#i literally had to mix rubbing alcohol into my body wash then put it all over my body except my hair to stop myself from committing suicide

[icelogged]

*2015 voice* i wish i had the chillness instead i got the mental illness

[wwilloww]

point of no return | PJM

Pairing: Jimin x Reader

Rating: Explicit

Genre: Smut. Fluff. Friends to lovers. Roommates AU.

WC: 10.2k

Summary: Both Jimin and you are determined to never act on the feelings you hold for one another. Instead, you’d rather shove it down, somewhere deep, dark, and inaccessible. So what do you get when you mix a broken furnace, an old victorian home, a little bit of jealousy in the club, and a need to keep warm together? A mess.

Warnings & Tags: Cursing. Reader is really freakin cold. Jimin sleeps in the nude. Spooning. Grinding. Obscene daydreaming about your best friend.  Sex dreams. Mentions of alcohol. Dancing. Jimin is a little jealous. Masterbation. Unexpected visual. Super soft makeout. Fingering. Orgasm denial. Sex. Slight power play. Creampie.  

AN: Oof! Finally! A Jimin fic! Thank you to @thatlongspringnight for guiding me through the last 6k of this fic, all written in one day and for being the most brilliant, queen of queens level beta reader. A big thanks to @triviasapphic too, for letting me use their likeness! 

This is very loosely based on this ask beautifully submitted by the loveliest @jinpanman for the milestone request party! 

©wwilloww Do not repost, translate, or use my stories without my permission.

point of no return 

“Fuckin’ shithead mutherfuckin cunt basket,” you hiss.

Nothing would turn it on.

You tried pressing the knob. You tried twisting it until your hand rubbed raw. You tried shaking it. You tried begging in your sweetest, most saccharine tone. You even tried giving it compliments.

“Have I ever told you how sexy you look with three coats of white paint? No?”

Fifteen minutes ago the antique radiator — so old it would probably be better in a museum of old technologies than as a functioning heat mechanism — stuttered to a halt and refused to turn back on.

When you had picked the house out with your best friend, Jimin, you’d loved it for it’s Victorian era charm. But now with the December cold creeping in through the thin window and your refusal to own more than one blanket you were shivering madly, teeth clattering cold. And wildly in doubt of your house hunting skills.

With a heavy sigh and slumped shoulders, you drag your comforter off of the mattress, wrap it tightly over your shivering shoulders, and pad barefoot down the hall. Instead of knocking, you just twist the door handle, letting the door swing open before you with a long, drawn-out squeak. You wince at the sound.

A dark figure sits up from the bed, squinting at you in the darkness.

“Is that—”

“It’s me,” you whisper. If it were anyone else, that response would be useless. But after years of friendship Jimin knows every tune and nook in your voice — the way it sounds when you’re upset, or scared, or — in this case — really fucking cold. “The heater broke.”

“What?” His voice is groggy and sleep-heavy.

“The heater broke. Can I stay here tonight?”

He scrunches his nose and wipes a hand across his face.

“Yeah, sure, uh—” He shifts a bit in bed and that’s when you realize he’s not wearing anything at all. You gulp. It’s the coldest month of the year and the fucker is naked in bed, nothing more than a top sheet thrown over his body, the rest of the duvet crumpled at the foot of the bed. Even though you know he’s one to sleep in the nude (“It invigorates your skin and keeps your body temperature regulated,” he had explained to you once) seeing it, in front of you, just the thinnest piece of fabric between you and your best friend’s junk is a whole other story.

As he moves, the sheet slips down, revealing his toned stomach, only visible by the moonlight flooding through the bay windows of his bedroom.

“Give me a minute to put something on?”

“Uh huh,” you mumble, turning around quickly to give him some semblance of privacy, your blanket whooshing out behind you.

You can hear him pad over to his dresser, just three feet behind you. You swallow hard as you imagine him, totally naked, so close to you. Literally within arms reach. If you could only—

“Turn around, I’m done.”

You peek over your shoulder before turning fully, only to see Jimin, now clothed in some pretty short black boxers, climbing back into bed. Blanket trailing, you shuffle after him, climbing into the warm bed from the other side.

You pull your comforter as tightly around you as you can, but you’re still cold. As you turn to face away from your friend, you can’t help but shiver, your shoulders shaking with the chill that’s settled deep in your bones.

“Can you stop shaking?” Jimin’s sleep-adled voice grunts from behind you.

“I’m too cold,” you whine.

“Come ‘ere—”

And before you know it, he’s wrapping an arm around your waist and dragging your body backwards until it meets his. He pulls the blanket up and slides in behind you, wrapping himself around your shivering form.

“Better?” he asks while you’re still in shock from the amount of contact he’s just put the two of you in.

“Mhmm,” you squeak out, even as your body continues to shake.

“You’re a liar,” he chuckles.

“I don’t know why you bothered to ask then,” you snap back, wrapping your arms tight around yourself.

You’re not sure if he sees this or if he’s acting on his own accord. You let out a small gasp as he tugs you even closer, his arm slipping under the blanket to press against the skin of your hip. He maneuvers you backwards, your body as limp as a puppet, while you lay there in shock (and a small bit of exhilaration). He presses the back of your body flush against his front and snakes his top arm up the front of your torso until it rests in the center of your chest, gripping your opposite shoulder.

Trapped.

You’re trapped in his arms, nowhere to move, nowhere to go. Only the sound of your combined breaths, his a little more slow and sleepy than your nervous pant. Trapped only with the idea of him so close, and the strange thing fluttering in your chest that only continues to grow bigger and bigger despite all the work you’ve done to push it away. All you can think about is the way he’s pressed up against you, only your thin flannel pajama pants and his even thinner black boxers keeping the most sensitive parts of your bodies apart.

When he shifts, nustling his nose into the crook of your shoulder, you swear you can feel something long and hard press up against your ass.

And suddenly the warmth that is flooding through you has absolutely nothing to do with the shared body heat. Instead it’s coming from someplace deep down — somewhere yearning and desperate — and also from that strange fluttering thing in your chest.

All there is is white. You know somewhere far above you is an endless sea of stars, blinking down on you. But all you know is the grass beneath you and the swimming white sheets that float above and around you.

Someone’s laughing and you turn your face to see him — Jimin — beaming and reaching out towards you.

Somewhere in your mind you know it’s night time and that everything should be dark — and yet, everything around him is lit up and glows with a sourceless light.

Joy rushes through you and as you reach out towards him, he disappears and a new kind of light — warmth — appears behind you.

“I want—” you start to say, but his hand comes up to your mouth, silencing you.

“If you speak, you’ll break the dream,” he says. “Just enjoy it. Let me be here with you.”

Eyes don’t close in dreams, but you know you drift somewhere soft, the feeling of his body so close to yours and the precious rhythm of his breath tracing your neck.

All there is warmth.

Too much of it, actually.

As your eyes blink open to the dark room, the remnants of some dream, lots of white, Jimin’s smile fall away from your consciousness. You kick your leg out into the freezing air and sigh as the coolness washes the heat from your body. Relief.

The warmth that hasn’t been erased, however, is sitting heavy in your lower belly, pooling and swirling and wanting.

You do your best to ignore it, knowing it’s probably some mix of the dream and the thing that you’ve kept hidden on the edge of your consciousness for too long.

You close your eyes again, wishing for sleep to come back and pull you away from these thoughts. Just as you feel the soft edges of another dream lapping at the edges of your mind, Jimin groans behind you and comes to press up against you again, his hand snaking down over your belly.

Eyes shoot open. There. Behind you. Right between the swell of your ass. You can feel his cock pressing into you, at full hardness. You gasp at the sensation, quickly slapping your hand over your mouth so as not to wake him. Slowly, you try to scootch away from his grip, but he holds you there, his arm only tightening when you try to move away.

It’s not that you don’t want it — you do — your body is singing with electricity at the thought of his hard cock against you, between you, inside you. God, if only. However, it’s the consequences, the unspoken question, the unanswered desires (the answer to which you may just not want to know) that push you away from him.

This is your best friend. The person you’ve always been able to rely on and trust. The man you know you can turn to at any moment and know there will never be a question dangling between the two of you.

Except for now.

As he slowly circles his hips against yours, the most delightful, breathy pants falling from his lips — so soft you can barely hear them — the question looms larger than ever.

Are you in love with your best friend?

However, here, his arm wrapped so tightly around your belly, it’s easy to sink into the desire. To equate the arrival of the question with the arousal rising in your body. To tell yourself this is just pleasure, this is natural.

Jimin’s palm is splayed out across your lower belly, pressing hard against you.

He’s rutting shallowly against you, moving for the sake of his own pleasure. A high note of satisfaction slips from his lips, before a name tumbles shortly after it into your ear.

Not any name.

Your name.

You choke on your own words as you understand it. Confusion rushes over you but it’s quickly replaced by adrenaline as his hand clenches and unclenches around your shirt and he shifts and stretches.

Jimin is waking up. Is he going to say something? Is he going to tell you he didn’t mean it at all? Will he run from you?

His body freezes as he realizes the position he’s in. Wrapped so intimately around you, his hard cock pressed against you.

“Shit,” you hear him whisper. “Shit, shit, shit.”

You squeeze your eyes closed and lay as still as possible as you feel him pull away from you. And then the bed dips just enough and you realize he’s leaning over you, checking to see if you’re asleep or not.

You smooth out your features, hoping he doesn’t catch that you’ve been awake this whole time.

The December morning light is streaming in bold and warm through the window.

Your hand goes searching for Jimin, but all you find is an empty, chilled, pillow. There’s a good chance he’s already headed out for the day to see friends or to run errands and so you assume it’s safe as you tiptoe downstairs to get some water and some much needed coffee. Not that you slept much last night.

As you enter the kitchen, the earthy smell of fresh coffee hits you and you take a deep breath, inhaling the nutty aroma. There’s a full pot of coffee already waiting for you on the counter. You smile. Jimin has always been a considerate housemate, but to leave you coffee in the morning? I’m so lucky to have a friend like him, you sigh as you turn to the cabinet to grab a mug.

“Good morning!” an almost nervous, too-cheery voice sings out from behind you.

“AGh!” you cry, nearly dropping the mug you’re holding. Jimin’s quicker than you are though, and reaches out, just as it drops below your belly button. He’s laughing, his delightful giggle filling the light-painted kitchen but all you can think about is how close he’s standing to you, the mug brushing up against your stomach.

“Got it,” he grins.

“You know you can’t jump out at me like that!” you scold, trying to take the mug back from him. But he turns and goes to fill it up for you.

“I literally said your name twice before you noticed. Someone was too lost in dreamland.”

“Pshh, no, I — you need to be a little louder.”

“Can we talk about last night?” Jimin asks as he hands you a cup of coffee. “I, uh, I think there was an accident, I had a dream you were—”

You panic.

“Last night? Oh gosh yeah! I slept like a rock! Thank you for keeping me warm. I would have frozen to death if it weren’t for you.”

You smile as sweetly as you can at him.

He blinks back.

“I mean — uh, yeah, sure, I mean, you’re welcome but that’s not what I mean —”

“Nothing to talk about!” you chirp, already scurrying towards the stairs that lead back up to your bedroom.

“Hey! I’m trying to talk to you!” he cries as you pad upstairs, making a beeline for your bedroom as the coffee you’re holding sloshes around in the mug.

“Oof, well I’m already tired again, gonna take a nap!”

You sprint up the stairs and as you do you hear him call behind you.

“I’m sorry! I didn’t mean it!”

It hits harder than you want it to.

“Come on, princess. You’re taking forever!”

You’re back down on your bed, swaddled in all the blankets in the house you could find, scrolling through your phone.

“I don’t want to go!”

“Well I do!” The door finally swings open and Jimin stands there, all dolled up for the night out. He’s wearing tight leather pants that hug his toned thighs just right and a half opened black shirt that he’s still buttoning as you look on. Beneath his hands, his chest shows, the muscular planes simple and sheer perfection. A single silver earring dangles from his left ear, the other one filled with a variety of studs.

As you peek out of your blanket fort, you gulp as you take in his flawless appearance. He looks like straight sex, the darkness of his outfit highlighting every muscle and curve.

"You look nice," you manage to squeak, and Jimin blushes, his praise kink showing. "Those pants are..." Hot as fuck? More beautiful than the Mona Lisa? Just asking me to rip them off? Floundering for language, you just let your sentence trail off as he looks on, a pink tinge still dancing across his features.

"You wanna wear them?"

"Pfft, no," you lie.

“Are you planning on getting out of bed?”

“No.”

"Well then, if you're not going to get out of bed and dress yourself I'll do the honors." Jimin stomps over to the tiny door leading to your closet and swings it open. He ruffles through your set of clothes, as disparate from a full flannel collection (one that you are quite proud of) to an evening gown that never got worn. Words you can't quite hear or understand tumble from his mouth in a stream of frustrated mumbles as he seems to be looking for something very specific. "Aha!" he finally cries out. "Here it is."

What he pulls out is not what you expected.

It's a simple piece. A light tan slip dress, one with a bit of a scoop to the bust. One that hugs all of your curves just right and sits low enough the weight keeps the dress exactly where you want it to be and high enough that your upper thighs are deliciously on display - something that simultaneously excites you and scares the hell out of you. You bought it on a whim, hoping it would help you embody your inner club girl (or "inner slut" as your friend Jungkook would correct you - which, if you were being entirely honest, was really what you meant when you spoke about going to the club.)

"That one? Really?"

"What, you wanna wear this?" He turns back to the closet before pulling out a second dress, this one long and emerald green and sparkly with a full slit up the side.

"No." You pout.

"Then what's the problem?"

"Ugh!" you cry, burrowing deeper into your blanket fort. "Itsmyslutdress," you mumble.

"What?"

"Itsmyslutdress!" you mumble, but louder this time.

"Did you just call it a slut dress?"

You pop your head out of the warmth cocoon with a sigh.

"Yes."

"What does that even mean?"

"It is the dress I wear when I want to embody my slutty alter-ego. The dress I wear when I wanna get laid."

Jimin blinks a few times before turning back to you with a grin.

"Well--do you not want to get laid tonight?" he asks slowly.

You gape at him.

Even as best friends, even talking about your hookups, you never really talked about sex iteself. Everytime you brought it up, whether it was at the bar and you were ogling some tall, dark, handsome stranger as if some psychic had promised you he was your entire future, he always seemed to shut down. And yet, around your other friends, he was an open book. "Basically a sex expert," Jungkook had told you once. "A sexpert." He'd added, grinning.

But with you, sex was off the table. You were more open and vulnerable with him than you were anyone in your life - and he with you. But sex was just never on the discussion board for you two.

"Do you wanna get laid tonight?"

"Are you offering?" you shoot back teasingly.

"Of course," he says softly.

Your mouth drops.

Of course? Of course?!

"I mean! No! What? Wait? Can you repeat the question?"

"You said yes," you say slowly.

"What! No! I did not!"

Jimin is basically stomping his foot on the ground.

"You did!"

He looks almost angry and you're not sure whether to laugh at the softness with which he had agreed to fuck you - or to feel hurt by his quick change of mind.

"Did not!"

You break into giggles finally releasing yourself from your cocoon of warmth to sprawl out on the bed in a fit of laughter. Your little tirade is quickly shut down though as the silky fabric of the dress is thrown onto your face and you cough around the material.

"Get dressed. I don't want to be late," he says, his voice flat.

“It’s too cold for the slut dress,” you grumble in a last ditch effort, fabric falling into your mouth as you sleep.

“Then wear a fucking turtleneck and snow pants to the club,” Jimin says. “I don’t care, just please get dressed.”

The door slams and when you pull the dress away from your face, the room is empty again. With a sigh, you roll off the bed and begin to get ready for the night.

By the time you pulled up to the dark, sticker-plastered doors of the club, Jimin had resumed his usually joyful and peppy demeanor, all memories of his little slip up erased from the night.

You knew better than to push him about it. You knew that he shut down when you called him out on these things in the past— like the way his eyes lingered on you for too long when you showed off a new bathing suit, the cute little stutter he donned when he was flustered by you, or the way he would basically run at top speed in any direction away from you when you emerged from the shower, nothing but a towel wrapped around your body.

As you are swallowed into the sea of dancing figures and booming bass, you feel his hand come to rest on your waist. Pushing further into the crowd, his touch is reassuring. Steadying. His way of keeping a hold on you without actually holding onto you.

He sees them before you do, and quickly grabs onto your hand, tugging you forward into the mass of swaying figures. Waving and yelling their names, the two of you tumble towards your friends. Jungkook and Raven stand near the bar, their faces lighting up when they finally spot you in the mess of strangers.

Raven embraces you first, his arms pulling you in for a tight hug.

“I wanna dance!” Jungkook says before you can even step away from Raven. Drinks abandoned, Jungkook has grabbed both yours and Jimin’s hands and drags you out to the dance floor.

The bass courses through you as your friends surround you, bopping and swaying to the barely understandable lyrics.

Jimin has always been a good dancer. A great dancer, actually. His moves range from absolutely side-achingly hilarious to -- dare you say it -- undeniably sensual.

He twirls you onto the dance floor, the two of you falling into your usual routine of swinging and laughing and kicking all around.

And as the upbeat and perhaps misplaced summer hit switches to a more sensual song he matches it naturally, letting his hips sway and glide to the rhythm. He pulls you along with him, twirling you more slowly. When you twist into his grasp, he doesn’t hesitate to take you into his arms, pressing you against him.

As his arms come to wrap around your shoulders, you can’t help but press back into him.

Raven winks at you and you grin back at him, shooing him and his teasing away.

It’s easy to fall into this. Easy to fall into the sway of Jimin’s body and the safety that comes with being pressed so close against him. You fit perfectly into his body, every one of your curve the antithesis to his. Like two puzzle pieces.

You let your hand drop down to his thigh, gripping it for stability as you sway your hips against his. The muscle tenses beneath your touch and you take that as an opportunity to roll your ass against his crotch.

He meets your movements, grinding back up into you, his hand dropping to your waist where he grips you tightly and guides your movements even further back into him.  

"We shouldn't be doing this," he whispers in your ear.

His body pressed against yours feels like the most natural thing in the world. The nights the two of you have spent in your kitchen, sliding around in socks and grooving to your favorite music, springing each other around your shared house — all of those hours, all of those years make it so when he moves against you he knows exactly what he’s doing and exactly what you want him to do. You move in tandem, as if you are sharing a brain, a story, a body.

You tilt your head up to him, nuzzling into his neck.

“Why not?”

“I-I can’t mess up.” He says, but he continues to sway at your back.

“You’re not messing up. I like this.”

As you reach behind you, letting your hand trail up beneath his shirt, you can feel him press into your touch. Chasing it, searching it out. But as your hand trails back down, fingernails scraping delicately against the skin, he seems to snap out of it and steps back from you, even as he keeps his hands on your hips.

You turn, trying to pull him back to you, but you see his brow is furrowed.

“Are you okay?” you ask.

“Just fine!” he says, just a little to cheerfully. “I-I just think I’m done with dancing for tonight.”

Even as he says it he pulls you closer to his chest.

“I’m going to get some drinks, do you want something?”

“You don’t want to dance with me?”

“I— uh— it’s not that.” He shakes his head.

“Please, come on, it’ll be fun,” you groan, tugging on his arm. But he stands firm and stiff. “Aren’t you having fun?”

“I don’t want to dance tonight. Just go on ahead.”

You look your friend up and down. Jimin was never one to turn down an opportunity to dance.

“Okay,” you say, painting a smile on your features even as your heart aches slightly at his rejection. “I just want you to have fun. Do you want me to come with?”

“No--it’s okay. I’ll be back, alright?”

“Alright?”

You watch as he disappears back into the mass of people. You stand still, wondering What the hell just happened?

However, your thoughts are quickly interrupted as Raven reaches out to you, pulling you to him in a graceful spin.

“Distract yourself, darling,” he says with a chuckle. “He’ll come around, don’t you worry.”

Before you have a chance to process his words, Raven spins you out again in the crowd.

You stumble just a little bit, until hands come to rest on the dip of your hips, lingering there just enough to stabilize you. However, they quickly release you as soon as you are standing tall again.

“Oh, ah, thank you,” you half-yell as you turn around, attempting to raise your voice above the noise.

The man who stands behind you is undeniably gorgeous. Tall, with a dark lock of hair hanging into your forehead and the most beautiful smile.

“No worries, it happens all the time,” he grins at you. “What’s your name.”

You yell back at him, but when he can’t hear you, you step closer to him, pressing against his chest to speak your name into his ear. His hand comes down on your waist as you do, lightly.

“My name’s Hoseok. You can call me Hobi though. Care to dance?”

You grin up at him and nod. You’ve never been one to turn down a dance partner.

He takes your hand, quick to find the rhythm of the music.

Hoseok is a natural. As each song progresses, his dances become more intricate. He’s happy to lead you through them and you can’t help but laugh as he spins you around the floor while others are swaying and grinding. You’ve never had this much fun with a stranger, but as he moves against you, you can’t help but think of the way Jimin felt pressed so close to you earlier in the night. It’s just not quite the same.

It’s easy to get lost in him, in his beaming smile and witty jokes that he bends down to whisper in your ear. He compliments you freely, and you do the same in return.

As the night continues you and Hoseok dance closer and closer until he’s pressed deliciously up against your back. You find yourself lost in the sensation of being embraced by someone, even if it isn’t the person you’d want to be there.

“I hope I’m not being too forward, but do you wanna come home with me?” The man leans down, the husk of his voice brushing deliciously against your ear.

“I can’t.” You say, turning back towards him. “But thank you.”

“No problem,” he says, leaning down to chastely kiss your cheek. “Can I ask you a question before you go?”

You nod.

“Does your refusal have anything to do with the man at the bar who hasn’t taken his eyes off of us since we started dancing?”

“What?”

He nods over your shoulder, back towards the bar. Through the crowd, you can barely see your friends, but as you reach up on your tippy toes you see them all gathered around, laughing and talking. And then at the edge of them is Jimin. He stands tall and proud and with an unusually grim expression on his face. But when he sees you looking at him, he quickly averts his gaze to his drink, which he is continually swirling in his hand.

“You’re going home with him, aren’t you?”

“Well, duh, he’s my roommate, I—”

“You should go for it,” he interrupts you.

“Go for it?”

“Go for it.”

“There’s nothing there,” you state, matter of factly. “We’re just really good friends!” You’re not sure why you tell him this, but there’s something soft in his eyes that spurs you on.

“Good friends don’t eye fuck each other all night.”

“We weren’t—”

“No need to explain it to me.” He holds up his hands. “But it seems like you have some explaining to do to him. Or at least to yourself.”

You sputter. “Psh! What! No! I’m just tired, Hobi, and if I had the energy I would be fucking you right here, right now, on the dance floor. It has nothing to do with Jimin. Nothing at all!” You realize you’ve got your finger poking into his chest and you quickly draw it back. “Sorry.”

“Okay…”

“Well.” You put your hands on your hips, wiping the frustrated look off of your face. “I should go, I guess. It was nice dancing with you, partner. I’ll be the first to admit you got great hips.”

He’s laughing, and you’re not sure if it’s at you or with you, but when you extend you hand for a friendly fistbump, he meets it with all the enthusiasm in the world, pulls you into a hug, and is off on his merry way, off to find a new dancing partner.

Left alone in the middle of the floor, you kind of just stand there, mulling over what the stranger had said to you. Soon though, you feel a hand on your shoulder and you spin around to see a blank faced Jimin.

“I, uh, just wanted to check in on you.”

“I’m all good!” you chirp, perhaps too cheerfully. As you begin to make your way back to the bar, his hand comes to rest on your lower back and you shiver at the touch.

“So you’re not going home with him?” He nods back in the direction of the disappearing stranger.

“Why would I?”

“Well, you wore your slut dress, so I figured he was a contender.” He doesn’t meet your eye.

“I didn’t want to fuck him.” You stop, and turn to him.

He laughs, almost nervously. “Well I guess that’s an important factor.”

“Yeah, just a minor detail,” you shoot back, grinning.

“I guess it’s all for the best. Didn’t like the looks of him much anyways.

You giggle. “What? Are you jealous?”

“No.”

“Are you sure?”

“I can’t be jealous.”

“Can’t be? Or aren’t?”

Jimin blinks back at you, an expression of utter surprise on his face. You know his answer in that moment, and yet — there is a kind of doubt that sits in you. That until he says it, it just won’t be real.

And still, he avoids your question.

“I think I’m gonna head home, do you wanna come with or head back with Tae and Raven?”

“I’ll come back with you, there’s nothing left here for me.”

“Great,” he says, a small smile on his lips. “Let’s go.”

“My heat is still out,” you call.

You’re standing at the door to his room in nothing but your pajama shirt. When you’d gotten home Jimin was quick to wish you goodnight and sweet dreams and book it up to his bedroom. You had gone to your own room and changed into sleep clothes, only to climb into bed and realize just how fucking freezing your blankets still were.

But as you stand outside his bedroom, when you press down on the handle, the door is unusually locked. He never locks the door, you think.

“Jimin!”

You push down on the handle, jiggling it obnoxiously as you hope your best friend can hear you from the other side, and isn’t just ignoring you. As you rattle the metal handle, something seems to come loose within the door and all of a sudden the door is swinging open inwards and there’s Jimin, leaning against the backboard of his bed, legs spread, and--

“Oh no—”

Even as your hands flash up to cover your eyes, you know it’s too late.

You’ve already seen it.

It’s imprinted on your brain. The image of Jimin with his head thrown back, hand wrapped around his throbbing cock hastily pulled out of his jeans. He must have been in such a rush he didn’t even bother to pull his pants down. Instead, the leather pants are simply tugged down just enough from him to slip his cock out of them.

“What the fuck!” he yelps.

“Did I—interrupt?” You can’t help but burst into giggles, even as you keep your hands firmly clamped to your face.

“Yes! Yes, you did!” he says, scrambling for the sheet. He pulls it over himself and then does up his pants again.

“If it makes you feel any better you have a nice looking dick!” you squeak out from behind your hands.

He wipes a hand wearily over his face.

“You really wanna have a conversation about my dick right now?”

“See a dick, converse about a dick, am I right?” you laugh nervously.

“No, no, you’re not. It usually goes like ‘see a dick, forget the fact that you ever looked at a dick.’”

“You got a point there.”

The room falls into silence for a moment before Jimin coughs and speaks.

“You can take your hands away now.”

Ever-so-slowly you release your hands from your face, looking over at Jimin who looks — not upset, not embarrassed, not angry — but intrigued. He’s looking at you with a mix of curiosity — and something else. Something you can’t quite put a finger on.

“Welp, I better be going—”

“I thought you said your heat is still out.”

You turn back around slowly.

“...It is. But I can go. I don’t want to make you feel… uncomfortable.”

“You’ve never made me feel uncomfortable. I don’t know if you could.”

“I’ve definitely made you feel uncomfortable before. Like that one time I put peanut butter on your special pickles and tried to fry them—”

“Okay, okay, maybe in like, a superficial way. But not in a deep way.” He pauses. “You’re my best friend for a reason.”

You’re still standing in the doorway, and as he looks you over — gaging your reaction, reading your emotions, trying to understand what’s going on in that far-off mind of yours — he realizes you’ve got your arms wrapped around your torso, protecting yourself from the biting draft that drifts down the hallway.

“Come ‘ere. You’re sleeping here tonight.” He says it without hesitation.

You look at him, and then back down the darkened hallway, and then back at him, the warm glow of his bedside lamp painting his features gold. His cheeks are still slightly flushed, his chest peeks out of his loose button down. And perhaps it’s that image that draws you to him — or, what you tell yourself in that moment, the inviting warmth of the layers of blankets on his bed and the radiator that sits close by.

You climb into bed, quickly tucking yourself into the blankets and rolling onto your side, away from him. However, you can feel his hands reaching out towards you, pulling the blankets closer to you, tucking you in further to their addicting warmth.

“I’m uh, gonna read for a little bit, is that okay?” he asks.

“Yeah, course,” you say, your voice slightly muffled by the pillow you’ve stolen and burry your face into.

He rifles through the nightstand. Behind you, he shifts, getting a bit more comfortable and you can hear the comforting sound of pages turning as he begins to read.

Even as you close your eyes, sleep evades you. As much as you try to banish it from your mind, it seems as if the image of his thick cock is burned into your retina, the vein on the underside of it swollen and pronounced. All you can see in your mind’s eye is Jimin, lost in his own pleasure. His face scrunched, eyes squeezed shut. What would it be like to see what he saw, whatever it was that had him gripping his cock so tight the knuckles began to turn white?

“So do you usually masterbate without porn?”

It slips out before you know what you’re saying.

He coughs behind you, and it sounds like he’s choking.

“What?!”

Well, you think. Now that it’s out there I might as well just go for it. You flip over onto your otherside, face half hidden by the blanket.

“When I walked in on you — you were just… lost in thought. No video or audio or,” you nod at the book he’s holding. “Rip off of Half a Hundred Colors of Dark-White.”

He gapes at you.

“Why are you so obsessed with my masterbatory habits, hm?”

“I-I’m not! I’m just curious, like one would be when they accidentally catch their best friend masterbating. We all, you know, do it. I, myself, have a very lovely connection of multi-colored vibrators — all sizes and shapes and, uh, textures? And vibrations and settings and speeds and—”

“So you wanna talk about it then?” He’s still sitting above, looking down on you. He cocks an eyebrow at your surprised expression. “You didn’t want to talk about last night but you want to talk about how I get myself off?”

It’s your turn to gape.

“Uh, what? Last night, psh no!”

He readjusts his position so he’s facing you now, one leg bent and propped up, the other one folded beneath it. You do your best to keep your gaze focused on his face, and not on the prominent bulge that is now in your direct line of vision.

“So you weren’t grinding on my cock last night — or god forbid tonight at the club — But you wanna know about my masterbatory habits?”

You swallow and despite the chill air of the bedroom, you sit up, letting the blankets fall around your waist.

“I suppose that is what I’m asking.”

Heart pounding in your chest, you lick your lips. You know what you’re asking. You know where you’re pushing things. Everything about this next step terrifies you. And yet, it’s all you’ve been thinking about for the past 24 hours. Hell, the past several years.

You’d be lying if you said that last night’s dream was the tamest of the ones Jimin starred in. He haunted you. His image, his being, were everywhere you turned. Even when you were with other partners or one night stands, all you could do was compare them to Jimin. Were they as softly hilarious as him? Did they know your every thought, your every desire, like he did? Could they anticipate your mood before you even could? Did they fill you with that feeling of belonging and safety like he did? No. None of them ever did. You didn’t just crave Jimin’s attention, you craved his touch.

“You know, most friends talk about this kind of shit.”

“Do they?”

“Yes. They talk about sex. They talk about getting off. They talk about their interests and turn-offs and fantasies and--”

“And you wanna talk about this?” His hand lands on yours. You look up at him as he squeezes your fingers within his warm grasp.

“I-I guess I do. Sometimes it bothers me that we don’t talk about it.”

“Then let’s talk about it,” he says, a little bit more confidence slipping into his voice. He picks your hand up, weaving his fingers in between yours. The way he looks at them reminds you of someone looking at a beautiful vista or an undiscovered creature for the first time. There is wonder -- and also confusion -- in him. “I never wanted to make you uncomfortable. I never wanted to… turn our friendship into something that you didn’t want. Something that made you uncomfortable.”

“And I didn’t want to push.”

“Push me? Into what?”

You glance down at your hands. “I don’t know, something that you were disgusted by.”

“I could never be disgusted by you. It’s the opposite, actually.”

“Then why do you keep pushing me away? When I want to talk about things? When I want to be close to you?”

Jimin is silent for a moment.

“Because I’m never sure if this is just fun to you,” he says softly. “What if something happens and you realize you don’t want it in the way you thought you did?”

“And what if something happens and it’s exactly what I want?” One hand still resting in his grasp, you reach out with the free one to clutch onto his shirt. Not wanting to push too far, you make do with tangling your fingers in the silky fabric, twisting it around yourself until you are lost in it.

You don’t see it coming. His hand reaching up to yours, pressing your hand to his chest. Slowly, he slides your intertwined hands up until he can press your palm to his chest. Beneath the fabric you can hear the gentle thud of his heart beating, quicker than usual. And there, he just holds it. Mulling. Contemplating.

“It feels like I’ve been distracted…” He licks his lips as he considers his next several words. “...for weeks. Probably longer. I’ve been trying to hold everything in because it’s not supposed to be there. But the temptation to just give in… To just lean into the things that I want… It’s always there. It doesn’t go away. But--sometimes I can distract myself from it.”

“What is it that you want?”

His gaze flickers back up from your lips. The look in his eyes is searing. Burning. There’s desire there — one that’s all consuming — but something else too. He refuses to look away from you, instead roving over your whole face as if he’s trying to memorize it. As if when he speaks next he might forget you entirely. And that’s when you realize. It’s not confusion dancing in his eyes. It’s loss. He thinks he’s going to lose you.

“It doesn’t matter. I can’t have it.”

“You can.”  

“I can’t.” He squeezes his eyes shut, like he’s trying to hold back. “There— there are lines that once you cross you can never go back to.”

“Jimin, I want you.”

The words hang in the stilled silence of the room like lead, suspended and out of place. But you push on, and as you do, his grip tightens around your hands and he’s pulling you forward until you’re flush against his chest.

“And it’s not because of your monster cock -- although that’s like a really really great benefit that I’ll be honest, I wasn’t expecting--” Jimin raises an eyebrow. “Anyways, I want you for you. I think I’ve wanted you since I met you, but--” You glance down. “I’ve been too scared to admit it. Too scared or too dumb.”

Jimin raises your chin so that you are eye to eye. He’s so close.

“I’ve wanted you since I laid eyes on you.” He lets his hands drop to your hips, maneuvering you so that you’re fully straddling his waist as he sits up against the headboard. “I wanted you in my life, in whatever way that would be. I wanted you as my best friend and my inspiration and my home -- and to have you like that? I would never want to fuck it up.”

“Then don’t.”

“Simple as that,” he laughs, his hands coming to rest on your hips. He tightens his grip and you instinctively wrap your hands around his neck, tugging him closer to you.

“Simple as that,” you repeat.

The words hang in the air for a moment, filling the space of the bedroom. And then their sound is gone, leaving the air vacant of sound. The weight of what you’ve both just said crashes down upon you.

Simple as that.

“I want to kiss you,” Jimin whispers. “Can I kiss you?”

“Always,” you barely manage to mumble before your lips are crashing together. They begin clumsily, desperate. Teeth knocking together as you both scramble frantically for connection. For the missed years. For the gazes thrown across the hallway, quick and longing.

And then you find your groove. Just like on the dance floor, there is an unspoken communication to the way that you move together. Chasing and pursuing. Biting and pressing. You gasp as Jimin slips his tongue between your lips, swiping against the roof of your mouth.

It feels like forever and no time at all that you’re wrapped up in his arms, his hands climbing the height of your back as he pulls you as close as he possibly can.

As the kiss slips into gentleness, you feel him between your legs. He’s impossibly hard. You don’t know if it’s thought or basic instinct that leads you to press your hips forward, sliding ever so slightly along his length. You know you’ve done the right thing when he groans into your mouth. You do it again, this time swiveling against him. His hands snake down to your hips, fingers digging into the fleshy bits of your sides.

“I don’t think you know what you’re doing,” he groans against your lips.

“I know exactly what I’m doing.”

He kisses you fiercely and you let your hands wander beneath the silk of his shirt, tracing the planes of his skin until you’ve had enough and need more. You attempt to tug the fabric up, but he seems lost in your lips.

“Off, please,” you say when you can’t get it over his shoulders.

He grins at you and shucks it off in one go, tossing it onto the floor.

You lean back just enough to admire him like this, the planes of his chest glowing dimly in the light of the lamp.

“You’re so beautiful,” you murmur in awe.

He captures your lips again, his movements soft and dutiful. And then with all the gentleness in the world, he turns the both of you, cradling the nape of your neck as he lowers you down onto the pillows.

“I never thought I could have you like this.”

“Me neither. I-I don’t know if I can go back.”

“Don’t worry, darling. I already know I don’t want to go back.”  

You smile up at him, a feeling of warmth and love spreading through your chest. As he sits back, looking down on you, you tug your shirt over your head, tossing it to join his discarded top on the floor.

His eyes rove over your naked form, bare of everything except for the grannie panties you slipped on before knocking on his door. At the beginning of the night you wanted nothing but to make sure everything was thoroughly covered. Now you wish you had gone for something a bit more stylish.

Even as you think this, looking at him you know he doesn’t give a flying fuck what you’re wearing.

He leans down again, kissing you. He lets his weight rest just enough on you as he settles between your legs and you arch up at the dull contact.

As he bites down on your lip, you push up into him, searching for more.

“Can I touch you?” he asks.

“Please,” you gasp.

His hand comes down on your thigh, pushing you open just enough. And then, as he comes back to kiss you, he slips his hand down your stomach, fingers teasing at the waistband of your panties.

You can’t help as your hips buck up as he slips a finger down your folds. You’re already soaking, arousal quickly coating his finger.

“Shh, shh,” he whispers against your lips, gaze searching yours. “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you.”

As the final word slips out of his mouth, he inserts the first finger into your tight entrance and you yelp in pleasure, the feeling of him filling you more sensation than you could imagine. Ever so slowly, he begins to pump it in and out before adding a second finger.

“I want to get you ready for me,” he murmurs. “If that’s what you want.”

“I want it,” you gasp as he presses against your g spot. “Please, I need it, please, Jimin, fuck me.”

“Patience, baby. I will in due time. But first I need you a little more stretched out.”  

When he adds a third finger, the pressure building deliciously in your abdomen, there’s nothing you can do to hold back the way your body jerks or the whine that slips through your lips.

“God, I never even imagined you would sound this desperate, this beautiful.”

As he continues to press against the soft spongy spot inside you, you squeeze your eyes shut, trying to keep control but quickly losing it.

“You thought about this?”

“Of course I thought about it.”

“Tell me what you thought about,” you pant, his fingers still working rhythmically in and out of you.

“The list is endless,” he murmurs. “I think about what it would feel like to fuck you. What it would sound like to have you call my name. What it would be like to have you cum again and again around my cock, and then walk out of here, with it dripping down your leg so that anyone who sees will know it too. To have you so fucked out and screaming that everyone in a ten mile radius knows exactly who is fucking you so well, who you belong to.”

“Ah!” you cry as your orgasm begins to build. “Jimin! I’m so close, I--”

And just like that, his fingers are gone from your clenching walls and you are left with a feeling of absolute emptiness drifting through you. He pulls back with a smirk.

“Wha--”

“When you come, I want it to be around my cock.”

Your gaze flickers down to his crotch, where his dick is straining against the tight confines of the leather. “That just can’t be comfortable,” you say, your voice shaking even as you unapologetically eye his obvious arousal. “Please take them off. I’ll make you feel good.”

“You can?”

“I want to,” you explain. “I want to help.” You look up at him again and see that his gaze is dark with desire. “Can I?”

Slowly, he nods, and you reach out towards him, for the buttons to his jeans. As your fingers land on the cold metal of the button, his come down atop yours, popping the button open expertly.

As you slowly slide the zipper down, you swallow.

Everything about this feels right. There’s the sensation of a fire burning in your chest. It’s not just wanting his body. It’s chasing the feeling of electricity sparking through you every time he touches you. Chasing the want of his hands, his gaze, his everything focused on you. Something twinges in your heart. Even as you want these things, you know it’s not fair to ask them of him, to expect them of him.

He stands to slip the rest of his pants off and you realize he’s not even wearing underwear. You gulp as you watch him strip, his beautiful body soon revealed in the dim lighting. His cock stands at full attention, deliciously hard and poking against his belly.

“Are you sure you want this?” he asks.

“I want it more than anything.”

The bed dips underneath his weight as he climbs towards where you lay. He lowers himself above you, expertly balancing his weight so that it doesn’t crush you. With one hand, he reaches down to palm his hard cock, the tip red and angry with need. With his knee, he pushes your legs wide open, making room for himself and spreading you out before him. At a devastatingly slow speed, he lines himself up with your aching center.

“So wet for me, princess. You’ve always been beautiful to me, but spread out like this, just waiting for my cock? You’re a dream.”

“Please,” you gasp.

“Please what?”

As he comes to nestle his cock in between your dripping folds, you whimper with need.

All you can feel is his cock, his touch against your skin, the way his presence surrounds you and envelopes you.

“Please,” you whisper. “I need you, Jimin.”

He chuckles.

“You’re so desperate, baby. Tell me what you want.”

“Want you to fuck me.”

“My baby wants me to fuck her?” He slides slowly in and your back arches devilishly at the sensation of his fat cock stretching you open for him. He watches your facial expression carefully, not wanting to hurt you or push you too far too fast.

When he sees you relax just a little, he pushes in even further until he’s nestled inside you to the hilt. Once he knows you’re comfortable, he lets himself slip into the pleasure of you wrapped all around him. His eyes flutter closed, and he nestles his nose into the crook of your neck.

Gathering himself, he takes a deep breath, pushing up off of you so that he can better look down at you, your hair splayed on the pillow, cheeks warm with arousal, eyes wide in pleasure.

“God, you’re perfect for my cock. Like you were made to fit me.”

“Mmf, so big,” you groan as he shifts inside you. “Never felt this full before.”

As he begins to move, you gasp, hands coming up to cling at his back. The drag of his cock against the walls of your cunt is divine and you can’t help as your nails dig into his skin, raking down the planes of his back.

His eyes never leave your face, tracing your pleasure every time it flashes across your features.

“When I imagined this,” he pants, “I never even thought it could feel this good.”

He withdraws at a maddeningly slow pace, until just the tip of his cock rests inside your warmth.

“Please Jimin,” you gasp. “I need more.”

He smirks down at you. “More?” He gives a shallow thrust.

“More,” you groan, trying to push your hips down on him, anything to take him further into you. However, his hand quickly comes down on your hips, stopping all movement.

Leaning down to capture your lips in a feverish kiss, you gasp into his mouth as he thrusts into you with a great force. You cry his name as he bites down on your lower lip, the pace he sets brutal and exactly what you need. Each thrust rolls through your entire body, setting your nerves alight. When he gives a particularly hard thrust, your spine arches, hands slipping away from his back and coming to wrap around his wrists.

When he growls, you clench at the sound.

Your eyes flicker open in time to see his mouth gape and he groans when you do it again.

He answers your tightness with another roll of his hips, this time changing the angle just enough that it hits your g spot directly. You spasm around his cock, crying out as he continues to fuck you.

“You’ve ruined me,” Jimin gasps. “Nothing else, no one else is going to be like this. I wanna fuck this cunt until you can’t think of anything else.”

You start to respond, to tell him how much you want that, but his hand comes down on your clit, rubbing just gently enough that you’re yelping in a mixture of pleasure and overstimulation.

“I’m really gonna fuck you now, baby. I want you to touch yourself until you can’t anymore, okay?”

You nod, reaching down to your clit where your fingers brush against one another. You look down to see his cock rutting in and out of you, coated in your juices. As he withdraws his hand, he begins to pick up his speed.

The pace he sets reaches deep into your body, setting every nerve alight. You cling to him, begging him to fuck you harder. His cock seems to reach every single sensitive spot within you as rock your hips back up to his, meeting his every movement. He lets you now, lost in the feeling of your bodies moving together, seeking the same pleasure together.

When his pace begins to stutter, thrusts becoming long and rough, you know he’s close to his end.

“Baby, I’m going to come,” he groans. He begins to sit back up and withdraw, but you wrap a hand around his neck and pull him towards you, the other one coming to press on the dip of his hips.

“Come inside, Jimin.”

“But--”

“I’m safe. I want to feel you come inside me. Wanna come with you.”

He groans at your words and lowers himself to you, letting his hips grind against yours in a tide of sensation. Each movement pulls you closer and closer to your orgasm until three words are tumbling from his lips and you are tipping over the edge.

He kisses you as you both ride out your orgasm, waves of pleasure washing through your body and into his as if you are connected on more than just a physical level. His lips are soft against yours, guiding you through your orgasm. Everything is breathless and wildly full, all at once.

Pulling back as his cock twitches within you, he peppers your neck with kisses, his plush lips pressing softly against the delicate skin beneath your ear.

“I love you, baby,” he murmurs against your skin.

“I love you too,” you hum, eyes fluttering blissfully closed as you tangle a hand in his hair, pressing him closer to you.

That’s how you fall asleep. Tangled up in each other, bodies meshed together until there’s no way to tell which way is up.

You wake up wrapped in warmth. The kind of warmth that radiates from your heart, shining on outwards and into the room around you. And, as your eyes blink open, you notice it also radiates from the absolute furnace that clings to your back.

“Mmm,” the furnace grumbles, rubbing his nose against the soft nape of your neck. You can feel him press his lips against the top of your spine, his breath fanning delicately against your skin. “G’morning.”

“Morning.” You speak softly, as if any noise will break the memory of last night, his whispered affections against your skin as you drifted off to sleep still hanging in the air. Too loud and you will shatter and destroy the memory. The words of his confession still carved into your skin, your mixed pleasures riddled through your body, the song of his joy and laughter emblazoned into the room -- all of that, you think, will disappear if you move too quickly or speak too loudly.

However, that notion is quickly banished when Jimin rolls over and groans dramatically, spreading his limbs out until he starfishes over the entire bed -- including you. With a little grunt, he flips over on his belly, shimmying over to you. Pulling the blankets down around you, you gasp as the cool air hits your skin.

He’s quick to rectify this as he rolls onto you, resting his head on your stomach, blowing a raspberry into your skin. You screech in laughter and as the sensation rushes through you, tickling you.

It takes a minute or two before you calm down, looking lovingly down at the man who holds your heart and running a hand through his hair, brushing it off of his forehead.

“I love you, you know that?” he mumbles into your belly.

“Do you?” you giggle, doubt still riddled in your mind.

His eyes shoot up to yours.

“Of course I do. Is there any question about it?” You look down on him, worry in your gaze. “Oh, baby.” He’s quick to prop himself up on his hands, but still stays sprawled out atop you, his weight heavy and comforting. “I’ve loved you since I first saw you--” You open your mouth to tell him there’s no such thing as love at first sight, but his hand comes up quickly and covers your mouth, effectively shushing you. “--at least I knew I was going to love you the first time I saw you. I knew I was going to fall madly and deeply in love with all of your quirks and strange obsessions and deep passions and maddenly horrible humor. And I knew I loved you a year in, and every day after that.”

You look down on him, tears welling up in your eyes at his sincerity.

“Come ‘ere,” you say, pulling him up towards you. He crawls up your chest, playfully nipping at your bare breasts before settling against you. He kisses you. Lets you sink into the sensation. And then he pulls back and says,

“Aren’t you going to tell me you love me too?”

You don’t know if you’ll ever get enough of that dorky smile.

But you do know the tears threatening to spill over are rising from the deep, unnamable affection that rolls through your chest, finally released from silence. You want to call it love, and that is what you will call it, but there’s also something that goes so much deeper than the word itself. Something you know you will spend your whole life trying to explain to him.

read more: masterlist 

Taglist: @taestannie @thatlongspringnight @spicykoreantatertots​ @usuallynervoussheep​ @hesperantha​ @myimaginationsrunningwild​@lucedelsole97​ @heichooou​ @jiminskth​

[dragonrajafanfiction]

Club Takamagahara (End) - Dating Game

Woo Doggy! This has been fun to write and I mean FUN. Having no real holds barred and getting really silly was a lot easier than I expected and I had a great time with this arc. 

One of the biggest complaints in the mobile game fandom is the Main Story offers no love interest for the MC and it trails off at this part as the MC is reduced to a go-fer for every NPC’s sidequest. Well I say NO MORE, you will be quite literally the center of everyone’s attention from here on out.

Cars lined up around the entire block of the street and women were lined up along the sidewalk for their tickets. From 8 to 10 p.m., the busiest time of the night was when the stage was filled with shows by the performers, from ancient erotic dramas like Cleopatra and Marc Antony to Chu Zihang's swordplay; off stage, the guests were already drunk. The guests who came late were often groups of girlfriends who had eaten dinner elsewhere and came to join the singing and dancing party in Takamagahara, the performers had to go over and greet them, there was a shortage of manpower everywhere. Both the escorts and waiters were running to work, Whale was roaring outside the dressing room backstage, like the circus troupe master. 

The message of the Romanceable MC Contest had caught fire and boosted to epic proportions. Princess Night was in full swing and featured all the top names in Male Escort business. Even before they got out of the cars, the women were screaming and taking pictures having lined up for hours.

The  white Cadillac Escalade stretch limousine rolled like an anaconda and reflected the millions of electric lights of the Tokyo night. It took up half the block, but there was space left for cars like this, reserved for the VIPs of the Takamagahara elite. No one could park there on pain of towing and a hefty fine.

A man in a hooded cloak pulled the lollipop out of his mouth. His bright green eyes scanned the crowd waiting outside. He crossed his legs one over the other and leaned back. “What percentage of the fans out there are mine?”

“From the ticket sales it seems that you are about 30% of the crowd today, Master Inoue.” The driver, a veteran and son of drivers, had been there for him since he first made it big hosting the Bliss Hall. This driver was so skilled at avoiding paparazzi that he put him under a lifetime contract. Now he was much older, but his driving was still as sharp as ever.

The man in the back seat was barely visible, dressed in all black and keeping the lights down so that it looked just like an empty limo. He huffed with a slight smirk. He crossed his arms and looked down. “Wow. And I’m supposed to have competition?” 

“You are the top male escort in Tokyo, Master Inoue,” rumbled the driver again.

That sharp green eye flicked up to the rear view mirror. “Second… to the top. If you would, sir. But apparently Ruri Kazama isn’t competing.”

Ruri Kazama. The name was so legendary among the escorts of Japan that they scarcely dared to utter it. Although he rarely appeared outside private showings, the man reigned supreme as the king of the male escort business.

“He’s unlikely he would have been able to respond on short notice, Master Inoue…”

“No one skips the Takamagahara…” He looked back outside, pushing back the thick velvet curtain slightly.

“You’ve skipped it by 3 hours sir.”

“I”m only here to see one woman. There’s no need to see any others or stay here too long. I come here, win her little heart, and leave with my prize money.”

“You’re really not going to entertain your fans, sir?”

He grinned, his radiant and white smile shining in the dark of the limo. “There’s value in scarcity. If I popped up in full all the time, there’d be no chase. And as you know very well, my most excellent driver… It's all about the chase! If you would, please?”

The driver put the truck in park and stepped out in his sharp suit and driver’s hat. He pulled the handle on the pearly side door and opened it.

Shining black cowboy boots covered in sparkling rhinestones stepped down from the limo. He moved as smooth and graceful as a dancer in skin tight leather pants. His black leather jacket was open to reveal his bare chest and sculpted abs. His hair, bleached white streamed from a black cowboy hat decorated with shark’s teeth.

His appearance sparked immediate mayhem, screams, and mad panting. Dozens of hands reached out desperately, stretching their fingers towards him as though they were pulled by an extremely powerful magnet. They were all screaming, “Diamond!”

Master Inoue - or to his fans, Diamond - stood still as a statue, hat tipped over his eyes, listening to their desperate pleas with his eyes closed.

It seemed arrogant, but for him, it was always like this. From the time he was a child, people couldn’t keep their hands to themselves. When they caught sight of his brilliant green eyes they were drawn to him before he even knew the difference between boys and girls. Sitting in the stroller, all he had to do was smile and the women would come and coo and smile and ask, please, can I hold him. Please!

“Please! Hold me, Diamond! Never let me go!”

Diamond lifted his head toward the voice. It was a woman in her thirties, tears in her eyes, begging with the desperation of a leper before Christ. If he just wanted to, he could heal her broken heart. He walked casually towards her and saw her eyes get bigger and bigger and then he took her delicate hand in his and gently kissed it.

The woman, struck with a Pentacostal frenzy, trembled and fell to her knees sobbing in desperation, clutching her hand and rocking back and forth. She would probably never wash that hand again.

The little favor revved the up crowd even more and the bouncers hurried to line up and make a barrier. That kiss was all he would grant. He turned and walked through the velvet rope staffed with burly workers with black masks over their eyes. They opened the doors to Takamagahara and he stepped inside. Immediately, two more workers turned to lead him to the VIP area.

“So who’s the lucky lady tonight?” Deep down, he was quite excited. His clients were usually 35 and older. For thousands of dollars, he would have dinner at a fancy restaurant, followed by drinks in some VIP Lounge. Or he would be asked to clean the house naked. Or pretend to be her boyfriend for the night. There was the common misconception that his clients were old or undateable. But that wasn’t his experience at all.

People who had $5,000 to spend on a naked butler could have anyone they wanted.

And they wanted him.

This challenge was new for him. The club picked his woman and they would be paying his escort fee. 

His only task would be to ‘Love her.’ If she felt that then she would give him tickets. Whoever got the most tickets was the winner. When she picked his ‘route’.

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

It wasn’t that you got a private party, MC. This was a show.  You were on the floor with everyone else. Rather than sticking to the edge of the crowd you got your table in the shape of a figure 8 in the middle of a raised platform filled with fish swimming about and surrounded by plush red couches in the shape of women’s lips. And already, the bottles were open. 

You’re wearing another dress, not a cheongsam this time. It was a light green satin tube dress that hugged your figure and barely covered anything. Your hair was long and down your shoulders and your make up again was light. For such a simple look, you had spent hours in the spa that day while they made sure your hair was softer than it ever had been. You smelled like lilac and roses. 

A man with short blond hair cropped above his ears, blue eyes and a black shirt so tight it conformed to every muscle in his body yelled above the music. “Where are you from?”

“Uh… Russia!”

“Russia! Woooow! Are you some sort of Oil Baron?”

“Yeah!” You yell figuring nothing you said mattered. They wouldn't remember anything anyway would they?

He flicks his wrist and produces an unopened rose stem, seemingly from thin air and offers it to you. “To me you’re worth more than all the oil in the world. I hope we get to know each other well, MC.”

Below the shirt, He wore pale form fitting jeans that hugged his considerable muscle just like Caesar’s outfit did. But his shoes were casual sneakers without ornamentation.

You accept the rose he offers you, feeling a bit shy.

Another man in a golden blouse that is made of fabric so sheer you could see the belly button piercing underneath, pulls out a cigarette and lights it up. He puffs out a perfect ring of smoke between his thin lips. “That would be Oil Baroness, Calypso…” He says. “She must have more pull than just money to bring us all to the same table.” His voice was deep and carried through the noise. He pulled another drag and sipped his liquor. But he was looking at you with calculating dark eyes.

A silver coin goes spinning on the table. A man in fiery red hair tied back in a ponytail, puffy red coat and a long chain over his bare chest lifts his chin at you. His eyes are as silver as that coin. “Heads or Tails, MC?”

“What am I betting on?” You ask.

His smile spreads further. “I just said heads or tails.”

“Hey, go easy, she’s new!” The man in the skintight black shirt returns with a bottle of vodka and pours it into a glass.

The redhead slaps his hand over the coin. It’s painted with an elaborate henna tattoo, elaborate, like stained glass. “You’re not going to win by going easy…”

The smell of the vodka is the mix of rubbing alcohol and gasoline. Light a match and it might produce a plume of flame! You lean away, repulsed, but the man next to you brazenly pours himself a glass and downs it. Sighing roughly like he might breathe fire, he grins. “That’s the good stuff! But you must drink it every day right?”

“Yeah!” You take cautious sips but the burn builds and builds until it overwhelms you and forces you to stop and cough into your arm.

Caesar, Mingfei and Chu Zihang were nowhere to be found. It was clear this club was over occupancy and over staffed so there was no rescuing you. All the waiters were running around. From somewhere in the hall, glass breaks.

A finger taps your shoulder. You’re met by a bright green gaze in a pale face.

You flinch as a crown is laid on your head.

“Your Majesty…” The man bows to you.

“Your Majesty!”  They all echo with bows and kittenish smiles. For years, you’d never considered trying to date anyone. You lived like you were preparing for war. Then the war came and never let up. Now, you’re surrounded by men who could honestly be called the handsomest in Tokyo who were placing their hands on their broad chests and bowing their heads in fealty.

Off stage, the women on the floor whooped with delight.

Cowboy hat tipped over one eye, shirtless in his jacket, with a bare hairless chest, the man who gave you the jeweled tiara leaned over the couch. Every muscle stood out in carefully carved relief and your eyes followed them down to where they disappeared below his waist. The elastic band of his boxers peek up from the pants. You’d seen naked people before. But they were all familiar, people you knew and were fine with. This is the first time encountering the bare chest of a complete stranger and he’s so close you can smell his sweat. “Wow…” He says quietly, in a low purr next to your ear.

“I’m sorry?”

“You are… beautiful.” His eyes roamed about your body with a lopsided smile, his eyebrows raising. “I have to say I am caught by surprise.”

If your face gets any hotter it might catch fire.

He vaults over the couch, plops next to you and leans in, filling your vision. He gives a quick wink. “I’m yours for the night.”

“Diamond is always this forward but the truth is, he’s the most inexperienced of all of us.”

Diamond shoots the yellow shirt a glare. “I’m experienced in everything she would possibly want, Armani.”

“Yes, but we must go gently, gently…” The black shirt lightly rustles your hair. “We don't want to scare her off.”

“I’m here to do what she wants me to do…” Diamond waves the other men away before addressing you again. “Well, what’s your name?”

You tell him.

“Beautiful… let me guess? Russian?” His hand crept over to envelope yours in a steady grip. His fingers were so much larger than yours and soft like they were bathed in milk every day. There were no calluses. When Mingfei or Caesar touched you, there were roughened, thick patches of skin from hours of practice at the shooting ranges. His nails were even, shining and unbroken.

He raises your hand to his lips and gives it a small kiss. “Pleased to make your acquaintance. You can call me, Diamond.”

“Okay, Diamond.” You glance up at his eyes. He follows your gaze down when it falls again, trying to hold it as much as possible to the point where he leans over and tilts his head to do so. Every time you look up, those eyes are there, to catch that glance, like a serpent hypnotizing his prey.

He holds your drink out to you and you accept it with thanks.

“Are you cold? I noticed you’re keeping your feet tucked under.”

“Yes, it’s… a little cold.”

He shrugged off his jacket and laid it over your shoulders. It was very warm and you realized that the smell of the cologne he was wearing surrounded you like a thick heavy fog.  You could now see his body in all its glory. You belatedly realize that the observation of your being cold was just an excuse for him to remove one of the few pieces of clothing he had!

His shoulders.. The way his neck curved into them and then down to his back. You’d seen shoulders like his before but for some reason, in seeing someone new, made your eye rest on it that much longer, on the way the muscle hugged his bone . The cold in the room made his nipples stand out and...

“Anything else I can do to make you more comfortable, Your Highness?” He stayed turned to you. The way his abs wrinkled. That little valley on his side that disappeared when it met the leather pants. You were naturally observant. Everything you saw was getting laser etched into your mind. In an effort to stop it, you return to his eyes but even that wasn’t safe. He was so close, you could notice small flecks of blue and gold that enhanced the color. 

“Your eyes are really pretty.” You say this, but it doesn’t sound right even in your own ears. It wasn’t really his eyes you wanted to say something about.

He gives an easy relaxed smile, his eyebrows lift once. “Your eyes are prettier.”

“No they’re not.”

“I think I’m gonna barf. Let a pro show you how it’s done.” The redhead plants one arm between you and Diamond and ignores his furious glare.

His lips were really pink, almost cherry red, but you don’t see any sign of gaudy lipstick that Caesar wore. Everything about this man was gorgeous, even the light smatter of freckles on his nose. And everything about him was natural, save his hair color. The breath from his nose tickles your lips. He’s not backing away, he only tilts his head a bit.

You start to imagine what it might be like to kiss him. He draws a bit closer… closer. You close your eyes and wait. Wait… nothing.

“Can I?” He asks, quietly pleading.

“Uh...huh?” You press the words out from a stomach that was already squeezed tight like a fist.

“Good. I’ll keep that in mind for later.” The redhead pulls back and sashays back to this spot on the couch, giving Diamond a sharp snap of his fingers, just inches on his face. “Get on my level.”

“Alright, Alright, point taken.” Diamond pours himself some vodka.

The man in the yellow blouse, Armani, tilts his glass a bit. “Popularity is just a sign of good marketing and ubiquity. None of us can doubt your social media prowess, Diamond, but this is much higher class.”

He’s then staring at you with a half-lidded gaze. “Perhaps the baroness should accustom herself to someone who has dined with high officials. The ones with real power.”

“Okay…” You whisper, you’re completely captivated, unable to move.

“But that’s boring.” The Redhead sighs. “She needs to have more anticipation and suspense!”

“Your name is Chance because whether or not you’re any good is a complete crapshoot.” Armani sips his whiskey.

“But you could hit the jackpot.” He winks at you. “I’m one in a million.”

A loud popping sound  made you suddenly duck but he held you close. Confetti and glitter rained from the ceiling and cascaded over your skin. You look at your arm and watch the play of the disco lights on the sparkle.

“It’s time to give out Star-Heart Tickets! Who is the Ikemen who’s won this round?!” Whale is still emceeing this event and apparently was watching you. A waiter comes by with a basket full of stars with hearts in the middle.

You look at face after glorious handsome face. They were all leaning forward, smiling, waiting. Off stage people were yelling. Bets were being taken. “Diamond! Diamond!”

“PIck Armani he’s the best!”

“You’ll love Calypso!”

“Go with Chance!!”

“I don’t know…” You say, your voice weak. You look at your glass but it seems like the level has hardly moved even though you already feel dizzy.

“No one!” Whale shouts loudly. 

There must be a microphone because you’re not sure how he’s hearing what you’re saying. A gasp ripples through the crowd surrounding you and they fall to a confused silence. All the men sitting around you sit up straight, their faces each registering different levels of surprise and consternation. Save Chance, who whooped loud. “Yeah! Now this is what I’ve been waiting for! Let the games begin!” He pumped his fist.

Chance makes a mighty leap on the table and stands in front of you, all six feet of masculine bravado. “Let me give it to you straight. It’s true, I’m not always everyone’s cup of tea, I go buck wild sometimes.” He sweeps his arms across the table at the other men. “But if girls just fall into your lap at the first sight, how do you know how to compete? Ya don’t!”

Armani stares up at Chance and slowly sets his whiskey down. The others also suddenly changed their demeanor, grave determination and desire in their eyes.

[cordytriestowrite]

Fight, Fight, Fight

Bucky x Reader

One Shot

College AU

Summary: I see your "there was only one bed" and raise you "there was only one shower" with a sprinkle of "enemies to...still enemies but also lovers"

Natasha Romanov slid Sam Wilson a glass of vodka. A literal glass of vodka. Filled almost to the brim with the strong, clear alcohol a few drops sailed over the rim and left a wet trail as the glass came to a stop. 

"Drink."

Who was he to argue with a Russian about drinking? He took a large swallow, letting it burn down his throat and wash over the knot of nerves in his stomach. 

"You have to say something, Sam. It's your house."

He nodded. Natasha was right. When he put up the flyers in the student union offering the spare bedrooms in the house he inherited from his grandfather he thought it'd be a win-win. He was in his senior year, about to graduate and in need of some cash flow: enter roommates. He thought it would be like living in the freshman dorms all over again, bonding with people like Steve and building lifelong friendships. But no, while the roommates individually were just fine, it was when they were together that brought Sam to sit at his dining room table practically chugging eight ounces of cheap vodka. 

Natasha was nice enough to support him, maybe nice isn't the word, annoyed enough to help him. They had only just started dating after being introduced at Steve's birthday party two months ago, but she had been witness to too many squabbles, slammed doors, and sabotage. 

"There's gonna be a civil war in this house in less than," Sam glanced at his phone, "ten minutes."

"That's why you drink.

-

Your books were heavy and kept slipping from your arms. You adjusted them as you walked but that adjustment would only work for a few minutes before you had to perform another juggling act. The house was only two blocks from campus, the air was cool and breezy, you were pretty sure you aced your civ test, but you were far from content, after all finals were only a month away.

Bucky was walking just in front of you, headphones blaring music that even you could hear. He held a single, slim textbook and a pencil in on hand and his phone in the other. That's why you were mad. Bucky insisted on walking home together after class, but you never actually walked home together. You worked hard in class while he coasted on through. And yet you knew you would both pass.

When you reached out to Sam about the open room in his house you were hopeful, optimistic even, about a new living situation that didn't involve sleeping two feet from someone else in a dorm room that was always too cold. Had you known Bucky Fuckin Barnes had also called up Sam you would have stayed huddled under your blankets with earplugs while your roommate had sex in the bed two feet away from you, loudly. Anything was better than being stuck with the guy in and out of classes, but it was too late.

You hit an uneven patch of concrete, stumbling and losing your hold on your textbooks. You growled in frustration as they tumbled to the ground, bending down to collect them. Every week, every fucking week, you had to carry four textbooks to and from class. Every week Bucky saw you carry four textbooks while he carried practically nothing. He never offered to help, not once.

"Hey asshole." You called, knowing Bucky wouldn't hear you over his music, but it felt good to yell.

"You could fucking stop and help me for once."

Bucky stopped and turned, he pulled an ear bud out of his ear and regarded you with a fake smile. He didn't move, didn't even raise his voice to match yours.

"Buy a backpack."

-

Sam's head shot up from the table top at the sound of the front door slamming open and hitting the wall. The house shook, or maybe that was just him. Natasha swiftly stomped toward the comotion, coming back in less than a minute with strong hands gripped onto the shoulder of both you and Bucky, who were still screaming.

"Backpacks were literally made to hold books-"

"Or you could just take one or two-"

"Why would I help yo-"

"QUIET!"

Natasha's sharp tone cut through the animosity between you as she pushed you into a chair opposite Sam. She walked Bucky to the chair at the far end and stood behind him, arms crossed and mouth tense.

"Sam." She prompted.

Sam sighed, wishing he was still face down on the table in blissful, drunk, silence. He took a deep breath, sparing a glance at his girlfriend before opening his mouth. He should have prepared something, but the booze had loosened his lips and now he was just coming out with it.

"I can't have it anymore. The fighting, the yelling...I'm done. I like you both and I'm sorry to do this but-"

"Sam, please don't say what I think you're going to say." You started.

"Dude, come on we're just-" Bucky spoke over you.

"You don't speak for me, Bucky."

"I'm just trying to apologize to Sam for your shitty behavior. Since you don't seem to want to do it."

"Bullshit, Barnes!"

Sam slammed his palms against the table top. He stood suddenly, a wave of dizziness sending the room into a tailspin. He closed his eyes, grit his teeth, and finally just said it.

"I want you out."

-

It was mid semester. Dorms were full and open rooms were few and far between. Sam agreed to give you both a week. It wasn't enough time, but between classes and homework at least you barely saw Bucky.

Wanda had found the apartment. Said it was good practice for when she got her real estate license. You couldn't pass up her help so you agreed to let her do some of the heavy lifting. 

The place she found for you was on the other side of town. One bedroom, no washer or dryer, and on the fourth floor. The building was old too. Faded wallpaper and flickering lights lead you down the hallway towards the unit. The realtor had given you a code to the lockbox hanging from the doorknob, but the box was already hanging open. You were about to text Wanda when the door opened.

"Bucky?"

-

"Wait, you two are moving out...together?"

Sam shook his head in disbelief, hoping he just heard them wrong. 

"Unfortunately." You grumbled, crossing your arms and glaring at Bucky.

Bucky glared right back, eyes hard and hands busy aggressively making a sandwich. He was getting mustard on the countertop, like usual. 

"Okay, one of you can stay here and the other can take the apartment?"

Bucky, finished with his sandwich but leaving the counter dirty, joined you at the table and with his mouthful answered simply.

"Can't."

"Can't?" Sam echoed.

"I paid the first and last month's rent. I'm not trusting her to pay that back to me."

You nodded, "And it's my name on the application. I'm not risking him tanking my credit score when he doesn't pay rent."

You snatched the remaining half of Bucky's meal right out of his hands, taking a large bite, savoring Bucky's protest more than the actual food.

"God, who destroys a sandwich with this much mustard?"

"It wasnt your fucking sandwich! "

Sam could only watch as the conversation digressed into yet another fight. How you two were going to share a one bedroom was beyond him, but at least he would get some peace and quiet.

-

You woke up, not suddenly, but gradually with enough time to know it was still dark before your eyes even opened. You also knew you were cold and that your body was huddled too close to the edge of the mattress. Behind you there was a loud, sudden snort that made you finally open your eyes. 

You were in fact at the edge of the mattress, your blankets nowhere on your person, and your phone screen showed the time to be 4:03 am. You turned, squinting against the fluorescent lights shining through the cracks in the blinds. Bucky was on his back, loud snores erupting from his open mouth, blankets bunched up around his body keeping him warm. He looked deep in sleep and that just wouldn't do.

With both hands gripped tightly on the comforter you yanked with all your might. You pulled and tugged until Bucky was completely bare, his exposed skin erupting in goosebumps. The snoring stopped, Bucky turned on his side, eyes still closed, to grope blindly for his missing warmth. You smiled ruefully and turned your back to him, enjoying the thrill of victory as you shut your eyes.

The mattress squeaked and rocked as Bucky flopped around like a fish out of water and suddenly your victory was stolen by a man who wasn't even conscious.

With a deep groan of resignation you turned over and dropped the comforter over Bucky's form, tucking the corner under his shoulder to trap in heat. Bucky exhaled deeply and settled into the covers. You turned your back to him again. Making sure the blankets were tucked under you as well.

-

Natasha didn't think Sam should be worrying about his old roommates as much as he was. But here they were out to dinner with Steve and Sam had barely said two words in as many minutes. Steve threw her a look, one that asked her to explain, but she only rolled her eyes and elbowed her boyfriend.

"Hm?

"I was asking how class was going, Sam." Steve gently reminded him. "But something tells me you got something other than finals on your mind."

Sam heaved a huge sigh.

"I can't stop thinking about them."

-

You vaguely remembered your alarm going off, but sleep dragged you back under as soon as you made the offensive noise stop. Next time you woke up there was much more appeal. The sun was soft, its rays warming your face. Your body was cocooned in a pleasant mix of skin and sheets. You hummed, turning into the warmth, breathing in the familiar scent of your bedmate. You couldn't even drum up irritation at the smell of his 3-n-1 shampoo. 

Responsibility tickled your brain, urging you to untangle from Bucky and get ready for class. You did just that, albeit reluctantly, sitting up and grabbing your phone.

You overslept. Your final was in thirty minutes.

"Shit!" You hissed, jumping out of bed.

"Whatisit?" Bucky grumbled, rubbing sleep from his eyes.

"We missed our alarm. Civ final's in thirty minutes." 

You pulled off your pajama bottoms, stepping out of the pool they made around your ankles. Bucky was up and out of bed by the time you pulled off your shirt. 

"Fuck!"

On long legs he sprinted into the bathroom, but you were there to catch the door before he slammed it shut.

"What are you doing?"

You shoved your way through, pulling back the shower curtain and turning the knob. The room filled with the hiss of water and arguing. 

"I've got to take a shower."

"Well so do I?"

"Does it look like I give a fuck?"

It was a race to get naked, to find yourself under the spray before the water could turn cold. You stepped into the tub, Bucky following suit. He closed the curtain, mouth still set in a hard frown.

"This is your fault."

You laughed, leaning your head back to wet your hair. 

"Oh, is it? Maybe if I wasn't up half the night because of your snoring I wouldn't have missed my alarm!"

You switched places with Bucky once you were doused, letting him under the spray. He grabbed his 3-n-1 shampoo bottle and squeezed too much into his hand.

"I only snore because you insisted on taking your mattress."

"My mattress is the most expensive thing in this apartment."

"So you're just bad at spending money then?"

You glared at each other, silent as your fingers worked to clean your hair. Bucky did the same. The staring match raged on for a few breathless moments, until for the first time all morning Bucky's gaze drifted away from your face and down your naked body.

"Pervert!"

-

"I don't know why you're worrying." Steve said, watching his best friend flitter around the kitchen.

"I just want to know how they're doing." He explained, pulling the chicken from the oven.

"You know, Nat's right. This is crazy. Why am I supporting this?"

Sam had to agree. He felt crazy thinking about his old roommates so much. It's been six months. If one of them had killed the other he needed to know.

"I'm just checking in on my friends, Steve."

-

Bucky opened the door to Sam's place like he still lived there. You pulled on your joined hands, yanking him back a step to chide him.

"We're guests stupid. Knock."

"Knock, knock." Bucky called sarcastically, shooting you a smug look when Sam shouted "Come in!".

"You're rude." You grumbled.

"And you're a know-it-all." Bucky shot back without looking at you.

"I'm not-"

"Hey!" Sam greeted, voice a bit too loud, smile a bit too wide. His arms were open as if he was going to go for a hug but they hung suspended as his eyes found your joined hands.

"What's uhhhh, what's this?"

You and Bucky looked down at your interlaced fingers, then at each other, then back to Sam.

"We're together."

Sam's arms fall heavily to his sides, then up to run over his head as his chest swells.

"WHAT? How? What?!"

-

You and Bucky had made your way home to your one bedroom apartment, changing into your pajamas and you continued your squabble from the walk home.

"They poop in a box. It's disgusting!"

Bucky scoffed, leaving the room briefly and coming back with a glass of water that he sat down on your bedside table.

"We shit in a box too if you think about it. Just admit you aren't a cat person so we can break up and I can take the cat."

He crawled into bed, lifting up the blanket so you could join him. You stood there for a moment before relenting and crawling in next to him, tucking your head under his chin and throwing your leg over his hips.

"Whatever, I'm tired. We'll continue this in the shower tomorrow."

"This isn't over." Bucky warned before planting a kiss to your forehead. "Love you."

"Love you too, but we're not taking Steve's cat."

Bucky groaned, rolling on top of you. 

"Cats are awesome, if you got your head out of your ass-"

"If you thought for more than two seconds about the responsibility-"

The bickering continued as you shed each other's clothes, putting a pause on fighting in favor of moving together. It's how most of your arguments ended and while most people, especially Sam, couldn't wrap their heads around that it was what worked for you and Bucky. So did the one bedroom apartment, the shower that ran out of hot water too fast, and the cat Bucky was going to sneak in before spring semester. It all somehow made sense. 

Except the fucking cat, come on Bucky!

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[reblogcentre-2]

TW 

tw for: sh & trans stuff & blood & auto-surgery 

So you asked about my experience with auto-surgery. I actually wrote a vent fanfiction so I copy-pasted it & added more notes & stuff. The notes I added after are in ((here)) & the rest of it is my vent fanfic. The fanfic is p much accurate to the experience & any inaccuracies are pointed out ((in the)) notes.

I've dreamt about this before, but I never thought I would actually do it. It's completely an impulse decision. Well maybe not completely. I have the sense to find supplies first. Like a pack of razor blades. ...And scissors, toilet paper, rubbing alcohol, ice packs, a needle and thread, and a glass of water to keep me hydrated. I may be making a stupid decision, but I'll at least do it right.

I sit on the floor of my room, and take off my shirt. While holding an ice pack under my… on my chest ((don’t wanna say boobs)), I tie some fabric around my waist so there’s no bloody mess I have to clean. ((didn't work.)) Damn this ice pack is so cold, it almost hurts. Though, that's a good thing. It means my nerves will be numb.

Right.

I look around at my setup in confusion, I've lost my train of thought, ((adhd)) what am I doing what next- Ah, razor.

A thin piece of metal, flexible, yet strong. It doesn't glint in the artificial light. It's a matte metallic grey. I pick up my little prize, and having sanitized ((sadly not sterilized tho)) it in the alcohol and let it dry, letting down the ice pack. I bring it to the underside of my chest- but I can't see it. Disappointment. I put it down.

I need to get my fat ugly breast out of the way. Then it occurs to me- tape! ((I shoplifted this tape)) I use the tape to pull my chest up and back so I can see underneath it, or as much as I can, considering the size of it.

Now, I take up my razor. I remember reading about this one lady who gave herself a cesarean section with three long slices of a kitchen knife. She was a Mexican butcher. ((k so she had to go to the hospital after to get her intestines re-arranged I think. Also, this is what I would ask you to do, If I’m numb I won’t feel it so you can just boom three long swipes with a nice sharp chef’s knife & boom my boob is gone.))

Taking a deep breath, bracing myself for what's to come, I put the razor to my skin and pull. But I don't pull. I lift. I was too afraid, too cowardly to actually try. ((this is why I want someone else to do it)) Thankful to have lost some sensation from binding, I replace the ice pack and breathe again. Ok. I've got this. This is good. This is ok.

I lift the ice pack again, and this time I test my skin slightly. I… can't feel it. At least, not much. So, with the tape pulling back the offending tissue, I use my right hand to swipe across my left chest. It's barely a scratch. I try it again, this time closing my eyes before opening and doing the cut. It's much faster this time, and slightly deeper. How did she do it in three slices with her kitchen knife?

The blood is warm, and it drips down my chest. I unravel some tissue to dab at the blood. Then I make another cut, following inside the first, deepening it.

Yes.

I can't easily reach all the way across the bottom, so I'll have to settle for my scar being slightly on the inside. ((I can legit send a pic of the scar if you’re comfy with that)) I wipe the blood, then replace the ice pack. I need some more freezing. In a moment, I get back to it with the razor.

I can sometimes feel the pain, but I try to ignore it, or freeze it away. I keep slicing, wiping, and icing my chest. ((ok so only the skin felt painful & if you’re good, you can get thru the skin rly fast with the knife)) All the way until I see something unusual.

That's not skin.

That's… something.

Subdermal fat maybe? ((I had seen this already, but this was written as a vent fanfiction)) I keep going with the razor, another slash or two. Then I take hold of my scissors. ((oh the scissors were shit)) I can pinch my loose-from-binding skin to make a slight fold where I can use the scissors. So I do.

I use the scissors to open up the hole wider, ((idk if I actually did a lot of this or only a little bc scissors were painful af)) and I can see the fat in it. It's lumpy and greasy.

I'm disgusting.

It's a yellowish ((in culinary, the paler the fat the healthier the deer/animal. I think it might have just been discoloured from the blood. Btw there was no blood in the fat bc fat doesn’t have caapillaries)) white, made up of little bubbles, or maybe they just look that way because of the mutilation I'm committing. It's covered in red blood, so it looks more of an orange pink.

My gash is about 10cm long, maybe less. Probably less. ((I can measure if u want)) I use the scissors on the fat under the skin, and surprisingly, I can't feel it. I wipe up the blood, ready to strike again, but when I pick up the scissors I've bled again. I wipe again, pick up the scissors again, and prepare to slice again, again; but like last time there is too much blood. ((ugh I remember this, it was so annoying & my rag was already blood soaked))

I try to wipe it up enough to continue with my surgery, but I keep bleeding. and my ice packs are getting warm. ((I had to ask my brother to get me another ice pack but he brought me one that was only partially frozen))

So…

Shower.

I can do this in the shower.

I'm covered in blood, but the water would wash it away, keep it clean, moist, prevent it from clotting, and the cold water could provide numbing. Yes. I'm a genius. Shifting my pins-and-needles legs, I gather all the supplies I can carry, and peek my head around the corner. Nobody is coming.

Perfect.

I dash through the hallway, and my supplies are dumped on the washroom counter.

What do I do now? I… turn on the tap.

The cold water is uncomfortable, but I lean my body down, supporting my weight on either end of the tub, so that the water only runs along my chest. I tense as it cools the flesh. Then I step out of the shower, thankful that only my chest is wet, and try to keep on, but it’s so bloody. ((I remember thinking it literally looked like a murder scene. I was a Sherlock fan t the time))

It would make perfect sense to just bring my tools into the shower with me. I bring in two of my sharpest razors and my scissors, as well as one ice pack. ((I didn’t want the water to warm up the ice)) I run the cold shower over my laceration again, numbing it more, and once I’m done with that, I take my scissors and I put them inside.

Repeat repeat repeat. ((ok I think here is where I try to separate my skin from my breast tissue? I got such bad bruises bc I didn’t manage to take it all out))

Soon, I’m done separating the skin and extending the opening up a little higher. I keep rinsing the blood, the water runs down my entire body at this point, but I’m used to the cold.

I use my scissors to cut in deeper, I can’t feel it in the mammary fat at all. The scissors are opened and closed in rhythm, without being taken out of me between snips, and I reveal something that looks less like skin, and less like the bubbly pale fat. It might be a mammary gland- I’m not sure. It’s a different texture though, and-

Ouch! I can feel that! Damned fuck! I mean heck! ((I think I legit tried to not swear. I hurt a lot to cut that part. If it’s just done in one swipe tho it wouldn’t be as bad))

I water my wound again. I can’t have my body in pain. Just a few more seconds of cold water, and I can get back to it. Or maybe I should use my ice pack too… The ice pack helps freeze whatever that thing is, so I can cut through it with my scissors.

I’ve made a thick cut now, but I’ve seen surgeries before, I’ve watched so many videos of top surgeries, even some full surgery videos. I know what to do.

So I take my razor from the soap-bench in the wall and run it between the skin and my tissue until I get enough space for my scissors. ((oh! no- here’s the part where I separate the skin & get bruising)) My scissors go right between them, opening and closing as I move them around under my skin. I can see my skin stretch around them, like seeing someone’s legs under a blanket.

Now that I have it separated, I could maybe cut out an entire chunk. I rinse my scissors under the shower, and put them down on the floor of the tub, then I look down.

I’m covered in blood.

I open the shower door and look in the mirror across from me. It looks like a murder scene. There, my skin held apart by tape, a gaping slash under my- my breast, blood drips coming down from it, blood spread all over my torso from the water, blood in the hole in my body, ((yes a hole in my body, kinda wish I  took a pic)) blood bright red from being mixed with the water, blood clotting on my belly. I made jokes about some things looking like murder scenes before, like when working with food colouring.

Oh how I was wrong.

This is what a murder scene looks like. I’m so bloody. Part of me wants to take a picture, ((lol I was just thinking this!)) but oh hell (I mean heck) that would be messed up. As though I’m not already messed up!

Well I can’t stare, I have work to do. Work. I close the shower door, and bend down to pick up my ice pack, but I need to be careful, I don’t want to disturb my broken chest.

Numbing my chest again, I continue with this routine, pulling out chunks of my own body and flushing them down my shower drain like the serial killer I read about a little while ago. ((I don’t remember much about the chunks. It might have been less chunks than I’m making it sound. I have memory problems so : / ))

At some point I look in the mirror again, and I’m almost disgusted at what I’ve done.

My family probably needs to use the washroom, I’ve probably been showering for an hour now, they might get suspicious.

The smell is metallic & meaty, almost fishy even.

Thankfully, when I look down at my chest, it seems like I might be slightly smaller than before. ((not rly. It partially looked that way bc of the tape)) It definitely looks smaller than the one on my right. I haven’t been using my ice pack much lately. The blue liquid in the plastic pack has lost most of its cold.

I rinse off my less sharp scissors and razor, and spray all of the leftover bubbles of fat and drops of blood down the drain, trying to get the bloody footprints and handprints ((I forgot I made hand/foot prints!! If I had forgotten them mum could have walked in to pee & seen bloody handprints lol)) from the edges of the tub where I supported myself before getting used to the completely cold shower. I rinse off my torso, too now. Blood is strewn all over it, and some has dripped down to my legs, which has now dried. As soon as I rinse it off, I bleed some more. Ah. Well.

Onto the burgundy red floor towel I step, and I try my best to dry off my bloody chest and abdomen, but of the two rags I have, one of them is wet from taking it into the shower, and the other is already soaked with blood. Neither can help. I do my best nonetheless, and decide I should move on to stitches.

I know how to sew, and I’ve gotten stitches before, I should be able to do them. ((irl I                                  had only gotten stitches once & I already gave myself stitches once))

But I can’t find my needle, ((yeah I just couldn’t find my needle when I moved from my room to the washroom)) and the water hasn’t numbed my skin enough. Inside my body, in the fat, I can’t feel it, but, seemingly, I would still be able to feel it if I were to perform my own stitches.

Alrighty then, I can just tape myself together until I dry. But the tape won’t stick. ((ugh this was so annoying! I literally used all of my skin tape)) Neither will the bandaids. I have no sewing needle. I don’t know what to do, crap! I don’t know how to fix this! The tape won’t stick! Screw this fucking hell! I mean hecking heck!

Eventually, I go to my room. I put on my faux binder. It’s an old bra with a piece of fabric of my measurements sewed on the inside to compress my chest, the bra is just for the straps. Over that loose and torn excuse for a binder, I put on bra after bra, binding my semi-detached chest down so that I might be able to sleep without causing more damage.

I have a.. A thing tomorrow. ((practice for my baking competition)) I can go to the hospital a few blocks away from my school ((20 minute walk)) and get stitches there. Maybe they’ll even say I need to get top surgery an’ the gover’ment will pay for it. Yeah that’d be nice. I can jus’ wai’ ‘ntil tomorrow... and tomorrow I can take more ibe- ibu- ibupropen- ibuprofen... ((I wrote like this for the dramatic effect in the vent fic)) I can't take any more t’day. I’ll just go to sleep now n’ then I’ll wake up for school and when mom... asks me whaveter she asks I'll just tell her I have carpentry, and I'll tell the instructor that I’m not working today. ((irl I went to culinary, then told my teacher “actually I’m going to pick up my supplies to practice with & skidaddle”)) He’ll unsterdand, it’s not like I have school, it's the teacher’s comvemtion, I’m not obligated to stay, I can lust jeave. Mum will be none the wiser. Yah. Sleepy time. Hospital tomorrow. 

((so yeah. I go to sleep & ppl always say they can’t sleep on their sides so I tried that but I couldn’t handle it so I slept on my side while hugging a pillow to make sure nothing fell. I’m shaking too. Tbh I was just thinking “I’ve been in the bathroom for an hour or more, why has nobody knocked asking to brush their teeth?” I wake up the next day & put on a button-up shirt bc ppl say they can’t lift their arms, I practice walking on google maps to the hospital, then mom drives me to school. I had my learner’s license but I didn’t want to drive bc of my injury. I go in, I tell Chef I’m leaving, he’s cool abt it. So now I’m loaded up with a huge backpack, it’s february in canada & I forgot a jacket (bc I was driving in a warm car to a warm school & busy planning other things), I also brought my fiddle bc I waited for 4 hours last time & was bored, & I have a huge toolbox & a tub of fondant. I walk 20 minutes to the hospital, get in, & I need to change from my mask to the hospital mask. I go through talking to ppl & stuff. Eventually I’m called up for triage & I tell the guy what’s up (& take my meds bc I forgot that morning & she thought I was doing drugs) & sheasks me for my healthcard number & stuff. I think she was able to put my preferred name in the notes. I’m unbuttoning my shirt & she says “actually come in here” so I go into the nurses’ station & she peels up my bras a bit (apparently I’ve bled) & she’s like “wtf bro” & I’m like “what?” & she’s really concerned that I wanted like 12 hours to come. It was like 9-10pm that I was doing it & it was probably 10am at the time I saw her idk. So she gets me into a private room immediately I think (idk I might be mixing this up with the hospital trip where I had to wait for ages. Idk whether I had to wait here too.) Oh I forgot, I also plucked my violin while waiting for triage or to get called to a private room, but I wasn’t allowed. So eventually (really soon by hospital standards) I get taken to a private room. They get me to change into a gown (all of my bras off too) & now my breast isn’t secured. So while I’m waiting I play my fiddle & look up chords on my phone. Everyone likes it. The nurses & doctors & porters are like “where’s that music coming from?” & “It’s like we’re at the beach” bc chords on violin sound like chords on ukelele despite the fact that I was singing mostly mother mother. Ppl come in a lot tbh. I think the doctor comes in but he says “my shift is over soon & you will take a long time, bYe!” also I’ve been asked so many times if this was a suicide attempt & I’m like “nah bro if I wanted to be dead I would be, I’m not actually suicidal anymore.” Eventually a porter comes to move me from my nice private room to some curtained one. I’m plucking my violin quieter but some fuckin security guard says it’s loud & might be disturbingother patients so I play a really quiet eidelwisse & then I think I might stop. The guard called me miss too & it sucked. Eventually the doctor on shift comes & asks me about things & why & he’s also got his hands on my boob. (when I saw the first doctor he asked if I needed a female doctor & I was like “nah dude ur a doctor & I’m a trans.) So he’s going to sew me up & at some point he asks “tdo you want me to take the rest off?” I’m super confused until I realize he’s making a joke: “do you want me to finish the job & take the rest of your boob off?” so I laugh & say “I wish” & he says “I’d do a horrible job” & I’m like “BRo I AlreAdy did a hOrrible job!” so that was funny. He also asked me about trans stuff bc he didn’t understand a lot (he was respectful even tho he didn’t understand) & he even suggested I claim back pain to get a reduction. I have back pain (mostly from binding). Anyways he drops the needle with novacaine or whatever the hell& needsto get a new one & nobody can touch it bc it’s sharp. A few times it hurts but it’s fine I just close my eyes. He asks “do you need more anesthetic?” & I’m like “bro I did this with only a fucking ice pack” but w/o the swears. I ask him if I can bind after & he’slike “idk” so that was fun. I have a dip in my scar now. Then a nurse comes in & puts a fuck ton of bandages & gause on me but it’s stupid bc I was lying doen & as soon as I stood up (& worse when I put on a bra) it changed everything. So they give me a bag for all my bras & I walk back to school. Now it’s like 15.00 or 3 o’clock so I get back to school… & my phone is at 1%. I text my mom “hey I’m done at school” on google hangouts but my phone dies before I know whether or not the message sent. Chef is already gone, so I can’t get into the school. I can’t call mom. I walk around for a bit, assuming she’ll pick me up when she thinks it’s time. Nope. I’m outside in the cold. I start knocking on doors asking for a phone but it’s fricking covid season! I walk to a nearby coffeeshop & borrow the phone of a nice couple. Mom got sus of that. I warm up in the nice coffeeshop, mom takes me home, but she knows I skipped practice. I think she even called my chef. So yeah that was stupid. I told her “haha I went to get drugs” but she didn’t believe me & also what kind of a lie is that? She knew I cut myself, I guess I just didn’t want to worry her or have her demand to see or cry & ask me why I felt the need to change my body. I’m pissed off that she caught me (she caught me last time I gto stitches too). I can’t jump anymore *& I’m wearing my size-up binder. The doctor told me to scrub my stitches in nthe shower, the nurse told me to wrap in in plastic wrap. I’m wearing button shirts for ages after this, I’m avoiding lifting my arms, everything sucks. Whenever I think of it, I could smell it. I smelled the blood. Every time I smelled a glass that was washed in a dishwasher, I smelled my injury. Every time I remembered it, I could smell it. I don’t get that anymore but I was literally in mild shock & I think I may have traumatized myself. There’s more to say but I forget it all & idc so good night))

[autisticstarseed]

👐 Hand washing guide when you have sensory issues 👐

tbh. we shouldve been talking abt this a long time ago for many disabled ppls sake but ive put this post off for like a million years out of pure solidified fear of ableist harassment/kneejerk ignorance and also generalized cringe idiots but now that we got so much covid-19 fear and autistic ppl actually tend to have weaker immune systems than most people lets jump the shark;;;

i have autism and i physically struggle with washing my hands as often as i want to, having wet hands, drying them, the temperature difference, bad soap smells/textures, etc. are all genuinely painful. the good news is that ive dealt with water aversion shit since birth (its a common sensory issue), so ive had time to figure out alternatives and coping skills that still help reduce risk of disease and spreading it in ways that i can personally manage. (ie. not lazy or selfish or gross. genuinely putting more effort into this every day task than most other people would even think about. just disability lads) so heres the guide i have to offer if you’re in a similar boat, with some keypoints about hand hygiene and tips addressing the most common sensory struggles ive noticed with it;;;

1. hand sanitizer

i love hand sanitizer, i can get it in almost any scent i want and it dries down very very fast. the problem is; hand washing and hand sanitizer do different things. it only kills certain types of germs. which is all fine and dandy, but because of this, using only hand sanitizer wont actually keep you from catching or spreading many illnesses. so what its good for is times you cant wash your hands (out in public, sensory overload, no spoons, etc), thats fine, but it should not replace all hand washing if at all possible. it is supposedly effective to covid-19, but so little is currently known that it should not be considered your go to for this, and the only unanimous statement straight from the CDC is that hand washing works best at preventing its spread.

temperature - if you have trouble with it being too cold, conveniently keeping it in your pocket or closely against your body in some way warms it up and makes it much more comfortable. 

scent - they come in almost any scent you can imagine, but if you have trouble with strong scents, there are ‘scentless hand sanitizers’. they usually have a faint chemical smell, so if there are any testers available, you should check to make sure it can work for you before you buy it.

texture - if gel doesnt cut it, they also make foamy hand sanitizers and liquid sprays, but theyre harder to find and might be a little more pricey.

and remember; always buy hand sanitizer that says it contains AT LEAST 60% alcohol, the higher alcohol content the better, but try to keep track of how high it is and how much you apply it so you dont dry your skin out. and right now price gouging is pretty bad, so dont be surprised if you cant find any for a while, and dont buy any small bottle that costs over a couple dollars, its a rip off.

2. hand washing 

so what does hand washing do thats better than sanitizer??? soap and water lift up the dirt and oils that are carrying the germs and actually wash them off, and not only that, it also gets rid of all the things sanitizer cant, such as dust/dirt, spores, chemicals, and the previously mentioned viruses that are harder to kill. ik to an outside perspective it might not seem that hard, but obviously when you have autism and these tasks are split down into bigger ordeals and sensory nightmares, it can feel impossible. 

soap - there are so many different kinds of soap! scentless soaps exist, and they very rarely have any lingering chemical smell! theres also soap for sensitive skin, and baby soap also works well for that issue. bar soaps can come in all different shapes and sizes, with many different ingredients and additives to choose from (independent soap makers are an amazing source for customized soap btw), and liquid soaps can be pure gel, frothy, mousse-y or even have tiny exfoliating or moisturizing beads in them if thats a sensory experience you enjoy. this is my number one rec for people struggling with hand washing bc of sensory issues;;; mix up the soap. finding one that gives you an okay or even a GOOD sensory experience can completely turn around an otherwise meltdown inducing task

temperature - this is the one thats always been hardest for me. cold water straight up hurts me, and our plumbing is Terrible, so the trick i have for slow pipes is to run the hot water on high as Soon as i get into the bathroom. leave it going and by the time you’re done there should be at least lukewarm water. if this still takes too long for you, try out the various sinks in your house, usually one is able to get hot water faster than the rest (for me its the kitchen sink) and that can become a designated station for you if need be.

texture - some ppl just hate water. if thats the case, it rly doesnt change much abt the process if you use less water, ie work the soap into a lather, and then only use as much as you need to rinse it off. you dont have to keep your hands under the whole time, the soap clings to the dirt, the water takes it off all together, as long as you scrub well and rinse till you see no suds, you’re good 

If it really comes down to it, a washcloth with water+soap, a disinfecting wipe, or even literally just a rinse with plain ol water is better than nothing, but the stream of water and act of rubbing the soap in is the most effective combo against disease. soap/disinfectant wipes and hand sanitizers are your second best option. if theres a time in your life where an issue is so disabling for you that you truly cant keep any of this up, rly the most important thing is to limit your direct physical contact with your face and commonly used objects as MUCH as possible until you can figure smth out. (you kno those old ladies that grab a wipe and open the doorknob with it between their hand and the knob? become that old lady) and if push comes to shove, if a safe and accepting therapy setting is something accessible to you, hygiene struggles are actually something many mental health professionals understand Very well and can help you cope with personally and directly, without shame.

3. hand drying

this is also. my personal hell. and what most people say is the hardest part of the sensory experience. but ya cant just walk around with wet hands right

towels - the obvious choice for most, but to me they actually dont dry enough. i always end up damp and with lint stuck to me. this kills the man. but hand towels do have some variety to them, you can find em with really long fibers or really short/flat, really fuzzy or really stiff, etc. sounds silly but its smth a lot of ppl dont think about that can change a lot. you can also try super absorbent towels (yes like a shamwow), and again baby bath towels are also an option if you want something gentle.

paper towels - yeah a little more wasteful and expensive, but imo much more absorbent. theyre also pretty thin so you can get between your fingers (MY BANE), and under your nails if you use a corner. 10/10

blow drying - ik this is the kind of shit you only see in like movie theaters and malls and they are definitely LOUD AS SHIT, but if you happen to have the money, and struggle more with Textures than Noise, ie a stream of warm air seems worth the sound, you Can actually find a small basic one of these items for your own home. 

4. public restrooms

everybody hates em!!! but you can make em more tolerable;;;

soap - bring your own! little travel soaps you can keep in your bag are a godsend for ppl with sensory issues, sensitive skin/allergies, and if you just prefer not sharing soap.

temperature - most public places i notice actually do get hot water pretty fast (like,,, too fast,,, like,,, it bur ns me) so if there are no faucets and its too hot or too cold, once again you can try different sinks and one might be more comfortable. if there are faucets i recommend grabbing a paper towel to turn it off, so you dont have to touch it again with your clean hands.

sound - WHY R AUTOMTIC FLUSH TOILETS SO FUCKEN LOUDD..... honestly if you have noise cancelling earmuffs or earplugs or w/e pop em in. if you dont have any of that i just literally plug my ears with my fingers when i stand up. if you struggle with the sound of the blow dryers, they almost always have paper towels as well, but its a great idea to carry something like that around in your bag with you just in case. if its really packed and people chattering is getting to you, sometimes the ‘family’ bathrooms are actually smaller and less full. if its bad enough and you feel comfortable asking, an employee might be able to direct you to a single stall bathroom or at least a different one than that.

and though its convenient, try not to use your sleeve to touch things like doorknobs, toilet handles, etc. instead use something disposable like a paper towel or wipe, bc the germs will simply transfer to your sleeve and still risk infecting you. 

5. schedule

the number one suggestion is to wash your hands literally as often as possible during a time like this but like. even for allistic/nt/abled/ ppl thats just not always an attainable schedule so the Best times to wash your hands are;;;

after using the bathroom - the most important time and generally the easiest to get used to. its smth you have to do multiple times a day that already has a schedule, and if you were to forget or go into sensory overload its usually immediately accessible as soon as you can. as i mentioned earlier, if you need help remembering, you can turn the water on when you first get in and leave it going.

the doctors - ANY KIND of health facility should be avoided right now unless really necessary, places where sick people would frequent is the quickest way to get sick but like. ya rly cant help it sometimes right. you cant stop dealing with your own illnesses just bc theres another one floating around. so, this is time to go apeshit on the handwashing. if your health issue involves coughing and sneezing, ask for a face mask. bring a scarf in case they dont have any, its not as great but better than nothing. otherwise, you honestly dont need it, face masks are more for these people bc they keep germs in better than out. whether you’re worried abt getting sick or infecting others, this is a time to use hand sanitizer, avoid physical contact like shaking hands [autistic cheering], and when you first arrive and right before you go to leave are the most important times to remember to wash your hands. 

preparing food - not as commonly spoken about, but also easy to work into a schedule. i personally dont care unless its food for somebody else or if im going to be putting my hands on it a lot, but if thats the case, a lot of the time thats produce you already want to wash in the sink, so you can kill two birds with one stone there. dont just get the germs off your own hands, get em off the fruits and veggies before you eat em. carpool

after grocery shopping - not very common. most ppl just slap some sanitizer/a wipe on there or dont think abt it at all, but if you just got home from walmart thats a great time to wash. you just touched a bunch of items other people touched, including the cart, money/credit cards, and all the products people will pick up and put back, so its prime germ time babey. But again, sanitizer or a wipe will help if its all you can manage after a trip out like that.

before self care - also uncommon. ppl always say ‘dont touch your face’ and ‘apply this product with clean hands’, and what they mean is that one of the fastest ways germs get into your system is through your mouth, nose, eyes and ears. if you’re simply washing your face theres not as much concern, but applying a mask, moisturizer, makeup, etc. should all be done after a gentle rinse of your hands (and face). very hard to get into the schedule of, but if you consider it a Part of your ‘self care’ or use a special fun cleanser, it can stick a little easier.

6. stim items

STIM ITEMS!! if you have stim items, its a good idea to clean them regularly, but even moreso during an outbreak like this.

rubber/plastic - if it goes in your mouth, hot water (not hot enough to melt!) and dish soap, if it doesnt, look up how to safely make a diluted bleach solution.

silicone - silicone is usually dish washer safe.

fabric - if its light, add bleach to the washing machine, if its colored, you can use white vinegar or hydrogen peroxide which are less likely to discolor any dyes. lysol detergent is also super great. small items you’re worried about losing, or items with details/loose parts, you can usually wash inside of a sealed pillow case. 

‘squishies’ - for ‘mochi’ squishies aka the rubbery ones, soap and water + some dusted baby powder or corn starch (optional) to keep it from grabbing lint for a while. for foam squishies, they can rarely be deep cleaned without the risk of growing mold or taking paint off, but a disinfecting wipe every now and then should keep it clean for a while.

slime - cant be disinfected, sorry. also a breeding ground for mold if you arent careful, so its always best to cycle through these quickly.

technology - cant really be completely sterilized, but there are many places to get sprays and cleaning wipes for the devices you use that can at least keep the areas your hands frequently touch a little cleaner.

BUT of course if your item comes with instructions on how to wash it, always follow that instead. this is just a general idea.

and as a final note;;; disabled ppl should not feel guilty or dirty for struggling with this. like. man idc abt ur cringe feels or your ignorant blame or your lack of understanding/sympathy for what goes into these tasks for us. if u dont wanna get our struggles and sensitivities when we’re working twice as hard on functioning tasks which personal ease you take for granted, thats on you. @ disabled people if you struggle with maintaining the same standard of hygiene as nts you arent gross or bad fucking person, you’re disabled and by definition that means your level of functioning will be different, and you deserve sympathy. its just that germs dont discriminate, they wanna cause problems for everybody involved (especially you!!!), so Anything you can manage is Great and if anything from this post can help make it a little easier for people in any way, i feel its absolutely necessary to talk about with respect and dignity. people with autism/adhd/sensory processing disorder/similar neurodivergencies/literally anybody else this could benefit, pls feel free to add on any tips you might have or send me questions. let disabled ppl help disabled ppl do our personal bests

[cilldaracailin]

Now I’m Here

Hello my Tumblr lovelys!  I literally have absolutely no patience and control when it comes to posting and just cannot wait longer than two days or hold out on posting. So I bring you the next part *Little disclaimer, it’s just a story of fiction :)* Enjoy! xx

2

“I’ve learned that you shouldn’t go through life with a catcher’s mitt on both hands; you need to be able to throw something back.”

Taron and Robyn were thirty minutes late getting to the pub, his sisters doing their very best to keep their attention for as long as possible when they went to visit Taron’s family to say goodnight and happy new year. Taron had to entertain his family himself for the first twenty minutes, while his mam pulled Robyn aside into the kitchen for some of their girl talk and when they walked out together, he couldn’t look either of them in their eyes. Now that Robyn was finally free, his sisters had turned to her for a chat, begging her for Elsa hair. She had assured them she would come back tomorrow to do it for them and went to stand next to Taron who looked a little sad and slipped her discreetly hand into his. It was thanks to Robyn that they even managed to leave the house, using her neat little trick of reverse phycology with his whole family, giving them the exit they needed to go and join his friends.

“We’ll be back tomorrow as planned. Taron has booked a table for dinner for us and we are already running late and because it is New Year’s Eve, they won’t hold the table. I really don’t want to miss our dinner. We skipped lunch because of it.”

It was an exit Taron was so glad for and as he walked her along the promenade towards the pub, he was so thankful for her quick thinking.

“Should I be a little worried about the talk you and my mam had?” He asked her.

“Not at all. She was just apologising again.” Robyn gave his linked arm a squeeze. “Nothing to worry about. I promise.”

Taron didn’t answer her, but guided her towards the pedestrian crossing and they safely crossed the road. “Have I told you that you look beautiful? Love a V-neck shaped top.”

Robyn laughed, brushing her hair from her face as the light sea breeze swirled it into her eyes. “Yes and I know. Might have been the reason I chose it but right back at ya rocketman, you look good too.”

When she was choosing her outfit for their night out, she wanted something comfortable but an ensemble that would also make a little bit of a statement and the black V-neck silk string top had her desired effect on Taron, as she knew it would. She was a playing it a little dirty with her stone washed skinny jeans and high heeled ankle boots but she wanted to make an impression on Taron’s friends but she had seen Taron’s eyes widen as little as she walked down his hallway to him, she secretly enjoyed the effect her outfit had on him too. It seemed he was playing the same game as her, his black jeans quite fitted and the low cut of his black tank top was revealing enough to see his chest hair which always brought a flush to fill her cheeks. She hoped the rose blush powder on her cheeks, covered it up. He looked good and her fluttering heart knew it too. Taron had pulled a dark blue short sleeved shirt over his tank and a leather jacket on, while Robyn slid into her turquoise coat she had brought and they walked to Taron’s childhood home before making their way to the pub, planning on getting a taxi back to his at the end of the night.

Taron held the multicolour frosted stained-glass door open for her and the warmth of the cosy busy pub hit them. Robyn felt Taron take her hand and guide her through the crowd of excited bodies ready to celebrate the new year and towards his usual table where he knew his friends were waiting. “Don’t be nervous chicken. You will get on with everyone.”

“Get out of my head rocketman.”

“I will right here if you need anything though I am pretty sure you can handle my friends.”

“If I can handle you, I can handle them.”

Robyn heard Taron’s group of friends before she saw them, the hooting and calling making her laugh, a typical male response to their friends’ tardiness and once they arrived closer to the table a few cat calls were given out too.

“Alright, alright, calm the fuck down. I am here now.” Taron grumbled as they reached two rectangle tables filled with grinning faces.

“And what have you been up too Mr movie star?” Smiled one his friends.

“I have been with my sisters.” Answered Taron. “They adore Robyn, wouldn’t let us go.”

“And this must be the wonderful Robyn we have heard so much about.”

“Taron mate, you were right. Absolute fittie.”

Robyn heard the groan and watched as Taron threw his head back in complete embarrassment and frustration. He had warned her as they walked along the beach front that his friends would more than likely say something ridiculous and possibly offensive and just as he predicted they had.

“Can’t wait to hear this sexy Irish accent she has too.”

If Robyn hadn’t of been still holding his hand, she was sure Taron would have bolted for the door.

“So that is how it is going to be all night yeah?” She asked looking to the mix of women and men who sat around the tables, a good few glasses of alcohol already littering the table. “Alright, lets have it then.” She let go of Taron’s hand and stood in front of him. “Let’s get it out of the way and give me your best shot.”

“You sure?” Asked the man who had commented on her accent.

“Oh I am very sure.”

“Calvin, mate I wouldn’t if I were you.” Taron placed his hands on Robyn’s shoulders and looked to his friend.

“It’s grand Taron.” Robyn made sure she went heavy with her accent on the word ‘grand’ and turned to Taron to give him a wink. “I’m a big girl. I can handle myself.”

“Oh it’s not you I am worried about. I know first hand that you can handle yourself. It’s them I am worried about.”

“Don’t you worry about it Taron. Not a bother to me.”

Calvin smiled. “Definitely sexy.” He laughed, laughing harder when he caught Taron’s face of warning. “Right then.” He stood up. “You’re older than him.”

“Yep and wiser.”

“Really?”

“Naturally.”

“He is an up and coming movie star.”

“I have two degrees, two diplomas and am supervisor in my job.”

“Alright ok. I will give you that one.” Calvin thought for a second. “And you sing too?”

“Better than Taron according to one Elton John.”

“Better than Taron? He was in a musical that was critically acclaimed and has won a Golden Globe.”

“I have been in my local musical society since I was sixteen and have my two of my own AIMS, Association of Irish Musical Societies, awards. One for best newcomer and one for best female vocal. It’s like the Tony’s but for amateur musical societies.” It was something she hadn’t told Taron about and she felt the step closer he took to her, her back right against his chest as well as the squeeze on her shoulders. “And am about to start rehersals as Mimi in our upcoming production of RENT.”

“Alright, alright.” Replied Calvin.

Another of Taron’s male friends stood up. “Calvin lets skip to the hard-hitting questions.” The brunette stood beside Calvin. “I am Deian. So Robyn, have you and my boy Taron here kissed yet?”

“Why yes Deian we have.” Robyn knew this question was going to be asked at some point during the evening so was glad to get it out the way first. “Four, no wait five times and while three of them were the quickest peck on the lips, the other two were used to save his life. I guess the breath of life counts as a kiss too right?” Robyn enjoyed how the two men stalled a little not expecting her brash and upfront answer but Deian’s face soon grew a smirk.

“Pity he didn’t remember two of them.”

“That’s why we had two more. So he could remember but I am surprised you don’t know about the others? I haven’t actually mentioned the ones he left on my neck yet, have I? Taron did you not tell your friends about how you practically attacked me with passionate and frantic kisses at the hotel before we got in the lift while at Elton’s charity auction? Surely that is a story that you must have to re-told to your friends or how I almost jumped on you while I just wearing a towel or each time we have shared a bed.”

“Robyn…” Gasped Taron. “Jesus…”

“Taron, mate you are holding out on us!” Smiled Deian, enjoying himself and how the Irish woman in front of him was not backing down from his questions and in fact giving him her best brazen and mischievous answers, ones Taron had avoided telling him. “Alright Robyn, that video Taron showed us where you were playing cricket.”

“You mean hurling.”

“Yeah that stick and the ball. You really hit that shot all by yourself?”

“You saw the video, right?” Asked Robyn as she raised an eye brow. “I hit it better than Taron.”

“And you gave him a right bollocking in New York.”

“Deian, leave it out!” Complained Taron, not wanting to even think about what happened in New York.

“Did you really stand up the men in the 7/11 with the guns?” Asked Calvin, moving the conversation on quickly.

“Quite a few times.”

“And got pushed into the glass shelf?”

“You want to see the scar?” She asked him.

“Sure.”

Robyn turned around so she was now facing Taron and slipped her coat off over her left shoulder, brushing her hair over her right. She moved the strap of her top out of the way. “Should be pretty obvious and that is something Taron hasn’t actually seen yet.”

“Alright ok. I see it.”

Robyn fixed her top, pulled her coat back over her shoulder, glanced at Taron whose face was so hard to read at the moment and then turned around to his friends.

“And you both went swimming in the sea in Aber? Well no Taron actually carried you in.” Asked Deian.

Robyn gave him a wink. “We were meant to skinny dip but he picked me up before I got a chance to take my clothes off.”

Although Taron groaned and placed his head on her right shoulder, his friends laughed and a few more cat calls were made. Robyn reached up to put her left hand on Taron’s which was still on her left shoulder. She slipped her fingers under his and rubbed his knuckles with her thumb. She may have been a bit bold with her answers but she knew in the long run it was for the best and hoped Taron could see that. The laughter slowly died down and the two men standing in front of her were whispering to each other and when they turned to look back to Robyn, their grins were replaced with a more serious look.

“You really saved his life?” Asked Calvin.

Robyn nodded. “Really saved his life. CPR and everything.” She valued the looks of concern that were exchanged between Taron’ friends as they sat on the soft pub furnishings and although she couldn’t see Taron’s face, she could only imagine the frown his striking green eyes held at the moment. “So, anything else?”

“Yeah what are your intentions with my friend.”

“Well if lot weren’t here, I would brush all of those glasses onto the floor, push him onto the tables, straddle him and kiss him until he was breathless but because you are here, I am going to kick his arse at karaoke.”

There was a second of silence before all of his friends broke out laughing again, Calvin and Deian, leading the hoots and giggles.

“Ahh Taron mate, love her.” Grinned Calvin. “Robyn, if you chose not to do that with Taron, you can always have me instead.”

“Sorry Calvin. I only hook up with guys whose life I save. Means they are always indebted to me and will do whatever I want, when I want it.” She could feel Taron tense behind her and knew he was absolutely mortified by his friends but she very much enjoyed the banter and was glad to get rid of the edgy atmosphere that whirled in when herself and Taron walked over to them. “Taron already owes me for putting glitter in my body wash. Actually, maybe you guys can help me figure out a way to get him back.”

“Well why don’t you take a seat in here beside me and we can have a chat about that.” Grinned Calvin.

Agreeing, Robyn started to take her coat off and turned to look at Taron to try and read his face once more. She gave him a smile and was glad to receive one in return. She had hoped he didn’t mind that she revealed some of their secrets, especially the kissing ones but she knew it was the only way to appease his friends. One way to make a group of men quieten down was to mention anything raunchy and her cheekiness had settled Taron’s friend’s curiosity immediately and she could feel already that she had been accepted into his close group of friends.

As she took her coat off, she caught his nod towards the bar and gave him the smallest of ones back. Once they had both shrugged out of their coats, Robyn took his and stood a step closer to the table, throwing her coats onto the soft seat beside Taron’s friend. “Calvin be a dear and keep our seats. We’re going to go and get a drink.” She didn’t wait for an answer, but took the step back towards Taron, grabbed his hand and half dragged him toward the bar.

Once there, she leaned on the bar and Taron stood right up beside her. “You play a dangerous game Robyn but my God you play it very well.”

“I am sorry for talking about the kissing thing and the other things. Needed something that was going to play into your friends minds that were already on over drive.”

“It’s ok. Deian has been giving me a lot of slack over it all since I met you.”

“Better to get the questions out of the way first. I could see your friends were dying to ask them.”

“Deian has been at me all week asking if you were really coming and just so you know I did not use the word fittie or call your accent sexy.”

Robyn turned to look at him, grinning. “So, you don’t think I am fit or that my accent is sexy?” She questioned, enjoying how he moved position against the bar, fidgeting a little.

“Well now Robyn. You know I think you are beautiful and I would try to find a better word than sexy to describe your accent.”

“Really? I think your accent is sexy, especially when your voice hits that lower range and that Welsh twang just sweeps through and I love how easily I can do that to you and make you squirm.” She reached up and tapped his nose. “I like your friends. Well of the two I have met so far. I think this is going to be a very interesting evening.”

“I think I am going to go back to my family and leave you here with my friends.”

“I think your friends would like that very much.”

“On second thought, maybe not.” Taron got the attention of the barman. “Hey mate, I will take a Corona and…” He looked to Robyn.

“Bottle of cider.” She said.

“And a bottle of cider.” As the bar man went to get their drinks, he turned back to Robyn, his lips pulled up in a half grin. “So, you want to throw me across the table and kiss me breathless yeah?”

Robyn chuckled. “Tactic’s Taron. You have got to play dirty when your opponent does. I have taken the heat away from us. I can only imagine the slagging you have gotten from your friends once they found out you invited me over.”

“It’s been pretty full on.”

“So, we can play it two ways. We can stay away from each other and keep our distance or we can just be our normal selves and not worry about what they think. I mean I just automatically reach for your hand now and it doesn’t feel right if I don’t get a kiss on my cheek from you when you walk away from me. They know how affectionate you are right?” She liked that he nodded. “Well why should we change the way we are. We have said it from the beginning to anyone who questioned it, our relationship came from such a strange place, sometimes we need that extra reassurance. We have these few days together just to be us, so let’s be us.”

“I agree completely and but I just hope sure you have some more pretty good smart answers in your pockets ready to pull out if you need them.”

“I keep a supply.”

“You mind if I look at that scar? I haven’t seen it yet.” He asked her and when she shook her head, he moved her hair out of the way and stood a little behind her so he could see the small inch scar on her shoulder for himself. He gently ran the index finger of his right hand down it under the strap of her top. “War wounds.”

“Something like that. It’s only small. I can barely see the one on your forehead.”

“I was very good and resisted the urge to pick at the scab.” Robyn turned to him and lifted her hand to where the cut had been on his head and brushed the skin under his hair line. It was barely noticeable unless his head was turned a certain way in the light. “I have one on my arm though. It looks like yours only a little longer. I still think about how lucky we were Robyn. How lucky I was that you were there. Things would have been very different if you weren’t.” Taron wrapped his right around her and gave her a hug. “I am glad you came here tonight.”

“Me too Taron.”

The bar man came back with their drinks and Taron handed over a twenty-pound note.

“Next round is on me.” Said Robyn as she poured her drink into the glass of ice it came with. Taron took his change and together they walked back to the tables with his friends.

“So, let me introduce you. Calvin and Deian, you already know.” Taron let Robyn sit down on the stool and he stood behind her. “Then we have Jess and Rachel and beside them James, Conor and Lily.” Robyn said hello and tried to remember all the names she was being introduced too. “And then this side of the table, Lucy, Gemma and Phil.”

“So that is a lot of names and I am not going to get them all right so I apologise now in advance for getting them wrong.”

Taron moved around her and sat beside where she had thrown their coats, to sit beside Calvin. “So now that you have quizzed me, it’s my turn to quiz you. What went on with the girl the other night?”

More banter, chat and conversation filled the air and the twelve people around the two tables, including Robyn easily talked with the others, sharing stories of their Christmas break, jobs with a few extra questions thrown Taron and Robyn’s way about their relationship. Some of Taron’s friends were eager to hear about Robyn’s version of the what happened in Florida and what they got up to when Taron went to visit her house and none of it was awkward or uncomfortable and Robyn felt like she fitted right into Taron’s group of close friends.

She had bought him another drink and as she walked back with the two bottles, the finger food had arrived to their tables as well as the karaoke books with all the songs. Taron moved over to let her sit in between him and Calvin.

“You’re sure you want to have this karaoke battle tonight?” Taron asked her.

“We shook on our deal and it was a karaoke off in a bar. I see a bar and I see a karaoke machine. I think it should be tonight.”

Taron grinned as he took a drink from his bottle. “Have it in the bag Robyn.”

“Don’t be too sure Taron.”

“They are my friends.”

Robyn chuckled. “And I have so many more stories to tell.” She replied looking his way. “No, it is going to be a fair vote on who they think sing their song better. No favouritism just because they are your friends or I have a pocket full of stories ready to go. An Elton song from you, a Queen song from me and if I can convince you a cheesy duet.”

Taron nodded agreeing. “I think that sounds a like a fair deal.”

The group sat laughing and talking, eating and drinking, flipping through the books, picking out what songs they could all have a go with, listening as the other customers in the pub got up to brave the karaoke machine, Taron sitting close to Robyn the whole time, making sure his friends didn’t get too out of hand or any more personal with their questions. After they had devoured the food on the table and poked fun at each other while choosing songs they wanted the other to sing, Calvin was actually the first to get up from their group and sing followed by Jess and then Conor had a turn.

“Ok time for this sing off.” Robyn turned to Taron, his whole face happy, his cheeks a little rosy and his eyes bright from the few drinks he had had. “Who is going first?” She asked him, feeling her own little buzz from the alcohol in her blood stream.

“Rock, paper, scissors it?” He asked him with a grin. “Loser sings first?”

“Sure.”

Taron threw his head back with a groan as he lost. “I am not even going to ask for two out of three. I know you will win. So, I guess I am first.”

Robyn rose an eyebrow his way. “Bring it rocketman. All you got.”

“You are going down!” He replied, leaning in and kissing her cheek before he stood up and made his way towards the small stage the pub had set up for the evening.

Robyn moved so she was kneeling on the soft seat so she could see over all the heads in front of her, very interested in how this was all going to play out. She never really thought their deal would actually come to pass when they made it all those months ago but here they were in Taron’s home town, in his favourite pub with all of this friends, ready to sing their hearts out.

“All right ladies and gentlemen, we all know Taron here, local boy.” The MC for the night stood on the stage with Taron beside him, ready to sing. A cheer went up from his friends at the table. “He is going to give us a good old classic Elton John song.”

Robyn had no idea which song Taron had chosen and she smiled wide when the music for Saturday Night’s Alright for Fighting came on and another cheer went up around her from his friends.

“You sure you can out sing him?” Asked Calvin as he turned to her.

“I am sure.”

“Well you have my vote either way. I like you a lot. You are sassy and cute and perfect for Taron. He really speaks highly of you Robyn but you know if you could beat him in this it would be brilliant for us because he would never live it down!”

“Oh, don’t worry Calvin, he is a fantastic singer but Elton John told me I can sing Freddie. I am going to crush him.”

Deian overheard the conversation and laughed. “I am glad you came out with us tonight.”

“Me too.” Relied Robyn with complete sincerity in her voice.

Their attention turned to Taron as he moved onto sing the chorus and then to the second verse where he caught Robyn’s eye and gave her a wink and salute as he sang ‘she’s with me’. He was thoroughly enjoying being up on stage, singing one of his favourite Elton songs. He had found it difficult at first when he was in the recording studio but loved the way he his voice became rockier and gravellier as he learnt how to sing it. He made sure to put his whole performance into the song too, hoping his dance moves might give him an edge over Robyn and got the whole pub involved too when the repeat Saturday’s were sung over and over. The whole pub erupted into applause and there were extra hard ones from the table of his friends along with cheering and shouting, Robyn among them. She had loved watching Taron in his element as he sang and it was the first upbeat song she had heard him sing and he did such a tremendous job at it, she was feeling a little worried she may not win this but she wasn’t one to not to give her all and knew her chosen song backwards and while Taron’s song could get the crowd going, her chosen Queen song could get a crowd going too.

With an encouraging push from Calvin, she climbed off the seat and made her way around the table heading towards the stage, as Taron stepped off. She adored it when his face was in an honest and full grin and after his three-hour nap, the tiredness had left his face a little. They stopped when they walked past each other, Taron dancing a little.

“Oh, chicken you are in trouble.”

She laughed at him, enjoying how happy he was. “That was it?” She said putting her hands on her hips. “Oh rocketman, you have no idea how easy you have made this for me.”

“I am watching you…” Chuckled Taron wriggling his eye brows at her, laughing as she gently pushed him on his chest and walked past him and continued to the stage. Taron walked back to his friends, high giving and fist pumping them before he turned to face the stage, enjoying how the lights shone on Robyn, his heart racing once more and this time it wasn’t from singing. He had to place his hand on the back of his couch when Robyn walked down the hallway towards him once they were ready to go earlier in the evening. She had gone and picked another V-neck top and he knew she had absolutely done it on purpose, knowing he liked those particular shaped tops on her.

The MC was back on the microphone. “Do I sense a bit of tension here?” He asked playfully. “Between you and Taron?”

Robyn grinned. “Just fulfilling a bet we made a long time ago.” She answered him. She filled the MC in quickly with her name and choice of song.

“So, this is Robyn, a visitor from across the ocean and tonight shall be singing a hit by Queen for ultimate bragging rights.”

Robyn took the microphone from the MC and looked for Taron’s face at the table. Once found him, she winked giving him the biggest grin she could and once the music started Somebody to Love, she was in her singing zone. She had contemplated singing a different Queen song but to beat Taron she needed the difficulty that the song brought and the notes she could easily belt with confidence. She hit that first note as easy as ever and was glad the karaoke track had the backing vocals on it too as it made it so much more effective. It was a song she could sing her sleep and it made it easier to add a little performance to it just like Taron had and when it got to the small musical interlude she hopped off the stage and headed down to where the group of Taron’s friends were sitting and stood up on the a stool with a little help from Calvin who had made he way to the front of the tables for a better look and listen.

When the song got to the part where ‘Find Me Somebody To Love’ was repeated over and over she started to clap her hands and singing those words, smiling as the people around her started to copy her and soon all of Taron’s friends were copying her and she grinned to Taron who although was smiling and singing along, his face told her he knew she had beaten him already.

Happy the crowd could keep the words and beat going, she gave a her own salute to Taron and then she jumped down off the stool and slowly walked back to the stage adlibbing as she went throwing in some oohhs and ahhs until she was back in the stage for that all important last belt of the song, Robyn giving it everything she could and holding that top note for longer than was necessary before improvising the last part, the backing vocals keeping the rhythm and timing of the song, making sure she did a fancy run on the last line before ending the song.

If the pub erupted for Taron, they shouted whooped and called so much louder for Robyn and she was laughing on stage and she made a pretend curtesy before handing the microphone back to the MC. “Well I think you won.” He said to her.

Robyn only smiled and stepped off the stage, some of the crowd still clapping as she walked past them and back to the tables where her new friends were sitting, Taron at the end of the rectangle tables making a come here motion with the index finger of his right hand to her. She accepted all the high-fives and fist bumps from his friends and even the hug from Calvin and Deian and biting her lip stood in front of Taron.

“Well played Robyn. Well played.” He said to her and though he tried not to smile, he couldn’t help it and without a second thought pulled her to him for a hug. “You fucking killed it and I hate you.”

“So, I won?” She said into his neck.

“I don’t think we should bother with the vote.”

Letting go of him she stood back and slipped into a chorus of ‘We Are the Champions’ by Queen, Taron laughing at her before joining in wrapping his right arm around her shoulder, swinging her from side to side. While Robyn sang ‘I’, Taron sang ‘We’ and it made them both giggle when they were done.

“So, I guess the vote is invalid.” Smiled Deian. “And she has ultimate bragging rights.”

“Yes!” Robyn punched the air and did a little dance, giggling as Taron wrapped his arms around her waist and lifted her off the ground to stop her. “Taron put me down!” She chuckled.

“No more dancing.” He replied. “Drink?” He asked her.

“No. Duet.” She answered picking up the book from the table. “It’s is so cheesy and obvious but it would be so much fun.” She said to Taron as he looked over her shoulder at the one she pointed at and he grinned agreeing.

“Done but drink first.”

“Just water.” She said to him once they reached the bar.

“You sure?” Asked Taron.

“Yeah. Just for the moment. It’s gotten hot in here.”

Taron ordered two pints of water and once he gave Robyn hers, she drank it all in one go, Taron’s mouth dropping as she took the second one and took three mouthfuls from it too. “Singing and winning is thirsty work.” She answered his questioning look.

With another alcoholic drink in their hand, they walked back to the table and sat down on the stools, their presence stopping the chatter between his friends.

“So Robyn, any other secrets apart from saving lives, killer singing abilities and baking?”

She grinned at Calvin, enjoying how Taron had moved his stool closer to hers so they sat with their legs touching. “I can’t give all my secrets away tonight Calvin. Need to keep some sort of excitement in the game.”

“Well the secret is definitely out how you can sing rings around Taron and I demand that you sing another one.”

Robyn laughed. “I am up for that but back in Elton’s there was talk of a prize.”

“Oh Robyn no, please.” Taron’s eyes looked up to her from under his eye lashes.

“Don’t worry Taron. This is a prize we both will enjoy.”

As Taron started to dance on stage as he sang George Michael’s Faith, Robyn was thrilled with her choice of her prize and even though she knew it was one of Taron’s favourite karaoke songs to sing, her inner Taron Egerton fangirl was squealing as he got more and more into the song, his eyes glinting as the crowd sang along with him with to some of the second verse and Robyn knew he was enjoying every minute of his time on stage.

“So happy with your prize?” He asked her as strolled back to the table with a smirk.

“Thoroughly, especially the dancing!” She laughed, giving him his high-five that he looked for as he stood beside her.

“So does Taron get to pick your song now?” Asked Calvin.

“Uh-uh. That is not how a prize works.” Robyn shook her finger at Taron’s friend. “I won fair and square. That was my prize and I still have complete access to the ultimate bragging rights but I am sure we can come to an agreement on a song for me.”

Taron and his two best friends, surrounded Robyn as they flicked through the book and Calvin stopped her and made her go back a few pages and pointed at a Celine Dion song.

“Not gonna happen Calvin.”

“But why!” He moaned. “You can sing Freddie Mercury. You can sing this song.”

“Freddie’s range is more suited to mine. Celine is a bloody powerhouse.”

“And you’re not?” Asked Taron.

“Not after a few drinks.”

“Bubbles help warm up your voice.” Taron nudged her gently. “Worked for me at Elton’s.”

“For a song that was specifically written for you.”

“Come on Robyn. You don’t have anything to prove.” Deian pitched in.

“Maybe that I lipsynced the last time. If I even attempt this song, I will not hit any of those high range notes.”

“Karaoke doesn’t have to be perfect.” Added Calvin.

“Does to me.”

Taron pouted a little, tilting his head and nudged her again with his hip and as she took in his face and as he bit his lip she sighed. “Fine but I don’t want to hear a word if it’s shit.”

A little cheer rose up around her and pushing her way through Calvin and Deian she walked up to the stage. It’s All Coming Back To Me Now was a song she had sang many times in her house into her hairbrush but it was never a song she would choose for karaoke. Robyn preferred to pick songs she knew she could sing well and preform, that stage performer within her needing to get it right every time.

“So you back for more?” Joked the MC as she walked up the steps.

“They say too much of something is bad for you but not the case with karaoke.”

“This another duel off?”

“Nope. This one is to make three men happy.” The MC looked at her with wide eyes. “I mean I have been asked by Taron and his friends to sing this one.”

She quietly gave her song selection to the MC and took the microphone from him and turned around to look at the expectant faces. When the customers saw her walk back up the stage, she knew they were anticipating another perfectly sung song and now that she had a slightly bigger audience she was full of nerves but faking the confidence, she closed her eyes and took a breathe as the music started.

“Go on Robyn!”

She looked up as Taron’s friends cheered her on and with a shy smile looked to the lyrics and started to sing. First line done, she felt a bit more comfortable and tried to loosen her stance up a little and found herself using her left hand on her stomach as she needed to keep control and once on the chorus tried to add a little more emotion to the song and the words, gaining volume as the song grew and cringed a little as her chest voice changed to her head voice on the higher notes but kept going and decided to leave out a line before the second verse started, knowing she would never hit the notes. Instead concentrated on the second verse, her eyes reading the words but taking glances towards the tables of her new friends but she looked away to close her eyes to reach the last note of the verse. She knew the words to the chorus so again snuck another look to Taron and his friends and could see the nod of encouragement from him, watching him sing along. It gave her the courage she needed to properly go for the highest notes of her range at the end of the chorus and hitting them almost perfectly, she appreciated the applause and whistles from what she assumed was Taron, Calvin and Deian. As the song became more silent as it wound down to the last chorus, she didn’t need to worry about the words once more and took a little walk across the stage for some dramatic effect and breathed a huge sigh of relief as the song ended and after she handed the microphone back to the MC, ran her hands through her hair, taking one long deep breathe.

She could feel her hands shaking as she made her way back to the tables and shook them out to rid herself of the nervous energy and adrenaline that flowed through her blood stream. She gave a bashfully blushed smile as she walked into the circle she had previously left and accepted the half hugs from Calvin and Deian and was thankful for the cuddly one from Taron and the whispers of well done from him.

“No more singing.” She said back to him.

“Except our duet.” He corrected.

“I am not going back up there without you.”

[queensdivas]

Wildest Notes Chapter 4

So there’s about three reasons why this chapter took a little long to come out! But they’re good reasons of course because I like to make sure things are somewhat perfect! 

First! Mostly because I’ve been busy with Grigor and trying to work on such a historical fic and y’all know I throw myself into my fics. 

Second. I got in touch with a certain bad ass artist by the name of @punky-peach​ who drew that beautiful picture below for Cora and Gard. Oh yes. It’s absolutely beautiful and I might have cried when I received it ten minutes ago. It’s so fantastic that I just can’t stop looking at it and I know y’all can’t either! Especially after this chapter.  

Third. I got distracted. And I got into bioshock for a while (I’m still binge playing it over and over. But fear not! I’m back and 

Okay here we go! 

Y’all ready!!

Next Chapter

Previous Chapter. 

Masterlist 

My fingers softly began rubbing my eyes as we finished the last set of the night. Sometimes I forget that playing the piano day after day would hurt my eyes. I hate that sometimes I forget that I’m near sighted. Should probably take a day off because I’ve been doing this nonstop since I moved here. Luckily I’m not clumsy with them and have never broken a pair in my life! Which is saying something about myself. 

Closing the lid to the piano as the club was beginning to clear out of everyone excluding the waitresses, bar tenders, and us musicians. I began gathering all my music sheets together as I watched everyone go into their own little social pods. Not that I don’t wanna become social with any other them. But a first impression of them flocking towards me in all directions to screw me wasn’t exactly a warm welcome. 

Once my music was all put together. I knocked off my heels to switch over to my Jesus slippers so I could walk home comfortable. Do you think I walk from my house to the city in heels? I don’t even like being in some sort of heels in the first place. My preference is my Jesus slippers or my bare feet. I mostly garden in my bare feet so it’s safe to say that I really hate shoes. 

Kobi the bassest and Chandler who played first chair trombone approached me as I placed my feet into my Jesus sandals. Kobi was rubbing the back of his neck as I waited for them to speak to me because obviously he was going to say something. 

“Chandler and I were wanting to apologize for what happened when you first arrived here. Kind of got us all excited for a new member and we acted like wild dogs. I’m sorry.” Wait what? An apology? Kobi smacked Chandler's chest as he shot up from the ground. 

“Yes Cora. We’re sorry..” 

“It’s quite alright. Thank you for the apology.” 

“Listen why not have a drink with us?” Chandler offered as I took a step off the stage with all my belongings. 

“I don’t drink.”

“Then water. C’mon you have to socialize with us eventually and running off back to your house isn’t an option.” Kobi mentioned that both of them walked over to the bar along with the workers and other musicians. I mean a sprite does sound delicious and I could use the energy walking home. 

I sat down on the bar stool as the tender was mixing all sorts of drinks for everyone. He stood in front of me and waited for me to give him some sort of answer. I get the feeling their eyes are shooting bullets at me for not drinking liquor. Look I know being a jazz musician you’re supposed to smoke and have a thing of Jack Daniels by your stand in order to fit the profile. But I’d rather have a really bubbly sprite and some grapes and we’re sitting. 

“Just a sprite please.” I told him as he filled a tiny little glass of sprite for me. 

“You work at a nightclub and you drink a sprite?” Chandler commented as I took a sip. 

“I told you two I don’t drink.” It’s like talking to a brick wall. Like I said I will not socialize with these people and just come to work. 

“Heys guys great news!” Theo jumped down from the stage and sashed himself over towards us. 

“We got ourselves a new lead female singer by the name of Kyia Mair. Just graduated from Oberlin Conservatory of Music in Ohio. She said she was looking for a full time gig and bam! We got one!” HE clapped as he sat down on one of the stools. 

“A round for everyone! Make it an Irish car bomb for everyone!” Theo pulled out his cash as everyone cheered as for free alcohol...for me I was slowly sipping sprite from my glass. I should’ve mentioned that I could’ve also sang..though it’s not excellent like Gaga or even Billie Holiday. But it’s decent. 

The bartender placed the shot in front of me as my sipping through the straw began to go faster as I was trying to avoid the car bomb or whatever it was called in front of me. No..no I don’t drink. Drinking leads to drugs...drugs lead..lead...

“A shot isn’t going to kill you Cora. You gotta live a little.” Theo moved the shot in front of me as I kept sucking up more and more sprite till the glass was empty. My throat closed as I looked away from the shot. Time for me to head home and read some sort of book. Digging into my purse then my wallet to find some sort of cash. 

“Tell ya what. Here’s twenty dollars on me for whatever you want and you guys never speak to me again that isn’t business related. Now if you’ll excuse me I’d like to go home. Goodnight everyone.” Telling them as they slapped the money on the bar and began my walk home. 

Wrapping my arms around myself to place my binger down onto the ground to feel the warmth of the night rest on top of me. Taking in a deep breath as I dove into the inner layers of my confused train wreck of a mind. It felt like I was pushing the door shut of my past self trying to keep those memories shut. 

Think of something nice Cora c’mon! 

“I’m..I’m sorry. I.. I generally don’t hang out with civilians this much.” Civilians? DO I look like I’m in the army? Do I need to salute him or something? 

Why is it that this tightly wound mailman by the name of Gardner is prancing around in my mind? Is this what a crush feels like? Heck I’ve never had my first kiss in my life with anyone! I’ve lived quite the solitude life for obvious reasons..and no one has ever had that kind of talk with me. 

Stopping along the river as my upper body leaned over the railing. Surprisingly a warm gust of wind entwined itself around me as I just stared down into the dark water. The lights from the city began dancing upon the top of the river. 

Mama Seymour wasn’t into the relationships because she was always busy with myself and my brothers and sisters. Mr. Lister..er Dad..may he rest in peace. He was just there for me in the end and never got around to this conversation. So I’ve got no idea what on earth I’m doing. Normally my ass would be running from this situation and just diving into a different situation. But..

I..I wanna dive..

This whack uptight mailman…

“Gard? What are you going?”

“I’m sorry. I heard you playing and I wanted to stay till the end.” 

Someone tell me how the heck this is supposed to work? No mailman would just casually stay and let himself come inside the house. Not to mention he let me dry his socks after walking around in the rain. It’s not love...it’s just my heart rapidly beating out of my ribbed cages and spewing out all over the sidewalk!  My right hand rested over my heart as I stood up standing tall.

Just keep calm..if you see him tomorrow just be nice and not do anything.. 

Walking back to the house to see that Angus was sitting in front of the front door sleeping soundly as I stood in front of the gate. Opening the gate woke him up and trot his way over to me. Sniffing my feet, licking my palm, and then walking back towards the door. For some unknown reason Angus loves to sit outside or sleep when I’m gone for work. 

Sitting down on the porch steps as Angus sat up next to me then began licking my face, yet stopping when he had some of my makeup in his mouth. My nails softly scratched the top of his head as he laid back down next to me with his head resting on my thigh. Time to let my hair down, literally. Pulling apart the large black bow I had in my hair that was keeping at least some of it up to let my grande cluster mess known as my hair. 

“C’mon Angus. Time for bed.” Kissing his forehead as we both got off the ground to walk inside and get ready for bed.  

*Gards P.O.V.*

Wasn’t supposed to be 90 degrees today. Stupid weather! Looking up to place the mail in the box I noticed that I was right around the corner from Cora. I imagine she’s out in her garden planting or digging until it gets too hot. 

Turning the corner then down the hill as I kept my eyes on what I could see but sadly trees we’re covering my view. Just keep going..wait. What should I say to her? Hey? Is it hot outside or what? Too cheesy? I’ll just be quiet, drop off her mail then moving on. 

Is..is that Margaritaville? I don’t know much about music but I know Margaritaville whenever I hear it. I remember Dad and I would be on the boat washing it down and whenever this song would turn on, he would just go berserk. Cause ya know, it’s a Dad song.  

“Wastin' away again in Margaritaville..Searchin' for my lost shaker of salt..Some people claim that there's a woman to blame..Now I think, hell, it could be my fault..” I could hear her singing as I got closer to the gate. 

When I made it to her white gate. My head looked up. I saw that she was sitting in the front yard sitting in a beach chair. Her feet were in a kids plastic pool as Angus came around the corner to then step into the kids pool and watch me. 

“GARD!” Cora cheered as she stood up to then stand in her pool. Opening the gate as I approached her as she kept herself in the pool. 

“Want a drink? It’s kool aid.” She held out her glass as I shook my head. 

“How’s the route on this stupidly hot day?” I shrugged as she offered me her seat. I sat down as she went around back to probably grab another chair. Placing my mail bag next to my chair as I watched Angus in the pool. He’s literally just laying down in the water with only his head laying on the rim.  Coming back as she had one of those really colorful beach chairs. Opening it up then sticking her feet back into the pool as Angus was laying down in it. 

“Gard relax for a little bit. It’s 90 degrees and there’s no way you’re not boiling alive.” Fair enough. 

“While you get comfy. I think I got some sunglasses for ya.” Getting up again to go into her house. I took off my shoes then socks to stick my feet into the ice cold pool. I let out a very large sigh as my entire body relaxed. I should get a kids pool for Calvin and I because this is so relaxing. 

She came back out with a glass of water and a pair of sunglasses. Smiling as I took them from her hands as she climbed back down into her seat then laying out in the sun. 

“Thank you.” Telling her as I placed the sunglasses on my face then taking a sip of the cold water. 

“No problemo Gard.” She smiled as she bent forward to splash some water on Angus who tried to eat the water she splashed him with. She looked so beautiful with the sun shining down on top of her. Coras skin was shining and her smile..it feels so genuine and contagious. Like if you’re not smiling you’re out of place. Not to mention she’s just so bubbly that..it’s a good feeling when I’m around her. 

Blinking a few times as Angus got up from the pool to then shake himself as all the water splashed over Cora and I! If a dog could smirk I think Angus would. We both watched as he opened the screen door to then walk inside. What a dog. 

“Sorry that my dog just gave you a shower.” She took off her glasses to whip off the water. 

“I’m assuming that you taught him how to do that?” Asking her as she nodded. She put her glasses back on her face to look at me. 

“Spoiled loveable child.” She shook her head as she went down to take a sip of her kool aid. I reached down for water to start drinking it. 

“Glad you’re finally relaxing. Though it would never happen to Gard. You 're more wounded than a screw itself.” I’ve always had my own way of doing things and enjoyed my very..tight.. Schedule..But here Cora comes to basically destroy that schedule..and I’m kind of okay with it...

“Not that there’s anything wrong with that of course. I mean it’s great that you have such a tight schedule and you like to do things your way. But sometimes you just gotta take a step back and breath a little. Also have your feet chillin 'in a kiddie pool while you get a sun tan and take a break from the job.” I will say though we look a little silly sitting in her front yard. But I imagine her backyard is covered head to toe in veggies and flowers. 

“If you keep working and not taking a second, you’re gonna watch your life go by without ya. Sorry..didn’t mean to sound so preachy there holy crap.” She laughed at herself as I couldn’t stop looking at her. Why does she care so much? I know that about 90% of the people I deliver mail to don’t even know me. Trudy is the only one I talk to..and then she comes into play...and..

I..I want her to see the boat. I mean. She’s shown me her entire home and she’s yet to see mine. Wouldn’t you think she’d like to see mine? I know she’s asked but..I didn’t know what she would do if I told her I lived in a boat. 

What do I say to her? Hey why don’t you come see my boat? Wanna see my boat? How do I make myself sound extremely creepy towards her? Her beautiful copper hair that was just all over the place shined beautifully. Cora’s smile kept making my heart skip a few beats as her fingers were messing with the book. I want her to come on my route so I can show her the boat. Don’t most women love boats? 

“Wanna see my home?” Blurting out as she turned towards me then rose up in her chair. 

“Sure. Let me get my keys.” She looked so adorable. A big Hawaiian shirt that had a tank top underneath, a cute pair of white shorts then her sandals. She walked inside her house as I finished chugging the water for the walk home. 

“How long have you been a mailman?” She asked as she was walking backwards in front of me with her hair flapping with each step. 

“Since I was eighteen. I was even a designated note passer for these two kids in school, kind of appropriate.” She looked so..pretty. Her hair shined, she walked with such a lovely step. As if she was almost skipping. How does someone be this happy all the time?

I found out that she’d been playing the piano since she was a kid. Umm she can make a mean lamb roast, and sells vegetables at farmers markets and even tries to get a stand at county and or State Fairs. I had no idea she was so resourceful. Is it weird that I kind of want her to make dinner for me so I can try this great lamb roast. 

“It has a crap ton of garlic but don’t worry it works extremely well together.” She was so passionate about her cooking and bubbly. Most women I know who are my age who can’t even cook spaghetti. 

“What side dish?” 

“Marinated white beans. You’ll have to come over for dinner sometime and you’ll be leaving ten pounds heavier!” She laughed as we turned down my street. Oh boy. How is she going to react that I live in my boat instead of inside with Calvin. 

“Here we are.” Telling her as she began walking in the driveway. 

“Umm Cora.” I stopped right next to the ladder that led me inside my home. She took off her glasses, rubbing her eyes then back at me. I began walking towards the ladder to climb in. 

“The nameless grace.” She pointed out as I halted. 

“Huh.” Turning around as she had her arms crossed. 

“You do know boats are meant to have names right? There was this one boat that was always docked and it’s name was Floppy Wenis!” I mean I’ve heard of some weird one in my books when I’m trying to sleep. I think there was one called Buoyoncé and another called The Cod Mile. 

I climbed up into the sailboat as she followed right behind me. Glad I got the place cleaned up before going to bed last night. Not that it was dirty or had underwear all over the place. Crouching down into the sailboat to stand straight up as she poked her head in. 

“Cute. I love what you’ve done with the place.” Cora giggled as she held out her hand so she wouldn’t fall flat on her face. Helping her inside as she kept a hold of my hand. They were a little cold but extremely soft to the touch. Wait..I’m still holding them! 

“I’m sorry!” Walking over to the radio as I turned it on for some soft acoustic song to start playing. 

“I sit there. You can sit anywhere else.” Telling her as I tossed my bag on the other side of the booth table. I placed the sunglasses she’d given me on the table right where I usually sit. 

“Gard this is so homey. Really love what you’ve done with the sailboat. Also the ferns that hang off the railings.” She commented as it made me smile. Cora looked around to then sit down across from me on the bench. 

“Thank you.” Molding my fingers together as I made my thumbs started going in small circles.

“So do you have a thing for not sleeping in houses? Ready for some sort of flash flood coming here and all of us vanishing overnight?” Very funny. 

“I’ve liked boats. SO why not live in one.” Shrugging as she raised her eyebrow right at me. Yeah figured she wouldn’t accept that excuse.  

“Why not live with Calvin then? I mean I love my sunflowers but you don’t see me sleeping in the middle of my garden.” Fair point. She put her legs up close to her chest waiting for some kind of response from me. 

“I came from school one day and my parents were gone. The house was empty. The only thing they left behind was this boat. So I moved it to Calvins driveway. His parents took me in.” I somehow get this feeling she can sort of relate. I’m not sad about it anymore and have moved on. But...sometimes I keep thinking they’ll come back for the boat even after all these years just to say hi. A pipe dream and realistically impossible. But wouldn’t it be nice. Her face that was once filled with bubbles just turned into concern and somewhat saddened. I didn’t mean to make her feel sad..just wanted to be honest. 

“Any luck trying to find them?” Her voice cracked a little as she stared directly at me. 

“What would I say?” 

“Something I would Gard. Why? Why have me if you wanted to run?” Shaking her head at her own comment as she looked at the wall then back at me. 

“If we’re being open with one another. I sadly don’t remember my mother at all. Either she died of childbirth or just left right after I was born. Father was a..an extreme druggie who ended up..ah doesn’t matter. Oh what do we have here.” She grabbed one of my binders of my stamp collections to start going through them. I noticed on her ankle looked like some kind of old scar around the ankle. Probably none of my business. 

“I love this one so far. Ya know I wasn’t going to make the assumption that you collected stamps due to the fact you were a mailman. But I gotta ask. Why stamps?” Nothing is more cliche than a mailman collection stamp. Cora’s eyes looked so passionate while she skimmed through all my stamps.

“It’s just this endless potential that sits within these little tiny squares. Kind of wonder where they could’ve gone sometimes when I look at them. Always wondered what people would’ve said in these letters, though no one writes letters anymore. But if they did, they need one of those.” I’ve...I’ve never had the chance to fully tell someone about my stamps before. I mean besides Calvin and my friends down at the office when we have our meetings. But she seems so interested in them and letting me vent about them. 

“I’m going to assume you’ve got a favorite?” My eyes drifted over to The Duke as I motioned her to come over and look. She got off the bench to squat a few inches next to me. So close I could see deep into those sparkling dark blue pools. 

“So why is the shirtless man so special?” 

“That my dear friend is The Duke, King of the Longboard. You have your Elvis china and I have my stamps, sort of the Elvis of my collection.”

“Why? What’s so special about Mr. Duke?” 

“It’s a misprint.” 

“Wait what?” She giggled to take another look at the stamp. 

“It’s a misprint. It’s the only one in the world. His longboard is upside. See?” She nodded as our heads were almost butting into each other. 

“Well..son of a biscuit. What a misprint.” My throat unexpectedly dried up quicker than I expected as we just kept smiling at each other. 

Slowly moving towards each other as our lips finally made contact. Her beautiful lips sent shivers up and down my body. I’m too afraid to touch her or even do anything..last girl I kissed was a bet in High School..I could feel my face turning dark red as I cupped her face in my hands. 

Cora abruptly backed away from against the wall with her finger types on her lips. Gulping as her eyes were widened. She was going to say something but kept falling short of words. 

“I’m..I’m sorry..I..” Spinning around to dash out of the boat and almost tripping trying to get out. 

“Wait Cora!” I was about to sprint out towards her but she must’ve knocked over the sunglasses because they made a loud cracking sound in my feet. 

No...no..I didn’t ruin it did I!? Looking at the time as I realized that it was already after four...I’ll keep my bag for the night then when I do my route tomorrow I’ll just deliver whatever else I didn’t get the chance to deliver. 

Should probably go inside and try to act normal. Although I imagine Calvin will be having a field day because today is his day off. Climbing out of the boat then down the ladder as I tried to keep myself panicking in front of Calvin. He’s going to go on and on about approaching her and how to get her into bed. Not exactly what I’m going for. 

I made it through the front door then into the kitchen where Calvin already had dinner ready. And now I just realized that I’m extremely late for dinner. This should be absolutely fun to deal with. 

“Sorry I’m late Cal.” Sitting down at the dining room table but he didn’t turn around to say anything to me. But only letting out a big sigh. 

“Cal!” He smacked the eggplant on the plate as he was about to say something. 

“My eggplant parmesan is congealing.” I’m not quite sure if I’m even in the mood for eggplant. Vietnamese or Greek just sounds better than eggplant. 

“I had to work late.” 

“Am I living in a house of lies! You come through that door everyday at 5:29 pm on the dot for the past six years, and who was that guy with the 80s hair band running from your boat?” She’s not in a hair band? I mean obviously I knew he would catch me but she’s not even a man, Cora just has beautiful humongous hair. Which I imagine is super soft. 

“It was a woman.” Never thought I would have to say that. 

“My man! She smokes your hogan?” 

“I don’t think so and what does that even mean?” What does smoking your hogan your mean? Like..a..I don’t even wanna think about it. 

“Where did you meet her?” 

“Work.” 

“Is she a mailman?” She’s far too beautiful to be a carrier. 

“Carrier and no she’s a customer. Her name is Cora.” 

“Whoa whoa whoa. Is she an old lady?” 

“No.” 

“Lady of the night?” 

“No!” 

“Housewife?” 

“Single and no. She lives by herself.” 

“Single, her own home and on the route nice! So okay theres lots of ingredients here for a very erotic role-play situation.”

“You gonna see her again?” 

“Probably tomorrow.” 

“You nervous?” Shaking my head as Cal saw right through it.  

“You must not like her if you’re not nervous.” 

“I’m a little nervous.” More like shaking in my own shoes from the fact that I don’t wanna mess this up. 

“All right okay lets get a good solid plan together. This is you and this is her.” He was messing with the table mats. 

“No no I don’t wanna plan this.” Last time Cal had one of his plans he ended up spilling the nacho cheese all over the girls jeans. Yeah never letting him plan anything dealing with my love life. 

“Well you’re gonna need a plan or you’re just gonna get passed over like celery at the salad bar.” 

“I just wanna let it happen.” 

“Alright if that’s your play.” He began reading through his magazine of Martha Stewart recipes and home diy. 

I really don’t wanna mess this up..she’s absolutely fantastic..just the thought of her..oh boy what have I gotten myself into now. 

Taglist

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[thatesqcrush]

Vanilla

AN: Rafael Barba x Reader. This is for @melsquared79 who suggested the following prompt: #11 - “Please, remind me again why we’re having sex behind a tree?”

CW: language, smut, some angst

Tags: @madpanda75 @southern-magnolia @ottosuricato @delia26 @dreila03 @sass-and-suspenders @glimmerglittergirl @niyashell @mommakat32. Anyone else, just ask!

“Not for nothing but that’s some vanilla sex bullshit right there,” your co-worker replied, her brow cocked in disbelief.

You had been dragged out to a happy hour with your coworkers. Lots of cocktails and shot were had; very little food was consumed. A buzz had settled over your body and you were at the point where you were spilling tea on everything and everyone. And this time it happened to be on your sex life.

You shrugged, unsure how to respond. Your cheeks were flushed but you weren’t sure if that was due to the alcohol or your embarrassment. You didn’t date in high school or very much in college. After college, you were basically celibate, working long hours, trying to climb the corporate ladder. It paid off, career wise but not in the romantic department.

It was by complete happenstance, due mostly to your klutziness one morning, that you (literally) ran into the man who would eventually become your boyfriend. Spilled coffee, an exchange of business cards and a promise to pay the dry cleaning bill led to dinner and drinks with Rafael Barba, better known to the public as the top prosecutor in the District Attorney’s office.

“We have sex a couple of times per week. He’s very busy; you know how busy I am. So we just do what works best for us,” you continued. “Not everyone has time for whips and chains,” you added with an eye roll.

“Oh honey,” another colleague piped up. “If your man, was my man, we would be doing things all sorts of ways. You can’t tell me he’s satisfied with plain old missionary.”

“He’s always happy,” you protested defensively. You glanced at your watch; it was getting late and the conversation had steered into uncomfortable territory.

“You need to kick it up a notch. Your man is fine as hell - he can get anyone he wants and he’s going to look elsewhere. No doubt,” another colleague added.

You sucked your breath at that comment and decided it was time to leave. “Well ladies, on that note, I am out.”

The women began to protest. “Oh come on, we’re just teasing!”

You shook your head and threw a couple of twenties on the table. “Nah, I’m good.

I’ll see you all on Monday. Behave. Would hate for my boyfriend to arraign you for indecent behavior.”

***

You took the subway home that night instead of your usual cab. The comments of your colleagues began to cloud your mind. You wondered if Rafael was indeed satisfied with the current arrangements. Sure, the two of you weren’t breaking out the Kama Sutra or engaging in fluorescent rope Shibari. You thought about the last time you had sex: you were exhausted from closing a deal and he was stressed from his latest trial. The two of you engaged in a quickie in the bathroom as you both got ready for bed. You both were collapsed in bed just as quickly as the sex was had.

You walked from your stop to your shared apartment. You looked up at the window to your apartment and a light was on. You smiled. Rafael was home early, despite it being close to 10:00 pm.

**

Tossing the keys onto the small bejeweled plate on the table besides the door, you greeted Rafael with a smile who was reading on his tablet. He gave you a lopsided grin. Your breath hitched once more; you were always taken aback by his handsomeness. His hair had started to really grey and somehow, he became even more handsome.

He put his tablet down and walked over to you and pressed a kiss to your lips. The kiss caused you to wobble in your heels and Rafael pulled back concerned. “Are you drunk?”

“No. Yes. Maybe. I went out with the girls, ‘member?” you replied. You pressed your hands onto his chest and stared into his green eyes. “Hmmm.” He felt warm and smelled like a mix of bergamot, cedar and spice. “Missed you.”

Rafael nodded. “I missed you too. Guess it’s safe to say you had fun.” He helped you out of your jacket and kept you steady as you removed your heels, kicking them to the side.

You shrugged once more. “I don’t know. Maybe. I just really want to go to bed.” Rafael could hear the barest hint of a crack in your voice but he didn’t want to push it with you.

“Then lets go to bed,” Rafael replied, taking you by the hand, and leading you to the bedroom. You half stripped, just down to a camisole and your panties. You crawled into bed, not bothering to wash your face or brush your teeth. Rafael climbed in after you and pulled you into his chest, holding you close. You were asleep quickly but the few tears you had shed didn’t go unnoticed by Rafael.

**

The next morning, you woke up with a dull pounding in your head. You looked over at Rafael’s spot which was empty - not surprising. Many times he went into the office on the weekends.

But instead you smelled coffee and could hear the padding of his footsteps. You groaned as you climbed out of bed and patted down your hair so that you didn’t exemplify zombie status when you saw Rafael.

“Buenos dias, chula,” Rafael greeted you with a quick peck. “How are you feeling?” He handed you a cup of coffee, and you took it, sitting at the breakfast bar.

You waved your hand. “I’ll be better with coffee,” you replied. Rafael nodded sympathetically and handed you a bottle of aspirin.

“That’ll help too.”

You nodded. “So you’re home today?”

Rafael nodded. “Yeah, I was thinking we could use some one on one time with each other. I know work has been awful for the two of us. I told Jack to have SVU bother another DA this weekend.”

“Any place you have in mind?” You questioned as you swallowed the aspirin.

“Central Park? The weather is supposed to be nice.” Rafael suggested. “We could grab a bite before or after.”

**

“Please, remind me again why we’re having sex behind a tree?” Rafael grunted as he thrusted into you. You braced your palms on the tree trunk, your dress flipped up, as you were bent over. Your head hung between your arms, your hair swayed with every thrust.

“Because,” you moaned as his cock hit the right spot. “I am trying to prove a point.”

“And that ... that point is what? Fuck!” Rafael groaned, balls deep inside of you.

“Fuck, papi. Don’t stop,” you moaned.

“Never,” Rafael promised, picking up the momentum. The sounds of skin slapping against skin and the sounds of your moans were drowned out by the waterfall in the North Woods of Central Park. Looking to get away from the hustle and bustle, you and Rafael walked along one of the lesser known parts of the park. Feeling auspicious and horny, you decided you wanted to prove your colleagues wrong. Rafael was surprised at your emboldened moves but he went with it.

For good measure, Rafael smacked your ass with each thrust. “You feel so good,” he crooned. “So wet, so tight.” You moaned in pleasure. He wrapped a hand in your hair and pulled gently.

“I am going to...” he warned, his thrusts becoming more frantic.

“Come for me,” you choked out. You took the opportunity to reach below to rub your clitoris.

“Rafael fuck, I am going to cum...” you babble incoherently. “Y/N!” Rafael grunted your name as he stiffened behind you, reaching his own climax. You both stayed there, basking in the moment. Finally, Rafael slipped out, tucking himself back into his pants. He looked around to make sure you were still all alone. The last thing he needed was for either one of you to get caught and land on the registry.

You reached down and pulled up your panties and fixed your dress, smoothing it over. “That was wonderful.”

“That was something,” Rafael chuckled. He picked up the blanket you had brought and took your hand, pulling you close to him. Rafael dipped his head to yours and kissed you. His tongue traced your bottom lip before he gently nipped your lip. You shuddered in his embrace.

Rafael pulled you back towards the path, and you walked hand in hand. You didn’t want to destroy the moment but also you needed to ease your anxiety.

“Rafi, you’re happy with us right? Happy with our sex life?” You questioned so softly, Rafael barely heard you.

“Cariño we just had sex in the middle of the park, where anyone could have caught us. Should I be worried?” Rafael teased.

You didn’t reply and Rafael paused his steps. He cupped your chin, looking you square in the eye. “Is that what that was back there?” You didn’t respond. “Cariño is that why you cried last night? Please talk to me,” Rafael implored.

You sighed and lead Rafael to a grassy knoll, where you spread out the blanket before you both sat. You were delightfully sore from the hedonistic pounding you just took minutes earlier. Your heart began to race, as you began to speak.

“I don’t know. Yesterday when I was out, I drank too much - obviously - and I started to reveal stuff about us. I didn’t mean to. I’m sorry for that. But then my coworkers started saying our sex is vanilla and that you’ll leave me because you’re unsatisfied.”

Raul let out the breath he didn’t realize he was holding. He pulled his knees against his chest and wrapped his arms around them. “Okay. Give me a minute to process please.”

You nodded and waited. A minute seemed like forever and you wanted to throw up. Finally, Rafael began. “At the end of the day, I love you. And I’m not going to leave you because we aren’t recreating Twenty-five Acts.”

You chewed on your bottom lip as he continued. “Our sex life is wonderful. Truly, it is. With our schedules, we do the best we can. If you want to try new things, I am a willing participant.”

You smiled brightly at your boyfriend, feeling relieved. “Okay. I just got into my head after what they all said.”

Rafael pulled you so that you were practically in his lap. “You have nothing to be worried about.”

You pushed Rafael down so that he was laying on his side. You laid next to him, facing him and pulled the blanket over your bodies. “Want to give it another go?”

FIN

**

[thepilgrimofwar]

Bladeborn

As the House Guards of Emberheart carried bodies from the manor, the boy ruler made his way towards the guest rooms. With a trembling hand, he made his way past the fireplace, where Zarannis stared into the hearthfire. Stenden thought best not to disturb her. He then made his way to one of the other guest rooms, where Vaelrin was plying himself with what alcohol he had gathered- and been given by Zarannis. The boy bowed his head and moved past that room, until he came upon another occupied room. Inhabited by one who would possibly be in a better mind to speak to- Especially when it came with the gravity of the request he was about to make.

Stenden knocked and the knock on the door caught the youth inside by surprise.

Vissehn grabbed for his tunic, tugging it on over the bindings at his chest, grumbling to himself. He had planned on a bath, to wash the blood off, but it had taken the better part of an hour to find a place that fit his very specific and paranoid needs. He doubted that the servants to the Emberhearts would race to tell the tel’dorei that the towheaded fighter didn’t seem as male under the cloth as he looked, but he also couldn’t cross off the possibility.

And with the Oracle damned and dead, it was more obvious than ever that he had to keep his shit under wraps-- literally, and figuratively, as it were.

Ruffling his birdsnest of pale hair, he went to the door, buckling his belt even as he looked over… the boy lord of the manor.

“Aw, fuck.” He sighed. “Am I gettin’ kicked out? You don’t gotta be all polite about it, I figured I might.” He looked Stenden up and down, a twinge of sympathy threading through him. He really did look like his uncle. More so than his father, really; there was a serious determination to his brow that was all Sederis, and not Solli-the-stick-in-the-mud. “Just let me get my shit together, kid-- er, m’lord? Fuck, yer a kid, right?”

Stenden tucked his trembling hand behind his back and spoke with a bemused smile. “You’re not getting kicked out. In fact, you’re an honored guest of the family- So-” he gestured at his unkempt appearance- A hastily draped tunic and a half buckled belt. “Don’t- worry about- all that-”

The Lord of the Emberglades suppressed the urge to laugh, doing his best to keep up the airs of nobility in the face of someone so close to his age. It was the first moment of levity he had had all day.

“But I am here to make a request, so, may I come in?”

The smile on the other lad looked about as thin as the years between them, and so it was easy to reply. “Hey, yeah, come on in. It’s yer house, really, I’m just soilin’ your sheets yanno?” He snorted awkwardly and moved out of the way to let the young lord enter.

The room was, despite Vissehn’s claim, incredibly neat, as though no one had been in the space at all. Only the sheets looked mussed, and a chair brought near the window. The window was, however, open-- and there were definite signs that the youth had been gallivanting out on the rooftops and beyond, in the form of a curtain shoved into the lock, and mud on the edge of the sil.

Drawing the chair back to the table quick as a flash, Viss sat in it backward and patted the table. “Go on, take a seat.” His eyes flicked over Stenden’s features. He felt the question on his lips-- but it seemed too unkind to ask, too fresh. He would likely be asked by so many others, if this was his first taste of war, if these were the first deaths he bore witness to.

Vissehn knew the weight of those questions. He wouldn’t add to it.

“So, whatcha comin’ in for, if not to toss me out on my ass? Not that any’d blame you, really. We’re all just lucky I got a fleabath before they let me in here.” He jibed, leaning his chin on his crossed forearms on the back of the chair.

Stenden stepped inside, noted the window and the associated shenanigans, and tried his best to ignore it. He took a seat, also ignoring the mud he had been tracking into the room. The servants were not going to be happy about this. The smile turned to a stifled snort.

“Lirelle said I had the finest warriors in the Kingdom, all gathered here. I will admit Mr.Bladeborn, that you don’t look the part.” By the sounds of those words coming out of his mouth, it didn’t sound the part either. “Can I just call you Vissehn?”

“Gods, anything but Mister Bladeborn, I think Sederis called me that once and I almost popped a vessel from either laughin’ or hurling.” He snorted and ruffled his hair further, just to have something to do with his hands. “An’ Lirelle’s kind, for a dead scary woman. I’m more used to bein’ a courier.” He waggled his brows at Stenden. “Gets me in a lot of doors, and no one tends to think much about the post-person.”

Still he leaaaaaned sideways, looking over Stenden. “You don’t look much like a lord, neither, but I ain’t casting aspersions.” He drew out the last word, obviously having read it without hearing it much. “Got your mothers’ complexion and your uncle’s brow, but I got a feeling you get a fair portion of your father’s smarts. So!” He sat up and clapped. “Call me Vissehn, I’ll call you Stenden, and we’ll forget that neither of us looks the parts we’re bout to play, huh?”

“Deal,” Stenden extended his hand to shake on it.

Vissehn spat in his palm and shook with the young Lord. "Ceremonial, rightly so." The sparkle in his eyes showed it really wasn't but honestly that was far from the worst fluid they'd gotten on them that day.

The boy took his hand and shook, firm, joining him in the ritual of mutual nastiness. They were now partners- Not quite like blood-brothers- More like… Spit-brothers. Luckily for Stenden, this hadn’t been his first encounter to the ritual. Unlike Sederis who did not have a childhood shared with the low-borns of the realm, Stenden had spent many a time playing with the children at Dawnveil.

“I’ll be brief Vissehn. The Emberglades are going to war. I don’t know who my friends are. I don’t know if I’ll win this. But if I can borrow your strength, I can promise you that you’ll have a place here in the Heartlands.” Stenden spoke, with a mix of gravity and levity that was absent earlier. “If this war isn’t for you, I could still have you do be a courier.”

The firm handshake brought a smile to Vissehn’s features, something a shade softer. The kid was alright. He resisted the urge to ruffle Stenden’s hair, some deep-seated place of affection stirred by Stenden’s untimely burdens.

“I’m good for it.” He released Stenden’s hand and resumed leaning with his chest to the chair’s front. “I’ve gotten a fair hand at killin’ things now, which says summat I’m sure, but I’d rather it be for a cause than not for one.” He reached blindly to the table and-- after a pat or three-- found what he sought; a bottle of the local brew, which had been forgotten in his haste to attend the funeral and then the subsequent difficulty of bath-locating.

He took a long pull, pulled a face and put the bottle down. “Now. Before you sign off on your pretty friend Fish being a soldierboy, I got a counteroffer.” He had swept the room for enchantments minutes before the lordling entered, and he felt like the news he was about to share was less sensitive even than his gender.

“I did courier work, yeah, for the Sunguard and the Hawks and all. I also did good behind, let’s say, enemy lines. Got papers where they needed to go… and stopped a few too.” He waggled a brow. “I got a few friends I can reach out to, sees what I can pull, maybe get some of those friends where they’ll do some good in Ilithia, it was called, right?”

He paused. “Now. I’m not doing this cause I’m a sufferin’ saint, like half of yer uncles friends… nor am I a wardog like the other half, though I could be in a few years. I’m a survivor.” He leaned forward in the chair so he met Stenden’s eyes. “I got red in my ledger I plan to make black. Your uncle did right by me and mine… more than I can say.” A flush crept up the youths face, and he needed to look away, at the dark glass of the bottle. “So this is payment back. Whatever you wanna offer, you offer, but know I’d let ye piss on my name and call me curr and I’d still do this cause of Sederis.”

Stenden took in this information with great interest. If the Emberglades did not have the strength to win this war by force, an agent- Another agent- would do well to turn the tides of battle. Besides, while his father had an agent in the form of former Logistics Offier Beathyn Val’cinder, the Lord of the Emberglades figured that it would be prudent to have an agent of his own.

“You know, our coffers are likely to be empty of coin for awhiles yet but...” he began leaning forward to meet the boy’s gaze opposite him. “When this war is over, there are a few Lords that are likely to be removed and their lands will need to be… Shall-we-say, redistributed.” The Lord of the Emberglades broke into an unexpected grin. Playing to his new friend’s… Shall-we-say, hobo-ness, Stenden spoke up with a lilt.

“What would you say to a house?” He let the suggestion sink in for a moment before playfully rubbing his chin. “Wait- Maybe a field- Some land perhaps? But the maintenance of those will put you deeper into the red… So some farmhands?” Stenden clapped his hands together. “What say you, to a minor title? Yes! Be an agent on my behalf and you’ll have yourself a farmstead and peasants of your own to boot.”

The young man listened, watching the way levity made Stenden seem his age at last. The immediate rancor he typically felt when discussing the landed was therefore muted by the warmth he had for the other youth, and so when he spoke it was kindly.

“Oy, that’s a hell of an offer there, but not the first I’ve garnered.” He waggled his brows. “I’m not exactly the type yon good-and-true elves of the land are gonna tip hats to.” He flicked hair away from his short and honestly stubby ears. Tracing the edge with one finger, Vissehn’s voice went a shade softer. “I’m a mutt, through and through. I don’t need land or titles, but if’n you can sort some of those means and ends towards improving the livelihood of your less fortunates… specially those who don’t put down roots, well, I’ll have done my square part on looking after my fellows.” 

He smiled then, a subdued thing that brought the softness of certain parts of his face into stark relief with the wild and fae mien he typically wore. “There’s a whole passel of mutts like me who need someplace to wander. If your borders’ll be open to ‘em, I’d consider it a way to bring all that black and red into some kind of balance.”

If Stenden was looking his age, Vissehn was not keeping his cover very well around the other no-longer-a-child.

“If you want a reason for me to be stickin’ around after alls said and done, just lemme know. I’m a roustabout by nature but I could see cooling my heels here, near the Dawnbrooks an’ the Emberhearts. I’m a fair courier, fair in a fight, and got some unfinished business here abouts that would be easier to accomplish if I had a place, but say… not necessarily landed or well known.” He shrugged and leaned back so his elbows rested on the chairback, one leg bouncing.

“Ah,” Steden verbalized when he caught sight of Vissehn’s ears. It’d have been fine with him, perhaps, but the average peasant? The crown? He didn’t believe that giving out such a gift would go down well with either. “I can do borders. The Broken Bulwark will need resettling and I feel like a more… Accepting sorts are likely to resettle those broken lands.”

But he smiled again. “So that settles it then, and I’ve got myself my very own agent.” In lighter times without the same gravity upon them, he supposed his first task that he’d give his new friend would be to harmlessly prank his father in some way. But war was upon them, and the reality of the situation began to weigh on him once more.

“Glad to have you aboard Vissehn. Now about the help you said you could get me…”

Quickly spinning the chair back towards the table, Vissehn dropped onto one knee. “Naw, Stenden, we’re gonna do this official like.” He looked over the table and grabbed a quill, and shoved it into the young lord’s hands. 

He clasped his own around Stenden’s a moment, serious eyes despite his grin. “Induct me into yer service, Lord Emberheart, an’ I’ll serve ye loyal in any capacity I might for as long as you do good by the Tel’dorei. I might be a bastard and a halfbreed and a dirty spy, but I’m good as my oaths and you’ll want to make this… deal.” The word makes his smile turn bitter but it remains intact, as his hands remain on Stenden’s.

Stenden wiped his hand on his shirt and cleared his throat, getting back into character. Rising to his feet, he tried his best to dull the smile on his face to something more regal, but a hint of it remained. He grasp a nearby parchment and started to pen the terms described in curls of cursive, and ensured that mentions of open borders to the boy’s people were included- Emphasized even.

Because the boy, despite his adherence to the traditions of his station and his land, did not just want to maintain what came before. But to build a better realm. Something that his uncle wanted, but could never achieve.

“I, Lord Emberheart, hereby induct you into the service of my family.” He states as he signs off on the document. He hands it over to him, and as a symbolic gesture, offers his hand to Vissehn. No titles. No absurd formalities past what was required.

--

Art by CD Projekt Red

@retributionpriest​ @stormandozone​

[linchxpin]

GET TO KNOW THE BLOGGER.

Can be used for RP and non-RP blogs to get to know a bit about the person behind the screen!

1. FIRST NAME: i go by masha online :v

2. STRANGE FACT ABOUT YOURSELF: when i was five years old, my family and i lived in a nursing home :oc or a. i guess technically it was more of a. oh. i mean it was a nursing home, but it was one that was specifically Set Up to handle seniors and Others with. erm. psychological issues coughs

i still remember some of the residents, and i also remember occasionally helping out with some of them, too. you know. in Very Small Ways bc i was just barely Not a literal toddler lmao

3. TOP THREE PHYSICAL THINGS YOU FIND ATTRACTIVE ON A PERSON: uhhhfjfkea;gerrr???? i’m automatically drawn to noses for some reason, particularly if they’re. A Certain Shape. also eyebrows/eyelashes thinking emoji and uhhhhh idk i guess maybe hands/wrists?? idek dude i’m frickn asexual as hell lmao

4. A FOOD YOU COULD EAT FOREVER AND NOT GET BORED OF: so i usually say dumplings of any sort and from any cuisine (potstickers, ravioli, empanadas, pirozhki, steamed buns, u name it), but i was recently reminded that scotch eggs are A Thing and

inhales

5. A FOOD YOU HATE: HOMINY......... CAULIFLOWER............. whispers asparagus hhhhh i also can’t do stewed tomatoes oh g o d

6. GUILTY PLEASURE: right now it’s probably dollmakers and watching hetalia mmd videos on youtube lmao lies down

7. WHAT DO YOU SLEEP IN: whatever clothes i wore the day before finger guns

8. SERIOUS RELATIONSHIPS OR FLINGS: i mean probably neither, but if i had to choose, i’m. a little bit. ??? toward flings 6_6

9. IF YOU COULD GO BACK IN THE PAST AND CHANGE ONE THING ABOUT YOUR LIFE, WOULD YOU AND WHAT WOULD IT BE: g o d. the two biggest things i can think of are that i wouldn’t have dropped out of school rip i guess maybe in the long run it wouldn’t have changed much in the way of my schooling, but. idk. maybe i’d still have a friend or two rip

the other is that i wish i’d managed to live alone longer than i had

10. ARE YOU AN AFFECTIONATE PERSON: to those i know well, yes

11. A MOVIE YOU COULD WATCH OVER AND OVER AGAIN: fjife;a kung fu panda 2 lmao also honestly a lot of the x-men movies fall under this for some reason

12. FAVORITE BOOK: a little princess, house of leaves, on the beach, and almost anything by h.g. wells, but especially war of the worlds. also i can’t not mention the secret garden and little women

13. YOU HAVE THE OPPORTUNITY TO KEEP ANY ANIMAL AS A PET, WHAT DO YOU CHOOSE: i mean, i admit i am the type of person who is inordinately happy keeping dogs as pets bc they pretty much hit every one of my Needs for a pet, but the idea of owning like. something really really Big and fluffy Sends Me ngl

WAIT LET ME COME IN DAYS LATER AND ADMIT THAT HAVING A PET SEAL WOULD PROBABLY BE MY DOWNFALL

14. TOP FIVE FICTIONAL SHIPS [IF YOU ARE AN RP BLOG, YOU CAN USE YOUR OWN SHIPS AS WELL]: oh lord UHHHH don’t judge me ok but my favorites are probablyyyy 

) beerus/whis (dragon ball) ) euroshipping kaiba/bakura (yugioh) ) sora/kairi/riku (kingdom hearts) ) i think it’s called stormshipping now?? fubuki/manjoume (yugioh gx) ) bad friends trio OT3 (hetalia)

y. yeah. tried to go with a Variety of different fandoms rip

15. PIE OR CAKE: whichever one cheesecake counts as >8| but honestly probably pie, bc i frickn love pumpkin pie, chocolate silk pie, lemon meringue pie, cherry pie, key lime pie, hershey’s cookies & cream pie-- i mean the list is practically endless lmao

16. FAVORITE SCENT: SO MANY. cucumber melon, aloe vera, lysol, rubbing alcohol, BLEACH......... sweet pea, gardenia, actual rose, actual vanilla, ginger, white tea g o d you will find me literally standing in the soap and body wash aisle for a good thirty to forty-five minutes just smelling what they offer there lmao......................

17. CELEBRITY CRUSH: idk uhhhh weird al? lmao

18. IF YOU COULD TRAVEL ANYWHERE, WHERE WOULD YOU GO: I WANT TO GO TO RUSSIA SOMEDAY but also i’d love to revisit sorrento and capri and florence and assisi 

19. INTROVERT OR EXTROVERT: in the middle-ish but leaning somewhat heavily toward introvert :v

20. DO YOU SCARE EASILY: i am a very Jumpy person lmao but. other than that, it really depends on what you’re doing to scare me thinking emoji history has shown me i tend to keep a cool head in emergencies

21. IPHONE OR ANDROID: telegram. ya whippersnapper *tapdances out*

22. DO YOU PLAY ANY VIDEO GAMES: at the moment? no orz but i still consider myself fans of games like animal crossing, kingdom hearts, twewy, uhhhhh monster hunter, super smash brothers, MARIO KART.... and also majora’s mask is probably my all-time favorite game thinking emoji

i’m also a big fan of star fox and any number of survival horror games, but they’re generally too Difficult for me to actually play rip

23. DREAM JOB: god for probably like ten years or more i’ve dreamed of being a comic creator lies down i’ve pretty much given up on that one tho. but i’d also just Love being able to do something related to drawing-- especially in animation. i also will always mourn not being able to be a teacher bc i love the act itself of teaching, but. well. mornings and me Do Not Mix. so. when i’m feeling more practical, the truth is i want very much to be a hospice nurse

24. WHAT WOULD YOU DO WITH A MILLION DOLLARS: l o r d firST THING-- get my education squared up and out of the way >:u and probably also pay off my student debt i already have. hrmmm. maybe buy a house. definitely move out, that’s for sure. take my mom to italy and/or ireland

25. FICTIONAL CHARACTER YOU HATE: iiiiiii. er. i mean, i can’t think of any off the top of my head?? i don’t tend to hate characters tbh scratches head the most i get is neutral toward them lmao

26. FANDOM THAT YOU WERE ONCE A PART OF BUT AREN’T ANY LONGER: well. i kinda tend to cycle through old fandoms, so i can’t really think of any that i was once part of that i also have no interest whatsoever in going back to

i guess there’s some that i hesitate to get drawn too deeply into, just bc of their reputations or. honestly sometimes just bc i’m Just Not That Into It lmao

i could maaaybe put star wars here? bc it was technically my very first fandom back when i was like ten years old and the phantom menace had just come out fjfie;ahg YES I AM THAT OLD SHHH i was really into it at the time, and i still enjoy the universe itself and all, but. i can’t say i’ve felt compelled to really Join The Fandom

tagged by. whispers stolen from @sakuraari​

[let-it-raines]

hello! i have a prompt: “my brother/sister talks about this friend of his and how great we would be together so he sets up a double date and holy shit, it’s the guy i slept with about a month ago” Thank you!

Hi, guys! Look, it’s a wild prompt story! I promise I didn’t abandon them, and I hope you guys enjoy this tale! 

“You don’t have to go.”

She turns back to look at the man lounging in bed, his hands crossed behind his head and his body on full display to her. She thinks about his words as her eyes trace the strong lines of his legs, the defined muscles there, and move up to his hips where the muscles dip into a v and the dark hair guides her to the already hardening length that drove her to madness no less than five minutes ago. The man is beautiful, stunning really, and she’s never seen eyes that blue or lashes that long before, not that were natural or anything.

He is stunning, and he has this deep, rumbling British accent that melted her, the one who does not melt, into a puddle of arousal while at the bar where’d they met a few hours ago. He’d been funny too, charming, all of the things that a man usually is when trying to pick up a woman at a bar, and she’d played along like they were both reading the same sheet music. She didn’t give anything but her last name, Swan, and he didn’t give anything but his last name, Jones.

All in all, it may have been one of the best one-night stands she’s ever had.

But that’s all it was. It was one night, no full names, and as much as she’d like to stay, maybe sleep with him again, it’s not really her cup of tea…or coffee. He’s the British one.

“I really do,” she tells him, pulling on her jeans, the material tight against her thighs, and zipping them up before she grabs the gray v-neck he’d been wearing earlier that showed his chest hair and the necklaces hanging against his skin, the ones she’d used to pull his mouth closer to hers. “But it was a really good time. Congrats on the,” she motions over to him, “cock.”

He snorts, the sound high pitched compared to the low rumble of his laugh. “Thanks, lass. You realize that’s my shirt, aye?”

“I know.”

“And since I’m assuming this was a one-time thing, how am I supposed to get it back?”

She shrugs, the material falling off of her shoulder while she pulls on her boots. “Guess you’ll just have to figure that one out, Jones.”

Jones raises one dark eyebrow, his forehead lines crinkling, before absolutely smirking at her. “I do love a challenge.”

“So what time am I supposed to be at dinner, Margarita?” Emma questions while brushing her teeth, the words coming out muffled.

“Six and you’re supposed to bring a dessert.”

She spits into the sink, the blue toothpaste marking the white bowl, before rinsing off her brush and sticking it in its holder. “Can I buy it?”

“No, you have to make it.”

“Are you serious? Why can’t I buy it?”

“Because Emma,” Mary Margaret scolds, using the same voice she uses with her five-year-old son, “this is a potluck dinner we’re doing with everyone from David’s work where they bring their families, and everyone is bringing something homemade.”

“And why am I coming to this again?”

“Because you’re part of David’s family.”

She groans, leaning down and splashing water on her face before applying her face wash and rubbing it in, the suds bubbling up. “I’m technically not related, genetically speaking.”

“You were adopted. That’s the same thing.”

“Technically – ”

“Emma Swan, you are going to make dessert, and you are going to put on a nice outfit and smile and come tonight. End of story.”

“Damn,” she mutters under her breath, knowing Mary Margaret can hear her through the speaker, “Leo and David better stay on your good side tonight or they’re going to be buried under your classroom books tomorrow.”

“And you with them.”

Emma hangs up the phone after Mary Margaret reminds her to bring a dessert five more times, telling her to put it in the nice serving dish they gave her for Christmas last year, and tells her to wear the blue dress. Yeah, she’s not wearing that dress tonight, but she can do everything else. Maybe. Hopefully. She lives off of take-out and leftovers, but she’s sure she can make a dessert. She just doesn’t know what.

She moves out of the bathroom after blow drying her hair and plops down on her bed, which also doubles as her couch in her studio apartment, and scrolls through her laptop for easy dessert recipes, things that don’t involve a lot of mixing or baking…which is pretty much every dessert. But then she remembers there’s such a thing as cookies and while it’s not technically handmade, she can buy the pre-made dough and pop them in the oven, problem solved. It’s following all of Mary Margaret’s weird rules – technically of course – so the woman can’t say anything. She can’t expect Emma to make a soufflé. That would be ridiculous.

It only takes her five minutes to run down to the grocery store near her apartment, popping in while still in her pajamas, and grabbing cookie dough for peanut butter cookies (so what that she enjoys those more than chocolate chip) as well as a few bananas simply because she should probably eat some fruit every now and then. The rest of her morning is spent working on her open cases, trying to find any information she can on Elizabeth Moore’s husband and whether or not he’s cheating. Her job doesn’t exactly give her a lot of confidence in the fact that people stay faithful in relationships, but she gets paid whether the spouses are cheating or not.

She just kind of prefers that they aren’t. Giving people that news isn’t exactly the best of things to do.

Around five the cookies go in the oven, and she really hopes that the whole uneven cooking thing doesn’t happen like when she was making a pizza last week. While they’re baking, she heads over to her clothing rack, grabbing a black and white plaid skirt and an oversized v-neck t-shirt, pulling them on and tucking the t-shirt in before slipping into her black ankle boots. She thinks this entire night is idiotic. She should be able to hang out with David and Mary Margaret while in sweatpants and a t-shirt, but now she’s got to do it while dressed up and with other people. That may be the worst part. It’s not that she doesn’t like other people. It’s that she doesn’t like David’s coworkers. Some of them are okay, but his boss, Walsh, is an absolute asshole who got pissed when she told him she didn’t want to date him.

Rejections hurt, dude, but there’s no need to be rude about it. They’d literally only known each other a day, and he acted like she’d broken his heart after two years of dating and then burned all of his possessions.

The timer on her phone goes off, and she heads to the oven, grabbing an oven mitt and pulling the cookies out, praying that they don’t stick or aren’t burned or undercooked. She totally should have bought something and then passed it off as her own, but whatever. What’s done is done. After plating them on the serving dish that the Nolans gave her, she makes her way out the door, walking the few blocks to their farmhouse on the outskirts of Downtown Storybrooke.

When she walks up their driveway, the street is already covered in cars, and she can see people moving inside of the home. Taking a deep breath, she prepares herself for small talk and reminds herself that the food others bring will likely make this worth it. And alcohol. There has to be alcohol.

“Emma,” Mary Margaret greets before she can even take a step up onto their porch. Was she waiting for her? “I’m so glad you’re here. And you brought cookies. Oh, I’m sure these will be wonderful.”

“Well, you know me and my culinary skills.”

“I don’t know how you survive,” Mary Margaret sighs, taking the plate from her hands and ushering her inside to the consistent chatter and clinking of glasses as well as children running back and forth.

“Takeout and your leftovers,” she answers honestly, immediately walking to the kitchen where she knows David will at least have a beer. Sure enough, he’s standing in front of the fridge talking to some guy while the both of them have bottles in their hand. The moment he sees her, he smiles, waving and beckoning her forward until she wraps her arms around his waist and hugs him in greeting. “Hey, David. You hiding out in here?”

“Just getting something to drink. Emma, I have someone I want you to meet. This is my new partner, Killian.”

She releases David to turn and greet this guy, kind words already on the tip of her tongue, but the moment she sees him, every word she’s ever known is swallowed back. Shit. Shit. Shit. How can this possibly be happening? Is the entire world playing some kind of practical joke on her? Because there’s no way in hell the guy she had a one-night stand with a month ago could possibly be her brother’s new partner down at the station.

Just no. This isn’t happening.

“It’s lovely to meet you,” he greets, the accent exactly the same as it was a month ago even in a different, far brighter environment. “I’m Killian Jones.”

“Emma Swan,” she grits out, plastering a smile on her face knowing that David is right next to her and not wanting him to have any idea that his partner has slept with her. That would be a disaster for everyone. “It’s nice to meet you too.”

He smiles, his perfectly white teeth on full display, and she tries to ignore the flashes of their night together that are coming back. This is all one big nightmare and something that’s not going to go away as long as he’s working with David. She just hopes that he doesn’t say something stupid. She doesn’t know the man. She’s only met him once, and despite a good first impression, she’s not sure if he’s going to be a jerk about things or not.

“I like your shirt, love. I used to have one just like it.”

Heat rises to her cheeks, her entire face likely as red as a tomato, and it takes everything in her not to tell him to fuck off even if she did steal his shirt. Instead she says, “Thanks. I’m sure you can find a replacement for yours. They’re pretty common.” She turns to David then, not wanting to continue this conversation. “You got one of those for me?”

David nods before opening the fridge and handing her a beer. She takes it, twisting it open, and excuses herself claiming to go talk to Mary Margaret. Really, she’s heading away from anyone who has seen her naked and just attempting to breathe. And maybe to get something to eat. There’s got to be good food here.

It’s later that she’s sitting in the living room picking at her plate when the seat on the couch next to her is suddenly taken, the weight causing her to shift the slightest bit.

“Listen, love – ”

“I’m not your love.”

Killian clicks his tongue, and she turns to stare at him, wondering how he could protest that at all, but as she faces him, she sees Mary Margaret staring at her from the kitchen, not even trying to hide it. And that’s when she gets it. This night was going to be a set up between she and Killian, and she is not falling for that. She despises Mary Margaret’s set ups, and this one is especially not going to work.

“I am aware of this, Swan,” he drawls, bringing her attention back to him. “That’s what I was trying to say. I, well, I am perfectly aware of what our dalliance was. I’m not expecting anything else, and from what I gather, you’d like it to be kept a secret from your brother.”

Who the hell calls a one-night stand a dalliance?

“I would. I don’t exactly share my dalliances with him to begin with, but I think it’d be smart for us to keep it quiet. And to ignore the set up that Mary Margaret is obviously trying to do.”

He raises an eyebrow, his forehead crinkling with the movement. “Set up?”

“Ah, yes,” she sighs, leaning back on the couch and resting her head on the cushion, “how many times have you met Mary Margaret?”

“Three times.”

“And how long did it take you before she weaseled out that you are single? You are single, right?” He nods his head, and she sighs in relief knowing she didn’t sleep with a married man. She is not here to be doing shit like that.

“I think she asked me the first time we met if I was married or have children. She wasn’t very subtle about it.”

“Yeah, that’s Margarita for you.”

“I’m sorry, Margarita?”

“It’s a nickname. She’s been plastered once in her life, and it was because of margaritas. I thought it was a fitting nickname. Anyways, she’s in love with love. Like, she thinks weddings are the best thing on the planet, that Hallmark movies are great cinematic feats, and mostly, it’s her lifelong goal to set me up with a man who will marry me and knock me up.”

Killian grimaces, his face scrunching up so that the lines around his eyes crinkle. “That sounds…interesting.”

“Yep.” She looks around the room, checking to see if anyone is listening, but they’re all still caught up in their own conversations. “So in you walk in, likely a new transfer to the police station, and she sizes you up. She sees that you’re attractive, single, and I’m guessing a charmer if how we met is any indication. So in her head, she’s putting us together, thinking that we’d be a great match, and I can almost guarantee that she’s likely imagined what our children would look like.”“That’s bloody disturbing.”

“That’s Mary Margaret. So when tonight is over, you’re going to leave, and I’m going to be bombarded with questions by her, and David will be forced to ask you questions at work tomorrow. Just say that I’m a nice girl, but I’m not your type or something cliché. They get disappointed, but it works.”

“Well, what makes you say that we’re not going to hit if off? I think we’re doing great.”

She scoffs, the familiar heat rising to her cheeks that she’s trying to tamper down so that her face doesn’t turn red. “I don’t do relationships, and I really don’t do them with people who I slept with just to release some tension.”

Something crosses his face, a mix between amusement and disappointment, but he quickly schools his features. “If that’s what you want.” He studies her for a minute, the blue of his eyes tracing her face until they trail down to her exposed shoulder. “I could arrest you for stealing my shirt, you know?”

She clicks her tongue before leaning over and whispering in his ear. “You should probably know not to sleep with random women at bars then. You never know if they might be a thief.”

She’s sitting in the corner of the Velveteen Café with her hat pulled low over her forehead and her laptop in front of her as she watches to see who Hunter Moore is meeting, if he’s even meeting anyone. He comes here nearly every day at the same time, but it’s usually always alone. If he’s with someone, it’s a fellow doctor, and she’s almost completely sure that he’s not cheating on his wife. They definitely have some obvious communication issues, but Mr. Moore seems like a guy who goes to work, eats the same lunch every day, and then goes home to his wife. He doesn’t seem like the kind of guy who is sleeping with a nurse on the side…unless that’s exactly what he’s doing and that’s why she hasn’t seen anything. She can’t exactly sneak around the hospital looking in on call rooms. And she’s pretty sure Grey’s Anatomy overexaggerates people sleeping together in hospitals…not that it doesn’t happen. It just doesn’t happen at that frequency.

She makes a note to figure out a way to check out what’s happening in the hospital and to see if she can find a reason to roam the hallways without breaking some kind of privacy law, but for now, she thinks that she’s likely getting paid just to tell Elizabeth Moore that she needs to talk to her husband, which is so not what her job is supposed to be.

Her phone rings, Mary Margaret’s picture popping up from Leo’s fifth birthday party, and she slides her finger across the screen to quietly answer so as not to disturb anyone else in the café. “Hey, Margarita.”

“Hi, hon,” she greets, the sound of children eating in the cafeteria at her school in the background, “do you have a minute to talk?”

“I’m on a bit of a stakeout, but I can multi-task. What’s up?”

“I just wanted to talk about the party the other night. You and Killian seemed to be getting along.”

And there it is. She was wondering when this was going to happen, and honestly, Mary Margaret waiting nearly a week is some impressive resolve.

“Marg, that may have been one of your more obvious set ups. Seriously. You have absolutely no shame.”

“Oh come on, Emma. The man is beautiful and so, so kind. You guys would be so good together. Why won’t you give him a chance?”

She sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose while watching Mr. Moore order his food (alone). “He’s a nice guy, but I’m just not interested.”

“Why not?”

“You know why.”

“It’s been years since Neal. You can’t let him still affect you like this.”

“He fucking cheated on me and then tried to frame me for him stealing jewelry. If I hadn’t been with David at the time, I’d be in jail. That’s not something you just get over.”

“Emma – ”

“Just no, Mary Margaret. I love you, and I appreciate all that you do, but no more set ups. No more trying to get me to be happy when I already am.”

“I’m…I’m sorry. I was just trying to be a good friend.”

“I know, and you are. But maybe we go about it in a different way, yeah?”

Mary Margaret sighs on the other end of the phone at the same time that a bell rings. “I’ve got to go. Will we still see you at dinner at Friday night dinner?”

“Yep. Can’t break that. Emily Gilmore would have my head. Love you, Margarita.”

“Love you, too.”

Moore leaves at the same time as he always does, and because she does need to check out what he does after this, she follows him back to the hospital. He stops at the reception desk, chatting with the people who work there, before moving along and taking an elevator, the doors closing before she can get there to see where he’s going. Damn.

Sighing, she walks back toward the entrance, fully intent to come up with some kind of new game plan, when she walks right into a solid body.

“If you wanted to get close to me, all you had to do was ask.”

Is the world out to get her? It has to be. Hasn’t she had enough bad luck in life? Can’t she catch some kind of break?

“Hi, Jones,” she grits, rolling her eyes and backing up, releasing her grip on his biceps, “that was, um, an accident. I wasn’t looking where I was going.”

He reaches up to scratch behind his ear while his lips tick up on one side. “Swan, what are you doing at the hospital? Everything alright?”

“I’m working.”

“Are you a doctor?”

She scoffs, the thought of her being a doctor absolutely ridiculous. “I’m a private investigator.”

He quirks an eyebrow again, something she’s learned that he does frequently. “Interesting.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“Nothing, it’s just fitting for you.”

“Yeah, whatever,” she sighs, taking a step to the side so she can leave. “I’ve got to go.”

“See you around, Swan,” he smiles, subtly winking at her. “If only because we can’t seem to stop running into each other. Literally.”

For someone who she didn’t see for a month after they slept together, she sees Killian Jones at least once every few days ever since the party at David and Mary Margaret’s house. If part of her job wasn’t watching people’s moves and noticing subtle changes and differences, she’d think he was stalking her. But he’s not.

When she sees him at the police station while meeting David for lunch, that’s on her for going to his place of work. When he joins them for said lunch, that’s on David for inviting him. She wants to say that it’s awkward, and honestly it kind of is when he licks his lips or makes one of those creepy, sensual sounds that some people do while eating, but it’s not truly awkward. As far as she can tell, he’s not a bad guy. An incessant flirt but not a bad guy. But he’s still someone who she slept with who she has no interest in getting to know more, so she suffers through the lunch because she wants to spend time with David.

It’s a little bit weirder when she sees him at the grocery store, loading up on fruits and vegetables as well as fresh fish while she’s got processed food, frozen pizza, and the obligatory fruit she picks up to trick herself into being a healthy eater. She works out a hell of a lot so she can eat junk, but at some point she should likely tone it down. They say their hellos, casually look into the other’s cart, and then go on with their lives only to meet up on the sidewalk while walking home. She forgot that he lives a few apartment buildings down from her, and when she mentions that while they’re walking, his face flushes and he scratches behind his ear before dismissing the fact that she knows where he lives.

By the time she starts seeing him at her gym, lifting weights while she’s on mile four of her run wondering if it’s all worth it as sweat pools at the small of her back, she’s kind of accepted that he’s now a casual part of her life. They say hi, make small talk, and she tries to forget how he looks while thrusting into her as sweat coats his arms and forms at his forehead while he exercises. Yeah, so the gym is the worst place to see him. She obviously finds him attractive, wouldn’t have slept with him if she didn’t, but she’s starting to be attracted to him, which is not something that she wants.

Storybrooke is simply too damn small.

It’s pouring down rain this morning, the dips in the street filling with water while cars drive through it and splash the water up onto the sidewalk. This weather makes her absolutely miserable, and all she really wants is to cuddle up in bed and watch Netflix all day with the lights turned off. The only problem with that is that she’s starving today and doesn’t feel like cooking, so she dresses in her rain boots and coat, bundling up and driving to Granny’s, not even bothering to walk. When she walks inside, the bell ringing over the door, there’s only a few people inside, Leroy, Victor, Ashley and Sean…Killian.

She chuckles under her breath when she sees him sitting in the back booth, a cup of coffee and an omelet on his table while he reads the newspaper. She knew he was old fashioned, but she didn’t know he was thatold fashioned. She doesn’t know what possess her to walk across the small diner and slide into the seat across from him, but she does, the material of the booth squeaking when her wet jacket touches it.

“Hello, love,” Killian greets without looking up from his newspaper.

“What are you reading?”

He passes the newspaper over to her while taking a sip of his coffee, seemingly not bothered at all by her intrusion of his breakfast, and when she sees what he was reading, she’s honestly in no way shocked.

“You’re reading about soccer in the newspaper?”

“Football, Swan. It’s called football.”

“In America, football is something totally different and the players aren’t quite as hot as soccer players.”

Killian chuckles, his lips ticking up on both sides while his eyes crinkle, and she feels proud of herself for making him laugh. “I played…soccer as a child. Does this hotness thing apply to me?”

“Shut up, Jones,” she laughs, passing the newspaper back to him and flagging down Ruby with a wolf whistle knowing that’s the best way to get her attention when she’s flirting with Victor. “But seriously. Couldn’t you have just read about this on your phone or something?”

“Eh, most likely, but this paper costs a quarter, and I like to give back to a dying industry.”

“Aren’t you a philanthropist?”

“Philanthropist and hot football player. You’re flattering me this morning, Swan.”

“I did not say the hot thing.”

“I think you’re hot,” Ruby adds in when she walks up to the table, winking at Killian only for him to wink back. Something settles in her stomach. It’s heavy and unfamiliar, and she hates it. “You need some more coffee, Officer?”

“I believe Miss Swan was trying to get your attention, love.”

“I know,” Ruby sighs, looking over to her then, “I was just messing with Emma. She hates when I don’t get her food right away even when I already put in her regular order.”

“Such a saint, Rubes.”

“I know, I know. I’m going to go get your coffee now since you don’t take it black like this weirdo.”

Ruby walks away after pouring Killian’s coffee and as Emma’s about to excuse herself to sit somewhere else, the awkwardness beginning to sink in, her phone buzzes in her back pocket.

Ruby: When did you and Jones start dating?

If she had a drink, she’d spit it out.

Emma: We’re not.

Ruby: I don’t believe it.

Ruby: Do you want whipped cream on your waffles?

Emma: Obviously.

Ruby: So you are dating?

Emma: No, I just want the whipped cream.

Ruby: Okay, but don’t use it to get freaky in the bathroom.

She snorts as she looks down at her phone before putting it away and finding Killian with an amused look on his face as he stares at her. “What? Why are you staring?”

“Nothing. You just looked amused.”

“It’s just Ruby being ridiculous. You’ll learn her ways eventually.”

“So I’ve gathered since I moved here.”“Why, um,” she begins, already regretting the words. “Never mind.”

“No, love, you can ask.” He smiles, nodding his head as if to encourage her that he doesn’t mind her asking him personal questions.

“Why did you move here? Storybrooke isn’t exactly a place where a lot of detectives want to move.”

Killian shrugs, taking a sip of his coffee even as steam moves above it. How is he not burning his tongue? “I, um, well, I’d been living in Boston the past few years, working there, but I needed a change of pace.”

“Bad breakup?”

“You could say that.”

That’s not an answer, but it’s really none of her business. He’s sharing more than she ever expected him to. “Well, I’m sorry. Breakups are hell, even if they’re amicable.”

“Aye.”

Ruby brings her food and coffee to her then, the whipped cream piled extra high on the waffles, and she has to stifle her laugh when she sees that. She and Killian chat a bit more as she eats and he finishes his food, and by the end of her meal, she realizes how normal that was, how normal a lot of their interactions have been. It shouldn’t be like this. If she were to run into any of her other one-night stands, she’d literally run in the other direction. But she’s forming what has to be a friendship with him, and she’s not sure that she likes that.

“Okay, so explain to me why we’re meeting at your house at four in the morning.”

“Because Killian mentioned to David that he was going to wake up early to watch a soccer game, and David invited him to watch at our house and make it this whole thing to make him feel at home. He’s apparently been through some things in the past few years.”

She wants to ask what things, to question it more, but it doesn’t feel right asking about his past behind his back. She’d be pissed if someone did that to her, so she leaves it be, pushing the curiosity about how bad exactly his breakup was for David and Mary Margaret to be trying to get her to watch a soccer game before the sun has even risen. “And why am I coming to this, Margarita?”

“Because,” she sighs on the other end, “hey, no Leo. Don’t get something to eat. Dinner is in a few minutes. Because he doesn’t have a lot of friends, and you guys are kind of friends. Also we’re going to cook a big breakfast.”

“Well, now you’re speaking my language.”

Her alarm goes off at half past three the next morning, and instead of getting dressed, she brushes her teeth and braids her hair before driving to David and Mary Margaret’s house. She should have walked, but she doesn’t think her legs are capable of that it this moment. Of course, driving probably wasn’t the best option, but she’s here and didn’t hit anyone.

“I hate you,” she mumbles to Mary Margaret as soon as she walks in, immediately making her way into the living room and flopping down on the couch next to Killian who looks wide away as he turns on the television. “I hate you too.”

“Good morning to you too, Swan,” he greets, his voice tired but cheery. “What’s got you in such a good mood this morning?”

“It’s still dark outside, and I’m up to watch soccer. I don’t even do that on my own time when it’s the middle of the afternoon.”

“It’ll be worth it. I promise.”

The match starts, but with the way that the lights in the room are all turned off, all she can really do is drift off to sleep as the whistle blows. When she wakes, there’s a warm body and moving chest underneath her cheek while a hand plays with the hair at the end of her braid. The green of the field comes back into vision first, the game still going on, and then everything else comes back to her.

Please be David she’s leaning on. Please be David.

“Get in a good nap there, Swan?”

It’s not David. Shit.

“What time is it?”

“Just past five, love. You fell asleep before the match started.”

“Ah hell,” she sighs when she finally sits up, the loss of warmth immediate, “so I literally came over here for nothing.”

“Well, we had a nice cuddle, so I wouldn’t say that.”

She chokes on her own saliva, having to cough it up. She can’t believe he just said that…that he was so open to admitting that. She is not like that. She avoids and denies. She does not just state the obvious that she fell asleep on him.

Killian pats her back, trying to help her, but she’s pretty sure that he makes it worse. God, this is not at all how this morning was supposed to go. She was supposed to watch a sport she doesn’t care about and eat food, and all she’s done is accidentally fall asleep and drool on Killian’s shirt before choking.

“Did you really just say that?”

He shrugs. “It’s what happened.”

“No, I fell asleep and happened to lean to the left when I could have leaned to the right. It was an accident.” She finally looks around the room then, noticing that the other seats are empty. “Where are David and Mary Margaret?”

“They went upstairs and went back to bed.”

…no. Hell no. This is not happening. She cannot believe them. “Fuck. Are you serious?”

“Yeah, about thirty minutes ago they went back upstairs. Said they’d come back down for breakfast around six or seven with Leo.”

She gets up from the couch, shedding the blanket Killian must have covered her with before she begins pacing the room, trying to calm her heartrate even as the pacing makes it speed up. “This was another set up. And it wasn’t even subtle. A soccer game at four in the morning? Claiming that you needed some friends to watch with because you’re missing home? That’s so obvious, and I didn’t even see it. And then they go to bed when they’re supposed to be spending time here with you. What a load of crap.”

“Swan, I don’t think that’s what’s happening here.”

“Of course it is! I bet you didn’t even mention that there was a game. Stupid, stupid, stupid.”

“Love, calm down,” Killian encourages, stepping over to her and placing his hands on her shoulders so that she looks up at him. “I did mention the match, and I have been having a hard time missing home. Last week was the anniversary of my brother’s death, and they saw that I needed some company. And I told them to go back to bed when they were yawning every two seconds. I promise this wasn’t a set up. I wouldn’t let them do that to you or to me. I’m not interested in being set up.”

Wait. What? His brother? He has a brother. Or really, he had a brother. Oh. Shit.

“Oh…I, um, I feel like an idiot. I didn’t know…about any of that, about your brother.”

“Tis not your fault. It’s not something I like to talk about.”

An awkward silence settles between the two of them, his hands still on her shoulders and her toes resting against his. If she pressed up on her toes, she could kiss him, and the thought shakes her. She’s kissed him before. He’s a damn good kisser, and she’s tempted to do it again. But now isn’t the time for something like that. He just told her about his dead brother, so instead of pressing up on her toes, she wraps her arms around his stomach and hugs him, holds him really. It takes a moment for him to hug her back, the hesitance obviously there, but he eventually does, pulling her body closer to him and feeling the heat of it.

“Thank you, Emma.”

It’s the first time he’s called her Emma, and she doesn’t know why that’s something she notices, but she does. And she feels some kind of monumental shift in…everything.

Instead of going back and watching the game, she and Killian head into the Nolans’ kitchen. Killian’s apparently a big cook, so he directs her in slicing apples and mixing flour all to make a breakfast casserole with bread, apples, cheese, and bacon. It sounds kind of gross, but he promises that it’ll be good. She doesn’t know when she started trusting him, but she does, in his breakfast food prowess and in life.

She doesn’t ask, but he tells her all about Liam and how he was a brother, father, and best friend all rolled up into one after their father abandoned them and their mom died of cancer. It breaks her heart at the same time that she’s breaking an egg, but it also reassures her that Killian understands what it’s like to be left alone. Except she found a family in David and Ruth and eventually Mary Margaret, and he lost his.

Liam was his Captain in the Royal Navy, literally and figuratively, and when he died ten years ago, so did Killian’s passion and love for the service and the sea. How he tells the story without breaking all while cooking is something she doesn’t understand, but maybe he’s stronger than her. Or maybe he’s learned to be alone and how to deal with his grief.

Mostly, she thinks he’s just being brave.

“So how did you end up here, though? I know you said a breakup, but that sounds like an awfully bad breakup for you to have to leave Boston. That’s a huge ass city.”

He pops the casserole in the oven before washing his hands, seemingly avoiding her question, but then he sits on the barstool and looks at her with the clearest blue eyes she’s ever seen. “I was dating a married woman, Milah. I bloody loved her even when I found out she was married, and I was going to stay with her. I was in too deep when I found everything out, and I think I was too weak to walk away.”

“What changed?”

“She decided to go back to her husband, or really to commit solely to her husband. And, God, love, I can’t blame her. She was never supposed to be with me, but she broke my heart regardless.”

She doesn’t know what to say, how to respond to that. She’s learned so much about Killian Jones in the past hour, and she’s the wrong person for him to be trusting with his heart. She doesn’t even trust herself with her own.

“I know you probably think I’m a fuck up,” he continues, his voice the most broken she’s heard it.

“Hey,” she soothes, reaching over the counter and placing her hands over his knuckles, “I don’t think that at all. We’ve all got fucked up pasts.”

“Yeah?”

“I could fill a book with mine. One day, I might even share them with you.”

“Does this mean you’re planning on speaking to me again after today?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

He smiles, and it’s beautiful. “Perhaps I would.”

Killian: Did you know you’re twice as likely to be killed by a vending machine than a shark?

Emma: There’s no way that’s true.

Killian: It is. There’s scientific proof.

Killian: I have a university degree, love.

Emma: Yeah, well, so does Leroy, and I don’t trust him.

Killian: I am not Leroy.

Emma: True, but he’s more of a charmer than you.

Killian: …

Killian: I think you owe me an apology for that.

Killian: I am much more charming.

Emma: Did you know that statistically speaking Leroy Coleman is more likely to be more charming than Killian Jones?

The three little dots indicating he’s typing don’t pop up immediately like they have been for the past hour, and she stares at her phone a little too long to wait for them to appear. This has been happening far too often lately, not the waiting for him to text back…just the texting in general. It’s every day, all day, even with the sporadic gaps between them when they’re working. If she thinks about it, she can piece together all of the little moments where she and Killian became friends, but she knows that the biggest part of it was that day at David and Mary Margaret’s. it’s been weeks since then, summer completely fading into fall as October began and pumpkins were placed at every door step while colorful leaves cover the ground.

What she can’t pinpoint is the moment she developed real feelings past attraction for him. They’ve probably always been there, simmering beneath the surface waiting to boil over ever since that first night, but she hasn’t let them. But now it’s not just the fact that she knows how he kisses and how he…maneuvers himself in the bedroom. It’s also that she knows who he is as a person. He’s kind and smart and funny, and he has the ability to turn any conversation into a dirty joke. Seriously. Last week there was one when they were talking about cherries on the top of a milkshake and…never mind. She can’t even think it without turning as red as, well, a cherry.

So she likes him. She likes him even though she told herself she shouldn’t, and she likes him even though she knows it’ll give Mary Margaret some kind of sick satisfaction that her set up worked, even if Emma technically met Killian all on her own.

Killian: What size t-shirt do you wear?

Emma: I feel like this is some kind of weird, creeper question.

Killian: Obviously, yes.

Emma: I wear a small for fitted t-shirts, but I usually go a size or two up for others.

Emma: Why?

Killian: That’s my secret to keep.

“Weirdo,” she laughs to herself, shoving her phone in her back pocket and going back to working on her new case since she finally finished the Moore case. He wasn’t even cheating, and it took months to figure out. Go figure.

“Happy Birthday,” Ruby screams the moment she walks into the Rabbit Hole, holding her arms out and smothering Emma in a hug that takes her breath away. “You need shots.”

“I am not getting drunk tonight, Rubes,” she tells her as she pushes her away so that she has her personal space.

“What the hell is the point of going out to a bar for a birthday if you’re not going to get drunk?”

“To celebrate me and the fact that I’ve made it twenty-eight years without dying?”

“Such an accomplishment.”

Ruby hooks her arm around her shoulders, dragging her over to where the rest of her friends are waiting…except for Killian. He’s supposed to be here. He said he would be here, and she doesn’t see him anywhere.

What the hell?

David, Mary Margaret, Victor, and Ruby keep her entertained, buying her a beer or two and not anything like vodka, and as much as she tries to not be disappointed and think about Killian, not showing up, she can’t. He is supposed to be here. He isn’t supposed to leave. So where is he?

“Swan,” a familiar voice yells, and she finds its owner when she looks over to the entrance. He’s standing there in black jeans and an unbuttoned plaid shirt with a white t-shirt underneath it, his hair windswept and honestly a bit crazy, but she doesn’t care. All she cares about is that he showed up…and a little bit about why he was late.

She starts moving at the same time that he does, his feet carrying her faster than hers, and when they reach each other, it’s like a bit of a cheesy rom com moment until he knocks his forehead into hers while going in for a hug and the both of them recoil in pain.

“Shit.”

“Fuck.”

“I, uh,” he holds out a wrapped present, “happy birthday, love.”

She takes the package out of his hands, feeling the light weight of it, before looking up at him and slapping his chest. “Where the hell were you?”

“Ah,” Killian sighs, scratching behind his ear and ticking his lips up on one side, “it’s your present. I meant to get it last week, but for some reason it was bloody hard to find in Storybrooke. And I got distracted and busy at work, and I had to drive to the Target outside of town tonight to get it. But then I got a flat tire, and it’s just been…it’s been a disaster. But I’m here now.”

“This is true. It kind of sounds like you had some shit luck there.”

Killian leans forward and presses a kiss against her cheek, his lips warm and whiskers rough, and she sighs into it. “I’m kind of hoping that it’s going to get better.”

She is too.

Emma keeps to her words of not getting drunk, only drinking too beers and taking one shot of tequila to appease Ruby, but even with the alcohol and slight buzz, she’s every bit as coherent as she normally is. And that’s exactly why she notices and isn’t bothered by the fact that the only one of her friends remaining is Killian, everyone else slipping out the door and going home some time ago.

“I should probably go home soon, Jones.”

“Aye. Can I walk you home?”

“Such a gentlemanly offer.”

“Well, I am always a gentleman.”

They walk out of the Rabbit Hole, her present from Killian still unwrapped and in her hand, before ambling out onto the streets of Storybooke and back to her apartment. Like everywhere in this town, nothing is out of walking distance, so it only takes a few minutes before they’re standing at the front door that leads into her building.

“You can open that, you know,” Killian suggests as he nods down to the box in her hand. “I was kind of hoping you would.”

“Yeah?”“Absolutely.”

She carefully undoes the paper then, noticing how meticulously he’s wrapped the package, before sliding the box out and undoing the tab. She laughs when she sees the soft gray t-shirt, inside, pulling it up and holding it out. This is why he asked her the size of her shirt. How could she be so stupid so as not to think about it?

“You know, I like that shirt, darling. I used to have one just like it, but it seems to have disappeared.”

She hums, closing her eyes and contemplating her next words. When she says them, she means them and all of their implications, the buildup of the last few months finally reaching its peak. “I have one upstairs if you’d like to borrow it.”

Killian’s eyebrows practically disappear into his hairline, and he takes a step closer to her, the scent of his cologne mixed with beer invading her nostrils. “I think I’d like that.”

The walk upstairs is full of anticipation, the air between them incredibly thick despite the amount of space that’s separating them. Killian is keeping his distance, staying a few stairs behind her, but when they get to her door, he cages her in, pushing her into the wood and grabbing her hips while he presses gentle, hesitant kisses up and down her neck that make her head dizzy.

“You are a bloody marvel.”

The words she wants to say are caught in her throat as he nibbles on her earlobe, soothing every bite with his tongue, so instead of talking she turns in his arms and captures his lips with hers. It’s exactly the same as the first time, his body and lips warm as they press into her and his hair just as soft while her fingers sink into the locks, holding him as close as possible. But this isn’t Jones, her one night stand who she’s about to use as a way to scratch an itch. This is Killian, a friend, a confidant, and maybe something a little more that doesn’t quite sound like the Golden Girls theme song.

“Emma,” he breathes, his voice husky and deep, “is this going to be a one-time thing again? Because…because I can’t. I can’t be nothing to you.”“I know. And it’s not. You’re not.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” she sighs, letting this moment sink in, “it’s just…I’m not sure if I’m ready for everything yet. I think maybe we should take it bit by bit. Naturally. I’m not good with trying to live up to expectations.”

“I’m not either.”

He kisses her again, soft and sweet and full of all of the affection that she’s been feeling for him lately. He makes her head dizzy with the way his tongue traces her bottom lip, her spine tingling with the sensations, and when he licks into her mouth, she’s glad for the door supporting her back.

“Do you want to…do you want to go inside?”

“Aye,” he growls against her jaw, “I was promised a t-shirt.”

Everything is different than the first time they were together. Things are slower, softer, but they’re somehow more passionate. Yeah, things are a bit awkward, bodies hitting hard surfaces and knees and elbows stabbing soft body parts while trying to maneuver into good positions, but once they’re situated, Killian slides into her in one slow motion, and she feels absolutely everything. As he moves above her, making sure that his lips never leave her lips, her skin, her hair, she gets lost in the moment, forgetting everything that’s led to them being here and just being glad that they are here.

After, they’re wrapped under the covers of her bed, her feet tucked between his calves while his hands roam across her skin, somehow always finding their way back to her hair and twisting with the strands. He’s so gentle and kind, things she never would have thought in the beginning, and she’s really glad that the town of Storybrooke somehow had a way of pushing them back together.

“So,” she sighs, scooting a little closer to him in the bed and wrapping her arms around his neck, “what do we do from here?”

“Well,” Killian begins, leaning forward and brushing his lips over her bare shoulder, “I think we do that a hell of a lot more.”

“Obviously yes.”

“But I also think that you let me take you out on a date or fifty.”

“Fifty? You’re shooting high there.”

He chuckles against her skin before kissing her, the softest of pecks that she barely feels. “Well, we start with one. I let you see how absolutely charming I am, and then we work our way into having fifty first dates.”

“Are you referencing the Adam Sandler rom com?”

“Absolutely. Don’t you know that Mr. Sandler is the peak romantic comedy lead?”

She barks out a laugh, something that she feels in her chest and the rest of her body, and she honestly just feels light, happy even. “I thought that was Tom Hanks.”

“Well, darling,” Killian purrs, pushing her over and crawling over her body so that he’s caging her in, “I’ll have you know that Hanks and Sandler have nothing on me.”

They don’t. Killian Jones far outdoes Hanks and Sandler and any other romantic comedy lead (take that Gosling) when it comes to romancing her. It’s not always easy, and she’s definitely not easy to love, but Killian doesn’t seem to care. He takes her on the first date, and if she’s honest with herself, that date never really ends. It goes on forever, and she likes it that way.

She likes them together. Okay, she loves them together after a couple of months, and at the end of every day, she comes home to an apartment that’s full of their things together with two gray v-neck t-shirts hanging in the closet.

And Mary Margaret absolutely does not get the credit for setting them up.

[seouledbysisi]

Moonlit

Chapter 3

Sapphire peeped her eyes open a bit as the sun nearly blinded her. She groaned. She hadn't even set an alarm and her body still insisted on waking up at 9am. She had a major headache as if she was fighting a hellbent hangover, which was strange because she hardly ever drank alcohol and when she did she knew her limits. What the hell happened last night? She thought to herself as she struggled out of bed. She immediately went to the curtains and snatched them together. She held her head as a sharp pain struck her. Seriously, how much did I drink? She honestly couldn't remember drinking that much. She hurried across the hall to Riley's room. She knocked lightly a couple of times just in case she was feeling just as shitty as she was.

Riley sighed. “What, Saph?”

Sapphire knew then that they both were suffering the consequences of last night. She opened the door and entered. She curled up next to Riley under the covers. “How drunk did I get?”

Riley snickered. “You want the truth?”

Sapphire sighed loudly. “Sure.”

“Mr. Loopy and his friends kept ordering bottles of that good wine, you know that top the line stuff, and you were throwing those glasses back honey.”

Sapphire covered her face. “I never drink like that? Why the hell did I do that?”

Riley burst into laughter but immediately regretted it when her headache became worse. “I'm joking, you had like three glasses but you know you're a lightweight anyways.”

“Oh thank goodness. Three glasses normally doesn't make me feel like this though. That must've been some powerful wine!”

Riley nodded as she stood up. “Yeah it was. I'm feeling it in all the wrong ways right now.” She grabbed a bottle of Advil and popped two of the pills in her mouth. “Here, take this. You'll feel much better.”

Sapphire closed her eyes for a moment attempting to steady herself when she stood up. “I need caffeine. Have you tried that cafe down the street, yet?”

Riley shook her head. “Everywhere I go we're together so how would I have tried it without you?”

“You're right, I'm out of it today. Want something back?”

Riley thought for a moment. “If they have any fruity pastries bring some back. I'll cook some eggs and bacon while you're gone.”

Sapphire nodded and left the room to get dressed. “No coffee?” Sapphire asked as she popped her head back into Riley's room.

“A mocha latte if they have it.”

Riley washed herself up and brushed her teeth and headed to the kitchen. A few minutes later she began to beat the eggs. Her phone began to ring. It was Minho attempting to facetime her.

She answered. “What's up?” She propped her phone up on the counter so she could continue cooking.

“Are you cooking?” He asked with a huge grin.

“What does it look like?” She rolled her eyes and continued beating the eggs.

He chuckled a bit. “Looks like no one invited me, that hurts!”

“This was just kind of spur of the moment, don't take it to heart.”

“It's cool, I just called to tell you and Sapphire that I may have some artists lined up for Saturday night of your grand opening. Where is she by the way?”

Riley smiled a bit. “Getting coffee. Who might you have?”

“Have you ever heard of Jay Park?”

Riley's eyes bulged. “Who hasn't?!”

“Okay, well HE might not actually be there but some rappers from his company agreed to have a meeting with you and Sapphire to get more information on it.”

Riley cracked her neck. “For a second I thought you had super powers and had gotten Jay Park himself to sign on to this project, however if they're affiliated with him I know they're going to be dope as well.”

“Don't lose hope just yet, he might make a special appearance. You never know.” He smiled. Suddenly a little girl ran into the room. “Daddy, whose that?”

“Jihyo, go play in your room. I'll be there shortly!” He said and kissed the little girl on her forehead.

Riley was stunned by the interaction. “You really do keep your private life very private. Who would've known you had a wife and a kid.” She giggled a bit.

“Who ever said I had a wife?”

Riley was taken aback. “i just assumed that since you have a secret kid that there must be a secret wife somewhere too.”

“My daughter isn't a secret I just don't mix business with the personal happenings in my life; but if you must know, I'm a single father. Her mom and I simply co-parent.”

“Sorry, I didn't mean to get too involved.”

Minho sighed and looked back towards the door where his daughter had ran through just minutes before. “We have shared custody which is why she's not with me very often when I'm with you all. I work a lot so I get her every other week.”

“You don't have to explain, the look on her face when she saw you explained that she loves you dearly and that you're doing a pretty good job as a father.”

“Just pretty good? Man, I need to step it up then.” He laughed.

“Definitely. Now set up that meeting and let us know. Our schedule is open all week.”

A light bulb went off in his head. “I was thinking maybe we could give them a run through of the club so they can see the set up as well. That might make them even more eager to do it.”

“True, and the right money standard.” Riley added with a subtle laugh.

“Money's not an issue. Anything we pay them we're going to double back that night, just watch.”

“Well get to it Mr. Baller. Talk to you soon.” She said and ended the call.

The lady at the front counter smiled as Sapphire made her way into the cafe. “How may I help you?”

She thanked the heavens above that the girl seemed to speak some English. Sapphire eyed the menu for a while as she lifted her shades from her eyes and pushed them on top of her head. “Can I get two raspberry donuts, a mocha latte, and a caramel blended cappuccino?”

“Yes, what size for the drinks?” She asked as she keyed the order into her computer.

Saph thought for a moment. Normally she would've said a small but the way she was feeling, she was going to need more caffeine than that. “Large for both please.”

The girl gave her the total.

She ravaged through her purse for her wallet which clearly wasn't in there. She must’ve never put it back into her purse when she got back from the club last night. She groaned and covered her face out of pure embarrassment. “I'm so sorry, I must've left my wallet at home. I live right down the street, I'll be right back.” She turned to walk away.

“Hey, I got it.” A guy said as he pulled money from his wallet.

Sapphire shook her head. “No, you don't have to do that, sir. I can’t let you pay. I literally live not even five minutes away.”

The guy chuckled under his breath. “Let me pay for your food. It's not a problem, okay?”

Sapphire caught her breath for a moment. “Thank you so much. This has been a hectic morning for me.” A tear escaped her eye. “I don't even know why I'm crying. Buying coffee shouldn't be this stressful, right?” She giggled a bit.

“It's cool, it's cool. Don't worry. Everyone has bad days, it gets better.” He said in his thick accent as he rubbed her arm a bit. She could tell that he wasn't very fluent in English but he knew enough.

Sapphire nodded and wiped her face. “Thank you again. What- I probably shouldn't even ask this but what's your name? If you don't mind me asking of course.”

He paused for a moment. “My name?”

“Yeah, what do people call you?” She all of a sudden had the giggles for some reason.

“It doesn't matter but you can call me Woojae.” He handed her the drinks and the brow paper bag with the pastries.

She smiled at him. He was eye to eye with her. “Maybe fate will allow me to repay the favor someday, Woojae.”

He nodded at her as she walked away. “Wait- what’s your name?”

She raised an eyebrow. “Phire.”

He gave her a look as if she had told him that her name was elephant. “Like flames?” He motioned with his hands.

She laughed. “Sure, we'll go with that.” She quickly disappeared through the door and headed to her vehicle.

[forgivemeimmafloof]

Hi Mun and boys! Names Chris! So I’m 7 months preggers, stuck on bed rest and I stumble upon your absolutely amazing blog. I’m obsessed and pretty much creeped your whole page! Your art is absolutely amazing! Can I ask for something like how would the boys deal with a very pregnant momma stuck on bed rest? You can choice whoever! And take your time, I know how life can be 💕

Sorry for the very late reply my friend, I don’t even know if you're still pregnant, but I hope you’re feeling well and I hope your baby is too!

But let's begin with your ask (I decided to go with UT, US, UF and HT bros :D)

Sans: Sans has had absolutely no understanding of human anatomy. Sure he knows blood is normally a bad thing, sneezing is not a sign of dying so he shouldn’t worry, and that the reason we have to wash our clothes so much is that of dead skin (Which he finds really disturbing) But how monsters have kids is very very different than humans. Being the more curious of the skeletons and a protective one to be sure, Sansy will probably be lingering at your bedside. He’ll ask questions, and get so caught up in your answers that if you ask him to do some task he’s often ‘too lazy’ to do, he’ll do it without thinking. Of course, being that he’s caught on every single word you say; expect him to trip or tumble or spill water on himself due to his focus on your answers. And forgive him, but he doesn’t know how often humans ask mothers to touch their stomach, he’s definitely going to ask… More than once.

Papyrus: Who are you kidding? Telling Papyrus has spurred some level of motherly instinct in him that you had seen a few times but never to this degree. He’s in and out, checking your temperature (with a steak thermometer… He has no idea how to take care of humans), asking if you’re alright. He’s brought in puzzles and snacks, spoiling you with all of your favorites, pickles and ice cream and anything you might crave. He’s literally been running to the store and buying gallons of your favored snacks - taking pretty much all your fridge and cabinet space. You’ve been spoiled often, but it's very surprising to find him absolutely throwing his and your exercise regimes out the window in order to keep you and your baby happy and comfortable. Don’t be surprised to see him lugging in some of his old toys from when he was a kid, though he refuses to hand over all his action figures, he’ll sacrifice a few and some of his fluffy bunny books if it means he can give something to your kid.

Uf Sans/Chops: Chops isn’t one to hang around up close and personal, despite he’d probably be worried and protective like the other Sanses. He’ll probably be in and out, accompanying his brother when he visits, or simply walking past your open door to check on you with the hopes you don’t notice him. When the boys have work or sleep, he’s the one who’s probably posted outside your door like some personal guard. He won’t tell you that he’s there, or that if you need anything all you have to do is call… Instead its more likely that you’ll find yourself stepping out of your bedroom only to incur his wrath. “back in bed! you shouldn’t be running around dumbass!” he’s not one for kind words when it comes down to it. He’ll usher you back into your room, growling and scolding you to the point you might be too distracted to notice him tucking you into bed and refilling your water. When he leaves, which will be after he gruffly says “Don’t be stupid and just fucking call me if ya need somethin’” … It’ll be when you say that you had gotten up to go to the bathroom, and the red that washes over his face followed by the slurring curses of anger will probably make you laugh more than Sans’s stupid puns will.

UF Papyrus and HT papyrus/Vic and Sugar: The minute you say that there's a bun in the oven, the two creative skeletons are always thinking it. It's no secret one is a fashionista, and the others a seemster. The collaboration takes a couple of days, and during the time they aren’t designing and putting together their gift for you and the baby they are bringing food to your bedside. Vic brings every sort of dish you can imagine, all tasting like they are straight from Paris, the palace of food. On the other hand Sugar… Well, He tries his best. His sugar cookies turn out right, and a few of his other deserts end up being favorites of yours. Unfortunately, he really needs to work on not getting things mixed up in the kitchen, even if a few of the desserts he makes end up satisfying one of the odd pregnancy cravings. When the two end up finishing their projects, you wake one morning to find your bedroom filled with sweets and snacks made or bought by the two, along with baby clothes of every color and design. You can tell who worked on what designs, clearly shown by the patches on one onesie and the edgy holes in the other.

US! Papyrus/Mac: Mac is going to be like snasy in that he doesn’t leave your bedside. After all, your his friend and no way does he leave his friends by themselves where they could get bored or hurt by their lonesome. He’s probably the easiest to get along with. He’s not necessarily fawning or fussing over you, holding in his curiosity because you probably are getting questioned by your monster friends at all angles. Instead, he’s the one who is laying beside you on your bed, his arms behind his head and his legs outstretched. He’s willing to help out here and there, but only if you ask for it; Yeah, your pregnant but it must be tiring to be treated like glass all the time! But even if you aren’t asking for it, he’s still lingering around making sure you’re not falling or struggling. While the others panic, no doubt he’ll be cool and collected, telling everyone to chill out and help you relax during the stress. Out of pretty much everyone he’ll also be the most understanding of your mood swings when they come and go. Though he doesn’t have too much experience with pregnant women, he’s spent plenty of time around Vic… So he can handle the switch between happiness and anger.

US Sans/Jukes: Jukes is unusually quiet when he first gets told your pregnant, most of the skeletons seem to get a loose understanding of what it means to be pregnant, but with jukes? He’s swimming with open water on this one. So you settle down and explain it, and he’s still a little quiet. That is till he gets his hand on a computer and swiftly discovers WebMD. Then, well, you thought Papyrus was motherly - you really didn’t expect a full-blown overprotective worry filled mom from Jukes. He’s hovering, a total puppy guard. The only thing is… Rather than feeding you snacks that you would well want, he’s instead a health mom. Every meal he prepares is made with the knowledge it’ll help get your protein up, that it’ll ensure the safety and health of your baby. He removes all alcohol from the apartment, burns his brothers cigarettes a block away from your house in order to save you from the risk. He buys books and movies about pregnancy, unfortunately picking up some mislabeled parenting movies and incidentally watching a horror movie called “It's Alive”. The weeks following Jukes baby proofs your house… you decide not to question why he’s wearing Undyne’s armor and keeps assuring you that your set is being made as you speak.

Ht!sans/Jaws: The aloof and skeleton may seem like he wouldn’t, but upon you telling him you’re preggers the skeleton becomes your at-home-physician. With his knowledge of the human body, he pretty much takes up the job of actually helping you. Sure Jukes and Papyrus think their helping, but let's face it: One is going off of internet articles and a scary movie for parental guidance and the other is spoiling you to bits. Jaws steps in and actually helps out in the areas you so need it! Good rubs for your sore soles, heat pads and a good back massages… Can’t really help with hair maintenance because of those cursed fingers of his, but he’s more than willing to help out when it comes to anything else. Oh, but don’t think just because he’s being a total sweetheart with the taking care of you that he’s going to neglect that you still have to get exercise. Even if he doesn’t want to do it, he’ll walk alongside you to show that if his lazy pelvis can do it, then so can you. When it comes to the end of the day, he knows a little more about pregnancy than everyone else… But he’s just as curious as the other Sanses, and definitely wants to know what it feels like when a baby kicks… But unlike Sansy, he’ll never get up the nerve to ask.

(okay so I’m wicked tired, I got uh…. Caught up in some uh stuff, and basically, the art I had planned to be tied with this won’t be up till tomorrow. So, for now, have this, tomorrow, I’ll have the drawings all done :D)

[bighandslittlefeet]

Hello Everyone!

So we left Sydney in Val the Van and have been on the road for six days now! It's been marvellous. We’re not sad to see the back of Sydney, serving coffees and running escape rooms can only hold your interest for so long, and I think we packed in all of the good touristy stuff in the first two weeks, so by the end of two months we were definitely hankering for something new! We’re sad to say goodbye to our friends and new work colleagues of course, but the open road beckoned, and on Sunday we set off in a freshly packed Val. We made a short stop for coffee at Four Brothers for Espresso and had a cheeky egg and bacon sarnie and then began the journey properly.

We headed south to go north, hitting up Jervis bay as we had been told by numerous folk that it was truly unmissable. It took us a good five hours to get down, owing to bad traffic on the main highway, it looked to us in passing that a lorry driver had had a serious near miss and was on the side of the road shedding tears to a police officer, meanwhile, we were all diverted down into the valley and onto the b roads. A lot of traffic wound its way through two very picturesque, but very small, seaside towns. Eventually though we made our way out of Sydney and further and further south.

Jervis bay is a nature reserve park with stunning beaches known for their high silica content which keeps them cool and makes them brilliantly white to look at. As we arrived at the park boundary we decided to buy a two day pass, after talking with a really nice park keeper who was sure that the campsites inside the park were a rip off and we’d do much better commuting in and out. So we drove in, the road becoming less and less sealed, further and further, the bush growing more and more tangled and dense. We came to the end of the road. The far end of the peninsula. The furthest beach. We did the obligatory suncreaming and made for the nearest beach. The view was stunning. A sweeping bay with white sands as far as could be seen interspersed with pockets of green and rocky outcroppings encroaching on the shore. We soon realised that this particular edge had quite a lot of rocks and weeds in the amazingly clear water and made our way back to Val, and proceeded to the other side of the headland. This beach, similar in beauty, was replete with a smattering of folks, swimming, eating, sunbathing, and so we felt more comfortable getting out togs off and jumping in. Val came with a full face mask snorkelling kit and two other normal snorkel masks and mouthpieces, so we took the opportunity, as recommended gain by friends, to do a bit of snorkelling. It was chilly water, but gloriously clear. We could see small silvery fish about a handspan in length, and a few jellies here and there. The sand quickly dropped away into the bay and we stuck to the shallows. Later, reading a pamphlet on the beach we would find that we were meant to always face the sea, as sharks were regular guests of the bays! Luckily we were spared any sightings that day!

After a short nap on the sand and a dry off in the early afternoon sunshine we made our way back out of the park. We drove to Hyams beach, another stunner, but the sun was beginning to get low on the horizon and we were starting to get peckish. We made our way to a shop to pick up foodie stuff, the plan was to make a bit of a mexican feast, poached chicken, smoky pepper mole, quac, salsa, blackened corn, and warmed mini tacos. We then made our way over to another site we had identified at bream beach. We couldn’t have done any better, well priced, on the edge of a lake and the people who greeted us were so super friendly. And the kangaroos. They lived on the site. 15 of them, just out of season, so there were some very small young ones! Very cute and very friendly. We watched the sunset with a glass of wine and had leftovers as it was too late to cook.

The next day we headed back into the park. We headed to steamer’s bay, a secluded beach a bit of a hike from the nearest parking spot. It was recommended no swimming, and as we crested the hill we could see why, the beach ran long and shallow and must have had quite a significant drop off as the swell was immense, waves taller than our heads relentlessly crashed onto the beach. We descended the steep staircase into the bay and walked the beaches length and breadth before turning back to the staircase and the walk back to Val. That night we made the feast and ate very well indeed. The next morning we set our sights on hunter valley, a location renowned for its wine and more importantly north of Sydney. We set off and broke the journey for a coffee and a bite in Wollongong, a small seaside town just south of Sydney. A lovely cafe playing Paolo Nutini, served great coffee and a bacon and egg roll - scrambled this time, not fried, and with a nice tomato relish. The BNE as they are called here, seems to the staple of cafes rather than the BLT, as in the UK. I think it is rather excellent. The time in Wollongong was rounded off with a walk up to a lighthouse and along the coast for a little stretch before once again we headed back towards Val. Some of you may know that Becca and I have a collaborative Google map on which we have been bookmarking places to see and go on this trip and we actually had one marked for this town. As we walked back through town to the car park, we passed Chicko’s a fried chicken hut - we couldn’t remember for the life of us why we had tagged it but it looked like it was doing roaring trade. We would have had some had it not been for the lovely food we had just had! And also, fried chicken mid morning seemed a little odd!

Back on the road we blasted the tunes until we climbed the foothills, into the mountains, and finally the valley. An uncanny sense of deja vu took over as it seemed we were transported into the South of France, vineyards and gateways with no fences, lined the route sporadically. Until we hit the towns which were a strange american cultural mix, I could have been in France, although driving on the wrong side of the road! We pulled into the campsite we had booked and set up camp, the temperature was cooler here, and so we shrugged on some jackets and walked across the way to a brewery. We got a tasting platter of local brewed beers, reasoning that tomorrow we could do the wines. We sat and chatted as the sun gto lower and lower in the sky and decided to have a bite to eat at the brewery. A very satisfactory fish and chips and chicken parmo later, and we were contentedly strolling back to camp for a deep sleep.

The next day we did our first campsite wash. The temperature was up so the clothes hung in the sun and were dry in no time. We were soon picked up by our tour which we had booked in Sydney a few weeks ago as a sort of early Christmas treat to ourselves. When in Rome… The tour had been recommended by a friend and was run by a winery/restaurant known as Two Fat Blokes. Julie, our van driver came picked us up at the gates of our site and warned us that today we would be drinking around a bottle and a half of wine each and so had plenty of water on hand - we rubbed our hands with glee. The other couples on the bus were Swiss and American and we picked up a trio of Irish women before making our first wine stop at Leogate. The nine of us sat at a long table outside under a shaded canopy and we were served a flight of 10 or so wines of varying styles and ages. They were all young and fruity and really quite nice. My old world sensibilities have definitely been eroded by this experience. We barreled back into the van, after a few obligatory photos of the vines with the mountains in the background, and began the drive to the next cellar door. Conversation was much more lubricated, thanks I am sure in no small part to the copious quantities of wine just imbibed on near empty stomachs, and we began to chat with the Americans, who turned out to be an Australian and an American who had been dating long distance and were here during their week together. I was asked who my team was, which I had no reply to, until Becca told me he was enquiring about football - at which point I was at even more of a loss. Grasping at straws I related how many people in the UK seemed to be interested in the NFL now, and I myself had picked up a t-shirt at a charity shop which I had been reliably informed was to do with an american sports team, but which I had bought because of its florid tie-dyed aesthetic.

The bus rounded the corner and we were suddenly in a spanish villa. An uncanny sense of deja vu washed over me again, as were were ushered through large oak doors into a high vaulted room. The dude who lead our tasting this time had a very nice pair of DMs on and was a pretty chilled and nice guy. Another flight of wines and we were soon in the van on our way to the two fat blokes pop up restaurant where we had been promised not only nine more wines to taste but also a flight of tasty cheeses to accompany them. The cheese was phenomenal. I’m proud to say the best of the cheese was imported from good ole europe! It was stunning. A real range, and all of them worked very well together on the palate. A new cheese, which I had not had before - a labna, was incredibly creamy and flavoured with a light floral tang. The smoky, the creamy, all went together with the light, the fruity, the well bodied, the red, the white, the rose, and the liqueurs that were placed before us. Placed by, frankly, our alcoholic guide, who admitted to always having at least ten of such and such a bottle on standby, and could happy put away a bottle or two of x and y wines by herself! Much respect. The tasting was made all the more hilarious by the bunch of Irish lasses who had the most amazingly over the top reactions to every cheese we had, it was either ‘the best fucking cheese I have ever tasted, oh my god, Sairosie, have you actually tried this cheese, it's incredible’ to ‘it literally tastes like, and you’ll forgive me for saying this - bird shite’. It was a hoot.

We were the first to be dropped off by the van and we settled into the van quite merrily, making our pre-planned ham and cheese toasties as our designated drunk food. But! These were no ordinary ham and cheese toasties!! As I set about making the roux to form the basis of the cheese sauce, Becca sliced the sourdough breads and began buttering every side. Soon we could begin construction. A doorstop slice of bread, a smear of the cheese sauce, a slice of edam, a few slices of chunky deli ham, a slice of edam, another smear of the mustardy cheese sauce, and finally another double buttered sourdough slice to complete the architectural marvel. Straight to a hot pan, toasted to a golden crisp on both sides, the innards, steaming and goopy. A triumph if we don’t mind saying so ourselves.

The next day we took to the road, bidding goodbye to our strange little campsite in the rolling vines of Hunter Valley. We made a stop at the two wineries we had visited prior to the two fat blokes stop and bought a couple of bottles for Christmas. We then made our way over to Nelson Bay. We spent some time durdling around on a very lovely beach and then made our way up to the headland lighthouse which had stunning views of the bay. We had a spider - an australian coke float, and shared some scones and cream. A questionable variant on the British Cream tea, to be sure. That night we found ourselves in a lovely beachside campsite next to the beach. We tried for another walk but the wind was so strong that it was like being sandblasted. We quickly gave up and turned in as the sun set. That night we found the joys of staying in a powered site, the next day all of our gear was fully charged and the fridge was lovely and cold, now flashing error signs for us as the second battery contended with watery first morning light falling on the solar panel. We set off towards Seal rocks, our next stop, having been recommended a campsite there known as Treachery Camp, by a colleague of Becca’s in Sydney. En route we decided to have lunch at the Rick stein signature restaurant. We hadn’t had any fresh fish yet and we had been looking forward to it down here. So we opted for a fancy meal to treat ourselves. We drank sparkling water on the balcony and ate spiced crab and wonderfully fried fresh fish, and bbq’d king prawns. It was fab!

Soon again we were on the road, barreling along the edge of lakes, and through winding twilight forests. Before we knew what hit us we hit the unsealed road and poor Valerie began to bounce and scream like no-ones business! We slowed to a five km/h crawl and still felt like we were sat on a giant washing machine. After a three kilometre stretch we hit the campsite and found ourselves in the midst of the remains of a festival type hangover. To top it off we were told that they didn’t assign sites we just had to find a spot ourselves. We were a little stressed and found ourselves between some trees - which we soon found out dappled our solar panel! We set out for the beach which was desolate, windy and beautiful. But alas we had no signal and had not expected being without it so couldn’t contact family to let them know we’d be off grid for two days. We didn’t feel like decamping either - only wanting to put Val through that dirt track once more when we left. We made some cracking food though, a very tasty cassoulet, and soon the rabble rousing crowd left and it became a much more young family beach vibe place. We grew more comfortable and relaxed.

We rattled our way back down the unsealed road two mornings later and were soon back on the road towards Port Macquarie. And I’ll leave you with this little tidbit of the next installment - koalas, friends and drinking - oh my.

With Love, Hugs, Spotty Signal and Low Battery Level Power Packs,

Sam and Becca

X

[paintedbutton]

The Most Interesting Kind

Remember how I said I actually wrote something (and it’s boring as hell)? This is that thing. I’ve mentioned before that Sam pretty much weaseled her way into Russell’s life by virtue of shared alcohol and a lot of persistence. This is that scene. At least half of Russell’s dialogue comes directly from the mod, so credits for that goes to Someguy (as for my boy himself, ofc).

Boulder City hadn't always been mostly comprised of rubble. At least that was what she'd been told. As it was, it was a ruin of a town, filled with NCR and skeletons, and not generally a place Sam liked very much. Add a small group of Great Khans with a rather personal connection to her to the mix and you had a very bad day. By the time she'd stumbled her way out of the ruins of Boulder City, the sun was sinking below the horizon. Half a day wasted for some stupid stand-off she wouldn't have stuck her nose in under normal circumstances. Sam shrugged in response to one of the former hostages thanking her and crushed the remainder of her cigarette under her boot, looking towards the outline of tents not far in the distance, dark against the sinking sun. Least she didn't have to stay where the NCR was crawling all over. The 188 wasn't the best place to shore up but it had food and alcohol, more than enough in her book. "I need a damn drink." Boone grunted in acknowledgement and little else. At least the eyebot floating above them beeped in a way to could be construed as vaguely enthusiastic. Drinking alone it was, then.

"Sorry, I just sold the last one." Samuel gave an apologetic shrug while at the same time pouring a drink out for another costumer. "The entire goddamn bottle?" "'Fraid so. Guy's been hanging around and drinking me dry for a while now. Take it up with him if you're that desperate." Desperate might be an overstatement but she had just let the assholes who buried her alive walk off without a damn scratch and she would've liked a fucking Scotch, thank you very much. Just an old favorite, a little pick-me-up. The man Samuel had indicated was sitting at the end of the bar, slightly apart from the buzz. She watched as he put the bottle to his lips, taking a deep swig. He looked just like any other drifter washed up somewhere in this desert, clothes dusty and ripped, hair mostly hidden by the stetson on his head. The eye patch and the scars covering half his face were a little out of the ordinary but that might've happened a million different ways. The scar tissue on her temple itched like a reminder. He wasn't looking at anyone else, just staring out at the desert slowly sinking into darkness. Probably not looking for a drinking partner then. She considered turning back to the bar, ordering literally anything else, but ... ah fuck, she might as well try. Long as he shared they could just as well drink in silence for all she cared. She walked over and plopped herself down on the stool across from his. "Share that drink?" she asked, giving her best smile. He set the bottle down and eyed her, frowning. Somebody obviously wasn't a fan of company. "Don't drink with strangers." The words had finality to them, like he expected her to take him at face value. She'd never been anything but persistent though. Instead of standing she offered her hand, brows raised. "Sam."He didn't take her up on it. His fingers absently swiped at the condensation running down the side of the bottle while the eye not hidden by the eye patch bored holes into her skull. The stare might have been enough to send her away, she wasn't in the business of forcing herself on people, but she really wanted that damn drink. "Come on, I'll make it worth your while." His gaze casually roamed over her body before he shrugged, leaning back. "You're not my type." Really not what she'd meant to offer, so just as well he was refusing it. Sam grinned, just slightly, and shrugged. "Great, I don't care," she said. "Look, you bought the last damn bottle of Scotch and it's been a long day. I just want one drink and I'll be on my way." Now he looked amused. "There's other shit to drink, y'know?" "Oh, I know, I just have a hankering." Absently she rubbed at the scar tissue on her forehead. Damn thing still itched when it got too hot. So most of the time. His eye followed the gesture but he didn't say anything. "Hell, I ain't even looking for conversation. We can just sit here and empty that bottle." He stared her down for another moment before the bottle slid over to her side of the table. She stopped it before it tumbled to the ground, grabbed the neck and took a long, satisfying pull. It wasn't particularly good and probably watered down to all hell, but it went down smooth as anything. Good enough for her, for right now. When the bottle clanked back onto the table it was him, who offered a hand. "Russell," he said, with a half-smile playing around his lips, "and you owe me half of what I paid for that swill.""Done." She shoved a bunch of caps his way, took his hand and shook it, before taking another sip from the bottle and handing it back over.

For a while, they drank in silence. Sam lit up a cigarette, pushed the pack towards him when she saw him eye it. Ignoring the people around them, it might have almost been peaceful. A few tables over, someone was sobbing into a glass; somewhere else, off-key singing harmonized with that hiccuping sound and the conversation drifting in from all sides. At their little table tucked almost behind the bar only quiet reined. Quiet didn't really seem to work for either of them though. Finally, she leaned back in her seat, cocking her head at him in interest. "So, what brings you here?" Something about his smirk told her he'd been waiting for her to say something. "So much for quiet drinking." "Quiet only works for so long." "You know I could ask you the same thing, right?" The way his fingers drummed on the table suggested boredom. The way he leaned in, meeting her eyes directly, suggested otherwise. "How I got here?" "Yeah." Sam shrugged. Fair was fair, she supposed. "Guy shot me in the head for some stupid fucking package I was supposed to deliver. I'd like to pay him back. Been more or less chasing after him. He's a Vegas type, so to Vegas I go. And this place is on the way." "Huh." "So?" "Might as well." He took another gulp of Scotch. At this point, they were halfway through the bottle. "I followed a bounty here not long ago but ... the trail ran cold. Been getting by as a caravan guard but it's not the same." She couldn't quite help a small chuckle. "Yeah, I bet." Her last job getting by had been this damn courier gig and that had obviously been a fucking disaster. In all honesty, much as she hated to admit it, having a goal again was kind of refreshing. Across from her, Russell sighed, staring out at the dust devils dancing in the dark. "I should get back on the hunt," he continued, " but ... I just don't know. I used to pride myself with finding every mark I was after but ... I lost him." He looked resigned. Maybe a little wounded pride in there, too. "And now you're hangin' around here, buying the alcohol out from under my nose." That got a chuckle out of him. "Now I'm hangin' around here," he agreed easily. "Guess you're not really from this piece of dirt then, huh?" It was more of a rhetorical question at this point. Even if he was Mojave born and bred, something about him told her he'd been anywhere but here for a while. Sam could relate. She hadn't managed to keep herself in one place for longer than a week since '73 now. He shrugged in response. "Everywhere and nowhere, partner," he agreed easily and took another swig from the bottle. She grabbed for it as soon as he set it down. "Yeah." Everywhere and nowhere indeed. "So, what about that bounty?" It was as much of a distraction for her as it was for him. Down that road lay depressing thoughts and they'd been too damn close to the surface again ever since Goodsprings. "Might as well, he's  long gone," he said, more to himself, before meeting her eyes again. "Fellow by the name of Glanton. Used to work as a scalp hunter for the NCR. See, back when the republic was brushing up against some nasty tribals and raiders down south they hired Glanton to clean 'em out." Absently, she noted the way his mouth twisted when mentioning the NCR. She was maybe a little familiar with that twist, had seen it in the mirror before a time or two. "Glanton and his gang were making so much money that pretty soon they stopped caring about who's scalp they took - be it women or children. Brass tried to put a lid on it, declared him an outlaw, but it didn't matter. Settlers loved Glanton, made him into a hero. If settlers or miners run into trouble with tribals, they hire Glanton. Wasn't until recently that the government got serious about him. A few months back the NCR finally put a bounty of 10,000 caps on his head. I decided it'd be worth my while to go after him." The number made her swallow just a little too much Scotch. She coughed around the burn in her throat, setting the bottle down hard. Sure as hell was a pretty bounty. Russell seemed slightly amused at that reaction. Of course all the pretty numbers in the world weren't gonna do him any good if the trail was cold, she supposed. Which did give her an idea. "Y'know, if it's all the same to you ... we could work together, split those caps." This time, when he looked her up and down, it was a lot less dismissive than the first time around. Sam met his gaze like it was a challenge, leaning back in her chair. "Could have its advantages," he conceded, "but, I need to make sure you can handle yourself." "Planning on fightin' me?" Of course he was doubting. A lot of people did that, just looking at her. And like it or not, being unconscious for days hadn't really added to her healthy disposition. But he only grinned in response. "Nah. You got any qualifications?" For a moment, she thought. They were in the middle of a desert that was half civil, half mess most of the time. She could probably shoot his head off at 50 yards but she doubted he'd count that as special. "For one, I've been all over this damn place," she finally said, "I'm a good shot. And I just recently walked out of my own grave." That last bit got him to snort. "That's supposed to be an argument for you?" he asked, amused. Sam shrugged, giving him her best smile. "In my experience, a little luck never hurt nobody. And I got more than a little." She grabbed for the bottle again, toasting him. "Besides, you've given me enough to go after it by myself, if you really don't want me in." "Courtesy offer?" "More like pooling of resources. And fond memories of a good drinking buddy." The last of the Scotch swished in the bottle in response. He shook his head but she could see something like a smile on his face. "Fine." "To good huntin' then." She was nice enough the leave one final swig in there for him. He took it like he wasn't sure if he'd made a stupid decision just then. Of course, in her experience, those were the most interesting kind.