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clareguilty · 3 years

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Gabriel Reyes/reader, a/b/o and The Works™

this is the third kinktober prompt for this year!!!

Gabriel Reyes/fem!reader | a/b/o, marking, biting, praise, all that jazz Rating: Explicit Word Count: ~3000

Jack Morrison was getting another medal.

It was everyone’s favorite joke at high command. It seemed like no one wanted to implement any serious policy or sign an actual resolution in favor of giving the golden boy of the Omnic Crisis another fancy award.

So Jack had been stressing himself out all week trying to write an acceptance speech that wasn’t passive aggressive, and you spent too long picking out a formal gown, and Gabe had sat on Reinhardt’s desk laughing and stuffing his face with carbs and fruit because his rut was due next week.

Jack took the teasing in stride and managed to come up with a speech that wouldn’t outright offend the Prime Minster of Russia. Everyone piled into the jet to Moscow with a garment bag and a carryon and a strong cup of coffee at four am the day before the banquet.

This was normal for you. In a world after the omnic crisis, head of Overwatch’s reparations department and mated to the commander of Blackwatch. You found yourself flown across the world dozens of times a year for negotiations and assemblies and ceremonies.

You and Gabe strapped in next to each other on the jet. “I haven’t seen the dress you picked out,” he nodded his head to the garment bag.

“I guess it will just be a surprise,” you purred.

He grinned and leaned in to kiss you.

“It’s too early for this,” Ana groaned from across the aisle. Gabe shot her a toothy smile and made sure to nip at the shell of your ear. You smacked his leg and shoved him back into his own seat.

The hotel was a beautiful historic waterfront building just across the bridge from the Kremlin in the heart of the city. The five of you piled out of the black SUV that had escorted you from the airstrip and made your way inside.

The hotel manager greeted you as well as an official from the Kremlin. Jack was the main recipient of ass kissing and pleasantries, so you simply smiled and nodded and shook hands wherever necessary.

The suite was entirely too big and fancy for a two night’s stay. You and Gabe poked around for a bit, but there were no fun secrets. You took the sitting room, and Gabe set up at the desk in the bedroom as you both buckled down on your work for the day. Gabe had operatives in Bolivia he needed to check in with, and you had a meeting with representatives in London.

He found you a few hours later slumped in the armchair with your head in your hands.

“They still being stubborn?” he asked.

“They won’t budge on anything,” you groaned.

“Change into something casual. Let’s go out for a little bit.” He was already in a hoodie and dark jeans, beanie sticking out of the back pocket.

You nodded and went to find a sweater.

Gabe’s impromptu date night in Moscow turned out to be a lot of fun. Ana and Reinhardt came to meet you at a bar for a little bit, and the two of you wandered around the city until sundown.

The next day was more meetings and frustration until you had to get ready for the banquet. You and Gabe slipped past each other in and out of the bathroom as you showered and shaved and styled your hair and perfumed and moisturized.

You shimmied into the dress half an hour before the car was due to pick you up. It was slim and black, sleeveless with one band that crossed over your collarbone and shoulder. You frowned when you realized it covered your matebite, but it wasn’t a big deal.

Gabe grinned salaciously as he zipped you up, unable to resist leaning down and nuzzling into your neck. “Cool it.” You shoved him off with a giggle. “I have to make it through a whole ceremony and dinner.”

He pulled on his jacket and the two of you made your way downstairs to wait for the car.

For some reason, the event coordinators split you into three cars. Jack rode by himself, you and Gabe in one car, and Ana and Reinhardt in the last. They looked intimidating in their dress uniforms, and you felt kind of ditzy in your sexy cocktail dress next to three enormous well decorated Overwatch officers.

The ceremony was only slightly dull, and you clapped at all the right spots and pinched Gabe when he looked like he was zoning out too much.

Dinner was much more enjoyable. You had been seated with people you knew from other events and assemblies, so conversation flowed well. A string ensemble played and a few people got up to dance or mingle once they cleared their plates. You caught sight of a British Parliament member speaking with a small group of tuxedoed men, and Gabe saw the determination in your eyes.

“Go get him, sweetheart,” he kissed your cheek and pushed you towards the Lord. You excused yourself quickly and approached the older gentleman ready to push for your negotiations to take center stage in the Palace of Westminster.

The poor Lord was not expecting to be accosted by you at a banquet, but graciously listened as you explained your struggles in negotiating reparations in London.

“You’ve got some real fire in you,” one of the tuxedoes remarked as you shook the Lord’s hand and he scampered away sufficiently cowed. He had an American accent and shiny hair. He reeked of confidence and you knew it was a combination of his nationality and his status as an Alpha.

You cocked your head nonchalantly. “Takes a lot of persistence to get anything done in Parliament.” You knew he was probably referencing the fact that you, a tiny omega, had just approached a government official and demanded that he push for your cause, but you brushed it off. Most of the time people were respectful, but you still ran into pushback every now and then because of your status.

The American laughed, tossing his head back. “And wit to match!” A waiter came by with champagne and he snatched a glass to press into your hands. “What’s your name?” he asked, placing a hand on your back and guiding you back into the crowd of tuxes.

You tensed under his touch. This wasn’t your Alpha. It was extraordinarily rude to touch anyone without permission, especially an omega. But still, you had to be polite, so you introduced yourself.

“If you ever need any help getting through to politicians, you should give me a call. I’m on the UN Peace Council, you know? I was appointed during the crisis.” That information was probably supposed to impress you. It probably would have if you were anyone else.

You nodded politely, taking a tiny sip of champagne and glancing over your shoulder to look for Gabe. You had your own gripes with the UN peace council. Jack and Gabe butted heads with them nearly every other week.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” you smiled, attempting to turn and address the other men.

“Here,” the American pulled out his phone. “Let me get your number. Maybe we could meet up for drinks before we both leave Moscow?”

“Oh,” you found your escape. “I left my phone back at my table.” You turned to make your way back to Gabe and Ana, but the UN asshole grabbed your arm. You knew exactly what this was. This guy probably didn’t run into many omegas in professional settings, and he thought you would just go along with everything he said because he was some big shot Alpha.

Laughable. You were a high ranking member of Overwatch. A diplomat. The mate of Gabriel Fucking Reyes.

“Just put your number in and I’ll text you,” he insisted. You struggled out of his grasp and shot him the sternest look you could manage.

He laughed again. “I love how feisty you are!”

Clearly, everyone in the vicinity was also uncomfortable with the exchange. This was not the time nor the place to be asserting dominance over an omega.

Your blood boiled. You didn’t want to make a scene at Jack’s reception -- though he probably would have loved it -- but you were seriously about to deck this guy.

“Cariña,” a familiar voice washed over you and the effect was immediate. You leaned back into Gabe’s chest, taking a deep breath to slow your heart rate. “Jack was looking for you. He wanted to introduce you to someone.”

The American Alpha puffed his chest out, clearly ready to challenge until he took one look at Gabe.

“Commander Reyes,” he greeted. All of the bravado and pushiness was gone in an instant.

“Hello.” Gabe was stiff, clearly trying to hold his tongue. His arms snaked around your waist and he leaned in to whisper in your ear.

“Would you hate me if we left right now?”

“Absolutely not,” you spun in his embrace so you could look up at him. His expression was stoic as always, but you could see the tension and the anger in his eyes.

You didn’t even look back as Gabe walked you to the table to collect your things. It was a little rude to leave without saying goodbye to anyone, and you weren’t sure if Jack had actually wanted to introduce you to someone, but Gabe looked ready to tear someone’s head off.

He stopped caring about decency the moment the car door closed.

There wasn’t a lot of room to maneuver considering how enormous your mate was in the tiny sedan backseat, but he pinned you to the leather seats and kissed you like his life depended on it. You wound your fingers into his curls, gasping as his hands slid under your skirt and up your thighs. The driver coughed, and you giggled at the slow whir of the partition motor giving the two of you some privacy.

“I can’t believe he touched you,” Gabe snarled.

You shivered both at the possessive edge in his voice and the disgusting memory of the other Alpha’s hand on your arm.

“Make me forget about him,” you whispered, hooking your leg around his hips.

He rose to the challenge. Super soldier strength shredded your lace underwear, dress hiked up around your hips. He pressed a kiss to the inside of your knee, trailing up your thigh at a torturously slow pace. He had barely sucked a mark into the skin when the car stopped. A glance out the tinted window showed that you were back at the hotel.

“Thank you!” you called to the driver in your terrible russian accent as you yanked your dress back down and teetered on your heels on the pavement. Gabe half carried you with an arm around your waist as you breezed through the lobby to the elevator.

The elevator was another brief attempt to continue. You managed to get Gabe’s jacket and shirt open before the door slid open and you were staggering down the hall.

He dragged you into the bedroom, pinning you to the bed on your stomach so he could yank down the zipper on your dress. He couldn’t keep his lips away from your neck. The moment your matebite was uncovered he dragged his teeth over the mark. A shiver ran all the way down your spine.

“You’re never covering this up again,” he growled, rutting against your hips clumsily. “I want everyone to see that you belong to me.”

The words made your stomach flip. You wriggled your way around onto your back, pushing your dress over your hips and to the floor. “You’re going to hit your rut early.”

He didn’t seem fazed. “I’ll just fuck you until we have to leave for the flight.”

You figured Ana, Jack, and Reinhardt wouldn’t appreciate Gabe in the throes of his rut on the flight back to base tomorrow, but they had probably experienced it before. You could only imagine how bad he was back during the crisis. The thought only made you wetter.

He must have sense the spike in arousal, because he settled more of his weight on top of you. “What are you thinking about?” he demanded.

“You. During the crisis. Alpha Commander Gabriel Reyes.” You trailed a finger down his chest. “Were your ruts worse than they are now?”

He smirked. “They’ve gotten worse again since meeting you.”

You pulled him in for a kiss, mustering the last of your coordination to get Gabe undressed. He made sure you were laid out comfortably on the bed -- grabbing a few pillows to place under your hips and head -- before sinking all the way inside you to the swell of his knot.

Gabe always fit inside you so well. The perfect stretch. And he filled you so deep when he knotted you. You knew that his ruts could get intense, and you would probably be exhausted and sore by the end of it. Still, you had been mated for a few years now, so you had figured out how to manage.

“You feel so good.” You closed your eyes and lost yourself in the situation.

“Don’t worry, baby. I’m going to knot you so good.” He rocked forward, teasing you with the stretch.

“Please,” you begged, nails scratching at the shaved hair at the back of his head.

He shuddered and set an impossible pace as he began to fuck you. Sometimes you forgot that you weren’t just mated to an Alpha, but to a super soldier. No one else could fuck you like he did.

“You want my knot? Want me to breed you full? Want me to remind you who you belong to?” His words were low against you skin as he kissed along your neck. One of his hands was rubbing your clit, the other holding your thighs open so he could reach deep inside you with every thrust.

“Yours,” you gasped. “I’m yours.”

His teeth found the unmarked skin of your neck, just above your collarbone -- opposite the side of where your matebite was. The skin was practically electrified, especially when Gabe was fucking you like this. He didn’t bite down, but the sensation alone was enough to have you coming on his cock.

“Fuck,” he growled. “That was so good for me, baby. You’re so perfect.”

“Do it,” you begged. “Bite me. Please.” It was a little unorthodox. Normally couples only exchanged one bite. A bite on both sides was usually the sign of a triad or a pack. But you had just been touched by another alpha and Gabe was fucking you so good and you wanted him in every way possible.

He blinked, trying to think through the haze of his rut. “You want that?” He didn’t even wait for you to respond. The thought alone had him spilling inside of you, and he pulled you onto his knot. His teeth found that same patch of sensitive, unmarked skin, and he bit down just as he locked inside of you.

Nothing felt better than coming to the sensation of being claimed. It was the strongest orgasm you had ever experienced.

“Fuck you’re perfect. My perfect little omega. You wear my marks so well. Everyone is going to know exactly who you belong too.”

You couldn’t respond. Too busy marking Gabe’s chest with hickeys and lovebites. He was too massive for you to reach his neck, but you would make do. You were still coming down off the intense rush of endorphins, and everything was a little fuzzy and felt just a little too good too much too fast. You had come twice in less than the span of a minute, and Gabe was only just getting started.

He soothed the aching bite, holding you close as you were locked together. His knot probably wouldn’t go down for a while, but he was less riled up than before now that he had satisfied himself somewhat.

“I love you,” he kissed the top of your head, rolling so you could lay on his chest.

“I-” You cut yourself off, blushed, and buried your face in his pecs. You would happily die there.

“Yes?” He was curious now. You weren’t usually shy with him.

“I’ve been working on something. It’s super embarrassing.” You didn’t look up.

He lifted your head, forcing you to meet his eyes. “What’s embarrassing? I just dragged you out of a dinner party at the Kremlin so I could fuck you. I think I’m the more embarrassing of the two fo us.”

You laughed and kissed his chest right above his heart. Mustering all of your courage, you found your voice:

“Te amo. Me encanta pertenecer a ti. Tú eres mi mayor alegría.”

Your accent was decent, but you had no clue if your grammar was correct. The words were unfamiliar and clumsy, even though you had practiced them a hundred times. Spanish was not a language you were familiar with, but you knew that Gabe had grown up hearing it. You wanted to try and learn for him.

He understood immediately what you were tying to say, and you could feel the rumble of his laughter beneath you.

“Don’t laugh at me!” you whined, smacking him lightly on the side.

“I’m sorry,” he grabbed your hand, running his thumb over your knuckles. “It was very sweet. I love you too.”

“I need a lot more practice,” you pouted.

He petted your hair, staring at you with a dopey, lovestruck expression. “I can’t believe you let me bite you again.”

You shrugged, feeling the pull and ache of the new mark in the motion. “We can let one of them fade.”

He smirked. “What if I like you like this?”

You bared your own teeth. “Can I return the favor?”

You weren’t expecting to rile him up, but the words were enough to make his cock twitch inside of you. “Fuck,” he groaned. “You good to go again?”

You nodded, pushing up to a seat so you could ride him. He grabbed your hips, holding tightly as you slowly rocked against him. You knew the pace was probably no where near what he needed, but you wanted to take your time.

He didn’t give you the opportunity, rolling to pin you beneath him again and dragging your hips up to his. “You wanna bite me? You better earn it.”

#gabriel reyes #gabriel reyes x reader #gabriel reyes/reader #reaper/reader #reaper x reader #reaper #smut #lemons #kinktober 2021 #ow fanfic #Overwatch #overwatch fanfic #a/b/o #alpha/beta/omega au

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thatbritishactor · 3 years

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Together we stand (part 9)

Pairing: Billy Russo x Reader

Summary: Together We Stand explores the relationship between Billy Russo and Reader (You), over the course of twenty years. You meet as children, and you two are best friends until life tears you apart. You always find your way to each other over the years, although you witness him becoming someone you barely recognize. Billy is your weakness, the one person you cannot resist, and as he grows into a selfish, cold, manipulative man, you can’t let go of the Billy you once knew.

Warning: Mature (SMUT), 18+, language (cursing), abuse (psychological), toxic relationship dynamics.

Words: 2,500

The * indicates steamy/ mature content

My masterlist

Part 1 Part 2* Part 3 Part 4* Part 5 Part 6* Part 7* Part 8

Billy takes a big shuddering breath and closes his eyes for a second. He feels like a nervous wreck, standing in front of your door, too anxious to knock. He finally finds the strength to lift his hand up, and lightly knocks twice. His heart pounding in his chest, he stares at the door, and when you finally open, he stops breathing.

You look lovely, the sun dancing on your skin, your hair up in a messy bun. His eyes wander over your body: you’re wearing a grey sweater that’s too big for you, and simple jeans. You look effortlessly cute, and he guesses that you were studying before he knocked. He finds you so beautiful, his heart aching in his chest; he feels soft and helpless in front of you. He can see that you’re flushed and your eyes are glistening with apprehension and something else. He stares at you, unable to say anything, feeling like his chest is constricted. He wants nothing but to kiss you and touch every square inch of your skin that he can find.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * *

You’re trying to read your notes, lying on top of your bed, some soft music playing in the background. You’ve been obsessively looking at the clock for the past four hours, knowing that Billy’s on his way to you.

You hear two soft knocks on the door and suddenly freeze, your stomach fluttering with what seems like dozens of butterflies. Billy’s here. You feel your cheeks getting red from excitement and nerves and throw yourself out of your bed to jump towards the door, opening it in a swift, eager movement. Your heart nearly stops when you finally lay eyes on him. His dark, beautiful eyes are fixed on your face. He’s wearing his yellow beanie, a leather jacket with a hoodie underneath, black jeans, and his combat boots. Your heart tightens in your chest as you take him in, your breath hitching in your throat.

The both of you stare at each other for what seems to be an eternity, time standing still, when Billy finally takes a step towards you, grabbing your face and urgently putting his lips over yours.

You haven’t said a word to each other, letting your bodies express themselves. You grab his neck, pulling him inside of your room, before slamming the door shut. Your lips leave his and he breathes hard while you turn to lock the door before crushing you mouth against his again.

You’re nothing but senses: hyper aware of his touch, his hands roaming over your body, leaving a burning track on your flesh. Billy’s smell is intoxicating, and reason has left your body. Your hands around his neck, his grabbing your hips, he steps backwards, and you follow him, your lips still exploring each other. Your tongues are intwined, your breathing uneven, and you take off his beanie to slide your hands in his hair. You notice that it’s short, almost in a buzz cut, and you’re a bit disappointed that you can’t grip it like before, but the thought is quickly dismissed as Billy’s knees meet the edge of your bed. He sits and you cradle his lap, his hands sliding down your back to possessively grab your ass.

“I’ve missed you so much” you breathe against his lips, and he groans, vigorously nodding. He lies on his back, resting his head on your pillow, and you follow him, slowly lying on top of him, feeling his cock hardening against you. He kisses you hungrily, his hands roaming over your body, and you feel like you’re on fire. You leave his lips and straighten your back, sitting on him, and his eyes are burning with lust and desire. Your eyes fixed on his, you start unbuttoning his jeans, and he bites his lower lip, his eyes glistening even more.

You slide a hand in his pants, feeling his hard length against your palm, and the warmth between your legs is replaced by wetness. You unconsciously start to grind against him, and his gaze grows intense and hard. He sits up, harshly grabs your sweater, and tugs it above your head. You throw your arms in the air to help him slide if off you, and he does the same to your shirt.

He lets out a shuddering breath, staring at your breasts, before nestling his face against your chest. You slide your arms around his neck, closing your eyes, softly caressing his short hair, holding him close against you. The moment is tender and intimate, and the two of you stay still for a few moments, holding each other. His strong arms around you, his breath on your skin, his familiar smell surrounding you, you feel incredibly calm and warm. He moves against your chest and starts to place kisses against your neck, and you set your head a bit back. His lips not leaving your skin, his hands slide in your back, and he unclips your bra. You take it off, and he grabs your breasts in the palm of his large hands, releasing a groan.

His lips capture yours again, his tongue possessively stroking yours, his grip on your body tightening to the point of leaving bruises. You moan at his touch, loving the harshness and urgency of his gestures. He catches you and suddenly shifts your position, so you lie on your back, him on top, and you whimper, both surprised and pleased with the change. He grabs your face, still kissing you like a man possessed when he leans back to stare into your eyes, and you suddenly feel uncomfortably exposed.

It feels like he’s staring right into your soul, and you feel naked and vulnerable under his intense gaze. Intimidated, your blush and he smirks, seeming pleased to see you this agitated. He places kisses on your neck and starts to suck on it, and you gasp, clenching your hands in his hair. You can feel him smiling against your skin, and he gently bites you, eliciting a moan from you.

You start to press your thighs against each other, unable to stand the arousal slowly building within you. Billy catches on and slides to your breasts, biting, kissing, and sucking on your skin, uncontrollable moans and gasps escaping your lips. He kisses your stomach, his hands playing with your jeans, and he unbuttons them expertly before sliding them off your legs. Your panties follow, and he slides your legs apart, still not taking his eyes off yours. You’re biting your lower lip in expectation, your breath hitching in your throat. He glances at you one last time, and the look on his face makes you both aroused and frightened. He looks like he wants to devour you, and you feel like a prey again.

He slides between your open legs and places soft kisses against your core, and you faintly whimper. He starts to lick your folds and suck on your clit, and your hands find their way into his short hair. You set your head back, closing your eyes, losing yourself into the sensation of his tongue against you.

He licks and sucks you expertly, the tension inside of you slowly building and becoming unbearable. He stops to look at you, putting a hand over your stomach to hold you still, and he slides a finger inside of you, gradually stretching you, before he moves inside of you. The feeling is intense, your legs shaking; he slides another finger in, moving just the way you like it.

You moan and gasp, and he dips his head between your legs again to suck your clit mercilessly, licking you while his fingers move inside of you. Your orgasm is almost at its peak and your moans turn into cries and screams as your body tenses against Billy, your fingers still in his hair. His hands leave your stomach to go rest on your thighs, and your orgasm suddenly crushes you, screams leaving your lips without you being able to control yourself. Billy continues to lick you while you come against his mouth, and when you’re finally done, he lifts his head up, looking at you while you’re slowly coming down from your high.

“Good girl”, he says, smiling, and you laugh, finding it funny that the first words he’s uttered since you’ve been reunited are these. He smirks and comes back on top of you to kiss you, his hands close to your face.

“Please, Billy” you say against his lips, unable to resist begging for him. He moans against your lips.

“Condom?” he asks, and you get on your elbows, reaching for your nightstand to retreat one. He lies on his back, tugging his jeans and boxers off, and slides the condom on his cock. It looks painfully hard, already dripping with precum, and you lick your lips in anticipation of what’s coming next.

“C’me here” he says, looking back at you, and you sit on him, straddling him, lowering your head so you can kiss him. Your hands reach for his throbbing length, still kissing him, and you guide him inside of you. You both gasp at the feeling of him leisurely entering you, delighted. He stretches you perfectly, and as always, you feel like you were born for each other. You fit perfectly together in this moment, and you throw your head back, starting to move against him.

His hands grab your hips, and he sets his head back on the pillow, closing his eyes, trying to control himself. You increase your pace a bit, your orgasm already building, the moans coming from him driving you wild. You roll your hips slowly, teasing him, and he opens his eyes again and sits up to kiss you.

Your kiss him back eagerly, your arms around his neck, his around your waist, both of you breathing raggedly, and he whispers a “Fuck!” against your lips as you roll your hips. You set your head back, almost there, and he kisses your neck, his tongue taunting your skin, before he bites you. Your orgasm crushes you as you clench around him, and you close your eyes, waves of pleasure surging through your body. Billy holds you close, and he comes as well just by looking at you surrendering to pleasure.

Both of you stop moving, still holding each other close, and he places soft kisses on your neck, along your jaw, across your cheeks, reveling in your perfume and the feeling of your soft skin under his lips. You open your eyes to look at him, softly smiling at him, your eyes meeting his. You heart flutters in your chest as you stare into his deep charcoal gaze, and you glance at the freckle underneath his eye, detailing every inch of his face. He smiles tenderly, looking up at you, and you blush again under the intensity of the emotions you feel. You slide off him before you lie on your back next to him, and he takes the condom off, discarding it and joins you on the bed. He takes you into his arms, and you rest your head on his chest, sighing.

“I’ve missed this so much” you whisper against him.

“Tell me about it. Every night I thought about you when I went to bed.”

Your heart flutters in your chest. “Me too” you nuzzle your nose against him. “How was it?” you lift your head, putting a hand over his chest, and resting on it to be comfortable.

He arches his eyebrows “How long you got?”

You smile widely at him. “All day and all night” you answer before kissing him, and he chuckles against your lips.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

He tells you all about basic training and you listen to him talk for hours: the instructors, the other recruits, and the friends he’s started to make. You learn about his physical training and are impressed by his abilities, knowing that you wouldn’t have lasted a single day in there. He talks to you about things that are entirely new to you: tactics, survival techniques, guns and fighting strategies. He says he enjoys the discipline, the purpose he finds in the marines, and you can hear in his words that he feels like he belongs somewhere; it warms your heart.

It’s everything you’ve ever wanted for him. You know that he’s always felt like he was unwanted and out of place. It comforts you, knowing he’s found a place in the world. He’s made some friends and feels confident in his skills. You imagine him in his tactical gear, and it arouses you to no end, picturing him in his marine uniform. You form a wish to see him wearing it one day, already anticipating the amazing sex that’ll follow.

You lazily make love again and decide to go get food on campus. You want to show him around as well, so he can see where you’ve been living the past three months. It’s hard leaving the bedroom and putting clothes on, but you’re both famished and you don’t have anything to eat in your room. The sun is setting and it’s cold outside, you both shudder in the crisp winter air, although you’re wearing a thick coat, a scarf and a beanie. Billy holds you tightly against him to keep you warm, and you grab some food to take back to your dorm to eat in bed.

You’re lying against him after you’ve eaten, you’ve had sex a third time and it feels like you’ll never have enough of him. You could spend all of eternity cradled in his arms, surrounded by his familiar, comforting smell, kissed by his sweet lips.

“There’s a party tomorrow at this house” you say, still in his arms. Lying in front of each other, you’re lightly stroking his face and his now short hair. “Do you wanna go? I’d like you to meet my friends.”

A shadow flashes in his dark eyes, and you notice it instantly, your heart compressing in your chest with anxiety. He lowers his eyes, escaping your gaze, and seems to ponder for a while.

“What is it?” you ask, unable to handle the sudden tension in the air. His eyes still lowered; he smiles before he looks back at you.

“It’s nothing” he replies, and his obsidian irises capture you. You release a sigh, already forgetting what you were talking about, and lean in to kiss him. His soft lips brush against yours, and nothing else exists but the two of you.

Part 10

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

I hope that you’ll like this part! I’m going on a slower rythm I hope that’s ok.

As always I reaaaallly appreciate your feedback, likes, reblogs, tell me your thoughts and feelings !!

Love ya <3

Tag List

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#billy russo #billy russo x reader #billy russo x you #ben barnes #the punisher #billy russo imagine #billy russo fanfiction #together we stand #my fics #ben barnes imagine #ben barnes x reader

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birdsongisland · 4 years

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My part for the TS Storytime 2020 : character sheets for @enbyamy 's wonderful fic that i warmly recommend because the worldbuilding is just amazing !!

i will post stills of the gifs separately, please understand that the *very low* quality of the gifs is due to tumblr's refusal of bigger files. The other character sheets will look better if you click on them !

My thanks to @ts-storytime for organizing all this, it was a blast !

[ID : a digital drawing of Janus sanders on a white and yellow background. He has long brown hair and a burn scar on the left half of his face. He is wearing a black beanie, black fingerless gloves, a yellow tshirt with jeans an black boots. A speech bubble reads “Hey, Wait Up. Thank you, dear” “Wait up” is bolded. A text case next to him reads “age : 19. Power : command. Pronouns : he/him. Major : sociology”. Underneath the text box are a black t-shirt with “I’m not crazy, the world is” in yellow, a stack of thesis drafts annotated in red and a sun keychain. /end ID]

[ID : a gif made from a digital drawing of virgil sanders on a white and purple background. He is floating up and down as if seated. He is slouching with one ankle resting over his other knee, looking at his phone. He is wearing a purple hoodie open on a black MCR t-shirt, ripped black jeans and dark purple sneakers. The text box next to him reads “age : 21. Power : air elemental. Pronouns : he/him. Major : dance.” Under the text box are a black mug of tea with “F*CK” written in white, a pair of lilac pointe shoes, a purple plaid patch in the shape of two clouds, black headphones and a candle. /end ID]

[ID : a digital drawing of patton sanders on a white and yellow background. He is wearing brown framed glasses, a white shirt under a yellow sweater, several pins ( a purple eye, a piece of cake, a yellow star, a rainbow pride pin and a cup of tea), tartan trousers and brown loafers with white socks. He is holding a box of cookies and waving. The text box next to him reads “age : 20. Power : volume manipulation. Pronouns : he/him. Major : culinary”. Under the text box are a purple eye, two croissants, a plate of cat-shaped cookies and a red armchair. /end ID]

[ID : a gif made from a digital drawing of Logan sanders. He is standing facing us and holding files in front of him. He is wearing a black shirt, a blue tie and black slacks. Behind him is a black rectangle with white crossing lines and white dots like stars fading into a library with a table and warm light. The text box next to him reads “age : 19. Power : dimensional. Pronouns : he/him. Major : Power studies.”. Under the text box are a distillation setup, a vial with a white liquid, a shiny square metal badge reading “P.S.”. / end ID]

[ID : a digital drawing of Remus Sanders on a green and white background. He is turned 3/4th to the right, has one hand on his hip and the other raised under a crystal orb. He has long brown hair held up with paintbrushes, a white streak and a moustache. He is wearing a black leather jacket with patches over a long green tshirt with his logo, grey ripped jeans and combat boots. He is covered in paint splotches and stains in different colours. The text box next to him reads “age : 21. Power : crystallize. Pronouns : he/him. Major : art.” Under the text box are a dumpster with crystal shards, pots of paint and paintbrushes and a lit titled “graduation requirements for a fine arts major” with four items circled in blue./end ID]

[ID : a gif made from a digital drawing of roman sanders on a white and red background. He is holding a stack of paper in one hand and looking at his other hand which is glowing more, then less. A shiny infinity symbol can be seen on his glowing wrist. He is wearing a red and white varsity jacket with his emblem on the sleeve, a grey t-shirt, a beaded bracelet in blue, pink and white, jeans and red shoes. the text box next to him reads “age : 21. Power : healing. Pronouns : he/him. Major : English”. Beneath the text box are a blue book embossed with golden decors, an electronic alarm clock reading 9:48am and a trans flag pin. /end ID]

[ID : a gif made from a digital drawing of emile picani on a pink and white background. He holds a yellow book in one hand while the other is raised. He has pink hair and glasses, he wears a white shirt undrneath a brown cardigan and beige trousers. a cup of coffee bearing the four elements from ATLA floats up and down on the right while a black and white cat is drawn opening and closing its eyes as well as moving his tail back and forth while it floats. The text box next to him reads “age : 20. Power : telekinesis. Pronouns : he/him. Major : psychology.” Underneath the box are a broken mug and a psychology book. /end ID]

[ID : a digital drawing of remy sanders on a red and white background. He looks like he is looking forward and his holding his phone and a transparent cup of coffee. He has white hair and wears sunglasses, a black leather jacket, grey t-shirt and jeans. He has small blue electric arcs all over him. The text box next to him reads “age : 20. Power : electrical manipulation. Pronouns : he/him. Major : photography.” Underneath the text box are a camera, a polaroid picture of a corgi, a silver locket engraved R+E, the face of the black and white cat, a bag of coffee and sunglasses. /end ID]

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lydias--stiles · 3 years

Text

i’m getting old, it makes me reckless

canon compliant juke | angst | title: when we were young // adele

The band ended their last song in a clash of instruments and vocals, roaring above the audience yelling the lyrics right back. It was the biggest venue yet, the arena stretching far and wide and holding more people than Julie could imagine. Her throat was aching, but it was all worth it. Every note savoured. Every lyric tasted till it staled on her tongue.

It was the gig before she left for college, leaving a whole lot more behind than this arena with the thousands of adoring strangers.

All four were drenched in sweat. Alex, with his hands red from an insanely elaborate three minute drum solo. Luke, with his callouses aching and slick, barely holding on to the strings. Reggie, no longer wearing his leather jacket and hair come undone. Julie, glitter on her cheeks mixed with the sweat and hair like a raging lion. They looked and felt maniacal. They played the concert of the year. The absolute euphoria they experienced wouldn’t be gone for a while, though her blush would quickly fade.

Now, she could still pretend Luke and her were still together. Now, even Alex and Reggie were kept in the dark from their long dreaded decision. Now, the idea that she stood on stage with the loves of her life was enough for a satisfied smile to bloom on her lips.

“Thank you!”, she bellowed into the mic. The audience didn’t stop. Screaming, whistling, asking for more. Encore, encore, encore! They were all out of songs though, having played their anthem again when they asked for it the first time. Covers seemed like a lackluster ending to the night, the band members shooting each other doubtful looks. The finality of it all ached her.

Luke’s gaze caught hers; troubled, unable to keep the sorrow at bay. Had this been any other concert, she would’ve kissed him backstage and remind him that feeling empty after giving it his all was normal. That she felt that too. She wouldn’t do that though. And she also had an inkling his expression wasn’t about that.

Words pushed themselves out of her throat before she thought about it. “I have something. It’s a cover though. Do you guys like covers?”

Another salvo of applause and shrieks, a sea of phones getting whipped out to capture every move. Reggie approached her with a slight frown.

“What’re you thinking, Julie?”

She moved away from the mic. “Is it alright if I do a solo cover?”

His casual nod caused nerves to coil in her stomach, only now realising what she did. What she was about to do to herself. The bassist made a sign at the boys to get off stage, Luke’s fingers ghosting her back (not entirely, never entirely, she has never truly felt the atoms of his hands touch her) and following the boys into the wings.

Curiosity buzzed around the concert hall, Julie making her way to the grand piano on the left of the stage and attaching her mic in the designated stand. When she looked into void, it instantly quieted down. Her timid voice was like a sharp thread slicing the air.

“This next song, uh…” Swallowing back the feeling of loss that simmered right beneath her skin, she took a deep breath. A needle could drop, so silent everyone heard her pained intake. “I’ve taught it myself a while ago. It’s quite melancholic, but I’ve always been a bit like that, I guess.”

Her feet found the pedals, fingers the well-loved keys. The lights were hot on her skin, yet a certain person’s stare felt more fiery than anything else.

Julie took another steadier breath. “Thank you once more for a beautiful night, LA. This is ‘When We Were Young’.”

The beginning notes caused another uproar from people recognising the song, lighters and phone flashlights flickering up one by one like stars. She sunk into the notes, let her hands find the familiar path as all she could think about was Luke. Every word would be laced with the memory of him.

He wasn’t gone, but he might as well had stolen her heart and vanished into the night with it.

With her eyes shut, the first lyrics uttered melodically from her lips.

Everybody loves the things you do From the way you talk, to the way you move

(A fifteen year old Julie watched as the crowd ate up Luke’s guitar solo, the riff an electrifying ensemble of unique sounds that shouldn’t work but somehow did. He played it for them, but his torso was twisted her way, like his body couldn’t decide who he preferred. Back then, Julie presumed it was the crowd, obviously. Music was everything for Luke. Music and nothing more. Sure, that included her and the boys, but she had accepted quickly on she’d never claim that top spot in his heart. And she was fine with that. It hurt a little, except then she’d remind herself of her own love for music and what a gift it was playing in a band like theirs. To be the name people sought out online.

Luke shot some winks to the first row, dropping to his knees to get him even closer to the fans. Alex caught her eye when she turned around, rolling his good-naturedly. Luke being Luke, it meant.

“It doesn’t inflate your ego, does it?”, she teased hours later, slumped on opposite sides of the couch.

He scoffed, a smile edging his lips. “Are you jealous?”

“It is-” she pulled herself upright, brown peering into the curious green. “-merely an observation.”

“An observation.” He mimicked her, all of a sudden not so far away. Their legs were brushing and if she leaned in, she could kiss him. His head tilted, never one to stop teasing. “Right.”

The high of a good performance made her say it. “Do you want me to be?”

When he kissed her, she expected his lips to be cold. Ghost-cold. Instead, they were warm and soft, like in her dreams, and he smiled when she kissed him back - also like in her dreams. It had been short, the way his nose brushed hers a promise for more.)

Everybody here is watching you 'Cause you feel like home, you're like a dream come true

(They quickly found an escape from the hysteria in Griffith Park. It was closeby Julie’s house and its sweeping nature left enough places for Julie and Luke to hide and be with each other without disturbances. It was a bit unorthodox for a teenage couple to burrow themselves in the forest, but she supposed she threw normality out the window the moment she decided she wanted to date a ghost.

Luke sighed, body dropping on the soft grass and pulling her with him. His beanie fell off, a pleased smile quirking on her lips as she raked a hand through his locks. It was always a cause for celebration whenever he got rid of the hat, the impending doom of baldness something she’d warn him about had he still been alive. Julie pushed the thought back. She couldn’t think that way. A finger curled around a soft strand of hair.

His nose pressed in her cheek, coaxing her closer until she snugly fit in the curve of his body. Lips moved against her skin. “Can I keep you here? Screw homework.”

Julie chuckled. Her meandering hand sloped to his chest, circling the soft fabric of his sweater. “Unfortunately, calculus and I have a date tonight.”

“You’re seeing someone else?”, he gasped. “Julie!”

“I know.” His laugh reverberated, the sound melting into her skin as she pushed herself impossibly close. Adding, her voice was muffled: “Very sneaky of me.”

Luke’s arms fully wrapped around her, humming contently at their new position of having her half-sprawled on top of him. If it wasn’t for the slight flush on his cheeks, she’d think he completely cool about this. It made her smile. He may act all tough sometimes, but he was just as new to this as she was.

She tapped against the red. “The macho is gone.”

He rolled his eyes, though it held a glimmer of fondness. It was for her, she giddily remembered. The way he faltered in quiet awe, soft and timid, was for her. Reaching to kiss him, the blaring declaration that he was home rang in her head.

She didn’t tell him that. Ever.)

But if by chance you're here alone Can I have a moment before I go? 'Cause I've been by myself all night long Hoping you're someone I used to know

(“Sixteen,” he bellowed. “Is there a song about being sixteen?!”

She laughed. “Ellie Goulding has one, I think. You wanna sing me a song about being sixteen-”

“Cause you are sixteen!” He hoisted himself on the grand piano, grinning at her from across the studio. She tried as best as she could to match it.

Birthdays have felt like taboo ever since the boys came into her life. She aged, they didn’t, and eventually they would have to disband. Eventually, everyone would notice how they were frozen in time. Eventually, she and Luke would be too far apart in ages.

Julie has dreaded her birthday since the first time her heart skipped a beat at the sight of him.

Sensing something was off, the frown replaced the grin. “You okay, Jules?”

“Yeah,” she dismissed, waving him off with an air of nonchalance. It was easy for her, something she became an expert in after her mom passed. “Just tired from school.”

He poofed in front of her, hands massaging into her shoulders. She couldn’t look at him. And then she said it anyway.

“Are you okay?”

The unsaid was clear, him stilling as his jaw locked in place. It was then that something cracked between them. Unnoticeable, like a small line in a ceramic cup. They were fine after, but never before had they stamped an expiration date on their relationship. Her simple question changed everything.

He coughed, struggling with the smile. It felt rehearsed. “Course,” he muttered. “I’m good.”)

You look like a movie You sound like a song My God, this reminds me of when we were young

(He breathed into the kiss like she himself gave him life, hot and open-mouthed and tongues caressing to feel more. Her arms were wrapped around his neck, legs straddling his waist in the safety of her bedroom. He left no space between them. Flush together, fingers pressing into her back, breaths and grins mingling when they parted for air. How she got him breathless, she wouldn’t ask. The fact that he did, was enough for her. He never felt like a ghost to her. Not before they started dating and certainly not now.

Each kiss was like music to her ears. Each touch alighting her skin with sparks of affection and need.

“God, I love you,” he whispered.

Her dazzling smile stretched against his jaw, halting in place. She giggled. “You love me?”

Their eyes met, his hooded from passion as he slowly tracked her face. “It’s not obvious?”

“It is.” A tender kiss brushed his lips, thumbs swiping his cheekbones with that boundless devotion she never wanted to let go of. It was the most blissful feeling in the world.

Julie uttered it right back. “I love you too.”)

Her voice exploded into an anguished belt, head rolling back as the lyrics flew into the sky. If she hit her notes, if she was making any sense, if the audience was worried - it didn’t matter. Julie needed this. This was her goodbye.

Let me photograph you in this light In case it is the last time that we might Be exactly like we were before we realised We were sad of getting old, it made us restless It was just like a movie It was just like a song

(Julie jumped on top of him in a sneak attack. Armed with her Polaroid camera, she swerved out the way from his grabby hands as she took shot after shot. Her laughing boyfriend snatched her by her side, fingers like spider tickling her until she relented with tears in her eyes. Strewn around them were the pictures, still processing.

“What’re you doing?”, he chuckled.

Julie plucked a Polaroid from her mattress and began waving it around. “You look so cute,” was her simple answer. His grin widened at that.

“Only now?”

“I wanted to capture you just like this. When-” When we’re like this, so goddamn happy and in love. “When you look all…” While Julie mimicked his face, Luke planted his hands on the mattress to pull himself up and give her a chaste kiss.

His smirk eradicated her previous thoughts. “Can’t make a silly face after I have sex with my beautiful girlfriend?”

She hummed, all mushy from his actions. “You can. That’s why I’m taking a picture.”

Luke kissed her again, letting that ‘silly face’ run free and craning his neck to watch the picture develop.

He cried when he didn’t appear. Another crack in the cup.)

I was so scared to face my fears Nobody told me that you'd be here

(An outsider looking into the Molina household would think there was funeral going on. An insider would be even more confused, as Julie Molina just got accepted into USC and rather felt like crying for three full days then celebrate with her friends.

It settled then. She’d go to college, like she always wanted, and have her life radically change once more - not like she wanted. The band was solid, she and Luke were solid. College would change everything. Alex assured her that it’d be fine, that minor adjustments wouldn’t ruin them, but Julie had her doubts.)

And I swear you’d moved overseas That's what you said, when you left me

(He hardly looked at her when she turned seventeen. She couldn’t blame him. Her doubts, fears stacking on top of one another at rapid pace, surged to the forefront. They were the same age. Tomorrow, she’d be 364 days closer to eighteen. Closer to being older, to surpassing him, to hitting their expiration date.

His troubled expression resolved a little later. Back to his bouncy, enthusiastic self, he showered her in kisses and dedicated all the songs at their gig in Raven’s Nest to her. The boys even sang her ‘Dancing Queen’ by ABBA, her appropriately dressed in sparkly flared trousers and matching top. Her fears were forgotten then. Later too, when she giggled as he pulled her into a laughing kiss, the glitter of her clothes staining his own.

Luke was so alive in that moment. Sweat brimming his forehead and buzzing with adrenaline and each kiss rougher than the next. He was real, real, real, real, real, real.

The lie brought her temporary comfort.)

Julie repeated the chorus, body trembling from all the memories hitting her at once. Soon, the numbing final strike would bring her ease. For her sake, for his, for the band. The refrain flowed through.

When we were young When we were young When we were young When we were young

(“What about ‘when we were young’?”, Julie proposed, blue pen pressed into her songbook. Luke sat next to her, slouched against the front of the couch as his eyes were fixed on the ceiling, mustering for the muses to gift them genius lyrics.

“When we were young?” He chuckled. “That’s a joke, right?”

She paused, pen clenching between her fingers as her head turned to look at him. “What?”

He caught her tone, straightening his back with a shrug. “Nothing.”

“No, why do you think that was a joke?”

They’ve been on edge ever since her dad bought her all the USC merch the online store offered. The sea of red draped across her room got him upset, once his favourite colour now his biggest enemy. It wasn’t like they were trying to hurt each other, but…

Julie didn’t know what to do anymore. Songwriting was their usual remedy and even that didn’t diffuse the tension. She wished her mom was here, for advice, except would she be able to give proper words of wisdom when a relationship with a ghost was unprecedented?

All she wanted was go back to the start, when flirtatious jabs were thrown around and they danced around each other. To kiss him for the first time again. She wanted to go back and then continue to go back every time they hit this point. To love him in a loop; to not age.

He sighed, scribbling an annotation in the margin. “Do you really want me to answer that, Jules?”

Her lips thinned. “No.”

She taught herself the song she was singing right now that night, after he and the boys went off with Willie to some obscure concert. When she woke up the next day, he apologised for his shitty behaviour. It became harder to let love lead when cracks met them at every corner.)

It's hard to admit that everything just takes me back To when you were there, to when you were there And a part of me keeps holding on just in case it hasn't gone

A choked breath caught the fragile note, barely audible for anyone but her.

‘Cause I still care, do you still care?

(“Jules, you’re going to college in a week. You’re gonna turn eighteen and you’re gonna meet other people and you will not wanna tell them you’re dating a hologram that doesn’t fucking age!”

The raging spiel left him in one breath, face red and tears spilling with each hitting word. His shouts were heavy and tinged with devastation. The studio, once a safe haven, was now a warzone. He’s been sitting on those ugly truths for a while, Julie realised, willing herself to not cry. They had the biggest gig of their lives in a few hours and she couldn’t fuck up her face.

Luke didn’t mean to do it either. Both were hyper-focused the day of a gig. Normally, at least. It was simply a cardboard box too many in her bedroom, another proud comment from Ray, another nostalgic remark from Reggie. The fears stacked up for him as well; she should’ve known he’d explode sooner than later.

Her quivering lip gulped back the nausea edging her throat. She couldn’t breath. “You don’t think I know that? I was just- I just-” A traitorous tear slipped out. “I was hoping we’d have more time. Why did it go so fast?” Why did our expiration date race us to the finish line?

Her boyfriend she loved with all her heart stood right in front of her, yet it felt like they were oceans apart.

Trembling hands slid up her arms to her shoulders, pulling her into a tight hug. Tearless sobs wracked her body, jaw slack in agony as his action was enough confirmation. This is the end, it meant. They have reached their last chapter. He made up his mind and she wasn’t allowed to change it.

If she did, they’d burn the band with them too.

“I’m sorry,” he cried, face wet with tears pressed into her neck. “I’m so sorry, I’m so fucking sorry.”

Julie gasped for air. “Don’t. Don’t apologise.”

He shook his head, blotched and with a look she never wanted to see again. “If I could change anything, it’s this, Julie. I want to be alive for you so badly - feeling it isn’t enough anymore. You deserve better.”

Furiously blinking, she felt moisture cling to her lashes. “I deserve you,” she warbled. “I love you.”

When he didn’t say it back right away, another tear smeared across her cheek. Her mouth shaped into a please, but he shook his head, shuddering with remorse. “You deserve to be loved out in the open, Julie. Not just in the dark.”

“Please, Luke,” it barely came out, pain squeezing her lungs. “Please. You’re real to me, you’ve always- it was never in the dark.”

He let go of her. The loss of contact made her freeze. His arms hung limp by his sides. Time, for one singular moment, stood still. Her wish came true. Why did it feel like he just disappeared right then and there? Julie bit her lip, waiting for it to happen. It didn’t, but she didn’t dare touching him in case the magic was lost. Luke seemed fearful too, his shivering breaths like knives on her ears. She left before he could say anything else.

Julie wailed and redid her make-up in the backseat of her car until it was time to go.)

The rough vibrato pinched her throat once more, pushing through for the final chorus.

We were sad of getting old, it made us restless Oh, I'm so mad I'm getting old, it makes me reckless

(The year prior, Julie plucked his maroon henley from her bedroom floor as Luke was sound asleep behind her. She shrugged it on and examined herself in the mirror. If she could have it all, she’d wish to never age, to never surpass seventeen and be with Luke forever.

If she could have even more, she’d wish to grow old with him. It was a scary thought to feel so confident about at sixteen, but Julie knew. She just knew. A gut feeling should always be allowed, her mom used to say. This was it.

Julie wished she could do this every day. Stealing his shirt and seeing it fray over time. She wanted stains and holes and fabric thinning from washing it so much. She wanted messy. She wanted real.

Crawling back in his embrace and placing a soft kiss on whatever skin she found that early in the morning, she wished for him to be real until she fell back asleep.)

It was just like a movie It was just like a song When we were young

The last note settled into arena like a heavy blanket, everyone watching with baited breath as the wrecked singer stumbled out of her seat and muttered another thank you. Her shaky smile didn’t waver while the deafening applause washed over her. It was when she reached the wings and noted the horrified looks of Reggie and Alex, that she realised Luke wasn’t with them.

“He just…” Alex’ foot swiped across the floor where Luke once stood, aghast. “He crossed over.”

They were always selfish loving one another. To fall, to love, to be in love. The inevitable never stopped being inevitable, and yet they trucked on. Maybe they had become cocky, thinking their hearts were stronger that they actually were. It was all too apparent now. Her heart wasn’t this spiritual thing. It wasn’t made of fairy dust and magical ghost powers. It was made of flesh and blood and it was bleeding.

Luke’s never would.

The arena lights dimmed.

////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

@blush-and-books @willexx @bluefirewrites @ourstarscollided @sophiphi

#i'm sorry #juke #julie and the phantoms #jatp fanfiction #otp: i think we make each other better

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torisaysyeet · 3 years

Text

Introducing my takes on a portion of the DSMP cast! Most of these characters I picked because I thought they were the "main" cast members, but I have recently figured out my first intuition was wrong lmao anyway some design notes below the cut!

Dream

No armor shown here, but he typically wears his full netherite set

Average build

Green hoodie, leather gauntlets, dark gray/green pants, leather boots, Smile mask

6'3"

BadBoyHalo

Uncorrupted form

His face is so dark it's often hard to see the detail between his hair, horns, and head

Some white freckling along his face and shoulders (not shown)

Slightly wider build

"Fanged" mouth shape

Dark red and off-black cloak, pants, and shirt with a light gray collar, gray and dark red boots

9'6"

Tommy

Slightly lankier so he wears baggy clothes to bulk out his form

Almost always needs some sort of a band-aid because he's reckless and a little shit

Has some scarring (not shown) from the different ways he's lost his canon lives

Red and white t-shirt, white undershirt, tan cargo pants, black and white tennis shoes

6'3"

Wilber

Tall and slim

Has a large scar across his chest (not shown) from the loss of his final canon life

Red beanie, yellow sweater/jumper, gray undershirt, torn black pants, gray shoes

6'5"

Ranboo

The best boy!! My favorite :D

Enderman heritage gives him a strange figure; very slim, thin waist, long arms and hands/fingers, and long Unguligrade legs

Slight scarring under his eyes and on his collar bone (not shown) from crying

Long, thin whip tail with a thick tuft of hair at the end

"Fanged" mouth shape with visible lines from the corners of the mouth to the back of the jaw (likely from his Enderman heritage, with their ability to unhinge their jaw in anger)

Plain black suit, white undershirt, red tie, crown

8'5"

George

Literally just a dude. George's design was the 2nd easiest one out of all of them.

Average build

Cyan/Blue shirt with a red outlined white box, white glasses/shades, blue jeans, black shoes

5'8" (George's IRL height)

Sapnap

T-shirt over a hoodie is the best combination

Average build

Off-white headband, black hoodie, white t-shirt with a flame design, black pants, checkered black and white shoes

5'8" (Sapnap's IRL height)

Tubbo

Half-ram with partially furred Unguligrade legs and hooves

Brown hair, though not accurate to his skin design

Scarred from the firework that took his second canon life

Slim build

Mid-tone green button-up shirt, rolled denim capris

5'4" (Tubbo's IRL height)

Fundy

Anthropomorphized Fox with Digitigrade legs

Average/slim build

Black eyes, but of course very shiny

Black hat with gold accents, black jacket with gold-lined sleeves and four-color blocks on the zipper area, white undershirt, black pants

6'2" (Fundy's IRL height)

Schlatt

Part Ram with human legs

Outwardly twisted horns (The round ones are just too regular for someone like Schlatt) and floppy ears (to make sure Tubbo, Puffy, and Schlatt all had different ear styles/shapes)

Muscular build

Plain black suit, off-white undershirt, red tie, dark brown/off-black business shoes

6'3" (Schlatt's IRL height)

Skeppy

(Off the books, I've already committed to the idea that Skeppy can transform into a 2 foot tall form. I'm sad that this isn't canon because it'd be so fun to play around with.)

Small form, wears a diamond-colored cloak with all black underclothes

Average/slim build

Full height: 5'7" (Skeppy's IRL height)

Quackity

Average build

Injury by Technoblade; missing a front tooth, eye removed (damaged beyond repair)

Blue LAFD beanie, blue track jacket, black gloves, black pants, black tennis shoes

5'8"

Niki

Average build

(Off-Skin) brown and blonde hair

Black crop top, camo high-rise shorts, dark gray sweater, black crew-cut socks, black boots

5'5" (Nihachu's IRL height)

Karl Jacobs

The best hoodie (despite being difficult to color)

Slim build

Multicolored hoodie with a green spiral, tri-colored sleeves, and a pink hood, black pants, purple and off-white tennis shoes

5'11"

Technoblade

Piglin/Half Piglin - Semi-Human form; Unguligrade legs, small underbite fangs (all piglins can do this, however they need the knowledge first. Because of (possibly non-canon) meetings with Michael, Michael himself is able to do this at an extreme cost of energy)

Forgot to draw Not wearing his cloak, commonly wears a vest underneath

Crown is a staple, wears it as a mockery to government

Extremely muscular build (partially due to his Piglin heritage

White dress shirt, decorative blue neck ribbon, red vest lined with silver and buckled with gold straps, black pants cinched below the knee

6'3"

Philza

Average/Slim build

Wings in "Cloak" form (Philza does have actual wings, but often uses his clasp to keep them in a cloak form, protecting them from harm when not in use. Cloak form is significantly lighter in color than his actual wings)

Forgot to draw his shoes (I'll own up to it this time) but he wears sandals most of the time

Hardcore Heart gem displaying the fact that he only has a single life in the SMP

Off-black sleeveless shirt, tall fingerless gloves (not shown), Hardcore Gem, green pants cinched below the knee, Cloak form wings, sandals (not shown)

5'11" (Phil's IRL height)

Captain Puffy

Half Sheep with Unguligrade legs, ears, nose, and smaller curled horns

Pirate outfit; Red and gold coat, gray undershirt, off-white non-tight corset, black pants, and leather "boots"

Thick, curly white hair from her Sheep heritage

6'9"

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itsmoonphobic · 3 years

Text

Dream SMP characters and my interpretation of them:

-Techno: The smell of Dirt and soil,blood,wine and old books. Silk pillowcases,golden jewelry,mosaics,stained fingertips, grand staircases,scented candles,storyteller,lazy smiles, secretive,slow dancing,sad resting face,elegant language,cold weather,confident,doubts himself,philosophy, messy braids,glowdust flakes, poetry,graceful movements,neat and cursive handwriting, greek mythology, oriental music,pale skin,libraries,sarcasm, long-lasting friendships,quotes,frosted windows,layering clothes, know-it-all,rude but endearing,pile of papers,cherry blossoms,muted colors,overthinks everything,devotion,logical thinking,insomniac,scattered mind,castle walls,laid back,tired eyes,long debates,show over tell,lingering touches,rulebreaker, dirty palms,old movies freezing feet,old habits,late nights studying,early riser,skips meals,eye bags,tea with milk,velvet jackets,dimly lit by streetlights,ancient wood floors,flowy curtains,art museums, gravely morning voice,echos in the middle of nowhere,sleepy whispers,nostalgia everywhere,red lipstick stains,loves animal more than people,calm and quiet, healing stones,parked car conversations,sharp jaw,obsessed with memes,violins,doves, doves,floats instead of walks,unbroken promises,twisting and winding hair around fingers,nail biting, repeating phrases,mist secret scars,rumors,always wearing earphones,metaphorical, emotions fragile as a flower, speaks with his eyes,fluttery eyelashes,dog lover,forehead kisses,calligraphy,pretty knives,cares too much,lopsided grins,messy desks,talks for hours no,rolling his eyes all the time,powerful strides,wants to conquer the world,slender hands,good grades, dusty book covers,wax stamped envelopes,vintage mirrors

-Phil: The smell of cold air,pine trees and sandalwood.Dead birds and mothballs,stops on the sidewalk to make sure nobody is left behind,morning person,herbal teas,crows,eats breakfast outside,constellations,family portraits on walls, chirping and whistling,crime documentaries,cool father figure, graveyards,weeping angels,meteor shower,many friends but only a single close one,contagious laugh,fragile teacups,fog, early mornings,fuzzy blankets,springs of thyme,bare feet, empty streets,rosemary stems,flickering lanterns,burnt wood bowls,feather collector,antique silverware,a sky full of stars, skylights,torn pages,overstuffed bookshelves,makes you feel comfortable whenever you talk to him,organized,full of ideas, believes in magic,gives the best advice,lost in his own way, warm hugs,scrapbooks and bullet journals,old cars,soft features,daydreaming,bright eyes,getting lost in the woods,moonlight,self knitted sweaters, stargazing on tailgates,the universe,hand in hand with wandering hearts, garage sales,questioning life but feeling at peace,attic bedrooms and haylofts,pursuing science and desiring art, photo albums,hopeless romantic,dark chocolate,open windows and quirky morning rituals,actually knows what brunch is, succulents,a kind-hearted loner,free-spirit,plaid button-ups, always ready to let you rant,abandons projects quickly, complicated past,bold moves,goes with the flow,aims for things that seem unachievable,lives in extremes,knowing smiles,constantly busy with something new,soft touches,love at first sight,naps alot,subsequent tea stains,sparkly eyes, abandoned barns,handwritten notes,feather quills,fascination with the sky,whispering secrets to the wind,great with kids, takes a backpack everywhere,hugs trees,big winter coats,road trips,knows tons of medical info,bites his nails,comforting presence,lost souls,city lights from a high rise

-Wilbur: The smell of fire,smoke,caramel and coffee. Stands up for people who can't for themselves,emotional wreck,loves his family too much but still yells at them,soft turtlenecks,sits in different spots every time he eats dinner,chipped nailpolish, songwriter,probably depressed,wakes up in the middle of the night to write down random thoughts,heartbroken teenager songs,dark psychology and deep meanings,globes and maps, wants to travel and make lots of memories,curls of steam, earbuds in,spattered ink,good singer,keeps to himself,old music and dusty vinyl,the type of person that you could stare at for hours,loud laugh,ride or die,dreams about his future, believes in fresh starts and new beginnings, messy and tangled hair,summer nights,soft features,deep thinker and dimples, having crushes,musicals and theater, half finished diaries and laptop stickers,mixtapes,quirky love notes, secretly kinda insane,always ready for coffee,thrift shops, beachy waves, bonfires,probably drives too fast,cutoff jeans, cream and sugar,nude colors,always creating new problems for himself, fights for equality,long debates and tired eyes, tapping a rhythm and humming quietly,spends all his time on social media,beanie galore,trench coats,foggy glasses,cozy sweaters, dancing around his room to the Beatles,looking out the window when the sun is setting,birkenstocks,guitar strumming on a warm summer evening,bells and chimes,subtle sadness, the feeling of diving into a deep pool,perfect proportions,too many playlists,holding hands,pretty boy,sew on patches and bomber jackets,candid photos,warm sun on bare skin,dancing silhouettes on the sunsets,beach walks at midnight,messy but cozy room,different mood every minute,singing his favorite song at the top of his lungs,sharp grins,haunted houses, paranormal stuff,late night snack runs with friends,explores creeks and lakes,double checks everything he does,walking through hot sand,backyard campfires,acoustic songs,photo booths,train platforms at night,s'mores,sun bleached arbors

-Tommy: The smell of plastic,fresh cut grass and musk. Does the bare minimum at School,unless genuinely interested in a topic,doodles on the side of his paper,movie marathons,empty coca cola bottles everywhere,rope swings,glossy nailpolish,lots of energy,life of the party, kidcore ,can always make you laugh,loves photography,eyestrain and bright colors,bruised knees and untied shoelaces,paperballs in class,brand new red converse,denim jackets,pins and clips,chalk drawings in the middle of the road,every text contains emojis, garden sprinklers,graffiti,wreck this journal,vibrant dyed hair, scribbles and highlighter pens,carnivals,involed in many things, watermelon flavored anything,loves to climb trees,screaming on playgrounds,oversized t-shirts,stained glass windows, anklets,skateboards and hula hoops,milkshakes on the front porch,social butterfly,always in a hurry,pinkie promises,tangled headphones,melted crayons and gummy bears,bean bags and hummingbirds,spinning around till he gets dizzy,chaotic and crazy yet so fun to be around,rushing into things too quickly, roller coasters and derbies,doesn't get knocked back by criticism,cans of fizzy drinks and neon lights,skips school,tye dye shirts and nitendo games,impulse and class clown,sticks stickers on stranger's things,pickpockets his close friends,has to carry a walkie-talkie around with him at all times,sleepovers and sneaking out through windows,pockets full of change and random buttons,stands out in crowds and makes friends easily, pretends to be fearless but is scared of the littlest things,trips and rips his jeans daily,uno cards,social butterfly,music discs, fights with his family but would actually kill for them,broken handwriting,flannels and jerseys around his waist

-Tubbo: The smell of honey,fresh bread and citrus. Lowkey soft, hugging a teddy bear,pressed flowers,eats alot of bread,big hoodies,fairy lights and blanket forts,prank calls while holding in your laughter,beeswax candles,sidewalk dandelions,gentle cuddles on the couch,pastel yellow and cute doodles,flower crowns and diasy chains,plays the ukulele,fascinated by bees and supports local coffee shops,outdoorsy sunshine addict, sparklers and iced lemonade,festivals with fireworks and fireflies in mason jars,homework done as soon as its assigned, watercolor paintings,giggling uncontrollably,long hugs and lazy cartoon afternoons,park dates and forehead kisses,cutting pants into shorts,messy wild hair and pear lollipops,has tiny random braids decorated with golden yarn,hearing the crinkle of leaves underfoot,suprise piggy back rides,adult swim shows and lip gloss stains,being goofy without meaning to,bounces in his step and stops to pet stray animals,baked bread and washi tape bracelets,bike rides and summer picnics,rolling down a hill in the spring and bringing home grass stains on his jeans, waving at someone across a crowded room,spontaneous hang outs and self made clay rings,sitting in the warm sunlit grass on early spring mornings,rock painting and hiding them for other people to find,picking apples from trees but needing to be held up in order to reach one

-Ranboo: The smell of peppermint tea,denim and rain. Is there for everyone but never themselves,regrets things they said but can never find the nerves to apologize,clumps of mascara and winged eyeliner,writes down every tiny thing in notebooks, loves children and their friends,forgetting that they already grabbed a waterbottle,drawing on condensation windows,rainy days and puddles,always on the edge of a breakdown,elevator music and long limbs,old tape recordings and cassettes,moss covered ruins and greenhouses,wanting to be in multiple places at the same time,different colored socks,long hugs and head pats,reading under the covers,collages and spray paint,record players and walks alone through the woods,loves playing by creeks and collecting stones,always wondering and worrying about things they shouldn't,vivid dreams and leather jackets, silver necklaces and piercings,snoozing their alarm clock, seeing the moon in the early morning,blurry photographs and windswept hair,downpours and comfortable silence,wrapping gifts and handing them over with shaking hands,sitting on a rooftop and spontaneous plans,lofi sounds and long train roads,deja vu moments,randomly dissapears and sipping tea, cold concrete and city parks,tickets and brochures from places they visited,dusty parchment and desperately trying to be a good person,wikipedia articles and lace-up boots,often loses track of time while talking to people they love,sings to the radio and avoids conflict if possible,can't sit still for five minutes, perpetually in an emo phase and knows more than they let on, hawaiian shirts,henna tattoos and sparkling water,sleeping in complete darkness and the relief of falling into bed,midnight thunderstorms and anticipation for the coming day,lucky charms and the sound of rain hitting the windows

-Dream: The smell of apples,eucalyptus,vanilla and green tea. Freckles and smiley faces,glow sticks and wrinkled linen, probably a really good singer,wild laughter and jellyfish, popular,tanned skin and cruising with the top down,doesn't take shit from anyone,analytical and self assured,beachy waves and dreamy sunsets,running barefoot,likes being active and on the go at all times,sassy and dramatic as fuck,dream catchers and hammocks,glow in the dark stickers on his phonecase, feisty and a sense of danger,brought home stray cats when he was a child,falling in love with strangers,waking up early and continue laying on the bed,golden hours and 4pm naps,soft aching hands burried in messy hair,center of attention,static and heavy breathing,old percy jackson books under the bed, throwing pebbles at the closed windows of his friends' room, retro diners at 2am,adrenaline junkie and nighttime thriver,will go insane if cooped up indoors for too long,deadlines till last minute,oversleeping and coming home past midnight,naturally a really good surfer,hugs from behind and neck kisses,checking the fridge at 1am,ice cream in bed and cat cuddles,always picks up over facetime

Might make more parts for some of the other guys :)

#mcyt #minecraft youtubers #minecraft #tommyinnit #dreamsmp #wilbursoot #philza #mcytblr #sbi #technoblade #dream #dreamwastaken #ranboo #tubbo #moon is back with all of his awesomeness losers #long post

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f0rever15elf · 4 years

Text

The First Snow

Pairing: Jack ‘Whiskey’ Daniels x fem!reader Rating: T+ Summary: Jack is finally home, just in time for the magic of the changing seasons. Word Count: 1,827 Warnings: Sexually suggestive comments but nothing explicit, Soft!Whiskey, no beta A/N: This started as a little head cannon that I sent to @talesfromtheguild yesterday when we got our first (super early) snowfall of the year, and I expanded on it just a bit. I’m so soft for Jack, it’s unreal. I’m thinking of expanding this to a much steamier part two. yay? nay?

Masterlist | Ao3

Fall on the ranch was your favorite time of year. The air was crisp and smelt of the turning leaves that fell gently in the breeze. It was the time to bring out your cozy clothes; your favorite sweaters and scarves, the knit mittens your grandmother had made you, the cute little beanies your boyfriend insisted on buying you (not that you were complaining). Everything inside smelt of cinnamon and nutmeg, and the nights were spent wrapped in a fleece blanket by the fire with your favorite warm drink warming your hands. In a word, it was perfection. The only thing that made it better was when your man finally made it home for the holidays.

And that final thing is what you currently find yourself waiting for.

A fire crackles in the fireplace as you rummage through the multiple boxes of fall decorations and clothes, beyond excited to finally be able to bring them out. Garlands of red and orange leaves already draped across the mantel, and piles of your favorite fleece blankets take up all sitting space the couch. The smell of pumpkin spice is already beginning to float through the room, your candles being the absolute first things you had pulled out. A gentle tune floats through the air from your lips, and so consumed in your task are you that you don’t hear the backdoor open. It wasn’t until Jack’s lovely drawl hits your ears as he calls your name from the mudroom that your eyes finally leave the bins in front of you.

“Baby!” you laugh, jumping to your feet as you run to greet the love of your life. You crash your body into his and his arms wrap around you, holding you tightly against him as your own wind around his waist. He smells of rich leather, aged whiskey, and a warm spice that was so distinctly him.

“Well now! That’s a welcome that I’ll never tire of.” He chuckles and lifts your chin to connect his lips to yours in a heady kiss, the taste of him just as sweet as the day he left. Your hands grab fistfuls of his jacket as you desperately try to hold yourself closer to him. A hand runs along your back, drifting down to the hem of your shirt to caress the skin in the small of your back. The whine you let out at the feeling of his skin on yours after so long is unseemly and Jack chuckles into the kiss before leaning back, looking down at you with his characteristic smirk. “Easy there Darlin’, we got plenty of time.” He tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear causing you to shiver.

“I missed you, Jack.” you pout, keeping your arms around his waist. He smiles and taps your nose.

“And I missed you, gorgeous. Tell you what, let me get my things put away, you put on somethin’ cozy, and we’ll go for a walk out on the property, hm? The trees are all turning, and I know how much you like seeing the colors.” He leans in and kisses your nose and when he pulls back, he chuckles at the light in your eyes. They were nearly sparkling with excitement and you nod, hopping up to peck his cheek before letting go to go find your favorite cardigan. Jack can’t resist the urge to smack your ass as you scamper off, causing you to let out a squeak quickly followed by his own amused chuckle.

“You ready Darlin’?” Jack calls from the front door once everything is put away, a smile in his voice.

“Yeah!” You run down the hall dressed in your favorite blue cardigan, knit gloves, and cream knit beanie Jack had grabbed you the last time he was on a job up in Canada. His eyes shine as you run up to him, taking his hand. You were so unbelievably gorgeous and oh how he had missed that brilliant smile while work had him away from you.

“Well aren’t you the most adorable thing I ever did see!” He squeezes your hand in his, leading you outside into the crisp Autumn air. You would never tire of the smell of fall, and that smell mixed with the faint smell of your Jack bordered on intoxicating.

Jack’s ranch was no small plot of land. He had a large amount of acreage, perfect for a horse stable for you mare and two stallions and cattle pin for several dairy cows, along with a bull pen, pig pen, chicken coop and run, and goat pen. At the back of the property was a small orchard, mainly cherries, but a few apples scattered among them, and every year they turned the most beautiful shades of orange and red you had ever seen. It was here that Jack lead you, your hand held tightly in his own.

“I saw you got the fall stuff out while I was gone. You want some help puttin’ all that up when we get back?” Jack turns to look at you, eyebrow raised. You grin salaciously back at him and shake your head.

“I can think of a number of other things I’d rather do when we get back to the house.” Your eyes quickly rake up and down his body and he tuts softly.

“You little fox, how did I get so lucky to find someone as insatiable as you?” He laughs as he leans in to press a quick kiss to your cheek. “Ready to ride this cowboy the second he walked in the door!”

“Save a horse, right?” You chuckle, looking up to the trees. “This is my favorite season, you know. Everything about it is just perfect.” Jack nods, swinging your hands as he leads you down the path through the orchard.

“I’ve taken note of your slight interest in the time of year, don’t you worry Darlin’.” Heat floods to your cheeks at the thought of the multitude of fall décor boxes currently sprawling over the living room floor. Boxes that were non-existent prior to your moving in. You open your mouth to retort when something cold and wet hits your cheek. Stopping in your tracks, you look to the sky, gray clouds blocking out the sun in what you thought was a typical fall afternoon. Jack passes you a questioning glance as you freeze, following your gaze to the sky.

“Did somethin’ catch your eye, doll? You alright?”

“Yeah, no, I’m fine. I just… something hit my face is all. Was wondering if it was gonna rain.” You glance at him, honestly concerned about getting caught in a freezing rain at this time of year. That would certainly put a damper on the whole evening. Jack’s eyes narrow on the sky for a moment before they widen in surprise, a smile slowly forming on his face.

“Look a little closer, Darlin’. It ain’t rain.” You look back to the sky at his prompting, watching before letting out a small gasp.

It was snowing. The very first snow of the year, and you get to experience it with the love of your life beside you.

“It’s a little earlier this year than normal, I’d reckon,” Jack observes, moving behind you to wrap his arms around your waist. You lean back against him, shivering at the slow but steady drop in temperature that encouraged the snowfall in the first place. Maybe you should have grabbed a heavier jacket.

“Yeah, just a bit. Hopefully it doesn’t last long. I’d hate to lose the rest of the veggies to an errant cold snap.” You shiver again as a gust of wind dances through the orchard, the leaves rustling above your heads as you watch the snowfall gradually grow heavier. Jack leans away from you for a moment and you hear the sound of a zipper before he’s pulling you back against his chest, wrapping his coat around you both as best he can. “What on earth are you doing?” you giggle, looking up at him.

“Can’t let my little lady be shivering out here in the cold, now can I?” He glances down at you with a smile before looking back out over his ranch, watching as the snow clings to the grass and the wooden fences. You watch him for a moment, your eyes tracing over the lines of his face, the hook of his nose and the crinkles of smile lines at the corners of his eyes...and you smile at how perfect this was before looking back out with him. You feel him press a kiss to the top of your head before he leans his cheek against the side of it. “I can only think of one thing in this world that is more beautiful than the first snow of the year.”

“Oh yeah? And what’s that?” You lay your head back to rest it against his shoulder, looking up at him. He smiles down at you in the way that makes your heart flutter in your chest before leaning in to press a delicate kiss to your lips.

“You, sweetheart. Everythin’ in this world pales in comparison to you. Even the magic of the year’s first snow.” That heat rushes to your cheeks again, and to the tips of your ears and you can’t help the giddy sounding giggle that escapes your lips at Jack’s praises. His grip around you tightens just a bit as he leans down to nuzzle against your cheek, the tickle of his mustache causing you to giggle even louder. “C’mon, Darlin’. Let’s get you back to the house to warm up. This flimsy little cardigan won’t keep the cold out much longer.”

“That’s why I have you. You’re like a walking heater!” You smile, turning in his arms to hold yourself to him, nuzzling into his chest. When he chuckles, you feel it reverberate in his chest and a warmth fills you. You had missed your cowboy, your Jack.

“As hot as I may be, I’m startin’ to lose feelin’ in my nose, so let’s head back. Besides, I do believe there were, how did you say it again? A number of other things you wanted to do when we got back?” You can hear the smirk in his voice before you even look up at him, but when you do, the hunger you see in his deep, brown eyes makes you weak in the knees that it’s all you can do to not sprint back to the ranch house. “And I think I may have a few ideas of my own,” he adds, leaning down to nip at your lip. You whimper softly and nod, pulling away from him to tug him home by the hand.

“Well don’t just stand there, come ON cowboy! Get to steppin’!” His laugh resounds through the orchard as he follows after you. Jack Daniels was finally home, and things couldn’t have been more perfect.

~~~

My tag list is open if you’d like to be added for anything!

#Jack Whiskey Daniels #jack whiskey daniels x reader #jack whiskey daniels x you #agent whiskey #agent whiskey x reader #agent whiskey x you #jack daniels x reader #jack daniels x you #kingsman and the golden circle #my fic #Pedro pascal

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ancdtlst · 3 years

Text

Twenty and Eligible

Characters: Leedo x Reader Genre: Drama, Fluff

Description: You and Leedo are best friends in college. You ask him to hook you up with some of his single friends. Leedo secretly likes you and decided to hook you up with friends that he knows that won’t work out. During the last disastrous blind date you went, his friend tell you the truth.

[Warning: This chapter contain slightly strong language, mention of porn, sexual activity and disturbing content that may not be suitable and upsetting for some readers.]

“No! You cannot!”, Geonhak’s voice went another level of octave. He sounds very surprise as he stops right in front you which made you almost bump onto him. You abruptly stops on your track so wouldn’t collide into his hard chest. Oh hell yes, he has one hell hard of chest. You accidentally touched it once but that is not the case at the moment.

“Why not? I’m old enough to date.”, you paused and sips on your coffee, walking pass and leaving him behind. Geonhak tried to collect himself and ran after you. Both of you were waiting in front of the elevator as Geonhak try to persuade you for not doing a blind date, again.

“Fine.”, you paused. “If you set me up with any of your single friends.”, you said and gave him a wink. Dumbfounded, Geonhak followed you getting into the elevator. He felt hot all of sudden and instead of sipping his matcha latte through the straw, he chugged it all in. He definitely knew he would get brain freeze with that act but he did not know how painful and annoying the brain freeze would be.

“Ah, it’s cold.”, he groaned and held on his head, getting brain freeze. The brain freeze is getting painful and he face the elevator wall and leaned against it.

“Of course! It’s ice dumbass!”, you chuckled, followed by Geonhak. Indeed feeling stupid afterwards.

Here you are sitting in a fancy restaurant that Geonhak had booked for you and your date. Since it was a fancy restaurant, there is a dress-code that you will need to follow. You are wearing a black dress. It is a knee length, long sleeve dress with some lacies at the rim of the wrist. This is the only dress you have. Most of time, you are comfortable wearing pants instead of dress and skirt.

After a good ten minutes, a tall man with a bouquet of roses approached your table. His voice was smooth as silk and as he asks for your name. You smile sweetly to him, trying to give the best impression. He return your smile and have a sit across you before giving you the roses.

You are not a fan of flowers but you appreciate his effort so you took it anyways. Just be thankful, dear self. You thought. As soon as he sits, he extend his long arms for a friendly handshake.

“I’m Youngjo, the famous pretty boy, Kim Youngjo.”, it was awkward, right off the bat. However, you did extend you hand for a handshake and introduce yourself. You heard about him before. He is the sweet heart of the music department and your friends were heads over him every time they saw him. They even skipped some classes to see his performance every Friday, it’s the music department evaluation day.

Youngjo was wearing a black leather pants with red roses pattern shirt along with a long black coat. You had to be honest he look so good in that outfit and you lowkey hope everything would go well.

It has been more than thirty minutes, this Youngjo guy keep talking and praising himself. You could not do anything but to eat, drink and listen to all of his self love statements and you mentally face palming yourself. You really wanted to get yourself out from this mess but tonight would be a long one. Instead of cutting him off or listening to his self love compliment, you are imagining yourself beat the shit hell out of him. Even worst, tape that pretty mouth of his and let you eat in peace.

“You know, I was actually so shock when people told me I have a pretty eyes and most of them are women. I mean there’s men too but I’m straight.”, he chuckles as feed himself some pasta. He puts down his fork and pointed towards his eyes. “You see these eyes? Aren’t they shining?”, he asks and you awkwardly nods. Is he serious?!

“I’m sorry if it’s blinded you.”, he said and you laughed. That was a genuine laugh. It was funny and ridiculous in the same time. Actually, you enjoy his company that night because he was fun guy except that he loved himself too much. Though he does not give you any room to talk, you do not mind it all because at the end of the day you already lost interest on him.

Kim Youngjo. Out.

“How was your date last Saturday?”, Geonhak asks, a little excited. You gave him a look before rolling your eyes, sighing heavily as you were reminded to the restless night with Youngjo. It was tiring just by listening to him talking highly about himself.

“He—“, you paused as you pinched the bridge of your nose. Geonhak waited for you to tell him everything. “He never let me talk. I’ve been listen to him speaking highly of himself.”, you huffed. “Overall, it was a boring date.”

You heard he laughed from your side and slap his muscular arms. “You laugh?! It was a torture for me! How is that funny for you?”, you asks, a little bit annoyed with him.

“I kind of— can imagine the reaction on your face that you are giving him.”, he laughed again and you rolled your eyes. His laugh annoyed you and you felt the urge of smacking him but in the same time your energy does not worth on this man. You closed your eyes tightly and tried to suppress that anger of yours.

“…but he was funny and a gentleman.”, you added. Geonhak immediately stop laughing and paid his full attention on you again.

“Are you going out with him again?”, Geonhak asks and you gasp. Your expression are already enough to tell him that you are not going out with him. Never again. Geonhak nods as he saw your expression and he did not say anything afterwards. He pulled out his phone and showed you a picture another friend of his.

“How about this one?”, he asks as he showed you the photo of a ginger haired guy.

“He looks promising.”, you paused. “Wait— is this another date?”, eyes widen, unbelievable. You thought it was only one time. Geonhak retrieved his phone and gave you a questioning look.

“…I’m sure I heard you say to hook you up with my single friends. There’s an ’S’ and that- my friend is a plural.”, Geonhak gave you his signature smile, the mocking smile and not his infamous smirk.

“Why am I even friend with you…”, you muttered under your breath.

“I actually can heard you, you know?”, Geonhak waves his hand in front of you, telling you he actually there as a person not imagination.

“I know, I meant for you to hear it.”, you rolled your eyes. “Anyways, I hope he’s not as weird as Youngjo. That man really gave me bad goosebumps.”, you groaned.

This time it was a casual date and you are grateful that you would not have to wear any dresses or high heels anymore. You are wearing something comfortable and compliment your body line too. You are wearing light blue denim, white t-shirt tucked in your jeans with a khaki knitted sweater and a pair of white converse. Very comfortable for a casual outdoor date.

While you were waiting for him, you scrolls through your social media. When you felt someone sitting next to you, you look to your side and saw a familiar handsome man. You are confuse but not sure how to react.

“I’m Seoho.”, he laughed and offered a handshake. You gasped, realising your mistake for not recognising him. The photo that Geonhak showed he had a gingered hair but right now he has a jet black hair which is actually look very good on him. You took his hand and introduced yourself as well.

His eye smiles are really charming which you indeed fall in love with.

Seoho was wearing a dark blue t-shirt and checkered boyfriend shirt as a jacket which look pretty thick. He wore a dark blue beanie too, to match the shirt he is wearing. First impression of Seoho is nice, well for now.

But damn you were quick to judge this man that early. He is indeed a freak like Youngjo but he was much more worst than Youngjo. You can’t believe he actually nitpicked on everything you ate!

It seems like a nice weather to have a toppokki and you asks Seoho to come along with you. You were about to order another serve of toppokki when Seoho stops you. “A girl shouldn’t eating too much, you’ll get fat easily.”, he said. You are actually dumbfounded but annoyed with his statements. You rolled your eyes, ignoring his bold statements and ordered the toppokki.

You changed the topic into something else, trying to avoid the uncomfortableness. You compliment his fashion style today but got roasted instead, saying that your style look like some old woman. You gasped, surprise. That statement really caught you off guard.

“I think you would be really pretty if you wear cute dress like the girl right there.”, Seoho pointed to the corner of the store where a cute girl with a long hair wearing a really cute pastel pink dress. You gawked and turned your head back to Seoho.

“I’m not comfortable with dress. I think, I’m good with anything wear.”, you sarcastically smiles at him. Trying to not show that you were lowkey salty with his attitude but it seems like he does not realised your sarcasm.

“How old are you anyways?”, he asks and you answered. “Oh.”, he paused. “You look older than you supposed to be. Was it because of your make up?”, he chuckled.

“Oi, you think it’s funny?”, you had enough. You stops eating as you slams your chopsticks on the table and made everyone giving you both a look but Seoho does not seems to bother by it. Seoho lift up his head and gave you his best smile.

“I don’t know, you tell me.”, he said.

“I think this is funny.”, you smirks as you poured the soy sauce you put in a small plate earlier onto his face before walking out from the store, fuming in anger.

“You promise me he wasn’t a weirdo!”, Geonhak covered his ears from the screams he had to endure for the past few minutes.

“I didn’t necessary promise you anything about weirdos.”, his thought slips out from his mouth as his eyes widen when he realised what he said. Instead of covering his ears, he ran for his life.

After the heated argument you had with Geonhak, he finally surrender himself because he was tired of running and you seems still have a lot of energy. He offered to buy you lunch and you agreed. Currently both of you were sitting in a cafe for some drinks and dessert after lunch and again it is Geonhak’s treat. “Are you still mad?”, he asked and you gave him a look.

“Oh I’m dying to kill you.”, you replied. Geonhak says nothing but sit still in front of you as he scroll through his phone but some times, he would steal a few glances at you trying to figure out your mood as you were typing on your laptop, trying complete your assignments.

“Did something happen?”, two familiar voice came and took seat between you and Geonhak. Neither of you says anything which they both came to a conclusion. “Yep definitely something had happen, Keonhee.”, the boy said.

“Was it you, Geonhak?”, Hwanwoong asks and he flashes his smiles at him. Knowing Geonhak, he knew pretty well that this man is capable of pissing people off. Hwanwoong swears, whatever in the older twisted mind is he needs to control it.

“I’m sorry, alright.”, Geonhak finally said. “I didn’t know they would be that weird—“, he paused. “I mean, I knew they were weird but not to the extend that it made you uncomfortable.”

“Wait, what do you mean?”, Keonhee asked.

“He sets me up with his weirdos friends.”, you finally looked up from your laptop and gave Geonhak a death glare, again.

“He what?!”, both Keonhee and Hwanwoong were surprise with the news. “With who?”, Keonhee asks Geonhak this time because he knew Geonhak does not have that many friends. Could it possibly…

“Youngjo and Seoho. His weirdos friends.”, you answered for him.

Both Keonhee and Hwanwoong gasped. Their guts were right. You did not realised that both Keonhee and Hwanwoong were making an eye contact with Geonhak who was sending a secret message about those two.

“…yeah, uhm…they are…”, Hwanwoong looked at Keonhee, asking for some help to cover the older friend.

“Very weird.”, Keonhee adds and Hwanwoong gave him a look. Like he was not expecting Keonhee really stated something that is very obvious. You look at Keonhee and nods. “That’s what I was saying.”

You are currently at Geonhak’s shared apartment with Keonhee and Hwanwoong, hanging out for the weekend. It has been quite a while since you and Geonhak hang out with each other. Keonhee and Hwanwoong were working on their group assignment and definitely does not want to be disturb. It was just a normal weekend where you both watch some movies and play some games before finishing up each other assignments.

You suddenly blurted out on finding another date, as if the previous two did not give you enough trauma for another blind date. Geonhak refuse to let you go to another date and insisted on finding you another date again.

“Not another one Geonhak.”, you groaned. “If I’m to pick a date, I would pick it myself.”

Geonhak jumped off from his couch, overreacting to your reaction. “Hell no. I don’t trust your pick and I will not approve.”, he groaned.

“Hell like I can trust your pick! Your friends were weirdos, Geonhak!”, you tried to reason him out, not wanting to go to another hell of blind date with Geonhak’s friends.

“Fine. These are people from my department. I personally don’t know them and I cannot promise you if they are not weird or not but this would be the last.”, Geonhak said as he gave you his phone and flips through the pictures. You stumbled across the picture of a boy with a heart shape lips.

“He looks manly.”, you showed him the picture.

“Son Dongju. You know him?”, Geonhak asks and you shook your head.

“But I knew he’s Dongmyeong twin brother. Knowing Dongmyeong, I think Dongju would not be as weird as your friends.”, you nods as you continue typing on your laptop, finishing up your report. Geonhak made a face when you are not looking and you absolutely have no idea what he was planning all these time.

You do not know why but you actually not looking forward or feeling excited about this date. You just wear something casual that you would wear when you were with Geonhak, a boyfriend shirt and t-shirt. Usually you would wear a straight cut jeans but today you felt like wearing a long bell bottom jeans.

You heard someone called for your name and when you turns your head you saw the gorgeous man that you have been waiting for, for a date. You stood up and extend your hand for a handshake and he actually took it. “Hi, Dongju,” you smiles.

“I’m sorry I was a bit late.”, his voice was quite deep too unlike Dongmyeong but definitely as deep and Geonhak’s. “Shall we?”, he starts walking without waiting for you in which you are completely fine with it because Geonhak always did.

When you thought this date would be the best out of the dates that Geonhak sets you up, it went south. Son Dongju is not what everyone thinking he is.

Fuming in anger, you punched in the code on the door. As soon as you get in, you slams the door shut and saw Hwanwoong watching the television alone, looking completely confuse with your sudden appearance in their house. He was about to open his mouth to greet you but you stop him.

Lifting up you point upwards and told him you were not in the mood. Hwanwoong nods, saying nothing afterwards but focus on the shows he was watching on the television while you were walking straight towards Geonhak’s closed bedroom.

Keonhee came out from the room when he heard something slams shut and saw you fuming in anger walking towards Geonhak’s room which is exactly next to his. He nods, not wanting to disturb anything that might be happening later and running for his life towards Hwanwoong.

“Wanna bet?”, Hwanwoong asks.

“50,000 won that Geonhak would get on his knees, apologising.”, Keonhee wink.

“Fine.”, Hwanwoong rolled his eyes. “50, 000 won they will starts dating today.”

“Kim! Fucking! Geonhak!”, you practically yelled as soon as you step inside of his room not realising he was actually doing some ‘business’. Geonhak was flustered that he was caught red handed, jacking off in front of his computer while watching some porn.

Quickly, he stood up and pulled his sweat pants up. He was actually shirtless but you could not careless anymore. “You were having a nice time, jacking off at home while you sent those devils to torture me on the blind dates?! What the fuck?”, you threw whatever you could reach in his room to him.

Geonhak slowly walks around the room, avoiding you and the things you have been throwing at him. “Look! I’m sorry but I—“, he could not finish his sentence when you grab his five kilograms dumbbell on the floor and starts chasing him. He quickly jumped over his bed and ran out from his room straight towards the living room where Hwanwoong and Keonhee were relaxing watching their shows until they saw you running with dumbbell in hand.

“Woah— hold on!”, Hwanwoong shrieks and jump out from the couch followed by Keonhee.

“But you what?!”, you yelled again.

“Please calm down!”, Geonhak tried to make you calm down, extend out his hand asking for dumbbell back. “I cannot explain things to you if you are this mad.”, he added.

“You know I would get mad and you knew how crazy can I be when I’m mad! So why bother asking me to calm down now?!”, you said and chased him again. Geonhak retrieved his hand and ran into the kitchen which is a dumb move. There is no more way out, he turn around and sigh.

“Fine.”, he paused. “Please, put that down. I’m sorry but please hear me out.”, he finally surrender and you threw the dumbbell on the ground.

“Explain.”

“You should have told me earlier…”, you finally had calm down as both of you sat on the edge of his bed. Geonhak finally had put on his sweater on instead of being half naked in front of you.

Dongju may be the worst date you have ever had but he had his reason. He was being a total ass while you both went for the date. He ordered only for himself and not for you but asked you to pay it for him which you found it really annoying. Not just that, he was not being the gentleman like the previous dates you had.

Though Youngjo could be annoying because of his self-loving moment but you were actually felt thankful that he was actually being a gentleman, unlike Dongju. If you think Seoho was worst because he was nitpicking you for how you dress, how to eat and how to wear your make—Dongju made it way worst.

He nitpick you at every details that he could get. When you confront him, he could only chuckles and said sorry. He finally told the truth about all these blind dates that Geonhak had set for you. It was all his plans to ruin it or like Dongju said to make you trauma of blind dates. Which is now you actually are.

“I don’t know. Even if I did, I don’t think you would take me seriously.”, Geonhak says, not daring to look into your eyes. His eyes were everywhere but you. You hold his hand next to you and made him look at you.

“You wouldn’t know if you didn’t try.”, you put a little pressure on his arms, reassuring you that you would take him seriously if he would just ask.

“Would you ask me now?”, you asks him. You had to be honest, this is the boldest move you have ever made in your life.

Geonhak’s eyes says everything, he could not hide the excitement and surprise.

“Well, then— would you like to date me?”, he gulped right after he asks you and he could not hide the nervous. You could feel his palm were getting cold because of the nervousness. You smiles and gave a little yes. Geonhak sighs in relief and laid if back on the bed. He never knew how good it felt.

He would definitely told you earlier if he knew.

“Anyways, could you turn that off. It really made me uncomfortable.”, you eyed his computer which was still playing the porn clip that Geonhak was watching earlier.

“Oh shoot! I—“, he stuttered and quickly shut down his computer.

“Sorry that I had to interrupt that.”

Keonhee rolled his eyes and unwillingly pulled out his 50, 000 won before giving it to Hwanwoong. “Thank you for your donation.”, Hwanwoong laughed evilly while Keonhee could only groan after losing some money to Hwanwoong.

“I like it when you lose. Sorry not sorry, Keonhee.”

#oneus #oneus imagines #oneus scenarios #oneus oneshot #oneus fanfic #leedo #leedo imagines #leedo scenarios #leedo oneshot #leedo fanfic

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notagamersdey · 3 years

Text

The Dream

Painting by: Henri Rousseau

Photo (2021) and Story By Tyler D. Ortiz

Rating: T

Word Count: 2k~

Warnings: bad language, panic attacks

A/N: So this story is inspired by the Pedro Pascal episode of the podcast Talk Art (31:14-34:15). Go check that out if you want to hear some fun stories by the hosts and pp.

Summary: Matias, after losing his chance to act in a popular TV show, is taken to the Museum of Modern Art by his sister where he realizes he has nothing to lose.

~~~

Today, I’m supposed to meet my sister Lyanna here at East Village Pizza. She said it was a special treat for getting my first “big” role on Law & Order. When I told her the news, she had jumped up for joy, squealing my ear off. It wasn’t a big deal, just another job for the bills, but she was adamant that this job was a life changer. She’s says that about every job.

I came to the pizza parlor early, grabbing my favorite seat in front of the window. We normally sat here when we came because it gave us the perfect view of cold, angry New Yorkers. I had ordered our pizza, waiting for her to arrive when my phone starts to buzz.

I open it up and put it against my ear, holding it with my shoulder, “This is Matias.”

“Matias, I'm sorry to tell you…” Fuck, “…but we’ve decided to go in a different direction...” It’s the fucking casting director, droning on, saying those same fucking words, “You have wonderful talent.,” “You didn’t fit the director's vision.,” etcetera. Etcetera. ETCETERA. It's all movie-talk for “You weren't good enough.”

Grabbing the scruff behind my neck, I slammed my phone shut and stuffing it into my jacket pocket. What the hell was I going to do now? Three hundred bucks – gone in an instant.

“Here’s your order, Sir,” A waiter places the small pizza in front of me, and you know, today was one of the rare days I was able to scrounge enough money to afford the luxury of a decent slice of pizza, and now I can’t even enjoy it.

“God dammit,” It’s moments like these when memories of my father came hit me like a freight train. He used to berate me about goals and aspirations, telling me, “It’s never going to happen, Matias,” and “It’s not a job. You won’t get anywhere with that.” In high school, I used to constantly fight with him, telling him my dreams were achievable. That I would succeed as an actor. He would laugh in my face; tell me they were unobtainable. I mean... Maybe he was right.

Now, I’m living in one of the most expensive cities with over 300,000 dollars in debt, 40 bucks to my name, and a dead-beat waiter job at Planet Hollywood that barely pays for food let alone the bills. I have no back-up plan, no emergency fund. I just had my bachelor's degree in acting, which won't pay for shit.

I shake my head. My neck and back start to ache, an oncoming migraine sitting on my temples.

Matias, the fuck do you want to do that for?

Matias, you’re not good enough.

Matias, you will always be alone.

I stand to leave, throwing the untouched pizza in the trash on my way out the door. The cold winter air bites at my nose when I step outside. I pull my scarf up closer to my neck and make my way down East 9th Street.

Leaving the restaurant doesn’t help. Hopelessness rushes over me like a tsunami. The texture of the wool sweater underneath my jacket scratched annoyingly at the exposed skin on my wrists. It’s a cold wintery day but I feel incredibly hot underneath the layers. A nervous sweat builds underneath my beanie. Everyone’s staring, I know it. They know I've failed yet again. They know I’m just a naïve child.

His voice repeats in my head like a tornado siren, yelling, screaming at me, “You will not survive.”

You will not make an income.

You will not have healthcare.

You are setting yourself up for failure.

…You will die- My phone starts to buzz again. I really want to fucking ignore it but if it’s Lyanna, she’d have every cop in the city on my ass within the hour.

“Hey.” I cough, trying to clear my throat. Act normal.

“Mat! I’m sorry I’m late, I’m-” She sounds like she’s running.

“Actually, Sis, I left…” I stop in the middle of the pavement, getting shoved and cursed at by the impetuous crowd around me.

“What? Why?” Her concerned voice seeps through the phone. Suddenly, heat shoots up my back. She’s going to be upset.

I move off to the side, leaning up against a wall of graffiti, “I didn’t get the job after all.”

I hear her let out a breath, “Different direction?” She asks, knowingly.

I nod, “Yea... said I could act the part, but I didn’t fit the type of Latino they were going for... whatever the hell that means.” I spit out, bitterly.

“Means they’re bigoted.” I can hear the annoyed twinge in her voice.

“Yea... probably...” Lyanna stays quiet. “Hey... So, I’m not really up for doing anything... Can we just go home?”

“Umm...” She hums, clicking her tongue, “No.”

“Lyanna...” Please.

“No, no, I’m serious, I know you. Once you get home you're going to sulk in your room for days. Let's bypass the self-pity and go have fun. Take your mind off it.”

I’m silent for a moment, feeling my anxiety subside as I focus on her words, “What do I get if your wrong?”

“A fresh slice of cheese pizza to replace the one you probably threw away...” She laughs, “Now, how ‘bout MoMA?”

“Sure… MoMA sounds good.”

I’ve always found it difficult to find the Museum of Modern Art. The only way anyone would be able to tell where this museum was is with the three bright red banners hanging off the side of the building holding their acronym in an even darker shade of red. This was basically every building in New York so, of course, I pass right by it. Lyanna managed to catch me before I got too far. She runs up to me and immediately linked her arm into mine.

“Hey stranger, took you long enough.” She greats, warmly.

“You know how it is.”

“Oh common, where’s that smile? We are celebrating!” She starts to pull me into the museum, warm air painting my face when she opens one of the doors.

“Celebrating a failure.”

“Celebrating life.”

We walk in and are bombarded with hordes of people packed in front of every corner of the room. It's as if every single person visiting New York had decided that they would all collectively visit the museum on this specific day. Maybe they were having an event. People of all shapes and sizes were packed in front of each art piece, creating a thick barrier preventing outsiders from looking in on their beauty. In the corner of the room is a balloon man handing out replicas of Jeff Koon’s Balloon Dog to children. I clench my teeth at the disgusting sound of rubber and latex rubbing together. I feel a hot prickling in my neck at the sight of a child squeezing the neck of their bright metallic green Balloon Dog, another child on the edge of crying as she violently hit her blue Balloon Dog onto her stroller seat.

Someone bumps into me. I feel myself tense up. Don’t touch me. I take my arms away from Lyanna, hiding them in my pockets. Lyanna looks up at me, “Hey, are you okay?”

Fuck no,“Yes.”

“You sure? You seem tense,” she raises her eyebrow.

“No. No... I'm good... There’s just.” Act normal, “A lot of people.”

“Well, if you’re sure...” Everyone is breathing my air - of course I’m not sure. “You wanna start off this way then make our way around?” she asks pointing to her left. I nod.

She guides me to the fifth floor, to our first painting. Shes pushing through the crowds so we could get a closer look. It’s a dark painting with a black, shadowy silhouette of an elephant trudging on an upwards incline. The air around him grey, as if he was pushing through a sandstorm. He is struggling to get to wherever he was headed. I’m suddenly pushed closer to the struggling elephant. Lyanna snaps at someone behind me. A balloon pop’s. A child's scream echo around the room. The dark clouds surrounding the elephant fill my edge of my vision as my eyes zoom into the lonely elephant. My throat begins to close. My heart hurts. A voice in my head whispers “You’re dying. You’re dying.” in a joyous chant. I try to breathe but nothing can get through. My hands prickle. My chest stutters. The elephant fades. Only the shadowing and silhouettes of people fill my vision. I still feel the pain in my throat, as I try to breath in air.

Lyanna speaks but her voice is muffled. The darkness that had overtaken my vision slowly fades away. I sit up straight, feeling the soft leather beneath me, becoming aware of my surroundings. We are in different exhibit. It's completely empty. I shift, feeling the leather bench beneath my finger tips. The silence is soothing.

“You feeling better?” Lyanna sits next to me with a cup of water in her hands, causing the leather beneath creaked.

I close my eyes. God. She grabs at my hand but I pull away. Please go away. I can feel her eyes burning into my soul. It’s unbearable. I turn away from her. Please go away. She grips at the cup tightly. The crunch of the cup is excruciating.

“Matias.” She attempts to grab my hand again. I see it coming from a mile away. Like in slow motion. The closer she got, the more I dreaded the contact.

“Fuck! Stop! Can you please just give me a God damn minute?” I stand up trying to get away.

“What is happening?” She’s mad. You’ve ruined everything.

“I don’t want to be fucking touched, Lyanna. Just stop. Stop everything. Leave me alone.” I’m staring at the floor. If I look at her, I’m going to lose it. Shameful. Embarrassing.

“I’m only trying to help.” You’re an embarrassment.

“You’re not!” She’s going to never going to forgive you.

“Okay…” She stands slowly, “Let’s relax for a moment… I’ll be back in a few minutes… Just text me if you need anything.” I don’t say anything while she walks away, the sound of her shoes fading. I sit back down onto the chair, head in my hands.

I take a few deep breaths, focusing on the ground beneath me. The floor is smooth, my hair is soft and messy, the pressure of my elbows on my knees grow. My eyes leave the floor only to be met with a flood of green. A naked woman waking up on a large red couch in the middle of a jungle. Light green paints the leaves towards the bottom of the canvas and becomes darker going up towards the sky. The bright flowers burst up in different directions as the moon peaks through the canopy. The woman is surrounded by hidden animals. I spot a few hidden tigers, a white bird on the top left, a person hidden in the shadows playing an instrument, a few monkeys in the trees and an elephant beyond the trees staring back at me. It was a paradise. So sure of herself, she sits there facing away from me as if she has nothing to lose. She sits unafraid of the world around her.

I can’t relate. I’ll never get my chance. I’ll never not be afraid. I continue to stare at her, trying to understand what she may have done differently. Maybe she kept going. Maybe she stopped caring. Or maybe someone gave her a chance. Whatever she did must’ve worked because she continues to sit as if she has nothing left to lose –

“Henri Rousseau’s The Dream,” I jump. Lyanna stands on my right, staring at the painting with a hand on her hip, “Most people hate this painting.”

“I don’t see why…”

“Eh… Everybody has their own opinions…” She approaches cautiously, “Do you feel any better?”

I nod. “S-sorry,” I look back to the painting, “I just needed a moment to myself.”

“Don’t apologize… I should’ve… I don’t know, been more mindful, I guess.” She sits down next to me. I can see her hesitate before she puts a hand on my shoulder, “Are you going to be okay?”

I don’t answer at first. I look back at the painting. The Dream she called it. Maybe, this was the woman’s dream. Maybe she is like me. Our chances will arise. She strives towards her peace with nature around her as I strive for success in the asphalt jungle. Just as she has nothing left to lose, I, too, have nothing to lose. We are the same.

“Yea… I think I will be.”

~~~

Thank you so much for reading! Let me know what you think! Let me know if I missed a tag or a warning.

Masterlist || Taglist Form || Youtube || Redbubble

Till Next Time!

-Dey

#my writing #short story #short fiction #inspiration #talk art #henri rousseau #The Dream #Pedro Pascal #tw panic attack #Museum of Modern Art #I could taste the pizza #new york #original writing #original story #original fiction

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autisticoolatta · 4 years

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Brooo!!! Tell me more about character design!!!

TYSM FO. R SENDIGN THIS BUBBY <3

ok so. i will tlak ab my science team bcs hyperfixation <3 they range from human passing to so very nonhuman but none of them are really human ! this is going under a cut because it is so very long

darnold is most human , he looks p mcuh normal but he consumes things that should absolutely kill him VXBSB.. hes around 5′7 , i draw him w a square-ish shape language bcs hes intelligent and relatively sensible but round corners cause hes v kind !! i hc he enjoys old-timey fashion so i give him a bowtie & suspenders under his labcoat ! he also gets dimples bc cute.

gordon is p human at first glance but if u look closer he has slightly pointed ears and his canines are a little longer than average. he also has retractable claws like a cat , benreys like wtf didnt you say it was weird that i had claws ? and hes like nah its weird you cant retract them. also its barely noticeable but gordons hair moves veery slightly when hes emotional becayse heehoo. hes around 5′9 and has a relatively wide rectangle silhouette bcs hes hard-working and trustworthy ! post-game he mostly wears comfortable casual clothes like sweaters and knee-lenght shorts. dresses like a dad :^)

coomer mostly looks like a regular friendly old guy , but he has a buncha cybernetics hidden under his clothing bcs of course he does ! the extendo-arms are visibly metallic but his leg enhancements are mostly internal. hes 5′4 and has a v much circular silhouette ! friend-shaped !! he wears kind grandpa clothes.. shorts , hawaiian shirts , vests etc ! and yes he wears crocs <3

forzen is also pretty human-passing in terms of appearence , though he Can and occasionally Does subtly shapeshift.. and she also consumes things that would be so deadly to humans. like motor oil and rocks :) hes seemingly immune to bullets and has fangs but only sometimes. shes 6ft tall and her shape is p much square ! he wears an outfit v similar to his military uniform bc everyone was like dude get some new clothes wtf. so she was like FINE *buys near-identical red beret , fishing vest , huge backpack , camo pants and boots*

tommy.... WAY too tall 2 be human. hes 7′8. taller than gman. his silhouette is very tall thin oval :) round edges again bcs hes kind ! hes lanky but a lot physically stronger than he looks. he also consumes inedible things like computer keyboards. he has fangs , his eyes glow in the dark and he can use sweetvoice to a basic extent ! he also wears suspenders and bowties along w comfy baggy clothes like sweaters & chunky sneakers or crocs ! he also wears a lot of chew jewellery and he loves patterned socks :) he also uses a cane because being SO fucking tall isnt v easy on yr joints ! he uses crutches on worse days.

bubby is. also very tall but nowhere near tommy. hes 6′5 ! he has noticeably very pale skin & neat rows of pointy teeth (altho some are probably chipped). they also have almost-clawed fingers , v pointy shape language with a tall thin rectangular kinda silhouette. theyr not v physically strong most of the time so theyre pretty scrawny. his strength works on cartoon logic tho so he can be strong sometimes if it makes the situation funnier hebfhebr.. in-game he wears p much exactly the scientist uniform w no added stuff , but post-game hes like oh shit ! i casn do what i want now !! and goes out and buys a shitload of leather jackets and chunky shoes and gets so many piercings. awesome. the piercings & studs on their clothes also add pointiness to his design :^) oh and ! they use crutches because spending most of your life suspended in goo isnt very good for your muscles .

gman ! 7′5 so also inhumanly tall. he has pale greyish skin and is pretty clearly not human , he also has fangs & his eyes glow perpetually he Cannot Turn That Off. he doesnt necessarily eat inedible stuff but he has uncharacteristic reactions to foods , like alcohol doesny affect him at all but he drinks a pint of sparkling water and wakes up in a hollowed out tree stump in the woods at 4am 2 miles from his house. he can also teleport , make himself invisible for a limited time , levitate , and shapeshift ! he has a tall thin rectangular silhouette similar to bubby , but a little wider bcs hes more imposing & strong. when hes not in one of his 50 identical suits , he wears dad clothes also; hawaiian shirts & shorts and of course... socks & sandals.

finally benrey ! he4s so small. simply small as fuck. hes generally around 4′4 , but he doesnt really have a consistent height bcs hes constantly shapeshifting because he can. they also shift their weight occasionally and their hairstyle is never consistent at all. they have pale greyish skin , the face shadow ofc is permanent as are their eyebags , and he also just . doesnt have a nose. he can smell he just doesnt have one. probably has no ears either. he has a round silhouette but sharp uneven teeth & generally p messy hair , cause hes unassuming and laid back but Can fuck u up if he wants to. which generally they dont bcs they dont actually like being in physical conflict much at all. they use a wheelchair post-canon bcs dying does that to u <3 he doesnt mind tho , he and tommy deck it the fuck OUT w stickers. he wears casual clothes like hoodies and sweatpants , and has a seemingly endless hat collection... chullos , helmets , ball caps , beanies , you name it ! i usually draw them with a specific hat based on the situation , like im doing an animatic of the callmecarson spelling bee and benrey has a ball cap that says “im a keeper” with a pic of a bee on it. awesome

OK THATS LIKE ALL I HAVE tysm for letting me infodump BSKJKD... if u read all of this im proud of u <3

#juice posting #long post #headcanons #character design #hlvrai #bapsys

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laschatzi · 4 years

Text

Since We’ve No Place To Go

(A CSSS 2K19 gift for @the-captains-ayebrows)

Merry Christmas again, my dear Hollie, it was a pleasure talking to you over the last few weeks! Thank you so much for your patience, and I really hope it was worth the wait, and thank you to @cssecretsanta2k19 for organizing this fabulous event! Oh, and I better not forget to thank @nowforruin for helping me kick this off in the beginning. Here are ~14,4k words of my variation of the snowed in trope (rated G):

(also on ff.net and ao3)

After a car accident in the middle of nowhere of rural Maine (where she really shouldn’t have ended up two days before Christmas), Emma Swan almost freezes to death, but is rescued by a three-legged dog named Smee and his grumpy master Killian Jones who can’t seem to get rid of her soon enough to have his self-chosen hermitage back. Alas, the weather outside is frightful, and the fire is so delightful...

“Emma, come on, there's no need for being dramatic.”

His condescending tone sets her off even more than anything else that has happened over the past two days – dealing with his snot-nosed parents, the stiff atmosphere in their pristine house, or finding out that he cheated on her with his secretary, cliché alert.

Furiously, Emma Swan slams the hood of her old yellow bug shut, thanking the fates that she had to stay back for work one day longer than Walsh while he already drove home to his rich mommy and daddy. That way, she has her own means of transportation now, even if it might not be too comfortable in the unforgiving Maine winter.

He has the audacity to try and grab her arm when she climbs into the driver's seat. “Emma, don't be ridic–”

“Fuck. Off.” she hisses and wriggles her arm free from his grip, and he knows better than to insist any further as she closes the door forcefully and starts the engine.

“You're gonna freeze to death out there!” he calls after her, and she thrusts her right fist in the air to give him the middle finger salute as she drives off.

She grasps the wheel so hard her knuckles turn white. Really, she should have followed her guts in the first place and refused to accompany him to his parents' home over the holidays; deep down, she knew already two months ago that thins thing wasn't ging to work out in the long run. But Walsh insisted, poked, and cajoled her into it... and also, as he remarked so insensitively, “You've nowhere else to go for the holidays.” Where was the lie?

Truth is, she doesn't have a place to go, or people to go to, for all that matters. But truth is also, being alone in her ugly little flat in Boston beats being in that snakepit of arrogant pricks any time, so that's exactly where she's heading, no matter how long it takes, how many toes she'll lose to frostbite, and how many gallons of caffeine she'll have to consume.

It was in the middle of twilight time when she left Portland, and now she's been driving through the dark for hours, a darkness eerily illuminated by the heavy snow that seems to be everywhere. Maybe at nine she stops for a fill of gas and shortly contemplates to ask the attendant to point her to a motel for the night, but then decides against it. She still feels fresh and full of adrenaline and wants to drive on through the night, wants to put as many miles as possible between her and what she left behind – another shitty relationship she never should have allowed to come that far, another illusion of a perfect life she would never have. But seriously, fuck this shit. Nobody needs that.

She throws a merely fleeting glance at the only partly green sign indicating that she is leaving Storyb– whatever the rest of the little town's name reads is covered in snow. The flurry is getting thicker and thicker, and seriously, fuck winter in Maine. For a moment she considers turning around and driving back to Storyb–, but the snow is heavy, and she can't really see the confines of the not-too large road, and she really doesn't want to risk slipping off the road and ending up with her car stuck in the roadside ditch.

Damn, she should have flown to Portland, but money was a bit tight after having to replace the washing machine, and she sure as hell wasn't going to allow her boyfriend to buy her a ticket. Ex-boyfriend. She huffs, asking herself whatever she saw in him, and she can't even remember. Great, another ruined Christmas in her long history of not-so-great Christmases... well, for someone who spent her childhood and half of her teenage years in the forster system, and the other half of her teenage years on the streets, it's really not a surprise that this doesn't even qualify as her worst Christmas ever. The thought makes her laugh almost hysterically, and for a second she's distracted. A shadow suddenly pops up on the road in front of the hood of her car, and she jerks the wheel violently to the right. The moment she feels the wheel thrum in her hands, she knows she's fucked, and one second later she loses control over the car.

For the blink of an eye she's afraid the car is going to overturn, but luckily, at least that doesn't happen; much to her luck, it doesn't end up in the roadside ditch either, and after a loud clonk! the car comes to a halt in a weird angle at the very edge of the road. The engine dies a quiet death.

“Fuck!” she gasps and lets out her breath in a long huff as everything else goes silent.

“Okay,” she whispers to herself, to reassure herself. Calmly, very carefully, she closes her fingers around the key, presses her left foot down on the clutch pedal and shifts into the first gear, her right foot on the brake, and slowly turns the key. The engine sputters a bit, then it starts. Thank God. Gently, she lets go of the brake and steps on the gas pedal, easing off the clutch. A shiver seems to run through the car, but otherwise, it doesn't move. More gas, until the engine starts to protest loudly... and it still doesn't move.

“Shit,” Emma presses through clenched teeth and steps down harder, but that's a mistake. The old car makes a rattling sound, and the engine dies. “Shit, shit, shit.” She turns the key again, trying to will the engine to start, but it's useless.

She hits the wheel with her fist and a filthy curse and snatches her phone from the passenger seat. But the display shows no signal. Seriously, fuck rural Maine. Fuck everything. With a groan, she leans her forehead against the wheel and tries to come up with a solution that does not involve her leaving her car, wearing just an – at least padded – leather jacket and thin, albeit knee-high, leather boots over her jeans and sweater. But there is no other solution – she can't stay here in the car without engine in the middle of the night and wait for who knows how many hours until someone drives by; for all she knows, it's perfectly possible that won't happen for days. She has to leave the car and try to find help – her best shot walking back in the direction of Storyb–, whatever the fucking name is, and maybe she'll pass by a farmhouse or something like that earlier and doesn't have to go all the way back.

Every fiber of her being, every instinct protests against leaving the relative safety and warmth of the car – but she knows staying inside is not an option, as that warmth is already fading with the engine shut off, she can already feel it. With a deep sigh, she grabs her beanie, gloves, and scarf from the passenger seat and bundles up as good as she can, shoves her useless phone in the backpocket of her jeans, and opens the door to climb out of the car.

The cold is not as bad as she expected, it doesn't feel biting, it's more... soft, for the lack of a better word. And the snow doesn't blow in her face, it falls calmly – but steadily – and covers everything, seems to muffle even the sound of her own breathing. Then she starts walking. It seems surprisingly easy, and she gains ground faster than she thought. At least something.

Five minutes later, she can barely feel her feet anymore, and the snowflakes melting on her face do leave a bit of a sting. A slight worry starts to creep up in Emma's mind, but then she sees something from the corner of her eyes, maybe a few hundred yards away... lights. There must be a house, and she knows it might be risky to bang at unknown people's doors in the middle of the night, but she also knows that she's never going to make it back to Storyb– by foot in this weather, so she definitely has to try her luck with these potential axe murderers. She pulls out her phone and uses the flashlight to look for a path leading towards the lights, but she doesn't really see anything; if there is a path or driveway, it's all covered and hidden underneath the snow. She's going to have to make her way cutting across country.

With a deep breath, she hunches her shoulders to brace herself a little more against the cold, and turns to the left, making her way towards the lights. Her third step goes right into the void of a small pit hidden underneath the snow. She gasps in shock and waves her arms around as she stumbles, a sharp pain shooting through her left ankle, and for a moment it looks like she can manage to steady herself... but her numb feet are too clumsy; then she's falling, a dull thud echoes through her head, and everything fades to black.

***

“Bloody hell, Smee, you scurvy beast, come here!”

A distant yelp is the only answer, and he groans in frustration.

“Should've let you rot in that trap,” he growls and trudges through the snow in the direction of the sound. Whatever might that bloody useless dog be up to now? He was supposed to just do his deed before retiring for the night, but the moment he let him out, the stubborn animal darted away in the direction of the road, as fast as the snow and his three-legged clumsiness would allow. Except for a dull reflection of the moonlight on the snow it's pitch dark, and Killian Jones switches his flashlight on and calls again for his dog.

After a few yards he quickens his step – as much as it's possible with all the snow – because an uneasy feeling is prickling at the nape of his neck. As stubborn as his dog is, tonight he seems particularly insistent on not following his master's voice, and that's not typical.

“Smee? Where are you, m'boy?” The annoyance in his tone is replaced by concern.

The dog replies with another howl, more urgent this time. He doesn't sound like he's in pain, but he very obviously wants his master to hurry. Something must be wrong. Killian has almost reached the edge of the road now, and there's still no sign of the dog, but he can see the animal's weirdly shaped track in the snow. Three steps later, it becomes clear why Smee has been hidden from his sight: the dog is crouching in the snow-filled roadside ditch beside an almost completely snow-covered heap that must be the remnants of some big dead animal.

“What did you find? Smee, what's that?”

The dog whimpers and nudges his plump muzzle against the heap, brushing the snow away. What looks like the blood of a fresh roadkill at first, on second look turns out to be red leather, and after narrowing his eyes to see better in the blazing light cone, Killian realizes that he's looking at the body of an unconscious woman lying in the ditch, almost completely covered by snow.

“Oh, bloody buggering hell!”

He jumps into the ditch and drops to his knees beside the motionless figure. Smee jumps to his three feet and wags his tail, firmly whimpering. A quick scan tells Killian that the woman is breathing, and there's no blood or any injury to be seen save for a bruise on her forehead. But her lips have a faint blueish tint, and when he pulls off his glove and touches her cheek, her skin is ice cold; who knows how long she's been lying here already – long enough to be covered with a soft, deadly sheet of snow.

Killian doesn't waste any time pondering over what happened to her or how she ended up here, his priority is to get her out of the unforgiving cold. He takes his flashlight between his teeth, pulls on his glove again and pulls the unconscious woman into a sitting position. Smee jumps out of the ditch and barks encouragingly.

“Aye, good boy, Smee, good boy. Oh, fuck.”

He's lean, but strong enough, yet lifting an unconscious body from the floor and rise to one's feet and climb out of a ditch is no easy task, even for someone who's used to hard physical work. But eventually, he manages, and once he's secured the body over his shoulder, groaning under the weight, he walks across the snowy meadow towards the lone farmhouse, with his dog hopping excitedly around him.

Finally inside the house, he crosses the large living room with the mighty fireplace in the middle and the large bed in one corner. He lets the body glide from his shoulder and deposits her on the bed in a sitting position, pulling down the zipper of her red leather jacket that's almost frozen stiff and ridiculously inadequate for winter. He makes equally quick work of her soaked boots and socks, scarf, beanie and gloves, before he lets her drop on her back and drops to his knees to examine her feet. The skin is pale and ice cold, but it doesn't look like there's frostbite yet. He also checks her hands, ears and the tip of her nose, and when he doesn't find any signs of frostbite there either, he starts to quickly remove her damp clothes, places her in the middle of the bed and heaps every available blanket on her body. Then he puts on a kettle with water and quickly gets rid of his own boots and jacket.

When the water is ready, he fills all of his three hot water bottles and places them under the blankets against her feet, on her thighs and her stomach, folding her hands above it.

Smee whimpers and makes a move to jump on the bed, apparently feeling responsible for his find, but Killian calls him out in a sharp voice.

“Hey! Nice try.” He shakes his head and clicks his tongue at the dog's disappointed yelp. “You know bloody well the bed's off limits.” He scratches behind the flappy dog ears. “Come on, let's heat up some soup. Come on.” He slaps on his thigh, and the dog follows with one last reproachful whimper. “Stop complaining, you've already caused enough trouble.”

Passing by the fireplace, he puts on an extra log, making the flames blaze, and hangs her wet clothes on a leather chair near the fire. He throws one last glance over his shoulder before heading for the kitchen. Aye, trouble. He can already feel it in his bones.

“Bloody hell,” he huffs.

In the kitchen, he sets a pot on the stove and takes a container with the remnants of the chicken broth he made the day before, as if he knew it would come in handy. Smee is watching him intently as Killian grumpily stirs the yellowish liquid.

“Just what I needed,” he murmurs. There's just one thing Killian Jones hates more than an interruption of his quiet routine: surprises. Like the one currently huddled in his bed under all of his blankets.

The dog tilts his head in an almost apologetic gesture. Just like his master, Smee has a habit of attracting trouble and misfortune like a magnet, which is of course what brought them together in the first place.

Killian Jones had been living in the old farmhouse in the middle of nowhere for a few years, content with the fact that he saw people only about twice a month, when he drove into the next town to buy the supplies he needed and to deliver his wooden work pieces. Nobody asked him questions, nobody knew or cared about his backstory, and he liked it like that. The one exception was his only friend David Nolan, the veterinarian, for whom he'd once made a sycamore medicine cabinet. He and his wife Mary Margaret were his only social contacts, and once they'd given up trying to lure him further out of his self-chosen shell, they shared a tentative friendship.

One day, when he roamed the woods around his farmhouse to find the perfect tree branch for a coat rack, he stumbled over the miserable figure of a shaggy dog, more dead than alive and even to weak to whimper, its left hind leg stuck in a leghold trap. Even if it seemed useless, he struggled to free the poor dying creature from the vicious device which earned him a feeble tail wag – and rusty iron claws plunging into the flesh of his left palm, crushing the metacarpal bones.

Surprisingly enough, when he arrived in town, the dog was still breathing, and he left him in Dave's capable hands. In the hospital, his own wounds were tended to, but the rusty iron and the bacteria of the dog's rotting flesh had already done their infective work, and even though the doctors did their best, they couldn't save his hand. So he became a one-handed carpenter. Why not. It fit with the bloody luck he'd had so far in his life.

Ten days later, when he left the hospital, he passed by the vet's office to see if the stray dog had made it. The shaggy animal had to be one tough bastard, however, because not only was he alive, he literally jumped to his feet – his three feet – when he saw him and wagged his tail tentatively, as if he recognized the human who saved his life.

“Nobody looking for him?” Killian asked, and David Nolan shook his head.

“No dog tag either, even if he must have belonged to someone once.” He showed him a dirty red leather collar with faded black letters inside that looked like written with a sharpie, forming the word Smee.

“I'll take him,” Killian said curtly.

David frowned. “Do you really think that's a good idea?”

“What happened, wasn't his fault.” He held up his stump that was still bandaged. “If we don't match, I don't know who does,” he replied dryly and motioned to the dog's rear with the mutilated left leg. “Besides,” he went on, “who's gonna want him?”

David looked from the dog to his friend. “How are you holding up?”

Killian shrugged. “I've been much worse.”

David knew it was a lie, but he kept his mouth shut when he saw how Killian looked at the dog.

“Smee, eh?” The dog wagged his tail again, more fervently this time. Killian slapped his thigh in a beckoning gesture. “Come on, let's go home.”

When he drove off in his old jeep, Mary Margaret Nolan joined her husband at the window and sighed compassionately.

“Do you really think that's a good idea?” she asked.

David nodded thoughtfully. “I think it's a very good idea.”

That was three years ago, and from that very day, Smee never left Killian's side, obviously determined to repay the favor with undying loyalty and fierce affection. Nobody ever came looking for him, and nobody ever found out where he'd come from. Perhaps, David Nolan thought sometimes, he was just meant to be at the right place at the right time.

With infallible instinct, he found every injured animal in the range of a few miles, and dragged them home. Tonight, it seems, his instinct struck again.

When the soup is ready, Killian turns the stove low and returns to the living room to look after Smee's newest find. Much to his relief, the figure of the woman is stirring under the heap of blankets, and when he takes a closer look at her, he sees the color of her face has changed; the worrisome paleness of her cheeks has turned into a more healthier tone, and her blueish lips are rosier now.

He sighs and fetches a few clothes for her to put on when she wakes up, which will undoubtedly happen soon. Oh, the fun. He sighs again.

***

Slowly, very slowly Emma drifts back into a sort of semi-onsciousness, and the first thing she notices is a tickling pain in her feet... but that's gotta be a good thing, because the last thing she remembers is the thump on her head, and that she couldn't feel her feet anymore. But now she can feel them, even if they're hurting and stinging, and also her hands, and she can even ball them into fists, and she's engulfed by warmth and softness and a soothing, pleasant smell. It gives her the urge to bury herself deeper into the nest she's in and just go back to sleep.

But her instinct scrapes at her consciousness, demanding of her to wake up and check out her surroundings and situation. She stirs and struggles to open her eyes, and it's surprisingly difficult. The blood is rushing in her ears, and then she clearly hears a voice through the haze swirling around her. The voice is low and accented and somehow fits well with the warm and cozy feeling.

“Lass? Are you awake?”

But it's a stranger's voice, a man's no less, and she has no idea what's happening to her. Her survival instinct kicks in, and with great willpower and effort she opens her eyes, blinking rapidly to clear her sight. She notices that she's inside a room and that she's lying on her back stuffed under what seems a lot of blankets that seemed cozy just a moment ago, but now seem to suffocate and threaten her. She struggles to sit up, and there's the voice again.

“Whoa, careful,” he warns, “you got a bruise on your head.”

That would explain the dull throb and maybe she dizziness, and she struggles even more. She has to see the owner of this voice and somehow make sure she isn't in danger. She notices with dread that underneath the indefinite number of blankets she's wearing only her underwear. A hint of panic brushes over her spine, and she's careful to hold the blankets in place around her body as she finally manages to sit up and fix her eyes on the man standing only a few feet away from the bed she's been placed in.

He's wearing normal clothes, she notices. A plaid shirt over a grey henley, well-worn jeans. Dark hair, a little too long, a tuft of it falling over his forehead. It almost touches his thick eyebrows that are currently raised above very blue eyes scrutinizing her closely. A slight stubble is peppering his jaw and cheeks, shimmering reddish in the dim light of the room. He doesn't look dangerous, and absurdly enough, her instincts tell her that he isn't, but she could be terribly wrong, and she's alone with him, in a bed, stripped down to her freaking underwear.

“What happened?” she demands to know. “Where am I? Who the fuck are you?”

He shakes his head slowly. “I have no bloody idea of what happened, lass. Smee found you in the roadside ditch, passed out and already half covered in snow, and insisted we take you in.”

“Smee?” she echoes and looks around suspiciously, a fresh hint of panic making her toes curl. “Is there someone else?”

“Smee's a dog,” the stranger replies calmly, patiently. “You're at my house, thirty miles outside Storybrooke, Maine, and my name is Killian Jones. I'm living alone.” He tilts his head in what appears to be slight mockery. ”Anything else I can be of service with?”

“Did you take off my clothes?” she snaps.

“Of course I did, they were bloody frozen,” he explains pointedly, a slight annoyance creeping into his voice now. “Did you miss the part where I said you were half covered in snow?” He nods his head sharply in her direction and adds, “You were bloody frozen.”

Emma huffs. “Oh, right, and to warm me up you had to put me in your bed, with–”

He holds up a hand. “Listen, darling,” he cuts her off, clearly angry now, “this is no bloody Hallmark movie. I put you in my bed, the one close to the fireplace, with three hot water bottles to warm you up as fast as possible, because hypothermia is fucking dangerous!” He motions his hand vaguely to the side. “I hung up your damn clothes at the firesite, and they're still damp, if you don't believe me.” A quick look confirms that her jeans, shirt, and jacket are indeed draped over the armrests and back of a huge leather chair standing close to a cozily burning fire in an open firesite. “But let me tell you,” he continues, “you're pretty rude for someone whose life I just saved.” He gives an annoyed flick of his wrist in her direction. “What were you even doing out there, in these clothes no less?”

She's momentarily disarmed by his little tirade, and she knows she should probably apologize, but her head is still dizzy, and she blinks rapidly to clear her mind and tries to recall what happened that made her end up in the roadside ditch where her life-saver apparently found her.

“My car... must have driven over a small rock or something,” she murmurs and touches the bruise on her forehead absentmindedly, flinching a little. “I think I had a flat tire.”

His eyebrows rise high. “So you decided walking was a good idea?”

“Better than waiting in an old car to be frozen to death!” she replies defiantly.

He tilts his head. “You do have a point.”

She draws a deep breath. “Do you have a phone?” she asks firmly.

He nods his head once, slowly, but Emma has a feeling that it's not a good sign. “Yes.” For a moment, she's relieved until he adds, “But the landline's dead. Happens when the snowing gets heavy.” He gestures in the direction of the firesite where there's a table with an old-fashioned looking phone and suggests pointedly, “Check for yourself if you don't believe me.”

Her instinct tells her he's not lying; and so far, her instinct has never failed her. She ignores his remark and raises her chin. “Mobile?”

“I have one, but it's never charged.” He tilts his head again. “No connection here.”

She lets her shoulders sag. “And what now?”

“I'm afraid you're not going anywhere tonight, lass,” he says and raises a hand in defense. “Believe me, I don't like this one tad better than you, but for tonight you'll have to stay here. Tomorrow we'll look for your car.”

She groans in frustration, feeling pretty deflated now. “Do you... do you maybe have something for me to put on?” she asks reluctantly, and he just motions wordlessly to the foot of the bed. Neatly folded, she finds what looks like a flannel shirt, faded grey sweat pants, and red socks with a christmas-y pattern. When she looks up agin, she sees he's retreating from the bed.

“I'm going to fix something to eat while you put that on.” He gestures across the room. “Bathroom's down the hall, fresh towels are in the closet.”

Emma combs her hair behind her ears with both hands and notices that they tremble a little when the shock of what happened settles in and she realizes that this grumpy stranger and his dog most probably saved her life. She shivers, and not from the temperature. Before she can say something, all she sees of him is a glimpse of his back as he closes the door to what's most probably the kitchen behind him, giving her the privacy to get dressed.

Reluctantly, because the bed is warm and cozy and smells good (and where did that thought even come from?), she folds back the blankets and puts the hot water bottles aside that were placed on her nearly strategically. She slips into the clothes provided for her and carefully gets up on her feet; like she expected, her legs are slightly wobbly. After a few tentative first steps, she shuffles through the large quaint room on socked feet, almost magnetically drawn to the cackling fire. When she brushes her fingertips over her jeans that are draped over the backrest of the huge leather chair, she can feel the dampness and shivers again. She would be frozen to death by now, two days before Christmas. Not that anybody would care or miss her, mind you.

After using the bathroom and splashing cool water into her face, the dizziness in her head seems to have lightened a bit. In the bathroom mirror, she examines her face and finds the bruise on her forehead is not as bad as she feared, which allows her to believe she probably doesn't have a concussion. Fuck, she was really lucky.

When she opens the bathroom door, immediately the smell of chicken soup fills her nostrils, and suddenly she becomes aware of the roaring hunger in her stomach. The large wooden table near the fireplace is set with soup bowls, glasses, and a large, steaming pot. The door to the kitchen opens, and her savior appears with a bottle of water. A plump dog of middle size comes over to her, moving in a weird, clumsy way, and it takes Emma a few seconds to realize it's because he has only three legs: the left hind leg is missing. The dog bumps her leg eagerly with his shoulder and wags his tail.

“Smee, easy!” his master calls sternly and puts the bottle on the table, but Emma waves him off.

“No, it's okay.” She hunkers down and scratches him behind his flappy ears, obviously to the dog's delight. “Thank you, thank you so much!” she tells him in her talking-to-a-good-boy voice, and he wags his tail so hard that his whole rear end shakes. She pats his thighs and looks at his missing leg. “What happened to you, Smee?” she asks. “Did you have an accident?”

“Aye, with a leghold trap,” his owner – Jones? – replies, and Emma is shocked.

“With a what? That's fucked up!”

“Must have been some old relic from twenty years ago.” His remarkable jawline tightens. “Was half dead when I found him.”

Smee seems to notice they're talking about him, because he looks to and fro between them eagerly. Emma pats him again and shakes her head with disgust. “Terrible. You could have been hurt as well!”

“Well, about that...” He tilts his head and lifts his left hand – except, she realizes with dismay, there's no hand where his forearm ends; his wrist – or what must be left of it – is hidden under a soft cover made of cotton or some similar fabric. His grim expression looks almost challenging, as if he expects her to react repulsed. As if that's a reaction he's used to, and that thought makes her unexpectedly sad.

“Oh fuck, that sucks,” she blurts out.

He's startled. “What, losing a hand?”

“Doing something good and being screwed over.”

“Well.” He shrugs and scrutinizes her for a moment, a curious look in his eyes now, and scratches behind his ear in what seems to be a nervous gesture.

Emma turns her attention to the friendly dog again and palpates a little along his spine and hips. “He could use a little massage,” she says, “his muscles are a little tense.”

He huffs. “What are you, a vet?”

She raises her chin. “Actually, yes.” She is, even if she hasn't felt like a true veterinarian in some time, as she's been tending mostly to rich brats' handbag dogs in the posh Boston veterinary practice she's working.

“Oh.” He runs his hand through his hair and says a little stiffly, “My apologies. Don't worry, though. I'll have you know Smee's special needs are regularly taken care of.”

“I'm sure they are.”

He motions to the table in an inviting gesture. “Come on, the soup will warm you up from inside.”

She sits down gratefully, and he fills her bowl with soup, pushing it towards her and sits down opposite her. Smee finds his place under the table between their feet.

“Thank you...?” she says and raises her eyebrows in question, having forgotten the name he told her.

“Killian,” he helps out, “Killian Jones.”

“Thank you, Killian. I'm Emma, Emma Swan.” He just nods to that, and she adds, “And I'm sorry for my reaction. It was just a shock to wake up to...” She lets her voice trail off, not really knowing what to say, and makes an all-encompassing move.

“You were right to be wary,” he replies to her surprise. “For all you know, I could be an axe murderer.”

She huffs a little laugh. “You know, I guess I'm just not used to people... being nice.”

He tilts his head. “That's because they're not.”

“Well, you are nice,” she remarks.

“Oh no,” he contradicts dryly, “I'm not nice.” There's not much humor in his voice, and the self-deprecation she senses touches a string inside her, urging her to convince her grumpy savior that he is, indeed, a good person for what he did.

“Come on! You saved my life?”

He waves her off. “That's not being nice. That's... basic humanity.”

Emma shrugs and picks up her spoon; she has enough of burden to carry on her own, she can't cast away everyone's shadows. “If you say so...”

Quickly, he changes the subject. “What were you even doing in this neck of the woods?” he asks, “you're not from here, right?”

“I came from Portland,” she explains vaguely and dives into her chicken soup. “I was on my way back to Boston.”

He raises his eyebrows in disbelief. “You're from Boston and don't know how to dress appropriately for this weather?”

“I'm not from Boston, I just live there at the moment,” she points out in a defensive tone, “and I–I left Portland in a hurry.”

He tilts his head. “And ended up in this godforsaken nowhere.” Emma snorts, and he frowns. “What?”

“You realize you're talking about your home?” she deadpans.

He looks intently into his soup bowl. “This is not my home. I just live here,” he replies, and Emma is startled that he chose almost the exact same words as she did. “It's as good a place as any, and I've nowhere else to go,” he adds.

She feels like punched in the gut by those words, because that – I have nowhere else to go – has been her own rough-and-ready replacement for a home during her whole life, and to hear the exact same from this total stranger under these absurd circumstances just makes it feel so weirdly... predestined that he was the one to save her life.

Emma stares at him, but if he feels something similar, he doesn't show it. After a few moments, he looks up at her blankly and then motions to her soup bowl. “Anything wrong with that?”

She swallows and shakes her head. “No, it's very good. Thanks.” Then she lowers her head and eats her soup without another word, and it starts to warm her up inside more than she'd ever have expected.

Killian watches her while she's meticulously emptying her bowl, that stranger the snow storm literally swept in front of his feet. When he looked up and found her eyes resting on him after him saying he'd nowhere else to go, he recognized an odd sort of understanding in her features, like she knew exactly what he was talking about. Now, she seems to avoid looking at him, and honestly, he's grateful for that.

It's absurd that he feels that sort of instant connection to that complete stranger, and it's not useful at all, because they will go separate ways again tomorrow anyway. Plus, so far it's never done any good for people if he had any connection to them; all of those who he was really close with, are dead: his mother, his brother, his first love. That's also why he keeps David Nolan and Mary Margaret always at arm's length, even though he considers them friends – he seems just no good to be with, and he knows he's really not worth the trouble. No, it's convenient that the stranger he rescued – Emma Swan, he recalls – seems to be similarly closed off and doesn't push any further.

Briefly, he shakes his head to clear the cobwebs from his mind and then finishes his soup quickly – he isn't hungry anyway – before he gets up to clear the table when Emma's bowl is empty, too. She looks at him questioningly.

“It's late,” he says and heads for the kitchen balancing the two empty bowls atop the pot, and she gets to her feet as well.

“Of course,” she replies. “Can I help? Where can I–”

“I suggest you go back to bed,” he interrupts and motions his head over his shoulder, “I'll sleep on the couch. For one night it'll do.”

“But I can take the couch!” she protests. “I wouldn't want to–”

“It's fine,” he cuts her off curtly and turns towards the kitchen again, “you need the extra warmth.”

When he has deposited the dishes and comes back to the living room, she's standing in front of the fireplace, and the light makes her face look like it's glowing. Smee is standing close to her, his tail slightly wagging. Killian frowns without noticing. With his sweatpants, worn plaid shirt, and the Christmas socks Mary Margaret knitted for him last winter, she looks incredibly cozy – and like she belongs exactly there, next to his dog, in front of his fireplace, and the thought startles and annoys him. He clears his throat, and she whirls around.

“I don't think you had a concussion,” he says, “but the bruise might still give you a bit of a headache. I have aspirin in the bathroom cupboard, if you need it.”

“Okay.” She nods. “Thank you again.”

He waves her off. “Try to get some sleep, you'll want to be well-rested tomorrow. You've still got a long way to go to Boston.”

She frowns. “Boston?” Then she huffs and takes a step towards the bed, the dog trotting after her. “Oh yeah, right. Okay. Then... good night, I guess.”

“Good night.” He clicks his tongue at the dog. “Smee, you know the rules. Not on the bed,” he warns.

His eyes follow her as she shuffles over to his bed and crawls under the covers again, and he quickly looks away when, again, the inexplicable feelings creeps up on him that she belongs exactly there, because why the bloody hell would he think that?

Suddenly it seems like he isn't in control of his feelings, of the situation anymore, and if Killian Jones hates something fervently, then it's the feeling of being under external control. It's ridiculous, of course – just a fleeting hint of connection, attraction maybe, and it will be gone tomorrow. She will be gone tomorrow, not more than a faint memory of blonde locks, green eyes, and a soft voice.

Abruptly, he turns around and heads for the bathroom to brush his teeth and get into his sleeping clothes. He has a feeling that his sleep will be a little troubled tonight, and he's right.

When Emma wakes up the next morning, her host is already dressed, and the smell of coffee wafts through the entire room. She sits up and notices that he's nowhere to be seen, but she can hear him rummage about in the kitchen, obviously preparing breakfast.

Absurdly enough, she's had a deeper and more relaxing sleep than in a long time, which probably explains her odd reluctance to leave the bed; the feeling is disturbing.

“Don't be ridiculous,” she murmurs to herself and swings her legs out of bed. Passing by the leather chair, she picks up her clothes that are dry by now and heads for the bathroom to get dressed. When she returns to the living room, the breakfast table's set with coffee, bread, butter, honey, and scrambled eggs with bacon. Her stomach reacts with a loud growl.

“Good morning,” Killian greets her, “Slept well?”

She nods with a tentative smile. “Yes, thank you.”

“I hope Smee didn't bother you?”

“Not at all.”

“Fine. Then,” – he motions invitingly to the table, and she notices that he's wearing a prosthesis in the place of his missing hand – “you should get some breakfast into you before going on the road again.”

She doesn't understand the absurd hint of disappointment she's feeling at the thought of continuing her trip to Boston and never seeing Killian Jones and his dog again. When she steals a glance at him now, in broad daylight, she realizes that he's actually really handsome, in a very down-to-earth way, and she wonders how his smile would look.

What's wrong with you, she calls herself to order, who cares how his smile looks, for fuck's sake. Eat your eggs, and then you're out of here.

Killian, too, doesn't seem very eager to extend her stay longer than necessary. The breakfast is a short, silent thing, and when they're done, they get dressed, and she bundles up as much as she can, before they finally head out.

This time, they're not going across the uneven meadow, they use the driveway from the farmhouse to the road. It's stopped snowing, but the snow is quite high – much to Smee's obvious delight.

“Bloody hell, this doesn't look good,” he murmurs when they reach the road. “So, in which direction is your car?”

“That way. I was heading back to the town when I saw the lights from your house.”

“It's thirty miles to Storybrooke!”

Emma rolls her eyes. “As I said, it was my best shot. Freezing to death in a car didn't seem appealing either.”

He nods somewhat grumpily. “Alright, point taken.”

They turn in the direction Emma has pointed, and the farther they walk, the darker Killian's mood seems to get, and he keeps murmuring and huffing and grumbling to himself. When they reach Emma's car after maybe seven minutes of walking, she's shocked to see that it's well-covered in snow; a lot of snow.

“Bloody buggering hell,” Killian blurts out, “I knew it!”

“You knew what?”

“This!” He gestures angrily towards the little, half-buried car, and then towards the road. “Even if we could get it fixed – and to do that we'd have to practically shovel it free – there's no way you could drive on that road.”

“But it's stopped snowing, won't the snow plow truck pass soon?”

He snorts. “This is not a highway. It might take days before it's cleared.”

Emma closes her eyes. Fuck rural Maine indeed. Then the meaning of his words seeps in. Before she can say anything, his angry voice cuts through the white silence.

“Grab your stuff already!” He gestures vaguely around. “I'm not going to get frostbite here.”

“My... stuff?” she echoes.

“Your clothes,” he replies impatiently. “I do have enough sweatpants and shirts to clothe you, but you might want a change of underwear during the next few days, until the bloody road is cleared.”

“Do you mean–”

“I mean,” he interrupts pointedly, “you're going to have to stay at my house for the next days. Unless of course,” he sways his arm out in the direction of where the town is, “you want to try your luck again and hike to Storybrooke.” He tilts his head in a sarcastic shrug. “At least it's not dark, you could even get there alive.”

“Very funny,” she shoots back and opens the trunk of her bug with some effort and snatches her duffel bag.

“That is all?” he asks doubtfully.

“Yes, that's all,” Emma replies, anger bubbling up in her about his constant rudeness. Okay, to drive through heavy snow in an old Volkswagen bug without winter tires might not be a really smart idea, but she barely had any choice, and the weather wasn't her fault. “I don't need much stuff. Or do I strike you as the princessly type?”

Wordlessly, he turns around and proceeds to trudge back to the farmhouse, with Smee delightedly hopping through the deep snow on his three sturdy legs, and Emma following as fast as she can, trying to process what's going on – and what to feel about it. So, apparently she's stranded here for the next few days, in the middle of this snowy nowhere, with a gruff, handsome stranger she's instantly felt an odd connection to. Well, it's not like she has anything better to do or anywhere else to go – or anyone.

When they get back to the house again and are inside, Killian tries the phone right away, but apparently, the landline is still dead.

“Bloody hell,” he curses under his breath and then turns to her. “No connection. Looks like you're stuck here.” He scratches behind his ear. “I do have a pickup, but you've seen the road.”

“I'm sorry I'm ruining your Christmas,” Emma says tentatively, but she can't shake off the feeling that he wasn't in a very festive mood anyway even before she showed up.

“Christmas?” He frowns and shakes his head once. “I don't care about Christmas.”

“Yeah, I can see that,” she murmurs. Meanwhile, she hasn't failed to notice that not only there is no tree in his living room or anywhere visible, there is no other piece of decoration either, no holly, no candy cane, no nothing. Emma herself isn't very much of a Christmas person either, but even she puts up the occasional candle or holly.

At first it seems like he wants to say something, but then he turns around and heads for the door again. “I'm going to work.”

“Work? Where?”

“In my workshop in the barn. I'm a carpenter.” He tilts his head. “And before you ask, yes, that's possible with one hand. It takes a bit of creativity, but it's possible.”

“I wasn't going to ask,” Emma replies indignantly.

He leaves the house without any further word.

She spends the day wandering around the house, resting in the afternoon, and reading in front of the fireplace, after she found a shelf full of books in one corner of the huge living room. She also checks the phone from time to time, but never gets a signal. Killian comes back only around noon for a small lunch of bread and cheese and waves her off when she asks if she can do anything around the house or prepare something for dinner (honestly, she's relieved when he tells her that he has already a stew in the fridge ready to be heated, because cooking isn't one of her prominent skills). He disappears after a rather short break, and it's almost like he's avoiding her presence. Not that she can blame him – she's basically an intruder into his routine, and even if he apparently doesn't do Christmas, she's still a stranger in his house and in his life. Absurdly enough, she can't help but feel a bit disappointed that he doesn't ask her if she wants to take a look at his workshop; she hoped to find out a little more about the man who saved her life, but apparently he's even more of a recluse than she is.

When the sunlight outside is fading, he comes back again and heads right to the bathroom for a shower, not before making sure she's okay though, with no headache, dizziness, or further signs of a concussion, and with no signs of a cold either.

“Landline still dead?” he asks when he puts the pot with the stew on the table; she has set it this time with plates and glasses, spoons and bread.

“Yeah, I've tried a few times.”

“Hmm... someone's going to be worried about you.”

She huffs. “No one, trust me.”

He throws her a sideways glance, but doesn't reply to that, and she decides to try her luck and simply asks, “You're not from here, right?”

Killian shakes his head. “No, I was born in England.” He pauses, but she's looking at him expectantly, and so he goes on, “My mother died when I was very young, fourteen, and my father already wasn't in the picture anymore.” Briefly, a sadness flickers over his face, like a long-healed wound that still throbs from time to time. She studies his expression intently as he continues. “I had an older brother, Liam. He was already of age, and luckily, the authorities let me stay with him. He trained as a carpenter and worked very hard to build his own business, and then I trained with him. One day, he had a fatal accident with the disk saw.” Emma's eyes widen, but she stays quiet. “He died. I sold everything and left the country. I just couldn't...” He falls silent, and a muscle in his jaw ticks.

She nods. “It didn't feel like home anymore.”

He gives her an odd glance. Even though he doesn't reply, she knows instinctively she's right, and it startles her once more how connected she feels to him.

“I came here for a fresh start,” he continues his tale, “settled down in Portland, met a woman. She was married to a rich and powerful man. We were planning to run away together, but she never showed up.”

“She changed her mind?” Emma asks sympathetically, but he shakes his head.

“She was hit by a car,” he tells her, and she gasps. “On Christmas Eve,” he adds soberly.

“Fuck.”

“Aye.” He tilts his head and drops his spoon into his empty plate with a dissonant clang. “You'll understand why I'm not overly fond of Christmas.”

She tries to process everything he just told her, the tragic summary of his life in five sentences, and she understands what's behind his pain – it's not only about the losses he experienced, but that he blames them on himself. She knows he does, even if he hasn't explicitly said so. Just as she, as a child, knew it had to be her fault, every time a foster family sent her away again. Just as she, a teenager in a juvenile detention home, knew it was her fault what happened to her child.

“Yes, of course,” she says hastily, “I'm sorry I–”

“It's not your fault,” he cuts her off and pushes back his chair.

She understands the clear signal that the conversation is over, and she doesn't blame him for not wanting to elaborate any further on his misery... and yet, she feels a strange longing, something she hasn't felt in a long time. The longing for a person to share one's burden with, a person who won't judge you, because they'll understand. She feels that longing, because she has caught a glimpse of that person in Killian Jones. But it's obvious that he's not up for that.

She helps him clear the table, and then asks if he has a spare room for her to sleep in, so that he can sleep in his own bed again, but he shakes his head.

“It's not worth the trouble of preparing it and heating it up properly for another day or two,” he tells her, “and I don't mind the couch. Unless, of course, you mind.”

“No, no,” she replies quickly, “I don't.”

“Fine.” He nods. “Then, you'll excuse me for not keeping you company, but I have some paperwork to do. Comes with the business.”

“Of course. I won't disturb you.”

He spends the evening at the huge wooden table, buried in papers and sipping his tea, not saying another word to her, and Emma settles on the couch with a book and Smee at her side, but she can't really concentrate on what she's reading and keeps glancing over at him. The tuft of his too-long hair falls over his forehead again, hiding his eyes from her view, and the glow of the fire makes auburn highlights dance in it. For the life of her Emma doesn't understand why she feels the strong pull to go over to him and comb her fingers through it. It's absurd. She doesn't know this man. Except, she has the feeling that she does.

He really doesn't know why he blurted out his whole miserable backstory to this blonde intruder into his boring, conveniently numbing routine. Killian Jones normally doesn't share personal things from his past if he doesn't have to – not even David Nolan knows every detail about his personal history, and he's probably the person who knows him best. Then why did he feel the push to open up to his involuntary guest? Apparently, the instant connection he felt towards her isn't as fleeting as he thought, that feeling of mutual understanding – as if she knows exactly who he is, and he knows who she is – it's still there. Which is odd, since he doesn't really know much about her save snippets here and there – that she doesn't really have a place she calls home at the moment, that she's a veterinarian, and that she apparently is a loner. Very much like him. He doesn't understand it, and it makes him uneasy. It reminds him of the long forgotten desire to have someone who he could be himself with. Except, it's useless because this woman is someone who will disappear from his life as suddenly as she's stumbled into it.

He buries his nose in his paperwork, but it's a useless endeavor tonight. He feels her presence almost physically, the occasional looks she gives him when she looks up from her book, and they make him nervous. They make him question his self-chosen aloneness in an uncomfortable way he's not ready to deal with.

After two hours, he gives up and closes his books, shoves his papers aside and finishes the last of his now cold tea. As if on cue, she clears the couch for him and moves over to the bed, telling him quietly good-night to which he responds with a hesitant murmur.

Again, it's a night of restless sleep interrupted by periods of lying awake and listening to the even breathing coming from his own bed – and trying to ignore the dreadful feeling that soon enough this somehow soothing sound will be gone again, replaced by the silence he's been used to for years and which suddenly seems so little appealing now. So, he really hopes that soon enough is close, so he won't have a chance to get too used to the feeling of not being alone – and enjoying it. And being crushed when it inevitably ends.

The next morning, Emma is woken up early again by the smell of coffee and bacon – contrary to her, her reluctant host seems to be an early riser. See, we've got really not much in common, she tells herself as she shuffles into the bathroom.

When she comes back fifteen minutes later, Killian is just putting the plates with the scrambled eggs and the bacon on the table and nods a curt good morning.

“Landline's still dead,” he informs her grumpily, and Emma wants to slap her forehead that she hasn't even thought of checking that first thing when she got up.

“Oh,” she replies, not knowing what else to say.

“Well, I suppose we'll survive another bit.”

For a while, they eat in silence, then she asks, “Can I do something more today? Do you have anything special planned for dinner?”

He raises an eyebrow. “There's some leftover stew from yesterday?”

Right. He doesn't care about Christmas, so no special dinner plans for Christmas Eve. If she's honest with herself, she's the same. Her Christmases usually consist of Chinese takeout or frozen pizza, bad mood, and Die Hard. She just thought that this year, maybe, could be a little different for both of them, given the weird circumstances they have been thrown into. Something like making the best of an unexpected situation, maybe making it even better than it normally would have been. But apparently, he isn't interested in anything like that, so she's going to roll with that.

“Sure,” she replies hastily, “that's fine. I just thought... nevermind. I just wanted to do something to make up for...” she motions vaguely around, an all-encompassing move mainly apologizing for her presence, “messing up your life.”

“I told you already, it's fine.” He gets up from the table. “If I could leave the dishes for you? I have some work to finish that's due soon.” He gestures towards the door.

“Yeah, of course. Go to your work, I've got this.” She pushes back her chair. “Anything to get ready for lunch?”

“Just some bread and cheese.”

He fills a thermosflask with the rest of his breakfast tea and pulls on a heavy sweater before he calls out for Smee, but the dog just woofs and flops down in front of the fire. Killian huffs and leaves the house for his carpentry.

The day goes by just like the one before, Emma watches the fire and puts on more logs when it grows smaller, and checks the phone from time to time. What irritates her is the odd relief she feels every time it becomes clear that the landline is not working yet, because why even?? She should be looking forward to finally getting away from here. But she pushes these thoughts aside. For noon, she sets the table with bread and cheese and makes some fresh tea. The sight of the ready table seems to make Killian even more grumpy, though, and she's gettong more and more annoyed by his monosyllabic behavior. Really, what's wrong with this man? He keeps telling her that he doesn't care about Christmas and that she's not really disturbing him, yet he acts like she's the most inconvenient nuisance ever, even though she's trying her best to make things pleasant for him. How she ever could think there was a connection between them, is beyond her. He's nothing but a misanthropic hermit who probably already regrets saving her life. Ass.

When Killian comes back for lunch and finds everything ready, even the tea made just how he likes it and the bread freshly toasted, he's almost offended. And it gets worse: when he comes back in the evening, the table is set for dinner, she even found a nice tablecloth and a candle somewhere, and the stew is already heating up on the oven. He doesn't need – and doesn't want – these frills. He can take care of himself, has done so for all of his life and will have to do so again once she'll be gone, and he has no interest in being cared for now. Has no interest in getting used to the uncomfortably pleasant feeling of someone... just being there when he comes home.

Even Smee is obviously falling for that feeling, refusing today to go to the barn with him, as he does every day. The stupid dog preferred the company of their guest. Well, he's going to be disappointed soon enough. It's a cruel jest of fate showing them how things could be if he weren't such a... failure of a human being. Especially at this time of the year when the memory of his last great failure comes back hitting him with all might.

It's been eight years now since that fatal accident that took Milah from him – eight years in which the pain of losing her has dulled and faded, but the feeling of guilt, of being nothing but a failure, has remained.

The dinner is spent in an almost oppressive silence, and he ignores – to the point of being rude – Emma's attempts to start a conversation. At some point, she presses her lips together and pushes away her plate, wordlessly getting up from her chair and starting to clear the table. He lets her do it without helping this time, and when the table is cleared completely, he gets up and fetches his bottle of rum and a glass from the cupboard beside the table.

By the time she has finished rummaging and clattering in the kitchen, he's already on his third rum, staring with contempt at the thin black leather glove covering his prosthesis. Another proof of him being a royal failure. She leaves the kitchen, and he hopes that she'll retire to the couch with a book again, like the day before, and leave him be, but of course he has no such luck.

“You think you're the only one who has lost something?” she snarls, and when he looks up at her wearily, he's surprised about her aggressive stance – feet firmly planted on the floor, hands at her hips, and chin raised as she motions her head to his prosthesis.

His eyes follow her movement to his fake hand. “Oh, the hand is only the last thing in a long, boring row,” he tells her. He's in no mood for defending himself for feeling like horseshit, he's entitled to wallow in a litle self-pity, isn't he? “After my mother, my brother, and the woman I loved,” he adds and asks provokingly, “What have you lost?”

She shrugs. “Everything,” is her simple answer. “My parents, when I was a few hours old and they dumped me on the stairs of a hospital. Three failed adoptions.” That gets her his full and prompt attention. “My first boyfriend at seventeen, when he betrayed me,” she goes on, “and I went to jail for a deed he'd done.” He clenches his jaw unconsciously, a wave of anger at the cowardly son of a bitch washing over him that ruined a young girl's life that already had been getting the short end of the straw since she'd been born. No wonder she has no one in her life who cares for her – probably she's used to not letting anyone come closer, and why would she? Everyone has fucked her over so far. But her tale isn't over. “In jail I found out I was pregnant,” she continues, and a cold hand grips his heart, “Lost the baby, too.” She shrugs and adds soberly, “Was probably better for the both of us.”

He studies her face in shock during the following pause, and he sees the faint pain that's still there... looking very similar to what he feels when he thinks of Milah. Because of course she'd blame herself for losing the baby. He wants to say something, anything, to assure her that no, it isn't her fault, but the right words won't come to him.

“Whenever I have something, a job, friends, a scrap of happiness, I lose it.” She huffs. “I don't even know why I'm telling you all of this, I haven't spoken to anyone about all this crap.”

Killian gets up wordlessly, turns to the cupboard and fetches a tumbler, then he pours a respectable amount of liquor into the glass and puts it on the table, motioning for her to sit.

She sits.

“I haven't told anyone the story of my miserable past either,” he says, “but you.” He tilts his head. “And Smee. But I highly doubt he counts.” The dog, still relaxing in front of the fire, wags his tail when he hears his name.

Emma huffs again, a little laugh this time. “You're better than me. I don't even have a pet to open up to.”

For a moment, their eyes lock, and he feels their connection stronger than ever, then he swallows and raises his glass. “To sharing shitty backstories.”

She clinks her glass to his. “To failures.”

“You're not a failure,” he contradicts, “You've just been screwed over by life. None of it was your fault.”

She takes a sip of her drink and coughs a bit. “Maybe not,” she finally replies, “but I haven't done anything to improve.”

“Horseshit,” he growls. “You have made something of yourself, you've built a life.”

She snorts. “I have no roots and no place where I belong.”

“But that can change.”

Her eyes fix on him with a disturbing intensity. “How?”

He tilts his head, avoiding her gaze. “You can belong anywhere, you just have to decide you want to.”

"You're the one to talk,” she replies pointedly, “hiding out here from the world, behind your fake hand and your anger!”

Killian is taken aback at her words, because... he isn't hiding, is he? He's doing the world a favor by keeping it at arm's length. “The world doesn't like me.”

Emma shakes her head. “No, it's you,” she tells him and points her index finger at him. “You don't like the world, and you don't like yourself.”

He looks at her with wide eyes, frozen, at an actual loss for words. “There's really not much to like,” he finally says after a long pause and is shocked to see her smile, and understanding sadness hidden somewhere between the laugh lines around her eyes.

“Why are you so stubborn?” she asks softly.

***

Emma wakes up with the strange feeling of her neck being a little stiff, but the rest of her feeling extremely cozy and at home. She stirs and realizes that she's not in the bed she slept in for the last two nights, and she blinks her eyes open with some effort.

She's looking directly at the fireplace which means she's on the leather couch, and when she turns her head to the right she sees she's snuggled up to Killian Jones's side, her head on his chest, and his arm around her. His head has sunk on the backrest, and he's still asleep. A blanket is draped over her and across his lap.

There's a moment of panic as she tries to recall what happened that brought them here, and she thinks it must have happened some time between her tale of how she went on shoplifting sprees with Neal, her first boyfriend, before he let her go to jail for him, and his tale of how his brother Liam was distracted for a second by telling him to be more careful with the wood plane, and thus ended up hurting himself so badly in the disk saw that he bled to death. They moved from the dining table to the leather couch, leaving the rum behind, and Killian put another log on the fire to banish the cold and dark with warmth and light.

They talked and listened, carefully approaching each other, exploring limits, lowering defenses, and examining scars. Emma isn't sure how it happened or what it was that made them open up to each other, and she doesn't remember when they cuddled so close together that she ended up falling asleep in Killian's arm, but she does know she feels more free and safe and lighter than she has in years. Like she has shared a burden that's been weighing her down, and now it feels only half as heavy.

She manoeuvers herself in a sitting position so that she can have a better look at Killian's handsome sleeping features, for once relaxed, but her movement wakes him from his sleep and he's apparently startled by the position they're in, but can't move away any farther, being already in the corner of the couch.

She smiles. “Hi.”

“Good morning,” he replies in an almost questioning voice and looks nervously at his arm, the left one with the prosthesis attached to it, that's still resting on her back. “I... I apologize if I...” He falls silent, not really knowing what to say, and she shakes her head.

“I'm glad we talked,” she says firmly. “I feel so... relieved.”

He shifts himself into a more upright position and lifts his hand very carefully, tentatively, as if she might shy away from it; she doesn't. “So do I,” he admits in a rough voice and smooths a strand of hair from her face.

Emma studies his features, his look so serious and sober, but also full of warmth and questions and hope, and she throws all caution to the wind and moves closer to him, approaching his face with hers, and he mirrors her gesture. After one last glance at his slightly parted lips she closes her eyes.

A shrill ring, deafeningly cutting into their fragile, tender silence, makes them jump apart.

For a second, they look at each other and around the room, confused and shocked, and then a shadow falls over Killian's face as the telephone rings again.

“The landline,” he says and jumps up from the couch, making Emma feel almost physically hurt at the loss of contact, the loss of warmth.

“Hello,” he answers the phone in a voice bare of any emotion, not showing disappointment, annoyance, or any feeling at all. “Oh, Dave. No, I'm fine, thank you for checking. Yeah, I've noticed. Really? That's a relief. Thank you. Okay, in a few days. Goodbye.”

He hangs up and looks at her with the same empty expression she just heard in his voice. “That was a friend from Storybrooke. The snow plow truck just left town and is clearing the road outside right now. I suggest,” he picks up the phone again, “I call the Storybrooke garage and tell them to send out their towing vehicle as soon as the road is passable again. They should be here in two hours at the latest.”

Emma feels like punched in the guts. Numbly, she rises from the couch.

“Sure,” she replies tonelessly.

The next hour passes by in a haze. Emma hears him on the phone, obviously talking to a mechanic, explaining the situation and telling the man to knock at the door once he's got the vehicle, so he can pick up her, too. She busies herself getting dressed and packing up her stuff while Killian fixes them breakfast. Smee is alternating between following her and Killian, whining reproachfully.

It takes barely ninety minutes until there's a heavy knock at the door.

Killian opens, and she's already prepared, dressed in her boots and red leather jacket, like when he found her, her duffel bag slung over her shoulder. He looks at her as the mechanic is waiting outside, and she draws a deep breath and steps nearer.

She's searching his gaze, waiting for him to say something, anything. He averts his eyes and reaches into the pocket of his jeans, then he hands her something on his open palm.

She looks at him questioningly, and he tilts his head in a barely perceptible, encouraging nod. She reaches for the thing in his hand, an object about the size and form of a kiwi fruit, and when her fingertips brush his palm, sparks shoot right up to her elbow. It's cool and smooth, made of wood, and she recognizes the features of a slightly stumpy, three-legged dog.

“Smee?” she whispers, tears stinging in the corners of her eyes. “Did you... did you make it for me?”

He swallows, and a muscle in his jaw ticks. “I thought you'd like to have a souvenir of your savior.”

The man waiting outside clears his throat. “Ma'am?”

Emma huffs a laugh. “Thank you. For everything.” Then she raises on her tiptoes and leans a little forward to brush a kiss on Killian's scruffy cheek, his stubble prickling her lips. “Merry Christmas, Killian.”

Then she leaves the house and walks away. When she turns around to look back, she finds the door already closed, and all she can think is that she never even got to see his smile.

“Oh, shut up, Smee,” Killian growls as the dog whines and scratches at the door. “This is what was going to happen, all the time. This is how it's supposed to be. It's better this way.”

The dog whines again, and Killian scoffs at him, turning away from the door and proceeding to make all signs of the presence of another person disappear. He clears the breakfast table and folds the blanket they've slept under, involuntarily recalling how it felt to wake up with her in his arms, snuggled against his side, her head resting on his chest. The intimacy of sharing a blanket, the warmth their bodies created, and most of all the emotional intimacy of sharing their pain and anger, both having lots of it locked away in them.

It felt... right. Like how it was supposed to be.

The looks they shared, open and raw and understanding, knowing. Longing. The tender touch of his fingertips on the silky strand of her hair, even though his skin is roughened from working with wood everyday, he could feel the smoothness through and through, like a promise. The almost shy expression in her captivating green eyes, turning to something vulnerable and courageous when she swayed closer, her lips full and soft and waiting for his.

And yet, it was not supposed to be. She had her life and her job in Boston, even if she didn't feel at home there. She was going to leave anyway.

He's glad it happened today, before they kissed and he could fall even more for her – because aye, he realizes now, absurd as it sounds, that's exactly what has happened in these mere two days and three nights spent in her company, as much as he's tried to avoid it. It's true: he started to fall for Emma Swan, to fall in love with her. So it's good that she left now, before he was in way too deep, so deep that losing her again could devastate him. Like ripping off a band aid.

An hour later, the bloody phone rings again, and he contemplates for a moment not answering; he's really not in the mood for people, and the only people who really matter (and care about him) know he's alive and well. But then he thinks it could always be David again, and he doesn't want to snub the only friend he has, so he picks up the phone.

“Hello?”

“Killian? It's Emma.”

That hits him unexpectedly, and for a moment his tongue is tied, and her voice reaches him again through the landline. “Killian?”

He clears his throat. “I'm here.”

“Ah. Okay. I... I just wanted to let you know that I've arrived in Storybrooke. Turns out my spare tire is damaged, so a new tire has to be ordered.” She pauses for a moment, before she goes on, “Looks like I'll be around for another few days. I'm staying at the bed and breakfast here.”

“Granny's,” he says automatically, trying to process her words.

“Yes,” she replies. “I thought you... we...” She starts to stumble over her own words, and he closes her eyes. Don't say it, he thinks, just don't. “I tought if you came to town the next few days, we could have dinner together or something. I... I'd like to thank you properly for, you know, saving my life.”

“I... well, that's not...” He licks his lips and starts again. “You know, that's really not necessary.”

“I know, but...” He hears her draw a deep breath, and it sounds shaky. “Anyway, if you come to town, just drop me a call, okay?”

“If I come to town, I will, Swan,” he replies reluctanty, fully well knowing he's going to avoid Storybrooke for at least ten more days.

***

The next four weeks come and go in a haze, and it's surprisingly easy to fall back into his old, boring routine. He crafts his works, he drives to town to sell them, he buys his groceries and other supplies he needs, and he retires to his hermitage.

Then, in the first week of February the time has come for Smee to get his annual shots, so he takes him to his friend's office. Just when he's about to enter the house where David Nolan sees his patients downstairs and lives upstairs with his wife Mary Margaret, the door is opened and David almost bumps into him on his way out, obviously in a hurry.

“Killian! Good to see you again!” he exclaims, then frowns. “Something wrong with Smee?”

“No, he's fine, he just needs his shots.” The dog confirms his good health with a friendly woof.

“Ah, damn, I'm heading out to an emergency,” David says, gesturing to his pick up parked in front of the house, not after giving his favorite patient a hearty pat.

“Oh...” Killian scratches behind his ear. “Okay, no problem, I'll come back tomorrow, and–”

“No, no,” David cuts him off and gestures towards the house as he's opening the driver's door and throws his veterinary kit inside, “just go inside, he'll be taken care of.” He starts the engine and calls out of the window, “Wait for me, we'll have a beer later!”

Killian is startled as he watches hin friend speed off, but then he shrugs and enters the house as David has told him. The waiting room is empty, and he calls tentatively, “Hello?”

“Come in!” comes the answer from a bright, female voice, and the voice hits him like lightning, right in the guts and in the heart, and Smee's ears perk up and he lets out an excited bark.

Then the door to the treatment room is opened, and they find themselves face to face with the person Killian has never expected to see again. She's wearing white scrubs, a messy ponytail, and she's never looked more beautiful.

“Swan?” he gasps. Her eyes widen in only mild surprise, and she smiles, and it's his downfall. “How... I mean, why... are you here?”

Smee doesn't care about these vain details, he's all over her in the blink of an eye, and she crouches down so he doesn't have to jump up on her on his one hind leg, and greets him properly. Then she rises to her full height again.

She shrugs, a girlish gesture that makes her look incredibly young. “David had a job to offer, and I needed a change of scenery.”

“Oh.”

A change of scenery? What does that mean? It sounds like a fleeting thing. He doesn't know what to say.

Emma licks her lips and draws a deep breath. “Killian... I–I was waiting for you, to show up for that thank you dinner.” She fixes her eyes on him. “Why did you never call?”

“Oh, well, you know...” He runs his hand through his hair and averts his eyes, shame filling him at the sound of hurt in her voice. “I thought you would be leaving soon anyway, and I didn't want to... I was afraid I...” he shakes his head helplessly and looks at her again, hoping she understands from his eyes what his words cannot express. And she does.

“I'm here now,” she says simply, her gaze holding his, and nods in affirmation.

“What about your life in Boston?” he asks.

She shakes her head. “I never really liked what I had there,” she tries to explain. “But I like it here. I might even grow some roots.”

“Here, in the middle of nowhere?” he scoffs.

She tilts her head to the side, an almost playful gesture. “You know, someone told me, I can do that anywhere I want to. And,” she points her index finger at him, “that someone also told me, here's as good a place as any, and...” She shrugs again. “I've nowhere else to go.”

He just looks at her like an idiot and nods, really and completely at a loss for words now, even more like an idiot. He's grasping for words in his mind, or even a coherent thought would be nice, but he can't find either, not before he's managed to wrap his mind around the meaning of what she just told him.

So, like an idiot, he gestures towards the dog. “Smee needs his shots.”

Emma buries her hands in the pockets of her scrubs. “Then let's get it over with.”

Between them, no more words are spoken, Emma gets to business with the dog, Smee taking his shots stoically as always, because what are a few pricks when you've had your leg bitten off by rusty iron jaws, right?

When she's done, she gives the dog a few treats and looks at Killian again, somehow expectantly, and he knows, he just knows it's his turn now to say something useful.

He clears his throat. “Then I suppose I... see you around?”

She nods with a smile, but she can't fool him – he notices the slight disappointment in her voice, and he hates himself for it. “Sure,” she replies lightly.

Emma's hands are buried in the pockets of her scrubs again as she watches Killian from the window driving away in his pickup. She supposes he just needs a bit more time to really understand what she told him, that she's not planning to leave again so soon. But anyway, even if he doesn't realize it anytime soon – as crazy as it sounds, she can already feel the first roots sprout into the ground.

It did seem like fate had its hands in it: the delivery of her new tire being delayed for days and days, her stumbling over the friendliest woman she ever met while buying some hygiene products, that woman turning out to be the wife of the local veterinarian who told her her husband was suffocating with work but couldn't find anyone wanting to help him out.

And then, completely out of the blue, Walsh showing up one day, wanting to make amends and becoming nasty when she just shook her head.

“You're ridiculous, Emma,” he spat. “What do you want here, in the middle of nowhere? Your best shot is with me. You don't belong here, you don't belong with anyone.”

“I like it here,” she just replied calmly and rose to her full height, because he really wasn't worth the adrenaline. “And to be honest, anywhere is better than with you.” And she turned around and let him stand there, at the curb where he belonged.

She knew eventually she'd run into Killian, and she was nervous about it, asking herself if the time in between might have made him close off again. To be honest, even now, after meeting him, she isn't sure.

Two days later, to her surprise, he's standing in the waiting room again.

“Killian! Is something wrong with Smee?” she asks, eyes scanning the dog, but he seems to be his normal, carefree self, greeting her with a bump of his wet nose and appropriate tail wagging. “Did he react badly to his shots?”

Killian frowns. “What? Oh.” He shakes his head. “No, no. Smee is fine.”

She raises her eyebrows. “Then what... what can I do for you?”

He draws a deep breath and scratches behind his ear before he looks her directly in the eyes, determination in his gaze. “I'm here to... to ask you out,” he finally says in a rough voice. “To dinner or something.”

Time seems to be frozen for a moment as she lets the meaning of his words sink in. Then she exhales carefully. “Shouldn't I be the one taking you out?” she asks and shrugs, trying to play it light. “I mean, I still owe you that thank you dinner, remember?”

But he shakes his head, not accepting the easy way out. Apparently, he needs to get something off his chest. “You don't owe me anything,” he contradicts. “I owe you an apology. For being rude and.. and...” His voice trails off as he's searching for the right word.

“Afraid?” she offers.

He draws deep breath and tilts his head in a fatalistic nod. “Aye,” he admits. “You know, someone... fate, the gods...” he hesitates and then raises his hand to brush a strand of hair from her face that somehow escaped her ponytail, and the tender gesture makes her heart swell. “Someone sent me the best Christmas gift one could ever stumble across in a snowy roadside ditch,” he says softly, “and I was just too much of a coward to accept it.”

She huffs a little laugh and revels in the warmth spreading all through her veins. “And now?”

He tilts his head again. “If you can decide to grow roots, I can bloody well decide to stop being angry.”

Emma smiles and takes a step nearer, standing only a hand's breadth away from him now, and she can see the fine skin around his eyes crinkle. And she thinks, yep, that's a smile. Finally. Without further hesitation, because why the fuck, she raises on her tiptoes, and the moment she leans in she feels Killian's hand at the back of her neck, pulling her to him the last bit. She closes her eyes when she finally feels his lips on hers and sighs into the kiss. He wraps his other arm around her waist and molds her into him, deepening the kiss, and it's everything she's imagined since they were interrupted on Christmas morning – everything and more. When they reluctantly separate again because they both need some air, they lean their foreheads together, both smiling with sparkling eyes, and she thinks she'll probably never get enough of his smile.

“I like it when you're not angry,” she breathes.

“You know, if you want it, you have it,” he replies in a low voice, a little cryptically.

“I have what?” she asks and licks her lips.

“A place to go.”

#cssecretsanta2k19 #cs ff #csss #cs #captain swan #captain swan ff #cs fic #my ff #since we've no place to go #the-captains-ayebrows

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