#*side eyes chapter she'd been editing*

[zeewritez]

The Sailor and The Samurai - I

Mizu x Femme Shipmate/Pirate Reader

Hi my lovelies! I haven't updated in so long and I'm sorry but college has been kicking my ass. (Why tf am I studying biochemistry - because I hate myself). Anyways, I hope to update my other stories soon (I've had chapters for months now, they just need to be edited lol). So for now, here's a little BES fic because I'm in love with this show :)

(Notes: Reader's father is Irish in the fic but she will not be described physically except for having super long curly hair because I like projecting my hair goals onto stories, also I will be using he/him pronouns for Mizu since they are currently being perceived as a man.)

Part 2 now out

Y/n woke up with a splitting headache from the rum she had the previous night. She made a note to self to not attempt to out drink her father, even if he was pushing 60. Rolling out of her cot, she slipped on a blouse and trousers she had acquired from a crew mate at some point. They barely fit, but it was far better than the dresses and corsets she wore whenever they docked back home.

She walked onto the deck just in time to watch over the vast ocean as they approached the isolated island of Japan. She'd been there many times in her career but had only ever been to the ports to assist with loading goods when the crew needed it. Today, there was no need. Instead, she watched with mild curiosity from the crow's nest as crates were loaded onto The Banshee.

The cargo seemed standard: silks, swords, exotic fish. The things nobles in England dreweld over. Yet the passengers were anything but standard. Y/n could barely believe her eyes when the infamous Abijah Fowler was brought on board with guards on each side of him. He was brought to the detention cell, which would have otherwise been used when her father was tired of a crewmate's drunken antics.

Y/n was so taken aback by Fowler's presence she nearly missed the passenger behind him: a young man, a few years older than y/n herself, clad in Japanese garb and yellow glasses. It seemed odd to her, as it was rather overcast outside but she didn't give it a second thought. What she was truly curious about was why Abijah Fowler was on their vessel.

As the ship took sail, she climbed down from the nest and made her way to the detention cell with a curious, if not mischievous, grin.

"I never thought you'd be joining us for London," she teased as she stood outside of his cel, as though dangling her freedom like a carrot. She did not like Fowler one bit, but she found him almost as amusing as she found him vile. Entertainment was hard to come by at sea, so who could really blame her?

"Well I for one am always happy to see you," he said, grabbing her hand through the bars and kissing her knuckles. She rolled her eyes as she pulled her hand back from him.

"What brings you back to the isle?" she asked. "My father doesn't even enjoy England, and he's still in good standing, legally speaking."

"Perhaps he's a better Irishman then me," Fowler said with a shrug. "What does it matter to you?"

The girl looked up in faux innocence. "Oh, I'm just curious."

"Well, why don't you hunt down the samurai that's on board and he can let you know why I'm going back to London," Fowler finally told her. "You've picked up quite a bit of Japanese, haven't ya?"

"Alright, I'll see you around then," she said as she turned to leave.

"You have your mother's rear!" He shouted out, as though y/n had forgotten why she had disliked the man so much. She said a silent prayer thanking the heavens he wasn't roaming freely as she roamed the ship looking for the mysterious man with glasses, which was simple enough.

He stood on the poop deck, staring out onto the ocean, as anyone who has ever treaded water has. The waters had a way of commanding one's attention.

"Hello good sir," the young woman greeted she climbed the stairs, stopping to curtsey out of habit. She'd managed to have some resemblance of good manners despite being raised at sea by a captain with a drinking habit.

The young man stared at her, which was a common response from many men upon seeing her for the first time, regardless of national origin. In fact, Englishmen seemed most taken aback by her appearance. Her hair was long and unkempt, falling down her back in ringlets instead of being pinned into an updo of a proper lady. Her shirt nearly fell from her shoulders and around her neck was a long, beaded necklace that seemed to trail down between her breasts. Y/n giggled at the man's reaction, having expected nothing less.

"Oh, I'm sorry," he spoke casting his eyes away from her eyes out of embarrassment, then down to her strange necklace, then back up to her eyes.

"Don't worry about it," she said, leaning against the Banshee's railing. "It is lovely to make your acquaintance, may I ask your name?"

"Mizu," he answered, finally less taken aback by the strange woman. "And you are?*

"Y/n," she said, reaching out her hand limply, again out of habit more than anything else. Mizu looked at her with pure confusion, almost fear. Y/n giggled again, this time to hide her embarrassment. "It is expected to kiss a lady's hand where we're going."

Mizu nodded and cautiously took the girl's hand, which was smaller then her own, and cool to the touch from the ocean winds. He kissed it with the gentleness most men she encountered lacked.

"You'll make a proper gentleman," y/n remarked as she retrieved her hand once again and placed it under her head. She scanned Mizu as had her. Admittedly he was rather dashing. So much so she'd forgotten what she was originally there to ask him. Fowler was the last thing on her mind. "What's with the spectacles?" she asked.

"My eyes are unnatural back home," he told her.

"Is that so?" Y/n asked rhetorically. Perhaps without thought for personal space, she leaned forward and took the yellow frames from the man's face. She was greeted with eyes that would put the sea herself to shame. "You needn't wear these anymore, your eyes are beautiful." The young sailor folded the glasses and handed them back to the blue eyed man.

A small smile graced Mizu's face at the first genuine compliment he'd heard in regard to his eyes. He looked over the beautiful yet foreign face of the woman in front of him. The journey to London was certainly something to look forward to now.

[witchofhimring]

To cast you down and take all you hold dear

This series is being edited. I feel Alys came off as one dimensionally evil and the reader as a pretty flat character. So this will be heavily edited.

Queen you shall be, until there comes another, younger and more beautiful, to cast you down and take all you hold dear

Pairings:

Aemond Targaryen x Reader

Aemond Targaryen x Alys Rivers

Part 3 (previous chapter): Younger and more beautiful

Warnings: angst, cheating, mentions of stillbirth/miscarriages, death

A slap echoed through the room. The lady cried out and held her cheek. Alys stood there, wide eyed with a shaking hand. All her ladies stood around her in shock. At that moment Alys did not look even remotely regal. In fact, she had never looked worse. Alys was no longer the beautiful woman who took the throne. There may be remanence, but they were blurred. Her once fine black hair had a slight wear to it from all the nervous tugging over the past few months. Dark brown eyes bore out of a pale face, the skin stretched tightly over it like a mask. Her figure, which had once been so slender, had become blousy and difficult to control. Alys found that she could no longer simply rely on walking and eating soups to keep a slim figure. Her body ached in places she did not even know could. This might have been all worth it if she'd had a son. But only one daughter and two stillborn babes in the end. Panic had set in. They now whispered in the halls of the Queen, unable to bear the King a son. Now they whispered of the old one. Lately, Y/n's name came stalked the halls.

At least she new how to be a Queen.

Twenty years and he just casts her aside.

Queen Y/n would have done it better.

Y/n this. Y/n that. All they talked of was the old Queen. They also whispered of how Queen Alys was losing her grip of the King. No longer was she the fearless mistress who took the court by storm. As Queen she was flooded with worried and responsibilities that made her hair turn grey.

Not like Floris Baratheon. Floris Baratheon was only slightly younger than herself. She had borne her pervious husband two sons yet her figure remained just as lithe as it had been in her youth. Alys had taken great pleasure in sending Y/n's former lady to serve the true Princess, her daughter. But the sneaky little slut had been cunning. Because whenever the Queen had her back turned, Floris took to seductive arts.

"To cast you down and take all you hold dear."

Floris Baratheon, younger, more beautiful, who held a candle for the old Queen. Soon Floris became the governess and had unfiltered access to the King.

Exhausted, Alys dismissed her ladies and headed down the hall. It was late and she had only just heard the last of the petitioners. She would go to her husband tonight and try to get another child. Perhaps this time a son. Summoning her courage Alys walked to the door. In the mirror she quickly checked herself. Today she wore a sleek black gown that highlighted her best features. The black and ruby crown that once belonged to Y/n was placed on her head. She pushed open the door. The sight that greeted her caused Alys to stagger back. Floris Baratheon was sitting in the Kings lap, her dark hair cascading to one side. Her blue eyes drifted towards the Queen and she could see mirth shimmering on the surface of her eyes. The second her husband sees her he simply helps Floris to her feet and sends her away. "Your Grace." Floris gives her the smallest curtsy, and the smallest smile that only she could see dancing on her lips.

"At least the previous Queen was dignified about it." Alys wanted to tear their eyes out for such words. It was all they had been talking about the past few days. After catching her husband with Floris the conversation that followed could have destroyed the Red Keep. Shouts thundered and likely a nosy servant had overheard and spread word about. Or even that bitch Floris had opened her cunt mouth. She wanted to tear their throats out and make them beg for mercy. But that wasn't truly an option. She was the Queen. Just as how Y/n held the title. A Queen never complained.

"You brought that whore into your chambers!" She screamed as tears built up behind her eyes. Aemond pinched his nose, looking irritated. "I did not endure a day of tedious meetings to deal with your harping." This was insulting. He was acting as if his offence was minor in nature. "Harping! This is an insult to me and our daughter the Princess! She is heir to the Seven kingdoms and-" Aemond started to laugh. With a flinch she drew back. Alys could not believe this was the man she had grown to love. "You forget yourself Alys. And let us not forget that my daughter Daenerys was considered the heir at one such time." She could hear the wine on his breath. Horrified, Alys gaped at her husband. "How dare....that is not the same!" She was actually shaking right now, such was her anger. Alys was tempted to rush towards Aemond and drag her nails through his skin. And once she was done with that, her attention would turn to Floris. And Gods help that girl when she did. "In the eyes of many it is the same, My Lady. Many do not see you as the true Queen." She staggered back. No, this could not be her Aemond. This was some horrid parody of the man she had come to love. Unable to take it anymore, Alys fleed.

She knew that the crown was her destiny. Alys had spent days preparing Harenhall for the Kings arrival, as well as herself. Her onyx black hair fell to her waist, she bathed in cold water for weeks to keep her skin pale and a crimson dress that flung to her figure. She waited by the window, excepting to see a dragon descend at any moment. "Queen you shall be." Yes. She would be Queen one day. Her thoughts went to the current Queen. The one who could not even give the King a son. Perhaps this was the Queen she was meant to replace. A deep rumbling emanated from the distance and a great shadow parted the rolling clouds. It was time.

She descended the stairs, careful not to tear her delicate dress. A rumble shook the castle as Vhaegar landed. The great doors opened and Alys entered the court yard, just as the King got off Vhaegar. He was not a young man anymore, though not old either. He still kept the same physic of his youth, silver hair streaming behind him. Alys felt something warm stir within her. He was the most beautiful man she had ever seen. It was as if someone had plucked the ethereal descriptions of the Valyrians of old and made it into life. He walked towards her in an elegant stride before kissing her hand. His lips were warm.

Days went by as Aemond and Alys spoke. They walked in the gardens and talked about books. The longer they stayed together the more she fell for him. Alys thought that this must be it. This must be the King she was meant to marry. It was just too bad he had a wife. "I shall head back when the Queen gives birth." It had been almost twenty years and the Queen had yet to give a son. Alys hated her, the reason Aemond would have to leave. She just wished Y/n would go away already. She was tired of waiting! "Is she in good health?" From anyone else this would sound like a comment of concern. But no, Alys simply hoped Y/n would finally die. And then Alys could marry and give her King the son he so needed.

She was summoned to the council at the hour of the wolf. She walked, flanked by two of her ladies. On her way there, who should she meet, but Floris. It was late. Far to late for Floris Baratheon to simply be taking a leisurely stroll through the castle. Alys realized they were quite alone. A slow sneer curled on those red lips as Alys realized now was the time. She would take care of Floris once and for all. "It is late to be serving the King as his whore." She put on the facade on an uncaring Queen who saw mistresses as beneath her notice. Only Floris smiled, as if in on some great joke. "Oh, you're alright at it." Instead of rage Alys was confused. "Speak plainly." She demanded. "I mean that your uncaring mask is alright. Though not as good....as say... Queen Y/n." The former Queen's name rolled off Floris's tongue as she relished in the look on Alys's face. "Your loyalty to your former mistress is touching. But I suppose your final memories of her plight encourage you to rebel against be." Alys got pleasure from the momentary, painful spasm that crossed Floris's face. "I regret to inform you that the Queen was hardly pitiful in her final days. She carried herself with dignity, before and after she was in the palace." Alys fought down the hateful heat that threatened to engulf her. This mere mistress dared to insult her. Alys swore that when she bore a son she would have Floris pay for every insult. "Well, regardless, I am Queen now and it is best you remember that. I am sure your mistress told you many things to sway your heart against me." Floris only laughed. "You are most mistaken if you thought that you took up much place in the Queen's mind at all. Queens do not concern themselves with mistresses." The next moment there were was a gasp and a "crack" as Alys struck Floris. Her head turned and Floris's pale skin now wore the beginnings of a bruise. Floris simply wiped the small amount of blood from her lips. "As I said, alright. But Y/n was better."

Now word got around court of how the Queen struck the Kings mistress. All the time they stared and whispered of the jealous Queen. Worst of all were the murmurings of how Aemond might set her aside and take the young, pretty Floris as his bride. After all, she had provided her previous husband with two healthy boys. Alys had tried to conceive again but to no avail. Each month she woke up to blood on the sheets. Day after day she hoped she was pregnant.

It was not only her difficulties in producing a son that haunted Westeros. There was news coming in that Daenerys was plotting something. She had disappeared from the Sept in which she receded and taken her dragon with her. Aemond had sent out men to look her her. Alys hoped that Aemond would see sense and either kill the girl or make her take the veil. But no such thing was to occur. And then they did find the Princess, she was at the head of an army.

Alys went to see her husband that night. This time she went alone. The light flickered on the wall casting shadows. Her steps echoed off the stones. She saw her husbands bedroom door. Oddly enough, there were no guards posted. Without knocking she entered, only to see it occupied. Floris immediately straightened up, turning around hastily. A piece of crumpled parchment in her grasp. Suspicion gripped Alys at the way Floris's eyes shifted. "Hand me that." Alys striddened towards her. Floris stumbled back in her haste. A thin, cold hand closed on Floris's wrist as Alys snatched the parchment. With a shove Floris was sent to the floor. Alys could not discern the writing. But that's why spies used code. They both froze, as Alys realized what Floris had been planning for months. And Floris realized Alys had found her out. Alys could not breath. Floris had charged at her and seized Alys about the throat. Both toppled to the side. Alys dug her nails in Floris's pale skin, wracking it with her talons. Floris cried out but did not release her hold. "You traitorous bitch! I should have killed you and her bastard daughter!" Alys screamed. She called for guards but realized there were none at the door. Floris seized the necklace around Alys's neck and twisted it. Sharp pain exploded across her neck and suddenly Floris let go. She shot up and darted to the door. Alys was hot on her heals and she seized Floris's dark brown hair. She screamed and slammed her weight into Alys's foot. In one last desperate move Alys reached for the candlestick and a moment later it cracked against Floris's skull. Floris feel, bleeding. Victoriously Alys stood over her. And it seemed her prayers were answered as she head voices outside. Guards swept in and the candlestick fell from Alys's hand. At their head was Daenerys Targaryen.

"You should take care." Her elder brother Harwin Strong leaned against the door as he watched his sister put on jewelry. Alys admired her features in the mirror. She was lucky in her looks. Unlike her lumbering oaf of a brother and crippled Larys. "And why is that?" Alys rolled her eyes, she didn't have time for this. Harwin's expression darkened. "Do not take me for a fool little sister. I know what you did to Amelia." Alys sharply turned to him. So her was taking her side, was he. "She should have been more careful." "She accidently dropped tea on you. That was no reason to scar her face." Alys payed her foolish brother, who held to idea of gallantry and chivalry like a child. "Alys, one day your carelessness will harm you."

The great hall was lit. Lords and ladies had been crowded into the court, armed guards standing at every entrance. As Alys was lead in she saw her husband standing in front of a young, white haired man. The second he saw Daenerys he smiled. "I take it that everything went well?" "Yes." Daenerys stood beside the young man. "What is this?!" Alys was shaking. Even though she did not know the events that had transpired she could guess them. She looked to Aemond was had tight lipped and unable to look at her. "Aemond what has happened?" Alys grasped onto his arm, Daenerys's eyes flashed. "Alys Strong." It came out as a hiss. Daenerys's hand rested on a sword that longed to be wielded. "Lady Alys, I have not introduced myself. I am Viserys Targaryen, second of his name. This is my wife Queen Daenerys, first of her name." Her heart seemed to stop beating. She looked from Aemond back to the new couple. "You....you bedded the enemy?" Alys could barely grasp the situation. Daenerys shrugged. "Alliances change, as you well know. After all weren't you once a faithful subject?" "I am Queen of the Seven Kingdoms and-" Daenerys laughed. "And who will fight for your cause, My Lady?" They looked around the court and not one stepped forward. Alys looked at all the faces, at the young lady whom she slapped weeks before. The lady turned her back. Finally one did step forward. It was one of the Kingsguard. Joy leapt in Alys's heart only for it to plummeted as he knelt in front of the couple. And one by one they surrendered to the new King and Queen.

Alys was allowed the keep the Queen's rooms. But it was little comfort. A new succession had been drawn up. After Aemond died it would be Daenerys, daughter of Y/n, who would be Queen. The marriage of Y/n and Aemond was judged as good and valid. And while Alys was Queen her daughter would not be in the line of succession. She did not even feel like a Queen. Most of her ladies had gone. And she held no influence. Her place on the council was taken my Daenerys and her husband.

Aemond did not seek out his wife. Their love was less than a shadow of what it had once been. He took neither council or took to her bed. Sometimes they passed in the halls. How she wished to have words with him. But he never seemed to be interested. They never spoke again.

King Aemond Targaryen died in the early morning, alone, with none by his side. Alys wept bitterly when she found out. They had never even said goodbye. A day later they came in and told Alys that she would have a new residence. Her things were removed from the room and bustled into a carriage. "Where am I going?" The guard simply shook his head. "You will not be leaving now My Lady. The coronation takes place in a week. Alys had to make due with the few things they had left her with. Her new room was nice, but a far cry from what had been. When they day of the coronation Alys was brought to the front of the crowd. She watched as Daenerys and her husband were crowned a joint rulers of Westeros. And she looked every inch her mother, with a crown of Valyrian steel on her head.

To cast her down and take all she held dear.

Alys was bustled into a carriage shortly after. Exhausted, she leaded against the window. Where she was going she did not know. Perhaps back to Harrenhal, a place of happier days. Maybe her daughter would visit from time to time. For days they trundled on and Alys realized the destination was not Harrenhal. But no one told her anything. Perhaps she was staying at Casterly Rock. Which might not be so bad. One day they reached the place. The salty waves beat against the rocks and Alys realized where they were.

She cried out and collapsed.

On the stone steps of a sept.

Note: So this is the end I guess. I'm not entirely happy with this ending, so I might make it into a story at some point. Anyway, thanks for reading!

Taglist:

@watercolorskyy

@bellstwd

[3d-wifey]

NSFT Alphabet: Star (poly!lost boys + Michael) Edition

A/N: I needed to add my girl Star to the equation. It's been a WIP for ages, but I decided to finish it to give my brain a little break from writing Chapter 14 of the Finnick story---which should be the next thing I post. This is to be read in conjecture with the nsfw alphabet: poly!lost boys edition since it's all the same universe.

A = Aftercare (What they’re like after sex)

Out of all of your partners, you and Star are certainly the closest. Emotionally, at least. When it's just the two of you, it always ends in caressing skin, giggling, and whispering declarations of love to each other. All in all, it's very soft. You're very soft on each other. If you're with the other boys, she'd love for you to lay on her while the two of you watch them goof around.

B = Body Part (Their favorite body part of theirs and also their partners)

Her favorite body part of hers is her legs. She loves how it feels when you rub your hands up and down them. She especially loves wrapping them around your waist. She loves all of you, especially your hips. She's insatiable, standing behind you with her hands gripping your sides, always touching. She can't get enough of you.

C = Cum (Anything to do with cum, basically)

She loves it when you cum on her strap. That way she can fuck into your mouth while she makes you clean it off. She loves coming on your face the most. The pure joy in your eyes when she puts her full weight on your face is almost as gratifying as the orgasm.

D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self-explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

This is a shared one between you and her. The boys will usually send you out together to lure them a meal or two in. I mean, the combined beauty and seductive power between you two is enough to make a nun break her vows. 

And whenever that happens, Star has the nifty idea to play up the flirting, so to speak. You could very well get the job done with fleeting touches and coy smiles, instead, Star hangs off of the arm of one guy and you play with the hair of another. Of course, in full view of the boys. The entire point is to make them jealous. And when David, because obviously, confronts you both about it with snippy little comments like "Have fun, girls?" or "You two were playing longer than expected." You just shrug with innocent smiles and hold hands. After all, they're the ones that told you to seduce the prey. They can't get too upset at their own idea, especially when it works so well (they can and they do). 

E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

Star was turned in the 70s, the era of free love, so she's had her fair share of partners. That being said, she has more experience with girls than she does with boys. So you're in good hands.

F = Favorite Position (This goes without saying)

Need I say more? I will say more. She loves being on top of you as you grind your wet cunts together. What's not to love? From up there, she can dictate the pace and just how hard she wants to go. Watching you writher and whine under her, the sounds of your begging, and just how wet you both are. It makes her feel desperate to reach her high until she grinds faster and faster against you. 

G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment? Are they humorous? etc.)

She might grace you with one of her angelic laughs every now and then. But honestly, it's almost always a very giggly affair. You're a couple of giggly girls in love. 

H = Hair (How well-groomed are they? Does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

Picture this: you're at Woodstock, you're on crazy hard drugs, the guy on stage is on crazy hard drugs, the people you're having an orgy with are on crazy hard drugs. It's a time of peace and nature and free love, man. You don't need any of that consumer shit the Man says you do, like razors or scissors or basic hygiene. That kind of mindset has sorta stuck with Star even after she turned. But she does trim it before it can get too wild. So, think more of a shrub than a bush.

I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment? The romantic aspect.)

Now, you're speaking her language. The only person who can rival her in this department is Dwayne, but why would you pit two queens against each other? Between the two of them, you're gonna be showered in so many romantic gestures you'll get a rash in the shape of a heart. 

J = Jack off (Masturbation Headcanon)

No need ;)

K = Kink (One or more of their kinks)

Enthusiastic consent: There’s something about the desperation of your begging, it’s a heady feeling knowing just how much you want her.

Mommy Kink: You may have awakened Michael's, but he awakened hers. Now, it's almost guaranteed that whenever you and Star have sex with the boys, they're getting dominated. You're a tag team, a dynamic dom duo. Everybody say “thank you” to Michael. You give up the reins to her whenever it's just you two. Good choice. 

Overestimation: To others, of course. Even if you think you can't cum anymore, she surprises you by coaxing another and another and—you get it. Doesn't stop until you and your pussy are crying (Paul loves to be a witness to this). The guys aren't exempt from it. When the dynamic dom duo is loose, the boys get to find out if that accelerated healing is fast enough to stop them from shooting blanks.

L = Location (Favorite places to do the do)

In her room, one of the surviving rooms of the sunken hotel the boys eventually cleared out for her and moved her bed into. 

M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going)

Pain, but not her own. Odd, for how compassionate she is. She’s not getting horned up over Michael stubbing his toe or grievous harm done to her partners. There’s more nuance than that. Like, the first time you let her give you a piercing, she got alarmingly wet. That kind of pain. Regardless, you wanting her gets her going. Especially if you’re begging her even if you don’t have to considering she gives into you the easiest. 

N = No (Something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

No anal, that hole is off-limits. It's never interested her before, and it sure as shit doesn't now. Sorry, Marko. No period sex, for obvious reasons. If she thought resisting blood was hard before, boy was she in for a surprise. Your period is almost harder on her than it is on you! But she endures it because she loves her baby :(

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Prefers to give you head even though she enjoys your mouth very much, hence why your period is a tricky time of the month for her—for the tribe as a whole, honestly. The boys are especially greedy around that time, they make you feel like a damn capri-sun but at least they take care of your cramps. While the boys are enjoying breakfast in bed, Star and Michael learn the true meaning of restraint. 

Prefers to get head from the boys though. Queen shit.

P = Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.)

Depends on many factors and what position. She's strapping you down from the back? Fast and deep strokes. Missionary? She's going slow and deep, making sure you feel every inch despite your begging for her to go faster. Tribbing? Fast and rough, she's usually just as desperate as you to cum. The pace with the boys depends on who she's with and if it's more than one person.

Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Quickies for y'all involve either fingering or oral. The boys might like the thrill of doing it in public, but she prefers the cave where she can lay you out the way she likes. But, she will be taken by the urge to make you cum, and if it just so happens to be in public? Welp. Que her fingers honing in on your G-spot in a truly diabolical fashion. It feels like she knows the intricacies of your vagina better than you do. (Off-topic side note: it's a toss-up between her and Dwayne for who makes you squirt for the first time.)

R = Risk (Are they game to experiment? Do they take risks? etc.)

Like I said for the boys. Safe, sane, consensual—but, unlike them, she actually cares about the sane and safe part too. It's hard to consider much of anything a risk that isn't garlic, holy water, stakes, and the sun. If it's something all parties involved are okay with, then Star is too. (Still no anal).

S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for? How long do they last?)

Supernatural stamina, even as a half-vampire. Goes for a loooooong time, especially with that overestimation kink. If it's just the two of you, you won't even remember how many rounds there's been. Truly insatiable, you'll need someone to tap in (likely Michael).

T = Toys (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)

Strap-on, obviously. You actually go pick it out with her since, you know, you're the one she's using it on. Michael tags along. She mainly tops whenever y’all break the strap out. Even if you're wearing it, she's riding you.

U = Unfair (How much they like to tease)

She loves to tease. She’s not teasing you, you're her baby, and she can't deny you anything. Now, the boys are a different story. She much prefers to tease them with you. 

Something she likes to do with you when they’ve pissed her off, or pissed you off, or just because she wants to is to start making out and feeling each other up in the cave while the boys are distracted with wrestling or smoking or doing something other than doting on their pretty girlfriends. 

But the gag is, the boys aren't allowed to join in. It’s always so fun getting them desperate and seeing their reactions. You two usually make a bet about who’ll cave and approach the two of you first. They typically send in Michael or Dwayne since Michael typically isn’t the one pissing you off and Dwayne is, well…he’s Dwayne.

It’s even more fun to do it on the boardwalk because their pride won’t let them grovel like they need to in order for you and Star to let them in on the fun. So they’re forced to watch and not touch.

And if anyone is dumb enough to say anything in front of your five very protective/quick-to-anger boyfriends when they’re already frustrated, well, free meal, am I right?

V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Ah, so pretty. Surprisingly raspy. Low tones and sweet moans. She really makes you feel her voice.

W = Wild Card (A random headcanon for the character)

This goes for the whole tribe actually, but she can smell when you’re ovulating. Yeah, and it affects her viciously. Especially when it falls a week after your period. She’s a weak woman, she’s already had to abstain from you for, like, a week. She needs her fix. Truly, as soon as you step foot into that cave when you’re ovulating, you’re getting accosted by seven ANIMALS (>)0o0)>

X = X-ray (Let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

A perky B cup with brown nipples that get hard even when it's not cold. A proud member of the FPS, Fat Pussy Society

Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)

Very high, and she is a fiend. But she’s also a lady, so she wears her horniess better than the guys.

Z = Zzz (How quickly they fall asleep afterward)

Like I said in the aftercare, you’re very soft together and then you pass out together. It’ll really happen between one blink and the next. Suddenly you’re kissing each other, and then, bam! You’re drooling and snoring together. The boys find it adorable, sans Michael who’s passed out with y'all. Makes their undead hearts skip a beat.

[sassylegshayne]

marry me, idiot. - chapter five

holy shit this chapter is nuts and kinda long but we have a lot to get through so I'm sorry?? idek what I'm apologizing for but whatever lmfao 🫶💓 enjoy!! mwah xx 3.1k words!!

series masterlist

Everyone noticed it the next day. You and Spencer worked beside each other in complete silence. Josh felt on edge as he sat at his desk across from the two of you, the lack of chatter in the background of his editing was very weird.

You decided to give Spencer space, he would tell you how he felt whenever he was ready to. You respected his boundaries, and he respected yours, and that was the problem.

Kiana wanted to tear her hair out by the end of the week because the two of you still hadn't fucking talked about everything. She's been stuck listening to both of you complain about just how much you miss each other and couldn't bring herself to do anything about it.

Jackie's hopeless romantic heart couldn't take it, she's was right under Kiana for your number two supporter. Jackie and Kiana had planned a brainstorming lunch in Friday, determined to help you two get together.

The hope was that you two would admit your feelings, fall even more in love, and live happily ever after, but if you're just friends again, it'll do.

Jackie had presented an idea that made the woman across from her squeal in excitement. Kiana quickly set up a reservation as Jackie planned out just how she'd word her texts to you.

As soon as you had arrived home and parked, a message rang through your phone, the notification causing you to panic momentarily, your silence so suddenly interrupted for the first time in a while.

You didn't expect to be this lonely without Spencer. You had expected something, but you didn't think it would be this bad. You hadn't realized just how much time you spent with him until you were without it.

"hey, Ki's been super busy and I really wanna throw her a surprise b-day dinner at Buca's tn at seven if you can make it!"

Kiana and Jackie sat in their respective apartments, chewing their nails in anticipation for responses as Spencer received the same message as you.

The girls' facetime call felt silent as Jackie watched the both of you begin typing simultaneously, an eye roll well deserved before you both agreed, causing the women to cheer in excitement.

You rubbed your face, groaning as you agreed. Spence and you could put things aside for Kiana, it wouldn't be fair to her if your declined just because Spencer would be there.

Of course he would be there. It'd almost be weirder if he wasn't there. Honestly, if he didn't show up a piece of your group would be missing.

You took a deep breath before heading inside and getting yourself ready, pushing thoughts of Spencer to the side. Kiana was your priority tonight.

You'd been so wrapped up in all of this mess that your best friends birthday had slipped your mind, usually it was your forte to plan the gatherings, but it completely slipped your mind.

Ki's birthday was three days away, but Monday's are always packed for everyone, so dinner tonight, and you would bring her a cake and do a whole thing at work. Plenty of time to plan.

Spencer adjusted his grip on the steering wheel once more as he pulled into the last empty parking spot, letting his forehead rest against the wheel as soon as he shifted into park. His palms had been sweaty and shaky since he'd texted back Jackie earlier.

His nerves were set on high alert as soon as he'd finished reading. He has to be there for Kiana, no matter what was going on between the two of you.

He'd almost reached out and asked your for a truce on the night, but he's not even sure what he'd be calling a truce for. Both of you having long forgotten why you weren't speaking, but both of you were too nervous to break it.

It seemed like the universe wanted to give you a little nudge when you look up from your phone, your eyes meeting Spencer's across from you.

A smile splays across his lips and quickly disappears, replaced with a tight-lipped smile as he offers you a curt wave, getting out of his car quickly.

Your grip on the door handle tightens as you exit your own vehicle, trying your best to bite your tongue, afraid of what you might say.

Your former best friend.. former? Current? Who fucking knows anymore?

Spencer falls in stride silently beside you, your head tilted toward the ground, eyes watching as your feet fall into a rhythm, steps synchronized. It was hard to separate yourself from someone when they become that intertwined into your life.

Your hands brush ever so slightly as you approach the host stand, a small smile across your lips.

"Hi, we have a reservation under Jackie Uweh." Spencer offers, his smile matches yours as he fidgets with his hands, mindlessly picking at his cuticles with his hands stuffed into his pockets.

He didn't know what to do in this situation. His hands are normally on your hips, or his fingers intertwined with yours, so the air between the two of you sat awkwardly, uncharted territory for the both of you.

You're quickly led to the table, your brows furrowed in confusion as the hostess grabs two menus, throwing your look over your shoulder at Spencer out of habit as he mirrors your look. The two of you sit with quiet thank you's as the menus are placed before you, the table clearly not big enough for anyone but the pair of you.

Realization sets in as you adjust yourself in the booth a bit more than necessary, your heart racing as you avoid Spencer's eyes as long as you could.

But eventually, you find yourself looking up from the menu, your eyes finding his glowing blue eyes already gazing upon you, drinking in every detail.

Spencer thought he might tell you everything he's ever wanted to, until your waiter gives a bubbly introduction, noting the recent engagement between the two of you.

Your cheeks burn as you bashfully thank her, your fingers fidgeting with the simple band on your finger, a habit you'd recently noticed. Yot quick to order, throwing on the appetizer you and Spence normally split as well, a smile tugging at his lips.

You settle your hands into your lap, smiling brightly as Spencer chews his lip, his voice barely audible.

"Hey."

"Hi." You smile, a weight lifting from your shoulders as you slump into the seat, sighing in relief. Spencer laughs a bit, fiddling with the napkin in his hands as he finds himself relaxing. Your laughter mixing with his like music to his ears.

He missed this so much, every part of it. He missed his lips pressed lightly to your skin, the softness of your skin as you brushed hair out of his eyes, the blush on your cheeks each time he looked at you.

Spencer knew he couldn't make it through this dinner without teling you everything, now he just had to accept that.

It was time to throw everything he had at you, no longer concerned with holding back if he was going to confess. So he shook himself a bit before reaching across the table, taking your hands into his.

Your eyes trailed from your hands, up Spencer's arms, detailing every tattoo you wished you could trace until you meet his eyes. You were glad to be seated, worried your legs would buckle under your weight right now.

You were always flustered by Spencer, but this was on a whole new level. Butterflies danced about your stomach as your heart raced, you felt like you could pass out from sheer excitement as you squeeze his hands gently.

"I can't go without you for that long again, that sucked ass." You laughed softly, smiling as Spencer nodded in agreement.

"I never realized how little talk to anyone else, my phone hasn't died at work once, either." You grinned, ducking your head down in embarrassment. You had a bad habit of sending Spencer tons of stuff while seated next to him, rapidly draining his battery.

"I don't want it any other way, Y/N, don't worry." He was quick to soothe you, knowing that you might mistake his admiration for anger. He thought it was the cutest shit ever.

"Spencer, I don't wanna go another day without talking so can you please tell me what was wrong the other day?" You bargained, brows furrowed as you tilted your head at him.

Spencer stiffened, his hands leaving yours as your drinks and appetizer arrived, the relatively slow night allowing for quick service.

You smile as you slide a small plate in front of Spencer. Your waitress is quickly behind, happily taking your entree orders before disappearing back into the kitchen.

The moment was lost as you two grabbed bites of spicy shrimp and fried calamari, but the tension remained clear. Your hands brushed a few times as you made small talk, unaware of when the next interruption should come.

"Okay," Spencer began, noting your waiter preparing to take the order of a large party, taking his opportunity when he could. "Listen, I'm sorry didn't tell you sooner, I want you to know that I really regret that."

You nodded slowly, encouraging him to continue as you sipped your wate, unsure as to where this could lead.

"You're my best friend' Spencer grinned, sighing softly as you reddened once more, his heart racing as he wiped his palms on his pants. "You know that. You mean the absolute world to me, Y/N. You're the person I really do wanna spend the rest of my life with."

"Tve spent years by your side now and wouldn't trade it for the world. You're the best thing that's ever happened to me." He took a deep breath, smiling softly as his heart pounded in his chest.

Being in love with you has been the easiest thing in his life, it just feels so right, so perfect. Now all he could do was hope that you felt the same.

"I'm in love with you, Y/N." Spence spoke, biting his lip, eagerly awaiting your response. He felt like rything in his life had brought him to this point, even with the gentle push, or shove, from his friends.

You open you mouth to speak, your eyes wide and mind still reeling as your best friend sat before you. This wasn't a day you'd ever expected to see, and Spencer seemed so calm about it.

"It's all cool if you don't feel the same, I promise, dude." Spence spoke right as you were about to begin, causing you to chuckle nervously.

Spencer felt like there was a spear in his heart as you laughed, he was prepared for rejection but that was brutal.

You lean across the small booth, placing your hands lightly on Spencer's cheeks as your lips meet his.

The kiss is short and sweet, but the years of sparks were there. Everything you had ever wanted and more.

You're caught off guard by quick movements behind Spencer. A server rounds the corner, your own following behind with a soft smile.

Please don't walk this way... fuck.

You settle back down, smiling softly as Spencer meets your eyes with a dopey grin, slumped back into his seat. You kick his foot gently beneath the table, laughing as your waiter approached.

Spencer's mind was left in shambles, as was his heart. You didn't say it back, but you kissed him. You fucking kissed him. He had never been more confused and thrilled in his life.

As you open your mouth to speak, a plate is set before you, a smile whine leaving you as your face falls. You didn't want to wait, you wanted to say it back, but doing so over a view of your server's arms wasn't the right time.

The both of you were polite yet curt as you assured the server that you two would be okay, no refills, no cheese, thank you so much, oh my gosh will she ever leave?

Spencer was honestly still very surprised with the set up from Kiana and Jackie; pulling one over on the both of you deserved recognition. Granted, you were both extremely focused on each other, the outside world in a fog.

"You talk too much but I'm in love with you, too, Spencer." You grinned, the words tumbling from you as soon as your privacy had returned, your heart racing as you stared at him.

Spencer froze like a deer in headlights as he looked up to you, fork and knife resting upon his lasagna, prepared to take a bite. He was quick to set down his utensils, shufling a bit in his seat as he coughed a bit.

This was the best case scenario that he still didn't see coming. Spencer had assumed for so long that you loved him, just not in the same way. It was throwing him off to even think that you could.

"You do?" Your brows furrowed, laughing softly as Spencer questioned you.

"Yes, I do. I love you so much, dude." He grinned as you spoke, his eyes sparkling. "I love everything about you and have for a really, really long time."

Spencer nods, the grin unable to leave him as he takes his time to process everything. You've loved him for a long time, so what are the odds that you two fell in love around the same time?

If he could go back in time and kick his own ass, he would. There's no telling where you'd be right now, if only he'd told you sooner.

You felt like you could run for days with all of the excitement and nervousness coursing through your body. Everything was tingly as your hand met Spencer's, fingers intertwining as your heart raced.

"Okay:" Spencer chuckled, nodding as he finally spoke, unsure of where to go from here.

"Yeah," You nod back, laughing as you began to eat. "I'm happy."

The awkwardness was something new. Everything between the two of you before had been natural and felt fine, but there was a new, different air of tension hanging between the two of you.

The dinner continued on with lots of giggling and blushing, your small touches that had gone previously dismissed where now front and center in your mind.

Spencer was touching you every chance he got; his hand holding yours, brushing your hair out of your face, his knees endlessly bumping into yours beneath the table.

It felt like the first time all over again, Spencer knew he's set himself up to fall in love with you all over again. Everything felt different, everything felt new.

"So," You began as you dug your spoon into your shared chocolate cake, mentally comparing it to Josh's. "Do we tell everyone or do we keep this a secret?"

A grin immediately spread across Spencer's face and you could practically see the lightbulb going off above his head.

"Let's keep it a secret until the wedding." You set your fork down, slowly nodding as you finished your bite.

"Well, that certainly is an idea, Spence." You chuckled, covering your mouth. Definitely doesn't hold a flame to Josh's.

"I actually think that could be fun, but if we fold, we fold, okay?" You placed your elbow on the tabletop, pinky poised as you stared down your... boyfriend? Undecided.

Spencer nodded eagerly, grinning as he wrapped his pinky with yours. "We can be friends, at least, right?"

"Yes, obviously we can go back to normal but I guess.. yanno, couple stuff can stay in private." You laughed as you spoke, your cheeks burning brightly as your eyes darted everywhere. You quickly dug for another bite as a way to keep yourself quiet.

It was a strange territory for both of you. Neither of you had ever expected to be here, especially with the circumstances surrounding it, so navigating it was difficult.

"Okay, so we are a couple." Spencer stated, though it sounded more like a question. He took his turn at blushing as you nodded eagerly, a grin across your face.

"Yeah, we're pretending to be engaged, actually engaged, and secretly dating. I think it's pretty simple." You laughed, as Spencer nodded.

"I'm sorry, that's on me." He held his hands up in defense as you two dug back into the cake.

The office seemed to have a strange air when you arrived the next morning. Saturday's were normally pretty empty, most shoots wrapped earlier in the week, and videos prepped well ahead of the weekends.

The usual small group of cast and crews were there; Josh sat at his desk, headphones in as he edited an upcoming video for the Games' channel featuring Shayne and Spencer.

You smiled as you settled into your seat, your eyes glancing to the clock. It was second nature for you to be early. It was far less stressful than being late.

Spencer, on the other hand, strolled in fifteen minutes late, two coffees in hand as he sat beside you. You finished editing the audio of a particularly loud scream of Shayne's, thankful for the excuse to remove your headphones.

You sighed, setting them aside as you smiled at your boyfriend. Your best friend. Spencer. Holy shit, your best friend is your boyfriend, holy fuck.

It was obviously going to take you quite a while to get over all of the butterflies, if you ever do. Finally getting what you've yearned for for so long was definitely weird, but you could get used to it.

He grinned at you, leaning in as he presses a soft kiss to your forehead, setting your cup before you.

"Hi, love" You smiled, taking a sip as Spencer chuckled softly. As you turned to him, you caught sight of Jackie strolling very, very slowly past the open office door.

Jackie waved, grinning brightly. The two of you reluctantly wave back, you tried your best to hide your giggles.

You shot her a playful glare as she froze for a moment. Spencer turned to look over his shoulder, a disappointed look across his face.

She raised her brows, offering two thumbs up. You finaly broke, laughing as you nodded your head, mirroring her pose. You glance to Spencer to find him shaking his head with a furrowed brow.

You shove his shoulder softly, laughing as he turns back to you, a grin across his face.

"I think she got the message."

[raaorqtpbpdy]

Brotherhood (2)

Directly following the events of Double Helix, Danny enrolls in Bayville High school and joins the Brotherhood of Mutants. He's not sure if they actually believe he's a ghost and not a mutant, but at least they don't care enough to challenge him on it, and that's good enough for him. This is a direct sequel to Double Helix (linked above), and some parts may be confusing without the context of the original fic. I suggest you read that first.

Written for @crossoverdanuary Week 2024, Day 5: The Owl House X-Men Evolution | Shell

I have seen exactly two episodes of The Owl House, and that was like four years ago or something, so I was not confident in my ability to write a crossover for it. Also, from this chapter on, it's unedited and I'll come back to edit later. I just want to actually finish this fic tonight.

I tried to work in a theme of both Danny and Wanda "coming out of their shell" throughout the fic. You can also read it on AO3.

Chapter 2: Transition

Previous

[Warning for mental institutions]

"You guys got any plans for the long weekend?" Lance asked as he sprawled out on the shabby couch in the board house. "Kitty told me she and some of the X-dorks are going on an educational retreat to the California redwoods. They decided on it yesterday. Can you imagine being able to just up and fly to the other side of the country on a whim."

"And for educational purposes, yuck!" Toad agreed. "If I had my own jet like they do, I'd go to Vegas!"

"If you could afford a jet like they have, you wouldn't have to go to Vegas," Lance said. "You'd already be rich. If I had my own jet, I would use it to go to all the concerts I'd normally miss because they're too far away."

"I don't need a private jet to go wherever I want," Pietro bragged. "If I want to go to a concert, I'll run right in past security and no one will even know."

"And if that concert is in Europe?" Lance asked. "Or Asia? You know, across a massive ocean? Can you run there?"

"Okay, point taken, but why would I wanna go to a snooty European concert anyway?" the speedster scoffed. "What about you, Danny?"

"What do I need a jet for? I can already fly," he said. "Not that I use it for major travel much. Maybe I should. That's what my cousin does. She flies all over the world."

"Hey! We should do something fun this weekend!" Toad declared. "Maybe sneak into a concert, or go somewhere cool! Show those X losers we know how to have a good time while they use their fancy private jet to go learn things."

"Sure, I'm down," Lance agreed.

"Sorry guys, I'm gonna pass this time. I actually do have plans this weekend," Danny said. "I'm gonna fly upstate and visit a friend. I haven't seen her in a few weeks."

"Her?" Pietro repeated with a smirk. "This wouldn't happen to be a girlfriend would it?"

"It's not like that," Danny said. "She's a friend. She's a girl. That's it."

"Uh-huh... sure," Toad said, sounding unconvinced. "You dog."

"Lay off," Danny said, rolling his eyes. "Come on, we gotta get to school. Long weekend's not here yet."

Toad groaned.

"Buck up, we've only got one more day," Lance pointed out.

When the long weekend finally arrived, Danny filled his pockets with all the things he wanted to bring, said good-bye to the Brotherhood, who barely acknowledged him as they argued about what to do that weekend, and took off. He flew north, toward the mental institution. It had been almost three whole weeks since he'd last been there, but he remembered the way.

Honestly, he hadn't expected to go back so soon, and Wanda probably wouldn't be expecting him either, but it wasn't like he was gonna be an inpatient this time. He would turn invisible and pop into Wanda's room to hang out with her. It hadn't even been that long, really, but he missed her.

Thinking about her in that room all alone again, without anyone or anything to distract her, it almost made him regret leaving in the first place. He should have been more considerate. Even though she said she'd be okay, leaving just because he didn't like Xavier was selfish.

When, after almost a full day of flying, he finally caught sight of the building, resentment gripped his chest. He hated this place. If it weren't for Wanda, he wouldn't have even stayed as long as he had. And if it weren't for her, he definitely wouldn't have come back, ever. No matter what.

But he did. He came back. For Wanda.

Sneaking in went just as planned. No one saw him. No one heard him. He was a ghost, after all. The moment he saw Wanda, he realized that he'd missed her even more than he'd thought.

"Knock knock," he said as he appeared in her room.

She jumped in surprise, but when she saw him, she smiled. "You scared me."

"Should I have said 'Boo', instead?" he asked. "I totally should have. Missed opportunity."

She chuckled slightly and shook her head.

"You seem to be doing pretty well, all things considered," he noted.

She was still wearing a straight jacket, but it looked looser, like whoever had put it on her wasn't as worried about her getting out. Her small smile still seemed genuine. Three weeks on her own again hadn't sent her straight back to her darkest place, it seemed.

"Yeah," she agreed. "I've been taking your advice. Whenever I notice myself getting stuck thinking about the bad memory, I try to think of three good ones. It's hard sometimes, but I think the more effort it takes, the better it works, because it keeps me distracted for longer. Yesterday, I remembered reading that book with you. You know the one. I tried to imagine an ending for it where they were both arrested as war criminals instead of having a happy ending. Do you want to hear it?"

"Absolutely," Danny confirmed.

In truth, he hadn't even thought about that trashy romance novel in ages. It was largely forgettable for him, but if it helped Wanda better navigate her emotions then hell yeah he wanted to hear her ideas for an alternate ending.

In her version of the ending, there was a huge trial. The kings of both sides agreed that the Warlock and Sorceress were guilty of crimes against Arvenia, and sentenced them to live the rest of there lives in a deep, dark dungeon where the lovers could only communicate by having rats deliver notes between them.

Then, after years of planning their escape one note at a time, they broke out and took over the world together, killing the kings and terrorizing the people of Arvenia to keep them in line.

"Ooh, plot twist!" Danny said when she got to that part. "I like that you made them the villains in the end. They should have been the villains from the beginning."

"I agree," Wanda said. "It was stupid that the book just gave them another villain to blame for all the bad things they did and fight off, rather than acknowledging their crimes."

"Totally!" Danny emphatically agreed. "Oh, I just remembered! I brought you some stuff."

He reached into his pockets and pulled out all the stuff he'd brought. He pulled out a deck of cards, a book of MadLibs and a pen, a sheet of stickers. He wasn't sure what they would have the most fun with, so he'd just  brought a bunch of random junk. Lastly, he pulled out a necklace, a black choker with an ankh charm.

"What's that?" she asked.

"Your first goth accessory," he said. "I found it in a random box in the attic where I'm staying now."

"No, I mean what's that symbol?" she asked, repositioning herself so Danny could put the necklace on her.

"Oh, it's an ankh. The Egyptian symbol for life, I think."

"Life, huh? Doesn't sound very goth."

"Well, you would be wearing it ironically," he said. "Most of the other gothy stuff I found had crosses, and seeing as your Jewish and all...." He shrugged. "Felt like it would be disrespectful. So, do you like it?"

"Yeah, I like it a lot," Wanda said. "You know," her voice became suddenly softer than before, like she was nervous. "Professor Xavier is going to come tomorrow. I think tomorrow might finally be the day he takes me with him."

"You think?" Danny asked, excited for her despite his hatred of the professor.

"Yeah," she confirmed. "I've been doing a lot better lately, and I have a really good feeling about it."

"That's awesome, Wanda!" he told her. "In that case, let's call the necklace a good luck charm. I'm rooting for you. I know you can do it."

"Thanks."

"You know, I also found this totally sweet red leather coat when I was rooting around in the attic," he said. "Ankle-length, flared collar, and it's your favorite color. Once you're ready to give up the straight jacket, I'll bring it to you as a congratulations present. What do you think?"

"I think you're really trying to motivate me."

"What can I say? I miss my friend."

"Then we have a deal," she agreed. Tomorrow is gonna be the day. I just know it."

Danny grinned widely at her. 

For the rest of the day, they mostly played MadLibs. They tried a few card games, too, but with Wanda's hands restrained, the only thing they could really do was collaborative solitaire, and that got old fast. Danny stuck little ghost and bat stickers on all the latches on her straight jacket while he told her about the school he was going to, and the board house. How he'd picked the same city the Xavier Institute was in so he could see her again when she enrolled there.

"They're all mutants at the board house," Danny told her. "I don't know if they actually believe I'm not, but they don't push it. They don't even call me a mutant by mistake. I don't know, maybe it's 'cause they're afraid I'll do something, or maybe it's 'cause they just don't care enough to argue with me, but either way, that's better than I ever got from Xavier."

"I'm glad you found people who accept you," Wanda said. "I hope when I go to the professor's school, I will too."

"Me too," Danny agreed. "And hey, even if you don't find them there, you'll still have me."

She smiled at him. Her smile was always small, burdened, a little sad behind the eyes, but it was honest. Danny liked that about her. She never tried to hide anything.

That night, he crashed in her room. Despite being fully padded, it was not very comfortable, but it was better than trying to fly through the night and ending up sleeping in a tree somewhere. He said 'see ya later' and left early in the morning to make sure he wouldn't be seen when the orderlies came to get her for her meeting with the professor, and promised to meet up with her again soon.

Then, he spent another day flying back to Bayville.

"You're getting back a little late, aren't you?" Lance observed when Danny finally returned to the board house. "Did you get to spend some quality time with your girlfriend?"

"Again, not my girlfriend, but yes, I did," Danny responded. "How was your... whatever you guys decided to do this weekend?"

"Oh, we ended up not being able to decide, so we just ordered pizza and stayed here all weekend," Lance answered. "So that was... that."

"Oh, yeah, those X-Men are gonna be soo jealous of the weekend you had."

"Shut up!"

It wasn't until a couple days later that news reached the Brotherhood of the X-Men's newest member. It came by way of Lance's budding relationship with Kitty.

"Really!? The X-Men have a new member?" Danny repeated excitedly when he heard the news after school.

"That's what Kitty said," Lance confirmed. "Apparently she's not gonna start at Bayville High for another few of days so she can get settled, but yeah. I don't know anything about her, though."

"I'm pretty sure I do!" Danny said. "I gotta go!"

"What?"

Danny didn't bother to explain. He went ghost, made a quick pit-stop in the attic to grab something and then flew straight for the Xavier Institute. He'd never actually been there before, but Tabitha told him where it was a while back. Apparently, she used to be an X-Men trainee before she joined the Brotherhood, and she was still friends with some of them.

Turrets rose up out of the ground the moment he got past the gate. Probably motion-activated. Danny easily avoided getting hit by turning intangible and staying that way until he'd flown straight through the front door. It actually took a while. The grounds were huge.

By the time he got through, there was a group of mutants waiting for him, suited up and ready for a fight.

"Relax, I'm not here to fight," Danny said. He held up the paper bag he'd brought with him. "I'm just bringing a friend a gift."

"Who are you?" demanded a guy with a weird visor. Scott, probably. He seemed like Scott.

"What do you mean who am I?" Danny asked. "You know me!"

"Like, I've never seen you before," Kitty said, crossing her arms. 

How they expected to protect their identities when they didn't even wear masks, Danny had no idea.

"What are you talking about? I—" He stopped himself abruptly. "Oh yeah, my bad," he said, and let the rings of his transformation wash over him, revealing his human form. "Recognize me now?"

Judging by their gasps, the answer was yes, but they didn't stand down.

"What are you doing here?" Jean asked. "I thought you didn't want anything to do with the Xavier Institute."

"I don't wanna join, but it's not like I hate you guys or anything," Danny said. "This just isn't the place for me. And I already told you why I'm here. I'm brought a congratulations present for Wanda. She's your new member, right? Or trainee? Whatever."

"How do you know that?" asked a fuzzy blue mutant that Danny didn't recognize until he started talking. That German accent was unmistakably Kurt.

"Well, when I saw her the other day, she said she felt really confident that she was going to be able to join you guys soon, and then Lance said Kitty said you got a new member, so I figured it must be her."

The others all glared at Kitty.

"What?" she asked. "It's not like it was gonna be a secret for long anyway. We, like, all go to the same school!"

"I wasn't aware you and Wanda were so close," came a familiar voice.

Danny turned to see the professor wheeling in and had to school his face to avoid scowling at him.

"We're friends," he said. "Can I see her or not? And keep in mind if you say no, I'm just gonna find her anyway."

"As long as you haven't come with ill intentions, I see no reason why you shouldn't be allowed to see her," the professor said. "We're all mutants after all, and a sense of community is important."

"I'm not a mutant," Danny muttered, his scowl finally breaking through.

The professor responded with a tight smile. "Jean, why don't you show Danny to Wanda's room."

"Of course, professor," Jean agreed. "It's this way."

She headed up the stairs and Danny followed.

"So do you and Wanda know each other from the institution?" Jean asked. "I mean, sorry, that's probably personal. I hope you don't mind me asking."

"It's fine," Danny said. "Yeah. Security couldn't exactly hold a guy who walks through walls, so I would sneak into her room sometimes and we'd hang out. She always wanted to be able to come here. I could never really understand it, but I'm still proud of her, you know? I may not agree with you guys, but you're good people. For the most part. I'm not quite sold on Scott, yet."

Jean chuckled. "I guess we can't really ask for more than that." She stopped in the hallway and knocked on a door. "Wanda, you in there? You have a visitor."

The door opened seemingly on its own.

"Danny!" Wanda's voice called. "I didn't think you'd be here so soon."

"I came as soon as I heard, and I guess word travels fast," he replied. "Can I come in?"

"Yeah, come in," she said.

"I'll leave you to it," Jean said, as she backed away into the hall and closed the door behind her.

"You look good," Danny said.

Her clothes were a bit mismatched, but it was the first time he was seeing her without a straight jacket, and that was a huge improvement. She was also wearing the choker he'd given her. Her hair looked recently washed, and was neatly combed and tucked behind her ears. 

Even the way she held herself was more confident, happier. Not being in that rotten mental institution was already having a positive affect on her, it seemed.

"I brought something that'll make you look even better." He held up the paper bag.

"The coat?" she asked, rushing forward excitedly to take the bag from him.

"I hope it fits," he told her. "It looked about the right size."

She let the bag drop to the floor as he pulled the coat out and smoothly slid it on. It looked like it might be a little wide in the shoulders, but other than that, it fit like a glove.

"It's perfect," she said.

"I also found some earrings that match the necklace," he said. "I slipped 'em in one of the pockets. I know you don't have pierced ears, but I figured if you ever did, you might like to have them."

She patted the pockets until she found what he was talking about and smiled when she pulled them out. Then, she laid them gently on her dresser.

He didn't think he'd ever seen her smile so much, and so unabashedly. It wasn't the tiny, hesitant smile she'd worn before. She was really coming out of her shell.

"Careful," he said. "Looking at you now, I'd almost think you weren't consumed by rage."

Her smile fell. 

That had been the wrong thing to say.

"I am still angry," she said. "I can't stop it. But... you were right. I didn't need to control my anger. I just had to stop letting my anger control me. Now I can be angry and happy at the same time. Angry and excited. I feel more than just anger now. It feels good."

"I'm happy to hear it," he told her. "So how's this place treating you so far?"

"I have a roommate!" she replied instantly. "Her name is Rahne. And tomorrow, when they're done with school, she and some of the other girls are gonna take me to the mall for new clothes so I don't have to wear stuff from the lost-and-found anymore."

"That makes sense," Danny said.

"Do you wanna come?" she invited.

"I... would... but I might ruin the mood," he said apologetically. "Some of them don't trust me since I'm technically part of the Brotherhood, and we're... enemies? Rivals? Something like that. Plus, you don't want a guy tagging along on your first girl's shopping trip. Trust me. You'll want the full experience."

"You have a point...."

"I'll enjoy the surprise of seeing your new wardrobe when you come to school in a few days," he said.

They hung out and chatted for a little while until Wanda's roommate came back and Danny figured that was his cue to go. As he left her new room, he had the distinct pleasure of telling her he'd see her at school.

He could feel eyes on him until he was all the way off the manor grounds. They may not have hated him, but these X-Men sure as hell didn't trust him either.

Whatever. He didn't care what they thought about him. As long as they took care of Wanda, and left him alone, they were alright in his book. So far, so good.

[saiilorstars]

Ch. 60: The Waiting Game

Previous chapters // Montserrat’s masterlist

Fandom: SVU // Pairing: Rafael Barba x OC

Warnings: Due to the nature of the series’ plots, I do have to rate this as ‘mature’ for constant mentions of rape.

Taglist: @ocappreciationtag​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​ @arrthurpendragon​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​ @anotherunreadblog​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​ @maaaaarveeeeel​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​ @stareyedplanet​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​ @averyhotchner​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​ @abzidabzy​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​ @hellofutur​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​ @foxesandmagic​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​ @xovalliegirlxo @sam-i–am @kmc1989 @midmourn @choosejoyangel​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

[If you’d like to be added to this specific OC’s stories/edits, send me a message

When Montserrat woke up from her Nyquill-induced nap, she very quickly realized she slept way more hours than she intended to. It was past noon, almost four. Granted she was truly well rested but that was not the point. She still felt mentally exhausted and wasn't equipped for what had to come next. She had to finally call Lucia and tell her what happened — it was the worst conversation she ever had with the woman. Lucia was livid with Montserrat, to say the least.

"How could you not tell me before!? Why are you barely telling me!?"

Montserrat could barely give her reasons when Lucia went on a rampage in the Spanish and English language to the point where Montserrat couldn't dream of understanding. The only thing Montserrat managed to hear was that Lucia was on her way to the hospital and pretty much cut all ties with his son's girlfriend.

Great. That would be fun explaining to Rafael when he woke up. It was definitely about the last thing he needed in his life right now. After that, Montserrat soon found out that somehow Casey had gotten involved with the whole thing.

"Yeah, that was my fault," Kara said with a hand raised in the air. "I suggested it."

"Why?" Montserrat couldn't understand what a robbery had to do with her cousin at the moment. Then again, she was only really thinking with about a 50% capacity.

Kara understood her mistake too late and was left squandering for a reasonable excuse (otherwise this time Sonny would have a true reason to kill her). "Well, uh, Casey's another prosecutor and she'll maybe take the case? If they find the guy?"

"It's just not her case yet," Montserrat insisted, although it seemed like the heat was now going more towards the situation rather than Kara (or Casey for that matter). "Nobody's been murdered."

"And it'll stay like that," Kara jumped on the chance to provide actual support to her friend. It was hard thinking this could turn into a homicide case rather than attempted murder. "You'll see."

Montserrat would've been more convinced if she didn't have other things on her mind. She kept getting voice-mail for Lucia's number, only reiterating how angry the woman was with her.

"She'll come around," Kara kept insisting as well, "She's stunned, like you were when you first got the call. It's just different. She's his mother, after all. Give her some days."

Montserrat nodded only because there was nothing else she could do, but it didn't mean it wasn't nagging at her in the meantime. "I need to go back to the hospital," she told Kara after lunch. She did Kara the solid of sticking around for that mealtime but it was about all she would do now. She'd been away from the hospital for way too long.

"What are you talking about? It's only been a couple hours," Kara pointed out. She would rather Montserrat stay for a bit more until she was less anxious and stressed.

"It's past noon now!"

"So?" Kara would love to hear an adequate reason why the time even mattered. "Montserrat, you need to rest."

"I already did!" Montserrat exclaimed. "Way more than I planned!"

Kara's eyes flickered to the side for a moment. The nyquil was still under wraps. Her phone started ringing and seeing it was Sonny, she urged Montserrat to wait for another 5 minutes. "Just let me take the call and see what's happened, okay?"

Montserrat groaned. "Fine! But I am leaving as soon as you're done, with or without you!"

Kara nodded and hurried to take the call. Montserrat took the first seconds to try and calm herself down. She didn't want to actually fight with Kara, not with anyone for that matter. They were all walking on eggshells around her already, thinking she was a ticking time bomb. It was hard staying afloat not knowing what the next day would bring, or even the next hour. Tears stung get eyes just thinking about the uncertainty.

Hearing the knock on the door somehow startled her greatly. She went to open it, presuming it would be Sonny on the other side only to find her father instead.

"Dad!" She gasped, stumbling back a step.

"Montserrat, how — woah! What's happened to you?" Thomas of course referred to his daughter's face of anguish.

Immediately, Montserrat whirled around, eyes wide as she took a few steps away from her father. She tried wiping her eyes quickly. "Dad, what are you doing here?"

"I got the day off and since it's been a while, I thought we could have lunch,, but..." Thomas trailed off, reaching forward for his daughter's shoulder. He gently turned her around and saw the same face as before, only this time it was slightly redder from the fervent rubbing at the eyes. "Now I'm seeing it's longer than I thought. Sweetheart, what's wrong?"

"Nothing, Dad," Montserrat shook her father's hand off her shoulder. "Just a rough day, that's all."

"No, no, no," Thomas shook his head, "Don't try to kid me. I know you, Montserrat. You've been crying and it looks like it's been going on for a while. What's happened?"

"Nothing, sheesh!" Montserrat exclaimed. Of course she would've been more convincing if her voice hadn't shaken towards the end. How the hell am I a detective? "Look, I can't do lunch today. Can we schedule another day?"

"I'm not going anywhere," Thomas declared, crossing his arms, "It looks like you've got explaining to do, young lady."

Montserrat glared at her father. This was the last thing she needed right now. Despondence, anxiety, and anger mixed into one did not bode well for anybody in the room. "Dad, I don't have time for this. Can we do this another day, please?"

Thomas raised an eyebrow at his daughter. Usually it was all he needed to warn her she was crossing a line with him.

She still knew that.

But she didn't back down this time.

"You've got 5 seconds to tell me what's going on with you," Thomas warned. "Five…four…"

Montserrat gawked at her father with incredulity. "Dad, you can't treat me like I'm five—"

"Three…two—"

"Dad, seriously!"

"One—"

"I SAID STOP!" Montserrat unintentionally yelled at her father.

Thomas was dumbfounded with such a frantic reaction from his daughter. Tears were coming to Montserrat's eyes and though it was partially out of guilt, there was something deeper going on. "Montserrat," he tried again, softly, "Sweetheart, what's—"

"Can you just go? I'm actually leaving right now too," Montserrat gestured to the door behind Thomas. "I have to—"

"Montserrat!" Kara called from the hallway seconds before emerging. "Sonny says he'll be by in 15 and he can take us to the hospital."

"Hospital!?" Thomas exclaimed.

Kara's eyes widened. She had no idea they were no longer alone. "Oops…"

Montserrat let out a heavy sigh. "Dad—"

"Why do you need to go to the hospital!?" Thomas started demanding. "Are you hurt?" He went to check himself but Montserrat swatted his hands away.

"Dad, stop!"

"Why do you need to go!? Do you feel alright? What am I saying — it's obvious you're not feeling well! You've been crying!"

"She has," Kara agreed solemnly.

"KARA!" Montserrat said loudly enough to make Kara flinch. "SHUT UP!"

"Don't yell at Kara like that," Thomas reprimanded his daughter, "Answer my question. Why are you going to the hospital right now?"

"Because…" Montserrat racked her head for a good answer that wouldn't give away such a terrible situation.

"Are you hurt?"

"No!"

"Then why—"

"Oh, just stop!" Montserrat resorted to pleading, something downright shocking to her father. "Please! Just stop!" Tears rolled down her cheeks as the weight of each of her problems finally culminated into one heavy load on her shoulders. "I'm not hurt! At least not physically because trust me, everything else right now hurts! I'm going to the hospital because my boyfriend's there because he's been shot, okay!? He's been shot and he hasn't woken up since it happened and I want to be there when he does — if he does! Now please stop berating me and just—" Montserrat ran into her father's arms where she finally burst into tears.

Thomas was utterly stunned. For the first couple of seconds, nothing of what Montserrat said had sunk in so while she hugged him, his arms were awkwardly on either side of him. Eyes wide, mouth hanging open, he met Kara's gaze. She nodded to confirm everything Montserrat had said. Her grim expression helped sell it too.

"When...when did you get a boyfriend?" Thomas looked down at his daughter but at the question, Montserrat only whimpered and retreated further into him, desperate to be hugged back. Thomas slowly did so, bringing one hand over her back and the other behind her head. "O-okay, um…that's...that's...bad..." He sighed. He was terrible when it came to things like these. Montserrat's teenage years had been quite an adventure in terms of boyfriends and dating but now at 30? He didn't know which age was worse. "I'm—I'm so sorry, sweetheart," he ultimately said, "Really. I — how did this happen?"

Montserrat pulled away to take a deep breath. Her face was stained with tears. "A robbery. The guy was trying to rob the shop Rafael was at and then he just shot...he shot…"

Kara remained absolutely silent and lowered her head. It killed her to keep the truth of the situation a secret from Montserrat. But if she knew the truth, it would make her feel even worse, she reminded herself.

"Okay, okay," Thomas cupped Montserrat's face, "Wipe those tears. We can go to the hospital right now."

"You'd come with me?" Montserrat sniffed. "You're not mad I didn't tell you—"

"It does not matter right now," Thomas said, "Besides, you're a grown woman — as tough as that is to deal with — and you can make whatever choices you want."

"I was going to tell you. That's why I asked about having dinner, remember?"

Thomas nodded. "Yeah, and I told you I was going out on a trip for a whole month. Okay, that was my fault then."

"Dad, you would really like him. I mean, he's sort of a smart-ass but then again so is Gael."

Thomas let out a low laugh. "Oh, is it just Gael?"

"Of course, why do you ask?"

Thomas barely held his next laugh in. "Right." He gave Montserrat a kiss on the forehead. "Are you ready to go?"

Montserrat nodded fairly quickly. "Yes, please, let's go!"

"Kara?" Thomas looked at the blonde behind them.

Kara waved them off with a hand. "I'll wait for my boyfriend. He was already on his way. Plus, I think there'll be a lot of talking done on that drive."

Thomas wholeheartedly agreed with her. His eyes drifted over to Montserrat who had the energy to appear more nervous than before. "Ready?"

Montserrat wasn't so sure anymore. Still, a ride to the hospital meant she would practically do anything.

~0~

Thomas started slowly, cautiously, and for that Montserrat appreciated but it didn't make things any less awkward nor tense.

"Dating your co-worker — isn't that against the rules?" Thomas wondered out loud. He stopped at an upcoming red light, giving him the opportunity to glance at his daughter.

Her tear-stained face was finally getting a glimpse of light. She had stopped crying for the moment — she just needed to clean her face.

"Not if you disclose," she answered quietly, "Which we did."

"Ah, okay, um...when was that?"

"Dunno, two months ago? Time sort of blurred…"

"Time 'blurred'?" Thomas let out a small chuckle.

Montserrat glanced at him, eyebrows knitted together. "What?" Her voice couldn't go any louder than a quiet tone. If not, she would've demanded the explanation.

"Nothing...it's just...usually when you feel like time has 'blurred', it's because you've been having a good time," Thomas explained. At the green light, he was no longer able to look at her.

Maybe it was for the best.

Montserrat shifted in her seat. She was not about to go into detail about her relationship to her father. "It's been different," she left it at that. It wasn't a lie but it didn't outright expose her either.

Thomas hummed. "I can see that. I've never seen you so distressed over someone like this."

"To be fair, none of my other boyfriends have ever been shot."

Thomas let out a small laugh. "True, but I also meant in general. I've noticed you've been more, uh, content lately. Because I don't know what made you leave behind your old job and place in Queens, but I know that you haven't been happy in a while. I like the change."

"I'm sorry for that," Montserrat mumbled, eyes downcast. However painful it was for her, she imagined it had to have been hard for her father as well. She wasn't the kindest to him in the beginning. She did what a victim typically does: push people away. She thought she did it perfectly. She left her old friends in Queens, her job. She put distance between her father, her brother, even her nieces, and Kara. She became a good liar, indeed.

"I wasn't expecting an apology," Thomas clarified, "And I certainly didn't need one. I'm your father. I just want to know that you're okay."

Montserrat smiled lightly. "I can tell you that before all of this, I was more than okay."

Thomas nodded. "I believe it. You were...happier, more than I'd seen you in a very long time. I would love to say that you were your old self again but it still isn't like that."

"Dad, I don't think I'll ever be the same as before," Montserrat said, figuring it was best to shatter that dream right now than let it keep going without a future. "But that's okay because the way I felt before all this, it was damn great." Her breathlessness was enough to take her word for it. It sounded like even she couldn't believe it.

Truthfully, sometimes she still couldn't.

It took very little for Montserrat to become accustomed to the idea of always feeling miserable on the inside and overall like she was simply floating through life. She had resigned herself to the idea that it would always be like that from now on. But things changed again and she couldn't be more grateful. It would be beyond cruel to lose it all again. Actually, Montserrat couldn't see herself getting past it all over again if she lost Rafael.

"No more tears," came Thomas' voice.

Montserrat snapped out of her thoughts to find there were new tears rolling down her cheeks. "Sorry," she sniffed, wiping the tears off with the backs of her hands.

"No need to be," Thomas told her, "I'm so sorry this is happening, sweetie. But let's have some faith that it'll be okay in the end."

"To be honest Dad…" Montserrat let out a low sigh, "I don't really do the 'faith' thing a lot anymore."

Thomas nodded silently. It wasn't much of a surprise. "The things you see at your job can't leave much hope in the world, I know."

"Mhm," Montserrat nodded. She could let her father believe it was all because of her job. It would be easier for him that way.

"But in times like these...who do you turn to for strength?" Thomas asked curiously. "People pray to God, or other saints or something. What do you pray to?"

"Nothing," Montserrat admitted. It had been a very long time since she turned to any type of religious prayer. She was non-practicing Catholic at this point. Don't tell Lucia. "Right now, I just think about Rafael and how he's strong enough to come back. You should see him in action, Dad. If I were that guy who shot him, I'd run. I've been on the receiving end a couple times and Rafael doesn't play. And I've only gotten a small taste of the real thing. He's scary. Ask Kara."

Thomas let out a small laugh. "Knowing you, you probably kept it going."

Montserrat nodded. "Hell yeah. He's not right until I say he's right." She shifted in her seat. "Although right now, I'd give anything to hear his smart-ass remarks. An argument. Anything."

Thomas stretched a hand out until he was able to find Montserrat's. "It'll be okay."

Montserrat didn't say much after that. She couldn't wait to see the end of the drive and be at the hospital again. Nick had tried sending her messages but it didn't look like the service in the hospital was doing so well. All his texts were coming in as 'incoming message'. It left Montserrat even more anxious. What if something happened while she was away!?

She practically ran through the hospital, leaving her father to do his best to keep up. "Nick!?" She called as soon as she saw the man in the waiting room. "Your messages weren't coming through! Did something happen?"

"Yeah," Nick nodded, eyes flickering past Montserrat to her father.

"That's my Dad," Montserrat said dismissively. She had no times for introductions right now. "What happened!? Is Raf—"

"He's awake," Nick thankfully cut Montserrat off. He presumed that she had assumed the worst with his answer.

The relief that washed over Montserrat was monumental and yet so short-lived. Nick didn't understand why.

"I wasn't here," she whispered, eyes falling, "I wasn't here for him. God — I told you people I shouldn't have left!"

"Montserrat, you needed to rest," Nick said, "Besides, he woke up like 15 minutes ago. His mom's in there with him right now." Apparently, he'd something really bad because Montserrat's face had paled to a ghostly shade.

"What?" She asked, sounding like she'd lost air as well. "N-n-n-n-no, tell me she just got here too. Please."

"Uuh…" Nick was utterly confused but he still had to answer with the truth and it was not what Montserrat wanted to hear. "She got here an hour ago."

"Crap," Montserrat let out a heavy sigh.

"Montserrat, what's wrong?" Thomas asked her, placing a hand on her shoulder. "You should be happy!"

"I am," Montserrat clarified, "But you don't understand. Lucia got very upset with me because I didn't call her immediately when this happened. I called her this morning instead because I thought there was no reason she should lose sleep when I was already here, waiting to hear how the surgery went. She didn't agree. She thought she should've been notified immediately."

"Okay, well, that was then, this is now. Things will change now that Rafael's awake. She was probably very scared too."

"I bet she was," Montserrat agreed, "But she's Rafael's mother. Where do you think he gets his temper from?"

Nobody would answer her. It was better to stay quiet and to help move things along, Olivia arrived shortly afterwards. She'd gotten the call from the doctors themselves as was protocol.

"Is he capable of answering?" She asked the two detectives.

"He might be too tired to remember things right now," Nick said, "I was with him for 10 minutes and he barely said anything about what happened."

"Maybe he doesn't want to talk about it," Montserrat said. "And he shouldn't if he's not ready."

Olivia nodded with her. "Yes, but it's worth asking, don't you think?"

The detective in Montserrat would make her agree but the civilian side of her made her shake her head. That was the part of her that wanted everyone to stay the hell away from Rafael until he was all better.

"There's his mom," Nick said when he saw Lucia emerging from the hallway.

Montserrat immediately pressed her clothes down as if Lucia were going to point them out and add to her fuel against Montserrat. She made herself front front center when Lucia joined them.

"How is he?" She immediately asked the older woman. "Is he — is he talking? Does anything hurt?"

"He had a bullet in his body so yes, he is in pain," Lucia answered sharply enough to have Montserrat wincing each time.

"Excuse me," Thomas cut in just as Montserrat was about to go on. He moved around Nick and Olivia to stand beside his daughter. "There's no need to be that kind of rude. You're both stressed and frightened."

"And who are you?" Lucia demanded, eyebrow raising.

"This is my father," Montserrat said hastily, truly wanting to avoid any kind of confrontation.

"Thomas Novak," Thomas introduced himself, "And I'd appreciate it if you didn't speak to my daughter like that."

Lucia didn't appreciate the tone used on her either. "Lucia Barba," she introduced herself in the same tone as Thomas, "And your daughter knows exactly why I'm upset." She crossed gazes with Montserrat.

"I'm sorry," Montserrat reiterated, sighing. "I didn't want you to go through a sleepless night. You nor Catalina."

"Don't take decisions that don't belong to you," Lucia retorted, "When it comes to my son, I need to be informed about everything that happens to him. I don't know why I didn't get the call in the first place. Do you?"

Montserrat lowered her head. She preferred not to answer for the moment.

"There's no need to argue," Olivia stepped in as well, "We all want the same thing, don't we? For Rafael to get better?"

"Of course," Lucia said incredulously. How dare they think otherwise?

"Okay," nodded Olivia, "Then I'd like to see him right now. I think Montserrat as well."

Montserrat nodded fervently. "I do," she said.

"Don't bother him with the unnecessary, please," Lucia warned as the two women started walking around her.

"I would never," Montserrat said sharply. "But I do want to catch whoever did this to him. And I will."

She followed Olivia down the hallway, preferring not to look back. She couldn't take whatever look Lucia must be giving her right now. She didn't have the head for it either.

"Montserrat," Olivia called twice before she was heard, "Forgive me for intruding but, have you taken some time for yourself with all this going on?"

"Are you kidding? I slept way more than I should have!" Montserrat exclaimed. "He woke up and I wasn't here!"

"I don't mean that," Olivia shook her head. "With this kind of stuff, I presume you would want to go see your therapist?"

"I don't have time for that!" Montserrat said dismissively. "I need to be here!"

Olivia suspected that mindset long before she got the courage to ask Montserrat. "It's important that you take care of yourself first. I'm sure Rafael would say the same thing."

It honestly didn't matter to Montserrat right now. She just wanted to reach the damn room herself and see with her own eyes that Rafael was awake. That's all she wanted. Olivia must have seen it because she didn't mention therapy again for the rest of the walk.

They didn't make a sound when they finally entered the room. If Rafael was really asleep, neither wanted to wake him. Questions would wait. But, as soon as they were in sight, Montserrat saw Rafael wide awake. He seemed a bit dazed but lucid enough to recognize them.

Montserrat forgot all about her conversation with Olivia and rushed forward. "Hii…" She said breathlessly, "You're still awake! You should be sleeping."

"I've done enough sleeping," Rafael muttered, sounding a lot more like himself than Montserrat (and Olivia) expected. He was definitely irritated enough to be himself.

Montserrat grinned widely at his response. She absolutely loved seeing him act like he usually would — it meant he was getting better! She reached for his hand, immediately gripping it. "I'm sorry I wasn't here when you woke up. I-I should've been, I know, but…"

Rafael watched Montserrat in a more dazed manner again — his mind went in and out with all the meds he was on.

This, Olivia presumed and since Montserrat seemed too upset with herself to notice, Olivia decided to cut in and help them both out. "Now, Montserrat, I think it's okay," she started slowly, watching Montserrat lower her head out of utter guilt, "You had to go home and rest too." Olivia looked at Rafael who was still trying to make sense of Montserrat's long ramble. "She was here all of last night and Carisi and Amaro and sent her home to sleep and eat."

"Well — why are you apologizing then?" Rafael glanced at Montserrat, eyebrows knitting together with confusion. "It's not like I noticed, right? I was in surgery. At least that's what my mother told me?"

"Is that all she told you?" Montserrat asked rather curiously and slightly worried. She grabbed a chair and sat down beside the bed.

"She said a lot of things but honestly, I tuned her out," Rafael drew in a breath, "The mess might be a blessing in disguise, you know."

"Ha…" Montserrat smiled lightly. That sounded a lot more like him. It truly relieved some of her anxiety. "Still, I'm really sorry. I did want to be here but I…I sort of overslept and…"

"I promise you that I am okay with that," Rafael said, smiling for the first time. "I don't want you forgetting about yourself because of me."

"I'm good, I promise," Montserrat assured, nodding her head fast. She brought their interlocked hands to her mouth, kissing his hand. "I just want you to be okay now. I've been a little crazy."

"A little?" Rafael's smile widened.

"Shut up," Montserrat said hushedly, letting out a small chuckle. She missed this so much. All the nerves were washing out as a familiar warmth flooded her insides.

At the same time, Olivia's phone started buzzing. "I'll be back," she told the two before taking the call.

Montserrat scooted her chair closer to the bed. She held onto Rafael's hand, still keeping her smile. This is all she wanted. Rafael was awake, seemingly recuperating and already taking jabs at her. In all her thoughts, she missed Rafael studying her. He noticed something he truly wished he hadn't. It led to his question.

"How are you?"

Montserrat blinked at first, puzzled with the question. "What — me?" She laughed. "Môj drahý, I'm fine. I'm absolutely fine."

"I'm on some strong medication but I assume you just spoke Slovak but even then…I don't buy it," Rafael said, shaking his head. "You went crazy over me."

"You were shot," Montserrat said, still frazzled having to say that. "What did you think I would do? Happily pass the night with your scotch?"

"Did you save me some, by the way?"

"Rafael," Montserrat warned him not to play jokes right now. "You were shot. It's not funny."

"Oh, I'm not laughing at that," agreed Rafael, "But I am trying to lighten the mood here. I don't want you to worry about me."

"Not right now," Montserrat shook her head, "Don't ask me not to do that when you're here. You have no idea how scared I was when I got the call."

"They called you…" Rafael said, as if realizing something.

"Um, yeah…" Montserrat cleared her throat, "Why did the hospital call me first? Your mother, uh, she was pretty pretty confused about that too."

"Yeah…" Rafael nodded, "Uh…I was going to tell you sometime…definitely not here but…"

"I don't think I've ever heard you ramble so uselessly…" Montserrat laughed almost immediately after saying that.

Rafael deadpanned her for a straight minute while she laughed. "I think I deserve to be cut a little slack, right?"

Montserrat nodded as she did her best to sober from her laugh. "Of course, dear."

It was too late as Rafael was already properly annoyed. "You're my emergency contact," he said in a huff.

Montserrat gasped lightly then, eyebrows raising with pleasant shock. "Am I really?"

"Yes, but you're making me regret it—"

"No, no, I promise I'm good! That's nice to hear, I…" Montserrat could feel the familiar spread of butterflies in her stomach. "When did you…when did you decide to do that?"

"I don't know, a bit back? Is that — are you okay with that?"

"Of course! Yes!" Montserrat was a smiling mess, a deep difference from the past day. She leaned over, carefully, and pressed a kiss on Rafael's lips. "Thank you for that trust in me." There was something else she wanted to desperately say to him but she felt the timing was off and perhaps even imprudent on her part.

Even if Rafael said nothing of it, Montserrat still noticed the subtle scrunch of his nose and the twitch of his mouth every now and then from the pain he obviously felt. He just didn't want to tell her about it — it wasn't shocking for her. He barely got used to the idea of asking her for help in far less serious situations so this situation would require a lot more effort from his side and she wanted to make it as easy as possible for him.

"Do you need anything?" She asked him, "I don't know, like a drink or something? And by that I mean water, of course."

"Damn, and I was just about to ask you for some scotch…"

"I would smack you right now if you weren't hurt!" Montserrat sighed and shook her head. "So listen, I really hate asking you this right now but I need to help so…about that night…"

Rafael already started turning his head away from her. He knew exactly what was coming.

"Do you remember what happened?" Montserrat wanted to be as cautious as possible for his sake. It was physically painful enough and now he would have to deal with any mental trauma he suffered from that evening.

"...a little," he did answer albeit in a low mutter.

"Okay, um, well there is that cashier — Clara?"

At the mention of the young woman, Rafael immediately looked back at Montserrat. "Is she okay!?" He truly didn't remember much after hearing the sound of the gun firing. He was in and out of consciousness but he did have slight memories of the young woman terrified in the shop.

"Yes, she is," Montserrat nodded, smiling lightly. "Did you know she's a med student? I was told she helped keep you stable while the ambulance got to you guys. She called 911. I absolutely love her."

It was Rafael's turn to smile. "Should I be worried?"

Montserrat let out a weary sigh but her broad smile defeated any attempt to sound annoyed. "Shut up."

"I want to tell her thank you," Rafael said a moment later. "She was so scared. I may have yelled at her."

"Lots of people react differently in situations like those. It's a flight or fight thing — you chose fight, she chose flight. All involuntary of course. But please, don't ever choose to 'fight' with a robber."

"Oh, but you can?" Rafael countered on the spot. His smirk didn't help. "You carry — you do that for a living. The way you feel right now is what I always feel about you..."

"I know, I know," sighed Montserrat. This was a conversation she didn't like having because Rafael always had the right. His concerns were right, his points made sense.

Rafael gripped Montserrat's hand as much as he could, which wasn't very much if Montserrat was honest with him. She wouldn't tell him. "I'm not arguing, I'm just telling you this is something we can't control," he told her. "I'm sorry I worried you. I didn't…I didn't see the guy getting up…"

"So you do remember some things, then?"

"Yes…but it's still mostly fuzzy…" If there was one thing Rafael didn't want to do right now, it was having to lie to Montserrat. His gaze lowered to their interlocked hands, which fueled his reasons all over again. "I don't know what they put in my body but I couldn't even tell you my birthday right now."

Montserrat smiled sweetly at him. "I'll make a full list about you when you get home. We can go over it together." She scooted her chair even closer to the bed. "Because when you get out of here, you have two choices about what's going to happen."

"Oh, do I?" Rafael blinked, bemused with the revelation.

Montserrat nodded. "Yup. You have a bullet wound and you need to take care of it. You won't be able to move around so easily — you won't be working," she said the last part as a full on threat in case he had the idea of even discussing the matter. "So, when you get out of here, you can either come home with me where I can help you out."

"Not happening," Rafael said on the spot. "You live with Kara and by extension Carisi. Haven't I been through enough already?"

Montserrat deadpanned him for a short minute. She was honestly expecting a response like that. "Then your other option — and your only other one — is that I come stay with you at your place for a while."

"You'd be willing to do that?"

"Yes, of course. I want to help you and I can't do that if I'm at my own place."

"Montserrat, that's sweet of you and I appreciate it but I don't need help —"

"Yes, you do," Montserrat nodded. This was also something else she anticipated and was well prepared to handle. "Raf, you can't live by yourself right now. Until you can go up and down the stairs on your own, I will be staying with you."

"It's not that the idea of having you around isn't pleasant — because it is — but I don't need you giving up your time just to take care of me." Even as he said it out loud, Rafael thought it was ridiculous. "I can manage on my own. I always do."

"Tough luck because it's not just about you anymore," Montserrat countered with a wry smile, "To your misfortune, and mine, I like you very much. With all your sarcasm and hard attitude, but I like you."

Rafael rolled his eyes at Montserrat. It was, of course, nice to hear something like that but it still didn't take away the feeling of impotence either. There were many things out of his control and Rafael was not used to it.

"Montse—"

"Let me do this, please," Montserrat insisted earnestly. "You're right. I was dead worried about you and, yeah, I want to be close to you for the next couple days because of it. I promise I'll try not to bombard you, okay?" She squeezed his hand in hers. "Please?"

This was a battle he had already lost and Rafael knew it. For all he knew, half her things were already in his apartment. That's not the worst thing that could happen. No, no it absolutely wasn't. Rafael sighed. What he would have given for this conversation to be part of a much better situation than the one they were in right now.

"You can go back home anytime, alright?" He said, instantly earning a beam from Montserrat. "You don't have to stay more than you want and you definitely don't have to do anything for me."

"I don't understand how you graduated from Harvard. You're seriously so stupid," Montserrat said quite honestly, which prompted a hard deadpan from Rafael in return. Montserrat let out a laugh in the next second. "But I want you just the way you are! I missed it all!" She leaned over to give him another kiss. "I missed you," she whispered afterwards. "I know it's insane to say that when we saw each other — what, yesterday? — but I really did miss you so much."

Even while saying it, she still sounded so afraid like he would fall under again. Rafael felt so guilty even while knowing this was way out of his control.

"I'm okay, I'm okay," he insisted for her sake. He wished he could get up from the stupid bed and show her — ease her fear and worries. "I don't want you worrying anymore, okay? Calmada."

"I cannot be calm when you're in this situation," Montserrat promptly huffed. "You went ballistic when I had a scratch on my back! I have every right not to be calm about this. Who did this to you? Do you remember anything about the guy?"

Rafael's mind was slow with all the medication, so coming up with a good excuse was even harder than usual. Luckily for him, Olivia returned at that moment.

"Sorry, that was Rollins," the Sergeant said, "She and Fin are going through some possible witnesses." She approached the foot of the bed slowly, both hands in front of her. "Do you think you can give your statement right now?"

Rafael shifted, and in doing so felt a jab of pain on his side.

"Or we could wait…" Olivia said, mistaking his shift for uneasiness.

"I'm good," he said immediately. He glanced at Montserrat, and a moment later he was asking her: "Maybe I do need something after all."

Montserrat nodded. "Anything," she encouraged, "What do you need?"

"A damn glass of water," he said, "They pump meds all night and day and I don't get to eat anything. I'm so thirsty."

"I'll go see what I can do," Montserrat smiled slyly, "Flash my badge and all."

Rafael smiled at her. He knew very well that she would. "Thank you."

"Of course." Montserrat gave his hand a pat then stood up, turning to Olivia. "Keep an eye on him?"

"Oh yeah," Olivia pressed a finger to her cheek then pointed at Rafael.

Montserrat still left with some reluctance, especially when Olivia mentioned that Lucia was asking for her.

"My mother's still here?" Rafael asked, eyebrows raised.

Olivia nodded. "Oh yeah, she's made it clear she's not stepping away for a while."

"She should go home, like you all. I don't need babysitters," Rafael said, shaking his head.

"Oh no, you're not paying Montserrat with that coin when she's had to deal with your mother."

At Olivia's words, Rafael turned his head slightly. "What do you mean by that? Has she been giving Montserrat a hard time?" He wouldn't put it behind his mother given the situation.

Olivia reluctantly nodded. "Yeah. Novak made the call to inform your mother about the situation earlier in the morning. She didn't want Lucia going through a sleepless night like her, much less your grandmother. Lucia didn't like that."

"Is she kidding?" Rafael snapped, not at Olivia but at the situation. "She just told me she hasn't told my grandmother anything about this." He loved his mother, he did, but sometimes she could be a…

"Montserrat didn't tell you?" Olivia assumed with Rafael's reaction. "She probably didn't want to add to your stress."

"Of course," groaned Rafael, although he soon stopped when he discovered it hurt him. "I'll have a word with my mother."

"Sorry," Olivia said guiltily, "I didn't mean to…you know…"

"No, I'm glad you did," said Rafael sharply, "Because Montserrat wouldn't tell me." Nobody would make her life harder than it had to be, not if he could help it. "Don't even tell her that I know."

"Understood," nodded Olivia. "So, about the case…"

"I need you to do something for me," Rafael said out of the blue, startling Olivia.

"Uh, yeah, of course…" Olivia nodded slowly, "What-what do you need?"

Before answering, Rafael's gaze flickered to the door. Montserrat would be away for a while, hopefully. "I need you to close this case."

"Excuse me?" Olivia tilted her head, presuming she heard wrong.

"You heard me," Rafael said, meeting her gaze. "I want the case closed. Cold case, if it must be."

"I don't — I don't understand…" Olivia rubbed her temple, "You want us to…"

"Close the case, yes," Rafael nodded. 'That's exactly what I want you to do. It's my case, and that's what I'm asking for."

"Why?" Olivia never thought she would have to have this kind of conversation with him. If there's anyone who always said what he wanted, it was Rafael. This made no sense. "Are you still processing what happened? Do you need —"

"I already processed it and this is what I need to happen," Rafael said, sounding very sure of himself. "I know what happens next and I'm not doing that."

"Because of a trial? Rafael, you know that's the natural order of thi—"

"I know," Rafael cut Olivia, his sense of impatience growing. "Believe me, Liv, I know what happens next. I know that you will eventually catch this guy and it will go to trial. I know that their defense attorney will start playing tricks and turn things around for their benefit."

"So you're afraid?" Olivia guessed. "That's also normal…"

"I'm not afraid," Rafael clarified, "I would gladly go along with every part of the process but this isn't about me. It was never about me."

Olivia was utterly lost. She rubbed her forehead relentlessly, leaving faint red marks on her skin. "You're going to have to explain this a little better because I'm not understanding. You don't want us to proceed with the case, you don't want a trial, but you're not scared?"

"That's exactly what I'm saying," Rafael confirmed, "And you, as my friend and more importantly the Sergeant here, need to help me."

"Why? Why do you want me to do that!?"

"Because that man worked for someone I get the feeling has been watching us for a while now."

Olivia presumed that the struggle she saw in Rafael was for himself. His hands balled into fists on either side of him. His lips pursed together enough to scrunch his nose automatically. But once again, Olivia was wrong because as Rafael had said earlier, this wasn't about him.

"He's been watching Montserrat," he spat darkly. The idea sent him into a frenzy and the only thing stopping its full fledged form was the aching throb he felt on the side of his stomach.

Olivia looked at Rafael both curiously and alarmed. "Why…why would you think that?"

"Because that man told me," Rafael replied, giving the impression that he remembered exactly what happened last night.

Olivia raised an eyebrow at him. "What do you mean?"

"You and I are the only ones who know what happened to Montserrat before she transferred here, so this should be easy to understand," Rafael said, only taking a moment because he abhorred what he had to say next. "That man who hurt her — he's watching her. I don't know how, I don't know when, but he's still got eyes on her."

Olivia was keenly aware of the rising noise from the machine beside the bed. One of them was connected to Rafael's finger — a blood pressure measure. "I think you need to—"

"It makes sense now, what Little Tino told Montserrat when we visited him in jail. He told Montserrat that there was a rule in place…"

The beeps got slightly louder.

"Raf—"

"Nobody lays a finger on the redhead," Rafael repeated the words he now hated himself for. He completely missed them at that moment. A deep scowl marked his face. "He has rules, Olivia, about her, about Montserrat — in his eyes, she belongs to him. I can't — he's just—"

"Rafael!" Olivia snapped to get his attention. She moved to his bedside, urgently motioning him to calm down.

"Liv, we can't let him keep watching her," he told her, finally sounding what he truly was: frightened. He was scared, but not for him. "We can't let this keep going. He's—"

Olivia nodded and once again motioned him to calm down. "You need to take it easy. You have stitches. They can burst," she reminded him. She grabbed Montserrat's chair to sit down. "Okay, you're going to have to walk me through this so that we're on the same page about what happened. Only then we can decide how to proceed from here."

"Fine, whatever, but you can't tell Montserrat anything about this."

"I can't promise that but we can work together to come up with the best solution," Olivia said.

It wasn't good enough for Rafael. He needed to hear it out loud…but he knew he was asking the impossible from Olivia. He'd been on that side plenty of times. It was hypocritical of him to be asking the same thing he denied so many times before.

Yes, he was being hypocritical.

Yes, he was being unreasonable.

But he just didn't care.

He didn't care about anything, not even the frikin stitches throbbing on his side right now. The only thing he cared about was currently outside, getting something he asked her for. She was all he cared about. So damn everything else.

[saltsicklover]

Part Ten

I realized while writing this part that the description used, while vague, is likely to not included all body types when it comes to the Reader. Sunny is described as fitting into a shirt that either Phoenix or Bob could fit into, and I want to preface this with the fact that I wrote this as a midsize person, who does fit into a Men's Size Large shirt.

I recognize that is not the case for everyone, and I do not intend for my writing to offend or upset anyone. I do not subscribe to the idea that a woman, like in Sunny's case, or any other person needs to be able to fit into their partner's clothing. I myself do not fit into my husbands clothing and that is more than okay! In fact, it is moreally neutral!

If any of this makes you uncomfortable, feel free to skip this chapter.

This blog is a safe space for everybody, and everyBODY.

Title: Once an Asshole, Always an Asshole

Pairing: Robert "Bob" Floyd x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 2800+

Rating: R

Warnings: Swearing, Tobacco, Smoking, Mention of Alien Abduction, Pet Name Usage (Honey), Bob being too sweet for his own good.

Second Chance Romance!

Disclaimer: I do not own Bob Floyd, or anything related to Top Gun Maverick within this piece. Not Proof Read or BETA'd. All mistakes are my own.

I do not consent for my work to be edited, reposted, or translated.

You are responsible for your own media consumption. This is a work of fiction that may contain mature themes. If you are sensitive to those subjects, please do not read.

---

Sunny woke to a blanket of darkness, the night sky still starving off the morning sun, the smell of cherry tobacco light in the air. Her body feels stiff, likely from the awkward position she awoke in. With a stretch of her arms, her elbows both pop, the sound unpleasant to her ears. She throws her legs over the side of the bed, untangling the sheets from her body as she goes. A gentle sigh leaves her lips as she stretches the lower half of her body, rolling her ankles and flexing her toes. 

After a moment, she takes in the sight of her dress. The skirt is wound around her upper thighs, no longer covering most of her lower half. The sticky nametag from the night before is still stuck to the fabric. She looks around the room, eyes searching. Then she spots the small, crudely folded pile of clothes at the end of the bed. 

Sunny pulls her dress over her head, the fabric causing static to dance up her body. She throws the now wrinkled dress over the bottom of the bed before slipping the shirt over her naked top half. Who needs a bra, right? The shirt fits around her body, pulling just a little tighter around her butt. The dark navy shirt sports the words US NAVY across the chest, the navel emblem underneath. It's well warn soft, like it has been through the wash a little too much. Sunny then slips on the shorts. They are short, the t-shirt falls past them, down to the tops of her thighs. 

Sunny then pulls all of the pins from her hair. The relief is almost immediate as each pin finds itself in a pile on the long dresser across from the bed. Sunny runs her fingers over her scalp, letting her hair puff out of the twisted style she had it back in for almost twenty four hours. 

Sunny's eyes ache and the bloodshot color surprises her, even in the low light of the room. It shouldn't. Every woman has spent a night crying and paid for it in the morning, but the deep circles under her eyes and the reddened whites of her them take her aback. That's when the thirst hits her- the dehydration from crying having wrung her body of the extra moisture. 

She eyes the bathroom door with a thin lipped expression. Sunny could go in there, but there's always a chance that Bob didn't close his door. She couldn't chance waking him by flickering on the light, and she didn't trust herself to find her way around the new environment in the dark. Her luck, she'd knock something over and wake Bob. She couldn't have that, so her gaze flickers to the door to the hallway. 

No one is going to be up this early, she justifies, before slipping out the door. She closes it behind her as softly as she can, the click of the lock catching her attention. Sunny's eyes go wide at the sound. She sputters for a moment before jiggling the knob back and fourth, attempting to open the now locked door. 

"Fuck," she whispers hastily to herself, her forehead coming to rest against the cold wood of the door. She jiggles the handle one more time before deciding to venture to Natasha's room. When she gets there, she knocks, her knuckles as quiet as possible on the hardwood. 

No answer. 

She tries again, a little more forceful this time. Her knuckles hurt. 

Nothing. 

"Fuck," She mutters again. Sunny chances a look towards Bob's door before deciding better of it. She is not going to wake him just to get back into her room, and with Natasha out cold, she has no other choice up to go back to her previous task, getting water. 

Sunny patters down the hallway, keeping her footsteps as quiet as she can outside Bob's door before she disappears down the stairs. Her hands follow the textured walls, searching for a light switch when she meets the bottom. The kitchen is just to her left, the light switch not too far away. 

She flicks in on before going through the hanging cupboards. It feels strange, going through someone else's house like this. It's not like she is snooping, but somehow it still feels like an invasion of privacy. 

Spices, no.

Tupperware, no.

Plates and bowls, no. 

Cups and mugs, ah ha!

Sunny grabs a mug from the shelf. It reads, "Proud Pilot, Prouder to not be Air Force". She can't help but chuckle a bit dryly at the saying. Definitely something Natasha would say, she thinks, as she fills the mug with water from the tap. 

The water goes down like it's the first drink she has had in months. She grimaces a bit at the taste, having become accustomed to the water in Colorado, rich with natural minerals. Water here tastes different, maybe too smooth. She drinks another two glasses anyway before filling it up for a fourth time. Sunny wraps her hand securely around the mug before flicking off the light and returning to her bedroom predicament. 

She knocks on Natasha door one last time on her way by, her ear pressed to the cold wood. She can hear Natasha snoring softly on the other side. The sound brings a small smile to her lips as she tucks that little factoid in her back pocket to use for later. 

Then, Sunny walks back to her door. She tries the handle one last time and it doesn't budge. There is nothing she can do now, unless she wants to risk waking Bob- she doesn't. So, she slides her back down the door, leaning up against it. She pulls her knees to her chest, head leaning against the door jamb. She rests the mug next to her, letting her finger dance over the rim, taking in the light smell of cherry tobacco from down the hall as she fights off the ever growing urge to sleep again. 

---

Bob couldn't sleep. No matter how often he turned over, adjusting his body or the sheets around him. He flipped the pillow so often that neither side was cold, he stared at the ceiling until he thought a hole might open up and suck in through. He prayed for sleep, and when that didn't come, he asked the universe to grace him with an alien abduction. Anything to get him out of his mind and closer towards rest- and if that meant that he needed to be abducted and put to sleep so that another life form could prob him for scientific gain, so be it. 

When the aliens didn't come either, Bob finally decides that he needs to get out of his bedroom. He pulls on his clothes from the night before, finding them each in their own degrees of inside out and wrinkled. As he pulls his belt through the loops of his jeans he can't help but let his gaze drift towards the bathroom door. He knows that Sunny is not more than fifteen feet away, just on the other side of the bathroom- which is another reason he needs to get out of his room. Hell, he needs out of the house. So, he finishes dressing, pulling his shirt over his head and replacing his glasses as he heads for the door. 

The sight of his cowboy hat on the hook next to the door stops him in his tracks. He looks at it for only a second before swiping it off the hook and continuing his trek out of the house. He knows his home like the back of his hand, so he navigates it completely in the dark, disappearing out of the front door with almost no sound. 

Darkness still has ahold of the sky, it's blueness deep and cavernous. Bob swears he can almost make out Cygnus, the swan, but the light pollution from the city makes it difficult to be sure. As Bob climbs into his truck he yearns for the clear sky's of Florence; the ability to see the constellations without difficulty. 

He remembers being able to see Sunny's face, with the light of the moon and stars on their prom night. He remembers how the low light shown in her eyes and off the embellishments of her dress. He remembers how he hair looked with the light of the moon shown upon it. 

The thoughts come faster than Bob can stop them, and he finds himself itching for just a bit more of her, a bit more of that night, a bit more of his life before he blew it all up. His hand drifts to his back pocket in search of his cigarette case, but he comes up empty. 

Bob huffs in exhaustion, turning on his heel to walk the block back to his house. He's thankful he didn't make it further before realizing his mistake. He retraces his steps slowly, slipping in the front door silently. He is met with expectant darkness as he stalks up the stairs, his boots feeling heavier with each step, weighing him down. 

What Bob didn't expect, however, is Sunny's sleeping form propped up against the door of the guest room, her head leaned against the door jamb. Bob blinks a few times from his spot just atop the landing as he tries to make the scene before him make sense. He can't make out much more detail than the way her body is slumped against the door and the way her forehead is pressed against the jamb, but he looks at her anyway, truly taking her in for the first time since her arrival. 

He dares a few steps closer after she doesn't stir at his presence. His boots sound impossibly loud against the hardwood floor. Suddenly, Natasha's idea of a carpet runner for the hallway didn't seem so silly. 

From closer up, he can take in just a bit more detail. The way her hair has fallen into her face and the clothes she has changed into. His heart beats just a bit faster as he takes in her new clothes, from the barely there shorts that stretch around the fullness of her thighs to the t-shirt that hands loosely around her shoulders. The partially obscured graphic causes him to lean forward just a bit, squinting his eyes. 

The large, golden crest the peaks out from beneath her arm makes his heart hammer against his chest, his ribs almost cracking under it's pressure. Bob knows that shirt, and he knows that if Sunny were to lean forward the words "NAS LEMOORE" would be printed across the back, right across her shoulder blades. 

Bob bites at his lips, sucking them back into his mouth, between his teeth. Natasha has never been stationed in Lemoore, not that Sunny would have known that to, but the fact that she now lays in it, asleep on the floor makes Bob blush red. His feelings are all tangled up in his chest, knotted together and pulled tight. 

But the longer he looks at her, the more uncomfortable she looks with her back pressed against the door. So, Bob takes a leap of faith, stepping closer and closer to her before he kneels down beside her. He carefully takes her wrist in between his thumb and fingers, lifting it slightly to move it from atop the mug. He takes the mug in his other hand, moving it down a few feet and out of the way. He sets her hand carefully over her stomach, sandwiched between it and her knees, right along with the other. 

Carefully, he brushes a thumb across her cheek, his touch barely there. Her skin is just as soft as he remembers and he can't help his but let his thumb run over her cheek once more. 

"Sunny," He whispers, his barely making it to his own ears. 

She doesn't stir. He shakes his head to himself, a feeling of longing deep from within now bubbling to the surface, coming to sit just under his skin. He lets out a deep sigh before trying again. 

"Duchenne, honey?" The name feels foreign to his tongue but the term of endearment feels right at home. 

Sunny still doesn't stir. So, Bob debates his next move. He could wake her, and risk her yelling at him again, or worse, punching him. Not that he wouldn't deserve it. No, he couldn't chance a bad reaction. 

Plan B, he thinks, he could hook his arm underneath her bent legs and slip his other between the gap of her body and the door. He could pick her up and take her back to bed himself- but that seems like a bad idea. What if he woke her? How would she react? 

Bob's eyes drift to Phoenix's door and he decides that's the best option. So, he stands, moving towards her room. When he knocks, he can hear her snoring from his side. He knocks, but there is zero surprise when she doesn't wake. Bob tires the nob but it doesn't move, not that Bob is surprised by that fact either. She has always slept locked in her room and nothing short of an alarm at full blast, right next to her ear would be enough to wake her. 

So, Bob turns back to Sunny, left with only one real choice. So, he squats down next to her, lacing his arms around her body and lifting her from the ground. She makes a small noise at the change but doesn't wake. Her head rests against Bob's shoulder, her cheek pressed against the softness of his shirt. 

He bends a bit to open the door, but the knob doesn't budge. Bob lets out a sigh, the pieces falling into place. She has been locked out, of course, that damn lock has been temperamental since he moved in, but never bothered to fix it. 

So, he walks her down the hall and into his bedroom. It's strange to hold a woman in a room he has never invited one back to- it's even more strange that the woman in his arms in the one he has held a torch for, for so many years. 

Bob tries not to let himself think about that fact for too long before he is carefully opening the bathroom door and carrying her through. When he finally gets her back into her room, he places her carefully down on the sheets. They have gone cold in the time she has been gone, so Bob pulls the sheet and comforter up over her body. He stares down at her a second, brushing her hair from her face. Her lips curl up at the corners and the sight warms Bob's heart. 

Quickly, he disappears back out into the hall to retrieve the mug of water from the ground. He places it on the bedside table, right in reach for her. Then, he grabs a hanger from the closet. Bob takes her dress from the bottom of the bed and carefully threads the straps over the arms of the hanger. He hangs it up on the nob of the closet door, right in her line of sight. 

Then, Bob chances one more look at her sleeping form. He lets his eyes trace down the slope of her nose and over the plump ridges of her upper lip. He watches for a moment as she breathes just a bit deeper as she snuggles further down into the blankets. 

"Goodnight, honey," Bob whispers, before disappearing back into his room, his heart still stuttering in his chest. 

As he closes the door, he catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror. There stands a man he hasn't seen in years, looking more like a kid staring back at him. He is all consumed by the sight of himself, from the hat on his head to the clothes he wears. Bob slips his glasses off, leaning closer to the mirror. A deep, doe eyed expression stares back at him, his brown eyes swimming with the sight of himself. He looks older now, than the last time he recognized himself like this, but he recognizes himself none the less.

He leans against the countertop, hands planted firmly on the edge of the sink. It might be his proximity to Sunny, or the clothes that fit around his muscular frame, but his lips quirk up into a hint of a smile. His eyes dart around his own face in the reflection of the bathroom mirror, and for the first time in God only knows how long, he likes the man staring back at him. 

And somehow, he feels just a little bit closer to the man he yearns to be; a good man. 

~ Once an Asshole TAG LIST ~

@harperdoodle

[sereia1313]

Masquerade

Happy Happy Birthday @ladydanitar! Couldn't let the day end without giving you a little spice

Summary: Touching her face, Kagome made sure her mask was still intact. It wouldn't hide her identity from anyone who knew her, but she could count the number of people who did on one hand. She was on a personal mission tonight, at the behest of her host, though now she was wondering why she had been sent up here in the first place.

Read it on Ao3 and FFnet.

Sneak Peek

Contrary to his mother, Sesshoumaru spent no time in the spotlight. He preferred to work behind the scenes, even though his name was just as well-known. Being the top manufacturer of surgical equipment would do that.

Kagome bit her tongue as she closed the door behind her, letting her eyes adjust to the darkened room. There wasn't much to see, and since she couldn't sense him anywhere near, she took a chance and turned on the lamp on his bedside table. She blinked a few times, expression softening at what she found.

She'd expected it to be as white and bland as his haori back during their fight against Naraku, but instead, she found lush furniture in rich colours. A burgundy armchair was in the corner, a book on top of a pair of pants hung over the back, split down the middle in a makeshift bookmark. She crept closer, stifling a laugh when she realized it was filled with fairy tales.

So the tech mogul was into princesses and happy endings, was he? How interesting. Taking care not to lose his place, she thumbed through the chapters. She'd thought it might belong to one of his nieces, but though the pages were worn, the book was well taken care of and a first edition. She'd have to ask him which story was his favourite at the next family reunion.

Returning the book to its place, she wandered around the room. Her fingers dragged along a dark blue comforter, the edges tucked into the side of the bed, not a wrinkle in sight. Unable to stop herself, she jumped onto it, pulling it from under the pillows. He'd know it was her from her aura and scent, so she wasn't worried that he'd blame his mother's security for allowing a stranger to slip past their guard.

[imbiowaresbitch]

Tattoos

Fishing for treasure submission

OC edition.

Pairing: Dean Winchester/Castiel

~~

Michelle chewed her gum and desperately wished it were a cigarette, but she'd quit three years earlier. Sighing as she eyed the clock, she figured she might actually kill someone for another cup of coffee, but she knew from decades of experience that any more before she ate would give her shaky hands. Not a good look on a tattoo artist. She coughed lightly into her sleeve, careful not to fight the pain or the catch in her chest. It only made it worse when she did.

The door chimed and she glanced up, watching two tall, really good looking guys walk in. They were both in jeans and t-shirts, and if she had any appreciation for the male form other than aesthetics, she might have been drooling at the very nice physiques on display. At a guess, they both looked like they were about her own age, and were around six feet each. The first had sandy brown hair and an easy smile, and sauntered over to look at the flash display with an endearing bowlegged walk.

The other man, who'd followed through the door with his hand intimately on the first man's lower back, walked to the counter, eyeing the jewellery curiously. He met her eyes with a more reserved smile than the first guy, but there were little lines around his bright blue eyes, and she got the feeling they'd crinkle up when he grinned or laughed.

Glancing between them, she noticed both men were going just a little grey, dusting at their temples and in the shadow of their neatly trimmed facial hair. Her fingers itched for her pens, because their profiles were incredible, and she wanted to capture them on paper.

"Hey," she greeted the dark-haired man. "You thinking about a piercing?"

He glanced at her, then back down at the case, his head cocked curiously to one side.

"Maybe," he answered, and holy shit! That was a deep voice. It rumbled out of the man's chest, like velvety gravel.

"Not what we're here for, Angel-face," the second man said, approaching with that swagger and slipping an arm around the other's waist.

"Tattoos?" she confirmed, and sighed internally when they nodded. "Sorry, we're by appointment only this morning, and I've got a couple coming in any minute."

The blue-eyed man squinted at her a little, but the other guy just grinned, and it was damn unfair that his smile could be that sexy and still so boyish. His green eyes twinkled, and she noticed the freckles dotted across the bridge of his nose.

"Dean and Castiel Winchester, ten-thirty, right?" he said with a teasing grin, pointing at himself then his partner, and she blinked. Checking the appointment on her iPad, she laughed softly.

"Says Cass here, sorry. I shouldn't have assumed it meant Cassandra or something. Dumb move on my part. Alright! I'm Michelle, I'll be taking care of you today. Says you're looking for script, no embellishments?"

"You got it," Dean replied, and she nodded.

"First of all, health waivers. Fill 'em out, sign, don't steal the pens!" she ordered with a wink, and Dean laughed, a loud, boisterous laugh that made the other man smile wide.

She'd been right about the eye crinkles, and his nose even scrunched up. Adorable.

~~

Read the rest on AO3 here.

Heads up, the work was originally posted as an entry for Suptober 2022, so it's a single chapter in a mess of other one shot stories. Lots of craziness, so mind the author's notes if you decide to explore!

[thepaintedlady00]

Nightshade

Chapter 22 | Chapter 24

Holy shit it's been a minute! Hi y'all! I'm back! Life's been absolutely insane lately and finding the time or the inspiration to write has just been really hard the past month or so. So, sorry this has taken so long to get out, but to make it up to y'all here's a 40 PAGE chapter! 😅😂 TW: THIS TW CONTAINS MAJOR SPOILERS! The usual, language, smoking, drinking, mentions of drugs and alcohol, some very painful memories, mentions of abuse/neglect, mentions/descriptions of nudity and inappropriate photos of a minor, violence, blood, character death, panic attacks, general not so good stuff is gonna go down, unhealthy coping mechanisms (aka ignoring all the shit going wrong until we can't anymore), make out scenes, dirty talk, some minor roleplay if you squint, and finally some fuckin SMUT! Yeah, the will they won't they train has FINALLY left the station! We've got some teasing, foreplay, oral female & male receiving (kind of a little), penetration, nipple play, idk what else to tell ya xD And a little bit of unhealty family drama at the end of it :) Also it's super late where I live so this chapter was very VERY roughly edited, so if ya see any mistakes, no you don't xD

Chapter 23: Oysters & Champagne

The greatest changes happen with time. It is the slow, steady progression that paves the way forward for bigger, brighter things. The shift between day and night, the methodical building of new cities and roads, and the lowering of one's guard to allow connection and emotion to take hold. The greatest things often happen slowly, then all at once.

As I watched Jake sign to Prue from across the diner table, taking her feedback with a determination I wouldn't have expected from him when we'd first met, it was hard not to think of Rada's old saying. “Slowly, then all at once,” Rada explained as she helped guide my brush into lighter, slower strokes. “See? Rome was not built in a day my Lena, your painting will not be perfected in that time either.”

So much had changed in the past months that it was hard to even remember how it all began. In the beginning, Jake had been just another annoying bad-boy bartender that wanted a quick easy fuck and I'd been just another closed-off, flighty back waiter. Yet, here we were, sitting side by side in a diner booth. It was strange to think that when we'd first met I wanted nothing to do with him or his flirtatious advances and now… Now I couldn't imagine a moment without him.

“Okay, okay, let me try this,” he said with a sly grin. “Your boyfriend is a pussy.”

Prue rolled her eyes, but admitted, “You're improving.”

“Thank you,” he beamed, clearly pleased with himself and his joke.

She reached over the table and flicked his head. “You're an ass.”

Jake rubbed his forehead as I laughed. “You deserved that.”

“Worth it.”

As we happily resumed eating our breakfasts the diner door opened and slammed shut. Quinn tore her jacket off and threw it into the booth as she slid in and picked up her menu. It'd been like this for a few days. Quinn would show up pissed off about something, we'd ask, she'd tell us it was nothing and then she'd get drunk every night. It was an obvious cycle of coping, the question was what she was coping with.

Prue and I shared a glance, trying to work out the best way to approach the subject. Jake, however, just went straight into speaking, “What's crawled up your ass?”

“Nothing,” she ground out glaring at him from behind her menu.

He laughed. “And you call me grumpy.”

Something in her finally broke. “Fuck you, at least I have a reason to be so grumpy!”

“Yeah?” He continued to press, the asshole in him just unable to contain his glee at getting a rise out of someone. “Like what?”

“Like my dumbass fucking dad showing up!”

The silence that followed was interrupted by the sound of our forks clacking against the plates. Quinn's dad was something serious, something that rarely came up anymore but serious all the same. He was a known addict who spent her entire childhood bouncing between neglect and full-fledged abuse. When Quinn lived across the street from us we could hear him yelling and throwing things at all hours of the day. At night he'd leave, sometimes for weeks at a time, and Quinn would essentially come and live with us until her dad came pounding on our door demanding his kid back.

My dad had beat the shit out of him more times than I could remember, but other than that there wasn't much we could do, not when Quinn refused to let us. For years she held out hope that her dad would one day get things figured out and they could be a real family. That hope died when she turned sixteen and he disappeared. After she'd grown up and gotten on her own two feet he started showing up at random asking for money or a place to stay while he “figured some things out”, but that always ended the same. With Quinn brokenhearted.

“Your dad's back in town?” I asked. “Why didn't you say anything?”

“It doesn't matter,” she responded.

“Yes, it does! We all know what he puts you through, Quinn. We could-”

“You could do nothing because unlike you I don't have two big brothers and a drug dealer on speed dial.” The harsh words settled over the table, sinking into both of us for a minute before Quinn shook her head and relented to the tired ache in her. “I… I'm sorry, Lee. I didn't mean that.”

“It's okay,” I reassured her, reaching across the table to take her hand. “I know.”

Tears built in her eyes but she wouldn't cry, not because of him, not ever again. “I told him to fuck off already so he's probably halfway back into whatever hole he crawled out of.”

Prue put her arm around Quinn's shoulder and hugged her. “Want us to stay with you? I can close up shop for the day.”

“I can call in,” I offered.

“I can say pussy,” Jake added, getting a laugh out of her. “Seriously though, I dunno what they're saying but… Fuck your dad.”

She sniffled and shook off the wave of sorrow. “Thanks, all of you, but I'm good.”

Holding out her pinky Prue gave her a look. “Pinky swear?”

Quinn shook it and nodded. “Pinky swear.”

“And, just for the record,” I said, “My brothers would always come to help you, Quinn. So would Dom. You're not alone.”

“I know,” she whispered, but I could see what was left unsaid in her eyes. It's not the same. We may have been Quinn's found family, but the hurt in her was the same as Patrick felt. She knew she wasn't blood… She knew if it came to a choice between me and her my brothers would choose me every time. And nothing I said or did would change her mind on it.

The ring of Jake's phone broke the uneasy silence. He checked the number with narrow eyes. “It's Dom.”

“Dom's calling you?” Quinn questioned, forcing herself to relax even just partially.

“Okay, what did you guys do that day I was gone?” I teased. “First he's actually using your government name, then he's calling you on the phone?”

Jake shushed me as he answered. “Hey, what's up? Uh… No, I don't. Sure, I guess. Yeah, see you in a bit.”

“What was that about?”

“Apparently I'm getting a couch and a TV.”

I shook my head and nudged him. “Seriously, what did you do?”

Jake shrugged, taking a final bite of his food before standing. “Don't worry bout it, Princess. See you at work.”

“See you at work,” I replied. “Don't break any legs trying to move that shit into your tiny apartment.”

He flipped me off as he made his way out the diner door and headed out. When I turned back to the table Quinn and Prue were both grinning at me. “You've seen his apartment now?”

“It's not a big deal,” I replied.

“Is this part of that juicy phone call I intercepted a while ago?” Her eyebrows rose. “A sexy debt if I remember correctly.”

“I have no clue what you're talking about.”

Prue slapped her hands on the table. “Spill it!”

“There's nothing to spill,” I insisted.

“Bullshit!” Quinn interjected. “You were gone all day.”

With a roll of my eyes and a giddy, girlish feeling making my stomach fill with butterflies I caved. “We just hung out and took a few pictures with his camera.”

Quinn's brows wiggled. “Sexy pictures?”

“Maybe…” 

Prue happily squeaked. “Oh my god did you two finally-”

“No.”

Quinn groaned, throwing her head back. “Oh my god! Just fuck already!”

I shook my head. “Classy, Quinn.”

“Seriously!” She continued. “I feel like I'm getting blue balled and I'm not even involved in your almost fucks!”

“Just think about how great it would feel to finally do it,” Prue added. “I know I was absolutely buzzing when Will and I finally did!”

“I…” With a sigh I looked down and quickly, quietly admitted. “I have thought about it.”

Quinn quickly translated for Prue and both of them became insatiable for the rest of breakfast.

*

Jake watched the bikers easily maneuver the decently sized couch and the modest TV around the stairs and up into his apartment. He'd attempted to help a few times but quickly got told to “bugger off” by what looked like an eighty-year-old man, so he just stood and watched. Dom stood next to him, silently observing before he finally asked, “Well, what do you think?”

“It looks good,” he answered. “Still a bit confused as to why you're giving me this shit but hey, frees free.”

Dom chuckled, a real chuckle. “I don't got the room for it, besides, you earned it.”

Shaking his head, Jake once again reiterated the facts. “I didn't do anything. I just-”

“You just protected her,” Dom finished for him. “That ain’t nothin’, Jake.”

“Yeah, but I don't need… Payment or anything for it.” He looked at Dom, meeting the hardened eyes. “I didn't do it for that.”

“I know.” The drug dealer clapped him on the shoulder. “Consider it a gift then.”

“Didn't take you for a guy that gave out gifts.”

“I'm not, so just say thank you and we'll never speak of it again.”

Jake chuckled. “Thank you, Dom.”

“Shut up,” he answered, nodding to the new space. “It's a bit crowded.”

With a shrug, Jake just examined the soft leather. “It's not too bad. I'm used to tight spaces.”

Hemingway leaped onto the sofa, purring as he rubbed the soft leather on his skin. “Well, at least the cat likes it.” Dom watched the others leave and moved to follow. “Call me if you can't get the TV workin'. I'll have John come out and fix it.”

“John's the one that calls me a twit, right?”

“Yep.”

“I'm sure the TV works fine.” He waved them off and closed the door, staring at the tiny living room he now had set up.

It wasn't perfect or fancy, most people would even argue that it was too much for the already cramped space, but Jake kind of liked it. His chair had gotten pushed into the back corner with his guitar on top of it. The edges of the couch left only a little room for people to slide past to the bathroom, but he rarely had company over so that didn't matter much. The TV fit on top of one of his shelves and left enough room for him to put DVDs or VHS tapes up too. He'd moved the thin coffee table he never used into the center of the space, pushing it up against the shelf a bit so there was enough legroom for the couch and then he sat down.

“Well,” he asked, turning towards the cat. “What do you think?”

Hemingway's only response was a loud purr as he curled up on the section of couch that was bathed in sunlight. 

Jake chuckled at the creature and settled into the leather, resting his head against the back of the couch. “Yeah, it's pretty nice.”

*

22West was relatively quiet when I got in. The kitchen was almost done with prep work and from what I could tell we weren't overbooked. The locker room was empty and stayed empty as I changed into my work attire. It felt kind of nice, to have a moment of quiet to myself at the start of a hopeful easy shift.

Jake set his bike down by the door and quickly entered, hair still disheveled. I closed my locker and smirked at him. “You're running later than normal.”

“I fell asleep,” he answered, practically tearing the locker open and throwing his newly returned jacket to me. I opened my mouth to protest, but he just gave me a look over his shoulder, “Just let this one be easy for me tonight?”

“Fine,” I agreed, reopening my locker and shoving the jacket inside. “Just this once.”

“Thanks, princess.”

“How was moving your couch in?”

Jake just chuckled. “I barely touched the damn thing. The bikers took care of everything.”

I nodded in agreement. “Yeah, they're pretty efficient when they wanna be. So, are you ever gonna spill the beans on why you're all so buddy-buddy all of a sudden?”

He glanced at me, a fleeting thing shining in his eyes before he looked down at his tie and shrugged. “There’s nothing to tell, really. I just came looking for you and they… Respected that.”

Glaring at him through narrow eyes I reached up and helped him with his tie. “Likely story.”

“You worried they'll start to like me better than you?” He teased.

“As if!” I laughed. “You're not nearly that charming.”

With a smirk, Jake leaned forward, “So how charming do you think I am?”

Humming in thought I knew the real answer. The instant, resounding too charming filled my brain for a minute before I answered. “I'd say you're a solid four.”

“Four?!” He scoffed. “I'm higher than four.”

“You certainly think so,” I replied with a wicked grin, my hands smoothing down his chest. His phone buzzed against the metal material of his locker. “I'll save you a plate, sweetie.”

Rolling his eyes he answered with a simple, “Thanks.”

Once I'd emerged from the kitchen the noise that the restaurant had been absent of, filled the space. Everyone was gathered around the wall instead of at the table eating. They whispered to one another, giggling and making suggestive faces. “What are we giggling about?”

Sasha smirked, giddily grabbing my wrist to pull me towards the wall. “We are just admiring the new painting that has graced our humble restaurant!”

The crowd parted and my heart stopped dead in my chest. There, hanging on the wall in front of me was, well, me. My portrait. My nude portrait. I felt lightheaded, my vision blurring, and the voices of everyone joking and teasing were suddenly drowned out by a loud, shrill ringing. 

It wasn't the sight of my nude body that filled me with a sense of dread. Though I still hated the sight of it - of what it had originally represented - it was the large splatter of crimson that stained the canvas that truly made my heart sink. It was the vivid and violent contrast between the soft hues of acrylic and the hard flakes of dried blood.

My brush slid along the canvas, the bright hues of blue and yellow, and lavender contrasting against the neutral skin tones of my self-portrait. I'd struggled to look at it, the fleshy rendering of my mostly nude figure. Its imperfections made me feel even more inadequate than I already did, the reference photo being one of the first that Tony had taken of me. That was his art, dressing and posing me to look perfect - to look like the beautiful and obedient woman he always said I'd grow into.

Truthfully I hadn't even considered painting something for this upcoming gala, having known well in advance they only wanted nudes or mostly sos to display. That wasn't what I painted, nor was it something I was particularly interested in doing, but Tony had insisted. So, there it was in all its hideous, imperfect glory. The portrait of a self I didn't even feel was me, but rather the hollow husk everyone else wanted. Everyone but Rada.

She peered over her shoulder, watching me paint for a moment as she cleaned the penthouse living room. The look on her face told me that she hated it as much as I did. But, she said nothing about how cold and lifeless it felt or about how she thought it in poor taste to paint a fourteen-year-old nude. Rada just kept cleaning, offering me what reassurance she could, like she always did. And like always, just knowing she was here was enough.

The elevator dinged open and Jules held Tony up, guiding him to the nearest chair and helping him get settled. It was obvious that he'd just got back from one of his benders on the flight back from France so I tried to keep my eyes to myself. Tony was never predictable per se, but he was always constant. His violence was never random, nor was it ever out of the blue. But, that changed when he got high enough.

“I'll go get the doctor, just to be certain you haven't taken too much.”

He chuckled. “Ever loyal, my dear friend. Some in the house could learn from you.”

The jab was obviously meant for me, but I kept my eyes on my painting, hoping it would spare me his anger for at least tonight. Jules exited quickly and with him gone, everything fell apart. The first noise I heard was the sound of metal clinking against the marble countertop, and the next was the bone-chilling sound of the cylinder of his revolver spinning. 

My brush froze on the canvas, ears honing into the slow steps he took toward me before he hauled me up by the hair. “Let's play a game, baby girl.”

“I…” The words struggled to find their way from my throat as my eyes caught Rada's. “I have to finish my painting for the gala tomorrow.”

“It can wait,” he insisted, throwing me back into the counter and pinning me against it.

He spun the cylinder again, a crazed grin settling on his lips as he held it to his head and pulled the trigger twice. As always, he laughed when I flinched and then forced the gun into my hand. “I don't-” His finger forced my own down onto the trigger.

The game played out like it always did until Tony's smile faltered and a rage seemed to fill his eyes. “Do you love me?”

I'd spoken the words so many times before then, but for some reason, I froze. My brain screamed at me, begging me to say it - to tell him I loved him, but deep in my heart I knew the truth. I don't love you. This isn't love. The rage spilled from his eyes, overtaking his face as he struck me hard enough to make my head hit the counter. The blow was enough to force the words out, “I do! You know I love you!”

“Is that right?” He spat, carelessly tossing the gun onto the counter and holding my head down on it. I gripped at him, searching for skin to scratch or anything to get him off me. “You didn't seem so sure just a moment ago.”

“No! I'm sure! I… I was just confused!”

“Confused?” He laughed, a sound that sent chills up my spine and made my muscles all tense. “Stupid girl. Do you even understand?” He hauled me up, holding my face in one of his hands so hard I could feel my jaw crack. “You're alive because I want you. If it weren't for me, you'd be nothing!”

“I know!” My lips trembled as I blinked back tears. “I'm nothing without you, Tony. I know that. Please…”

I prepared myself for another bout of his laughter, or another blow maybe, but neither came. Instead, I heard the cock of Tony's gun and a surprised… Annoyed sound leave his throat. “What do you think you're doing?”

“Let go of her,” Rada demanded. From the corner of my blurred vision, I could just barely see her, standing at the end of the counter pointing Tony's gun at him with slightly trembling hands. “You let her go now, or I swear on all of God's holy saints I will kill you.”

He laughed then, that deep, boisterous one that sent terror through me. Turning his head Tony smiled at me. “Seems you're not the only one that's forgotten their place.”

Through the tight grip of his hands, I begged, pleaded with him, “Please…”

With one harsh shove, my head collided with the counter enough to make my ears ring and my vision spin. I could hear his footsteps and the quiet sound of the gun's trigger being pulled.

Click.

Fear, desperate and heavy, filled my lungs and stole my breath as I scrambled to find my bearings.

Click.

Click.

Click.

Bang.

My vision cleared just in time to watch Rada collapse half on top of my painting. Blood gushed from the side of her neck, spraying across the canvas and staining the carpet. A sharp breath finally filled my lungs, yet I still found them breathless. “NO!”

I scrambled forward, pressing my hands to her neck and desperately trying to apply enough pressure to stop the bleeding. Her body shook beneath me, at least it felt that way… It could have been my own shaking. Through the sound of her gurgling breaths, I could hear Tony laughing. “L… Le…”

“Shh,” I urged. “Don't talk. Just hold on. Someone's gonna help.”

Rada smiled, tears filling her eyes as she struggled to lift a hand to lovingly brush my hair behind my ear. “My… Bea…utifil…” Blood splattered across my face as she coughed. “Da… Daugh…”

I could feel her skin grow cold as her chest stuttered and then stopped. “No! Mama please!” I sobbed, moving my hands to shake her shoulders. “Don't leave me here! Mama!”

“What's happened?” Jules’ voice cut through my screams as he burst into the room.

Tony, still laughing, waved him off. “One of the maids got a bit too bold. Don't worry, my friend, I took care of it.”

Rage filled me, rage and grief and a forever-festering desire to end it all. Chest heaving and lungs burning I stood and turned to the kitchen as Jules helped Tony back to his seat. I grabbed a knife from the counter and ran forward with a wail. Tony's eyes shined at the sight of me and the knife flying toward him as if this was what he wanted. Jules turned his head and with no hesitation, he threw himself between Tony and me.

Blood, hot and sticky, splashed my hands and face as my knife met flesh.

*

Jake glared at the message on his phone, a sense of regret and shame making him feel sick to his stomach. 

Won't be back for another day or two. - Simone

When Jake had finally worked up the courage to answer her calls on Thanksgiving morning she'd been livid. She screamed at him for being so selfish and childish and demanded he stop with his attitude and come with her. He'd held his ground, of course, but the sting of her anger always made him feel like a pathetic eight-year-old boy being scolded. Jake had said sorry. He'd texted her, checking in, he even tried to call, but she'd given him nothing in response until now.

He breathed out a frustrated breath and put his phone back in his pocket, shutting his locker and hurrying downstairs to distract himself from the weight of his feelings with food and his friends gossiping. That, however, was not what he walked into. The group gathered around one of the walls, laughing and asking questions when he approached. “The fucks everyone pissing themselves over?”

Ari shifted, revealing more of the large painting that now hung on the wall of the restaurant. Jake’s jaw dropped at the sight of a nude figure - a body he'd grown most familiar with in the past months. If he'd been unsure at all, the bold curves of her name labeling the corner of the piece erased it. Lena. 

The redhead in question stood, frozen staring up at it as Sasha talked and teased in her ear. A cold shiver crawled up his spine at the sight of her. This wasn't just some embarrassing nude portrait. This was something else. Something that made her spine stiffen and her skin lose its color. 

Jake shoved past everyone and moved between Lena and Sasha. The Russian cursed at him in the foreign language. “What the hell?”

“Fuck off Sasha!”

With a prideful scoff, he turned away, shooing the crowd. “Bossy bossy!”

“Lena,” Jake whispered, reaching out for her. His fingers barely grazed her arm before she recoiled, a quick reaction he would have missed if he'd not been paying attention. She turned and looked at him with glossy eyes and a dead expression that made his gut tighten and his heart drop. “Lena?”

With a sharp exhale and a staggering step, she was moving. She stepped around him, shoved through the crowd and across the lobby. Her body flung itself through the kitchen doors and Jake followed, not even sure if it was what she'd want. The second he entered behind her he found her hunched over the garbage, throwing up the breakfast they'd shared. The kitchen crew all made noises of disgust and Scott dropped his utensils to turn and look at the disruption. “What the hell, Red?”

Lena composed herself, wiping the spit from her mouth with a shaking hand. “S-sorry chef.”

“Are you good now?” Scott asked, his tone as harsh and uncaring as it always was, but his eyes narrowed in concern.

Isaac had dropped everything and rushed to the front of the line, held off only by her raising a hand to stop him as she shook her head. “I… Just…” She looked like she was about to puke again, but held it back. “I just need a minute.”

As she turned toward the stairs, not meeting his eyes, Jake felt his worry shift to anger. This had to be him. The Anthony that Dom had told him about. And in that moment, Jake understood Patrick's bitterness about how little he truly knew. He felt unprepared - unequipped to offer Lena any help, but even with that aching feeling, Jake followed her up the stairs. He'd be there, no matter what she needed from him, Jake would be there.

*

I knew I was moving, talking. I could feel each strained movement and hear each shaky reply. None of it registered. In my mind, I was still standing in front of that painting… Still in the penthouse living room watching my mom bleed out. I was stuck, or my mind was, reliving that moment over and over again while my body just kept moving on autopilot.

“What can we do when we feel stuck?” Dad asked.

“Keep moving.”

“Keep moving. Find something to ground you.”

“Keep moving,” I murmured to myself as I stumbled up the stairs. “Just keep moving.”

I could hear someone following me up, but I didn't stop or look back. I just had to keep going. One foot in front of the other. When I finally made it to the locker room bathroom I barely registered slamming the door shut and fumbling for the knobs of the faucet. It felt like my head was spinning with the noise and the heat and the nausea.

“Get out,” I told myself in the mirror trying to focus on my face and drown out the sound of Tony's laugh with the running water. “Get out.”

“Stupid girl. Do you even understand?”

I was going to throw up again. “Get out.”

“If it weren't for me, you'd be nothing.”

A pounding came from the door as it got harder and harder to breathe. “Get out.”

“I'm the only one that could ever love you.”

In the background, I heard the door open, but whoever was standing in it was distorted… Replaced by Tony's laughing face and his thin frame. It isn't real, I told myself, but my body was already gone. Desperate panic forced the shrill cry from my lips, “GET OUT!”

Whoever it was vanished, but the fear didn't go with them. Every inch of me shook as I scrambled to find a foothold in reality. I needed something, anything to keep me from passing out. “Find something to ground you.”

There was one thing that would keep me going. One thing I could use. I turned the cold water off and stuck my hands beneath the boiling water. The pain made everything else fade away, forcing my body to stay on its feet and pulling my mind to the present. My heart hammered in my chest and a pained cry echoed in my ears as I stared into my own reflection.

Tears stained my cheeks and my hair had tiny clumps of throw up in it. It wasn't pretty, but it was real. I was here. The door opened again and Isaac opened his mouth, obviously having prepared something to say. That something vanished as he watched the steam rise up from the sink and he realized what I was doing. He ran forward and turned the water off, switching it to cold as he looked at my red hands. “Shit!”

“I couldn't get out,” I whispered in a broken… Pathetic voice.

Isaac held me from behind, keeping my hands beneath the now-cold water as I began to shake again. The pain was gone and without it, everything else started to creep back in. “It's okay, Lena. It's okay.”

“I…” A breathless whine caught in my throat. “I can't get out.”

“You're out,” he answered. “You're here.”

“I… I…” My body lurched forward, bile spewing from my mouth as panic began to set back in.

Isaac squeezed my hands and stammered before he released me. “Okay… Fuck… Okay, I… I'm gonna call Peter.”

I shut my eyes, setting my head against the chilled sink. “Getoutgetoutgetoutgetout.”

Without even really thinking I shut the cold water off and reached for the hot water knob. Find something to ground yourself. A hand settled on top of mine as a new body settled in Isaac's place behind me, one I recognized instantly. “Stop.” 

Jake.

Standing upright I opened my eyes, I stared into his eyes through the mirror. “Can you tell me what you need?”

Clenching my jaw I shook my head as my chest stuttered with repressed sobs. “That's okay.” Jake gently pulled my arms back, crossing them over my chest and holding me tightly to his. “Can you feel my heartbeat?”

I nodded.

“Can you feel my breaths?”

I nodded again. 

“Breathe with me,” he whispered, pressing his head to mine as he quietly counted. I watched us through the mirror for a minute before I let my eyes shut. Jake's steady breaths fanned across my neck, his heart beat against my back and his warm embrace sank into my bones. It was like his whole body was speaking to mine… Telling it that there was no danger. I was safe. “That's it, just breathe, Princess. You're here. You're safe with me.”

I'm safe. I'm with Jake. Slowly my breaths began to even out and my brain felt less muddled. I'm with Jake. My body stopped shaking and eventually, all that was left was us. I'm safe.

Isaac's panicked voice echoed as he walked back towards the bathroom door. “I don't know what to do! She's… I don't even know how to explain it.”

Swallowing, I quietly asked, “Is he talking to my brother?”

“Yeah,” Jake answered. “He got worried.”

“Can you tell him I'm okay now? I…” I opened my eyes and met Jake's gaze. “I don't want Peter to come all the way down here. Please.”

“Okay.” He looked down at the sink.

“I'm good now,” I assured him. “I'm just gonna sit down for a minute.”

If it were anyone else they'd likely have fought me, but this was Jake. He knew I wasn't lying. His hold on me loosened and he carefully helped me sit on top of the toilet lid. “I'll be right back.”

While the muffled conversation carried on outside the door I just sat there, staring at my reddened hands with an empty sense of impending doom. He was here. In this restaurant. He'd hung that painting where every guest, everyone passing close enough by the windows, would be able to see it. Still, I knew it wasn't about publicly shaming me. If that were the case he would've chosen to frame one of the many photos he had of me. This was a personal message. A reminder.

“If you're going to play games, you'd best be prepared to do whatever it takes to win.” He reminded me often after that night, that Rada had played and lost. That Francois had played and lost. Everyone always lost. “They don't have the mind or the stomach to win this game of ours, baby girl. We're still the only ones even playing.”

Deep down I knew what this meant. I knew, yet I refused to think it - to breathe life into that horrifying and terrible thought. He didn't get to toy with me. He didn't get to scare me out of this life.

This life was mine. I had survived his horrors, I'd taken the blows and I'd made my choices. I had fought and bled and killed for this life. He didn't get to take that away, not now, not ever. He didn't get to win.

I wiped my eyes and forced everything back into that box deep inside me. Once my feet steadied I walked out into the locker room where Jake had taken the phone from Isaac and was trying to talk my brothers down. I held my hand out. “Let me talk to them.”

Jake watched me for a minute before he nodded, “She wants to talk to you. Here.”

“Thanks.” I held the phone to my ear, listening to Patrick in the background throwing things around in search of his shoes. “I'm fine. Just stay home and take care of the gym.”

“Fuck that!” Patrick yelled.

“Is he there?” Peter asked, his voice filled with the rage he rarely had.

Sparing a glance at Jake I answered, “No. He's not stupid enough to show up with Dom around.”

“Then what happened?”

Flashes filled my head again as I forced myself to answer. “It's just a painting, Pete.”

“Which painting?”

“One you don't have to worry about,” I bit in bitter frustration. “Just… Please don't come. Please.”

“Lena you-”

“I am fine.” I insisted coldly. “I… I just want to work, okay? Can you just let me do that?”

Peter was quiet for a moment before he asked, “Promise me you're safe?”

As if on their own, my eyes drifted to Jake again, meeting those sea-blue eyes. “I promise.”

He shouted at Patrick before speaking again. “Okay. Put Isaac back on.”

“Thank you.” I turned towards the door where Isaac stood biting his nails. “Here.”

I watched him move out of the locker room, talking to my brother for a second before I turned back to Jake. What do I say? I asked myself. He no doubt had a thousand questions, all of which would be tied up in the painting… Which was tied up in Rada and Tony and everything I didn't want him to know. So, when his mouth opened I stopped breathing. “What do you need?”

What? My brain went blank in seconds as I gaped at him. “W… Don't you have like a million questions?”

“Course I do,” he replied simply. “The most important of them being that one. So, what do you need?”

“Honestly? I… Kinda wanna just forget this ever happened.” I admitted looking down at my feet. “

“That's gonna be kinda hard with that thing hanging up out there.”

“Yeah, it is.”

He shrugged a shoulder and moved to pass me. “Gimme one minute.”

I followed him to the door. “What are you doing?”

“Just trust me, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Sasha!” He hollered, heading across the hall toward the front room. “Give me a hand real quick?”

Service started before Jake came back and so I jumped into work. I used it to distract myself from obsessing over the fact that hundreds of rich assholes were out there, no doubt looking at my painting - my body. That got harder to do when Will moved me to back waiting. The first follow of my night felt like I was walking right into a lion's den. And then it suddenly wasn't. 

I didn't know what they did, all I knew was when I walked out of the kitchen and into the sea of customers, the painting was nowhere in sight. I looked at Jake as he worked behind the bar, and all the answer he offered me was a smile.

After that, the night felt a little less heavy and before I knew it we were all gathering around the bar for after shift drinks. I gave Nicky a pat on the back and smiled. “Head home Nick, I'll get it all closed up.”

“You sure?” He asked, handing me his bar rag.

“Go on,” I urged.

Jake and I worked side by side, serving drinks to each of our friends as they all mingled and began to filter out the door. It felt good to be behind the bar with him again, but whenever I looked up all I could see was that painting on the wall. Fighting that foreboding feeling was tiring and not something I wanted to spend all night doing.

“So,” Jake started cautiously as he stacked a few glasses. “Today was a lot.”

I sighed and looked down at the bartop. “Yeah… Sorry about earlier. I wasn't trying to be… I dunno, pathetic.”

“You were hardly pathetic,” he assured me.

“Thanks,” I whispered, finally looking up at him.

“For what?”

“Grounding me.” Suddenly shy beneath his gaze I looked away. “I have a hard time coming out of episodes like that and you… You made it less shitty. A lot less shitty. So, thank you.”

His fingers combed through my hair as he brushed it behind my ear. “No problem, Princess.”

“Let's get drunk tonight.”

With a smirk, he asked, “You think that'll help?”

“Can't hurt to try.” I shrugged, repeating the words he'd told me. “Besides, I kinda want you to be all over me again.”

Jake's smirk grew wider, turning to pull my body into his. “Like this?”

I nodded, happily drinking in the warmth and the smell of him. “Yeah. Like that.”

“Come on then,” he answered, tugging me out from behind the bar and throwing his jacket around my shoulders. “Let's go.”

*

Jake watched Lena dance from the bar as he nursed his first and likely only drink for the night. She'd been drinking steadily since they arrived, though no one seemed to want to discourage her from it. Peter and Patrick had told Dom shortly after Lena had talked them out of coming and so he and the bikers were nowhere in sight. Whether that was something to worry about or not, he didn't know.

At first, he'd considered talking to the brothers about the whole situation, but Patrick had just given him a shake of his head and nodded to Lena. A reminder that everything - or almost everything - they did was on her terms. They'd discuss it when she was ready to. She'll never be ready to, he told himself.

Lena was strong and stubborn. In those first months, he'd thought she was fearless. The longer he spent with her - with everyone - the more he realized that no one was truly unafraid. Everyone feared something and that was okay… It was normal to be afraid. Fear often meant that you cared about something outside of yourself. But, Lena's fear was something entirely different. Her fear was intertwined with her anger and her sorrow. So much of her was packed into the threads she refused to acknowledge let alone pull on. 

So, she'd keep drinking and dancing and moving forward. She'd leave seeing that painting in the restaurant as buried as whatever memory it was tied to. And, though his stomach twisted into knots at the thought of leaving her panic attack in the bathroom unresolved, Jake would let her have this. He had to.

After an hour he excused himself outside, not bothering to take the alley to the couch while the bikers had vacated their spot out front of the bar. He grabbed his jacket from Lena's seat and fished out his cigarettes and his lighter, moving to pull one out when he looked up and saw Quinn. She was boxed up against the wall outside by an older, angry-looking man - her father if he had to guess. From the door, Jake could see the tears building in her eyes as he screamed at her and grabbed her arms to shake her. His jaw clenched and his feet carried him toward her. “Hey!”

“Jake-” she tried to interrupt.

He ignored her, shoving the man's filthy hands off Quinn and occupying the spot in front of her. “Get the fuck out of here.”

Her dad laughed. “You’re a real tough guy, huh? Do you know who the fuck I am?”

“Don't care.” Jake shoved him again when he tried to get up in his face. 

“You're gonna regret this,” he said, spitting at Jake's feet as he glared at Quinn and slunk back into the night mumbling and grumbling curses and threats under his breath.

He waited until the man had vanished around the corner to turn to Quinn. She was closed off, almost angry as she huffed, “You didn't have to do that.”

“I know,” Jake answered, lighting his cigarette. He took a drag before wordlessly offering it to her. Quinn accepted and smoked in silence alongside him. “So, that's your dad?”

“Yep.”

“Seems like a real charmer.”

She sighed. “Yeah.”

Jake recognized the look in her eyes, that painful anger. “I never knew my dad, but he probably wasn't too different from your old man.”

“It sucks, right?” she asked, looking up at him. “Being so… Unimportant to someone that's supposed to love you.”

“Yeah, it does,” he earnestly replied. “But, we've got other people, you know… Better people.”

“I know,” she whispered. “That's different though.”

With a solemn nod, he agreed, “I know it is.”

“Thanks,” she said, clearing her throat. “For the smoke.”

“No problem. And, if he shows up again or bothers you or whatever, just call me and I'll come take care of it.”

“You don't have to worry about me,” Quinn insisted with a sad look.

It was a simple, sad sentence, one Jake had used countless times before. He knew the ugly truth that hid behind the words. I don't want to be weak. Weak. It was laughable to think anyone found Quinn weak. In all the time he'd known her, she was nothing short of sassy, strong, and confident. Yet, here, on the side of the street, Quinn looked small.

She must've felt small too, the way she kept glancing at him with that fearful hint of shame. Jake felt a few things swirl around in his chest. Anger that her shitty dad made her feel like this small and unimportant. Sad that her shitty dad made her feel unloved. But the strongest among them was a new, blinding need to protect her. Jake wanted to make sure Quinn never felt that way ever again and it was frightening for a moment. However scared he was of this new responsible feeling, he quickly decided that he didn't care.

He didn't care how scared he was, he knew Quinn and he knew that she deserved the same kind of family that she'd given him with her persistence and her meddling. “Yeah, but what kinda big brother would I be if I didn't.”

Her eyes filled with tears as she looked up at him and breathed out a soft laugh. “I…I've never had a big brother before.”

“I've never been one before,” he replied, looking anywhere but her face. “Guess it'll be something new for both of us.”

Quinn nodded, and without another word, she stepped forward and hugged him. “Well, just for the record, I can't think of a better idiot to be my big brother.”

He held her close, letting the words fill him with pride. “I have my smart moments.”

They held each other for a moment longer, both holding onto that feeling of family that neither of them had known - at least not like this. Then Quinn pulled away, wiping her eyes. “We should get back inside.”

“Yeah, we should.” He replied, following her with a steady arm around her shoulder.

*

I downed the shot in one quick motion, shaking off the burning tingling feeling that engulfed my face after. It felt nice to forget. The tingling was all I could really focus on… Well, the only other thing I could focus on.

Jake had been cool and collected all day. He'd handled the painting, the panic attack, and everything else seemingly with ease. While I made quick work of every drink Ian made, he slowly drank his beer and watched me with amusement. It reminded me of the last time I'd gotten wasted, what little of it I could remember.

Want. No matter how much I drank or how much I kept putting the big shit off, the want never lessened. As I watched Jake with that stoic face of his, all I could think about were those heated moments between us. All I could think about was how badly I wanted to do all of them again. So, with a wide, drunken grin I took hold of his hand and started pulling him through the crowd. “Come on!”

He chuckled but let me drag him to the back hall next to the bathrooms. “You gonna hurl?”

“No,” I giggled, stumbling into his chest. “I wanna kiss you!”

“Yeah? And we had to come over here to do that?”

“I'm not gonna make out with you in front of my dad!” I replied in a giddy, hushed whisper. “Do you wanna kiss or not?”

Jake stepped forward, backing me into the wall, his hands landing on my hips as I stared up at him in awe. “I always wanna kiss you, princess.”

With a satisfied hum, I gripped his shirt and pulled him towards me. “Good.”

In the dimly lit hallway surrounded by noise and bodies somehow in my mind, it was just the two of us. Jake's lips moved in time with my own, our hands grabbing at one another with a furious need to somehow be closer. The slight buzz of the alcohol made my head feel light and erased all of the lingering unknowns from my mind entirely. It was that mix that made me feel bold enough to touch Jake exactly how I wanted to.

I palmed him through his jeans, swallowing every moan until he pulled away from my lips with a groan. He squeezed my hips, closing his eyes and leaning his head back. “Fuck.”

Smiling, I leaned forward and kissed his neck. “You're so pretty.”

“If you were sober I…” He groaned again as my teeth scraped his Adam's apple.

“You'd what?”

Jake looked down at me and shook his head, hands leaving my hips to take hold of my face. “I'd do a lot of things.”

“Sounds fun. Would I like it?”

“Definitely,” he whispered.

I smirked. “How do you know?”

Bumping our noses together Jake shrugged, “I have it on good authority I excel at the art of pleasure.”

“Hmm,” I hummed playfully, “I think you're just overconfident.”

“I'll just have to give you a private demonstration.” He sighed against my lips, amused and frustrated all at once. “When you're sober.”

“When I’m sober,” I repeated, pressing another kiss to his lips. “Raincheck?”

He chuckled. “Raincheck.”

“We can still make out though, right?”

“Absolutely,” he answered, pressing me back into the wall and wasting no time reconnecting our lips.

It wasn't until Patrick rounded the corner and quickly covered his eyes with a disgruntled groan. “God, can a man use the toilet without havin' to see his sister doing… that?”

With haste, Jake and I fixed our clothes and bashfully leaned against the wall. “Sorry, Pat.”

He walked past us, shaking his head. “I don't wanna see none of that when I walk back out. Get a room or something.”

The rest of the night was filled with laughter and too many shots, but it was good. As we played our shitty drinking games and teased one another I was blissfully content. All thoughts of the restaurant, the painting, Rada, Tony… It was pushed so far into the back of my mind that it was nothing more than a blurry memory.

As Jake walked Quinn and me to my apartment I noticed how relaxed she seemed. Even in my slightly drunk state, I recognized how the tension seemed to have lifted from her shoulders as she walked beside Jake with a smile. She felt safe with him and it made my chest feel warm and fuzzy. When we reached my door, she turned and hugged him and kissed his cheek. “Thank you.”

“Anytime,” he replied, awkwardly patting her head. “I mean it.”

“I know.”

Giving them both a fond look I pressed one last kiss to Jake's lips. “Goodnight, tough guy. Try not to get beat up on your way home.”

He chuckled. “I'll do my best.”

“Tell our cat goodnight from me!”

“Goodnight, Lena,” he hollered as he walked down the sidewalk.

Inside Quinn and I flopped onto my bed, both tossing and turning, fighting over the blanket to try and get comfortable. “Hey,” I whispered as we both finally settled. “What happened tonight?”

She snuggled into the pillow and shook her head. “Don’t worry about it, Lee.”

“Quinn-”

“Seriously,” she replied quickly, a smile tugging at her lips. “My big brother took care of it.”

Even in my inebriated state, I didn’t need to ask who she was talking about. The answer was clear. I smiled and closed my eyes. “Jake’s good at that.”

“Yeah, he is.”

*

Jake stood in front of the bar, watching the workers closely as they situated the lights. Mr. Hiragana and I walked through the space of the new restaurant, now finally cleared of garbage and wreckage. It looked bigger than it had, but that might've just been how the fixed walls and proper lighting made it feel. “So,” the man beside me began, “I assume you and your colleagues have discussed the design of the space?”

“We have,” I answered, again glancing at Jake. “Scott doesn't care either way, so long as the kitchen is big enough with new appliances. Jake wanted full control of the bar.” With a smile, I handed him the simple sketches I’d done. “And you know me, I'm the one with the vision.”

“Of course,” he agreed, eyes carefully looking over the pages with a smile. “Your visions never cease to amaze me, little fish.”

Nudging him with my elbow I smiled. “So, you think it's doable?”

“It is fairly simple.” Handing the papers to the lead on the project they exchanged a few words before he patted my hand and looked around the room. “This will be the pride of the city when all is said and done.”

“That's ambitious,” I said with a laugh. “The big apples got a lot of gems.”

Nodding Mr. Hiragana said again, “And this will be one of them.”

With a tilt of my head and a soft smile, I squeezed his hand. “Were you always this optimistic?”

“Only after I met you,” he replied, squeezing my hand back. 

“Was I ever this optimistic?” A sad feeling took root in my chest as I looked around at the clean slate. “It feels like so long ago that I had something like this… A dream.”

Mr. Hiragana nodded, his thoughtful eyes never leaving my face as he answered, “You have been through much these years we have been apart. You have changed… Grown not only in body but in mind. The little fish I met at that hotel so many years ago is not the same one that stands before me now. You have known sorrow, fear, loss.” With a proud gleam in his eyes, he nodded more assuredly. “And in spite of it all, you have survived. It is normal to lose one's optimism after such a trying journey. But, one day you will find it again.”

“You've grown wiser in our time apart,” I deduced.

With a deep laugh, he shook his head. “In some ways, I suppose. All that live to be my age have some wisdom to depart onto younger ears.” With a glance at Jake, he smirked. “Though, some of that wisdom is repeated words said by a much wiser voice than mine.”

“How do you mean?”

“Slowly, then all at once.” His words made everything still as Rada's bright smile and tender kiss on my head warmed me. Mr. Hiragana smiled again. “This is what she always said when encouraging you to follow your heart, yes?”

My eyes drifted towards the bar where Jake paced behind the wooden bartop. His eyes darted back and forth, memorizing the space he'd claimed as his and visualizing whatever it was his mind had thought up for it. For a split second, it was like I too could see that bright image he had in his head. A bar with soft lights and glittering bottles, pictures of everyone that mattered littering the wall behind it. A place that felt lavish and expensive without being so snooty and uptight. A place to feel at home. 

Then that all vanished as his head turned and those blue eyes pierced mine. The vision faded from his mind, replaced by another… Less focused one. That wicked gleam shined like the sun over water as his tongue darted out to wet his lips and his eyes lazily moved down the length of me. Sinful. That was the only word I knew that properly described him as I broke eye contact with him and cleared my throat.

“Thank you.” I looked back up at him, ignoring the knowing look he gave me in return, and bowed my head. “For helping me find my way.”

He bowed his head in return. “You have always known your way, Little Fish. I have simply reminded you of it.”

I glanced at the time and bowed again. “We should be going.”

“I look forward to our next meeting.” He squeezed my hand one last time. “They would be proud of you.”

After leaving the crew behind to work on the building Jake and I headed to work. We made small talk about the progress of the restaurant, a subject Jake was still clearly uncomfortable with. “Mr. Hiragana says we'll probably be able to open before next years up.”

Jake stiffly nodded, eyes still staring straight ahead. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah,” I answered, watching him carefully. “So, how are you feeling about the whole thing?”

“Fine.”

I reached out and stopped him mid-step, my hand carefully laying on his arm and encouraging him to look at me. “Jake.”

He shook his head and sighed, “I feel fine. Excited… But… It's… It's just a lot and it's complicated.”

“Anything I can do to help?” I asked with a tender tilt of my head.

“No, I don't think so.”

I shrugged. “Well, I give you full permission to be an asshole about restaurant shit while you figure it out. That help?”

Jake chuckled, visibly pleased with the idea of an asshole pass. “Maybe a little.”

“Good,” I beamed back as the heavy cloud of tension dissipated and the rest of our walk felt normal again. It wasn't until we entered 22West that the weight of everything came crashing down over me all over again.

A new painting hung on the wall, not one nearly as painful to look at, but another all the same. The light blues of the waves gradually faded into black as the painting shifted focus from the boat - my mother's boat - to the nothingness that lurked beneath the water. My heart dropped into my stomach, twisting and tightening until it was nothing more than a ball of iron filling my stomach with dread.

*

The clinking of silverware felt louder that family meal than any other, at least it did to Jake. He sat next to Lena, whose eyes hadn't left the painting since they'd arrived. It was a simple image of a boat and the ocean depths, but he knew what it really meant to her… Some of it anyway. As his eyes passed between the painting and Lena's emotionless face, Jake wanted nothing more than to ask the question that hung on the tip of his tongue.

Why does this make you feel so afraid? 

His best and only guess was that it had something to do with Anthony… Something to do with the three years that Lena tried her damnedest to never focus on. But, in that curious, protective way of his, Jake wanted to know more. He wanted to understand the situation fully so he could at least make an attempt to lessen the impact of it.

They had been the only two that hadn't already gotten dressed in those hideous shirts, having been late to oversee things at the new restaurant space, and as they changed in the quiet of an empty locker room Jake felt relieved no one else was here. The apprehensive, almost avoidant air around Lena never once lifted as he turned to look at her. “You okay?”

She didn't even glance at him when she answered, “It's just… A lot…”

He found it ironic that her words – her feelings mirrored his so perfectly. Any other time it would have made him chuckle, but right now all he wanted was to make her feel better. The panic in her voice as she screamed at him to get out the other day had made him feel physically sick. Seeing her using pain to somehow try to ignore the memories made him feel even worse. Jake wanted - needed - to help her.

“So take it out on me,” Jake suggested, her words from their walk circling around in his head as he closed his locker.

“What?”

“All that shit you're holding onto, take some of it out on me.”

“I'm not gonna do that.”

“Why not?” He asked with a hopeful smirk. “Like me too much?”

“Less and less each minute,” she weakly joked.

“Let's play a game,” he offered. “We go back in time tonight to before we became friends. I'll be my charming self and you can be a bitch.”

“Jake…”

Pushing himself off his locker he chuckled. “Oh come on, princess. Have some fun. Play a game with me.”

Shaking her head Lena finally nodded. “Alright, fine, I'll play.”

Jake smirked down at her. “See ya downstairs, Lana.”

“See ya, jerk.”

Tonight was gonna be fun.

*

“Behind,” Jake deadpanned for the third time tonight, the mischievous glow in his eyes the only thing giving away his true emotions. “Watch where you're standing, Lana.”

He’d been purposefully waiting until I’d stepped up behind him to turn directly into me and pretend to be annoyed. Part of his “game”. I'd been skeptical of his plan and it’d taken me a minute to adjust to the amped-up brand of his usual asshole behaviors, but once I did I actually found the whole thing… Fun… “Watch where you're walking, jerk.”

Jake slid out of the kitchen with nothing more than a smile. Everyone around us looked confused, but shocking none of them said a word. Isaac and Scott gave me the occasional questioning look, likely expecting me to explain it later. I didn't care about any of that though. I didn't care about the new painting or the past it dug up. I didn't care about Tony's obvious involvement. All I cared about was thinking up a new snarky comment to hit Jake with the next time I saw him.

I continued to switch between line and dish before moving to help restock the bar. Jake saw me the second I left the kitchen with the two bottles in my hand and slid to stand in the middle of the bar space, shaking his cocktail. “Sorry, I need the room.”

“Idiot,” I mumbled under my breath, just loud enough for him to hear me as I pressed my chest up against his back to slide past him. “Good thing for you I don't mind getting up close and personal.”

“Lucky me,” he replied, pursing his lips as he watched me bend over to grab the now-empty rack for the glasses. 

He slid the drink to the guest who had ordered it and quickly turned, putting his body directly behind mine so I'd run into him when I stood up. I played into his hand and with an exaggerated eye roll I mimicked his words, “Behind.”

“Sorry,” he taunted. “I was just admiring the view.”

“I'm just surprised you have the time to admire anyone else's ass when you're so obviously in love with your own.”

Chuckling he let me pass. “I assure you, an ass like yours puts mine to shame, princess.”

“How flattering,” I deadpanned. “Save some of that charm for the people dumb enough to pay you, pretty boy.”

The night dragged on, but I hardly noticed how long it really was. Once the guests had vacated the dining room everyone drank themselves into a better mood. Nicky left early, leaving Jake and me to close the bar down. Next to me, Jake finished counting his tips with a click of his tongue, “Only four hundred tonight.”

“Well,” I sarcastically remarked, putting a bottle back in place. “Looks like tonight's gonna be a big fat bust. If only there was a way you could salvage your wounded ego.”

“Wanna know what I think?” He asked, ignoring my taunt as he side-eyed me. He poured Heather's drink into a to-go cup with a thoughtful grin.

“Desperately,” I answered in that slightly mocking tone he was known for.

Jake slid the cup to her and watched the group start to leave. “I think I should snag us some food from the kitchen while you grab a bottle from the wine cellar,” he turned and looked me up and down, reminiscent of how he had in the beginning. “Then we meet at my place in a half hour.”

The look in his eyes told me exactly what his words didn't, but I still wanted to hear him say it. With a coy smile and a tiny step too close, I asked in a light, teasing tone, “Like a date?”

“If that's what you wanna call it,” he replied just as teasing, but both of us could pick out the genuine nature in each other's words.

My heart did a flip inside. For the first time since the painting had arrived 22West felt like it should. It felt like just another space, one I didn't feel paranoid or anxious in. Jake was there, standing in front of me, inviting me to spend the night with him… Inviting me to forget about anything and everything else. Mr. Hiragana’s words - Rada’s words - echoed in my mind. “Slowly, then all at once.”

“It’s a date then,” I answered, a sudden hopefulness, or maybe blind courage, refusing to let old fears rob me of this - of anything else with Jake.

That cocky grin of his made me roll my eyes as he kept up the persona of that asshole-ish self we’d be toying around with all through service. “See you there, Princess.”

“Don’t get too cocky, pretty boy, or I’ll stand you up.”

Jake chuckled and shook his head. “No, you won’t.”

God this shouldn’t be so fun. “Won’t I?”

He bent his head down, crowding my space and letting his eyes shamelessly roam down to my cleavage. “You want this too bad to stand me up.”

I replied through the feeling of heat rising up my neck. “You seem confident about that.”

“I am confident,” he answered, tugging his lower lip between his teeth for a moment. “That’s the point of this game, isn’t it? We pretend to be the assholes we were to each other when we first met so we can finally just say what we really mean?”

Though I hadn’t seen the game that way before, it clicked the second Jake had said it. Everything that had happened the past few days… Thanksgiving, the bar, tonight, one thing after another after another after another all getting in the way of what I, we, wanted and dreaded more than anything. The conversation. The admittance. The game had given me - given us both - the courage to just come out with it, to commit once and for all to an action. A date. “You’re right.”

Jake smirked even wider, cocky and dickish as he leaned in closer, tilting his head ever so slightly in that smart-ass kind of way. “Am I?”

“Don’t ruin it.” I carefully pushed against his chest and took a step back. “Now, excuse me. I have an expensive bottle to steal.”

“That’s my girl,” he muttered, just low enough that I couldn’t be totally sure he’d even said it. He watched me turn and walk away, the burning feeling of his eyes on me only making my heart beat faster in my chest.

Down in the chilled wine cellar, I stood, staring at the shelves, as my mind caught up with my body. A date. Holy shit. This is a date. I glanced down at my plain attire and shook my head. “Nope.” Digging my phone out of my pocket I moved forward, scanning the bottles on the shelves as the line rang.

“Hello?” Quinn sang into the phone.

“Where are you?”

“Wow, not even a hi, how’s it going?”

“Quinn, no time!” I replied, hurriedly. “I need an outfit.”

She made a curious noise over the phone. “What for?”

“I…” A stupid gin made my cheeks burn as I answered, “I have a date.”

“Are you two finally calling your one on one time, a date?” Quinn inquired with a light teasing tone. “How bold of you.”

“Shut up, do you have something I can wear or not?”

With a sigh, I could hear her as she started flipping through her rack of clothes. “If you want my professional opinion, showing up in nothing at all would be your best option.”

Rolling my eyes I finally found the bottle I'd been searching for. “Quinn…”

“Fiiinnee, I've got a few options. See you in ten?”

“Sounds good, thank you!”

“Det-”

“Details as payment, I know Q.”

Bottle in hand I hurried up the stairs, saying goodnight to the dish crew as they finished changing and headed out into the chilled air. My steps felt both lighter and heavier as I walked beneath the neon lights and moved around the slow crowds. I tried not to focus on what this meant… On the obvious expectation that both Jake and I had at this point, but that was practically impossible.

We'd already done everything else, a fact everyone was keen on reminding us. We'd kissed and touched and whispered heated words. Jake and I were far past any normal friendship. We had been for a while. Yet, there we were using games to commit to an actual date. There we were coming up with some kind of excuse to meet at his apartment where things were bound to go a very specific way.

Are we even going to get to open this bottle? I wondered, nails picking at the fancy label. Or is he going to just kiss me the second I walk in? The vivid and tantalizing image of him pulling me into his apartment and pressing me into his front door filled my brain. Am I going to be able to not kiss him first? Another valid question.

Quinn's apartment wasn't far from Ozzy's or the club. She lived a few blocks up the way in a modest one-bedroom place she'd busted her ass to afford back in the day. The old, sun-faded brick shifted to peeling wallpaper as I made my way inside and up the creaking staircase to the third floor. The second door down the hallway, the only door not decorated with scuff marks from people's shoes. 

Ari was waiting to open the door with a wide smirk. “TIGER!” She purred, pulling me inside the dimly lit warm space and pressing a kiss to my cheek. “I heard you have a daaaaattteeee.”

Quinn's apartment was always in some state of chaos. Shoes were tossed around, blankets hung off of every soft surface and her makeup and hair supplies were scattered around her place like hidden gems. She liked it this way, liked the way it made things feel crowded and lived in. Having grown up with nothing Quinn collected things and held them close like a slutty magpie.

The warm lights from her lamps lit up the living space, where it appeared I'd interrupted a dinner date. Quinn emerged from her bedroom to the left and helped peel Ari off me with a loving look and teasing in her eyes. “It's not a big deal remember?”

“Oh yeah,” Ari giggled. “Just two friends hanging out late into the night.”

“You two are the worst,” I grumbled, setting the bottle down on Quinn's counter. “So, any good choices?”

With an offended look, Quinn waved me into her bedroom. “As if you need to ask.”

Ari looked at the bottle with wide eyes and a huge grin. “Thief!” She gasped. “I love you!”

“Don't open it,” I called out to her. “If there's any left tomorrow I'll bring it up to you guys.”

Quinn's eyes widened and she practically vibrated as she hopped onto her bed among the outfits she'd pulled from her closet. “Is this gonna be an overnight date?”

“Maybe,” I answered, trying not to let my excitement or my terror change my voice.

“Oh my god, are you gonna let him take your V card?”

I nudged her leg, almost sending her off the bed. “My V card's been gone for a while Q.”

She shook her head. “It's been over a year since that cards gotten punched in. It counts.”

“Outfits,” I sighed, changing the subject.

“Well now that I know it's a slumber party,” she rummaged through her pile of clothes and pulled out a little black dress. “This is what you're wearing.”

“I don't get to try anything else on?”

“Nope!”

With a groan, I grabbed the dress from out of her hands and stomped out of her room towards the bathroom. “Why did I even ask for your help?”

“Because I'm the best!” Was her loudly overjoyed reply.

Once I'd closed myself into the small bathroom with old checkered floor tiling and the tiny pink sink I looked at the dress she'd chosen. It wasn't ugly or too gaudy. It was simple, black silk with a modest hem of lace around the top and bottom. The spaghetti straps were thin, but I was just thankful there were straps at all… Or a dress at all for that matter.

I took my time sliding it on, stuffing my bra and other clothes under the sink until I could come back and get them. In Quinn's mirror, I fluffed my hair and fixed my makeup, trying to focus on the excited feeling in my chest instead of the anxious ball in my stomach. This isn't a big deal. It's just Jake. 

Just Jake… As if that had ever been true.

Unveiling the dress to Quinn and Ari resulted in the two catcalling me for five minutes. “God damn!”

“It's about time you let those girls out to play again!” Ari laughed, looking at my boobs. “No bra too? Jakey's a lucky boy tonight!”

“I'm leaving my clothes under your sink,” I told Quinn as I gathered my things and grabbed the bottle off the counter. “Thanks for the dress!”

“No problem! Have fun being a slut tonight!”

Flipping her off I left the apartment, trying to calm my nerves with each step forward. It wasn't a big deal. It was just Jake. This was just a date.

*

Jake had spent a solid ten minutes meticulously opening and cleaning each of the oysters he'd grabbed from the kitchen. He'd found a niceish plate to put them on and shooed his cat off the counter. Then he'd started truly freaking out.

Lena was on her way with whatever bottle she'd grabbed. They'd drink, eat, and then the inevitable would happen. They’d share a look. He'd touch her or she'd touch him and from there they'd be unable to stop themselves from checking off their list of rainchecks all in one go.

He turned on a movie, the first movie his hands could find, and he cleaned. It wasn't really an effective way to keep his mind off the possibilities that were at this point all but certainties, but he still did it. Maybe it was, to keep his hands busy or maybe he just felt self-conscious about Lena returning to his space.

By the time she knocked on his door, everything was clean and ready. Everything except for him. Do we continue our game? He asked himself, hand hovering over the doorknob. Would that make things easier or would that just make me seem like an asshole?

Opening the door he came face to face with her fluffy red hair and tempting lips and… Fucking hell. The little black dress she wore hugged her body in all the right places, showing off her lean shoulders and peaked nipples. He hadn't expected her to change. Lena smiled, that nervous smile that made the corners of her lips twitch and held up the bottle. “I hope you like champagne.”

Say something. Anything. And say something he did. “You're late.”

Asshole it is I guess.

Thankfully Lena just rolled her eyes and leaned against his doorframe. “Aw, did I keep you waiting?”

“A little,” he said, clearing his throat as he moved to let her in. “It’s been a damn chore keeping this cat off the oysters.”

As if Jake had bribed him to, Hemingway made a not-so-sneaky break for the plate on the counter. Jake jumped, intercepting him just in time. The cat hissed and angrily swatted Jake's arms as he carried him to the sofa. From his kitchen, Lena laughed. “I'm sorry. If I'd have known you were in a heated standoff with the cat I would have hurried.”

He shrugged his shoulders, casually making his way back to the kitchen. “So, champagne?”

“One of the more expensive bottles of it,” she promised, handing the bottle to him for inspection. 

Jake barely looked at it, focusing more on her. She looked nervous, but the good kind. The kind that told him she was comfortable being here on this date with him. That was all he could ask for - all he wanted. He'd only take the night as far as she was comfortable with, but judging by the look in her eyes Jake was confident she wanted things to go the same way he did.

So, he grabbed a pair of his shitty glasses from the cupboard and started to open the bottle. She arched her brow. “Not even gonna look at it?”

“I trust your taste in drinks.”

“Even after I gave you nothing but shitty ones that one night?”

Jake chuckled, popping the cork and nodding at her. “Even after that.” He poured her a glass and slid the plate of oysters between them. “So, how’s Quinn?”

Lena blushed, glancing down at her dress. “Was it that obvious?”

“Mhm,” he replied. “I've seen Quinn dress you up enough times to recognize her work.”

“Well, what do you think?” She asked, taking a step back and raising her arms to give him a full view of her.

What did he think? As if she didn't already know every single thought ran through his head. Jake could have voiced any of the lewd things - god knew he'd done that thousands of times before - but instead he found himself answering more sincerely, “I think you look perfect.”

*

My question had been simple, given how well I knew Jake and how his dirty mind worked. It was simple. Ask an obvious question about the very sultry dress Quinn had given me and received an equally obvious dirty response. Simple. Casual. And not at all what Jake said.

“I think you look perfect.”

Perfect. That wasn't a word I was used to hearing, especially when it came to me. Yet this would mark - at least - the second time Jake had used it. Butterflies filled my stomach, filling me with that fuzzy feeling of warm tingles. If it had been anyone else using that word I would have known exactly how to respond. Bullshit. But, I knew he meant it. The look in his eyes, the hint of a real smile, the way he looked just as surprised as I did.

Jake thought I looked perfect.

“So, how do you like your new TV?” I asked turning my now blushing face away from him to look at the bright screen where Egon and the rest of the Ghostbusters were quietly playing out their scenes. My face burned even hotter as I remembered Halloween… Remembered how good Jake had looked dressed as Egon. Maybe he still has that costume?  “Ghostbusters?”

“It's a good movie,” he defended, but the wicked gleam in his eye told me he was thinking the same as me.

Smirking, I shrugged. “Woulda thought you'd turn on Romeo and Juliet.”

With a smirk, Jake nodded, “Also a good movie.”

I used the heated tension humming between us as an opportunity to take the first oyster. The salty taste washed over my tongue as I examined the slightly shiny shell in my hand. “So, what's your plan, pretty boy?”

“Am I supposed to have a plan?” He asked with a chuckle.

“I mean I'd think so, after your very confident invitation at work.”

Jake shrugged, taking a moment to enjoy an oyster. “Honestly, I just wanted to be around you.”

“You couldn't be around me at Ozzy's?”

“Okay… I wanted to be around you alone. That better?”

I hummed, beaming at his admission. “Yep.”

He rolled his eyes, casually pushing the plate out of Hemingway's reach. “Don't sound so smug, princess. You were dying to come be alone with me.”

“Hardly!” I argued - lied.

Jake stepped around the counter, placing his body flush up against my own and giving me that look. “Hardly? So you don't want me to do this?”

His fingers skimmed up my exposed thigh, dragging the lace hem of the dress up. I gulped, my eyes shifting to his lips without a second thought. “I want you to do whatever you wanna do.”

“Oh, come on, princess. You can do better than that.”

Fuck it. “I… want you… To kiss me.”

He lifted his hand, fingers grazing the side of my neck as he carefully tilted my head up even more. Our lips brushed against each other, a sigh of anticipation hot on our mingled breaths, and then… Darkness.

The lights cut out, casting Jake and me in complete darkness. Outside horns honked and the chaos told us both that the block - hell maybe even the city, had just shared our experience. Jake’s hands drifted to my shoulders, holding onto me for a moment as he adjusted to the dark. “Of fucking course.”

I swallowed my disappointment and forced a chuckle out of my dry throat. “Don’t suppose you've got any candles on hand?”

“I think I have a few,” he answered. “Let me get a lighter or something.”

Jake stumbled around in the dark until he reached his jacket, pulling the cigarettes and lighter out. The flame did little to light the room, but after a minute of searching his bare cupboards, he found what little he had in candles. I could see the tension in his shoulders almost as clearly as the sour purse of his lips. “Hopefully it's not the whole city.”

“Yeah.” He answered through clenched teeth as handed me the lighter. “I'm gonna go see if anyone outside knows what's going on.”

“Okay,” I replied, watching him go. “I'll light these I guess.”

I stared into the flame as I held the lighter to the wick of the candle and let out a defeated sigh. It's always something. Betting lesbians, a money-hungry Russian, the past, the future… Maybe it was a sign. Maybe the universe in its infinite wisdom was trying to tell us we weren't good together.

The wax dripped over the edge of the candle as I held the light to it. “Bullshit.”

Fuck the universe, I decided. Fuck the past or the future. Fuck everything that tries to tell me what I want.

I wanted Jake. Physically, romantically, in any and every way that he would have me. I wanted him. And tonight was going to be the night whether the city or the universe liked it or not.

I carefully lit the remaining candles, illuminating his apartment just enough to see the outline of his furniture. As I set the last down on the counter I leaned over to give Hemingway a reassuring pat, all the while trying to hold onto the newfound courage making my stomach twist into knots. “It's alright.”

The cat seemed to release some of his tension, using my distracted state to snag an oyster and take shelter in the bathroom where he decided to hide in Jake's open laundry bin. As I quietly chuckled at the way the tips of his ears poked out of the top, and the ferocious noises he made dining on his stolen meal, the apartment door opened and slammed shut as Jake returned. With a silent curse, he threw his jacket and shoes off to the side. “Well, nobody knows shit, but everyone's expecting the power to be out for the rest of the night at least.”

“Damn,” I remarked, trying not to talk myself out of taking action. “Right when your plan was just starting to work.”

It was a flirtatious little taunt, wholeheartedly meant to shift Jake’s focus from the unexpected interruption and back to the fact that we'd been on the verge of a kiss when the lights went out. Sadly, that didn't happen. Instead, Jake continued to grumble, scouring his shelf for a pack of cigarettes and then his lighter, which I still held. “Damn, where the fuck did it go?”

I watched him search for a minute before holding up the object he sought with a smug smirk. “Looking for this?”

He turned to look at me, face set in a grumpy scowl as he lifted the candle off the coffee table and held the flame to the end of his cigarette, lighting it. “Nope.”

“Suit yourself,” I replied, bothered as I set the lighter down on the counter. “Now what?”

Flopping down on his couch Jake laughed humorlessly. “I don't have any board games we can play if that's what you're hoping for.”

“I’m sure we can think of something more interesting to do than play a board game.” Hint. Hint.

Jake rolled his eyes gesturing to the darkened apartment. “You're welcome to look around for something to do.”

DO ME! I wanted to shout at him. My eyes scanned the shelves, looking for something that could lighten Jake's pissy mood and somehow salvage the night. “Where's your camera?” I asked. “We could take some more pictures.”

“In case you didn't notice, we don't exactly have the best lighting for that,” he snarkily replied.

“So you wanna just sit in the dark and do nothing?”

“I'm doing something,” he answered, lifting up his cigarette.

“Well, maybe I wanna do more than sit and smoke.” Jake ignored my statement, staring at the wall in front of him with a bitter, disappointed look on his face. “Really? You gonna ignore me now?”

He glanced at me and shrugged. “You're more than welcome to find something to do.”

Idiot. After a moment of watching the angry puffs of smoke exhale from his lungs I pushed myself away from the counter and flopped down on the couch beside him with a frustrated sigh. Jake's eyes lowered to watch my boobs bounce with the movement. Of course, that'd be what cheers him up. “You know most people would be more concerned with entertaining their guests.”

It was like a light finally flicked on in his brain and with a suggestive raise of his brows and a not at all subtle smirk, Jake and I were back on the same page. Only now I felt like making him work for it.

"Oh, you want some attention?" He took another long drag of the cigarette, slowly sliding closer to me, closing the space between us. He was right there, just a head tilt away from my lips. He timed his head down, seeking me out, expecting me to make it easy.

“You're insufferable." I leaned back, crossing my arms - pressing my breasts up to really catch his attention. He breathed smoke out across my face with a light laugh and a smirk. 

"You like it," he whispered, our noses bumping one another.

"This isn't something friends usually do," I said quietly, smugly. Resuming the game we had earlier, the game meant to make this easier, and now the game that I'd use to torture him.

Jake was more smug as he grinned back at me, his eyes dark with lust and sin that would put even the devil to shame. "Yeah, well, I don't want to be your fucking friend." For a split second that something real flashed in his eyes, a fleeting feeling or thought he didn't dare let himself hold onto for too long.

I sighed, that same wave of reality washing over me, forcing my heart to beat quicker and my mind to race with doubt. Moving my head back a little more I whispered the thought, the fear that had kept us from committing to this all along, "This is a bad idea."

He nodded, not in agreement, but in acknowledgment that this was the very fear he shared. Adam's apple bobbing, Jake's eyes dropped to my lips as he sighed, "One of my worst."

I wasn't prepared for the kiss, or the way his hand wound into my hair to pull me closer. Though, I should have been. Jake tasted like oysters and champagne, smoke and, and want. He pulled me effortlessly into his lap, coaxing my mouth open and tangling his tongue with mine to effectively silence that pesky thought in both our minds. He was addictive and he knew it. Smug bastard, he was.

Of all the times we'd kissed, this one felt the most like our first. Maybe it was because of the way he'd been acting like he had in the beginning, asshole-ish and reserved. Or maybe it was because we both knew this was it. There was no forgotten thing, no drunk Russian or nosey lesbians. It was just us.

This was it.

I pulled back slightly, my hand smoothing over his jaw as we both dropped the act and slowly started to abandon our fear in favor of that intimate thing that hummed between us. Still, I couldn't resist the taunt that slid off my tongue, "So, you don't want to be my friend anymore?"

Jake scoffed, pressing another kiss to my lips. "Stop talking."

"I thought you liked being my friend," I continued to tease, threading my fingers into his hair as his mouth moved down the column of my neck. I had to hold in a moan as his teeth tugged at the skin there.

"I like this better," he breathed out, smirking against my skin. His hands gripped my thighs and pulled me down further, rubbing our hips together in a way that sent pleasure up my spine. This time I couldn't contain the wanton moan. Jake chuckled. "Much better."

With a breathless huff, I pulled his hair until his head tilted back up to me. "Shut up."

“Oh,” he whispered breathlessly, lips pulling up into that cocky smirk of his. “Now you wanna stop talking?”

Before I could answer Jake had shifted, rolling me onto the couch beneath him. The new cushions were slow to yield to the weight of us, stiff but not uncomfortable. Above me, Jake's chain necklace dangled, glinting in the low moonlight as it kissed my lips just like he'd done seconds ago. He smirked down at me for a second before all the attitude and the teasing faded, leaving him just smiling down at me as he lifted a hand to my face.

His fingers traced my lips, gliding along my jaw. The swell of warmth… Of want made my chest constrict almost to the point of pain. Out of all the nights we’d spent together - out of all the things we'd already done - this moment was unlike all of them. I wanted him more than I could even understand and in some way… Through some invisible bond between us, I knew he felt the same. 

I lifted my head off the cushion and chased his lips. “I wanna stop talking now.”

Jake's still smokey breath fanned across my face as he chuckled. “Okay, Princess. No more talking.”

Our mouths met again, eager and hungry. It was like the feeling of his velvety lips on me, of his hands stroking and squeezing, erasing every thought in my brain. Everything that wasn't him just suddenly didn't matter. Jake dragged his tongue down my neck, fingers tugging the straps of the dress off my shoulders so his lips and teeth could literally my collarbones with kisses and bite marks.

To my surprise he kept moving down lower and lower until his hands were tucked up my dress, pulling my panties off my legs. Jake bit into the meat of my thigh, dragging me down the couch until my ass was literally in his hands. I lifted my head just in time to catch a glimpse of his dark head of hair vanishing beneath my dress as he dove mouth-first into my pussy.

“Oh my god!” I squeezed in shock as his warm tongue lather over my clit. “Jake!”

His fingers squeezing my thighs and holding them open was the only answer I received as his tongue continued its skilled work. With my head pressed firmly to the cushions, I gripped onto his hair, lifting my hips in time with his tongue movements and chasing the pleasure he so shamelessly offered. “Yes! Oh, Jake, right there!”

His teeth grazed my clit, sending me spasming as I came. That didn't stop him though. Jake's tongue just kept licking and sucking, drinking up every ounce that I had to offer until I was practically vibrating beneath him. I pulled his hair harder, pushing him off me and quickly standing up. Before he could ask what I was doing I tugged at his shirt. “Take this off.”

The wicked grin he answered with glowed in the candlelight. “Not gonna say please?”

Reaching down I tugged on his chain, taunting him with an almost kiss. “Now.”

Humming Jake rose from his knees and lifted the shirt over his head, spreading his arms and lightly flexing. “Happy now?”

I raked my nails over his abdomen, instantly undoing his belt as Jake's hands started sliding my arms through the straps of my dress. “I'll be much happier when we're both naked.”

“That makes two of us,” he agreed with a groan as the dress slid off my body with no resistance. Jake's mouth fell open as he lifted his lands to tease my nipples. “God you're perfect.”

My fingers fumbled, head nearly falling back as the pleasure his touch brought spiked through me. “Jake.”

His body pressed closer to mine, forcing me to step back until the backs of my legs hit his bed. “Are you sur-”

I silenced him with a finger over the lips and a gentle reminder, “No more talking.”

Without any more chances to let my fear win out, I finished with his belt and zipper. Kissing down his chest I slowly sank to my knees, taking his pants and underwear with me until his hard, pulsing cock was dangling in front of me. Jake watched me press a few light kisses to the head of him as he carefully lifted his feet out of his jeans. His breaths stuttered as I licked him base to tip, swirling my tongue around him the way I knew he liked from the first time.

“Fuck,” he breathed, quickly taking hold of my face. “As much as I fucking love that mouth of yours princess… I wanna actually fuck you tonight.”

I grinned, kissing his cock again. “Later then?”

“Absolutely.”

Standing in front of him, I set my hands on his broad shoulders, leaning up to kiss him again. Jake's hands wound into my hair as he turned us, pulling me on top of him as he settled on his back. I shifted my hips and angled his cock perfectly allowing me to finally, slowly begin to sink down on top of him. Jake's eyes fluttered shut, his mouth falling open as a surprised, pleasured sound fell from between his lips. His hands scrambled over my waist, squeezing my flesh. “Fuck.”

The stretch wasn't painful, not after the care Jake had taken, but I found myself shaking. It felt so good. Finally having him inside me, the impressive dick his ego permitted me from ever complimenting, hit all the right spots. It'd been a year since I'd had sex, but already, I found myself questioning if anyone else had ever made me feel like this with nothing more than one tiny thrust.

Once I was fully seated on top of him I found my eyes closing, head tilting back as I enjoyed the simple feeling of him twitching inside me, breathing beneath me, holding me. “Holy shit.”

“You're not wasting any time,” he said, holding onto me like his life depended on it. “Got somewhere to be?”

“You said you wanted to fuck me,” I replied, ignoring his teasing to lift my hips and bending over him. “So fuck me.”

Jake kissed me hard, setting one hand on the small of my back and using it to push me back down onto his dick. My sharp gasp broke our kiss and spurred my body into moving. Every thrust sent pure pleasure radiating through my body. Every noise Jake made was echoed by the ones I made. It was that word he'd kept saying. Perfect.

When my legs started to shake and my body felt heavier to lift in the fervorous up and down movements, Jake sat up. His tongue lathered over a nipple, earning another sharp sound from my throat, as his fingers traced up my spine and gently closed around the back of my neck. I could feel his lips curl up into a smirk as he pulled my nipple between his teeth. “Come on, princess. Don't stop.”

“Fuck,” I whispered, the desperate sound of his voice emptying my brain even more. “I… Oh god…”

“Don't tell me you're tired already,” he taunted, using his hands on my hip and neck to help lift and pull me. “We just got started.”

Grinding my teeth together to hold in the moan I bit back, “I should have guessed you'd be a pillow princess.”

Jake laughed, tilting his head up to kiss me again. “We can switch if you want.”

“Fuck you,” I answered breathlessly, my eyes punching together as the pleasure all began to build up inside me.

“That's what you're doing… Trying to at least.” He withdrew all attempts at helping me, returning his attention to my breasts.

“Jake,” I whined after what felt like hours. God, I'm out of Practice. Jake only hummed in reply to his name. “Please.”

More smug than ever he finally slid his hands to my waist and expertly flipped me onto my back. His sheets felt cold against my hot skin, but I hardly had a moment to focus on that when Jake wasted no time lifting one of my legs onto his shoulder and securing the other around his waist. “Try not to scream my name too loud, the neighbors tend to get mad about that.”

“You-” He thrust into me, the angle and the power behind it making sparks shoot up my stomach into my chest. “Oh fuck!”

“There you go,” he mumbled, fingers curling into the sheets by my head. “Let me hear those pretty noises.”

As he picked up the pace I realized I couldn't have denied his request even if I wanted to. Every noise I made echoed off the brick walls, every wet noise that his thrusts made only filled me with more fire. My fingers dug into his arms and clawed at his back as that coil in my gut wound tighter and tighter. “Jake,” I begged. “Don't stop!”

“Come on, princess,” he urged, pressing his lips to mine in a sloppy kiss. “I wanna feel you.”

“Ah!” I could feel myself tighten around him, drawing out another moan from Jake's lips.

“Fuck!” He cursed under his breath. “That's my girl. Come on… Come for me, Lena.”

That, the fucked out, desperate, adoring uttering of my name was what made the coil in my gut burst. Fingers digging into Jake's hair, pulling his lips down against mine I came around him, shaking as he thrust again and again and again, fucking me through the orgasm and into another as he came with me. His body tensed and shivered as he kissed me through his orgasm, pulling away to let out a shaky breath before he collapsed on top of me.

My chest heaved beneath him as I stretched my fingers and carefully pulled them from his hair. “Holy… Shit…”

Jake carefully rolled off me, throwing the condom away and collapsing next to me. “We should have been doing that this whole time.”

“Definitely,” I agreed, twisting my head to look at him… Afraid of what I'd find in his eyes when I did. Had this been a mistake?

Jake was smiling, genuinely smiling at me. His eyes were light and sparkling as he pulled me into his arms and threw his blanket over us both. His lips kissed my shoulders and my jaw and even though we’d just spent the last hour or more fucking I felt that swell of want again. “You know, we could be in the dark for a while.”

“All night even,” he agreed. “You should definitely stay the night.”

“Absolutely,” I agreed, kissing his lips. “And are you gonna… Entertain me?”

Nodding Jake traced the snake on my spine. “Of course. What kinda man would I be if I left you unsatisfied?”

It was going to be a long night. Long and sweaty and perfect.

*

Dom looked at the now entirely empty shop with a dead stare. His life's work was fucking gone, and it was all his fault. Desperate anger and a bitter, frustrated sorrow filled his lungs with a scream. He threw empty tool carts across the shop floor and kicked the side of the nearest car. Dom exploded, lashing out until he had to stop. 

His back slammed into one of the cars, and he bowed low. Defeated. The sound of her light footsteps treading through his mess gave him some tiny hint of hope. He watched her carefully slide into place beside him, looking out at the empty space. "Sorry."

"Stop." He shook his head, glaring at her. "I hate it when you apologize when you did nothin’ wrong."

Sarah giggled, bumping her shoulder into his. "Sorry."

"You're the worst."

She looked around with an exasperated sigh. "They really did a number on the place, huh?"

Nodding, he slapped the side of the car they leaned on. "Fuckers even took the damn hub caps."

"You are gonna take care of this, right, D?" Her emerald eyes sparkled up at him, hopeful and innocent. His baby sister. "I don't wanna lose you like Eddie."

His jaw clenched at the mention of the name. "Yeah, I'll take care of it."

She held out her pinky with tears in her eyes. "You promise?"

Dom wrapped his finger around hers and sighed, engulfing her in a big hug. "Yeah, I promise."

When he opened his eyes, Dom could still feel the warmth of Sarah's embrace. His mind clung to the sweet moments they'd shared until the end - until the pain made him feel like he couldn't breathe. That sensation forced him upright, scrambling to grab hold of the drugs he'd left at his bedside. He wanted to forget. More than anything, he wanted the pain to stop. 

Green eyes flashed in his mind. Hers and Lena's. He'd made them both a promise… A stupid fucking pinky swear. His fist tightened around the drugs as he forced himself to throw them across the room. "God dammit!"

"Well, ain't you just pathetic?”

Dom's head twisted to the door where Eddie lounged against the old frame. “The fuck are you doin here?”

Eddie shrugged, a heavy sigh following him as he sat in the cot opposite his. “It's her birthday today… Figured that's the kinda thing that warrants a temporary truce. We're family after all.”

“You're no family of mine,” he ground out.

Dom could see the hurt in Eddie's eyes, but as always he erased it with that goddamn smirk. “Feelings mutual, big brother. But, I ain't here for you. I'm here 'cause it's what she woulda wanted.”

“She doesn't get to want anything,” Dom said. “Not anymore.”

Eddie nodded, tensely. “Well, we both seem to have conflicting opinions about whose fault that is.”

“Get the fuck out!” Dom shouted, throwing himself to his feet to grab onto Eddie's jacket and throw him out the door. “You get the fuck out before I fucking kill you!”

“Oh, we both know how much you'd like that,” Eddie spat back, laughing in Dom's face. “Sibling killer that you are.”

It took four of his bikers to hold him back while Eddie waved off his men and left with a bitter curse in Spanish. After the noise of their car had gone, the bikers let him go and Dom was out the door. He needed some air. He needed some space away from this fucking warehouse… This fucking city.

There, illuminated in the golden rays of the rising sun, Mav sat on his bike, resting her head in her hands with a wide - real smile. Dom shook his head, forcing out the angry breath he'd been holding. “It's shit like this that makes everyone think you're a bitch.”

She just shrugged, that smile never faltering. “That a no to taking a joyride?”

“I could never say no to you.”

“It's one of the few things I like about you,” she teased, sitting up as he neared. The flippant, uncaring attitude fell for a moment as she asked, “You okay?”

Dom shook his head and answered with the truth, “No.”

Sliding back on the bike seat she patted the fine leather. “Come on then, big boy. Let's go for a ride.”

“Course, Mrs…. What is it now? Scott?”

Mav rolled her eyes. “As if I'd take that old fucks last name.”

With a chuckle, he smiled at her. “That's my Mav.”

“I'm not your anything,” she argued half-heartedly. 

Dom threw his leg over the seat and settled in with her sweet smell and soft hands around his waist. He revved the engine and Mav's arms squeezed him tighter. “You'll always be my Mav.”

“Just drive the damn bike, Dom.”

“Yes, Ma'am.”

[android-anthology-hub]

A Robot and a Girl - Part 1

I've been working a lot on polishing things up for this series, including doing a full rewrite of all three chapters of the first story in this series.

So let's start things off with a bang.

You'll also be able to read this over on Fiction Press, Ao3, and Tapas.

Edit: Unfortunately, because Tumblr has somehow become even more broken, posts with certain images can't register in their tags! And Tumblr removed the ability to have line breaks without having to code them in HTML by hand a long time ago. So, unfortunately, the Tumblr version of all of these stories are going to be without those linebreaks! Which sucks! THANKS STAFF!

The stylus shifted about in D'Anna's grip as she trailed along the pages of her notebook. Her knuckles stood out against her dark skin, gold-alloy joints smoothly shifting with every curve and line. She followed along the edges of the coat in her memory. The image lay over the page before her eyes, like a digital ghost.

It had been difficult to get it out of the tower security systems. Tanu had tried to piece it together as best they could. Lines of loose code bled into the image of the man, roughing up the edges of his coat. 

But still, she sketched them in. A little flourish of her own. She kept her focus on the notebook in her hands-

The light panels overhead flickered, and the trams rumbled down the center of the corridor. The door beside her opened and shut as people moved past along the side of the transport lane.

-and the security door across the way.

Every flash and tone of the signal light ran ahead of the next wave of sound as it crashed through the corridors like a current. Passengers rode past on the transport lanes. Cargo runners raced somewhere over their heads. And people gathered at the lane crossings. The rumble of the trams faded down the corridor, the crossing gates opened, and the crowd rushed away. The signal flashed again as another wave gathered-

D'Anna glanced back and forth from her sketch to the crowd. 

-the cargo runners racing by-

There he was. Stepping right into the crowd as the lights changed-

-and the crossing gates opened. D'Anna watched as the man approached the door across the corridor. Circuits silently whirred to life in her eyes, tracking the man as he unlocked the door - scratching down the code as he punched it in - and slipped inside.

It looked like the info she'd gotten from Tanu was right on the mark-

She brushed her thumb over a name she'd written on the same page, Rosi.

She'd made a promise, and she planned to keep it…

She tucked everything away, the gates sliding shut behind her as she crossed to the other side.

-now she just had to stay on him.

D’Anna’s breath turned to fog in the cold air of the hall as she trailed her mark.

The man tugged his coat tighter against the cold, the steam of his breath glowing in the cold lighting of the panels overhead. Dark green spread across his shoulders, a stark contrast to the pale gray that wrapped his arms and waist. It wasn’t too uncommon to see on an engineer’s coat… But she could see a white synth-silk scarf poking out over his collar.

That kind of fabric wasn’t cheap. Hardly something she’d see on an engineer this far down in the city. He was owned, whether he admitted it or not. That scarf was as much a collar as a comfort, paid for by his patron. But who paid him didn’t matter-

Another door slid open with a click, the engineer more focused on pulling his data card from the lock and tucking it away than on the hall. D’Anna followed close behind him as he stepped through.

Too close. Dammit, she was too close!

The door failed to close when it should have, the engineer’s heel grinding to a halt on the concrete floor.

She had to be quick. Think of something…

D’Anna tucked her hands away in her pockets as he turned, quickly speaking up, “I’m sorry, sir. I would have announced myself sooner, but my employer prefers discretion.”

-what mattered was the job.

With a cautious frown, he looked her up and down, nervously adjusting his scarf.

If he knew she was lying, he didn’t show it. He was too twitchy for her liking��

He kept glancing at her wrap-tunic, eyeing the synth-silk with a thoughtful tug of his scarf.

Sometimes it paid to keep a few of her old things.

His voice was low and ragged, “What sort of work, ma’am?”

He waved a hand over a sensor by the door, shop tables lining the wall next to him lighting up all at once. The light was just as cold as the hall, old metal arches casting shadows along the curved ceiling of the narrow shop. A pair of mech tables formed an island in the center of the room, their mechanical arms and cables neatly folded away.

It seemed innocent enough, a mechanics shop like any other. And yet, it felt wrong. It was too clean and put together, almost like a showroom. What was it hiding?

He chuckled as he looked back at her, waving to the selection of parts that sat neatly on his table, “We can work with whatever you might need: Mechanical, Cybernetic, even Mechatronic.”

Every piece had its place like he was proud of his work. He probably was. But it wasn’t good enough. Come on. If he could just show her where he could be keeping them…

“A mech,” she said, earning a pause from the man as he looked at her more carefully. “It’s my employer’s understanding that you’re in supply.”

The engineer frowned in thought as he picked an eye from the table, the gold-alloy iris shining under the light as he turned back to her. She stared at the eye as he rolled it in his hands, thankful for her tinted glasses.

“Well, that depends,” he started, slowly turning his back. He tossed the eye behind him, inquiring over his shoulder, “What model?”

D’Anna caught it on reflex, her joints glinting in the shop lights. She did her best to ignore the gleam in his eye and the self-satisfied smile on his face. He was getting a little too curious…

“An RC-N unit,” she said, keeping her voice gentle as she set the eye back in its place on the table.

“Workhorse,” he mused. “Now why is an expensive android like you coming here? And all for a mech that’s easy to order anywhere?”

“As I said, my employer prefers discretion,” D’Anna said with a frown. “And a workhorse isn’t the only model they’re looking to get, even if you’d have to reset their cores.”

She was pushing him, but if he took the bait…

He hummed thoughtfully, striding over to the far end of the wall as he spoke, “Very well, miss…?”

“AT-S-039,” D’Anna lied, earning a chuckle from the man.

“Tower staff, hmm?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I see why your employer would wanna keep things quiet,” he said, eyeing her over his shoulder as he rummaged for his tools. “Folks up in the towers have reputations to uphold.”

“Yes, they do,” D’Anna said, her eyes scanning around the shop as she approached a tool chest embedded into the opposite wall.

“Well-” the engineer said as he came up behind her, core resetter in hand, thumb waiting on the trigger. “-you’re in luck, ma’am. I came into an RC-N unit recently.”

She heard the tell-tale click and crackle of electricity, spinning around in time to block the prongs of the resetter with her hand. Lightning arced from the three metal prongs, surging up through her arm, and into her shoulder as it threw her back. She slammed into the drawers behind her, shoulder screaming from the impact. She clutched at her arm, limp and numb from the jolt. Her hand was smoking…

“Took the shock to your arm and not your body. You’re pretty quick,” he hummed, giving the resetter another crackling click as he loomed over her. “Now, why are you here?”

She groaned as she tried to flex her fingers, “Looking for someone…”

D’Anna cried out as she slammed her arm into the drawers, shocking some sensation back into the limb.

The engineer just shook his head with a ragged chuckle, “No one else here but us. Not that it matters.”

Sparks arced across the triple prongs as he lunged for her.

One good jolt, and she’d be out like a light. She’d have to be quick.

She jabbed him in the arm - alloyed knuckles slamming into muscle - and sent the tool clattering to the floor. She surged up from her place on the ground. Her burned hand ached as another punch to the button of his chin sent him stumbling back into the mech table, head rattling.

“You…!” he sputtered, leaning against the table as his head spun.

She closed the gap in a single lunge, stepping like a boxer as she hooked an arm under his ribs. With her whole weight, she yanked him up and drove him back down onto the floor. She hauled him up by shirt and scarf, her joints whirring as she held him tight. He grabbed her wrist as he tried to stand, his feet scrambling against the floor. But she wouldn’t budge.

“You’ve got a storage space somewhere, don’t you, sir. Somewhere out of sight,” she kept her voice a soft-spoken threat, knocking his footing with a firm shake that ripped his collar.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” the engineer snapped, looking back at the tool chest embedded in the wall.

“It’s behind there, isn’t it, sir?”

She shook a yes from him before she threw him onto the floor again. She grabbed his collar and dragged him back over to the worktable, harshly propping him against its leg.

She yanked off his scarf, the man groaning as she tied his hands to the table, “W-Wait. Wait!”

“Don’t worry sir,” she dismissed him with a shake of her head. “I’m sure you’ll get yourself out in an hour-”

-maybe three, if she was being honest. But now-

D’Anna sighed and rose to her feet, her eyes scanning over the walls and floor as she approached the tool chest.

-she had a door to find.

She frowned at the wall as she looked it over, muttering under her breath, “Now, how do you open…?”

She could see the way the tool chest moved, her eyes picking up the grooves it left behind.

But she couldn’t find the lock…

She closed her eyes as she ran her hands along the sides of the chest, focusing on the contacts in her palms. As her hand trailed halfway down, she felt it, a gentle signal pinging against her palm.

“Data lock,” she hummed, feeling out the interface. She looked back at the man, still struggling against his scarf as she spoke, “Your card’s the key, isn’t it, sir.”

It wasn’t a question.

His data card wasn’t hard to find. No one’s was really…

She paused as she pulled it from his pocket, a softer green than his coat. But it was the emblem etched into the plastic circuits that caught her eye. A white oval with two flattened sides, three diamonds cut out along its center. 

She knew it well.

“Mr. Archer,” she said with a frown, curling her hands into a fist. “Now why is he funding a chop shop?”

“Wouldn’t know,” the engineer coughed, trying to get the wind back in his lungs.

“Yeah, you do,” she said, rolling her eyes as she walked away.

“Who are you?” he asked, staring at her as she looked back.

“I don’t really know myself, sir…”

She could feel the circuits firing as she tapped the card, the tool chest sliding out along the wall.

The room beyond was lined with storage stalls, five of them full. The back of the room was some kind of loading bay, the sounds of the transport lanes just beyond its rolling door. Each mech was held firmly in place with straps, their heads hanging low, without power.

D’Anna clenched her fists as she walked down the line, the lights flickering on overhead.

Just how long had he been running like this?

“Most of these are archer mechs, combat models,” she muttered to herself, frowning in thought.

She stopped at the last stall before the loading dock, running a hand over the scorched metal of the mech’s chest plate. 

They were an RC-N model, exactly who she was looking for… 

The engineer had pulled out their power cell, leaving it on a small table built into the stall. With a grunt, she pulled open their chest plate and slotted it back inside. Its circuits flickered to life as she twisted the cell into place. She could hear their systems warming up as she closed them back up.

“Rosi?” she asked, stepping back as their eyes came online, pulsing as they regarded her.

“You–” their voice box crackled. “You…know my name?”

She gave them a small smile as she undid the straps, “Somebody missed you a lot when you disappeared. Sweet lady asked me to find you.”

As the last strap came off they stepped free of the stall, arms turning and clicking in sturdy shoulder joints.

Rosi tested and flexed their hands after being bound so long, tilting their head inquisitively as they spoke, “You know Cole?”

“I’m gonna get you back to her,” D’Anna said, meeting their eyes as they studied her.

They clenched their hands at their sides, looking around at the other stalls.

“What about them? What will happen to them?” they asked, watching as she studied the other models.

“I’ve got a friend that can take them in-” she ran a hand along the chest of one of the archer mechs, their body brand new. “-I won’t leave them behind.”

“Do you mean that,” Rosi asked, towering over her as they stood at her side.

She took their hand in hers and squeezed until her nerves ached, the servos in her knuckles whining.

“I give you my word, Rosi. They’ll be safe,” she said softly.

Rosi stared at her for a long time, longer than most would be comfortable with.

It was a look that asked too many questions. A look that held thought behind it. It reminded her that even a machine like them, a workhorse, was alive.

“You surprise me,” was all Rosi said.

D’Anna gripped the hem of her coat, thumb trailing along the once white synth-silk, long since dyed red.

She looked back at them with a smile, irises glinting as she spoke, “That’s a good thing, Rosi, thank you…” she rubbed her hands together with a small chuckle, “Now, let’s get the rest of ‘em online, shall we?”

The Gardens were always warm, humidity dripping from the solar shaft’s machinery. Greenery grew along the walls, vibrant in the sunlight that spilled in from above.

The air rushed past D’Anna as the corridors of the city opened up into the Gardens’ wide open spaces, sunlight glinting off her glasses. She shaded her eyes as she let her circuits adjust to the natural light.

“So it’s morning already?” she muttered to herself, knocking her glasses up as she kneaded at her brow.

She would never get used to seeing so much growth outside the Towers. Vines and branches wound their way around metal and concrete, cleaning the air for the rest of the city. But that wasn’t all it did.

She could see people tending gardens mounted on the walls, picking fruits and leaves that thrived in the sunlight. Flowers bloomed in planters along the path she was walking, an absolute riot of color. She could see traders setting out their wares, gardeners gathering their harvest, and engineers readying their equipment.

“Looks like a smuggler drop’s coming,” D’Anna hummed, glancing up at Rosi beside her.

Rosi gave a sage nod, then tilted their head in confusion as they spoke, “Smuggler drop?”

She nodded towards the massive airshaft that dominated the space, climbing towards open sky.

“You’ll see,” she said. “We should hurry, we don’t want to get in the way, trust me.”

They looked back to their fellow mechs, the other four giving Rosi a questioning look. And Rosi just splayed their hands in a small, helpless, gesture.

D’Anna frowned in thought as she looked around, circuits whirring as her eyes scanned around the space. She let out a soft sigh as she found what she was looking for, a yellow diamond marked on the nearby wall. She laid a hand over the marker, the paint still pretty new, and turned till she found the next.

This wasn’t where the path was last time she was here… She’d have to ask about that later.

She waved for Rosi and the others to follow, tucking her hands away as her eyes traced from one diamond to the next. The gardens continued to hum with activity. The tension building to an event she knew all too well. She continued to follow the trail, her eyes scanning about

Her eyes scanned about, racing along the trail until she found a familiar sight. Hidden in the branches and vines was an alcove, a small door marked with that same golden yellow beckoning her. She could hear the rumbling overhead, the electric hum of engines.

Bell tones rang out all around the shaft as several aerial craft started their descent. Their atmo-drivers whipped the wind into a frenzy as they hovered. Men and women barked orders, machines creaked and groaned, landing pads sliding out from where they’d been hidden amongst the green.

A young woman’s voice crackled out all around the Gardens, “Starting the clock, ninety minutes.”

The crews clicked on their watches, small screens flickering to life. And all counted down-

-90-

The moment a craft landed, the smuggler crews went to work, opening panels and pulling their contraband from their hiding places.

-87-

Others opened their cargo bays as they descended, barkers leaning out to announce their wares.

-81-

Mechanics raced out to meet them, trading work for whatever they had to offer.

-counting down the small window till sector security took notice.

D’Anna flashed a small smile as she watched everyone go to work, bringing goods to trade and sell.

Before she came here, she had never seen anything quite like it. She’d hated the chaos back then, but now she could see the beauty in it. The people here were full of life, brimming with ideas. Now, she could hardly imagine any other sight that brought a smile to her face quite like this.

She turned to Rosi and the others, one hand still in her coat pocket while the other tapped against the door.

“That-” she said with a nod to the organized chaos around them. “-is a smuggler drop.”

Himari was probably hard at work already.

[starfirette]

LOVED living a lie! I need to see a part two where reader finally has the family she’s always wanted with someone else and Bruce is forced to watch through pictures she sends Alfred who shows Bruce. Kind of based on that Taylor swift song Last Kiss. I want the angst to leave me heartbroken. If you can’t and you have something else in mind that is totally fine 😊

He was a lonely, little boy, waiting for his schoolyard playmate to return

♥️ Clark Kent x Former! Batgirl Reader + Bruce Wayne x Ex Wife! Reader | angst | short AF | Gotham is in Illinois I guess | Bruce done fucked up | happy ending! But not for Bruce

♥️I don't even know what to say other than this is at least five months overdue 😶 welcome to the renaissance...?

♥️part two of Living A Lie | masterlist | requests CLOSED | I will never apologize for Tom Welling! Clark Kent being the only valid Clark Kent 🥹 but I guess technically it can be whatever Clark Kent you want; this post was queued at 1:30 because Star is a dumbass and doesn't ever sleep even when she had class!!!!! EDIT: I just reread the first part. Bruce and Y/n were engaged 😶not married. So I'm going to make a quick edit to the first chapter and if you remember that mistake, no you don't

Mr Pennyworth was a former MI agent, and this fact might have attested for him being a remarkable liar.

Even to Master Bruce.

It was easy to say that he wasn't sure what Mistress Y/n was up to when Bruce mustered up the courage to ask, his shoulders rounded at the edges like the worn cover of a hardback book. But hardback books were typically worn because they were loved; Bruce was worn because he had no love.

The divorce had been finalized for at least an entire year, now. The state of Illinois requires that a couple has irreconcilable differences before divorcing, and any couple who has been separated for at least six months already is assumed to be in the daunting face of irreconcilable differences. The easy part about this was that Mistress Y/n could say that she wanted children and Master Bruce didn't: that was a difference that was irreconcilable by nature. Pepper in the fact that she had caught him in a compromising position and she had been granted her divorce exactly nine months and seven days after she'd left the gala in tears with the vague feeling her whole world on the verge of collapse.

Mr Pennyworth was a liar because he knew what Mistress Y/n was up to-and he didn't call her Mistress anymore. He called her Y/n, or Miss, because some things never change.

While Bruce had always been like the dark side of the moon, Y/n had been transformed into the sun. She'd gained weight: her face was plump and her tummy had rounded out.

Her eyes were alight with a new regard for life.

And her hand was typically intertwined with a man's. One man.

He was taller than Bruce; perhaps his shoulders were somewhat wider, and his eyes a starkly deeper blue. His hair was curly and dark, and he regarded you with a love so strong it made even Alfred’s heart sing.

So, Mr Pennyworth was a liar because he knew exactly what “Mistress Y/n” was up to. She was celebrating with her friends the unexpected pregnancy she'd tested positive for after two years, eight months, and twelve days.

There was nothing bittersweet about it. Alfred loved Bruce deeply, like his own child, but he could see where Bruce had greatly fumbled the ball.

No, there was nothing bittersweet about this pregnancy.

Alfred had been aware of everything Y/n was up to because she stayed in contact with him. Sometimes the two met for lunch in Star City. He was family to her and she didn't have much of that, so how could he break such ties for Master Bruce’s sake? He couldn't. That's how.

Even though he loved Bruce so dearly-like his own flesh and blood!-he wouldn't resign himself to forfeiting a relationship with a dear friend.

If he loved Bruce like a son, then Y/n was certainly his daughter.

He knew that Y/n was shocked at the sudden pregnancy. He knew that she had been frightened at first-too frightened to tell her boyfriend. She had gone to Alfred first, afterall. She was on the cusp of tears; she tried so hard to stay composed on the line.

Like a father would, Alfred had calmed Y/n down; soothed her, gave her encouragement, and convinced her to tell her boyfriend.

The man in question was over the moon with happiness. Not that Alfred had any doubts in the matter. He had suspected the man in question would be rather happy.

It was just a few days later that Y/n informed Alfred she was now engaged, just for tradition’s sake.

There was a lovely little engagement party, and then a small, Metropolis courthouse wedding ceremony where Alfred had been Y/n’s witness. She wore a lovely, knee length white dress with a net wedding veil. She wore baby blue, wrist length velvet gloves, which had actually belonged to Alfred’s late wife. That was her something borrowed and something blue.

The groom bore a stunning black suit, with his curly hair swept back and a pair of thick, black glasses sitting on his nose.

Y/n had briefly been an L/n once more, but she looked her happiest when she was officially declared a Kent. It didn't seem to matter that the wedding was rushed. Alfred had a suspicion that this engagement had been a one sided plan for a few months, now; judging from the way Clark had heartily shaken hands with Alfred while sweating up and down to keep her happy , Alfred could just tell that he'd been planning this for a little while longer than he was letting on. From the calculated respect you both regarded the other with, to the mutual love and adoration, it was easy to see that you had found your true love.

Upon the conclusion of the ceremony, the wedding party loitered on the courthouse steps with the groom conversing happily with his witness while Y/n and her own did the same.

“Won't you stay a little while?” Y/n asked Alfred. She had plucked the hair pins out of her head, removing the net veil and moving her hair back into standard position. “I miss you.”

Alfred kissed the top of Y/n’s head.

She didn't know that he missed her, too; very greatly. Alfred would never tell her that her presence in the manor had always been reassuring. She had been, for lack of a better term, his security blanket. She had kept Bruce happy and well grounded. Alfred had unfortunately become dependent on her for that sense of ease.

Guilt often chewed him away for this.

Bruce’s well-being was pinned on her for a long time, and now that she was gone? Alfred worried for his master.

However, that isn't the only reason he misses seeing you prance happily around like a child in big girl clothes.

Truth be told, Alfred tended to see children when he looked at both you and Bruce. A little girl with her boy, dragging him around and playing happily while he pretended he didn't like it--but he actually did.

Where had the time gone?

Looking at you now, in your vintage wedding gown on the steps of the courthouse, he sees a child still. So wide eyed and happy spirited. You'd always be this way. Always.

“I miss you, too,” Alfred told her. “I'm never far away. Is a forty five minute drive too much for you to bear?”

Y/n rolled her eyes with faux contempt. “I suppose not. But it's forty five minutes both ways! Oh.” She started to pull the gloves off by the fingers when she remembered them.

Alfred stopped her. “Keep them,” he implored her. “I want one of my children to have family heirlooms.”

Struck by sudden emotion, Y/n’s smile fell into a quivering pucker of lips as she hugged Alfred tight. “I love you.”

Alfred kissed her hair one more time. “I love you, too.”

Mr Pennyworth would lie that evening when he returned home. Given that he'd been asleep all day, Master Bruce was none the wiser of Alfred’s trip to the city.

Home was home, still.

The manor was the same as it had always been and likely always would be.

He trekked up the staircase to awaken his master-the one child he still had to worry about.

“Long day, Alfred?” Bruce asked in a thick, tired voice as he slowly peeled out of his bed. His torso was beaten; ghastly swollen and painted with thick, scabbed over gashes.

Mr Pennyworth helped Bruce into a button down shirt.

“Not at all, sir,” Mr Pennyworth said. “Mistress Al Ghul has left a message for you, sir, something regarding the usual issue. Shall I call her?”

Bruce waved a hand. “No,” he groaned. “I’ll…do something. Any other messages?”

“None, sir.”

“None?”

“You heard me correctly, sir. Shall I prepare a meal?”

“Breakfast sounds lovely.”

“Does dinner for a human qualify as breakfast for a bat, sir?” Mr Pennyworth quipped.

“I should think so,” Bruce muttered.

“Very well,” Mr Pennyworth confirmed with a nod. He made a turn out of the room before glancing back to Bruce to ask one more question.

A little boy with weary eyes and an oversized shirt hunched his shoulders. "When will Y/n come back to play?” the boy asked in a soft voice.

Mr Pennyworth’s earlier question was long forgotten as his mouth went dry. “...Pardon me, sir?” Mr Pennyworth said as he feigned absence of a belly ache.

It took only a blink for Alfred to see Bruce's tre self: grown and hunched at the shoulders, buttoning up his shirt as he tried to appear neutral. “Have you heard from Y/n recently?” Bruce repeated.

Mr Pennyworth weighed his options in half a second. Y/bwouldn't be angry for Bruce to know the truth-it wasn't Y/n's sake he was keeping things a secret for, however. Unlike Bruce, Y/n was understanding. She would have been just fine to know what Bruce had been up to. But Bruce was rash. He was quick to judge, whether in others or on himself. It's that reason that Mr Pennyworth suavely replied, "I have not, sir. Did you require anything else?”

Defeat echoed in Bruce's eyes. “That's all,” he said.

He was a lonely, little boy, waiting for his schoolyard playmate to return and drag him around. But she never would.

That's one thing Alfred would never lie about.

[bayofwolves]

The Return — King (Revised)

You guys know about Path of the Heroes. (Probably. it's the name of an original fourth Spirit Animals arc I'm writing.) But what you might not know is that another part of the project is to take the existing three arcs and rewrite them. Not entirely, but tweaking and modifying for continuity's sake. There are some pretty big canonical divergences in Path of the Heroes (Shane is alive, for one), and since my writing starts after canon has ended, I have some explaining to do.

This may take ages, but that's okay. Since the original course of events stays mostly the same, I can easily just do rewrites of pivotal chapters for now.

Such as this one.

I completed this a while back in the summer. I guess I just never posted it, despite being so proud! This is the last chapter of The Return, where we get the long-awaited reveal of who the mysterious Redcloak is. Personally, I wish the author had given this chapter to Abeke instead of Rollan. I needed to see what was going on in her head! That was really what motivated me to redo this one.

This sets things up for the next development of Abeke and Shane's relationship. From the moment the Greencloaks get on the ship at the end of The Return to the climax of the final battle in The Burning Tide, the two inadvertently end up in the same vicinity, leading to some talks and growth in their relationship. They're healing. Abeke hasn't forgiven him yet, but she's noticing more and more how he's changed for the better.

But I'm getting ahead of myself. For now, here's the rewritten final chapter of The Return!

Content warning for themes of suicidal ideation and dissociation.

Quick notes:

The title of this chapter has been changed from 'Redcloaks' to 'King'.

Shane and Tasha are cousins, which is mentioned here. Shane's mother, Queen Gwyneth, had two siblings; Tasha is the daughter of her brother. Thus, with Drina deceased, Shane missing and Gar leaving no children, Tasha is set to take the throne of Stetriol. There's a lot more to this, but I'll go into it some other time.

This is not the final cut -- this chapter will receive some more edits before being fully published as part of the rewrite. Think of it as a sneak peek.

Okay, enough preamble. Read it under the cut!

Spirit Animals: Fall of the Beasts

Book 3: The Return

Chapter X — King

.𖥔 ݁ ˖☾𖤓☽.𖥔 ݁ ˖

The chill wind that rose from the sea seeped into Abeke's bones. She shivered and pulled her cloak more tightly around her shoulders, but made no move to leave her spot at the ship's rail. Her gaze, fixed on the fading shape of Zourtzi in the distance, remained unbroken.

She felt hollow. She had no desire to move, to speak, even to think. She doubted she would be able to if she tried. It took all that remained of her willpower to draw in shallow breath after shallow breath. All the life had been drained out of her, the very moment Zerif's black spiral had begun to pulse on Uraza's brow. So there she stood, watching the conquered fortress grow smaller.

Perhaps the tears would come later. So far, she didn't have it in her to cry.

The absence of Uraza was like a wound, the ugliest wound she'd ever been dealt, throbbing with every dismal beat of her heart.

She was so lost.

So alone.

Abeke brought shaking hands up to her eyes and pushed until she saw stars. She willed her heart to simply stop. What life was worth living without her spirit animal?

Soft footsteps sounded behind her. Abeke didn't need to look up to tell that it was Rollan. She knew his footfalls, his voice, his face, even better than she knew her own.

She didn't turn as her friend walked over to her, his steps measured and unsure. It was unlike him to move so carefully around her, Abeke thought. She could feel the pity radiating from him without even seeing his face. It all made Abeke want to jump over the side of the ship.

Rollan made no sound when he reached her side, only wrapped an arm around her shoulder. At the contact, a little warmth bloomed through Abeke's body. It almost brought tears to her eyes.

"How are you doing?" Rollan spoke. Concern was etched into the familiar curves of his face. Abeke wanted to lose herself there, in the steadying weight of his brown eyes, but she couldn't hold his gaze. She glanced away.

"Empty." The sun-tipped waves of the sea rolled below them. Abeke found strange solace in their neverending flow. "Lost. Alone." Her voice didn't sound like her own. It was as if someone else was commanding her body, as the real Abeke hovered above and watched everything play out. Like a ghost.

Rollan was silent for a moment, before he spun her towards him and pulled her into a tight hug. Abeke let herself be pulled and positioned in his arms, like a doll. But as the hug stretched out, she felt the sheet of ice that covered her heart begin to melt away.

"You're not alone," Rollan mumbled into her neck. Abeke dropped her head to his shoulder and hugged him back with all the strength she had left.

When they finally pulled back, Rollan's eyes were wet. Abeke's own throat had started to close, so much so that she didn't trust herself with words. She returned to leaning over the rail, but this time, her arm brushed Rollan's.

"She was there, and then in the space of a heartbeat, she was gone," Abeke recounted. She lifted her eyes to the smoke rising from Zourtzi – the last place she had seen Uraza. "She looked at me like I was a stranger. It was as if our bond had never existed." Abeke forced herself to keep her eyes on the horizon. She knew that as soon as she closed them, she'd see nothing but the moment Uraza leaped for her throat, replaying over and over.

"We'll get her back," Rollan said fiercely. "I promise."

Turning her head, Abeke regarded her friend through a film of tears. The love and worry in his expression was almost overwhelming.

Abeke sniffed and swiped at her face before the tears could fall. She didn't know how to respond – couldn't – but Rollan seemed to understand, like he always did. They stood side by side in the silence Abeke needed.

Awkward footfalls met her ears not long after, and Abeke felt Rollan turn through their connected arms. "Hey," came Tasha's voice. Her dark hair and green cloak came into Abeke's peripheral vision as the younger girl stopped at her other side.

"How's Kirat?" Rollan asked softly over Abeke's head.

"Fine," Tasha murmured back. "The Redcloak medic is tending to him." The exchange fizzled out, and Abeke soon felt the weight of both her friends' gazes.

Abeke blinked down at Tasha's brown hand, covering her own on the rail. When had that gotten there? "Abeke," the Stetriolan girl was saying. Unlike Rollan, who was always in sharp focus, her voice seemed to come from a long way off. "We're here for you."

Abeke pulled her head to the side. It was all too much.

A third set of footfalls sounded on the deck behind the three. Two short steps, strong and curt.

Curiosity compelled Abeke to look. As one, the three Greencloaks turned to take in the newcomer.

It was the Redcloak.

Abeke's eyes flicked over his sweeping scarlet cloak, his black leathers, the smooth wood of his mask. She had seen plenty of Redcloaks, even on this ship, but only one wore a mask so strange. Only one of them had no face.

Some of the fog that had settled over her body since Uraza was taken seemed to lift. Who really was this mysterious warrior that had saved them time and time again?

Something deep in her heart told her she already knew.

"Is everyone in your party all right?" the Redcloak asked. His voice was deep and raspy, almost reptilian in quality. Abeke tried to compare it to the voice she remembered from her past, the voice that still sometimes spoke in her dreams, but recognized nothing.

She realized after a moment that his gaze hadn't strayed from her.

"We'll survive," Rollan said for all of them. His voice rang clear in her ears. She glanced to either side of her, noticing the wariness in Rollan's face and the way Tasha nervously clung to her wrist. "Now, how about explaining what's going on here? I think it's about time for some answers."

The Redcloak tipped his head to one side as he considered Rollan, his oddly pale eyes glinting under his mask. "Soon," he said simply. "Be patient. We're taking you somewhere safe."

"Yeah, and where is that?" Rollan countered, bitterness lacing his words. "If you haven't noticed, nowhere is safe anymore. Zerif can get to us anywhere. In Zourtzi, in Stetriol and even at Greenhaven."

Tasha drooped beside her. A distant part of Abeke wanted to comfort her, but what comfort could she give?

Strangely, the Redcloak seemed to droop as well. "So the rumours are true," he said with a sigh. "Greenhaven has fallen as well."

There was something so intrinsically familiar about his stance, his speech, his whole bearing. Abeke had mulled this over for many nights, but now, with him standing a mere ten feet away, she felt everything in her threaten to spill out. Her heart ached, and she had the strangest urge to reach for him. Could it really be him? After so long?

The masked figure stared out to sea for a brief moment. "You should rest. There are more battles to come."

Then he turned and made to stride away. With her heart in her throat, Abeke pushed away from her friends and staggered forward. "Wait," she called hoarsely. "At least tell us your name."

The Redcloak turned around and fixed Abeke with his uncanny eyes.

"You've saved our lives again and again." The pounding of her heart was deafening. She could barely hear herself over it. She stepped forward again, then gripped onto Rollan's shoulder for support; he had hurried to her side. "Tell us who you are," she repeated, "so that we might thank you properly."

The Redcloak hesitated. "I'm called King," he said at last. Was it her imagination, or had his posture softened a touch? "I am the leader of the Redcloaks."

King. A hush fell over Abeke's mind. King.

As he watched her with wide eyes, Abeke heard Tasha speak from behind her. "Thank you," she said quietly. "We are forever in your debt."

King only spared a glance to acknowledge her. He tilted his chin again, then moved to walk away once more.

Abeke watched as he stopped still, his back to them. She watched him slowly turn back around. And with her heart thundering in her ears, she watched him fix his eyes on her.

His next words came soft, low. "I used to be known by another name."

Not of her own volition, Abeke found herself shaking her head from side to side. No. No.

The Redcloak drew back his hood, revealing light blond hair. Then he reached behind his head and unfastened his mask. "You knew me as Shane."

The mask fell away.

Abeke couldn't breathe. Couldn't move. She didn't react to Rollan's gasp of shock and Tasha's startled cry of "Cousin?" Her surroundings melted into waxy darkness. All she saw before her was Shane.

Though it was unmistakably him, the boy she used to know was barely recognizable. His normally tanned skin was pale, like he hadn't seen the sun in months. Knobbly green ridges had replaced his eyebrows, giving him a fearsome, monstrous look. Worst of all were his eyes. Gone was the keen blue stare that Abeke remembered so well. Instead, she was met with glowing, reptilian yellow-green. They were twice as large as they should have been, and bordered by pebbled scales. Slitted pupils stood out at their centres, holding her captive. A shudder of revulsion rolled over her.

"What happened to you?" Rollan's voice came in a horrified whisper.

Abeke hardly registered the words. Her breathing was coming in ragged gasps, and she felt the prickle of sweat all over her body. Her hands were already slick with it. She clenched them into tight fists, ignoring the way they trembled.

Of course.

It was him all along.

He and his Redcloaks had fought for them in their every hour of need – but now they were at their mercy. They were still in the dark about their motives, and now they were surrounded by them. Abeke's heart seized with panic. Her thoughts flew to Tasha, Shane's rival for the throne, and Kirat, belowdecks with the rest of the Redcloaks. Would they be safe with Shane? What if his only reason for helping them was a twisted desire to collect the newly reborn Great Beasts for himself?

The memory of the mysterious red-cloaked figure coming to her defense in Amaya sprang into her mind. He had saved her life from Arax. In Zourtzi, too, he had protected her from Zerif. Was it possible he still cared for her?

Abeke swiftly banished those thoughts from her mind. Shane was the enemy. He would always be the enemy. And this reveal was proof he would never stop lying.

I'm called King. Abeke shook with barely repressed tension as she remembered his words. An image of Shane with the Devourer's crown atop his head and a wicked smile on his face flashed through her memory. I am the leader of the Redcloaks. She saw him at the head of the Conqueror army at Muttering Rock, almost obscured by their black masses, seated astride his giant crocodile. How did she not see it before? How could she be so foolish?

She knew who the Redcloaks were.

They were enemies.

Shane's eerie eyes bored into her. Abeke recognized them now as crocodilian. How could she believe, even for a moment, that he might have wanted to change for the better? The symbol of his betrayal was branded over his once-handsome face.

But Shane wasn't the only one who was different now.

Abeke was done taking chances.

And she had nothing more to lose.

Whipping the bow off her back in one swift motion, Abeke brought an arrow to the string and pointed it straight at her former friend's heart.

The world came back into startling clarity the moment she did so. She heard a scream from Tasha, heard Rollan clap his hand around the girl’s wrist to hold her at bay. Abeke kept her eyes locked with Shane's. Was it the rocking of the ship that was causing her aim to waver?

"I had hoped it wasn't you," she rasped. "I had hoped you weren't tricking me again."

Shane was silent, slowly bringing his clawed hands up.

"Abeke, he just saved our lives," Tasha said urgently. "Maybe we should –"

Abeke stared at her in blind fury. "Do you know the last time Shane saved my life?" she snapped. "He used it as a way to sneak into Greenhaven and betray us. He used me. I was nothing but a tool to him." Tasha recoiled in the face of her anger, eyes wide with shock. Guilt flickered through Abeke, but she had no time to apologize. Resolutely, she turned her attention back to Shane and tightened her hand around her bow. "It'll be no different now."

"That's not true," Shane protested, with such force behind his words that it surprised her. "You were never a tool to me." His raised hands lowered and spread in a pleading gesture. "Much has changed since we last spoke openly… as I'm sure is obvious. Everything I've done with this mask, this cloak, this name, was not to deceive you, but to start anew and atone for my mistakes."

Abeke tilted her head to the side, steeling herself. She wouldn't let Shane's honeyed words ensnare her again. She was past this. She was stronger than this.

Her sweaty hands were making it hard to keep a firm grip on her bow. Could she shoot him, here and now? Did she have it in her?

With every passing second, she was less and less sure.

Behind her, she heard the worried voices of Rollan and Tasha. They were calling her name, trying to summon her out of her trance. It reminded her painfully of the last time she'd confronted Shane – the duel they'd fought in front of Kovo's empty prison. That time, too, she hadn't been able to finish him off. Something almost like instinct wouldn't allow her to.

She felt it now, some deep force within her, causing her arrowhead to tremble as she looked into the haunting face of her former friend. She let out a short scream, hoping to dispel some of her rage and pain. Sudden tears obscured her vision. "Give me one good reason why I should trust you," she challenged. Her voice came out raw and broken.

Shane stared at her for a long moment, and though it was impossible to read any emotion in those slitted eyes, Abeke thought she sensed immense sadness from him. "Let me speak plainly. The end is near."

Abeke gave a wry, husky laugh. Indeed, Erdas must be in her final days for the two of them to reforge an alliance.

"I know this is difficult, but I need you to trust me. To trust us," the boy said gravely. "There's something you need to see. It may be the key to saving Erdas, and perhaps the key to saving Uraza as well."

Abeke's eyes widened in shock. Hesitantly, she lowered her bow a few inches.

Shane wanted to help Uraza?

His slitted yellow-green eyes tracked her movement, unreadable, before they returned to hers. Something almost like hope lit his face. "Give me this chance, and I promise you, I won't let you down."

Abeke considered him for a long moment. Once, Shane had been a friend to her, a steady comfort even across opposite sides of the war. He had traded that all away for victory, using her as a pawn in his schemes before tossing her aside. He had made promises, and he had broken them. But now he stood before her, after saving her and her friends so many times, with a vow to save her spirit animal as well. Abeke looked at his changed appearance and felt horror. But now, she wondered if a better change was brimming below the surface.

Her bow fell to her side as the fight suddenly went out of her. She stared blankly at it for a moment, then took the arrow from the string and slipped it back into her quiver. She had thought about shooting it across the waves to release some of her tension, but decided against it. No need to waste an arrow. After all, she thought, turning dark eyes up at Shane, there are more battles to come.

She would place her trust in him for now. But for the sake of her friends, for Rollan, for the children they were tasked with protecting, she would be on her guard.

Slinging her bow over one shoulder, Abeke glanced over to Rollan and Tasha. Rollan, who knew her so well, must have read something in her hollow gaze that she herself was oblivious to. He was at her side in a heartbeat, touching her hand with his. Tasha followed in his wake, putting a hand on Abeke’s shoulder with more uncertainty. Abeke stood still with them for a moment, surrendering the worst of her pain and anger to the ocean wind. Surrounded by the best things she had left in her life, she could breathe.

Abeke looked down at her friends, giving them a weighty nod. Tasha returned it, then Rollan. They were with her. They would face this together. The thought renewed her strength.

With a deep breath, Abeke locked determined eyes with Shane. "Where to?" she asked.

Shane took a step forward and looked out across the water. "We sail for the Place of Desolation."

[elizaviento]

Green on the Vine — Strawberry Wine (Part 9 of ?)

(Stardew Valley — Shane/Female Farmer/OC)

This chapter is rated NSFW — 6676 words. Blow job, face fucking, vaginal sex, and a disgusting dose of feely feels.

Note: Whew, another long boy chapter. This one beats the last by over 1500 words and that's after I cut out a lot of the fat while editing. Anyway, here be more smut that's sappier than molasses. I really hope it's worth it!

(FYI: Additional chapters of Green on the Vine — Strawberry Wine can be found in the Stardew Valley Fic Masterpost link in my blog description.  Or, you can click the #green on the vine strawberry wine tag in this post, within my blog, to access all additional chapters.)

*****

Kristen awoke with a start, acutely aware that she wasn't in her uncomfortable bed nor the farmhouse, and the weight settled across her chest wasn't her cat, Moody. Disorientation rendered her useless for approximately half a second before the events of the following night flashed behind her lids, a menagerie of mental photographs featuring Shane's head buried between her thighs. Slick black hair and piercing green eyes staring up at her as if she were the center of the universe. Then, the sensations — his soft, warm tongue lavishing as if he were a starving man and her pussy was his only sustenance.

He'd been outstanding. Not that Kristen thought he wouldn't have been, but the way he worked her over with his tongue and fingers had her wailing in ways she hadn't for literal years. Nothing her imagination had conjured up thus far had come close, even in her wildest fantasies of hate screwing the man who told her to fuck off on a regular basis in the early days.

Shifting slightly, she opened her eyes and rolled her head to the side. Splinters of sunlight pierced the cracks in the curtains, splashing slices of gold across the hardwood. Shane was beside her, lying face down with one arm slung across her chest. His nose and mouth seemed mashed directly into the pillow, and she wondered how he could breathe.

You're still naked. And he's not…

Kristen hazily recalled Shane stripping down to his boxer briefs and a plain white t-shirt before he rolled her like a ball of dough toward the wall. Exhaustion had settled over her so heavily that she couldn't keep her eyes open, even as he crawled in beside her, and she nestled herself under his arm like a baby bird seeking shelter under its mother's wing in a storm.

Things had felt so comfortable then. She'd held no reservations about their conversations or the fun they'd had afterward when she'd drifted off into a dreamless, almost coma-like sleep. But now, the clarity that comes with a morning sunrise was plucking at her brain, digging its talons into the soft meat, making her wonder if she'd finally pressured the man beside her into relenting after two long years of wearing him down like metal to a grindstone.

Was he really as enthusiastic as you remember, or are you trying to compensate for dumping all your emotional baggage on him while he was under the influence?

Kristen scrubbed at her eyes with her good hand, the throbbing in her injured hand becoming harder and harder to ignore. In the throes of passion, a heady dose of endorphins had erased any remnants of pain. But that had worn off long ago, and she hated herself for not carrying the painkillers with her.

With a muted sigh, the farmer wiggled from under her companion's arm and slipped from the foot of the bed. Her clothes littered the small room — jeans in a pile on the floor next to the closet, tank top spilling from the nightstand, bra draped over the old game console on the floor in front of the box television. She picked up each article one by one until she was forced to drop on her hands and knees and check under the bed for her missing panties.

"Hey," a throaty voice greeted her from above. Her head jerked up and smashed against the metal frame with an audible crack. "Shit, are you okay?"

The shift in his tone from sleep-addled to horrified was so quick that Kristen giggled nervously in response, slipping from under the bed with the bundle of clothes clutched to her bare chest. Shane's face hovered over the lip of the mattress, eyes wide.

"Uh, where's my underwear?" she asked, heat already prickling her cheeks. She cupped the back of her skull gingerly, a lump already forming. 

"In the corner, I think."

He pointed toward a darkly obscured nook behind his bedroom door. Kristen could just make out the purple hue of the fabric as she awkwardly stood and shuffled to retrieve them. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw that Shane had rolled over so that he was lying flat on his back, eyes glued to the ceiling. He was obviously trying to give her a semblance of privacy so that she could get dressed without feeling gawked at, which she appreciated.

"So. Last night —" she began once she was fully dressed, smoothing her hands over her chaotic curls in an attempt to tame them.

"Last night," he repeated as if in agreement. He sat upright, swung his legs over the edge of the mattress, head hung low, and scrubbed a hand across his neck. Kristen felt he was still avoiding looking at her, creating a pocket of tension between them. The last thing she wanted was for her to leave this bedroom with even a smidge of uncertainty clouding the intimate moment they'd shared.

The faint sound of footsteps somewhere else in the ranch caused Shane to physically tense, and Kristen sucked in an anxious breath. She'd checked the time while gathering her clothes and was shocked they'd slept uninterrupted until mid-morning. The thought of Marnie or even Jas bursting through the door unannounced caused her stomach to roll, and she moved to sit next to Shane on the mattress.

"Don't worry; the door's locked. But she might knock soon."

"I'm not worried," Kristen lied. Several inches separated them, and she had the urge to close the gap and wrap her entire body around his like a needy koala. "Any regrets?"

He looked at her then, his expression open but also a bit perplexed. "Why would I have regrets?"

His answering question was so sincere that an immediate sting assaulted the farmer's sinuses and the back of her eyeballs; a sob lodged in her chest so deep that she sucked in a ragged breath to shove it back down to the debts of her soul. Without further debate, she did close the gap until their thighs touched, and she hooked her arm through his, seeking his hand and threading their fingers together as if they were made of the same cloth.

"You were amazing," she breathed, pressing her lips to the shell of his ear. The boldness that had overcome her the previous night had returned with renewed vigor, and she harnessed it like a wild mare. "I haven't had an orgasm that intense in… fuck, I don't remember."

Her intention was to stroke his ego. Make him believe she was enamored and not about to disappear in a puff of smoke after obtaining her prize. But her words were also as honest as anything she'd ever spoken in her life.

"Kriss." His voice was strained, and his grip on her hand tightened. "Please don't get me hard while my goddaughter is probably eating breakfast in the kitchen."

"Sorry," she snickered before capturing his earlobe between her teeth. He groaned, and she smiled wolfishly against his flesh, a sensual sense of pride lapping over her like warm ocean waves in the midst of a summer storm. "I owe you, though. Can you come over later?"

He forcefully exhaled through his nose and placed his free hand on her thigh. Several more footsteps could be heard, closer now, pattering on the hardwood. It occurred to Kristen then that there was no way she could escape the ranch without being noticed.

"Yeah," he finally replied. "I'll stop by Joja, too, to get… um."

"Condoms? I can't wait." She pressed a kiss to his stubbled cheek, rubbing her lips across it lightly. Again, she wondered where this brazen confidence was coming from and decided to ruminate on it during her walk home. Right now, she'd rather drop dead than ruin the mood. "I'm dying to feel you inside me."

"I hate you," he groaned, wiggling away from her to stand and stiffly pace the floor of his room. Kristen's eyes immediately homed in on the tent in his boxer briefs and struggled with the urge to rip them down and swallow him whole right then and there.

"I know." She stood, stepped toward him, and wrapped him in her arms. And for the first time, he hugged her back. Despite everything that had transpired between them the night before, she considered this her most triumphant victory. "I'll face the firing squad on my own. Just stay here until I'm gone."

Catching her drift, Shane sat back down on his bed and scratched at his scalp while the farmer took a deep breath, unlocked the bedroom, and tip-toed down the hallway.

"But Aunt Marnie! If we get another kitty, that'll make 4, and that's an even number!"

The little girl's pleading cut through the shuffling of plates and silverware as the farmer attempted to sneak past the open kitchen.

"Let me guess, Miss Penny is teaching you and Vincent about evens and odds?" Marnie asked, her back now turned from the foyer separating the kitchen from the shop counter as she dug around in the open refrigerator. The farmer eyed the front door as if she could bore a hole in it with her glare, wondering if she could somehow phase through existence long enough for her to reemerge on the other side.

"Yeah! And she said — oh, hello, Miss Krissy! What are you doing here? Do you wanna eat pancakes with me?"

The farmer stopped mid-stride, like a statue frozen in time. Jas sat at the kitchen table, her large eyes wide with excitement, while Marnie swiftly turned from the fridge and dropped the carton of orange juice she'd been pulling from the shelf. Of course, it exploded in a lake of sticky liquid across the tile.

"Krissy! You scared the life out of me!" Marnie exclaimed as she frantically pulled a towel from the oven handle and dropped it on the mess at her feet. "I didn't even hear you come in!"

"She was walking down the hallway," Jas cut in, raising one sassy little finger to punctuate her fact.

Marnie had stooped to sop up the ruined juice but snapped her head upward and locked her eyes with the farmer, realization dawning on the woman's face faster than Kristen could scramble for an alternate explanation.

"Oh — oh! " she exclaimed, a wry smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. "Well, okay. We do have plenty if you're hungry, dear."

"Uh. No, I think I'm fine for now, thank you," Kristen replied. Marnie's eyes rolled toward the farmer's bandaged hand next, and Kristen could practically see the gears turning in her head.

"How's your hand? Shane was helping you take care of it, right? He did a good job with the bandage," Marnie said, nodding her head slowly as if to coax a specific response. Jas sat facing away from her, completely unaware of the silent exchange between the two grown women in the room.

"Yes!" Kristen practically yelled, clutching the lifesaver Marnie had tossed. "He took very good care of me."

"That's wonderful," Marnie replied. She'd finished cleaning up the spilled juice and resumed preparing a plate of pancakes for Jas, seemingly unphased by Kristen's tangible humiliation.

"Uncle Shane can be really nice when he wants to be," Jas interjected. She glanced back at Marnie just in time for the woman to place her breakfast in front of her on the table, a sweet smile adorning her pretty face. "But only to people he likes."

Kristen shook her head in agreement, suddenly dumbstruck by how effortless it had been for Marnie to swoop in and salvage a catastrophically awkward situation. She promised to thank the woman privately if she ever gathered the nerve.

"Have a good day, dear. Don't be a stranger," Marnie said with a subtle wink as the farmer pulled open the front door, delivering a parting wave to Jas while the little girl enthusiastically stuffed her face.

❦❧🍓❦❧

The walk back home was spent with the farmer ruminating on her behavior the following night. She'd practically thrown herself at Shane again , acting like a bitch in heat. She never considered herself sexually repressed. She had no issues expressing what she wanted or what she liked. But something about last night made her hyper-sexual in a way she'd never experienced.

Maybe it's because you haven't been laid in over two years , she thought as she crossed the property line to Wynand Farm. That was definitely a contributing factor. She'd been touch starved, lonely, actually miserable. The friendships she had cultivated around Pelican Town helped soothe her need for affection during the day, but at night, when she was alone with nothing but her thoughts, the overwhelming loneliness felt like a bolder crushing her ribs, snapping them to shards lodged into her aching heart.

God, you're so dramatic , she chided herself as the coop loomed into view. It was already nearing noon, and the hens were probably restless and hungry. But her thoughts settled heavily on Shane's reactions to her advances. He'd been eager. He'd confessed things she never thought would come out of his mouth in a million years. He'd eaten her pussy like a fucking champ and didn't ask for reciprocation. He'd been content with bringing her to tears and then cuddling with her in bed. Was he actually the perfect man?

The farmer chuckled to herself as she entered the enclosure and pulled the coop door open. A line of fat impatient hens waddled out and made a beeline for the fresh grass, ignoring her completely.

Shane was anything but perfect, and Kristen was well aware of this. But it wasn't an illusion she wished to spend her time with. It wasn't a fairytale prince who she found herself teasing once he could stomach her presence for more than a few minutes at a time. It wasn't Mr. Darcy who she thought about when her fingers slipped through her slick folds, seeking to quell that ache deep inside. It was Shane. Rough and gruff Shane who secretly had the biggest heart of anyone she'd ever known. Her best friend.

Fetching her chicken-printed egg apron from a nail inside the coop, the farmer tied it around her waist, plucked the spoils of her livestock from their nests, and gently tucked them into each pocket. Briefly, she imagined Shane in the silly apron and giggled, vowing to make him wear it one way or another.

The farmer busied herself with various chores until early evening, more than slightly irritated that it took double the effort due to her inconvenient injury. Pierre had agreed to come pick up her tomatoes, and she winced when she signed the bill of sale with a 20% service fee deducted by the shopkeep. When she finally checked her cell phone for the time, a text from Shane lit up the screen, and she tapped the notification with butterflies in her tummy.

I'm never buying condoms in this town again.

I'll take a bus all the way to Zuzu next time, fuck all of this.

Kristen snickered, curiosity piqued.

Oh no. What happened?

The replying chat bubble popped up almost immediately, and Kristen's eyes were glued to the screen, even as Moody zig-zagged through her legs, howling for attention.

Sam was working today and saw me pick them up.

He kept asking me who the lucky lady is. Like I was gonna tell him.

The farmer could practically feel Shane's unease through the screen, and a prickling intrusive thought burrowed in her brain like the needles of a cactus. Testing the waters, she tapped her fingers across the glass.

What, you're ashamed of me? Lol.

Her heart galloped as she waited for his reply. The chat bubble took a bit longer to appear, and Kristen hoped she hadn't actually pissed him off.

Don't be stupid.

I'm just tired from spending most of the morning dodging Marnie's smug looks.

Jas thinks I'm practically a doctor now, so that's cool.

She furrowed her brow, still unsure if the distress churning in her belly was justified. Every drop of confidence she'd fettered that morning seemed to dissipate like mist desperately clinging to milkweed in the midday sun.

You sure?

This time, the chat bubble seemed to animate on the screen forever, disappearing and reappearing multiple times as if Shane was struggling to come up with an adequate response.

If anyone should be ashamed, it's you.

I somehow landed the beautiful farmer, and she's stuck with the town drunk.

For the second time that day, Kristen choked back a sob. A mixture of indignation and sorrow coated the back of her throat, constricted with emotion. His self-deprecation was nothing new, but in this context, it hit differently than usual. Implying he wasn't good enough for her was simply unacceptable.

Now you're the one being stupid.

Just shut up and get here quick. I miss you.

Before she could chicken out, Kristen skipped toward her bedroom, stripped off her frumpy farmer's clothes, and wiggled into the sexiest pair of lingerie she owned. Then, she angled her phone's camera as flatteringly as possible, snapped a photo, and attached it to her message.

You called me a tease last night and then send me this shit?

Smirking, she posed for another photo, this time biting her lip seductively. She felt ridiculous attaching it to her next reply — but also sexy for the first time in years.

What are you going to do about it?

Shane replied with a photo of his own — a skewed angle of his feet as he neared the path toward the bus station.

You'll find out soon.

An exhilarating tingle bloomed between her legs, arousal simmering her blood. She had maybe 25 minutes before Shane walked through her front door, and she desperately needed a bath.

❦❧🍓❦❧

Kristen had just finished brushing out her damp curls and clumsily tying the belt of her silk robe around her waist when a soft but insistent knock startled her. Once again, she opened her mouth to remind him of his key, but the sound of the lock disengaging cut her off, a new swarm of butterflies taking flight in the pit of her stomach.

Shane entered the farmhouse hesitantly, peering around the door as he did the night before at the ranch, his expression softening when he spotted her approaching from the bedroom.

"Hey," he greeted, slinging her forgotten backpack from his shoulder while he approached. His eyes roved her body, taking stock of her state of dress — or, rather, undress — before they settled on her freshly bandaged hand. "How's it doing?"

"It looks disgusting," she laughed, holding the mitt in front of her face. She'd done a sloppy job of wrapping the gauze that Harvey had left for her. The crusty sutures and black bruises splotching her palm made her woozy, but she was proud that she hadn't dropped like a sack of potatoes on her bathroom floor.

"How many times do I have to tell you to let me help you before you listen?" he asked, though his tone held no hostility or exasperation. On the contrary, Kristen could detect a note of concern, and she wanted to nip it in the bud before the salacious encounter she'd been so excited about fizzled out altogether.

"Shh, I'm fine. I promise. I cleaned it and took my pain meds. And I'll be seeing Harvey on Monday." He gave her a leery glare, obviously still unconvinced she'd relent her stubbornness anytime soon. "Come here," she coaxed, holding her good hand toward him invitingly and crooking one finger. With her backpack still dangling from one hand, Shane approached and followed when she turned and walked back toward her bedroom.

The room was dark, the only light coming from a few candles flickering on Kristen's dresser opposite the bed. She'd wondered if the sentiment was too cheesy when she lit the wicks and stepped back to admire the shadow of flames licking up the pine slat walls, but the low light cast the perfect ambiance when Shane entered, his silhouette pitch black as it floated toward her.

"This is nice," he said, voice deep as his features slowly bled into focus when he entered the sphere of flickering light. Kristen felt he wasn't sure what to say but was trying his best, and she adored him for it. 

"Thanks," she whispered, capturing one of his forearms to pull him closer. He was still clutching her backpack in one hand, and she tilted her head toward it before asking, "What's in there? Whips and chains?"

Shane balked, jaw slack and eyes wide before he noticed the mischief dancing in her eyes. "You're so fucking naughty…"

He dropped the backpack on the floor and wrapped an arm around her waist, drawing her in. The farmer stepped into his embrace willingly, seeking his lips with her own, molding her body around his solid yet soft form until she felt she could seep into his skin and possess him completely.

Something about the moment seemed graceful as they moved together. Lips exploring, hands searching, bodies swaying. The night previous, Kristen felt as if she were a feral animal, pawing and scratching at him like he might escape her clutches. Tonight, she felt as if the barbaric frenzy had ebbed to gentle acceptance that this man actually wanted to be here... with her.

"Shane," she sighed as his lips and tongue traveled from her mouth, down her throat, and across her collarbone. She could tell he was being careful not to scrape his stubble over her skin, even while his cheek and chin nudged the top half of her robe aside. "Shane, stop."

"Hmm? What's wrong?" he asked, pulling back to level her with serious eyes. She almost yanked him in for another kiss when she realized he was afraid he'd crossed some invisible line.

"Nothing, baby. I just want to repay you for last night before you make me too stupid."

"Kriss. Um, Kristen — you don't have to do that."

Relief softened his features as he held her closer and kissed her breathless — palms gliding across the silk of her robe, caressing every curve she hid underneath until one settled on the small of her back and the other ghosted between her thighs. The smooth fabric slipping across her sensitive flesh was unexpectedly delightful, and she shuffled her feet outward, supplying him with more room that he gladly took advantage of, prodding his fingers past the silk to make contact with her bare sex.

"How are you already wet?" Shane moaned against her lips. The farmer's breaths quickened as his middle finger probed, sliding through her folds with no resistance.

"Because you turn me on," she simply said, canting her hips forward as his thumb sought her clit.

"I wanna taste you again, pretty baby. Make you come on my tongue."

She nearly gave in, memories of last night along with Shane's sweet manipulation of her pussy making her pliant. She felt as if she could melt through his arms into a puddle just from his worlds alone, but she abruptly remembered her earlier request and how he had expertly distracted her.

"Nope," she breathed, playfully shoving him back. He stumbled slightly, giving her time to sidestep him, plant her ass on the mattress, hook a finger through a belt loop on his shorts, and tug his crotch toward her face. "I told you, it's my turn."

"Kristen." He shook his head. He was protesting, and it confounded her.

"What?" she asked, moving her hand to rest on his hip instead, hoping it would make her seem less brazen.

"I know it's not something women really like to do," he explained. His eyes were fixed straight ahead as if something on her wall was unbelievably fascinating.

"Since when?" she asked with a chuckle. But she quickly shut up when she realized he was serious. "Shane, that's not true. I don't know what type of other women you've been with, but most of us love giving head. I know I do." She then grasped one of his hands, bringing it toward her face to press a tender kiss to his palm, hoping to calm his nerves. "When was the last time someone swallowed your cock like they meant it?"

"Kristen, fuck me…" He finally tilted his chin down to look at her, awe sparkling in his green eyes.

"That's what I'm trying to do."

"You have such a filthy mouth," he said, blinking his eyes rapidly as if he were trying to gather his bearings to answer her question. "I don't know; it's been a long time."

"Then let my filthy mouth take care of you, hmm? I want to, I really do."

She flipped his hand to place another kiss on his knuckles, swiping her lips across them before taking the middle finger he'd buried in her pussy into her mouth, lightly sucking it while making direct eye contact. 

"Are you even fucking real?" he asked as she swirled her tongue around his wet digit. "Last week, I would have laughed if you said you wanted to suck my dick. Would've thought you were screwing with me for fun."

Feeling like he was finally coming around, Kristen released his finger with an audible pop and redirected her hand toward the waistband of his shorts, tugging him toward her again. This time, he shuffled forward with no protest, one hand settling on her shoulder while the one she'd just released curled into a fist.

Instead of replying verbally, she tapped the button of his shorts with her fingernail, indicating that she needed some help. Shane hesitated for an instant but quickly undid his fly and pulled the zipper down, exposing his boxer briefs beneath. Giddy excitement hummed within Kristen's chest as her imagination tried to conjure up an image of his cock before she laid eyes on it. The teasing glimpses she was afforded of his clothed bulge and the sensation of it grinding between her legs the night before gave her a pleasing theory.

"Can we take this off?" she cooed, tugging the hem of his shirt. Insecurity danced behind his eyes, his face scrunching up in a way that made her think he'd downright refuse. But, she smoothed her hand up his side, lightly grazing her nails over his skin before drawing it back down, hoping her silent encouragement would stay his fears.

"I'm not in, uh, the best shape," he mumbled, again avoiding her eyes.

"Shane, I think you're so god damn sexy. Isn't it obvious?"

She lifted the bottom of his shirt just enough to kiss the space below his navel. He flinched but didn't pull away.

"I've seen you naked," he said, capturing a strand of her curly hair between two fingers. "You put me to shame."

"It's not a competition, baby. Will it make you feel better if I take this off?"

She rose from the bed and shrugged the loose robe from her shoulders, allowing it to puddle at her feet. Shane hitched a breath and attempted to pull her in, but she playfully wiggled away and perched herself on the edge of the mattress again, smiling up at him.

"Fine," he sighed, fisting the collar of his shirt and yanking it over his head. His neck and cheeks burned red, even in the soft candlelight, and it only endeared him to her all the more.

"Thank you. Now, I can take care of the rest…"

As it turned out, attempting to pull down someone else's shorts and underwear with one hand was more complicated than she bargained, but she yanked and tugged until she secured her victory — Shane's fully erect cock finally springing free, greeting her like a long-awaited gift.

Kristen wondered later if he thought she would be coy — place feather-soft kisses on his shaft while batting her eyelashes and cooing like a bird. She even wondered if she should have been so dainty and seductive instead of licking a solid, hot stripe from base to tip before engulfing his thick length in one fluid motion.

"Fu — fuck ." The stuttered word fell from Shane's mouth in a strangled gasp, his hands instantly burying in her curls as if he had to clutch them or risk flying off the face of the earth. His fingers brushed her scalp tentatively, undoubtedly hesitant to grip too hard for fear of hurting her. "Kristen, ah! Christ!"

The farmer continued to slide her wet mouth across his cock, tongue flat as she gently pulled back his foreskin and swirled the tip. It had been so long since she'd indulged in giving head and nearly forgot how much she enjoyed it. The pants, the moans, the feeling of power as she subdued a man while on her knees.

"How's this?" she asked as sweetly as she could muster, flicking her chocolate eyes upward to lock with his. "Tell me how to make you feel good."

Relaxing her throat, she took him entirely in her mouth again, bit by bit, until the plush head pressed and slid even farther. And then farther. Fat tears welled in her eyes, pooling like droplets of dew on drooping blades of grass before rolling down her cheeks. The strain was magnificent, and the farmer knew she'd feel the raw sting like a badge of honor in the morning.

"Oh my fuck," he growled, fingers pressing a bit harder against her scalp experimentally. "Pretty baby, I —" He faltered, seeming to attempt to form a coherent thought while Kristen swallowed his dick, flexing her throat muscles weakly. "Can I?"

He pulled his hips back and then thrust them forward gently, eyes pleading with her to understand. She hooked her good hand behind one of his thighs, sucked in a deep breath through her nose in preparation, and nodded.

Shane started slow at first, shifting his hips gingerly, nudging the back of her throat while his fingers curled around the strands of her auburn hair. A string of praise and obscenities poured from his mouth like a siren song, and she hummed deep in her chest as he gradually picked up speed, chasing his pleasure.

Without warning, he tightened his hold on her hair, halting the motion of her mouth and his hips. Guttural pants filled the room as she looked up at him, lips stretched across his dick while her hand traveled to cup his balls, nails lightly scraping across the dimpled flesh.

"I need to fuck you," he rasped, pulling her head back until he slipped from her mouth, a string of saliva connecting them for a beat before it plopped to the hardwood below. "Please."

Kristen scrambled back to lay on the mattress like an overzealous puppy, waiting for him to follow with exuberance sparkling in her eyes. She honestly couldn't recall the last time she'd wanted anyone this bad, and her cunt throbbed in anticipation of being filled by the cock she'd just had shoved down her eager throat.

"How do you want me?" she asked, positioning herself in the middle, legs splayed open in an unconscious attempt to draw him in. A savage longing nearly puppeted her to crawl up his body like a deranged creature from the depths of hell, subdue him until he fell to the floor, and ride his cock until the both of them succumbed to exhaustion. But the more civilized part of her realized that Shane required gentle coaxing, at least for now, so she leveraged those unhinged desires and locked them away for another time.

There was a slight shuffle as Shane bent over and unzipped the farmer's backpack that lay discarded on the floor. The crinkle of a plastic bag, the rip of cardboard, and the tear of an aluminum wrapper clued Kristen in. In response, her fingers flowed toward the apex of her thighs, slipping one finger inside herself, then two.

Finally, Shane planted a knee on the mattress and crawled toward her. Backlit by flickering flames, one hand cupped her knee while the other rolled the condom on, his cock emerging from between his thumb and forefinger with latex encasing it like he'd performed the maneuver a million times before. Kristen tried not to let that little worm burrow in her brain, wondering if he was so practiced because he was screwing someone else on the side. 

On the side? You've already claimed him? 

She flung that thought into the 'analyze later' bin of her brain, fearing that the answer was a resounding yes.

"Um. Just —" Shane tenderly nudged her knee to the side, and she complied, widening her legs so he could slot between them like a puzzle piece. "I wanna be able to see your face."

"Oh, baby," she sighed, finally relenting to the urge to rein in some control, cupping the back of his neck and pulling him in for another blistering kiss. Their tongues rolled together effortlessly now, growing used to one another's moves while Shane nudged the head of his cock between her folds, gliding it across her clit teasingly, winding Kristen up like a doll with a key lodged in its spine until she felt she would snap.

When he finally lined up and began pushing inside, Kristen yelped against his lips, the stretch sharp and intense. Shane instantly ceased, pressing his forehead against hers as he caught his breath.

"Don't stop," she said. Wiggling her hips slightly, she lifted her legs and mounted them on either side of his thighs. The position was more comfortable and made her feel he wouldn't split her in half. "It's been… a while since I've done this. That's all."

He nodded, eyes squinted shut, engrossed with the task at hand. Kristen stared at him, his face blurred by the close proximity, but unable to direct her focus elsewhere. The intimacy of the moment felt soul-crushing in the best way — as if everything that made her human were wrapped up in a tiny package and placed in the palm of Shane's hand. He could pulverize her or hold her as gently as a kitten, and she'd welcome it either way.

Inch by inch, Shane slid into her, gauging her reactions carefully as he did so. Inch by inch, Kristen took him, quick and shallow breaths making her head swimmy as the sweet intrusion filled her much more than physically.

His thrusts were experimental early on, just as when his fingers played along her scalp. Slow and shallow. He pressed tender kisses to her face as he did so, soft breaths puffing from his nose and fanning across heated skin. Eventually, he sought her hand with his own, pinning it above her head as he interlaced their fingers, lips traveling lower, suckling on the hypersensitive flesh behind her ear.

"Shane —" His name rolled from her tongue like it had originated there, a vaguely audible sigh that morphed into a moan when she understood that this wasn't a simple fuck between friends. He was making love to her.

"Kristen…" Her name growled directly into her ear, causing her body to seize, cunt clenching around him almost painfully as he snapped his hips forward in punctuation. 

"Harder," she whined, shifting her hips in time with his still-measured thrusts.

"Yeah? You want that?"

His voice was deeper than she'd ever heard, almost scratchy. She shivered and whined again, feeling petulant if he didn't appease her. Luckily, he did, releasing her hand so he could sit back on his haunches and hike each of her thighs to rest on his chest, the back of her knees nestled against his shoulders like they were always meant to be there. The angle was acute and perfect as he leaned over her, hands bracing himself on either side of her head.

"Shit," she hissed, flailing her free hand until it made purchase with his side, nails digging crescents into his olive skin. 

"This good?" he asked, thrusting once, slightly upward. Kristen squealed and nodded, nails digging deeper. The head of his cock brushed against her g-spot just enough at this angle that she knew they could make magic happen if he were determined. "Let me know if it's too much?"

"It's never too much," she said. "Fuck me the way you've always dreamed." Kristen knew that statement was a bold assumption on her part, but god, did it sound sexy. Even to her own ears.

Apparently, it was sexy to him, too, considering how he kissed her, pushing her legs back farther and shoving his cock even deeper. "Pretty baby, I'm gonna make you scream."

His confidence firmly back in place, Kristen's eyes rolled nearly into the back of her skull as he pounded into her. Hard, just like she'd asked. Again and again and again. The bed rocked, headboard slamming the wall. The metal frame squeaked in protest as its legs skittered across the hardwood floor. Kristen's body tensed, launching into pure instinct, hips rolling in time with Shane's thrusts, each one more brutal than the last. Pleasure washed over in waves, lapping farther and farther toward the precipice of something just beyond reach as their shared grunts and moans filled the small farmhouse bedroom like a lewd chorus for an audience of two.

"Shane, baby. Oh god!" The farmer's mental facilities had been scrambled like a freshly cracked egg each time the head of Shane's cock brushed the soft, thick place inside her. It was so deliciously close to being enough but just far away that each pass had her crying out like a woman tortured. "I need… mo — higher!"

She wasn't sure how Shane interpreted the gibberish she'd just spewed, but she nearly cried in relief when he snatched a spare pillow from beside her head and shoved it under her lifted hips. But then he added another , and she lost the battle, a desperate sob escaping from her chest as the elevated angle allowed him to slam home with expert precision.

"I can feel you squeezing me, fuck!" he spat, keeping the rhythm even as Kristen's bones liquified. "Can you come on my cock, pretty baby? Rub your clit for me. I wanna feel it."

As useless as she felt to her encroaching orgasm, the farmer willed her arm to slither between them, seeking the neglected, engorged bundle of nerves. The pressure between her legs continued to mount, coiling like a viper on the verge of a strike. Her thighs quivered as the pads of her fingers slipped through her folds and made contact with her clit, the onslaught of sensations boarding on overwhelming when Shane faltered long enough to capture one of her nipples between his teeth.

"I'm close. Shane — I'm so close," she cried, sloppily twirling her fingers around her clit. Sparks of pleasure snapped and popped with each pass, her limbs tensing further and the viper coiling tighter in her belly. "Talk to me. I need to hear your voice."

"I'm close, too," he rasped. "Look me in the eyes when you come, pretty baby. Say my name? God, I love hearing you moan it like — shit! — I love making you feel this good."

Kristen felt as if she were falling in a dream, weightless for the blink of an eye before the ground zoomed closer with each passing second. And right before she hit the ground, she snapped, the viper unfurling as its euphoric venom softened her muscles and rendered her useless. Yet, she fulfilled his sweet request, the shape of Shane's name tearing from her throat as her entire world focused to a pinpoint and then exploded outward in a shower of twinkling stars.

Somewhere in the haze, her name floated like a feather on a languid breeze. Lips and teeth etched her flesh like liquid flames carving an errant river through steel. The gorgeous pressure between her thighs swelled, stretching her pleasure to an unbearable degree, and she cried out again, clinging to the only anchor she could find amidst the storm.

You've already claimed him? 

Yes — she had.

*****

End Note: Kristen's chicken egg apron:

Isn't that shit adorable?

[deepspacedukat]

Coitarche

I wish to issue a very sincere apology. I know that I had Elnor (ST:PIC) listed for this prompt, but I have been trying for several days, and I just can't seem to capture his voice. (Usually my fics are late because I'm rly bad at time management, but today, it's because he is Incredibly Difficult™ for me to write.) I know there are often small typos in my works despite my attempts to edit them out, but typos are one thing. Low-quality, shitty work is another beast entirely. I always go back and re-edit my works for typos/quick fixes, but I cannot in good conscience allow myself to put out work that makes me cringe as much as my attempts at writing Elnor have. I want to do right by you all, and as it stands currently, I refuse to curse your eyes with my horrendous failed attempts.

That being said: today's fic will feature my Romulan OC, Major Denak (mentioned in "Praetor's Pride" chapter 3). This fic is a side commentary to "Praetor's Pride," but you don't need to have read that first to understand this little drabble. I will, once I have had more time to find Elnor's voice in my writing, release a sort of "make-up fic" about him. I don't like not being able to deliver on something when I've given my word that I will. It probably won't come out until after the SoC challenge is over, but Elnor fans, I will learn your man's voice if I have to listen to clips of him for hours on end!

For anyone who is curious, "coitarche" is defined here. Anyway, enjoy!

Day 29: Loss Of Virginity

SoC prompt list here. SoC Masterlist here. Cross-posted to AO3 here.

~*~

Denak (OC) x Unnamed Romulan OFC, mention of Hiren (ST:Nemesis) x Reader (from "Praetor's Pride")

[A/N: This is smut, so 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI!!!]

Warnings: Mild angst, lost love, arranged marriages, sexual memories, sexual dreams, loss of virginity, mention of masturbation, woman on top, biting.

(Picrew used to make ^this^ can be found here.)

~*~

"Why are you alone after all this time, Major Denak?" The calm, curious voice of Praetor Hiren called out from the balcony railing, and the man in question lifted an eyebrow.

"Sir?" Denak was far from the only guard on duty tonight, but when the Praetor took his nightly walk around the grounds, he preferred that he only have one guard with him. The palace was safe enough, he claimed, and he didn't enjoy feeling as though he was a child who required a large escort even in his own home.

"I have seen many of my guards with their partners, or I've at minimum heard them discussing their various conquests, but you..." Hiren trailed off, pausing as he turned to face the youngest member of his Rei’karansu. "Have you no romantic prospects?"

Denak knew precisely why Hiren was so curious. The pretty Federation Ambassador whom the Praetor had been chatting with tonight had put him in a good mood - a better one than he'd been in since his official appointment.

"None at present, my lord Praetor." The older man seemed disappointed, so, not wishing to sour his mood, Denak allowed a memory to tug at him. "However, there was someone several years ago."

The guard noted a small smile upon the other man's lips, and he continued.

"She was the first woman I ever truly loved. I dare not reveal her identity, though. She is a nobleman's wife, now, and I doubt she would appreciate her name being associated with that of a mere guard," he murmured taking a few steps closer to the Praetor's position and gazing out across the palace gardens. "She was sweet...just as inexperienced and nervous as I was."

Denak could recall every moment he'd spent with her in perfect detail. She'd been carved into his heart as deeply as only a first love ever could. They'd both been so overcome by their passions that despite the awkwardness that was invariably present in a first sexual encounter, both Denak and his lover had overcome their nerves and enjoyed themselves immensely.

"Ah, young love. There is nothing else quite like it in this universe," Hiren muttered as he leaned against the railing. "Were you together long?"

The Major let out a quiet, wistful sigh.

"Five years. Longer than I deserved, but...not nearly long enough," he stated, trying not to sound too much like he was pouting. "Her family arranged her betrothal, and she was forced to break off our relationship. From what I understand, her husband treats her well, but...I can't help but wonder what might have happened if...well..."

He couldn't put into words the thoughts he'd mulled over so often in the dark solitude of his empty bed over the years.

What if she'd chosen to ignore her family's wishes? What if she'd chosen him instead? What if Denak had been her husband instead of that stuffy dignitary?

He knew it was no use dwelling on hypothetical situations, but he still had moments where he couldn't control that nagging little voice in his head.

As the years passed, his feelings for her had dimmed, as was expected, but there were still lonely nights in which his dreams featured the ghost of her lips on his neck and awoke with the sensation of her fingers gripping his shoulders as she rode him. He'd take his length in hand and allow the memories to burn through him until he spilled over his stomach.

Denak still remembered the adoration in her eyes when he brought her to orgasm for the first time. She'd been his first in every respect, just as he had been hers. Elements, she was the reason he knew he enjoyed having his ears bitten!

"I have been with others since her, but none to whom I've formed a serious connection," the Major said, and Hiren nodded his head.

"I know what you mean. I've had a few encounters since my wife passed, but all of them were casual. We all need release, but...being open with someone...being truly committed after a love like that...it's difficult," the Praetor commiserated before turning to look at his guard. "I suppose we're both waiting for the one who will pick up the pieces, aren't we?"

"Yes, my lord Praetor," Denak replied dutifully, but given the sparkle in the older man's eyes, he suspected that one of them had already found what he was looking for.

~*~*~

Taglist:

@akamitrani @android-boyfriends @attention-bajoranworkers @bigblissandlove1 @darkmattervibes @emilie786 @horta-in-charge @live-logs-and-proper @slutty-slutty-vulcans @starrynightgardens @toebeans-mcgee

[riversimmone]

The Mercenary

The Mercenary - prologue

RiverOfTheSand

Summary:

She fled her home to survive the outbreak of war. But in order to survive the outside world, she would need a bodyguard. Instead, she got a rude, arrogant man who just happened to be hot as hell. AU SasuSaku.

Notes:

Cross-posted from fanfiction.net. Technically. There's only one chapter so far. It's edited and ready to be posted and I'm working on the next one. Getting my SasuSaku groove on. So please read and kudo and comment. I hope you enjoy. :)

End chapter notes:

Thankyou so much for reading. :)

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This is a work in progress story you can also find on AO3 and FF.NET.

Enjoy. :)

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The Mercenary: Prologue.

It wouldn't have surprised her, looking back at how she acted, if he had just left her on the side of the road to die somewhere, that rude, arrogant man... that mercenary. She had deserved that at least. But she knew very well, from watching it happen to others, that love could sculpt and heal even the darkest of hearts. It was a powerful thing – toppling nations, uniting former enemies, and healing broken souls. And she had longed to be on the receiving end of some handsome man's affections from the day her mother first told her that she had gotten her fantasy prince.

Sakura Haruno's mother had married a king, a man that everyone loved, and nobody hated – at least, from what the pinkette saw. She was happy, they were happy, and even at the end of it all, they had stayed together.

Sakura, meanwhile, had been ripped away from the fairy tale life she'd taken for granted, unable to stop it as her life came crumbling down around her. All she could do was flee, her mother's screams echoing in her mind, her father yelling at her to flee before they came for her too.

Enemies came in many guises, but this one had crept up on them, invaded their home, and twisted the sword for good measure.

Sakura coughed loudly, unable to restrain herself as she ran haphazardly through familiar halls.

The dust cloud created by nearby fighting hit her harshly, whipping across her tear-stained face, but she refused to let it slow her down. Tripping, catching herself, and stumbling forward as she spotted her sensei moving toward her, she reached out desperately, letting out a grateful whimper as his fingers clasped hers protectively. He was strong and pulled her to him easily.

"We must flee," he said, his smooth voice calm but insistent. "You must survive my Hime."

An explosion – not unlike an earthquake – resounded in the distance, making up her mind to put all her faith in her companion. He had never let her down before.

She would cry later, again. She couldn't stop the tears, but they fell silently. She would mourn later.

Gathering all her strength, she followed the only ally she had now.

The servant's entrance stank like the moat, but Sakura could not care less. Inhaling the scent like it was her saviour, she did the only thing she could – allowed her sensei to half-drag her away. He had taught her to fight, to be strong, and defend herself when necessary. But he had not explained what to do when none of those options were possible. She was running now, crying silently, and picturing her mother – the last time she'd seen Queen Mebuki, her chamber door had slammed in her face, and she was dragged away.

Sakura faltered.

"Do not let go of my hand, Sakura-hime."

She looked up at her saviour, wondering what he would do if it was his family. They were all dead now, and she couldn't help the wrenching of her heart as she remembered that she was the only family he knew now. He would want her to flee this place, find their allies in the north, and return to retake her life. Live, to fight tomorrow. That was one of his many mottos.

The man she'd looked up to for years, the man she still harboured a childhood crush on, the man who had saved her life. He smiled down at her, his eyes crinkling in that way that made women swoon. She nodded her head, showing him that she understood, and they returned to their hurried pace. Through the underground passage that only servants took – from maids to lowly soldiers. Through the courtyards that met them in the pit of darkness – it was night-time. And down into the lower town. No-one would expect this of her, surely.

Sakura had hoped the sounds of war would grow distant, but as they burst into the dimly lit, night air of the peasant district, the sounds only grew.

It didn't take away the fear, but her confidence in her sensei would never be swayed; the entire city was under attack, not just the castle. What force was so great that it could take them by surprise like this?

The lower levels of the city were in a panic, knowing even less about what was going on, and no-one paid her any mind, let alone noticed that she was dressed in the robes of their princess. Her sensei wrapped his cloak around her, to further hide her; his hands slipped from hers to tie it securely around her shoulders. Something heavy slammed into him, and his hands left her completely.

The crowd pushed and pulled; she called his name. He called hers. And when someone shoved into Sakura hard enough to knock her to the ground, he was gone, lost in the sea of people desperately swarming toward the exits.

Her hoarse voice called for him once more, but he was nowhere to be seen. She let out a frustrated cry and looked around. She needed to get out of here and do what her sensei expected of her; she would see him again; she just knew it. Sakura looked up at the castle on that thought, said thoughts going to her mother, and the only father she'd ever known. If only that reunion were possible.

She ran with the fleeing commoners and moved with the crowd.

Fate had a way of ripping away a person's life, only to sneak up unexpectedly and throttle people if they weren't careful. But what it had in store for her wasn't the broken fairy tale she'd assumed. She would find her prince. Her prince charming... and take that fateful step along a bumpy road, toward her own future.

If only she'd known he was just as annoying as her... she might've treated him better.

Maybe.

That roadside, where her imagination envisaged any man would abandon an annoying, spoilt princess...

Sakura took one last look at her home, then turned, and disappeared into the dark.