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petri808 · 3 years ago

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Nalu Yakuza Au *cover art by @jmoart214 💜

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The tit for tat game was well known to both of their top confidants and lieutenants because it had been going on ever since Natsu and Lucy broke up. Plus, it was hard to get around such knowledge considering most of them came from the same neighborhoods. These intrigues ebbed and flowed like waves. Months could pass by without any interactions between the two, at other times they’d go back and forth continuously until one of them finally gave up, and on the odd occasion ended in a huge fight that led to another round of ignoring each other. Up until now, it had been kind of amusing to watch them torture each other because it was better than a drama shows on television. But that didn’t mean Natsu, and Lucy’s friends didn’t worry about one or both being truly hurt one day because of it.

“It’s fine,” Natsu rolled his eyes as Gray chastised him after the soapland incident. The two men were at Natsu’s home after work hours and supposed to be relaxing. But clearly his friend didn’t want to drop the subject. “What’s the big deal?”

“Dude, you let yourself be blindfolded in a public space! Have you forgotten what kind of business we’re in? What if it had been an assassin instead?”

“Oh, that’s just ridiculous. We’re talking about Lucy’s company, and I trust their security measures because she has just as much to lose if a hit took place there.”

“Still, you should be more careful, at least take a bodyguard with you…”

Natsu’s eyebrow twitched in irritation. “And what, so they can watch the show? We got any voyeurs on the payroll? Cause I can’t think of anyone here who’d wanna see another guy getting his balls fondled!”

Gray ran a hand down his face. “So not the mental image I wanted. You’re missing the point.” He sighed. “Natsu you are the head of this clan, and your safety is my top priority.”

“I get it, I get it,” Natsu drawled.

“And frankly,” Gray continued, “you’ve become distracted by her lately.”

“Tch! No, I haven’t!”

“Yeah, you are. You think I haven’t noticed? I know you drive by her place sometimes. I know you’ve followed her to that coffee shop she likes to frequent. But ever since her employee was robbed, things have escalated again.”

“You’re imagining things and apparently spying on me. I’m just keeping an eye on the competition.”

“Watching over you is my job! That’s not spying.” Gray crossed his arms. “And oh, it’s no doubt that you’re keeping an eye on her. That’s why you went to Katsunuma’s party and to soapland too. The problem is you’re getting sloppy and sloppy gets people killed.”

Natsu groaned. “Are you done yet? We’re supposed to be enjoying the baseball game, not psychoanalyzing my life.”

“Almost.” Gray placed a hand on his friends’ knee and leaned in. “Natsu, you’ve been chasing that tail since high school, just lock her down and convince her to work together already.”

Natsu snorted a laugh. “Gray we all grew up together, so what in all these years makes you think that’s a possibility? You know damn well Lucy’s not a woman you can control without her consent.” Natsu knew that, and frankly he loved that part of her. In fact, it made him even more fired up whenever he thought about it, just like a treasure you don’t just find but must win at the end of a game. “I’ll find a way, some day.”

“Well until that day arrives, could you promise me you’ll be more cautious?”

“Fine, fine,” Natsu waved his hand. “I’ll back off of Lucy for now.”

“Good.” Gray relaxed back onto his recliner thinking the drama was over.

“However, there is a new guy I want surveillance placed on.”

“Who?”

“The bartender from the party.”

Gray groaned. “Seriously? Why? He’s just a bartender!”

“I don’t trust him.”

“Was he spiking the drinks or something? Dealing drugs at the party?”

“Maybe.”

Gray huffed. “You really gonna try that? Do I look like an idiot? This is just straight jealousy talking.”

“I don’t care! I want someone to dig up what they can on the guy!”

“No, what you wanna know is if he fucked Lucy that night!”

Natsu jumped up with his fists clenched. “Fuck you!”

“Fuck you too!” Gray stood up and matched his boss’s energy. “Unless you give me a damn good reason to check into him, I’m not wasting my guy’s time! You might be the boss, but don’t you fucking forget who you’re talking to! I’m not some punk off the streets!”

Realizing he was taking things too far, Natsu sat back down. “Sorry.”

Gray sighed and plopped back down too. “I only joined because you asked me to and you’re my best friend, then I helped you build this new empire, so I’m just as invested in protecting it as you are. But Natsu, personal emotions have led to the downfall of many in this business, and as a friend, I’ll check you any time I think you’re going to far.”

“You’re right…” Natsu sighed too. “She just gets me so worked up.”

“Don’t I know it,” Gray laughed, but stopped when Natsu glared at him. “Sorry, it slipped out.”

“But I swear, there’s something suspicious about him. When he saw me, I thought he just reacted because he thought I was Lucy’s boyfriend or something, but the more I think about it, he might have recognized me.”

“Well, that wouldn’t necessarily be suspicious either.”

“True. But the look in his eyes just made me wonder.”

“Alright…” Gray groaned, “if it’ll make you feel better, I’ll have someone do some digging. So, you said he has orange hair and glasses, and the name on his tag was Loke?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s an unusual name, shouldn’t be too hard to check on.”

Over the course of a couple of weeks, Gray sent out feelers for any information on this Loke guy. Katsunuma junior gave them their first small lead that the bartender had worked the party through a local food catering company. That catering company was a legitimate business who had both full-time staff as well as independent contractors brought in per event as needed. Loke had been one of the latter. From there Gray obtained a last name, de Lioncourt.

According to his sources at the local precinct, Loke de Lioncourt had no rap sheet, no prior dealings with police, and for all they knew was an average citizen. The man’s Line blog profile listed him as a 28-year-old, Japanese/French American, model and bartender, and it was filled with pictures from events, parties, as well as many gorgeous women— none of which contained Lucy. But as Gray trolled through the man’s feed, he did come across one person he recognized and passed the information along to Natsu.

“Wow, she’s in a bunch of photos,” Natsu mumbled as he scrolled through the blog.

“Well, considering Cana’s reputation are you surprised. Parties and alcohol are the two things that woman lives for.” Gray laughed. “Now see, this makes sense to me. Lucy and him, not so much.”

“Tch… still pisses me off he even tried.”

“Lucy’s a free woman, she can go out with whoever she wants to.”

“We’ll see about that,” Natsu mumbled low.

“What was that?” Gray asked with a raised brow.

“Nothing.”

“Better be nothing, cause this is a dead end. He’s just a flirty bartender. It’s how they make tips.”

“Yeah, yeah, fine.” Natsu sat back in his chair. “So, back to business. What this I heard about some missing stock?”

“Oh, right. One of the warehouse clerks noticed a shortage, but when I checked with Yura, he said the books were fine. I had him show it to me, and it appears the numbers were just inverted by accident. So, instead of 185 kilos, it’s supposed to be 158 kilos.”

“Did you talk to the clerk again? Does he have any history of messing up like this?”

“Nah, he’s one of our better clerks.”

“Just keep an eye on it.”

“Sure thing, boss. By the way, have you seen Gajeel today?” Gray questioned. “I haven’t seen him.”

“He called me this morning said he wasn’t feeling well, thinks he ate something bad for dinner last night.”

“Tch, seriously? Thought he had an iron stomach?”

Natsu shrugged. “Must’a been some bad sushi or something. We ain’t got much happening today, so it’s fine. Anything else? I got some stuff I need to finish.”

Gray tapped his chin. “Just a reminder you have an appointment with our tech guy dropping by later this week to go over some upgrades on the system.”

“Like I’m supposed to know anything about that stuff, it’s what I pay him for.”

“You still gotta approve it,” Gray shrugged and took his leave.

Once the man was completely out of the office, Natsu opened a drawer in his desk and pulled out a nondescript box he’d hidden inside. He grinned to himself. It was time to make another special delivery. Even though he’d told Gray he was backing off the whole Lucy and Loke subject, there was no way he was gonna let it slide. Natsu didn’t care if the man seemed legit, and he wasn’t the first nor would probably be the last that he’d eventually scared away. And besides, being a Yakuza boss had a lot of down times too, easily filled with having a little fun.

Today’s little care package was being sent to Lucy by a courier service and Natsu just had to drop it off to the delivery company. Just a normal company like Kuroneko Yamato so it wouldn’t rouse too many suspicions. It was turning into a fun game for him just coming up with ideas of what he could do to rile Lucy up or irritate this Loke guy. Natsu chuckled to himself. So far, his favorite prank was a box of small sized condoms and a bottle of enhancement pills that he’d had delivered to Loke while on the job at another party. He’d even snuck in to watch it delivered, gaining a good laugh when the man took a peek in the box and frowned at its contents.

It was childish, but Natsu didn’t care. Every day for two weeks now, something new was sent to Loke. Random gifts like children’s candy to a toy gun, a big bottle of lubricant wrapped in a bow, a week’s worth of meals sent for lunch one day, even an empty box with rocks inside it just to drive the man crazy wondering who in the world was sending them. Lucy too wasn’t immune to his pranks, though hers had a different feel to them. Flowers with no note attached. Tickets to a canceled show he made up. A supposed dinner invite from Loke that wasn’t real— okay that was to test her, but she didn’t fall for it. And today’s little care package fit right into his prank scheme.

Natsu dropped off the package at a Kuroneko Yamato office with the address instructions already filled out and paid the company’s employee extra to keep their mouths shut. ‘She’s gonna kill me one day,’ he laughed to himself as he rode back to his office. ‘If it’s suffocation by her boobs it wouldn’t be a bad way to go!’

“Anymore stops sir?” The driver asked Natsu.

“Nope. Back to the office.”

He looked at his watch. The package should be arriving at Lucy’s office within the hour. Give or take another to open it, and by 4pm he would be receiving another phone call. Maybe he won’t answer it. Oh, that would piss her off even more! ‘Well, if she’d just take the hint...’

The afternoon was supposed to be mellow at headquarters that day. No shipments, and no appointments. But when Natsu got back, another general in the organization named Jellal Fernandez came to his office to inform him of a problem. One of the new local restaurants in their territory was refusing to cooperate and he wanted to know how Natsu wanted it handled. They were right in the middle of discussing it, when Natsu’s office door flew open with a loud bang!

In stomped Lucy who immediately threw a box at his head, causing Natsu to duck and Jellal to pull his gun.

“Don’t!” Natsu screamed at his general and motioned for him to stand down, to which the man complied. “Do you have a death wish Lucy!”

“Get. Out.” She snapped at the general. “Get out! This is between me and your boss!”

Jellal looked to Natsu, who nodded his head to scram. “I got this, don’t worry.” The man holstered his gun and left, but Natsu could see he’d stayed right outside of the now closed door.

“I take it you didn’t like the gift,” Natsu pretended to stay calm.

“Gee, me throwing it at you give you that impression? I know it’s you sending all these damn deliveries to me and Loke. That needs to stop now!”

He crossed his arms and scoffed. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Play dumb all you want. Just stop! Why are you even doing this?!”

“Take a guess,” he sneered back.

“I could’ve sworn we were adults now, but apparently I’m the only one who grew up. Stay out of my love life Natsu!”

“So, you admit you’re sleeping with the guy!”

“That’s none of your damn business! I can fuck whoever I want!”

“Not as long as I’m alive,” Natsu growled back.

Lucy crossed her arms. “That could be arranged.”

“Is that a threat?!”

“Yes! If you don’t stay out of my love life!”

“A woman shouldn’t be sleepi—”

“Don’t you finish that sentence!” Lucy grabbed a stapler that was within reach and chucked it at Natsu’s head. “Stop trying to control me!”

“Are you crazy?!”

At that moment, Gray barged into the room. He’d heard the screaming from the other side of the office, and when he got close enough to see Jellal standing outside the door, he became alarmed. Why would a general leave Natsu vulnerable! The man told him their boss told him to leave, but as the sounds inside escalated, Gray couldn’t wait anymore.

“Stop it!!” Gray got between them. “What are you two doing! Lucy you shouldn’t be here!”

“Then tell your damn boss to leave me the fuck alone!” Lucy spat back. “Ask him how he’s been harassing Loke and me!”

Gray turned to his boss with a groan. “Natsu, we talked about this!”

“Tell Gray what you been doing!” Lucy pressed. “Show him the stupid packages you send!”

“What packages?” Gray looked to Lucy, then repeated the question as he stared at his boss. “What packages?”

“Tch,” Natsu crossed his arms, “it’s not even that bad.”

Lucy stomped over to where the box fell and picked it up, pulling the contents out. “Bullshit!” She snapped as she held up a very racy, red nightie with flame prints, a pair of fluffy handcuffs, and a large dildo. “See this shit?!” Lucy shook the floppy latex toy at Gray before chucking it to the ground again. “He includes messages too,” then handed the man a folded piece of paper.

Gray read it aloud, “to make up for what playboy lacks. Had it custom made to my size wink wink. Ugh, seriously man,” he tossed the letter.

Natsu shrugged. “I was just having fun.”

“This is the yakuza, not a daycare!” Gray snaps. “I’m not here to babysit the boss so he stops harassing the competition! There’s more important business to worry about!”

“That’s right listen to Gray,” Lucy sneered.

Gray turned to her. “Oh, you ain’t innocent either, so don’t even try it. You both do things to purposely rile the other up and get mad when there’s consequences. Stop it!” He looked back and forth between the two. “Just stop it already!”

Natsu and Lucy looked away from the man with scowls on their faces. Neither wanted to admit he was right.

“Jellal,” Gray called out. When the man entered, he instructed him to escort Lucy out of there. “Next time, just call me instead. It’s best you two just stay away from each other. Got it?!”

“Yeah,” Lucy grumped.

“Got it?!” Gray questioned his boss.

“Yeah,” Natsu mumbled.

“Fucking like high school,” Gray ran a hand down his face in irritation. “You two need therapy.”

#nalu #nalu au #nalu fan fic #nalu fan fiction #natsu dragneel #lucy heartfilia #ch 6 #we'll take back heaven #petri808

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groovyzombiellama · 4 years ago

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Safe Distance Sir

Title: Safe Distance Sir

Requested? Yes.

Plot: You get sick and Opie takes care of you.

Warnings: A whole bunch of fluff haha

Word count: 1009

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You feel your head pulsating in pain for the hundredth time today. You close your eyes tightly, attempting to massage your forehead in a few different ways you saw online, but nothing seemed to be working. As you stood up to reach the sink to pour yourself a glass of water and take a pill for the pain, the entire kitchen began spinning that you had to sit down and wait for a couple of minutes for it to pass. It was a good thing your Old Man was in church since early in the morning, before you started feeling like the weight of the entire world was crashing down on you. When Opie called to check up on you, and inform you that he was gonna be a bit late, you struggled for a bit not to slur your words due to your brain feeling like it was gonna explode, since you didn’t want him to worry about you, but somehow you managed to convince him that you were fine and that you didn’t mind him coming home late. In fact that worked in your favor, because you could try every remedy you could think of before he came home,

You don’t get colds all that often, and you honestly can’t even remember the last time you were sick, so it was unusual to you that you felt like this. And you hated this feeling, your head feels way too large for your body, youre crushed by a heavy weight and your nose is both too stuffed and too runny. But when you did get sick, you didn’t want to seem weak and have to be taken care of. And yeah, you might have to work on that mentality and let yourself accept help from people, but as a SAMCRO member’s Old Lady, you wanted to appear tough and the most important thing was not worrying your husband. Opie has enough on his plate every single day, he didn’t need you being all snotty and gross. But with how everything was going, you knew that you were gonna come down with a fever. So you made yourself some tea and a somewhat messy blanket fort on the living room couch. Almost every single pillow and blanket Opie and you owned was used in the construction of this fort. And you planned on forbidding your husband from even entering your fort and seeing you like this.

The used tissues were pilling up in the bin you brought with you so you don’t make a mess of your house, and your breath hitched in your throat when you hear the front door opening. Even after three years of being married, Opie’s deep chuckle still managed to cause an entire zoo to erupt in your stomach, and you almost jumped out of your fort to hug your husband and tell him you missed him, but then you remembered the fact that you were sick and that your entire body was aching by now, in protest of the fever. Opie’s footsteps echoed as he got closer to your blanket fort, but he stopped in his tracks when you aimed the thermometer gun at him. “Don’t even dare! Stay at a safe distance sir!“ Again that damn zoo fluttering in your stomach as your husband chuckled once again, wondering how you can be both the most calm, collected and serious person and a childish jokster. Both sides of you woke up his will to protect you from the world either way, but seeing you with a thermometer gun in your hands, a pile of tissues in a bin next to you, looking like Mount Everest, and your figure squished between a bunch of pillows made you look so irresistable to Opie.

He has never wanted to hold you more than he has now, and that’s saying a lot, because he always wants to hold you, day in and day out. His protective instincts kicked in higher than before and he playfully threw one of the pillows, that fell too far away from your fort, but you were too lazy to go retrieve it, your way, before heading to the kitchen, smiling as you groaned at him, still hidden in your fort, to make you his famous chicken soup to help you recover. If you had energy to make all of that, and be on alert to make sure he doesn’t come closer, and get sick himself, Opie figured he didn’t need to take you to the doctor, but still held on to his keys, just in case you felt worse and he had to take you to the hospital. “I’m not gonna get sick Y/N, just let me help you get better.“ The alluring smell of the soup had your attention, but it took a fair bit of convincing to get you to exit your safe space and accept to have your husband feed you.

Just with him being here, you felt a lot better, and he even managed to convince you to dismantle your blanket fort and make a comfotable space on the couch so that you could lay back and he could take care of you, placing wet cloths on your forehead, and checking your temperature every now and a while. Opie found it hard not to smirk as you whined watching him take away all of your pillows and blankets, even though you accepted him doing this. He did everything to make sure you get better soon, even helping you take a quick shower which helped a lot to lower your temperature, and he made sure you ate as much as possible to keep your energy levels up, but also nap enough to let your body protect you the way it knows best. You made sure to shower your husband with hugs and kisses when you started feeling better, thanking him for being there for you and helping you. “I didn’t marry you just for the good times silly. I’m yours and you’re mine in the good and bad, forever.“

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@small-town-wayward-daughter It’s finally here! I’m so sorry it took so long to make, I’m awful at time management :D I hope you like it :D

I missed having SOA on my blog, and I still have to finish a Jax fic (the 4th part) but I’ll do it soon, I’ll write it all night if I have to in breaks between sleep, but it’ll be ready to post soon!

#opie #opie x reader #opie imagine #opie winston #opie winston imagine #opie winston x reader #harry winston #harry winston imagine #harry winston x reader #harry opie winston #Jax Teller #jax teller imagine #jax imagine #jax teller x reader #sons of anarchy #sons of anarchy imagines #soa imagine

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elen-aranel · 4 years ago

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Cards on the Table

For @autumnleaves1991-blog Writer Wednesday. A break from struggling to write something else! Pairing: Marcus Pike x F!Reader (no Y/N) Warnings: cursing, excessive alcohol consumption WC: 2k A/N: I write for other characters named Pike now? I guess that’s a thing! I feel like I may have copied this concept from something I read a while ago. If that’s the case and it was yours I’m sorry and I’ll take it down. A small part of this inspired by Real Life Feelings!

This is the last time, you tell yourself, as you stare at your reflection.

You’re in the bathroom of a colleague’s house – Jakobson from homicide – and you’re giving yourself a talking to in the mirror. You keep it in your head – if this were you apartment you might speak aloud, but while you’ve definitely had too much, you aren’t that far gone. Yet.

You hate playing cards. You’re bad at it. You don’t even like beer all that much – alcohol is fine, but you’d prefer wine. And you had been close to saying no, you had weekend plans, even though you definitely didn’t, when Pike and the guys from art had swung by and you heard he was going too.

You need to stop deciding which work social events to go to based on whether you think Marcus Pike will be there. This is the last one.

He doesn’t see you that way – to him you’re just one of the guys. Even if today you’re one of the guys in a cute outfit, there are other girls here. You’re not going to pluck up the courage to ask him out, so once you get through the rest of today, that’s it. No more pining. No more, “did you ask the art theft guys?” No more listening for his name.

That’s it. You’re done.

Decision made, you walk out the bathroom, out the house, into the garden – it is pretty; Jakobson and his wife must spend a lot of time to get it looking so good, and the weather is gorgeous too – and back to the table.

“Good, you’re back. Marcus is about to deal. I stole your chair, I hope you don’t mind?”

“Of course not, Emma,” you say, smiling down at your pretty brunette colleague from fraud. You had forgotten that she has designs on DeLuca, who you had been sitting with. He’s also a homicide detective and one of Jakobson’s best friends but – good for her. Someone should be getting some.

You look around for a vacant chair – Emma is not the only one who moved while you were gone, other people going to get more drinks and snacks – and the only one open is next to Marcus Pike.

“Hey,” you say, smiling, as you sit.

“Hey,” he says, smiling back, as he shuffles the cards and gets ready to deal. His smile lights up his face, making him look even more handsome, if possible, and you want to say something more but the moment passes.

And those are almost the last words you exchange. The afternoon fades into the evening, your terrible run of luck and lack of skill continues, and being honest, you have much more beer than you should.

But it’s difficult. You want to talk to him. But you need to concentrate on the game, which is hard when he is right there. You chat to Libby Jakobson on your other side; she seems sweet, and is very happy when you compliment the garden.

You’ve definitely had too much – you have to concentrate on not blurting out something stupid, like how Pike has such pretty eyes, and no, you cannot embarrass yourself in front of all these people from work, or in front of Libby, so you hold it together, even if, as you get up as other people do, thanking the Jakobsons for hosting, the flower beds seem a little... blurry.

You stand alone on the street outside, fumbling with your phone. You don’t have a car, you need to call an Uber. You stare at the map on the screen, trying to make it make sense, and somehow the phone is on the ground.

“Fuck,” you mutter, as you try to grab it and miss, and suddenly you’re colliding with a warm presence and he’s holding you and helping you stand back up.

“Need a little help there?” Marcus’s eyes are amused but warm, and you find yourself gazing into them, losing yourself a little.

“ ’m fine,” you mumble after just a little too long.

“Of course you are. Let’s get you home,” he says, tucking your phone into your purse and getting his out his pocket. “My ride is almost here. Where do you live?”

“Dupont Circle,” you reply, as a car drives up.

He keeps hold of you, keeping you steady, as he exchanges a few words with the driver, then gently guides you into the back seat.

“Buckle up,” he says, as he sits beside you, but then he has to help you because your clumsy fingers won’t co-operate. “You still remember your address?”

“Of course I do. I’m not that drunk,” you say, defensively, and you give it to the driver, who pulls away from the curb.

“This is all your fault, you know,” you mutter as the car drives through the nighttime streets.

“What is?” His expression is curious, eyes still warm, but the amusement from earlier is gone.

“Me... being here. Like this. I only came out today because you would be there. I’m useless at card games.”

“Yeah, you are. But... why come out just for me?”

You scoff. “Have you looked at you in the mirror lately? You’re hot. And kind, or you wouldn’t be giving me a ride. I like you. But you don’t like me, so today is the last time I do that.”

You lapse into silence. He doesn’t reply, and the movement of the car lulls you into a light doze.

Your hand is bring squeezed. “We’re here,” he says, opening the door on his side.

“This is my place, not yours. Why’re you getting out?” You ask, as you open the car door. You’re momentarily confused about why you can’t get out yourself until you realise your seatbelt is still done up. You pop the clasp and step awkwardly onto the pavement.

“Here, let me help,” Marcus takes your keys from you as you fumble with the lock on your apartment building. “Which floor?”

“Second, but I’m fine. I don’t need help.”

“Of course you don’t.” He helps you up the stairs, to your door, and he helps you get that open too.

“Thank you so much, Marcus,” you say, over-emotional, as you flop onto your sofa.

“Any time,” he says. “I think you should be okay now. Have some water. Give me a call if you need anything.”

*****

The sun has no right to be so bright, you think, as you reluctantly get up to use the bathroom. Your head is pounding. At least you managed to change for bed, but you should have had that water last like Marcus suggested, and... fuck. That really happened, didn’t it.

You wash your face, washing off yesterday’s makeup. Trying to wake up a little since it’s gone eleven. You pull on a comfy sweatshirt and leggings, and eye the kitchen. You don’t have strength to do anything other than pour yourself a glass of water, which you take to your sofa for a good sulk.

Why did you even go yesterday? And why couldn’t you have made better choices? Switched to water before you got drunk? Before you needed help to get home? Before you told Marcus Pike how you feel? You hope no one else realised how drunk you were. You check your phone – there aren’t any messages, and surely Emma would have sent you something if you had been that bad? She likes to tease; it’s the sort of thing she does. But Marcus. Why couldn’t you have kept your big mouth shut for ten minutes longer?

Your sulking is interrupted by the buzzer. The sound is annoying and brings your headache back to the front of your mind. Maybe if you ignore it whoever it is will go away? But no. That would be rude.

You press the button for the intercom. “Hello?”

“Hi, it’s Marcus. Can I come up?”

Oh boy. “Sure,” you say, and you buzz him through.

“Marcus I’m so sorry about last night,” you say as you open the door. He is as handsome as ever, looking perfectly fresh. Not like you. “Thank you for taking care of me. I don’t know what I was thinking,” you step back for him to come in.

“You’re welcome. No need to apologise—we’ve alI had a little too much at some time or another. I brought you breakfast. And aspirin,” he says, handing you a packet of pills.

“Oh Marcus you really didn’t need to,” you’re embarrassed. You don’t know where to look as you feel your skin heat up. You pop a couple of pills out and have them with your water, while he heads over to the counter separating the living room from the kitchen.

“I wanted to. I—I thought you would probably need a little TLC today.”

He hands you a breakfast burrito, from your favourite place, you realise, as you look at the wrapper. The diner down the street where you often pick up breakfast on your way into the office. He puts cups of coffee and orange juice on your low table, and takes a seat at the sofa. You sit down too.

“How’s your head? Did you have some water last night?” He asks as he unwraps his burrito.

“No, I didn’t. It’s beginning to ease now though,” you say, taking a sip of juice.

You eat the rest of your food in silence, saving your coffee to last. The burrito is good, and eating something makes you feel a bit more human.

You should say something to him, though, but it’s difficult. Finally your burrito is gone and you’re out of excuses.

“Marcus, about last night, in the taxi. I’m so sorry.” You stare down at where you have your drink, cradled in both hands. “I shouldn’t have drunk so much, and I never should’ve said those things to you, I—”

You trail off as you feel his hand on yours, and even though your breath catches as he touches you, you raise your eyes slowly to meet his, afraid of what you’ll see. But there’s an intensity there, and something a little vulnerable.

“But did you mean it? Was it you or the alcohol talking?”

“I—I meant it.”

“Because I should apologise as well. I—I like you too. And I should’ve found a way to say it a long time ago. But if you feel the same way... maybe we could... see where this goes?”

He’s still touching you, and you put your coffee down with one hand as you take hold of his with the other.

“I’d like that,” you say, and find yourself captured by his deep brown eyes again. You’re leaning in, he is too, and his lips are on yours, soft and gentle. You bring your other hand up to cradle his jaw, feeling his beard under your fingers as you as the kiss gets more heated. He nibbles your lip and you open your mouth, tasting coffee on his tongue as it tangles with yours.

You pull apart, leaning your forehead against his as you just breathe for a moment.

“Well, that was...” he says, leaning back on the sofa but still keeping hold of your hand.

“Yeah,” you say, as you lean back too.

“So normally I’d like to take a girl out, for dinner, maybe a movie, but—” he turns to you, expression warm, open, hopeful. “I think going out might be a bit much for you, today. Would you mind if I stayed, and we could watch a film together here?”

You shift a little on the sofa, getting a bit closer to him. “I wouldn’t mind at all,” you say, reaching for the TV remote and handing it to him.

His smile is warm, lighting him up again. “Have you ever seen Casablanca?”

#Marcus Pike #Marcus Pike x Reader #Marcus Pike x You #The Mentalist #fanfic #fanfiction #writer wednesday #writings of the girl from outer space

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axwalker · 5 years ago

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Tears in Heaven 2: Falling

Synopsis: Alexis O’Brien is about to get married but memories of her old life are coming back to haunt her.

MASTERLIST

Pairings: Liam x MC Drake x MC (TRR)

Warnings:

NO ONE UNDER 18 should read this story. This is an 18+ blog. This story will deal with very dark subjects such as death, severe depression and suicide attempt (among others) if you’re triggered by any of those issues, PLEASE DO NOT READ THIS STORY

A/N: The story will go back and forth between three different periods of time (2009 / 2015 / 2019)

A/N: In most European countries the legal age to drink is 18, as Cordonia is clearly in Europe, I ‘ll use the same legal age.

Disclaimer: All characters belong to Pixelberry.

Word count: 4,600

Songs inspiration: Tears in Heaven by Eric Clapton

THANKS TO: To my awesome beta read @pedudley

And to the beautiful @burnsoslow who beta read the whole scene with Liam.

I love you both!!

Tagging:

@mskaneko @pedudley @burnsoslow @pug-bitch @lauzales @yukinagato2012 @kingliam2019 @texaskitten30 @loveellamae @nomadics-stuff @flutistbyday2020 @mrsdrakewalkerblog @ladyangel70 @kimmiedoo5 @debramcg1106 @ao719 @msjr0119 @ac27dj @forthebrokenheartedthings-blog

JUNE 2015

Nine months. Nine months since the ‘accident’. That was how her friends called it: ‘An accident’. The word infuriated her. It implied something so avoidable, something so small and simple. A finger caught in a door, a bad fall, a glass of whiskey spilled on the table. He didn’t have a broken leg, or a soared finger, he was dead. He was never going to come back again, his laughter vanished, his chocolates eyes gone, forever.

She would love to know how her friends called what had happened three months after his death. The day she had lost the last shred of hope she had left.

Every day she repeated the same routine, she woke up, drank, and stayed in bed looking through the window. Some days when the alcohol had numbed her enough, she was able to go through her albums and live in her memories. But most days, she couldn’t bear to see their happy faces, the joyful moments, so she just drank and cried.

Liam, Olivia and Max came every day to check up on her. Sometimes together, sometimes separate. They all had different methods to bring her back to life. None of them worked but they kept trying anyway.

Liam was caring and protective, he tried to make her eat or drink something else besides alcohol. Sometimes he tried to talk some sense into her, others he simply read to her.

Olivia’s approach was more direct, she arrived at the house like a tornado, cleaning the mess and throwing all the wine bottles and pizza boxes in the garbage, disgusted. She scolded her in the hope to see her strong friend fight back, but Alexis had gave up, nothing that Oliva said made her react.

Maxwell was kind and compassionate. He sat with her in silence, rubbing her back or crying with her. He only wanted to make her feel that she wasn’t alone. That he would be there when she was ready.

She knew that deep down she loved them, or that she had loved them once, but there was nothing left anymore for anyone else.

One morning, after yet another sleepless night, Alexis looked at her reflection in the mirror. She barely recognized herself. She touched her face, trying to remember how she looked like only nine months before. Her eyes drifted to the bottle of sleeping pills next to her toothbrush. Her decision was taken. He had died. He had left her. She had no reason to live anymore. That night, when her friends were gone, she would write some good-bye letters and she’ll go to sleep to never wake up again.

Ironically, that was the first day since it all happened that she had something to look forward to. After Savanah’s birthday, her life had stopped anyway, she was merely finishing the job.

August 2009

Maxwell and Olivia were having coffee after class while they waited for Alexis. When she arrived thirty minutes later, Max frowned, she looked like she wanted to bite someone’s head off.

Instead of greeting them, she threw her bag on the table, almost spilling Olivia’s coffee on her lap.

Olivia growled. “Careful there Alexis! This is Balmain.”

Maxwell rolled his eyes. “I’m sure that you meant to ask Lexie if everything was ok.”

Olivia snorted. “No, I meant to keep my very expensive outfit safe. Thank you very much.” She brushed her hand over her skirt making sure it was still spotless. “but yes tell us what happened to put you in such a dark mood, Alexis.”

“I can’t have coffee with you. Frickin Neville wants me to work tonight. Argh! I had the day off.”

Max looked at his best friend worried “Do you think that he’ll try something like the other night?”

“After all the self-defense classes Olivia has given me? I’d like to see him try” She took one French fry from Maxwell’s plate.

“So? What’s the problem? More hours mean more money, right?” He seemed confused “You’re always looking for extra hours.”

Olivia wasn’t fooled, she squinted at her friend. “She has a date with Walker.”

Maxwell squeaked. “Blossom!! You have seen him every day since you met him four days ago!”

“I know, Max. I can’t even explain it. He’ like… a drug” She ran her fingers through her head trying to hide her giddiness. “When he kisses me. I can’t even think or…”

Maxwell knew Drake Walker since they were kids, and he was well aware of his reputation. “What did you do last night?”

“We just walked all night, I waited until my father and Cindy were in their room, sneaked out and took him to the cove”

“The one you haven’t even show me?” Max looked hurt.

“I’ll take you next time Max, I swear” She hugged him. “Anyway, we just walked and talked until dawn.” She said leaving out that they had kissed senseless all over the beach.

Olivia feigned to yawn. “Can you please get to the part where you two fuck, all of this is very sweet but is giving me diabetes.”

A crimson blush spread all upon her cheeks. “We actually haven’t done it yet.”

Maxwell almost spilled his coffee. “What? Drake Walker? According to my brother, he’s a man-whore!”

Alexis shrugged. “We have kissed, a lot, but nothing else.”

Olivia rolled her eyes. “Alexis for Christ sake! Don’t be such a fucking prude!”

Alexis threw her hands in the air “I’m not! I don’t know what he’s waiting for.” She checked her watch “Fuck! I’ll be late!”

Maxwell and Olivia exchanged an amused look. “When had you been on time before?”

She flipped them off and ran to catch the bus.

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

It was a calm, summer night so the college pub where she worked wasn’t busy, only two tables and some guys hanging out in the bar with Dany, her coworker.

She checked her phone for the third time that night and sighed disappointed, he hadn’t answer to her text cancelling their date.

Lost in her thoughts, she barely heard the tinkling of the bell hanging above the front door. When she finally turned her head, she saw Drake standing next to it, looking at her.

Her heart immediately skipped a beat. “Hi, stranger. What are you doing here?”

He cut the distance between them in two steps, took her in his arms and kissed her. “I’ve missed that.”

She played with the collar of his shirt, inebriated by the smell of sandalwood. “Me too, Drake.”

If he was completely honest, not only he had missed her, but he had been incapable of thinking about anything else all day, and at that moment seeing her so beautiful, with her bright eyes looking so intently at him, he was about to melt. He kissed her again.

“I can’t go out tonight, though. I have to close the place.” She said softly still fluttered by his kiss.

He didn’t want to come out to strong but decided to be honest anyway. “I did get your text, Lex, I just don’t like the idea of you walking at night and taking the bus alone so late.”

She shrugged, she was used to it. “I’ve been doing it the whole year, Drake. I can take care of myself.”

“I know you can, just let me help you a little.” He brushed her face with his fingers. “I can come get you when you work late, and we can spend more time together.”

She looked at him touched, besides Max who gave her a ride whenever he could, no one else cared how she got back after a nightshift. “Thank you.”

“Waitress!”

“Shit! I have to work. Wait for me at the bar, Daniel is actually pretty funny.” She winked. “and he knows his whiskey.”

She hurried to the table that was calling her. A group of college girls desperate to use their new ID’s. The rest of the night was calm, and Alexis could spare some moments to talk and laugh with Drake while he waited for her.

At one o’clock, they said good-bye to the last clients, Daniel headed home and Drake and Alexis stayed to close the bar.

“So, what do you want me to do?”

She leaned against the counter smiling shamelessly. “Really? You’re going to help me for free?”

He smirked trapping her with his arms against the counter “Who told you it was for free?” he leaned against her and softly kissed her lips. He inhaled her perfume enjoying her soft moans when his kiss became deeper and his fingers wandered all over her hips. “Fuck, you’re so sexy, Alexis”

The phone rang three times until they were able to break contact. She picked up and talked to her boss. When she hung up, they spend the next hour cleaning and sweeping the bar until it was ready to close.

She checked her watch. “I have to be home at three. My father knows at what time I close the bar, and it usually takes me more than an hour to get to the house.”

Drake arched his eyebrows. “So, he doesn’t come to pick you up, but you have a curfew?”

She nodded. “That’s pretty much it. He has a lot of ideas of what a well-behaved young lady can and cannot do.”

Drake was starting to strongly dislike the man. “Well, we closed the bar way faster.” He encircled her with his arms. “and I’ll take you back in the jeep, so we have one hour for ourselves.” He upped her chin to him and kissed her cheek. “Aren’t you hungry?”

She was starving but it was past midnight, she would eat a bowl of cereal at her house. “Yes, but everything is closed.”

He gave her a conspiratorial look “This classy joint has a kitchen, right?”

She smiled. “Yes”

He offered her his arm. “Well, let’s cook something then.”

The night before, during their walk, she had told him she used to love Mac & Cheese when she was a little girl, so he looked for the ingredients in the pantry.

“Can I help you there, Walker?”

He nodded his head towards a chair. “You were working all night, O’Brien, it’s your turn to sit.”

She cocked an eyebrow. “O’Brien?”

“Well, you haven’t stop calling me Walker since I told you my last name the other night, turnabout’s a fair play.” He winked playfully.

Alexis watched him cook for her. They had spent the last four days getting to know each other, and she had loved every minute of it. She loved how attentive he was, how he seemed to remember every little thing she said. She loved that he walked around looking brooding and angry, but he was the kindest person she had never met. She loved how protected she felt with him, like never before.

He loved animals, and great books but only liked boring music, he listened too much classic rock, and definitely needed more Latin songs in his playlist. His taste in movies was impeccable though, fan of Harry Potter and Tarantino.

Her mind drifted to the previous night, she shivered thinking about it, about the way he kissed her, desperate, passionate, wild but always a little gentle, she felt like he could read her mind and sensed exactly what she needed better than herself.

He put two plates with Mac & Cheese in front of her and she clapped happy. “Drake! Mac & cheese! I love it.”

He had never met someone so full of life before, she seemed to enjoy every single minute of her life. He shrugged trying not to think how much he loved that about her. “It’s only pasta, O’Brien.”

“Well, I love it.” She placed her hand over his and he locked his gaze with hers before he leaned to kiss her.

The talked about their lives while they ate. Drake told her about his childhood with Bastien and Savanah. Bastien worked for Constantine, the Duke of Valtoria, one of the most powerful men in the country, and a personal friend of King Godfrey. He worked at their estate all the time, so Drake had practically grown up with Leo and Liam Rhys. Alexis already knew that his father had died protecting the duke and that his mother had left when he was barely twelve years old. She hated the woman.

“I’m sorry she left, Drake.”

“I’m not. She was never a good mother for me or Savvie. Bastien is the only parent I have now.”

She squeezed his hand. He changed the subject, the less he talked about Bianca Walker, the best.

They finished the rest of their meal in silence, both deep in thought. He looked at her and couldn’t help but admire the strength she irradiated, a sort of light she wasn’t even aware she had in her. He had never opened himself so deeply to someone else, not even Liam. If he was honest, she scared him to death, she held too much power over him, he cared for her too much already but seemed incapable to stay away. She woke in him so many…things in such a short amount of time, that it made him feel overwhelmed.

She got up and reached for his plate, but he stood up and pulled it away from her reach. “I'll wash the dishes… you worked all night.”

“And you cooked.” She grinned at him. “we’ll do them together.”

The cleaned the kitchen playing and laughing with each other.

“It’s late now, I should take you home.” Drake sounded disappointed.

She wiggled her brows giving him a mischievous smile. “I have another idea, come on.” She grabbed two tumblers from the kitchen and took his hand guiding him to the cellar under the kitchen.

“Where are we exactly, Lexie?”

“In Walker’s Paradise.” She laughed pointing at all the Whiskey bottles on the floor.

“Isn’t this going to get you in trouble?”

Alexis took a bottle from one of the cabinets and opened it, then she poured the amber liquid into the tumblers.

Drake smiled shaking his head. “You really like trouble, hein? Breaking the rules, out after curfew, all that”

She looped her arms around his neck. “Maybe you make me want to break them.”

He grinned down at her and kissed her. “You’re going to make me blush, O’Brien.”

She chuckled. “That I would love to see.”

They sat on the floor with their backs against the wall, Drake pulled her against him with his arm around shoulders.

He took a sip from his glass. “It’s not bad.”

“I know.” She took a big gulp as well.

Drake looked at her questioningly. “I spilled my guts about my family earlier, but you never talk about yours.”

She fiddled with one of the many bracelets she was wearing. “My father is very religious, very strict but that didn’t stop him from leaving my mom for Cindy. He has a lot of rules and ideas about how I’m supposed to live my life.” She gave a half shrug. “I’m used to it; I just need to get through college and I’m out of there.”

“I may be intrusive here Lex, but why do you need to work? You live in one of the best neighborhoods in Cordonia. I mean, you live next to the Beaumont.”

“Well, first, because my father has a lot of debts. Cindy, his wife, is obsessed to be part of Cordonia’s high society, so she wants to live in the best neighborhood and she only buys designer clothes, or when she can’t its replicas. And second, because my father hates my major, he thinks I’ll end up being a starving writer.” She laughed. “He’s probably right, but I don’t care.”

He shook his head taking her chin with his fingers. “You’ll be whatever you want to be, O’Brien.” He fixed his piercing eyes on hers. “You’re brave and passionate and I have no doubt you will get to be a fantastic writer.”

She blushed. “Thank you.”

She looked adorable when she blushed. He cleared his throat. “How about a toast, Lexie.”

“What’re we toasting to?”

“To the moments in between.” He grinned.

She looked puzzled. “Huh?”

“All the nobles or the people like Cindy or my mother think about are the big events, the banquets, the press events, the grand balls. They don’t even realize that the moments that matter the most are the ones they’re missing. Moments like right now, just the two of us and some cheap whiskey. The ones that really mean something.” He brushed her lips with his thumb. “At least they mean something for me, anyway.”

She rubbed his cheek with the back of her hand “To me too, Drake. More than you can imagine.” She raised her glass. “For the moments in between.”

He grinned. “For the moments in between.”

They both gulped down their glasses. She moved to lay on the floor with her head in his lap. He racked his fingers through her hair, looking down at her eyes, and thinking how much he was enjoying that moment, having her like that, her head casually on his lap.

He lowered his head and crashed his lips with hers, she was still holding her glass so he grabbed it and casually put it next to them, as he laid over her, kissing her more, moving his mouth from her soft lips to her chin, and then lower to her neck. He smelled her perfume and got lost on her. Alexis could barely think, he seemed to be everywhere around her, she felt his warm breath and his teeth softly biting her neck and felt like she was losing all control.

He stopped himself, he wasn’t going to do it there. She was a goddess, she deserved much, much more than a dirty cellar.

“What’s the matter Drake?”

He sat against the wall again but this time he scooped her in his arms and sat her in his lap, she looped her arms around his waist and laid her head on his chest, still trying to recover her breath.

“I can’t believe I’m the one saying this, O’Brien, but we should wait to be in a better place to do this”

He looked at her, she was four years younger than him. She seemed almost innocent one second and the next one her eyes were black, charged with lust. He cupped her face “Can I ask you something, Lexie? Something personal?” He asked not sure how to address the subject.

She blushed a deep shade of scarlet, guessing exactly what he wanted to know. “If you want to know if I’m a virgin, I’m not. I had a boyfriend the last year of high school.”

He tried to hide the fact that he was jealous of a guy she had dated more than one year ago. “Did you love him?”

“I used to believe that, but” She stopped in her tracks not knowing how to continue. “I don’t know anymore. We had a lot of fun. Everything was very nice.”

He smirked “Nice?”

She stood up angrily leaning her back against the wall. “Yes, nice. Is there a problem with nice, Walker?”

He stood up and pressed her against the wall, roaming her back with his hands, burying his head on her hair, so she’d feel his breath warm, his hoarse voice in her ear “Love is burning, Alexis.” He softly nipped her earlobe as he pressed her even more. She gasped as a million goosebumps appear all over her arms. “Love is consuming.” He kissed the spot between her ear and her neck, and she shivered, the urge for him almost painful. “Love is messy and desperate.” He buried his head even more kissing the nape of her neck “Love is not nice.” He crashed his mouth with her lips again. She was addictive.

JUNE 2015

Alexis let herself get lost in her memory. That had been the day where she had fallen in love with him. Only five days after meeting him. Hearing his ideas, his views about the world. Seeing him taking care of her, making her feel so deeply safe. And getting lost in him, in his lips, his low voice, in the sandalwood. In the passion they shared for each other. Before closing her eyes and joining him for good, that was the image she’ll take with her. The image of the day she had lost her soul to Drake Walker.

APRIL 2019

Alexis’s eyes got lost in the clouds. She had always loved to fly, especially at that moment where the plane was so high, that the clouds were beneath them and the sun cast its light on them. She didn’t believe in anything, not anymore, but there in the heights, in the middle of the sky, she wondered, if maybe there was an afterlife, if maybe someday she would see him again.

Five years had passed, but the wound was still there, raw and ready to hurt, ready to pull her back to the abyss. She turned to look at Liam sleeping beside her. Now she had someone to fight for.

He had fallen asleep as soon as the plane had left the ground. He had to be exhausted; he worked really hard at making Valtoria the most productive duchy in Cordonia, and yet he managed to always be there for her when she needed him.

She was aware that the only reason he had left in the middle of the negotiations with the biggest export American company was because of her. Because of the date that was coming to haunt her. A warm feeling spread through her chest at the thought of all the things Liam had done for her. She took his hand between hers, careful not to wake him up.

Paris was beautiful in April. Alexis admired the blossoming trees and the warmth, spring light bathing the majestic buildings while they walked hand in hand.

Liam knew that the next weeks were going to get difficult, especially at the beginning of the next month, his birthday, so he wanted to distract her as much as he could, showing her his favorite city. He wasn’t naïve; he knew nothing he did was going to erase that day, but he was going to try and do anything in his power to bring her some joy. After all, they had been friends for nine years and together for almost two; he thought he knew her well enough to know what could make her happy.

“What would you think if I took you for some macarons?”

She grinned. “I love Ladurée.”

He shook his head, smiling. “See, everyone thinks the best French macarons are those from Chez Ladurée, but they’re the most famous ones. The best ones are the ones prepared by the chef Pierre Hermé.”

“Lead the way then.” She took his arm and they walked together through the Parisian streets. Every now and then, Liam would show her a small boutique or a gallery that he knew she’d enjoy. They passed the Orsay Museum and the Louvre, and he promised her they would go the next day. Alexis was dying to see the impressionist collection. When they crossed the Pont-Saint Michel, he took her to the Quai de Tournelle, the little quay in Paris where dozens of second-hand booksellers sold their finds at small prizes.

Alexis beamed, truly happy for the first time in days. “Li, this is perfect; I can’t imagine the thousands of first editions or old books that are hiding in here.”

His heart swelled, seeing her smiling. “I knew you would like it, my love.”

She stepped up on her tiptoes and kissed him. “I love it.”

After they walked for a while, they finally arrived at the Teahouse, and Alexis had to admit that they were the best macarons she had ever eaten.

“What now, Mr. Frenchman?”

He cupped her face and kissed her. “I have a surprise for you. Just wait here.”

He left her for a moment to prepare his surprise. When he came back a few minutes later, he spotted her leaning against a stone railing overlooking the Seine River. Her expression was clouded, but when she saw him approach her, she broke into a smile.

He cut the distance between them and wrapped her in a tight embrace. She rested her head on his shoulder.

“Are you all right, darling? He smiled down at her.

“Better now that you’re here, but I can’t stop thinking about everything.”

“I know, Alexis. I’m here now.” He took her hand, joining her at the railing. They spent a long moment holding hands, gazing across the river.

“It’s so quiet,” Alexis said, placing her hair behind her ear “It feels like the whole city is sleeping, like we’re the last humans on earth.”

“Is that a bad thing?”

She shook her head. “No, a little bit of peace is very welcomed.”

“I’m very glad you think so, love. Come here.”

He led her further along the bridge, where she saw a basket sitting on the paving stones. He pulled a small blanket from the basket and spread it out before her.

He saw her astonished expression, so he explained. “I know picnics are not my favorite activity, but I knew you were going to like it. Besides, you’re the one telling me I should be more adventurous.”

She laughed. “I don’t know if a picnic in Paris counts as an adventure, but ...” She caressed his cheek. “You’re right, I love it.”

They settled down on the blanket as he uncorked an expensive bottle of Chateau Margaux, and Alexis pulled some cheeses, bread, and a couple of glasses out of the basket.

“I want to make a toast for us, Lex-“ He cleared his throat. “Alexis, sorry. I forgot.”

Her heart skipped a beat at the mention of her old nickname. “It’s fine, Li. Don’t worry. I just hate to hear it” He took her chin in his fingers and kissed her.

“I know, love. Let’s forget about it. I wanted to toast to us, to our life together”

She raised her glass.

“Thank you for everything.” She looked in his eyes. “I mean everything, Liam. The sacrifice you’re going to make for me.” Her eyes watered. “I can’t believe it.”

He placed his hand on hers. “There’s no sacrifice, love. I’ll do it because I’m crazy about you, and the only thing I want in life is to be with you. I just wish you knew how much I love you, Alexis.”

He stroked her face and kissed her softly, gently caressing her back with his hands.

After a moment of kissing next to the river, they started eating their delicacies.

Liam observed his fiancée, unsure of how to address the subject. “We’re getting married in two months, love.”

She nodded, smiling. “I’m aware of it, Li.”

“So, you’re also aware that you can’t postpone it anymore. We can go together if you want. You need … closure.”

“Do we have to talk about it now?”

“You never want to talk about it, Alexis. It’s time.”

“I promise, I’ll take care of it as soon as we arrive in Cordonia.”

He nodded, unconvinced; she had made him the same promise several weeks ago.

He just hoped that after everything that had happened and the guilt he carried with him every day, he was going to be able to marry her and make her happy for the rest of their lives.

#tears in heaven #drake x mc #drakexmc #liam rhys #liam x mc #alexis o'brien #tw suicude #tw depression #tw death

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maximelebled · 4 years ago

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2019 & 2020

Hello everyone! So yeah, this yearly blog post is about three... four months late... it covers two years now.

I did have a lot of things written last year, last time, but the more things have changed, the more I’ve realized that a lot of things I talked about on here... were because I lacked enough of a social life to want to open up on here.

In a less awkwardly-phrased way, what I’m saying is, I was coping.

Not an easy thing to admit to in public by any means, but I reckon it’s the truth. Over the past two years, I’ve made more of an effort to build better & healthier friendships, dial back my social media usage a bit (number 1 coping strategy), not tie all my friendships to games I play, especially Dota (number 2 coping strategy), so that I could be more emotionally healthy overall.

Pictured: me looking a whole lot like @dril on the outside, although not so much on the inside. (Photo by my lovely partner.)

To some degree, I believe it’s important to be able to talk about yourself a bit more openly in a way that is generally not encouraged nor made easy on other social networks (looking at you, Twitter). I know that 2010-me would be scared to approach 2020-me; and it’s my hope that what I am writing here would not help him with that, but also help him become less of an insecure dweeb faster. 😉

Not that recent accomplishments have stopped me from being any less professionally anxious. Sometimes the impostor syndrome just morphs into... something else.

Anyway, what I’m getting at is, the first reason it took me until this year to finish last year’s post is because, with my shift in perspective, and these realizations about myself, I do want to keep a lot more things private... or rather, it’s that I don’t feel the need to share them anymore? And that made figuring out what to write a fair bit harder.

The other reason I didn’t write sooner is because, in 2018, I wrote my "year in review” post right before I became able to talk about my then-latest cool thing (my work on Valve’s 2018 True Sight documentary). So I then knew I’d have to bring it up in the 2019 post. But then, I was asked to work on the 2019 True Sight documentary, and I know it was going to air in late January 2020, so I was like, “okay, well, whatever, it, I’ll just write this yearly recap after that, so I don’t miss the coach this time”. So I just ended up delaying it again until I was like... “okay, whatever, I’ll just do both 2019 and 2020 in a single post.”

I think I can say I’ve had the privilege of a pretty good 2019, all things considered. And also of a decent 2020, given the circumstances. Overall, 2019 was a year of professional fulfillment; here’s a photo taken of me while I was managing the augmented reality system at The International 2019! (The $35 million dollar Dota 2 tournament that was held, this that year, in Shanghai.)

If I’d shown this to myself 10 years ago it would’ve blown my mind, so I guess things aren’t all that bad...!

I’ve brought up two health topics in these posts before: weight & sleep.

As for the first, the situation is still stable. If it is improving, it is doing so at a snail’s pace. But quite frankly, I haven’t put in enough effort into it overall. Even though I know my diet is way better than it was five or six years ago, I’ve only just really caught up with the “how it should have been the entire time” stage. It is a milestone... but not necessarily an impressive one. Learning to cook better things for myself has been very rewarding and fulfilling, though. It’s definitely what I’d recommend if you need to find a place to start.

As for sleep, throughout 2019, I continued living 25-hour days for the most part. There were a few weeks during which I slowed down the process, but it continued on going. Then, in late December of 2019, motivated by the knowledge that sleep is such a foundational pillar of your health, I figured I really needed to take things seriously, and I managed to go on a three month streak of mostly-stable sleep! (See the data above.)

Part of what helped was willingly stopping to use my desktop computer once it got too late in the day, avoiding Dota at the end of the day as much as possible, and anything exciting for that matter... and, as much as that sounds like the worst possible stereotype, trying to “listen to my body” and recognizing when I was letting stress and anxiety build up inside me, and taking a break or trying to relax.

Also, a pill of melatonin before going to bed; but even though it’s allegedly not a problem to take melatonin, I figured I should try to rely on it as little as possible.

Unfortunately, that “good sleep” streak was abruptly stopped by a flu-like illness... it might have been Covid-19. The symptoms somewhat matched up, but I was lucky: they were very mild. I fully recovered in just over a week. I coughed a bit, but not that much. If it really was that disease, then I got very lucky.

(Pictured: another photo by my lovely SO, somewhere in Auvergne.)

My sleep continued to drift back to its 25-hour rhythm, and I only started resuming these efforts towards the fall... mostly because living during the night felt like a better option with the summer heat (no AC here). I thought about doing that the other way (getting up at 3am instead of going to bed at 7am), and while it’d make more sense temperature-wise, that would have kept me awake when there were practically no people online, and I was trying to have a better social life then, even if had to be purely online due to the coronavirus, so... yeah.

I’ve been working from home since 2012! I also lived alone for a number of years since then. For the most part, it hasn’t been a great thing for my mental health. Having had a taste of what being in an office was like thanks to a couple weeks in the Valve offices, I had the goal of beginning to apply at a few places here and there in March/April. Then the pandemic hit, so those plans are dead in the water. I wanted 2020 to be the year in which I’d finally stop being fully remote, but those plans are now dead in the water.

Now, at the end of the year, I don’t really know if I want to apply at any places. There’s a small handful of studios whose work really resonates with me, creatively speaking, and whose working conditions seem to be alright, at least from what I hear... but, and I swear I’m saying this in the least braggy way possible... there’s very little that beats having been able to work on what I want, when I want, and how much I want.

This kind of freelance status can be pretty terrifying sometimes, but I’ve managed (with some luck, of course) to reach a safe balance, a point at which I’ve effectively got this luxury of being able to only really work on what I want, and never truly overwork myself (at least by the standards of most of the gaming industry). It’s a big privilege and I feel like it’d take a lot to give it up.

Besides the things I mentioned before, one thing I did that drastically improved my mental health was being introduced to a new lovely group of friends by my partner! I started playing Dungeons & Dragons with them, every weekend or so! And in the spirit of a rising tide lifting all boats, I managed to also give back to our lovely DM, by being a sort of “AM” (audio manager)... It’s been great having something to look forward to every week.

Something to look forward to... I’ve heard about the concept of “temporal anchors”. I had heard about how the reason our adult years suddenly pass by in a blur is because we now have more “time” that’s already in our brains, but now I’m more convinced that it’s because we’re going from a very school routine such as the one schools impose upon us, to, well... practically nothing.

I thought most of my years since 2011 have been a blur, but none have whooshed by like 2020 has, and I reckon part of that is because I’ve (obviously) gone out far far less, and most importantly there wasn’t The Big Summer Event That The International Is, the biggest yearly “temporal anchor” at my disposal. The anticipation and release of those energies made summer feel a fair bit longer... and this year, summer was very much a blur for me. In and out like the wind.

I guess besides that, I haven’t really had that much trouble with being locked down. I had years of training for that, after all. Doesn’t feel like I can complain. 😛

(Pictured: trip to Chicago in January of 2019... right when the polar vortex hit!)

Work was good in 2019, and sparser in 2020. Working with Valve again after the 2018 True Sight was a very exciting opportunity. At the time, in February of 2019, I was out with my partner on little holiday trips around my region, and, after night fell, on the way back, we decided to stop in a wide open field, on a tiny countryside path, away from the cities, to try and do some star-gazing, without light pollution getting in the way.

And it’s there and then that I received their message, while looking at the stars with my SO! The timing and location turned that into a very vivid memory...

I then got to spend a couple weeks in their offices in late April / early May. I was able to bring my partner along with me to Washington State, and we did some sightseeing on the weekends.

(Pictured: part of a weekend trip in Washington. This was a dried up lakebed.)

After that, I worked on the Void Spirit trailer in the lead to The International. In August, those couple weeks in Shanghai were intense. Having peeked behind the curtain and seen everything that goes into production really does give me a much deeper appreciation for all the work that goes unseen.

Then after that, in late 2019, there was my work on the yearly True Sight documentary, for the second time. In 2018, I’d been tasked with making just two animated sequences, and I was very nervous since that was my first time working directly with Valve; my work then was fairly “sober”, for lack of a better term.

(Pictured: view from my hotel room in Shanghai.)

For the 2019 edition, I had double the amount of sequences on my plate, and they were very trusting of me, which was very reassuring. I got to be more technically ambitious, I let my style shine through (you know... if it’s got all these gratuitous light beams, etc.), and it was real fun to work on.

At the premiere in Berlin, I was sitting in the middle of the room (in fact, you could spot me in the pre-show broadcast behind SirActionSlacks; unfortunately I had forgotten to bring textures for my shirt). Being in that spot when my shots started playing, and hearing people laughing and cheering at them... that’s an unforgettable memory. The last time I had experienced something like that was having my first Dota short film played at KeyArena in 2015, the laughter of the crowd echoing all around me... I was shaking in my seat. Just remembering it gets my heart pumping, man. It’s a really unique feeling.

So I’m pretty happy with how that work came out. I came out of it having learned quite a few new tricks too, born out of necessity from my technical ambitions. Stuff I intend to put to use again. I’m really glad that the team I worked with at Valve was so kind and great to work with. After the premiere, I received a few more compliments from them... and I did reply, “careful! You might give me enough confidence to apply!”, to which one of them replied, “you totally should, man.” But I still haven’t because I’m a massive idiot, haha. Well, I still haven’t because I don’t think I’m well-rounded enough yet. And also because, like I alluded to before, I think I’m in a pretty good situation as it is.

It’s not the first encouragements I had received from them, too; there had been a couple people from the Dota team who, at the end of my two week stay in the offices, while I was on my way out, told me I should try applying. But again, I didn’t apply because I’m a massive idiot.

(Pictured: view from the Valve offices.)

To be 200% frank, even though there’s been quite a few people who’ve followed my work throughout the years, comments on Reddit and YouTube, etc. who’ve all said things along the lines of “why aren’t you working for them ?”, well... it’s not something I ever really pursued. I know it’s a lot of people’s dream job, but I never saw it that way. I feel like, if it ever happened to me... sure, that could be cool! But I don’t know if it’s something I really want, or even that I should want?

And if you add “being unsure” to what I consider to be a lack of experience in certain things, well... I really don’t think I’d be a good candidate (yet?), and having seen how busy these people are on the inside, the last thing I want to do is waste their time with a bad application. That would be the most basic form of courtesy I can show to them.

Besides, Covid-19 makes applying to just about any job very hard, if not outright impossible right now. And for a while longer, I suspect.

(Pictured: the Tuilière & Sanadoire rocks.)

I’m still unhappy about the amount of “actual animation” I get to do overall since I like to work on just about every step of the process in my videos, but well. It’s getting better. One thing I am happy with though, is “solving problems”. And new challenges. Seeking the answers to them, and making myself be able to see those problems, alongside entire projects, from a more “holistic” way, that is to say, not missing the forest for the trees.

It’s hard to explain, and even just the use of the term “holistic” sounds like some kind of pompous cop-out... but looking back on how I handled projects 5 years ago vs. now, I see the differences in how I think about problems a lot. And to some extent I do have my time on Valve contracts to thank a LOT in helping me progress there.

Anyway, I’m currently working on a project that I’m very interested & creativefuly fulfilled by. But it has nothing to do with animation nor Dota, for a change! There are definitely at least two other Dota short films I want to make, though. We’ll see how that goes.

Happy new year & take care y’all.

#year in review

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darkminddeadsoul · 4 years ago

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I have completely forgotten about this and my motivation to do anything creative, be it investing time to blog, painting, playing drums, has disappeared these first few months of 2021. I’ve been doing a lot of introspection, strengthening bonds with my friends, breaking down walls I had up for so long and learning to be vulnerable and worthy of love (still working on this one) which leads to my first update of 2021. Buckle up kids!

TW: SA, Death, SH, drugs

I started 2021 with a self harm relapse episode, and lots of crying that I think was lacking in 2020. I have been in therapy trying to work out my diagnoses, my prognosis along with *deep breath* dealing with my r*pe that happened in November of 2019. For the longest time, I couldn’t even talk about it, I only told my best friends months later. To this day I’m still dealing with it and kind of stuck in the “should’ve, could’ve, would’ve” phase, I still believe I could’ve done something different to change the outcome of that night. Nonetheless, I believe I’m in a place now where I can talk about it publicly(not so public, no one knows I have a blog.) I think writing it somewhere in the open will help me, to be able to return to this moment when I hit a depressive episode or am dealing with troubles in my life, it’ll be a moment where my courage came through and I wrote about it sans censorship.

It started out as a regular day, I had just finished work and went to meet up with a friend when we decided to hit up a bar for their trivia nights, fun right? At this point in my life I had just started abusing anti-anxiety medication and slowly going down a spiral I’m all too familiar with. That day I took 7 pills and then decided to go out drinking, I obviously didn’t have much value for my well-being but ironically I did later that night. Trivia night was fun, had a couple of drinks and we were heading back to my friend’s place to crash for the night. I ended up not wanting to stay as I remembered my mom was out of town and I had to watch her pets. It was late, I didn’t want to risk taking public transportation or an Uber in the state I was in (Ativan and vodka not a good mix) for fear that something would happening to me, so what did I do? Like any logical person, called a friend acquaintance to give me a lift home. Some details about this acquaintance, it was someone I had known for 3 years, someone my best friend dated and who never mistreated me in any way I can consider mistreatment, all to say it was someone I knew and could somewhat trust. Again someone I knew.

Anyway, he answered my text and was more than happy to come pick me up, he was genuinely worried something was wrong, oh the irony. Now we’re driving back to my moms and he jokingly tells me that I now own him a drink and then suggested we go have one right now on our way home. Fine, I agreed and that was probably stupid of me but hey! I didn’t care. We got to a bar I’m pretty familiar with and what was supposed to be one drink, ended up being a few more and I ended up grabbing the tab because he forgot his wallet *eyeroll*. It’s 3 am at this point and I work in 4 hours so I said okay time to go home and he asked if he can stay over since he drank too much to drive now and he was too tired, I was hesitant but agreed, seeing as I saw no red flags, and he did come pick me up in the middle of the night. I let take my bed since I’d be awake anyway and probably just watching TV while he slept.

Here I am, a good 30 minutes into my show and he was snoring so it was chill, until I felt him shifting and turning and then placing his hand on thigh, and making a comment that I was wearing boxers under my shorts and it was dumb. I should try to at least take one off, I’d be more comfortable.

Do you know how much it fucking sucks to be able to remember every tiny detail of a very traumatic night??? It sucks big time. I won’t delve into the specific details, it was just very violent, I still ask people to never startle me or grab me by my shoulders/arms from behind. I was hoping it would be over quickly but it felt like eternity. He finally finished and asked if he can go smoke. He left and I was left alone with a body I wanted to abandon and the feeling of I was the most filthiest person. I quickly got dressed and joined him on the balcony to smoke when I told him he had to leave. He tried to make excuses, jokes and even tried to forcefully get back into my house, I told him once more if he didn’t leave he was gonna leave by way of flight over the balcony banister. He proceeded to call me all the names under the sun and finally left when he saw I wasn’t playing around. I had the sense at that point that I needed to get to a pharmacy to take plan B. The experience at the pharmacy was anything but pleasant and the pharmacist was even a little judgemental when I asked for the pill, he told me that I should’ve been careful, while I was crying. Moving on, I ended up crying so much that I puked and I wasn’t sure if I puked up the pill or not. This led me to thinking I was pregnant for a month after that cause I was late (I wasn’t pregnant, test confirmed). Now since then, I’ve told my best friends and seemed therapy but can I say I’ve made any improvements, I don’t think so and I’m hoping writing this will help me make an improvement.

The other reason I chose to be public now, is with all that’s been happening in the world against women. The victim shaming and victim blaming has to stop. We need to stop saying protect your daughter, and instead say teach your sons. We need to stop asking about what they were wearing and if they said no, and how much they drank. We need to stop making excuses for men, oh he was just drunk, he’s her boyfriend. We need to stop making it so fucking difficult to press charges for rape. Please, for our future daughters, we need to stop and just listen for once.

I know this is very different than my regular content about my health but it’s been something I’ve wanted to do so I can try to heal.

Goodnight my babies 💙

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brokenfoetus · 4 years ago

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...Real Talk for a Moment....

This is gonna be a long rant post, so by all means... quickly scroll past. Parts may even be a tad emo feels for some folks for one reason or another... There’s no shame in skipping for reals. A lot of days I can’t bother to read anything too in depth... anyway... HERE goes.... While I absolutely love art, and performance, and surreal awkward characterization of myself I call “THE END”. I also value truth, and being understood. My blog here started more as a journal for me to vent, and place to post music and art for me to look at in order to try and just relax during a very difficult point in my life. Every now and then I like to stop and ground myself and post in a sense about the actual me. There’s frankly not anything magical here, everyone has a story and their experiences and struggles we all do no matter who you are. I suppose like I said, I just like to be understood where I am coming from typically can only be slightly grasped like anyone. Even if you agree with views and relate to feelings, things become clearer with details.... hence my rants. I get it out of my system and state my perspectives all at once and anyone who happens to be curious gets to read it. Maybe gets to relate and frankly that tends to help us sometimes. It helps people realize they’re not alone in their situations. Anyway.... I was born a tiny premature gremlin on the east coast of the U.S. I was raised a devout Catholic boy. At age 11 I was diagnosed with the chronic illness Diabetes. when the symptoms started my mother called doctors concerned. We had to wait a full month for my appointment. It was rough. Some people don’t know of the disease, but most people generally are aware. It typically doesn’t seem all too dramatic to most since people think of it as old grandma and grandpa taking their pills and measuring their food. When you’re talking juvenile onset diabetes it’s different... severity can vary. but, I caught some sort of virus, with flu like symptoms... I was very very sick for a week or two. Once it passed, I was okay but slowly started feeling gross in other ways. By the time we got to see Doctors it was too late, and the damage done to my pancreas made it so it created pretty much no insulin. The only theory Doctors had at the time was the virus freaked out my auto-immune system so it made my body attack itself. It seemed that my white blood cells had attacked my pancreas. I was 11, so... I didn’t know what diabetes was. I asked my doctor if there was a cure, and he explained that there was no cure. My little boy brain after feeling so awful for a month and a half assumed I was going to die. I burst into tears as I was very very afraid. My Doctor quickly explained I wasn’t going to die like I had assumed and that it can be treated. It doesn’t seem so scary most the time when you realize it can be treated. The thing is the hormone insulin can be quite dangerous, as low blood sugars are actually very much more dangerous than high blood sugars. Insulin allows glucose in the blood to travel into cells to basically use as fuel. without it sugar levels rise in the blood stream, and the body starts rapidly breaking down fat cells to use as fuel. Now, that happens normal some anyway usually after eating. Just not rapidly.... when it does, the fuel it breaks down creates ketones which can make the blood toxic... by making it acidic.... Like I don’t really think... there’s any way I can describe what high blood sugar feels like... or what it feels like when your blood starts to become acidic.... I can’t... but... minor low blood sugar attacks can happen to anyone just by skipping lunch or forgetting to eat... and those suck... bad ones... well... they feel like you’re dying. Not to be melodramatic about it all... but that’s all I can say to explain it... it just feels like you’re dying. Probably because you sort of are..... The brain runs on glucose so when the levels get too low... your brain panics and tries to save itself and alert you. It’s not fun. It’s been many years since I had anything dangerous or serious in terms of low blood sugars but, a couple times in my life when I wasn’t doing very well emotionally and mentally I wasn’t paying attention or being careful with my insulin dosages and how much I was eating. I’ve had 3 grand mal seizures in my life when I was younger.... it’s hard to explain the experience... in mine... I don’t know.... It was like not existing at all, there was nothing. I woke to pain, I couldn’t see or hear it just hurt. Everything hurt head to toe. Then I could hear myself saying it hurt, then I could hear the people around me, and then I could see the people around me. Then I knew what had happened. I felt a bit guilty for scaring my loved ones so much. That honestly made me more upset than the pain. The reason I spell all this out... is my life has mostly been surrounded by fear. I’ve been aware of my mortality and trying to avoid dying on a daily basis since I was a very young boy. The strange thing I suppose.... is after a while... you just get sick of being afraid.... you kind of stop being scared and just get angry... I was a shy timid nervous little dude.... I’ve had long long times where... I’ve felt worthless, I’ve hated myself, felt I didn’t deserve happiness, or love. I’ve let people use me, without standing up for myself. I’ve let people be toxic and cruel, while excusing their behavior. While at the same time condemning myself for any tiny mistake I may have made in any way. I’ve made myself a martyr in personal relationships, sacrificing myself and my feelings. I’ve frankly... done a whole bunch of fucked up things turned inward. The nice thing I suppose, is I don’t do that anymore.... I still make mistakes, and I like to take responsibility for them and make amends or fix them. You can get used to some really fucked up things. Especially when struggling with self worth. I used to think I was useless and undeserving. Today... I’m well aware I’m a PRETTEH PRETTEH GOFF BOI.... I have long time close friends who love me just as much as I do them. I have a wonderful beautiful lovely lady who has my heart and soul whom I want to spend every moment I possibly can with until my bones are dust. Who helped me a great deal over the past couple years or so. Helped me with myself and helped me believe in myself again. Just by being my friend and supporting me while I continue to be the eccentric artist asshole I am. and I have Scrambles... THE MOST CUTEST BLACK KITTEH KAT EVAR. I feel rather lucky to have all I do. I appreciate what I have very very much. I’ve been dealing with Diabetes since I was 11... and had been dealing with Severe Major Depression symptoms since my early 20s. over the past five years I finally started getting help, Turns out I don’t just have diabetes.... I have adhd and some kind of sleep disorder. we’ve been calling it narcolepsy but it’s hard to say exactly, it could be hypersomnia which is a super fancy way of saying I’m fucking always exhausted 24/7 which is pretty accurate. That is usually caused by narcolepsy or something else but... who knows... still trying to figure that part out. I have discovered though that, being fucking exhausted non stop for 20 years will make you very depressed. Sometimes depression makes you tired, and sometimes being tired makes you depressed. When I was a young lad, I gave myself one single life goal.... That was to finish an electro industrial album and play some live shows. I dunno, to some that might not be a big deal.... I never said it had to be “good” after all. But, when I was at a low point dealing with my stuffs, trying to take care of myself... I honestly spent most my days sleeping. I was awake maybe 4 hours a day. Things felt very hopeless, that learned hopelessness made me believe things were pretty much pointless. I would shrug... and talk to my psychiatrist about my suffering in a manner that people talk about the weather. I didn’t even care anymore it was happening. It was “oh well... is what it is.” Until I got angry, it was a good thing I was so frustrated.... because it meant I finally gave a shit again. I wanted to get better and I wanted it to hurry the fuck up. Anyway... I’m just rambling and ranting because I was thinking back a lot after doing a sleep study... probably the first in a series of them. I don’t have apnea so I mean... that’s good. I also got to see what some of my brainwaves look like... I also apparently wake up after dreaming some a lot... I also apparently yelled in the middle of the night hahaha. So back to the whole life goal thing.....my long time friend, who introduced me to shitloads of music and bands and has always been close through good and bad times. Was saying how he knew it was something I’ve always wanted to do, so he wants to help me. He’s starting to help me plan the performance and then later will help me setup my shows and come with me to what will be really awkward and silly first couple gigs I play. An open mic night will be particularly hilarious to me, since instead of hearing shitty rock song covers, it will be an insane goth punk dude screaming distorted vocals to weird electro noises haha. It’s taken a long time to get shit finally going... but... it’s getting there... it’s still going to take a lot more work... on both me and the music. I have countless things I have to do, but I’m just happy I finally got angry enough to scream fuck it... and go for it... I love a lot of various kinds of work. I don’t really fit there very well though. Now that the sleep disorder stuff has become worse over time... it’s not really possible anyway. That’s okay though, since now I’m just doing what I’m actually good at. Eccentric artist asshole has always been my key features. xD So, here’s some photos of me before and during my sleep lab and random enjoyable crap I suppose... and my general mood. It’s been a while.... -The End-

youtube

#Me #Personal #Random #Pointless #Update #THE END

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laraslandlockedblues · 4 years ago

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I have something I’ve been thinking about, especially now that I’m back over on Twitter (admittedly with a new account than I’d had before) and have been trying to reconcile how I utilize different platforms and why.

Long rambles so I’ll be sure to tag this long post and put under a read more.

TL;DR - I essentially traumatized myself for a political group doing research after the 2016 election, and while I thought I could handle it I found out I could not. I walked away from politics and at the same time discovered that fandom/fanfic writing was alive and well and I lost myself into writing for DA. I literally did actively avoid politics through tumblr and fandom because it was what I needed to heal. It’s why I’ve been such a shitty ally, and while I know that doesn’t excuse my inaction and silence, it hopefully explains why I hid behind privilege and often didn’t speak up. However, moving forward, that will be different.

I can no longer stay silent.

Almost four years ago, after crying my eyes out on election night, I became part of a group that was trying to decide what the fuck we could do moving forward. We all took up roles and duties we were suited for, and at the start mine was to delve into research. I was good at it, and at the time I assured them that I was able to read things that could make your skin crawl and walk away unscathed. It was a skill we needed.

And so, I set to work. I dove into the world of pro-Trumpers, the alt-right, the radicalization of young white men through the internet, and I worked on learning. I would spend my days reading reddit, 4chan, wherever I could find them gathering and sharing their ideas and plans. I took notes. I studied their lexicon and wrote it down. I figured out how they dog whistled and what terms they used around “normies” to try to bring them into the alt-right. I studied how they were trying to “red pill” people. I studied the way they actively were trying to push the Overton Window so that their ideas could be enacted further down the road.

For weeks this was all I did.

At first I was fueled by my rage and disbelief at the election, and I was hopeful we could figure it out soon and overcome. As time went on, though, I lost that hope. I couldn’t walk away from the research unscathed. I carried it around with me, crying over what I was reading, what I was discovering. The depths of hatred in people shook me to my core, as well as the realization that I had been blind to it and even a part of it at one point.

I was raised by conservatives who admire Ayn Rand, after all. It took me living out on my own and speaking to people from all walks of life that I finally began to shed both religion and my formerly held political views. Two of my closest friends are the children of illegal immigrants. They were the first of their families to graduate from college. Going to their graduation party (as well as others for their families) changed my whole world. Being the only white, English speaker in a room was exactly the kind of experience a lot of people in our country need to have.

And now I was having to research people who actively hated some of the best people I’ve ever met, and also actively worked to never be in the sort of situations I had found had changed me so completely as a person.

I gave up. I sank into such a deep depression I took to drinking more, drinking so that I could sleep instead of staying up until 5am, until I had to go seek a counselor. I was in a red state, in military healthcare, and my counselor only saw the symptoms and side effects of my depression, not the cause. I didn’t feel safe telling her that I was thoroughly depressed because of what I saw happening to my country. Because of the election.

So instead I was treated as an alcoholic, as if that was not a symptom and was in fact the main cause (don’t @ me, I know it makes it worse. But it was not the cause.)

Then I discovered Mass Effect for the first time. And I replayed Dragon Age. I fell in love with Garrus and once more with Alistair and Fenris and Cullen. Late at night, a little tipsy and wishing Garrus had had more of a romance, I googled him and discovered Ao3. And I began devouring fic. And then I had an idea for my own (Goose Bumps).

The rest is well-documented history, here.

I sought refuge in fandom and fanfic. I sought refuge in telling stories. I admittedly used some problematic tropes when I first started out, so enthralled by just finally *writing* again that I didn’t pay attention to how I was consuming the media. I hadn’t written in so long, having hit writer’s block with a mystery I’d been working on (inspired by the “sundown” town I had to visit in-laws in in Illinois), and the act of just writing anything was so liberating for me I gave little thought to anything else.

Never mind the fact that my first real interaction with someone in fandom led to me being manipulated, gaslit, and abused. We’ll gloss over that part.

But these things all compiled into a me who was no longer vocal when I saw things that were more than just concerning and needed to be addressed. I ignored things that made me angry. I saw mutuals sharing important political messages and my heart would start racing and I would log out for the day. I couldn’t see the content without having an adverse reaction to it. I also didn’t want to make myself a target by saying anything - after all, I had written fics and been targeted by an abuser simply for that. What sort of reaction would I get if I helped to call out problematic art and artists?

I was frozen by fear.

I let myself be silent. I let myself take refuge in my privilege as a white cis woman. I let myself only write and block anyone who was racist/sexist/ableist/terfs/you name it. I blocked and moved on.

Because I could.

I had that luxury.

I am no longer frozen by my fear. I am now emboldened by it. I understand wanting to seek refuge in fandom. I do. If moving forward me being political here on this platform causes you distress and you have to unfollow me, trust me.

I get it.

But I can no longer allow my silence to enable those who seek to cause harm. I can no longer stay silent in the face of what is happening in the world, in my country, in my backyard - in my fandom.

This is not in response to anything more than my determination to be better than I was. For three years I’ve allowed myself to seek shelter, while not allowing others the same decency or courtesy by creating a safe space free of racism or other harmful ideologies. I’m not the only one who deserves to seek shelter in fandom. White women are not the only ones who deserve to seek shelter in fandom.

If those statements seem radical or uncomfortable to you, feel free to show yourself the door.

This is not an attempt to explain away my past (in)actions. I don’t need pats on the back. I don’t need reaffirmation. These thoughts have just been circling in my head now that I’ve finally reconnected with that group and have been politically active on Twitter and my personal Facebook again. This blog is still mostly fandom and shitposts. But I also want to be better in how I participate here, instead of keeping it just to my Twitter.

Racists, TERFs, homophobes, sexists, fascists (yes, you’re a fascist if you’re “anti-antifa” get fucked), nazis, etc - none of your like are welcome here. My art is not for you.

#long post #personal #needed to ramble this out of my system #tw racism #tw alt-right #i'm determined to be better #and i will no longer be silent #this is not an excuse #i just needed to conquer my own trauma and now even if it still causes me distress #i have to act #tw: alcholism #tw: alchohol mention #forgot those two

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langdvnshepherd · 5 years ago

Text

Lilo (Jim Mason x fem!reader)

Word Count: 4.4k

Warnings: sub!Jim, fem!reader, angst city baby (this is sad as fuck I'm sorry I had to do it to em), mentions of drug use, smut, tummy riding, cockwarming, fluff (I suppose), the timeline for TTOPV is slightly off in this but it’s not too far gone

A/N: Oop sorry I haven’t posted in a hot minute, but I’m back! This has been in my drafts since like....three weeks after I started this blog, I just never got around to finishing it until now. Loosely inspired by Lilo by The Japanese House! I love this song so much, and it reminded me of Jim for some reason??? Anyways, here ya go! As always, let me know what you think! Send any requests or comments my way.

The vibrations of her cell phone rattling against the nightstand broke her concentration away from her laptop. She’d spent the hot, summer evening indoors picking out curtains and area rugs that would match the bedspread of her new apartment. After deciding she’d procrastinated long enough, she forced herself to hunker down and finalize any last minute details before she transferred universities and moved away from Palos Verdes.

A photo of her boyfriend illuminated her phone’s screen. It was one of her favorites: his mouth hung open and head thrown back in the middle of a laugh, nose scrunched, eyes closed and crinkled at the corners. She could recall the origin of the photo vividly. The two of them had made a day trip down the coast to a beach where he swore the waves were better, but she couldn’t tell a difference. In the exact moment that she’d raised her camera, a seagull swooped down and snatched her sunglasses right off of her head, sending him into a contagious giggle fit. She missed that smile. It was genuine and loving, and not something she saw very often these days. He seemed like he’d been holding his breath lately; like something was bothering him, but he wasn’t ready to talk about it just yet.

A deep sigh left her body as she pressed the phone to her ear.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Y/N.” He already sounded upset. She could hear his heavy breathing through the speaker and the slamming of a door in the background. A stirring feeling rose in her stomach at the thought of what the reasoning was behind his phone call.

“Hi, Jim.” She didn’t want to set him off, which had been happening a lot recently. The fights with his mother had been occurring what seemed like every day now, withering his patience down to the point of nonexistence. Either that or he had gotten into it with one of the boys down by the beach; they always managed to get him fired up in a hurry.

“Are your parents home?”

“No, they left this morning to help my grandparents move. Why? You want to come over?”

He was quiet for a moment. The sounds of his shallow breaths being the only noise in the otherwise awkward silence.

“Uh...yeah. Can I actually stay over? I miss you.” His voice grew softer as he spoke, as if he felt bad for even asking. He slept over frequently, and he knew he didn’t have to ask before stopping by. The ‘I miss you’ at the end was just out of habit, she knew that wasn’t the reason. If she had to guess, it was Sandy. She always managed to send him over the edge. It tore her up inside to picture the heartbroken look on his face every time she hurled insult after insult at him.

“Of course. I’m in my room. The key’s in the flower pot, just let yourself in.”

“Yeah, okay,” he paused before he spoke again. “I’ll be over soon... Love you.”

“Love you too, Jimmy.” She locked her phone before tossing it across the comforter and flopping down on the bed on her back.

This wasn’t how she’d planned to spend her evening. She was hoping to finish the night off with a bubble bath and a face mask, not keeping Jim company while he sobbed into her chest. It wasn’t that he annoyed her, that was quite the opposite. She was transferring universities after having been accepted into a research program in her field of interest. But leaving town and moving out of her parent’s house also meant that she’d be leaving Jim behind when she went.

She’d tried to convince him so many times to come with her, to get out of Palos Verdes and away from the toxicity of his fucked up family. He always insisted that he didn’t have a choice, that he had to stay here. Despite how cruel his mother could be towards him, he fully believed that she wouldn’t make it without him and that Medina would be left to endure her wrath if he left. Leaving Jim, as inevitable as it was, was the last thing she wanted to think about. She’d kept it on the back-burner of her brain for as long as she could manage. Having him there, in her room, would make all of those feelings resurface and allow panic to take over.

When Jim didn’t show after half an hour, she began to worry. She’d assumed when he called and she heard the door slam that it meant he’d be right over, but there was still no sign of him. This only further provoked the dark thoughts that lurked within her. She’d never confronted him about it, but she knew he had a problem with pills. At first, she’d only ever seen him take them at parties. Assuming mixed with alcohol it made for a more fun high, she didn’t think anything of it. He was giggly and touchy and chatty, and she didn’t mind. It was how she’d met him in the first place. Her friend introduced her to him at one of her famous beach bashes the same week Jim first moved to Palos Verdes, where party drugs were in abundance. ‘You’ll love him!’ she drunkenly exclaimed that hot, muggy night. Boy, was she right.

She first began to notice little changes in his behavior when shit hit the fan with his parents. He was impatient, agitated all of the time. His eyes were always slightly glassy, his jaw always rigid. Even if it was just the two of them watching a movie in his room, he’d always be slightly sticky, a thin veil of sweat covering the curves and ridges of his soft skin. She’d seen him like this plenty of times, but never in a casual setting. He’d brush off any remarks of hers, insisting that she need not worry.

The fallout between his parents had taken a huge toll on him, he had to replace his father and coddle his mother day and night. He’d spent plenty of nights curled into a ball in her lap while she ran her fingers through his hair. She was never sure of exactly what to say to him to make him feel better, so she settled on just being there for him, which he never seemed to mind. Jim typically opened up when he was ready to talk, so she stayed quiet even though watching him self-destruct was eating away at her soul.

Another hour went by, and still no Jim. She figured he’d run off with the boys from the beach doing god knows what, or maybe he just forgot. Trying not to let her mind jump to conclusions, she figured it was best to just go to sleep. Hopefully, he’d show up later.

The sound of her bedroom door creaking open pulled her out of her light sleep. Opening one eye, she peeked over her shoulder to see Jim tip-toeing his way into her room, a failed attempt at trying not to wake her. He didn’t say anything when he caught her staring as he shrugged off his clothes, stripping down to just his boxers that only recently started to hang loosely from his hips. He only gave her a brief smile, one that she could barely make out in the darkness of her room.

“Hey, you. What took you so long? I was starting to think you forgot about me.” she asked him as she shifted your position on the bed, lifting her comforter and inviting him into the warmth of the blanket. Jim immediately wrapped his arms around her, tangling his legs into hers. He nuzzled his nose into her neck, “Just like a little puppy,” she’d always teased. He let out what seemed to be a sigh of relief before speaking.

“Same old shit. I tried to leave, and my mom stopped me. Screaming fit. Had to wait before her meds to knock her out before I snuck out the window.” His voice was slightly hoarse, signifying he'd been crying as much he had apparently been yelling. It wasn’t until she pulled her head away from Jim’s chest to look at his face that she saw the wetness on his cheeks. It glimmered in the moonlight that peaked through her window like crystal.

She took his head in both of her hands, gently rubbing his tears away with the pads of her thumbs. He peered at her with swollen eyes as he brushed the tips of his fingers up and down her bare sides, exposed from where her T-shirt had ridden up in bed. For a brief moment, they were both just staring at each other. Not saying anything. Not moving. Secretly, she was scanning his face for any indication that he was high. He didn’t seem to be, which made her exhale deeply and give him a sympathetic smile. She figured it was now or never, she had to pry and make him open up to her. He can’t keep doing this to himself, and she couldn’t leave Palos Verdes without knowing Jim would be okay without her.

Just as she parted her lips to speak, Jim closed her mouth off with his. It was as if he knew exactly what she was going to say and he wanted to stop her in her tracks. She felt him shakily exhale into her mouth as she snaked her arms around his neck, finally feeling at ease in her embrace after being on edge all night. Without giving her time to react, he deepened the kiss, pulling tougher on her lips and gripping his hands around her waist. She moaned softly into his mouth as he continued to feel her up, sliding one hand into the back of her panties to rest flat against the skin of her ass and keeping the other wrapped tightly around her waist. She wanted to resist him, to make him talk to her, but it was clear that he wasn’t going to comply.

He removed his hand from her underwear with a snap of the waistband, then wrapped his arm around the back of her thigh to pull her on top of him. Once she was fully straddled across Jim’s waist, she pulled back to look at him. Fresh tears were falling from his ocean colored eyes. He was quick to catch them, to rub at his face with one of his hands to disperse the running droplets from his cheeks, but she was quicker. She reached out and took his hands in hers, forcing him to look her in the eyes.

“Talk to me, Jim,” she muttered in all but a whisper, “What’s wrong?”

He tried to look away from her. At the ceiling. At her tv. At her bedroom door. He didn’t say anything, he didn’t have to. His eyes were pleading. Don’t do this, they exerted.

With his hands still interlocked with hers, he held them close to his chest, the familiar thumping of Jim’s heartbeat pulsing through her fingertips as he spoke.

“Nothing’s wrong. I just...need you.”

Sighing in defeat, she got the hint. Now wasn’t the time. He was lying through his teeth, but she felt he might crumble beneath her if she pried too hard.

She leaned down slowly, pecking small kisses along his jaw.

“What do you need from me?” she baited, teasing him in a way. She knew exactly what he needed her to do, she just wanted him to say it.

Jim ran his hands from the small of her back down to her ass, softly pushing her against him. The course lace of her panties rubbing so closely near his crotch sent blood rushing to his cock, hardening with each roll of her hips. She sighed heavily, savoring the desperation in his movements. He moved her slowly, but it was just the way he liked it. The way he liked her. Slow and sweet.

“Need to be inside of you,” he mustered in between manual, deep breaths. His chest still felt heavy from crying only hours ago, exhaustion threatening to take over. It was taking everything in him not to collapse, to shatter like a fragile house of cards. He needed something, anything to distract him from the swelling of emotions in his own brain.

Nodding slightly, almost unrecognizably, she leaned down once more to pepper tight, close-mouthed kisses starting from the beauty mark on his upper lip down to the hollow of his throat. Her kisses grew sloppier, wetter as she worked her way down, making sure to pay extra attention to his sweet spot that she knew so well.

She set her own rhythm now, not relying on Jim’s hands to work her up and down the curves of his tummy. Pressing herself harder against him than before, she felt a damp spot pooling in her panties near her core. His breath caught in his throat with every rut of her hips. She could feel the slight tremor in his movements as he involuntarily jutted upwards into nothing. He was desperate to feel any kind of friction against his cock, and she was enjoying every second of it.

There was no way for her to explain how wet she was at this moment. It was almost sadistic, she thought. Here Jim was, clearly and visibly upset at something, and she was getting a rise out of his vulnerability, depriving him of the one thing she knew could calm him down. A vulnerability that only she had the privilege of seeing.

To others, Jim Mason was a hardass, the life of the party, the one that was always “down for whatever.” He was never one to come across as hopeless or as someone that was even slightly unhappy. It was a side effect of living in Palos Verdes, he had once told her. Everyone puts up a front and carries themselves in a demeanor that implies that their lives are peachy-fucking-keen when they all knew that couldn’t be further from the truth.

The Jim Mason she knew, the one that was lying beneath her right now, was weak. His home life was a fucking disaster. He walked into a different shit show every night and often had no recollection of what he’d even eaten for breakfast because of the pills he jammed down his throat like candy, or if he’d even eaten at all. It wasn’t his fault, not entirely anyway. There was no stability, no person to anchor him down and keep him from completely losing himself. Except her. He loved Medina with all his heart, but he knew that his sister was growing tired of him, of his bullshit. Just like everyone else in Palos Verdes. She was the only one that offered him any kind of tranquility and control in his life, and she knew it.

Maybe that was it. Maybe it was the fact that she knew she was the only person that truly held any kind of power over Jim, the only one that he’d allowed, and that’s what had her core pulsing beneath her, matching her racing heartbeat that she felt in her ears. Knowing what Jim was like when the curtains fell. Knowing just now needy he really was, how badly he needed someone to control him in order to feel whole.

Or maybe she was mad at him, and this was her passive-aggressive way of telling him to fuck off. This wasn’t the first and certainly wouldn’t be the last time that Jim would tip-toe around talking to her about his feelings. She fucking hated it. She loved him so much, and he loved her just the same. She didn’t understand why he was always making bullshit excuses about what made him upset or why he would have random outbursts of rage when he could have handled the situation in a much healthier way by simply talking to her. Especially when they both knew she’d be gone by the end of the summer. There would be no one to take care of him, at least not in the way she did, and it drove her mad that he closed himself off from her right before she left. She knew it was hypocritical, to be mad at him for not conveying his emotions properly and doing the same exact thing in return by not bringing this up to him. But holding the reins over Jim, in some fucked up way, made her feel like she could punish him for it.

She decided it was a little bit of both. Or something else entirely.

It felt all too delicious, the way she was grinding against his tanned torso, leaning back to brace herself against the meat of his thighs. Her panties were pushed aside now, folds gliding effortlessly back and forth, coating Jim’s stomach in a thin layer of her wetness. She felt his cock brush against her backside each time she pushed back; he was hard as a rock and undoubtedly throbbing as she made sure to occasionally glide herself over him just partially, enough to elicit something between a groan and a moan from the depths of Jim’s chest.

She’d lost track of time, too focused on the way Jim’s eyelashes were fluttering like the wings of a butterfly, still coated with the remnants of his tears. He was beautiful as he panted beneath her, small whines leaving his lips as he grew more desperate for relief against his aching erection.

He pulled her back down to his level by her hair with a roughness that he only ever used on her when he really, really needed her.

“Please, Y/N,” he begged.

She looked at him for a moment before responding with whatever smartass comment she’d use to taunt him even more like she always did. He looked so exhausted. His cheekbones were hollowed out, less full than they had been just shy of a year ago when they graduated high school. His eyes, while she hadn’t noticed before, were hollow, the sockets sunken in and noticeable even in the sliver of light that came from her window. He was sad. There was no other way to put it. He was withering away, and she’d been passive and allowed it to happen.

All of her anger she’d been convinced was driving her seized. She had to fix him, she told herself. She had to make sure he was going to make it without her in Palos Verdes because she had a feeling the odds weren’t that high if he kept doing whatever he was doing when he was away from her.

She ran her fingers through his thick, brown waves, gritty-feeling in between her digits from the sea salt that permanently lingered in the air. Her lips met his softly, just barely massaging them with her tongue.

“It’s okay. I’ve got you Jimmy,” her own voice trembled this time.

Sliding off of her position on his stomach, she began to pump Jim’s length with her hand. She could see the sticky trail of her cum that she left behind on his tummy as she moved over to straddle his legs. His breath hitched in his throat as she gripped him in her small hands, finally feeling a sliver of the high he’d been chasing all night. He bucked himself into her as she twisted her wrist slightly while she worked him.

“God, Y/N,” Jim whined, his eyes rolling back into his head.

She could tell he wasn’t going to last long, he never did when he acted like this - when he slipped into this headspace that rendered him absolutely useless and vulnerable. Her eyes locked with his as she released him from her hands, a gasp floated from his lips at the lack of stimulation. She braced her hands on his broad chest, lifting herself to hover just above his waist. He gripped her forearms in his large hands, steadying both her and himself.

She lifted her oversized t-shirt that was pooling around her knees just enough to push her panties to the side and guide Jim’s cock to her core. His tip ran along her folds as she maneuvered him into her, swirling around in her wetness to prepare for the stretch.

Slowly, like the creeping tide of the ocean, she inched her way down onto him. He was impossibly big; it felt like the first time for her every time. The sensation of Jim’s cock impaling her almost causing her to cry out, but she didn’t. When she was fully seated inside of him, she let out a breath she hadn’t known she was holding.

Taking his hands in hers once more, she began to roll her hips against his. The burn was all-consuming, she was unable to concentrate on anything apart from the heat radiating from her abdomen. Jim’s mouth hung open beneath her, forming a perfect “o”-shape with his glistening, spit-covered lips. He held onto her hands tightly as she picked up her speed, as if she was the buoy keeping him afloat.

For a while, the sounds of heavy panting and the wet squelching of Jim’s cock rutting in and out of her pulsing cunt were the only noises that filled the confines of the baby pink walls of her room at her parent’s house. She began to feel the familiar pull in her tummy and began chasing after it like a surfer chasing a wave, paddling faster and faster until she met the swell. She moved her hands to the rails of the headboard she’d had since she was 11, the posts occasionally knocking against the drywall with a bang.

Jim began to lose himself, temporarily forgetting the insanity of his life and fixated himself solely on the girl on top of him.

“Baby,” he panted in between her now relentless thrusts and moans, “I’m. Close.”

“Me too. Wait for me,” she commanded, gripping tighter on the headboard to move her hips more quickly into his throbbing cock.

She’d be surprised if she didn’t have bruises on her thighs tomorrow by how hard Jim was holding onto her; a symbol of how close he was, and how he was using all of his strength to wait for her and not give in to the release that he was right on the brink of falling into.

Snaking her hand under her large t-shirt once more, her fingers found her clit. She began rubbing harsh, sloppy circles around the swollen bundle of nerves, knowing good and well she didn’t have long before Jim fell apart. She closed her eyes, trying to focus on Jim’s cock and how it felt to be the only one that made him crumble like he was right now. Just as she felt she was making progress, Jim let out a prolonged grunt that made her stop in her tracks.

If it was possible, Jim squeezed her thighs even tighter as his release washed over him in waves, his hips sputtering beneath her. She felt the warmth of his seed coat her inner walls, then small strings running back out onto her inner thighs and Jim’s balls. He tensed up immediately, his face flushing red with embarrassment.

“Y/N, I’m so sorry I-”

“Shhh, it’s okay,” she reassured him, laying flat against his chest.

She cooed Jim in his ear, petting the damp hair that stuck to his forehead and pressing gentle kisses along his neck. He wrapped his arms around her waist, molding her body into his. All the while he was still inside of her. She could feel him softening after each passing second, but she didn’t bother slipping him out of her. Something inside her wanted him as close to her as possible, so she stayed put.

There was no telling how long they’d laid there. Jim’s heartbeat had steadied by now, she no longer felt the thumping next to her ear. He was still holding her, twisting strands of her hair in between his fingers. It was a nervous habit of his, one that he was never able to shake.

“Thank you,” he spoke up, just barely above a whisper, bursting the bubble of silence that had encased them.

“For what? That?”

“For being patient.”

She paused, her brain recollecting what he meant. She wished it was patience, but she knew that it wasn’t. She was scared, and that’s why she could never bring herself to make Jim talk. He was putty in her hands, it would have been easy to force him to open up, but she never did it. She couldn’t admit that she felt like she was abandoning him, just like everyone else in his life. No one was making her leave Palos Verdes and transfer to a new university, she wanted to. There was nothing in this washed up, artificial town for her anymore. Nothing besides Jim. But he wouldn’t come with her, they’d already had that argument, and she knew she’d get nowhere in her career staying in a city where looks supersede anything with real value. She was terrified that what she perceived as a selfish action would be the downfall of the boy she loved the most, there was nothing “patient” about it.

“I love you, Jim Mason. So fucking much,” she whispered, her fingers dancing around the dips of his collarbones.

“Love you too,” he answered. There was a sniffle in his voice, meaning fresh tears had fallen from his eyes, once blue as the ocean, now dark like a cloudy sky.

“We’re gonna have to talk about it soon, though. You know that, right?”

She knew what he thought she meant, that they needed to talk about his anger or his drug problem or that she was going to try to convince him to move away with her again, but only she knew what she really meant. She needed to know how he was going to survive without her.

“I know.” he shakily exhaled.

Exhausted, both physically and mentally, she reached out beside her to grab the comforter that had been strewn aside long ago. Covering herself and Jim in the feathery down of the duvet, she relaxed once more into his warm chest. She didn’t have many nights left with Jim, and she was dreading the last time she’d be able to fall asleep and wake up next to him.

Tagging:

@avesatanormalpeoplescareme @sloppy-little-witch-bitch26 @venusxxlangdon @aveiangdon @belusima @ccodyfern @readsalot73 @americanhorrorstudies @wroteclassicaly @gold-dragon-slayer@langdonsdemon @langdonshell @1-800-bitchcraft

#jim mason x reader #jim mason smut #jim mason #michael langdon x reader #duncan shepherd x reader #my writing #this was gonna go in like 10 different directions and i feel like you can definitely tell #oopsies!!!!!!!!!!!!

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tinyboxxtink · 3 years ago

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Okay SO--

Since nobody wanted to answer me right now and I was dying to write, I wrote beginning's for BOTH of my ideas. God almighty I really hope I didn't just start two different stories running at the same time.....NO. NO I WILL NOT. You have to CHOOSE which one you get now, and which one you get later.

The first one is called "Caught In The Storm" and the second one.....I can't think of a pithy title right now.

So...yeah. CHOOSE.

@chasingeverybreakingwave

@wanniiieeee

@aprildecker-blog

@milkshqke

@lolliepopsicle

@objection-argumentative

@word-scribbless

@gibbs274

PS- For the first one, you really need to have heard or listen to "Caught In The Storm" By Katherine McPhee as heard on SMASH.

"Caught In The Storm"

“Okay I want you guys to be COMPLETELY honest, be brutally honest,” You instructed the group as Kelsey sat at the piano. They all agreed and yelled cheers as you began to sing:

You can push me away

I can take it

I can make you a promise

and break it

We know the way it goes by now

Running off just to see

if I chase you

I pretend I know how to replace you

Still we get tangled up somehow

You danced around the stage, singing happily to your “family”, that basically consisted to the entire NYC SVU squad and your two best friends, Kenneth and Kelsey.

Hear it thunder

And I wonder

How long can I hang on

I'm caught in the storm

I'm caught in the rain

I'm caught in the rush that hides this pain

I'm ready to drown

But it's coming down

But I feel so alive

Just let me go

Just walk away

If you love someone you never let them stay

Caught in the storm

You didn’t have the best family life growing up. Your dad was out of the picture, your mom worked 3 jobs just to keep a roof over your head, so you were alone a LOT of the time. You and your next door neighbor Kenny had become fast friends, and often his dad Fin would let you stay for dinner, even sometimes overnight if your mom was going to be really late.

As the bars on The Bowery are closing

You arrive at the door standing frozen

You say you thought you'd find me here

Tell me how I begin to forget you

When you keep coming back and I let you

Love me until you disappear

From then on, even when you went through high school and college, Fin was your “dad”. And when he became a detective at SVU, you’d often visit him because you didn’t live next door to him anymore and he seemed to ALWAYS be working.

I'm caught in the storm

I'm caught in the rain

I'm caught in the rush that hides this pain

You had quickly been “adopted” by Olivia Benson, and the other members of the squad. However, people began to shuffle in and out of the unit, the only consistency being your “mom” and “dad”. Currently, your “extended family” consisted of Nick Amaro, Sonny Carisi, Amanda Rollins and Rafael Barba, the ADA that often worked the SVU cases in court.

I'm ready to drown

But it's coming down

But I feel so alive

It had always been your dream to be a famous singer, but so far the closest thing you had to fame was being adored at Karaoke Nights at every club and bar you could find. But now, this was your big break. Someone at one of those karaoke nights owned a small up and coming bar/club, real nice and classy, and he wanted live music. A house singer, to be exact. Someone to sing there EVERY night, be adored ALL the time. Your big audition was tomorrow morning, and the “gang” had all agreed to come down and listen to your audition song at the club.

Just let me go

Just walk away

If you love someone

You never let them stay

Caught in the storm

You had been making sure you made eye contact with everyone during the song, dancing and twirling on the stage gleefully. You were losing yourself in the song, the lyrics speaking to you, as the bridge came up.

Let me wash away

You can find me after the flood

Let me wash away

The piano cut out for a moment after the crescendo, lightly dancing notes out of it now, leaving you in your head about the song’s meaning.

Caught in the storm

Caught in the rain

Caught in the rush that hides this pain

You didn’t even think, you just sang the last lines looking STRAIGHT into Rafael Barba’s eyes.

If you love someone

You find a way to stay

Caught in the storm

Suddenly you heard Kelsey clear her throat VERY loudly as she played the end of the song and you realized what you had been doing. You quickly looked down at the floor, praying to God no one noticed it.

Hmmm…..

You sang the last note to the floor, then looked up with the biggest fake smile you could and curtsied awkwardly while you turned to Kelsey and nodded for her to follow you as you bolted backstage.

“Tell me you didn’t notice anything at the end,”

“Oh you mean when you basically stared holes into the ADA’s eyes when you sang YOU LOVE SOMEONE?” She asked. “Oh yeah no, totally unnoticeable,” she added sarcastically.

“Fuuuuccccccccckkkkkkk…..”

“Y’all, WHAT was that?!” Kenny suddenly came from offstage to join the conversation. “Y/N, Girl were you drinking before this or just taking stupid pills?”

“I can’t...I’m not going to deal with this right now,” You waved them both away and walked out to face your “family”.

“Oooookay well, it’s totally getting late and I appreciate you guys hearing me out, get home safe!” You awkwardly spit out a million words a minute, looking around the room above everyone’s eyelines. It was like Stevie Wonder was giving them a goodbye spiel.

You quickly turned on your heels to bolt backstage and wait it out until they left, but the last voice you wanted to hear spoke up.

“Don’t you wanna hear our opinions, baby girl?”

You sighed and turned slowly to face all of them, their faces mostly super uncomfortable. You looked to Fin, who had made you stay.

“Yeah, sure-- go for it,” You threw your hand up dejectedly and waited for the drop.

“Well I’d say it was excellent, except for the part where you were eye fucking Barba,”

And there it was.

“FIN!” Olivia hit him, the rest of the squad squirming uncomfortably. You didn’t dare to see what Rafael was doing.

“Yep, there it is,” You rolled your eyes, starting to walk away.

“Where are you going Y/N, we’re gonna talk about this!” He started angrily walking after you.

“Talk about WHAT, Fin?” You spun around.

“Have you been screwing Barba behind my back?” He narrowed his eyes at you.

“WHAT?! NO!” You gasped in horror.

“NO,” Rafael added almost on top of you.

“He has nothing to do with it, Fin,” You assured him.

“Good because you and him, NEVER gonna happen,” He gestured between the two of you.

“Okay FIRST of all, I love you Fin but I’m a grown woman and you can’t tell me who to date!” You scoffed.

“Oh please Y/N you’re 22, you’re still my baby--”

“And SECONDLY,” You interrupted him. “I’m not ACTUALLY your daughter, so you don’t get an opinion,”

“And THIRDLY, I really, REALLY don’t want to have a long conversation with ANY of you about how I just professed my love for Rafael on--”

“Love? You’re in love with him now?” Fin interjected again, turning to Rafael. “What did you do?!”

“Oh my god, FIN,” You stood in between them. “He didn’t do anything, this is all on me,”

“This is insane, you are NOT--” Fin tried to start bitching at you once again, but Kenny came to the rescue.

“Dad, just let them be. She’s right this ain’t any of our business, no matter how angry you are right now okay? Just...let’s go, yeah?”

“Yeah alright…” Fin nodded to Kenny, then turned to you. “We’re going to talk tomorrow,”

“Can’t wait,” You muttered under your breath as they walked outside. Finally over that little debacle you started to make a beeline for the backdoor when you heard another voice you really didn’t want to.

“Y/N….Don’t you think we need to talk?”

You turned back to see Rafael standing there with a concerned look on his face. Awesome. You looked behind him noticing the rest of the squad waving goodbye at you and excusing themselves, leaving you and him alone.

“You know I really need to get some sleep before tomorrow, and--” You started to walk away, but Rafael grabbed your hand.

“Y/N…”

“What?!” You spun around again, now angry and tears in your eyes.

“What, Rafael? Unless the next words out of your mouth are ‘Gee you know what Y/N I didn’t realize it until this very second, but I’m in love with you too!’, then I REALLY don’t need to hear it, trust me,”

“Y/N come on, just talk to me,”

“Rafael I get it,” You bit back tears.

“You’re too old, or Fin’s too much of your friend, and I never should have said anything, but I did. But I’ve got the biggest audition of my LIFE tomorrow. So what I’d really like to do right now is go home, cry, drink and forget this night ever happened so that I can just focus on that, can I do that? Please?”

“I…” Rafael dropped your hand, but still looked at you with puppy dog eyes. “Yeah, I guess so,”

“Thank you,” You nodded to Kelsey who followed you out the back door, leaving Rafael alone in the dark and empty club.

----------

"Role Model" or TBD

“Shit, he’s going to kill me,” You muttered as you glanced at your phone. You were already twenty minutes late to Kenneth's party, and you were still stuck in traffic about a block away.

“You know what, I can walk from here,” You nodded to your UBER driver and exited the car, running down to the bar. You finally made it, glancing at the neon sign: BUDDY’S. It was you and your best friend’s favorite bar, and now you were late for his party.

You quickly gave the doorman your name and he nodded you in. The place was packed, per usual. You didn’t see anyone you recognized so you headed up to the bar and ordered a Porn Star Martini while you texted Kenny to see where he was.

“Oh my God do you think she knows?”

“She showed up so I’m guessing not,”

You glanced over to see two classmates from your law school a few feet away. They were clearly drunk and speaking louder than they believed they were.

“I can hear you, morons,” You rolled your eyes as the bartender handed you your drink.

“Oh! Y/N,” The first one giggled as they both stumbled over. “Sorry, we didn’t see you there,”

“Right,” You gave them a sarcastic smile. “And what exactly don’t I know?”

“That--” The other one started, but someone tapped you on the shoulder.

“Kenneth! Happy birthday! I’m so sorry I’m late it’s--”

“Please don’t kill me,” He cut you off.

“...Shouldn’t I be saying that to you?”

“No, I’m saying it to you, and I’m saying it again. Please don’t kill me, and I’d like to add I had NO idea this was going to happen,”

“What are you talking about?” You raised an eyebrow.

“I, um-- I invited my dad,”

“You invited your dad, to a gay club?” You sipped your drink with a skeptical look.

“I mean I mentioned it to him, I didn’t think he’d actually show up,”

“Okay so, what? You think your dad’s gonna cramp our style or--”

“He brought his friends,” He added with a very serious tone.

“...What do you mean, he brought his friends?” Your heart started racing.

“What do you think I mean?”

“Hey Hey party people-- OH. Y/N! You came!” Your other best friend Gabi walked up with shots.

“Give me that,” You stole the shot and took it immediately, the familiar burn of vodka travelled down your throat.

“Nice to see you too,” She snorted, then noticed Kenneth’s face. “Oh you told her, didn’t you?”

“Told me what?” You asked, praying to God you didn’t know the answer already.

“I think you know,” Kenneth gave you another apologetic look.

“We’re in the back,” Gabi grabbed your hand and pulled you through the crowd.

“Who’s we--” You started to ask, but then you saw them. At the back of the club, in a small secluded area with plush couches and a table sat a couple of your mutual friends, his dad Fin Tutola, and the entire squad of NYC SVU.

“I’m going to--” You growled under your breath.

“Please don’t kill me,” He whispered back.

“I won’t if you tell me tweedle dee and tweedle ditz haven’t been running their mouths off back here,”

“NO,” Kenneth almost yelled. “I have kept those vultures away from here all night, but--” He glanced over at the two girls who were obviously failing at flirting with the very gay men at the bar. “You know they’re just waiting to take you down,”

“So we’ll just wait them out,” Gabi shrugged as she came back from the bar with more shots. “Or, y’know shuffle him out the back door,”

“Shut up,” You took another shot from the tray and downed it.

“Are you really sure you wanna--?” Kenneth asked as you downed a second one.

“If I’m about to come face to face with the man of my dreams for the first time ever, YEAH Kenny, I’m pretty sure I do,”

“Man of your dreams,” Gabi scoffed playfully behind you.

“Shut up!” You hit her again. “He’s beautiful, he’s perfect, he’s--”

“Sitting RIGHT there,” Ken gestured to the group of “adults” now very much staring at your trio.

“Show time,” Gabi giggled as you nervously followed Ken to their group.

“Dad, you remember Y/N,” Ken nodded to you.

“Yeah, the lawyer right?” Fin asked, making Rafael’s ears perk up; he stared right into your eyes while you swore up and down you would NOT pass out in front of a whole club full of people.

“Law student,” You nervously responded, trying to keep your eyes on Fin.

“Well this is Rafael, Barba, our ADA. Maybe you’ve heard of him?” As soon as Fin introduced Rafael to your group, Gabi let out a very loud laugh. You elbowed her so hard she almost fell over back into the crowd.

“Sorry…” She made a face at you.

“...Is that a yes?” Fin asked in confusion.

“Nick, Sonny!” Ken suddenly yelled at the two men sitting next to Fin and Barba. “This is my best friend Y/N!”

They both waved politely, but you caught them scanning your body up and down with approving smiles. Had Rafael done that? You had been too embarrassed to look. Did he approve?

“Boy you are so rude, we were in the middle of a--” Fin started again.

“This is Olivia and Amanda, our partners,” Nick suddenly interjected. “Just so you know, they’re not our girlfriends,” He emphasized.

“Subtle, Amaro,” Sonny snickered. “You’ll have to excuse him miss, he’s already had a few,”

“Are we all introduced now? Are we good?” Fin looked at each of his compadres who nodded and went back to their conversation, but you noticed Olivia looking between you and Barba.

“So I’m guessing you do know--”

“Y’know Fin, I think it’s pretty obvious she knows who he is,”

“Liv!” Rafael looked over at her with his mouth agape, shocked she was being so aggressive. “Annnnddd no more drinks for you,” He took the wine out of her hand.

“This cannot be happening…” You looked up at the sky and muttered to no one in particular.

“I’m going to get a refill,” You suddenly excused yourself, having downed your beverage in 2.5 seconds. As soon as you were gone, Kenneth hit his dad.

“Really, dad?”

“What? Does she not like him or something?” Fin was completely obtuse.

“Oh no she REALLY likes him--” Gabi started to laugh again but stopped immediately when she saw Kenneth’s death stare.

“I don’t understand how she even knows who I am?” Rafael looked between the two of them.

“Law school, term papers, I don’t know,” Kenneth shrugged, not entirely sure how you got your obsession with Rafael Barba started. “All I know is that she has a huge thing for you, and she told me that in confidence,”

“Barba?” Nick suddenly yelled, only hearing the last part of the conversation.

“She has a thing for Barba?!”

Were the first words to greet you as you rejoined the group, new drink in hand.

“Oh my GOD, Kenny?!” You screeched. “You--You TOLD them?”

Your eyes darted between Kenny, Amaro and Barba. You didn’t know what to do, or say. You wanted to scream, throw up and run away all at the same time.

“NO!!! No, Y/N look I--”

“Save it,” You threw your fresh drink in Kenny’s face and stormed back into the crowd.

“Thanks, Amaro,” Kenny sighed as he grabbed napkins to dry his face. Rafael looked to where you had run off to, then to Kenny, then to Fin.

“Should I--?”

“Oh good GOD no, please don’t,” Kenny assured him. “I’ll go get her, it’s my fault,” He sighed and ran through the crowd after you.

#rafael barba #rafael barba x reader #rafael barba x you #rafael barba imagine #law and order svu #law and order special victims unit #law and order svu fanfiction #tinyboxxtink

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let-it-raines · 6 years ago

Text

Unraveling the Thread

Returning home is never something anyone wants to do when they've been trying to leave for their entire life, but it seems to happen to most everyone. It's just not something Emma ever thought would happen to her. But after getting let go from her job and refusing to work in another office answering phones for the next ten years of her life, she moves back home to Storybrooke and has to deal with all of the loose threads that she left behind.

It's easier said than done. She's still going to do it.

Rating: Mature

Found on AO3 | Here |

A/N: Because I have a million other things to do, I obviously wrote a one-shot. I hope you guys enjoy the product of my lack of sleep 💕

Tagging my usual peeps: @resident-of-storybrooke @mayquita @wellhellotragic @captainsjedi @bmbbcs4evr @jennjenn615 @ekr032-blog-blog @kmomof4 @onceuponaprincessworld @thejollyroger-writer @jonirobinson64 @qualitycoffeethings @cs-forlife

Everything is exactly the same.

Granny’s diner still rests in the center of a strip of stores, the bright blue paint noticeably having been touched up lately to go with all of the other brightly colored stores that Storybrooke’s city council obviously thinks will pull in tourists when they inevitably roll into town each summer. If she remembers correctly, it does work. She worked as a waitress enough summers to know that her tips definitely increased once summer break started, and as much as she appreciated the money, she didn’t appreciate the people that were constantly taking her parking space or telling her that if she smiled more, she’d get more customers.

Assholes.

They would also make comments about her ass, and well, despite the fact that she has a damn good one, that’s a little thing call harassment.

It’s a miracle she never punched anyone.

There are already people filtering in and out of the diner despite it being only five in the morning on a Saturday, and she quickly drives by so no one will see her. She’s fine coming home to see her parents, but she doesn’t want to see anyone else. Not yet. Maybe later once she has a few shirts on hangers and a toothbrush in the bathroom, but not before that. She needs more time to mentally prepare herself to see everyone again. It’s only been since Christmas, but really, all she did for those three days was spend all of her time inside her parents’ living room eating sweets her mom had baked and watching old Christmas movies long into the night until even the streetlights outside turned off.

And this trip isn’t for three days. It’s for three months at least. Maybe more. She honestly has no idea, but when you get let go from the job you’ve had as investigator for auto insurance company for the past five years with nothing else lined up that actually pays the bills, there aren’t a lot of options. Living with her parents again wasn’t what she preferred, but she couldn’t take another job as a secretary or a phone operator trying to sell people weight loss pills that are probably pretty unhealthy.

Her dream job is obviously not an option.

She’s not sure if she has a dream job.

She used to want to be a cop like her dad, but that was when she was five and also wanted to be a ballerina in space. Her thoughts and wants weren’t exactly the most well thought through. And then she never really figured it out. Her parents put her on the fast track to going to college and getting a degree that would supposedly allow her to make more money and be able to get out of Storybrooke.

Considering her mom is a third-grade teacher on every committee board ever created and her dad is the sheriff, it’s surprising that leaving was ever an option.

And if she thinks about it, it really wasn’t. Yeah, she could leave for four years, get a degree, and then come back to work at a business in town that would have hired her regardless of her qualifications (nepotism is a thing). But that was the thing. She was always supposed to come back.

And seven years after leaving, she is.

Except she has no college degree.

She’s not even close to having one. She’s got a semester’s worth of credits in classes like English comp and pre-algebra and things she’s likely never going to use in her entire life. She’d made the Dean’s list at NYU that one semester too, but then, like the oldest story in the world, she’d met a boy.

She met a boy who was a few years older than her, infinitely wiser, and just as charming as she had ever known anybody to be. Neal was her entire world. He shouldn’t have been, but he was. Her mother spent her entire life talking about how love is the greatest gift in life, the greatest privilege, and how if Emma ever found it, she should hold onto it like her life depended on it.

What her mother didn’t tell her was that first loves are not always good loves, even if there’s the occasional exception.

In all fairness, Mary Margaret Nolan most likely doesn’t know that. She grew up as an only child in a small town and met the love of her life on the first day of sixth grade. The only love her mom has ever known has been her dad, and as wonderful as that as, as in love as her parents are, Emma’s learned that sometimes the lessons her mom taught her are not great lessons.

Exercise a few times a week, never pluck your eyebrows too thin, sure. Think that the first boy who tells you you’re pretty and who sleeps with you is the love of your life, not so much.

Because unlike her dad, Neal was not some standup guy who sticks around and lives by some kind of moral code that everyone should live by. Be kind to others, don’t murder someone, wash your hands after you go to the bathroom, et cetera. And it’s not that Neal was a murderer. God, she hopes not. It’s that he was a cheater who she left college for to move to Boston with because he convinced her that he could give her a better life than living in a cramped dorm room and spending her days studying. He was a cheater and also a thief, apparently fencing expensive jewelry and stolen goods to fund that better life, and she only found all of that out when she told him that she might be pregnant and he bolted in the middle of the night and the other woman who he was dating showed up at their apartment looking for him.

She found out the theft stuff later when she was nearly arrested because he tried to frame her for his crimes.

Newsflash. She wasn’t pregnant, and she sure as hell didn’t commit any crimes.

But she did give up her entire life, things that even though she wasn’t sure she really wanted, she had worked for. And as much as it’s taught her, as much as she’s changed because of it, she regrets ever leaving New York.

She regrets giving up her life because she was convinced that her love would last forever, and she would never need anything else.

It didn’t even last two years.

She never made it back to New York. She stayed in Boston, finding random jobs that would pay the bills until she got her job as the insurance fraud investigator and moved in with Anna and Elsa, two sisters who were going to freaking Harvard of all places. There she was barely scraping by, and she was roommates with people who went to Harvard. It worked, though. They were always busy studying or attending events, and she could slip in and out without really having to talk to them too much or explain why she was their age but decidedly a little lost.

Her parents weren’t talking to her at the time, and if her own parents weren’t talking to her, why would she want to talk to anyone?

But she did eventually talk to her parents again and talk to her roommates. She became friends with them actually, and even after they both graduated and moved away, she stayed close with them. With everything that has gone on in her life, she’s at least thankful that she’s gotten to be close with Anna and Elsa.

When she lost her job, Elsa had offered to let her live with her in New York, and even though it’s a big city, she couldn’t go back.

Which is why she’s here pulling into her parents’ driveway, the two of them visible in the kitchen through the front window. They’re likely drinking coffee and talking about all of their plans for today even though it’s Saturday and the perfect day to stay home. Or they’re talking about her. She’d bet that they’re talking about her.

She’s a fascinating conversation piece.

And that’s why she takes at least fifteen minutes to regulate her breathing and prepare herself for all of the fawning that her parents are going to do.

That her mom is going to do.

She loves her, but she’s not nearly as good as her dad at understanding that Emma needs her space sometimes.

It’s exactly thirty five steps from her car to the front door, and she’s barely inside the entryway when her mom is wrapping her in a hug so tight that all of the air escapes her legs and her ribcage bruises a little bit. It’s too much, but she wraps her arms around her mom’s waist and holds on as tightly as she can regardless.

“I’m so glad you’re here, sweetie.”

“Me too,” she lies. “Why are you guys up this early?”

“Because we’re waiting for you,” her dad answers her, flashing her a grin before he’s hugging her too, cupping the back of her head with his palm. He smells like the cologne he’s been wearing for her entire life, and that feels good too. “How was your drive? What’d you do? Not sleep?”

“Pretty much,” she shrugs. “Can I get some of that coffee?”

-/-

It’s weird regressing back to a teenager in her hometown over the next few weeks, March fading into April, the weather warming with each day. The exact thing she didn’t want was to work as a waitress again, to really fall back into old habits, but at least she’s not working at Granny’s. She’s working at Storybrooke Country Club as server in their clubhouse, and even though she has to deal with old men all day, at least they tip well.

Most of the time.

Some of the people who used to tell her to smile at Granny’s are these same people, and she can feel their judgmental eyes on her as she’s back at home serving them food. She’d think that people would understand someone working as a waitress doesn’t make them less of a person, but some people never learn.

The tips, she reminds herself. And it’s something to do, something to occupy her time and give her money while she tries to figure out her life. It’s something that’s not being stuck in an office as a secretary or a temp.

But it is temporary.

So she’s working as a waitress, sleeping in her teenage bedroom, and after her shifts, she eats with Ruby at Granny’s for dinner, the grilled cheese tasting just the same. She really is somehow going back to the past like Marty McFly, except this isn’t nearly as exciting. Plus, she has this weird need to ask her parents if she can go out late to meet Ruby for dinner.

She’s twenty-five years old.

She doesn’t have to ask her parents for permission even though she’s living with him.

The weirdest thing, however, is seeing Killian Jones again.

She takes that back.

The weirdest thing is seeing Killian, and Killian not talking to her.

Last week they had a particularly busy day in the clubhouse, and she picked up an extra shift to help out and to get overtime. She was tired. It was her day off. She shouldn’t have been there. But she was, and she dealt with it, smiling and asking all of the right questions to the patrons, especially those who she knows are members.

And that’s when she saw him. Except, she didn’t see him until it was far too late.

She was bringing a table their glasses of water for Ashley while she was in the kitchen, and she didn’t pay any attention to the slight flip of hair underneath a clean navy hat or the tattoo peeking out underneath the short-sleeved shirt. She didn’t pay attention to any of it, so when she saw those familiar blue eyes, the ones that she’s always remembered, she dropped the entire tray of ice cold water on the table, the floor, and his white pants.

His white pants.

That were...thin.

That was bad enough, but then she started patting down his thighs with a cloth towel, and that caused all kinds of issued before he grabbed her wrists, looked her in the eyes for an extended thirteen seconds (she knows because she counted), and then he got up and left.

She’s seen him since then, but he hasn’t spoken to her. And she knows that it’s not because she spilled water on him and then felt him up while trying to dry him off.

He apparently works at the harbor, which doesn’t surprise her. What does surprise her is that he’s in charge of tourism for the summers, specifically making sure that there are plenty of boats to rent and that no one docks where they’re not supposed to. According to Ruby, he plans activities at the public pool, puts together festivals, and he even takes certain groups of tourists out sailing. It’s in his wheelhouse, even if it’s not what she thought he would be doing. He was supposed to go into the Navy, supposed to go straight into active duty and work his way through college with his grant. That was always his plan, even if he was delayed in getting around to it.

But that was never his fault. He’s two years older than her, and during his senior year of high school, his mom died. He’d fallen into such a deep depression that he almost didn’t graduate, and even though he did, he never went off to follow his dreams. Instead he worked down at the docks, like now, but instead of working with tourism, he loaded and unloaded cargo. She thinks it had been good for him to be able to work through things physically, especially since he avoided things emotionally. She tried to get him to talk about his mom and about Liam, but he never would.

Maybe this is his new dream.

A sob gets caught in her throat thinking about him, about how much she failed him by giving up on their friendship when she moved away. She fucked that friendship up, and there’s no way for her to work around that. She can’t change what happened.

She wishes that she could.

Out of all of the surprises about Killian, though, she’s surprised that he spends his time at a country club golfing in white pants. That’s not Killian. That’s not him at all. But she guesses people change.

Maybe if he would talk to her, she could understand.

She’s not sure if she wants to talk to him, if she deserves to talk to him.

She probably doesn’t deserve to talk to him.

-/-

Before she knows it, her three months she was planning on staying have passed and a Storybrooke summer begins, the tourists coming into town and filling up all of the hotels and restaurants, including the club. She’s nearly always working, and even though it’s not what she wants, she’s managing to save up some money for when she eventually figures it out. It’s not like she’s paying rent right now, and she can mostly eat at work.

So she’s still home, but it’s not all bad. She’s closer with her parents, even if her mom keeps deciding that she needs to go on a date with her dad’s deputy, and she’s become better friends with Ruby and Ashely, making up for lost time. Honestly, though, the nicest part about it is how much less stressful it is. It’s healing in a way to be home, to not have to constantly be worried about how she’s going to make it, about how she’s going to pay rent.

Something she was dreading is turning out to be pretty okay, even if sometimes she’s still a little bothered by not living in Boston anymore.

The small town life…it’s not all bad some days.

“You’re getting a little burned on your shoulder there,” Ashley points out as they lounge on the beach on their day off in an attempt to get a little bit of color on their skin after mostly working indoors.

“How?” she groans, twisting her head to the side to look at the slight pink of her skin. “I literally have reapplied all day. And we’ve been sitting under the umbrella too.”

“You’re fair.”

“Thanks for pointing out the obvious, Ash.” She stands from her towel and brushes the sand off of her body. “I’m going to go to the bathroom and to reapply, okay?”

“Can you stop and get some more waters from the café?”

She nods her head and reaches down to pull on her jean shorts, zipping them up and slipping on her sandals as she walks up the beach toward the docks. It’s pretty crowded today, families everywhere, and she has to move in and out of the crowds to make it to the bathroom, spending her time reapplying her lotion and fixing her braids before exiting and making her way toward the café. It’s just a small little shack that sells hamburgers and hot dogs, but the line stretches out down the docks so that it’ll be at least twenty minutes.

“Most people wear shirts when they dine, but then again, you seem to be a fan of see through material.”

She nearly drops her phone at the voice behind her, but she catches it and stuffs it into her back pocket, giving her some time to take a deep breath as she turns to see those familiar blue eyes and black scruff-lined jaw. He’s got on the same blue baseball cap, but instead of being in golfing clothes, he’s in navy pants with a white shirt tucked in, the sleeves rolled up to show off his forearms.

He’s always had nice forearms.

That’s not what she should be thinking about.

Or the fact that his shirt is not buttoned up enough. Well, she kind of likes being able to see his chest hair, but it doesn’t really scream “hey look, I’m the guy in charge of tourism.”

“He speaks,” she snarks, straightening her back and lifting her chin up, wishing that she was about half a foot taller so they’d be eyelevel. “I didn’t know that was possible.”

“The same could be said about you.”

The smile that was on his face quickly fades away as his eyes flicker down her body. She’s suddenly very aware of how much skin she has on display, and when she crosses her arms over her chest, she knows that he notices her defensiveness by the raise of his brows.

“Yeah, well, shit happens.”

He scoffs at that, his jaw tightening while he looks up at the sky, the underside of his chin now on display to her.

“Shit happens, huh? Is that why you’re home?”

“Isn’t it why you’re still here?”

“Believe it or not, love, I want to be here.”

“I don’t believe it.”

“You should.”

“I don’t.”

“Are you five?” he scoffs, crossing his arms over his chest just like her, but she can see that same tattoo peeking through the material of his shirt. She’s not entirely sure what it is, but it kind of looks like a ship’s wheel. He would.

“No but at least I don’t run away from people trying to talk to me.”

“That’s rich coming from you.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“You know what? I don’t need lunch,” he groans before turning and walking away from her, his step steady and measured as he moves down the docks and disappears into a building that must be his office.

She wants to storm off as well, to act like the child like he just accused her of being, but she’s not going to let him annoy her to the point of not getting something to drink. So she waits, her foot stepping against the wood, and eventually gets her waters before making her way back to the beach and to Ashley who is looking at her like she’s having to bite her tongue on what just happens. The entire town probably knows that she and Killian just got into an argument.

She forgot about the gossip in Storybrooke.

Nothing is secret.

-/-

“So how’s it being home? Elsa asks her as they talk on the phone while she goes for a jog around the park. “Are you falling in love with a cute little surfer boy like it happens in the movies?”

“Els, seriously?”

“What? It’s a serious question. I’ve looked up your town. It’s super cute. I feel like great romances happen there.”

“You’re the worst,” she groans, slowing down her pace a bit as her breath gets heavy moving up the hill. “No, I’m not falling in love with any surfers. We don’t even have surfing here.”

“Okay, then sailors. Are you falling in love with any sailors?”

“Definitely not.”

“That was defensive.”

“It was not.”

“It was. Did you meet someone?”

Her eyes roll as she finally gets to the top of the hill, her legs and her chest burning the slightest bit as the June sun continues to beat down on neck from where it’s exposed. “I went on a date with my dad’s deputy, Graham. He’s a very nice guy, but I don’t know. I didn’t really feel a connection.”

“Nice guys are the guys you want to be with. It doesn’t have to be all dangerous assholes.”

“Thanks, Mom.”

“I’m just saying,” Elsa laughs as Emma dodges another runner, “you have a tendency to find some not so nice guys. I mean, I wasn’t there for Neal, but I saw all of Walsh and – ”

“He was an asshole,” she finishes for Elsa, thinking about Walsh and how he was always steering her away from her friends and her hobbies so that he could try to morph her into his weird kind of ideal girl. “Yeah, I know. I’m just not sure if I want to see Graham again. I’m gonna have to think about it. Enough about me, though. Tell me what’s been going on with you as I try to finish this run.”

-/-

It’s raining.

And not like a light drizzle. It’s a torrential downpour with no signs of stopping, and even though every time she goes outside she bundles up into a coat and an umbrella, she’s still absolutely soaked down to her bones. As nice as the summers here are, this is always the one big thing – rain can come out of nowhere, and it can and will stay for days.

It also seems to stop everything.

Obviously no one is spending their time at the beach or going out sailing, so everyone huddles inside at hotels and restaurants and, unfortunately for her, the club. They open to non-members in the summer, so it’s always more packed than usual. But this? This is like absolute chaos. She’s never going to be able to sit down, and her feet are going to fall off. It’s what’s going to happen as she keeps running between the kitchen and at least four different dining rooms, dealing with angry parents and restless kids who never seem to be happy with the food they’re being served. It’s insane and stressful and she wishes that she was in Boston trying to figure out if someone was lying about whether the car accident really did hurt their neck.

No, she doesn’t wish for that. She doesn’t. She likes being home, and she thinks that’s what makes this entire day and this entire situation so much worse.

“Emma, I need – ”

“I know,” she calls back to Ashely, twisting on her foot and slamming right into a solid body that has the tray of drinks in her hands falling, spilling, and glass shattering against the ground. She knows that she could probably feel shards of it in her foot if she wasn’t so goddamned embarrassed by the fact that she just spilled drinks on Killian again.

The world is a very cruel place.

She’s going to have to bandage her ankles.

“Shit,” she sputters, already bending down to pick up the tray and the glasses that didn’t break. “Shit, shit, shit.” She starts to pick up the large chunks of glass when suddenly there are hands underneath her shoulders and she’s being pulled back up to stand, Killian’s eyes peering at her. “Shit.”

“You don’t need to pick up glass with your hands, love,” he says softly, his words far too kind for someone who just had more of his clothes ruined. “And you’re bleeding. You need to get cleaned up.”

“I know how to do my job,” she huffs, not wanting him to be kind to her, “and I’m fine.”

“You have bloody glass in your skin, Emma. Someone else can clean this up with you get it taken care of.”

“I – ” she starts, the protest on the tip of her tongue, but it dies there when she looks at the blue that has always meant so much to her. He’s changed a lot, really filled in physically, but the blue is the same. “Um, okay. I’m going to go to the front office and clean up I guess.”

He nods his head and releases her arms, and as she walks away, the slightest bit of pain in her step, she realizes that he’s walking with her. She doesn’t understand why, doesn’t want to ask why, but then he’s following her into the office, somewhere he’s definitely not supposed to go, and plopping himself down on a couch while she gets the first aid kit out and starts trying to clean her cuts and make sure there’s not more glass in her skin.

“Why are you in here?” she finally asks as she takes off her sneakers to check for glass. It’s everywhere.

“I wanted to make sure you’re okay.”

“Why?”

“Because believe it or not, I still care about you.”

“Yeah,” she says incredulously, shaking a piece of glass out of her shoe and into the trashcan, “sure you do. That’s totally how you’ve acted the past few months.”

“Well, forgive me for not always wanting to talk to the woman who left without so much as a goodbye.”

The cuts more than the glass that was in her skin. She should have known. She should have known that them being around each other, that them talking, that it would lead to old scars being brought up. Why the hell did she want to talk to him to begin with?

“Killian – ”

“No, it’s fine. I get it. It’s been years. I shouldn’t still be bitter about it.”

“You very obviously are, though.” She sits down on the edge of the desk and starts dabbing at cut on her hand that she must have gotten when she was picking up the glass. “Wounds made when we’re young tend to linger. Or at least that’s what you always said as if you were some wise old man.”

He chuckles a bit at that, and her eyes snap up at him. She missed that sound. She didn’t realize it until now, but she did.

“I’ve always had an old soul, love.”

“And an old personality, obviously considering you’re now spending your time in country clubs golfing.”

“It’s for work,” he explains on a sigh as he wipes at the dampness on his pants, a loud crash of thunder shaking the window. “I – ”

“I know what you do.” When he raises his eyebrow, she continues. “Ruby told me. Don’t act so surprised that I asked about you. I’m not this cold heartless bitch you obviously think I am.”

“I have never said that.”

“You might as well have for the way you speak to me and the way you mostly avoid me.”

He laughs again, but this time it’s not as pleasant. It’s more…dark, and she doesn’t like it. Not at all. “Again, that is entirely rich coming from you.”

Her shoulders tense, and she stops working at her hand to look at him, to really look at him. He looks tired, exhausted really, and if she looks closely, she can see that his eyes are red rimmed. And that’s exactly when it hits her, when she realizes what today’s date is. June 24th. It’s the day that Liam died. Of course he’s going to be upset with her, even if he has every right to be, but today is likely not the best day for them to get into seven years of issues.

So of course she’s going to anyways. She doesn’t want to drudge up Liam’s memory. Killian doesn’t like to. He has to be the one to bring it up, and if he needs to yell, it might as well be at her.

“I’m a shitty person,” she says flatly, even if voice tries to betray her. “I left town, and I didn’t say goodbye, I know. I didn’t answer your texts or your calls. I can’t…Killian, I don’t know why I did that, not to you. You were my best friend for a long time, and you didn’t deserve that. So if you want to hate me, you have every right to. You can hate me and slander my name and spill five times as many drinks on me as I did to you. I deserve it all because I shouldn’t have done any of that. I have excuses, but they’re not worth anything.”

He doesn’t say anything for what has to be at least a minute. He simply sits on the couch and taps his fingers against his thigh while his jaw visibly clenches and unclenches. “I came to visit you, you know? In New York.”

She nearly loses her balance at his words, her ass almost falling off of the desk, but she doesn’t. She stays still and tries to regulate her breathing, tries to dislodge whatever is caught in her throat.

“When?”

“February of your first year.”

“I wasn’t – ”

“You weren’t there,” he finishes for her, his gaze practically burning her skin. This is almost too much for her right now, but she’s here. It’s happening. He deserves to talk to her and yell at her for abandoning him for no reason other than wanting out of Storybrooke. She can’t believe he came to see her in New York. “You hadn’t answered any of my calls, obviously, and I needed to know why. I missed you, and I wanted to see you. Only there I was, ready to lay my heart out on the ground for you, and your roommate told me that you’d dropped out and run off to Boston with some guy.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, oh. Why would you do that, Emma? Where is this guy now?”

“He’s gone,” she whispers, her voice nearly getting carried away in the rain. “He was an asshole who broke my heart.”

“And who made you drop out of college.”

“I did that all on my own.”

“Sure you did.”

“Why do you even care anymore?” she huffs, crossing her arms over her chest and hugging herself, trying to put up some kind of shield. “I’m a screw up who was careless with your feelings. You should not care about me.”

“I was in love with you, Emma,” he yells, slapping his hands against his thighs before running them through his hair as he stands up and steps closer to her. The storm raging in his eyes matches the one outside, and she can barely breathe at the words that just slipped out of his mouth. “You were my best friend, you were there for me through everything, and you just left. I was so goddamn proud of you for going to college, for making something of yourself, but then you dropped off the face of the earth. You didn’t return my calls or my emails. Ever. And then I find out that you’ve dropped out of college and run off with some idiotic guy who did nothing but use you. I had never been more pissed at you than I was right then.”

She wants to acknowledge the fact that Killian just said he was in love with her, but she can’t right now. She doesn’t know if she ever will be able to.

“You’re pissed at me because I made a dumb choice and got my heart broken?” she finally says, the words struggling to get past her lips. “I was a naïve kid, Killian. I did stupid shit, and I paid the price for it. But you don’t get to get mad at me for that. You don’t get to throw my mistakes in my face.”

He nods his head as if he agrees, but he also inches closer to her, his knees nearly knocking into hers. “Why didn’t you call?”

“What?”

She doesn’t even know why she asked what. They’ve already talked about this. It’s like running in a damn circle.

“Why didn’t you call? Why did you decide that I wasn’t worth talking to anymore? What? The depressed man with no family was no longer interesting? I no longer made you laugh and drove you around since you didn’t have a car? I didn’t have a promising career so your mom no longer approved of me? Huh? Was that it?”

“Of course not.”

He takes a step closer, the blue of his eyes nearly completely black as their knees finally knock together. She can feel his breath on her, can feel the heat radiating off of his body.

“Then why?”

“Why would you want to spend time with someone whose entire life was laid out for them when yours had just been destroyed? I had everything, and I wanted none of it. I was young and stupid and selfish, and you deserved someone better than me to be your friend.”

“We had very different childhoods, love. You grew up in a happy house full of love and opportunity, and I would never blame you for thinking differently than me, for wanting a different life than the one you had. I was – I am an idiot. I’m a hot headed idiot who doesn’t know how to keep his mouth shut when it comes to you. That hasn’t changed. That’s not going to change.”

“I’m sorry that I hurt you,” she quietly admits, not knowing what else to say when Killian’s proximity to her is making it hard to breathe. “I’m sorry that I didn’t call. I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry that I’ve been ignoring you since you’ve been home.”

She takes a deep breath and nods her head, her heart still thumping against her chest. This is a lot of emotional whiplash, and she’s not quite sure how to take it or handle it. She doesn’t even think they’ve solved anything or explained it well, but the truth of the matter is that she doesn’t even have an explanation. That’s how shitty she was to him. She doesn’t even know why she did the things she did.

Killian was in love with her.

And she broke his heart without even realizing it.

How could he ever want to talk to her again?

“Killian, I – ” she starts, more words of apology on her tongue when Ashley walks into the office, her eyes widening at the sight in front of her. They must look like a mess. And when the hell did her hand land on Killian’s shoulder?

“Um, Ems,” Ashely stutters while Killian sighs, “I don’t know what’s happening here, but we kind of need you back working.”

“Yeah, yeah,” she mumbles, not moving from her spot. “I’ll be there in a minute.”

“Now would be better.”

“I’ll be there now,” she says, looking up at Killian and wondering how the black of his eyes has faded back to blue when he should still be pissed at her. “Do you want to talk some more later?”

He smiles, and even though his lips are now surrounded by scruff, it’s the same smile.

“I’d like that.”

-/-

June swelters into July, and she becomes busier than ever at work as well as helping Killian with whatever events he sets up to drive in tourism. It’s odd talking to him again, really talking to him, but after that day at the club, despite nothing really being resolved, they’ve both made an effort to try to be friends again. She doesn’t know why Killian would want that, not really, but it’s his life, and a lot can change in seven years. A lot has changed, and even though they were friends before and know the basic questions and answers of their lives, it’s kind of like starting anew again. Neither of them are the people they were. They’ve grown, changed, and it takes some time to start to get to actually know Killian again.

For one, he’s not a loner anymore. Not at all. And it’s not like he was to begin with, but he definitely wasn’t actively social. Now, though, they can’t walk down any street without Killian talking to someone and asking about their wife or their kids or something personal that shows that he knows this person. It’s the strangest thing watching him be this social guy, but honestly, it makes her happy that he’s happy. He’s always been so charismatic, and it’s kind of nice to see him use his charms and to not be holed up in his house drinking rum.

That’s one thing that has definitely changed. It’s not that Killian was some underaged alcoholic, but he did have a fondness for rum, especially after his mom died. She doesn’t know how he got it, but he did. But now, Killian doesn’t drink at all. He hasn’t outright said it, but when they go get something to eat, he always orders water or tea. She doesn’t think much of it until one night they’re walking along the dock hanging streamers for a sailing race the next day and he starts telling her about Milah.

She hates that her heart pangs when he starts talking about her because she should not be jealous of a woman who’s not in the picture anymore. She should not be jealous at all. She’s always found Killian attractive, even more so now, but they’ve never been a…thing. She’s never wanted them to be a thing, to be more than friends, but her mind is obviously betraying her.

“I loved her, you know,” he starts as he hammers a nail into a post. “She helped me through a really dark time. She made me happy, and I guess that’s why I never questioned the fact that she didn’t like going out on dates in town or why we always slept at my place. Storybrooke is not a big town, and I was so dumb to not realize. I was also too drunk. But obviously I figured it out, we got into a fight, and then we broke up. I didn’t have any interest in being in a relationship with a married woman, even if her marriage was falling apart. I didn’t want to be like my dad, you know?”

“You’re not like your dad,” she promises, hanging the string for the banner and tying it off. “You never have been.”

“I was sleeping with a married woman and drinking far too much. I was exactly like my father. So I broke up with the woman who I thought was going to be the love of my life, and I quit drinking. Simple as that.” “You and I both know that it wasn’t simple.”

He shrugs his shoulders, but his focus never strays from the task at hand. “I’ve been sober for two years. It’s not simple, no, but it’s easier now than it used to be.”

And so their nights go. They work together and spend time together just like they did as teenagers, and little by little, the threads that have been holding their secrets together unravel as they reveal thoughts and dreams and what’s happened in the past. Their threads had been cut from each other seven years ago, but she thinks they’re starting to be knit back together. It’s not something she ever thought would happen, but she’s glad that it is.

Really glad.

-/-

By the time August rolls around, she accepts the fact that she may very well actually like Killian Jones. It’s not that difficult of a conclusion to get to, not really. They basically spend all of their time together. When she’s not working, she’s usually helping Killian work or chilling at the beach with him, and when he’s not working and she is, he’s always at the club. Last week he came to her parents’ house and had dinner with everyone, and even though it’s something that’s happened before, it felt…different.

The fact that her mom’s eyes lit up and she wouldn’t stop talking about how handsome Killian is kind of nailed home the fact that her mom wouldn’t mind if she and Killian started screwing like bunnies.

Woah. That’s not where she was going with that.

But it kind of is. She’s ridiculously attracted to him, emotionally and physically, and she kind of wants to sleep with him.

She should definitely slow her roll, though. She’s not just going to jump into bed with Killian. That would change…everything. That would change absolutely everything. Besides, it’s not like he wants to be with her.

She knows that it’s a lie even as she thinks it. She knows that Killian has feelings for her, that he always has. Hell, at one point he was apparently in love with her, and while she doesn’t think that’s true anymore, she can tell. Sometimes you just know.

And sometimes Ruby tells her that Killian looks at her like she’s responsible for hanging the moon in the sky and creating the waves of the ocean. Sometimes Ashely tells her that she looks at Killian like he was the one to hang the sun.

They’re not weird celestial beings, but the point still stands.

She’s got absolutely no clue what to do with it.

But it’s not something she really has to deal with as she stays busy at work and Killian does the same, tourism in town reaching its peak before everyone goes back to school and families stop coming on vacation. Yet, like she’s living in some kind of Hallmark movie where everything magically seems to happen during a big event, on the day of Summer Fest, a very aptly named festival where all of the local vendors set up booths at the docks and beach games are held along with swimming and boating competitions, something changes between she and Killian.

It happens slowly, really, as these things do. She’s spending her day running around in goddamn khaki shorts and a lime green t-shirt that Killian made her wear as she helps him to keep things running smoothly. She doesn’t really see him more than a blur of black hair and tan skin, and that’s okay as she doesn’t really have time to talk. So their days go on, separately and yet together, and by one in the morning, everyone has left the pier, the docks, and the beach, except for the two of them as they sit with their feet dangling off the pier and over the ocean, a bucket of cotton candy between them.

“I don’t know why more people don’t come out here to look at this view.”

“Because it’s one in the morning, love,” he laughs, sticking his hand in the bucket to grab some of the fluff. “Everyone is asleep.”

“We’re not.”

“Because we’re crazy.”

She laughs at that as she twists herself a little closer to him, picking up the cotton candy bucket and holding it in her lap as their thighs press together and her head rests on his shoulder, the smallest hint of his cologne still remaining. Mostly he smells like salt and sweat. It’s not an awful combination, but it’s not particularly pleasant either. She can’t imagine what she smells like after spending the day outside. Probably sweat and suntan lotion.

“Oh I don’t know, I think we’re geniuses for getting this view all to ourselves.”

“It is a beautiful view,” he hums as his arm comes to wrap around her waist, fingers toying with the skin just about the belt loops on her shorts.

His touch is electric, like lightening bugs inching over her skin, and she twists her head up to look at him only to find that he’s already looking at her, their lips so close that if she just pressed up the slightest bit she could…

“Emma,” he whispers, somehow inching closer so that his nose presses into hers, his lips ghosting against her skin as she whines at the lack of touch. It’s so much and yet not nearly enough.

“What?” she murmurs right back, one hand bracing her against the wood while the other lands on his thigh, his muscles twitching under her touch.

“What are you doing?”

“I was kind of thinking about kissing you.”

“So was I.”

And then they are. It’s soft, gentle at first. Really, it’s as sweet as the cotton candy that they were just eating. He tastes like that too. Killian’s lips taste like sugar, and they’re far softer than she ever imagined. She has imagined it too, far more than she’d ever admit. Seven, almost eight years ago, when she left this town with no intention of ever coming back, when she screwed up her life and hurt people she cared about, she never would have imagined knowing just how Killian kisses.

It’s a good thing to know as her heart threatens to burst through her ribcage with its pounding.

She thinks that he’s going to pull back from her, that he’s going to stop the kiss, but really his hands come up to cup her face, rough callouses covering her skin with the magic of his touch, and he drags his teeth against her bottom lip, his mouth forming into a smile at the little noise that she just let out as heat simmers below the surface of her skin. It can no way compare to the way the sun felt beating down on her all day.

It’s so much better.

Her lips part to let him slide his tongue into her mouth, the slick flesh exploring her as she does the same. He’s a damn good kisser, and she could do this for hours. She might have been doing this for hours. She honestly doesn’t know at this point as her toes actually curl within her shoes and as her skin tingles.

“We should go inside. Get some rest.”

“Yeah, yeah,” she agrees, knowing that even though the two of them are going to end up in bed, neither of them are actually going to bed.

His apartment is only a five minute walk from the pier, but it seems to take them so much longer to get there as Killian keeps taking the time to push her into a wall and bury his head into her neck, hot puffs of air coming out onto her skin as he kisses her flesh. It’s thrilling and exciting, and she really shouldn’t complain with the heat that’s curling between her thighs and the way that it’s absolutely driving her mad.

But they do eventually get inside, Killian unlocking the door with his hands shaking the slightest bit, and she tries to comfort him by turning and wrapping her arms around his neck as she pays the same attention to him that he did to her earlier. His hands find her ass, and before she knows it, warm flesh is dipping below her shorts and squeezing her as he easily walks her backwards. She trusts him completely in so many ways, and she thinks that mostly shows with the fact that she never looks behind her as they move through the apartment.

She’s far too distracted by this little noise that he makes when she bites down on his clavicle anyways.

“You’re the most beautiful woman in the world.”

“Is that so?” she mumbles, pulling back from him and lifting this ugly t-shirt over her shoulders so that it falls to the ground and her skin is exposed to his gaze.

“Aye. No one compares.”

“Oh I don’t know about that,” she teases, her voice lifting in pitch as his fingers work at the button on her shorts. His hands are so damn warm, and she imagines the rest of his body is as it holds the warmth of their day spent outside.

“I do.”

She looks up at him then, at the intense forget-me-not eyes, and the smile that was on her face falls at the seriousness of his. He means it. Really and truly, and she’s not going to take that lightly. Pressing her palm up against his chest, she lifts up on her toes and slants her lips over is.

“You’re not so bad yourself, handsome.”

It’s not quite the same, but she’s getting there.

Slowly but surely each article of their clothes is peeled off of their bodies. It takes far too long with how they’re stopping to explore every inch of each other’s skin with hands and lips and teeth. Killian is exceptionally good at riling her up, at making her want him, and after what feels like an eternity, he settles himself over her and between her thighs as he pushes into her in a thick slide of heat that makes her dig her nails into his arms, little red marks staying over his tattoo while she holds on tightly.

“Emma, God, I – ” he begins, his voice strained and yet light, as if he’s talking to that person who he thinks hung the moon. Maybe he is as he gently rocks into her, his hips deliciously sliding over hers while his lips hover just above her. “You are fantastic. I can’t – this is so much better than I imagined.”

She wants to make a quip about him imagining this, but she doesn’t. Instead she presses up to kiss him. “For me too.”

It’s slow, much slower than it ever has been for her, and it’s likely because Killian is taking the time to learn what she likes, to learn what brings her pleasure and causes her to whimper as they shift and move together. He’s brilliant at this, at making every inch of her feel treasured for the first time in a long time, and she wants to do the same to him, to show him that he’s treasured too. She wants to show him that she’s not leaving him, not again.

So she spends her time gliding their lips together, trying to coax out whimpers of pleasure from him. She does, and she wonders if she can memorize the sounds that he makes. She’s planning on doing this again, so she’s got the time. His hips snap into hers as her legs shift to allow him better access, to make him slip in deeper, and when he starts to get a bit shaky, she snakes her hand between them to rub at where they’re joined. She knows that she falls first, that her blood runs hot and that she can’t stop it as her eyes shut and Killian’s forehead rests against her collarbone. But she doesn’t want to stop it, not when this is so blissful and not when Killian is falling apart too, coming undone as the sweat on his skin falls to hers, his lips pressed against her ear as he whispers everything but “I love you” to her.

That comes two months later on a warm morning in October as they sit at his kitchen table drinking coffee after they spent the night trying to figure out what kind of job she’s going to apply for since she doesn’t want to keep working as a waitress. Killian suggests that she come work for him, and when she raises a brow at that, he shrugs and tells her that he’s serious. Whether she realizes it or not, she’s become quite adept at helping him plan events and set up for things, as well as answering calls and dealing with people who are upset that it’s raining and that their scheduled sailing lesson has been cancelled.

Plus, it means that she doesn’t have to work in an office all day, which is exactly what she’s been trying to avoid.

So the night after she figures out a way to maybe get her life on track, the man who has always been there for her even when she wasn’t there for him tells her that he loves her. She says it right back, meaning every word. She might not have deserved him for hurting him when they were young, but if there’s anything she’s learned lately, it’s that forgiveness, when deserved, is a very powerful thing.

She knows all of his secrets, all of his scars. She knows the ones that she caused, the ones that were left while she was around and the ones that were left after she was gone. She’ll get to know the ones that are left in the future.

She also knows that the ship wheel’s tattoo on his arm, the one that has his mom’s and Liam’s names inked into his skin because they were the people he loved most, gets her name inked into it three years after she officially returns home.

Because she is.

Home.

#unraveling the thread #cs fic #cs ff #captain swan fic #one shot

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pengychan · 5 years ago

Text

[Coco] Mind the Gap, Pt. 14

Title: Mind the Gap Summary: Modern Day AU. Tired of Ernesto’s snide remarks, Imelda decides to put him in his place and her husband is more than happy to help. It was supposed to be a one-night deal. Things quickly get out of hand. [OT3, mostly porn and humor. Plenty of instances of Ernesto being Dramatic, Imelda getting Sick Of His Shit, and Héctor trying to be the peacekeeper. Don’t expect anything serious.] Pairings: Ernesto/Héctor/Imelda Rating: Explicit.

Art by Dara.

[All chapters are tagged as ‘mind the gap’ on my blog.]

A/N: Aaaand shit hits the fan. You knew it was coming.

***

“I honestly cannot figure out if they’re dancing or fighting.”

“A bit of both, really. Brings out their best, through. You know, makes it more, er… passionate?”

“Oh, it does,” Armando agrees, staring at the scene through the glass. “Absolutely.”

Héctor smiles a little and follows his gaze. In the next room over, Imelda and Ernesto are singing - more to keep the tempo than for any other reason, they already recorded their cover of La Llorona with Héctor playing and that will be the audio - and dancing in front of a green screen, several cameras recording every move. Ernesto looks dashing in his best white charro and oh, Imelda is a dream in purple.

It was Armando’s idea to involve her in the music video, really, soon after the three of them had recorded the cover. He hadn’t been so keen on the idea of having Imelda sing with them as a guest - he had a couple of big names in mind - but after listening to the less-than-professional recording Héctor had on his phone, he was willing to give it a chance... and loved the result.

Truth be told, convincing Imelda to star in the video as well wasn’t easy; she was uncomfortable at the idea and honestly, Héctor was ready to drop it at the first ‘no’. Ernesto seemingly dropped it as well, but made a few sly remarks on how he couldn’t blame her for being worried she couldn’t keep up with him and his dancing.

Which gained him, of course, a raised eyebrow from Imelda.

“You do realize, I hope, that this attempt at goading me into it is about as transparent as it gets.”

“Is it working?” Ernesto asked, only for her to roll her eyes.

“No. I have no interest in humiliating you in front of your agent.”

“Oh?”

“You’re the one who wouldn’t be able to keep up.”

“Then prove it.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Chickening out, I see.”

“This isn’t going to work.”

“So you’re just going to pass on a chance to show me up in front of our manager?”

“...”

And… that was it, really, and here they are now, going through the routine time and time again, each refusing to give ground and dancing at their absolute best. It is the last thing that still needs doing - everything else is done, their debut album ready - and Armando wants to wrap up the filming within the day. If Ernesto and Imelda keep going like this, which Héctor is fairly sure they will do, they’re going to be exhausted by evening, but that’s not going to be a problem.

Héctor will very gladly take care of both of them.

***

“Don’t tell me you’re tired, Ernesto.”

“Absolutely not. Are you?”

“Not at all.”

Héctor bites his lower lip not to laugh at the conversation, which they’re carrying out sprawled at the opposite ends of the couch in a way that belies their words - both of them laying back, boneless and so obviously, utterly exhausted. Ernesto’s hair is dishevelled, whatever product he put on it clearly having given in, while Imelda’s hair is loose on her shoulders in dark waves. Even tired, she is beautiful. Ernesto is… not quite as much, but Héctor doesn’t mention it.

Instead, he grins and picks up his guitar. “So, who’s up for another round?” he asks, and barely ducks under two pillows thrown at him at the exact same time. Dante leaps to catch one, only to miss and crash against a chair while Pepita takes possession of it, to sit on it with the dignity of a queen. The other pillow is snatched by the Chihuahua pack; it takes all of them to carry it across the room, and they disappear beneath an armchair.

Normally, Imelda wouldn’t tolerate any pets but Pepita to take possession of those pillows; now, she seems very much beyond caring. As for Ernesto, he really never gave a damn.

“... I take it we’re not going out to celebrate wrapping this up?” Héctor pushes his luck again.

“No,” Imelda drones just as Ernesto mutters, “Tomorrow.”

Héctor’s grin widens. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you’re tired-- ouch!” He yelps, in surprise rather than pain, when something - Imelda’s slipper - smacks against his thigh.

Still sprawled on the other end of the couch, Ernesto nods. “Good shot.”

“Thanks. And I have another one.”

“Just kidding, just kidding!” Héctor protests with a laugh, holding the guitar up and almost hiding behind it. “But there is a fun activity I can suggest. One where I do all the work!” he almost shrieks when Imelda’s hand reaches for her other slipper.

The hand pauses in mid-air, and her eyebrows go up. “All the work?”

“Yes!”

She glances at Ernesto. He tilts his head. “Am I included in the fun activity?”

“Oh, like you would accept any answer but yes,” Héctor laughs, finally putting down the guitar. “All right, step one - you get your clothes off.”

“That sounds like work to me.”

“And you said you’d be doing all of it.”

“Ay, since when are you so laz--” Héctor ducks suddenly, and Imelda’s remaining slipper through the air. He jumps aside, and gives a victory grito. “Hah! Missed-- ouch! Ow! Seriously?”

Now missing a shoe, Ernesto gives him a satisfied smirk. “My aim is better,” he tells Imelda.

“I didn’t go for the head,” she points out.

“See, that’s the problem. You don’t aim high enough.”

Héctor rolls his eyes. “... Is either of you interested in what I’m suggesting?”

As it turns out they are very, very interested. But also very, very tired.

Half an hour later, buried beneath their snoozing forms - they stayed awake through the process of taking off their clothes and getting to the bedroom, but not much longer - Héctor sighs, trying to will his erection into going away, as he’s clearly not getting to use it at all tonight.

Ah well, there will be time to make up for it in the morning. Then maybe they’ll go out for a late breakfast someplace fancy, to celebrate the fact the album is done - their first step into proper stardom, as Ernesto calls it. Not that stardom matters much to Héctor, but it will be nice to have some extra income. So that Imelda can get a proper shop soon, and maybe they can start thinking… maybe…

Above him, Ernesto shifts sleepily and yawns. Héctor finds himself yawning as well, and the thought stays incomplete. He shuts his eyes, smiles at the tickle of Imelda’s breath against his neck, and lets sleep claim him as well. The future may hold a lot for them as Ernesto says but, for now, Héctor is happy to simply enjoy the present as long as it lasts.

It doesn’t last.

***

“Mierda.”

That is far from the most original thing to say; probably the very same word countless women found themselves uttering in various languages in the privacy of their bathroom, staring at two small lines on a pregnancy test stick - but at the moment, Imelda is unable to think of anything else to say. She can only lean back, heart in her throat, trying to think through the buzzing sound suddenly filling her ears.

No. No, no, no, no, no. It can’t be - it just cannot be - she’s on the pill, has been taking it religiously for the past several years, every day at the same time without fail. And she was lucky, too, never had any complications or side effects. Take the pill every day, stop a few days - cue period - and then on with the pill again. Nothing has ever gone wrong… until now.

Because she stopped taking it as usual, and there was no period to speak of. She tried not to worry, because sometimes human bodies are odd like that, and picked up the pregnancy test as an afterthought, thinking a negative result it would give her some peace of mind before she booked an appointment with her doctor to figure out if she needed to change brand of birth control.

Looks like I’ll have to call her for entirely different reasons.

Despite the voice in the back of her mind telling her that pregnancy tests are not infallible, Imelda can feel panic beginning to tighten her throat - because she knows that neither is birth control. But the pill is supposed to be effective in… over ninety-nine percent of cases. It worked until now, how can this be happening? What has changed in the past month? She can think of nothing, no big changes other than adopting a hyperactive and particularly stupid stray dog, full of ticks and with an infection--

… Wait. Wait just a moment.

Mind in turmoil, Imelda stands and throws open the medicine cabinet. There are some blisters of painkillers ‘just in case’, disinfectant, bandaids, some tampons, hair products she had told Ernesto to store somewhere else - and something else, the open box of the medication they all had to take after taking in Dante to find out he had a contagious fungal infection. Imelda tears it out of the cabined, pulls out the instruction booklet, and reads through it.

As it turns out, she should have done it much earlier.

Caution: when taken alongside birth control pills, it reduces the level of the hormone--

The booklet falls off Imelda’s fingers, floating slowly down on the tiles. She stares down at it for a few moments, then a few minutes, her ears buzzing. Now she knows what went wrong; later, once she shock has worn off, she will kick herself for being so careless. But right now, the one big question in her mind is what is she going to do about it.

It shouldn’t make her feel gutted. She and Héctor do want children; they agreed to wait until her business properly took off - and it has - and he got a foot firmly in the music industry - and he just did. This is... earlier than they planned, but it is what they wanted.

Except that, when they made plans, Ernesto was not yet in the picture. Not the way he is now.

At least… yes, at least there isn’t the issue of not knowing who the father is; in all the nights they have spent together, Ernesto has never been in her. At first because she didn’t want him to be - she considered that something for her husband only - and then… it had simply not happened. It almost did last week after they finally went out to celebrate the wrapping up of the album and oh, thank God, thank God he was too tipsy for it.

The father is Héctor, it can only be him, and it spares her the ordeal of not knowing and all the mess that would come out of it - because what would they even do, if it was Ernesto’s? Tell the truth, and force a child to deal with the stigma for the arrangement the three of them were in? They could decided to lie about it, pretend otherwise, but what if the truth got out? What if the child grew up to look far too much like their good family friend? Someone would find out, and… ah, she can’t imagine anything good coming out of it. It is a relief to know it will never happen.

But along with the relief, there is a burning sense of shame. Did she truly nearly get herself in the position of getting pregnant without even being certain who the father would be? That was… irresponsible of her. It had been meant to be a one-night deal, but it got well out of control and now it’s been… God, almost a year. How could she let it get this far?

Much, much too far. It cannot continue.

No, it really cannot, with a baby on the way. She will be a mother, Héctor will be a father, and Ernesto… he needs to be only a family friend again. She won’t object to Héctor and him being something more than that, as long as it is done discreetly and away from their home, but the three of them sharing a bed… that needs to end. The third wheel - she ignores the thought that Ernesto has come to be more than that, she must, if she’s to carry this out - needs to come off.

It would be far too dangerous with a child at home, asking questions. A child who would take the fall if word got out that their mother and father share a bed with another man, because it would be delusional to think their arrangement would simply be quietly accepted. Imelda could face the disapproval with her head held high if need be, but how could she ask that of a child? What kind of mother would let that happen?

It had to end, eventually. He’ll understand, he must. It is for the best. For everyone’s sake.

By the time she leaves the bathroom, the positive pregnancy test in her hand, Imelda has her mind made up. It hurts more than she ever thought it possibly might - a dull ache in her chest - but that’s not relevant right now. There is a baby coming, and she needs to do the right thing.

Even if Ernesto doesn’t agree, he must come to accept it. He’ll bounce back, Imelda tells herself, and she can believe that. Maybe she’s overestimating how attached Ernesto actually got. He’ll probably go back to his flings and one-night stands, if those ever really did stop.

Maybe he’ll throw a tantrum, as he often does when he doesn’t get his way, but she’s sure he’ll eventually be glad to have bailed out once the realities and responsibilities of having a child in the house become clear; he’ll mock them over the lack of nights out as he used to do only last year. She’ll get annoyed, and he’ll laugh it off. Like old times - arguably better than old times, because she refuses to think the understanding they have reached can simply vanish like that.

He’ll still be welcome in their home, just not in their bedroom. If she and Héctor are to be parents, it is time to put childish things behind them. She understands that and, she’s sure, so will her husband. Anyone with an ounce of common sense would see it is the only way forward.

“Héctor.”

Her voice is flat when she calls out, still somewhat numb, from the door of the living room. It causes Héctor - who is sprawled on the couch, song book in his hands and a foot braced against Dante to keep him from taking over - to look up, a pen in his mouth and another behind his ear. The one in his mouth falls off when he sees her expression and opens his mouth to speak; the other is dislodged when he sits up, putting the songbook aside.

“Imelda? What is it? Are you all right?” he asks, concern plain in her voice. Imelda draws in a deep breath, grip on the positive test tightening, and speaks quietly.

“We need to talk.”

***

“We need to talk.”

Héctor hears Imelda’s words through the loud blaring of an alarm. Or at least, that’s what it feels like: ‘we need to talk’ is very firmly among the top ten sentences that can make people question their every life choice, from the womb up to the second those words reach their ears.

We need to talk.

All right, all right. Time to keep his cool. Maybe he did something wrong - he probably did something wrong - and now they will talk it through. It is all right. Time to act as any reasonable adult would. Or not.

Nuh-uh, no. Nope. Nope nope nope. Abort mission, abort, abort.

“Great! We will! Soon! Soon-ish,” Héctor blurts out, and goes to grab his guitar, which is resting against the wall. His panicked brain fails to pick up the fact he’s holding it sideways. “I just thought up a song - I mean, I was thinking up a song - the words are giving me some trouble but I got most of the melody down, want to hear--”

“Héctor,” Imelda speaks up, putting a hand on the guitar. She looks… ay, she looks pale, and Héctor’s dumb panic immediately turns into concern. He puts down the guitar, almost dropping it on the only part of the couch not occupied by Dante, and cups her cheek.

“What… what is it? Are you feeling ill?”

“No, I--”

“Do you need to see a doctor?”

“Possibly later, but--”

Héctor’s brain somehow freezes and starts working twice the normal speed, simultaneously. The result is that he only gets stupid thoughts, but in much quicker succession than normal. She’s seriously ill, she has cancer, she’s the calmest person ever to experience a heart attack and oh God when was last time either of them did a full health check-up?

“Oh my God, you’re ill!”

“No!”

“You’re pale!”

“Héctor--”

“You said we need to talk, and you were using That Voice, it has got to be something serious!”

“Well, it is something serious--”

“I’ll call an ambulance!”

“No, you will not-- Héctor, put the phone down-- por Dios-- I’m pregnant, Héctor!”

Héctor’s neurological functions skid to to nearly a full stop, leaving enough electrical activity to keep him breathing, but just barely. He stammers. He drops the phone. He stares. His brains sputters back into activity.

“Pregnant,” he repeats, as though trying out a foreign word. Imelda bites her lower lip, nods, and holds up something - a stick. A pregnancy test with two tiny lines showing on the screen. Héctor blinks at it. “... How?”

That gains him a look that’s somewhere between stunned, pitying, and ‘oh God who did I marry’. “... The usual way?”

Ah. Right. That was… no, wait. It wasn’t that stupid a question, she’s supposed to be on the pill, and-- and--

I’m going to be a papá.

The realization hits him like a ton of bricks, kickstarting his brain into a semi-functional status again. He blinks at her, his face beginning to open up in what’s probably the biggest, dumbest smile since… their wedding, maybe. Probably since ever.

“A baby? You’re having a baby? We’re having a baby?”

Imelda seems to hesitate a moment, then her own expression opens up in a smile. It is somewhat tentative, but there is no mistaking the sheer joy of it; it’s like it occurred to her just now that she ought to be, and is, happy. “Sí. We’re having a baby.”

Héctor’s grito is loud enough to make Pepita shoot from the chair she was napping to the ceiling, while Dante flops off the couch with a yelp and runs to hide under a table. Imelda may also be trying to say something about her eardrums, but it’s lost in gales of laughter when he grabs her, kisses her, and twirls her around - improvising a silly, very uncoordinated dance across their living room.

Imelda laughs, too; she kisses him back, throws her arms around his neck, dances with him as he sings - “What color's the sky? ¡Ay mi amor, ay mi amor!” - and eventually they both stumble back on the couch, laughing, holding onto each other as the notion sinks in that they’re going to be parents.

It’s... a little earlier than they imagined it would happen, but it’s all right. They can make it work, Héctor knows they will, and-- ah, he can’t wait. He only just knew they have a baby on the way and he can’t wait to meet them.

“Imagine your parents’ face when we tell them-- and your brothers-- they're going to be tíos!”

“And they’ll never get to be in the same room as the baby unsupervised,” Imelda mutters, with a slightly exaggerated shudder of fake horror. Well, maybe not entirely fake.

Héctor laughs again, as though drunk on happiness, ignoring the brief stab of sadness at the thought that their baby will only have one set of grandparents. And no tíos from his side, since he never had siblings and-- ah, what is he thinking? Ernesto is going to be their tío, of course, they grew up together, it’s only fair.

“Wait until I tell Ernesto!” he exclaims, wishing the cabrón hadn’t chosen that day of all days to go get his nails done; if he were home, he’d be running downstairs in minutes to pound at his door and tell him the news. “I fully expect him to be the godfather! And to try and not hog all the attention at the christening, if he can manage-- are we doing that in Santa Cecilia? I think it would be nice, but Ernesto never wants to go back, so maybe--”

“Héctor.” Imelda’s hand is light on his cheek, her voice quiet, and Héctor knows something is amiss before he glances at her, at her somber expression. But this time, there is no panic: just the quiet realization of where this is going. “This is what we need to talk about. Ernesto,” she says, taking his hand. She looks saddened, but resolute. “... We’re having a baby. A child to raise. This-- the arrangement has to end.”

Oh. There is a stab of something in his chest, the kind of ache that comes with the realization that something good - something wonderful - has to come to an end, and sooner than planned. But Imelda is right, as she usually is; a child is going to change everything. A child in the house is going to change everything, and it’s their responsibility to make… adjustments. She can see that, he can see that… and he hopes that so will Ernesto.

“He will understand,” Héctor says through a lump in his throat. But it hurts, and his words sound unconvincing to his own ears.

For all the talents Ernesto has, knowing when to step aside was never one of them.

***

Something is… wrong.

It takes a while for Ernesto to notice, really, because throughout the dinner he’s rather busy talking - about the album, about future projects, about the new guitar he wants to buy, about himself in general because he does find himself to be a very interesting subject. They’re halfway through the main course when he realizes he’s not getting interrupted nearly as often as usual; by the time the waiter brings in the desserts, he finally notices the nervous glances they’re exchanging. Or at least, Héctor looks nervous; Imelda just seems to be… bracing herself.

Something is not right, Ernesto thinks, only moments before Héctor clears his throat.

“So, uh…” he manages a smile that is, at the same time, delighted and absolutely unconvincing. “Imelda and I have-- we have news.” He puts a hand down on the table, palm up, and Imelda grasps it with her own.

Later on, that is something that will keep coming back to mock him through sleepless, lonely nights: those joined hands, the way the fingers intertwine, how perfectly they fit. How complete they are, without him. But right now, it just unnerves him slightly; he looks up from their joined hands to meet Héctor’s gaze, confused more than alarmed.

“News?”

A nod, and the smile becomes a less forced, brighter. By his side, Imelda is expressionless as a sphynx. “We’re having a baby,” Héctor says, and grips Imelda’s hand tighter.

Ernesto stares. Blinks. Opens his mouth, closes it again, opens it once more. “... What?”

Another squeeze of Imelda’s hand, but Ernesto doesn’t notice: he can only stare at Héctor’s, too stunned for words, as he swallows and speaks again.

“Imelda is pregnant. We’re going to be parents.” The smile again, more tentative, more anxious. Ernesto’s eyes shift to Imelda, who remains expressionless. She is trying to keep control over the situation; Ernesto takes it as cold indifference as she nods and speaks, her voice calm, her words measured.

“... I am.”

Ernesto’s head spins a little. This is… bad. A kid would change everything and he doesn’t want things to change. “But how-- I mean-- I thought you were…?”

“I was on the pill, but some medication... interfered. I am five weeks in.”

“Five weeks,” Ernesto repeats, and there is some relief in his voice. Five weeks is still early enough for it to be taken care of - it would be a nightmare in Santa Cecilia, but in Mexico City? It can be done. He opens his mouth to say it aloud, but Imelda seems to have read his mind.

“We do want this baby, Ernesto.” Her voice is just a little more forceful, and again Ernesto is briefly stunned into silence. She sighs. “We always wanted children, you know that. This only comes… a little earlier than planned.”

Ernesto blinks, and turns to look at Héctor. He looks saddened, and it hits him suddenly - he knows where this is going. This is it, then - he’s getting the family he’s always wanted, they both are, and Ernesto is… no longer needed. He shakes his head, acutely aware of the fact he can’t say too much or too loudly, being in a restaurant and all. Only later, in hindsight, will he realize they told him in a restaurant to keep him from making a scene.

“Wait, wait-- what about--” what about me? “What about-- us?”

Héctor swallows. “You are still my best friend,” he says, and tries to reach across the table to put a hand on Ernesto’s arm, but he pulls back with a scoff.

“Oh, so that’s it? It’s over, just like that?”

Imelda shakes her head. “You and Héctor-- I won’t mind. But not at home, and… not with me.”

Is she serious? Does she really think it is enough-- that he will just-- Christ, does she feel anything about it at all? She may as well be made of ice, and Ernesto clenches his teeth, fury burning in his chest. He’s so angry, all of a sudden; at her for not caring, at himself for giving a damn that she doesn’t care, and at Héctor for just taking her side.

Of course he’d take her side. She has him whipped, and he’s a coward.

“You can’t!” he snaps, and finally her indifferent expression is broken, the hint of a frown creasing her brow.

“I can. I have every right to call myself out of it. Or would you force me?”

“What-- no!”

“There you have it, then. The arrangement, as it is, needs to end. I can’t keep being part of it.”

Anger barely in check, a sudden ache in his chest, Ernesto turns to Héctor. “And you agree with this?” he snaps. His best friends returns his gaze, still saddened… but his voice is firm.

“There’s a baby coming. We need to… to make some changes, even if we don’t like it. For the baby.”

Oh, of course. Anything for the damn baby that’s not even a baby yet-- but what about about him?

What do they care? They have their baby now. A brand new third wheel. That’s all I was, no? It was stupid to think that had changed. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

It stings - a lot - and Ernesto realizes that if he stays there he’ll scream or, worse yet, break. So he does the only thing he can do: he stands abruptly, almost knocking down the chair, and storms out of the restaurant - trying not to think, saying nothing, without looking back.

He doesn’t think he could stand turning to see those two still there, hand in hand - but ah, it’s no longer just the two of them, is it? There are three people around that table. The perfect number.

And he’s not part of it anymore.

***

“All right. What’s wrong?”

Sofía’s voice rings out in the darkened room. Ernesto, who’s staring at the wall and scowling, makes a face despite knowing she can’t see it at all.

“Nothing,” he says, hoping it will be enough. It clearly… isn’t.

“Yeah, no. You show up and suggest drinks, which was always your code for ‘fuck later’, and I say sure, got no plans for the night and it’s been a while. With you, I mean, I kept myself busy.”

“I’m sure you did.”

“We go out to have the drinks and you hardly talk, which is not unwelcome but also unlike you, since you can spend up to three hours talking about yourself without pausing - I timed you once,” Sofía says, and pokes him in the ribs. “Cigarette?”

“Not good for my voice,” Ernesto grumbles, still resting on his side to glare at the wall. He hears the sound of a lighter, a deep inhale, and he hopes she’s done talking. She’s not.

“I mean, really - there was karaoke going on and you didn’t elbow your way to the microphone. That is so unlike you it gets into worrying territory.”

“I was not in the mood--”

“Then you come to my place, fail to get it up - not that unusual, really--”

“Hey now--”

“-- But nothing some work can’t fix, and then suddenly you have a headache and would rather just sleep.”

“You’re giving me a headache right now,” he points out, turning.

“So you did not have a headache,” Sofía mutters, and triumphant note in her voice, and Ernesto snorts, shutting his eyes. There is a huff, and she rests her chin on his upper arm, blowing some smoke in his face. “Come on, who was it?”

“What are you talking about?”

“I recognize heartbreak when I see it, amigo.”

“I’m not heartbroken!” he sputters indignantly, spitting out the last word like it’s something rotten, and turns his head to glare at her - getting another puff of smoke in the face.

“Hu-uh. And I’m a bride of Christ,” she mutters, and pulls back to rest on her back, a hand reaching out to tangle in his hair. “Look, I still have no plans for the night. If you want to keep up your Macho Act I’ll go make myself a sandwich, have another smoke and go watch a movie or something. If you’d rather talk about it, I’ll listen. You’ve got time until I finish this cigarette to decide.”

Ernesto lets out scoff and stands, throwing the sheets off himself. “There’s nothing to talk about,” he says sourly, grabbing his clothes. He’s out of the door a minute later, slamming it shut, and gaining no reaction but a raised eyebrow and another drag of the cigarette.

***

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#pixar coco #coco #ernesto de la cruz #imelda rivera #hector rivera #mind the gap

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