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notyour-valentine · 2 years
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The Boy in the Window 13 ~ Tommy Shelby x Reader (Series)
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Chapter Summary: Tommy, despite his plan, prepares for the worst. So must (Y/N).
Notes: I can almost taste the end...but the end of what? That's the question... I do not consent to my work being translated, copied or posted elsewhere on this platform or any other.
Here, you can find my [Masterlist] and the [Series Masterlist]
Warning: Canon conforming mention of violence. Smut/ sexual content (18/21+). Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Expect spoilers for Peaky Blinders Season 1-4.
Wordcount: 3413
Part 13
[Previously]
The betting shop looked entirely different by day than it had at night, with sun falling in through the windows, illuminating the dancing dust. 
There were no shadows now, constantly creeping up on the milk glass doors, but she was still afraid. 
The same hand that had caused her terror the last time she had been here was now the only one ensuring she didn't fall apart. 
He had come and told her to come with him to the office and so she had, letting his hand on the small of her back guide her past the tables and the chalkboards all the way to his office at the end of it. 
Emma and Charlie had joined, exploring his office curiously. 
To her surprise, the boy had never been here before. Then again, why would Tommy Shelby, if given the option, bring their child here? Why would anyone, apart from a last resorts?
Charlie in particular adored the painting of a horse behind his father's desk, while Emma fell in love with the swivel chair. 
(Y/N) saw that contraption as an accident waiting to happen and on any other day, she would've told Emma to stop, but today she didn't have the energy.
"Tommy, why am I hear?", She asked. 
"Insurance.", He told his desk, not looking up to meet her eyes. 
From the paperwork placed at his side, he pulled out several sheets of paper. 
"They're already set with the lawyers. Only thing missing's your signature."
"Signature for what?", She asked. 
Tommy took a deep breath and walked around the desk, standing so close that the children wouldn't hear. 
"If it goes wrong, I don't know how many will be left.", He said, his tone void of all emotion, which made her shudder.
It. 
She had heard this ominous it a lot on the last few days. 
The great it he had in motion, that apparently could end this vendetta with the Italians, that occupied his mind and body alike, keeping him away during the day and making him get up at ungodly hours during the night. 
He didn't explain it to her but she didn't ask either. She didn't need to know more about it than she already did- she knew it was a risk, a gamble. 
"How many?", She asked. 
"Of us. If it goes south, it'll definitely be me and who knows who else. We'll all be there."
Tommy cleared his throat and handed her some papers. 
"What's this?", She asked once more, her eyes glancing over the Shelby letterhead. 
"I'll not leave it to the fucking parish to decide what happens to my son.", He said sharply, flipping a few pages over to the final one.
There she could find his own signature, as well as that of the lawyers, and of Mrs. Gray.
One gap remained. 
Under it, someone had typed out (Y/N) Hale, née (L/N).
"Everything's sorted. There are people, independent people, who'll know what to do and deal with the paperwork. You can trust them."
"Tommy, are you certain?", She asked. 
He gave a quick nod and handed her the pen, his face a mask of stone, with not a muscle betraying him. 
(Y/N) stared at the white paper, watching the ink of his signature blur in her vision. 
Once this was over, it couldn't be undone and the implications were not lost on her, their weight, the responsibility. 
But he was sure, and she couldn't deny him this small fragment of certainty, not when he might very well be going to his death.
Not too long ago, in this very same room, she had feared what would happen to her daughter if she were to die.
It was not a feeling she ever wanted to experience again, nor one she would wish on even her worst enemy if she had one.
His hand found the small of her back as she leaned over and signed the document, shaking as she put the pen aside. 
Beside her, Tommy breathed a heavy sigh of relief. 
He averted his eyes for a moment, pinching the bridge of his nose before turning back and pulling her in, so that she had her head resting against his shoulder, his arms holding her in a secure embrace that only made her feel more uncertain. 
"We won't need it.", She promised, or prayed- maybe. 
His only answer was a kiss to her temple. 
They only broke apart when Charlie tugged at her dress. 
"Can I get a hug too?", He asked. 
Tommy reached down and lifted him up so that he sat on his hip, stroking his hair from his forehead. 
"Tomorrow, you'll go on a trip.", He told him, his voice changing to a lighthearted tone the way only parent’s voices could. 
"Curly will take you and Emma and (Y/N) on the boat and you'll go to a forest to have a picnic."
"Are we, Mummy?", Emma asked, pushing past the chair to join then.
(Y/N) only nodded. 
It involved the Changrettas coming into Small Heath. It involved Arthur and all of the Shelbys in one spot. 
And it meant that Tommy wanted her and the children away for the city. 
(Y/N) hadn’t even found the ground to argue on and so here they were. 
That day, Tommy stayed. He stayed for lunch and after, stayed for tea and dinner, played with the children and bathed Charlie. 
Afterwards he went up with her to put them to bed, listening to the stories, and then the song. 
She left the room before he did, not wanting to disturb his goodnight to Charlie. 
Instead, she went back downstairs and sat down on the sofa, drawing her legs under her. 
The room was completely still, and yet her ears ached as if a matching band had been playing for hours. 
She could feel the strain from the frantic beating of her heart, not just in her soul like the poets did, but in her chest, the way old people would complain about.  
And she was afraid- so deeply afraid. 
Tomorrow, she thought, Tommy could be dead. 
Tomorrow Charlie could become an orphan. 
And then what? 
(Y/N) knew she shouldn't feel as daunted as she did. She had lost people before, had buried and mourned them- a mother, a father and sister, a husband and a brother. It was nothing she hadn't done before, nothing she hadn't gotten through before, but the thought of tomorrow was a bottomless pitch black pit, so grim and ghastly it drained any lighty, any last fragment of hope. 
What would she do? 
He had said there were plans in place, people who'd tell her, who'd guide her and show her but what would she do? 
What could she do? 
What words were there which she could say to Charlie? To explain?
Would she even be able to say them if she knew? 
(Y/N) leaned her forehead against her knees and took a shuddering breath. 
The worst part was that it was nothing but a selfish fear, not just for Charlie, but for herself, her own, personal, cowardly, selfish reasons- reasons she had no right to. 
And she had no right to the tears that burned on her cheeks either, nor to the way her lip trembled, or how her throat tightened. 
She had no right to any of it, but she felt it all the same and she didn't know how to make any of it stop. And she knew it was too late to try. 
Somewhere along the way she had crossed the Rubicon without being able to handle the tension as the dice spun, preparing to spell out her fate - and that of the children. 
When his hand found her shoulder, she flinched so hard she nearly fell off of the edge of the sofa. 
At once, she brought her sleeve up to her eyes, scrubbing at them the way one would scrub at a stain in the desperate attempt to get rid of it. 
"I'm fine.", She hissed, getting up from the sofa. 
During her escape to the kitchen she made the mistake of glancing at him, only to be met with piercing, pale eyes, opened wide and filled with pain that only proved the agony she felt to be more than appropriate. 
(Y/N) braced herself on the kitchen table, leaning forward as she fought for control over her shaking hands, her hitching breaths, her thundering heart and her foolish tears. 
It was a futile battle, but she had known that before she started, otherwise she wouldn't have left the room. 
"(Y/N)."
He said her name so softly, so gently, it seemed almost uncanny when spoken by a rough voice like his. 
She forced her eyes shut and shook her head. 
"It's fine.", She assured him, not turning to look at him, only to hear him sigh once more. 
When she realised he had moved to stand behind her, she regretted coming here, because now there was no way out unless she wanted to go past him. 
That meant looking at him, and allowing him to look at her and that was something she really didn't want to happen, not while the tears were still coming. 
She so hated to cry. 
His hands found her shoulders. 
"I said it's fine.", She repeated, her voice betraying her the same it had before as she wiped her cheeks with her sleeve. 
With determination, but entirely without force, he turned her around. 
(Y/N) hid her face from his sight with her sleeve- or at least she tried to. 
Instead of pulling her hands away, he drew her in until his chin rested atop her head. 
She took a shuddering breath, inhaling the scent of him- of his cigarettes and the shaving cream he used, of soap, of whisky and smoke. 
His hands found her back and began to draw circles between her shoulder blades. Up and down. Up and down.
"It'll be alright.", He whispered. 
(Y/N) was desperate to believe him. She wanted nothing more than to let the tension in her shoulders fall from her, to melt into his embrace and believe him. 
But she couldn't. 
"You don't know that.", She insisted, her voice trembling through her tears which threatened to soak through his shirt. 
Thomas Shelby took a deep breath before correcting himself. 
"You and the children will be alright."
The pain in her chest was so sharp at his words, she very nearly buckled over, the implications not lost on her. 
"There are things in place-"
She forced her eyes shut and shook her head, not wanting to hear this once again. 
So what if he had things in place?
So what if there were people that would tell her where to go and what to do? 
All (Y/N) did was shake her head as if that would block out his words and the harsh reality they carried. 
In a desperate, futile attempt to draw back, she turned her head away, knowing she wouldn't have the strength of will to pull all of herself out of his reach. 
His hand found her cheek, smudging the tears with his fingers as he tried to stroke them away. 
“(Y/N).”, he whispered, turning her face to his. 
She had forced her eyes shut so she had no warning until she felt his lips on hers. They were as soft and cautious, almost hesitant, as they had been the night of Charlie’s birthday, when he feared her possible rejection. 
His hand was still holding her face with such care as if she were a glass figurine he feared would shatter. 
She didn’t want him to kiss her and she didn’t want to kiss him back. She didn’t want to melt into him, to drown in the warmth of his embrace, to have the pleasure he could give her wipe away her worries. She doesn’t want to hold him close and be held in equal measure. 
But wanting and needing were to very different things. 
And she needed him, in the same, burning desperate need he seemed to feel for her. 
Her hands found his chest, running up the fabric of his shirt to steady herself against him as she kissed him back. 
His hands had left her face and pulled her blouse from her skirt. Even when he began to undo it, button by button, he didn’t stop kissing her.
The warmth of his hands, as they brushed the white cloth off of her shoulders kept any chill at bay, and spread a burning of their own as they found her shoulders. 
Her own trembling  fingers were far less skilled as they fidgeted with his buttons. He had to help her get rid of it, and broke the kiss to do so. 
(Y/N) stared at him.
By now, she knew every mark on his chest, every scar, every tattoo. She knew what they felt like under the touch of her lips and the caress of her hands - she knew, and she hated that she knew. 
She hated how used she had become to him, how familiar his skin felt on hers, how natural it felt for his arms to wrap around her. 
She hated the way he sat her down on the sofa so gently and how she felt no shame when he knelt down in front of her. 
And she hated herself for doing nothing to stop it. 
But how could she? This might be the last time…the very last time…
His fingers burned on her skin as they unclasped her stockings, rolling them down gently. When the fabric passed her knee, he leaned down to kiss it. 
He repeated it on the other leg, only this time, he pushed them apart and kissed the inside of her knee, finding the spot of one of her childhood scars. 
(Y/N) knew it was no accident. 
His fingertips traced a line down her leg and the way they barely brushed against her skin made her shudder. 
Once he reached her ankle, he closed his hands around it and lifted it atop his shoulder. 
“Relax.”, he whispered, his lips redder than they usually wore, flushed and swollen and glistening slightly.  “I’ve got you.”
She tried, she really did. 
Closing her eyes, she leaned her head against the back of the sofa, while he continued to trace kisses on the inside of her thigh, the image of his dark eyes and shining lips burning in her memory. 
“Tommy!”, she whispered. “Please…”
Nights ago, he had begged her to make him feel better and now she was asking him the very same thing - or at least to make her forget, even if it was only for a moment. 
At first it was enough for her to melt into his touch, but as she grew ever more lightheaded, she just had to touch him, in any way she could, to hold onto him, else she feared she’d fall into an abyss of her own. 
(Y/N)’s hands shook as they found the back of his head, her fingers coiling in his hair. 
Somehow that only seemed to urge him on as he quickened the movements of both his fingers and his tongue. One of his hands pressed down on her already trembling thigh while the other reached up to steady her hips, limiting the way she’d writhe and squirm. 
“Tommy-”, she managed to whimper, her voice barely more than a breath, as he brought her right to the edge, but she wasn’t ready, not yet. 
“Tommy.”
Only when she tugged at his hair with more force, did he allow her to bring his face up. 
In doing so, she almost lost her balance and very nearly crashed into his shoulders. 
“(Y/N)?”, he asked, just as out of breath as she was. 
Instead of answering, she pulled him in and crashed her lips to his. 
If this really was their last night, she wanted to hold him, as close as possible, independent of the many pleasures he could coax from her in other ways. 
For a second or two, Tommy seemed struck with her change of pace, but then one arm found its way around her back, pushing her up against him. 
Her own hands found his chest, fingers brushing over skin, tracing his scars and the tattoos, all these little details- 
A desperation gripped her, urging her to reach out again, to touch them again, to kiss them again, because if she didn’t memorise them now, she could never get the chance again and that would mean forgetting. 
Another shudder, a darker shudder ran through her, making her tighten their embrace. 
His hand had to force their way between their two bodies in an attempt to undo his trousers, brushing against her burning skin, letting her feel even the slightest of movements. 
She buried her head in the crook of his neck, and so he must have felt her faint gasp when he entered her. 
He moved slowly, almost painfully so, and in stark contrast to the rush she had felt earlier. 
Because as soon as something starts, it is only counting down to the end and this end…
(Y/N)’s fingers dug into his shoulder, her nails biting into his skin as she clung to him. 
Every thrust pushed her closer, every thrust brought her closer to him. 
The kisses she pressed on the side of his neck were wet frantic, a futile attempt to say things she couldn’t voice. 
But the grew ever sloppier, mixed with trembling gasps and shudders. 
His own lips covered her collarbone and chest with his hot breath and kisses, and yet their affect transcended her skin, leaving their mark in the depth of her soul, a mark she knew would stay far longer than the remnants of his physical touch. 
She clung to him when he brought her to the edge and crossed it, and kept holding onto him even after he had found his own release. 
“Not yet.”, she whispered.
His arms tightened around her in response, not caring for the heat, for the coat of sweat that covered the both of them, just like she didn’t. 
When (Y/N) dropped her head onto his chest, she trembled, and when she heard him sigh, she realised he knew that this time it wasn’t from either cold or the aftermath of her pleasure.
Tilting his head, he pressed a lingering kiss to the top of her head, burying his nose in her hair. 
~
It was the creaking of the floorboard that woke her, the kind of creaks that they only made in her bedroom upstairs. 
And she was in her bed, lying on her stomach, her head facing the room. 
Since the last thing (Y/N) remembered was forcing her eyes shut to stop any possible tears as she listened to his thundering heartbeat, she knew she hadn’t made her way up here on her own. 
And yet, the bed was cold. 
She could hear him moving around in the room though, the groan of old wood, the hiss of fabric, even the click of metal cufflinks. 
But (Y/N) didn’t open her eyes. 
That would mean looking at him and that would mean watching him leave. 
The thought alone made her heart clench so fiercely in her chest, her face nearly betrayed her.
The bedframe squeaked slightly as he sat down on the side of the bed, dipping the matrasse. 
(Y/N) held her breath. She knew it was a childish thing to do - as if just because she couldn’t see something would prevent it from happening. 
That perhaps the adult thing, the right thin, would be opening her eyes and sitting up. 
But she couldn’t. 
His hand was as warm as the caresses of the summer sun as it touched her naked shoulder. 
“(Y/-”
Tommy broke off before finishing her name, instead ending in a sigh. 
She could feel the grip of his hand, which had already been gentle, become even softer. 
For a moment he just sat there, as her heart thundered in her chest so violently, she thought he must be able to hear it. 
But if he did, he didn’t let it change his mind, as his hand smoothed down some tangled strands of her hair. 
When he bent down, she could feel the fabric of his shirt against her skin a mere heartbeat before he kissed her temple, letting both his lips and his hands linger. 
The bed creaked again, as goosebumps covered her back and arms in the absence of the warmth of his touch.
Her breath hitched when he pulled the blanket all the way up to her neck. 
Her hands coiled into the fabric until she could feel her fingernails dig into the palm of her hand even in spite of cloth between them as the lock clicked into place. 
But that sound wasn’t nearly as bad as hearing the front door close a few minutes later - proof, that he really was gone. 
(Y/N) wouldn’t have gathered the strength of will to get up that day if it hadn’t been for the children, or the way her jaw tightened, giving her mere moments to reach the basin.
End of Part 13
~
Part 14
Thank you for reading! I’d be very grateful for feedback of any kind!
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purplesurveys · 3 years
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What would you say is your favorite food? Sushi. < Ahhh, this is a good one. My favorite is down to a tie: it’s either chicken curry or burgers.
What color eyes does the person you like / love have? Are they pretty? Dark brown. I’m not too sure what the second question is referring to but yeah, she and her eyes are both pretty.
What was the first television show you were obsessed with? Hi-5, omg. That show was my life in preschool and I always watched the 12 NN replay as soon as I got back home from school, back when I was still on a half-day sched. I was so hooked I remember having legit tantrums before starting Grade 1 because grade school meant full days in school and thus having to miss out on the show entirely.
Do you like Mexican food or any other foreign foods? For sure. All my favorites are Asian (Indian, Japanese, Indonesian, Chinese, etc.) but I also enjoy Italian, Mexican, Greek etc cuisines. I generally haven’t tried African cuisines but I really, really want to.
What color is the keyboard you are currently using? The keys are black with white lettering.
Do you own any of those ‘chunky’ and cute rings? Nope, not my style.
What are you planning on eating for dinner tonight if you haven’t already? I saw my dad cooking up something deep-fried; it was like his own version of katsu or something, or maybe it’s fish fillet? I’m not too sure what it is yet but I’m excited and will probably eat lots of it as I skipped all my meals and have only been running on coffee and vape all day - not good.
Do you own an iPod or MP3 player? If so, when did you get it? Technically I still do. Haven’t used it since high school. I got it when I was 10 back in ‘08; I was envious of the kids in school who had iPods, so I asked my dad to buy me one even though I wasn’t super into music at the time. Not the best kid in the world.
When was the last time someone took your picture? Last Saturday when my package came. Apparently online deliveries now require your photo to be taken upon receiving your package and I think it’s for the seller to keep track of their transactions. I’m not a big fan of the new procedure, but it’s whatevs.
Would you rather write a report or type it on a computer? Type. 
What color was the last jacket or hoodie you wore? Gray.
Do you receive more compliments or insults on a daily basis? Neither, really. I haven’t been talking to people a lot; and when I do it’s for work, where I receive neither compliments nor insults.
Who is the lead actress / actor from your absolute favorite movie? Audrey Hepburn and Albert Finney, or Matt Damon and Ben Affleck.
Can you recite the alphabet backward? [continued from last night] Slowly, but I’m sure I can finish it.
Do you eat chili when you get a hotdog, or do you like it plain? We don’t do hotdogs with chili here. I generally don’t see chili much where I live and I wouldn’t call it a common dish.
Would you say it’s easy for people to make you smile or laugh? At first I thought it was, but I’m slowly realizing that it isn’t.
What would you say is your favorite cereal, if you even like it? Cookie Crisp is the only one I like. I don’t have cereal often.
When was the last time you went on vacation? Where was it? It was a quick weekend getaway to Tagaytay and then Cavite, if it counts.
How many states have you been to in your lifetime? Zero.
Do you and your friends normally say you love one another? Yep, especially with Andi and Angela.
Have you ever been an outcast at your school or anywhere else? I was definitely one in early grade school, and again in Grade 6 when both my closest friends migrated in a span of six months, and I spent nearly all my lunch periods alone. Looking back on it, I’m really glad I powered through and made it here because I truly wasn’t happy at the time.
Do you own any dresses? If so, what colors are they? I have lots of sundresses and little black dresses because I was into those for a very long time at one point. Some of them are black, obviously, but I also have dresses in blue, maroon, and olive.
Would you say you drink more pop / soda than you should? I never drink soda as I’ve always felt like I spend more time complaining about how drinking it feels like burning my tongue and throat than actually enjoying it.
Would you rather have orange juice or milk with your breakfast? Water.
How many different colors has your bedroom been painted? Just one. The walls have been white ever since we moved here 12 years ago.
Do you cuss? If so, do you ever cuss in front of your parents? I’ll slip in front of them sometimes but I never get in trouble for it anymore.
Would you ever tell your mom about the things you’ve done sexually? Our humor together can be raunchy sometimes but I don’t think I’d ever do this. I dunno if she wants to hear I’ve had sex with a girl either.
Is there anyone out there who can make you cry very easily? Yes.
What was the worst news you’ve heard this entire week? *In the last week, hearing about the typhoon’s effects in other cities didn’t feel good. This entire country is literally only getting by with donations from the private sector because the government isn’t doing shit for cities and families who got severely affected by the typhoon; it’s almost depressing to hear and read about.
Have you ever been in a car wreck? I’ve been in minor car accidents but it would be too much to call any of them car wrecks. They had all just been tiny bumps or thuds.
Do you have your ears pierced? If not, what do you have pierced? Yes, my mom had my earlobes pierced when I was an infant. I don’t plan on getting any more new ones as I’m not really into piercings.
Has anyone ever told you that they think you have ADHD? Nope.
What is your biggest pet peeve? When people reach out first via text/IM then even if I get back to them in 5–10 seconds, it takes them a long time to get back to me. It’s especially annoying if they classify it as urgent, I drop everything to reply quickly, then they end up disappearing. Like why?
Do a lot of people understand you completely? Who does exactly? No, I like keeping a wall up. 
Would you say you’re really good at cooking and baking things? Haha no. But it’s something I want to be skilled in, definitely. I’d love to be able to make the food I usually just thirst over on the internet. I’m taking baby steps, like figuring out how to make certain sandwiches, but I have a long way to go before I can consider myself any good.
How is the weather outside right this second? It’s been a little cloudy this morning but it might start to get fair seeing how I’m beginning to see the sky turn blue. I’m just hoping there won’t be too much sun, period.
Do you have a lot of trees around your house? What about buildings? No buildings as I live in a gated village. We have a number of trees around, but I wouldn’t call it ‘a lot.’
Would you say either one of your parents are 'pack-rats?’ No. I have that title, and I believe I inherited it from my great-grandmother who was a bit of a pack rat herself, as I’ve been told.
Have you ever disowned anyone in your family? For what reasons? Kinda. I don’t associate with one of my uncles because he has a terrible drinking issue that he never got to permanently fix. Whenever I see him at family gatherings he just smells like stale gin or whatever it is he drinks, and it just ruins the essence of family reunions for me. As recent as Christmas Day last year he drove drunk and crashed into a car with an entire family, but as always his ass got lucky because 1) no one in the family got hurt, and 2) said family let go of the lawsuit they were planning to file against him.
Have you ever seen That 70’s Show? Do you watch it regularly? I tried watching the first episode but genuinely could not find it entertaining for the life of me. Sorry, Mila :(
If you could choose, what decade would you rather live in? I never really think about revisiting decades - they’re already behind, so what’s the point? As bad as the 2020s have been looking, I’m okay with staying here.
How often would you say you get sick? Once a year at most.
Is there anyone out there who has hurt you so much, you wish they’d die? I used to wish they would die, but I don’t feel that way anymore.
Has anyone ever called you a socio-path before? I don’t think so.
When was the last time you watched a movie in theaters? December.
Have you ever moved to a completely different state before? We’ve moved to different regions before.
Do you mind it when surveys ask you really personal questions? No. Isn’t that part of the point of surveys?
When was the last time you told someone you love them? Thursday or Friday I think, when Andi said it to me first and I said it back. I wasn’t having a good day and they were just looking out.
Which one would you like more: kiss on cheek / kiss on neck? Depends on my mood. Right now a kiss on the cheek sounds nice.
Does it bother you when people steal your stuff on MySpace? This never happened to me because I had Myspace for such a short time and I never caught it at its peak. Also, how do people steal your stuff over there? That’s pretty intriguing lmao
Do you have freckles? Do you like / dislike them? I don’t have any.
Who would you say is the best actor / or actress in your opinion? My biased ass would rally for Kate Winslet all the way, but some other great ones for me are Toni Collette, Emma Stone, Jodie Foster, and Natalie Portman.
How many times have you been drunk in your life? Many.
What would you do if the last person you kissed said they hated you? Be confused and ask them to give me a few concrete reasons. I don’t think too highly of myself, but I know I’ve never done anything to make me deserving of hate, especially with regard to us.
Do you ever think you might be pregnant? No, it has never been a worry of mine.
When was the last time you acted really immature? The weekend.
Do you enjoy watching comedies or horror movies more? Horror. I never watch comedies and the only subtype of it that I watch is romcom.
As a child, did you ever have an imaginary friend? Yeah but it lasted all of five minutes until I got bored with the concept.
Does anyone call you baby? Who would that be? No.
Can you rely on one or more people to take up for you? I have no idea what take up means. If this also means ‘stand up for me,’ then yeah I can.
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bobasheebaby · 4 years
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Malneirophrenia- Monsters chapter 7
Pairing: Olivia x MC; Liam x Olivia
Word count: 2,984
Warnings: evil Liam, evil Olivia, eating disorder, child abuse/neglect
Summary: Emma meets her sponsors and gets a crash course in everything she will need for the social season.
A/N: And we’re in Cordonia, and we are meeting the Beaumont’s ... finally. @sirbeepsalot and I still have another chapter planned before the social season, but soon I promise. 
Series warnings: Evil Liam, Evil Olivia, child abuse, character death, abuse, knife violence, blood, unhealthy sexual situations, NSFW content to come. By asking to be tagged you acknowledge you are at least 18 years of age.
Let one of us know if you want on or off the taglist.
Disclaimer: We only own our OC’s, the rest we are just borrowing from PB.
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Malneirophrenia: the feeling of unease or unhappiness that comes from waking up from a nightmare.
Emma gazed out the window as they traveled the winding roads of the lush Cordonian countryside. Everything here was so different. She grew up in the dense, harsh city; here, everything was lush and open. It was as if dilapidated buildings didn’t exist in Cordonia; instead, quaint country villages spotted with cute, vintage homes transitioned into impressive manors surrounded by sprawling vineyards. Will I ever fit in here?
Her clover green eyes went wide as their car stopped in front of an impressive stone and wood mansion, with lush lawns and gardens that appeared to stretch on forever. “Is this the palace?”
Liam chuckled. “We’re in Duchy Ramsford at the Beaumont estate. You will be staying here until the start of the social season.”
Emma’s heart hammered in her chest. Did they already change their minds about me?
“Li, you’re scaring the poor girl.” Olivia lightly touched Emma’s arm. “Emma, Liam needs to go back to the palace and it wouldn’t be proper for a suitor to arrive so early. The Beaumont brothers have graciously offered to sponsor you.”
“Wait, suitor? You told me you brought me to Cordonia to be Liam’s queen.” Her heart pounded in her chest. See, you’re too trusting. They lied to you.
“You are,” Olivia said softly.
“Why do I need a sponsor then?” Emma asked as she looked between Liam and Olivia.
Liam glanced at Olivia before clearing his throat. “Emma, I understand this doesn’t make sense, but it is customary for noblemen and women to go through a social season to find spouses. I will choose you. We want to build a life with you.”
Emma’s eyes widened in surprise, she thought all of this was already set. She didn’t realize she had to pretend to compete for him while other members of royalty silently judged her every move. He said he’d choose her, but what if she fumbled and everyone hated her? Could she handle another failure to her name?
Emma stepped out of the vehicle. She felt slightly more comfortable but was still nervous. She didn’t know these people and she was expected to live with them. Could she trust two men whom she had never met?
“Olivia will be staying to make sure they take good care of you and help you settle,” Liam said stepping beside her. “Duke Bertrand will also help prepare you for your role by teaching you what you need to know about life at court.”
Emma smiled slightly at the thought that she wouldn’t be alone. Olivia was tough but she was kind. Emma was relieved that she was staying with her. She smiled at Liam, nodding her understanding as shouts filled the air around her.
“You’re here! Bertrand, they’re here!” A tall, thin man with bright blue eyes and dark brown hair shouted his greetings as he bounded down the front stairs to greet them.
“I can see that, Maxwell.” A shorter, more serious man Emma took to be Bertrand said walking down the stairs at a much slower pace. “You may have grown up with His Majesty, but can you please keep up some courtly protocol?”
Maxwell deflated. “Sorry, Bertrand.”
“Yes, well do better,” Bertrand said as he smoothed down the front of his brown sweater vest.
Emma appraised the pair. Maxwell was loud, effervescent, and exuded energy. Bertrand was more stern with a face that seemed permanently etched with a scowl. She wondered how the two could actually be brothers. She straightened as she felt Bertrand’s eyes fall on her, his lips pulled into a thin line as he scrutinized her.
“Your Majesty,” Bertrand dipped into a smooth bow before turning to Olivia. “Duchess Olivia, I do hope your journey was alright. I would like to once again extend you both my sympathies about the king father, such a tragic loss.”
Liam nodded, his stoic façade in place. “Thank you, Duke Bertrand. I’d like to thank you for offering to sponsor Lady Emma.” His onyx stare reminding him of their deal; help Emma, parade her as their own, keep Liam's secret, and receive everything needed to regain his house’s status.
“It's an honor, sir.” He turned to Emma giving her a stiff nod. “You must be Lady Emma. I am Bertrand Beaumont, Duke of Ramsford.”
Emma racked her brain trying to remember the crash course in etiquette that she received on the plane from New York. “Yes, your Grace. It’s lovely to make your acquaintance,” she replied as she dipped into an awkward curtsy.
“Hmm.” Bertrand momentarily questioned why the new reigning monarch wanted him to sponsor this woman and claim her as his own. He nearly backed out of their deal, but the promise of wealth and keeping their status untarnished won out. The king had offered a lot of money, money House Beaumont desperately needed to return to its former glory. It also helped that Liam said this woman would be his queen. “It’s going to take a lot of hard work but I will have her presentable in time for the start of the social season.”
--
“And this is your room,” Maxwell said with a flourish of his arms.
“Thank you,” Emma said giving him a shy smile. He seemed nice but she found his personality a bit overwhelming.
She stepped into the spacious room, her eyes going wide as she took in the space. I could fit my first studio apartment in here twice. She set her Daemarrel bag on the bed before the sudden realization that she had moved across an ocean with nothing but a new purse and a few items to her name hitting her full force.
She swallowed, thinking of all she needed to replace. Did I grab my wallet? Can I even access my account or will the police use it to find me? She gave a soft sigh. This would be any girl’s dream come true, but she was starting to wonder if this was just her being beholden to another man.
Her thoughts drifted to the crimson goddess as she sank into the soft bedding. Thoughts of her stirred butterflies in her stomach and she wondered if Olivia had similar feelings. She rolled to her side and sighed. Her new life would be so much easier if she didn’t have to vie for the hand of a king. She wished the three of them could simply start building their new life together. Liam and Olivia were sweet and kind -- all three of them had survived personal hells. The thought of belonging, of being safe with them, made her happy.
But she knew this was how it had to be for now. Tomorrow, she remembered Bertrand telling her, she would start to learn the skills needed to be queen.
---
Emma sat at a grand oak table in a hard, uncomfortable chair. She stared wide-eyed at the place setting before her, her hands neatly folded in her lap as Bertrand had instructed. Her eyes scanned over the multiple forks as she tried desperately to remember the basic etiquette course she’d had in her home economics class. She gave a soft, hesitant smile as she lifted her left hand, fingers delicately wrapping around the fork closest to the plate. Her head snapped to the side as Olivia gently cleared her throat before picking up the correct fork.
Emma flashed Olivia a grateful smile as she tried to ignore the way her heart raced in her presence. She lifted the correct fork and tucked into her salad. She never realized there were so many different utensils that each served a distinct purpose during the meal. She wondered if Bertrand got a perverse joy watching her fail time and time again. Each new rule seemed to be spoken in a language only the elite could ever understand. Will I ever get this down? Will I ever make them believe I belong?
Always taste your food before seasoning it was one rule she found easy to follow. Growing up, her mother would smack her hand, calling her an ungrateful brat if she even thought of modifying the dish she had been served. It led her to accept what she was served.
Emma casually glanced at Olivia, she watched as Olivia pushed the salad around her plate. Is there something wrong with the food? She cautiously pierced a few delicate leaves with her fork, bringing the lightly dressed greens to her mouth. It seems fine to me.
She tried to conceal her surprise when her salad plate was whisked away and replaced by a new dish. Her eyes swept over her main course: a small, whole bird served with rice pilaf and asparagus. She looked at her utensils. At least there is only one fork left.
“Lady Emma, could you please pass me the salt?” Bertrand requested, his watchful gaze burning into her.
“Of course,” she replied with a tentative smile. His previous words pinged in her head; pass the salt and pepper together. That rule felt dumb. She couldn’t understand why you would pass both if they had only requested one, but maybe there was something she would eventually understand about always keeping them together.
She carefully picked up the salt and pepper, what did he say about passing items? She ran through the rules in her head: set passed items directly on the table instead of passing hand to hand. She set the shakers to the right of Bertrand’s plate before flashing him a soft, proud smile.
“Thank you, Lady Emma,” Bertrand said.
His words felt cold and hard, like the false praise you’d give to a scolded child or a misbehaving dog. She nodded her head in his direction, worry her voice may crack if she were to speak aloud.
Her palms felt sweaty as she watched the others carefully cut off bite-sized portions of the bird. How do I even begin to cut it? It’s basically whole, all it’s missing is it’s head, feet, and feathers.
She surreptitiously slid her hands to her lap, thankful to have the linen napkin to dry her sweaty palms. One rule is a win; the napkin rests on your lap until the end of the meal. Emma flashed an uneasy smile as she lifted her knife and fork, carefully cutting a small piece of breast meat from the bone. Here’s to new things, she thought as she brought the meat to her lips.
Her eyes fell on Olivia’s plate as she chewed. She noticed that, despite the appearance Olivia gave, she’d hardly touched her meal. Why isn’t she eating? She suddenly realized that she had hardly seen Olivia eat since they met.
- -
Olivia tilted her head down, her eyes trained on her plate as she pushed the food around. Her stomach gave a soft rumble, but she refused to take a bite; she knew the food on her plate wouldn’t be nearly as edible as it appeared. Regina simply kept up the appearance of keeping her well cared for.
She speared a lima bean with her fork, summoning the courage to eat it no matter how vile it might taste. Regina enjoyed using food to punish her and would tamper with her meals to make them inedible: vinegar in her soup, extra salt on her vegetables, overcooked and burnt meat. She did her best to stomach it since mealtime was the only time she was able to eat. She’d once tried to sneak into the kitchen late at night, only to find that Regina kept the food locked tight.
If you wanted to eat you ate with the ‘family’ or you could starve. Maybe starving isn’t so bad.
- -
Unknown to Emma, Olivia had requested that Bertrand schedule time for her to teach Emma about more feminine matters. Bertrand didn’t question her; he asked how long she needed and to let him know if he could assist in any way with the lesson.
Olivia spent the afternoon in Emma’s room reviewing the items her stylist had sent over for Emma. She smiled as she ran her fingers down the sleeve of a kelly green cashmere sweater. There was a reason she kept Sasha around; she was a wizard with building wardrobes. She had even included a few ties and items for Liam that coordinated in a subtle way with several of Emma’s outfits. She nodded before sitting on the bed, lifting her legs and admiring the new deep red leather booties Sasha found for her. She loved that, even when shopping for Emma, she still kept her in mind. It felt nice to have someone care.
At 14.00, she walked downstairs and down the center hall of the Beaumont Estate. Their manor was one of the homes she enjoyed visiting. The brothers had kept with their family traditions but it had a light, airy feel to it that other estates and keeps didn’t have.
She arrived at the den and softly knocked before cracking the door open. She peeked inside and saw Emma sitting across from Bertrand. He had been teaching her Cordonian history and Olivia sensed the lesson went well based on the smile on her face.
“Lady Olivia,” Bertrand greeted as he stood. “Please, come in. We were just finishing up.”
Emma stood and turned, meeting Olivia’s eyes as she dipped into a passable curtsy.
“Emma, you don’t need to curtsy,” Olivia noted before looking to Bertrand.
“I thought it prudent that she practices each time she meets someone. Practice makes perfect.”
Emma kept her face passive as she stood. “Duke Bertrand was helping me with my form, but perhaps you can help me refine my skills.” She smiled as she looked at Bertrand. “As lovely as his curtsies are, I think they lack a woman’s touch.”
Bertrand nodded. “I’m sure Lady Olivia can help. She had one of the most rigorous teachers -- you’d be lucky to learn from her. She has perfected the art of court.”
Olivia nodded towards Bertrand. “Thank you. I like to think I have some talents. However, I have a lesson prepared for Emma. We will be down for dinner.”
The two women departed the lounge and headed towards Emma’s suite.
“How were your lessons?” Olivia asked.
Emma sighed. “They went well -- the duke is very nice if you get past the grumpy part of his personality. We talked about values and traditions … he also gave me curtsying lessons.”
Olivia chuckled. “I got the impression.”
“Sadly, he does curtsy better than me,” Emma said before glancing at Olivia. Their eyes met and they both laughed.
“You’ll get there. Keep in mind that you are learning the things we have had beaten into us since we were born.” Olivia took her hand as they reached Emma’s room. “I think you will enjoy your next lesson.”
“I’m trying to imagine what sort of lesson would be in my bedroom.”
“Dressing and appearance. Come with me,” Olivia said as she opened the door and gestured for Emma to enter.
Emma paused when she caught sight of the two wardrobe racks filled with clothes. Several pairs of shoes were neatly arranged along the floor and display trays and stands held a variety of jewelry and other accessories.
“Olivia, what … what is all this?” Emma glanced at Olivia before swallowing. She couldn’t even think about how much this cost; the rack of silken, glittery ball gowns must have cost a fortune.
Olivia walked to the rack that held the more casual items. She ran her hand over the soft sweaters before turning to look at Emma. “I told you my stylist was going to pull items for you.”
Emma shook her head. “But I can’t … I can’t afford this. It’s too much.”
Oliva walked up to Emma and took her hands. Emma looked down, refusing to look at Olivia as tears started to prick at her eyes. “Emma, look at me.”
Emma lifted her face, blinking her eyes in a vain attempt to hide her tears. “I’m sorry.”
“We are family now. This -- everything -- it is simply how your life is now. It isn’t a gift, you do not owe us anything. What you need, we will provide. What we need, you will provide. You, me, Liam … it’s going to be the three of us and that means we support each other. Right now, you need clothes. Here,” Olivia shifted so she stood next to Emma and gently turned her to face the clothes, “are your clothes. We will shop more before we leave for the capital, and you don’t have to keep anything you don’t like. Now let’s have fun trying on outfits and having girl time.”
Emma let out a little laugh. “I know, I’m sorry, I just --”
“Emma, don’t apologize for how you feel. You can be apprehensive, or unsure … but I’m here for you and anything you need or want …” Olivia blushed a bit before taking Emma’s hand and stepping up to one of the clothing racks. “I am able to offer insight and lessons that Bertrand is unable to … help you in ways the men can’t.”
Emma squeezed Olivia’s hand as her fingers reached up and brushed the sleeve of the kelly green cashmere sweater. “You’re right, Olivia, and you have already been more of a friend than I would have ever expected.” She lifted the sweater off the rack and held it to her chest, her eyes looking down at the soft fabric floating over her blouse.
“It’s a beautiful color on you,” Olivia noted. “I sent Sasha some photos so she could match your coloring. I think she did a wonderful job.”
Emma bit her lip as she turned to face Olivia. “Everything here is so beautiful. Tell me what I need to do to be a part of your world.”
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Three Days ~ 16
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*~*Sebastian*~*
I really should be given a lot of credit for how long I stayed away from Emma.
Day one I couldn't stop holding her hand. Day two I had to touch her. Day three all I want to do is hold her. Well, not all I want.
Since I woke up with her in my arms there's a part of my brain constantly on the look out for how to get her back there. I have to admit I’m not super confident because my brain has failed me numerous times in trying to figure out kissing her. Had it helped me out with the kissing I wouldn't be so fucking desperate to hold her. Probably wouldn't be talking so much to myself either, but that isn't really unusual. Maybe just different topics.
My mom is having fun with this. I'm not always translating everything she says. She told me Emma was beautiful and she understood why I hadn't come home. She told me I had to work for at least an hour before I could see her. Then she sent her to the opposite side of the house from me and stood guard across the hall.
When I was "allowed" to see Emma again I scared the shit out of her. It was fucking hilarious. When I grabbed her into my arms I held her head against my chest so maybe she wouldn't know I couldn't stop laughing. I couldn’t stop laughing until she ran her hands down my back. It was the same barely there sensual touch that went from my shoulder diagonally down and around to the side of my stomach. I closed my eyes to enjoy it and imagined it didn't stop there. So when she led me into the guest room, a room with a bed, it took every ounce of self-control in my body not to throw her on the bed and cover her with me.
The picture snapped me out of those thoughts. It had been years since I’d seen it. It was full of happy memories of a good time in an otherwise gray period. I wasn't old enough and I think mom shielded me from much. She tried to make whatever food we got something fun for us to build meals around. It wasn’t that we didn’t have food. We didn’t have a lot and we didn’t have choices. We played a form of bingo with what we'd get. Meat, dairy, and fruit were coveted. Except that one weird cheese that we got every six weeks or so. Nothing made it not horrible.
I can't remember telling any other girlfriend about how the beach in a communist country taught me freedom and curiosity that culminated in me being in a NASA movie. Coolest thing ever. Now I’m in the guest room telling secrets I barely remember. Frightening secrets for a kid. There's really no way to escape that without carry some things with you. I don't talk much about Romania because I don’t remember much, but what I do remember I don’t really want to talk about. I wonder if my mom planted the picture for me to share a happy memory.
I dropped Emma off at the kitchen and went back to the family room. Anthony and I headed out to the garage to find a couple of things he knew were missing from the room. Back inside we started arranging things. The kitchen wasn't far away. Every so often I'd catch words or a sentence. They were talking about winters and snow removal. I listened closer when mom asked where and how long she'd lived here. Nothing I didn't know. As Emma explained where her place was, she told mom about local shops and answered questions about the area. Very sweet.
Meanwhile in the family room we got things arranged based on where the TV hung on the wall and came to the realization it was all wrong. I yelled for mom. Emma followed her into the room. Mom looked around, "This is all wrong."
A ridiculous amount of time later we'd rearranged everything. The only thing left was for me to move the TV and rewire everything. I'd be an expert by the time we were done. Mom suggested a break and went to get beers.
I flopped onto the couch and when it looked like Emma was going to sit too far away, I grabbed her hand to pull her closer. Damn near landed her in my lap. Wouldn't have been a bad thing. I recreated the scene from the bench last night with my arm around her shoulder and her holding my hand. That left each of us with a free hand for beer. Emma turned a little where she was leaned against me and laid her head back on my shoulder. I buried my nose in her hair, breathing her in until mom brought back beer.
I doubt this was what Emma had in mind when I suggested she come with me. Mom and Anthony were talking so I gave Emma's shoulders a squeeze to get her attention. "Not much of a rest day for you. I'm feeling selfish. I wanted to spend more time with you.” I was coming clean. I wasn't going to apologize because that would be a lie.
She smiled, a sweet almost shy smile, that made my stomach flutter. "I wanted to spend more time with you too." Her smile tuned to a smirk, "So don't suggest taking me home unless you're ready for me to leave. I'm enjoying myself."
"No problem."
Mom's voice broke the moment, "Emma, have you had Romanian food? We were thinking dinner and a movie. If my son gets the TV hooked up."
"You've just given me motivation, mom."
I felt Emma laugh more than heard her. "No, I haven't and sounds great. Thank you."
Anthony stood up, "Let's get back at it."
Mom excused Emma from the kitchen after Anthony and I got the TV sorted. He went to his office. Mom stayed in the kitchen and I got an assistant for hanging shit and putting up books. There were an obscene number of books. Thankfully they were sorted into boxes in a way that made alphabetizing them by author not so much a pain in the ass. The ease with which Emma alphabetized the titles within each author was super hero like. My job was to hand them to her. By the respectful way she handled them I knew she loved books. She took a stack from me, "Do you like to read?"
I nodded, "I've read most of these. I’ve always liked to read. I do a lot of reading to research characters.”
"Like what?"
I went with the most obvious. "For the Winter Soldier and Bucky I read a lot about psychopaths and PTSD. They’re really two different characters, maybe four.. True crime procedural stuff for Destroyer. Way more space shit than I needed for the Martian. Loved the book."
"Do you prefer non-fiction to fiction?"
"Pretty equal. I'm usually reading a couple of books at a time. I switch back and forth. I love Harlan Coben from before they were making his books movies. Have you read anything of his?"
Her eyes shifted up as she thought. "The one that was a French film. His wife dies then like ten years later he gets a message."
At the same time we said, "Tell No One."
I continued, "Loved that one. He writes lots of those thriller mysteries and has a series about a detective. Lots of humor and his best friend is a millionaire sociopath. Those are fun. Always reread classics and my favorite novel is changing all the time. A lot of mindfulness, Buddhism."
Her eyes lit up, "Have you read Illusions by Richard Bach?"
"Doesn't ring a bell."
"It was written in the seventies. We passed it around in college. Once you read it you had to buy a copy, highlight some of your favorite bits and give it away. Basically, a Messiah is training his replacement. He gives him a handbook only the pages are empty, except when he opens it, he finds answers."
"I think you can do that with anything. Even a newspaper." This was turning into another one of those great conversations like music and movies. I knew it would.
She was nodding quickly, "Me too. It is full of short insights. My favorite is "You're never given a wish without the power to make it come true. You might have to work on it, however." It's a faux Christian eastern religion self-help novel."
I laughed, "That's great."
"Yeah, we'd get high at frat parties and talk in Illusion and movie quotes." She snorted laugh.
"Did you break into the pantry for snacks like we did?"
"Of course. Always cheese."
I was amused by the thought of Emma as a grunge loving stoned psuedo intellectual. Made me remember my days as an 80's music loving stoned theater major space nerd. College was fun.
Back to books. "What's your guilty pleasure reading?"
"This is my Jessie's Girl." We shared a smile. "I love paranormal romance."
"Paranormal romance? "I repeated." Ghosts and shit?"
"Oh no. Vampires, dragons, shapeshifters."
I couldn't hide my smile, "Way worse than Jessie's Girl."
She glared at me, "It's close."
Her glare turned to a smile then a laugh and I had to hug her. I wanted to hold on to the moment, take in how much fun this was. The conversation, the teasing. She felt like an old friend I'd just met. Only with a lot more sexual attraction. The kind that had me noticing how every curve of her body was pressed against me. Had me wanting to run my hands on top of her clothes before moving underneath them. Wishing she'd slide her hand under my shirt so I could feel her touch my skin.
I took a step back, "Hit me with the details."
She laughed again, "There's two series I love. Some variation of a testosterone filled alpha male who thinks he's rescuing a woman who ends up being his soulmate and saves him. One is grounded is Greek mythology and finding his mate can literally free his soul and the other creates its own mythology. One or both always have a heartbreaking past, there's something they have to go through, and then the happy ending. They're well written and incredibly satisfying."
"Do you believe in that?"
She drew her eyebrows together, "Happily ever after?"
I shook my head, "Soulmates."
Emma looked at the ceiling, screwed up her face, then looked back at me. "The chickenshit answer is people come into our lives for a reason and go away when they’ve served their purpose."
I wasn't so sure. "Not necessarily chickenshit."
"I meant the safe answer.” She bit her lip and continued, “I do believe in soulmates. But I don't think there's necessarily one person for anyone. A soulmate a twenty might be different than a soulmate at forty. People change and grow, so it makes sense your perfect partner might not stay perfect. You can grow together or grow in different directions.  I'm a hopeful romantic."
I liked that. "I think some people use the concept of soulmate to not work for it. It takes a lot of work and vulnerability to be with another person. Hell, to be with yourself. It's hard to be honest with yourself sometimes, forget about laying yourself bare to another person." I shook my head, not believing the strange direction this had gone. "I'm not always that brave."
We'd gone from laughter to this intensely intimate place. I'm talking about how difficult it can be to be vulnerable, which is a very vulnerable thing to do. Maintaining eye contact was hard.
"Everyone struggles with being brave.”
The matter of fact way she spoke reminded me of the gym when we were talking about insecurities. This was the second time I’d shared something and she didn’t try to convince me I was wrong. She accepted what I’d said as true for me. She’d accepted me. Well, now, there’s a thing. I smiled. “I think it’s about finding someone you’re ok being afraid with and is brave enough to be afraid too."
Slowly she started to smile, “Awfully deep conversation we’re having.”
“No shit! How the fuck did we get here?”  I shook my head and laughed. “I think we were talking about Jessie’s Girl.”
“Yeah, that’s it.” She joined in laughing before learning forward to lay her forehead on my shoulder.
I put my hand on the back of her neck and leaned my head against hers.
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Study Buddies
Based on the prompt: let's imagine this, emma is killian's teacher (college), and she's doing a strip tease for him to learn/study for sex education test, after all, she's his sex ed. teacher. via @csprompter
Killian Jones is a nontraditional college student at Boston University. Emma Swan is the teaching assistant for his Personal and Sexual Wellness class, and he gets some help studying for his final exam.
a/n: I stuck as close to the prompt as I felt comfortable -- the only change is that Emma and Killian are the same age, and Emma is his TA instead of professor. They're both fully consenting 27 year old adults, and feelings may have (once again) worked their way into my smut. If you have any questions about their relationship before you enter into this, please message me!
RATED E // 4K // ON AO3
Killian Jones has been in a lot of sticky situations in his twenty-seven years. He was almost kicked out of high school for being caught with too many girls in the library, almost kicked off the soccer team because of what happened with the coach's daughter, and definitely kicked out of that club in London after he was caught with one of the dancers in the dressing room on his twenty-first birthday. 
He's been given speeding tickets, been kicked out of countless bars, and been dishonorably discharged from the British Navy after his brothers death sent him down a path of self-destruction that he never thought he could come back from. 
But he's a different man now than he was during any of those times. He's cleaned up his act, taken the severance pay from the Navy and moved to America, and has even started taking college classes again, since he found a job at Boston University in the first place. 
Even through all that, twenty-year-old Killian Jones never would have imagined finding himself in twenty-seven-year-old Killian Jones' current situation. 
He knows he's walking a fine line, one that he's not even sure he knows how to draw, since the rules around this aren't incredibly clear. All he'd done was ask her out for coffee, then lunch, then dinner, slowly building their relationship in hopes that it would flourish into something concrete. But he'd wanted something concrete after finals, when she technically wasn't his teacher anymore. 
She's had his heart since the very first day of classes, when he walked into the lecture hall and saw her standing behind the podium wearing black leggings and a BU Swimming t-shirt, her soft blonde curls pulled into a high ponytail. Clacking away softly at the keyboard in front of her, she was only half paying attention to the students coming into the room, but as he took a seat at the center of the third row, she raised her eyes to his and turned the very corner of her lip up into the beginnings of a smile, though it only lasted a moment before it disappeared. 
And then the professor walked in, an older lady with cropped white hair in jeans and a Martha's Vineyard sweatshirt. He started to put the pieces together, and it made much more sense: the gorgeous blonde was not Dr. Lucas. Within just a few minutes, the class started, and she introduced herself as Emma Swan, teaching assistant for the health and wellness department — also known as, the woman that would be teaching all of them Personal and Sexual Health for the next 15 weeks. The longest 15 weeks of his life. 
He still doesn't quite understand how he got here . Sure, when he had flirted, she has returned it without batting an eye, the innuendoes included. Once they got comfortable enough with each other — as friends , he insisted, though his heart (and other parts of the anatomy she eloquently taught them about) had yearned for so much more — he had offered to walk her back to her apartment, even though it was very far out of his way back to his. 
And then she invited him up. There was no way to ignore the spark that's been lingering between them, the way her eyes have been flashing to his while she's teaching lectures about sex, the way she tries to hide the smile on her face. 
The way he tries to hide his erection. 
"I don't — I don't know, Emma, I don't think—" he stuttered, his hand rising to scratch the spot behind his ear, a nervous tick he's had since middle school, but then she fisted her hands around the collar of his jacket and pulled her lips to his, and he was completely useless to fight against her anymore. 
But this ? This was all her idea, and they may have shared a few glasses of wine with dinner, but he didn't think that could possibly cloud her judgement enough to cause this . 
He's stone-still, both wondering how the hell he got here, and thanking every version of a higher power that he's ever heard of. He knows his mouth is agape, he knows there is a fairly-obvious tent being pitched in his jeans, and he knows that if he were gripping the arms of the chair any harder, he would probably break them. 
He knows all that, yet he doesn't care. Because in front of him, close enough that he could reach out and touch her delicate pale skin, is Emma Swan, the very minx who stole his heart on the first day of the fall semester and has been haunting his dreams for just as long, her bright green eyes blazing with something more than just a slight buzz from the wine, staring deep into his soul as she unzips the side of her soft pink dress, slowly aiding the fabric as it falls to the floor. 
As she sways her hips to the beat of the music pouring softly from the speakers behind her, her hands sliding slowly across the exposed skin of her stomach. 
As she curls her fingers around her still-covered breasts before moving her hands back down to her hips and toying with the elastic edge of her plain black panties. 
As she climbs into his lap, her fingers quickly working at the buttons of his shirt. He is still motionless, even as she presses her lips against the sensitive skin under his ear and whispers, "I've been teaching you about sex for three weeks, now it's your turn to show me what you've learned."
She untucks the ends of his shirt so she can push it off his shoulders and leans back down to his ear, this time taking the lobe between her teeth before she purrs, "Touch me, Killian." 
This is, apparently, the right thing for her to say, and he finally springs into action, moving all at once: capturing her lips with his, wrapping one arm around her back while the other moves straight to one of her breasts, fingers pushing the lacy cup out of the way so he can roll her nipple between them. She moans into his mouth, a sound that travels directly to his still-hardening erection, and he pulls her down against him further, needing the friction to alleviate some of the tension under his jeans. 
"The most important part of sex," he mumbles, trailing wet, open-mouthed kisses down her jaw and up her neck, "is the foreplay." 
"I certainly — ah, " she says, her words stopping with a cry when he sucks on the skin of her collarbone and pinches her nipple simultaneously. "I certainly didn't teach you that." 
He reaches around her to unhook her bra, something that he hasn't had to do since before he moved to Boston, kissing down the curves of her now-bare breasts as he tosses it onto the floor. When he swirls his tongue around one of her nipples, pinching it between his teeth before soothing it with his tongue, she groans again, half-laughing, and grinds down against where he is still painfully confined by his jeans. 
He needs to get out of his jeans. Out of his jeans and in to her. 
"Would you like to argue about it?" he asks, his lips never leaving her breast. 
"What's the alternative?" she jokes, but sucks in a breath when his hand finds her other breast and he ruts his hips up against her core, trailing his lips back up to her ear so he can growl, "You show me where your bed is so I can fuck you into it." 
"That one," she mumbles, her lips pressed against his neck. "I vote for that one." 
Sliding one of his hands under her ass and wrapping the other around her waist, he stands up, pulling her along with him. She wraps her legs around him, pressing the area where she aches for him against the soft hair that covers his stomach, and she holds back from rutting against him a second time. 
"I figured you might. Now, where is this bed of yours?" 
She points him towards the bedroom, allowing herself the distraction of pushing his shirt onto the floor and feeling the hard muscles of his back instead of focusing on the way he rubs deliciously against her with every movement. 
He stops in the doorway, and for the briefest moment, she thinks that maybe he's changed his mind, until he says, "Turn the light on, love. I want to see the way you look when I fuck you." 
A wave of both adrenaline and heat rolls through her body at his words, something about the way they so eloquently roll off his tongue, even as he is completely wrecked, and she does as he asks. It only takes him two more steps to reach the bed, where he somehow sets her gently down on top of it before climbing on top of her, caging her against the mattress with his body. His lips find hers again, not even pausing before tonguing his way into her mouth. He loses himself in the feeling of her body beneath him, her fingers curled into his hair, her breasts against his bare chest and her legs spread open around his hips. 
Bloody hell , he needs to get out of his jeans. 
This is the only reason he pulls away from her, moving only as far as he needs to to finally free himself from the confines of his pants, but the adrenaline coursing through him won't keep his lips still. 
"I've wanted to do this since the first day I saw you behind that podium," he whispers, his eyes on her face, but hers watching the movement of his hands as he loosens his belt. "You're absolutely bloody gorgeous, and I knew that day that you were either a siren that would bring me to my demise, or the angel sent to save me." He's not sure where the words even come from, and he's convinced that she's not listening to him, or only half-hearing as she focuses on where he is sliding his jeans over his hips, his erection bobbing free from the confines against the thin fabric of his boxer-briefs, which he removes with his jeans and tosses both on the floor. 
Her eyes are still on his cock, but a small smile spreads across her features. "Which is it?" she asks, only meeting his eyes again when he is silent. 
"Pardon?" He really thought she wasn't listening, and in focusing on her reaction to him, he forgot everything he said. 
"Am I a siren or an angel?" she whispers, bringing herself to kneel in front of him, mirroring his stance, resting one hand gently against his cheek as the other quickly wraps itself around his erection. 
He can't answer her for a moment, overwhelmed by the feel of her hand around him, and he squeezes his eyes shut. Letting out a small laugh, she leans closer to him to press her lips against his collarbone as she slowly begins to pump him with her hand, collecting the wetness from his tip with her thumb. 
"I haven't decided yet," he groans, and it takes everything in him to reach down and stop her. "But if you keep doing that, I won't last long enough to come to a decision."
"That would be a shame," she says, and even though she doesn't sound like she really wants to, she does stop pumping him. 
"Besides." He nudges her shoulder until she goes back to laying on her back, though this time, he does not cage her in. "There's so much more I want to do to you before we even get to that point," he growls, his fingers slowly tracing up the inside of her thighs. 
She shivers, his touch leaving fire in its wake. "Like what?" she whispers, barely able to get the words out over every reaction her body has to him. She has loved the way his voice sounded since the very first question he asked, since he asked her if she was free to get a coffee, and during every conversation they've had in the past thirteen weeks — but this , having him completely in awe of her, his voice deep and wrecked and dark is something else entirely. 
Hearing him talk dirty to her, winding her up more than she has ever been before without even touching her soaked core, is something that she has a feeling she may never get tired of. Something that she would like to hear enough to learn if she will ever tire of it. 
And then he laughs, deeper and darker than his voice, with his lips pressed against her inner thigh, his stubble tickling the sensitive skin there as his fingers toy with the very edge of her panties, and she changes her mind — that is the greatest sound in the world. 
"Oh, darling," he mumbles, his lips never leaving her skin. "I'm going to have you screaming my name before I even fill you up." 
"Is that a challenge?" she breathes, almost unable to form the words in the first place, just as he ghosts the very tips of his fingers over the thin material of her panties. 
He moves to look up at her, meeting her eyes over the swell of her breasts and the muscles of her stomach, and even with the overhead lights illuminating the room around them, she notices that the bright blue of his eyes that she noticed on the first day of the semester has darkened to something much stormier. 
That, along with the touch of his fingers again, sends a shudder through her body, one he must feel, because he smiles at her. 
"I would like to think of it as a promise, but if you want to make it a challenge, by all means. I do love a challenge."
She laughs, actually laughs out loud at this, and his smile grows, especially once he dips his fingers under her panties and against her wet core. Sucking in. breath, she squeezes her eyes shut. 
"Let's get these out of our way, shall we?" he whispers, hooking his index fingers underneath them, and all she can do is nod as he pulls them down her legs, moving out of the way so she can deposit them on the floor with everything else. 
He stays still for a moment, long enough for Emma to meet his eyes again. He winks at her, but still says nothing, slowly taking in her entire naked body. She feels another shiver start at the top of her spine, but this one is not from her arousal; instead, it's the very beginning of a memory, of the last time she let another man look at her like that, though where he thought she was a possession, Killian thinks she is a work of art, an absolute masterpiece. 
"Absolutely bloody perfect," he groans, and she feels a different heat, the heat of embarrassment begin to color her cheeks. 
If he notices it, he says nothing, instead bringing his lips to hers again. 
One of his hands tangles into her hair, the other moving slowly down her side, stopping momentarily to rub at her nipple until it hardens into a peak again before continuing downward until his fingers find the wetness pooled at her core. 
His lips curve into a smile, one that she feels as she continues to kiss him, and he mumbles, "So wet for me, love," against her lips. 
Her only response is to tighten her grip around him, tighten her fist in his hair and dig her fingernails into his back. She needs him to touch her, to stop ghosting his fingers across her skin and take action. 
Though when he pulls away from her, running his thumb across her cheek, and says, "I need to taste you, Emma," she has I admit to herself that she definitely expected him to be the type of person who not only wants to, but enjoys going down on a woman. 
She has never been with a man like that before. 
She nods. 
He pecks his lips against hers, the softest thing shared by them that night, before quickly moving his lips down her body: her jaw, her neck, her chest — where he pauses for a moment, swirling his tongue around each nipple, swirling it between his teeth and sucking softly, soothing the pain away, before continuing to make his way down her stomach, her hips, the inside of her things, until finally — 
She moans, a noise she has never heard escape her lips before, when he swipes his tongue against her, widening her legs with his hands so he can press his tongue into her. 
He was worried that he's forgotten how to do this, having been so long since the last woman he paid this much attention to, since the last time he needed something more than a quick fuck — but between the sounds escaping her lips and the way she raises her hips towards his mouth, he thinks it's safe to assume he's doing alright. 
He really meant what he said before, about wanting her to scream out his name, and whether she takes it as a promise or a challenge, he intends to make good on it. He curls his tongue inside her one more time, devouring as much of her sweet nectar as he can, swipes his tongue against her again, and presses his tongue into her clit. 
She moans again, higher-pitched this time than the last one, and when he raises his eyes to look at her face, her eyes are still squeezed shut. He's never seen a more perfect sight before in his life, and she bucks her hips against his mouth when he swirls her tongue against her swollen clit.  
Fuck , there is a very good chance he might just be in love with her. It's a though he plans to keep to himself for the time being — at least until he turns in his final exam — but feeling her move beneath him, the way she responds to his every touch, even just looking at her, spread out on the bed before him, opening herself up to him — there is something in this moment that he knows is more than lust. 
But there's also very much lust. 
"I want you to touch yourself, Emma," he whispers, slowly pressing one of his fingers into her. Her face does not change, even as she nods, and he feels another surge of heat gather at the base of his spine as he watches her swirl her long fingers around her nipples, pinching at them simultaneously. "Just like that." He curls his finger deeper into her, pulling at her clit gently with his teeth, and he has to push memories of Emma with her laser pointer teaching them the female anatomy out of his head. 
He slides another finger inside her, relishing in the feeling of her walls clenching tighter around them, sucking and pressing at her clit with his mouth, and when she begins to move her hips in rhythm with his fingers, he knows she won't be too much longer. 
Which is good, because he’s not sure how much longer he can last himself. 
As much as he is able, he tries to focus on her face, on the way she looks as he brings her to completion, hoping to distract himself from the thought of how incredible she feels around his fingers, how desperately he wants to be inside her. 
But he has a promise to keep first. Or a challenge to win. Whichever it is, he plans to make due. 
It only takes a few more pumps, a few more rocks of her hips, a few more swipes of his tongue against her sweet-tasting clit, and then she is fluttering around him, her loudest moan yet escaping from her lips as her hands leave her nipples and fly to her side, fisting around handfuls of the blanket beneath her. She is lost in a moment of total euphoria, even the darkness behind her eyelids flashing white, and the only thing that matters is Killian. 
God , she’s absolutely gorgeous. 
“That’s it, darling,” he mumbles, not slowing the movement of his fingers as his voice vibrates against her sensitive skin. 
“ Oh , fuck,” she cries, her fists tightening more around the blanket as her body reacts to him. 
As he doesn’t stop. Doesn’t slow. 
As he just keeps pumping, sucking at her clit between his lips. 
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” she mouths, the words themselves barely escaping, and he smiles against her skin. Her hips won’t stop bucking against him, even as she continues to ride out her orgasm, which only seems to be gaining intensity. 
He laughs against her skin, slowly sliding his lips to the inside of her thigh, where he plants a gentle kiss, the scratchy-softness of his stubble only adding to the intensity of it all. 
She moans again, mumbles his name, but that’s not good enough for him, though it only makes his smile grow. 
“Come on, love,” he whispers, nipping lightly at her thigh, and she cries out. “You know what it is I want from you.” 
At this, her eyes snap open, finding his from where he is watching her, face still buried between her thighs. 
“Are you fucking serious?” she breathes out, but none of her anger makes it into her body movement — she’s still useless against him as his fingers continue their movements within her. 
“Aye, love, I am.” He pauses his movement for a moment, though her hips still rut against his hand, not wanting the break from her high. “Though if you give me what I want, then I can finally be fucking Emma Swan.” 
She rolls her eyes — or, starts to, though the action is rudely cut off by her slamming her eyes shut when his tongue presses back against her clit. 
As if without her permission, the very thing he is waiting for slips from between her lips here, and she cries, “ Fuck, Killian, please! ” as he scrapes his teeth against her bundle of nerves. 
He nods, laughing again as he carefully and slowly slides his fingers from inside her and climbs back up her body, pressing small kisses against some of the skin he finds along the way before positioning himself at her entrance. 
“This may really not be the moment for this conversation, but do you have a condom?” he growls in her ear, wishing that it was something he thought of before. 
But she’s his health teacher, and if anyone was going to be prepared, it would be the woman who has been handing condoms out in class to students who answer questions correctly. 
(Worst case scenario he has one in his wallet, the first one he got from her.) 
She laughs, her head falling back against the pillow. “I’m covered, I have an IUD. Do you really think I would rely on condoms anyway, being someone who has to regularly teach that they’re best to use as a secondary?” 
“Valid.” 
“So as long as you’re not carrying any weird British naval venereal diseases, I think we’ll be alright.” 
Now it’s his turn to laugh. “I’ve seen quite a few doctors since the last woman I was with.” 
“Well then,” she purrs, much softer than the words spoken before it, reaching between them to wrap her slender fingers around him. “If you’ll be so kind, I would really like to have you inside me.” 
She can’t help herself, with her fingers encasing him like they are, and she pumps him once, twice, smiling wickedly up at him. 
Of all the moments to get embarrassed, he’s chosen this one, using her guidance to slide slowly inside her. “I really should warn you,” he mumbles, suddenly unsure of himself, even after every reaction she has had to him so far. “There’s a large chance that I won’t last very long.” 
Surprising him, she slides her hands up his back until she is cupping his face, and she pulls it down to hers, finding his lips in a soft kiss. “You’ve already made me scream your name, and you’ve broken through every expectation I had,” she whispers, then kisses him again, starting to slowly move her hips beneath him. “Just the incredible feeling of you filling me up is enough for this time.” 
Even as he begins to lose himself in the feeling of being inside her, the meaning of her words is not lost on him. 
“Does that mean there will be a next time?” 
Tilting her hips to give him a better angle, she smiles, moving her fingers across his cheek. “Assuming that’s what you want?” 
“ Bloody hell,” he groans, both at the question and the tension growing at the base of his spine, a tension that begs to be released. “Yes — fuck — of course.” 
“Good,” she whispers, so soft that it is almost only a breath, and moves under him again, wrapping her legs around the back of his knees. His movements quicken, one of his hands finding its way to her breast, and he leans down to capture her lips in a kiss. He was correct — it really does not take more than just a few more pumps, harder and faster, before he is completely drowning in the feeling of her wrapped around him, of the way she seems to get impossibly tighter with every thrust, and then he is gone — “Christ, Emma, I—” — spilling himself inside of her with a few erratic thrusts before practically collapsing on top of her, his face pressed into the pillow beside her head. 
With her fingers winding through his hair, she turns her head to press a kiss against his cheek, a soft smile spread across her features. 
“I can’t say for sure,” she whispers, her lips pressed against the shell of his ear, “But I have a pretty good feeling that you’ll pass your exam next week.” 
TAGGING: @profdanglaisstuff @darkcolinodonorgasm @kmomof4 @teamhook 
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doomedandstoned · 5 years
Text
THE ROADBURN DIARIES
~By Willem Verhappen~
Photographs by Sally Townsend
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Preface
When Billy asked me to review Roadburn Festival 2019 for Doomed & Stoned, I was a bit hesitant. Live reviews have never been my specialty and I prefer to enjoy shows instead of being critical. However, when he suggested a diary-style review, I got the idea to do just that; write a diary.
I went all out and paid a whopping two Euros and some change to buy a notebook. After four days of Roadburn, it will probably be as wrecked as I expect to be, but hopefully it will still be readable. [In hindsight it was money well spent, as the notebook survived Roadburn without too much damage.] Whether its pages will be literary gold or the drunken ravings of a madman, only time will tell. The truth will probably be somewhere in the middle. [The fact that I had not been feeling well all week and decided to drive to Tilburg by car each day probably helped me not fucking this up, though.]
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Day 1
14:30 -- Ticket booth
The sun is out, Crypt Trip's Haze County was blasting through my car speakers on the way here and the queue to get my wristband went smooth. That's about as good a start as it can get. Sadly, my first dilemma of the day is already coming up: See Myrkur perform her Folkesange set or Bismuth. For now I'll just sit and wait in the sun for my friends T and S to arrive.
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Tanya Byrne of Bismuth
16:30 -- Studio Tilburg
We compromised. We started Roadburn with Bismuth engulfing us in the epic 'The Slow Dying Of The Great Barrier Reef' in the Hall of Fame. Sadly the band had some technical issues which fucked up the dynamics in the beginning, but otherwise it was an intense experience.
before the end of the Bismuth set, we moved on to the main stage. On the way there, we ran into some friends who decided to join us to see Myrkur. The Scandinavian folk songs were moving and well performed, but not what we needed, so we set our sights for Vile Creature, who were preparing to destroy the Patronaat.
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Vic of Vile Creature
Arriving outside, we noticed that we weren't the only ones. The queue to the Patronaat was leading pretty much up to the Cul de Sac. Since the weather was still nice, we decided to go for a beer in the sun instead.
19:05 -- Veemarktstraat
Molasses was something I had been looking forward to, since it was for a large part a The Devil's Blood reunion. Their set was in general an honest and loving tribute to TDB leader Selim Lemouchi. At some points though, the band seemed possessed by Selim himself. I desperately hope they will release this as a live record. [Later, at the merch I discovered that the band had already recorded an EP. That satisfies me for now, but I still need a live record!]
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Farida Lemouchi of Molasses
After that intense show, it was time to get some food. I decided to go for some Vietnamese street food. A good choice, but I should have been more careful with the sambal. I love that stuff, but a full bite at once was a bit much.
19:30 -- Green Room balcony
Luckily, I was just in time to hear the last, hauntingly beautiful song of Lingua Ignota. I had a hard time getting in and when I managed to get in, I couldn't get closer than the back of the balcony. Only when the show was over, I could see that she sat behind her keyboard in the middle of the Green Room. An eccentric choice that befits the woman.
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Kristen Hayter of Lingua Ignota
21:20 -- Ladybird Skatepark
Emma Ruth Rundle was more Doomed & Stoned appropriate than I expected. Last time she did a solo show, but this time she brought her full band. Her songs were sometimes dark and doomy, sometimes rocking, but always unique.
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Emma Ruth Rundle
But the best kept secret of today are certainly the heavy psych astronauts of Mythic Sunship. Even though it's not crowded, they know how to throw a party on a skatepark. [Mythic Sunship was the first band to be programmed on the Skatepark, but during the weekend more bands were scheduled to perform on this special location. More on that later.]
22:45 -- Koepelhal
I'm not sure why a band like Midnight is performing at Roadburn, since it's pretty much the odd one out this year, but I'm not complaining. I really enjoyed their filthy, sexually laden mix of Venom and Motörhead sleaze. And judging from the large crowd that gathered in the Koepelhal, I wasn't the only one.
00:40 -- Main Stage
Post rock is a hit or miss for me, but the combination of guitars and classical instruments often brings a smile to my face. The latter convinced me to watch MONO perform their Hymn to the Immortal Wind record, supported by the Jo Quail Quartet. I'm happy I did this, since the show was pure aural bliss. Rarely have I heard such a natural mix of metallic guitars and classical instruments. Although it certainly wasn't boring, the floating melodies did make me a bit sleepy.
2:xx -- Eindhoven
I guess I went full circle today. I started with Crypt Trip and ended with them as well. After MONO, these Texan rockers were exactly what I needed. Their country infused hard rock really got my energy levels back to par. Then again, anyone who can stand still during a Crypt Trip show, must be dead. It was also very nice to see my Doomed & Stoned colleague Calvin again. Roadburn is off to a good start.
Day 2
15:25 -- 013
T, S and I started our second day at Roadburn queuing up for Gold. I lost sight of the Dutch band after being disappointed by their second record, when they traded in their occult rock for a more post rock sound. Today, however, I was not disappointed at all. Their pounding post black/punk/rock really grabbed me by the balls. Charismatic frontwoman Milena Eva and her accomplices are back on my radar.
I'm currently enjoying one of the three sets of Seven That Spells. Between all the avant garde stuff, it's nice to see some proper heavy psych/stoner rock. Very well executed!
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Milena Eva of Gold
17:00 -- Ladybird Skatepark
Between all the good stuff, Triptykon was my most anticipated concert of the festival. As I said, I'm a sucker for metal mixed with classical music, so I wouldn't want to miss the Swiss band performing with the renowned Metropole Orkest, the world's leading pop orchestra. Today they are playing something heavier, namely the requiem penned by Tom G. Warrior. The first and third parts date back to the Celtic Frost days, namely Into The Pandemonium (1987) and Monotheist (2006). The piece never had a middle section, until now.
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Tom Gabriel Warrior and Vanja Slajh of Triptykon
The show wasn't perfect. There were some flaws here and there and at certain moments it felt like the orchestra was overtaking the band. Altogether it was an impressive performance, but somewhere I feel like there could have been more. Still a highlight, though.
I'm currently enjoying some surprise sludgy goodness of Vile Creature, while the queue for the Hall of Fame is reaching new lengths while A.A.Williams is performing there as part of the Holy Roar x Roadburn showcase.
19:55 -- Studio Tilburg
After getting my eardrums destroyed by Vile Creature, it was time for a beer with friends. Consequently, that meant I missed Conjurer, but I did manage to see the last half hour of Anna Von Hausswolff on the main stage. On record I find her music very calming, but live the tiny lady and her band deliver a massive tidal wave of sound. 'The Mysterious Vanishing of Electra' was even more impressive than on record.
22:20 - Koepelhal
After enjoying watching Calvin struggle with a massive burger from the Studio café and between the neck snapping sets of Svalbard and Pijn (both part of the Holy Roar showcase), I conquered my first queue at the Koepelhal. This was for the collaboration between artist in residence Thou and Emma Ruth Rundle. It was well worth the effort. This noisy matrimony sounded exactly as you'd expect from the two factors.
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Bryan Funck of Thou
3:xx -- Eindhoven
After Pijn's set, it was straight off to the Patronaat to grab a good spot for another show I highly anticipated. That turned out to be a good decision, since I heard afterwards that the queue for Messa turned out to be huge.
My love for these Italians stems from their ability to make old school doom sound fresh again. The band manages this through the incorporations of jazz elements, as well as sporadic black metal outbursts. Today, the band brought along a saxophone player, which truly added an extra dimension to their music.
Day 3
17:20 -- 013
Today we started off with Have A Nice Life. The new wave was enjoyable, but we had other priorities, for Wolvennest was about to perform their latest effort, Void, in its entirety. The Belgian band went all out for this show, bringing several guest musicians, as well as brand new visuals. Musically, Wolvennest definitely made a step up from their debut, WLVNNST. Their black metal with psychedelic and doom influences pleased the many people who came to witness this ritual. The only negative comment one could have, is that the altar looked very small on the large main stage.
Henrik Palm is no stranger to most Roadburners. The Swede used to be a member of In Solitude and Ghost. You can clearly hear this in his solo work, but his eclectic rockers always feel unique. I remain with only one question. Why the early Judas Priest videos?
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19:20 -- Ladybird Skatepark
I'm not much of a fan of most of the bands from the Exile on Mainstream roster, but Treedeon I had to see. These Germans make for some noisy, primitive doom, which is right up my alley. There are some clear Conan vibes here, but the double vocals make it just a tad more brutal.
23:15 -- Koepelhal
I always enjoy good times with good people, so I was happy to join a small Doomed & Stoned meetup with Calvin and Sally [whose photos add some color to this article]. Contrary to my instincts, I left my friends behind to make it in time for what is probably the highlight of this year’s Roadburn. Coming near the 013 was like walking into a coffee shop (the Dutch kind), with the smell of weed greeting you from far away. Not surprising, since it wouldn't be long before the almighty Sleep would perform their classic record Holy Mountain in one go. When I arrived, some 20 odd minutes before the show, the hall was already crowded, with people queuing up, not more than five minutes later.
It was quite the magical experience to hear one of my all-time favorite records being performed live. The first notes of 'Dragonaut' already gave me goosebumps and headbanging became a priority for nearly two hours. Sleep performing 'The Clarity' and a part of 'Dopesmoker' surely was an extra treat.
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Al Cisneros of Sleep
4:xx -- Eindhoven
Doolhof was a typical case of the right band at wrong time. The drone outfit, with Aaron Turner of Old Man Gloom and Sumac fame in its ranks, sounded highly intense and mesmerizing, but after Sleep, I was looking for something more energetic.
Luckily, I received a push message after the Sleep show, saying that Thou would perform a special set at the Skatepark. There had been rumours that the band would perform a set of Misfits covers somewhere during the weekend and this was it. A couple hundred people had shown up and the band was going through classics like 'Die, Die My Darling' and 'Hybrid Moments' like the audience was going through beers.
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This set was absolute mayhem with the crowd moving as one mass and there was pretty much constant crowd surfing. The band was joined by Emma Ruth Rundle on a couple of songs, and for their final song, 'Last Caress', they were joined by Converge/Old Man Gloom's Nate Newton and Gilead Media chief Adam Bartlett. The former even went stage diving. If anyone was doubting why Thou is the artist in residence this year, they get it now.
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Recharged by the insane show I had just witnessed, it was time for some after-partying in the basement of the 013 until the lights came on.
Day 4
Up until a few years ago the Roadburn Sunday was more of an after party, or Afterburner as it was called, but in recent years it changed into a full day. This year, all stages but the Koepelhal have bands playing, but thankfully my schedule is far less busy than the previous days.
17:30 - Main Stage
The intensity of three days of Roadburn appears to have had an effect not only on me, but on most of the visitors. That's why T and I decided to take it easy. This meant we missed Lucy in Blue because we arrived in Tilburg at 3pm. Since for the first time this weekend, temperatures reached comfortable levels, we decided to enjoy the sun a little before diving into another day of musical adventure.
my first band of the day was Supersonic Blues, a last minute addition to the program. The young band from The Hague had the honor to play the now infamous Ladybird Skatepark. Their heavy blues rock wasn't that special, but it surely was a welcome energizer for the rest of the day.
The first highlight of the day was TankZilla, a newcomer from my hometown Eindhoven, who got to warm up the Hall of Fame. Even though this was their second gig ever, the two members are anything but new to the scene. Singer/guitar player Peter van Elderen has enjoyed success for over twenty years with Peter Pan Speedrock, but also has more stoner credits with bands like Repomen and Four Headed Dog and drummer Marcin Hurkmans is known for his work with rockers Wolfskop. Although there's just two guys on stage, they manage to produce some fat-sounding stoner rock with the signature riffs and lyrics of van Elderen. Today saw the release of their first 7", but this show leaves me hungry for more!
20:45 -- 013 Lobby
With an hour to kill, I decided to walk to the 013 to check out a few songs from today's Thou set. Even though it was their fourth set this weekend, the main stage was packed with people wanting to see the artist in residence one more time. And rightfully so. Even after four days of playing, the last time being only 16 hours before, the band played another energetic set of nasty doom.
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Mitch Wells of Thou
This made it somewhat difficult for me to leave early, but I had been looking forward to my second chance of seeing Bismuth ever since it was announced this morning. The Skatepark has become my favorite venue and the acoustics are perfect for the intensity of "The Slow Dying of the Great Barrier Reef". This time not troubled by technical difficulties, the UK duo's perfect performance of 'The Slow Dying of the Great Barrier Reef' is one of my absolute highlights of the festival.
Fuel is important on days like these, so I decided to skip the beginning of Old Man Gloom to grab a delicious pancake filled with spinach and goats cheese, walnuts and honey. By the time I reach the crowded main stage, the OMG set is almost over, but judging from the enthusiastic crowd, the New Mexico sludge machine managed to deliver.
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Aaron Turner of Old Man Gloom
2:xx -- Eindhoven
Roadburn is over, but not before we were treated to another two-hour set of Sleep. This time the sonic titans performed their most recent effort, The Sciences, in its entirety, with the addition of "Leagues Beneath", "Dragonaut" and another section of "Dopesmoker". Sadly, the band was troubled by technical difficulties, to the great annoyance of Matt Pike, who even had to switch amps mid-set. This prevented the show from being the legendary event it could have been.
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Matt Pike of Sleep
After Sleep, the time had come to slowly start Brexiting (saying you are leaving, but staying as long as you can).Saying goodbye to friends, both old and new, is always difficult, but it was fun to hear all the great stories everyone lived this weekend and see the joy in everyone's tired eyes. And just like Great Britain, we stayed until we were kicked out, leaving Tilburg behind with many new memories.
11 notes · View notes
noahreids · 5 years
Text
Beauty in the Aftermath (CS FF) | 11/14
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Summary: Confronted with the sudden appearance of her birth parents, Emma, in a moment of panic, runs. She flees the diner, Storybrooke, the country. She finds herself a day later in the Dublin, Ireland Airport terminal wondering what the hell she has gotten herself into. With some fear, a little determination and a considerable amount of faking it along the way, she sets off on a trip she never planned on taking but needed more than she ever knew. She finds herself, she finds a Brit adrift on his own journey and finds out what home really means.
Rated: M (Sexual content in later this chapter & some Irish whiskey along the way).
Also on: AO3 | FFN Tumblr: [ 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 ] Art!: Cover | Ch.1 | Ch.3 | Ch.5 | Ch.7 | Ch.9 |
A/N: Thanks always, always, always. So many of you have taken time to leave me comments, kudos and likes and each and every one is noticed and appreciated. Thank you.  
Always, thanks to @shippingtheswann for the cheering and beta work (go read her wonderful story!), @imagnifika for finding the heart of the story with her art, @halobxist & @meanderingcaptainswanmusings for everything xo. And please keep supporting all the other CSBB authors and artists. The content everyone is bringing is truly amazing.
And now for that elusive private room!
Chapter 11
Despite their best efforts, none of their hopeful plans have materialized. Emma has yet to find the courage to open her envelope or ask her questions and Killian’s promise of a private room disappeared with the fun they were having at the campground. The pleas from their new group of friends to stay just one more night had been too hard to resist and the result is, Emma’s booking schedule has gone completely off the rails. The original extra night in Londonderry hadn’t helped but they could have gotten back on schedule by skipping a stop, but between meeting Anna and Kristoff, two extra nights of camping in Westport, (including bunking with new travel mates, Will and Robin, both of whom were very nice men -- yet not the ones she wanted to be sharing a room with), there’s no salvaging the planned reservations anymore.
Which means, every night from now until the end is a gamble, and not one Emma is particularly thrilled about. While it was fun to throw some caution to the wind, she liked the security of knowing she had a bed. She can’t imagine how Killian has done it for so many nights, weeks, hell, months at a time.
Which is probably why now, a little tired, a little sore from two lovely nights on the ground, she’s a little more vocal about guaranteeing a comfortable place to sleep.
“How long do you think this is going to take? I really don’t want to miss check in,” Emma grumbles through breaths she is desperately trying to slow, though thanks to the challenging hike they’re on, it’s proving difficult to breathe at all.
“I would assume it will take as long as it needs to, darling.” There was a sarcastic edge to his voice, causing Emma to stick out her tongue, so what if he was up ahead and unable to see her.
“It’ll be easy, they said. It will be fun, they said,” Emma mumbles, digging her walking stick into the rocky terrain, angry at the hike that was much more demanding than she had anticipated.
“We could be sipping beer and listening to music in Galway right now,” Killian throws over his shoulder, he himself slipping on one of the many smooth and slippery stones. “Blasted rocks.”
Emma snickers at his curse, happy to see he is having about as much fun as she is.
“You said and I quote, it’ll just be a jaunt, Swan,” Emma throws back in a very bad attempt at a British accent.
Killian stops and looks back, one eyebrow lifting lazily, mouth set in a line.
“I seem to recall you asking me if I was too scared to do this.”
She stomps up to him and presses a finger into his chest.
“We’re doing this because I teased you?”
She throws her hands up and pushes past him, stick digging into the ground, breath puffing out in loud pants.
“Slow down, Emma, you’ll hurt yourself.”
She holds up her middle finger behind her before cringing when she sees the tiny chapel way, way, way in the distance.
“Sorry,” she mumbles but then adds, “couldn’t Saint Patrick have pilgrimmed somewhere flatter?”
“Ah, but where would the challenge be in that?” a voice comes from her side and she looks over to see a man about her age, easily navigating the deteriorating path.
She gives him a half smile but picks up her pace, his ease a quiet competition. She sees a plateau coming up over the ridge and in her mind that means rest and a water break, she quickens her pace.
She takes a few more reckless steps before she manages to step on a rock that is a little too smooth, a little too loose and she’s falling.
Her cry is half caught in her throat and there’s a brief moment she thinks of how badly it’s going to hurt when she hits the ground, but two strong arms wrap around her middle, saving her from injury.
“Whoa, I got you.”
She blinks up, her adrenaline pumping, expecting to see Killian but finding the stranger instead. He settled her on her feet but keeps his hands on her hips.
“Ok?” he asks and she nods dumbly, eyes already searching for Killian, and he’s there, right behind. But to her surprise he looks more upset than before, his walking stick on the ground, hand clenched in a fist.
“Um, yeah, thanks,” Emma mumbles finally stepping away, glancing to her rescuer briefly before back to Killian.
“No problem, always happy to lend a hand. It’s not a race. See you at the top!”
The stranger gives her a wink and he’s on his way again. Before long, he’s barely a dot on the horizon and completely out of earshot.
Emma finally gives a nervous laugh and looks to Killian.
“I guess I could have just tucked and rolled. Faster way to the bottom.”
Her joke falls flat, she barely gets a reaction from him, save for the clenching in his jaw.
“Mmm,” he mumbles, reaching down for his stick and takes a few slow steps past her.
“Hey, wait, that’s it?” she asks, catching up, mind you, keeping her eyes downcast to take surer steps.
“What do you want me to say? Clearly I’m useless.”
She pulls up short at his statement and watches him continue to climb, head down.
“What in the world does that mean?” she calls out, starting out again. When he doesn’t answer and they finally reach some flatter ground, she reaches out for his arm but he pulls it away roughly.
“Killian. Stop.”
She sees the tight set of his shoulders when he finally stops, and she watches him breathe in deep shuddering breaths.
She has no idea what’s going on, so the question rolls quickly off her tongue.
“Killian, what the hell is going on?”
The jaw clench again.
She takes a calming breath and walks around to face him. She opens her mouth to speak, but pauses when two older women slowly walk by. She nods to them both and takes a step closer to her now visibly upset hiker.
“Hey, are you going to tell me what’s going on? Killian, look at me.”
She lays her hand on his wrist and she feels him flinch but at least he doesn’t move away.
“Look, I’m sorry I was complaining. I just really want this day to be about finding a comfortable bed, preferably with you in it and no one else around.”
“You think that’s what this is about?” he suddenly asks, surprising them both with the tone of his voice. She frowns, completely at a loss.
“Well, I honestly have no idea then.”
She plants her hands on her hips and waits from him to fill her in. When he doesn’t speak right away, she looks out at the vista below. It’s beautiful, green rolling hills, deep blue waters of Clew Bay and dozens of tiny islands dotting the area. She finally begins to see what the fuss this hike is about but -- it’s nothing without Killian to enjoy it with and a glance confirms he’s not seeing the same thing she is. He’s looking down at his brace and seeming as looking as helpless as she’s ever seen him.
“Killian, please,” she tries again, gentler this time and he finally looks up, looks into her eyes.
“You’ve never asked me about my hand.”
She almost rocks back on her heels at the statement, so startled by it, and while true, it’s definitely not what she thought the problem was.
“I, um, I’m sorry?” she finally settles on, her statement coming out as a question.
He huffs out a laugh in disbelief.
“You’re sorry? No, I’m the one the couldn’t reach out for you. This useless thing probably would have made matters worse.”
He lifts his brace that this holding his hooked prosthetic, before dropping it in disgust.
“Hey, wait a second, stop.”
She reaches out for him, grasping him above the brace and not letting him pull away this time. She holds on tightly but letting him look away, letting the emotions run across his face. First anger, then frustration, and finally resignation before he turns back to her and closes his eyes.
“Killian, I’m sorry I never asked. When we first met, it seemed rude to ask, I didn’t know how to approach it and then as we got to know each other, I just stopped thinking about it. It’s just another part of you. Really, I’m sorry--”
“Please don’t,” he whispers but she pushes on.
“No. It’s a part of you and it’s insensitive of me to not face and for that I’m sorry, but don’t for a second think yourself useless. What happened just now, that was all me. I was stomping along, way ahead and that guy just happened to be there. Be mad that I’m an insensitive jerk but not that you couldn't swoop in like Superman.”
Finally, thankfully, she sees a small ray of hope. A smile, albeit very small. The corner of his mouth pulls up a little and she mirrors it, feeling a little better.
“You’re not a jerk,” he finally mumbles and focuses on her, eyes a little lighter, shoulders dropping. “You’re okay? You didn’t twist your ankle or anything?” he asks, hand reaching up to cup her cheek. She turns her head and presses a kiss to his palm.
“I’m fine. I promise. Why don’t we sit down, eat some of our snacks and then walk back? I don’t want to see the top anyway.”
She takes his hand and pulls him towards some larger rocks, and finds a place to sit. He follows without protest but remains quiet. She sits crossed legged, facing him and pulls his arm with the brace into her lap.
“Will you tell me? Do you want to tell me?” she asks shyly, fingers hesitant for the first time on his arm, drawing a line down his arm to where skin meets his brace.
He looks out towards the view below, eyes taking in the same beautiful landscape as she had but she’s not sure he’s really seeing it, his mind clearly elsewhere.
“It’s actually a stupid story.”
“Killian,” she admonishes him but he shrugs.
“It is. After my brother died, I -- I didn’t really know how to cope. I was reckless. I went out a lot, I drank, I picked fights. There is something to be said for getting punched in the face that makes you feel alive for a split second.”
She tries to keep her face impassive, she knows he doesn’t want her pity, and really it’s not pity. She just knows what it’s like to be alone, and wishes she could have saved him from the sadness and pain she hears in his voice.
“One night, I picked a fight with the wrong guy. Or guys, I guess. They never really figured it out and I honestly didn’t care at the time. I just woke up in a hospital, with a concussion, a lot of broken bones, one less hand, and a doctor telling me I was lucky to still be alive.”
“Oh, Killian,” her words slip out before she can stop herself but he doesn’t seem to mind. She hurts for him, for who he was and all that he lost.
He shrugs like it’s not some life changing event, and she knows he doesn’t want her to make it a big deal but her reaction is beyond what she can reign in. She lifts up to her knees and wraps him in a tight hug.  
She’s happy to feel his arms hold her just as tight.
When she sits back down, she takes his arm again, drawing gentle patterns on his arm, never taking her eyes away from his face.
“Did you start travelling after that?” she asks, curious.
He nods slowly.
“Obviously my clothes had been cut off, or too bloodied up to keep but somehow, someone, I don’t know if it was a doctor or a nurse found the crumpled paper in my pocket. It was the menu Liam had written our travel plans on and they left it beside my bed. It was the only thing salvaged and it served to remind me how fucking disappointed Liam would have been seeing me there. I bought my first plane ticket as soon as I was well enough to go.”
“And here you are.”
“Here I am,” he agrees. “Whiny American blondes and all,” he adds and her eyes widen.
And now he does laugh, full-bellied, head thrown back and all Emma can do is wrap him up in a hug again, arms tight around his neck, nearly knocking them off their rock but Killian manages to keep them balanced, holding her just as close.
She can’t imagine being anywhere else.She can’t imagine being with anyone else. More words threatening to spill out.
Something important on the tip of her tongue. Something a lot like love.
xo
They scribble a note and leave it on the windshield of Anna and Kristoff’s winnebago, both eager to get out of the parking lot and towards some privacy. Killian doesn’t protest when Emma gets behind the wheel, the earlier events still weighing on his conscience. Emma doesn’t mind, putting the music on low and concentrating on the road, her own thoughts bouncing around in her mind.
She’s grateful to be back on flatter terrain. The roads were definitely still more narrow than back in Storybrooke but besides that, it was an easy drive past small homesteads and fields, the sky overcast but free of rain. Silence filling the car for most of the ride, but Killian still helped her through exits and roundabouts, giving her thigh a squeeze after each grateful smile before looking back out the window.
It’s only when she catches him working the skin above his brace that she thinks to speak up again, and even then she hesitates, mouth opening and closing before silently reprimanding herself and and finally pushing the words out.
“I really am sorry for not asking you about your injury. I don’t want you to think I would just ignore something like that. Something that is a part of you.”
His hand pauses and he looks over.
“No, of course not, love. Think nothing of it.”
But she shakes her head.
“It’s just that I can be a coward, about a lot of things but I really don’t want to be a coward with you,” she explains, hands once again tight on the wheel. His hand brushes over her knuckles and she loosens her hold a little.
“You are far from a coward, Emma.”
“Yeah, say that to the enveloppe sitting at the bottom of my bag and the couple who gave it to me still waiting for some news.”
“Emma,” he starts but she holds up her hand.
“Look at what you’ve done. You’ve travelled the world --”
“Running away from my problems.”
She shakes her head.
“You’re on the trip you and your brother always planned on doing.”
“Emma, it took me years to make this trip and I honestly don’t know if i ever would have made it past Derry if I hadn’t had you at my side.”
“Derry was my fault,” she whispers and he physically turns in his seat, face incredulous.
“Excuse me? Please enlighten me.”
“Well, I mean, think of if you had never met me--”
“No.”
“Killian, let me finish,” she says and it’s without malice. It’s actually said with a bit of a laugh at his expression, his absolute refusal to play her game.
“Absolutely not. I know what you are going to try and say and it’s rubbish. I refuse to even let you say the words. And it’s an impossibility anyway, how could I ever picture a world you aren’t in now that you’re in mine?”
What is she supposed to say to that?
“Good,” he finally says after a bout of silence. “Take the next left,” he adds when their last turn appears.
She carefully takes the next turn and it’s just a few more miles before they pull into the lot of a large, bright yellow building and she kills the motor. His hand closes over hers.
“Emma, I think you are the best thing that could have ever happened to me on this trip. You gave me the courage to face, well, anything, and when you’re ready to face your own ghosts, I’ll be right here. That could be right now or tomorrow or whenever.”
She searches his face for the lie.
“I’m really a mess,” she mumbles but he simply shakes his head and pulls her hand to his lips.
“Who isn’t?”
She thinks a little and shrugs, finally offering a true smile.
“There she is. Now let’s go see if they indeed kept our reservation for the elusive private room.”
And with that, and his arched eyebrow, she can’t get to the front desk fast enough.
xo
The place turns out to be more like a bed and breakfast. The owners are kind and quick to offer homemade snacks from the kitchen while they explain the ins and out of their stay: when breakfast is served in the morning, the twenty-four hour shuttle service that’s available to get to restaurants and bars, and a little bit about the small town.
They must give the same description dozens of times a week but they manage to sound as enthusiastic and friendly as people who are just opening their doors for the first time.
“And how long have you been operating this place?” Emma asks as one of the owners slides the key into their door.
“Oh, well, Matthew, our son, is twenty-one, so it’ll be twenty-two years this fall. Even our boys help out. You’ll see them in the morning,” she explains and pushes the door open, leading them in. “And here we are.”
The light to the room flickers on, bathing it in a warm yellow light, revealing the largest room they’ve stayed in to date. Although, most striking is instead of the standard four bunk beds, the room holds one set in the corner but a large queen bed takes up most of the space right in the middle.
Emma nearly groans at the sight of it.
She manages to wait until the owner leaves but as soon as she gently closes the door behind her, Emma’s bag is unceremoniously dropped and she launches herself into the big bed.
“Oh, I feel like a queen,” she exclaims, arms and legs thrown out wide, covering as much of the bed as she can. “I can barely believe it. I almost forgot what it feels like.”
Killian is more patient, hanging his coat, placing both their bags on chairs. He leans back against the door, seeming content to watch her.
“What are you doing? Come here, experience this,” Emma asks, turning to her side and patting the bed.
He looks at the spot and then looks at her and suddenly the air in the room seems heavier. Like she’s only realized just now that they are really alone, no one to bother them, nowhere to go, just all this time available to them, and she’s not sure if she feels like she’s drowning in the weight of the expectation of it all or ready to swim right across to him.
“Should I get us some food first?”
“Or I can shower first?”
Their questions come at the same time and she laughs, falling to her back and staring up at the ceiling. She counts the wood beams running across until they are blocked out by Killian leaning over her.
“Hi,” she whispers.
He shakes his head and leans in to leave her with a parting kiss.
“You shower. I’ll go find some food.”
She nods and watches him leave. It’s only when she hears the door click and his footsteps fading away that she brings the pillow over her face and groans.
After a beat, she drops the pillow and looks towards the shower.
“Shower it is.”
xo
She ends up taking her time in the shower. It loosens her sore muscles and lessens her worries, although it doesn’t do anything to diminish the realization that she has Killian all to herself. That they are finally alone and that so much has been leading to this.
He had been right the other night in the shower. Their tryst had done nothing but make her even more aware of how badly she wanted him. And she could tell every time she caught his eye he felt the same. She feels her belly tighten with a desire, she’s never felt before and she hurries to get out of the shower, knowing exactly what she wants and for once she’s going to take it.
She wraps herself in a towel and quickly runs one through her hair, not caring if she gets the floor wet. She tosses the extra towel in the sink and thinks if she hurries she can be waiting for him when get back.
But when she steps out, she nearly runs into Killian, who is just stepping back into the room with a plate teeming with food.
“I, uh, hope you’re hungry,” he offers, eyes roving over her form.
She’s pretty sure he’s watching the water drip down her neck, disappearing between the valley of her breasts, just beyond the towel.
“Oh yeah, I could definitely eat… or...”
She’s not looking at the food at all.
His eyes look up but he seems at a loss for words. She feels a small thrill at the way he swallows hard.  
“I think…” she starts and takes the plate from him and puts it down on the table and crowds into his space. His back hits the wall, and she feels his quick exhale against her skin.
Her nipples tighten under the towel.
“I’m quite filthy, love.”
She squeezes her thighs together.
“I don’t care.”
“But you’re so clean.”
He draws a fingers across her collarbone and she closes her eyes at the touch. She’s so keyed up, he may as well be drawing that same finger between her legs.
She opens her eyes and fixes him with a stare.
“I’ll shower again later, I’ll even keep you company.”
He laughs but still hesitates, not agreeing but not yet moving anymore than that one frustrating finger, back and forth, dipping a little lower to run over the top of her breasts.
“You smell fucking good enough to eat.”
“So have a taste.”
His eyes darken and his hand pauses, so she takes matters into her own hands, pulling the towel apart and letting it drop to the floor.
“Christ,” he mumbles, “you’re so fucking beautiful.” And finally, his hand cups her naked hip, pulling her tight against him. She hiccups out a small cry when she braces her hands against his chest. His lips are a breath from hers when she pulls back.
“Wait. You have way too many clothes on.”
She gives herself a bit of room and helps him with his shirt, tossing it somewhere behind her before hesitating over his brace.
He almost always already has it off before climbing into bed, or just isn’t wearing it but this is the first time where she can really reach out and touch.
“Can I?” she asks, fingers drifting to the strap over his shoulder.
He nods and this time she doesn’t hesitate to help it over his shoulder blade, loosening the hold it has. He helps her, getting one arm out and showing her how he pulls off the brace, all the while, eyes hesitantly flicking up to hers.
When it’s off, and she smiles, she expects him to place it somewhere on a table but when she bites her lip, it’s dropped to the floor and he’s on her before she can say anything else. His hand cups her breast, and his head is just descending when there’s a knock at the door.  
“Don’t you dare stop,” she whispers through clenched teeth.
His eyes light up and he spins her back against the door with a quiet thud and his mouth finally closes over her nipple. Her head falls back, eyes closing.
“Emma? You guys coming to dinner?”
Anna. Emma could kill her. She could actually commit murder right then and there.
“No. Nope.”
He brings his teeth into the mix and her eyes nearly roll back into her head.
“You sure?”
“Anna, I really like and appreciate you but if you could go away and not come back until morning or next year, that would be great.”
There’s a cackle and something that sounds like, a finally!
“Roger that.”
And abruptly she’s being picked up and carried to the bed. She doesn’t care who hears the surprised cry because the way Killian is looking at her, the whole world could be outside her door and she wouldn’t care. He drops her without warning in the middle of the mattress and she lets out a breathless laugh, falling back to her elbows.
He takes her in from the end of the bed, hand on his top button, eyes roving.
“Killian.”
“Emma.”
“Get on with it.”
“I mean I could still go shower.”
She scrambles up to her knees, one hand closing over his, the other over the outline of him, pressing hard against her hand. Her teeth graze over his neck as he swallows, before her tongue darts out to taste.
“Now, Killian.”
She pulls back and her hand gives him another pass. He groans low in his throat.
“As the lady wishes.”
He captures her hands and urges her back to the bed. She lays back and watches him deftly pop his button, and finally rid himself of his pants and underwear. She holds her breath as he crawls over her, legs falling open to cradle him between her thighs.
His fingers pinch and tease and he watches her face for a reaction and she can’t help the whine that escapes, her eyes closing at the sensation.
She arches her neck when he switches sides and mouth drops low, running up the column of her throat, finding the edge of her lobe before biting down.
“I could listen to the sounds you make all night,” he whispers, his voice rough, his hips finally lowering another inch. She feels him brush against her and she gasps.
“All night? Is that a promise?.”
He buries his face in her neck and slides against her again, slow and dirty.
Her thighs tighten against his hips but somehow, she remembers.
“Condom, condom is on the nightstand.”
He teases her one more time before pulling back with dark eyes. She can’t help but pull him down for a kiss before letting him go to grab the foil packet.
She watches him with her heart beating frantically in her chest, an overwhelming feeling taking hold, a want so great her words catch in her throat, only a soft please slipping out.
“I’m right here, we’re right here, oh God,” he echoes as he finally slips inside, pushing deep and swallowing her gasp.
It’s never been like this, she thinks.
“It’s never,” she finally whispers out loud, hand cupping his cheek, nails scratching through his scruff before pulling his lips to hers once again.
“Oh love, I know.”
She tightens her legs and pulls him deeper, closing her eyes against the sensations. It’s so much more than she could have imagined. He fills her with every stroke, bringing her closer each time, whispering how good she feels, how tight, how wet.
Her eyes open when his hand trails down her body, intent on touching where they are joined, and she’s already so close, so overwhelmed it doesn’t take much.
“It’s okay, Emma, give this one to me.”
And she nods, wanting so badly to fall.
Another pass of his fingers and she does, crying out as the orgasm still manages to catch her by surprise, the pleasure so much more intense than she had imagined.
His head falls to her neck, his groan causing goosebumps to spread across her skin as he takes what he needs, following soon after, too caught up in the feel of her.
She pulls his full weight onto her, legs wrapping around him as they both catch their breath, bodies slick with sweat, hearts still pounding.
She runs her fingers through his hair, content to just have him there.
Her lips find his ear and she whispers, “That was… wow..”
He laughs and then groans, slowly pulling it out, but stopping to look down at her.
“What?” she asks, a little shy and the intense look.
“Nothing. I’m just committing this moment to memory.”
She’s surprised to feel her cheeks heat up.
He presses a kiss to her forehead.
“Come on, I need that shower. Your offer to join still stands?”
And who is she to deny him.
“I did say I would, didn’t I?” she asks and plucks a grape from the plate before being tugged away into the bathroom. Her laugh following after her.
---
Thanks for reading!
See you next week for Chapter 12
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nievefergie · 5 years
Text
A Research Paper on ABC’s ‘General Hospital’
I have been watching soap operas since I was nine years old. Soap operas made me who I am today — they laid the foundation of my love for stories and real television beyond cartoons. Soap Operas are a foundational television genre in defining the television industry. Soap operas began on United States radio networks in the 1930 as the radio was being introduced to homes across the United States (Soukup). The early soap operas were fifteen minute daytime radio serials used to market products such as soap and other mainly feminine products, earning the name “soap opera”. The commercial sponsorship of soap operas is what formed the structure of advertiser-supported programming that we currently have on television today (Meyers). With the World War II over and television on the rise, broadcasting networks adapted their radio shows for television to meet the demands of the developing world (Soukup). The familiarity of soap operas from the radio is arguably said to have been one of the reasons audiences across the country were so easily able to change mediums from radio to television. By 1951, all three networks had their own soap operas. Into the 1960s and 1970s, more than 10 hours of network programming per day was dedicated to soaps and brought audience members over the 20 million mark. Once the 1980s arrived, soap opera ratings began to decline and more than ten soap operas have been cancelled since the 1990s, including iconic ABC soap operas like One Life to Live and All My Children in 2011. As of 2017, there are only four soap operas currently on broadcast television (Meyers). This is a shame. We don't value soap operas like we use to which is a loss to the culture of The United States because daytime soap operas focus on taboo social issues such as AIDS and abortion more than any other genre of television. Many people remember the iconic episode of Degrassi where a young girl gets an abortion. In fact, it was not aired in American during the early days of its airing in 2004. The N (a subsidiary channel of Viacom’s Nickelodeon now known as TeenNick) refused to air the controversial two-part episode until two and a half years later in August of 2006, when the actress ranked it her favorite episode and so the network had to air it (McDermott). But this wasn’t the first time abortion had been a featured storyline in United States television. The first abortion storyline on television took place on the soap opera Another World (Lane). This begs the question - If we talked about it all the way back then on daytime television, why can we still not talk about it today on primetime? Another World aired from 1964 to 1999 on NBC for 35 years. Pat Matthews’s boyfriend, Tom Baxter convinced Pat to have an illegal abortion in New York. Pat had the abortion and then developed an infection which left her able to have any children. Tom then revealed he never loved Pat, and she shot him. While on trial for murder, she fell in love with her attorney, John Randolph. In the 1970s, the writers of Another World had Pat have correctional surgery and she had twins (Newcomb). In 1973, Erica Kane (played by the iconic Susan Lucci) on All My Children had the first legal abortion on Daytime television before Roe vs. Wade was decided on. Erica had her abortion because she was a model and did not want to end her career. The storyline made headlines over its controversy of the reasoning to have an abortions — to maintain a career rather than due to health concerns. The storyline was perceived well by feminists and ratings rose from 8.2 to 9.1. These groundbreaking moments in women’s history proved daytime television dealt with complex social issues that were relevant to the mainly female audience and their sophistication (Jr., Kevin Mulcahy). In the 1990s, AIDS was still very underrepresented and stigmatized. Children were warned to stay away from people with HIV and AIDs and treated it like the common cold. Most people still didn’t even know all the facts about it or its symptoms — they just knew to be afraid. One of the first shows to ever feature a character with AIDS was Stone Cates in 1993. Stone was living with the iconic mobster, Sonny Corinthos, along with his brother, Jagger Cates. He then began dating Robin Scorpio. Their love story was called “epic” and “tragic”. Stone became sick with the flu and Robin took care of him. Robin, a volunteer at the hospital, asked Stone to get tested for HIV. Stone got tested a year prior and was HIV negative, so he did not take another test. Unfortunately, the test was only negative because he took it to close to exposure for the antibodies to come up. Robin and Stone then had unprotected sex. When Stone’s flu did not let up, he got tested and was diagnosed HIV positive. Once Stone was shot and got his blood on Robin’s hands, he confessed to her that he was HIV positive and his previous girlfriend had been a drug addict and could have possibly contracted HIV. Robin and Stone were tested again, where Robin tested negative and Stone was revealed to have AIDS. Later, Robin contracted the flu and tested HIV positive as well. When Stone died, he had gone blind, but asked Robin to stand by the window and the light. As Stone looked towards the light, he saw Robin one last time before he died. The actor, Michael Sutton, was nominated for an Daytime Emmy for his performance. Stone, although a very prominent character in General Hospital’s past, was only on the show for roughly two years from 1993-1995. Dr. Robin Scorpio-Drake, however, remains a very prominent recurring character on General Hospital to this very day since 1985. Robin’s storyline has been a wonderful example to those living with HIV that they can live healthy, fulfilling lives. Robin ends up getting married to Patrick Drake, having a healthy daughter named Emma and a son named Noah, and becoming a renowned doctor. Robin still often brings up Stone Cates, which is a rare occurrence for such a short lived character arc. Robin refers to Stone as her first love and the reason she became to pursue her career as a doctor. Robin’s story influenced thousands around America because thousands of people watched Robin grow up from a child into a teenager for almost ten years. The storyline of Robin becoming HIV positive was so important to viewers because she was a character no one wanted to see go — and uninformed people assumed HIV positive was a death sentence. Robin Scorpio-Drake’s legacy still lives on, giving hope to many others living with the disease. An after school special called Positive: A Journey Into AIDS aired December 7th, 1995 on ABC after General Hospital hosted by Kimberly McCullough and Michael Sutton, who played Robin and Stone respectively. The after school special was done as a documentary as the actors talked to real people living with HIV and AIDS to prepare them to do the part justice. The special also showed a press conference where a reporter asked Michael Sutton if he was nervous about being stereotyped as gay due to the abundance of gay and bisexual men affected by the disease. Sutton responded that he was heterosexual and comfortable with his sexual preferences, but remained challenged by the interviewer’s question. He spoke about how “pigeon-holed” AIDS and HIV are and that people want to stereotype it as a gay disease in order to downplay it (Harrington & Watkin). The after school special won two Emmys in 1996 (""ABC Afterschool Specials" Positive: A Journey Into AIDS (TV Episode 1995)"). This special was so important because it was a fictional weekly story talking about the making of the storyline and talking to people who truly had HIV and were living with it in order to better the fictional weekly material. The Nurses’ Ball was founded in 1994 as an event for the citizens of Port Charles to fundraise for HIV and AIDS awareness and research. The event stands as a catalyst for various different storylines because all the characters are put together in one place. The actors who portray citizens of Port Charles, New York perform song and dances. In 1996, once Robin was diagnosed with HIV, The Nurses Ball became personal for many characters, each donating money for the cause. Even beyond the characters in the show, the show itself has donated more than $109,000 to the nonprofit organization Elizabeth Glaser Pediatric AIDS Foundation since 1998. The Nurses Ball became a day to mark the nationwide Day of Compassion. In 1997, AIDS-infected actor Lee Mathis, who played a recurring lawyer on General Hospital, passed away weeks before the annual ball he helped stage. General Hospital then donated the royalties from Robin’s Diary, a book to go along with the storyline, and Nurse’s Ball t-shirts (Bidwell). In 2013 when the Nurses Ball was brought back on as a plot device, the soundtrack to each performance was released on iTunes. And I could not find any sources for this, but I’m sure that some of the royalties to toward the same AIDS foundations. Not only has General Hospital and other daytime serials spent their money and time from their small budget to portray complex social issues, but they also donate money to the outside real people who’s real life stories they are portraying. Celebrity Health Narratives and The Public Health notes, “Interracial romance, homosexuality, divorce, alcoholism, mental illness, unwanted pregnancy, abortion, impotence, addiction, incest, down syndrome, suicide, anorexia, HIV/AIDS, rape, adultery … you name it. Daytime has dealt with it. NO other form of entertainment as so effectively addressed social issues” (Christina S. Beck,, Stellina M.A. Chapman, Nathaniel Simmons, 135). Because soap operas air every weekday, they are able to tell their stories from a unique place of creating suspense everyday. Everyday there has to be a reason for you to turn in tomorrow. And every Friday there has to be a reason to turn in next week. They constantly have to create drama to fulfill the quota of airing almost 250 days out of the year. And to create drama, the writers of soap operas take real issues in society and bring them to the beloved characters we already know and love and grew up with. They use things like abortions and AIDS and HIV to create a lasting impact on characters who have a long history. For example, when Starr Manning from General Hospital lost her baby in a car crash, it was more painful because we as an audience had grown up watching Starr and the actress Kristen Alderson — she had become family. We watched her day in and day out 250 days out of the year. That’s more than I see my own family. So instead, soap opera families become family. That can’t happen on primetime television. Primetime shows are based around the formula of there being a problem that is solved for the most part within thirteen to twenty-one episodes. Soap operas, on the other hand, can have baby switches that last more than half the year. Soap operas air so often that storylines can be given proper timing — pregnant characters can be pregnant for nine whole months. Primetime television simply doesn’t have the time to create such a product based on interpersonal relationships rather than the actual drama itself. These issues have to be personalized and how do you personalize someone when their time on the air is so short? Soap operas, however, can get into the heart of personal-social problems. Personal- social problems “consist of extraordinary circumstances that affect individuals or individual units of society - usually, crises in relationships or health” (Thoman). These problems are about people, and only then become a societal problem after people begin to be affected. The AIDS epidemic being a prime example — people were not interested until it began to effect the people in their community that they cared about. Soap operas talk about the people and the people who are affected and are able to give their time and effort in portraying stories about people and their personal-social problems that audiences can relate to. In conclusion, it is a shame that we as an American society value primetime television more than daytime soap operas because the latter gets to talk about social injustice and real life issues such as AIDS and abortion to educate their viewers. I think that is is truly tragic that audiences are being aged out of daytime when back in their prime, the 1960s-1990s, people of all ages watched. College students were a main part of the age group — both males and females spend their time between classes glued to a television screen (Lemish). And it probably meant a lot more for young impressionable kids living with their parents stigmas about HIV to see teenagers living with the disease. When I started watching One Life to Live in fourth grade, it was because I fell in love with pregnant sixteen year old Starr Manning and her high school friends. I fell in love with the character Shane Morasco and the question of who his father was. I fell in love with the missing baby Sam storyline. It was the storylines about children and teens that attracted a young Nieve to tune in tomorrow. I truly believe that if soap operas put their time and effort into teenage characters again, they will see a resurgence of young fans, especially if the storylines have to do with the social climate of Trump’s United States. Society is begging for a progressive genre on television, and I hope that they soon learn that it has been here all along, waiting, during the day rather than at night.
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initiala · 6 years
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A little bit shorter this week, but as they say, it’s not the length that matters, it’s how you use it. And this satisfies more than a few, ah, cravings you may have had since this started again.
It’s smutty. I’m saying it’s smutty.
Thanks to @distant-rose for clearing this for takeoff and giving me a tasing reprieve after a very exhausting and busy August. Enjoy!
On AO3 and FFN
As Killian pressed her down against the bed, Emma thought for a moment about the ring her mother had worn every day of her life, the peridot with white sapphires on either side. The ring she'd died wearing, the ring Emma couldn't bear to bury her in, the ring that sat locked away in her safe with her human charm. Her parents had mated in every possible way they could and worn symbols of that love for all their time together, and even after the pain of losing her parents, her first pack, her litter, and her first mate, she’d always harbored some secret hope that someone would love her so much as to bond with her in the same way.
She eased him off of her, answering his questioning look with a secretive smile, and slipped out of bed to the closet; she knelt, moving shoeboxes and old shopping bags out of the way to get to her safe, and opened the lock. On top of a pile of important papers sat two velvet boxes: one held her human charm, and she left that one alone in favor of the other, picking it up and closing the safe before going back to the bed. "I don't know if you had any big ideas or plans or whatever," she started, perching nervously on the edge, "but this was my mother's."
Emma noted the change in Killian's scent, arousal fading as his expression grew serious. She offered him the box and he opened it, an eyebrow going up as he inspected the ring that had been passed down in her father's family for generations. "It's not silver," he noted.
"I never asked what it was," she said. "But my mother wore it, and my grandmother before her, and so on. Dad said it was an heirloom, a tradition for it to be passed on to the firstborn, and if there's any such thing as blue-blooded werewolves, my family's the bluest-blooded."
A corner of his lips went up as he chuckled. "Granny was right." Emma tilted her head. "She said that the children of alphas have certain traits and mannerisms. The daughter of a long line of alpha wolves? I'm starting to see her point."
She held her strength in check when she punched him on the shoulder, but just barely; Killian fell onto his back laughing and wheezing in pain. "Sure, tell me you're all worried about how hurt I was, then injure me some more, I see how it is."
"I hit you on the opposite side of your injury, you're fine. And I never said my grandparents were alphas."
"No, but their sons are. Were. And those traits come from somewhere." As he talked, he gently pried the ring from its box and took her hand. Emma bit her lip to keep herself from tearing up as he slipped the ring onto her finger; she had her mother's deceptively delicate hands, as her father always liked to say, and the ring fit perfectly. "There. Right where it should be," Killian said, looking up at her with heavy-lidded eyes.
Emma stared at her hand, unable to resist twiddling her fingers to watch the stones catch the dim light. "Dad said that when his mother gave him this ring for Mom, she told him that true love follows this ring wherever it goes." It's funny, almost, how she'd never thought to ask her first mate to bond with her in this simple human way. She'd thought that the mate-bond was enough. Two years together, both courting and then mated, and she'd never even mentioned the ring to him in all that time. She glanced up at Killian, looking at him as if she was really seeing him for the first time.
*~*
"You're moping," Ruby said, perching on the edge of her desk.
"Am not," Emma grumbled.
She had no reason to mope; mating season was over, so the overarching stench of heat throughout the city was gone, pairs had been formed, pups were due later that year. She'd gotten her itch very well scratched by the stranger from London who was much less a stranger when he left, and she'd bagged herself several paydays with bounty hunting, so her finances were set for a while. Things were good. Great, even.
"Seriously, you smell like a wet dog. That's how moping smells. Wet. Dog," Ruby insisted.
Emma glared at her from behind her computer monitor. She would not give her the satisfaction of knowing how often Emma Facebook stalked Killian Jones without actually sending him a friend request -- seriously, who left that much information out there without privacy settings? If Ruby knew, she'd crow about it, tell her she was a lovesick puppy, and then ship her off to England before she knew what was happening.
She didn't love him. He'd been a good lay, that was all. A very good lay. And now she just... wanted to know what he was up to sometimes.
It totally wasn't weird that she knew he went out for drinks every Thursday with his  'mates'. It also wasn't weird how much she'd thought about how English wolves must differentiate between love-mates and friend-mates to fit in with the humans.
Everything was fine.
"I'm not moping and I don't smell like a wet dog."
*~*
They'd only known each other for ten months -- hell, really, they'd only been together for four months. This was crazy, she was crazy, but the words were out of her mouth before she could even stop them. "I really hope she was right."
A year ago, if someone had looked at her with the kind of intense love and tenderness on their face as Killian did now, she would have run. A year ago she’d wanted nothing more to do with mates or the mating practices that dictated their society -- a year ago she’d still been hurting from the scars left by someone who cared less about her and more about what being with her meant for his own status.
A year ago, she hadn’t had Killian.
His hand slid up her cheek, his thumb brushing along her lower lip. “I really hope so too,” he whispered.
This time she didn't offer any protests when Killian coaxed her into bed with him. He had her astride him in a moment, slipping her camisole off and palming her breast in his hand. She relaxed into his touch as he gently squeezed and then splayed his hand across her chest, nestled between her breasts. She looked down at his hand, tanned against the pale skin of her chest, and wondered what it might look like with a ring to match hers. She brought it up to cup her face, nuzzling against his rough palm, and breathed in his soothing scent spiked with arousal.
“Don’t move,” she told him, rising up enough to slide her pajama bottoms off and toss them aside.
His breath hitched when she gripped his cock in both hands, gently squeezing and stroking she watched his eyes flutter closed as she made the movement almost continuous, pulling up with one hand and immediately going underneath the other once she reached empty air. “Fuck…” Killian breathed, the tendons on his neck straining as he tried to obey her order to stay still.
Their combined musk made the room heady; when his eyes opened again, she could hardly see any blue. His chest heaved, nostrils flaring, and the way he watched her move her hands to brace against his chest reminded her of a predator tracking his prey.
She raised her hips up again and adjusted her position; moving slowly, she rolled her hips, rubbing her dripping core along the length of his cock. The hard ridge of him caught her clit with every pass, warming her blood as much as his unwavering predatory gaze. She took his hand again and placed it on her chest. “Touch me,” she told him.
She held his eyes with her own, continuing the slow roll of her hips while his hand traveled a lazy path between her breasts and down her stomach. His thumb brushed her curls, teasing, then his hand smoothed across her thigh. She let her head fall back, closing her eyes and enjoying his slow exploration of her body; small waves of pleasure crested and fell as she continued to undulate over his cock, slowly pushing her closer to that peak. But Emma wasn’t in a hurry, not right now. She didn’t want to hurt him, didn’t want this to end too quickly. She just wanted to live in this moment where it was just Emma and Killian and damn the world outside of their little bubble of pleasure.
When she finally allowed him to enter her body, he hissed, exhaling slowly as she sank down onto him. His knees rose behind her, feet planted on the bed, and allowed him to thrust up and match her movements. Emma fell forward, pressing her lips to his and bracing her arms on either side of his head as she rose and fell faster, starting a slow chase to that wonderful high. As he met her stroke for stroke, her baser instincts clamored to take hold -- she wanted to mark and bite and claim, remind him that he was hers and show everyone that he was taken. She must have made a sound, because his voice sounded hoarsely in her ear, “Let go, sweetheart. Take me.”
“Don’t want to hurt you--”
“You could never hurt me.”
Her teeth sank into the juncture of his neck and he cried out -- not from pain but from pleasure. His arms went around her, holding her tight against his chest. The days preceding and the days that followed the full moon left everyone’s blood running hot and it manifested in increased tensions, both physical and sexual. Killian’s persistent hitting on her and desires were proof of that -- and Emma’s need to mark and claim him.
They moved faster, bodies writhing together as they connected again and again, the hot slide of him inside of her making her burn. She didn’t scratch at him like she normally did but she bit wherever she could: his neck, his shoulders, his arms, even along his jaw. Every bite was soothed by her tongue and he whimpered under her touch, squeezing her tighter against him. His head moved and his hand moved and she found herself pressed up against his lips. His teeth sank into her lip, sucking it into his mouth and she whined, the coil inside winding tighter and tighter--
She shattered, shuddering in his arms as she came, and she felt Killian fucking her through it for just a few moments more before he stilled and spilled himself inside her. The kiss turned languid and lazy, his cock still buried inside of her, but Emma didn’t care. After the terrifying events of the last 36 hours, she wanted to keep him as close as she could for as long as she could.
He rolled them onto their sides, touching her wherever he could, her leg wrapping up and around his hip. His hips canted up into hers and she groaned, still sensitive. “What if I…” He rolled them again, pinning her under him, rutting against her easily. “What if I made you come again?” he asked against her lips.
“How--” She gasped, her toes curling as he continued the gentle rut. Fucking hell, there was no way he could still be hard. “How in the hell--”
“You said yes,” he murmured, picking up the pace and easing her other leg up over his hips. “You said yes, and we’re both alive after that hell of a moon, and I’ll be damned if I don’t make the most of it.”
Emma cried out when his hips snapped into hers. This wasn’t like when she was in heat -- then, her body was primed and ready constantly, coming down quickly from each high so she could handle the relentless need to fuck for a week straight. No, this was overwhelming, her body overstimulated as he thrust into her body again and again; she thought she was going to unravel at the seams, tingling all the way to the tips of her fingers and toes, but he abruptly pulled out of her and untangled his body from hers. She was about to ask what the hell he thought he was doing, building her up like that and doing nothing about it, but then he scooted back and settled between her thighs. He licked a long stripe up her core, humming at the taste of their mixed essences, and Emma forgot the question she’d wanted to ask.
She quivered under his ministrations, her limbs turning completely to jelly as he licked and kissed and nipped at her center. He eased her thighs over his shoulders and his blunted arm kept her hips still while his fingers toyed with and slid inside her entrance. She didn’t remember actually coming, just a feeling of immense pressure building inside of her and breaking all at once, rendering her incoherent for what felt like hours after.
She came to only when she heard Killian groan as he got back up to the pillows. “You hurt yourself,” she mumbled, her eyes still closed and her thighs still quivering.
“I didn’t,” he retorted and she let her head fall to the side, cracking open an eye to watch him stretch out on his stomach, his arms pulling the pillow under his head more comfortably. “Just a bit sore, that’s all.”
“Killian.”
He looked at her with one eye. “I swear, love, I’m not turning all alpha male on you.”
Rolling over with immense difficulty -- seriously, her legs were not cooperating, and her sex was definitely protesting any kind of movement -- Emma leaned forward and nuzzled his cheek. He hummed in content at her gesture of affection, and then she shifted, gently biting on his ear and tugging. He made a little whining noise and she nuzzled him again. “We’re going to have to air the apartment out before Liam gets here,” she said, laying back down with a sigh.
“Sod Liam, he can kip in a hotel.”
She rolled her eyes. “He’s already staying in a hotel. Even just coming over he’s going to say something about the smell.”
Killian sounded absolutely pitiful. “I like the way our apartment smells.”
She breathed in, reminding herself of the layers of scents drifting around the apartment. It smelled like they needed to take out the trash in the kitchen, like the soap Killian had just used, and the lingering humidity in the air from the shower. It smelled like whatever had been stuck to the burner on the stove when she’d made the soup, which also lingered in the air, the ointment she’d put on his back, and the ever-present, almost overpowering scent of two people who couldn’t stop jumping each other’s bones at every chance they got.
It smelled like home.
She smiled. “I do too. I just think we should be considerate--”
“It’s Liam, love, we don’t need to be considerate for family.”
She propped her head up on her hand. “You do know this is actually the first time I’m meeting him, right? You remember that I don’t know him, not really? And I might want to make a good first impression on the man who’s going to be my brother-in-law?”
The corner of his mouth that she could see ticked up, teeth revealed by his grin. “You said yes,” he said, almost to himself.
Emma rolled her eyes, though she smiled and nudged him to move so she could curl up next to him. She really should go clean herself, but cuddling sounded nicer than getting up. “You have a one-track mind today,” she told him.
He nudged her nose with his, bumping their foreheads together. “I could claim you,” he murmured. “Claim you tonight and then Liam wouldn’t be able say a damn thing about the smell.”
He nosed along her jawline, nipping at her pulse. His lips trailed a path down to where, one day in the very near future, she’d allow him to mark her -- permanently. “Nng--Killian--we should wait,” she said breathlessly, letting her head fall back. “Killian stop.”
He stilled, sighing a little. His breath felt warm on her neck, and then his lips as he pressed one last kiss there before lifting his head up. “You want to wait?”
She nodded. Saying it out loud almost felt silly, but they needed to talk about it. “I feel like we should do it all at once.”
His teeth flashed. “Ah, Swan. Quite the exhibitionist, aren’t we?”
“Shut up,” she growled, even as he leaned down to tickle her collarbones with his scruff. “I mean like on the same day. Like, I know it’s kind of corny, but the whole wedding night thing. Humans just do it for their own weird reasons, but us? We’re bound together by human law and pack law then.”
He paused, considering her words. “You said that like you’ve had this in mind for a while, love. Did you have a day in mind?”
She shrugged, toying with his hair. She’d been thinking about it, sure, but not until today did she think he was already thinking about it too. “No, not yet. Well,” she amended, “I know it’s soon, but I think I’d prefer we do all of this before the next mating season. It’s not as… irritating for mated couples.”
Killian barked a laugh. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize I was irritating.”
“No, not you, just the whole--oh fuck off, stop teasing me.”
He grinned. Sometimes she wondered if he understood just how much it meant to her that he wasn’t bothered about the fact that she’d been mated before; a lot of males didn’t care, but that lack of care often came with a weight of expectations Emma hated to try and live up to. Or, worse, those who cared and then tried to treat her like glass; yes, breaking a mate-bond hurt both parties, but after a few days, even the slighted party could recover enough to go back to their regular lives -- physically, at least.
Killian didn’t care, because he understood what it meant to have loved and lost before. Or maybe it was more that Killian did care, and he trusted her to let him know where her boundaries and limits were when it came to opening her heart to someone again. Either way, he accepted the fact that she had more expertise in this area than he did, and she loved that he never seemed put out when she mentioned her past in passing.
“I know, love, it’s not your favorite time of year,” Killian said, bringing her back to the present. “But if that’s what you want, we can have our ceremony -- ceremonies -- before the year is out, in case you bloom early again.”
She almost groaned at the thought, dreading that mating season was so close. She rarely went into heat so early in the year, normally peaking sometime in March or April, but occasionally her body liked to throw her a curveball and watch her deal with it. Going into season without a mate-bond was a miserable experience, a constant itch to seek out available mates and rut into exhaustion. Some years she’d had multiple partners, but until recently she’d only locked herself up for as long as possible and used her toys to try and satisfy that itch.
Having a mate meant less of an itch or a drive to seek and mate; really, having a mate during the season could be a wonderful bonding experience -- being locked up in your house and naked with someone for days on end could really make or break a couple. But it didn’t cancel out the fact that her body was in charge and all she could do was obey its commands or suffer when she refused. “We can talk over it more later,” she said. “There’s still some time. We don’t have to decide anything just yet.”
“Except that you said yes.”
Emma smiled. “Except that I did say yes. And we are airing out the apartment a little,” she added, going back to her original point. “Engaged or not, we should at least pretend that we do other things than fuck each other silly.” He stuck out his lower lip in an exaggerated pout and she resisted the urge to roll her eyes. “You’re lucky I’m going to let you leave the bed at all tomorrow, because you’re definitely not going out to meet Liam anywhere.”
Killian rolled them again and Emma giggled. “I don’t know, love,” he said idly, and she felt the hard length of him already pressed against her thigh once more. “I could certainly be convinced to stay in bed…”
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ahouseoflies · 5 years
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The Best Films of 2018, Part V
We’re finally here. Thank you for reading. Or at least scrolling around to the movies that you care about. GREAT MOVIES
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12. Minding the Gap (Bing Liu)- In part because it's produced by Steve James, Minding the Gap's easy short-hand is "Hoop Dreams for skateboarding." Because most of the film's pleasures come from following the subjects over the course of five or six years, that makes sense. What differs is that director Bing Liu is so young, which makes this a promising film if a less definitive one than James's feature debut. It’s trying to do so much, but it never feels calculated or constructed as it expands. Boldly, Liu seems to suggest that people don't really change that much, that what drives them or gnaws at them just manifests itself in different ways. The cycle of abuse ends up being a common element for the three skaters, and, as Liu admits on camera, domestic violence is the reason he made the film. (The treatment of it is raw, a blunt object when a more delicate instrument might work better.) He got the hard part right though: delicately getting us to care about people who sometimes don't care about themselves. 11. A Quiet Place (John Kransinski)- Strong early Shyamalan vibes from this lean chiller. Krasinski's directing debut, Brief Interviews with Hideous Men, didn't do much for me, and I skipped his obligatory man-comes-back-to-hometown-because-his-mom's-dying follow-up. But the filmmaking really impressed me here just by understanding how to set the table of this kind of movie. A close-up on an important nail sticking out of a floorboard here, an effortless explanation of a rule there. The hang-up for a film this high-concept is that you get distracted by all of the unanswered questions. (How did he get a printer quiet enough to print out all of those radio call signals?) But this world is fleshed out enough, especially an eerie dinner sequence, to bypass that kind of stuff for me. More than anything, there's a sort of elasticity of shot selection that serves the suspense. A tender early scene in which the central couple is dancing while wearing headphones goes on for maybe twice as long as one might expect. So later, the cross-cuts and smash-cuts have even more weight because the camera was allowed to linger earlier. Here's maybe the biggest reason for the movie's success: The characters are all slightly smarter than the audience, whereas the temptation might have been to go the other way with it. 10. Black Panther (Ryan Coogler)- I don't know if I can add anything to the discourse on this meditative yet ambitious film. I do think one early scene points at what makes it special for the genre. When T'Challa is first named king, he has to be drained of the Black Panther powers to fight anyone who wishes to challenge the throne. A member of an outsider tribe challenges him and nearly beats him. It shows a) the world-building of this noble, fair culture, b) the existence of this fully developed clan that will be important later, c) just how human T'Challa is if his reign can come so perilously close to ending just as it has begun. Every scene like that has a logical purpose. Of course, once Killmonger, the best, most realistically motivated Marvel villain of all time, gets introduced, we return to that method of challenging the throne, and writers Ryan Coogler and Joe Robert Cole aren't afraid to let the worst possible thing happen to T'Challa. What occurred forty-five minutes earlier makes this fight seem like a fait accompli. And it's in this sort of narrative detail that the film is able to work up to its thematic purpose. The first half is about, to quote T'Chaka, whether a good man can be a good king. But the second half is about the responsibility of goodness. Show me where Iron Man bit off that much. 9. Support the Girls (Andrew Bujalski)- Although it takes place mostly in one location during one day, Support the Girls has a bigger world going on in its margins. We hear it on radios, or we see it in the people taking a pitstop in Double Whammies while they're on their way somewhere better. But the force that's really encroaching on the characters' insulated environment is Mancave, the national chain that threatens to put them out of business. "They have commercials and everything," one character complains, and we get snatches of those commercials that were presumably directed by Andrew Bujalski himself. It's ten seconds of content maybe, shot in a bigger, broader style than the modest approach of the rest of the film. But the key to understanding how far Bujalski has come is realizing that he is no longer making fun of the people in the commercial, even if they're jacked bros screaming for a boxing match. That portrayal is amplified, sure, but Bujalski is mature enough now to not ridicule those people. It's okay that they're just not the people he's interested in. He's supernaturally empathetic toward the rogue's gallery of people he is interested in, who spin the ordinary challenges of the working class into something extraordinary. The sunniest member of the team is played by Haley Lu Richardson, who deserves special recognition as the indefatigable Maci. I can't think of parts that are much different from her roles in this, Columbus, and Split, to the extent that people probably don't realize they're played by the same woman, but she rules in every single one. The sky is the limit for her. When a workplace is described as "a family," it's usually just a way for the boss to take advantage of workers when the "family" designation does nothing to help them: "I know I shouldn't ask you to work off the clock, but can you help me out as a FAMILY MEMBER?" Occasionally though, it does feel like a family when people work closely to one another for hours on end and depend upon one another for real life needs. This movie is about what happens when a work family is both control and support.
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8. Roma (Alfonso Cuaron)- The trailer for Children of Men advertises itself as "from the director of The Prisoner of Azkaban and Y Tu Mama Tambien," and I remember an audience giggling at that strange CV. For one thing, at the time people didn't understand yet why someone would brag about contributing to a Harry Potter movie. But to pair that children's picture with either a Spanish title they hadn't heard of or a movie that they knew was sexually explicit? Who was this guy? Roma is who he is. I like some of his other films more--I would argue that his approach hurts the performances here--but it seems impossible for him to make anything this personal again. The baldly emotional highs that it reaches come not only from the direct simplicity of the story but also from the sophisticated perspective with which it's being downloaded directly from Cuaron's memory. (It's also, accidentally or purposefully, quite a political film at this moment in time. It insists, sometimes in the dialect of Mixtec, that these people around us silently washing dishes or picking up dog poo are, in fact, part of our family.) There's a moment when one brother throws something at another's head, barely missing, and they both stop in their tracks with fear about how tragically things could have ended up. My dad experienced a similar moment in his childhood, and he would tell the same story about Uncle Steve throwing a shoe at him any time we passed the wooden door with a dent in it at my grandma's house. What a tiny moment to live on for decades, in tangible and intangible ways. Cuaron claims that all of these moments shape us, and taking us to the moon was only a warm-up for resurrecting them for us. 7. Happy As Lazzaro (Alice Rohrbacher)- Alice Rohrwacher won the screenplay award at Cannes, probably because her script for Happy As Lazzaro is fundamentally unpredictable. Games of checkers are unpredictable though. That word doesn't quite cover the way the viewer is forced to guess at something as elemental as "What year is this taking place?" And none of the twists and turns of the storytelling--I refuse to spoil--would gel if Rohrwacher as a director wasn't teaching you how to watch the film the whole time with a rich, warm, light touch. Considering the purity of this vision as a fable, buoyed by realistic labor concerns on the other hand, it's a pity that people are calling Birdbox "crazy" when something like this is just a few clicks down on that service. 6. The Favourite (Yorgos Lanthimos)- When assessing The Favourite, the easy temptation is to say that because it isn't stuffy, because of its scabrous wit or its intimate filming techniques, that it "isn't your mother's chamber drama." It is invigorating, but in a lot of ways, the film isn't saying anything that the average Masterpiece Theater production doesn't. Instead it takes cultural touchstones about the emptiness of power and distorts them, much like the fish-eye lenses that Yorgos Lanthimos favors to photograph the palace. It says an easy thing in a hard way, with conviction to burn. Lanthimos seems freed by not having to write the screenplay, and every decision of his is rooted in making things more narrow. The barrel distortion of the fish-eye seems apt for this idea, but so do the secret passageways that Queen Anne gets wheeled through to avoid the lower rungs of the estate. Of course there's no outside world to intrude upon her majesty. But there's even an inner world to the inner world. (It's impossible to watch Olivia Colman's gonzo depiction of Anne's incurious indolence and not think of Trump.) I'm convinced that Emma Stone can do anything, and the final shot, an all-timer, only validates that suspicion. 5. Don’t Worry, He Won’t Get Far on Foot (Gus Van Sant)- You have to check out every Gus Van Sant movie, even after a few missteps, because you never know: He might take the emotional climax that you didn't even know you wanted and score it to inter-diegetic "Still Rock 'N Roll to Me," thus grounding real poignance with even realer goofiness.I'll admit that the bar is low, but this is probably the most authentic, least treacly movie ever made about addiction recovery. Van Sant, who wrote, directed, and edited, tells the story with patient command. We take Joaquin Phoenix for granted at this point, but everybody on the poster is exceptional. And Udo Kier gets to say, "Pop, pop. It's always about penises." INSTANT CLASSICS
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4. A Star Is Born (Bradley Cooper)- In one scene Cooper's Jackson Maine wears a black leather jacket under a brown leather vest, and the movie itself risks that kind of hat-on-a-hat silliness and redundancy. But instead it comes off as the best kind of big swing, a comforting and warm serving of Old Hollywood. Cooper's camera knows how to embrace silence and let the leads play off each other to craft raw, touching performances. Sometimes the close-ups are so intense and focused that, when he cuts back to a master, it's disorienting to be reminded that there are other people in that space, in the world at all.The movie's deficiencies come from "Wait, how much time has passed?" moments in the writing, problems that I always have had with Eric Roth projects. But it's easy to get swept up in a movie of moments that believes so much in itself.
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3. Mission: Impossible- Fallout (Christopher McQuarrie)- The pattern of Mission: Impossible- Fallout is: infodump that explains the stakes and the strategy of what we're about to see, followed by an action sequence that is somehow even more thrilling than the one that came before it. Imagine a really interesting day of grade school classes, in which you learned, like, multiplication, followed by recess every other period. As for T.C., what more could you possibly want out of a human being?
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2. Wildlife (Paul Dano)- When Jerry, Jake Gyllenhaal's groundskeeper of pathetic pride, figures out that his boss is about to fire him in front of his son, he smiles and, through clenched teeth, asks if this talk can happen tomorrow. Part of him actually believes that postponing the meeting will help; maybe the boss's temper will cool overnight. But this is a man who is bound by the same desperate spirit as his wife Jeanette, who muses, "Tomorrow something will happen that will make us feel different." When people are living day-to-day, clinging to their dignity--he refers to himself as a "small person" at one point--tomorrow really does offer a regenerative power. Those characters are the same-pole magnets that inform this coming-of-age tale, and the subtext of the film is "Can you believe Carey Mulligan and Jake Gyllenhaal have a fourteen-year-old son?" It works for the 1960 setting because these are people who defined themselves before they knew who they were, and they'll now do anything to re-define themselves as brave/sexy/valuable. But it works for the actors too. Gyllenhaal in particular is tender and heartbreaking in a true supporting role, allowing himself to look his age, framing himself with the dad akimbo arms. But Mulligan's fake confidence is great too, especially in a scene in which she nearly begs her husband to let her work. Something tells me that I should credit a director for coaxing two career best performances from two great actors. Some people just have it, and Paul Dano does.
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1. First Reformed (Paul Schrader)- In 1998 I dragged my father to see Paul Schrader's Affliction, a movie that was kind of about my father's father. When the end credits rolled on that bleak, wrenching film, my dad turned to me and said, "I feel like I have to take a shower." We walked around a nearby hotel and talked for an hour, not that he was able to articulate why he was so shaken. We discussed the difference between entertainment and art and what makes a piece of either successful. Even though he hated the experience, he couldn't deny that it was an experience. He kept on saying, "That's not why I go to the movies." And no matter what I, fifteen at the time, told him, he couldn't understand that's exactly why I go to the movies. First Reformed had the same mesmerizing effect as the best of Schrader's work: When I exited the building, I stumbled into the sunlight because I had been trapped in someone else's mind for almost two hours.
Part of that effect comes from the narrative device of Reverend Toller's journal, which plants us in his headspace from the beginning. Part of it comes from the intimate scale of the film, which features only a handful of locations. But if what I'm explaining seems small, then I'm doing a bad job. The canvas expands. Schrader insists that our care for the environment is our most immediate responsibility; this film historian has no problem with planting the film at 2017 in dialogue. And that emphasis is matched only by his disdain for how big business encroaches on personal aspects of our lives. There's even a scene that tries to account for a recent rise in extremism among young people. As if to prove that he isn't being pedantic, he has one character communicate one of those ideas, letting you assume that role is his mouthpiece, then he has another character reply with something just as convincing. First Reformed weaves in those elements, but it's ultimately a character piece that humanizes the type of person we think we know but for which we have no frame of reference. In Ethan Hawke's piercing performance, we see a Reform minister who punishes himself actively and passively for what he thinks are sins. He uses faith as an armor and as an excuse, being so of the mind and--as another character puts it--"in the garden" that he denies himself medical care. No matter what anyone else tells him, he is convinced of one of the tenets that Schrader could never shake from his Calvinist upbringing: There's nothing you can do to save yourself.
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wanderlust-pixels · 6 years
Text
The kinky questions for colt:
I answered them via mobile but it kept messing up.. so here they are! Thank you @mixedharmonysimz for asking!
1: Kitchen Counter, Couch, or on top of the dryer?
“Kitchen counter or my desk at work.”
3: A fictional person that you think would be good in bed:
“I do not have an answer for this.
5: Where is one place you would never have sex:
“Not particularly, no.”
7: Weirdest thing that ever made you horny:
“Lack of birth control.”
9: What is the fastest way to make you horny:
“Call me Sir in a sultry tone.”
11: We were about to “have sex” but then “Colbie climbed into my bed and snuggled up to me. She was thirteen.” He laugh.
13: Something that you have hidden in your room that you don’t want anyone to find:
“I don’t hide things in my own home.”
15: Two things you like [or dislike] about oral sex:
“What’s there to dislike? Other than someone doing it wrong of course.”
17: Have you ever tasted yourself? [If no, would you?] [If yes, what did you think?]
“I suppose, kissed people after they swallowed. Tasted as expected.”
19: Who was the sexiest teacher you ever had?
“Ms.Moore, I had an affair with her.”
21: How big is too big:
“Probably me.” He chuckles.
23: Biggest turn on:
“A good tease.”
25: Worst possible time to get horny:
“Never, there’s always opportunity to slip off somewhere.”
27: Worst sexual idea you ever had:
“Can’t day there’s a worst idea.”
29: Best sexual complement you ever got:
“Well, some women become.. attached rather quickly after sex..”
31: Is it good sex if you don’t nut:
“It’s a good tease..”
33: What your favorite part of your body:
“Everything, obviously.”
35: Love (>,<, or =) Sex For those of us who don’t remember our math thats “greater than, less than, or equal to]
“Love < Sex. Love leaves you disappointed.”
37: When was the first time you masturbated:
“I can’t recall. Early teens?”
39: Have you ever/when was the last time you had sex outside?
“Often.” He laughs
41: Have/would you ever had a threesome?
“I have and will again.”
43: Have/would you ever masturbate at work/school?
“Yes.”
45: What is one song you’d like to have sex to?
“I’m not sure right now. Depends on the mood I suppose.”
47: Most attractive celebrity?
“Emma Stone and Zoe Saldana”
49: If a child was born on the occasion of the last time you had sex, how old would that child be right now?
“24 hours.” He laughs
51: What is one thing that NEVER makes you horny?
“I cannot think of anything right now.”
53: Do you like giving head? (why/why not)
“Yes, I enjoy tasting my lovers and giving them pure pleasure.”
55: How would you feel about taking someones virginity?
“I’m far too old for that.”
57: Is there anything you do on Tumblr that you would not like your significant other to see?
“I do not use tumblr nor do I have a significant other.”
59: Would you give your significant other unrestricted access to your Tumblr for a day?
“See above.”
61: Would you rather be a pornstar or a prostitute?
“Pornstar if I had to choose.”
63: How small is too small?
“I’ve never had that issue.”
65: Who gave you your last kiss? Did it mean anything?
“Elaina, it didn’t mean anything serious.”
67: Do you feel comfortable going "commando"?
“Absolutely, it’s a freeing feeling”
69: If you could give yourself head, would you?
“No.”
71: If you had a penis, what would you name it?
“I allow my lovers to name it if they please.”
73: Have you ever cheated on someone? (Why?)
“Yes, the reasons are my own.”
75: Have you ever had sex in your parents bed? (Would you?)
“No. If they were alive I would not.”
77: What was your reaction the first time you saw a penis/vagina
“It’s been a long time, I can’t recall it clearly.”
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hookedonapirate · 6 years
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Hi! I was the one who asked for more smut along the lines of Emma telling Killian off during sex. I figured I'd also make a suggestion for you. Maybe a one shot where Killian and Emma are neighbors who hate each other, but have plenty of sexual tension between them? Neighbors turned lovers stories are among my favorites. Anyway, just a suggestion. Love your work! I'm a HUGE fan!
A/N: Okay, this isn’t exactly what you asked for, Nonnie, because Killian doesn’t hate Emma, and whether she actually hates him or not is for you to decide, but I hope you enjoy. Also, this turned into a two shot instead of one so there will be another part, I just haven’t finished it yet. So much for hard limits of 3k words, ha!
Summary: “The game’s simple, really. In fact you, my love, don’t have to do a thing,” he ends with a click of his tongue, his silky accent sending shivers down her spine.
“Don’t call me that,” Emma warns him, but honestly her heart is thumping and her interest is highly piqued, “but please do go on.”
“It’s called Ten Minutes. You give me ten minutes to do anything I want to you—touching, teasing, kissing, biting, whatever I want. You so much as moan or make any sound of pleasure, you lose.”
Emma bites her lip at the idea of him doing all those things to her and feels heat creeping into her cheeks. “And if I win? What do I get out of this?”
“If you win, I will never bother you again.”
A grin spreads across her lips. “Okay, you totally made this game up, but sure, I’ll play along,” she decides confidently. She has no doubt she’ll win, so why not? Emma sits up and places the bottle on the floor, glancing over at him again. “You’re on, Jones.”
Rated: M
Also available on: AO3 FF
Part Two
❀❋ ❀❋ ❀❋ ❀❋ ❀❋ ❀❋ ❀❋ 
Ten Minutes 
Part One
Emma hates her neighbor. No, hate is really not the correct term. To say she detests him would be more accurate. He’s a walking innuendo full of cheesy lines and flirty quips, which gives her goosebumps. Not to mention the thing he does with his brow—the thing that makes her heart skip a beat and makes her skin hot, her breathing transitioning from smooth and rhythmic to sharp and ragged, but she really and truly hates it.
The first time she’d met him, she knew he was trouble.
Emma was carrying a box in her arms, a gym bag slung over one shoulder and a tote strapped to the other as she walked from the elevator to her apartment, panting and out of breath. The box was rather heavy and she feared her arms would give out on her at any second. She couldn’t wait to get into her apartment and allow her arms some utter relief from the torture she was putting them through. When she approached the door she knew the only thing left to do was unlock the door.
“Shit!” she grumbled in frustration, realizing the key to her apartment was in her jean pocket because that was where she’d it slid into when the landlord had handed it over.
Emma was trying to figure how the hell she was going to retrieve it without throwing everything on the floor when she heard a voice, that voice, which to this day, is her undoing.
“Need a hand, love?”
Emma almost dropped everything, startled by the smooth British accent that made her blood sizzle, goosebumps crawling over her skin, and she decided to get a peek the man speaking, but that turned out to be a reckless mistake. Just when she thought he sounded genuinely sincere, she saw the smoldering blue eyes, dark unruly hair and dirty smirk adding to the smug expression on his devastatingly gorgeous face. Yeah, he had the kind of face that stopped a person dead in their tracks, the face that made one rethink every other person in the world they thought was attractive and made a heart skip a beat, because this man was the epitome of handsome in every single way.
And then there was his clothes, which accented the body he was hiding underneath in a sinfully delicious manner, making her blood scream—he was wearing a black v-neck that clung to a rock hard stomach and snug blue, stone washed jeans.
For one second Emma forgot how heavy the box was, too busy gaping at him with her mouth hung open. She tried to compensate the pause in her stonewalled expression by nonchalantly looking away, but she knew the blush flooding her cheeks was a dead giveaway.
Oh, and if his looks weren’t enough to kill a woman in his path, there was the goddamn wag of his eyebrows as he added, “All the female neighbors say I’m very talented with my hands,” eliciting her automatic response to men who were overly cocky and screamed “douchebag” because she’d really had her fill of that type.
Emma rolled her eyes and clutched her things closer to her chest. “No thanks.” She’d rather just stand there holding everything all day than accept his offer.
He chuckled and approached her anyways, extending his stupid hand. “I only meant I always help my new neighbors move in. What can I carry?”
Emma huffed in frustration and tried to shift the box into one arm so she could free one of her hands, but the box was far too leaden for that. It would end up slipping and collapsing onto the floor. “I don’t need your help.”
He didn’t believe her. “You sure  love, because —”
“Yes, I’m sure. I don’t need anyone’s help,” Emma cut him off sharply. She tried to bend down to set the box on the floor, but her bags started sliding and she knew if she bent any further down they would fall from her shoulders. Which would not be good because there were some valuable items in them.
Luckily the guy put his hands up in surrender and offered a small smirk, unoffended. “I’ve done wonders with these hands and never disappoint, so it’s really your loss, not mine.” He finally walked away, but Emma was immediately regretting her decision because just as she tried shifting things around in her arms again, she knew everything was just going to come crashing down and would be broken and damaged like her own heart. She cringed at the thought, and maybe it was because she wanted to forget, or maybe it was the reminder of moving to Boston to start over which was what made her rethink her position on accepting his help. Emma closed her eyes briefly, sighing in defeat. “Wait.”
Killian turned around, lifting his brow again, and her stomach was doing somersaults as he threw her a questioning smirk. “Yes, love?”
Dammit.
She really hated the way her heart jumped when he used that word. “Not your love… but I could use your help,” Emma admitted, which in response, Killian lifted a hand to his ear as though he didn’t hear her.
“What was that?”
“I could use your help. Could you please unlock my door?” Emma asked resentfully. The box was getting extremely heavy, but she wasn’t going to hand him all of her things and let him inside her apartment. No, instead she was going to give him the key to it.
Real smart, Swan, she chided herself.
“Well you could have asked a little nicer, but I am a man of my word. I would love to help. Why don’t I just take the box? It looks rather heavy.”
“No, it’s fine. I’ll set it down as soon as I get into my apartment. Just unlock the door please,” Emma asked impatiently. “The key’s in my left back pocket. Could you grab it?”
Killian’s grin grew lopsided, making her heart stutter as he stepped closer, his brow still raised like it was permanently stuck that way. “I would love nothing more than to grab it, but you might want to be more specific, because I might grab the wrong thing and you’re not really in a position to stop me or slap me in the face.”
“The key, moron,” she spat harshly. She was not in the mood for this. Not after days of packing, five hours of driving and now moving and unpacking. “Grab the key from my pocket. Do I have to spell it out for you?”
“No that’s alright, love.” Killian quickly came around her, slipping his hand into her pocket, but of course it was the wrong one, and Emma’s breath hitched, feeling his warm hand through her jeans as his fingers searched around the pocket.
She expelled an exasperated sigh and rolled her eyes. “The left, not the right.”
“Oops, my bad,” he chuckled, but his voice didn’t sound apologetic whatsoever as he removed his hand and switched to the other pocket. Emma’s breath caught in her throat yet again as his fingers curled against her butt when he grabbed the key. “I can think of much more enjoyable reasons I could be reaching into a woman’s pocket for a key… or something else…”
“Could you just shut up and unlock the damn door?” she barked impatiently.
“I could if you asked more nicely.”
Emma took a breath and spoke more softly this time, trying to calm herself. This man was really getting on her nerves. “Please unlock the door.”
“That’s better.” Killian finally slid his hand from her pocket, slipped the key into the lock and turned it, opening the door.
Emma hurried into the apartment and set the box on the coffee table with a relieved groan before setting her bags on the floor. She turned around, seeing Killian standing in the doorway holding up the key, so she stepped up to him and reached for it, but he pulled his hand away. “Ah, ah, perhaps gratitude is in order before I give it to you,” he said, pressing a finger to his lips in suggestion.
“Thank you,” she mumbled, ignoring his choice of words and the way his lips pouted when the pad of his finger made contact with it. “Can I have my key back now?”
“That’s all your key is worth to you?” he asked cockily, stepping closer and licking his lips.
Emma blushed and shook her head, thinking of other things he could be doing with those lips and tongue of his. “I don’t kiss strangers.” She held out her hand. “The key, please.”
Killian grinned and extended his free hand, taking hers to shake it. “Of course, the name’s Killian Jones.”
Emma scoffed, but didn’t pull away. She really had to give this guy kudos for his persistence. So, with hesitance, Emma gripped his hand firmer, hoping it hurt. “Emma Swan.”
“Well now that we’re not strangers anymore… how about that kiss?”
Emma blushed and opened her mouth, flicking her tongue around the inside and scanning his features. This guy was really asking for a good beatdown, but she couldn’t give him that kind of satisfaction, and she knew he wasn’t going to back down easily. She’d have to call the cops on his cocky ass first.
So, instead, she fisted her hands around his shirt, and in one swift motion, launched towards him, smashing her lips into his. Their mouths collided in a searing kiss, and the surprised groan that tore from his throat surged through her body, making her shiver all the way down to her toes as their mouths opened for one another in cadence.
Their tongues swiped fiercely at one another and connected, liquid heat rushing through her veins as he cupped the back of her head in his hands, eager fingers weaving through her golden locks. Emma felt like she was suffocating in his hold, but she didn’t want it to stop. His scruff was scraping against her skin, she craved it every time they parted against one another, and his lips were soft, but firmly pressed to hers and so delicious, she hated him for it.
Slanting their heads and drawing in the other’s breath until there was no air left in her lungs, she pressed him closer, her breasts hard against his chest. He responded with a growl, the deep rumble rising from his throat and tugging her belly. As sexy as it was—the kiss, the man on the other side of it, the gentle way he sucked her tongue and bit her bottom lip, the noises he made as she swallowed them all down—the sound made her stumble back to reality and literally, yanking her from the lust currently muddling her brain, and she ripped her mouth from his, gasping onto him for dear life.
He chased her lips, but she pulled away, taking in the way he looked—completely destroyed, his eyes hooded and dark as he blinked several times, his lips swollen as he tried to catch his breath.
“That was…”
“A one time thing.” Emma took advantage of his vulnerable state and grabbed her key from his grasp, pushing him backwards until he was in the hallway. He was completely devastated and bewildered when she grabbed the knob and slammed the door in his face.
After that, she had done everything she could to avoid him because every time she saw him, the memory of that day came flooding back, and all she wanted was to forget.
So when Emma had hurried into the elevator in her tight, low-cut red dress after chasing and catching a mark, looking forward to taking off her heels, slipping into a hot bath and reading a good book, she hadn’t expected her stupid neighbor to jump in before the doors slid shut. She also hadn’t expected him to be carrying a bottle of rum he bought from the liquor store and she hadn’t expected him to be even more handsome than she’d remembered. She also hadn’t expected the elevator to stop working and their phones to be out of service.
Fucking hell.
And now they’re sitting on the floor sharing the bottle of rum as she tries to convince Killian she hates him. Which she does.
“Then why did you kiss me if you hate me so much?”
“To get you off my back.”
Killian raises an eyebrow, a wicked smirk tainting his lips. God, he really needs to stop doing that. It makes her heart flutter too fucking much. “Love, if anything, kissing me would put youon your back.”
Emma rolls her eyes, mumbling under her breath,  “You wish.”
They haven’t had much to drink, but Emma’s feeling a buzz as she hands over the bottle of rum and glances at her annoying neighbor who takes another swig from it. At least the tiny bit of alcohol in her system makes him more tolerable, and if she’s being honest, his eyes seem to be even more blue, his smile much more attractive and the thing he does with his eyebrow is way more sultry than she’d prefer to admit.  
Killian gulps down the amber liquid and lowers the bottle, wetting those pretty pink lips of his.
Emma wishes she were the one awarded with that task, of feeling his lips and scruff against her skin (but it’s only the alcohol speaking) as she leans back against the wall, averting her gaze away from him.
“I’ve an idea.”
Lifting a brow, she turns her head to face him again. “Uh oh, this can’t be good… unless your idea is getting the elevator to work so we can part ways of course.”
Killian emits a suppressed laugh as he cranes his neck, languidly rolling the back of his head against the wall to look her in the eye. “And give you what we both know you don’t really want? I think not. I had quite a different plan, actually.”
“And what’s that?” Emma’s definitely not interested in anything he has brewing in that dirty mind of his. Not. at. all.
Killian’s lips widen into a dark smirk, his eyes glittering with a combination of mirth and devilry, and her breath does not catch in her throat, nor does her heart stutter. Okay, maybe a little. “I want to play a game. You claim I have no effect on you, you claim you hate me with every breath you take, so I say, you prove it.”
Okay, Emma kind of said that, and she kind of likes where this is going. “No problem, Jones. Tell me what I have to do,” she murmurs before grabbing the bottle of rum from his hand, their fingers making contact, and she takes a quick drink, the liquid burning as it slides down her throat.
Killian leans in, his lips way too close to her ear, and his hot breath hovering over her skin, making her shudder. “The game’s simple, really. In fact you, my love, don’t have to do a thing,” he ends with a click of his tongue, his silky accent sending shivers down her spine.
“Don’t call me that,” Emma warns him, but honestly her heart is thumping and her interest is highly piqued, “but please do go on.”
“It’s called Ten Minutes. You give me ten minutes to do anything I want to you—touching, teasing, kissing, biting, whatever I want. You so much as moan or make any sound of pleasure, you lose.”
Emma bites her lip at the idea of him doing all those things to her and feels heat creeping into her cheeks. “And if I win? What do I get out of this?”
“If you win, I will never bother you again.”
A grin spreads across her lips. “Okay, you totally made this game up, but sure, I’ll play along,” she decides confidently. She has no doubt she’ll win, so why not? Emma sits up and places the bottle on the floor, glancing over at him again. “You’re on, Jones.” She stands from the floor, ready to get this over with as she looks down at him, waiting for him.
For a second, Killian seems surprised, his pupils dilating with disbelief, and his cocky bravado suddenly vanquished. “Really? You’ll play along?”
Emma shrugs. “Sure, why not? I will definitely win this, so I’m not worried.”
Killian’s eyes light up in excitement, a mischief-laced smirk gracing his sinful-looking mouth as he stands up pulling out his phone to bring up the timer. “Before I start, shall we establish some rules?”
“Well, you said whatever you want. So rules kind of defeat the purpose, don’t you think?”
He grins and sets the timer. “I do love the way you think, Swan. Although, if it were up to me, we’d be in your room instead of this elevator and you’d be completely naked.”
Emma’s cheeks flush with pink and she bites her lips to suppress the imagery his words have formed. “Yeah, too bad we don’t have that option at the moment. Let’s just get this over with.”
“As you wish.” Killian presses start and sets the phone down before coming up behind her.
Emma loses a breath, her heart pounding when she feels Killian’s touch as he slides his hands down her arms. The path of his fingertips ignite her skin, she trembles and closes her eyes, preparing herself for anything. Why didn’t she accept his offer for setting rules again?
Killian swipes her hair over one shoulder, and his hands move to her shoulders, gently rubbing and kneading soothing circles into her skin.
“Really? You can do anything you want, and you go with a back massage?” she asks with a snort, trying to hide the disappointment in her voice.
She can feel his breath on her skin when he leans in, whispering into her ear. “I’m just warming you up. You’re too tense, just relax.” His voice is soothing and sinful all at once and his hands actually feel amazing as he works on her shoulders and upper back,  but she doesn’t make a sound.
Emma draws in a shaky breath, letting it out very slowly as he gently works on the knots in her muscles.
“That’s a good lass,” he purrs, and this time his lips are on the shell of her ear, making her quiver underneath his touch.
Killian moves down her back, kneading and smoothing the tightened muscles, but he doesn’t stay there very long, because it’s probably been two minutes already. It’s only been two minutes and he’s barely touched her, but Emma’s already completely sober and she can feel her body crumbling to pieces underneath him, a tingling sensation all over, the blood rushing to her head, making her dizzy. She tries to think about other things, but as soon as Killian grabs her hips and presses her flush against his body, Emma gasps. She bites back a moan when his lips descend to her neck, exposed and flushed, as she attempts to steady her breathing. His mouth is warm and heavenly, and his breath is blazing hot, massaging her pulse point, his stubble scratching her skin, tongue darting out to lick her tender flesh.
You can do this, she tries to coax herself, but let’s face it, she’s a fragmented mess, her core is aching and her nipples are hard as a rock. She still remains confident… until he takes the bottom of her dress in his hands, scrunching up the fabric and pulling it to her hips, exposing her panty-covered nub. His hands find the apex of her thighs, palming her flesh and she has to bite her bottom lip wishing he were closer to her center, which at this point is dripping wet. At the same time, she hopes he doesn’t because then he would know the effect he has on her, if her trembling body, shallow breaths and the way she molds into him doesn’t already. Killian begins kissing the shell of her ear, his lips engaging her lobe with open-mouthed kisses. He pulls the tip of her ear with his teeth, and she can hear little groans under his breath as he massages her thighs and hips without touching the place she wants him the most.
“Fuck.” Emma’s breathing becomes ragged and loud, almost turning into a moan, and she knows she’s not going to last much longer. Killian smirks against her ear and she realizes what she’s just done. “That doesn’t count,” she attests. “It was a sound of disapproval.”  
“Whatever you say, love.” He doesn’t sound too concerned, and suddenly he’s spinning her around until her back is being pressed into the wall, Killian’s body on hers in an instant, the air escaping her lungs. He hoists her up and she squeals at the satisfying feeling of being trapped between him and the wall as she wraps her legs around his hips. His teeth are nibbling on the bare part of her shoulder, gently pulling the skin into his mouth and sucking hard, and her panties are completely drenched. Emma can no longer hold back when his erection is embedded into her center; an audible moan finally escaping her mouth. “Killian,” she breathes heavily. “Don’t stop.”
Killian lifts his head, looking into her eyes, and to her surprise, he’s not giving her a smug smirk or quirky brow; he appears to be utterly wrecked, his eyes clouded with lust. “I wasn’t planning on it.” He captures her lips and thrusts his hips into hers, their clothed centers rubbing together so deliciously, Emma thinks she might come right there.
Killian can sense she’s close and kisses her breathlessly, his tongue sweeping into her mouth and finding hers. She swallows the groan he offers when their tongues collide in a fiery, rapid duo and she grinds her hips against his, seeking more friction.
Without breaking the kiss, his hand moves from her waist and slides between her thighs, pushing her panties aside, his fingers slipping into her wet, aching heat. Emma’s cries are muffled by his mouth, but not restrained as she moves her hips, chasing more of his fingers. Killian releases her lips, smirking against her mouth, panting fiercely.
“You like when I touch you, don’t you, love?”
Emma whimpers when his movements stop.
“Tell me, Emma.”
“Fuck you,” she mutters, her breathing shaky as she bucks her hips, begging for him.
Killian growls, plunging his fingers into her heat, and she’s really starting to love that sound. “Tell me you love when I touch you.”
“Yes! I love when you touch me! I love the effect you have on me!” she screams, hoping he’ll relieve her of this blissful torture.
Thankfully, he gives her what she craves, and so much more, as he pumps three digits into her, his thumb flicking her clit. “That’s a good girl.”
She whimpers, her nectar erupting over his hand, fingers tightening around his shoulders. She’s never been a fan of foreplay; whenever she’s bedded a man, he’s never been talented enough to pleasure her with his hand alone. In fact, she’s never really been that satisfied in bed, but God , she loves being fucked by Killian’s fingers. And she hates that she loves it.
“You stupid asshole!”
“That’s it. Let this asshole make you come.”
Letting her head fall back, hitting the wall, she screams unabashedly when she jolts and explodes with ripples of pleasure because Jeezus. Fucking. Christ. That’s incredible.
Killian’s movements slow, letting her ride his fingers through the aftershocks as she slumps against the wall, fighting for air.
Somewhere during that time, when her mind is floating on a blissful cloud, the elevator comes to life and Killian hurries to right her clothing, letting her feet fall to the ground before he smooths out her dress, pressing it into place. They look at the timer and there’s still thirty seconds left. Killian grins, his eyebrow curving, and now his cockiness is shining through again, but she doesn’t care. Emma takes his hand and pulls him out of the elevator.
His face contorts in confusion. “Where are we going?”
“We’re raising the stakes,” she replies, a bit of devilry in her smile.
Killian arches a brow in curiosity as they reach her door. “Please do tell, love.”
Emma retrieves her keys from her purse, unlocking the door as she looks over at him. “You’ve won, obviously, so let’s see how many times you can make me come.” Emma’s smirk reeks of mischief as she leans in, whispering in his ear. “But instead of ten minutes… you get an hour.” She can hear him gasp as she slightly pulls away. “Unless you’re not up to the challenge of course.”
Killian stands there practically drooling as his tongue traces his bottom lip, excitement buzzing in those goddamn blue eyes. “Oh I’m up. I’m very up.”
Emma giggles and takes his hand, pulling him inside the apartment, never breaking their gaze. “Good.”
Read Part Two here
Tagging people who asked to be tagged and also a few more, so I’m hoping I didn’t miss anyone ❤ @rouhn @resident-of-storybrooke @onceuponaprincessworld @teamhook @laschatzi @superchovan @artistic-writer @kmomof4 @deathbycaptainswan @followbatb @captainswan-shipper88 @kiwistreetswan @bestshipcaptainswan @andiirivera @coliferoncer @jonirobinson64 @gingerchangeling @thislassishooked @hookswan25 @piratesbooty63fan @dmarien @aye-captn @ilovemesomekillianjones @mrsjones666 @searchingwardrobes @officerrogers @klar425 @myswan-myhappyending-mylove @capswantrue @takhisismb @innocenceneverfound @kymbersmith-90 @courtorderedcake @kday426 @its-about-bloody-time-cs @jackieorioncat @fandomnerd12 @branlovesouat
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seriouslyhooked · 6 years
Text
Scoring Your Love (Part 10/?)
Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six,Part Seven, Part Eight. Story also on FF here and AO3 here. Banner by the wonderful @timetravelandfairytales
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Modern AU where Killian is a world famous soccer star who has hit rock bottom and been sentenced to the place where ‘football’ legends go to die – America. While here he crosses paths with Emma, an up and coming musician and film scorer who challenges everything he thought he knew and makes him want more than the game he’s always loved. Will be filled with fluff for days, and eventually rated M.
A/N: Hello again, friends! So as promised we finally get to the M rating in this chapter, but we also get another important check in before then. I mean come on, you didn’t think I was just going to forget about Liam, did you? Well he’ll make an appearance of sorts in this chapter, and though we’ll end in my usual fluffy place, we’re sowing some seeds of intrigue for later. Hope you all enjoy and thanks so much for reading!
In all his years playing in the professional leagues, Killian had managed the intensity and the strange schedules of a sportsman’s life better than most of his fellow teammates.
To be sure there were some more destructive habits he had formed, drinking a bit too much, surrounding himself with the kind of people who were interested just in the fame and the fortune, but on the whole he hadn’t fallen victim to the same bad moods that most other men did. Leaving home for so long and being apart from family took a toll on anybody, but Killian had never felt he was leaving too much behind. Since it was only ever Liam who he had as a given in his life, and since his brother was also his manager and as such was on the road with him more often than not, Killian didn’t feel the weight of separation.
Now, however, things were changing. One might argue it was because he was on the American circuit and his new games weren’t in enthralling places like Paris or Milan, but in small suburbs outside cities he’d never thought to see. Yet Killian knew that the real reason for the change was simpler than that. The problem was home – or rather Los Angeles – had a certain person in residence who did not get to come on these trips with him, and the more he got to know Emma Swan, the harder it was to take these jaunts out on the road for the sake of a game. It was likely crazy to feel this way, but Killian wouldn’t lie to himself. He missed Emma when he was gone, and finally he understood all that regret other more settled teammates had been feeling all these years.
It was of great comfort to him then that tonight he was back at his place in LA once more. Minutes ago he’d said goodbye to Tiny down stairs and now Killian was filled with anticipation and a need to get things going. He could do with a shower straight away, and food would probably be a good thing this time of night when he’d had none so far, but any unpacking could wait until morning. Right now Killian was hoping to speed things up as much as he could to get to Emma. He pulled out his phone and started to craft a text seeing if she was still up. It wasn’t too late yet, and he knew from their conversations this morning that she didn’t have any early morning commitments tomorrow, but he’d hate to call and disturb her if her plans had changed. Unfortunately just as he was about to press send on the text, a call came in disrupting him. A picture of his brother and Liam’s name appeared on the screen and Killian groaned at the interruption, but decided to answer in the hopes of conducting a speedy conversation.
“Liam, I’m sorry I haven’t checked in the past few days, but I’m actually just -,”
“You’re not seriously blowing me off are you, Killian?” his brother asked from where he was half a world away, and though to others it might sound a bit standoffish, Killian could sense his brother was actually in good humor. He could envision the smirk Liam had going there across the pond, and he was glad things had started to calm between them since Killian was first shipped off to the states. “It’s been a whole week at this point.”
“Aye, it’s bad form to be dodging my manager, I know,” Killian agreed.
“Ha! Your manager – I’m your brother first Killian, as you well know. Question is, what’s got you so busy. You’re ‘on a roll’ as they say over there. Stats are looking good and there’s still a buzz about you over here. But are the States so entirely exhausting that you can’t call your family?”
“Not quite,” Killian said with a smile of his own as he looked about his apartment figuring he could kill two birds with one stone. He could straighten up a bit on the off chance Emma could come here later and also touch base with his brother.
“So what is it then?” Liam asked and Killian hesitated, not because he had any shame over his relationship with Emma. On the contrary, he was thrilled that the two of them were progressing as they were. Instead his worry came from Liam’s potential reaction, and that worry was proved of merit when Liam spoke again. “Oh for fuck’s sake, tell me it’s not some woman.”
“Liam -,” Killian wanted to immediately correct his brother’s resentfulness and assure him Emma was different and unlike anyone he’d known before, but he didn’t have the chance with Liam fully blowing up at the realization.
“God, I knew this ‘new leaf’ was too good to be true! Here I am campaigning for you, working my arse off to get your image back where it needs to be for a proper team return, and you’re shagging some random American woman and throwing it all away!”
“I’m not throwing anything away. And she’s not just some woman,” Killian growled back, his hand balling into a fist and his body tightening in anger at his brother’s harsh iterations.
“Oh I bet. If you’ve glommed on to her she’s bound to be a total disaster,” Liam said haughtily. “Let me guess: she’s a great lay right? But with her sexual abilities there’s always some kind of rubbish. My bet its either a fully-stunted personality or some sort of fucked up gold-digging ambitions. Am I right?”
“No you aren’t bloody right, and I’m telling you Liam if you don’t stop talking about Emma that way you will regret it.”
“Oh Emma is it?”
“Aye, Emma,” Killian said, releasing a breath and trying to be the bigger person here. He could admit that he had made bad choices in the past, and the fall out of those choices had made Liam’s life and job no doubt more complicated. Rationally Killian knew that he was the one the burden fell on to be the bigger person, but it was difficult when his elder brother was giving in to such theatrics. They both knew Killian hadn’t been in the habit of sleeping with every eligible lady in the whole United Kingdom, that was all a part of his unearned reputation, but hashing that point out in this moment would do nothing. What needed to be said was of an entirely different nature. “I hadn’t planned to get into this just now, I was hoping to introduce the two of you when you came in a few months so you could see that she’s different. She’s everything.”
“Everything? Christ, Killian, she’s just a woman!”
“No, she’s the woman, brother,” Killian said aggressively, and then it dawned on him – this wasn’t worth his time. If Liam was coming at this with such combative, head-strong energy he was never going to listen. As such they were just moving towards a larger fight, a bigger blow out with more hurt along the way. It would be better to shut it down now and deal with the fall out later, at least that way the whole night might not be ruined and he might yet get to see Emma. “You know what, let’s just call and end to this. It’s been a long day, and I’m not interested in whatever judgment you’ve got rattling around in your brain right now. You don’t know Emma, Liam. You don’t know us together. Hell you don’t even really know me anymore. So let’s just say I’ll call you in a week, or better yet you can email me any business particulars and I’ll see you when I see you.”
Killian ended the call before Liam could respond and turned his phone on the ‘do not disturb’ setting. Was it rude? Yes, but it felt warranted under the circumstances. He didn’t need that kind of negativity in his life, and when his brother felt a little more compassionate and a little more interested in trusting Killian’s judgment they’d speak again. For now, Killian returned once more to the text he was about to send Emma only to hear a knock at the door. Now who could that be this time of night?
“Can I help you?” Killian asked as he opened the door to his apartment. A young man with a bike stood before him and the kid nodded, handing Killian a package and a tablet for a signature.
“Delivery for Jones.”
“Right. Thanks, mate,” Killian said as he accepted. He shut the door behind him and examined the parcel. He knew he hadn’t ordered anything but when he saw the return address he grinned. It was from Emma. But what could it be?
Opening it up Killian discovered it was of all things a cassette tape and an accompanying player. Thank God she’d thought to include that last part because he certainly didn’t have one, but before he could listen he had to search for a note. He found a short one attached and read it as quick as he could.
‘This song wouldn’t exist without us.’
Killian felt his pulse quickening as he maneuvered the tape out of its holder and into the player, his conversation with his brother all but forgotten. It was a Walkman style set up, something straight out of the 90s but the fun of the nostalgia was undeniable. He was already in the best mood possible by the time he had the headphones on, but then he pressed play on the tape and he was awed into something else. 
The music that came through the device and into his ears was unexpected but brilliant. It moved him in a way he truly hadn’t seen coming. This was no mixtape of throwback songs, this was something new, something bold, and something truly remarkable. Killian was certain it was one of Emma’s own compositions, and he stood there surrounded by the essence of her music trying to fathom how one person could have such talent. Too soon the song came to an end, but just as Killian was about to hit rewind to play it again Emma’s voice flittered through the air giving the name of the song, ‘Ready for You,’ and the intended scene it should go with on the series she was working on with Tiana.
Another realization dawned at that part, not just from the title, but from the purpose of the song as well. He’d been speaking with Emma on and off all week about the orchestrations she needed to work on, and one of them was the theme for one of the show’s heroines and her love interest. According to Emma the two characters (neither of which were played by Ruby) were ‘endgame,’ and he was now sworn to secrecy because no one knew of that except for Emma and Tiana. So to have Emma saying that it was their relationship that sparked this kind of music with this intended meaning… well it was just about the clearest way he could think for Emma to show him that she was in fact ready for the next step between them.
Understanding now what Emma’s intention must have been Killian moved swiftly, abandoning his original plans and throwing on his leather jacket once more. He grabbed his phone, debating as he walked to the doorway whether or not he should call Emma on the way. Such debate was not actually needed, however, because when he opened the door again he very nearly ran into the woman he was trying to get to in such a haste.
“Emma,” he declared, shocked that she would be here but so bloody grateful he couldn’t find the words.
“Hey. I was hoping you were back by now, and I got the delivery receipt for the package, but I didn’t think you would have plans already,” Emma said as she took in his appearance that was ready for departure. “I shouldn’t have assumed. I’ll just -,”
Not wanting Emma to doubt even for a moment that he was thrilled she had come, Killian pulled her to him and kissed her out there in the hallway. He felt her wariness slip away the instant their lips met and through some sort of coordination he couldn’t actively control he maneuvered them both inside of his apartment. Words weren’t needed as he got them inside and pushed Emma against the now closed door, his body fueled by the feel of hers beneath him and the way she held on to him like she loathed the very thought of being parted. There was no space between them, no end to the passion in sight, but Killian wanted one last affirmation before they took this final plunge.
“Stay with me tonight, love,” he whispered as his mouth remained just inches from hers. He watched her eyes open, the jade color now darkened from the exchange they’d just had but they lit with the smile she shared at his request.
“I thought you’d never ask.”
With her approval Killian locked the door and now the decision wasn’t one of how far to go but just exactly how to play it. He’d fantasized about this almost since their first meeting, concocted at least a hundred scenarios in his head and imagined each corner of this apartment as having some kind of potential, but the first time he was truly with Emma, Killian knew it had to be in bed. That wasn’t to say they were in any kind of rush though, and the build up, of which he was planning quite a lot, could happen anywhere she damn well pleased.
Emma, meanwhile, had no problem indicating what she wanted. She was unwilling to break away from him, kissing him surely as she had been, both of their hands roaming, leaving trails that inspired more hunger along the way. It was as if they were famished for the connection and too long denied the promise of this part of their chemistry. In no time at all Emma had managed to rid Killian of his jacket and most of the buttons on his shirt while also leading them to the living room. She was making good time, trying to tear away the layers that separated them until they were all gone, but it seemed it wasn’t fast enough, as Emma looked at him and let out a frustrated sigh of air.
“Something wrong, Swan?” Killian asked with a grin, knowing full well there was nothing the world over that could possibly be calculated as amiss when he and Emma were like this. No, her frustration was all of a sexual nature, and he watched as his words, rough from the need he had for her, washed over her skin and sent a shiver through her.
“This is taking too long,” she said with what might have been considered a pout and Killian chuckled as they moved in through the kitchen and come up against the counter. Then he surprised her by spinning her in his embrace and coming right up behind her, his hands clasped on her waist to pull her back. 
Killian pushed her blonde hair over her shoulder, his lips trailing down from her ear lobe and lower, finding a spot at her neck he’d noticed that she was sensitive at before. He took slow, torturous care of riling her up in a way that had her wanting all the more, his hands moving across the delicate dress that clung to her figure. He knew in his heart she’d worn this for him, in the hopes of pushing things further tonight, and he had no more ability to resist. This scrap of red silk was beautiful, but it couldn’t compare to the woman underneath and Killian was ready to reveal his prize. He unzipped it with just enough patience to tease them both and then he let the garment fall as he pushed the straps off her bared shoulders.
“We have all night, Emma,” he assured her as his fingertips traced her now mostly naked flesh. “And far longer too, as you well know.”
Killian watched the harsh swallow that came at his words, but Emma wasn’t running from his actions or his words. Instead she turned back around in his arms and took control back once more, pulling him in for another needy kiss that he caved into immediately. So much for slowing this down, Killian thought to himself. Now Emma was even more set on finding release, and he was right there with her. 
“I know we have time,” Emma said when they came up for air again and her eyes locked on his, her hand trailing down to the button of his slacks, grazing down his bare chest and abs in the process and making his already undeniable ache to have her grow. “And trust me, I’m happy for it. But we’ve already waited so long… I don’t think I can stand to wait anymore. I need you, Killian. I need you now.”
What more was there to say? When the woman he loved made her wants and wishes known it was Killian’s job to see to it that he did everything he could to procure them for her. It was in no way a hardship given how much he wanted her as well, and besides, they could have the slow and steady seduction he’d anticipated later. Far, far later after he’d wrung out every last drop of passion from her tonight.
They hurried back to his room, both of them of the same mind this time and now words weren’t needed any more. Their remaining clothes were stripped away, and by the time they’d hit the bed they were both beyond rational planning or design. This was pure instinct, and all Killian could think was that he had to make her come, had to satisfy every last desire his Swan could have. He knew he was on his way to accomplishing that as he moved above her, his lips tracing down her body past the tender peaks of her breasts, over the gentle swell of her stomach, and down to the space between her thighs that had been driving him mad for weeks.
“Killian.”
Emma said his name not in warning or in censure but as a sigh of need. His eyes flicked back up to hers and he saw the nearly wild appearance that had settled in them. Lust had consumed her, and Killian had known as much without even looking. Every sound, every movement that came from Emma told him exactly what she wanted, and he was nothing if not persistent when it came to reading the signs. Because of this he knew that even as she pleaded for him to sate her desire immediately, she actually wanted just a touch more anticipation. He bit lightly at her inner thigh, feeling her jump and then shake underneath the soothing of his tongue after. He did the same thing to the other side, moving closer to her sex, and only after a few more heartbeats did he give in, tasting her on his tongue as she let herself go to the sensations.
It was an out of body experience to know he was giving Emma so much all at once. Nothing could compare to it, and he didn’t even think to try and draw connections. This was already so much more than a simple shag; it was intimacy designed with meaning and with purpose. Every flick of his tongue, every suck, every kiss, was all done in the name of seeing Emma reach heaven itself, but when she finally fell into the ecstasy she was seeking it was Killian who was flush with fulfillment. It became clear that this was rapidly becoming an addiction, and as he kissed his way back up her body and came above her, looking at the pink that had crept into her cheeks and the satisfaction that swam about her gaze, Killian realized there would be no coming back from Emma Swan. This woman had run away with his heart completely and he was fundamentally changed from knowing and loving her.
Their tender moment was short lived however, for Emma had sacrificed none of her energy in finding her enjoyment. Indeed she surprised him, switching their positions and undertaking a perusal of her own that left him reeling. Damn she was a siren, a bloody minx who was hell bent on riling him to a state that would be unforgiveable, but how could he blamed when she had her mouth on him? It was sublime and indescribable, but when he was just at the edge of falling apart himself he stopped her and took back the reins once more. The time for waiting was over. All he could think about was filling her, sheathing himself inside her and never turning back.
“Fuck,” he grunted to himself as he paused just before taking what they both wanted.
“That’s kind of the idea,” Emma said with a laugh that turned into a slight moan from her still lingering desire. “What’s the hold up here, Jones?”
“I left the condoms on the counter. Just a minute, love.” He moved to get them but Emma held tighter and shook her head.
“You don’t have to. I’m on the pill.”
Holy shit, he didn’t know what to say to that and his hard length jerked at the words. The thought of being with Emma without a barrier was enough to drive him mad. If things were already blindingly glorious between them, what indescribable ecstasy would be procured from taking her bare?
“Are you sure, Emma? I’m clean of course. Just had my physicals with the new team doctors, and I’ve never actually gone without…”
“Me either,” Emma replied softly as her hand came to brush some of his hair from his forehead. “But I want to. With you.”
Since that want was of a fully mutual variety Killian offered no rebuttal, only giving in and taking what they both were craving so desperately. The moment he filled her was too fantastic to put to words, and he could have stayed there forever if Emma hadn’t begged him to move. The rhythm they set was perfection itself, crafted from a bond needed between two people that couldn’t ever be contrived. It made the claims of stories and fairytales, the ones about soul mates and perfect matches seem a little more realistic, for surely this could never be this way with another. This love he felt for Emma was cosmic, causing a shift Killian swore he could feel down to his bones, but when it came to an end and they both cried out in relief, it was the aftermath that truly took his breath away.
Holding onto Emma and having her in his arms cuddled beside him was a luxury he knew she rarely bestowed on others. Emma was guarded, cautious, and careful with her heart. She had been wary at the start, and with good reason, but as weeks went on Emma admitted that getting close to people always scared her. Truth be told Killian had often felt the same way. Love was a means of getting hurt, a fanciful notion that distracted from the game and never worked out in the end, but his old cynical notions of love no longer held water. For in this moment there was no way to deny what was between them. Tonight both Emma and Killian had shed the last pieces of doubt and of caution, and now they were truly in this together.
“So that was…” Emma paused as her fingers traced over his chest and a smile bloomed upon her lips. “Definitely worth waiting for.”
“On that we most certainly agree, love,” Killian said happily, seeing the call of sleep washing over Emma and feeling a similar tug into slumber himself.
“And I’m waking you up in a few hours for more,” she joked with a yawn. “You promised, no more waiting.”
“Aye, Swan. No more waiting. Not any more.”
He pressed a final kiss to the crown of her head, and a few moments later, as sleep finally claimed them both, Killian fell asleep smiling, knowing that life held so much promise now that he had Emma. And no matter what came next, and no matter where their paths might lead, Killian would do whatever it took to keep them like this – happy, connected, and together – for now and for always.
Post-Note: So there we have it. Another chapter come and gone and we find our couple just about in the happiest spot they can be. Rest assured this story, like all my stories so far, intends to give CS truly happy situations, and while there will be some bumps in the road ahead, it’s smooth sailing for the time being. Anyway I thank you all so much for reading, commenting, and messaging me! Your enthusiasm has been wonderful and I love hearing your thoughts. Hope you have a great rest of your weekend and thanks for being fabulous!
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The ThanksgivingWarrior 11/25/20 – THE CROODS: A NEW AGE, MA RAINEY’S BLACK BOTTOM, ZAPPA, HAPPIEST SEASON, STARDUST and More!
It’s Thanksgiving weekend, and usually I’d be struggling to figure out how much the new movies might make in what is normally one of the most unpredictable weekends at the year. Wait a second. I’m getting déjà vu here. Didn’t I say this exact same thing in the intro for last week’s column? Probably. Let’s face it, kids. I am absolutely losing my mind with how bored I am getting looking at my laptop screen all day long, even though I’ve now set up a pretty sweet new TV system to watch stuff on!
Anyway, there is one family movie coming to theatres this weekend, and in any other Thanksgiving weekend, I’d suggesting getting out and going to theaters, but at this point in the pandemic, with COVID numbers so bad that even I, “Mr. Reopen the Movie Theaters!” can’t recommend going to see a movie in theaters… well, except maybe in New York City, where they’re still closed. Sigh. 
We’re going to do things a little different this week, because I wasn’t able to get to as many movies as I wanted but didn’t want to delay the column to Thanksgiving Day. Instead, I’ll post what I have done on Wednesday, then check back here on Friday when hopefully I’ve added a few more reviews. Cool?
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Fortunately, the new animated sequel from DreamWorks Animation and Universal Pictures, THE CROODS: A NEW AGE, is a lot of fun, and this is from someone who really enjoyed the first movie quite a bit. The sequel’s premise is as simple as you can get: caveman family The Croods (voiced by Nick Cage, Catherine Keener, Emma Stone, Clarke Duke and Cloris Leachman), along with Ryan Reynold’s Guy, are still trying to survive in the wilds until they encounter a beautiful oasis that turns out to be the home of the more-evolved Bettermans, Phil (Peter Dinklage), Hope (Leslie Mann) and Dawn (Kelly Marie Tran).
I really liked the original The Croods quite a bit, so I’ve  been waiting patiently for DreamWorks to figure things out for a sequel. My instincts were definitely spot-on, because even if the original premise sounded a lot like The Flintstones, putting those voice actors together, even if it’s just Ryan Reynolds and Emma Stone proved to be quite prescient. A big part of the sequel is the burgeoning romance between their characters, Guy and Eep, much to the brutish chagrin of Eep’s father Grug (really Cage at his finest). Then along comes the Bettermans, and then it changes into a movie that is constantly showing the differences between the two families in many funny ways.
I’ve long admired Emma Stone as an actress, since she’s no naturally funny, and that’s even more apparent by how much she brings to Eep with merely her voice. Some of the scenes between her and Tran’s Dawn are absolutely hilarious. Cloris Leachman’s Gran also has some absolutely LOL moments later in the film. In some ways, Reynolds while funny, especially when pit against Cage and Dinklage’s characters, takes a back seat to the ladies.
I was equally impressed with the film in terms of its animation and how gorgeous and colorful the whole thing is, but more than that, it thrusts in a zaniness that I’d usually expect from something like Ren and Stimpy or SpongeBob SquarePants. So as much as it’s a kid movie, there’s enough to entertain older kids and even old men like me.
Without having seen Pixar’s Soul yet (this weekend!), Croods: A New Age may be one of the most entertaining animated movies I’ve seen this year, and that’s because it leans so heavily on being so absolutely crazy and zany that you can’t help but have fun.
You can read more about the movie and how it was made in a feature I wrote for Below the Line.
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Next up is MA RAINEY’s BLACK BOTTOM, George C. Wilson’s adaptation of the 1982 August Wilson play that preceded Fences, which Netflix will give a theatrical release this week before it goes to streaming in December. Like Fences, this once again stars that film’s Oscar winner, Viola Davis, in the title role of Ma Rainey, a legendary blues and jazz singer in the late ‘20s who has come to a recording studio in Chicago to make a record with her band.  The band’s hotshot trumpet player Levee (the late Chadwick Boseman) is more interested in breaking out on his own, and he does everything to grandstand and try to impress the label guy (Jonny Coyne) even if it means throwing the rest of the band under the bus.
Since I never saw Wilson’s play, I really didn’t know what to expect from this movie, although the fact that most of it takes place in a recording studio definitely had my interest piqued. In case, you’re wondering about that odd title, it’s actually a song in Ma Rainey’s repertoire that she wants to do one way, but her manager Irvin (Jeremy Shamos) wants to try Levee’s version of the song. Ma’s not having any of it, and a lot of the film involves her
There’s been quite a lot of chatter about Chadwick Boseman getting a posthumous Oscar nomination for his performance in this, and it’s probably well-deserved since he gives quite a showy performance as Levee, giving a couple moving monologues including one about his mother being sexually assaulted by white men.  It’s a very powerful performance indeed.
Rainey is certainly an interesting character for Viola Davis to play, even if she’s not necessarily likable with her obstinate demeanor and the way she gloms over her eye candy Dussie Mae, played by Taylour Paige, and dotes over her nephew Sylvester (Dusan Brown). As interesting as those relationships are, I probably enjoyed the interaction between the musicians more, because Boseman is working with some greats like Colman Domingo, Michael Potts and Glynn Turman. It’s actually kind of interesting how it switches between Levee and the musicians and Ma dealing with Irving upstairs.  
As much as the Wilsons are exploring some interesting topics about race and the treatment of black people in the times, the movie frequently feels dated and it feels like some of the ideas are never fully revolved, even as it builds up to a fairly shocking climax.
I wasn’t really sure what to expect from Ma Rainey’s Black Bottom, but it’s a perfectly fine dramatic piece, but I didn’t feel that it had the weight of other movies about race I’ve seen, including yes, Green Book (sorry, haters), and a lot of that probably has more to do with George Wilson’s direction than August Wilson’s writing.
Just want to quickly mention a couple movies I’ve already reviewed, which will hit the streamers this week, including Steve McQueen’s LOVERS ROCK on Amazon Prime Video, which I wrote about here, and Ron Howard’s HILLBILLY ELEGY, now on Netflix after a short theatrical release. I reviewed the latter here.
I’ve actually seen Lovers Rock a second time since the New York Film Festival, and I enjoyed it even more, as it’s really a well-crafted film even if it’s not as immediate maybe as Mangrove (now on Amazon Prime) and Red, White and Blue, which will be on Prime Video on December 4. I just love how Steve McQueen created a shorter piece that isn’t quite as deep as some of the others since Lovers Rock isn’t based on history but is just a nice young romance about two young people who meet and fall in love at a “Blues Night” party. It’s not as deep as the other movies I’ve seen, but is still good. Oh, and my interview with Steve McQueen is up at Below the Line finally, and I’m pretty proud of it, so check it out!
I don’t know if I have too much more to say about Hillbilly Elegy, but I hope people will give it a chance because even if it does have problems and isn’t perfect, it’s an interesting story, particularly for Glenn Close’s performance.
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This week’s “Featured Flick” is Alex Winter’s doc, ZAPPA (Magnolia Pictures), an amazing film that takes a look at the life and career of the late Frank Zappa, best known for his quirky rock tunes but just at proficient at writing jazz and classical musical. I definitely went through a bit of a Zappa phase in my teens, and every once in a while, I would go back and see what had been released since his death in 1993, because his wife and widow Gail did a great job getting a lot of his unreleased music and live shows out there.
What shocked me when I saw Zappa was how little I really knew about the musician, because maybe he was a little bit of an enigma while he was still alive. I enjoyed the other doc, Eat That Question: Zappa In His Own Words, that came out a few years back, which was made up of public interviews Zappa gave, but it doesn’t really give as clear a picture of the man as Winter’s doc does.
For instance, Winter gets a lot of the musicians, including the amazing Ruth Underwood, who played with Zappa in the Mothers. You’d assume those musicians would presumably know the man best having toured with him for years, and yet, even they say that other than when they were rehearsing diligently or playing gigs, Zappa kept to himself. We also get a good sense of what a family man he was, since Winter was able to get Gail to talk to him before she herself passed way in 2015.
Zappa is an absolutely terrific doc that I hope music enthusiasts give a look even if they think they know what Zappa was about or maybe even those who didn’t care for his music. You might be pleasantly surprised by the tremendous amount of depth Winter brings to this talented musician and composer who still had a lot more to say. (And that’s an understatement!)
Incidentally, I’ll have an interview with Winter over at Below the Line very soon.
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On the other end of the musical spectrum (more or less) is Gabriel Range’s STARDUST (IFC Films)  -- not to be confused with Matthew Vaughn’s far better Stardust – this one starring Johnny Flynn, who played a young Albert Einstein in Genius: Einstein, this time playing a young David Bowie. Years before breaking it big with his album Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders from Mars, young David just can’t catch a break in the U.S., so he goes on a road trip in 1971 with his Ron Oberman (Marc Maron), the A&R guy from his U.S. label who hopes to get Bowie across to young American audiences.
I’m not quite sure how someone can screw up a movie about Bowie, one of my all-time favorite artists, but making a movie that a.) takes place in the most boring era of Bowie’s career and b.) Not actually being able to use any of Bowie’s beloved tracks, certainly doesn’t help matters. It also doesn’t help that the script just isn’t great, creating a fairly dull biopic that relies more on Maron’s personality basically playing the same character we’ve seen him play so many times before to stay even halfway entertaining.  I couldn’t even get excited by Jena Malone, an actress I generally appreciate, as David’s wife Angie, because she plays her to be such a despicable and unsympathetic character.
If Maron is decent than Johnny Flynn is just plain flaccid as Bowie, playing him so mopey and aloof that when he finally emerges from his chrysalis as Ziggy Stardust – also with little of the flamboyance in his stage shows -- you just don’t give a rat’s ass anymore. Oh, and a lot of the movie is based on the theory that the history of mental issues in his family is what haunts the singer.  Drab and dull, Stardust manages to make the most exciting rock star of the last half century seem like the most boring person on earth. It’s a flat-out failure as a biopic.
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Joan Carr-Wiggins’ GETTING TO KNOW YOU (Gravitas Ventures) is a witty Canadian high-concept rom-com, starring Natasha Little and Rupert Penry-Jones as two strangers who have a chance encounter at a hotel in Northern Ontario. The latter plays New Yorker Luke Manning, who is back home for his high school reunion, but when his positively smashed high school girlfriend Kaila (Rachel Blanchard from Peepshow) shows up at the hotel hoping to rekindle their spark, he asks Little’s character Abby to pretend to be his wife.
I don’t have a lot to say about this movie which was a nice surprise and clearly a labor of love for the filmmaker. Honestly, my favorite part of the movie is how hilarious Rachel Blanchard is in it. I’m not sure what’s wrong with me that found her deliriously drunk nightmare of an ex to be kind of sexy, but maybe that’s just me. In fact, the movie might have been even funnier if the rest of the cast were able to keep up with Blanchard, but the connection between the two leads did grow on me as it went along. It definitely has some funnier moments like when Kaila’s bowling husband Kenny shows up, and then some of Luke’s other classmates pop in as well, but it does have to work very hard whenever Blanchard isn’t on screen.  (I also enjoyed watching the soap opera that seemed to be going on between the employees of the hotel, which was perpetually funny.) Otherwise, it does feel a little flat whenever Blanchard is on screen.
The filmmaker’s lack of experience is sometimes obvious, because there are things like the repetitive music that I wasn’t so crazy about. Otherwise, this is a light and quaint indie that’s a little off the beaten track, but you won’t have any regrets if you make the effort to go looking for it.
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I’m thrilled to see actor Clea Duvall back behind the camera for her second film as a director, HAPPIEST SEASON, which was going to get a theatrical release through Sony’s TriStar Pictures at one point. Instead, it’s now going to be on Hulu starting Wednesday. (Today!) It’s a high-concept rom-com starring Mackenzie Davis and Kristen Stewart with Davis playing Harper, a woman who has not come out of her closet to her family, which makes it that much more awkward when she brings her girlfriend Abby (Stewart) home for the holidays.
As mentioned, this is a fairly high-concept comedy that uses the idea of someone coming out to their disapproving family we’ve seen in many movies, but does it in a way that can take it seriously but still allow for some funny moments. In fact, there are times when the comedy even goes into Meet the Parents territory in terms of the character humor.
I really enjoyed Duvall’s previous film, The Intervention, and once again, she has put together such as great cast to realize the script that she wrote with Mary Holland. In fact, Holland has a great role, playing Harper’s bubbly sister Jane, who steals so many scenes in terms of the humor that I was shocked that I only realized later she co-wrote the script with Duvall.
Mackenzie Davis continues to be every director’s secret weapon, because like in Jason Reitman’s Tully, she can literally deliver on every aspect of the movie, keeping the comedy aspects grounded but also deliver a really poignant performance. She also works really well with Kristen Stewart, maybe bringing out things in Stewart we just haven’t been able to see before.
Besides having Alison Brie play Harper’s older sister and Aubrey Plaza as an old flame, Duvall also had the foresight to get the amazing Dan Levy, recent multi-Emmy winner for Schitt’s Creek, to play Abby’s best friend, who is constantly there for her to kvetch and who shows up to pretend to be her boyfriend. (Oddly, there’s a lot of that sort of thing going on in movies this week.)
Happiest Season works as a perfectly fine albeit fairly traditional holiday rom-com in a similar way as The Family Stone. More than anything, Duvall continually proves her abilities as a filmmaker that can handle comedy and drama equally well.
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Next up, is Alan Ball’s UNCLE FRANK (Amazon), the Oscar-winning writer of American Beauty, directing only his second movie after 2007’s Towelhead – you might remember his HBO shows Six Feet Under and True Blood. This one, set in the ‘70s, stars Paul Bettany as the title character with Sophia Lillis from It Chapter One and Two playing his niece Beth, a teen from Creekville, South Carolina who worships her New York-based professor uncle. When she goes to college in New York, she attends one of Frank’s parties with her pseudo-boyfriend and ends up learning that Frank’s “roommate” Wally (Peter Macdissi) is actually his boyfriend. When Frank and Beth return to South Carolina for his father’s funeral, he has to try to keep his sexuality and relationship with Wally a secret from his family. Yeah, this does sound a little like Happiest Season, doesn’t it? It is, but only to a point.
At first, Uncle Frank is a cute but not-particularly-deep coming-of-age story about Lillis’ character as a fish out of water in New York City. Once Wally is introduced, he seems to be there just to make jokes and lighten the mood as it turns into a road trip. From his previous work, I’ve grown to enjoy Ball’s unconventional storytelling, but by comparison, this movie is very by-the-books, so it never really grabs the viewer.
The biggest problem with Ball’s latest--and it’s one that I see in a lot of movies these days--is that it doesn’t know whether it should be a comedy or a drama, and because it isn’t particularly funny, you expect it to fare better as a drama and yet, it doesn’t.
Ball has such a great cast including Judy Greer, Margo Martindale, Stevens Root and Zahn, all playing the duo’s racist Southern family, but they disappear for long sections of the movie, and then don’t do much when they return for the more dramatic last act where it turns into such a maudlin melodrama once Frank and Beth get back to South Carolina.  As they mourn the dead patriarch, Frank keeps reflecting back on what drove him to New York in the first place, and we’re pummelled with so many flashbacks. Lillis’ character almost gets lost at this point, even this story is supposed to be told from her point of view.
Essentially, Uncle Frank falls somewhere quite literally between Hillbilly Elegy and Happiest Season but not being as good as either. It’s just disappointing that Ball didn’t have someone offering good advice on handling material that will constantly have you groaning, “What was the point?”
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Screenwriter Matthew Michael Carnahan (The Kingdom, State of Play, 21 Bridges makes his directorial debut with MOSUL, which will debut on Netflix this Thursday. As you can figure out from the title, this takes place in Iraq in the fall of 2016 where an army of 100,000 Iraqi soldiers and militia men mobilize to liberate Iraq’s second largest city from ISIS along with the embedded journalist Ali Maula. Surprise, surprise, this is another movie from last year’s September festival season, too, and there also was a documentary from last year with the same name about the same story, too.
I’ve been a fan of some of the films Carnahan has written over the years, some mentioned above, but his directorial debut certainly sounds ambitious, since he’s working with an all-Arab cast. I look forward to watching and reviewing this one, hopefully before Friday.
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Premiering on Disney+ this Friday after losing its theatrical release – this is becoming the norm for Disney, huh? – is Ashley Avis’ adaptation of Anna Sewell’s classic piece of literature, BLACK BEAUTY about a girl and her horse. The girl is played by Mackenzie Foy from Interstellar and The Conjuring, and Black Beauty the horse is voiced by Oscar-winning actress Kate Winslet. No, I did not make that up, and I can’t wait to watch this, to see how that works exactly. Look for my review later this week… hopefully.
On top of that, those Trixie Pixies at Disney+ have somehow managed to secretly pull together a Taylor Swift concert called folkore: the long pond studio sessions, which will premiere exclusively on Disney+ November 25. Oh, that’s today!
Debuting on Showtime this Sunday is Errol Morris’ new doc MY PSYCHEDELIC LOVE STORY, which takes a look at the Acid King Timothy Leary through the eyes of his lover, Joanna Harcourt-Smith, trying to figure out her part in his turn into a narc for the CIA. Another one I hope to get to soon because while I like Morris’ political films like The Fog of War and even the Steve Bannon doc American Dharma, this seems more in the vein of Tabloid, which I also enjoyed. Will try to watch this over the weekend and report back.
Also of note is that the doc She is the Ocean (Blue Fox Entertainment) will be hitting On Demand this week. I guess I never got around to reviewing it.
So, let’s see. We’ve had some good movies, we’ve had some not great movies, and we’ve had a few movies that I just didn’t get around to watching yet. What does that leave? How about two of the worst movies I’ve seen this year? Are you ready?
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SUPERINTELLIGENCE (HBO Max) is the latest comedy from Melissa McCarthy and hubby director Ben Falcone, and boy, it won’t take you long to realize why New Line decided LONG before COVID not to give it a theatrical release, instead handing it over to its new streamer HBO Max. 
In this, McCarthy plays Carol Peters, an average Seattle woman, who – I mean, honestly, does it even matter what she does? It’s irrelevant. Carol encounters an artificial intelligence being with the voice of James Corden that has just achieved self-awareness and wants to study Carol in order to understand humanity. But what are its plans… to save humanity or destroy it? Only Carol has the power to keep the world from finding out. 
I honestly don’t even know where to begin except that I was a Melissa McCarthy stan for a long time before Bridesmaids;  Superintelligence makes it all-too-obvious that she needs to stop making movies with Falcone. It’s not that he’s an incapable director, but he just doesn’t give her the actual direction she needs. The movie is just all over the place, starting with the physical comedy McCarthy has done so much in her movies, but then turning into a romantic comedy as the AI tries to reunite Carol with her college boyfriend George, played by Bobby Cannavale. Apparently, making The Heat with Sandra Bullock has made Falcone think his wife could or should be Sandra Bullock. No, she can’t. Throwing her into a ridiculous concept like this one that isn’t very solid does little to endear McCarthy to the fans she keeps driving away with bad movies like this.
I’m sure it doesn’t help that I really hate James Corden and hearing his voice over the course of the movie while also acting very META by referencing the ACTUAL James Corden, Carpool Karaoke, etc. Just none of it is very funny. Oddly, this is written by the same guy who wrote the duo’s earlier movie, The Boss, which I didn’t think was that bad, but mainly because McCarthy was paired with Kristen Bell for a lot of the movie.
On top of that, Superintelligence wastes its entire supporting cast from Brian Tyree Henry to Sam Richardson (from Veep) but also has Karan Son from Deadpool playing the EXACT SAME CHARACTER he played in Like A Boss, but only for a few minutes then he’s gone. At least it had the forethought to cast Jean Smart as the President, but the fact that I didn’t even like Bobby Cannavale in this might be the biggest sign of how much I absolutely detested Superintelligence.
There are movies you might hate when you see them in theaters but later realize that they’re probably funny enough cable. That is Superintelligence, except for the funny part. What else can I say except that “Superintelligence” is not a term I'd use for whoever greenlit this piece of crap.
Also debuting on HBO Max this week is the new thriller series The Flight Attendant (HBO MAX), starring Kaley Cuoco, who really hasn’t been doing much outside The Big Bang Theory, so this should give her a chance to show how funny she is. She plays a woman who wakes up in the wrong hotel and wrong bed with a dead man, so it already sounds like a great premise right there. I guess the entire first season will debut on Thanksgiving.
And yet, believe it or not, Superintelligence isn’t even the worst movie of the week! Nope.
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Apparently, Josh Duhamel’s new comedy, BUDDY GAMES (Saban Films/Paramount), played in some theaters over the weekend, but it’s now available on digital and On Demand. It’s Duhamel’s directorial debut, and it’s about as dude-bro as you can possibly get, as it has Duhamel, Dax Sheppard, Kevin Dillon, Nick Swardson, Jensen Ackles and Dan Bakkedahl as a group man-children friends who regroup five years after going their separate ways to bring back their “Buddy Games,” a series of obstacle and endurance tests that end up reviving ill feelings between a few of them.
I’m not sure how quickly I knew I was in trouble with this one, because at first, I thought that maybe Duhamel made a fun indie comedy about friendship ala the underrated A Good Old Fashioned Orgy. It didn’t take me long to realize that I was wrong as wrong could be, since by the halfway point it turned into something as innately immature as Jackass.
The general idea is that Duhamel plays Bob, the guy who found enormous success after splitting from his friends, marrying Olivia Munn’s Tiffany, but then he finds out that his old friend Shelly (Bakkedahl) has been put in rehab for a drug overdose. Turns out that at the last Buddy Game, Swardson’s character shot Shelly in the nuts with a BB gun, and he eventually lost his other testicle as well. That’s about the level of this low-brow comedy that rarely fails to grab the lowest hanging…um… fruit.
As it goes along, it just gets worse and worse to the point where there was one scene where the guys are at a bar while trying to get girls to buy them drinks that just got so disgusting, I almost turned it off. If I did, I would have missed the scene with a gila monster going after steaks strapped to the heads in another lame competition.
I can go on and on about how Buddy Games is but probably the worst infraction is that it does the most sexist thing possible by basically putting having women for a few moments and none that particularly advance anything.
Duhamel isn’t a bad director, and I wouldn’t be surprised if he got hired to direct another comedy someday soon, but this movie just very bad, very gross and almost excruciating to sit through at times. To call Buddy Games moronic, idiotic or even asinine, would be an insult to the morons, idiots or asses, who are likely to be the movie’s target audience.
On Friday, New York’s Metrograph is bringing back the 2017 4k restoration of Fruit Chan’s Made in Hong Kong as a ticketed screening running from Friday through December 3. You can also still catch Shalini Kantaya’s Coded Bias and the French New Wave anthology Six In Paris as ticketed screenings through December 3.
Up at New York’s Lincoln Center, you can catch its World of Wong Kar Wai with a couple films available this Wednesday, including his fantastic drama In the Mood for Love, but you can also get the 7-film Janus Bundle for $70 which is a saving over the individual movie cost of $12 apiece. Those seven films and five more will be shown over the course of December.
Other stuff out this week that I wasn’t able to get to include:
The Christmas Chronicles 2 (Netflix) Last Call (K Street Pictures) Faith (Vertical) Saul and Ruby’s Holocaust Survivor Band (Samuel Goldwyn) The Walrus and the Whistle Blower (Gravitas Ventures) Life in a Year (Amazon Prime) 32 Weeks
Have a great Thanksgiving, everyone!
By the way, if you read this week’s column and have bothered to read this far down, feel free to drop me some thoughts at Edward dot Douglas at Gmail dot Com or drop me a note or tweet on Twitter. I love hearing from readers … honest!
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Word Count: 3868 Tags: @yourtropegirl Tony Stark tags: @shewhorunswithfandoms, @flirtswithdanger, @anyakinamidala @dirajunara @anotherotter @little-study-bug @rampant-salamander @goodnightwife Author’s Note: This is for @yourtropegirl‘s 1000 follower celebration - I took College AU with Tony Stark. 
“Are you sure you won’t come out?” Tabby, your roommate, was doing her best puppy dog eyes at you, trying to convince you to join her at what she claimed was going to be the party of the semester at the Delta Kappa Nu frat.
“Huge exam Monday. I’m gonna hit the lab and make sure I’m on track. I can party later,” you shrugged.
“I somehow doubt there’s a lot of partying in the Engineering set. All you ever seem to do is study,” Tabby snorted.
“Engineering taught Delta Kappa Nu how to party,” you countered, rolling your eyes. “But there’s a time and place, and midterms week is a stupid time to plan for a huge party. Maybe the week after midterms.”
“Long story short, you aren’t coming out,” Tabby sighed.
“True story,” you nodded, collecting your books and heading to the lab.
You dropped your reading glasses on your textbook and rubbed the bridge of your nose, tilting your head from side to side to stretch the crick in your neck. Glancing down at your watch, you were both startled by how late it was, but not the least bit surprised that you had lost track of time. You glanced around the lab and saw only one other desk with a light on at it. You were marginally unsettled to discover it was the engineering department’s shiny star and notorious party boy, Tony Stark, poring over his textbooks. Like he somehow was worried about his grades. In your experience, the guy was a walking textbook. You didn’t think he’d ever studied. Unable to resist the curiosity, you walked toward his desk to check on him. Not that you figured you could help, but because it was so out of character. You’d never seen him in the labs before, and you practically lived in them.
“Hey,” you offered. “Late night? I didn’t think you needed to study.” He looked up, and smirked.
“Y/N, right?” He paused before continuing. “I don’t need to study. Not engineering, anyhow. Literature, however, is another story.” He held up a copy of Emma.
“Jane Austen?” You laughed. “I loved that book. In high school.”
“Ouch!” He feigned hurt by placing a hand over his heart. “You wound me.”
“Someone with a flair for the dramatic like you shouldn’t have any trouble with Jane Austen,” you laughed. He scowled.
“I don’t understand the point,” he admitted. “Like, I understand what I’ve read, blah blah social stations and injustice, but I don’t get the point.”
“That is the point though,” you argued. “Every breath someone takes in those novels is observed, judged and gossiped about. Austen was very subtly making satire. The point was to comment on the strict and rigid nature of society’s rules, and hopefully make it just exaggerated enough that the reader would realize how ridiculous those rules were.”
“I thought you were an engineer,” Tony commented, raising an eyebrow. “That sounds a lot like a humanities student right there.”
“Can’t I be both? Engineering pays better at the end of the day,” you shrugged. “And books will always be there for me.” He looked thoughtful for a moment and nodded.
“I bet Jane Austen would have a hard time exaggerating the stupid around this place,” he finally said. You let out a short huff of laughter and nodded.
“Once she got over the horror of sexual liberation, she might be able to come up with something.” You couldn’t help but defend the writer. Tony smiled again and his eyes crinkled at the corners. You felt a slight thrill, but reminded yourself that of all the party boys at the university, Tony Stark, despite his incredible intelligence, was the worst of them. You looked down at your feet, feeling his gaze linger on you just a little too long, and finally looked up when you felt the blushing was under control.
“I should get some sleep, I’ve gotta be up early to study so I can work tomorrow night,” you excused.
“Work?” He asked.
“I work at the campus pub three nights a week,” you nodded. “Not all of us have trust funds, Tony Stark.” You winked and headed toward the door. He snapped his books shut and scrambled after you.
“It’s after two am, can I walk you home?” He offered. You furrowed your brow in confusion and looked at him.
“I’m just over at Miller,” you returned. He gave you a charming smile and shrugged.
“You know, this is how most bad horror movies start,” he countered. “Let me walk you back to your dorm.”
“Have it your way,” you laughed, secretly delighted that he would be concerned about your welfare.
The pub was slow, which was usual for a Sunday night. What you hadn’t counted on was Tony showing up to sit at the bar and chat with you about Emma some more. There was no artifice to the conversation, and you were under the impression that Tony was just looking for a friend to talk to. You were more than happy to chat with him to while away your shift, and moreso when he pulled out his Engineering textbook and started reading, asking you the occasional question as though he was stuck on something. You knew he was really just helping you study a little more, and appreciated the gesture.
“As much as I’ve enjoyed you polishing your side of the bar there, Tony, I’m gonna have to ask you to head out so I can close down for the night.” You surprised yourself with the honesty of the statement. You had enjoyed his company. He smiled.
“I’ll wait for you outside and walk you back,” he nodded, dropping his books in his backpack and heading for the door. You followed and locked up, quickly cashing out and hurrying through your closing tasks so he wouldn’t be stuck waiting too long.
“You know, I never thought this campus was creepy until you insisted that it was a horror movie waiting to happen,” you laughed as you locked up the pub from the outside. Tony smirked and gave you a wink as you headed toward your dorm.
“You think you’re seeing the shadows of trees, but really, it’s a demon and -”
“That’s enough!” You interrupted. “I need to sleep tonight! I have to maintain and 3.85 or I’ll lose my scholarship!”
“Wait, you have a scholarship? And you work?” Tony stopped and stared at you. You nodded, not bothering to stop walking. He scrambled to keep up.
“Like I said last night, not all of us have trust funds. My scholarship covers tuition and books, but not room and board,” you explained. “Last summer, I had an awesome opportunity to work at a kid’s engineering camp, but the pay wasn’t awesome, so I need to work a couple days a week to make ends meet.”
“I suppose you go to church every Sunday too?” He teased. “And never drink anything stronger than a glass of milk?”
“Excuse me? Are you calling me a nerd?” You laughed. “Last I heard you aren’t failing anything and you probably could have had any scholarship you wanted.”
“I left them all for the poor kids like you,” he winked. You shoved him gently, laughing when he lost balance. He steadied himself as you arrived at your dorm and quickly skirted up the stairs to avoid him trying to get you back. “See you tomorrow at the exam.”
“Thanks for the walk home, Tony,” you smiled and headed into the building. Tabby was checking the mailbox by the front door and looked up when you came in. She leaned to look over your shoulder and raised her eyebrows in question.
“Is that Tony Stark?” She tried to keep her voice down, but it was still shrill with surprise.
“Yeah?” You replied.
“Oh my god, how do you know him?” Tabby demanded. “He’s super rich! And look how hot he is! Fuck me, I’ve been trying to run into him since last year.”
“Well, if you studied more and partied less, you too could have encountered him in the lab last night,” you shrugged, heading up the stairs. She followed on your heels.
“He was studying? I heard he’s some kind of genius and doesn’t need to study,” Tabby argued.
“He’s weak in Lit, he says,” you offered. Tabby stopped on the stairs and gaped at you before running up ahead of you and stopping to stare you down.
“That’s my major. Hook me up,” she demanded, arms folded across her chest. You smirked.
“Sure, I’ll get right on that.” You couldn’t help but roll your eyes. Tabby didn’t need Tony Stark any more than Tony Stark needed a scholarship. She was beautiful and had a new guy strung along every week. She needed to take Tony’s approach and leave some men for the poor girls. You blushed as you realized you were feeling territorial about the most eligible bachelor on campus and shook your head as you brushed past Tabby into your shared room.
“I’m serious, Y/N. Tony Stark is a stone cold fox, and I want him. Help me snag him!” Tabby whined.
“Right now, my main concern is my Thermodynamics exam in the morning. You can harass me about Tony Stark sometime after that,” you allowed, grabbing your pajamas and heading into the bathroom.
“But you’re working tomorrow afternoon!” Tabby complained through the door. You heard a thud and knew she had slumped against it.
“Even better,” you replied. “Each time you bug me about him, you can tip me at least twenty percent.”
The exam was probably the hardest you’d written in your undergrad so far, which made you dread the final for the course. You were lost in a fog of equations and concepts as you walked to the campus pub, finally shaking yourself out of second-guessing every question when you spilled a beer down your shirt not even five minutes into your shift. Barry, the manager, dug a tank top splashed with a logo of one of the beers on tap out of the bottom of a prize bin and handed it to you so you could go change.
You tied your hair up in a ponytail and pulled the wet shirt over your head, patting dry your bra as much as you could before you pulled the tank top on. When you looked up in the mirror you gasped. It was a low-cut tank top. You rinsed out your tee shirt and rung it out as best as you could, holding it in front of you as you made your way back to the bar.
“Barry!” You hissed from the corner. He turned and looked at you, his brow furrowing. He held up his hands in question. You pulled the tee shirt aside and gestured at your exposed cleavage. “Isn’t there something in that box that’s got a little more fabric to it?”
Barry laughed and nodded, pulling the prize box out again, and rummaging through it. He pulled out a couple more shirts and offered them to you. One was even smaller than the tank top, unbelievably, and the other was about five sizes too big. “Sorry, kiddo,” he chuckled. “I bet you’ll make better tips than usual tonight though.”
“That’s objectification,” you protested sarcastically. He shrugged.
“I thought you were a scholarship kid,” he teased. “Work the tavern wench look, it’ll buy you something more healthy than ramen for a change.”
You shook your head and saw that while you had been talking, a table of Delta Kappa Nu brothers had seated themselves. You grabbed your order pad and headed to them quickly. You hated dealing with them at the best of times, but with the revealing top, you were dreading it even more.
“Hey boys, what’ll it be tonight?” You asked, holding your pencil at the ready.
“Three pitchers of Bud, and one of whatever you’ve got that’ll make you want to come home with me tonight,” one of them ordered, cracking up and looking at his buddies for affirmation that his line was good. You rolled your eyes.
“Coming right up.” You walked back to the bar and drew the pitchers, loading them and some glasses on your tray. As you dropped everything off, you saw Tony enter out of the corner of your eye, and when he knew he’d caught your glance, he waved and sat at the bar. You counted out change for the frat boys, disappointed in their shitty tips, and headed behind the bar to greet him.
“That’s one helluva shirt, Y/N.” He didn’t even try to hide that he was checking out your chest. You placed a finger on his chin and tipped his face up.
“My eyes are up here, Tony,” you laughed, but your cheeks were burning. He caught on to your discomfort instantly, and stood, peeling his jean jacket off. He unbuttoned the plaid flannel shirt he was wearing over his t-shirt and handed it to you. You gave him a confused look, but accepted the shirt, slipping your arms into the sleeves. It was too long, but after you tied it at the waist and buttoned it part-way up, it allowed you to tug the tank top up so that more of your chest was covered. You made quick work of rolling up the sleeves.
“There, much better,” he nodded. “You almost look like a nun again.”
“Ha ha,” you scoffed.
“I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable,” he apologised. You looked up quickly, eyes narrowed. “Looking at, uh - I just hadn’t realized that uh -”
“That I was a girl?” You offered. He laughed suddenly.
“No, I’d noticed that,” he quickly replied. “I guess I wasn’t expecting you, uh. You know, forget it.” He waved his hand to dismiss the thought and you knew better than to pursue it. You took his drink order and realized the frat boys were waving to get your attention. You made your way back to them, and stopped part way as you heard one of them say your name.
“So Y/N was really drunk, right? And she was all over me. She kept telling me she wanted it, and that she wouldn’t regret it. So I took her back to my room, and she is a little hellcat. Clawed the fuck out of my back, was biting me. Seriously best lay I’ve ever had,” one of them was bragging. Your name wasn’t terribly common, but you were sure they couldn’t be talking about you, and you forced yourself to walk up to the table to take their order.
“This Y/N?” One of the other guys pointed at you. “Her?”
“Yeah,” the first one nodded. “Tell the guys how much you loved banging me on Saturday night, Y/N.”
“I don’t know who the fuck you were with on Saturday, but it wasn’t me,” you countered, betrayed by the heat rising in your cheeks. The way you were blushing could condemn you. “Three more pitchers?”
“Aw, come on, baby, don’t be that way. I told you I’d call you after midterms,” he cajoled. You set your jaw and gave him the stoniest glare you could muster.
“Again, not to me. I wasn’t even at your stupid ass party,” you replied, and stalked away. You could feel tears of humiliation burning at the corners of your eyes as you crashed around behind the bar. Tony watched, sipping his drink slowly, not saying a word. You stopped when you dropped a glass, startling yourself into letting the tears fall. Before you could respond any other way, you pushed past Barry to the back room, and sat on a pallet of kegs, head in your hands. You felt a warm arm slip around you, and leaned against him, letting the tears fall. His other arm wrapped around you, rubbing your arm through the flannel shirt Tony had loaned you.
“Shhh,” he murmured and you stilled. The voice was all wrong. It wasn’t Barry you were sobbing against. You pulled away, shocked to see Tony soothing you. “What did those fratholes say?”
“It’s nothing,” you sniffed, wiping your tears with the back of your sleeve.
“It’s not nothing if you’re this upset,” he countered. “Hey, I know we’ve only just become friends, but there has to be something I can do.”
“The dumb-looking blond one? I think his name is Todd? He’s telling all those other guys that we had sex on Saturday night,” you admitted. Tony’s lip curled in distaste.
“Well, there’s no accounting for some people’s taste in men, but you’re not really a nun, right?” He asked.
“What? No? Why?” You asked, confused enough to squint at him.
“Because unless you’re a nun, it’s really no one’s business who you sleep with,” Tony explained. “I mean, it’s pretty déclassé of Todd to brag about it, but it’s a free country and -”
“Tony, I didn’t sleep with him,” you interrupted. “Gross. I didn’t even go to their stupid party on Saturday. I was in the lab all night.”
“Yeah, that’s right. You were there when I got there,” he recollected. “It’ll blow over, Y/N. Don’t worry about it.”
“Comforting. In the meantime, it’s my reputation that suffers,” you complained. Tony shook his head, and helped you to your feet. 
“I’ll stick around tonight. Won’t let anything get out of hand,” he offered. You sighed and walked back out to the bar, Tony following a few steps behind.
The guys were still laughing and making lewd gestures, and you turned to head to the back room again. Tony stopped you.
“He’s talking too big. Someone is going to demand to see the scratching and bruising from his so-called hellcat one night stand. And then what?” Tony winked, and lifted his glass to finish his drink. You poured him another, ignoring the waves from the frat table to go clear another table. Todd stopped you on the way past by reaching out and pulling you into his lap.
“I was waving for you, sweetheart. We need more beer,” he breathed on your neck. You pulled out of his grasp easily and smacked his hand as he reached for you a second time.
“I think you’re pretty much cut off, buddy,” you retorted.
“Why are you denying this chemistry between us, Y/N? Who else are you going to meet on this campus that can meet your needs the way I can? I like it rough. We could be rougher if you want,” he urged. You felt a wave of nausea crash across you and shook your head. Before you could speak, Tony’s arm was around you again.
“Listen, Todd, right?” He paused, waiting for Todd to nod. “It’s cute and a little flattering that you have such a crush on my girl, but you’re barking up the wrong tree.”
“Dude, she was totally cheating on you, if she’s your girl,” Todd slurred. Tony shook his head.
“She really wasn’t. I know for a fact that she wasn’t at the Delta Kappa Nu party,” Tony insisted.
“Yeah? How? It’s her word against mine,” Todd argued. Tony’s arm tightened around you.
“Actually it’s not. She was with me on Saturday. All night. So you’ve obviously got the wrong girl,” Tony forced a smile.
“She probably snuck -”
“No, we were awake. All night,” Tony arched an eyebrow, the words thick with innuendo and you could feel yourself blushing again. Todd looked from Tony to you, and somehow, in his drunken haze, noticed how uncomfortable you looked with the situation.
“I don’t believe you,” he said, sitting up taller. “If you were with her, prove it.”
Tony rolled his eyes. “Unlike you fratholes, I don’t screw and tell.” His tone was dry. “So I won’t be sharing the explicit details. Just trust that she’s got better taste than to bother with you.”
“I don’t believe you,” Todd shrugged. “Or her. She’s just a slut looking for an alibi so her rep isn’t ruined.”
Tony sighed and turned to you. “Do not hit me.” The words whispered across your cheek and suddenly his mouth met yours. You were so surprised that your mouth dropped open, inviting him to deepen the kiss, and without even realizing it, you found yourself responding, drawing your arms around his neck and pulling him closer to you. Your heart rate accelerated and you felt that weird tingly lightheadedness that came with romantic interest. There wasn’t a chance in hell of you hitting Tony Stark.
An unholy screech broke you apart, and you saw Tabby standing at the door of the bar, her jaw slack. “I said help me snag him!” She shrieked from across the room. You cringed and reluctantly pulled out of Tony’s embrace.
“Awkward,” you mumbled as Tabby stormed up to you.
“Is this why you wanted to go study on Saturday night instead of coming to the Delta Kappa Nu party? Is this why you blew me off? Because you’re screwing Tony fucking Stark? Oh my god, you must have been so smug when I said I wanted your help snagging him! Fuck, Y/N, some friend you are!” Tabby punctuated her tirade by smacking your arm with her tiny purse. Tony stepped between you, pushing you behind him. Tabby continued her rant, smacking at him instead, and Tony turned his head to give you a pained look.
“Is your life always this exciting?” He asked.
“Only since you entered it,” you retorted. He laced his fingers in yours and pulled you away from Tabby and Todd and the bar.
“Barry, I’m walking Y/N home,” Tony called. Barry nodded from the far side of the bar, eyes wide from the scene that had erupted. Tony pulled you out into the cool autumn night, and led you in the opposite direction of your dorm.
“Where are we going, Tony? Miller is behind us.” You looked over your shoulder, watching your dorm fade into the shadowy fog.
“I’m in Robertson House,” Tony supplied. You stopped and tilted your head at him in question.
“I thought we just settled that I’m not that kind of girl with the whole Todd thing?” You protested. He smiled and pulled you into another kiss.
“Like I said, I don’t screw and tell.” You felt his smile against your mouth and wanted to smack him when you couldn’t help but smile in response. “So your secret is safe with me, hellkitten.”
“Just for that, I should scratch your back,” you laughed, pushing him away. He giggled and pulled you against him again, kissing your forehead chastely.
“I have a two bedroom suite, and no roommate. You’re welcome to crash as long as you like, or until it starts getting awkward. It’s entirely up to you,” he offered. “No strings.”
“None?” It was too good to be true.
“Well, I might borrow you for a date every so often,” he shrugged.
“I’m expensive,” you teased. “Particularly if all that bullshit just cost me my job.”
“Worth it,” he winked, lacing his fingers in yours and leading you to his residence building. “Did I mention I have a trust fund?”
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