#have these writers never heard HERE I COME ROUGHER THAN THE REST OF THEM THE BEST OF THEM TOUGHER THAN LEATHER YOU CAN CALL ME KNUCKLES

[chickenwaffles17]

knuckles doesn't like WHAT

i have many complaints about the knuckles series so i'll just focus on this one: the hell do you mean knuckles doesnt like rap

[littlepadika]

Calling Home (1) | Frankie Morales x Reader

Summary: You are a receptionist at the VA. Frankie Morales keeps calling. Yearning ensues...

Rating: M -> E in later chapters

Warnings: fem!reader, age gap (legal), praise kink, voice kink, discussion of addiction/PTSD/trauma, no use of y/n, no beta reader, reader is bad at Spanish, Frankie has a sexy voice 😩

Masterlist here

AN: My first fic. Pedro writers have inspired me to finally start writing again 🥺. Concept inspired by the movie RED. I hope you like it ❤️Set after triple frontier.

Chapter One

~~~~~~~~~~~

The first time he called was an ordinary Thursday.

“Veterans Affairs, how can I help you?”

You had been working at the VA office for about two weeks. Fresh out of college you felt lucky to have a job in the first place. You went to school to be a writer but your big idea for 'The Next Great American Novel' had yet to present itself. At least here you had access to the most inspiring stories and interesting people. Men and women who had seen more and done more than you probably would in your entire life. You loved talking to clients on the phone. It was weird but something about only being able to hear people’s voices excited you. You would sometimes write little stories in your head about the people you'd talk to, filling in the details that were unknown.

Your desk accessories reflected your love of books and writing. You had your growing collection of books sitting on your desk sandwiched between baby pink bookends. Next to them was a matching desk organizer filled with your favorite sparkly pens and sticky notes. You had decorated the plain cubicle walls with posters of quotes from your favorite books. You also brought your favorite candle from home. Even though you couldn’t light it you still liked to lift it to your nose once and a while and smell it between chapters. When you weren’t on the phone or scanning documents you would read. You finished To Kill A Mockingbird in your first week on the job and were now halfway through Murder on the Orient Express.

You were starting a new chapter when Frankie Morales called the first time.

You picked up the phone on the second ring already mustering your chipper 'customer service' voice. “Veterans affairs.” You stated your name. “How may I help you?”

“H-Hi. My name is Frankie- uh-Francisco Morales." A deep voice answered you. "I’m calling because I have gotten my benefits check yet. It’s been a month. I was hoping you could tell me if it got sent?”

“Okay Mr. Morales." You flipped on the computer. "Let me check. Can you spell your last name for me?”

“M-o-r-a-l-e-s”

“Okay... let's see.” You clicked on his account. You were momentarily distracted by his picture likely taken when he graduated basic if you had to guess based off the uniform. He looked sweet. Sharp nose and strong jaw balanced by kind eyes and a shy smile. You could imagine how age would continue to soften his expression making him even more handsome. The image was a strange juxtaposition to the voice you were hearing on the phone which was much deeper and rougher. His profile said he was special forces. A pilot. The rest of the information was blacked out. Something you were used to seeing on many people's accounts but even his years of service were redacted. He must have been involved in some dangerous stuff, you thought to yourself. The dates that were not redacted were mostly in Latin America. You clicked over to processing requests. “Looks like the check got sent one week ago.” You informed him.

"I'll look again but I haven't seen anything-" It sounded like he was apologizing when clearly it was not his fault.

"No no. It's probably a mistake on our end." You interrupted. With how shitty and outdated the payroll interface was you wouldn't be surprised if there was a mix up. "I’ll go ahead and let payroll know to send another."

"Great. Thanks." He replied sounding relieved. The roughness in his voice gave way to a smooth baritone.

“No problem. I'm sorry for any inconvenience it may have caused. We'll get it sent right away." You hoped he was not relying on this benefit check for anything important. While you could promise you'd fix the problem, the administration was notoriously slow. When he didn't respond you asked, "Is there anything else I can help you with today, Mr. Morales?”

“Uh-no" The roughness back in place. "Thank you." He paused before adding your name onto his thank you which made you smile. People usually never remembered your name.

“Alright. Have a nice day and thank you for your service.” You chirped before hanging up. The smile he put on your face lingered for a few minutes as you returned to your book.

The next time he called was exactly twelve days later.

“Veterans affairs” you answered, your routine greeting cut short as your eyes were still on your book.

“Hi- I’m calling because uh I still haven’t gotten my benefits check. This is Frankie Morales.”

“Oh Mr. Morales.” You recognized his voice even before he even said his name. You quickly shut your book, pushing your hair out of your face. Had you been thinking about him? No! Okay maybe you stared at his picture for a few minutes longer after he hung up. Yes, it was probably very unprofessional but you couldn't fight the curiosity. You were trying to rationalize the contrasting sharpness and softness of his features with his voice. How it all worked together. How one person's voice could change textures and colors so easily. You wondered what kind of things this man might have seen on the job. Most of the veterans you would help day to day did not have so many redacted missions and deployments. You were in the middle of Narcos season one so you immediately thought of drugs or something equally dangerous. After much pondering, you had come to the conclusion that Frankie Morales was both insanely attractive and insanely courageous. “Still no check, huh?”

“Nope.” He sighed the sound making the phone's shitty speaker crackle as you held it to your ear.

“Let me just check that it was approved...“ you found his profile again and scrolled to the status page. “Hmm... it says it was sent out last Friday after we spoke. That’s so weird...”

“Yeah. Really weird.” He echoed your frustration on the other end.

Typical payroll, you thought to yourself as you rolled your eyes. “I'll get another one sent to you right away. I'll see to it myself.” You tucked the phone under your chin and typed out a short email to Mary in payroll letting her know you'd be stopping by her office to explain the situation. You realized he hadn't hung up yet.

“Sorry for the back and forth.” You said, trying to fill the silence.

“It’s not your fault." The earlier irritation gone. "You’ve been really helpful.” His voice sounded warm and reassuring. Less gruff than it was last you spoke. Instead it was that rich baritone that you caught of glimpse of last time.

You feel your face warm at his compliment. It was this annoying reflex you had. Praise always made you blush no matter what context but it was worse when it came from a (you assume) gorgeous stranger.

“And just to verify that your address is correct- you’re on Maple Lane in Miami, Florida?”

“That’s right.” He confirmed.

“Okay. Sent!” You clicked send on the email, which caused the window to close and reveal Frankie’s profile page again. “I was curious-" You spoke before you really made the decision to speak. You didn’t want to overstep but once again your curiosity got the better of you. Honestly, you were just searching for a way to keep him on the phone. The day had been so boring.

“Your profile says you were stationed in Costa Rica.”

“For a bit.” He replied after a moment. He didn’t sound too defensive but there was definitely some tightness in his answer that made you feel bad for asking. Like you were scratching a wound.

“Did you like it? The country I mean.”

“Are you planning a trip?” He sounds a little amused.

“Yeah- well- kind of. It's more a trip in my head right now. I’d like to go there one day. It looks so beautiful.” You sighed closing your eyes trying to imagine the heat on your skin.

“It is." He agrees. "Really humid though.”

“Mm that sounds nice.” You would kill for some warm weather after such a long winter in DC.

“It was too muggy for me at times." He grumbled. "If you do go, stick to the costal areas where it’s more breezy or else you’ll just be sweating the whole time.”

“I don’t mind a little sweat” you shrugged, still thinking of the awful east coast winter you were currently suffering through. The sexual connotation of what you said hit you hard as soon as you heard the statement in its entirety. You felt your face flush again, though the man on the other end would never know.

“I’m learning Spanish!" You announced loudly trying to move the conversation past your awkwardness.

“Wow. Muy impressivo.”

“Si” you replied but after a moment you admit “I don’t really know what you said.”

Frankie laughed loudly on the other end and you couldn’t help but join in, drawing dirty looks from the elderly lady, Donna, working in the cubicle across from you. You ducked your head behind a stack of papers to avoid her glare.

“Fake it till you make it.” He chuckled.

“Maybe you should help me out.” You took on an indigent but still playful tone. “You sound better than duolingo” Your smile widened when he laughed again. His laugh was what you hoped it would be, by all your assumptions from his picture. It was an unencumbered, unburdened, rich sound with only a hit of roughness from the air behind it.

“Tell me you’re not using that dumb app to learn.” he scoffed, saying your name in an almost scolding tone.

“I’m got my thirty day streak today.” You boasted.

“You’ll be a total tourist if you go by duolingo.”

“But the owl is so cute every time I get something right!” You argued your voice taking on a more childish cadence.

“That’s how they trap you, silly girl.” He teased right back. Usually such a condescending nickname would piss you off but something about the affection behind him using it made you feel very differently. You felt warm like you were proud to be silly as long as it made him laugh.

“Then you saved me just in time, Mr. Morales.” You bit your lip. His scoffing and laughter died down on the other end.

“Frankie” He corrects you.

“Frankie…” You repeated it, smiling at how well the nick name suited the voice over the phone. Honest, sincere, and not pretentious at all. Way better than the pompous guys you know with equally stuffy names like “Edward” and “Christopher.”

“So what do you want to know?” Frankie interrupted your thoughts. “Dime”

You started asking him questions in Spanish to the best of your ability. Granted they weren't particularly probing questions. What is your name? What is your favorite color? What is your favorite animal? What's your favorite book? I am reading Gone Girl. He answered them all with patience and amusement, occasionally interrupting you to correct your pronunciation or explain what a word meant. Every time you’d repeat the word back correctly he would say something like “good” or “there you go” or “you got it”. You hated to admit that his kind words and his praise was doing something to you. You didn't even realize you were clenching your legs together unconsciously, almost in anticipation of his next correction or next answer. His low voice so sweet and encouraging against your ear, more tangible when he was speaking Spanish. You just wanted to hear more of it. Would it be this sweet in other situations? Would it get huskier or rougher? If you closed your eyes it was like he was sitting right next to you. It would be all too easy to slip into that daydream and escape the dull office.

Suddenly out of the corner of your drooping eyes you saw a flashing red light on the phone console meaning another caller was waiting.

“Shoot- i’m sorry, Frankie- I have to take this call.” You shot forward in your chair, legs uncrossing.

“Of-Of course. I should let you get back to work.” He sounded a little sad or so you hoped. You felt bad for interrupting him after you both were having so much fun. You wanted to say he could wait on hold but he killed that idea when he said, "I have work too. Technically I'm five minutes past my lunch break."

Your pout turned to a smile. He was spending his precious lunch break with you? Get a grip! you snapped at yourself.

“You’re welcome to call again if you want.” You threw out the offer in a small voice, scared you would be rejected. You peered over the cubicle wall to see if you were still being glared at. Thankfully Donna was away from her desk. Probably out for a smoke. “It’s really boring here and usually no one calls.”

“Maybe I will.” He replied and you could hear the smile behind those words. You felt your heart clench weirdly in your chest like it didn't know how to process the sudden spike in emotions.

“Bye, Frankie.” You beamed.

“Bye”

This time the smile on your face lasted for hours. Frankie’s laugh echoed around in your head, taunting you, sending your mind to the gutter. His voice went from grit to molasses on a dime. You wanted to be the one to bring out those sounds. You wanted to hear his voice bend and stretch and strain as you fucked him. What the hell is wrong with me? you screamed internally. You had never been so depraved and with a stranger no less! You clearly needed to get laid fast because this much yearning would not end well.

Frankie got the second VA check a few days later and this time he didn’t even feel bad about ripping it in half. He was already reaching for the phone to call you.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Tags: Message to be added 💕 no minors please!

[ladyreapermc]

Fic: Surprise Party (Chibs Telford x Reader)

Summary: A  party thrown at the clubhouse has more than a few surprises for you.

Pairing: Filip “Chibs” Telford x F!Reader

Wordcount: 1,5k

Warnings: Really cheesy fluff and my bad attempt of writing in Scottish accent. Apologies in advance.

You weren’t really expecting the party waiting for you when you got to the clubhouse. Then again, wasn’t that the point of a surprise party after all?

You had started your day not really expecting to have to use the brand-new license to practice law you got just last week. And for the most part, it had been a pretty uneventful occasion until right around the time you were about to clock out and Jax called.

There was urgency in his voice as he begged you to head to the sheriff’s station because Tig got into a fight with the owner of a dog fight rink and both men had been taken downtown. You didn’t doubt his story even for a second. Picking up your keys and bag and heading straight to the precinct.  

When you got there, Jax was already waiting outside with a very well composed Tig. Maybe that should have been your first clue that something was off because if he was already gonna post bail, why did he even call in the first place?

You didn’t have time to really consider it because Jax just loaded Tig into the passenger seat of your car and asked you to head to TM. 

You planned to just drop Tig off and head home. You had been working crazy hours, plus studying hard for the test and you were in serious need of some sleep.

“Come on, honey. Let me buy a beer to say thank you,” Tig asked once you pulled up into the lot of the auto shop.

“I didn’t even do anything,” you replied, but for a grown man, Tig’s puppy dog eyes were quite effective.

“One beer,” you sighed in defeat, turning off the engine. You stepped out of the car and followed Tig inside, nearly jumping out of your skin as everyone yelled surprise once the two of you walked into the clubhouse.

Everyone seemed to be there: Gemma, Tara, and her boys. Lyla, Nero, and the rest of the Sons, Chucky, and even some of your friends that didn’t really have anything to do with the MC but made an exception for today and stood awkwardly among the bikers.

Over the wall of mugshots there was a huge congratulations banner and bellow it a table with enough food to feed an army.

“Surprised?” Tig asked, an arm thrown over your shoulders. 

You just chuckled and nodded, still speechless as he pressed a kiss to your cheek and let you greet everyone else properly.

“Congratulations, darlin’,” Jax said pulling you into a warm hug. “Now it’s your job to make sure these mug shots don’t get updated.”

You laughed along with him before letting someone else drag you to the side for a hug and a toast and by the time you managed to reach Gemma, you already had two beers and three whiskey shots that people keep shoving in your hands as you passed them by, along with some food.

“Thanks for all of this,” you said, letting the matriarch of the MC pull you into a hug.

“You’re welcome, baby. It was well deserved,” she kissed your cheek. “But I can’t take all the credit. It was Chibs’ idea.”

You gave her a confused look once she let you go, which she replied with a knowing smirk as she gestured to a point behind you where the Scot was drinking alone by the bar, watching the proceedings.

It was because of Chibs that you met the MC in the first place. He had been in a bar just outside town when your stupid little brother decided it was a good idea to pick a fight while drunk with a few guys double his size. 

Chibs didn’t even know him but had his back, during the altercation and they all got arrested that night. When your brother called you to post his bail, he told you about the other man and you got him out too. After that, you ended up staying close to SAMCRO. 

You had no family besides your younger brother and Gemma took a liking to both of you, taking you under her wing. And since your brother started prospecting, you decided to help out in smaller legal issues when needed. Making sure everyone stayed out of jail.

For a badass gang of dangerous bikers, the Sons were a lot of fun. They took care of their own and for the first time since your parents passed away, you felt like you belonged somewhere. 

And if you favored the attention of one particular VP, with his deep brown eyes, smokey accent, and Glasgow smile, people didn’t seem to notice.

Or maybe they did, if Gemma was any indication, but didn’t comment on it.

You moved towards Chibs, offering him a wide smile, which he returned with one of his own. The sight of it made your heart race and your palms sweat and you tried to dry them as discreetly as possible in your jeans before taking a seat on the stool next to him.

“Congratulations, lass.” He raised his glass to you.

“Thank you and thanks for the party. Gemma said it was your idea.”

“Nah. Just said it would be a good idea,” he waved off your words, looking away from you for a moment and you wished his presence didn’t make you so tongue-tied. “Bu’ I got ye somethin’,” he said, setting his glass down once it was empty and gestured for you to follow him.

You had never been back here before but you knew the some of the guys had small apartments here for whenever they were too tired to go home after a job or too drunk after a celebration. 

Chibs led you to his, and if your heart was already racing before, now it felt like it was about to burst from your chest. The room was nothing special, just a bed pushed against the wall, a writing desk and chair, and a dresser. Too many pictures of almost naked women posing on Harleys, and a small cabinet with a few other essentials.

You stood awkwardly in the middle of the room, fidgeting with the hem of your jacket while Chibs dug something out of a drawer. It seemed to take forever until he finally turned around to face you and you didn’t think you ever saw him looking nervous, but he looked as bad as you felt.

“‘t’s nothing fancy or anythin’” he started, taking a step closer. “But I saw it and thought of ye. The lass in the shop said you can exchange it if ye dinna like it…”

He offered you a small gift-wrapped box in hand and you took it with shaky fingers and a trembling smile as you undid the bow on top and opened the lid.

You let out a small gasp at the sight that greeted you: a delicate golden necklace rested inside, the pendant a golden justice scale, and a small pink stone. It was gorgeous and so thoughtful and when you glanced up at Chibs again, he seemed to be looking at anything but you.

“It’s beautiful, Filip,” your voice was barely above a whisper and it might be the first time you ever used his given name, but it felt so right. “Thank you.”

“Ye’re welcome, love,” he breathed out, relieved, his smile a little more certain.

“Help me put it on?” You asked, taking the delicate chain out of the box and offering to him before turning around and pushing your hair away from your neck.

His scent surrounded you as Chibs stepped closer, bringing the necklace around your throat, his hands rough and warm, but so very gentle against your nape and goosebumps raised in your arms.

“There ye go,” he spoke once the clasp was closed and you turned around to face him, the pendant resting just below the hollow of your throat and his warm brown eyes lingered there for a few seconds.

“I really love it,” you whispered, touching the scale for a second before your hand moved to his chest, holding yourself steady as you raised to your tiptoes and pressed a kiss to his scarred cheek.

“Good,” Chibs spoke, his voice rougher, lower and you could feel the thundering of his heart against your hand and the hitch of his breath as you moved your lips closer to the corner of his mouth.

He turned his head slightly and his mouth was against yours, brushing so softly. It was a barely-there touch but it was enough to send sparks of excitement through your body and you couldn’t wait for it to be more.

Before it could, the door busted open making you both jump apart and look over startled. It was one of your friends and by the looks of it, she was completely wasted.

“Ops! Thought it was the restroom,” she slurred, her lips shifting into a smirk as she glanced between your and Chibs. “Carry on.”

She slipped out as fast as she stumbled in and just as unsteadily. A second later, you heard a crash and sighed regretfully.

“I better get out there and make sure she doesn’t cause some serious damage,” you said. “But to be continued?”

“Whenever ye want, love,” Chibs smiled at you. “Ye know where I’ll be.”

xxx

If you enjoyed this work, please consider reblogging and/or commenting please. Feedback gives life to us writers! 

[writings-of-a-hufflepuff]

Summer Nights: Part 3

Fandom: Harry Potter

Pairing: Charlie Weasley x Overweight/Plus size Female identifying Reader

Series: Summer Nights

Warning: Fred’s death, the series will mention issues such as guilt, grief, etc. + Chapter specific warnings: guilt, self-blaming, trauma, scenes of magical healing, mentions of past childhood fatphobia/body shaming

Writer: @writings-of-a-hufflepuff​ (formerly imaginesofeveryfandom)​ aka @hufflepuffing-all-day-long​

Summary/Request: You’d always had brief glimpses of Charlie Weasley throughout your life, but despite your closeness with the rest of the Weasley family and your friendship with the Weasley Twins, you had never officially met. Until Charlie Weasley decided to take the summer off from his work as a Dragon Keeper at the Romanian Reserve and come back home, to the Burrow, that is.

Notes: Gif is my own, using my art of Charlie Weasley which you can find on my art blog @artisticwarnug here. If you use please make sure you credit me and my art blog properly, that the ownership is clear as it is my own art and I would hate for it to be unclear that I made it <3 x

Prologue / Part 1 / Part 2

Dinner that night was a riotous affair. You, six Weasleys, Harry, and Hermione all crammed in around a table, reaching for the amazing food that Mrs Weasley always made. Shoulders bumped against each other, the volume reaching extraordinary heights, but as you sat there you couldn’t help but smile. This felt right. Being around all these people. So welcome. Watching the way Ginny looked up to Charlie and the way Ron and Harry joke around, while Hermione rolled her eyes at George. You’d often felt alone since Fred’s death, a distance seemed to exist in your mind between yourself and the Weasley’s, a gnawing guilt. While you lived with them there were very few moments like this, one’s where you felt like yourself again. 

As you look around the table with a smile, your eyes catch Charlie’s. A soft, small smile, shy, lifts at the corner of your mouth and you're delighted to say that Charlie smiles more with his eyes than anything else. 

When you go to bed that night you think perhaps it will be a night in which you will fall asleep easily, in which the memories won’t haunt you, in which the guilt that settles like a stone in your stomach will ease...that is a foolish belief you realise rather quickly. Your head rests against your pillow as you stare at the ceiling. 

You toss and you turn, twisting this way and that. You lie on your side for a moment, arm curled beneath your pillow, before flipping onto your back and then your front before going back to your back. You try sleeping with your head at the other end of the bed, maybe you’ll trick your brain that way. It doesn’t work. You try every trick possible, but you just can’t sleep. The frustration is clouded by other thoughts, intrusive ones, the ones you try not to dwell on because you can’t change the past and you can’t bring him back. You don’t have that kind of power, although sometimes you wished you had a time turner, you might go mad, but maybe, in the process you could bring one of your best friend’s back. Maybe you wouldn’t fail him this time. 

You lie there trying desperately to calm your mind, to silence your thoughts, to sleep, for what seems like hours. In truth it can’t have been more than an hour before you decide to just forgo all the tossing and turning and potter downstairs to make a warm cup of something and maybe nab a biscuit or two. 

The Burrow is eerily quiet at this time of night, the lights are out, the stairs creak as you pad down them, and a chill has you grabbing the knitted throw blanket from the living room on your way to the kitchen. There was never a shortage of blankets at the Burrow. Something you could thank Mrs Weasley endlessly for. 

You wrap yourself up as tightly as possible, the blanket a soothing weight across your shoulders, before putting the kettle on the stove. Despite magic being at your disposal, you always preferred to make hot drinks whether coffee, tea, hot chocolate or otherwise, the muggle way. Working with your hands, going through the motions of creating something whether food, drink, art or something else entirely, helped you calm down more often than not. You suppose it was very Hufflepuff of you, doing things the muggle way, doing things the homely way. 

You look up before he’s even at the entrance to the kitchen, you hear the footsteps softly pad down the stairs, the creek of an old floorboard, the quiet shuffling of clothes and a soft sigh of frustration. You didn’t know who you’d expected, Charlie, wasn’t it though. Perhaps Ginny or maybe Ron or even Mrs Weasley. 

The tattooed dragon that had previously been on his neck had moved, as magical tattoos are want to do. It was now laying across the other side of his neck, nearer to his shoulder, barely peeking from his sleep shirt, sleepy and annoyed looking. You wondered if it wanted to sleep but couldn’t because of Charlie’s alertness. You’d never given much thought to wizarding tattoos, but you suppose they must have some sort of personality or thought process or....something. Why else would they move? You supposed that they might work like wizarding portraits, perhaps the dragon had been a real one, its likeness etched into his skin.

His hair is out from the tie it had been in during the day, loose around his face and a sort of bird's nest that screamed ‘i’ve been tossing and turning for a while now’. During the day he’d looked so confident, put together, like everything was okay, but here, in the dark of the kitchen, with only a few little lights to provide a warm glow, he looked haggard. He looked how you felt. 

“Would you like something to drink?” You keep your voice soft. Partly knowing that the walls in the Burrow were thin, not wanting to wake the others, and partly because it didn’t seem right to speak loudly or even speak at your normal volume right now. 

He pauses for a moment, taking in the kettle on the stove that’s begun to whistle quietly, thanks to a well placed muffling charm, the blanket across your shoulders, the bags underneath your eyes. He blinks before nodding his head towards you in confirmation, a small upturn at the corner of his mouth, a polite smile not more and not less. It cannot compete with his earlier bright smile during the day. 

“Tea, please, love.” You grab a tea bag and another mug, making both your own preferred hot drink and his mug of tea. Only stopping to ask if he had sugar in his tea, for him to respond with 3, and you to not comment further despite knowing his mother would probably exclaim that 3 was 2 too many. 

You carefully hand him the mug, not wanting to spill a drop, fingers brushing against his. You note his hands are rougher than most wizards, years of hard work will do that. Most wizards and witches have soft hands, skin that only ever touched a wand. The Weasleys are some of the few you knew who relished in hard work and manual labour, some things magic helped with like chopping vegetables, but other things like collecting eggs or planting fruit in the garden seemed to them more suited to their hands. Like you they seemed to enjoy the calming nature of going through the steps, of grounding yourself with the world around you. 

You sip at your drink and study the grooves in the table, the different grains of wood, the stains and the marks. Some you know the story of. Like the burn that was caused by Ginny playing with Arthur’s wand at the age of 5. Others are the sorts of stains and marks that come from a family using it every day, from children playing and drawing and existing. 

Charlie clears his throat and you lift your eyes to his, he looks a little sheepish, “Sorry, if this is a bit...if you don’t want to talk, but can I ask why you’re not in bed?” 

The truth is that you’ve barely known Charlie a couple of days and perhaps normally you’d be reluctant to talk about anything personal, about nightmares or your guilt or your feelings. But, Charlie isn’t a complete stranger. He’s a Weasley and there has never been a Weasley you couldn’t talk to, even Percy who could be and had been an arse in the past. Even when he wasn’t around, the other’s talked about Charlie, their darling boy or their amazing brother. If you knew one Weasley you inevitably felt like you knew the rest even if you’d never met. Maybe it was that he was a Weasley, that he was Fred’s cool older brother, or maybe it was that you were lonely and fed up of hiding it all...that you knew him the least and it seemed easier to talk to someone who’d understand and yet didn’t know you well enough to push too far. Or maybe it was just that Charlie Weasley had one of those faces that made you want to talk. 

“I...I struggle to sleep these days. I’ve struggled to sleep since the battle to be honest...if it's not tossing and turning then it’s nightmares. When the lights go out the thoughts come out...”

“From what I heard you did alright. You helped people, you got a few death eaters along the way...” There was an unspoken question, ‘what do you have to be haunted about? What did you do? or what did you not do?’

“Yeah....I helped some people, used my healer training to my advantage and sure I got a few stunning spells in, but I....I couldn’t save the one person that really mattered. I couldn’t....” You breathe in a shaky breath and can already feel the tears welling in your eyes at the thought of him. A hand reaches across the table and covers your own. It’s a comforting gesture, it reminds you that you’re safe here.

“I couldn’t save Fred...I tried, y’know, I even tried muggle methods, I thought maybe if magic wouldn’t help, muggle medicine might...I thought if I could just get him breathing again he’d be okay. It would all be okay...I” You close your eyes hard, feeling the press of your lids together, the wetness welling at the corners, “It’s my fault...I don’t even know why your parents let me stay...how any of you can even look at me...if I had been a better healer, or better at defence, then Fred might still be here.”

“You can’t seriously believe that?”

You lift your eyes to his, his eyebrows are furrowed, twisted down, mouth set in a frown. “I should have been able to save him. I have helped so many people. I have stopped so many people from dying...but I couldn’t save him.” You avert your eyes, his stare feels too intense, too much.

“You’re not to blame, look at me,” He squeezes your hand, firmly, but still gentle. The other reaches forward, a finger underneath your chin to lift your face as he brings your gaze back to his and leans ever forward as if all he wants is for you to truly listen and truly believe. “You didn’t kill Fred. You didn’t cause his death. No one can bring someone back from the dead..there was nothing you or anyone else could do. Rookwood was to blame. Voldemort and his followers were to blame. Not you.” 

“Then why do I feel like I am? Like I should have done better?”

“Because we all do. Do you think Percy doesn’t blame himself? Like maybe if he’d not made a joke, not distracted Fred, he’d still be here? Do you think George doesn’t think he could have protected his own twin better? Me? I wish I'd bloody been right there, right next to him. I wish I did more and I feel the guilt of not doing more each day...We all feel like we failed him. You don’t feel guilty because you did something wrong, you feel guilty because he was your friend and you’re a good person. Good people always want to do better, even if it's not possible, love.”

“How do you do it? How do you keep going?” It feels impossible some days, the idea that you shouldn’t feel guilty or sad or angry or hurt. Some days you almost forget that he’s not here, you see George and go to ask after Fred, you think of a joke and think that you should go tell him...Some days simply getting out of bed seems impossible.

“I let it go. You can’t live in the past or else you’ll forget the present, and never look to the future. That’s what we were fighting for. That’s what Fred was fighting for, a better future. I chose to stop punishing myself for what I did or did not do because my brother would feed me a canary cream if he heard me blaming myself.”

You let out a sharp laugh, quick, unexpected even for you, and it's true. Fred wouldn’t stand for it, he wouldn’t stand for anyone blaming themselves, he’d tell you to buck up and crack a few jokes, stop hurting yourself. He was like that. Whenever he found you squirrelled away behind a tapestry, sad and crying, he always found a way to make you smile. His life’s work was getting people to smile.

“...Thank you. I know it’s not going to get better over night, but...maybe it’s time to try and stop dwelling in the past.” You stare into your empty mug for a second before rising to place it beside the sink. He’s still drinking his tea, and you, realise this whole time you hadn’t asked him why he wasn’t asleep.

“Why...why aren’t you asleep, Charlie?” You lean back against the counter to watch him, the blanket slipping off of your shoulders slightly. 

“I...I have a few old injuries that keep me up sometimes. Mostly my back, the scars I have ache a lot...but I...I sleep best on my back so...” 

It surprises that his lack of sleep was something that seemed so fixable to you, but you often had to remind yourself that most witches and wizards struggled with even basic healing charms and didn’t think in the same way that you did. Healing was a skill and knowing the right solution to a problem took both natural intuition and training.

“Do you...have you ever learnt lenio?” You move closer to him, throwing the blanket off of your shoulders and onto the back of your chair. Each step shows your healer nature as you itch to get closer and have a look at the problem, to solve it like you do every day of the week. 

“Uh, I’ve never heard of it?”

“Oh...I suppose you’re probably used to being given potions for pain, they usually last longer, don’t rely on the witch or wizard’s will power. It’s a...a pain relief spell, it works on a great deal. I...Hermione’s scar hurts a lot so I taught her it, but her scar’s easy for her access...you could always see me before you go to sleep each night and I can administer it. It’s considered outdated because of potions but I find that it’s most effective for scarring or pains that distract or make you unfocused and people don’t get as reliant.”

“Does...does it last awhile?”

“It varies on the caster’s strength of thought, I typically find when I cast it it lasts anywhere between 12 hours to a day, some people it can last minutes. Hermione manages to make it last around 8 hours. It’s why it fell out of fashion, not a lot of wizards or witches have the aptitude for it.” Potions had become easier. Easier to make. Easier to administer and more predictable when duration was involved. But, pain relief potions could be addictive and you always found yourself leaning towards charms and spells over potions, where possible. 

“Before you...before you go to bed could you cast it? I’d really like to get some sleep, love.”

Nod with a small smile, easing the tension in Charlie’s shoulders just that little bit. That famous bedside manner of yours pushing its way to the surface. 

“You said it was your back?” You ask as you reach for your wand in the waistband of your pyjama shorts. He nods at you, “First year on the reserve a Hungarian Horntail decided he didn’t like me very much...never told mum.” You let out a little laugh at that, the thought of Mrs Weasley’s reaction was rather comical in your mind. While she could be fearsome, she was also known for her over the top and sometimes melodramatic responses. 

You understand why he chose not to tell her. Mrs Weasley could be overbearing in her protectiveness and you’re sure she would never have let him work on the reserve again, no matter how much he loved it. “Could you...um, disrobe for me.” You ignore the nerves in your stomach and try to get into the healer mindset, you’ve seen plenty of patients wear even less and it was never a problem before. You weren’t going to let Charlie Weasley taking his shirt off get to you. You’d seen him without it early that day and surely he couldn’t affect you quite so much the second time.

Or that’s what you told yourself before you found yourself gazing at him a little too long. Truth was Charlie was an attractive man, even fully dressed and the beauty of his torso was not diminished by you having seen it previously. Up close you noticed things that you hadn’t earlier in the day. Scars of various types caught your eye, a few bite marks you recognised well as various types of dragon, scratches, burn marks, his body told the story of a dragon keeper who had known pain and yet still enjoyed his job. He was covered in freckles head to toe, or at least what you could see of his body, and red hair that criss crossed his arms and his chest. The dragon had moved from his shoulder and neck area, stalking its way across his left ribs, breathing little spouts of fire.

You cleared your throat and gestured for him to turn his back towards you. You could see it was covered in scars, a large portion was burn scarring, but there were claw marks too. You placed a hand gently on the top of his shoulder and gently pushed him forward so that you could get a better look. Your other hand softly trailed over the skin, examining the depths of the scars, making an assessment of what sort of scarring it was. “These were healed poorly, did you not go to the reserve healer?” You could tell they could have been healed better, they would have left a mark certainly, but with less pain you were sure. It was, in truth, a rather shoddy job. 

“Oh, I went...he’s just not very good.” You scoff, not very good was an understatement and you wrecked your brain for anyway you could fix the damage done. You’d never seen wounds healed so poorly or such extensive scarring caused by magical healing, you think that they might have healed better on their own.  

“This was about nine years ago, correct?” You watch the back of Charlie’s head move up and down in a nod, “He used a mending charm.” You scoff, irritation strong within you.

“Is that wrong?”

“They’re meant for objects not people, it’s why you have so much scarring, why it hurts...I just wonder...I wonder if...I know you just wanted me to do a quick lenio, Charlie...but I’d like to try something, I have absolutely no idea if any of the spells I know will work, but I might be able to permanently reduce the pain, and the damage.”

“You couldn’t do that with Hermione?”

“Her scar is the product of dark magic...that’s...we’re still trying to figure out how to undo that sort of injury, but this is normal in comparison. I could make it worse or I could make it better or it could do nothing...”

“Love,” he looks over his shoulder at you, eyes surprisingly full of mirth, “I doubt you could make it worse, give it your best shot.” 

You think through all the healing spells you know and you contemplate the nature of this. It isn’t an open wound or a broken bone, but it is damaged flesh, scar tissue so mangled it hurts and you think deep about your time at St Mungo’s, the many healer’s you’ve known and learnt from and you think of your own experience creating spells, melding your wants, desires, outcomes, into a single word, a single channel for your magic. You use his confidence in you and your desire to see his pain reduced or undone as a force behind the words that leave your mouth without even thinking and the almost natural movement of your wand. 

“Renovare” It’s not a spell you know and yet, as you speak the words and channel your magic through your wand, you know what it does and you know what it’s purpose is. Renew. To fix what isn’t wounded, but is damaged, to heal what has been healed poorly. You watch delicate streams of pearlescent light, flickering between white and pink and teal, fall over the scars and break them apart delicately before rehealing wounds. You hear Charlie hiss and squeeze his shoulder in reassurance that everything is working the way it should and that you’re sorry it hurts. The scars that are left behind are less angry, closer to the skin, and less like knotted damaged tissue. Perhaps had you been there when it happened, there would be no scars at all, but unmending and re-mending a wound is not so perfect or simple. You have the presence of mind to realise this is a new spell, of your own creation, and that you should write all of this down before you go to sleep tonight. This spell could be a breakthrough for wizarding medicine, at least where angry scars that cause pain are concerned. You’re so focused on fixing his pain that this realisation doesn’t bring you the pride it should, after all, not many witches or wizards could simply create a spell.

There’s something satisfying about watching the process, the breaking open of skin and the regrowth of new. The new scars looking as you’d want them to be, knowing that you have fixed the work of a poor healer and hopefully, in the process, stopped the pain that causes Charlie’s lack of sleep. 

You run your hand over the new scars once you’re done, checking the thickness of the scar tissue, his dragon has moved to his back now, curiously dancing around your fingers, nipping as if it could catch them. You get the feeling that it is grateful for your work. “Does it hurt at all? or...at least is the pain lesser?”

“It’s...it’s sore, like i’ve just come off the quidditch pitch, but it doesn’t hurt. Not like it used to.”

“Mmm...,” you continue your observations for a while, asking more questions about how it feels as you go, “I suspect the soreness will go, I have just broken your scars open and re-healed them...they look better, proper healing work, none of that bollocks from before.” You find your patience for bad healers always to be quite small, healing was serious business, people’s lives, their feelings were at risk and bad healers, in your opinion, simply shouldn’t exist. 

“I...thank you for letting me try I...”

“I’ve never heard that spell before.”

“That’s because I just created it.” He looks at you as you expect, surprised and a little bit in awe. Most wizards and witches can’t just make their own spells, you know this, but your experience with Fred and George had taught you a few things. The two of them had always innately created their own charms and potions, and they taught you how it should feel, how to focus, how to think, how to tap into that part of yourself that was purely magic, that knew without words what it could and wanted to do. 

“That’s...impressive.”

“Your brothers’, they’re...they were...George and Fred have always...” You sigh in frustration, it is so hard to find the right tense now. George is here and Fred is not, but they're a pair, not individuals and it feels wrong to...to leave one out. He’s patient with you, soft eyes, a reassuring smile as a hand reaches for yours and gives a quick squeeze. “When we were in school, the twins just knew how to make their own spells...all their products are their own work and creation...they taught me how to...how to tap into that part of me, the part that knows what to do. I’ve not done it in years, I've not had need to...I just knew what I wanted to happen and I let myself guide me.” You smile at him softly, round cheeks pushing upwards with your smile. His eyes are darting curiously across your face as if seeking out the answer to some question only he knew. 

There’s a look of surprise behind the curiosity. You can see it, that he never fully realised just how brilliant his brothers’ were. Most of the people who meet...met the twins underestimated their abilities, but they were brilliant. Sometimes you just have to look past the laughter, the jokes and the ostentatious colours. 

“Thank you...thank you for this,” He gestures to his back, “and thank you for teaching me something about the twins that I...that I failed to realise myself. We’ve always undervalued them, I love them...loved...but, even I saw them as jokers and never...never realise the work they put in.”

“Brilliant, that’s how I describe them. Insane. Terribly immature at times. Quick to anger, like most Weasleys, but brilliant and kind...” You look off into the distance, eyes losing focus for a second, “have I told...has anyone told you how I became friends with the twins?”

“I always assumed they just wouldn’t leave you alone,” It’s a cheeky smile that makes you laugh, “that would be rather like them.” You lean against the table, thick thigh pressing lightly against the outside of his knee as you think back on how you met the twins. 

“In truth...it’s not a wholly happy story. But it’s not entirely sad either, meeting them was the best thing that ever happened to me. They gave me friendship, companionship, knowledge, protection, and family. They gave me a wizarding family that would always support me and I don’t think at the age of eleven I truly understood the importance that your family would play in my life. Now, I couldn’t live without them.” You turn your eyes on him with a soft smile. 

“We have a way about us...Weasley’s collect people, I think. We’re never happy alone, we like a full house, we like fighting over a bathroom in the morning and cramming around the table. Mum loves adding people to the family, and I'm sure the moment she met you she knew you’d be the newest addition.” You smile at that. You wonder if a Weasley could ever truly be happy alone. While Charlie lived away from his family, you were sure, judging by his little smile, that the distance was hard on him and that he probably surrounded himself with friends and colleagues to feel that familiarity. 

“It was my first year and I was crying…” You look up at the ceiling, the wood beams that cross it, the hanging pots and drying herbs. “I was behind the tapestry on the 5th floor...there’s this little room behind it and I found it by accident, I’m rather clumsy,” You laugh and look back at him. It startles you a little to realise you have his undivided attention, but it also pleases you, to know that he’s listening, that he values what you have to say even if it's just a silly little story. 

“I was bawling really, none of that quiet dainty crying. It was rather horrible actually...they must have heard, said I sounded like Moaning Myrtle which just upset me more...they sat beside and they asked ‘what’s happened? Who do we need to prank?’' It was ever so Fred and George even back when you were all just eleven. Their solution to a problem was often either pranking the person responsible or starting a fight with them. The latter was your least favourite of the two.

“Sounds like them, although I wouldn't have been surprised if they offered to throw a few punches...we have hot tempers.”

“You seem awfully mild mannered for a Weasley to me?” It was true, Charlie and Bill both seemed like two calm individuals, at least compared to Ginny or Ron or even Mrs Weasley. All of whom were known for their explosive, passionate tempers. 

“Well, love, you’ve never seen me nearly tear the Ravenclaw quidditch captain a new one after a blatant display of cobbing...Although, i’m definitely less fiery than Ginny. She scares me a little sometimes.”

“She is prone to bouts of violence,” You love it about her though, her quickness to defend others, her bravery. If there ever was a Gryffindor it certainly was Ginevra. “Either way, they offered pranking services rather than violence...good move on their part, I suspect I would have been terrified of them had they offered to break someone’s nose…”

“So who or what made you cry? Homesick?”

“No...I mean, I was homesick, but that wasn’t what had me crying behind that tapestry...it was boys actually. They’d been picking on me, all years, all ages, all houses, for the first few weeks of my life at Hogwarts. Sometimes it was my hair...and other times it was my teeth, sometimes it was the fact I was muggle born...but mostly, it was that I was fat,” You see he rearing up to say something at the word, but you stop him before he can speak, “I am fat. Charlie, that’s not an insult to me, I can be a million wonderful things, and fat is just a descriptor. I am fat and a hufflepuff and I am pretty and I am brave and I am terribly dedicated to my work. But back then...the way they used it. That was an insult. I was fat, I was a whale, a pig, or some other creature they could demean me with. They said I was ugly and unworthy and ‘who’d want to date you?’...I wasn’t even old enough to care about dating, but they made me feel like I was unlovable...and then your brothers came along.”

You smile at him, at the hand he’s placed on your knee in reassurance, the hand that doesn’t stay there too long out of respect for you. He’s listening now, truly, there is no desire to butt in, to interject, because he realises that you do not unjustly hate your body. You are simply telling a story. “After that they never let anyone say a bad word about me...they protected me and I protected them too...you’ve not seen a thing until you’ve seen a hufflepuff fly at Draco Malfoy with the intent to maim.” You quirk a lip thinking of all the times you’d nearly hurt the boy, he was better now, you could have a civil conversation, but Merlin, he’d been terrible in school.

“Should I worry for my personal safety?” Charlie laughs, leaning back away from you as if you might attack at any moment, but it is all play and it makes you chuckle. “I think you’re safe, dragon boy…”

There’s a comfortable silence in which your leg pressed against Charlie’s as you leant against the table, Charlie leaning back in his chair. It’s the sort of silence that feels like companionship, there is no pressure in your chest to speak, no feeling that the silence was wrong, no strange buzzing in your chest. 

“I’m glad they looked out for you...you deserve to have people who look after you the way you look after them.”

“You...you barely know me.” You look at him through your lashes, feeling shy, bashful at the kind words. He just gives you a stunningly soft smile, his brown eyes crinkling at the corners. 

“True, but in the short time I have known you you’ve been nothing but kind, caring, and you even invented a spell simply to help me. Love, that says more than anything else about you. You care about people...and people should care about you too.” The tenderness should scare you, intimidate you, instead it makes warmth blossom in your chest and happy tears well in your eyes because no one has ever said something so kind. Even when you doubt how useful you are, even with the guilt, it means so much to hear someone acknowledge the kindness you give, the care you provide, and not take it for granted. It is this that makes you realise how desperately you want to keep Charlie Weasley in your life, even simply as a friend because he cares so deeply about people and because he doesn’t feel ashamed or embarrassed to share those thoughts or feelings that would matter most to a person. 

It is with those words and thoughts in your head that the two of you say goodnight and you return to your bed, the blankets don’t feel irritating anymore, your head does not buzz with bad thoughts. While it is hard to go to sleep it is not out of guilt or anger or sadness, but a sort of giddiness that you haven’t felt in so long. You fall asleep with a smile.

[luninosity]

Catching up on @evanstanweek ficlets again! Here’s Day 3, prompt: on set.

Read at AO3 here - 2,336 words of on-set love confessions, set during The First Avenger - or read on tumblr below!

#

Sebastian’s watching Chris. He often is, can’t seem to help the track of his gaze—can’t pull away from the magnet-tug that’s Chris Evans’ loud laugh and gesturing hands and philosopher’s eyes, and if he’s honest he doesn’t want to. Right now the low hazy grey lighting of the broken bar sits on Chris’s shoulders and turns him into a grieving supersoldier: a man hollowed out by loss, left with a gaping hole right through his chest.

 Chris is so good. So brilliant at emotion, at getting character. So thoughtful and so generous with his feelings, the kind of bravery that holds nothing back. He is Steve Rogers, through and through: a hero, shining blue and gold.

 Sebastian’s not that brave. Not that brilliant. Good at angst and pain, or dry humor, or intensity, maybe; but he’s in character for it. He does love people and stories, and he thinks he’s funny, sometimes, and he thinks he might want to be a writer, sometimes, and he can shove an entire pizza slice in his mouth when he’s comfortable around friends, but.

 It takes him a while. Exhaling. Stepping out. Speaking up. He wouldn’t say he’s shy, because he isn’t, not once he knows people. He’s just…not Chris Evans, who wears joys and vulnerabilities openly, with pride, unafraid.

 Sebastian looks at Chris, and aches with emotion, and says nothing, every day and every minute on this film so far.

 He’s technically done for the day, though he’s not at all done on this film; he’s spent the morning running around with Howling Commandos and being a young and terrified sergeant thrown into war. They’d filmed Bucky’s fall from the train the day before; Sebastian had honestly loved it. The emotion’d been easy: love and loyalty, throwing himself in to fight alongside the other half of his heart, the moment of sheer shock, a small but gloriously physical drop onto thick mats. They’d let him do that one, because it wasn’t a long fall and they needed to see his face. He hoped it’d been good; everyone seemed pleased, at least.

 He shifts weight, wishes he had a pillar or a wall to lean on. He watches Chris some more.

 They’d caught the stunned disbelief on Chris’s—Steve’s—face at the fall, yesterday. Chris is so incredible at nuance, at blazing emotions, even in a few-seconds-long shot. Sebastian had said, after, “That felt really good, that last take?” and had meant, I think you’re a genius, I think I want to work right next to you forever, I think I love you.

 Chris had gotten kind of pink-cheeked because Chris is too damn self-deprecating, and had said, “Oh—um, thanks, man, you too, I mean it felt good to me too, I mean we’re fuckin’ awesome, obviously,” and had nudged Sebastian’s shoulder, somewhere between a punch and a quick resting of a hand. “Craft services? They got blueberry bagels, someone said.”

 Chris, bagel-focused, clearly had not heard Sebastian’s internal monologue. And if he had, wouldn’t reciprocate.

 Which is fine, of course. Chris never needs to know, and Sebastian’s ridiculous emotions will calm the hell down and go away. Any day now. Sometime. Soon.

 But he’s watching Chris, and Chris is pretending to try to get drunk, pain visibly shredding him inside; Chris is Steve and Steve can’t believe it and has to believe it and wants to scream, to shout, to punch a hole through the world—

 The scene’s fantastic, of course.

 They get it in maybe three takes, rapid-fire, Chris laying out his heart for the watchers. His voice cracks; it’s getting rougher, the third time.

 They do it a couple times more for different close-ups. Sebastian takes a step closer, between takes. His boots—he’s changed; they’re his own boots—are louder than he’d recalled that morning; Chris looks over at the sound.

 And maybe Chris looks surprised, or relieved, or grateful, for a split second; maybe it’s all in Sebastian’s head, though, because the next second they’re right back into it, capturing Steve’s heartbreak.

 It’s a wrap for the scene, eventually. And Chris is done for a few hours too, though he’ll need to stick around; he’s got some close-ups to do inside a mock airplane, being bounced around, for what’ll be the big final self-sacrifice. Sebastian loves the heroism and pain of it; he’s always loved good writing, and he’s got a good feeling about this script and about this universe, which he’s a tiny part of now.

 Chris doesn’t get up right away. Just scrubs both hands over his face, shoulders slumped. Hayley Atwell’s gone off to talk to the director; Joe’s nodding, listening to her. Nobody’s checking on Chris.

 And that’s wrong, that’s wrong and not good and not right—Chris has just been hurting, the way that Chris hurts for the world, and Chris should never be hurting, not while Sebastian’s alive—

 Sebastian’s legs move before his brain makes a conscious decision. He’s picking his way across artistic rubble and taking a few running steps and putting a hand on Chris’s shoulder. “Hey.”

 Chris actually jumps a little, which isn’t the best start. “Oh! Uh, hey, hi, did you, um…have a question? About Steve and Bucky, or somethin’?” The Boston comes out extra-strong; it does that when Chris is feeling a lot, or tipsy, or simply exaggerating to make someone laugh.

 “No,” Sebastian says. “Or, well, yeah, we might want to talk about some of those flashback sequences, so we’re on the same page with emotion and all, but.” He licks his lips, realizes he’s doing it—a nervous habit, one he’s had for years—and stops. He can taste chapstick on his tongue. “I just. Wanted to. I don’t know. Are you…I mean, that looked like a lot.”

 “You…” Chris trails off. He’s looking at Sebastian’s face with astonishing intent; Sebastian would say even desperation, but that’d be ludicrous. Chris doesn’t have any reason to feel desperate about him.

 He tries, “I know you, um, like tea? Not coffee? We could go grab, um, tea. If you want.”

 “Tea,” Chris says, a little blankly. “But you like coffee.”

 Sebastian’s starting to get kind of worried, here. “I do, but you gave it up? We could maybe head back to your trailer, and you can, um, relax for a minute, and I can…try to make tea?”

 Chris stares at him some more.

 “Or not,” Sebastian throws in helplessly.

 “Yes,” Chris says. “Yes, yeah, yes—you—fuck. Okay. Jesus, Chris, get it together,” and he even shakes his head like a puppy flinging off water, and Sebastian kind of wants to grin and also scratch his tummy.

 Well. Maybe not scratch. He can think of better things to do with Chris’s stomach. Mostly involving his tongue.

 And he should absolutely not be thinking of that when Chris needs his help. He sticks out a hand. “To the end of the line? Or at least your trailer.”

 Chris looks at the hand, and then takes it, hauling himself up out of the chair. His fingers are large and strong and a little cold, and they squeeze Sebastian’s for just a little too long, as if wanting to hold on.

 No. Must be Sebastian’s heart thinking that. Wanting what he can’t have.

 He walks with Chris through behind-the-scenes set-ups and teardowns, props and people rushing to and fro, the corners of trailers and the shouts of movie-making going on. The sun’s warm, if light; the ground’s hard beneath his boots. He keeps stealing glances at Chris, who doesn’t seem too talkative. Sebastian’s poor overworked heart wants to take each sensation, each sight and taste and scent of this backstage moment, and fold them up safe deep inside.

 Chris is letting him help. That feels like sunshine.

 Chris’s trailer’s simple, unpretentious, unfussy; script copies and notes lie scattered around, and he’s got some weights, and some Disney-movie DVDs. Sebastian smiles, because that’s so very Chris: delight in the magic, always.

 Chris, still in costume, sits down on his sofa. He breathes out, and looks up. “Thanks.”

 “For what? How do I make tea with this?” He’s poking Chris’s electric kettle. He does sort of know how it works, in theory. His mother has an old-fashioned kettle; he’s got fancy coffee-making machinery; he should be able to combine all this knowledge. “Where is your tea?”

 “Seb,” Chris says. “I—hang on, does anyone actually call you Seb?”

 “Um. Not really? You can. I don’t mind.” He doesn’t. Chris uses last names often, an affectionate Boston-bro shorthand for friendship; Sebastian’s somehow always been Sebastian or Seb, in Chris’s voice. He’s wondered why, though he’s thought maybe Chris just doesn’t feel that close to him. Not deserving of the bro-status.

 “You don’t mind, or you don’t like it, and you’re being nice about it?”

 “I don’t mind,” Sebastian says, too quickly. “I like it.”

 “Sebastian,” Chris says.

 “Really,” Sebastian says. “Either. Whatever.”

 “Jesus,” Chris says, face back in his hands. “I’m sorry. I just…just tell me if I’m sayin’ something stupid, okay? Please.”

 “But you’re not!” Sebastian comes back over to the couch. That damn magnet again. Tugging his bones. “You’re not, it’s fine, we’re good, Chris. I swear. Really.”

 Chris doesn’t look up, so Sebastian drops to both knees, right there at Chris’s feet, and tries not to think of all the times he’s wanted to do exactly that. It’s easier not to think of it, right now, because he’s genuinely concerned.

 He peeks up at Chris’s face. “Hey. Kinda worried here. Not about you, I mean, about your kettle, it’s got all these buttons, it’s like a rocket ship, I’m afraid if I touch the wrong thing it’ll explode.”

 Chris snorts, almost a laugh, and then does look up. His eyes go right to Sebastian’s, so close and so blue; and then all at once he’s moving, leaning forward, one hand reaching out and cradling Sebastian’s head, and then—

 They’re kissing. Oh, god, they’re kissing, Sebastian on his knees in front of Chris and Chris bending down to claim him, hand in Sebastian’s hair—

 Chris kisses like reprieve, like the release of storms, like the dive into a heated pool on a chilly day: wholehearted, devoted, anxious to lick and taste and plunge into every part of Sebastian’s mouth. Sebastian, who’s been kissed before, has in fact never been kissed before, because no other kiss has ever been a kiss, compared to this.

 His knees dimly register the hardness of the trailer floor, and his neck’s at kind of an awkward angle, and Chris is still mostly in the Captain America suit. None of that matters. Nothing else matters at all, because Chris wants him and Sebastian’s whole self yearns for Chris, and Chris’s tongue and taste and tug at Sebastian’s hair are all white-hot gloriously perfect.

 Chris pulls back almost as abruptly. They’re both breathless; Chris whispers, “Oh, fuck…” and takes his hand out of Sebastian’s hair, but then touches Sebastian’s cheek, cups his face, as if unable to stop touching. “I…fuck…I didn’t…I’m so fucking sorry, I just…”

 “Why?”

 “What?”

 “Why’re you sorry?” Sebastian tips his head into Chris’s hand. “I’m not.”

 “You’re…not.”

 “Chris,” Sebastian says, and then runs out of words. He hopes Chris can see it, can read it, in his eyes. On his face. “Yes.”

 “Yeah?” Chris reaches out with the other hand too: framing Sebastian’s face now, tender and awestruck. “You mean that.”

 “I mean it,” Sebastian says. “But—”

 “Oh god,” Chris says, “I’ve fucked this up, haven’t I—”

 “No! No, just…are you okay? I mean, from earlier.” Somewhere amid the kissing his hands’ve ended up on Chris’s thighs; apparently they just want to be there, and now rub along Chris’s legs, soothing and caressing and learning all at once. “I mean, I wanted to—”

 “To help,” Chris groans. “You came over to help—because you’re the sweetest fucking person I know, god, you’re perfect, Seb, the nicest and the warmest and the best—and I fucking, Jesus, practically mauled you—”

 Sebastian cuts that anguished recrimination off by diving forward and getting his mouth back on Chris’s. After some in-depth affirmation, he breathes against Chris’s lips, “Don’t think you’re doing any mauling I don’t like.”

 Chris’s eyebrows go up.

 “Really,” Sebastian tells him.

 “Huh,” Chris says. “Huh. Okay. You—okay.”

 “No,” Sebastian says patiently. “Are you okay?”

 Chris stares at him, and then bursts out laughing. Mid-laughter, scoops Sebastian off the floor. Flops them both down across the sofa, holding on. “God, you’re incredible.”

 “The best, you said.”

 “And I mean it. You just make it all…feel better, kind of?” Chris strokes a hand down Sebastian’s back, over his t-shirt. “That’s what it was, earlier. Like…being Steve, losing Bucky, but that’s you, and all at once I was thinking about losing you, and I just felt like…like someone’d dropped me off a train, y’know? Like I’d never get up again.”

 “I’m here.” Sebastian wriggles against him. They fit together: bodies pressed close, every piece of them learning each other. He’s half atop Chris, but with one of Chris’s legs tangled through his. “I’m here.”

 “I know.” Chris rubs his back again. “And you were there, too. You were right there and I could look up and find you, and it was like I could remember how to breathe. And then you were here, asking about tea and looking at me like—and I just had to kiss you. I want to kiss you. Seb. Sebastian. God, I fuckin’ want—everything. I know it might get complicated, I know we’re in the middle of making a movie, but I can’t not want everything. Together. With you.”

 “Well,” Sebastian says, “good to know,” and stretches to kiss Chris again. It’s that simple, if not easy: the future’ll change, but it does that anyway, sprawling out in all sorts of directions. And he thinks it’ll be a good direction, with Chris at his side. “Because I want everything with you too.”

[howdoyousleep3]

The Walker fic is killing me! I love that the collar got brought out cause honestly that's one of my biggest kinks. But (please don't be insulted/upset by this, it's a personal thing) I need to check Buck's 100% okay with it all? He seemed so uncomfortable with Walker just being there/not having any warning. Plus Steve thought about it for a week, but didn't tell Bucky til Walker's there, and it felt like that changed how safe the consent conversation was (ran out of space, sorry for this) 1/2

2/2 (Hi, checking SSC again, sorry again!) I'm honestly really freaked out by how strange it made me feel. I've never experienced stuff like that which could trigger me (afaik, I know sometimes it takes time to realise), so I'm confused & kinda scared. Also I'm so so sorry for putting this on you, it's not your job to counsel me. And I don't want this to affect you. These were prob a bad idea so pls ignore/delete if it's too much bc I've always loved your work & you, and I'd hate to upset u 😘💛

Hi! I hope you don’t mind but I’ve gotten a bit of feedback that is along these same lines and I would like to only address it once, but I also want to make sure I answer your Ask.

I’d like to first thank you for your thoughtfulness in you sharing your feelings about a story I have written. I can sense that this might have taken a lot for you to share with me and I don’t want you to feel bad in anyway for coming to me. It seems to me that you read something that was new to you and that you are trying to interpret and self-reflect and that’s great and necessary. I appreciate you acknowledging that you’ve never experienced something like this and that it is not my job to counsel you because, and this is my second and more general response to the feedback as a whole—

I should not have to apologize.

And I know reading that without my personal tone and just through text can be incredibly abrasive and that it’s unavoidable, but I hope by the end of my explanation you (anyone and everyone, not just you, Nonnie) can understand why I feel this way.

Bucky is okay. Steve is okay. Together, in this fic and in this moment, they are more thank okay. This is an incredibly well-established relationship that I have worked so hard to create and build up to the fullest extent as a writer. This is not a random one-off and this does not belong to a pairing that is outside of this tiny world I have created. I have shown everyone how Steve and Bucky’s relationship works and how healthy it is and was hoping that would be kept in mind as this story was read.

Yes, Steve showing up with August Walker was startling for Bucky and yes, Steve did wait and keep something from Bucky for the week leading up to this night. I stand by that decision. Steve knew that if he told Bucky the week before, he would absolutely freak the fuck out and worry himself sick over the consuming what-if thoughts. Steve made an informed decision as a Daddy, as a Dom, and as a boyfriend. He knows Bucky and he used that information to protect and keep Bucky safe. Also, any introduction to a kink is going to be startling. The same thing happened when Bucky was spanked for the first time and when Steve was much rougher with him one night and when Bucky climbed on top for the first time.

All of those instances were talked through no matter what, either before or during and definitely after, and they were sprung on Bucky in the moment. We know Steve. We know how important communication is for him and how much he cares for Bucky. I feel like that was expressed here well. We know Bucky. We know he would have his hesitancies, as expressed, and we know he is a strong individual who trusts Steve and would have absolutely no issue with saying no to Steve for any reason.

I am aware this content is very different than anything I have ever written and that this particular kink exploration comes with literally someone else in the room, but I do not, in any fashion, think this fic deserves a Dub Con tag as it has been requested.

Steve and Bucky have their own process to introducing something such as this into their lives. They know and trust and love one another in ways they cannot even comprehend sometimes. Steve was incredibly clear when he spoke to Bucky and supported him physically and verbally during their discussion. He gave Bucky complete control over the entire night. He gave Bucky a way out at any time if he needs it. There is a tiny bit more of this discussion in front of Walker in the next chapter that might help and make readers feel more comfortable.

As the person who has created this tiny world with these two specific characters and as the person who knows them better than anyone else, everything that is transpiring in this fic is safe for them, and that is why I will not be apologizing for what I have written. This is maybe the second time I have ever put my foot down and taken ownership for my characters and said, as the writer, that certain things would and would not happen with these two. I love creating this world and building it up with all of you! But there are some things that just don’t fit into this world in my brain as the author and dub con is absolutely not one of them.

Now, Nonnie! Don’t apologize or think this is a bad idea! It is so important for your voice to be heard and I think this might have been good for you in processing everything that you’ve read and thinking about how you reacted. I appreciate the feedback no matter what and you are not the only person who has felt this way after reading this chapter update. I want to explicitly state that this response is not directed towards you specifically in any way expect for that top bit. Please do not take the burden of this response and rest it on your shoulders in any way or feel bad. I am proud of you for reaching out and letting me know how you feel.

I hope this clears things up for any and every person who reads this fic and I hope my thought process was clear enough to understand. I am still very excited to share the rest of this fic with everyone and welcome all feedback! Love you always!

[skiesoftwilight]

Stubborn (Jason Todd)

I found this one at the very bottom of my docs. I thought I posted it, but I was wrong, so after a brief read and edit, I got it ready to be posted :) (Sorry for the lack of writing, I’m trying hard, but I'm still trying to climb over my writer’s block :/) I hope you all enjoy! :)

Word Count: 2303

••••••••••••••••••••••••••  

“Where the hell is all my gear?”

Your brows furrowed together in confusion while you stared into your empty uniform showcase, wondering who took your uniform. All of your weapons were gone from their designated hooks; they even took your communicator that kept track of all your missions and routes. They didn’t even bother to close the glass door or turn off the lights inside to cover up their tracks, there was a bunch of evidence around you, but you still didn’t have the slightest clue.

The sound of numerous footsteps and talking met your ears and caused you to turn around swiftly to see Dick, Jason, and Damian enter the Batcave with cheeky smiles on their faces. They were so involved in their conversation that they didn’t acknowledge your presence that was only a few feet away from them.

“Really? Her? I would’ve thought—”

“Hello boys,” You made your presence known, walking in front of them slowly, trying to see if the culprit was in front of your eyes, “What brings you down here? I thought Bruce said that he gave you all the night off?”

The boys' attention was immediately brought to your small form in front of them. They eyed you up and down, taking in your tense demeanor, trying to figure out what had gotten you upset. Dick and Damian returned your confused state while Jason’s face remained calm while he stared at you in the eyes and giving you that goofy smile that you loved so much.

“Bruce received a surprise mission and he’s sending us to take care of it,” Jason folded his arms over his chest in a loose manner, “What are you doing down here? I thought you were supposed to be upstairs resting?”

“Alfred cleared me earlier this morning,” You stated with pride, looking at them with half-smiles as you continued your search, “I came down here ‘cause I thought I heard a noise, so I decided to investigate… so far, no culprit…”

Dick raised his hand to state that you couldn’t have possibly heard a noise from the manor as the only access was from an elevator, but when Jason placed a hand on his shoulder, he put his hand down as he knew that his younger brother had caught you, his charming partner, in a lie. He didn’t address it at first; he let you believe that you had fooled them in order to see if you would let it slip on why you were really down in the Batcave.

“Oh okay, well good luck trying to catch it, whatever it is that you heard,” Jason said with a hint of mirth as he walked passed you, letting his large hand cup your shoulder with a pat before making his way to get suited up with Damian and Dick, “just don’t stay down here too long, I don’t care if Alfred cleared you or not, you should still be resting.”

“Well, actually, now that the three of you are down here, I did notice that, uh, my uniform is, uh, missing from its showcase,” You brought yourself to stand right in front of Jason once again, not letting him advance further to his own uniform; he waved Dick and Damian to go on ahead while he stayed to talk, “You wouldn’t happen to know what happened to it by chance?”

“Nope, not a clue. You were the last person to wear it, and if I’m not mistaken, the only person to wear it, so shouldn’t you know where you put it?” Jason kept his facial expressions neutral as he stared down at you. His tone was dripping with sarcasm, and it didn’t bother you that much, but all you wanted was the person who took it.

“Well, I came down here earlier and seen it sitting perfectly in it case, and now I come back down and it’s missing…” You placed your bandaged hand on your hip gently, being careful not to put too much pressure on it; it didn’t dawn on you right away, but things were clicking together in your mind, “right around the time you, Dick, and Damian are going out on a mission. Isn’t that crazy?”

Jason’s eyes roamed around the empty case as if he was conducting his own investigation before letting his semi-serious gaze return to your face to see that you were starting to get irritated with the lack of new information on your missing suit. He placed his hands upon your shoulders to move you out of the way gently so he could get ready as Dick and Damian were already waiting on him.

“That is crazy. I’m sure I haven’t seen it,” Jason poked himself in the chess with an innocent look, but you weren’t buying into it; your boyfriend liked to play games and even with you being his partner, you didn’t make the exception. He turned to the other boys and asked them out of curiosity, “You two haven’t happened to see their suit anywhere, or did you guys move it?”

They both shook their heads, which made you laugh in disbelief at the lack of progress you were making in your investigation. You walked away from Jason to lean against the empty case to think about your options. You knew someone from inside the manor had to have taken it cause Bruce always has the cave on lockdown when not being occupied.

“I already asked Bruce and Alfred about it and they said they didn’t touch it at all, Tim is too cracked out on coffee and involved on his computer to come down here and actually do something, so it just leaves you three.” You eyed them with suspicious intentions, Jason just laughed as he threw his jacket on and went to retrieve his weapons that were in his lockbox.

“I don’t understand why your suit is so important right now, you literally are just coming out of recovery from our last mission that almost left you completely crippled, the suit should be the last thing on your mind and rest should be first.” Jason reprimanded you indirectly once again for not getting your rest; he cares about you way too much to let you do stupid things.

“Oh, enough talk about the last mission, it was one slip up, that was it, you were occupied and I thought that if we didn’t catch that guy, all our intel would’ve been gone.” You admitted, shrugging your shoulders, “I didn’t think that there would be those brutes in the other room waiting for us.” 

Jason pinched the bridge of his nose while images of your battered body from the previous mission crept into his mind, “Yeah, that’s your problem when you put your suit on and go out, you don’t think, just act. That one slip up could’ve killed you and you are failing to realize that,” He walked over to the Batcomputer to get his communicator, “When I saw you on that floor, all bloodied and bruised… I thought you were dying—you were very lucky I got there in time.”

You stood silent as you let his words sink in. When you became his partner, he confessed that he didn’t want you to fight alongside him because it could get messy mixing two lifestyles together, but you reassured him you had what it takes. He never once shied away from telling you that he would do whatever it takes to keep you from hurting yourself any more than you might’ve on or off duty and that is when it hit you like a ton of bricks. All of your confusion turned into annoyance and slight anger as you stared at him in disbelief.

“You took it.”

“What? I told you I—”

“You always said that you would do whatever it takes to stop me from hurting myself any more than I already was and that’s what you’re doing now. You took my gear because you don’t want me to leave the cave or the manor. You told me this the first time I got hurt and now after my last mission, you took my stuff. I want it back; where did you put it?” You demanded, your voice getting rougher as you approached him.

Jason sighed in defeat as he let his head hang low before turning upwards in the boys' direction to tell them that you were good at these types of things. He brought his attention back towards you, but his gaze was rougher and his demeanor was intimidating.

“What I did was right and you know it too. I saw you this morning wincing when you just had to turn a doorknob. How the hell are you gonna scale walls and fight when you can’t even open a damn door?” He was getting worked up as he matched your level of irritation. 

“That was this morning, I’m better now and you had no right to take my stuff, you could’ve at least talked to me first before resorting to this, I might’ve agreed with you.” You pushed his shoulder with your fingers as you were trying to show that you were getting worked up. You winced slightly as your wrist felt the firmness of his chest traveling through your hand.

“I took it from you because I knew you would go behind my back and go out and possibly get yourself killed. You’re stubborn and I have to find ways to deal with it so you don’t end up doing something stupid.” His voice was heavy and his tone was almost threatening; you were a bit nervous that this whole suit thing blew up into some ridiculous fight. Jason never got this mad at you, but you really did know how to work him up.

“Dick, Damian,” You said their names with such anger that they looked at you with wide eyes as they dreaded hearing their names come off your lips, “I know this is all coming from our last mission, but if you were working with me and that happened and would you talk to me about it or play some childish game like Jason here?”

They both looked at each other and Damian nudged Dick to be the spokesperson for the both of them, “In all honesty, (Y/N), I agreed with what Jason did, given that I do know that you can be a bit hard-headed when it comes to following rules. I wouldn’t want you to get hurt again either.” 

“You’re taking his side.” You threw your hands up in the air in disbelief. Even your close friends couldn’t support you when you needed them.

“This isn’t about sides…” Jason pushed, trying to usher those two to the car they would be taking.

“—I can’t believe you! What next? You lock me in my room like a misbehaving child—”

“—You could have died!” In the aftermath of the shout, the silence seemed deafening. Jason took a step closer, grabbed a hold of you, pulling you into his warm embrace, cradling your fragile form. “You could’ve died,” he spoke softly. “I nearly lost you. If you want to make this about sides, I’m on whatever side keeps you alive. Can’t you see that?”

This whole argument struck a chord deep within Jason and he finally expressed his true fear of losing you. You didn’t want to bring it this far, but it happened. While Jason cradled you in his arms, you swayed the both of you as you were thinking of ways you could apologize to him for making him get mad at you over your suit.

Jason kissed the crown of your head while he pulled away to look you in the eyes with compassion. He flashed his goofy smile at you to lighten the mood of the room before grabbing his communicator off the computer top.

“Look, Jason, I’m sorry, I really—”

“Just save the apology for when I get back. Just don’t think too much on it, for now, if you want, we can talk about it when I get back, but for now, I really gotta go before Bruce finds out that we haven’t left yet.” Jason pointed at the ceiling and rolled his eyes, which made you chuckle, “Just listen this once and go back upstairs and get some rest. Keep the bed warm for me.”

You folded your arms across your chest as you were calming down, “Alright, but when you get home, will you give me my suit back?”

Jason turned back around and gave you a look that could kill before letting it melt away to reveal a smirk, “You really are stubborn are you?” 

A smile crept onto your face as you quickly ran up to him and gave him a peck on the lips and wishing him good luck and to stay safe as well as the rest of his brothers. He gave you a light tap on your butt and only pointed to the elevator with a playful, yet serious gaze. You backed away from him slowly while you waved goodbye before making your way to the elevator and taking it all the way up to the manor.

You were happy that you had finally found firm footing with Jason, but even happier—if you had to be truly honest—that you found your suit. While you continued to think of the words of apology to Jason, you made your way up the stairs and crawled right into your bed and buried yourself under the plush blankets with the t.v. remote in your wrapped hands, ready to begin resting. You were going to wait up until Jason got back; he never said that you should get some sleep, just rest and that could mean a whole lot of other things.

[wistfulcynic]

abandon

@kmomof4 I wrote this for your birthday, but since I STRONGLY SUSPECT that you will have many birthday fics to read tomorrow I thought I’d post it early to celebrate you getting your stitches out. Congratulations on being one step closer to a fully functioning hand! Have 6k words of Neverland sex-pollen smut! 🤣🤣

Seriously, though, thank you for being such a great cheerleader for the fandom. Your real-time flails are a highlight for so many writers, and it’s been wonderful seeing you start writing yourself! I am soooo looking forward to what you have planned for CSSNS next year! And of course I personally have loved getting to know you over the past year. You are a lovely person and a great friend, and I wish you the happiest of birthdays (a few hours early) (but it’s already the 15th here, so...) ❤️❤️❤️

Summary: “Neverland sex-pollen smut” pretty much covers it. Set post-Dark Hollow, Emma and Hook get separated from Neal and encounter some unfamiliar flowers. 

(Just to be very clear there is NO dub-con here. It’s not that kind of sex pollen.) 

Words: 6k Rating: E Tags: smut, sex pollen, PWP, Neverland  

On AO3

abandon: 

“What’s that?” Emma pointed to the patch of tall, dark red flowers just to their left. Hook frowned. 

“I don’t know,” he said, the first time he’d ever not had an answer for one of her what-the-actual-fuck-is-the-deal-with-this-nightmare-place questions. 

“You don’t know?” He shrugged. “You don’t know. How many years did you spend here again?”

Hook rolled his eyes. “I’ve told you before that much has changed in Neverland since I left. I never encountered these flowers during my time here. I suggest we steer well clear of them.” 

“Agreed,” said Emma, and turned back to the path… to find more of the flowers waiting for her. “What the—” 

“That bloody demon,” snarled Hook. “He’s playing with us.” 

“What? Why?”

“Who knows why Pan does anything? Just making us dance to his piping is reason enough for him.” His expression was dark, frightening in a way it hadn’t been since before he’d turned his ship around and come back for them. 

He really doesn’t like being manipulated. The stray thought flashed into Emma’s mind and and clung there as Hook gingerly reached out with his namesake to ease the flowers aside so they could continue along the path.

She took a step forward just as the flower caught in the hook seemed to cough and a shower of dust burst forth, covering both of them in a thin, faintly glittering layer. Her eyes flew to his face to check his reaction, ready to gauge the seriousness of the situation based on how he handled it. He seemed fairly calm and not in any obvious distress, she noted with relief, noticing also the way the dust clung to his eyelashes, how it highlighted his bone structure and the scruff along his jaw, how it sparkled in the hollow of his throat and the hair on his chest. 

“God, you’re hot,” she said. 

“Aye, the weather is oppressive here, but that is the least of our concerns—” 

“No.” She felt the oddest desire to laugh. “No, it’s slang, it means… handsome.” She stumbled a bit over the word. “Attractive. Like I want to…” She reached up and brushed her fingertips over his chest, exposed by the open buttons of his shirt. His skin was warm, the hair softer than she’d expected. He caught his breath as she flattened her palm against him and she could feel his heart begin to pound. “I don’t know why I’m doing this,” she whispered. 

“I do.” His voice was deeper than usual, rougher, and angry. “This is Pan’s game. The pollen from the flower must be making you do things you don’t want.” 

“Oh, she wants,” said a taunting voice. They turned to see Pan lounging against a tree, arms crossed over his chest. Emma felt Hook tense, felt his hand come up to curl protectively around her waist. “That’s the point. The pollen doesn’t force you to do anything, it merely amplifies your existing desires. And dulls your inhibitions. Like good rum does. You should be familiar with that, Captain.” 

Hook growled. “How long does it last?” 

“Well you both got a good faceful of it so I’d say three, four hours at least. Have fun.” And with that, he was gone. 

“Curse that wretched bloody child,” snarled Hook as his arm snaked around Emma’s waist, his hand fisting in her hair. “I’m sorry,” he said softly. 

“Why?” She began to press kisses along his jaw, loving the way he shivered at her touch. His head dropped to nestle against her neck and he breathed deeply. 

“Because I shouldn’t—I should let you go.” 

“Do you want to let me go?” she murmured, pulling back to look at him. His eyes were dark and their expression made her thighs clench. 

“No,” he whispered. “I don’t.” 

His eyes fell closed on a soft exhale then as she watched his features shifted and hardened into a leer. When his eyes opened again he was the man who’d left her in Rumplestiltskin’s cell. “Shall I tell you what I want, Swan?” he asked, his voice low and harsh. “I want to rip every scrap of clothing from your body with my hook.” She caught her breath as he snagged the front of her shirt with the appendage in question, then let it trail up her chest to her neck, the point dragging lightly across her skin. “I want to mark you with it, and with my teeth,” he continued, “Marks on your soft skin that will last for days, and every time you see them you’ll think of me and remember what I did to you. I want to push you up against a tree and wrap your legs around my shoulders and I want to bury my face in your wet cunt—” Emma gasped and he smirked, his tongue tracing a glistening path along his lower lip “—and it will be wet, won’t it darling,” he purred, his voice dropping still lower as he leaned in close to her ear. “Positively dripping with how much you want me. I want to lick you, Emma, to tease you with my tongue and my teeth, work you up and hold you just on the edge until you beg me to let you finish, and then I want to thrust my cock up deep inside you and fuck you until you can’t take any more. I want to wreck you, Emma Swan.” 

“You’re trying to shock me,” she said unsteadily, struggling to think over her pounding heart. “Trying to offend me so I’ll leave. But everything you said—” She hesitated, afraid of what this confession would reveal to him but so desperately turned on she was prepared to let him see it. She drew a shuddering breath and went for broke. “That’s what I want too, Hook. I’ve—I’ve had fantasies of you fucking me for a while now.” 

The leer melted away, leaving him looking as wrecked as she felt and he groaned, shaking his head in denial even as he pulled her closer, as his lips traced a damp trail up her neck. “No,” he rasped, his breath hot against her skin. “It’s not what you want, it’s just the pollen making you—” 

He broke off as Emma snapped open the clasps on his vest and pulled his shirt from his trousers, dragging her fingernails across his stomach as soon as it was bared. His skin was smooth and hot and he actually whimpered when she touched it, his muscles leaping beneath her hand and making her dizzy with lust. “You heard Pan, the pollen doesn’t force us to do anything,” she breathed, then leaned in and sucked hard on his collarbone. He wasn’t the only one who could leave marks. “It just takes away our reasons not to.” 

“They’re good reasons, though,” he muttered into her hair as his own hand quested beneath her shirt to close over her breast. His thumb caressed her nipple and his hooked arm was tight around her hips. “I couldn’t bear it if you had regrets… after.” 

“I won’t.” 

“How could you not?” His voice was raw now, and Emma had the fleeting thought that he might be as exposed as she. 

“Hook, please.” She tried to keep the neediness from her own voice. Without success. “I promise I won’t blame you for this, none of it is anyone’s fault but Pan’s, I just—please.” She met his gaze imploringly. “I need you to touch me.” 

He stared at her for a long moment, his eyes boring into her, dark and desperate. Finally, he nodded. “Come with me.” 

He took her hand and pulled her back in the direction of the Dark Hollow, turning just before they reached it and heading down a small hill towards a thick copse of trees. He didn’t hesitate, pushing through the dense foliage and into a clearing where a small pond lay rippling gently in the breeze. 

A breeze. Emma had almost forgotten what they felt like. She sighed and lifted her hair off her neck to let the cool air caress her sweaty skin. Hook watched her with hooded eyes, his hand clenching and unclenching into a fist. 

“Emma,” he said harshly. “Are you sure about this? If you choose to walk away I won’t follow you.” 

His shirt and vest were hanging open, and she could see the rising and falling of his chest as he fought to keep his breathing steady. She could see the effort his restraint was costing him, the sweat trickling down his temple despite the breeze, his eyes so dilated the blue was barely visible. Their kiss the day before had rocked her more than she cared to admit, but she wasn’t sure she was ready for this, ready to deal with her attraction to him or what it might mean. 

And he was giving her an out. He wasn’t lying when he said he wouldn’t follow her but Emma was ashamed to admit to herself that she almost wished he would. If he tried to force her she could push him away, but this—this being the gentleman he always claimed he was… this just made her want him more. 

“I want to fuck you,” she admitted, “I have since the beanstalk. I don’t like this—” she wiped some pollen off her face “—or this stupid game of Pan’s any more than you do, but I want to know what it feels like to be with you.” With sure steps she closed the distance between them, pushed his coat, shirt, and vest off his shoulders in one go then trailed her hands down his chest, letting them come to rest just above the laces of his trousers. He was rock hard beneath those laces, and his breath in her ear was ragged. “Show me what you’ve got, pirate.”

With a growl he pounced and swept her up into his arms, his mouth coming down hard on hers. They kissed frantically, all tongues and teeth and clawing hands; Emma was so caught up in pleasure that she didn’t notice they had moved until she felt rough bark against her back and gasped at the feel of it. 

“I wasn’t lying when I said I wanted you against a tree,” Hook murmured into her mouth. “Or that I’m bloody desperate to taste you. But what do you want, Swan? We have hours to fill, if the demon can be believed.” 

“I—” Emma tried to make herself think. “I—”

“Tell me, love. What shall I do to you?” 

Her head was spinning and her clit ached, and only one thing came to mind. “Just fuck me.” She ground her hips into his. “I just want your cock inside me. We’ll figure out the rest later.” 

“Always so practical, Swan,” he said, sounding almost amused as his hand and hook tore at his trouser laces. “I bloody love that about you.” 

Something fluttered in Emma at those words but she had no time to examine it; she barely had time to kick off her jeans before he was on her again, hoisting her up to wrap her legs around his waist. She threw her arms around his shoulders, gouging his skin with her nails as he buried his hook in the tree just above her head and slid inside her, groaning at the ease of the penetration. 

“I knew you’d be dripping,” he growled in her ear as he thrust into her with deep, hard strokes. “Gods, you feel so bloody good. Better even than I imagined.” 

He felt good too, thick and hard inside her, bigger than she’d imagined and oh yes, she had also imagined it. “You—oh fuck, yes, right there!—you imagined—this?” 

“Darling, I have had the—filthiest fantasies—about you,” he breathed between thrusts. “Shall I tell you—about them? Many involve handcuffs—chains, perhaps—always you spread out beneath me—begging me to let you come—then me beneath you—with the same—plea—” 

The tension was coiling tight in Emma now as his velvet voice roughened by lust wove intoxicating images in her mind. 

“Both—ah, fuck—both sides, then?” 

“I am a very—broad-minded man, love. Now come for me, darling—I know you’re close—come, Emma.” 

Oh, she loved it when he said her name, even more now with his voice so completely wrecked by lust. She clenched around him, thrilling in the way he gasped, how his fingers dug into her thigh. He thrust harder, ground his pelvis against her clit and she came, harder than she could even have imagined possible. 

She thought she may have screamed but she couldn’t be sure. The world was whirling around her, Hook was still moving inside her, still whispering filthy things in her ear—how good she felt squeezing his cock, how he was going to come deep inside her. Then he did, groaning her name into her hair, his cock pulsing as he pressed it into her one final time. 

Emma drifted down slowly from her high, still held against the tree by Hook’s body, still touching him because the influence of the pollen was strong as ever and she wanted to. It was oddly freeing, this permission to do the things she had been dreaming about for far too long, she thought as she combed her fingers through his hair.  

He seemed to feel the same way for a moment later he eased himself out of her, set her gently on her feet, then latched his mouth onto hers like he couldn’t go a second longer without kissing her. He ravished her mouth with a hard, wet kiss then dragged his lips down her neck and along her collarbone, leaving a damp trail with his tongue that caught the chill of the breeze and made her shiver. He couldn’t seem to keep his mouth off her skin, not even looking as he eased the tip of his hook beneath the straps of her shirt and bra and tugged them down to expose her breast. He trailed soft, damp kisses along the curve of it then licked her nipple roughly, and Emma felt lust begin to surge in her again. 

Hook kissed his way down her torso, licking and nipping and sucking over her navel and down to her mound, nuzzling his nose into her curls. She felt the cool curve of his hook on the back of her thigh, gently easing her leg up over his shoulder, spreading her open for him. 

“You smell bloody amazing,” he rasped, and the vibrations of his voice against her skin made her writhe. “Is this okay, love?” 

“Yes!” She pressed herself against his face, hating the desperate eagerness in her voice but damn it, she really wanted to know if he could do more with his tongue than just talk. 

He was as eager as she, growling in approval as he buried his face in her just as he’d promised, licking through her sensitive flesh in a slow, savouring caress that ended with the tip of his tongue pressed hard against her clit. Her hips bucked of their own volition and she moaned loudly. 

“You like that?” he breathed against her.  

“Yes,” she gasped, barely able to force out the word. “More.” 

“As you wish.” 

The strokes of his tongue grew rougher, licking deep through her folds and up inside her then out again to press hard circles against her clit that brought her just to the edge of bliss and held her there, held her taut and tormented as she made helpless pleading noises and clutched at his hair. His hook arm was wrapped around her leg, the sharp tip of it digging into her thigh as his fingers clutched at her ass so tightly they would surely leave bruises. He was as frantic as she, Emma realised somewhere deep in her consciousness. He loved this. 

The thought of that—of Captain Hook on his knees in front of her, barely hanging on as he pleasured her with that smartass mouth of his—sent her careening over the edge. She definitely screamed this time, as waves of pleasure rolled through her and Hook sucked her clit between his teeth to draw them out.

When the last one had faded away he stood, catching her as she swayed on wobbly legs and pinning her to the tree to kiss her, hard and frantic, his tongue deep in her mouth so she could taste herself. She hummed in enjoyment but had no energy left to do much more than let him take what he wanted. 

He broke the kiss just long enough to scoop her up in his arms and then his mouth was on her again, kissing her even as he carried her to the edge of the pond and laid her down a patch of soft, sandy ground. Stretching out beside her, he pulled off the tank top and bra that she was somehow still wearing. His touch was gentle and his movements careful but his cock was hard against her hip and his hand trembled as he eased her legs apart and sank it into her again. She angled her hips to take him in deeper and he groaned when he was fully seated, nipping at her neck as he began to move. He thrust slowly this time, long, deep strokes that kept her body humming despite how sated she felt and she sighed, relaxing into the sand and just enjoying the slick drag of him inside her until he came. 

He collapsed against her, panting breaths hot in the crook of her neck. She wrapped her arms around him and stroked his back, not stopping even when his breathing calmed and his cock softened within her. Neither of them spoke or moved for several long moments, save for her hand on his back and his curling into her hair. Deep in the depths of Emma’s mind a faint voice was screaming that this was too intimate, too tender, too much, but it also felt too damn good and she wasn’t ready to stop. 

—

The last thing Killian wanted to do was move, though he knew eventually he would have to. They couldn’t stay this way forever, however wonderful it felt to have her stretched out beneath him he was probably already crushing her with his weight, and both of them were sticky with sweat and other fluids. Reluctantly, he rolled away and risked a look at her face. She was smiling a soft smile that made his heart ache, and it didn’t fade when she met his eyes. 

“How are you feeling, love?” 

“Good.” She stretched luxuriantly. “Bit sore. Bit sticky.” 

“Aye. Perhaps, ah, you might care for a swim?” 

She glanced dubiously at the pond. “Can we?” 

“We can indeed.” He stood and offered her his hand, pulling her to her feet when she took it and leading her to the edge of the pond. 

“Are you sure this water’s okay?” She eyed it with a suspicious frown between her brows that he wanted to smooth away with his lips. 

So he did. This was the one time he could be free, after all. Free to touch her as he’d wanted to for what felt like a long time. 

She slipped her arm around him when he kissed her forehead, pressing her naked body along the length of his. He nearly groaned, nearly dragged her back down to the sand, but however strong their need to touch each other he didn’t think either of them were ready for another go-round quite yet. 

“It’s perfectly okay,” he said, answering her question. “I used to come here often. There’s something about this place that Pan doesn’t like so he tends to stay away. And the water itself has soothing and healing properties that—well,  come in and see for yourself.” He took her hand again and she let him lead her in until they were about chest deep. Emma swirled and splashed the water around herself and he did the same, enjoying as he was sure she must also be, the cool relief it offered from the heat of the day and the sweat of their earlier activities. 

“It feels great,” she said, smiling the widest smile he’d yet seen on her face, simple and happy. 

Killian felt his heart tumble perilously at that smile and reminded himself forcefully that this was merely an interlude. It was just the effects of the pollen that made her let him in like this; once they wore off her walls would be up again higher and stronger than ever. He still intended to break them down but certainly didn’t relish increased difficulty in this already challenging task. If only he’d been successful in his attempt to resist the pollen’s effects... but he was barely able to keep his hands off her when she wasn’t wrapped around him begging for his cock. He hadn’t stood a chance. 

They went deeper into the pond. When they were neck-deep Killian dunked his head beneath the surface. Emma did the same. Her hair swirled in the gentle current and he watched it, mesmerised.

“How deep is the water?” she asked. 

“Deep enough to swim properly, if you’d like,” he replied, then demonstrated by diving under the surface and swimming a few strokes to his left before coming up again. When he opened his eyes he couldn’t see her but she appeared at his side a moment later, laughing as water streamed down her face and hair. She caught his shoulders and pressed close to him. “I haven’t been swimming in forever,” she said. “I did a bit in Tallahassee, but—” she broke off and a cloud passed over her face. 

“But what?”  

She shook her head. “It’s nothing.” 

“You can tell me, Emma,” he pressed. “Anything.” 

Please, he begged in his mind. Please don’t shut me out. Not now. Later, perhaps, but not—

“Tallahassee was where Neal and I were going to go,” she said in a small, quiet voice. Her fingers tightened on his shoulders and he wrapped his arms around her, careful not to nick her with his hook. It occurred to him that he hadn’t been swimming with a woman since Milah, and he’d had both hands then. Emma allowed him to hug her though, let her own arms slide around his neck. “It was supposed to be like our happy ending, or something.” She tried to sound dismissive but Killian heard the decade-old pain, still in her voice. “After he left me”—Killian’s arms tightened on a flash of anger; he hadn’t known Bae had left her, what was the lad thinking?—“I went there myself. To wait for him. I thought—I thought he’d—but he didn’t, and so I moved again.” 

He brushed her wet hair back from where it was sticking to her cheek, tucked it behind her ear and kissed her. She responded warmly, opened her mouth for him, but he kept the kiss soft, just a gentle brush of lips and tongues. “I’m sorry, love,” he whispered. 

She tried to shrug. “It’s nothin—” 

“It’s not nothing if it hurt you,” he interrupted. “Which it clearly did.” 

She stared at him. “How do you do that?” 

“Do what, love?” 

“How do you always understand me?” 

He smiled, soft and almost shy. “As I told you on the beanstalk, Swan, you’re an open book.” 

“Mmm,” she murmured as her fingertips ruffled the hair at his nape. “And I suppose I said myself that we understand each other.” 

“Aye, so you did.” He let his hand slide down her back and over her ass, pressing her closer against him. 

She hummed and tightened her hold on his shoulders, letting her forehead rest against his—just for a heartbeat—before she leaned back again to look at him, her expression troubled. “Hook, this doesn’t—this can’t—” 

“Shh, darling I know,” he soothed. “We don’t have to speak of it. Not now, anyway. Right now I—” 

“Now you what?” 

“I want to take advantage of it,” he confessed. “This… amnesty, if you will. When the pollen’s effects have worn off we can go back to how things were, but now—” 

She cut him off with her lips on his. “Yeah,” she said softly. “Me too. Amnesty.” 

She kissed him again and this time he let it deepen, let it grow hot and aching until she was clinging to him as the water swirled around them and he was hard again, pressed insistently against her stomach. He lifted her with his hook arm and swam them both to the side of the pond where he knew there was a large, smooth rock tilted at just the right angle to support a resting body. He had lain on it himself on many an occasion to enjoy the peace of this place. He lifted Emma onto it then stretched out beside her and couldn't help smiling when she immediately snuggled up against him, as though she couldn’t get enough of the feel of his skin against hers. 

He understood the impulse. 

He wrapped his hook arm around her shoulders so she could rest her head on it then let his hand explore her body, tracing feather-light touches over her hip and the dip of her waist, up to her breast to tease her nipple, down her belly to the soft curls between her legs, slipping into her folds as she bit her lip and moaned. 

“How do you like to be touched, Emma?” he asked as his fingers stroked her, gathering her moisture and rubbing it over her most tender spot. 

She gave a strained laugh. “I’m surprised you have to ask,” she said breathily. “Everything you do is—fuck—it’s just right.” 

He felt a ridiculous surge of pride at that, but while he’d always made it a point of principle not to leave a woman unsatisfied with Emma he wanted far, far more. “I’m glad to hear that, love, but you could give me a little more to go on?” he insisted. “For example—” he slid a finger into her whilst keeping his thumb on that sensitive pearl. “How does that feel?” 

“Good. Not as… satisfying as your cock, but I like it.” 

“Could you come from this?” He slid a second finger in. “What about this?” 

“Maybe?” she gasped. “If you touched my nipple too—ooh,” she cried as his mouth closed over her breast and he licked her nipple with the flat of his tongue then nipped at it. “Yeah, I could come from that. But—” 

“But what?” 

“I don’t want to,” she confessed, meeting his eyes. “Not until I’ve had my turn.” 

“Your turn?” 

“To taste you.” 

With a quick, lithe twist of her body she flipped him onto his back and straddled his hips, clutching at his shoulders as she leaned in to kiss him. He reached for her but she shimmied away and down his body, trailing kisses as she went. Killian sighed at the feel of her mouth on his skin, absently licking his fingers—she really did taste amazing, he thought—then nearly choked on them when he felt her lips closing around his cock. 

“Sweet bloody fuck, Emma,” he groaned. 

“Hmm?” she hummed, and he hissed out a more vicious curse as the vibrations of her voice made his balls tighten. He sank his hand into his hair and clutched it hard, tugging at it to distract himself from the soft, wet warmth of her mouth as she began to suck on him... from the gentle friction as she moved her head up and down... from her tongue swirling around his tip.   

Pleas and curses fell heedlessly from his lips as gradually she eased him deeper and deeper into her mouth, until he was hitting the back of her throat and his scalp was aching from his fist pulling on his hair. Until he couldn’t hold off any longer. 

“Emma,” he gasped. “I’m going to—” 

“Mmm,” she hummed again and took his balls in her hand, squeezing them gently as she sucked his cock hard. Killian interpreted this as consent, and with a strangled noise he barely recognised as his he came in her mouth, his hips bucking helplessly. She swallowed around him until he was spent, then licked the last drops away with the tip of her tongue. He gave a garbled moan. 

She slid back up his body and lay against his chest, her chin resting on her hands and a smug little smile on her lips. 

“So I'm guessing you liked that, huh?” 

“You are… a bloody goddess, Swan,” he panted.  

“I just like having the fabled Captain Hook at my mercy,” she teased. 

She had no idea how true that was, he thought. He was beginning to suspect that there was nothing he wouldn’t do for this woman. 

And so much he longed for from her. 

“Would you do something for me?” he heard himself ask. 

“Didn’t I just—” she broke off when she caught his solemn expression and the teasing smile fell from her own. “What is it?”

“Would you—” he took a deep breath “—would you call me Killian? Just until…” 

He could see in her eyes she understood everything he meant by the question. 

“Killian,” she said softly. “It’s a good name.” 

He pulled her up into his arms and kissed her, deep and soft and far too tenderly, but between the pollen and their bare bodies pressed together and the fact that she’d just sucked him to oblivion and the fact that he was falling in love with her—may have already fallen, if he was honest—he couldn’t hold the tenderness back. Her arms curling tight around him, her lips and tongue pressing and sliding softly against his were the best things he’d felt in three hundred years—and far too soon they would be gone. The pollen’s effects were already fading; before long he and Emma would be back to how they had always been, if not worse. She would pull away from him, retreat back behind walls rebuilt high and strong, and Killian wasn’t sure his battered heart could take it. Now that he’d had Emma soft and open in his arms he wasn’t sure he could live without at least a scrap of hope that he might have her like that again. 

Emma began to make that humming noise at the back of her throat that he now recognised as a sound of pure pleasure, her arms tightening around him, her hand sinking into his hair and combing the drying strands with her fingers. Killian’s heart clenched and his chest tightened with the anguish of impending loss. He rolled them over so she was on her back on the warm stone and gazed down at her, fixing the image of her face—of that look on her face—firmly in his mind. Water from the pond lapped against their feet as her hands roamed his body and he began to trail soft kisses down her neck, savouring her sighs of pleasure and the salty-sweet taste of her skin. He found a sensitive spot just at the curve where her neck met her shoulder and he nuzzled it, sucked and nipped at it until she was gasping and quivering.

"Killian," she breathed, "Killian."

He groaned helplessly at the sound of his name and the press of his fingers on her skin grew more insistent. Every inch of her body he explored with impassioned strokes of fingers and tongue; every spot that made her moan he worshipped. He’d give her something to remember him by, he thought almost viciously—something to warm her on those cold nights alone behind her walls. Memories that would last far longer than the marks left by his mouth on her skin.

Memories that might weaken her fortifications, just enough to give him hope. 

—

Emma couldn’t think and she was glad of it. If she could think she’d be thinking about how right this felt, with Ho—with Killian worshipping her... there was no other word for it... with his mouth and his fingers and even his hook, trailing the cool metal along her heated skin as she sighed and shivered and fought not to beg. And if she thought about how right it all felt she’d be terrified and she’d run. And if she ran... she would miss all of this. 

They didn’t speak and she was glad she couldn’t think about how that was because no words were necessary. Her body was so responsive to his touch and he was so intensely focused on her—noting every sigh and charting every moan and working her up higher and higher until she felt ready to shatter. She felt like he was mapping her as he must have mapped many undiscovered lands in his time, and she knew that if they ever found themselves like this again he would remember everything about her body and how she liked to be touched. 

It was unnerving and exciting and terrifying and wonderful and if she let herself she could get addicted to this, this dedicated attentiveness and single-minded focus on her pleasure. She wouldn’t, of course. Emma knew herself well enough to know this, to know that once the already-fading effects of the pollen were gone she would push him away as she always did, too afraid to let him in—to let him see all the broken parts of her despite how she knew that he was broken too in exactly the same ways. 

But for now she had an excuse to let herself be open, to have him like this, to give herself over to him and let him pleasure her, and she wished fiercely for enough time to take full advantage of it.

But the pollen’s effects were fading fast and her fears creeping back in to take their place. There was desperation in her fingers now as they gripped his shoulders and pulled him up to kiss him and press herself tightly against him. She wanted to feel him inside her once more before this was over, just once more, but she couldn’t find the words to tell him…

“Please, Killian…” she implored him, “please…” 

He understood—because of course he did—and she saw the flare of emotion in his eyes as she moaned his name, just before he kissed her again. His hand curled around her thigh, lifting and positioning it over his hip as she reached down to grip his cock and stroke the head of it through her slick folds before slipping its tip inside her. Their eyes met and held as he pushed in the rest of the way and god it was too intimate and too raw and she couldn’t deal with what she saw in his eyes but also couldn’t look away. She dug her heel into his ass and her fingers into his shoulders as he found their rhythm, as he filled her again and again with smooth, hard, deep thrusts and helpless moans fell from both their lips. 

Far, far too soon she felt her orgasm coiling in her belly and she wished, just for a moment, that she could hold it off and keep him here with her for longer. Just a bit longer... But everything just felt too damn good, he felt too good, and she couldn’t stop it, couldn't hold on to what she wasn't ready to let go. She cried out his name as she came—something she had never done before in all her life, but she wanted Killian to know that she knew it was him and not Hook that she was with. The sound he made in response was almost agonised; his fingers gouged painfully into her thigh as he drove himself into her with bone-shaking force then came moments later with a heartfelt groan, deep within her body. Emma lay trembling and gasping beneath him; she felt sore and roughly used and she welcomed it, welcomed the gouging fingers and the hard fucking and the bruises both would leave behind. She knew it meant he understood, and that was all that she could give him. 

They lay entwined for as long as they could, until the strengthening breeze made goosebumps rise on their skin and they pulled apart, not looking at each other. Killian cleared his throat. “You should make use of the pond to bathe,” he said. “It’s the best place on the island to do so. The water is soothing and cleansing even without soap.” 

She nodded and slipped into the water, into its welcome softness on her over-sensitised skin and though her sweaty hair. Killian followed her with a smooth dive. He surfaced in the middle of the pond to rub himself down before heading towards the sandy shore where they had left their clothes. Emma followed his lead, rubbing her hands vigorously over her skin and thoroughly rinsing her hair. Killian was right about this pond, she thought. She felt cleaner than she had in days, refreshed and invigorated. 

Even if the water easing away the soreness between her legs made her want to cry. 

—

He watched her warily as they dressed, waiting for her to pull away as she had after their first kiss. Waiting for recriminations and blame. 

“I’m not angry,” she said, not looking at him. “And I don’t regret this. But I think—there’s still Henry to save, and I can’t—” She sighed and squeezed water from her hair with a sharp twist of her arm. “Look, don’t misunderstand, but can we just pretend this never happened?” 

He echoed her sigh, but his was in relief. This, at least, was no worse than he'd expected. “Aye, love. It never happened.” 

She nodded, glanced just briefly at his face then spun away, heading for the edge of the clearing. Before she could reach it he darted forward and snagged her elbow with his hook. She didn’t turn around. 

“I still intend to win your heart, Emma,” he murmured, low in her ear, and just enough of the pollen’s effects remained to make her smile at the earnestness in his voice. 

“Good.” 

Hope lit his eyes as she curled her fingers around his hook and held it tightly as they left the clearing together. 

—

“You see?” gloated Pan. 

Neal didn’t reply. His fists and jaw were clenched so tightly they hurt, his eyes fixed on the image of the pirate and the saviour as it shimmered and faded from the still surface of the pool at his feet.

He squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head, trying to shake the images from his brain. Images of Emma falling apart in Hook’s arms, screaming his name as she came... he doubted he’d ever be able to scrub them from his brain. What was it about that damned pirate that made women ready to throw everything away just to fuck him? Sure, Emma said she wanted to forget about it but then she held the bastard’s hook…

“It doesn’t matter,” he said. “It was just those flowers. Emma and I have a history, we have a kid. She’ll see. He doesn’t mean anything to her.” 

“Sure. You keep telling yourself that,” smirked Pan. 

[artificialqueens]

colour me blue, chapter one (branjie) - holtzmanns

(read on ao3) | (tumblr: plastiquetiaras) | word count: 7422

Vanessa knows as much about the heart as any cardiologist in a hospital.

The four chambers and the valves that connect them. The way that they’re responsible for pumping blood around the entire body, spreading oxygen to where it’s needed the most and keeping the cells alive. How the heart is like the engine of a finely tuned machine, a ticking clock beating out a rhythm that the rest of the body falls into step with.

Vanessa also knows what happens when the heart begins to fail.  

AN: This fic started as a drabble to take a break from my WIPs but then turned into its own beast. It was…an absolute process to write but definitely pushed me in ways that helped me grow as a writer, which is always a good thing. CW in this fic for medical terms, hospital stays, uncertainties re: long term illness. I usually don’t like to give away spoilers, but I will say that there will no main character deaths in this fic, just to be clear. Writ is the absolute best - not only for giving me the prompt, but helping me brainstorm, pushing me to keep writing when I was ready to leave this fic in my google drive forever, and being the best encouragement one could ever ask for. They deserve the world <3

Vanessa knows as much about the heart as any cardiologist in a hospital.

The four chambers and the valves that connect them. The way that they’re responsible for pumping blood around the entire body, spreading oxygen to where it’s needed the most and keeping the cells alive. How the heart is like the engine of a finely tuned machine, a ticking clock beating out a rhythm that the rest of the body falls into step with.

Vanessa also knows what happens when the heart begins to fail.

Her dad keels over during Christmas Day brunch when she’s five, clutching the dining room table with a grip that loosens as he falls off his chair and onto the floor. Vanessa doesn’t understand what death means at the time, not really, at his funeral. The fact that her dad isn’t away on a work trip, that he isn’t ever coming back. That he isn’t going to walk in the door one night in his uniform the way that he always does.

That the stone in the cemetery bearing his name is a finality, a marker that takes his place in this world, now that he’s no longer here.

Vanessa is twelve and her lungs feel like they’re clawing their way out of her chest in gym class, when the teacher is making them run faster, damnit. She doesn’t know that she isn’t supposed to feel like she is going to pass out when she jogs, or as if her insides are collapsing inside of her ribs. She’s not supposed to be seeing white spots in her vision as some of her classmates carry her to the sidelines when her body can’t push her any farther. She shouldn’t be constantly lightheaded, grabbing onto tables and bookshelves and chairs just to keep herself upright.

There’s appointment after appointment and test after test, specialist after specialist because Vanessa’s mother is fiercely protective, overwhelmingly worried after their unit of three becomes a unit of two. She pushes and pushes and pushes until they get an answer, but it’s one that makes Vanessa’s mom nearly keel over, too.

It’s genetic. Autosomal dominant. Passed on from Vanessa’s dad, making the walls in the chambers of her heart stiffer, rougher. Keeping them from being able to properly pump blood to where her body needs it the most. Enough to create the possibility of heart failure at any time, when the well oiled machine will simply crumble under the pressure.

Vanessa’s told that she’s lucky that they’ve caught it so early. That this means they can test solutions and try different medications to maybe make it easier for her heart to pump, to reduce the strain that it constantly shoulders. When the medications don’t work it’s okay, really, she’s told, because there are less invasive surgical options. Ones to try that don’t put her under for that long or have an extended recovery period and will allow her to bounce back quickly.

Except that she never does. Her heart never heals, never reaches its maximum potential. Hell, her heart never lets her be a regular person, because it’s breaking down more and more no matter what the doctors do. No matter how many surgeries she has.

Vanessa’s twenty five and has to quit her job because she’s used up all of her sick days, and because getting up out of bed in the morning is impossible when her body feels so weak.

Her mother hopes, prays, lights candles for the possibility that things will get better. That Vanessa will bounce back, that she’ll get to go back to living without having it snatched away from her like it had been from her father.

Except life doesn’t feel like it’s being snatched away, to Vanessa. It’s being dangled in front of her, possibilities that she isn’t quite able to reach because she’s too weak and can’t exert herself because her heart can’t take it, and maybe, just maybe, another procedure will work. Another surgery.

Until she’s twenty six and lying in a hospital bed and in complete heart failure because nothing has worked, and she can’t walk the five steps to the bathroom without the support of a walker.

Because Vanessa needs a new heart.

Vanessa’s been in the hospital for three months and her current nurse on the cardiology floor is making her scowl.

“It’s not going to be forever. Probably just a few weeks. Then when the floor is less busy, they’ll bring you back.” Asia’s trying to explain why they’re moving Vanessa to another unit the best she can, Vanessa knows. Vanessa just doesn’t get why it has to be her.

“I’ve been stuck here long enough. Why are y’all moving me? Why not someone else on the floor?” Vanessa crosses her arms, careful not to tug on the various wires attached to her chest that are connected to the monitors behind her displaying her heart activity.

“Because apparently the universe wanted to make my day harder and give me a headache, like the one that I’m getting from this argument with you.” Asia lightly swats her shoulder before her features soften. “Look. They don’t move people to other floors unless they’re stable. Which must mean that the team needs to keep less of an eye on you, which is a good thing.”

“I guess.” Vanessa grumbles as she says it, because still. Being the one that gets booted off of the cardiac unit because it is too full isn’t a good feeling, not in the least. Instead, it makes her feel like she doesn’t matter to the team, not if they’re fine with pushing her somewhere else.

“Look on the bright side,” Asia tugs on Vanessa’s phone charger from where it’s hanging off of the side of her bed, blending in with the various wires that are protruding from Vanessa’s frame. “Maybe the room you’re moving to will have an actual working outlet.”

“It better.” The electrical outlet closest to Vanessa’s bed is sporadic, often failing to charge her phone when she plugs it in. She uses the call button more often than not to get the nurses to plug her phone into outlets that she can’t reach from her bed, ignoring their muttered comments of that’s not what the call button is for, Vanjie.

“Besides, you get to bond with a new crop of nurses.” Asia fiddles with the monitors above Vanessa’s bed.  “Aren’t we boring you yet?

“What are you talking about? I love kiki-ing with y’all.” It’s true. Being in the hospital for an extended period of time can be…lonely. There’s only so long that friends and family will continue to visit, before they realize that the hospital is Vanessa’s new normal. Before they get bored of her.

Before they stop visiting.

But she’s got nurses and therapists close to her age, ones that she’s trying her best to bond with. It’s worked with most of them, especially Asia. The cardiac nurses get her. They’re nice, they gossip with her about their lives and feel like coworkers, at most. Coworkers that give her medication and help her transfer out of her bed and try to keep her alive.

“I’ll miss your ass, that’s for sure.” Vanessa sighs as Asia fiddles with the electrode stuck to her collarbone.

Asia snorts. “Will you miss me prodding your arm at 7 a.m. to take your vitals?”

“Better you than some random whack nurse I don’t know.”

“Hey, don’t be mean to them before you even meet them. I heard the general internal medicine team is nice. Kameron is, at least.” Asia’s voice rises slightly as she says the name, and it piques Vanessa’s interest.

“Who’s Kameron?”

“No one.”

Vanessa narrows her eyes. “That sounded hella suspicious.”

“She’s a friend.”

“A friend, huh?” Vanessa nudges Asia’s side, laughing as she scowls.

“So goddamn nosy. Tell me why the other patients don’t needle me like you do?”

Vanessa grins. “‘Cause I know you love spilling shit too, that’s why. I’ll be sure to say hi to Kameron for you.”

Asia’s cheeks turn slightly pink. “Don’t you start.”

The general internal medicine unit is chaotic.

Doctors, nurses, family members running back and forth between rooms, instructions being yelled left and right, beeping machines that somehow did not seem as alarming when Vanessa had still been on the cardiology unit.

While on the cardiology floor, Vanessa had shared her hospital room with a pleasant enough elderly lady who slept for most of the day. So much, in fact, that Vanessa had never actually spoken to her.

Vanessa’s worried about who they’ll place her with now, as she’s wheeled into her new room. Someone in the throes of delirium who will be up at all hours of the night? Someone who turns the TV up way too high, not letting her sleep? Someone who has too much family that comes to visit, meaning that the room will never be quiet again?

But the girl lying in the bed closest to the window is none of those things. Her hair, albeit mussed, is pulled back into a high ponytail, and her makeup-free face is somehow the most beautiful thing Vanessa’s ever seen.

“Hi.” The girl waves at her, a tentative smile on her face and Vanessa realizes, coincidentally, that she has forgotten the entirety of the English language.

Vanessa’s normally bold, brash enough that she has the confidence to go after girls that she’s into. Except that it’s easier when she’s wearing more than a hospital gown, when she’s standing on her own two feet and not feeling like she’s weaker than a year-old baby.

Vanessa squeaks out something that sounds close to a hi, and wants to groan when it makes the girl’s brow furrow.

“You okay? Not in too much pain, are you? I can call the nurse with my call bell-”

“Nah, I’m fine.” Vanessa mumbles the words under her breath, trying her best to tame the mess of her hair with her fingers as discreetly as she can.

“Okay.” The girl shifts in her bed slightly to face her, and Vanessa notices the way that she flinches in pain as she does. “So, fellow inmate. What are you in for?”

The words make Vanessa let out a surprised laugh, make her feel less wound up. “Got a heart that’s been right messing with me.”

The girl raises an eyebrow. “Why, did someone break it?” Her expression is deadpan as she says it, and it makes Vanessa snort.

“Funny. What about you?”

“Appendix nuclear explosion.” The girl points to her abdomen, and Vanessa’s eyes widen at the sutures that criss cross it. “They didn’t get it fast enough and now it’s a mess that they’re still trying to clean up.”

“Damn.” Vanessa lets out a whistle. “So, Miss App-app-appendick, what’s your name?”

“Appendick?” The girl holds back a giggle.

“What?” Vanessa shrugs. “It sounds right, don’t it?”

“Close enough.” The girl’s smiles are reaching her eyes, and the sight makes the tightness in Vanessa’s chest lessen, if only a little. “Brooke. Yours?”

“Vanessa.” She’s not sure, really, why she doesn’t tell Brooke that her name is Vanjie, considering that most people call her that, anyway. But something about the girl makes her want to hold back on it, see what the girl thinks of her actual name.

“Vanessa. I like it.” A small smile builds on the edge of curve of Brooke’s lip, and for a second, Vanessa feels her regular confidence flow back towards her.

That is, at least, until a nurse bounds into the room, muttering about how it’s about time that Vanessa goes to the bathroom, since she hasn’t had a bowel movement since yesterday, and we can’t have that, can we?

Oh, well. She’ll get her game back, somehow.

Vanessa finds out that she likes having a roommate who’s actually awake for most of the day.

Brooke is fun to talk to, almost enough to sometimes make Vanessa forget that she’s stuck in a hospital bed. Almost. Vanessa learns that Brooke is a ballet dancer, part of the corps and working towards becoming a soloist. She’d been performing in a matinee when her appendix ruptured, managing to hold off from collapsing in pain until the curtain call, when she could safely bend over in the wings without any audience members seeing her.

Brooke’s form underneath her gown is toned, long, looking every part of the graceful dancer she is. Vanessa’s lying if she says that she isn’t mesmerized by the way that Brooke reaches over to grab water from her bedside table, especially with how it’s done with an air of delicateness, lightness.

“What about you? What’s your story?” Brooke’s propped up by pillows, turned on her side slightly when she asks the question. Her grey eyes aren’t cool but rather they’re warm, inviting, waiting for Vanessa to talk.

Vanessa, for her part, pauses.

“Oh, y’know,” she tries to keep her face light, her voice casual, “Some shit happening with my heart. Felt some weird beating the other day and they wanna look into it more.”

It’s a lie, maybe, but she doesn’t regret it.

Ever since she was young, Vanessa’s only been known as the sick girl. The girl who’s always in the hospital. The girl who had missed so much school when she was a kid that she’d had to be taught by a teacher in the hospital. The girl who is unable to keep a job for too long because she has to take off work again and again, days when she’s so weak she can’t get out of bed, other days spent in clinics and at appointments with specialists monitoring her useless excuse of a heart.

Vanessa hates it. Being defined by something that she has no control over, something that she wish could fix itself because it’s taken over way, way too much of her life. For once, just once, she doesn’t want it to be a big deal. Even though she’s in a hospital.

Brooke, for her part, buys it. “Wow. Hope they find out. Nothing too serious, you think?”

“Nah.” Vanessa shrugs. “I’ll be out of here in no time.”

God, she wishes.

“What do you do for work?” Brooke looks at her expectantly and it surprises Vanessa, almost, how fast she lets the subject change, because she’s not used to it. Her friends, her family draw out conversations about her shitty heart for ages, fake pitying expressions on their faces that Vanessa wishes she had the power to slap away.

“Makeup artist.” Vanessa grins when Brooke’s face lights up. “I work at MAC, and got a few freelance clients on the side.”

So what if MAC shifts are far and few between because she’s not a dependable employee anymore? She’s trying. It helps to be in a job where she gets to rest, sit down quite a bit. Her body wouldn’t be able to handle it otherwise.

“Is that why you still have mascara on while in the hospital?” Brooke’s smile is cheeky and it makes Vanessa snort.

“Maybe. Can’t ruin my brand and be fully makeup-free.”

“You’re still cute without it, though.” Brooke winks at her, or at least Vanessa thinks so, and the sight makes her heart do a little flip in her chest. Is she flirting with her? Vanessa can’t tell. But she’s absolutely going to play into it.

“So are you, you tall, leggy model.” The words leave Vanessa’s lips before she can stop herself, but Brooke is grinning, thank god, hasn’t taken them in a bad way.

“Leggy, huh? You can tell even under these blankets?”

Vanessa shrugs. “You can’t get up and show me, so a girl’s gotta assume. How tall are you?”

“Five eleven.”

“What?”

Vanessa’s mouth drops open and Brooke’s laughing, laughing at her, but goddamn. Brooke really is an Amazon.

“Why, how tall are you?” Brooke can’t tell from all the blankets that Vanessa is under, but she doesn’t want to answer, really, not after hearing that Brooke is five eleven.

“Five three.” Vanessa mumbles the words, scowling when Brooke claps a hand over her mouth. “What?”

“You’re tiny!”

“Am not.”

“Practically pocket-sized.”

“I’m tall in personality!” Vanessa huffs and crosses her arms. She’s not that short, she isn’t.

But Brooke’s still grinning. “So tall. Though I do like short girls.”

Vanessa’s brain is about to short circuit. Is Brooke flirting with her? Or is the extended time being cooped up in a hospital bed making her brain go a little bit loopy?

Vanessa normally has game. But right now she can’t do much more than stare at Brooke open mouthed, something that Brooke is clearly enjoying.

“You’ll let bugs fly into your mouth if you keep it open any longer.”

“Shut up.”

They’re eating shitty hospital food for lunch and Brooke is antsy beside Vanessa.

“Okay, what?” Vanessa turns to Brooke because she’s been tapping the railing of her bed for the last half an hour. Vanessa wouldn’t press the issue except for the fact that Brooke keeps biting her lip, clinking her fork on her plate, her eyes all shifty.

“Nothing.” Brooke looks away from her, down at the pasta on her tray that doesn’t appear to be very appetizing, from the way that most of it is still in the bowl.

“Doesn’t look like nothing.”

Brooke bites her lip. “They rounded this morning while you were asleep.”

“As they do every morning at 8 a.m., yeah.”

“They wanna do another exploratory surgery.”

“For your appendix?” Vanessa’s eyes widen. Brooke’s complications must be worse than previously thought.

Brooke pauses. “Hey, look at you pronouncing appendix correctly.”

“Shut up.” Vanessa sticks her tongue out at her. “We’re talking about you right now.”

Brooke sighs. “They wanna see if they’ve missed things. I mean, aside from the first surgery, I’ve never really had any, and I don’t want to go under again. What if things go wrong?”

“Hey, hey.” Vanessa wishes that Brooke were closer so that she could reach over, squeeze her hand. “They do tons of surgeries every day here. They know what they’re doing.”

“But what if this time, they don’t?”

“You don’t know that. But you gotta trust that they do without assuming the worst before it even happens.”

“I guess.” Brooke sighs, and Vanessa wants to tell her, she really does, about the various procedures that she’s gone through as a child to make Brooke feel better, but at the same time…

It’s nice not to be the focus of medical attention for once.

“When are they thinking of scheduling it for?”

”A week.”

“Does this mean I can film you coming out of sedation?”

“What?” Brooke looks over at her, lets out a laugh, the exact effect that Vanessa wants.

“Bet you’ll say hysterical shit.”

“You better not.”

Vanessa grins. “Sorry, didn’t hear you there. Can’t wait to hear all the crazy things you say.”

“Nooo.” Brooke whines, and Vanessa doesn’t want to tell her that she won’t come back to the unit until the sedation has worn off, because her reaction is making her crack up.

“Maybe you’ll spill all your deepest darkest secrets.”

“Absolutely not-”

“Maybe you’ll confess your love for your nurse.” Vanessa holds back a laugh at Brooke’s look of horror.

“Anita’s at least 60!”

“And quite the looker. Hey, maybe you’re into cougars.”

“Ugh.” Brooke makes a face but she’s grinning too, Vanessa can see it. “Definitely not my type.”

“So what is your type?” Vanessa meets Brooke’s gaze with a raised eyebrow, a challenge. Two can play at this game.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Brooke wastes no time in answering, winking again, and Vanessa’s definitely not imagined it this time around.

She’s glad that Brooke goes to take a sip of her coffee, so she can try to come up with at least something coherent. Sure, she’s become more used to being Brooke’s hospital roommate as the days go by, but her gay ass sure hasn’t yet.

Vanessa’s cardiologist and physiotherapist and nurse pop into her room one day while Brooke’s asleep.

“Bad time?” Nina’s holding a clipboard, rifling through the sheets in front of her. Vanessa’s known her cardiologist for long enough that she doesn’t have to call her Dr. West anymore. It’s both a great and terrible feeling.

Vanessa gives her a look. “You really think I got anything else to do right now?”

Her physiotherapist, Kameron, snorts, though tries to stifle it under Nina’s gaze.

“Fair enough.” Nina leans against the wall, peeking over at Brooke. “Are you worried about her overhearing? We can move you outside into the hallway if you want-”

“She’s asleep. Doesn’t matter.” Vanessa waves a hand. “So, any news on the waitlist?”

“Moved up a couple spots, though not by much.” Nina’s face is apologetic, and it makes Vanessa want to scowl.

“Why am I so damn low on it?” Vanessa doesn’t want to show how scared she really is about it. She’s been waiting for months, months, unable to do much or exert herself lest her heart give out on her. Waiting for the other shoe to drop and for things to go south. It’s like she’s walking on a minefield, about to step on explosives at any time that will finally take her out.

She wishes it could stop.

“You’ll move up soon enough. These things are dynamic, they fluctuate.” Nina’s words don’t even look as if they’re convincing to herself, which bodes well for Vanessa. “In the meantime, we’re thinking we may trial another medication. We’ll see if it helps with oxygenation a little bit more.”

“Sure, why not.” Vanessa’s resigned as she says it, because really, will it even make a difference? Will anything actually change for the better?

After so many years, she’s stopped hoping. It’s hard to hope when it feels like she has no fight left in her anymore.

Her situation has been the same since before she was a teenager, and nothing’s changed. She’s still living a half life, one that she can’t fully enjoy because she always has the worries in the back of her mind. Ones that keep her away from everything that she wants to be able to do.

But she has to tolerate it. She has no choice, not when her doctors and nurses are walking away, waving at her as they go to consult on another patient. Not when they have nothing left to give to her.

Vanessa and Brooke fall into a routine, of sorts. They binge shows, alternating episodes of Schitt’s Creek and 90 Day Fiancé because they can. They complain about the shitty hospital food, trying to bribe the nurses to get them something better from the cafeteria, a tactic that never quite works.

It’s another week before Vanessa meets Brooke’s family, arriving in a flurry of buttoned up peacoats to fawn at her bedside.

“Honestly, Brooke Lynn, why do you have to work so far away from home?” Brooke’s mother is smoothing her hair, tucking it behind her ears, and Brooke looks younger than Vanessa’s ever seen her.

“I can’t control which ballet company gives me a job, Mom.��� Brooke’s eyes are happy, when her sister and her mom pull up chairs at her bedside. It makes Vanessa’s heart tug, just a little.

“Still, I wish you were closer and we didn’t have to take two flights to get here.” Brooke’s mother sheds her coat on her chair. “Though the food they gave us was quite nice.”

Brooke snorts. “You’re the only person who actually likes airport food.”

Brooke’s sister turns towards Vanessa then, and the sudden eye contact makes her freeze. Vanessa hadn’t wanted to bother Brooke and her family; she had wanted to look busy, but it’s too late, because Brooke’s sister is waving at her.

“B, you didn’t even introduce your room buddy.”

Brooke wrinkles her nose. “Room buddy?”

“Hey, it fits.” Brooke’s sister shrugs.

Vanessa finds her voice then, because Brooke’s family looks nice enough. “Vanessa.”

“Nice to meet you, dear.” Brooke’s mom has kind eyes and Vanessa feels a longing in her heart that isn’t being caused by her existing cardiac problems.

“Nice to meet y’all, too.” Vanessa grabs a book from her bedside table, buries her face into it while Brooke and her mom and sister continue talking, trying to ignore the realization that her own mom hasn’t visited in weeks.

It’s not her mom’s fault, it’s really not. Vanessa has to remind herself of that. She gets it.

The fact that her father died of the same thing makes it…eerie. Vanessa feels like a ticking time bomb, one her mom clearly doesn’t want to watch as she slowly reaches end of her timer, when history will inevitably repeat itself. Vanessa understands why her mom wants to stay away and avoid watching her daughter go down the same route. Save herself from the pain as much as possible and instead burying herself in her work.

It doesn’t stop Vanessa from feeling lonely, though.

She misses having people. Having her mom brush her hair out of her face, hold her hand while she’s getting tests done. Be there to listen with her with the doctors spew more and more predictions about how her heart is going to hold up.

It’s not that Vanessa can’t handle the burden, be the foundation on her own. She just misses having reinforcements, strengths around it.

She misses her mom.

Brooke’s mom and sister leave for the night, but not before bringing the two of them McDonalds. The sight of the bags, with the mouthwatering smell from the food inside wafting around the room, makes Vanessa pause.

Technically, she’s supposed to avoid foods with excess sodium, as the extra salt makes her heart work harder than it’s supposed to, wears it down faster. But at the same time, she can’t bring herself to care.

She picks up a burger.

“I haven’t had McDonalds in ages.” Vanessa’s missed burgers, she really has, because there’s only so much bland hospital food she’s been able to take.

“I’m more of a Swiss Chalet fan, myself.” Brooke’s still munching on her burger, but Vanessa tilts her head.

“The hell is that?”

“Food place in Canada. Lots of roast chicken and gravy.” Brooke’s eyes are already getting a wistful, a faraway look in her eyes as she’s thinking about it.

Vanessa wrinkles her nose, because it doesn’t sound that appetizing. “That’s some white people fast food.”

Brooke shrugs. “It’s good. The gravy is nectar from the gods.”

“I’ll have to take your word for it.” No wonder Brooke doesn’t mind the hospital food as much. Vanessa looks over at her, the way she’s tossing back some French fries. “Real nice of your mom and sister to bring me some food, too.”

Brooke smiles, her face all warm and Vanessa’s glad that she has support from her family, at least. “They’re great.”

Brooke pauses then, looking over at her, and Vanessa can tell that she’s figuring out how to word a question. One that Vanessa already knows is coming.

“So, I’ve never seen yours come to visit.” Brooke’s voice is light as she looks down at her food, clearly trying to avoid eye contact. “Do they live far, too?”

Vanessa bites her lip, takes a bite of her burger to give herself time before she has to answer. “Oh, y’know. My mom works a lot, that’s all. Besides, we talk here and there on the phone.”

It’s a lie, and Vanessa knows it, and Brooke does too, from the way Vanessa can see the gears turning in her head. “I’ve never heard you talk to anyone on the phone except-”

“It’s while you’re asleep, drop it.” Vanessa scowls, crossing her arms. She doesn’t mean to snap, she doesn’t, but she doesn’t want to talk about the fact that her mom doesn’t fucking visit and that her friends are too busy with their own lives and settling down and she’s been left behind.

She doesn’t want to.

“Okay, sorry.” Brooke holds her hands up in defeat and Vanessa almost feels bad. Almost. “Won’t bring it up.”

“Good.” Vanessa takes a bite of her burger, chewing with a little more force than necessary, and she wonders why she’s feeling a bit more out of breath than usual.

Kameron knocks on their door while Vanessa and Brooke are discussing the finer points of the latest season of Stranger Things.

“I’m just saying, the ending was a cop out-”

“Was not- ”

“Ahem.” Kameron’s grinning at both of them when Vanessa’s about to talk about the next potential season. “As much as I want to join in this discussion, I gotta take you one after the other for physio.”

Vanessa lets out a grumble that is mirrored by Brooke, and it makes Kameron snort. “Y’all are quite a pair. So, who’s gonna suffer first?”

Vanessa’s mouth drops open when Brooke immediately points in her direction. “Traitor!”

Brooke shrugs. “You snooze, you lose.”

Vanessa huffs but does her best to sit up nonetheless, letting Kameron bring her walker over to the side of her bed.

“Can I ditch this thing yet? I feel old as hell.” Vanessa hates the damn walker. It only serves to remind her of how weak she’s gotten.

“As soon as you can walk the length of the unit without near collapsing on me, it’s gone.” Kameron’s hand is on her back to steady her as she stands. Vanessa hates how much she has to lean her weight on the thing.

“Walkers are for the elderly.” Nonetheless, Vanessa clutches the handles to keep her balance.

“Technically, it’s a rollator.”

“Giving it a fancy Transformers name ain’t helping.”

Brooke’s watching them with a thoroughly entertained expression. “You always this much fun in physio sessions, Vanessa?”

Vanessa sticks her tongue out at her. “I’m a delight.”

“Not sure if that’s the word I’d use.” Kameron snickers, poking her shoulder when she begins to protest. “C’mon, time to walk and build up that strength.”

Vanessa’s drained after one lap around the unit, gripping the handles of the walker with shaky hands and Kameron’s hands keeping her half-upright. By the time they get back to the room, Vanessa’s bed feels like heaven rather than the prison that it usually is.

“You good?” Brooke’s brow is furrowed in concern as she sits up from her own bed, ready for her turn to walk with Kameron.

“Yeah, fine.” So what if the words come out in a slight wheeze? It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t mean anything. “I’m good.”

Except that Vanessa feels like her body’s made of lead, pulling her down, down, down into the earth to never be able to get up again. Not with the way she’s exhausted from just one lap around the floor.

“That tired you out more than usual.” Kameron’s brow knits in concern as she lowers the head of Vanessa’s bed.

“I’m fine.” Still, Vanessa has to close her eyes, catch her breath as she says it. Not a convincing lie.

Thankfully, Kameron lets the subject drop, and part of Vanessa hopes that Brooke’s laps around the floor take longer so that she has a second on her own to contemplate how messed up her life really has become.

“So, she says it’s to match the ‘rainforest’ theme that’s been chosen for the party, right? Well, get this. She goes orange and green. Orange and green! Who fucking wants that for a look?”

Brooke’s laughing at everything Vanessa is saying and Vanessa can’t help the way she preens a little, embraces it. “What did it turn out like?”

“Oh, hideous.” Vanessa waves a hand, laughing when Brooke claps a hand over her mouth. “She looked like a fucking weird snake creature.”

“Oh my god. You’re ridiculous.” Brooke’s giggling, and Vanessa never, ever wants to stop hearing the sound of it. “Are you this indulgent with all your clients?”

“Only the crazy bitches who’d try and fight me if I didn’t do exactly what they wanted. Even if the final look was more scary than anything.” Vanessa pauses, remembering the client, along with every other person she’s done makeup for. “Didn’t want them to speak with no manager.”

“You should do my makeup sometime. It would be fun?” Brooke phrases it like a question, and her smile is tentative, but it makes Vanessa gasp, try and sit up, before falling right back down on her pillow.

“Are you kidding me? Absolutely. I’ll make you all banjie, fit my aesthetic.” She’s excited just thinking about it. Brooke’s high cheekbones, her eyes, her bone structure-

Vanessa’s only ruminating on all of it because of the possibilities for makeup, that’s all. No other reason.

Nope.

Brooke wrinkles her nose. “What’s banjie?’

Vanessa can’t help but grin. “Oh, this is gonna be fun.”

Vanessa makes a mental note to her own body to get its shit together. To allow her to fucking sit up again without running out of breath, becoming light headed, feeling weak. She has a new client, after all.

The attending doctor and resident and nurses pass by for their evening rounds as Vanessa’s describing the kind of makeup look she wants to try out on Brooke. The attending frowns when he looks up at the monitors above Vanessa’s bed, a sight that makes Vanessa’s stomach churn in unease. She hates that look.

“Miss Mateo’s sats are getting pretty low, aren’t they?”

“Hello? I’m right here.” Vanessa stops just short of lifting up a hand, snapping it in the healthcare team’s faces. She hates the way they pretend to talk above her sometimes, as if she’s not privy to conversation about her own body.

The attending pays her no mind, turning towards her nurse instead. “I’d say lets try nasal prongs for the next couple hours, see if that increases her oxygen saturation.”

Vanessa tilts her head slightly, looking up at the monitor behind her. Eighty nine percent. She knows from years and years of being in the hospital that anything below ninety five percent is considered low, and that dropping saturation levels mean that she’s not getting the oxygen she needs, that her heart isn’t doing a good job of pumping the blood to where it’s supposed to go.

She doesn’t want a tube by her nose, though. It would make her look sicker than she already is.

“Don’t I get a choice?” She grumbles the words and only the resident hears her, sympathetically reaching out to pat her shoulder.

“It’s only to help you.” The attending doctor doesn’t even look up as he says it, and it makes Vanessa bristle.

The doctors to round on the next patient without much room for argument, and Vanessa’s nurse is apologetic as she brings over a set of nasal prongs.

“They’ll make you feel better, promise.” Scarlet hands over the tubing to Vanessa so that she can put it on herself, and part of Vanessa appreciates it, that someone at least is recognizing her competency.

“Don’t mean I gotta like it.”

Brooke turns to her as Scarlet leaves the room. “Gotta say, you pull them off well.”

“Don’t you even start with me.”

“Latest fall trend?”

Vanessa snorts in spite of herself. “I know what you’re tryna do.”

“What?” Brooke’s face is the picture of innocence, and it makes Vanessa feel a little bit lighter, with how she’s playing along.

“Tryna make me feel better.”

Brooke tuts. “I’m doing nothing of the sort. Just saying that you’ve started a new couture look. Might have to pick up a pair myself.”

Brooke winks at her, and Vanessa can’t help the small smile that’s growing on her face. “Still. Thanks.”

“I get how it feels, being stuck in here. It’s…not easy.” Brooke bites a lip. “I’m glad it’s you that I’m sharing a room with, and we have a blast, but I feel-”

“Powerless?”

“Yeah.” Brooke’s looking up at her, all traces of previous joking gone. “Like we’re disconnected from everything on the outside.”

“God, I get it.” Vanessa really does. Everyone’s moving on without them, getting farther and farther in life. Working, settling down, doing something with themselves. “Everyone’s doing things while we can’t.”

“At least this isn’t going to be forever. We’ll be back out there in no time.” Brooke’s smile is encouraging, and it makes Vanessa’s stomach turn a little, because Brooke will.

She won’t.

Though she doesn’t want Brooke to know. Doesn’t want her to worry.

“Yeah, we’ll get better before we know it.”

If only.

Their room feels just a little bit too empty to Vanessa when Brooke is whisked away for her surgery. It’s strange - back on the cardiology unit, she had relished the chance to have some peace and quiet. Now, though? She can’t stand the silence.

Their little micro-universe feels like it’s slipping away as Brooke begins to heal. She needs to stay in bed less, being less tired as the days go on, walking more and more with physio.

Vanessa’s happy for her, she is, because being stuck in a hospital bed is not something she would wish on anyone. The mundaneness. The feeling of helplessness. Watching everyone come and go, walking past their room without any inkling of how lucky they are just to be up and moving.

But at the same time, she wishes she was improving at the same rate. It doesn’t feel like it’s going to happen any time soon. Vanessa’s been needing the nasal prongs more often than not, no matter how much she grumbles as she wears them. She gets lightheaded, weaker, without them, closer to passing out the longer she tries to keep them off to prove that they’re not necessary.

Her stupid excuse of a heart is truly testing her patience.

Kameron doesn’t push her to walk anymore, something that makes Vanessa pissed, because she’s still gotta try, damn it. But at the same time, she’s grateful. She doesn’t want Brooke to see how weak she’s gotten. Hell, she doesn’t even want to know the whole scope of it herself. She doesn’t want to deal with it anymore.

She wants things to go back to normal. Well, as normal as they’ve ever been. For Vanessa, normal is being able to walk and talk and work and not be in the hospital. That’s all that she wants.

Brooke is dangling her feet from the edge of her bed one afternoon when they’ve finished a Jeopardy episode. “I’m still hungry.”

“We just had lunch.” Vanessa’s half right, because Brooke had her lunch. Vanessa’s not that hungry.

“You haven’t been out of bed in days. Let’s go somewhere. Let’s grab coffee from the cafeteria.” Brooke’s looking excited by the idea, standing up and slipping on her shoes. Without her walker, since she doesn’t need it anymore.

Vanessa’s only a little bit jealous.

“I’m tired as hell.” It’s not a lie, because Vanessa really is. Except that there’s not a time these days that she isn’t.

“Are you sure? Want me to bring you something back?” Brooke’s question makes Vanessa smile, just a little.

“I’m fine.”

Vanessa doesn’t want Brooke to know that Kameron downgraded her to using only a wheelchair, rather than the walker. It’s embarrassing. She doesn’t want to use it. So, she’s not going to. So what if she’s going to be in bed forever now?

Brooke is unfazed. “‘Kay. I’ll be back.”

She’s waltzing out of the room before Vanessa can even say goodbye, past the four walls that are slowly becoming the only part of the world that Vanessa is exposed to these days.

Vanessa tugs off the nasal prongs when Brooke gets back. Brooke raises an eyebrow as she does, but doesn’t comment. Hands her a muffin instead.

“I wanna get out of here.” Vanessa’s made up her mind.

Brooke takes a sip of her soft drink. “Thought you were tired.”

“I’m always tired. I don’t wanna be tired here.”

Vanessa doesn’t want to have to die while staring at the same four walls day in and day out. A prison of her body’s making, her heart the instigator that’s dooming her to a half, trapped life that may not even last that long.

If this is all she’s going to get, if this is the extent of her future? She doesn’t care anymore.

“Are you even allowed to leave the unit?”

Brooke’s question is valid, but it makes Vanessa scowl, tuck the red bracelet that denotes she can’t under her sleeve. “Doesn’t matter.”

Why should it even be an issue? Why does Vanessa have to spend her already shitty existence trapped where she doesn’t even want to be?

“Pretty sure nursing will ream you out if you try and go.” Brooke’s biting her lip now, and Vanessa’s starting to regret ever roping her into it. Someone who still has an inkling of self preservation left, someone who’s still trying to play within the rules.

Brooke deserves better than her.

“They’ll get over it. Come on, it’ll be fun.” She wiggles her brows, and she can see Brooke’s resolve beginning to break. “We can be like Bonnie and Clyde or some shit.”

“Okay, but didn’t Bonnie and Clyde rob people-”

“Irrelevant.” Vanessa waves her hand before pointing at the wheelchair in the corner of the room, still folded up and unused. Brooke gives in, walking over to grab it and bring it towards the side of her bed. Success.

Vanessa takes a deep breath before attempting to get up. Sure, physio and nursing had drilled the importance of having two people helping her transfer to and from the bed. Saying that she’s a falls risk, that she can hurt herself with the slightest of missteps.

But when Vanessa’s able to get her butt into the wheelchair with just a smidge of exertion, she smiles for the first time in days. Nursing and physio can suck it.

Brooke giggles as she pushes Vanessa’s wheelchair into the hospital’s atrium, past the piano and the front desk and the small garden. “I feel like we’re fugitives.”

Vanessa cranes her neck to look up at her. “Does that make me precious cargo?”

Brooke snorts. “You’re priceless.”

Vanessa can’t help the way that she peeks around the hallways as the walk, eyes out for any nursing from their unit, any therapists or physicians that could spot them and wonder why she’s not on the unit.

It’s fine. She’ll be fine. She can go without her nasal prongs for twenty minutes. She can handle being up in the chair for the length of time it takes to get a fucking coffee.

At least, that’s what she’s trying to tell herself as Brooke pushes her up to the Starbucks.

Brooke’s debating between a London Fog or a latte, and Vanessa’s never noticed, really, how pretty Brooke’s eyes are. How her face lights up while she’s scanning the menu, how delicate her movements are as she goes to pay. Even as a patient in a hospital, Brooke manages to glow. Vanessa’s not sure whether to be jealous or infatuated.

But by the way she can feel her own cheeks heat up as Brooke passes her drink to her, she has an inkling of which one it could be.

Vanessa’s breathless as they head back, dropping her head to rest on her hand. She’s still giggling over the pianist’s song choices in the lobby, and can hear Brooke doing the same as she pushes her chair.

The elevator ride back up to the unit feels final, as if they’re reaching the end of something. Vanessa tries to ignore the feeling and push it away, to focus instead on how she and Brooke had people watched in the lobby, giving every passing by patient or doctor or nurse an outlandish backstory. How Brooke had given her a sip of her drink, taken a sip of hers in return. How Vanessa hadn’t felt like a patient for once, ignoring the aches and pains in her body and the straining in her chest so that she could focus on the way Brooke beamed at her, eyes alight and full of so many possibilities.

Except the lightness in her chest drops, pulling her back down deep into the earth like an anchor as soon as the doors of the elevator open back up.

Because there’s a gaggle of nurses. Doctors. Her cardiologist. Her… mom?

A group of people looking very, very, mad.

Vanessa shrinks in the wheelchair as she hears Brooke gulp above her.

Whoops.

[mobius-prime]

107. Knuckles the Echidna #16

Reunions

Writer: Ken Penders Pencils: Manny Galan Colors: Barry Grossman

So this one's a bit different from the other three-part arcs we've encountered in this comic so far. Instead of one arc spanning three issues, right now we're getting a standalone issue, followed by a two-part arc. Despite this, this issue does tie into the next two quite a bit, setting the stage for future stories and conflicts with lots and lots of talking. I know I've touched on this before but I have to say it again - while I do actually find the plot of this issue very interesting personally, I'm also cognizant of the fact that this was supposed to be a comic aimed at kids and young teens, a demographic that tends to enjoy humor, fast-paced action sequences, and a protagonist filled with 90's cool-guy sass. An issue that spends most of its time talking about family history, politics, and social issues, is not going to be as interesting to that demographic. This is ultimately Kenders' biggest problem, the fact that he's clearly very invested in his characters, family trees, and worldbuilding, but invests himself in it to a degree that it's no longer a kids' comic. I mean, sure, there was never anything wrong with taking the comic in a more serious direction, and in fact I will always argue that the comic benefited greatly from it as the slapstick humor got old quick, but I do think the seriousness should be focused more in areas of, say, dire threats to the heroes' world, characters' changing alliances and such, not the politidrama tone that Kenders shifts more and more into the longer this sister series goes on. Thus, while I am very fascinated by the plots and the talking and everything that Penders brings to the table here, I can also set aside my own preferences and recognize that this is probably not the place for it all.

But enough of that, onto the story! Knuckles has just returned home from his adventures and arrived at his mother's apartment, when Lara-Le herself arrives after attending church alone, because… sure? I dunno, I don't get the feeling that Auroriums have like, organized services, they seem more like a place where someone goes to pray alone quietly. She's delighted to see her son back home safe, and Wynmacher offers her some milk in a wine glass, which is honestly such a mood.

While she asks her son for details on how his trip went, we see an aircraft approach the Floating Island and dock in a hidden hangar. It turns out to be flown by one Grandfather Tobor, one of the many Guardians still alive and kicking. More show up to greet him, and while they prepare for their meeting we go back to Knuckles and Lara-Le's conversation. Understandably, Lara-Le is kind of incredulous at Knuckles' claim about arriving home after creating a golden energy tunnel, but Knuckles was hoping she might actually have some answers. And thus, she launches into the tale of his birth, back when she and Locke were still happily married. Apparently, it usually takes three days between the mother echidna birthing the egg, and the egg actually hatching, but Locke took the egg from her right after birth in the hospital, and a day later, Knuckles had come into the world. At first, everything seemed normal, until Knuckles started spelling out "SEGA STUD" with his baby blocks and generally didn't act like a toddler, being far too intelligent. Locke leapt on this opportunity, of course, and started putting him through rigorous education, even teaching him Einstein's Theory of Relativity despite Einstein not being even slightly relevant to the echidnas' society! Truly remarkable, I must say!

As one might expect, Lara-Le was feeling very put out that she had no real say in the upbringing of her son, so she went to Knuckles' grandmother Jenna-Lu, Locke's mother, to get some advice. Jenna-Lu bafflingly informed her that relationships shouldn't bother with silly notions like "equality" or "fairness," and told her to essentially just let Locke do his thing and passively act as a good example of moral behavior for Knuckles in the background. Lara-Le tried asking her then if she was even happy with how her own life turned out.

Look. This… I said in my own rules that I'm keeping my blog PG-13, which means I'm allowed exactly one F-bomb over the course of reviewing the preboot. I'm trying very hard not to use it up right this second. Lara-Le is a good person who was screwed royally out of a relationship with her own son because of ancient, outdated traditions that she had no say in. This poor woman. You could say that perhaps she should have expected this, because she did choose to marry Locke after all even knowing who he was and what such a thing might entail, but as we'll see, the situation isn't as clear-cut as that. I feel truly, terribly sorry for Knuckles' mother right now.

We take a bit of a break from hearing about Lara-Le's hardships in marriage and motherhood to see what the Brotherhood is up to. There's a lot of names here that we've never heard before that just get dumped on us all at once, so I'll try to summarize everyone really quick. You should already know who Locke and Sabre are. Tobor is the wrinkly, ancient brown guy with the Geordi-La-Forge-esque visor over his eyes. The purple one with crazy anime bangs is Thunderhawk, because of course that has to be his name. The one who's basically just Knuckles with a green vest and some head jewelry is Sojourner, and lastly, the black echidna with red eyes wearing some kind of weird space helmet is Spectre. Three guesses who the edgy one is here.

They start by dumping all their own personal problems onto each other, which ends up giving some very valuable insight into what exactly the surviving members of the Brotherhood do with their time. Apparently, each one just kind of watches over a certain area on the planet, making sure their little domain claims are safe and stable. Now we're getting into really creepy Illuminati territory, where this super secretive society watches over and manipulates events all around the globe from the shadows. Hilariously, Tobor, Thunderhawk and Sojourner all start ranting about how much of a nuisance Sonic and Tails have been as they traveled through each of their territories in turn, but Sabre finally shuts them up. Things have been rougher on them lately, because while Robotnik was a global terrorist and all, at the very least his ever-present threat loomed over everyone to the point that he and his regime were basically the only threats anyone ever had to deal with. Now, with Robotnik gone, a huge power vacuum has opened up, and a bunch of his old sub-bosses are warring over various bits of territory across the planet, ironically causing even more chaos than before. The various Guardians are having trouble dealing with the situation, and decide to call on the council of fire ants who were apparently just listening in from another room and chilling the entire time. Presumably these guys are kind of like a miniature Brotherhood of their own, consisting of the fire ant advisors to all the previous Guardians - Archimedes, his father Semper Fidelis (are you sensing a pretentious pattern here with the fire ants' names?), and grandfather Deo Volente.

Semper Fidelis suggests that the Brotherhood, if they simply carry on as they always have, will only ensure that echidnas become irrelevant in the grand scheme of things - but that if they instead rise up and take control, that they can "lead the echidnas and the other species on this planet into a new golden age." Gee, that doesn't sound shady and supervillainy as hell! This literally is just the Mobius Illuminati, isn't it?

Back in Lara-Le's apartment, Wynmacher has just finished cooking dinner. Knuckles is confused as to what it is, as it appears to be just a fancily-garnished mound of brown crumbly… stuff, and Wynmacher tells him it's "canard á la exquisite," which is just French for "fancy duck." Dunno why he couldn't have just told Knuckles that in the first place, but then again, they may have French-ified it precisely because we have at least one recurring character in this comic that is a duck, and they wanted to avoid any uncomfortable cannibalistic implications. As they sit down to eat, Lara-Le and Wynmacher decide to announce something special!

…well, that backfired. Honestly, I'm not sure why Knuckles is so upset here though. He's just barely getting to know his mom again after like thirteen years away from her, and he already knew, I'm assuming, that she and Locke were no longer together. Furthermore, it was obvious to anyone who looked at Lara-Le and Wynmacher for longer than two seconds that they were in a relationship. I get that remarriage to a new stepparent can be hard on a kid, and that everyone handles these things differently, but seriously, why the freakout, man?

Well, whatever the specific reason, Knuckles is upset, and as he runs out the doors of his mother's apartment building he happens to run past Julie-Su and the rest of the Chaotix (minus Charmy, of course). He ignores them as they call after him, and Vector wants to go after him, but Julie-Su heads him off.

As Julie-Su rushes off to find Knuckles, we head back to the Brotherhood. They decide to set aside Semper Fidelis' advice for the time being to focus on speaking about Knuckles, specifically the unprecedented energy tunnel power that led him home. Thunderhawk and Sojourner want to dismiss it as the Guardian version of hitting puberty, essentially, but Spectre speaks up for the first time to angrily call out Locke for "tampering with the natural order."

Well, that settles it then. It was already implied by Lara-Le that Locke may have done something to Knuckles' egg right before it hatched, but Spectre's basically confirmed it. But what did he do, exactly? We'll have to shelve that for now, as Julie-Su catches up with Knuckles sitting on a dock looking out at the water. He tries to get her to go away, but she ignores him as expected and sits next to him. Then, unexpectedly, she gives him a quick peck on the cheek. He's outraged, rubbing the kiss off his cheek like a child, but she claims she's merely returning the favor from when he tried to cheer her up after she left the Dark Legion.

Young love! Or at least, teenage crushes! Come on, Julie-Su, you know the reason why - hormones! It's no surprise that these two are being set up together - you could see it coming a mile away, back when she was first introduced. The only question now is how Penders handles a slow burn… how graceful do you suppose it'll be? High hopes, anyone? I really shouldn’t be so hard on him, given that I actually quite like this ship, but I just can’t help making fun of the guy sometimes.

[jhope-seok]

Written Down; You Will Live Forever

Disclaimer: All of the things mentioned in this story are all works of fiction and have been made up by me, the author.  I did not intend to make anything based on real life, and any coincidences to real life are purely coincidences.

Genre: F L U F F / Bookstore!au

Members: Namjoon x Reader

Length: 6,935

Note: Title paraphrased from Poet by Bastille.

Masterlist

You whispered to yourself as your eyes skimmed over the stack of books in front of you, fingers tracing over each individual spine; smooth paper interrupted by raised letters of authors and titles for the words written within. Glossy hardback covers turning to rougher paperback novels, some with cracks etched into the spine where people had already peeked into the magic hidden within.

You were looking for a specific author, as you’d heard their new book had been released a few days ago and you had to get a copy for yourself.  They were your favorite writer but they were lesser known, not as sought after, and all of the bigger bookstores you’d tried already hadn’t had any copies of their new book, claiming they weren’t sure when they were going to get copies in.

So, here you were at the quaint bookstore on the edge of town hoping they had a copy you could claim as your own. It was a long shot, but it was where you came when you couldn’t find the books you wanted anywhere else. You were always surprised with the books you could find hidden in the overstuffed shelves.

This place was a wonderful mix of new books and used books, the smell of fresh print awaiting fresh eyes combining with old pages that had faded over time and many owners to create a scent unlike any other. It was the kind of scent that overtook you, filling your lungs and brain the moment your feet entered the store, the cool, autumn air unable to penetrate past the door. Near the back of the store the smell was intoxicating, coming over your body in such a way that made you wonder how long you would have to stand there for the smell stick to your clothes so you could take it home and never forget it. Your eyes glazed over as you breathed in deep through your nose, momentarily forgetting your reason for entering the store in the first place.

“Can I help you?” a voice sounded over your shoulder, ripping your mind back to the present.

You had been crouched over trying to read the books on the bottom shelf and when you stood up to face the man standing to your right, you grimaced as your muscles released the tension built up from your position near the floor. “Um. I guess?”

The male raised his eyebrows at you and straightened the glasses on his face. “Are you looking for something...in particular?” He paused, glancing to the shelf you stood in front of, presumably trying to get some sort of hint at what had brought you to his place of employment today.

You couldn’t help but notice how handsome he was. His name tag read ‘Namjoon’ and you tried your best to keep yourself from blushing. He was wearing a simple grey button-down shirt tucked into black jeans with a set of thick, square, black framed glasses that gave him an air of polished intelligence. But, his hair was dyed a light silvery grey color that was combed over to one side revealing a side cut that made you think there was more to him and his story than what his cover was showing. When he tilted his head at you, you had to shake yourself out of your thoughts to answer his question.

“Oh! Yes.” You told him the name of the book you were looking for and explained to him the tale you’d told many other employees before him. “I’ve tried a few other stores, and none of them had gotten them in stock yet. So I thought I’d try here as one last shot in the dark.”

He smiled at you, showing off his deep dimples, and your heart beat a little faster. “Well, you’re in luck. We just got our first shipment of them today. We haven’t put any on the shelf yet, so to save your back from anymore pain, let me go get a copy for you,” he waved his hand towards some unseen place and your eyes lit up.

“That would be great! Thank you so much.” The smile that spread across your face left your cheeks aching, but as you watched him walk away you couldn’t seem to return your mouth to its normal resting position.

While you waited, you browsed the other books on the surrounding shelves, eyes scanning title after title, occasionally tipping a book out of it’s place on the shelf to skim over the summary. Two different books caught your eye, so you tucked them under your arm, moving further down the shelves when you felt a light hand on your shoulder.

“Miss?” You turned to face Namjoon again, who was holding out your requested book. “Here you go! Fresh out of the box.”

“Oh!” You had to peel your eyes away from his gorgeous smile to look down and grab the book from him. “Thank you again. You’re a life-saver.” You scanned over the cover of the book, flipping it over to read the first few words on the back cover, even though you knew it would be great no matter what you found written there. Then, without thinking you opened the book and inhaled. When you heard him chuckle, you looked up to see him covering his mouth with his hand, although it was obvious he was smiling behind it, his dimples betraying him as they poked out over his forefinger.

“Oh, jeez. I bet I look crazy right now,” you stammered out, trying to explain yourself as best as you could. “I mean, it’s just--”

“New book smell,” he cut you off. “I get it. Not crazy at all.” You blushed at his words. “I do it too,” he offered you a soft smile, and you found yourself returning it.

“Do you need help finding anything else?” he spoke up after a few moments of silence.

“Um…” you paused to look around at the surrounding shelves. “I don’t think so? I found some other books,” you gestured to the books under your arm, “but I think I’m okay for now.”

He nodded and bit his lower lip. “Well, I can check you out if you’re ready?” His eyebrows raised and you caught a hint of something in his voice, and you wondered if he felt the same as you, wanting to delay the end of this conversation.

“Okay, yeah,” you started. “I think this is all for today. These will keep me busy for a few days at least.” You rocked back and forth on your heels, unsure of what to do. You didn’t really want to leave, after all he was the cutest man you’d talked to in a long time, and he seemed sort of interested in you, but your mind was blanking on ways to lengthen this encounter. All you could think about was the typical romance story and how the two main characters always seemed to have a chance meeting that lead to them falling in love, and how this could be your chance meeting with your true love. Although, your mind was also telling you he was only friendly because it was his job, and that hint you’d caught in his voice was him trying to get you out of the store so he could go help another, prettier customer you couldn’t see.

“Alright then. Follow me.” His words cut through your thoughts, sharp and succinct. You followed him back through the maze of shelves to the register where he rang up your selections.

“Thanks again for helping me find this book by the way. It means the world to me!” You ran your finger over the title on the cover, the embossed letters beckoning you to open it and read it right there in the store.

“Oh it’s no problem at all.” You looked up to see him smiling so wide his eyes had crinkled shut. “And let me know how you like it. I’ve heard great things about this author, but never had a chance to sit down and read their books. But…,” he paused, biting his lip. “Maybe I’ll have to if you like this one.” His cheeks tinted red, matching the color you suspected had emerged in your own.

“Well if it’s anything like their other books, it will be worth the read. Regardless, I will let you know how it is,” you said as you grabbed the books off the counter and slipped the receipt into your purse. Then, before your brain had time to process what was happening, your mouth had opened and blurted out, “Bye Namjoon!”

As you pushed through the door and stepped back into the crisp fall air, your eyes widened and you halted just beyond the threshold of the door. “I just called him by his name. His name that I read on his nametag. His name that he never actually said. Oh god. Oh no.” Your heart was racing as you realized your mistake and your stomach started to roil. Your instinct was to race back inside and explain yourself, but when you realized that you were still standing outside the door, you figured he was probably watching you through the storefront windows, wondering why the creepy girl who knew his name was loitering outside.

You adjusted your scarf around your neck and raced away, down the street, and hopped into your car, escaping the cold that was already seeping through your clothes into your bones. You hoped with all of your might that you hadn’t made it impossible for yourself to ever return to this store.

----------------------------------one week later--------------------------------------

You’d gotten out of work early and somehow you’d wound up here, outside of the same bookstore. You’d sped through all three books you’d bought the last time you were here, having spent every night wrapped up in a blanket, the fall breeze catching the corners of the pages as it blew through your open windows. Since you finished the last page of the last book, all you could think about was buying more books. But, whenever you thought about it you always pictured yourself going to the other bookstores in the area. In your thoughts you had specifically avoided this bookstore, in order to save yourself from the shame of facing Namjoon again.

Alas, here you were. Standing on the street outside the small bookstore, the air nipping at your nose. You pulled your jacket tighter around your waist and grabbed the door handle, knowing that the longer you stood outside the more chance you gave yourself to be the same creepy girl lingering outside his place of employment. As you pulled open the door and the familiar scents of old and new books filled your lungs, you reassured yourself it hadn’t been weird that you called him by his name. He wore his name tag for a reason, you told yourself. There was no way he’d found it odd at all, other customers did it all the time; you weren’t the first to have done it.

Even still, you ducked behind the first shelf you came to, and made your way through the stacks to your favorite section, hoping to evade contact with him if you could, if he was even working today.  Which you hoped he wasn’t, but knowing your luck you could bet he was.

You were browsing titles, hunched over to avoid the chance of him seeing you over the shelves, three books already tucked into the crook of your arm, when you sensed someone standing nearby. When you looked out of the corner of your eye, you saw a man standing a few feet away from you, facing the shelves behind you, unpacking a cart of books. Your eyes glanced up to his face and confirmed your worst fears. Namjoon didn’t seem to notice you, so you straightened up and tried to sneak past him to another, safer section.

Unfortunately, you stumbled a bit when you caught a whiff of his cologne and bumped into him, the books in your arms spilling onto the floor. “Sorry!” you muttered under your breath, bending down to try and gather the books off the floor as fast as you could.

“Oh, don’t worry about that. Let me help you with those,” he said as he bent over to help you, grabbing the books before you could. You kept your face down, averting your eyes from his, hoping to keep this unlucky interaction short. “Here you go.” You stood up and took the books out of his hands as he offered them to you, head down. You tried to make a quick exit, thanking the gods that he hadn’t remembered or noticed who you were, but much to your dismay he bent over as you passed him to look into your eyes, which caused you to stare back at him, surprised by his sudden movement. “Oh--Hey! It’s you!” he exclaimed.

You stopped in your tracks and turned around to face him, only to notice the thick, square framed glasses he’d been wearing the last time you saw him had been replaced with smaller, circular wire ones. His hair was swept onto his forehead and you found your breath catching in your throat as you stared at him. Your brain was struggling to process the words he’d said and when you finally came to, all you could sputter out was, “Me! Yes. It’s me!”

“How’d you like the book?” His eyes lit up with curiosity and as you stared into them your brain had a hard time conjuring up what book he was referring to, until you remembered the reason for your last visit.

“It was-it was good. Great. Another great book by my favorite author,” you let out an awkward chuckle.

“That’s great! I’ll read it this weekend.” You smiled as he spoke and tried to rid your mind of the image that was swimming just behind your eyes of you calling him by his name and then running out of the store after your last encounter with him. Staring into his beautiful, deep brown eyes almost did the trick for you, but when you tore your eyes from his you noted that he wasn’t wearing his nametag today.

You were overly aware of the fact that if you called him by name this time, it would be obvious you liked him enough to remember his name. You tried to map out a conversation with him in your head where you could steer clear of a situation where you might blurt it out again, but as silence fell between the two of you, he didn’t give you a chance to get very far into your imaginary conversation before he introduced himself.

“I’m Namjoon, by the way. I own this store.” He stuck out his hand to you, and you couldn’t help but wonder again why he was going to such lengths to be nice to you.

“Y/N--I’m Y/N,” you stuttered, grabbing his hand and giving a firm shake, trying hard not to focus on the rough texture of his palm or the way his fingers wrapped around yours in a way that made you think his hand was meant for yours; the missing puzzle piece. In an effort to keep those thoughts at bay you muttered, “It’s a very nice store,” and cringed internally at your pathetic attempt at a conversation starter, your hand dropping back to your side.

“Thank you. I love books, so it was the only way I could make a living out of reading them all the time,” he laughed and you noted that it came from deep within him, a sound that was so true and hearty, you couldn’t help but laugh along with him.

“I can’t deny that I’m a little jealous,” you brushed a few stray strands of hair off your cheek, as your eyes looked around. “This is like...my actual heaven. I would give anything to be surrounded by books all day,” you breathed out another laugh, a smile tugging at your lips, as you met his eyes again. “I mean, this is quite the collection you have going,” you motioned to encompass the whole store.

His eyes crinkled shut as his lips curled up ever so slightly at the edges and you admired the way his dimples sunk into his cheeks, matching crevices forming where only moments ago there was smooth skin. “Thanks. I’ve been at this for a while now. I started out with just used books, selling books from my family, friends, and neighbors that they claimed they had no use for anymore. Which, is blasphemy if I do say so myself.” Your eyes widened and you nodded in agreement, because who could ever get rid of books with such careless ease. He continued, “then I got more people who were donating old books with a demand for newer releases, so I expanded, and it’s been growing ever since.”

You stared around at the massive shelves scattered throughout his store and wondered how small it must have started, and tried to imagine empty shelves begging to have books occupy their spaces. When you looked back at Namjoon he was watching you, eyes filled with an emotion you couldn’t name. While your heart sensed that emotion was a hint of attraction, your mind reminded you that there was still zero reason for him to be talking to you.  Yet, your heart pointed out that he didn’t have to tell you all of this, but here he was opening up to you about the history of his business that he built from the ground up.

“Well,” you started, ignoring the war taking place inside of you. “From what I can see, I’d say you were doing very well for yourself.”

He smiled at you, those same dimples re-forming in his cheeks, and nodded. “Yeah. It’s pretty crazy to think how far it’s come. But, enough about that. Is there anything I can help you with today?”

You bit your lip and stared down at the books in your hands, wondering if you were ready for this conversation to end. You hummed, and then looked back up to find him staring at you, eyebrows raised. “You know...yes. I picked these out because they looked interesting, but what else would you recommend?”

Namjoon seemed caught off guard by your quick change of direction back to him. You were hoping that by asking for his recommendation that you would not only guarantee yourself more time with him, but also subtly convey your attraction to him and your want to get to know more about him. You could tell a lot about a person by what books they liked and what books they recommended, and you wanted to know if he was interested in what you’d already picked out and what he would suggest for further reading.

He reached out his hands and inquired a, “May I?”

“Of course,” you handed the books to him, which he took and sorted through quickly, noting the titles and authors you had procured.

“I see,” he said after he read the third title. His eyes glanced up to the shelf next to you, then he turned to survey the rest of the store, shelves filled with stories far and wide. He hummed to himself and took a few steps away from you, before turning back to meet your eyes. “How do you feel about mystery?”

“I love it,” you offered. “One of my favorite authors is a mystery writer.”

“Great!” he smiled. “Follow me. I have a great book I think you should read.”

That’s how it went for several weeks. You’d stop by the bookstore on your way home after work, having finished all the books you’d previously bought, ready to fill more space on your shelves at home. You and Namjoon would chat at the register, discussing favorite parts, potential symbolism, and give each book a ranking as it compared to other books you’d read. This then led to the two of you to roam the store suggesting to each other the next books to read. You thought of it as a sort of secret book club, just between the two of you. Namjoon didn’t have to read the books while you read them, but each week you came back surprised to hear he’d read them so he could talk with you about them.

It became the thing that you looked forward to every week: that time alone in his store. You and him wandering through the shelves, the mass of books encompassing you both, creating a safe haven that you never wanted to leave.

When you did leave, it was always with at least three books, if not more, a smile plastered to your face and a steady beat in your heart that drove you home to start reading so you could return as soon as possible. Every day that passed between your visits made you more anxious to see him, yet each time when you stepped in the door, leaving the smell of fall behind you, his smile warmed your heart in an instant and you felt like you were meeting up with an old friend after a long time. Except, you knew that from the way your heart fluttered every time you saw him that what you felt for him was more than friendly, and you hoped that by the light in his eyes he felt the same as you.

Namjoon was an incredibly intelligent man, having amassed an incomparable knowledge from all of the books he’d read in his life. Talking with him amongst the books filled your heart and mind with warmth and wonder. Every word he said seemed to fall off his tongue, the next word eager to follow, always knowing the exact right word to use to describe what he wanted to say. He made you love books so much more, and he made you start to see life in a brand new way, his words and statements following you out of the store even while he stayed inside.

When he talked about the worlds authors created, in a simple phrase he had transported you into that environment, more vivid than you believed the author could have ever done themselves. You travelled through mystery, classic literature, science fiction, even romance, and every sentence he uttered seemed more brilliant than the last. His mind was so beautiful and with each moment you spent with him you found yourself more and more attracted to him; drawn into his world, seeing things the way he saw them. You couldn’t help but wonder what his eyes and mind saw in you, wonder what words he would use to describe you, wonder how he would write you in the novel of his life.

So, as you drove to the edge of town to stop by his bookstore today, your smile grew wider the closer you got. All of the leaves on the trees had begun to change and fall to the earth, and with this change in the scenery you hoped you could change your relationship with Namjoon from one that was confined to his store to one that could explore the shared world you lived in. You had journeyed through countless realms created by many different authors, and you wanted to experience with him the adventures that the physical world had to offer.

You had spent the last few days contemplating how you were going to ask him out on a date, worrying that you would come off as too forward. But, every time you doubted yourself you reminded yourself that Namjoon had seemed equally as interested in you as you were in him. Each time you returned to his store, when you entered he always greeted you with the warmest smile, your name rolling off his tongue in the most melodious way. He was the one who, as you walked out the door, new books in hand, always sent you one last farewell with an accompanying, “See you next time!” as if he was awaiting your return as much as you were.

Yet as you entered today, the shop felt different. It was quiet, and there was a younger boy at the register that you’d never seen before. He was hunched over the counter reading a magazine and didn’t seem to notice your presence at the door. The thought passed through your mind that Namjoon had to have other employees, how could he run the store on his own? But you wondered why you’d never seen this boy or anyone else working for the store besides Namjoon. Nonetheless, you approached the register, still hoping that Namjoon was just somewhere in the back that you couldn’t see.

“Hi,” you offered to the new face before you. “Is Namjoon here today?”

The younger male looked up at you. His nametag read ‘Jungkook’. “Sorry, he’s not in today. He’s out at some meeting. Maybe with the bank? I don’t know, he was rushing his words when he called me in on my day off, so it was hard to understand. But he’ll be back tomorrow morning. Can I help you with anything?”

“Oh, no. I’m good right now. I’ll just look around and be back.” You gave him a nice smile and began to immerse yourselves amongst the bookcases.

You found that the idle browsing was marginally less entertaining when you weren’t doing it with Namjoon. You stopped every so often to remove a book from it’s place to glance over the summary, but you found that without Namjoon’s deep voice to recount how a particular book related to something else he’d read, the process to find new books wasn’t as enticing anymore. You realized that he had been pushing you out of your comfort zone when it came to books, always reassuring you that you’d like what he was recommending, connecting it back to your personal preferences in the most thoughtful way.

That was something else amazing about him. From only two interactions with you and from a glance at the titles you’d chosen on two separate occasions, he had picked up on your interests in a heartbeat. He was intuitive in a way that no one else in your life had been, and as you’d gotten to know him more and more over the weeks that passed, he had noticed many things that took your best friends months to realize. But that was the best thing about Namjoon, that regardless of how long you’d known him, he caused you to open up about your deepest thoughts on topics you’d never fathomed discussing with even some of your closest friends.

When you returned to the register ten short minutes later you’d only chosen two books. You’d tried your hand at picking out books outside of your comfort zone, but found that without the extra push from Namjoon, you’d stayed very well inside of your usual box. You set the books down on the counter and offered a half smile when Jungkook made eye contact. He stared for a second longer than you would have liked, unsure of why he was studying your face, so you averted your eyes, reading and re-reading the cover of the books you’d picked.

“You wouldn’t be Y/N, would you?” he suddenly asked.

You glanced back up at Jungkook and his eyebrows were furrowed, as if he was trying to remember something. Your own eyebrows followed suit, wondering where he was going with his question.

“Um...yes? That’s me. Why do you ask?” your voice sounded far less hesitant than you truly felt, but you sensed he had no foul intentions in his question.

“Oh!” Jungkook’s face lit up with a smile. “Namjoon told me you might stop by today. He left me……,” Jungkook mumbled as he bent over to reach for something under the counter you couldn’t see. “Here it is,” he stood back up a book clasped between his hands. “This!”

He stuck the book out to you, and you stared at the book, and then back at him. “What?” you deadpanned.

“Namjoon left this for you. He told me that a girl looking like you with your name might stop by today, and he said that if he wasn’t back by the time you got here to give you this,” he lightly shook the book at you.

Your eyebrows raised, still confused. “He left me...a book?”

“Yeah. He said he wants you to read it....At least I think that’s what he said. He kind of yelled it at me as he was running out of the door. But I’m pretty positive that’s what he meant.”

“O--kay?” You reached for the book in his hands. You turned it over in your hands, noting how the spine had been broken in so thoroughly you imagined it passing from hand to hand, owner to owner, and wondered how each person had experienced it. You glanced at the title and the summarization of the adventure within on the back. From what you could gather the book was a romance novel, a story between two people who’d faced great adversity yet somehow managed to forge through everything to be together. It seemed like something you’d expect Namjoon to recommend to you. He always knew what to suggest and his books never failed to entertain and captivate you.

You look back up at Jungkook with a confident smile this time. “Okay. Yeah, I’ll take this too.”

“Oh, it’s on the house, ma’am. It’s from Namjoon’s personal collection so you don’t have to pay for it,” Jungkook grabbed your other books and rang them up and quoted you your total. As you handed him your cash your mind ran wild about why Namjoon would’ve left you a book to read, especially one from his own personal shelf. Your eyes wandered down to the spine again as Jungkook pressed buttons on the register, and speculated how many times he’d read this particular book for it to look so well worn. You thought about how many times he’d taken the journey from start to finish and questioned if there was something about this book that made it worth reaching for over and over again. You contemplated what about it would let him give it up so easily in order for you to experience the same adventure he’d taken so many times.

Your gut was telling you that it wasn’t out of the ordinary; you and him and been recommending books to each other over the last few weeks, pointing them out as you spotted them amongst his shelves and each reconvening the next to discuss. But, even if he mentioned in passing that he owned a particular book himself, you always left with your own copy; he never went out of his way to loan you his copy. He was a store owner after all; he had a business to run.

You also had a nagging feeling that there was a hidden meaning behind all of this, but you brushed the thoughts out of your mind as Jungkook returned your change and receipt. You picked the books up off the counter and crossed the threshold back out into the cold autumn air.

As the door was shutting behind you, you heard Jungkook yell, “Enjoy the book!”

You turned back to stare at him through the glass, caught off guard at his sudden exclamation. He smiled wide and gave you two thumbs up, before returning to his magazine. You thought to yourself how odd that was, and it wasn’t until you were back in your car, willing your car to heat up faster, that you realized he’d said ‘book’ in the singular sense. You stared at the pile of books in the passenger seat next you, eyes focused on the one Namjoon had left for you. “Did he mean that book?” you thought to yourself. You shrugged, thinking that the whole encounter with Jungkook had just been weird in general, pulled the gear shift back into drive as warm air burst through your vents onto your cheeks, and drove off as the sunset began to stretch its way across the clouds.

After dinner that night, you’d made yourself a cup of your favorite tea and sat down on your couch to relax. The three books you had procured earlier laid in front of you on the coffee table, and you began to reach for one of the two you’d chosen personally until you thought better of it and grabbed the one Namjoon had left for you. You were curious to find out why he’d loaned it to you and figured that the longer you put it off the more anxious you’d be to read it.

You took a sip of your tea, savoring the warmth that spread through your body as it hit your stomach, and inspected the cover one last time. You were still perplexed at everything that had taken place inside the bookstore earlier in the evening and you tried to brush it off, but as you opened the front cover something fell out of the book and onto your lap.

You looked down to see a small piece of paper, a handwritten note scrawled across the stark white of the parchment. Your first thought was that since the book was Namjoon’s that it was a note he’d left for himself during his last read through, maybe something he’d used as a bookmark. But, when you picked it up to inspect it closer, you saw that it was addressed to you. It read:

Y/N--

This is one of my favorite books of all time. I hope you like it as much as I like you.

It’s yours to keep if you want.

--Namjoon

Your heart started to race and your cheeks flooded with color. You remembered how determined you’d been on the way into his store to ask him on a date, to further your relationship with him. And now here you had physical proof that he felt the same way for you that you felt for him. You bit your lip in an attempt to stop the smile that was slowly spreading across your face as you read and re-read the note over and over again.

Your brain focused on the way his strokes seemed to flow so effortlessly over the page; the curvature of his y’s and the sharpness of his k’s. You pictured him writing this note and wondered if he’d written this in a rush before running out the door, or if he’d written many before this one, writing and rewriting this simple message to try and get it just right. Either way, you couldn’t help but want to rush back to his store and let him know how you felt even though it was late at night. But, you thought it better to wait a few days, read the book first, and sit on how best to approach him when you saw Namjoon next.

So, you picked up the book he’d chosen for you, took one last glance at his note, and began to read.

Three days later you returned to his store.

You’d stayed up late the first two nights reading until you fell asleep with the book on your lap. The book had been an amazing journey, one that took you through the highest of highs and tearful lows. It was the perfect love story, one that made you envious, as it was only fictional. You understood why Namjoon recommended it and why he’d read it so many times.

The night after you finished it was spent pacing your apartment going through possible scenarios for what you would say when you saw him. You rehearsed several possibilities, each seeming more pathetic than the last, and decided that you would just have to wing it when you got there. But, now here you were, parked on the street two storefronts down from his shop.

Your heart was racing and your hands were starting to sweat. You stared at yourself in your rearview mirror, unsure if you were ready for what was to come next. Just a few short days prior you’d been so confident, and yet you were more nervous now than you’d been before you knew he liked you. It was something about the way he’d confessed that had your heart racing. You felt as if nothing you could do or say could amount to his simplistic yet powerful note; his confession intertwined as a background plot point. As if his attraction towards you had been apparent all the time. Nonetheless, you opened your car door, took a deep breath of the crisp fall air, and told yourself that the future moments held only good things for you.

You approached the storefront eyes cast down on the sidewalk in front of you. You were careful not to stare through the glass because you were afraid that if you caught his eye before you entered that you’d turn and run back to your car. The bell above the door chimed brightly as you pulled open the door and you finally allowed your eyes to glance at the register.

You were surprised when you found it empty. The worst that could have happened was to find Jungkook there once more, but neither him nor Namjoon stood watch over the front. Your eyes flitted around the nearby shelves, uncertain of where to go next. This outcome was not one you’d played out in your head, and so you stood in your spot for a few beats before deciding that if he wasn’t at the front that hopefully he was somewhere amongst the shelves. Besides, it was a bookstore after all, and you wouldn’t mind picking up another book or two.

You set off through the shelves, following the path you took many a time back to your favorite section, to browse the selections by your favorite author. You passed shelf after shelf and each time as they opened into a new aisle your heart caught a little in your throat, hoping Namjoon would be down one of them, yet every time all you found was more books.

You rounded the last shelf before your coveted section with your heart heavy, convinced that luck was just not on your side today; Namjoon must have been off again. You decided that this was just one more struggle that you’d have to overcome before meeting with him again. You sighed, your eyes falling to the floor as you stepped down the aisle of books. But, your eyes landed upon a pair black shoes standing right in front of where you wanted to be, and you stopped in your tracks. Your eyes followed up his legs, to his torso, and finally to his face. In a sequence of events you never could have planned for, Namjoon stood before you, eyes trained on yours. He had been stocking books onto a shelf, and even without looking you knew that it was the same shelf that he’d found you at that day so long ago, crouched over searching for a book. You thought about how apropos it was that it was all coming full circle, ending where it all began.

Except you hoped this wasn’t an ending.

Neither of you spoke, neither breaking eye contact with the other. You didn’t want to speak, for fear of saying something idiotic, so you were relieved when he spoke first.

“Y/N.” His voice was soft, hesitant, but you could see the question lying behind his eyes. He wanted to know if you got his note.

Your brain was working a mile a minute to try and form any sentence that would make you sound like an intelligent human being. You wanted to convey to him how much you liked him, and how much you liked the book, and how much you wanted to be with him, but you were struggling to come up with anything coherent. It wasn’t until Namjoon began to speak again, the silence having stretched on too long, that you knew what you had wanted to say all along.

“Did you--” he began.

“Namjoon...I loved it.”

You crossed the distance to him and stared up at Namjoon, repeating yourself with more assurance. “I loved it.”

The smile you’d been holding back for three days spread across your face, relieved and hopeful for whatever the future had to hold for you. Namjoon smiled back at you, his dimples that you’d grown to love so much etched into his smooth tan skin. He reached his hand up to touch your cheek, brushing away the hair that laid against it.

“I’m glad,” he whispered, bending down to place a kiss on your lips. In all your years, you’d never had a man kiss you like Namjoon did in this instant. It was delicate and sensual, yet passionate and desperate. You could feel the tension of wanting to kiss him for so long slip away under your fingertips as your hands rested against his chest.

As the leaves outside were turning to signify the changing of the seasons, summer to fall, fall to winter, you could feel the pages turning to start a new story. The story of your life with Namjoon. A story that began within the shelves of his store, but one that would far outshine any of the words written upon any page in any book stacked within them.

[writings-of-a-hufflepuff]

The Bear and the Giant {Part 3/4}

Fandom: Game of Thrones

Pairing: Tormund Giantsbane x Overweight Female Reader

Warning: Strong language, smut, nsfw, 18+

Writer: @imaginesofeveryfandom​ aka @hufflepuffing-all-day-long

Summary/Request: You failed to tell Tormund how you felt before he left for Eastwatch and now you hear if the news. Your hope that he’s survived is one of the few bright spots in it all. You’re determined to say the words you want to say to him. [Reader is the cousin of Lyanna Mormont]

Part 1 X, Part 2 X, Part 4 X

Note: This part is just smut so its not necessary to read for the story, so if you don’t want to read smut then don’t feel obliged too. Its really only here because I wanted to write some Tormund smut into the 4 part series. :) 

You are not even asleep long enough to dream, just peaceful darkness, an unaware serenity, when you are awoken harshly by a pair of hands. One is over your mouth and the other around your soft stomach. At first there is the initial panic, you stomp your heel against booted feet, bite down on the hand over your mouth, try to elbow the person behind you. But the panic rather quickly disappears and turns into realisation when you glimpse a familiar red beard out the corner of your eye and hear a familiar accented voice at your ear.

“I’m going to steal you, Little She-Bear.”

Tormund. You realise that you are not being snatched in the night by some stranger, that you are in fact in no danger at all. It is Tormund repeating, fulfilling the promise that you had overlooked as you fell asleep. It eases the tension in your shoulders, your teeth stop biting into his palm, still you had the taste, the slight metallic of blood, where you had fought off a false threat, in your mouth, you relax. You after all wanted to be stolen by Tormund, Tormund was safety, Tormund was gentleness, but this was a part of his culture and you would indulge him.

“I’m going steal you away to my room and show you how a real man uses his cock. You’ll be my beauty, my Little She-Bear” It is punctuated by a thrust of his hips into your bottom. It is vulgar and crude, more so than is usually directed at you by Tormund. He had spent so much of the time he’d known you carefully avoiding such words or insinuations, but now…now he knew you wanted him and he wanted to you. You wanted to be his wife. You wanted him to steal you. You wanted his cock in your cunt. His words finally reflected what he wanted with you, of you…and you couldn’t deny the appeal of his voice growling such words in your ear, the tingling in between your thighs at the feeling of his hips colliding back against you.

You can’t reply, hand still covering your mouth and instead find yourself encouraged to pull your shoes on, despite his eagerness he is still caring for your well being, your bottom pressed tightly against his hips as he moves with you. The moment your shoes are on you are being ferried out of your room and down corridors and through halls. Guards are avoided or snuck past, it is rather thrilling but also terrifying how easily Tormund manages to sneak you past them as if he is nothing but a shadow and you one by extension.

It is a much shorter journey to his designated room than it would be over the Wall, but the idea is much the same. He stole you away in the middle of the night, you fought back (if briefly), and now you’re his. Even if you were his before it all.

You’re released from his grip as he turns to close the door, hands not fumbling once as he locks it behind him. He is anything, but nervous. The almost wild grin that over takes his face tells you that he is far from nervous or worried about this ‘event’.

You are nervous, however. As a lady you were never allowed male company…not of the carnal nature anyway, and the stories you had heard from other ladies, those that had married, were either wonderful or terrifying. It seemed the joining of man and woman could either be incredibly delightful or incredibly painful.

You stop his advance with hands at his chest, placed to keep him at a distance for you to talk, but to still allow you some contact. You want this, but you need Tormund to understand, you need your Ginger Giant to understand what this means for you.

“What is wrong?” It warms your heart to know that concern always comes first with him. That he will always be concerned for you over his own needs or wants. His hands, large as they are, come up to cover your own, intertwining your fingers against his chest.

“I’ve never…” You are not sure of the word, but as always Tormund supplies what you fail to find.

“Fucked?”

“Ladies don’t…not unless they’re married and well…I want to, I do. But I’ve heard some horrible stories, that it hurts.” That there is blood, and pain, and soreness for days, not the good type either. You knew that not all men cared for the pleasure of women, that they took what they wished…but you were unsure if that pain was from selfishness or a natural part of the process. Ladies rarely talked about sex. Even on Bear Island where the rules were laxer than most of the North or South.

“Then those ladies have been fucking idiots.” He presses his forehead against yours, you can see he is taking this seriously, and you allow yourself the moment to nuzzle your nose against his as he speaks to reassure you. “I will not hurt you. Discomfort? Maybe. But hurt? Never. I will make love to you, pleasure you, show you how it should be and you will feel sorry for those ladies in those stories, Little She-Bear.” You believe him, believe that he would never do something to hurt you and it is that that has you pressing your mouth against his instead of talking more.

You expect him to kiss like he treats you, gentle, sweet, a careful movement because he has always been so careful with you. But he doesn’t, with the walls around you, the words and feelings out, he instead kisses like he fights. Hard, rough, well. His teeth bit at your lower lip until you gasp, his tongue sliding in to meet yours. His hands delve into your hair gripping it tightly, just enough to pull against your scalp in a way that sends a shiver down your spin, your large thighs attempting to come together and failing. One of his legs slips between the two of yours, his thigh pressed up against your cunt.

You can’t help but pull away from the kiss with a gasp, your breath is rapid, your heart is racing, there is a tingling between your thighs which is only made more intense by the pressure of his thigh against you. He has slowly moved you backwards without you realising, lowering you down onto the bed he has been sleeping in since Winterfell was taken from the Bolton’s. He seems so large hovering over you.

Tormund’s beard tickles your skin as his mouth trails across your cheek towards your neck. He nips, and kisses, licks and bites along the column of your throat, you are sure there will be marks the next day but you cannot bring yourself to care. Not when your hips are rocking, pressing your cunt closer to his thigh. In that moment your woollen nightdress seems both too thin and too thick.

“That’s right, my Little She-Bear, fuck my thigh. Show me how much you want me.”

“Tormund” It is gasped out as he bites down on your neck hard enough to hurt and shoot pleasure between your thighs. You wonder why you or anyone would ever doubt Tormund’s ability to please a woman. Neither of you are undressed, his cock is nowhere near your cunt and yet you feel amazing.

Or neither of you were undressed before, because his hands are tugging at the nightdress, “Do you like this?”

“Not especially” It is breathless and barely there, but in the quiet of the room he hears and tears the item from your body. Wool ripping easily in his hands and you marvel at just how strong Tormund really is. You wonder if he isn’t part giant. Then this really would be a song to sing.

The urge to cover your body from the first man to look upon it is great, but you know that Tormund loves you, that he wants to see you. If he didn’t he wouldn’t be here, you wouldn’t be here right now. So instead you clench your fists in the furs and covers of the bed beside your hips, keeping your body clear of coverage, allowing him to lean back onto his calves and take your body in.

It is not what most southern men would find attractive. You are not thin, lean, toned. Your stomach is not flat and your arms are not thin. Your body is a collection of softness, lumps and bumps and marks. Your hips are wide and dip and curve. Your stomach is soft and protrudes, not flat or in line with the rest of your torso. Your thighs are large, and your arms are too. You are softness and roundness personified, but you feel like the most beautiful woman in Westeros when Tormund’s eyes light up like that in the moonlight, like he’s hungry for you, like he’s staring at something divine.

“Beautiful, you’re fucking gorgeous, She-Bear.” You don’t doubt it as his hands slowly and reverently trail over the softness of your stomach, tiptoeing over stretchmarks, scars and marks. As his fingers, dig into the meat of your hips, hard enough to leave a slight sting, a moan leaving your throat at the feeling combined with his thigh returned between your legs. Tormund is rougher with you than he ever has been and you like it, you like the biting of his fingers in your skin, you love the feeling of his teeth on your neck and the pull of hands in your hair.

You tug at the furs over his torso, he is still fully clothes in his usual attire and you feel an overwhelming need to see him and touch him skin to skin. He removes the layer with a practised ease, his torso free for you to peruse.

He is strong, not the sort of strong that is chiselled and carved like in paintings and statues, instead it’s the sort of strong which is oddly soft. He is beautiful with broad shoulders and a wide chest, strands of red hair covering him, freckles too. You trace a few with your fingers. “You’re beautiful. My beautiful Ginger Giant.”

He smiles at you before his head ducks, teeth grazing over your shoulders, lips trailing down your chest before they latch onto your breast. Your fingers dig into his shoulders pulling him closer, a leg slung over his hips in an attempt to bring the leg between your thighs closer to your cunt which is warm and tingling, wet and wanting.

You aren’t sure how this can get much better, how that feeling in you could grow any more, how you could get any warmer. But you do with every flick of his tongue and graze of his teeth, with every brush of his beard against your warm skin and digging of his fingers into the soft skin of your hip, with every rock of your hips into his thigh.

“Tormund…” It’s another sigh, you wonder if you’re only capable of saying his name from now on. Wonder if all over vocabulary and learning has left you. Only Tormund, Tormund, Tormund left.

His mouth has pulled away from your breast, the cold air running over the damp skin causing you to writhe slightly at the sensation. Your movements continue, along with your quiet repetition of his name, as his lips press kisses down your stomach, over rolls and bumps and marks, until he’s looking up at you from the space between your thighs. It is utterly sinful to see him there, eyes bright with desire, grin fixed in place, hands gripping at your large thighs as he pulls them over his shoulders as much as possible, before he is ducking his head towards your cunt.

It is a strange yet delightful sensation at first, the gliding of his tongue over your most sensitive parts, but that feelings quickly turns to pure pleasure, coiling in your stomach, and clenching of your muscles as his mouth wraps around your clit. You didn’t even know men could do this, that they could place there mouth there and you wonder why when it is such a wonderful feeling, when that tingling warmth becomes a fire and your hands are clutching at ginger hair.

A hand leaves your thigh to slide between them, a finger gently slipping inside you and it is both strangely too much and not enough. An unusual sensation which you want more of as you rock against his hand, his mouth still playing with your clit. You can hear the wetness, feel how wet you are and wonder if any woman could be so slick for any man?

“Tormund…” It’s not a plea to stop. Not a question. Not anything, but a prayer to him. A prayer to everything he is as he slips another finger inside you, stretching you in a way that is briefly uncomfortable before it gives way to more pleasure. There is a coiling warmth in your stomach, a feeling like you are reaching some sort of precipice.

It doesn’t take much more for you to fall off that edge, for something to snap within you, an all-encompassing warmth and pleasure falling over you. It simply takes a growl against your cunt, the realisation that Tormund is too rocking his hips against the bed, that he is enjoying this, enjoying you as much as you are.

You don’t scream, you gasp for breath, chest rising and falling rapidly as you collect yourself. But it’s not enough, not as he leans back up and over you, beard wet, lips glistening, grin firmly in place. Not as he kicks off the last of his clothing and worms his way between your thighs. Not as his hands come to rest beside your head, looming over you in a way that is not intimidating, but breath-taking.

“You’re fucking beautiful when you cum, She-Bear. My Little She-Bear.”

You gasp out, moan out as his hips rock that last few inches forward, his cock is sliding against your cunt. So easily, your wetness helping. He bumps against your clit and still sensitive skin, warm with blood. Your calves of their own accord wrap around him and tug him closer and you moan out as he nearly slips inside you.

“Tormund, please…please…” You can barely comprehend what you want, but you know you want him inside you, want him rocking close to you, want him as close as any man could ever get to you. You want him buried deep, want him filing you with his seed, want him as a wife wants a husband, want to make a start on little ginger babies.

“I’m going to fill you with my seed, make beautiful red-haired babes with you, watch you swell for me. Take you as my wife, my Little She-Bear Wife.”

He finally pushes into you and waits. Your fingers dig into his shoulders, it is an uncomfortable feeling at first, a stretch that discomforts you, not the blinding pain others have talked about, and the discomfort fades as he waits, as he stills his hips.

When that discomfort disappears for the most part you rock your hips slightly, just a little test, to see what happens and pleasure flows through your limbs, your shoulders seizing. Tormund takes it for the sign that it is and moves, his hips begin thrusting into your own, his cock rubbing against your warm inner walls with each movement. You are not sure any words could describe the warmth, the tightness, the sensation of Tormund moving within you. The feeling which has you struggling to breathe in the best of ways, has you clinging to his shoulders as your skin slaps together and one of his hands dips once more into the soft flesh of your hip. You are going to have bruises, you know that, and you can’t bring yourself to care. It is rather a nice prospect, to be marked by him, to have a reminder of this feeling, this coiling and burning and writhing.

You say his name over and over and over again like a mantra as he whispers in your ear how he’s going to make you his wife, fill you with little ginger babies, love you every day of your life. You never imagined a man could feel this good. But he does, he feels so good that it takes mere minutes for you to feel that snap, that coil break as you gasp and moan at the breaking of your pleasure.

You are still gripping him tightly as he thrusts a few more times into you, his cock dragging against your walls, before he groans out himself, faced pressed into your shoulder as he cums inside you. You will worry about Moon-Tea later, but for now, you simply hold him against you, the feeling of slick and cum between your thighs oddly pleasant.

You run a hand through the hair at the back of his neck, feeling him shiver as your nails scrape gently across his scalp. “I love you.” You whisper it into his ear, it feels as intimate as earlier, when his forehead pressed against yours in the courtyard.

He tiredly pushes himself up on his arms, pulling out of your body and rolling to the side, wrapping an arm around your plump stomach. “I love you too, She-Bear.” It is groaned out, exhausted, tired, but happy and you snuggle back into his body and let your eyes close.

You will get married soon. This you know. Neither of you want anyone to have an excuse to keep you apart. Wildling King, vicious fighter, gentle friend, giant’s bane, and soon he’ll be your husband too.

[mandibierly]

Kennedy Center Honors preview: 5 reasons to watch

This year’s Kennedy Center honorees: dancer Carmen de Lavallade, rapper and actor LL COOL J, television writer and producer Norman Lear, musician Lionel Richie, and singer-songwriter Gloria Estefan (Photo: John P. Filo/CBS)

The 40th Annual Kennedy Center Honors, airing tonight at 9 p.m. on CBS, pay tribute to the life’s work of dancer Carmen de Lavallade, musicians Gloria Estefan, Lionel Richie and LL COOL J, and television writer and producer Norman Lear. It’s an evening filled with many of the things you’ve come to expect from the program (a few tears, some laughter, and many incredible performances), but it’s also missing one — the presence of the president.

Donald Trump chose not to attend the ceremony so that the honorees could “celebrate without any political distraction.” He is not mentioned in the telecast, but viewers will likely think of him when Caroline Kennedy delivers her opening remarks highlighting her late father’s legacy and when a reel of Lear’s groundbreaking comedies ends with Archie Bunker and Meathead in a heated argument over the right to protest in America. As Dave Chappelle, who introduces those clips, says of Lear: “You taught me that the person on the other side of an argument from me is not my enemy, it’s a person that I love that I’m willing to convince. You make me know that everything’s gonna be all right if we can laugh together.”

Rita Moreno pays tribute to Norman Lear (Photo: Timothy Kuratek/CBS)

Here are four more things you can expect from the two-hour broadcast…

1. At least two GIF-able moments: Look for the celebratory dance Rita Moreno does after a joke lands big time during her tribute to Lear’s One Day at a Time (“And with insight and humor, it dealt with topics like teen sex and sexual harassment — and look how far we have come”), and Anthony Anderson, who’s there to honor Lear’s The Jeffersons, dancing in the aisle and mouthing the words to LL COOL J’s “Mama Said Knock You Out” as it’s performed by Busta Rhymes. LL is the first hip hop artist to ever be a Kennedy Center honoree, and it’s not as awkward as you’d expect to see, say, Rob Reiner throwing up an “L” when asked to by Tariq “Black Thought” Trotter, who performs “It Gets No Rougher.” (And props again to Moreno, who appears to thoroughly enjoy Darryl “D.M.C.” McDaniels’s rendition of “Rock the Bells.”)

Emily Estefan performs “Reach” (Photo: Timothy Kuratek/CBS)

2. Some sweet family moments: No parents have looked prouder than Gloria and Emilio Estefan watching their daughter, Emily, perform Gloria’s inspirational hit “Reach.” That we see Lionel Richie and LL Cool J look genuinely thrilled for them is just one example of why this awards show is always the warmest of the year. Nicole Richie is also on hand to speak about her father, who she insists is this happy all the time. When he answers his phone, he doesn’t say “Hello,” she says, he screams, “Showtime!”

3. The most effective dance tribute in recent memory: the multiple numbers, including “Soul Bossa Nova” (with dancers Stella Abrera and Brandon Victor Dixon), “Wade in the Water” (with dancers Alicia Graf Mack, Linda Celeste Sims, and Matthew Rushing), and “Bill” (with Misty Copeland and Robert Fairchild) are all gorgeous, but it’s the simple choreography to “She’s Got the Whole World in Her Hands” that may convey a captivating dancer’s storytelling gift most clearly to viewers who’ve never heard of de Lavallade until now.

Leona Lewis performs during the Lionel Richie tribute (Photo: Timothy Kuratek/CBS)

4. Possible Obama withdrawal. If, like me, you enjoyed watching Barack and Michelle Obama sing along in the honorees’ box during his presidency, you will definitely wish they’d been there this year, from the first tribute, when Becky performs Estefan’s “Mi Tierra” with the Miami Sound Machine and the cast of the musical “On Your Feet!” stages a medley of her hits, to the last, when Leona Lewis caps off the Lionel Richie segment with “All Night Long.” The latter is the reason to watch through the credits: the rest of Lionel’s tribute acts — including Luke Bryan (who sings “Penny Lover” and “Sail On”) and the incomparable Stevie Wonder (“Easy”) — join her, and just like the audience at the Kennedy Center, you will be standing.

The 40th Annual Kennedy Center Honors air Dec. 26 at 9 p.m. on CBS.

Read more from Yahoo Entertainment:

Toast of 2017: Pearl Mackie on telling Bill Potts’s story in ‘Doctor Who’

Toast of 2017: Kyle MacLachlan shares the secrets of ‘Twin Peaks: The Return’

Toast of 2017: ’13 Reasons Why’ star Katherine Langford reflects on the teen drama’s big impact

Toast of 2017: ‘Master of None’ writer Lena Waithe looks back at her groundbreaking Emmy win

[obiwan824]

Friends with Benefits- Fedya Dolokhov x Reader

A/N: I can’t believe this is finished! This got me through my writer’s block, every time I was stuck on another piece I’d come to this one- if a scene seems out of place or written differently than the others, it’s because I wrote 3 scenes and one line before I wrote the actual thing. This has become my baby, and I’m kind of surprised it’s finished, so. This has a lot of adult themes and it’s the closest to NSFW I’ll ever get (next to the deleted smut we don’t speak of), so there are warnings and a read more. Enjoy! :) Also, this is kind of bad and hard to understand, so I’ll edit tomorrow

Warnings: Sex, cheating, long author’s notes because I like to put my thoughts into everything I do, affairs, lots of pining, kissing, making out, I’m doing these warnings without rereading the story but I think there might be descriptions of like right before sex, duels, shooting, death, naked people? I’ll update these when I have the strength to reread the whole thing in the morning. 

 He met her first at a ball. It was a soft, quiet evening, but the party was rambunctious. Off to the side, in a room where nobody could find her, the quiet girl, one so shy and secluded from the rest of the company that very few noticed when she slipped away, sat, simply reading a book and enjoying the silence that came with it.

Fedya Dolokhov was one of the few who noticed her disappearance. He had noticed her from the start- she was smart, no doubt, and so different from the other women. She didn’t vie for his attention, didn’t melt when he threw a glance her way.

And she was enchanting. Fedya had never seen someone who’s beauty captured him in such a way. So when she left, her quiet footsteps so soft and silent against the noise of the ball, he had to resist going after her.

And yet, here he was, outside the door of the study, simply studying her. He leaned against the doorway in a confident, cocky manner that screamed Fedya. Only a few minutes after he arrived, she looked up, a look of annoyance present on her face.

“How long will you be watching me, Fedya?”

A smirk came to his lips. He stood up straighter, crossing his arms, putting on a show for her- that was part of his act, he realized. Everything he did, it was so planned and stiff. He could hardly show her the real him- what would she think of it? “Fedya?”

Y/N never lowered her gaze. “I do not think formalities are in order, Fedya. Care to join me?”

God, each look- it was bewitching- he couldn’t resist her. He grinned. “Of course.” Dolokhov strode over to her in his cocky manner, as if he were showing off. She seemed unaffected, only looking back down at her novel. As he sat next to her, she finally let out a sound.

“You don’t have to pretend, you know.” Her voice was even quieter now that he was next to her. “You don’t have to act like you’re confident and smug all the time. Just be yourself. I don’t care.”

Fedya’s mouth dropped open, but he hid it with his hand. A small smile came to his face against his will. “You’re smart, you know that?” It sounded stupid now that he’d said it, he bit his lip in embarrassment.

“It’s a shame, isn’t it?” she replied, looking into his eyes. “Brilliance such as ours will never truly be appreciated.”

…

He saw her again a year later. Each moment apart from her burned like fire in his skin, he felt some sort of need to be near her. He amused himself with other women, but they weren’t the same. They were loud and longing for attention and none of them nearly as intelligent or beautiful as her.

Fedya spent much of his time away from Pierre’s home, whether it be for work or to spend time with Anatole. He’d found some sort of comfort in Helene- she was gorgeous in a different way, and she was clever. For now, that was enough.

He was home alone, then, counting down the minutes until Helene returned. Moving in with the woman he was having an affair with and her husband probably wasn’t the best idea, in hindsight, but he did enjoy the convenience of it.

When Fedya heard a knock on the door, he moved swiftly, assuming he was only moments away from finding solstice in Helene yet again. He grew flustered when he saw Y/N on his doorstep.

“Y/N!”

“Fedya.” She studied him for a moment, looked him up and down, and nodded. She took his hand, stepping into the house and closing the door behind her, and led him to his bedroom. She perched on his bed, setting him down next to her. “Fedya-”

“How did you find me?” he asked suddenly. “And why?”

“Fedya,” Y/N said again. He was growing nervous, and she knew it- and he knew why she had come, deep down. He had been told thousands of times. “Fedya, I’m married.”

He knew it, but he hadn’t wanted to believe it. He looked away. “Of course.”

“He hurts me, though.” she looked away, choking up a bit. “I don’t love him. And he doesn’t love me.”

Dolokhov looked at her in a new way- how could she be so calming and peaceful when she was so broken inside? “I’m sorry.” He felt something close to love for her, a certain affection and wanting he rarely felt with women.

“But-” she stopped and looked in his eyes. She let out a breath. “Fuck, Dolokhov, I need you- let’s do this, shall we?”

Fedya’s mouth fell open, his eyes widened, he, despite himself, blushed. “What?”

She placed a hand on his knee, her eyes never leaving his. “No attachments, no commitments, no love-” she bit her lip. “Absolutely no love. But you need this and I want this, so let’s do it- friends with benefits?”

“Friends with benefits,” he agreed, taking her hand off of his knee and shaking it playfully. She laughed a bit, a sound he treasured, and got up. She brushed herself off and walked out the door with one look over her shoulder.

“I’ll see you later.”

…

‘Later’ was only a week after the event. She didn’t bother to knock, only throwing open his door and confidently striding into the house. Hearing her footsteps, he wondered who could be home- Helene was staying with her brother for a few weeks, and Pierre was supposed to be out for a few more hours.

Fedya looked up just as Y/N entered the study. She threw off her coat, laying it carelessly on the ground, and strode over to him as if it were her own room. Dolokhov, knowing full well her intentions, considered moving out of Pierre’s study and into his bedroom, but watching her, he could hardly stop it now. He put down his novel, marking the page with a crude, rushed mark, and looked at her with interest.

“Are you ready?” her voice was lower than before, huskier and rougher. He nodded quickly, quickly dwindling down to putty in her hands, coming unraveled. He was at her mercy, now, and he knew it. With a last bout of strength, he leaned forward and pulled her towards him, setting her down on his lap with a sweet affection that was completely unknown to him.

Gently she leaned forward and pressed her lips to his. He held her tightly in his lap, struggling to breathe. Her lips moved against his in a careful, soft manner, she held back. The kiss was lacking passion and desperation, but they made up for it in need and affection. Her lips tasted like sugar or fruit or something good against his, and he drank it up, needing more of her. She tangled her fingers in his hair and he pressed his hands firmly against her back, keeping Y/N sturdy. She broke from him to breathe and leaned forward to whisper in his hair.

“I need you.”

Fedya didn’t need her to say it twice.

…

She wasn’t supposed to fall in love with him. This was an affair, a simple friends-with-benefits sort of arrangement. She couldn’t help but think to herself, then why did this feel so good?

The feeling of his soft lips pressed on her neck, the tiniest scratch of his beard against her smooth skin that made her giggle, the bit of pressure he put on her waist when he kissed her, holding her as if she were so fragile she needed protection, and the rough way he would desperately grip her hips when they were in bed, the sounds of his heavy breathing into her hair or the quiet moans he would let out every so often- it was all enchanting, and, god, it felt so, so good.

This was lust, was it not? The feeling of wanting someone against you, wanting someone to hold you, wanting someone to kiss you and worship you and adore you- the feeling of wanting Fedya to love you- was it not simply lust?

She had felt lust before, she thought to herself. She had seen men in the streets whom she had to take a second glance at, there had been men whom she had pulled inches from her lips by his collar, men whom she had whispered to, come with me, and men whom she had pressed her body against in a way that he fell under her spell instantly- this was lust. Fedya was more than that. She wanted him for more than just one night, she wanted to wake up with him beside her, for his arms to be wrapped safely around her, his face buried snugly into her shoulder, for the band on her finger to not belong to the man she came home to every night, but him- it was love.

But she didn’t have more than a night. This is what she had.

…

He had gone away for work, not planning to return for weeks. Time away from her was hardly what he wanted, leaving her with the bad man she was wed to- yet he moved on with the knowledge that he could see her again as soon as he came home.

As he rode in the troika, on his way home, his thoughts were consumed with her.

She didn’t realize how utterly enchanting she was. Each sway of her hips, each little smile, sent a blaze of fire into his heart. She had no idea how each brush of a hand against his arm or the tiniest touch of her lips against his skin intoxicated him. That was the beauty of Y/N, and he wished that she could see it more than anything.

He grew jumpy as they grew closer to Moscow. He bit his lip, chewing on it nervously, his leg bounced up and down, his fingers fidgeted with a bit of cloth on his shirt. His fingers traced the intricate beading, playing with spare strings, and for once, he let himself think of what could happen- if he only told her how much he loved her, if he were brave enough to admit it-

Fedya looked out the window, cleaning all thoughts of Y/N out of his mind. He couldn’t dwell on what could be for too long, or he might do something stupid.

…

He had only been home 2 weeks before he could no longer resist seeing her.

Each touch set him on fire, each look made her melt. They were stripped bare but there was something between them. They wanted to be closer, desperately needed to get rid of any barriers keeping them apart.

“We shouldn’t be doing this,” she breathed into his shoulder as he grasped at her hips, hoping for any sort of leverage.

“No, we shouldn’t,” Fedya agreed quietly, barely making out the words before a gasp fell from his lips. He adjusted his hands around her waist, pressed one sweet kiss to her neck, and she was gone.

“I need you,” she whispered, letting out the sweetest sound. That was all it took. In one movement, he broke the barrier.

…

She had her head on his bare chest, her hair messily splayed about. His fingers trailed through the strands absentmindedly and she drummed her fingers on his free hand, playing some sort of rhythm that he couldn’t follow. In a moment of bravery, he leaned over and pressed a gentle kiss to the top of her head. Y/N grew the tiniest bit flustered, a smile coming to her lips.

“I love you,” he wanted to say. He wanted to kiss her again, not a passionate, needy kiss, but a sweet, loving one. He stayed silent and still, watching her with a fond look as she began to play with the blanket.

“I should go,” she whispered, making no move to leave. His arm came around her waist, holding her in place.

“Don’t go.”

She smiled. “Okay.” And that was that.

…

It had been three years since he had met her, two years since the start of their affair, and neither of them were making any move to stop it. At least two times a week she’d sneak into Pierre’s home to meet him or they’d find themselves in a secluded spot, some places riskier than others, but all of them private.

“How much longer do we have to do this?” Fedya asked one night. It was quiet and dark and there was a sense of peace in the air- Y/N’s husband was away, and Pierre and Helene had gone to a party. They had at least a few more moments to lie together. “How much longer do we have to lie and deceive and act like we don’t care for each other?”

“Leave it,” Y/N said sharply, look away. He squeezed her hand.

“I’m sorry.” Fedya took her hand and pressed it to his lips, not quite in a kiss.

She leaned over and kissed his forehead. “I-” she bit her lip and looked down. “You know.”

Fedya smiled. “Yeah, I know.”

…

Fedya wondered how he would handle himself around her if others were watching. How he would react to the little loving glances she so often threw his way, the way she bit down on her bottom lip, knowing it drove him crazy, the little touches that could be mistaken for an accident or a sign of friendship, and some so light that others wouldn’t know at all.

She drove him crazy,  and he hated her for it. She had no idea what effect she had on him.

“Fedya.”

Her voice was so sweet, pure and innocent, the very sound of it ripping a hole through his heart when he thought of how that beautiful voice could never whisper a good morning to him in the early hours of the day, how those lips could never utter a compliment in public, how she would never tell him that she loved him.

Dolokhov turned around against his will, and there she was- beautiful, gorgeous, words could not describe the absolute beauty radiating from her very being. She played with a strand of hair, anxiety present in her eyes, and she shifted from side to side. Her eyes had lost that playful sparkle he had grown to love, the mischievous glint that was visible for only a second before she did unspeakable things to him.

Her eyes were dull, now, her beauty somewhat dimmed by the grim mood that had fallen over them.

“He’s here,” Dolokhov murmured, and looking into her eyes, he knew it was true. “Your husband.” His voice was rough and raw, it sounded as if he had not spoken in days. The words were bitter on his tongue, he had to choke them out. “Does he know?”

She looked away, unable to meet his eyes. “He knows.” The confirmation sent him over the edge. He wanted to yell at her, to ask her what on Earth had possessed her to tell the awful man, but, watching the tears fall down her cheeks, he stayed silent. He walked over to her, no longer caring about the consequences. He cupped her cheek gently, his touch so tender that she leaned into it, drinking up the attention almost greedily. Seeing the love in her eyes, he knew, for once he was certain, that she adored him almost as much as he worshiped her.

“I love you.” Although his voice was quiet, it was clear and confident, no longer tentative, no longer unsure or afraid. Because Dolokhov was not afraid, not anymore, to love.

Y/N bit her lip. It didn’t set him on fire, it didn’t make him want to take her home and take her- it made the tears fall from his eyes only faster. “I love you, Fedya. I so, so love you- and when he comes-”

He pulled her close against him, closing his eyes to keep the tears out of her vision. “He won’t come. Love, let’s not think about him- it’s over now, isn’t it?”

“Don’t say that,” Y/N pleaded, but she couldn’t get the words out. She let out a strangled cry, some sort of sob, and dropped to her knees, Dolokhov clutching at her to keep her up.

Fedya kept her close to him for a moment, wiping away her tears and fixing her hair, before pulling away. The door burst open, the familiar face of Y/N’s husband entering.  

“You’re the man my wife is having an affair with,” he said, his voice so gruff and rough even Dolokhov shuddered. He walked over to Y/N, putting his arm around her in a way that must have hurt her. She grimaced, quickly plastering on a fake look of neutrality to cover it.  “Tell me, Y/N, is he better than me?” He pushed her to the ground. She let out a soft cry, tears coming to her eyes instantly.

“Leave her alone.” Dolokhov surprised himself with how deep and sturdy his voice came out.

Y/N looked away, closing her eyes. “Leave him out of it. It was my idea. Fedya did nothing.”

She could barely look as her husband strode over to Fedya, grasping him by the collar. Dolokhov did nothing, letting the angry man do his work. He slapped Fedya across the face and pushed him to the floor, kicking him away with his boot. Fedya let out a quiet groan while Y/N sobbed.

“Leave him alone!” she repeated. Y/N’s husband kicked Fedya more times, pushing him against the wall and looking down into his eyes.

“I challenge you.”

Y/N screamed his name, but his eyes were cold and uncaring. Dolokhov looked into them nervously. He swallowed hard.

“I accept.”

“Fedya,” Y/N begged, but Dolokhov stood up and brushed himself off carefully. She silently begged him to stay, but he could only give her a look of pity before leaving the house.

…

“Stay safe.” she kept a few steps away, never daring to get as close as she’d like. “Please.”

He resisted the urge to lean forward and kiss her, just in case it was the last time. “I will.”

She watched from off to the side, staying by Anatole and Helene, her newfound friends. She couldn’t help but hope that her husband would be killed, but more than anything, she prayed Dolokhov would survive.

She watched as Fedya slowly prepared his gun, aimed, and, with one last look back at Y/N, fired.

…

“Good morning, beautiful.”

Y/N slowly woke up, shifting in his arms. She looked up in Dolokhov’s eyes, smiling when she saw them. “Morning.”

Fedya pressed a kiss to the top of her head, closed his eyes, and settled back down, tightening his grip around her waist. She smiled, snuggling into his chest.

Her husband had died, and while she would always feel guilty, she couldn’t help but love the state her life was in. Only a year since the duel and her marriage with Fedya, she no longer felt afraid or like she had to hide things. Instead, she only felt love and joy.

“I love you,” she said quietly. Each time one of them said it, they felt the freedom and sudden feeling of liberty. After so many years of being unable to see it, it felt liberating.

“I love you, too,” he said, just as softly. Then he smiled. “You know what, we don’t need to hide it anymore!” He sat up a bit and began to shout. “I love you! I love you! Y/N Y/L/N, every morsel of me adores you!”

Y/N smacked his chest lightly. “Fedya!” She settled back down on his chest. “Five more minutes of sleep?”

He laughed and held her close against him. “Five more minutes.”

[pretend-im-not-there]

The Best Night

Happy Boofday @drawbauchery! Here’s one of the fics I’ve been working on for a while.

For the names, I was already in too deep to change ‘em. It’s too late now. It’s done.

“You’ll be fine, Peridot. She said yes.”

You look at yourself in the bathroom mirror. You can’t really say you look your best, but a little cover up does a world of wonders to make you look less tired. Your blonde hair continues to refuse to be tamed, despite your best efforts, and a lock of your bangs keeps slipping back in front of your glasses.

You’ve traded out your bartending clothes for a bright teal blouse. Short sleeved, of course. It may be early spring, but it’s still spring. Besides, you always have your green hoodie to fight back the chills when you need it.

Just as well, you’ve traded out the black slacks you wear at the bar for a looser pair of jeans. As much as you like the slacks, they tended to feel a bit uncomfortable after a six hour shift. When it comes to your day job, you definitely need comfort over style.

Looking yourself over, you’d say you look… ready for work. You let out a sigh. Well, it’s not like your work would let you dress up for a date. Besides, weren’t dates supposed to be about getting to know the person you’re interested in?

Wow. You are never getting laid.

You smack your head into the counter. You decide you’re going to ignore what the voice in your head just said. You also ignore the fact that it sounded like Amethyst. In fact, you decide you’re going to go to the kitchen and see if you have time to cook some breakfast.

So you do, and looking at the wall clock, you see that you have some time till you have to catch the bus. Enough time to cook something but it’ll have to travel. You try to keep such in mind as you raid the fridge.

Hmm. Nope. Nope. Nope. Expired. Nope.

After a minute of searching you finally decide on a bacon egg and cheese bagel. As Blue Zircon always tells you, “Sometimes, you just need to make the basics move for you. And you can always use the bacon grease.”  Granted, this was usually punctuated by Blue slapping her girlfriend, Yellow Zircons, hand away from a skillet with a wooden spoon, but the advice is still good.

You close the fridge and are greeted by a pair of post-its written with the swirly script of your roommates. How did you not see those before? Either way, you take the notes along with you as you start cooking, reading them as you go.

Peridot,

I am writing to inform you that I will have business tonight that will keep me out of the house later than usual. While I know you aren’t one to cause trouble. I ask that you do nothing dangerous tonight when I’m not there to supervise. Make sure to lock up the house before you leave.

Be seeing you,

Pearl.

You roll your eyes as you pour the warm bacon grease with the rest you’ve collected so far. Pearl always worries too much about nothing. You guess you can understand, her being around kids all day, but come on. It’s not like you’re gonna burn the house down.

You move on with your cooking. You really do like to cook at home, it can even be kind of relaxing. It also helped that Zircon drilled a few good recipes into you when you were younger.

You look down at the other note and smile at the brevity of it. While it doesn’t say much, you understand what the writer is saying perfectly.

Same

-S

So it seems that both Pearl and Sapphire are going to be out for most of the night. A good thing to know, should anything happen. Not that you’re really planning on anything happening right now.

You finish your cooking and set the dishes into the sink. It’s not like Pearl will be giving you a hard time about it tonight. Not if you get home and take care of them before she finds out, that is.

You check the clock before leaving and smile as you lock the door behind you. Just enough time to walk to the bus stop as you eat your breakfast. As you step onto the bus, it feels like today is going as planned.

You watch the town roll by through the bus window and are reminded of the ride you took last night. It was… exhilarating riding on the back of Lapis’ motorcycle. You’re not even sure if you could describe how it felt.

Sure, it was scary at first. There aren’t any airbags or any safety measures besides the helmet on your head. What if the bike slid under you? What if there was an accident? It was only reasonable to be scared of what could happen.

But once she picked up speed, it was amazing. It was like you could feel the road passing underneath you. Not to mention the sight of the lights on cars passing behind you. Honestly, you were surprised you could even walk up your walkway from how your legs were feeling.

You’re pulled out of yesterday as your stop for work comes up. You hop off and start your walk to work. While the bus may not stop in front of the library, it doesn’t stop very far away so it’s a quick walk.

A car pulls into the parking lot as you make your way to the front door and it causes you to stop. You watch as it pulls into a parking spot and Amethyst hops out of the passenger side. She gives you a little wave that you return as she shouts out behind her, “See ya at six, Jasper!” With that, the car peels out of the lot, giving you only the slightest view of the driver as she speeds off.

As the woman walks up to you, you have to ask, “Why does she even drive you if she hates this place so much?”

Amethyst laughs as she bumps your arm with a fist. “Oh, she’s just being dramatic. So, how’s it going P-dot? I hear someone has plans for after work tonight.”

You sputter and blush. How did she find out? You try to sound calm, but your voice comes out way to loud as you ask, “Who told you?!”

She laughs harder. “Chill, Peri. Lapis told me she was going to ask you out yesterday. So, how’d it happen? C’mon, spill the details.”

You sigh out. Well, if she knows anyways. “Actually, I asked her to dinner tonight.”

You are sure that the sound that comes out of Amethysts mouth is only supposed to be heard by dogs. She throws an arm around your shoulders with a grin. “I knew you had it in ya, nerd. So, where are you gonna take her?”

You’re almost laughing at how hyped she is for you. “Well…” A realization stops you in your tracks. Your face falls as you go over things in your head.

You never thought of a place to bring her for dinner.

You asked her to dinner and you never thought of a place to bring her. Your brain starts to shut down at this as your mouth utters an incomprehensible string of letters. It isn’t long before you feel a smack upside your head.

“Settle down, Peri.” You rub the back of your head and look at her. She shakes her hand off before speaking again, “I’m sure you’ll figure something out. You do have the whole day, after all.”

You look down a bit. “Yeah, you’re right Amethyst. I can figure something out, right?” You look up to see her grinning at you.

“That’s the spirit, P. And after, I’m sure she wouldn’t mind working off the dinner at your place with you.” You swipe at her arm with a smile on your face. Really, Amethyst can just be incorrigible. Even so, she’s a good friend that you’re happy to walk arm in arm with as the two of you enter the library.

Yeah. You can handle this.

5:45 p.m.

You bang your head down against your desk before lifting it up and doing it again. Of course today would be the day you had to check most of the old newspaper films to make sure they were still usable. Of course you were kept busy by old film and one of the computers having multiple viruses on it. Because that’s just your luck, isn’t it. You’d put your money on your music cutting out next, just for that extra kick in the shins.

Luckily, your music didn’t cut out, but a tap on your head makes you pull your earbuds out and look up. Standing on the other side of the desk is Amethyst pushing the returns cart around. “That bad, huh?”

You nod. “I didn’t even have time to go grab lunch. Why did film day have to be today.”

Amethyst shrugs at you. “Hey, that’s what happens sometimes. So, you got any stray books that people left back here?”

You shake your head with a frown. It looks like you might have to reschedule the date so that you could actually plan something. You sigh and think what a loser you must seem like to have to reschedule your first date with Lapis.

You hear Amethyst sigh before a hand rests on the table in front of you. The lady across from you leans against the table, you assume looking down on you, though you can’t tell from where you’re looking. “Listen, Peridot. I think you’re thinking too hard on this.”

You lift your head up a bit to look her in the eye. “Really? Cuz last I checked, it’s about,” you check the clock on your phone, “ten minutes till we close and I don’t have a reservation to anywhere. Dinner will be coming, and I don’t have anywhere to take Lapis.”

Amethyst throws her arms out towards you. “See? This is where you’re thinking too hard on it.” You raise an eyebrow before she continues. “You don’t need a reservation. You just need something personal. Somewhere that you know.”

You open your mouth and then close it. Somewhere you know? You open your mouth again and the words come out this time. “But I don’t have-”

You bite down on the sentence. You do have somewhere to take her. Somewhere the two of you can be alone together.

“Wow.” You blink a few times before a grin comes over your face. “Thanks, Amethyst! That really helps!”

Amethyst gives you a smirk. “You owe me one, nerd. Now, I gotta get back to my rounds. Stray books aren’t gonna find themselves.”

You wave Amethyst off and jump up from your desk. Your job has mostly been done for the past half hour, so you shut down the desk computer and go in search of Lapis.

It’s easy to find her at the main librarian station, doing what closing work she can before times up. She looks so nice in her sweater and scarf, it’s hard to believe she has a rougher side to her. Honestly, it’s kinda sexy to see both sides of her.

You shake the thoughts from your head. Now is not the time.

You smile as you approach the blue haired woman. “Hey, Lapis?” She looks up and you get lost in her eyes. She smiles at you and a blush creeps over your face. How does she have this effect on you?

“Yes, Peridot?” Her voice is even, calm. It’s the exact opposite of you, who’s as nervous as a schoolgirl thinking about her first date.

You swallow down your nerves and keep going. “If possible, could you give me a ride home tonight?” That’s the way. Cool and casual.

“Of course, Peridot. I’ll give you a ride whenever you want.” You blush a little harder. You’re sure she didn’t mean it like that. You have to shake the thoughts out of your head again before you speak.

“Alright, I’ll see you after everything’s closed up.”

It doesn’t take long before the library is closed up, though you use all the time helping close it to think of dinner. You know where you’re going, now the problem is what you should have. You’re still rifling through ideas as you wave goodbye to Amethyst riding off with her roomie.

Lapis pipes up beside you, “So, ready for another wild ride?” You nod as she pulls a helmet out of her bikes side bag, though you’re not really feeling it. It’s almost time, and you still haven’t thought of what you’re going to make.

She obviously notices something’s off as she looks at you a bit more softly. “Hey, c’mon Peridot. The ride will just be like last night. There’s nothing to worry about.”

You almost laugh at that. She tilts her head a bit and raises an eyebrow, but you wave it off. “It’s nothing. I’m not worried about riding with you, just a bit nervous about tonight. It’s… been awhile since I’ve been on a date.”

You notice a bit of red creeping onto her cheeks as she hands you the helmet you used last time. Her soft smile cuts through the thought, though. “Yeah, it’s been some time for me too.”

Your heart beats a bit harder before she reels back, a smirk on her face and her hands on her hips. “Now, are you ready to head off?” You nod as you strap the helmet to your head.

Once again, she helps you onto the back of her bike and you’re soon off on the road. It was an interesting feeling, being behind Lapis on her bike. It was like all your worries fell away onto the road behind you. As she speeds up onto the highway, an idea finally hits you and you can’t help but smile.

It doesn’t take long before you’re pulling up in front of your home. You hop off the bike and take a step up the path but turn back to Lapis.

Here goes. “You wanna come inside?”

She smiles, flushing a little as she replies. “I would, but I gotta go get ready for our date.”

“Psh,” you wave it off. “Why go get ready when we can start it right now?” It’s taking all of your bartender training to keep from shaking as she gapes at you. “I did invite you for dinner, it’ll just take some time to make.”

You smile at her and she seems to pull together. “Would it be alright to pull my bike into the drive? I get worried if I leave it at the curb for too long.”

You nod your approval and go to unlock the door as she pulls into the driveway. You wait until she's standing with you before you open the door. You flip the lights on with a flourish, “Welcome to my abode.”

You take her jacket and hang it by the door as you heard her through the entrance. In the living room beyond, there's not much around other than a few photos and seats. You, Pearl, and Sapphire have a tendency to keep your personal items in your own spaces.

What it does have, however, is a small bar that looks into the kitchen. You motion to the stools set at the bar. “Go ahead and take a seat. I’ll get dinner started.”

She does so as you go into the kitchen and slip an apron on. You tie it on tight as she talks. “Will your roommates be fine with you cooking for just the two of us?”

”Pearl and Sapphire? They’ll be fine.” You pull a small pot out and set it on the stove. You go about pulling out ingredients as you keep talking, “They're out for most of the night, so it'd be their own fault if they wanted some.”

You hear a sputter but ignore it. Grabbing the last of what you need, you place all your supplies on the counter across from Lapis. You look over at her smirking face as she asks, “So, what did you have in mind for our date tonight?”

”Honestly? I’ve been playing it mostly by ear. I’m figuring we can just talk while I cook up some chili for us.”

”Chili?” She laughs. “Not exactly the most romantic dinner there, Peridot.”

You smirk and point a wooden spoon her way with a cock of your hip. “You just think that because you haven't had my chili.”

With a small “ooo” from Lapis, you start your cooking. You can tell she's interested in what you're doing, even without looking up from your cutting board. You can feel her eyes watching you. After a little bit she speaks up again, “So, where did you learn to cook?”

You smile a little at the old memories. “My friend, Blue Zircon taught me. It's kinda funny, actually. She refused to let me move away from her unless I let her teach me to cook.”

”Does she live far away?”

You shake your head. “That's what's funny. She lives three blocks away.” You both share a laugh at this as you start adding ingredients to the pot.

”Alright, your turn. Who taught you to ride a motorcycle?”

”Would you believe I learned on my own?” Your eyebrow raises as you look at her. “Yeah, I thought not. Truthfully? It was my dad that taught me. I practically begged him every day to teach me how to ride. When I was finally big enough to keep it up and steady, he started teaching me what I needed to know.”

You smile a little. “That sounds nice.”

”Yeah,” she sighs out. “It was.”

Your cooking continues with little blips of conversation in between the two of you. She would ask you some question and you’d tell her a little story. You would make a joke and she’ll laugh.

You only had one problem when she tried to stick a finger in the pot. You now understand Zircons reaction whenever her now wife tries to sneak a taste. Before her hand could get to the food, you smacked it away with your wooden spoon.

”Ow.” She pulls her hand away and rubs it. “I have sensitive hands, you know?”

”Than you should keep those sensitive hands out of my hot food.”

After that it was a short wait for the food to finish cooking. You take out a pair of bowls and ladle out some good portions of chili. You turn around and place one of the bowls on the counter in front of Lapis. “Dinner is served.”

”Psh,” she slaps your shoulder before taking the offered spoon. You try to hide your eagerness as she lifts a spoonful of your stew to her lips. “Hey, this is pretty good.”

You beam. “I told you it was good.”

Lapis smirks at you. “I never said it wouldn't be good. I said that it wasn't really romantic.”

You flush and take a spoonful of chili. You don't want to give her this one, but you can't think of something to come back with. As the spice hits your tongue, though, an idea starts to form. But can you do it? It's so forward, not to mention daring.

You gotta try.

”That's because it's not spicy enough for you. I know how to fix that though.”

She looks up at you with her head tilted to the side. You decide to go for it and lean forward. The space between you two disappears all too fast and you’re doing it.

You're kissing her.

It isn't anything big, just lip contact, but you feel like you're on fire. You pull away after a second or two and turn away in embarrassment. The silence between the two of you is only broken by an audible gulp.

It takes a while before the silence between you is broken again. You continue to be unable to look at her when you hear a chuckle. Confused, you turn to face Lapis when she breaks out laughing.

”Oh stars, that was terrible.” You are about to snap back but she continues. “‘Needs some more spice.’ Where did you hear that one?”

You decide to throw one out there. “Zircon.” This seems to make her laugh even harder. Even you're starting to giggle a little.

The rest of the meal was filled with little giggle fits. Occasionally, you’d sneak a glance at her lips, thinking about how they felt against yours. What felt like too soon, the evening came to an end.

You stand with Lapis in the entry,fiddling with your own fingers. She coughs into her hand, “Well, I should probably get going. I had a good time, Peridot.”

You smile. “I had a great time too. We should do it again soon.”

”Definitely.” She opens the door and you step out with her. “I’ll see you at work tomorrow.”

You stand there ready to wave her goodbye as she takes a step down the path. She stops, though. You’re about to ask what was wrong when she turns to face you again.

”Peridot?”

You are about to respond when she puts a hand on your cheek. You don't have time to think before she tilts your head back and kisses you. When what's happening hits you, it's already over.

”Goodnight.”

Your face feels like it's on fire as you watch her ride away. Your legs feel weak as you close the door behind you. You don't even hear it when Pearl scolds you for not washing the bowls you used later.

Tonight was the best.