#i went to the post office - dropped of some clothes - grocery shopped and went to target

[cinewhore]

me: i should call my mom less

also me: takes her on my errands which easily spills over three hours

[captianimarum]

"You're a pair of crazy bastards---" Nero uttered in response, unable to imagine the pain of losing all four limbs in such an agonising way. Losing his own had been bad enough and that had been with a blade; he could still remember it now, how it felt when he was lay on the floor of the garage, in naught short of agony, bleeding out with the world losing its colour and his person turning cold. Perhaps it was best Nero keep to himself how damn close he had come to death that day. In fact, he'd been knocking on the door, but thankfully, death must have been out grocery shopping or some shite because he didn't answer.

"Home might be your best bet, to be honest. It's better stocked at the moment." At least, as far as general pots and pans and such went. The Fortuna branch of Devil May Cry was... bare at most; more of a glorified room with tiny kitchen and bathroom stemming off - - a good place for post if naught else. Nero spent most of his time there while on the island, mostly visiting the children and Kyrie when he found time; it was always the way. He would drop by but never be always around - - but it made the time with the kids more enjoyable, special. It was how it was.

"...Dunno. I mean - - I can give you a tour of all the places I haunted as a kid?" If Vergil wanted to know about all of that, that was. Most of the places were still standing, if not somewhat dishevelled and now abandoned; but there were special places there; where the hopes and dreams of a child had perished, and such- "They ain't nothin' special but--" He shrugs, having no real further ideas. "--the old orphanage might still have a photo of me when I was little. Place ain't been touched since the whole Sanctus incident thing, and I know it's still standing. They used to keep a photo album in the office, took a photograph each time you had a birthday. I didn't... Really comply for most of them but I know they managed a few. If you wanted, that is. Not that interesting I guess. " Among the forgotten mess and rubble.

It felt... Strange to remember. Nero had been kept there, mostly safe from the dangers of the outside world. He had been fed, minimally but he couldn't complain, he had clothes given to him when he grew out of the ones before - them always worn and already nigh threadbare. There was never particularly any love, only partial structure such as bed times and demands for them to make use of themselves. It wasn't the loving family he'd always wanted, but at least he hadn't been abandoned somewhere where he couldn't have been saved. As much as he had hated it there, every waking moment, and all of the staff... He had to thank them for keeping him alive long enough for him to move out and make discoveries for himself, in life.

⚔ ────▪ ❛ 𝙸𝚃 𝚂𝙴𝙴𝙼𝚂 𝚆𝙴 𝙷𝙰𝚅𝙴 𝚃𝙷𝙰𝚃 𝙼𝚄𝙲𝙷 𝙸𝙽 𝙲𝙾𝙼𝙼𝙾𝙽 , ❜ ⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻ Vergil murmured, though his tone was both joking and completely serious. Hearing the words fall from Nero's lips on their own was a whirlwind—concealing the wind that had been knocked out of him was a struggle, but he managed as best he could. His son was a far better man than he had ever hoped to be. A silent thank you was given to the parents who had taken him in, and Kyrie. And Dante. How much of Dante he saw in Nero, too. Content with what he had, never truly wanting more ( or at least, not outwardly ). How he yearned to be so selfless. Did that come with the territory of accepting your humanity ? Vergil prayed to his Father that it did. If only he knew when such a thing would kick in.

                         ❛ Though I used a shotgun. ❜ He chuckled softly, bitterly, but never stopped picking at his lip. Nero had given him so much to think about, to savor and to think upon. His child had grown up so intelligent. Whatever doubts Vergil had had upon first meeting him, so long ago, completely dissolved. Dante could not hope to achieve a child with such intelligence, emotional or otherwise. There was that pride, again. ❛ Your uncle was most displeased with me, as he should have been . . . an agonizing pain, to lose four limbs to the blasts of a sawed-off. ❜                           Somehow, that was not the cruelest thing Vergil had ever done—the fruits of his most cruelest labor was standing right beside him, listening to him speak. That little thought ( what ever happened to her ? ) prickled the nape of his neck again. A plan began to form, though not for some time. ❛ Ah, well. The past is the past, and Dante has forgiven me for most of my youth's cruelty. Perhaps one day we can swap meals ; these instant noodles you speak of sound quite delicious. ❜                           The butcher finished wrapping the cuts of meat and stacked them on his cart ; Vergil had his money ready and paid the difference, stuffing the wrapped pieces into his mesh bag. He looked around, cocked his head to the side ( still picking at his lip, mind ), and looked at Nero.                          ❛ We should get these back home, at least what won't be used tonight. Am I using Devil May Cry's kitchen, or yours ? It won't take me long to get these home, if I fly. ❜ Vergil finally moved his hand away from his face, bringing his other arm up to pull back the sleeve of his coat ; on one wrist, a watch, which he squinted at from an upward angle, very boomer-like of him, really. ❛ Supper is also not yet for another few hours. What to do, what to do . . . ❜                           Lavender eyes flicked from the watch to Nero's, a curious and politely-waiting expression on his features ; though if Nero paid attention, Vergil did not outwardly look him in the eye, choosing to keep them either on Nero's hair or throat . . . but never directly.

[bandluvr97]

mbb 🎅

Oh my job is very boring, I have a fancy title but it's mostly the grunt work of making sure everyone else can do their job, and tomorrow I'm background support for a big party. You've got to have a more interesting job/studies, or at least better Saturday plans, so how's it going in your life?

Changkyun really saw Shownu and Wonho leave and said "I guess I'll be the sexy one... a heavy burden to carry, but I'll do it... no need to thank me..." like he has the chest to compete with them. But we love to see a bad bitch thrive, so I support it. "They wouldn't let me put Hot As F in the song, so I made it Fahrenheit and they did" BRO! (but then his vocals in Shape of Love meant I had to forgive him for all his weird explanations of his lyrics)

They're such good dancers it's annoying, seeing the "Fantasia" dance for the first time??? Or the way they pistol squat in "Shoot Out" before jumping back up to keep singing??? And they do everything in such perfect sync, which just makes it so gratifying to watch, they have some of my favorite dance breaks. And then their producers are so good, I'm glad Wonho still gets to work with that team, too (hopefully also Changkyun for his solo work, but Wooki's really good and they killed Duality).

I've never heard of the Post It Note movement, what's that? It's just so great that he dropped his emotional ballad and then said OH YOU THOUGHT! before dropping the slut (honorific) anthem that is "Open Mind".

Do you listen to other groups, too? Is MX your favorite, or someone else, or are you more evenly spread out between groups?

Hey love ❤️ hope your doing well and having a chill day before work! You got this lol is it a supervisor position or is it another type of work? Lol ooooo office party!!!! What do you need to prepare for the party? What is the theme? Lol! If you count grocery shopping and watching movies/bl shows as better plans then sure lol in terms of studies I graduated in June of this year and have just been working full time lol the people and the office is great! Life is chill for now I’m living with my family to get my things together and just taking it one day at a time lol also had some fun online dating but nothing much happened with that lol wbu? What’s going on in your life?

Lmao!! He really went “I got this I’ll give you guys a break and I’ll make sure our fans are never the same after this” and it worked lol who was he planning on targeting with that outfit for the mma’s a few weeks ago when he wore nothing but leather pants, a tiddie vest and jacket like sir!!!!! Your going to give fans a scare and make them horny all in the same day 😂😂 and honestly I am here for those vibes lol and then don’t get me started on honey because he’s all dimples and then he channels his mode and it just kicks us off on the WOAH THERE train 😂😂 I firmly believe that everyone in that group is a duality king and we Stan lol

Aren’t they amazing at everything they do?!?! Like they are models, actors, dj stuff, artists, vocalists, clothing designers (yes I’m looking at you kihyun) and then they are just genuine squishes and it’s so wholesome 👍👍👍👍 oh lawd don’t get me started on the pistol squat from shootout that was phenomenal!!!!! Did you see the shootout dance break at mama in 2018? That was one of the best dance breaks I’ve ever seen them preform (and the jumpsuits were stunning) and I’m sure they will still get to preform together even though changkyun is not with sse anymore but my god thank god wonho is still there tbh that was a relief lol

What happened with the post it note thing was in 2019 he was blamed for allegedly smoking weed with a girl who he was friends with (the girl blamed him and she was doing that to a lot of idols for many years and was even in jail because it got too far for her) so he left the group at that time and he was just really broken since then and so the fandom wanted to make sure he knew that he was loved and appreciated and we wanted him to come back so bad so fans all over the world left messages on post it notes outside of the sse building so he could see it and he didn’t pop up for six months after that lol then when he was officially back to normal he took some pictures with post it notes so we knew that he saw it and appreciated it (thanks for coming to the ted talk lmao) he really said OH YOU THOUGHT I WAS DONE???? Hell to the no!!!!! Imma wear as much crop tops and booty shorts that I can possibly manage 😂😂😂was there other wonho songs you like to listen to?

Yeah I do like to listen to other groups! I would consider myself to be a multi stan 😂😂 I have my ultimate groups like monsta x, bts, ateez and black pink and then I was exploring some other groups like nct, exo, super junior, some shinee, ever glow, dream catcher, and some others lol I also like to listen to non kpop stuff too like Harry styles, one direction, Jonas brothers, why don’t we, Ed Sheeran and some other groups lol wbu?

[theroyalsims]

AN IRATE XIMENA BEGS THE PAPARAZZI: “LEAVE ME ALONE.”

Uh-oh. Looks like Ximena has had it with the pesky photographers!

Prince Alistair’s girlfriend, Ximena Kalarmy, was photographed this morning on her way to the shops, and let’s just say, it wasn’t such a pleasant experience altogether.

Although being followed by photographers has quickly become part of Ximena’s daily life after she and Prince Alistair went public with their relationship, things seem to only get worse for the feisty brunette.

While on her way to a nearby grocery store, she was cornered by a crowd of about twenty photographers and reporters, hoping to (at least) get a peep out of her. Ximena has been incredibly tight-lipped throughout her love affair with the Queen’s eldest son, but today, she finally snapped. 

A video of Ximena shows her angrily telling the paparazzi to “back off.” The photographers, perhaps encouraged by her response, ended up hounding her even harder. At some point, Ximena was heard saying, “please, I’m begging you, just leave me alone,” before running into the store. Things got so bad that the store’s manager had to step in and help Ximena out.

The paparazzi continued to take her photos, albeit from a distance, as she walked all the way back to her flat.

Ximena has not been given her own protection officer despite the daily struggles she experiences with the paparazzi, and she probably shouldn’t expect to receive one until Alistair puts a ring on her finger. One royal expert shares:

“Royal protection officers are publicly funded, elite security experts that are tasked to protect members of the Royal Family. They cannot be loaned out to friends or girlfriends or whatever. So unless she’s a royal fiancée, Ximena must bear the consequences of dating a Prince on her own. She can always pay for her own bodyguard. No one’s stopping her.”

Ximena’s appearance also caused some chatter online. The hashtag #WhyXimena trended on social media. One post in particular that has since garnered over 15,000 shares and even more likes read:

“What does Alistair see in her? She’s so frumpy. She’s not at all pretty. Plus, she could stand to lose a few pounds, if you know what I mean? I don’t get it. She’s so plain. She’s a 6, tops, and I’m being very generous. #WhyXimena.”

Another post reads:

“Chipped blue nails? Unkempt hair? Ill-fitting clothes? And you’re telling me this social-climbing nobody is dating a Prince? #WhyXimena #AlistairWakeUp

Ximena wore rolled skinny jeans which she paired with a plaid shirt and a tank. She also went bare faced, with not a drop of make-up on, for her trip to buy groceries.

However, not everyone is hating on Ximena. One writer posted:

“The level of pettiness and nastiness hurled against Ximena is disgusting, and I suspect is all because of jealousy. She’s dating a Prince. You’re not. The Prince liked her because she’s genuine and kind, which, again, you’re all obviously not. ‘Why Ximena?’ I think the better question is ‘Why Alistair?’ Here, we have a beautiful, independent, and confident woman. Any man she dates should realise that they’re lucky enough to have her in their life. Alistair should thank his lucky stars that he found a woman brave enough to take him on. Leave Ximena alone. You have no idea what she’s going through.”

Poor Ximena. And this thing with royal girlfriends/boyfriends not being given protection officers is a little alarming and should absolutely be reconsidered. It feels like it was just yesterday when Clive was driven away by this very same unwelcome press intrusion. It would be utterly sad if Alistair and Ximena suffer the same fate. 

[orenjineki]

Dabi the house-elf

Summary:When you don't get your Hogwarts letter at 11, you spam Hogwarts with letters until they get pissed of and send you a human Dabi who thinks he is a house-elf. And he's always naked and hung. Crap.

Warnings: Dub-Con, Dubious Consent, R18, Minors DNI

Notes: I am so sorry but I saw this tiktok by @savs_creates where Dabi is a house-elf and I just couldn't stop myself. https://vm.tiktok.com/ZMerqQ5Dc/

I thank @mangospams who is my greatest inspo when it comes to Yandere Dabi.

You had a house-elf. As a muggle. A house-elf. The size of a grown, human!, man with a sizeable…erm, well size. Not only his frame was decently sized but also his private parts, as you liked to call them in your mind when you happened to accidentally see them from the corner of your eyes when the brown bedsheets you had given the man? elf? once again did a terrible job at covering him.

Which you did not want to see since you were still unsure about his race. To be fair, you were unsure about a lot of things since you turned eleven. Up until your 11th birthday you were convinced that you would get a letter from Hogwarts, be declared a witch and go on a great many adventure with your new, magical friends in a school that was essentially a death trap for children. (They have a forbidden forest with giant spiders, that can and will eat you, unless you raised the og spider because you thought it was a cute pet!). The thought that Hogwarts was not real, merely a product of fiction, did not occur to you. And why would it, since quirks were real, why shouldn't magic be?

And so you waited for your letter, standing on the doormat of your home, looking for owls. But none came. But they had to! And so you waited. And waited. With the interruption of school, food and sleep. But not a single bird, not even a pigeon, dropped a letter with a red wax seal in front on your feet. But you never gave up hope, maybe they just got lost on their way?

You waited so long that you eventually turned twelve. Angry about this unreliability and with a feeling of betrayal, you decided to take matters into your own hands and write them a letter instead, ha! And so you did, every day, complaining about the fact that this magical institute had the audacity to not send you your magical letter! Heck, even an email would have been fine! Your parents tried to stop you at first but since you were somewhat decent at school, they let you keep your paper intense hobby. When you had sent your 6666thletter, way past your 18th birthday, you finally got an answer!

''Dear Ms. …,

We have received your thousands upon thousands of letters, demanding to be announced a witch and allowed into our school. However, we are glad to inform you that you are, through and through, a muggle. Usually we would ignore such profligate attempts at gaining something which you do not deserve but the amount of paper you have wasted for your letters poses a threat to the environment which muggle folk already treat with so much disrespect. Therefore, as a reimbursement, and a desperate attempt to get you to stop writing us, we will send you a human who thinks he is also a magical being without a trace of magic in his veins. In this case it is a human man who got hit with a confundus charm as a child and is convinced that he is a house-elf. When you finish reading this letter, you will find him standing in your kitchen, awaiting your orders.

Sincerely, the secretary of Hogwarts school of witchcraft and wizardry.''

Wait, so Hogwarts is real? And you have a house-elf/human now? What? You drop the letter and rush into the kitchen to see a man, with white hair, piercing blue eyes and piercings on…anyway. You couldn't decide what was more confusing about the situation. The fact that he appeared out of nowhere, the fact that large parts of his body were burned or the fact that he was naked. You decided to accept this new version of reality by staring at him incredulously for a good five minutes, in which he did not blink once, staring back at you.

Since he didn't say anything and you started to feel a little drowsy from this… revelation, you decided to end the day early and go to sleep in your one-room apartment. Sadly, your apartment was too small to hide in another room, hoping that he would be gone, only a really weird dream, when you woke up and entered the living room the next morning. Sadly, your living room was also your bedroom and your kitchen and so you could only turn around and stare at the wall incredulously until you fell asleep. The next morning you woke up feeling surprisingly refreshed, since your apartment was always too cold to catch a good night's sleep. But somehow you felt really warm, as if you had shared the bed with another, very warm body.

…

Was that breathing you heard near your ear, right behind you? You turned around in a millisecond and went right back to incredulously staring at your house-elf-human. Holy shit, he was still there. And naked. And now he spoke, making it even harder to ignore his existence. ''Is master mad at Dabi? Should Dabi burn himself as punishment?'' He raised a hand and a very hot and very scary looking blue flame emerged from it. Great, so you had a crazy human who was convinced to be a house-elf with a fire quirk in your very small and very expensive apartment. Just great. You decided to pretend this was real. Maybe if you went along with it, he would be revealed to be a figment of your imagination and someone would send you to a mental hospital where live might be a bit more normal than this. ''N…n…no, please don't! I'm just confused, it's fine, you did nothing wrong.''

And so you had a human house-elf. You tried really hard to convince him that he wasn't an elf, but his believe in his magicalness was as unyielding as 11 year old you's. You decided to just treat him like a really confused roommate. Very, very confused. He kept standing or laying as close to you as possible, staring at you so hard you worried he would set you ablaze with his eyes. Those eyes…

They were always on you. If it wasn't such a weird situation, he might have been your type, though more ''normal'' in his speech patterns preferably. The scars didn't look ugly, just saddening when you wondered about the pain his quirk must have caught him. In order to give him and you more privacy, you gave him an old brown bedsheet as clothing since he refused anything that was new and without holes. He was actually quite helpful around the household, watching you doing daily chores and picking them up immediately the next day until all you had left to do yourself was work and grocery shopping.

He did however always manage to make you slightly uncomfortable with the way he would stare at you whenever he had nothing to do but you had to write a paper or watch a cat video. And he was absolutely horrible when he interacted with other people, other men to be exact. One time, when you forgot to tell him to hide under the blanket when the doorbell rang, the delivery man had been visible from the kitchen unit and he stared at him, an eerie smile on his face, and a blue flame in one hand. You decided to push the delivery man out of his view, grabbed the package and slammed the door shut. After that you had a serious discussion about ''politeness'' with Dabi and he just kept insisting that ''Master doesn't need anyone else, only Dabi''.

You tried to talk him out of this worldview, but every time you even remotely disagreed with him, the room suddenly got very hot and smoke poured out of his ears and you decided to drop it. Maybe you should get a post office box instead.

From that day on everything seemed mostly fine, until you came home from work, very exhausted, with a sore neck. You yawned a lot more than usual when you tapped away on your phone and stretched your arms and moved your head around in a desperate attempt to ease the pain. Suddenly, two very warm hands found their way on your shoulders and a very hard and apparently large cock pressed into you from behind.

You gasped in shock, your breath stopping. Soft, white hair tickled your neck when your ''house-elf'' whispered into your ear: ''Does master need help relaxing? Dabi saw some of those massage videos master always watches at night on her phone. The humans in the videos look very calm after the massage.''

Your eyes widened in realization and horror, your ''house-elf'' had found your browser history. Great…

You tried to wriggle free from his hold, but only managed to rub your ass into his hard, and pierced, member, making the ''house-elf'' groan softly. The deep noise made your legs quiver and pulled a pathetic whimper from your lips. To your own shame, the most recent ''massage video'' you saw came to your mind and you wondered if he would really go this far. Before you could form another coherent thought, he let go of you to grab a glass of coconut oil from the fridge, melting it's content in his hands.

Then, his oily hands wandered, one under your shirt to softly massage your left nipple and make you whimper, the other under your waistband, inside your panties, to softly rub at your clit. Apparently, he had seen one of the more ''romantic'' videos, because you also felt his lips press soft kisses all over your neck and collarbone. Maybe he was really a magical creature, since the way he played with your admittedly very single body wiped all coherent thought from your mind. He kept rubbing and rubbing your clit until you came with a very embarrassing, very high-pitched moan.

''Don't worry master, Dabi will make you feel even better''. Before you could really grasp what he meant, something warm, hard and big was slowly pressed into your now soaked pussy. An even bigger, even more pathetic whimper left your lips. At your very audible reaction to his actions your ''house-elf'' stilled inside you once he bottomed out and laid his chin on your shoulder, looking at you with the widest eyes you ever saw on him. ''Is Master in pain?''.

You shook your head, bit down on your lip, and realized that you desperately needed him to pound you against the kitchen counter. ''I'm…I'm fine, please just move''. The desperation was very audible in your voice and the look of concern disappeared from Dabi's face. Instead, he licked your ear and whispered:'' Only if you Master admits that master belongs to Dabi''.

''W…what?!''

''Say it or Dabi will burn the next man that tries to sneak into master's home with a package.''

''O..ok, whatever. Master belongs to Dabi''.

The reaction where a dark chuckle and a kiss to your ear before he pulled out of you completely to thrust back in. When you didn't protest and your moans only grew in volume, his hands wandered and he started to squeeze each breast with a very large and warm hand. For the second time that night you wondered whether he actually was magical, since this felt like a very ''magical'' experience. Definitely fantastic with the way the various piercings battered into your g-spot and your clit, making you moan and whine just as loud as the women in your ''massage videos''. When Dabi saw your head fall back on his shoulder and your tongue roll out, he decided to make sure that everyone could see you were his and bit down on your neck, hard. You yowled out in pain but he compensated for it by rubbing your clit and thrusting so hard that you came on his cock half a minute later. The sensation of your walls squeezing him tightly and your cute whines also pushed him over the edge and you could feel his warm seed trickle out of you once he slowly retreated.

The house-human picked you up and held you bridal style in his arms before you could collapse. You still groaned softly from the overstimulation and he carried you to your very small shared bed. After carefully tucking you into bed and pulling you into his naked chest, he softly pushed your hair out of your face and gave you a number of soft kisses all over you face, on your nose, cheeks and mouth.

Before you managed to fall asleep, completely exhausted, you could hear him whisper into your hair after kissing your head:

''Now Master is Dabi's mate. I love you master, but if I ever see another man at the door I will turn him into a pile of ash''.

[asstronauts]

Alphabet Soup

rating: t word count: 1.7k pairing: jemily summary: perhaps love is in the little moments more than the grand gestures. 26 times (among many) that JJ and Emily fall a little bit more in love with each other in the everyday, smaller moments.

read on ao3, if you’d prefer

---

A - alphabet soup

JJ bought cans of alphabet soup for the boys when Michael first began to read, but Emily quickly found it much more entertaining to spell out words like "boob" or "ass" or "sex?" punctuated with a poorly modified capital P in place of a question mark. JJ had to shut it down when Michael asked what a "tit" was, and Emily panicked and mumbled something about birds.

B - bedtime

They would often unwind by reading before bedtime, and JJ found that Emily read through many foreign literature books. The nights she would fall asleep to Emily stroking her hair and reading aloud in words she didn't understand were the nights she felt most rested.

C - constellations

It was clear that Emily didn't actually know any constellations besides the Big Dipper and Orion. But when she laid on the grass with Henry and Michael, she made up stories in the stars about great heroes and the adventures they went on, and the boys fell in love with the night sky.

D - driving

JJ insisted on driving everywhere without the help of smartphone maps, which had gotten them lost on several occasions. Somehow it felt alright, when she had one hand on the wheel and one hand on Emily's leg, the windows were down, and her hair was streaming in the wind and reflecting the setting sun. Somehow it felt alright to be lost with her.

E - errands

For whatever reason, JJ made running any errand seem like immense fun. Buying groceries, getting gas, even sending a letter felt like an adventure when she was there. They'd only gotten kicked out of one grocery store — when JJ had knocked over an entire display stand of candy bars after running and jumping onto a shopping cart. They didn't regret anything.

F - forehead kiss

JJ wasn't that much shorter than Emily, but when the brunette pressed her lips to her girlfriend's forehead, JJ would feel the need to bury her face in Emily's neck to hide her blushing cheeks.

G - graveyard

On that day, JJ just needed space. So Emily took her to the flower shop the day before and drove her to the cemetery that morning and left her alone until she was ready. In the evening, they didn't speak, just laid with one another on the couch until JJ fell asleep in her arms.

H - horror movie

It was a cheap jump scare, but it made JJ scream out and grab Emily's arm, prompting the older woman to laugh at her. JJ responded with a playful slap, and Emily had to kiss her to reaffirm her love. They didn't finish the movie.

I - ice cream

On a day off, Emily took the boys to get ice cream, and when they came home raving about how Emily had managed to stack five ice cream scoops on top of a single cone, JJ knew she was with the right woman.

J - jaw

Emily's knees grew weak whenever JJ kissed up her jaw and whispered in her ear. Her girlfriend caught on and loved messing with her, working her up into a complete frenzy, then saying the most unsexy thing she could think of. Emily hated it, but she also couldn’t help but to collapse into a fit of giggles when JJ planted kisses all up the side of her face and whispered something like "corned beef" in a seductive voice.

K - kitchen

JJ would use every kitchen utensil as a musical instrument during any spare moment in cooking — while the food was cooking, while the water boiled, while the oven was preheating. She would sing into a wooden spoon and shove it into Emily's face to finish the lyric, and the two would dance in each others' arms all throughout the kitchen.

L - letters

When Emily spent her time in Paris and London, she and JJ wrote each other scores of letters the times they weren't together. They'd both filled up an entire box of papers and knickknacks until they were reunited. Even after, JJ would sometimes write a letter addressed to Emily, drop it into the mailbox and tell Emily to check the mail, for no reason except to make her smile.

M - mugs

JJ had an entire cupboard dedicated to mugs for her tea, which Emily could never understand because she only seemed to ever use two of them: one being a lumpy mug Henry had made in a pottery store and the other being a Valentine’s Day gift from Emily with lovely ceramic boobs protruding from the mug’s body.

N - notes

Emily bought a massive pack of post-its and began leaving notes for JJ around work, bringing a smile to her face every time she found a little colorful message. Some were encouraging — you can do it, you light up my world, you're amazing. Some were cheesy — i love you, je t’aime, when you see this blow me a kiss. And some were...questionable — JJ had to hide the extremely accurate (and well-annotated!) drawing of her naked body before Hotch saw.

O - omelette

Most of the time, Emily couldn't cook without the risk of burning the house down, but for some reason, she made the most scrumptious omelette. Despite not knowing how to cook scrambled or fried or boiled eggs, Emily's omelettes were always perfectly cooked, with an impeccable ratio of egg to filling. JJ tried everything she could to make them the same way, but the boys always preferred Emily's omelettes on Sunday mornings. JJ wondered if it was something she learned during her time in Paris.

P - plants

Before JJ, Emily had never been very good at taking care of plants. They seemed to die with little to no warning. But JJ had taught her well, making little plant calendars and teaching her signs to watch out for, and one morning, JJ caught her talking to one of the plants. As she listened more carefully, she heard that Emily was talking to each plant in a different language — according to the plant’s country of origin.

Q - quiet

The moments after the boys were put to bed were some of the only moments of quiet JJ and Emily got alone during the day. No matter how busy or tired they were, they always intentionally took a few moments to just quietly be with one another, curled up in the other's arms, lying in the other's lap, or simply sitting side by side.

R - rain

They'd gotten caught in the storm on the way back to the office from lunch. Despite JJ’s coat held up above them, the pair was getting drenched anyway, and they gave up and decided to make out in the rain instead. They swung their hands back and forth as they splashed over to the BAU, arriving soaked to the bone but elated, as Hotch shook his head at their sodden clothing and dopey grins.

S - Sergio

Emily had arrived home early and found JJ dancing in the hallway with Sergio to "Can't Stop the Feeling" blasting on the bluetooth speaker. She lifted her ban on Justin Timberlake that day, which had previously been in place when in a moment of weakness, JJ had declared she would choose him over Emily if given the chance. (She’d taken it back for Emily's sake, but deep down she couldn't really decide.)

T - thermostat

JJ liked the thermostat to be set at no lower than 77 degrees, while Emily loved the room as cold as possible. The first few months that they lived together was a horrible battle of constantly changing from one drastic temperature to the next, before JJ finally agreed to keeping the temperature low as long as Emily agreed to cuddle with her any time she got cold. Emily did not, however, realize that this compromise extended to the workplace, where JJ would sporadically ask for cuddles throughout the day, and Emily would have to comply.

U - ugly pajamas

Emily loved her ugly pajama sets. One of her favorites was a bright green Grinch onesie in a ridiculous Christmas sweater. JJ hated it until Emily showed it to the boys, and Michael howled with laughter and asked for one for himself. From that day forward, Emily bought her ugly pajamas in full family sets, including accompanying costumes for Sergio.

V - vanilla

Emily didn’t quite mind JJ’s early morning jogs because her favorite moments were when JJ came home after, took a shower, and climbed back into bed to give Emily a warm embrace, flooding her senses with the smell of vanilla shampoo. Emily would roll over to nuzzle her head in the crook of JJ’s neck and plant soft kisses there, breathing in her favorite scent.

W - wine

Emily drank red, JJ drank white. And Henry and Michael loved to join in, pretending to be adults by sipping grape juice from their colorful cups. Perhaps their family had unconventional tea parties, but at least they always had massive amounts of fun doing family activities tipsy. These were the nights when it was almost difficult to tell the difference between Michael and Emily’s coloring pages.

X - X-Files

JJ didn’t fully understand Emily’s deep obsession with The X-Files, but after Emily convinced her that she wasn’t only watching for Gillian Anderson, the younger woman began finding the long rambles and discussions of extraterrestrial life more endearing and interesting.

Y - yarn

JJ really wanted to get the hang of knitting and give something special to the boys, but Emily kept distracting her. Any chance she got, Emily would hold the yarn balls to her chest as fake boobs, use threads of yarn as mustaches, and drum the knitting needles against any surface. It wasn’t that JJ couldn't finish her projects out of annoyance — it was that JJ couldn’t help but laugh and find her girlfriend irresistible, forcing her to set aside her work and wrap herself up instead in the brunette’s embrace.

Z - zoo

It was Emily's explosive childlike joy when she had seen the dolphins. She claimed it was for the boys’ sakes, but JJ had noticed the pure excitement in her eyes when they saw the sign and felt the way Emily had tugged on her wrist to rush to the stadium and grab seats right in the splash zone. And in the screams of laughter and the moment when both Henry and Michael clutched at Emily when the water washed over them, JJ knew she wanted to spend the rest of her life with this woman.

[honey-dewey]

The Story of how you Accidentally Married a Selkie

Pairing: Selkie Ezra/Reader

Word Count: 1,954

Warnings: None

When you met a handsome stranger with a fur coat in a coffee shop, you expected your one-time interaction to be just that. One time only. And then he shows up the next day with an engagement ring and things get a bit more complicated. (This is shamelessly based off that one Tumblr post about picking up a selkie’s coat and accidentally getting married to them.)

Permanent Taglist: @phoenixhalliwell 

Living in a small town was, in your opinion, the epitome of living. Nestled on the seaside, the Green was a tiny spit of a town with all of two grocery stores, one bank, a single bar, three coffee shops, and maybe two hundred people. 

So, yeah, it was perfect. 

Nestled down in front of your favorite coffee shop, overlooking the crashing waves, you slowly worked on a writing assignment for your boss, typing away at your laptop and letting the lull of the ocean keep track of your time. 

Eventually, once high tide came in and the salty water came spraying up onto the road, you decided to move inside. Abandoning the sun, you shut your laptop into your bag and drew your jacket closer around your body as you hurried into the coffee shop. 

Waving to the sweet college kid behind the counter, you found your normal seat, tucked away in a corner where you could still see the ocean, but it wasn’t threatening to kill your laptop. 

Halfway to your table, you stumbled over something thick. A beautiful pale grey fur coat, speckled with darker grey and so soft looking. It was ringed around a chair with someone sitting in it, so you assumed they’d draped it over the back of the chair and hadn’t known that it had dropped. 

“Excuse me!” You said, scooping the jacket up and holding it out to the person. “You dropped your coat.” 

The person turned, eyes wide with surprise as you handed him back his coat. He was attractive in an almost inhuman way, his eyes too big and his skin too soft. But you just chalked it up to the lighting and walked towards your table with a small wave goodbye. 

The entire time you worked, the man stared at you, still looking shocked. When the college kid came around with your coffee, you grabbed their attention. “Hey, do you know who that is?” 

They shook their head. “Apparently he’s a regular around this time of year. Story goes he’s just passing through to visit his family. 

You nodded, wrapping your hands around your cup and turning back to your laptop. Now that you thought about it, that head of brown curls with the prominent blond streak was familiar. 

Once the sun had begun to dip below the horizon, you headed out, bundling up and waving yet again to the pretty stranger. His wide brown eyes caught the light and seemed to almost glitter as you left the coffee shop. 

That night was bizarre. The waves were almost violent, crashing against the shore with a strange urgency. The wind howled mournful words, as if someone was singing. You heard the soft barking of faraway seals, although that must have been stray dogs. The Green didn’t have seals. Rolling over in bed, the softness of that fur coat crossed your mind briefly before you slipped away into sleep. 

The next day, you woke up to birds chirping. It was horribly cliche, but you did. Getting out of bed, you stretched, opening the curtains on a picturesque summer’s day. 

“Thought it’d be stormy,” you mumbled to yourself, digging up work clothes and beginning your morning routine. 

Most days, you were able to slip away during work hours and sit in the coffee shop, but today was too busy. Instead, you were trapped in the office, your only connection to the outside world being your open window. Occasionally, a warm breeze would drift through and you’d smell the baked goods across the street. It was awful to know that your sanctuary was literally twenty feet away, and yet you couldn’t visit until work was over. 

At noon, you happily left work, waving to your boss and promising to get all the appropriate documents emailed to him by the time you went to bed. 

The weather was warm, warm enough for you to leave your jacket draped over your arm as you pulled open the coffee shop door. 

“Hey!” The college kid said happily. “You weren’t in for breakfast!” 

“Work,” you explained, holding up your laptop. “Anyway, is my table open?”

They nodded, and you smiled. “Perfect.” 

You were only settled down for a few minutes before someone sat across from you. 

Looking up, you got a pleasant surprise. It was the man from yesterday with the fur coat. Said coat was currently draped over his body, overtop a black shirt and pants. Now that you could get a good look at him, you were able to commit his details to memory, like the unique slope of his nose and the way his deep brown eyes yet again seemed overly large. You were starting to suspect he really wasn’t human, which was a ridiculous theory, but it was either that or he had an incredible plastic surgeon. 

It wasn’t until he fidgeted that you realized two very noticeable things about him. Firstly, he had no right arm. Secondly, he was holding a small black box with foreign words written in silver on the top. He held the box out to you, a clear invitation to take it. 

You did, hesitantly opening it up. Immediately, embarrassment and surprise filled you. That was definitely an engagement ring, with silver swirling designs and a stone in the center that looked just like the ocean, a beautiful teal with just a touch of white. “This is,” you paused, suddenly unable to find the words. “Is this an engagement ring?” 

The man nodded, his wide eyes filling with worry. “Do you like it?” 

“It’s beautiful,” you said slowly, still enthralled by the ring. “Why are you giving it to me?” 

“Oh!” The man went red, ducking his head down and smiling nervously. “I just figured, and pardon me if I got it wrong, but I assumed you’d want us to be married by human customs as well.” 

That was where he lost you. His words snapped you out of your shock, causing your face to go cold and your voice to fail beyond one simple word. “What?” 

The man faltered, his expression turning sour and almost broken. “I-“ he stammered, taking the ring and snapping the box shut. “I have to go.” 

Before you could say anything, he was gone. 

“Wait!” You shouted, following after the mystery man in a hurry. The issue was, you had no idea where he went. Looking up and down the street, you saw no indicator as to where he had gone. 

“Dammit!” You yelled, heading down the street, towards where the road sloped down to the beach. It was your thinking spot, and you definitely needed to think right now. 

When you managed to get down to the beach, you sat automatically on your favorite rock, the one with the jagged back and the small spot that was indented to make a seat for you. At high tide, it was partially underwater, so you had to wade out to sit down. Looking at the rolling waves, you breathed in the salty air. Technically, the entire Green was under the veil of ocean air, but out here it was especially prominent. It calmed you to your core, the gentleness of the water lapping at your ankles tethering you to the earth below you. 

And then you saw him. 

The fur coat yet again was the focal point, draped across his body as he lay in the sun not even twenty feet from you. He was breathing in and out deeply, eyes shut as he simply basked in the daylight, on his back in the sand. The ocean water occasionally soaked him, coming up as it hit the shore and covering everything from the waist down, reaching just high enough to wet his curls before it receded again. 

You almost wanted to say something, anything really. He’d looked absolutely heartbroken when you’d recoiled from him, and it was a look that made your chest ache. And then there was the issue with what he said. Married by human customs as well. As well, two small worlds which implied that by some magical, non-human custom, you and him were married. 

You watched the waves come up again, soaking the fur coat. As the water flowed back once more, you remembered an old folks tale you’d heard upon first moving to the Green. Something about the beach being a safe haven for Selkies during their migration. For five nights in the middle of summer, the beach filled with Selkies, who were allowed those five precious days to shed their seal skins and run around as humans. The seal skins, which turned into...

“Fur coats,” you breathed, whipping around to stare at the man. “And I returned his coat.” Which meant that, yes, by Selkie standards, you two were married. 

“Hey!” Jumping off your rock, you fought the water as you ran towards the man, who sat up with wide and suddenly fearful eyes. “No! Don’t go!” 

He tucked the coat close to his chest, holding it in place with his arm. “You.” 

“Yeah,” you agreed, sitting beside the man, not caring if your clothes got soaked in salt. “Me. I’m sorry I overreacted in the coffee shop. I just, I didn’t think Selkies existed! This is kind of a shock.” 

The man’s eyes widened. “I’m sorry!” He said, scooting closer to you. “I should’ve explained.” 

“And I should’ve listened,” you replied, smiling. “I suppose we got off on the wrong foot. It feels horrible to be married, or are we engaged?” 

“Married.” 

“Oh.” You paused. “Okay. Married to someone who I don’t even know the name of.” 

The man nodded, taking your hands in his. “I’m Ezra.” 

You gave him your name, and he grinned. “Nice to meet you.” 

“Right back at you,” you said happily. “So. Married. How does that work?” 

Ezra pulled the ring out of a pocket in the coat and shrugged. “I’ve never been married before.” 

You took the box, flicking it open. “So we’re winging it?” 

Ezra smiled, putting his arm around you and nodding. “We’re winging it.” 

-Two Years Later-

You hummed to yourself, flickering around the kitchen and making dinner. The window in the kitchen was open, and whenever you stopped to put a dish in the sink, you caught a wave of ocean air, pausing for a second before going back to whatever you had been cooking. 

A wet sound on your back deck caught your attention, and you smiled, not pulling away from the pot of pasta. “Back door’s open!” You shouted, hearing the creak of the rickety sliding door being pushed open. 

Ezra came up behind you, pressing a salty kiss into your skin, catching your lips the second time. “I missed you.” 

“Ditto,” you said happily, watching Ezra out of the corner of your eye as he hung his coat up on its designated hook on the coat rack. “How was the migration?” 

“Long,” Ezra groaned. “I’m glad we’re here though. Shame I can’t stay until the equinox.” 

You shrugged, pulling the pasta off the stove and properly greeting your seal husband. “Damn shame. But that just makes the time we have all the more precious.” 

Ezra grinned, long and lazy. “That is true, my love. That is so very true.” 

Late that night, after dinner and after Ezra had given you a thorough hello, you lay in bed, curled around him, breathing in the ocean and dust smell. Both of your rings sat on the bedside table, glittering in the low moonlight. 

Rolling a bit so you were facing Ezra, your head pressing against his chest, you were very glad, not for the first time and surely not for the last, that you’d picked up that Selkie coat.

[westcoastrry]

Harry neglects his wife and has to make up for

I’m practicing different POV’s. So here is this unedited 2.3k word blurb where Harry has neglected his wife because they are both overwhelmed with being new parents, and he has a lot to make up from. Also, this is unedited.

TW: SHOWER SMUT CHOMP CHOMP

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

You are an independent Woman.

Harry knows this as well. You two were very excited for your first child. You glided through your pregnancy with ease. Sure, you blew up the size of a horse, feet swollen and felt like you were carrying another human inside of you (because you were), but Harry rarely really ever fussed over you.

You preferred it this way as well. You valued your independence and enjoyed having time for yourself. However, when Harry was home, you both enjoyed spending quality time with each other. Cooking, cuddling, watching movies, and pregnancy sex.

Harry loved having sex with you when you were pregnant. It was something about the way you glowed, how your boobs swelled up, and how you were constantly horny and became nineteen years old again, hooking up in every place possibly. In Harry’s office when you would go visit him when he was working late. In the back seat of the car, after you two would go grocery shopping, and he just looked too good in his black jeans and fitted sweater.

Now things have changed.

Harry has been working a lot more. Constantly in the studio working on his next album and having meetings with the record label and Jeff to figure out when exactly he needs to be finished with the album so he can start touring.

Harry kept up with his duties as a parent. He tucked your daughter in bed every night, fed her breakfast, and put her back to sleep before he left for work.

However, it seems as though Harry forgot he was also a husband as much as he was a parent.

Harry and you had a tradition to have dinner together at the table, at least three times a week. It was a rule Harry came up with himself so he can stay more grounded in his marriage and make sure he was catering to his duties as a husband.

That quickly faded when your baby girl was born.

No more talking to each other about how your day went before you both went to sleep, no more midday cuddles on the couch while watching re-runs of Grey's anatomy, and no more sex.

It's gotten to the point where you thought Harry was no longer physically attracted to you. Post-pregnancy, you gained a lot of weight and not just on your tummy but your thighs, hips, butt. You wanted to work out but had no time to fit that into your daily schedule as a mom.

God, did Harry not like your body anymore? Did he not like you?

These thoughts constantly swarmed your head, and suddenly it felt like you weren't good enough for him.

“Y/N!” Harry calls from the kitchen.

You weren't sure what time it was. You have been sleeping in since Harry has been taking over morning duties. You roll over to check the time on the clock, and it says 10:00 a.m. What is Harry doing here? He should be at work.

“Y/n,” Harry says, jogging up the stairs and opening the door up to the bedroom. “I’m going to the grocery store. Do you need anything?”

You sit up straight in your king-sized bed and rub your sleepy dry eyes. “The grocery store? What are you doing home?”

“It’s my day off love,” He reminds you. “Asked for a day off this week. Want to spend time with my kid.”

What about you?

Maybe it was the fact that Harry’s parents went through a rocky divorce, and as a kid, it made him feel ostracized by his father. When you first got pregnant, Harry had fears about not being a good enough Dad. It took a lot of encouragement from both you and Anne to show him that there is no book to parenting and you are supposed to take things one day at a time…

“Love,” Harry says again, interrupting your thoughts. “Do you need anything? I saw you ran out of the liquid iron that you take.”

“No, I’m fine. Go ahead.”

“Alright, I will be back.”

Once Harry leaves, you were going to take a relaxing shower, but Jasmine was crying, which most likely meant she was hungry, meaning Harry forgot to feed her before he left.

You frantically get out of bed to rush to the nursery, and when you pass yourself in the mirror, you don’t even recognize who you see. Your curly hair is thrown into a bun on top of your hair, and you can see how greasy it is. Your silk pajamas that once could be considered sexy are torn up from how old they are, and it didn’t help that your boobs were leaking milk last night, staining the clothes. Your face was covered in acne; whether that was from stress or pregnancy hormones was beyond you.

“Hey baby,” You whisper to Jasmine, quietly picking her up out of her crib and bringing her downstairs on the couch. “What's wrong? Are you hungry?” Wiggling your right boob out of your pajama top, you lift Jasmine's head, so she is able to latch on to your nipple to drink.

Jasmine drinks hastily, gulping down every last bit she can get. It's endearing how attached she is to you, but it's also draining. You love your job as a mom, but you also miss your job at the hospital as a nurse. You miss date nights with Harry where you get all dressed up but are always late to your dinner reservations because once Harry sees your outfit, he just has to bend you over the counter.

You miss being a wife.

“I got you iron,” Harry says, walking through the front door. “Have you been forgetting to take it? You know the doctor says you need to take it, or else your headaches and dizzy spells will come back. How long have you been out-”

Harry stops talking when he hears you start sobbing. Uncontrollable sobs that would alarm anyone if they heard them.

This was the type of cry that follows right after exhaustion. When you have yet to catch up with how fast life is moving around you.

Jasmine begins to cry along with you, and Harry drops all four Trader Joe's bags on the floor and runs over to you.

“Y/N, what's wrong? Are you hurt?”

You continue to cry, and Jasmine detaches from your nipple and wails along with you.

Harry crouches down to your level at the couch.

“Hey, Y/N, why don’t you give me Jasmine, yeah?”

“No,” you protest, wiping the tears from your face with your free hand. “She is hungry, and I need to feed her.”

For the first time since Jasmine was born, Harry physically sees how tired you are. He noticed how the color from your brown skin was drained, prominent dark circles under your eyes that you have never had before, and your usual scent that Harry absolutely adored was covered by Jasmine’s baby sickness.

“I can feed her Y/N,” Harry carefully states, examining the situation, not wanting to make you even more upset. “I will feed her. You just need to relax.”

“No,” You stubbornly hold Jasmine to your chest. It's not like you didn’t want a break. You did. But you were mad at Harry, and you just wanted to feed your daughter alone.

“Y/N. You need a break.”

“So now you notice,” You spit back at Harry, whose face runs cold. “When were you going to notice? When were you going to pay attention to me H.”

Now that just breaks Harry’s heart because he really hasn’t been paying attention to you. He can’t even recall the last time he had a conversation with you that wasn’t pretending to Jasmine or what you needed from the grocery store.

He has been a shit husband.

“Okay. I’m sorry. Let me just handle Jasmine. You can go shower.”

You take a deep breath, trying to prevent yourself from crying even more. You grab your crying baby by the armpits and push her towards your husband.

“Darlin’,” Harry starts, but you have already taken off up the stairs needing a second to compose yourself.

Harry heats a bottle for your daughter and, while he is feeding her, gives his mom a call. “Hi Mum. Could you take Jasmine for the night? Yeah, everything is fine. I think Y/N and I need some time to ourselves.”

+++

Anne had come to pick Jasmine up an hour later, giving Harry time to pack a bag for her. You spent a good fifteen minutes crying on the floor until you decided it was time to take a shower.

The steaming hot water felt good against your skin. Usually, there was no time to take a long nice relaxing shower, so this felt good. You had lit a few lavender candles Harry, and you received from Gemma as a wedding gift and decided that you were gonna take this time to relax. You can worry about everything else later.

“Darlin’” You hear Harry’s voice call from out the shower. “Can I come in?”

You weren't going to respond at first. But then you realized how stupid that would be, just to ignore your husband.

“Yeah.”

The door to your glass shower opens up, and Harry steps in. You don’t look at him because you know for a fact that your husband looks like a greek god without clothes on, and this was not the time to be ogling at your husband. You had to stand your ground.

“I’m sorry,” Harry huffs out. Keeping his distance from you.

“Nothing is wrong H.”

“Don't do tha’. Don’t shut down on me, petal. Please.”

“I’m not doing anything H.”

“We need to communicating Y/N. You are my wife-”

“Are you sure? Because you haven’t been acting like it.”

Harry slowly walks towards you testing his boundaries by pressing his front to your back.

“I’m sorry. You are right,” Harry admits. “I’ve been neglecting you.” Harry starts to place wet kisses on your neck, and you can’t help but lean the other way allowing Harry more space to suck on the soft skin.

“This is not something you can fix with sex Harry.”

“Know it's not,” He states. “But I need to be a better husband. Apart of that, is fucking my wife good, right?”

His hand runs up and down the curves of your body.

“Love you like this. You know that?” He whispers in your ear. “Love your body so much.”

“I- I’ve been meaning to work out," you stutter over your words. I want to get back to my old self, but I can’t seem to find the time-”

“Who cares?” Harry cuts you off. “If you want to start working out, I’m fine with that. We can do that together. But I don’t have any complaints about the way you look right now.” Harry's hand snakes to your ass, giving it a firm squeeze. “Seriously, my love. No complaints. My baby grew in this body.”

“I will always find you undeniably sexy. Even with your hair,” Harry cheeky says when he brushes his hand over your heat and feels the stubble that's growing.

“Haven’t had time to shave,” You moan out when Harry's free hand captures your nipple and rolls it around between his thumb and index finger.

“Don't care,” Harry growls, taking the shower head off of its standing.

Harry effortlessly changes the showerhead setting with his thumb and brings it down to your heat. You jolt back against Harry, not expecting the feeling.

“Hands-on the glass.”

“Are you really in a place to be ordering me around?” You definitely say.

“Are you really in a place to be questioning my authority?”

When you don’t move, Harry takes your hands and places both of them on the glass door of the shower for you.

“Been neglecting you. You and your body. I’m sorry. But I’m going to make up for that. Promise.”

Harry brings the showerhead back down to your heat, and you swear it's a better feeling than the small pink vibrator you use when Harry is away on tour.

“Wait,” You protest, trying not to get too lost in the pleasure. “Wh- where is my kid?”

“At my mums. Now relax. I want to make you cum.”

“Harry,” You moan out when you feel his free hand grab your boob.

Your hand leaves the glass door to try and grab onto Harry’s bicep, but he quickly puts it back on the door.

“Keep em’ there.”

“Fuck, that's it H.”

The shower was fogging up, candles still burning, and your moans filling up the room. It's been a while since you had an orgasm, so you knew this one was going to come quick. It was over once your legs began to buckle.

“Hold yourself up petal. Ass up for me.”

“Can I cum, Harry, please? Fuck, I can’t hold it.”

“You're asking nicely. Good girl. But you always ask nicely, and I always give you what you want? Should I switch that up for a change?”

“No, please,” you whine. “I need to cum Harry. Please.”

“Okay doll, go ahead.”

Your orgasms ripples through your body. It’s truly a euphoric feeling, one you haven't experience in a while, so it's no surprise that your hands begin to slide down on the shower, but Harry is there to catch you.

“Shh, shh,” Harry coaxes at you. “I got you. You're okay.”

You were always one for cuddles after sex, but it was something about the way you turned around and wrapped your arms around Harry and pulled him into a deep hug that caught him off guard.

“I’ve missed you. I’ve missed my husband.”

Harry strokes your wet hair. “I’ve missed my wife. Missed you a lot. I’m sorry I’ve been a shit husband. I have got a lot to make up for.

“You do.”

“Let's start with dinner,” Harry suggested. “Take out. We can watch Greys Anatomy too.”

“Only if you fuck me on the kitchen countertop first.”

And that sounded like a pretty good deal to Harry.

[barrysjumpsuit]

the dark side - jj maybank x shoupe’s daughter, ch. 1

w/c: 1.9k

summary:  catherine shoupe has the perfect life. when she gets hired by heyward to run groceries, she has a new coworker - jj maybank. as the deputy’s daughter, she can’t help but hate him. but when jj decides to bring her to the dark side and woo her over, cat not only has to hide her activities from her father, but also hide who she really is.

warnings: none for this chapter

a/n: i’m super excited for this! making it up as i go.... posting may be slightly delayed/irregular since i’m busy with working and moving but who knows i’ll probably waste my time and work on this more than i should

---

Cat’s feet and back ached, and the sun felt good on her cool skin as she stepped out of the overly air-conditioned grocery store she had been in since they opened that morning. She sat down on a bench in a shaded area between the store and a coffee shop, resting and enjoying her fifteen minute break.

The same thing. Every day, five days a week. Cat would be the opener for the grocery store, getting there at four in the morning and working until ten. It was smaller, a hippie fresh market type of place with fresh produce and organic products. Very Kook-y. It drew tourists and locals alike, as well as a bunch of people her age, working for grocery delivery services.

Morning shifts in the summer were nice because they drew more of the local crowd. The working class, like her, though still kooks. Moms grabbing their groceries after dropping their kids off at school, working professionals stopping by for premade sandwiches or donuts for their coworkers. That particular morning, her dad had stopped by for his own lunch and spent entirely too long chatting with her.

Cat enjoyed seeing people, asking them about plans for their days. She often suggested the best surfing spots and restaurants to the non-locals, while striking up easy conversations with the regulars that frequented the market in the mornings. After work she often took her brother out to the beach. It was her mission this summer to teach him how to surf. In the evenings, if her dad wasn’t working, she would help her mom cook dinner and they would have a big family meal. It was repetitive, but perfect and full of things and people she loved.

After her fifteen minute break was up, she went back inside, but her manager pulled her aside before she returned to her checking lane.

“Hey, Catherine, come see me in my office?” Mrs. Lee’s voice rang out. 

There was a brief nervousness that made Cat’s stomach roll over, but it quickly vanished once she saw the smile on the store owner’s face. “So you know Heyward, right?”

“Of course,” she answered, smiling at the thought. She knew the man and his son well - they were always in and out, buying groceries for their customers. “He’s awesome. What about him?”

“He and I are partners now,” she continued, obviously excited about the development. “He’s looking to hire some new people to deliver groceries. I know you love being out on the water and talking to people, so I figured I’d ask to see if you were interested. It’ll come with a bump in your pay, too.”

“Yes!” she said, perhaps a little too eagerly. “I’m definitely interested. Does he want an interview?”

Mrs. Lee laughed. “He said if you were interested, you’re on board automatically. He knows you’re a good worker. I’ll call him and let him know and get back at you, okay?”

“Sounds good! Thanks, Mrs. Lee,” Cat said, smiling back at her before leaving her office.

Going back to her checking lane was almost bittersweet, knowing that lane three had been hers for almost two years. As soon as she flipped her light back on, a local came through, eagerly starting up a conversation and letting Cat know how his son was doing in the summer little league baseball series.

After she got off, she cranked the AC on in her car and began the drive home. The place was flooded with tourists, the summer season officially in full swing. She lived right off the main strip, which was fun and convenient, but could get annoying when anyone and everyone was there. 

“Hey Cat!” her brother greeted her as she got home. He was sitting on the couch, watching TV.

“Hey Tyler! Want to go out for ice cream later?” she asked, and he nodded excitedly. “I’ll make us some lunch then we can go after that.”

“Okay!” she heard him respond as she jogged up the carpeted steps. She walked past her parent’s bedroom and then into hers, kicking off her shoes and changing into flowy shorts and a basic tee before going back downstairs to make lunch.

The rest of the day was pleasant and uneventful. After they ate lunch, she took Tyler to the ice cream place two blocks away. He got birthday cake while she got peppermint, enjoying the cool sensation on the hot day. They walked on the beach, her brother talking nonstop about the video game he was playing, while Cat smiled and faked listening.

She was really listening to the sound of the waves lapping at the store, and the voices of those who lounged on the beach. Some were playing in the ocean, some were playing games in the soft sand. 

Her father was off work at six, so once they returned home, it wasn’t long until her mother got off work and they started prepping dinner. Cat’s mom was laid back, always smiling, which she loved. She left her work at the office, unlike her father.

Being the daughter of a sheriff’s deputy was odd. Cat didn’t mind it. There were rules in place, of course, but she hadn’t any urge to break them. There were people from her school out doing drugs and drinking most nights of the week, but Cat had never touched any of that. She had a curfew, but she didn’t really mind it.

Her dad got home right before dinner was ready. He pulled Cat towards him, kissing the top of her head before kissing her mom on the lips. “How are my ladies this evening?” he asked, grinning. A patch on his uniform read Shoupe in bold letters, and he was still fully clad in his uniform.

“Pretty good,” Cat answered, stirring the sauce that was simmering on the stove. 

They made light conversation until her dad went to change out of his work clothes while Cat and her mom set the table and plated up dinner.

“How was work, Cat?” her dad asked when they were sat down and eating.

“It was good. The usual. But, I got a new job!”

“Oh?” her mom asked, taking a sip of wine and raising her eyebrows. 

“Heyward and Mrs. Lee are working together now, and Heyward needs runners. So he wants me. I get a pay bump too.”

Cat was smiling, but it dropped when she saw her dad’s face. Her mom noticed too, casting him a glare, and he spoke. “That’s great, honey. But be careful, okay?”

She couldn’t help but roll her eyes. Her father hated her going near the Cut. Not that she had much reason or urge to, but she knew it could be rough down there. He often worked down there, on the south side of the island, and constantly told stories about shoplifting Pogues and underage drinking. “Dad, it’s Heyward’s. It’s basically Figure Eight.”

“I know, I’m just saying,” he said, raising his hands in surrender.

“Can you take me on the delivery boat sometime?” Tyler asked, luckily rerouting the conversation.

The issue was luckily dropped, but Cat still felt bad. She didn’t know why - she was seizing the opportunity, something her parents had always encouraged. Cat had been working ever since she was old enough. Her father always told her, a good work ethic is the most important thing you can have. They were urging her to save up for college, and now she was essentially being promoted.

Mrs. Lee had texted her during dinner. Heyward wants you to start tomorrow! Meet him at 9, wear whatever you want.

She responded to the text before settling down in bed with a book. At ten, before she went to bed, her father stepped into her room after knocking softly on her door.

“Hey, dad,” she said, and he walked over to sit on her bed. Cat pulled her feet up to give him some room and put her book down on her nightstand.

“I’m happy for you, Cat,” he said, smiling at her. “Just be careful, okay? With all the boat traffic now and going everywhere… Heyward’s a good guy. I trust him.”

“I will, dad. You know me. I grew up on the water.”

He smiled again. “Yeah, you did. Have fun tomorrow, okay? Good night.”

“G’night, dad,” she said as her father stood and left the room.

---

Cat woke up early, not used to getting to sleep in since she usually was at the grocery store before dawn. Her parents had already left for work, leaving Tyler in front of the TV as normal. She made a smoothie before changing into shorts and a t-shirt. 

“Bye, Ty!” she called as she left the house at 8:30, closing the back door behind her before heading to her car.

It was about a 20 minute drive to Heyward’s from her house. When she got there, she quickly located him on the dock, filling a gas can. As she stepped onto the dock, he gave her a wave, and quickly hurried over.

Heyward gave her an impromptu ‘training’. How to read the orders, how to use the boat’s navigation. It was simple, and she knew most of the people who had put in orders for that day. “Right now I have two people who shop and two of you who run and deliver together, each day,” he was explaining. “Here’s your work shirt, I don’t give a damn what pants you wear as long as your ass isn’t hangin’ out.”

He thrust three t-shirts of different colors towards her, each with the Heyward’s logo printed on it before taking her into the office to discuss her pay and scheduling. Since she was already in the system, it went by quickly, and she ran her printed schedule to her car and slipped into her new work shirt before returning to the dock. 

“There’s those sons of bitches getting back now,” he said, waving at two people who stood on a white boat pulling up to dock. “Catherine, go ahead and start carrying over the groceries in the cooler over there, time for your first run.”

She went inside the small building and started pulling bags out of the ice, full of produce and goods from her store. She noticed Heyward’s son, Pope, standing on the boat, and he held out his hands to take the bags from her to load.

“You working here now?” he asked, and she nodded. Cat had always liked Pope; they went to the same school until high school. He was quiet and witty, which she appreciated, and they had even sat together at lunch one year.

As soon as she finished handing Pope the groceries, she took his outstretched hand and climbed onto the boat.

“Hey Catherine!” she heard Heyward call. She turned to see him, grinning at her. “These are your new coworkers. Have fun.”

Pope grinned at her, but Heyward said coworkers. Plural.

A blond boy came into her line of sight, smirking. Cat’s heart sank as she recognized who it was, and she considered getting off the boat, but couldn’t bring herself to move or speak. It was someone she hadn’t seen in quite a while, and she was okay with that.

JJ was the first to speak up, his voice smooth and cocky. “Hey, kitty Cat, long time, no see.”

---

taglist:  @letsgofullkook @stargazingstarkey @sortagaysortahigh @jjsmentalpolaroids @ims0golden @jjmaybcnks​ @shawnssongs​ @queenk00k @broken-jj​

[steppedoffaflight]

Summer’s a Knife - Chapter 2

Catch up on Chapter 1 here

You don’t respond, silence in the air as you both catch your breath.

“I’ve got no use for sex that sounds straight out of a porno.” Van lifts his head, and you flinch at the intensity in his eyes. “I’d rather it be fucking real. No bullshit. If you’re having a good time, sure, say it. But if you’re not, say that too.”

or

Almost three months later, Van McCann is back in L.A. and ready to take you up on that dinner date

Word count: ~15k

Chapter Two

April 2019

By the time you’ve pulled into the Whole Foods parking lot, having squeezed through afternoon traffic, you’re at your wits end. Work had consisted of eight tedious hours fixing someone else’s mistakes instead of working on your own projects, and you’re already dreading the hit your paycheck is about to take from this grocery shopping. 

Your phone buzzes on the passenger seat next to you, no doubt Mary offering up some positivity in response to the giant work rant you’d just texted her. You already roll your eyes before you’ve picked up the phone and pressed your fingerprint to the sensor.

Hey. It’s Van x The gray bubble on your screen catches you off guard. You’d saved Van’s number months ago, his contact info at the top of the conversation reading “Van San Diego”. Thinking about how long ago your trip feels makes the whole thing seem even more surreal. 

You gape at your screen for way too long, heart pounding, before you respond with a Hi!

After you’ve hit send, you panic over responding too fast. You let the car continue to run for the sake of air conditioning and you don’t let your screen lock, waiting anxiously for Van’s next message. When one doesn’t come after ten minutes you resign to cutting the ignition, finally facing the fact you’ve got shopping to do.

You can’t stop checking your phone as you roll your cart through the aisles, careful not to let your eyes wander to any items that aren’t on your list. You’re carefully examining the label on an overpriced pasta sauce when you hear the buzz of your phone against the cart. You almost drop the jar in your hand.

I know it’s been a while but I’m finally back in la. Still up for that dinner?

As you’re reading the indication that he’s typing starts, sending a shot of adrenaline through you.

No worries if not just let me know x

You screenshot his messages immediately and forward them to Mary for her opinion. Predictably, she hadn’t responded to your rant, but sends an OMG the second you show her the screenshot. 

Have you messaged him back ?! she sends in response to your I knowww!!! 

Nooo I don’t wanna look too eager you tap excitedly to her. You’re jolted back to reality when another cart suddenly bumps into yours.

“Sorry,” You apologize, quickly steering your cart away. You say it purely for the sake of politeness, even though you’re almost positive you weren’t in the way and the person could have rolled by without jostling all your things. All of your mundane worries are pushed to the back of your mind. You’re finally getting that promised dinner date with Van!

The rest of your shopping trip is as chaotic as your brain feels. Between lightning-fast exchanges with Mary about what you’ll say and when you’ll say it you haphazardly scrap together the rest of your list. You’re sure you’re forgetting something as you send it down the conveyor belt to the cashier, but you’re too frazzled to care. The only thing that matters at this point is getting home, cracking open the bottle of wine you’d purchased (on impulse, unfortunately) and accepting Van’s invitation. 

And you do just that. Upon getting home you only put away your fresh items, leaving the rest to sit on the floor in their bags. It’s not the best practice, but it’s necessary after the day you’ve had. You pour a generous amount of wine into a regular glass, not caring enough to fish out a wine glass, and change out of your work wardrobe and into your most worn-in sweats. Only after you’ve plopped down onto the couch and taken a swallow of wine to calm your nerves do you allow yourself to respond: We could totally do dinner! When?

You feel slightly remorseful for leaving Van without a response for almost two hours. You chew the inside of your cheek as you berate yourself for it.

What works best for you? I’m here for the next two weeks and free most nights

You consider his response. Most of the time it feels like you’re the only person in L.A. that’s free most nights. Is he not the partying type? He seems like he would be, considering the way he went straight to the bar after his show in January. 

Does tomorrow work? You send. It feels a bit off to schedule something so soon, but tomorrow’s Friday, and you wouldn’t have to worry about staying out late considering you’ve got no work Saturday. Plus, the longer you wait the more likely things are to be packed into Van’s schedule. And, you remind yourself, this dinner is more than two months in the making.

Another text from Van interrupts the churning thoughts in your head. Tomorrow’s ace, he says first, and then another message: I’ll pick you up followed by a third: What time? 

You exchange a few more messages, setting up a time and making sure he has your address. Once the logistics are worked out, Van sends Look forward to it x and that feels like a good note to end the conversation on. You melt into your couch cushions and down the rest of your wine with a sigh.

\\

If yesterday felt like a long workday, then today feels like it’s lasting an eternity.

You try to burn though time texting Mary, attempting to cut down on your getting ready time by verbally planning your outfit in advance. Still, the minutes seem to tick by at a snail’s pace. You try to get some work done and catch yourself repeatedly screwing up your spreadsheet with typos. Even triple-checking everything you enter doesn’t seem to eat up any time. You visit the water cooler too much, and pee repeatedly as a result. Eventually, somehow, you make it to 5, slinging your bag over your shoulder and murmuring quick goodbyes as you dash out of the office. 

When you get home you’re laser focused. You tackle showering first, the task made longer with all of the shaving that needed to be done, followed by the slippery process of moisturizing every inch of your skin. It takes up more time than you’d like, but in San Diego you’d been completely unprepared for a hookup. This time you wanted to be ready. 

Van sends a heading over text just as you’d finished blow drying and styling your hair. You get dressed, then, layering the outfit you and Mary had agreed on over a matching black lace bra and panty set. They were at the bottom of your underwear drawer, crumpled and forgotten, tags still intact. As you clip away the tags you hope out loud to yourself in the kitchen that they still fit, and sigh in relief when you’re able to shimmy the set on. 

Maybe it’s the traffic, or maybe Van lied about when he was leaving, but by the time he texts that he’s arrived you’re waiting for him on the couch, having managed to get your makeup routine done just in time. The house is in complete disarray from your rush, and you cringe to yourself as you get a look at the tornado you’ve caused before you shut the door, locking it securely, and turning to seek out Van’s car.

There’s a black Range Rover pulled up on the street, the only car on the block running right now. You can see the dim blue light of Van’s phone screen through the tint of the windows, and as you approach you can see his silhouette. 

He looks up when you tug open the car door, sliding into the front passenger seat. 

You’re pleased when his face lights up. A part of you had almost been expecting that he’d rethink his attraction to you now that there was no post-show adrenaline or late night beers to cloud his judgement.

“Hello,” He laughs, “Long time no see!”

He’s just as charismatic as you remember him, your nerves easing as you make yourself comfortable. The crisp lace underneath your clothes is stiff and itchy, and you wiggle around as discretely as possible.

“Hey,” You greet him. “It feels like it’s been forever.”

Van nods, kicking the car into gear. “You’re telling me. Been a busy couple months.”

You hum in sympathy even if you can’t relate. Your busiest times of the year were summer- when most of your coworkers went on extended vacations and you were responsible for making up their work- and the holidays, when you had to coordinate trips home to see your family.

“You look amazing, by the way,” Van says, managing a quick glance over at you with a smile.

“Aw, thanks,” You murmur, chronically awkward at receiving compliments. “You look great, too.”

“Ah, stop. Makin’ me blush, love,” he jokes, and you can’t help but giggle at his sarcasm. It’s strange how familiar he feels, the result of just one night.

“So.” You peer out of the windows, looking for any hint of where you were headed. “What do you have planned?”

“Got a reservation for eight at this really nice place, dunno if you’ve ever heard of it.” Van stumbles over some sort of French pronunciation. “We’ve had a couple of dinners there with label people and it’s always class.”

“Sounds lovely,” You tell him. You’ve never heard of the place, but then again your Los Angeles friend group was lacking any musicians making a big break, let alone getting invited to dinner with Capitol Records staff. “Never heard of it.”

“You’ll like it,” Van says confidently.

You glance over at the clock on the dashboard display. It’s set to 24-hour time, so you pick up your phone instead of mentally trying to calculate it.

“How far away is it?” You ask nervously. It’s dangerously close to eight. 

“Not too far,” Van shrugs, but he’s driving into the tail end of stop-and-go traffic. You try to swallow down your anxiety.

\\

Finding a parking spot is a pain in the ass, but eventually Van’s maneuvered his car into one of the parallel spots lining the sidewalk.

By the time you two are out of the car, crossing the street to the restaurant, it’s almost ten minutes after your reservation time. Van seems oblivious to this, breezily strutting into the place, holding the door for you as usual. He’s whistling absentmindedly, and you wonder if it’s one of his own songs. He keeps whistling until you two approach the podium in the lobby.

“Reservation name?” The hostess asks, turning the pages in the binder in front of her.

“McCann.”

The hostess takes a second to look over her pages before she motions. “Right this way.”

There’s no mention of the fact you guys are late as she opens a door on the wall behind the podium, leading you two into the dining area. It’s a stark contrast from the drab, dim decor of the small lobby area. The floors are glossy white, almost shiny enough to reflect your face back to you, and although there are some larger tables most of them are the quintessential small, circular two-seaters with silky white tablecloths draped over them. The walls are dark in typical L.A. style, but covered in windows that frame the courtyard outside, lanterns glowing and candlelit outdoor tables visible. 

Almost everyone is in black tie attire, and you feel self-consciousness broil in your stomach as the hostess leads you and Van to to your own small table. You’re curious if there’s other celebrities here, but you’re too afraid of looking like an outsider by trying to peek at people as you pass by. You keep your eyes on the back of Van’s head instead, examining where his hair parts on his scalp. 

You’re waved to your assigned table with the assurance that someone will be with you shortly before the hostess sees herself back to the front room. In the time you’ve paused to listen to her words Van’s already ahead of you, pulling out one of the covered chairs and motioning for you to sit.

“You know you don’t have to do that,” You tell him as you sit in the seat he’s designated for you. He takes his own seat opposite you.

“Does it offend you?” Van asks, and you watch his brow crease in concern.

“No!” You’re quick to assure him. “I’m not offended, or anything like that. I’m just saying, I won’t tell everyone this was the worst date of my life just because you didn’t pull the chair out or hold the door.”

Van laughs, the worry easing out of his expression. “S’ just a force of habit. It’s more trouble for me to stop at this point in my life than it is to just keep doing it.”

You nod in understanding before reaching for the menu and searching for the drinks.

“Do you know what you’re drinking?” Van asks after a small stretch of silence where you’re both looking at your respective menus. 

“What are you drinking?” You answer his question with a question, eager to be able to gauge the most appropriate choice for yourself. The drink menu is long and most of the items seem hard to pronounce, and despite knowing Van intimately you’ve still got first date jitters. Not to mention, you were on a budget.

“I usually get this wine,” Van tells you, using his index finger to point it out for you on your menu. “M’not gonna drink too much considering I’m drivin’, but it goes great with the lobster.” 

You hum as you read over the tiny italics font describing the wine. “Sounds good,” You say finally, “I’ll have it with you.”

“I’ll get us a bottle, then.”

You swallow hard when you read the price listed for the entire bottle, but manage to stifle any worries. You’ve waited 3 months for this date, there can’t be any real harm in one luxurious dinner. And the cost of the bottle divided into two wasn’t so outrageous.

“Perfect.” You close your menu, decision made.

By the time the server has taken your wine order, returned with chilled glasses and doled out servings to each of you, and delivered a fresh bread basket and dinner menus, your stomach is grumbling and you’re eager to scour through the menu and figure out what you’re having. 

“God, I’m starving,” You sigh, buttering a warm bread roll. In your ravenous state you bite off more than you can politely chew, but thankfully Van doesn’t notice as he’s taking a peek at his phone. 

“Same.” He was listening even in his distracted state, and as soon as he sets his phone back down he reaches for his own roll.

“So…” You start, flipping open your menu to (surprise) even more expensive, french-titled meals. “What’s good here?”

“The lobster,” Van laughs. “It’s the only thing I’ve had here. Had it once and kept craving it forever.”

He must be able to sense that answer doesn’t satisfy you, because he opens his own menu. “Bondy loves the roast. Says it’s one of the best he’s ever had.”

“Not a huge fan of roast,” You tell Van, but flip the pages until you find the meal he’s talking about. “Who’s Bondy?” The name sounds familiar, and in your head you replay the encounter you had outside of Van’s hotel room in San Diego. Was Bondy the one stuck behind the luggage?

“Johnny Bond, he’s our guitar player. Goes by Bondy.”

“Ah. Who’s the one with the…?” You trail off, but motion with your hands around your head to convey the thick head of curls you remember from that night.

“That’s Benji. Our bassist.”

“Benji,” You repeat quietly to yourself. The name doesn’t ring a bell, but the hair does.

“He likes the roast chicken,” Van suggests. “But he’s not allowed to say it’s the best because my mum makes a mean roast chicken and it’s deffo the best.”

“That sounds good. I’m gonna get that.” You try not to openly cringe at the price.

Van opens his mouth to speak, but from the way he’s looking over your shoulder you know the server’s returned to take down your orders. 

“There’s Bob, too,” Van says unprovoked when you two are alone again. “He’s easy to pick out. Wears glasses.”

Your brain can connect the dots there: A man with glasses hidden away behind a drumset in the few photos you’d seen on google.

“Is he drums?” You’re hesitant in case you’re wrong, but Van perks up so you know you’ve got it right.

“He is.” Van takes a drink from his wine glass.

There’s a pause in conversation. You try to wrack your brain for a topic, but your knowledge of his band is shaky and not trivia-proof. 

“Are you guys close?” Seems like a safe enough question to ask.

“Me ‘n Bob?”

“Everyone,” You elaborate, lacing your fingers together. “Are you guys, like, at each other’s throats?”

“Nah. They’re my best mates. I’ve known Bob and Benji since we were younger, in school. Used to play on the same footie team and all’a that. Bondy didn’t come into the picture until we were a bit older but I’d heard of him before. Thought he was crazy talented, couldn’t believe he actually wanted to join us. Everyone’s massively talented, really. Wouldn’t be the same without them.”

You drink in the reverence in his voice as he talks about his friends.

“I was just with ‘em today, actually. Been at the studio for most of the day.”

“Well, that’s good that you guys get along.” You offer him a smile which he returns.

“You’re telling me. Couldn’t imagine if things went sour. Having fights over guitar riffs and drumbeats all day.”

You try to picture Van angry and fail. “What do you do in the studio?”

“We’re putting the finishing touches on our next album. It’s due out at the end of the month.”

“Oh, no way!” Your eyes widen in interest. “That’s really cool.”

Van grins. “Yeah, proper excited. Think it’s our best one yet.”

“So is that how you ended up in L.A.? Music?” As much as you’re trying to get a feel for Van, L.A. seems like the last place on earth he’d enjoy living. Considering his lack of social media presence or desire to pressure others into buying sponsored products, and the fact that the band definitely seems more popular in the U.K. than America, you can’t quite put a finger on his motives.

“Yeah. I lived in New York for a bit, when we first got signed, but ended up moving down here. L.A. is sort of the hub for the business end. I spend a good bit of time in London, but the weather down here is nice.”

“So nice,” You agree. The constant summer is worlds different than the unpredictable midwest climate you were raised in.

“Right?” Van beams. “We just spent a while at this place in Ireland, writing and doing most of the recording. And it was just absolute pouring rain everyday. So once we got outta there we thought why not enjoy some time in the sun?”

You chuckle in agreement, taking the first drink of your wine. It tastes better than you were anticipating, and the pleasant surprise must show on your face.

“It’s good, innit?” Van takes his own sip. “Not much of a wine guy, but this stuff…” He trails off, nodding in approval. “Anyway, enough about me. Been droning on for ages. You said you weren’t from L.A., right? How’d you end up here?”

It’s your turn to be interrupted by the server with fresh, hot meals in tow. There’s the momentary fuss of getting situated with food in front of you, and by the time you guys are settled again the question has slipped away as you two dig into your food.

“This is amazing,” You affirm after your first hot forkful of chicken and roasted vegetables. “Who said this was amazing? They were right.”

“Blakes,” Van replies through a mouthful of lobster.

“Blakes?” You stop your fork midair. “Who’s Blakes?”

Van is still chewing his food, so you hurry up and eat the piece of potato speared on your fork. 

“Benji,” Van clarifies after he swallows. “Benji is Blakes.” He coughs around a sip of his drink when he must see the confusion on your face.

“His name is Benji Blakeway. Blakes is his nickname.”

The name attaches itself to the memory in your head. The c’mon, Blakes, from the guy in the hat rings through your mind.

“Who wears the hat?” You try to get the last puzzle piece in place. You’ve seen whoever it is on google, always wearing the same flat cap.

“Bondy.”

“Okay. So you, Bob, Bondy, Benji.”

Van nods, looking pleased, and you feel a sense of satisfaction spread through you.

“I forgot,” Van says suddenly, “You were just about to tell me how you ended up in L.A.”

“Oh, right.” You look down at your food. “Full disclosure, it’s really lame.”

When you look up, Van’s put his fork down, prepared to listen fully.

You have some wine to calm your nerves. You’ve finished your glass, so you procrastinate by pouring yourself some more.

“It’s just… really childish and impulsive.”

Van laughs. “You’re only making me more interested!”

You huff out a laugh at that. “So… I guess it all started in high school. Which I went to in Michigan, by the way. It’s um,” You gesture with your hand, “It’s the state that looks like a mitten. Close to Canada. Anyway, I had this boyfriend in high school, and senior year he broke up with me.” You laugh at yourself, bringing a hand to your forehead for a moment. “God, this sounds so dramatic. But when you’re in high school you think you’re going to last forever with someone, your first love and all that, y’know.”

Van seems amused. “How old were you?” 

“Well I was like…” You scrunch your face up, thinking back, “14 when we first met, and we were close friends for a while, and then 15 when we actually started dating, and 18 when we broke up.”

“Right,” You plow on, “So, first love and all that good stuff. So we break up when we were 18, which honestly needed to happen. We just didn’t get along anymore but we were so comfortable being a couple by then, you know? We were different as adults, so naturally we break up, whatever. The point is I was fucking devastated.”

You take a deep breath, another drink, and try to prepare yourself to tell the rest of the story.

“So my best friend and I had always had it in our heads, I don’t even know why, that we wanted to come to L.A.”

“Mary?” Van cuts in.

“No, not Mary. I met Mary once I moved here.” You clear your throat, getting back on topic. “I think it’s because of the weather, honestly,” You laugh at your immaturity at that age. “We were so tired of Michigan winters. They’re fucking… cold. And my friend can sing, so naturally we’re thinking you get into L.A. and boom, you’re discovered.”

You gauge Van’s attention then. He’s still listening close.

“So after high school, we had both been saving up for what we thought was this imaginary sort of dream, but then I was broken up with, and depressed, and I kept seeing him everywhere because our town was kind of small, and so we decided… Let’s just pack up and leave!”

Van’s lips quirk up at that. “I was always the same way,” He interjects softly. “Small town thing. Your parents didn’t mind?”

“Well, I convinced them that UCLA was my dream school. So of course they couldn’t say much because I ended up being accepted into a really amazing school, and they had heard me talk about L.A. before. So we get here, and… y’know… Things just didn’t work out that way.”

“When do they ever?” Van jokes.

You nod in agreement around a quick bite of chicken. “Exactly!” You say, wiping the corners of your mouth with your napkin. “It costed so fucking much to live here, and we burned through our savings really fast, and… We ended up becoming even closer through that and we dated for a couple years, and I invested a lot of time into trying to get her discovered because we couldn’t afford rent, but then she got into the wrong group and was getting into cocaine, it was… Intense.”

Your palms are sweating from your admission, and you can’t get yourself to look Van in the eyes, heart racing. 

“So… yeah. Thankfully I’ve made a lot of friends here- the right kind, not the cocaine kind- and I got a really nice internship through UCLA and found an okay job, and me and her went our separate ways. And that’s when I met Mary, and she grew up here so she was able to show me around, and we’ve been inseparable ever since.”

You can feel anxiety clenching in your chest while your admitted interest in women still hangs in the air. You wish it still wasn’t so nerve-wracking to come out, and maybe it wouldn’t be except for the fact you and Van seem to really hit it off, and you would hate for this to be a dealbreaker for him. 

You finally manage to look away from where you’d been carefully inspecting a small stain you’d made on the tablecloth. Van’s leaned back from his plate, an easy smile spread over his face. His arms are crossed across his chest as he marvels at you.

“We’ve got more in common than I thought,” He says grinning. “We can both discuss our ex-girlfriends. Cheers.”

He reaches for his wine glass and you reach for yours too. If Van notices how your wine is trembling from the hand holding the glass, he doesn’t call out as you two clink your glasses together, relief starting to seep through you.

“I love that,” He remarks, still beaming. “Proper ‘escape the small town’ story. I wish mine was as interesting as yours.”

“You do not,” You roll your eyes good-naturedly. “Yours is better! You ended up actually getting discovered.”

“Lots of hard work, that’s all.” Van shrugs. 

Van tells a few lighthearted stories about struggling to get discovered while you guys finish up your meals. True to his word, he stays light on the wine in preparation to drive, spacing out only two glasses the whole time you’ve been here. You’re not sure how many you’ve had, but you figure it can’t be that many. The only telltale signs that let you know you’ve got alcohol in your system are the flush in your cheeks, the way the lights seem to shine a bit softer, and the way you can feel your eyes drifting over Van dreamily.

When the waitress brings the check Van reaches for his back pocket immediately, procuring a card from his wallet.

“You didn’t have to do that,” You say, your eyes widening in shock. “I was gonna pay for mine.” The cost of the entire bottle of wine, combined with both of your dinners floats in your mind.

One side of Van’s mouth lifts in a confused half-smile. “I said I was taking you out for dinner, didn’t I? Dunno if it means the same thing here, but if I’m taking you out why would you pay?”

“I mean, I just… Didn’t want to assume, I guess.” It’s burned you before, dates gone wrong where the check gets split by surprise. “It’s happened before.”

Van snorts. “Sounds fucking awful.”

You nod, eyes wide. “It really was.”

Your mind flips through a few of your worst dates, interrupted only by Van’s card being returned, you two sent on your way.

Van starts humming when you two meander out of the restaurant and across the street to his car, sidling into the front seats.

“Should I take you back to yours?” He asks as he gets the car started. “Or we could go back to mine. Watch a film or somethin’.”

There’s silence in the car while Van checks his phone. You decide to look at yours, too, checking the time. The night is still young.

“Back to yours sounds nice.” The wine makes your voice soft, betrays the way your heart skips at the suggestion.

Van licks his lips, still typing something. He looks up finally. “Mine?”

“Yeah.”

He gets the car into gear, pulling out of the parking space. With a few taps on a screen in the center of the dashboard his phone is connected by bluetooth and music rings out through the car. You recognize it as the song he was humming minutes ago.

You drive in silence for most of the ride, all talked out from dinner, but your interest piques when Van turns the music down.

“Can I ask you a question?”

“Sure,” You say nervously. Your head tries to predict what’s coming next.

“The thing, with you and your ex. Was it a one time sort of deal? Or do you still play for both teams?”

You chew the inside of your cheek. “I still play for both. I’m bisexual.”

“Got it.”

“Why?” You feel yourself bristle. “Is it a problem?”

“Not at all,” Van shrugs, slowly turning the music back up. “Just wasn’t sure what to call it.”

\\

It takes about a half hour to get to Van’s, a journey that includes weaving through a winding, uphill street crammed with upscale homes. Van’s home is in a cluster at the top of the hill, and typing in the gate code reveals a long driveway up to a house surrounded by a tall thicket of bamboo.

“I love the bamboo,” You tell him as he pulls the car in front of the garage, but doesn’t bother to park it inside. “The worst part of living here is feeling like your neighbors are breathing down your neck.” When you step out of the car you soak the privacy in. You could easily be murdered with this level of seclusion, but the fact that you can still hear the bustling sounds of the city and a dog in the neighbor’s yard is reassuring. 

“Totally agree,” Van tells you, jingling his keys, “It’s most of the reason I chose this place. Can sunbathe totally naked and not feel like everyone’s watching me.”

Although Van delivers the joke completely deadpan, you burst into laughter, and in the soft glow of the porch light you can see him smile.

“M’not kidding!” He insists, pointing a finger towards the sky as he gets the door unlocked, letting you in first. “There’s a patio upstairs perfect for getting some sun.”

Inside, his house is decorated eerily similar to the restaurant you’d just been at, with glossy white floors, dark painted walls, and soft lamplight. 

“I’m gonna grab a beer,” Van says as he locks the front door and sets his keys on a small end table that’s covered in unopened mail. “You want anything?”

You think for a moment. “What do you have?”

“No idea, honestly,” Van snorts. He starts walking through the living room and you follow behind. He turns the corner to a dining area that looks pristine and untouched, and around another corner is the kitchen, all windows and clean appliances and glossy countertops. The only indications that anyone’s been in there are the few dirty dishes in the sink, the amazon prime packaging scattered on the kitchen island, and more than one unfinished mug of tea sitting on different surfaces. 

The windows in the kitchen look out into the backyard, where you marvel at the sparkling blue in-ground pool and what looks like a hot tub.

The sound of the fridge opening tears your eyes away from the windows.

“I’ve got, uh,” Van holds the fridge door open wide, the sound of glass clinking as he pulls a bottle of beer from one of the side pockets. “Some Coke, Dr. Pepper, lemonade…” He lets go of the door to pick up a bottle of orange juice, which he inspects carefully. “Some orange juice. Dunno if it’s good, but if you wanted to risk it be my guest.” He offers you a sheepish smile. “Haven’t made it to the shop in forever.”

“Coke’s good,” You tell him, and he sets one of the red cans on the island.

Van shuts the fridge. “Do you want ice?”

“Nah,” You shrug him off, “The can is fine.”

You use the tab to crack open your can while Van rustles through a drawer until he can find a bottle opener, getting his beer open. You two gravitate back to the living room, Van taking a seat on the dark, plush sectional in the center of the room.

He sets his beer down on the coffee table, no coaster in sight, before shucking his shoes off and stretching his long legs across the short end of the L shape. 

Taking your own shoes off buys you a moment of contemplation before you decide to sit down next to where he’s stretched out. There’s no space for you to stretch your legs out, but you’re comfortable folding them up on the couch with you, getting comfortable cross legged while Van procures the remote from somewhere, starting the TV up.

“Look at the moon,” You marvel quietly. The living room features an entire glass wall that leads to an outdoor patio, the moon and stars sending a white shimmering glow over the furniture.

Van doesn’t say anything, but when you turn your head to glance over at him he’s admiring it too before he meets your gaze. He still doesn’t speak, the moment doused in comfortable silence.

“Can I use this?” You ask him suddenly, your hand landing on a folded up blanket a few cushions away. 

“Course.”

You unravel the blanket and lay it over your lap while Van gets Netflix going.

“What do you wanna watch?” He asks when prompted to pick a profile. There are only two on the screen; Van and mary. You smile to yourself at the fact he shares an account with his mom as he clicks his.

“Um,” You look over the options on the screen. “Are you in the middle of anything?”

“Not really. Caught up on just about everything in Ireland.”

Van starts absentmindedly flipping through the trending now category, previews playing automatically.

“Have you seen that?” You ask when he hovers over one of the titles. “I heard it’s supposed to be really, really good.”

Van lets the trailer play out, detailing what looks to be a plot about infatuation and stalking. You can tell you’re both interested by the silence that falls over you.

“Sound good?” Van gets up to switch the lights off. The room is shrouded in darkness, Netflix lighting up his silhouette as he gets settled on the couch again. 

“Yeah,” You nod, “Let’s see if it lives up to the hype.”

You’re all too aware of your proximity to Van as the show starts. You can’t look over at him without him noticing considering it requires you to turn your head, but you can’t help but feel like you can sense his eyes on you. The result is you spending the first half sitting stiff as a board, paralyzed.

But the show lives up to it’s viral social media hype, and you soon become so engrossed that without really realizing it you’ve stretched your legs down the long side of the couch, your head coming to rest on the cushion you had been sitting on. Van passes you one of the throw pillows he’s been hogging, and when you elevate your head you’re so close you can hear his breathing.

The longer you watch, the more convinced you start to become that this date was all an elaborate plan devised by Van to kill you, and that he really did stalk you months ago in San Diego. Your mind wanders for two seconds, contemplating your current position on a stranger’s sofa, and suddenly the plot has taken a twist and the main character is having sex.

It’s almost like watching a sex scene with your parents in the room, although Van is anything but. You cringe as breathy moans ring out through the surround sound and you’re forced to watch a trainwreck of a scene where the the girl is getting fucked, hard, with her windows open, the stalker watching from the bushes across the street. It’s over quick, the character’s on-again-off-again boyfriend leaving as soon as the deed is done, but to your horror the scene only gets worse as the girl starts to hump a throw pillow in compensation for the orgasm she didn’t receive from her boyfriend, all the while the stalker starts jerking off in the bushes.

“Oh God,” You groan, turning your face to bury it in the throw pillow. “I literally can’t watch!”

Van chuckles as you listen to the rest of the scene play out.

“You’re missing it.” You can hear the delight in Van’s voice. “He’s about to blow his load right there on the street.”

“I wanna miss it,” You tell him, but still turn your head to peek at the screen. “Fucking creep.”

The ending of the scene is a crescendo of orgasms and moaning, the actress for the main character really laying it on porn-style for her big finale, while the stalker is abruptly interrupted by an oblivious woman asking him to hold the door, his orgasm incomplete.

“That was fucking creepy,” Van agrees. The episode isn’t done yet, but you can tell neither of you are paying attention to the remaining plot.

��Those windows are freaking me out,” You whine, gesturing to the windows that had previously brought you the view of the night sky, but that you’re now convinced have someone peeping through them.

Van heaves himself off of the couch. Before you can question him he’s crossed the room, pulling giant sheets of blinds down over the windows.

You sigh in relief, but it’s short lived. “But what if you’re the stalker?” You narrow your eyes at Van, who’s looking down at you as he heads back to his seat.

“I’m quite daft, then. Spending all this money on a wine-and-dine when I could’ve been outside your bedroom window for free.”

You make an exaggerated retching noise. Van laughs.

There’s a beat of silence, and then: “Is it really like that?”

You turn your head to peer up at him, propping your chin up on the overstuffed pillow. “Like what?”

“Like she did,” Van gestures towards the screen, “Where you fake it, and then the lad leaves, and you go back at it again.”

You frown as you ponder his question. “I’m sure for some girls it’s not.” Van’s eyes are trained on you, hanging onto your every word. “But as far as I know it usually goes something like that.”

“Pillow humping optional,” You add. “You can use your hand. Personally, I use a vibrator. Or the mood passes and you just go to sleep.”

You don’t know where this burst of boldness to talk about your sex life so openly came from, but Van looks a bit panicked as a result of it.

“And when we…” Van’s voice is low, and you watch his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows, his brows knitting together. “Did you…”

“That was genuine,” You reassure him, watching the relief wash over his face.

Van makes a noise in the back of his throat. “But you have? Before?”

“Faked it?”

Van nods.

It’s your turn to swallow. “Yeah. I have. Not with you. But yeah.”

“How, though?” Van scratches the back of his neck. “Y’know when you watch porn or somethin’ like that, you can tell they’re playing it up.”

You can feel a mischievous smile stretching across your face. “You sound curious.”

“I mean, kinda, yeah. And it’d be good to know. So you can’t fool me.” He offers a sheepish smile at his own joke.

“That would imply you need fooling,” You point out, your voice quiet. There’s no real need to whisper, but the heavy feeling of attraction that’s suddenly pressing down on you keeps you from speaking full volume, especially considering your proximity to Van.

Van doesn’t speak, only holds your gaze. He’s got the same look in his eye that he did outside of the hotel that night when he was openly checking you out. You do your best to match it, your mind quickly wrapping around a plan. Now was as good a time as any other to make your move.

“Well, I mean,” You break his gaze, looking around the room instead. “It ruins the magic if you know it’s fake.” You give an exaggerated sigh. “But for you, I’ll make an exception.”

You sit yourself upright, Van carefully watching your every move.

“We gotta set the scene, though,” You tell him, standing up from the couch and wriggling your pants down your legs. “Get yours off too,” You tell him.

Van doesn’t question it, getting down to his briefs and peeling off his socks after he watches you take off your own. 

You originally planned to keep your shirt on, to leave something to Van’s imagination, but you catch him admiring your black lace underwear and can’t resist revealing the rest of the matching set.

“Just want it to feel as real as possible,” You’re as nonchalant as possible, your voice the only sound in the quiet room. You realize then that Van’s muted the TV.

“Right,” Van agrees, fumbling with the buttons lining the front of his shirt. There’s no other layers underneath, so he’s shirtless in no time. “Now what?”

You pretend to think about it only to drag his anticipation out a few moments longer. While you torment him your eyes drag up and down his body, drinking in the familiar sight.

“Say we’re doing something like this,” You murmur, stepping over to where he’s still stretched out. You slide a leg over his waist, and with the soft slide of skin and fabric you’re settled on his lap, mimicking a riding position. He’s hard in his underwear, pressing against you through the cotton of his underwear and the lace of yours. 

“Like I’m riding you,” You clarify, shifting in Van’s lap. You feel him tense up beneath you.

“Put your hands here,” You prompt him, gently grabbing his wrists and bringing them to rest on your sides. His hands feel hesitant to make contact with you at first, but at your encouragement he holds onto your sides firmly.

“Now, the first step is build up.” Your voice stays low, like you’re trading secrets with him. “It’s not gonna be realistic without warning. Gotta spend some time doing something like this…” Without further ado you’re grinding against him through your underwear, his fingertips pressing into your flesh. 

It’s been way too long since you’ve had the experience of feeling someone’s solid, warm body beneath you, since you’ve felt someone want you so bad. Your first couple of breathy moans don’t even feel fake as you relish in the warm friction, losing control for a beat when your hips jerk on their own accord. “Van, fuck.”

His fingers squeeze you.

“Yeah, like that.” You piggyback off of his enthusiasm. You let your hips apply more pressure to his, but as good as it feels there’s no dry humping that could soothe your ache. Van doesn’t have to know that, though, and you let another desperate sounding noise come up from the back of your throat. Van’s thighs twitch beneath you.

You had been holding onto Van’s waist to balance yourself, but suddenly you move one of your palms to his side and feel him jolt. You look at him then, your face contorting into a look of mild surprise.

“I’m close.” You say it as if you were caught off guard. Van looks like an even mix of seduced and stunned, and the way he’s looking at you makes you close your eyes, scrunch your face up. “I’m, uh,” You pant, “I’m gonna-”

Before you can get to the grand finale your body is knocked off balance, suddenly becoming pressed into the soft cushions. 

“Fucking stop,” Van sounds pained as he kisses you, hard. Your body melts into the couch, the sweet and rare feeling of a plan going perfectly warming your body from the inside out. You moan into the kiss.

“I take it back,” He tells you before another bruising kiss. “I don’t wanna know what it sounds like.”

“How are you gonna know?” You push out between genuine gasps for air as Van starts kissing your neck. You arch into it.

“Tell me the truth,” He begs, resting his forehead against your shoulder. You can feel how clammy he is. “Please. Save that stuff for someone else. Tell me the truth.”

You don’t respond, silence in the air as you both catch your breath.

“I’ve got no use for sex that sounds straight out of a porno.” Van lifts his head, and you flinch at the intensity in his eyes. “I’d rather it be fucking real. No bullshit. If you’re having a good time, sure, say it. But if you’re not, say that too.”

It’s a rather serious take on something you’d thought was lighthearted. You’d never thought twice about faking orgasms. As far as you knew it was quite customary. You’d always figured the amount of times you’d done it had been on the lighter side, too. It’s not like you’d never had one, a fate some women seemed doomed to. But the way Van’s looking at you gives a sudden gravity to your actions.

“No bullshit,” You say firmly. You unwedge one of your hands from where it’s been pressed into the crack of the sofa, and offer Van your pinky.

Van’s intensity breaks as he smiles at the gesture. There’s a shift in his weight before he can get a hand free to loop his pinky finger with yours. “No bullshit.”

Then he’s kissing you again, your head forced back against the cushions of the couch, paralyzed between the furniture and his body. He tastes like the beer he’s been drinking and the butter he’d drenched his lobster in. It should be a bad combination, but it’s so uniquely Van you can’t complain. Not to mention he’s still at the top of your makeout leaderboard, a realization that brings your fingers into his hair.

“Show me your room,” You tell him when you break apart for air.

“It’s two floors up,” Van groans. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” You laugh at his hesitation to roll off of you.

“There’s a guest bedroom right there.” Van nods toward the end of the hall past the front door.

You consider for a moment. “With windows?” You ask finally. When Van nods, you crinkle your nose in distaste.

“Your room,” You insist, and he finally climbs off of you. As he clicks the TV off you make the sudden decision to grab for the throw blanket you’d been using, wrapping it around your body as if it was a towel.

“What?” You ask when you notice him staring at you in amusement. “It’s fucking cold in here. Don’t suppose you want me to put more clothes on.”

“Deffo not,” Van agrees, and leads the trek up the stairs.

Van’s bedroom is average size, a fact which catches you off guard. You hadn’t known what to expect based on the rest of the house, but besides the giant glass windows that panel the wall the bed faces (which Van covers immediately), and the luxurious attached bathroom, his room is quite ordinary. There’s a suitcase resting open on the floor, and Van has to move an acoustic guitar that was resting on the bed, but otherwise things seem clean. There’s an overfilled hamper in the corner, but you were pleased he owned a hamper at all. 

As soon as the guitar is moved you join Van in getting under the covers, shedding your makeshift robe on the floor. The transition back into making out is seamless.

“I can show you for real,” You whisper, surprised to find your bold streak hasn’t run out.

Van makes what sounds like a confused noise in the back of his throat, his lips consumed with being pressed against yours, but as soon as you hook a leg over his waist and start shifting him onto his back he gets the hint.

“You want me to?” You ask him softly, although you’ve got a good feeling you already know the answer. 

“Shit,” Van hisses when you slip a hand into his underwear, easing his dick out. “Yeah.”

It’s your first time getting a hand around him properly, and you relish in the weight of him against your palm, the way the head of him is already swollen, peeking out of his foreskin. You give him a few experimental tugs, only to be encouraged by a groan. As much as you want to continue, his briefs are getting in the way.

There’s a bit of clamoring while you two undress fully, but it doesn’t dampen the mood in the slightest. 

“That’s better,” You murmur when you’re seated back on his thighs, hand wrapped around him again. You know you should stop, considering you’ve been teasing him for a while already, but the control you’ve got over him is too intoxicating, watching him clench and groan as you experiment with different strokes.

“Where do you keep the condoms?” You ask after keeping the pace with relentless, quick tugs until you felt like he was ready. The only sound in the room is the soft noise of his foreskin sliding over him, but it feels like it echoes.

“There,” Van pants, throwing his arm in a gesture towards one of the bedside tables. You shift slightly off of his lap, your clit pressing against the soft skin of his hip while you dig through the top drawer. The only light in the room is from the soft glow of the city against the blinds, but it’s just enough for you to be able to locate a foil packet before handing it off to Van.

After the ripping of the wrapper, the room falls silent except for the harsh noise of breathing. Van’s hands bump against you clumsily while he gets himself wrapped, and you try to match your breathing to his slow, deep breaths. You sound more worked up than him, your anxiety making your breaths shallow and harsh.

Van brushes one of his hands against your thigh while he withdraws his hands, signaling he’s done.

This time when you slip a hand around him you’re gentle, careful not to disturb the thin layer of latex you can feel stretched over him. “Ready?”

You’re already shifting into position, rearing up onto your knees and maneuvering above him. Waiting for the green light.

“Yeah,” Van chuckles. “Let’s have it.”

The room goes quiet again, Van waiting with baited breath as you position him. You swallow hard, trying to soothe the fluttering in your stomach as you start to lower down on him.

It’s unceremonious, a hushed and slow process. There’s no dramatic sinking down like there is in porn, no loud screams of pleasure. It’s a slow stretch as your body accommodates him, an active effort to keep your balance as you make small shifts to try different angles. There’s the occasional sharp breath, but you’re not sure if it’s from Van or if you’re doing it without meaning to.

There’s a collective sigh of relief when you’re fully seated, your thighs trembling against his from the stretch. You’re terribly out of practice with this, and you’re mentally kicking your past self for her confidence while your anxiety starts to prepare you for Van’s disappointment. 

Your nerves and self-consciousness mix together to form a hot flush on your face, one you’re grateful Van can’t see. You make a last-ditch effort for a deep breath before you shift your hips, preparing to proceed.

You’d forgotten how good this was. Or maybe it wasn’t actually ever this good; maybe it’s just Van. But as soon as you get a pace going any nerves melt away, replaced instead with electricity that buzzes down your spine, through your hips. It zings it’s way across your thighs, making any discomfort worth it as you make sure to lower yourself completely every single time, feeling yourself fill up.

Van’s got a white knuckle grip on the sheets, but you’re barely noticing his reactions. It’s like you’re possessed, your body moving without your control as you chase the feeling. What feeling exactly, you’re not sure; there’s the friction of him sliding in and out of you, the feeling of fullness that punches you in the gut every time you lower down, and the white-hot spots you can get him to hit depending on the angle. They all mix together, heat and tingling and sparks that have you hunched over, hands pressed into his chest, your hips erratic.

Your thighs start to fail you, and when the ache becomes unbearable you settle for staying seated, keeping him fully inside of you as you shift around, feeling him rub against your walls. You clench experimentally, just to see if there’s a way to get him deeper, closer.

You’re only jolted from your own thoughts at the sound of Van moaning. It’s loud, the volume paired with the vulnerability of the sound startling you. 

You look down at him then. He’s got his forearm thrown over his eyes, and his hair’s a mess against the mattress, having pushed the pillows awry without you noticing. His mouth opens, lips forming a silent shape before he finally chokes the word out: “Stop.”

His other hand is pressed against your thigh, although you don’t remember it being there. His fingers dig into your skin. “Stop,” He says again, voice strained.

Your hips slow, any pleasure in your entire body fizzling away in half of a second. Your self consciousness comes crashing down over you in one suffocating wave as you hold completely still, confused.

You must’ve fucked up. Must’ve read the situation wrong, not realized that Van wasn’t into it. Must’ve heard his moan wrong. Must’ve missed something important. You feel the sweat that’d been developing on your forehead go cold as you mentally search for your fatal mistake. 

“Is something wrong?” You ask hesitantly. You’re still frozen, careful not to move a muscle while you await Van’s response.

“No,” Van chokes out. He lifts his arm from where it’s obscuring his face, running his hand through his hair instead. You can see his bicep flex as he pulls his own hair by the crown of his head. “You’re incredible, fuck. I can’t fucking stand this anymore. Switch me.”

His praise delivers an instant wave of relief, one that has you beaming down at him. He returns the smile weakly as you unseat yourself, plopping down on the soft mattress while he scrambles into the new position. 

“Scared the shit out of me.” You don’t know why you admit it. Maybe your brain is too foggy for censors. “Thought I was doing horrible.”

“Nah, fuck that.” Van’s lining up again. “Could just feel you getting tired. Figured I could return the favor.”

He takes your cue from the way you open your thighs wider, shift your hips up to meet him. He slides in easily, and as the shock of the interruption fades away you can feel your orgasm coming back to the surface, just as strong as it’d been previously.

Van takes his favor-returning duties seriously, fucking you with all he’s got. It’s different from last time. You’ve already set the rules and he follows them meticulously: sudden thrusts in, followed by a torturous pause so you can fully appreciate him inside of you before a long, slow withdraw where you can feel every inch of him. It’s too much and not enough at the same time, and when you’re on the brink you haul him in with a hand on his jaw for a kiss, gasping for air against his open mouth.

Van comes first despite his heroic efforts to hold off. Your only warning is a few moments of loose hips before he’s cursing, his hand slapping the headboard as he clenches it, exhaling your name.

Your only response is to kiss him. His lips are soft and pliant, moving easily against yours now that any tension has leaked out of his body, and you slip a hand between your bodies, desperate to feel as relaxed as him.

“Don’t,” Van slurs. Your fingers had already started tight circles against your clit, but Van bumps your hand away. “Quit, lemme.”

“I can do it,” You huff, your desperation putting you on edge.

“I know you can.” You can hear the amusement in Van’s voice as he pulls out and ties off the condom, leaning over to deposit it in a trash can you didn’t know existed. “But m’not inept either.”

After another impatient huff from you, Van’s fingertips are pressed tight against your clit, working it in loose circles. He doesn’t linger too low and you’re grateful for that, already feeling the tenderness start to catch up to you. He’s careful and precise, hanging onto your every noise as he tries to get it right, and when he succeeds you reward him by calling out his name over, and over, and over.

To your surprise, you open your eyes to Van sticking the fingers he’d touched you with into his mouth without any hesitation. 

Your eyes feel like they’re about to bug out of your head. “Why are you doing that?”

There’s a wet noise as Van’s lips release his fingers. “Needed to clean ‘em off.”

“You could’ve asked me to pass you something. The blanket’s right here.” You reach to the floor and grab the soft fabric, showing it to him for emphasis.

Van just looks at you quizzically, cocking his head. “Why would I wipe off on a blanket?”

“I just, y’know,” You flounder for an explanation, especially under Van’s gaze. “If you’re not into the taste, or something. I dunno.”

Van shrugs. “Into your taste just fine.”

You can’t keep the surprise off of your face. “Oh. Alright.”

“I’ll have to show you next time,” Van says with a joking wink before getting up, heading for the bathroom.

As soon as he’s turned his back you bury your face in nearest pillow, beaming into it. Next time. 

You sit up straight when you hear the toilet flush, regaining your composure. 

When Van comes back into the bedroom he immediately grabs for a pack of cigarettes and a lighter resting on the bedside table. He offers you the box, but this time you shake your head.

“Let’s see how these sheets look,” He says, cigarette bobbing loosely between his lips as he makes the few strides to the bedroom door, lifting the dimmer and illuminating the room.

It feels out of place to be naked with the lights on, and you reach over and grab the throw blanket off of the floor, wrapping it around yourself again as you stand to take your turn using the bathroom. You examine the sheets with Van, and they look no worse for wear except for a slight wet spot marking the spot on the bed where you’d came.

“Just that bit,” You acknowledge, gesturing to the spot. “Sorry.”

Van pulls the cigarette from his mouth, rolling his eyes playfully as he exhales smoke. “It’s nothin’. It’ll be dry in a few seconds. Go freshen up, love.”

Your cheeks heat up at the nickname, and you head for the en suite so Van doesn’t see.

“Do you need anything from downstairs?” You ask after you’ve taken your customary after-sex pee. “I gotta go get my clothes.”

Van’s perched on the remade bed, finishing off his cigarette in only his briefs. “You’re gonna put your clothes back on?”

“I mean, I gotta wear clothes in the Uber,” You joke.

“You don’t have to Uber home,” Van says, ashing the butt of his cigarette out in an ashtray. “I was gonna make us a fry up tomorrow.”

His britishness catches you off guard, and you laugh. “I have no idea what that is.”

“Oh, no way. It’s a big breakfast!” He gestures with his hands, “Eggs, bacon, sausage, the whole works! It’s fucking class. What d’ya say?”

You hold up your hands in playful surrender, even though it causes your blanket to sag. “I was only leaving because I didn’t know what you had going on! But that sounds good.”

You try not to read too much into how pleased Van looks at your agreement to stay.

“But I’ve still gotta go downstairs and get my bag,” You tell him, “So do you still need anything?”

“I’ll go with ya.” Van lights his second cigarette. “Could use a cup of tea.”

You two return to the mess you’ve made of the living room; throw pillows smushed from being under your bodies, clothes strewn on the floor, drinks lukewarm on the table now. Van takes your can of Coke and his empty beer bottle around the corner into the kitchen, while you gather up your clothes and purse before following him.

“Ugh, ready to take these things out,” You complain, fishing through your bag for the contact case you’d packed. You hadn’t wanted to assume Van would want you to stay over, but it was always best to be prepared.

“Take what out?” Van mumbles, turning to look at you from where he was standing over the stove babysitting a tea kettle.

“My contacts.” You open the case up on the island, not bothering to wash your hands before getting the dry lenses out easily with your finger, depositing them in the fresh solution you’d been sure to fill the case with. Van watches the whole spectacle curiously.

Even though your vision is blurry once you’re done sealing the case and putting it back in your bag, you can still see Van’s smirk.

“What?”

“Nothin’,” Van sing-songs, his voice going up an octave. “Seems like you came pretty prepared, s’all.”

You scoff. “I take a contact case with me everywhere, thank you very much,” You lie.

Van snorts. “With the liquid already in it?”

You blanch, caught. Van laughs in delight.

“Oh, shut up,” You huff. “How about you tell me about that breakfast you already planned for us, huh?” You make your way around the island to him, gently jabbing him in the stomach. He pokes you back. It’s tit-for-tat until you’re both laughing, interrupted only by the tea kettle coming to a boil.

By the time you’re back upstairs, Van nursing a warm mug of tea, your post-orgasm exhaustion is at its peak. It had taken all your strength to climb the two flights of stairs, and you don’t think twice about crawling into bed wearing only your underwear until you hear Van fussing with the closet door.

“Here,” He takes a plain black t-shirt off of a hanger, tossing it to you. You accept it graciously, slipping it on before tucking yourself under the sheets, eyelids heavy.

When Van slides into bed next to you he doesn’t seem ready to sleep, picking up his mug of tea instead.

“Jet lagged?” You ask, peering up at him from your spot nestled in his blankets. Everything smells deliciously like him, and you have to actively resist the urge to look like a creep that sniffs everything.

“Kinda,” Van smiles down at you. “Don’t sleep much in general, though. Always been quite hyper.”

His declaration doesn’t surprise you. Considering all the fidgeting, humming, toe-tapping, and fingertip drumming he seems to be doing every moment, you have no doubts about his boundless energy. 

“Hm,” You murmur, yawning. “Well, lucky you.” You pat his leg under the blankets before flipping over.

You can’t help but imagine what it might be like to actually see Van tired. What it might be like for him to lay with you in bed, your body wrapped around his. With that on your mind, you doze off quick.

\\

You’re disoriented when you open your eyes, expecting to be in your own bedroom. Instead you’re greeted by the bright L.A. sunlight, the shades pulled across the window seemingly useless in filtering it out.

Van’s not in bed. There’s his mug from last night on the nightstand, and the blankets and pillows are ruffled, but the bathroom is clearly empty.

You’d totally forgotten to ask him for a phone charger last night, something you only remember when you go to check the time only to be greeted with an unresponsive screen. 

You decide to climb out of bed and see if Van’s actually following through on his promise of breakfast. It’s foreign to you, wandering around a stranger’s house. You’re usually the type to roll back over and go to sleep until you know for sure other people are awake. You’ve never been the one to make yourself at home, using the kitchen or the television without permission. But considering Van doesn’t seem the type to head back to bed, this seemed like your best bet.

Midway down the first staircase you realize that you don’t have pants on. You could head back upstairs and grab your clothes but decide against it, praying Van’s not the type to have company at this time.

Thankfully Van’s right where you anticipated. You hear his singing ringing out through the living area before you’ve even turned the corner to the kitchen, along with the clatter of pots and pans. The acoustic guitar that had been resting on the bed last night is propped against the coffee table now. He must’ve been up for a while now.

“Hey,” You say softly when you round the corner. It’s only for Van’s benefit, so he’s not startled by your presence, but he doesn’t miss a beat in the song he’s singing, only grinning at you as he continues. You smile to yourself when his back is turned. Of course he’s not one to scare easily.

He’s definitely been to sleep, considering his pillow-mussed hair and the fact he’s still only in his underwear. You admire the way the muscles in his back flex as he scours through the fridge, procuring ingredients.

“What time is it?” You ask, peering around for any sort of microwave or oven clock.

“Half nine,” Van chirps, bumping the fridge door closed with his hip, a carton of eggs and a frozen pack of bacon in his hands.

“Oh.” You intertwine your fingers together. “So, uh. Is that, like, eight-thirty or nine-thirty…?”

“Nine-thirty,” Van elaborates. He glances at you over his shoulder from his position at the counter. “Do you not say that here?”

“I’ve never heard it,” You shrug. Van nods as he processes your answer.

“So, what are you making again?” You stop leaning on the island in favor of approaching the counter, looking over the various foods sitting out. “A stir fry?”

“Well, about that…” Van says sheepishly, opening the carton of eggs. “I was gonna do a whole fry up, but like I said, I haven’t been to the shops in forever. So how do you feel about just eggs, bacon, toast?”

“Sounds lovely,” You tell him, continuing to hover around him.

Van cracks whatever eggs are left in the carton into a mixing bowl, leaving the eggshells in the nearby sink.

“Do you need any help?” You ask, feeling terribly annoying while you just watch.

“Nah.” Van shrugs you off. “Just keep me company.”

“I’ll sit down, then, instead of being in your personal space.”

“You’re gonna sit all the way over there?” Van whines when you tug one of the island stools out to sit on.

“There’s no other place to sit!” You exclaim.

“Right here,” Van slaps his palm down on the counter.

“I don’t have pants on!” You insist. “I’m not gonna put my bare ass on your kitchen counters.”

“I need you over here!” Van argues. “I need someone to help supervise!”

“Then how about I pull the stool closer?” You start to drag your seat over the tile floor.

“Then it’ll just be in the way. Come sit up here and talk to me.”

You pretend to be inconvenienced by his request, sighing as you hoist yourself up on a section of counter not currently being used to prepare food. The marble is cold against the back of your thighs, and you cringe.

You watch Van diligently mix the eggs with some milk using a whisk. With the way his head’s bent, you can see how crooked the part of his hair has become from sleep.

“C’mere,” You gesture. Van looks up from what he’s doing.

“Your hair is driving me nuts,” You elaborate. When he’s looking up at you it’s even more unruly.

Van abandons the mixing bowl, setting it aside in favor of coming to stand in front of you. 

“You don’t like my morning hair?” He teases. He lets you maneuver the angle of his head and stands there patiently as you start to pick at the strands.

“Love it,” You assure him, “But if I’m going to supervise I’ve got to make sure you look presentable.” Once his part is sitting correctly you comb your fingers through the ends, managing to get about half of them to lay uniformly. It’s an improvement. You pat his shoulder, satisfied.

When he looks up at you, your faces are awkwardly close.

“Thanks,” Van murmurs, and you watch the way his eyes dart down to your lips before flickering back up. Your hand still hasn’t left his shoulder.

“Yeah,” Is all you manage to say, any witty or funny remarks disintegrating on your tongue. You wait for an interruption, for Van to jerk away and remember the food he needs to tend to. But he doesn’t.

His lips press into yours instead. It’s the first time you guys have kissed without an impending sense of urgency. Van brings his hands up to rest on your waist, his fingertips fidgeting with the hem of your borrowed shirt. You sling your arms around his neck, tugging him closer, savoring every moment.

You spread your knees apart, making space for him to fit his hips between them, pleased to get him even closer.

Van pulls away to breathe and you rest your head on his shoulder, trying to hide your smile. It occurs to you when you turn your face and admire the long lines of his neck that you’ve never paid much attention to it. 

You can feel Van melting into your arms as you start at his shoulder and mouthe your way up. You don’t intend to leave any marks, but that doesn’t stop you from letting your teeth graze him a couple times so you can hear the way he sucks the air through his teeth at the feeling. You can feel his pulse right at his jaw, and you press your lips there firmly for a moment, marveling at how his pulse skitters against his skin.

“Christ,” Van murmurs. Your lips curve into a smile where they’re pressed against him.

You’d planned to be done at his jaw, but curiosity gets the better of you and you let your lips travel higher, trying to feel for his pulse behind his ear. The ends of his hair tickle your nose as you search for it, but feeling his heart stutter again is worth it.

When Van can’t take anymore he turns his head, bringing his lips to yours. Your hand comes to rest on the side of the neck and you don’t know if you’re imagining it but Van seems to lean into it. You tense your fingertips, digging them into his skin just slightly, experimentally, and Van deepens the kiss. 

You make a small, satisfied noise as you break away from him. “You don’t happen to keep condoms in your kitchen, do you?”

You’d been feeling Van get hard the entire time, but when he pulls away you marvel at how terrible he is at concealing his desire; his pupils are blown, there’s a fresh flush to his cheeks, and his chest is visibly rising with every breath.

“I don’t, no,” He runs his hand through his hair, successfully reversing your attempts to make him look presentable. “I’ll go grab one from my wallet.”

“Hurry,” You urge him, pleased at how quickly he turns to leave the kitchen. He’s still just as handsome from behind, and you marvel at how his briefs hug his ass before he spins, catching you.

“Stop ogling at me!” He teases. You stick your tongue out at him.

With Van gone, it’s just you and the abandoned mixing bowl of eggs alone in the kitchen. You take a deep breath, kick your legs out from the counter awkwardly, and count the seconds until he returns, condom in hand.

“Okay,” He sets the condom down on the counter, and loops his fingers into the waistband of your underwear. “Hips up,” He quips.

You obey, pressing your palms flat against the counter so you can get your hips into the air and Van can get your underwear down. Van tugs his own briefs down his legs easily, kicking them away. You watch them slide across the kitchen tile.

Van opens the condom, giving himself a few quick tugs in preparation to roll it on. At the sight of him you swallow nervously, the visual reminder bringing the ache between your legs to the forefront of your attention.

“Go easy on me, okay?” You laugh, but the slight waver of your voice betrays your nerves. Van’s too smart for any sugarcoating. His blue eyes snap up to meet your gaze, all seriousness, a silent questioning.

You give him a slight smile, crinkling your nose. “I’m sore.”

Realization dawns over him. “Gotcha,” He nods.

Van positions himself between your knees, using his hands on your hips to gently guide you to the edge of the counter.

“I feel like I’m gonna fall off,” You whine. Van only smiles, still looking down at your bodies.

“I need you right here at the edge,” He explains, letting go of you when he’s satisfied. 

“You sound like an expert.” It’s a dangerous joke to make, something twisting at your stomach at the sudden thought of other girls having this same kind of morning with Van.

“Not even fucking close,” He assures you, and your stomach unknots.

He works on lining himself up, but you can tell the way your body is curved in order to have your arms wrapped around his shoulders is making an odd angle that’ll be uncomfortable. 

“Don’t go yet,” You plead, suddenly desperate to try a different position. He stills, his eyes flickering to yours.

“This angle isn’t gonna work,” You answer his unspoken question. “I think I need to…” 

You don’t finish the rest of your sentence, opting to carefully lean back instead. You have to bend your neck to fit under the cabinet, and push a knife block a little off to the side, but eventually your shoulders come to rest on the cool tile of the wall. It’s uncomfortable, to say the least, but it allows your hips to tilt back. Your hands grapple for the most comfortable way to keep yourself from slipping off of the edge of the marble.

Van looks amused. “You good?”

You nod.

“We don’t have to do it in here you know,” He gestures with his hand towards the exit to the kitchen. “I can lay you out on the couch or somethin’.”

“In here’s fine,” You insist. You’d never had kitchen sex before, and your curiosity about the experience was stronger than the ache in your neck. 

Van playfully throws his hands up in surrender. “Okay then,” He laughs, before positioning your hips again and lining himself up for the second time. “You ready, then?”

With your eager nod Van slides in. He goes slow, his brow furrowed. You can tell he’s taking your request to be gentle to heart.

He’s careful not to bottom out, and from your position sitting back can see the restraint he’s exercising, how tight and rigid his body stays while he starts thrusting, shallow, slow.

It aches but only slightly, and it’s an incredible reminder of last night. Your hands scrabble against the countertop, desperate for anything to hold on to. They find nothing. There’s nothing you can do except hold as still as possible to keep your balance.

Van’s an absolute vision, the morning sun beaming through through the kitchen and making him glow. You watch the sweat glisten on his chest, the way he looks like he’s so lost in you he wants to close his eyes. He seems determined to keep them open, watching your every expression. You can see the muscles in his stomach flex with each movement, the angle of the sunlight creating a tiny shadow near his bellybutton. It’s too much. You close your eyes.

That only makes it worse, though, only forces you to focus solely on how the movement of him against you feels. You’re forced to lay there, completely still, the image of Van burned behind your eyelids. The pleasure is making you feel like you’re about to crawl out of your skin, and not having an outlet is driving you nuts. You slap your sweaty palm against the countertop. Van doesn’t even flinch.

“Holy shit,” You gasp, tipping your head back against the cool tile, finally opening your eyes to the bottom of the wooden cabinet. “I can’t fucking take this anymore,” You heave.

Van’s forced to stop thrusting when you manage to get your legs around his waist, bringing his hips flush against yours as you work your way back into the sitting position you were originally in before you had the idea to sit back. There’s the uncomfortable tickle in your stomach as the angle changes, and you hope things will work this way. At this point, anything feels better than laying there helplessly.

“Sorry,” You breathe, back to wrapping your arms around his neck, pulling him in for a sloppy yet gratifying kiss.

“Don’t be,” Van brings your lips together again. He’s got he slightest bit of stubble growing. It’s too light to be visible, but you feel the slight scratch of it against your lips and bring your palm up to rub your thumb over his jawline, feeling the hairs.

You keep your legs around Van’s waist but relax them enough so that he’s got room to move. He takes it as an invitation, starting to fuck into you again, and makes a noise low in his throat. You can’t decipher if it’s from pleasure or discomfort, but it sounds urgent. 

“Okay?” You ask, craning your neck away from where you’d been examining his freckles in extreme detail, getting a full view of his face instead.

“Yeah.”

You raise your eyebrows at how strained his voice sounds.

Van runs his hand through his hair, the strands that hang near his forehead damp with sweat.

You’ve stopped watching his face, your eyes instead wandering to the top of his shoulder, the little freckles that pepper him there. You only see his expression out of your peripheral vision when he finally speaks, his voice low: “It’s fucking tight.”

He sounded hesitant to say it, as if worried you’d take offence, but instead you lean over to start kissing the freckles on his shoulder you’d just longingly gazed at. Your stomach lights up at the way he sounded, vulnerable and maybe shy, different from the ever-confident Van you’re used to. You hide your smile in his neck and breathe in his scent while you’re there.

You could already tell you wouldn’t be able to come in this new position, last night’s ache becoming slightly too pronounced, but you were more than happy to let Van keep going. You spend the time alternating between kissing him deeply and kissing his neck, and letting your hands wander over any bit of his skin you can reach. An orgasm almost sneaks up on you, your thighs tensing of their own accord, but Van gets there first. It’s the quietest he’s ever been, shaking through it breathlessly, head pressed into your neck, your fingers still playing with the ends of his hair, which looks almost blonde in the morning sun.

Van catches your cringe as he pulls out.

“Did it hurt?” He asks, voice rough.

“Nothing serious,” You assure him. “It was worth it.”

He ties the condom off and opens one of the cupboard doors below you, leaning over to deposit it in the trash.

It takes a second for your head to wrap around the way he sinks to his knees suddenly.

“What are you doing?” You sound more frantic than you’d meant to.

“You’re sensitive, yeah?” Van raises his eyebrows at you for confirmation. You nod, stunned to silence.

“This is about as gentle as it gets,” He shrugs. “As long as you’re good with it?”

“Um, yeah,” You stammer. “You could give it a try.”

It’s hard to form words correctly when Van’s face is right between your legs, looking at you in all your after-sex glory. You have to actively resist the urge to squirm away and cover yourself, your cheeks heating in self-consciousness.

If Van notices your discomfort he doesn’t show it, only looking pleased that you’ve given him permission.

You can’t stand watching him lean forward, opting instead to tip your head back towards the ceiling and squeeze your eyes shut, waiting for him to begin.

You tense up when you feel it. Van’s warm breath tickles you before you feel the wet slide of his tongue against you. You jolt. He gives a few more experimental licks, slow and languid, moving around, and your fingers tangle in his hair instinctually.

It’s not that you don’t want it. It’d be a lie to say you’ve never thought back on that night in San Diego and wondered absentmindedly about things taking a different turn in his hotel room. Your sleepy mind curiously twisting the events, wondering if he’d be any good at this.

But as curious as you were, the thing about head is it always just seemed to be a grand waste of time for you. On the very few occasions you’d been on the receiving end, the act had consisted of slimy, uncomfortable exploration with movements too inconsistent to get you anywhere. And worse, it was treated as a gift, one you were inevitably supposed to return. The lackluster results along with the heavy implications meant you tended to keep your distance.

But after some exploration Van seems locked in on his mission. You dare to peer down at him when you feel him start to find a rhythm, one that has your legs opening wider without your control. His eyes are squeezed shut, his nose brushing against you with every lick, and when he exhales hot air you can’t help but shiver.

You let go of his hair, your knuckles aching from your tight grip, but Van makes a noise. It’s too quiet for you to hear, but you jerk as you feel the vibrations against you, the message loud and clear. You rush to grab his hair again, flustered.

The better it starts to feel the more apparent it becomes that he’s in the wrong spot, a different area starting to throb for his attention. Without really thinking about it you use his hair to herd him to the other spot. He’s just licked firmly against it, your legs quivering, when he sits back on his knees.

“Done?” You ask, surprised to hear disappointment in your tone.

“Nah,” Van wipes at his mouth with the back of his hand. “Need a breath.” 

Your shoulders sag with a relief you didn’t know you felt.

“How is it?” He croaks, peering up at you.

“Good,” You answer out of habit, before realizing how true it is. “Really, really good.”

“You like the spot I was in?” He inquires, gearing up to keep going. The way he sets his jaw in determination makes your mouth go dry.

“The one higher up,” You clarify, your voice only slightly above a whisper. “Yeah.”

And without further ado he’s back at it, resuming in exactly the same spot, a miracle that leaves you speechless.

There’s nothing unexpected about your orgasm. It’s a steady build, the pressure between your legs becoming more and more unbearable as Van’s tongue works firmly against you. He incorporates his lips in some mysterious way you’ve never experienced, and uses his palms to press your thighs open when you’re too clenched to keep them open yourself. He’s eager to please, treating any noises you let slip as feedback. You moan his name as praise and Van preens under the attention.

It’s a long descent back to Earth, your head spinning when it’s all over. The first thing you realize is that you’re awkwardly petting Van’s hair, smoothing your palms over the strands subconsciously. You pull your hands away as Van leans back, catching his breath.

“Sorry,” You murmur.

“Hm?” Van busies himself wiping his mouth. You can see his chin glistening from you.

Your head’s too foggy to clearly remember why you even said sorry, let alone explain it to Van. “I dunno,” You say instead.

“Can you pass me one of those?” Van asks, gesturing to a roll of paper towel that’s within arm’s reach of you. You rip away a few squares for him and pass them over.

“That went better than expected,” You confess breathlessly.

“Yeah?” Van cocks his head, looking amused. “Thought I wouldn’t be any good?”

“Not at all! I mean- that’s not what I meant,” You giggle, trying to find the right words somewhere in your haze. “I’m just surprised I came. It’s never happened from that.”

Van blinks at you. “No shit?”

“Yeah, I’ve never. Until now. But I don’t really let anyone do that. Swore it off a few years ago.”

“But you let me?”

“I mean, yeah,” You shrug. “I’ve never had anyone, like, want to. I’m not gonna beg for something useless.”

“Never had anyone want to?” Van looks stunned as he uses the edge of the counter to help himself off of his knees. “Who the fuck have you been with?”

It sounds hypothetical, so you don’t answer. Van shakes his head to himself as he leans over, washing his hands in the sink.

“We’ll have to do it again sometime. Properly. That angle was kind of shit.”

You smile. “I mean, I thought it was pretty nice.”

Van smiles too, sliding down the counter so he’s in front of you. He leans in for a kiss, and even though you can taste yourself on his lips you let him. 

“It can be better. You just gotta gimme another chance,” He says playfully when you two separate. 

He’s joking, but you can hear he’s being genuine underneath.

“I mean, if you want,” You shrug, indifferent.

“Oh, I want,” He assures you with a wink. “Anyway, are you still hungry?”

“I’m starving,” You groan. “But I really need to rinse off, if you don’t mind.”

“Course I don’t mind. I’ll set you up in the bathroom and then get breakfast going for real this time.”

He reaches down for his discarded briefs, slipping them on before leading you back up to his bedroom, getting the shower in the en suite going for you. 

Once you’re done showering, smelling like all of Van’s products and wrapped in a giant, fluffy towel, you slip out of the bathroom and into Van’s room. You perch on the edge of his bed, reaching for your phone which has finally powered on with the help of a borrowed charger.

There’s a ton of texts from Mary, her curiosity growing the longer you haven’t responded. You listen closely for any sign of Van, but there’s silence. He’s still in the kitchen working on breakfast. You dial Mary’s number.

“Holy shit, finally!” Mary exclaims down the line. “How was last night?”

“I’m um,” You keep your voice low, still paranoid Van might come upstairs to check on you at any moment. “I’m still here.”

“No fucking way,” Mary hisses. “You stayed the night?”

“Yeah. But hey, listen, I don’t have too long, he’s making breakfast-”

“Breakfast?” Mary interrupts. “Like, what kind of breakfast? He can microwave oatmeal?”

You snort. “No, like a real breakfast! Eggs and stuff.”

“Shut the fuck up. I knew he was perfect the first night we met him!”

“Mary, listen!” You hiss. “I gotta tell you about what just happened!”

“This is gonna be good.”

“Oh, it’s better than good. He’s, like… Wow.”

\\

Read Chapter 3 here

[kutemouse]

Becoming His (Part Two, Smut Version)

Disclaimer: The images from my header belong to BigHit and BTS, but I edited them together. 

Alright all you kuties, I know a lot of you have been waiting for this since… what has it been, 31, almost 32 hours since I’ve posted part one? Dang, it feels like longer lol. Time is weird in this isolation period.

Anyways, I know the original request asked for fluff only BUT (and I am so sorry 😟) I included a smut scene. The story called for it, and my fingers were typing, and it just happened. However, I have also written a smut-free version due to the fact that I know there are kuties who are fasting at this time who read my work. I posted that here. You can also find it on my MasterList.

Shoutouts to these sweet kuties:

@kpopyandere ​for being the best unnie account to encourage and motivate me ever, the biggest thank you 💜

@apurpledheart ​for your lovely comments, thank you 💜

@rowoons-noona ​for your sweet comment, thank you 💜

@illnevertrustmyselfagain ​for loving my writing and supporting me, thank you 💜

@clarkcling ​for being my second ever requester, and the first to reach out to me and tell me how much they like my work, thank you 💜

@kutieanon (anyone who’s sent me anything anonymously) for keeping me busy with requests and inspiring the hell outta me, thank you 💜

And so, without further ado, I present you with Part Two. Enjoy 💜

Age Recommendation: 18+ (I mean it! There is explicit SMUT in this part!)

Warnings: Swears, full-out smutty masturbation scene (so sorry again), SOMEONE coming in and being a total ASS, Joon being possessive af.

Word Count: 2,718

Summary: A bit after moving to a new neighborhood, you happen to meet your sexy new neighbor completely by coincidence. Or was it?

Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ

Becoming His (Namjoon One-Shot, Yandere, Angst, Fluff, Smut) Part Two

You didn’t see Namjoon after that day. You were hoping to catch him jogging, or shooting baskets in his backyard again, but he didn’t come outside. Or, if he did, he didn’t during the times you were out and about. You were hoping to apologize, at least. He didn’t have to give you another shot, but at night when your fantasies seemed more vivid, you imagined he was as eager as you were to smooth things over with a quick conversation and a long fuck.

Namjoon, however, saw you. He watched from partially closed blinds as you went about your routine, seemingly unbothered by the fact that you completely blew him off. Each night, he waited until you turned off your lights for the night, watching the clock slowly tick until exactly twenty minutes went by, then slipped outside. He quietly climbed the fence between your yards and sat beneath your window, trying to get as close to you as possible.

Namjoon wanted to make things right, he just couldn’t concoct a scenario that wouldn’t come off badly to you. After all, you already rejected him. What could he do to make you love him the way he loved you? He couldn’t force you… or could he? While he toyed with that idea, the best Namjoon could currently hope for was that you would coincidentally bump into him, realize what you were missing out on, and come back to him.

One night, you cracked your window to try and relieve some of the oppressing summer heat swarming your home before you went to bed. As soon as you closed your eyes, you imagined Namjoon, his upper half naked once more as you finally caught him jogging. “Hey!” you would say, waving at him from your front yard, your robe falling open to reveal your lace nightie.

He’d stop in front of you with that trademark smirk showing off his dimples, panting heavily, sweat running down his muscular back, and you’d both finally give in to your desires. Lips would crash together, and clothes would come off before you could even slam your front door behind you. You both were so eager to feel the other, you wouldn’t even be able to make it to the bedroom.

“Namjoon!” you gasped, sliding your fingers inside of yourself, imagining it was his cock instead.

Back in reality, Namjoon perked up when he heard you moaning his name. He didn’t realize your window was open, and at first it made him freeze with fear. Had you possibly heard him sneak into your backyard? But then, as you let out another moan, he felt his muscles relax as your voice completely consumed him. Almost unconsciously, Namjoon slid his hands underneath his athletic shorts, cupping himself. It was all he could do to not answer your moans with a groan of his own.

Your voice got louder and louder as you pleasured yourself, completely forgetting your window was open, and Namjoon pumped himself faster and faster, wanting to release at the same time you did. With a semi-muffled whiny scream, you cried out his name once more. “Oh god, oh god, Namjooooon!”

The real Namjoon silently dropped his mouth open, shakily panting as cum spurted out onto his hand. He made a huge mess in his shorts, but he didn’t care. Just hearing your sweet voice calling out his name made him hard. He just wished he was actually in your bedroom with you, actually stuffing you full with his thick cock, actually feeling you clench around him as you screamed his name. It was all he could do not to go around to the front of your house and knock on your door. But it was the middle of the night, and you weren’t supposed to know he was there.

Still, Namjoon needed a plan, and fast. Not being able to be near you was becoming too much to bear. The next day, as he lounged on his couch staring at the ceiling, trying to come up with some way to get you to talk to him again. He could follow you to the grocery store, bump into you there? No, too obvious. He also didn’t want to try something he already tried, knowing he’d just come off as pathetic.

A knock on his door made him sit up straight. Who could that be? He opened the door to see you there, of all people. “Hey,” you said, giving him a tentative smile.

“Hey.”

“I just came to give you this,” you said, handing him a piece of paper. It was a flyer for… a neighborhood party? At your place?

“I just wanted to get to know everyone on the block,” you explained. It was lame, you knew that, but you needed an excuse to see him and talk to him and this was the best you could come up with. You figured a party with other people around would ease some of the pressure, and maybe you would find a chance to apologize.

Namjoon smiled, showing off his signature dimples and making your stomach flip over itself. “Wow, this sounds great, Y/n.”

Ugh, you loved the way he said your name. If you could take a recording of just that sound, you’d listen to it for the rest of your life.

“Great, so I’ll see you there?” you said hopefully.

His dark eyes bore into you with a gaze so intense you just had to glance away. “Of course you will,” he said. The words dripped from his lips like honey, and although they had no sensual connotation whatsoever, they awoke something in your middle that went straight to your core.  Namjoon bit his lip, slowly releasing it from between his teeth, and you swallowed hard, trying to keep your composure even as your panties grew damp.

“Awesome, well, I’ll see you Friday,” you muttered before turning away and stumbling across his lawn back to your safe haven.

Namjoon’s smirk didn’t diminish even after you ran away once more. This time, though, he knew you weren’t running because you were rejecting him… you were running because you were holding yourself back. Namjoon had no idea why, but he didn’t care. He would break you.

Friday arrived, and you made yourself stay busy in order to keep your thoughts away from Namjoon. It worked for a while, but then he began drifting into your mind as you started getting ready and setting up. Would he like the catered sandwiches you ordered? Would he appreciate the short-yet-sensible polka-dot dress you spent hours shopping for?

Finally, 5:30 arrived, and the first set of neighbors showed up. It was the elderly couple who lived around the corner. You welcomed them in and thought it was so sweet when they told you they brought a salad to share.

You whipped open the door each time the doorbell rang, your hopes soaring then falling when you realized it wasn’t him. The family with three little ones came, the young just-married couple came, and even the three rowdy college boys who lived behind you came. Free food could really draw in a crowd, but still, he didn’t show up.

An hour later, you nearly gave up on the thought of seeing him. You guessed you imagined the electric attraction between the two of you. Either way, you were majorly disappointed. You were setting dishes in the sink when you heard a voice behind you. “Hey there.”

You spun, nearly dropping the glass you were holding. “Namjoon!” you gasped.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you,” he chuckled, holding his hands up. “I knew you’d probably be busy and just let myself in. Hope that’s okay.”

“Of course it is.”

It definitely was if he was walking around looking like that. He sported a light blue collared shirt, casually unbuttoned low enough to show off some chest, and dark trousers. He looked like he just got back from the office, pulled off his tie, and came over. Your fingers twitched, wishing it was you who pulled off that tie.

He stepped towards you, getting so close you could smell his cologne. It was so light, you wouldn’t know he was wearing it unless you were in tight proximity… just like now. You cleared your throat and moved away, but he moved with you as if chasing you. “Y/n,” he murmured, his eyes flicking down to your lips.

“Y-Yes Namjoon?”

You backed up all the way to the counter, gasping as you felt the edge of it press into your skin. Just then, your neighbor Sunhee, the mother of the three kids currently screaming and running around your backyard, popped her head into the kitchen. “Oh, hello Mr. Kim,” she said brightly. “Y/n, I was just coming in here to see if you needed any help.”

“Oh, that would be great, thanks.”

The rest of the party went without a hitch, and you found yourself bright and cheery as you talked with and got to know your new neighbors. Everyone was so damn nice, but secretly, you were anticipating the moment they would all leave you alone with the one person you actually wanted to be with. As the evening wore on, people began to make their good-byes, thanking you for such a great time. “We really need to do this more often,” Sunhee said, hugging you tight. “It’s so good to see everyone.”

“Agreed,” you said, hugging her back.

Over her shoulder, you saw a familiar figure open and close your door, and your heart completely stopped. He brushed his long, dark hair out of his eyes and looked around, smirking when his eyes finally found yours. Your legs turned to jelly as that smirk crashed into you. Damn. Even after all this time, he still affected you, no matter how much you tried to shove it down.

You thanked Sunhee for coming one last time and made sure everyone else was out before stopping that asshole in his tracks. “What are you doing here, Jungkook?” you muttered, placing a hand on his chest.

“What do you mean?” he asked, poking his tongue between his teeth and quickly withdrawing it. “I came to see you.”

“Yeah, right,” you snapped. “You have no right, coming in here like you own the place.”

“I might not own this place, but I own you,” he said, his cocky tone setting your teeth on edge.

“No you don’t.”

He stepped close, leaning down to whisper in your ear. “Are you sure about that?”

You shoved him backwards. “Get out.”

The corners of his perfect, pink mouth turned up in a menacing smirk. “No.”

“I thought I made myself clear,” you hissed. “I’m no longer going to be your fuck-buddy, Jungkook. I wanted something more, but you made it clear you didn’t.”

“I don’t recall saying anything of the sort.”

You scoffed. “You didn’t have to use words. Finding you in bed with another girl the day after you told me you had feelings for me was plenty.”

Jungkook rolled his eyes. “Please. We weren’t exclusive.”

“Maybe not, but you don’t just go and fuck another girl right after telling another you care for them!”

“Everything okay, Y/n?” a voice asked. You turned to see Namjoon standing there, his chin raised as he defiantly stared Jungkook down, large hands shoved in his pockets.

Jungkook scoffed. “Are you kidding me, Y/n? Look at you, the complete hypocrite. We’re apart for less than a month, and you already have another boy toy.”

“He’s nothing of the sort,” you muttered, folding your arms and turning away from him. “I said I didn’t want you here. Now please leave.”

“No chance in hell,” he growled. “I came back here to see you, and I’m not leaving until I get what I came for.”

Something inside of you snapped. “Which is what?! Another booty call?! I said I was done with you, Jungkook, so either get the fuck out or I’ll call the police.”

Jungkook started towards you, but before you could react, Namjoon stepped in front of him. “She said leave,” he said. His eyes flashed with a dark anger that turned the tension from smoldering ash up to a roaring flame. You took a step back, suddenly afraid. You had never seen this side of him before.

“This doesn’t concern you,” Jungkook snarled, attempting to push Namjoon out of the way.

“Actually, it does,” Namjoon growled. “She’s mine.”

“She just said–”

“And I’m saying she’s mine.”

Rage roiled off Namjoon in tidal waves, threatening to break everything that stood in his way. Jungkook snorted. “Unbelievable,” he muttered.

“Call me when you’re ready to be fucked properly again, bitch,” he spat at you as he turned and walked out the door.

Your legs gave out underneath you, and you sank to the floor. This was definitely not how you wanted tonight to go. Namjoon instantly came to you, concern written all over his face. “Are you alright?” he asked, gently reaching out.

“Don’t touch me!” you snapped. “What the hell was that? Why did you say I was yours?”

Namjoon drew back, shocked. “What?”

“That phrase you kept saying. ‘She’s mine.’ Why would you say that?”

“Well, because… because…”

“Because what?!”

“Because I care about you, Y/n!”

You stared at Namjoon, searching for any signs of untruthfulness or deceit that you had commonly found in Jungkook’s eyes, but there was nothing but pure sincerity in his eyes. Breathing hard, you stood up from the floor, still trembling from the confrontation. Namjoon reached out to help you, but withdrew his hands quickly.

“No, it’s okay,” you said, your tone more gentle now.

You tentatively placed your hands on his chest, fingers lightly stroking the collar of his shirt. “I… I care about you too,” you whispered.

Relief flooded through Namjoon, putting out the roaring fire of anger he felt earlier. He stepped close enough for you to catch a whiff of his cologne again, enticing the rest of your senses to dive in. He was only centimeters away, close enough to feel the heat radiating between his body and yours, but not close enough to feel the hard, broad muscles of his shoulders. You looked up into his eyes, his pupils blowing wide as you studied each other, waiting for someone to make the next move.

After longing after each other for so long, you thought he wouldn’t wait a single second to be with you, but it turns out you were both vulnerable, both afraid of messing this up, so you took it slow. Each small movement drew you closer together, no matter how minute. The way his eyes roamed your face. The way you slowly slid your hands up to rest on his shoulders. The way his lips hovered tantalizingly over yours.

Finally, as if on cue, you both lunged towards each other, crashing your lips together to meld into one, perfect kiss. It stayed sweet and innocent for longer than you would’ve liked, with Namjoon being careful to keep his tongue inside his own mouth no matter how much he was yearning to taste you. You separated from each other, both breathless, and Namjoon continued peppering kisses down your cheek to your jaw. You sighed and tightened your grip on him. “Say you’re mine,” he murmured.

You opened your eyes. “Wh-What?”

“Say you’ll be mine.” He drew back and smiled, nothing but sincere tenderness in his eyes.

“Are… Are you asking me to be your girlfriend?” you whispered.

He hesitated, then nodded. Your mouth parted open. No, this was too quick. Much too fast. You barely knew the guy, hadn’t even been on a date with him yet, and yet here he was, asking for the commitment you’d been craving.

His gaze grew apprehensive as he waited for your answer, but you continued looking into those dark, beautiful eyes. He felt so warm on top of you. You liked him, there was no doubt about that, and the spark of attraction was definitely there. Fuck it, what did you have to lose? You wanted to become his.

“Okay,” you murmured.

“What?”

“Okay. Yes. I’ll be yours.”

Namjoon let out a relieved sigh. “Really?”

“Really.”

If only you knew just what you had agreed to.

[snezfics-n-shit]

Whumptober Day 22: Exhaustion

Fandom: Ace Attorney 

Characters: Miles Edgeworth, Phoenix Wright

Notes: Some post-SoJ married!Wrightworth for your troubles. Miles is working late while under the weather, so his loving husband Phoenix is dropping by to take him home. In this house we love draping coats over sleeping, sick workaholics. 

      Miles told him he was fine. Why would Phoenix question that? Earlier in his legal career, sure, the chief prosecutor’s picture could be found next to both ‘workaholic’ and ‘overexertion’ in the dictionary. In his thirties, however? Both Miles and his husband liked to think of themselves to have learned their limits. They had even demonstrated that fact just last week by calling in for a particularly bad hangover after attending Larry’s bachelor party (for his real wedding this time). So why did Phoenix feel a pit in his stomach when he heard Miles coughing while leaving for work early in the morning?

“I’m sure he’s fine.” Phoenix told himself as he fidgeted with a pen cap. He could easily just leave the office right now if he wanted to. The Wright Anything Agency was hardly overflowing with potential clients, unlike how he imagined Apollo’s newly established firm in Khura’in was right now. Even Athena, who had been itching for a case she could take on herself, took no issue in abandoning her post to take Trucy to another college fair. Phoenix wanted to be the one taking her, but after his tearful display of emotion at the last one he attended with her, Trucy thought it would be best to take someone not nearly as attached. 

He considered calling Maya to distract himself and possibly inviting her to grab something to eat. He even thought about calling one of his old clients to catch up. What was Ron DeLite up to these days? The last thing he posted on social media was a picture from his second child’s birthday party last month, which was naturally as abundant with expensive gifts as one would expect. Well, it was more so the last post of Ron’s that Miles had shown him, since Phoenix knew less about social media than even the judge at this point. Was that something to be ashamed of?

Speaking of the judge, Phoenix still wanted to scrub his mind of the image of the court projector accidentally displaying some… less than clothed photos of the judge and his wife in the middle of a trial. Great, now he had two things he needed to take his mind off of. He settled on zoning out in front of the office TV, mindlessly channel-surfing until something interesting came along.

Another Samurai reboot? No thanks. Real Swamp Wives? Intriguing, but not today. City Career Woman Finds Christmas Magic 3? Pass.

His thumb got tired after reaching the channel that seemed to only play reruns of The C-Team, which must have been fate because by the third episode in, Phoenix found himself hooked. If his first introduction to the show wasn’t from a clown’s terribly tedious testimony, he might have found its charm sooner. He was disappointed when, after the sun had set, the channel’s programming block switched to a very long commercial for an air purifier he already owned. This brought his attention back to Miles. He checked his brick of a phone, saddened to see he had missed a text from an hour ago.

“I’ll be home late. Please give Pess her evening treat and tell her what a good girl she is. With love, Miles Edgeworth. <3”

Phoenix cracked a smile at his husband’s inability to leave professionalism at the door when it came to written messages. Of course, he was getting better about it and signed more personal texts with something more affectionate, but the habit was clearly set in stone. He did this even on post-it notes about being out of milk or a reminder to hire someone to mow the lawn.

Phoenix shut off the TV and stood up, ready to combat the weight of worry he had been feeling since this morning by hopping on his bike to reach the prosecutor’s office building. He had his own visitor’s pass and key, just for the chief prosecutor’s office. At first it felt special to have such permissions, but as time went on, it was just a part of his life like grocery shopping or duct taping something until just giving in and having it professionally repaired.

What a sight the office was this evening, too, something Phoenix hoped he would see less of.  Miles was asleep with his head down on his desk, cluttered with crumpled up tissues that never quite made their trip to the nearly full trash bin. He was always a snorer, but his congestion was definitely more apparent here. Dark circles made their home around his eyes, making Phoenix wonder just how much sleep Miles had actually gotten last night. It wasn’t like Phoenix got much sleep either that night, being frequently interrupted by Miles’s sniffling or coughing, despite his husband’s attempts to not be heard.

Phoenix shushed himself as he unbuttoned his coat to use as a makeshift blanket over his sleeping husband. Miles really should have been in bed, but this was about the best Phoenix could realistically get. He could’ve sworn he just saw Miles’s eyes open, so he froze in place hoping Miles would return to his moderately peaceful sleep. 

“Hh’hsshhuh!” Miles sneezed softly enough not to alarm Phoenix, but strongly enough to wake himself up. “Mr. Gavin, I told you I’m quite alright.” He said groggily, still too out of it to notice who was actually in the room with him.

“Guess again.” Phoenix leaned with his palm on the desk, pushing some papers out of the way with his fingers. “You have two more tries.”

“Very funny, love.” Second time’s the charm. Miles sat upright, unwittingly letting the coat fall onto the floor. “Why aren’t you at home?”

“I should be the one asking you that.” Phoenix bent over to pick his coat back up before putting it on, anticipating that he would soon be taking his husband home. “There’s a cozy bed with your name on it.” He felt Miles’s forehead from behind him. “Looks like there’s a two-day minimum, too.”

“I would agree,” Miles muffled a small fit of coughing in his elbow, “but today’s circumstances prevent me from taking your offer, as tempting as it may be.”

“What could possibly be more important than letting yourself rest? We’re not as young and spry as we used to be.” Phoenix said, forgetting he and Miles were only in their 30’s and had a way to go before reminiscing how ‘spry’ they once were.

“Someone who has the office database password thought it would be funny to meddle with important files.” Miles moved his computer mouse to click on one of the files for an example. At a glance, the text looked normal until Phoenix’s eyes reached the middle portion. Unless it was of utmost importance to describe a defendant as someone who is ‘never going to give you up,’ the document was definitely vandalized. “Since the name listed on the edit history is listed as Hugh Jass, and no one is coming forward about it, I need to stay late to clean this up.” His annoyance was apparent as he tugged another tissue from the box beside him. At least after blowing his nose, he seemed to be a little more calm.

“Wait-” Phoenix stifled a laugh, “Hugh Jass?” He snorted before letting the urge to laugh overtake him. Miles, however, was either very clearly unamused or just exhausted; probably both. “I’m so sorry.” Phoenix needed to catch his breath, coughing a few times before he could collect himself.

“I hope you’re not catching this cold as well.” Miles refused to acknowledge the humor found in the name. He closed out the window before shutting down his desk computer, figuring if he kept staring at these vandalized documents, he would be worse off than he already was. 

“No, I just laughed too hard, I swear.” Phoenix pulled Miles’s chair out for him, gesturing for him to stand up. “Ready to go home?”

“Why not?” Miles tilted his head back and raised his hand near his face. “Hu’hrrSSHOOH! HH’SSHHCHOOUH!!” He grabbed a handful of tissues for the road, immediately making use of one. “I’m going to pretend this was all just an awful fever dream.”

“Then let’s get you home to bed and when you’re feeling better, I’m sure the documents will have recovered as well.” Phoenix led his husband by the hand out of the building. Just as they stepped out of the chief prosecutor’s office, he could’ve sworn he heard Miles mumble something, accompanied by something that sounded like a brief chuckle.

“Heh. Hugh Jass.” 

[prorevenge]

I can fine you too.

This is a story of my cousin. He used to work as a parking officer a few years ago. The following story happened to him and his response seemed befitting to this subreddit.

One day my cousin was off shift, and in his civilian clothing. He was simply shopping for groceries at the supermarket that evening. Once he left the supermarket, he went back to his car and loaded the trunk with his groceries. He proceeded to put the key in the ignition and start the car. Before he was able to exit his parking space, he got blocked by another car meaning to stop him from leaving his parking spot.

Then comes out a guy who was trying to confront my cousin. Knocked on his window and ordered him to step out of the vehicle, while flashing a badge. Turns out he is an undercover cop in civilian clothes, driving in an unmarked vehicle. My cousin complied, and stepped out.

I'm going to abbreviate my cousin with C, and the jerk officer with J in the following conversation:

J: Seems that you have quite a beast of a ride there my friend.

C: It's only a family SUV, officer.

J: I'm not quite sure about that. I heard some unusual sounds from your engine as you pull over. I suspected you might have installed some illegal performance modifications on your vehicle.

C: I assure you, I haven't. My car is in perfect stock condition.

J: Well, I had to make sure. So I waited for you until you got back and turn the ignition again, and I do believe there might be a few modifications to your car now that I heard it again.

C: I'm pretty confident that I did not install any modifications on my car. Feel free to check under the hood.

My cousin pops the hood open.

J: Well, what do we have here. You modified your air intake system.

C: That's a stock intake. What makes you even think that this is a modified one?

And now my cousin is starting to get pissed at him and questioning his competence at what he is claiming to know.

C: Look dude, I'm not sure you even know what you are talking about here.

J: Oh I know. I knew it since I heard you unusual engine. I know you're packing.

C: Why would anyone even modify a family SUV like it was a street race car?

J: I don't know, you tell me. Any way, I'm issuing you a ticket for this.

C: You are issuing me a ticket for something you clearly are not experienced in? Look buddy, you are trying to plant fictional modifications in my car and I have the hood wide open for you. So please drop the act, or call in another officer who has more experience than you in these matters.

J: I don't think that's necessary. I'm pretty confident you air intake is modified, and I am experienced enough in these matters.

J now proceeds to head back to his car to grab out the ticket book. This is where the sweet revenge starts. C is furious, and decides to retaliate. C heads back to his car as well to grab his own ticket book.

When they were facing each other again, J was surprised to see a ticket book in C's hands.

J: What is happening here?

C: I'm writing you a ticket too.

J: Wait, you're an officer too?! And what are you writing me for?!

C: Yes, I'm a parking officer. I'm writing a ticket for illegal parking in a driveway, and obstructing a parking space and the exit of other vehicles.

J: I'm not doing that, I'm right here by my car and I'm available to move it out of the way. I'm only obstructing your exit to carry out my duty until I issue a violation.

C: You're not allowed to do that unless you are in a government vehicle.

J: This IS a government vehicle.

C: It's not. It's a civilian car with a public license plate. Sorry, the government vehicle exemption doesn't apply to you in this case. The fine is coming out of your pockets buddy.

J: I'm just going to appeal to court about this then. The government will just waive your ticket.

C: You try to do that, buddy. If it works, you are welcome to come back to me and spit in my face.

C: Here is what's gonna happen. You take your ticket to court, you plead not guilty on account that I can't fine government vehicle. The rules for undercover cops is that if they are in unmarked vehicles, they are fully responsible for any accidents or violations as long as you have your sirens hidden and dispatch haven't sent you.(which is true in my country). The car is currently treated as a civilian car since those conditions don't apply, therefore you are responsible for this violation.

As for my ticket, I'm going to appeal to court as well. The court will assign another experienced officer to inspect my car. Since I'm confident that I didn't modify my car in any way, and you're full of shit, I'm getting this ticket waived. This will also possibly get reported and posted in your file at your police station for falsifying violations. My guess is that you are just trying to fill a ticket quota for a promotion or something, I don' t know, I don't care. All I know is, you fucked with the wrong guy.

J's face was reddining with anger, and my cousin shoved his ticket in his hand and tried to grab the one out of his. J was reluctant in handing out the ticket, seeing that the outcome was going to back fire at him, so my cousin yanked it out of his hand and went inside his vehicle.

C: rolls down window if you will excuse me now, I need you to move your vehicle. I have a wife and a baby son waiting to be fed.

J was mumbling as he walks to his vehicle, while my cousin left smiling.

(source) story by (/u/SkiesDownBelow)

[quicksilverlightning]

The All Might Fan Forum Discussion Board

 ALL MIGHT FAN FORUM

General Discussion All Might Battles Meeting All Might     Rescued by All Might     All Might Encounters     >Small Might Encounters (New!) Fanart and Fanfiction

CaptainCelb09 So, I've met All Might before. I just didn't know it was him.

It wasn't a big deal or anything - I tripped walking home one day and this really tall skinny guy stopped to make sure I was okay. I was embarrassed someone saw me and brushed him off, practically ran away. Now I'm sitting here with my face on fire cause I tripped in front of ALL MIGHT and he tried to help me up and akslhsdfouashefgoawu I cannot fucking believe this I should have taken his hand

070809 Pudding Cups

Time - 6:53 PM

Scene - Shofu Park

Your Narrator - crying on a bench

My girlfriend had just broken up with me. Through text. Like, ouch, right? Anyway.

I'm just kinda staring at my phone, blurry eyed, kicking at maple leaves, wishing I could text her back cause she just blocked my number when this tall blond guy shuffles up and takes a seat at the other end of the bench. Doesn't say anything, just sits, placing his grocery bag beside him. It's a public park, whatever right?

I'm wiping my eyes, putting my phone back in my pocket and suddenly there's this white thing in front of me - blond guy is offering me a napkin, Still doesn't say anything, just smiles a little. I take it and wipe my eyes, blow my nose, try to get it together cause apparently I look bad enough that this complete stranger is worried about me. I'm stuffing the napkin in a pocket when he holds something else out - a chocolate pudding cup, one of those with the little spoons in the lid.

I'm kinda like wha? but take it anyway and he takes another one out of his bag, he's got a six pack of them in there, and he tears off the lid and starts snacking and I do the same cause fuck it, right? I eat the whole thing and he gives me another one, like we're old friends or something and I'm halfway through it when he finally speaks.

"Bad day?"

And I can't help but laugh. It's so dumb. I'm single and heartbroken and eating pudding cups with this stranger on a public park bench as it gets dark and I don't know what to feel anymore. I tell him what happened and we eat the whole six pack together, shootin' the shit until the street lights come on. He calls me "young man" and claps me on the shoulder and it's so dumb but it cheered me up. He puts all the trash back into the bag and tosses it in the bin and tells me he needs to get going and hell, I do too.

I didn't even get his name. I thought about that encounter a lot though. I have a new girlfriend and she's great. We were together when All Might's last battle happened, watching everything go down on the TV at a bar and we're all losing our shit and I lose it even harder when the smoke clears cause that's the guy I ate pudding cups with what the hell

The last three years, any time I'm having a bad day, I go to the store and get some chocolate pudding cups. Whenever the world was just a shitty place, I'd think about that blond guy, shuffling through the park and making things better as he went along.

And I guess it figures that man would turn out to be All Might, cause that's what All Might has always done - moved forward and made things better.

spite-and-aesthetic my dumbass cat

small might plucked my stupid cat out of a tree wtf kinda cliche is this guy

AM_FAN0112 i cannot BELIEVE

TWO YEARS. TWO FUCKING YEARS ALL MIGHT HAS BEEN COMING INTO MY SHOP ARE YOU SERIOUS WHAT THE ACTUAL HELL TOSHINORI

I'M DEADASS SERIOUS HE COMES IN EVERY FEW WEEKS AND BUYS A BOOK AND SOMETIMES WE CHAT ABOUT MANGA AND HE ALWAYS ASKS HOW SCHOOL IS GOING AND HELPS WITH MY ENGLISH HES SO NICE AND TOLD ME TO CALL HIM TOSHINORI IS THAT HIS REAL NAME?? A CODENAME?

I GOT HIM HOOKED ON SUGAR SUGAR CAT CAFE ITS THE DUMBEST SYRUPY SHOUJO ROMANCE AND WEVE BEEN READING IT TOGETHER FOR OVER A YEAR WHAT IS MY LIFE

Sexi-tery Long post is long

Lemme set the scene; it's raining buckets, and I'm on my way to a job interview in the ritzier part of town. I've got my best clothes on - nice, crisp suit jacket, smart-looking skirt, a decent-but-could-be-shinier pair of heels. I've just left lunch with a friend and I've got an hour before the most important interview of my life.

That's when a bus rolls by and drenches me in the greasy puddle-water of downtown Tokyo.

Y'all, I was trying not to hyperventilate. I don't have time to go home and change. Even if I did, these were my best clothes. I'm screwed, no one is going to hire me looking like a sopping mess, *I* wouldn't hire me looking like this whatdoIdo

Someone picks up my umbrella. I didn't even realize I'd dropped it. I'm still freaking out. Someone is pulling me, I'm not even on this planet right now, someone is talking to me, I have an interview, where are my anxiety meds?

There's this blond guy hunched over, trying to bring me back down, telling me to breathe, calm down, you'll be okay. He's breathing with me and it's working and I think I might be crying but my face is so wet I can't tell.

He gets the story out of me once I'm back on planet Earth, and gets this determined look on his face. Drags me across the street into a clothing store. A really, really nice clothing store. Outta-my-budget, outta-my-lifetime sort of clothing store. Pushes me to the racks, tells me to pick out whatever I want.

I don't even question it - I may be back on Earth, but I'm still in the upper atmosphere somewhere. I grab a few things to take to the dressing room and fit myself into an extremely nice pantsuit. An attendant comes in to help, gets the tags off so I can wear the clothes out, bags my soaking wet puddle of fabric and blond guy pays for it all without even blinking.

He leads me back out, hails a cab, and I'm like, what now? And we pull up to a salon and he gets my hair dried and done, I KNOW he must have tipped the hairdresser a crazy amount to get me in and out that quickly, and the cab is idling outside the whole time, waiting to take me to my interview when we're done. All the while, blond guy is smiling, cracking jokes, and just being all-around charming. I'm wondering what I'm going to owe for this, what he wants, maybe he's some sort of creeper? But he seems so nice?

And when we're done, he prods me over to the cab, but doesn't get in. Doesn't ask for anything, just wishes me good luck. Like, who even is this guy? Who does all that for a total stranger?

All Might, that's who. Holy crap you guys, All Might got me to my interview on time and it's the best job I've ever had. I'd still be pushing pencils in a miserable office if he hadn't been there that day.

 Kirasagwa74

A train ride

I remember a time before All Might. I remember when the Yakuza worked out in the open and villains took what they wanted without fear.

I'm old, is what I'm saying. These bones ache and creak every time the weather even thinks about changing. I don't complain too much; I'm used to it. I'm used to being out of the loop and lost in the shuffle. It's alright - I have my routines and I stick to 'em.

One of them is riding the train to a favorite cafe. They have an excellent coffee blend. I've seen All Might on that train many times, though I never knew it was him until a little while ago. He's a good man with kind eyes. If it was crowded, he would let me have his seat. Chat about the good ol' days, heroes from another generation. I haven't seen him on the train in a while. I miss him.

SingleSuperMom31 Carried Home

This was pretty recent - just a few months ago. Long post up ahead.

Context: I'm a single mom. My ex didn't want kids, so I've raised Aya by myself. It's been a little difficult lately thanks to a broken arm, but I've managed.

Anyway, I took Aya to a local park a few months ago. It's a few minutes walk from the apartment, and I wanted to grab some things from the store anyway, so I took her out to let her burn off some energy. Her Quirk is Photosynthesis, so she has a lot of it!

When we get there, the first thing Aya wants to do is get on the swings. She's almost three and my arm is broken - I don't want to put her in a regular swing in case she falls, so I'm trying to maneuver her into one of the strapped swings with one arm. Aya isn't heavy, but I'm still struggling to manage when a thin man with blond hair walks up.

"Ma'am? Would you like some help?"

He's tall, super super tall, and gaunt, but he has a kind smile. Aya likes him right away and helps her into the swing and pushes her a little while she screams to go higher.

He was so, so nice to my little girl. He let her call him Toshi and played with her for over an hour, lifting her on the monkey bars and holding her hands on the balance beam since I couldn't manage it at the moment. He sits with me when some other children come to play, and we talk a while, about Aya, about how my arm got broken (it's quite a story), about being a single parent.

It's hard, you know? I love my kid, I'd die for her, but it's still hard, and it's even harder with this arm. He was just so nice - he had this presence, like you could tell him anything and I did. I told him about my ex, that he left, that he didn't want to be a part of Aya's life. You could tell he was really listening, not just being polite. I've gotten a little teared up, and he just smiles and pulls a handkerchief out of his pocket. He's quiet for a little bit, watching the kids play. Then he turns back to me, and I know I'll remember this for the rest of my life, word for word -

"I don't have any family of my own, so perhaps it doesn't mean much coming from me," he looks a little awkward. "But for what's it's worth, I think you're doing a fine job. One day, Aya will be old enough to appreciate what a strong, lovely mother she has."

Aya sees me crying and comes rushing over, hugging my knees and I'm a mess and maybe a little bit in love. He's just so kind and Aya has crawled into my lap and hugs my neck. It's sunset, so her Quirk is finally slowing down and she falls asleep while I'm still reeling over the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me.

I'm apologizing, it's late, I still haven't gone to the store, Aya is asleep on my lap and I'm trying to figure out how I'm gonna get her home with this broken arm and he offers to walk us home. He lifts Aya up and puts her head on his shoulder and I know she's drooling a bit, but it doesn't seem to bother him. He radiates this goodness and warmth and safety; I don't even hesitate to invite him in for a cup of tea. He comes in long enough to put Aya on the couch, but doesn't stay. He wished us both well, and that was it. I took Aya to the park every day that week, hoping to see him again, but I didn't.

Until two weeks ago - I was making dinner and Aya was watching cartoons. I thought it was cartoons anway, when she yells -

"Mommy! That's the man who carried me home!"

And that's definitely him, there's no mistaking it. I shouldn't be letting a three year old watch this, but I can't look away either. All Might played with my Aya. All Might told me I was a good mother. All Might carried my daughter home. All Might is fighting for his life on my television right now.

I didn't know what love was until I held Aya in my arms. I didn't know what heroism was either, not until that night. Not until I connected two people together and realized they were the same person. I didn't know what a hero was until I realized that "hero" wasn't a title All Might put on and took off, it's something he IS, 24/7, on and off the clock. I'd live the rest of my life with a broken arm if I could have half of the strength and kindness that exists in this man, if I could be even a fraction of the person he is.

I think about him every day. I got an All Might keychain, so I'd always have something close by to remind me that heroism isn't always about punching villains and holding up buildings; sometimes, heroism is about talking to a stranger. Sometimes, heroism is about pushing a swing.

Sometimes, heroism is about carrying a little girl home.

[frauleinsmaria]

Signed, Sealed, Delivered {1/1}

Summary: Emma is frustrated with where she's at in life, and even more frustrated with her job as a retail manager. Killian is the UPS driver who starts making deliveries at her workplace. And maybe, somehow, their brief interactions every week mean more to each other than they ever expected.

Rated T, includes references to sexual misconduct.

A/N: Kicking off @csseptembersunshine with this story I’ve been sitting on for a while! Just for clarification, the premise was based on my job as a retail manager, and the sleazy UPS driver I have to deal with on a regular basis. So, of course, I had to write a fic where Emma is me but instead gets the hot, polite driver me and my coworkers have always wanted. I know it’s a little weird, but I am pretty proud of the end result, and I hope you enjoy reading it!

Major thanks to @thejollyroger-writer and @scientificapricot for providing beta duties, @shireness-says for the title and the store name (I’m letting you name everything for me now), and @let-it-raines for bringing up the “frost yourself” thing and inspiring the rom-com element. You’re all fantastic humans, and I appreciate you immensely. 

Also on AO3

-/-

Tuesdays were the worst. That’s how everyone seemed to feel about Mondays, but Emma didn’t mind those quite so much. After getting her one guaranteed day off every week on Sunday, it was a bit easier to come into work the next morning, semi-well rested and ready for a new week.

The same couldn’t be said for Tuesdays, though. Retail was far from booming at the first of the week (which Emma understood; shopping wasn’t exactly high on her list of priorities until the weekend.) Any project Elsa or Anna gave her to work on was usually simple and completed within a relatively short amount of time. So that often left her with far too much time with nothing to do but refold the same shirts, wipe down the same counters, and scroll through the same posts on her Instagram feed while waiting for business to come or her shift to end.

Emma was grateful for her job at Crystalline. She’d been looking for a new job for almost six months when Mary Margaret suggested she reach out to the Frost sisters to ask if they needed an additional cashier at their boutique during the previous holiday season. And after working there for three months, Elsa and Anna offered her a promotion to become their assistant manager. She hadn’t hesitated before accepting. Not only would the position come with a small raise, but also additional responsibilities to help her feel like she had a purpose in a season of life that seemed so monotonous and uncertain.

Turns out, though, there weren’t really a lot of added responsibilities she didn’t already have as a cashier. Sure, she had a key to the store and acted as the manager on duty for a few hours every day before or after Elsa and Anna’s shifts. And she could tell one of the part-time employees to do something and be taken a bit more seriously. Sometimes. But unless it was around a holiday or a weekend that brought in a significant amount of business, Emma found herself spending most of the day trying to conceal her boredom. The store was a typical boutique that sold mostly women’s clothes, shoes, and accessories, meaning there were significantly less tasks and responsibilities than she’d have being a manager at a corporate store.

The store had been open for less than an hour, and she was on her third cup of her coffee and hot cocoa mix since arriving earlier to open. It was only she and Jasmine working this morning, since Anna had taken the day off to celebrate her husband’s birthday with him, and Elsa didn’t come in until after lunch since she would be closing tonight.

Emma took her thermos to the front of the store and propped herself up against a rack of overpriced shirts. (They sold few things in Crystalline that she could afford at full price. Thank goodness for her employee discount at least.) It was her typical method of trying to look like an attentive supervisor when she was too tired to walk around or even stand straight up. No one had yet to call her out on it, which she took as a sign she was doing something right.

Jasmine stood in the middle of the sales floor by the cash registers, dusting and wiping down every surface regardless of whether it actually needed to be done. Emma hadn’t had the heart to tell her she was saving that as part of her personal list of things to do to keep her preoccupied later when Jasmine left for the day. But they’d had a grand total of two customers since opening, a pair of older ladies who looked around for approximately thirty seconds before leaving. She couldn’t blame Jasmine for wanting to stay busy.

While Jasmine dusted the jewelry counters, Emma sipped her now lukewarm drink and composed a mental list of everything that needed to be taken care of after work. A trip to the grocery store was unavoidable; she’d put it off for too long now and had been stuck with peanut butter crackers for breakfast as a result. The clothes she’d washed and dried the day before needed to be folded and put away. And she needed to write. Even if it was only a few hundred words based off of a random prompt she found online. Something was better than nothing, and nothing was all she’d done lately when it came to any of her stories.

“Five hundred words,” she muttered to herself. “You just write five hundred words tonight, and you can start the new season of Queer Eye.” Priorities. Some days she had to take motivation wherever she could find it.

The next half hour or so elapsed with little activity other than overhearing Leroy yell at Deputy Humbert across the street over what sounded like a parking ticket. It was mid July, and Emma could make out the sweat beading on Leroy’s brow if she concentrated enough. (At least she did have the bonus of being in an air conditioned space all day.)

To be fair, he knew damn well not to park his truck in front of a fire hydrant. Part of Emma couldn’t help but feel for Graham as Leroy hurled insults at him, even though thinking about him came with an inevitable feeling of discomfort now. The two of them had gone out a handful of times a few months prior. Each date had been a bit worse than the last as she came to realize she had zero romantic interest whatsoever for Graham, but hadn’t known how to say as much without hurting him. The moment she came clean was incredibly awkward, and he had avoided her ever since, something easier said than done in a small town. It didn’t help that she was close friends with the sheriff and his wife, meaning Graham was often mentioned when David shared recent stories about work at their weekly dinners together.

Her attention was taken away from Leroy and Graham with the arrival of the UPS truck outside. Emma sat her coffee to the side and went to prop open the door for the driver, more than familiar with this routine after her seven months on the job. They received deliveries several times a week, packages containing everything from new merchandise to supplies and equipment for the store. The days on which these deliveries happened varied by the order date and shipping location, but they almost always took place later in the morning following any drop-offs to Dark Star pharmacy and Storybrooke’s Animal Shelter up the road.

Emma heard the truck’s back door open as she used her foot to set up the door stopper. She hoped today’s drop off would be quick. Over the past few months, deliveries had been made by the same man —  Walsh, she thought she remembered hearing — who went out of his way to hit on her, calling her “baby” and “sweetheart” and sticking around to make uncomfortable conversation that she wanted no part in.

She’d come close to calling him out for it several times. Telling him “Ms. Swan is just fine, thank you,” or that she needed to get back to work. But it was the fact that she was working that always stopped her. There were a number of ways he could react to being told off. She had learned the hard way how badly men could react if their advances were rejected. Emma was hesitant to cause a scene in front of customers, despite knowing Elsa and Anna would take her side should anything happen. The joys of being a woman in retail.

Stepping back from the door, she glanced up to see the man pushing a hand truck stacked with boxes in her direction. The reluctant “Good morning” she’d prepared for Walsh died on her lips as she took him in. Because this wasn’t Walsh.

The man wearing the standard brown button up and matching pants had never made a delivery to the store, at least not during one of her shifts. She would have remembered his head of dark, messy hair and blue eyes that met her own as he reached the store’s entrance.

“Good morning, lass.”

Of course he would be English to boot. It was almost unfair.

“Morning,” she replied, trying to sound nonchalant.

“This is my first run in this part of town, but I do believe I’m at the right place.”

“If it’s 723G Greene Street, then it’s ours.” She noticed the familiar logo printed on the side of the cardboard boxes. “Unless there’s another clothing store I don’t know about nearby that also sells Steve Madden.” This must have been the new sneakers Elsa mentioned ordering a few weeks earlier.

“Aye. What I saw of the pharmacy and the animal shelter makes me think anything here wouldn’t fit well.” He gestured around the storefront. “Where would you like these?”

Emma stepped back and nodded to an open space at the window. “Here’s fine. We’ll probably need to make some room in the back office before they’ll fit with the rest of the new inventory.”

It was difficult not to stare while he stacked the boxes up where she’d indicated, the fitted uniform showing off the taut muscles in his arms and shoulders. (The pants suited him too. Not that she’d admit to paying attention.) When he’d finished, he unclipped a device from his belt and offered it to her. She’d done this enough times to know how it worked, quickly using the attached pen to scribble her last name on the blank line before handing it back.

“Thank you, Miss,” he glanced down at what she’d written, “Swan.” He smiled back up at Emma. “Quite the unique surname.”

She didn’t respond, only smiled politely as he clipped the device back to his belt and turned with the hand truck in the direction of the open door. It was better than, Thanks, I chose it myself, which was all she could think of to say. Not the best can of worms to open with a stranger.

He paused just before stepping out the door and turned back to Emma. “Perhaps I’ll be seeing you again? For future deliveries, I mean,” he added when her brow furrowed in confusion.

“Oh. Yeah. Maybe.” Such a smooth talker she was.

The man gave her a quick nod before exiting the store, a long list of delivery stops probably awaiting him. Emma watched from the window as he climbed back into his truck and drove off, disappearing around the corner.

Part of her mind was preoccupied with the fact that she’d never seen a UPS truck with its doors closed before. Shouldn’t that be a safety hazard? It was more than likely time efficient for deliveries, but she wasn’t sure if there was a point in saving time if your life was going to be threatened in the process. Storybrooke had its own breed of crazy drivers too.

The other part hoped the driver was right about seeing her again.

Emma thought about him more than she would like to admit over the next few days. The lilt of his accent, the lines around his eyes that crinkled when he’d smiled at her. She felt more than a little ridiculous for noticing such specific details after a single encounter lasting all of five minutes. If only she could have that level of concentration when it came to writing. She’d gone home that night and tried to muster up a few hundred words of something, anything. Instead she had stared at the blank screen in front of her and questioned if there was even any point.

Regardless, it was a poor decision to even give him more thought. She reminded herself of this as she went through her usual routine to open Crystalline again on Friday morning. The only information she had on the man was what he did for a living, and a vague idea of where he was from if the accent was anything to go by. For all she knew, he lived a nice, white-picket fence life with a partner, a few kids, and maybe a dog.

(He looked like a dog person. Emma believed that was something you could easily determine.)

And yet her pulse did something she refused to acknowledge when he entered the store around the same time that he’d come on Tuesday. There were several packages today, at least four or five stacked on the hand truck he pulled in behind him.

Emma approached him as he stacked the boxes at the normal spot by the window. “So you did make it back after all.”

He glanced up and her and smiled. “Indeed. It appears from the looks of it that this area is going to be part of my regular route for the time being. I hope that’s alright with you,” he added, one eyebrow inching toward his hairline. There was a hint of teasing in his remark, although it seemed to be genuine too.

It was more than alright with her eyes. Her nervous system, maybe not so much. “I think we can manage that. If you can deal with all this excitement.” She gestured to the empty store. He was the first person to enter that day besides Elsa and herself an hour earlier.

The smile on his face remained, thankfully. It would have been awkward had he not understood her sarcasm; that happened with Walsh a few times. “Sounds tricky. But I do love a challenge.”

Emma struggled with a response but came up short. If only he knew how many challenges she could present.

“Crystalline, eh?” he asked, glancing around the store. “Interesting choice. It means having the structure and form of a crystal, right?”

Was he a walking dictionary or something? “Uh, yeah, I think so. The owners’ last name is Frost, and they wanted to name the store something that went with it, so, like, ice crystals.”

“I see. It’s certainly an easy name for me to remember.”

“When Elsa first hired me, I made the joke that they should have gone with Frost Yourself since we sell jewelry, but she didn’t get the reference until I showed her a clip from the movie.”

“How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days?” he answered, as if on cue.

It seemed this man was full of surprises. “That’s the one.” What were the chances that she’d come across a guy who shared her love for mediocre rom coms from the early 2000s? She’d tried to watch Love Actually with Graham once; he’d yawned the whole time.

A moment of silence passed between them. Emma looked down at the device she still held and realized he was waiting for her to sign for the delivery. Of course he wasn’t standing there to make idle conversation, he had a job to get back to. Like the last time, she quickly signed on the screen and returned the device to him.

“Have a nice day, Miss Swan.”

“You too, um—” she paused, not wanting to call him “UPS guy” to his face.

“Killian Jones.” She took his hand when he offered it. But instead of shaking hers, he briefly brought it to his lips.

Emma took a sharp intake of breath that she hoped wasn’t audible. The only time she’d ever seen a man kiss a woman’s hand was in one of those period movies Mary Margaret made her watch every now and then.  

But she didn’t necessarily mind it. Maybe more men should take notes from their predecessors. Or rather, the actors playing them. Technicalities.

“Right. You too. Have a nice day, that is.”

He flashed her another smile before leaving. Emma watched him return to his truck, not hearing the footsteps coming up behind her.

“I didn’t realize we were getting so friendly with the new UPS driver.”

She jumped and turned to see Elsa, who sported a knowing grin. “Clearly that paperwork didn’t take as long to get through as you’d expected.”

“No, and I’m glad,” said Elsa. “Otherwise I would have missed your little interaction just now.”

“What was there to miss? He just dropped off a few packages, one of which I hope is wrapping paper refills. Regina wasn’t exactly nice a few days ago when I explained that we only had two options for her to choose from, and neither were red.”

“She should just be grateful she got it wrapped for free. Beggars can’t be choosers. But back to my point,” Elsa continued. “He kissed your hand, and you looked like you wanted to devour him.”

Oh no. “Did I really?”

“I don’t blame you; he’s gorgeous. Although I can’t exactly allow said devouring to take place on the sales floor, even though it would probably add some much needed excitement to our day.”

“Ha ha.” She hope Elsa wouldn’t notice her cheeks reddening; it would only make the teasing worse. And she had been one of the few people who never tried to set Emma up with someone or meddle in her love life. “Don’t even get started with me about Killian, though. He’s just our UPS driver. I’ll probably see him for a collective five minutes a week max.”

“If you say so. But if you have a chance at any time during those five minutes, can you find out if he has a brother?”

Anna’s head popped up from behind the shoe fixture she’d been reorganizing. “Who has a brother? Is he cute?”

“You’re married,” Emma and Elsa reminded her in unison.

Anna rolled her eyes. “That doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate a nice face. I’ll make it a point to be lurking the next time I see him come by.”

Despite Elsa’s insistence, the chances of finding out anything else about Killian during his deliveries were minimal. Something told Emma it wasn’t a great idea to play twenty questions while he was trying to unload packages.

At least she had a name to put with the face now. A very nice face (thanks, Anna) that she thought about often that night while she ate pretzels and watched Pride & Prejudice without any prompting from Mary Margaret. She even added a few paragraphs to one of her old short story drafts afterward. Maybe something was changing.

But even if the perceptions she’d inadvertently made were inaccurate, even if she knew more about him (or even knew him well), that didn’t mean getting to know him more than necessary was the best idea for either of them. She already received enough pity or disdain — sometimes both —from everyone else in Storybrooke. The girl who moved back home after a horrendous breakup no one knew the details of. The unsuccessful college student who’d dropped out her junior year to find herself working retail to keep a roof over her head. If only they knew.

So, yes, it was better to keep her distance. No matter what her pulse did when she saw him approaching. Or when he’d kissed her hand. Distance was best for everyone.

But distance was tricky to maintain when someone frequently came to the place where she spent most of her time. Killian made deliveries twice the following week, and three times during the one after. (Thankfully, those deliveries always happened while Elsa and Anna were busy elsewhere.) Each of their additional encounters were similar to the first, brief but with enough friendly conversation that only made her want to know more about him: What made him start driving with UPS? When had he moved to America and why? What did he like to binge watch on Netflix? Was he single?

That last question wasn’t one Emma truly needed answered. She was just curious. They were getting somewhat friendly, and friends knew these things about each other. Didn’t they?

Regardless, something about Killian Jones captivated her in a way she couldn’t explain. And she wasn't sure just how to feel about it.

As summer ended, the new fall merchandise quickly began arriving. Their tank tops and sandals were replaced with sweaters and boots Killian brought in, not to mention beanies, scarves, and jackets Emma knew she would take advantage of once the temperature dropped. On one of the first cool mornings, Killian made his delivery wearing a standard UPS jacket over his regular uniform. How he still managed to make the bulky brown option look good was something she couldn’t understand.

The two of them continued to make casual conversation when he came by, often on a number of different topics depending on the day. There was one Wednesday morning she’d worn a blush colored blouse and he made the comment that he was glad she’d remembered to wear pink. And another day when something he said reminded her of that one quote from Legally Blonde. It seemed he shared her affinity for 2000s rom coms after all. She would have to ask him about that sometime when she wasn’t overthinking every one of their interactions.

One of the biggest downfalls to retail was working almost every weekend. Emma seldom, if ever, had a Friday night or Saturday free without requesting to be off several weeks in advance. She didn’t always mind. It wasn’t as if she had a long list of prospective plans to keep her busy. And even when she did have to work, her friends occasionally talked her into doing something after the store closed, regardless of how exhausted she was or how much she’d be kicking herself for it in the morning.

Her free Saturday in October just so happened to be the weekend of Ruby’s thirtieth birthday. Her friend typically liked to do something big for the day, like a trip down to Boston or New York. This year, however, Ruby had surprised everyone by asking that they meet up at The Rabbit Hole. Her and Mulan’s wedding was the next Sunday, and they both were too swamped with the last of the wedding planning for her to feel up to doing more.

Emma found herself sitting between Mulan and Belle at the large table they’d chosen in the middle of the bar, sipping at her drink as her friends teased Ruby about being another year older.

“You do realize you’re two years older than she is, don’t you?” she reminded David after he made a joke about people in their thirties, which also should have applied to him.

He shrugged. “That’s beside the point. It’s not my birthday.”

“No. But it will be in three months, which means I’m gonna start preparing all kinds of old man jokes for you now.”

“Why do I have the feeling my wife is going to join you on that?”

“Because I most definitely am,” Mary Margaret piped up from her seat on his other side.

As much as she preferred staying home in front of the TV on her nights off, Emma had to admit it was nice getting to go out and have fun without waking up early for work the next morning. Most of the people who’d shown up to celebrate Ruby were ones she hadn’t seen in far too long.

It was hard to ignore how Graham insisted on keeping his distance from her, sitting at the far end of the table and looking away if she merely glanced in his general direction. But if that was how he chose to act, then fine. She’d done her best to break things off as amicably as possible; it wasn’t her fault he’d chosen to become so bitter.

They’d been at the bar a little over an hour when two men entered the room. The one in front, blue eyed with dark curly hair, glanced over at their table, a look of recognition in his eyes when he caught sight of David. Her friend waved him over, and it was only when he started approaching that Emma got a look at the person he’d arrived with.

“Killian?”

He did a double take when he saw her, eyes widening before his lips parted into a wide grin. “Hello, Swan.”

The other man paused in the middle of the conversation he’d just started with David and looked between the two of them. “Little brother, you two know each other?”

Emma could see the resemblance now that the relationship was clarified: Killian and his brother didn’t look identical by any means, but they had they same defined cheekbones and blue eyes, although Killian’s were still bluer somehow, probably a result of the dark blue button down shirt he wore.

(It was a bit odd to see him in something besides his standard brown uniform. Not that she was complaining. Not at all.)

“Liam, you ought to know by now that there are few people in town I haven't made deliveries to at some point or another. Emma works at Crystalline.”

“The one the Frost sisters own?” It was hard to miss the way the man — Liam, she supposed — perked up at the mention of her bosses.

“Yes, that’s the one Elsa owns, since I know that’s what you were really asking.”

Well, this was interesting. Elsa had no idea that she was onto something when she’d joked about Killian having a brother.

She turned back to David and Liam. “So, how do you two know each other?”

“Liam’s daughter is in Leo’s class at school,” David explained. “I hear stories about Harper every day. He loves her.”

“Bloody hell, don’t tell me that! I thought I had at least another decade before she and I would have to discuss boys.”

The two of them continued to chat about their children while Emma became fixated on Killian again. She wanted to say something to him, but what? That it was nice to see him outside of her workplace? She hated forced small talk and didn’t want to trap either of them in an awkward conversation.

She went back to what David had just said about Liam having a daughter, and the comments he and Killian had made that hinted he was interested in Elsa. A quick glance at his left hand showed that he wasn’t wearing a ring, but that didn’t necessarily mean much. Could she broach the subject to Killian without appearing to cross a line? Elsa may be her boss, but Emma also considered her a friend. Maybe she was sticking her nose where it didn’t belong, but she’d want someone to do the same for her and spot any potential red flags.

Emma’s train of thought was broken by Mulan getting up and walking over to the jukebox. Soon, the opening notes of “Single Ladies” played from the speakers, and Mulan came back over to drag Ruby to dance.

Emma glanced back at Killian. He looked somewhat shy standing there alone, one hand in the front pocket of his jeans and the other scratching behind his ear. Liam had clearly abandoned him for a conversation with David, probably discussing Leo’s intentions with his daughter.

“You can have a seat if you want,” she told him, nodding to the now empty seat beside her. “Something tells me the lovebirds won’t be coming back any time soon.”

“Something tells me you’re right. I’d hate to be a bother though,” he added, seeming to notice the space (or lack thereof) between the now empty seat and her own.

“No bother. Plus, the bar stools here are ridiculously uncomfortable.”

“I can’t argue with that.”

It wasn’t until he sat down beside her that Emma was aware of just how tightly the chairs had been packed around their small table. Killian’s right thigh and shoulder were nearly pressed against her own. It normally would not have been a situation she’d object to, but she now realized how much personal space she was sharing with an attractive man she barely knew (and had embarrassed herself in front of on at least one occasion.)

“I can’t get over the irony of Mulan choosing a song that basically celebrates being single to dance with her fiancee to,” Emma blurted out when it occurred to her. “And a few weeks before their wedding at that.”

“Something tells me she’s too inebriated to care considering they’ve made their own dance floor in a bar that doesn’t actually have one.”

“Touche.”

They both laughed. Maybe making conversation with him outside of work was easier than she’d assumed.  

“I take it you have the night off?” he asked. “Not to sound intrusive; I just noticed the list of store hours on one of my last deliveries.”

“I do. Saturday’s off are few and far between for me, so I try to make the most of them. Tonight, that’s celebrating my friend’s birthday even though she’s clearly done paying attention to any of us.” They both glanced back over at Mulan and Ruby, who had started slow dancing in the middle of the room. Emma wouldn’t be surprised if they made an excuse to leave soon, Ruby’s birthday celebration be damned.

“I understand about your weekends,” said Killian. “I’m lucky enough to have a fairly regular work schedule, but Liam is an ER nurse on top of being a single father, so his free time is quite limited. He’s great at his job and an even better dad, but I like to make sure he gets to go out and do something for his own enjoyment every now and then.”

His comment about Liam being single cleared her earlier suspicion. She didn’t feel comfortable asking what had happened to his niece’s mother, so they discussed the child herself instead. Emma learned that Harper was four years old and already a spitfire, keeping both Liam and Killian on their toes at any given moment. She found out that the two of them had moved from England to the States as teenagers, where Liam went to nursing school and Killian enlisted in the Navy.

“How long have you been driving?”

“About two years. I did some truck driving in the Navy and was able to get my CDL while I was still enlisted. It wasn’t my dream career field by any means, but it paid decently, not to mention it wouldn’t keep me confined to the same cubicle or office all week long. I applied at UPS because I didn’t like the idea of being gone for days at a time on a regular basis. This way, I get most weekends and holidays off, and have an idea of what time I’ll arrive home every night.”

“Seems like you’ve got a decent arrangement there then.”

“Aye. I like having a consistent schedule most of the time. The driving helps clear my head when I need it to.” He paused and Emma saw what looked like a frown tugging at the corner of his lips. “But enough about me. I’ve gathered next to nothing about you so far. Well, other than the fact that I interrupt your work day at least twice per week, sometimes more, but I don’t think that counts.”

He clearly didn’t want to discuss whatever it was driving helped clear his head from. “You say that like it’s a bad thing. If I’m being honest, your ‘interruptions’ are a nice, albeit brief, distraction from the monotony that just causes me to question what I’m doing there.”

The frown reappeared. “You don’t like your job?”

“I wouldn’t say I dislike it. Elsa and Anna are great. It’s nice knowing I get the same day off every week. And I save forty-two percent on my shoes.”

“But?”

She shrugged. “I mean, that’s about it. Nothing ever happens. It’s not that we don’t get business or anything, but it’s not the kind of store people feel the need to come into on a regular basis, like Target or something. I spend most of my shift being bored. Which really just gives me more time to think about where I’m at in life — more like where I’m not at in life —  and how unfulfilled I am with, well, everything.”

She hadn’t expected to open that can of worms tonight, but once she started, it was hard to hold back everything she’d been keeping to herself for months now.

“I take it retail wasn’t your first choice when it came to finding a career?”

“Far from it.” She laughed dryly. “I was a creative writing major in college. So many people in Storybrooke gave me hell about it, said I’d never be able to do anything with my degree. But I didn’t care. I just loved writing and knew that’s what I wanted to do with my life. Until my junior year anyway.”

“What happened then?”

“I took an upper level Writing Fiction course during the fall semester. I was really excited about it because the professor was a fairly successful author, and I’d always had a conflict with another class before that kept me from taking anything with him. To make a long story short, the class was great at first. I got along well with the professor, and he seemed to like the projects I turned in for him. He liked my boyfriend’s projects even more.”

She forced down the lump forming in her throat and took a quick sip of her beer. Talking about Neal became a bit less difficult over time, but that didn’t mean it was easy either. “He was a writing student too. We met sophomore year in an intro creative writing course. I fell for him right away despite all the warning signs: he cut class a lot, was disrespectful to me — to all women, for that matter — and thought he could get away with anything because his dad was loaded. But, despite all this, he told me he loved me. And I fell for it.

“Anyway, back to the class we had together. I noticed every now and then that the professor would make a comment or say something overly friendly that felt a lot like flirting. I never brought it up with Neal outside of class since I thought he’d tell me I was overreacting.” Emma now saw the fact that she thought that way about him should have been a red flag in itself. “So, the end of the semester comes around. Our final was to write a short story. We turned them in to him before classes ended and then were supposed to come by his office during finals week to pick them up to see our grade and hear any comments he had for us.”

She paused to take a long sip of her drink. She had told this story a handful of times since it happened, but the next part never got much easier to share. “I went by as soon as his office hours started. I had worked really hard on the story I submitted — like, spent weeks planning and pulled several all-nighters to write hard. Anyway, I get to his office and he tells me to take a seat. I figured he wanted to talk to me about the story. And he did...for a few minutes anyway.”

Killian listened as she told him about the professor quickly changing the subject and talking instead about how much he'd enjoyed having Emma as part of his class. How he'd enjoyed it so much that he came over and put a hand on her knee while making the comment that he thought he would enjoy having her in other environments too. “I bolted. I was so scared of what he might do; I never even found out what my grade was. Not that it really mattered in retrospect.”

“Bloody wanker,” Killian muttered. “I’m glad you got away from him when you did. What happened after that?”

“I went to Neal. I ran straight to his apartment and told him everything, thinking he would at least try to, y’know, help me or be supportive or something.” Emma shook her head and laughed dryly. To think she was naive enough to think he’d react differently than he actually did. “He accused me of making it all up. He said I was jealous that he and the professor got on so well, and that I came up with a story to have attention on me instead. To top it all off, he said I was a shitty writer who would never amount to anything outside of school.”

There was a sour expression on Killian’s face. “Please tell me you broke up with him.”

“I did.” She sighed and smiled sadly to herself. “The damage was done though. I withdrew from school and left the city as soon as I could. I came back to Storybrooke and had intended to only stay for a few months and then reapply somewhere else, but I never got around to it for one reason or another.” One reason being the fear of being stuck with another sleazy professor. Another being how she’d constantly questioned her potential as a writer since those comments from Neal. She wasn’t sure she could risk the time, energy, and funds required to go back to school if it was all just going to crash and burn for her in the end. It was also why making progress on any story had felt like pulling teeth ever since.

She hated that he and his words still got to her like they did almost eight years later.

“I’m sorry you were treated so terribly in both circumstances. Truly.” Something about the way his eyes softened as she’d spoken made her believe he wasn’t just speaking out of pity. It seemed that he genuinely cared. “And perhaps I’m overstepping here since I’m simply the man who makes deliveries to your workplace, but from what I’ve gathered over the past few weeks, you appear to be a strong, compassionate, and capable woman who can do anything she sets her mind to. Whether it be venturing into another career field or going back to school, I’m sure you’ll figure out what’s best for you and do it well.”

Emma stared at him for a moment, too dumbfounded to speak. She had just poured her heart out to a man who still felt like little more than an acquaintance. And yet he wasn’t judging her, criticizing her, or even looking at her like she’d lost her mind, and she would have normally expected as much. But Killian seemed to get it: her past and her fears that the future would be no different.  

She found herself thinking that maybe Killian Jones had come to understand her more during their first lengthy conversation than anyone else had in years.

The idea didn’t scare her nearly as much as it once would have.

As fate would have it, Killian came by Crystalline with a delivery first thing the following Monday morning. She’d spent most of the weekend both taking his words to heart and wondering if he’d act differently after their conversation. But, to her relief, he entered the store with the same smile on his face she’d become used to seeing with his arrival.

“Good morning, Swan.”

“Morning. What have you got for us today?” There were three or four boxes stacked on his hand truck.

“Oh, this is just the first load. There’s at least seven more where those came from.”

Emma quickly helped him move the boxes to their normal waiting place by the door while he went to retrieve the rest of their packages. She knew the rest of their winter merchandise for the holidays was supposed to arrive soon, but she hadn’t expected so much of it to come at once. She, Elsa, and Anna were going to have a whole lot of fun sorting it out over the next few days.

She stood there feeling somewhat awkward as he finished unloading, wanting to say something to him about the other night at the bar, but not knowing exactly what. She was still contemplating it when she signed for the delivery. “What do you call this thing, anyway?” she asked. “I’ve just been calling it ‘UPS device thing’ in my head, but I’m sure there’s a technical term for it.”

Killian chuckled. “It’s called a diad. Stands for Delivery Information Acquisition Device — so you weren’t too far off.”

“Huh. Maybe I should come work with you then, considering I already know so much about how things work.”

“I’d certainly prefer you to some of the ride alongs I’ve had before. Remind me to tell you about what happened on Will Scarlet’s first day sometime.”

“Will do,” she confirmed, handing the device —  diad —  back to Killian. He clipped it back to his belt and was turning to leave when she spoke up. “Killian?”

“Yes, love?”

“Are we friends? Sorry,” she continued when his eyebrow shot up to his hairline. “It’s just that we see each other pretty regularly and I actually enjoy our conversations, and you let me spill my guts to you Saturday night without judging me and that seems like something a friend would do. But for all I know, you might not even want to be my friend. Which makes this really awkward and—”

“Hey,” he interrupted. “I would like nothing more than to be friends with you, Swan. Truthfully, I’ve thought of you as a friend for some time now. And it’s nice —  no one else I know has the same penchant for cocoa and romantic comedies.”

“I’m one of a kind, I guess.”

“That you are.”

“Will I see you at the wedding this weekend?”

“Aye. Liam and I will both be attending, him more so not to let Ruby down.” Another fact Emma had learned at the bar was that Liam and Ruby were classmates in nursing school and had remained friends since. “Weddings haven’t exactly been one of his favorite social events since Harper’s mother passed.”

Emma’s heart sank. She’d never been married, but could only imagine what it felt like to attend an event where people celebrated the very thing you’d lost. It may have stung when Neal turned his back on her, but she knew it had to be worse when someone was taken away unexpectedly, leaving you to wonder how much more time you could have had together.

“I get that,” she told Killian. “He’s really lucky to have you around, though.”

The responding smile he gave her didn’t reach his eyes. He glanced back to the stack of boxes he’d brought instead. “Yes, well. If that’s the last of it, I’m afraid I have to keep going. Goodbye, Swan.”

Emma stood there frozen and perplexed as she watched him go. Had something she said about him or Liam that struck a nerve? The thought nagged at her over the next few days, causing her to wonder if she’d unknowingly caused some kind of problem just minutes after confirming their friendship.

But when he arrived for their next delivery on Thursday morning, he was himself, charming and witty as ever. Emma was glad to see him act as if nothing had changed, but she knew there was much left to learn about Killian Jones.

Ruby and Mulan’s wedding took place on Sunday afternoon in the yard behind their house. The space had been adorned with fall decor in various shades of orange, yellow, and of course, Ruby’s signature red. The ceremony itself was simple, no wedding party or long introduction from the officiant. But the vows were touching and heartfelt. Emma found herself wiping her eyes more than once at both women’s words, and then again when they were pronounced as each other’s wives.

The reception that followed the ceremony, however, was anything but simple. There was a great deal of food, music, and alcohol, not unlike the celebration they’d had for Ruby’s birthday the weekend before. There was, however, a makeshift dance floor set up in the yard, where the brides once again ignored everyone else while they alternated between slow dancing and spinning each other around in circles. (Funny enough, no one was playing “Single Ladies” this time.)

Emma sat at one of the round tables placed around the dance floor, eating what may or may not have been her second slice of wedding cake while she and her girl friends chatted about a handful of different things: the recipe Mary Margaret had recently found for chocolate coconut brownies, what they’d each been watching on Netflix, and the town’s upcoming fall festival.

“Speaking of approaching events, I do believe someone has a birthday soon,” said Belle, glancing toward Emma, a warm smile on her face.

She wasn’t sure whether to smile back or sigh in defeat. Her birthday was on Wednesday, but it wasn’t something she enjoyed celebrating nearly as much as someone like Ruby or her other friends. And everyone knew this, although their knowledge on the reason why was minimal.

What was the point in celebrating a day that only reminded her of what she didn’t have? Because, in spite of any gifts or attention her friends might try to shower her with, she was never able to focus on anything but what the day signified and the questions she may never have answers to. The main one being why was she abandoned outside of Storybrooke just after (if not on) the day in question.

She forced down the lump quickly forming in her throat. Her friends’ wedding was the last place she wanted to reopen those old wounds. “I need more punch!” she announced, getting to her feet. “Anyone else?” Not waiting to hear anyone’s answers, she took her mostly full cup to the punch bowl at a table on the other side of the yard.

Emma topped off her drink and grabbed a handful of crackers she didn’t actually want just to appear preoccupied. She didn’t feel up for going back to her seat just yet.

Then it hit her: she had yet to come across Killian or his brother. Hadn’t he said they were coming?

A hand tapped Emma’s shoulder just as she began looking through the crowd for a familiar face. She turned to see bright blue eyes and that smile she’d become so partial to. “Hello, Swan.”

All of the tension seemed to leave her when he said her name. “Hey, Killian.” He wore a well-fitting navy suit with a crisp white shirt. How he kept finding things to wear that made his eyes look even more blue was lost to her. “Nice ceremony, huh?”

“Aye. I believe that was the most enthusiastic kiss I’ve ever witnessed at a wedding.”

“This is Ruby we’re talking about. There was little chance of her keeping things PG, wedding or not.”

“A valid point.”

He looked over to her friends’ table where she’d been sitting earlier. “I hope I’m not keeping you from your friends. I’d been looking for you and wanted to speak while I had a moment.”

“No, you’re not. I was honestly trying to avoid them. Let’s just say they’d brought up a subject I wasn’t up for discussing today,” she continued at his questioning look‍.

“That’s certainly understandable. In that case, I’m willing to distract you for as long as you may need it.”

“Okay, weird question. Your brother’s here, right?”

“He is. Although I’m not quite sure why you think that’s an odd thing to ask.”

“Well, that’s what I was getting to. I got the idea at The Rabbit Hole last week that he has a thing for Elsa?”

“That’s an understatement. Liam has been absolutely smitten since he was introduced to her at the Miner’s Day celebration back in the spring. But I don’t believe he’s made much of an effort to get to know her. He’s never come out and said as much to me, but thanks to a few bad experiences he’s had with dating over the past few years, it seems he thinks that she wouldn’t be interested since he has a child.’

She wasn’t sure just how to respond to that, mostly because she understood. The more a person had lost and been hurt, the harder it became to open your heart back up to something (or, in this case, someone) new again. And, truly, she didn’t know how Elsa would feel about potentially dating a single father. But she did know that both she and Liam deserved to be happy.

“I obviously can't speak for Elsa or her feelings, but I can put in a good word for Liam if you don't think he'd mind me intervening.”

(Had she gone and turned into Mary Margaret?)

Killian's answering smile made her stomach swoop in a way that had nothing to do with the amount of alcohol in the punch. He was just unfairly attractive and she liked seeing him happy, that was all. “I think he'd appreciate that quite a bit. And even if he did mind, I'm sure he wouldn't anymore if it works in his favor.”

She returned to her table a moment later, this time taking the empty chair next to Elsa rather than the one she'd been sitting in before. “Hey. So, I have a question.”

“Sure. What is it?”

“You remember that day when you saw Killian for the first time and you made that comment about him having a brother?”

Elsa glanced at her and raised a perfectly shaped eyebrow. “I’m listening.”

“Well, you're in luck. He does have an older brother, Liam. Apparently you met him at the Miner’s Day festival.”

“Wait, that Liam? He's Killian’s brother?”

“So you remember him?”

“Yes, I do. I just remember thinking there had to be some kind of catch for him to be so good looking, a wife or a criminal past or something.”

“There's no criminal past that I know of, and no wife. But he is a widower and a dad to a little girl. Would you be okay with that?”

Elsa pursed her lips. “It's not something I've given much thought to. I don't think I've ever dated someone with a kid before. But if he’s a good guy, and a good dad to his daughter,  I see no reason to object.”

“I was hoping you’d say something like that.” She looked back over to where she’d left Killian at the punch bowl, where he now stood talking to Liam. Smiling at Elsa, she nodded in their direction. “He’s over there with Killian now if you want an excuse to go get another drink. You kind of know Killian already from the store, and something tells me it won’t be hard for you to get introduced.”

Her smile grew as Elsa’s face lit up. “I am getting thirsty. If you’ll excuse me.” She stood and went over to the brothers, not even remembering to take her cup with her.  

Emma watched as she spoke to Killian first, then turned to Liam, obviously feigning ignorance. Killian’s gestures indicated he was making introductions between the two of them. She couldn’t see Liam’s face since his back was turned to her, but Killian shot her a wink that said all she needed to know.                                                                                            

She eagerly anticipated hearing details about the meeting from Elsa at work the next day, not wanting to ask intrusive questions, but hoping her boss would choose to bring it up. All she mentioned was that Liam was “just as charming as his brother” and had made a comment about hoping he’d see her at the town’s fall festival the night before Halloween. But there was color to her cheeks and a gleam in her eye when she spoke of it.

Killian’s first delivery of the week happened on Wednesday, the day Emma turned twenty-eight. Per her request, Elsa and Anna had kept the surprises minimal, although there was a cupcake in the break room she looked forward to eating on her lunch break. Chocolate was a hard thing to object, even if she objected everything else about the day in question.

Seeing the familiar truck turn the corner, Emma went to open the front door and wait for Killian as she usually did. Was it weird for her to do that? She was just trying to make his delivery easier. And maybe she looked forward to seeing him. Because they were friends.

It was odd not to see him pulling in a hand truck, but instead carrying a single package. “Good morning, love.”

“Hey. Is that all today?”

“Aye. Don’t be alarmed, though. I’m sure I’ll have at least a dozen for you next time.”

“You’re probably right.” She took the package from him, looking for a name on the return address. It was just boring office supplies.

Checking to make sure Elsa wasn’t out on the floor, she asked “Has Liam said anything about Sunday? My boss is being minimal with the details.”

Killian barked out a laugh. “My brother has been anything but minimal. I haven’t heard him speak of anything else since. I’d give him hell about it if I wasn’t so glad to see him happy, even if they’ve only had one real conversation together.”

“Sometimes one conversation might be all it takes.”

It was when she was signing her name on the diad (and feeling proud of herself for remembering it’s actual name) that the idea came to her. “Killian? Are you doing anything tonight?”

He considered it for a moment. “Nothing besides going home after my shift and finding something on TV to entertain me for a bit. Why do you ask?”

“Would you maybe want to come over and watch a movie? As friends,” she quickly added, hoping he wouldn’t detect any desperation in her voice. “I was going to order pizza and find something to watch, and just figured it would be nice to have the company. I mean, don’t feel obligated or anything if you have something better to do. I just thought I’d offer.”

His following silence and perplexed expression were enough to make her regret asking. She’d made it clear that it was meant to be strictly friendly, but maybe the invitation still hadn’t come across the way she’d wanted it to.

But then after what felt like an eternity (probably a few seconds in actuality), a grin broke out across his face. “I would like nothing more, Swan. As long as you’re sure I wouldn’t be imposing on you.”

“Of course not. You’ll probably be doing me a favor by not making me eat the pizza alone since I can never finish it all and get stuck with leftovers for, like, five days afterward.”

“In that case, I expected to be well-compensated for my assistance.”

She refused to let her mind run away with that idea in public. “We’ll see.”

Emma then remembered she didn’t have as much as a phone number for him. All of their interactions so far had been face to face. “Here.” She pulled her phone out of her back pocket, opened the screen to start a new text, and handed it to him. “Put your number in there, and I’ll text you my address. Not that it’s that hard to find in a town this small, but still. Six-thirty work for you?”

“Sounds great. I look forward to it.”

By that evening, she was equal parts excited and terrified. She’d spent most of the day wondering if inviting him over had been a mistake. Not because she didn’t want to spend time with him, but because of how many things could go wrong.

There was a knock on the door at six twenty-eight. Emma took a deep breath and went to answer it, glancing at herself in the hall mirror and hoping she didn’t look like she was having an internal crisis.

“You’re right on time.”

“Of course. It would be bad form to keep a lady waiting.”

“Honestly, where did you learn to talk like that?”

“A number of different places. My mum had a penchant for Jane Austen, for one. Liam and I were forced to sit through that bloody BBC series so many times I practically had it memorized by the time I was ten years old.” He rolled his eyes but laughed when he spoke.

At least she knew that’s where the hand kissing had come from. “I’m partial to the 2005 movie myself. What does she think about that one?”

Killian’s smile vanished. “I’m afraid I don’t know. She passed that same year.”

“Oh my gosh. Killian, I’m so-”

He dismissed the attempted apology. “It’s alright, Swan. You didn’t know. She was sick for quite some time, but she did ensure my grammar skills were impeccable.”

“That they are. And speaking of impeccable, the pizza place was running a special. So I got garlic knots too.” Food was her go to method for deflecting awkwardness, it seemed.

“You’re quickly learning the way to my heart.”

They settled onto opposite ends of her couch with the pizza box and bag of garlic knots between them, not even bothering with plates. Emma turned on the TV and opened Netflix. Her first suggestion was going to be Love Actually, but maybe something without Colin Firth would be a better option after what he’d just shared with her.

“I’ve learned without having to ask that 2000s rom coms seem to be a guilty pleasure for you too. Any suggestions?”

“I’m open to anything. Although I did see Love Actually was back on Netflix if you’re not one of those people who thinks it’s too early for Christmas movies.”

Huh. Maybe she’d been wrong. And maybe he was a mind reader.

“Are you kidding? It’s never too early for Christmas movies.”

“As I just said, you are learning the way to my heart.”

Almost everything she learned about Killian continued to surprise her. And there was so much more she wanted to know. How he took his coffee, what his favorite subject in school had been, if he spoke any other languages, topics he had strong opinions on. He was like an addictive prologue that made her want to stop and binge read the rest of the story.

They sat in comfortable silence for the first half hour or so of the movie, eating the pizza and garlic knots and occasionally making a comment about a specific scene or line.

“What’s your favorite storyline?” she asked him. “And please don’t say the Alan Rickman one, or I’ll be forced to question this friendship.”

“Of course not. He was a bloody wanker to his wife. No one deserves to be treated like that.”

“Okay, good. Friendship officially saved.”

He let out a dramatic sigh of relief. Emma laughed and rolled her eyes. “In all seriousness, however, I do quite like Jamie and Aurélia’s story. They’re able to fall in love despite an inability to communicate, and then he goes and learns another language for the sake of confessing his feelings. It’s quite romantic.”

Of all the things about Killian that she’d learned so far, this surprised her the least. Of course he’d be the romantic type, maybe not with flowers and chocolate and other material things, but in his actions, the things he would do to to show someone they were loved.

“What about you, Swan?” His voice broke her train of thought. “Your favorite storyline, I mean.”

Oh, right. They’d been having a conversation. “That’s easy. David and Natalie.”

“Because of Hugh Grant?” he teased.

“No. Because she got the kind of support I wanted when he found out about everything with the president.” He placed the blame where it was due and never expected the victim to take responsibility for a horrible man’s decisions.

Killian’s smile instantly faded. “Bloody hell. I’m sorry, love. I should have been more considerate.”

“No, it’s fine. Really,” she continued when he attempted to protest. “I mean, that whole situation in itself isn’t fine, but I know you didn’t mean anything by asking. It’s just...well, frankly, today’s not a great day for me and I guess it’s made me reflect on all of it a lot more than usual.”

He pursed his lips before he spoke. “Is there anything you’d like to talk about?”

Here goes nothing, she thought. “Well, today’s my birthday. I didn’t mention it before because it’s not something I really like having a lot of attention on. To be frank, I don’t have a family, I never have. I was found on the side of the road right after I was born and grew up in foster care. The only reason I was able to go to college was because I lucked out and got a scholarship through the high school. And you already know how that ended.

“Don’t get me wrong, I know I have a lot of great things in my life that I’m thankful for. I have friends who are like family to me. I have a job, that, despite my frustrations with it, still pays the bills and keeps me on my feet. But today makes it hard for me not to wonder where I could be now if things had gone differently. If my parents had kept me, if a family had wanted to adopt me, if my first love hadn’t been the kind of man to make me question every bit of my worth. Along with every other decision I’ve ever made.”

She turned to him. “I’m sorry to invite you over and then dump all of this on you. I honestly wasn’t intending on bringing any of it up. I just knew I didn’t want to be alone tonight, and, well, you seem to understand me a lot more than most people do.”

They sat in silence for a moment. Emma’s heart dropped and she felt her palms grow clammy. She’d finally done it. She’d said too much and was pushing him away without even trying.

Just as she was preparing a long, drawn out apology, Killian broke the silence. “You know Liam and I lost our mother. She took us and left our sorry excuse of a father when we were young, and we lived in Boston until she passed. Despite the fact that I was nearly grown, Liam felt as if he had to look out for me for years after. I enlisted in the Navy both because I couldn’t think of a better option after school, and so he could feel he had the freedom to go to nursing school like he’d always wanted.

“My first few years are a bit of a blur now. I was still consumed with grief over losing Mum, and turned to whatever I could to avoid facing it —  drinking, gambling, women. Whatever could distract me. Things went on like that until I met Milah when I was twenty-three and stationed on the West Coast. She was older, adventurous, free-spirited, everything my own demons kept me from being. She was also married, something I knew from the beginning but promptly ignored until I was in too deep.”

Emma listened as he explained how he received news that he would be transferred back to the northeast. How he’d gone to Milah and asked her to come with him so they could have a fresh start together. Instead, he’d been crushed when she objected —  despite whatever connection the two of them had, she couldn’t leave her husband and their life behind.

“And that was it. I assumed there was no chance of me convincing her otherwise, despite how much I wanted to. So I left and went on to my next post. I’d been there less than two weeks before I heard from one of my old mates that she’d been killed in a boating accident.”

If she’d thought her heart couldn’t sink any lower, she was wrong. “Oh, Killian.”

“I was a wreck for months. I told myself if I’d tried harder, if I’d fought for us, that she might have come with me and would have still been alive. The only thing that kept me from spiraling back into grief was Liam. When he found out, he threatened to leave school to make sure I didn’t go off the deep end. I knew I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I got in the way of his dream. And I started driving. I can’t explain how or why, but being out on the road gave me the release I hadn’t been able to find elsewhere.”

He reached over and took her hand in his. “My point behind all this, Swan, is yes, I do understand you. Our pasts may be different where circumstances are concerned, but I know all too well the feeling of questioning how your life could have been different or if you’re where you’re supposed to be. It’s okay to be confused or even upset about how some things have turned out, but I really hope you won’t think less of yourself for it.”

It was difficult to hold back the tears she felt pricking her eyes. She had no desire to cry in front of him after everything else, even though she knew he wouldn’t judge her for it. “How do you always know exactly what to say to me?”

“It’s like you said, love: you and I, we understand each other.” He considered the thought again. “Then again, maybe it’s just all part of my instinctive charm.”

She rolled her eyes and whacked his shoulder with a throw pillow.

Long after the movie ended and Killian had left, Emma found herself lying awake in bed as she considered their earlier conversation. She’d known he was nothing like Neal before she opened up and told him about her past. (Truthfully, she’d known he was a better man than Neal from the day they’d met.) Still, the way he listened, accepted her for who she was, and tried to encourage her when she needed it was nothing like she’d expected.

She also didn’t expect that abnormal thing her pulse did when the UPS truck arrived at Crystalline now. Or when he’d taken her hand earlier. Or when he smiled, laughed, or even so much as cracked a corny joke in her presence.

Everything she’d wanted but had never been able to find with Graham.

Shit. Had she really gone and fallen for her UPS driver?

The answer, she soon learned, was an absolute yes.

Killian was constantly on her mind over the next few days. She thought of him every time she passed a UPS truck on the road, or when one of the literary memes pages she followed on Instagram posted something related to Pride & Prejudice. And his deliveries, which were already one of the better parts of her work days, soon became something she eagerly awaited, despite feeling silly for it.

Emma only hoped that if there had been a shift in her demeanor or actions since the revelation on her birthday that he wouldn’t notice.

And he wasn’t the only thing often on her mind, either. She wasn’t even looking for writing opportunities when one fell into her lap. She’d been online, researching the English and creative writing programs at a handful of colleges in Portland, more for curiosity’s sake than anything else. It was still uncertain when or even if she would be able to go back, but there was no harm in looking, right? That's when she found the promotion for a Young Fiction Writing contest open to residents of Maine under 30.

A few months ago, she might have glanced over the details and moved on. But something made her stop and carefully read through the description and guidelines. It wasn't necessarily the particular contest itself that stood out to her; it was standard as far as events like it were concerned.

No, what stood out to Emma was the confidence she hadn't felt in years when it came to writing. Because, for once, her immediate reaction wasn't thoughts of doubt or self loathing. She felt as if she could actually get it a shot. Even though the deadline was less than a week away.

Within minutes, she'd bookmarked the posting and opened the word document for a short story she'd written about seventy percent of before abandoning it several months earlier. It was an adventure story about a runaway princess who leaves home after a dictator takes over her kingdom, and finds unexpected romance with a reformed pirate as they team up to overthrow him.

She had never even finished plotting the last quarter of the story. It was part of her cycle of getting excited about an idea, writing part of it, and then giving up at some point thanks to doubt and insecurity.

But cycles could be broken.

For the rest of the night, she went back and forth between her laptop and the notebook she used to jot down story ideas and managed to come up with the bare bones for the remainder of the story. The rest of the details could be filled in along the way; she had what she really needed.

The next few days passed in a blur of working, helping prepare for the town’s fall festival, and spending hours in front of her laptop in attempt to finish her story before the contest deadline.

And somehow, she managed to do it all. After one last read-through to catch any technical errors she might have missed before, Emma submitted her contest entry less than an hour before the midnight deadline.

The chances of her winning anything was minimal, she’d known that from the beginning, especially since she’d thrown together the last bit of the story so quickly. But that wasn’t important to her now. She had done it. She’d finished a story for the first time in months, years maybe, and that alone meant more to her than any prize.

And she couldn’t wait to tell Killian.

She had hoped he would be making a delivery the next morning so she could tell him first thing. Of course there was always the option of sending him a text, but she wanted to tell him in person considering how significant his encouragement had been to her wanting to write again in the first place.

At least she knew he would be attending the fall festival that night with Liam and Harper. Surely she could find a moment to talk to him while Liam was off romancing Elsa.

Since there was no delivery, she spent the rest of the day on pins and needles waiting for the festivities to start that evening. Elsa and Anna closed Crystalline a few hours early, and at six, the three of them walked to the town square where the event was being held. The space was packed with both people and various attractions, but Emma’s only concern was locating a familiar head of dark hair and blue eyes.

After half an hour of wandering around through vendors and game booths, she finally spotted him at the face painting table with Liam, and a little girl with her father’s dark curls that was having a unicorn painted on her cheek, courtesy of Belle.

She came up behind Killian and tapped him on the shoulder. “Please tell me you’re getting a matching unicorn on your cheek too. It would really bring out the blue in your eyes.”

“Hello, Swan. And, as much as I hate to disappoint you, the answer is no. With my luck, I wouldn’t be able to wash it all off and wouldn’t hear the end of it during my stops tomorrow.”

Emma sighed dramatically. “What a shame. I guess I’ll never get to find out what a cute Brony you would have been.”

She and Liam laughed at Killian’s objection as Liam took his daughter’s hand and suggested he take her to the pumpkin carving table.

When they had left, Emma turned back to Killian. “What are the chances he only wanted to carve a pumpkin because he knows Elsa is over there helping Anna and Kristoff?”

“Pretty likely I’d say. I can’t wait to tease him about it during my speech at their wedding.”

“I will most definitely hold you to that. Oh! I had something to tell you,” she said, remembering why she’d been so eager to find him in the first place. “So, long story short, I finished writing something for the first time in ages, and submitted it to this writing contest thing I found online. I’m not expecting to win or anything, but all that matters to me is that I did it.” She couldn’t hold back her smile. “And I really felt like I needed to thank you, because I’m not sure I would have done it if you hadn’t encouraged me so much and made me feel like I could have a purpose outside of being a retail manager.”

The massive grin on his face made her pulse do that thing she still wasn’t sure was completely normal. Or safe. “That’s wonderful, love. I don’t think you truly needed me to make any of that happen, but I’m honored I was able to help all the same.”

“Help is an understatement. Trust me.” She could go into a long, emotional speech about the number of things he’d helped her see differently, but she’d save that for another time, one when they weren’t surrounded by everyone in Storybrooke.

But their present circumstances didn’t stop her from taking an additional leap of faith, not unlike the one she’d taken by inviting him over on her birthday. “Will you go out with me?”

Killian’s eyes widened as if wondering if he’d heard her correctly. “Come again?”

“It’s okay if you don’t want to. I just figured that while I’m on a streak of doing things I wouldn’t normally have the guts to, maybe I should keep it up before I lose my nerve.”

His brow furrowed and he placed a hand under his chin like he was deep in thought. “Hmm. I’ll accept on one condition.”

“And that is?”

“You let me take you out to dinner, but we’re having pizza, garlic knots, and cinnamon twists.”

Maybe he was a man after her own heart too. “With an offer like that, I think I’d be a fool to say no.”

[unfortunate-stranger-losers]

All Those Things They Couldn’t Say - A Runaway Baudelaires AU

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Chapter Two - Beatrice and Bertrand make a Grave Error

The Baudelaire children usually didn’t go out on their own. It wasn’t that their parents didn’t trust them, but there had been several instances where they had to drop everything and immediately leave town, and Beatrice and Bertrand were absolutely terrified that one day their children would be too far away for them to pick up, and they’d end up separated, and then somehow the world would explode. But sometimes, if the kids were reasonably cautious, they could take a day to themselves. 

Violet was sitting at the edge of the beach, tying back her hair. “Klaus, at what angle are the prevailing currents?” 

Klaus pulled a book from the basket, reading aloud from the chart inside. Beside them, Sunny gnawed on a rock, gave it a glare, and then tossed it aside, reaching for one that wasn’t sandstone. 

“Of course, we’ll need the right projectile.” Klaus said. 

“That’s where Sunny comes in.” Violet said. “How you doing, sweetie?” 

Sunny smiled and held up the stone, now perfectly flat. “Asill!” she called, meaning something akin to, “Ready!” 

Violet pushed back the picnic basket, and stood, waving the rock in her hand. 

“Excuse me, Violet,” Klaus said, “Why are you using your left hand?” 

“I’m curious to see if I can throw as far with my left as I can with my right.” 

“I thought this was to gather data, though.” 

“My invention may need to differentiate between dominant and non-dominant hands.” 

“I guess that’s true. Mark the rock.” 

“Shit, I almost forgot.” Violet said. She knelt down, opening up the basket, and pulling out some chalk from underneath the canned food. “Here it is.” She drew a large X, and then stood up again and skipped. The three siblings watched as the rock tossed itself across the water and then, after Klaus called out nine skips, Violet handed him her ribbon and dove in. 

Sunny cheered as the siblings were splashed. She loved getting wet and messy, though she knew it was a bad thing, as they only had a few clothes at a time. “Luto!” she cheered, meaning, “Get mud on us next!” 

“Sunny, no.” Klaus sighed, pulling a dry shirt from the basket to wipe his glasses. 

“Ye!” Sunny said, which meant something like, “Sunny, yes!” 

Klaus replaced his glasses and looked back to the water, to see Violet emerging several feet away, her hair pressed against her face. She held up the rock, and called, “How far?” 

“What?” 

“How far?” 

“What?” 

Violet sighed and swam closer, eventually making her way back onto the sand, now dripping wet. “I said, ‘how far?’” She repeated, handing Klaus the rock.

“Oh.” Klaus considered, absent-mindedly pocketing the stone, and then told her his best guess. 

“We’ll need exacts, of course,” Violet said, squeezing her hair, and then shaking like a dog. “We’ll need some kind of measuring device.” She took her ribbon from Klaus, tying her hair back again. “I need a measuring device. Portable and waterproof. Sunny-” 

“Gack!” Sunny shouted, pointing ahead. “Look at that mysterious figure emerging from the fog!” 

The children looked up; the beach was, indeed, quite foggy, and up ahead, was some sort of figure moving towards them. 

 Violet immediately tensed up, and grabbed the basket, slamming it shut and flipping the lock. Klaus lifted Sunny, who leaned into his shoulder and squinted her small eyes. 

“It only seems scary because of all the mist.” Klaus said. 

Violet looked very carefully, and then instantly relaxed. She dropped the basket to the ground, and ran forwards.

“Mother! Father!” 

Klaus’s face brightened, and he also ran with his big sister, lifting Sunny higher as she cheered. Out of the mist, Beatrice ran forwards, enveloping her daughter in a tight hug. 

“Do we- Father!” Klaus squealed as Bertrand also hugged him, then decided to go the extra mile and spin him and Sunny around. Sunny laughed and threw up her arms as if they were on a ride, while Klaus just said, “Dad! Come on!” 

“I assume this isn’t urgent, then?” Violet laughed, as Beatrice let her go and looked her over. 

“No. Why are you all wet?” 

“I jumped in the water to get a rock.” 

“Well, okay. So long as your clothes dry-” 

“These will be fine, they’re the right material.” 

“Is it time to go already?” Klaus asked. “We only just stopped looking at fish and tide pools and just started skipping rocks.” 

“Sorry, Klaus.” Bertrand said, putting him and Sunny down and straightening Sunny’s bonnet. “But the post office is closed for the weekend, which means we can get into the attic if we hurry before the custodians lock the doors.” 

“Will Lemon Man send us a telegram?” Violet asked, in a sing-song voice; she’d come up with the half-rhyme when she was eight, to entertain Klaus. 

“We hope so. His last message said he should be speaking soon.” Beatrice said, her face lighting up a little. 

“And,” Bertrand smiled slightly, “When we get there, we have a surprise for you children.” 

“Cake?” Sunny asked, excited. 

“No, afraid not.” Bertrand laughed, and he took Klaus’s hand. “Come on, let’s hurry it up before we have to climb through the window.” 

Beatrice creaked open the backdoor to the post office, peered inside, and then waved and went in. Violet followed cautiously, holding onto Sunny with one arm and Klaus’s hand with the other. Bertrand took up the rear, glancing behind them every now and again just to make sure they hadn’t been followed. 

Violet remembered a few years ago- she’d had to have been ten or eleven- when they had been followed. Beatrice had quietly asked her if she recognized the man in the black hat behind them at the bookstore, and Violet realized he’d been a few tables away at the café, and Klaus muttered that he’d been at the same grocery store. Beatrice and Bertrand had taken them down several aisles of the shop they were in, zig-zagging best they could, before going out into the road, running wildly down several streets until they found a crowd, pushing through it, and then picking a well-populated spot to sleep- a homeless shelter, where thankfully nobody asked questions, and a nice lady taught Violet and Klaus how to play clapping games. But even then, Violet remembered a dread in the pit of her stomach, one that didn’t go away until they were three towns away, and the black-hat man made no further appearance, and Klaus had already forgotten the incident and almost ran away to chase a cat. 

She hated that dread, and now she had two siblings to help her parents look after, one of whom had no sense of fear. But at least they weren’t completely helpless; Sunny was quite the biter, and though Klaus was a slower learner than her, he could hold his own in a fight at least long enough for backup to arrive. They could run, they could hide. And they were all on the lookout for followers, anyone they recognized too many times- or sometimes even specific people. Every now and again, Mother or Father would see something in the newspaper, and turn it around and point to someone and warn them that person was an enemy- either from VFD or against, it didn’t matter. They were an enemy to their parents, and therefore the children. 

Beatrice directed them away from a room with some noise inside- probably a janitor, making sure everything was clean and locked up- and herded them towards a staircase. There, she signalled them several numbers with her hands- two, fifteen, twenty-seven. The stairs that creaked. Violet went up first, swiftly skipping the steps, while Klaus took a bit longer, watching to make sure Violet skipped the step before doing so himself. Even Sunny fell silent, which was very nice; it had taken them quite some time to convince her that, yes, she had to stop humming or crying or giggling when they needed to be quiet. 

Beatrice finally pushed open the door to the attic, and peered in, lighting a candle that lay beside the door. The small room flickered with the dim light, and Violet’s eyes flickered, too, as she saw the old telegrams stored around them. 

“These still work.” Beatrice nodded as Violet put Sunny down, reaching again for her ribbon. “Take one apart if you want, but leave at least one working, in case Lemony contacts us.” 

“Loco?” Sunny asked, which meant something like, “He knows where we are?” 

“He has a… general idea.” Bertrand explained, as Klaus put the basket by the wall and he closed the door. “We never tell anyone exactly where we are, Sunny.” 

“But more importantly,” Beatrice knelt by the ground, and her children quickly sat around her, forming a circle with a space left for their father, “Our surprise. Are you ready?” 

“Mother, of course we are.” Klaus tried to hide his smile. 

“Enough with the theater kid reveal, just tell us.” Violet said. 

Beatrice made a pouting face. “What? Too dramatic for you?” 

“We’re not babies, Mom.” 

“Dis,” Sunny said, which meant, “That’s offensive.” 

“Shut up, Sunny, you wanna see, too.” 

Bertrand sat inbetween his two youngest children, looking more excited than they were, and said, “Bea, dear, show them what we got.” 

Beatrice smiled so, so brightly, and then she reached into her jacket pocket, and whipped out a deck of cards. 

The Baudelaires immediately lost their minds. 

“Holy shit!” Klaus shouted, forgetting that they should still be quiet and also that he probably shouldn’t swear in front of his parents. 

“Oh my God!” Violet started bouncing up and down, a dazzling glee spread across her face. “Oh my God! You got some? We can have some? For a while?” 

“Pok!” Sunny screamed, which meant something like, “You’ll teach me to play, right? You said you would!” 

Beatrice also bounced slightly, dropping the pack onto the floor in front of Sunny, who immediately grabbed it and bit into the plastic wrap to open it. “Yes! There was some in the convenience store, and since it’s finally warm enough we could ditch one pack of matches, so we have room for these now!” 

“I’ll deal!” Klaus took the cards from Sunny, while she continued to bite into the plastic. “What are we playing first?” 

“Pesca!” Sunny said. “Go fish!” 

“Or,” Beatrice took a card from Klaus, “I could show you some tricks!” 

“Yes! Yes!” Violet cheered. She quickly turned to Sunny and said, “Mother’s card tricks are the best. She can make them disappear!” 

Sunny gave her a look of disbelief. “Jan,” she said, which meant, “Yeah, right.” 

“Well, Sunny,” Beatrice said, showing her the ace of hearts, “If you think so…” Then, with a swish of her hand, the card was gone. 

Violet and Klaus clapped, while Bertrand laughed. Sunny, however, widened her eyes in shock, and then she let out a wail. 

Beatrice’s face fell. “Oh, no, Sunny, look, I can bring it back!” She waved her hand, and the ace of hearts was in her hand again. 

Sunny stopped crying, a look of amazement on her face. “Wow!” she clapped. 

“Now,” Bertrand said, “I was thinking about Patience. Klaus, do you want to show Sunny how to play?” 

Klaus nodded, spreading out the cards. “See, Sunny, here the symbols don’t matter, but the numbers and colors. You know what numbers to look for, right?” 

“Dec!” Sunny said, which meant, “One through Ten!” 

“Good. Then after Ten comes the Jack, the Queen, and the King. Now, can you remember them in descending order?” 

“Toidi.” “Yes, Klaus, I’m not an idiot.” 

Klaus spread out the cards, and they all spread out, calling out cards they thought they could play. This continued for quite some time, to the point where Beatrice had to light a second candle so they could keep playing, and Sunny had to make sure nobody saw her yawn and would make her go to bed. 

“Who taught you how to play cards?” Violet asked, after a while. 

“My foster mother.” Bertrand said. “Beatrice learned from…” 

He trailed off, but Beatrice finished. “From my chaperone.” 

They fell silent. Then, Klaus said, “Well, I bet they didn’t think that part of the game would be trying to keep an infant from eating the- Sunny, stop it!” 

Sunny put down the queen of spades, huffing. That was enough to brighten the mood again, and Beatrice let out a loud laugh, almost doubling over. “S-Sunny, please- please, they’re not food.” 

“Doo,” Sunny said, which meant, “Everything’s food if you eat it.” 

“Sunny.” Bertrand laughed. 

“God, you’re going to be a disaster when you get older.” Violet giggled, placing a  card down. 

“Xis,” Sunny huffed, which meant something like, “No, I’m going to be the Queen, so bow to me, peasants.”

“Now, Sunny,” Bertrand chided, “That’s no way to talk to your loyal subjects.” 

“Loyal my ass,” Violet snorted. “We’re throwing her down the garbage chute first chance we get. Too much dead weight.” 

“Bapa!” “I’ll show you who’s dead weight!” 

Sunny launched herself at Violet, barely shaking her balance. Violet, though, flopped on the ground, crying, “Oh no! The Queen has gone mad with power!” 

“The Queen is attacking the Royal Scientist!” Klaus shouted, before picking Sunny up and waving her in the air. “Off with her head!” 

“Viva la Revolución!” Violet cheered from the floor. 

“Now, now,” Beatrice laughed, “Does the Empress have to step in?” 

“No, the Empress can go make out with the Emperor.” Klaus said, as he tossed Sunny into the air and caught her again. 

“Well, if you insist-” Bertrand said. 

“Dad, no! Not in front of the baby!” 

“I’m baby!” Sunny cheered, as Klaus tossed her again. 

But before they could say any more, they heard a telegram machine start up. 

Beatrice immediately leapt to her feet, rushing to the machine that was printing out a small paper for them. Bertrand froze, eyes wide. 

“Lemon Man has sent us a telegram!” Klaus said. 

Violet didn’t join in his laughter, though, instead inspecting her parents’ faces. Whenever she was present for the receiving of a telegram, her parents always had the same look, a mixture that took her several experiences to decipher. First, in their jumble of instant emotions, was an excitement- whether positive or negative depended on how much of a jam they were in, though her parents made sure that they were never in too much danger to begin with. Second was relief, because it meant Snicket knew where they were and could send them news, though it was always in code. Third was a fear, fear that this would be horrible news, or someone else’s message, telling them that Snicket had been captured and someone was coming for them. Last, and hardest to figure out- in fact, Violet only placed it now, as Beatrice returned with the paper, showing it to Bertrand, who took out a pen to help decode- was a longing. She wondered what the longing was for- for the life they’d left behind, or just for their friend. They’d always seemed very fond of Lemony, whenever they discussed him; they must have been incredibly close. 

“He hasn’t used this code in a while.” Beatrice snorted. “Finally remembered it existed.” 

“Yeah, he’s gotta stop using Sebald. Too wordy.” Bertrand said. 

“First of all, that’s just how Lemony is.” Beatrice said. “Second, bold words coming from ‘attempting a botanical hybrid through the tuberous canopy, which should bring safety to fruition despite its dangers to our associates in utero.’” 

“Hell, Bea, you still have that memorized?” 

“I’m an actress, dear, memorization is my job.” 

“Get a room!” Klaus said, rolling his eyes and bouncing Sunny on his lap, where she had started to eat her bonnet. 

“You need any help with that, Mother?” Violet asked, peering over at her parents circling letters and scribbling them at the paper’s edge. 

“Thank you, Vi, but I think we’ve got it.” Beatrice said. She got to the last sentence, and said, “Alright, let’s see what our silence knot has for us today.” 

Her and Bertrand’s eyes widened, however, as they read the message, and Violet could see a flash of fear. Shit. That wasn’t good news.

“Mother? What does it say?” Klaus asked, his face falling. Slowly, Violet started to pick up the playing cards. 

Beatrice scanned the note, as if hoping that it would say something different. Then, quietly, she read. 

HURRY. YOU ARE IN DANGER. I CAN KEEP YOU SAFE BUT YOU MUST RETURN TO THE CITY. MAY BE ABLE TO CLEAR YOUR NAMES. BRING ALL ASSOCIATES. O IS NEARBY. -YSK

Violet knew “YSK” was Lemony’s way of signing off- Your Silence Knot, some kind of inside joke they shared- and she knew that O was one of the people they were running from- what was his name again? Omar? But it didn’t matter what she knew; the message chilled her. 

“The city?” Klaus’s voice grew quiet. “You said that’s where we were running from.” 

“We shouldn’t be there.” Violet said. 

Beatrice shut her eyes, taking a few deep breaths. Bertrand was the first one to respond. “Children, we trust Lemony more than anyone else on this planet- except you, of course. If he says…” he trailed off. “God, this is risky.” 

“He wouldn’t ask us to do it if it wasn’t important.” Beatrice whimpered- the children had never known their mother to whimper. 

“Are we sure it’s him?” 

“Nobody else would sign off with YSK, or know our location.” 

“How can Olaf be nearby?” Olaf, that was it!

“Which one is Olaf again?” Klaus asked. 

Bertrand drew in a sharp breath. Beatrice shook slightly, and said, “He’s… he’s the one we wronged.” 

Violet and Klaus went pale, while Sunny just looked up in confusion. “Whazzit?” she asked, but nobody responded. 

“Are you… gonna tell us what happened?” Klaus prodded, and Violet elbowed him. 

“We… we can discuss that when we’re safe.” Beatrice said. “We’ll have to move quickly. If we catch a train tonight, we should be there by morning.” 

“Do you have money?” 

“I have enough. We can put Sunny in the basket if someone wears an extra jacket, so we don’t have to pay for her ticket.” 

“Sure.” Sunny nodded, excited to do some sneaking. 

“Should we really bring the children?” Beatrice asked, glancing towards them. 

“Lemony said to bring all associates. Who else could he mean? He must have some kind of plan, right?” 

“Maybe he wants us to invite the designated safe people.” 

“It would take a while for all your safehouse peeps to show up.” Violet mentioned. Their parents had them all memorize the addresses of places to go if they got separated, but she doubted Lemony would know which houses they were- or, indeed, if the people living there knew they were a safehouse. 

Beatrice glanced back down at the telegram, running her hand over the message. Then, quietly, she said, “Do you think he could really clear our names?” 

Bertrand met her gaze, and they were clearly asking the same question- do we want him to? 

“So,” Violet interrupted, knowing her parents were thinking terrible things and not wanting that to continue for much longer, “Does this mean we get to meet our mysterious Lemony man?” 

Beatrice and Bertrand each took a deep breath, and then Bertrand said, “Yes.” 

Klaus smiled brightly, and he picked up Sunny. “What are we waiting for, then?” 

Beatrice grabbed her husband’s hand, and as the children ran to get all their bags and make sure they had everything, she whispered, “We’re seeing him again.” 

“We’re seeing him again.” Bertrand repeated, his voice just as full of hope as hers.