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alwaysmychoices · 5 years ago

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Hangover Cure

Synopsis: The morning after Charlie ended her date to rescue a very drunk Ethan from a downtown pub, Charlie offers to share her best hangover cures, but as they spend the morning together, their boundaries seem to blur. Can they get comfortable with one another again, or are they risking getting hurt again?

Chapter 8 of the “with and without” series

Previous Series: “a weekend with dr. ramsey”

Pairing: Dr. Ethan Ramsey x MC (Charlotte “Charlie” Greene)

Words: 6k+

Tag List included at the end - if you want to be added or removed, let me know!

Note: I tried to do pure fluff, but suddenly, angst just showed up. I don’t even know how that happened, tbh.

Ethan Ramsey hadn’t been this hungover since he was in medical school. Then, he’d had the luxury of hiding in his apartment, drinking Pedialyte, and chasing his migraine with leftover Chinese food. Now, he was an adult with responsibilities and a routine. He was not the kind to close his blinds and waste the rest of the day.

Yet, as he gripped his bathroom counter for stability and hung his head to fight the wave of nausea, that was exactly what he wanted to do.

“Get yourself together,” Ethan mumbled under his breath, wrapping a towel around his waist and leveling his gaze in the bathroom mirror. He grimaced under the harsh, artificial lights, but he maintained eye contact with his reflection.

Hangovers are for irresponsible college kids chugging cheap vodka – not for a respected professional nearing 40.

The coffee had helped as much as it could. He felt awake, and his head hurt less. But too much movement made him dizzy, and his entire body ached. He felt ridiculous and old and irresponsible and…

Ethan signed deeply as he realized he was also happy. Because Charlie was here. Because she’d left a first date to rescue him from his own debauchery, and because she’d stayed.

Somehow, Ethan felt more pathetic than he did when he’d nearly puked in the shower moments before.

Dropping his reflection’s condescending stare, Ethan brushed his teeth and went to his closet. For a moment, his eyes lingered on a pair of respectable dress pants and a button-up shirt, and he imagined that wearing them would prove that he was a responsible adult. However, when he caught sight of his sweatpants and a workout shirt, he opted for comfort over maturity.

After dressing, he started walking to his living room with an extra pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt in hand.

Ethan’s apartment had always been designed for one person, and that was what prompted him to purchase it six years ago. To his realtor’s bewilderment, he rejected any apartment he deemed too large or too well suited for a family. He worried that, if his apartment was too mature, it would prompt questions about when he intended to marry or have a family. He rejected several homes on the basis of having too many bedrooms because he didn’t want to encourage long-term guests. Ethan’s home was meant for Ethan and no one else. There were no unnecessary dividers to shield individuals from one another if they grew too irritated. Everything was open, from the well-appointed kitchen to the living room to the expansive windows and balcony. Only one wall interrupted the space – a privacy wall that separated the kitchen from the small hallway leading to his master and spare room.

So, as soon as he left his bedroom, there was nowhere to look but at her.

His Charlie.

She wasn’t the only woman who had been in his apartment during the last six years. During their affair, Harper had spent many evenings at his dining table and in his bed, but she was rarely present in the mornings. And she never seemed to fill the space as Charlie did, leaving a piece of herself on everything she touched so that Ethan could only think of her when he looked around his home.

Charlie was lounging comfortably on the couch, Jenner draped across her lap as she scrolled through menus on her smartphone. Her hair was piled on top of her head in a haphazard bun in stark contrast to the sleek, sophisticated dress that hugged her frame. Ethan realized, with a deep sigh of relief, that he was the one who got to see her like this, not the one who had touched her knee at the bar last night.

“You’re alive,” Charlie quipped, her eyes darting from her smartphone to him.

Her gaze, as always, felt warm and comforting, but he pretended not to be affected as he approached her.

“Hardly,” he groaned, “I feel remarkably close to death.”

It had been her suggestion that he take a shower while she made their breakfast order, and he was grateful. He felt much more like a person and less shameful for his embarrassing behavior the night before.

Charlie’s lips quirked up as she tried to swallow her smile. She didn’t want to find his suffering comical, but if he insisted on being so dramatic about it, she couldn’t help herself.

“If it makes you feel any better, I’ll make sure people only have nice things to say at your funeral,” Charlie feigned a severe expression, and he narrowed his eyes at her once he realized she was making fun of him.

“I think that’s a task not even you could accomplish, Charlotte,” Ethan rarely used her full name, and it made Charlie’s eyebrows raise.

She was already thinking of her comeback when Ethan produced a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt. In her confusion, Charlie forgot what she was going to say. After staring at the clothes for a beat, she looked back up to him, her bewilderment evident.

“You’ve been wearing that dress since 8 pm last night. You deserve a change of clothes, Charlie,” Ethan was nonchalant as he sat on the edge of the couch, massaging his temple as if giving little thought to the act.

Maybe that’s what made the gesture so startling.

Charlie accepted the clothes, staring at the fabric as if trying to answer a question she hadn’t yet asked. Her expression was devoid of the impish playfulness that shielded her deeper feelings from their interactions, and she could no longer hide behind humor.

It was ridiculous that she was so moved. She’d left David in the cold last night just to make sure Ethan was alright, and after dragging him home, she’d stayed with him as he stumbled and vomited. She’d waited all night, in fact. In contrast, he offered her a pair of sweatpants.

But there was a sense of familiarity and intimacy that she hadn’t expected.

She’d only worn his clothes after having sex with him. Now, she got to wear them just because he was worried about her comfort.

There was no emotional distance to protect herself. They were growing comfortable again, and historically, that had never ended well for them.

“Thanks, Ethan,” Charlie gripped the clothes tighter, finally piquing Ethan’s interest, but she deflected quickly, “While I go change, you can add whatever you want to the order.”

Charlie handed Ethan her cell phone, which was already open to a delivery app. The cart was full of breakfast essentials from a popular restaurant near Ethan’s apartment. Since Charlie had never been, she’d taken the liberty of sampling everything fit for a hungover feast.

Ethan’s eyes widened as he scanned the list.

Included in the long order were waffles, bacon, hash browns, fried eggs, sausage, and more. It was more fried food than Ethan had eaten in years.

“Charlie,” Ethan’s head whipped around to find her, only to see that she had already disappeared into his room to change, “Charlie!” he called out louder, sounding alarmed, “What is this order?”

“Don’t delete anything!” Charlie warned, yelling from the other side of the door as she shimmied out of her dress. His shirt felt soft and warm, and it still smelled like his cologne.

“You intend to order all of this?” Ethan asked incredulously, “If I don’t die of a hangover, I’ll die from a heart attack.”

He didn’t need to see her to know that she was rolling her eyes as she countered, “You will be fine!”

“Charlie, this is ridiculous,” Ethan was still complaining, and Charlie groaned at his protests as she tightened the drawstring of her sweatpants.

From his bedroom, she could hear him mumble complaints about how unhealthy the options were and how they should have known better as medical professionals, and though Charlie felt frustrated, she caught a glimpse of her smile in the mirror.

Charlie decided to let Ethan tire himself out with his own complaints, and she finished changing and folded up her dress, carrying it with her to make sure she wouldn’t forget it when she left later this afternoon.

By the time Charlie returned to the living room, Ethan had scrolled through every option on the digital menu, growing irritated with the strain in his eyes from the prolonged screen exposure as it aggravated his headache. He mumbled something to himself about how much he hated being hungover, and Charlie snickered, accidentally revealing herself.

Ethan glanced back, and a lump formed in his throat as he took in the familiar sight of her dressed in his clothes. It reminded him of all the time they’d spent together in his apartment – their first real fight in his living room, their first time together, the night she left him, and the night she’d suddenly appeared on his doorstep.

Everything with Charlie was laden with memories and deeper meanings, and Ethan wondered how he’d ever allowed himself to be in such a predicament.

He’d always been bad at resisting Charlie…

“What?” Charlie asked obliviously as she took her spot next to him on the couch, “Greasy breakfasts are a key element in all hangover recoveries.”

“Believe it or not, I, a thirty-seven-year-old man, have been hungover before,” Ethan begrudgingly returned the phone to her as she held out her hand for it. Though, as he spoke, she seemed more interested in what he was saying than her cellphone or breakfast order.

“I’ve seen you hungover, Ethan. You’re even grumpier than usual,” Charlie’s lips were quirked up in a playful grin, and Ethan realized she was the only person in the world who could get away with such a statement and still make him smile.

“And I’ve never resorted to a heart-attack breakfast special,” Ethan seemed proud of the fact he’d maintained his healthy diet even when fighting off a pounding headache, and Charlie shrugged casually.

“That’s fair… But when was the last time you drank an entire shelf of alcohol and started dancing in the middle of a crowded pub?” Charlie raised an eyebrow, daring him to answer.

Ethan opened his mouth, sure that he could think of a similar night, but he failed to produce one. Charlie watched as his eyebrows knit together in frustration, and she resisted the urge to smooth them out.

Ethan leaned back into the couch, and cautiously, he admitted, “It’s been a few years…”

Charlie grinned in victory, but he quickly added, “However, I don’t think I’m nearly as hungover as you think I am.”

“Oh?” Charlie asked, voice full of doubt. Judging solely from how drunk he’d been the night before, anyone could conclude that he had to feel terrible now. But his behavior this morning was further proof that he was very, very hungover.

Not believing him, she decided to test him.

“Well, if you’re not feeling bad, why don’t we skip all of the hangover cures? Maybe we should go for a run,” Charlie suggested, watching as his face paled. Encouraged by his adverse reaction, she pushed further, “It’s such a beautiful, sunny day. Why don’t we go to the farmer’s market and pick up some fresh ingredients to make breakfast ourselves?” Ethan’s eyes widened with horror, and for the cherry on top, she added, “There’s a live band.”

Ethan flinched.

“And lots of new smells and people talking.”

Ethan dropped eye contact, nearly gagging at her words. He felt too sick to register his embarrassment, and he closed his eyes and took a deep, calming breath to fight off oncoming nausea.

“You made your point, Charlie,” Ethan affirmed, leaning his elbows on his knees as he covered his face with his hands, “Hiding in my apartment and eating greasy food it is.”

Charlie felt a pang of guilt and sympathy, and to fight her instinct to soothe him with physical touch, she turned her attention to her phone. Trying to make up for her display, she added a few bottles of Gatorade and a healthy spinach omelet to her cart. After plugging in Ethan’s address into the app, she confirmed the order.

“It’ll be 40 minutes,” Charlie announced, and when she looked back at him, he was closer to calming himself but was still so miserable…

Unable to stop herself, she smoothed his hair, pulling it off his forehead as she leveled his gaze at him. Dropping her voice to a whisper, she asked, “You okay?”

Ethan nodded, turning his head just enough to look at her, and when he did, he was struck by the intimacy of the moment. This wasn’t in the rules.

But really, nothing they were doing fit into the rules they’d made for their relationship.

Belatedly, he realized that she could have been anywhere. She had every opportunity to go home with someone else, to be a beautiful young woman in the big city. She owed Ethan nothing, yet she did everything for him.

It was different than falling into his bed. Those were normal, human urges prompted by a romantic history and extended close proximity. This was different.

In that moment of clarity, Ethan wanted to ask about the man he’d seen with her at the bar. He wanted to know why she left her date to rescue him. He wanted to understand why they consistently failed at staying apart.

He wanted to know if they were just running from something that had always been inevitable.

Something warm and soft bloomed in Charlie’s chest as she met his gaze. She felt lost in the depths of his ocean blue eyes, yet there was something sad in the flutter of her heart. Because every time she felt like this, there was a sobering wave to follow. No matter how long she managed to chase it away, she always remembered who they were, what they’d done, and how deeply they hurt one another. The innocence of their relationship was long gone, replaced with layers of mistakes and misinterpretations.

She was supposed to leave it behind.

Yet, when given a chance to find someone else, she came back here…

She felt a sudden urge to cancel the mobile order, pick up her clothes, and leave. She was wading into dangerous territory, and she didn’t trust herself not to lose herself to the tide.

But she stayed.

“You must think that I look pathetic.”

“I don’t,” Charlie smiled softly, sitting close like she was trying to share a secret in a crowded room, “Though I can’t promise I won’t tease you for it.”

Ethan chuckled, wishing that she would never move her hand from his hair.

“What’s next on your list of hangover cures?” he wanted her to stay, and he could feel her urge to run.

Charlie smirked, “You might not like it.”

“If you make me swallow a raw egg, I’ll never trust you again,” Ethan felt queasy at the thought and had to straighten his spine just to keep it at bay.

Charlie laughed one of those deep, throaty chuckles that made him feel like the funniest person in the world.

“No, though I will keep that in mind,” Charlie stood, which mildly disappointed Ethan. Without an explanation, she began to look around his living room. He watched her for a moment, expecting an explanation but never receiving one.

“What are you doing?”

Charlie waved him off, finding the remote she was looking for and throwing it to him. Before he could ask any further questions, she started walking back to his bedroom, and he observed with a wide, confused stare. She returned moments later with a spare blanket from his closet.

Ethan watched her in awe as she spread the blanket across the couch, moving through his apartment with such ease. No one had ever looked so comfortable here, especially not with him.

“My cure is a blanket?” Ethan asked incredulously, waiting for the twist.

“No,” Charlie confirmed, slipping under the blanket and stretching across the couch. She was tall enough that her feet were now at his side, and he could feel her body heat. “The cure is that you are going to get comfortable on this couch and spend hours watching Netflix. No medical journals. No work. Just mind-numbing television.”

“Hours?” Ethan repeated, failing to suppress his repulsion.

Ethan hadn’t had a lazy Saturday in years. Even when he spent weekends with his father, he was always doing something – checking a chart, fixing something around the property, or answering emails. The closest he’d come to a day of full relaxation was when he’d drive up to visit Naveen at the lake, but even then, he played informative audiobooks on the drive and discussed work over dinner.

The idea of doing nothing horrified him.

Ethan Ramsey didn’t sit in silence. He didn’t stop moving. Because, when he did, he didn’t like what he saw in his reflection.

“Hours,” Charlie confirmed.

“Surely, you’re exaggerating. I am perfectly capable of reading a journal or two,” Ethan persisted.

“Ethan, you deserve the day off. Take it,” Charlie poked his outer thigh with her foot, “Besides, you agreed to try my hangover cures. This is one of them.”

Ethan hesitated, fighting the anxiety building in his chest.

Did he know how to do nothing with Charlie? Did he trust himself to sit next to her without work as a distraction?

As Charlie watched him mull over the decision, she wondered if he knew something she didn’t. Was he right in his hesitation? Was it safe for them to spend time together like this?

“I’ll try,” Ethan finally consented, making Charlie beam, and for a moment, his fears disappeared. If he made her happy, how bad could it really be?

“I appreciate your valiant efforts,” Charlie was making fun of him as she turned on his TV, and though he buried his smile, he never really took on the stern expression he tried to model. “How brave of you to spend the day watching Netflix on your couch. Few men could handle such a challenge.”

“Someone’s got to do it,” Ethan bickered back, watching as Charlie opened Netflix and began to scroll through the options.

His Netflix account was used sparingly because he rarely had free time, but when he used the streaming service, he opted for gripping documentaries or serious, well-reviewed dramas. Once, he’d watched a horror film, but he found the movie too ridiculous to finish. As a result, his suggestions were all thoughtful and somber. Charlie frowned as she perused the options, hoping that something worth watching would finally appear.

“That,” Ethan pointed at a title, “is an excellent documentary. I really encourage you to watch it.”

Charlie’s face twisted into that of horror as she side-eyed him. How had she become so close to this man?

“Do you do anything fun?” Charlie was too consumed with disbelief to bury the accusation in her tone.

Indignant, Ethan scoffed, “Of course, I do!”

“Like what?”

“I read–“

“What do you read?”

“… Medical journals and self-improvement books,” Ethan confessed, “But, occasionally, I’ve read some very intricate thrillers.”

Charlie raised an eyebrow, indicating that she wasn’t convinced.

“What else?” she prompted.

“I cook,” Ethan was embarrassed to admit that his mind was drawing a blank. How did he spend his time? “I spend time with Jenner, and I take him on walks. I don’t just work all day, Charlotte.”

He used her full name to intimidate her into ending the interrogation, but it really just made him seem dull and proper.

“What do you do?” Ethan pushed the accusation back on her, and she floundered to respond.

“I have fun!” Charlie was so determined that her voice squeaked at the end, and she coughed, trying to regain composure, “I read-“

“You didn’t seem to think that counted,” Ethan crossed his arms.

“I read fun things, not just medical journals,” Charlie didn’t elaborate on what exactly she read because, if she were honest, she couldn’t remember the last book she’d finished. With her residency and the diagnostics team, she rarely had time to devote to hobbies. Though, she wouldn’t admit that now. “I also hang out with friends and go out and…”

Charlie trailed off, finally out of ideas. She crossed her arms, biting on her lower lip as she tried to think of a way to one-up him.

“And?” Ethan encouraged, feeling surprisingly close to victory.

Charlie narrowed her eyes, annoyed he’d already found a way to win.

“Fine, we’re both boring!” Charlie threw her hands up in the air in concession, and Ethan grinned that beautiful, wide triumphant smile. Seeing it eased her loss.

Before he could gloat, Charlie interjected, “But we are not boring enough to watch any of this.”

Charlie motioned to the TV dramatically, using the remote to navigate the catalog by popularity rather than Ethan’s serious suggestions. Had it been anyone other than Charlie, Ethan would have begrudged someone messing up his suggestions, but because it was her, Ethan just looked for some title that could interest them both.

“What is that?” Ethan stopped her on a popular television show with two young doctors on the cover. Unfamiliar with the show, he hoped it might be a serious, medically-accurate drama they could agree on.

“Grey’s Anatomy? You haven’t seen it?”

“No, have you?”

“I think everyone has,” Charlie had to admit that she was intrigued by his lack of pop culture knowledge. Initially, she assumed that their age difference was a significant contributor, but now, she was beginning to think that he just elected to remain ignorant.

“What’s it about?”

“It’s like a medical soap opera. It begins with the new class of interns at this hospital and just revolves around all of the drama they get into,” Charlie was tempted to downplay the dramatic, often inaccurate depiction of life in a hospital just so he would consent to watching it. She would have loved to watch him react.

“Drama? Do they commit malpractice or something?” Ethan seemed to be serious, though Charlie still wondered if he was feigning this level of unfamiliarity.

“I mean, at some point, probably,” Charlie shrugged, “But it’s more about them all sleeping together.”

Ethan seemed shocked at the revelation, and he pushed, “In a hospital? The interns are all sleeping together? That would never happen.”

“It’s not just the interns. They’re sleeping with the attendings, the patients, pretty much everyone,” Charlie explained, amused by Ethan’s apparent alarm.

“Well, that’s hardly appropriate.”

Charlie bit her lip to stop herself from reminding him that he was an attending spending his Saturday cuddled next to his resident, and she continued scrolling until they agreed on a popular mystery show. As the show ran, they settled into the couch, becoming more and more comfortable. By the end of the first episode, Charlie’s feet were in Ethan’s lap, and neither of them flinched at the contact.

Roughly 45 minutes after Charlie ordered their breakfast, Ethan’s buzzer rang. Charlie started to get it, but Ethan told her to stay comfortable while he handled it. After forty minutes without feeling nauseous, he felt brave enough to cross his living room and buzz the delivery driver in. Ethan paid for breakfast and, after collecting two plates from his kitchen, set the feast down on his coffee table.

“I expected you to be weird about eating on the couch,” Charlie confessed. Though she’d spent a considerable amount of time in Ethan’s apartment, her presence always changed the rules. They were too consumed with each other to abide by the apartment norms. This was the first time she’d observed him actually living in his home, and though foreign, something was exciting about it.

Charlie felt like she was seeing a private side of Ethan – one that he didn’t often share. She realized, as she accepted the plate, that she might not know Ethan as well as she always thought. But maybe that would change…

And if it did, was that okay?

“Why?” Ethan asked, unboxing their order while Charlie retrieved the Gatorade and orange juice.

She stood to collect glasses for them, shrugging, “I don’t know. You just seem like the person with rules about how to live in their apartment.”

Ethan considered it for a moment, thinking about the six years he’d owned the apartment. Surely, at some points, he had been selective about what was appropriate and what wasn’t. Never in his relationship with Harper had they shared a meal on his couch, nor had she ever worn his clothes. His other guests were never present on such a casual basis as watching a movie and eating anywhere other than his dining room.

Did he have rules, or had he never had someone he wanted to share his space like this?

“I don’t have guests frequently enough to have rules,” Ethan finally decided, opening the last box. Their feast took up the entirety of his coffee table, precariously perched and dangerously close to landing on his rug.

Charlie poured them both a glass of orange juice – and shoved a bottle of Gatorade at Ethan – and then they dug in. Despite his reservations, he didn’t mind loading his plate with dense carbs and greasy sides. After a few bites, he begrudgingly admitted that the unhealthy foods did make him feel better, to which Charlie danced in victory.

They paused the show as they ate, opting to share casual conversation and the occasional comfortable silence.

Neither of them acknowledged the familiarity and comfort of the setting. It felt so natural that, for a moment, they forgot that this was the first time they’d hung out like this. Everything about the moment felt… right.

If they thought about it too long, the ease turned into apprehension. This should be wrong. They should be uncomfortable and stern. For months, they’d been on edge, and sleeping together had only made it worse. For the last week, they rarely spoke and actively avoided interaction outside of work. Yet, given the first chance, they were laughing and relaxed.

Even when they found themselves squirming under the weight of impropriety and the danger of falling back into each other, they didn’t stay that way for long.

Both Ethan and Charlie were so determined to stay happy in this moment that they didn’t dwell on anything else for long.

Well… mostly.

Ethan couldn’t shake the image of Charlie with her date the night before. Every time she laughed at something she said, he wondered if she’d laughed harder for him, and when she smiled, his thoughts turned treacherous. When she smiled at her date last night, had she thought of Ethan?

Charlie’s phone buzzed, and she paused mid-waffle to check it. When she saw the caller ID, she shielded the screen from Ethan and typed back a quick response, trying to remain inconspicuous.

And that’s how Ethan knew it was him.

The man they never spoke of but Ethan never stopped thinking about.

A dormant flame of jealousy lit in Ethan’s chest, slowly crowding out all rational thought until all he could see was that man’s hand on Charlie’s knee. Ethan knew not to ask. He knew it wasn’t his place, and he doubted he would have liked her answer anyway. Yet, he felt compelled to do something. To ask questions and find out every sordid detail about their night.

There had been at least an hour between seeing Charlie on her date and her coming to rescue him. What had happened? Had they kissed each other goodnight? Did he invite her to spend the night with him? If she hadn’t come to his rescue, would she have said yes? Or was the date terrible? Had she shoved his hand off her knee and left him alone to pay the bill? Had she wandered Boston until Baz’s call gave her something to do?

Had she given up a good date to care for him, or did she just have the time to swing by?

Rationally, Ethan knew that average coworkers didn’t do this for one another, but he couldn’t fight the fear that, after all this time, she didn’t really want him. He worried that she’d been mesmerized by a passionate affair with her hero but, aside from the sexual tension, there was nothing really there. That she was his Charlie but he wasn’t her Ethan.

It was ridiculous and embarrassingly insecure.

She was always there, always fighting for him.

Yet, watching her smile at someone else the way she smiled at him stripped him of every assurance he had.

Despite his insistence that they couldn’t be together, he feared losing her.

“Is that him?” Ethan couldn’t shake the jealousy from his voice, and ashamed, he avoided eye contact.

“Who?” Charlie feigned innocence, but she wasn’t very convincing.

“Last night’s date.”

Charlie bit on her lower lip, thinking it over carefully before admitting, “Yes.”

Silence.

“What’s his name?” Ethan didn’t know why he asked. Really, he didn’t want to know. He didn’t want to humanize him, to make him more than the monstrous image of a man flirting with Charlie.

“David,” Charlie picked at her plate, suddenly disinterested in her bacon.

David. Ethan suddenly hated the name.

“How did it go?”

Silently, Ethan screamed at himself for asking. Why was he pushing it? Why did he want to torture himself?

Charlie froze, growing rigid as anxiety traveled through her limbs. Sitting next to Ethan, she felt a sting of shame as if she’d betrayed him by meeting David, and though she reasoned that she was in the right, she felt wrong.

Why was she flirting with another man when she was in love with Ethan?

“Um,” Charlie stumbled on her words, “Well. It went well.”

Ethan didn’t know what he wanted her to say, but it wasn’t that.

“That’s great,” Ethan tried hard to seem unphased and supportive, but it came off forced and disingenuous, “You’ve been through a lot these last few months and deserve to have a good time.”

Oh, Charlie felt cold as disappointment settled over her.

She knew he was supposed to support her and offer words of encouragement, but hearing them left a bad taste in her mouth. She wanted him to complain about David, to lecture her about the danger of meeting strangers, or encourage her to avoid dating until her residency was over. She wanted him to stop her from moving on, to hold her with him. She wanted him to fight for her like she always did for him…

“Yeah, we had a really good time,” Charlie was visibly annoyed as she stabbed her waffle with her fork.

Ethan allowed their conversation to fall into a strained silence, watching as Charlie covertly fumed from across the couch. He didn’t know why she was angry with him, though he didn’t doubt that he deserved it. He had a skill for messing things up with her.

They’d nearly finished their breakfast when, with a deep sigh, Ethan added, “I’m sorry about last night.”

Charlie looked up at him cautiously, waiting for him to elaborate. Looking at his sad, pitiful face threatened to dissipate her anger, and to sustain it, she thought of every time he’d disappointed her or pushed her away. And that was enough to maintain her glare.

“I’m sorry you had to leave your date to take care of me,” Ethan may have hated that she was having a good time with someone else, but he did regret ruining it. He didn’t dare tell her why he’d been so reckless at the pub, but deep down, he suspected that she knew that it was his jealousy.

Despite her desperation to stay mad at him, she felt the resentment fall through the cracks as it always did.

What was really terrifying was that, when she stopped running, all she really felt for him was love.

“I didn’t have to,” Charlie chuckled softly, much to Ethan’s surprise, “I could have just called an Uber and asked Baz to take you home. It might have taken a little while to convince him to leave the bar, but it could have been done. I went because…” Charlie stopped herself before she could say something regrettable. He noted the abrupt stop and waited with bated breath before she explained, “I came to get you because I care about you, and I was worried. I wasn’t running from a bad date or forced to see you. I decided to go.”

When she had the courage to meet his eyes again, Charlie realized that Ethan was silently staring at her, and though she tried to decipher the complexity of meaning in his eyes, she failed. Yet she couldn’t shake the feeling that maybe he cared just as much as she did…

Ethan tried to reason her speech away. He studied every word, trying to shove it into a remote category. He knew he was safer if he could distance his emotions from what she was saying. It was best to leave what she said at face value and refrain from enmeshing it with hopeful, romantic ideals.

But he couldn’t stay removed.

He couldn’t hear her and tell himself that she’d rushed to his side out of pity and friendly obligation.

Charlie picked him.

She always picked him.

They may have stumbled in and out of affairs, but they’d only gotten to that point because of her. She’d always come back, even when he pushed her away. She sent that first drunk text. She dared him to be honest in the spring, and when her world fell apart, she came to his doorstep…

And even now, after he’d rejected her on the phone a week ago, she’d left a perfectly nice man to rescue Ethan.

Ethan was overwhelmed with the sudden realization that maybe Charlie cared for him just as deeply as he cared for her…

But really, hadn’t he already known that?

“Thank you,” Ethan wished he could have poured all of his gratitude into his voice, if just to spare himself from one of the emotions fighting for dominance in his mind.

Charlie smiled carefully, shrugging, “You’d do the same for me.”

He would. He would have done anything for her.

Anything but be honest about how he felt.

“But this time, you did it, so you deserve the last piece of bacon,” Ethan offered the plate, watching as Charlie seemed to soften in front of his eyes.

“Thank you, but I always deserve the last piece of bacon,” Charlie quipped as she grabbed the last slice.

“And what makes you more deserving than me?” Ethan challenged, feeling emboldened, “After all, this whole feast was to cure my hangover.”

“But I am the one who ordered it. Without me, you would have gagged on an egg white omelet and worked yourself into a migraine,” Charlie gloated as she took a bite of the bacon just to rub it in.

“You keep bragging about these cures, but I am still hungover.”

“Then, we’ll just have to keep trying.”

Ethan didn’t suppress his smile at her challenge, and she found herself smiling back, secretly excited at the prospect of lingering by his side.

After they finished breakfast, they carried the plates to the kitchen, but instead of cleaning up, they returned to the couch. Feeling lethargic and overwhelmed by the emotional weight of their conversation, Ethan stretched out across the sofa. He was too tall to leave enough room on the other side for Charlie to fit, so Charlie stretched out beside him, head opposite from his.

As soon as they pressed play on the next episode, time lost all meaning. Aside from the occasional short conversation or quip at the show’s expense, they recognized the passage of time solely by how many episodes they watched, but once they became engrossed in the overarching mystery, even that became hazy. Hours passed like this, and they slowly gave into the moment, letting their defenses fall back. They didn’t need to explain what they were doing or why they were there. They just let it happen.

They neared the end of the season when Charlie’s eyes grew heavy, and Ethan watched her squirm out of the corner of his eye as she tried to stay awake. When Jenner joined them on the couch and cuddled into Charlie, any hope of evading a nap was lost.

It took Ethan roughly fifteen minutes to realize that she’d fallen asleep next to him, but when he noticed, he paused the show – partly out of courtesy and partly because he didn’t want the killer to be revealed without seeing her reaction. He reached for one of his medical journals from the floor, knowing that he had several minutes where he could get some work done without her knowledge. Yet, he hesitated to actually open the booklet.

Instead, he found himself watching her, feeling content with her calming presence. He allowed his mind to wander back to the spring, when he rejected her offer at a secret affair. He wondered what life would have looked like if he had agreed. Would they have been happier?

Ethan was unconvinced of the validity of his judgment. Had he been doing the right thing, or had he twisted his morality into a shield to protect him from getting hurt?

Charlie didn’t stay asleep very long. Within thirty minutes of him noticing that she was asleep, she began to shift, eyes slowly fluttering open. Charlie yawned, stretching across the couch and startling Jenner. She soothed the dog, scratching behind his ears as she shifted her sleepy gaze to Ethan.

“Are you working?” Charlie accused, rubbing her eyes.

“No. I was just picking it up,” Ethan didn’t expect her to believe him, but just to reassure her, he put the journal back on the floor. He motioned to the TV, “Do you want to keep watching?”

Charlie mulled it over, wondering if she should cut the day short and go home. It was rare to have a day off, and there was a laundry list of tasks she needed to accomplish. But when she imagined actually leaving early, her chest tightened, and instinctively, Charlie nodded her head.

“Yeah, let’s keep going.”

Charlie settled back into the couch, moving a throw pillow to the back of her head as she prepared to finish the episode.

Ethan pressed play, yet he found himself watching Charlie more than the television.

He just couldn’t shake the feeling that everything had changed… And he didn’t know what happened next.

TAG LIST:

@honeyandsunfl0wers @jens-diamondchoices @desmaranj @octobereighth @flyawayboo @fanficnewbie @togetherwearerapture @perriewinklenerdie @noboundariesplease @paulfwesley @x-kyne-x @caroldxnvxrs @paisleylovergirl @drakewalkerfantasy

@chasingrobbie @soft-for-drake @choicesyouplayandmore @crazy-loca-blog @playchoicesheaux @senseofduties @queencarb @save-the-sky @openheart12 @omg-its-vixen @odetomars @rookieoh @drakewalker04 @mysecretlifeofdaydreams @delaytheinevitable

@hopefulmoonobject @malvolari-take-my-soul @nomadics-stuff @the-pale-goddess @schnitzelbutterfingers @trappedinfandoms @heauxplesslydevoted @lilyvalentine @mvalentine @elwetritsche75 @jessirosebud @lion-ess24 @sturnsun @canknot @wonderwithrobin @jooous @eramsey28 @binny1985 @tsrookie @whippedforethanramsey @kaavyaethanramsey @macy-ray85 @canigetanawwjunk @padfoot0415 @ermidc @beastlyinstrument @shanzay44 @choicesficwriterscreations

#ethan ramsey #ethan ramsey x mc #open heart #choices #open heart 2 #pixelberry #dr. Ethan ramsey #Dr. Ramsey #OH2 #OH 2

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hmuavery · 4 years ago

Text

Keep Me Close | a Jack Avery story

Chapter # f i v e

▪︎☆▪︎☆▪︎

THIRD PERSON

———

BY EIGHT IN THE MORNING everyone in the house was up and ready to go. The group decided upon a pit stop to McDonald's for breakfast instead of wasting time and making a mess ofthe kitchen to make breakfast. They all had to be to the stadium by nine-thirty, making them on time for once. As the seven piled into the car, they all told Jonah their breakfast orders. Most of them being hash brows and McGiddles, but of course Jonah had to add his coffee. After the stop was made, they were successful on their way to their destination with full bellies and happy hearts.

The seven arrived on the dot of nine-thirty. Rushing in the building, they dropped their stuff in the green room and headed to the stage. Astrid made herself comfortable in the tech area. She put on her headset and waved to the rest of the crew. Jax was on a tall ladder-looking structure near her while the rest were in their designated areas. Jaxson tried many times to get Astrid's attention, at one put her lost control of the stoplight he was controlling and blinded Zach.

As Zach screeched from the blinding light, Astrid chuckled at Jaxson being a try-hard. She didn't want to lay attention to him, he found out quickly that she was paying no mind to him.... to his dismay. After the lights, sound, and camera were perfect they all took a break before the show. They all gathered in the green room, chatting and eating snacks.

Everyone in the group was well acquainted with each other, making the room a comfortable place to be. Astrid and Jack sat close to each other while sharing a bag of chips and some fruit Astrid had in a cup. The rest just scattered throughout the room. Burkley came over and sat next to Jack, turning her body so she could see both of them.

"So, are you guys dating our something?" She asked the best friends. "No, just really close best friends" Astrid explained. Jack shook his head agreeing with the girl on his right, but wish they were more.

"So you wouldn't mind if I shook my shot then?" Burkley asked smirking.

"I would"

▪︎☆▪︎☆▪︎

Hehe

Tags: @randomlimelightxxx @chilling-seavey @wdwmills @screechingpopmusicmusichound

I'm sorry if I keep tagging you and you dont wanna be tagged- lemma know and I'll take you off!

#zach herron #corbyn besson #daniel seavey #jack avery #jonah marais #wdw fanfic #why dont we #why dont we imagines

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heychangbin · 5 years ago

Text

The Camping Trip ║ Part One

Summary: An offhanded admission turns into a weekend trip.

Wordcount: 5228

Warnings: There be smut ahead, Billy working with his hands, that warrants a warning too, right??

A/N: we’re doing parts for this one too y’all, the entire thing came to be over 16k and I’m not about to do that to anyone. I’ll post the next part in the next few days. tag list at the bottom.

It was one of those rare weekends where everyone had a free Saturday night, there were no stuffy business dinners, overseas conference calls, no late night researching of New York City’s penal code, or the chasing leads for The Bulletins next exposé, that's how you found yourself in your favorite comfortable jeans and t-shirt, sitting beside Billy in one of the tables that lined the wall of Josie’s bar, pushing sleeves of his olive green henley to his elbows as he gesticulated while he, Frank, Curt, Matt and Foggy were in the midst of fleshing out a new and improved screening process of new recruits at Anvil so as not to fall into the mistake of Iron & Steel, a rival company who, due to a too lax vetting and screening process, recruited a soldier with PTSD and was now looking at several lawsuits for a training exercise that went wrong.

After they had hashed out the outline for implementing new training protocols, rescreening the personnel and recruits, and possible mandatory sessions with Curt and his veterans group you turned over to the TV behind the bar, watching the two men in the ring deal blow after blow while you wait for Karen to return with the next round of drinks and continue your own conversation with the blonde.

It was just under two minutes into the first round when one of the fighters, a well built man with fair skin and reddish brown hair, wearing black and green trunks, swung his right arm, landing a green glove covered fist to the underside of his opponent’s, a dark skinned man with closely cropped black hair, wearing ((black trucks with a red stripe going down the side, jaw, making him stumble sideways along the ropes. He was on his way down when the familiar logo of WHiH New York flashed across the screen, making everyone in the bar, you included, curse and groan at the interruption.

It was after the news anchor, a strawberry blonde in a conservative scoop navy blue dress, recited the scripted greeting and a banner appeared at the bottom of the screen reading, “dead body found at Thatcher Park Trail.” that the bar quieted down enough for you to hear what she was saying.

"Earlier today, what was supposed to be a relaxing stroll through the woods for a young woman and her dog quickly turned to the things of nightmares when she discovered the body of a dead man, who we now know is Senator Silverstein.” a picture of a man in his early 60s, dressed in a charcoal suit, white shirt and bright red tie, with light brown hair and a generous dusting of white throughout his head, thin lips and his features lined heavily by the years that had passed him by, swept in from the right, “Jeff Santoro is at the scene with more on this story.”

The video cut to a man dressed in a dark windbreaker, looking directly at the camera, giving a few small nods, holding a bulky microphone in his right hand, the WHiH logo stamped on the cube under the foam cover at the top.

“Thank you Christina,” the man said into the bulbous cover, the video on the screen splitting down the middle, on the left, the reporter read off the screen of his phone, reciting what the senators last day’s schedule had been, while on the right, various looping clips of Senator Silverstein talking with the press, walking out of The New York Capitol building, sitting in a plush arms chair deep in thought, and of him having lunch at some restaurant with a portion of his staff.

After having finished, he looked up from the screen of his phone, looking directly at the camera once more and saying,

“Christina, everyone in the news station and especially to our viewers at home, the following is graphic in nature, we strongly suggest that our young and more sensitive viewers turn off their screens.”

There was a brief pause, then a nod and he raised his phone again and began reading from the screen. As he read there is a mixture of murmured phrases that range from “holy shit” to “about damn time” throughout the bar as Karen pushed her way through the tightly packed bodies, bottlenecks of the next round of drinks tucked securely between her slender fingers.

“Can you believe that?” she asked, eyes wide as she settled the bottles at the center of the table except for one, bringing the dark brown bottle up to her lips and taking a swig, turning back around, eyes locking on the TV screen.

“Yeah,” you said, taking one of the bottles for yourself, “kinda makes me feel relieved that I’ve never been camping.”

Frank spluttered mid drink, a violent cough wracking his burly body in the seat across from yours, fighting not to choke on the liquid going down the wrong pipe.

"You gotta be shittin' me," he said, wiping the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand, "you've never been camping?" Frank asked incredulously.

"It's not that weird Frank." You said, picking up your bottle and taking a measured swig.

"It's kinda weird." Billy chimed from beside you, long fingers slowly turning the dark green bottle in front of him.

"It really isn't,” you argue, annoyance creeping into the edges of your tone, “I bet Matt's never been camping either."

"Red's blind, he doesn't count." Frank said matter of factly, waving off your comment like someone would brush away an annoying fly.

"Wasn't born blind guys, I went camping with my dad all the time before it,” Matt paused, tapping the side of his red tinted glasses with the lip of the bottle in his hand, "happened.”

You looked across the table at him and glowered, it didn't matter that he couldn't see you, you were sure that he could feel it...or was at least picking up on it with his enhanced senses.

It was then that Karen put forth the idea of a group camping trip. As they discussed when it would be a good time and what state park to go to, Billy wrapped an arm around your shoulders and pulled you closer to his side, kissing the top of your head and whispering against your temple,

"Don't worry, I won't let any bears eat you, only I get to do that."

"Gee, thanks." You say, feeling a wave of warmth spread through your body at the image and sensations his words conjure up, you bring the bottle in your hands to your lips, taking another swing of your drink to hide the creeping blush you can feel on your face, making him laugh as the others continue talking enthusiastically about who had and would bring what, things that had to be packed, things that needed to be bought and most importantly, how long the trip would be.

You turned back to the TV behind the bar, tuning them out just as the special bulletin ended, the broadcast signal going back to the fight, a slow motion shot of the man in black and green trucks landing a devastating blow on his opponent, making his head snap to the right, the rest of his body following the motion as his skin rippled with the force of the hit and going down. The bar coming to life with a roar as the hit was replayed, a banner scrolling at the bottom of the screen that read “due to the interruption, the fight will be available on the HBO website” as an announcer came into the ring, a microphone lowering from the ceiling and in a booming voice announced the winner by knockout in the third round, making the man in the black and green trucks raise his arms in victory as the people in the arena and in the bar around you roared to life again.

In the days that followed, the group text was full of pictures of tents, sleeping bags, camping chairs, portable power stations courtesy of Billy, who had four of them lined up with a caption that read, “I got us covered on electricity” and countless other stuff. Between the pictures were questions for possible dates, it was Karen the one that suggested the upcoming holiday, everyone readily agreeing.

You groaned internally, you had been looking forward to those four glorious days to destress with Billy, were secretly hoping that he’d have some kind of overseas conference call that he could not postpone, but when his text came through a few minutes later saying that it worked for him, your hopes were dashed, sending your own reply.

At the end of the following week, after lists were checked twice and everything was carefully packed, you all piled into two SUV's, Billy, you, and Curtis in one, Frank, Karen, Foggy and Matt in the other and were headed to Watkins Glen State Park, a drive that was just a little over four hours, not something you were looking forward to but Billy and Curt assured you there would be stops along the way for everyone to stretch their legs. So far it wasn't bad, the change from city to greenery was soothing, the soft music spilling from the car speakers helping a great deal as were the stories Billy and Curt were recounting of their own trips in the past, Curtis from when he was a kid with his dad and Billy from his time in the military,

“Billy, I don’t think that counts as camping.” you said, turning to him and looking at his profile.

“‘course it does,” Billy argued, taking his hand off the wheel to push his aviators up the bridge of his nose from where they had ridden down. “It’s outta the city, deserted, limited access to supplies. It’s the same thing, just that we ran the risk of an air strike...so maybe a more extreme version of camping.”

You rolled your eyes at him, his laughter filling the small space as he no doubt caught the action out of the corner of his eye.

“Yeah but everyone runs that risk now, what with giant holes appearing in the sky and whatnot.” Curt said from the back seat.

You moved the conversation into lighter topics, and after a quick rest stop Billy maneuvered the SUV through the twists and turns of the park, pulling into the site a while later and killing the engine, the second SUV pulling up just a beat later. It was a flurry of movement after that, trunks were opened and unloaded, you pulled on one of the smaller coolers while Billy tugged on a couple of duffles, hooking the straps to his shoulders and walked off to the northern edge of the site as you gripped both handles of the cooler and carried it over to where Frank and Matt were bringing down the picnic table that was leaning up against one of the more sturdy looking trees.

You were on your way back to bring out another cooler when you saw Billy crouched down on the ground, strong hands pulling and tugging out the large and rolled up tent, followed by a smaller bag. He pulled on the drawstrings that held it close, turned on the balls of his feet and slid out various poles beside the rolled up canvas. You shifted midstep, walking to where Billy was separating the hollow aluminum rods by size and shape.

“Need some help there Lieutenant ?” you asked coming to a stop behind him. Billy looked over his shoulder, the right side of his lip lifting, pushing the apple of his cheek up, making the corner of his eye crinkle in your favorite uneven smile, giving you a quick nod.

“Sure, I could use a hand.” he said, grabbing the rolled up tent, setting it on it’s side in front of him, pulling and gathering the ropes that were holding it close and stuffing them in the back pocket of his loose pants, and giving it a push, the curled up edged flopping open.

“Whaddya need me to do?”

Billy flipped open the folded flaps, his thumb running over a black stripe that ran up the middle “Grab that end, will you?” he pointed a long finger at the opposite end

You walked around him, pushing the sleeves of your plaid overshirt up, the soft cotton bunching at the crook of your elbows and bent down to take the edge, looking over at Billy when you stood back up.

“Gonna turn it so that you’re standing where I am”

You nodded, taking a step in the opposite direction that Billy went, setting it down when you had switched places, then pulled the folded edges at the center, spreading the four corners out until the tent was laying flat on the ground. He walked over to where he had all the poles laid out and picked up a small mallet and a bunch of stakes and went around the tent, pulling the edges, sticking the stake through the grommet and hammering it down, the muscles in his arm bulging and tensing as he brought the mallet up and down.

“Y’know, this’d go much faster if you helped.” you could hear the humor in his voice, and you shrugged,

“There’s only one mallet and I'm enjoying the view too much to ask Frank or Curt if they’ll let me borrow theirs. It’s not every day I get to see you do manual labor.”

“That doing it for you?” he asked, eyes focused on the hook of the spike as he brought the mallet down a little harder than necessary, the muscle in his forearm shifting and tensing, cutting a line that ran along the bottom of his arm all the way to his elbow, looking up when the spike was buried all the way into the ground. Sweat beading across his forehead and down his temples, dampening the roots of his dark hair, a few drops running down and disappearing into the top of his beard.

Warmth that had very little to do with the sun that filtered through the canopy of trees spread throughout your body, as you watched Billy work, Yeah, it is.

He smirks at your silence, huffing out a laugh as he shakes his head and moves along the side of the tent to the next grommet, threading the spike through it and hammering it to the ground.

“Learn something new everyday.” amusement colored his voice as he pushed himself up and moved to the next spot.

It wasn’t long until he was hammering the last spike down, completely securing the bottom of the tent to the ground he braced his hands on his bent knees and pushed himself up, left hand reaching for the brim of his hat and pushing it up and off his head, running his free hand through the damp long strand of hair.

“Ready to get back to work?” he asked, taking the edge of his shirt and using it to wipe across his forehead, down his nose, and over his top lip.

“I mean I guess, since the show is over and all.”

The chuckle he let out was full and hearty as he placed the faded cap back oh his head and walked over to where you were standing,

“I can give you a private show later.” his voice was pitched low, his breath fanning against your ear making a shiver run up your back, fanning the flames of the simmering warmth that watching him work had sparked.

“Imma hold you to that Lieutenant.” you say, stepping closer to him, his hands instantly coming to rest on your waist, bringing you that much closer, your arms circling his neck, the fingers of your right hand stroking the small hair at the nape of his neck as his fingers find their way under the edge of your shirt, gripping the skin there. The calluses that never seem to completely fade from his fingers press against the soft skin of your waist, making you feel hotter as his grip tightens, his tongue coming out to run across his bottom lip before he pulls it into his mouth, teeth digging into the ample flesh, you press yourself forward, lifting yourself onto the balls of your feet, your chest pressing against his, your head angled to the side ready to slot your lips over his, you feel his hands tense and shift, you’re prepared to hoist yourself up when he wraps his arms around your waist and lifts you up, instead you feel him ease back.

“Let's finish getting this thing up so we can take a break.” he says, giving your skin a final squeeze before stepping away and walking to where the poles are on the ground, you let out a huff and shake your head, muttering “fucking tease”

You go around the tent setting up the poles, you’re on the last corner when you begin to feel beads of sweat gathering at your temples, over your top lip, and at the nape of your neck, you gathered your hair at the crown of your head, twirled the silky strands between your fingers and twist it into a bun, hooking your finger between your wrist and the elastic band that was there and quickly pulled your hair through it twice. You take the last pole and thread it through the two hoops on the tent wall and secure the bottom end to the ground, you take a step back and look at what you helped build, fully erect, it’s big, way bigger than what two people need, could probably fit everyone in this thing.

You walk around the tent, dusting your hands off ready to grab a beer for a job well done when you see Billy walking over, a bundle of ropes and more spikes in his hands.

“Thought we were done?”

“Almost, just gotta secure the poles to the ground using these” he said, holding up the bundle of ropes and stakes as he walked past you to the nearest corner of the tent, you turn on your heel and follow behind him.

“Gonna do a slip knot, hook it to the top of the pole, drop a stake and move to the next one. While you’re doin’ that, I’ll fasten them to the ground. Should be done in no time.” he hands you the ropes and stakes and turns to get to work, bringing the mallet out, angling the stake on the ground and starts to steadily pound on the bent top.

You drape the ropes over your shoulder, stuff the spikes into your back pocket and walk over to the next pole over. You pull one of the ropes free, taking the end and wrapping it generously over your index and middle fingers of your left hand, looping the tail over the standing end with your right, then reaching your left fingers through the loop, you take the standing end and pull it through until the knot tightens, making sure to pinch the tail between your index and thumb of your right hand. You hook the loop on the top of the pole, take a stake out from your pocket and drop it, move to the next pole and repeat the process.

You're more than halfway done when you look over at Billy hammering away at one of the spikes, looping the rope under the hook and pulling it until it’s taunt, muscles bulging and shifting with every twist of his hands, then clamping the hook at the end of the rope on itself and moving to the next pole.

Your mind goes back to the words he had said when he had caught you staring at him, wondering how much stock to put to his earlier statement, from experience, you knew Billy was a man of his word, but the tent you were finishing up could easily fit him, yourself and at least two other people.

Maybe we'll bunk with Frank and Karen, that happens on camping trips, right? You hook the knot you've just finished to the pole in front of you.

“So,” you say, plucking another rope from the bunch on your shoulder and start looping it over your fingers, “we gonna be sharing this place with the others?”

“If you’re cruisin for an orgy--”

“Jesus Christ Billy!!” you cry out, eyes going wide, head whipping to the side to look at him. You roll your eyes at the way his shoulders are shaking with laughter as he takes a break from hammering down the stake.

“Just askin’ ‘cause this thing looks like it’ll fit more than just the two of us.” you pull the rope through the loop a little harder than necessary and hook it over the pole, pulling the next rope free and start working on tying the knot, his laughter following you as you stop at the next pole.

You hear some shifting behind you as you tighten the knot, reaching your hand out to hook the loop over the knob at the top of the pole when you feel Billy press up behind you, his arms wrapping around your waist and bringing you against his chest.

“Just gonna be us in here.” his voice is a soft rumble against the side of your face as he trails the tip of his nose from the apple of your cheek to your temple, “‘nd, just in case you were wonderin’,” he continues, lips brushing the shell of your ear, voice pitched low, “I don't share what’s mine.”

You feel your throat go dry and your body go warm at the low possessive growl at the edge of his words, your knees turn to jelly and you suppress a moan as blunt teeth sink into the juncture of you neck and shoulder, it's just on the side of too much when he laves his tongue over the bite.

“Thought never crossed my mind,” your voice comes out breathy, making Billy chuckle into the space behind your ear, his arms squeezing you just a fraction tighter, making your head fall back against his shoulder. After a few beats you clear your throat a couple of times and squeeze his wrist, “Should probably get back to it, I don't wanna have to sleep with one eye open thinking half this thing is gonna fall in on us.”

"Coulda stayed like this for a bit longer" he hums, his arms loosening their hold on you.

Me too Billy, me too.

You’re hooking the loop of your guide rope on the last corner, already pulling and working on the knot of the next one when Frank suggests you go and gather some wood to get a fire going.

"The hell did we buy those bundles of wood for if you weren’t gonna use them to build a fire?" You asked over your shoulder, pulling the rope through the loop in your hands and hooking it to the pole in front of you,

"It's part of the experience" He says too cheerfully for your taste as he walks over to where you are. You look over at Billy who shrugs, adjusting the guide rope, making sure it’s taunt. Stepping up to you and taking the remaining ropes from your shoulder and draping them over his own with a, “I can finish this up on my own,” holding out his hands for the stakes, which you hand over reluctantly.

"Anythin’ on the floor and dry is fine!" Were Frank's last words to you as you walked off past the treeline that was around your site.

You wandered around picking up sticks that looked dead and dry, constantly looking over your shoulder to make sure there wasn't some wild animal about to pounce on you. You had a decent pile of wood under your arm when you stopped cursing Frank to the moon and back. The scenery was nice, the intermittent sound of birds singing was soothing and the odd sighting of squirrels and chipmunks made you simultaneously smile and curse yourself for leaving your phone behind.

You lost track of time as you kept walking aimlessly, bending to pick up another stick to add to the pile you had going when you felt a pair of hands snake themselves around your waist. You didn't need to turn around to know who it was, you'd recognize the feel of those hands anywhere, (the rougher texture of his right index finger where the pulling of a trigger had made it calloused) you leaned back into the strong chest you had woken on that morning, letting out a pleasant and content hum as his face buried itself in the crook of your neck, soft lips leaving a trail of kisses that went up your jaw and behind your ear, to that spot that turned you into putty in his hands.

"What are you doing here Billy?" You asked, your voice coming out a little breathless

"Came to check on you, make sure you didn't wander off too far." He said, against the shell of your ear, giving your lobe a playful nip, the kind that always had you moaning and shuddering in his arms.

"I'm not having wilderness sex with you Billy" you meant for your voice to come out stern but it came out breathy, making him smile against the shell of your ear.

"Thought never crossed my mind." He murmured, hands going tighter around you as he kissed his way back down to your shoulder, sucking and biting the skin of your neck, and grinding his crotch against your ass.

"Liar, bet it's all you've--” a moan interrupted you as his teeth sunk into the soft skin on the crook of your neck, your hips shifting against his hardening crotch of their own accord, “you’ve been thinking about ever since Karen brought up the idea of a camping trip." You said, hand going to his head and burying itself in the longer strands of his hair, your nails dragging against his scalp. His moan was muffled by the skin he was teasing and sucking on, the grinding of his hips was firmer, their shifting full of purpose, and despite not wanting to give the local wildlife or some stray camper a show, you couldn’t deny that Billy was gonna get his way.

You dropped the pile of sticks under your arm and turned, your arms going around his neck and bringing him down into a kiss, he gripped and walked you back until your back was pressed against a nearby tree, his hand caresses the side of your neck, thumb guiding your head to the side so he can kiss and suck along your neck.

His hand moves down, pushing and squeezing your breast up making you hum into his mouth. He slots his thigh between your legs and you shift against it, you’ve worked yourself up but still need more to help you over the edge,

“Billy…” the single word is a desperate plea for more, for him to touch you were you need him and Billy wastes no time in doing so.

His long finger tug and pull at the button and fly of your jeans with practiced ease, hand slipping past the elastic of your underwear and between your folds. The pad of his middle finger circles your clit with a feather light touch that has your shifting downward. Your hand grip his hair and you mutter out a

“Stop playing around Russo, if you’re gonna fuck me—!!” your words die a swift death as his fingers fully press onto your clit as he flicks it about. His fingers work you relentlessly and you come screaming his name. He keeps circling your clit, each stroke sending shivers through you, making you moan and wince slightly as you quickly became overstimulated.

He slowly pulls his hand from between your legs, slotting his lips over yours, his lips moving slow enough for you to catch your breath. When you have your bearing about you, you pull back, placing kisses to the corner of his mouth, his jaw, his chin, and work yourself further down, placing one on his adams apple, another at the hollow of his throat, you kiss his chest through his shirt as our hands work on loosening his jeans and pushing his boxer briefs down, freeing his length.

You lower yourself down until your level with the tip of his member, have half a mind to drag this out just a few seconds more, but when you look up at him through your eyelashes, see the way his eyes were blown, a barely there ring of dark brown around the pupil, making his eyes look completely black, you couldn’t help yourself. You continued to stare into his eyes, licking your lips before taking him into your mouth, swallowing a portion of his length and pulling back again, repeating the process until you’ve taken as much as you can of him, leaving the rest to pump with your hand.

Above you, Billy sings a symphony of steady curses interrupted by the odd moan and groan, it wasn’t long before his hands tightened in your hair with a breathless,

“...I’m close”

Making you double your efforts, and after a few hard sucks he was crying out your name, spilling into the back of your throat. You swallowed everything he gave you before tucking him back into his briefs and getting up off the floor.

He was breathing hard as he fully leaned against the tree in front of him, a wide smile on his lips as he pulled you against him, wrapping his arms around you as you both worked to catch your breath.

“We should get back,” you murmured against his chest once your breathing had returned to normal, “Everyones gotta be wondering what we’re up to.”

He chuckled, pressing his lips to the top of your head

“They ain’t wondering shit, they know exactly what we’re up to.”

You pulled away from him just enough to look him in the eyes, arching an eyebrow questiongly, he just shrugged and said,

“I told Frankie I was gonna come after you and see if we could find the answer to the age old question of, if two people fuck in the middle of the forest and no one is around to hear them, do they make a sound?”

You groaned and let your head fall back to his chest. Of course he did, it really shouldn’t be a surprise to you and you imagined it wasn’t much of a surprise to your group of friends either, they had known Billy way too long for any of his antics to shock them at this point.

“Come on, Karen promised me s’mores.” you said as you pulled away from him completely and turned to pick up the small pile of firewood you had gathered, ready to head back when you looked around you and saw that you had no idea where you had come in from.

“Billy?”

“Yeah?” he said, followed by the sound of the zipper of his jeans being pulled up.

“You know how to get back...right?”

Your question was met with an unsettling silence, then, a murmured,

“Shit.”

Gen: @something-tofightfor @its-my-little-dumpster-fire @the-blind-assassin-12 @suchatinyinfinity @bts-smolarmy @elanor-of-imladris @emyyjemyy

Billy Russo: @nananananananananananabatman @shinebrightlikeafanbase

#billy russo x reader #billy russo x you #billy russo fanfiction #billy russo fic #billy russo #i cant believe i finally finished this #i feel like i'm gonna cry #bonus points to anyone who can name the fight that i tried to vague about

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aquadestinyswriting · 4 years ago

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Confessions of a Troubled Heart

You lucky people get to have two pieces of writing today! Mostly because I have some wips I am working on and wanted to get some more of my completed stuff out.

Summary: This one is set more or less directly after ‘To Heal a Broken Soul’. Fluffy fluff is fluffy.

Words: 1206

Warnings: none that I can think of

Tag list (dm to +/-): @druidx, @sparrow-orion-writes , @homesteadchronicles, @warriorbookworm, @mariahwritesstuff, @writeblrsupport, @ashirisu, @thesorcerersapprentice, @blind-the-winds, @philosophika, @the-down-upside-finch

Edwin watched Selene warily. While the wizard was certainly much better than she had been just days before, he couldn’t help becoming worried at every sniff or cough. Selene caught him watching her from her peripheral vision. She huffed a little through her nose,

“I get that you’re a bit jumpy, but this really is just a cold.” she stated, flipping the page she had just finished reading over. The Cleric leaned back in his seat and crossed his arms over his chest,

“I’d rather not take the chance.” he stated simply. Selene gave a patient sigh as she laid her book on her lap and looked up at the Galanite over the top of her spectacles,

“Edwin, I understand that you’re worried that I might end up relapsing, but the risk is fairly minimal at this point.” She pointed out, “Strucker’s already told me that he’s bullied the Council into letting me take an extended holiday.” she added, returning her attention to her book. Edwin sighed,

“It’s not that… alright it half is.” he grumbled at the arched eyebrow Selene sent him, “I’m just worried that you’re going to start falling back into bad habits again.”

~He’s not wrong. You two going to actually hash things out or what?~

~Shut up, Chrackle. I’m trying to concentrate here.~

~No. I told you already, the two of you clearly have a thing, just get it out and over with.~

Edwin glanced up at the rafters as Selene’s face fell into a frown. The magpie that was perched high above squawked in indignation. The Cleric waited until he was somewhat sure that whatever conversation between Wizard and familiar had ended before he laid a hand on top of Selene’s. The Wizard quickly refocused her attention, though not before a slight flush spread across her cheeks,

“Sorry Edwin, Chrackle felt the need to butt in again.” she said, shaking her head to clear her familiar’s thoughts from it so she could concentrate on the man in front of her. Edwin gave her a lopsided smile,

“It’s fine,” he said, “can’t say I blame him right now, all things considered.” Selene snorted slightly,

“You would, you’re not the one who’s head he’s constantly whinging in.” she retorted, though she did quirk a smile anyway. Green eyes quickly darted up to the magpie before settling on the Cleric’s hand. Edwin frowned, worried, as the pink tinge in Selene’s face darkened somewhat and spread to her ears,

“Selene are you..?” he was quickly cut off by Selene waving her free hand,

“Nono, I’m fine.” she assured him, “It’s just… she trailed off, flailing a little as she tried to find the right words, “Cur ita velim Durus.” she hissed in Draconic. Edwin’s frown deepened, having no clue what it was the Wizard in front of him had just said. He took both of Selene’s hands in his own,

“Ok, breathe. What’s the matter?” he asked, trying his best not to panic. Selene stopped, took a moment to breathe and chewed on her lip before finally speaking,

“This is going to sound ridiculous, but…” the Wizard trailed off for a second, before shaking her head, “I know you were there when… everything happened. I just wanted to ask… why?” Edwin’s frowned deepened, more in confusion this time than worry,

“Why what?” he asked, perplexed. Selene made an uncertain noise in her throat, but she caught herself and continued,

“Why did you even try?” she asked, “I mean, I know you’re not stupid Edwin, I know that you know that you can’t use Heal or Remove Disease spells once Burnout gets to that point.” she said sharply, glancing up at him. At this, it was Edwin’s turn to avoid the look Selene was giving him. He flushed,

“I… may not exactly have been thinking…” he muttered, “It all happened a bit fast and…” he trailed off, mumbling quietly enough that Selene couldn’t hear him. The Wizard sighed,

“I didn’t catch that Edwin.” she said, “Want to try again?” Edwin sighed, looked up at Selene, his face almost crimson beneath his beard,

“Because I was being a damn love-blind idiot is why.” he said firmly. He sighed and looked back down at his hands, “I was so scared about losing you that I wanted to believe that there was something I could do about it. That I could find some way to…” he trailed off with a frustrated grunt, staring into the fire that crackled merrily to one side of the pair. Selene bit her lip and reached up to lay a hand on Edwin’s shoulder,

“I heard you, you know.” she said quietly. Edwin’s head snapped back round, his heart skipping wildly in disbelief.

“You… wha..?” he stammered. Selene squeezed his shoulder to stop him from babbling, took a shaky breath and continued,

“That’s why I came back. I didn’t want to leave this world before I got a chance to tell you that… I love you too.” she finally admitted, the embarrassed flush returning to her face and ears. Edwin simply stared at the woman in front of him for a few moments, processing what he had just heard. Selene watched him nervously, but eventually Edwin’s face creased into a soft smile,

“Galana save us, we’re both such fools.” he chuckled, tucking a strand of auburn hair behind Selene’s ear, “I’m guessing that’s why She decided to let me even make the attempt even though I’d already expended everything else I had that day.” he added, picking up his Holy Symbol and looking at it fondly. Selene relaxed and shrugged,

“I’m not even going to get into that.” she muttered, “Regardless, as much as I’m loathe to leave my responsibilities here behind, I wouldn’t mind it so much if I had some company.” she said. The Galanite looked up with a slightly impish grin,

“Company or ‘company’?” he asked cheekily. The grin on his face widened as Selene’s face flushed even brighter, while Chrackle gave an annoyed sounding squawk from his perch,

“Not listening!” the magpie screeched as he swooped down, batted Edwin with his wing and re-settled on the windowsill. Selene cleared her throat,

“Either way, there’s a few things I would like the chance to sort out while I’m away from Toreguarde.” she said, “I was hoping that you would like to come with.” Edwin nodded,

“I rather think I would.” he said, “Getting away from all the nonsense going on here would do me some good as well. Besides, someone needs to make sure you’re actually spending some time relaxing.” he added pointedly, tapping Selene gently on the nose. Selene rolled her eyes, but couldn’t quite stop the happy smile on her face,

“Fine. Just as a reminder, though, my idea of relaxing is sorting out tomes, books and scrolls.”

Chrackle ruffled his feathers as the two humans half-bickered about the upcoming trip, tuning them both out. He preened his feathers, glad that they seemed to be in much better condition than they were a few days ago. He glanced over to his mistress, saw the look on her face, opened the latch on the window and let himself out as Edwin leaned in, his hand cupping the Wizard’s face.

#writeblr #writing #Selene Frigidwake #Edwin Goodwin #confession #love #fluff #titan fighting fantasy #The Wizard's Tale #aquadestinyswriting

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amusedyan · 5 years ago

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Tag

Direct sequel to Hide and Seek and again, thank @lightautumnsky for talking me into posting this.

So here’s what’s up, thanks to her, we hashed out two separate alternate universes where Hide and Seek, and Tag serve as the foundations- Anastasius brings his darling to his universe. The first series is just going to be him being a creepy fuck. The second series is an AU of this where he brought her over before the civil war started.

It took too long to put the pieces together.

The peasant kept popping in and out of Anastasius’ life, seemingly at random. She recognized him each time, and she always wore the same outfit. She was clever, he could admit that now, but Anastasius paid attention when she talked, and the puzzle revealed itself to him.

She was being pulled from place to place- out of time.

All because Anastasius had done it to her.

Anastasius pulled her from her universe because he met her and wanted to keep her, and because he pulled her from her universe, he met her and wound up pulling her from her universe. It was a massive headache to put together, but by the Gods he’d managed it.

He did it and he wouldn’t let the peasant go again.

She looked so confused when he found her again- younger too. Had he ever met her so young?

“Hello,” he greeted. It wasn’t often that Anastasius got the drop on her. “I’ve been waiting to see you again.”

“Again?” And really, shouldn’t that have been a red flag?

“I have a question for you, peasant,” it had become a sort of joke between them now- he called her a peasant and she would call him the ‘princeling’, and wouldn’t she be surprised with the news he had for her this time.

“You do?” She asked hesitantly. Anastasius approached and she backed away. Strange, perhaps she was ill?

“Yes. I’d like you to be my wife.” He’d thought about it fr a long time- he could help her, keep her tethered to him through his mana, act as an anchor for her.

“I…I don’t even know you.” It felt like the world had shattered around him as she looked at him.

No, please…

The peasant had never looked at him as anything other than another boy and then young man- but today she looked at him as if he were a monster.

Well, he supposed her was.

But de Alger Obelia blood was the blood of conquerors- to kill for the throne was practically a mandate at this point. Though, to slaughter the only other competition? Less common, but very entertaining.

He’d thought she’d understood him.

But she ran away- she didn’t-

It had hurt, but Anastasius understood. If time was looping, he had to understand it first to break the loop.

She couldn’t have been older than, perhaps…15. The oldest he’d seen her was in her early 20’s. In order to break the loop, he just had to pull her a little early.

From there, Anastasius plotted, even as he worked his magic and performed his experiments. His chimera would come in handy for this- the perfect battery to open the portal.

The vortex was deep blue and shimmered- the chimera screamed and thrashed in her bonds as her mana flowed. She had more than enough to keep it open, but it was painful- there was a reason he wasn’t the one doing it.

The world that Anastasius stepped into was coated in snow. The sky had that glaze it got in the winter- a deep gray color that blinded you. It was a strange world, full of vehicles that snarled and growled and hard rivers of black. But where was the peasant?

It was a simple thing to find her and follow her- he could easily make himself unnoticeable, and she was so young and small, 5 at the most as she walked through the snow, bundled up like a little cake to stay warm as she hurried.

Dear Gods she was cute

Anastasius followed her home and watched her bound up the stairs carefully, minding the ice.

It was rather annoying to stand there and wait as the day turned to night. Staying warm was simple, but she was there, so close- sitting with her family and showing them papers from her little pink backpack and working diligently at the table and getting ready for bed and listening to a story.

When the lights in the house went out, one by one, Anastasius entered with a flick of his wrist, throwing the door open.

Her parents put up a fight of course. What else would they do when a stranger was here to steal their daughter? For their loyalty, they died quickly and without much pain.

Anastasius took his time walking to her room. He wanted to savor this, and so he did- this was victory. This was what it felt like to have the world in the palm of your hand.

She stirred, for the briefest moment when he picked her up. Anastasius smiled at her and put her back to sleep, wrapping her in her blanket to keep her warm. He spared a thought for the plush animal on her bed and wrapped that in as well.

The vortex opened with a snap of his fingers, and he took his little peasant home.

-x-

Anchoring her to him took a few hours and a bit of blood, true, but it had to be done, and for her perfect behavior during the process he commissioned a new wardrobe for her, a wardrobe befitting a little princess.

She called him “Stasius” when they were alone and smiled at him and only him- that took a little bit of training, but it was necessary. She belonged to him, body and soul, and he made sure that she knew that; placing her in the Ruby Palace, showering her in presents and punishing those that took her attention.

Anastasius was her god, and she needed to learn to worship.

#who made me a princess #suddenly a princess #wmmap #anastasius de alger obelia #yandere #series: domestic #yandere anastasius de alger obelia

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vmheadquarters · 5 years ago

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We’re still playing our game of written hot potato! Dozens of your favorite authors are taking turns to tell a Veronica Mars mystery story. Each writer crafts their chapter and then “tosses” the story to the next person to continue the tale. No one knows what will happen, so expect the unexpected! Follow the “vmhq presents” and “murder we wrote” tags for all the installments, or read the story as it develops on AO3. — Chapter Ten of MURDER, WE WROTE is written by @loveobsessed2. And stayed tuned next week for Ch.11 from @pepandliv1 -tag, you’re it!

—————————————————————————————————— CHAPTER TEN by @loveobsessed2

“Mac? How long have you been here? Do you have internet access? What are you looking at? Are you involved in the mystery? Another fake victim? How and when did you get here? Oooh, can I have some of your chips?”

Mac immediately turned the bag in their direction and spoke a little louder than normal to be heard over Veronica’s crunching.

“Hey, Bond, slow down. I arrived the same way you did, just a day earlier. I didn’t know you were gonna be here, but once I saw your name on the final list, I was really hoping you’d find me. I have a few questions of my own, but you know I’ll tell you everything I know.”

Logan pulled the other two chairs back from the table and gestured for V to sit down. She offered him the bag of chips as she complied.

“Did you know Mac was here?”

“Nope, I’m just as surprised as you are.” His voice was light as he tossed a chip up in the air, expertly catching it in his teeth, and using his tongue to bring it fully into his mouth.

Veronica’s eyes were riveted on his mouth as she quipped, “Two happy surprises in one day. How did I get so lucky?

“I’ll show you lucky.” He waggled his eyebrows as she flushed.

“I can see that your reunion is going well.” Mac cleared her throat to regain their attention before finding herself in a very awkward situation. “When I first found out you were here, I was contemplating ways I could bring you two together from behind the scenes. Of course, that was before an actual dead body was discovered.”

“Smart thinking on staying hidden from the rest of the guests. We all know everyone is a suspect.” Logan tensed next to her, and Veronica reached out for his hand then hurried to add, “Present company excluded. And Wallace of course.”

“Of course," Mac agreed. "What do you want to know? You already met my roommate, Jen.”

“Jen is your roommate? What happened to Parker?” Veronica was noticeably confused.

“I’m so glad you listen when I talk, Veronica. I told you, Parker didn't come back this semester and is already partially into her sophomore year at a local college in Denver. Jen has been my roommate since October. I like her much better than the emo chick I was assigned at the start of the semester. Bonus points that when she throws a party I make money, instead of getting stuck chatting with random strangers who tease me about my name and offer me apples. I know I told you all about the murder mystery side gig I’ve been helping out with. How else did you think Wallace scored an invite?” Mac paused to let that settle in and allowed her expression to show her satisfaction that she knew something before Veronica. “You’re welcome by the way. I’m the one who suggested his invite specify a female plus-one.” Mac gestured to the happy couple. “Based on the two of you being attached at the hip since your arrival, I’m assuming my plan worked.”

Logan and Veronica shared a look and then smiled at Mac. It was all the proof she needed.

“So, what’s with Duncan and Norris and Leo? How do they all fit into the master plan?”

“I wasn’t in on any of that. Jen said Duncan and Norris were sent by Mistress X. She didn’t let on if she knew Duncan was--or still is-- a fugitive. I'm assuming the rest of the team is also in her employ. Jen is the only one I’ve had contact with. All I know about Leo is what I overheard from the guests over the security feed.”

“Security feed? You’ve been recording us? Like, with hidden cameras?!”

“Where? Why didn’t we see them?!”

“We always have cameras. And listening devices. It’s how we make sure the guests stay safe. And offer the less intelligent ones some extra clues. You wouldn’t believe how much people don’t notice.” The two girls shared a knowing look until Mac broke eye contact. “I’m just sorry I disabled the ones in your room once I heard Logan come in.”

“Dang it! I thought we finally had a way to figure out who pushed you.” Logan rejoined the conversation.

“I can’t believe there are hidden cameras and I didn’t even think to look for them. Someone has been distracting me recently.” Veronica shot Logan a pointed look. “Let’s not even get into the fact that that same someone could be voted ‘least likely to see a hidden camera.’”

“Well ex-cu-use me for thinking there were more important things to focus on. Like maybe making sure no one else died?” Logan’s sarcastic and condescending retort did nothing but further raise Veronica’s hackles.

“You guys…” Mac’s voice doesn’t even register with them.

Veronica didn’t attempt to soften her words as she spat out, “Are you implying I wasn’t? Being the most observant person in the room isn’t easy. Especially when I’m surrounded by a bunch of rich pampered idiots. Let’s not forget their king - the only guy I know who could live somewhere for most of his life and fail to notice that his favorite hang-out contained not one, but two hidden cameras.”

Giving up any pretense she’s not hanging on their every word, Mac propped her feet on the table, and started munching on red vines.

“Oh yes, Sugarpuss, you are the queen of detecting, and we all bow before your greatness.” Logan demonstrated with a flourish of his hand. “You certainly would never have failed to notice a hidden camera.”

“Low blow, Logan, low blow. I’m sorry I was distracted the first time by the revelation that my best friend was being taken advantage of by a psychopath. And how many times do I have to tell you? That. Was. Not. A. Sex. Tape.” She enunciated every word before accusing. “You saw the video, you should know!”

“I didn’t watch the whole thing, but it sure looked like a sex tape to me.”

“What? Did you expect me to play the part of the ever-jealous ex-girlfriend? After Madison?”

“Let’s set the record straight. What happened with Madison is definitely not what you imagined.”

Veronica’s defensive shell began to slip and her voice cracked. “Sure.”

His gaze was vulnerable and sincere as he caught her eyes. “Hey, Veronica,” he soothed, scooting his chair closer and wrapping an arm around her shoulder. “I know, we need to talk about all of this, but let’s dial it back a little.”

“OK,” Veronica whispered, as she buried her face in his side and relaxed into his embrace. “I didn’t realize how fresh it still was.”

“Me neither.” He stroked her hair and planted a kiss on her crown. “I know there’s a lot we need to work through. I am so sorry for hurting you.”

Veronica reached out and gently cradled his face in her hands. “Oh, Logan, I only dated Piz because I couldn’t stand to be alone while you seemed to have moved on so spectacularly without me. I should have tried harder. There’s always hope when it comes to us. There has to be.” She offered him a tentative smile and continued. “I know we’ve messed up a lot in the past, but I really do want to figure this out with you. I’m sick of being without you. A bad day with you is better than a great day with anyone else.”

Logan reached down to cup her face and the hope that shone in his eyes was almost blinding. “No more running?” he whispered.

“No more running,” she assured just before his lips met hers. She wrapped her arms firmly around him in an effort to prove that she was never letting him go again. His strong arms pulled her tight against him, and they got lost in each other as their bodies apologized and soothed in ways that words never could.

The sound of Mac once again clearing her throat jolted them out of their fugue state, and laughter bubbled out of their chests.

"Ok guys, I’m glad you’re finally hashing out some of your issues but there are a little bit more pressing matters at hand. We need to make some kind of plan while we’re still alone.” She paused long enough for them to nod their agreement. “This whole situation is a little out of control. All the mystery actors are staying in the servant’s quarters. I’ll keep an eye on them and report any suspicious activity. You two are with the rest of the guests, so I’m sure you’ve got that side of things covered. I’m bummed I didn’t buy the new Thuraya SatSleeve phone converter case before this trip. If I ever needed a satellite phone it's now.” Mac showed her frustration by smacking her forehead with her palm. “My laptop was connected to the internet before the storm hit. It was a spotty and slow connection, but it was better than the non-connection I have now. Has Wallace had any luck with the phones?"

"No, both landlines have cut cords, so that was a dead end." The slow shake of Logan’s head emphasized his words.

"Right, but surely you’re smart enough to realize your remote-control plane building BFF knows how to splice together a cut cord…" Mac raised an eyebrow in question. “I guess you were already on your way in here when he brought up looking for a tool kit to attempt some diagnostics and repairs.”

"Further proof that every Bond needs a Q." Veronica quipped, with no evidence of her previous vulnerability.

"Truer words were never spoken.” Mac met her friend’s eyes with a grin. “We really need to establish a connection to the outside world. Right now, my phone is as good as a paperweight. I can’t believe none of these spoiled 09ers has a satellite phone. Money is wasted on the rich."

“I take offense to that!” Logan interjected. “I’ve never been in a position to need a satellite phone until pretty much right now. I should’ve known better than to believe Dick when he told me all of our needs would be taken care of, and all we had to do is show up. He claimed he had the perfect vacation for us over winter break and it would give me the distraction I needed." His eyes shifted to Veronica and then away again nervously.

Veronica chose not to dig into what sounded like a painful topic for Logan and addressed Mac instead. "Mac, if you saw what was going on, why didn’t you leave me some kind of clue, so I could find you sooner?"

Mac shrugged. "The doors are rigged and only open from the inside at certain times. I was getting everything ready for when you did find me. I knew it wouldn’t take long. I was just getting re-connected to the internet before the chandelier went crashing to the ground. Maybe it took out some wires? I tried to log onto Prying Eyez to get some info on Leo and Duncan, but I don’t have your new password.”

“Yeah, Dad kicked me off his server after the whole lost election evidence tampering fiasco. Here’s my new login and password. Once you get back online, will you hack into Vinnie’s files and find out what Leo was working on recently and if that’s what brought him here? Him being here the same weekend we were all brought together is too big of a coincidence to even pretend they’re not connected.”

Veronica reached into her bag and pulled out the damaged page of Leo’s notes.

Holding it out for Mac to see, she said, “Once you get back online will you get me the rest of this case file? Even when we can get off this island, I’m gonna need to find out what happened to Leo. Why was he here? Why did he leave the sheriff's office and start working for Vinnie? Was he working both jobs at the same time? Was he undercover somehow? Is his death related to this case?"

“Why do you care so much about a guy you claim to only have dated briefly?” Logan teased.

“He was a pretty decent guy, and he was a great source of info.” Veronica defended.

“Yeah, decent guys always rob the cradle. Were you even legal?” Logan asked.

“That was years ago, and I ended that once you and I started kissing. He’s the only guy I ever cheated on. Maybe I feel a little bit of lingering guilt. The least I can do is solve his murder. I used him just like I’ve used everyone else. I’m sorry for the times I’ve gotten so wrapped up in solving a case that I didn’t stop to take your needs or feelings into consideration. You too, Mac. You know you mean more to me than that, right?”

Mac gave her friend a reassuring smile right before Logan chimed in. “Speaking of people who mean something to us, it looks like your BFF is pretty smooth with the ladies.” Logan gestured to Mac’s screen, and the trio gathered around to watch Wallace with his high-school crush.

“Teaching a girl how to do something without mansplaining really is a great seduction tool.” Veronica playfully bumped Logan aside with her hip, and they settled in to watch Wallace and Alexis in the kitchen. The telephone and an assortment of objects were spread out on the counter in front of them.

Wallace turned to her and said, “There was a pretty extensive collection of items in the junk drawer but surprisingly no wire snips or pliers. I’ll just have to make do with a knife and this roll of electrical tape.”

He picked up one end of the severed cord and held it so Alexis could see what he was doing. She paid close attention as Wallace showed her how to remove the white outer coating to reveal the four colored wires underneath. He then stripped each individual wire of its insulation, being careful to cut just the rubber coating without damaging the actual wire. They clearly seemed to be enjoying their time together, even though it was spent performing such a mundane task. Alexis was a quick study and picked up the other end of the cord while holding out her hand for the knife. Her movements weren’t as practiced as his, but her nimble fingers mimicked his movements until her wires were just as ready as his. Their eyes met, and his smile was full of approval. He then demonstrated how to align the two cords of matching color and twist their exposed ends together to ensure a strong connection, before wrapping each wire in electrical tape; this took the place of the previously removed rubber insulation, before sealing them together with a new piece of tape. They shared a smile of mutual accomplishment before plugging the cord back into the phone. The keypad lit up when the receiver was lifted. “No dial tone. The phones must be out. We’ll keep checking. They’ve gotta come back at some point. We should check the box in the basement, but that should probably wait until morning,” Wallace said, as he pulled Alexis into his arms.

The trio turned their attention from the screen to give the new couple some privacy. Veronica sighed and suggested they go their separate ways, but not before inquiring about Mac’s supply of snacks. Mac handed Veronica the key to the pantry, and promised to dig up a map of the grounds, as well as blueprints for the main house and any other structures on the island.

#veronica mars #veronica mars fanfic #vm fanfic #vmhq presents #murder we wrote #round robin

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purplesurveys · 4 years ago

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941

ACH

Do you listen to anything by Bach? I’ve probably encountered some of his material since I like looking for classical musical playlists to listen to on Spotify, but I’m nowhere near being a devoted fan or anything like that.

ASH

Do you like ash trees? I’m not attached to any kind of tree, really – but I know I have nothing against this kind, haha.

Do you have the ashes of a family member or a pet? No. The only ashes I’ve gotten to encounter are my grandpa’s, but we’ve since placed them in our local ossuary so that he can rest in peace.

How often do you feel like you want to bash your head against a wall? Before September, quite seldom. But with this month being so turbulent, chaotic, and nothing like I expected it to be, seldom has turned into every day.

Has anyone ever thrown you a big birthday bash? Sure. I had a big party when I was 7 and I also had a nice slew of celebrations when I turned 18. But if you mean a surprise birthday bash then no, no one has thrown one for me.

Do you know anyone who is brash? I do, but fortunately I haven’t had to work with her for a while now. I certainly often felt annoyed when I used to have to.

Do you typically carry cash or a credit/debit card? OMG Y’ALL I finally opened my own bank account last Friday I’ve never felt so grown-up until now haha. My dad helped me set up my first card, which is a debit card. :)

Have you ever crashed someone else’s party before? No, that sounds so annoying omg. I’d never want to be known as a gatecrasher. I know I’d be pissed if someone showed up to any of my parties uninvited.

Have you ever been involved in a car crash? Yes but fortunately they’ve all been super mild ones. One of my biggest fears is getting involved in a car crash where things would be out of my control and becoming seriously injured, like if a drunk driver crashed into me or if a 12-wheeler loses its brakes and slams into my car or something. I think I’d live in resentment for the rest of my life if that sort of thing happened to me and still ended up alive.

Do you use Door Dash? I didn’t know what this is so I had to look it up, and even though we don’t have Door Dash we do have several apps that do exactly the same services.

How often do you use a dash in your writing? I like using them in more casual contexts like survey entries, personal essays, feature articles, etc. I avoid dashes in academic writing since dashes are not really the most formal of punctuation marks.

Last place you made a mad dash to? The car repair shop that my dad asked me to meet him at because his situation was a little urgent at the time.

Do you make it a habit to flash people? Oh wow, no I don’t. That’s one of the last things anyone can expect from me. I like wearing revealing or skin-tight articles of clothing, but that doesn’t mean I like giving absolutely everything away lol

Do you prefer flash or no flash on a camera? No flash, always. I hate the effect that flash does and I never go for it, unless I’m in an area where lighting is poor.

Is the Flash one of your favorite superheroes? No. I’m not very big on superheroes to begin with.

Do you use the phrase “I’ll be back in a flash”? Not really. I find myself using “I’ll be super quick” more, or using ‘jiffy’ instead of flash.

Have you ever had a gash in your head before? Anywhere else on your body? I sported a gash near my eyebrow once because of some cousin who tried to blind me by hurling a glass jar towards my left eye and just narrowly missing my actual eyeball. Now there’s a scar in its place. Currently, I have multiple gashes on my arms and legs because Cooper.

Do you like hash browns? They’re okay, but I can’t have them all the time because I find them way too greasy for my enjoyment.

Do you do hash? No.

How often do you use hash tags? Almost never, unless I’m fighting for a political cause like BLM or calling for free mass testing. Hashtags got real lame real quick when they started getting popular around 7-8 years ago.

Do you have long eyelashes? Yes, it’s my favorite feature of mine and I get compliments on them fairly often.

How often do you lash out at others? For what reasons? Not often, but when I do it’s almost always because I’m already buckling under immense pressure and probably have nowhere to release my stress onto. I don’t turn it into an automatic mechanism though, because I don’t want to make others feel like shit for things they didn’t do.

Do you like mashed potatoes? I enjoy them but they’re not really my favorite dish. I can do 4-5 spoonfuls of them before getting over them haha, like I can never seem to finish a serving of it.

Do you typically gnash your teeth together? No I HATEEEE the sensation and the sound that it makes. My sister grinds her teeth in her sleep and it drives me nuts whenever we’re on a family trip and we share a room.

Do you know someone who speaks balderdash? Sure.

What color is the backsplash of your kitchen? White.

Have you ever had any rashes before? What kinds? Yes. Back in high school I used to occasionally get a random itchy area on my leg and whenever I’d scratch it, it would turn into an ugly patch of rashes. I never figured what the condition was but I’m just glad it’s never happened again.

Do you typically make rash decisions? Sometimes. I really tend to impulsive. The last one I made was swapping a full-time job opportunity for an internship with much lesser pay. Even I was surprised by how quick I jumped into the latter, but I like the nature of the work of the internship SO MUCH MORE, and I dunno if I’ll be happy with what I would be doing in the full-time gig. Plus, internships here are never even paid ones, so the fact that they even offered to give me an allowance per day just goes to show how good the company I’m interning for is.

Have you ever worn a sash before? I probably have but I don’t remember what for anymore.

Do you often find that your personality clashes with others’ around you? Yes, but I’m also good at adjusting to all kinds of personalities so I’m not too bothered by the clashes.

Whose tires would you like to slash? Any racist’s tires, really.

Who would you like to smash with? No one at the moment.

What was the last thing you smashed out of anger? I don’t really tend to be violent when I’m angry. The last angry thing I did was to throw my head against a pillow, but that’s it.

Do you have a secret stash of something hidden anywhere? Nopes.

How often do you take out the trash? My parents prefer to do it so they don’t really ask us to.

Has anyone ever told you that you look like trash? Other than myself, no.

Do you like to splash in the pool, the bathtub, or in puddles? I wouldn’t call it my favorite thing to do; I hate the mess that it makes, ha.

Have you ever thrashed violently before? What was the cause? Yeah. I probably embarrassed my grandma for life when I did so, but it was when I had to be confined to the hospital and they needed to insert the IV thing on me. It sent me into the worst panic attack I’ve ever gotten and I ended up thrashing a lot and several people had to hold me down so that the nurse could stick the thing into my wrist.

Do you own and use an eyelash curler? No. Those make me cringe so bad...I hate how they get so close to the eyeball. Kate brought her makeup kit to school everyday and she always made me try to learn how to curl my own lashes, but it just made me feel so nauseated lol

Have you ever experienced backlash from others? A few times before.

Have you ever had whiplash before? Never.

ATH

Do you prefer a shower or a bath? Shower. Much more efficient. Baths are relaxing, but I don’t like how I end up bathing in what’s pretty much dirty water.

Have you ever given another person or an animal a bath before? I’ve only given Kimi a bath. I let my dad bathe Cooper since he’s too much of a handful for now, plus I think it’s fair if we bathe one dog each haha.

How good are you at math? I can answer advanced algebra, statistics, and geometry questions if you give me enough time to review and get reacquainted with the formulas, but I’m perfectly alright with no longer revisiting trigonometry and calculus for the rest of my life.

Do you feel like your life is on the right path? Career-wise it definitely is; I’m happy with the direction it’s going right now. Everything else seems so turbulent at the moment and I can’t say I’m happy.

Are there any bike paths or footpaths in your area? We have sidewalks, if they count.

Have you ever gone on the warpath before? Not really. I do get very angry with certain people if I think they’ve been behaving badly, but I rarely get confrontational.

Is there a birdbath in your yard? No, those aren’t common here at all. I’ve only seen those in cartoons, I think.

Have you ever had a footbath before? Nopes.

What’s the last thing you’ve had to deal with the aftermath of? I can think of one thing but it’s still pretty triggering so I don’t feel like bringing it up at the moment.

Have you ever witnessed a bloodbath? Thankfully I haven’t. I get so queasy when I see blood though; it’s so much better off this way because I wouldn’t be able to deal with one at all.

Are you a sociopath or a psychopath? Do you know anyone who might be? No lol. I don’t think I know of anyone who could possibly be either. I wouldn’t want to associate myself with one in the first place.

Who’s the last person that you faced the wrath of? Myself.

AMP

Do you have an instrument that you plug into an amp? Nope, I own 0 instruments.

When’s the last time you felt amped up? What was the reason? Thursday morning when I parked in front of the office I was gonna have my job interview in. I needed to hype myself up to feel confident so I spent a couple of minutes in the car pumping my chest and screaming and shit, lol

Have you ever gone to day camp or overnight sleepaway camp? No. My mom wouldn’t have allowed me as a kid.

When’s the last time you felt like a champ? It’s been a while. I haven’t exactly felt like I’ve been winning in anything.

Last time it was damp where you lived? This afternoon. It was really humid for a good few hours and then it ended up raining.

Weirdest place you’ve ever had a cramp? My index finger whenever I’d try to use chopsticks; and my toes when I hiked in Sagada. The toe cramps were so bizarre I was actually laughing-crying the whole time the tour guide was treating me; my dad was taking photos of me too loooooool

Do you refer to your grandfather as “Gramps”? No. I call both of them Lolo, which is our local version of Grandpa.

Have you ever worn a headlamp before? No, I’ve never really had to.

Do you have a ramp anywhere in your house? I don’t think so, no.

Has anyone ever called you “scamp” before? No.

How many lamps are in the room you’re in? How many are actually turned on? There is one lamp, and it is currently turned on.

Do you stamp your feet when you are angry? It doesn’t tend to be a behavior of mine, no.

Last time you used a postage stamp? Not sure...grade school, probably? I never used those a lot.

Are there streetlamps on your street? What time do they turn on? Yep. I don’t keep track of their schedule but a safe guess would be either 6 or 6:30 PM.

Last place/area that you wanted to revamp? My room.

Do you know anyone who is a tramp? No.

Have you seen Lady and the Tramp before? Not the full movie but I’ve seen a lot of excerpts from watching Magic English as a kid.

Do you know anyone with a “tramp stamp”? I don’t think so.

AWK/AULK/ALK

Is the squawk of certain birds annoying? Which ones? I’ve never found any of them annoying, but maybe that’s also because there aren’t a lot of different birds flying around where I live.

Do you prefer hawks or falcons? And…why? I don’t have a preference; I’ve never encountered either.

Has anyone ever watched you like a hawk before? That sounds a little creepy and I wouldn’t want to know if anyone has.

What was the last thing you used caulk on? I’m almost positive I’ve never handled that, haha.

[a-zebra-is-a-striped-horse]

#survey #surveys

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searchingwardrobes · 6 years ago

Text

An Education in Southern Gothic: 2/2

Here it is, the second chapter where things heat up and then take us full speed to the dramatic finale! Much thanks again to @snowbellewells for being an awesome beta and @hollyethecurious for the art. I also thank my fellow @cssns writers for all the help in the discord chat. “Ya’ll bloody wankers” ;) You know who ya’ll are!

Summary - Fact: there’s a graveyard between the football field and the science building. Debatable: A ghost haunts the halls of Misthaven Hills High. Emma Swan is about to get an education. Killian Jones is about to get a whole lot more.

Rating: T

Chapter one on tumblr. Also on Ao3.

Tagging the usuals: @welllpthisishappening @kday426 @jennjenn615 @let-it-raines @kmomof4 @teamhook @whimsicallyenchantedrose @wellhellotragic @optomisticgirl @distant-rose @shireness-says @xhookswenchx @ohmakemeahercules @thislassishooked @winterbaby89 @branlovestowrite @snidgetsafan @delirious-latenight-laughs @gingerchangeling @mythologicalmango @vvbooklady1256 @ultraluckycatnd @revanmeetra87 @resident-of-storybrooke @tiganasummertree @bethacaciakay @profdanglaisstuff @spartanguard @thejollyroger-writer @nikkiemms @courtorderedcake

Chapter Two: Theories of Exorcism

Killian sits in his classroom, a stack of essays on the Roman Empire in front of him, his red pen tapping pensively against his jaw.

He’s not thinking about the papers.

Emma has been worrying him since Friday night. He tried to brush off the odd way she was speaking, the slightly unnatural way she was holding herself. She had been camping out with twenty one teenage girls in a cafeteria, after all, and it had been the middle of the night. But the next morning, she had scooped a few pieces of fruit from the tray they had picked up at Chick-fil-a and completely ignored the chicken biscuits and the hash browns. Emma Swan choosing healthy food over greasy food was cause for genuine concern. When he made a joke about the hash browns she had twisted his arm for, she had looked at him in utter confusion.

Killian sighs as he looks down at the essays in front of him. His planning hour is half over, and he told his sophomores he would have their essays graded by tomorrow.

Suddenly, his door flies open and Killian startles, dropping his red pen. And his jaw. He feels like one of those old cartoon characters when their jaws hit the ground and their drooling tongues go rolling across the floor. He’s never denied that Emma Swan is attractive - he would have to be blind and a complete idiot for that - but he’s never seen her quite like this. Her usual ensemble for work is casual and professional - some slacks and a blouse - and her hair is normally pulled up. Today, her golden locks are carefully styled and tumbling over her shoulders. And her dress . . .

It’s tight. It’s red. It short. It shows off her cleavage. It’s completely inappropriate for a high school teacher.

And his body is reacting whether he wants it to or not.

So did the bodies of the boys in her first period class, he’s sure. Wait a minute . . .

“Your second period class, Emma?” he asks in alarm, rising from his desk.

She’s still leaning seductively against the door frame, one arm draped over her head, the other propped on her hip. It should look ridiculous, but it just . . . doesn’t.

“What about it?” she asks flippantly.

Killian stops a few feet away, thinking that’s probably the safest distance. “Um, you’re supposed to be teaching American Lit right now?”

Emma pushes off from the door frame, pulling the door shut behind her and leaning against it. Her chest heaves in a very distracting way in her tight dress.

“It was incredibly dull, so I told the children to read quietly.”

Killian arches a brow. “Incredibly dull?”

“Yes,” Emma pouts, coming closer.

Her legs go on for days in that dress and in those heels. He looks out the window quickly and thinks of England. He swallows, trying to remain calm as her hands reach out to rest upon his chest. Incredibly dull? He has never heard Emma talk that way.

“Can I tell you a secret?”

Killian bites his lip as he turns his gaze on her. “Sure, love.”

Her hands slide up his chest and wrap around his neck.

“I’ve had a little crush on you for a long time.”

The breath rushes out of his lungs. He’s longed to hear her say that for so long, probably since that stupid faculty meeting back in July when he’d been a complete wanker trying to get her attention. Despite the euphoria he feels at her words, alarm bells are going off in his brain. He glances over Emma’s shoulder at the door, which is mostly glass. Anyone walking by could see them.

“Emma,” he says gently, removing her hands and taking a step back, “this is neither the time nor place.”

Suddenly, her expression shifts, and her eyes widen in sudden rage. “What are you? Some kind of Puritan? What man turns down a perfectly good proposition?”

She whips around so fast, he gets a mouthful of her hair.

“Emma,” he says, stopping her with a gentle hand to her elbow, “this isn’t you. What’s going on?”

She grins slowly as she turns back around. Before he can register what’s happening, she’s shoved him backwards against his desk, sending papers flying. He catches himself, bracing both hands on the edge of it. Emma presses her entire body flush against him, grinning at his length that she can easily feel through his dress slacks.

“See?” she purrs, running her hands up and down his chest before grasping his tie in her fist. “You want me.”

He’s tempted for one excruciating moment to give in, to grab her in his arms and kiss the living hell out of her. But then he looks into her eyes, and once again, something just isn’t right. He pushes her away roughly and moves to put his desk between them.

“Not like this, Emma,” he tells her, praying she won’t notice the tremor in his voice.

She scowls at him, yet another foreign expression playing over her features. “Well, Mr. Jones, I suppose we’ll save this cat and mouse for another day.”

She saunters out, her arms crossed over her chest, her long painted nails tapping at her biceps. She glances at him once before walking out the door.

Once she’s gone, Killian falls shakily into his desk chair. He’s practically sweating and moves to loosen his tie. He glances at the clock and groans before picking up his red pen.

Nothing like sophomore essays to douse his arousal.

*****************************************************************

If anyone at his old high school had suggested that Killian Jones would one day be a high school history teacher, everyone would have assumed it was a joke and burst out laughing. Bad boy, smart ass Killian Jones who liked to argue with the teachers, got into almost daily fights, and got caught drinking rum behind the bleachers, a future high school teacher? His teenage self had been well known by the principal, and not for good reasons. He spent an inordinate amount of time in the woman’s office, much to her irritation.

So getting called into the principal’s office was something he grew used to, and those old demons probably account for the sass he doles out to Regina on a regular basis now. He admits whenever she asks to see him, he can’t seem to stop the proverbial chip from resting on his shoulder.

Yet never in all his life, as a student or a teacher, has he been physically yanked into the principal’s office. Until now.

The embarrassing yelp he emits when Robin yanks him by the arm and drags him into the office is half due to his friend’s upper body strength (he isn’t the school’s archery coach for nothing) and half due to his almost constant state of distraction since Emma became . . . someone else.

“Bloody hell, Robin, what are you? Your wife’s personal henchman now?”

He turns to find a small group gathered around Regina’s conference table: Mary Margaret, David, and Jasmine. The principal herself stands in front of the framed painting of Misthaven Hills Plantation circa 1885, the focal piece of art in her largely austere office. Her eyes are focused, her perfectly manicured nails tapping at her forearms where they’re crossed at her chest.

“This is an emergency meeting, Mr. Jones,” she tells him cooly, “to discuss what’s happening in your department.”

“My department?” Killian asks incredulously, pointing at his own chest. Mary Margaret is the department chair, if they want to get technical.

Regina rolls her eyes. “The humanities department, Jones, now sit.”

She uncrosses her arms to point at the last empty chair, and Killian obeys. He almost asks what Robin is doing there when he teaches PE, but Regina doesn’t seem to be in the best mood. She sits, adjusts the jacket of her sensible pantsuit, and folds her arms upon the polished surface of the conference table.

“We all know why we’re here,” she says archly.

“Because Emma has started dressing like Substitute Barbie?” Jasmine ventures.

Killian swallows back a defense for Emma. Jasmine isn’t off base in her assessment, unfortunately.

“Let’s not bring my sister into this,” Regina snaps.

“Well she did wear a skintight dress with a plunging neckline last time she subbed for me,” Mary Margaret says, “with no bra.”

Regina rubs her head wearily, then shoots a glare at her husband. “Don’t you start!”

Robin lifts his hands in surrender. “I didn’t say a word!”

David covers his mouth, clearly stifling a laugh. Another department member, but oh well, it’s a small town, and Killian knows David is probably more worried about Emma than he is. For some reason, he and Mary Margaret have practically adopted her old roommate.

“The point,” Regina sighs, “is that Emma is being unprofessional, not only in her wardrobe choices, but also in almost every area of her job for the past two weeks.”

Killian thinks back to when she showed up in his classroom when she was supposed to be teaching. As a matter of fact, Emma has been practically stalking him since that night in the cafeteria. The most embarrassing was when she sauntered right into his class in the middle of his lecture on the Salem witch trials and perched on the edge of his desk in a tiny black leather number he assumed was supposed to be a dress.

“Killian, you have to talk to her,” Mary Margaret puts in.

He swallows nervously, scratching behind his ear. “I, um, don’t think I’m the best person for that.”

“What do you mean?” Jasmine exclaims. “You’re the one she’s spending all her time with.”

“When she’s supposed to be teaching,” Regina adds.

“You’re her boss!” Killian argues.

The only way he’s survived the past two weeks is by avoiding Emma at all costs or at least ensuring they’re not alone. So he doesn’t do something stupid like shove her against his whiteboard and have his way with her. He rubs at his neck - is it hot in here?

“I’ve called her into my office twice,” Regina tells him with a shake of her head. “The first time she blew me off. This morning . . . I can’t explain it. For some reason, I ended the meeting apologizing to her.”

“She’s not herself,” Killian tries to explain. His colleagues might think he’s crazy, but his gut tells him that this woman is not his Emma, which is precisely why he’s fighting his libido at every turn.

“I agree with Killian,” David speaks up, “something’s wrong.”

Killian points at his friend, “See? I knew it wasn’t just me. She hasn’t been the same since the cheerleaders had their overnight in the cafeteria.”

Regina narrows her eyes. “What are you suggesting?”

Killian presses his eyes closed for a moment. Please don’t let them think I’ve lost my mind. “When I say Emma isn’t herself, I don’t mean that figuratively . . . . I’m talking about the curse of Cora Mills.”

Regina snorts out an incredulous laugh. Jasmine lifts her eyes heavenward, and Robin shakes his head.

“You can’t be serious,” David mutters.

“You said yourself something is wrong!”

“I thought maybe . . . “ he squirms in his seat, “that the two of you finally, I mean . . . “

“Oh God, are you serious right now?”

“There has been sexual tension,” Jasmine points out.

“This is Emma we’re talking about!” Killian yanks at his hair with both hands. “The most I’ve gotten out of her all this time is witty banter and subtle flirting. She’s not the type to go zero to sixty, especially with me, her co-worker and friend!”

Everyone starts to talk at once, until Mary Margaret’s voice rises above the others. “Killian has a point.” Everyone falls silent to gape at the brunette. “I’ve known Emma longer than any of you. She may lay it on thick at a bar for a one night stand, but not when it’s someone she actually may . . . care for.”

She looks at Killian apologetically, and he gets it. Talking about his feelings for Emma is weird in this setting, even if he’s been walking around with his heart on his sleeve since July. No one wants their love life discussed in a department meeting. Yet he’ll gladly endure a bit of embarrassment if they can figure out how to help Emma.

“But a ghost, sweetheart?” David asks.

“There was something in that kitchen, I’m telling you,” Mary Margaret insists.

“This is the most ridiculous meeting I have ever led!” Regina exclaims in frustration, rising to her feet. She leans forward, resting one hand on the desk, and pointing the other at Mary Margaret. “Department chair, get your English teacher to stop dressing like a hooker. I’m getting complaints from parents. And all three of you better get a handle on the homecoming issue of the paper since Ms. Swan isn’t doing shit with it.”

Jasmine’s and Mary Margaret’s voices rise in irritation about Emma carrying her weight with the paper. Jasmine is particularly peeved since she got stuck with the back to school issue and the football season kickoff issue. As for Killian, his blood is boiling, and he jumps from his seat.

“Are you all kidding me? That’s all you people care about? The school paper and Emma’s wardrobe?”

“What do you want us to do, Kil? An exorcism?” Robin asks, and when Killians sees the little smirk on his face, he has to clench his fist to keep from punching his friend in the jaw.

“Ya’ll bloody wankers!” he shouts, stomping out the door and slamming it behind him.

Robin looks around at his wife and stunned coworkers. “Did he really just put those three words together?”

Killian’s chest is heaving when he walks out into the hallway, and he wasn’t imagining things, Regina’s office was stuffy. He takes big breaths of the cooler air, pacing in agitation. He kicks a bottom locker, swearing.

“I can help.”

Killian jumps at the sound of Henry Mills’ voice. He spins to see the freshman sitting in a plastic chair beside his mother’s office door.

“Apologies, lad,” Killian says, unclenching his fists and relaxing his shoulders, “I didn’t see you there.”

Henry shrugs. “Mom cusses at home, so she’s kind of a hypocrite about that language rule.”

Killian chuckles and comes to lean against the wall next to the boy. “I take it you heard some of that meeting just now?”

“Try all of it,” Henry says, leaning over to yank a folder out of his bookbag, “and you’re not crazy. Ms. Swan is one of my favorite teachers - besides you, of course - and she isn’t the same person lately. She doesn’t care about us kids at all anymore, and she’s never like that.”

“So what’s your theory?”

“Just like you said, the ghost of Cora Mills.” Henry opens the folder on his lap. “Know that project you gave us on American ghost stories and urban legends?”

“Yeah?” It was an assignment Killian had given his freshmen every year since he started teaching. He was always trying to find ways to get kids excited about history, and this particular project was always a hit. Henry Mills, however, wasn’t the average student, and he wasn’t surprised to hear the passion in the boy’s voice.

“Well, I’m doing mine on the ghost story right here at this school. Cora Mills - no relation by the way -

Killian chuckles as he takes a seat next to the boy, and Henry smiles.

“Well, anyway,” Henry continues, “Cora’s ghost supposedly seeks revenge on men -”

“- by possessing a woman and then . . . “ Killian trails off, his face warming at having this conversation with a student.

Henry just rolls his eyes. “Seducing the guy and killing him? Don’t patronize me. I’m fourteen, not ten.”

“Touche,” Killian grins, “but, why aren’t there boys dropping dead every other day around here?”

Henry sorts through his papers. “Because there’s a pattern to the deaths.” He shoves some papers in Killian’s hands. “See?”

Killian’s eyes widen as he skims over the old newspaper clippings from the Misthaven Mirror. Henry leans over to point at the dates.

“See? The first case of a man dying in the company of a woman with no memory of what happened occurred in 1899. The next one in 1909 -”

“Then 1919, 1929, they’ve happened every ten years!”

Henry nods. “Cora Mills murdered the LaTours in October of 1889. Every ten years since, she’s possessed the body of a woman and murdered the man she loves. Pretty creepy, huh?”

Killian narrows his arms as he regards Henry. “You seem to be getting a little too into this.” The boy grins. “What can I say? This town is so boring! This ghost story is at least interesting!”

Killian frowns. “But how do we help Emma - I mean, Ms. Swan?”

“You mean how do we help you? Cora Mills won’t leave Ms. Swan’s body until she’s killed you.”

******************************************************************

The clouds above Misthaven Hills High are dark and threatening rain. There’s a strong wind, yet the air is still heavy with humidity. The weather only adds to the ominous feeling pressing on Killian’s chest. His hands are shoved into the pockets of his dress slacks as he crosses the lower classmen parking lot. Belle is a few feet away, chatting with Henry beneath the enormous branches of the ancient live oak tree that shelters the old plantation cemetery. The wind keeps sending her auburn curls swirling around her face, but her face is serene as she smiles at Henry. Belle’s calm amidst any storm is one of the reasons he had become friends with her so quickly when he first arrived at the school two years ago. David is like a brother, Mary Margaret like a doting mother, and Belle? She’s like the sister he never had, someone who allows him to be himself while simultaneously never hesitating to call him out on his bullshit.

She’s also the only adult on campus who didn’t bat an eye at he and Henry’s ghost possession theory. She had jumped at the chance to help them, and whatever she has in that heavy messenger bag slung over her shoulder will hopefully save Emma.

And him, by extension. Killed by the woman he loves may be at least a dramatic way to go, but he prefers surviving, thank you very much.

“Killian!” Belle exclaims, greeting him with a smile and a friendly hug when he reaches the graveyard.

“Now can we see what’s in the bag?” Henry asks, shuffling his feet in excitement.

Belle kneels on the ground and begins removing the items. He immediately recognizes the large, ornate crucifix and the dozen votive candles. Killian frowns as he picks up a small, white plastic bottle.

“Is that . . . Jesus on this label?”

“Yes,” Belle says a bit defensively as she snatches it away from him, “you order Holy Water on the internet, and that’s what you get okay?”

“Don’t we need a priest?”

“This is a tiny town in the middle of Georgia, Killian. The nearest priest is seventy miles away. Why do you think I had to order Holy Water on Amazon?”

“Wow,” Henry says without a trace of sarcasm, “you really can buy anything on Amazon.”

Killian’s brow creases with worry. “We can do this without a priest, though? I mean, will it work?”

Belle shrugs as she stands up, brushing leaves from the tights beneath her houndstooth skirt. “I hope so. It’s the best we can do. Some protestants believe any Christian can dispel demons.” She crosses her arms as she regards Killian with a tilted head. “How’s your soul, Mr. Jones?”

“Uh,” he chuckles warily as he scratches behind his ear, “my mother and brother after her tried to raise me in the faith, God rest their souls, but I’m afraid . . .” he rocks back on his heels. “If you need me to prepare my soul, it may take a while.”

Belle laughs easily and reaches to squeeze his hands in hers. “I’m teasing. Exorcising a ghost from a friend isn’t exactly an exact science. I’m guessing, anyway.”

“And Ms. French and I will be here to help,” Henry speaks up.

“Ms. French will be here to help,” Killian corrects, “you’re getting the hell out of here.”

“Aw, man, why?”

“First of all, I just don’t know what may happen, lad,” Killian explains, clapping a hand on the boy’s shoulder, “and secondly, you have a dance to take that sweet lass Violet to.”

“I’m going to the game first to watch her cheer, actually,” Henry replies, a blush reddening his face.

“See? You don’t want to disappoint her.”

“If you don’t see us at the dance,” Belle adds, “then and only then can you come look for us.”

Henry nods, then reluctantly heads for the stadium where students are already starting to gather. Once he’s out of earshot, Belle turns to Killian with a serious expression.

“Are you sure you can lure Emma here?”

Killian nods grimly, though he knows there are multiple landmines to avoid along the way. Four of the five murders since the school was built revolved around the homecoming game and dance, so they had come up with the theory that Cora Mills preferred to lure her victims to the grounds of Misthaven Hills Plantation. They were pretty sure she would jump at the chance to attend the dance with Killian, and once on school grounds, all Killian had to do was find a romantic excuse to come down to the old live oak and the graves littered around it.

He just had to remember that Emma wasn’t Emma right now - she was Cora Mills. He had to resist temptation until he could get her to the base of the tree.

God prepare his soul, indeed.

******************************************************************

Killian’s knuckles are practically white on the steering wheel. The looming thunderstorm still hasn’t been unleashed, and the humidity has just kept climbing. It’s only 75 degrees, but it feels like its 90. He loosens his tie, thankful he at least tossed his jacket in the backseat.

Of course, the woman in the passenger seat is affecting his core temperature even more than the humidity. She keeps crossing and uncrossing her legs, her tiny silver dress inching up every time. Soon he swears he’ll know the color of her underwear.

If she’s wearing any. He wouldn’t put that past her.

She’d tried to kiss him when he picked her up, grabbing his tie with one hand and the lapel of his suit coat with the other. Extricating himself from her embrace had been a herculean effort. And not just emotionally; ghostly possession evidently comes with increased strength. He almost panicked, thinking she was going to physically haul him inside, but the way he pulled away so violently had irked her into releasing him. She had been more annoyed than anything as she grabbed her purse. Maybe a man had to be willing before the murder took place?

He bit the inside of his cheek as he took the next turn. Strength, Jones! We’re almost there!

“You seem so tense, darling,” Emma coos, sliding across the bench seat of his 1970 Chevelle.

Here hair is done up, but not in the tousled, casual way of the Emma he knows. This hairstyle is sleek, her hair gathered into a bun of perfectly coifed curls. It isn’t his favorite look on her, except . . . her neck. It’s on perfect display, begging to be kissed. Especially with the dangling faux pearl earrings teasing him with every turn of her head.

She rests one hand on the back of his neck and begins to run her fingers through his hair. She sets her other hand on his thigh and begins to rub circles there, her fingers inching their way subtly closer and closer to his crotch. He swallows hard as he attempts to shift away from her.

“Do you not like me?” she pouts, rubbing her nose against his stubbled jaw.

“Of course I like you,” he answers hoarsely with a nervous laugh, “I asked you to the dance, didn’t I?”

“Then why do I make you so nervous?” she asks, whispering in his ear.

The way her lips brush the tip of his ear makes a shudder run through him involuntarily, and he can feel Emma’s lips curl into a smile. His reactions to her body and her advances clearly haven’t gone unnoticed. This isn’t Emma! He reminds himself. It’s Cora!

He almost weeps with relief when the stadium parking lot comes into view. “We’re here!” he announces, a bit louder than necessary. God, all he needs is a crack to his voice, and he’d sound like a bloody teenager. He parks and practically scrambles out of the car, Emma crawling after him over the bench seat. When he turns to offer his hand to help her out, she’s still on all fours, her breasts almost spilling out of the top of her strapless dress. Her lips curl suggestively at the look in his eyes. He swallows. Again. God, getting her to the damn tree is going to be the biggest challenge of his life.

Wait . . .

Deciding to change his tactic, he gives the woman before him (NOT Emma, this isn’t Emma!) a cocky grin.

“Actually, my dear, I’ve been teasing you,” he swipes his tongue along his bottom lip as he regards her.

“Oh,” she purrs as she takes his hand and steps out of his car, “and how so?”

He grabs her around the waist, and pulls her flush to him, eliciting a growl from deep in Emma’s throat. Against her neck, he breaths out the next words.

“I have a private place for us,” he turns his head to gaze deeply into her eyes, “to get to know one another better.”

“Really?” she asks, and he exults at how breathless she now is.

His eyes glance down at her lips, then up to her eyes again. “Before the dance.”

A smile slowly spreads across her face, and for the first time since that night in the cafeteria, it seems like one his Emma would offer. Genuine, yet slightly hesitant, with a touch of awe. His arm around her tightens against his volition as he takes in her light jade eyes, that shade he has seen in his dreams so many times. His eyes flicker again to her lips, pink and so perfect. Cora luckily hasn’t messed with them; covering them with nothing more than shimmery gloss.

Cora!

Killian shakes his head and takes a step back. He covers it with a flirtatious smile and his touch as the tips of his fingers slide down her arm and grasps her hand. He won’t let their first kiss be tainted like this, especially when he knows Emma won’t remember it tomorrow.

Because hopefully I’ll still be alive tomorrow.

He takes her across the stadium parking lot, along the covered walkway that connects it to the science building, then down the hill and across the lower classmen parking lot. His eyes scan the cemetery and the base of the oak tree. There’s no sign of Belle, but a blanket is spread beneath the tree, and the votive candles have been lit.

He turns to Emma with a smile he hopes is seductive as he leads her to the blanket. It must work, because she bites her bottom lip and presses herself against his side, snaking her arm around his waist. He clenches his jaw as his body reacts to her nearness, and he prays fervently that Belle doesn’t waste too much time intervening. He forces himself not to pull away as Emma rises up on her toes and slides her arms around his neck. Maybe just one kiss, not a deep one -

“In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost, I command you to leave this woman!”

Belle’s sudden appearance and shouted command snaps Killian to his senses, and he stumbles backwards, narrowly avoiding the candles. Belle is flinging Holy Water into Emma’s face, and she’s stumbling away from her, squeezing her eyes shut. Killian takes the crucifix from Belle’s other hand, and they both advance on Emma. She flings her head back and screams. At the same moment, a loud clap of thunder rumbles across the sky followed by a jagged streak of lightning. Killian isn’t sure if it’s the storm or the exorcism.

Emma doubles over, clutching her stomach, and he and Belle wait breathlessly. Yet when she stands up again, she’s laughing hysterically. He glances nervously at Belle.

“You thought that would work?”

The voice has never in the last two weeks been so clearly different from Emma’s. Her eyes as she stalks towards him are no longer that light shade of green, but pitch black. The wind whips around her, yanking at her hair. The thunder rolls, the lightning strikes, and the skies choose that moment to open up. Rain pours down, drenching them all. Emma is close enough now to touch him, and Belle lunges between them, shouting again and flinging the Holy Water. Yet what good can it do in this downpour? Emma flings her arm outward, and though she doesn’t even touch Belle, the other woman goes flying through the air, hitting the ground with a loud thud.

“Belle!” Killian screams, racing towards her, but his legs won’t cooperate. He feels a force he can’t fight turning him back towards Emma.

But it isn’t Emma. Her hair is completely free of the hairspray and pins, blowing wildly around her. The blonde is streaked through with darkness, and a blue tinted light emanates around her. She curls her lips as she bends her finger coyly.

“Come here, loverboy,” she spits out in that same voice that isn’t hers.

His feet lift off the ground, and Cora is pulling him towards her. He lifts the crucifix, shouting for Cora to leave Emma’s body, but it does no good. She laughs that bone chilling laugh again, and he shudders at the sound even as the cold rain soaks through his suit. When he is close enough, she roughly grasps his face in her hands.

“Such a pretty face,” she says as she studies him.

“Emma,” he whispers, his voice breaking.

She blinks, and for a split second, her eyes are green again. A tiny flicker of hope swells in him even as the black fills her eyes once more.

“Emma, fight it!” he begs.

“Emma isn’t here!” she screams, flinging him down to the ground.

He tries to scramble away from her, but she’s once again holding him in place. The lightning splits the sky again, illuminating the tree behind her, the Spanish moss almost like a living creature in the violent wind of the storm.

“Emma,” he tries again, “this isn’t you.”

Her face relaxes for a heartbeat, but then she shakes her head. “Well, at least now we’re getting somewhere,” she snarls as she stalks closer, almost straddling him now, “it’s Cora Mills, used and abused by the opposite sex. My revenge can never be sated, boy!”

Killian takes a deep, steadying breath, and when he gazes into the face of the woman before him, he softens his expression. When he speaks, he tries to infuse his words with the depth of his feelings.

“Emma, I love you.”

She shakes her head as a furrow of confusion creases her brow. He smiles softly at the tiny bit of Emma he can see shining through.

“Yes, I love you,” he continues, his voice rising above the pounding of the rain, “and that’s why I know this isn’t you. The woman I love is the one who rolls her eyes at me every time I use an innuendo.”

Emma stumbles backwards at his words. The storm increases in its rage, yet the unearthly blue light around Emma begins to fade, her hair slowly turning gold again. Killian rises to his knees as he continues to speak.

“The woman I love is the one who kicked me in the shin when I tried to hit on her at a faculty meeting. She’s the one who stayed up all night binge-watching Sherlock with me, drinking rum. The one who wears sweats in my apartment with messy hair and a tub of rocky road on her lap. The one who sticks her socked feet in my face when she thinks I’m hogging the couch. That’s MY Emma. Not this.”

Emma doubles over again as a scream tears through her. “NOOOOO! SHUT. UP!”

Killian rises to his feet, stepping forward to cup Emma’s face in his hands. “I am in love with Emma Swan. The one with sarcasm and bad eating habits and walls around her heart. And I want her back. I want my Emma back.”

She presses her eyes shut, and when she opens them, the black is seeping away. “Killian,” she whispers through her tears, and it’s her voice saying his name.

He grins and bends to kiss her, thinking she’s done it; she’s won. But before their lips can meet, Emma shoves him to the ground. She screams again, throwing her head back and shaking all over.

“I . . . won’t . . . let . . . you hurt him!!!”

As the words leave her mouth, Killian’s eyes widen to see a dark haired, ethereal figure literally ripping itself away from Emma’s body. Both women - ghostly and corporeal - seem to wrestle against one another until suddenly a bolt of lightning strikes the top of the live oak tree. Killian shields his eyes, certain the tree will burst into flames, but it doesn’t. The Spanish moss is no longer merely being whipped by the winds, it’s writhing and twisting like snakes. The tendrils of moss reach out, wrapping themselves around the form of Cora Mills. With one final other-worldy scream, the ghost is ripped completely from Emma’s body and yanked into the branches of the tree. The oak seems to envelop Cora in a supernatural embrace until the ghost is absorbed into the very branches from which the murderess’s body was hanged over a century ago.

The cemetery goes eerily quiet then; even the storm subdues into more muted tones. Killian rushes to Emma’s crumpled form and gathers her into his arms. Her eyes blink open, and she lifts a trembling hand to cup his face.

“Emma,” he breathes, “are you okay?”

“I . . . I think so.”

He runs his hands through her hair, trailing his fingertips over her cheekbones. He wants to memorize every inch of her face after so many days gazing into a countenance that wasn’t fully hers.

“What do you remember?”

“Not much really,” she says, her brow furrowing, “except . . . “

The light spilling from the parking lot and the open doors of the gym are enough to illuminate the blush upon her face.

“Except what?” he asks, unable to keep a roguish smile from his face.

“Did you . . . say that you love me?”

His smile breaks into something more ridiculously happy as his thumb rubs circles over her cheeks. “I did.”

“Okay,” she says with a pensive nod, then she surprises him by lunging forward and pressing her mouth to his.

He melts into the kiss, gathering her against his chest and tilting his head to taste her more fully. She digs her fingers into his hair, letting out a little mewling sound that sets his heart pounding. He begins to pull away, not wanting to rush this, but Emma will have none of it, pulling his head back down to hers and swiping her tongue across his lower lip. He devours her then, giving in finally to the pull he’s felt towards her for so long. When they finally part, gasping for breath, Emma presses her forehead to his and his eyes slide closed.

“I love you too, just for the record,” she breathes against his cheek.

“And I, just for the record, am perfectly fine, thanks for asking.” Another voice above them interrupts.

“Belle!” Killian exclaims, rushing to his feet to embrace his friend. “I’m so glad you’re okay!”

“Of course you are,” she quips, but she smiles up at him fondly.

“Thank you, Belle,” Emma adds as she scrambles to her feet, “and I’m sorry about -” she cuts off as she looks down at herself. “What the hell am I wearing?”

Killian and Belle both chuckle.

“You’ve um . . . been making some pretty bold fashion choices the last couple of weeks,” Belle explains.

Emma’s jaw drops as she covers her face with both hands. “No,” she groans, “in front of the kids?”

“I’m afraid so, love.”

“I’m practically naked!” She scowls at him when he can’t help laughing. “This isn’t funny, Killian!”

He pulls her into his arms and presses a kiss to her temple. “Everyone knew you weren’t yourself. Although I would check your credit card statements. Cora may have had a bit of a shopping spree at your expense.”

Emma lets out a huff of breath against his collarbone as she turns her head into his rain-drenched shirt front. “Great. How am I exposed to explain that to Visa? It wasn’t my fault, I was possessed?”

“Identity theft?” Killian jokes.

Emma pulls back to look at him with humor in her eyes, her hands fisted around his ruined suit coat. It’s the look he’s used to; the one that is so patently Emma that his heart swells in his chest to see it again. He can’t help himself, he surges forward to claim another kiss.

As it grows more heated, they both hear Belle clear her throat.

“Okay, you too, keep it PG. We still have a dance we signed up to chaperone.”

“Henry!” Killian exclaims. “He’ll be worried if we don’t show up soon!”

Emma steps out of his embrace to look at herself. The rain has abated, but it’s still coming down steadily, plastering Emma’s blonde hair to her face and chest. Her dress, which was never appropriate for a chaperone, is smeared with Georgia red clay. More mud is streaked across her legs, and at some point, she lost both of her high heel shoes. He looks down at himself and over at Belle. They don’t look much better.

Emma catches his eye and smiles slowly. “You did say the Emma you love wears sweats and has messy hair.”

“Sounds perfect,” he tells her, punctuating the words with a soft kiss.

***************************************************************

The kids of Misthaven Hills High weren’t sure why two of their teachers and the librarian showed up to the homecoming dance wearing MHHS sweats swiped from Mr. Locksley’s office (though Henry Mills could guess). That wasn’t what caused the buzz of gossip that lasted all weekend and into Monday, however. No, the gossip was caused by the way Mr. Jones dipped Ms. Swan at the end of a slow song and kissed her (with tongue, many kids claimed).

The students of Misthaven Hills High also continued to tell the tale of the ghost of Cora Mills, especially every October. For without fail, every October since homecoming of 2019, rain or shine, the Spanish moss on the old live oak dripped with fat drops of water. Some said they were tears. Something, the kids said, made the ghost of Cora Mills begin to weep. Another lost love, some claimed, a heart too strong for her to steal because it already belonged to Emma Swan.

Decades later, when Emma Swan had been Emma Jones for many long years and she and her husband had moved away, kids claimed that in October every year, a name could be heard on the breeze around the old live oak. In a wailing, anguished voice, it cried “ Kiiiliaaaan . . .Joooones . . .” as tears dripped from the Spanish moss.

The name of the only man who saw past the facade of Cora Mills and into the soul of the woman he loved.

#cs ff #cssns #cssns 2019 #captain swan supernatural summer #cs modern au #ghost possession #teacher!killian #teacher!emma #ouat in the South

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