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frogtanii · 3 years

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embarrassed ft. matsukawa issei

wc. 2.7k (???)

warnings. SMUT, not proofread lol, mutual pining (??), friends to lovers (???), cunnilingus lmao, no dom/sub dynamics, well actually dom&sub issei if you squint rlly hard hehe, kinda cute, embarrassed issei <3, also one (1) WAP reference

an. it’s 2:30 am and i have no idea why i wrote this and who for???? i got the idea from a 🦋😳🙈✨ audio and was immediately inspired idk, sorry if it’s bad i lichrally have no idea since i didn’t read it after it was done :p

( ˘ ³˘)♥︎

it wasn’t like matsukawa issei to be embarrassed.

he was handsome, intelligent, and funny, not to mention he never left women wanting after a night with him.

issei was the entire package and he knew it.

beyond superficiality though, he was happy with his life. he had a great group of friends, a nice apartment all to himself and a completely normal job.

yes, being a funeral home employee wasn’t the most glamorous career a person could have but he was happy. besides, it never deterred him from getting a warm body to sleep with which was a win in his book.

all in all? his life was great!

so why did he have to go and screw it all up?

issei blames makki and the dumb flyer for the reason his life went to shit. (maybe he’s being a little dramatic, but let him have his oikawa moment.)

he was minding his own business when his best friend (recently turned enemy) burst through his apartment door with a piece of paper in his hand and a fire in his eyes.

“dude, look at this!” issei rolled his eyes, putting down his casket catalogue and turning to meet takahiro’s gaze.

“why hello to you too. remind me why i gave you a key again?”

“because you love me and because i bring shit like this to you. look!” with another long and suspiciously tooru-like sigh, issei took the crumpled paper from makki and immediately stopped in his tracks.

“makki... what the fuck is this?”

written in large pink letters and a flowery, borderline illegible font was the name, coffee and cunnilingus. upon further inspection and careful reading, it revealed itself to be a little cafe opening up about 10 minutes from issei’s apartment complex who were looking to hire “young, attractive men who are proficient at eating pussy.”

issei could feel his eyes narrow and his mouth drop open in shock as he repeated his question. “the fuck is this?”

makki shook his head excitedly, tapping to another portion of the flyer that matsukawa had not yet read. “no, no dude, just look at how much they’re paying per hour.” issei begrudgingly obliged but the minute his eyes touched the (Massive™) number, he felt a little faint.

it was a lot of money. more than the funeral home was paying, that’s for sure. with that kind of money he could move out of this suddenly dingy seeming apartment and into a nice flat in the city were he’d always wanted to live. maybe he could buy himself a nice watch or even a high-end suit to replace the one from his highschool graduation (aka the only suit he owns). with that kind of money, he could erase his student debt 3 years ahead of schedule and get his mom into a nicer place.

it was these thoughts that clouded issei’s head as he found himself standing in front of a cute looking building, matching the address on the flyer. i’ll only be working part time, he thought as he pushed the door open to reveal an equally impressing interior with curtained booths and a wide variety of coffee on the menu. i’m only doing it for extra money, he thought as he shook the owner’s hand after he finished his successful interview. no one can ever know, he thought as he dressed himself in the uniform on his first day.

thus began issei’s super secret side hustle where he ate women out for cash.

sounds worse when you say it outright but it was just working. he was good at it, the women liked him, and he was making BANK. still, there were challenges. some women refused to bathe before coming and he would have to send them to the restroom to freshen up which absolutely ruined his chances for a good tip. some women would become heavily infatuated with him, believing that they were in some sort of forbidden romance. he learned to turn them down quick and easy to avoid conflict in the workplace which furthered his space as a boss favorite. but his hardest challenge by far was meeting you.

you were one of hanamaki’s friends, having met him at one of his brief stints in retail on his search for a job. he had gotten fired but you both stayed in touch after he left, becoming really close, really fast.

issei had met you first when takahiro had invited you to the biweekly seijoh third-years movie night. at first, he had been pissed as an “outsider” had never been invited before and he was worried you’d ruin the vibe, especially since it was the first time in months that oikawa would be able to join them. makki vouched for you through and through and the other boys were okay with it so you were in. the second he met you, all his fears of awkwardness and discomfort faded away.

you were great.

you were hilarious, pretty, and could keep up with makki’s harsh jokes, tooru’s diva attitude, iwa’s tendency to hit (hard), and issei’s original disdain. by the end of the night, he had completely forgotten why he didn’t want you there in the first place.

from then on, you were a staple in their little friend group. you were added to the groupchat where you balanced memes with spouts of deep wisdom and you were ever so reliable, always there if any of them needed it.

yeah, you were great. that’s where the problems started.

issei’s feelings for you quickly went from platonic to romantic, faster than you can say godzilla. he hadn’t even recognized that he was falling for you until it was way too late. normally, he wouldn’t have a problem confessing to you but because of his newly found ...occupation, he was too nervous. how would you take it that he was basically a glorified prostitute? ok, that wasn’t exactly what he did but still! you’d probably find him disgusting and horrible and leave the friend group forever. then he’d have to deal with oikawa’s senseless whining and makki’s subtle digs, blaming him for your departure. yeah, he wasn’t going to put himself through that so he decided to keep his mouth shut.

too bad he didn’t have any control over makki’s.

you and takahiro had been on a little friend-date at mcdonald’s after you’d had a long and frustrating shift. you just wanted to vent, expressing your general hate for your job and desperate need for stress relief.

that’s when makki opened his (big, stupid) mouth and suggested that you visit a little place called coffee and cunnilingus. you nearly choked on your fries at the title before quickly pressing him for details. thankfully, he had the decency not to expose that issei worked there but he had not done a good enough job convincing you not to go there. not that it would’ve mattered. your curiosity was peaked and your libido was high so why not try out the weird cafe where you let a complete stranger stick his tongue inside you?

it was settled. you were going to go and you were going to get eaten out and you were going to like it!

or at least that is what you repeated in your head as you walked to the address on your phone before taking a deep breath and walking inside.

“hello, welcome to coffee and cunnilingus, how might i pleasure you this afterno— yn?” issei’s eyes widened as they met your equally bewildered ones, the both of you staring at each other in shock.

“matsukawa-san, is everything alright?” a large hand rested on issei’s shoulder, startling him out of his thoughts and forcing him to break (horrified) eye contact with you and move it onto his boss who was now looking down on him menacingly.

“y-yes sir, everything is fine!” he squeaked out, hating the way his voice cracked on his first syllable. his boss looked at him suspiciously but thankfully didn’t press.

“well, since nothing is wrong, take this beautiful young woman to a booth where you will assist her!” the hand resting on issei’s shoulder slowly squeezed, making him wince in pain. the pain was only an afterthought though to the larger implication of his boss’ words. he’s going to assist you. assist as in pleasure. pleasure as in eat you out.

holy shit, you were going to pass out.

apparently, issei had the same thought process as you, his face whitening like a sheet. “m-me? but sir i-“

“do your job matsukawa-san!” his boss cut him off with a forced smile. all issei could do was nod and silently lead you off to a closed booth near the back or lose his job. you stayed close behind him but remained quiet, absolutely terrified of breaking the silence and ruining the bubble you had created.

you finally reached the booth in question. issei gently opened the curtain and motioned for you to get it, to which you obliged and he followed just behind.

the moment the curtain closed, you were enveloped in an awkward silence and tense atmosphere, neither of you speaking or looking at one another for fear of one of you running out. after what felt like hours, you opened your mouth to speak, not realizing issei had thought the same thing.

“so-“

“i-“

you finally made eye contact with him and burst into the laughter, the tension quickly broken. it took a full minute or two for the both of you to calm down, the absurdity of the entire situation finally catching up with you.

“you first,” issei said, wiping tears from the corners of his eyes while fixing you with an intense gaze swirled with an emotion you couldn’t quite place but it made butterflies bubble up in your stomach. you quickly turned your gaze to the comfortable seat beneath you, your fingers playing with the red stitching while you thought of what you had wanted to say.

“are you any good?” your hand flew up to cover your mouth as your cheeks filled with heat, the embarrassment of your words catching up to you. you hadn’t meant to say that but when you opened your mouth to apologize, you were stopped in your tracks by the lovely sound of issei’s full-bodied laughter filling the tiny booth.

you had heard it just moments earlier but without the sound of your own giggles drowning it out, you couldn’t help but think that he sounded beautiful. you basked in the sound as it slowly trailed off back into silence. now it was you doing the staring making issei look off with a red face and a heart threatening to pound out of his chest.

“y-yeah i’m pretty good. you want to try? me, i mean?” his words nearly leave you gasping, your brain working overtime to try and comprehend what he was saying to you.

“only if y-you want to? what do you want issei?” you whispered, suddenly unable to find your voice. you wanted this to be okay for him too; you didn’t want him to be uncomfortable even though you wanted him more than you could verbally express. despite the embarrassment and fear of rejection lingering under your skin, you stared at him, awaiting his answer. a tiny minuscule nod came from him and you internally shook your head. you needed to hear him.

“i need you to say it, issei.” your words, while quiet, were firm and issei felt himself hardening in his uniform slacks. he swallowed in his increasingly drying mouth before opening his mouth to respond.

“i want to eat your pussy. can i?”

shit.

your own voice was stolen by his words and all you could give him was a nod before he was on you.

issei didn’t waste any time falling to his knees, pulling your panties down, and hiking your skirt up to your stomach, revealing your glistening folds to his hungering eyes.

“fuck, you’re so wet,” is all the warning you get before he’s licking a long stripe up you from entrance to clit before he’s sucking the hard, sensitive nub into his mouth. your eyes immediately rolled back into your head, your hips instinctively bucking up into his mouth while a gasped moan of issei left your lips.

if he could bottle your moans and use them whenever he pleased, he would, the sound sending another pulse of arousal to his already hard cock. he was tempted to reach down and pull himself out of his trousers but he denied himself. this was about you; you and your wet ass pussy.

issei continued his ministrations on your clit, circling it with his tongue before pulling it into his mouth while his hand was ready to get busy. it crept up your thigh, sending shivers down your spine until it reached your sopping entrance, two of his fingers teasing the slit before delving in to the third knuckle.

the moan you let out is borderline animalistic as your body sends another wave of slick pulsing out over his hand. he groaned into your cunt at your tightness, his mind only imagining him deep within you while you squeeze him for all he’s got.

the amount of slick you produced made it easy for him to add a third finger, thrusting them in and out while also crooking them upwards in search for your special spot that would have you seeing stars. it took him a little prodding but he knew he found it when your back arched, your hand came down into his hair, and you whimpered out a string of curses.

“that’s it baby, cmon, you’re doing so well, wanna see you come apart for me,” he all but growled against your clit before delving back in with a higher intensity, his desperation for you to come winning out his desire to tease you and drag this out as long as possible.

with his incessant pressure on your g-spot and his lips suctioned around your clit, it wasn’t long before he got what he wanted.

“isseiisseiisseiissei, i’m coming, i’m coming-oh fuck!” you screamed as you clenched and gushed all over his fingers, your entire body caving in with the intensity of your orgasm. his fingers were practically forced from your spasming cunt but they quickly found a place rubbing your nub side to side as fast as possible. the overwhelming urge to pee came over you and you shook your head, trying to push his hand away.

“no, no, give it to me, i know you can,” issei groaned, his eyes locked on your dripping pussy. the pleasure he was giving came to a head at his words and you felt a clear liquid escape from your tired, overstimulated cunt, your mouth opening in a silent moan before collapsing back on the seat.

the sight proved to be too much for issei as he felt his body tense, his own orgasm washing over him as he emptied himself into his boxers. he fell back onto the ground, in shock of himself coming entirely untouched. he’d never done it before but of course it was you that would bring it out of him. a smile spread across his face at the thought, his head tilting back as he laughed, catching the attention of your worn body.

“what’re y’laughing at?” you slurred, cringing a little at how fucked out you sounded but issei didn’t seem to mind, his face glowing while covered in your slick and cum.

“nothing, nothing, but uh, i have a question.” you felt your heart leap to your chest, your mind already racing with the possibilities. he’s going to say this was a mistake, that we’re just better off as friends. oh god, what if he says i stunk? or the worst pussy he’s ever had? or what if—

“want to go and get a coffee?” he asked, the smile still plastered on his face but with an uncharacteristic hint of shyness. the butterflies were back in your stomach as you shyly nodded before allowing him to help clean you up and standing, not missing how he slipped your lacy underwear deep into one of his pockets.

issei’s hand found its way into yours as he said goodbye to his coworkers and boss before leading you out of the cafe, watching you tell an animated retelling of the bullshit that occurred at your job with a warm grin on his face and pink cheeks.

it might not be like matsukawa issei to be embarrassed but if it resulted in getting you by his side? he would do it again and again.

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ikevamp-shrine · 3 years

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Hmm so i just had this idea, can i please request a drabble when when mc and dazai had their 'first time' ?? Naturally it would be a smut lol but i'd really appreciate it if you throw in some fluffs too, because i think making love with dazai is more goofy than a serious one! Thank you so much if you do this :)

Author: @ikevamp-shrine

Fandom: Ikemen Vampire

Character(s): Dazai, MC

Pairing: Dazai x MC

Words: 2072

Warnings: nsfw, vaginal penetration, Dazai being Dazai

Notes: So since this request says mc I’m gonna assume its referring to the in game female MC. Anyways, thank you for requesting and I hope you enjoy and forgive me for just now answering your ask. (please don’t think I’m ignoring any request that has been sent in, I just haven’t gotten around to them- they will be done at some point.)

Preview:

He traced his thumb over her bottom lip, rounding over the dip, pulling the plush pad of pink down from between her teeth. He glances up; the playful gaze gone from his eyes, instead replaced with the low burning of sizzling embers and wanton lust. He breathed in quick; her scent invaded his senses making him high on her. “Giving in to our most carnal desires, my dear.”

She swallowed thickly forcing his eyes to follow the movement of her throat. He smirked tensely. The tip of pulsating fangs caught the light as they slid from his gums. Dazai laughed lowly, his fingers wrapping around the exposed skin of her neck.

“Do you have any- “his yellowed eyes met hers, and suddenly he was all she could see- “idea... what I want to do to you?”

She opened her mouth to respond only to be cut off by a voice she had never heard the man before her use. Dangerous, lethal, lustful- a trickster warning those of his true power. “Do you have any clue to how hard it is to restrain myself from piercing your skin right now and claiming you as mine?”

“Dazai.”

He hums in response to her shaky voice, completely captivated by the parting of her lips as his face reveals nothing but an internal battle within himself. She gasped when his fingers find purchase on the soft curve of her hips, bringing their bodies flush together with a tug.

“What are we doing?” A bite of her lip has Dazai trembling.

“Do you have any- “his yellowed eyes met hers, and suddenly he was all she could see- “idea... what I want to do to you?”

“I-.” She furrowed her brows, completely at lost as to what to say.

His grip on her throat tightened as Dazai loomed over her form, his wispy breaths of whispers tickling her ear like a lonely breeze. “I want you. All of you.”

He rested his cheek on her shoulder, glancing up at her wavering eyes with need, continuing, appearing vulnerable and innocent, “you want me to... don’t you?”

She nodded, not trusting her words.

Dazai pulled away, completely ridding the girl of his touch as her hand twitched, raising to grab at the thick fabric of his clothing. He grabbed her hand, tsking while murmuring, “I’m going to need a verbal consent to be sure you understand what you’re getting yourself into.”

She panted, her eyes pleading and hands shaking. “Please Dazai. I need you.” His jaw clenched. “Did you know I’m a selfish man, my dear? I will not share.”

She pulled him to her. His silken hair dangled in the air, his hands slammed on either side of her head against the wall she was pressed to, steadying himself. Their foreheads touching, breaths mingling, and hearts yearning.

She gasped for air, her want building to unimaginable heights, “be selfish then. Take me and keep me as your own.”

Dazai stilled, his face dropping and tone depressed. “That’s unfair. You know I can’t resist when you say things like that.” He shook his head, a devilish smile appearing, his features morphing into fox like proportions.

“Ask and you shall receive, my dear,” he paused his words to lift the woman up, turning towards the bed, her legs wrapping tightly around his waist, “after all- “he laid her down on his sheets, gently tracing the buttons on her blouse, popping one open at a time- “I am nothing more than a poor writer pleased to be a servant to someone as radiant as you.”

Dazai’s lips caressed the soft skin of her exposed stomach. Chills rose along her flesh as his finger ran over the curve of her thigh, his body moving over her, his kisses leaving a burning path down her body. His hand wrapped under her knee, kneading slowly. Pushing her leg in the air, Dazai watched as her skirt slipped down the limb. His other hand gripped her hip. His face went blank. His glowing, yellow eyes observed the flush of her skin, the reddening marks he left on her stomach, the heave of her breasts that began to spill out of the cups of her bra, the plush of her lips, and the blatant need in her eyes. His head tilted. Silky bangs hiding one side of his face. He whispered, “say my name.”

She shivered when his tongue met the sensitive expanse of her calf, lapping slowly up to her ankle. “Dazai.”

His fangs nibbled at her toes; her shoes previously discarded on the floor. MC gasped, her leg jerking at the ticklish sensation.

“Who do you belong to?” Dazai growled lowly, his eyes flashing.

MC moaned as his teeth dug into the front of her ankle. “You, you- only you.”

Dazai hummed, his eyes drifting closed as he opened himself to the intense emotions and rising tension. Muscles twitched under his mouth as he tracked back down her leg, his hand sliding from her hip to the waist band of her skirt, tugging the fabric off and tossing it to the floor. Opening his eyes, lids hooded with lust, the writer inhaled sharply at the spread of her hips before him. Her hands gripped at his sheets when he descended upon the growing wet spot on her panties.

She stopped breathing, her breath catching in her throat, when the male flattened his tongue over her clothed entrance; his moan vibrating through her at the taste. Her knees bent over his broad shoulders- broader that what they appeared. She felt his muscles tense and ripple as he sucked and licked at her through her underwear, his saliva mixing with her damp want. Her legs began to tremble when sharp teeth bit the cloth of her panties; her heart fluttered dangerously as Dazai pulled them off with his lips.

He looked utterly feral as he rose above her, regal even. Majestic, powerful. Like a snake slithering around its prey, soon to wrap around its form and swallow the defenseless creature whole. Dazai flicked his tongue out to lick over the glimmering points of his fangs, still tasting MC on his lips. His skin appeared to shimmer in the candle light, his pupils dilating and nostrils flaring as he nuzzled his face into her inner thigh. His breath fanned over the apex of her thighs, his low laugh shifting through the air when he saw her clench with excitement.

“Look at how obedient you are being. Spreading yourself just for me… I might just give you a reward.” They met gazes; she felt dizzy.

Dazai’s fingers dipped into her, coating the digit as she groaned. He curled inside of her, his jaw clicking at the tightness. He already knew he would struggle with not being completely consumed by the thought of her. He pumped slowly, building her up only to push himself knuckles deep, adding another finger. She moaned louder at the sudden stretch.

Dazai’s brows furrowed with concentration and MC barely heard him speak.

“I hope the walls are thick.”

She panted, confused. “W-what?”

He glanced back up at her reddened face, murmuring, “I hope the walls are thick or our neighbors will hear every pretty moan of yours.”

Her eyes widened when he reached above her head, knocking on the wall, mind blanking as she watched the writer smile expectantly at the barrier behind her. Another knock sounded back making her blood run cold.

Dazai shifted his gaze back down at her, smirking flippantly at her baffled expression. “Not so thick after all, I guess.”

MC blushes, opening her mouth, huffing embarrassingly.

Dazai shifts, leaning back on his haunches, knees bent under him. He brings MC with him, pulling her to straddle his lap. His hands rests on her lower back as he watches her, amused at how desperately she tries to untie his clothing, her embarrassment forgotten.

Her hands shake, her whine tumbling past her teeth when the knot tightens instead of coming apart.

Dazai rubs his hands around the globe of her bottom, soothing her. The knot finally comes undone and MC slips her hands under his clothing, pushing the fabric back, relishing in the smoothness of his skin beneath her finger tips. His clothing pools on the bed, catching at his elbows making him appear as if he was a fertility god ripe for the taking.

With tensing muscles and sweat damp skin, Dazai crashes his lips onto hers, their tongues fighting for dominance. His fingers flex against her skin, his form flinching when he feels MC grip the heavy weight of his cock between her palm, pumping and squeezing. A breathless moan follows and Dazai’s head falls limp between the junction of MC’s shoulder as she jerks his manhood; her thumb rubbing over the sensitive slit, smearing what seeps out along the smoothness of his skin.

His stomach tenses, his mouth pulled into a grimace. Dazai grips MC’s wrists, stopping her, whispering shakily, “easy. I want to make this last.”

He takes a nipple within his mouth. It pebbles between his teeth, darkening as she throws her head back, scratching her nails against his scalp. He reaches between them to rub the swollen head of his cock against her clit. Her wetness drips down her thigh, dampening the cloth still trapped around Dazai’s thighs.

“Damn it, stop teasing me,” MC groans out, frustrated and impatient.

“The best things come to those who wait,” Dazai grins.

She digs her nails into his nape in warning, forcing a hiss from the writer. He glanced up at her heated eyes, smirking impishly around her nipple.

He snorts. “Ok, ok. Stop abusing this poor man.”

She breathes heavily, his tongue lapping at her chest, moving up her collar bone; he sucks at the pulse of her neck as he pushes the tip of his cock into her sopping heat. MC whimpers.

Dazai’s arm cages her, wrapping around her middle, holding her still as he slips deep within her.

“Ah! Dazai...” MC mewls, hugging his shoulder as they begin to rock together.

The writer whines at the heat gripping his cock. They lose each other in themselves. Clawing at the other’s skin in hopes of leaving a mark. They become one; feeling their bodies slide against each other, their minds fuzzy and hearts entwining.

“My dear,” Dazai growls, his fangs dropping further than they had before, his throat screaming with the need for it to be cooled by the one he craves, “I need... please, let me.”

His head is pushed back into the curve of MC’s neck as she nods at his begging, knowing and willing for him to take what he wants.

Dazai places his lips loosely over her skin, lightly brushing her with his lips, kissing delicate flesh stained with effects of his actions. Allowing his teeth to scrape against her, his eyes shoot open when she moans out.

“-close,” she mumbles, her body tensing and back arching.

He feels the tight fluttering of her walls around him as he sinks his fangs deep within her skin, holding her tight so she doesn’t rip his fangs through her flesh while she bucks wildly; waves of pleasure crashing over her, overwhelming her, dragging her down the river of ecstasy. Dazai grunts sharply, pulling himself out of her warmth to spurt thick ropes of white along the quivering planes of her stomach. Rolling his hips in the air, Dazai’s illuminated eyes grow blurry; his mind suffocating with the pleasure and the taste of his lover.

He sucks once roughly, his brows pinching together, face pained. Slowly removing his long canines from MC when she stills; her back shivered, rising and falling quickly.

She exhales when his tongue, slick with her blood, laps weakly at the puncture wounds upon her neck, helping it to heal. Exhaustion seeps deep within her bones as they bask in the aftershocks of their love making, holding each other close, her head on his chest listening to the steady thumps of his heart.

“Still with me?” Dazai questions. Euphoria makes his voice heavy and lazy.

She nods.

Dazai uses his sleeve to wipe his cum from her skin, pressing their cheeks together. He tenderly strokes her spine as he takes in the warmth of her companionship. “Stay?”

MC falls back dragging Dazai with her. They both laugh as she digs her nose into the crease of his breasts. He kisses the top of her head when she responds, her voice thick with the need for rest, their legs tangling as they slowly drift off to sleep, “always.”

Tagging @dazaiswindow @alby-rei @gallifreysperfectrose @nishtharya @robin-the-enby for saying yes on my previous post

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#ikemen vampire #ikevamp #ikemen series #ikevam #ikevam dazai #ikemen vampire dazai #ikevamp dazai #ikevam fanfiction #ikemen vampire fanfiction #ikevamp fanfiction #ikevamp fanfic #ikemen vampire fanfic #ikevam fanfic

183 notes · View notes

bleulone · 3 years

Note

i love your analysis so much! i have a question as well, like, how do you envision polin's sex scenes ? thanks for your answer (:

Hey! Thank you very much :)) I have no idea if they are that even good but I’m happy you like them. It’s just my brain tending to produce some iNsIGhiTfUL analyses though they usually end up drowned under a huge wave of stupidity and horrid spelling/grammatical mistakes XD. So, about Penelope and Colin’ sex scenes, I guess we’re getting spicy in this house 🌶. I mean, I don’t blame you. Who’s not hot for Polin ?! The steamy Polin hours have already begun and they’re legit challenging my patience. (Be still my Polin heart, be still).

Okay, without further ado, let’s talk about sex baby, shall we ? It’s a pretty long answer/meta so bear with me.

I don’t know if you’ve read Romancing Mister Bridgerton, but a quick reminder (for those who haven’t... yet), there are a bunch of iconic steamy scenes that I’m dying to watch on screen. First we have the famous “thank you” scene where Penelope, now a 28 year-old spinster, asks Colin to kiss her because she doesn’t want to die without having been kissed... then ends up thanking him— which happens to be humiliating for our 33 year-old boy because he thinks that she thinks he did it out of pity while he absolutely did not. The man definitely felt butterflies in his stomach... and in other places as well lol. We also have the ICONIC carriage scene where Colin gives Pen’s generous bosoms™ the attention they deserve. This is followed by his proposal. Later on, after the announcement of their engagement, there’s a pretty hot make-out scene on Lady Violet’s sofa. Finally, we have their first time in Colin’s bedroom, after sneaking out of their own engagement party... which leads Colin to push the wedding date forward. At this point, I just love their horniness, especially Colin’s who’s just so freaking amazed by Penelope for more than 300 pages straight (duh! who isn’t ???).

When you say envision, I suppose you mainly refer to the way those scenes will be filmed right ? I’m afraid I don’t have an advanced knowledge in film-making but let me start by telling you what elements need to be depicted. I would love Shonda and Chris to capture the real essence of our boos’ feelings : the yearning, the love, the respect and the guilt (specifically on Colin’s side) in their eyes. The more we move forward throughout the seasons, the more we see different layers of the perceptions of they have of each other, going from a childish idealization/immature ignorance to a sudden realization. A mature one. Penelope goes beyond the facade of the charming devil-may-care guy to meet the seriousness and temper of her significant other. Meanwhile Colin discovers how confident, powerful and attractive this woman is and always has been. It echoes what I’ve written about the importance of the gaze in Polin’s love story in this meta. By the time season 4 hits, man... their heart eyes and eye-fucking will jump OUT XD, all fibers of their beings, burning with need. The fact that this evolution took literally years is very emotionally painful, which is why I find it important to keep the slowness aspect of their relationship before and during their love making. I’m really looking forward a slow build-up toward their intimacy. It would differ from Daphne and Simon who merely shared one hell of a kiss in Lady Trowbridge’s garden then shared their sexy times after they married or Anthony and Siena’s rough sex... In fact, there’s a certain (sweet) ardent tenderness in Polin I like due to the fact that they’re slowly (re)discovering each other, as adults. Since they were both introduced in season 1, the audience will have all the time in the world to notice numerous evidences of the many natures of love they have for one another : from an affectionate and friendly love to a more carnal and enduring one.

Okay so, in terms of filming, with Netflix’s Bridgerton being a show which promotes the female gaze, it wouldn’t be that much of a surprise watching those sex scenes being shot from Penelope’s perspective, like it was the case with Daphne in the first installment of the series. Most of the time, sex scenes in Historical Romance are not gratuitous. Their presence serve an important purpose in a hero/heroine’s journey. In Penelope’s case, they’re here to help her learn to embrace and love herself. In other words, sexuality is synonym of freedom. I don’t know if they’ll show a lot of skin, but I won’t be complaining considering the fact that we’ll have the chance to get a chief kiss treat on screen : a plus size woman in a major successful Netflix period drama getting a love story as romantic and steamy as other more “fit” female characters. No, your weight doesn’t prevent you from being desirable at all. As far as I’m concerned, I haven’t watched a plus-size female character portrayed as an attractive protagonist in a period drama (please if you have, let me know, I can be wrong). Having a beautiful half bare curvy body like Nicola’s being equally filmed like numerous slim actresses will be so inspiring and powerful to watch, especially for (young) women who struggle, like Penelope, to love their body shape which, to them, doesn’t “fit” the “beauty standards”. By showing her female gaze and portraying her as seductive, Pen’s “supposed” imperfections transform themselves into mighty assets, loved and worshipped by our dashing Mister Bridgerton. That’s body positivity at its finest darling ;).

It will be deliciously erotic watching the undressing process being exquisitely slow, garment by garment, while their gaze are all heated and hungry. Their sex/make-out scenes should be tender and passionate, sweet and raw. The lightning, colored by a dark blood orange yellow or a blue depending the locations^^. Moreover, the depiction of the exploration of Penelope’s desire can translate itself thanks to multiple close ups. For instance, I can imagine a few ones on Pen’s fingers gently roaming over the smooth skin of Colin’s firm chest and back/touching his hair right after he removed his shirt. And a disheveled Colin letting his hands and lips making a journey of their own, mapping, conquering the alluring unknown territory that is her gorgeous voluptuous body... kissing her on the places he knows oh too well will give her pleasure (is this me wanting him to go down on her?— um yeah I sure hope it IS! If he doesn’t, trust me imma riot... AGAIN). Even a close up on her face while Colin is performing his addictively pleasing torment will be a marvelous proof of the female gaze. By the way, why not even adding a post-coital scene after their first time ? I can picture Penelope waking up first and contemplate her handsome soon-to-be husband. She’d bring her hand to his face and let it travel all around his forehead, his cheeks, his lips, his neck and let it rest on his heart— making sure that what she’s just experience was real... obviously, Colin will wake up in the process and he’ll take this as his cue to go for another round of sexy times under the sheets.

Showing Pen reaction is essential according to me because she was stuck with the idea that she would never experience the luxury of being loved, giving pleasure nor receiving it... she ended up being happily wrong. Throughout her multiple intimate encounters with Colin, I want her to progressively realizes that she can be an active partner. In the carriage, she knew she had an effect on him, but it’s not until their first time that she actually realizes it. Hence the reason why I WANT the mirror’s introduction in one of their sex scenes. Here’s as a little reminder an excerpt from chapter 18 :

“I want to see you sitting up," he groaned, "so I can see them full and lovely and large [about Pen’s breasts]. And then I want to crawl behind you and cup you." His lips found her ear and his voice dropped to a whisper. "And I want to do it in front of a mirror."

“Now?” she squeaked.

He seemed to consider that for a moment, then shook his head. "Later," he said, and then repeated it in a rather resolute tone. "Later.”

It would be such a shame if the show doesn’t use the incredible potential of this object (/kink). I mean, the symbolism is pretty clear. Penelope has always fled her “ugly” reflection but it seems like Colin wants to show the real her, the beauty that holds every single inch her alabaster skin and the effects they have on him. Thus, I would love to watch a scene where Colin just praises the alluring goddess and siren that is Penelope Featherington. Just imagine! Just IMAGINE the power of this scene : a shirtless Colin sitting behind her on a bed, meeting her gaze in the mirror, his lips touching her right ear, biting and licking the lobe sometimes, whispering all kinda of dirty yet poetic words to her while letting his hands caress her thighs, her hips, her arms, her lovely bosoms™... oof. At the same time, a wonderful and harmonic instrumental music will play in the background and match the melodic partition of shudders, breathes and moans let out by our lovers. I can imagine Luke inspiring himself from his performance in the 2019 short film, Youth In Bed. The way he conveyed the awe and the yearning on his face, in his eyes with his mouth slightly open when he knelt before his partner Shun Yin was just captivating and— and so Colin! I cannot help but bring myself to picture Ethan, the character he played in YIB, in a Polin steamy scene. I cannot unsee this anymore jsksk. I mean, all this gifset radiates this book4chapter18!Colin, you cannot tell me otherwise!

Also, I would love Shonda and Chris to keep Pen and Colin’s cute/emotional pillow talk. One thing I really love in JQ’s books is the concern she gives to her male protagonists about potentially hurting their partner during the act of penetration. Colin is a rake, and what his experience with women taught him is that he needs to be very gentle with the love of his life. It was so adorable seeing him not wanting to harm her and asking her to tell him if he does anything she doesn’t like 🥺. Plus, before actually doing it, Colin and Penelope shared a few kisses and just laid down side by side, confessing their love. Though our boy kept feeling guilty about not returning her love after all these years. He desires nothing but to make up for the lost time and show his love and desire during this special intimate moment. I hope they’ll keep all of chapter 18’s dialogue. It’s just so telling of our boos’ feelings, you see.

All in all, I can’t wait to watch those Polin steamy scenes. As much as I may sound crazy, I want them after two other seasons of pure pining and yearning in order to have a very good payoff. I’m not an expert on depicting intimacy on screen, but I loved so far what Lizzy Talbot, the intimacy coordinator who worked on the show, have done in season 1. Sex scenes in Bridgerton seem very real and dive you in the intimacy of the moment, leaving you all flustered and hot. So probs to her! I have faith in her work and have no doubts about what her and the directors will serve us in future seasons. Though, in the end, I think it’s mostly up to the actors, Nicola and Luke, to see if they’re comfortable filming sex scenes.

If you guys have any suggestions or wishes for those steamy polin scenes, please do share them :) by commenting on this post or by sending me asks! I’d love reading your thoughts/take on this very important matter ;))

#bleulone answers #meta and gush #polin #colin x penelope #bridgerton #colin bridgerton #penelope featherington #polin meta #ask #anon #luke newton #julia quinn #nicola coughlan

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angstyaches · 3 years

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my fatal flaw is loving fluff more than whump, but i love whumpy nightmare scenarios…? so…what about charlie having a bad nightmare again, either due to being sick or resulting in getting sick, and being so distressed that he has to call shayne? the reverse scenario (shayne calling charlie) would also be so good but i feel like he’d be more hesitant to do that 🤧 i’m imagining lots of shaking and shaky breathing and self-loathing remedied just a little with some physical comfort? like being held idk. ANYWAY this is my request hehe

I spent ages trying to figure out a scenario where Charlie could call Shayne and Shayne could actually get to him, but when they’re apart, it’s hard for Shayne to spontaneously decide to go to Charlie’s. I could have swapped Shayne in for the sickie but I wanted to do Charlie. Sooo, the comfort is mostly verbal, although Charlie recalls physical comfort from the past. I'm sorry if it's not what you had in mind! Feel free to request more nightmare whump anytime, because I adore it.

The events of this fic are referenced (sorry for the first-person POV lol I was trying something out when I started this blog)

CW: nightmare, emeto, crying, anxiety, brief referenced past violence and blood.

___

It was the middle of the night, and the only thing Charlie could hear was the sound of the toilet tank refilling. That, and the tiny gasps that escaped him every now and then as he tried to catch his breath.

His stomach muscles were practically on fire from clenching, and he was still getting his breath back as he leaned against the side of the bath and held his phone to his ear.

The light bounced against the tiles and burned his eyes, but it was better than the dark. The dark had sprouted wings in his dream, along with a set of claws.

Charlie gasped and shook his head, burying it quickly between his knees and trying to get the image out of his head. His spine felt like his skin was crawling all over it.

“Charlie?”

His heart felt like it was going to slip up his throat at the sound of Shayne’s voice on the phone. He had to clamp a hand over his mouth to stop himself from whimpering with sheer relief. He hadn’t quite acknowledged it, but part of him had been terrified that Shayne wouldn’t answer the phone at all.

He’s okay…

“H-hey.” Charlie cringed at how badly his voice was shaking, and it echoed against the empty bathroom shelves just like his retching and coughing had done a few minutes ago. “I’m – I’m sorry.”

“Hmm? What’re you sorry for?” Shayne mumbled on the other end of the phone.

“You were probably sleeping, I – I just…” Charlie rubbed at his eyes, desperate to get them dry. Nausea was still trickling lightly through his stomach, and he wondered if he’d have to rush back to the toilet bowl sometime soon.

“What’s wrong, what happened?”

“I got sick…” Charlie pulled his legs up to his chest, resting his forehead against his bare knees. His voice almost disappeared completely down his throat. “I… don’t feel well.”

“Shit. I thought you were finished with all that.”

It took Charlie a moment to realise that Shayne was referring to the food poisoning Charlie had accidentally given himself (and Rin) the day before yesterday.

He swallowed thickly, pulling a face at the memory. He’d felt so much better before going to bed; in fact, he’d been starving, his body feeling hollow and achy after purging itself for a day and a half. He’d cooked an entire bag of chicken nuggets from the freezer, made himself four slices of toast, finished off a tub of Ben and Jerry’s, and had gone to bed feeling blissfully better.

He struggled to find a way to gently tell Shayne that the problem that had woken him at 4am had less to do with his stomach and more to do with his brain.

Although the amount of heavy food in his belly admittedly may have contributed somewhat.

“Charlie, you okay?”

He started a bit, realising he hadn’t replied in a while. “I’m – no. Not really,” he whispered, a sharp sob jerking his ribs and scraping at his throat.

“Put me on the, um, the video thing.”

The phone jingled beside Charlie’s ear, telling him that Shayne was requesting a video call. Charlie made an attempt to clean his face off with his pyjama top before accepting it, propping the bottom of his phone against his knee.

“You know, you sound sixty when you call it ‘the video thing’,” he said, trying to sound upbeat.

“Really?” Shayne narrowed his eyes into a glare as soon as he appeared on Charlie’s screen. “Would you say that to my face if it was actually this close to you?”

Charlie managed a weak smile. Some of the tension bled out of him just at the sight of his boyfriend and his sleepy brown eyes. His chin wobbled uncontrollably as emotions swelled in his belly and chest. “I wish it was this close to me.”

“Yeah. Me, too.” Shayne folded one arm behind his head and leaned back against his pillow. His room was mostly dark, but he seemed to be lying on his back. “Wait, are you real-crying? Not just throwing-up-crying?”

Charlie sighed shakily, rushing to rub away the tears that had sneaked up on him. He felt his lips quiver as he tried to keep the smile from turning into a grimace.

“Did you have a bad dream?”

Charlie gulped and nodded. “How could you tell?”

“Give me some credit. I feel like I know you pretty well by now.”

Charlie’s eyes were drawn towards the shrunken image of himself in the top-right corner of the screen, and tried to hold back even more tears. In his own – admittedly warped – opinion, he looked about as disgusting as he felt. He hated that he felt trapped in front of the camera, forcing Shayne to look at him in this state.

“Charlie,” Shayne murmured, his eyes softening in the light of his bedside lamp. “Talk to me, yeah?”

“They’re get – they’re getting worse,” Charlie breathed, burying his face in one hand. It felt a little silly to keep his phone held steady in the other, camera trained on himself even as he covered his eyes and wept, but he didn’t want to cast Shayne aside either. He peered out over the top of his hand, still covering his mouth to try to keep the volume under control.

“I know, but they’re just dreams, remember? They’re not real.”

A gag pulled at Charlie’s throat and he had to shut his eyes. But it was real…

“Deep breaths,” Shayne said, his tone in complete contrast to Charlie’s sobs. “You want to count back from ten with me? Sometimes I need some help. I can get to nine, and then I just get confused.”

Charlie almost laughed through the tears. He wondered if he should have been insulted by Shayne’s attempt to use Charlie’s own method on him. He decided to humour him though, rasping out numbers while thinking that it would never work because he was thinking too hard about it, but by the time they got to zero, he was able to take a breath without his chest hitching.

Shayne said nothing for a few seconds, watching to see what Charlie would do next. He frowned when Charlie shuddered harshly, making the picture wobble.

“You cold?”

Charlie nodded.

“Then go get into bed, idiot.”

He did his best to keep his phone elevated as he walked, but in his exhausted state, Charlie probably gave Shayne a prime view of the stubble under his chin as he made his way back to bed. He shakily propped his phone on the nightstand, next to Vincent the teddy bear, and went to grab a fresh t-shirt from the drawer. He’d sweat through the one he’d fallen asleep in, ruining it even before it had vomit and tears on it.

He finally crawled into bed, his stomach letting out a hollow, unhappy groan as it settled into the new position. Charlie groaned too, reaching out to take his phone in his hand again. He hated how the bedside light made his face look haggard and washed-out.

“All good?” Shayne asked.

“All good,” Charlie slurred, his eyes drooping already. “I miss you, though.”

“I miss you too, love.”

Charlie pulled his blanket tightly around himself, keeping one arm outstretched with his phone so that he and Shayne could still see one another. His sheets had cooled down a lot since he’d flung himself out from between them earlier, and after crouching on the tiles for so long, it was nice to be surrounded by something soft and pleasant.

Shayne tilted his head slightly as they both lay in silence for a moment, just looking into each other’s eyes through their cameras. “How’s the nausea?”

“A little better,” Charlie sighed. “My tummy just kind of hurts.”

Shayne clicked his tongue. “Fuck. I wish I was there with you right now.”

“No.” Although his chest panged with longing for the same thing, Charlie shook his head. “You’re better – you’re safer there, and I don’t –”

The whoosh of dark, leathery wings in the night and the splatter across the hardwood flashed in Charlie’s memory. In the dream, the blood had been Shayne’s; Charlie had watched as Watson had torn his heart right out of his chest before dragging the rest of him away into the sky.

In reality, the blood had been mostly Charlie’s; he’d cut his hands on the broken glass left behind by Watson’s exit through the window.

“Lately, I just…” Charlie swallowed sickly. “I can’t stop thinking about that – that night, remember? When Watson came to my room to find you?”

Shayne fell silent for a moment, seemed to shift position slightly. “Mmhmm.”

“I was dreaming about – about that, but… worse.”

“He won’t come for you,” Shayne said. He seemed like he was gritting his teeth. “If he or Madelyn even try to get near that house, they’ll –”

“I know.” Charlie chewed the inside of his lip. He ducked his face below the blanket and quickly dabbed at fresh tears that were starting to form. “But I was so… I was so useless, Shayne, I knew I could have stopped him, but I didn’t, I was frozen solid, I –”

“Ssshhh…” Shayne whispered, the sound crackling gently through the phone’s speaker. “Charlie, love, come out.”

Teeth chattering in his head, Charlie sniffled from under the blanket.

“Please, I want to see you.”

When he crinkled the blanket into his fingers and revealed just the top half of his face to the camera again, Charlie wished he hadn’t gone into detail about the dream at all. Not only did he look like a mess, now he sounded like one, too. He felt himself blush when Shayne’s eyes lit up on the screen, realising Charlie had come out from behind the blanket.

“You know what I think of when I think of that night?”

Charlie swallowed thickly, shaking his head.

“I think about the way you let me fall asleep on your bed, even though I was being an asshole to you.”

He couldn’t help nuzzling his head against the pillow where Shayne’s head had been that night, while Charlie had sat lengthways with Shayne’s legs across his lap. He’d had crazy butterflies in his stomach, barely able to believe that his crush had shown up in the middle of the night, unconsciously looking for comfort from him.

“It was the first night we fell asleep together, too,” Shayne said.

Without realising it, Charlie had slid one hand around the side of his own neck, fingers running lightly through the hair at the back of his head. Shayne had never touched him before that night either, but he’d ran his fingers through his hair as though he’d been doing it for years. Light shivers of pleasure trickled over Charlie’s skin. The panicked pounding in his chest was starting to slow. “That’s true...”

“You’re anything but useless,” Shayne murmured, turning onto his side and adjusting the angle of his phone. His eyes were starting to close. “I think that’s what my point was. I forgot.”

Charlie gave a light, breathy laugh which was cut off by a deep yawn. He hid his face from the camera again, to avoid giving Shayne a view of his tonsils this time. By the time he looked at the screen again, Shayne was struggling to keep his eyes open, but neither of them said anything.

They never found out whose phone dropped out of whose hand first.

#StW Charlie #nightmare mention #emeto #emeto mention #sickfic #emeto sickfic #nightmare whump #whump fic #hurt and comfort #Swallow the World #angst fic #nightmare sickfic #fic length #long fic

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angelicmichael · 4 years

Text

Imminient Annihilation Sounds so Dope, Chapter Eight.

Michael Langdon x reader

Summary: Reader gets to take care of a overly drunk Michael and attempts to make the most of the situation.

Words: 2.3K+

Warnings: Throwing up, someone being super drunk lol and passing out.

A/N: Sorry I haven’t updated this in forever! Lol. I hope y’all like this 🥺 I wrote the first half to this over two months ago so.. I feel like the first half sucks but I’m proud of the ending! Lol. Please reblog or heart if you enjoy ♥️

Previous Chapter

Next Chapter

Today you learned how much you preferred dealing with drunk Michael than sober Michael. Even though drunk Michael had thrown up at least two times in the past hour, but at least in this state he seemed to go mute. Michael being sloppily drunk seemed to make him not sloppy at all but more like very relaxed, less taunting, not so fucking mean and most importantly; not threatening or trying to kill you.

You two were currently in his hotel, which naturally, was another nice penthouse. It was nearly painfully easy to find directions to his hotel by ‘hacking’ into his phone, and you were surprised to see how.. unlike him his hotel looked. You were expecting candles and pentagrams but there only seemed to be folded fluffy white towels and a neatly made bed instead. You guessed he just arrived here today, since the hotel literally looked untouched.

There was a black bag in the room which you could only presume was his, and a couple bottles of dark red wine were littered around his bed. The manner in which the light reflected off of the bottles told you that the bottles were empty; which meant Michael was a hell of a lot more drunk than you had previously thought.

Michaels penthouse was unlike the own he owned in L.A. This one was large and spacious, the floor plan was open execpt one room; which you presumed was the bathroom. It had a nice view also, which was the one similar feature both of his penthouses held. The room was sleek and black execpt for the shockingly white sheets of the bed and curtains, and the towels of course.

You and Micheal both sat in the bathroom currently. He sat on the floor next to the toilet whilst you sat on the wall adjacent to where he was sitting, next to the bathtub. He was shirtless, which was your idea actually. Only because the less clothes he had to get vomit on the better.

Your phone was on the ground next to you, which frequently illuminated the room since the lights were kept dimmed. You figured there was no need for harsh lights since it seemed to just be irritating Michael. You knew Mallory was the one sending you texts, she was basically the only one who texted you in the first place - even before you met Michael. You felt it was better to not look at your phone at the moment though, Mallory could wait a few hours. Michael was the one who truly needed your attention at the moment.

You weren’t sure why you felt so compelled to be nice to Micheal and take care of him like this. Maybe it was because you felt so guilty for hurting Madison.. this was really the only way you knew how to pay him back for doing that.

You knew hands down he would never do anything like this for you. In fact, Madison and Micheal himself tried to kill you a mere couple days ago but things were different then.. right? Maybe it was just you being delusional but you felt like ever since you established you were stronger than Micheal; the dynamic changed between you two.

Although; you couldn’t help but to feel sad, or almost nostalgic for this moment. You knew this would only moment where you would have the chance to have a heart to heart with Michael or tell him what was truly on your mind. It didn’t really matter was you said to him at this point, he was so drunk - there was no way he would remember it tomorrow.

However, Micheal wasn’t talking much at the moment and you didn’t really mind that. You didn’t blame him for being quiet since he was incredibly sick, but it also disappointed you a bit since he was the only one you felt like talking too. He was the only one that might get or understand how you were feeling, you could only imagine he felt dissapoinyed you were his soulmate as well. He was in love with Madison, head over heels. So you took a chance, and you spoke.

“Michael, are you awake”? You asked.

He was bent over the toilet and you couldn’t exactly see if his eyes were open or not. His hands were on the rim of the toilet seat and his head rested on his hands, he nearly looked asleep. However when you spoke he sat up suddenly, with a dazed look in his eyes.

“Wassup”? He slurred.

You swallowed, you knew this would be the only opportunity to ‘attempt’ to have a heart to heart with Michael. You would probably never get this kind of opportunity again but you were nervous. It was irrational though because Micheal would never remember this conversation. You had nothing to really be scared of.

You broke eye contact and stared at your feet briefly as you spoke, and then looked at him again.

“Michael.. I’m sorry for what happened to Madison”. You said quietly.

You waited for him to do or even to say something but he just sat there, as if he didn’t really process what you just said. You shouldn’t have been surprised at his reaction, he was still very drunk after all. You quickly continued to keep talking, which ended up just coming out as you rambling.

“Well, I mean I was just defending myself. I’m not sorry for doing that but I’m sorry for how out of hand it got. It wasn’t my intention to hurt her I was just scared-“ You tried to keep going but Michael interrupted you.

“I know”. He said suddenly, looking into your eyes with a far-off, almost dead look in his eyes.

You knew it was probably because he was drunk but the way he was looking at you, made you feel incredibly uncomfterable.. Almost on edge.

His words made your skin crawl as well. If he really knew how you felt, if he had any empathy for you then he wouldn’t have literally tried to kill you with his girlfriend. You sat up a bit straighter and stretched a bit before replying and looking at him again.

“Michael you don’t know. If you really knew how I felt then you wouldn’t have tried to kill me-“

You immeaditly stopped talking once you realized Michael swiftly bent his back over the toilet and was gripping the edges of it for dear life as he threw his guts up - once again.

You managed to scramble over to him insanely fast, not really knowing what exactly to do - touching or rubbing his back seemed to intimate so you settled for just sitting next to him and making sure he didn’t choke on his own vomit. Every time he threw up, you could feel your heart skip a beat - you hated how you were concerned for him but yet, you just kind of wanted him to be okay.

He let go of the toilet and sat back suddenly which made you back off a bit as he looked at you as if he didn’t even notice how close you were. He was breathing heavy, extremely out of breath from being sick and there were tears in his eyes. Most likely from how exhausted he was from throwing up. In between his heavy breaths, he managed to throw out a,

“I’m sorry”. His words came out cold and sudden but yet; held a hint of sincereness to them.

You didn’t know what exactly what Michael was referring too, if he was sorry for the incident that had occurred with Madison or for the fact he had just thrown up. Either way, you knew not to take him too seriously - he was drunk. He didn’t necessarily mean anything he was saying. They were simply words with no meaning. Still, you couldn’t help but feel empathetic toward him. You looked at him, into his hazy blue eyes as you next spoke.

“It’s okay”. You replied softly.

You stayed silent for a couple of moments that, in reality probably only lasted a few minuets but felt like hours. You didn’t bother to move away; you now sat a couple feet away from him. It didn’t take long at all for the silentness of the bathroom to drive you mad, the sound of the bathroom vent seemed to become deafening to the point where you couldn’t take it anymore. Being silent like this was silly, being quiet and alone with your thoughts when you really didn’t have to be when Michael was here - was purely idiotic. So you chose to speak again. Just sitting in his bathroom waiting for him to throw up again seemed to be painfully unbearable.

“Michael.. why are you doing this? Why did you get painfully wasted”? You asked, with a slight giggle.

Your not sure what exactly you were expecting, maybe some witty or snarky comeback but he sounded defeated in the words he decided to use next.

“Take a guess”. He mused.

Maybe it was just a figment of your imagination or perhaps the haziness of being extremly tired had started to take over, but you could swear that Michael had stopped slurring his words. Almost seeming to speak completely coherently.

You sat their puzzled as you licked your lips and noticed your mouth was growing exceptionally dry as you tried to find a response. You really had no idea why Michael seemed to have a sudden change of heart and was even attempting to befriend you? It really made no sense.

“Your trying to kill me again”. The words came out before you even processed or thought about what you were about to say but you kept talking.

“You befriending me; this whole ‘ploy’ of you being nice to me is just good acting. You don’t care about me - you proven that far too many times Michael. Your just getting close to me so you can try to kill me again”. You said, emotion thick within your voice and tears even started to gather in your eyes by the time you were done with your little speech.

You stared down at your feet in shame, not daring to look Michael in the eyes. Your breath was hitched in your throat; you stopped breathing, it wasn’t necessarily a choice but you knew that if you took another breath you would end up sobbing. Admitting all of this, your deep insecurities to Michael - even if he was drunk - was already too much vulnerability for you.

After sitting like that for a moment, you started to feel extremely lightheaded - as if the world was spinning from the lack of oxygen when you suddenly felt strongly compelled to look up - and you did so.

You let go of the breath you were holding in so tightly when you noticed Michael had crawled towards you, and was now sitting terribly close to you. Too close.

His legs were drawn up near his chest and he looked at you curiously. Your notion of him being sober was clearly false, that was easy to tell now that you were looking at him up close. The way in which his eyes could barely stay focused and his mannerisms told you he clearly still had alcohol in his system. He continued to look puzzled as he spoke.

“Who hurt you like that, to make you think that way”? Michael asked.

You could tell by the way that he spoke that his words were genuine but you couldn’t help it as you felt anger boil in your veins. Was he that naive?

“What would you say, if I said it was you that did”? You words came spitting out as if you were breathing fire.

Michael looked around the room for a second as he lazily laughed. Your thoughts of him being sober seemed to come back to you, it was odd how he seemed to act like his sober self one minuete and drunk the next. You supposed it was just another thing you would never understand about him.

“Me? I barely know you”! Michael said, the words stifling with laughter. His laughter seemed to echo throughout the room until it seemingly was the only thing you could fucking hear and you had enough. You were more powerful than Michael, he did NOT get to talk down to you or mock you like this.

You would be the fucking supreme, and if you really wanted too, you could probably even kill him if you had no morals but it lucky for him, you weren’t a sociopath.

You quickly shot up so that you were on your two feet - standing up so fast that your head started to spin lightly again. You noticed how Michaels eyes were on you now as he watched as you tried to navigate yourself out of the bathroom as you were now incredibly light headed.

“Wait, where are you going”? You heard Michael ask as you turned around away from him.

You knew realistically he could only be barely a foot or so away but his voice sounded echoey and far away - almost like he was in another room. You also couldn’t help but giggle at his choice of words - that was definetly drunk Michael talking again.

At first you weren’t planning on responding to him but just as your hand found the door handle you whipped your head around - just enough to make eye contact.

“I never should’ve came back here with you. This was a fucking mistake. I should’ve known that you would never change”. You growled out.

You turned your body and your head back around quickly, but as you grabbed the door handle you felt the room spin faster and faster and you felt incredibly unsteady - until you finally lost your footing and fell backwards onto the hardwood floor.

Taglist: @mindlesschicca @mina672 @michaellangdonstanaccount @langdonsexual @jimmason @blakewaterxx @thewarriorprincessxo @theneverendinghunger @dark-mei-rose

#my works #my fic #imminient annihilation sounds so dope #AHS #fanfic #fan fiction #Michael Langdon #Michael Langdon x reader #Michael x reader #I felt like I should use my normal taglist on this fic so that’s why I did so lmao #I know everyone doesn’t read this fic!#also I’m laughing cause I feel like Reader always has a mental breakdown every chapter dhdkdjs #I really hope you guys like this tho!!

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notemily · 2 years

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The Witcher episode 3:

Ah, a Witcher who is not Geralt of Rivia! He does not have white hair, which means white hair is not a Witcher thing. He also does not seem to have yellow eyes. He looks like a human, except he has the same wolf token that Geralt does. A boy says that some kind of wolf monster got him. The boy dies. The Witcher isn't doing so well either.

Geralt is with some gurl, who is tracing his scars and singing Jaskier's songs about them. Jaskier has been busy!

"Shouldn't you know when someone's pretending?" Oooh

The whore says that the other Witcher "took the coin and ran." Hm.

Temeria: Realm of monsters and cowardly kings. Or so says the sign.

Someone's talking about a strike to force the king to act against the monster. Or maybe to kill the king. Geralt wants to kill the monster and take payment after it's done, as an apology for his guild. Can't have the guild getting a bad name.

"What if you can't kill it?" "Then I die," says Geralt, like it's obvious.

The king's dudes are escorting Geralt to the edge of the kingdom when they all fall off their horses. It's the king's witch, who wants Geralt to save the monster. A twist!

The monster might be the heir to the throne?

Oh, I see. The monster killed the first Witcher, and they didn't want anyone to know that it had done that, because Witchers are very hard to kill, so they hid the body and let everyone think the guy had run off. Geralt is not happy about this. He diagnoses the monster from the fact that it ate the heart and liver.

Meanwhile, Yennefer and her boy are getting it on with a whole bunch of people watching. Is this a weird dream? Oh no, it was an illusion.

Yennefer is going to get pretty? Some dude calls her a "first draft." Whatever.

Teal Witch says she can remake herself on her own terms now that she's a sorcerer.

Uh oh. Was the king fucking his sister?

The king accuses Geralt of having no emotions. He is not happy with the implication that he fucked and/or murdered his sister.

We get a glimpse at a council of mages, which refers to Calanthe as a princess. Is this out of time order? Isn't Calanthe the queen we already saw die?

They discuss sending Yennefer to Nilfgaard. Yennefer is not happy with this.

"You were told to leave Temeria." "But come on, these views." Lol, I like Geralt.

Geralt and the sorceress sneak into the Forbidden Wing of the castle to find clues. Geralt is pretty sure the king was fucking his sister.

Apparently the king and queen's mother cursed them for their relationship.

"Your scent was on her sheets. Old ones... And new ones." Wow, Geralt has magic nose powers. He can smell that the dude was in Adda's bed. Gross.

Geralt punches him. Fair.

Yennefer is not happy with her boy. They have a fight.

Oh, I get the timing now. What the council of mages did might have had an effect on what is happening with the Witcher now. I don't know how far the time skip is, but it's at least a couple of decades.

Yennefer demands to be made pretty. "Don't be foolish, you can't be awake during the procedure." Yennefer says she can.

Geralt is like, I don't really have to fight ALL the king's men, do I? I'm telling you, someone needs to adapt Riyria. Hadrian with his two handed bastard sword would be a hit.

"This isn't my first time trying to save a princess that others saw as a monster."

"For all it brightens, love casts long shadows." Yeah especially if you love your sister dude

Yennefer's cost to being beautiful is she will be barren. Hmm. That's not a great trope, but neither is her becoming beautiful in the first place.

Oh so the Witcher's eyes go dark when they're hunting?

"You'd leave a man to die in such indignity?" "You're not a man." What is he then? Well, whatever he's supposed to be, he's dead now.

Geralt tries silver chains, which make the striga's skin smoke, but she breaks them like they're nothing. "Fuck." Indeed!

Meanwhile, cosmetic surgeon mage is doing something in Yennefer's, uh, gynecological region. Why the fuck does he need to be there??? Oh, oh I see. She literally sacrifices her uterus and ovaries for beauty. That's fucked up.

Yennefer screams in pain as her body twists. Geralt and the striga fight. Geralt has a set of brass knuckles shaped like wolf heads. Nice.

Did Geralt actually get into the crypt to keep the striga from occupying it? Hardcore.

As Yennefer is transformed, so is the striga, even though these events are happening years apart. They both wake up naked. The striga bites Geralt, and he collapses, blood trickling from his mouth. Uh oh.

Meanwhile Yennefer has become beautiful. I guess.

What will the princess's name be? Like, you claw your way out of your mom's grave, you don't really get named. I hope she gets to pick. I hope we see her again.

We check in on Princess C at the end. She's sleeping on the bare snowy ground, but she wakes up and goes in a direction, following a whispering voice. Dara, panicked, runs after her, and then realizes he's on some kind of horrible battlefield, with skeletons all around. An arrow pierces him and he falls. Noooo! I liked the elf boy! Meanwhile the voices urge Princess Ciri into the forest. What is happening???

episode 1 - episode 2 - episode 3 - episode 4 - episode 5 - episode 6 - episode 7

#the witcher #witcher 1x03 #i am so bad with names #now i understand why the television without pity people gave everyone weird nicknames #listen i just don't like the becoming beautiful thing because i think we need more disabled heroes #and more ugly heroes frankly

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illusion-reality-steve · 3 years

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Here’s a reference sheet for my design/version of Memory Steve (specifically RRFF!Memory, from that one fanfic I keep talking about)

I've drawn Memory a few times before. I changed his design a lot throughout the 2 years I've drawn Steve Saga art. You can see the older designs on my Steve Saga tumblr blogs. Anyways, this is my current iteration of his design

Design notes:

I imagine Memory as a tall, broad-shouldered man. Since it’s really hard to escape him and his memory-erasing powers, I like to imagine him as a huge force of power that you can’t dodge. Also, he’s an archer in RRFF and does a lot of work as a minion, so he has upper body muscle and several scars, though he isn't as muscular as my design of Elemental Steve.

He has a lot of scars on his hands. If you read Chp 16 of RRFF, you know why :)

He. Has. Freckles.

I've always noticed that his Minecraft skin's face looks "speckled," I don't think it's accurate because of shading (then again, I don’t have a professional understanding of shading). So instead of shading, my mind interprets it as just speckles. So I decided to pay homage to that look by giving my boi freckles.

My boi also has a mole next to his eyebrow. That mole is a shoutout to this pixel in particular:

When I design characters, I really like to create contrast in the designs. So I became obsessed with the idea of making Memory look spooky with his mask on, but cute with his mask off. Spooky, dapper exterior. Precious, adorable interior.

I struggled to figure out a hairstyle to match Memory's character. Eventually, I decided to give him with coily hair. I thought it would be interesting to make his hair shaped like a spiral, since he's associated with spirals. But as I experimented with that, I realize that coily hair is too organic to be shaped into a strict shape. So I decided to keep the coily hair as vaguely spiral-shaped, then add an undercut with a spiral-pattern to make the motif more obvious.

"Stress, his hair is too POOFY. How does he fit all that hair into that balaclava? You can see that his head is FLAT when he wears the balaclava. Where did the hair go?" Memory can teleport, and he can transform doors into portals to the Memory Dimension. He has powers that manipulate space. I'm pretty sure he enchanted his balaclava to make it bigger on the inside, with enough space to fit his hair in. This is the Galaxy family. If one member of that family was gonna break the laws of space and time in the name of fashion, Memory has to be the one.

Speaking of fashion, let me talk about his clothes next. Of course, he wears that suit. I made the coat double-breasted since quick research told me that double-breasted coats fit better for broad-shouldered men. I ditched the brownish-gray for a dark purplish-gray color palette, because a) I can and b) I liked how the purple went with the red tie and reddish brown skin/hair.

In my previous designs, Memory only wore the spiral mask and the gloves, meaning that his hair could be seen. This current design is when I started drawing him with a balaclava to cover his head/hair. And there's a long explanation for that:

Memory’s abilities make people forget about him the moment they look away. While being forgotten severely damaged his emotional/social health, this characteristic gives him an advantage as a villain; he can do bad things and get away with it because nobody will know. I wanted to translate that into his design. To make him a person who can leave crime scenes without a trace. The long multi-layered clothes and mask makes sure he doesn't leave any skin cells, blood, or saliva behind. The gloves makes sure he doesn't leave behind any fingerprints (and I guess the shoes are designed to not leave footprints). But then I realized that to keep this concept consistent, he needs to cover his head completely so he doesn't leave behind loose hair people can use to track him down. Hence, the balaclava was added. It works as a lovely neckerchief as well. Overall, I hope I designed this boi to easily disappear.

I also designed Memory to not leave behind tracks to symbolize two things about his character. 1: That he doesn’t take accountability for his evildoings, using “I’m just doing my job as a villain” as an excuse. 2: That he has low self-esteem, believing there are no good qualities about him that can leave a positive impact on someone’s life. (And RRFF is trying to prove him wrong by showing him the consequences of his actions and how his support impacted Illusion/Reality’s life for the better, lol)

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

DeviantArt repost

Wattpad repost

#steve saga #steve saga au #headcanon #memory steve #rrff spoilers #my art #reference sheet #rrff steve saga #rrff #rrff!memory #scars tw #tw: scars #long post

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moonknightly · 4 years

Text

Lovely to Love You : Modern!Poe Dameron x Reader

Word Count: 3.2k

Excerpt: “You could feel his gaze burning holes into your skin, but you didn’t mind, because you didn’t know if he would ever look at you like that again, with such an intensity and such a raging passion burning behind his brown irises.”

Warnings: Sadness, probably some cursing. Nothing terrible.

Listen @poeticandors is a SAINT and I love her so much — thank you Kami for validating me lol.

An endless shroud of grey, melancholy clouds covered the city like a thick blanket, bringing with it a certain sense of sleepiness you wanted more than anything to succumb to, but along with the laziness came something else more potent, something that couldn’t be ignored. Maybe just an ounce of loneliness, a bit of sadness. Resentment, maybe, because the weather outside was just too perfect for the situation you found yourself in — sitting alone in a small cafe, your eyes transfixed upon your untouched cup of tea. Earl Grey.

You scoffed gently.

More grey.

Shouldn’t you have been used to it by now?

Everything had been grey for months now, so devoid of color and light and joy, you weren’t sure you could remember life any other way.

You had nothing anymore.

It was just grey. And you hated it.

But as much as you had come to despise the color, it was unquestionably and without doubt a word that described your current state as you waited there, still staring at your mug, waiting for him, your husband, to show.

You cringed, the movement subtle yet still noticeable. It suddenly dawned on you that he would only hold that title for an hour longer, before ultimately, and probably permanently, becoming your ex-husband.

You tested the word on your tongue, and grimaced at the sound of it. It didn’t feel right falling from your lips, and it certainly wasn’t a word that you ever would have thought you would use when referring to Poe.

Darling, honey, babe, husband. Those were all words that felt right — would always feel right, though they no longer held any weight. Your marriage was ending, officially, within the hour, and those words would mean nothing once you signed your name on the dotted line.

It was still crazy to you how this had all come about. Poe had been your endgame from the moment you first met, until suddenly, he wasn’t.

He had become married to his work, and you were just his side piece. He was gone when you awoke each morning and he more often than not would only return once you were asleep. Your home cooked meals were abandoned and replaced by takeout. You listened to his voicemail more than his actual voice.

You knew from the start that Poe’s job was beyond demanding, and you would never hold him back from it — would never ask him to choose you over his work, which is exactly what prompted you to ask for a divorce. His job was more important, that much had become clear to you in the more recent months. And you weren’t really okay with it, but you had to be. His choice was clear.

Three months had passed since the night you had asked him for a separation. He had remained mostly calm; a lot calmer than you had hoped he would be. You would be lying if you said you weren’t disappointed in his reaction, or rather, lack thereof. You wanted him to fight for you. You wanted him to get down on his knees and tell you that he loved you, that he wanted you to stay, and that he would take a step back and be there for you — with you again.

Instead, you were only met with a clenched jaw, a pale face, and a quiet mutter of a single question.

He asked you why, why you wanted to leave him, end something that had started so beautiful, and you couldn’t bring yourself to answer him. You had simply shrugged, and he had simply nodded.

Ten seconds to end a marriage that was supposed to last a lifetime.

It was crazy, though, how quickly you both fell into a new routine. A routine that involved ignoring each other and staying in separate rooms.You supposed it wasn’t too far from normal, though. You couldn’t remember the last time you shared a shower, or binged a new show together. You couldn’t remember the last time you had been intimate. When was the last time he had even kissed you?

But the one thing you still weren’t used to was sleeping alone. Poe had been sleeping on the couch most nights, until moving out just a week earlier, while you stayed in your once shared bed, wide awake while you were sure he was perfectly asleep. And on the nights where he didn’t come home, you could only hope that he was passed out at his desk and not between someone else’s sheets.

Everytime that thought crept its way into your mind, you couldn’t help but feel guilty for thinking it — for thinking that Poe would be with another woman. You knew him better than that. You knew he would never, not while you still shared his last name, but the anxiety bubbling in your chest always convinced you of another tale, and you hated that part of yourself.

You hated yourself for letting Poe go. For not giving him a reason as to why you were letting him go. You hated yourself for caring when he, so painfully obvious, did not.

But, unbeknownst to you, Poe did care, though he would admit that he tried his damn hardest to hide it. On the night that you asked for the divorce, he had cried and cried and cried into the couch cushion until he found himself dizzy and out of breath. He was sure that he had cried more in the last three months than he ever had, but not in front of you.

Never in front of you.

Because you wanted a divorce, and Poe was always going to do what you wanted; whatever would make you happy, no matter what it meant for himself, and it had become obvious to him that you were far from happy.

He knew that it was truly his fault, and that your sudden desire for a separation didn’t manifest out of nowhere. He knew he was working longer hours, and he knew that he wasn’t always in the best of moods when he finally did make it home. He had never once meant to make you feel as if he had fallen out of love with you, and while you never voiced that that’s how you felt, he knew. He knew that he made you feel unloved, unworthy — something he vowed to never do on the day you both said “I do”. He knew he had been a terrible husband to you in the last year, and you deserved more than that. Deserved more than him. Deserved to be happy.

He only ever wanted you to be happy, and he found comfort in knowing that you could find that happiness as long as he didn’t stick around to hold you back from it, and that was the only reason that he ever agreed to a divorce.

Of course, you were even less happy now that you were losing the man that you loved, but he didn’t need to know that. You wanted him to think that he was doing you a favor, but you also knew that you probably wouldn’t make it through signing the papers without at least a tear or two escaping.

You were proud of yourself for staying rather emotionless in his presence, though you weren’t sure if it was anything to be proud of. Your disposition towards him had been cold in the last few months, and that was only because you didn’t want to second guess your decision. Still, you knew he didn’t really deserve it. You still loved him, afterall, and you were sure that there was still a piece of him that loved you, even if you were no longer his first choice, and even though he had made you feel completely unloved if you were being entirely honest with yourself.

Your thoughts were interrupted by the scraping of a chair against the wooden floors of the cafe. You glanced up, only to be met with Poe’s big brown eyes that had entranced you from day one. You swallowed the lump in your throat and willed yourself to look away. Instead, you decided to focus on the yellow folder sitting in the middle of the table — the folder that contained the papers that would make all of this official.

Poe sat without a word, though his eyes never left your form. You could feel his gaze burning holes into your skin, but you didn’t mind, because you didn’t know if he would ever look at you like that again, with such an intensity and such a raging passion burning behind his brown irises.

There was no way for him to deny his love for you, with a stare like that. The thought brought more comfort than you thought it would. But really, his love for you was written all over his face and not just in his eyes, if you would only look, but you were scared that you would change your mind if you did.

His job was first. You were second.

You just had to keep reminding yourself of that until your name was signed in ink — until your name returned to that of your maiden, and you were no longer Mrs. Dameron.

“Hi,” he mumbled, his voice lacking it’s usual enthusiasm.

You decided to chance stealing another glance, but then found that you couldn’t tear your eyes away from him, because after this, you weren’t sure if you would ever see him again. The thought killed you inside, and you did your best to try and hide it, though you apparently did a terrible job at doing so as Poe’s eyebrows furrowed and his jaw hardened at the completely torn expression that now settled upon your face.

You shook your head gently and heaved a sigh, muttering his greeting back to him.

The two of you sat completely still for what felt like hours, when in reality it was less than five minutes. Your eyes never left his and his never left yours, and though neither of you spoke, you knew Poe well enough to know what each flicker of emotion that crossed his face meant.

And right now, with his softened eyes and solemn expression, you knew what was running through his mind.

“Do we really have to do this?”

You found yourself nodding in response to his unspoken question, and his face fell even further, effectively shattering what little was left of your heart.

Silence ensued for another two minutes and forty seven seconds. You counted, because you needed something to distract you. Anything to keep you from crossing the table and throwing yourself back into his arms. He was the one to break the quiet, and the eye contact, and you were grateful.

“Let’s just get this over with.”

His voice cracked with the last word. He tried to cover it up with a cough, but you caught it. You felt your hardened exterior crack.

Poe fumbled with the envelope, struggling to pull the papers out because his hands were shaking and God, he didn’t want this. He didn’t want to divorce you but he had to, because it’s what you wanted and he would exhaust all efforts to give you what you wanted, even if that meant killing a part of himself in the process. You wanted this, you-

You were crying now, and Poe didn’t notice until a strangled hiccup left your quivering lips. He paled, eyes wide as he watched you cry for the first time in this whole ordeal.

“Baby…”

“Don’t.”

“Please…”

“No.”

“We don’t have to do this.”

“We do.”

Poe felt the anger begin to rise in his chest, but it wasn’t directed at you. Could never be directed at you. He was angry with himself, because it seemed as if he couldn’t make you happy no matter what he did. You were crying now, and you would cry if you had to spend another night in your once shared bed with his last name, but without him.

And you, you were angry for ruining your strong facade by crying in front of him, even though you knew from the beginning that it wouldn’t last. You were angry because now, when the reality of it all was staring him directly in the face, is when he decided to start showing signs of remorse.

And it was anger that fueled your next action.

You reached into your purse, digging around until you felt the smooth, cool plastic of a pen in your hand. You grasped it tightly, and without so much as a second thought, you yanked the papers from Poe’s hand and signed your name in permanent ink.

“I may be the one asking for a divorce,” you cried, shaking your head as you placed the papers back on top of the table, slamming them as you found his gaze once again. “But you left me a long time ago.”

“Sweetheart, I-”

“Don’t. Just shut up for once in your life and sign the goddamn papers, Poe.”

If Poe was taken aback by your sudden outburst, he didn’t show it. He simply stared back at you, seeming to search your eyes for something that would contradict your words. He waited and waited, hoping for a flash of regret or something he could use to change your mind. But when he found nothing other than your puffy red eyes that were set in a harsh, cold glare, he nodded once and took the pen in his own hand. In one quick, swift motion, his name was signed right alongside yours.

You stood before he could say anything else, deciding that you would leave the papers in his possession so that he would have to be the one to deliver them to the attorney. This was his fault, anyhow. He only watched with his arms folded across his chest, though it didn’t come off defensive.

Reaching to snatch your purse from the seat beside you, a glittering shimmer on your left hand caught your attention.

Your wedding ring, his mother’s wedding ring, sat perfectly polished on your finger, where it had been every single day for the last five years. You could only stare at it, your hand still hanging in midair as you thought about the massive amount of significance behind such a little piece of jewelry.

And as you thought about it, it seemed to burn your skin, because you didn’t deserve to wear it anymore. But, more than you didn’t deserve to wear it, it wasn’t yours to wear.

You quickly pulled the ring from your finger, staring at it for a moment longer before presenting it to Poe. He did the same as you; he stared.

“I don’t want it.”

“It’s yours,” you said, your voice empty and void of all emotion. “It’s your mother’s.”

“It was hers. Years ago it was hers but now? It’s always going to be yours.”

“What part of ‘I don’t want it’ don’t you understand? Take it.”

He finally averted his gaze from the ring only to meet your eyes, and his narrowed slightly as he took in the hollow expression behind your own. Though, empty as your eyes were, he could see a glimmer of something else behind their vacant stare.

You were lying. He knew you were. Poe knew you better than he knew himself, and he was absolutely positive that you didn’t mean the words that flew from your mouth. But, he decided that he would play into your little game for the time being.

He would wait until you admitted it on your own. He was a patient man, at times, and for this, he would wait forever.

He narrowed his eyes further, and had to fight to keep his glare from turning into a smirk.

“Make me.”

You blinked once, twice. A scoff left your lips, a quick “you’ve gotta be kidding me” to follow.

Walking across to the other side of the table, you stopped in front of him, peering down at him for a few agonizingly long seconds before grabbing his wrist. He kept his arms folded as you did so, letting you control his movements. You flipped his palm face up, and with one final look, you practically slammed the ring into his waiting hand.

Poe took the opportunity to close his fingers around your own hand, his eyes locking on yours with a stare so intense, you froze.

You knew that he could tell you were lying, but you refused to give him the satisfaction of backing down. You wouldn’t be the one to break any further.

With your hand still in his, you spoke your final words before pulling away.

“It was lovely to love you, Mr. Dameron.”

And with that, you were gone. You wanted to put as much distance as you possibly could between yourself and Poe before your anger subsided any further, because you knew that you would end up running back to him with apologies and declarations of love spewing from your lips, and that simply wouldn’t do.

You hailed a cab, gave the driver your address, and never once looked back towards the cafe, knowing that he would still be sitting by the window.

And he was, watching you, making sure you got into the cab safely. He didn’t look away until you were gone, and when he did, he immediately focused on the documents still sitting on the table. He scoffed as he stared at them — as he stared at the two signatures signed in black ink, side by side.

He quickly stowed your ring in the pocket of his jeans before grabbing the damned papers between both hands, and in one solid, swift, gratifying motion, he tore them straight down the middle. And he tore them again. And again. And again, until the only thing left resembled confetti.

Poe slumped back into his chair, a sarcastic and bitter smile on his face as he thought about what he had just done. It didn’t matter, really, because he decided right then and there that he would get you back. He would do everything within his power to win you back.

You were stubborn. He knew it was going to be tough — that he would have to work hard in order for you to forgive him, but he would go through hell and back for you, over and over again. There was a point where you had believed it, too, and he would do whatever it took to prove it to you once again.

A sigh left his lips and he picked up a small bit of shredded paper between the tips of his fingers before dropping it back on the table. He repeated the action several times, lost in his own thoughts of you and you and you.

Another sigh.

“And I love you, Mrs. Dameron.

“I promise, I do.”

taglist: @yougottakeeponkeepinon @captaincleansweep @siriuslyparker @arkofblake @jennibradley @adventurous-nerd @feelmyroarrrr

#poe dameron x reader #poe dameron x you #poe dameron #star wars #star wars fanfic #tros #poe dameron fanfic #star wars fanfiction #poe dameron fanfiction

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purplesurveys · 3 years

Text

1220

The person you had the strongest feelings for dies, do you care? I imagine so, yeah. I’d check up on her family and help in any way I can, if it’s still welcomed.

Is there something you’re happy about at the moment? I share this all the time in surveys at this point but I’m just really giddy that it’s a Friday evening hehe. Also, I’m seeing Angela, Hans, and (finally!!!) Reena later! We’ll be going to UP to shoot some photos since Angela and Reena are graduating this year and we wanna take pictures with the sunflowers in the campus before they die out. I also never got to take sunflower photos when I graduated last year, so it will be my chance to do so as well.

Do you want someone dead? Wow, no.

Do you ever wonder what your ex is up to? It almost never crosses my mind, honestly.

Have you ever fed or taken care of a stray animal? I’ve fed many of them before, yup.

What is something you tend to worry about? Pending deliverables at work, especially ones that are out of my control.

What is something you do that is unhealthy? Be in front of a screen as soon as I’m awake until the second I turn in.

What is something you do that is good for you? I’m no longer afraid to prioritize myself when necessary.

What last caused you to force a smile? Ooh I’m not sure. I haven’t had to do that in a while, which is a good thing. What was the last video game you played? Was it fun? Probably Mario Kart on the Switch, but it’s been a WHIIIIIIIIIIIIIILE. Yeah it’s one of my favorite series for a reason.

What is something not many people know about you? The fact that I’m obsessed with anything classic Hollywood and I’m a big Audrey Hepburn fan. The topic never gets brought up so I don’t really get the chance to say anything about that interest of mine.

What word describes your basic style? Casual, laidback. I’m more than happy with just a simple t-shirt and denim jeans these days and I think I’m over my jumpsuit/romper phase haha.

Have you ever been told you were going to Hell? It was referred to/threatened to me, but not directly with these words.

Have you ever wanted to kill yourself? It was a regular occurrence before.

If yes, what convinced you not to go through with it? I think overall I was just scared of fucking it up and fucking up my brain for life as a consequence. Also I knew no one was going to take care of Kimi as well as I do, and I would never leave him behind.

Have you ever rejected a guy, only to have him push the issue by asking “why?” and insisting that you just need to get to know him better? Nope.

Is there something that you believe everyone should do and you can’t believe that some people don’t do it (e.g., recycle or go to the dentist regularly)? It’s definitely an Asian thing but it will sometimes hurt my chest when I see people wear shoes in their homes.

Regarding the last good choice (healthy choice, kind choice, selfless choice, etc.) you made, what was your real motivation behind it? I wanted to be kind to myself and finally let go of what had been keeping me from starting to be happy and pleased with where I am and have.

What is something that you have had to practice at to get the hang of it? If you can’t think of anything, that’s okay, what’s something you are currently practicing at and trying to master? This is such a shallow answer lol but I’ve recently gotten into this rhythm game called Rhythm Hive that I found impossible to master at first, but after weeks of practicing I now breeze through all the songs at their hardest level.

Have you ever gone to the store to buy something, like a video game, when it came out at midnight? I haven’t done that, but I’ve watched a movie premiere at midnight - for both times the Breaking Dawn movies came out.

Regarding the last novel you read, was there a romance included? If so, was it central to the plot? Yes and yes.

Have you ever done relaxation meditations or listened to relaxation guides or positive-thinking/healing recordings? Nope, they don’t really work on me. I have my own outlets that help me relax.

Do you have any interests that are also often shared by children? Coloring is one. Also animated movies; I never grew out of those.

Is there something that could be a solitary activity but you really only like to do it with other people (e.g., watching movies, playing video games, etc.)? Definitely eating out. I’ve done it a couple of times before by myself and it does feel nice, but I also always can’t help but think it would be a lot more fun and that I would be much happier if I was sharing the experience with someone else.

Are you satisfied with the interior design or decoration in your home? Or do you think it needs a total home makeover? Ugh god I need to rearrange and upgrade my room STAT. My K-Pop merch are starting to pile up but they’re all currently in just lazy heaps scattered around in my room since I don’t have any shelves or anything to properly display them on.

Is there something that you’d like to own but you can’t find it anywhere? If not, can you a remember a time when you wanted something? Did you ever end up finding it or did you eventually stop wanting it? This is always me with BTS merch...

Who makes you smile the most? My friends.

What piercings do you want/have? Just one on each earlobe. I’m not looking to have any more.

What's your favorite website? Twitter.

Do you own a fish tank with fish? We never had one, no.

Do you like the movie 300? I’ve never seen it and will probably never have plans to. It’s not my cup of tea.

Do you pop your knuckles? When I feel stressed or when my knuckles feel strained, yes.

Do you have Photoshop? Nope, I have no use for it.

Do you use tinypic or photobucket? Way back in the day. I’m not even sure if those websites still exist.

What’s your favourite song from the 1980s? Heaven Is A Place On Earth.

How about the 1990s? I’m not sure I have one.

Have you won anything recently? Yeah we played this online game over Google Meets with my co-workers just this afternoon, before clocking out. My team won twice.

How often do you make Excel tables? What for? Oh everyday. I work on a handful of sheets every single day at work, but I also like making spreadsheets for personal use haha. Right now the one I’m currently super invested in is my tracker for all the merch I’ve been buying so I can keep note of my pending payments and which ones I should already be asking for updates on.

What was the last baby animal you saw in the wild? Not sure, I’m barely outdoors.

Are you always available or online? Yup.

Do you have dietary restrictions? Or do you just eat what you like? No allergies or restrictions.

Do you prefer gold, silver or steel jewelry? Or no jewelry at all? Silver.

Have you been binge-watching any shows lately? If so, what? Not really. I’ve stopped watching Hwarang for now, but I do have plans to come back to it someday. I guess I just haven’t been in a K-drama binge-watching mood lately.

If you dye your hair, do you do it yourself or go to a salon? I’ve never had my hair dyed.

If you have any, do you like your in-laws? I don’t have any. < Same.

Would it bother you, if your partner had cut contact with their parents? It depends on the story behind it, but mostly no. How close they are with their family isn’t a priority matter for me.

Have you ever wondered whether you were adopted? All the time, especially as a teenager who wasn’t getting any emotional support at home.

What’s the best physical feeling in the entire universe? When you work on something and expect mediocre results and feedback, but it ends up getting praised instead and you feel all the hard work pay off.

Have you ever grown a berry bush? Nope.

Have you done something new to your hair recently? It’s been untouched since the very start of the pandemic. My sister actually suggested that since I had it cut right when the pandemic started, I should wait out till the end of it and see how long it’ll reach. It sounded intriguing enough so now I’m indefinitely growing it out hahaha.

Do you have bad anxiety? If so, do you take any kind of medication for it? I’m sure I have it, I’ve just never been diagnosed before.

One thing you’ve experienced that you thought you never would have? Managing to get over a rough breakup quicker than I ever expected to.

What was the last thing someone said to you that kept repeating over & over in your head? It was when I was leaving Angela’s house yesterday and an “I love you” to her parents rolled out of my tongue so naturally I almost didn’t notice it; and when they said it back in a heartbeat. It’s when I realized that her parents are really like my second parents and that her house is a second home at this point. My heart was filled the entire drive home.

How often do you have late nights out? Never because we still have a curfew.

If you could, would you work from home? Do you think that would make you more or less productive? I don’t have a choice; it’s the set-up we’re required to live in. I’m pretty productive here at home but then again I don’t have a point of comparison considering I got my first job already in the midst of the pandemic.

If you had the ability to change the weather, what would you change it to right now? I would like to bring snow to the Philippines.

Is there something that you really need to do, but can’t seem to get motivated to do it? Upgrade my room and invest in shelves and other home decor/interior design stuff that would make the space more comfy and homey. Right now it just looks like a warehouse with my merch piled up in scattered places.

Most disturbing movie you have ever seen? Eraserhead or I’m Thinking of Ending Things.

Has a life goal or dream ever come true for you yet? If yes, what is it? If no, do you think you’ll achieve it? I have multiple life goals - some of them I’ve achieved, like getting into my dream university and simply getting employed, and some of them I’m still working my way towards, like getting a promotion. Yeah I feel like I’ll achieve my goals someday. I don’t like losing LOL so when I want something I usually put it above everything else.

Have you ever had food poisoning? Yup.

What are you listening to? Blue & Grey by BTS.

Do you think there will be a WWIII? I find it inevitable at some point down humanity's future. People are too hateful for it not to eventually. < Yeah, let’s go with this too.

Has anyone ever asked you if you were emo? No.

Has someone ever liked you that you never thought would? Yes. Tbh I never expect anyone to like me so I’ve always been surprised when I hear about someone who does.

In all honesty, can a person be too nice? Yes, especially if they’re starting to be taken advantage of.

Has one of your friend’s boyfriends ever tried to cheat on them with you? No.

Is mental abuse really as bad as physical abuse? Any abuse is bad. :/

Do you shop at Sephora for make-up? Nope.

Zelda: Twilight Princess or Ocarina of Time? Twilight Princess only because I grew up with it and never got to play Ocarina of Time.

Do you own a rosary? I did - I went to Catholic school. But I lost mine all the time because I didn’t really care for them lol I always had to buy new ones at the school bookstore.

If you were homeless, how would you cope? I don’t know.

#survey #surveys

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morwensteelsheen · 3 years

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i woke up this morning like “i want to write a story justifying why éowyn would have dropped her virginity like a hot potato” and anyways 4,000 words later i am Not At That yet but i am getting a better sense for what i think her life would’ve been like. it’s below the cut in its unproofread state lol also a brief reference to what faramir was up to circa TA3011 because i can’t help myself

Until her twelfth birthday, Éowyn had never thought of herself as particularly more of a girl than a boy. She was addressed as a (young) lady when she wasn’t being addressed by her kin, and had certainly been forced into dresses and skirts — though this came perhaps a little later than it should have, if the judgemental looks from the various women of the court were anything to go by; but outside of those instances, there really hadn’t been much to differentiate her from her elder brother. She had learned to use a sword just as he had, she had been taught (with limited success) to speak several politically-important languages, and had been given as free a rein on Meduseld and Edoras as he had at her age. Those years, she would later realise, had been some of the easiest and most contented of her life, even if the dark cloud of their parents’ passings ever hung over her.

On her twelfth birthday, in a firestorm of misfortune, everything had changed. First, and entirely by coincidence, Éomer had received his first posting, in Captain Grimbold’s éored stationed in the Wold. For Éomer, it was nothing but excitement — at long last he would be able to take off out into the world just like Théodred and would finally get to define himself as a warrior and as a man. That he would be going quite far away from home only heightened the excitement. For Éowyn, who had always been closesr to her brother than anyone else, it was the end of an era, though in exactly how many ways she had not, in the moment, fully known.

Second, she had her first blood. It was not something anybody had warned her about and, in that manner which precocious children are wont to take up, she attempted to solve the problem without knowing quite what the problem was. Hiding in her chambers, hands and knees shaking somewhat at the sight of unexpected blood, she had changed into something thicker (and darker in colour), and bundled the soiled garments up in a spare bedsheet. What little she knew of such matters told her that to be caught bleeding must be a sign of some personal failing, and so must be handled in the utmost secrecy.

There was, she knew, a small fire burning in the western gardens that morning to clear fallen foliage from the previous week’s thunderstorms. With luck and a little careful manoeuvring, she imagined she would be able to sneak her secret bundle into the flames without arousing any suspicions.

Creeping through the halls of Meduseld (mercifully quiet owing to the ceremonial changing of the guard happening later that day), Éowyn had accidentally stumbled upon the third thing that would change her life forever.

Even to her young mind, he immediately seemed a man of contradiction. Undeniably young, but somehow carrying himself with the comportment of a man several decades older; the dark hair and shorter stature of a Dunlander, but the presence and language of a man of the Mark. At first, he had not noticed her — he was so diligently listening to the King that it seemed to her he might not have noticed if an entire éored had passed him by. But when, failing to mask herself fully behind a passing attendant, Éowyn had been spotted by her uncle, the man’s attention had fallen to her entirely.

He was impeccably behaved, granting her the courtesy of a deep bow — despite few ever humbling themselves before such a young girl — and spoke to her levelly (not, to her ears, taking notice of her youth). In the practice yard and on horseback, Éowyn was accustomed to being spoken to with little regard for her age, but rarely was such deference extended into the stricter social edifices of Meduseld.

By any stretch of the imagination, it should have tickled her pride to be spoken to as an equal, it had, of course, been something she had longed for ever since she had first mastered stringing words together into sentences. Something, however, unsettled her about the entire interaction, raising hairs on the back of her neck and forcing her shoulders back into a defensive posture. She told herself that it was a natural consequence of having been effectively caught attempting to bury evidence of a misdeed, and that had she not first met him while she was clutching a bedsheet hiding a bloodied shift, she might have had an entirely different opinion of him.

After she was dismissed and scampered out into the gardens, she was immediately caught by Ceolwenne, the daughter of one of the Lords of the Eastfold who had recently arrived at Edoras to be presented at court. Ceolwenne, who Éowyn had, until that moment, had very little time for, had taken one look at the bundled sheets and Éowyn’s ghost-white face and immediately pulled her into a hug. Together, they had thrown the bundle into the garden fire, and Ceolwenne had, in perhaps flightier language than Éowyn might have preferred, explained what that blood had meant and exactly what she should do to prepare herself in the future.

It should have been a tremendous relief to her to discover that it was not a sign of moral failure and to find that it was something that women could speak to other women about in relatively frank terms. Instead, and for reasons then entirely unexplainable to her, it filled her with a deep, abiding sense of dread.

Thereafter, the changes in her life came on gradually, some of them so slowly that she hardly noticed they had happened at all. The years passed and she grew up. At least two or three times a year, she bled, but now she knew what to expect (though that did not mean she found it any less unsettling). Éomer and Théodred were away for greater and greater stretches of time, and the man, who she now knew as Gríma, took on a greater and greater role in the Golden Hall.

At first, Éowyn had imagined that the duties bestowed upon her were duties given to account for Théodred’s absence — welcoming local and foreign dignitaries, maintaining the daily running of the household, and seeing to the needs of the King. But with these duties came certain infringements on the life she had come to enjoy. Gone were the comfortable linen dresses and loose hair of her childhood, replaced by elegant velvet gowns and coiled, braided updos; no longer could she practice for hours on end in the practice and tilt yards, not when, as Gríma took care to remind her, the household could not cope without a strong commander at its helm.

With the finer gowns and the increased hours spent indoors came a change in how people spoke to and looked at her. After years of hoping to be treated as an adult, she began to learn that what she had hoped for was to be treated as an adult man, not an adult woman. Adult men could sit in counsel with her King-uncle, and could drink until late at night and argue about the mechanics of war and glory. Adult women could not.

It was as much a sign of her becoming aware of herself as it was a sign that she was physically changing. Slowly, so slowly that she hardly noticed it if she didn’t think about it, her hips swelled and her breasts became heavier and more pronounced. Her face slimmed, her lashes lengthened and darkened, and hair grew on parts of her body that she had not expected it to grow. All of these things seemed to her to be things of little note — except, perhaps, as an occasional nuisance when gowns that had previously fitted her no longer did — but seemed of great consequence to the people around her.

The whispers of the women and men at court wriggled their way into her subconscious. Lascivious tales of noble women undone by pregnancies out of wedlock, peasant women trapped by Dunlenders and subjected to unimaginable acts of violence, and women who took so happily to the chore of sex that they freely took multiple partners — to the chagrin of the court. Without expecting it or inviting it, Éowyn soon learned that the mantle of womanhood that she was now inheriting was a heavy and burdensome load.

She was fourteen the first time she had recognised a man staring at her chest. He was a minor sergeant from just outside Aldburg, twenty-two years old, fairly handsome for so short a man, and loud-spoken with a riotous laugh. They had been standing opposite one another in conversation at the outlying perimeters of a celebratory dance when she had followed the line of his sight. When he realised she was aware of where his attention was turned to, he had smirked at her, then disappeared off to find the hand of another young girl for the next dance. Beside her, one of the fluttering twits who hovered around the court in search of a high-born husband leaned in to her and giggled, telling her in no uncertain terms that she should be honoured by the man’s interest in her body. She did try her best to be honoured, but the only emotion she could conjure within her was a vague sense of fury.

After that, she had taken to finishing her domestic duties as hastily as she could so she could slip out of her gowns and exhaust herself in the practice yard. The first few times she had done so, she had moved so speedily through her duties she began to trip up and make careless mistakes, which had resulted in Gríma keeping an ever-closer eye on her work. When mistakes were inevitably discovered, she found herself forced back into gowns for longer and longer periods of time, and being forced back into gowns meant being forced back under the sometimes-lewd gaze of men. These failures, she was told, were an abdication of her womanly duty to maintain a neat household. Thus, womanhood became inextricably bound up with restrictions on her liberty and the unsettling and unwelcomed notice of men.

Ceolwenne married Elfhelm on a cool spring day, a humble but pretty affair. They went away for a few short weeks, and when they returned, she had a wealth of stories to whisper to Éowyn. Ceolwenne, who had been far better prepared for a woman’s life than had Éowyn, seemed to have entered her marriage with a plethora of insecurities and expectations — most of which had turned out to be wrong. Even still, it was the first time Éowyn had heard that sex could be anything other than a wearisome duty to be endured.

When she was sixteen, Théodred’s èored briefly returned to Edoras for some ceremonial formalities. A young rider, at most three or four years her senior, watched her in the practice ring as she proved to her cousin all that she had learned in his absence. Théodred, with a small smirk, departed after just two rounds, leaving her alone with the man. He introduced himself as Alaric, a local boy under Théodred’s command. He was quick-witted and praised her combat skills, and she had been happy to have someone who wasn’t her kin speak admiringly of her ability to fight. He’d told her he had little experience with cleaning up in the royal stables, and that he needed advice on how to properly stack the saddles so as to avoid her cousin’s ire.

Because she was sixteen, and because she had so rarely been around men who didn’t see her desire to fight as a threat to their manhood, she convinced herself she believed that he needed help, and followed. Inside the stables, she made a valiant attempt at showing him the ropes, until he’d pinned her to the wall and kissed her breathless.

It was sloppy, bordering on bad (though then she had no basis on which to judge the quality of a kiss), and it surprised her. But he didn’t seem to mind that he was kissing somebody in breeches who reeked of horse, so she kissed him back until a stable boy interrupted them. When Théodred’s men left at the end of the week, she didn’t watch them leave, and she never again asked after him, though for many years afterwards she often thought of that day in the stables.

A few months later, her marriageability was first spoken of. Lord Boromir of Gondor, a steadfast and favourite friend of Théodred’s had momentarily passed through Edoras on an unofficial diplomatic errand. (After he had left, her uncle had made it clear that he thought Boromir had been sent by his supercilious father to sniff out weaknesses in the Mark.) Lord Boromir had very proudly admitted that he expected that his younger brother, a captain fighting at the far eastern reaches of Gondor, would soon announce his betrothal to the eldest daughter of some lord from the south of the kingdom. It was, he said, a remarkably politically-savvy match, certain to bring the more capricious southern fiefdoms back into line.

Gríma, invited but not desired at that dinner, had, as was his way in those days, managed to redirect the conversation towards the theory of marriage as a political tool, and how a more stringent application of that theory in Rohan (as was seen in Gondor) might come to the kingdom’s benefit. He had implied, though had stared her down while he spoke, that unwed women kin of the King ought to make themselves more available to men of good sense.

Éowyn, who had never before given much thought to marriage, except in passing recognition to the fact that she would likely one day have to marry, blanched at the notion that any future marriages of hers would be discussed so openly. But then it occurred to her, with the swiftness of a winter gale blustering through an open door, that she was, in fact, of a perfectly reasonable age to be thinking of marriage.

In a move that had endeared him to her immensely, Lord Boromir had pointed out that while he referred to his brother as “younger,” he was in fact eight and twenty years old, and his apparent intended was only a few years younger than that, and both had come about the arrangement after many years of unattached life in adulthood.

The door, however, had been kicked open, and the monster that dwelt within could not be so easily returned to its enclosure.

It seemed to her the most frustrating conversation in her life in the subsequent two years, and it seemed to her to occur at two levels. The more overt level was that of the occasional discussion of marriage candidates’ suitability. Men would come, from time to time, to seek out the hand of Lady Éowyn, and Lady Éowyn would, with ruthless efficiency, dismiss them. In this, she had an entirely unexpected ally in Gríma, who seemed to find fault in all of her suitors as quickly as she did, and was far less reserved in his dismissals.

The more subtle level was that of discussions of what would be expected of her after marriage. At first, the language had been amorphous: Théodred had been slow to marry, Éomer was far too pleased with his status as the effective “spare”, what would become of the line of Eorl? Who, asked those who dared ask aloud, would ensure the birth of an heir? In those years, Gríma became a master manipulator of conversations. Where compliments paid to Éowyn had once concerned her ability to uphold her duties, or her voice, or her ability to dance, soon they focussed on her youth, her femininity, and, for the bolder flatterers, the curve of her hips.

She reached an age where she took to working with the elder women of the court on the various tapestries and blankets and carpets that they wrought on their looms. Then, she learned that sex, despite for so many of them being a frustrating burden at worst and a bore at best, was a regular topic of conversation. In their conversations, she came to learn much she hadn’t before had a way to learn. There was a moment, she learned, in the midst of sex where people reached what the women referred to as a “crisis.” For men, this crisis was not only common, but nigh on mandatory, the ultimate and only goal of sex. For women, this crisis was uncommon, but certainly not unheard of, though often stumbled upon quite by accident. Despite their language, all of the women seemed to speak fondly of this crisis, as if it was something to be actively sought after. Having no experience of her own against which to measure her opinions, Éowyn merely accepted that this was the way things were, and that, even if it was a happy one, a crisis sounded like a level of instability she would rather not invite into her life.

Meanwhile, her uncle seemed to age ten years for every one that passed. Her duties became more numerous and more laborious. Stubbornly committed to her precious few minutes of freedom a day, she fought hard to preserve her few hours of swordplay a week, even if it came at the cost of sleep or eating. It was to her benefit and detriment that she placed such a high premium on that time; benefit, in that she never felt as if she couldn’t defend herself from physical harm if needs must, detriment in that it became Gríma’s easiest way to wrest control over her. She had to guard it jealously, had to take to keeping a dulled blade beneath her bed for the days in which she found all the practice blades mysteriously locked away, and had to implicitly enlist the help of the servants to cover her tracks.

More men came seeking her affection, and she sent them all away. Some men, the younger ones, the maverick officers, didn’t come looking for her hand in marriage, but to take their chances at cracking the Lady of Rohan’s stony exterior. It became a game of sorts amongst men in the know, winning her attention was a warrior’s challenge in its own right, akin to slaying a first — or tenth — orc. Whether she was oblivious to it or intensely obstinate the men never figured out, but either way, none ever had any success.

What to them was a game became a struggle for life and death for her. For each man that flirted with her or sent tokens of affection, Gríma tightened his grip further and further. Her uncle had been almost entirely unmanned, his thoughts so consumed by the looming conflict that the social troubles of his youngest ward bled into the background noise.

Gríma touched her for the first time a little while after her seventeenth birthday. It was a brisk spring morning, and she was scheduled to meet a minor lordling from the Gondorian province of Anórien. She had gone out to the veranda without a mantle and, after a single shiver, Gríma had disappeared back into the hall, only to return with a thin, dark cloak. Though she was loath to accept any gestures from him, she was already surrounded by far too many dignitaries of the Mark who could not be trusted with any sign of defiance from the representatives of the House of Eorl. So, she had tipped her head in assent when Gríma presented her with the mantle, and held her hair back as he stood before her and secured it around her through. To onlookers, it would have seemed as if the fastener on the cloak was particularly fussy, because it took him several long seconds to finally catch it through. To Éowyn, the seconds stretched like hours as Gríma brushed long, moist fingers across the hollow of her throat, over and over and over until finally she’d stiffened, and he seemed to be broken from his trance.

A month passed before he touched her again, and then it was only a hand against the small of her back as he passed her in the council room.

A few weeks after that, it was his fingers wrapping around her arm to escort her away from her exhausted King.

Orcs pushed further into Rohan, a worrying puzzle that panicked all those in Edoras who had any business of knowing. Her cousin spent more and more time riding between his detachment and Meduseld, and each time she saw him he seemed tauter, more bereft of good humour, and, unsurprisingly if frustratingly, less able to listen to her worries. Through no fault of his own, he could hardly notice that it was not just his father whose constitution was bowing under the burden of conflict, and failed entirely to notice that Éowyn had grown distant and jumped every time someone entered the room without fair warning.

Her change in mood did not go unnoticed by Gríma, who quickly used it to drive a wedge between her and her uncle. Théoden, who had also become increasingly paranoid, seemed convinced that his line would die out. It took some careful manoeuvring from Gríma, but in time her uncle believed that it was Éowyn’s reserved personality that most threatened the House of Eorl. She was instructed, in no uncertain terms, to have a more open temperament and to show more warmth to their guests and allies.

It went against every defence she had learned. If she were to be more open and inviting towards their guests (who were all, invariably, men) then she would be indirectly inviting Gríma’s jealousy. She had always tried to deny that that is what it came down to — he was twenty-one years her senior, had known her since she was barely into girlhood, it all seemed incomprehensible to her — but at this earliest of breaking points, it was almost impossible to deny.

For three years, there was a stalemate of sorts. It was not a receding of hostilities, so to speak, but there were no escalations either. She found that if she didn’t put up any resistance when his fingers slipped under the hem of her sleeves or he stopped so close to her side she could feel his breath on her face, then she wouldn’t lose time in the practice ring, and wouldn’t be cornered into emotionally devastating arguments with her uncle and liege-lord.

Men continued to call, though there were fewer as the conflict worsened at the borders of the Riddermark. A daughter of a lord of the Westfold came to Edoras, Edith was her name. She was beautiful and self-possessed, she laughed loudly and drank heartily, and charmed the entire court within hours of her arrival. She took many bewitched men to her bed without a hint of shame, and in so doing left no room for anyone to criticise her. Better to die of good sex out of wedlock, she told Éowyn, than of bad sex in wedlock.

Théoden’s condition worsened, and Gríma cast a wider and wider shadow across Meduseld. Éomer was made third Marshal of the Mark, and Théodred began to spend more time in Edoras. The condition in the Westfold became bleaker with each passing week, the Dunlendings now threatened harm greater than they had ever been empowered to do before.

&c. &c. &c.

#e writes #I want to get more into her moral Panic about it but I felt like I needed to set it up quite heavily #I don’t even know if this makes sense but #I feel very strongly about this

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aqvarius · 4 years

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Masquerade Kiss: Do Bad Girls Like to Self-pleasure? Kazuomi Shido - otona love - chapter 2 summary/translation

sorry this is coming out a little later than i anticipated. i bought and read the entire story in advance to get a sense of the length but my strategy backfired and now after reading it, i find translating more tiring since i already know what happens lol. but there were requests for me to keep translating so naturally i had to do it. once again, i’ve placed a cut because this translation is long and image-heavy, so make sure to click the “keep reading” to see the full chapter.

you can read the previous chapter here, where kazuomi accidentally sees you doing ~something~ to yourself under the sheets...

you’ve told him to take a shower and you’re moving under the bedsheets.

feelings that he can’t remember [feeling before] well up in kazuomi at the sight of what looks like you pleasuring yourself.

“...was there a problem with how we make love?”

“i thought i satisfied both your body and soul...”

however, looking at it now, it seems like that’s not the case. perhaps you’re taking care of yourself because you’re unfulfilled or dissatisfied with his actions.

“i thought your reaction in bed last night was more than sufficient”

he thinks maybe he should have been more relaxed/taken things easier, and not just in bed. maybe he should have listened to you vent out all your work stress?

“sensitivity comes from daily heart-to-hearts...”

basically he’s saying that the connection between you two is strengthened through daily everyday communication ughaskjlsd kazuomi is so sensitive and romantic i can’t deal.

“certainly, i’ve been so busy these days that we haven’t had time to meet,” he thinks, but didn’t realise that it would have such have such a direct effect. this kind of thing has never happened to him before, so he’s unusually confused.

“is my love not being conveyed enough...?”

to calm himself down, he quietly closes the door so you won’t notice him.

you tell him you need to leave early this morning. taking your turn after him, you’ve had a quick shower and got ready in no time.

“...the mood is pretty awkward”

he wonders if you noticed what he saw, or maybe you’re just embarrassed after doing ‘that activity”.

you’re about to leave, but he says

“whoa, can’t i get a goodbye kiss?”

(there’s that cheeky おっと again)

“ah... yes...” you say, and stretch up, holding onto his shoulder to get closer to him. you usually kiss him for longer, but today it’s just a quick one. you tell him you’ll contact him again. he takes a sip of his completely cold coffee, thinking back on what you did yesterday.

“...i didn’t make any mistakes. everything should have been perfect”

“and yet, she still wasn’t satisfied...”

he had completely no idea. frowning over his cold coffee, he gets up.

anyway we’re at the club now and i’m just laughing at the background because this is the first time i’ve seen it so large (since i’m reading on my laptop) and look at how many couples are inexplicably here together? also that random couple on the second table which is mirrored in the next one lmao. and having pole dancers and cancan dancers next to each other with the musicians at the top of the stage... what kind of club do the three musketeers run...

“that night, i was at the usual place with yuzu and kei.”

he’s eating the food that’s being brought in, but the sights that he saw the other day won’t leave his head. (i’m a bit confused by the wording of this because didn’t it happen just this morning?)

kei: “how are things? kazuomi”

kazu: ahh... well...

they were making plans for a “secret room” for the new resort he’s developing. it’s progressing without any problems, but honestly that’s not the issue right now.

kei: ...kazuomi?

yuzuru: “you’re very absent minded”

kazuomi thinks that you’re feeling lonely* because you haven’t seen each other for a while. he wonders if you’ve been self-pleasuring in that way in the meantime.

*honestly i can’t tell whether or not he think you’re feeling lonely or if he’s feeling lonely bc there are no possessive pronouns lol.

so in the meantime [that you’re apart] he might have become not enough. in that case, the issue after all is the time when you can’t meet. (basically that the issue is that you don’t get to spend enough time together).

he thinks about that melty face you get in bed.

“up until now, there hasn’t been a woman i haven’t satisfied.”

the confusion he felt this morning gradually disappeared, and now he’s filled with the feeling of being faced with a new challenge. “if that’s the case, how do i satisfy her?” he wonders. he declares (in his head) that he’ll satisfy you to the point where you can’t live without him.

kei: “hm? are you planning something fun again?”

kazu: does it seem like that?

yuzuru: “when you have that look on your face, you usually are”

kazu thinks that it seems that it did show on his face.

yuzu: so, what is it that you’re going to do?

kazu: nah, it’s not a big deal

kei: you’re grinning while saying “it’s not a big deal”? you’re not fooling anyone

“talking to you guys is annoying”

(bruh lmao)

kei: hmm, now i definitely want to hear

yuzu: usually you cause trouble by yourself, but i like to be entertained too occasionally

kazu: don’t i always entertain you?

kei: well, it’s as yuzu says, the one who causes the most trouble is kazuomi

kazu: you guys never change (? not sure if i translated that right)

he thinks something about the fact that they’re poking fun at him.

kazu: actually, this time...

when he tells them what he saw, kei’s eyes widen slightly.

kei: “hmm. so mc-san** masturbates even when kazuomi’s there”

**i finally changed my name to my usual キラ but he’s basically saying your name there so i’ll use mc to refer to “your name”

yuzu: is that why you were so absent minded?

kazu: even up until now, i’ve never experienced this kind of trial the day after embracing someone

“there are countless women who have pleasured themselves during the times when we can’t meet”

(lmao!!!)

kei: well i’ll neither agree nor disagree with that... so, what conclusion have to come to as to why mc-san did “that”?

(i’m actually not 100% on what he said but i think that’s what he means through context)

kazu: i’m stumped because i have no idea

kazu: well, strongly speaking(?), i’ve been so busy lately that i couldn’t look after her***

***he means this in the emotional sense, like he hasn’t had time to worry about her concerns/really care for her

kei: but you met her in person and satisfied/appeased her, didn’t you?

kazu: that was my intent

yuzu: in other words, she wasn’t as satisfied as you thought

(bro why you gotta be so blunt lol)

“...are you trying to make me depressed by treating me like i’m seeing you for a consultation?”

yuzu: i didn’t say anything about getting a consultation

kazuomi unintentionally smiles wryly while taking a sip of champagne.

kazu: anyway, that’s the main reason ... have i not said enough? (i think basically he’s wondering if he and his mc haven’t been talking enough)

kei: to mc-san? i think you’ve said plenty. when mc-san came to masquerade just recently, you were murmuring so affectionately it was annoying.

yuzu: “yeah. the things you said were nauseating”****

****set his teeth on edge - literally make his teeth float

kazu: what words...? i don’t understand what you mean since i normally say them unconsciously

(lmao!! kazuomi is a natural cheeseball)

kei: in kazuomi’s case, i urge women to breathe (no idea what this means: kei says “息するように女性を口説くからね” if anyone can help)

“sorry but my only partner is mc now”

yuzu: “do you want a consultation? [or] do you [just] want to brag?”*****

*****惚気: speaking fondly of a love one, praising/bragging about one’s spouse

after all that, the cause of mc’s “~activity~” was still unknown.

aaand that’s the end of chapter 2! i really like the direction this story is going in. i think a lot of people’s fantasies are that he would find it really hot but honestly kazuomi just wants to fully monopolise and satisfy his lover. tbh i’d be hella insecure if i had sex with my bf and then he went to go jack off again after lol. it was really cute seeing slightly insecure kazuomi but of course i love seeing him bounce back and treat it as a challenge, as he always does with everything in life, but especially with his mc. it was really fun getting to see some quality banter between the three “S”es, although it was a nightmare to translate some of it... i did learn some new slang tho.

i hope you enjoyed this chapter! please let me know what you think is going to happen. if you want to read more of my translations from voltage’s otona love, you can read my completed translation of soma’s super steamy “not the story of your first night” (chapter one here) or check out my translations page.

i’ve set up a ko-fi page here and would be incredibly grateful if you would like to support me for translations and being able to purchase more routes to recap in english!

click here for chapter 3

#kazuomi shido #voltage smut #otona love #otkoi #summary #translation #voltage #voltage inc #voltage otome #otome game #otome blog #otome romance #love 365 #love 365 find your story #マスカレード・キス〜危険な駆け引き〜#獅堂和臣

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donteattheappleshook · 4 years

Text

Seal of Approval

Tumblr ate my answer so I’m gonna post the story this way. This is a response to an anonymous prompt for a CS/Snowing double date combined with an Ao3 prompt for a CS date set during the six week gap in season 4.

Big thanks to @xhookswenchx and @teamhook for looking this over when I was pulling my hair out! (also sorry if you accidentally get tagged twice because of this lol)

Also on Ao3 as part of my new CS Prompt Collection

-/-

Emma gets up quickly, sets down one of the giant muffins her mom made and heads in the direction of the crib when she hears her brother crying. Damnit, she’d only just gotten him to sleep, only just gotten to sit down and have a bite to eat. Babysitting sucks. She loves baby Neal - even if she isn’t the biggest fan of his name - but anyone that comes between her and a snack is going to have something to answer for.

“Hey, man,” she says, picking him up out of his crib and bouncing him on her hip. “Couldn’t hold in the waterworks until Mom and Dad came home?” Neal stops crying and smiles up at her, grabbing a fistfull of her sweater and leaning his head on her shoulder. Okay, maybe he’s not so bad. He could be worse. He could be a giant ice monster, or a dragon, or the Dark One.

She shudders. It’s been three weeks since their last crisis, since the Ice Queen sacrificed herself and since Belle banished Gold from Storybrooke. Emma still can’t believe she did that, can’t believe the amount of guts and backbone that it took for her to do that despite the love she’s sure Belle will always have for him. But he’d gone too far, threatened too many people, lied to them too many times, and he’d had to pay the price.

Since he’s been gone it’s been, well, quiet. It’s strange - for Storybrooke anyway. Emma and her dad take turns working at the station, Mary Margaret is back at the school regularly now that there’s no monster to fight. Killian has been spending his time working alongside Belle to help free the fairies from the Sorcerer’s hat - that’s a friendship Emma hadn’t seen coming, but she’s glad that Killian has someone else in town to spend time with besides her and David. He’s really starting to feel like a part of the community.

Today is her day off, and while she’d have liked to spend it hanging out with Killian on his newly returned ship - not that they really ever leave the cabin but that’s besides the point - he and Belle are pretty sure they’ve had a breakthrough and Granny had to cancel on babysitting. So she’d agreed to do it. How much trouble can a kid be? She has fake memories of raising one after all. Neal spits up in her hair. She sighs. How much longer until her parents get home?

“Hi Sweetheart,” Snow says, walking through the door just as Emma has set Neal down with a few of his toys and is attempting to wash baby vomit out of her hair in the kitchen sink. “How was your day?” she asks, picking the baby up. David walks in behind her.

“Great,” she lies. Her mom doesn’t need to know. “He already had his supper but I didn’t give him his last bottle yet.”

“Thanks,” David says, kissing her forehead. It’s still a bit weird, knowing that David and Mary Margaret are her parents, that they’re the same age as her. But it’s weird in the same way that it’s weird that everyone in town is a fairytale character. She’s starting to get used to it and if she doesn’t think about it too much, she can forget it. Mostly. Usually.

“How was the station, Dad?” she asks.

“Quiet,” he says. “Just some teens graffitiing the alley behind Granny’s.”

“Did you use your scary prince face?” she asks.

“I don’t have a scary prince face!” he insists. “But no, I sicked Granny on them,” he tells her with a knowing smirk.

Emma laughs. “How was school?” she asks Mary Margaret.

Mary Margaret goes on to tell her about her day, about the work the kids are doing, how they’re adjusting to everything. She also mentions that she saw Killian and Belle on her way home and that they were finishing up at the library from the looks of it.

“Killian was walking her home,” she tells her. “It was sweet. I think he worries about her.”

Emma smiles a little. “Yeah, well, Killian has a history with women who’ve loved the Dark One.” Both her parents frown and she realises this is not a backstory she wants to get into - or one that’s hers to tell. “I think I’ll head over,” she tells them. “Go meet Killian on the Jolly if he’s done for the day.”

“Again?” David asks and the way he says it makes her pause.

“What do you mean ‘again’?”

“Well you’ve - you’ve been there almost every night this week,” David says.

“Yeah, it’s Regina’s week with Henry. What’s your point?” she asks with a raised brow.

“David,” Snow interrupts. “She’s a grown woman. If she wants to spend her time at her boyfriend’s that’s totally up to her.”

“Boyfriend?” David demands, shock and disbelief and a hint of panic in his tone.

“David...” it’s a warning this time.

“Do you have a problem with me dating Killian?” Emma asks. She thought her dad was starting to like Killian. Had she been wrong?

There’s a long, tense moment before David speaks. “No,” he says finally, shoulders falling on his exhale. “I just… didn’t realise you guys were so serious.” He’s trying really hard to sound casual and she appreciates that.

“Yeah, well,” she says. It is serious. She thinks. They date and spend most nights on his ship together, they’re sleeping together and as far as she knows neither of them are sleeping with other people. He tried True Love’s Kiss on her for god’s sake and as terrifying as that idea still is… well, yeah, she’s pretty sure it’s getting serious. More serious than she’s let anything get in a long time. Walsh doesn’t count.

“Then I think we should meet him,” David says and both Emma and Snow turn to him in confusion. “Properly.”

“Dad, you know Killian.” Was there another curse that came through town that she didn’t hear about?

“I don’t mean meet him I mean…” he searches for words. “If we were back in the Enchanted Forest, or even if we’d been able to raise you here, if you were dating someone seriously you would have brought him over, for dinner or something, so that we could meet him properly, as your boyfriend.” He nearly chokes on the last word.

Emma frowns at him, skeptical. “Is this some weird thing so that you can ask him about his intentions or something?”

“No!” he insists quickly. He clears his throat. “Besides, I already did that,” he adds quietly.

“You did what?”

“He didn’t tell you?”

“No, he didn’t tell me!”

“Huh,” is all David says.

“Probably because he knew it would make me annoyed at you. He wouldn’t want that.” David’s face softens and looks guilty all at once. “He’s changed.”

“I know he has. I just… we didn’t get to raise you and meet any of your boyfriends. This time, if it’s something real, I want to get to know him better,” he says and Emma lets her hackles down a little. “Why don’t you invite him over for dinner tomorrow night?”

“Are you planning to interrogate him?”

“No… I mean I have some questions,” he starts and holds a hand up when Emma starts to protest. “But they’re normal questions. The kind a dad should be allowed to ask the man who’s dating his daughter.”

Emma sighs. “I get it, Dad. I do. But, I’m not a kid. We’re the same age and bringing my boyfriend over for some formal, meet the parents dinner just feels… weird.”

“Why don’t we do something else then?” Snow chimes in, ever the peacekeeper. “Maybe… a double date!”

“A what?” Emma and David answer in unison.

“Like you said, we’re all the same age. Why don’t we all go out and do something fun together? That way, we can get to know Killian better without so much pressure. Emma has a point, Sweetheart. The age thing makes it weird so maybe, this way, we can work on being friends,” she finishes very diplomatically, her hand stroking David’s arm.

“But I…” David starts.

“Honey, our daughter is a grown woman. Killian is older than you. We can’t pretend she’s a little girl that needs looking after. Besides, it’s been a while since we had a date night.”

David sighs, caving. “Alright,” he agrees and Emma shares a thankful look with her mom. David looks up again. “But can I at least -”

“No,” Snow and Emma cut him off.

-/-

“So listen,” Emma says, propping her chin on Killian’s chest, her fingers drawing patterns through the hair there. “I need you to do something for me.”

Killian’s smile is obscene as he pulls her in closer, hand wandering over her naked back. “Anything,” he promises as his fingers trace over the skin at the curve of her hip. He’s gonna regret saying that, she thinks. She really wishes she didn’t have to ask him what she’s about to ask him because she knows it’s going to stop the trail of his hand cold.

“I need you to go on a date with me and my parents.”

He freezes, blinks. “I’m sorry?” he asks with a small shake of his head, eyes wide. “What?” He’s frowning at her now and it’s really almost funny to watch all the emotions play across his face. She pulls back, sits up, letting the sheet fall around her waist and taking a moment to appreciate the way his eyes drift down despite his confusion.

“David and Mary Margaret want to go on a double date with us.”

“They want to spend an evening out with us? With me? With the man who is currently engaging in sexual congress with their daughter?”

She smacks him on the shoulder and he laughs, catching her hand and pulling her back down on top of him. “Oh my god. You cannot make reference to the fact that we’re having sex! I think my dad is still trying to convince himself that I’m a virgin.” Killian smiles wickedly again and she glares. “Don’t,” she warns and he bites his lip.

“So what exactly would this evening entail? Would they care to join us for a night on the Jolly Roger?”

Emma shakes her head. “It’s too cold. We just don’t notice it because we stay down here.”

“That’s not true,” he insists. “There was that one night on the deck. I believe we managed to keep quite warm.” She rolls her eyes. “So what then? Dinner at Granny’s?”

She shakes her head again. “They said that wasn’t special enough since we eat there all the time together. And the whole town would be there.”

“Alright. Then what did they suggest?”

Emma shuts her eyes and buries her head in his chest, not wanting to say her next words. “They want to go for drinks at the Rabbit Hole,” she mumbles against him.

“The Rabbit Hole?” he asks and she can hear the raised eyebrow in his tone. “Why the devil would they suggest that?”

“Because I told them we go there,” she groans. He��s looking at her when she finally lifts her head, waiting for an explanation. “They had another one of those ‘we’re not old, we’re fun’ moments and they asked me what we like to do with our time together and I panicked because I couldn’t tell them what we actually do when we spend the night together so I just blurted out that we like to go hang out at the Rabbit Hole and they just jumped on the idea and well, here we are.”

Killian looks equal parts like he wants to laugh and jump overboard at the idea of going to a bar with her parents. It’s not her fault! She had to come up with something and the truth of the matter is that she and Killian are still in the honeymoon period of their relationship - though she doesn’t really see it slowing down anytime soon. This is the first quiet moment they’ve had since they really got together. This is the first time they’ve been able to really be together and not just find a few stolen minutes when her parents are out of the loft or when they could steal away to his room at Granny’s. It’s nice, just being able to enjoy each other.

“Well,” Killian finally says. “I suppose it has been a while since I took you out properly.” Emma looks up at him, relieved and hopeful. “Besides,” he shrugs, his hand resuming its path again. “It could be fun.”

Emma does not appreciate the look in his eye when he says that - well, okay she does, a lot, but not the implication of what that look could mean for tomorrow night. “Behave yourself,” she warns him.

“I don’t know what you mean, Swan,” he insists. “I will be the picture of propriety.” Yeah right. She doesn’t believe that for a second.

“My dad still has a sword.”

Killian smirks, rolls her over onto her back and settles his hips into the cradle of her thighs. He gives her a wink. “So do I.”

-/-

When Emma and Killian arrive at the Rabbit Hole, the place is already nearly packed with people. Emma’s not surprised, the town only has one bar and, well, there’s not much else to do on a Friday night here. She’s broken up enough fights at one in the morning when she works the night shift to know how rowdy this place can get. Which is why she still can’t believe this is where her parents wanted to have their date. Here. Of all places. She sighs, maybe she should have let them just have Killian over for dinner.

“What’s wrong, Love?” Killian asks, nudging her shoulder and leaning down so he can whisper in her ear. She’s sure the volume in this place has something to do with it, but not everything to do with it as the goosebumps rise up on her neck and she feels his lips against her skin. So much for best behaviour.

“Just thinking that I’m definitely going to need a drink if I’m gonna make it through tonight.”

“Aye, you and me both,” he smirks, directing her towards the bar. Emma can’t actually remember the last time she came here for a drink and not for work. It’s weird, people keep looking at her like they’re expecting to get arrested. What’ll they think when the King and Queen walk in?

“Two rums please,” Emma orders and the bartender heads off to get them their drinks.

“Crowded in here, wouldn’t you say?” Killian asks, sliding in closer and wrapping his hooked arm around her so that her back presses into his chest. Cheeky, she thinks. Not that she really has any issue with him finding a reason to press up against her. If her parents weren’t about to walk through that door any minute, she’d roll her hips back against him, just to get him worked up. But they are coming. So she doesn’t.

They’re handed their drinks and toast, to surviving the night, and then throw them back in one shot, ordering a second round. Those are thrown back too. She doesn't intend on getting drunk, just a little loose, enough that she can get through the social awkwardness of dating with her parents - but not so much that she might say or do anything to give herself away.

Killian leans in under the guise of making room for someone squeezing by behind them. Suddenly, his lips are by her ear and she can feel his smile against it, the one he gets when the rum is just starting to warm his blood.

“Killian,” she warns when his lips close around her earlobe, and then start trailing slowly down her neck.

“Hmm?” he hums, playing innocent.

“My parents are going to be here any minute.”

“Indeed,” he speaks against her neck and then continues, unperturbed. “But they aren’t here yet, are they?”

Fine then, if that’s how he wants to play. She pushes back against him, her ass pressing into the front of his jeans and his lips fumble against her skin. He clears his throat and when he speaks again his voice is rougher, a little bit of an edge to it.

“Careful what game you’re playing there, Swan,” he warns. She smirks.

“You started it.” She sees the door open, sees who comes in as they scan the room, looking. Emma grabs her third drink in one hand and then reaches back to brush her fingers against the hardening length pressing against her back. Killian growls. “Mom! Dad!” she calls then, waving them over. The sound Killian makes is priceless. She knows she’ll probably end up paying for it but it’s enough to see him so thrown off his game when she looks over her shoulder.

She steps forward, out of the circle of his arms and into her mom’s embrace. “Hi sweetheart!” Snow says, placing a kiss on her cheek. “Hi Killian,” she says, looking over Emma’s shoulder. Killian coughs awkwardly and raises his glass in greeting. Emma bites back her smile.

David leans in for a hug too and then reaches out to shake Killian’s hand. Emma notices that he keeps the majority of his body behind her as he takes her father’s hand. Maybe she was a little too mean. He really was asking for it though.

After a second, he recovers flawlessly, smiling at her parents with that charm she knows has gotten him through more challenging situations than this one. “So, what will you have?” Killian asks, waving down the bartender.

“Beer for me,” David says, pointedly speaking to the bartender rather than letting Killian order for him. She sees the slight smile on Killian’s face. “Snow?”

“Beer,” she says and four pairs of eyebrows raise.

“Beer?” Emma asks

“I drink beer!” Snow insists. Even David doesn’t look convinced. “It’s a night out! I’m having fun!”

Emma cringes. All she can hear is ‘I’m not like the other moms. I’m a cool mom,’ echoing in her head. Even when she and Mary Margaret were roommates, her mom never drank beer. Wine, yes, sometimes even hard liquor if the situation called for it. But never beer. But then again, her mom did just have a baby. Maybe she’s trying to take it easy.

“Okay then,” Emma says. “Make it four. She throws back her last drink. This night is already off to an interesting start.

David suggests they find a table and they manage to trudge their way through the crowd towards a small booth in the back of the room. Emma’s pretty sure that booth had been occupied a second ago. She doesn’t know whose presence led to it being vacated: the royals, the sheriffs or the pirate. What a freaking weird bunch they are tonight.

They squeeze into the booth, she and Killian on one side and her parents on the other and then… nothing. An awkward, long, heavy silence hangs between them, the kind of silence that’s always dreaded when it comes to new social interactions. Twice Mary Margaret opens her mouth and Emma hopes she’ll say something but both times she closes it with a frown. David keeps alternating between clearing his throat and taking sips of his beer. What is going on? They’ve all spent time together before, they’ve all spoken to one another… but that was usually about a crisis… now with no crisis there’s just… quiet. She hates it.

The TV switches to a hockey game and David perks up. “Oh, this should be a good one,” he says and Emma realises those are the first words that have been spoken in five minutes. Mary Margaret nudges him in a not so discreet way and he looks at Killian and Emma. “Do, uh, do you like hockey?” he asks Killian lamely.

Killian scratches at a spot behind his ear. “Alas, I’m not familiar with it. I don’t know the rules.”

“Oh,” is all David says.

Before the next silence can last too long Mary Margaret speaks. “So, Killian, how are things going with Belle?” she asks with a smile. “Have you made any progress?”

“Very little,” he sighs. “We keep getting stuck with translations. Those magic boxes can do much but they can’t decipher the spells.”

“That’s too bad,” Snow says and Killian agrees. Another silence follows as they all nurse their drinks and half-watch the game.

Emma startles suddenly when she feels Killian’s hook on her knee. His hand is around his glass, perfectly proper, but his hook is starting a slow climb. She kicks at his foot, trying to ignore the sparks shooting along her skin. He is not actually going to try this with her parents sitting right in front of them. He hides his smile in his drink. Her parents remain unaware and Killian grows more daring until suddenly Emma is distracted from trying to bury her fingernails into her palm by her dad speaking to Killian again.

“What games do you know?” he asks. Emma smiles a little. She can tell he’s really trying.

“Few from this world,” Killian admits, his hook has stopped it’s journey for now but it’s still on her thigh. “There was little opportunity for sport on the sea but I fancy myself quite good at cards and dice. And of course swordplay and shooting.”

David actually smiles. “I miss a good sword fight for the sport of it,” he says. Snow catches Emma’s eye and gives her a little grin, clearly thrilled that they’ve found something to talk about.

“Perhaps we ought to have one someday,” Killian suggests and Emma tries not to laugh at the idea of two of the most competitive people she’s ever met sword fighting ‘for fun’. She can see the concern on her mom’s brow too. “Actually,” he says, looking over at the dart board. “I’ve quite taken to darts.”

“Really?” David perks up. “Why don’t we play?” He asks, looking excitedly at the three of them.

Killian looks at Emma and she shrugs. “Sure, why not? I’m a little rusty though.”

“Then we’ll just have to get you loosened back up won’t we?” Killian teases with a smile that’s way too suggestive for present company.

He’s really enjoying this isn’t he? She shakes her head at him and his brows waggle. Her dad is looking at them with a little less enjoyment but also like he doesn’t have the ground to stand on to protest anything. She remembers the way Killian had teased David when he picked her up for their first date and she wonders exactly how far he’s going to push this. Well, he wouldn’t be a pirate if he didn’t crave a little danger, would he?

They wait for the current game to end and then head over to claim the board. Emma can’t help but notice the way her dad’s eyes shift when Killian wraps an arm around her shoulders as they walk, keeping it there as David grabs the darts. He looks at them.

“Do you want to go first?” he offers, pointedly looking at Killian’s arm.

“I’m fine,” he waves him off. David clenches his jaw and Emma raises a brow at him. Apparently his overprotective dad mode has been initiated. And Killian’s hook is in a much more respectable place now than it was a few minutes ago. David turns to throw his first dart and Emma looks up at Killian, flashing him that same raised eyebrow.

“Be nice,” she tells him.

“I’m always nice,” he smirks.

“No, you’re trying to give my dad an aneurysm with your PDA.”

“I don’t know what either of those things mean but I’m certain your father can handle his daughter being shown a bit of affection.” He’s at least keeping his voice low.

She shrugs. “Your funeral.”

“I can think of no better way to perish than by showering you with my attentions. Well, maybe one.”

She rolls her eyes and he laughs, leaning in to press a kiss to her temple. Emma sinks in against his side a little, leaning her head against his shoulder and looping her arms around his waist. It’s nice. The whole sweet, boyfriend-y, little touches and cheek and forehead kisses and stuff. It’s new and she’s not used to it, but she likes it.

David clears his throat and Emma raises her head to see him pointedly holding out the darts for one of them to take. Really? She casts a desperate glance at her mom who is trying and failing to hide her amused smile. But Mary Margaret steps forward and plucks the darts from her husband’s hand. David looks at her like she’s betrayed him.

“I’ll go next,” she announces, actually winking at Emma as she walks by them.

“But shouldn’t one of -”

“Nope!” Snow turns to the dart board and throws three bullseyes in a row without flinching. Killian’s arm falls slightly from Emma’s shoulder as he swallows, eyes going a little wide.

“Woah, Mom,” Emma gapes. Snow shrugs but Emma can see her preening, a little bit of a daze working its way into her smile and she can tell that the drink might be starting to hit her already. That really just makes the bullseyes more impressive. She walks over to David who smiles proudly and kisses her. Oh, so they can show affection but she can’t?

“My turn,” Emma says, giving Killian’s waist a squeeze before heading over to pull the darts out of the board. “Wish me luck!”

She stands at the line and sets herself in the right posture, but before she can throw the dart, Killian’s hand is on her back, his cheek brushing her ear. “Good luck,” he whispers before pressing his lips to her neck. Her dad’s throat clears again. “You feeling alright, Dave?” Killian asks with a smirk. Emma elbows him.

She throws the dart and it misses its mark. Although, she’s pretty sure that it has more to do with the pirate whose lips are curling against her ear than with her actual skill.

“You need to adjust your form, Love,” he tells her, finding an excuse to wrap his hand around her hip and pull her back a little against him. David coughs again and she swears Killian’s face is going to split if he smirks any wider. “You should really get that checked out, mate,” he says. Killian actually does adjust her form, pulling her hip back and lining her shoulder up more squarely with the board. The next dart hits the bullseye.

“He’s not wrong,” Snow says softly and Emma doesn’t look but she can just picture David seething beside her. The third dart also hits the center and she and Killian both walk over to pull them from the board.

“You need to behave yourself,” Emma whispers to him. He only smiles.

“We’re on a date, Swan. Is this not how people are supposed to behave on dates? It would certainly seem so if the movies your mother recommended are to be trusted.”

“You actually watched those?” she asks, surprised.

“Aye,” he nods. “And those Henry and your father recommended as well. The Widow Lucas showed me how to use the black box in the room I rented.” He looks at her. “What?”

“I’m just surprised I guess.”

He shrugs. “They took the time to share something they enjoyed and hoped I would too. It would feel rude not to.” Emma smiles at him. It’s kind of sweet to see the effort that he’s making to befriend her family - even if he is currently trying to give her dad a heart attack. “Besides, it gives me something to talk to them about.”

She laughs. “We could have used that when we were at the table,” she jests, nudging him with the dull side of the dart. The corner of his lips pull up salaciously.

“I was otherwise engaged.”

“I think you got them all,” David says impatiently and Emma hangs her head, a small laugh escaping her. They make their way back to her parents and Killian takes his turn, hitting two bullseyes. In the end, Snow destroys them all and while he’s proud of her, David still shakes his head and laughs.

“Well,” he says, hands on his hips. “My ego is thoroughly bruised.” Snow smiles at him and pats his chest placatingly. “What do you say we try another game? Maybe pool?”

Killian agrees and she and her mom shrug. Why not? It’s better than sitting in awkward silence back at the table.

“I must say, Your Majesty, I could have used someone with your aim back on my ship. Not only in scuffles but it’s always good to have a shark when gambling and sailors often make the mistake of underestimating a woman.”

“Men, you mean,” Snow quips and Killian laughs.

“Aye.”

“But we know better don’t we?” David chimes in. “I only needed to learn that lesson once,” he laughs, rubbing at the scar on his chin.

“I know exactly how you feel,” Killian smiles, his arm snaking its way across Emma’s shoulders again. David looks surprised.

“What do you mean?”

“Did your wife not tell you?” Killian asks, then looks at Emma. “Did you not tell him?” She shakes her head. “When Emma and I first met, when we were fighting to get here from the Enchanted Forest, Emma knocked me out with a rather impressive blow to the jaw.” He rubs at his chin.

“Aw, sorry, babe,” Emma says, rising up on her toes to kiss the spot where she hit him so long ago. He had it coming back then, but she feels a little bad about it now.

“You did?” David demands, looking at her with some kind of fatherly pride she’s still getting used to. She doesn’t fail to notice that he doesn’t seem quite as scandalized by her kissing a man in front of him as she expected. She nods. “Huh,” is all he says.

“Like mother, like daughter, I suppose,” Killian ventures. David actually laughs.

“Yeah, I guess so!” He looks at Emma. “Good for you,” he says before casting a slightly guilty look at Killian. “No offence.”

Killian shrugs it off. “None taken. I was… different back then.” He looks a little ashamed and David nods.

“Yeah,” he agrees and Killian’s shoulders straighten. Emma squeezes at his waist, trying to sooth him, but she doesn’t need to when David speaks again. “But you’re not that person anymore.”

Emma doesn’t know who is more shocked, Killian, her mother, or herself. Killian coughs, scratches behind his ear. He’s trying to play it cool but she can tell how much even this small acknowledgement from her dad of how much he’s changed affects him.

“Right,” he says finally. “Shall we play some billiards?” David nods and Emma starts to follow them but Snow stops her.

“Why don’t you boys play,” she suggests. “Emma and I will go get another round.”

“You don’t want to play?” Emma asks, frowning. She knows her mom has a competitive streak. Snow shrugs.

“Pool isn’t my strong suit,” she says. “And I think I’d like to go out on a victory.” David checks once more that she’s sure she doesn’t want to play and she assures him she doesn’t. Emma’s pretty sure that her dad receives the same hint that she’s getting: Snow wants him and Killian to spend some time alone together, she’s giving him his chance to talk. Emma’s weary but she’s also getting the sense that her mom is also trying to lure her into some kind of weird mother-daughter talk under the guise of getting drinks.

They push their way through the crowd - Emma swears it’s even more packed now than it was when they first got here - and make it to the bar. It takes them a while to get the lone bartender's attention and Mary Margaret takes that time to look back at where the guys are playing pool.

Emma looks over her shoulder. She can’t help but laugh. They both have the same cocky swagger to their mannerisms, showing off with every shot. She can’t hear what they’re saying but she’s certain there’s a little trash talk going on. It looks like Killian is winning though, if the smile on his face and the frown on David’s is anything to go by. David says something that makes Killian laugh and David raises an eyebrow as he leans over the table to take his shot. She’d never noticed that little quirk of her dad’s.

“I guess the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree,” Snow comments and Emma turns back to her.

“What?”

Snow nods towards the guys again. “I just think you might have gotten your taste in men from me,” she smirks.

“What? Ew,” Emma says but then she looks over at them and oh my god. “Oh my god!” she says. “Oh, gross.”

“It’s not gross!” Snow laughs. “Your father is confident and kind and supportive - and so is Killian. And he looks at you like you hung the stars - that’s an addictive feeling, believe me, I know. But it’s not a bad thing,” she says quickly and Emma realises her panic must be evident on her face.

Things are going well with Killian. She likes him. A lot. More than she’s liked anyone in a long time but… he traded his ship for her, his home, and to hear Snow tell her that he looks at her the way her father looks at her mother.. they’re true love and well, it’s a lot. And it’s a little scary.

“I know it’s not,” she admits. “It’s just -”

“Intense?” Snow asks with a smile.

Emma laughs a bit. “Yeah.” Her mom nods. “Intense is the right word. Killian is really kind of all or nothing and all in and I like it but it’s… a lot.”

“Just give it time,” she says, reaching out to stroke her back gently. “I have to say, as your mother, it’s nice to know that you’re lo-” she cuts herself off. “That you’re cared about so much.” Snow has a small dreamy smile curling her lips and Emma asks her what else she’s thinking. She shrugs. “Your dad is like that too. All or nothing. Like I said, the apple doesn’t fall far…”

Emma raises an eyebrow, biting back her smirk. “Yeah, well, I never slept with Whale so…”

Snow bursts out laughing and actually smacks her arm and Emma starts laughing too. For a moment, it feels like before the curse broke, back when Snow wasn’t her mom but just Mary Margaret, her friend, her roommate. She misses that sometimes. She’s happy she has her parents, that she finally found them, but sometimes she misses her best friend.

Emma manages to get the bartender’s attention and orders their drinks. “So,” Snow asks as they wait for their order. “How are things going?” She’s still got that lighthearted, slightly coy smile on her face that reminds Emma of simpler times and so she answers honestly, speaking to her friend rather than her mother.

“It’s going… it’s going really well actually.” Snow’s smile is going to split her face. She nudges her with her elbow.

“Tell me!”

“I dunno. He’s sweet, like really sweet. With me but also with Henry and I guess I never realised how much fun he is to be around. He’s always teasing and playing around and he’s got all these great stories and these little quirks that I didn’t know about. And he asks me about myself and he just listens - like, actually listens.”

She looks over at where Killian’s playing pool. He catches her eye, raises a brow. “And it doesn’t hurt that he looks like a freaking Calvin Klein model. And oh my god the s-” She stops. Suddenly remembering who she’s talking to. Snow doesn’t look phased, only smirking at her a little wickedly and Emma wonders if she’s feeling the same nostalgia she is or if it’s just the one beer already hitting her.

“You’re blushing,” she teases.

“I am not!” Emma insists.

“Hey, I don’t blame you. He is very hot.”

“Mom!”

“What? I’m married. I’m not blind.”

Emma only gapes at her in disbelief as Mary Margaret shrugs dismissively and grabs the four bottles when they’re set down in front of them. The bartender also sets down a bottle of rum giving her a smile.

“On the house,” he says. “You being here has people on their best behaviours. I haven’t had to throw someone out all night.”

“Is this a bribe?” Emma asks with a raised brow.

“Absolutely,” the man says and Emma laughs, accepting the bottle and the glasses but throwing in a large enough tip that she doesn’t feel like she’s committing a felony. When they reach the pool table, there’s some sort of heated argument going on.

“I’m just saying, when I win, I want to win fairly,” David says.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Killian insists.

“What’s going on?” Emma interrupts.

“Killian is cheating.”

“I’m not cheating! I’m offended you would even suggest it.”

“Why do you think he’s cheating?” Emma asks, feeling protective of Killian but also fully aware that him cheating is absolutely a possibility.

“Because five minutes ago he was sinking everything and then I missed a few in a row and suddenly he hasn’t managed to sink a single ball.”

Emma bites back her laugh. “You think he’s cheating to let you win?” Emma looks at Killian, sees the smirk on his face. Oh my god, he’s cheating to let David win.

“Emma,” David says. “Please tell your boyfriend that I can win on my own, thank you very much, and that this isn’t going to earn him brownie points with your dad.”

Killian laughs but he reaches out and grabs hold of her hand, squeezing it when her dad refers to him casually as her boyfriend. She brings his hand up to her lips and presses them against his knuckles. His eyes widen slightly in surprise while her father rolls his. She wonders at his surprise. Maybe she’s not the best at showing affection. Maybe she should work on that.

She steps forward into his embrace and he wraps his hooked arm around her as he reaches for his cue that’s leaning against the table. She presses herself against him and puts her hand on his chest. There’s still that bit of surprise on his face but his smile tells her it’s the good kind.

“Killian,” she says seriously, tilting her head up to look at him.

“Yes, Love?”

“Stop letting my dad win,” she smiles. He laughs, nods, but leans down quickly to kiss her, brief enough that David can’t really complain. It doesn’t stop him from frowning though.

“Alright then, Dave,” Killian says when Emma walks back over to her lean against the wall with her mom. “Let’s have a real game shall we?”

The game gets pretty close, by the end it comes down to David having only the eight ball left and Killian having one of his own to sink. David misses the shot and they debate the rules as to whether Killian wins by default or if they keep playing. David insists that he’s lost and that that’s better for Killian since he’d still have two balls to sink to win. Killian insists that he loves a challenge and wants them to continue.

Snow rolls her eyes and shoots Emma a knowing look. Shit, they really are alike. She’s trying not to be grossed out by that. In the end, Killian sinks both his ball and the eight and wins the game, but in a way that David can respect and he offers him his hand to shake, insisting that they’ll have to have a rematch sometime. Killian’s smile at the offer and the way his cheeks go a little red warm her heart.

“How did you get so good at this?” David asks. “They didn’t have this game in the Enchanted Forest. Do you and Emma play a lot when you come here?”

Killian shoots her a smirk and she glares at him. “No, we usually enjoy ourselves in other ways when we spend an evening together.” He’s really pushing it, she thinks. But as far as her dad knows they hang out here on their nights together so hopefully he thinks that Killian just means they play other games, and not that Killian spends most of his nights with his head between her legs, playing in a whole different way.

“It was Belle, actually,” he adds before David or Snow can put any pieces together. “She’s quite the shark and sometimes we play to blow off steam when the research gets to be too much. She taught me a trick or two. There are quite a few games she’s taught me that we didn’t have in our realm. I must say this world has a certain advantage when it comes to entertainment.”

“Yeah,” Snow says. “I have to say I’d miss reality TV and the Food Network if we ever went back.”

“And video games,” David adds. “And ESPN.”

“Look, the Enchanted Forest lost me at no indoor plumbing,” Emma chimes in and there’s a shared laugh of agreement.

“I do miss some things,” Snow admits. “Like royal balls. There’s nothing here quite like the dances we used to have at the castle.”

“I miss riding horses,” David says. “Cars are great, but you can’t bond with a car. What about you, Hook? Do you miss anything from your old life?” Emma tenses, almost worried about his answer. He gave up his home for her, she reminds herself. But that doesn’t mean that he’ll never regret it, that he’ll never resent her for it.

“Can’t say that I do,” he shakes his head, reaching for her as though he knows exactly what she’s thinking. He probably does. “Particularly now that I have my ship back. I missed the sea.” He looks at David pointedly then, his fingers tightening on her hip and she knows that the message is for her too. “But I have no plans of leaving. I’ve found a call that’s stronger than hers.” He looks at her out of the corner of his eye and she tenses a little, a natural reaction to such an overt admission of feelings, but then lets out the breath she’s holding and smiles at him, lets herself be happy about it. She catches David’s nod of approval. Mary Margaret’s practically swooning.

“I do miss the music, though,” he adds after a moment. “There’s something about the sound of a crew singing under the hot sun while they work, or late at night under the stars that nothing here has managed to live up to. The music in this realm… leaves something to be desired.” Emma bites back her smile, remembering his distaste for most, if not all of the music Henry insists on playing loudly whenever he’s on the Jolly Roger with Killian.

“Although, I will admit that some of the music Emma has shown me is more... palatable.” Emma smirks as David and Snow ask what music he means.

“I showed him classic rock,” she tells them. “I thought with the whole leather and eyeliner and earrings it might be up his alley.” She was honestly shocked when he’d liked it. She’d been showing him a bunch of different genres and he’d made faces at nearly all of them, all but folk - which she expected - and classic rock - which she had not.

David’s eyes go wide but not in shock, in excitement. “And you liked it?” he demands.

“Aye,” Killian answers. “They have melodies that encourage singing along and that feel like they should be sung in groups. It feels nostalgic.” Emma can’t quite make the connection between something like Queen or Led Zeppelin and sea shanties out on the water, but she’s never been there so she assumes it’s more of a feeling thing than a technical thing.

“I love classic rock! I was born in - well, David Nolan was born in - the eighties! I grew up listening to that stuff! At least, I have memories of growing up listening to it, of my mom playing records for me. It’s complicated.”

“Sounds like it,” Killian laughs.

“Don’t they have a jukebox here?” David exclaims, scanning the bar. He clearly spots one because he grabs a very confused Killian’s arm and drags him across the room. Emma looks at her mom who seems equally as surprised before she bursts out laughing. Her dad is acting like a little kid - or like a nerdy dad - and poor Killian is apparently going to be subjected to a hell of a musical education.

Emma grabs the bottle of rum and the glasses and holds them up before she and Mary Margaret head off after the guys. “I think we’re gonna need this,” she jokes. Snow only nods, smiling.

When they reach their significant others, Emma is surprised to find them in a heated conversation, debating the merits of AC/DC versus Aerosmith. Emma can’t even keep track of who prefers who as they speak over one another and take turns - sorta, they kinda push and shove really - filling the jukebox and picking songs.

“Swan,” Killian turns to her for the first time in nearly ten minutes and she looks at him with an arched brow. “Do you have any of those blasted quarter-dollars? My dubloons won’t fit in the bloody machine.”

Emma laughs. “They’re just called quarters and no, I don’t. But I have rum,” she offers as a substitute.

“Aye,” Killian says. “That will help too. Especially if your father is going to continue to insist on playing REO Speedwagon.”

“Hey!” David cries.

Emma and her mom try and coax the guys over to the table nearby but neither of them are willing to step away from the jukebox, both convinced that someone else will choose a terrible song. They also can’t stop suggesting songs and the way David keeps excitedly shouting ‘oh man, yeah I love that one’, and Killian keeps referring to songs as ‘bloody brilliant’ has her pretty sure that she and Mary Margaret have lost them for the night.

So, she fills her and her mom’s glasses and they head to the table that is literally less than six feet away, leaving the bottle and the two other glasses for David and Killian. The women sip their drinks, watching in amazement as the two grown men continue speaking so fast she can’t keep up with what they’re saying and bouncing on the balls of their feet.

Emma loses track of what happens really after that, David and Killian become a bit of an entertaining blur, both of them laughing and talking and drinking rum - they’re really drinking quite a bit, she realises at one point - and singing along. That’s right. The two of them are belting out classic rock songs, drawing annoyed and weary looks from everyone else in the room. But what can they do? It’s the king/sheriff and a freaking pirate. Who's going to stand up to that?

“At least they’re getting along,” Snow comments, wincing as David and Killian butcher a song she can’t recognize - probably because they have the words wrong.

“Of all the things that I thought might bring them together, I never thought it would be this.” Emma shakes her head. “Do you really think -” she starts but then feels silly for asking. Snow gives her an encouraging look. “Do you think dad likes him?”

It shouldn’t matter. She’s a grown woman and she can be with whoever she wants to be with. She’s never needed anybody's permission or approval and she doesn’t need it now. But just because she doesn’t need it doesn’t mean she doesn’t want it.

“I think,” Mary Margaret starts, choosing her words carefully. “I think that were it any other situation, if Killian wasn’t the man dating his daughter, he and your father might be best friends. I think he does like him, but he’s trying not to like him too much because he’s stubborn and overprotective and he feels like he needs to be on your side.”

“There aren’t any sides,” Emma says. “We’re together. We make a good team.”

“I see that. And your dad is starting too also. You just need to give him some time. But I think that they’re making some serious strides if tonight is anything to go by.” She winces again as David fails to hit a particularly high note that should be reserved for only Freddy Mercury. But he laughs as Killian pours him another drink, clinking his glass against the other man’s.

“And you?” Emma asks hesitantly. “Do you like him?” She’s never thought to ask. Her dad has always made his opinion clear. Mary Margaret is different though. She plays things closer to the chest. She’s never really worried about her opinion of Killian until now, now that she realises she doesn’t know what it is.

Snow smiles. “I do,” she says, placing her hand over Emma’s reassuringly. “I didn’t always, but even when we first met him I could tell there was something going on between you. It scared me back then because of who he was. But he’s changed, become someone better, someone who might actually deserve you.” Emma opens her mouth to protest, to defend Killian but her mom stops her. “I just mean that I have trouble believing that anyone deserves you. But the way he looks at you, and the way he supports you and encourages you. Yeah, I like him.”

Emma smiles, looking down to hide the effect of her mom’s words, which she’s sure are written all over her face. “Good.”

"Emma," Killian says, suddenly right beside her. She turns to find him looking down at her, hand out and a slightly dazed, happy smile on his lips. "Dance with me." His eyes are heavy-lidded and there's the slightest sway to his stance. She bites her lip. He's drunk.

She notices David there too now, having more trouble standing upright than Killian is, but still pulling Mary Margaret to her feet. "It's no royal ball," he says. "But will it do for now?"

She doesn’t hear what her mom answers. She’s too distracted by the arched eyebrow and upturned lip that’s just shy of Killian’s usual swagger, slightly softened by his current state. But he looks so sweet and she remembers dancing with him at the ball in the Enchanted Forest and thinks it might be nice to do it again without the threat of never being born looming over her.

She puts her hand in his and he gives her a goofy grin, pulling her up and wrapping his arm around her, holding his hook out for her to take hold of. Oh right, he waltzes, she nearly laughs. He leads her to the little space between the seats and the jukebox, they’re in their own little corner here, away from the rest of the crowded bar, some eighties balad blasting through the speakers. Emma swears she sees David shoot him a thumbs up over Mary Margaret’s shoulder.

She knows it’s probably not proper dancing form but she lets her fingers slide from his shoulder up to the nape of his neck so she can play with the ends of his hair. He leans into her touch. She’s impressed when he actually attempts to lead them through the steps she can barely remember. He’s honestly not too bad at it, less graceful than he’d been last time but, considering the nearly empty bottle of rum, she gives him credit for standing right now.

He stumbles over his own feet eventually and chuckles softly, lightheartedly, and it’s nice to hear. “I fear I might not be quite up to the task at the moment,” he says, shaking his head. She laughs with him.

“That’s okay,” she tells him, pulling his hook around her so it can join his hand at her back. She slides her other hand up around his neck. “Why don’t I teach you how we dance here this time?” She steps into him, pressing her chest to his, and starts to sway.

His arms tighten, pulling her in closer. “So many wonderful things about this realm,” he starts, laying his forehead against hers. “But this might be my favorite yet.” She laughs a little, the slightly mumbled way his words come out betraying him again. She’ll tease him tomorrow. But right now he’s soft and warm and happy and he smells so nice, so she lays her head on his shoulder and dances with him in a dingy bar with her parents right next to her. It should be weird. But it’s not. It feels right. Probably because it’s him. No, definitely because it’s him.

Killian’s hand moves over her back, playing with her hair as he turns his head to nuzzle against the back of her neck. She’s pretty sure he doesn’t even mean anything by it when his fingers trail down her spine and settle on her backside. She’s not surprised, she’s well aware that he’s a fan of that part of her, and he’s still swaying with her gently. She is surprised that her dad isn’t causing a scene over it though.

She peeks over Killian’s shoulder and really wishes she hadn’t. Her dad isn’t saying anything because he didn’t notice, because he’s too busy making out with her mom, who is giggling and playfully swatting at his wandering hands. Oh god. She’s gonna be sick.

She makes a sound and Killian’s head pops up, follows her gaze behind him and a shit-eating grin spreads across his face. She glares at him.

“I cannot believe you got my dad drunk,” she hisses.

“I did not get your father drunk! He got me drunk!” Emma rolls her eyes and he smiles even wider. “I think I’m winning him over,” he winks. “And I think he would make a good drinking buddy.” Emma pulls back to look at him, her brows shooting up to her hairline.

“Where did you even learn that term?”

He just smiles. His hand gives her ass a squeeze - definitely intentional this time - as he pulls her in closer, pressing her hips to his as he runs his nose and then his lips along her jaw. Her heart rate picks up, it’s automatic at this point, her skin prickling everywhere it’s touching his, but she tilts her head away, enjoying the very put-out and slightly confused expression on his face.

“I am not making out with you next to my parents.” She looks over at them again, grimaces. “Even if they seem to have no problem making out in front of their daughter.”

Killian takes her chin between his thumb and finger, drawing her eyes back to his as he leans in, his lips a breath away from hers as he speaks, that wicked grin coming back. “Actually, Swan, I had quite a bit more in mind…” he trails off. Emma swallows.

“Then maybe it’s time we get out of here,” she suggests. And he nods so enthusiastically it makes her laugh.

“That’s a brilliant idea,” he tells her. “I always said you were brilliant.”

She turns them so that she can look over at her mom without having to leave his arms because she really doesn’t want to at the moment - and maybe she wants to save him the awkwardness of hiding the growing hardness she can feel against her stomach. Thankfully, her parents have stopped making out and are now just gazing dreamily into each other's eyes. That might be worse, really.

“I think we should get these two home,” she says and Snow looks over at her, confused at first but then nods, laughing as she takes in the state of their dates.

“Goodnight, Lady Snow,” Killian says. “Until next time, mate,” he says to David. Emma holds her breath but to her surprise, David smiles, reaching out to give Killian one of those weird, bro-ey handshakes where they just kinda clasp hands like they’re going to arm wrestle. David turns to Mary Margaret then.

“One more song,” he insists. “I picked the next one.”

“Okay, one more song,” she agrees, patting his cheek.

“Goodnight, Mom. ‘Night, Dad,” she says as she turns in Killian’s embrace to head out. He practically presses himself against the back of her as he follows.

“Night, sweetheart,” David says. “This was fun,” he adds - slurs.

Emma smiles. “Yeah, it was.” She waves goodbye to her mom who gives her one of those touched, happy smiles and then she leads Killian out of the bar.

His hand is on her waist the whole way through the crowd, fingers dancing along the edge of her shirt, sneaking under it, hot against her skin. His breath is on her neck and every few steps he leans down to brush his lips against it too.

They’ve barely made it outside before he’s pulling her out of the reach of the lone porch light above the door and pressing her against the wall. His lips fall over hers and his hand slips under her shirt, flattening against her stomach and sliding higher. Emma groans into his mouth, reaching up to grab hold of his hair, pulling him closer. His hips press against hers, pinning her to the wall as his hand finds her breast.

Emma gasps, throwing her head back and he takes the opportunity to trail hot, open-mouthed kisses down the column of her throat. She needs to get him back to his ship now. But she also doesn’t have it in her to pull away, not when his hips are rolling against hers in a dirty grind and his fingers are shoving her bra out of the way.

She hikes her leg over his hip and he groans this time, grabbing hold of her thigh with his hook and keeping her there, the blunt curve of it digging into her ass. His mouth finds hers again, open and heady as he drags his tongue over hers, his breathing ragged. Her hands reach down to slip into his back pockets, pulling him harder against her and holy shit she’s definitely debating letting him fuck her against this wall when suddenly -

“Hey! Hands where I can see them, Hook!”

Her father’s voice is like a bucket of ice water being dumped on her. Killian freezes for a moment but doesn’t pull back. His lips curl against hers, his laugh puffing against her skin as he removes his hand from under her shirt and holds it up and out over his head.

“Hand and hook!” David calls again and Killian drops her leg to hold his other arm up as well. He kisses her again though and it’s so ridiculous, him standing there with his arms in the air while his lips and body are pressed to hers, her father threatening him from twenty feet away. She feels like a teenager and it should annoy her but it doesn’t, it makes her laugh. She never got this. She’s not saying she wants this kind of thing to happen all the time but she supposes there are still opportunities for her to get those childhood memories she missed out on.

“Good man,” David says before letting himself be dragged away by Snow. His own hands start to trail a little too low on her mom’s back and Emma shouts at him.

“Hands where I can see them, Dad!” David’s hands shoot straight up, like a perp, and she laughs. This whole thing, this whole night, has been ridiculous.

She slides her hands up across Killian’s back, wraps her arms around him and he kisses her once more, softer this time. “Thank you,” she says when he pulls back, tilting her head up to press her lips to his cheek. He bites his lip, smiling.

“Hmm. Well, perhaps some gratitude is in order…”

“You’ve used that line before,” she teases him.

He sighs. “Swan, your father poured an entire bottle of rum into me, forgive me if I resort to tried and true lines I know will work.”

“Pretty cocky,” she tells him, arching a brow and then regretting it immediately when she realises the opening she just gave him - well, not really regretting it.

He ruts his hips against hers and her breath hitches. “Oh, you have no idea.”

“Actually,” she answers, her voice catching a little. “I have a very good idea. So how about you take me home, sailor?”

“You’re full of good ideas,” he says, leaning in.

“Even date night with my parents?” she jokes and he halts before his lips touch hers, huffing out a laugh.

“Aye, even date night with your parents.” He kisses her softly and smiles sweetly at her. “It wasn’t so bad. I think your father might even be beginning to approve of me.” His grin turns sinful then and his fingers come up to brush over her bottom lip, continuing a trail down her chin to her neck and chest and stomach.

“Although right now,” he starts, brow ticking up at the way her stomach flutters under his touch and her back arches slightly. “I think I’d like to take you back to my ship and do a few things to you that he definitely would not approve of.”

#cs fanfic #cs one shot #cs fluff #snowing #snowing fluff #captain swan #smut adjacent #so goddamn fluffy

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pennylanefics · 5 years

Text

kisses

a/n: i did this with ben and his characters, so i thought i’d try it with taron :) hope you like!! will be doing more of these in the upcoming future. also, some of these came out longer than expected lol

•••

taron

- after a long few months of taron being away for filming, he was finally back home and with you for the time being, before he had to start touring for press.

on the night that he got back, because he got back after dinnertime, you two chose to have a movie night, watching some classic movies and catching up, taron telling you stories of being on set.

a couple movies in, you were starting to get tired, and taron could tell. he held you tighter in his arms, since you were already cuddling, and peppered kisses all over your forehead. you sighed contently, enjoying the feeling of his soft lips against your skin.

“love you so much, darling. but get some sleep, okay? i’ll be here when you wake up, i promise.” with a nod in response, you close your eyes, huddling closer to his body, and falling into a deep sleep, continuing to feel his lips against your head.

eddie

- you, eddie, and bronson were all in Switzerland for one of eddie’s competitions. eddie had spent all day warming up and having pep talks with bronson, so you hadn’t had a chance to see him much. so, after he jumped, successfully qualifying, you and him took a walk around the town together, bronson retreating to the hotel’s bar.

since it was winter, snow was falling from the sky at a calming and slow speed, giving the air a sort of romantic feel to it. your hand was enclosed in eddie’s as you two strolled around the small village.

“my mum said congratulations, by the way,” you tell eddie, in reference to his qualification today, which you had called your mom about when you got to the hotel to change.

“tell her i said thanks. she seems like a lovely woman and it’d be great to meet her someday,” eddie replies, squeezing your hand gently.

“you will. i’ll make sure we set up a day where we can go out...what?” you pause your sentence when you notice eddie staring at you. he shakes his head and stops walking, which then causes you to pause your movements as well.

“you are so adorable,” he whispers, stepping an inch closer, eyes darting all over your face. a blush creeps up your neck as you glance down at your snow-covered shoes.

eddie’s fingers come up and lift your chin so you could look at him, and that’s when he leans in and gives you the lightest kiss on your nose.

“i love you,” he whispers.

dennis

- “den, what’s the matter?” you jump up from your spot on the couch as dennis storms into your shared apartment. he had tears in his eyes, almost ready to spill over and down his cheeks. he just shakes his head, reaching out for you, letting out a strangled sob.

you immediately run and hold him in your arms, comfortingly rubbing up and down his back to try and calm him down.

“shh, it’s okay, dennis. you’re gonna be okay,” you whisper into his ear, bringing him over to the couch. you sit down, making sure he was comfortable enough, and just let him cry for however long he needed.

around ten minutes later, his sobs finally subsided, although a few tears were still falling. he still had yet to speak a word, but you didn’t care; you just wanted him to be okay, but judging by the time he’s cried for, you knew he wasn’t.

dennis finally raises up from your shoulder, and the sight broke your heart. his cheeks were bright red, stained with tears, and his bottom lip was still quivering. the look in his eyes said it all.

“what happened?” you hesitantly ask him, caressing his cheek with your thumb. he leans into your touch a little before reaching up to capture your lips with his. the kiss is needy and almost as if dennis was pleading you to never leave him. you kiss back with the same amount of passion, letting him know you won’t ever leave him.

when he pulls away, he keeps his forehead on yours, his breath hitting your lips.

“i love you so much, darlin’. thank you for stayin’ with me and putting up with my fucked up life.”

“hey, don’t say that. i love you, that’s why i stay and help you through everything. i’m staying for a long time, i’m afraid.” dennis laughs just a little, but it’s something.

“thank you, love. you mean so much to me.”

dean

- “babe?” dean's voice calls from the living room, trying to find out where you are. he had just gotten home from a business meeting, and all he could think about was bending you over the large conference table; he had to leave with his paperwork covering his crotch.

“in the office!” you reply, writing an answer to your homework on a sheet of paper. you continue doing your work with no thoughts of dean, until he makes his way into the office, standing in the doorway, watching you concentrate. your head shoots up at him when you feel his gaze on you, but you quickly return to your paper.

“what do you want, dean? i’m trying to study,” you tell him, thinking he would get the hint and go away. but, he steps forward, beginning to unbutton his dress shirt. you then hear the sound of his belt but don’t register it, staying focused on your work.

“come on, baby girl. take a break, will you?” dean purrs in your ear, leaning against your back. your breath hitches in your throat, your eyes closing to try and keep your composure. but, that soon is deemed impossible when dean’s lips attach to your neck. you quietly moan as he gently bites down, feeling him smirk against your skin when he hears you.

“so? will you come with me and help me with a different sort of problem?” he asks, continuing to plant kisses all over your neck as you lean your head back to give him more access.

“i g-guess,” you breathe out, closing your textbook and turning in his arms, jumping into them so he could carry you to his bedroom.

eggsy

- “(y/n) here will be designing your suit, so if you would please go into fitting room two and get measured,” harry tells the newbie, eggsy, as they walk into the Kingsman tailor shop. you had been working there as a tailor for incoming members ever since your father learned of your very impressive sewing and design skills.

“uh, are you sure i should be with her? ain’t that a little-”

“why? because i’m a woman?” you raise your eyebrow at eggsy, knowing he was most likely going to say it was ‘inappropriate.’

“don’t worry. she’s better than anyone else we’ve had in the past. she’s very professional and knows what she’s doing,” harry responds before you have a chance to make a snarky comment. eggsy follows you into the changing room, and you immediately get to work.

a few weeks later, when the suit is finished, eggsy comes back in for a fitting, thankfully not much had to be fixed.

“okay, you’re all set, mr. unwin,” you say, patting his shoulder gently.

“please, call me eggsy,” he responds. you nod and go to leave the dressing room, when he stops you, slowly leaning down to meet your face. he tilts his head and his lips come into contact with your cheek softly. a blush takes over them as he pulls away, a small smile on his face.

“if it’s okay, i’d like to make up for our first visit and take you out to dinner. i was a real jerk and didn’t give you a chance, and-”

“i’d love to, eggsy. i understand the discomfort of it, but i’m glad you trusted me and let me do what i needed to. pick me up at around seven, when i get off?” you say to him, a small smile on your face. his expression copies yours as he nods.

“i’ll see you then, love.”

robin

- “(y/n)!” you hear john call out to you from right outside robin’s manor. you were sat reading, while him and rob went into town to fight in the revolution. so, hearing john’s voice filled with so much distress really concerned you.

john stumbles in the door, holding a half-conscious robin to his side, frantically pointing for you to gather things as he brings rob over to his bed.

“what the hell happened?!” you question as you begin to rip robin’s clothing so you could access the wound on his shoulder.

“we were fighting and someone caught robin off guard, shot him in the shoulder. didn’t hit anything major, but he passed out from the pain. i couldn’t get the arrow out, and everytime i tried, he just screamed out. i knew you could do something, so i brought him here,” he tells you in a strained voice, breaths coming out short and jagged.

“he’s going to be okay. can you get me a bucket of water and a rag please?” john immediately runs off and retrieves the items you needed. carefully and quickly, you work to remove the arrow still sticking out from his shoulder, and get to cleaning the area.

it was late at night when robin finally woke back up, groaning at the pain shooting through his shoulder. his heart softens when he notices you lying on the floor next to his bed. he reaches his hand down to stroke your hair, which of course wakes you up.

“rob! you’re awake!” you exclaim, jumping up to sit next to him. he laughs and nods, grabbing your hand and giving it a gentle squeeze.

your emotions take over your body as you lean in and harshly press your lips to his, putting every single feeling and emotion into it, wanting him to know that you are thankful that he is okay.

“love, i’m alright, i promise you,” he mumbles against your lips as he pulls away. you smile, a few tears falling down your cheek.

“i know. but i came so close to losing you.”

“you’re never going to lose me.”

•••

taglist: @loveharrington @toky-9101 @buck-barn @butlegendsneverdie @tarons-mercury @1-800-fandomsdestroyedme

dean gif is not mine, robin gif is by @taronegeton

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spanishskulduggery · 5 years

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What are some cultural differences you (or your follwers) have discovered while studying spanish?? I’m curious, i’m from the US & recently talking to my latina cousin I realised that when she says she is going clubbing she’s talking about going out after 2am and coming back at like 8am!!! Which is mental to me, i need my sleep lol. So now i feel like there are so many things we do different & i’m so eager to find out more 😂

Is this a culture thing or a language-y thing. Either way, in no particular order:

- Weddings are a big one. Latin American weddings are a BIG thing and go on at least 24 hours pretty much.

- Another I’ve noticed is that Spanish uses a lot of nicknames that sound really demeaning if you used them literally in English. Like in a lot of countries, you could just be known as el gordo/la gorda if you’re fat, or judío/judía “Jewish” if you’re Jewish. In English, if you went around calling someone “Jew” it would make you sound like a Nazi, and if you just referred to someone as “fat” without any context you would sound like a monster. English is very PC at times and Spanish sounds very rude when translated literally. [I definitely took that one from Joanna rants but I knew someone who went by Flaco growing up]

- I’ve also found out that sometimes these nicknames just last for life? Like I don’t know where I saw it but someone had been hearing their relative’s nickname all their life and thought it was their actual name.

- Last names are very unique. I had no idea that so many Spanish-speaking countries had women keeping their own last names even when married.

- Names in general. I didn’t realize that so many people seemed to have multiple first names. I have met people in the US named like “Ann Marie” or “Mary Margaret” but it wasn’t as common as Spanish.

- Also English tends to assume the last name you mention is your last name, while Spanish tends to have the first last name mentioned be the father’s surname and is the one you’d use most often. Or like… if your name was Miguel Díaz Vega or something, in English-speaking culture you’d call him “Mr. Vega”. In Spanish-speaking culture, you’d say “Mr. Díaz”.

- I didn’t realize that for a time Franco made it so you had to give a child a Christian name in Spain.

- That Spain and Latin America don’t always get along, which I did sort of know but I thought it was like how the US and the UK don’t always get along but it’s a lot more intense.

- Also, not all of Spain gets along with all of Spain. And all of the autonomous communities have kind of a reputation among each other. It’s kind of like how in the US everyone thinks of California as one way. Except in Spain it’s a little more serious and contentious at times.

- And some Latin American countries are like… openly hostile about other Latin American countries, which again, the US and Canada are neighbors and generally both speak English but we’ve got stereotypes and not seething hatred. Not to say all Latin American countries hate all other Latin American countries, but I knew someone who nearly got disowned because they were dating a Colombian person.

- That “racism” in the US is almost always black or white, literally. In Latin America most racism comes out as “colorism”. In the US and a lot of English-speaking places, people think of anyone from Latin America being a person of color. In Latin America, everyone realizes that some people have European ancestry, some people have African ancestry, some people have indigenous ancestry, some people have Asian ancestry, and some people are any combination therein.

Meaning that you could be “white” by US standards like a blonde and blue-eyed person who just happens to be Mexican or Puerto Rican, but the US assumes outright that you’re a person of color.

But in Latin American society, the colorism comes out in that everyone seems to understand that most people are mixed in some way, but there’s preferential treatment or more representation for people of lighter skin tones. This comes out especially in families where some family members might just not associate with other branches of the family or ignore they exist. And that there are all kinds of words in Spanish (different words in different countries at that) for people who are light skinned or people who are darker, or people who are light skinned who act like they’re darker and vice versa.

- Also there are weird superstitions and things that are kind of vaguely racist by US standards. Like in some countries if you see a black person it’s customary to pinch someone you’re with for good luck.

- In some places you’re supposed to pinch a redhead when you see them for good luck which is less racist but more invasive I guess?

- People are also very relaxed about certain words or traditions that I as an American have some politically correct visceral reactions to. Like in Spain it’s not that uncommon to see someone in blackface when it’s Three Kings Day, or how in the US it’s no longer considered acceptable to say “gypsy” you’re supposed to say Roma or Romani, but in Spanish gitano/a is not seen as anything that bad except for when it is

- Also Three Kings Day is a thing and very important. I mean we do have the Epiphany in the US but unless you’re religious, it means nothing for you. On Three Kings Day, it’s kind of like Christmas because you get gifts and you leave out grass or food for the camels.

- I was not prepared for Pascua being used for both Christmas [also Navidad] and Easter by the way. That’s real difficult for me.

- You also kiss your elder family member’s hands in some places. I’m not totally sure if it’s like la bendición exactly, but in some countries it’s a sign of respect or how you ask for someone’s blessing

- “Heal, heal, frog’s tail/ass, if you don’t heal today, you’ll heal tomorrow” when someone - especially a little kid - gets hurt or sick. It’s kind of like “kissing a boo boo to make it better” except it is literally phrased like a magical spell

- In most places, the idea of “Friday the 13th” is “Tuesday the 13th” in Spanish countries. Unless you literally mean a date, “Tuesday the 13th” is the unlucky day, which kind of makes me think of Ides of March I dunno

- Being told not to walk around barefoot because your ovaries will freeze

- Gross, but if you’re a girl being told to “serve” your male relatives like your cousin or your brother; sírvele

- Sometimes there are terms of endearment that translate very badly in English. I could never call someone mi gordito/a or mi negro/a as a term of endearment, regardless of body type and regardless of skin color and it translates as “sweetie” or “dear”. I would never feel comfortable saying those words to anyone at anytime for any reason because it took me years to get over feeling weird about negro/a being “black”

- Trying to figure out whether to use a comma or a period when talking about thousands because some people will do 100,000 and some people will do 100.000 and then SOME people will just do 100 000

- It’s not a “party” if there isn’t dancing. If you’re just standing around talking, it feels like a funeral. You at least need a space where people can dance if it’s a party.

- Las Mañanitas being the Mexican Happy Birthday song and if you listen to it literally you’re just like “why are we talking about dawn so much??”

- “suburbs” in the US are nice places where people live who work in a big city, they’re like nice slightly rural communities and they’re the dream of the middle class. A suburbio in Latin America is a “shanty town” or a “slum” usually, like makeshift houses built out of sheets of metal and bits of wood.

- “Middle class” in general just means something completely different for the US than it does for Europe and parts of Latin America. In Europe especially the “middle class” are the snobs who act like they’re better than each other and are obsessed with materialism. In the US “middle class” is “I’m not poor because I worked hard and I’m not rich because I’m self-made and I picked myself up by my bootstraps and I now live in comfortable stability with a wife and 2.5 kids and a picket fence and this is the American dream”. Europe is like “the middle class is the worst part of humanity” and is more like how the US would describe “keeping up with the Jones’s”

- Trying to explain the times Spaniards eat is very difficult because in the US you have breakfast when you wake up, 12 noon is lunch, dinner is sometime between 5-7 usually. In Spain there’s a breakfast, a snack, a second breakfast, a huge lunch, maybe another snack, dinner if you’re hungry but it’s late and probably tapas. I’m like 90% sure that the US definition of meal time was based on a factory schedule because it is so weirdly strict and on a timetable.

- The US cares more about Cinco de Mayo and the majority of us don’t even know what it symbolizes for Mexico, or that the majority of Mexico doesn’t celebrate it

- The US is very rushed as a culture especially in big cities. If you make people wait for you, you’re the rude one and you should be ashamed. In a lot of Spanish-speaking countries, it’s more relaxed. Like I’ve heard “Spanish time” or “Mexican time” etc when people are saying they’re operating slower but I think the US is just VERY rushed

- The US is very weirdly affectionate and loving but also very prudish. Like we smile at each other, we laugh and say “I love you” as a goodbye. But when sex comes up we act like it doesn’t exist and it is so bizarre because it is the exact opposite in Europe because many countries would consider you being weirdly inappropriate or disingenuous for smiling at strangers or asking people how they are as a greeting [and make no mistake, in the US except in the South, we say “how are you?” and if we don’t know you, we aren’t looking for an answer other than “good”]… We really must seem like overly emotional liars sometimes to people in Europe.

- The grading system in general

- I can’t even get into the metric system and Celsius. I’ve seen fear when I tell someone it’s 98 degrees outside.

- La chancla

- There are some superstitions that most countries have about not putting your wallet or purse on the floor and itchy palms meaning money coming your way

- People making jewelry out of baby teeth

- Speaking of, the Tooth Fairy is a mouse named Ratoncito Pérez

- el hombre del saco is a common thing to scare children with if they misbehave

- You’re gonna learn real quick that in Latin America if you’re from the US and you say soy americano/a you might get some nasty responses about how they’re also Americans living in the Americas, which is valid and why I say estadounidense

Spain on the other hand says americano/a pretty often and also norteamericano/a which I guess is closer but also I guess canadiense is distinct enough? I dunno. I usually stick with estadounidense because I don’t want to be That Gringo

- Along the same lines, generally avoid calling people in Latin America “Hispanic”… that’s a term that really only Spanish-speakers in the US use. For everyone else it sounds kind of like you’re calling them “subjects of the Spanish Crown”

- SPANISH REGIONALISMS THAT NO ONE TAUGHT ME AND NOW GROCERY SHOPPING IS THE WOOOOORST IT’S NOT EVEN A CULTURE THING ALL THE TIME BUT I JUST WANT SOME BEANS AND WHY IS BANANA A PLANTAIN THEY ARE DIFFERENT

-Also Chile. Just Chile. Just Chile in general. Shout out to my lovely Chilean followers, you know what why you’re on this list and not just because yellow is your lucky color, ya po

Anyone else want to add some because I want to learn

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