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amyscascadingtabs · 3 years ago

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the way you keep the world at bay for me

post-the set up, a.k.a jake taking care of hungover amy, hungover amy taking care of sad jake, and mac caring mostly about himself because he’s a baby 😌

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Jake doesn't get a lot of sleep that night, and for once, it's not even Mac’s fault. It's not even due to the pizza parlor simulator game either, although he does play a couple of rounds when Amy's finally snoring next to him after ranting to herself about the babysitter’s club for a solid ten minutes, but not even that can fully distract him from the dull sense of doom that's made itself at home deep in his chest.

This is bad. Holt wants to see him tomorrow, and Jake knows there will be consequences. There has to be. There should be. He made a mistake, and he's going to get punished for it, and there is nothing he can do but accept his defeat. He already knows what he has to do; the nerve-wracking thing is the fact that it's still hours away, and his brain is spinning too fast for sleep.

He really wishes he could talk to Amy. She's sleeping on her stomach with her mouth open, arms straight out to the sides like she’s trying to push him out of bed, but he still can’t be mad at her. He hasn’t seen her this drunk since before she got pregnant, and he’s seriously worried about the hangover she’ll be sporting tomorrow, but he also knows she did it for him. Because they’re a team. Because she trusts him, sometimes even when it turns out he was wrong.

He wrongfully arrested someone. The sentence keeps repeating in his head, appears pasted in bold font on the inside of his eyelids if he tries to go to sleep, and displayed in luminescent letters on the ceiling of his bedroom when he gives up and opens his eyes again. He should have known better, has learned his lesson time and time again since his early days of constantly glorifying his job and letting his impulsivity get the best of him, and he still made a mistake.

He just wants someone to tell him it doesn’t make him a bad person. If only Amy wasn’t so drunk he’s scared to wake her up right now, Charles wasn’t so devotedly biased in all questions involving Jake’s role as a detective, and Mac wasn’t, well… so completely unable to grasp any of the concepts involved in the question.

Amy lets out another mighty drunken snore, and Jake hopes she will consider it a testament to his love for her that he doesn’t voice record it. He turns his head instead and picks up his phone to go back to the pizza game. Maybe just a few more virtual customers will be able to lure him to sleep.

He must have fallen asleep eventually, because when Mac does start babbling to himself over the monitor, the morning sun is shining through the windows, and Amy’s stopped snoring. She’s only moaning uncomfortably to herself now, and Jake’s guessing from her strained grimace that the headache has kicked in hard.

“I’ll get you coffee and aspirin as soon as I’ve checked on Mac,” he whispers to her with a kiss to her neck, and he thinks he sees the hint of a smile as she reaches out for him in what’s probably an attempt of a pat on the back, but ends up more of an unintentional slap to his butt. Or maybe she’s still drunk, and it is intentional. It’s hard to tell.

Mac may have no clue about what’s currently going on with Jake, but at least it’s impossible not to smile when he hauls himself up and rocks back and forth on unsteady feet in excitement over the fact that someone’s coming to get him. He greets Jake with that wide grin that shows off all of his four teeth – two up and two down, and they’ve kept everyone up at night for weeks, but they’re so pearly white and cute so maybe it was worth it – and a laugh that’s been Jake’s favorite sound on Earth since the first time he heard it.

“Good morning, bud,” Jake tells his son as he lifts him up in his arms. “What do you say we get you a bottle and mama some coffee? Hmm?”

“Bah,” Mac repeats. Jake decides to give him the benefit of the doubt and say it means he agrees on the bottle.

“Bottle, exactly. You're so smart,” he says, booping his little nose and smiling as it makes Mac giggle. “Let's try another one. Dada.”

There's a tense moment of them both just staring at each other, and then finally, his son goes,

“Bah.”

“One day,” Jake says with a sigh as he carries Mac out of the nursery. “As long as you say me first, okay? We’ll get there. We’ll practice.”

He puts Mac in the high chair while he tries his best to work the coffee machine and the bottle warmer at the same time. It's trickier than to be expected on almost no sleep, but at least he manages to pour the breast milk from the freezer bag into the bottle and not into his coffee this time. He's only made that mistake once (fine, maybe twice, and he kind of liked how sweet it tasted but he's never gonna tell anyone), but he suspects Amy's never gonna let him live it down. He gets Aspirin from the medicine cabinet while he waits, and puts a couple of slices of toast in the toaster. His own day feels already pretty much beyond saving, but at least maybe he can improve Amy's.

Though, when she stumbles out of the bedroom, still in her pajamas with her huge glasses and hair on end and looking like she's either seconds from being sick or going straight back to sleep, he worries whether she might just be beyond saving, too.

“How are you feeling?” He asks as she gives him one drained look before walking up to the couch and face-planting on it with another pained groan.

“I think I might be dead.”

“That's called a hangover, babe. I think you used to be familiar with the concept once upon a time, but I guess it's been a while.” Jake grins at Mac, who only reaches his chubby hands out for the bottle out in response. “Toast?”

“Do I have to?”

“It's going to help.”

“Fine.” Amy pushes her head off the pillow to look at Mac. “He's not drinking the milk I pumped yesterday, right?”

“I poured that out for you. I know they say moderate amounts of alcohol are fine, but, well, you were speaking British.”

“Good call,” Amy mumbles as he puts the coffee, aspirin, and toast down in front of her. “See, this is why I married you.”

Jake just hums, but he does smile to himself as he goes to grab his own cup of coffee.

“I wish I could call in sick to work today,” Amy says between bites of toast, and Jake looks up from where he’s absentmindedly brushing crumbs off the countertop while finishing his own. “My head feels like it’s going to explode.”

“I mean, you did very much go through contractions while managing an entire precinct during a blackout once. You could think about that?”

“No, this is worse than giving birth,” she states confidently, and Jake has to try very hard not to laugh. “Don’t tell my past self I said that. Or my future self if I ever give birth again.”

“Yeah.” He grimaces. “I’m pretty terrified to go, too.”

“Why?”

“Because yesterday? All of it?”

“Ohh.” Amy sighs. “Right. Maybe we should both just stay home.”

Jake’s about to tell her how much he wishes that was an option when Mac drops the finished bottle against the tray, immediately starting to twist in his seat. Jake unclasps the belt and lifts him out before he manages to rock the chair – that kid’s shockingly strong – and Mac immediately crawls away towards the walker. He doesn’t use it to move yet, but he’s been pulling himself up with it for over a month, and the anticipation is high every time he lets go with one hand only to sit back down on his booty the next second. Sometimes Jake could swear his son does it for attention. At least Mac doesn’t seem to have inherited his impulsivity, Jake thinks, and then he’s back to beating himself up in his head.

“I just don’t know why I did it,” he mutters as he sits down on the floor next to Amy’s head on the couch. She nods slowly, and Jake takes it as a sign she might actually be able to listen to him now. “I should know better, right? These are, like... the kind of mistakes I used to make. I thought I’d gotten better at this kind of stuff. Smarter. Less impulsive. Less of a bad cop. But instead I arrested and tailed an innocent man, all because I thought I had a gut feeling and thought I was being set up.” He shakes his head. “I guess that FBI jerk was right about gut feelings.”

“You’re a great detective,” Amy says without missing a beat. “A lot of the time, your gut feeling is right.”

“That doesn’t excuse it. I still shouldn’t have done it.”

“No.” Amy sighs. “You shouldn’t have.”

“It sucked.”

“Yeah. It did. But there’s nothing you can do to change it now.”

“Do you think I’m a bad person for it?” The question comes flying out of him, and Amy frowns.

“Why would I think that?”

“Because it was a shit move! And because I’m definitely gonna get suspended for it, and that’s going to lose us money. And then we’re not going to be able to save as much for Mac, or pay for his baby music class or baby gymnastics. And then he’s going to end up broke and untalented and it’ll all be my fault, and then you’ll be ashamed of me and leave me and I’ll die sad and alone in a ditch.”

“And you don’t think you’re spiraling just slightly right now?” Amy asks. The smile on her lips is one of amusement, and it humbles him, bringing him out of his cycle of self-pity.

“I don’t know. I didn’t get a ton of sleep last night.”

“I don’t think you’re a bad person,” she says, and that does make him feel a bit better. “I think you made a really stupid mistake. There's no getting away from that. I’m not happy about it. But… I know you'll take responsibility for it. That’s already a whole lot further than a lot of people care to go.”

Her fingers brush through her hair, calming him as she speaks. The hangover has made her voice a little scratchy, Jake notices when she's this close. It reminds him of mornings after long evenings out before they were parents, a time that always feels far longer ago than it was. Sometimes he thinks everything before Mac might as well be another lifetime.

“And we'll work it out if you do get suspended,” Amy continues, talking over the obnoxious melody playing from a toy Mac has found. “It's not great, of course. But we can save lots of money on daycare if you stay home with Mac. That helps.”

“Like a paternity leave,” Jake says. He does like that thought.

“Oh yeah.” Amy laughs. “You’ll be just like one of those hip Scandinavian dads who get to stay home with their kids because they live in countries where they don’t hate people for having kids. And you two can go to all of the cool classes and playdates together. You’d be the sexiest dad at baby swim class for sure.”

“Wouldn’t I also be one of the only ones?”

“Good point. Make sure to mention your wife a lot. But hey, Mac’s going to love it.”

As if wanting to confirm Amy’s point, Mac crawls over to Jake and tries to climb up on his knees to sit in his lap. He does this sometimes when he’s playing on his own; retreats to their arms for a hug or a quick cuddle, only to try and wriggle out of their grip and go back to whatever it is he’s doing in the next moment. Jake thinks it might be one of their son’s sweetest qualities. Mac rests his head against Jake’s chest, almost hugging him like that, and he wonders, not for the first time, how a person that’s not even one year of age can make every other issue in the world seem so insignificant. Even if it's just for a moment, it's a pretty damn good moment.

Fueled by the most powerful motivation of all – their son’s love and attention – Amy sits down on the floor too, patting her knees.

“You want to come to mama, Mac?”

Mac squirms for a moment in Jake's arms, and Jake lets go of him. Using the couch as support, for a second it looks like he’s almost about to take a step toward her. Both parents gasp in anticipation, and it must confuse him, because he reacts by giving Amy a shocked look and sitting right back down on his butt. Jake laughs as their son crawls away again, heading for the soft building blocks outside the playpen.

“He's such a tease.”

“He gets that from you,” Amy says, and Jake huffs in mock-offense. “Are you sure we shouldn't just stay home from work?”

Jake thinks of his upcoming meeting with Holt. He's been fearing it for so many hours now, and he's starting to wonder if the anxious anticipation might just not be worse than the meeting itself. He already knows what he has to do; the only thing left is to rip off the band-aid.

“I don't think it will make anything better if we don't.”

“Yeah.” Amy sighs, closing her eyes and leaning on his shoulder. “I love you.”

“Love you too. And you should probably shower and put on makeup unless you want everyone to know exactly how hungover you are.”

“I know you're right, and I hate it.”

Jake grins and strokes her hair before getting up from the floor. “I’ll go get Mac ready for the day.”

“Jake?” Amy calls out before he can leave for the nursery with Mac in his arms, and he turns around. Her voice is still a little hoarse.

“Yeah?”

“It's going to be okay, babe. We’ll figure it out.”

Jake brushes his fingers through Mac’s already unruly curls. He thinks of playground dates, the storytime for toddlers their library holds every Wednesday, and how much time he’ll have to make sure Mac says his name first now. Then he thinks of the bigger image; of daring to set a good example for this child, even when it's hard. If he wants the world to be a better place for his son, he's going to have to start by taking responsibility for his own actions.

“Yeah. I know.”

For the first time that day, he dares to believe it.

#my writing #b99 #b99 fic #i put / bc tumblr doesn't do line breaks anymore clearly #anyway. this is late and not my best it's been a Week but i really wanted to write something so. here is Something <3

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surveys-at-your-service · 4 years ago

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Survey #367

“i should warn you that you may fuck me, but chances are i’m gonna fuck you over”

Where was the last place you went for vacation? The beach. When was the last time you wore makeup? Halloween. Do you watch soaps or drama series? If so, which ones? Not currently. What’s your favourite tomato variety? I hate tomatoes. What was your very first pet like? Dad had a dog named Trigger when I was born, but I have no memory of her, so I'm excluding her. I consider our first family pet to be Chance, a cat my mom took in after finding her literally in the trash. She was... god, incredible. She was a loyal friend, and I can imagine no greater mother than she was (she legit fought off a rottweiler head-on to protect her kittens). She was so smart, so gentle, and just simply amazing. I'll always miss her. What was the best school project you remember doing? Looking back, despite the fact it TERRIFIED me before, that would be my senior project presentation. It was about snake misconceptions and fallacies, so I made a slideshow to present to the special ed class. I made drawings for them to color, word searches, all that kind of stuff. They were just the sweetest and seemed really into it. What’s your favourite type of fish to eat? None. What kind of an old person do you think you’ll become? I really... don't like thinking about this. Like I'm weak enough now at 25, I can't imagine how my, say, 60s would be. I hope and just about pray that my physical health will improve, but I'm just going to exclude that part entirely from this answer. Personality-wise and such, I have a feeling I'll be the quiet and sweet kind, the one that loves her (hopeful) spouse like crazy, and comes most alive on Halloween if I live in a place where children come trick-or-treating. I imagine I would LOVE that. I'd love to be the type that goes on morning jogs to help stay spry. Which well-known person’s death shocked you the most, if any? Steve Irwin and Chester Bennington might be tied. Both were so, so sudden. Steve was like, invincible to my childhood eyes, and when I heard about Chester's death, I thought it was just a sick rumor. Two amazing people that died way too soon. What’s the craziest colour you’d dye your hair? That would depend on personal opinions. I want to dye my hair LOTS of colors though, if that tells you anything. What’s the coolest hobby one of your friends has? Uhhhh. Idk. Name a video game you can play over and over again: Shadow of the Colossus. It's a pretty short game if you know what you're doing, and it's super relaxing to me and just so goddamn pretty to look at. Every time I've played it has just been a pleasant experience. Do you like meatloaf? Yeah, it's fine. How about Meatloaf? I know who he is, but I've never really listened to his music. Do you take time to do charitable work? If so, what do you do? No. ;_; Especially with all the free time I have, I really should... What is something that will make you laugh instantly? Okay, don't ask, but if I for a SECOND see that commercial of Mr. Clean dancing while he's cleaning, I will die because of memories. What is something you hope you will never inherit from a specific relative? Diabetes. It runs heavily in my family. Name a movie you wouldn’t watch solely based on its name: The Human Centipede. No. Thank you. Have you ever played in a stack of hay bales? No. What’s your dearest souvenir? The stuffed moose I got at Cabela's during a visit to Ohio. I named him Brownie, and he was my "childhood plushie" we all have. Is there a lot of graffiti around your neighbourhood? Not in the actual area I live in, but there are DEFINITELY places where it's a pigsty of distasteful shit. Have you ever made your own soda? (Soda Stream doesn’t count!) No. Do you have a hobby that forces you out of the house? If so, what is it? Nature photography. Have you ever been part of a theater group? No, that stuff doesn't interest me. What’s the most ecological thing you do? We recycle, and I also use metal straws. Would you stop eating meat, if you had to raise and slaughter it yourself? Absolutely. There is no fucking way I could do it. What’s your favourite board game? Why do you like it best? I like Clue just because of the mystery-solving factor, and I think it's kinda cool how you can think ahead and use other's findings to your own advantage to win the game pretty early. Besides English, what other languages can you speak? Some German. It's gotten pretty weak with neglect, though. Besides English, what other languages can you read? I can read German well. What thing/person/happening has made you the happiest you’ve been? This is a complicated answer that I just don't feel like elaborating on. What’s the most freeing thing you’ve ever done? Letting Jason go. Have you ever had a restaurant dish that was made with bugs? If not, would you even want to try one? No, and I'm not interested. Have you ever tasted birch sap? No. How about the young buds/shoots of spruce trees? No. Which edible flowers have you tasted? Honeysuckles. What has been your worst restaurant experience? Well, it's a fast food restaurant, but lemme tell you about my vegetarian encounter with Burger King. I ordered their veggie burger. Which they have. It's not a secret. These idiots gave me a bun with tomato and lettuce, and I think mayo on it, after sounding confused when Mom was ordering for me. Mom went back in there of course to tell them, and oh god was the manager pissed, lol. I got my veggie burger in the end. What’s the most immature, adolescent thing that still makes you laugh? Some sexually inappropriate jokes can still get me sadly, lol. Have you ever had a life-threatening condition? If so, what was it? Not literally, but boy do I think depression counts. Do you ever compare your life to somebody else’s? If so, why? Y E P. I can't tell you why, I just... do it. I look at other's successes and am just like, "Why aren't I there yet?", and beat myself up about being a failure. What is a food item or a dish you absolutely cannot stand? Brussel sprouts, asparagus, runny eggs, many other things because I'm just mega picky. Have you ever had a custom print done on a shirt? If so, what was it? Just the spray paint kind that vendors like to do at the beach and stuff. I don't remember any I got, though. What does your favourite mug look like? It's black with a Markiplier quote on it, given to me by Sara. :') Do you ever read other people’s survey answers? Yeah! Friends', anyway. I love learning all the obscure things about them. Do you like daytime or night time better? Why? Daytime, specifically early morning, because it's better for my depression. Are you more comfortable as a leader or a follower? A follower that isn't afraid to speak up when I'm really against something. What is your favourite song right now at this very moment? I've been really into "7empest" by Tool lately, and the synthwave edit of "Voices" by Motionless In White. If you watched The Fresh Prince of Bel Air, who was your favourite character? I don't remember it well, but I think I liked the butler. Was there even a butler? Who was your first online friend? Emma. :') Do you have any plants in your home? No. If you wear makeup, what’s the most outrageous colour you use? I only ever use black. What was the last photograph you took? My cat being adorable while sleeping. <3 Have you ever submitted a video to Funniest Home Videos? No. What was the first sport you learned how to play? I want to say soccer? I absolutely hated it. Do you have a headache at the moment? Yes, actually. I've really been attacked by the Covid shot side effects. Are your parents still together? No, thank god. What was the last hot food you ate? I made a chicken and I think pesto (some Italian noodles, idk) Healthy Choice bowl for dinner last night. Have you ever seen a meteor shower? No. :( Do you ever feel afraid people will question your sanity? I'm sure people have before, and back then? Rightfully so. Which X Factor audition(s) was/were your favorite? Never watched it. Were you a straight A student in spelling and grammar? Always. It's so weird how it's gotten worse with time since leaving school, even though I write... Were you a straight A student in math? Yeah, no. I usually got Bs or Cs. What is your favorite shade of yellow? Pastel. I don't really like yellow. What is something you want to accomplish before you turn 30? Have a stable job. Are you afraid of getting yelled at? YES. Do you feel a connection to the moon? It's not something I think about, so not really, but I do believe all things in the universe are connected in some way. We are simply a part of nature, as all else is. What does your heart long for? Contentment in who I am and where I am in life. I know I also miss being in love. Do you know what your purpose in life is? We have no innate purpose; we make our own, and I want mine to be to show others that there is always hope for yourself in yourself, and also to spread the message of love of all animals. Did you decorate a pumpkin this year? Last year I didn't. I really should change that this go around. Have you ever seen a fox? Yes! They're a kind of rare sight here sadly, so when I had the opportunity to photograph a fox tragically as roadkill, it was a photographic experience I won't forget. God, I wanted to pet it (I obviously didn't), but I did talk to it about how beautiful (s)he was as I got some shots. I never had a harder time leaving one of those angels I've taken pictures of. Do you find Halloween fun or scary? FUN!!!!!! Is there anything about Halloween you find offensive? Not at all. What do the trees look like where you live? I mean, there's a variety, but the staple that you see literally everywhere are pine trees. What is your dream vacation? Somewhere with mountains, clear lakes, cool weather, beautiful and various wildlife... What was the best vacation you’ve been on so far? Disney World as a kid. What is the best class trip you’ve been on? The zoo in the 5th grade. It was the one occasion I got to see meerkats. Did you like field trips when you were a kid? I lived for them. Do you find museums boring or interesting? I find science museums to be very, very fascinating. Art ones are great, too. What are three issues you are passionate about? LGBT rights, the pro-choice movement, and wildlife conservation, to name a few. Would you ever wear a shirt with your country’s flag on it? No. I'm not patriotic enough at all. What size is your bed? Queen. What’s a medicine that makes you sleepy? When we were experimenting with my Klonopin dosage, I learned that 3mg was enough to knock me on my ASS. Do you like bath bombs? I mean they're pretty, but I wouldn't waste money on 'em. Who are your favorite small YouTubers? Yikes, a looooooot. But this also depends on what you think qualifies as "small." Most of my favorite "small" YTers are tarantula keepers or sub-1M let's players. Who are your favorite big YouTubers? Markiplier obviously, Snake Discovery, Good Mythical Morning (even if I don't watch them anymore, they are veeery dear to my heart and I will always support them), Sam & Colby... Again, there's a lot. When you don't watch TV and YT instead, you really get attached to a lot of them. What was your favorite girl group when you were growing up? Would you believe me if I said Pussycat Dolls? haha Do you like Disney movies? Um, DUH. Were you ever in the popular crowd? No. Have you ever used an outhouse? UGH, at like childhood sports games, yes. I could NEVER nowadays, oh my god. Could you possibly write a successful novel? I think I have the creativity to, but not the dedication. Are there any foods that make you gag? Beans, for one. I just canNOT with them. It's a completely involuntary reaction. Have you ever had blonde highlights in your hair? I think I did? Who was the last person you video-chatted with? The lady who was seeing if I qualified for TMS therapy. Do you think sleeve tattoos look trashy? Definitely not, I love those. If you had to get a portrait tattoo, who would it be of? I don't actually want one, but if I did, I'd go to a serious professional to get THE Darkiplier smile. :') If u know u know. Do you have any stickers on any of your electronic devices? No. Do you think half blonde/half dark brown hair is attractive? It looks great on some people, but it's not my favorite combo.

#survey #surveys #questions #lyrics: ''leave a scar'' by marilyn manson

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ill-skillsgard · 6 years ago

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Ascent - Bill Skarsgård

Title: Ascent

Warning: 18+ voyeurism/masturbation/language

Description: A collection of scents and scenes strung together by strange sequences of secrecy and surveyance.

A/N: DAMNIT YOU GUYS. This is my 3rd time posting this fic. It will no longer include the image of the sexy Bill look-alike wanking because wE cAn’T hAvE NiCe tHiNgS. Also, please don’t ask me to send the image because I can’t be sure of ages and I won’t be dinged for providing pr0nz to potentially underage people. I’m so sorry. I tried!

ISO: Quiet roommate; preferably female. Males acceptable too if you're cleanly. Split rent loft in quaint & upscale Rosewell neighbourhood with everything included. 1200 upfront first and last and then rent can be negotiated. E-mail. Do not call/text.

I only had 900 dollars on me but I figured if I e-mailed the person that had put out the ad and set up a time to meet the following week then I could earn enough in tips to cover the rest. Easy as that. Breathing became a little less laboured once I sat back on my futon and realized that I wasn't quite as fucked as I initially thought. Then I wondered how in the hell somebody could use the words quaint and upscale to describe the same neighbourhood. Which one was it? Quaint or upscale? How could it be both? All I was sure of was that I had to find a roommate quickly. The new landlord of my apartment building had decided that I had something to do with the junkies shooting up in the storage unit behind the building, as though I had knowledge of it the whole time and failed to make a report of it, therefore, making me part of the problem. But it wasn't just that; this guy was a jackass of ultimate proportions- a seedy little rich momma's boy that had inherited his parents' sense of self-entitlement and strings of real estate offices spanning across the city and surrounding counties. We did not click at all upon first meeting when he made his rounds to see exactly what kind of tenants he would be dealing with. In fact, the moment I opened the door to my apartment and he peered in to see the apparent cluster-bomb that had gone off in my bachelorette pad, he set his sights on destroying me, or at the very least, evicting me. If only I hadn't answered the door in my stained sweatpants and wrinkled t-shirt from a decade ago when my taste in music remained under-developed. If only I hadn't had the day's worth of crusted mascara stuck in the inner corners of my eyes like black boogers. If I had thrown my hair up in a semi-cute messy bun, rolled down the waistband of my stretchy pants and tossed on my only reputable sweater maybe things could have gone differently. But I didn't. Instead, I let him catch a glimpse into the trash-covered world of crooked posters, laundry and pizza boxes. His prissy, Gucci-wearing ass got one whiff of my body odour and my fate was sealed. Whatever though, shit happens. Even if Millennial pretty-boy newbie landlord hated me, I didn't quite hate myself. Sure, I had had better times in my life but there had also been much worse. I was just going through my annual depression when the Summer was long gone and the scent of leaves rotting in the gutters rang in the impending frost. Who wanted to do anything but sit around and play video games or watch TV for six straight hours after work? Certainly not I. I e-mailed the guy living in Rosewell because I had been through that area once or twice and remembered that it was one of the nicer neighbourhoods; its remnants of old city charm and decadent architecture still intact. That's when I gave it a second thought. 1200 for first and last month's rent was not that much, considering the location. My brain caught up with me and I recognized that there would probably be dozens of people replying to the listing and that my chances were diminished to almost nothing. Oh well, I read on and circled more potential ads with the tip of a fresh permanent marker that was starting to give me a headrush. By some grace of luck, I received an e-mail back the next day from the person that had put out the Rosewell advertisement. It dawned on me that I also didn't know whether he or she was a he or a she or a they. It seemed mundane to ask but the person didn't include their name in the reply and their email address was an obscure reference that I wasn't sure I understood. My imagination decided to take a jog and came upon the silly little notion that perhaps this was one of those things when serial killers lure in unsuspecting victims with promises of rent so cheap in a gentle neighbourhood where nobody would think to look for a body. It was classic of me but I couldn't pretend like I wasn't thinking about it. At least death would help put a stopper in my rut. I didn't know what to expect, walking up to the building with a face sectioned off into quadrants- each with their own tiny glass door and artful wrought iron laced balcony. What kind of a person lived inside? Was it a peppy university student with a small dog and a knack for pulling off an active-wear-is-all-I-wear look? Could it be another snotty, uptight rich boy like my fuck-bag of a landlord? Or perhaps it was a nice older lady that fancied her wine and lived in an effortlessly baroque den, lined with books and trinkets from her travels abroad. Either way, I just hoped they approved of me since I had taken the time to shower, put on a bit of makeup and dress like the clothes I owned weren't questionably clean or variably dirty all the time. The door was painted black and nobody could see through the glimmering panels of stained glass that made up an intricate checkerboard of red and blue with two cantaloupe roses coiling up and away from each other, petals agape and ready to fall. I gave the door a good look over with a smug grimace that was just a feint for my awe. The place was definitely too nice for me but I soldiered on and smiled when I heard the door being unlocked. A man opened the door and the scent of wood and something else immediately wafted out like a ghost casually passing by. Not only was he a man, but a looming sculpture dressed in a sagging brown wool sweater that threw me off from my rehearsed speech. He was tall, pale and had such striking eyes behind his glasses that I couldn't quite meet them without feeling some hint of discomfort. It was like somebody had tossed a limp rug on the statue of David the way his knitted sleeves hung loosely around thick veiny wrists. "Hi. Bill," he motioned to himself. "Won't you come in?" "Um, yeah. Sure." The mud room was painted in tarnished blood orange and was home to a wooden rack full of men's shoes. There were trainers with hints of dirt on the toes and soles, leather dress shoes with the fancy gold buckles on the front, more dress shoes, stylish suede ankle boots, and beaver fur lined moccasins. I could taste the transition from the cool Autumn air to the musky inside of the home. The floors were all wood, the banister leading upstairs was carved from another expensive type of tree and the shelving units were solid oak stretching from floor to high ceiling. Every wall was home to some kind of meticulously placed decorative object. But there were also family photos to lend the place a warm and happy glow. Or it could have just been how the sun shone through the clear bay windows. I was led through the house, past a large cupboard tucked beneath the staircase and a small writing desk that was home to a vintage typewriter cased in filigrees of polished silver. It was then I noticed all the framed book pages lining the walls. We entered a kitchen and I was blown away by how roomy it was compared to the tight, warm front that made up the mudroom and what I had determined was a living room that had been converted into a reading room. There was no TV but there was a chaise lounge with a stack of old books reaching up to a cascading hand-carved armrest. "This is the kitchen. The fridge will be mostly yours. I just use the bottom shelf and the crisper on the left. I just ask that you keep your section clean." "Right," I nodded. "The stove is gas, the fireplace is gas... Everything is gas in here. Um... It gets kind of cold in the winter because the electric baseboards don't really work. If you turn them on it makes the whole place smell like burning sawdust. So... You can use a plug-in heater in your room but... Just wear slippers on the floors." "Oh, okay. Good to know." "Uh... Yeah. The laundry room is through there. I also keep my bike back there. There's another rack mount for a bike if you have one." "No, just my car." "Hmm," Bill pondered with a grimace. I bit my lip and hoped that he wasn't biting his lip from derision. He took in a breath through one of the daintiest noses I had ever seen on a man and adjusted his glasses for a moment before pulling them off completely to wipe the lenses on the hem of his brown knit sweater. "Parking can be kind of a bitch around here," he warned. "Yeah, " I chuckled. "I probably pulled around the block six times before something opened up." "You'll have to get used to that... Or just get a bike like everyone else." With a forced laugh, I attempted to hide the odd sense of shame that he had instilled by suggesting that nobody around these parts bothered with silly things like motor vehicles. Fuck, that could mean he was some sort of health nut that would turn his nose up if he saw the types of meals I made for myself and how lazy I could get. Aside from his alarming curtness, Bill seemed to be calm and easygoing. The house was a wooden ladder of a place; stacked with his worldly possessions and Scandinavian accouterments. It was easy to conclude that he was a single man that kept to himself and I did my best to show him that I fit into the same category. Although, it seemed as though he had already decided that I was moving in. He referred to everything as his, mine or ours and led me through the rest of the house like both our minds were already made up. "Here's the room. It's right next to mine. You have an en-suite bathroom. Toilet kind of acts up once in a while and the shower drain is prone to clogging but it's all easy fixes. Oh... And the walls are kind of thin. I ask that if you have guests over in the evening to keep the socializing downstairs. I suppose I can't really stop you from having people in your room but... I do enjoy my quiet." "That's okay. I don't really hang out with too many people," I said. Bill strolled into the center of the empty room, the soles of his shoes hitting the floor echoed off the bright white walls. He had his hands shoved into the pockets of his trousers as he spun on a heel to face me. His shoulders drew up to his ears and for the first time, he cracked a smile. It didn't last long and was accompanied by a shrug of closure. "What do you think?" He asked. "It's nice. I like it. A lot. It's very... Homey." Bill nodded, "yes. So will you take it?" "Uh... You don't have any questions for me? Or anyone else to show the place to?" His full lips set into another grimace as though my question scratched the scab off of a wound that had yet to close. Swallowing hard, I immediately began to regret my inquiry. I should have just been grateful that he saw fit to trust me without so much as delving into my history. "To be frank, I'm not really interested in knowing a lot about you. The less we know about each other, the better. I just need a quiet tenant that won't bother me much and you seem like a sensible woman with your own distractions." "Oh." "I don't mean to sound insensitive." "It's okay. I get it." "You have a job, of course?" "Yes." "Well, that's all I need to know. Just make your rent payments on time and we'll get along." "Not a problem. Sounds good." The entire moving process took a little over a month to complete. I gave my notices where they were due, rented a small truck to pack my things into and drove it across town after handing the keys to the fuck-bag landlord who seemed more than thrilled to watch me departing. Bill had already given me keys to the house and when I arrived the first of the month he was nowhere to be found. Luckily, my possessions didn't extend further than my bed, wardrobe, futon and a couple of side tables that had collected more dust than I thought. After hauling up the ripping black trash bags I had stuffed full of clothes, I tried to decipher a way to get my bed up the winding stairs without scratching the wood or getting myself stuck in a corner. It would have been easier if I had another set of hands and I wanted to clear the halls of all my things before Bill came home and saw the clutter in the front hall. Something told me he was not a fan of mess and I had left a heaving trail all over the mudroom, halls and stairs. With my bed frame already stuck on the first few steps, I decided to sit down and reevaluate my strategy. It was definitely a two-person job that I would not be able to complete on my own. "Fuck, " I cursed as I pulled out my cell phone to make a call to the only person I knew that would be willing to give me a hand; my cousin. On the third ring, I heard the sound of the door opening and footsteps coming through. I was sat on the stairs pouting, my cell clutched to my ear and my breath hitched in my throat. Bill looked up at me from the first-floor landing through the rails of the staircase and smirked at me. "Need some help?" He asked. I immediately terminated the call to my cousin before he could pick up. Shooting up from the fifth step up, I smoothed out the front of my shirt and tried to make it seem like I wasn't about to burst into tears of frustration. "Um, yes. Sorry. I thought I could do it by myself." "No worries," Bill said as he lifted the edge of the bed frame that was hanging off the first step. We dislodged the frame and slowly carried it upstairs but not without a few grunts of effort and sighs when we finally made it to the top floor. Bill's arms were bulging with the strain and when he helped me gently lay the frame down on the floor I couldn't help but stare at the muscles I never knew he had. We had only had a handful of encounters and each time he had been wearing baggy clothes that veiled the true form of his body. Bill helped me bring everything else I had upstairs and once the last of my belongings arrived he evaluated the mess that I would have to organize myself. Half my clothes were spilling out of bags and my furniture was yet to find a proper place. "Well, I'll leave you to it. Unless you have anything else?" "No. This is it. Thanks for your help." "No problem," he nodded with a small pointed smile that brought out a sweetness in his face before exiting the room. I heard the sounds of his footsteps drumming down the stairs but before I had the chance to get to work unpacking, Bill came back. When I looked up at him he had a peculiar look on his face that I couldn't read. It may have been a cross between uncertainty and embarrassment. "You um... These were on the stairs," he showed me what he had clutched in his hand and the moment I realized that the black material in his hand was a pair of my underwear, I paled. "Oh my god," I laughed uneasily. "I'm so sorry. They must have fallen out when I was dragging the bags up the steps. My panties looked crumpled and insignificant in his large hand as he dangled them between two fingers for me to grab. When I caught them I stuffed them in my pocket immediately and blushed even harder than I had when he had come home to see me flustered on the stairs. "It's all right. Could be worse things to find," he pointed out. "I guess so," I chuckled. Bill smirked at me, eyes darting to the pocket that contained the stray panties and gave me one last glance before leaving me to stew in my mortification. Once I was certain Bill was gone, I took the panties out to evaluate just how embarrassed I should have been. The last thing I needed was for my new roommate to have already discovered a pair of my dirty underwear on the floor. They were generic and made of stretchy faux lace that covered next to no ass cheek but I would have considered them to be a good go-to pair nonetheless. Based on visual inspection and a quick sniff, I was assured that everything checked out and Bill hadn't had the displeasure of picking up a pair of my period panties with the permanent stains in the crotch. If anyone had to have found a pair of my underwear I was glad it was a sexy pair and not ones that I had been hanging onto since high school. But because it was a man that had found them, I felt a strange yearning for approval. I thought about what he could have been thinking about for a long time as I set up my bed and unpacked my necessities. It was going to be weird having a roommate.

~*~

Bill was a strange man. Bill had an office in his room and a writing desk stacked with papers and manuscripts. Bill was a writer. When I asked him if I could read something he had written he said nothing. He only peered at me warily over his wire-framed glasses. We were in the kitchen at the same time and I figured it friendly to strike up a conversation. I had seen all of his papers and looked at all of the stuff he had in the house by then and deduced that he had to have been a writer. All I got from him was a gentle shrug of his stately shoulders and a mumble that I couldn't hear. "You're a writer, aren't you?" I continued. "Yes. I suppose, in a way I am." "Ever had anything published?" Bill rapidly shook his head and muttered, "not here, no. Back home... In university. But not here." The subject of him being a writer seemed touchy so I left my line of questioning at that while I boiled water to make tea. I couldn't help but watch him on the other side of the kitchen preparing his lunch because he was comically lanky yet carried himself with graciousness and poise. His side profile was vexing to me as well. It was then that I realized that Bill was not just commonly handsome, but sculpted in a way that I wasn't used to seeing. With a cute boyish nose and arrestive eyes that shone light green through the lenses of his glasses, I felt that old familiar pang of a crush plunging its way from my chest to my gut and all the way down to my groin. He didn't speak much and I hardly ever saw him because he was always in his room with the door shut. I had a feeling that me bringing up his writing had alarmed him into keeping the door closed at all times. It must have been an adjustment for him to go from living alone to having somebody sleeping in the room right next to him. I tried not to make much of the crush but the times that I did see Bill I always tried to stare for as long as possible. He was a mystery to me; a person living in the very same quarters but with a totally separate life that I had no windows into. Bill had pictures of him and a lot of other people that looked kind of like him so I tried to piece together what his family was like without asking him personally. The family photos were all in chunky brass frames and placed in a strategically sporadic way on the wall shelf. There were many books and three different runs of encyclopedic information stacked side by side with their brightly dyed leather spines displaying a prestigious title and the volume number, but it was the pictures that intrigued me most. By the looks of it, Bill had a lot of brothers and a sister. The longer I analyzed each shelf the more I managed to paint a picture of him for myself based on his belongings. There was a photo of Bill next to some other men of similar heights and facial structures, all dressed warmly and huddled together, each with his own version of a charming smile on. It was amusing to see pictures of him smiling since he had hardly tossed more than a crooked smirk my way. I wasn't sure if Bill was standoffish or if he thought me a slob because of the first day I arrived. The house was cleaner than any place I had ever had by myself and I gathered that he liked to keep it that way. I remembered what it had said in his ad about cleanliness. Maybe I had disgusted him. He had been so sold on having me as his roommate but that was weeks ago and he hadn't tried to engage me much since. It didn't weigh heavily on my mind for long. After all, even though I was the crusty definition of a bachelorette, I could put it together that trying to fuck my roommate that I didn't know was probably a surefire way to complicate things beyond repair. And the place was nice. I wanted to stay and I wanted Bill to like me.

~*~

I walked into his room when I knew for certain that he was gone. I don't know why the sudden urge overtook me and steered me to his bedroom door. I opened it and a waft of his scent came over me. It was like fresh cotton and chopped wood or an old book that had been kept in pristine condition. His writing desk beckoned me so I went without hesitation to cast my eyes over the papers on its surface. There were some printed pages full of words with hand-written notes scribbled in the margins. One of the most eye-catching pieces was a mostly blank white page that had been the last of the bunch to be placed upon the altar of his creative expositions.

I can't get enough of the scent that she left behind.

After reading that one line, I snapped out of my mindless intrusion and left his bedroom at once. Why I had gone in there in the first place was a mystery and I was overcome with guilt that pushed me in the direction of avoidance. I felt somehow he would know that I had gone into his room without permission.

~*~

A man from work had asked me out on a date and I stood in the shower vigorously washing the shampoo out of my hair. I was already late and had to scramble to put together an outfit out of what little clean clothing I had. There had been no time for me to do any laundry so I made do with an old sundress that I had worn the shit out of the Summer before, a pair of black nylon leggings with a hole in the crotch and the only pair of underwear that I could find that wasn't stretched out from me wearing them. I had laid out everything on my bed and bustled around trying to find my good face moisturizer and the only high-end lipstick that I had been coveting for the better part of two years. When I got dressed, I had somehow lost pieces of my attire along the way and rushed around looking for the underwear that I had dubbed acceptable to wear out on a date. My phone went off with a notification from my date saying that he was circling around the block again because he couldn't find a place to park. I quickly messaged him back and told him I would be down in five short minutes. Forgoing the panties, I hiked on my nylons and hoped that the skirt of my dress would manage to cover me enough all night that I didn't accidentally flash my pussy while getting in and out of his car. The date was boring and I didn't find myself connecting with him as we had at work. Maybe it was because we were co-workers or maybe it was because he was smiling too much at me the whole time, but I decided to put an end to the night after a dessert and the last of a bottle of cheap wine. When I got home, I shut the door and pulled my vibrator out of my empty underwear drawer.

~*~

In the morning on one of my days off, I stood in the kitchen making myself a pathetic breakfast of two pieces of toast with a slice of tomato and chunks of a too-ripe avocado splattered between them. First I was focused and calm and then suddenly I felt like something had materialized behind me. When I turned around, I let out a gasp as I noticed Bill standing next to me with no shirt on, his hair a mess and his eyes half-closed. "Sorry," he breathed through his nose. "Need a glass, please." I got out of his way and watched as he opened the cupboard that I had been standing in front of and took out a clean glass to pour water into. My eyes were drawn to the burgeoning of hair from his armpits when he reached to the top shelf. Without saying a word, he filled his glass from the tap and then walked back upstairs casually sipping his water. I don't know how he had managed to sneak up on me without me hearing the floorboards protesting beneath his feet but it had happened and my heart continued to race until I heard him enter his bedroom right above the kitchen.

~*~

I had tossed my laundry into the dryer and let it run while I left for work. When I got home my laundry was all folded and put back in my basket. My jeans and work pants were on the bottom, my shirts the second tier and then several pairs of my panties had been folded neatly in halves and placed on top. "Um... Okay," I whispered to myself, lifting the basket off the dryer that was still rumbling full of Bill's laundry.

~*~

A nap was on the immediate horizon for me when I got home from work. I kicked my shoes off as soon as I got in the door and made right for my bedroom. Bill must not have heard me climbing the stairs as I hadn't heard him come up behind me the week before because his door was open and what I saw halted me in my place and robbed me of the abilities to breath or think. There he was, laying on his bed naked with his right hand wrapped around his dick. But it wasn't that he was stroking himself that caught me completely off-guard, it was what he clutched to his nose and mouth with his other hand; the pair of my panties that he had discovered on the floor all those weeks ago when I first moved in. Rooted with panic and intrigue, I covered my mouth and watched on from the third-to-last step at the man taking deep breaths of my underwear while he pulled on his cock and massaged his balls. When I heard a faint groan leave his mouth I felt my floodgates crashing open. The tingle I felt budding from my clit grew so strong that my hands went numb and my face turned red-hot. There was no way that Bill hadn't heard me coming in the door and ascending the steps. But if he knew that I was there watching him play with himself, he didn't acknowledge it. He was in his own world of pleasure, getting high off the fumes that I had infused into the fabric of the underwear he was meddling with his fingers. I wanted to watch him shoot his cum from the tip of his cock but I was so scared that he would see me that I cowered back so that if his gaze did travel beyond the walls of his bedroom, perhaps he wouldn't catch me staring. Another long, deep moan left him and the sound of it somehow filled every sense I had. It was as though I could smell what he was smelling, feel how he was feeling and the taste left behind in my mouth was wetted with saliva being over-produced by my own sexual appetite. I pictured him kissing my clit, pushing my legs back and using his tongue to bore into me, letting it run down, down, down so he could taste every inch of me. A gasp nearly escaped me when I saw him push the crotch of my stolen panties into his mouth. His head dropped back into his pillows and his slow, languid strokes of his cock turned erratic. "Fuck!" He emitted after spitting the panties out and dragging them down his body to wrap around the base of his shaft. "Fuck, fuck, fuck... Mmm, my god." After a minute of every muscle in his body flexing, it looked like he was inches away from coming and I leaned forward with my hand out on the last step to balance myself so I could watch the end result. It took a bit longer than I expected but I watched on unblinkingly until he finally managed to pump out an orgasm that ripped through his body and exited him in a glorious spurt of cum. Then there was another spurt and another, all landing in a perfect sticky mess over his stomach and chest. The sun coming in through his window glittered over his spackled body while a dryness hardened my tongue. I gawked as he moved to mop up his own mess with my black lace panties. What he was going to do next was as much a mystery to me as the last ten minutes I had spent as a voyeur. His cock laid over the top of his thigh and shrunk with each passing second while he rolled my panties up into a ball with his fist. All of his muscles relaxed and he sank further into the bed, closed his eyes all the while my stolen cum-soaked panties remained clutched to his chest like a cross. I could almost smell the musk permeating from the open door. Slowly, I descended the stairs one by painstaking one.

#bill skarsgård fanfiction #bill skarsgard fanfiction #fanfiction #bill skarsgård smut #bill skarsgard smut

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godgiftcd-blog · 8 years ago

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cause im a fckin Slut™ for this verse lately, here’s the full disclosure about what actually happened and how I imagined it all played out with Jean in a modern setting featuring headcanon galore and badly arrangement of how things built up as I’ve imagined in my head that may or may not have the potential to change as I go on with my portrayal of him. Of course, some aspects of this settings may be modified according to specific AUs.

AGE 00. Jean Kirstein was born to the Kirstein couple in Germany, and was christened by the name “Jean” which gave the meaning of “a gift from god” by his father. He was also named Jean partially because his dad was a big fan of Les Misérables, both the novel and the musical adaptation.

AGE 02. Jean was that fat baby (who’s hella cute) but is far too attached to his mom. Like, the kind that would cause a scene if his mom wasn’t around and is generally a difficult child to get along with. He began speaking at this age, and played a lot with his papa while the man planted away in their small garden. (His dad is a botanist.)

AGE 03. His family moved to France, and papa got a bigger garden. His mama is probably that person who bakes a lot for the neighbours and sometimes during the holidays she made it into a business but overall they’re a very close-knit and happy family. Jean loves his omelettes, and papa tried breeding chicken for Jean but they stepped on a lot of papa’s plants and that made papa sad. Mama laughs, kisses papa’s cheeks and said it’s fine. They sold the chickens, fixed the garden and everything turned out okay.

AGE 04. Jean started reading for papa, and he remembered being difficult and causing tantrum a lot and mama always had this pinching sort of look to her face that means she disapproved, and she yells a lot too because Jean would throw books and stuff, but papa was always patient, never yell. He would always pet Jean on the head with this small smile, says that it’s fine, it’s okay. “Jean is still a good boy,” he’d say and Jean would sniffle, calm down, watched as Mama went away with a huff and picked back up the books he threw. He read.

AGE 06. Mama said, “be good” on his first day of going to school and Jean kept bouncing up and down because school sounded so fun even though papa doesn’t talk much about it. School ended up terrible, because nobody seemed to like Jean and he came home crying lots because kids around always picked on his hair and took his bag and one day they even poured milk all over Jean’s stuff! Jean hated school, and sometimes wished — like the chickens he remembered stepping all over papa’s plants — could be sent away. Jean destroyed papa’s plants, just to see if it’ll work, and mama yelled so much and papa was so sad and Jean just didn’t stop crying and everything was so, so, so, so terrible.

AGE 07. Jean came home and there’s a dog in the living room. Papa told him, “it’ll be okay from now on” and said the dog’s name was Javert. Javert is so silly and it drooled a lot and it pooped everywhere too, and mama made faces a lot when it did that. But one day Javert just didn’t poop anywhere like it once did and Jean was lying on the floor with him and he’s smiling a lot because Javert would bark sillily every time Jean played with his norse and mama said, “there you go, my sweet boy finally smiled” and Jean felt - better. For that moment. School still sucked, and going there was still a hassle. Most days, he just didn’t. Papa taught him most stuff, anyway. It was fine.

AGE 09. Jean took a test at this school where people kept saying how they knew Jean’s dad — “Your dad was an excellent student!” — and the school there was bigger and looked older and it smelled funny (like old books and old everything), and it turned out Jean’s a pretty smart kid, which was nice to hear, because mama seemed so proud. They said more that Jean performed just as well as his father did on the test, and they’d be excited to welcome Jean into their school from now on with a “scholarship” and Jean didn’t know what that meant, but mama said that maybe this is good. Maybe Jean can start over again, and “wouldn’t it be great, Jeanbo? You can make new friends! And studied where papa once went to.” Papa is awful quiet during the whole ordeal, and Jean didn’t really understand anything, because he didn’t think a new school would’ve made much of a difference, but he remembered how excited mama was — how hopeful — and, honestly, even at that age Jean knew he didn’t have anything to lose. So he said okay and continued to play with Javert. Life went on.

AGE 11. It didn’t get better. Turned out, people at that school didn’t like chubby kids nor students on a “scholarship” much. Said that Jean was poor, Jean was fat. Like his mama. Jean got angry a lot, the rage spilling and overflowing, and some days Jean didn’t know how to make it stop. It got much, much worse when the year was almost finished — and Jean got into trouble with these kids who kept pushing Jean around, shoving, taking his bag away, and calling mama “fat” and Jean “ugly” and Papa “retarded” and the next thing Jean knew he was caught with his body on top of the boys and his knuckles stained with blood. It wasn’t his. Jean didn’t remember much of what happened next, just that mama cried a lot and papa was quieter than usual and Jean felt like crying too but didn’t, and this kid’s father turned out to be “important” but he agreed to not press any charges as long as Jean didn’t go to that school and meet his child anymore. Papa said, “Okay.” Jean never looked at his parents the same anymore.

AGE 14. The teacher at the public school insisted that Jean could “do better than this” in exams, but it’s whatever. Jean didn’t care, nobody does. He lost so much weight, tasted his first cigarette this year, and pierced his own ears with needles. Mama yelled some more when she found out, but Jean didn’t care. HE DOESN’T! So the old hag should just shut up and let him be. They screamed a lot, and Papa mustn’t like that very much, because whenever they do, he retreated to his garden or room — alone. It’s the first time Jean thought Papa was a coward.

AGE 15. Jean spent a lot of time with a street artist, Old Man Toni, who paint beautifully with anything he could touch. Old Man Toni was okay — he wasn’t rough or demanding or stupid like the group of people Jean would somehow found himself spending time with during recess or after school — and didn’t ask too much questions even though he probably should. Jean brought Old Man Toni warm bread a lot, and sometimes warm milk. He seemed to appreciate that. So much that one day he gave Jean a paper and a pencil, told, “I’ve seen the way you’ve been looking at the way I paint, Jean.” Jean learned how to sketch.

AGE 18. Jean finished school, and signed up for the French Military Armed Force ( possibly would change it to Air Force though? ) — partially just to get away from his parents. Army was fine — difficult — but fine. Somehow, Jean never felt all that content.

AGE 23. Due to a shoulder-chest injury that he’s sustained during his army career, Jean was honourably discharged. He was shipped back home and for the first time since years, cried when he saw mama and papa standing by the edge of his hospital bed. Almost three months later, papa accidentally brought home leaflets for colleges, told it’s a mix-up from by the mailman, probably. Jean looked up Political Major, and Mama laughed, “Finally somewhere where you can yell and people will actually hear you, Jeanbo.” Jean grinned, and signed up for it.

AGE 23, FALL. College began, and while Jean didn’t particularly care much about what he’s going to be in the future — it was fun. The talk of assignments give him something to do, and the lecturers give him something to think about. Jean started working at a local art shop, just to make himself feel useful, and there he helped sell art supplies and art work by college students online (the art shop’s website became a platform). It was nice.

EXTRA NOTE:

Yes, when Jean was a child, he went to a private school — but only because his father was an alumni, and his dad was this freakishly genius child who skipped like two grades or whatever. The school thought that Jean might be the same, so they were fine offering Jean a scholarship.

Jean isn’t a genius, just to make it clear, but he’s relatively smart for a kid who supposedly ditched the first years of school like, a lot. But he’s entirely logical and actually very quick in grasping stuff — so passing anything academically is generally easy for him. In later years, he just didn’t try hard enough and his academics suffered.

Jean went into Politics & Law because he likes the topic that he’s studying. He’s aware that he might never be a politician or whatever job he’s able to do with the degree. And, considering he just got wounded, his folks didn’t mind paying for it despite knowing he was just in college for the sake of just wanting the experience. In a way, everybody felt guilty that Jean never really had a good childhood and the parents weren’t able to help, as well as Jean felt guilty that he gave his mom and dad such a hard time growing up — which was why college seemed like a good thing to compensate for all of that. Jean went to school happy, and his parents didn’t have to worry as much. It works out.

Jean’s papa has high-functioning autism (which is exaggerated, I know, but I have this whole debate and argument to sort of back up why I favour this storyline which I will link later if I’m up for it) but it really means that his dad is... different, but is able to function rather well in mainstream setting as well as he’s able to fairly pick up on social cues. But, still, his dad has these characteristics — and is fairly quiet, doesn’t get mad if ever, and also doesn’t really like looking at people in the eyes and is generally a jittery person in nature (Jean inherits that). It sorta irks Jean when he’s a kid, but he’s also very used to the guy so it doesn’t really matter. What I meant to say is: this is a feature I specially headcanon for Jean and, from my point of view, it contributes partially to why Jean grew up the way he did and how he reacts to people talking about his parents now. (Again, it’s all in the argument and debate that I will hopefully link soon lol.) Still, should you disagree, I’m fine with not specifying this part of Jean’s father.

Jean doesn’t have an anger management issue. He just has a serious attitude problem (more so when he’s a kid) and a natural dickhole. The gizz of it that he’s a very blunt person and tends not filter whatever he wants to say. This doesn’t always make him popular, which he knows, and sometimes it even gets him into terrible fights. When he’s much younger, he fights dirtily and clumsily, having all of his experience of fighting limited to what he had to learn from the bullying he got. As he grew older and out of the army, his fighting became more accurate and sharp — but he tends to avoid that because sometimes overworking his muscle hurts his wounds.

Jean can’t draw all that prettily (mainly because he’s a beginner), but he has an eye for catching exquisite drawings / arts / photography. He’s very hipster-like, but not overly stylish; his clothes usually a button-up with fitting jeans and boots / or a sweater and a shirt — overall a clean and simple get-up. He has three holes for piercing on each of his ears and possibly a tattoo.

#MIGHT AS WELL PUBLISH THIS MONSTER OF A THING #THAT IDEK WHAT ??? ? ?#while nobodys online huhuhu #but hERE YOU GO #basically one whole life of j/k #idEK I DONT EVEN KNOW OK #♞. ( v; modern )#modern au shizz #verse tag

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seriouslyhooked · 8 years ago

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So Close (The CS Mixtape) Part 143/?

Series of CS oneshots inspired by music. Collection on FF Here.

A/N: This is a reader requested EF AU somewhat based on the dance sequence in ‘Enchanted.’ Emma and Killian knew each other before and fell in love, but Emma is in an arranged marriage (of sorts) when this story takes place. Killian comes to the palace dressed as a prince and they share a dance. You can all probably guess what happens next (and yes I managed to throw a proposal in here, because it’s me and I live dangerously). Inspired by the song ‘So Close’ by Jon McLaughlin.

Once upon a time I would have loved this, Emma thought to herself as she stared out into the sea of people from her kingdom who were enjoying the royal ball this evening.

It was a familiar site for Emma, with the grand fashions and the measured steps of people’s movements against the backdrop of sweet playing music. There were guests enjoying food and drink, laughing in merriment, and celebrating the good news that a new day was coming to Misthaven, one without any more war or strife. Yet while everyone else was in the mood for rejoicing, Emma lacked the ability to enjoy the evening. Where others felt relief, she felt nothing but the subtle pang of loneliness even surrounded by admirers as she was. For even if it seemed like she had everything, there was something – or rather someone – who was noticeably missing.

“You look so beautiful tonight, Emma,” her mother said, pulling Emma from her thoughts and back into the fray of her family once more where they stood above the people. “It’s such a striking red, but I really do think it might be your color.”

Emma looked down at the gown she was wearing, noticing just how different it was from her once usual fare. Years ago she’d been lighter, softer, and more prone to muted colors. Her world was filled with rosy pinks and pale yellows, and she’d been content with that, but then she’d been awakened as if from a lifelong dream, and suddenly she realized there was more to life than what she’d known. There was vibrancy and passion, lust and love, but just as quickly as it had come it was gone, and Emma was left searching for a way to grasp the memory of it all as close as she could.

Don’t go there, Emma, not tonight, she counseled herself before responding to her mother in a feigned, hopeful tone.

“I can’t take all the credit. The dressmaker worked her magic. I merely get to wear it.” There, that seemed convincing enough. She might not seem overjoyed, but she likely didn’t sound as torn up about tonight as she felt inside.

“Don’t sell yourself short,” her mother insisted. “Real beauty starts from within, and you have that in abundance.”

Emma appreciated her mother’s words, but tonight she didn’t feel so lovely. Instead she felt ashamed and guilty, for this was the day when an announcement would be made that Emma was to marry a foreign prince, a man in line for the throne in another kingdom. He was a suitable match, perhaps a little arrogant but not unkind to her, and Emma knew she could theoretically do far worse. But his not being terrible didn’t make this something that Emma wanted. It was simply expected, and despite what she’d once thought, she didn’t have any other alternatives, not when the man she once believed would be her one and only was gone and hadn’t been heard from in over a year.

“I think I’ll take a lap around the room. Stretch my legs a bit,” Emma said before leaving her mother without another word and hoping to get out of this ballroom and into the night air outside. Maybe then she wouldn’t feel so stifled, and she could breathe again.

The truth was that Emma hadn’t breathed easy since the morning he left, the man she’d fallen in love with, her Killian. Years ago when their paths first crossed they were really only children, both of them searching for meaning in the lives that seemed so meticulously planned out for them. Emma was a princess in line to inherit, and Killian was a Lieutenant who served in another king’s navy alongside his brother. But time past, things changed and one day after years apart, Emma and Killian found each other again in a wholly different situation.

This time he was a Captain on the seas, and a pirate to boot, having forsaken his old flag after losing his brother, but it hadn’t mattered. Circumstances had brought them together again and love had grown from the friendship and infatuation they once shared. Slowly but surely Emma fell for him and she knew Killian had fallen too. There was no denying that what they’d shared was real, and Emma spent many nights slipping past the castle walls to find Killian somewhere quiet and peaceful. For a few hours at a time she could pretend that things were different. In that life she dreamed she wasn’t a princess and he wasn’t a pirate. They were just two people who against all odds had found true love that they could share forever.

But that happiness that they had, the one Emma held dear to her heart and kept a secret for so long, fell away in the blink of an eye. Killian had come to her one night, breaking with tradition, and arriving at the palace to tell her that he had one last voyage, one last mission before he’d come back to her and stay forever. He was hell bent on procuring some treasure or other before he promised to return and seek a blessing from her parents.

“I know you want to wait, love, and I’ve tried to be patient, but we deserve more than this, more than stolen moments that disappear when the witching hour comes. Whatever happens, whatever the fall out when the world discovers the truth, I won’t let any of it touch you. It’ll all be all right. You have my word.”

“How can you be sure?” Emma had asked, already knowing she trusted him no matter what. Killian had never broken a promise, and in all the time she’d known him he had never once lied to her.

“That’s easy - true love always wins.”

Killian had given her those assurances and those painfully sweet words as well as a few last kisses before having to return to his ship. When he left Emma missed him immediately, but she thought he would return to her in a matter of days. Yet days turned to months and months to a year and he was still gone. No letters, no word, no trace of Captain Killian Jones or his ship to be found.

Emma had scoured high and low. She’d asked as discretely as she could for information from the people in the nearby port, used her magic in all sorts of ways, but the trail went cold and Emma was left to fear the worst. She knew he was alive, her magic had been able to ascertain that much, but either Killian was lost in some unknown turmoil, or he didn’t want to be found.

A year went by and for so many months Emma never let her faith in him die. She remained vigilant and consumed with finding him while still trying to carry a façade of being okay with her family and friends, but eventually she realized that either way she’d been left behind. Whether or not Killian wanted to hurt her he had, and she was left to pick up the pieces and try to make sense of a world she no longer recognized.

All of this, all the heartbreak and pain and the sorry situations, should have allowed her to feel better than she did. Emma argued with herself in her rational mind that when Killian had left he’d chosen something other than her. His treasure mattered more to him and that cut her to the core. Maybe it wasn’t fair to think that way, but with every day her heart had been crushed a little more, until one day she realized it was broken all together. She had lost her hope and her trust had been tarnished, leaving her a princess of marrying age who the world was watching and waiting to wed.

“Doesn’t the princess look lovely tonight?” A passing guest proclaimed while on the arm of another.

“Indeed she does. A real ray of light she is.”

Emma could have offered them both a smile or some thanks, but she ignored the praise and pushed forward. She was getting closer to the doorway, but in this sea of people it was hard to cut through. She felt caught at so many moments, even when people moved out of her way to let her by. Emma just needed to get out of there and have a moment when the whole kingdom wasn’t looking at her to sacrifice her happiness for the sake of an arranged marriage.

For a long time she’d been lucky and her parents hadn’t pushed. Even as the years passed by and Emma grew older, they never insisted that she visit other kingdoms or hold dances for the sake of meeting a husband. But then a few months ago that changed. She woke up one morning to her mother’s announcement of a new treaty to be signed between their kingdom and another, and a prince was mentioned who was young and spry and ‘suitable’ as her father had put it. Just the thought of him had been enough to put a bad taste in Emma’s mouth, and then when she actually met him two days ago upon his arrival to Misthaven she felt even worse.

It made her sick to even consider a life where she swore vows to someone who wasn’t Killian, no matter that he’d left her. She might be heartbroken but she also didn’t want to settle for something loveless and convenient. Maybe it was foolish of her, but she’d thought since she was little that love would be her path too. After all her parents had found it, and she was the product of true love, a child born in magic with magic of her own. It had seemed certain that she should find love, but now it seemed that chance was gone before it even had the ability to start.

Not looking where she was going, Emma suddenly walked into an approaching figure dressed in fine garb that screamed of some sort of wealth and stature, and she was pained. Please don’t let this be the prince, or any prince for that matter, Emma thought. Just let me be. Let me go.

“Emma,” the man said and the voice of the stranger stopped her in her tracks. It couldn’t be – no she had to be hallucinating. This was her final stop on a voyage to insanity. Now she was hearing Killian’s voice, when it couldn’t be him.

But then a hand came to clutch hers, and Emma knew in her heart who it was. Her whole body lit up from a simple touch, and the only person who had ever had such an effect on her was Killian. Glancing upwards and into the man’s eyes Emma saw it was him, and she couldn’t understand it. He was here! He was alive and he was really here! But he was… altered.

Gone was the black leather she was used to seeing Killian in and instead there was the tailor-made showings of a prince. Emma didn’t understand it. What was going on? Why would he even risk coming here – and where had he been all that time? This wasn’t the way she ever expected him to come back and she had a million feelings and questions and unanswered emotions roiling inside, but then Killian smiled at her that same hopeful, impossibly sweet smile from a man who was so strong and commanding with everyone else. In that expression she saw her Killian, her sailor who’d gone and stolen part of her heart with him across the seas.

“Killian?” she said, still not fully believing that he was real or that he was here. He had to be a dream, a beautiful, heart-wrenching figment of her imagination.

“Gods it’s good to see you, love,” Killian said, forgetting himself a bit more as he stepped towards her, taking her other hand in his.

Emma was so tempted to lean into this and to let the rest of the world fall away. Even after all this time she knew the comfort of his arms would remain. She’d fit in his embrace perfectly and all her fears and worries would drift away just as they always had. He’d make her feel whole again, and help her heal from the torment of the past year. But a stronger part of her was unable to yield. He’d been gone too long. Too much had changed. She couldn’t just give in, not if she had any hope of staying strong when he left again.

“What are you doing here?” Emma asked, the words harsher than either of them were used to and for a second she saw a flash of pain in his blue eyes, but Killian persevered, and what remained wasn’t any sort of animosity but an understanding. He wasn’t mad at her for being angry. In fact, it appeared he totally expected it.

“That’s simple, princess. I’m here for you.”

The way he said those words, with an unwavering promise that Emma wanted so desperately to believe, tore at her. Killian had always been honest with her, and she had the ability to sense a lie better than anyone else in the kingdom, so she knew he meant that proclamation now. But that didn’t change the fact that he’d been gone so long and that a year had past where she thought him gone forever. He’d hurt her, whether he meant to or not and now she was wary where she’d never been that way with Killian before.

Add to that the fact that he was risking too much by being here at all with her parents looking on and Emma was a frenzy of worry. She was alert to the fact that the whole point of this evening was for eyes to be on her. For the moment no one seemed to recognize Killian, but if Emma had any hope of protecting him she should probably play along to some extent and not act out in the flurry of emotions she was feeling.

“Well you’ve seen me. If you’ll excuse me,” she said, turning back around but not getting very far before Killian had chased around to see her again, not letting go of her hand.

“Actually I was hoping, if you’re not otherwise engaged, that I might ask for this dance.”

Emma’s heart constricted in her chest and she felt this flooding of emotion that had been gone for so long. Killian was here – he was actually here – and she was close enough to touch him after months of missing him. She knew she should say no. Hell she should probably slap him or yell or scream or… something! But she couldn’t, instead she nodded and let him lead her to the dance floor and pull her in close.

At the start of the waltz that was playing, there was an element of edginess to Emma’s manners. She was wary of the eyes on her and Killian as they danced and cautious of her parents who Emma knew would be tracking all her movements as they so often did. Her whole life she’d been looked after so carefully, with the entire kingdom fretting over whether the Evil Queen might finally make good on all those threats she’d bestowed on her parents years ago. Emma was used to that by now, but in this moment she hated that feeling. What she wanted more than anything was to be free, but she was trapped in so many ways.

Then there were Emma’s ever-present doubts about Killian’s intentions. Here they were reunited again and he was silent, not bothering to plead his case in any way. Shouldn’t he be telling her everything or making some sort of excuse? But no, he was just standing here, holding her, moving through the dance and acting as if nothing out of the ordinary was happening.

Well that wasn’t exactly true. Honestly Killian was looking at her like he was seeing the light for the first time, and that gaze as well as the feeling of his hands on her had an unanticipated impact. Emma’s musings about all of her other concerns faded to nothing but an almost imperceptible hum in the face of her love being back again, and for a moment she willfully let go of the sadness and the hurt she was feeling.

Soon it was just the two of them and everything else was forgotten as the beautiful melody filled the space around them. This was a familiar song to Emma, one she’d learned to dance to as a little girl with her father, and been asked to dance many time since with interested suitors, but this time it felt different. This time each note sent a zing of pleasure coursing through her and each brush of her body against Killian’s was a spark that ignited something bright and hopeful. Emma felt a connection to this moment in time that she’d never felt before, as if there was this impossible form of clarity garnered from the movement of her and the man she loved across the dance floor.

Yet it was impossible for Emma to ignore the fact that this was technically their first dance. She’d loved Killian for what felt like forever, but this was a world he was never supposed to be in. She was a princess and he was a pirate, but tonight, dancing here together, those labels fell away. Emma was just Emma and Killian was simply the man her heart had chosen to love.

“I know I likely shouldn’t say this, love – it isn’t strictly polite - but holding you in my arms again… nothing can compare to this form of pleasure.”

Emma knew the feeling. She’d been wandering this castle for over a year lost in so many ways. The ghost of his touch had haunted her and part of her had hollowed out slowly over time the longer he’d been away, but so many nights she lay awake picturing this moment when they’d be back in each other’s arms. At night she’d dream of him, and every time he was so close but then so far away. With the morning would come the reminder that he wasn’t there and she was left lonely and without the love he’d promised he would always give.

“You left me. A whole year came and went and you never came back,” Emma whispered, the words barely carrying over the music, but Killian heard her, and he winced as if she’d slapped him at the point she made.

“Aye I did, but I was never really gone, love. I left everything of me worth having here with you. My hope and my heart, they’ve been yours since the first moment I met you, Emma. You have to believe that.”

Emma felt tears stinging her eyes as he said that, making pretty promises that didn’t mean to hurt her but pierced her all the same. She loved the thought that she’d had his heart, but where was the proof? The facts were he’d gone away with no details or anything. She didn’t even know where the hell he’d been sailing for or what he hoped to find. Just that Killian said it was paramount to anything else.

“Was it worth it?” Emma asked, her voice warbling again with the sadness in her soul. “Did you find what you were looking for?”

“Yes. It nearly killed me a thousand times to be so far from you, Emma, but in the end it had to happen. I found the final piece to secure our happiness and now we can have our chance.”

Emma looked away again, unable to handle his continued hopes for her. She could feel his genuine want for them to be together, but even if he had a reason to be gone so long, it couldn’t happen. Even if she was slowly caving to her old desire to be with Killian and only Killian, she was promised to another and…

“You were always with me, Emma, every second of every day. You’re the only thing that got me through,” Killian vowed, his voice washing over her like a wave upon the shore.

“Through what?” she asked, not understanding. “Why did you even go in the first place? Why did you stay away so long? Why did you…,”

“Why did I break your heart?” He filled in, and Emma looked back at him again, willing herself not to lose it when all she wanted to do was break in this moment. “I’ll never forgive myself for hurting you, Emma, and I’ve no explanation for it except to say that this wasn’t the plan. I was supposed to be away from you days, a week at most. I never dreamed it would take so long. There was a mix up that cost us dearly and if I could have avoided it you must know that I would have. But I also don’t regret it. The only thing I regret is that I made you doubt my love for you.”

This was too much for Emma to bear and as she looked away to try and collect her self, she made eye contact with her parents who were looking on with curious glances. The pang that hit her in that moment was the final blow to her lessening control and Emma found herself pulling away from Killian and hurting the both of them as she did. It felt wrong to move back from him when the monumental amount of wishes she’d made for his safe return had been answered, but she couldn’t do this. She wasn’t strong enough to stand here and hear this anymore and she wouldn’t dishonor her family by breaking down in front of everyone.

“I can’t,” she said with a tautness in her voice as Killian reached for her.

“Emma, wait!”

Despite his plea and his quick movements, Emma was faster and she dodged his attempt to keep her there, leaving Killian in the middle of the ballroom and moving swiftly from the gazes of everyone else to somewhere she could think and wrap her mind around all of this. By the time she was out of the ballroom she still hadn’t processed anything, and it was only after she’d broken into a full run and made it outside to the gardens that she felt any kind of relief. Finally some quiet and the chance to think this through.

There in the full moonlight under the lanterns that her parents had set out for tonight, Emma paced through the hedgerow, ignoring the roses that had often brought her comfort, and straining for some sort of sign of what she should do. Her head was saying that she had a duty to her family and to the crown that she was supposed to inherit. Her parents had set up a match for her, and going back on her word would be dishonorable. But her heart was clear out here in the solemn quiet and away from the crowds of people inside that that wasn’t an option. No matter what had happened, no matter what his reasons were for being gone as long as he was, her heart still belonged to Killian and it would never be easy unless she was honest with herself and with her parents. She had to tell them, and as bad as the timing might be it had to be tonight.

Turning to head back into the festivities once more, Emma felt stronger now than she had in the first moments of finding Killian again, but surprise came again when she found her parents waiting for her there amongst the greenery. They had left the fray of the party to seek her out, and while that would make her job of finding a private moment easier, it did spike her nerves into turbulence again.

“Mom, Dad… I have something I have to tell you,” Emma said, trying to find the words that would express how much Killian meant to her but how much she loved them and wanted to make them proud too.

“Emma we know,” her mother said, surprising Emma and cutting through her sadness. “We know about you and Killian. We’ve known a long time and Killian had already spoken with both of us about his intentions with you before he went away.”

“He…what?” Emma asked, none of this making sense. Her mother then came over and took her hand in hers, patting it gently.

“More than a year ago we had a visitor. A man who assured us that he loved you more than anything and that while he wanted our blessing, he did not require it for he believed you loved him too. He was very blunt with it all, and he told us in no uncertain terms that he had no plans to walk away as long as you cared for him in any way. How did he phrase it again, Charming?” Her mother asked and Emma’s father offered a small smile.

“’Piracy be damned.’ He was definitely colorful.”

“And you just accepted that?” Emma asked, looking at her father.

“Of course not, but Killian made us see that what he said was true. There’s a real love between the both of you and that’s something to be cherished, not fought against,” her father said as he came to place his hand on Emma’s shoulder gently.

“He also told us that he had no want to hide from us, but that his first aim would always be to make you happy. You weren’t ready to tell us, and Killian wanted you to be the one to come forward. We promised him we’d keep the secret, and he promised something in return, something he was just as desperate for as we were,” her mother said.

Her parents then went on to explain to Emma that there was an enchanted item a realm away that was in essence a failsafe. It would protect Emma from any danger the Evil Queen might ever wield, and while that threat had felt less and less as the years went on, there had always been that feeling of uneasiness in the air. Regina wanted revenge and now, according to her parents, Killian had found a way where she could never have it and where Emma would never have to look over her shoulder for that woman’s dark shadow.

“So all this time you knew and you never told me? Did you know he was alright?” Emma asked, angry at the idea that perhaps they might have known and not released her from her suffering.

“We had no idea Killian had returned until we saw the two of you dancing tonight. We prayed he’d come home for your sake, but we had no word from him since the day he left port a year ago,” her mother promised.

“And what about the prince?” Emma asked, hating that she even had to consider another man when the one man she wanted was here and holding out his heart to her so easily.

“What about him?” her father asked.

“The deal with his kingdom. I thought… I mean people said I was going to marry him. You even said he was ‘suitable.’”

“Oh Emma, no!” Her mother affirmed, pulling Emma in for another hug. “We would never do that to you. Not when someone else already has your heart.”

“When I said he was suitable I only meant in terms of an arrangement. Some kingdoms have wealth but no honor. It was a simple statement of trust that he’d live up to his end of the bargain,” Emma’s father said and Emma closed her eyes, feeling the waves of relief wash over her as she told her parents her intentions without delay.

“I’m marrying Killian.”

“Has he asked you already?!” Her mother asked, an element of undeniable excitement in her voice as she did and Emma shook her head smiling.

“No. I’m going to ask him.”

“Oh, well… what are you waiting for then?” Emma didn’t have an answer for her mother’s question other than to say that she was tired of waiting, and with a quick kiss to both her parents’ cheeks she was off, intent on finding the man she’d nearly let get away from her own fears and mistakes.

Emma would carry that regret of not telling her parents from the start as long as she lived, if only because there was so much time Emma and Killian had remained a secret when they should have had their days in the sun, but she swore as the familiar poof of her white magic transported her to her heart’s truest desire that she’d make it up to him. No matter what it took, Emma would convince Killian that he hadn’t been wrong in trusting his heart to her, and that there was no cause for worry in keeping it with her forever.

There came a small moment of pause, however, when Emma realized where she’d ended up, as it was just a few twists and turns away in another part of the grounds. It was the very same spot by the fountains where they’d said their goodbyes before and shared their last kiss too long ago, only this time Emma had hope that she’d never have to face another tomorrow without Killian being at her side.

“You came back,” Killian said, the relief in his voice more than evident as he stepped to her and Emma cut the distance between them just as fast, not stopping until she was in his arms again and sharing a kiss that breathed every bit of life and hope and wonder back into her that had been missing the past year.

It was a truly miraculous feeling, and a moment where Emma knew that everything was finally as it should be. This would be their fresh start and Emma was positive that nothing should come between them again. She was done doubting love and ready to hold onto it and never let go as long as she lived.

“I love you,” Emma said as she pulled back from the kiss and the grin that he bestowed upon her gave Emma the courage to say the next part. “And you’re going to marry me someday, Killian Jones, because you love me too.”

“Aye, love, that’s true enough. But just for the sake of tradition, and because I’ve spent a year aboard my ship dreaming of this moment, allow me to do this the right way.”

With that Killian dropped down to one knee and pulled out a gorgeous ring right then and there with a beautifully cut diamond and a sea of stones around it. Emma should not have been surprised that he had a band selected already, but the fact that he was so sure of her as to bring this tonight made her heart ache in the most beautiful way. She was so full of love and happiness and the tears that formed in her eyes were a sign of that and a hint of just how right this moment that was about to come to pass felt to her.

“Emma, there has never been a moment since the first day that we met when you weren’t the best part of my world. You were the light when all I had was darkness, the strength I clung to when I lacked my own, and you remain the hope in my heart for a future worth living. I love you with everything I am and I promise that there will never be a moment for the rest of our lives when you don’t feel that love. Will you make me the happiest in all the realms and marry me?”

“Yes,” she promised, reveling in the feeling of that cool metal gracing her finger and then the subsequent embraces that came with their new understanding.

Since the fear and the resistance had been cast aside, Emma let herself give over to this need that surged between her and Killian. Her actions were hardly those expected of a princess, and their kisses and touches dangled on the edge of something not befitting any sort of semi-public space, but Emma didn’t care. She was done denying herself and she was ready to give into this and stop fighting this happily ever after from now on.

Emma could have spent forever out there in the gardens with Killian, sharing their continued promises that nothing would ever again separate them or question this love. Yet the party soldiered on despite their happy reunion, and her parents, understanding and supportive as they were, did make a reappearance to ask both Emma and Killian to return to the ball. The two of them were happy to oblige, for though they’d love more of their quiet, private moments, they were now assured of many, many more to come.

……………..

You're in my arms And all the world is calm The music playing on for only two So close together And when I'm with you So close to feeling alive A life goes by Romantic dreams must die So I bid my goodbye And never knew So close, was waiting Waiting here with you And now, forever, I know All that I wanted To hold you so close So close to reaching That famous happy end Almost believing This one's not pretend And now you're beside me And look how far we've come So far we are, so close Oh how could I face the faceless days If I should lose you now We're so close to reaching That famous happy end Almost believing This one's not pretend Let's go on dreaming For we know we are So close, so close And still so far

Post-Note: So first and foremost I really want to thank my lovely reader who asked for this chapter. I am a sucker for CS and dances, and as much as I love them, I don’t actually write that many EF AU fics so that in itself is always such a nice change. And then of course there was the slight angst and the eventual proposal, and it just all culminates in the usual fluff I’m trying to peddle here. So thank you for this recommendation, I loved it. As for everyone else thank you so much for reading, and if you have requested a song, no worries I am trying to make my way through the many prompts I have gotten and I will find a day to write all of them. Thanks again and hope you have a great rest of your day!

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10,Part 11, Part 12,Part 13, Part 14, Part 15, Part 16, Part 17, Part 18, Part 19, Part 20, Part 21, Part 22, Part 23, Part 24, Part 25, Part 26, Part 27, Part 28, Part 29, Part 30, Part 31, Part 32, Part 33, Part 34, Part 35, Part 36, Part 37, Part 38, Part 39, Part 40, Part 41, Part 42, Part 43, Part 44, Part 45, Part 46, Part 47, Part 48, Part 49, Part 50, Part 51, Part 52, Part 53, Part 54, Part 55, Part 56, Part 57, Part 58, Part 59, Part 60, Part 61, Part 62, Part 63, Part 64, Part 65, Part 66, Part 67, Part 68, Part 69, Part 70, Part 71, Part 72, Part 73, Part 74, Part 75, Part 76, Part 77, Part 78, Part 79, Part 80, Part 81, Part 82, Part 83, Part 84, Part 85, Part 86, Part 87, Part 88, Part 89, Part 90, Part 91, Part 92, Part 93, Part 94, Part 95, Part 96, Part 97, Part 98, Part 99, Part 100, Part 101, Part 102, Part 103, Part 104, Part 105, Part 106, Part 107,Part 108, Part 109, Part 110,Part 111, Part 112, Part 113, Part 114, Part 115,Part 116, Part 117, Part 118, Part 119,Part 120, Part 121, Part 122, Part 123,Part 124, Part 125, Part 126, Part 127, Part 128,Part 129,Part 130, Part 131,Part 132, Part 133, Part 134, Part 135, Part 136, Part 137, Part 138, Part 139,Part 140, Part 141, Part 142

#captain swan #captain swan fic #captain swan au #cs fic #cs ff #cs fluff #cs au #cs oneshot #emma swan #killian jones #snow and charming #ef au #cs ef au #captain swan mixtape #cs mixtape #the captain swan mixtape #so close #ouat au #prompted fic

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