#it’s fine - i’ll be the cool wine uncle that drops by once a year with sick presents

[bingqiv]

my brother and his wife have just announced they’re having a baby and now i’m cursed to a life of being on the ‘dad side of the family’

[soulsuckrrs]

ofvanguards​:

“Yeah, I’ll text you when I get home. Nah, that’s okay, I don’t know how to do that location sharing thing anyw— No, it’s cool, really” Arthur stepped into the establishment, distracted enough with his phone— more like struggling to keep the damn thing to his ear as he removed his jacket, hanging it by the door. “Uhh… that’s a great question. How about dinner tomorrow? I’ll cook.” He muttered absent mindedly as he made his way towards the bar, sitting just two stools away from the man whose gaze was piercing over the side of his skull. “Sure, Carbonara sounds good, as long as you get the wine. Love—” his hand raised as he waved to call the bartender— who was occasionally pouring a drink for a well-dressed man was just staring at him in an uncomfortable, yet familiar manner. “—you”

Arthur hesitated for a moment just as his previous motion caught the bartender’s attention. A lopsided smile appeared on his lips for a moment before he moved his head towards the man about to open a beer for him but his eyes never abandoned the other’s figure. “Actually—” Arthur stopped, finally removing his gaze from the other “—Whiskey, please”.

His gaze returned to Richard, expression just dangling in the line between neutral and quizzical as his brows teased to go upwards. “Been a while, huh?” he paused, once again, unsure of what to make of this interaction, but patted the seat next to him after what felt like a good hour, albeit just being a couple seconds.

             ――――――――――― ⌽ ―――――――――――

Richard was trying his best not to tune into the other's conversation, or at least the side of it he could hear, too much but it seemed almost impossible as each passing minute he became more and more aware of Arthur. He sat still for the most part, a little rigid but only because of the day he'd been through, meeting after meeting never had been Richie's choice of lifestyle, he would have rather been out on his boat basking in the sun and sea air but responsibilities to his family always came before his own desires much to most people's surprise. He was so free spirited and adventurous it was a wonder to most of those that had known him many years ago before his Uncle had retired as a leader and Richard had stepped up to take the older wolf's place.

One hand wrapped around his new drink after having slid the other closer to the bartender once it had been drained, bringing the fresh alcohol to his lips and breathing a soft sigh of relief when Arthur had finally ended his phone call, a small tinge of color flaming his cheeks before his lips quirked at one side into a smirk. Blue gaze slipped over to Arthur that smirk only growing slightly, head nodding and brown messy curls bouncing slightly with the action. "It has been a while," Richard confirmed, dropping his eyes to the seat the other motioned towards for him to occupy.

With a deep breath and exhale, riding himself of any nerves that peppered his skin, Richard slipped from his stool with his drink in one hand while the other moved to undo the suit jacket he had on, giving him more mobility in the finely tailored outfit. An eased movement slid his large frame onto the seat next to Arthur, body turned to face the other more, that smile of his pulling over his teeth in a fond smile as Richard glanced over the other.

"You look good. How's life been?" The question came easily and although it would have been used in any other situation as a surface question in the fake niceties most offered one another for surface level conversations, Richard genuinely meant his words. Despite the nerves and emotions that rushed to buzz through his veins and even after all the time that had passed between the two, there was the familiar electric sensation Richard felt just being near Arthur again.

[snelbz]

The Return {The Arrival, Part 2}

Summary: Back at the lake house, ten years later... Collaboration with @tacmc.

Word Count: 6402

The Arrival Series Masterlist

Shelby’s Masterlist

Tara’s Masterlist

10 years later….

“Every year,” Nesta began, shaking her head as they drove up the long, winding driveway. “Every year, we are the last people here.”

With a roll of his eyes as he put the truck in park, Cassian got out and shut the driver’s side door behind him. Once again, he had the boat, which the others, who had surely arrived hours before, were most likely waiting for.

They needed a getaway.

As of the month before, Cassian had three times the responsibilities at work. Add two teenage boys and a ten year old that thought she was far older than she was, Cassian was exhausted. He knew Nesta was, too, and when she got out of the car to leave the boys to their bickering, Cassian knew she was feeling that exhaustion, deep.

She looked over at him and he gave her a smile, which she immediately returned before opening up the back door and giving her first order of the vacation. “Thorn. John. Bags inside. Now.”

John groaned as Thorn muttered, “I’m eighteen, I shouldn’t even be here.”

Cassian knew Nesta was biting her tongue as she told Scarlett to follow her around back to find Nesta and Elain.

Cassian shot Thorn and John a look that shut them both up as he heard, “Boys giving you a hard time?”

He looked over his shoulder to find his oldest niece, and smiled. “Hey, Lunabug. Where the hell are the rest of your pants?”

Luna looked down at her cutoff shorts before snorting and giving her uncle a hug. “First of all, watch your mouth. Second of all, these were eighty bucks, so be nice.”

Cassian hesitated. “Eighty… Your dad let you spend eighty bucks on a scrap of denim?”

“It’s good to see you, too, Uncle Cass,” Luna said, ignoring the question altogether.

As he unloaded the rest of the bags and hopped back in the truck to pull it around back, Nesta found Feyre and Elain just where she expected to: tanning on the back deck.

“Nice of you to finally show up,” Feyre crooned, raising her sunglasses to look up at her older sister.

The glare Nesta gave to Feyre told her if her daughter wasn’t feet behind her, she’d be giving her a very vulgar gesture.

“Hi, Scarlett,” Elain smiled, ignoring the silent bickering between her sisters. “You ready for a fun weekend?”

“Yes ma’am,” she replied, her manners nearly as impeccable as Luna’s. “Where is Layla?”

“In the bonus room with the twins,” Feyre said, letting her sunglasses drop back into place as she laid down on her chair. “They brought a bunch of makeup, so I’m pretty sure it’s makeover time.”

Scarlett’s eyes were bright as she smiled up at her mother and hurried into the house.

“Where are the boys?” Nesta asked, stealing Feyre’s drink and downing half of it in one large drink.

Feyre snatched it back, with a muttered, “Bitch,” as Elain shook her head and pointed to the dark haired brood on the docks.

“They’ve been swimming while they waited on Uncle Cass to show up with the boat.”

“Not only do I have Thorn and John to deal with, I’ve also got Little Miss Drama Queen herself to get ready and in the truck,” Nesta said, eyeing Feyre’s drink again. “Plus Cassian. But I gave up on wrangling him years ago.”

Elain shook her head as Feyre snorted. “And Thorn is too much a spitting image of Cass, is that the issue?”

Nesta shook her head, plopping down in a lawn chair opposite of them. “Thorn wants his independence, but he also wants me to cook his food, do his laundry, and clean up after him. That’s Thorn’s issue. And John wants to do everything his cool, adult big brother does. Which annoys Thorn.”

“He’s eighteen now,” Elain said, sighing. “Our husbands were no different at that age. Wanting to be men, but too immature to handle themselves.”

“They’re still too immature to handle themselves,” Feyre mumbled, which made them all laugh.

Her sisters - they were exactly what Nesta needed.

They watched as Cassian drove down to the dock and lowered the boat into the water. Bennett and Lannan were there, swimming, and the eldest helped Cassian guide the boat in and tie it up. Lannan helped, too, but being only ten, his judgement wasn’t the most trustworthy.

The sliding door was pushed open and Azriel wandered out, the top of his hair combed back, and sporting a hot pink lipgloss, which he was attempting to wipe off with a tissue. “Shit, this stuff stains.”

Elain arched a brow as she caught sight of her husband. “I kind of like it.”

He narrowed his eyes at her, but there was no denying the small smile that appeared on his lips.

“It’s a good look,” Feyre agreed, to which Azriel rolled his eyes.

“It’s better than the alternative,” he sighed. “They wanted to recreate a look they saw on YouTube, but were devastated when they realized the signal wasn't strong enough to play a full video in HD.”

“What a travesty,” Elain gasped, faking her horror.

“Thorn is going to hate that,” Nesta snickered. “He may not be able to FaceTime his girlfriend.”

“He’ll live,” Cassian announced, jogging up the porch. “Spending three days focused on his family is good. The kid needs it.”

“The kid needs a kick in the ass,” Nesta muttered, and motioned for Cassian to come closer. He did so, climbing onto her chair and nestling himself between her legs. “But I love him, like I love you.”

Cassian hummed and kissed her, softly.

“My god, what do your kids think when you do this at home?” Feyre asked.

“They’re used to it by now, I’m sure,” Azriel mumbled.

“Absolutely,” Cassian mumbled, before kissing his wife, again.

“Party’s here!” Rhysand came around the corner of the house, carrying two cases of beer. He repeated the same thing his wife had said, looking at Cassian and Nesta. “It’s about time you joined us.”

“Blame the kids,” Nesta said, her arms wrapping around Cassian’s broad shoulders.

“Speaking of the kids, tell them to get ready,” Rhysand said, dropping the cases of beer on the porch. “As soon as these are in the fridge, we’re starting up the boat.”

“I don’t want to go on the boat.”

They all spun around to find Thorn, his phone in the air as he tried to find signal. “Can I have the keys to the truck?”

Cassian scoffed. “Hell, no.”

“I have to run into town,” Thorne said, stubbornly.

“You can tell Marion that you’ll call her when you can,” Nesta said, calmly.

“This isn’t about Marion,” Thorn argued - a complete lie, and they all knew it. “We don’t have anything to drink. We just have water, juice boxes, and alcohol. And, unless you want me to break into the beer-.”

“Try and see what happens,” Cassian warned.

Thorn rolled his eyes, and even though he was the spitting image of Cassian, the look was so much like Nesta that Cassian couldn’t help but chuckle.

“I’ll take Luna and Bennett. They’re trustworthy,” Thorn pushed.

Cassian looked at Azriel and Rhysand, who shrugged.

“Fine. Be back in an hour,” he said, and dug the keys out of his pocket before tossing them to his oldest son.

“Thanks,” he mumbled, and went back inside.

“You know we have drinks in the cooler in the garage, right,” Feyre asked, rolling her eyes as Rhys got a warm beer out of the case and popped it open.

“I figured,” Nesta said. “But Thorn would do nothing but complain the whole time on the boat and would, in fact, break into the beer if we left him here. Might as well let him go have a little freedom before dinner.”

“And if he takes Ben and Luna, he’ll be less likely to get into trouble,” Cassian added, even as Rhys and Az gave each other disbelieving looks.

“Luna, yes, but Bennett is as likely to get him into trouble as he is to get him out,” Rhys admitted.

Feyre finished off her drink and said to her sisters, “Why did we procreate with these idiots? It made our kids idiots.” She stood and said, “I need a refill.”

Elain stood and grabbed her empty glass as well. “Speak for yourself, my kids are all honors students and make good choices.”

Cassian groaned as Nesta rolled her eyes. “Yes, your prized children are the exception to our hooligans. Now, I’m going to put on a swimsuit and tell the girls to do the same.”

Cassian watched her as she left.

He, Azriel, and Rhysand threw beer into the cooler as they heard Thorn, Bennett, and Luna speed away in Cassian’s truck.

“They’re going to do something stupid,” Rhysand mumbled.

“Don’t drag Luna into this,” Azriel countered, carrying the cooler down the hill to the boat.

“She’s already been dragged, bud,” Cassian said, clapping a hand on Azriel’s shoulder. “Now we just pray that they return in one piece.”

*

“Where are they?” Elain sighed. “We’re not even going to get on the water before the sun goes down.”

“They were finishing their makeovers,” Feyre said, sipping from a glass of wine by the island. “Lily said they’ll be down soon.”

“Aunt Feyre,” Layla’s little voice called from the top of the stairs. “Can you come here for a minute?”

As one, the sisters looked at each other.

“This can’t be good,” Feyre sighed, taking another drink from her wine glass and heading for the stairs.

Nesta and Elain followed, and they could all hear the frantic, panicked words before they even topped the stairs.

“It wasn’t supposed to look like that! You should have followed the tutorial.”

“I can’t. I couldn’t watch the TikTok to make sure I was doing it right.”

“What happened?” Feyre said, pushing the door open and freezing.

Layla and Scarlett were sitting on the couch against the far wall, caked makeup on both of their faces, but the twins were sitting at the desk, a mirror in front of them. A long strand of Lily’s hair laid on the desk in front of them, and she had a pair of safety scissors in her hands.

“Don’t be mad,” Lily said, locking eyes with Feyre in the mirror.

Crossing her arms and leaning on the door frame, Feyre smirked. “Why would I be mad, it’s not my hair that got chopped.”

True enough, Lily’s hair looked far differently than it had the last time her mother had seen her. A fourth of her head looked like it had received a very dreadful bowl cut, while the rest of her hair remained the same, hanging halfway down her back.

She stared in the mirror in horror as Olive tried her best to style her twin. “I mean, it’s not so…bad.”

“I’m going to start freshman year looking like…” Lily’s hands slowly covered her mouth as she stifled a quiet sob.

“It’s not so bad,” Olive repeated, a little more convincingly. “It just needs…some product…”

“It looks like I took a knife to my bangs!”

“Bangs?” Nesta repeated. “Is that what you were going for?”

“Yeah,” Scarlett said, answering her mother in favor of her cousin. “They told her to on Tik Tok.”

“Oh, Lily,” Elain breathed, trying to hide her quiet laughter.

“This is a disaster!” Lily said, covering her entire face.

Feyre sighed and stepped up behind her daughter, resting her hands on her shoulders. “We’ll go see Aunt Mor and get it fixed when we get home. There’s still some time before school starts for it to grow in, and I’m sure Aunt Mor can work her magic. Okay?”

Lily sniffled and nodded.

“Come on, girls,” Nesta said, holding a hand out for Scarlett and Layla. “Let’s go get ready to go on the boat for a bit before dinner.”

“And you, Lily. We’ll find you a hat to wear,” Feyre said, dropping a kiss to the top of Lily’s head. “You, too, Livy.”

“Olive,” she snapped. “It’s Olive.”

With a heavy sigh, Feyre said, “I’m sorry, you’re right. Olive, my apologies. You girls go get changed and meet us on the dock, please.”

Elain and Nesta headed down the stairs, Feyre on their heels, but they waited until they got onto the back porch before looking at her.

“What was that?” Elain asked, raising an eyebrow as she looked at her.

“That is new,” Feyre sighed. “For whatever reason, we can’t call her anything but Olive. Liv, Livy, she’s not having it. It’s immature.”

“So, if I call her Livy, the name that I’ve called her since birth, she’s going to snap at me?” Nesta asked. “Yeah, I’m not going to call her Olive. It’s weird.”

“Well, it is the name on her birth certificate,” Feyre said, laughing.

Nesta shrugged. “Details.”

Elain agreed that it was weird, and they were still talking about it as Scarlett and Layla ran onto the deck, ready in their swimsuits, then down to the docks where their dads and Lannan were waiting. The twins were close behind, Olive still moody and Lily covering her hair with a hat.

When Rhysand questioned why she was wearing a beanie with a swimsuit on a boat, they all told him to mind his own business.

“Where is Luna?” Lannan asked, looking towards the house, as if his big sister might appear out of nowhere.

“She went with Thorn and Bennett into town. They aren’t coming on the boat, but they’ll be home before dinner,” Elain promised, which earned a pout from Lannan. Even though they were years apart, the two were still extremely close and it warmed Elain’s heart.

After an hour or so on the boat, the sun had begun its slow descent, and they headed back in.

“Everyone go get washed up while we make dinner,” Rhys announced. With a smirk, he added, “No impromptu haircuts.”

Lily’s beanie had fallen off during one of their faster rides and Rhysand tried not to laugh.

He really did.

He did not succeed.

“Dad!” She cried, hurrying up the deck stairs and rushing towards the house. “It’s not funny!”

As soon as she was in the house, he muttered to Azriel, “It’s pretty damn funny.”

Elain went into the house to start the food, but came back out a few minutes later. “The kids aren’t back yet. They were supposed to be back by now.”

“I’ll try calling Bennett,” Rhys said, heading into the house and going to their room. A few minutes later, he joined them in the kitchen. “No answer. Have y’all heard from them?”

“No,” Elain said, shaking her head. She looked at Azriel, concern written on her face. “And it’s not like Luna to go so long without checking in.”

Azriel frowned. “I’m sure they’re fine, Lainy. I’m sure they’re just being teenagers.”

Even he didn’t believe himself.

Cassian swore. “I’m sure Thorn was leading the way. He’s-.”

They could hear a car pulling into the driveway, and all six adults turned their heads toward the sliding door, waiting.

Luna and Bennett appeared a moment later, looking sheepish and refusing to make eye contact with any of them.

“Luna,” Azriel began, starting with the one that was most likely to talk. “Where’ve you been?”

“In town,” she answered, without missing a beat.

Nesta was looking around. “Where’s Thorn?”

Neither of them answered.

Cassian crossed his arms, and repeated, “Where’s Thorn?”

Bennett was rubbing the back of his neck when he muttered, “Jail.”

Everyone froze. It was Nesta who said, “I’m sorry, what?”

“Thorn got arrested,” Luna whispered, staring at her feet.

“He— What do you—?” Nesta was shaking her head, clearly not processing what they were telling her.

“Luna, Ben, follow me,” Rhys said, pointing to the back hallway where the adults’ bedrooms were situated. He looked at Feyre. “Think y’all can start on dinner while we handle this?”

She nodded, but was moving towards Nesta, who looked like she was about to pass out. “Go. We’ve got this under control.”

Cassian looked inclined to disagree, but Rhys walked down the hall, Luna and Bennett a step behind, and he and Azriel followed. They sat down on the end of the bed and faced their fathers and uncle as Rhysand shut the door.

“What happened?”

Luna looked like she was going to be sick under the disapproving gaze of her father. “We got drinks and were hanging out in the park by the Square. There weren’t any kids around so we were just messing around on the swing set. And then Rion got there and—.”

“Marion?” Cassian interrupted. “Thorn’s girlfriend showed up?”

They both nodded and glanced at each other. “I guess she was planning to come up the whole time.”

“The drinks are in the bed of the truck,” Bennett interjected, clearing his throat.

“Ben, in the kindest way, I don’t give a damn about the drinks right now,” Rhys sighed. “What happened that was illegal? Why is Thorn in jail?”

“They went back to the truck,” Luna said, quietly. “We stayed on the playground and we figured we’d just leave when they were done.”

The men silently stared at them.

It was Azriel who awkwardly asked, “And when you say they went back to the truck…?”

“They were having sex,” Bennett replied, bluntly, while Luna’s cheeks were on fire.

“In my truck?” Cassian asked, outraged.

Again, they both nodded. Luna went on. “We noticed it was getting a little late and started heading back that way and when we got closer, we saw the cop putting them in handcuffs.”

“The cop at least let us take the keys, so we could bring the truck back,” Bennett shrugged. “I guess he let Rion off, cause he only put Thorn in the back of the cop car.”

“Are we in trouble?” Luna asked, her wide, hazel eyes filling with tears.

Rhys and Azriel looked at each other and sighed. “No,” Azriel said, at least. “But you should have called us immediately when something went wrong.”

“My phone was dead,” she defended, pulling it out and showing them.

Bennett looked at Rhys. “And you know I never have signal out here.”

Rhys nodded and sighed. “Go get cleaned up for dinner. Don’t tell your brothers and sisters about this. We need to talk to your mothers first.”

They nodded and headed for the door, but Luna looked up at Azriel and wrapped her arms around his waist. “I’m sorry, Dad.”

Taking a deep breath, he hugged her and said, “I know. We’ll get this taken care of.”

She nodded, and followed Bennett out of the room.

Azriel and Rhysand both looked at Cassian, who had his hands on his hips and was staring blankly at a spot on the carpet.

Without another word, he grabbed his truck keys from where Bennett had left them on the bed and was out the door. There were words going about behind him as he went, but no one stopped him. It wasn’t until he was outside unlocking the driver’s side door that someone called his name.

“Cass.” He turned around to find his wife on the porch, holding up a shirt and his wallet. “Forgetting something?”

With a defeated sigh, he slowly walked back up to the porch and pulled his t-shirt over his head. “He got arrested for public indecency, Nesta. Marion came up. He was fucking in the back of my truck-.”

“Don’t act like you and I weren’t doing the same thing at eighteen,” she interrupted, looking up at her husband and his grim, frustrated expression. “Sneaking your girlfriend somewhere, taking advantage of the short time you have together… It wasn’t that long ago it was you and me.”

Cassian crossed his arms. “That’s not the point. How the hell are you so calm right now?”

“Oh, don’t get me wrong.” Nesta scoffed, one brow raised. “I’m gonna kick his ass when he gets home. He’s grounded, which he’ll protest because he’s eighteen, which is gonna make me kick his ass even more. But, for me to do that, you need to go get his ass and bring him to me, which I know you’re not gonna wanna do, because you're stubborn and pissed off.”

Cassian’s jaw locked. He didn’t say she was wrong…because she wasn’t.

“How many times were you arrested when you were his age?” she asked, rubbing her hands up and down his crossed arms.

Cassian didn’t answer.

“We all do stupid stuff,” she continued, then reached up on her tiptoes and kissed him, softly, even though Cassian’s lips hardly moved in return. “Go get him, have a civil conversation, don’t yell…too much. Then bring him home, so I can make him cry with my disappointed stare.”

At that, Cassian cracked the smallest smile, knowing she was absolutely right.

He turned to head for the truck and she hollered, “I’ll save him a plate. I doubt the food is very good in prison.”

Pausing as he opened the truck door, Cassian scoffed, glancing back at his wife. “He’s been in jail for less than three hours. I’m sure he’s fine.”

She was smirking, but he could see the sadness and worry in her eyes. “Bring my baby home safe, please.”

Half an hour later, Cassian was parking the truck in the lot behind the police station of the small town. It was mostly a vacation spot, for people like his family, so they’d never needed a big police force. Crime was low here. The worst sort of thing that happened in this town had: teenagers being stupid teenagers.

After speaking with the woman at the front desk, signing a bunch of paperwork and posting his bail, Cassian was leaning against a wall near the front door, waiting for his eldest son. A sullen looking Thorn appeared a moment later, an officer behind him. After shaking the man’s hand, Cassian and Thorn were out the door and heading for the truck. They hopped in, the engine revved to life, and they were off, heading back towards the cabin and their family that waited for them. And still a single word hadn’t been spoken.

Thorn was the one to break the silence. “Well?”

His tone immediately set Cassian on edge and he had to remind himself that that was because it was often so much like his own and to calm down. But it didn’t stop his hand from tightening on the wheel. He took a deep breath before saying, “Well, what?”

Cassian’s eyes were still on the road, but he could feel Thorn looking at him. “Aren’t you going to yell at me?”

“Do you want me to yell at you?” Cassian asked. “Do you want me to tell you what a dumbass decision you made today, not only jeopardizing your future, but also Marion’s, and you could have gotten your cousins into serious trouble, too?”

“Luna and Ben would’ve been fine,” he grumbled, crossing his arms over his chest and slumping in the seat. “They weren’t even involved—.”

“And Marion?” Cassian interrupted. “I assume since I didn’t get to have a nice chat with her father in the lobby, they let her go, but she could’ve been in big trouble, too, Thorn.”

The truck cab filled with silence and Cassian took another deep, calming breath before he went on. “Do you know what my first arrest was for?”

Thorn looked over at his father, the man on the Velaris Police Force who never did anything wrong. “You’ve been arrested?”

“More times than I’m going to admit,” Cassian said, but glanced at Thorn before settling his eyes back on the road. “And the first time was for public indecency.”

The silence returned. “Were you having sex-.”

“No,” Cassian said, stopping him before he could finish his sentence. “I was at a party, eighteen years old, and I got drunk, then went streaking down the middle of the road. It was a nice neighborhood, too. Scared the shit out of an old woman sitting on her porch, reading a book. There was a police car sitting right around the corner.” Cassian nodded to Thorn. “At least you were arrested with your clothes on.”

For a moment, Thorn said nothing, but then he laughed, quietly. “Sounds stupid.”

“It was stupid,” Cassian agreed. “Almost as stupid as shagging your girlfriend in the back of a truck in broad daylight.” He gestured outside, to the setting sun.

“Shagging?” Thorn repeated.

“You’d prefer me use a different term?” Cassian shot back.

Thorn shook his head. “Look, I get it, alright? But there was no one else around-.”

“Yeah, which is why you didn’t get yourself in deeper shit. If there had been kids around, Thorn—.” Cassian snapped, then took a second to calm himself back down. “If that cop hadn’t driven by the parking lot and seen the truck off, but moving, I’m sure you wouldn’t have gotten caught. You’re right. But, that’s not the point. The point is-.”

“I know, dad,” Thorn said, his tone hardening. “I don’t need the lecture.”

“No?” Cassian asked.

Thorn shook his head.

“You already know what I’m going to say, then?” Cassian pushed.

Thorn nodded.

Cassian snorted. “Then do tell. Please.”

“You already said it!” Thorn said, tossing his hands in the air. “I’m an idiot, alright? I made a dumbass decision because I can’t control myself. I almost got Marion and Ben and Luna in trouble, and I got my ass tossed into the back of a police car, alright? I know what I did wrong, dad. And I’m embarrassed enough, so…just…please. Save the lecture.” Near the end, his anger faded, and all Cassian could hear was defeat.

Cassian cleared his throat. “Why embarrassed?”

Thorn shot his dad an exasperated look. “Seriously? I just got my naked ass dragged off my girlfriend before getting handcuffed and thrown in the back of a cop car, and you want to ask me why I’m embarrassed?”

Cassian looked over the console at Thorn, then back to the road. “Worried she’ll dump you?”

Thorn thought for a second, then shook his head. “No, but it’s just…not how I wanted today to go.”

Cassian nodded, then thought carefully about how he would ask his next question. “When you two… I mean, I assume it’s not the first time you’ve… You’ve been together a while…” He sighed, then bluntly asked, “You’re careful, right?”

“She’s on the pill,” Thorn mumbled, and when Cassian glanced over as he pulled into the driveway and parked the truck, his son’s cheeks were bright red.

He smirked. “So you’re man enough to have sex, but not to talk about it?”

“Not with you,” he muttered, unbuckling his seatbelt and climbing out of the truck.

Cassian followed suit and clapped a hand firmly on his son’s shoulder. “Well, that’s too bad. Cause not only are you about to have to talk to me about it again, but your mother as well.”

Thorn’s eyes went wide and his feet stopped moving. In the moonlight, the color of his eyes weren’t visible and he looked like a mirror image of Cassian at that age. “Mom knows?”

“Oh, yeah,” Cassian replied, getting him moving again. “The only ones that don’t are your brother, sister, and cousins. But the three of us are about to have a conversation and I don’t know if you’ll enjoy it as much as you enjoyed ours.”

Cassian could see a fire going down by the docks and hear the laughter of his family. He knew there would be one person missing from the revelry and found her sitting at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee and two plates of food on opposite sides of the table.

Nesta was rolling the coffee cup between her hands and her steely eyes flicked up to them the second they opened the sliding glass door.

Cassian didn’t say anything, just picked the plates of food up and took them to the microwave, heating them up, one by one.

Thorn lingered by the door, his hands shoved into his pockets. Finally, he started, “Mom, I—.”

Nesta held up a hand to stop him and pointed to the chair closest to her. “Sit.”

She stood and met Cassian in the kitchen, while Thorn did as he was told. She quietly asked him, “You talked?”

Cassian nodded, already diving into the plate of food. “Yeah.”

“You talked or you yelled?” She asked, raising an eyebrow.

With a shrug, Cassian ate another bite of steak. “Both. I’d say it was a productive conversation.”

“So should I be the good cop or the bad cop?” She asked, crossing her arms and leaning against the counter.

“I think he’s probably had enough of cops today,” Cassian said, and Nesta could see he was trying not to smile. “Probably best for you to be his mother instead.”

Pinching the bridge of her nose, Nesta sighed. “You know what I mean, Cass. Do I need to break him down more or should I start picking up the pieces?”

“I’d say a bit of both,” he admitted. “He’s embarrassed, and rightfully so, but I don’t think the ramifications of how bad this could have been have settled in yet.”

She nodded and picked up the second plate. Looking up at her husband, she wrinkled her nose. “Go take a shower after you eat. You smell like the lake.”

Nesta didn’t give him a chance to answer and instead carried the food back out to the dining area and set it down in front of Thorn, before taking her seat again.

“I’m not hungry,” he mumbled, staring at the food in front of him.

“Too bad.” She took a sip of her coffee. “Eat.”

He did as he was told, eating a few bites in silence until Cassian crossed through the living room, headed for their bedroom. “By the way Nes,” he called out. “Marion is on the pill, in case you wondered.”

Thorn dropped the fork he was holding and covered his face. “Dad.”

“Have a good talk!”

Nesta had closed her eyes and was taking deep, controlled breaths. When she opened them again, her blue-grey eyes met Thorn’s identical ones. “I’m too young to be a grandmother.”

Thorn looked away as he said, “I’m not… We’re being careful.”

“It takes more than her being on the pill to be careful,” Nesta said, calmly. “Accidents happen.”

“I really don’t want to talk about this,” Thorn whispered, staring at his plate.

“Then you shouldn’t have gotten arrested for not being able to keep your hands to yourself,” Nesta replied, simply. “Thorn-.”

“I love her,” he replied, finally looking back up at Nesta. “I love her, and when I’m around her, I can’t even…think straight. I know what we did was stupid, mom, but in that moment…” He shook his head. “You can blame it on stupid teen hormones or whatever, but that wasn’t what this is for me.”

Nesta sighed, setting her coffee down and laying a hand over his. “It’s not that you got caught having sex. It’s not even that you were arrested, but that is a part of it. It’s that you lied to us, Thorn. To me, and your father, and your aunts and uncles. You told us going into town had nothing to do with Marion, but in all reality, that was the whole reason you wanted to go. And you roped Bennett and Luna into it, which could have affected them.”

He nodded, not saying anything, just taking the reprimand.

“We’re upset with you because we’re disappointed. This could have ended much worse, and Marion is lucky they let her go.”

Nesta released his hand, but turned her own palm up, holding it out and waiting. Thorn looked at it for a moment, before glancing up at her face, and sighing. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and placed it in her hand. She placed it on the edge of the table and said, “You won’t be getting this back for the rest of the weekend. And when we get home, your father and I will discuss your full punishment.”

“I got thrown in jail,” he mumbled. “Isn’t that punishment enough?”

Her sharp laugh surprised even herself. “Absolutely not. But this weekend isn’t just about us. It’s about your cousins and your aunts and uncles and spending time with them. So finish eating and go join them around the fire.”

“And if they ask where I’ve been?” He asked as she stood and picked his phone up.

Pausing for a moment, she considered telling him to tell them anything but the truth. But they would all find out eventually. “That’s up to you. But keep the sex talk to a minimum. Scar, Lannan and Layla don’t need to hear about that yet.”

Thorn’s jaw locked, but he nodded, once. He stood and cleared his plate, even though anything had hardly been eaten off of it. He stopped before walking out the back door. “Can I at least text Rion to make sure she got home alright?”

“I’ll text her mom,” Nesta replied, simply.

Thorn hesitated. “Saying what?”

“Just making sure she got home safely,” she said, shrugging. “I’ll tell her to let Marion know you're grounded from your phone for the weekend so that she doesn’t worry.”

Thorn nodded, slowly. “And…the other stuff?”

Nesta watched him for a long moment before saying, “Even I think having your ass handed to you by Mr. Salvaterre for being caught with his daughter by the cops is too harsh a punishment. I won’t say a thing.”

All of the breath left Thorn’s body. “Thanks.”

The second Thorn was out the door, Cassian came around the corner, his plate cleaned.

“I should’ve known you were listening,” Nesta said, sipping from her mug as she watched her husband stride to the sink.

As he set his plate inside, he chuckled. “Oh, I wasn’t missing that. And I think you should reconsider. Watching Lorcan kick Thorn’s ass for defiling his daughter may be good for us all.”

Nesta rolled her eyes and looked out the back door, where Thorn was slowly walking down the hill toward the fire. “He means it. I can tell. He loves that girl.”

“You sound like that worries you,” Cassian said, sitting in the chair next to her before pulling her onto his lap.

“I don’t want his heart broken. That’s my baby,” Nesta said, simply.

“Ah, yes,” Cassian muttered, his lips on her shoulder. “Our little felon.”

“Don’t call him that,” she chastised. “He made a mistake. A big, stupid mistake, but I think he understands the consequences of his actions.”

“He better,” he murmured. “They each only get one get out of jail free card.”

Nesta’s quiet laughter shook her body. “I’m fairly sure neither John or Scarlett will need theirs.”

“You’re probably right,” he said, holding her tighter against him. “We can let this go until we get home. Let’s enjoy our time while we’re here, yeah?”

“Exactly.” Nesta turned and kissed him, but when he made a move to deepen the kiss, she put a hand to his chest and pushed him away. “I wasn’t kidding when I said you smelled like a lake. You need a shower.”

Rolling his eyes, he gave her another quick kiss before she stood. “Fine. I’ll go get in the shower. But only if you promise to make me a s’more when I get out.”

“Sounds like a fair trade,” she said, heading for their bedroom, Thorn’s phone in hand.

“I’m surprised he didn’t ask you not to go through his search history,” Cassian called from where he still sat at the table.

“You’re disgusting,” she hollered back.

“I’ve also been an eighteen-year-old boy,” he chuckled.

“Oh, I remember well,” Nesta laughed, turning off her son’s phone and placing it on the top of her dresser.

Thorn would be fine, reckless nature and all. He was his father’s son, after all, and Cassian had turned out pretty damn good, even if he was the cockiest, most reckless young man Nesta had ever had the pleasure of knowing.

Even if said man was sliding out the back door and not following her down the hall to take a shower like he’d said he would.

Exasperated, Nesta went onto the back porch to yell at him, but he was running down the hill, taking off his shirt as he did so. Once he reached the bonfire, he was throwing Thorn over his shoulder and running down the dock, toward the lake.

Nesta had no idea how he could still toss Thorn around like a sack of potatoes. They were nearly the same height, with those same broad shoulders.

She watched as Cassian jumped off the end of the dock, taking Thorn with him beneath the dark water, jeans, shoes, and all.

Nesta laughed quietly as Rhysand, Azriel, Bennett, and John all followed their lead, running down the dock and diving in.

“Nesta!”

Her eyes shifted to the fire, where everyone else sat. Feyre was waving for her to join them. “Come have a drink and help us laugh at these foolish boys!”

Nesta could hear the girls giggling as she walked down the hill to join them. Lannan was sound asleep on the ground in front of the fire, obviously having worn himself out from the day, and Scarlett and Layla weren’t far behind.

Nesta took the lawn chair that either Rhys or Az had vacated between her sisters, and took a deep breath in as she gazed up at the stars. They weren’t as beautiful as the ones she’d come to know and love in Velaris, but they were still a glorious sight.

“Everything okay?” Elain asked, taking Nesta’s hand.

She nodded, eyes still on the stars. “We’ll deal with it when we get home,” she replied, looking down at her sisters. “For now, we want to enjoy this weekend. Enjoy our time with our family.”

Feyre and Elain both smiled at that and Feyre rested her head on Nesta’s shoulder.

Tomorrow would be a new day. The sun would be bright and shining and they’d spend the day how they’d originally planned.

But that didn’t mean it wouldn’t be a day as crazy as today had been.

[amjustagirl]

Chapters: one. ~ two. ~ three. ~ four. ~ five. ~ six. ~ seven.

Wordcount: 3k

Summary: 

Akaashi Keiji catches glimpses of another life in his dreams. He dreams of fields of endless gold, of constellation of stars that light up the night sky. He hears the echo of birdsong in her laughter, her song to the gods in the wind.

(Loosely inspired by Kimi No Nawa)

Masterlist link here 

AO3 link here

Author’s note: This fic is a little different from my usual work, so I’m a little nervous about publishing it. If you do like it, would love if you leave a comment / reblog / anything! 

If you’d like to be included in the taglist, do drop me a msg/ask! 

The first time it happens, Akaashi is in his third year of university. 

The upside of staying in Tokyo for university (his mother cried when he got into Waseda, her alma mater) is that he sees his family almost every weekend for cosy family dinners. The downside of staying in Tokyo for university is that he really has no excuse when his parents insist on carrying on Hatsumode, the first prayer of the new year, at the crack of dawn at the shrine close to their home. It’s not that he minds the tradition per se, but he did just spend all night rushing his projects just so he could adhere to the unspoken rule that no work should be done during the New Year holidays and spend some time flying kites with his little cousins. 

Still, there is something magical about starting the New Year watching dawn break and the world awaken from its slumber just as he reaches the summit of all twenty six steps to the top of the shrine, shrouded in the bare branches of the wisteria trees. He tosses coins into the box, drops into a deep bow twice, chin at waist level, clapping twice before bowing a final time. His mother buys far too many omamori, presses at least half of them into his unwilling hands when the omikuji he draws has a great curse scribbled on it. He’s not superstitious, so it doesn’t bother him, but he knows his mother is, so he does accept the omamori with some grace, though he draws the line at the love charm she tries to sneak into the pile. 

‘Mum, I’m too busy at school for a partner’, he tells her firmly. ‘Why don’t you pass it to Yuji-kun, he’s already started work, but hasn’t found a girlfriend from what Oba-chan tells me’. His elder cousin shoots him a particularly malevolent glare that he meets with a placid smile as his mother diverts her attention to him instead.

The faintest shiver runs up his fingers when he deposits the old charm he found in the corner of his closet, grey and faded with time, in the koshinsatsu osamedokoro, the omamori drop off open only during the first day of the New Year. The shiver turns into a ripple of cool water racing up his wrists and roars into an tsunami of dread when the attendant tells him all deposited charms will be burnt in the ritual fire in a fortnight’s time, but he writes it off as a symptom of his lack of sleep and starts to turn away. 

There’s a sudden echo of a nightmare of raging flames that prompts him to swivel around to snatch the omamori and stuff it back in his pocket, muttering apologies to the shocked attendant. Later, when he has time to process his impulse, he’d find it strange. In the meantime however, the festivities wait for no one, so he distracts himself by eating far too much dango and mochi in between rounds of tossing kites up to catch the wind. His uncles slip him full cups of sake and sweetened rice wine to his mother’s disapproval, which in hindsight he should have heeded, as he stumbles to bed that night, head heavy with alcohol. 

That night he dreams of a girl with curly hair, lying in a field of endless gold - daffodils to mark the dawn of spring. 

‘Also known as narcissus’, he hears himself say, hears himself narrate the myth of a man so entranced by his own reflection in the water that he lost his will when he realizes he cannot have his object of desire. A girlish voice lilts teasingly – ‘the flowers are too pretty to be ruined by your obsession of stories written by grumpy old men’. He wakes up with the ghost of laughter on his lips, but there’s a lingering sense of loss budding in barren soil of his heart. 

It does prompt him to pop by the florist near his parents’ house to order a bouquet of daffodils for his mom to be delivered on the first day of spring. He’s accustomed to the old couple running the shop, so he pauses just for a second when he walks into the store to find a new girl at the counter. She must not be used to customers yet, dropping the bouquet she’s working on when she notices him. 

‘Hi’, she stammers, cheeks pink. ‘What can I do for you?’

‘I’d like to make an advance order for daffodils please.’ 

‘For spring?’ she asks, and he nods, writing down his parents’ address when prompted. ‘That’s a good choice!’ 

She waves him off with a cheerful – ‘please come back again’, and he does not notice that there are stars in her eyes. 

His mother drags him back to the shrine on the third day of the holidays, and he obliges her, ever the dutiful only son, even though the frigid temperature makes his breath puff up into clouds and the tip of his nose turns numb. The old omamori is still snug in his jacket pocket, and as his fingers brush against it, he can feel the threads of the charm unravelling, the fabric almost fragile in its worn, threadbare state but he does not attempt to dispose of it again.  

‘What are you going to do once you’re done with your degree, Keiji?’ His mother asks, when they stop by an old teahouse for a cup of steaming genmaicha, the aroma of roasted rice tea warm against his cold nose. 

‘I intend to apply for a job at a publishing company after I graduate’, he tells her seriously, and she nods, encouraging him to continue. ‘I’m hoping it’s something to do with my major, preferably Japanese literature, better yet if it's poetry, but in this market, I’ll take what I can get’. 

His mother nods, smiling at him fondly. ‘I remember you used to be obsessed with Shakespeare and Greek myths when you were younger, all the way through high school, and your father and I thought that you’d end up majoring in that in university. You really surprised us when you chose to major in Japanese literature instead.’

‘I don’t know why, to be honest. Maybe I had a good Japanese literature tutor?’ He laughs, fiddling with his teacup. 

‘Mm I don’t think so though. I remember you complaining that Raku-sensei was so dull he caused everyone to fall asleep.’ He shrugs, and though she stares at him curiously, she does not pursue the line of conversation any further. 

That night he dreams of waking up in an old wooden house, shivering in a thick futon, the smoldering embers from the irori, mere inches from his face. It’s so very different from his childhood bedroom filled with modern appliances and walls of books neatly shelved in alphabetical order, but he doesn’t notice that in the dark. Instead, he reaches for his phone to check the time, bolting awake because that can’t be, he never misses his alarm, mentally calculating that he must leave the house in exactly fifteen minutes to make it in time for practice when a little boy bursts through the door. 

‘Nee-chan’, the little boy whines. ‘I’m hungry. Time for breakfast’. 

Did he just say Nee-chan? Scratch that - since when did he have a little brother? 

He scrambles out of bed, groping his way in the dark to the washroom. The cold water should wake him up, but when he looks up at the mirror above the sink, the face he’s staring at does not belong to him. No - it belongs to a dark eyed girl with curly hair - but it doesn’t make sense, shouldn’t make sense, because when he reaches a trembling finger to poke at the mirror, he is she or she is him - 

The ensuing panic and confusion makes him jerk out of his dream, but when he rushes to the washroom to check that he’s still himself, he is relieved to see that it’s still him - Akaashi Keiji, with dark circles around his eyes, staring back in disbelief. 

He chalks his strange dream up to the stress he carries around from trying to clear all his course work so he can audit additional classes over the next term. 

Except the dreams don’t stop, not even when he moves back to the university dorms. He keeps waking up drenched in cold sweat, clutching at his arms even though they’re clear of the scratches he sees in his dreams, red and raw and stretching all the way up his elbows. 

‘Be kinder to Hana-chan, Keiji-kun’, he hears the call of the same girl in his mind and he shudders, unsure whether the disembodied voice floating through his mind is a memory from his dream. ‘She’s going through an awfully tough time’.

‘It doesn’t give her the right to hurt you like that’, he can hear his faint disapproval. 

‘Never mind that, it’s not a big deal. What are we reading today – don’t tell me it’s anything like Hamlet. That was horrendously depressing.’ 

‘Midsummer’s Night Dream? It’s a romantic comedy at least.’

‘Only a nerd like you would read Shakespeare in high school – and it’s not even in Japanese!’

‘Hush – you don’t get to complain when I’m reading it out to you.’

‘What on earth is going on’, he mutters to himself. The copious amounts of frigid water he splashes onto his face is no antidote to this madness.

‘Sato-san, are you feeling alright?’ he asks his grimacing classmate in concern, lines of pain etched onto her face. 

‘I’m fine, Akaashi-kun’, she manages to spit out, clutching her stomach with white-knuckled hands. ‘It’ll pass in a bit, I hope’. 

‘Are you sure you’re fine? I could help you to the nurse’s office if that helps’. 

His classmate shakes her head, a blush staining her cheeks. ‘It’s just that time of the month. I apologise if that’s too much information to be polite’. 

Ah. But somehow even though he has no sisters, and his female classmates in high school were oddly reticent about their periods (strange, considering it is part and parcel of being a mammal for far more than a millenium) the steps to deal with this particular conundrum come to him so naturally it’s almost as if the answers were presented to him previously in a dream. 

‘Here’, he passes Sato-san painkillers, chocolate and a hot water bottle he’d managed to talk the university nurse into loaning him, and Sato practically whimpers in gratitude. 

‘You’re a lifesaver, Akaashi-kun’, she tells him and he nods, content that he’s solved the problem so efficiently. 

That night he wakes up in her body again. The room is dark, save for the sliver of white light between the blinds that allows him to discern the growing crimson stain between her legs. 

‘Don’t you know all women have to deal with this nonsense every month? But I’ll tell you a trick - painkillers, chocolate and a hot water bottle will make you feel as right as rain’, he hears her voice declare in his mind, and he startles awake to find himself back in his own bed, blessedly clear of any bloodstains. 

It must be a dream borne out of what happened today, he tells himself firmly and shrugs it off. The rest of his slumber is thankfully shorn of dreams. 

But then these dreams start to crash into his sleep like a series of never ending waves, and he’s a short hop, skip, jump away from falling off the cliff into a distracted madness, the rate his sleep keeps getting disrupted. He keeps waking up in her body, it makes him feel like a creep, wearing her skin like an ill-fitting glove, and he decided does not think about how strange it feels to have twin lumps of flesh in front of his chest (his mother raised him to be a gentleman, after all). 

The contents of these dreams are relatively cyclical. He wakes up at dawn, puts on her school uniform, makes breakfast for the little boy - Toya-chan over the primitive hearth before rushing to school through dirt paths lined with trees. His - or rather her classmates stare at her with a mix of condescension and apathy, and her hours in school are spent in a lonely silence, save when Hana-chan gets up in her face and screams absolute nonsense about staying the fuck away from her, which seems a little dramatic considering she’s the one doing the confronting, but it’s just a dream, so he keeps telling himself. It’s not like he can change anything about it. 

‘Does it bother you? That you’re alone?’ he asks her one day. 

‘Not really. I have you and Toya-chan, don’t I?’ she responds. 

‘I suppose’, he says, voice trailing off. 

He catches glimpses of sun drenched afternoons spent in fields of flowers, glances of dusky evenings spent in the forest basking in the light of the setting sun. He agonizes over stacks of homework, digs for mushrooms in the damp earth, climbs through wire fences to scavenge for eggs in neighbouring farms. 

‘Aren’t your parents worried about you and Toya-chan?’ he can hear himself question her one night. 

‘My mom is dead and my dad can’t be home often, he works on construction projects around Sapporo. He sends cash to me and Toya-chan, and it isn’t always enough, but he tries his best ’, she answers, her voice feather light. 

‘I’m sorry’, he tells her a little awkwardly, thinking about his happy family and wondering how it’d feel like to have them torn away from him so early on in life. 

‘Don’t be’, she replies, ‘Sometimes I wonder if it’s better to have good parents who’re dead or absent rather than horrible parents who’re still alive’. 

He jolts awake again, relieved to find himself back in his bed. It’s barely four in the morning, but he’s not going to be able to sleep after that, so he resigns himself to using the time to get cracking on his college assignments anyway. But he makes sure to call his mother once day breaks and he’s sure she’s returned from the market with groceries in tow, telling her awkwardly that he’s just calling to catch up and hopes she’s been well and ok bye mum I love you very much, heart pounding when he hangs up abruptly. 

He has a standing appointment on the first Thursday every month to meet Kenma for coffee at a café a stone’s throw away from Waseda. They both order black coffee, which is strange for Kenma considering his legendary sweet tooth, but he knows Kenma too well to know that the ridiculously successful game streamer is only drinking coffee to stay awake, the shadows under his eyes deeper and darker than those under Akaashi’s own eyes.  

‘Doesn’t Kuroo-san nag you go to bed at a decent time?’ 

Kenma doesn’t even bother to flick his eyes up, busy gulping mouthfuls of the bitter liquid. ‘Speak for yourself. Not sleeping well either?’ 

Akaashi shrugs his shoulders helplessly, stirring his coffee. ‘Mm. ‘I’ve been having strange recurring dreams and it’s been affecting my sleep’. 

Kenma merely hums in reply, and Akaashi finds himself spilling out the entire weird series of events – though to be absolutely accurate, his dreams aren’t real so they can’t be termed as events, but they’ve been haunting him for the past month so they might as well be at this rate. He explains about finding himself in the body of a high school girl with curly hair and a dimple on one cheek, how he’s lived her life enough in the past month that he can map out her days with startling certainty, how he knows it’s not real – it can’t be real, but his dreams glimmer with such vibrancy that they feel real. 

‘Am I going crazy?’ he asks. 

‘I highly doubt it’, Kenma says, tapping his chin in thought. ‘Maybe it’s like one of those exploration video games where you have to take your time to discover its world to figure out the narrative the game is feeding you.’ 

Trust Kenma to relate everything to video games. 

‘That was singularly unhelpful’, Akaashi says dryly as Kenma chuckles quietly in response. 

He is almost afraid to fall asleep again but his eyelids are weighed down by weeks’ worth of sleep deprivation and soon he finds himself again in her body. 

It’s a clear winter’s night. He’s huddled under a thick blanket to shield himself from the bitter cold, watching the embers in the hearth glow yellow and gold. 

‘It’s late. Can’t sleep?’ 

‘Mm’ he replies. ‘Wondering what tomorrow will bring.’ 

‘You’re overthinking again, Keiji’, she chuckles. ‘Tomorrow’s going to be just another day. You’ll wake up back in your warm bed at the crack of dawn for volleyball practice, attend classes in your fancy private school, and play even more volleyball with your beloved Bokuto-san’. 

He rolls his eyes heavenwards at her words and her laugh this time is loud, bright. 

‘You know I only speak the truth. Now, since you need to wake up ridiculously early tomorrow, why don’t I tell you a bedtime story so you can fall asleep.’

‘I’m not a child’, he replies dryly, but does not object when she starts to narrate the tale of a princess exiled from the moon, who is raised by a humble woodcutter and his wife to become a renowned beauty, with five suitors seeking her hand. ‘That’s mean of her’, he mumbles as she describes how the princess rebuffs her suitors by setting them impossible tasks, drifts to sleep as her voice softens as she describes how the princess falls in love with the Emperor, but breaks both their hearts because she knows she must return to the moon someday. He’s fast asleep when she reaches the ending where the princess leaves all her memories on earth with tears in her eyes, gifting the emperor with an elixir of immortality which he burns, because he declares life isn’t worth living without her. 

‘Goodnight Keiji’, she says, her voice shimmering in the still night air.   

For the first time in a long while, Akaashi wakes up at peace. 

Taglist: 

@1tooru @animeflower26 @kageyamakock

[foxymoxynoona]

Amended Ch. 2

Read Chapter 1 here

SUMMARY: Getting into a bar fight is the least surprising part of Isabella's return home. She sure doesn't expect to run into her childhood friend turned high school enemy, now not just surprisingly a law-abiding citizen but a police officer. Things seem to be going great for him, but Isabella is struggling with more than a bar fight. A single mom with a sick grandmother, an alcoholic mother, an abusive ex, and a short fuse herself, matters are not helped that Jungkook seems to be everywhere. All the time. Especially every time Isabella messes up. Can she really believe him when he says he just wants to help?

Police officer! Jungkook x Single Mom Childhood Friend Named OC

CW: abusive parents, alcoholism, abusive exes, descriptions of childhood abuse, domestic violence, sexual abuse, illegal acts, side character death, discussions/references to underage sexual activity/alcohol use/drug use, teen pregnancy, explicit sexual content

Also hosted on AO3 under foxymoxy. Not sure if I’ll keep posting on tumblr or not, but I thought I’d try it out!

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The morning had not been going well. At all.

The kids had overslept. 

Ok, maybe Isabella had overslept too.

Grandma had not overslept but had been in a bit of a mental fog, so Isabella had plied her with bananas and water as suggested by the nurses, while running around frantically to get the kids’ things pulled together. While they dawdled, of course, as if they had nowhere in the world to be. They couldn’t find their socks. They didn’t want frozen waffles for breakfast. They didn’t want to go to their first days of school, they wanted to just watch cartoons while Isabella struggled to be a morning person like most days.

But she’d done it, she got them dressed and fed and out the door, only having to double back for forgotten bags once. And while it was a whirlwind drop off at two different schools, she made it, and made it home just as Grandma was finishing her morning coffee and ready for a lift to her bible study, and just in time to shower to get dressed for her first day of work.

Except she’d underestimated how far the bible study was, and realized as soon as Grandma was shuffled inside that she was going to be late. For her first day of work. So she booked it into high gear…

And it landed her here. Pulled over to the side of the road with the cop car lights flashing through the back windshield. She let out an angry groan and let her head rest against the steering wheel. Now she would definitely be late.

A knock on her window got her to look up, only to huff, “You have got to be fucking kidding me.” She cranked her window down, actions snappish and pissy, as Jungkook waited with raised eyebrows and a narrow stare.

“Isabella.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” she sighed again, in case he hadn’t heard her earlier.

“That’s my question,” he said. “Do you have any idea how fast you were going, ma’am?”

“Thirty.”

“Bullshit,” he snorted.

“Do you know how fast I was going?”

He glared and answered, “Fifty-four in a thirty.”

“Not me, officer.”

“Isabella--”

“I’d like to see your radar gun readout and a clear photo of--”

“Isabella,” he sighed and made an exasperated noise. 

“There was another car going much faster than me, probably you picked that one up.”

“Used to arguing your way out of tickets, huh?”

“I doubt the other way out of tickets would work with you.”

“Oh? And what would that be? Maybe… not speeding and earning them in the first place?” he suggested. And he just looked so fucking smug. 

She gave him an equally smug grin and prompted, “Radar read out and dashboard cam, please.”

“License and registration, please.”

“Jungkook,” she grunted. “I’m late for work. It’s my first day.”

“Work, huh? Where’s that.”

“Target. Ever been? There’s a pharmacy, they have vaseline that could help you get that stick out of your--”

He sighed and rested his hands on the window frame, “Isabella. Why are you antagonizing me? I’m a cop. You’re speeding.”

“You are a cop, but I was not speeding.”

“Goddamn you are as infuriating as you were in high school.”

“Look,” she sighed, deciding to try a different tactic. “Fine, you want to try the other way? There’s a gas station up ahead, behind the dumpster there aren’t cameras. My backseat has a kid booster but you can probably turn your car cam off, right?”

“Jesus Christ,” he groaned, pushing away from her car and scratching at his hair. “Can you stop trying to bribe your way out of a ticket?!”

“Oh. So you admit that sounds like an appealing bribe? I just meant it as a friendly offer but--”

“Ok, look. I’m going to let you off with a warning this one time. Do you hear me?” 

Isabella bit her tongue so as not to point out that she vaguely thought she recalled him telling her the other night it was her one warning. Instead she made her eyes very big and nodded.

“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir. Officer, sir.”

“Just because if I give you a ticket I have to stand here and deal with you for fifteen more minutes.”

“I am so grateful--”

“But look, slow down, ok? You’re going to hit someone and this tin can you’re driving isn’t going to protect you. You can’t show up here and just break the law when you feel like it.” 

She bit her tongue so hard it hurt. That was rich, real rich coming from a delinquent she’d covered for plenty of times. Probably he knew that, because he arched his eyebrow and waited, as if to see if she could resist. She lifted her chin and set her jaw and held it in. He watched her a moment longer.

“Have a nice day, ma’am. Take it easy.” He patted the roof of her car like a true and genuine police asshole, and sauntered back to his vehicle. Isabella cranked up her window.

“You fucker, you definitely didn’t actually have me on radar and how dare you preach at me about--”

The siren blipped once, cutting off her monologue. She glared at him through the rearview mirror and quickly pulled away, waiting until she’d lost him behind a turn to take off again, in an attempt to make up for lost time and not lose her job on the first fucking day.

It wasn’t until she parked she realized she’d forgotten to take her wallet out of one of the kids’ backpacks before dropping them off.

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

Isabella’s legs hurt. Her back hurt. Her head hurt. She was too tired for this. She kept glancing at the clock, but there were hours left in her shift still. Ezra and Lily would have arrived at afterschool care by now. The nurse would have picked up Grandma from bible study long ago. Everyone was fine. But she was tired and desperate for coffee and didn’t have a break coming up any time soon.

She plastered on a smile, ringing up the woman in her line, but the woman was on her phone and not paying attention anyway so she let it slide away. The woman bought razors, deodorant, several bottles of wine, a carton of Goldfish, and a box of tampons. Isabella rang everything up, turned the bags on the carousel so the woman could loop them over the hand holding her car keys, and held the receipt out. 

“Have a nice day,” she said.

“Uh huh,” the woman nodded and walked away, flicking her hand a little like Isabella was a gnat. 

She hadn’t looked at the next person in line yet, just reached for the bag of shrimp chips and then immediately froze.

“Are you fucking--” She looked up as she spoke, knowing instinctively it was Jungkook, but trailed off upon finding him holding a little girl. He raised his eyes and gave her a crooked grin.

“What was that?” he asked. The little girl stared at her with similar wide eyes.

“Uh… are you following me?” she asked, deciding to ignore his look. “I told you where I work. Are you checking up on me?!”

He gave her a teasing glare, “Are you always this paranoid?” She rolled her eyes. “You didn’t card that woman.”

“Oh my god, are you kidding me right now? She was clearly over 21.”

“I don’t know,” he tsked, looking after the woman. “White people, it’s hard to tell your ages.”

Isabella licked her lips in annoyance to keep from saying worse, and then smiled at the little girl, “Your dad is a real charmer, huh?”

The girl’s face instantly screwed up and she argued, “He’s not my dad, he’s my uncle!”

“Ah. Oh!” Before she could even ask, Jungkook’s older sister set one final thing on the belt, then did a double take.

“Isabella!” she greeted. “Hello!”

“Um, hi Youngsoon.” Isabella immediately blushed. Youngsoon was even more beautiful than she’d been as a young adult. Youngsoon had always been so beautiful and cool. Isabella had spent a lot of years lamenting she couldn’t be a beautiful Korean woman like her, certain Jungkook’s older sister belonged in the movies. Embarrassed, she quickly began scanning items.

“Jungkook didn’t mention you were back in town. How are you?”

“I’m well,” she answered reflexively, only glancing up. She did not appreciate the smug grin Jungkook still had. What did he have to be smug about? She glared at him.

“She thought Uncle Gukka was my dad,” the little girl giggled, flinging her arms around Uncle Gukka’s neck. 

“Yuck,” Jungkook teased, scrunching her face up at her. To be fair, the little girl was clearly a Jeon. But it made sense that she was a baby Youngsoon; she was beautiful, just like her mother, not goobery like Jungkook… well, like he had been when they were younger, anyway...

“Sora, this woman is an old friend of Uncle Gukka’s,” Youngsoon said with a smile. “She was Uncle Gukka’s very first friend in America.”

“Your first friend was a girl?” Sora asked with surprise.

Jungkook gave her a serious look and said, “I didn’t know it at the time.”

“Hey,” Isabella glared. But she didn’t stop scanning items, in a hurry to finish up so they could go away. She was very nervous now having Jungkook and Youngsoon both here. Jungkook she didn’t mind aggravating but seeing Youngsoon left her feeling… insignificant.

But Youngsoon, perfectly at ease chatting, continued, “Have you moved back permanently?”

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “We’re here with my grandmother right now. I just-- it was easy to transfer to the store since I already work at Target, so I’m just picking up some shifts…” God, it was mortifying. Mortifying. Not only was she standing there scanning their items in her stupid khakis and red polo shirt, but talking about picking up shifts… Youngsoon had been in medical school back then. And now Jungkook was a cop. 

“We?”

“Oh, um… me and my children.”

“Oh! How old are you children?” Youngsoon continued. “I have two --Sora here is--”

“I’m five,” Sora announced.

“Five,” Youngsoon finished with a fond smile. “And I have a two year old boy.” The last item had been rung up and placed in the bag and Isabella had succeeded in not looking at Jungkook for several minutes now; even when Sora had spoken and she’d reflexively look at the little girl, she’d managed to blur his face from view. Gukka’s very first friend in America. What a silly thing to mention. Pokemon. They’d bonded over fucking Pokemon.

But Youngsoon looked at her expectantly and Isabella had always admired her so much and found herself admitting, “I have two. Eight and four.”

“Oh, are they in school? Or will you not be here that long?”

“Yeah, I-- they started school today actually. Since I don’t know how long we’ll be here, I didn’t want them to miss out.”

“Is your younger one in kindergarten?”

“No, Pre-K still but through public school.”

“It was their first day today?” Jungkook asked, tricking her into looking at him. She gave a nod and turned to push the button on the screen as Youngsoon pulled out her wallet to pay. She tried not to sulk but thought that might be why he snorted and then sighed, “You shouldn’t have been speeding.”

“It’s my first day of work too and I was going maybe three over--”

“Twenty-four over,” he clarified. 

“Show me the radar receipt.”

He let out an exasperated sigh, “I let you off with a warning, didn’t I?”

“Yeah because I said--”

“Not because of anything you said,” he corrected instantly, giving her a wide-eyed and pointed stare. 

“--you wanted me to shut up,” she grinned cheekily, grabbing the receipt as it printed out. 

Youngsoon gave her a gentle smile though, because she’d always been kind, and assured her, “Mornings are hard. Sorry it sounds like a tough one.” She took the receipt. “I’m really glad to run into you though. We should get our kids together for a play date! Sora and your youngest are so close in age.”

“Oh. Um…” She hadn’t expected that. Why would she suggest that? She’d hurried so Youngsoon could finish being polite and leave.

“Let me give you my number,” she said instead, digging around in her wallet and then pulling out a business card. “You can text or call my cell that’s listed there.”

“Ok. Um, thanks, sure. Things are a little busy right now but--”

Jungkook snickered and made a face at his sister, “Soona, she doesn’t want to bring her kids around.”

“My kids are wonderful,” Isabella defended hotly, feeling anger charge through her body. Her cheeks flushed with it. It surprised him, he didn’t hide that from his face.

“Uh, I-- I didn’t mean it like that,” he assured her. He shifted Sora to his other arm and scratched his cheek. 

Sora seemed oblivious to the awkward exchange as she asked Isabella, “Do you have a boy or a girl?”

“I have one of each. My daughter is the one close to your age.”

“Does she like princesses or cars or both?” Sora asked. Youngsoon laughed gently and pressed her hand to Jungkook’s arm to nudge them along, but motioned to the business card in Isabella’s hand.

“Do call or text.”

“Ok. Yeah. I will.”

Jungkook didn’t say anything more, even goodbye. He’d picked up both bags though after dumping Sora to the ground; she took her mother’s hand and waved to Isabella as the three of them left the store.

Isabella’s cheeks blazed as she turned her attention to the next customer, an older woman who looked vaguely familiar but didn’t seem to recognize Isabella. That was good. She hadn’t thought about how many people she’d see at Target, she’d just been thinking about the ease of picking up shifts and making money because she needed to. 

Embarrassed, she tossed the business card in the trash under her till.

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

Isabella stretched out on the couch next to Grandma once the kids were in bed a half hour later than she had wanted. That wasn’t too bad. The house felt strangely silent without their voices and pounding footsteps rattling the walls, but it was nice to be able to let out her breath and relax and not try to look like a Responsible Adult. 

Grandma hummed happily and laced her fingers into Isabella’s hair, holding her tea mug in the other hand.

“That better be decaf,” Isabella warned.

“My, you’re a bossy little thing,” Grandma chuckled. 

“I just don’t want you having caffeine nightmares, and you’re barely sleeping as it is--”

“Yes, yes, I know. Nothing but sleepy herbs in this. Would you like some?”

“I’m so wiped, I won’t need any help falling asleep.”

“Go to bed now.”

“Nah, I’ll sit up with you a little longer,” Isabella insisted and sat up, certain the way her grandmother stroked her hair would put her to sleep otherwise. She’d gone so many years without getting to sit with her grandma like this, she wouldn’t trade it for a little extra sleep now that she could.

“Well I heard all about the first day of school from the children at dinner, but how was your first day of work?”

Isabella shrugged, “It’s just Target. It’s the same everywhere you go-- hey, you know who I keep running into?”

“Who?”

“Jungkook. Do you remember him?”

“Of course I remember him.”

“Did you know he’s a cop now?”

“Yes, I knew,” her grandmother confirmed, smiling and nodding. “Why is that so surprising? He’s a sweet boy.”

“Uh, he was sweet when we were eleven. Then he became a raging asshole…”

“Bella,” Grandma scolded, giving her a look about her language.

“Grandma, he was a troublemaker in high school. What the hell made him become a cop? He hated cops! He never showed the slightest interest in becoming a cop and now suddenly he’s lecturing me about…” She trailed off, not wanting to admit to her grandmother about what she’d been up to and realizing she almost had.

Grandma gave her a coyly arched eyebrow and pressed, “About what, my darling granddaughter?”

“Nothing.”

“Maybe the fight you had last Thursday--”

“Grandmaaa,” Isabella sighed. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“I’m sure you don’t! But I know what a hangover is, my dear, and I don’t think you were using make up to cover bites from an amorous lover--”

“Grandma!” This time she broke off with a laugh and gave her grandmother a gentle, playful shove. “What do you know about amorous bites?”

“Oh, to be young and think you know everything--”

“I’m not young, I’m old,” Isabella sighed and let her head drop to her grandmother’s shoulder. “I stopped being young when I was fourteen. I just have a hard time believing Jungkook grew up enough to be a cop. He still seems like a smarmy asssss...” She’d tried to change the word to something else and couldn’t think of anything on the spot, just dragged the s out awkwardly long.

“Nonsense. Being a cop doesn’t mean you grew up, it just means you passed some tests and they gave you a badge and a gun.”

“Oof. Careful, Grandma! That sounds remarkably progressive. What will the old ladies in your bible study group say? How dare you flaunt authority?”

Grandma laughed and admitted, “Perhaps it is a little tough when you find yourself so much older than authority.”

“I bet he can’t even grow a beard yet.”

“He tried, briefly, a few years ago,” Grandma admitted, grinning when Isabella giggled. “You’re still very young too, sweetheart, you just grew up fast. But someday you’ll look back in disbelief of how young you still were right now, thinking like that.”

“Don’t talk cryptically, Grandma. You’ll make me panic.”

“No, no, I won’t die on you tonight,” the older woman teased, earning a glare from Isabella. “I just find your disbelief he grew up and started a career is amusing. You grew up and got a career and have two children!”

“I hardly think working at Target counts as a career. I’m not even a manager.”

“You could be!”

“No,” Isabella sighed. “I can’t be. I take too many sick days. I mean honestly I was probably about to get fired at my store in New York. It’s a blessing you wanted me to come home. Don’t think for a second I did it for you.”

Grandma grinned, “Oh yes, of course. My selfish granddaughter, only ever doing things for herself.”

Isabella sighed. She knew her grandmother was teasing her. But she did feel selfish. All the time. Every part of her life felt like jumping from one selfish decision to the next, hurting everyone within reach. That was her legacy, wasn’t it? Even her two children, who she would have moved heaven and earth for, suffered because she just couldn’t quite get her shit together. And why couldn’t she get her shit together? Because she kept making bad decisions. Even now, she really had uprooted her children to move home because selfishly she wanted whatever time she had left with her grandmother, even if it meant dividing what little energy and attention she had for her children even further. And selfishly, too, it was a break on rent, which she’d been struggling to make before.

“I didn’t mean that,” her grandmother whispered. “I’m teasing you, Isabella. You’re a good girl with a big heart. Be kind to yourself. I’m glad you’re home, I’m just sad a mini seizure is what brought you home.”

“It wasn’t mini, Grandma.”

“And don’t be too hard on Jungkook. I think he’s made a sincere effort to leave his high school behavior in high school.”

“It would be easier not to be hard on him if he would stop following me everywhere. I swear, he’s like a plague. A shadow!”

Grandma grinned, “Then it’s just like when you were twelve again.”

“God, I hope not. Twelve is the worst age when you’re a girl.”

“It’s not too kind to boys either.”

“Jungkook came out on the right side of it.”

“Oh, do you think he’s handsome now?” her grandmother asked, and Isabella felt the snicker against her scalp.

“No. I meant after puberty, the girls in high school did! He’s ugly now.”

“Isabella.”

“So ugly. Stupid face.”

“Isabella,” her grandmother laughed.

“What! He was probably thinking the same things when he saw me. Wow, she got ugly and old and fat--”

“Ok, missy, I’m cutting you off,” her grandmother said, nudging her to get her to sit up. “Go to bed.”

“What! Cutting me off from what, I’m not drinking anything.”

“From thoughts like that. You are beautiful and hard-working and you have two perfect children.”

“I know, I know.”

“You are kicking ass.”

“Grandmaaa,” Isabelle laughed. 

“I’m eighty-six, I can say ass for once.”

“That’s twice!”

“Ah, better call Officer Jeon to arrest me--”

Isabella pretended to vomit, “Never call him Officer Jeon again. He’s an idiot. He’s so… smug. He thinks he’s better than me--”

“Bella, honey.”

“Hm?”

“You’re not sixteen anymore and neither is he. Let it rest.”

Isabella didn’t quite know what her grandmother meant by that. There was plenty she could imply. But while she had no problem assuming intent on Jungkook’s part because he’d been such an absolute asshole in high school, she didn’t want to read anything in what her grandmother said now that could either defend Jungkook or embarrass herself. 

“Fine,” Isabella conceded. “Anyway, I probably won’t see him again. Unless he really is stalking me and then I’ll get a restraining order.”

“That’s my girl,” Grandma laughed and kissed her forehead. “Now to bed. We have to do this all again tomorrow.”

“Wait, the kids have to go to school again?”

It made Grandma laugh, and Isabella was glad to see that. Honestly maybe it was all a little hammed up, even talking about Jungkook, because her grandmother was in constant pain at this point, and any little smile she could get from her was a victory. 

“Ok, let me help you up to bed, Grandma. Tomorrow is another day. I’m sure it’ll be better.”

“So, guess who’s back in town?” Youngsoon brought up at dinner. Jungkook groaned and threw his napkin at her before she said anything further, earning a pinch on the arm from his mom. It wasn’t even weekly family dinner night, so Jungkook had thought it would be safe to go to his parents’ place to mooch food, but Youngsoon had also decided to come over with her kids because her husband had a night out with the guys or whatever. 

She’d waited until they were halfway through the meal, once the kids had finished and run off to play noisily in the living room, to bring it up. As if just to lure Jungkook into the false sense of getting away with it. But at his parents’ curious prompt, Youngsoon answered,

“Isabella Desmond. She’s staying with her grandmother.”

“Isabella Desmond! How is she?”

“Why are you looking at me?” Jungkook grumbled, shoving tempura in his mouth. 

“You already knew?”

Jungkook made a face and admitted, “Yeah, I already knew… she’s… struggling, it seems.”

“Struggling how?” his mother pressed. “It must be hard with her grandmother in poor health…”

“Working at Target doesn’t mean she’s struggling,” Youngsoon countered, leveling a look at Jungkook.

“No, I think she’s struggling because-- I don’t know,” he shrugged. On second thought, he didn’t want to get into it. “Just seems like she has a lot on her plate.”

“She’s got two kids,” Youngsoon informed his parents. “Eight and four, she said. I asked her to give me a call for a playdate.”

“Ah, that’s good. It would be good to see her again. She was always such a good friend to Gukka,” his father said. Jungkook sighed and rolled his eyes, earning a swift kick from his mom beneath the table even before his father teased, “Even when Gukka was not a good friend.”

“I was always a great friend. I’m still a great friend. I let her off with warnings twice.”

“Twice? One was for a speeding ticket. What was the other one?” Youngsoon immediately caught because of course she did.

Jungkook gave her a smug grin, “Sorry, can’t disclose, official police business.”

“Well if she calls you, please invite her over to supper,” his mother suggested. “Her and the children and her grandmother. It would be good to see them all again.”

Jungkook clicked his teeth and said, “She’s not going to call you, Soona. And it’s for the best, just let her be. She’s not in a good place right now.”

“Ok.” Youngsoon gave him a serious look. “Then… help her.”

“I did. I gave her warnings twice.”

“That’s not helping, that’s enabling--”

Jungkook sighed, “She’s not my responsibility.”

“It’s not good,” his mother argued. “She was such a good friend to you when we first moved here. It felt like I didn’t even have a son anymore because you were always off in that treehouse playing together. We bought that Nintendo just to lure you both into the house.”

“Ma, we were twelve and also it was a PlayStation, you can’t just call all video game systems Nintendo. And we don’t owe each other anything because we were old Pokemon buddies. She’s not doing me any favors either.”

“What favors do you want her to do?” Youngsoon asked, bright-eyed.

“Ma, Soona’s being dirty.”

“Soona, behave.”

“I’m just--”

“Yes, I know, I know.”

“She’s pretty, mom. You should have seen Gukka’s grin when we saw her in Target--”

“Bull--- hockey,” Jungkook glared. “She’s a menace. You should have heard her talking her way out of the parking ticket. Demanding to see the radar gun…”

Jungkook’s dad grinned, “Well? Did it work?”

“Wha-- it worked because I was being nice and gave her a warning.”

“You didn’t have a radar gun,” his dad nodded.

“She was clearly speeding but… no… I didn’t…”

“Ah, she was always a clever girl,” his mother laughed. “I hope she is ok. Keep an eye out for her, Gukka. You say you don’t owe her anything? We always owe kindness to the people who were kind to us.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he sighed, shaking his head. “I let her off with a warning twice… I don’t know what more you want me to do…”

“Whatever your heart says you should,” his mother beamed at him. Absolutely infuriating. 

Fortunately Soona’s kids ran shrieking into the room, bickering about who broke the TV remote, and Jungkook was saved from further interrogation.

[phykios]

people on ao3 were thirsty for this fic so... here you go, tumblr ❤ 

put on the red light M, sex work au, modern royalty au, no powers au  [read on ao3]

🌊🌊🌊

Sometimes, she really regrets being best friends with Piper.

Said best friend still gapes at her from across the table, jaw practically on the floor. “Never?”

Annabeth rolls her eyes. “Never.”

“Not even, like, at school?”

“When I would have had the time?” she asks. “I was attempting a five-year program in four years, and then… well, you know.” And she does know, all about the very exciting drama that went down in Annabeth’s senior year.

Piper is still flabbergasted. “Not even high school?”

Annabeth takes a sip of her drink. “I wasn’t exactly a hot commodity in high school.” She’d been passively pretty all her life, but she hadn’t exactly been what some might call Girlfriend material, capital G. She’d stuck to her fifteen year plan to the letter, eschewing most social contact, working herself into the ground to overcome ADHD by sheer force of will and get into Harvard, a plan which allowed approximately zero time for a boyfriend. Not that there were even boys that she had really liked at the time.

The only boy she had ever considered liking in that way, well. She had lost contact with him a while ago.

“I can’t believe this.”

“Believe it or not, Ripley, it’s true. I’ve never had sex. You happy?”

“I mean, if you don’t mind me asking, are you ace?” Piper asks. “Because that’s totally cool, of course.”

She shakes her head. “Definitely not ace.” She has a minor collection of personal massagers and insertable devices should she ever need to take care of an urge, and plenty of fantasies she can call on whenever the need arises--a system which has worked just fine for years.

“I just…” Piper stares, unconvincingly. “How?”

Shrugging, she takes another sip of coffee. “Just never got around to it, I guess.”

It’s not something she’s proud of, but by the same token, it’s not something that brings her shame, either. It is what it is; Annabeth, a notable workaholic, has never had sex with another person in her life. In some ways, it sucks, sure, but in other ways, it’s been a blessing in disguise. After all, no previous partners means that there’s no one to spread any dirt on the newly minted Princess Anja Elisabet of Sweden.

But Piper isn’t having it.

“Do you… want to have sex?” she asks. “Like, ever?”

As the daughter of one of the biggest movie stars in the world, she knows that Piper has had her fair share of high profile relationships, something that earned her a little bit of a nasty (and, quite frankly, racist) reputation among the paparazzi, which is ridiculous, since Piper is one of the most effortlessly gracious and classy people Annabeth knows. Piper does not go slinging herself and her partners around in the media like some of her contemporaries; instead, she likes to keep her personal details a bit closer to the chest, sharing them only with trusted confidants, like Annabeth, who knows full well how much Piper enjoys the act of sex. Sex for Piper isn’t dirty or taboo, it’s fun and it’s being close with other people, it’s liberating and exciting and intimate, and she extols its virtues whenever asked to give her opinion.

She makes sex sound really good, but never in a way that makes Annabeth feel ashamed for never having done it. Until now, of course. “Well… yeah,” says Annabeth. “I’d like to. I mean, I think it’d be kind of nice, you know, to do it at least once.”

“But then you’d have to start dating,” Piper surmises.

“Yeah,” says Annabeth, glumly.

Dating is a notorious problem for people in her line of work. Royalty, not architects, that is. Dating for architects is easy; just find someone who doesn’t mind the type A personalities and the obsession with work. Dating for royals is… significantly harder, and not really something she wants to engage with right now. She’s only been a royal for a few years, after all—she still feels like it’s a big cosmic joke, that someone is going to unearth some old documents or reveal a couple of forgeries that will bring the whole thing crashing down, and she doesn’t want to bring an outsider into all that drama, let alone deal with it herself.

Piper takes a sip of her drink, thoughtful, then lays out her next question carefully. “Have you ever considered a one-night stand?”

Annabeth stares. “You’re kidding me.”

“I’m not! People do it.”

“Yeah,” she scoffs, “people. Not me.”

“It’s really not hard,” Piper says, “I’ve done it plenty of times.”

“What, you want me to make a tinder?”

She laughs. “God, wouldn’t that be a riot. But no, I mean, there have to be other single royals or celebs around. Why not one of them?”

“Because they’re all insufferable social-climbing jackasses that make me want to rip my skull out of my face every time I’m forced to listen to them at a state dinner.”

“Okay, then.” Never one to be deterred, Piper pulls out her phone, then waits until Annabeth has taken a sip of her drink, presumably to keep her from immediately disagreeing, before dropping the bomb to end all bombs. “Let’s get you an escort.”

Annabeth snorts iced coffee directly out of her nose.

“Shit! Sorry!” Piper shoves a handful of napkins at her. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry, do you need water?”

Wheezing, Annabeth shakes her head. “Give me a sec,” she coughs, fingers covering her mouth.

Thank God she’s got her trusty, anti-pap hat on. If anyone took a picture of her like this, her uncle would probably disown her.

“What the hell, Piper?” she rasps when she can finally breathe again.

“I’m so sorry, I should have timed that better.”

“No, I mean—”  she coughs again. “The other thing.”

She raises an eyebrow. “The escort?”

“Keep your voice down!” On instinct, she glances around the London cafe, looking for any stray microphones. Satisfied that no one is listening for the moment, she turns back to her insane best friend. “Yes, the… that thing.”

“It’s not that crazy,” says Piper, turning back to her phone. “We’ll find you a really nice one, someone super high class and discreet, draw up an NDA, and then you can cross it off your bucket list. Man or woman?”

“Man, but—" she sputters. “I—I can’t see a prostitute! Can you imagine the scandal if it got out?”

Forget the iced coffee thing. The princess of Sweden, caught with a hooker… Annabeth is nauseous just thinking about the media circus.

“Not a prostitute,” Piper corrects. “An escort.”

“Isn’t that the same thing?”

“Same umbrella, but no.” She types away, faster than Annabeth can keep track of. “Pimping is illegal here, but escorts usually have managers.”

“Be that as it may,” because Piper seems to have forgotten the key part of this conversation, “I can’t have sex with an escort.”

“Why not?”

“Because…” The million and a half legitimate reasons not to go through with it all fly through her mind, getting lost somewhere on the way to her mouth. “Because!”

Piper just smiles at her. “I’ll get you a really nice one, promise. Think of it as a late birthday present.”

“It’s September.”

“Early Christmas, then.” And she grins, full of teeth. “Just trust me, okay? Let me take care of it.”

Famous last words, she thinks, popping a bit of scone in her mouth.

***

7PM, the Dorchester Hotel. Dinner first, then… whatever, later.

Annabeth can’t help but arrive early. She’d never been a punctual person before, but apparently now it’s been beaten into her with all the rest of her princess training.

Five-star hotels are still something of a novelty for her, even though she’s stayed in quite a few by now. Thankfully she’s never stayed here before; she’d be too worried someone on staff would recognize her.

She had thought that she’d show up early, psych herself up a little, get emotionally prepared, or at least have a little time to calm her racing heart before her… date… showed up.

Unfortunately, as punctual as she is, apparently, he’s beaten her to the punch.

He’s exactly where he said he’d be, wearing exactly what he said he’d be wearing; black suit, blue tie, gold watch. Her heart is beating so loudly, she’s sure he can hear it from across the room. “Um, excuse me,” she asks, a little more timid than she’d like, sidling up to the man. “Paris?”

At his name--well, she assumes it’s his name, but it’s probably a pseudonym now that she thinks about it--he lifts his head up, his lips already quirking up in a smile that she can only describe as troublemaking. “Bethany?”

Right. She used a pseudonym as well. A second pseudonym—one other than Anja. “Yeah,” she smiles in return, her shakiness easing.

“Hey!” He stands up from his seat in the lounge, leaning in and kissing her on the cheek. “It’s so nice to meet you!”

“You too.” She realizes with a pang; he is so tall. He’s tall, with broad shoulders and a trim waist, startlingly green eyes and thick, curly black hair. And… “You’re American?”

“I am,” he says, unashamed. “The accent gave me away, huh? Hope you weren’t looking for something else.”

“No, no, it’s fine,” she assures him. “I just wasn’t expecting it. It’s fine!"

He grins, crookedly, and she feels her heart skip a beat. “I’ll take it. Shall we head to dinner, then?”

***

Dinner was amazing, of course. The food, the atmosphere, and the company, she fully admits—all exceptional. Paris is an amazing conversationalist, she discovers, smart and funny and attentive, even gently teasing her a little. “You’re American, too, you know,” he’d said, sipping on his glass of wine, “so you can’t give me any grief over my lack of an accent.”

“I don’t live here,” she’d retorted, pointing her fork at him, “unlike some people I could mention.”

“Where do you live?”

“Ah, well—” Covering up her hesitation by taking a bite of chicken, she’d thought quickly. “Grew up in the States, but recently I moved to, um, Sweden, to be closer to my family.”

He’d nodded. “Expat, huh?”

“Something like that.”

He’d listened to her, really listened, chimed in at appropriate moments, made surprisingly insightful comments about her job and her life, and, well, he’s kind of perfect. If he weren’t an escort, he’d make an amazing boyfriend. She tells him as much, in the elevator on the way up to his room.

“Aw, thank you!” He smiles at her, a single dimple popping out under his strong cheekbones. “That’s very kind of you to say.”

“Why do you do this, anyway?” she asks. “I mean,” oh God, that question is some kind of faux pas isn’t it, Christ what the hell happened to all her etiquette training, “you don’t have to answer that if you don’t want to—”

“No, it’s okay,” he says as the elevator door opens. They’re up on a high floor, where the higher high rollers like to stay, and she follows him as he walks confidently down the hallway. “It’s not an offensive question.”

Still, she feels pretty shitty for asking. “I’m sure you get asked that all the time.”

“Most clients honestly aren’t all that interested,” he admits, shrugging a shoulder. “They need something, I can provide it. It can be a little transactional at times, but I’ve met a lot of really cool people, so it all balances out in the end.” Arriving at their door, Paris swipes his keycard, holding it open for her like some kind of butler. “After you.”

The room is enormous, even for a five-star hotel. It is a full-on suite, with a seating area and separate bedroom, a large wooden desk off to one wall, a gorgeous, floor-to-ceiling window that looks onto Hyde Park, full of lights dotted about like mini constellations. “Wow,” she breathes, “look at that view.”

“I never get tired of it,” Paris says, coming up behind her. “No matter how many times I come here.”

“You come here a lot?” she asks. She almost follows it up with a question on how he can afford it, but she ruthlessly quashes that down.

“My clients like it,” is all he says.

“I’m not surprised, all that 1930s deco in the lobby. The façade is a little plain, though, in my opinion.”

“Oh yeah? How would you do it better, Miss Architect?” She gets the sense that he’s teasing her. It feels oddly intimate for the situation—he’s not a friend, or a boyfriend, or even a date. He’s an escort. Providing a service, as he put it. He shouldn’t be so friendly with her.

And yet. “Well, I love Neoclassical, but honestly, I’m not super into hotels.”

“What are you into, then?” Casually, he undoes his tie, sliding it off his neck. She swallows.

“Um.” Focus, girl. “Office buildings, monuments. I dunno. I just want to… I just want to build something good, you know? Something permanent. Proof that I was here, you know?”

“Something permanent, huh?” He speaks softly, a respectable distance away, but she’s drawn in anyway, by his open shirt collar and his easy demeanor and his stupid sea green eyes that remind her so much of— “That sounds really nice.”

Then he steps up to her. His hand, warm and big, draws up her arm, fingers tracing lightly over her skin, and she shivers. He cups her neck, fingering the hair at the base of her scalp, and leans in, his lips parted. He smells like salt, like the perfume of the wine they shared, like the sea on a sunny morning.

“Wait,” she murmurs against his lips.

Immediately, he pulls back. “Is something wrong?” he asks, concerned.

“No, no, it’s fine, I just—” She swallows, her heart racing. “I just need a minute.”

“Of course.” He takes a step back, and she has to stop herself from pulling him in further. “Do you need anything? Water, champagne? They always stock the minifridge.”

She shakes her head. “No, I’m fine. It’s just, I’ve never… done this before.”

“What, hire an escort?” He grins, rakish. “I can tell.”

“Not that—I mean, yes, that too, but I mean—I’ve never—” She huffs, annoyed she has to have this conversation twice in one week. “I’ve never had sex before, okay?”

That shocks him a little. His eyes widen, taken aback. “Oh.”

“Yeah.” Chuckling weakly, she rubs a hand on her arm, looking out the window. “So… yeah.”

“So, don’t take this the wrong way,” says Paris, “but, there are easier ways to get laid than by using a professional. I mean, I’m grateful for the business and all, but, well, look at you.” He looks her up and down, somehow simultaneously respectful and entirely indecent. “I don’t think you’d have a problem getting a date.”

“It’s… complicated.” Understatement of the fucking millennium. “My friend thought this would be the easiest way to… go about it.”

Paris laughs. “You don’t agree.”

“I don’t… not agree,” she says. “I’m just. A little nervous.”

He nods. “I’d bet.” Chewing his lip, he looks towards the bedroom suite, and Annabeth tries not to think about how those teeth would feel on her mouth instead. “How about this; why don’t you take a shower? It might help calm you down a bit.”

“Won’t you be lonely?” she quips, a moment of reckless bravery.

“I have a few calls I can make,” says Paris, eyes dancing. “Go on. Make yourself comfortable.”

***

She has to hand it to the five-star hotels; the shower is always outstanding. Amazing pressure, amazing heat, it definitely rivals the plumbing in some of the castles she’s stayed at. And the robes, always so soft and warm, though a little on the small side. This one just barely covers her ass, which she figures isn’t a huge problem for tonight, but still.

When she steps out of the bathroom, she can hear Paris talking. “Uh huh,” he says. “Yeah. No, it’s going great. Professor Kleio said she’d write me a recommendation. She was really impressed with the last build. Yeah.” She runs her fingers through her wet hair, pushing it back from her face. “No, the conference is next month. Probably. Pretty sure I can get Tyson to help, but I don’t think it’ll get that far before the end of the week. Uh huh.”

Paris had taken off his suit jacket at some point; she can see it hung up in the closet on a hanger, perfectly pressed. He’s still in his shirt, but he’s unbuttoned it, the sleeves rolled up around his forearms. It is effortlessly attractive, even from the back. She coughs lightly, unwilling to startle him, and he turns, giving her another up-and-down, this one decidedly less respectful than the first.

“Hey, I gotta go, I’ll call you tomorrow. Say hi to Estelle for me. Love you.” And he hangs up.

“Your girlfriend?” she asks.

He smiles, all soft. “My mom.”

Something in her melts at his tone. “Aw,” she coos. “Is she back in America?”

“Yeah. I don’t get to see her all that often, so I try to call her every day.”

It is so unfathomably sweet, sweet and… humanizing, as weird as that sounds. He’s not just an unbelievably handsome man with a jaw cut like a diamond and a five-star rating, according to Piper, he’s a person with a whole other life that she knows nothing about. It’s liberating, in its own way. She can make mistakes with him, and he’ll understand. He won’t judge her, not against his other clients, or even his other partners.

Swallowing, she slides the robe off her shoulders, slowly, achingly. Maybe he turned the heat up while she wasn’t looking, because all of a sudden, she feels hot all over, from her cheeks to her chest and down, and down. Maybe it’s all coming from him, from the heat of his gaze on her, his pink tongue coming out to wet his lips. She wants it, wants them, wants him, on her and in her and all over her.

But he stays on his side of the room, waiting for her to take the plunge.

She steps up to him, close but not touching, breathing in the heady, strong scent of him, raking her eyes up his body for a change. Even through his shirt, she can tell he’s fit, the exposed skin of his arms tanned a deep brown, thick, coarse, dark hair running up to his wrists. On his right arm, there is a black trident long and straight, crossed by an old, white scar. “What happened here?” she asks, lifting her hand to trace it, leaving visible goosebumps in its wake.

“Sailing accident,” he whispers. “Long time ago.”

There’d been a kid at her summer camp for troubled teens who’d gotten thrown off his boat and hurt like that, once. She remembered so vividly, because she’d been on infirmary duty that day, and all she could think about while wrapping up his arm was how fucking stupid he'd been, how he could have gotten himself really hurt, how badly she’d wanted to kiss him.

She'd moved across the country before she'd gotten the chance, though, and no one else had ever made her feel like that since. Until now. “Got any other ink to show me?”

But instead of answering, he leans down, and he kisses her.

She’s been kissed before. She’s never had sex, but she’s done some kissing in her life. It’s usually pretty awkward, in her experience, too much of one thing and never enough of another.

Nope, not Paris. Of course, he’s also a phenomenal kisser. Why she expected anything else, she’s not sure.

His hands come up to circle her neck again, his thumbs running against her cheekbones. He kisses her, pouring passion and intent into her, his mouth soft and sweet against hers. And then he slips her some tongue, and it’s a whole different ballgame.

“Take off your shirt,” she whispers into his mouth.

He does, effortlessly, without detaching himself from her. It’s a smooth, easy motion, and she is delighted to discover that he is as firm as she suspected he was, the muscles jumping under her touch.

Almost without her realizing it, he backs her up towards the bed, her knees hitting the edge of the mattress. He lays her out against the sheets, his bare chest hot against hers. “Before we go any further,” he says, and she can feel the vibrations of his voice all throughout her body, “tell me—have you ever made yourself come?”

She flushes at his words, the dirty talk which should sound stupid but instead comes out all sultry and sexy. “Yes,” she says, breath hitching as he nips at her neck. “Yes, I have.”

“Good.” He smiles into the skin of her collarbone, traveling down, and down, and down. “I want you to show me how.”

“Isn’t that,” she pants, “your job?”

“Hmm, you’re right.” He pushes her thighs apart with his shoulders, bright eyes staring up at her as he licks his lips. “Let me get to work, then.”

Breathing heavily, she curls her fingers into the ten thousand count sheets, eyes fixed on the ceiling pattern. She can’t look at the dark head between her legs, can only breathe in through her nose as he kisses up the skin of her thigh, higher and higher and higher until…

Jesus fucking lord almighty.

***

“I found the perfect guy for you.”

“Piper, come on.” Theses brunch dates of theirs were starting to get a little repetitive. “I let you set me up with a professional, but I draw the line at a blind date.”

“Have I steered you wrong yet, your highness?” Piper asks, knowing grin firmly on her face.

Annabeth blushes. So what if that night with Paris was the most incredible experience she’d ever had? Doesn’t mean she’s ready for a full-on relationship, yet. “No,” she says, rubbing her temples.

“Great!” Then she does something that Annabeth doesn’t expect—she starts packing up. “So he’ll be here in a few minutes.”

“What?”

“Yeah,” she smiles, so bright it borders on painful, her nose scrunching up. “I invited him to brunch. But he’s really, really nice, I promise.”

“Does he know about—”

“No, he doesn’t, but if you wanted to spill, he’s a fantastic secret keeper.”

“How do you even know—”

Piper glances over Annabeth’s shoulder, eyes lighting up, waving a hand. “Friend of a friend of Jason, he’s a grad student at Cambridge, he’s doing his dissertation on naval history, so you know the king will love him.”

“Piper!” Annabeth half-calls, half-hisses at her friend as she stands up “Piper, you can’t just—”

“Hey,” says a voice behind her. A very familiar voice. “Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t realize anyone was joining us.” She turns around. Slowly. “Nice to meet you, I’m… Percy…” he trails off, sea green eyes widening behind a pair of thick, black glasses, beneath dark, curly hair. On his arm, a black trident stood out against his skin, straight and proud.

“Percy, meet Annabeth,” Piper says. “Annabeth, meet Percy. Okay, have fun you two!”

And she waltzes out of there, completely unaware of the absolute shitstorm she left in her wake.

[seonces]

     ( park jimin , 25 , cis man , he/him ) have you seen habaek seo down in st. landry again? i heard they’re one of the assassins for the matthieus now. they’ve been so vengeful and prying lately, it’s no wonder. i’ll sure miss when they were compassionate and sincere. i wonder if they’re going to stop listening to too darn hot by ella fitzgerald now, or if empty pockets and popped bubblegum will still announce ‘em.

ooc. hello! i’m deni ( she/them, gmt+9 ) my favorite things to do are cuddling my girlfriend and playing uno. below are some rough sketches of my first character, baek, that i’ll likely be editing constantly. please let me know if you have any questions <3 rosalind’s will be up soon, as well as a wanted connections page. looking forward to writing with you all! 

preferred name  /  nickname. baek

sun sign. leo  ( exact date of birth tba )

sexual attraction. "gay”  ( pansexual )      

romantic attraction. "gay”  ( panromantic )

primary occupation. fashion designer, dressmaker

secondary occupation. assassin for the matthieus

strengths. loyalty, security, cognizance  

weaknesses. greed, indulgence, fickleness  

concept. baek is flashy hair and eyes watching you from the center of the room. babbling about his problems to a bound n’ gagged man because dead men tell no tales while insisting everything’s fine to your face. a fluid walk around the room, all quiet confidence and coy arrogance. pricked fingers. a grit smile and murder in the eyes when he’s criticized. the desire of caviar and fine whiskey, but a weakness for boxed wine and sloppy burgers. running on caffeine and catnaps. a smoke break just to breathe. sharp eyes and a sharper smile. a stare that hits harder than blacklights. 

a summary. son of the disgraced and hunted  —  some low-level soldier with more courage than brains and a gambling problem that sent him to an early grave. could’ve taken baek with him, if not for the sympathetic eyes of sapphos reborn and her eager-to-please wife. given mothers any kid would dream of, baek unlearned years of a strict, overbearing childhood with adoration, tender comfort, and a whole lot of spoilage. 

baek traded plastic spoons for silver and didn’t look back  —  until that past came to haunt him. his birth father never paid off his gambling debts, and once baek turned twenty-one, he was held liable for paying back the family every cent. baek joined ranks as a soldier, but worked his way to a higher-paying ( and less degrading [in his opinion] ) position. earning a few debts of his own along the way, baek’s stayed with the matthieus longer than anticipated, but it’s not as if a better opportunity has come along. yet . . .  

quick facts. 

skilled dancer. better at hapkido, though.

treats assassinations like an office job. he isn’t called to task much because of his grin and bear it sort of mentality, but he’s thorough and clean and efficient enough to make people happy

loves the ~seduction~ aspect of getting to know his targets and develops elaborate backstories of his ~characters~ before the ol’ wham-bam

terrible at video games but somehow key smashes his way to victory

very close with his moms. one mother was a jazz darling and business mogul, while the other is a retired weapons specialist for the matthieus.  ( they’re an adorable arranged marriage turned true love story )  they’ve moved from new orleans to travel internationally

 trying to be ~independent. but, he has a hopeless problem with money and budgeting. #struggling to keep the business afloat 

a leo man. enough said. 

BROKE because he’s trying to live his dream

designs: unisex and agender flapper-insp’d. beaded blouses, silky jackets, plays with silhouettes and shapes. runs of out a warehouse his mothers pay for. hand sews everything. dropped out of design school, but had a successful show last season so crossing fingers he keeps it going   (  O..O  )

potential connections. 

exploiting his debt situation  ( birth father’s or his own ),  “family” from the matthieus who are familiar with his mothers, potentially helped half-raise / half-train him, assassinated his father years ago

big sibling figures. aunt / uncle vibes. the “cool cousin.” 

enemies of his mothers  ( weapons specialist and daughter of a political scion ), relatives of a few assassinations baek took part of

fellow mob brats who grew up in the lifestyle and definitely had A Time in all that money and revelry. sort of have a love/hate relationship with each other as that up-and-coming generation of future leaders 

an old fling or two, a current interest. teenage sweethearts. first love that failed but isn’t forgotten. 

best frienddddddd they may even live together in a swanky apartment. someone who’s trying to teach him how to budget ( and failing ). his peace of mind. someone he’s close to but will feel betrayed when he realizes they’re a part of an enemy group  :/  jumpstart those trust issues 

[nightcoremoon]

a few years ago I consider myself to have been an alcoholic. every night I was drinking. a hard lemonade here, a whiskey spiked hard cider there, an entire bottle of wine. after some time I noticed that this was becoming a pattern. I was drinking to get drunk, daily. I decided you know what, fuck this, I am NOT going to become an addict like my dad to heroin, like my mom to painkillers, like my uncle to cocaine, like my stepdad to booze, and like most of my family to cigarettes. I'm not doing this shit. I don't need the alcohol, I'm not gonna buy anymore, I'm not gonna drink anymore, I'm DONE. cold turkey.

since my decision to kick alcohol entirely, I have had a grand total of three alcoholic drinks, each one roughly a year apart. one was at my aunt's birthday party. I had an angry orchard rose. a year later I found an old mike's hard blackberry lemonade in my old van and decided fuck it I'll drink it. that was last year. and the other day I went to a christmas party at my work (if we were gonna spread covid we would've done so by now, calm down), and I had one drink, half cranberry juice half bold ginger ale and half apple crown royal whisky.

and now I've encountered an anxiety spiral.

did I relapse three times? did I fully recover and consider myself entitled enough to have a drink every once in a while which just shits all over addiction psychology and also implies that I'm better than other addicts because I can control myself around the source of my addiction? was I ever an alcoholic at all and am I just saying I was so I can flex on my dad, fuck you I kicked my addiction and I'm better than you so every time you told me I was LAZY you were a filthy fuckig liar because now you're under house arrest for all the drugs you do all the goddamn time because you're always fucking relapsing because you're spending all the money you SHOULD have spent on MY COLLEGE on fucking HEROIN, just using fake alcoholism to help justify my own daddy issues?

well I didn't "relapse". for one, relapsing doesn't fucking exist. you're either addicted or you're not. if you're addicted to crack and you don't do crack for 6 months, so you kicked your addiction to crack, but then you go out and smoke crack again and you wake up two weeks later having done crack every day for those two weeks and still want it more, that's not a fucking relapse. you were still addicted to crack. you just didn't do any for 6 months. temperance changed nothing. "who made you the expert" my dad's rehab coach, that's who. but guess what, each of the three times, a year passed before I had another drink. I have the willpower of a fucking ox. I had some whiskey the other day, and I don't have any desire to have any more. a year might pass before I have another drink. two might. I might never drink again. If I wanted to I could go to Walmart right now and by some vodka and chug it. I have that power. I have the money to. but I'm not. you know why? because I kicked my addiction and I can still have a drink here and there if I wanted to just like everyone else. I don't need it. I don't even particularly want it. someone asked if I wanted some and I said ok. if I was an alcoholic emphasis WAS then I'm not anymore and I didn't relapse. but the other two options are bad.

am I now shitting all over addicts who don't have the same self control that I have? Am I saying to addiction psychologists "you're a goddamn idiot and don't know what you're talking about, I'm smarter than you, fuck you"? am I implying that addicts who struggle with their addictions who DONT just shrug it off and say no through sheer force of will are just weak and need to try harder? am I lording myself as the queen of all addicts and inflating my own ego as being so strong and so cool and so badass and so awesome for removing my alcoholism without any therapy or medical attention or anything because I don't need therapy just psychiatry to regulate my brain chemistry imbalances via medication? am I implying that it's so easy so why can't everyone else do it too? or am I just saying that you can have one drink without it being a big fucking deal because everyone else at the party who had just one drink could do it no problem. but I can't say that because EVERYONE QUALIFIED TO TALK SAYS THAT ITS A RELAPSE EVEN IF YOU HAVE JUST ONE DRINK PER YEAR.

so am I just not an alcoholic? did I just recently find out what being drunk was like and did it a few times because it was fun and didn't let it get in the way of my major responsibilities or daily life? do I just say I used to be and kicked it because I crave that sweet dopamine fix from people saying "wow good job on kicking your addiction I'm so proud of you" so I can lord it over my dad and say nanner nanner booboo my brain is better than yours, fucker? am I just being a giant drama queen?

...

none of the above.

I was an alcoholic. now I'm not. and I can have a drink if I want to. because that's me. that's not anyone else. every addiction is different. and I'm fine. and I'm overthinking this because of the anxiety I can't take care of because my dad has me on his health insurance but I can't use it because he's anti medication and he won't give me the updated information so I can't use it and I can't go to medical facilities and say don't use it just let me pay with cash because they tell me no fuck you we can't do it outside of your insurance, and I can't use my mom's because she dropped me from hers to save herself $100 a month. I've made it this far without ANY HELP WHATSOEVER from health care. I've had 20 therapists and they've all been no goddamn help. I've had to do this on my own. anxiety, depression, autism, gender dysphoria, some personality disorder or something probably, multiple childhood sexual assaults that my brain has repressed so I don't remember it. i made it on my own because I'm strong, strong enough to kick addiction and laugh in it's dumb fucking face as I kick back and have a drink because you don't control me. I control me.

also I do cannabis for fun and pain relief for my muscular dystrophy that's intense enough that sex is excruciatingly difficult. I have thc and cbd in my blood every single day that I work. drugs are nothing to me. they are tools and or pleasure vehicles that I use in occasion when I want to, not when I need to. I don't seek for this to be inspiration porn for other people or a guilt trigger for those who struggle with their own addiction because they are not me. this is about me. nobody else.

Thanks for coming to my ted talk

[theladymeera]

Arya’s Visit/A Heart-to-Heart

Can’t come up with a better title at the moment, sorry. A short Arya one-shot for @aegon. Sorry it took so long. I ended up doing a little prequel to the bran/meera modern au I’m going to start publishing soonish since I love the Stark girls in it more than anything. You can read it below the cut or on AO3 when I post it there.

Edit: Here’s the AO3 link [x]

Arya popped her bubblegum loudly, a habit that had always made her mother angry but her mother couldn’t complain when she wasn’t there to watch so Arya kept blowing bubbles. It was quiet at the train station that afternoon, a benefit of leaving early. Arya kept her hands deep in her fleece-lined pockets to keep her hands warm as she’d forgotten her gloves.

The ride from Riverrun to Winterfell was long but Arya enjoyed it, she needed the quiet for a few minutes. A 24-hour shift in the chidlren’s hospital had left her feeling like a damp rag that had been rung out too much. So many children. Some of them were only there for minor surgeries, a couple stitches, a broken ankle. But there were others that had the bald heads, sallow skin, or empty eyes of someone who had been too sick for far too long. It wrenched at Arya’s heart.

Her thoughts were broken when a text came in, another one in the continuous conversation on the Stark’s group chat; currently named “Howlies” at Rickon’s suggestion. Arya had a feeling the name would not last just as the last eight names hadn’t. The addition was Sansa’s “Can’t wait to see everyone tonight!”

Arya’s phone kept buzzing with her brothers’ and Jon’s responses, with the exception of Bran who Arya figured was probably sleeping, possibly high although he swore up and down that he was clean and had been for nearly six months. While Arya was thinking of a response she received a private text from Jon “You are coming aren’t you?”

“On the 🚂 now”

“Okay I’ll pick you up when you get here.”

Arya grinned, she had missed Jon more than anyone. She spent the rest of the train ride listening to music, looking out the window, and ignoring the continuous texts of the group chat and the occasional text from a friend. Hot Pie was filling her inbox with his lengthy musings on his bread recipe. She didn’t need to comment on it and she’d benefit from it when she returned to Riverrun.

Jon was waiting for Arya as she stepped off the train at the Winterstown station. He wrapped her in a bear hug when she found him. “How was the trip little sister?”

“Fine,” she told him. Arya picked her bag up from where she’d dropped it and followed Jon to the car. “So how is everyone else?”

He waved his hand “Well enough – some better than others. You’ll find out when you get home.”

While Winterfell as a city had been officially absorbed into Winterstown centuries before it had remained the most upscale and wealthy area of the entire North, and as a result of its being much more well known that Winterstown the whole region was known in the South as Winterfell. Some things had changed Arya saw from the window of the passenger’s seat in the waning light. There was new construction near the airport and some of the shops had changed in even the older parts of town. She and Jon enjoyed having only the radio quietly playing the latest hits from Volantis and Lannisport, though Jon would have honestly preferred classical music and Arya leaned towards Braavosi styles but neither of those were available at that hour and it was easy to tune out.

Arya drew in her breath when Jon turned onto the street into her parents’ neighborhood. The fencing was imposing and the houses were particularly large and often lavish. There was a change in the front garden of her parents’ home. “Jon what happened to the tree?” she asked, a tinge of panic in her voice. The ancient ironwood that had stood sentinel over her parents’ front lawn since before her father was born was gone, an enormous black stump and some missing grass was all that was left in the area it had once been.

“It was diseased and it had to be taken down a week ago. I thought your mother would have mentioned.”

“She didn’t.”

“Well maybe this is why if you’re going to cry over it,” he said good-naturedly.

The annual flowers were different, her mother had chosen a mix of what looked like purple and white flowers from what Arya could see in the dim light of the street lights and the garden lamps. Arya noted this without the shock she’d felt at losing her favorite climbing tree. Her mother usually chose a different mix of annuals annually. It kept things fresh without cutting into the foundations of what made their home, well, their home. “Do you need a minute with the stump?” Jon asked, grabbing Arya’s bag from the trunk.

“No, I’ll have a funeral for it tomorrow.” That got her cousin to laugh and he threw an arm over her shoulders to guide her inside.

It was just the family that evening. Normally Arya would have expected to see some of her mother’s Tully relatives like her great uncle Brynden and his husband, her uncle Edmure and his wife or some family friends such as the Reeds or Baratheons but instead it was just her parents, siblings, and Jon. Which would obviously lead to some sort of girls’ activity with her mother and Sansa, the two people she was looking forward to spending time with the least. Arya bore the tight embraces, Rickon’s fist bump, and a somewhat awkward hug with Jeyne due to her swollen belly. Arya felt as if there were butterflies in her own belly.

The dinner went smoothly, the only blips being when Robb spilled wine on his dress shirt and when Rickon failed to smother a belch which earned himself and Robb sharp looks. Rickon for belching, Robb for laughing. Arya hid her own snort by pretending to choke on a sip of wine. Her mother noticed but chose to ignore it.

“It’s wonderful to have all of us together again for once,” Catelyn began when the table was being cleared.

“Here we go,” Arya thought dismally.

“– and while I adore all of my boys I think we need to have some time together as ladies. Sansa, Arya?” Catelyn’s stare seemed to bore into Arya’s head. Arya didn’t dare ignore the direction and followed her mother, sister, and sister-in-law to the theater room. Jeyne and Sansa settled down to work on giving Jeyne a pedicure, she couldn’t reach her feet after all, and Catelyn pulled her youngest aside.

“Did you get a new tattoo or a tongue piercing or whatnot?” Catelyn snapped once they were out of earshot of their companions.

“What? No.” Arya crossed her arms in front of her chest and glared up at her mother.

“Then can you explain why you’ve spent the whole evening acting guilty?”

“I have not been acting guilty.”

“Then what would you call your behavior? It is not normal for you. I appreciate your not fighting with your sister, though I will admit you haven’t done that in some time, but if something wasn’t off you would have at least spent more time talking to your brothers or Jon.”

Arya took a deep breath, “I didn’t want to have this conversation.”

“What conversation,” Catelyn put a cool hand on Arya’s shoulder.

“I –” Arya glanced at where her sister and Jeyne were seated, “can I speak to you in private?”

Catelyn’s eyebrows rose, “alright.”

They walked back to the kitchen which was deserted now that the cook had gone home. Arya ran her hand along the marble counter and listened to the dishwasher humming. Her mother set two glasses of water between them and stared her daughter down. “What is this all about? Out with it.”

Arya kept her eyes on the lines in the stone, “I quit med school.”

“You what?” Catelyn hissed.

“I couldn’t do it anymore. I – I hate the studying and I don’t like any of the doctors I know. It’s too cerebral or, or whatever. I just felt so tense all the time, I was under so much pressure to finish school and become this like, great doctor like I’d planned on and it wasn’t working and when I sent the school my withdrawal letter it felt so good and I didn’t want to tell any of you because I’ve been working towards being a doctor for so long and I felt so ashamed that I jumped ship so late when I was supposed to be smart and dependable and I always said I’d never change my mind about what I wanted to be but it just wasn’t right. I’m sorry.” Arya wiped furiously at a tear that had escaped.

Catelyn stayed quiet for a few minutes while Arya regained control. “I was afraid you were going to tell me you were pregnant,” she said at last.

Arya laughed, “Me? No. No. Never.”

Catleyn leaned back in her chair, “Never say never Arya. You just told me you quit medical school, giving up a dream you’ve had since you were nine years old.”

“I mean I don’t expect to ever come crawling home in tears as an unwed mother who doesn’t even know who the father is.” Arya took a drink of her water, “Aren’t you angry with me?”

“For dropping out of school? It is disappointing, an adjustment to be made, but it’s not the worst thing you could have done. As long as you’re happy. Speaking of which, what have you been doing since you quit?”

Arya’s shoulder’s dropped as the last bits of eternal stress fled her system. If her mother wasn’t angry that she’d quit school then there was no chance her father would be. “I’m still an RN you know so I got a job at the children’s hospital in Riverrun, since I didn’t want to go back to Braavos at all, and I’ve been taking some courses at the community college there in like languages and math. And I’ve been dancing a lot. Just, trying to figure out what I really want now that I know doctoring isn’t it.”

“So you’re not living on the streets in Essos?”

Arya shook her head, “No, of course not.”

“And you’re happy?”

Arya thought for a moment, “Yeah, it’s the happiest I’ve been since before dad went to work in King’s Landing.”

“Good,” her mother said before she stood and came around the counter to bury Arya in an embrace. “That’s all I want for you my little wolf girl,” Catelyn muttered into Arya’s hair.

[talesofzero]

La Douleur Exquise - Ch. 7

AU; Chapter 7 - The Case of Yellow

Rated E for Eyy boys actually bang in this one. As per request, contains some casual Bulge/Zero. 

~4100 words

I wasn’t sure if Harlock wanted to make it obvious that he was avoiding me. But it was obvious.

He would only stay in the same room with me if everyone else was with us. Even then, he wouldn’t make eye contact, wouldn’t speak to me. I tried to think what I could have done to bring on this kind of behavior, but I’d never made much sense of Harlock or the rest of his family.

I was fine to leave Harlock to his devices. I didn’t need his approval. Didn’t need him meddling all the time. I didn’t care if he was avoiding me.

But I didn’t like being ignored for no damn reason.

“Alright, what is it?” I asked once I’d shut the office door. He’d been spending more time than usual in there in his quest to avoid me.

“What’s what?” he asked, his eye locked on his computer. I doubted there was anything to see on his monitor.

Stalking up to him, I slammed my hands down on the desk to finally draw his gaze. “You know what’s what. What happened that’s got you all moody? You’re like a little kid again. Did I do something that upset you? If I did, you’ll have to explain. I can’t read minds.”

Rather than respond, his glare matched mine. We were at our usual deadlock. Childish as I felt, I refused to let him win. He always made me like this. Always had.

The day I was introduced to him, he stared up at me with those big brown eyes, framed by unbrushed curls. Poor kid was in desperate need of a haircut. After a minute spent watching me, he pointed up between my eyes and yelled, “Your nose is real big!”

“Phantom!” Wataru scolded as my hands shot to cover my nose. “Don’t be rude!”

“It’s true?” the kid shot back.

Wataru eyed Phantom the same way my moms looked at me when I did something they didn’t like. “Excuse my brother, Warrius. He has no manners. He’s been spending too much time around my father.”

“He’s a lot younger than you,” I said as I glanced around the house. They lived downtown, and it showed. The placed seemed to be held together by yellowing wallpaper and wobbly linoleum. There were mismatched, chipped dishes stacked in the sink, much like all the different chairs at the kitchen table where we sat.

“Phantom’s thirteen years younger than me, just a few years younger than you, really.” He returned to skimming over my homework, tapping his pencil against the tabletop. “He’s my half brother, though,” he added.

I glanced between them, Wataru with his calm brown eyes and strong jaw, and Phantom with his wild hair and squishy cheeks. If not for the age gap, though, they would have looked identical. There was no sign they had different parents.

Phantom returned to scribbling crayons around some copy paper with a vengeance. His tongue stuck out to the side as he concentrated on his work. I tried to make sense of what he was drawing, but it just looked like a blob to my eyes.

“This is fine,” Wataru said with a smile as he slid the papers back to me. “I’m not sure why your moms insist on me tutoring you. You’re plenty smart, Warrius.”

I could feel my heart hammering in my throat, my cheeks burning. “Thank you,” I mumbled.

He usually came to my house to look over my work, and when he’d leave, Mom would laugh. It wasn’t her or Ma who asked for his help. It was me. He was way too old for me to have a crush on. I was just some kid to him - a high-schooler. Even back then, I knew that. I didn’t ever expect anything of it, but I would make any excuse to be around him.

After Phantom’s mom got sick, our after-school tutoring sessions moved to his house. That first day, Phantom climbed into my lap without asking and showed me his picture. “Um, it’s nice,” I said.

“Dad’s spaceship!” he said.

“Your dad has a spaceship?”

“Yes! He’s cool!”

Wataru made a noise of displeasure as he opened the fridge. “Don’t go around advertising Father,” he said. “Now do you want potatoes?”

“No! No potatoes! Macaroni!”

Wataru leaned on the fridge door as he looked back at Phantom with dull eyes. “We had macaroni yesterday.”

Phantom reached up and smacked his hand against my face. “Warr’us wants macaroni!”

“I didn’t say that,” I said as I tried to pry his hand away.

He turned around and pinned me with the angriest glare I’d ever seen from a four year-old. “Yeah-huh.”

I glared right back until Wataru startled us both with a laugh that made my face burn again. “Not a lot of people challenge Phantom like that. You can’t win. You’ll just be stuck staring at him, but I’ll give you points for trying.”

He was right. I never really won. Even now, my eyes tore from Harlock’s as he yanked open a desk drawer. I could feel him still watching me as he pulled something out and tossed it on the desk. I recognized my own handwriting, but I couldn’t recall the envelope at first. The last time I’d written any letter to Harlock was…

“My uncle dropped a stack of those off when he was here last,” Harlock said.

Ah, so it was those letters. “Hm, I wouldn’t have expected him to keep them all these years,” I said as I picked up the old, frayed paper. The top had been sliced open. I doubted Franklin was the type to read others’ mail, meaning Harlock had read through them.  “So you finally got them then?”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Harlock’s tone was accusing, like I’d wronged him somehow.

“What did it matter? You never got them, so it didn’t change anything. It was stupid anyhow, writing to an outlaw. Could have gotten me in so much trouble.”

As I removed the letter, I glanced up to see Harlock glowering at the wall. “I thought you hated me all that time,” he said. “I thought you wanted nothing to do with me.”

“I’ve never hated you, Harlock,” I sighed.

He jolted as though I’d slapped him. Once again, he was that wide-eyed child staring at me as I unfurled the letter.

Dear Harlock,

I hope this letter finds you well and all that. See past letters for proper formalities. I’m too tired for them right now.

The last few weeks have been rough. I’ve been missing home more than ever. We lost seven men in one battle, three in another. We’ve struggled to maintain repairs while the government keeps sending us on new missions.

I don’t begrudge them for it. There aren’t enough ships. They have to send us out to meet any oncoming threats, but I haven’t gotten a proper night’s sleep in ages. We’re all starting to lose it a bit. I’ll be fine, but I really need some sleep and a good day where things aren’t on fire. I love this ship, but something is always on fire.

I’m not really cut out for my new position. It’s becoming more and more apparent that we all get promotions based on how long we’re able to stay alive out here while everyone around us dies. I wasn’t trained for the position of First Officer, so I’m always two steps behind, having to check manuals. I just hope I don’t get anyone killed because of it.

Sorry to talk so much about myself. It must get boring to hear me complain. How are you? How’s Tochiro? I hear the Deathshadow made a mess of some space wolves a while back. Some of the crew here would probably like you if you didn’t also shoot at government crafts. Seriously, stop that. We need those.

We should have a leave on Earth in two months. I’ll likely sleep through the whole thing, but I’m looking forward to it. I’ll drink some cheap wine for you while I’m there, just like old times. Take care of yourself. Don’t do anything too stupid.

Sincerely, Warrius Zero

“I remember this,” I said. “Things were awful. We were low on supplies, and I ran on coffee until I passed out at my station. I wouldn’t recommend that. You feel like death.”

“I’m sorry,” he said like the wind had been knocked out of him. “I would have written back had I known.”

I wasn’t so sure. “No need to apologize. You never got the letters, so it doesn’t matter. I’m sort of embarrassed you read them now. I did do a lot of whining.”

At least that answered one thing I’d questioned since meeting him in that infirmary. When I was on the Karyuu, I imagined he did receive everything I wrote, but I didn’t know if he read them. Why should he? In my mind, he hated me. Some letters had sentences or paragraphs scribbled out to remove my apologies over how I had let us end things.

But when I saw him in that bed, almost as pale as the bandages, he looked up at me with sorrow in his now-lone eye. “I thought you’d given up on me,” he murmured in that drugged haze.

“Believe me, I tried,” I said. “But you’re a hard man to ignore.”

His eye searched me for answers, still sharp despite the fog over it. “Why are you here now? After all this time?”

“My ship’s gone too. My family...” The Machine Men’s all-out attack had taken everything. Even if I could have brought myself to work under them, they kept insisting I get a machine body. Either that, or I had to accept the mission to capture Harlock. I accepted to keep my humanity, and because I needed to know why Harlock hadn’t protected the Earth. The answer was that he had. He’d tried to, but he never got that far.

“We’re in the same boat,” I said as I brushed a few strands of hair from his face. “I’m an enemy of the government now. And your father asked me to look after you.”

His expression darkened at the mention of his father, the same way Wataru’s used to. “If you’re just doing this for him, why avoid me for so long? I wasn’t worth looking after then? Just now that I don’t have other people to look after me for you?”

My mouth was left partially open as I stopped myself from asking about the letters. I’d never abandoned him, but then, maybe letters weren’t enough. So I said nothing, unaware he’d never received them.

We stuck together because we were all we had left. He sulked for a while, missing his ship, his friends. I couldn’t say I was any better. I didn’t spend a single day sober for months.

If I’d been sober, he wouldn’t have come up with this stupid, insane brothel idea in the first place. I woke up to a raging headache, a spotty memory, and him sitting naked in bed beside me ranting about this amazing idea he had.

I had so many regrets in my life that I could have amassed an army out of them, but that night would have been one of my generals.

Perhaps everything would have turned out differently if he’d received my letters. Likely not, but the way he looked at them made me wonder. When I handed the envelope back to him, he took it as though it might crumble in his fingers.

“Well, with that out of the way, you can quit getting all anxious around me,” I said, still not sure why he’d reacted so oddly to receiving them. “Get some rest too. You look like you could use some sleep.”

He didn’t say anything as I turned and walked out, but I took a quick glance at him as I closed the door, still holding the letter, looking even more exhausted than before.

We were both so young then. Just stupid kids, too young to be fighting wars, too young to see so much death. I wished he would forgive himself, that stupid kid he used to be. That kid didn’t deserve all the blame Harlock placed on him. Just a boy trying to fill his father’s shoes. I couldn’t blame him for that.

But I could and would blame him for this terrible brothel filled with too many kids. Even Manabu was much too young for this, but Daiba and Tadashi were hardly teenagers! And I didn’t even want to think about Monono.

As I started back toward my room, I heard chattering from down the hall. Manabu’s door was open. No one was supposed to be alone with Manabu, so I had to check, even if it was a stupid rule.

“Manabu, please stop,” I heard as I neared. The voice definitely did not belong to any of our boys. No, it sounds like… Schwanhelt. Poor man was probably doing Wataru’s bidding again.

“But I’m attractive, right?” Manabu asked.

“S-sure. I mean- I don’t know, Manabu!”

“If you didn’t know me or my dad, you’d sleep with me, right?”

“I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t know you!”

“Well, that wasn’t a no.”

I turned at the doorframe to find Schwanhelt standing with his face in his hands beside the doorway. Manabu sat cross-legged on the bed. He’d undone his bowtie and the top button of his shirt. Subtlety was not this boy’s strong suit.

“Manabu, you know you’re not allowed to be alone with other men,” I said.

He flashed a grin. “Of course. Only you, Mr. Zero.”

My unamused glare only made his eyes shine. He’d been spending too much time around the other boys. They were bad influences.

“But the door was open,” he continued, “So I wasn’t really alone.”

“That’s not how it works,” I said as I grabbed Schwanhelt by the arm. “Sorry, Manabu, but...good attempt, I guess.”

That was enough to keep him from pouting as I dragged Schwanhelt away. The poor man still had a hand plastered to his face. “Ah, thanks, Warrius. I just need to...sit down somewhere for a while. If I could just…”

Schwanhelt lied about as well as most of the SDF - poorly. “Come here,” I said through a sigh, pulling him into my room. “God, you have it hard-up for that boy, don’t you?”

“I don’t. I don’t. I don’t.”

“Convincing,” I drawled. “Do you use this same method on Wataru? I’m sure he really falls for the part where you hide your eyes.”

That got him to look at me. “You can’t tell him! Oh God, I’ve done enough to hurt that family. I can’t have feelings for Manabu after everything that’s happened. I can’t.”

There was no point in treading old waters and trying to convince him what happened wasn’t his fault. He had to work that out on his own. But I wasn’t so bad a friend as to let him go so anxious and, well…

“Schwan, just sleep with me,” I said.

He froze. I could almost see the sirens spinning around in his head. “W-what, Warrius, I can’t-”

“It’ll relieve some tension,” I said. “Come on, Schwan, when’s the last time you had an orgasm?”

He blushed from his neck to his ears. Honestly, Schwanhelt was adorable. The uniform didn’t help. I was a sucker for those uniforms.

But coming right off from dealing with Manabu, he was a mess. “I-I can’t afford- I’m sorry-”

“I won’t charge you,” I said. “If you’re not up for it, it’s okay. I’ll leave, and you can hide out in here for a bit. It’s up to you.”

He stood in silence, a war behind his eyes. When he moved, it was for the door. Manabu really had his work cut out for him if he wanted to catch this one, I thought until Schwanhelt locked the door.

“Okay,” he said in a whisper.

He’d obviously never done this before. “You’ll have to be more explicit than that.”

His cheeks tinged red again. “Explicit? God, what do I need to say? Can’t we just get on with it?”

I shrugged. “That works.”

His back hit the door as I pushed up against him, locking our lips. He whimpered his contentment against me as I pressed my leg between his. Manabu had been more successful than he may have realized, and Schwan was quick to grind himself against my thigh. His hands locked onto the arm loops of my vest, pulling me in closer.

He tasted of strong coffee and desperation. His movements were all quick but strong. I let him take over the kiss, his chest heaving as he toyed with my tongue. By the time he pulled back for air, there was a line of saliva running from the corner of his mouth.

I breathed a laugh into his neck, peppering kisses up to his jaw. “Poor thing,” I said. “You have been neglecting yourself.”

“Warrius,” he groaned, now clawing at my back. “God, I need you.”

“How would you like this to go?” I asked before placing a gentle bite to his ear.

He stuttered a gasp. “I-I don’t know. Damn, don’t make me think now.”

I decided to make it easy for him. “Fast or slow?”

“Ahh, damn. F-fast. I can’t wait.”

“So impatient,” I laughed. “Do you want to go all the way, or do you just want me to suck you off?”

His hand returned to his face. “Fuck, don’t make me answer that.”

“So you want to go all the way.”

The stressed sound he made was enough of a confirmation.

“Top or bottom?”

“I-I don’t know!”

Again, I couldn’t help but laugh. “Go ahead and top this round.” Preparing him to bottom would add time, and he was suffering enough.

He whined his agreement as I pulled him back toward the bed with one hand and unbuttoned my vest with the other. By the time the back of my knees hit the bed, I had my shirt halfway undone as well. As I fell back, I pulled him down with me. He caught himself, his face flushed as he hung over me. His eyes fell to my bare chest, and he swallowed.

“You still doing okay?” I asked.

He did manage a smile then, if a shy one. “Yes, sorry. I’m not very good at this.”

“You’re doing fine,” I said as I placed my hands to his cheeks. “You will have to take something off to make this work though. Condoms are in the nightstand, of course, unless you want to fool around some more.”

“Ah, I wish I could,” he said, standing back up to take off his jacket while I finished removing my shirt. I went ahead and took off my shoes, pants, and boxers too while he fiddled with whatever weird undersuit came with those uniforms.

“Sorry-sorry,” he mumbled, as he partially tried to cover himself. His boxers really couldn’t hide anything, not that he had any reason to be so stressed. I was more exposed than he was.  

“It’s fine. I like a good show.” With him all flustered, I reached over and fished a condom out of the drawer myself, tearing it open with me teeth. “Come ‘ere,” I said around the plastic.

He leaned in as I spit the wrapper away, and I wrapped my hand around the back of his head to pull him in for another kiss. Clients didn’t kiss much, so it was more for me than him. He hummed and moaned sweetly into the kiss as it deepened. It also made him sink closer toward me, until I could yank down his boxers.

His breath hitched as I pulled from the kiss and moved to his neck. WIthout the collar of his shirt in the way, I could press soft love bites to his shoulder as I rolled the condom over his cock.

“Warrius,” he whimpered. His arms trembled as they held him up over me.

“Relax,” I breathed as I reached back over to my nightstand. “You feeling good?”

“God, yes. You’re amazing, Warrius.”

That sent a pleased shiver up my spine that made my toes curl. “Thank you. Now don’t lose yourself yet, alright?”

What started as a confused hum ended with him choking in surprise as I worked some lube over his cock. “Fuck,” he hissed. Before his arms could give out, I released him and leaned back, wiping what was left of the lube on my own half-hard cock. I was going to ask if he wanted me to turn over, but it seemed not. Grabbing my hips, he put one knee on the bed and lifted me up. I pulled one leg up to rest over his shoulder. Rare to have a client who didn’t want me face-down, but then again, he wasn’t a proper client.

Even rarer to have a client suddenly look so concerned. “A-are you prepared?” he asked.

I bit my lip to stifle a laugh. “Schwan, babe, I do this every day. As long as there’s lube, I can handle it.”

Still looking a bit nervous, he leaned in enough to kiss me somewhere between my eyelid and my nose. He must have missed wherever he’d intended to kiss me because he was too busy trying to hold himself together while pushing his cock inside me.

“Fuck,” he groaned, his fingers pressed tight to my hips.

Unlike him, I gave in with a gasp and a sigh, grasping for the sheets. God, he was so hot inside me. It made my whole body pulse. I needed him to let go too. I needed the rush and the heat. “Schwan,” I said as I fought to keep my hips from rolling. “Please fuck me.”

He choked as he tried to suck in air, but he was quick to give me what I asked. His hips pulled back and rocked into mine as he gasped my name. Then again. Again. Always with my name.

“That’s good,” I purred as my eyes rolled back. My body writhed without my permission, but I let it for once. “More, Schwan. Harder.” My chest rose and fell with each of my gasping breaths. “Faster.”

He gave a growl as he picked up his pace, as lost as I was in the pleasure. Only years of habit kept me talking.

“So good,” I moaned, gnawing my lower lip. “So hot.” It felt so damn close to heaven to be filled like that, and so damn close to hell to be on fire from the inside out. My back arched toward him as his pace became frantic. I loved drowning in his power, feeling the bed shake just like I did.

Through half-lidded eyes, I admired his smooth shoulders and chest. His muscles strained with every snap of his hips. Damn, he looked good. He could have moonlighted at the brothel if he wanted.

His voice was ragged when he finally strung together something coherent. “Oh god, Warrius. Fuck, I’m going to come.”

“Go ahead,” I panted. Before I could wrap my hand around my cock for my own release, his hand took my place, his thumb circling the head until he had me melting with weak whimpers, my hands fisted in the sheets. “Schwanhelt, more,” I begged.

Sweet as he was, he pumped my cock as his thrusts became erratic. I felt his whole form tremble as he came, riding out his orgasm with a few shallow thrusts. Only then did I let myself fall over the edge. The writhing pleasure in my gut became pulses of ecstasy as I came across my stomach. “S-Schwan,” I said through fragmented gasps.

As the pleasure faded, my body went slack. I bathed in the feeling of exhaustion and contentment, listening to Schwanhelt catch his breath. “Fuck, Warrius,” he said as he pulled out. “That was good.”

I hummed in response. I hadn’t had two rounds in one day in a while. I only had five clients a week, so I was pretty well worn out.

“Is this the part where I leave?” he asked.

My body shook with a silent laugh. “You’re welcome to join me for a shower,” I said. My body protested as I sat up, though I’d never listened to its complaints before, and I wouldn’t now. “And thanks, Schwanhelt, that was nice.”

Even then, he blushed. “M-my pleasure.”

[welllpthisishappening]

Out of the Frying Pan (13/?)

“That’s not even fair!” Henry yelled, voice tinged with laughter and slightly out of breath. He was sprawled back across the couch, legs stretched out like he’d fallen over into the cushions, sword in one hand and a wide smile on his face.

Killian laughed in response, facing away from Emma as she came back into the room and she had to bite her lip again to stop some sort of audible reaction to the sight of him. He was wearing all black – a long, leather jacket she could only begin to imagine where he got and a sword held in his right hand, pointed directly at Henry’s chest.

And Emma wasn’t entirely positive how she was supposed to deal with all of this.

“You need to learn how to parry better,” Killian laughed, back still facing her. He was standing with his feet apart – like they’d been swordfighting in the middle of her living room – and when he rested the blade of the fake sword on his shoulder, Emma didn’t know if she’d seen anything more attractive.

AN: There are a lot of words here and a lot of things happen and I continue to love all of you a ridiculous amount. As always @laurnorder is an endless source of delight and word-reading and she reads so many of my words. She’s the best. 

Hanging out on Ao3 and tag’ed up on Tumblr. 

She was wearing a witch's hat.

And she might actually kill Ruby.

A week after the Wine and Food Festival and Killian’s timely explanation for why Emma hadn’t been waiting with baited breath to walk onto the stage for the all-star panel, her producer had made it her life’s goal to make Emma go crazy.

And she’d done her best to play along – agreed to the Halloween-themed episode like she was goddamn Sandra Lee or something and even sat through a meeting with Zelena about the possibility of getting her timeslot back if she did more of these fun episodes.

But this was taking it too far. She was practically wearing a costume on TV and this wasn’t supposed to be a joke. This was supposed to be a semi-serious show that actually showed how to cook, not bring in witch’s hats and the best way to repurpose your kid’s leftover Halloween candy.

Emma missed her mark – the third time she’d done that so far – and Ruby groaned from behind the camera as Elsa yelled cut. “Emma!” Ruby said, voice filled with irritation and she did her best not to actually glare at her, yanking the hat off her head. “Come on, just once. Just once! You stand on the scotch tape and you talk about trick or treating and using chocolate and then we’ll be done.” She’d heard this speech twice before. And she still couldn’t seem to get it right.

“I know,” Emma mumbled.

“What’s the matter?” “This doesn’t seem a bit much to you?” “What’s a bit much?” “Rubes, I am wearing a witch’s hat. This is bordering dangerously close to absurd.” “No,” Ruby countered patiently, but there was a muscle ticking in her jaw. “This is festive. And will bring in viewers. Isn’t that the goal?” “Of course it is. But if I can’t bring in viewers on my own, what’s the point?” And there, Emma thought, was the crux of her problem. She’d never had trouble driving interest or an audience – the long line after the Wine and Food panel determined to get her autograph was proof of that – but this time change and the downward turn in numbers had done enough to shake her confidence just a bit.

They’d always come for her – even when she was cooking in actual restaurants. And now they were having to rely on hats and props and gimmicks and Emma’s whole body ached with disappointment.

She was, always, her own worst critic and despite assurances from Ruby and Zelena and every member of her family – Emma felt like she had failed.

And the hat looked ridiculous with her hair.

“You are bringing in viewers,” Ruby argued. “Ones who are interested in Halloween theming. Come on, we’re almost done. Just give it a chance and hit your mark and then you can go home and finish Henry’s costume.” Emma sighed, rolling her eyes, but she knew Ruby was right. It was far from perfect and far from what she wanted, but if she needed to wear the stupid hat to get her timeslot and her show back, then she would wear the stupid hat.

“Fine,” she mumbled. “Run it again.” “Let’s go, El,” Ruby yelled over her shoulder, retreating back out of frame as Emma squinted underneath the studio lights.

“Now,” Elsa yelled – refusing ever to say action because it was some kind of cliché and this was a cooking show, not a big-budget blockbuster. Emma pulled the hat back on top of her head, brushing her hair out of her eyes and hit her mark on the next try.

“That was perfect,” Ruby said, walking back into the kitchen and smiling at Emma. “Granted, it took you several dozen years to get it perfect, but we’ll take what we can get.” “Rude.” “Are you going later?” “To my brother and sister-in-law’s annual Halloween extravaganza?” Emma asked sarcastically. Ruby shrugged. “M’s would murder me if I didn’t go. Of course I’m going to go.” “What’s Henry doing?”

“Going trick or treating in Chelsea with a bunch of friends from school.” “And you’re cool with that?” Emma was absolutely not cool with that – it had taken nearly a week of Henry asking and an actual phone call with Violet’s dad to ensure there was some parental supervision before she’d actually agreed to let him go. But he was twelve – as he so helpfully pointed out several times – and had friends and didn’t want to sit in Uncle David’s apartment without any other kids around and Emma had eventually given in.

“I’m fine with it,” she lied.

“Sure,” Ruby laughed. “What are you going to wear?” “That’s a surprise.” “Spoilsport.” “It’s Henry’s fault,” Emma argued. “He hates spoilers.” “This isn’t a TV show.” “No, it’s life. That seems more important than a TV show.” “Deep,” Ruby laughed.

“I’m getting existential in my old age.” “Please, you’re practically a child,” Ruby contradicted as the crew around them deconstructed the very themed set.

“Yeah, with a twelve-year-old.” “You know people don’t care about that.” Emma narrowed her eyes, wondering where exactly Ruby was going with this, when her producer nodded over her shoulder. She spun on the spot – witch’s hat nearly flying off her head in the process – to find Killian Jones walking onto her set, still sporting an Iron Chef jacket and a very particular type of smirk that did several very particular things to Emma’s pulse.

“See,” Ruby continued, leaning forward to whisper in Emma’s ear. “I don’t think he cares about that.” “Shut up.” “I’m just saying.” “And I’m just saying, shut up.”

Ruby laughed, straightening back up and Emma couldn't stop staring at Killian. He’d been as good as his word a few days before, dropping off cookies in the middle of her meeting with Zelena and Ruby and earning Emma a solid five minutes of questions from her suddenly very-interested and very pro-relationship producer. And she’d told herself the rest of the night that they were friends and that was enough.

It sounded more and more stupid the more she said it.

“Hey Killian,” Ruby said. “Long time no see.” “Nice to see you again, Ruby.”

“You know, I’m a little jealous. No one’s ever baked cookies for me.” “They weren’t really for me,” Emma said, regretting joining the conversation as soon as she spoke. “Did Henry text you?” she asked, ignoring the noise Ruby made behind her and glanced up at Killian, blue eyes practically overwhelming her in the kitchen. “He was supposed to.” “He did. Asked for brownies next time.”

“You don’t have to do that.” “I know.”

She was still wearing the stupid hat. And Ruby hadn’t left yet. “What are you doing here?” Emma asked, trying to redirect the conversation to something she felt even remotely in control of. “I figured you’d be all themed out at The Jolly.” Ruby sounded like she was choking on air. Emma made a face at her over her shoulder and she finally seemed to get the hint. “Uh, I’ve got to go,” she said. “Post-production meeting. Or something. I’ll see you later, Emma.” Emma nodded only looking back at Killian once she couldn’t hear Ruby’s heels on the linoleum floor anymore. “Sorry about that,” she said quickly, but Killian brushed her off even faster.

“Don’t worry about it, love. I knew I was taking your life in my hands a bit with the cookies before, but I wasn’t quite sure how else to get them to you.” “Henry really appreciated them. The team went nuts for them.” “So he said. I’m glad.” Emma grinned, fighting off the wave of butterflies she felt at the idea that this guy actually wanted to do things for her son. She should have been more worried about that. She should have been worried about Henry getting attached or what would happen if this fell apart. And she couldn’t bring herself to.

Because she was getting attached too.

“So no theme then?” she asked a bit breathlessly. He shook his head, lower lip sticking out slightly and she wondered what it would be like to actually take two steps towards him and kiss him – hard.

That caught her by surprise.

He was impossibly good looking – she’d realized that as soon as she’d sat down at that very first meeting – but in the last few weeks he’d gotten under her skin and worked his way into her life and Henry’s life and she wanted to kiss him. A lot. Not because he was good looking, but because he seemed to care so goddamn much.

“Nah,” Killian answered, shaking Emma out of her thoughts. “Well, that’s not entirely true. There’s a theme. Just not one I’m in charge of. Halloween is strictly Ari’s territory. Has been since she started working at The Jolly. She’s recruited Eric since then and they’ve got a whole thing with reservations and a different menu and the whole nine yards. I’m not even cooking tonight. I just show up and try and give Roland as much candy as possible before Regina yells at me.” “Ari?”

“Oh, Ariel,” he said quickly. “Old nickname habits die hard.” Emma nodded, the bits of a plan forming in the back of her brain and, suddenly, she decided to get a bit reckless. It only terrified her slightly.

“You don’t have to cook tonight?” she asked, doing her best to keep her voice light. “Is that why you’re here? Trying to fill some time?” He pointed at the Iron Chef logo on his jacket, the teasing smile on his face doing something to her ability to stay standing. “I won, Swan. Again.” “Impressive.” “Always.” She licked her lips quickly and noticed Killian’s eyes dart down at that – maybe this wouldn’t be as difficult as she thought. “Then you’re all done?” “I didn’t run away from set, love,” he laughed. “I finished and heard you were still filming. Figured I’d ask about the cookie consumption in person. Why?” “What are you doing later?” His eyebrows sailed up his forehead so quickly Emma wondered if he could get whiplash from that. “What?” he asked, voice hoarse and she got a bit of extra confidence from that. If she kept him off his footing just a bit, then this wouldn’t be the most difficult thing she’d done in thirteen years.

“Later,” she repeated. “I mean I know you’ve got to be at The Jolly…” “I don’t have to be at The Jolly,” he interrupted quickly, eyes pulling away from her lips to meet hers straight and they were so blue and so full of something that Emma nearly gasped.

“Oh, ok. Well, David and M’s have an annual Halloween party and it’s over-the-top and ridiculous and we all have to dress up, but it’s also kind of fun and maybe you’d like to go?”

He stared at her for what felt like several hours Emma felt her confidence deflate a little bit. “You know,” she added, “as friends?” His eyes flickered and she thought one side of his mouth ticked up, but then he was back to impassive stare and Emma bit her lip tightly. “You have to dress up?” he asked. That wasn’t the follow-up question she’d been expecting.

“I know it’s late notice.” “No, it’s fine, Swan. I was just confirming.” Emma nodded. “M’s won’t let anyone in the apartment if they’re not in costume. It’s a rule.” “Well, far be it from me to break the rules.” The nerves and the butterflies and the feeling like a fifteen-year-old with a crush rushed back and Emma twisted her mouth. “So…” she said slowly. “You want to go, then?” “I would love to go.” “Really?” She should work on her confidence more. Or get better at asking people out. As friends. Because they were friends. Mary Margaret was going to lose her mind when Killian walked into the apartment.

“I think I just said yes, Swan,” he grinned at her, taking a step forward and making his way into her space the same way he seemed to make his way into her life. Like he belonged there. “When?” “Like seven? A little after.” He nodded. “And where exactly am I going?” Oh. She hadn’t really considered that. Granted, she hadn’t really considered anything, but she wasn’t quite sure what to answer. “Swan?”

“I normally walk to their apartment,” she said, realizing she hadn’t really answered his question.

“Ok,” he answered, laughing softly. “Not sure that helps me.” “You could pick me up,” Emma cut in, eyes wide as she spoke and laid her metaphorical hopes on the metaphorical floor at his feet.

Killian tilted his head and she thought he was about to take a step back when his fingers wrapped around her wrist, seemingly out of instinct, like he was trying to keep his balance or something. She felt like she was going to fall over.

“If you want,” he said softly.

“I think I just did. Three blocks from The Jolly. Down,” she added before he could ask about the direction. “Like straight down the block.” “That seems fairly easy.”

Emma tried to breathe like a normal human being again, but that was proving more difficult than normal with his fingers wrapped around her wrist and his thumb drawing nonsensical patterns across her pulse point. “I’ve got all the faith in the world in such an impressive Iron Chef,” she said and she was mostly joking, but the look on Killian’s face made it seemed like she’d just written him a glowing review on the front page of The New York Times.

Oh God, she was still wearing the stupid hat.

“Thank you, Swan,” he said softly and her heart thudded in her chest, like it was trying to push its way out of her body and announce that, despite the last thirteen years, it was still there and still very capable of functioning.

“I didn’t do anything,” Emma muttered.

“Kept me from having to deal with the absurd Halloween event happening at my restaurant.” “Wait until we get to David and M’s apartment. You don’t know absurd Halloween until you’ve been to this party.” “I’m looking forward to it.” And it sounded like a promise, much bigger than Halloween or baking cookies for Henry’s soccer team. Her heart beat even faster.

“I’m serious about the costume though,” Emma warned. “M’s won’t let you in. Even if you did win Iron Chef this afternoon.” “I can follow the rules, Swan,” he laughed, nodding towards the hat she was still somehow wearing. “What are you going as? Witch?” Emma shook her head quickly. “You’ll have to wait and see.” “What? You don’t even tell your own date what you’re dressing up as? What if I wanted to coordinate?” He seemed to realize what he’d said immediately, hand dropping away from her wrist and his eyes were almost entirely blue when Emma looked back up. She tried to smile – the word date practically bouncing off the inside of her head.

“We don’t have to coordinate,” she said and her voice was doing that stupid breathless thing again. “I hate when people do that.” “Noted. Still no clue though?” “You’ll just have to wait until you pick me up.”

“You’re a costume tease, Swan.” “I’m just trying to make sure you show.”

She should stop trying to make jokes. It wasn’t working. And the tension in the now abandoned kitchen studio was so thick Emma was positive she could have cut it with one of her very expensive knives.

“You don’t have to try and persuade me, love,” he said and his voice felt like one of those same expensive knives, moving into her and lingering in the oxygen she was desperately trying to get into her lungs. “I want to come.” And that did it.

He wanted. And Emma wanted. And she absolutely shouldn’t have used the word friends.

This was going to be a disaster.

Or the best night she’d had in years.

Emma nodded slowly, Killian’s eyes practically staring through her and she reached forward to grip his arm only realizing it was his left after she’d moved. He stared at it for a moment, smile inching across his face slowly, like he couldn’t believe she’d done that.

“I’ve got to go,” she said, drawing his eyes back up to her. “Henry’s going trick or treating with friends later and I promised I’d make sure the costume was finished.” “Of course.” “Seven o’clock?” Killian’s eyes dropped back to her hand, still wrapped around his forearm, and nodded. And then he smiled at her and Emma wasn’t sure she was even standing anymore. “Perfect,” he said.

“You have your phone?”

“Yeah.” “And you know where I’ll be.” “I know where Uncle David and Aunt Mary Margaret live.” Emma lowered her eyebrows at Henry, but he didn’t even react to her mom look – instead he smiled knowingly at her and made a face. She felt like she was at distinct disadvantage when he did things like that.

“Relax, mom,” Henry sighed, grabbing the sword that went with his costume. Emma wasn’t certain if she should be encouraging costumes that came with plastic swords – something about violence and responsibility as an adult or whatever – but Henry had been incredibly serious about the choice and she got the distinct impression that there was some sort of costume-based plan with Violet that he wasn’t telling her.

“It’s the first time you’re going out on Halloween by yourself,” Emma said, not for the first time. “I just want to make sure there’s a plan.” “There are plans for the plan. And it’s not really by myself. Violet’s dad is coming with us and there’s going to be like six other kids there.” Emma nodded – for as many times as she had asked Henry about the details for the night, he had told her the same thing. He could probably recite his answers by heart at this point. That didn’t do anything to stifle her nerves.

Although Emma wasn’t entirely positive if that was because Henry was going trick or treating by himself or because she was bringing Killian to the Halloween party in SOHO.

“You should go get changed,” Henry continued. “Killian’ll probably be here soon.” “You sure you don’t want me to bring you to Violet’s?” Henry was shaking his head before Emma had even finished talking. “You should go get changed,” he repeated.

“That didn’t answer my question.” “I know.” Emma pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes at her son who simply grinned at her. “It’s fine,” he said, dragging out the syllables in the words for emphasis. “You don’t have to worry about me.” And that did something very specific to Emma’s heart. She tugged Henry close, ignoring his quiet groan at this over-the-top display of affection in the middle of their living room. “You are the absolute best you know that,” she said into his hair.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Henry laughed. “Go change, mom. He said he was on his way like ten minutes ago.” “What?” The buzzer sounded – making Emma jump and Henry laugh again – and it was like her kid was some sort of soothsayer. “How’d you know that?” “Go. Change.” Emma made a face and Henry didn’t even blink, turning back towards the front door to, apparently, buzz in a ten-minutes-early Killian Jones. She bit her lip tightly, but moved when Henry glanced over his shoulders with a wide-eyed, expectant stare and tried not to trip over the dress when she put it on.

Strictly speaking, she wasn’t much for Halloween – her resistance to the themed episode a testament to that – but Mary Margaret was obsessed , had been for as long as Emma could remember, and the annual Halloween party was actually something she looked forward to. She heard the front door open and Henry yelled something and Emma was smiling before she realized her mouth had moved, stomach flipping with nerves and anxiety and, maybe, even a bit of excited energy.

Emma glanced in the mirror one last time, tugging the braid she’d finished earlier over her shoulder, and walked back down the hallway.

“That’s not even fair!” Henry yelled, voice tinged with laughter and slightly out of breath. He was sprawled back across the couch, legs stretched out like he’d fallen over into the cushions, sword in one hand and a wide smile on his face.

Killian laughed in response, facing away from Emma as she came back into room and she had to bite her lip again to stop some sort of audible reaction to the sight of him. He was wearing all black – a long, leather jacket she could only begin to imagine where he got and a sword held in his right hand, pointed directly at Henry’s chest.

And Emma wasn’t entirely positive how she was supposed to deal with all of this.

“You need to learn how to parry better,” Killian laughed, back still facing her. He was standing with his feet apart – like they’d been swordfighting in the middle of her living room – and when he rested the blade of the fake sword on his shoulder, Emma didn’t know if she’d seen anything more attractive.

Henry rolled his eyes with all the drama his twelve-year-old face could handle and glanced over Killian’s shoulder to meet Emma’s gaze. “Mom, tell Killian he can’t cheat like that! It’s totally not fair. I would have won if he played by the rules.” Killian’s shoulders stiffened quickly when he realized Emma was behind him, spinning to stare at her with wide, blue eyes. The sword was still resting on his shoulder. “And what exactly are you supposed to be? Jack Sparrow?” Emma asked, eyes trailing over his body before she could stop herself.

It wasn’t her fault – everything just fit so well.

And God, was that a vest?

Fuck.

There was an actual scabbard hanging off his waist.

Killian smirked at her, pulling his left hand up to reveal a shiny, silver hook on the end of his wrist. “Jack Sparrow’s old news, Swan. I’m Captain Hook.” Emma’s laughter shook her whole body and Henry groaned from his spot on the couch. “And a cheater too!” “Pirate,” Killian shrugged. “What’d you expect?” Henry huffed and pushed himself off the couch, stabbing Killian’s side as he walked towards the door, grabbing his coat as he went. “You sure you don’t want me to bring you uptown?” Emma asked again and she was certain if Henry kept rolling his eyes, his face was going to get stuck that way.

“Mom,” he sighed dramatically, yanking the door open. “It is fine. Go. I’ll save you the Reese's, ok?” “Yeah, ok,” Emma said, trying not to feel too guilty. Henry didn’t seem to mind. “Have fun!” she yelled as he walked out the door.

“You too,” he answered, slamming the thing shut and leaving her, suddenly, alone in her apartment with Killian. Dressed as Captain Hook. With a sword in his hand and a bordering on absurd amount of leather on his body.

“He’ll be fine, Swan,” Killian said softly, practically making Emma jump out of the costume she had on.

“You think?” Killian nodded. “It’s just...this is the first time he’s not coming to the party and it is Halloween in New York and, well, I worry.” “You don’t have to rationalize worrying about your son, love.” Emma looked at him, smiling slightly and ignoring the way her stomach continued to flip over that ridiculous costume. He grinned back at her – that slightly nervous, earnest one that seemed to work its way under her skin and get her to invite him to annual family Halloween parties. “Plus,” Killian added, twisting the handle of the sword in between his fingers. “He was super excited about it.” “What?” She should have realized it before – as soon as Henry said Killian was on his way to the apartment – but she’d been too nervous and worried and vaguely overwhelmed to put two and two together. Henry was texting Killian. Regularly.

Killian shrugged, eyes falling towards the absolutely ridiculous boots he had on. “He’s a very proficient texter,” he said softly. “I should have asked though. I can, uh, I can tell him not to anymore.” “No, no, that’s ok,” Emma answered quickly and Killian’s eyes practically flew to hers. “It’s kind of nice actually.” “Yeah?” “Well I don’t know that Henry knows another adult male other than David, so it seems like a pretty good thing.” “He doesn’t talk to…” Killian trailed off and Emma knew he wanted to run his hand through his hair. Instead he moved his left hand – hook – to the back of his neck, running the rounded metal over the skin and it was so absurd and so attractive that Emma couldn’t even bring herself to be frustrated with him for pushing.

“No,” she said, answering his unspoken question. “He doesn’t.” “Ah.” “Yeah.” And she almost told him – could hear Ruby’s voice in her head listing all the reasons she should – but Emma hadn’t done this in such a long time, hadn’t let anyone in ever and she wasn’t even entirely positive how to do it, let alone try to.

They stood there for several minutes, rocking back and forth and trying to overcome their respective embarrassment and Emma was worried they’d never actually be able to get out of the apartment, when Killian finally started talking again.

“And who are you supposed to be, Swan?” he asked, taking a step towards her – she watched his boots move across the hardwood floor, the sound echoing in her ears.

“I’m Rapunzel,” she said, lifting her head up to meet his slightly amused gaze. “For the fifth year running.” “That’s an impressive streak.” “M’s dressed up as Rapunzel’s evil mother one year and we had to match and it’s a really impressive, expensive costume, so I’ve just kind of stuck with it since then. It drives her nuts too, but that’s kind of more or an added bonus.” “That’s diabolical of you, Swan.” “Lazy also seems like a good word, but I’ll take diabolical too.” “I only met her the one time, but your sister-in-law doesn’t exactly seem like the kind of person who would want to dress up like a villain.” “She said it was ironic.” “Of course,” Killian laughed. “What is Halloween without a bit of costume-based irony?”

“Exactly,” she said, eyeing the hook. “Where did you even get a hook?”

“You’re not the only one who’s spent the last few years being forced into celebrations and repeat costumes, love.”

And that did it – that got rid of the nerves, or at least most of them, that one sentence and that one similarity and the tiny, little anxious smile on his face.

She could do this. She could trust him – at least for tonight. Because that one sentence proved what she’d been suspicious of for weeks – he understood .

“You want to go? It might be easier if we take a cab. I’d rather not go through a Subway turnstile in this dress.” Killian laughed softly, smile widening across his face as he nodded at her. “Whatever you want to do, Swan.” “Ok,” she said, feeling like that one sentence meant a lot more than what it sounded like. “Let’s go.”

She hadn’t actually told Mary Margaret and David that she was bringing Killian to the party and the nerves that had dissipated with his smile and texting Henry and that stupid costume reappeared in full force as soon as the cab pulled up to the apartment building on Wooster Street.

“You alright, love?” he asked, glancing towards her as he handed the driver the fare. Emma nodded slowly, opening her mouth to argue about paying for the fifteen-block drive, but Killian shook his head quickly, sliding out of the seat and holding out one hand for her.

Gentleman.

Jeez.

“I’m fine,” Emma promised, only lying slightly, and he looked at her skeptically as she made her way towards the door of the building. The door buzzed open nearly as soon as she pressed the button and Killian’s soft laugh behind her seemed to find its way into every single inch of her body. His hand fell on the small of her back – as it had become apt to do – while they walked down the hallway.

“You’re late,” David yelled from the other end of the hall, eyes falling on Emma immediately and then widening to almost impossibly-large size when he realized she wasn’t alone.

“Not really,” Emma argued. “Like five minutes. If even.” David’s gaze had fallen on Killian’s hand – still on Emma’s back – and she tried not to groan at the ridiculousness of it all, doing her best to ask him not to be a stupid, overprotective idiot in the middle of the hallway.

He didn’t get the message.

“I didn’t know you were bringing anyone,” David said pointedly and Killian’s hand fell away from Emma like he’d been stabbed with a plastic sword again.

“I didn’t know I had to ask permission.” “What’s going on?” Mary Margaret asked, head leaning around the doorframe with interest. She beamed when she saw Killian. “I don’t think we’ve been officially introduced,” she said, sliding past David and sticking her hand out towards the costumed storybook pirate next to Emma. “I’m Mary Margaret Nolan, I’m Emma’s sister-in-law.” “Sister for all intents and purposes,” Emma muttered, glancing up at her and smiling thankfully.

“That too,” Mary Margaret said. “It’s nice to see you again,” Killian answered, taking her hand in his. “And be officially introduced.” David coughed loudly and Emma didn’t even try to mask her eyeroll. “Killian,” she said quickly, voice filled with frustration, “this is my brother, David Nolan. David, this is Killian Jones.” “I’ve seen you on TV,” David said, extending his own hand.

“A lot of people have,” Killian answered.

“And you think that’s a good thing?” Killian's eyes darted towards Emma and she took a deep breath through her nose. “David,” she muttered, but Killian’s hand came back to rest on her back and she swallowed the bevy of vaguely sarcastic comments she had planned for her brother.

“I think it’s good for my restaurant. Exposure and all of that.” “Speaking of which,” Mary Margaret cut in. “You don’t have to be at the restaurant tonight? A holiday on the weekend, seems kind of like prime time.” “Swan asked me the same question,” Killian laughed – both Mary Margaret and David’s eyebrows practically jumping into their respective hairlines at hearing the nickname. “But, no, I don’t. My hostess and sous chef have their own annual Halloween party and they commandeer The Jolly every year to host it.” Mary Margaret nodded, smile still on her face, but David kept glancing between Emma and Killian and the one hand on her back. “Well, I’m glad you could join us,” she said, the picture-perfect hostess.

“I’m glad I could be here too.” “So, uh, we going to go inside?” Emma asked. “Or were you guys planning on holding the party out here?” Mary Margaret rolled her eyes – looking like Emma was a teenager she was passably amused by – while David crossed his arms tightly. “And who are you guys supposed to be?” “We’re Snow White and Prince Charming,” Mary Margaret answered.

“Obviously.” “There are apples inside. You know to really drive the costume-point home.” “Naturally,” Emma laughed, pushing by David to, finally, walk into the jam-packed apartment. She spotted Ruby and Dorothy in the back corner – by the punch Granny made each year, more alcohol than juice – and Emma was positive half the teaching staff at Henry’s school was also crammed into the apartment. There were at least half a dozen police officers dressed as police officers there as well as one very impressive ogre costume on a guy Emma thought David had once introduced as Anton.

Killian’s hand hadn’t left her back the entire time they walked across the living room, finding themselves in front of the punch before Emma realized she was walking that direction. “Nice outfit,” Ruby mumbled, voice jumbled just a bit as she tried to talk and drink punch at the same time. “What’s this? Five years running?” “I have literally only known you for three years.”

“There are stories about your Halloween laziness, Emma.”

“Consistency.”

“Hey, Killian,” Ruby said suddenly, voice getting louder like she’d just realized he was standing there. “Hey, Ruby,” he laughed. “What exactly are you drinking?” “Wouldn’t you like to know?” “I think I just proved that.” “It’s punch,” Emma said, shaking her head. Sober Ruby could already be difficult enough, slightly drunk Ruby was bordering on insubordinate. “Incredibly alcoholic punch that Ruby’s grandmother made.” “Your grandmother?” Killian asked, voice shaking as he tried not to laugh. “You got a problem with my grandmother?” Ruby responded and Emma silently thanked the powers that be that Dorothy was standing next to her, quickly pulling the half-drunk cup out of her hands.

“I have absolutely no problem with your grandmother. Merely professional curiosity about the consistency of her punch.” Ruby stared at him for a few moments, eyes narrowing slightly as she processed what exactly he’d said – and then she laughed, loudly enough to draw a few curious glances from costumed and legitimate police officers. “That’s right,” she said. “You’re like some kind of fancy bartender aren’t you? Emma told me all about that.” She wished the floor would swallow her and then maybe give her a bit more self confidence. Killian’s hand squeezed the back of her dress slightly – some sort of unspoken message that he wasn’t intimidated by Emma’s drunk producer. “I am like some kind of fancy bartender,” he answered. “Or I at least like to pretend to be.” “Well that’s the point of today isn’t it?” Dorothy asked. “You get to pretend to be or do whatever you want? That’s half the fun of Halloween.”

“So I’ve heard,” Killian said softly and Emma couldn’t breathe.

“Hey,” she said, turning towards him so quickly she barely kept her balance, “I’m going to go talk to my brother real quick, you going to be ok here?” “Of course, Swan. I’ve got a punch to figure out anyway.” Emma nodded once – and resisted the very real urge to do something dumb like kiss him on the cheek before she walked away.

She found David in the kitchen, a beer in his hand and look on his face. His head snapped up when he heard her shoes on the floor and he twisted his mouth, a patented look of apology without actually saying the words.

“You should probably tell Killian,” Emma said, reaching to grab the bottle out of his hand and take a sip, leaning against the counter next to him.

“Yeah, but you’re here now.” “Why were you a jerk?” “I wasn’t a jerk.” “You were one hundred percent a jerk. A week ago you were all about this and how good it could be. What happened?” “I did some work.” Emma tilted her head, lowering her eyebrows in confusion. “What? About what?” “Killian.” “Excuse me?”

David shrugged slightly and took a very long drink, placing the now-empty bottle on the counter before turning back to look at Emma. “Well you told me you didn’t know much about him and I figured I might be able to do something about that.” “You’re not making any sense.” “I ran a background check on him.” Emma blinked and then blinked again and then felt her mouth fall open. “What? Why? How?” “Those are all things I wanted to know about your guy.” “He’s not my guy,” Emma mumbled, but David chuckled darkly under his breath.

“He know that?” “Jeez, David, laying it on a little thick aren’t you? I mean come on, this is absurd. You’ve never done this before.”

“That’s because I wasn’t a detective when you were dating Neal. If I’d been able to run a background check on him then I absolutely would have. And it’s not like there’s been a ton of other guys around since then either.” Emma’s jaw snapped shut and she felt the anger shoot through her veins, hot as fire and making her practically see red – and not just on the absurd cape her brother was wearing in the middle of his kitchen.

He never talked about Neal, knew it was an off-limit topic, normally, understood Emma’s aversion to even his name. But there he was talking about Neal and Emma’s distinct lack of anything more than a few one-night stands when Henry was staying with them.

“That’s low,” she said softly.

“I know.” “Why?” “Because you didn't know anything about this guy and I could get you answers he wasn’t willing to talk about. You want to know how he lost his hand? Because I know. And I know why he left the Navy. And, probably, who that woman tattooed on his arm is. Oh, and I also know that he just put a deposit down on a warehouse in Gowanus with some real estate guy the department has investigated for fraud before.” Emma’s head was spinning.

She reached her hand forward, gripping the counter until her knuckles turned white and tried to come up with something to think about that would keep her standing upright. She trusted Killian. But she also trusted David.

And now she wasn’t sure what to think.

“If Killian wanted to tell me any of that, he would have done it already,” Emma hissed. “It doesn’t bother you that he hasn’t?” It should. And it kind of did – but not because he was guarded or secretive or whatever . But because Emma wanted to know and she couldn’t remember the last time that happened.

“You know the brother is dead,” David said and Emma’s hand slid off the counter, the corner of it scraping against her palm.

“What?” David nodded. “Yeah. In the line of duty.” “When?”

“About ten years ago.”

She tried to do the math in her head – he was thirty-five now, he’d told her that during the whatever at The Jolly – so ten years ago he’d just finished his required stint after graduating from the Academy. And then, according to David, Liam had died. And he started working at The Jolly Roger eight years ago.

He left the Navy after Liam died – no, she corrected herself quickly, because Liam died.

“Fuck,” Emma mumbled, tugging on the end of the braid she’d spent nearly twenty minutes trying to perfect earlier that night. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” “Are you having an aneurysm?” David asked. “What’s wrong with you?”

“What else did you find out? When Liam died did you see who were the other officers on the boat? Or however it works?” David looked her speculatively, eyes narrowing. “How do you know his brother’s name was Liam?” “That is so not important now.” “I think you already know the answer to your question,” David sighed. “Lieutenant Killian Jones saved twenty men on the USS Shiloh when a hurricane ravaged the Pacific corridor ten years ago. He didn’t, however, save his brother. Captain Liam Jones was reported drowned after trying to save a crewmen who was trapped above deck during the storm.” Emma squeezed her eyes shut – wondering how much punch she could drink without looking suspicious – and nodded slowly, the weight of David’s background check falling into the pit of her stomach like a 200-pound weight.

“Doesn’t explain why you were being a dick, though,” she whispered, keeping her eyes closed.

“I think he should tell you things.” “I think he should get to tell me whatever he wants on his own time. That’s how friendship works.” “And that’s what this is?” Emma opened her eyes, glaring at David with enough intensity to make him take a step back.

“Yes.” “At the risk of repeating myself, does he know that?”

“Don’t be a dick to him again tonight, ok?” Emma asked, walking out of the kitchen. She didn’t meet Mary Margaret’s questioning gaze from the other side of the room – near the punch and Ruby and Killian – as she swung open the door and retreated to the silence of the now-empty hallway.

She leaned against the wall as soon as she heard the door slam shut behind her, pulling her legs up and wrapping her arms around her knees.

Emma’s head still felt like it was spinning.

He hadn’t told her Liam was dead and, if Emma was being honest, she’d simply assumed Killian’s brother was still in the Navy, would maybe show up at The Jolly one night, even looked forward to maybe meeting him. And now David’s words were ringing in her ears and she felt like she might actually cry – which would have been ridiculous normally, but felt even more absurd while wearing a Rapunzel costume.

The door swung open again – the hinges in desperate need of oil or whatever you used for squeaky hinges – and Emma looked up, fully prepared for a repentant David or curious Mary Margaret in front of her. She wasn’t ready for Killian and the two glasses of punch he had in his hand.

“You kind of ran out of there, Swan,” he said, crouching down to hand her one of the glasses.

“I prefer to see it as moving with purpose.” He scoffed and put the other glass on the floor, resting his hand on the ancient carpet until he was sitting next to her, hand just a few inches away. “And what exactly was your purpose?” “Not punching David in the face.” “Because of earlier? Don’t worry about that, love. I’m perfectly capable of dealing with overprotective brothers. You did, after all, warn me he had a tendency to do that.” Emma bit her lip and stared at the opposite wall. She tugged on hair again and felt Killian’s surprised gaze land on her fingers. “Unless that’s not what it was about,” he added.

Open book.

“It wasn’t.” “Then what was it about?” “You remember I told you David is a detective?” Killian nodded. “Well he’s also apparently in the habit of abusing those privileges because he just told he ran a background check on you.” “What?” Killian’s back visibly stiffened and his head snapped towards Emma. “Why?” “Because he’s an overprotective idiot who deserved to get punched in the middle of his own Halloween party.”

“You don’t have to defend my honor, love.” “Maybe I wanted to.” His eyes flickered with something that vaguely resembled want and Emma wondered, again, what it would be like to kiss him. “What exactly did he find out?” “A lot.” “Tax dollars at work.” Emma laughed sarcastically. “I told him I didn’t want to know. You should get to tell me in your own time.” “Thank you, Swan,” he said, voice flush with the kind of sincerity that made Emma trust him in the first place.

“Don’t thank me quite yet.” “Why?” “David’s got a very big mouth.” “About?” Emma took a deep breath and bit her lip again. “Swan?” “He told me what you did,” she said, rushing over the words. “And what happened to Liam.”

Killian was on the opposite side of the hallway as soon as she said his brother’s name, hand resting on the wall and the tension so obvious between his shoulders Emma couldn’t help but wonder if it actually hurt to stand like that.

He took a deep breath and ran his hand through his hair before turning back around to look at Emma and if she wasn’t already sitting on the floor she may have fallen over when she saw the sheer amount of emotion in his eyes. “That’s why I don’t want them to call me captain,” he said softly, boot dragging across the carpet.

Emma nodded, not quite sure what to say. He kept talking instead. “Liam could have been an admiral, probably would have ended up there if he wasn’t so stupid and honorable and determined to save everyone. He didn’t make sense. He was too...everything. He took care of me, you know.” “Older brothers have a tendency to do that.”

“No, that’s not what I mean,” Killian said, shaking his head and walking back towards Emma until the toes of his boots nearly touched her heels. “I mean he raised me. He was eight years older than me and the most goddamn responsible human being to ever walk the planet, so when my mom died, he made sure I stayed out of foster care and the system and took care of me. Got stationed in New York so we didn’t have to move.”

Emma exhaled loudly, pushing herself back up the wall and tugging her hair back over her shoulder. “You’re lucky,” she said softly.

“What?” “To have not ended up in the system. It’s not a good way to grow up.” “I don’t understand.” “You’re not curious why David and I have different last names?” “Of course I am,” he grinned at her, stepping closer again until she could practically feel him against her. “But I said I wouldn’t push.” “And I appreciate that,” Emma muttered, glancing up at him from underneath her eyelashes to find him still smiling at her. And, all things considered, she couldn’t quite figure out how she was still comfortable and willing to trust him in the middle of that hallway. Probably because he kept looking at her like that.

She took a deep breath, pressing her lips together before she dove into the deep end of depressing childhood backstories.

“I was twelve years old when David found me in Portland. I’d run away from the latest foster home they’d shipped me off to. The family said I stole the money they’d saved for vacation and, I mean, it was a total lie, but it was enough for the state to consider moving me back into the group home and I just couldn’t quite cope with that. So I ran. It was Thanksgiving weekend and it was freezing and David’s mom had brought him up to Portland to go Christmas shopping. He found me shivering in the alley behind Filene’s Basement. He brought me home. And I never really left.

Mrs. Nolan officially adopted me two years later after more red tape than I knew existed in the entire state of Maine and David stayed in-state for college because he knew I’d freak out if he left. I’ve got a bit of an abandonment complex, you see.” Killian nodded slowly, hand ghosting over the side of Emma’s hip – he pulled it away before his fingers landed on the dress, like he was nervous she’d run if he touched her. She wouldn’t have. She wished he would.

She also didn’t say any of that out loud. “I’m glad you didn’t punch him,” he said softly, words making their way into the space between her ribs, settling there with a very specific sense of contentment she hadn’t felt in a very long time – or possibly ever.

“Yeah?” “Yeah,” Killian nodded again. “He’s like some kind of hero in there. Saving the princess from the system.” “So are you,” Emma said quickly, words falling out of her mouth with ease. Killian stepped back, nearly tripping over his boots in his determination to get away from Emma and that contentment she’d felt just a few minutes before was replaced with a ball of anxiety that seemed to weigh roughly the equivalent of the entire planet.

“What?”

“I just mean, what you did. After, um, after Liam. I know about that too. You’re a hero too.” “That’s a very efficient background check.”

“David’s nothing if not efficient.”

“I don’t know if that’s true,” he said. “Not David. Me. I just did what I had to. Liam, well, Liam would have been disappointed if I hadn’t.” “He’d be proud of you.” “You don’t know that.” “I’ve got a hunch.” “That’s because you didn’t let your brother tell you the rest of the background check. There’s some not-so-ideal moments in there too.” “And you can tell me or not tell me in your own time. I’ve got my own not-so-ideal moments,” Emma said, eyes falling back to the patterned carpet and thoughts of Neal and the last time she trusted someone flashing through her mind. “But you’re a pretty unqualified success, Killian. And background check or not, I think Liam would be proud.” He was staring at her like he’d never seen anything quite like her, stepping back into her space, seemingly, out of instinct and his hand fell on her hip without a word. “It’s just a restaurant, love,” he said, voice dropping low and Emma resisted the urge to move. Her skin felt like it was on fire under his hand.

“A really good one,” she countered. “That should probably consider putting those cookies on the actual menu.” “So many compliments.” “Just facts.” “Ah, well, management will take your suggestion under consideration. Maybe they’ll think about it for the very important reservation on the books in a week and a half.”

Emma’s eyebrows dropped and she nearly pulled away from his hand, but his fingers tightened around her hip, seemingly picking up confidence as the smirk on his face grew more pronounced. “You didn’t?” Emma asked.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” “David and M’s anniversary is in a week and a half.” “That so? She didn’t mention that when she asked about the date.” “When did you even do this? Are you texting her now, too?” “No,” Killian laughed. “But you were in the kitchen and Ruby and her girlfriend left to go talk to her apparently vaguely alcoholic grandmother and Mary Margaret took pity on my solitary self in front of the punchbowl.”

“I’m sorry I abandoned you.” “You didn’t, Swan. And Mary Margaret is a perfectly good conversationalist.” “How did you end up on the topic of reservations?”

“She mentioned the date, asked if it would be possible and I called Ari.” “You interrupted her Halloween party?” “It is my restaurant,” he laughed. “There should be some sort of rules about that.” “And you got them a reservation? A week and a half in advance for a restaurant that’s turning people away six months from now? Seems awfully convenient.” Killian beamed at her, hand squeezing slightly as the fabric of Emma’s dress bunched in between his fingers. “It is my restaurant,” he repeated. “And maybe I was looking for something out of it.” “I didn’t know you were all that interested in karma.” “I’m not.”

He dropped his hand, smirking at her and doing something absurd with his eyebrows while he dragged his fingers over his mouth. Emma waited for him to say something else, heart beating so hard in her chest she wasn’t sure how Killian couldn’t hear it in the middle of the hallway.

“Thank you for doing that,” she said. “Above and beyond the call of friendship duty.” She knew her voice had betrayed her as soon as she met his gaze, one eyebrow pulled up his forehead when she used the word friendship. “Yuh huh,” he said softly. “And that’s all your family’s happiness is worth to you? Even on their anniversary?” “Yeah, that’s what the thank you was for,” Emma shot back, ends of her mouth ticking up into a sarcastic smile.

That didn’t last long.

She could see his chest moving, the steady beat of his breathing acting like some sort of metaphorical anchor in front of her. And the smile was gone – hers and his – as Killian’s eyes fell to her lips, making Emma’s heart feel like it had actually stopped beating.

“Please,” she muttered, trying desperately to keep her voice steady. “You couldn't handle it.”

Killian’s eyes hadn't moved away from her lips and that smirk should be criminal. “Perhaps you're the one who couldn't handle it.”

Emma was breathing through her mouth – her chest felt like it was heaving at this point, but she couldn’t stop herself, couldn’t think of anything except how much she trusted him and wanted him and she felt her feet moving as soon as his head tilted, body moving slightly as he readjusted his weight on his feet. And then her hands reached out and her eyes widened and she heard him take a deep breath as her fingers wrapped around the collar of the leather jacket he’d worn for her and, of course, it was like this.

Of course.

He froze against her and Emma briefly wondered if she had completely misread the situation, that they were friends or something stupid like that, some dumb excuse she’d come up with so she wouldn’t kiss him – which was exactly what she was doing.

Her lips moved against his, hand moving into his hair like it belonged there and it took less than a full second for Killian to respond, his entire body pressing against hers in the middle of the hallway.

Emma hadn’t let go of the jacket – nails digging into the leather like she was trying to use it as leverage – pressing up on tiptoes to reach him easier while his hand fell away from her hip. And she almost groaned at the loss of it, but then his mouth moved against hers and his tongue flashed across her lip and his hand moved into her hair, pulling her even closer against him.

Killian’s other hand moved back around her waist, holding her up and Emma felt the hook – God there was a hook – against her back and she couldn’t breathe or think except to wonder why they hadn’t done this before.

Of course it was like this – frantic and emotional and absolutely overwhelming – which was exactly how Emma had felt since she’d walked into the network conference room and he stared at her for the entire meeting.

Killian made a noise in the back of his throat, tugging on her lip with her teeth and Emma thought maybe she’d have a chance to breathe, but then he moved back, hand falling out of her hair and back onto her hip and he kissed her again and nothing had ever been quite like this.

And, maybe, that was the problem.

Because then Emma considered that and what that meant and her mind seemed to catch up with her lips. She pulled herself away – ignoring the way it felt to not be kissing him again – and met Killian’s eyes immediately.

And he looked exactly how she felt, shoulders moving quickly as he tried to even out his breathing, the back of his hair sticking up from where Emma had run her fingers through it. He looked wrecked.

Emma felt it.

“That was…” he said, voice cracking as he rocked back onto his heels.

“A one-time thing,” Emma answered, cutting him off before she drowned in every emotion she was feeling. Killian blinked, mouth dropping open in surprise and Emma nearly kissed him again, but then her mind caught up and she retreated behind the walls and tried to ignore how disappointed he looked. “Don’t follow me. Wait like five minutes or something before you come back inside ok?”

She thought she saw him nod, but she was already halfway down the hallway before she’d really even finished doling out post-makeout instructions. Emma swung open the door to Mary Margaret and David’s apartment, plastering a smile on her face as she walked in a straight line towards the punch.

She hadn’t gone very far – couldn’t when doing that would require her to answer questions she didn’t want to – but Emma knew she’d still managed to do what she always did. She’d run.

[melyaliz]

Loved ones pt. 2

Summary: Collin struggling to be a Dad and Britney is struggling to NOT fall in love with his small family.

Parts

Follow up to this amazing story

Pairing: Collin x Britney 

Notes: Co-written by @royslittleharper  which is why I love it so much. I also split it up into two parts because it was getting long so I figured why not. 

Tagging: @guns-n-lilies  @the-shadow-of-atlantis  @coffee-randomness  @daisyboobear @werewitchling  @nightwing-rules

“He’s so beautiful” Britney cooed as she sat on the floor in front of Hank as he bounced in his baby rocker. The small boy was laughing as she used Collin’s old stuffed Lighting Mcqueen doll to tickle the baby’s stomach while making car noises.

“He’s a spitting image of me you know,” Collin said from the kitchen where he was cooking while quizzing Britney for her finals. Yes, he was a man of many talents. Some could say he even had GOD like abilities. Although one of those people wasn’t the girl playing with his son. Yet anyway.

“Huh, you could never tell,” she said gently running her fingers through the baby’s red curls. “I think he may take after Uncle Eric…”

“What! He has my eyes and… oh” Collin paused as Britney watched him a sly smile on her face.

“You are much better looking than your parents,” Britney sang to Hank who just smiled up at her, “Who knows where you came from.”

“Oh shut up.” Collin mumbled flipping the page of her textbook, “Are you ready for more questions or are we going to argue about my son’s looks?”

“Daddy doesn’t think you’re pretty but I do.”

“I didn’t say that!”

  Finals were upon her and Britney was so busy taking tests and writing papers she barely saw Collin or Hank. Hardly eating and locking herself in the bathroom so she could study just a little more. Collin had never seen her like this, so nervous.

“This is my sophomore year,” she told him coming up for air and a smile from Hank who instantly reached out for her as she came into the kitchen. “I have to get good grades so I can take the classes I want next year. Or maybe I’ll transfer? Or try and skip a few general classes so I can finish quicker?” she was talking so fast as she bounced Hank up and down. The small baby just watching her with wide eyes as if unsure who this person was holding him. Because it sure wasn’t his Britney. Collin watched her feeling the same way his small son did.

“Woah easy, I’m sure you’ll do fine,” he said gently prying Hank away from the frazzled girl. “How about you take a quick nap and I’ll get dinner ready.”

“No… I shouldn’t probably… uhhh” she paused blinking at the bathroom where a stack of books sat, “What was I going to do?” she asked turning to Collin who couldn’t help but smile.

“I’ll wake you in an hour, now go,” he said pushing her toward the bedroom. As he watched her grumbled to herself slowly walking into the bedroom. An idea slowly forming in the single dad’s brain.

Picking up his phone he shot off a text to his dad “could you babysit tomorrow night?”

“YES PLEASE!!!!!” came in instant response followed by a quick “or whatever…”  

Collin laughed the idea slowly forming into a plan as he started to make a list of what he would need.

  “YAY We will be there when you get back!” was Collin’s last text with a gif of Honey Boo Boo dancing in a pageant dress. Britny had rolled her eyes before shoving the phone back into her pocket. Some things never changed.  

However, as she entered the small apartment neither of her men were there. In fact, the apartment was way too quiet, eerily so. If Britney didn’t live the life she had she probably wouldn’t have come to the conclusion she did but… she had. She was digging out her hero costume as she quickly stripped ready to give whoever had kidnapped her family the beatdown of a lifetime.  

Collin had gotten caught in traffic on the way back from his parent’s home so he was late. And he knew it. However, the sight that greeted him wasn’t the one he had expected.

Britney was dressed in her hero costume just about to run out, she basically ran into Collin looking up at him with wide fearful eyes.

“Where’s Hank? She said looking at him as if the small child would suddenly appear.

Collin couldn’t help but laugh holding up the bottle of wine, “He’s with my parents, I thought we could celebrate.”

“What?”

“You’re finals.”

She blinked at him as if suddenly registering what he was saying, “I thought…” she took a step back her face becoming flushed. Collin couldn’t help but smile from ear to ear as he knew what she was about to do. For his son. He couldn’t help but feel his heartbeat speed up at the thought of how quickly she was ready to jump to save his son. He knew she had moved in to help them both but part of his mind, the insecure side, always seemed to tell him she was only doing it because he was so helpless. But he knew, in moments like these that she truly cared for Hank.

And maybe him too.

He took a step closer to her ready to sweep her off her feet with his plan.

“Nice outfit, did you fight your final?” then his mouth got in the way.

“Shut up.” she said hitting his chest before turning back inside slowly unzipping her suit.

“Wait, uhhh what are you doing?” he asked as he stared at her.

“Oh my God Collin! Calm down, I’m just unzipping it so I can change… in the bedroom.” she added as she walked back to the bedroom they had been sharing. Suddenly she paused.

“Hey..”

“Yeah?”

“The zipper is caught in my hair I think.”

“Oh is it now?”

“Oh GOD, never mind I’ll get it,” she said slamming the door. Collin followed her as he felt the evening he had planned in his mind slipping away.

“Hey, Brit… I have wine and I bought Chicken from that place you like down the street.”

Slowly the door opened to a very adorable pouting Britney, “I’m really stuck” she mumbled avoiding his gaze, “If you say anything or break my zipper I will kill you” she added as he motioned for her to turn around.

He slowly loosened the zipper from her long brown hair before sliding it down her back. He could hear his heart beating so hard in his chest he was almost worried he could hear it too. God, she was beautiful. He had wanted her for so long. Wanted all of her.

They hadn’t done much more than kiss a few times, him always letting her lead scared she would change his mind. And scared that if he started he would never stop. Just kissing her forever until their small family starved to death.

He would never admit it but sometimes sleeping with her was hard. The apartment was only a one bedroom with a queen size bed so she would normally crash with him after a long night studying or taking care of Hank. But on those nights they both went to bed at a relatively normal hour he would just lay in bed watching her sleep wishing he could do more than just lay there. Wishing he could feeling her under him, feel every inch of her body against his. Just to run his tongue over her, know what she tasted like.

“Cool, ” she said breaking his train of thought walking back into the bedroom to change into some sweatpants and a t-shirt. Or that’s what he had thought until she came out in a cute little black dress, her dark brown which had been in a ponytail was now down falling around her shoulders in soft waves.

 “Ok let’s celebrate!” she said skipping up to the table taking a plate to serve herself some food.

Oh man, he was so fucked. Taking a deep breath he followed her trying to remind himself that this was a good thing. This was part of the plan.

Dinner was delicious and they spent their time talking about their weeks. Collin giving her updates on his family and what she missed during her fast from humanity. She told him about her tests and how she felt some she was confident about while others unsure.

After dinne, they end up moving to the couch with more wine. Slowly the conversation moved from small talk as they both let the alcohol flow.  

“This was a mistake wasn’t it?” Collin sighed as he rested his head on her shoulder.

“What was?” Britney asked him as uneasiness filled her stomach. Waiting for the other shoe to drop. Ready for him to admit having her there wasn’t what he wanted.

“Everything, I mean I can barely keep up with everything and It just feels like maybe I’ve done something wrong, something horrible so Hanks being punished.” Collin shook his head

“How is he being punished?” Britney asked as she tried to understand and keep up with his thoughts.

“Well I mean, I’m never ever going to be accepted by my grandparents but you heard what she said about him. He’s just a copy of her. He’s just a copy of me, but I see him as more than that. Even though I’m a screw up with no useful skills, what am I going to do?”

“You’re not…”

“You’re going to be a doctor! But me? I put all that focus on the team and that’s now practically out of my hands.” He began to slur “I can’t even have a real grandchild for my parents, their first one is ‘just a copy’ that only brings bad memories for them.”

“That’s not fair, Hank is perfect.” Her words weren’t reaching him as he continued. Now sitting looking down at his hands as if they would give him the answers he was looking for. And answer to why he seemed to be screwing everything up.

“They only tolerate him because they’re too busy for another baby of their own. They’re just trying to help me and I’m just letting them down. I keep telling them we’re too busy to visit because I don’t want them to see that I’m a failure as a father and as their child. I’m not their Hercules, I’m just their mistake and… ”

“Shut up!” he paused turning to Britney who had just shouted at the top of her lungs, her cheeks slightly rosy from the alcohol while her blue eyes blazed with anger. Once she had his attention she continued, “I don’t like you talking about the man I love that way.”

“But I’m talking about… oh” slowly his frustrations melted away as a huge grin grew on his face causing Britney to become uncomfortable as her own words sunk in. “You love me?”

“No!” Was her instant gut reaction as he moved close “I mean yes… I mean… stop smiling like that.”

“Like what”

“Like an idiot”

“I’m going to kiss you,” he said leaning forward slowly watching her, waiting for her to pull away. To his delight, she didn’t. To his pure joy, to the answer to all his dreams, she kissed him back.

There was nothing holding him back tonight. No baby, no school, no stubborn girl who wouldn’t admit what he had known all along.

They were meant to be together.

He had loved her from before he could remember. He had loved her before he even knew what love was.

And he kissed her like it.

Long and passionate.

Pulling her body to his she wrapped her legs around his waist causing him to moan into her mouth. Gently he grinded into her, testing the waters. As she followed his movements he almost came from pure excitement and the prospect of maybe more.

Then her teeth grazed his bottom lip and he was done. His resolve fading so fast he wasn’t sure how much longer he could hold on.

“I want to make love to you” he groaned pulling away. At his plea, her eyes grew wide as she studied him.

“I… do you have protection? because I’m on the pill and not ovulating, but mom was saying Asgardians are pretty fertile and I have 6 more years of school plus residency and I can’t get pre…” he cut her off holding up a condom.

“Now who’s spiraling?” He laughed She watched him feeling her heart beat fast in her chest. Was this really happening? Collin looked down at her, his smile slowly fading.

“You doing ok?”

She nodded, he had never seen her like this before. So unsure. Suddenly it dawned on him.

“Wait, are you still a virgin?”

“I said I wasn’t going to date in high school and… college… I tried” she mumbled.

 “You were just waiting for me huh.” there was that stupid cocky smile of his.

“I’m done,” she said the mood gone as she pulling away from him so she could move from the couch. Quickly he caught her arm stopping her. Panic filling him. He wasn’t going to lose his moment.

“No!”

She paused looking down at him.

“Come on,” he said standing up as well before gently pulling her toward the bedroom. “I’ll teach you.”

[tinderellaola]

the last time I was “in love”

I have not been in a relationship in 4 years and that fucks me up. it makes me wonder if there's something wrong with me. if there's something wrong with other people. if they're hard to please. if I'm hard to please. sometimes I want a hookup and even that's hard to get because men don't like easy women. other times I'll make a vow to not hook up and that's when men enjoy the chase. coming out bisexual hasn't increased my chances of having a partner either. women in Toronto, I'm guessing, want a Ruby Rose lookalike or someone to listen to Tegan and Sara with (I love them but not enough to point it out in my profile, I guess), or they want someone who looks like Ellen Page. I've had the luck of matching and talking to beautiful fellow brown girls just like myself, and who I've sincerely always liked and hope is not some disgusting fetish, even though South Asian brown girls are desexualised (oh yes, even the light-skinned ones!). but eventually I just don't like the girls like that anymore. I start to understand the men who reject me after a first date. even though they're very pretty and nice and still have things in common with me, I just don't feel a spark. I could also bring up the fact that one girl backed away from me once she asked me how did I confirm I'm bi and I answered her.

it's not as if I haven't been in love with ANYbody since my toxic one-year relationship a couple years ago (need I point out that *I* was the toxic one with my yelling and ambiguity of what I want that could be mistaken or actually seen as controlling and manipulative. there was also my insecurity which definitely didn't go hand-in-hand with my ex's superiority complex and sensitive soul). there was, well let's call this guy... Tom (not a name I've ever dated before so this is safe).

Tom was a wonderful chaotic mess. he was a Sagittarius if that tells you enough. but even before I knew his star sign, Sagittarius was one of my two guesses. he had to either be a Sag or an Aquarius. Tom and I matched May 2015, 2 days after I had a hookup with one other guy named... I'll say Carpet. not to mention, Carpet was very nice and fun and considerate by trying to get me home on time to my religious family who I had to lie to by saying I was just out with friends.

anyway Tom and I matched 2 days after Carpet and I hooked up. he messagd me "Strokes shirt = good sign" in reference to the Strokes shirt I was wearing in one of my profile pictures. I checked his profile to try and see who I right-swiped on; it was some white boy with curly light brown hair, small blue eyes, and a goti; he had a posed shot of himself, another where he was diving into a lake from some cliff, and another of him drumming on his kit. so I messaged him back and we set a date for tomorrow pretty breifly into the conversation, with both of us trusting ourselves that we'll just click better in person. I gave him my number, he texted his name and that he's from tinder, I tried to prolong a conversation unintentionally, and got no message back until the day of our date.

he texted me and asked if we were still on for today. I said yes. so we met up a couple hours after that text, on our set time, with nothing in particular planned. he recently moved to my city and was living with his aunt and uncle. even though I've been in the city my whole life, I was not very good at giving directions. so we met up in this quaint downtown and I told him to "meet me at that wine bar if you know it." so yeah we met outside the wine bar, with no intention to go there. so he mentioned having a car and offered to buy some beers at the nearest liquor store, go to the lake, and chat. I said okay. so we did just that.

we sat by the lake and talked, and I gave him some of my Camel cigarettes in exchange for the beers. we talked about ourselves just as any date should be; our jobs/education, our siblings, our parents, concerts, weed, acid trips, our friends, dogs, That 70s Show being the retro weirdos we were, and so on. he did bring up some ex girlfriends and I thought nothing of it at the time. I was just enjoying his company, being happy to have gotten this date and not caring about the hookup with Carpet anymore. hell, I didn't even care if I would hook up with Tom or not, despite having a vow to just hook up with people summer 2015.

the date did end with us fucking in his car though, and he dropped me home even though it was out of his way. we talked some more, and he told me that guys don't actually brag about having sex. like, it's mentioned in locker rooms but no specifics are brought up. I was pretty tipsy in his car so I zoned out sometimes and told him I forgot to tell him to make a turn somewhere. but yeah we found the way eventually, we kissed goodnight, and we joked about who should text who.

the day after, he texted me and asked if I wanted to smoke pot with him tomorrow. I had to say no because my parents wanted me to help out with yardwork, which I didn't even have to do anymore! still, Tom and I had a couple more dates. well, only 2 good ones if I'm gonna be honest now, or 3... I'll explain.

the second date, we met outside "that wine bar" again, went to this pipe shop where he bought the pipe, walked to his car where he claimed to just be picking up the weed from, but got us to sit in the car, and be thrilled about having some cocaine in the same stash he had his weed. I nodded my head slowly, trying not to be so alarmed by this, and just thinking he wouldn't have some lines in front of me. but he DID. he got out a CD case, put some lines there, and once I processed this I freaked out, like "omg you're doing this RIGHT now?" he freaked out back, like, pretending to be considerate and reassuring me that coke wears out in an hour. I reminded him that we're cruising soon so he shouldn't drive just yet. he said he wouldn't, so he asked for my OK. I uncomfortably said fine. I tried to let that slide along with the mentions of ex girlfriends. we had a fun rest of the time finally finding a place to smoke, it was by some beach with just some other couple about our ages there and neverminding that young adults smoke pot.

we also walked and took turns going to a bathroom at the back of a grocery store. then we went back to his car, with the weed high going away even for my sensitive body and my lightweight-ness. we got poutine and went back in the car to listen to the Distillers, the music being my choice because he was cool enough to let me do that (believe it or not, men hardly ever let you choose the movie or music and so on so this was pretty big of him to me!).

we called it ane early night. he started working 5am-3pm shifts, which he happily told me about so that we could hang out earlier than the evenings now. still, after the second date I hadn't seen him in over a week. we weren't even texting. last time I did text him was to ask coke for a friend of a friend and he said he couldn't text anything like this to me right now and that he has to deal with some stuff right now. I respected that, kinda sensing that he was in trouble but still a little paranoid I was doing something wrong myself.

I saw him again after I slept over at a friend's house about a half away hour. we (my friends and I) pulled an all-nighter just partying with some of her classmates and dealing with the cops and inspecting the house (thankfully, these white dudes running the party had their weed in a seemingly obvious spot like by their computers but not where the cops checked anyway). anyhow I was exhausted af. my brother (who is just a year younger than I am and is one of my best friends so we were always rebellious together) picked me up from my friend's place. on the way back home, Tom texted me and told me he just got his own place, still in my city, and was inviting me over. being the smitten kitten I was at the time, I said okay and that I'll be about an hour. I wanted to go home and shower off this party smell and tiredness for a cute dude I've only met twice.

so I did all that, and Tom offered to pick me up. I told him that'd be cool, just not outside my house directly in case my mom would come home from work soon. so I met up with him at a plaza just a block down. he eagerly greeted me and we had some small talk. after that fuzzy stuff, I asked him how his week's been and why he stopped texting and suddenly wanted me around again. he sighed before saying that he got arrested for drug possession, and that he's on probation now. I was stunned. but a 20-going-on-21 year old girl who hoped this guy could be my second boyfriend after being single for 2 years. so I stayed in the car with him, let him drive off, waited in the car and listened to Pond as he went grocery shopping in the same store my aunt worked at, and finally we were at his new basement apartment. he also bought me a new lighter after I left mine in his car after the second date, and the cops cleared his car of any drug utensils. I still have this maroon lighter by the way! after 2 years it still works, so it's a good one.

anyway over at his place I helped him put up a Pink Floyd poster and then a Simpsons one in the tiny and cozy place. he warmed up frozen pizza which we cut with scissors (his idea) and we talked as he set up Django Unchained on his laptop because he didn't have a TV. he didn't have Internet either. so we were pretty old school, like early 2000s old school, by just using a DVD and a computer. I think he said his laptop was like 10 years old too even though it was an Apple. anyway in the talk before the movie he told me that he's bi. I told him that I was too. we smiled out of relief from that, and he ended the moment like, "I like dicks, I like vaginas. whatever" to which I laughed at. and even though we had a heavy fight about reverse racism as we talked through Django, I stayed the night. I insisted we get past this differing thoughts and opinion of a concept even though we were both passionate about it, pretend we never had this talk even though he was mad enough to try and kick me out of his place. I blurted out to him that it can't end this way, because I really REALLY liked him. he said, "well I was starting to like you too!" so that was when I said, "then let's just give this a chance. this is ONE thing we're disagreeing on."

the following night, he gave me a piggy-back around his place, like what they show in white romantic movies. we watched some live Woodstock videos. and we had sex before sleeping on and off through the night.

we spent the next day, a Sunday so I got that cliched Sunday morning date, at his place all sleep-deprived. we watched a movie (the whole thing this time), and for some reason looked at pictures of him and his ex girlfriends on his laptop, and then he wanted to pick up perogies from his aunt at her beautiful big house. so we went to her place. on the way there I told him I had to pee, so he suggested I could pee at his aunt's place. the thought of meeting a fuck buddy's aunt was weird to me, especially in my sleep-deprived state. but I went inside with him anyway. as his aunt had to show him something upstairs anyway, I went to the bathroom and then waited out in the hallway of this beautiful big house with his uncle sitting in the kitchen and reading the paper. I thought of saying hi but also didn't want to in this context, like he didn't know who tf I was and Tom wasn't there as proof that I was a friend of his. so I silently waited, and they were back downstairs anyway. Tom had the pack of frozen perogies in his hand, we both said bye to her, and left.

I stayed a bit longer at Tom's place. we watched The Lego Movie, That 70s Show (which was when he called me smart like Donna by the way, and pointed out I said some things he learned about reverse racism not being real), had sex, showered together, and I decided I should get going. it was 6pm when I told him I should go. my mom called earlier and she asked when I was getting back from "another friend's" house (I told her it was a girl friend). so I told her I was just at the mall now and will be getting back home from there now. she said okay.

but at home I just haaaaaad to make a tumblr post about my sleepover at Tom's place and our lovely Sunday together. I had my older sister on tumblr, and she's basically a third parent. I just figured she wasn't using her blog anymore. but... she was lurking her dash still, alright. she confronted me about it, and was upset I did that. I freaked out at her, because I was mad that I got caught and mad that she wouldn't let me learn things on my own. it was ugly.

luckily for me, I forgot my phone charger at his place. so I texted him and asked if it was there. he said yeah and that I could visit him on Wednesday (like 3 days after the sleepover) to pick it up. I said that'd be good. so we met up again and this time he had a friend coming over so I got to meet one of his friends, and he was nice. we got drunk and talked politics again. Tom was such a mansplainer by trying to cut me out of conversation and saying that I wasn't getting the topic right. his friend, on the other hand, said that I was saying relevant things, which got Tom pretty annoyed.

well anyway I accidentally took his Doors shirt home. I wore it as a joke when we were all drunk but forgot to take it off. so yeah I had it for a while. I washed it before going to his place again and gave it back to him. he was so relieved it was just with me the whole time because he thought he lost it and he wanted to wear it to a show with "a new friend" he was going with. he told me it was some girl. but I tried to let that slide off along with the ex-girlfriends and being a coke-head! but then he started ghosting on me. he pretended he missed some texts from me, and would say he couldn't hang out some weekends. he was friends with some new girl on Facebook who didn't seem like she was an old high school friend or anything. I spent weeks wondering if we were gonna talk again. I had a friend ask me if we were official yet because I knew him for over a month and gone through a lot with him at that point. I had to tell her no we weren't; it was the opposite. I excused that maybe he's busy, busy with the court cases and visiting his family an hour away some weekends, and meeting up with old friends who were visiting the city, busy trying to find a new job after losing the one he already had, and so on.

3 weeks later I texted him and asked if he was busy. he said no. so I asked if he wanted to hang out. he said "sure. where?" I said that his place is fine. so I came and we just watched movies again. he treated me like some relative rather than someone he had all these inside jokes with and wanted to kiss sometimes. we had some cigarettes outside his place and he'd *casually* mention the new girl he was hanging out with and that she spent the week at his place, and he told me the same name I saw on his updated friends list on Facebook. I just changed the subject.

every hangout I had with him, except that last one, we'd always kiss goodbye. but in that last one we didn't even hug. I tried to let that slide, along with the ex-girlfriends, him being a coke-head, an entitled white boy, and the insensitive mentions of the new girl.

I couldn't sleep for a week. I was always nauseous. he was on my mind all the damn time. he even came into my dreams in the rare moments I WOULD sleep. so I knew I had to talk to him. this went on for a week. so I texted him and asked if I could come over. he said he doesn't live in that house anymore. so I said "ok then let's meet up somewhere. I wanna talk." he said that he's living with his folks, who live an hour away so he can call me in about 20 minutes. I said fine. then he asked me if everything was okay. I left my phone in my room that time and was downstairs. so I came back to see a follow-up text which was a "Hello?" I told him yeah it is, and that I just don't know why he got distant all of a sudden. yes, pretty accusatory. but I wasn't sure how else to say it in this nervous state. so we didn't call each other. he replied to my text, getting all defensive and vague. I pressed him, which got him to say, "I lost my driver's license, got kicked out of my place, and have a couple court sessions left. my life sucks right now! I can't deal with anything right now. it's nothing personal." I said, "ok that's fine. but what about the past few weeks before all this?" he said, "I dunno I guess I just got busy." I replied, "with the girl who slept over for a week?" he was all, "I guess. and with family and friends." he sent  a follow-up: "are you mad that I'm seeing other people?" I said no, and that I was mad about him getting distant. I think I'm saying all this out of order. but anyway the talk ended with me offering to be there if he ever needs to vent. he didn't reply.

he kept me on Facebook. but then I saw him tag the other girl in a status of some music video, and it hurt like the flames of Hell!!!!!!!!!! so I removed him and his number and got drunk a lot and cry. I remember this one night I came home after a night out at a pub at my brother. I was making myself a burger at 2am and dropped the spatula and broke down. my sister (not the one who caught my tumblr post. I have 2 sisters) was just coming in that time, and she knew what was going on so she hugged me and told me that this is how you learn stuff, and that he was a dick anyway. oh man I feel pathetic even writing this again.

but anyhow I had my 6 months of being sad over a summer fling. they say that it's supposed to take you only half the time you were with someone to be over them. but for me it was double that, including the ghosting since I *thought* we were still "together." I'd actually drunkenly call him (I kept his number in my diary, no joke), and he'd neverrrrr pick up. I knew he still had the number, hence his outgoing voicecall stating his first and last name. I'm not sure if I even really got over him. well I knew I was missing him and that he was not right for me. but at this point I know I don't want him as a boyfriend. I miss him, even if it was just a messy friendship.

so in this almost-2 years I haven't talked to him, I had to delete my tinder a couple times because I ran out of matches or would want a fresh start or would try and quit tinder for a bit. of course, just the other day on a new tinder account, he was one of my choices. it took me a bit to digest this. but I swiped right to see if he would too.

it's been about a week, and no notification from him has come up. I like to think he's just a Sagittarius who likes to pretend he doesn't care about people he's been initimate with. but I've seen him vulnerable. I've seen him show me his ex girlfriends. I've heard him tell me he doesn't like reading books with someone else because it reminds him of "a friend" he had to drift apart from. he's told me he once had "a bitchy ex girlfriend" who he might have a guilty conscience for. hell, he might have remembered me as "this girl obsessed with the Strokes who cried over them at my place once and drunkenly danced to them." "this girl with strong-ass opinions, like insiting that reverse racism isn't real, although I just don't wanna admit that she's smart and strong for standing up to me."

I had a dream of him last night. we were together, not officially, but it felt MORE together than my time with him. we'd hang out with each other AROUND my family. we cuddled on some beach chairs in front of them. well he was actually young Keanu Reeves at first and then just transformed to him, you know how dreams are. but, even though I wasn't clear about this, I think he had some similarities to young Keanu with his occasional quietness. anwyays we cuddled at the movies at a family outing too. it just really nice.

I tried to tell myself that I just miss getting physical affection in general. but I guess I also miss being his friend. he was someone I had good conversations with even though I know now he was a fake-intellectual. he appreciated me even though it wasn't for a long time. I remember crying after the next guy I hooked up with because the sex wasn't as real as it was with Tom. to this day, I still miss "Tom" even though he was a jerk. I know I would never ever actually be his girlfriend or his wife. but he was memorable.

so remembering him, I don't hold resentment over first dates who realise they don't feel a spark with me after all. remembering him, I realise these first dates didn't give me the same spark as he did anyway, although I could also say that he made me have high standards out of protection of myself. I guess I've just learned so much from him, and miss the feeling I'd get from him even though it got me hurt in the end.