#girl i don’t think one pocket picker is gonna make that guy think all of thailand sucks

[ropebunnykant]

saving our country’s reputation is crazy

[softboywriting]

It’s You | Shawn Mendes

Summary: You and Shawn have been friends since you were children. Years have gone by, lives changed. He's a rockstar and you're a part time nurse. You keep in contact but lately you've begun to realize life isn't the same without him there and the hole in your heart gets bigger everyday. When he comes home from tour, it's time for you to make your move and confess your feelings. That is...if he doesn't beat you to it. [established friendship] [non au] [friends to lovers]

Word Count: 5k

|Masterlist In Bio|

Vanilla and cinnamon, two of the best scents in the world, in your opinion anyway. Basic, but so comforting. They are the smells of home, your real home back in Pickering. Your family home always smelled like sweet vanilla cookies and Shawn's house, your other home growing up, always smelled like warm cinnamon. It wasn't until Shawn left for his current world tour that you realized you had been subconsciously trying to fill the void of his absence by buying candles in those scents.

Three years and five months to date since his initial departure from Pickering and you wake up to realize you feel empty and it was then you realized that you love him. Of course you have talked to him, phone calls, text, video messages and brief visits. Things didn't end badly and he hasn't cut you out of his life by any means. There are things a long distance friendship can't fulfill, and things you aren't sure you can tell him over the phone, let alone tell him at all.

So for the dozenth time in probably the last three months you find yourself in the bath and body works at the mall. It's buy one get one for the three wick candles and you're sticking your nose in every single one there. Most of them are pretty good, it's the end of the autumn collection and there are displays of the Christmas and winter lines being set up, but nothing is really piquing your interest. Until you find the candle called Black Tie. A very casual little thing, black with gold stripes and it's name in gilded lettering across the side. It's definitely not one you might pick up and smell normally because the color alone indicates it's probably going to be a heavy scent that's far different from your usual vanilla and cinnamon favourites.

The moment you get the lid off you are hit with an overwhelming sense of nostalgia. Your heart swells and you can't help the tears that form instantaneously. It smells like Shawn, like his cologne that he got for Christmas a few years back. The one you could smell on your jacket after he hugged you goodbye at the airport right before this tour. It takes all of your willpower not to fall to your knees then and there in that shop. It is as if in that moment everything you've felt, repressed and ignored, is coming bubbling up to drown you.

"Are you finding everything okay?"

Suddenly you're snapped back to reality and you look over to the blonde girl on your left. She's smiling, eagerly awaiting your reply.

"Yeah...yeah I just spaced off. Thanks."

"Alright, no problem. I'm Jess if you need any help I'll be around."

You nod and clutch the candle to your chest. Is it weird? You look down at the gold lid of the candle and turn it upwards so you can see it better. Is it strange to want a candle that smells like your best friend's cologne? No. You won't talk yourself out of it. You grab a vanilla cookie dough candle and head for the register with your purchases before you can change your mind again.

_____________________

"You got another candle?" Shawn laughs through the phone in your lap. "How many is that now?"

"Probably like three dozen."

"You're gonna be on that show, my strange addiction. True story, addicted to candles."

You lift the phone and narrow your eyes at him. "Listen here jewelry boy. You're one to talk, I've seen your ridiculous collection of rings, bracelets, watches and crap. I don't make fun of you."

"Yeah but I can actually wear mine. What do you do with candles? Burn them?"

You scoff. "I don't make fun of your coping mechanisms."

"Coping? Whoa what? Are you okay?"

Shit. You set the phone down and lean your head on your knees. How could you let that slip out like that? He didn't need to know you're missing him, and what life used to be.

"Hey, talk to me. What's going on?"

You sigh softly. "Nothing is going on. I'm just really lonely and most of my friends have moved away. I guess the candles remind me of home, back in Pickering when things were simpler. I've been thinking of moving back in with mom and dad. My place here in Toronto is getting too expensive."

Shawn is quiet for a moment. You worry he's hung up but the screen is still lit up. "I miss home too. I'll be back in a few weeks, it won't be for long but it's something. If you don't want to move in with your parents you can stay at my place. It's empty."

"What if you have company?"

"I never have anyone at the apartment besides the guys."

You shake your head and roll your eyes. "I don’t know...anyway, when will you be home again?"

"Few weeks."

"You're gonna be working when you're here, you always are."

"No, I'm gonna take some time off. I want to see Mom and Dad and Aaliyah. I want to see you."

You wrap your arms around your knees and close your eyes. "Can I tell you a secret?"

"You can tell me anything."

"I think I fell in love."

Silence. Why did you even say something? He’s going to figure out it’s him. He’s not that dense, is he?

"Shawn?"

"Yeah?" He’s quiet and you can't read his emotions through the phone. You hate this. Maybe he doesn’t know it’s him. He can’t know. Why did you even say anything? So stupid. "Go on."

"It's a friend, someone from back in Pickering."

"Oh. So like...are you dating?" He has no idea.

"No."

Shawn sighs and it sounds almost relieved. "How are you in love then? Usually people need to be together to be in love."

"It's complicated."

"It's Matt isn't it?"

"What? No!"

"Oh, well, love is complicated, so y'know...just don't rush into it."

"I'm stupid and too emotional about it." You pick up the phone and look at him. "Forget I said anything. It's nothing."

"You're not stupid or emotional, feelings are valid. Maybe you are in love, maybe it's infatuation. You'll have to take a chance on this person to find out okay?"

"Yeah, okay."

Shawn looks back as someone opens a door in the room he's in. "I have to go, I'll text you?"

"For sure. Bye." You set the phone aside and flop backwards. He seemed put off, jealous almost. No. That can't be right. He's just worried about you. Yeah. That's it.

___________________

Two weeks later you find yourself hauling boxes out of the elevator on the twelfth floor of an apartment building to Shawn's place. Your rent went up a hundred dollars due to alleged renovations and that was not happening in your budget. Initially you tried going back home to Pickering, knowing it'd be a long drive to work in Toronto but it would be fine. Your parents however didn't have space for you. They are amid a remodel that you completely forgot about so your bedroom is no more. Shawn is your last choice but you know it's not going to work out when he's home, but it's temporary, you'll find another place.

The first thing you notice is that Shawn's apartment is less of a two bedroom and more of a one and a half. The second room he uses as guitar storage and a makeshift studio is the size of a large walk in closet. If you're lucky you'll get your bed in there and maybe your dresser but not much else. Shawn said to move whatever you needed into the living room. Somehow it feels wrong to impede on his space.

After a long three days of moving and setting up you're finally moved in. You stacked his guitars in their cases by the couch and boxed up all his recording gear and put it in his room. Your bed, dresser and a shelving unit all fit in the small bedroom and that's it. The rest of your furniture you took to your parents house and stored in the garage.

It's Sunday, the fourth day after the move and you are unpacking your candles, setting them out on your dresser and the shelving you set up. It's funny, Shawn's place smells like cinnamon just like his parents house did back home. You don't even need to burn any candles to be reminded of back then, Shawn's place somehow perfectly encapsulates it.

The sound of the front door opening sends your pulse skyrocketing. Shawn wasn't due home for another week. You grab your keys from your purse and ready the pepper spray you have dangling from them.

"Hello?"

Karen pops her head around the corner to the kitchen. "Hey! I was hoping you would be here. I brought some stuff for Shawn, and you too since you're here."

"Oh." You pocket your keys and walk into the kitchen to see bags of groceries on the counter. "What's all this?"

"Food, supplies." Karen begins unpacking and placing things in the fridge. "I always do this before Shawn gets home so he doesn't have to order take out."

"You're the best Karen." You hand her a carton of milk. "Do you still make the crock pot chicken soup for him?"

"Every time." She smiles. "I won't make it until Friday since he'll be here Saturday morning."

You grab a bottle of water and lean against the counter. Karen spoils Shawn rotten but you get it, you'd do the same for him. "Do you think it's weird?"

"What's that?"

"Hmm? Oh. Did I say that out loud?"

Karen closes the fridge and goes to the cabinet. "You did. What’s weird?"

"That I'm staying with Shawn."

"No, not in the least." She motions for you to pass her dry goods from the bags and you do. "You and Shawn have been thick as thieves since you were eight years old. There is something special about your friendship."

"Yeah, he's the best friend I've ever had. I'm glad he hasn't changed much since he got famous."

"Manny and I raised him right, put a good head on his shoulders. He's got common sense and a strong moral compass." She smiles and pauses to look back at you. "Friends like you keep him grounded as well."

"I do my best."

"He listens to you, values your opinion. Believe it or not he listens to you more than me sometimes."

You roll your eyes and scoff. "I doubt that."

"Oh he does. I can't tell you how many times he's called me for an opinion just to completely change his mind after I give it." Karen chuckles. "It's probably because I'm his Mom."

"But I'm just his friend."

"You're his best friend. Brian and Matt and the guys are all very good friends but you're at the top of the list you guys have been together since you learned to walk. Shawn loves you."

Your heart stops. "Shawn loves everyone."

"True, but he loves you differently. He hasn't said it I'm sure, but the way he looks at you is special. The two of you were meant to be in each other's lives." Karen wads up the plastic bags and stuffs them under the sink cabinet. "Chat with him about it. I'm sure he'll come clean."

Your hands feel sweaty and you fold your arms over your chest tightly. "Do you think he's in love with me?"

"Ah, that I'm not sure of. He's never mentioned that to me but I'm his Mom, boys don't always tell their Mom's their feelings towards their interests. He may have told Manny though, if that's the case." She lays her hand on your shoulder and you look her in the eye. "Shawn is particular, always has been, and now with everything that's happened in his life he is going to be even more particular who he has a relationship with. All I am going to say is that you shouldn't dwell on it. If there is more to your relationship with Shawn then let it happen naturally."

"Thanks." You chew on your lower lip anxiously. "Can I ask you one more thing though?"

"Sure."

"Do you think Shawn and I would be a good match?"

"Yes, without a doubt."

You nod and she kisses your cheek before saying goodbye and heading out. You stay in the kitchen a while, taking in the whole apartment, contemplating ever telling Shawn you love him, and mulling over the fact that his mom can see there is more to the two of you than just friends.

____________________

Monday you decide to snoop around the house. It's your place too after all, you should familiarize yourself. Maybe it's not snooping if you just open every cupboard in the kitchen and rifle through the bathroom drawers because you definitely live here now. You do find a couple of foregien face creams and washes that you can't read anything about on the bottle. You open and sniff them, nothing special smelling. Though you're sure they're probably some super expensive Korean beauty brand that is the secret to Shawn's flawless skin. He never would tell you what he uses and you know that just soap and water is a damn lie.

There is a box of tampons in the cupboard under the bathroom sink when you open it to see what space you're working with for your hair dryer and bath salts. It's surprising because it's definitely not yours and Shawn is definitely a guy. Probably his sisters? Weird.

You dismiss the tampons and wander out of the bathroom after putting away your bathroom supplies. You pause, looking into Shawn's bedroom before readying to turn into your own. It's so empty and way too clean. The Shawn you know never has his shit this in order. You decide to step in, boldly crossing the threshold between exploring your new home to officially snooping.

Shawn's bedroom is almost depressing. You walk along the far right wall where his dresser is. It's empty on top, not even a hairbrush or anything laying in front of the big attached mirror. The room doesn't even look lived in. It looks like a hotel. You go to the bed and sit down on the perfectly tucked blankets. Karen made it no doubt, she cleaned his place every few weeks when he went out of town to keep the dust and stuffiness at a minimum.

You flop back on the bed and close your eyes. It smells like him, like fresh laundry and the expensive cologne he wears on special occasions. The good one that you wish you could find but you know he buys somewhere overseas. You wonder if he wore it the last time he slept in this bed. Honestly you wonder if he ever feels at home here, a place he barely lives in. You open your eyes and look to the doorway, across the hall is your bedroom, already filled with personal things and decoration. Your heart sinks. Maybe he wants you to live with him so this place doesn't feel like a hotel and with you there it will feel more like a home. Yeah. You're going to make this apartment feel like home.

_____________________

Saturday arrives at an agonizingly snail's pace. Karen stopped by on Friday evening to make soup and you were still out by the time she left. You got to experience first hand what it is like for Shawn to arrive home and have warm chicken soup waiting. It's a heavenly smell after a long day and you were tempted to have some, but you know it wouldn't be fully ready until the morning.

You wake up early, planning on getting a shower and making breakfast and setting up the TV to play Harry Potter before Shawn got home. You were going to clean up the living room, bring out blankets and make sure everything was picked up and ready for Shawn to walk in. All that goes out the window when you walk out of your bedroom and see Shawn's bedroom door open with suitcases piled at the end of the bed.

You walk to the kitchen and round the corner to find Shawn sitting at the island eating a bowl of soup. He looks up and smiles so big that broth literally falls out of his mouth.

"You're so gross." You chuckle and he moves around the island to scoop you into a crushing hug.

"I missed you." He says and grips at your back. "It's been forever."

"Six months is a long while." You press your face into his shoulder and take a deep breath. Nothing is more relaxing. "Welcome home."

Shawn squeezes you tighter and you just hold onto him as if it were the last time you are going to get to do it. You stand in silence, just hugging one another and just existing together for a moment, unbroken by the outside world. Two heartbeats becoming one as the seconds tick by.

"Let's make breakfast."

"Just a little longer." He mumbles, face against your head.

You run your hand up his back, across the thrift store vintage tee from some band you've never heard of. It's soft, worn from years of wear and tear. His breathing slows down and he begins to sway in your arms. "Talk to me?"

"Miss this."

"Hugging me?"

"Being home, getting to see you and hug you. I can't wait to see my family too. It's been forever, I've never been away this long without a break. It feels good to hold someone that feels like home."

You fight the tears that well up in your eyes. He thinks of you as home. Your fingers clench instinctively and he lets out a soft groan of pain at your nails digging into his back.

"Sorry, sorry." You apologize profusely and drop your hands to step away and break the bond you've created. "My bad."

Shawn stretches and chuckles. "No worries. You mentioned breakfast?"

"Mmm." You pat his stomach and he reels forward from his stretch. "I see your appetite hasn't changed. One day your metabolism is going to slow down y'know."

"Not today." He loops his arm around your shoulders and pulls you against him as you walk toward the fridge. "Can I have the pre-hockey practice special?"

"That's so much food! You already had soup!"

"I'm starving!" He whines and you elbow him.

"Alright, I'll make it but you had better eat every last bite."

Shawn pulls away and sinks onto the island stool. "You can hold me to it."

You cut him and glare and he grins. Your heart stutters. That smile, it's been so long since you've seen it in person. You wish you could take a photo of this moment, to relive it forever and ever.

______________________

Three days into Shawn being home you come to find two hoodies left laying about the living room. They're ones he hasn't worn as far as you know, so it's a little odd. They never get moved, they just sit there draped across the couch and the lounge chair by the window. As far as you're concerned they're fair game for wearing and you do as such on the third day because you're tired from work and it's chilly in the apartment. You definitely didn't put one on just because it's his and you miss wearing his clothes.

"Hey, what're you doing tonight?" Shawn asks when he gets up around noon and wanders out of his bedroom. He seems to sleep all the time. You wonder just how much rest he gets on tour and while traveling. He claims he passes out as soon as he gets on a plane but you have your doubts.

You look over from where you have been curled up on the couch watching trash TV all morning since you're not tired yet. How, you have no idea. Night shifts at the hospital are exhausting. You're not particularly up for a wild night out so you hope he hadn't made plans to rope you into anything.

"Nothing. Just got home a few hours ago and I've been watching movies and channel surfing."

"Do you want to go out?"

Of course. Sleepy rockstar wants to go out. Part of you wants to be annoyed, jealous that he can just sleep all day and go do whatever he feels like whenever. But you aren't either of those things. In fact, his simple question makes your heart skip, your brain reading it as an inquiry for a date. You know fill well he means going out as friends and your foolish heart instantly settles down.

"It depends, I'm not up for anything too crazy. I just worked a ten hour shift overnight."

"Oh right, I forgot. Wednesday is your night shift. I was just thinking something easy, dinner and drinks?"

"Just us?"

"Yeah, like we used to. The diner on Bedford is still open I think."

You chew your lip. It sounds so tempting. Burgers and shakes, just like the old days. But you need to sleep, and going out with him just seems like a recipe for disaster with your feelings right now.

"I don't think I'm up for it."

Shawn sinks into the cushions beside you. He steals the corner of your blanket and leans his head against your shoulder. He smells like a sleepy boy and minty shampoo. It's hard not to turn your face into his hair and take it all in.

"Wanna talk about it?"

"Wh- huh? There isn't anything to talk about?"

"Are you sure? You've got on my hoodie and you're watching ex on the beach. If I know one thing it's that you're caught up in your feelings right now. Is it that guy you're in love with?"

You pause. He hasn't brought up the whole being in love conversation since you initially had it about a month ago now. Not that you expected him to and it definitely didn't come up naturally. You figured he had forgotten what you said. So now that he is mentioning it unprompted is odd.

"No, he's not...it's not that."

"You never said who it was."

"It's no one. It was a fleeting dream and an emotional couple days. I was mistaken, you know, obsession not affection." Such a liar.

Shawn looks up at you from your shoulder and you can tell he is not buying it. You're not one to be infatuated with someone over nothing. "Right, well I'm up for staying in tonight too."

"No, it's only noon, go out with the guys or something. Go visit Aaliyah and your parents. It's boring here and you've only got a few weeks until you have to go back on tour."

"I'm staying here. I'm not up for the guys and my parents are out of town at my aunt's place today." Shawn pulls his phone out and opens a site on his browser. "I'll get us some lunch, we can play some Mario kart, watch some movies, get drunk together and just do whatever."

"I am not getting drunk. I actually have to work tomorrow morning."

Shawn chuckles and puts his phone away. "I've got rumchata. I know you love that."

You roll your eyes. He truly knows how to get to you. Maybe a few shots wouldn't hurt, they could help you sleep. Maybe.

____________________

One shot turns into three and then three turns into five. After that you get a little wobbly and call it quits. Shawn however downs his sixth one and his six turns into wrestling.

You were cleaning the coffee table off, stacking paper plates from the pizza Shawn ordered and gathering up abandoned napkins. You were ready to call it quits for the day, turn in and sleep until nine tomorrow morning. You were truly ready to just be done but Shawn was not.  

Just as you get the last napkin with cheese residue stuck to the center stacked on top of the pizza box with the paper plates you feel arms around your waist and the next thing you know you're being tossed into the back of the couch cushions.

"Shawn you dick!" You yell and he cackles from nearby. You regain your bearings and instinct kicks in. Having grown up with Shawn and your older brother, wrestling was nothing new. You had your fair share of throw downs with the big boys but it has been ages since it's happened. The instinct to fight back hasn't dwindled though and as soon as your feet hit the floor you're lunging at Shawn.

The two of you end up locked in a grappling match. He should have the upper hand, he's easily bigger than you and far more in shape than you ever dreamed to be. This should be a cakewalk for him but he's just on the more drunk side of tipsy and he's not focused. It's to your advantage because you drop your hands from his arms quick enough that he stumbles into you grabbing his waist and driving him back into the couch.

"You think you got me?" He laughs, arms curling around your chest as he lifts you up and over beside him.

Before you know it the two of you are on the floor, kicking the table askew, knocking over his stack of guitar cases. You're making a terrible mess and all because neither of you will submit.

Shawn rolls you over and pins you down by your forearms, legs hooked around yours. He has managed quite the effective pinning maneuver. You're impressed. "I win."

"You cheated."

"Did not!"

"Yes, you did."

He scowls and you laugh. He's so easy to rile up when he is a little drunk and riling him up means he loses focus. "You're just-"

You pull your arms away from his hold and push him up, making him fall back on his ass against the edge of the couch. He's quick to react to your little escape move. He snatches your shirt, pulling you into his lap and you collapse, chest in his face, legs straddling his thighs.

Silence befalls the apartment. Neither of you move. His warm breath ghosts through your hoodie, across your chest and his hands cup your ass from where he had attempted to stop you from getting away from again. The tension is palpable, suffocating even. Undoubtedly he can hear your heart, pounding rapidly in your chest. You're not sure what to do, how to make this feel normal.

Slowly you sink down, sitting on his lap and pulling yourself away from his face. He's red, flushed from forehead to neck. It's not from the alcohol. Your hands come to rest on his shoulders and he moves his hands from your butt, opting to hold your hips instead.

His lips are hot pink, mouth open just a bit as he stares at you, eyes darting between your eyes and lips. He's thinking the same thing, feeling the same way. Somehow you've both landed on the same page in this very moment.

"It's you." You mutter, saying the first thing that comes to mind. It doesn't make sense, really it shouldn't because you've said nothing about what he is.

He nods and leans in ever so slightly, soft smile playing at the corners of his mouth. He understands. "I know."

You slide your hands up the back of his neck, fingers twisting into his hair and he leans all the way in, lips connecting with yours. Blood rushes to your brain and you bring him closer, euphoria overtaking your body. The relief you feel is unlike anything else, like the weight of the world has been lifted off your shoulders.

"How long have you known?" You ask, pulling away just enough to press your head against his.

"Years, but the call, when you said you fell in love. I knew you were talking about me, I knew you were hiding it." He bumps his nose against yours. "I'm sorry I took so long to say anything."

You smile, letting out a little laugh as you do. "It's a two way street though. I never said anything either."

"Yeah." He slides his hands up your back. "Will you say it?"

"Say what?"

"You know what."

You duck your head and capture his lips for a moment. "I love you." He grins at the sound. "I love you Shawn Mendes."

Shawn squeezes you tight and kisses you hard and unabashedly. "I love you." He kisses your nose. "I love you from now until forever."

"Say swear to God."

He laughs and leans his head back on the couch, knowing you're teasing him. "I swear to God. Every God there is. I love you."

You sink down and lean your head on his chest, arms around his back. He raises his arms to hold you and you close your eyes. "I think I've always loved you," you say softly into his shoulder.

"Me too." He whispers back, body relaxing under yours. "Me too."

End

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Thank you for reading! Please reblog if you read, want to save for later, or enjoyed! - A

*****Note: none of my works should be posted anywhere outside of my linked accounts. I do not give permission to repost with or without credit to my accounts. Please notify me of any reposted fics.*****

[writinginthesecrettrees]

Don’t Forget: He Has A Brother

Takes place in August of 2007, between Independence Day and Halloween.

The first thing Dean became aware of was that Sammy wasn’t next to him, and something in his soul told him that Sammy wasn’t anywhere nearby.

That, more than the ropes tying him to the chair and his splitting headache, told him that something had gone wrong. Last night (was it last night?) was drinks at a bar, playing pool with some idiots and watching Sam dance with the sort of pretty little thing both of them love to play with, shiny blonde hair and a short red dress and Dean can already picture what she’ll look like when her hair is wet with blood, and then the world starts to get a bit fuzzier than beer can account for and that sweet girl doesn’t know it but it’s her lucky night, he’s gotta get to Sam and tell him… tell him… 

The last thing Dean remembers is the world spinning, and a voice saying “Hey, buddy, you don’t look so good,” and darkness.

The room he’s in is dark, faint daylight filtering through a dirty window high on the wall, the floor is concrete and there’s water dripping from an exposed pipe, leak tied off with an old rag. He’s been tied to a chair by someone who knew what they were doing, ropes not giving at all when he tests them.

Above him, a door opens and footsteps approach, down a flight of stairs and coming to a halt just behind him. They stand there, silent, and Dean shakes his head.

“Don’t get shy now, sweetheart. You’re the one who wanted me here, aren’t ya?” Dean pictures the face Sam would make if he could hear him, pissed off over Dean not taking things seriously.

The man behind him moves then, comes around to where Dean can see him, and Dean’s not surprised to see one of the locals he’d been playing pool with. Sam’s gonna bitch him out for this, getting drugged and kidnapped by some idiot amateurs. Dean feels his lips stretch into a smile and he doesn’t try to hold back his laugh then.

“What’re you laughing at, pretty boy? Or are ya too stupid to know what’s happening here?” 

The anger on his abductor’s face makes Dean laugh harder. The sudden flare of pain and taste of blood in his mouth when the man punches his cheek helps him stop. He spits blood out onto the floor.

“Why don’t you tell me what you think is happening, and I’ll tell you why you’re wrong.”

“I think we got us a very pretty plaything, and we’re gonna have a lot of fun soon’s we decide who gets the first turn.” There’s an arrogant cruelty on the man’s face that would be hot if he were Sam, but he isn’t and Dean’s gonna flay him for the almost-resemblance.

“You’re wrong, and you’re an idiot.” A shadow flickers past the window and Dean grins up at the man, blood staining his teeth and gums. “See, you thought I was just some innocent passerby, and no one would notice me missing for who knows how long.” The confidence on the man’s face starts to flicker. “But someone noticed me missing right away. Five minutes after you assholes grabbed me, guaranteed. And he’s coming for you.”

“So we get two toys. We know how to handle nosy friends.” False bravado is something that Dean’s never seen on Sam’s face so it fits the man better, won’t save him from the fate Dean’s already decided on.

A slight scuffle upstairs, and the man looks towards the cellar ceiling. 

“You sure about that?”

-

Sam looks up from the blonde he’s dancing with, frowns when he sees the pool tables empty and no Dean in sight. Dean should still be there, hadn’t been playing long enough to have cleaned them out yet.

He’s not too worried. Dean can take care of himself, probably the guys he was playing with got tired of losing and Dean will be out in the parking lot, hiding in the back of the Impala for Sammy to bring his lovely armful out for a night of fun.

No special occasion this time but they both get an itch when they haven’t had blood on their hands in a while, and this girl has a soft innocence that promises tears and whimpers and begging when they have their knives in her, rope around her throat and face turning blue and Dean saying “good boy” in his ear for finding her. Sam presses himself against her, whispers in her ear, and she giggles like she thinks the hard-on against her belly is for her.

He can’t shake the feeling that something’s not right. Dean should have caught his eye before slipping outside, given him a signal that it was time for the real fun to start. He’s casual when he asks the girl if she wants to play some pool with him.

“I haven’t played much,” she says. “Tables are usually full.”

“I’ll teach you, baby,” Sam purrs, imitating Dean. Arm around her waist as he steers them to the pool tables, and very casually, “Those guys who were here earlier, they usually take over the games?”

She nods, makes a show of running her hands up and down the pool cues and probably thinks it’s seductive. “They’re bad news.”

Sam racks the balls, rolls his eyes behind her back when she bends over too far with her cue held deliberately wrong but plays along, leaning over her and guiding her hands correctly. “Bet I could take ‘em.”

She laughs then, turns in his arms so she’s half-lying on the table beneath him. “They’d like you to try. They like pretty strangers. It’s a good thing you aren’t the only new blood in town.”

Dean’s got to be the prettiest stranger they’ve ever seen, and he was playing pool with the bad news while Sam was separating this bit of fun from the herd instead of watching his back. Sam grits his teeth while he takes a shot, sinks a few before missing to give her another turn. He trails his fingers over her arms, her neck, her thighs while she lines up a shot, leans in to whisper, “Sink the eight ball and I’ll give you a special prize,” and she does, no hesitation.

“So where’s my prize?” she asks, light and teasing and sparkling eyes.

“Come back to my room with me,” he says, and she smiles. Lets him take her hand and lead her outside, to the Impala, black and gleaming in the moonlight.

Dean’s not in the back. That’s okay. Sam will find him soon.

She doesn’t start to get worried until he’s driven past the only motel in town with no sign of slowing. 

“I think you missed your turn,” and her voice is shaking, just a little, and this is the part where Dean should rise up out of hiding, lock his arm around her throat and squeezesqueezesqueeze until she’s unconscious but Dean’s not there and Sam can’t enjoy her fear when his own is clamoring louder and louder in his brain.

“Shut up.”

She’s scrambling for the handle now, and he pushes the gas pedal to the floor, racing down dark deserted roads towards the old abandoned farmhouse he and Dean had found that morning. The reason they stopped here instead of driving on through town, and Sam’s already picturing it going up in gasoline-fueled flames when he’s done because if they hadn’t stopped Dean wouldn’t be missing.

“I wanna go home,” she whimpers.

“Shut. Up!” Sam takes one hand off the wheel, grabs the back of her head and slams her forward against the dashboard. She goes limp beside him.

She doesn’t come back around until he throws a bucket of water over her face, and if Dean wasn’t missing Sam would enjoy the disorientation melting into panic as she realizes she’s hanging from her wrists, feet just barely touching the floor.

“Oh God, oh God,” she cries, twisting around, trying to see something outside the puddle of light cast by oil lamps around her feet. Sam steps into the light behind her, waits for her to twist back around, and she screams when she sees him. “What do you want from me?”

“I want you to tell me about bad news. And what they did with my brother.”

“What?”

“Wrong answer.” Sam takes his knife, drags it down her body from her collarbone to her cunt, pressing deep enough that her skin rips along with the fabric of her dress, and she screams and tries to twist away. “Careful,” he says, letting the knife press deeper at her ribs, “if you move too much I might lose control.” The dress falls open, red blood on her skin giving the illusion that it’s still whole.

“You’re sick!”

“And you’re not answering my question.” Sam slices through the straps holding her dress up, watches it slide off her body to the floor. “No panties? Bad girl.”

“You seemed to like it earlier.”

“Darling, I was thinking of my brother.” Even with Dean missing, Sam relishes the look of disgust on her face. “Which brings me back to my question: who were the men he was playing with, why are they bad news, and where is Dean?” 

“I don’t know!”

“I don’t believe you.” He pulls a lighter from his pocket, flicks it on, holds it in front of her face. Eyes wide with terror, whites showing all around as she strains her head back from the flames. He laughs at her, brings it closer until he can see the babyfine hairs on her cheek shrivel in the heat. “You’re lucky I don’t have time to set up all my toys. I got a poker - it gets real hot when I let it sit in a fire, makes the flesh sizzle when I play. You ever hear human flesh sizzle?”

She doesn’t answer, just sobs, eyes focused on the flame in his hand.

“Sounds just like burgers on a grill. My brother loves burgers. He likes the sizzle sound, too.” He flicks the lighter closed and puts a gentle hand on her cheek, gives her the earnest eyes that drew her in earlier, suppresses a laugh when she jerks her head away from his touch. “I just want my brother back. Just… tell me what you know, and this’ll be over.”

“They’ll hurt me,” she whimpers softly.

Sam smiles at her. “I’ll hurt you more.”

She cries as she tells him everything she knows about the Pickering men: their cruelty in the town, how the shopkeepers and bartenders and even the sheriff are afraid of them, how sometimes when a traveler is passing through town they turn up missing, and how they have a hunting cabin a little ways out into the wilderness and the whole town breathes a sigh of relief when their truck trundles out for a stay. Sam strokes her hair, croons at her that she’s being so good, thanks her for the information. When she’s done, she looks at him with hope bright in her eyes. “So… you’ll let me go now?”

Sam cups her face in his hands, marvels at how small she looks, presses a soft kiss to her forehead. She looks almost giddy with relief, and he desperately wishes Dean were here to watch it turn to despair when he says, “No.”

He leaves her alive, bars the door and throws a match on the oil-soaked wood. It catches immediately, and he can hear her start to scream when the fire licks its way inside. He sits in the Impala, watches the old barn burning brighter and brighter, strains his ears to hear her over the increasing roar of the flames, jerks himself roughly and thinks about how good Dean’s mouth would feel if he were here, sucking him off while Sam watched the fire. It’s not good enough, and Sam tucks himself back into his jeans unsatisfied. 

He’ll come with Dean, or not at all.

-

Sam finds his brother bound to a chair in a filthy cellar, the last of the Pickering men standing behind him with a knife to his throat. Dean looks bored, rolls his eyes when the man says “If you come any closer I’ll kill him!”

Sam ignores him, takes the last steps down the stairs. “Dean?”

“I’m fine, Sammy. They’ve been very hospitable.”

“That’s a big word for you.”

“Shut up.” The affectionate grin Dean gives him brings an answering smile to Sam as he starts towards them.

The knife at Dean’s throat bites in deeper, a drop of blood trickling down towards the collarbone and Sam wants to be done with the Pickerings so he can lick the drop away, suck Dean’s skin clean.

“I mean it, stop!” The man sounds hysterical, and Sam glances up at him.

“Any objections if I just blow this one’s face off?” he asks Dean.

“Kinda got plans for his face,” Dean says.

Sam thinks about what sort of plans Dean might have. Really wants to watch whatever Dean’s wanting to do. “Okay, then.”

The man had underestimated how fast Sam could move - most people did, thought big and tall also meant slow. Sam’s at his side before he realizes Sam’s running, fingers digging into the man’s wrist as he forces the knife away from Dean’s throat. He manages to land a fist in Sam’s ribs, and Sam twists his hand, breaks the wrist he’s holding like snapping a twig. The knife drops and the man howls as Sam forces him to the ground, kicks his head to knock him out.

“Took you long enough to get here,” Dean says while Sam cuts him free.

Dean stands up, rubbing at his wrists and scowling as blood flows back to his hands.

“Let me.” Sam grabs his hands, rubs them briskly, gives the nerves something to feel other than pins and needles. “I had a bitch of a time getting info on where these dicks were.”

“Yeah, well.” 

It’s not in Dean’s nature to admit he was worried, but Sam doesn’t have a problem with it and he pulls Dean against him, wraps his arms around Dean, marvels that he got here before the Pickerings really got started on him, buries his face against Dean’s neck and breathes in the gunpowder and blood scent that means home. “I was worried about you. Jerk.”

Dean’s hand strokes over his hair, and he can hear the smile in Dean’s voice when he says, “Bitch.”

-

They tie the man in the cellar to the chair Dean had been bound to, head upstairs to put some restraints on the others. Dean grins at the two unconscious men, left in a heap by the front door. “You get me the nicest gifts, Sammy,” and Sam glows at the praise.

“Thought you’d wanna play with them yourself.”

“You know me so well.”

There’s a bed in a backroom, not quite a single but not big enough to be a double and the sheets have seen better days, but Sam doesn’t object when Dean pushes him down onto it. Doesn’t object to the ropes Dean holds up, one eyebrow raised in a silent question, lets Dean tie his wrists to the bedposts and opens his legs, lets Dean slide his body into the perfect fit space between them.

Dean growls as he fucks Sam, one hand pressed over Sam’s throat and squeezing off his air, and the ecstasy on Sam’s face spurs him on. He dips his head to kiss Sam and Sam licks flamehot into his mouth, tastes like candy and ash and blood and it’s heaven. He finishes before Sam and leaves him hanging, ignores the protest as he walks out naked.

Comes back with a Pickering on a leash and stands in the doorway for a minute, admiring the way Sammy looks tied to a bed and thoroughly debauched, cock hard and dripping precum on his abs. “Such a pretty picture, Sammy. Isn’t he pretty?” he asks the man he’s dragging.

“Fuck you!”

“Well, that’s just rude. I let you see my baby brother, the prettiest thing in the world, and you don’t even say ‘thank you.’ Can you believe him, Sammy?”

Sam’s scowl makes Dean laugh. “Yeah, you’re right, Sammy. Can’t have him walking around with this memory. I’m jealous like that.”

Dean’s covered in the man’s blood when he comes back to the bed for round two. He goes slowly, jacking Sam through a first orgasm and fingering his already loosened ass through a second, soft kisses across his nose and cheeks as Dean thrusts slow and deep until Sam’s shuddering through a third. 

The second Pickering dies quickly, eyes gouged out before Dean pulls him into the room and Sam’s murmured approval as Dean takes a hammer to his major bones before smashing his skull in.

Dean slides into Sam easily, cumslick and open for him and Sam moans happily, gives a full-body wriggle beneath him and blinks sleepy eyes and when he’s done Dean unties Sam, lets him curl up under a ratty quilt while he goes to get the last man.

The one in the cellar.

He’s just coming around from Sam’s kick when Dean drags him still tied to the chair into the room. His face is a bit addled, like if they let him live he’d never be quite right in the head again but the only regret there is he won’t really understand what’s happening to him.

Dean took time to grab his tools from the Impala, and he makes sure Sam is watching when he stands behind the man, holds his chin in one hand and presses a surgically sharp blade into the skin at his hairline. “Told ya I had plans for this one, Sammy,” Dean says and loves the way Sam’s eyes light up. 

He watches Sam’s smile as he slices around the man’s face, starts to peel back skin and flesh while the man screams and screams.

“Touch yourself, Sammy. Wanna watch.”

And Sam does, rubs his oversensitive dick and whimpers at his own touch, runs his thumb over the head, curls over and presses the fingers of his other hand into his hole.

The face comes free under Dean’s knife, and the man is twitching. Dying, probably, shock and blood loss draining the life from him. As he dies, Dean leans in to whisper in his ear. “You made several mistakes here, buddy. One was hunting where you live. That’s just plain stupid. Another was hunting me - I’m Dean Winchester, and it’s too bad you won’t live long enough for the FBI to tell you what that means.” He chuckles. “But your biggest mistake? The fatal flaw? You didn’t account for my brother.”

Dean ends the man’s suffering with a knife across the throat, arterial spray splattering over Sam as Sam comes. They fuck one last time in the outdoor shower, rinsing blood and worse of their skin and out of their hair, and Sam goes to his knees under the spray to suck Dean off again before they leave.

-

Currently thinking of Henriksen in the middle of summer, and he knows the Winchesters aren’t going to go months without a kill so when a call comes in that might be his sort of thing, he gathers up the team and heads out. Finds himself in a small town, with a burnt down barn and a woman’s charred body hanging from a chain inside. An old cabin just outside town, and shallow graves that the locals are digging up, filled with bodies that belong to at least fourteen missing persons, and they’re still finding more. The locals are avoiding going inside the farmhouse, but the green faces on several of them say they’ve taken a peek.

Inside, it’s Winchester work.

“What do you think happened, sir?”

“I think those brotherfuckers did us a favor for once. Bartender says these sick fucks left with a man matching Dean’s description.”

“And?”

“Guess they didn’t know he had a brother.”

[be-ready-when-i-say-go]

On The Run--Part 2

A continuation of this blurb. 

Witch!OC on the run. Clueless Calum. 

No one has permission to repost this elsewhere, including translations. Thank you. 

Masterlist

___________________

It’s three days. When Calum’s phone buzzes from his coffee table in the evening he’s almost positive, it’s a scam text message. Have a night to spare. Do waffles still stand?

It’s dumb to send that message. It’s dumb to get into her car. It’s dumb to drive until she sees the yellow backlit sign. It’s dumb to pull into the parking lot. It’s dumb to stand outside her car, waiting for this guy to show up. She didn’t even have his fucking name. And just three days ago, she’s utterly convinced he was attempting to hunt her down. 

But she felt like she owed him this. Not that she had any real obligation to take this stranger up on their word. But Morgan knew she’d be leaving town soon. Her last encounter proved that she needed to get the fuck out and move on. And he was sweet. He didn’t press her. Didn’t follow her down into the bowels of the dance floor. He was cool, a bit of a fumble on his feet when he handed her the number. But still sweet nonetheless. 

Besides, Morgan does like waffles, much better than pancakes because of the small pockets to hold the syrup. 

She figures it’ll be her last meal in town. She’ll eat and then set out to duck out of town. There’s no harm in that. Having a good last meal before she spent hours on the road, attempting to figure out her next move. Yeah, she could use it as motivation. She’d already be out of the house. Her belongings were already packed in two bags. They were already in her trunk. 

She just hadn’t been able to fuck go yet. 

But this would her motivation. This would be like her last goodbye to the town. 

“Okay, this is going to sound crazy. But did we ever trade names?” 

Morgan shakes her head. “Don’t think we did. I’m Morgan.”

“Calum.”

She tries it out. Her tongue curling just a little, the tip of her tongue touching the roof of her mouth as she says the ‘L’. They head inside. It’s not long until they’re seated. “So, what do you do around here?” Calum asks, his gaze flicks between the menu to her and then it settles there. 

Hiding. Running. Trying not to fucking die. “Just...figuring things out really. Fairly new in town. But I don’t think I’m cut out to make it out here for long.”

HIs brows furrow, pulling his own face down. His lips curl into a pout. His head tilts to one side. “Why do you say that?”

“Just...not my vibe, I guess.” There’s something in that gaze. He cares. Deeply. And he shouldn’t. Morgan’s trouble. Always has been nothing but trouble and always will be nothing but trouble. But she can cause enough trouble on her own. She doesn’t need to be worried about anyone else right now. Morgan’s thankful a server comes by to get their drink orders. She gets just water. Calum gets orange juice. “But enough about me, what are you doing? What’s your story?”

“Nothing fancy,” Calum returns. His gaze lands on the All star Breakfast special. 

“C’mon. Give me something better than that.”

Calum shakes his head. A small grin appears on his face and Morgan’s floored by how it brightens his face. “Nah, it’s really nothing too big. Just in a a band. Playing and making music with three of my best mates.”

It’s on the term ‘mates’ that Morgan hears more of his accent. It’s always there. Always been sitting and playing like a song to her eardrums. But it only hits her then. “Let me guess, you’re not from LA originally. Gonna say you moved here. From,” she pauses, pondering as she rubs her chin. “Australia?”

“Accent wasn’t it?”

“That and your use of ‘mates’. No one says that around here.”

“What about you? Where you are from? What brought you to LA even if LA doesn’t seem like it’s making ya stay.”

Morgan picks at the corner of the laminated menu. It’s already lifting, thanks to all the nervous pickers before her. Running. Hiding. Trying to survive. “Just had to get away really,” she starts before clearing her throat. Her water’s placed down and she takes the moment to figure out just how to lie this time. 

“You guys ready to order?”

Fuck, she’s hardly looked over this menu. “All Star Breakfast,” comes out in unison. Calum and Morgan look at each other before laughter erupts from them. Calum opts for no sausage. 

“You know, I’m a growing girl. I’ll just take his portion,” she tells the server. They only nod, scratching a line out on the pad and then turn to add their ticket to the thin string of other people looking for breakfast at half past 8 pm. 

Morgan takes a sip of her water and Calum continues to gaze at her softly. “Just getting away?” he reiterates.

“I just didn’t fit in where I was, I guess. They wanted something that I wasn’t. And I just—I knew I had to get out from there. So I came to LA. Could be nameless and no one would care. I wouldn’t stick out.”

Calum snorts. “I know it’s LA. But even still blue hair will get you noticed. Trust me. Mine was blue, blond. Pink, even. People still notice.”

Morgan nods, pulling on a small ringlet from her bags. The afro is cut in something more like a heart shape around her face. The curl bounces back into place too. “I guess I might’ve been asking for some attention.”

“Just a tiny bit,” Calum jokes, bringing his thumb and pointer finger together but not actually touching. His eyes narrow into a squint as to emphasize his point. 

Their conversation turns silent for just a moment and as Calum sips at his drink, Morgan speaks, picking at her nails. “Thanks. For not flipping at the club.”

Calum shakes his head. “You don’t have to thank me for that.”

“No, but like, I know it’s gotta be strange for me not to, like, take the bait on your move in the club but to take your number and actually text you.” 

She tries not to feel like she has to explain. But she is grateful that Calum’s not being nasty towards her. She’s learned in the short three months she’s been hiding out: that it’s not just her kind that can be nasty. Men hitting her expect her to fawn over the action. Like she should be grateful that anyone is giving her attention. It makes her feel dirty. She feels like she’s rolled in mud and let it dry and pull tight at her skin. No amount of showering will ever quite get rid of that feeling either. 

“Like, I just. A few days before had an unpleasant experience. So yeah,” Morgan shakes her head, looking up at Calum again. He looks sad, maybe even a little frustrated. “Yeah, just thanks.”

“I’m sorry.” It comes out in a whisper. “I’m sorry you’ve got to deal with assholes.”

“Happens.”

“But it shouldn’t, ya know?” 

Morgan’s dealt with assholes before. Like the girl that felt her up last week when she was closing out her tab. Or like the guy that catcalled her as she walked back to her place with groceries in hand. Assholes were always around. And though Calum didn’t know about the scouting groups and though he didn’t know about what she had done, how she felt so dirty for turning her back. It’s nice to know that good people still exists. 

Their food arrives and Morgan asks while sliding the two extra sausage patties onto her plate about the band and the music and what’s going on in Calum’s life. They laugh, pulling out phones to show pictures. Mostly Calum showing off Duke. “Sorry, I probably sound crazy,” he mutters, putting his phone face down on the table. 

“No, you don’t sound crazy. It’s very cute. Worth showing off.”

Plates are cleared. Though crumbs of toast litter their plates and not an ounce of waffle left behind, they contemplate dessert. “I’m pretty stuffed,” Morgan counters. She needs to get on the road. She needs to get away from here. The scouting groups are no doubt still trying to close in on her. 

Calum nods. He pays the bill, though she insistent she can pay for half. “I had a nice time. And I’m not sure I can convince you to follow me for a late night record run.”

“I should get back. It’s past my bed time,” Morgan teases. 

“When are you leaving?” Calum enjoyed her company. Even if she’s leaving, maybe he can get one last time with her. 

“Morning probably.”

He nods. “Be safe out there. Keep in touch, will you?”

She reaches across the table, palms face up. Calum places his hands into hers. She rubs her thumbs over his parents initials etched into his skin. His tattoos don’t radiate heat like her markings do. Any witch with a marking gives a little heat over that area. But Morgan can feel something there. Like a weight. He’s gone from everyone else. His family is continents away. “I’m sorry I can’t stay.”

“You don’t need to apologize about that. It’s your life. You’ve got to live it. You’ve got to face you at the end of the road.” 

Her fingers wrap around. Calum’s shocked at how warm her hands are. How she just seems to get it and get him. It’s silent a moment between them. Morgan knows. She always knows with a simple touch. He’s going to find that stability. It make take him scrapping his knees a few times due to falling but he’ll get it right eventually. 

Her eyes open. For a moment, just a split second, Calum’s sure he can see some gold swirling in the dark brown-almost black of her irises. By the time he blinks again. It’s gone. “How does that song go? I walk a lonely road,” she sings. Calum laughs, head dropping on his neck and he squeezes her hands in his. 

Calum feels her hand leaving his pocket as they exit the restaurant. When he reaches inside and finds the twenty dollar bill, he sighs. Morgan’s already crossing the parking lot. They parked right next to each other. His was a few minutes late having to take Duke out before he left. But he knew her face when he saw her standing against her trunk. 

Calum’s boots thud down onto the asphalt and he catches her by the back pocket of her jeans, slipping the bill inside. She laughs, spinning around. Her elbow comes down on his forearm. Not hard by any stretch. Just enough of a tap to warn Calum. His body pins her to her trunk just for a moment. “What do you think you’re doing sir?”

“I asked you on the date. So I’m gonna pay.”

“Gas money. Toy money for Duke.”

“Keep your money Morgan.” He starts backwards to his own vehicle. She starts after him. “Oi! Don’t.” 

A scuffle ensues. Calum holding her arms down at her side. She’s leaning forward trying to push against his hold. She knows she can’t physically break it. She doesn’t need to. Their laughter bubbles around the night, echoing high off the empty looking skies. In the bright light of the sign, Morgan twirls her fingers the gold flecks reflecting off the tips of her fingers. The bill slips out of her pocket and into his. But Calum doesn’t notice. Not as he laughs into her afro and neck, trying not to memorize the scent of her shampoo. 

“Don’t try it. Really. Don’t give it back to me.” He’s trying to sound more serious than he is. But his words always dissolve into laughter. 

Her feet are dragging, unable to get real traction to break Calum’s pin. “Alright, alright, alright,” she huffs, still laughing into his chest. 

He straights up, leaning slightly forward to counter her force. His hands slide down from her wrist to hook the tips of their fingers together before that hold slackens. Fingers slide and their pinkies hook. “You’re a stubborn one, I see.”

“Momma always called me a bull,” Morgan returns. Her chest is still heavy from their laughter and the force she exerted to lose in a match of brute strength against Calum. “Guess she saw it before anyone else.” 

He almost wants to pull on a curl, watch it bounce like it did before at the table. But he stops himself. “Just call me sometimes, alright? So I can see what trouble you’re getting into.”

“I will. Thanks for the waffles.”

“Anytime you’re in town, we can get them.”

Calum watches sure Morgan pulls off first. Watches her car disappear into the traffic and then he climbs inside. When he buckles his seatbelt part of his jacket gets in the way so he tugs at it, pulling it out of the way. Something crinkles. He almost’s sure it’s just some old receipt. But he pats the pocket. It rustles again. His finger grasps what’s inside. A receipt like he thought. And the twenty dollar bill. “How the hell?”

When Morgan checks her phone again, pulled into a rest stop along Highway One, she sees a message from Calum. I don’t know what magic you pulled. But when you get settled. Send me the address. This twenty’s got a trip to make.

If Morgan knew she’d be meeting her match when it came to stubborn, she would’ve made that twenty a little harder to find. 

[feministshawnmendes]

Papí

a/n - Inspired by Shawn being a papi chulo in the senorita music video and me being a slut for men calling me mama. English translation for the Spanish is in parentheses.

___

“Mendes, I’m gonna have to kindly ask you to shut the fuck up.”

“Wow, Venegas. You get one drink in ya and you start getting bossy, eh?”

“Well,” Gabriela started, narrowing her eyes at Shawn as she leaned forward, propping her elbows on the table that separated the two of them. “We all can’t be sweet and Canadian like you.”

“Hey!” He laughed in mock offense, his voice cracking as he leaned forward too, a smile working it’s way on Gabriela’s face. “I’m not that Canadian.”

“Ohhh but you are,” She teased. “What did you say to that girl that time you came too fa-“

“Fuck off! You’re trying to distract me,”

“Am not!”

“Come on,” He said as he raised an eyebrow challengingly at her, her heart skipping a beat as Shawn pushed up the sleeve of the thin white t shirt he was wearing, his toned bicep on full display. It was completely unnecessary and she knew he was just trying to show off how beefed up he was. She rolled her eyes as he gave her a playful wink. She shifted her weight onto one elbow, her palm pressing against his as their wrists locked together. Gabriela fixed her hair with her free hand, pushing it off her shoulder and letting if fall over her back as Shawn pushed himself closer to the table, his knee knocking into hers underneath the table, her breath catching in her throat as her entire body went flush.

“Ready?” He asked with a sweet but cocky laugh, making her roll her eyes.

“I hate you,” She huffed.

“You’re the one who wanted to arm wrestle, Venegas. Don’t blame me!”

“True pero (but) only because you called me weak,” She shot back. “So really this is your fault.”

“Love how your Spanish comes out every time you drink,” He mumbled, his voice barely audible as he gave her a closed mouth smile, his curls falling into his face as strangers danced around them. She’d flown out to see him on a whim. He’d all but begged her to take a break from work to come see him in Portugal as he prepared to start another year of touring. She’d caved in after weeks of him persisting, saying he wasn’t sure when he’d be home next and he needed to see his favorite girl one last time. She hated how he did that. Used her weakness for him to get what he wanted. It wasn’t intentional necessarily and he didn’t know how she felt but he knew she’d say yes. Knew she’d begrudgingly fly to see him and Brian, her two favorite boys, even if it was just for a day.

Gabriela felt her chest tighten as he pressed his knee harder against her exposed one, the heat radiating off of his body and wafting over her as her entire face tingled with fiery tickles. She could have blamed it on the alcohol or even the hot summer air that was making her hair damp with sweat as it stuck to the side of her face. The air around then was thick and even in the blue and yellow flower dress she was wearing, Gabriela’s entire body felt sticky with sweat, her eyes grazing over Shawn’s arms which in all their tan and godlike glory had a thin layer of sweat glossed over them.

“I said one word,” Gabriela whispered back, pushing down the lump that was forming in her throat as Shawn’s grip on her hand loosened. He was so handsome, his curls damp with sweat as they fell into his eyes. He lowered his head to let his eyes meet with hers when she tried to look away from him.

“It’s one word now,” He laughed. “But ten minutes from now it’ll be full sentences. The alcohol brings it out in you, mama”

“Did you just call me mama?” She asked slowly, her lips curving into a small grin while her heart thumped at an ungodly speed in her chest, her fingers tingling as Shawn pressed his palm further into hers, his thumb sliding against hers. She gulped nervously, her cheeks burning as  he nodded.

“I like it,” He smiled, his hand falling out of hers as she pulled her hand away from him and set it in her lap. He kept his elbow on the table, setting his chin on his palm and leaning forward even more as he bit down on his bottom lip. “Think it’s kinda hot, don’t you?”

Gabriela’s eyes narrowed slightly at her best friend as she bit the inside of her cheek, tilting her head as she fidgeted with her fingers underneath the table. She felt like her breath was being sucked out of her as she tried to stop herself from giving herself away. Things had been different for a while between her and Shawn. After a rough breakup, he had been way needier over the past couple of months. Constantly calling her when he was home and begging her to come cuddle with him, trying to convince her to come fly out and see him and Brian whenever they were in a new city and he felt homesick. Throughout their lifetime friendship, they took turns being the needy friend. Sometimes Gabriela would call him when he was away and school was too much and beg him to come home so they could snuggle up on his couch in Pickering while Karen made them snacks. When she was having a difficult time falling asleep, overwhelmed by her  self-deprecating thoughts, she’d facetime Shawn and she instantly felt better - the love he had for her pouring out like it was second nature. He loved people so well, always telling her how beautiful she was, so willing to wrap his arms around her when she said she felt sad. So she didn’t mind that he was extra needy lately. She liked that no matter how famous he was, Shawn still needed her like she needed him But things felt different, especially after that night in Toronto when they were all at his condo and they’d all had a bit too much to drink and Shawn was feeling extra affectionate, asking her over and over to hold him. She practically kept him between her legs the entire night as they all sat in his living room, his back pressed against his couch as she sat above him, her arms wrapped around him, occasionally moving to massage his scalp, his arms wrapping around her legs, his fingers occasionally raking up and down against her skin. It wasn’t out of the ordinary for them to be affectionate but the way he kept pulling her closer every time she slightly moved and the way he pouted whenever she stopped petting his head felt different. And the way he looked at her as the warm Portugal air stiffened around them, thick as it caressed her skin, his eyes pouring into hers, felt different too. But she didn’t want to name it or point it out. Too afraid that she saw something that wasn’t there.

“I swear to God this is why I don’t tell you anything,” She breathed, finally letting go of the breath she'd been holding onto. She’d once told Shawn that she thought it was hot when guys called her mama, her stomach twisting as she replayed the way it sounded rolling off of her best friend’s tongue. Shawn let out a loud laugh, making her roll her eyes as she kicked his shoe underneath the table. “Pinche cabrón (asshole)”

“Ah see there it is,” He teased, licking his lips before falling back in his chair. Gabriela shook her head, sighing as she pushed herself out of her chair, Shawn’s sparkling eyes following her movements as she did so. “Where are you going?”

“To find Brian,” She answered.  “My actual best friend”

Shawn laughed, quickly jumping from his seat and trailing behind Gabriela as she pushed her way to the front of the small bar they’d been in, stepping out into the much cooler but still humid air. Shawn nudged her hand with his as a small breeze washed over them.

“Come on” He laughed as he grabbed a hold of her hand and pulled on her lightly, her feet firmly planted in their spot. “I was kidding. We all have a thing.”

“Yeah but you can’t use mine against me, you fuckhead!”

“Why not?” He whispered, a ghost of a smile on his face as he stepped closer to her, the sound of Latin music filtering through the open windows of the bar they’d just been in, the fast tempo matching Gabriela’s heart beat as Shawn’s hot thumb traced a fiery pattern against her hand. “I think it’s cute how worked up you get.”

“Fuck all the way off, Mendes.”

“Don’t be like that, mama. Let’s go dance.”

“You know,” Gabriela smiled deviously as the wheels turned inside her head, her hand falling out of Shawn’s as the night air continued to circle between them, goosebumps sprouting up on her arms as Shawn shoved his hands in the pockets of his blue jeans. “I bet I could guess what your thing is.”

His expression quickly changed, the easy smile he was wearing slowly fading as Gabriela cocked an eyebrow at him confidently, her hands going behind her back as she clasped them together and took a large step forward that closed the distance between her and Shawn. She smiled up at him as she tilted her head to meet his gaze.

“Try me.” He said in a raspy tone, Gabriela’s tongue poking out to wet her lips as she let out an all too cocky laugh, Shawn’s adam’s apple moving up and down along his throat as his heart fluttered as he held onto his breath.

“Quieres que te hable español, papí (want me to speak spanish to you, daddy)?”

Confidence dripped from her voice as she whispered the words gently, as if she had wrapped them up and blown them to him with a kiss, his cheeks warming up as the tip of his nose turned pink while he tried to conceal the way hearing her made him feel. It didn’t help that she leaned into him, moving expertly as she let her hot fingers caress his skin as they trailed up his exposed arm as if they’d been made to touch him. He audibly groaned, his cheeks deepening in color as her fingers stopped in place, brushing against his as her eyes trailed down to his lips, Shawn’s breathing labored as his feet tingled. He’d felt her before. Her fingers had pressed into his skin before, her arms had wrapped around him countless times. But of course, things were different. He’d needed her so much more than usual. Everything about her felt like home and at first he thought it was because he was lonely but after that night in his condo after he called her and asked her to keep him company for a little bit, her lips pressed against his cheek at the end of the night before she said goodbye, he felt differently.

“Did you just call me papí?” He asked in a low voice, his eyes dancing across her face as the wind gently blew a few strands of hair into her face. She smiled, nodding gently as she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. She knew she had him. The way he swallowed nervously and purposefully let his feet move forward making her let out a small laugh.

“I like it,” She whispered. “Think it’s kinda hot. Don’t you, papí?”

He was completely breathless, his stunned eyes locked with hers as his mouth fell open slightly. She didn’t say anything, her smile fading as Shawn continued to stare at her. Her stomach turned and uneasiness washed over her as her own cheeks burned with embarrassment, Shawn’s nostrils flaring as he let out a large breath, the hot air hitting her face as she watched Shawn’s eyes grow dark. She let out a jagged breath and she went to apologize but before she could she felt his fingers fumbling for hers, his face growing redder by the second as he whispered a raspy “c’mere” as he pulled her to the backside of the building, which was dimly lit, the lights from the open windows and the hotel that was a few hundred yards away providing a nice orange tint around them as Shawn guided her, his fingers holding gently onto the tips of hers before he stopped and turned to face her, his chest moving up and down rapidly as he stared at her. She gulped nervously, Shawn copying her movements as she slowly backed away and let her back hit the side of the building, an audible gasp falling off her lips as Shawn pressed his fingers against her hip gently. She felt a jolt of electricity shoot up her entire body, her fingertips tingling, the thin fabric of her dress feeling practically non-existent as Shawn’s touch burned through it, his fingers ghosting over the side of her body as he leaned into her, the tips of their noses touching.

“Kiss me, Mendes.” She said as she held her head high, letting her nose rub against his as she purposefully let her breath fan across his face. He shivered at the contact, any sort of resolve he had completely dissolving underneath the trance she’d pulled him into.

“Say it in spanish for me, mama” He whispered, making her gasp gently as his fingers trailed down her thigh. She let out a small whimper, swallowing thick as she let her fingers grip the thin fabric of Shawn’s shirt.

“Dame un beso, Mendes (kiss me, mendes)” She breathed against his lips, their faces close enough to where they were recycling the same air. Shawn let out a small groan, his lips curving up into a smile before he let his lips find hers, his entire body coming alive as she pulled him further into him. The way his lips felt against hers was electric, his kiss eager but gentle as he slowly let his arms wrap around her waist, pulling her completely into him as her hands found his face, one of them moving to the back of his head as she let her fingers wrap around his curls. It felt like fire, their mouths working together as they kissed each other as the Portuguese air wrapped around them, their sweaty bodies pressed together as they quickly fell into each other.  

[parkeraul]

pull me in  — 2 

a/n: this series is my new baby, pls don’t get mad at me. heads up: emotions ahead.  warnings: cursing, fluff, smut & use of other languages.  words: 5,258k.

pull me in — 1 | masterlist

The Sunday morning had never felt this warm before — which was weird, since the rain washed Pickering all over during the night and turned the waterdrops into snowflakes, colouring the glass of her still opened window in a vivid white — and home had never felt so cozy. She’s thankful he’s asleep in front of her instead of giving that typical stare that insists on discovering every single thought passing through her mind, because he would definitely make fun of her poker face and tickle her body until she says those three words she never says. And it’s so hard to resist when Shawn is finally quiet and peacefully asleep on her bed. Not the she doesn’t enjoy his voice or those weird whimpers of his that he always lets out when he’s falling asleep more deeply, but she never thought that words were necessary as long as you’re showing your love with attitudes. Shawn, on the other hand, is the complete opposite — his notebook pages are never blank because the papers are filled with loving words for Alyssa. There are songs he plays for her until nowadays and there are songs he’ll probably never let her know about, fearing rejection or the possibility that they’re not in the same place. It’s been tricky since the beginning, and Shawn’s the only one being patient and polite, he thinks. 

“May I call you just Lyssa?” He asks with pity eyes, feeling his frame softening to the sight of Alyssa blushing while she curls a strand of her hair with her forefinger. Her smile is timid, but he doesn’t stick to this impression. Ever since Alyssa and Daniel stepped into that school, the rumours were all around for everyone to hear. ‘Oh, he’s got a car!’ ‘Oh, she knows five languages!’ ‘Oh, their mom is Spanish!’ ‘Oh, their grandfather fought in the World War II!’ ‘Oh, they’ve just arrived from France!’ So he knew she wasn’t just another one. No. Being the helpless passionate guy that he is, he puts himself into an internal bet between him & himself — impressing her in all possible ways, more than he regularly does with the other girls. “Lyssa?” She looks him in the eyes, pursing her pink lips into an intimidating grin. “Is it that hard to pronounce the letter A?” The time seems to stop for Shawn. People from school are filling up the diner, some looking at them inquiringly as he places his hand under his chin, analyzing her features and feeling his mouth water everytime her lips touch to speak her words, wishing he could fit his lower lip in between her parted mouth and taste the chapstick glossing the plump flesh. Alyssa knows he’s having problems resisting her, and she’s obviously going to take advantage on this. She just needs to wait for the perfect opportunity. “What, babygirl?” He tries to recover his confidence, more than observant to see if he can break her self-assurance somehow by being the typical Shawn Mendes: seductive in the cockiest way possible. “Not a fan of nicknames?” Alyssa analyses Shawn as he spreads his arm on top of the headrest of the diner sofa, chewing his gum and exhaling big rebel—boy energy in a very overbearing mode. She finds it fun how hard he’s trying to get her weakening when it’s going to be the other way around. She can count on her fingers how many boys with this same attitude she humiliated all around the globe and there would never be enough hands to fit the amount onto. “Listen…” Squinting her eyes, she plays a thoughtful face as she gets closer, inching her middle towards the table. “Shawn.” He says, swallowing harshly and clearing his throat. How can someone let Shawn Mendes pass just like this? Impossible. “Shawn,” Alyssa confirms, snapping two of her digits in the air like she’s just remembered of something practically unmanageable to get inside her mind. “I don’t know what type of girls you’ve been fooling around with, but I guarantee you that you’ll need to come off stronger than ‘babygirl’ and ‘Lyssa’ if you’re planning to get under my skirt,” She maintains eye contact with his hazel irises, oftentimes dropping her glance to his lips parting in surprise. Yes, she wouldn’t be easy but no one has ever seen Shawn denying a good challenge. That’s what keeps him eager and starving for those pretty lips and incomparable personality. If it’s a game, then game on. “I—“ “Mongola!” A tall guy approaches their table, making the two of them take distance from each other again. He’s got his hair pushed back with gel and his features are different from what Shawn is used to see. Other than that, he’s also got his gang behind him and keys spinning around his forefinger repeatedly, still speaking a language he’s never seen before. “¿Terminaste con tu estúpida charla?” Alyssa rolls her eyes, taking some dollars out of her pocket to place right beside the milkshake she ended ages ago before the flirting started. At this point, the other guy was impatiently waiting for her to finally get her jacket and backpack to slide towards the end of the red long chair, staring at her with a devilish smile while the people from school decide to pay more attention to what’s going on. “Yes, I’m done with my conversation,” She gets up, tossing the jacket on top of her elbows and shifting her bag into the guy’s chest. “And you? Done with your show? Or do you really wanna try to stand out from the others by being a dork?” The boy closes his eyes and squeezes the fabric of her nearly empty bag with his strong hand, exhaling strongly and shooting an intimidating look at Shawn after prompting his eyelids open, the curly haired boy glancing at Alyssa and the man he still doesn’t know totally confused. “What now, Dani? Cat got your tongue?” His friends were at the merge of wetting themselves with silent laughs as she wore a winning smile, shaking her head slightly to move her bangs away from her eyes. They’d never get enough of her sassy attitude, putting her own brother down like he’s nothing. “Better be outside in 2 if you want a proper ride home.” The guy hisses and turns on his heels to get outside, never forgetting to give Shawn a last look and drop her bag on the floor before walking to the parking lot, obviously winking at some pretty girls on his way like he hadn’t put out a whole scene seconds ago. Shawn gets up and grabs her backpack, jaw clenched and mind still lost. What the fuck just happened? When he turns to face Alyssa, her eyes are threatening to water but they don’t. They’ll never. Not because of her brother, not because of the people staring at her — the past 9 years were the worst and they’d always come back to haunt her regardless of the day, regardless of the moment. They made her learn on how to act tough and fierce even though the truth was the complete opposite, so these people would need to come off a lot stronger than this to break the wall she’s been building ever since 1949. “Your bag, Alyssa,” He says while straightening his spine up again, offering her the object with his eyes glued on the door. “Who was-“ “My brother. Nothing you should worry about.” “Are you gonna be okay?” His eyes moves slowly to glance at her. Alyssa’s expression tells him nothing and everything at the same time. He can sense she’s kinda in pain, kinda embarrassed but his mind repeats unstoppably that she can’t fear a thing. Although it’s not the moment, this quick second of weakness gets him more than curious to unravel all the mystery that’s Alyssa. “I am okay.” “Want me to-“ “Thank you,” She cuts him off, giving him a forced smile but sincere look of gratefulness. The wind breaking into the diner by the semi-opened windows blows her hair softly and he can’t understand how can a girl look like both the angel and the devil at the same time. “Mm…?” “Shawn—Peter—Raul—Mendes.” Shawn repeats again, his ego begging to be caressed instead of hurt. He wants to be done by now, hates the heavy magnetism that brings him closer and closer to her frame. She’s hugged gracefully by a white shirt tucked into a light-pink skirt that defines her waist and cascades at her thighs, covering all the way almost to the end of them and it’s probably the first time he sees a girl showing her knees and a little bit more in public. How can teeny-tiny pieces of skin can drive his mind to somewhere else? He’ll never comprehend. “Peter Raul,” Smiling — sincerely, this time — she winks at him and it looks like she haven’t even been through a moment of stress minutes ago. He widens his eyebrows in surprise and her smile widens as well, welcoming a laugh that shoots a wave of dopamine right down his senses. It’s the most beautiful sound he’s ever heard and sure he’s exaggerating, but he doesn’t give a fuck at this point. He could watch her laughing the whole day, just like he can watch the way her necklace moves along with her chest when she catches her breath again. “Creo que tendremos que terminar esta conversación en otro momento,” And the time stops. Again. Her tone lowering a little bit while her words come out to poke his heart and make it miss the beats. Shawn can’t figure out a single word but, if her accent keeps on being this sexy while her tongue touches the back of her front teeth so beautifully, he’ll start paying attention to Spanish classes just to talk to her like this everyday. “Hasta luego, guapo.” She dares to inch closer give him a kiss right on the corner of his lips, but before her mouth can press a warm smooch, she hears the motor of the car getting started outside and she can’t help but leave him with the softest graze of her wet lips that could never fulfill the desire consuming his entire being right now. “What the hell did she say?” Shawn asks to himself while she walks away, her scent stuck on the spot she just left. “It’s latin for ‘you’re totally fucked for the hispanic’.” Brian joked between laughs, elbowing Matt beside him as the guys had the most fun with his face screaming ‘Sucker for Alyssa’ in their imagination. Although Brian couldn’t have been quite correct with the ‘latin’ and ‘hispanic’, he wasn’t totally wrong. 

━ ━ ━

His broad frame is taking most of the space on her bed when she’s back from the bathroom. She’s sure he might have had his limbs all stretched to get spread on her mattress while she was gone to brush her teeth and hair. It’s the only downside of sleeping with Shawn, Alyssa thinks. He’ll either curl and cuddle her body to keep her warm or throw his leg or arm on top of her frame in the middle of the night, looking for the space that her bed doesn’t have to fit his big body. It’s cutely annoying. Just like him. She gets rid of her slippers after closing the door carefully, slipping back under the covers now with Shawn’s serene expression right in front of her. He’s slowly waking up with eyes still closed, but he starts to take deep breaths and grab her waist lazily, pulling her even closer and hiding his face on the crook of her neck. He takes a moment to smell the moisturizer she uses, enjoying that unmistakable scent of what he thinks it might be a mix of roses and vanilla. He could stay like this for the rest of his days, immersed on the craziest ride of his life that’s Alyssa. He’s in love with the mess, the danger, the uncertainty and the undefined thing that’s their relationship. What they have is somewhere lost between very-frequent hook ups and a proper relationship that includes some I-love-you’s and jealousy. Shawn would define as a couple walking with baby-steps, taking their time while Alyssa would say it’s complicated. Period. And it’s hard for her to care when he’s tilting his head back up and opening his eyes, giving her a lovely look with those tired chocolate eyes and a weak smile. His curls are messy and fluffy, making him look angelic and innocent. As if. “Morning Lyssa,” He greets with that raspy tone that always gets her thighs clenching. She smiles in response, kissing the tip of his nose delicately. “Gonna have to brush my teeth to get a decent kiss?” “Rhetorical question, I hope.” “Still have my toothbrush?” Shawn asks yawning, sniffing and rubbing his eyes. He’s got soft dark circles that draws their ways to the apple of his cheeks, face all marked from sleeping heavily. It’s such a sight that she wishes she could take photos and put them all in frames to embellish her bedroom. “First drawer, it’s the transparent one,” She warns and he blinks deliberately. ‘You think I’ve forgotten?’ He ruminates in silence as he prompts his body up to sit and crawl his way to the end of the bed. “Just in case…” Alyssa defends herself, lifting both hands to the sides of her head. “Be silent, asshole. My dad has a light sleep.” Shawn smirks in response, drinking her in by the way her body’s splayed shyly on her bed with the untidy blankets covering her legs partly — her thighs are bare, capturing his attention as he notices that her nightdress is messy, exposing the swell of her round ass. No one would look at this so accurately — at least he hopes no one would — but the way her tanned skin begs for his lips drives him insane little by little. “You pervert!” She realizes what he’s doing and pushes the fabric back to where it should be, her cheeks burning and turning pink. “Go before someone wakes up. I need to kick you out sometime soon.” When Shawn looks down, it’s just what he was expecting. His hardened member started to nudge the fabric of his underwear still timidly, but nothing that would escape from Alyssa’s attention. It’s been almost ten minutes since he left to freshen up and Alyssa can’t think about something else. That vision got her mouth watering and her brain working twice as faster. But she couldn’t. Could she? She’s toying with the silver foil, looking at it as she twirls the object unstoppably. Her throat goes dry and she feels the urge to gulp, her lungs searching for more air when she thinks about how painful it might be. But oh, it might be so wonderful as well… When she hears footsteps coming closer, she tucks the condom under her back rapidly and covers her body with the blanket just to make sure it’s all well hidden. “Looks like you just saw a ghost,” Shawn teases her, closing the door and copying her intentions on doing it as quiet as possible. “Qué happened?” “¿Qué pasa?” She corrects his terrible Spanish and thinks to herself. She had never felt brave enough to ask Shawn to be her first time, fearing he would say no because of her brother. And father. And their overprotective personalities. And what if she gets pregnant at 16? What if she’s not hot enough or pretty enough? “No pasa nada.” “What?” “Nothing’s going on.” Alyssa lies, her tone flat and unhappy. He gets closer and sits beside her, choosing a strand of her hair to caress and brush it off her face so he can graze her cheek. “Tell me, Lyssa,” Immediately, she shakes her head in denial and stares at the wall. His eyes would get her failing. “If you don’t want to then I’ll go say good morning to Mr. Stempford. He sure would like to know me better—“ “Sit your ass down, Peter Raul,” She hisses, tossing the blanket away and grabbing his arm instantly when he threatens to get up. He ends up falling on top of her upper half, noses touching and she closes her eyes, breathing deeply. It shouldn’t be this hard. “I want you to promise me you’ll be nice.” “May I know when I’m not nice with you?” “Promise me, asshole.” She pinches his arm. Nothing hard already that Shawn can’t make it harder. “I promise, asshole.” “Great!” She starts, opening her eyes but not looking directly at him. Playing with her fingers, she chooses to stare at them like they’re doing the most interesting thing in the world. “See, I was thinking to myself…” “Mm…” “We’ve never… Well…” Clearing her throat, she shakes her head slightly to move her bangs away from her eyes. “Fucked.” “What?” “Fucked,” He repeats. “That’s one thing we’ve never done.” Her heart races. “Fucked… Right…” The stress begins to show up as Shawn fixes his body on top of hers, laying down gently. “We made out lots of times, of course, and they were—“ “Incredible.” “Incredible,” She smiles, finally looking at his face. He’s so close she can hear his heartbeat and smell the minty scent of toothpaste coming out of his parted lips. “Breathtaking…” Whispering, she swallows harshly before being interrupted by him again. “Hun, what’s going on?” It takes all of her not to freak out. It’s simple, Alyssa. Spit. It. Out. Now. “I…” “You?” She covers her eyes with both hands and enjoys the lack of shyness that takes over her. “Iwantustofuck.” “What?” Shawn squeaks, getting shushed by Alyssa at the same instant. His chest prompts up a little and he’s frowning. It’s all very confusing because Alyssa never asks, she practically demands. And she always stops right when they’re about to unbutton their clothes properly. “I’m tired of the ‘what’ question,” She rolls her eyes, masking her apprehension and hoping he wasn’t able to understand a single word of what she just said. “We should come up with another word like… Pardon? Or… Or maybe ne razumijem! Možete li molim vas govoriti malo sporije?” “You want me—“ He’s now sitting on top of her, running his hand through his wild curls and staring at her totally in shock. “You want us to—“ He clutches his own chest while she covers her entire face with her hands, both their chests heaving and screaming for oxygen. “Shut up! No one’s up yet!” “You…” Shawn sobs a little, blinking rapidly as he tries to process the information. “You want me to make love to you, Lys?” He mumbles. “Vielleicht—“ Her voice is muffled by her palms, shoulders shrugging bashfully. “English, Alyssa.” He grabs her wrists carefully, holding them up away from her worried face and entwining their fingers softly. For the first time in years, she feels that knot on her throat begging to be loosened through a cry. “Maybe, Shawn,” She admits, so nervous that her hands aren’t shaking because his giant ones are keeping them stable. “Maybe I do wanna feel you… Inside… Of me?!” “God!” He breathes out, putting her hands on the curve of his shoulders so he can lean down and pin his forehead on hers. “What are you doing to me, Alyssa Stempford?” “You know I love it when you say my whole name?” “Oh yeah?” He smiles against her smile, licking his lips and placing a kiss on the corner of her lips — the way she does when she wants to tease him. “What else?” “W-What else?” Alyssa stutters, feeling her breath now unpatterning as he lets go of her hands to support his body with one arm, traveling his free palm along her side and peppering kisses from down her face to her jawline. She’s turning cold due to the nervousness but he makes sure to cling to her frame so the hotness spreading through his flesh can comfort her somehow. “I…” He kisses the sensitive spot a little down below her ear precisely, making her get chills and he sees those goosebumps coming to the surface, announcing that he’s starting to get the best of her. “I love it when you drag your lips down my throat and…” She has to stop and focus, because he does exactly as she says and ends with a light suction at the base of her neck. Fanning his breath on the wet region he just sucked, Shawn kisses the other side of her neck intensely, unhurriedly. “Fuck, like this…” “Like this, eh?” He mouths against her, lowly and raspy while his teeth scratch her skin tenderly. She’s quiet, eyes squinting close as she thinks about how the hell is she going to ease that aching sensation that’s making her heat pulsate in anticipation. Shawn’s lips goes to her collarbones, loving every single piece of skin and feeling the expansion of her bone being touched by him, being appreciated so devotedly just like his girl deserves. He moves his hand up from her waist to trace her arm and reach the strap of her nightdress. “Are you sure, Lyssa?” He twirls the fabric, face tilted down as he closes his eyes and waits for a yes. “I am,” Alyssa responds, tugging his thick locks and bringing his face to hers. “Will you be gentle?” If heaven has a specific appearance, it sure is Alyssa’s face softening up as she asks sweetly for his kindness. She looks blissful with her bright brown eyes connected with his, honey hair adorning the pillow and her features. Shawn had never felt the need to be nice and gentle to anyone like he does right now. His chest tempers and hurts at the same time with love. Nothing could mess up with him like this; nobody can fuck Shawn up like Alyssa does. “I will, babe,” He pecks her lips. “I always will.” She cups his face with both hands and kisses him deeply. Their lips pressing together is enough to drive them all the way to the edge, her bottom lip in between his mouth as his tongue pokes out to touch hers. The tenderness of their affection is enough to ease her nerves and encourage her to pass her hands through his curls, going further to the back of his head and scrape the nape of his neck lovingly. She pulls him in, impossibly closer to taste all of him as her hands wanders to his back, feeling the muscles moving under her palm due to the way he’s shifting to keep his frame established not to crush her. Shawn finally drags the strap down her arm, slow and as polite as possible, caressing all the spots of her arm where the fabric passed by with his skilled hand. When Alyssa releases her arm from the cloth, she instantly squeezes her breast — now uncovered — with the inner part of her elbow, pressing down on the flesh to hide her nipple from his sight. He breaks the kiss with a smack sound, bringing his tattooed hand back to hers. “Want me to dress you back, baby?” Shawn asks concernedly, his thumb grazing the back of her palm. “I don’t, actually,” She knows she doesn’t want to, but she fears the shame will become too much. “I don’t know.” “Lys, look at me.” “Yes?!” “What makes you think I wouldn’t love you in every single way?” He holds her hand more forcefully, as if he could assure her even physically that he doesn’t give a damn if she’s dressed in her most expensive clothes or naked under the plain white sheets. He wants her no matter what, no matter how, no matter when. Her smile shows some pain, but somehow he knows it has a pinch of happiness behind it. “I know you’re afraid and needs more time to figure out what you feel, but I want you to know that I’m already there,” Shawn catches himself confessing his emotions to her again. He did it before a thousand times and there’s no turning back. His feelings seem to be fresh new even though they showed up a long time ago and everyday feels like it’s the first day he saw her standing there, being her charming self with a sassy attitude. Nobody compares to her. “I see, it’s awkward for you, but I am in love with you. I love you, Alyssa.” And then Shawn gives her no time to feel joy or guilt for not being entirely there, because his lips are on hers again and his touch is firm on her hand, setting it once more on his own body. Alyssa now palms his bare chest as his member presses against her core and lower stomach, spurring her to move her fingers down —still reservedly — and he decides to help her through. With his hand on top of hers, he guides it down his toned abdomen and intensifies the kiss at the same time, taking her breath away. She’s grateful his soaked clothes from last night were long gone under her bed so she wouldn’t need to go through the ceremony of undressing him. Her hesitant hand reaches the waistband of his briefs, making the both of them hitch their respirations suddenly, his mouth leaving hers slowly. “Can I… touch you?” Alyssa asks, eyeing his white underwear between their bodies as her forefinger toys with the elastic band. “Sure you want to? You don’t have to. This is about you, not me.” Shawn’s eyes are darkening, analyzing her expression and he prepares himself to stop at anytime if she asks him to. His hand stays still above hers. “Please?” It’s innocent but it makes him twitch inside the material of his underwear. Fuck, Alyssa. Fuck. Obviously she can. She can do whatever she wants to do. Shawn’s answer will always be yes. He looks down at her small hand threatening to slip inside and he can’t help but contort his face in pleasure even though he hasn’t been touched yet. “Shit,” He hisses out. “’Course.” “But I need you to teach me how—“ “Babe, I know,” Her desperation is clear so he wants to give her the freedom and confidence to move on, because he’s here for her. “Tell me if you want to stop, ‘kay?” Alyssa only nods in agreement, feeling his hand guiding hers inside the fabric leisurely and Shawn watches her breast being released from the harsh touch of her arm. When she touches the head of his cock, touching the tip lightly, her nipple hardens and Shawn gulps to the sight of her. Alyssa is all flushed, from face to chest, and she starts to take a handful of his length. It feels warm against her icy hand and oh so smooth, totally different from what she had previously imagined. He impulsively thrusts into her fist, kissing her chest not to moan in relief while her other hand pulls the underwear past his crotch and it rests on his muscular thighs. She’s still unsure of what to do, so her touch is fragile and insecure. His hand goes back to hers and he embraces her fingers with a gentle strength, squeezing his own cock. Alyssa finds it so hot that the wetness down on her slit and panties is becoming irritating; she can’t quite understand how her hesitation turns into a fiery desire so fast. “You can hold it like this,” Shawn tells her in a whisper as his palm guides hers up and down gradually. “And pump it like this, eh?” She’s too weak to do anything else rather than murmur in confirmation and, to add more to this weakness of hers, he circles her nipple with the tip of his tongue to capture it in between his lips. It makes Alyssa hold him tighter, pumping all the way down to the base and back up to the leaking rosy tip. A sweet whine flies past her lips when he sucks at her bud, tender plump lips enveloping her in the most delicious way as his throbbing cock is massaged by her careful hand. “Gotta keep quiet, hun,” He manages to say between suctions on her wet skin. “Be good for me, hm?” She huffs and Shawn’s hand leaves hers to travel along the inner part of her thigh, grabbing the delicious soft skin with a force that’s definitely not very gentle. At this point, he’s starving and insatiable. His middle finger accidentally touches her clothed entrance and she whines once more, bucking her hips towards his touch. “Holy fuckin’ shit,” He mutters against her chest, squeezing her leg intensely. “Babe I can’t take this for too long.” Shawn confesses, feeling the vein on the underside of his aching length pounding painfully. There’s pre-cum leaking and her hand picks up the pace just a little, testing to see if this is what he needs. Alyssa takes the condom from under her back, managing to pump him meanwhile, and hands him the foil. “Lucky you I was prepared.” “Where the hell did you get this?” He takes the condom from her hand and sits up, her hand never releasing him. The view is far too pornographic: his defined abs clenching as his thick cock gets pumped by her with some inability, but sure leading him somewhere. He runs a hand through his chocolate hair and waits for her to stop looking at his member and face him. “My eyes are up here, Lys.” “Stole from Dani’s wallet while you were in the bathroom.” She says simply, daring to twist her wrist as she edges him and the unexpected sensation makes Shawn growl. Going back to her, he inches down and steals a kiss. “You’re fuckin’ awesome, you know that?” Shawn pecks her lips repeatedly until he cups her face with one hand to lick inside her mouth and make the most of this abrupt kiss. The atmosphere is too pleasant to let them be aware of anything else. Maybe that’s pretty much the reason why she haven’t heard steps coming to her bedroom door before a loud knock brought them back to reality. “Alyssa?” A strong voice calls out and Shawn opens his eyes, utterly scared. “Alyssa, who’s inside there with you?” She pushes him away, the both of them immediately getting up — Shawn searches for the keys to his motorcycle and pulls his underwear back up while Alyssa is bent down on the floor, arm stretched under her bed to get his clothes. “Alyssa if you don’t open this door right now…” “Hold on, dada!” She promptly warns, throwing Shawn’s jeans at his face and tossing the shirt up on her bed with the leather jacket. “Go, go, go!” “If you haven’t noticed yet, my dick’s still—“ The door slams open no longer after, making Alyssa get up on her heels and Shawn cover his hard cock with both hands. The jeans are covering nothing but his shins and knees, the fabric too tough to fit his legs because of the rain that soaked them last night. She crosses her arms in front of her chest to hide her bare chest and they force a smile towards Alyssa’s father, dripping tenseness and fear. “Gareth—“ Shawn greets with an odd smile but stops at the moment Alyssa elbows him mightly. Fuckin’ dumbass. “Mr. Stempford. Good morning!”

[the-newsies-justice-for-zas-blog]

Newsies’ Little Sister

Chapter 6 - Sold! To the man in the Refuge!

TW: Beating up, Violence, Abuse

Word Count: About 1.7k (yikes that's a l o t)

Genre: Angst (that I’m sure y’all are used to by now)

~Time Skip to 29th October 1898~ 

Emmelines' POV

Skip forward 5 months and I'se a pickpocket and lock picker in Theatre District in Manhattan. I'se never seen in the same place twice, which is real nice for the bulls! There's pretty good pickins what wid all da rich and fancy folk. Most day I'se can get pretty good 'earnins'. All the rich folk have massive, deep pockets that are perfect for me to reach in an' rob em' blind.

My usual tactic is to pick a target, and once they enter a crowd outside a theatre, that's when I strike. And that's exactly what I'se doin' now.

"Hey! Theif! Stop!" It doesn't always go to plan though. I just kept walking until I heard footsteps running up behind me. That's when I took off. I was chased up and down back streets and alleyways. I was fast and tough, but the person chasing me was pretty fast too. I had to change my plan. I saw a ladder connecting the fire escapes of the tenement buildings. I sped up even more, jumped and caught one of the higher rungs. I pulled myself up and lost the guy that was chasing me. I ran across some of the theatre roofs, ya know. Just to be sure. Once I was sure no one was following me, I sat down to count how much I had 'made'. Not enough.

I looked out over the rooftops and admired the view. It was kinda strangely nice, seeing the sunlight streaming through the smoke rising from the busy city below. The sky was turning orange and I needed to get back home. So, I made my way back, careful to not run into any trouble.

Elmer's POV

I had barely seen Emmeline in 5 months. I saw her about every 3 weeks, but it wasn't enough. I wanted to see her smile again, her eyes, her hair. I wanted to hear her laugh and I just wanted to ask her how she was. To be honest, I kinda have a crush on her, despite barely seeing her.

"Extra! Extra! Fire in The Bronx kills hundreds! Extra! Extra!" I called out.

"Pape mister?" I asked a kind looking gent. He gave me a dime and strolled off. None of what I said was true, so to be sure he didn't give it back to me, I bolted round the street corner and down the street. The sky was turning orange and I needed to get back to the Lodging House. Just as I ran down past Jay Street, I ran into someone. They looked very familiar.

"Emmeline?!"

"Elmer!" She exclaimed. Wow. 'She's even more beautiful than I remember!' I thought as I looked at her. She was dressed in some very tatty brown trousers, a thin shirt and an overshirt that had about 20 holes in it. She was thin and dirty and had her pretty hair tied back with a dirty rag. She looked a lot sadder than when I first met her, at the Brooklyn Docks.

"How are you?" I asked. She avoided answering my question with any detail. Her eyes darted from side to side and she fiddled with the hem of the overshirt.

"Uhh. Good thanks. You?" She said quickly.

"Fine. It's nice to see ya again." I replied.

Emmeline's POV

I ran right round the corner and straight into...

"Emmeline?!" He exclaimed.

"Elmer!" I was so shocked! I hadn't seen him in at least 3 weeks, and it was too long. But I didn't want my parents finding him and hurting him. I wouldn't ever forgive myself if Elmer got hurt because of me. My eyes darted from side to side, trying to see if there was anyone around. My father has spies that make sure I come home everyday. And they make sure I don't talk to anyone. If they saw me talking to Elmer, they would soak him after I left. I learnt that the hard way.

"How are you?" He asked. I could feel his eyes looking over me. I felt so ashamed with the way I looked. I was a literal street rat. And I hated it.

"How are you?" Elmer asked. Concern shadowing his face. It was a very awkward question for me and I ended up fiddling with the hem of my shirt. I avoided answering the question properly.

"Uhh. Good thanks. You?" I said instead.

"Fine. It's nice to see ya again." He said back. I saw someone turn the corner at the top of Jay Street. They looked familiar. But not in a good way. I needed to leave.

"Elmer. I'se really sorry. I'se gotta go." I said at lightning speed and took off down the street. I didn't turn back.

Elmer's POV

"Elmer. I'se really sorry. I'se gotta go." She said and then raced down the street as fast as she could. 'Why did she leave?' I thought. I turned around as began to walk back to the Lodging House.

But just as I did, I felt a fist in my stomach. All of the air was knocked out of me and I fell to the ground. I coughed and fell flat on my face when I felt a kick to my face. They kicked me once more and then stopped. That was my chance. I got up and ran as fast as Emmeline had. I ran down one of the back streets and came out by the Lodging House. But before I could run up the steps, I felt someone grab onto my shoulder and pull me back. They beat me up so bad, that by the time they left I was barely conscious.

Jojo's POV

I was just walking back to the Lodging House, when I saw someone get completely soaked by a tall man standing above them. They were being hit over and over again, and I ran over as fast as possible to help whoever was being attacked. But by the time I got there, the attacker had gone and there was just a human shaped mass lying unconscious on the floor.

They were curled up on their side away from me, and when I put my hand on their shoulder to turn them over, I got the worst shock and surprise ever.

"Elmer! Oh my god! What happened to you? Who did this?" There was no answer. I shook his shoulder, but he still didn't wake up. His face was a mess; his nose was at a weird angle and he was going to have a horrible black eye in the morning. 

His face was covered in blood, and when I picked him up and carried him inside the Lodging House, some blood got on my shirt.

"Jack! Jack! Help!" I cried as I staggered through the door. The boys cleared off the hard couch in the middle of the main room. I gently lowered Elmer onto it.

"What's happened?" Jack said worriedly, as he rushed in and knelt down to be level with Elmer.

"He was jumped on the street." I explained over the loud whispers of the other boys in the room.

"Oh my god!"

"Wonder who did dis."

"Who ever it is I'se gonna soak 'em"

"How is 'e still 'live?"

"EY BOYS! Give him some room! Jojo, tell me what happened." Jack shouted, pressing a wet cloth to his face.

Emmeline's POV

"Elmer. I'se really sorry. I'se gotta go." I took off down the street and ran to my house. I burst through the door.

"I'm not late, this time." I said before anyone else could speak. But just as I did, my father stood up and shook hands with another man. My father and the man looked like they were having a meeting because there was a sheet of paper and a pen in the middle of the table. I couldn't quite make out what it was.

"Is this da girl?" The man asked my father. "And ya say she 'an pick locks too?"

My father just nodded.

"Well. I think that settles it. Nice doin' business wid ya." He continued.

"What's goin' on?" I asked. I didn't get an answer. Instead, my father slapped me hard around the face. The man roughly grabbed onto my wrist and started dragging me towards the door.

"Wait! Emmeline," My father got right up into my face and I flinched away. "You cost me a lot of money, so don't you'se dare do anythin' stupid."

I tried to release myself from the man's iron grip on my shoulder, it was starting to hurt. I struggled more and more until I got a punch in the stomach. And with that, I realised what my father had said. He had sold me to that man. I needed to get away, lord knows what was going to happen to me. I might end up in a factory or worse, the Refuge. I began thinking up a plan, but before I could finalise it, I was pulled out of the house and into the street.

My father was watching us as the man led me down the street, then once we got a few blocks away, I kicked the man right where the sun don't shine. He doubled over in pain; and with his guard down, his grip on my shoulder was weak. So I shrugged him off and before he could grab me again, I punched him hard in the jaw and ran.

I ran and I ran and I ran until I ended up in Midtown East. I didn't realise how far I had run until the sky had gone from orange to pitch black. Little did I know, I had been running for almost and hour and a half, and I wasn't out of breath. 'No one would find me here. Not even Elmer.' I thought, sadly. At least I was relatively safe from that man. I didn't know what lay in Midtown, but I knew that they were dreams compared to what was behind me.

[smartgirlsaremean]

The Wedding Planner - Chapter 1

Fandom: Once Upon a Time (also The Wedding Planner)

Pairing: Rumbelle, established Swanfire

Rating: G for now

Summary:  Wedding planner Alan Gold doesn't have much faith in romance, and little to none in marriage. A chance encounter with sweet librarian Belle French has him almost reconsidering his beliefs until he receives a nasty shock: she's the bride in the most important wedding of his career. 

“What is the problem in here?”

There was a rustle of silk and lace as the woman in front of the mirror turned to stare with wide, panicked eyes at the slight figure in the doorway. Her lips trembled and tears shone in her eyes, threatening to fall and ruin her mascara.

“A moment, please,” the man said coolly, his eyes fixed on the bride.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Gold,” she whimpered, “I can’t. I can’t go through with it.”

“Miss Boyd,” he sighed, stepping forward and handing her a snow-white handkerchief, “that is utter nonsense.”

“No, it isn’t,” she insisted, dabbing lightly at her eyes. “I can’t go out there. I just can’t. This is a huge mistake, I’m gonna marry the wrong guy!”

The stern lines of his face softened, and Mr. Gold stepped closer and crooked a finger under her chin. “Look at me,” he said firmly. Reluctantly she looked up and into his eyes, and he stepped back a bit and folded his hands over the handle of his cane.

“You are exquisite,” he said matter-of-factly. “You’re timeless. You are the envy of every woman here today.” His mouth quirked a bit at the corners. “And you ought to be, in that dress, even if I do say so myself.”

Ashley sniffed and rolled her eyes.

“And you have the love of a man named Sean, who last night at the rehearsal dinner, said to me, ‘I can’t believe she picked me. I can’t believe I’m marrying the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.’ Your marriage isn’t just going to work. It’s going to last forever.”

Lips trembling, Ashley smiled. “Really?”

“Oh, yes. You see, the two of you share something that doesn’t come along every day. True love. And true love, you know, lasts a lifetime.”

Ashley closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “You’re right. I know you’re right.” She opened her eyes again and smiled brightly. “Thank you, Mr. Gold.”

“Of course, my dear. My pleasure.” He pocketed the handkerchief when she held it out to him. “Let’s get you married, shall we?”

The nave of the church was bustling with activity. Mr. Gold strode calmly toward the head of the aisle, waylaying the priest, who was making a bid for the bathroom, and redirecting guests and attendants like a particularly soft-spoken drill sergeant.

“Stop flirting, Bucket,” he growled at his assistant, “and head over to section M-20, there’s a dark tower blocking the video feed.”

Rolling his eyes, the tall man pushed away from the column on which he’d been leaning and loped to the section indicated and the woman with the impressive beehive updo. As Gold moved on, he heard Jefferson blathering about preferred seating and special guests, and when he looked back at the monitor the feed was clear.

“Alright, everyone,” he murmured into his lapel mic. “Places. Cut the fill lights. Maestro on three.”

“Excuse me, Mr. Gold,” one of the underlings whispered, his eyes wide with fright. “We can’t find the father of the bride.”

“Thank you.” Gold pressed his earpiece. “Bucket, send Mr. Boyd over.”

“Uh...I did, Rumple. Ten minutes ago.”

Oh, that wasn’t good.

Gold set off, his face a calm mask. He stopped the flower girl, who had begun to walk, and asked her to count to ten and begin again. Moving deeper into the depths of the church, he followed the slight echoes of a man singing and finally came across Mr. Boyd, who was drunk as a skunk and singing lullabies to no one.

“I’ve got him. West staircase,” he muttered for Bucket to hear.

Setting his cane to one side, Gold knelt and pulled a tin of mints and a bottle of cologne out of his inside jacket pocket.

“My little girl is getting married today,” the man slurred.

Gold straightened the man’s tie and buttoned his tuxedo jacket, pulling him into a seated position.

“I remember the day she graduated from nursery school…”

Gold popped two of the mints into Mr. Boyd’s mouth and misted him with two sprays of cologne.

“...like it was yesterday…”

With quick, practiced strokes Gold ran a comb through the man’s disheveled hair. Mr. Boyd blinked blearily at him.

“Who are you?”

“The wedding planner,” Gold snapped. “And you are about to be late to your daughter’s wedding.”

“Nice save, Rumple,” Bucket said, appearing behind him. “Need some help?”

“Please.” Gold stood aside, leaning on his cane again as the larger man hooked his arms under Mr. Boyd’s and hauled him up.

“Now, then, sir,” he said, placing himself directly in the man’s line of vision. “You will walk smoothly and slowly down that aisle. You will place your daughter’s hand in her groom’s, you will kiss her cheek, and then you will  sit. Down.  You will not shout, sob, or vomit. Quiet tears, proud smiles, and gentle sniffles are acceptable. Do I make myself quite clear?”

“Not a very nice wedding planner, is he?” muttered Mr. Boyd as Jefferson led him away.

Bucket shrugged and winked at Gold over his shoulders. “He does throw a nice wedding, at least.”

From there, the wedding went off without a hitch. Gold watched it all from a balcony above. When the young couple pledged to be together as long as they both shall live, he fought hard not to roll his eyes. “Eighteen months,” he muttered to himself. “At most.”

“Boom. Earwax. Seventy-two points.” Emma Gold grinned at her father-in-law and shot him the cheesiest finger guns he’d ever seen. “I am creaming you, Gold.”

“Challenge. ‘Earwax’ is two words.”

“Nope. It’s one. Don’t be a sore loser.”

Gold grumbled as Emma chose new tiles and studied the board. Neal came in from tucking Henry into bed and looked over his wife’s shoulder at the scorecard. He whistled. “Jeez, Papa, she’s slaughtering you. How can you possibly lose this badly at Scrabble? You know more words than anyone I know.”

“That’s his problem,” Emma pointed out. “He tries to find the most obscure or rare word, he doesn’t think about points or placement on the board. He has no strategy.”

“It’s preposterous that she can beat me with words like ‘axe’ and ‘finger,’” Gold complained good-naturedly. “There should be points for originality.”

“Should be. Could be. Aren’t,” Emma said cheerfully. “Play your word or switch out your tiles.”

Gold grumbled under his breath as he dumped the entire tray of tiles into the bag and fished out new ones, and Neal lowered himself to sit next to his wife on the floor. “How’s the biz?” Neal asked as Gold scowled at his tiles.

“Same as ever.”

“I saw pictures of the Herman-Boyd wedding in the society pages,” Emma said. “She looked amazing. Was that dress one of yours?”

“A Gold original. It  was  one of my better efforts.”

“She looked like a real-life Disney princess. Is she getting a fairy-tale happy ending, too?”

“I suppose that depends on Mr. Herman,” he muttered, finally settling on a word and laying it on the board.

Neal snorted. “‘Naiad’? Seriously? What’s a naiad?”

“It’s a water nymph,” Emma told him. Off Gold’s raised eyebrows, she grew indignant. “What? I know things!” She chucked a tile at her husband when he laughed.

“It’s a shame you only ever plan other people’s weddings,” Neal said offhandedly.

Gold groaned and resisted the urge to roll his eyes. It had been nearly six months since the last time they had this conversation, so he supposed they were due.

“Don’t be such a grump,” Emma scolded him. “We just want you to be happy.”

“I am happy,” Gold growled.

“Yeah, you just radiate joy and contentment,” Neal scoffed.

Gold shook his head and softened his voice. “I am happy, son. I have you and Emma and Henry, and that’s all I need.”

“But you don’t always have us. After this you go home and...what? Drink whiskey alone? Watch Say Yes to the Dress until you fall asleep on the couch? Don’t you want something more?”

“There’s more to my life than wedding planning. Sometimes I watch American Pickers.”

“Well that explains why your place is such a dumping ground for junk,” Emma muttered, exchanging a few tiles.

“I beg your pardon? Nothing in my house is junk.”

“Right, sorry. Antiques.”

“All I’m saying,” Neal said, poking Emma in the side, “is that it might be nice for you to get out a little more. Go to a wine tasting or a flea market or...y’know...anywhere you might have to talk to other people.”

“That sounds terrible.”

“Online dating then.”

Gold shuddered as he laid down a new word. “That sounds worse.”

“Give him a break,” Emma said, adding up his score. “He’s already losing spectacularly, no need to call attention to the other failures in his life.”

“Thank you, Emma.”

“Any time, Pops.”

Contrary to what Neal and Emma believed, Gold did not live like a monk. He’d had relationships before. Well. The one, besides Neal’s mother. Both relationships had ended badly. He saw no reason to try again, not when he already had a family he loved. All he was really missing now was someone to nag and needle him, and since he had Jefferson Bucket, he didn’t really need to look elsewhere for that either.

“You’re late,” Bucket said now as Gold stepped off the elevator.

“I am not.”

“Oh. Then maybe I’m early. I did drink three cups of coffee this morning.” Jeff was fairly bouncing on the soles of his shoes and Gold rolled his eyes. “So are you gonna tell her now? She’s in a good mood. It should be now.”

Gold limped across the lobby of Fairy Tale Weddings, stopping dead when he saw a young woman sobbing on a couch. Her face was a horrible blotchy orange-red. “What happened here?” he asked.

“Self-tanning lotion gone wrong,” one of the associates whispered. “The wedding’s tomorrow.”

Shaking his head, Gold whipped out a handkerchief and handed it to the young woman. “Dry your tears. Quarter cup of lemon juice, half a cup of salt, and a loofah sponge. You’ll be good as new.”

“Thank you,” the bride whimpered, handing him back his handkerchief.

“Your linen bill must be enormous,” Jefferson said. “Do you even use those things yourself?”

“Alan! Congratulations on the Herman-Boyd wedding.” Esther Blue had appeared seemingly from nowhere, the scent of lavender hanging about her like a cloud. She was a handsome woman about Gold’s own age, her features sweet and delicate and her voice melodic and smooth. Few people knew the ruthlessness that lurked beneath her impeccably tailored suits and dresses (blue, always blue, as if she felt she needed to live up to her name). “Stefan!” She reached out to pluck a flower from the midst of a bouquet that was passing by in the arms of the florist. “If you ever use a carnation in an arrangement again, I’ll have you deported. Where was I?” She turned back to Gold.

"You were congratulating me on my superb work performance,” he said drily.

“Oh yes! Yes, well done. You’re easily my best planner.”

Behind him Jefferson squeaked and poked a finger into his back, and Gold scowled. “I’m well aware of that. That’s why I thought it was time for us to have a little talk.” He glared over his shoulder, and Jefferson scurried away.

“Oh?”

“This caught my eye two days ago.” He pulled out the newspaper he’d been carrying under his arm and handed it to her as they walked the halls. “The Lefleur-French wedding. I’ve already made initial contact, and it’s a promising prospect. The Lefleurs are new money, determined to see their son and heir married in style. The Frenches have money too, of course, but it’s neither as extensive nor as recently obtained, and they’re not very socially visible. The Lefleurs are determined to gain their son entry to the top social circles in the city, and this wedding is the first step.”

"An announcement, but no engagement photo. That's unusual."

Gold shrugged. "Again, the Frenches keep more or less to themselves. I don't think I've ever seen them in the society pages."

“Hmm. You have a meeting set up?”

"Tonight. They’re coming to the Delmar-Fisher wedding to observe my work.”

Esther nodded and stepped into her office. Gold followed her and shut the door, and she raised her eyebrows. “Something else?”

“Yes. I’m going to make this deal, and when I do - when the Lefleurs sign away a year’s income to marry their boy to his little trophy wife - we’re done.”

Esther froze. “Oh, are we?”

“I’ve more than paid you back. I bring in more revenue than all of your planners together.”

“And what do you plan to do if I release you from your contract? This is all you’ve known, the only trade you have, and you’re a little old to start over.”

“My designs are getting more attention. Half of yesterday’s article was about the Boyd girl’s wedding dress. Perhaps I’ll open a shop. I’d offer you a generous discount, of course,” he added with a dry smile.

“You wouldn’t be considering opening your own agency, by any chance?”

“Of course not,” he exclaimed gently, pressing one hand to his chest. “I’m offended that you could think such a thing.”

“Very well,” she said after a moment’s consideration. “If you can deliver the Lefleur contract, we will revisit your own.”

“Oh, no, dearie. We’ll ‘revisit’ nothing. You’ll release me.”

They stared at each other for a long moment before Esther sighed slightly. “Very well.”

“Excellent. Pleasure doing business with you.”

He left the office, letting out the breath he’d been holding as he waited for her answer, and nearly jumped out of his skin when he rounded a corner and came face-to-face with Jefferson.

“So? How’d it go?”

“You’re going to kill me one of these days,” Gold complained.

“Sorry. What did she say?”

“She said yes. One more wedding, Bucket, and I’m free of this place forever.”

“You’ll take me with you?”

Gold chuckled and shook his head. “I wouldn’t be able to pay you nearly as much as she does.”

“Who cares? Shorter hours, better work environment, and I can spend more time with Grace. I’m not so bad with a needle myself, y’know.”

Gold thought about that. The man made all of his own and his daughter’s clothes, and while his style was unique, his workmanship was flawless. “Alright. I’ll think about it.”

“Splendid! Now let’s go pluck us a flower!”