#i feel like i might have forgotten someone and it’s driving me a little nuts

[catenary-chad]

Thrifting/antiquing/flea market shopping headcanons, continued. Ft. basically everyone else in the cast.

Other engines:

Greaseball buys a lot of used car/other machine parts, he gravitates towards overbuilt 50s equipment that’s easy to modify and repair so he goes to the used market a lot.  He’s relatively “typical” size and tends to have an easier time than many others finding used clothes. The Gang are his flying monkeys looking for stuff for him… to mixed results.

McCoy and Rusty collect old prewar/postwar era toy and model trains.  Whenever they see electric ones they get confused and call it a “trolley”, alien artifact, or “sci fi revisionist nonsense”.  

The Nationals are not opposed to doing a little shopping while abroad, it can be really fun to thrift/vintage shop overseas.  Caveat: there’s probably even funnier answers to this section based on what people actually like buying abroad irl but I don’t know enough about that so I’m going off vibes.  Very open to suggestions if you have fun more cultural ones.  

Ruhrgold gets excited by American amusement park and carnival stuff (merch, models, etc) because Germany has a strong culture of them that’s very different from the US so they’re a real novelty to him.

The British Engine likes miniatures.  Cartoonishly tiny versions of things because they are tiny by train standards due to the British loading gauge.  

The Japanese Engine LOVES the New York subway system and thinks New York is way cooler and more glamorous than it really is.  Buys all kinds of stuff related to the romantic ideal of the city and especially its trains.  Goes nuts for any kind of subway stuff they’ve seen in movies and associates with exciting foreign cities.  (This bit is based on actual sentiment among some Japanese railfans and 80s city pop) 

Coco/Bobo- god help me it’s hard to think of anything for these two, I just imagine them shaking their heads in disappointment.  I could see them being bafflingly excited by anything involving the Milwaukee Road since it was an early influence on early French rail electrification.  

Turnov will quietly get banned or hard to acquire music and media to smuggle home, probably skewing towards punk rock

Espresso and Electra are often into the same Italian designers but they are very different sizes and thus have a mutual truce. 

(Not doing the Wembley engines because I just don’t know enough about them and they don’t have strong real-life inspirations to draw from)

FREIGHT

Dustin knows what to look for in terms of used workwear and will point it out to the other freights (and other people in general).  Poor guy tends to leave disappointed since big and tall tends to be very hard to find used, but he loves to help others.  

Especially Flat-Top, who’s newer to it and doesn’t really know what to look for for his DIY projects.  If they find something good that just has some damage/needs repairs, he loves patching stuff up in typical punk fashion.  

The Rockies and Hip Hoppers follow Dustin around like a line of ducklings when he goes to mineral society shows.  You can get some great deals on Cool Rocks at them since a lot of the sellers are just rockhounds selling off their extras or selling deceased members’ collections off vs more commercial vendors.  Morbid side note: nothing makes you feel more impermanent than buying a dead guy’s Cool Rocks, knowing they have been here for millions of years and will outlive you by orders of magnitudes unless something truly catastrophic happens.

Rockies tend to look for lightly used sports equipment.  Hoppers go for the logomania brands Electra rejects and try to convince them that they’re actually cool. 

CB always goes for old radios and electronics of course, often teaming up with Electra to look for stuff to cannibalize for parts.  Evil Twink Caboose is into tinplate toys and often successfully convinces Rusty that they’re cool.  It’s always something that secretly has lead paint or sketchy ancient electronics though. Post 2018 Caboose likes novelty piggy banks and will hide evidence of his crimes inside things he sells/donates to rid himself of it.

Slick is excited by unusual plastics, especially collectible/rare stuff like Bakelite.  I think she would enjoy plastic dinos and old gas station merch.  

Porter hangs around Dustin and the Rockies/Hoppers at rock shows looking for coal and hand tools for rock collecting

Lumber views all wood in terms of burnability and everyone goes out of their way to keep him away from nice old furniture.  He WILL chuck that nice old hardwood in a fireplace even if it’s a bespoke artisan piece.  It’s been very hard to shake him from his ways.

Hydra likes airship and zeppelin related stuff.  Sketchy old chemistry sets that may or may not have actual uranium or instructions on how to make things explode too.

COMPONENTS

Volta is always looking for stuff to mod in her typical gothy DIY projects. She often comes out with a baffling assortment of clothes but somehow makes something cool from them.  Also drawn to VERY warm winterwear and will go on and on about what produces the best insulation.  And snowglobes.  I could see her being into snowglobes.

Joule always manages to find stuff with sketchy chemicals, asbestos, or other toxic things in them from back in the day when that was accepted.  She has to be lured away with cute ceramic animal figurines.  

Purse is always looking in pockets and compartments for money and money alone.  He’s probably the only one who’s actually a reseller and goes for items he knows he can flip for a lot.  If the cashier takes too long to calculate things he’ll often whip out a sheet of paper and do the math by hand at light speed. 

Krupp looks for more of the obscure/European tool and electronic brands that Greaseball doesn’t know and Electra is kind of sketchy on.  Also Kraftwerk media.  He will inspect any CD/record/etc looking for rarities.  Also excited by unusual hardware regardless of true usefulness.

Killerwatt pretends to know what Krupp is talking about and silently judges display cases based on security. 

MISC

The Marshalls are always on the lookout for skate and scooter parts

Control hates clothes shopping with their mom no matter where they go but can be bribed by the offer of getting a new toy train at the end

[like-rain-or-confetti]

Hi!!

I'm here again with another request :)

For the gotham villains hc: how would they be in a polyamorous (again :) srry but i'm obsessed), i mean how would they act? Something will change? Will they become more jealous? I hope its clear ':)

(Specifically the roman sionis x reader x joker bc its my favourite yk... *embarassed face*)

(Only if you are comfortable obv)

Thank you so much anyways, i LOVE your blog <333

Hello againnnn, you are very welcome ❤️ I'll be using the same examples as last time if that's okay? Please let me know if I've gotten something wrong with polyamory. I know very little details and this is just my interpretation of how the characters would manage it.

The Riddler: He really cannot handle you having feelings for someone else. Like his possessiveness, narcissism etc just won't allow it. It will definitely make him more competitive around Scarecrow and the mere sight of him makes Edward incredibly angry. He just can't shake the feeling Scarecrow is stealing you from him. That often sends him into spirals, was he just not enough for you? Did you not understand the genius he really is? He feels he has to prove himself and diminish your feelings to Jonathan as to which...Good luck with that Edward.

Scarecrow: Openly he doesn't show any upset. Whilst he might hold you at arms length somewhat, he simply can't give himself to you completely, worried that he'll lose you. Plus he knew what Edward was like. That kind of gave Jonathan pleasure. The knowledge that your feelings for both men would be ripping Edward apart from the inside. However, he tolerates your love for both men and if that makes you happy then so be it. Although he would only be able to handle that there is one other partner other than him. If you brought another into the situation then Jonathan would probably leave. Jonathan -as well as Edward- were neglected emotionally so naturally they do better with relationship that are monogamous and they have all the attention, not worrying that they give their all to someone, only for that person to leave or have favourites. Jonathan just won't do competition in that regard. He'll just leave.

Two-Face: Pretty okay with polyamory since there is technically two of him. So bringing Oswald into the picture didn't really bother him on that point. He just found Cobblepot annoying, personally. Like of all people it had to be him? Although deep down, both know that they can trust Oswald to keep you safe and happy. Just like he could count on Oswald to be a dick and act like he's better at him at everything and that Dent won't just kick him in the face one day.

Penguin: Personally finds it easier to run his business knowing you won't constantly be alone. After all, you have Two-Face too. Although sometimes it becomes like a weird custody battle. He'll phone Dent demanding to know you're alright and where you are. Or he'll decide to take time off so ditch Harvey and spend time with him. You have to remind the two at times that you also have a phone and they simply just have to phone or text if they're worried. Yes it did take pointing out the similarities to a bitter custody battle between who gets the kid on holidays and weekends for Oswald to tone it down. All three of you could admit that was a little weird of a dynamic to have. Yet sometimes he just couldn't help himself.

Black Mask: He knew what he was getting into when you two became official...BUT THE CLOWN? The most loving statement Roman could give the Joker is that sometimes he just wants to strangle him to death rather than slowly and brutally murder him. For Roman that's a big step! However all that goes out the window when you get upset or sadded because the Joker is off in his own little world and has, again, forgotten you exist. Over and over again, it's you chasing after him and Roman is tired for you. He's tried convincing you to leave the Joker. You haven't budged. It drives him nuts. Although there is a downside to this relationship with Roman. A deal he made with you showing he was really in it for himself. He allowed you to have relationships with others- the Joker- but in return he got to have his own fun. He claims to find it only fair. That surely if you could look elsewhere then so could he. It completely goes over his head that he's talking about hook ups, strippers and prostitutes. Whilst you're relationships we're actually consented to by all parties and long term. This wasn't the same thing as sleeping around. Yeah...need to work out some details but even if he fights you on it, he hasn't actually cheated on you. So his actions were very different from his words there. Plus his jealousy is through the roof any time you even

Joker: So he's the most chill of them all but the worst of them all. If he does love you, he certainly doesn't act like it most of the time as he seems to forget you every three minutes. It causes a lot of strain in the relationship between you two and often leaves you upset. Naturally you then run off to Roman and that puts heat between Roman and the Joker. Its honestly just a big mess. As for his view on sharing you with Roman, he doesn't care. He'll often make jokes about you liking the more rough types. Yes, including that way. Let's not sit and pretend the Joker has a filter. He's always happy to see you, he just forgets you exist with every move he makes. Does it help if I said he appreciates you?

[welllpthisishappening]

Emma Swan, Olympian is not a phrase Emma Swan, totally normal person, ever expected to hear.

But she never expected one night at a party hosted by her college's baseball team to change her entire life, either. So, it should really come as no surprise that Emma Swan, Olympian, is now something of international sensation. Or that her husband has become a bit of a social media star.

——— Rating: Teen with sports feelings Word Count: 7.5K AN: As promised and because of who I am as a person, I wrote Olympic fic. I can neither confirm nor deny that there is an actual plot here, but there is a surplus of fluff and sports-based feelings. So, that’s something. Thanks to the Detroit Lions, specifically, for posting this Tweet and to my husband who is very much aware of what content I want the internet to provide me. Operation: Make Killian a New York Yankee as often as possible continues.

|| Read on Ao3 if that’s your jam ||

———

No one told her the questions would start to blur together.

That would require media training, Emma imagines. And no one is giving a first-time Olympian in a sport that only a handful of people marginally believe warrants notice from the IOC any sort of media training. She got, like, an orientation packet. With a lopsided staple in the top left corner. On her commercial flight. That she booked herself.

Twenty-plus hours crammed into a seat that she’s only a little concerned did permanent damage to her right knee, with a meal that was so chewy Emma was about four seconds and one exasperated, entirely exhausted exhale from asking if it was, in fact, made of plastic.

Mostly, the staple is what’s still managing to frustrate her. As frustrated as she can be at the Olympics. No one is supposed to be frustrated at the Olympics. Not really. Not while experiencing the pinnacle of athletic achievement, the calluses on Emma’s fingertips some sort of badge of honor that she’s wearing with at least a modicum of national pride, and everything is fine.

Her qualifying time was absurd. Where absurd is a compliment and very close to a record she’s suddenly determined to shatter.

So, she’s alone.

Big deal. So is everyone else. This Olympics, at least. Plus, Killian wouldn’t have been able to come no matter what the state of the world was. Even so, the quiet stands are admittedly weird. All these empty arenas with empty seats, the distinct lack of a roaring crowd no more obvious than when the world’s best athletes step to the line. Staring at the climbing wall in front of her four hours earlier, Emma swore she could hear every single beat of her heart echo between her ears.

And that’s—well, solitude is par for the course with an adolescence like hers, half-filled suitcases and brand-new faces in brand-new towns, but she’d gotten used to one town, and the town is actually a city, and the city has long since felt like home, and her fingers reach for the rings dangling above her Team USA t-shirt. They did give her an absolute shit ton of t-shirts, so that was nice.

Except—

Something keeps tugging. Nagging at the back of Emma’s consciousness, almost like she’s forgotten her keys on that flea market table they found in Park Slope two weeks after they moved into the apartment. Because for as well-versed Emma may be in that singular sort of existence, she’s also well-removed from wanting it, and at least three of her knuckles crack. Curling around her rings.

Muscles in her cheeks stretch, another nod and quick blink to avoid the threat of blinding via camera flashes. Someone really should have told her about this. She probably should have assumed. Human interest is the driving force of at least three-quarters of the stories in sports, and Emma’s not used to being the story, per se, but even she has to admit most of hers makes for a good one and they are still asking her questions.

Emma blinks again. Hopes she doesn’t look like a serial killer or the weird blonde, slightly sweaty cousin of the Joker, her smile starting to feel as if it’s painted on her face. She nods. Hums. Listens to questions that are startling in their tonal similarity to Charlie Brown’s teacher, and Emma wonders if Charlie Brown ever got a different teacher or what the school structure of the Peanuts’ universe is and, God, how old was Charlie Brown, even? To withstand that sort of consistent bullying. Was Linus the same age as him? No, right? How long did he carry the blanket around? Was Linus the same age as Sally? Why didn’t the red-headed girl with curly hair get a name?

She nearly falls out of her chair.

That might make the front page of several blogs. Possibly even the back page of a New York tab.

Careful to keep her feet on the ground, Emma lifts her head, directing her eyes toward the source of a question that must have been asked several times if the note of amusement mixing with deadline-based exasperation is anything to go by. Her smile definitely makes her look like a serial killer.

“Sorry, sorry,” Emma mumbles, and none of the oxygen she does her best to inhales makes it even close to her lungs. “I, uh—what was the question?”

The reporter grimaces.

“I wanted to know if you’d seen the video of your husband yet.”

Ice runs down her spine. Every single drop of wholly disgusting sweat falling in rivulets down either one of her cheeks freezes. Oxygen disappears from the room. Or so Emma assumes, what with the crushing feeling pushing down on her lungs and whatnot.

Her mind whirs. Races through possibilities and pitfalls with a speed that would be impressive if Emma weren’t already so close to that record, and she is going to break that record. Somehow she manages not to fall, though. From her chair or the metaphorical climbing wall in her brain, ignoring the sudden dryness of her mouth and the increasing size of her tongue.

Her nails are going to leave little half-moon creases in her palm.

“I don’t—” she starts, and eventually she will wish she was more articulate. For what turns out to be a very nice story.

Standing up, the reporter’s seat creaks as she moves toward the desk they deposited Emma behind after even. Several Olympic officials move to block her, but Emma shakes her head again, and she’s not exactly high-priority on the list of defensible athletes, anyway. So, none of them flinch when the reporter slides a phone closer to Emma, her crazed thoughts briefly lingering on how many phones a reporter could possibly need, but then her eyes drop, and she’s not sure if her ears can actually perk, but Emma certainly tries because she hears him yelling before she sees him.

Her smile shifts.

And the cameras flash again.

It starts, as with most things in Emma’s collegiate life, because Anna demands it.

She’s only half-listening, so Emma can never be entirely sure what it was, exactly, she was agreeing to, but in her experience, the agreement doesn’t matter so much as the action, and her roommate’s younger sister is unstoppable when it comes to action. So, Emma is dimly aware of a plan. Something about the baseball house and that one left fielder is in a handful of her classes.

David—something.

He’s got a girlfriend, too. A nice one. Who always smells like sugar when she slides into the seat next to David whatever his last name is, sitting in the row in front of Emma during their Tuesday-Thursday statistics class.

Emma hates statistics.

She doesn’t hate Anna, though. Or her roommate, one of the better college-based surprises, and either Anna has magic or Elsa is an enormous pushover because somehow all three of them are ready at the same time, and the walk to the baseball house isn’t far.

First-year players guard the door — passing out color-coded wristbands that absolutely do not do their job because it takes about six seconds of well-meaning flirting and batted eyelashes between Anna and a mountain of muscle masquerading as the team’s starting catcher to get them inside. With purple wristbands and two tickets for jungle juice instead of the keg.

“Victory,” Anna cries, twisting through the crowd. Half of it is already teetering on the edge of drunk, the rest free-falling into the pit of imminent hangovers, and Emma isn’t sure she’d classify their drinks as a victory, but it’s definitely better than watered-down beer.

And it doesn’t take long, really. By Emma’s shaky count, it’s not even a half-hour before the muscle — who introduces himself as Kristoff, and really is pretty cute, actually — returns, standing unnaturally close to Anna’s left shoulder, furtive glances shared out of the corners of their eyes. Emma rolls hers. Elsa’s appear perpetually stuck to the ceiling. It looks oddly sticky up there.

“Go,” Elsa says, and it’s not an instruction. Barely counts as more than a whisper, really. Anna lights up all the same. Like an alcohol-fueled Christmas tree.

Who does not need telling more than once.

Hands reach and smiles widen, Kristoff mumbling something that sounds like it was nice to meet you before he’s following Anna back to the beer pong table, leaving Elsa and Emma standing in the middle of a sea of raging hormones. All of which want to be there way more than either one of them does.

“Well,” Elsa mutters, “that was polite.”

Emma snickers into her glass. A mostly empty glass. That’s surprising. “Got that going for him.” “Plus, his on-base is nuts this year.”

“Say that again.” “On-base percentage,” Elsa repeats, making sure to do it slowly for maximum sarcastic emphasis. Emma’s eyes are going to fall out. That won’t end well. There are too many shuffling feet in this room.

“What does that mean?” “How often he gets on base.” Opening her mouth does nothing. Closing it does even less. Elsa looks overjoyed. “I know things,” she shrugs, “and I’m pretty positive Anna and Kristoff have been not-so-secretly dating since the start of the semester, so—” “You stalked your sister’s secret boyfriend?” “Stalk’s a very dirty word, don’t you think? No, no, there was no stalking. There was light research. One Google search and a single click to the team’s roster, and now I know he’s from Minnesota, too.” “Awfully convenient for the romance of the century.” Humming, Elsa takes a larger-than-usual sip before scrunching her nose in displeasure. At her empty cup. Emma has no idea how they ended up with empty cups so quickly. Suddenly the baseball house feels a bit like a time warp. Enter and drink and find the love of your life. Or something like that.

“I got next,” Emma says, ignoring Elsa’s laugh because she is not the sort of person who says things like that. It’s this house. This place. With its music and its happiness, and she’s not really a sports person. Can only marginally understand the joy of watching other people accomplish something. She has no idea what on-base percentage is.

Still.

Her feet move. Fingers curl over the rim of red solo cups, like the most cliché version of her college self. Her drinks get refilled. And it’s just as Emma’s about to let herself wonder if, maybe, sports aren’t all that bad and might even possess a bit of inherent romanticism, she slams into something.

Someone, more like.

Taller than her, he has to peer down his nose to glare at Emma. That’s fair. They’re both far more damp than they were ten seconds before. Some of that moisture ensures that the hem of his shirt sticks to his stomach. A very flat stomach. That draws Emma’s eyes because she’s human and slightly intoxicated, and it takes quite a lot more than she’s willing to admit to lift her chin, but then she’s glad she does. Even with the understandable glare.

“Shit,” she breathes, “your eyes are stupid blue.”

He narrows them. She hates that. Which is about all it takes for her to get royally pissed off, too.

“Can you pay attention to where you’re walking?”

The stupidly blue eyes blink. Darken a shade, like all his frustration is centered directly around his pupils, and the shirt he’s wearing is team-branded. Another baseball player, then.

“You ran into me!” Oh, Oh. Well, that sucks. He’s got a good voice, too. Eyes and voice and the few strands of hair that fall toward those eyes when he continues to glare at Emma likely aren’t supposed to make her stomach flip.

It’s the alcohol’s fault.

Or sports. Like, in general.

“Because you take up so much space,” Emma snarls He leans forward. Looms, really. Over her and around her, smelling like punch and body wash. It’s gross and absolutely wonderful. “Gotta pick a lane, love. Either I ran into you, or I was in the way.”

“It can definitely be both and there is nothing resembling love here.”

“So I can see. You have a name, wrecking ball?” “My shoes are never going to unstick from this floor.” To his credit, he does waver. His lips twist — which makes it all too obvious how much Emma is staring at his lips, but, seriously, the alcohol. Plus, it’s so hot in this house she can barely think straight. She wonders where he buys his body wash. He smells better than he should in this house. So, it's clear he considers. Ponders, even. Until his hands dart out and those hands are somehow warmer than every person in this house combined, heat scorching through Emma’s t-shirt as he lifts her off the ground.

Only to deposit her approximately fourteen inches to her left.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” “Look,” he grins, “you’re unstuck.” “Bastard!” “Eh, not technically.” “What?” “Not technically a bastard. Orphan, I suppose. But that’s kind of a mood ruiner, don’t you think?”

Emma’s fish impression is really going great. The grin becomes a smirk. Her stomach refuses to stay still. “Is there a mood to ruin?” “Might be if you tell me your name.”

Emma wavers, that time. Considers and ponders. Weighs the pros and cons while laughter drifts past her ears, consummate collegiate experiences that she’s only ever let herself be passably jealous of. A dark-haired girl’s talking to Elsa in the opposite corner.

And the hand hanging in front of her wiggles its fingers.

It’s still ridiculously warm when she grabs it. “Emma Swan.” “Killian Jones.”

Anna’s secret relationship becomes a real relationship no less than sixteen hours following what Elsa begins to call the Drink Incident.

And they become—

Baseball people.

Becoming baseball people is not bad. Not really. Emma likes the baseball team. She understands what WHIP is, now. Kristoff adores Anna, so that’s good. David, who does, in fact, have a last name, continues to be as nice as assumed, and his girlfriend sort of quasi adopts Emma. Mary Margaret Blanchard brims with positivity and an innate sort of joy that would usually annoy Emma, but most of that joy also serves as a direct counter to the snark that Killian Jones appears flush with. So, it’s something of a wash, really.

Plus, he’s a very sore Monopoly loser.

And Emma finds it endlessly entertaining.

“Stop that,” he grunts, glaring at the board with the sort of force Emma’s become accustomed to in the last few months, while she taps on the space in front of her, “I know how many spots it is.” Emma smiles. “So move, then.” “I’ll be bankrupt.” “Capitalism does that.” “Tell me more about capitalism, Swan.”

She doesn’t startle, so there’s that. Not much else, though. Not when a noticeable bit of equally familiar heat skitters down her spine. Her head tilts. His head remains frustratingly still, staring at the board like the spaces will change or Mary Margaret will tear down some of her hotels on Marvin Gardens.

Neither thing happens.

The heat pools. At the small of her back, inching dangerously close to that space between her hips, like it’s trying to tether her to this spot and this moment and its people. Baseball people. People who so clearly care about everything so much that even the cynic in Emma can appreciate it. Plus, they’re all ridiculously competitive.

David had to take a walk when Mary Margaret bankrupt him earlier.

“That’s about the extent of my capitalism knowledge,” Emma admits with a shrug, “I sucked at economics.” Pulling his gaze away from the board, Emma’s less prepared for the force behind Killian’s eyes than she was for the appearance of a nickname that might not warrant the title. It’s just her name, after all. But it sounds like more than that. Sinks under her skin with alarming ease, the precise tone of it wrapping its way around a variety of internal organs until they’re all beating at the same tempo and— “Move my piece for me.”

Kristoff groans. Mary Margaret chuckles. Elsa looks far too sure of herself. Knows everything, indeed.

And it’s not really a command, but there’s that same sense of something that found its way into the sound of Emma’s name and Killian’s voice, and he catches her by surprise. On a variety of levels. His fingers jump the moment hers reach out, all heat and an alarming size difference, his brows lifting when she turns her head.

“You’re taking this game way too seriously, you know,” Emma says. What she doesn’t say is more important, though. Because they’re not friends, really. They’re—acquaintances. Some kind of appropriate metaphor regarding a planet’s many moons and the tendency of those moons to orbit something far bigger than them. But they like each other, too. As much as they dance and twist, do their best to avoid getting hit in the batter’s box, Emma’s more comfortable bantering with him than just about anyone she’s ever met, a challenge in every conversation, and she’s rather loath to realize she’s memorized the different ways the blue in his eyes flash.

Now it feels a bit like a spotlight.

“Matter of pride, Swan.” “Is it just?” If there are other people laying on their stomachs in that living room, half-empty glasses by their hands and equipment stacked in various corners, Emma forgets about them. Quickly. Immediately. Killian doesn’t move his fingers.

He nods.

And Mary Marget only kind of gloats when she bankrupts him.

She dances when she wins, though.

It’s embarrassing. It’s absolutely, goddamn wonderful.

Realizing that baseball is a game of statistics ruins kind of Emma’s day. It makes Killian laugh. Her favorite sort of laugh. Where he throws his head back, an arm around his middle, and his shoulders shaking. Those same strands of hair she noticed that first night fall back toward lidded eyes, the corners of his mouth lifting in an angle Emma is sure she could determine if she just didn’t hate math so much, and it takes about four seconds, her head tilting back and forth twice and one swipe of her tongue to lean forward on the couch they're sharing, tilt her head up and press her lips to his.

Press is a vast understatement.

Crash, more like.

A bases-clearing double into the left-field gap.

She knows so many baseball terms now, it’s ridiculous.

It’s because she keeps going to games. With Anna. Without Anna. With Elsa. Without Elsa. With Mary Margaret every single time. And it creeps on so slowly, she’s practically a Jane Austen heroine, but then Emma finds she cares as much as everyone else. Screams herself hoarse at every crack of the bat. Jumps and fist bumps with startling regularity. Experiences the flutter of butterflies in her flip-prone stomach before ninth-inning rallies.

She memorizes statistics. Killian’s statistics, especially.

Because the Draft is a week away, and the nerves rolling off him are even more potent than his body wash. Bought in bulk from a locally-owned company, she learns.

Killian hates capitalism, too.

Which is only part of the reason she likes him, but right now all of the reason is centered around how it feels as if the world is shifting on its axis and what, precisely, he is capable of with his tongue. Quite a lot if this first time at bat is anything to believe.

Emma laughs.

Joy bubbles from the very center of her, pushing at the seam of her lips, and it’s not much of a seam when her mouth is open to accommodate tongue, but it’s enough of a sound that Killian pulls back. No glare. Definitely eyebrow movement, though.

“That’s not the best confidence boost, you know.” “I’m straddling you,” Emma counters, nodding toward the knees on either side of his, and she has no idea when her fingers found his hair. It’s very soft.

“How did that happen?” “What was that about confidence?”

Dropping his head, she gets a different sort of laugh, one that’s just as potent in its ability to settle into her bloodstream and the empty spaces around her heart, and sports have turned her into a sap. “I like you a lot,” Killian murmurs. Emma’s heart explodes. Metaphorically speaking.

“Good.” “Expand on that, for me.” She pinches his side, almost prepared for the way it leaves him bucking beneath her. Less prepared for the mutual groan it causes. Killian’s eyes widen. “I like you a lot,” Emma repeats, and his arms tighten, and her heart knits itself back together, and the second time through the kissing order is even better.

It starts, as with most things in Emma’s nearly-adult life, because Anna demands it.

“I just think it’ll be fun,” Anna says, not for the first time. And, not for the first time, she ignores the pointed look Emma and Elsa exchange. Elsa’s lips have all but disappeared behind her teeth “Think about it,” Anna continues, “we need something to do before the game, anyway. This way we’re—you know, staying active.” Emma’s eyebrows jump. Fly. Soar into her hairline where the level of her disbelief sits, all too aware of the ring hanging around her neck.

A Draft Day gift. As much as a family heirloom can be a gift. But Killian claimed it was good luck, his brother’s ring, because turns out that snark is at least a partial product of a wholly depressing childhood, and Emma supposes there’s something to be said for common ground. Understanding, too. Stories shared over weeks that turned to months that turned to years and seasons in the minors, and it absolutely figures Killian’s Major League debut is happening in Cincinnati. Where Kristoff plays.

It’s ridiculous how in love with him she is.

Killian. Not Kristoff.

Anna is still talking. “There’s nothing else to do in Cincinnati,” she reasons, which seems unfair to the city itself but not entirely untrue, and even the concept of chili on spaghetti grosses Emma out. “Also,” Anna adds, sounding as if she’s reached the final bullet point on her list of possible arguments, “I’ve got a Groupon deal for this place.”

Elsa blinks. “I didn’t realize Groupon was even still a thing.” “Surprise!”

Emma’s laugh isn’t entirely honest, but her sigh of acceptance is and—

Turns out she’s pretty good at it.

Goddamn fantastic, actually.

At rock climbing. Indoor rock climbing. Her feet push her up the wall with ease, the steady ache in her arms welcome and wonderful and a slew of other alliterative adjectives. That leave Killian grinning like a maniac, but it’s been a weird and equally wonderful day, without a hit, but two walks, so that ups the on-base, and Emma’s really, seriously in love with him.

“I don’t know what it was,” she says, preening just a bit under Killian’s stare. Hotel lighting casts shadows on his cheeks, slumped as he is against every pillow they could find. Even the ones in the closet. He’s not supposed to be in here for much longer, both of them aware of the team-ordained curfew hanging over them, but the pre-game nerves are long gone. Replaced instead with exhilaration and endorphins, the kind that could win Elle Woods a headline-making case. “But,” Emma continues, “I just kept moving, and the guy said it was, like, a course record. Is course the right word, you think?” Killian lifts a shoulder. Even as it’s covered in ice and tape. The play he made at third is going to show on loop. On TV. In Emma’s memory. She’s never yelled that loud before.

People took pictures.

And then she cried. Like a giant sap.

“This is your show, Swan,” Killian chuckles, pride infusing the words. As if she’s the one who deserves the pride today. It’s entirely possible she cried for multiple minutes after that play. They definitely showed that on the YES Network. Mary Margaret texted her no less than forty-seven times.

“I was really fast.” Killian hums, fingers fluttering enough to make it clear he wants her closer. Emma doesn’t argue. They’re a mess of limbs and mouths and that tongue thing they’ve collectively gotten better at giving and receiving over the years, hands that warm with the sort of confidence borne of repetition. Some joke about BP and finding your swing.

“Plus,” he says, a soft laugh at Emma’s noise of displeasure when talking means far less kissing, “becoming a rock climbing savant means more upper-body work, and you know how I love your arms.” Guffawing the way Emma does is not particularly romantic. Doesn’t matter. The sound comes, and the joy remains, a steady stream pumping through all her extremities and clouding her thoughts. In the best way possible. Before Killian, Emma didn’t know this could be that. Fun and easy, not quite simple, but something she’s willing to work for. Athletes are notoriously determined, after all.

Part of her wonders if a proclivity to rock climbing makes her an athlete, too.

“Please,” she says, laughter clinging to the letters even as she finds herself moved directly over Killian’s outstretched legs, “provide, in detail, everything you enjoy about my arms.” “I didn’t say enjoy.” “Were you misquoted, Jones?” His eyes flash. Glow, honestly. At her and because of her and athletes also know how to work their opponents. Goad them into making mistakes. Something about a pitcher’s duel and a battle in the box. Where the box is this bed. And Emma’s winning.

“I love your arms,” Killian says. Dragging his mouth against the column of her throat leaves goosebumps on Emma’s skin. Her back arches. His hand flattens. The compliments continue. Turn into promises. Guarantees. Of a future that’s spread out at their feet now, if only they reach for it.

Turns out Emma’s pretty good at reaching for things. When she wants them.

“This isn’t, like, free-scale, though, is it?”

Her heart cannot be expected to handle much more of this.

“Don’t worry,” Emma says, “all proper safety precautions were taken. Plus, I wouldn’t fall off the wall.”

Killian’s expression shutters. Not in any of that frustration Emma so clearly understood when his shirt was damp, and her shoes were unsalvagable despite his best efforts to get the school’s equipment manager to dry-clean them. No, it’s—it’s something big and important and unspoken, and Emma pulls his hand up. To rest directly over the rink that’s still tucked beneath her t-shirt.

His t-shirt.

It’s got his last number on it, at least.

“Would you catch me if I fell off the wall?” He doesn’t answer at first. Doesn’t mention the absurdity of a question that does not make sense, but those literal and metaphorical clock hands are ticking, and if they don’t replace his ice soon, they’re going to destroy these sheets. “Every single time, Swan.” “Right back at you.”

Killian doesn’t miss curfew, but it’s pretty close.

And Emma wakes up to twelve texts with links for indoor rock climbing gyms in the greater New York City area.

“Holy shit, this is hard.”

Grunting more than laughing, Emma’s fingers curl around the rock in front of her. Chalk cakes itself on the pads of those fingers, stuck beneath her nails and, somehow, the bend of her elbow. “Are you not an All-Star?” she asks, glancing at Killian.

“I do not see how that factors into this at all.”

“Huh, weird.” “Suspiciously sounds like an accusation.” “Weird,” Emma repeats. They’re halfway up a wall only one of them is really supposed to be on, but the other person several feet below them is faring far worse than the pair of them combined, so, that takes precedence in her mind. “He knows a lot more curse words than I realized.” “He’s showing off,” Killian grumbles, forehead resting against the wall.

Will Scarlet hasn’t moved in five minutes. Possibly six. Maybe a round ten. He's much better at second base.

“I cannot feel my arms,” he calls, and Emma’s laugh is better that time. Purer, somehow. As if happiness can actually have a sound. Even happiness that comes with sweat on her temple and a noticeable ache in her triceps and she sort of loves this.

Sort of is a vast understatement.

“Showing off, huh?” Emma asks. She finds her next footfall with ease, happiness blooming into confidence that’s become nearly consistent these days and weeks and years. It does not take her long to feel the stare that’s lingering on her. On her ass, specifically.

She glances over her shoulder. To find her fiancé smiling at her. And staring at her ass.

“Can I help you, love?” “Whatcha doing?” “Ogling you, obviously.” “Forearms feeling good?” He nods. Sort of. There’s a distinct slope to the back of his neck and more sweat on his brown than Emma’s. Not as much as Scarlet’s, probably. “Fantastic,” Killian drawls, “keep going, Swan, someone’s got to show us how to do it.” “Try not to fall off the wall, huh? Last thing we need is the might of the Yankees front office coming after us.” “I don’t think I can move my hands,” Will shouts. Killian doesn’t move. It’s impressive forearm strength. Blushing on the wall is not usually how Emma’s days go.

“I’ll see what I can do,” Killian promises, and Emma moves. He follows her. Up the wall and to the top, a quick brush of his lips against her shoulder that leaves Scarlet cursing even more, despite his presence on the floor, but then there’s lemon-flavored water and exceptionally soft towels and Emma’s caught a bit off guard by the question.

“Are there leagues for this?” Will asks. “Because you should probably be winning things for this.” Emma blinks. Considers. Wonders. Turns to Killian.

He’s still smiling. Broadly, in fact.

“We could look.” They do. They fill out paperwork. Buy fancy climbing shoes that Emma claims cost too much, but Killian’s a pushover and even more stubborn and she wins the first race she signs up for.

Plus, ten more after that.

Emma climbs indoor rock walls. Killian hits home runs. Occasionally they do these things simultaneously, and it usually leads to her nearly falling off the wall because everyone in her Tribeca gym knows what it means when WFAN is playing on the speakers.

Sometimes they shout out John Sterling’s home run call with him.

She gets better. He gets better.

They do end up destroying sheets in various hotels across the country. For various reasons. Not all of them post-game or ice related. There are games and events. Wins and losses. Back page spreads that Emma frames and hangs on their apartment walls, right next to other, smaller frames, with the same smiling faces who, once upon a time, called a sticky-floored baseball house home, and Killian’s fingers are warm in hers when the tears prick her eyes at Anna and Kristoff’s wedding.

There are stories. Think pieces and hot takes on a variety of drive-time radio shows. Those are all about Killian, though. He’s the athlete. The true one, some stories say. It’s impressive what Emma does, they admit, but it’s a hobby, and she’s got a grown-up career, anyway. So, she’s got more climbing records than she knew ever existed, but she’s not doing it for press, and both Mary Margaret and Anna weep at her and Killian’s wedding.

She wears her ring on a chain next to her other one when she climbs.

Every time Killian notices them hanging there, Emma swears, his eyes brighten. It’s her favorite thing in the whole, goddamn world.

“What is this?” He doesn’t answer. Just holds the sheet of paper he must have printed out in the clubhouse because they certainly don’t have a printer at home, and one of the edges is bent. Like he had to fit it in his back pocket.

“Going the stoic route, huh?” Emma quips, but there’s a noticeable hitch in her pulse. One that’s been there for weeks. Since the rumblings started, and the rumors began, whispers of possibility, and first-ever has a very nice ring to it. One side of Killian’s mouth tugs up. “Oh, that’s not fair.” “I’d like the record to show, that the only reason I didn’t know immediately was because I was in the trainer’s room, so—” “What were you in the trainer’s room for?” Killian ignores her. Well, sort of. His eyes shift, and his gaze holds, and Emma knows. Right down in the marrow of her. What the paper is and how Scarlet is the one who printed it out, but she’s even more confident Killian carried it home, and that does something funny to her entire worldview. Widens it and minimizes it at the same time, focusing on this and them and the possibility that creates.

In an athletic sort of way.

“My shoulder’s kind of sore.” Emma scoffs. “Oh, that’s pointed.” “I’m sure your shoulders are fine. Golden, even.’ “This is not your best work, you know that?” “Look at the paper.” “Did you fold it yourself?” “And then took a car back home. You really didn’t see yet?” Emma shakes her head. He knows the answer, too. He’s the one with the Google alert, after all. Because she’s still a bit of a pessimist at heart and an adult with a real job, and this is too much and abjectly terrifying, and the last thing she expects is for Killian to crouch in front of her.

One of his knees cracks.

“Don’t,” he warns, even as Emma does her best to swallow her laugh. Warm hands land on her thighs, a quiet steadiness that helps the state of her pulse and makes the possibility of the unknown a little less overwhelming. The lines crossing the center of the paper are absurdly straight. “You’re going to go.” “Oh, that sounded like a decree.” “A suggestion.” “A strong one.” “Mmhm, with the utmost confidence.” Emma makes an impressive sound. “Who’s doing your media training? What an impressive vocabulary you’ve got on you.” “Ready and willing to use it in a persuasive manner.” “Keep talking like that, and you won’t have to.” The smirk disappears. Evolves into a grin that is only Emma’s and only appears in moments like this, support clinging to air molecules and the ends of hair that constantly seems determined to fall into Killian’s eyes. “Passed, huh? All cool with the IOC.” “Decidedly cool. Officially an Olympic sport, now. Although the name could use some work. Sport climbing lacks a little oomph, don’t you think?”

“What would you call it?” “Emma Swan wins Olympic gold.” “Kinda wordy.” “Prophetic,” Killian corrects, hands shifting and pulling, and Emma has to widen her legs. His head’s at a very good kissing angle. “You’ve already got the qualifying numbers.” “You looked at the qualifying numbers?” “Don’t insult me like that. What do you think I did in the backseat?” “Planned the entire 2020 Olympics, apparently.” “Not the entire Olympics,” Killian counters, "just the part involving you. And maybe my individual expectations regarding the United States baseball team, but that’s another conversation altogether.”

“Naturally.”

“You’re using that voice.”

Widening her eyes does nothing. Emma didn’t expect it to. Not after years and games and events because rock climbing has events, and one time Mary Margaret made her a sign. Killian held it. He’s taller, that’s why.

“Don’t,” Killian repeats, “this is happening.” “Yuh-huh?” “You heard me. It’s your turn, now.” Melting is an impossibility. Like, for a human. Even so. Emma feels like she’s melting. Some of that pessimism evaporating under the warmth of Killian’s gaze and his hands and the determination in the precise angle of his chin. Same one he uses when he steps into the box with runners in scoring position.

Lumping herself into that group isn’t as insulting as Emma once believed it would be.

“God,” Emma groans, “that’s romantic.” “You’re really selling it, love.”

“This is supposed to be a hobby.” “One you’re exceedingly good it. World record good at it.” “I like you.” “That’s my end game, yeah.” She laughs. Smiles. Continues melting. Which is easier once they get rid of their clothing, and their bed is way more comfortable than any hotel they’ve encountered. And she falls asleep with Killian’s lips against her ear, Emma Swan, Olympic gold medalist whispered on loop like it’s a mantra he’s been practicing.

They postpone the Olympics.

It sucks. Everything sucks. Baseball sucks. Gyms are closed. Emma gets creative, and Killian gets research-prone. They build a makeshift wall. She tosses him BP.

People write stories about it.

It doesn’t help.

Until—

Time passes. Some things change. Others don’t. Their wall stands up to the elements of their building’s courtyard, and Killian’s hitting better than ever this season, a victory Emma’s going to claim as at least partially hers. And then the Olympics are back, and it’s qualifying and racing and a record that’s just out of reach, but she’s good enough even without it, and, this time, she’s the one packing a suitcase.

He kisses her.

Does the tongue thing.

Holds onto her like he’s only a little afraid she’s going to fall off the wall, but now the wall is international competition, and Emma’s freaking out a little.

“I love you,” she says into the crook of his neck.

His arms tighten. “I love you too.” “Gold medal?” “Gold medal.” “Hit some home runs while I’m gone, huh?” Lips graze her temple. Her forehead. The bridge of her nose. Emma might be crying, and Mary Margaret’s definitely recording, a small mob of red white, and blue surrounding them. “I’ll see what I can do,” Killian promises.

“Good.”

He hits three before her first qualifying round. So, Emma takes that as a challenge. She’s an athlete now.

It’s why, she figures, her fingers don’t slip on her first run.

Her feet are sure. Her breathing is steady. There’s no one cheering her name, but she’s long since memorized the exact way Killian’s voice lifts above a crowd. How he pushes up on his toes to watch, as if standing up taller makes sure he’s closer to her. Should she need him when she falls off the wall. Only, Emma doesn’t fall, and she’s got no intention of ever falling and—

Her laugh shudders out of her in a watery sort of way that makes the journalist still standing in front of her flinch ever so slightly. Twitter makes sure the video starts playing again as soon as it finishes, which is somehow the best and worst thing that has ever happened to her. Best because, well, Emma’s honestly not sure she’s ever seen her husband like this.

Worst because she’s very nearly goddamn crying. Again.

Bobbing on the balls of his feet in front of his locker, whoever’s recording the video — it’s Scarlet, obviously — is practically frenzied behind the camera, barely able to contain their laughter. Killian doesn’t notice. He’s holding his own phone, all five of his free fingers firmly entrenched in the back of his hair. It’s gotten softer with age, Emma thinks.

She can’t stop watching him.

Every inhale is a clear struggle, the bobbing turning into pacing and quiet mumbling she can hear perfectly. As if she’s standing right in front of him.

Or at least slightly to the side. So as not to stand on the logo in the middle of the clubhouse.

Athletes are notoriously superstitious, too.

“C’mon, c’mon, c’mon,” Killian chants, another noticeable snicker from Scarlet, “right there, right there, and pull, pull—Swan, pull up!”

“I did pull up there,” Emma mumbles. To the reporter, maybe. Or the world. Possibly her husband. Who was definitely more nervous about the first run than her.

God, that’s romantic.

Killian’s still talking. Shouting, more like. It’s a miracle Scarlet hasn’t fallen over yet.

“Faster, faster, you can go faster than that, Swan—” Emma clicks her tongue. “That’s kind of insulting.”

There’s an appropriate titter of laughter from the peanut gallery, which is a joke she was not trying to make, but she’s also dangerously close to swooning in the middle of press and she should have asked the Yankees for media training. Someone would have made sure she didn’t make a total ass of herself.

“Show me the time,” Killian yells, another demand that isn’t that. It’s too wobbly a string of words to hold any real power, just the supportive sort of desperation Emma’s felt in a variety of ninth innings and series-clinching moments. “Faster! Faster!” “Talking to the time or the judges or your wife?” Scarlet asks.

Killian nearly snarls.

Emma blinks. Hyperactively. Crying is not usually her shtick. More camera flashes...flash, Emma barely noticing them with her eyes glued to a phone screen that isn’t hers because she at least knows not to bring her phone to a press conference, and she can only imagine how many text messages she’s gotten.

Even on the other side of the world.

They post the times.

She knows because Killian gets some rather impressive height on his celebratory vertical. Fingers abandoning his hair, his fist pumps the air, and Scarlet’s not laughing so much as he’s whooping, a steady stream of yeah, yeah, yeah in the background. And for about half a breath, Emma’s worried Killian may turn one of his ankles on his landing, but he’d think that was insulting, and she’s really just full-on swooning now.

“How many people have seen this?’ she asks the reporter, already knowing the answer.

The reporter smiles anyway. Emma should learn her name.

“Pretty much the whole world.” When Emma was a kid — the sort of kid who believed alone was better, and there was strength in singularity, that would have terrified her. Bowled her over, really. Left her running without looking back, desperate to shed any sort of notoriety because notoriety meant attention, and attention meant inevitable disappointment.

Maybe that’s why she was never much of a sports person.

Sports disappoint you. They build you up and let you down, a sharp and sudden fall without a safety net. But sometimes. Sometimes, every so often, something wonderful happens. Sports lift you. Right up an indoor wall. Because, she knows, sports’ power comes from belief, from surrendering yourself to something bigger and better, and she’s back on that alliterative kick, but the tears are barely clinging to her eyelashes now and Emma herself is bigger and better, now.

In an international, decidedly romantic sort of way.

The video’s playing away.

“Let’s go,” Killian cries, and there it is. Her sound and their sound, cheering across an ocean and time zones that are still kind of messing with her sleep schedule.

Emma’s smile stretches.

“Let’s go,” she repeats.

It ends, as with most things in Emma’s gold-medal-winning life, because Anna plans it.

Stepping out of the terminal, it takes less than a full breath for the cheers to start. For the banners to lift and the tears to flow, a small platoon of support covered in the sort of patriotic gear they definitely got from the Old Navy in Herald Square.

Flashes burst behind Emma’s eyelids because she’s got to blink or she’ll definitely fall over. Her legs wobble beneath her, contending against a wave of triumph and jubilation, which is sort of the same word, but they’ve got a game at the Stadium tonight, so she doesn’t expect, she just hopes and reaches, and he has to twist around both Anna and Mary Margaret.

It’s wonderfully cyclical.

As is the way Emma slams herself against him. On purpose, this time. Killian’s arms tighten, more cheers and shouts, and people a few feet away start chanting USA over and over. Emma barely hears them. Her feet aren’t touching the ground, so she’s kind of preoccupied.

They’re all arms and mouths, and her legs wrapped securely around a body that probably shouldn’t be supporting hers when she knows he slid into second two nights ago, but Killian clearly has no intention of letting her down, and the medal around her neck bumps against her rings.

“You’re a very good cheerleader; you know that?” He hisses. In what, Emma can’t imagine. Embarrassment, if the red tips of his ears are anything to go by, and she’s got ideas as to why that is and how long the conversation about social media with Scarlet went, so Emma does the only reasonable thing.

She slams her lips against her home-run hitting husband’s, doing her best to make sure the gold medal doesn’t mistakenly impale either one of them, and the world tilts again. With victory and sports-based support and the sort of love that comes from believing in something bigger.

And better than Emma could have ever imagined.

“I didn’t want to steal your thunder.”

“Please,” Emma scoffs, “don’t insult me like that. Plus, I’m claiming every one of those home runs as my own, so comparatively—” He kisses her before she can say anything else.

That’s for the best, probably.

“Your arms looked ridiculously good the whole time.”

Her laugh doesn’t even sound like her when Emma hears it played back — another video that someone tells her goes viral, only she doesn’t care about hits or site traffic, just about the particular shade of blue in Killian’s eyes, and she wears her medal to the game that night.

Because they’re a sports power couple, now.

Or so the New York Post back page claims the next day.

Emma frames it.

[pitch-pearl-void]

12 Days of Pitch Pearl, 2

decorating, presents, jealousy, sharing

Starr made a delicate little cough. When Phantom failed to look away from the barista draping garland over the counter, she leaned forward and whispered "Ghost Boy?" into his ear.

Phantom looked away from Danny and met her gaze. The green eyes of the town hero turned Starr's insides into butterflies, his attention making her feel light-headed. "Yes?"

Starr smiled and ducked her chin a little, peering at Phantom from beneath her lashes. She twirled a lock of blonde hair around her finger. "May I kiss you?"

Instead of blushing or smiling or even shaking his head in a gentle no, Phantom frowned at her, confused. It wasn't a reaction she had expected, let alone what she had hoped for. 

"You're the sixth person to ask me that," he said. It almost sounded like he was complaining. 

Danny snorted and muffled a cough/laugh behind his hand. 

Phantom's attention snapped back to the employee so fast Starr jumped. "What did you do?" he demanded.

Danny grinned at Phantom. "Me? I haven't done anything." He adjusted the garland on the counter, making it more visible on the customer side of the counter. "I'm only putting up Christmas decorations like Mr. Lancer told me to. I don't want to get in trouble again so soon after you jumped the counter and broke our glass mugs."

"That was your fault and you know it!"

"I didn't tell you to jump the counter!"

"No, you just wouldn't stop talking about the Box Ghost knocking me into the lake!"

Danny snickered. "On national television. Oh my god, dude. How have you not died a second time out of shame?"

"Um," Starr interrupted pointedly, trying to regain Phantom's attention. "It's because you're under mistletoe, Ghost Boy."

Phantom pulled the garland out of alignment, ignoring Danny's cry of dismay. "Spite."

Phantom blinked at her. "Missile what?"

Danny snorted again.

Phantom glared at him. 

Starr touched his arm, pulling Phantom's attention back to her. "It's a human tradition," she explained, her fingers lingering on Phantom's bicep. "When someone is under mistletoe, it's tradition to kiss them..."

As she had hoped from the beginning, Phantom's cheeks gained a green hue as she stared into his eyes. A die hard fan, Starr knew it was the ghost boy's version of a blush, and she smiled sweetly at him. 

Danny ruined things. Again. 

"It can be on the lips, but most people go for the cheek," he explained. He wasn't even looking at them, he was adjusting his stupid garland again. "That's why that old lady kissed your cheek earlier. It's what you do for strangers."

"Oh." Phantom blew out a sigh, his blush receding. "That's alright then. That was kind of sweet." He smiled somewhat goofily. "She said I was an excellent hero, Fenton."

"I heard."

"An excellent hero. And then she kissed my cheek and said Merry Christmas." He seemed ridiculously excited about some old lady's good opinion of him, almost floating out of his seat on the bar stool. Danny smiled at Phantom, his eyes softening for just a moment as his gaze lingered, but Phantom missed it, already having turned back to Starr. Starr wasn't about to point it out to him. "You can kiss my cheek, I guess. Since it's one of your traditions."

Starr's lips wobbled, wanting to pout. If Danny hadn't opened his dumb mouth...

But...kissing Phantom was still a dream come true, even if it was just on his cheek. Thinking of it like that, Starr felt her spirit rising, her smile reflecting her happiness. She touched her fingers to Phantom's chin, partly to hold his face in place, partly to feel his skin against hers. It was cool to the touch, but there was an odd sensation to it. Not quite static, certainly not enough to hurt, but something that sang of restrained power and made Starr's skin tingle. 

Excited to feel that skin on her lips, she began to lean forward. She held Phantom's gaze as she moved in, allowing her eyes to slowly close. She pressed her kiss against his cheekbone, just below his left eye. She lingered longer than was warranted, enjoying the tingle on her lips, before she forced herself to lean back. 

Phantom's blush had returned, a brighter hue than before that actually lit his face in a green glow. He couldn't meet Starr's gaze, his eyes shyly aimed away from her. Starr knew how a boy looked when a kiss affected them, and Phantom was showing all the signs. Despite the chasteness of the kiss, he had liked her kiss.

He liked her kiss!

Starr's hand was still on his bicep, fingers on his chin. She parted her lips, feeling breathless, brave, as an invitation to go for a walk leapt to her mind. Phantom was looking at her lips. He was looking at her lips!

Danny suddenly laughed. 

Phantom's head jerked toward him, Starr's fingers left holding empty air. "What?" Phantom demanded. "What's so funny?"

"You got lipstick on your cheek," Danny answered, still laughing. Phantom squawked and reached up a hand to rub away the mark left by Starr's lips, but Danny caught his wrist quickly by leaning over the counter. "Whoa there, ghost boy. You're just going to smear it and get red lipstick all over your glove. Here. Let me get it." 

Danny let go of Phantom and searched around his side of the counter until he found a white rag. He ran it under water for a second, damping the cloth. He returned to Phantom's seat and gestured for Phantom to lean forward. 

Without a second thought, without any hint of embarrassment, Phantom set his hands on the counter and leaned forward as Fenton had silently asked, half floating out of his seat. Starr's hand fell from his arm, forgotten. Danny placed his free hand on Phantom's opposite cheek, bold as you please, and began to lightly drag the damp white rag over the lipstick Starr had left on Phantom's cheek. On accident, certainly, but...

Phantom stared at Danny. He stared and stared like he was oblivious to Starr standing right there, like any move on his part, even to blink, might ruin...whatever was going on between them. Even Danny seemed affected, a red blush of his own slowly moving over his cheeks as he wiped away the lipstick.

Starr pouted. "He could just clean it off in the bathroom," she reminded them. 

Phantom twitched. 

Danny flinched, jerking his hands away from Phantom.

Instead of returning to his seat, Phantom asked, "I've been sitting under mistletoe this whole time, Fenton?"

Danny's eyes rose to meet Phantom's before moving away again.

Phantom waited a moment, hovering over the counter. "...Did you not want to kiss a ghost?"

Danny's nose wrinkled. He turned away, washing the lipstick off his white rag. "I'm working, stupid. I'm not even allowed to sit down right now, do you think kissing customers is anywhere close to being tolerated? I'd get fired for inappropriate behavior, and then who would make your ultra specific coffee?"

"Ah..." Phantom lowered himself into his seat again, his tail curling contentedly around the legs of his stool. "Speaking of which..." He lifted his cup and half smiled at Danny. "Refill?"

Danny dropped his rag in the sink and turned back to Phantom, snatching his cup and quickly turning away, but not before Starr--and Phantom--noticed his red face. "If Mr. Lancer didn't like you so much..." he muttered. 

Phantom braced his chin on his hand, his elbow on the counter, and grinned sly at Danny. "Oh, it's only Mr. Lancer who likes me, is it?"

Danny chose not to answer that. 

Phantom continued to watch Danny brew his coffee, his smile softening until it was as gentle as Danny's had been earlier. He lifted his head from his hand and shifted in his seat. Speaking slowly, almost cautiously, he asked, "If...if I wait until your shift--"

"Yes." Danny's ears turned red, his blush spreading. "Yes. Just. Wait. Please?"

Phantom crossed his arms over the counter and hid the lower half of his face behind his forearms, but not before Starr saw the giddy, excited grin stretching his lips. 

Starr stepped back, backing away from the ghostly hero. He didn't notice. His attention remained on Danny as it had before Starr had even arrived. Starr turned away, letting herself release one quiet sigh of regret. She left the cafe without ordering the drink she had entered for, not wanting to see the moment Danny's shift ended and Phantom allowed him a kiss. 

An actual kiss on the lips and not on the cheek.

-----

Because the POV was from Starr's perspective and she doesn't have the full context, here you go: Danny hung the mistletoe above Phantom on purpose. He wanted Phantom to receive platonic kisses like from the old lady and maybe drive him a little bit nuts because of all the people trying to kiss him. It was just another prank between "enemies". But the desire to be one of the ones to kiss Phantom snuck up on him, especially after seeing Starr kiss him, and now Danny has thoroughly played himself lol

[neeterloveschenford]

RNM 3x07

Hello my fellow lovers of all things alien! Another episode down and six more to go. First I’d like to start by congratulating Heather Hemmens! What an accomplishment! I hope you can continue to pursue your passion for directing. Also I would like to once again put forth my deepest desire for someone to rescue Lucky out into the universe. He’s a good boi! He deserves better!! And on that note, let’s dive into this episode.

I know I can get flip floppy when it comes to Maria, but just a few days ago she was jumping off rooftops and shooting up adrenaline to try jump start her powers. Now she’s strong enough to put Jones in a cage? Maybe if there had been a time jump, but we’re still on day 7. I don’t buy it. I don’t think they know what to do with her even after 3 seasons. I’m not expecting any kind of comeuppance for last season. I think they are completely correct in sweeping that all under the rug. It’s not the show for something like that. If this were Dawson’s Creek or One Tree Hill, sure. But I want to see sci-fi and aliens more than friendship and relationship drama. So I’m not sure where they think they are going to end up with her, but so far it’s been hit or miss for me.

Next we have Liz being all sciencey. I love seeing her, Michael and Isobel working together. But I gotta say, her plan was kinda rubbish. I mean, Jones has been one step ahead of everyone and Liz is gonna Mata Hari him? Don’t think so

Dear Deputy Pete, why are all men so dumb. Every moron on this show hates Max but wants to get into Isobel’s pants. I get it, but it’s so cliche.

Hello Father Dallas! Betcha Rosa’s not gonna miss mass this week! I like him. He quoted Biggie. I already like his relationship with Rosa ten times more than her relationship with Wyatt. I liked his advice too. He works on the Res. Does he know Greg? I wanna know. And he was in a bts picture with Vlamis and Trevino a few days ago. Guess we’ll be seeing more of him.

Alex keeps talking about Afghanistan this season. The last two seasons he only talked about Iraq. I know he served both places, but shouldn’t his line have been something along the lines of he survived the deserts of Afghanistan and Iraq instead of just one of them? Maybe I’m just being nitpicky.

Why is Kyle just being kept in a barn? Is there someone with medical knowledge there taking care of him? Did Eduardo just take him there and hook him up to that equipment and leave him there? What the heck is going on? That barn can’t be that sanitary. And where was Maria in that flashback? Did he just leave her there? Did her shooting Kyle up with adrenaline make things worse for Kyle? Does Eduardo have medical training? Does Kyle know he has an uncle? Who were the guys that were breaking into Max’s house. So many questions. So few answers.

Poor Lucky! Can we find him a new home please?!? HE’S A GOOD BOI!!

I like Isobel having female friends. She has grown so much since last season. But this plan is sooooo bad! Seriously. How did they think this would work? I know they were getting desperate, but seriously!

I’m gonna need Michael and Rosa to have a scene together every episode from here on out! I love their dynamic. And Michael is such a great teacher. Patient when she needed it. Challenging her when she needed it. And the sass coming from Rosa! Also, how stinking cute is it that Michael played baseball! I can just imagine my sweet little Guerin making a home run and being all smug about it. And I’d just like to point out that Heads Up 7Up was my favorite game when I was a kid. I would be devastated every single time we played at school and my thumb didn’t get put down. Memories.

Seriously Liz. How could you not realize Jones was onto you. When has Max ever referred to Maria as DeLuca? She has always been Maria to him. Wait. Hold up. Michael was the only one who ever refers to her as DeLuca. Was this a clue to the big reveal later on? We may never know.

I really love Greg, but he’s really kind of bland these days. I really hope when Maria gets out of that coma that he starts to challenge her. She needs Greg the former drag racer. Not Greg the super sweet boytoy. Michael let her run their relationship last season and look how that turned out.

Rosa’s new power is cool. That’s all I have to say on the matter.

So if Trevor went crazy and committed suicide while working on the Lockhart machine, how did Travis become so nuts? Did Alex referring to Trevor as the crazy boot maker who chased them through a corn field a continuity error? (I mean yeah, it’s gotta be.) Who’s in charge of checking things like this? Can I apply for this job? I think I might do a better job.

Obi-wan Junkyardy could be the best line this show has ever come up with. Especially now that Michael is, in fact, a jedi.

I think Liz has more chemistry with Jones than with Max. Nathan is an amazing actor. I had forgotten, since Max was so bland. But Jones reminds me of how much I loved him on General Hospital. Jones is just sexy. There’s no ifs ands or buts about it. And Liz knows she’s attracted to him. It’s impossible not to be. Cause he’s HOT! And as much as I wanted to bash my head against the table with how dumb her plan was, I loved watching the cat and mouse between them. And then she punched him. It was glorious!

I love that Eduardo knows about Malex. It was a nice parallel that last week we got the Michael and Sanders conversation, and then this week we got the Alex version. Even when they don’t have scenes together, they are still ever present in each other’s lives. I think Alex might not have even realized that the real reason he joined Deep Sky was Michael. And I don’t think that the Lockhart machine is going to drive him crazy like it did everyone else. Maybe Nora built it to be accessed by whoever Michael “bonds” with. He’ll figure it out and I’m very certain that it will hold the key to defeating Jones.

I would just like to point out that most of my theories get debunked pretty quickly. But I was 100% correct about Jones being the Dictator and Michael’s father. I am pretty darn proud of myself. I still think Louise might be Jones’ sister. Which would make Michael and Isobel cousins. That would be cool.

Also I love the fact that Rosa wound up saving the day. Cause she’s a badass.

Which brings us back to Maria and her mindscape. Jones is going to use her to access Patricia’s memories. But memories of what? The Lockhart machine? Whatever she was a part of at Caulfield? That part does interest me. But I do hope that Maria beats Jones by the skin of her teeth. Or maybe because of a fluke. If she kicks his ass or something I will be disappointed.

So lastly, I would just like to point out that today I read a review of this episode on another website and the reviewer referenced Gargamel. 👀👀 I don’t know how to feel about that.

Anyway, all in all it wasn’t a bad episode. But it’s not my fave. And I’m not even going to get into nobody worrying about Kyle. But next week I am expecting much bigger and much better things. Cause, you know, Malex and such. So until next time my lovelies!!

[rileymarie]

Fahrenheit 451 Quotes

“Let you alone! That's all very well, but how can I leave myself alone? We need not to be let alone. We need to be really bothered once in a while. How long is it since you were really bothered? About something important, about something real?” And then he shut up, for he remembered last week and the two white stones staring up at the ceiling and the pump-snake with the probing eye and the two soap-faced men with the cigarettes moving in their mouths when they talked. But that was another Mildred, that was a Mildred so deep inside this one, and so bothered, really bothered, that the two women had never met. He turned away.

Once, books appealed to a few people, here, there, everywhere. They could afford to be different. The world was roomy. But then the world got full of eyes and elbows and mouths. Double, triple, quadruple population. Films and radios, magazines, books levelled down to a sort of paste pudding norm, do you follow me?”

Do you see? Out of the nursery into the college and back to the nursery; there's your intellectual pattern for the past five centuries or more.

Politics? One column, two sentences, a headline! Then, in mid-air, all vanishes! Whirl man's mind around about so fast under the pumping hands of publishers, exploiters, broadcasters, that the centrifuge flings off all unnecessary, time-wasting thought!”

School is shortened, discipline relaxed, philosophies, histories, languages dropped, English and spelling gradually neglected, finally almost completely ignored. Life is immediate, the job counts, pleasure lies all about after work. Why learn anything save pressing buttons, pulling switches, fitting nuts and bolts?”

More cartoons in books. More pictures. The mind drinks less and less. Impatience.

Surely you remember the boy in your own school class who was exceptionally 'bright,' did most of the reciting and answering while the others sat like so many leaden idols, hating him. And wasn't it this bright boy you selected for beatings and tortures after hours? Of course it was. We must all be alike. Not everyone born free and equal, as the Constitution says, but everyone made equal.

Coloured people don't like Little Black Sambo. Burn it. White people don't feel good about Uncle Tom's Cabin. Burn it. Someone's written a book on tobacco and cancer of the lungs? The cigarette people are weeping? Burn the book. Serenity, Montag. Peace, Montag. Take your fight outside. Better yet, into the incinerator.

You can't rid yourselves of all the odd ducks in just a few years. The home environment can undo a lot you try to do at school. That's why we've lowered the kindergarten age year after year until now we're almost snatching them from the cradle.

If you don't want a man unhappy politically, don't give him two sides to a question to worry him; give him one. Better yet, give him none. Let him forget there is such a thing as war. If the Government is inefficient, top-heavy, and tax-mad, better it be all those than that people worry over it.

Cram them full of non-combustible data, chock them so damned full of 'facts' they feel stuffed, but absolutely 'brilliant' with information. Then they'll feel they're thinking, they'll get a sense of motion without moving. And they'll be happy, because facts of that sort don't change. Don't give them any slippery stuff like philosophy or sociology to tie things up with. That way lies melancholy. Any man who can take a TV wall apart and put it back together again, and most men can nowadays, is happier than any man who tries to slide-rule, measure, and equate the universe, which just won't be measured or equated without making man feel bestial and lonely.

And the second?” “Leisure.” “Oh, but we've plenty of off-hours.” “Off-hours, yes. But time to think? If you're not driving a hundred miles an hour, at a clip where you can't think of anything else but the danger, then you're playing some game or sitting in some room where you can't argue with the fourwall televisor. Why? The televisor is 'real.' It is immediate, it has dimension. It tells you what to think and blasts it in. It must be, right. It seems so right. It rushes you on so quickly to its own conclusions your mind hasn't time to protest, 'What nonsense!'”

“Jesus God,” said Montag. “Every hour so many damn things in the sky! How in hell did those bombers get up there every single second of our lives! Why doesn't someone want to talk about it? We've started and won two atomic wars since 1960. Is it because we're having so much fun at home we've forgotten the world? Is it because we're so rich and the rest of the world's so poor and we just don't care if they are? I've heard rumours; the world is starving, but we're well-fed. Is it true, the world works hard and we play? Is that why we're hated so much?

Lord, how they've changed it — in our 'parlours' these days. Christ is one of the 'family' now. I often wonder it God recognizes His own son the way we've dressed him up, or is it dressed him down? He's a regular peppermint stick now, all sugar-crystal and saccharine when he isn't making veiled references to certain commercial products that every worshipper absolutely needs.”

The same infinite detail and awareness could be projected through the radios and televisors, but are not. No, no, it's not books at all you're looking for! Take it where you can find it, in old phonograph records, old motion pictures, and in old friends; look for it in nature and look for it in yourself. Books were only one type of receptacle where we stored a lot of things we were afraid we might forget. There is nothing magical in them at all. The magic is only in what books say, how they stitched the patches of the universe together into one garment for us.

"Number one: Do you know why books such as this are so important? Because they have quality. And what does the word quality mean? To me it means texture. This book has pores. It has features. This book can go under the microscope. You'd find life under the glass, streaming past in infinite profusion. The more pores, the more truthfully recorded details of life per square inch you can get on a sheet of paper, the more 'literary' you are. That's my definition, anyway. Telling detail. Fresh detail. The good writers touch life often. The mediocre ones run a quick hand over her. The bad ones rape her and leave her for the flies.

“So now do you see why books are hated and feared? They show the pores in the face of life. The comfortable people want only wax moon faces, poreless, hairless, expressionless.

Only if the third necessary thing could be given us. Number one, as I said, quality of information. Number two: leisure to digest it. And number three: the right to carry out actions based on what we learn from the inter-action of the first two.

They're Caesar's praetorian guard, whispering as the parade roars down the avenue, 'Remember, Caesar, thou art mortal.' Most of us can't rush around, talking to everyone, know all the cities of the world, we haven't time, money or that many friends. The things you're looking for, Montag, are in the world, but the only way the average chap will ever see ninety-nine per cent of them is in a book.

Don't ask for guarantees. And don't look to be saved in any one thing, person, machine, or library. Do your own bit of saving, and if you drown, at least die knowing you were headed for shore.”

The old man nodded. “Those who don't build must burn. It's as old as history and juvenile delinquents.”

[alderaani]

Jump

Summary: Fives and Echo are still settling into the rhythm of the 501st following the chaos of Rishi. Sometimes there are quiet moments where the only thing to do is share stories and wait.

A/N: I meant to get this little fic out for Halloween yesterday, but then it turned out to not be quite a little as I meant (story of my life). You can also read it on AO3 here, and the rest of the series on tumblr is here!

The stone echoed. Fives didn’t like it; didn’t like the way it amplified everything from the water dripping overhead to the sound of their tight breathing. It felt heavy, oppressive, casting a darkness so stifling that their headtorches only shone a small way into the gloom. The others were twitchy too, Echo pressing up into his side in a way he only did when he needed comfort. Fives knew without asking that they’d be sharing a bedroll that night, curling up tight like two cadets in a pod. He’d complain like he always did about his brother’s cold feet, but he’d be hanging on just the same. Neither of them were doing very well being underground again. Not after the tunnels of Rishi. Not after Cutup.

Even a small campfire would have gone a long way to soothing him, something just to put some warmth in his bones. He hated the way rock leeched it out of his body, greedily trying to fill its own never-ending well.

“Why d’you think we’re stopping here anyway?” Echo was speaking to Ridge, who was cleaning his blaster in slow, methodical strokes that Fives could tell were to steady his hands more than anything else. “We finished the mission, and there’s no sign of the Seps this far out.”

Ridge shrugged. “It happens a lot when we team up with the 212th, General Kenobi likes to explore, I think. Drives Commander Cody nuts. He said somethin’ about some old Jedi temple here.”

That would explain the old pillars they were camped between, and the creepy statues that always felt like they were watching. When it was lighter Fives had been able to see that they were half covered in moss, worn smooth and impassive with age. In the dark they loomed, just present enough through the black that it felt like they were leaning over his shoulder, the occasional gust of wind settling like breath on the back of his neck.

Knowing that they were Jedi-made should have been a comfort, but General Kenobi had stressed that they stay heavily armed down here, and after what Fives had seen his own general do in combat, he knew better than to assume this place would be harmless. Not to mention that they were kliks away from any known settlement, and the local fauna had already shown itself very willing to take a chunk out of the unsuspecting.

Echo’s armour creaked as he shifted, his hands twisting some old wiring together in his lap. Fives had noticed that he liked fiddling with it in their spare moments, and had taken to collecting pieces himself to slip into Echo’s utility belt.

“Really? I didn’t realise the Jedi came so far out. What he’s looking for?”

Ridge laughed, but it wasn’t unkind. “I dunno, vod’ika, I don’t try to understand Jedi poodoo. You’ll have to ask him yourself. ‘Spect it’ll be dusty though, and trapped to the gills. A word of advice – stick tight to your squad in there.”

Fives let out a breath and glanced nervously over his shoulder at the statues and the maw of the stairs between them, slithering up the rockface into the black. “Traps? Why would they karking trap a temple?”

Ridge shrugged. “Fett knows why, but they’re usually a nightmare to get through.”

Nax and Attie had been talking close by, reduced to two ghostly white shapes, but now they broke off and leaned into the little circle of light pooling round their headlamps.

“Aw c’mon Ridge, them Jedi are full of secrets,” Attie said, grinning. “Who knows what weird osik they left behind in here, they wouldn’t want just anyone puttin’ their grubby hands on it. Keeps the wrong people out, right?”

“Oh yeah? That why you keep puttin’ yours on things every time we go in one?”

Attie shrugged, unrepentant. “I’m just bein’ thorough.”

Ridge rolled his eyes. “We’re supposed to avoid the traps, di’kut, not set them off! The generals ain’t gonna thank you if you’re dead in a pit somewhere.”

Fives cast his eyes around, frowning, his spine going stiff. “There’s still a patrol out there. What if they run into somethin’?”

Nax waved him off, stretching lazily. “Ah, don’t worry yourself, rookie. Denal knows better than to step anywhere he shouldn’t.”

“Yeah, worry about yourself,” Attie said, grinning wolfishly. “Who knows, you could be sittin’ right on top of one.”

Fives shifted uncomfortably as Attie chuckled, not faltering even when Nax drove an elbow into his gut.

“Don’t tease the vod’ike,” Nax muttered, never one prone to draw attention to himself if he could help it. “Unless you want me to tell ‘em about the first time you got brought on one of Kenobi’s little ‘research trips’.”

Attie put his hands up in surrender as Ridge laughed and shook his head.

“Oh yeah, I’d forgotten about that. Didn’t you –“

“Hey,” Attie grumbled. “I’m shutting up. You gotta let me have some reputation, Ridge.”

“It’s too late for that, they’ve already met you –“

There was the sound of a fist colliding with plastoid, then squawks mixed with laughter. After a brief scuffle they all settled back down into silence, and Fives tried to focus on the little intricate wire tangle that Echo was weaving between his hands, his tongue poking out slightly in concentration. He found he couldn’t stop his mind wandering, fixating on all those winding tunnels in the dark. The more he thought about it the more he could feel the vast expanse of the rock over their heads, the deep belly of the earth opening beneath them. He tightened his hand over his thigh, just shy of his blaster, and contented himself by drumming his fingers against his armour. It wouldn’t be so bad if only there was light, but the clouds were as dense as ever and the cliff face stole what little might have been left.

Just as he was beginning to relax, he heard something, a slight scuffling right on the edge of hearing.

“What was that?” he asked harshly, closing his hand around his weapon so tightly his knuckles hurt.

“What was what?” Echo stilled instantly apart from a small jolt that Fives knew meant he was tilting his head, listening. The others had all gone quiet too, but after a second Ridge snorted.

“I don’t hear anythin’. Don’t let Attie rattle you, kid.”

Fives made a harsh sound in his throat as the noise came again, closer, followed by the scrape of something against rock.

“I’m tellin’ you, there’s somethin’ out there.”

They all paused again for several long seconds, and Fives knew when Echo had also heard the sound, because he went rigid. Fives didn’t breathe, listening to the sound of something dragging itself towards them. All he could think about was the memory of walking down a stone ridge and saying “watch out for the eels”, before hearing his batchmate scream. He curled a hand around Echo’s back, getting ready to shove him to the ground if needs be.

After half a minute Ridge sighed and hauled himself to his feet. “Look, I’ll go check it out, don’t get your armour in a twist.”

Fives watched him disappear into the gloom as the rest of the group muttered, a collection of disembodied voices and floating lights. A moment later there was a loud squeak, the sound of a safety switch flicking off, and then a bright, searing bolt of blue.

Then there was a sizzling sound.

Then there was silence.

“All clear, it was just a rat,” Ridge’s voice called out. “Kriffin’ big one, I’ll give you that, but I don’t think we were in mortal peril. You’re a jumpy batch of shinies, ain’t you?”

Fives felt his chest clench, his face going hot as the rest of the squad laughed. His hand automatically went up to grab the scruff of Echo’s neck before he could start another fight he couldn’t finish. They weren’t a batch, not anymore, just the remnants of one – and therein lay the problem. He could feel his twin practically vibrating next to him.

“Sorry, Ridge. Better to be safe than sorry, right?” His voice was just a little too tight to be believable, but thankfully nobody called him out on it.

Ridge came ambling back and sat himself down, and there was a long stretch of silence before someone spoke again. To Fives’ surprise, this time it was Echo.

“Say, Attie? Tell me more about these temples? They’re all really old, right?”

There were a few groans, Fives’ included, but Attie’s armour ground together as he gamely leant in again. “Think so. General Kenobi said somethin’ about centuries, at least.”

“You know, I think I’ve read about ancient places,” Echo said, which made Fives raise his eyebrows, because Echo usually selected his reading material the same way he liked to approach their missions – directly, and with a clear point. “’Specially abandoned ones. Some people say that dead things sometimes…linger.”

“The hell you talkin’ about, kid?” Ridge asked.

“S’just what I’ve heard,” Fives could feel Echo shrug. “Especially in old Jedi places. Did you know that they used to be in a war with some bad Jedi? Went on for hundreds of years, nearly tore the galaxy apart. Some real bad blood between ‘em. Apparently, that makes for a lotta angry ghosts.”

“Ah, you’re pullin’ our legs,” Attie said with a laugh, but to Fives’ ears it sounded a little strained. He could feel his own skin crawling, but something still felt a little off about the whole situation. It was Echo, he realised after a moment; the ramrod straight position he was sitting in. He usually only held himself like that when he was sniping and lining up a shot. Where was he going with this?

“I’m only passin’ on what I’ve read.” Echo said. “Was real interestin’ though. The temples have always been worst for it, ‘cause they used to get attacked all the time by bad Jedi. Every time someone died it left an imprint in the force, and sometimes you can see ‘em standin’ there still, like they were in the seconds before they got cut down. Sometimes they even scream. One account said some guy went scavengin’ and felt like someone was followin’ him the whole time. He wasn’t sure at first...but then his torch kept goin’ out. He replaced the charge: same thing. So then all he had was candle light, and it kept gutterin’ as he moved from room to room, like someone kept breathin’ on it. Could’ve just been the wind right? But here’s the thing – there wasn’t any.”

As if summoned, there was a sudden gust of air through the narrow ravine they were camped in. Fives heard a shiver ripple through their seated brothers, a clattering of plastoid.

“Then,” Echo continued, his voice hushed. “As he tried to look for the vault, he swore he could hear voices, muffled like they were just around the corner. He called, and he called, and told them to show themselves, but there was no answer. Just the slow, creepin’ knowledge that he was bein’ followed, and that it weren’t friendly. As he made his way through to the old vaults the feelin’ got stronger, and stronger. Doors kept slammin’ shut, and things kept trippin’ him, pullin’ on his clothes. He thought about turnin’ back – but he was so close.”

Echo paused, letting his words hang in the air for several long seconds.

“An’ then what?” Nax asked, his voice a little breathless.

“Nobody knows. The rest of his travellin’ group had waited outside, and according to them, all they heard was his scream. And when they went into the temple to find him, he was curled up dead by the entrance, stone cold to the touch. Like he’d been there for hours. No mark on him, no blood, just a look of terror on his face and some words at the bottom of his notes, not written in his own hand: get out.”

Echo lapsed into silence, and this time it was permeating. Attie sucked in a breath, deafening in the quiet.

“That’s a whole lotta osik, vod.”

“Maybe. But General Kenobi wants us armed in there, you said it yourself. You ever wondered why?”

More silence, but in it, Fives could pick out the sounds of people’s fingers tapping on armour, the sounds of sharp breathing and rustles as they shifted. Echo had rattled ‘em, good and proper.

“Hey, what was that?” Someone’s voice whispered suddenly. “I – I can hear footsteps.”

Fives could hear it too, a rhythmical beat that was getting closer.

“W-Who’s there?” Ridge barked, getting to his feet with one hand on his blaster. When there was no answer, there was a resounding sea of clicking as the others all copied him. “Show yourself!”

“Easy vod, it’s just us!”

Ridge cursed as the patrol came into view around the corner, flooding their seated brothers with light. Denal was at point and took off his helmet, shaking his head in mystification as several clones put their blasters away and sank down with a groan.

“It’s quiet as the grave out there, the hell’s got you spooked?”

As Ridge fumbled for an explanation, Fives felt Echo start shaking next to him, and with a jolt realised that he was laughing. Honestly, he shouldn’t have been surprised.

“You made all of that up, didn’t you?” Fives breathed, feeling a grin spread over his face. “You kriffin’ liar.”

Echo laughed softly in the dark, just the edge of his smile illuminated by his torch. He knocked their shoulders gently together, satisfied by a job well done.

“Hey, it’s not my fault they’re a jumpy batch of shinies.”

taglist // @leias-left-hair-bun @nelba @bad-batch-of-fics @iscream4clones @majorshiraharu // if you’d like to join, link is here!

[arrow-guy]

The Lighthouse (9/??)

Summary: The town is sleepy, the people are nice enough, but life gets turned upside-down when the God of Thunder literally falls out of the sky.

A/N: Hello, hello, time for more of our regularly scheduled Q+A where we ask some questions and get some answers, but never the ones we want. I swear we’re getting to the meat of things, but we have to go through all of this before we get to it, This being the filler stuff that happens before we can get to the real action. That being said, I’m really happy with what I’m putting out today, so please enjoy!

Page dividers by @carryonmyswansong

Pairing: ThorxReader

Word Count: 2.4k

Warnings: None

Part 8

"So…okay, so what you're saying is Asgard is gone, this Thanos guy attacked the ship, and you're the only one who got away?"

"Yes."

"But how?"

“What is it you humans say… a magician never reveals his tricks?”

I scowl. “You’re no magician, and that couldn’t have been a simple trick. How did you get away, if Heimdall didn’t send you himself?”

He sighs. “I used the Tesseract.”

“That stupid thing everyone was fighting over in New York all those years ago?”

“And here I was, thinking Earth had forgotten about that.”

“How could we forget an alien invasion?” I shake my head. “A literal alien invasion, and you just expect us to forget about it. Maybe you really are crazy.”

“Forget about New York for now. The Cube itself hides a very powerful object,” Loki explains. “It’s called the Space Stone, and it allows whoever wields it, provided they can withstand its power, to travel through space at will.”

“So you used it to get away before whatever happened messed with everyone’s heads?”

“Yes, but Heimdall was able to send one man off before anything happened.”

“Who?”

“Bruce Banner.”

“Wait, he was with you?”

“He was.”

“Then we have to get in contact with the Avengers!” I exclaim “If he’s earth-side, they would know.”

“Are you mad?” He shakes his head. “You can’t really believe they’d help, knowing that I have anything to do with this.”

“You didn’t cause this.”

“Not directly. But I’m involved.”

“So is Thor.”

“And so are you,” he says. “They don’t even know you.”

“I don’t know if that’ll work for us or against us in this situation.” I pause. “What the hell do you mean you aren’t directly involved? You were on that ship and you’re the only one who remembers what happened!”

“But it wasn’t my fault this time!”

“In what world does being involved mean that you’re at fault?” I shake my head and roll my eyes. “At any rate, any kind of alien anything falls under the purview of the Avengers.”

Loki scowls. “You’re not going to drop this.”

“Why would I?” I shake my head. “I said I’d help, and taking this to someone who actually can is obviously part of that.”

He rolls his eyes. “Fine.”

“(Y/N?)” Thor croaks.

I don’t hesitate in shuffling over to him. He reaches out to me and takes my face in his hands. His eyes are filled with tears and his face is red and splotchy. He looks me over, almost as if he’s trying to decide if I’m real.

“I’m here,” I murmur. “It’s okay to let go.”

His bottom lip wobbles and he gathers me up in his arms and carefully holds me to his chest. I manage to wriggle my arms out of his hold and wrap one around his shoulders. I comb my fingers through his hair and slowly rock him from side to side as his entire body begins to shake with the force of his sobs.

“It’s okay, sweetheart,” I whisper. “You’ve lost so much… I’m so sorry, Thor.”

“There was so much,” he whispers.

“I know.”

He balls up big handfuls of my shirt and takes a deep, shaking breath. I sit and hold him until he can calm down. Loki doesn't even shift from his spot behind me, but it does little to put me at ease.

"That was a lot to take in at once," I murmur. Thor nods against my shoulder and I kiss the side of his head. "How about we get you upstairs? You can get some rest and process what you saw."

"I don't know…"

"I'm sure Daisy could be persuaded to come cuddle with you."

"I…" he sighs. "Alright."

It takes a moment for him to haul himself to his feet, but he allows me to lead him towards the door. I can feel Loki's eyes on us the entire time and it makes my skin crawl.

Once out in the hall, I call out to Daisy and she comes bounding up the stairs.

"That's a good girl!" I pat her side and she brushes up against Thor's leg. "Upstairs, Daisy lady, let's go."

She turns and does as she's told. By the time Thor and I make it up the stairs, she's situated herself on top of the covers. Her eyebrows perk up when she sees us and her tail thumps against the duvet. Thor lowers himself to the edge of the bed and tugs me down into his lap. He wraps his arms around me and presses his nose to my shoulder. The angle is awkward and I can't embrace him the way I was able to earlier.

"I'm so sorry," he says.

"You have nothing to apologize for. You're overwhelmed and mourning a sister you never knew you had, your father, your home. I… I don't know how you're feeling, but I know that it's more than anyone should have to go through on their own."

"He told you?"

I nod. "Everything. I know what happened on Asgard and on that ship. I-I am so sorry, honey. I wish there had been a better way for you to find out."

"I needed to know."

"That's true, but," I lean away and push his hair out of his eyes. "I don't like seeing you in pain." He opens his mouth and I press my fingertips to his lips. "I know you were bound to get hurt at some point while we're together. I just didn't expect it to happen so soon and to feel so… so helpless when it did."

I press my lips together to stop myself from saying anything else. Thor opens his mouth, but thinks better of what he was going to say and simply repositions me so that I can actually hug him. He loops my arms around his shoulders and circles his around my middle. He kisses me in an attempt to reassure me and I rest my forehead against his when we pull away.

"I don't seek out pain," he says, carefully choosing his words. "But it always seems to find me. I've lost so much, just in the last few years. I don't want to lose you too. I don't want to drive you away with my past."

"You won't. We're partners in this relationship." I lean back to meet his eyes and smile. "That means a lot of things, and one of them is dealing with each other's crazy."

"My crazy far outweighs yours, (Y/N)."

I shrug. "Mine is getting up there. I mean, I live alone in a lighthouse, was magically prompted to wander out into the woods to find a god, promptly fell for said god, started learning magic and looking for his brother and then dragged him out of the house in the middle of the night to literally go dig him up."

Thor laughs. "Still."

"On a human level, all of that sounds absolutely nuts, no matter how you swing it."

He nods. "That's true."

I smile and peck him on the lips. "You need to rest."

"What will you do?"

"I have to keep an eye on Loki. He doesn't know where he is. I'm sure he has questions."

"I don't know how I feel about you being alone with him."

"I'm not helpless."

"He has a silver tongue and he's manipulative. As much as I care about my brother, I know that he's not exactly trustworthy."

"Okay," I get to my feet and silently coax Thor into laying down. "If anything, and I mean anything weird happens, I'll come get you immediately."

He sighs and scrubs his hands over his face. "I don't know-"

"Thor, I'm an inch away from knocking you out myself." I pull the blankets up to his chin when he protests again and direct Daisy to lay across his chest. He shakes his head and tries to hide his smile. "Sleep. We'll be here when you're ready."

"Alright."

"Okay."

I stoop down and kiss his forehead before leaving the room.

When I return to the bedroom, Loki is exactly where I left him. I lean in the doorway and fold my arms.

“You hungry?” I ask.

His head shoots up. “What?”

I jerk my head towards the hallway. “Come on. I’ll make us some tea.”

He follows me downstairs and hovers while I put the kettle on and place peppermint tea sachets in mugs. I catch him folding his arms and glancing around out of the corner of my eye.

“Spit it out,” I say.

“What?”

“I can see that you want to say something.” I turn and lean against the counter. “So say it.”

His brow furrows. “You really care about him.”

“He’s my partner. Of course I care about him.”

“I see.”

“What’s your problem with me, anyway?” I tilt my head to the side. “Is it because I’m human?”

“Partially.”

“And the rest?”

“I don’t want to see him hurt.”

“I’m sure it wouldn’t be the first time you’ve seen it.” He scowls. “I’m not with him because he’s a god. Thor is a good man. He’s kind and intelligent and gentle. Most of all, he’s patient with me.”

Loki snorts. “The last thing I’d associate with my brother is patience.”

“I can’t say he’s patient in the day to day. I mean, everything is so fragile and fleeting on our planet, it’s easy to get frustrated. But, he’s patient with me.” I shake my head. “I don’t see why you’d be worried about him, though. From what I know about you, you’re not particularly concerned with that sort of thing.”

“I’m allowed the occasional change of heart, am I not?”

“I don’t know.” The kettle comes to a boil and I wait for the bubbles to calm before pouring water into each mug. “Are you?”

He stares me down and only answers when I hand him his mug.

"I'm not sure," he admits. "It's something I'm still sorting out for myself."

"I see. Well, I guess that's all I can ask of you, right? A little introspection never hurt anyone."

He falls silent and I take that time to drain the sachet and add a packet of sweetener to my tea. I blow across the surface of the tea before taking a sip and immediately regretting it. I ask him if he takes any sweetener in his tea and he shakes his head.

“I wonder if I might ask a few questions,” he says.

“Such as?”

“Where are we?”

“A little no-name town on an inlet in Maine.” I lead him to the living room and gesture to the stairs. “I live in and operate the lighthouse.”

“And you truly speak with Heimdall?”

“Mhm.” Charles jumps up into my lap when I sit on the couch. He places his paws on my chest and tries to put his face in my tea. “Not for you, bud. It’s hot.”

He tried again and I pushed him off. He made a little indignant noise and nosed at my hand.

“Who’s this?” Loki asks.

“This is Charles.” Charles doesn’t take his eyes off the mug and I sigh. “You can’t have the tea, dude. What kind of mother would I be if I let you burn yourself?”

“He seems like a handful.”

“Believe it or not, the handful is curled up with your brother upstairs.” I scowl at Charles. “Would you just sit down?”

I set the mug on the end table and scratch up and down his sides. His back arches and he rubs his face against my cheeks. I scrunch up my face and wait till he’s finished. He eventually settles in my lap and I sigh and grab my tea.

“You can take a seat too,” I say, gesturing for Loki to sit.

He sits on the opposite end of the couch and sips his tea. “You said something about someone with Thor?”

“Right. My dog, Daisy, is keeping him company.” I laugh when his brows pinch together. “He’s her absolute best friend. She follows him all around the house.”

“I see.”

“Sorry, I didn’t answer your question earlier.” I took a big gulp of my cooling tea and set it to the side. “Yes, I do talk to Heimdall. I’m the only one who he’s been able to contact since Thor crash landed a few months back.”

“Odd.” He leans forward and tilts his head to the side. “And how did you discover your magic?”

“My family has a history with magic. My father said an aunt of mine actually had magic and he kept a set of protection runes around in case we needed them. Heimdall theorized that my magic is the reason he was able to contact me and no one else.”

Loki hums. “I see.”

“Heimdall did what he could to teach me how to control it, but magic for me is, I don’t know…” I gesture vaguely. “Kind of just this amorphous blob?”

“Then how do you contain it?”

“How do you mean?”

“Magic isn’t just something that you call on whenever you please, it’s all around you. How do you contain it?”

“Oh, uh…” I shrug. “It’s always just there. I used to get really tired when I tried to cast something, but it’s gotten easier.”

“Explain.”

“I was pulled into some kind of pocket where I was able to see Heimdall. He and I were able to work together to make a kind of magic circuit in order for him and Thor to speak. I practically fainted when that happened, but in the weeks it took to find you I was fine by comparison.”

His jaw clenches, but he simply nods and sips at his tea.

We sit in silence while we finish our drinks. Loki wanders back upstairs to the bedroom he woke up in and I start on making the shepherd’s pie I had planned for dinner. Once it’s in the oven, I go back to my office and finish what I can of the work I had been pulled away from when Loki woke earlier.

The smell of baking cheese eventually draws Loki out into the stairwell and he creeps down to the kitchen when I tell him dinner was ready. He disappears into his room as soon as he clears his plate. While packing up leftovers, I consider leaving out a portion for Thor, but decide against it. If he didn’t wake up for dinner, chances are slim that he’ll wake up for it later. Instead, I put the leftovers in the fridge and go upstairs to get ready for bed.

About an hour later, I crawl into bed and Thor rolls over and wraps his arms around me. With my back against his chest, I grab his hand and kiss his knuckles before settling against him. Charles curls up against my stomach and I eventually doze off.

--------

Part 10

Alright, so we’ve got more Loki and, unintentionally, more questions than answers, probably. Sorry! Everything will be answered in due time, I promise.

That being said, I’d love to know what you thought of this chapter! Your feedback fuels my inspirations, which means more fic for you in the future, so comment, like, reblog, and/or shoot me an ask!

If you’d like to be tagged in future chapters, please let me know!

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[imadethisatage11]

Live-blogging my reaction to Spiral: from the book of saw

Spoilers under the cut

TL;DR: my overall review is that it was good but I’m going to go watch DPS to cleanse me

- ok so that woman got robbed and for what

- I had to pause to find out who this detective’s actor was Bc it was driving me nuts and it’s MCMURRAY FROM LETTERKENNY???

- love that they’re gonna fuck up this train conductors day lmao

- LOVE genuinely that we’re back to looking gritty and having an old tv play the video and having some rapid cut camera work early 2000’s vibes I embrace you

- why does the voice sound like that,, I wasn’t expecting John but why is it so non threatening now it’s literally just Some Guy™️

- I am glad I paid $15 to listen to Chris Rock talk about Forrest Gump. Worth my money and I mean it genuinely I love Chris Rock he’s great. Stream Everybody Hates Chris on Hulu

- “Z?” Zeke who just had his cover blown: this MF

- “do I look like a fucking Jamaican nanny?!” I- 😀🤚🏽

- ayo Max Minghella

- Chris Rock falling just short of being convincingly aggressively cynical Bc he is Chris Rock with the voice of Chris Rock

- it sounds like he’s setting up jokes that don’t have punchlines and instead they’re just like,, mediocre cynic cop dialogue

- while looking at some pretty fucking intact teeth: this bum is gonna be pretty hard to ID

- I mean I guess the homeless don’t have dental records but were you not even gonna try?

- I’m very pleased Chris Rock put on gloves before handling the strange package I love actually smart character choices that would make sense for them to make

- I.e. the cop knows how to properly handle unexpected unmarked packages delivered to the precinct

- “I thought the jigsaw killer was dead” “well if it’s another copy cat…” another wait is that referring to Logan (which Logan pinned on the other coincidentally crooked cop whose name I’ve forgotten) does that imply Logan only did like? The one trap? And hasn’t been active? Just waited ten years after John died recreates the one trap he was in and then stops?? I mean don’t get me wrong if movie wants to ignore Jigsaw (2017)’s existence I’m game but like what

- also why do the packages look like they’re wrapped in Tiffany boxes lmao

- oh yay they did run dental

- Chris Rock is an asshole but they should go with protocol if that’s what they’re doing

- ordering a man mid piss out of the men’s room to yell at Zeke

- does conflict of interest matter when the whole precinct knows the victim?

- uncomfortable stand-offs with your ex while at the home of a grieving friend

- Samuel L Jackson!

- “I could’ve killed you!” “What are you talking about, I have the gun!” *SLJ pulls a gun out* “I could’ve killed you”

- daddy issues

- “you think this is linked to John Kramer?” Bruh you think it’s NOT??

- ik this is SO far fetched but I rlly hope this movie tells us wtf happened to Dr Gordon. I’m sure it won’t but a girl can dream

- “should we tell Zeke?” “Fuck him” I get you guys don’t like to work w him Bc he’s an ass but like. You’re just not doing your jobs now you’re just proving he’s right that you’re untrustworthy

- splitting up and not telling ppl where you’re going is the number one way to get kidnapped or murdered but way to go cop instincts

- what is this Chinese finger trap ass shit

- love the blue tones tho very Saw

- all it needs is to become uncomfortably green

- fun fact I actually watched the first saw w my friend who is red green color blind and he said it looked AWFUL and I was like oh yeah everything is blue tinted like twilight blue tint and later it’s green just FYI (he thought that made significantly more sense than whatever shit ass color palette he was perceiving)

- being mad at your son for turning in a dirty cop Bc now you’ll have to mess with internal affairs

- and then assaulting someone??? SLJ is an even worse asshole lmao

- another Tiffany box bound in twine maybe it’ll be one of those cheesy diamond heart necklaces

- HELLO what is that ugly ass pig puppet

- also the voice is so stilted did the killer use fuckin text to speech so they couldn’t unscramble the voice like they did to Hoffman?

- cops finding dead pigs, a little on the nose

- oh so this dude has a history of “fuck it” ok well screw that guy then

- SLJ deserves to be pissed at that cop for letting Zeke get shot but like what an unhinged man he threatened to kill him and then actually assaulted him HOW did he EVER get in charge to begin with

- ok wait is Zeke actually the only decent cop (inc his dad but maybe excluding the newbie)

- that is a truly gruesome way to lose fingers tho I must say but he deserves that shit

- wait did the trap not go fast enough or was there a way for him to do that faster and I missed it

- like should he not have hesitated Bc there was a time limit or was it just rigged

- cuz the machine had to pull them off he couldn’t just cut them quickly

- so are they just gonna leave broken leg Dude there or

- also just now I tried to talk abt this movie (so far) vs Jigsaw (2017) to my mom and I got too excited and referenced some character names she didn’t know and she shut me down and said she didn’t care 😀

- live-blogging to my, like, five followers that compromise one one (1) person that knows me IRL, one (1) Sawtual, and a handful of ppl only here for my main DPS content to fill the void of emotional parental neglect. What a great website

- oh no did the rookie die :( he was actually sweet

- I feel like he was too important to kill offscreen tho

- like they’re TELLING us he .. was skinned.. but was he REALLY

- Chris Rock having a revelation: AH FUCK

- everyone else at the crime scene: ….

- favorite thing abt movies that were already gonna be rated R is when they’re like “well if we’re already at R we might as well say fuck”

- she has to SEVER HER SPINAL CORD? Why was she deemed the biggest asshole

- also how on earth was this trap portable it IS in their basement right

- transporting the hot wax is just what gets me

- Chris Rock rn: are you tired of being nice? Don’t you just wanna go apeshit?

- was this abt his dad the whole time???

- does it count as live blogging when I do one big post instead of several small ones lol I just want it to be avoidable for ppl who are just here for Dead Poets Society

- man’s fully abt to cut his arm off like barely even hesitated long enough to notice the bobby pin he could pick the lock with

- there’s a body here suspended

- not hanging mind you

- but covered and suspended

- and I bet it’s the newbie

- ah damn it’s Pete that’s disappointing

- it’s possible the trailers just made him seem more important than he was

- why are they punishing Zeke for reporting a dirty cop and having his career accordingly ruined like he did the right thing and already suffered for it? This killer doesn’t like crooked cops?? Why does Zeke have to be tortured by hearing this dude die like that’s what they want isn’t it?

- I think it’s too late pal

- the glass trap was pretty fucking cool though

- I KNEW HE WAS ALIVE

- I didn’t think he was a MURDERER but I KNEW he was alive

- OH SHIT THE DIRTY COP ZEKE TURNED IN KILLED NEWBIE’S DAD??

- I’m terrible at guessing endings but it makes viewing more fun

- honestly,, do it Chris Rock ACAB

- “you want me to kill cops?” “No, fuck no, just the bad ones”

- what a fun villain though

- I have no idea what the Ultimate Game Plan™️ is here though is he gonna make him kill his dad? I mean his dad does suck but making a dude KILL his DAD? That is a tall order Max Minghella

- ok but literally why wouldn’t you listen to him here shoot the target??

- ANGIE! It WaS aNgIe

- killing this man is not correct justice anyway Zeke

- shot the target! Good man

- groovy of them to play the Hello Zepp soundtrack rn

- oh shit what’s going on SLJ knows what it is

- oh.. w o w. Brutal way to go. Very heavy handed imagery

- and that’s all I guess who the fuck knows what’s up w Doctor Gordon

- and I guess Max Minghella is just gonna get away now but tbh Chris Rock only seemed truly mad at him for involving his dad

- nice rap remix to the OG Hello Zepp score very cool credits music

[ink-and-flame]

Kinktober Day 0: Intensity Caged part 2

Fandom: Original Tags: Exophilia, angst, hurt/comfort, Pairing: Orc(m)/Human(f), Darnok/Lia

Word Count: 3534

[Authors Note: I wrote this last night as a bridge between last years kinktober and this years. I have lots of plans for these two and this world]

The event at The Scarlet Eclipse didn’t finish until after midnight, but the caged subs had been taken to the back at midnight to allow the assistance time to remove the costumes and have the medics do a final check on them. Lia had come out of the situation physically ok, her body strangely relaxed, though some places where the jewels had been stuck were a little red from where they had rubbed or the adhesive had stuck particularly well. Otherwise, Lia was in perfect health. Physically at least, mentally was a different story.

As much as she tried not to, she found her eyes searching for Darnok and the woman that was with him. Sometimes he was by himself, but most of the time he was with her. While she did hang on his arm, she did not appear to be overly affectionate with him. Lia never saw them kiss, or show any form of deep intimacy. She was confused, hurt and confused. It didn’t make sense to bring someone he wasn’t even attached to if she was an option. Lia had to believe there was more to the situation than what she saw and she promised herself that when she spoke to Darnok she would keep her emotions in check and do her best to be rational.

It took the attendants a good amount of time to clean off all of the body paint, make up, and glitter. While they were working Lia was brought refreshments, plenty of water, a protein drink, and some fruits, nuts, and cheeses. They advised that a heavy meal might not sit well, but that she still needed to eat something. Lia found it to be refreshing and was glad that she didn’t feel sick. It would be difficult to hold a conversation if she was nauseous the whole time, though the nausea could still happen. Seeing Darnok with the other woman had caused her stomach to drop in a rather unpleasant way.

Once clean Lia dressed in the comfortable loungewear she had brought with her at Darnok’s recommendation. After that evening, she needed to feel softness and warmth again. The material was her favorite, the most cozy sleep set she owned. Not that she would usually go out in public in pajamas, but this was a unique situation. Once dressed she was escorted to the lounge area with the other subs and encouraged to just relax while the staff helped the party wind down. 

Some of the subs were sitting together, chatting quietly in hushed tones. Others were off by themselves having brought entertainment with them. Lia had not thought to pack a book or anything other than her phone. Though she noticed a couple others looked like they might be sleeping and a nap sounded glorious. She wondered if she would see Darnok again, or if he would just leave. At least she had been smart enough to drive herself. That way she wasn’t stranded. 

Time passed seemingly slowly but eventually people began to filter in. Lia realized it was the Dominants, the other half of the pairs. She watched as subs were praised and doted on. It made something twist inside Lia and she found herself having to turn away, pretending she was just getting more comfortable where she was sitting. As more time passed Lia worried that Darnok had indeed left her there. She felt hot tears prick at her eyes but she relaxed her face, took several slow breaths, and blinked rapidly to keep them from falling. 

Almost ready to just leave she heard Darnok’s unmistakable voice followed by a laugh that made the hair rise on the back of Lia’s neck. Turning she saw Darnok with the woman from earlier. It was bad enough she had to see them together at the event, but now this? Lia was ready to just walk out, this was not what she had agreed to. However, before she could move to stand the woman moved past Darnok and over to one of the other subs and began to dote on them. Now Lia was completely confused and her emotions were a mess. 

Darnok stepped over to Lia with a big smile on his face. “Oh Lia my dear you were wonderful. I heard nothing but nice things from the staff. You behaved so well, and apparently were an ideally behaved sub even in sub-space. I am so thrilled you were able to achieve that. I hope it wasn’t too rough for you, are you sore?”

Lia just blinked slowly at Darnok. Maybe she misunderstood the situation completely. He was still going to have to explain some things, but some of the hurt began to fade as Darnok praised her. “I feel ok. Some soreness and stiffness, but overall I am alright.”

“You don’t sound alright pet, I am sure you are exhausted. Is there anything I can get you?” Darnok looked Lia over with concern.

“An explanation would be nice.” Her voice was colder than she meant it to be.

Darnok looked confused, the wheels in his head turning. It took a few moments for him to piece together what she might be talking about. “Is this because I changed your attendance from my date to my sub?” 

“That would be part of it. At first I thought one thing, then I saw you at the party and thought another, and now, I am really just not sure what is going on.” Lia hated the way she sounded, like some bitter jealous person, but maybe she was. 

“Ahh, yes, let me explain. When I heard more details about the event I realized that this was simply an opportunity that could not be passed up. V.I.P. access is not just given to anyone, you can’t even buy it no matter how rich you are. I knew you could handle this, even though I am sure it pushed your limits. I have such confidence in your abilities and while you have not been a member long, I feel that this was the kind of opportunity you might regret passing up. I spoke with the owners, explained that while you were new I was confident that you would be perfect for this, and they agreed.” Darnok was smiling, reaching out he stroked Lia’s cheek.

“I will admit, there was a part of me that envied you this opportunity. They made it clear that you being granted access would not mean that I would be granted access as well, and nothing is guaranteed. They will be going over the performances of the subs tonight and eliminating any that they feel did not do well enough to be granted access.” Darnok rubbed the back of his neck. “That is where my date came in.” He held Lia’s hand. “It was purely professional I assure you. I am not exactly her type. The woman you saw me with is Morwenna Gould, a prominent Domme at this club. She has sway and influence beyond most here. Joining her put me in a position where I could be granted access as well, and I.” Darnok paused.

“Lia.” Lifting her chin with one large finger. “I feared if you went without me, that you would replace me. There are others that I know can offer you more than I am able to, and I did not want to lose you.” There was a half smile on his face. “Even I can be insecure sometimes, and for any hurt this caused you I am deeply sorry.”

It was a lot to take in, Lia listened, keeping to her promise that she would make sure her emotions stayed in check. Once she knew the whole situation it made more sense, it didn’t heal all the hurt, but it helped. Knowing the woman was not someone he loved, or was intimately tied to helped more than any other part of his explanation. Seeing his insecurity laid bare made her skin flush. His eyes were so earnest, so open, she could not resist the desire to simply forgive him and push it all off as a misunderstanding.

“I am sorry too, I should not have let my mind and emotions run away with me. I guess it hurt a little at first when you changed things, and then hurt more when I saw you with her. I thought I was being replaced, pushed aside, forgotten.” Lia looked away, feeling shame for all that she had felt. 

Darnok turned her face back to his. “Oh Lia, my sweet little pet. I never meant for you to feel such things. Perhaps we should have a deeper conversation later. Discuss our arrangement further.���

Lia nodded, they had needed to have that talk for a while now. Things had been changing for them and perhaps an airing of grievances and a renegotiation could re-spark some of what they had lost. Before Lia could say anything Morwenna had walked up and addressed Darnok, interrupting them.

“Your sub is positively enchanting to look at, I dare say I am quite envious that you possess such a splendid little jewel.” Ms. Gould nodded to Lia giving her a gentle smile. “My dearest if you ever tire of his brutishness, I would be happy to show you a different side of things.” Morwenna winked with a small laugh. “Oh don’t look so scandalized, I tease, I tease.”

“Really, this is not appropriate you will scare her.” Darnok shook his head and looked the Domme up and down. “Did your sub do well?”

“Of course. She is one of my best, perfection really. That isn’t why I am here. I have to say that your sub has impressed the owners more than anyone here. For her first time at such an event, and to my understanding, her first time doing anything like this, she performed above and beyond any expectation and one of the most desired works of art at the party. Whomever chose her look should get a promotion I was simply stunned when you pointed her out.”

Lia’s eyes widened. So Darnok had known who she was. How did she never catch him looking at her. Had she been so caught up in her own head that she missed it. Was he just subtle, not wanting to make her nervous. She would ask him about it, but later. Now that she knew the truth Morwenna no longer upset her, but she did make Lia uneasy.

“I knew my little Lia would be perfect, the moment I was informed of what the sub participation would be, I just knew I had to try and get her involved. I am glad I did. I requested quite a few prints if I am honest.” Darnok patted Lia’s hand.

“Now that I have praised your sub I suppose I should explain why I came over. As you know, I am terribly competitive and with her performance I thought if you both are accepted into the V. I.P. club that perhaps you would be interested in a little wager? Even if you aren’t accepted, I would still be interested.”

“A wager?” Darnok raised a brow.  “What kind of wager?”

“Now, now, none of that. Focus on your sub. We will talk later. I just wanted it to be on your mind.” Morwenna blew a kiss to Lia and headed back over to her sub, the both of them leaving without so much as a backward glance.

Lia looked at Darnok curiously. “It seems we have quite a bit to talk about. I am not sure where we should go for that though?”

“I have a room at the nearby hotel. I figured it would be better than trying to drive back to the city so late.” Darnok handed Lia a small slip of paper.  “You will have to drive there from here, I am not certain you can leave your car here once they close.”

Lia nodded and slipped the paper into her bag before standing. Darnok walked her to her car and made sure she was safely inside before stepping over to a dark vehicle. The driver got out and opened the door for him and Lia watched as Darnok climbed inside the huge SUV. This, along with every other obvious hint, pointed to Darnok having a lot of money. 

When she pulled up to the hotel she was surprised it was so modest. Though Auchendale wasn’t exactly a bustling hub. Nothing like Oreth’Thalor where Darnok lived and worked. Still, it was a nice hotel and Lia felt under dressed in her night clothes. Hoping she wouldn’t get turned away by the front desk, Lia grabbed her bag and headed inside. Darnok was waiting for her with a smile and led her up to his room. Which was a rather nice room if she was honest. 

Sitting on the couch Lia got comfortable as Darnok removed most of his tux, sitting in just the shirt and pants, looking far more comfortable and quite handsome. She sipped at the water he had given her and waited for him to begin speaking. She knew that this was going to be a long conversation.

“We have known each other for quite some time now, and while our relationship began in a rather unorthodox fashion I would not change it. However, I think we are past time for renegotiation's especially since we never really set up anything official. I need you to understand that I keep my vanilla life and this life separate and that is how it must remain. I protect my privacy and it is simply not feasible for me to allow these separate aspects of my life to blend at this time.” Darnok glanced at Lia to see her reaction so far. 

“Our time together recently has been sparse and I would like to change that. I can increase to every other weekend over the next month or so, and then every weekend can be considered based on any time constraints we both have. I understand part of the problem was your job and I was wondering if anything could be done about that? I really would like to see you more than once a month.”

Lia struggled a bit with her schedule and getting consistent days off would not be easy, but it was something she was willing to try and do if it meant seeing him more. “I can work towards that. I can’t promise every weekend, I would lose my job, but I have been there just long enough now that I have a bit more negotiating power with my schedule. I would just need to know in advance which days so I can be prepared.” 

“That won’t be an issue, I can create a calendar and share it with you. It can be one that we use together to help us schedule our time better. I don’t know why it never occurred to me before, but this could help us if we both end up with a day off during the week and can switch out the weekend day, give us some variety.” He was smiling now, it was a soft gentle smile.

“I know that for a while we were testing limits, pushing ourselves and we lost that as our time together was compromised. I would like to try and get back to that when we feel ready. I know you have so much potential in you and I would love to see you bloom.”

Lia blushed as she thought of some of the limits they had spoken of before and was curious to see if they could recapture some of what they had before. She knew her feelings for him had changed and they were a lot more muddy and complicated now. After their little excursion into the city, she wondered if maybe they could try dating again, but wasn’t sure if this was the right time to suggest it.

“We will have to keep our meetings to The Scarlet Eclipse and Possibly this hotel. I am impressed with the service here so I may use it more, perhaps for a long weekend. Something we had not tried yet. As I said my privacy is important to me and trips into the city, dates and such will have to cease.” Darnok could see the emotion in Lia’s eyes before she could hide it. “I know it seems harsh but it is necessary to maintain the separation between the two sides of my life.” Leaning forward Dar smiled gently at Lia. “I want you as my sub, I want this to continue, but we need more structure so we both can get what we need from this.”

Lia felt as if she had much less say and control over their relationship than he did, this all seemed to be more in his favor than hers, but then she was the sub and she did not want to lose him. Maybe this would be temporary as Darnok sorted out their new normal. It could change, they had changed in the past, and could again. Maybe they just needed to get back to the basics, back to what drew them together in the first place. Maybe then he would remember their passion, remember what made him mark her that first night.

“I want you as my dominant, more than I realized at first. I really have never had anything like this and I don’t want to lose it. You are probably right, you know more about this lifestyle than I do and maybe structure is something we have needed for a while.” She smiled, but there was hesitation there and she knew he could see it.

“Oh sweet Lia, please don’t take this personally or as something wrong. You said it well, we need structure, and this is the best way to achieve that. Come here darling, let me hold you just for a little while. You don’t have to stay the night if you are uncomfortable with that.”

Lia stood and moved over to Darnok, sliding easily into his lap and leaning into his powerful chest. She knew herself well enough to know she would not go home tonight. She would share his bed, give herself to him if he desired it, and wake up in his arms wanting him more than she already did. It couldn’t be helped, she had grown attached and she would take anything he offered. 

The night went almost as Lia expected. They shared a bed, and Darnok did desire her. What she had not expected was the intensity, the passion, and how gentle he was. It felt more like love making than sex, and it broke her heart even more. For a brief moment Lia felt what she imagined someone he cared for might feel with him. Something she hoped to be true, he couldn’t be this way if the emotions weren’t actually there could he?

Morning came and she was reluctant to leave, but they both had lives to get back to and Lia had a lot to think about. She wasn’t sure how long it would be before their visits started up again. Something she was both eager for and dreading slightly.

After a few days she received an invite to a shared calendar and was able to renegotiate her schedule. She had gotten quite lucky that a few other people were looking to adjust their schedules as well to accommodate their own needs and it worked out in her favor. It felt like the only thing that was working out for her so far. She had not heard back from the club and was afraid that Darnok would get the V.I.P. invite and she wouldn’t. A thought that hadn’t really worried her until her imagination decided to run away with that idea. 

It was only a few days before they were to meet up since the event that Lia finally heard from the owners of The Scarlet Eclipse. She sat down hard on the couch as she read the letter, the discreet black card falling onto her lap. She had been accepted. Her Membership fee was waived for the first year of her new status and would start up again at a different rate if she chose to keep it. 

This was a bit of a shock as that part had not been mentioned. The basic membership she had started with was quite affordable, but she had been forced to upgrade to help accommodate what both her and Darnok required. It wasn’t cheap, and she worried just how much the V.I.P. membership was going to cost after the first year. She was sure that would be provided at some point and decided it was best to just enjoy it and worry about cost later. 

[chipper9906]

A New Type Of Normal

Pairings: Castiel/ Dean Winchester

Rating: General Audiences

Word Count: 2,124

Status: One Shot - Complete

Just a little fic I wanted to write based on a prompt I saw on OTP Prompt Generator. 

Summary:

Dean grumbled quietly to himself, adding another item to the ever-increasing list of supplies they’ll need to stock up on. “The supplies are getting depressingly low in here. I’m nearly out of beers, the meat-man needs to stock up on his meats-,”

“No more of the meat man!”

Prompt: Person A is about to leave to go to work. Person B asks Person A if they’ve forgotten anything, and Person A gives them a kiss. Person B turns red and opens their hand to reveal Person A’s keys/wallets etc, saying “I meant this, but thanks…”

 * * *

Dean blames it all on Sam.

He was perfectly content with showing Cas the classics: Tombstone, The Shining, Star Wars, Star Trek, Back To The Future, Ghost Busters. You know, classics. But Sammy wasn’t happy with that. No, he just had to go and put on all those crappy, cheesy rom-com’s and romances. And yeah, Dean could leave the room, but that’s just rude, right? It’s not like he wants to watch them or anything…

Honestly, Dean thought the romance films would go over terribly with Cas. Dean - and he’s sure Sam was too- was preparing for a multitude of questions from Cas about every damn scene. He’d already had a taste of that fun experience with ‘The Pizza Man’, so he was certain that Cas watching people try to flirt with each other would only confuse the poor guy even more.

But Cas didn’t ask questions.

In fact, Cas didn’t say one word throughout every one of them. Unless you counted his pleas for Dean to stay quiet (personally, Dean thought his jokes added a much needed comedic break). Cas would be glued to the tv, only blinking about three or four times a minute (not that Dean was watching or anything, just something he had noticed), making sure every bit of his attention was directed towards whatever couple was on the screen that night.

It must have been that. Watching ‘human courtship’, as Cas would put it, seeing the domesticity that comes to people who don’t know what’s really out there. That can be the only thing Cas got it from, surely.

“For a health nut, he sure does love stealing my beers…” Dean muttered into the cold air of the open refrigerator, bent down and peering into its fluorescent-lit interior. “Won’t eat real bacon, but he’s happy to chow down on the meat-mans burgers…”

“Dude, I’m like, right here. I can hear you, you know.” Sam called from behind the lid of his laptop, sat at the bunker’s kitchen table. Jack happily munched on his ‘Krunch Cookie Crunch’ opposite Sam, amused eyes flickering between the two brothers.

“That’s coz’ you were meant to.” Dean slammed the refrigerator door shut behind him, turning and leaning against the gleaming silver door- thanks to a recent clean by yours truly, thank you very much.

“And for the last time,” Sam said with just a hint of defeat in his voice. “You’ve really got to stop calling yourself the meat man.”

“Listen, Sammy - you can say it means what you say it means, but I’m just gonna go on blissfully unaware, going by what I think it means.”

“That’s… that’s not how it works.” Sam tried to argue.

Jack’s entertained smile had turned to a perplexed frown at their conversation. “What does ‘meat-man’ mean?”

“Alright, that's-” Sam cleared his throat awkwardly, slowly closing the lid of his laptop down. “That’s a conversation I’m not ready for.” Sam shot a strained smile at Jack before turning his pointed gaze to Dean. “For neither of you.”

“Well someone’s gotta give the poor kid the birds and the bees talk.” Dean shot his own pointed glare back at Sam. “Or, we can just do it my way – give the kid a laptop, go to the internet and load up some good ol’ fashioned por-”

“From my own experience, I can tell you that’s a very poor way of learning such a topic.” Castiel’s voice filtered in from the doorway to the kitchen, the ends of his trenchcoat billowing behind him as he entered the room and descended the few steps to reach the kitchen table.  

“Eh, well, he’s your kid, Cas. ‘The talk’ is your job.” Dean turned back to the various cupboards behind him, trifling through the depleted looking pantry in search of something to eat. “Hey Sam, you seen where those little cheese cracker thingies went?”

“I think we might have finished those off last night. Or the night before?”

Dean grumbled quietly to himself, adding another item to the ever-increasing list of supplies they’ll need to stock up on. “The supplies are getting depressingly low in here. I’m nearly out of beers, the meat-man needs to stock up on his meats-,”

“No more of the meat man!”

Dean cut Sam off by pointing a finger at the colorful box of  ‘Krunch Cookie Crunch’ next to Jack’s half-eaten bowl of said sugary cereal. “-And I’m pretty damn sure that’s the last box of that stuff. And I bet you’ll be out by tomorrow morning, right?”

Jack’s eyes darted down towards the few soggy pieces of cereal floating in his bowl, eying up the amount of milk that remains before pulling the box of cereal closer and peering into its contents. “…Maybe…”

Castiel had opened his mouth to add something to Dean’s list, but Dean cut him off before he could get it out with a click of his fingers and a pointed finger directed at him. “And Cas needs more of that weird grape jelly stuff.”

Castiel watched Dean with a frown as he pulled a small notepad out of a drawer, scribbling down the loosely formed list he had in his mind. “What’s wrong with grape jelly?”

“Nothing wrong per se… it’s just a terrible flavor that tastes nothing like grape.”

“I like peanut butter and grape jelly sandwiches…” Castiel sounded so genuinely disheartened by Dean’s opinion of his flavor choice that Dean couldn’t even find it within himself to keep making fun of the poor guy.

“I know, Cas.” Dean told him with a soft smile. “That’s why I buy it for you.”

“You mean that’s why random credit card companies buy it for him.” Sam leaned back on the crickety wooden chair, stretching his arms behind his back until it made a satisfying ‘pop’.

“The day I get paid an honest day’s wages for the honest day’s work I do is the day I no longer rip off multi-billionaire companies and Uncle Sam.” Dean roughly folded up the shopping list and stuffed it into the back of his jeans pocket. “You wanna come with, Cas?”

“Me?” Cas asked, his brows pinched together as if he couldn’t fathom why Dean would ever want for him to tag along.

“Yeah, you.” Dean confirmed with a sharp, short chuckle. “Sammy makes me buy all the healthy crap that tastes equally crap whenever he comes along, and Jack throws so much stuff in the cart that he wants to try that I’m honestly worried it’s gonna max out the card every damn time we go grocery shopping.”

“Sorry…” Jack muttered sheepishly.

“Don’t worry about it.” Cas said to Jack, shooting him a wink. “Teasing is one of the only ways Dean knows how to show affection.”

Dean narrowed his eyes dangerously at Castiel, pushing himself off the counter and brushing his hands together. “You coming or what?”

“If you’ll have me.”

Dean rolled his eyes and shook his head at Castiel's wording, steadily ignoring the red flush that he could feel creeping up the side of his neck. “Let’s get going, then. Come on, I’ll even let you drive Baby.”

Even Jack’s head whipped up, scarily in sync with Sam as they stared up at Dean in disbelief. “What?” Dean asked them. “Why are you guys looking at me like that?”

“You just asked Cas if he wanted to drive the Impala.” Sam said slowly, like Dean hadn’t heard and understood his own words.

“Yeah? So what? I let Jack drive Baby before, and he was only, what, a year and a half old?”

“I was dying.” Jack stated. “I assumed that had something to do with it?”

“Well, yeah, but…”

“I promise I’ll be careful with her.” Castiel interrupted Dean’s scramble to find an answer. Dean glanced up, seeing the conviction on his face that matched the tone of his voice, and knew Castiel meant that. Cas knew how important Baby was to him. Dean knew Cas would treat her right.

“See?” Dean gestured a hand towards Cas. “Besides, it’s about time Cas got to drive a real car, and not that vomit-beige colored monstrosity of his.” Dean caught sight of Cas’s affronted face out of the corner of his eye. This would quickly turn into another argument if he wasn’t careful. “C’mon, Cas. Let’s get going.”

Dean dug his hands into his front jeans pockets, clasping Baby’s keys in his fist, only to look up and see Castiel already partway out of the door. Cas wasn’t going to get very far in the Impala without her keys…

“Hey, Cas!” Dean yelled after Cas, who came to a somewhat stumbling halt in his steps. Cas turned on the spot once he had stopped, tilting his head and raising an eyebrow in question. “You forgetting something?”

Cas’s curious look only grew more intense. Dean could practically see the gears turning in the angel's head, trying to figure out what Dean was suggesting. There was a split second shift to his expression, one Dean could only describe as disbelief before Cas had schooled his expression back to neutral. Castiel had apparently figured out what he had forgotten as he moved towards him, and Dean pulled his hand out of his pocket, ready to pass the keys over to Cas.

Except, instead of stopping and holding out his hands for the keys, Castiel just kept getting closer to him. Dean didn’t even get a chance to remind Cas about personal space before ‘holy crap blue eyes super close’, and then Dean’s mind all but short-circuits when it registers Castiel’s chapped lips pressed against his. It didn’t last very long – or maybe it did, Dean might have blacked out for a bit – but it was long enough that Dean couldn’t brush this off as a funny case of ‘I tripped and my lips fell on yours’.

By the time Castiel had pulled away, Dean was sure his eyes were going to pop right out of his skull. A quick glance over to Sam confirmed he had seen the whole thing – at least, that’s going by the incredibly thinned straight-faced smile on his brother's face as he chokes down his laughter. Jack was smiling like this was completely normal, but then again, the kids always smiling – he might not have even noticed the show of affection right in front of him.

“Um…” Is the only word that came to Dean’s mind once it had restarted. Castiel’s face didn’t show any signs that he had realized how weird this whole situation was, and was waiting patiently for Dean to find his words. Dean slowly lifted his hand until it was sat between the two of them, uncurling his fingers to reveal the keys in his grasp. “I, uh… I meant these, but… thanks?”

Dean watched as Castiel's eyes focused in on the keys. To Cas’s credit, he didn’t seem in the least bit embarrassed by what he had done. He simply swept the keys out of Dean’s palms and pocketed them in his trench-coat with a soft smile. “I assumed you would pass them over once we were in the car, but thank you.” And then, to add insult to injury, Castiel leaned up and planted a kiss on Dean’s cheek like it was no big deal. He had done it so casually - as if it had been a part of their routine for years.

Dean could only stand there like an idiot and watch Castiel as he walked out of the room, beige trench-coat fluttering out of sight. After a few seconds of the most awkward silence Dean thinks he’s ever had to live through, Dean blurts out what’s on his mind. “What just happened?”

Sam’s chair scraped obnoxiously loudly as he stood, tucking it back under the table with that annoying strained smile of his still in place. “I’m not entirely sure but uh…” Sam stopped in front of Dean on his way out of the kitchen, giving his big brother a friendly pat on the shoulder. “I think Cas is dropping hints he wants a little more. Maybe. Possibly.”

Sam left the room, not after his words had completely thrown Dean for a loop. Now Jack was the only one left in the room with Dean, his customary gentle smile having been replaced with a contemplating frown, staring down at the bowl of milk in front of him like it held all the answers.

“What's wrong with you?” Dean asked, trying to get back to some sense of normality.

Jack looked up from his bowl, tilting his head in a way that was so very Cas. “I don’t get what Sam meant.”

“Oh.” Oh no…. “Uh, well, it’s-”

“I thought you and Cas were already married?”

[xxgoblin-dumplingxx]

In Tatters: Ten

“What’s up, Stevie?” Bucky said answering the phone. 

“We gotta get out shit together, Buck,” he said quietly, “Did you know she had a trip coming up?”

“Trip? Trip for what?” Bucky asked.

Steve smiled a little. There was a little comfort in the fact that Bucky hadn’t been listening either. “She’s going with her cousins, They’re gonna go run around in Ohio for a few days.”

“She hates her cousins,” Bucky said after a few seconds of processing time. 

“Hates is the wrong word, I think,” Steve sighed. “But yeah.”

“Are we going too?” Bucky asked. 

“She doesn’t want us to,” Steve said softly, “Something about not feeling like she wants to explain herself.”

“People still have to do that?” Bucky asked, distaste coloring his tone.

“Evidently,” Steve snorted. 

“Fucking Lame,” Bucky sighed. Steve smiled a little. He’d heard that specific thing in that specific tone come out of your mouth on several occasions. “So what are we gonna do, Stevie?”

“Well,” Steve said slowly, “Given the dressing down I got that basically amounted to ‘You’re not my parents and goddamn it sometimes I just wanna be mad for a second’ we had probably better stop treating her like a baby.”

“She is a baby,” Bucky said fondly.

“Yeah,” Steve agreed, “But-but like we’ve been treating her. Babying her is fun. Treating her like a stupid kid is driving her nuts.”

“We don’t-” Bucky started.

“Buck,” Steve said quietly, “That’s what it feels like to her. She feels like she can’t really talk to us because we either don’t listen or don’t take her seriously... and we’re gonna lose her if we don’t pull it together quick.”

For a long minute, the two men are silent. Each retracing their missteps that morning when you left the apartment, hurt and irritated. And they hated it. They hated that they made you feel like anything less than important and loved. 

“Steve,” Bucky said softly, “What are we gonna do?”

“I’m not sure, sweetheart,” Steve answered, “But. I know she’s going to need us when she gets home.”

“Yeah,” Bucky sighed, wincing. He hated listening to the conversations you had on the phone with your family. It was insanity. They just... well honestly they didn’t deserve you. Even from just hearing your end of the conversation, they were rude and hateful. Concerned about your money and less than concerned about you. Unless you were doing something they didn’t approve of. Then they cared a lot. An awful lot. Enough to lecture you until you’d say anything to get off the phone. It was like electronic water boarding. “Maybe now would be a great time to get that little dust mop?”

“I think that’s a good idea, Buck,” Steve said smiling a little. “It might... help. At least help keep her from bottoming out again completely.”

Bucky cringed at the thought, “We really don’t need that to happen again,” he said softly.

“No we don’t,” Steve agreed, “But, at least we know what to do now.”

“Kind of,” Bucky sighed, “It doesn’t always work.”

“Nothing always works,” Steve soothed, “We just gotta be there. And pay attention.”

“I’ll make a few calls today,” he said, “See if anyone has some little dust mop dogs like the one she had growing up.”

“And I’ll see if I can’t get... something set right before we get home tonight,” Steve said softly, “Bucky I hate it when she can’t even look at me.”

“I know,” Bucky answered. Whenever you were about to cry, whenever you had feelings you thought someone was gonna shout at you for having, you wouldn’t turn and look at them. You’d find anywhere else to look desperately clinging to any distraction to keep from being shouted at. “I love you, Steve. Give our girl a kiss for me?”

“I love you too, Bucky... and I’ll give her more than that if she’ll let me,” he said chuckling.

Bucky snorted and hung up the phone, trusting Steve to take care of you for a while. And hopefully make things feel a little... less terrible for you. 

_________

Steve ducked back in the office and came to stand behind your chair, bending down to kiss your cheek, “That’s from Bucky,” he said softly before kissing your other cheek, “And this is from me for being an asshole. I’m sorry, bunny baby.”

“It’s okay,” you murmur, slowly starting to type again. 

Steve turns your chair around to face him gently and kneels in front of you, “No,” he said softly, “It’s not okay. Bucky and I wouldn’t act like that with each other and we shouldn’t ever do that to you. Not even on accident.” He tilts your chin up gently to keep you from looking down at your hands and brushes a tear away with his thumb, “You’re our girl,” he said softly, “You shouldn’t ever feel like you’re not at home with us. You deserve better.”

When you start crying, taking your chin out of his hand and looking up to try and stop the flow of the tears, Steve stands up slowly, stopping when you flinch away from him. “Bunny baby,” he soothes, “You’re okay. Come’er, sweet girl.” He holds out his arms and scoops you up gently, taking your spot on your desk chair. “You go a head and cry,” he murmurs, “I promise. I won’t tell anyone you have feelings.”

He smiles a little when you huff a laugh against his shoulder and kisses your head. “There’s my girl,” he murmurs, tightening his arms around you when you start crying again. And for a little while there aren’t any words. Steve doesn’t know what to say. And he knows you don’t really need him to talk. You just have to be able to feel some feelings and let it out. It’s like a release valve. And Steve wonders just how long you’d been just quietly marinating in all the pain you felt. 

He didn’t try to make it stop. Because making it stop, while it would stop breaking his heart, wouldn’t help you right now. You were hurting. Hurting and it wa because he and Bucky had forgotten for a second, forgotten that you needed them to treat like a partner. An equal partner in all of this. 

“We love you so much,” Steve murmured, “So very much, Bunny Baby. And we’ll be here when you get home, okay?”

You rub your eyes on your sleeve and Steve tilts your chin up. Unphased by the snot or the red cheeks as he reaches over to grab a handkerchief to wipe your face. “You okay?” he asked, kissing your forehead. 

“I don’t wanna do this, Steve,” you sigh, “I don’t wanna see those people. I don’t give a fuck about church. Or car dealerships. Or 401k’s or golf. Or the fucking union at the foundry. I don’t care that they think Gay people are ruining the fabric of society. I don’t want to hear about how much happier I’ll be with a house and 2.5 kids. I don’t want to hear about how nice boys don’t want me to be sleeping with anyone. Let alone both boys and girls. I don’t wanna hear about how no one will want me if I can’t cook... I just wanna be enough and I never am. It doesn’t matter what I do or where I go nothing is ever enough.”

Steve pulls you back against his chest, hard. Rocking you gently when you whimper and kissing your head, “Baby. Oh sweetheart. You’re enough. Okay? We’ve needed a girl, just like you for 70 years. You’re enough. You’re everything we didn’t know we needed. And those people? I’m so sorry they never loved you like you deserve, bunny. And I’m even more sorry that we let you feel like we didn’t love you. We’re gonna do better, okay?”

“Okay,” you murmur, exhaling slowly. 

“And we’ll be here when you get home... We’ll even take you to the gun range if you wanna go.”

That makes you snort, “You guys realize that for like 5 straight years I made the paper in my home town for getting the first deer of the season right? I can shoot.”

“I know,” Steve said, “And it’s really funny when you out shoot Bucky... I bet you could get him to bet against you again and get him to take us for ice cream when you win.”

[96harmony96]

Chapter 21 final

Lauren tossed the makeup remover wipe in the trash. Then she grabbed a towel to throw over the puddle she’d left on the floor and toed off her shoes. To my utter delight, ahe began stripping out of her wet clothes.

Watching her raptly, I said, “You feel guilty because she still loves you.”

“I do, yes. I knew her husband. He was a good guy and he was crazy about her, until he figured out she didn’t feel the same way and things fell apart.”

she looked at me as he peeled her shirt off. “I couldn’t figure out why he let it get to him. He was married to the girl he wanted, they lived in a different country away from me, so what was his problem? Now, I understand. If you loved someone else, Camila, it’d shred me to pieces, every single day. It’d kill me even if you were with me and not him. But unlike Giroux, I wouldn’t let you go. Maybe I wouldn’t have all of you, but you’d still be mine and I’d take what I could get.”

My fingers laced in my lap. “That’s what scares me, Lauren. You don’t know what you’re worth.”

“Actually, I do. Twelve bill—”

“Shut up.” My head spun and I pressed my fingertips to my eyes. “It shouldn’t be such a mystery that women fall in love with you and stay in love. Did you know that Magdalene kept her hair long hoping it’d remind you of Corinne?”

she dropped her slacks and frowned at me. “Why?”

I sighed at her cluelessness. “Because she believes Corinne is who you want.”

“Then she’s not paying attention.”

“Isn’t she? Corinne told me she talks to you almost every day.”

“Not quite. I’m often not available. You know how busy I am.” Her gaze took on the heated look I was so familiar with. I knew she was thinking about the times he got busy with me.

“That’s nuts, Lauren. Her calling every day. That’s stalking.” Which reminded me of her assertion that she’d been as possessive over her as she was about me. That niggled at me in a terrible way.

“Where are you going with this?” she asked, in a voice laced with warm amusement.

“Don’t you get it? You drive women off the deep end because you’re the ultimate. You’re the grand prize. If a woman can’t have you, they know they’re settling for less than the best. So they can’t think about not having you. They just think of crazy ways to try and get you.”

“Except for the one I want,” she retorted dryly, “who spends a lot of time running in the opposite direction.”

I stared unabashedly, drinking her in as she stood naked in front of me. “Answer one question for me, Lauren. Why do you want me, when you can have your pick of perfection instead? And I’m not fishing for compliments or reassurances. I’m asking an honest question.”

she caught me up and moved us into the bedroom. “Camila, if you don’t stop thinking of us as temporary, I’m going to take you over my knee and make damn sure you like it.”

Setting me down in a chair, she went to rifle through my drawers.

I watched her pulling out underwear, yoga pants, and a top. “Have you forgotten I sleep in the nude with you?”

“We’re not staying here.” she faced me. “I don’t trust Cary not to bring more intoxicated jerks home and once we turn in for the night I’ll be drugged on the medication Dr. Petersen prescribed and possibly unable to protect you. So we’re going to my place.”

I looked down at my twisted hands, thinking about how I might need protection from Lauren, too. “I’ve been down this road with Cary before, Lauren. I can’t just hole up at your place and hope he comes out of it on his own. He needs me to be around more than I have been.”

“Camila.” Lauren brought me my clothes and crouched in front of me. “I know you need to support Cary. We’ll figure out how tomorrow.”

I cupped her face. “Thank you.”

“I need you, too, though,” she said quietly.

“We need each other.”

she pushed to her feet. Moving back to the dresser, she pulled open her drawers and grabbed clothes for himself.

Standing, I began to dress. “Listen…”

she pulled a pair of low-slung jeans on. “Yes?”

“I feel tons better now that I know the score, but Corinne is still going to be a problem for me.” I paused with my shirt in my hands. “You wanna nip her hopes in the bud real quick. Stow the guilt, Lauren, and start weaning her off.”

she sat on the edge of the bed to pull on her socks. “She’s a friend, Camila, and she’s in a rough spot. It’s a cruel time to cut her off.”

“Think carefully, Lauren. I have exes in my past, too. You’re setting the precedent now for how I’ll handle them. I’m taking my cues from you.”

she stood with a scowl. “You’re threatening me.”

“I prefer to see it as coercion. Relationships work both ways. You’re not her only friend. She can find someone more appropriate to lean on in her time of crisis.”

We grabbed what we needed and walked back into the living room. I saw the mess left behind—an aqua-hued bra beneath an end table and blood spray on my cream sectional —and I wished Cary was still around to smack some sense into.

“I’m digging into it with him tomorrow,” I bit out, my jaw tight with anger and worry. “Goddamn it, I should’ve decked him when I had the chance. I should’ve knocked him out cold, and then locked him up in his room until he gets his brain working again.”

Lauren’s hand at the small of my back rubbed soothingly. “It’ll be better to do that tomorrow, when he’s alone and hungover. More effective that way.”

Angus was waiting for us when we got downstairs. I was about to climb into the back of the limo when Lauren cursed under her breath, stopping me.

“What?” I asked her.

“I forgot something.”

“Let me get my keys.” I reached for the overnight bag Lauren was holding, which had my purse inside.

“No need. I have a set.” she shot me an unapologetic grin when my brows rose. “I had copies made before I gave them back to you.”

“Seriously?”

“If you’d paid attention”—she kissed the top of my head—“you might’ve noticed that you’ve had the key to my place on your key ring since I returned it.”

I gaped after her as she darted past the doorman and back into the building. I remembered the torment of those four days when I’d thought we’d broken up and the excruciating pain I’d felt when those keys slid out of the envelope and into my palm.

I’d had the key to being with her all along.

Shaking my head, I looked around at my adopted city, loving everything about it and feeling grateful for the crazy well of happiness I’d found here.

Lauren and I still had so much work ahead of us. As much as we loved each other, it was no guarantee that we’d survive our personal wounds. But we communicated, we were honest with each other, and God knew we were both too stubborn to quit without a fight.

Lauren reappeared just as two large, beautifully groomed poodles walked by with their equally coiffed owner.

I climbed into the limo. As we pulled away from the curb, Lauren tugged me onto her lap and cuddled me close. “We had a rough night, but we got through it.”

“Yeah, we did.” Tipping my head back, I offered my mouth for a kiss. she obliged me with one that was slow and sweet—a simple reaffirmation of our precious, complicated, maddening, necessary connection.

Cupping her nape, I ran my fingers through her silky hair. “I can’t wait to get you back in bed.”

she gave a sexy little growl and attacked my neck with tickling nips and kisses, banishing our ghosts and their shadows.

At least for a little while.

[hansols-yoda-boxers]

The Doctor Will See You Now - Part 2

Doctor!Seokmin x Female Reader

Word Count: 4689

Contents: hospital setting and mentions of medical equipment, lingerie, teasing, fingering, edging, oral(female receiving), over stimulation

Note: I won’t get too mushy, there will be time for that. Suffice it to say it is my dear friend @thetypingpup birthday today! Enjoy this gift, and in the spirit of your 21st, I’ll see you again in 21 hours for part 3.

Introduction | Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

You weren’t sure if what had happened three weeks ago had actually happened. You hadn’t said anything about it to anyone and some part of your brain was convinced it was all a crazy dream. That would make sense, right? You had made it up? Or you were daydreaming and you let your imagination get away from you, especially when there was such a handsome doctor involved.

It was a wonderful mental image, a thought that got you worked up whenever you had the free time to sit and daydream, or while you did anything mindless. Your mind had a habit of wandering back to his tone, his teasing words, and his touch against your skin. The whole experience was very real in your mind but you told yourself it was nothing more than you imagination. 

Because otherwise that would have been wildly unprofessional.

Or, you were worried it wouldn’t happen again.

You knew at this point you were being obsessive. You had woken up much earlier than you needed to make it to your midday appointment. You took extra care washing up this morning, spent more time on your hair. Choosing your outfit took nearly forever. You pulled almost every cute thing you had out of your closet and drawers, laying them all out around the room as you shifted through everything. It was colder today than it had been on the day of your last appointment, but he had said wear something cute, right? Assumedly he thought your other outfit was cute, but you couldn’t wear the same thing again.

You poured over your clothes, wondering if you should match the new bra and panty set you had bought. You were absolutely not going to think about the fact that you bought something new just for this appointment. The skirts that matched the deep colour of the lacey lingerie seemed like the best choices and you settled on your favourite one, wondering if you should switch up your style just a bit. It took some rooting through your sweaters to find the soft, light coloured one that complimented the skirt perfectly.

The last article of clothing you toyed with was a pair of thigh highs. The last time he had to roll down your socks, but they added something ever so slightly sexy to the cute outfit that you hoped would be all the more enticing for him. It still took you ages to decide if you wanted to put on perfume. You weren’t supposed to wear it in hospitals, right? But there was one scent that you really liked that you thought he might enjoy. You played with the bottle in your hands before making up your mind, sitting on the edge of your bed and spritzing just a little onto your inner thighs and the tops of your thigh highs.

By the time you left you knew you might be late if you didn’t hurry to the hospital. You knew you would feel silly if he treated you normally today. Maybe he would. Maybe the last appointment was just him toying with you. Maybe he knew he would be on your mind and it would drive you nuts, thinking about his perfect hair and gorgeous face and heavenly fingers.

The thought nearly had your head spinning as you checked in and sat in the waiting room. You struggled to keep your attention focused on the nurses instructions as she measured your weight and took your blood pressure, even finding yourself telling her you were fine when she expressed concern. You knew you seemed spaced out but Dr. Lee really was all you could think about.

You sat on the bed instead this time as you waited, the machine with the electrodes already there. That was normal right? You were the patient, so it made sense for you to sit on the bed as opposed to one of the chairs. You were definitely overthinking this. You smoothed out your skirt what felt like a thousand times and the waiting really felt like forever. You spent time grabbing your phone and refreshing the same few apps, looking for anything to distract you as the minutes ticked by. You knew he was busy, he was a doctor. You had waited for appointments before but this was different. Your mind kept spinning with thoughts of him, some of them sending shivers of arousal through your body and wetting your panties, something you knew he would tease you for as he fingered you.

Your head shot up as the door opened. Dr. Lee gave you a sunny smile, opening his mouth to say something. But his smile faded as you looked off down the hall, someone calling to him hurriedly.

He glanced at you, pausing for a split second as he really looked at you. Something intense passed through his eyes before disappearing just as quickly.

“I’ll just be a few more moments, forgive me,” he said quickly before rushing down the hall.

You stared at the open door, processing the quick look he’d given you and playing with the edge of your skirt absentmindedly. You hoped that nothing too serious was going on. Though you had to wonder if it made you a bad person to think that since the only reason was that you wanted your appointment to start. Either way you wished the person no ill will, so that was a good thing.

The minutes ticked by and you considered closing the door but figured the second you did he would come back. You checked your phone nervously a few times. It was stupid to think he might have forgotten you, he had a schedule to follow so he had to come back. You did want to him to remember just because he remembered you. He had to right? You had to have been a memorable visit.

You tried to shake the anxious thoughts from your mind. You were getting far too worked up over this. Really, you shouldn’t be expecting anything. Maybe the whole visit would be normal this time around. That’s what you should expect. You grabbed your phone again, scrolling through it without really looking at anything, trying desperately to distract yourself.

“I’m so sorry about that.”

You looked up at Dr. Lee as he started to close the door behind him, a bright smile on his face.

“I had to attend to a matter, I didn’t mean to keep you waiting too long.”

The lock clicked.

The look in his eyes shifted, darkening so minutely you could have missed it. His smile every so slightly hungrier than it had been moments ago.

“Now your test,” his steps had to be deliberately slow. He had the chart open in his hand but his eyes were on you. “Wasn’t as conclusive as we might have hoped. I’m afraid we’ll have to run it again.”

“Th-That’s alright,” you cursed yourself for not keeping your voice steady. A slight smugness crept into his smile.

“I’m sorry this won’t be the fastest visit,” he should have sounded apologetic but he definitely didn’t.

“I don’t have any other plans today,” the words left your mouth before you thought them over and you felt your cheeks burn. That definitely made you sound like a loser.

Dr. Lee chuckled as he pulled off his lab coat. “I don’t intend to keep you quite that long, though I do want to do a quick physical check.”

You were thankful that the whimper died in your throat instead of escaping your lips, his words making you far more excited than they should have. He rolled up his sleeves slowly and you struggled not to stare. Still, you couldn’t help the way your gaze drifted back to his fingers as you tried to keep your lip from ending up between your teeth.

He took a small hammer and moved in front of you, placing a hand gently on your thigh before tapping just below your knee. Your leg kicked forwards and he smiled. He was just as gentle with the other knee and all you could think about was his touch on your thigh, how you nice his fingertips felt, how badly you wanted to feel them digging into your soft skin…

“Can you take your shirt off?” his voice brought back your mind from its wandering.

“M-My, uh…”

You swore there was a smirk on his lips. “I won’t be able to get down past the neckline to listen to your lungs. Or I can go up from the bottom.”

“Maybe that,” your voice was far more quiet than it should have been as your cheeks started to burn. Dr. Lee slipped his warm hand up under your shirt. You tried to hold in the whimper as his hands brushed past your breast and he pressed the stethoscope to your chest, but you were sure he heard your small sound. His smirk became slightly more evident and his voice much closer to a murmur.

“This must be a warm sweater if you decided you didn’t need a shirt.”

You gave up, catching your bottom lip between your teeth and taking far too shaky breaths.

“I need your breathing to be just a bit steadier. Can you do that for me?”

You let out the smallest “Mhm,” you ever had as you nodded quickly and willed yourself to calm down. He kept the stethoscope on your chest, one finger tracing lazily over your skin in a way that you were sure had your heart skipping. Your breathing only calmed slightly before he decided he had heard enough.

Dr. Lee took off the stethoscope before bringing his fingers to your lips. “Can you say ‘ah’ for me?”

You had decided he was just set on torturing you now, his words and heated gaze sending another shiver of arousal down your spine. His fingers moved to your chin as he was done, signalling for you to close your mouth before he tilted your head up. He brought his fingers to the sides of your neck, pressing them in lightly before moving upward and repeating the motion. You only let your eyes flicker to his face for a moment, barely daring to take in the hunger growing in his eyes before you looked up at the ceiling again.

He drew your head back done, your chin following his fingers. He caught your gaze, much closer than he needed to be now. His fingers pressed into the base of your neck before he tore his eyes away, looking at his watch intently. You couldn’t quite read his express but he pulled away so easily after humming to himself, the tension seeming to dissipate, leaving your head spinning.

“I-Is that it?” you wanted to kick yourself for sounding as desperate as you were.

A hint of a smirk returned to his lips. “For the physical exam, yes. Take off that sweater for me and lie down, won’t you?”

You couldn’t hold back the slight whine that escaped your lips, though you quickly complied with his instructions. He moved back towards you, rolling the machine closer, a slightly mischievous glint in his eyes.

“A physical can of course include a pelvic exam,” you swore he only paused to take in the way your thighs clenched subtly. “But I already know everything is working there.”

The shift in his tone alone sent a thrill of arousal through your body, nevermind his words. Your eyes shifted to watch him as he untangled the wires as if he’d said nothing out of the ordinary. You wondered if he was toying with you. Maybe this time he really wouldn’t do anything other than make you squirm. He could just let you think something was going to happen and then do nothing at all.

“We don’t need quite so many leads this time,” he mused, “we’re just going to try a different configuration, but the test will run a little longer.”

You tried and failed to keep your breathing calm as his fingers moved along your skin, placing the electrodes on your skin just below bra. You squeezed your hands around the edge of the bed as he finished and started the machine. He seemed to think for a moment before rolling it towards the foot of the bed, moving around it to stand beside you. You watched as his expression shifted as he slowly drank in your appearance, up your legs and over your chest until his gaze met yours, like a hungry man finally about to have his meal.

You let out a small whimper that refused to stay in your throat and shifted your hips a little. A smirk filled with all of the haughtiness his demeanor had been hiding crossed his lips.

“Your desperation is precious, darling,” his voice was velvet smooth as he finally trailed a finger up your leg. You were incredibly quick to spread your legs and he laughed.

“You just can’t wait for me to touch you, can you?”

“N-No,” you breathed. “Please-”

“Have patience, darling, and you’ll get what you want.”

He let his fingers trail over your inner thighs, just out of reach of your already sensitive core. They traced along the edges of your panties before dragging lightly over the lacy fabric, another smirk curling his lips. He didn’t make a comment right away, instead trailing his hand up, flipping up your skirt in the process, and bringing it to your breast. He started to knead it far more roughly than you expected, eliciting a gasp from you. He leaned in at the same time, his lips brushing against your ear.

“And I thought you were naughty before, darling. But buying brand new lingerie just for your appointment?” He dragged his nails down your stomach. “Now that’s something else.”

Your head spun far too fast for you to fully keep up with his words as his hand trailed over your panties again. You gasped as he slipped his fingers into your panties. He dragged his finger through your slick folds slowly before pressing two fingers against your clit and rubbing quick, smooth circles.

“I don’t really need to tease you, do I darling?” he murmured. “You’re already drenched for me.”

You whimpered as you gripped onto the bed, following the movement of his fingers with your hips. As desperately as you wanted his fingers inside of you this alone was working you up so quickly. Small moans and whimpers escaped your lips and you felt him nip at your ear as he suddenly moved his fingers faster.

“You can do better than that, darling,” he purred. “I want to hear all of the sounds from those pretty lips of yours. You don’t really think I’ll let you cum if you don’t, do you?”

A gasp fell from your lips at the quickening of his pace and and you rocked your hips against his hand, wanting more. Your sounds still came out quietly, somehow, knowing he was listening for them, wanting them, made you all the more flustered. You found yourself catching your bottom lip between your teeth instead, only small whimpers getting past.

“Let’s see if we can’t get more of those gorgeous sounds,” he murmured as his fingers slipped lower to tease your entrance. “This test won’t work properly unless you’ve completely lost yourself in it, and how will I know if I don’t hear your delectable moans, darling?”

He pressed two fingers into your heat, the motion smooth but sudden. Your lips fell open in a moan as you arched off the bed at the feeling. His fingers were just as skilled and calculated as the last time as they curled into you, but more knowledgeable now, finding your sweet spot within seconds. His lips pressed kisses to your neck before finding your ear again.

“That’s much better, darling,” he purred. “I knew just my fingers could draw the most delicious sounds from you.”

Your legs started to tremble as he moved his fingers into you faster. Your hips chased every sensation, every euphoric lick of pleasure that coursed through you from the curling and thrusting of his fingers. His thumb brushed past your clit quickly, drawing a wanton moan from your lips and a low chuckle from his.

“So desperate to cum already? It seems like I’ve barely started,” he teased. You let out a whimper between moans at his words as they made you dizzier than anything.

“But we both know you have a dirty little mind, don’t you?” he mused. “Have I been on your mind for weeks now? Have you been looking forward to this moment, darling? I’ll bet just the thought of it had you dripping.” You gasped as the movements of his fingers became rougher, a slight growl starting to seep into his voice. “But I doubt your fingers feel quite as good as mine do.”

Your moans and cries came loudly as you ground into his hand, desperate for the friction to return to your clit, for another pass of his thumb. But it was clear he wasn’t done toying with you yet.

“Tell me, darling, what parts of me did you think about? Was your mind so innocent as to only focus on my fingers?” You managed to shake your head, though you couldn’t get much of an answer out beyond your moans, the words getting stuck in your throat.

“It’s a wonder how quickly I’ve reduced you to a mess, darling,” he murmured, brushing his thumb over your clit again, making you chase the sensation. “But what thoughts have been curling in your mind? I don’t doubt that you don’t feel quite as filled as you want to be. How often, I wonder, has you mind drifted to thoughts of being satisfied by my cock?” You clenched around him as his words seeped into your mind, you body now desperate for the release he was holding at bay. They were moving just a little too slow now, edging and driving you crazy.

“Though I already knew you enjoyed that idea. But, now I can’t help but think about your taste, darling. About the sight of your back arching at the feeling of my tongue teasing you, the feeling of your thighs clenching around my head, the taste of you cumming on my tongue.”

“Please, sir,” the words left your lips before you truly registered, though Dr. Lee’s fingers froze. Your breathing was heavy as you waited, tension hanging in the air. He curled his fingers very slowly, drawing a whine from your lips.

“Say that again, darling,” his voice was low and much rougher with a clear growl now that along had you clenching.

“”P-Please, please eat me out, sir.”

Dr. Lee was quick to pull his fingers from your heat and bring them to his lips. He held you gaze until he sucked them into his mouth. You heard the groan muffled by his fingers as he let his eyes close, pupils nearly rolling back into his head at the taste. 

When he opened them again his gaze was much darker, he pulled his fingers from his mouth slowly, holding your gaze and earning a whine from you. You watched as he made his way to the foot of the bed, setting himself on a stool, his eyes grazed over the machine before he hit a few buttons and shifted his gaze back to you.

“Oh dear, it appears we’ll have to start again.” He smirked. “I hope you don’t mind.”

A sudden gasp left your lips as he gripped your thighs and pulled you towards him roughly. He pulled your panties off in a swift movement before throwing your legs over his shoulders. He pressed his lips to your skin on inner thigh, just above your thigh high and paused for a moment, before breathing in deeply.

“You really are a little minx, darling,” he purred, though his voice was rougher than he intended.

He gave you another sharp tug that pulled you close to his face, another gasp escaping your lips. He gripped your thighs tightly, fingers digging into soft flesh as he finally leg his tongue drag through your folds, groaning at the taste of your arousal on his tongue.

“And I was going to keep teasing you, darling,” he groaned, is composure slipping away faster by the second. “But you’ve got me ensnared. I really don’t think resist you.”

He eyes slid shut as he dragged his tongue through your folds again, before bringing his tongue to your clit. His fingers gripped you more tightly and a wanton moan fell from your lips as his tongue started to move in quick motions over the sensitive bud. Your hips squirmed in his strong grip as he experimented with different motions until he flicked past just right and your back arched off the bed.

You panted between moans and your hand flew to his head. Your fingers tangled into his hair that was just as soft and luscious as you’d imagined. You tugged lightly as your thighs started to tremble and felt the vibrations from his growl against your clit in response. Every movement of his tongue sent another tendril of pleasure curling around the tight coil in the pit of your stomach as he drew you closer and closer to your release that had already evaded you once.

“S-S-” you struggled to find the words, tightening your grip in his hair even more. “S-Sir, please, I-I-” your words were replaced with a moan as he sucked your clit harshly between his lips, still teasing it with quick movements of his tongue.

You cried out, arching off the bed as you finally came. Your thighs shook and squeezed around his head as wave after wave of euphoric pleasure coursed through your body. His strong grip kept your hips down as he continued his ministrations against your sensitive bud, playing with you to his heart’s content. Even as you started to come down from your high his tongue still teased you, fingers only digging further into your thighs.

“F-Fuck, sir, p-please,” you tried to twist your hips away, weakly tugging at his hair. You felt his low chuckle vibrate through your core, only overstimulating you more.

“Did you really think I was done, darling?”

Despite how sensitive and tired you were, you still felt yourself clenching at his words. Were you really about to refuse another orgasm from him?

No, no you weren’t.

“N-No, sir,” your voice was shaky as you spoke. You just managed to look down at him and the sight of him, eyes dark and full of lust, hair a mess between your fingers, and chin slick with your arousal only made you moan, turning you on all the more.

A smirk graced his lips as he held your gaze, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to your inner thigh. “That’s what I thought, darling. Now relax for me, you do want better results this time, right?”

He didn’t give you time to answer as sucked your clit between his lips again. You fell back to the bed, shaky breaths and moans falling from your lips as he dragged his tongue lower. He teased your entrance, dipping his tongue in just enough to give you a small taste of the sensation. He kept it up, his gaze intense as he watched your reaction until your hips were chasing the feeling.

“And I thought you were tired, darling,” he teased. “But then again, you’re always so desperate for me, aren’t you?”

“Y-Yes sir,” you moaned, your words falling off as he plunged his tongue into your core. His hands held your hips down as he curled and thrust his tongue into you, searching for your sweet spot. His movements were much like that of his fingers, calculated and almost calm, though there was an underlying hunger, and impatience as he made you come further and further undone. 

You moaned out as he passed by a particularly good spot inside of you, trying to buck your hips as he grinned against you. He moved one arm to press down over your hips, keeping them perfectly still as he repeated the motion. He drew moan after wanton moan from your lips as your toes started to curl from the feeling.

The ministrations of his tongue sent waves of pleasure curling and rushing through your body. Your mind was drowning, focused only on the feeling of his tongue as your orgasm built more and more by the second. You gripped the bed every tighter and pressed his face in as much as you could, earning a growl that sent delicious vibrations through you. The coil in the pit of your stomach was tightening, bringing you so close.

“F-Fuck, sir, I-I- please.”

Dr. Lee hummed against you, his tongue moving only slightly faster and brushing your sweet spot with a little more force. Even though you knew he already knew what you wanted the intention of his hum was clear.

Use your words.

“P-Please, sir, y-you fingers,” you gasped. “P-Please I-I need th-them, I n-need to c-cum, please, sir.”

A much louder growl vibrated against your core. The fingers Dr. Lee had on your thigh dug in deeper and he moved the hand on your hips until his thumb was pressed to your clit. He started to rub, quickly and roughly. He moved his tongue into you as quickly as could, curling against your sweet spot.

Your hand tightened into a fist in his hair and your thighs clamped tightly around his head as you came on his tongue. Waves of pure ecstasy crashed over your body as you arched off the bed, nearly screaming was the force of your release wracked your body, stars bursting behind your eyelids and every inch of you shaking.

Panting took over moans was you started to come down from your high, his tongue lapping up every last bit of your release greedily. You whimpered, your mind searching for words as it spun dizzyingly. You were sure he was planning on contuniting when the machine next to him let out a loud beep.

Dr. Lee looked almost annoyed as he pulled away. As you caught your breath he stood slowly, keeping your hips at the edge of the bed. He leaned over you just a bit, pressing hard length, tight in his pants to your sensitive core and earning a moan from you as heat rose in your cheeks.

“Do you feel that, darling? Do you feel what you’ve done to me. I-”

A knock at the door caught his and your attention. You worried for a moment that someone was about to inquire about your screaming, realizing the room probably wasn’t soundproof. Dr. Lee glanced at you for a moment before helping you further back onto the bed, then grabbing his lab coat. He pulled it closed around himself before heading to the door. You flipped your skirt down quickly and grabbed your sweater, covering your chest just before he opened the door.

You had to wonder if this place was full of ridiculously good looking doctors as you took in the attractive man in the doorway. His features were just as handsome as Dr. Lee, tan skin and equally perfect hair, he was already sprouting fantasies in your head. The two spoke quietly and you almost missed Dr. Lee’s face as he glanced back at you, just catching the hint of a smirk on his lips before he turned his attention back to the other doctor. He smoothed his hair quickly before calling to you.

“I’m terribly sorry, but something’s come up,” his voice was back to it’s usual sunny yet professional tone. “The nurse will be in in a few moments to undo the electrodes. And don’t forget to book your follow up in a few weeks.”

He sent you one last sunny smile before following the other doctor down the hallway, leaving you dazed in his wake, his words eventually sinking in as you scrambled to find your panties before the nurse came in.

[a-king-alone]

Harry Warden x female reader Summary: It's the 60's baby ~

You were just a normal person, nothing particularly special about you. You went about your daily life, without much of a care. In fact, you felt a bit disconnected from reality, but continued to do your work diligently. So, why you?

It was early February, the cooled air still felt a bit brisk, sending a shiver down your arms, feeling the hairs rise beneath. You pulled your cardigan closer; you got cold easily. As you were walking down to your neighbors house before your scheduled shift at your job, you overheard some older ladies standing near their mailboxes, gossiping or some such.

It caught your attention that there was a mine accident in one of the towns nearby. It was rare, but not unusual. The hazards of working in a mine were very well known.  Silently, you hoped everyone turned out to be uninjured and managed to be rescued safely. It may have been a fruitless wish, but you wished it, nonetheless.

You kept walking. It wasn't much of your concern. It was business as usual that day, nothing out of the ordinary. Valentine's day was upon the town, but you had no plans. Nobody was interested in you, nor did anybody from the small town you grew up in interest you. You talked about this with your friend while you assisted them for their date.

You thought of how nice it would be to move away somewhere else, to escape from the same old stale scenery you'd grown accustomed to. You worked as a waitress in one of the three diners in the town, every face you saw, you saw every day. You knew what they would order and how they preferred it.

It was incredibly boring.

Usually, you'd have left work before dusk, but you were chosen to settle in with the last of the hourly shift. Your coworkers had plans for their special love interests, dolled up and ready for their beautiful, romantic Valentine's evenings.

Fortunately, that meant everyone was busy with their plans, so the rest of your shift was you occupying an empty store. You enjoyed the silence. That is, you were, until a few men in business attire entered, bantering and laughing with one another upon entry.

Strangely, you didn't recognize any of them at all. They were fresh faces. You put on your best charming smile and welcomed them. They sat and ordered some sweets and black coffees.

As you prepared their items for them, you sorta listened in on their conversation. You couldn't deny that you were curious of these strangers. One of them mentioned the mine from the other town as you brought them their coffees. Not quite what you were interested in hearing, your shoulders sagging a bit.

"Thanks, sweetheart." You nodded, returning to behind the counter.

"Couldn't believe it, they tried to blame me for the accident. Are they insane? How could it be my fault? Had to get out of the town, it was driving me nuts." The man tsk'd as his fellows laughed at his frustrations.

They went on to mention that while rescue was in attempt at this very moment, they hadn't found anybody at all. That was very unfortunate. It brought down your mood a little bit, knowing that there were people trapped in tunnels underground, probably scared, without food or water... or worse, stuck in the pitch black darkness. How horrific.

With a small, quiet sigh thorough your nose, you brought the gentlemen their sweets they requested, mentioning to them that your diner would be closing soon. They acknowledged it and didn't overstay their welcome.

After you closed, you set off for your journey on foot back to your home. Your house was about a mile outside of the town. It was your family home, left to you by your deceased parents. You had no siblings nor much of any connection to family members from either side of the family. You preferred to be left alone.

The money you made was only just enough to keep the place together and to have a roof over your head. You figured someday you'd try to get an automobile after saving up, if you could manage it. It'd be a while before then.

The moon was bright as you wrapped your arms around yourself, to ward off the chill of the cold air. As you arrived to your front porch, you noticed something a little unusual. It looked as if your front door were open, just a tad.

Your brow furrowed as you took a quick glance behind you, then surveying your immediate surroundings. It was silent. Surely you couldn't have forgotten to close the door when you left. Your eyebrows rose. Y'know, you might have forgotten. Sometimes your head floats away into the clouds.

You entered your domicile, closing and locking the door, for sure, behind you this time. It was a cozy home, everything within mostly left untouched from your childhood. Rather dated, but still homely.

You felt like you would enjoy some tea to warm your bones, so you went into your kitchen to prepare some for yourself in a kettle. Leaving it to boil, you ascended the staircase toward your bedroom, where you stopped dead in your tracks at the top.

You closed your bedroom door. You always closed your bedroom door because there was a cold draft in the upper part of the house and you didn't like it being so cold in your room. Yet, the door was slightly ajar. The hairs on your neck rose with a strange feeling coiling around inside of your stomach.

Your home had nothing of value in it, nothing that a burglar would covet enough to steal from you. The worst of your thoughts were pinned on the idea of a pervert or serial rapist. The closest immediate object for protection available to you was an umbrella.

You frowned, very deeply.

There was a vase on the stand in the hallway where you stood. Your mother adored it. You adored staying alive, so you picked up the vase and slowly tip-toed toward your bedroom.

Instantly, you froze, once you heard a bit of rummaging. Oh my god, you thought, there's actually someone in there... Dread washed over you, but you wanted to defend your home from creepy perverts. You were the only one you had to protect yourself. You could smash their head in with a vase. No problem, right? ...Right?

With a big inhale, you kicked your door open, frantically flipping the light switch after the fact. The sight before your eyes was the very last thing you'd have ever expected to see as the light flooded the contents on the room. You dropped the vase.

It was a man. A man with a miners type of outfit slathered in dirt and grime, a gas mask covering the entirety of his skull. And there was blood, splattered in random patterns upon it. He was attempting to open your window when you burst in, his back slightly turned to you. Two pitch black circular holes met with your frozen position as his mask turned in your direction, neither of you moving.

Downstairs, you heard the tea kettle whistling for your attention and all you could do is blink. You'd never been so afraid in your life, your soles firmly planted right where you were, your lips agape in abject horror.

"I- I need... to..." you sputtered stupidly, your mind broken as you turned away from this someone, this stranger in your house, in your bedroom, who might actually kill you, and you're damn near sprinting down the stairs as fast as you never thought you could.

What am I doing?! you thought as you grabbed your own face with your hands, pacing back and forth in the kitchen. I should be calling the authorities! Finally you seemed to get a grasp on the situation and grabbed your telephone on your kitchen table, sliding into one of the chairs. As you were mid-dial, a gloved hand pushed down on the receiver.

Towering over you was the man, again, staring down at you, unmoving.

"Don't do that."

You're suspended in absolute horror and all you can do is swiftly nod, withdrawing your hand quickly from the phone to hold it against your chest, which was rapidly moving with each breath. How did you not notice he came downstairs?

You wanted to speak, you wanted to ask what he wanted, why he was in your house, but your throat was closed. You were so scared that he would hurt you, or molest you, dismember you, torture you, or kill you. Slowly, the masked man bent down onto one knee to be more at level with you as you were trembling like a leaf caught in the breeze.

"Don't cause any trouble for me. Nod if you understand."

You nod.

"Good. Didn't realize this home was occupied, looked kind of old. I need to stay here for the night. Nod if you understand." His voice was muffled, but gruff and deep in tone, causing another spike of fear within you.

You nod again. Why in the hell did he need to hide in your house? Was he a criminal? He was wearing a miners type of outfit, or so it seemed, you weren't overly familiar with the appearance of one. He rose to his full height with a sharp inhale. It seemed like he wouldn't harm you as long as you cooperated with his demands. You hoped that it wouldn't extend further than this.

His mask tilted as he watched you watching him. You had no idea what to do, feeling your mind bending and cracking to try and cope with the situation.

"W- W- Wou- W-" you began, but you couldn't get the sentence to exit from your lips at all, sucking in breath to try and ease your panicked body. A noise that sounded like a sharp exhale through the nose came from the mask, somewhat resembling a snort.

The man took the slightest step toward you and you immediately cowered, flinching your eyes shut as you turned away. God, just please go away... you thought, please don't hurt me.

You remained like that for a few seconds, hearing only silence around you, turning very slowly as your eyes found themselves drawn toward the masked man again, whom was unmoved from where he stood. You blinked, tears pooling around your lower lids despite you attempting to will them to go away.

If he wasn't trying to hurt you, perhaps he pitied you for being so pathetic.

Shuffling your gaze around, you sniffled a bit, rising from your kitchen chair in very slow, very deliberate movements while the man continued to just stare at you.

You wouldn't turn your back to him at all as you moved toward your tea kettle, stopping when you were standing in front of it. His mask followed your general direction as you went. Your chest rose and fell with your panic. You took a deep breath in. Exhale.

"W- ... Would you... like some t- tea...?" you hoarsely asked in the tiniest of whispers, your hands finding their way to clasp one another over your heart, thudding so harshly against your ribs.

The man did not move, at all. You hoped he heard you so you wouldn't have to repeat yourself, your stare trained on him and only him. Nothing happened for a moment.

And then, he nodded.

"O- Okay."

You really did not want to turn your back to this man, in fear that he would strike you down as soon as you did, take your life and then steal your home to turn into his base for criminal activities. Tears pricked at your eyes once more as you turned toward the kettle on the stove. The warmth granted the ghost of relief. As you prepared the cups of tea, your hands refused to stop shaking, causing the glasses to clink together every so often.

Nothing happened between then and you facing him again.

You turned toward him, unsure if you'd even be able to bring it to him without spilling it or dropping it on the floor. Trying your best to keep a strong grip on the cups, you went toward the table, placing both of the cups down across from one another on the surface with haste.

You took your seat, using every ounce of your willpower to one, not cry, and two, not stare at this terrifying man intruding in your house.

The man entered your view as he sat across from you. For several moments, he only sat there, seemingly watching you as you sipped your own tea. Silently, you wondered if maybe he actually didn't want to show his face to you. A criminal would think like that, right...? You weren't sure. You cleared your throat, gently.

"Um... Do you... want me to look away...?"

You weren't sure why you were even bothering to ask, but you wanted to play this as safely as possible to get out of this situation unscathed and this felt like the best option. The man didn't respond, for several more moments, causing you to squirm a bit under his seeming scrutiny.

"...No," he finally answered, his gloved hands removing the helmet, then after, pulling the gas mask off of his head from the back. He set it down on the table as he twisted the hose connected to it from the nozzle, letting the other half fall free to his side.

Genuinely, you were surprised at his appearance. He certainly wasn't what you had expected, though you were kind of expecting a monster, in all honesty. He looked far more human than what your wild imagination conjured, a bit lengthy dark curly locks, even darker eyes, which weren't looking at you, but down at the cup of tea you had offered him.

Pinching the tip of his finger, his eyes dark as the night sky suddenly met yours as you were surveying him, pulling the glove off slowly, before doing the same the other. This time, his gaze did not break away until he removed both gloves and set them down on top of his mask.

He picked up the little cup and sipped the tea.

"It's good," he commented, the tip of his tongue running over his top lip to catch a bit that had lingered there.

You felt, somehow, the tiniest bit of ease now that he had removed his gear from his person. With the mask, he looked much more terrifying. Or so you had thought for just a moment, until you found his piercing gaze glued to your eyes, nonstop.

His eyes made him look like a feral animal. Ink black. A predator.

You sucked in air audibly, your eyes widening just slightly when you saw one corner of his mouth rise at the noise you just made, that gaze never wavering from your eyes, not for a second. Like a coyote within reach of a delicious piece of meat.

You felt your stomach drop to the center of the earth.

You wanted to run, so badly, and never look back, start over somewhere else. Everything about this felt like a mistake, as if you were being played into the devils hands, being lured willingly to your own demise.

You could feel your breath cooling your lips as you breathed in and out of the gap shallowly, the anxiety making your entire body feel like it was tightly coiling inside of itself, collapsing like a dying star.

And he was smiling, just slightly. At you. This man was not right in the head and this realization was hitting you harder and harder. You were damn-near in tears, visibly trembling out of sheer panic and it seemed that sight of it brought him joy, after he had broke into your home, causing you terror. Was he... enjoying it...?

"W- Wh- Wh- Who are...?" you sputtered without thinking and the man simply shook his head with slow, deliberate motion, causing you to stop then and there. You blinked, in silence, your lips opening and closing.

The tears were threatening to fall and you desperately didn't want it to happen. It would just show your weakness to this monster and you already looked like a pitiful little mess. You picked up your cup and sipped what was left of your tea, rising from your seat with all the strength you could muster with a small sniffle. Don't show him your tears, you thought.

As you were placing your cup into your sink, the man was behind you suddenly and without warning, as you were lost in your own racing thoughts. His arm went by your side, too close to you, as he placed the cup you offered him into the sink right on top of yours.

You froze, a gasp escaping you.

And you heard what almost sounded like a very faint, very pleased... vibration of noise come from him behind you, you weren't too sure, since your heartbeat was pounding so hard in your ears you couldn't think straight.

Every hair on your body stood on end when the man had leaned down close to your neck, too close, his lips close, much too close, to your ear, his breath gentle against it  as he whispered, "My name is Harry."

He lingered there, for far too long. You could feel him breathing and you were too terrified to move at all, your lips quivering, your own breathing audibly shaking.

"But don't say it. Don't... say it."

He then backed away from you, returning to the seat he had claimed as his own at your kitchen table. The overflow began and there was nothing you could do to stop it. Wet streaks fell down your cheeks, one after another, blurring your vision as you stared into the sink where the cups lie on top of one another.

You felt so trapped. Your chest heaved and a sob erupted from you abruptly, your hands covering your nose and mouth to stop the shockwave, but it was too late. This wasn't your house anymore, it was the den of a creature hellbent on tasting your blood and gnawing on the shreds of your suffering until the bitter end. That's how it felt. That this man was your death, awaiting for you and only you.

Harry calmly stared at you as you sobbed over the sink, unable to keep a grip on yourself any longer. You had tried to, oh you had tried. You tried so hard to stay strong.

"Do you want a hug?"

You choked on your own gulp of air, your head whipping to this man with the most incredulous expression on your tear-stained face. A flicker of a smile ghosted around Harry's mouth, but it never manifested.

"Just kidding," he said, leaning back in the chair, finally, his gaze settling elsewhere.

Your eyes narrowed, but somehow... You felt your tears subside just a little bit. That sinister aura didn't feel as thick and all-consuming as it had a moment ago. He wasn't a monster, just a man. Probably a criminal... or a serial killer. But just another human being. You felt a bit more calm. Only a little.

You looked away, a question prodding at your tongue and you wanted to know if he would tell the truth. He probably wouldn't. Why would he? Harry probably wasn't even his real name. You allowed your momentary calmness fuel your strength.

"Are you... W- Were you... planning to kill me...?"

Harry seemed thoughtful about your question, though not surprised by it. You wondered if he was considering lying to you so that you'll keep cooperating without any issues arising. If it were you, you would lie. You felt sick. You were dreading what his answer might be even though you were the one who asked so blatantly.

"No. Didn't think anyone lived here," he admitted, his eyes wandering around your kitchen, observing the olden items and decor of the last decade within your home.

"O- Oh.."

Your face flushed as you realized that it sounded as if you were slightly disappointed by his answer due to the tone of your reply, which was completely unintentional. You dared to glance his way and sure enough, his eyes were pinned directly on you now, one of his brows just slightly risen.

"N- Not like that!!" you defended with your hands, turning away from a grin that had formed on his lips. He chuckled lightly at your response, shaking his head just a bit.

"I might do anything if you ask me nicely," he teased, though, it was as if it were teasing between friends, but something about his gaze seemed just a little bit more soft toward you. There couldn't be a reason for it, because you were strangers. And your interactions have only lasted for an hour at most.

"Then... Then... may I...?" you persisted in a quiet but hopeful voice with a step toward him, testing the waters of his offer, even though you knew it wasn't serious, you wanted to know if you could just straight up ask him to leave without hurting you or worse. If he would listen to you.

He seemed curious, but also cautious. His demeanor bristled slightly, but his posture remained mostly relaxed. "Depends on what it is."

Your eyes went downcast, feeling that the answer to your plea would be instantly rejected. You just wanted your home back, to be alone, to feel safe in your own house. That wasn't possible with his presence. Your lips tightened and you inhaled a breath as you steadied yourself to meet his gaze.

"Would you help me get some of my blankets down from the closet upstairs? You're... taller, so..." you mumbled, fumbling with the hem of your shirt where your eyes ended up looking.

Harry seemed taken aback by your request. Clearly, it wasn't what he had expected, though, what he had expected was probably true. It was just that you couldn't say the words out loud.

"Ah... Alright," he accepted, standing from his seat.

You walked past him, heading toward the staircase and he followed behind. As you reached the closet after opening it, you turned toward him, the closet light giving you a much clearer view of the features defining his face. He was actually somewhat handsome and you found your cheeks burning to your horror and chagrin, instantly looking downward before moving out of his way. You hoped he didn't notice.

He did.

The extra quilts and blankets were gathered from the upper shelves, bundled in his arms and he faced you, waiting for your directions.

"There's a couch downstairs," you said as you took a few steps to descend the staircase, looking back for a moment to see Harry still in front of the closet.

"Your bed," he responded simply.

"My... bed?" you repeated with risen brows, suspicious feelings swirling about in a vortex that gave you a bit of nausea. He couldn't be implying that he wanted to sleep in your bed while you were the one to sleep on the couch?!

Some kind of smirk crossed his features as he turned to your bedroom door, gently nudging it open with his boot. Before you could even get a word of protest in, he had already invited himself in, the bundle of fabrics now rested on your bedside.

Harry motioned for you to join him with beckoning fingers, you, feeling sickness in the deepest pit of your stomach, preying silently to any such beings if they even existed to please protect you from this might-be monster. You were shaking again, timidly entering what used to be your safe haven to hide from the world.

"W- Why...?" you asked before you could stop yourself, your lip quivering as your arms wrapped around yourself to try and bring yourself some comfort.

"Go on." He gestured to the covers, peeling them from their respective corners until there was space for you to slide beneath them. This time he wouldn't answer your question and you were too afraid to ask again. In fact, you were almost too afraid to even move, afraid that you were willingly slipping into your shackles of death. Or worse.

You hesitated, but he waited.

Slowly, despite still being in your basic work clothes, you obeyed and sat at the edge of your bed, maneuvering your body beneath the covers after kicking your shoes off. Harry tucked you in until you were all snug. You grimace, hoping with all your might that he doesn't try to sleep in your bed. You wished he would just go away so you could at least put on your pajamas. The fact that he was actually forcing you to go to bed made you feel angry, but your fear had your brain too overloaded to act out on it.

"Comfy?" he asked in an unusually gentle tone as he grabbed the edge of one of the extra blankets, draping that one over you as well despite there already being two upon you.

You hated that you wanted to keep asking why, why, why, to every single thing that he did. You hated it even more than despite asking, you weren't going to get an answer.

Harry leaned closer to your face, you shrinking back into your pillow. Your reaction kept him from going any nearer.

"Are you comfy?" he asked again, his tone even quieter than it had been before. You nodded feebly. Why was he such a weird person? Was he a killer? A rapist? A thief? You felt so confused and scared, it showed visibly on your facial expressions. Maybe sleep was the best option after all so that this nightmare would be over with faster.

He sat down next to you, his body touching yours with the barrier of blankets between you, but you could feel his weight on the edge of the bed, the warmth of it.

"Not gonna hurt you," he uttered aloud suddenly, his fingers intertwined with themselves, rested loosely on his lap. "Not unless you want me to."

Your eyes widened as you attempted to get your breathing under control, sharply inhaling through your nostrils when the words left his mouth. Not unless he wanted you to? Why the hell would you want him to? Is he insane?

"I- I don't want you to," you responded very quickly, a little too quickly, to which he chuckled somewhat heartily. It surprised you. He was definitely a weird person.

"I know," he said quietly, never once looking in your direction, only staring straight ahead through the maw of your open bedroom door. "...I know. So, I won't. No reason to. Thank you for your hospitality."

You wanted to snort at that. Hospitality? Forced to be kept as a hostage in your own home felt more accurate to you.

"...Well, your forced hospitality, that is," he continued with a slight chuckle, almost as if he read your very own thoughts. The fact that he laughed at your state of distress made you feel sick.

"I guess I should say, thank you for cooperating."

You weren't sure how to respond. You had not a clue what sort of person he was, or what his intentions were. He certainly wasn't going to relay that information to you. Or perhaps he would, if you asked nicely, you remembered...

"Um. Could I... change into my pajamas?" your question came out in a tiny voice, feeling humiliated with the fact that you were asking for permission, but also the fact that you were almost very sure that he wouldn't leave the room either to give you privacy.

"I did ask if you were comfy," he replied, not turning toward you, but his eyes were watching you now. You stayed silent, unsure of what that answer was supposed to mean. He was the one who forced you to get in the bed! He then stood up, taking a few steps before standing right outside of the doorframe, shutting the door behind him. You heard no further footsteps, so he was still standing there.

You were surprised that he granted you privacy and wasn't going to absolutely take advantage of you while making yourself even more vulnerable in front of him. A tiny bit of relief washed over you. You knew you weren't much to look at anyways, silently very thankful that you weren't super conventionally attractive. Or else he might have tried to take advantage of you already.

Without wasting time, you quickly went to your closet, grabbing an oversized shirt and some bottoms to switch into, throwing your work outfit into the closet. Usually you wouldn't wear so much to bed, but there was no way you were going to be in just your underwear, dangling bloodied meat in front of a circling shark. No way.

Sliding back under the covers, you settled into your cozy bed, feeling more relief especially with just being alone, for the moment, pretending it was an ordinary, normal night and there wasn't a serial killer right outside of your door.

He came back in, shattering your perfect shortlived fantasy. To the other side of your bed is where he stood this time, then, to your absolute horror, he began to undress. You turned over quickly to face away, your heart hammering away you almost thought he could probably actually hear it. You felt it in your ears as they burned.

The weight of your bed shifted, the feeling extremely unfamiliar, with the weight of someone else's body occupying the space right next to you. You had never slept next to anybody, nor had you ever slept with anybody. You'd never even kissed anyone. Your face felt overbearingly hot.

You were too afraid to speak.

Harry was shuffling around a bit, perhaps to make himself comfortable, but you felt something pressing against your back, down to your legs. It wasn't his body, you knew, as you peered over your shoulder for a second to see that he was using the extra blankets to build a barrier between the two of you. Your brows knit together, the confusions so overwhelming already.

He seemed rather calm and undisturbed, but both of those words felt inaccurate. Emotionless felt more correct to you.

"It's been so long. Please allow me to have this selfish comfort."

That was all he had said before he settled on his back next to you and you couldn't understand what he truly meant by it at all. The comfort of sleeping next to somebody? The comfort of a bed? What kind of life had he lived? You understood on some level that bed was definitely the most safe and comfortable place to be, but your space felt so invaded, so stifled. You had never shared it before.

A silence loomed between you and him for several long minutes, perhaps even longer,  until you finally felt the courage to move around enough to turn off your lamp, darkness befalling the room. You heard Harry suck in his breath once the darkness engulfed you both, but then silence. There wasn't a chance that you would fall asleep. Not at all. The silence remained, but your mind was speeding through thoughts one after the next. So fast, that you had forgotten something.

"What happened to you, Harry...?" you whispered softly after several moments, unknowing if he had fallen asleep or if he lay awake just as you were. You hoped he was asleep. Though, you imagined he definitely wouldn't allow himself to do so until he knew for sure that you were first, which is why you spoke.

Your back was faced to him, but you felt his weight shifting around, something draped over your side on top of the blankets. His arm. A noiseless breath left you as you felt the blankets being pressed closer against your backside. You had become the little spoon.

Your face felt like it was on fire and your skin wasn't even touching one another, blankets covering everything in between. Your voice felt stuck in your throat.

Harry kept snuggling closer to you, despite the barriers between you both, almost clutching onto you. You could barely, just barely, feel his breath on the back of your head. He could smell the scent of your shampoo. The scent of you, your room, everything. It was driving you mad.

"I escaped," he uttered aloud, his hold on you growing more tight as your confusion swelled even more. "I was the only one who made it out alive. I was stuck down there, in the dark, for so long... so long..."

You had no idea what the hell he was talking about, your mind derailing in several different directions all at once. A man was holding you, something you'd never experienced aside from being hugged by your father, your heart on the verge of exploding in your chest and he wasn’t making any sense.

"I had no choice," he continued softly, his voice strained as he went on. "I had to do it... I thought I was going to die down there. I had to kill them. I had to... I had to eat..."

Your breath was audibly shaking now, your chest heaving and this strange man holding onto you even more tightly before it finally clicked in your mind, the vague words he was saying, admitting that he had killed another human, other humans. And he had eaten their flesh without any other choice, stuck in the dark deep underground.

"You were trapped in that mine accident," you whispered suddenly, the pieces finally coming together for you in your mind. He wasn't a serial killer, he was a man caught in an unfortunate accident, forced to survive in conditions not meant for any humans...

"I- I'm sorry..." you continued, unsure of what to do from this point on with this new realization.

Harry said nothing after that. He only clung to you as if it were his last life line connected to his sanity. You felt horrible for him. It wasn't that it made anything he was doing okay, breaking into your house, holding you hostage essentially, getting too close to you. But you couldn't imagine the horror of being trapped in a mine with no food, no water, no light... Lost and unsure if there would ever be a way to get out. Accepting that you may die alone, in the dark.

You thought you had felt true fear when you saw Harry for the first time in his actually very horrifying outfit. You realized then that he had seen, felt and done things that you didn't even have the capacity to imagine. You felt empathy for him. No wonder he was such a strange person... How could anybody be normal after such a traumatic event?

Even though the circumstances were unusual and terrifying, a feeling within you began to stir. You wanted to help this man. Despite that he was invading your personal space, he hadn't actually molested you nor did he attempt anything of the sort.

"Please tell me everything is okay," he pleaded quietly without warning, his voice hoarse as it cracked slightly, his face burrowing deeper into the pillows, thus closer to your neck. This poor man was losing his grip and you felt helpless to do anything to bring some ease.

"Everything... Everything is okay. Okay? It's okay. You're okay now," you complied with his request, trying your best to not sound so scared while you were speaking, but your voice still shook just a bit. Harry's body heaved suddenly, startling you, as he then clutched onto you, the blankets balled into his fists.

There were sometimes noises that came from him that you couldn't really identify. It kind of sounded as if he were crying, but you weren't sure.

He was.

He had no one. He had nothing. He was wanted for murder after he managed to escape from the collapsed mine. He did what he had to do in order to survive, during an accident that was no one's fault but the managers that oversaw the project to begin with and their carelessness. Yet, he was the one who was blamed. All he wanted was to be told that it would be okay. He just wanted to feel like someone understands, but everyone looked at him with evil eyes.

You were the only one he had come across that hadn't.

He held onto you. He cried into your backside, for how long, you had no idea. He was desperate for the feelings to come to an end. He would never be the man he was before. He could never return to the life he had before. "Harry" was only a cannibalistic murderer now. His identity was stripped from him when he emerged victorious in fighting tooth and nail for his very life.

Only overjoyed to breathe fresh air, to see the sunshine he thought he was never see again, while people he used to know as friends and coworkers leered down upon him like he was just some petty serial killer.

You had no idea.

Somehow, you eventually fell asleep, despite being in a situation you'd have never come up with in your wildest of dreams. The rays of the suns light filtered through your curtains as you began to return to the waking world. All you could see in your blurred vision were the specks of dust lazily floating around in front of the window.

An arm was still holding onto you, you realized. You attempted to not move too much, turning your head to see if Harry was awake. He wasn't. His side rose and fell gently with his slumber, still as close to you as he was in the hours of the night. He needed your comfort and you provided it, even despite the very unusual set of circumstances.

Under his eyelashes, his lower lids were raw and red, a bit of dampness still visible as darkened spots on the fabric of your pillowcase. How late had he remained awake? You imagined it may be hard for someone like him to sleep in the darkness due to what he had experienced. He may not have slept at all until the faintest of sunlight came through the window.

Your assumption was correct.

You waited for at least an hour, but Harry wouldn't budge. He never even stirred when you very gingerly moved his arm and slipped away from him. For a moment, you stood by the bedside, observing this man who slept in your bed. Gently, you moved the blankets to cover his shoulders. As you were closer to his face, you let your fingertips brush softly against a few locks of his hair that had stuck to his forehead during the night.

Harry woke many hours later, suddenly jerking upright when he realized that you were long gone. As he came into your view at the bottom of the staircase, you were preparing some sandwiches for lunch with cooked vegetables and such on them. No meat, as you decided that might be insensitive for someone like Harry to smell it cooking.

"Oh, good morning, Harry," you greeted him in the most normal way you could think of, your face immediately flushed as he was in nothing but his pants. Quickly, you put a plate down on your kitchen table with the offering of food. "Hungry?"

He looked completely stupefied with disheveled hair and obviously just woke up, blinking several times at you as you attempted to make some kind of genuine smile before you turned away from him, continuing to go ahead and begin making your own meal. The first sandwich was actually for yourself, but you hadn't expected to see him just yet, so you decided to give it to him instead.

"Ah. Uh. Sure," he replied as he sat at the table, seemingly astounded by everything around him, staring down at the plate. "Good... morning?"

"It's afternoon now, but it's alright," you replied, your heart doing a million flips per second because of how he was an intruder who broke in last night, who terrified you to death, but now you were feeding him and somewhat actually concerned for his well-being. What a bizarre and rapid change of pace.

You both ate in silence after you joined him at the table, continuing in this fashion until you both finished. His satisfied expression told you that he was highly appreciative of it. You stood and took the plates to the sink.

"Hey."

You turned toward him with your head slightly tilted attentively, waiting for him to go on.

"...Thank you," he murmured, his eyes usually sharp as darts seemingly soft at this moment, not piercing into your own, but slightly downcast. Awkwardly, he shuffled his feet together.

"It's okay," you replied, resuming the dishes that you were cleaning and putting away, going on to do the same with the food you had laying out on the countertops. As you completed your tasks, you turned to Harry, holding you hands together in front of you, your lips pressed into a line as you thought about the words you wanted to say. You inhaled.

"Harry..." you began softly, your thumbs messing about with one another while he was watching you, awaiting for what you had to say, though he seemed somewhat uncomfortable.

"...You can stay here, if you want to. I- If you have no where else to go, I mean. I- I know that's weird because you... broke into my house, but..."

He blinked several times, clearly not expecting this conversation at all. In fact, he had most likely expected that you'd say, alright, you had your fucked up fun in my bed, now get the fuck out. But no. It wasn't that at all. You felt pity for him. You wanted to help him, truly. He had suffered great misfortune. And he hadn't hurt you.

"I shouldn't take advantage of you more than I already have," he responded, knowing damn well that it wouldn't be right for him to stay with you after the events of yesterday. All he had wanted was somewhere to get away from the cold. It wasn't exactly his plan to find a woman in an old house distanced from all other homes in the area.

You approached nearer to him, holding your own arms around yourself.

"I- I- I'd like it, if you did," you somehow found yourself pleading for him to reconsider, your face lighting a shade of pink in your chagrin. "Y- You said you would do anything if I... if I asked you nicely. So... please stay...?"

He chuckled a bit, exhaling through his nose. Maybe he would reconsider, but you couldn't read his expression as he let himself get lost in his own thoughts and considerations.

"Guess you got me there, huh? I'll take your offer. Thank you for your hospitality, again," he responded, more gently this time around. You smiled a genuine smile, nothing forced or faked, elated to hear that you could assist someone in need once more. He reflected your smile with one of his own.

"...Don't wear that mask again though, it really frightened me," you mentioned as you nodded toward it still sitting on the table where he had left it the night before. You found that you kind of liked his laugh when it happened, as it did now.

"I don't even know your name," he said, not outright asking for it, but inquiring for you to give that information to him freely.

And so you did.

"Is that so? That's a very beautiful name," he uttered quietly, seemingly almost to himself, but you still heard him. "I really like it."

You blushed and thanked him. You were feeling some type of way and it was disturbing but not unwelcomed, only foreign to you. You now had someone to live with, for the first time in some several years. Well, for however long Harry would like to stay. You found that you were okay with him overstaying his welcome for as long as he would like to.

And he most certainly did.

[hookedonapirate]

Mis  Fix-It

Summary: Miracle worker. Relationship Guru. Savior.

Those are just a few of her monikers, but most people have taken to call her Miss Fix-It. Helping broken-hearted women get back together with their former boyfriends is her specialty. How does she do it, you ask? Simple—she becomes his date from hell so he’ll realize what a catch he had before he let her go.

Emma Swan is an expert at fixing relationships, it’s just too bad she’ll never have one of her own.

Her particular set of talents is put to the test, however, when a cheating ex-girlfriend requests her services. Emma’s reluctant at first. It’s not an easy task to make someone seem like a catch when they’ve cheated, but the potential client is an emotional wreck desperate to get her former boyfriend back before he heads back to England. Besides, Emma Swan never backs down from a challenge. They don’t call her Miss Fix-It for nothing. She’ll find a way to make him wish he was back in his ex-girlfriend’s arms, no matter what it takes. If only she can squash the feelings she develops for him and stop breaking her rules.

A/N: I know, I know, I shouldn’t be starting any more stories, but I was rewatching a movie I saw a long time ago, starring David Boreanaz, called Mr. Fix-It and I had to write my own version of it. I also did a gender swap because David’s character was just too Emma Swan to not write it that way. So this is pretty much My Best Friend"s Girl meets How to Lose a Guy in 10 days. I was originally going to write this for Captain Swan Movie Marathon, but I just couldn’t help myself or wait to share it! Some of the ideas in the story regarding relationships and love may seem stretched for the purposes of this fic, so please keep in mind, this is only fiction.

A big shout out to @ultraluckycatnd​ for beta reading and to @onceuponaprincessworld​ for letting me share my ideas with her!

Also available on: AO3 l FF.N

Catch up: Ch 1

Chapter 2

“You’re sure you don’t mind watching it again? I heard it’s one of the scariest movies of all time.”

“Well, I wouldn’t say it’s the scariest, but it’s definitely scary. I can handle it,” Emma says confidently into the phone as she pulls into the parking lot of her friend’s apartment building. “Can you?”

“Are you kidding? I love scary movies. I was thrilled you suggested it for our date. If I get too scared though, I wouldn’t mind you wrapping your arms around me to comfort me,” he says in a flirty tone.

Emma rolls her eyes and forces a laugh. “Believe me, after the dressing room scene, you’ll need to be held.”

“Really? What happens during the dressing room scene—actually, don’t answer that. No spoilers.”

“I promise, no spoilers.”

“Okay, do you want me to pick you up?”

“No, that’s okay, I’ll just talk your ear off in the car.”

He chuckles. “Hey, I don’t mind. I like a woman who speaks her mind. My ex was always so quiet and reserved. She never told me what she was thinking and it drove me nuts. I’m not a mindreader.”

“Well, you don’t have to worry about that with me,” Emma claims, suppressing a mischievous tone as she shuts off the engine. “I don’t mind making a little noise. Or a lot of noise when necessary,” she adds in a seductive tone. “I do have to warn you, though, I can get a little too vocal at times.”

“Are you kidding? I love a vocal woman. It means she’s not afraid to express herself. You can get vocal with me anytime, baby doll.”

 Emma can hear him winking over the phone and has to refrain from rolling her eyes again, or vomiting, as she gets out of the car and slams the door shut. They haven't been on one date yet and he’s already calling her baby doll. “I’ll meet you at the cinema, say 7:15?”

“Great. Can’t wait. See you then.”

“I can’t either.” This will be the second time today she’s been to the cinema to see this damn movie. In fact, she just came from there, but hey, she has to be prepared for tonight. “I’m looking forward to our date,” she exclaims promptly, striding down the walkway to the apartment building while forcing a small smile to make her enthusiasm sound believable. A smile that immediately disappears once she ends the call and throws the phone in her purse. Her grandmother always said, people can hear a smile through the telephone, so always greet them with a smile. She was referring to business calls, especially when she was dealing with tenants of either rental houses or apartment buildings she owned, who couldn’t (or didn’t like to) pay their rent on time. In this case, however, it's a business call her grandmother would’ve never imagined if she were still alive. Emma sashays up the porch steps, and as she enters the key code to the building, her phone dings in her purse. She opens the door while digging into her bag to retrieve it.

MM: Are you here yet?

Emma rolls her eyes, a smile lighting up her face, and this time it’s a genuine one, despite being slightly annoyed. She’d just talked to her friend ten minutes ago on her way here, but Mary Margaret said she had some big news to share, and that woman can only withhold information for so long. Especially if she’s super excited, which is how she sounded over the phone. Emma looks up briefly to see the elevator doors sliding open before her eyes quickly return to her screen. She starts typing a message as she races to the elevator before it closes again.

“Ooof.” Her phone falls from her hands and hits the carpeted floor of the lobby as she slams into a solid mass.

Strong hands are gripping her arms to keep her from falling and she looks up, her gaze connecting with the most drowning, most mesmerizing, most beautiful deep ocean blue eyes she's ever seen in her life. She feels like the wind has been knocked out of her lungs, but it’s not because of the collision.

“Easy, love.” A smooth British accent fills her ears, tearing her from the hypnotic trance she’s in. 

It’s not until she peels her eyes from his when she notices the charming grin gracing a pair of perfectly soft, exquisite looking lips. She also notices he’s standing in the elevator entrance to keep the doors from closing. Even when he releases her arms to bend over and pick something up from the floor, he kicks back his foot to hold the doors open. After he rises, he places a firm hand on the elevator entrance while her phone is extended to her with the other hand.

Right. Her phone. She had temporarily forgotten she had dropped it during the collision.

“Uh… sorry, I...” she stutters as she takes the device, her heart fluttering as her fingertips lightly brush his. She shakes her head to get a grip on reality again because for some goddamn reason, her voice decided to betray her. But maybe it’s because she has a modest-sized list of qualities she finds attractive in a man, and his distinguishable qualities have so far checked all of her boxes.

Blue eyes that rival the beauty of the ocean. Check.

A heart-melting (or panty-melting, or in this case both) smile. Check. 

Sexy British lilt. Check.

Messy dark hair that looks like he’s just been thoroughly fucked while remaining picture perfect. Check.

Cologne with a hint of spice that she can detect as she passes him to step onto the elevator; it’s a subtle fragrance, yet very enticing. Check.

A gentleman based on the assumption that he’s been holding the door open for her since he saw her rushing for the elevator. Check.

Scruff on his chin that she imagines would feel amazing on her lips (or between her thighs). Check, check and check.  

“Thank you. I guess I shouldn’t be texting and walking,” she says with a strangled laugh as she presses the button of her floor, watching it light to avoid getting lost in his eyes again. To ignore the butterflies in her stomach. Which is stupid because she never gets intimidated by men. She has a mile-high fortress surrounding her heart and she prefers to keep it that way.

“Aye, that might be a good idea,” he chuckles, scratching behind his ear in a rather adorable manner as he casually leans against the elevator gate. And of course, his laugh is so fucking sexy, she has to add it to her list. 

His gaze flickers to the lit-up button and back to her eyes as he lifts a curious brow. “What unit are you heading to?”

“What are you, a stalker?” she accuses as she crosses her arms over her chest.

“Just curious is all,” he answers, raising his hands defensively. "You’re going to the same floor I came from. If I were a stalker, I wouldn't be a very good one, considering I asked you where you lived instead of sneaking around and following you, now would I?" 

Emma opens her mouth to respond, but before she gets the chance, her phone is dinging in her hand as another incoming text from Mary Margaret appears, reminding her she never finished replying to the previous message.

MM: You must still be driving so don't respond. See you soon!

Emma laughs and shakes her head, holding up her phone screen to the handsome stranger. “This is why I was texting while walking. I swear my friend has a mini heart attack whenever I don't respond right away. Even though her apartment is where I'm heading,” she adds, vaguely answering his question.

He glances at the screen briefly before meeting her gaze again, and she turns the phone around and lowers it in front of her again. 

“Ah, I see. Guess you should go then. Wouldn't want her to have a heart attack on my account.” 

She glances at the elevator entrance he's still leaning against. "Might be easier if you stepped back so the doors can close.”

“Right. My apologies, love,” he says with a bashful smile, his cheeks painted with a slight blush. “As you wish.” With that, he steps back into the lobby, letting the doors slide shut. 

Her eyes are locked with his until the doors are completely closed, and even then, she’s still staring at the doors as though trying to burn a hole in them with her laser stare. She immediately feels a pang of regret from no longer being able to drown in those ocean blue eyes.

Emma blinks a few times to pull herself back to reality. The one where she’s very single and very much not looking for a man. Men are trouble, and that’s all they’re good for.

The elevator reaches the eleventh floor and Emma steps off, heading to Mary Margaret’s apartment before she receives another text from her friend.

She uses her key to enter the apartment and finds Mary Margaret sitting across from her boyfriend, both of them drinking what Emma only assumes is hot cocoa with whip cream and cinnamon. See, that’s what normal couples are supposed to do. Not sitting on the same side of the table. Mary Margaret and David may not be married, but they sure act like they are.

“Hi, Emma,” David greets her warmly, causing Mary Margaret to spin her head around.

“Oh good, you’re here!” The brunette springs up from her seat and goes around the table. She takes her boyfriend’s hand and tugs him toward the living room, practically bouncing up and down as she directs Emma to the sofa, looking like she’s about to combust at any moment. “Have a seat, Emma, there’s something we have to tell you.”

Emma narrows her eyes warily as she makes her way to the couch.

“Sit, sit, sit!” Mary Margaret chants in excitement as she and David stand in the center of the living room, waiting for Emma to have a seat.

Emma lifts a brow and quickly sits down. “What’s going on? Did the Evil Queen and Wicked Witch finally move out?”

Mary Margaret’s exuberant smile dims, but only slightly. “I wish.” 

Regina and her sister, Zelena, live in the unit directly below them, and every time they hear so much as a footstep above them, Zelena has a broom in her hand, banging on the ceiling with the end of the stick, and Regina is always calling the cops when she hears music; and not even loud music at that, but the walls are paper-thin. Any day they don’t pay Mary Margaret or David a visit about the noise is a very rare and very good day. Hence the monikers, Evil Queen and Wicked Witch.

“No, actually, it’s even better than that,” Mary Margaret beams as she and David exchange adoring looks before reverting their eyes to Emma.

“Okay, what is it?” she laughs. Her friends' excitement is contagious.

Mary Margaret holds up her left hand and wiggles her fingers. “We’re engaged!”

Emma’s mouth falls open in excitement as she sees the gold band holding an emerald green stone. She's not shocked though, only surprised that it didn't happen sooner. She knew they would tie the knot one day, she just wondered how long they’d be able to wait.

Emma jumps up from her seat and takes Mary Margaret's hand, studying the engagement ring. "It's so beautiful." She draws each of them into a big hug. “Oh my God, I’m so happy for both of you!”

Mary Margaret lets out the huge sigh she had apparently been holding. “Phew, it feels so good to get that off my chest. I thought I was going to explode.”

“I know,” David and Emma say simultaneously. 

“Jinx, poke you owe me a coke!” they both say.

“Ha, I said it first,” Emma teases, pointing at him.

“Only by a millisecond.”

“Alright, you two,” Mary Margaret laughs. “Now that we got that out of the way, I wanted to ask you if you would be my maid of honor, Emma.”

“Of course I will!” Emma replies enthusiastically and hugs Mary Margaret again. 

“Oh, I’m so glad! And you know you have to bring a date to the wedding, right?” Mary Margaret adds as they break the hug.

Emma frowns. “Do I have to?”

“Emma, come on, it wouldn’t kill you to go out and meet a guy for once.”

“I do go out. In fact, I have a date tonight.”

Mary Margaret scolds her. “Okay, one, you were hired to date him and two, our engagement dinner is tonight at 7:30 at the Radisson Plaza.”

“Oh, well I can reschedule the date for tomorrow then,” Emma assures them. 

Mary Margaret sighs and shakes her head. “Emma, when are you going to stop trying to save relationships and start finding one for yourself, huh? You deserve to be happy, too.” 

“I am happy.”

David crosses his arms over his chest and Mary Margaret places her hands on her hips. 

“Are you really?” he asks.

“What are you, my parents?” Emma rolls her eyes and heads for the kitchen, her friends following behind her.

“We’re just worried about you, that’s all.”

Emma grabs a box of Cheez-Its and turns around, digging into the box to scoop up a handful. 

“Emma, don’t eat too many, you’ll spoil your appetite,” David chides in a fatherly tone. 

“Okay Dad,” she teases and looks at Mary Margaret, continuing their conversation. “I’m happy with the way things are, okay? Some people need true love to make them happy; I only need my two best friends, a roof over my head and a job that pays the bills. And I have a very fulfilling job at that. I get to be Superwoman and swoop in and save the day,” she says before shoveling the Cheez-Its in her mouth.

“Okay, but who’s going to save you?” Mary Margaret asks with a raised brow. “Even Superwoman needs saving from time to time. Besides, I’d hardly call getting paid to go on dates with unavailable men fulfilling. Why can’t you do something you actually enjoy, like flipping houses?” 

“Okay, first of all, only I save me,” she mumbles through a mouthful of food, pointing a clean finger at her chest. “And secondly, I need money to flip houses. To make money, I need to be Miss Fix-It. To be Miss Fix-It, I can’t have a boyfriend. I mean, can you imagine me going on an actual date and the guy asking me what I do for a living? I can’t exactly tell the truth and say, I fix relationships, so if you see me on a date with another guy, don’t worry,” Emma says cheekily with a flick of her hand, “his girlfriend is paying me to go out with him. You cool with that?”

“No, you definitely can’t say that,” Mary Margaret shakes her head. “Which is all the more reason why you need to stop this, Emma,” she pleads, resting a gentle hand on Emma’s arm. “You know we support you and what you’re doing, but most importantly, we support your well-being.”

“I know, I know,” Emma sighs in exasperation, closing the box and pulling away from Mary Margaret to return it to the pantry. She sucks the powdered cheese remnants from her fingers before washing her hands. She’s heard her friend's spiel many times before. “Even if I did start dating, what makes you think I’m going to find my Prince Charming like you did?”

David grins and wraps his arm around Mary Margaret, kissing her temple. “She sure did.”

Mary Margaret blushes and smiles, turning her head to kiss his lips before looking at Emma again. “Look, if I can find love—hell if Ruby can find love—then so can you.”

Emma cocks a brow at her friend as she dries her hands with a hand towel from the rack. “Ruby has a boyfriend?” 

“Yes, she does. They’ve been dating for four months now.”

Emma doesn't know much about the woman who lives down the hall, only that she tends to be a maneater, so Emma’s kind of surprised to hear she’s in a stable relationship. “Must be one hell of a guy.”

“Yes, from what I hear, he is,” Mary Margaret nods matter of factly.

“Believe me, I’ve heard too much,” David groans.

“You would get along famously with him, Emma,” Mary Margaret adds, ignoring her fiance’s comment. “He’s an architect. You won’t get to meet him tonight though, he had to work.” 

Emma shrugs, unimpressed. “So, he’s an architect, big deal.” 

Mary Margaret gently scolds her. “The point is, she’s happy. You can be, too.”

Emma turns from the sink, folding her arms over her chest. “Yeah, and how long would that happiness last for me? For five seconds—long enough to get my heart shattered into a million pieces? No thanks.” She turns to leave the kitchen.

“Emma, not all men are like Neal,” David says, stopping Emma in her tracks. She spins around to face them again. 

“And not all relationships end with a broken heart,” Mary Margaret adds.

“Yes, they do,” Emma claims adamantly. “Even when someone is lucky enough to find their true love and live happily ever after, one of them will die first, eventually. People either leave a lonely life when they die or they leave their loved ones with a broken heart. Sound like happiness to you?”

“Emma…” David tries to get her to listen with a pained expression on his face, but Emma cuts him off.

“I’m sorry,” she sighs, glancing between them. “Today’s supposed to be a happy one. You just got engaged and I don’t want to spoil it or drag you two down with my miserable theories on love, okay? So can we just drop it?”

Mary Margaret offers a small smile and a nod. “Okay, sorry, Emma. We didn’t mean to make you upset. We just love you and we care about you, you know that right?”

“Of course I do,” Emma says with a frail smile. “I love you both, too.”

“Well, how about we all get ready for tonight. Are you sure you don’t mind changing your plans?” David asks.

Emma scoffs and waves off his question with a flick of her hand. “Please, how often do my two best friends in the world get engaged?”

“Well, hopefully once,” David chuckles.

Emma points a warning finger at them. “It better be only once because I can’t play Miss Fix-It for you, MM, since David here already knows me and my operation.”

Mary Margaret laughs and wraps her arms around the back of David’s neck. “You won't have to worry about that, Emma, trust me.” 

David grins and wraps his arms around her, kissing her on the lips. 

Emma sticks a finger in her mouth, making a gagging motion as she grabs her purse from the table with her other hand. “Okay, that’s my cue to leave,” she laughs. “I’ll be back at seven.” She doesn’t give them a chance to answer before she’s out the door.

~*~

“This movie is so great, you're going to love it,” Emma says enthusiastically as she walks with her date, holding a bowl of popcorn. “Thank you for paying for my ticket and the snacks.”

“It’s not a problem. I’m not against women paying, just to clarify, I just think it’s the gentlemanly thing to do, you know?”

“You’re definitely a gentleman, Greg, and I love that in a man,” she says, making him blush. “Can you hold this for a sec?” She shoves the bowl into his chest before he can answer.

“Sure,” he says with a chuckle, even though he’s already holding it.

Emma opens the box of Milk Duds and pours them over the popcorn. “You don’t mind, do you? I love to let the Milk Duds melt over the popcorn, it’s so good.”

“No, it’s fine. I told you, I like a woman who knows what she wants and isn’t afraid to voice it.”

Emma retrieves the bowl and starts munching on the popcorn before the chocolate gets a chance to melt. “Mmmm, I love how buttery this place makes their popcorn. It’s so good, don’t you agree?”

“I haven’t tried their—”

Before he gets a chance to finish, Emma shoves a few popcorn kernels in his mouth. “It’s good, right?”

“Mmhmm,” Greg answers with a nod as he covers his mouth and starts chewing.

“Thank you again for agreeing to reschedule the date,” she says as they make their way toward the theater their movie is playing in. “As I said, I couldn’t miss the engagement dinner, they’re my best friends.”

“I told you it’s no problem,” he says, waving off her words. “I wouldn’t want you to miss that.”

“Oh, I would never miss their engagement dinner, they're just so important to me. I’ve had friends before, but no one as loyal as them, and certainly no one willing to stick around as long as MM. She and I have been best friends since Kindergarten, and I have no idea what I would do without her. We do everything together. MM and I even lived together for five years,” Emma rambles on and on, even when they enter the theater. She looks over and has to fight off a smirk when she sees how slightly irritated her date is. She’s been talking his ear off since they met outside the theater. “Where would you like to sit? I really like the front row because I like being right in front of the action, but I also like sitting in the back because there’s more privacy,” she snorts and elbows him in the stomach, “if you know what I mean,” she winks at him.

“The middle’s fine,” he groans, rubbing his stomach like she had injured him, and they make their way to the middle, finding two available seats. 

Her eyes widen in concern. “Oh, I didn’t hurt you, did I? Sometimes I forget how strong I am for my size. I work out at the gym—”

“I’m fine,” he says curtly, holding up his hand to silence her. “Let’s just sit, shall we?”

“Okay,” Emma says in mock defense and drops into her chair. “Oh, this just won’t do. We’re right under the vent and I’m afraid I’ll get too chilly. Can we move to the back?”

“Fine,” he grumbles through gritted teeth, and they get up and move to the last row. 

Emma chews on her popcorn rather loudly and comments throughout the previews, saying things like, “Ooooh, that looks like a good one,” or “that looks so awful, I’ll be missing that one,” or she’ll joke and make fun of it and laugh hysterically, even when no one else is laughing. 

She thought this particular job would be difficult for her, considering she’s no Chatty Cathy, but it feels rather freeing saying everything that comes to mind. Every time a thought enters her brain that might annoy him, she speaks it out loud.

When the movie begins, Greg leans in, whispering, “Okay, now it’s time to be quiet.”

Emma frowns at him, continuing to obnoxiously chew her popcorn as she faces the screen and slumps back in her chair. 

She waits approximately five minutes, after the opening credits are over, until she starts talking again. “This movie is so scary,” she whispers loudly, her eyes fixed on the screen. “You’re gonna be on the edge of your seat the whole time.”

“Okay, let’s watch the movie,” he whispers back.

“Okay.” 

She watches the film intently, even though she’s extremely bored. She just watched this movie two days ago, so she knows the surprises, she’s already experienced the spine chilling moments and most importantly, she knows who the mystery killer is. “Oh my God, that guy’s an asshole!” she shouts, throwing a couple of popcorn kernels toward the screen; they land in the hair of some lady, who’s completely unaware.

As Emma chokes back a laugh, she sees out the corner of her eye Greg cowering in his seat, burying his face in his hands. Whether he’s trying to hide his embarrassment or hiding his face so no one recognizes him, she’s not sure. She smirks briefly and grabs his wrist, pulling his hand away. “You’ve gotta see this part, it’s getting good.”

He lowers his other hand, sighing in exasperation, and she can tell he’s doing his best to maintain his composure.

The dressing room scene she told him about is close and she points at the murderer, unbeknownst to any first-time viewers when an onscreen actress invites him into her room. “Don’t trust him! He’s the killer!”

“Shhhhhh!” someone shushes her from a few seats ahead.

“You shush,” Emma mumbles and sits back with a scowl on her face.

The theater is silent again, other than the soft conversation from the movie, when the most suspenseful part is about to begin. Knowing this before any excitement happens during the scene, Emma springs to the edge of her seat and screams, “Ruuuuuun! He’s gonna slash your throat! Oh my God, run, Kelly, run!!!!”

~*~

“I can’t believe you got us kicked out of the theater!” Greg shouts when they reach her car.

He looks extremely pissed. For good reason. 

Her eyes fill up with tears and her bottom lip quivers like she’s about to cry. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to.” She turns around and starts sobbing in her hands. Or at least, she makes it look that way. In reality, she’s squirting her cheeks with water from an eyedropper to make it look like she’s crying.

He sighs and puts a gentle hand on her back. “Please, don’t cry. I just—I can’t…” he begins, fumbling for words.

After discreetly slipping the dropper back in her clutch purse, she wipes at her fake tears with her hand and turns around, glaring at him. “You can't what?”

He stares at her for a few seconds, apology flickering in his eyes. “I can’t do this. I’m sorry. You seem really great, but—”

“But what?” she demands, her sadness quickly replaced by anger.

“But you talk too damn much,” he answers bluntly.

Emma slaps him in the face. “You’re an asshole!” She spins on her heels and gets in her car. 

“Wait, I’m sorry!” he shouts after her, but she slams the door in his face and starts the engine. He throws up his arms in defeat and walks away, giving Emma the opportunity to retrieve her phone from her purse and type out a text. 

Emma: Go.

She peels away from the curb and heads down Maple Street, making a right-hand turn. She proceeds around the block and stops just before she reaches Maple Street again and pulls to the curb before parking and pulling out her binoculars. She watches as Tamara crosses the street several feet ahead. She watches as Greg’s face lights up when he sees his ex-girlfriend. They have a reunion hug and chat for a few minutes. He appears to be completely relieved and makes hand gestures and faces as he talks, like he’s telling her about his awful date as she listens intently, placing a consoling hand on his shoulder. They end up walking down the street, his arm around her as she rests her head on his shoulder. 

Emma smiles in success as she lowers the binoculars, but her smile slowly fades. It’s so satisfying when she brings a couple back together, but honestly, it hurts like hell in the end. Watching the happy couple walk off into the sunset is a stark reminder of what she doesn’t have and probably never will. It’s a reminder of the large, gaping void in her heart. 

Maybe Mary Margaret and David were right. If they can be happy, then why can’t she? Why does she always have to play Miss Fix-It? Why can’t she, for once in her life, have her own love story instead of fixing the ones other people had initially failed at? Emma sighs and trails away from the curb. 

Maybe someday.  

For now, she wonders if she’ll ever see the hot, British guy again. She curses herself for not getting his name. If she knew his name, then she could ask Mary Margaret and David if either of them know him, or whether he lives there or was just visiting one of the tenants at the time.

She hasn’t had sex in far too long, so maybe that’s why she’s feeling lonely. She’s not looking for love, just a good, satisfying fuck with a warm-blooded male. More specifically, with the hot British guy she ran into. 

But who knows, maybe she’ll run into him again.

~*~

Two Months Later….

She still hasn’t seen the hot British guy since that day she bumped into him. Which is a shame because she’s so sexually frustrated, especially since she’s been fantasizing about him this whole time. She could easily invite some other guy to her bed, but she has a feeling the hot British guy is the only one capable of scratching her itch. He’s the only thing she’s craved for two damn months. Yes, hot, steamy sex, with the that man, her legs thrown around his hips, ginger scruff dragging along her neck as he drives into her is exactly what she needs right now. Emma bites her bottom lip and has to clench her thighs together just thinking about it as the elevator ascends to the eleventh floor. She hears the ding when it stops, and the doors slide open. 

She goes to Mary Margaret’s apartment, wondering what to expect. All she said in the text was, 

MM: Can you come over? It’s an emergency.

At first, Emma had panicked and replied back, expressing her concerns, but Mary Margaret assured her she and David were fine and that it wasn’t a life or death situation. She still wouldn’t divulge any information other than that.

When Emma uses her key to unlock the door, she finds Ruby crying on the sofa with Mary Margaret’s arms around her, trying to console her.

“What happened?” Emma asks in concern as she sets her bag on the end table by the door.

“Ruby was dumped,” Mary Margaret answers as she strokes Ruby’s hair. 

The sobs only grow in volume and intensity, and she’s visibly shaking as her friend tries to calm her. 

“It’s okay, Rubes, everything will be okay,” Mary Margaret coos. 

“Oh, I’m so sorry to hear that,” Emma offers her condolences as she approaches the couch.

Mary Margaret tilts her head toward the other side of the sofa. “Emma, please have a seat.”

“Okay,” she says skittishly and takes a seat next to Ruby. She’s not sure why Mary Margaret invited her here at this time, considering she doesn’t know Ruby very well. She’s really only spoken to her a few times since she moved into the apartment building last year. “So, um… if you don’t mind me asking… why did he break up with you?” she asks Ruby.

Ruby lifts her head from Mary Margaret's shoulder and wipes away her tears with a Kleenex. She blows her nose before shifting in her seat to turn toward Emma, her eyes red and swollen with mascara running down her cheeks. “Because I’m an idiot.” She bursts into a fit of tears again and buries her face in her hands. Emma places her palm on the woman’s back, moving her hand in soothing circles as she glances up at Mary Margaret, who’s torn expression sends an uneasy feeling to Emma’s gut. Something tells her she shouldn't have asked. “It’s okay, you can tell me…”

Ruby sniffles and dabs her cheeks with the tissue. “Well, um… I did something really dumb, Emma. I mean, this guy was so fucking perfect and I royally screwed things up with him.” Ruby shakes her head, resting her hands in her lap as she stares at the tissues she’s holding.

Emma’s not sure what she’s expecting. Maybe Ruby got too jealous or clingy or maybe she lied about something huge. Considering her history, Ruby doesn’t seem like the type of woman who would try to rush the guy into marriage or having kids, so it probably wasn't that. In fact, maybe that’s why the guy dumped her. Maybe he proposed, she said no and he didn’t want to be with someone who wasn’t ready to settle down with him.

“Come on, whatever you did couldn’t have been that bad,” Emma coaxes softly, but she has a bad feeling in the pit of her stomach.

 “Oh it is, trust me. And now his roommate says he’s moving back to England once his lease is up.”

Wow, he’s fleeing the country to get away from her? Okay, maybe it’s worse than Emma thought.

Ruby sucks in a sharp breath and tells Emma the one thing that could possibly make her stomach churn, the memories of her own failed relationship hitting her like a tidal wave. “He caught me in bed with someone else.” 

Oh. 

Okay, Emma was wrong; it’s way worse than she thought. The expression on her face must be saying way too much because after Ruby catches the look on her face, she bursts into tears again. Emma politely extends her arms to Ruby, even though it’s very difficult for her to feel sorry for this woman, considering she was once cheated on, herself. Her blood burns as she thinks of her cheating bastard of an ex-husband. She sure as hell would never take him back. Not in a million years. 

She’s towed from her unpleasant thoughts when Ruby starts wailing so loudly, she’s sure the Wicked Witch and Evil Queen can hear her.

“Oh God, what have I done?! I cheated on Killian!”

A/N: So far readers have said they’re surprised by who Killian’s girlfriend is because they thought it would be Milah, but there is a particular reason for my madness, I promise. You’ll see later on...