#god there was actually a stupid amount to unpack I WILL DO THAT LATER

[thelivingautomaton]

absolutely delighted to report that my last SEVERANCE theorycrafting post has now been rendered at least 30% obsolete by this fucking show going "oh, you want mark to reintegrate? we'll give you mark reintegrating" and just having reghabi show up to save the motherfucking day, AGAIN

[coolfire333]

Oh! Did you have any thoughts you'd like to share on TLHOD?

Yeah, it's been a few years since I've read it but yes I have so many thoughts!!! Major spoilers ahead (this book is very old but warning just in case)

Ok so a little bit of backstory: it was 2019 or 2020, sophomore year of college and I was around 19-20 years old (can't remember if it was spring or fall). I was in the honors program and had to take this mandatory honors class called "great works" where we attempted (key word: attempted) to read what the professor considered classic or otherwise noteworthy pieces of literature

Only problems being my professor was as dull as all get out during lectures and we also had to read an obscene amount of books in a short period of time (my adhd struggles hadn't quite hit that year yet so it was a stupid amount of books in a short timeframe even for me to read) so overall despite the interest I had for literature it was an agonizing experience to be in that class

I skimmed through most of our assigned books because it was the only way to be able to comprehend enough about the plot of things to be able to participate and follow along in lecture

However with The Left Hand of Darkness I soon found myself enraptured by the worldbuilding and premise. A scifi book from the 60s, one written by a woman, at that? Color me intrigued. I love scifi and have an interest for older books, that and the 60s are one of my favorite time periods in history so I was immediately interested in actually sitting down to read this book instead of skimming through it

By god I wasted so much time that I probably should have used for doing other homework reading every square inch of this novel. I really need to read it more carefully again if I can because I did rush a bit and it has been like 5 years since I've read it but holy mackerel what a story

The Left Hand of Darkness is so important to me for several reasons, the first being that I think it's a good story, but also and perhaps most importantly because it expanded my knowledge of gender. I wasn't the most open minded about gender and nonbinary identity when I first started reading and I genuinely feel like I came out of the other end of the story with not only an appreciation for gender diversity that I didn't have before but also a better understanding of it.

Considering I'm bigender and genderqueer now, coming to terms with this book was probably my first step in starting to unravel my own gender identity, even if I didn't know it at the time. Funny sidenote but I'm pretty sure I was also grappling with my bisexuality (thanks to also being demiaroace and not knowing it, figuring yourself out orientation-wise is a lot harder) at the time and I had a bit of a crush on Estraven (and Genly for that matter although I already knew I liked men) and a deep fascination with the "gay but not exactly gay" relationship that Genly and Estraven have but I kinda went "don't have time to unpack what that means for my own sexuality" and shelved that part of myself for later analysis lol

Anyways, onto the story. It's been a while but Genly and Estraven's weird nebulous relationship throughout the story had me in a chokehold the entire time. What if I was in heat and we were both starving and freezing to death in a tent together and forced to share body heat to stay alive (and your telepathic voice is the same as the telepathic voice of my dead brother who killed himself after we were prohibited from continuing our incestuous relationship as a life bond)....surely this doesn't mean anything about how I feel about you...haha, jk....unless.......

Like for real the two of them hate and misunderstand each other at the start of the book and by the end of it there's this weird unspoken bond they have that clearly teeters on the romantic (which is interesting for both of them since Estraven sees Genly as obscenely sexual for his male-only gender and meanwhile Genly is confused by Estraven's lack of gender)

But then Estraven literally sacrifices himself to allow Genly to live...he dies in his arms and his last thought is just telepathically shouting his dead brother's name as if professing some kind of love for Genly while also being reminiscent of an "I'm going to join my dead former partner in the afterlife" type thing. Good lird...

Literally the last passage in the book (iirc) is Genly being like "well ok this sucks so bad but mission technically accomplished, time to go back to earth I guess" and then he is confronted with Estraven and Arek's son who's just like "was my dad (referring to Estraven) a hero? Did he die nobly?" and the book just ends there with the faint implication that Genly is going to tell him all about Estraven...like oh my goddddddddd the pain is eternal

I could go on and on about the interesting way Le Guin explores gender throughout the book but one thing that stood out to me was that the king had to have birthed a son himself (versus being the father of someone else's son) for that son to be considered a true heir. Idk it just was a really interesting take on gender and heritage imo, you'd expect it to be the other way around (like the birthed son doesn't count towards the king's lineage because patriarchal commentary) so seeing the opposite imo emphasized the alienness of their society really well in contrast to our own preconceptions of human gender roles

Also I see the critique of he/him and male terms being used for Estraven throughout the story but also the book is from Genly's perspective and iirc he has a touch of Earth Sexism so using he/him for everyone regardless of their genderlessness is actually a good choice in explaining Genly's perspective I think. I will say I'm partial to the idea that Estraven and others use they/them normally and then she/her or he/him if in heat depending on if they're feminine or masculine during but idk I think using he/him for everyone throughout is fine too because it's just one of those "this doesn't translate well to human society" moments

Another interesting point of conversation that was actually brought up by my professor at the time was that Genly is a black human from future earth and yet his race and relationship with racial identity as a black human specifically is never fully explored like his gender is in relation to the inhabitants of Gethen. I have no idea what to do with this information but it certainly is interesting considering the book was written in 1969

I get that Le Guin was white and probably didn't feel like she should comment on race (and maybe she just didn't have many thoughts on it) but she also made a clear choice to make Genly, the protagonist and pov character, a black intergalactic ambassador of Earth in a book written during the civil rights era...yeah I would certainly have liked to also see how Genly's race (as a black man not as a human because his humanity is clearly detailed) factored into the plot but idk it's just something I think about sometimes

[mymoonagedaydream]

Part 2

Summary: Some people are just naturally flirtatious, right? It doesn’t actually mean anything… right?

Pairing: Bucky x y/n

Word Count: 1.3k

Warnings: Language

Author’s Note: Thank y’all so much for all your loveliness after the first part! You guys keep me young, god love ya.

---

For the first few weeks, Sam invited you round to his new place almost every evening- you spent more nights sleeping on their couch than you did in your own bed. 

It was great. 

The atmosphere that developed between you, Sam and Bucky was even better than you could’ve hoped. Buck managed to slot into your existing dynamic pretty seamlessly, and the three of you never ran out of stupid shit to get up to.

That being said, you couldn’t help but notice how things changed when Cece was around, cause you never saw much of her or Buck when she was at the apartment. When you bumped into her in the kitchen or outside the bathroom she was always very friendly, but you could never quite shake the feeling that she was intentionally avoiding you.

Eh, you were probably being paranoid.

Tonight was just another chilled evening, you and Sam decided it’d be nice to cook some dinner and have a bit of a movie night. He was supposed to have all the ingredients ready before you arrived but, as you predicted, he’d managed to forget about half the stuff from the very clear and concise list you’d texted him.

Less than a couple minutes after you stepped through the door, Sam was sent back to the store with yet another list and his tail between his legs.

You were doing your best to get things started with the little resources you had when Bucky emerged from the shower, wearing only a towel, with a toothbrush hanging out of his mouth. He strutted about like that so often. Obviously you couldn’t dictate how he dressed in his own apartment, and you were really glad he was so comfortable around you, but Christ it didn’t fucking help with that stupid little crush you were still trying to shake.

You didn’t notice him until he spoke.

‘Hey y/n.’ You eyes darted up but quickly averted once they’d spotted his bare chest. ‘Where’s Sam?’

‘He forgot to buy cheese. What kind of person forgets to buy cheese?’ He shrugged, looking pretty stumped. ‘The kind of person you've chosen to live with is the answer you're looking for.’

Letting out a defeated huff, he leant on the counter in front of you, eyeing your meagre pile of ingredients. ‘What're you making?’

‘Spaghetti and meatballs. There'll be plenty if you want in.’

‘That sounds great, actually. I was gonna order out but home-cooked is always better.’ He flashed you a smile which, if he’d been single, you could’ve mistaken for flirtatious. ‘You need a hand?’

‘Hmm, are you good with cutting onions? Cause my eyes get so bad I have to leave the room sometimes.’

‘That's kinda pathetic.’

‘Yeah? Well in that case maybe you should have a browse of the takeout menu, you cheeky fucker.’

His eyes darted up to yours, the slightly concerned expression melting from his face when he noticed your wide grin. ‘I’ll be back in a sec.’

You let your eyes linger on the back of his broad shoulders as he slowly sauntered away, half of your brain absolutely disgusted at the way you were ogling a taken man, the other half drooling like a hound dog and half-wanting to follow him down the corridor just to see what happened.

You managed to snap yourself out of it just as you heard a key in the door.

Once Sam had unpacked his second load of shopping and Buck had put his nips away, the three of you actually managed to cobble together a pretty decent meal. There was a small amount of pasta throwing and some pathetic competitiveness over knife skills, but hey, boys will be boys. 

As you ate round the dinner table, the conversation turned to which movie you’d all be watching later- sides quickly formed. Sam was being an absolute melt as usual, he spent a good half hour refusing any suggestions that weren’t romcoms. Bucky’s first suggestion was a Rob Schneider film and, as it turns out, that was almost enough to put you off him for good. 

‘You two have the combined taste of a 14-year-old girl.’

Sam shrugged. ‘At least I don’t have the forearms of one too.’

‘Hey asshole, ain’t nothing wrong with my arms. Right y/n?’

‘Your- your arms?’  How the hell were you supposed to be diplomatic here? ‘Yeah, I mean, they’re fine. I guess. Just... arms.’

A little white lie never hurt anybody. 

Bucky looked disappointed, time to change the subject. ‘How about a horror film?’

‘Now there’s an idea,’ Bucky leant towards you, ‘but I think Sam might be too chicken.’

‘Excuse me if my idea of a good time isn’t watching doors open by themselves.’

You and Buck looked at each other, he shrugged. ‘We could always just overrule him?’

‘Oh we definitely could.’

Sam sulked for the rest of the meal.

The living room in the apartment was pretty small, but it just happened to be home to the cosiest armchair you’d ever come across. It was the best seat in the house- room for spreading out, directly in front of the TV and right next to the snack table. You and Sam would always race for it.

Much to your annoyance, he won this time, leaving you and Bucky to squeeze yourselves onto the two-seater. Usually you wouldn’t complain about having to be in such close proximity to him, but he was ridiculously wide and had thighs like tree trunks- it felt like you were the weakest sardine in the tin. 

You had a bit of a hard time focusing on the movie. 

You could feel every little movement Bucky made, the slight tensing of his thigh and arm muscles, even the subtle changes in his breathing that coincided with the rising and falling of the music. You tried your best to ignore it, but then something happened which really didn’t help.

There was a jumpscare. Bucky jerked violently, pulling in a sharp breath and throwing his hand out to grab onto whatever was in reaching distance.

Conveniently, that happened to be your knee.

He squeezed hard for just a little bit too long before looking down and supposedly realising what he’d done. You shuffled your leg away from him slightly after his grip was released, feeling your face getting gradually hotter as all the blood rushed to it.

‘Sorry.’ His whisper was barely audible over the movie, he obviously didn’t want Sam to overhear and ask what was going on.

‘S’alright.’ You chuckled under your breath. ‘Pussy.’

He gave you a playful nudge before leaning back and folding his arms over his chest, somehow managing to spread himself out even more and fully press the whole side of his body against yours.

Was he doing that on purpose? Surely not, he was probably just trying to get comfy, right?

Either way, you weren’t complaining.

It was only when the movie came to an end that you both realised that Sam was fast asleep in the armchair. If you had to put money on it, you’d bet that this was his subtle form of protest over not being allowed to watch his romcom.

Bucky jumped up and went to lean over his snoozing roommate. ‘Should we wake him?’

‘You want to get your eyes scratched out?’

‘I’d like to see him try.’

‘Me too, actually.’

After a couple of unsuccessful, half-hearted pokes, Bucky gave up on trying to wake him, his eyes then flickering back over to you.

‘You staying over?’ For some reason, as he asked, he pointed a thumb towards his bedroom. It was obviously accidental, because when he realised what he’d done he looked mortified and quickly dropped his arm. ‘On the couch, I mean.’

‘Mhmm... If that’s alright?’

‘Course.’ 

He looked at you in silence for a few seconds. You raised your eyebrows, from his expression you were expecting him to come out with some kind of big announcement, but he eventually just turned away and headed towards his room. 

‘G’night.’

Weird.

---

Part 3

---

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---

[hyunjilicious]

bath time [henry cavill]

A/N: Ok, i wanted to make this as domestic as possible, so basically this is just plotless SMUT + a fair amount of sex talk. Also, for the sake of this one shot, imagine Henry is not famous. It’ll make sense later. That being said, I hope you’ll enjoy this, and please don’t hesitate to tell me what you thought! (4.5k)

-

"There are literal drops of sweat rolling down my sides" you huffed, throwing your bag onto the floor and kicking off your shoes.

Behind you, Henry sighed as he closed the door. As soon as you heard the lock click, you turned to see him shuffling out of his shirt. It was a swift motion; just a half second after he grabbed the back of his collar and until the material was off of his body and all crumpled up in his hand. "You got nothing on me, love" he shook his head.

Even in the darkness of your entrance hallway, you could see faint traces of light reflect from tens and tens of sweat droplets all over his body. The curls that would normally frame his face were now glued to his forehead, and if you didn’t know any better you’d have thought he had just gotten out of the shower.

"Has it ever been this hot?" you mumbled, rushing into the living room and turning on the air conditioning. "Like, is this normal?"

"Normal?" Henry laughed, walking past you and into the kitchen, "Most likely not. But I think we should get used to it"

"I'm sorry, mother nature" you whispered, moving towards him.

You settled against one of the counters, and watched Henry rummage through the fridge. "Have you heard about Costa Rica?" he asked over his shoulder.

"No... What about it?"

"Apparently-" he said, straightening his back and closing the fridge. He handed you one bottle of water, and as you opened yours, he placed his’ against his chest, and rolled it down his abdomen. What a sight, but he didn't seem to have done it on purpose. "They're gonna be the first country in the world to completely free themselves of single use plastics and fossil fuel. In 2017 I think, they ran on 100% renewable energy for 300 days"

"Can we move there?" you asked, "That's incredible"

"I hope it's true and that they keep this going" he sighed, and finally opened up his bottle to take a sip.

By now, the cool air from the AC had barely started to reach you, but your body temperatures were already starting to drop. You decided to hop into the shower, and Henry affirmed he was going to do the same after he unpacked the bags. Although you felt a bit guilty letting him do this all by himself, you figured you'd be even eventually, since you were the one to cook dinner that night.

You didn't bother to grab any clothes before heading into the bathroom. You just walked in, turned on the water, threw all your clothes onto the floor and jumped into the shower. It felt heavenly. For a few minutes, you didn't even move, just allowed the water to drip down your body and wash away all the layers of sweat you had acquired during your morning errand run. 

Just when you grabbed the soap, you heard the bathroom door open, "Yeah?" you mindlessly called, assuming Henry must be needing something from his cabinet.

Nonchalantly, he just walked inside, not even bothering to look at you. He just sighed with relief and started unbuttoning his jeans.

“What are you doing?” you laughed, expecting him to just grab something and then leave.

With obvious surprise on his face, he raised his gaze, “Getting ready to shower?”

“Here?” 

He stopped dead in his tracks, his pants hanging onto his thighs for support as he had already undone and unzipped them. “Is this a problem? Do you want me to leave?”

Judging by the look in his eyes, he seemed a bit offended, but still willing to give you the privacy he thought you wanted.

“No, no.. Don’t leave, what the-” you chuckled, pulling the curtain to the side as an invitation for him to join you, “Just thought you were gonna shower in the other bathroom that’s all”

“What would I do that?” Henry shook his head, shuffling out of his jeans, “I can go if you want me to-”

“Jesus christ, Henry” you scoffed, and waved your arms for him, “Just come here”

“Why are you acting weird?” he laughed, taking off his underwear and walking towards you. He stopped just before stepping inside the shower, and looked at you with a devilish smirk on his lips, “Did you do something stupid?”

“I didn’t oh my god” you rolled your eyes and grabbed his forearm.

He followed your guide and stepped in. As you raised your hand to reach for the soap on the corner shelf, Henry wrapped his arms around you from behind. The water hadn’t yet reached his body, but he was still a bit damp and a lot sticky.

You let out a shriek, “I think we know who won the sweating contest”

“Of course I won, love” he laughed, burying his head into your neck. He spoke softly, in a low tone, but he did it so that his breath fanned directly against your neck, “Didn’t think there was any question about it”

“It was worth a shot” you laughed and turned around in his hold.

You took a few careful steps backwards, and pulled him after you. Leaning against the tiles, you stood and watched him walk directly into the water stream. It poured down his body, along his sides and down every calloused dimple of his frame. With your eyes trained on his body, you reached out and handed him the bar of soap, “Wash yourself for me, please”

“I take it I should put on a show” he laughed and you just nodded.

And he did try. “Ok, but like gimme a second to prepare” he commanded, pointing a finger at you.

“Whatever you need” you giggled and watched him grab a lufa, soaking it in ridiculous amounts of shower gel. He looked up at you, grinning proudly as he pushed his hair away from his face.

What you expended him to do was to sensually rub that sponge all over his body and have your mouth water in an instant. However, he had other plans. Henry held the eye contact as he closed the distance between the two of you, pressing you all the way back and against the cold tiles of the bathroom wall. 

“I know it’s not what you were waiting for” he chuckled in your ear, “But I think you’ll like this better”

There was no actual reason for you to argue and try to convince him otherwise, so you just hummed in agreement. He took it as his cue to get going, so his arms snaked around your frame, meeting at the base of your spine. The atmosphere, the hot water, his body so close to yours - everything was working on making this moment as intoxicating as possible.

You felt the soothing material rub against your back as Henry pushed his hands upwards along your spine. In the meantime, his lips pressed against the side of your neck, fervidly kissing away all your self control. 

“Ok, ok-” you moaned, tilting your head to the side. Your words were molded by the smile on your lips, “I see you, ok”

Henry kissed his way back up to your lips, “I have no idea what I’m doing, but I’m glad it’s working”

“Oh, it’s definitely working” you eagerly nodded. He happily attacked your lips with another kiss, and you almost gave in entirely. Without any warning, he went full in, his tongue lewdly parting your lips, tasting you with no trace of hesitation. You arched your back against him, and in response, a soft moan escaped his throat. For a short while, he kept the message going, the rough touch of the lufa awakening your senses. It was nice while it lasted, but when he dropped it, you didn't feel like complaining. 

His rough palms pressed against the skin of your back, lustfully caressing their way up your spine. Pure, lascivious need dripped from his lips, suffocating you in the immense pleasure he was able to lay upon you, even through just a kiss.

As caught up in the moment as you were, your reality was instantly shaken up by the feeling of his cock fiercely twitching against your thigh. Not even a moment’s worth of hesitation followed, as you suggestively dragged your right palm down his callused body, only to grip his hardening member into your hand.

Henry gulped deeply into the kiss, his lips freezing for a second. Allowing his forehead to fall against yours, he spoke with his eyes closed, “You’re asking for it”

The threat came in what was probably the most sexual way possible, but he meant it. As crazy as you were about shower sex, it was a no go. You and Henry have been dating for almost three months now, and even with all the lube in the world, shower sex was still off limits. This was one of the very few moments it came as a bother, because you two never encountered a situation where you couldn’t find a place to do it.

“It won’t hurt to try” you suggestively brought your lips between your teeth, looking up into his eyes through your lashes. 

As you spoke, your hand traveled along his cock, with the profound intention to get him to agree.

“It probably will, darling” Henry chuckled, along with a knowing shake of his head, “Just let me wash you, yeah? And we’ll finish this later”

“Or I could just finish this now” you smiled, the grip of your fingers tightening ever so slightly around his cock, “Please?”

“Can you not?” he laughed, “I’m-”

Seeing him about to disagree, you lustfully guided your thumb along the slit of his penis, moving it back and forth at an agonizingly slow pace. It was enough to get him to shut up.

“Fuck-” Henry grunted. His hands slammed into the wall on either side of your head in hopes of finding another source of balance, while his head urgently fell back.

“Knew you wouldn’t be able to resist me” you smiled, fisting his cock into your hand.

Feeling his member harden against your palm made your mouth water. Directly in your line of sight, you could see Henry’s chest, vehemently rising and falling, as water dripped down his skin. His flexed arms framed your body, trapping you between his massive figure and the wall, and it all worked in your advantage. 

“Look at me, baby” you smiled, nudging the side of his abdomen.

Less than a muscle put at work, his head fell forward as if it was the most difficult task in the world. Henry watched you from under a pleasure induced frown, a vulgar color tinting his cheeks towards the most errotic shade of red.

“Go on, love” he encouraged you, as if needed.

The pleasure was all yours. The choked back moans that would manage to escape his throat were all you needed in return. Despite the warm water that was pouring on top of your bodies, his breath was coarsely hot, fanning against your lips.

Picking up your pace, you could feel his cock getting harder by the second.

Cupping his cheek into your free hand, you effortlessly guided him to meet your lips. Although covered in miniature droplets of water, his lips were dry under the strain you put on him. You worked him up beyond expectation, feverishly consuming his whole self control.

A soft purposeful moan from you and into his mouth was the last drop, “Angel-” he whimpered.

“I got you, baby” you teased, speaking lewdly against his lips.

Looking down between your bodies, your eyes landed on his inflamed tip, ripe precum dripping onto your fingers for the shortest of seconds, before being washed away by the endlessly pouring water.

“Are you gonna cum for me?” you moaned, consuming his remaining ounces of vigor as you worked devious amounts of pressure against his slit.

Bottom lip tortured between two rows of merciless teeth, all Henry managed to give you was a nod. A nod of approval, one which brought a smile to your lips.

“Come on” you deplored, crying your words without any kind of shame, “I want your cum, baby, give it to me”

“Fucking hell!” Henry groaned, rubbing his forehead against his shoulder, “Really want it, huh? Couldn’t fucking wait to get out of the shower?”

“Nope”

“Better get on your knees then” 

Vividly maintaining the eye contact, you lowered yourself in front of him. You opened your mouth, getting ready for him, but you weren’t there yet.

Henry wrapped his hand into your wet hair, pulling you towards him as he took a few steps back. His cock hung proudly in its full glory inches away from your starved lips, but you decided to wait patiently like you know he loves so much.

With his fingers still gravely tormenting your roots, Henry made you look up. The fervor in his eyes was reflected in the length his cock had reached. “Tongue out, angel. And look at me, yeah?”

You nodded eagerly.

Henry worked himself through the remaining energy he had left, fisting his cock with nowhere near as much lust as you did just minutes before. But you were on your knees, mouth open and tongue out like the good girl he loves to fuck so much, so it was only a matter of time until he pushed himself over the edge.

He didn’t cum without a warning, that came in the form of a harsh tug of your hair.

In waves, his cum coated your tongue. The water was still full on pouring behind you, yet all that was audible were his moans, and the plethora of curse words he found suitable to express himself.

“Jesus, fuck-!” Henry cried, mercilessly pumping his cock.

He was nearing the end of his high, but he kept going. The sight of you proudly swallowing his cum added to his pleasure, forcing his head back, “Fuck… Y/n…”

Your teasing side awakened, and in the head of the moment, you pushed yourself up, circling your lips around his tip, sucking the last droplets of his juice directly into your mouth.

As soon as he finished, Henry collapsed against the wall by his side, panting heavily, eyes trained somewhere on the other side of the bathroom.

“Thank you, daddy” you laughed, choosing his thighs as the perfect element of stability to help you stand up. You happily kissed his lips as soon as you reached his level.

“Oh, this is nowhere near done, baby girl” Henry taunted, effortlessly spinning you around and slapping your ass, “Out”

“What do you mean out!?” you questioned confused.

You tried to turn around, but Henry forced you out of the shower, stepping out right after you.

“We’re changing bathrooms,” he said sternly.

“Why?”

“As cute as I think it is that your pussy is too tight for my cock-”

“It’s the water!” you protested, slapping his hand, “My pussy is just fine”

“Your cunt is perfect, I never said it wasn’t,” Henry laughed, kissing your lips, “But I got an idea, so now go and run a bath”

“What’s this idea?” you asked as you started to walk out of the bathroom.

“What does it matter? You’re always down for everything I want”

“Oh god” you exclaimed, the way he worded it making your cheeks catch on fire.

“Isn’t it true?” Henry teased, slowly approaching you.

“When you put it like that…”

“Go” Henry shook his head. He slapped your bare ass before you two parted ways, “I’ll be right there”

And you did as told, forcing every brain cell in your being to not buzz with anticipation. Things with you were new anyway, but him acting like this brought upon you a whole new feeling that ached all the way down between your legs. Working on autopilot, you ran the bath, added some random and forgotten bath salts to the mix, and about ten minutes later Henry joined you. The light here was dim, contouring the perfect romantic atmosphere you knew had no place in the room right now. 

“Come here” Henry encouraged.

He was sitting down at the end of the tub, the water reaching up to barely cover his abdomen. You obediently crawled over, on all fours, stopping only when your face was inches away from his.

The salacious smile on his lips should’ve come as a warning, but you were too out of it, so when his hand brushed against your inner thigh, all your senses went crazy. He wasted no time before finding your pussy, probing your folds for just a second before slamming his pointed fingers inside of you.

“Fuck” you panted, squeezing your eyes shut, the impending feeling of his fingers filling you up having an unanticipated effect on you.

“Look at me” Henry commanded, roughly gripping your chin into his hand, “None of that, love, ok? I know you can take my fingers”

With tears of ecstasy coating your eyes, you nodded your head up and down, biting harshly into your bottom lip.

“How’s it feel?” he asked proudly, his grin worth a million words, “You’re already wet as fuck”

“Feels fine” you breathed, getting used to the feeling.

“Fine won’t do, darling” Henry shook his head.

This time, when he kissed you, he shoved a third finger inside your cunt, making you gasp directly against his lips. The pain of the impact dissipated quickly, as Henry pressed his thumb against your clit, working experienced circles against it. 

“Hmph, Henry-” you cried, falling forwards to hide your in the crook of his neck.

“That’s it, love” he encouraged, caressing your side, from your hip up to your breasts with his free hand, all while maintaining the pace of his fingers on your pussy. His movements were aggressive and impatient, pushing your buttons and spreading your boundaries beyond control.

“Oh, god- I- what-” you moaned. 

Complete randomness, and it for sure wasn’t meant to make any sense either. The experience in its whole was new and so was the feeling that was forming inside your belly.

“Cum on my fingers, Y/n, ok? Don’t hold back.”

“Ok, fuck” you whined, arching your back as you white knuckled the edge of the bathtub for support.

Henry picked up his pace, roughly fucking you pussy with the kind of roughness you didn’t think you’d ever find enjoyable. Yet there you were, a moaning mess, squirming uncontrollably as you waited for an orgasm to calm the fire in your veins. 

“How come I’ve never had you ride my fingers before?” Henry chuckled, the arrogance of his tone twisting your stomach into a knot, “No fucking work for me, and I get to see you like this?”

After processing his words and allowing your mind to soak up the dominance in his voice, a loud moan escaped your throat. You tried to muffle it by slapping your hand on top of your mouth, but you were too late.

“Don’t do that” Henry said, ushering you hand away, “Think I didn’t feel your pussy clench around my fingers?”

“Oh- This is just, Henry, what are- fuck.. I’m so close”

“Cum, doll” he taunted, grabbing your chin again. He slammed his fingers deeper inside your cunt, spreading your walls and putting pressure against all your spots, “Make a mess of my fingers, love”

And that was it. The last drop. The last profanity your mind was able to take before slipping down a spiral of endless pleasure. Your reality distorted to the point where the only thing you felt was the urgent touch of his fingers. And he worked you until he saw every last drop of pleasure leave your body, and it still wasn’t enough. As satisfying and exhausting at it was, you were not ready to have his fingers leave your body.

“You’re so fucking beautiful” Henry said, his voice managing to bring you back to reality.

You licked your lips, uselessly trying to moisten your mouth, “Yep.. yeah..”

As you came down from your high, you cuddled into his chest. The water around you was starting to get cold, but you didn’t care, and neither did Henry.

“You good?” he questioned, the warmth of his tone coming in perfect contrast with the taunting attitude he had been displaying in the past minutes.

“So good” you smiled, content.

“Up, then” Henry laughed, slapping your hips.

Reluctantly, you did so but not without a whine, “Why?” 

“I wanna see if you can take me now”

Your heart panged, and you felt like hesitating, but the mere thought of him stretching you up beyond your limits excited you. “Just- go slow, yeah?”

“I won’t do anything you’re not ready for, angel” Henry assured you, guiding your hips so that your opening aligned with his already hard again member, “I’ll just slip my cock inside, and let you adjust, that’s all”

“That’s all?” you questioned, unable to hide your faint disappointment.

“I’ll do more if you can take it” he chuckled, “But if you can’t, I’ll stop and we’ll get out so I can properly fuck you in the bedroom”

“Ok, I’m not made of glass!”

“We’ll see”

“Stop!” you laughed, “It makes me feel like this inexperienced little girl”

“How is that not a turn on?” Henry questioned, “I don’t get it”

“Well, I’m not one”

“You’re not a slut either, but we both know how much you love it when I call you that”

“So what do you prefer?” you laughed, “A slut or an inexperienced girl?”

“You know what I fucking prefer, Y/n?” Henry spoke, loud and clear, after taking a deep breath of air, “I prefer my girlfriend who wakes up at 6am everyday to work on her PhD but deepthroats my cock before lunch like her life depends on it”

“Oh wow” you giggled, “I did not expect-”

“What didn’t you expect, hm?” Henry interrupted you, “Didn’t expect me to want to fuck your brains out every time I see you in a pencil skirt and heels? Or that half the time I look at your lips I think about shoving my cock down your throat? Or that the fact that you’re 7 fucking years younger than me and working on your fourth degree, turns me the fuck on?”

“Then fuck me” you said, “Now, rough me up, I can take it”

“Another thing you might not have expected-” Henry grinned, guiding his cock to your entrance and tracing it back and forth, “The fact that I still don’t think you’ll be able to take me, turns me on more than thinking you might be able to”

With your heart on fire, you leaned in, trapping his face in between your palms. He welcomed you mouth open, tongue ready to take control, as his hands settled on your hips.

You concentrated your mind on the kiss, on his taste and on the feeling of his tongue wagging dominantly against yours, while he sank his fingers into your flesh, pushing you down against his cock.

When his tip pushed past your folds, you whimpered against his lips, but none of you showed any signs of wanting to stop. You kept lowering yourself, the stinging sensation between your legs only growing more and more intense with every other inch of his’ you’d take in. Henry kept kissing you, peppering the moment with the occasional lip bite that only worked in your favor.

The way he moaned against your lips, the way you felt his throat vibrate with every grunt he released, made you more and more eager.

“So, so, fucking tight, fuck” Henry groaned, “Fuck me”

You nodded yes, sharing the feeling with him. Your eyes were covered in unshed tears, as the hazardous feeling between your legs only intensified. 

“Are you ok?” he asked as soon as you completely lowered yourself onto his cock.

“Yeah” you said, “This is actually nice. Kinda”

“Come here” he cooed, motioning for you to lay down against his chest. As soon as you did, the stinging sensation between your legs blew up. On the other end of the spectrum, Henry threw his head back, moaning out loud.

“That good, huh?” you teased.

“Fuck, love” Henry chuckled in disbelief, “Your pussy was made for me and I don’t wanna hear otherwise”

“No one’s gonna tell you otherwise, baby” you giggled, “Don’t want any man to think about fucking my mouth other than you”

“Good,” Henry said sternly.

“Doesn’t it turn you on though?”

“What?”

“Think about other men wanting me but I’m all yours?” you asked, your voice a bit lower.

As he put his thoughts together, Henry closed his eyes, rubbing his cheek and chin, “Depends”

“On what?”

“Now I’d fuck your brains out while some dude watched and cursed that he’s not me. But I can’t promise that this will always be the case”

“Do you get jealous easily?”

“You got up at 7 this morning to come with me and wait in a line for 3 hours just so I can get one piece of paper” Henry said, “Pretty sure I don’t have any reason to be jealous yet”

“Aw, this is so sweet” you gushed, leaning down to kiss him again. By now the water was dead cold and the feeling between your begs was starting to dissipate, but your mind was in a different place, “You were so cute and now I don’t wanna say what I had in mind”

“Oh god” Henry chuckled, shaking his head, “By all means, please, tell me”

“Ever tried Chatmix?”

“No, what’s that”

“Well…” you hesitated, “It’s a site.. Where people go and masturbate together”

His face fell, “And what do you exactly wanna do?”

“I want you to fuck me while strangers watch”

For a second, he failed to answer, but eventually, a smile creeped up on his lips, “Are you serious?”

“Yeah… I mean no one would know who we are and I think it’s really hot to like you know… I mean.. I just think it would be hot to have people watch us.. And see how good you fuck me, and how I do whatever you tell me because, I don’t know... I’m your good girl…? and I want people to like see how you… own me?”

The color on Henry’s cheeks drained. All the life in his features wilted away, and for a second you couldn’t believe how badly you just fucked up. But the warm tone in his eyes soon got replaced by a wicked shade of carnal blue, and the corners of his mouth tilted upwards, proving that you might have just been wrong. Before he opened his mouth to speak, you felt a faint pang deep in your belly.

“Did you cock just twitch?”

Henry cleared his throat, “Chatmix you said?” 

“Yes”

“Do you wanna-” he started asking, voice an octave higher.

“Like right now?”

“Yeah? Or not-”

“We should” you affirmed.

Henry nodded, seemingly deep in thought.

“Did you cock just twitch again?”

“Ok, let’s go”

[notmrskennedy]

Professor, pt2

A/N - here’s part two to my little prequels - it’s the last one I’ve got written, but just know that they definitely fall in love later in my head. It’s just that the ‘in love’ part turned into Friendliness so there’s that. Thanks for sticking around bc y’all make my days

Summary - A certain professor makes another unexpected appearance and friend? 

W/C - 2.6k 

Warnings - there’s a brief stint of depression and a bit of swearing i’m sure (but what’s new)

----

Nearly 50 hours of no sleep later and Spencer Reid is sure he’s hallucinating. He knows that the hallucinations come later, that it takes more like seven or eight days to get that bad. But he’s tired and hadn’t slept on the plane and there’s no amount of coffee that’ll convince him he’s awake enough to think the scene in front of him is real. 

Because there you are, arguing with an FBI agent. While in handcuffs. He notes the darker hair and the new style and the impossible amount of dirt you’re covered in. What a weird thing to hallucinate after a bone chilling case. He hasn’t seen you in three years—by all accounts, he should’ve forgotten your face already. 

“I heard she got caught shipping body parts,” Emily says, appearing next to Spencer. She’s more put together, having passed out for the four hour flight. Her hair’s tied up and she’s got airplane coffee in her hands. He wonders if this is any more real before he hears you shouting from him. 

“Thank God,” you call, trying to wiggle out of the man’s hold, “Dr. Reid! Tell them I’m not crazy.”

He hesitantly leans over to Emily. “This is real, right?”

“Yep.”

“I’m not going to sleep tonight, am I?”

“Nope.”

“See you on Monday, Emily.”

“See you then, Reid.”

And he’s trudging forward, waving at the other agent while stifling a yawn. He forces his eyes open and checks his watch. 2:37 AM. Is he going to catch the Metro? Or is he sleeping on Hotch’s couch again? 

The pleading in your eyes says Hotch’s couch and he doesn’t argue.

“Hey, Kazinsky,” he yawns, stopping a full two feet from you and your inhumanly large captor. “What’s the—what’s the charge?”

Kazinsky shakes his head, not daring to let you any slack. You’re bouncing on your toes, trying to contain yourself. He gets it. It’s not everyday you get arrested. He hopes. But ever forgetful of the whole being arrested bit, you keep jerking to move the hair out of your face. Kazinsky takes it as trying to escape and jerks back harder. 

“We picked this one up for transporting illegal…stuff, Doc,” Kazinsky mutters with half a shiver. “Thought I signed up for white collar, mail fraud type stuff. Not unpacking human remains type stuff.” 

Spencer pinches the bridge of his nose. Scrubs his hands over his face. Takes one more long look at you, obviously losing your mind. He knows a lot can change over three years, but you never seemed the ‘illegally transporting dead people’ type. Until he remembers your fun fact from that lecture all those years ago. 

“What happened?” he sighs.

All too tired for this bullshit, he wishes he could force the story out faster, but your face just keeps contorting with the story you’re so obviously trying to spin for both of them. You try to pull out of Kazinsky’s gorilla grip again, and Spencer notices the way Kazinsky winces every time you pull. Something wrong with his wrist?

“Dr. Reid,” you finally begin, “I was in Guatemala, studying these mummies we found in a cave. One of the bodies just needed further examining and so I was just shipping it back because it’s not like I can stuff a two thousand year old body in my carryon.”

All Spencer can do is raise half an exhausted eyebrow that prompts you further, red tinting your cheeks. 

“Look, I’ve been trying to tell Mr. Man Hands over here that I’ve got the paperwork in my bag, but after our little disagreement, I’ve been arrested.”

“Disagreement?” Kazinsky snorts. “You tried to dislocate my wrist!”

“Well, I can’t help it if you don’t announce yourself before grabbing me.”

Whatever desperation and pleading you’ve had, you’ve thrown out the window to stare down Kazinsky. Spencer has a new appreciation for the fact that he’d been wrong all those years ago. You aren’t fragile. You’re as strong as a femur bone with all of the—probably justified—anger of a bull towards a matador. 

But you turn back to Spencer and your gaze softens. Melts into the young professor he met all those years ago. He’s gotten over his crush—he’s definitely in love with Maeve—but you’re objectively beautiful. Despite the self-cut, terribly choppy bangs, or the light dusting of brown dirt that you’ve covered in. You’re pleading for his help, he knows it, but he just wants to go home. 

He’s reminded he’s better than walking away and ends up giving Kazinsky a tired sigh. “I’ll take her off your hands for you, Kazinsky.”

He wonders vaguely what Maeve will think of this when he calls her in 24 hours. He wonders if she’ll appreciate the gesture he’s made for an old acquaintance. No matter what though, he knows she’ll gasp and giggle and say something like ‘oh those anthropologists! Such a funny sort. At least it’s a better science than geology!’ and they’ll laugh together like old lovers. 

Kazinsky drops you in Spencer’s lap and runs. Human remains could be the BAU’s problem for all he cared. He liked mail fraud. 

Once Kazinsky’s out of sight, Spencer pulls the handcuff keys from his pockets and pulls the cuffs off of you. You breathe out a thankful sigh, trying to rub the future bruises away. You turn back to face him, tucking your hair back behind your ear, studying him through your lashes. He can’t be bothered to notice anything much more about you. He’s dead on his feet. 

The hand you place on his elbow jolts him away. Your eyebrows scrunch and he swallows at the concern. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” he sighs, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “I’m just—we’ve been working an abduction case. 48 hours non-stop—“

He yawns again and you can’t help but mirror. “Did you know that chimpanzees and dogs are also empathetic yawners?” 

He smirks. “I did know that. Seriously though y/n, what’s up with the body?”

“I promise it isn’t illegal,” you rush out, just to receive a raised eyebrow. “The Institute I’m working for made some kind of deal with the Guatemalan government that I’m not really privy to, but I’m the only one qualified to handle the remains. Plus, I’ve got a reputation for being found with body parts so its—it’s not as bad as it sounds.”

He sighs again. He wants to tell you it sounds worse. That it sounds like you’re stealing on behalf of the Institute. That they’re doing what museums always do—pilfer and loot. But you sigh and hang your head and don’t exhibit one sign that you’re trying to trick him. Sure, you might’ve lied a bit about manhandling Kazinsky, but you sure as hell seem like a doctor just trying to do her job. 

“Look, call my boss. He’s waiting for me anyway. I’m sure the paperwork just got lost or customs is just as stupid as I think they are.”

Spencer nods. He pulls his phone out and punches in the number you rattle off. In ten seconds he’s speaking with Dr. Russel Bailey, head of the anthropology department at the Institute. There’s a quick relay of ‘yes, she’s authorised to have the body’ and ‘no, please don’t arrest her’ and ‘we’ll sort this out in the morning’. 

And once he’s hung up, you’ve already got your car keys out. “Do you need a ride home or anything?” you ask and quickly tack on, “I’m just trying to say thank you. Promise I’m not creepy.”

Spencer laughs and nods and drags his feet after you. He does need a ride home because he knows he’ll fall asleep on the metro. You talk incessantly about your trip to Guatemala on the walk down to your car, and he knows he should be listening. But he can’t. He’s too busy moving one foot in front of the other. 

And by the time you’ve punched his address into the GPS, he’s fast asleep, softly snoring. 

#

Maeve was dead. Maeve was dead. Maeve was dead. 

Nothing else really matters now, Spencer thinks on repeat. She was the only good thing I had and now she’s gone. Maybe I don’t even matter. 

There’s brief moments between this line of thinking where he can listen to the three dozen voicemails he gets left everyday. Telling him that they’re there for him. Telling him it’ll be okay. Telling him it was okay to grieve. 

Was it grieving if he just wants to melt into nothingness? To die without actually killing himself?

It’s during one of these brief moments that he gets the voicemail he’s accidentally been craving. He doesn’t want to want it. He doesn’t want to want anything. He wants to melt and starve and wither until no one thinks about him ever again. Because she’s not here and he can’t for the life of him figure out why he wants you. 

You’ve been gone. Researching your way through the Sacred Valley in Peru, making nice with the locals and scavenging bones like an angelic vulture. You’ve been there for the last month and can’t possibly know about Maeve’s death—it takes him another hour to get back to thinking about you. It’s still September, he thinks, and you’re supposed to come back around now. At the end of the month, he’s supposed to pick you up from the airport. 

Because after saving you from an arrest, you’ve been exchanging noncommittal letters and phone calls. He’s got a thin stack of photos that you’ve sent from your trip. But you aren’t Maeve. You never were. You never will be. 

He doesn’t know why he wants you to call him, but he does. 

Maybe it’s because you’re new, you aren’t tarnished by the history of Spencer Reid. Maybe it’s because you’re the only one who doesn’t treat him like he’s labelled: fragile, handle with care!

He listens and your voicemail is a sort of sing song. “Hola Spencer! I’m calling from some Peruvian payphone. I should be in the states in a little over 24 hours. I’ll call when I land. Hasta mañana.” 

 The next voicemail comes with: “Finally got back to the apartment. I didn’t think I’d miss the sound of guinea pigs running around. Weird. Anyway, call me when you can.”

And the third: “Spencer, seriously, why aren’t you picking up? I’m not going to have to break in, am I? Call me back.”

Culminating with: “Reid, I swear to fucking god. If I find you dead in that goddamn apartment, I’ll beat your body so bad you won’t make it the fucking afterlife.”

There’s a knock. One he won’t answer. One he doesn’t want to answer. He doesn’t want the pity or the advice or the dejectedness. He wants to float down a river and drown. 

The knock becomes a little more insistent. And now there’s voices attached. He can make out JJ’s voice, “He’s—he’s going to be okay. He’ll come back out when he’s ready.” Following is who he thinks is Penelope, though if it is, she’s far too quiet. One set of feet retreat. He can see the shadow from a pair of shoes and he wonders why Penelope is staying so long. Maybe she’s brought another basket. 

There’s one more knock—probably to ensure he’s not coming to the door—before a jiggle to the knob. And swearing. And jostling. And squirming. And pop. There’s a distinct swinging open of the door and a pair of boots tapping over his hardwood. 

Maybe this is how he dies. Miserable. Covered in snot and tears. Slippers half on. Depressed on the couch. 

“God, you idiot,” a voice breathes, pausing to take in the disarray. He vaguely remembers redecorating—throwing everything everywhere. The feet become more impatient and frantic and heavier. His doors all open and close and he can’t bother to correct the burglar. He’s right here, waiting, patiently waiting, for this intruder to kill him. 

A fantastic way to die. He wonders if you’ll want to look at his bones. You’ve mentioned wanting to. 

“Sound off, Reid,” you command. He knows its you. No one else could replicate that tremble in your lips, the break rolling off your tongue. 

“Y/n,” he croaks and he wonders how long ago was the last time he spoke. 

Light streams in as you flick open the curtains, bites into his skin with a hiss. You take in his disheveled state with no apprehension. Like you’ve expected this. Like you have no pity to give him. Maybe this is why he wanted you to call. 

“You broke in,” he mumbles and you shake your head. 

“I wouldn’t have to,” you begin to yell, just to lower your voice and grit your teeth, “if you would’ve fucking answered the door.” 

You always say there’s a time and place for everything. There’s nothing to top the word ‘fuck’ and he knows that you’re beyond angry. Beyond concerned. Beyond terrified for him. 

“What happened, Spencer?” you whisper, moving to sit down on the floor in front of him. You’re close enough he can smell your perfume, see the pleading look in your eyes. There’s no pity. If he could find the words, he couldn’t thank you enough. 

He could reach out and hold your hand, but that seems too far. Too much. So he swallows down the tears and whispers back, “Maeve died, y/n. She died because I let her.”

“Stop it,” you order. You’ve got a hard set in your eyes, the kind that he last saw when you stared down Kazinsky. “Stop that right now. You can’t stop the world from spinning, Spencer. You can’t stop the sun from coming up. You can’t stop what you don’t know to. I might not know all the details, but I know you. You’re a diligent man and I wouldn’t expect you to do anything less than everything for the woman you love.”

You place a delicate hand on the couch next to his and you sum everything up very gracefully. “Hindsight is a bitch, don’t let it make you hers.”

He can’t stop the twitch of a smile. Can’t stop the crack of happiness that bleeds out because you’ve decided to be so ridiculously you. No one’s ever called him diligent before and seems more fitting than fragile.

“She’s still dead,” he settles on and makes the bold move to slide his fingers under yours. It feels like such a betrayal to Maeve—is he supposed to touch another woman when he couldn’t even touch the love of his life?

You just squeeze his fingers, warm and present and decidedly alive. “Yeah. She is. You’re welcome to wallow for as long as you want, but you need to eat. We’ll see if I can remember how to cook with modern appliances.”

Your smile is contagious enough that a fleeting smile reaches his eyes. You pat his hand and stand. “I’m going to the store, and taking a key this time. I promise I’ll be back. I’m stickier than a public indecency charge.”

You chuckle for the both of them and carefully make your way out of the apartment. He listens as you take a key and tries his best to psych himself into a fit of hunger. It isn’t until you’re singing in Spanish, something sizzling on the stove, that he realises that the pain in his gut is the hunger, and not just misery. That he should probably get up for at least a minute. Just to satisfy the curiosity of what that smell is. 

Maeve would’ve liked you, he decides. Maeve would’ve really liked you. 

And it’s the first peaceful thought he’s had in weeks. 

[slapshot-to-the-heart]

When We Went From Friends to This - a. beauvillier

One day late, but here it is! I’ve been studying for the LSAT, but finally took it today, so I’ll have some more time to be writing more regularly now. Title is from Taylor Swift’s Paper Rings. I loved getting to write this, so please please let me know what you think, my inbox is always open! Reading the tags is one of my favorite things to do, and reblogs help me know people are liking my work.

word count: 7.7k+

September 18 (sat)

Astride Leclair was the kind of person you always wanted on your side. She’d drop anything for a friend, always be the first to reach out, and would never give up on something — or someone — without a fight. She was also incredibly stubborn. Astride had also always had a penchant for adventure, which is how she found herself in a new job 600 miles and one international border from her hometown. And she hated asking for help, it really didn’t matter the circumstance. Which is how she found herself alone, trying to heft an armchair up the stairs of her new apartment building after being very rudely informed by the width of the elevator door that it wasn’t going to fit. 

The lump sum her firm gave her for relocation was enough to cover a fair amount of the furniture for her new place and she tried to bring as much as she could on the drive down, but it wasn’t like she was about to rent a U-Haul and there was only so much a Honda Civic could hold. And Astride was still her father’s daughter, still would rather step on a rusty nail than pay Ikea for assembly, so by God she was going to do it herself. And “doing it herself” apparently meant dragging an 80 pound box up three flights of stairs in 90º heat in September, when New York City seemed to have not quite yet gotten the memo that the rest of the Northern Hemisphere was now in fall. 

Astride finally managed to get the chair in the door, propping the door open with one of her moving boxes, unceremoniously pulling the box through the entryway as she scooted backwards into the living room. The 600 square foot expanse of her apartment was covered in boxes, more boxes, and for good measure, extra boxes. There were moving boxes, furniture boxes, shoeboxes filled with anything except for actual shoes. There was her guitar leaning against the microwave, three suitcases worth of clothes in the barely-assembled bedroom, and her dog in a crate in the corner, who had started to whine. 

“I know, baby, I’ll get you out soon,” Astride said, shooting a sympathetic glance towards the beagle mix. She had adopted Poutine a little over a year ago, soon after starting her first job out of university. It was never a question whether or not she would make the trip with Astride, and thankfully it was much easier than she anticipated to find a dog-friendly apartment in Brooklyn. It wasn’t too long a walk to Prospect Park, a little under a mile, and she was looking forward to getting out with Poutine later in the day. If, that was, she actually finished unpacking enough boxes to function like a normal human being. She had picked up her mattress-in-a-box earlier in the day, but it was still sitting in the corner of her bedroom and she wasn’t particularly looking forward to a night on the hardwood floor. 

---

Three hours later, Astride had finally gotten all of the boxes out of her car and began to make decent headway on assembling the chair, finally having let Poutine out of her crate. The beagle trotted around the apartment, sniffing the baseboards, boxes, and single bag of groceries Astride had picked up from Whole Foods earlier in the day. The rest of her Ikea order was coming the next day, the actual bedframe and couch along with a couple of other larger furniture pieces that she had had to leave in Montréal. Whatever she couldn’t order online she’d find at a thrift store. 

Astride looked tiredly over at the kitchen. She really wasn’t in the mood to cook, and was in even less of a mood to dig through all the boxes until she finally found her set of pots and pans. She really should have taken her mom’s advice and labeled everything, but Astride was stubborn as a mule, and once she was stuck in her ways, there was precious little anyone could do to convince her otherwise. Pulling out her phone, she navigated to her Uber Eats, feeling a tiny pang in her heart as she switched her location to New York. Not the language, though. Astride was so hungry that she literally clicked on whatever place could get there the fastest, which ended up being a Chinese place a mile or so away. After placing her order — she got an extra box of chow mein so she wouldn’t have to deal with breakfast the next day — she settled back into the hair, the only fully-assembled piece of furniture in the whole apartment. Her finger hovered over her Instagram for a moment before she clicked on it, liking a few photos before going to post one of her own. It was a picture of the Brooklyn Bridge as she crossed it that morning, Poutine’s head lolling out the front window. One tap and one caption later, it was posted. 

---

Anthony flopped onto his bed, his duffel landing with a satisfying thump on the floor beside him. Training camp had just ended, and while he’d certainly been keeping up on his workouts over the summer, the hours upon hours of skating had nevertheless made him more than a little sore. He grabbed his phone, opening up Instagram and scrolling through the new posts, only half paying attention. Astride’s new photo caught his eye.

Sometimes, needing a change means a new haircut. Sometimes, it means a new country. Very excited to start this next chapter in my life. Salut, New York! Anthony quickly clicked onto her profile page and read her bio. International economics analyst. Eating my way through the world one pancake at a time. BCom McGill. MTL-NYC. He read the last line over and over again. MTL-NYC. He swiped back to the photo; she had tagged herself in Brooklyn. Brooklyn. She was less than an hour away, not even thirty if the traffic wasn’t bad. But she hadn’t told him, she hadn’t said anything. Anthony felt a pang in his heart. Astride knew who he played for — obviously — and she knew that of course he’d want to see her any time they were even remotely in the same place. She knew that. Right? 

He spent the next twenty minutes typing out a message to her. Then deleting it. Then retyping it. Then continuing the type-delete-retype cycle until his head was spinning. This was his best friend. Why was he so nervous to talk to her? Because she was his best friend, and as much as he hated to admit it, he really wasn’t sure where they stood. He hadn’t been sure for a long time. Hey Asty! He internally cringed at himself at the use of her old nickname. I saw you moved to New York, that’s amazing! I’m over on Long Island, so I’d love to catch up with you for coffee or something when you get a chance. It’s been too long :) 

It might have been a little petty — scratch that, it definitely was petty — but Astride didn’t respond to his text that night. She didn’t have read receipts on, thank God, but it sat in her messages, without response, like something she was too scared to confront. And she didn’t even know why. Okay, fine, she knew exactly why. She had moved and suddenly they were in the same city for the first time since they were kids and he was, had been, her best friend, but why now of all times? It’s not like he was never in Montréal during the year, or like they couldn’t have committed to a weekly FaceTime or something, or at least texted more than once a month. He could have done something. And that something, that lack of a something, was what kept her from responding until the next morning, tapping out a text as she halfheartedly made her way through a bowl of oatmeal. Hi, Tito, just saw your text! Lie. I did, an opportunity for a transfer came up and I decided to take it. I figured you were pretty close by, so it would be great to catch up. I don’t start at the office for a week, if you’re free any time between now and then. That much was true. She wasn’t stupid, she knew the Islanders played on, well, Long Island, and as much as she wanted to still hold a grudge against him, her heart ached at the prospect of finally being able to see him again. 

Anthony responded almost instantly, Astride having just closed the door to the dishwasher — a luxury in New York, she was told — before seeing her phone light up with the telltale bubble. I’d love to, we just finished up training camp so I’m more or less free aside from practices. A second later. Is brunch still your favorite meal?

Astride laughed. It didn’t surprise her that he remembered, but it was still touching to see him say something about it. It is.

How about Tuesday? I’ll send you the directions. It’s this little café in Flatbush, I think you’ll love it. 

I’m counting on it. 

September 26 (sun)

Brunch had turned into dinner, which had turned into going to a Broadway show — Anthony had insisted the moment she told him she’d never been — which had turned into him coming over for Saturday night movies, an old habit of the pair’s from their days back in Québec. Which had turned into two movies and two bottles of wine, which had turned into Tito sleeping over on the couch instead of driving the thirty-odd minutes back to his apartment. Poutine sniffed him curiously, nudging one hand with her head. Astride stifled a giggle, opening the door to the balcony. “He’s very sleepy, Poutine. It’s not good manners to wake up your guests.”

“Even when they fall asleep on your couch and steal all your blankets?” Anthony said sleepily from behind. 

Astride wheeled around, greeted by a half-awake Anthony Beauvillier, who was indeed bundled in all of the blankets she owned that weren’t actively on her bed. “Tito! Oh my God, you scared me. How’d you sleep?”

He shrugged. “Not bad, about as well as can be expected.” He tapped his phone, cursing when he realized it was dead. “Do you know what time it is?”

She glanced down at her watch. “8:52, why?”

Anthony jumped up, throwing his shirt back on and grabbing his still-dead phone. “I’m supposed to meet Mat for breakfast at 9:30, and the place is,” he paused for a moment, running through the grid system in his head, “probably half an hour away? I’m never the late one, can’t break that streak now.” 

“Gotcha.”

He grabbed his keys, looking back at her. “Why don’t you come? You’re already dressed, and you remember Mat, right?”

She wiggled her hand. “Kind of?” She crossed the room, letting Poutine back in. “You only want me for my charged phone and navigation system.”

“You got me,” he said, laughing. 

---

“You named your dog Poutine?” Mat snickered, taking a bite of his eggs. 

“Would you rather I named him Tim Horton?” Astride deadpanned. “He’s a good Canadian boy with a good Canadian mom. He needed a good Canadian name.” 

Mat raised his coffee mug, tilting it over towards her. “Touché.”

Anthony waved his hand in front of Mat’s face, trying to catch his attention from where he was utterly preoccupied with destroying his sourdough toast. “Hey, Mat.”

“Mmm?” He glanced up. 

“Did you know that Astride lives right by Barclays? Like, right by Barclays?” 

His eyebrows rose. “No way?” Astride nodded. “That’s a great area, would have been awesome if you were here a couple of years ago. Short walk to the games.”

“That’s what I told her yesterday,” Tito responded. 

---

“You’re kidding,” Anthony said, looking up at her building, then across the street to Barclays, then back to Astride, one hand tangling through his hair. “We used to play right across from here.” 

Astride laughed. “I thought about that,” she said. “You know I still watched your games, right? Even after we fell out of touch?” Anthony shook his head. “You were still someone I cared about, are still someone I care about, even when we only talked a few times a year.” 

Beau stood there, unable to formulate a complete sentence. As far as he knew, the last Islanders game she watched had been the 2016 opener, his NHL debut and her first year at McGill. Why did he assume that? Why did he assume the worst? You can care about people even when they’re not in your life anymore. And sometimes, if you get really, really lucky, they come back. 

October 9 (sat) 

“Ebs is having a barbeque thing over at his house this weekend, just stuff to celebrate the beginning of the season if you wanted to come. No pressure if you’ve got plans already, though,” Anthony said over the FaceTime. 

Astride nodded enthusiastically. “That sounds great, I’d love to come! Just let me know when to show up and what to bring, and I’ll be there.”

 It was almost a fifty-minute drive for Astride from her apartment in Prospect Heights to the house in Garden City, but there wasn’t too much traffic and besides, she had always liked driving. So she set off in her Civic, plugged her music in, and headed down 495. Anthony met her outside of the house, greeting her with a warm hug and a kiss on the cheek as he cocked his head towards the backyard. “Party’s this way. Come on, I’ll introduce you to everyone.” 

Astride dutifully followed, trying not to let her nerves take hold of her. Everyone might have already been Beau’s friends, but she didn’t know them, or the dynamic of everyone’s relationships, or really, what to expect at all. 

He noticed her apprehension, stopping her with a feather-light touch on her arm just before walking through the back gate. “Hey, Asty. What is it?” 

She let out a little huff, still upset that he could read her like a book even after all this time. “I’m just worried that I’ll feel like I’m intruding on everything, like everyone already has their friends and a group and everything, and here comes some random Québécoise who’s a friend of Tito’s—” 

He laughed, turning her around to face him. “Astride, they’re going to love you. As long as you’re the hilarious, witty, caring person I know you are, they’re going to love you as much as I do, and you’re going to fit in just fine. Do you trust me?” 

She gave a tiny nod. “Yeah.” 

He smiled, squeezing her hand. “Good, now come back, everyone’s waiting.” 

They walked through the gate, greeted by a crowd of smiling faces as Anthony brought her around to everyone to make their rounds. There was Anders, he was the captain, and his wife. There was Jordan and Lauren, and she already knew Mat, and JGP — who was excited to have another person to speak French to — and a dozen or so others, along with their respective partners and children. Anthony had gone over to talk to Mat and some of the other players, while Astride had wandered over to the drinks table. Some of the other women were chatting nearby; one of them caught Astride’s eye and waved her over to join them. 

“Beau didn’t tell us he was bringing anyone!” one of the women said, pulling her over to the group with a bright smile and handing her a glass of sangria. 

“Mhm,” she replied, taking a sip of the drink. “I’m new to the city, obviously, so I think he wanted me to have some people I know outside of just work.” 

They all nodded. “How long have you two been together, though?” another asked. “I didn’t even know he was seeing anyone, did you?” She looked around at the others, who shook their heads as Astride’s eyes bulged. 

“Together? No, no, we’re not together. We’ve been best friends for ages, but,” she shook her head. 

“Could have fooled me,” Lauren said with the smallest of winks. 

Astride suddenly became very interested in the floating berries in her sangria. She looked over at Anthony, who was throwing his head back, laughing at something one of the rookies had said, and smiled. But Lauren’s words kept lingering in the back of her mind. Could have fooled me. Okay, it wasn’t like it was the first time they had been mistaken for a couple; whenever she’d make the trip up to Shawingan to visit him when he was in the QMJHL, more than once she’d have to explain to his teammates that no, she wasn’t Beau’s girlfriend, they were just best friends who had known each other forever. Just best friends. 

Astride had always equated her lingering feelings for Anthony to the nostalgia of a childhood crush, the safety and security that came with remembering something from a time that seemed so simple and so easy. But childhood crushes didn’t last for ten years. And that wasn’t something she hadn’t wanted to come to terms with, something she’d been putting off for years if she was being honest with herself. 

“You didn’t tell me Astride was coming,” Mat commented, seeing her mid-laugh in conversation with the other girls. 

Anthony nodded. “Yeah. She didn’t have any plans for the weekend and I thought it would be nice to introduce her to everyone. I remember how shitty it felt to be in a new city away from your family, don’t want her to be lonely. Plus, I genuinely think she’ll fit in great with everyone.” 

Mat hummed his agreement. “She’s changed since Switzerland, don’t you think?” he asked appreciatively, referring to over five years ago, the last time he had seen her in person.

“Don’t even think about it,” Beau mumbled to Mat, seeing his eyebrows go so far up they were hidden in his hairline. 

“I see a hot girl, I appreciate a hot girl,” Mat shrugged. “But don’t worry, I won’t try anything. I know she’s off-limits.” 

The rest of the afternoon passed quicker than she would have thought, and after a few hours and more good conversations, it was time for Astride to leave. “Have a safe drive back,” Anthony said, giving her a hug. 

“I will,” she responded. 

He opened the driver’s side door for her. “I’m really glad you came, you know. Everyone liked you, you fit in great.” 

“It wasn’t all me,” she said, sliding into the seat, turning her head to Anthony to continue the conversation. “Everyone really did seem to go out of their way to make me feel included, I think they understood the feeling of moving to a whole new place without a big support system and wanted to do what they could to help mitigate that for me.” Astride consciously left out Lauren’s little comment, four words that had been bouncing around in her head for hours since they had been said. He didn’t need to know. She didn’t need him to know, it could confuse him and complicate things when they were just getting back into the rhythm of friendship, of being each other’s person. 

Anthony tapped his fingers on the car door. “I’m glad.” 

“Me too.”

Beau went to sleep that night, Mat’s words bouncing around in his head. “I know she’s off-limits.” It’s not like Cass was his sister or something, someone who would inherently be barred from his best friend’s dating pool. But Mat seemed to know right away, without having ever been told, that she wasn’t someone he could ever even consider pursuing. Why? And what did Mat seem to know that he didn’t?

November 12 (fri)

It was early November, and Anthony and Astride had just settled down at a table in Prospect Park, coffee cups warming their hands through the late fall chill. “How do you feel about last night?” Astride asked teasingly. He had a three point game, two goals and an assist in a 4-1 win over the Canes, so there really wasn’t any question that he was still riding on the high. 

Beau rolled his eyes. “Good, obviously. It would have been nice to get a hat trick, but I know that’s asking for a lot and I didn’t want to tempt fate too much. They made a really good push late in the second.”

“But you won,” she said, poking his shoulder with the hand that wasn’t wrapped around her mocha. 

“But we won,” he agreed. He suddenly got quiet, the kind of quiet where, if you know the person well enough, you can tell that something’s up. That they’re thinking of something. And Astride was right. “Do you ever think about Switzerland?” he asked. 

Astride looked at him from the side, knowing right away that he wasn’t asking about the country. “All the time,” she admitted. 

---

It was the spring of 2015, and they were in Lucerne. By they, Astride meant her, Tito, and the rest of the 2015 Canadian U18 World Cup team. And by in Lucerne, she meant crowded into someone’s hotel room with no adult supervision. Anthony wasn’t sure where any of the coaching staff had gone, but if he was being honest, he was riding on way too big of a high to even care. They had clinched the bronze medal earlier that day, celebrating with the family and friends who had made the trip out, gotten dinner, and then packed into the first team room they came to. Well, technically, Astride, Tito, and Mat had made a stop at the grocery store before meeting everyone else back in the room. The drinking age in Switzerland was 16 for everything but spirits, and everyone was planning on taking full advantage of that. The cashier gave them a look as she took her and Anthony’s French licenses and Mat’s English one, but the charge went through just fine, and fifteen minutes later they were walking back through the doorway with three cases of beer and a few bottles of sparkling wine for good measure. Astride had never been so grateful to have her own checking account. 

“You ever drink before?” Mat asked her as they opened the cases. 

Astride shrugged. “Not really. A glass of wine every now and again back home with my parents, but nothing too crazy.” 

He held out a bottle for her, fishing around in his pocket for the bottle opener they had picked up at the store. “Have fun.” 

And have fun Astride did. She had finished off two of the beers, and one of the younger teammates — she didn’t remember who — had popped open the wine. In his slightly inebriated state, it took longer than it should have to twist off the muselet, which then led to foam all over the floor and fifteen sixteen and seventeen-year-olds running to the bathroom to grab towels to try and mop it up with. And then running back to the bathroom to get the water glasses because they needed something to drink it out of, right? And then to everyone else’s rooms because they quickly realized that two cups definitely wasn’t enough to go around, and then everyone was back in the room, on the beds and around the beds, finally letting themselves celebrate. Astride was just finishing her glass when Mat spoke. “Anyone up for never have I ever?” Nobody said otherwise, so two minutes later, they were all arranged in what could very generously be called a circle, fresh drinks in hand. After a solid five minutes of repeating the rules — there was always at least one person who seemed to genuinely struggle with the idea that you drank if you had done the thing, not if you hadn’t — they were slowly but surely making their way around the circle. 

Questions ranged from the mundane — “Never have I ever gotten detention” — to the raunchy — “Never have I ever had my parents walk in on me” — neither of which Astride or Tito drank to. 

By the time it was Mat’s turn, he had had plenty of time to think, looking around the group with a conspiratorial grin. “What is it?” Tito asked skeptically. 

He shrugged. “Never have I ever...kissed anyone in the circle.” As expected, nobody drank, but apparently that wasn’t expected, not for Mat, at least. He looked between Anthony and Astride incredulously. “Seriously? You two have never kissed?”

Anthony shook his head. “Nope.”

“How? You’ve been friends for, like, a million years, not even when you were little or anything?” he asked. 

“Never,” Astride said. “Kind of hard to kiss your best friend when you haven’t kissed anyone before.” She barely even realized that everyone was still listening in. 

“You’ve never kissed anyone?” Anthony asked, surprised. 

Astride looked down at her hands, sipping her beer. “Nope.” She gave him a brief smile. “I know it’s nothing to be ashamed of, but no. Just hasn’t happened yet.”

Maybe it was the alcohol talking, or maybe it was feelings buried so deeply in Anthony’s mind that he didn’t think would ever see the light of day, let alone have to be confronted, that made him say what he did next. “I could—if you wanted—you don’t have to, but—” he stammered.

Astride laughed, looking at him curiously. “What is it, Tito? You’re not normally one to stumble over your words like that.”

He picked at his fingernails, an old nervous tick from his childhood that his mother was never quite able to get him to break, keenly aware that the whole room had decided to listen into their conversation. “I was just trying to say...I could do it, if you want. Kiss you, I mean. If you just wanted to get it over with, or whatever. I just figured. You know me, you trust me, you’re comfortable with me. Better that than some idiot at school who doesn’t care about you.”

Her cheeks burned as she looked over at him, but even though it took her nearly a minute to respond, she had her answer after five seconds. “Why not?” Astride flashed him the purest, gentlest smile, the kind that let him know just how much she cared about him and how deeply she trusted him. And the look on her face meant the world to him. 

Anthony leaned in, his hand coming up to rest on her shoulder, his fingertips just barely touching her cheek as their foreheads leant together. “You sure about this?” He needed her to be sure. 

She nodded. “I’ve had a couple of drinks, and I never imagined my first kiss would be in front of an audience,” she paused to giggle at the rest of the team, who were giving the scene their full attention in a way that somehow wasn’t uncomfortable at all, just wholesome and supportive, “but yeah. I’m sure.”

That was all the permission Anthony needed to lean forward, pressing his lips against hers, in a kiss that was soft and sweet and somehow everything Astride needed all in one. He pulled back after a moment, a goofy smile on his face. “How was it?”

Astride couldn’t help but let out a laugh. “Good, it was really good, Tito. Thank you for that.”

“What are friends for?”

---

“Friends are for kissing each other, apparently,” Astride giggled, leaning into Anthony on his couch. 

He laughed, wrapping his arm around her shoulders, absentmindedly rubbing his thumb over her arm. “Did you ever think something was going to happen between us?” Anthony asked curiously. 

Astride shrugged. “At some point, yeah. I think it was kind of hard not to, with our parents and literally everyone we spent time with saying we were destined to fall in love.” She looked down at her hands, trying not to give away the fact that at one point, she had believed them. 

November 30 (tues)

“Do you want to come over Friday?” Anthony asked, sprawled out across her couch on one of his rare nights off. He had made the drive over to Astride’s apartment, cooking salmon and roasting vegetables while she took the much more daunting task of picking what to watch on Netflix. She settled on Back to the Future. “I can order in Thai, I know we’re trying to work our way through the Mission Impossibles.” 

Astride grimaced. “I actually...kind of have a date Friday night,” she admitted. 

Anthony made a hum of surprise. “You do?” 

She rolled her eyes. “Don’t act so shocked, Tito. There are men in this city of nine million who want to take me out.” 

He sputtered. “It’s not that that shocks me, Asty. You’d have men lining up around the block for you if you’d give any of them a second glance. It’s just that. You never seem to bother actually going after any of them. What made this one different?” 

“I mean, honestly hour?” Astride said, shrugging. 

“Honestly hour.” 

“I haven’t been on a date since I left Montréal, you know that. It had been a few months there too. And I’ve loved hanging out with you more, getting to know Mat and the team and everyone’s partners, but...I needed something different, too. Something that felt like a part of my life that wasn’t directly connected to the team. Which, don’t get me wrong,” she added hastily, “I love them, and it’s been so nice to be a part of that group, I just…” Astride trailed off. 

“You can’t let that be the only part of your life. I get it,” Anthony added helpfully.  

“Yeah,” Astride agreed. “So enter Cole. He works in a different division of the IE department, I’m obviously Europe and he’s Asia, mostly does work with Taiwan and Singapore. Um,” she said, her eyes turning towards the ceiling, “he seems really nice, did international business at UPenn, which is a great program. Speaks fluent Mandarin, uh, I think he mentioned he’s got a few fish at home.” 

Anthony snorted. “What’s wrong with fish?” Astride asked defensively. 

“Nothing, nothing’s wrong with fish,” he said. “Just seems like an odd choice. Maybe his building doesn’t allow pets or something.” 

“Maybe,” Astride responded. “I wouldn’t know, he lives in Manhattan, over in Tribeca. Bikes to work.” 

Tito laughed again. “I don’t trust people who bike to work in New York City, Asty. They have zero regard for their own lives or safety.” 

She giggled. “That might be true. But I’m looking forward to it, the date, I mean. I really am. It’s been a while since I’ve really put myself back out there, and I’m ready for something good. Something real.” 

He gave a half-smile from his side of the couch. “I’m happy for you, Astride. I hope you have a great time, and I hope he treats you right. If he doesn’t, just let him know that you can sic an entire professional hockey team on him with a single phone call.” 

“I will,” she said. “I’ll call you when it’s over, tell you how it went.” “

I’ll be waiting,” he said. 

Anthony thought back on the conversation as he sat on the corner of his bed that night, about to go to sleep. He turned his phone over and over in his hands, his eyes fixating on the chip in the crown molding that he hadn’t gotten around to fixing yet. He wasn’t lying to Astride when he said he was happy for her. He was, of course he was, who wouldn’t want their best friend to be happy? But while he wanted nothing more, nothing more, than to be able to give his full-throated support for her date, and the potential the future held for her and this Cole guy, he couldn’t do it. There was something stopping him. And the worst part of it all was that Anthony was starting to realize what it was. 

---

Astride had said that their dinner reservation was at 7, some brasserie in the West Village. “That’s a French thing, right?” Cole had asked. 

“It is,” Astride responded, gearing up for her translation skills to be used for the first time in months. She spoke almost exclusively French around Tito, and with JGP and Brassard, but the majority of her day was spent in English. Cole said that the restaurant had come highly recommended from one of his Wall Street friends, something that should have been the first red flag. 

“Never trust the finance bros,” Reese, a German specialist and one of her friends at the office, had said. “They all think they’re God’s gift to mankind when I can guarantee you they ain’t shit.”  

She had said it was at 7, so Anthony wasn’t expecting to hear from her until much later; honestly, he would have been surprised if she had called before 10. He tried not to think about what it could mean if she didn’t call at all that night. She had said it was at 7, so when he heard a knock at his door at half past nine, he practically jumped out of his skin before scrambling to open the door. His eyebrows rose when he saw Astride on the other side of the door, then his face contorted into a look of sympathy as he saw the sad smile on her lips, her jacket slung over one arm. 

“Can I come in?” she asked. He nodded without question, holding the door while stepping out of the way. He padded to the kitchen, bringing out a bottle of Moscato and two glasses. Astride smiled gratefully at him as he uncorked the bottle and poured. He knew that she couldn’t do red wine when she was upset, and she was upset. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asked tentatively. 

Astride shrugged, sipping the wine. “Not much to tell other than it was probably the worst first date I’ve ever been on.” 

That piqued Anthony’s interest. He’d never be happy that she was upset, but something told him the story wasn’t quite that simple. “What about it was so bad?” 

“Where do I begin?” she sighed. “He was on time, but that’s pretty much the only thing Cole did right the entire night. He was rude to the waitress when we had to wait all of ten minutes until our reservation was ready, because the couple ahead had gone long. Then he ordered the most expensive bottle of red wine they had, without even asking me to see what I wanted. He really just was trying to show off that he could afford it. And it was a Sangiovese, and you know I hate dry wines, so I was just trying to choke the whole thing down. And then he insisted on ordering for me, which is probably the most chauvinistic thing I could think of, I mean, who does that anymore?” she asked incredulously. 

Tito shrugged. It was disrespectful, absolutely, but more than that, it was just weird. If women have mouths that work, then they’re more than capable of doing something as simple as ordering their own food. 

“And he kept trying to pour me more wine after the first glass, even when I told him a million times I was good.” Anthony’s grip on his glass tightened. Astride rubbed her temples with her free hand. “He just kept going on and on about work, and this big promotion he’s insisting he’s going to get even though I know for a fact that they want Maria for it. I could barely get a word in edgewise. That’s when I just decided I couldn’t take it anymore. I faked that Jean-Claude was calling, grabbed my jacket, and caught a cab over here.” She looked up at him, the same disappointed expression she had worn when he opened the door. “I was really hoping this one would pan out, Tito.” 

He felt an ache in his heart. He may have been less than thrilled about the prospect of Astride going out on a date, but that didn’t mean it hurt any less to see her so despondent. He leaned over, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear that had fallen loose. “I know, Asty. And I’m sorry it didn’t.”

December 13 (mon)

Anthony and Mat were the last ones in the locker room after a morning practice. “I found this new place nearby last week that’s got great smoothie bowls, want to get one after you finish packing your stuff?” Anthony asked, looking over at Mat. 

“Yeah, yeah. Sure, Sounds good,” Mat nodded, half-listening. 

Anthony glanced over at him, a weird look on his face. “You good, dude? You sound distracted.”

Mat spoke abruptly, looking over at Tito with a laser-focused expression. “How long have you been in love with Astride?” 

Anthony’s eyebrows jumped a foot. “In love with Astride? Why would you think that?”

Mat gave him a look, the kind of look that let Anthony know he was dead serious about what he was saying, and more than that, that he believed it. “Tito, I’m dumb, but I’m not stupid.”

Anthony leaned forward, elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. “It’s that obvious?” 

“Yep,” Mat said, popping the p. 

“Do you think she knows?” His voice had dropped to barely above a whisper. 

“I don’t know,” Mat said, shrugging. “I don’t think so, she doesn’t seem like the type of person to really be able to know about something as big as that and not address it. Doesn’t like to keep things bottled up, it’s not really her style.”

Anthony nodded. “It’s not.” He raked one hand through his haid, his head still leaning on the other one. “God. How do you tell your best friend you’re in love with her?”

Mat put one hand on Beau’s back, comforting him as best he could. “I don’t know, Tito. I wish I could help. What I do know,” he said, “is that you’re going to have to eventually. Because it’s going to tear you up if you don’t.”

December 18 (sat)

Astride tossed one final empty can into the garbage bag. “I think that’s it,” she said, giving his living room a cursory look. What had looked like a warzone only less than an hour before now more closely resembled the somewhat-messy but perfectly respectable bachelor pad of a man in his 20s, like it should have. With the holidays approaching, Anthony had decided to take it into his own hands to host a party — alongside Astride, who he had practically begged for help — intent on showcasing his newly-acquired skills by playing bartender the whole night. He was surprisingly capable, Astride had thought, if her Sazerac was anything to go by. 

He smiled at her. “Thanks, Asty. And thanks for staying and helping clean everything up, you really didn’t have to.” 

She tied the bag off and set it by the door with the other one. “I wanted to. And besides, I’m staying over,” she said, looking over at Anthony, “so what did you think I was going to do? Lock myself in the guest room while you cleaned up the whole apartment by yourself? What kind of a woman do you take me for?” she asked in mock offense. 

Anthony laughed, sitting down on the couch with a satisfying thump, pulling Astride into his side when she settled next to him. 

“I’m so glad we got back in contact,” she said, muffled against the fabric of his hoodie. “I’m so glad we’re friends again.” 

He felt guilty; more than that, he knew that the guilt, at least some of it, was deserved. “I should have done more,” he lamented. “I should have done more to keep in contact, more to show you I cared, more so you’d know that your friendship is one of the things I value most in my life.” 

Astride gave a small smile. “It’s a two-way street, Tito. Sure, I won’t lie and say that you really put all that much effort into keeping in contact. You didn’t.” He winced, she shot him a sympathetic look. “I love you, but you know me. I don’t mince my words. But I definitely could have done more than text you congratulations or leave a thirty-second voicemail on your birthday. We both could have done more. We both should have done more,” she said, correcting herself. “What do you think happened, though? Where did we go wrong?” As much as she might have hated it, Astride was that kind of person. She went through every bad decision in her life with a fine-toothed comb, needing to know what went wrong, needing to know what she could have done differently. 

“I think,” he began, “that it was just so easy to get distracted from ‘back home’ things. From our friendship, from my relationships with my family. From the important things, the things that I should have made an effort to prioritize even when the season got hectic and games got hard. And I’m not trying to make excuses,” he added quickly, “but there was just something about where I was, physically and mentally. I was 19, a rookie in one of the biggest cities in the world, and I think I just lost sight of things. Between the practices and games and going out and community events and trying to get in more than five hours of sleep a night, it was a lot,” he admitted. “It was stressful, probably weighed on me more than I wanted to admit. And I don’t want to sound ungrateful, because I’m well aware I was — and am — living a life thousands of kids would kill for, but there’s a lot that goes on behind the scenes that you don’t really understand unless you’ve been through it. I don’t have many regrets from my rookie season, or really many in my career so far. Don’t regret moving for minors, don’t regret going to the Isles, don’t regret any of the contracts I’ve signed or plays I’ve made. Well,” he smirked, “maybe a few. But the one big one? The only real regret I’ve had? Letting you go.” 

Astride swallowed hard, choosing her next words carefully. “What do you mean, letting me go?”

Anthony let out a hard sigh. He’d put it off for long enough. He couldn’t do it any longer. “Never telling you how I feel.”

“How you feel?” Her voice had dropped to a whisper, her fingers tangling in the fringe of the fleece blanket that was slung over the couch cushions. 

“Like I love you so much my heart could burst.”

Her breath caught in her throat. “How long have you known?”

He looked at her with a soft smile. “Ever since Switzerland.”

“Six years?”

“Six years.” He reached out slowly, so slowly, pushing a stray piece of hair behind her ear when she didn’t move back. They sat in silence for a moment, and when Anthony spoke again, his voice wavered. “Asty? Say something.”

Astride’s lifted her head, finally meeting his eyes. “I knew since I was 15.”

His face split into a grin, wider and wider until she was sure she’d never seen a bigger smile. “You did? You do?”

She nodded, leaning forward so their foreheads were touching. She put her hand on his chest, feeling his heartbeat fluttering butterfly-fast underneath her fingertips. “I’m pretty sure I’ve been in love with you since I knew what love was, Tito.”

He pushed forward, pressing his lips against hers for the first time since 2015, the first time since Switzerland. It was gentle and meaningful and somehow communicated all of the love and emotion that had been built up between the two of them in the past six years. Anthony pulled back after a minute, his lips pink and slightly puffy. “Tell me where your head’s at, Astride.”

“Is it too cliché to just say that this might be the happiest I’ve been in years?”

He shook his head, smiling. “Not at all.” But there was something that she wasn’t quite letting go of. “What is it, Astride?”

Astride sniffed. “I want this. You and I, I want it so mad it hurts. I just hate the idea that we’d turn into some sort of cliché. Childhood friends who grow up and fall in love, but something goes wrong and they split up and suddenly the dynamic of everything is messed up and I don’t want that, Tito. I don’t know if I could deal with you hating me because of how things ended.” 

“But things don’t have to end, Asty. Every broken heart, every date where some asshole has stood you up has led you to know that you deserve more. You deserve so much more, Astride, you deserve the sun and the moon and someone who would hang them in the sky for you. It doesn’t have to end in heartbreak. It doesn’t have to end at all.” 

Astride had always been someone who was cautious, someone who thought before she acted and never spoke without thinking through every possible outcome. But this was one of the times that she couldn’t do that, one of the times when, as much as she may have hated it, she needed to take a leap of faith. And so she did. “Okay.”

“Okay?” Anthony asked, his voice lifting. 

She nodded, the happiness on her face unmistakable. “Okay.”

And as Astride and Anthony FaceTimed her parents to break the news, her mom slapping her dad’s shoulder, claiming that she had “called it” back in 2014, Astride was filled with a sense of undeniable, irreplaceable joy. The kind of joy that the poets write about and artists put brush to canvas trying to depict, the kind that most people go their whole lives only hoping to get a glimpse of. The kind that made Astride more certain of one thing than she had perhaps been in her entire life. It didn’t have to end in heartbreak. And this one didn’t have to end at all. 

And as they stood two years later in a little church in their hometown, promising in front of their family and friends and the entire New York Islanders to love each other for the rest of their lives, Astride finally believed it.

[too-scared-to-do-this]

Prestige

Chapter one - Welcome to Weltingston Heights

Sanders side fanfiction

Idea by: @hestianerd1

Wordcount: 1094

Pairings: so far the main one is prinxiety :)

TW: cursing and some hostility, but let me know if I've missed any! :3

The summery of the whole story: Prestige. Such a simple construct. All you have to do is act the way you want people to perceive you, keep up the image, wear a big proud smile and never ever dare make a mistake. That’s why Weltingston Heights University is such a well known school. Everybody knows that anyone who got in must have some prestige tied to their name. Educational records, family history, or even literal fame. So why not treat students the same way? Because what’s a little more pressure on their young and strong bones?

But prestige and image are precious things. You slip up even the tiniest bit, step out of the line you drew for yourself and it’s all gone. So now that the pressure is on, and everyone already knows their place in this small circle of society, only one question remains. How far are they willing to go to keep the false image up?

(Or: Very over-dramatically with a noticeable amount of sarcastic undertone: "Oh my god! They were roommates!")

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

Chapter one - Welcome to Weltingston heights

The halls were packed. So packed in fact, Virgil barely had space to move around. And that rarely was the case!

Usually, people just cleared a path for him - not wanting to catch a disease or something he presumed (rumors are so stupid). Mostly, people just feared him.

When you’re growly all the time, with a hoodie on, head low and headphones on, people tend to react that way. And the makeup and dark clothing probably didn’t help either.

Either way, they usually ran the moment they saw him.

But not today - no! This day out of all the days they could’ve chosen - they chose to not scatter. The filthy glory of move-in day.

Welcome to Waltingston Heights.

This day was already a nightmare. And yet another new room and roommate on top of it and Virgil was ready to throw himself over the ledge. He clutched his box to his chest and swallowed hard.

Just breath Virgil. You’re almost there. Count your steps. - he thought.

Room 223… 227… 234…

Room 236. Finally.

A quick (and very clumsy) fumble with the keys and Virgil was shutting the doors behind him. Hard and fast - falling against cold hard wood in the darkness.

Thank God for the hot weather outside - the staff had to close the curtains to protect the rooms at least a little from the boiling sun. Deep breath in, deep breath out. Two more trips to his car. He can do that. Obviously, he can.

…

But maybe he’ll unpack this box first. People might just thin out in that time.

And so, V took of his backpack, forced his legs to work and took a good look of the room.

Not too big, but bigger than what he had at home. One bathroom and a small kitchen of to the side. This pretty much supplied as a small apartment - just like the exact same looking once from previous years. It was suitable. Livable in.

Now, only if the roommate situation was the same.

It wasn’t the question of who, honestly, but rather why anyone at all? He did go to headmaster Berry with this, but that helped nothing. The man lacks empathy and that’s all he’ll ad.

Dropping the box on one of the beds (right side. Always the one under the window.) he started pulling out pieces of identical clothing and neatly folding them away into the drawers. Setting up a small table-lamp, an alarm clock. Dealing with the bed sheets.

Pushing the box aside, he fell onto his new bed. Home for the next two months max.

It didn’t matter who the roommate was, they always eventually requested him moved. Without fail. (Those days the old man decided to show some empathy - how convenient.) But they were in the right - he didn’t blame them. Didn’t like them as much, either.

He had to get up and go get those other boxes. He knew it. But he didn’t really want to leave the safety of the quiet room… And his idiotic ass also left his headphones in the car… Okay. Deep breath.

It was on his third trip back - the last one thankfully - when the students finally started thinning out. No more stupid elbowing through crowds, no more unwanted bumping or pushing. Not nearly enough space yet, but better.

Balancing the box in one hand, he reached out for the door handle. He was about to push the door open when it got yanked, pulling V with it.

Laud laughter and chatting filled the anxious boy’s ears. “Oh my, I’m so sorry! Are you alright?”

“Obviously.” he grunted elbowing his way into the room. Plopping his box down, he turned to actually face the guy he had to spend the two weeks with (didn’t give it longer).

And god, out of all the people in this school, it had to be this guy. He hated this situation. Eyelids lowered, mouth a thin line, Virgil growled. “You.”

“The one and only. Roman Velez.” the other bowed with a grin. A young girl behind him giggled at the sight and said something in Spanish, which made the actor grin even wider. “And you, dark and broody, must be my new roommate.”

“Not for long hopefully.” V grunted, turning back to his boxes and starting unpacking again.

Was it really too much to ask for some quiet and piece this year?

“I didn’t catch your name, emo.”

“That’s ‘cus I didn’t say it, dumbass.”

“Such pristine vocabulary. I just asked to be polite, anyways. I know you’re Virgil Reat. Everybody knows that.”

Virgil was just about to quip back when a completely shocked high-pitched voiced beat him to it. “That is him?!” the girl squawked.

Roman immediately fixed her with a glare. “Shut up, Cas. Go help dad.”

His sister was the best thing in the world, but she just could not keep her mouth shut. “Oh my god! Ro! You-“

“Now.”

“Wait till dad hears about this!” and she was gone, evil giggle fading with distance. Leaving the two boys in the not-so-small room.

Roman looked back at the short bundle of unhappiness and wondered what went wrong in the board-members heads to assign them as roommates. But he couldn’t say that out loud, now could he. So, he went with the next best thing - when in doubt, wear a smile and act friendly. “You don’t have much decoration.”

Virgil just razed an eyebrow. Then gestured at Romans’s side of the room. The man had literal toys everywhere. Glittery letters, a plush unicorns and bunch of stuff from plays he assumed. Like that sword hanging on the wall over there. Were they even allowed to bring weapons (no matter if fake) to school? “There wouldn’t be no place to put it with all the shit you brought.”

“Well, I’ll let you know, these things are not ‘shit’. They hold emotional value. And at least I’m not afraid to express myself.”

“And that’s exactly why most people find you annoying.” and with that (and a very cruel, obviously fake, polite smile), the box was tossed to the ground and V’s big black noise-canceling headphones were finally on his head. Blasting whatever his crappy phone would offer at that exact moment.

Roman was left staring at the rude little leprechaun laying on his bed. Ignoring him!

“Hey!” he called out. But V only turned the volume up and closed his eyes.

Roman scoffed in disbelief. “Welcome back to Weltingston, I guess.”

This is going to be a fun year.

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

Welcome to a new series! I hope you'll enjoy it <3

(Also, I wrote Roman Spanish because I just love the concept, but I don't really speak or know much, and I really don't want to come of as offensive! That's the last thing I want... So if anybody out there is kindhearted enough to help me correct anything that might seem off or with some correct translations into Spanish in later chapters, I'd really appreciate the help! (I don't trust google translate with something like this XD) I really don't mean to make anybody uncomfortable, and if this helps me prevent it, than I'd be very grateful! Thank you <3)

[thatlesbianbitch]

Bubblegum Pink (Poppy x MC)

Book: Queen B

Pairing: Poppy x MC (Dahlia)

Word count: 1,450

Rating: M (n*fw, explicit sex)

Summary: smut. it’s smut.

A/N: uhhh....yeah. constructive criticism is very welcome as I haven’t written anything in years... hope you enjoy :)

~*~*~*~*~*~

After basically humiliating her in front of the entire school, Dahlia never expected that a mere two hours later, she’d be lying under one Poppy Min-Sinclair.

But there she was. Wrists pinned to the mattress, Poppy looming over her, eyebrows drawn together in determination (or was it anger?), huffing from the exertion of harshly thrusting her strap-on into Dahlia’s wet heat.

If Dahlia was being honest, she had no recollection of how she and Poppy went from yelling at each other on the football field to frantically tearing each other’s clothes off. All that stood out in Dahlia’s hazy memory was a text message that read: meet me in my room right now.

How did Poppy get my number? And how did I know where her room was? How—

Dahlia glanced down between her legs; a flash of the glistening bubblegum pink strap-on was revealed each time Poppy drew back, and it only increased her want. She couldn’t remember the last time she was this turned on, the last time she had wanted someone to just pound her into a mattress this badly.

She looked back up and saw Poppy’s eyebrows were still knitted together, the corners of her small mouth curled downwards. A quick chuckle escaped her lips. 

“What’s so funny?” Poppy snapped immediately, her grip on Dahlia’s wrists tightening.

She almost laughed again at that. It’s cute how she thinks she’s actually strong enough to pin me down.

“I’ll stop if you laugh again,” Poppy snarled.

Dahlia smirked. “Yes ma’am.”

And suddenly, Poppy’s hands left her wrists and landed on her hips, pushing her further against the mattress. That wiped the smirk right off Dahlia’s face.

“Fuck,” she moaned. “Poppy…”

It was Poppy’s turn to smirk. “Good?”

“God, yes…” Dahlia was surprised she was still able to speak a coherent word, let alone two.

“Do you want more?”

Dahlia simply closed her eyes and groaned.

“Look at me,” the blonde commanded as she slowed down her thrusts. Dahlia forced herself to open her eyes, and tried to cant her hips upward, but Poppy just pushed them back down.

“Do. You. Want. More?” she repeated, punctuating each word with a sharp thrust.

“Please, Poppy.”

Dahlia couldn’t even bring herself to care that Poppy had her begging within seconds.

Poppy reached under her pillows and oh fuck—suddenly the strap began vibrating inside her.

Dahlia’s back arched off the bed as she moaned in surprise.

“Oh god—Poppy—” Whatever else she had to say was cut off when she felt Poppy’s slick lips latch onto a nipple, sucking just hard enough that the sensation danced on that deliciously fine line between pleasure and pain.

“Poppy,” she moaned again, helpless to do anything else.

The other woman released her nipple with a pop, her lips curling into a sinister smile that made Dahlia frantically roll her hips forward.

“I love it when you say my name like that.”

Dahlia just moaned again. This was all too much. Too much in the very best way.

Poppy began to pick up the pace. Her hands were back on Dahlia’s hips, her nails digging into the soft skin. They were quiet for a few moments, listening to the squelching of the shaft as Poppy snapped her hips back and forth.

Suddenly, Poppy’s thumb nudged its way between Dahlia’s lips and into her mouth. She only had a few moments to suck the digit before Poppy pulled it out and began rubbing her clit.

She gasped sharply. God, Poppy really knows what she’s doing.

Dahlia spread her legs wider, allowing Poppy to drive the shaft deeper into her, and giving her more room to caress every millimetre of her clit. An obscene moan escaped from deep within her. The blonde smiled down triumphantly at her, but Dahlia couldn’t even bring herself to care.

“Harder, Poppy…” she pleaded.

She was surprised to hear Poppy moan. Then, like a jolt, it occurred to her that Poppy must be able to feel the vibrations as well. The very thought made Dahlia clench. Fleetingly, Dahlia wished Poppy’s fingers were inside her so she could feel just how wet she was for her, but there would be another time for that.

Without any preamble, Poppy began thrusting in earnest. The feeling was immaculate. The strap-on was curved perfectly, and the angle Poppy was thrusting at allowed it to reach the exact place within her that made her vision go blurry. The thumb on her clit was still there, rubbing the swollen nub in tight little circles.

In-out, in-out, Poppy showed no signs of slowing down. Dahlia was sure she had ruined her sheets. She could feel her wetness spilling out from her, could feel how it was smeared along the inside of her thighs.

“Poppy,” she moaned again, her voice thin and needy, almost a whine, really. The desperation sounded foreign to her own ears, but she loved it.

“You close?” Poppy asked, her mouth open, panting.

Dahlia nodded frantically. She began to palm at her breast with one hand, twisting the sheets beneath her with the other.

“Do you want to come?”

Dahlia nodded frantically once more. She pinched her nipple, rolling it between her fingers.

“Then ask.” That commanding tone was back, the low timbre of her voice tugging at something deep within her.  

“God, fuck—” Dahlia bucked restlessly against Poppy, desperate for release.

“I said ask,” Poppy repeated, her voice even lower. Fuck.

Dahlia was not beneath begging. The problem was that she seemed to have lost all ability to speak. But somehow, she managed to choke out,

“Make me come, Poppy…please…”

Poppy smirked, then leaned down and pressed open-mouthed kisses around the other nipple she neglected earlier. After, she moved up to Dahlia’s neck, eagerly sucking at the unmarked skin.

Then finally, blessedly, Poppy began driving into her even faster. Dahlia could feel the hard metal ring of the harness each time she bottomed out, the roughness of it all only driving her closer and closer to the edge.

Poppy was no longer being quiet either. She was moaning into the crook of Dahlia’s neck, the vibrations borderline ticklish. Poppy’s thumb increased its speed against her clit.

“Fuck, Poppy—” She didn’t know when it got there, but Dahlia’s hand tightened in Poppy’s hair as she shamelessly rolled her hips up to meet each thrust.

It all felt so good, too good—

“Fuck-fuck-fuck-fu—” Dahlia’s back arched off the bed as she clung onto Poppy, trembling as her walls squeezed down on the shaft still moving within her. She was vaguely aware of Poppy’s moans increasing in pitch, but it was hard to hear over the roar of blood rushing to her ears.

Poppy was relentless, not slowing her pace one bit as Dahlia continued to cry out beneath her, her voice raw and ragged. Suddenly, Poppy’s thumb caught the left of Dahlia’s clit in the most wonderful way and all that tension that had been coiling so tight within her finally reached its peak, and blissfully—

Dahlia jolted awake.

What.

What the fuck.

Did I just have a sex dream? About Poppy?

The dampness between her thighs was all the confirmation she needed.

Well, no sense in letting a dream like that go to waste, she thought was she slipped her hand under the waistband of her underwear. Her mind was acutely aware of the throbbing between her legs and refused to focus on anything else. I’ll unpack whatever the fuck this means later.

When she dragged her middle finger through her folds, the sheer amount of wetness she encountered told her this wasn’t going to take long.

She closed her eyes, her finger moving in tight circles against her clit, just like Poppy’s thumb did in her dream.

Poppy.

Poppy and her air of superiority. Poppy and her dumb, incredibly hot voice. Poppy and that stupid little smirk that was almost permanently on her lips. Her lips… Soft, plush… Covered in the perfect shade of dark pink gloss—

Dahlia had to bite her lip to stop herself from moaning Poppy’s name as she came. She bucked against her hand, breathing hard, her other hand clutching uselessly at one of her pillows.

“Fuck,” she whispered to herself as she came down. For a couple of seconds, she just laid there, her hand cupped around her centre, her thighs squeezed together. Finally, she pulled her hand out of her underwear and hastily wiped her fingers on the inside of her shorts.

Dahlia closed her eyes, taking a moment to steady her breath. Seconds later, they sprung open as a realization hit her:

Did Poppy’s strap-on match her fur coat??

[visforvengeance]

So I saw you just started outer banks and that you wanted some request well I got a lot and I was wondering if you could do a jj x reader, where the reader is kiara’s sister and her and jj are dating,if you don’t mind can you make it Into a headcanon 🤧😗✌🏽

yeehaw ok

i love jj

before you started dating, you guys were extremely close. so people just assumed you were dating already.

after jj’s fights with his dad🥺, he’d come to you. you were the only person allowed to see him like that. not even john b or pope.

you’d patch him up and then just hold him after. as much as he denied you and tried to play it off like he was ok, he always hoped he’d just get to lay in your arms afterwards. that’s one place where he has no worries or where he doesn’t feel negatively.

when he stayed at kiara’s is almost always for you. sometimes your dad would allow it and sometimes he wouldn’t. but that never mattered. jj snuck up into your room anyway.

i feel like jj is impulsive. so you’re like all of his self control.

he tries not come to you with his problems a lot, but it just happens.

you know how to make him feel better, and even if you don’t, being with you does.

now let’s get to the good part

(let’s just pretend jj never pulled his gun out on topper pls🥺👉👈)

during the beach party, jj like always, got fucked up.

he was super drunk and when he’s drunk like this, he just clings onto you. it’s quite cute actually

when you two were alone he was quiet. unusually quiet.

“jj, are you ok?”

“...i think..i know. i like you a lot”

like? like, like?

“jj, you’re drunk.”

“no! i’m not,,,ok maybe a little bit. but i know what i’m saying. i promise you i know what i’m saying.”

you paused to look at his eyes for a moment. was he serious?

jj was impatient ok. so he kissed you😳

it took everything in you NOT to kiss him back. you were still unsure if he was thinking clearly.

so you stopped him.

“jj, we’re gonna go home. and we’re going to sleep. if you still feel like this when you wake up, we’ll talk then.”

he wasn’t mad. he understood where you were coming from.

it’s kind of hard to believe something as serious as that when it’s coming from a drunk teenager.

but somewhere in your head, you knew he was being honest.

jj couldn’t sleep. he just laid beside you and stared. not like in a creepy way but in a “i’m pretty sure i’m in love with you” way.

it was 3 am and god it was so hot.

your windows were open and you had on one of his tank tops.

i think he reached his breaking point. so he woke you up.

he was completely sober. so maybe he’d be more coherent.

“i can’t wait until morning. i fucking love you and i think it’s driving me crazy.”

you grabbed his hand and placed it on your chest, right where your heart was.

“i love you too, jj”

uwu, as my girlfriend would say.

he was so relieved. but he was happy and excited, he could barely sleep. but he pushed all of that down with the rest of his uncontrollable feelings for u and shut his eyes.

now it’s morning and like love is literally in the air.

oof he kissed you so much asdfghjk

now we bring kiara into this.

you guys kept it a secret. hid your kisses and declarations of love for later.

but everyone was used to your incessant touching and all that shit. so everything was normal.

until jj couldn’t stop drinking the i love my gf juice.

your dad made you and your sister attend this stupid kook party so you couldn’t hang out with your boyfriend and your friends.

but jj caught a glimpse of you b4 u left and good lord.

he meant to keep his comments to himself. but that meant he had to stop talking completely.

and john b and pope weren’t having that shit.

so as soon as he started talking he said a thing.

“y/n was so hot today. i can’t believe she’s my girlfriend” or whatever

pope and john b were like “what the fuck did u just say”

uh oh. guess i’ll just die then.

yeah so they found out and we’re teasing him for it. jj being jj probably let something slip about the time you guys fucked-

now we don’t have time to unpack all that.

kiara was clueless tho.

until everyone reunited and jj came and gave you a sweet lil kiss on the lips.

you loved jj and his kisses but what the fuck

now kiara knows too.

“you guys are dating???”

confused.png

after a little sisterly talk, kiara calmed down..eventually.

she was happy for the two of you but it was a bit weird.

now that everyone knew, jj wanted to exhibit his copious amount of love for you. but kiara was not only protective of her sister, but was also disgusted.

i hope u like it😘

[ickle-ronniekins]

thank you for the tag my lovely friend @wand3ringr0s3. this looks like fun! :)

Which of your fics…

…did you think would get a bigger reaction/audience than it got?

tongue tied with my freddie boy.. it did get a big reaction, but i have other fics that got bigger reactions than this and it’s surprised me.

…got a better reaction than you expected?  

silent confessions, i believe, is my most popular fic at the moment. i’m happy that i was able to include both fred and george in this while ultimately it is a george x reader fic. normally i find that fred x reader stories do better overall, so i was super excited to see all the love that george got for this one!

…is your funniest?

i honestly dunno if i have a funny fic? i don’t necessarily find myself to be a good writer when it comes to writing comedy. the one i think of when i think of being ‘funny’ is the fake dating story, breaking the rules, with fred. i do quite like the way i established their friendship and i enjoyed writing their sarcastic banter with one another! though i don’t necessarily know if it’s funny, lol.

…is your darkest/angstiest?

FOR SURE it’s forgiveness, i mean the entire idea of the reader being engaged to fred before he dies, and then feeling immense, heart-wrenching guilt when she falls for george after they take solace in the fact that they have one another to lean on is just really dark and confusing. it was very difficult to navigate in order to make it a storyline people would be able to accept. i was very afraid everyone would be like “she’s just sleeping with his brother because she can’t have him!” but i really wanted to establish the baseline of their friendship and how through coping with fred’s death and their own feelings, they rediscovered one another in a different way and ultimately fell in love. there were a lot of dark themes within it -- of course, fred’s death being the main factor. there was anxiety, depression, detachment, lust....just a whole lot of angsty things in there.

…is your absolute favorite?

that’s really difficult -- for a while it was forgiveness, and then after that it was silent confessions, i think partially because i did get such an overwhelming amount of love on the both of them. however, when i think about it, the one i come back to time and time again is the my absolute favorite person series with george, a three part series where the reader and george are in love with one another since very young ages but never admit it to one another and ultimately end up with other people. it took me a really long time to write, especially because there were so many intricate details i wanted in there that needed to ultimately match up in order to give the story that extra bit of emotion. by far my favorite. ever. i’m really happy with the way my writing, plot structure, relationships and character development ended up with that story.

…is your least favorite?

oh my god there are too many to choose from honestly? LOL. honestly any of my old ones from my first masterlist... they were just rubbish. i don’t even know how else to describe them, quite honestly. i don’t even want to link any because i’m so embarrassed HAHA. pls don’t go to my masterlist and read the old ones. pls just don’t. i cringe.

…was the easiest to write?

the switch with fred! i thought it was going to be difficult, having to differentiate in my writing that fred and george were pretending to be one another, but i actually thought it flowed quite nicely. i’m happy with how it turned out, and the prompt was so cute! it’s definitely one of my favorites, i think. 

…was the hardest to write?

OH MY GOD. the easiest question. both of my george soulmate aus proved so difficult to write. the first one was clarity which was a soulmate au involving journals and writing back and forth with your soulmate but being unable to reveal your identity due to the war. i was so worried people were going to think it was a stupid idea and i legitimately rewrote the ending like six different times, it took me a solid week to write or something. insane. and my most recent george soulmate au, the one i was meant to find, was super difficult to write in the sense that there were a lot of details i needed to pay very close attention to in order for the story to unfold the way i wanted it too. also rewrote this ending like ten different times. i couldn’t decide whether i wanted the reader to leave with george when they peaced outta hogwarts, or reunited with him years later. SO DIFFICULT JREOHGLIEKSD UGH

…has your favorite line/exchange/paragraph? (share it)

there’s actually a lot of small things throughout my stories that i’m pleased with, and it’s difficult to pick just one. but there are a few paragraphs from one story in particular that come to mind. it’s a pretty big part, so i’ll cut it down a bit. writing forgiveness was a process, and one i’m thankful for. i was very pleased with the way i was able to incorporate their past into the present and have it tie their relationship together. my favorite little bit from it has to be this part:

“He felt nerves like he’d never felt in his life, but he didn’t let on. He didn’t want you to see, because you didn’t know. Nobody did.   Nobody knew that George had been madly in love with you since before you and Fred had gotten together.   Not even Fred knew. And being the gentleman that he is, George never said a word to his twin, or to anyone, when you two began dating. And when you’d decided to move in together, he helped you unpack things in your new home with his brother. And when you and Fred ran to him to tell him you were engaged, he swallowed his pride and held you both in his arms, ready to celebrate.   And when Fred died, George promised himself he’d do everything in his power to keep his brother’s fiancé happy and safe.   So, if you wanted him to stay now, he shouldn’t feel guilty about that, right?” oof

…have you re-read the most?

okay, i am kind of embarrassed to admit that i do reread my writing, but it’s for the purpose of weeding out structure that i like, that i dislike, writing styles i’d like to try again or that i’d like to avoid, specific phrases i’d like to save for the future, phrases i definitely don’t want to use again, things of the like. i’ve probably reread my absolute favorite person the most, because i’m proud of the intricate details of the interwoven underlying plots and themes i was able to incorporate and i feel my writing is very strong there.

…would you recommend to someone reading your work for the first time?

AHHHHHH THIS IS SO HARD. i’m going to do what haley did and break it down by category. i don’t write smut, just FYI! but stories marked with an * have a lil bit of ~heat~ to them

angst - can’t help falling in love with you [george], wildflowers [fred series], forgiveness [fred/george], empty [fred/george], on rainy days [george]

fluff - sunkissed* [george], temptations [george], chemical reaction [george], the riot* [fred], tangled up [fred], placing bets [george], in every lifetime [fred], cosmic destiny [fred]

tagging all of my lovelies! @theweasleysredhair @harrysweasleys @starlightweasley @valwritesx @pit-and-the-pen @writesowhatnext and i’m blanking because i totally suck but anyone else who wants to do this!

[clumsyracconking]

A villain

Ch.13 (1146 words)

I describe Shinsou as slightly taller because of his hair, the two are actually the same height according to google, also I imagine Hitoshi as someone who listens to Cameron Sanderson’s cover of do re mi and pacify her in his free time.

The two stared at each other for a moment before the slightly taller one spoke. “I think you should be answering my questions first considering you’ve been ‘missing’ for the last 3 days the cops and media think you were kidnapped yet here you are smoking in an alleyway with black hair for some reason, is that a body behind you? What the fuck Sho?”

Shinsou was indeed right about all of what he’d said or rather observed. There was a body behind Todoroki. He did have black hair now thanks to Togas insistence and Dabi and Hawks being the only ones with hair dye. He had been missing for around 3 days now and the media was having a field day with his ‘kidnapping’, but is it really a kidnapping if said kid wanted to go?

“Oh him, yeah he was being rude. Wanna go somewhere so we can actually talk before my brother and friends start to wonder where I went, cause they’ve either not noticed or they’ve flipped the bar upside down and mist man is berating them.” Todoroki was already walking away prompting Shinsou to follow him but still giving him a choice.

Weaving through the alleys expertly Shoto looked behind him to see if his ex peer was following him, he was.

--

“Where the hell were you kid?!” Hawks said not really yelling but it wasn’t his normal tone of voice, gesturing towards Shinso he asked, “who’s that? If he’s who I’m 90% sure he is we have a body to dispose of.”

“What is it with you and threatening to kill every minor inconvenience, first me now him, like damn bitch.” Shoto moved past Hawks, had he thought Hitoshi was a threat he wouldn't have brought him here. “I was on a walk when I ran into dear ol’ Hitoshi here, and if I thought he would be a problem for any of us he would be in an alley somewhere dead.” He grabbed Hitoshi’s hand and pulled the slightly dumbfounded boy up the stairs with him going towards Togas room because he’d still yet to get his own.

As soon as the door was shut behind him Shoto was pinned against the wall. “Glad to know you missed me babe.”

“You fucking asshole, you couldve at least told me you were gonna dip. And before you say anything we both know I don’t give a fuck about the whole villany thing we’ve discussed this before.” Shinso said before releasing Todoroki.

“Alright I’ll admit my bad that was a dick move but if it helps at all it was kind of a decision I made on a whim while I watched Dabi and Hawks break in and almost kill the bastard, I kind of wish I hadn’t interrupted but what's done is done.”

Holy shit there was a lot to unpack here. “I- there's a lot there Sho you just, wow ok. Uhh let’s start with the dad thing.”

“Oh yeah and Dabi’s my brother Touya but that’s something I learned today, anyways-,” “back the fuck up, Dabi is Touya? I thought you told me Touya was dead!” Shoto walked over to the mini fridge in the corner for a snack before continuing. “Yeah turns out the old man is a liar, not all that suppressed honestly. Want some brownies? I took Sero’s recipe a few months ago.” They could unpack all of this later it was brownie time.

Walking down the stairs the pair came across Hawks and Shigaraki sitting at the bar discussing what sounded like a video game. “You guys want brownies?” Shoto yelled at them still walking towards the communal kitchen most of them shared.

At the mention of brownies both Hawks and Shigaraki’s heads shot up, “I’ll take that as a yes then, by the way this is Hitoshi.” Hitoshi raised the hand that wasn’t holding Shoto’s and waved.

“I swear to God you and Dabi are turning my league into a daycare center.” Shigaraki said annoyed at the amount of kids and kid like adults he constantly had to be around, not to say he was any different but it was still annoying.

“If it helps at all the purple one wasn’t me, I’ve been here with you all day.” Shigaraki called bullshit, “ok and who brought in the other one cause I know damn well it wasn’t Toga the little Todoroki isn’t so stupid he’d follow the mosquito. It was you and Dabi so far as I’m concerned this one is your fault too.”

“That was a backhanded compliment if I’ve ever heard one, damn, Hitoshi what do you think?”

He wasn't falling for that, “no thanks, I choose life pretty boy. And as far as I’m concerned my life has been in danger since ex number 2 over there threatened my life, so I’ll be quiet when it comes to being snarky towards the hand man who attacked 1-A multiple times.”

“Finally some fucking respect, we can keep this one.” Shigaraki’s mind was made up, he and Hitoshi as the little Todoroki called him were cool.

“Oh sweetie, we’re a package deal you pretty much already had this one.” Shoto piped up from behind the doors that lead to the kitchen. When had they moved?

“How many of the Todorki’s are gay?!” Hawks asked himself sadly enough for him his friend decided to answer, “at least 3.” Hawks was curious, “why and how do you know that?” It was Shoto’s turn to add to the conversation, “have you seen Natsuo, that man is a flaming homosexual. Plus I wouldn’t be surprised if they fucked.”

“I can neither confirm nor deny that statement.” Shigaraki said after a beat of silence. “What is it with you Todoroki’s and villains Sho, is it the daddy issues or the mommy issues?” Hitoshi said loudly to his boyfriend. “It’s the daddy issues but the mommy issues don’t help.” Shoto deadpanned. “Next time I see your brother I’m telling him about this golden conversation.” Shigaraki said back stifling a laugh hearing two eww’s echo from the kitchen.

--

“It’s the daddy issues for me.”

“It’s the attachment issues for me.”

“It’s the little brother for me.”

“It’s the blood fetish for me.”

“It’s the fact you fucked a chicken man for me.”

“It’s the obsessive crush on a kid that looks like broccoli for me.”

“It’s the borderline alcoholism for me.”

“It’s the best friends with more issues than I can count for me.”

“It’s the fact you turned to villany to spite your father for me.”

“Damn girl, I concede I guess.”

“That’s what I thought.”

[spacesunflcwer]

reasons why i love pride & prejudice, specifically the 1995 adaptation

(ok when i started this i was going for a list of reasons but it ended up more like live commentary of the series oops)

it's so accurate???!? i read the book for the first time after having seen the miniseries like 4 times and i was stunned by how identical the dialogue was

"oH mr bEnNEt"

literally all of mr and mrs bennet's dialogue is hilarious. she's such a drama queen and he's just there like please shut up but also sassy

mr darcy at the first ball is literally like a socially awkward emo teenager who hates everything whose mum (mr bingley) is encouraging to be more social and make friends lmao

when mr darcy compliments lizzy's eyes to miss bingley and she's so offended..... she's like wtf fitzwilliam how dare you appreciate a peasant??!?

elizabeth "i promise i shall never dance with [mr darcy]" bennet hahaha think again lizzy

when jane gets invited by miss bingley and mrs bennet is like go on horseback because it looks like raining so you'll spend the night lmao this woman is ready to do anything to see her daughters married huh

all the awkward encounters between elizabeth and darcy when she goes to netherfield like when she walks into the biliard room and they just stare at each other until she leaves lmao

that scene when they're all in the drawing room and miss bingley is like let's go for a walk around the room to refresh ourselves lmao people in the 19th century were really bored huh

the amount of tension between lizzy and darcy when they have that conversation about pride sksksksks

mrs bennet sure knows how to throw shade (at darcy) lmao

MR COLLINS

i really dislike him because he's so annoying but he's also so stupid and full of himself in a funny way it's hilarious i love it lmao

i literally lose it every time he mentions lady catherine de bourgh which is A LOT

just the tone in his voice when he says is so funny to me

for real why didn't mr collins go for mary she's literally the female equivalent of him like.....

oh wait i know why misogyny lmao

you know, i'm not going to talk about wickham because fuck him

the netherfield ball!!!!!

when miss bingley goes up to lizzy to diss wickham and lizzy looks so ready to cut a bitch lmao

when mr collins goes up to darcy to talk about lady catherine and lizzy and jane are like oh god oh fuck someone stop him shit it's too late and then darcy is like *read at 7:39pm* ajsnsjsks

ok but when mrs hurst goes and plays the piano that was amazing i don't like her but that was really good

mr collins's proposal. just. when he's like "let me tell you the reasons why i want to marry. and then the reasons why i want to marry you specifically" like pull out a whole powerpoint presentation why don't you

oh and OF COURSE lady catherine de bourgh is amongst the reasons ("that should have been the first reason actually")

when lizzy says no for like the second time and he's like "ah but a lot of times women refuse when they really mean to accept" unfortunately not much has changed in the way of men has it, no means no!!!

"if you do not accept his proposal, your mother will never see you again. and if you do accept his proposal, i will never see you again" i'd forgotten how much i love mr bennet he's so great

when lizzy finds out he proposed to charlotte and charlotte accepted and she's like BITCH WHAT THE FUCK

literally fuck miss bingley what a bitch. let jane be happy!!! fuck you

oh my g o d when they go to visit charlotte and mr collins and he starts going on about the STAIRS and how their steepness is ideal and the closet in lizzy's and how lady catherine suggested they put shelves in and cOuSiN eLIzAbEth LoOk hOw prAcTicAL iT iS laDy cAthEriNe tHinKs oF evErYtHinG shE's sO gOod tO uS

lmao when charlotte is like yeah i like my life most days we barely even see each other

when they go to rosings park and mr collins won't shut up about the 64 windows of the house and how amazing they are

lmao when lady catherine asks lizzy something and then turns away and lizzy CONTINUES TALKING and lady catherine just turns slowly like bitch wtf did i allow you to keep talking

when darcy won't stop STARING AT HER (because he's so in love) and she's there like wtf

the scene at the piano omg the amount of romantic tension between them and the staring at each other again god help me i love them so much

lmfao when mr darcy randomly visits lizzy and just sits with her for like 5 minutes and then gets up and leaves mood tbh

i will never get tired of the love confession scene tbh he goes in and literally walks around the room sits down gets up walks around some more for like 5 minutes before he finally starts talking

"in vain i have struggled. it will not do. my feelings will not be repressed. you must allow me to tell you how ardently i admire and love you."

and then elizabeth is like bitch what the fuck and pulls out a 40 slide powerpoint on why she could never love him

which was completely justified of her btw. darcy was a dick back then

the sequence at the beginning of ep4 when they're both having flashbacks to what the other said lol

also when lizzy has those flashbacks where darcy's full face just randomly appears out of nowhere like a ghost yeah what the fuck was up with that it’s SO WEIRD

when they go dine at rosings for the last time and lizzy is full on sarcasm about how oh so sad she is to be leaving and oh so grateful to lady catherine and mr collins loses his shit because he thinks she's being serious lmao

honestly though when she's all dramatic about darcy to maria but without actually saying anything and maria is just like ok wtf but whatever i guess, and then she does that again to her aunt and uncle when they're at pemberley and she's all like wE hAvE tO LeAVe nOw and they're just there like ummm ok?? what just happened here. i mean this is a thing that she does frequently and idk i'm wondering how her general acquaintance feel about it. like every once in a while she'll go all dramatic and everyone is like oh there goes lizzy dramatising her life and not explaining anything to anyone, again

lmao when maria tells her she's been packing and unpacking all night and lizzy tells her she can pack it however she wants and lady catherine will never know. like yes maria you are a strong independent woman and can pack your suitcase however you please

when lydia gets invited to brighton oh noooooooooooooo

time for kitty to develop her own personality i guess lol

i will never get tired of elizabeth only deciding to go to pemberley because she's 100% she won't run into darcy and then she does

also when they're staring at the house and she's like damn that is a nice ass house

i love how bad the paintings of darcy inside the house are because everyone is look how beautiful he is! and what a realistic painting this is! and then they show it and you laugh at loud because that shit is UGLY and nowhere near like colin firth

i still don't understand why darcy jumped in that pond. was it because he was trying to clear his head to not think about elizabeth? was this something he did regularly on his way home?

on that note, if he did it to forget about elizabeth it was pretty unfortunate for him that he literally ran into her 5 seconds later lol

HIS LACK OF SOCIAL SKILLS NEVER CEASE TO AMUSE ME

"are your parents well?" "yes" *1min later* "and your parents? are they well? and your sisters?" and ofc lizzy laughs at him

ok what i still don't understand is how when darcy returns suddenly he's all smooth and talkative and keeps the conversation well and alive and just what?? he went from 0 to 100 real quick in terms of social skills and i Do Not Understand

omg the next day when him and bingley and georgiana go the inn to meet her and bingley starts talking to her and he's so HAPPY AND EXCITED and i love how he goes "yes we haven't seen each other since we danced at netherfield on the 26th of november". boy's been counting the days since he last saw jane and i love it. he's so in love

on that note of so in love, the way the scene immediately switches to show us darcy staring at elizabeth while she plays the piano with full-on HEART EYES ahhh i'm so soft for them

and then that BITCH caroline goes and mentions wickham and darcy panics because his sister is right there elizabeth IMMEDIATELY sees and knows and goes back to georgiana to help her and changes the subject

i really think darcy fell even more in love with her when he saw how well her and his sister got along, and how much she cared for georgiana, because he probably could never love anyone who didn't seeing how important georgiana is to him

and then it just shows elizabeth and darcy staring at each other like this 💘💖💗💖💕💗💖💘💖💘 total heart eyes

when caroline basically roasts him for being in love with liking elizabeth and he just snaps at her and says she's the most beautiful woman he knows GET REKT CAROLINE

omg when lizzy gets jane's letter and is really upset and he tries his best to comfort her ahh my heart

"i will never see him again" YES LIZZY YOU WILL

mrs bennet's worst case scenarios... convinced mr bennet's going to fight wickham and wickham will kill him lmao

you know I WONDER where lizzy gets her dramatic airs from

when mr collins shows up and is all basically throwing shade at them and lizzy is just like ok then if we're so bad how about you leave so you don't have to be around us for any longer

like yes lizzy drag him!!!!

when they show us lydia and wickham in london and you can see wickham starting to get pissed off at lydia... looking like he's regretting all his life choices

which he should, btw. he made terrible life choices and they’re literally all his fault

when everything is (sort of) resolved and mrs bennet is like i knew everything would turn out well in the end! yeah SURE you did

when lydia and wickham come back and you can tell lizzy is so ready to fight

when lydia spoils that it was darcy who helped them and lizzy is like mr darcy?? did you just say mr darcy????

oh yeah also darcy taking all the blame for all that happened and insisting to pay for everything... i love one (1) wholesome responsible man

jk i love two (2) wholesome men because bingley

mr bingley and mr darcy came back to netherfield!!!!!!!!!

when they go to longbourn and darcy and lizzy just stare at each other the whole time. again

when darcy finally tells bingley he purposefully kept him and jane apart and admits that it was completely wrong of him. GROWTH

bingley still asks for darcy's blessing & darcy tells him he shouldn't need it & bingley replies that he would still rather have it. WE STAN A WHOLESOME & SUPPORTIVE MALE FRIENDSHIP

and then bingley just sprints to longbourn to propose to jane when most of them have barely woken up lmao

the scene when they're all sitting in the drawing room and mrs bennet is trying to get them to leave so it's just bingley and jane is so AWKWARD and funny lmao

"mama, why did you just wink at me??" "why would i wink at you kitty"

"actually now you mention it i need to talk to you about something UPSTAIRS!"

and then jane is happy :) finally :) jane deserves ALL the happiness :)

when lady catherine randomly shows up and just starts insulting their poverty lmao

while lizzy, kitty, and mrs bennet just stand there awkwardly

"your hall is too small" "so you call this a drawing room" "your west facing windows must be awful in the summer" ok boomer

and then proceeds to lose her shit at elizabeth while elizabeth just stands there

"he is a gentleman and i am a gentleman's daughter. we are equals" YOU TELL HER ELIZABETH

and then tells her she doesn't owe her anything which is just 19th century equivalent of go fuck yourself bitch

that whole scene was a big fuck you lady catherine de bourgh

and is probably one of the most iconic scenes in the show

when mr bennet calls up lizzy about how he's heard rumours that she's to be engaged to darcy and just finds it so funny and lizzy is just there like hahahahaha yeah that would be hilarious wouldn't it when she's probably just dying inside because darcy!!!! love of her life!!!!

no offense but the part when they go for a walk and confess their love to one another among other things is literally one of my favourite things ever

apart maybe from the piano heart eyes scene

it's just so soft

when he says he hates himself for the things he said the first time he proposed and can't believe that was thing

and that he's eternally grateful to her because he doesn't think he would ever have changed if it hadn't been for her

on that note, gotta appreciate the fact that this isn't one of those stories where girl meets guy who's a dick, girl proceeds to change dick guy into a nice guy. no, lizzy did not change him herself, and she literally refused to be around him for as long as he was rude and selfish and everything she stood against. he himself decided to change, yes because of her, because he loved her and wanted her to love him back, but ultimately he did all the necessary changes to his character by himself. and only then, only then did lizzy properly start loving him. so yeah, here's more proof of why pride & prejudice is one of the best and one of my favourite love stories :)

oh yeah also, about how darcy wanted her to love him back ; “one word from you will silence me forever” yes he was openly grateful to her for everything BUT he was also 100% ready to shut up and leave her alone and accept it if she said no again. because he is A GOOD WHOLESOME MAN WHO RESPECTS WOMEN AND KNOWS THAT NO MEANS NO YES I'M LOOKING AT YOU MR COLLINS GET ON DARCY'S LEVEL

anyway yes i love mr darcy A LOT

but seriously i have such high standards for men and for any future relationships i may be in because of p&p and mr darcy specifically lmao

anyway going back yes i love that scene it is precious

they're so in love and the way they look at each other is so soft and ugh i love them so much

"dearest, loveliest elizabeth"

my heart :,)

i can't believe they're not even holding hands in that scene

and then when mr bennet finds out he proposed to him and he's like bitch what the fuck because darcy??? this guy??? seriously???

as was jane, by the way

anyway wedding time!!!!!

"join this man, and this woman... and this man, and this woman"

we love a double wedding of the two best and most wholesome couples

lmao caroline and georgiana's faces at the wedding. fuck you too :)

when they walk out and they're so happy!!!!!! their smiles!!!!! aaaaahsjskssjajanj

for real colin firth's big smile in that scene is just,, precious,,

and then they kissed :)

ngl, one of the things i wish would have been included in the miniseries is the epilogue from the book... i loved it it was so happy and wholesome

anyway i love this book and this story and the 1995 miniseries and i need to reread the book

oh and also, the music in the miniseries is really good!! the theme song is literally perfect i love it so much

so yeah i love pride & prejudice :,) thank you jane austen for giving us this beautiful beautiful story

💖💖💖💘💘💘💗💗💗💕💕💕

[cryptidshuffle]

the less we say about it the better - chp 1

ao3

Rating: Teen Fandom: Half-Life VR But The AI Is Self Aware Relationships: Tommy Coolatta & Gordon Freeman, Tommy Coolatta/Gordon Freeman (pre relationship) Additional Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Post-Canon, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Temporary Character Death(its benrey dont worry hes ok), meta about deaths and respawns, arguing about the rules of uno, gay pining, Mutual Pining, fellas is it gay to comfort ur friend who u love and are both boys?, also fair warning it'll eventually be a poly ship with benrey, Autistic Character, Autistic Tommy, ADHD Gordon, everyone is gay and trans, Other Additional Tags to Be Added

Summary: “after everything we’ve been through we deserve a few mental break downs.” they are trying to recover after black mesa, but recovery is hard. especially when one of you is still dead

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

They had been out of Black Mesa for a few weeks now. It was difficult trying to acclimate to life after the incident, but they were all making it work.

The science team had gotten together for some sort of game night, something cathartic about being around others who share the same trauma. Anyways, snacks and Uno was just as chaotic as one would imagine with this group of chucklefucks, with competitive tensions high on the last round of the night.

“You can’t stack the draw 4 cards, Gordon,” Bubby argued, smacking Gordon’s hand just as he placed the card.

“Says who?”

“It’s literally against the fucking rules of the game,” Bubby said back.

Tommy agreed with, “It is in the official rules, Mr. Freeman, they- Mattel confirmed it on Twitter.”

“But that’s dumb!” Gordon argued back, “I’ve always played where you can stack those, why change that now?"

Bubby retorted, “Well maybe you’ve always been playing wrong, huh? Ever thought about that, smartass?”

Dr. Coomer chimed in with, “Well on the official page for Uno (card game) on Wikipedia, the free online encyclopedia that anyone can edit, it states that

The following official house rules are suggested in the Uno rulebook, to alter the game:

Progressive Uno: If a draw card is played, and the following player has the same card, they can play that card and "stack" the penalty, which adds to the current penalty and passes it to the following player.[4](Although a +4 cannot be stacked on a +2, or vice versa.)[6] This house rule is so commonly used that there was widespread Twitter surprise in 2019 when Mattel stated that stacking was not part of the standard rules of Uno.[6]”

“Well, there you have it,” Gordon exclaims, interrupting Coomer’s Wikipedia infodump, “Just because it’s a house rule doesn’t mean it’s not a legitimate way of playing."

“What if I don’t want to play with that rule, that’s fuckin stupid,” Bubby grumbles.

“Jesus ok, I'll play a different card, happy?” Gordon says dejectedly, taking back his controversial draw 4 card for a more innocuous one. “It’s your turn anyways.”

Bubby throws down his last card onto the pile. “I win fuckers!!!! Ahahahahaha!"

“You wouldn’t have won if you let me stack the fucking cards,” Gordon said as he threw his losing card pile onto the coffee table.

“Don’t fret Gordon! Bubby is just extremely good at card games,” Dr. Coomer replied.

“You're forgetting I’m a goddamn genius, that extends to my sick-ass Uno skills,” Bubby bragged.

Gordon chuckled, watching the two older scientists get up to leave, and watching Tommy remain, quietly cleaning up the uno deck into neat piles to place in its box.

“Well gentlemen, it’s been fun, though I think it’s time Bubby and I better get going!” Dr. Coomer said.

“No problem, don’t want you two to be late for your old man early-bird breakfast at Golden Corral tomorrow!” Gordon teased.

“Shut the fuck- I’ll kick your ass,” said Bubby.

“Hello Gord- Actually our old man breakfast is not until Saturday! It’s the one day a week I let loose and unhinge my jaws at the buffet like a Burmese Python!” said Dr. Coomer as Bubby grabs his coat and keys.

“That sounds absolutely horrifying,” Gordon laughs.

“It really is,” says Bubby. “Well, see you later asshole,” Bubby says, herding himself and Coomer out the front door.

“See you guys later,” Gordon says.

“Goodbye, Gordon! Goodbye, Tommy,” Coomer also says, before they leave Gordon’s apartment.

Tommy had yet to get up to leave, he stayed sitting in his seat staring into space, and fiddling with the Uno card deck.

“Hey Tommy, you alright man?” he asked gently. At the mention of his name, he was shaken a bit out of his stupor.

“Y-yeah I'm fine Mr. Freeman, why do you ask?”

“I mean you were kinda just staring into space for a bit, and you didn’t say anything when Bubby and Coomer left.”

“Oh shit. Sorry about that, I’ll get out of your hair,” Tommy said, starting to move to leave.

Gordon placed a hand on Tommy’s shoulder. “Hey, if something’s bothering you, just know I’m here if you wanna talk about it,” Gordon comforted.

Tommy blushed slightly at the contact and nodded.

“Thank you. I-uh… I’ve just been thinking about things that happened back in Black Mesa and, you know,” he pauses to think for a bit, and sighs, “honestly I’ve been thinking a lot about Benrey.”

Just at the mention of him, Gordon felt his stomach drop with the weight of too many emotions.

“Yeah...I uh… I understand,” he responds with a sad sigh, “anything in particular you’re thinking about him?”

“I don’t know just kind of- Earlier I started thinking about how much he would enjoy game night. And then I started to miss him and realize that- that he’s not here. I feel guilty about killing him and upset at what he did. He was still my friend and I just- I want to know why he did what he did. I just want to understand,” Tommy said.

Gordon looked away as he thought about his own emotions regarding Benrey. He was undeniably angry with him, for getting him ambushed by the bootboys, for getting his arm cut off, frustrated with the constant taunting. Yet… he also felt guilty for some reason and he couldn’t quite place why. Gordon really didn’t want to feel guilty.

“Yeah…” Gordon sighed, “I'll be honest I do feel guilty about it too. I don’t know why because I feel like it should be justified since he did try to kill us. But there were times when him pestering me about my arm felt like… like sincere questioning? I still… I don’t know.”

“Yeah… I think-” Tommy cut himself off, staring at a fixed point in his vision, trying to decide whether or not to bring this up.

“I don’t think Benrey understood how human mortality worked.”

Well, that wasn’t what Gordon expected. “What do you mean?”

“Well, he was from Xen, Mr. Freeman, he wasn’t human. It was different for him. You remember he did die several times, but he came back eventually. He had to wait for his form to regenerate.”

“Wait-” this time Gordon cut Tommy off, “Oh shit, that wasn’t a joke?  For some reason I just assumed his talking about respawns and shit was part of his Epic Gamer bit?”

“I mean it was a little but I think… there’s probably a reason Benrey attached himself to video games so much, yeah? He can see himself in the structure. Like, uh- something he can relate to.” Tommy says. “It doesn’t excuse what- what he did, but I feel like knowing why things happened makes- makes them more understandable.”

Gordon leaned back on the couch blown away by the revelation. In hindsight it wasn’t that surprising but it took him a few seconds to come to terms with the reality.

“Yeah, when you put it that way, I guess it does make a lot of sense. Wait though, I swear to god all of you have died at least once, but you guys aren’t from Xen?” Gordon said, now confused about the seeming metanarrative of the mortality of his friends.

“Yeah, but those were weird Black Mesa things, Mr. Freeman,” Tommy said, not elaborating any more than that.

Gordon waited a beat for Tommy to explain more but he said all he needed to.

“I will ask you more about that later, but I do not have the energy to unpack all that right now,” Gordon said with a gentle laugh.

“Wait, getting back on topic real quick, why couldn’t Benrey just... respawn now? Did we really get him that good?”

Tommy looked incredibly sad when Gordon said this, and he regretted it immediately.  ‘Damn it Gordon, Tommy’s clearly upset about Benrey, you don’t gotta be an insensitive dick.’

“Well Mr. Freeman, that’s kinda why I’ve been thinking about him,” Tommy said, “I’m not sure. It shouldn’t have taken him this long to respawn. Depending on the amount of damage it takes longer but… It’s been a while and what if- What if he is back but he is mad at all of us and that’s why we haven’t seen him? Or what if it is taking a really long time because we hurt him a whole lot. Or what if we…”

Tommy got quiet for a few seconds, the silence in the room was deafening. For an instance Gordon felt as if making a sound would shatter the air like glass.

Tommy finally said with a whisper, voice thick with choking back tears, “What if we killed him for good? And I don’t- I never see him again?”

It honestly broke Gordon’s heart how distraught Tommy was. Pushing his own complicated Benrey feelings aside, he was gonna focus on Tommy here and now.

“…Tommy, is it ok if I hug you, man?” Gordon couldn’t think of the best way to comfort the other man with words, but physical comfort he could do.

Tommy looked a little surprised at this ask but nodded. Gordon leaned in to hug the other scientist and Tommy collapsed in his embrace, completely breaking down.

Gordon just sat there and held him as Tommy sobbed into his shoulder, trying to comfort the crying man by rubbing circles into his back.

Gordon’s brain processed the things Tommy had said. Was Benrey really gone? Why did he feel guilty about the idea of having killed Benrey, he was fine with the concept during the final boss fight on Xen but now… the thought made him feel… sad? Regretful? Even his seemingly rational justifications didn’t seem as clear at the moment, only thinking of his fonder memories with Benrey.

‘Fuck this,’ he thought as he felt his own tears well up, ‘this isn’t about me, I need to focus on being there for Tommy,’ pushing his own feelings to the back of his mind to be dealt with later.

Tommy eventually calmed down enough where his sobs turned into sniffles, and he started to pull away from the hug.

“S – sorry for having a – a breakdown on your- on your couch Mr. Freeman,” Tommy said, the post-crying mental fog making his stuttering more noticeable. Tommy didn’t really have the effort in him to care.

“Don’t worry about it, man, after everything we’ve been through we deserve a few mental breakdowns,” Gordon joked trying to lighten the mood.

“Oh, that was nothing, Mr. Freeman, in terms of mental breakdowns that was as mild as a first-grade pizza party in the eye of a hurricane,” Tommy compared in a way that made little sense to Gordon, yet ridiculous enough to cause the man to burst out laughing.

“Alright I’ll take your word for it,” Gordon said, still laughing.

“I’m serious Mr. Freeman, once you have a meltdown so intense that you accidentally teleport yourself to an inter-dimensional void, the rest is a cake walk at the school fair,” Tommy said.

“Waitwaitwait- teleport?” he leaned back to look at him in surprise, “Since when could you fuckin teleport!” Gordon asked caught off guard.

“You know, learned some things from my Dad,” Tommy said, again failing to further explain himself.

“…Well alright. Yeah that tracks.”

Gordon was quiet for a moment before responding with, “You know, Tommy, I want you to know I’m here for you if you need anyone to talk to. You were there for me when I was at my lowest in Black Mesa, and I wanna be that friend to you if you need it,” he said giving the other scientists hand a comforting squeeze.

Tommy smiled, “Thank you, that means a lot Mr. Freeman.”

“You know you can call me Gordon, you don’t have to be so formal all the time Dr. Coolatta,” he teased.

Tommy blushed, ‘dammit why did he have to be so cute?’

“Wow Mr. Fr – Gordon are you really gonna make fun of my doctorate that I worked very hard for,” Tommy teased back, still a bit sniffly from crying.

“Dude, I cannot imagine you in college for some reason, what was your doctorate even in” asked Gordon, semi-jokingly, but still a bit serious.

Tommy laughed a bit, wiping the remaining tears away with the back of his hand. “Bio-chemical engineering. Creating Sunkist was for my thesis project.” Normally Tommy would be more then willing to infodump about the topic but he found his energy to be draining fast.

“What the fuck, that’s cooler than mine was. Us nerds in the Theoretical Physics department didn’t do any crazy shit like that,” Gordon said.

“Bold of you to assume I was a nerd, G-Gordon. I was the craziest guy in the frat house,” Tommy said.

Gordon’s memory vaguely recalls Tommy’s insistence that he “do something crazy” when drinking Darnold’s Potion of Grow Gun Arm.

“You know what, yeah, surprisingly I can see that image vividly in my head,” Gordon said. “Real talk though…” he said changing the subject and putting his hand on Tommy’s shoulder, “Are you- uh, ok? Like feeling better?”

Tommy was quiet for a second, eyes flickering down to look at his fidgeting hands in his lap, before replying with, “I’m ok. N-not great, I don’t think, but I will be.”

Gordon nodded. “Tommy, if there’s one nugget of wisdom that I have to share, it’s that healing takes time, things usually turn out to be ok in the end. No matter what’s going on with Benrey…it'll be alright, I’m sure.” Gordon patted his shoulder for emphasis, “not the best advice out there but it’s the best I can come up with straight off the dome. And I don’t wanna seem like I didn’t try to help you out."

Tommy laughed gently, “Thank you Mr. Fr- uh, thank you Gordon. You did help. Even if- if your advice was a bit cheesy.”

“Whatever man, you can’t blame me for trying,” Gordon laughed, playfully shoving Tommy where his hand had previously rested on the other man’s shoulder. Tommy laughed in return. He only noticed the warmth of Gordon’s touch once it was gone.

Tommy absentmindedly noticed the time on the wall clock in Gordon’s apartment. Jesus, 11:30? When did it get so late? The older scientist really hoped he wasn’t overstaying his welcome; While he would love to just stay here and joke around, he had already bothered Mr. Freeman enough and was already exhausted.

“I- I’m probably gonna head back home now, I didn’t realize how late it was,” Tommy said, standing up from his spot next to Gordon.

Gordon nodded. He had the passing thought of offering for Tommy to stay but… maybe that was a step too far. ‘Tommy probably wants his space,’ Gordon rationalized to himself.

He nodded, “Alright, don’t let me keep you,” he said, getting up as well to help Tommy gather his belongings. Which, to be honest Tommy didn’t bring much but some snacks for the group, but Gordon just needed an excuse to do anything.

Gordon walked Tommy to the front door of his apartment, like the good host he was, opening the door for him.

“Thanks for coming over Tommy,” he said.

Tommy nodded. “Thank- thank you again for letting me talk about Benrey, I know it was kinda rough there at the end, but if you ever need to talk about anything… I'm here for you as well.”

Gordon smiled, “Thank you Tommy, I'll keep that in mind.”

Tommy smiled in return, “Have a good night G-Gordon,” he said turning to head to his car.

“Goodnight Tommy.” Gordon turns to head back inside, but before he does, he can’t resist one more jab.

“Thought you could teleport?” he calls out teasingly.

Tommy flips him off, which causes Gordon to laugh harder. “Gives me a headache,” Tommy called back, trying and failing keep a straight face.

Gordon laughs as he waves a final goodbye, turning back inside and closing the door after Tommy waves as well. His thoughts race as he gets ready for bed, trying to ignore his fluttering heartbeat as he lays down for the night.

Tommy shuffles his thoughts in his head as he drives home. The emotional rollercoaster of his already draining social interaction meter from the science team, his Benrey guilt, and his small crush on Gordon was just too much for one day. His hands clench and unclench the steering wheel, looking forward to collapsing in bed for the night, hoping his dad won’t notice he'd been crying.

Somewhere, in an interdimensional void far away from this reality, someone begins to shift awake.

[freewheelshippin]

Major insomnia and heartache in this chili’s tonight (this morning), so here we are with a quick little fic about two dum dums learning how to share heartache.(SFW, no major content warnings I can think of.) 

next day edits: well, now that it’s not ass o’clock, i went back in and tidied this up and added a fair amount more!!  (much more satisfying ending instead of something so abrupt, haha.) doesn’t add any further content warnings, tho! 

Maybe he shouldn’t have pushed her, he thought as she tensed and her demeanor changed entirely. 

“I want to know,” he continued, resolutely. 

“Everyone says that,” she spat. “And nobody actually does.” 

“Why wouldn’t I?” Ranmaru barked. “You heard me out when I told you about everything. Were you lying all those times you listened? Pretending to care just long enough I get over myself and shut up and move on?!” He knew, in his heart of hearts, of course she wasn’t, but the way she said it insulted him so badly he could practically taste the bitterness. 

She paused, looking to the side ruefully, shamefully. He had a feeling she’d struggle with eye contact this conversation, and he slouched his arms together, dropping back onto the couch with an irritated sigh, out of her line of sight. 

“....No. Absolutely not. Look, this … is different.” 

“How,” he growled. “You want to fucking talk about it. I tell you I’ll listen, it’s the least I owe you, and you say ‘no.’ You think I’m not gonna say ‘why’ after you shit all over my answer like that?” 

She took a longer time than usual to find words, so just a few empty seconds where he waited, frustrated and somewhat furious at the disconnect. 

“...You’re right that I shouldn’t have put it like that. That was shitty, and I’m sorry. But there’s...just...some kinds of life experiences that I’ve found nobody has any reason to learn to understand if it doesn’t happen to them. And...nobody’s prepared to deal with it -- meaningfully, anyways -- even secondhand.” 

“Are you just looking for excuses to run away from--” He nearly hesitated over the words, realizing what they were almost a second too late, but marching forward with them anyway. “--trusting me?” 

Another pause. “....I don’t know. I...can’t think of a time I’ve talked about it and….it hasn’t been taken from me.” 

“What the hell does that mean?” 

“It means....” She lingered long enough that Ranmaru worried, rousing himself a bit from staring blankly at the ceiling as he sprawled on the couch. She hadn’t moved from where she had been standing, but she looked at a far-off bare wall with nothing on it. “...that...the way people aren’t,” Another pause, as she searched for the word, “magically equipped with how to deal with it. It...turns me from a person into….anything else.” 

“Like what.”

“An after-school lesson. Entertainment. A new toy. A pet. A messiah to burn later, if I’m being really dramatic and cynical. I don’t know, it depends on what flavor of asshole feels like coming out, and it’s never anything good.” 

“Then tell them they’re being an asshole -- tell me I’m being an asshole -- and don’t quit until you get what you want out of them!” 

“Look!” She finally lost that last twinge of polite restraint, of saying things more nicely than Ranmaru thought was worth bothering with. “What if I didn’t know how to do that, ‘cause how could I?! And what if I don’t want to have to fight every fucking time? What if I just want to be important enough to get it right on to begin with?! And-- don’t give me that shit about being so strong, you’ll survive the mistakes, blah blah -- fuck that! I’m tired of it! I’m not a crash-test dummy! So fucking crucify me for not buckling in to crash myself into who fuckin’ knows what just ‘cuz you got it in your head this is how you’ll repay this stupid friend debt you think you’re in -- you’re not! Just---” she grunted exasperatedly, her uncharacteristic stillness disappearing as she felt less cornered. 

“I don’t care if you think I don’t owe you!” Ranmaru shot back. “I do! I want to even the score! If you did right by me, then I gotta do right by you! It’s how I do things, and I’m not about to just forget and let you keep diggin’ yourself into this hole--”  (this hole I know very well, Ranmaru thought) “-- where you get so hellbent on doin’ it on your own you cut down all your vision, ‘n your potential, ‘n all the ways you reach it, ‘cuz you keep having to re-invent the wheel just to take a step forward with all the shit you’re carrying!” 

“Will you stop trying to quantify this!?” 

“I’m not! I’m just tellin’ you what I think, and I’m right!” (I know I’m right because of y--) 

“Okay! Maybe you are! About the hole thing -- not the whole thing, the -- the fuckin pit, not the whole-- ah, fuck it, you know what I mean! But I still think this debt system you keep putting basic acts of friendship into is dumb as shit!” 

Ranmaru could already feel the point of this argument slipping away from them. “Are you gonna tell me what’s eating at you so bad or not?!” 

She froze again. “---I’m. ….No. I’m not. I...my heart’s not ready, if things....go badly again.” 

“Fine,” Ranmaru said, resolutely. He was hurt, in a small way, but he felt better that she was at least being truthful, and least acting out of her best interest, not some idiotic idea of useless martyrdom. H couldn’t fault her for protecting her heart. He, of all people, couldn’t possibly do that. 

“...then I’ll work to be someone worthy of the trust you deserve,” he murmured, somewhat less resolutely. 

The words just came out of him before he could think better of it, so Ranmaru hadn’t considered any reaction to expect. But stunned silence, then sniffling tears, that was probably the reaction he’d been least prepared to deal with. 

“Oi-- don’t---” Ranmaru leapt to his feet, like he were a startled prey animal. “Don’t cry!” 

“Don’t tell me what to do!” she huffed through a miserable, contorted, crying face. “Come here, you stupid bastard!” She came towards him with arms outstretched, only just enough warning for Ranmaru to open his own and receive the gesture, an awkward stalwartness to him as he stiffly supported her while the tears ran their course. 

“I think it’s amazing how when you say shit like that,” she murmured, her arms tight around his chest. “I really do believe you mean it.” 

“....’cause I do,” Ranmaru grumbled, realizing his face burned just a little as she squeezed tighter, and he felt just a little colder when she let go. 

“...It’s not about you changing yourself, you know,” she continued, busying herself with cleaning up her tears and snot. “It’s not about you not being enough. You know that, right?” 

“...I don’t care if it is. I’d want to do it. I know you don’t expect people to be anyone but who they are. Whatever change I’d have to make was one I should be working on, anyway.” 

“Oh, god,” she sighed, stepping away to the nearest sink to wash her face, but there was a smile on her voice. “I really can’t underestimate how seriously you take everything.” 

“I told you. I’m always serious about what I do,” he muttered, a little sourly, as the faucet ran. 

“Charm point~!” she called from the bathroom in such a silly, mocking voice Ranmaru could hardly believe she’d been crying like she had just a bit ago. 

“Shut up! Stop saying weird shit like Reiji!” 

“Oh.” She came back with an ominous smile, a little at odds with her puffy eyes and smudged eyeliner. “Well, that’s how I know I really hit the nail on the head.” 

“What’s so charming about taking things seriously,” he bristled. “It’s just what people should do!” 

She laughed, so genuinely, so warmly, Ranmaru felt a twinge in his stomach. Maybe it was pride, maybe something else he didn’t want to unpack just yet. 

“C’mere,” she said again, despite going right to him, wrapping her arms around his waist tightly before leaning back, hoisting him higher until his toes dragged against the floor. Ranmaru let it happen, feeling his weight shift onto hers as she growled into the effort of getting him into the air, even with his extra height on her. He complained about these kinds of hugs, once, but had since grown so used to them, there was something about them he could admit to liking. 

“...Alright, alright. Put me down. Oi. Don’t swing me around, put me down!” The cats had gathered around, looking ready to pounce at his toes and pant legs as they waved through the air. 

“Is big baby scared of heights,” she said with that facetious tone that always got him. 

“Who said anything about that!? Put me down before the cats get on me -- like -- damn it, exactly like that!” One took a flying leap, batting at his legs until her claws her tangled into his pant leg. He could feel her grin into his shoulder as she obliged, slowly enough that the cats could get out of the way.

“It absolutely is what people should do,” she murmured, flopping back around him after he freed the the paw from its fabric prison (and his pants from any more catscratches). “You’ve just got the big stupid, stubborn heart to follow through with it. With literally everything you do.” 

“...Tch.” Ranmaru wrapped his arms around her then while he felt his cheeks, the tips of his ears prick with heat. “Of course you’d make it about heart. It’s not, it’s about the ways souls burn when you give ‘em the right passion and drive....” 

“Mmhmm,” she said, squeezing one last time before she released again. “Heart. It’s very rock of you.” She patted him on the back as she slipped out from his arms. “I’m gonna get myself a glass of water, you want one?”  

“...Oi. It’s not --” He sighed. “Whatever. Yeah, I’ll take one,” he replied, stretching back over the couch.

She disappeared, and ice and water clinked into glasses. Ranmaru, for a stolen moment, rested his right hand over his chest, quietly lingering at how open and warm it felt beneath all the skin, muscle, and bone. 

Even if she didn’t like the idea of it being a debt, Ranmaru swore to himself that he would’t let this sort of favor go unreturned. It was how he did things, after all. 

[hecohansen31]

May I request smut prompts 11 "I heard shower sex is dangerous, but right now, I’m willing to take the risk." and 13 "You’re so much fun to touch.", with Ivar, please? 😊

(A/N): Hello there, lovelies!

I hope you’ll like this, I used the Tinder Date! AU (hence I am tagging @youbloodymadgenius) and I hope that isn’t a problem, but if it is just let me know and I’ll rewrite this!

Have a nice day!

WARNINGS: Mention of Sex, Men Being Pigs, Hvitserk Being A Pig, Moving in Together.

Moving in with the love of your life felt damnably strange.

Although it was a formality since you had basically started living with Ivar three months in your relationship, casually dropping over at his place, even when he wasn’t there, mostly because you and Hvitserk would either be playing videogames or you’d cook for the forever-food-hungry boy.

‘Sometimes I wonder if I am your favorite of the two’ had mumbled once Ivar, who dreaded your closeness with his brother, although it would get him half of the time free meals, which he appreciated (if Hvitserk left him something).

And it was one of the reasons why he had suggested you two moving together.

‘Think about all the space we’d have for ourselves, without empty boxes of food or used condoms’ he had suggested one night, as you were watching ‘Criminal Minds’ at his house, on the small empty place without food and other strange stains on the sofa.

‘Oh that isn’t because of Hvitserk, it’s because you men are pigs’ you had replied and had even grunted, making Ivar tickle you, as you tried to stop him without too much conviction, and he almost laid you down on the dirtied sofa, making you shriek in disgust, as you gripped tight on him.

‘Say that you’ll move in with me’ although his tone was jokingly, his eyes had meant it, staring at you attentively as you gripped tight on his shoulder ‘… or I’ll drop you and let you figure out whether it’s yogurt or…”.

‘This is not fair’ you complained, as you moved an hand in Ivar’s hair, gently pulling on them as he moaned softly ‘… you aren’t giving me much choice’.

‘… because you shouldn’t think about it too long’ he commented, faking a harsh glare ‘… think about all the good sex we are going to have, all alone, without Hvitserk or Elaine barging in’.

He was still mad at that time Elaine had barged in your room, although you had evidently told her not to come home before six, to steal your sweater, making you and Ivar stop your ‘love-making’, wished you ‘good night’ and then moved away, disrupting the mood.

For the amount of two hours and then he was back at it like a rabbit.

‘I can’t believe that I changed you in a sex gremlin’ you joked softly, as he instead looked at you with a annoyed glance, although you could feel his eyes lowering themselves on your body, as he lowered you even more, making you yelp out ‘… ok ok, I am moving in with you’.

‘Are you serious?’ he had asked so so suddenly, growing serious as he gently tightened his hold onto you, bringing you upright in his arms.

‘Nope’ you had blurted out in his face, giggling lightly as he immediately dunked you ‘… I was joking! I was joking!’.

‘If I am a sex gremlin, you are a mean faerie’ he replied, keeping you slightly dunked this time against a small stain of what was definitely pizza, rotten from weeks of disinterest ‘… don’t play games with my heart: would you, mean faerie, move in with me?’.

‘Of course’ you had mumbled on his lips, as you had brought him in a sealing kiss.

And six months later you were finally resting after the mess of boxes you had had to unpack (with the awful help of Ivar’s brothers and Elaine, you were still disgusted on the flirting that had been going on between your old roommate and Bjorn), as you both tried to set up a small table on the ground since most of the furniture would be coming in tomorrow.

It was a rather funny thing and it was an amazing adventure.

You were actually thankful that he had suggested it.

Ivar was slouched down on the floor, as you tried to put a small tablecloth on a full box, putting on it the take-out boxes.

“… if anybody had told me that it would have been that bad to move an entire house, I would have paid somebody to do it” he mumbled softly, as he tried to get up, eventually accepting your help “… Gosh, don’t you have sweat in places it shouldn’t be”.

“… babe… don’t talk about your sweat kink in front of my burrito” you retorted softly, as you batted his hand away from the tortillas “… hey you don’t get any, after you didn’t do anything to stop the Elaine-Bjorn’s train”.

He laughed softly, and eventually you allowed him to gently eat a few of your chips, as you both talked about what remained to be done.

‘… thank God the bathroom is all set up” mumbled Ivar as you both finished your small dinner “I need a shower”.

“I need one too” you commented, looking at the late hour and realizing that you’d have to wake up early tomorrow “…  what about we save water and we share one”.

“You know that in movies it always results in shower sex?” joked Ivar, although you could already see the familiar blush starting from the back of his neck, only worsening as you dropped down to kiss his neck “… and real shower sex sucks, even more when your partner is a cripple”.

“I also heard shower sex is dangerous, but right now, I’m willing to take the risk” you giggled softly, kissing up his ear, as you gently hugged him from behind, dragging your hand through his sweaty shirt, as you gently raised it, revealing that happy trail of black hair, you loved so so much “… and we have a very sexy bathroom chair you”.

He turned around to send you a ‘seriously’ look, but it didn’t hold his usual bitterness, as it always did when his disability was brought up.

Slowly with you, all those insecurities had washed away in your inner and stupid jokes.

“…you have the weirdest kinks” mumbled Ivar as you dropped an hand in his pants, making him hiss at the sudden contact, finding him hot and ready for you.

“And you…” your lips laced in a soft hickey on his neck, before biting the abused skin “You’re so much fun to touch”.

[let-it-raines]

Okay, now I know you're accepting prompts for the CMIYC verse, expect a whole lot of them coming from me 😂I'd LOVE to see Emma finding out she's pregnant, and her telling Killian, and just their whole journey through her pregnancy!

This isn’t going to cover everything you asked for @dorisquinn but I’ve got 2/3. You can send me all of the prompts you want. Honestly, seeing your enthusiasm as well as the enthusiasm of others to still want parts of this universe makes me so happy! You guys should see the timeline I just mapped out to make sure everything stays cohesive because I’ve got some more extras to write for you guys 🙈

found on ao3 | here |

-/-

March 2022.

“These boxes are never going to get unpacked.”

“We could have hired someone, you know.”

“I’m not even working full-time right now. There’s no need for us to have hired someone when all I’m doing is sitting at home.”

“You go to meetings…on occasion.”

“I have a meeting tomorrow. Stop making that look on your face, twenty-nine.”

“There’s not a look on my face, besides a handsome one.”

Emma huffs and falls back against the wall, sinking down onto the ground and pulling her knees to her chest. They should have moved as soon as last season ended. It would have given them more time to unpack the ridiculous amount of stuff they somehow accumulated over the past three years, but there was a problem with the closing and then the plumbing, and they officially signed for this place two weeks into spring training. Killian had to fly back from Florida for the paperwork, spent one night in the house with her where all they had was their bed set up, and then he went straight back to the hell that is Florida humidity.

At least they’re not there for months at a time in the summer. Everyone would die. It’s bad enough when they’re in Tampa for a few days at a time.

(Then again, humidity in New York in the summer is no joke.)

She could have flown down and stayed with him, already has for a few days here and there, but they need to get settled before the season starts and things get insane. Things are really never not insane, but there are definitely periods where there is a little more peace.

Off-season is undoubtedly her favorite season.

She loves baseball and the game and working almost every day, but having Killian home for months at a time and being able to sleep in their own bed instead of a hotel bed is so much better than anything else.

Emma definitely wants the off-season back.

And this house to be unpacked.

One of those things is more likely to happen than the other, and it’s not the house getting unpacked.

“I miss you,” Emma whispers into the phone.

“I miss you, love. You know you can fly down anytime, right? There’s nothing keeping you there. It’s been less than a week, but I miss you terribly.”

She flips the camera around to all of the boxes. “I don’t want to be living in chaos. I want, like, some kind of organization. I told myself that when I left my room key with you that I would not be flying back to Florida. I have to get this place functional.”“I know we’ve been married for nearly a year, love, but I don’t think you should be turning into me quite this quickly with all of that talk of organization.”“Technically, as far as everyone else knows, we’re only nine months into this whole marriage thing, so that’s not quite a year.”

“Specifics.”“Ruby was over here yesterday helping me unpack and found the pictures from the clerk’s office. I’m pretty sure she figured us out.”“I think David has known for awhile now.”“Why do you think that?”

“Just a hunch.”Emma groans and scoots further down on the floor. “If David knew, he would have said something.”“Aye, you’re likely right.” Killian smiles, his face slightly pixilated. “Come see me this weekend, Swan. I know you said no more flights, but maybe just the one more. I’ll take you to dinner. Wine and dine you and all that.”“I think there’s a third part of that proposition.”

Killian gasps and holds his hand to his chest. “Dirty.”

“You know it, twenty-nine.”

“I think you mean sixty-nine.”

“Oh my God.”

Killian chuckles and pushes his hair back. It’s too long again. He hasn’t gotten it cut in months, and as handsome as he looks, she’s desperately waiting for him to get it cut. Suggesting it hasn’t really worked out well for her, but if he likes it long, he likes it long. It’s not like she’d appreciate it if he told her to shave her legs or something like that.

“I’ve got to go to workouts, but I’ll call you again tonight, yeah?”

“I look forward to it. I love you.”“And I you, my love.”

The video lingers for a moment, and then it disconnects, only the memory of Killian’s smile there.

She misses him like crazy. It’s ridiculous and stupid and kind of annoying. Maybe she should go down and see him this weekend. It’s not like she has this weekend. Spring training is almost over, and she could wait it out. She really could. That’s what she’s told herself she’ll do, but should she if she doesn’t have to? Maybe if she gets enough boxes unpacked.

Hell, maybe she should just cave and hire people to do it for her, but she put up such a dumb fight when Killian suggested it that she doesn’t want to admit to failure now. Not that he’d ever truly judge her for it.

Okay. He’d judge her a little bit.

Her phone buzzes in her hand.

Elsa: You planning on letting me in?

Shit. The doorbell didn’t sound, and Emma didn’t hear a knock at the door. Quickly, she stands from the ground and kicks a box to the side before hurrying down two sets of stairs to get to the front door. She loves having more space than the apartment, but she doesn’t love all of the stairs. At least, right now. Soon she’ll hopefully kick ass at being able to walk up and down them quickly.

Hopefully her ass will look fantastic because of it too.

Damn Manhattan and its lack of space.

“Hey,” Emma greets after unlocking the front door. “Did you ring the doorbell?”

“I did.”

“Well shit.” Emma leans forward and wraps her arms around Elsa. “I guess our doorbell is broken too. Do you know anything about electrical work?”

“I know how to hook up our cable, but that’s about it.”

“Then what good are you to me?”

“I bring you donuts.”

“Bless you.”

“I know.” Elsa steps inside, closing the door behind her, and immediately walks toward the kitchen where she puts down the bag of donuts she’s carrying and then immediately starts looking around the room. “Have you unpacked any of the kitchen?”

“A few things. Mostly things I use. It’s all Killian’s, and he hasn’t really been here to tell me where to put anything. I don’t know his system as well as I should.”

“Do you have silverware out? Plates and bowls?”

“I have a few things but not all of it.”

Elsa sighs and pulls her shorts up and then adjusts her t-shirt. She took the day off to help Emma unpack, and, really, she should be lounging around watching TV or something. “I don’t mean to go all mom on you, but grab a donut. We’re about to unpack your kitchen. Then we move to your bedroom and your closet so you can at least function. Everything else will come later.”

“As long as I get a donut, this all sounds good to me.”

“You can have another if you finish this room.”

“I’m good with a bribe.”

“Incentive. It makes it sound less dirty.”

Emma laughs. “Deal.”

Elsa is some kind of unpacking machine. It’s actually ridiculous. She knows exactly how to store everything in their cabinets and the pantry, and while Emma is sure Killian will rearrange it all when he realizes it’s not to his specifications, after three hours, they have all of the kitchen boxes emptied. It’s practically a miracle, and Emma didn’t even need an extra donut to make her do the work.

(An extra donut is sounding really good right now, though. Elsa got the good kind.)

All she really needed was Elsa. If they had Anna here, though, Emma imagines the entire house would be finished by now. Well, if Anna wasn’t eight months pregnant. Mary Margaret would probably be the better choice, but she’s got a class full of third-graders to attend to. Ruby, however, would bring everything to a halt because she’d get distracted by the things she was unpacking.

They move upstairs and back to the bedroom after they’re finished in kitchen, and Elsa sticks to the bedroom while Emma works in the closet. She’s got some of her clothes up, mostly her workout stuff, and even though their stuff is boxed in a way that should make it easy to hang up several things at once, Emma keeps getting distracted trying to organize it in a way that’s not something she’s going to sustain.

Seriously. Who is organized enough to keep things sorted by color?

Killian. Killian is. He organizes his freaking t-shirts by how old they are.

The weirdo.

Emma finally decides to just do it by type of clothing, and after she’s gotten all of her dresses on the racks, she decides that she needs some kind of break. She did not sleep last night, and no amount of coffee could wake her up.

Has she even had coffee today?

Or maybe she’s simply bored by having to unpack. That’s a lot of the same thing over and over again, and all Emma really wants to be doing is watching Netflix.

Slowly, she slides back down to the ground and pulls out her phone again, answering her texts and then clicking on Instagram to move away the notifications. It’s all stuff Killian has tagged her in, and she quickly moves through the videos and memes before clicking on his page. It’s been mostly baseball lately, pictures of him, Will, and Robin, but if she scrolls a little further back, there are pictures of Liam and Elsa or Addy and Lucy. And then there are pictures of her. She mostly uses social media for work, but she does like to get on and see what Killian has posted. It’s usually something she’s never seen, and there are at least ten pictures on here that she had no idea were taken.

There’s one in particular that she likes the most. It’s from last November. They were in Portland for Thanksgiving sitting on the swing in Ruth’s backyard, and Killian snapped a photo of her drinking coffee, the sun glinting off of her skin in just the right way so that she looked tanner than she actually was.

My love forever, the caption reads.

That day had been…hard. It had been fucking awful, actually, but Killian had wrapped his arms around her and held her until it wasn’t so awful.

That’s what he does. He makes awful days feel that little bit better simply by being there.

She likes that, likes that she has that forever now.

My love forever.

She has had that love for awhile with David and Ruth, with her friends too, and while she doesn’t like to put some relationships over others, Killian does get the slightest elevation.

It’s good to have all that love. It’s healthy, and if someone asked her twenty years ago if she’d ever have any of this, she would have laughed in their face.

She can’t stop staring at the photo and all of the memories behind it. She had been so sure that morning, and it wasn’t…she wasn’t.

“Hey, Emma, do you have – woah, what’s wrong?”

“What?” Emma sniffles, wiping below her eyes. “What makes you think something is wrong?”

“You’re sitting on the floor sniffling and wiping your eyes. Those are pretty big clues.”

Emma scoffs. “I’m fine.”“You’re a liar.”“Els, I’m fine.”

“I believe you about as much as I believe Killian when he says that.” Elsa walks over to her to and slides down onto the floor next to her, kicking away a shoe and grabbing onto Emma’s forearm. “You want to talk about whatever it is? You know you don’t have to, but I’m a good listener. I couldn’t be married to Liam if I wasn’t.”

“Liam does talk a lot.”

“I think it’s a Jones family trait.”

“I think I might be pregnant.”

She might have that trait too for the way she just blurted that out.

Elsa gasps, and Emma braces herself for it just like she braces herself for it every time this conversation comes up. She’s the one who brought it up this time, but it was kind of inevitable when this is honestly all she’s been thinking about for two days now.

For a little more than two days if she’s totally honest.

“I didn’t…I’m not,” Emma stutters, trying to continue talking before she shuts herself up, “I never thought I would be someone who wanted a baby. I thought I was going to be alone for so much of my life, so when Killian and I decided to try and kept having these negative tests, I don’t know. I, well, it sucks, and it’s been really damn hard. It hasn’t even been a long time, and we’re still so young. I probably shouldn’t even complain because I know it’s harder for other people. It’s just that a part of me feels like I’ve gotten so much good in my life I was never supposed to get. What if this is the thing I don’t get? What if I have this feeling in my gut now because it’s some kind of sign that I should give up before my hopes get too high?”

“Oh, darling,” Elsa sighs as she wraps her arm around Emma’s back and pulls her toward her, rubbing her hand up and down her arm, “you can’t think like that. The world doesn’t give you a certain amount of good and then just stop. You can have more good than you think you deserve. I do. And that feeling of helplessness when it comes to getting pregnant and it not working as fast as you want? I’ve had that too. It’s what happened with Lucy.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I thought maybe Addison was going to be it for us, and we were like you two. We hadn’t been trying for a long time, but it could still feel hopeless when Addison was so easy. Getting pregnant is hard, and unless you talk to others like this, there’s no way you’d know. All you’d see is the happy announcements and the smiles.”

Emma turns her head into Elsa’s shoulder. It’s a good thing she’s not wearing mascara because she’d totally ruin Elsa’s t-shirt.

“So I’m not some kind of freak show for sitting in my closet freaking out about this?”

“Emma, having a baby, or even the possibility of it, is the most terrifying thing in the world. If you weren’t having meltdowns, I’d be concerned about you.”

“This is so not in my wheelhouse,” Emma mumbles. “I talk for a living, talking about this is…different.”

“Baseballs and babies aren’t exactly in the same category.”

“They are on Family Day.”“Yeah, well, you know what I mean.”

Emma huffs and pulls away from Elsa, leaning her head back against the wall. “This closet is still such a mess. My shoes are everywhere.”

“Oh, I know. I think I’m going to need to borrow those wedges that are caught up underneath the pile of Killian’s jerseys.”

“They are yours to borrow.”

“Not to keep?”

“Nah, I like them too much for that.”

Elsa laughs and twists on the ground until she’s facing Emma, small smile on her face. “You’re going to be okay. You and Killian both. And if you ever need to talk, Liam and I are always here. Anna too.”

“Anna is eight months pregnant with twins. All she does is warn people against getting pregnant. I don’t think she’s ever going to have sex again.”

“Can you blame her?”

“Absolutely not.”

Elsa claps her hands together. “Okay, let’s conquer this closet, and then I’m taking you home with me for dinner so you’re not left in this house stalking your husband’s Instagram.”

“I was not doing that.”

“You totally were. I could see it on your screen when I walked in.”

“I’m taking away your shoe privileges.”

Elsa quickly gets up and runs over to the wedges, picking them up. “Nope. They’re mine now.”

-/-

She’s pregnant.

Or, at least, that’s what the three tests she took this morning said.

Emma had gone over to Liam and Elsa’s last night for dinner, and she’d forgotten about everything. She really had, and it had been nice not to think about it and to be able to know that her life was going to go on no matter what. She knew that. Logically, she did. Her life is not defined by what a pregnancy test says, but when it’s what you want…

When it’s what she and Killian want.

And they might get now.

Oh shit. She is not ready to give birth.

That’s not even happening right now, or in the near future, but it’s going to happen. Emma’s pretty sure it’s some kind of torture device designed to make being a woman even more difficult, but she’s got to stop thinking of that right now.

What she’s got to start thinking about is the fact that she’s in New York while Killian is in Florida.

Florida.

Shit. She’s got to book a flight to Florida.

She said she wasn’t going to do it, but that was before she knew for sure.

That was before.

Where the hell is her neck pillow?

Emma gets off the rim of the tub and walks into the bedroom, grabbing her laptop off the charger and stretching out on the bed while trying to find the next flight. There are a few this afternoon, but she’s got meetings she can’t cancel. There’s one she might be able to make around seven, though, and she quickly enters her information and books a one-way ticket.

She’s never been so excited to go to Florida.

-/-

“Can I get an extra key to room 835?”

“And your name is?”

“Emma Jones.”

The receptionist starts typing on her keyboard, looking up at Emma and then looking back at her computer, her brows furrowed. “I’m sorry. There’s not an Emma Jones in that room.”

“I know. It’s my husband’s room. It’s under his name. Killian Jones. It should be under the block of rooms for the Yankees.”

“Ma’am, I’m sorry, but I can’t give you a key to that room. It’s our policy, especially when it comes to our VIP guests in our suites. It’s for their safety.”

Emma has to fight the urge to roll her eyes. She’s exhausted. It’s been a long ass day, she sat next to someone who snored the entire flight down here, and all she wants to do is see Killian. Why the hell did she leave her key with Killian last week?

Oh, yeah, because she wasn’t supposed to come back.

“If I was some kind of stalker, how would I know his room number?”

“You would be surprised what people know.”

She sighs and pulls out her phone, clicking on Ariel’s name.

“Emma?”

“Ariel, can you get me an extra key to Killian’s room?”

“Are you here?” Ariel squeals before quieting. “Wait.” There’s a mumble and then the sound of a chair squeaking before Ariel’s voice comes back into focus. “Sorry. We’re out at dinner, and I had to move away from the table. This is a surprise, right?”

“Mhm.”

“That is literally the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“You need to hear more things.”

“Oh, hush. I’ll call the front desk. We’ve got to be back soon anyways because I have to relieve the babysitter for Morgan, so it won’t be too long.”

“That sounds perfect. I’ll probably see you tomorrow, okay?”

“I can’t wait, and I promise that my lips are sealed.”

They hang up, and the front desk’s phone immediately rings. The receptionist nods and smiles and is completely and totally nice to Ariel, typing in a few things on her computer as she avoids eye contact with Emma. Then the conversation is over and Emma is being handed a card.

“This works for both the elevator and the room. Have a nice night, Mrs. Jones.”

“Thanks,” Emma says, forcing a smile. She knows the woman was just doing her job, but it doesn’t keep her from being annoyed. She’s not about to be pissy with her though. “Have a good night.”

Grabbing her luggage, she maneuvers out of the lobby and to the elevator. She knows this hotel better than any other hotel in the country from how much she’s stayed here, and she easily makes her way up to Killian’s room, sliding the card in the door and sighing in relief that the clerk actually gave her a key that worked. She was worried that she wouldn’t.

Killian’s suite is clean, and Emma knows it’s not just because of housekeeping. The man is so damn particular about everything, and even though all she wants to do is curl up in bed and go to sleep, she opens up her suitcase and starts putting her few clothes away, making sure not to mess with any of Killian’s stuff. It’s what he would end up doing later anyways, and if she does it now, it’ll be one less thing he’ll have to focus on.

How the hell is she supposed to tell him that she’s pregnant?

That’s something she should have focused on for the flight down here, but all she could think about was how much she wanted to murder the man who was snoring next to her.

She’s going to be great at the whole getting no sleep thing.

Did she really want this? Did they? Are they crazy? What drives someone to want to have a baby? Yeah, they’re cute, but then they grow up and yell at you for telling them not to eat straight sugar for dinner. And she didn’t have parents. Well, she has Ruth, but she didn’t have Ruth for fifteen years. Killian’s mom died, and his dad is a piece of shit. What do either of them know about babies and being parents?

What do either of them know about kids in general?

Well, they do have nieces and nephews and friends with kids. Hell, their friends have had so many kids. It’s like in the past two years all anyone has done is pop a kid out and –

The door to the suite beeps, and Emma doesn’t even realize she’s been pacing for a long time until Killian’s standing right in front of her blinking with his mouth wide open.

“Hi,” Emma squeaks out.

It’s official. She is not herself today.

“Fucking hell,” Killian mumbles.

“Well, that’s always the greeting a girl – ”

Killian strides forward and cups her cheeks before pulling her to him with his mouth, sucking on her bottom lip before he starts moving and can’t seem to stop. It’s been less than a week. That’s all. It hasn’t even been that long since they’ve been apart. They make it a point to never go more than nine days, but she’s missed him more than she ever has.

Melodramatic and all that.

“What,” he starts, still kissing her, “are,” he continues as his lips move to her jaw, “you,” he sighs against her cheek, “doing,” he whispers against her eyelid, “here?” he finishes as his lips find hers once more while their foreheads rest against each other.

“I really missed Scarlet.”

Killian tilts his head back and barks out a laugh as his hands move from her cheeks to her biceps, squeezing them. Her stomach is absolutely swirling.

“God, I love you. You’re – ” He shakes his head, and his eyes crinkle. He’s gotten darker during training, and there’s the slightest tan line from where he’ll wear his hat backwards during pitching drills outside.

“I’m what?”

“Well, if I were to list all of the things you are, I imagine we’d be standing here forever.”

Emma scoffs and pushes at his chest before moving closer once more so she can wrap her arms around his neck. “Why are you the way that you are?”

“Charming? I believe I was born this way.”

It’s Emma’s turn to shake her head at him. She presses up on her toes and lingers until her breath is ghosting over his mouth. “I love you, twenty-nine.”

“Good. I love you, Swan.”

She finally kisses him then, and Killian slowly backs her up to the bed until she’s falling down on top of it. All thoughts leave her mind as his lips and his hands move over her, and they truly disappear when his mouth is between her thighs and all she can think is how damn good that feels. It almost always does, like some kind of magic that’s bottled between the two of them, and even when it’s not good, Emma knows that there’s no one she’d rather get lockjaw or really unfortunate cramps with.

And weirdly, as Killian swivels his hips and hits just the right rhythm, she knows that no matter how much she’s freaking out about everything, the two of them have got this.

“Did you know the front-desk clerk thought I was a stalker?” Emma asks later. They haven’t changed back into any clothes, and Emma can’t seem to stop twirling Killian’s chest hair around her fingers while his hand dances across her back, tracing familiar words there.

“Really now?”

“Mhm. I tried to get a room key, and she refused to give me one.”

“Ah, well, I have been having an influx of stalkers lately. It must be my devilishly good looks.”

“You’re never lacking in confidence, are you? Even when it comes to joking about something that’s not funny.”

“You would know more than anyone how that isn’t true.”

Emma leans down to kiss his chest before resting her chin there. The air conditioner clicks on, and a cold rush of air runs over Emma’s bare skin. Killian tugs the comforter up over a little more of her back, and they sit in silence as Emma starts counting how fast her heart is beating. If she doesn’t tell him tonight, she won’t sleep. It’ll eat at her until the morning, and with how exhausted she is from not sleeping two nights in a row, she really can’t afford another night without sleep.

She also hasn’t had coffee in days. That has sucked.

“Killian, I – ”

She stops when his finger traces her name into her back. “What is it, love?”

“Nothing,” Emma begins, even if she knows it’s everything. “It’s just…Killian, I’m pregnant.”

For the rest of her life she’ll remember that Killian stopped blinking for a few seconds too long. She’ll remember that his eyes are slightly red-rimmed from his own lack of sleep, and she’ll remember the way that slowly but surely his lips curl from a small smile to one of the brightest she’s ever seen from him.

“Are you? For real? I’m not imagining this conversation?”

Emma inhales and nods. “I think so. I wouldn’t be far along. Like, at all, so anything could happen. But my period is late, and I took, like, three tests this morning that were positive. Peeing on a stick never feels normal.”

Killian chuckles as his free hand comes around to tuck her hair behind her ear. He’s so gentle like that, and she doesn’t know what she did to deserve him. He can be hot-headed and impatient and ready to act on his anger instead of thinking it through, but at his core, Killian Jones is a good man.

“Aye, I imagine not.”

He leans down to glide his lips over hers, and even if Emma had imagined what it would be like to tell Killian they better start reading all of those books so they have some clue what they’re doing, she knows none of it would be better than this.

Calm and content and like they were always supposed to end up here.

“I love you, Swan,” Killian whispers as his hand shifts from her back to her stomach. “I don’t – thank you for being by my side for all of this.”“Always, twenty-nine. Always.”

-/-

-/-

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