, but it was also a lot.

She left Henry with his grandparents—god, grandparents—so she could take a minute and just—breathe.

The salty sea air hit her nose and she realized her feet had taken her to the docks. The view of the sea was soothing, but then she saw someone else there taking in the horizon—someone familiar. He wore the same clothes—the same motorcycle jacket, the black sweater that fit him extremely well, atop his usual dark jeans. But rather than the hand-like prosthesis she’d come to recognize, there was a hook—a freaking stereotypical pirate hook—at the end of his left arm.

(Henry had told her the fairytale counterpart of just about everyone in town—except for Ian. The illustrations in his book were good but maybe not distinct and there were a few options. She had a pretty good idea who it was narrowed down to now, though.)

“Ian?” she asked as she approached, partly to get his attention—and partly because she wasn’t sure who she was talking to.

He turned at the sound of her voice, but looked confused. Until he blinked and shook his head. “Aye, it’s me,” he answered, moving toward her. “My real name, though—it’s Killian, Killian Jones; it…took me a minute there.”

Killian. Similar, but different. It suited him.

But also: Kill-Ian—was the man she held so important now gone, effectively killed by his new—true—self?

“So…how much was real? About you?” she had to ask.

“Some of it.” Apparently that nervous ear scratch carried over. “I am—was—am? A pirate, for decades, until I was caught.”

“Captain Hook?” she wondered, nodding at his prosthesis.

“Ah, so you’ve heard of me,” he smirked. It was similar to the one she knew—the same dimple—but it had a darker edge to it.

“Who hasn’t?” she replied, ignoring the bit of discomfort that was…well, adding to her overall sense of unease.

“The truth—my actual life—is a bit more gruesome than what I once told you. I wanted revenge for the murder of my love. That part was true—she had been the Dark One’s wife, and he killed her, then took my hand.” He emphasized it by toying with the (rather sharp) end of his hook.

Right; Mr. Gold was apparently—actually—a centuries-old sorcerer. “I’m not gonna have to lock you up for going after him, am I?”

“No. See, I got sloppy; I lost sight of things, and that’s how I was caught—by your parents’ kingdom, actually. Was about to be hanged when the Evil Queen’s knight rescued me. Graham.” Her heart skipped a beat. “In return, I offered them my services should they ever need them. Never heard from them again, and then got swept up in the curse.”

She swallowed. “Did she ever take you up on it? During the curse?”

He shook his head. “Never.”

“So, us…” God, she couldn’t even put it into words. If what they’d shared wasn’t…hadn’t meant…she couldn’t fathom.

He very quickly moved into her space and took her hand. “That was very real, Swan.” His gaze had never felt more intense as he went on. “It was my understanding that the curse twisted things—changed us. I had always been someone who felt things very strongly and deeply; it’s why I was so single-mindedly focused on revenge for decades. But then under the curse…I felt nothing—not a bloody thing, for years on end—until I met you, and it all came back. It was like my heart was turned back on—like you brought me back to life.” He rubbed his coarse thumb over the back of her hand. “I know you’re probably questioning things again—especially given that you don’t fully know me, the real version, now—but Emma, I still know you, and I still desperately want you.”

She sighed in relief and nearly sagged into his arms. “Good. Because I think I love you.”

He smiled; it started as a small thing, but he couldn’t hold back from turning into a grin. “That’s appropriate, because I’m fairly certain I love you, too.”

There was a lot she needed to figure out—her life was all kinds of a mess right now—but him—this—whoever he was, he was hers. Even if she didn’t fully know him, it still felt like her heart fit right in the palm of his hand (and vice versa).

She wasted no further time in wrapping her arms around his neck and pressing her lips to his; he was equally quick to reciprocate.

And, actually? Killian kissed even better than Ian did.

———.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.———

thanks for reading! Tagging some friends (including the fabulous and supportive Word Forge): @ohmightydevviepuu @shireness-says @iverna @thejollyroger-writer @wistfulcynic @phiralovesloki @initiala @idoltina @xpumpkindumplingx @cocohook38 @kmomof4 @colinoeyebrows @pirateherokillian @annytecture @stubblesandwich @wingedlioness @scientificapricot @snowbellewells @searchingwardrobes @jrob64 and I know there's more I tend to include but tumblr is being weird about it rn.

#cs ff #captain swan #cursed killian au #spartanguard: from the vault #my ff

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bp-trio · 2 years ago

Text

( ALL IN ENGLISH )

[ CROWD CALLING ]

[ PAPARAZZI: HANA, OVER HERE ]

[ PAPARAZZI: HANA, OVER THE SHOULDER ]

Hana opens the door introducing herself with a smile. "Hey Vogue! It's Hana and you guys are getting ready with me for the Met." She says with a cheery tone as her staff cheer, causing her to giggle.

[ UPBEAT ORCHESTRAL MUSIC ]

Hana sits on her chair while her stylists swarm around her, trying to do her hair and makeup. "So today I'm going to be wearing a custom made dress and heels sent by the incredible Versace."

"The look is inspired by Barbie. So actually I was the one who came up with the theme of Barbie. One day I was watching Barbie: A fashion fairytale with my niece and I thought Barbie would be a good theme to go with as the theme for this year Met gala is the embodiment of an American style. And what's more American than Barbie. I actually dyed my hair blonde for the first time for this.”Hana explains her dress.

"So, I send my idea to Donatella and she absolutely loved the idea. So this is our take on Barbie, I guess." She says smiling before walking to into the closet to get changed before coming out in a very long pink dress.

[ CLASSICAL PIANO MUSIC ]

"Rose and I used to dream about ever attending a Met Ball. And never really even believing that would ever happen. Is the literally the biggest dream come true." She says doing a big twirl.

"This is my first time going to the Met gala so I'm just looking forward to being there. I feel like I've seen it for so many years, so it'll be interesting to see what reality of the Met really is. So I hope I don't trip On this dress." She stands still while her stylists are fixing the dress.

Hana now has her hair, nails and makeup done, so she begins to taking pictures on her phone in the mirror and having her staff help her take pictures for her.

Once she received the signal to leave, the Vogue camera follows her outside to where many fans stood behind barriers cheering and scream her name as she and her team leave the hotel. Hana waves at them as she was being escorted to the car. Hana blows a kiss to fans before the door was closed behind her.

"WE LOVE YOU HANA!" A group of fans cheer to the Vogue camera before the videos ends.

[ INTERVIEW; Blackpink's Hana on Attending Her First Met Gala | Met Gala 2021 With Emma Chamberlain ]

Hana walked up to Emma with a warm smile. “No freakin’ way.” Emma said. “Hi!” Hana said as she gave Emma a hug. “Umm, Hello. Excuse me but you look so gorgeous right now.” Hana thanked her. “Thank you. I’m glad my first gala is going well so far.”

“Wait! This is your first Met Gala?” Hana nodded. “No way. Me too.”

“Really?” Hana asked enthusiastically, now feeling less anxious since she wasn’t the only first-timer with Rosé. “Yeah! I honestly thought you have been to the Met before since you have become such a big icon in the fashion world.”

Hana shocked her head, “No, it’s my first time and Rosé’s.

“So, tell me about your outfit?”

“To do that, I would have to bring this brilliant woman to the spotlight.” Hana brings her hand out, and Donatella comes from the corner and takes her hand.

“Hi, how are you?” Donatella asked Emma, “I’m so good, how are you?”

“Very good, thank you.” Donatella responded with a smile.

“So obviously I know who you are wearing. Tell me how you guys came to the conclusion about this dress.”

“Well, when we found out about the theme for this year’s Met Gala, we had many ideas. Hana came up to the brilliant idea of using Barbie for the theme and it was only right that we create custom dress. It’s one for the books and Hana is perfect for this dress. She brings out every aspect of the dress and more.” Donatella explained with her thick Italian accent, her passion shown through each word she said.

“That’s amazing. You really pull of this dress amazingly. I love all of this. So how many Met Gala have you been to?” Emma asked Donatella. “Lots and lots. Twenty maybe?” Donatella laughed. “No way.”

“Yeah.”

“So I feel like you are the best person to ask this. What advice would you give to us? It’s my first and Hana’s. I have no idea what to expect.” Emma asked.

“You are gonna be surrounded by people with lots of creativity and the Met is one of those events that allow you to connect with people. There’s something very special about the Met. So when you are in this great building and have the courage, and freedom to express yourself. My big takeaway is have fun.”

“That’s amazing. Well, I’ll see you guys in there.”

“Thank you.” Hana and Donatella say simultaneously.

[ RED CARPET MOMENTS ]

• Hana and Rosé arriving together. Creating one of the most iconic pictures in the Met Gala history.

•Hana and Donatella Versace being each other’s date.

• Hana staying a little longer than she was supposed to watch Lil Nas X’s transformation on the red carpet.

• Hana and Normani posing together.

[ CLEVVER STYLE ]

[ Best & Worst dressed Met Gala 2021 ]

[ Drew Dorsey ]: oh man, you guys! It is not the first Monday in May, but it is a Monday in September. The 2021 Met Gala is coming at ya!

[ Jackie Iadonisi ]: I can't believe we're here. I can't believe people are actually there. On the carpet, walking it. We are at the 2021 Met Gala, it's happening!

[ Drew Dorsey ]: it's very exciting. This year's theme is America: A lexicon of Fashion and it is very exciting because we did not get the Met Gala last year but we are getting it in 2021. All guests are fully vaccinated and masked, and we are back in Here.

[ Jackie Iadonisi ]: woo woo! And it's also really important because this is coming off the 20th anniversary of 9/11, and it's the tail end of New York Fashion Week, so it's just fashion on fashion on fashion, people, people, people, outfits. I can't wait to see these looks.

[ Drew Dorsey ]: So exciting. Also can we talk about the co-chairs, okay? We have Billie Eilish, we have Hana, we have Rosé, we have Timothee Chalamet, and we are up in here, okay? So you guys know we gotta talk about the fashion.

[ Drew Dorsey ]: it's dirty laundry.

[ Jackie Iadonisi ]: you know. let's go.

( LIGHT MUSIC )

( SHOWS VIDEO OF HANA ON CARPET POSING FOR THE CAMERAS AND PICTURES OF HER )

[ Carly Henderson ]: Hana, looking like a true Barbie doll coming to live.

[ Renee Ariel ]: oh my god. I'm here everything about this. She looks absolutely stunning.

[ Jackie Iadonisi & Drew Dorsey]: Ooh, okayyy. Oh my god.

[ Drew Dorsey ]: Wow, she is so pretty and her dress it's to die for.

[ Jackie Iadonisi ]: Okay, Hana in all custom made Versace. Looking good, looking fly.

[ Renee Ariel ]: Listen, she brought it. This is her first ever Met Gala and I love this look.

[ Carly Henderson ]: I love that her waist looks so snatched and small. And it's makes it the dress look even more amazing than it already is.

[ Drew Dorsey ]: I love this Barbie theme look and the split in the dress is gorgeous and makes her legs look long and sexy. I absolutely love the slit v in the middle of the dress.

[ Jackie Iadonisi ]: I completely agree with you. Her eyes are so pretty.

[ Carly Henderson ]: oh, the jewelry!"

[ Renee Ariel ]: it's all custom made MIKIMOTO 18k Pearl necklace and earrings for her birthday.

[ Carly Henderson ]: oh wow. I wish I got all custom made 18k diamonds for my birthday.

[ Drew Dorsey ]: her shoulder look absolutely amazing. I love the fact she dyed her hair to blonde.

[ Jackie Iadonisi ]: we just gotta talk about Hana for a second, because she's been having a moment after a moment with her solo career. Ah, she is absolutely amazing and an icon.

[ Drew Dorsey ]: Then She brought it to the Met Gala in this, the dress looks like an art piece to me. This is such a gorgeous dress. The color on her is incredible, and the fact that she carried it on with the eyeshadow, this colorful pink makeup look of the night. Obsessed with it, and the confidence, taking up the space. I'm here for it.

[ AFTER PARTY ICONIC MOMENTS ]

•Hana arriving with Rosé. Both were seen dancing with many top celebrities, such as Olivia Rodrigo, smiling and laughing.

•Hana taking part in fun drinking games.

•Hana officially became best friends with Megan Thee Stallion.

•Hana dancing with Anitta and Lil Nas X.

•Many celebrities taking a photo with her and following her on social media.

•Rihanna posting Hana on her Insta story. In the clip, both of them look happy in each other's company where Hana waves at the cam and also showers a flying kiss.

•Rihanna saying she would steal Hana from her company to her sign if she had an entertainment agency.

•Hana, Hailey Bieber, and Kendall Jenner playing rock, paper, and scissors.

• Hana getting a ride in a private helicopter to her hotel.

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cirilla-fiona-riannon · 2 years ago

Text

Absolute Submission to the Queen

Translations may not always capture the exact nuances or tone of the original text. Expect grammatical errors.

Blank, and ageless blogs will be blocked.

I heard the news while I was in the middle of negotiations.

Silvio: "Ha?"

Carlo: "Eek! I'm sorry, I'm so sorry!"

Carlo apologized with teary eyes.

I had to wonder if my current expression might’ve looked terrible.

Silvio: "Tch, we're done for today. Carlo, see the guests off."

Carlo: "I don't think I can do this. All the guests here are VIPs一Ah, wait!"

(I hope everything will be fine.)

I heard a shout from behind me, but I ignored it and hurriedly left the venue.

I kicked the door open, and the woman inside widened her eyes.

Emma: "Huh? Prince Silvio? Weren't you in a business meeting right now?"

Silvio: "Don't you have something to say to me?"

Emma: "No, nothing..."

Emma: "Ah, wait. Could it be that you're starting to miss me?"

(She's trying to change the subject.)

She tried to approach me nonchalantly, but her steps felt somewhat awkward.

Unable to watch it any longer, I picked her up, and she began to flail her legs in panic一a tightly wrapped bandage peeked from under the hem of her dress.

(So it was true that she was taken to the infirmary.)

(And yet, she...)

I suppressed my emotions and gently placed her on the bed.

Silvio: "You got caught."

Emma: "I figured that might happen."

Emma: "But it's not that big of a deal, you know? I just tripped and fell because of this dress."

Silvio: "You sprained your ankle. That's a big deal, you idiot."

Silvio: "How were you planning to go on living and hide it from me?"

Emma: "Of course, with determination!"

Silvio: "Ha?"

Out of frustration, I ruffled her hair.

(Why don't you even try to talk to me?)

(You went to the doctor, but you won't rely on me at all.)

(I'm supposed to be your man, aren't I?)

Even if it was out of consideration to not worry me, this time I couldn't stand it.

(Am I really that unreliable in your eyes?)

I knelt before her and gently touched her aching legs.

Silvio: "Listen, you absolutely cannot move for the next few days."

Silvio: "Instead, I'll do everything. I'll be your servant."

Emma was originally a sassy woman who wasn't good at relying on others.

She was always thinking of others and rarely considered herself.

While this trait might be considered a virtue worthy of being called "Belle," it could also be quite vexing.

I wanted to take this opportunity to make her realize that it's okay to use others more freely and casually, just as a queen would if she desired.

Rio: "Damn it, I'm so jealous!"

Silvio: "Sorry about that."

After a while of serving her, rumors started to spread in Benitoite about the extent to which the "dog" had taken to serving her.

Emma: "Rio, what did you just say?"

Rio: "Are you making me say those cruel words to him again?"

Emma: "No, that's not it. Let me repeat."

Emma: "Did you seriously just say that Prince Silvio is now my obedient dog?"

Rio: "That's right. The merchants who were present at the last meeting are spreading the rumor that this jangling bastard is your dog."

Rio: "Not just the merchants. Even the servants in the castle are all saying the same thing."

Rio: "But it's true, right? Lately, this guy has been clinging to you constantly, never leaving your side."

Rio: "He's been doing everything for you like a dog."

Rio: "I'm so jealous. I want to become your dog, too!"

(Dog, huh?)

Dogs are creatures that wag their tails and show loyalty to their owners. While some might consider it a derogatory term, strangely, I didn't find it insulting.

In fact, it was the opposite.

For the past few days, I've been by Emma's side, appearing at various social events.

I was always hanging out with her, whether it was for work stuff or private affairs.

And perhaps because of these circumstances, opportunities for her to make "requests" had gradually increased.

I'd prefer it if she could follow my every whim, much like a queen, but by obeying her like a loyal pup, I might eventually make her lose her reservations.

(Not bad.)

(She's too kind, so she probably needs a dog. In that case, I'll become one.)

However, even the time when I could be a dog would eventually come to an end.

Emma: "Put me down!"

Silvio: "I ain't putting you down."

Emma: "My leg has already healed a long time ago!"

Emma: "Even the doctor said I could walk."

Silvio: "I don't care."

Another week had passed since then, and her leg had healed to the point where it could be considered fully recovered.

(But I still can't accept it.)

(Not until you can use me without any hesitation.)

Ever since she heard the 'dog' rumors, she began displaying restraint once more.

She constantly issued orders that seemed to reject my attempts to serve her, even though I wanted to devote myself to her.

Emma: "Prince Silvio."

Even when she hugged me to make me do what she asked, I remained calm.

Silvio: "That won't work."

(I won't stop until you become more selfish.)

Emma: "………."

That night, she finally resorted to a more assertive approach.

(Is she planning not to speak until I stop being her "dog?")

Silvio: "Geez, you're such a handful."

She refused the meal I offered, so I reluctantly took a nearby drink, kissed her, and forcibly opened her lips with my thumb, allowing the drink to flow down her throat.

(Fruit juice, huh? Damn it, it's sweet.)

Emma: "What do you think you're doing!?"

Her face turned as red as a rose.

Silvio: "I'm trying to feed you."

Emma: "I'll eat by myself!"

Silvio: "Denied."

She naturally brushed me aside and pursed her lips as if she wanted to say something.

Emma: "You're being stubborn."

Silvio: "Ha? I'm not being stubborn."

Emma: "You're being stubborn. You're not even listening to a word I'm saying."

Silvio: ".........."

(That's because you reject everything I do.)

(All I want is to serve you.)

Emma: "What's really wrong with you?"

Silvio: "Nothing."

Silvio: "I just don't understand why you're so against it."

Silvio: "Do you dislike being taken care of?"

Emma: "I do. Because you're not just some random guy; you're my fiancé. You're not a dog."

Emma: "Or maybe you really want to become a dog?"

Silvio: “Maybe that’s not a bad idea.”

Emma: “Prince Silvio, are you sure you’re not sick?”

Silvio: “I’m not.”

Of course, I have no intention of being owned by anyone other than Emma.

I wanted her to rely on me and no one else.

(Dogs choose their owner. You just don't realize it.)

Silvio: “If I were to be a dog, you would be…”

Silvio: “No, forget it.”

I swallowed my words as shame overpowered me.

Although there were things I truly felt, I wasn't pure enough to express them honestly.

Emma: "Is something bothering you?"

Silvio: "Don't worry about it."

I took a seat in the chair opposite her and leaned back.

Emma: “Tell me.”

However, it was precisely in moments like this that she bit back.

She stood up from her chair and hugged me from behind, her sweet scent tickling my nose.

(This girl...)

Emma: “If you tell me, I’ll play along.”

Silvio: “You’re getting carried away.”

Silvio: “...........”

(But there are things that won't be understood if I don't say them.)

(I'd be more uncomfortable if she didn't ask for my help again by keeping quiet.)

Swallowing the rising embarrassment, I spoke up.

Silvio: “When you hurt your leg, you tried to hide it from me, but I happened to notice it by chance.”

Silvio: “I don't want you to rely on others, so I just thought I’d train you so that you could only rely on me.”

Silvio: “But if you’re not gonna rely on me, I’d rather become a dog.”

Silvio: "Lean only on me."

(Becoming your dog is actually my wish, too.)

(Though if I’d heard this a decade ago, I might've vomited.)

I took her hand and pressed my lips against her delicate skin, leaving marks to assert my existence.

After a brief silence, she let out an exasperated sigh.

Emma: "I understand."

Emma: "If that's the case, I want you to remove my shoes."

(----!)

Silvio: "Didn't you just tell me you didn't want to be taken care of?"

Emma: "That's because I didn't understand your intentions."

Emma: "This is what you wanted, right?"

Silvio: "Well, yeah."

(Damn it, I should've just told her from the start, even though it's embarrassing.)

Flustered, I stood up, carrying Emma, and sat her in a nearby chair. Then, I knelt in front of her and lifted her leg.

Today, she was wearing the dress I bought her a while ago, along with ribbon-adorned shoes.

(I've been waiting for this kind of selfishness from someone who doesn't hold back when dealing with me.)

I took one end of the ribbon with my mouth and started untying it.

It was a scene that I could never have imagined years ago.

(To begin with, I couldn't even imagine kneeling before someone.)

(I never really had a chance to consider whether I'd like the idea of people counting on me or pampering me.)

The people around me always had their eyes on my "money."

While I had many opportunities to be relied upon, it was always a transactional relationship.

(But what she sees is not money, but me.)

(That's why I've come to crave being relied upon so much.)

(Not for money, but for myself.)

I slid my fingers along her toes and removed her shoes. At that moment, she started petting my head.

Silvio: "Cut it out."

(It's only going to get more embarrassing.)

Emma: "I suddenly felt like petting you. Am I not allowed?"

Silvio: "You're grinning."

Emma: "If you don't like it, you can shake me off."

(There's no way I'd dislike this, stupid.)

Silvio: "Tch, why am I even doing this?"

Emma: "It's my way of saying thank you."

Emma: "Besides, you mentioned letting me experience what it's like to be a queen."

(You remembered those words, huh?)

(Just so you know, you're the only one I'll allow to be a queen.)

Well, she's not exactly unembarrassed either, with her face all flushed.

Despite her usual arrogant attitude, I couldn't help but burst out laughing at her inability to conceal her expression.

Silvio: "Ah, damn it. Feel free to give me any orders, Your Majesty."

Emma: "Then, after removing my shoes, I'd like you to put me to bed."

Silvio: "So, that means you want me to take you to the bath, help you change clothes, and then carry you to bed?"

Emma: "Not all of that…"

(You didn't have to say it. Let me take care of you even more.)

I lifted her up with one arm and unbuttoned her dress mercilessly. As I exposed her in her underwear, her body began to tremble.

Emma: "I'll do it...Nnn…"

(There's no point in waiting now.)

I sealed her words with a kiss and stripped off her underwear.

Looking down at her, completely naked, her face and skin turned red.

(You're too cute, idiot.)

I playfully ran my fingers across her skin, and she tightly closed her eyes.

That reaction alone made my heart race.

Silvio: "You gave the order, right? I'll serve you wholeheartedly throughout the night."

(So lean on me more. If it's you, I'll let myself be tamed.)

Part 1╎Part 2╎Premium End╎Epilogue

#ikemen prince #silvio ricci #ikepri silvio #ikepri #ikepri jp #ikepri translations #cybird

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where-the-wind-travels · 10 months ago

Text

giselle & her timeline ✦ edits by me

if you don't know who giselle is, she's a transfem version of aiden i came up with for a hss au (the same au my oc darlene comes from, she's also dating darlene) that i've had in mind for quite some time but never really posted about it

also, hope yall don't mind that i literally just used a dakota winchester base for her 😭 i did think about using aiden for upper face and dakota for lower face, but i feel like just this base would make a great f!aiden feel free to correct me if i'm wrong

(under the edits are a lot of semi drabble headcanons that i swear i didn't mean to write that long but i couldn't stop myself 😭)

book 2, winter formal outfit —

(here koh had been helping her physically transition all the way since book 1, but i'm starting from book 2 because that's when she comes out to her parents, meaning the winter formal is the first time she ever wears feminine clothing in public)

Giselle: "Everyone... hope I'm not late."

Darlene: [jaw drops] "Gi, you look like..."

Emma: "...a princess."

Myra: "A literal princess! Girl, you look like you're 5 seconds away from singing about letting it go." [Giselle rolls her eyes at Myra]

Michael: "Where'd you even get that dress from?"

Giselle: "Ah, this is my mom's prom dress from the 90s. She heard the words winter formal and begged me to try it on. I told her 'no, mom, it's fine, I can wear a suit if you want me to', since... you know, she's not used to seeing me in stuff like dresses and skirts yet, but she practically shoved me into this dress."

Darlene: [holding Giselle's hand] "She made the right choice."

book 3, spring casual appearance —

Giselle: "I... tried doing something with my hair. I hope it looks good, because I really don't want to go back to my old hair."

Caleb: "It does look good on you, but why the face?"

Giselle: [surprised] "What face?"

Maria: "You don't really look like you like it. Do you regret getting your hair done?"

Giselle: "No, it's not the hair..."

Emma: "Then what is it? Your clothes?"

Giselle: [nods] "Mmhm. My parents bought me these. I don't want to be ungrateful because... my parents support me enough to buy me clothes, and there are plenty of trans kids out there whose parents don't even want them in their home. But..."

Darlene: "But what?"

Giselle: "I don't like this style they're assigning me. It reminds me too much of my old self. And I don't just want to be the same person I was before, but in girl form."

Sydney: "Are you saying you'd like to try a new style?"

Darlene: "You'd look good in anything, Gi. No matter if it's girly, tomboyish, alternative, or even country girl."

Myra: [laughs] "Imagine that... 'Yeehaw, my captain!'"

Michael: "Myra, cowboys don't have captains. That's pirates."

Giselle: [giggles] "Ezra is trying to get me to join the dark side and turn into a grunge girl. I don't think I want that, really, but I do feel like I want to make a statement now... Is there an alternative style that's girlier but still eye catching, without any spikes or chains or ripped fishnets?"

Maria: "...I think there is."

book 3, prom outfit —

Cameron: "Giselle! Hey, wait up!"

Giselle: "Huh? Ah, hey there. What did you need?"

Cameron: "Nothing much, I just wanted to congratulate you."

Giselle: "Me...? What for?"

Cameron: "What not for? You're one of the strongest and most talented people I know. I might have known you for only three months, but I know this year has been a wild ride for you. You've been through pretty much everything and still manage to come out on top. I'm... really proud of you."

Ezra: "We all are."

Giselle: [blushes] "Oh, I... thank you... Normally I like compliments and-- and even look for them myself, but I just... don't know what to say for this one." [Cameron and Ezra laugh]

Cameron: "I have to say, you're kind of my role model. Not just because of all your talents in band, but also, I wish I could've figured myself out like you did. It took me years to figure out my identity, let alone how I wanted to present myself."

Giselle: "Speaking of that... I'm sorry, everyone, but I've been thinking about this for a while, and I... don't think I want to be in band anymore."

[everyone's jaw drops]

Myra: "What?! Girl, what's gotten into you?"

Giselle: "Don't get me wrong, I still love music! Who would I be if I didn't? But... composing, instruments, band, I want to leave all of that behind. I don't know if permanently... I hope not, but at least for now I want to focus on something else."

Ezra: "Something else as in what?"

Giselle: "...Promise you all won't laugh? [everyone nods] Well, as in... performance? Not performing as in playing songs, but performing as in--"

Cameron: "Dancing?"

Giselle: "Mmhm. When the year started, I was not only super insecure of myself but also an awful dancer, and Darlene helped me with both of those things. I want to try incorporating it into my life... for her and for myself."

summer break appearance —

Giselle: "Hey everyone! I brought popsicles."

Darlene: "Oh... my."

Sydney: "That is the most sparkly outfit I've ever seen you in."

Myra: "And also the most pink. I thought you didn't even like pink, what happened to you?"

Giselle: [shrugs] "Maybe I was just in the mood for something different. Remember spring quarter, when I told you all about wanting to find my style and all that? Well... I'm pretty sure I found it."

Emma: "You did? Please tell us all about it, Gi!"

Giselle: "So I'm reading about this fashion subculture that lets girls go all out. I'm talking super flashy clothes and hair, so many cute accessories, and their makeup is so pretty... they even have hangout spaces just for them!"

Sydney: "Really?"

Giselle: "Yeah, it's called gal... I can't believe I didn't know this existed before! Now I want to become one, and I'm not sure where to even start."

Michael: "Giselle, you're drooling."

Maria: "No, she's not."

Michael: "But she's about to be if no one stops her."

class act appearance —

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ladylooch · 2 years ago

Text

Loving & Leaving- Part 3

Visit the series page here.

A/N: Eep! I am so excited you all are loving this. It bring me so much joy. I am legit giddy posting this next chapter 😁 I hope you love it. This fic is consuming so much of my writing time. I'm very focused on getting these two right. I know I've nailed it when I'm editing and feel the way I want the reader to feel.

Word Count: 4.3k

Warnings: SMUT 18+ Content!, Swearing, Angsty, jealousy, poor choices. ha!

Halloween was five days ago, but by the look of the streets of Hoboken, you wouldn’t know. Being from Switzerland, we don’t celebrate Halloween. But when I surprised Nico with a quick visit to America, he insisted I needed to join for the team’s get together, which had to be moved into November because of a Halloween away game. Usually, it’s done at someone’s house, but this year, no one really wanted to host, so we are heading to the bar the team frequents after home wins. Currently, I’m doing the female right of passage by freezing my ass off as we shuffle down the street. Tinker Bell was probably not the warmest choice for me, but it is definitely the sluttiest. Paired with a short, sequined green dress and a thin pair of wings, my emerald high heels reflect the yellowy hue of the New Jersey street lights.

Despite the cold, I look hot. We walk by several groups of people loitering around. I can feel eyes follow me as I move forward. My confidence grows as I smirk, weaving my arm through my brothers for balance as the sidewalk gets a little rocky. Nico wraps a secure hand around my waist before pointing to my right. There is a line to get in, unless you’re with a professional hockey player. The bass of Salt Shaker by Ying Yang Twins rattles my teeth in my head when we step into the dark space. It’s packed with any character you can imagine. I grin, looking at Nico, silently agreeing that this is going to be just as fun as he promised.

Which is exactly what I need.

Ever since Timo left me at the end of the driveway, life has taken on a shade of gray. Work has felt more like a chore than a passion. I passively agreed to a few dates with a friend’s friend, which has been fine, but nothing I want to pursue further. I’ve found myself dreaming of America, which is why I booked a quick ticket two weeks ago, then called Nico to share the news. He was surprised. I’ll be back here for Christmas and two, long international trips in a row is new behavior for me.

“I’ll never say no to a visit from you.” He concluded. And it was set.

In a red wine clouded night, I texted Timo last week to let him know I would be in town. I’m still waiting on a response. Despite his silence, I know he’s here tonight, and ignoring me when I look this good, won’t be easy for him. The group of Devils is sitting at the back of the bar in their usually spot. Nico leads the way, my hand on the back of his firefighter costume to not get lost in the sea of people.

When we reach the group, my eyes immediately find Timo. He is to my right, chatting with Dawson Mercer. He looks up as he laughs, eyes catching mine. I see him visibly suck in a breath before his eyes rake over my whole costume. He tries to hide the flicker of desire, but I know him better than that.

“Boys, you remember my sister, Emma.” Nico introduces me to the table. All the boys give drink tilts or waves except for Timo, who is suddenly fixated on a busty cat at the other table. My eyebrows tug together. He’s not fooling me, but fine, he wants to be like that, I won’t make it easy. I make my way around the table, patting each of the boys on the back until I get to the empty seat next to Timo. I plop right down next to him, grabbing his beer from his hand and chugging the rest of it.

“Uh. You’re welcome?” He questions with a snip.

“Just couldn’t wait. Go get me another.” He stares me down, blue eyes tumultuous. The cat is distracted by Ted Lasso and leaves to trail after him. Timo sighs in reservation of an opportunity blown. His chair scrapes the wood floor harshly as he knocks back from the table to go to the bar.

“Here.” He slams the golden liquid down on the table. Some of it sloshes down the glass and puddles on the table. “Kinda bullshit considering you don’t like beer.”

“Oh, I like beer. It just doesn’t like me.” It turns me into a sloppy lightweight drunk, which he is well aware of. I chug a few more sips, licking the foam from my top lip without taking my eyes from his. A whole conversation silently passed between us.

“I said I’m done.” He reminds me. Not sure who he’s trying to convince here cause he devours my lips as they plump in disbelief.

“We’ll see. Too cool for a costume?” I gesture to his white tuxedo. It’s probably a little fancier than his usual attire, but not completely out of character.

“I’m James Bond.”

“Without a martini?”

“What are you?”

“Tinker Bell.” I point to the wings on my back. His eyes hover at the way my skirt hikes further up my thigh as I cross my leg. My bare ass is practically hanging out.

“I can’t believe your brother let you out like that. And where is your coat? It’s like 30 degrees out.” I have to suck my cheeks in to avoid a smile. Even when he’s hurt and mad at me, he cares.

“Hot girls get hypothermia on Halloween. It’s like a right of passage.” I shrug.

“What do you know about Halloween?” He squints, licking his lips after a taste of his beer.

“Not much. But I know how good I look tonight.” I flick my hair back off my shoulder, scrunching it up and tossing him a kiss. “Play your cards right, Bond, and you’ll be the one in my bed.” He laughs without humor, leaning forward until he crowds my space. His cologne assaults my nose, mixing with my flowery perfume. They’re complimentary scents. His gaze drags over my face; a hint of interest is quickly squashed with a cold stare.

“I think it’s time for me to be the clear one. All you are to me tonight is my teammates’ sister.” My eyebrows draw tight together in shock. “Have a good night, Emma.” He pushes back from his chair again, following a few of his teammates across the bar to the pool tables.

What the fuck just happened?

- - -

My ears pound in steady pulses at both the loud music and my beer buzz. I sway as I attempt to return from the bathroom, bumping into Waldo.

“Sorry.” I mutter, patting his arm in acknowledgement before moving on. I get back to the group of Devils, standing next to my brother so he knows I’m back from my bathroom break. Nico hands me back my beer without looking at me.

I feel so invisible tonight. My brother doesn’t care- too busy chatting up a Powderpuff girl. Timo has been gone from the group since he referred to me as his teammate’s sister. I drunkenly snort at the memory. Sure, he must cum in all his teammate’s sisters then. I slump against Nico’s shoulder, slinging my arm around them and drawing his attention.

“Ah..” He coughs out, wiggling away from me. “My sister, Emma.” He tells the Pink Powderpuff.

“OMG! My Big is named Emma!” She shouts excitedly. I glance at Nico who shrugs. I stare back at him like, really? This one? He grins, shrugging again, silently indicating he is interested in her for only one thing… and one night.

“So fun.” I respond, tossing a fake smile on my lips. The sounds of Party in the U.S.A. blast over the speakers, so Blossom drags my brother out onto the makeshift dance floor. I shake my head at him, rolling my eyes at his choices.

That’s when I see him, pressed tightly up with another blonde. What is with him and blue eyed blondes? I have dark, chestnut hair and eyes. What’s he trying to prove here? I grab my beer, chugging down a few hefty sips before slamming the glass back on the table. He’s doing this to torture me. They’re standing close together, talking and taking fast drinks of their High Noons. He told me he didn’t like those. His smile is genuine, crinkling the corners of his eyes. I can almost hear his soft laughter from here.

She snakes an arm around his hips, stepping closer. He does the same, putting his hands on her hips. I swear a piece of my soul dies when he leans even closer to hear her speak. After months of feeling numb, I want to feel something. Anything. And he’s right here in front of me, acting like I’m nothing to him now. I can’t stand it. I want to lash out, scream, pull his face to mine and shove my tongue into his mouth until he kisses me back with as much desperation as I feel in blood right now. Instead of going to tell him that, I grab the first Devils player I can, stepping into his embrace. It’s John Marino.

“Hey.” He grins. I smile back, then slide behind him to look at Timo. His eyes are still on the blonde. If it was quieter in here, John could hear my whimper. John's hands are firmly in respectable places on my waist, barely touching me. I give him an easy smile, stepping closer so our bodies touch all along our fronts.

“You look like a good time.” I murmur to him, running my hands through the long strands of his brown hair. He’s dressed as Buzz Lightyear, dome helmet flipped up. “Can you breathe like that?” I joke, fingering the plastic.

“Barely, but not cause of the helmet.” I laugh easily, crossing my wrists at the back of his neck as we sway together. His hand slides down my lower back. A heat runs through my body that has nothing to do with John. It’s Timo. He’s watching now. I encourage John to put his hands lower, going to my tip toes to whisper in his ear.

“Must be my pixie dust.”

“It’s putting a spell on me.” His obvious interest guides his hands further down until he grips my ass in both hands. I’m guided by the ache in my chest for Timo and the undivided attention I’m getting. Maybe I could have someone else tonight, just to forget about him. He doesn’t care. He’s obsessed with anyone who isn’t me in this bar. I grin at John, tilting my lips up towards his. They never meet. A different hand comes around my waist, pulling me back into a solid, familiar chest and out of John's grip.

“That’s enough. She’s Nico’s sister for fucks sake.” Timo growls. John holds his hands up, backing away, clearly heading the warning from his left wing. It’s not John's fault. He doesn’t know who I used to belong to. Which is exactly the look Timo gives me when his blue eyes pierce mine.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Timo snarls, strong hands holding my hips in place when I try to wiggle away.

“Leave me alone.” I shoving off his chest. It’s a weak attempt and my fingers curl in, groping him more than anything else.

“You’re just doing this shit on purpose.” He spits out in disgust. Like he wasn’t just feeling up a cat? Pfffft.

“At least I’m not grinding with Jersey TRASH.” I snort. “That girl? What the fuck does she have that I don’t?” I gesture to my short green dress that doesn’t leave much to the imagination.

Woof, I’m drunk. And desperate.

He stares back at me. His hands are still fastened to my hips, squinting in the low lighting of the bar as the world moves around us. Then, he leans forward, resting his mouth close to my ear as he looks beyond me to where the rest of the team still sits.

“Emma, you know how perfect you are to me. But you are killing me. I’m trying to move on with my life.” Fear grips my stomach, icing my buzz and my anger. I don’t want him to move on. I want him to bring me home, falling each other and forget anything else but how good it feels when we are together.

“I think I’m going to be sick.” I stutter.

“Do you need to go to the bathroom?” He looks around for a sign as to where they are. He starts tugging me that way, but I stop him.

“I just want to go home.” Something about the look on my face softens him. His touch becomes gentle and safe again. It reminds me of when it’s been late, our third time around, and he’s trying to soothe the angry, red rashes he made along my hips and breasts.

“I’ll take you.” He whispers into my ear, lips slicing across my cheek.

I wrap my arm around his waist, putting my face against his pec. One of his hands moves up to my head, caressing me to his chest. He drops a kiss there then calls across the bar to my brother. I feel him motion around and Nico must understand because he doesn’t follow us out. When I hit the nippy air, I chatter in my skimpy costume. Timo shrugs his winter jacket off, wrapping it around my body as we walk the two blocks back to their apartment building. It’s not enough, so he keeps his arm around my shoulder, his body heat transferring to me. He drops his arms when we enter the building together.

“You drive me crazy.” He mutters when we are in the elevator, rolling his eyes and stretching his tense neck out. I think back to the girl at the bar, wondering if he wishes she was here instead. They would ride up to his place together. Maybe she would get on her knees and take him deep into her mouth until he couldn’t take it anymore. My stomach twists again.

I stare down at my heels in silence after that visual. I feel gross. My heavy make up is clogging my pores with each passing second. My feet hurt. The elevator spins and Timo looks like he would rather be anywhere than here with me. Tears make the floor fade as the door opens on the 13th floor. No attempt to stop at the 10th this time. Timo waits for me to step out first.

“Let’s get you in bed.” He encourages with a friendly hand on the upper back.

I dig around in my purse until I find my keys, giving them to Timo to open Nico’s apartment. He pushes the door open, allowing me to walk through first. I sulk in, tossing my purse on the floor, punting my heels off. The door quietly clicks shut. I whip my head around.

“I’m still here.” He kicks his expensive sneakers off and moves towards me with his hands in his pockets. I watch his approach with frustrated eyes. I am riding a rollercoaster of emotions right now. I hate him. I want him. I can’t stand to be in the same room with him. I think I’ll die if he leaves here without touching me. He sees all of this on my face as he stops in front of me.

“Why are you still here?” I ask.

“I don’t know.” He whispers back.

He doesn’t remove his hands from his pockets. He doesn’t step forward to touch me. Nothing. He just stares back at me like I’m some ticking bomb he should run in the opposite direction from. I hate it. Agitation builds in my body and makes my skin crawl. The elastic of the wings begins to feel like it’s cutting off the circulation in my arms. I try to wiggle my way out of them, getting frustrated.

“Fucking, stupid, cheap, pieces of crap.” I mutter, tugging at the white elastic to try and get free.

“Let me help.” Timo says, gripping my hand to stop my movements. He easily loops his fingers through the two straps, tugging them off my arms as I let them dangle behind my back.

“Thank you.” I whisper then bite my cheek. “Can you get my-” I already feel his touch on the zipper of my dress, working it slowly down, tooth by tooth, exposing my bare back and the top part of my butt. I hold my breath as he gets to the end. His strong hands spiral around my ribs to my stomach, pulling me back into his hard erection. I rest the back of my head on his shoulder and sigh.

“All night, I’ve been wondering if you were wearing anything under this. I wish I didn’t know.” He murmurs in my ear. My hair brushes along my cheek from his breath. I hear him swallow hard. “I should leave.” I don’t breathe, just continue to stare straight ahead at the hallway in front of me. I reach for his fingers, lacing mine between them and moving our hands to my hips, pushing the dress out so it falls down my body. Then, I bring them up my body, balancing the weight of my breasts in our hands.

“Jesus, Em. You’re making this so hard on me.”

“I know. I can feel it.”

“We are supposed to be done with each other.” He swipes his fingers across my hard nipples like he’s already forgotten his words. A flicker of hurt hangs in the air from his tone, but then I release one of his hands to cup his hard erection and it disappears into the desire between us. He rolls his hips into my touch.

“There are some things a girl just can’t quit. You’re one of them, Timo Meier.”

He spins me fast to face him. My lips tilt up to meet his and he kisses me back with frenzy. Our mouthes devour each other greedily. His hands run everywhere and nowhere on my body. I grope at his back, then run my hands over his taut ass, squeezing us tight together. He grinds his hips into me, pushing his erection against my stomach. His lips move from my mouth to my jaw, then down to my throat where he sucks my skin into his mouth.

“Missed how you feel in my hands, baby.” He murmurs, tongue lapping at the bruise that will go back with me to Switzerland on Sunday. I close my eyes, savoring the way he praises me. God, I missed his sweet words and strong, greedy hands.

We completely forget about being in the middle of the apartment. I shove at his white tuxedo jacket. He helps work it off his strong biceps. I pull back to stare at the suspenders running up and over his shoulders. I aggressively bite my bottom lip and snap them with my hands. He laughs, running his hands along my thighs to pick me up. I shove the straps from his shoulders then get to work on his white buttons.

“Cheater.” I murmur, unsnapping his bowtie when I’m done.

“Bow ties are not my strong point.” He insists as he carefully lays me down on the dining room table. He pulls his wallet out of his pants, tossing it to the left of me for easy access. I watch him, legs spread wide, as he gazes at my folds while undoing his pants. “You guys use this table?”

“No. We eat at the counter.” I laugh as he steps out of his pants. His boxer briefs slide down next and I groan at the sight of him jutting out, rigid and already seeping from the tip.

“That’s good. I’m going to ruin it for you.” I chuckle, reaching up for him. His lips come to mine again, a little less aggressive than before. He takes his time, savoring the feeling of me. His tongue glides along the seam then strokes against mine. I melt in his hands as they come around to protect my head from the wood. Timo sighs heavily into my mouth and I hook my ankles around his butt. He moves his bare cock through my wetness, teasing me, building the tension until my inner muscles pulse around an aching emptiness.

“Love me.” I moan out. He pulls back, searching my face. “Please. Like you said you do.”

“Not how I saw this night going.” He chuckles honestly, smoothing my wild hair back from where a piece of it had been stuck between our mouthes.

“Me either.” I answer honestly. But I ache in so many more places than just my core. My heart beats heavy in my chest, needing to feel a connection with him.

He reaches for a condom in his wallet he had tossed on the table. I grab it from his hands, throwing it to the floor.

“I want you like last time.” He hesitates, nostrils flaring, eyes trailing along my bare body, savoring every curve with his blue gaze. “I’m clean. No one else.”

“Me too.” Relief courses through me.

“Really?”

“Yeah, Em. Not interested in anyone else.” He says it to me like it’s a reminder. The familiar sound of his I love you in Switzerland causes my legs to spread wider for him.

“Show me what you thought about doing to me while we have been apart.” He moans, dropping his face to my lips again.

“I love you like this. So needy and desperate for me to fill you.” He says between teasing strokes again. He grips his cock, steadying his head against my entrance, then gliding his hips forward. My body releases in ecstasy at the feeling of him there.

“Ohmygod.” My eyebrows pull tight together in pleasure. I swallow, then gnaw on my lip as he puts his hands under my hips to pull me farther off the table. Then, he covers my body with his. His hands lace with both of mine and he makes love to me just like I begged. His thrusts are slow and sweet, focused only on my pleasure. He’s deep and generous with each thrust. I stare at him, knowing I’m falling in love with him. He brings his mouth down to mine and our tongues sloppily connect. The table begins to rattle from our movements as I match each of Timo’s deep thrusts with a moan.

“Fuck, I missed you.” He sighs into my mouth.

“Me too. Hate being home without you now.” I admit. I shouldn’t say that to him in the heat of the moment, but it’s true. I do. It’s why I’m here, as much as my brother thinks it is for him.

“I’m sorry I left you like that this summer.” He says, stroking a bit faster into me. “I hate myself for it.”

“It’s okay. I know you had to.” I bring his lips back to mine. “God damn it.” I shout as he fucks harder into me. My orgasm is pulsing within me, squeezing him with each pump.

“Say my name, sweetheart.” I moan it back to him. He puts his lips on mine afterwards, fucking me steadily as I shiver beneath him then collapse into the first wave of my orgasm. “Tell me I can come inside of you. Please.” He sounds tortured.

“Yes. God, yes. Please.” The way we both beg for each other causes a wildness between us. I moan as my second orgasm builds with his faster pumps. I shout his name as I come again, fast, harder this time. Tingles of pleasure rush down my legs so they become limp around his waist. His cum shoots out, filling me, coating my walls in the most intimate way. I grip his shoulders, shoving my face into his neck so I can feel every beat of his heart and gasping breath.

That was without a doubt the best sex we have ever had.

Timo turns his head to kiss my swollen lips. He moans into my mouth as he sputters more into me. His hands rock my hips back into him again as my feminine grunt encourages him more.

“Take me again. Just like that.” I whimper when he tries to pull away.

“Okay, but let’s go to my bed.” He kisses along my face before pulling out of me.

The second time, in Timo’s bed, surrounded by the pieces of his life, is even better.

“You fit perfectly here. Like you could just stay here forever.” He coos when we are done with a third round that started in the shower and ended on the floor of his bedroom, fingers brushing my hair back from my forehead.

“Tell me more.” I sigh, flicking my gaze on his. Fueled by love and afterglow, I barely protest as he begins to say all the usual things about the life he can give to me and all the adventures we can share together. I say nothing, just listen to him speak, thinking about what awaits for me back home. In comparison to this feeling, that life doesn’t matter much to me anymore. I think about telling him that, but it’s late and we’re both high on orgasmic bliss and it doesn’t feel completely right yet.

“You act like Switzerland doesn’t have anything to offer me. You Swiss boys dream too much.” I rub my fingers along his corse stubble. He shakes his head at me.

“Just give in to me, Hischier.”

“Maybe tomorrow.” A soft smile stretches my lips apart. He sighs out a laugh, pressing his mouth over mine. We lazily twirl our tongues together, savoring the feeling of being in each others arms again.

By midnight, we are asleep in a tangle of naked limbs, having no idea what we’ve just done.

#TM: Loving & Leaving #Timo Meier #Timo Meier Smut #hockey writing #New Jersey Devils #NHL fan fiction

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tmnthq17-blog · 16 days ago

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Shot in the Dark

(A/N: I know that in reality this remix was created by Emma Heesters, but in this universe the song hadn't previously existed)

Key:

Y/N/N = Your Nickname

Y/F/N = Your Full Name

Y/L/N = Your Last Name

Leo: "Y/N, you and I are best friends, right?"

No response.

Leo: "We've grown up together, trained together, played video games together, skated together. Heck, we've even fought together on the rare occasion where your service has been required. All in all, the time we spend together is preciously valued by yours truly. So why is it that, in this particular moment, your eyes haven't left that pen and paper you've been writing on for the past--"

He checked the watch Donnie made him for their last birthday.

Leo: "10 minutes. Don't tell me after 7 years of friendship, you've finally found me, dare I say it, disinteresting? Or does this have to do with the 'trial run' date with April Donnie left for 12 minutes ago?"

The girl finally lifted her gaze to face Leo with a look of discontent at the overdramatic speech she had heard time and time again. She could never prove it, but she could almost swear that he rehearsed everything word for word on a weekly basis.

Y/N: "First of all, I've just been busy working on a remix of my favorite songs, and no this has nothing to do with Donnie's date. Second of all, as long as you keep up that attitude of yours, combined with the repetitive stunts you pull just to prove how much of a champ you really are, you will never be disinteresting. Not to me at least, and certainly not to your family."

Y/N smiled as she drove her argument home, a smile that Leo replicated as he gave an argument of his own, copying her countdown strategy.

Leo: "First of all, I doubt that very much, and kudos on the songwriting. Second, Y/N, you are my family. We all see you as the sister, or daughter in Pop's case, that we never had. Although, Donnie can be a bit of a drama queen."

Y/N laughed at yet another one of Leo's infamous one-liners.

Y/N: "That joke is so old, it requires a walking stick."

They both began to laugh as if this was the first joke either of them had ever heard. Leo dons his signature cocky grin in curiosity.

Leo: "Then, why are you laughing?"

Y/N: "Because I'm just the walking stick that joke needs."

That just made them laugh even harder, drawing the attention of the team's orange-clad artiste of a chef.

Mikey: "Hey, no fair. You two promised to make sure I was present before you had fun."

As the laughter died down, Y/N went back to her writing while Leo turned to Mikey, who was wearing the signature pout he made when things didn't go his way. Leo wasn't the only one with signature actions for certain situations.

Leo: "Two things, Miguel. One, that was when we were seven and you were six. Two, I made no such promise. Did I, Y/F/N?"

Y/N's writing hand halted in place as her head whipped around to face Leo with a stare she had learned from the purple-clad master himself, and a tone she had picked up from the team's sensei.

Y/N: "Listen, Hot Shot. This can go down one of two ways. One, we can continue this full-name game you've started, Leonardo. Or two, we go back to how things were a few minutes ago and have some good clean fun with each other."

She turned to Mikey with a warm tone and soft smile.

Y/N: "As for you, hombrècito, we were just poking some fun at one of Leo's one-liners."

Leo: "Whoa, whoa, whoa! Why does he get the syrupy sweet tone?"

Y/N: "Because he isn't annoying, mostly."

As Y/N got back to writing, again, Mikey donned a knowing smile as he accidentally thought aloud.

Mikey: "Wow, Headstrong, smart, and can switch from sourpuss sass to a sweeter than honey disposition. She really is perfect for Donnie, isn't she? Wait, what do you mean, 'mostly'?"

At that moment, Y/N sprung from her spot on the sofa with a look of pride, supposedly unaware of what her friend had said about her other friend, and secret crush.

Y/N: "It's done. It's actually done."

Leo: "Wait, seriously? You wrote an entire song in under 20 minutes? Well, let's see what you got."

Mikey: "Tsk, tsk tsk. Oh Leo, poor sweet clueless Leo. Bro, why see a song when you can hear a song?"

Leo: "That's it, I've had it. What is this 'Gang up on Leo Night'?"

Y/N laughed at the scene in front of her.

Y/N: "Alright, you two. Break it up. Mikey, I'll only sing if I can borrow that soundboard you keep holed up in you room. Deal?"

Mikey immediately agreed, though he was worried as to what her reaction would be once she discovered the truth behind his words. Oh well, he could deal with it after he added 'talented singer' to the list he and the others wrote up entitled 'Why Y/N is Donnie's Perfect Girl'.

(Bold and underlined is wherever I've changed the lyrics; Stop the video at 3:20)

youtube

Y/N:

I won't lie to you

I know she's just not right for you

And you can tell me if I'm off

But I see it on your face

When you say that she's the one that you want

And you're spending all your time

In this wrong situation

And anytime you want it to stop

I know I can treat you better

Than she can

And any guy like you deserves the very best

Tell me why are we wasting time

On all your wasted cryin'

When you should be with me instead

I know I can treat you better

Better than she can

Don't let me down, down, down

I think I'm losin' my mind now

I'll stop time for you

The second you say you'd like me to

I just wanna give you the loving that you're missing

Baby, just to live life with you

Would be everything I need and this could be so different

Tell me what you want to do

I know I can treat you better

Than she can

And any guy like you deserves the very best

Tell me why are we wasting time

On all your wasted cryin'

When you should be with me instead

I know I can treat you better

Better than she can

I need you, I need you right now

(I think I'm losin' my mind now)

Send my love to your new lover

Treat her better

I gotta let go of all of these ghosts

'Cause we both know we ain't kids no more

Send my love to your new lover

Treat her better

I gotta let go of all of these ghosts

'Cause we both know we ain't kids no more

I know I can treat you better

Than she can

And any guy like you deserves the very best

Tell me why are we wasting time

On all your wasted cryin'

When you should be with me instead

I know I can treat you better

(I think I'm losin' my mind)

Send my love to your new lover (I know I can treat you better)

I need you, I need you right now

I know I can treat you better (Send my love to your new lover)

I know I can treat you better

Don't let me down, down, down

By the end, both brothers were almost stunned to silence, keyword being almost.

Mikey: "Wow, Y/N, you're amazing!"

Leo: "Although, after all that you have to admit that maybe you are just a tad hung up about Donnie's current whereabouts?"

Y/N began to speak before she paused in thought of what Leo was implying.

Y/N: "Well, so what if I was? In the end, it doesn't matter. Assuming that this 'trial run' works out, April's the one he'll have his eye on from here on out. Does the name 'Angelica Schuyler' hold any meaning for you?"

Leo: "Only because it's his favorite musical. Hmm, refresh my memory for me Y/N/N, who was it that introduced him to the art of musical theatre in the first place?"

Mikey: "Y/N/N, from the second you opened us up to the surface world, all Donnie talks about is whatever you do or say when you hang out with him. Just trust us, sometimes taking risks can turn out to be the right thing to do. Besides, we already think of you as a sister, imagine how cool it would be if you ended up becoming our sister in-law. It'd be pizza-rrific!! Come on what do you say? Pretty pretty pretty please?"

Y/N gave a playful eye roll, even the most stone cold heart would melt at Mikey's signature adorable smile, with a glimmer in his eyes just to up the ante.

Y/N: "Well, I guess when you put it like that-"

Before she could finish her thought, Donnie appeared seemingly out of nowhere as he jumped over the back of the couch and in between Leo and Y/N with a look of curiosity.

Donnie: "Hey, Y/N, guys, what's going on?"

Y/N turned to Mikey with a knowing smile as she paraphrased the last thing he had said to her.

Y/N: "Mikey was just putting his fortune telling skills to the test. So, how'd your date go?"

The purple-clad genius let out a small laugh at the idea of his little brother in a fortune teller get-up before answering her question.

Donnie: "It was, eventful. Hey, speaking of the future, you busy Friday night?"

The three of them widened their eyes in surprise, Leo and Mikey especially.

Y/N: "Uh, no, why? What did you have in mind?"

Donnie: "Well, I was hoping you'd be up for a trial run of our own? Say, 'Run of the Mill Pizza' at 8 o'clock?"

Y/N smiled as she held her hand out for Donnie to shake, which he gladly accepted.

Y/N: "It's a date, Handsome."

Donnie: "See you then, Beautiful."

Throughout the night, all they did was talk, laugh, and love every minute of it. Afterwards, while Y/N was helping Donnie with his latest project, she confessed to everything that had happened before his return, right down to the last microscopic detail. So, in the spirit of honesty, he told her that his 'date' with April was actually her plan to give him a push in the right direction. Something she had confessed to have been trying to do for the last 2 years.

Funnily enough, from that moment on, things for the newly pronounced {A/N: Gotcha, XD} couple couldn't have been better. They got engaged a year later, and married 2 months after that. As for for the others, they never did find out whether or not it was their relentless encouragement that brought them together, or their own self confidence. Although, anyone who wasn't part of the lovebird couple voted for the former. In summation to all this, there was one thing they could all agree on:

This was the best shot in the dark, anyone could ever take.

#tmnt donnie x reader #tmnt donatello #rise of the tmnt #rottmnt donnie #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #tmnt #rottmnt donnie x reader #rottmnt donatello #rottmnt #rise donnie x reader #Youtube

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your-mommy-ems · 1 year ago

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this is a two part vent lol (not really lol but you know im taking the edge off)

I've actual never done one of these on here so here goes absoluelty nothing (btw there might be swearing)

part one:

my birthday is coming up soon and we originally had plans to go away and i was super excited, but then my parents changed their plans and said we weren't going away for a few days, we were only going away for one day (on my birthday so that mean travelling on the day) and now they've changed it again and said we can't go away cause they have to feed one of our friends dogs for a few days. I get they're our friends and you want to get the right thing, but they've changed my birthday plans so much, it feels like they aren't putting in a whole lot of effort (for reference one year for my my sister's birthday we went to two different cities doing treetops courses it took a whole week to complete) They're saying that instead of going away for my birthday we'll use the money for when we go away to the eras tour concert which is two days after my dads birthday. So we're technically going away for two things my dads birthday and the eras tour which is for my sister because she is the hugest swiftie (so am i really). And i am super grateful to be going but it feels like they are putting me second to a fucking concert.

And so i babysit a girl on a regular basis its usually just whenever her mum needs me to look after her - im very flexible and things when it comes to that. But they are moving in like a week. So they want me to look after her on wednesday, thursday, and friday. Friday is my birthday and one of my relatives is coming up to visit and another wants to take us all out for lunch on that day. My mum said i'd babysit her on all those days. meaning on my birthday - which i guess i was never alright with in the first place - and when i started to protest and say it would be weird going out for lunch with my family my mother started questioning me and asking why it would be weird because we were doing a nice thing for her mother (because it was her last day of work.) and again it feels like im coming fucking second to someone else ON MY FUCKING BIRTHDAY?? idk its just (i supposed i never really had any high hopes anyway)

part two:

I visited my grandmother today. (she is the one who wants to take my family out for lunch on my birthday btw) It was great to see her we had a lovely catch up and everything. But when we sat down for lunch and she placed the plates in front of us say said this to me "you start with the salad hey em?" and i kinda brushed it off in front of everyone - it wouldn't've been a big deal if she hadn't done this shit before. She constantly makes subtle oh so subtle remarks about my weight about how i sit about what i eat (i could deadass be eating a piece of fruit and she'd say okay maybe its time to stop eating now) Then when she set our "dessert" i guess you could call it - it was just a cheescake she wanted us to try - when she set mine down she motioned to the fruit platter sitting on the table saying "put some fruit on it ems" and that would've been fine as well if she had addressed it to everyone and said it loud enough for everyone to hear. but no it was said to me and me alone. I remember this one time (it was one of the first times i noticed her making subtle remarks) when we were driving to the shops one day and she had offered me like a chocolate covered liquorice bullet. So i took two, so did she. (btw they are legit half the size of ur pinky finger) and she then turned to me and said "you know emma i always only take two of these otherwise it makes me put on weight you know? I like to savour them, just one or two." I was the only one in the car and had fucking taken the same amount as her. When i had come that afternoon and sorta told mum and dad what happened dad just brushed it off saying you know she didn't mean it like that and everything. Mum was a little more understanding saying she understood but idk really. It makes me very fucking insecure when my grandma makes little comments like that. And i don't think i could ever bring it up with anyone cause i doubt anyone in my family would actually understand.

sorry bout the long rants :)

#tw vent #vent #ems rambles

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wespirallin · 10 months ago

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feather in your cap (a sweet tooth fanfic)

Okay so some of you've probably seen the first chapter/prologue I've posted in the st community and I want to continue posting the new chapters in both ao2 and wattpad, and also here, in my blog. (there's a slight problem with ao3 for now but I'll update you when I have access to my account lol).

here you go people, the second chapter.

Chapter 2 // conform

Before Benji even unlocked the front door, he could hear the dampened voice of Adele filling up their house. A rare smile graced his lips as he hummed along to "Rolling in the Deep".

Conversations of Adele had made up the first date between the two very drunk young adults. Benji could still remember it like yesterday, how a 20-year-old Pemma had forced him to dance rock-and-roll (they were very drunk okay??) to the very same song in a crowded bar. From that moment on, he knew he wanted a future with that woman. She had made Benji feel free, for what might’ve been the first time ever. Of course, drunk thoughts and decisions never ended well, but this one seemed to be an exception for Benjamin Crane.

Benji found his wife seated where she spent most of her time nowadays. The wooden table they had built together, whose sole purpose was to serve as a puzzle table. She stuck her tongue out in concentration as she frantically checked almost every remaining piece.

Putting jigsaw puzzles together had always been a stable and favored pastime activity for the pair. They spent most of their free time seated in front of a thousand-piece puzzle for days in comfortable silence, accompanied by a cup of tea. Sometimes they even each got a puzzle with fewer pieces just to race each other. Pemma almost always won.

This puzzle was an artistically drawn piece of the "Gaang" as Pemma liked to call the team of four teenagers from their comfort TV show. It was a fan-made piece from Emma (Sam's wife) that she'd made for them before she passed away. Benji already knew that his kids would grow up watching the records of the show.

The piece had survived most of Pemma's mood swings (Benji had stayed up all night once to renew the two weeks of progress after a particularly bad one), and it was more than halfway done. They really wanted to be over with it and hang it up on the wall before the twins arrived. Benji was sure that the piece could not handle a pregnant lady and two newborns.

“Hey love”, greeted Benji, walking over and pressing a kiss on Pemma’s forehead. “How have you been? Any pain or discomfort?”

Pemma smiled up at him with those bright blue eyes he had fallen for over a decade ago.

“You know how it goes by now. Mood swings and some nausea. Went for a walk in the park at one point. It was a calmer day than usual. One of the little rascals did keep kicking me all day though, and it tickled for some reason this time. I’m telling you, Benji, we’re going to have twins with two very different personalities.”

Benji beamed at her.

“Looks like one of them shares their mom’s hyperactivity”, he joked.

Pemma swatted at his arm. “You’ll realize it’s more of a curse than a gift if it turns out you’re right.”

“That’s okay, we’ll love them either way”, Benji said warmly.

Pemma’s smile fell ever so slightly and she faced her husband with a hesitant look.

“But what if…what if they turn out to be hybrids Ben?”, her voice getting weaker towards the end. “I wouldn’t know what to do.”

Benji's expression hardened. He couldn’t stand how scared his wife looked. He wanted to promise her that everything would be fine, but how could he when even he didn’t believe that?

Yeah, what if the kids turned out to be hybrids? Benji didn’t know how he could love and raise something so…non-human and unnatural as his own. He just couldn’t imagine himself holding something half-animal, half-human, and thinking, “Yes, this is my kid. Mine to protect, to parent, and to love forever.”

Plus, he was well aware of the new organization that called themselves ‘The Last Men’ (what a stupid ass name that was). He knew how they snatched up the hybrid kids to do god knows what to them. He also knew what happened to the parents who tried to resist. He couldn’t have Pemma going through that. He wouldn't risk losing what he had because of a freaky hybrid kid.

Pemma looked her husband up and down as she tried to gauge his thought proccest. She knew he never looked warmly to hybrids, let alone them having to parent one. Shamefully, she couldn’t say that she disagreed with him. The idea itself scared her so much sometimes that she forgot how to breathe. At the same time, she couldn’t imagine herself not loving any of her babies. How could she look at any of their faces and deny them of the motherly love she was so ready to share?

When Benji finally pulled a chair and sat down across her, she saw the telltale sign of him coming to a decision. One he knew she wouldn't like.

She took his clammy hands in hers and tried to catch his warm brown eyes.

When he finally did look up, Pemma saw a slightly unnerving shine in his eyes. A shine that make her gut churn uncomfortably.

“Penny for your thoughts, Ben?”

Ben caught the scared edge on Pemma’s voice and it made him want to rip his hair out in frustration. He ignored it for both of their sakes.

“I won’t let anyone, anything destroy what we have…what we’ve built for us okay? If…” he took a deep breath, “If it comes to that, then I’ll do anything in my power to make them normal, what they’re meant to be”, he promised with a set jaw. It was more of a promise to himself than to his wife.

Pemma’s worry lines deepened as her face scrunched up in disbelief. Before she could say anything though, a wave of excruciating pain ripped through her and she couldn’t help the scream she let out. All the previous tension was forgotten as Benji shot up from his chair, steadying Pemma as she doubled over in pain.

“Pems!? What- what is it? Is it the kids? Contractions? Are they-”

“No, I’m just constipated- YES Benji it’s the kids. Now get me to the kiddie pool before I pass out.”

“B-But what? They’re early -you -we, I-I thought we had at least-”

Pemma shot him a murderous look.

“Benji I swear to god-”

“Okay okay, sorry! I got this! I got this.”

Benji took a few deep breaths to steady himself as he hauled Pemma to her feet and gently dragged her to the kiddie pool. He thanked his past self a hundred times for already setting the pool up -just in case.

. . .

It’s crazy how quickly life can change up on you sometimes.

One moment you’re stacking puzzle pieces next to each other, the next you’ve given birth to two beautiful newborns.

One moment you’re shedding tears of joy, the next you realize the baby in your arms has feathers. Brown and white feathers that make up two very mesmerizing wings. Two beautiful wings that are bunched up behind a small body that’s wriggling and crying obnoxiously. He’s beautiful, you think. You have to tear your eyes away from the unique pattern of discoloration on his face as you realize his father falling apart next to you, holding your other baby in his arms. In contrast to his sibling, this one isn’t crying.

One moment you’re ready to celebrate the birth of your two baby boys, the next, you’re sure you’re going to die from the pain of losing one.

A wail rips out from you, a wail that matches the baby's cries in your arms.

“Benji! Benji what? What’s wrong? What’s wrong with him?? Why is my baby not crying? Benji let me see him!”

Benjamin pleads his tears and sobs away. He pleads the ugly, ugly disappointment and the heartwrenching pain in his gut away as he forces himself not to look at that…thing. That thing that killed his son. He faces his wife instead and pleads the tears away because he has to be strong. He has to be strong, for his wife needs him now. His wife needs him by her side, just as much as Benji needs her.

So he gently wraps up the dead newborn in his arms with a blanket. A blanket that was identical to the that was wrapped around the hybrid kid. A blanket that was chosen by the couple exactly nine months ago. A blanket that was supposed to have had the chance to be washed and used over and over again.

With whatever strength he had left, Benj dragged himself towards his wife in the kiddie pool and wrapped his arms around the sobbing woman. He gently cupped her cheeks and wiped her tears away with shaky hands. The man's own cheeks were drenched with the tears that kept on spilling, almost in stubborn defiance against his pleas.

It’s crazy how merciless life can be sometimes.

Because one moment you’re mourning the loss of a child, the next you’re trying to keep your wife alive.

One moment you’re the husband, the next you're need to be the doctor.

Thousands of thoughts raced through Doctor Crane’s mind as he tried to identify what may have caused the postpartum hemorrhage.

Blood clotting condition? Thrombin maybe? Not likely, Pemma’s scratches always healed fast.

Uterine atony? No, no he would’ve realized if there had been a steady loss of blood after the delivery…right? He would’ve realized. He would've.

Uterine trauma? Yeah, yeah that was most likely it…but from what? Benji’s eyes hardened as he looked at the hybrid baby with accusing eyes. The kid had wings, but no way were feathers sharp enough to cause any damage to the uterine. The baby was half a bird, right? So talons maybe?

Benji’s eyes frantically darted from side to side and his breathing picked up as he tried to pinpoint what had caused the excessive bleeding. He was no expert in childborth. He remembered taking a general education about it in med school but he had little knowledge of complications. He racked his brain for anything that could help Pemma.

All his thoughts came to a halt when he felt a weak hand squeeze his shanking one. Pemma.

“Ben…just be with me for a moment.”

And it’s crazy how life could be so merciless because here she was, bleeding out, but still having to be the strong one for Benji.

She looked into his eyes with a sense of serenity, because she knew. She knew that she wouldn’t make it. And Benji saw no sign of anger nor fear in her bright blue eyes. He saw no trace of blame in them and he just knew she didn’t blame him for what was happening. She didn’t blame him for being the doctor and not being able to save her, because of course she didn’t.

Pemma could barely think straight because of the shock her brain was going through. The shock that left her airless and unable to collect her breath.

Call her delusional but it reminded her of the way she forgot how to breathe when she saw the same pair of warm brown eyes for the first time. That was a decade ago. Those brown eyes that had her offered so much comfort throughout the years, but now held so much pain inside. The same brown eyes that looked at her with so much love whenever she met them. The same love she was sure that he would show their kid after she was gone.

And life was so merciless to Benjamin Crane that day, for not only had he buried a child and a soulmate, but he was also left alone with the hybrid baby that had caused it all.

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