#I have to put them in a jar and witness them fight to the death | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

gretavangroupie · 1 year ago

Text

Valor (Chapter 2)

Pairing: Jake x Reader, Daniel x Reader

Word Count: 14.7k

Warnings: Cursin', Smokin', Drinkin', Allusions to Drug Use. Angst: Struggle and Poverty, Emotional Manipulation, Abandonment, Jealousy, Mentions of Violence, Mentions of Weapons, Fighting, Blood, Mentions of Death, Allusions to Suicide, Allusions to Shady Activities, Gambling. Smut: Kissing, Allusions to Sex, Heavy Petting.

Valor Playlist: Apple Music | Spotify

A new project in collaboration with my talented co-writer @gretavanmoon.

HER POV

Danny pulled you by your hand into the back room, darting through a door you hadn’t noticed, straight into a room that was too dark to see inside. You followed his lead, trusting him to guide you, as you stepped on unidentified objects, tripping on them as he yanked you right and left through what felt like a broom closet with storage shelves.

Finally, a light bulb illuminated above you, bringing light to the small hidden hallway. He began pulling a big folded piece of thick cardboard from behind one of the shelves, struggling to hold the whole thing by himself. A quick glance from him let you know he needed a hand, so you jumped to action, helping him to remove the bulky and awkward object.

“What the hell is this?” You asked, noticing it was kind of heavy. You both turned it so it was easier to carry, making your way down the rest of the crowded hallway and into a larger room. You worked to place it on a tabletop, watching as Danny flipped the flaps open and revealed a very old, very worn-in poker table topper. “Oh.”

“Self-explanatory, huh.” He huffed, running back into the storage hallway to grab more items. Shortly, he returned with a few decks of cards, and a larger box that held multicolored poker chips. Again, you watched his hands move quickly, setting up the table with as much precision as he could, given his hands were a bit shaky and his body language seemed more anxious than normal. You stayed standing awkwardly by, wanting to help, but completely unsure how to.

“You know how to do this?” He asked you, glancing up through his thick eyelashes while he worked.

You shook your head quickly, stepping back as you crossed your arms. “No. I don’t.”

“Fuck. Ok, can you… go gather up a few things from the kitchen and make them presentable on like, a plate or something? I don’t know what we have, doesn’t matter…crackers, whatever you can find.” He ordered, his voice cracked with nerves.

Now that, you could do. “Yes. I’ll be back.”

You managed to come up with two plates full of Club crackers and pepperoni, two jars of olives, and some butter cookies. You rushed back through the way you came, presenting your buffet to Danny.

“That will have to do.” He chuckled as he unfolded a metal chair. When he finished, he stood back and placed his hands on his hips, his body still dirty from the workday.

“Danny, I know I said I wouldn’t ask questions, but…should I be scared right now?” You asked, working to pop the top on one of the olive jars.

He sighed heavily, catching his breath as he made his way over to you. “No, no reason to be scared. You’re…you’re just going to have to bear with us. This was…unexpected, tonight.” He took the jar from your hands, spinning the top off with little to no effort at all. He put it back down on the table, and placed his hands on your shoulders, turning you to meet his eyes. “I really am sorry you’re accidentally involved in this shit tonight, and I really hope it doesn’t change your mind about me…”

“Danny, what the fuck am I about to witness?” You asked, suddenly feeling even more terrified than before. Being in the dark like this was starting to make your face go numb with fear.

His hands squeezed your shoulders as he stepped in closer, his eyes flashing behind you down the hallway for just a split second.

“Hopefully not a goddamn thing.”

——

You follow Danny back out through the strange secret passageway and out into the bay, seeing Jake still rushing around with whatever he was cleaning. You grabbed your book off the chair, and stood around sheepishly, waiting for one of them to tell you the next move. How the fuck did you find yourself here?

Just then you heard a rap on the old metal door, two quick knocks, followed by one…

Jake and Danny’s heads popped up immediately, the two of them looking to each other while their shoulders fell in relief. Jake rushed to the door, but before he opened it, he motioned to Danny to push you behind the wall of the loft to conceal you. This is insane…

You stepped back behind it out of view of whoever was at the door, but you could still hear the conversation.

“Jacob, not much time…” the gruff voice said as you listened to his footsteps enter the bay.

“They said sunset tonight, last time they got here sooner than that.” Jake responded quickly.

“I know it, I know it. Is everything ready? I brought two bottles of rye whiskey…”

“Yeah, just finished putting everything out.” You heard Danny sigh a sound of relief, and his words mixed with the stranger’s made it become apparent to you that the other man was Bubba.

A little more private conversation was had between them before you heard the door open again.

“I’ll be back a little before sunset, listen to me, boys. There’s to be a couple new faces here tonight. I wanted to warn ya ‘fore they just showed up.” Bubba explained with panic in his voice.

“New faces? Who?” Jake asked, his voice a bit more booming than before.

“I don’t know much, Jake. Just know they won’t be familiar to you. Just treat ‘em normal. Like everybody else, you hear? I’ll be here to keep watch. I’ll be back soon.”

And with that, you heard the loud metal door clank closed.

Danny finally rounded the wall and pushed past you, grabbing the tips of your fingers as he pulled you back toward their rooms. “You’re gonna have to be okay with hanging out in Jake’s room tonight, okay?” He brushed his sweaty strands back, leaving behind a tiny black brush of grease on his forehead. “They’re going to be here soon and they can’t…they can’t see you.”

You felt enraged. Your eyes scanned his as you clenched your jaw, wanting nothing more than to lash out at him, and Jake too, for bringing you into this mess, whatever it was. When Danny kept his lips pursed together, you caught his drift. “Trust me, Y/N…please…” he whispered, his fingertips squeezing yours.

“Alright, fucking fine.” You pushed past him this time, making your way into Jake’s room. You sat down onto his mattress with force, hugging your knees as your book hung between your fingers. You looked up to Danny with disapproval, still utterly pissed off this was happening. You knew he felt bad, you could see it in his face.

He finally took a deep breath and made his way over to you, leaning down to press a quick, chaste kiss directly to the middle of your forehead. It surprised you, it was the first time he’d actually connected his lips to you. You felt a giant burst of butterflies erupt in your stomach, the hurried sentiment most definitely softening you to the madness you felt before.

“Don’t come out until we tell you it’s safe. I’m so sorry, Y/N.” He whispered, pulling the old door closed behind him.

——

It had been almost an hour, and you’d heard nothing but Jake and Daniel’s occasional whisper-yells to each other. You’d recognized that there were a few unfamiliar voices mixed in with theirs now, all male, all muffled and broken as each made their way through the kitchen.

You’d made yourself comfortable on Jake’s bed, kicked back reading your poems and chewing on a cinnamon candy while you waited. It hadn’t quite dawned on you yet that you were probably going to be in here all night long…the thought that poker games usually lasted well into the morning hours completely passing you up. You were thankful you had used the bathroom before they shut you in.

While you were knee-deep in a long Maya passage, you were startled by Jake’s bedroom door flying open and him barreling through it, looking as though he had forgotten you were in there. You recoiled back on the bad, a little scared at who might be busting in.

“Shit.” He breathed, hardly a word. “Sorry. You uh, you okay in here?”

You shrugged your shoulders and let out a breath. “Okay as I can be, I guess.” You wanted him to see that you were a bit agitated at the whole situation.

He walked over to his closet, pulling out what looked to be a semi-clean t-shirt. He yanked it off the hanger and then looked to you, his tongue rested across his upper lip in thought. You were rested back comfortably on his pillows, reading your book like he wasn’t even there. When you noticed him looking, you glanced up from the pages to find him staring you down a bit awkwardly. He turned his back to you, grabbing his grease-covered shirt at the neck, ripping it off quickly and throwing it to the corner of the room.

You couldn’t help but glance up again, seeing his half-naked body completely devoid of any coverage so that you could see his tattoos as a whole. His arm and back muscles tightened and drew in as he moved, the ripple as his skin moved over his ink covered ribs leaving you breathless. You thought you might combust all together as you tried to look at his tattoos through quick glances. There were so many, so intricate and ornate. You wanted to look at each of them. Ask what they meant to him.

The first one you noticed was a dove on the back of his right shoulder blade, its wings expanded like it was ready to fly right off of his skin, followed by a thin string of letters that flowed directly down the center of his spine. You were too far away to read what they said, but they disappeared directly into the back of his jeans. The last and most noticeable one was the long body of a snake, traveling from in front of his left shoulder and down his back, the tail of it wrapped around his hip. Your eyes fell short again, back down to the words on the pages. Concentrate, Y/N. That’s nothing you should be looking at, he wants privacy. But god…he was a fucking sight…

Then, out of your periphery, you watched as he slowly turned to face you, pulling the new, clean shirt over his head and smoothing it over his pecs and toned stomach. Your eyes traveled down his torso to the top of his jeans, a thin band of his boxers peeking out over top. Fuck, don’t look. The next thing you knew, he was crawling up the bed, hand after knee, directly toward you. You closed the book, your body moving itself backwards and away from him as he continued to crawl toward you.

What the hell…? Your heart began pounding.

He stopped when both hands rested on either side of your torso, his face so close to yours you could feel his breath. His hair hung in his face as he reached his right hand to his nightstand, pulling the squeaky drawer open with quick force. You moved your eyes to the side to see what he was grabbing as the metallic sounds rattled in his hand. A handgun. He kept his face close to yours…so close his nose was mere centimeters from brushing yours. You felt your breath hitch, and you knew he noticed. Fuck. He cocked the safety on the gun, and reached behind him, slipping it into the back of his jeans before slowly backing away off the bed.

He stood tall from the mattress, noticing you were nothing but a panting pile of nerves and discomfort while he resituated the gun. The side-smirk that painted his face was enough to make you infuriated again, but before you could haul off and throw your sharp words down his throat, he had backed out the door, shutting it quietly just as Danny had.

God, you were so overwhelmingly pissed off at the both of them, while at the same time they were both so goddamn attractive it almost wasn’t fair.

After a while, in a huff of boredom and aggravation, you slammed the book down into the dingy comforter, deciding to take a look around the room now that you felt like a true prisoner. The wood-paneled walls were lined with old posters and photographs, while there was only enough room for one chest of drawers and a bedside table. You sat up a bit, deciding that if you were going to be stuck in here, you would at least take a look around at your captor’s belongings. You stood, admiring the various faces of his apparent idols…Hendrix, Neil Young, Tears for Fears, The Police…quite the selection.

The shelf on his dresser was lined with photos, some of him as a kid, one of him and Danny as teenagers, one of Ace and a dog, and one of him and his mom. It struck you, how much he looked exactly like his dad in the photo upstairs, and how much he also looked exactly like his mother. Where he had his dad’s mouth and stature, he most definitely had his mother’s eyes. “Wow…” you whispered as you took the photo in. She was holding him on her lap, he had to have barely been two. You began to wonder where she was, what happened to her, and why he hasn’t mentioned much about his family.

But come to think of it, neither had Danny.

—

JAKE POV

You let out the breath you were holding as your gun settled into the waistband of your jeans. It’s cold on your skin, harsh and metallic, yet easily concealed under the confines of your t-shirt. You hope you won’t need it, but you’d rather have it than not. You laugh a little, remembering the look on her face as you crawled towards her. So nervous, so wild. You click your tongue on the back of your teeth and huff another laugh. You could smell the remnants of her cinnamon candy on her breath as you hovered over her, silently commending her on her good taste as you pulled away and excused yourself. You took that wild energy with you as you left, hoping it would give you what you needed to get through this game.

As you stepped back into the kitchen you saw Daniel leaning against the countertop with his arms crossed across his chest. He’d taken the time to change as well, pulling his hair back to rest at the back of his neck. His eyes flick to yours as you emerge from the hallway.

“She fine?” he asks, nodding towards your bedroom.

“Yeah. She’s fine. Probably need to feed her though. Hasn’t eaten since this mornin’ and she’s a little jumpy.” you answer, wondering what you even had that you could give her to eat.

“Think she’d eat a sandwich?” he asks, turning to open the fridge.

“Think she’ll eat what she’s given, or go hungry. Her choice.” you quip back, walking to gather up a collection of glasses, setting them out on the table. He sends you a nod, pulling a few things from the fridge and placing them on the counter.

“We got the money?” he asks a little hesitantly. You could tell it was weighing on him as his eyes darted around the room. It had been a slow month, but you knew to save a little more for this exact reason.

“Yeah we got the fuckin’ money, but it’s only been three weeks since the last game for fucks sake. We’re lucky old man Anderson needed that carburetor or we’d be fucked.” you snap, “I’m going to get it now, just…make her that sandwich and get it to her before they get here.”

You walk through the kitchen and back out to the garage, running up the metal steps towards the safe. You sit in the rolling chair and bend over, spinning the combination lock in the correct sequence until it clicks. You pull the cash you need, feeling a wave of anger wash over you as you look up towards the ceiling. “This is your fucking fault.” you seethe, slamming the safe door and pushing up out of the chair.

You shut off the lights in the garage, and make your way back into the house slamming the door behind you as you place the money on the counter. Daniel places the sandwich on a paper plate, turning and filling a solo cup with water from the sink. “Sun’s down.” he says, looking out the kitchen window.

“I know, go take that and come back out, we need to have a drink so we don’t look so goddamn anxious.” you say, watching him walk off with the plate as he nods.

You snatch a bottle of half drank whiskey off the counter, pouring it into one of the glass cups on the table, shooting it back as you watch him open the door to your bedroom. You wonder what she’s doing in there. You know that book won’t occupy her for long. You try to remember if there is anything in there she shouldn’t see, but you also don’t give a fuck. You don’t have nothin’ to hide.

You refill the glass and a minute or so later Daniel emerges from your bedroom with a stifled grin. You curse under your breath and shake your head as you grab another glass and pour the whiskey in. You slide it across the table as he approaches, snatching it up and tipping it to his lips. “Heard a car pull up.” he says, drinking down the rest of it.

“You got some protection?” you ask lowly. His eyes flick to yours as he pulls up the side of his shirt revealing his pistol.

“Okay, good. Grab the door.” you instruct letting your eyes flick down towards the hallway. “Fuck I hope she stays in there.” you gripe, standing from the chair to grab the poker chips.

“She will.” he smirked, heading towards the front door.

—

Your eyes flicked down to the cards in your hands trying your best not to show your disappointment. You set them down on the felt topper, pulling a cigarette from the pack, and lighting it with the flick of your zippo. Your eyes glanced over to Daniel, and you could just tell by his posture that he was harboring a shit hand, too. You were both tanking, badly. The guys across from you were murmuring to each other with shit eating grins as they played their cards, sipping from their drinks and smoking their cigars. Fucking pricks.

You hated this shit. You hated poker, you always had. Your dad taught you when you were young, too young probably. Said you’d need the skill one day, and fuck him for being right. But maybe if he had been a better player you wouldn’t be in this spot right now. Maybe he wouldn’t have done what he did. The pressure to win these games was suffocating, all of it riding on you and Daniel. You’d gotten lucky the past few games, winning the pot before immediately turning it over to Teddy. What a joke. But tonight you weren’t sure you had luck on your side. Your shit hand combined with Daniel’s, along with the woman hiding out in your bedroom had you feeling anything but lucky. There was a reason there was a weapon under your shirt.

You tossed back your drink and tamped out your cigarette butt as play rounded the table. Your eyes flick to Daniel to see what his next move will be, hoping he has a trick up his sleeve, but you see him swallow and you know he’s out. He sucked his teeth as his eyes met Teddy’s.

“I fold.” Danny said, his voice full of disappointment.

“God damnit.” You muttered under your breath as Danny flipped his cards down, scooting his chair put and leaning it back. You looked down at your hand, seeing that it wasn’t going to get you anywhere, either. You ran your hand over your face, knowing that you had to figure something out, and quick.

“Awww, youngin’ throwin’ in so early? We’ve barely gotten started.” Teddy reached out and tapped his fat cigar onto the ashtray, laughing hard and loud as he stuck the wet end back between his teeth. His comrades laughed along, peering out from underneath their low-brimmed hats.

Among all the people at the table, Teddy was the shadiest of them all. A big man, more in stature than in weight. Most people called him Fridge, because one time during a bar fight, he lifted up a whole refrigerator to knock a guy out. Teddy was the head honcho of the crew that worried you the most, always using his big mouth and his big ego to scare people into doing whatever he wanted. And it worked. He had his hands in nearly everything around town, controlled more than just owning the laundromat downtown. If you didn’t know any better, you’d say that laundromat was used for laundering more than just clothes.

His posse was small, but they were close-knit, the same three guys stayed by his side at almost all times. Teddy took another swig of his flask, not trusting you and Danny enough to drink what you’d provided. You glanced around to the other 10 or so men playing, taking in each of their facial expressions as you studied their poker faces.

Clancy, an older gentleman who always brought his brother John along… They normally stayed pretty quiet, and that’s always what irked you the most. Bird and Joey were hot heads, a set of friends that reminded you a lot of you and Danny, but twenty years in the future. Bird liked to talk a lot of shit, just like Teddy did, and 9 times out of 10, them always trying to one-up the other is usually what set these games going south in a hurry. And now that Danny had folded, you were in it alone. Save for Bubba, of course.

The new face that had decided to grace your presence tonight was a stout middle aged man, dressed just like he’d emerged from the 1940’s; a slick long black jacket, a vest underneath, and a derby hat that looked like it was steam cleaned weekly. He had stayed fairly quiet the whole game, acting as though he was just taking everything in. But his demeanor was confident…the man knew every character at this table was taking him in, too.

Your nerves were shot, the liquor wasn’t nearly enough to take the edge off, and you felt your blood begin to boil as Teddy continued his verbal assault on everyone that he could. His voice was just…grating. And it never let up.

“On that note, I gotta piss. Let’s take five, eh?” Teddy suggested as he stood from his chair, his posse mumbling and standing along with him. You were glad he did, you felt like you were going to punch something if he said another fucking word about anything.

You made a quick glance to Bubba to get his attention, then proceeded to close your eyes for a prolonged 3 seconds. When you opened them, you found him looking back, with the same straight laced grin he gave everyone.

Be careful, Bubba. Here goes nothin’…

The entire drunken group stood and made their way through the narrow passage and out the back door to the abandoned vehicle lot, standing around in their respective groups to talk and smoke. You brought up the rear, and barrelled through the door, letting it slam against the wall as your eyes searched for Danny in the darkness. Finally you spotted him in a cloud of smoke around the back corner of the building.

“What the fuck!” You slammed his shoulders against the metal wall, watching as his facial expression immediately hardened. “Folding on the second fucking hand? Are you even trying?”

He bounced off the wall and shoved you back, making you kick up a little dust with your heels. “Do you think I fucking wanted to, Jake? I had a fucking 3-5 hand, no god damn way I was gonna win anything on that. And keep your fuckin’ hands off me…”

He shoved you again in a backwards act of repentance, which made you even more enraged than you were before. Your mind went fuzzy with it all, having to play the rest of this game by yourself, having to deal with Teddy and these guys, and also having to host this god damn game whenever he saw fit. Lately it didn’t seem like you ran your own life, but that it was running you.

You glanced around, seeing the crowd slowly making their way over, but no Bubba.

“Maybe if you got to work on time and worked a little harder we wouldn’t fuckin’ be in this mess.” He mumbled.

Oh, don’t even.

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

He threw his smoke to the ground, pushing his back off the wall and bucking up to you. “It means, that lately it seems like I’m the only one getting shit done around here. Movin’ shit in and out of the place. Fuck Jake, you’ve been rebuilding the same damn motor for weeks.”

“Fuck you, don’t tell me how to run my own god damn business.” You spat back, your face craned up and within inches of his. “I can change the locks faster than you can fuckin’ count to three.” You shoved him again, basically asking for it at this point.

“You wanna fuckin’ bet?” He was shoulder checking you now, and you felt it coming. The same way it always did. You couldn’t stop your left hook from rolling up from the bottom, popping him right in the cheek. It was seconds before he retaliated, his strong right fist bouncing off the side of your skull. From there, it continued. You exchanged blows, back and forth while you scuffled to the ground, laying hits to each others’ ribs as the dirt turned to dust around you.

Before long, all of the guys had heard the commotion and came running to see the show. Both of you back on your feet now, fists raised and ready to box. “Come on, you son of a bitch, you wanna do this now? Let’s go…” Danny muttered as he hopped lightly on his feet, egging you on.

You lurched forward, getting Danny one good time in a spot that you knew would piss him off, right in the temple. You continued exchanging hits left and right, even bringing the fight to a little bit of unfairness, using your knees to bring each other down even more. The cheers that had surrounded you were muffled now, all you could hear were your ears ringing and your blood pumping. You knew your nose was probably bleeding, and your muscles were on fire with adrenaline.

“Alright, alright boys! God damnit, stop!” You heard Bubba’s voice come between you, making the two of you step away from each other. “What the hell is wrong with you? We’re in the middle of a damn game! Back inside, all of yeh.” He commanded as the group dispersed, everyone heading back into the shop.

You felt Teddy’s giant hand hit the back of your neck, wincing at the snap of pain he inflicted. “Little Jacob, the two of you just can’t keep your hands off each other, can ya?” He bellowed a harsh, smoke-filled laugh as his minions echoed him. You glanced through the corner of your eye to see the unfamiliar face, puffing on a pipe of his own with the other hand in his pocket, his eyes squinted at you as you walked along.

—

HER POV

You pulled yourself away from the window, listening to the scuffle happening just beyond it. You recognized Danny’s voice, his bellowing timbre easily distinguishable. You wondered who he was fighting, and why he was fighting. You realize now why they stashed you in here, but that didn’t make you any less nervous. After a few minutes the yelling died off and you figured the fight was probably over, your mind racing wondering if Danny was okay, and how the other guy must have looked.

You paced around the room trying to slow your heart rate, the small room not giving you much space. You paused as you met the dresser, noticing a stack of items, books mostly. Your eyes traveled over the stack wondering if these items would give you any type of insight to the man who occupied this room. Your eyes caught a soft back book, buried deep under a pile of notebooks on the dresser. It had a green cover, and a photo of a school on the front. The top of the cover, in bright white lettering, read ‘St. James Elementary School, 1965’. Oh my god, you were probably in this. You began flipping through the black and white pages, seeing a few barely familiar faces here and there as you read about the various activities the school partook in that year.

You knew you’d left halfway through this exact year, but you vaguely remembered your last picture day at this school. Sure enough, a few pages later, you found your photograph amongst the rest of your classmates. You’d never seen this photo of yourself before. You were tiny, only 9 and in the third grade. Your hair was a frazzled mess, the collar of your shirt flipped up and crinkled. You smiled, remembering the good old days. A few pages back showed you 6-year-old Danny, and a few forward a ten-year-old Jake, his right arm wrapped in a cast from falling out of the Sycamore tree.

You looked at the sandwich that sat on the dresser, still contemplating whether or not you really wanted to eat it. Going with your starving gut, you forced it down. Danny did make it for you, after all.

As you swallowed the last bite, you heard a loud crash come from the other side of the wall, what sounded like a beer bottle smashing against the wall, and shattering. It was followed up by the muffled sounds of yelling voices, more slams and more screeches…it was getting so loud that you started to panic. You tried to tune it out, push it away, and after a few minutes it quieted, only to return again with a vengeance.

Are they okay? Is Bubba there?

You needed a distraction.

You looked across the floor, noticing an old tattered book lying by the dresser. Its cover was torn and oily from Jake’s hands; he must love this one. It made your heart skip a beat that he likes to read, and could recite poetry, given that it didn’t fit his outright personality in the least.

You let yourself get lost in the pages, using the story to distract yourself from the loud noises happening just thirty feet away. The last time you’d glanced at your watch, it was after 1am, and you felt your eyes getting heavy.

Damn, you could really use a shower and a pair of pajamas right now. But instead, you kicked off your shoes and jeans, folding them in a pile on the floor. You pulled the bedsheets back, finding them slightly stained, but clean nonetheless. Probably just as clean as the motel sheets if you were honest. The immediate smell of Jake’s Brut aftershave filled your senses, and you found yourself taking in the scent of him as you wrapped yourself in his sheets. You could smell his hair, his musk of his skin, the lingering scent of oil and the remnants of the laundry detergent he used sparingly. It felt strange, being in someone else’s bed, but at this point, you didn’t dare run away to the chaos that was happening outside the door. You felt safe in here, strangely enough, in this perfect stranger’s bedroom.

The only thing that would be better, was if Danny had stashed you in his room, instead.

——

JAKE POV

You glanced over to the flashing clock on the microwave, 3:58am. The sun would be coming up soon, and you knew they weren’t leaving until the game was won. You had it though. You knew you had it, thanks to Bubba. How the fuck he pulled it off unseen you aren’t sure. Your little diversion with Daniel must have worked. You could feel your eye swelling as you blinked through the pain, a headache setting in deep in your head as the play rounded the table to you.

With nervous hands you laid your cards out on the table, licking your lips as you spoke, “Four of a kind.” Your eyes flicked up to Teddy as a sick grin crossed his face.

“The boys’ done it again, folks.” he shouted, causing everyone to lay their losing hands out on the table, sending you dirty looks. They all start to push away from the table, throwing their money into the center before storming off through the front door.

The game was over, and you by some miracle, had won.

Teddy stayed seated at the table, crossing his arms behind his head as he stared at you with a disgusting smile. You grabbed your portion of the money and added it to the pile, waiting until the others were out the door before pushing it forward to him. His minions began gathering the cash into a bag, as Teddy sat sipping the last of the whiskey straight from the bottle.

“You know boy, your father’d be proud of yeh.” he said, his voice grating at your every nerve.

“My father left me to clean up his fucking mess.” you said, standing from the table as they loaded the last of the cash. You walked over to the sink as Daniel stood from the table. “Good game. Thanks.” he said, disappearing down the hallway.

Teddy stood and patted you on the back, tamping out his cigar in your kitchen sink, “You have a nice night now, ya hear?” and with that he and his shadows made their way out of your front door.

“God fucking damnit.” you breathed, letting out the breath you’d been holding for what felt like most of the night.

Daniel reemerges from the hallway, beginning to collect glasses from the table. “The fuck was all that about?” he asks, clearly knowing you picked that fight on purpose.

“I had to. I was about to fold. Thank god they called a break.” you paused, turning to look at his swollen cheek. “Bubba…”

“Yeah, I know.” he said, placing the glasses on the counter. He walks back over to the table to start cleaning up the poker chips, a small laugh leaving his chest. “A little warning would’ve been nice.”

You smirk, and nod. “Needed to be believable. Worked didn’t it?”

He laughs again, “This time. We’re kind of shit at poker, you know?”

“Fuckin’ terrible.” you said, shaking your head with a smile.

“She good in there?” he asks, leaning on the doorframe.

“Don’t know. Haven’t been in there. Haven’t seen or heard anything, thank god. Assume she’s asleep.” you shrug.

“You sleepin’ in there?” he asks, tongue in his cheek.

“As opposed to where?” you question.

“Don’t fuckin’ know, just a question.” he snaps back.

“Suppose I am then. All two hours. Fuckin’ head is pounding though so maybe not.” you tout.

He nods his head and disappears down the hallway again, hitting the lightswitch as he walks. You hear his bedroom door shut leaving you to the quiet house filled with dissipating smoke. You grab a beer from the fridge, and take a seat at the table, dropping your head into your hands. How the fuck did I end up here pops? Why’d you do this to me? To us? We’re barely making it.

You pop the lid off the bottle and bring it to your lips letting the cold liquid glide down your throat, hoping to quell the hunger in your stomach for another night. Your eyes flick over to your bedroom door. The light is off, and you wonder if she’s asleep. She was in there so long… she probably had to piss. Fuck how did this happen?

You tightened your fist, feeling the pain settling in. Your skin felt tight and grimey and you could feel the blood on your face. You swallowed down the rest of the beer, tossing the bottle into the trashcan as you made your way to the front door. You pulled it open checking to make sure no one was lingering before locking it up for the night, heading towards the bathroom.

You flicked the shower handle on, knowing it would be a few minutes before it warmed up. You quickly ran your toothbrush over your teeth as you stripped out of your clothes, setting your gun on the bathroom counter. You took notice of just how disgusting your bathroom was, but shit it was only you and Danny. Why did you care?

You wet your razor and dragged it harshly against your skin, for a quick dry shave. You stepped into the shower, letting the hot water rinse away the grease and grime the best it could. You snatched the green soap from the ledge and lathered your body, the sting catching you off guard as you ran your soapy hands over the cut on your face. You washed your hair as quickly as you could, knowing that your sleeping hours were growing shorter by the second. You flicked the handle off and grabbed your towel from the bar, running it over yourself and wrapping it around your waist. You slapped on a little bit of aftershave and ran your fingers through your hair, before deciding you’d spent long enough in the bathroom.

You grabbed your gun and turned off the light, crossing the hallway to your closed door, pausing for a second with unease about what you were about to walk into. You quietly twisted the knob and found that your window was cracked open, letting a breeze flow through the room. Your eyes traveled towards your bed finding Y/N in a dead sleep beneath your sheets. You swallowed hard at the image of her asleep on your pillow, completely unable to conjure a memory of the last time you let a girl sleep in your bed, because quite frankly, you didn’t do that.

You set the gun on the dresser, pulling open the top drawer to fish out a pair of boxers, dropping your towel and sliding them onto your legs. You picked up the towel and ran it through your hair again, before throwing it over your closet door. You grabbed your gun and set it on the nightstand as quietly as you could, trying not to wake her. You went to grab the sheets, but stopped yourself. Should you? No. You push the sheets over to the side to see your book laying open beneath them. You huff a laugh through your nose, a small smile crossing your lips at the thought of her laying in here reading your favorite book while you were trying not to get the shit beat out of you just thirty feet away.

You grabbed it and placed it on the nightstand, seeing she made a substantial dent, before sliding into the bed next to her. It almost felt wrong sleeping without blankets but you didn’t want to cross a line. She probably didn’t even consider that you would sleep in here either. Danny didn’t.

You tried to settle yourself as softly as you could, really trying to avoid the awkward interaction when really you just wanted to sleep. She rolled a little bit as the bed dipped down, her bare leg peeking out from the dark sheets. Your eyes traveled the expanse of exposed skin, remembering that earlier she was in jeans. Your eyes flicked to the floor seeing them folded in a neat pile at the foot of the bed. Fuck me, shes half naked too. Fuck.

You let out a sigh and placed your hands behind your head, letting your mind swirl with thoughts as you tried to will them to slow down enough to let you close your eyes. A soft noise leaves her lips, a gentle hum as she pulls the blanket up towards her face. You turn to look at her, and you swear you can almost smell her shampoo if you think about it hard enough, letting a tingle slide through your body at the unfamiliar fragrance. You turn on your side just watching her for a minute, the way her lips are slightly parted and her eyes are darting around. You wonder what she’s dreaming about. You wonder if she’s scared. Although if she was truly scared, would she have fallen asleep so comfortably in your bed?

Her skin glows in the dim light peeking through the window. You want to touch her. You resist the urge as a breeze drifts through the room causing a few strands of her hair to fly across her face. She’s sort of pretty now that you can look at her for a few minutes. Her hair, so shiny and smooth, her lashes so long and thick, her hands so small and clean as they rest next to her mouth. Actually, she’s really pretty. Maybe even beautiful. Your hand lifts and draws near to her cheek, her skin looks so soft you think maybe if you could just touch it one time you would be satiated enough to fall asleep, but you quickly retract it knowing this is not right. She wouldn’t want this. You’re fairly certain she has a thing for Daniel, or so it seemed, and Daniel didn’t seem too happy with the thought of the two of you sleeping together.

Her foot moves, her toes barely grazing your leg, sliding through your leg hair causing you to swallow quickly at the sensation. You want her to do it again. Touch me. Please. Do it again. But instead you move your leg away. Your brain is screaming out for the touch of someone else. To feel a touch that isn’t rough and aggressive. Something soft and gentle. Something like her.

It’s been some time since you’d been this intrigued by a woman, and you aren’t quite sure why, or how she’s managed to do it in just two days. You want to know her. You want to touch her; feel her skin on yours. You want to step inside the mind of this poem loving, free spirited, firecracker of a woman that stumbled into your shop. You want to do all of that and more, but you can’t. She’s his, or atleast wants to be.

You roll to your stomach, letting your wet hair fall over your back as you tuck your arm under your pillow. Your eyes are trained on her, slowly blinking closed as you struggle to focus on her dark silhouette, wondering how you’re going to get her out of the mess she’d walked into.

—

HER POV

It was the strong smell of Jake that woke you, his scent of aftershave and soap drifting across your nose in your early morning, half-asleep state. Before you open your eyes, you force your mind to think about last night, what happened, and where you had ended up.

Jake’s bed. Safe and sound.

You peeled one eye open to a sight that made your breath catch in your lungs. Jake was lying on his stomach next to you, one hand under his pillow, the other curled up underneath him. You smiled a little; you hadn’t seen him in this state of vulnerability yet. It was like his hardened exterior didn’t even exist in this peaceful state. His pink lips were parted, the tiniest wisp of air escaping through them. His eyelids moved back and forth while he dreamed, and you couldn’t help but notice that his hair was just a little bit damp from his apparent shower earlier. He looked clean.

Once your senses began to come to life, you heard the faint sound of rustling out in the bay, most likely Danny getting his day started already. You sat up a bit and noticed that Jake was lying on top of the comforter, no blanket at all to cover his sleeping body. Why didn’t he get underneath? Wasn’t he cold? And upon closer examination, you noticed that he had a black eye…busted lip and cheek…bruised hand? What the fuck?

Was it him fighting Danny last night?

Couldn’t have been…

You maneuvered yourself a little bit in the bed to stretch, pulling yourself out from underneath the covers. It woke him just enough to turn over, and when he flipped, his hand barely brushed your hip, his fingertips lingering just above your pantyline.

This should not be sending your stomach into a fit of excitement like it is, fuck.

You glanced down to see his tattoo-covered fingertips resting gently on you with the background of your baby pink panties behind them. His fingertips weren’t rough and calloused, but more toughened and strong. His fingers tightened their grip and jerked every few seconds, the tiny movements making your mind think thoughts it shouldn’t be. Something about the scene looked all too kinky, and you rolled your eyes at the visual, committing it to memory. His fingers burned into your skin and you briefly wondered if it would feel that way all the time.

Suddenly the music in the bay got ten times louder, and you knew that it was Danny telling Jake to get the fuck out of bed. Jake’s eyes opened as fast as lightning as he got his bearings, rolling his tongue over his teeth as he wet his mouth. When he noticed you were there, it was like all his memories found him again in the blink of an eye. He blinked to you, offering you a tiny smile before he noticed where his hand was still sitting.

When he did, he ripped it away. “Fuck, sorry.” He rolled away, the snake tattoo running down his back catching your eye a little more now as you could see the cascading scales up closely.

“It’s okay.” You murmured, feeling his embarrassment. You rolled from the bed too, feeling somewhat uncaring of the fact that he essentially just saw you in your panties. Oh fuckin’ well. You stood and walked to the end of the mattress and found your jeans, shaking them out as you stood before Jake, still sitting perched on his side of the bed.

He cleared his throat and looked away before standing and grabbing a random shirt from the floor. He quickly yanked it over his head, searching for a pair of jeans and once he found them he slid them on quickly and made his way toward the door, leaving you getting dressed all alone.

“Sorry I fell asleep here…I could’ve slept on a couch, or something…” you muttered, jumping a little as you slowly pulled the tight denim jeans over your thighs.

You watched as he caught himself watching you, snapping himself from the scene before clearing his throat again. “Um, it’s fine. Thanks for hiding out. We um… We don’t have a couch…”

“Oh…” you breathed, buttoning your jeans.

He stood nodding, his bottom lip bitten hard between his teeth as he fought himself to look at you.

“Well.” He turned, without another word, and made his way back out. You gave him a second before you followed him out, wanting to pee and rinse your morning breath away with a bead of toothpaste and your finger. When you made it to the bathroom, though, you were met with Jake again, standing and brushing his teeth in the mirror. “Sorry.” You apologized, turning to stand with your back against the wall of the hallway.

It was mere seconds before he stepped out into the hall, toothbrush still in his mouth, and motioned for you to go ahead and take the bathroom. “I’ll rinse in the kitchen.” You gave him a quick smile before ducking away to do your business.

After a minute you emerged, opening the door to find Jake pulling on his coveralls, a cigarette hanging from his lips already. “Why don’t you have any soap in your bathroom?” You asked, wiping your hands on your jeans from the water-wash.

He looked at you with one eye, shrugging his shoulders as he pulled his hair back into a low bun. He picked the cigarette from his mouth as he exhaled the smoke into the air, a tiny wisp of hair falling in his face. “Look around. Does it look like we wash much of anything ‘round here?”

Without another word, he walked back through the door to the bay, and you let the smoke of his cigarette hit your face as you followed him.

“Ohhhh, goodmorning, you two! How did you sleep?!” Danny yelled out across the bay overtop of a loud Lynyrd Skynyrd song. “Actually, wait. Don’t answer that. Spare me the dirty details, I don’t need a visual.”

“Fuck you, Danny.” You spat at him before you could even stop yourself. You heard Jake chuckle under his breath. “There are no dirty details.”

“Oh, that’s right! Jake actually took a shower last night. Guess they wouldn’t be too dirty, would they?” Danny quipped back.

Jake sighed, pinching his nose. “Daniel, it’s too fucking early, and your music’s too fuckin’ loud, and my head hurts too fucking bad from your cheap shot to my skull last night. Can you please pipe the fuck down.” Jake chirped as he stood up on the top step of his ladder.

“Hmm, I would, but it looks like you already did the piping last night, eh Y/N?” Danny said through a shit-eating grin. Your jaw dropped at his insinuation, but it was also kind of amusing.

“Daniel I swear to fuckin’ god if you don’t stop it, we’re going back out to the parking lot.” Jake yelled, throwing a handful of nuts and bolts at Danny. “You’ll be the one getting a damn black eye this time, you asshole.”

Danny had ducked behind the vehicle he was working on to avoid the flying metal, laughing as he stood back up unscathed. “Fuckin’ try it, Jake!”

You watched as Jake bit his cheeks in, trying like hell to talk himself out of jumping off the ladder and launching himself toward Danny’s waiting threat.

“Nah, actually, you know what?” Danny slammed his rag down on the opened hood of the car. “I’ve already been at work for two hours. I’m taking an early lunch. Y/N, you want breakfast? It’s omelet day at Louie’s. My treat.” He began pulling his arms from the sleeves of his coveralls, and tying them around his waist.

“Uh, sure, I…I guess.” You answered, scared to say no. “We taking Ruby?”

“Oh, there’s my girl. Ready to hop back on and ride…” Danny sucked his teeth as he walked toward you, tossing you the key to his bike. “You can handle it this morning, right Jake? Your own fucking business?”

You glanced to Jake as he distracted himself with his head buried deep in the guts of a Chevy, not bothering to look your way.

Danny wrapped his arm around your neck as he turned you around, shuffling you out the door. “Bye Jake, don’t wait up!”

——

DANNY POV

Noooonono. No way he is making his way into your territory like this. Not this time.This is your turf.

You and Y/N rounded the corner of the building to the wide awning out back where you kept your various motorcycles and important parts, and of course, Ruby. Y/N tossed the keys back to you as you straddled the back of the bike, scooting forward as you started it up and revved the engine loud, mostly to get on Jake’s nerves.

You held your hand out, palm up, over your shoulder, waiting for Y/N to grab it as she slid in behind you. When she got comfortable, and her entire front was pressed against your back, you kicked the stand and took off.

God, the chemistry you felt every time you were around this girl was making your head spin. She made you feel different, made you feel like you’d ditch your little black book of phone numbers, made you think about never wanting to take another woman home from the bar ever again. She gave you that tiny feeling in the pit of your stomach that you couldn’t explain any other way, other than excitement. And it was growing every day.

It felt good to have her all to yourself again, and even after the chaos and calamity of last night, and her ultimately having to stay in Jake’s room, you knew deep down that they probably didn’t hook up…you didn’t think so, at least.

And if they really didn’t, Jake had a lot more self-control than you thought he did.

You felt her hands squeeze around your stomach as you rounded the curve a little faster than she was used to, earning a little laugh from you. You felt the strands of her hair tickling the backs of your shoulders as the morning sun shone down, and you were itching to get her to the next destination, so you could get her as alone as possible.

But first, breakfast.

“The western omelet is my favorite, but also you can’t go wrong with three-cheese.” You advised Y/N as Geraldine poured the hot coffee directly from the glass carafe.

“Honey we can make ya whatever ya want, just say the word.” You watched as Geraldine shot her a sweet wink.

“The western omelet sounds great, thank you ma’am.” Y/N smiled back as she sipped her coffee.

“I’ll take you back to your motel after this, so you can not feel like a prisoner for a little while.” You told her, stirring the sugar into your coffee.

“Shit, you don’t know how happy I am to hear you say that. I feel like I’ve had the same clothes on for weeks.” She sighed hard and her face lit up.

“You’ve been here for like, three days, Y/N.” You teased with a wink.

“God, you’re right…and so much shit has already happened! Maybe this actually is where my adventure was supposed to occur.”

You furrowed your brow. “What adventure?”

She cleared her throat as she readjusted herself in her seat. “Remember when you asked me what I was running from?”

You nodded.

“Well, I kinda was running, kinda not. My fiancé and I had just broken up, and I set out looking for a big life adventure, ya know. I never got to go out and do the things I really wanted to do, be wild for a bit. See more than just little old Salvation.”

“…And you found yourself right back here in fuckin’ Joslyn.” You added.

“Ugh, yeah.” She rested her chin in her hands. “Atlanta feels so far away now…” she was staring out the window, watching two birds fight over a discarded French fry.

You pulled her hands down, taking them in yours. “But you’re at least getting to experience the adventure part, right?”

A sly smile shot across her lips as she bit them in. “Yeah, it’s definitely been a ride so far.” She squeezed your palms. Fuck, she makes your heart beat fast.

“What other things did you hope to experience on this life-changing trip?” You added, craning an eyebrow and releasing her hands.

“Well, I wanted to meet new people, make some friends…I wanted to swim in a river, climb to the top of the highest mountain in every state I visited, just so I can say I did. I wanted to try new foods, go dancing, visit farmers markets and eat tomatoes right off the vines down south…I wanted to go wild. I hadn’t…my life had been so cookie-cutter for so many years, I didn’t get to enjoy it. My formative years, ya know? Sow my oats…” her tongue clicked at that last part, instantly making your dick jump. You knew exactly what she meant.

You felt like you wanted to jump across the table. “All of those things sound like a lot of fun, Y/N. I hope you get to do them all one day…” your voice was flat, your heart rate picking up with each passing second. You don’t know why, but at that very second, you wanted to give her each and every one of the things she listed, and more. You wanted to help her. Be there with her to live out her forgotten dreams.

“I hope I do too, Danny…” her eyes were bored into yours, her look soaking deep into your bones like no other woman had before. Fuck.

After a long pause, she spoke again. “Will you walk me into my room when we get back? Check it out…? After last night, I…”

“Absolutely. I’ll walk you in. And I’ll fix your television.”

“How did you know it was broken?” She seemed surprised.

“Noticed when I picked you up the other night. And nothing ever fucking works at that shit hole.” You explained. She smiled, a genuine smile that was begging you to keep going, keep talking to her, keep asking her about her life.

So you did. Until breakfast was over, and it was time to leave. You paid Geraldine, and she waved you off with a wrapped-up biscuit for Jake. He’d get it later.

The ride back to the motel was way more intense than the ride to Louie’s; it was almost as if her hands were burning holes in your skin. You held your left hand on her thigh just like you had before, squeezing it in all the right places. The confidence she had the first night you rode came back full-force. Her thumb hooked in your belt, her other fingers hanging right above your groin. Her other hand worked to hold her own hair back from her face, and you wished to God you had a photograph of the two of you right now.

Her free hand drifted around your abdomen, running her fingertips from your back, around your side, and to your stomach again…her legs squeezing together, her hot breath on your shoulder blade…fuck.

“You’re making it really hard for me to concentrate on the road, Miss Thing.” You finally admitted.

“Nooo, you’re a professional. You’re doing just fine.” She said in your ear, the proximity sending a chill down your spine. You swallowed back the lump in your throat, hoping to recenter yourself and conceal what was happening in your jeans.

“Well thank you for the encouragement…”

“Is it helping?” She purred, her lips brushing your ear now.

“Fuck yeah it’s helping, a little too much, actually…” you laughed as you pulled into the parking lot of the motel in front of room #7.

You both hopped off as you kicked the stand, finally facing each other after the whirlwind of a ride in. You watched as she flattened out her wind-blown hair, pulling a few pieces that had slipped into her mouth. You found yourself giggling at how cute she was, making your stomach fill with butterflies just watching her. What is happening?

You watched as she unlocked the door, turning slightly as she pushed it open to invite you in. You took one last look up and down the sidewalk to check your surroundings, and when you felt it was clear, you stepped inside, closing the door behind you.

“It’s just really fuzzy, the picture sometimes comes across, but then it buzzes up again.” She explained as she moved the bunny ears on the top of the TV set.

“Let me take a look.” You waltzed to the TV, pulling it out from its place a little bit and messing with the wires and connections. She stood watching the screen, giving you a play-by-play as you fiddled.

“Oh, there— wait. Nope. Gone again. There! Yes, there!” She squealed when you finally got the picture to stay steady. “Perfect! Leave it right there!”

You stepped away, holding your hands up as if it would screw up again if you moved too fast. But there it was, the perfect picture on the old 70’s model screen.

“Yes, thank you Danny!” She brought both hands around your neck in a tight, excited embrace, laying the sweetest kiss right to your cheek before stepping away again. Wow.

“I’m gonna hop in the shower, if you don’t care to hang out? I’ll only be a second…” she explained as she took her earrings out, laying them neatly on the bathroom sink.

“Take your time, Jake will be fine. I’ll wait.” You responded, knowing that Jake probably did owe you a little personal time. You made yourself comfortable on the bed while she slipped into the bathroom. You removed your coveralls and boots and laid back down. After about 15 minutes of some shotty version of the news, you heard the bathroom door click open, revealing Y/N wrapped up in two terry cloth towels.

Shit…take your eyes off her…

She was snooping around in her suitcase on the opposite bed, obviously making a scene out of showing off a little leg for you.

“Maybe I should have joined you in the shower, you smell phenomenal.” You quipped, trying to lean into the flirting again.

“It was just whatever was laying on the counter, here. But yeah, maybe you should’ve…” She giggled, pulling her hair from the towel. She was absolutely fucking gorgeous, and she was cutting away at your heartstrings, one by one. You sat up on the bed when she came to sit beside you, and you were dying to kiss her, touch her, anything at all to feel her near you again.

She was holding the towel together between her breasts, her legs curled up underneath her as she moved her body in toward you.

“How about I join you next time?” You asked as she brought her face close to yours, your noses brushing just barely. Your heart was flying out of your chest…you could taste her breath on your tongue.

“I’ll hold you to that…” she whispered, moving her lips to brush yours just barely. You leaned in, wanting to feel more of her….the barely-there kiss wasn’t nearly enough. You took her chin between your fingers, almost like you’d done a couple nights ago before you left her a panting mess.

You let yourselves breathe together, your breath mixing together as you held yourselves back from what you really, really wanted to do. It was killing you, not ravishing her entire, dripping body, right here, right now. Fuck…Y/N…

“Will you just fucking kiss me already, Danny?” She breathed out, smiling through her words as she said them.

That was all it took, you let yourself crash into her, your lips finally connecting in a fury. It was hot, but not rushed; you allowed yourselves time to explore a bit before diving in head first. Her lips were sweet and spicy, like a familiar candy you couldn’t place. And soft and smooth, and delicious…

She finally opened her mouth a bit to let you in more, her tongue barely brushing your lip before pushing in all the way, searching for yours. You let her find it, connecting them together in what felt like a meeting you’d been waiting for for years. She tasted even sweeter once you began deepening the kiss, both of you fighting the urge to let your hands begin to wander. You finally remembered to breathe, letting your lungs fill as your lips tingled, your eyes opening and flitting closed again as you watched her kiss you back.

Her hand was still gripping her towel, while her other rested on your upper thigh, fingertips slowly digging in every few seconds as your bodies became more comfortable with each other. Suddenly she pulled away, her eyes meeting yours in a flustered fury. “God damn, you’re a good kisser.” She blurted out.

“Really?” You laughed.

“Yeah, yessss...you’re a very good kisser.” She touched her fingertips to her lips like she could feel you there still, her cheeks pink and flustered as she did so. You wanted to tell her to drop the fuckin’ towel, get your ass over here and straddle me, let me show you how good of a kisser I really am… but you didn’t. You’d rather move things along at the pace they were going. It was almost fun watching her make her own moves; just like you’d told her, she was a mystery, like a code you wanted to crack…

The next thing you knew, it was like your fantasies were slowly becoming real life. She stood from beside you on the bed, releasing her hold on the towel, letting it fall to the floor. Her naked body stood before you, still a bit damp and blotchy from her hot shower. You felt no shame in letting your eyes rake over her body, biting your lips in as you did so.

“Fuck, you’re gorgeous, Y/N…” you said, wringing your hands together in your lap. “I’m speechless…”

She blushed a little, tilting her head to the side as a little bit of hair fell in front of her eye. She pulled it back, slotting it behind her ear. “Thank you, Danny.”

She crawled into the bed behind you, slipping under the covers and pulling them up around her neck. She held her pointer finger up and wiggled it, signaling for you to come with her.

Don’t gotta ask me twice.

“I’m still a little dirty from work, baby…”

“Then go wash your hands and get back here…” she urged.

And you did. Really, really well. You splashed some water on your face, and even up your arms a bit. You rushed back into the room, stopping short of the bed to rip your t-shirt from your body. You lifted the sheets back to lay down next to her, your hands finding each other's bodies almost instantly. Your mouths met each other’s with a quickness again, your hands in such a flurried mess you could hardly tell which way was up, and which was down.

Her hands tangled in your long curls, and your hands wrapped around her barren thighs with so much force you thought you might leave bruises. She was fuckin’ perfect…

She pulled you in by the hair, the swift action making your dick twitch again. You felt her tits pressed against your chest as you kissed her, making you growl with anticipation. You reached under her leg, pulling her closer so it hitched over your hip. You tried to pull the visual that her legs were spread wide across your lap, just barely out of view under the sheets.

Her light moans and whines were killing you, and the more you pulled on each other's skin, the more you couldn’t stand it anymore. You had to have her.

“I’m havin’ a really hard time not touchin’ you the way I want to, Y/N…” you breathed once as you came up for air.

“How do you wanna touch me?” She asked, making your brain feel like it was fried.

You craned your body up to hover over her, watching her chest rise and fall as she caught her breath. Her hand lifted up to wipe the sheen of sweat that had started to collect on your forehead, making you feel like you wanted to come undone already.

You balanced, using one hand to gently touch her face… “Here…then here…” you let your single fingertip trace down her cheek, then her neck, then down to round off her tit. She bucked up, her hips lifting from the bed at your light touch.

“Here…” your finger drifted down the center of her sternum, and down to her stomach, stopping short at her bellybutton. A soft moan escaped her throat, letting you know she was enjoying it, as featherlight as it was. “But mostly…” your finger drifted lower, stopping right above her slit. You brought your lips to hers again, kissing her deeply while leaving your finger a centimeter away from her clit. “Here…”

You both jumped hard at the shrill sound of the room phone ringing, breaking you away from the heated place you’d found yourselves in.

“Fuck!” Y/N yelped, feeling the same immediate frustration as you.

“Just ignore it…” you pleaded.

But she didn’t. She reached over to grab the phone from the receiver, answering it harshly.

“Hello?” She asked, listening as the person on the other end yelled in her ear. Wanda. You could hear every word she was saying. Y/N’s brow furrowed hard as she pulled the phone away from her ear. “Okay, thanks.”

“It’s Wanda. Said she’s gonna connect Jake to you.” She held the phone out for you.

“That motherfucker, I swear. I can’t get one second to myself…” you held it up, listening for it to finish ringing out.

“Daniel.” You heard Jake’s voice come across.

“What, asshole? I’m kind of in the mid—”

“I need you to get back here, ASAP, please.”

“Jake, I’m a little busy, I’ll be back soon.”

“Danny we have a visitor…he brought his bike to be fixed, and I don’t fix bikes.” He cut the sentence there, and you could tell he was moving his body away to talk more privately.

“It’s Joey…and he’s acting really weird, man. He’s snooping around and shit…I know he has at least two weapons on him—”

“Why would he be snooping? We have nothing to hide…from him, at least…” you reasoned.

“No, we don’t. Which is why I’m confused. I think he’s on a recon mission or some shit.” He sighed a deep breath. “Can you please just come diagnose this bike so we can get him the fuck out of here?”

“Yeah, shit. Yeah, I’ll be there soon.”

“Tell her to lock her door and push the dresser in front of it when you leave. Tell her we’ll be back soon once we get this straightened out. This feels weird, Danny. I dunno…” you could hear the strange sound in his voice, and normally his gut was right.

“Alright, give me just a few.” You handed her the phone and she hung it up and placed it back on the table as you grumbled in the bed beside her. “So much for an afternoon delight!”

“What was that about?” She asked as you pulled yourself from the bed.

“I’ve gotta go. Some remnants of last night have trickled over into today, don’t need to leave Jake alone for it.” You pulled on your coveralls and boots as you looked back down to her, naked and alone in the bed.

“Fuck, Y/N, I’m sorry. I feel like I keep leaving you high and dry.” You leaned a knee on the bed, taking her cheek in your hand.

“Definitely not fucking dry, if we’re being honest…” she rolled her eyes.

“Fuck…” you laughed, wanting to continue what you started so badly it was killing you. “I need you…I need you to pull the dresser in front of the door when I leave, okay? I’ll explain later, just. Lock the door, don’t let anybody in here. I shouldn’t be long.”

“What? Pull the dresser?! Danny, I’m getting sick of this, why do I need to hide?! I’m trying to get the fuck out of town!” You could tell her blood was boiling already.

“I know, Y/N, but—”

“No buts, Danny. I’m sick of this. I’m a grown woman, I make my own decisions, and you’re treating me like I’m a child you’re not proud of. Hiding me away…” she got up from the bed and made her way to her suitcase, pulling on a large shirt. “Should you leave me a weapon? Am I going to have to fight someone off like you and Jake fought last night?!” She yelled, tears fighting to spring free.

Just then, you heard a few loud engines trucking their way down the road in the direction of the shop. Whether or not they were going there, you weren’t sure, but…

“Listen. Pull the dresser. Lock the door. I will not be long.” You used a little bit of command, walking back to her and taking her face forcefully in your hands. You looked deep in her eyes as you tried to explain it all in 4 seconds, before laying your lips to hers in one last goodbye kiss. “I promise you I’ll explain it all soon. And I’ll come back and finish what we started here, hm? Okay?”

This was so unfair to her.

She ripped her face away, sending you out the door. “Just fuckin’ go.” She sent you the tiniest smirk as you backed out the door, giving you a sliver of hope that maybe she wasn’t entirely done with you and your shit.

“I’ll be back, baby…”

———

“About fuckin’ time.” Jake spat at you as you walked through the metal door.

“Jesus Christ, I got here as soon as I could.” You snapped back as you walked toward Joey and the bike.

“Pretty long fuckin’ breakfast, if you ask me—”

You snapped your head around, stopping Jake in his tracks. “What, are you jealous? She was in your bed last night, not my problem if you didn’t make a move.”

You heard him huff a breath out his nose, and his lack of an answer let you know that no, they obviously didn’t hook up last night. Good.

You strutted to Joey, immediately jovially greeting him. “Hey, Joe. How’s it goin’? What do we have going on here?” You squatted down to the bike that Jake and Joey already had propped up on the block.

“Startin’ to lose power, I hardly made it up the hill, here. Got a funny smell, too.” Joey answered with his arms crossed. Joey hadn’t been riding his bike long, but he knew enough about it to know the simple answer to this problem. You watched as he shot his eyes back and forth around the shop, looking behind you to Jake, to the loft, to the back rooms…

“When’d you change the filter last?” You inquired, trying to distract him from his wandering eyes.

“Ah, couple months. Shouldn't be ready for a new one quite yet.” He replied, spitting his snuff directly onto the shop floor. As unclean as you and Jake were, that was one thing you both could not fucking stand. Jake’s head popped up from inside the Chevy, and you watched as he shook his head in disgust.

“We’re around a lot of dust here, Joey. Check the fuel injectors?” You stood and walked to your tool kit, already knowing exactly how to fix his issue.

“Yup.” He nodded his head, giving you nothing more. This guy really isn’t as smart as you thought he was.

“Hey, where’s that sweet little thing that’s been hangin’ round? She ain’t here?” Joey asked through his snuff-stained teeth.

Your eyes met Jake’s for a split second. “What the fuck are you talkin’ about Joey?”

“I seen her ‘bouts. Boy, if she ain’t a pretty penny, huh? Bet she tastes sweet up under them tight jeans, too. Mmmhm, I’d like to have me a piece of that—”

You stood quick, shaking your towel with one quick whip through the air as you met Joey’s eyes, silently threatening him to shut his fuckin’ mouth before you shut it for him.

You squatted back down, and popped off a few pieces exposing the completely clogged air filter. You pulled it free, holding it up to Joey. “There’s your problem. Fuel injectors are probably clogged, too.”

These things were trashed. No way he just cleaned them.

So he lied. Jake was right. He fed you a bullshit reason to get here, and stay here. Waiting for her.

“Well I’ll be a sumbitch.” He cackled, spitting again.

“Why don’t you watch me do this so you won’t have to come to me for such a simple fix next time…?” You offered.

“What, is my money no good here?” He pressed, stepping forward.

“Didn’t say that, Joe. Just figured you knew how to fix this, seein’ that you’ve been riding awhile now.” You tried to undermine his intelligence and the fact that you were on to him. Both of you.

“But I’m more than happy to get you a new filter and clean these injectors. Take me five minutes. Then I’ll have your total on a bill upstairs.” You shot back, getting to work as quickly as possible.

Within ten minutes, you had the bike fixed, hoping that that was the only problem he had. Routine maintenance wasn’t something you were too keen on doing, especially for someone like Joey.

You handed Joey the bill as he pulled out a few tens from his wallet. “Ya know, Danny…it’s a damn good thing you mechanic better than you play poker, Jake too.” You watched his eyes shoot to Jake, still working up under the Chevy. “Shocking you keep winning, as shitty as you are. Strikes me as somethin’ a little more than luck, hm?”

Joey raised his eyebrow as your stomach sank. Were they onto what happened last night? No way…everyone was there watching you fight…

“Joey, this will make the second time I ask you what the fuck you’re talking about.” You said stoically, acting as though you truly had no clue.

He laughed low, scanning his eyes up and down you. “Thanks for the tune up, son. Catch you boys elsewhere.” Joey said, spitting on the ground yet again as he hopped on the bike, pulling it out of the bay in a cloud of dust.

Jake rolled the creeper out, a look of surprise written all over his face. “Fuck, have they caught on?”

“Hell if I know. But you were right. That was a recon mission. They are looking for her…” You slammed the towel down again, shutting all the drawers back on your tool kit. “He’s going to report back that she wasn’t here. They know where she’s stayin’, Jake.”

“Did she pull the dresser?” He asked, standing quickly from the floor.

“Yeah, yeah. I told her to. She’s layin’ low. God, they’re gonna go after her aren’t they?” You suddenly felt a wave of nervousness shake your bones. What had you gotten her into?

Jake was already running to the wall, ripping his keys from the hook. “Yeah. They sure as fuck are. I’ll go get her. Get her shit from the Scout and lock the shop up. I’ll be back.”

And for the third time in three days, you listened to exactly what Jake told you to do, with no argument whatsoever.

——

JAKE POV

Your tires spin as you pull out of the lot, your hand gripping the steering wheel as the other flicks open your zippo, holding the windblown flame to the tip of your cigarette. The metallic clink sounds particularly loud as you toss it to the bench seat. You pull the cigarette from your mouth letting the smoke dissipate through the window as you let out a sigh. “Man, fuck.”

You knew it only took six minutes to get from the shop to the motel but for some reason it felt like it had been twenty. You puffed on your cigarette a few more times, flicking it out the window as you pulled into the parking lot of the motel. You threw your door open and looked around, seeing not a soul in sight, but you knew Wanda was watching. Bitch.

You stepped up to her door, knocking three times as your heart raced with adrenaline. Open the door Y/N… “Hello? Who is it?” you heard her muffled voice say through the door.

“It’s me. It’s Jake. Open the door.” you reply hastily, leaning on the door frame. You can hear her rustling around behind the door, hoping she’s moving the dresser out of the way. You hear the chain release and the door cracks open.

“Jake?” she questions, pulling it open a little wider. “What are you doing here? I thought Danny was coming back.”

“Well surprise, you get me instead. Try not to be too disappointed.” you quip, pushing the door farther open and stepping inside. You shut the door behind you, spinning the lock and making your way over towards her suitcase. “Pack your things, we’re leaving.”

“What? No?” she says, crossing her arms across her chest. “What’s going on? Where is Danny.” she demands.

“He’s at the shop. Please get your shit together, we’re running out of time…” you say a little more sternly, running your hand over your mouth. The nicotine in your system has you shaking a bit, or maybe it was the adrenaline, either way you were growing more anxious by the second and the more she pressed the more you unnerved you became.

“Why do I have to leave? Where am I going to go? I paid for this room for seven days!” she snaps, stomping her foot like an insolent child. You huff out a laugh before swallowing and attempting to regain your composure, trying to pretend that her defiance wasn’t kind of making your dick hard.

“Y/N, we’ve got five minutes tops to get the fuck out of this room. You can pack your shit, or I will pack it for you, and I can promise you won’t like it. So either get started or step aside.” you order. She cuts her eyes at you, pausing as she makes her decision. She storms over to her suitcase grabbing her things from the dresser and packing them inside. She glares at you as you lean against the wall, watching her pull her items from the closet. She walks over to the bed, and begins putting on her shoes, very clearly not happy that you’re ordering her around with no answers. You raise your eyebrows at her as you pull your keys from your pocket, spinning them around on your pointer finger before catching them in your hand.

“You ready?” you ask, pushing off the wall towards her. You reach to grab the suitcase off the bed, shock shooting through you as she cowers away from you. Did she think you were going to hit her or some shit? Fuck, is she scared of you?

You watched her face grow red as she realized she made a jump reaction. You swallowed back the lump in your throat as you gently grabbed the suitcase from her side. She stood and turned off the TV, with her eyes cast to the floor in embarrassment.

“Come on, we don’t have much longer.” you say as softly as you can, twisting the lock and opening the door. You look out to the lot, still seeing only your truck, and continuing out the door. You toss her suitcase in the bed, and slide into the driver's side, pulling the lock on the passenger side to let her in. Seconds later you were pulling out of the parking lot, making your way back to the garage. You light a cigarette and glance over to her, still seeing her arms crossed over her chest and a pink tint on her cheeks. You lean over and roll down the window just enough to let some air hit her skin, and you see her physically relax. Well, at least a little.

You hold your cigarette between your fingers as you make your way down the empty road, glancing over at her again as she stares out the side window. You take another drag from your cigarette, gathering your nerve before tossing it out the window and placing your hand on the wheel. You swallow and turn to her. “I’m not going to hurt you, you know.”

She looks over at you, “I don’t know if that’s true.” she breathes.

“I promise you. That’s the last thing I want.” you say, letting your right arm snake up over the headrests, your fingers resting dangerously close to her hair. You couldn’t push the image out of your mind of how it would look wrapped around your fist. How soft and silky it would be sliding through your fingers. Fuck. No. Stop.

“What do you want, Jake? Why do I have to leave the motel? Why won’t either of you tell me anything?” she cracks, letting the waver in her voice show her emotion. “I just wanted you to fix my car! I just wanted to get out of here…I–”

“I know. I know you did. And I will fix your car. I swear. I just– I need you to trust me, okay? Me and Daniel. Just trust us. I promise we are only looking out for you. We’re gonna get you fixed up and out of here as soon as we can. I promise.” you confess. And while that was true, it would be a lie if you said you were doing your most timely work.

“I’m scared.” she admits, her hands fidgeting in her lap. You move your hand from the headrest, reaching down to calm her nervous hands, feeling her soft cool skin on your palm. “Of me?”

Her eyes flick down to your hand covering hers, before meeting your eyes. “No.” she answers far too quickly, pausing for a second and turning to look at you again, “Well, a little bit.”

Shit.

You nervously clear your throat, “Don’t be scared of me. I won’t hurt you. I’m not going to let anything happen to you.” you say, pulling your hand away from hers as you turn into the driveway of the shop.

She nods her head and straightens up her posture, “I still want to know what the hell is going on.” she demands.

You put the truck in park and pull the keys from the ignition, stepping out to grab her suitcase from the truck bed, nodding for her to follow you into the shop. You hear her shoes crunching in the gravel behind you as you make your way to the door, putting your key in the lock and pulling the door open. You let her walk in first, arms crossed over her chest as she disappears down the hallway. You lock the door behind you and set her suitcase down, pocketing your keys and setting off to find Daniel.

As you stepped into the kitchen you saw her standing near the sink, leaning into the countertop as Danny pulled her in for a hug, but before he could wrap his arms around her, she pushed him away, and created a bit of space between them. “No.”

She pointed to the two wooden chairs at the kitchen table with a raised brow. “Both of you, sit.” she instructed.

A smirk pulled across your lips at her little show of power, so you did as she said, curious to see where this was going to go. You kind of liked when she got bossy, kind of made you wonder if– No.

You crossed your leg over your knee and leaned back in the chair, pulling your carton of cigarettes from your pocket, and flicking your zippo to life. Daniel followed suit, taking the other chair and sending you a confused look and he popped the lid on his beer. You shrugged your shoulders and turned your attention back to Y/N.

She places her hands on her hips and narrows her eyes, glaring at the two of you with a look that could kill. You knew better than to fuck with a woman scorned, and goddamn if the sight didn’t have you hot under the collar. “Alright, you two are going to tell me what the fuck is going on here. Immediately.”

You let out a breath of smoke and turn to Daniel, who was rubbing his hands over his face in anguish. He looks over to you, and you nod in agreement, watching as he bites his lips together and lets his eyes flick up to hers.

“Fuck. Alright. Let’s start with Ace…”

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jo-harrington · 10 months ago

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Substratum (Eddie Munson x Reader)

Pairings/Relationships: Eddie Munson/Reader

Warnings/Themes: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Ideas of Afterlife, Allusion to Trauma, Injury, and other Character Deaths, Violence, Blood, Self-sacrifice, Reader Character Death, in a theoretical S5 world where Eddie returns and then I hurt him more, allusion to Kas!Eddie or some kind of resurrection where the UD/Vecna was responsible for his return, DEAD DOVE: ROMANTIC CANNIBALISM

Note: This is jarring and I will say beautiful but not for the faint of heart. Shout out to @storiesbyrhi who wrote an amazing AU of Bones and All that touches on a lot of these themes and is the person who got this ball rolling and @courtingchaos for saying the magic words "fingers sneaking past your teeth" to spark inspiration god damn you both for always knowing the way to my heart. Pun intended.

You can find my masterlist here.

Please do not interact if you are not 18+.

Enjoy!

---

Substratum - Definition

an underlying support

the material of which something is made and from which it derives its special qualities

It was a long and difficult fight.

Full of sacrifice.

But in order for it all to end, there would have to be an even greater one.

How it all came down to the two of you, neither of you knew for sure. But it did.

The Upside Down was ready to be cut off for good, but the closing of one world from another demanded blood.

Eddie, as one of the final beings in existence with ties to both worlds, needed to be the catalyst of said blood. Whether it was expelled or consumed.

Which meant one of you needed to die.

What a cruel irony that Eddie was seemingly resurrected only to be put in this predicament, and you who had to mourn for him once, facing the possibility that you had to do it all over again.

You argued for a while, as the world burned around you.

"It has to be me."

"No. I'll do it. You've already killed so many, let me be the last one. End this all now."

"I need to be the one, I was always meant to die to the Upside Down."

He swore up and down that he would die a thousand deaths for you, but it was your insistence that he could die a thousand times, but he'd never save you.

"I won't survive if I lose you again."

He's about to say the same, about to say that once you're gone, he'd be soon to follow, but you don't let him protest. You take his hands and place them softly around your throat, to snap your neck like the hundreds of other necks he'd snapped at Vecna's will.

But your love, your Eddie, couldn't let you go in such a cold and impersonal way.

His hands retreat from your neck, they climb upwards and settle on your face. So soft and alive; in mere seconds, he would never witness this again. He aches at the thought of your eyes cold and unstaring, of never hearing a laugh come from those lips again.

He leans in close, a whisper of a kiss as your lips touch for one last moment of worship before he destroys you; all the while, his thumbs collect the tears that escape from your eyes as you realize this might be the last time you see him too.

His first death had brought about some sort of hope for a great beyond, though. You threw yourself into books and myths and stories for hope that you would see him again. You'd told him so when you'd finally reunited, and you both grasp onto that same shred of hope at this moment, that there would be some palace of light where you'd sit and wait until he could join you.

Then he begins your undoing.

His fingers start to pry your mouth open, they explore past your teeth, they make your jaw go wide. You choke as he hand follows the fingers, into your mouth and down your throat.

A great sob escapes you but it is stifled as your voice box is crushed with the intrusion and you fight for air as your windpipe is squished.

Those fingers are searching, tearing through the delicate flesh within you that has never known the pressure of anything other than the weight of your consciousness and your soul. Meanwhile you’re silently enduring the torture; choking, asphyxiating, and focusing on one simple image: the ouroboros...eating itself.

It's fitting, because you have been and always will be one. Here you are consuming him...and soon enough he will consume you too.

Those searching, destroying fingers find their target as your body fills with blood. Their grip tightens, and then pulls, and that is your demise. Jaw snaps, eyes wide, heart quite literally broken as it’s extracted from the depths of you.

Eddie considers the ache in his own chest as he backs away from your broken, empty husk; what an odd thing, to have destroyed his own heart as thoroughly as he's destroyed yours.

His grip is soft now, delicate as the world roars around him; the sacrifice has been demanded and so close to being fulfilled. Still, he takes the time to hold and caress and worship your most vital organ.

He examines it with a critical eye. Ventricles and chambers and the trailing remnants of sinew that are just as beautiful as you, and he thinks it's fitting. Where else would your soul live, but in your heart; surely they both would be this complex.

And your carcass?

That's always just been the meat that kept the real you hidden.

Silly that you'd insisted he had always been the one to see the real you...and now he was.

"I'll be with you," he promises with one last, loving caress. "This will all be over and we can be together."

He kisses your heart, the last thing your physical form might feel, and then you're pushed between the sharpness of his teeth as the tear and gnash and funnel you down his throat.

Eddie swallows as the final gate closes and is sealed for eternity, one terrible world's door shutting swiftly on another.

At that moment, the recognition hit. He felt you you settle there, in the depths of him, for all eternity too. You filled him with golden light. And he realized you had been right all along. You had returned to each other again, and you didn't even need to wait very long.

The two of you.

Together as one.

Complete.

#tw: death #tw: blood #tw: cannibalism #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #Eddie munson angst #stranger things fic #kas!eddie

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colormepurplex2 · 1 year ago

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Masks & Merlot | Masks

↳ModernLegacyHeir!Kim Seokjin x Servant!Reader ⤜ Long-time pining/drunk love confessions ⤜ Rating: MA ⤜ WC: 6,715 ⚠️ Crass language, hurt feelings, talk of death of a parent, talk of parent with terminal cancer, servitude mentality, heavily skewed power dynamics/objectification of women, parental abuse/physical abuse, heavy drinking, bad feelings, oral f. receiving, fingering, drunken advances, emotional gut-punching

Next Chapter⇾ ◅ Back to series masterlist

‘Put on a brave face’ is something you’ve been told for as long as you can remember. The thing is, though, you don’t like having to put on a mask for the benefit of someone else. What other people think of you is the least of your worries. Still, it’s expected of you.

You might think you’re a faceless shadow, but you’re also keenly aware you’re made to dress the way you are for a reason. To be looked—leered—at. The short pencil skirt and tight white button-down paired with red kitten heels are impractical for a maid. Yet, here you are, stretching up onto the toes of your not-for-a-maid heels, trying to dust the top shelf of a bookcase and hoping your skirt doesn’t rise too much to show off the bottoms of your asscheeks.

“I do not care what the Robinsons are doing. We have to do more. Whatever the cost, whatever strings you have to pull, you do it! I will not let them ruin this merger for us, and that is final. Do you understand me?”

The phone slamming home into its cradle startles you, causing you to bump your knees into one of the lower shelves. “Ah,” you mutter under your breath, rubbing at a particularly painful spot. You’ll be lucky if it doesn’t bruise.

“I didn’t mean to startle you like that.” You can’t help jumping again. The voice is so close you catch a whiff of the whiskey he nursed before making that phone call. A thick, blunt finger slides along your neck, sweeping away the ends of the ruby-colored ribbon you’re using to tie your hair back. “I like the color. It suits you.”

“Thank you, Mr. Kim,” you mumble, fighting the urge to hunch your shoulders around your ears just to get his wandering digit away. He fingers a bit of your hair, twirling it around before giving it a jarring tug.

“Such a polite girl.” His words have your stomach churning as you slip on your mask of subservience. “A sweet—”

“Father.” The word echoes through the room, laced with acid.

Mr. Kim chuckles, giving your hair one final tug before the unwelcome warmth of his body leaves your back. “Seokjin, to what do I owe this pleasure?”

“You’re the one that called for me.” As Seokjin moves into the room, you catch his eye. For a moment, you see pity staring back at you…and something else, but it’s gone before you can decipher it.

“Ah, right, so I did. I want to discuss something with you.” Mr. Kim gestures to the plush, black leather chairs in front of his desk. “Sit,” he says, the word more a command than an offering of courtesy. He folds his own wiry frame into the rolling chair behind the desk and leans back, looking relaxed, but you know he’s no less ready to strike like a snake if provoked.

“What do you want?” The impatience in Seokjin’s voice is surprising. He isn’t usually so severe when addressing his father. You silently urge him to stand down, not to earn himself a malicious bite.

Mr. Kim laces his fingers together over his stomach, watching his son with unreadable eyes. You dart furtive glances over your shoulder, hoping one of them will dismiss you from the room so you don’t have to witness what is sure to come, as you absently brush a cloth over the same shelf you’ve been cleaning for the last few minutes.

“Girl,” Mr. Kim snaps his fingers.

“Yes, Mr. Kim?” You spin around, hands automatically going behind your back, and your eyes cast down to the floor. The mask of obedience, one you’ve perfected over the years.

“Get out.”

Quickly gathering your basket of cleaning supplies, heartbeat in your throat, you force yourself not to look back as you exit the room as fast as possible. As the door to the office swings shut, you hear the distinctive crack of an open palm against flesh.

The sound makes you weak in the knees, your mask slipping slightly. But you hurry along, willing yourself to continue down the hall and not rush back into the room in a defensive panic. Seokjin getting smacked around by his father is the least disturbing thing that goes on behind closed doors here at the Kim estate. And you’ve learned the mask of a martyr is one you can never wear.

🎭🎭🎭

Seokjin

The pain radiating along his jaw is nothing compared to the feeling now screaming through his chest.

“I am to what?” he asks, daring to incur his father's wrath again, simply so he can be sure he heard him correctly.

Mr. Kim leans back in his chair, smugly rubbing his reddened palm. “You will be marrying the Volkov girl. The engagement will be announced at our annual fundraising ball next month.”

“Yana? But she’s only seventeen.”

“Eighteen as of last night.”

Seokjin frowns. “I don’t want to marry her. I don’t even know her.”

His father laughs, throwing his head back and echoing his amusement to the ceiling. “Oh, my dear boy, you say that as if it matters. I only met your mother once before we wed. You will have plenty of time to get to know her after you bed her and solidify our connections with the Volkovs.”

“A business deal. That’s what this is about?” Seokjin always knew this was most likely to be his future. Though, the closer he got to thirty, the more likely it seemed his father wouldn’t push an arranged marriage on him. If he were in private, he might laugh at his own naivety. Being thirty and expected to marry someone twelve years younger gives him an icky feeling. Though, he knows if he expresses that, his father will just laugh again and tell him to man up.

Mr. Kim swivels in his chair, reaching for the bottle of rye at the other end of his desk. “You will come to learn that everything in life is about making a deal and what you can do to get ahead. As my only remaining son, you are expected to take over for me one day. This isn’t a life for having a soft belly, son. You’d do well to remember that.” He pours a generous amount of the caramel-colored liquor into a crystal glass. “Now, get out before I find someone else to name as my successor.”

It’s on the tip of Seokjin’s tongue to tell his father he doesn’t care to be his successor and wishes he could run away from this life as Seokjoong did. He’s never envied his brother, not until now. They don’t talk, or rather they are not allowed to talk. He’s unsure where his brother is or if he’s even still alive.

The day Seokjoong turned eighteen, he packed his bags, and left in a flurry of harsh words and angry tears. He was effectively cut out of Seokjin’s life. At fifteen, Seokjin didn’t have much choice in the matter. At first, he hated Seokjoong for leaving, but now…now, Seokjin just wishes he would have taken him with him.

His movements are stiff as he rises from the chair. “Good day, Father,” he mutters, offering the slightest bow before turning on his heel and swiftly exiting the office. As soon as he’s in the hall, he drops his face in his hands and muffles a growl of frustration.

“Are you okay?” your sweet voice pulls him out of his pending spiral.

Slowly dropping his hands, he uses the movement to cover his perusal of you, giving you a quick once over, looking for anything his father might have left behind. “I don’t know why you still work here.”

“Oh.” Your lips pull down in a frown, and he knows his harsh words have stung.

Waving a hand in the air, he says, “I didn’t mean it like that. I just mean I wish you’d get away from here…away from him. You deserve better than this life.”

Your lips press into a firm line, your eyes narrowing at him. “I won’t have this conversation with you again.”

He’s all too aware of why you’ve remained here as a maid—your parents; sickly mother and deceased father. Your mother was dragged into the Kim household as a maid to pay off a debt owed to Seokjin’s father after your father was murdered during a deal gone wrong. They were partners once, his father and yours. But something happened, and that all changed in a matter of days. Your father died, leaving your mother pregnant and with nowhere else to go. In an act of desperation, she signed a contract with the Kims to pay back her late husband's debt but also for protection and a place for her unborn child–you. It’s all you’ve known, and as long as your mother still resides here, even if from a sick bed, you refuse to leave for fear of retaliation from Seokjin’s dad.

You almost made it out right before she got sick. Seokjin had squirreled away enough of his monthly stipend to see you off to an excellent college and a quaint apartment, with enough money left to keep you afloat until you could manage it yourself. He’s always had a soft spot for you. You were practically his only friend growing up. That was until he turned fifteen, and Seokjoong left. His father thought he needed to start acting more like a man and less like a teenage boy.

The account Seokjin set up for you was a gift for your eighteenth birthday. That was over a decade ago now. The entirety of the account shriveled up to help cover your mother's medical costs.

“You’re so stubborn.” He crosses his arms over his chest. “I could fire you, you know?” The words are out of his mouth before he can think better of it. His conversation with his father has his temper blaring, and he’s taking it out on you.

You tuck your lips between your teeth and nod. “My apologies, Mr. Kim. If you’ll excuse me, your mother will need me in the drawing room by now.” You move to step by him, pausing to glare up at him. “You should ice that,” you utter through your clenched teeth, eyes dropping to the side of his jaw.

“Wait,” he says, grabbing your elbow to halt your departure. “I’m sorry. I’m upset, and I’m taking it out on you.” You just stare at him, waiting for him to release your arm. “Can we talk later?” He doesn’t have to tell you where to meet him or when. If you decide to forgive him for his harsh words, you’ll find him…like you always do.

The subtlest jerk of your chin is all he gets from you before you pull your elbow from his grip and disappear down the stairs. Just as you hit the bottom of the steps, the door to his father’s office opens. He steps out, crossing the landing space and resting his palms on the banister. Seokjin watches his father watch you. The way he knows you can feel his father’s eyes burning into your backside makes him want to chew rocks. Instead, he turns and continues down the hall toward the library, where he’ll wait for the rest of the day to see if you show up.

🎭🎭🎭

“A little to the left. Yes, right there. That’s it. Perfect!”

Your arms ache from extending them over your head for so long trying to help Royce, the groundskeeper for the Kim estate, hang up the newly potted plants that Mrs. Kim selected for the front porch—the exterior decor of the Kim estate changes with the seasons if not with the holidays.

“How many more are there?” you mumble in question to Royce.

He glances back at Mrs. Kim, perched on a plush patio chair, fanning herself with a large pink hand fan. She sips delicately at a chilled glass of lemonade before gesturing to the next column on the porch. “The yellow ones here, I think, Royce.”

“A dozen more,” he whispers in response to you. “Yes, ma’am, I think that will look lovely,” he raises his voice, giving Mrs. Kim a bright smile. You like Royce well enough. He’s always been kind to you and your mother. However, Royce has the help of his grandson, Levi, whom you despise. It should be Levi helping Royce right now, sweating on the front porch, instead of you. But, when you asked after him, Royce just grumbled something under his breath and shrugged his shoulders. You’re just the maid, but you know better than complaining or pointing out that maintenance work isn’t part of your job.

By the time you’re done helping Royce, your arms feel like jello, and all you want is a shower. “Thank you for your help today, kid.” You nod to Royce and watch as he strides toward the golf cart he uses to get around the estate grounds.

You contemplate calling after him and asking for a ride to the workhouse on the backside of the property, but remembering there’s something you need to do before you can go home for the day has you turning to head back inside. Mrs. Kim and her assistant Yuri wave away your question of whether or not they need anything before you excuse yourself.

The library is upstairs, at the end of the east wing. It’s a room hardly anyone ventures into, with the exception of you and Seokjin. It was his sanctuary growing up, where he escaped to when things got ugly between his parents. He used to leave you presents in the fiction section, knowing that was your favorite but also that you must clean in here even if it’s not used, so you’d always find the things he’s left for you. It eventually became a place you both used to escape when you needed a moment away from the outside world—where you could laugh together, like two friends not from wildly different worlds.

That’s where you find him, tucked into the far back corner of the library where the small collection of fiction books resides. It’s a secluded spot, one you have to intentionally seek out in order to see. It’s not scholarly for a library to hold fanciful tales of intrigue, mystery, or romance. At least, according to Mr. Kim, it’s not. But, ever the one to indulge his wife, he conceded the small section per her request; you’re sure if he had known she intended it for his sons, he would have squashed that request in a fit of masculine rage. After all, tales of princes and heroes offer nothing of how the real world expects—no, needs—a man to behave.

“You didn’t ice it,” you comment, leaning against the curved wall along the back of the section. If you lean a little to the right, you can see the door to the library still shut as you left it. No one has ever caught you or Seokjin in here, but that doesn’t mean you’re not always paranoid. It’s bound to happen one day. The last thing you need is to be turned out for suspicion of being inappropriate with the son of your employer. Your reputation would be ruined, while Seokjin would probably earn a pat on the back from his dad and a glower from his mother.

Seokjin jerks upright from his position on the floor, the second Twilight book thumping closed at his feet. “Fucking hell. You scared the shit out of me.”

“I always skip that one.” You nod at the book on the floor, ignoring his outburst of surprise. “Jacob is way too much of an entitled alphahole.”

“Alphahole?” he questions. He leans down and snatches up the book, shoving it back into its place in the bookcase.

“Alpha, asshole. Alphahole. It’s a thing.” You shrug. “So, what did you want to talk about?”

A myriad of emotions flicker over Seokjin’s face. You watch him open his mouth, intent on saying something, but his brow slowly pinches, and his lips slide shut. Whatever comes out of his mouth, you know it won’t be what he originally wanted to say. “How’s your mom doing?”

You frown, knowing this is the question he uses when he’s deflecting. “You’d know if you ever came by anymore.”

Now it’s his turn to frown. “You know it’s not that easy. If Father knew I was coming by your place, he’d make my life a living hell.”

He has a point. The last time his father caught wind of him frequenting the small workhouse on the backside of the property, Seokjin was sent away to an all-boys boarding school in Europe for a year as punishment. From what little Seokjin told you about the school, it was more like a prison where he was forced to scrub the floors with a toothbrush and launder clothes. It was something about how if he wanted to cavort with the help, he could live like them for a while.

“Seems like he’s already doing that,” you murmur, hesitantly reaching out and brushing along the darkening skin of his jaw. Seokjin winces, tilting his face away from your inspection.

“You haven’t answered my question.”

You chew the inside of your cheek, trying to decide whether or not to play nice right now. “She’s surviving,” you finally say. “No different. The doctor says the treatment is working, but I’ve not seen any improvement. He says I’m being impatient.”

“When is her next appointment?”

“In two months. It’ll be another evaluation to see if the cancer is spreading.” Even the word is bitter on your tongue. You hate talking about it.

As if sensing your souring mood, Seokjin gestures to the small pile of pillows in the corner. “Want to read to me?”

And just like that, you feel lighter. You let out the breath you didn’t realize you were holding. “Yeah. I think I’d like that.”

You settle down on the pillows, back against the wall, and ankles crossed out before you. Just like old times, Seokjin lays down on his side, his head resting on your lap and a hand on your knee. He used to have nightmares when he was a child; the only thing that would soothe him was you reading to him. You would sneak out of the workhouse, and he’d let you in the backdoor. Together, you’d creep up the stairs and into the library where you’d read to him, just like this, until the sun shone through the windows.

It’s a form of comfort for both of you. Just a bubble of serenity, filled with imagination and powerful characters that always defeat the darkness they face. Though, as you grab one of the thick novels off the shelf nearest to you and flip open the front cover, you can’t help but look down at him, letting the worst mask of them all fall in place—the mask of the best friend, the companion in all ways but the one you truly want. He can’t be yours. He will never be yours. So, taking a fortifying breath, you put on a brave face and begin to read.

🎭🎭🎭

It’s been weeks, and you never did find out what Seokjin wanted to talk to you about that day. It’s not like it really matters, though. He’s been different ever since, stiff and distanced. You tried approaching him a few times but only received a glare or a grumble about how you should be doing your job instead of wasting time with idle chit-chat. That’s probably what hurts the most, his digs at you as if he hasn’t been the one to instigate said chit-chat in the past.

He’s turned into someone you barely recognize. Not only are his words not typical, but the permanent scowl tugging at his lips and the dark circles around his eyes are out of character, too. At first, you thought it was a mask he was putting on, a show for his father. But as the weeks dragged on and he continued to treat you like a stranger, it seemed less like a farce and more like a new reality you needed to try to accept.

It’s not like you’re not used to adapting to sudden changes. The death of your father and the sickness choking your mother were sudden tidal waves you had to navigate to keep your head above water. Though, the difference was you had Seokjin acting as a life preserver during those instances. Now, you’re just floundering on your own, waiting to be sucked down into the salty oblivion.

“Are you riding over with me or going on your own?” Royce’s voice jerks you out of your moment of internal fugue.

“I’ll drive myself. Thanks, Royce. See you there.” The last thing you want is to be reliant on someone else as a way home later this evening after the charity gala is over. Usually, you don’t attend these things. But, it was requested by Mrs. Kim that you are there tonight to oversee the kitchen staff.

You take the golf cart Royce typically drives around the estate to the workhouse. It’s a nice place, all things considered—two bedrooms, two baths, with a large kitchen and living room. The master bedroom—that your mother insisted you move into after your father passed—has a balcony overlooking the garden out back.

Skipper, one of the estate’s cats kept for keeping the mice out of the stables, sits on the porch as you hurry up the stairs. You give him a soft pat before heading inside.

“Is that you, hun?” your mother’s crackly voice calls from her bedroom located off the living room. Another perk, she said, of you moving into the master bedroom was her taking the smaller downstairs room so it would be easier for her to get around when she’s feeling particularly under the weather—which is most of the time now.

You toe off your heels by the door. “Yeah, I just came back to change before going to the gala.”

The sound of her breathing machine whirring grows louder as you cut across the living room to peek into her room. She’s sitting in a rocking chair, angled so she can see out the floor-to-ceiling window that looks out into the garden. “You should wear my pearls tonight. They will look so pretty on you.” She gestures with a hand that trembles so much it makes your stomach hurt to look at. You hate seeing her like this, slowly being eaten alive by a dark disease.

“The ones daddy got you?” you try to hide the emotion in your voice, but you can tell it doesn’t work by the sad smile she gives you.

“They’re in the jewelry box. Top drawer in the chifforobe. Grab them and try them on.” The silvery pearls are nestled on a bed of velvet—a single strand, just long enough to sit above your collarbone and a pair of studded earrings. “Come closer. Come, come, let me see.”

You kneel before her, your hands gently on her quilt-covered knees. A silk scarf is wrapped around her head, the long ends dangling over her shoulder. A light hand lands on your shoulder, her cold fingers sliding over the side of your neck and along the strand of pearls. “I can’t possibly wear these tonight, momma. They’re far too precious for the charity gala.”

“Nonsense. Nothing is too precious for my girl. They’re right where they need to be. You could wear them while waiting tables at a dinky diner, and I would still think they were right where they belong. You keep them. Wear them tonight, catch the eye of some nice gentleman, and get the hell out of this place.” Her words, teasing at first, turn serious in the end. Her eyes bore into yours. “I mean it. You need to get out while you still can. Don’t worry about me, you have a whole life ahead of you, and I’m just holding you back.”

“Don’t talk like that,” you admonish softly. “I’ll wear them tonight, but I’ll be coming back here just the same, and I’m not leaving. I won’t leave you.” You push up from the floor and finger the pearls around your neck. “I won’t,” you repeat before brushing by her and heading up to your room to get ready.

🎭🎭🎭

Seokjin

“I need another drink.”

That’s met with a derisive snort. “Haven’t you had enough already? The party hasn’t even begun, and your words are slurring,” Namjoon comments, his eyes flicking between Seokjin and the two empty bottles of wine discarded on the table between them.

Swirling the remnants of the wine in his glass, Seokjin leans forward and rests an elbow on a knee. “No amount of wine will be enough with what I face tonight.”

“Oh, fuck you. At least Yana is pretty.” Namjoon rubs his thumb along the diamond-encrusted band sitting snugly on his left hand. “Janika is a nightmare and looks like she took a hoof to the face as a child.”

Seokjin glares at Namjoon. “Yana is a child.”

“She’s eighteen.” He shrugs. “That’s old enough.” He watches as Seokjin tips back the remaining wine in his glass, swallowing it in one gulp. “Keep your head, Seokjin. You know your father will be displeased if you’re five sheets to the wind before he even makes the announcement.”

Straightening in his seat, Seokjin grumbles and sets the glass on the table. He glances at the remaining unopened bottles of wine. “I hate that you’re right. I guess these can wait until after he ruins my life.”

“What’s the big deal, man? It’s just a marriage. It’s not like you can’t still stick your dick elsewhere.” Namjoon takes a small sip from his own glass of wine, the only one he’s had so far. “You’re acting like your dad is cutting off your manhood or something.”

Seokjin sighs. “I just don’t want to do it. Shouldn’t that be good enough? I don’t care about being the heir or continuing the family legacy. I just want to—you know what, never mind. You’re right. It doesn’t matter.” He pushes up from his chair, shaking his head as he leaves Namjoon behind in the parlor. He’s tried being friends with Namjoon and the other guys from prominent families he’s supposed to be rubbing elbows with, but they’re far more into the lifestyle than he is. So far, all he’s managed is maintaining cordial niceties when required.

There’s only one person he’s ever considered a true friend…and he’s been avoiding you for weeks—some friend he is. He’s tried to tell himself it’s for the better, that he must distance himself from you for obvious reasons. But it’s been torture. He allowed himself to indulge one last time when he asked you to read to him, like old times. He knows it can’t continue, not after tonight. So it’s better this way. It’ll hurt less in the end.

He heads down the hall, toward where the converted kitchen is. The building is old, a historical site that all the affluent families use when they want to put on a good face for the general public. It’s owned in part by his and the Jung’s families. They use it more often, holding speaking events nearly every month. Hoseok, the heir to the Jung fortune, is much like Namjoon in that Seokjin tolerates him when he has to but, beyond that, would rather not. They’re spoiled, entitled, and a bit on the twisted side.

The kitchens are bustling with activity, hundreds of workers in white and black livery working like a well-oiled machine. There is one bright pop of color among the monochrome. His eyes hone in on it instantly. You’re flitting about, the rich carmine color of your dress standing out like a beacon calling to him. He slips through the crowd, avoiding hefted trays of hors d’oeuvres and frosted glasses of champagne.

“Marta, be sure the sommeliers have a few bottles of the ‘00 Château Lafite Rothschild Bordeaux ready for the head table.”

“I love when you speak French, even if it’s just to name a wine.” The words are out of his mouth before he can swallow them back down.

You whip around, clutching a clipboard to your chest. “Seokjin! What are you doing in the kitchen? Shouldn’t you be getting ready for the gala?” He feels the way your eyes rake over him, taking in his fitted white Armani suit and the red rose pinned to the front lapel. “You’re already ready. But missing your masquerade mask.” You clear your throat when he just stares at you, a smile tugging up the corner of his mouth. He taps the front of his jacket over the internal breast pocket where his mask sits. “My other question still stands, what are you doing in the kitchens?”

He doesn’t answer you immediately. Instead, he lets himself drink you in. Much like the bottles of red wine he downed earlier, you make him feel brazen and lightheaded. Your curves are accentuated by the fit of your dress, hugging all the right places. He can see your heartbeat thumping away in your neck, drawing his attention to the string of tiny pearls around your neck. Jealousy flares inside of him, wondering who gave you such a gift.

“Where did you get the pearls?” he asks instead of offering you an answer to your question. “I haven’t seen you wear them before.”

Your eyes go soft, and he watches your lips dip down. “They’re moms,” you whisper, bringing a hand up to touch them.

The jealousy turns to acrid bile in his stomach. Seokjin drops his eyes, suddenly contrite. “They look beautiful on you.” Another slip-up of words, but as his eyes slowly slide up to your face, he’s relieved to see a smile warming on your face.

“Thank you, Seokjin.” You begin to turn away from him, intending to get back to your responsibilities, but he’s not sure how much longer he can stand the gap that is growing between you. It’s his fault. He knows that. Maybe that’s what pushes him to capture your elbow, pulling you up short. The library wasn’t enough. He needs just one more moment. He promises himself this will be the last.

“Can I talk to you for a moment?”

Your eyes dart around, watching as others around you start to take notice of who is among them. Seokjin can hear them whispering, alarmed that he’s here. “Sure,” you stammer, gesturing urgently to a door in the back. “Go. Marta, I’ll be right back.” The older woman gives you a polite nod and Seokjin a tight-lipped glance.

The door leads to a small storage room filled with cabinets and shelves covered in cleaning supplies. You slip in behind him, shutting the door softly. He turns, letting his eyes slowly drift up your form. “Hi,” he says when his eyes finally reach yours.

“Hi?” you parrot. “Look, I’m sorry, Seokjin, but I don’t have time for idle pleasantries. I have a lot of work to do before the gala begins.” Your hand grips the doorknob as you turn to leave.

“Wait, stop.”

He watches as your shoulders rise and fall with a sigh before you turn back, hand still on the knob, to meet his eyes over your shoulder. “What is it?”

“I—uh,” he fumbles with his words, the wine sucking away at his ability to think clearly. “There’s something I want, er, that I need to say to you.”

Turning fully around, you cross your arms over the clipboard you’re still carrying. “Okay? What do you need to say?”

“Well, it’s not really say,” he takes a hesitant step toward you. You try to step back to maintain the distance, but your back meets the door instead. “It’s more do.”

“Do?” you whisper as he steps even closer. “Seokjin, I don’t—“

It’s a stupid move. He knows that. But it happens. He cuts off your words with his lips, firmly pressing against yours. Your mouth is stiff, rigid against his no matter how much he tries to ply your lips with soft nips or teasing flicks of his tongue. He presses against you, molding his body to yours. He can feel you trembling, your breathing growing erratic. The moment you unfreeze and melt against him, he lets out a throaty moan.

You give in, opening your mouth to welcome the exploration of his tongue. He can taste mint on your lips. It wars with the thick cherry and currant flavor from the wine lingering in his mouth. “I’ve wanted to do this for a long time,” he murmurs against your lips, stopping only to catch his breath before drawing you back in with languid strokes of his tongue.

“Seokjin,” you breathe as his lips move to trail down your throat. “You have to stop. You’re drunk.”

“No,” he states. He drops to his knees in front of you and presses his face into your middle. “Don’t make me stop. Please. I want you. I need you.”

The desperation in his voice makes his own ears hurt. He must be so goddamn pitiful groveling on his knees to you. He just can’t help it. He’ll blame the wine later, surely. His hands tug at the hem of your dress where it rests above your knees. He goes slow, giving you plenty of time to stop him as he pushes the tips of his fingers under the fabric.

His eyes drift up, looking at you through the valley of your breasts. Your eyes are squeezed shut, bottom lip caught between your teeth. “Jin,” you whisper. It’s neither encouragement nor a plea to stop.

This is his last chance to show you how he feels about you. After tonight, he’ll belong to someone else. He’ll make sure you get out. He’ll pull all the strings at his disposal to ensure you and your mom get away. But, right now—right now, he needs this. He needs to be selfish before his whole world gets ripped away and he finds himself tethered irrevocably to a leash his father holds. At least, that is what he tells himself as he rucks your dress up around your hips.

You’re wearing sexy, lacy panties. They’re sheer enough that he can see the cleft of your pussy, a sight that will be forever branded into his mind. “I’ll stop if you want me to,” he offers, panting so heavily that he knows you can feel his warm breath against your skin.

“Y-you—don’t…don’t stop,” you whimper as he brushes his nose across your lace-covered mound.

Letting out a ragged breath, he presses his face against you and inhales deeply. “You drive me crazy. You always have.” Seokjin pokes out his tongue, lapping along the already damp front of your panties. He works his fingers around the band, yanking them down and helping you step out of them. “Fuck,” he curses, eyes landing on you now fully exposed to him. He absently tucks your panties into the pocket of his slacks.

The first brush of his tongue on your naked flesh has you coming up onto your toes. Seokjin moves with you, bracing his hands on your hips to hold you in place. He chuckles when the clipboard clatters to the floor beside him, freeing your hands to fist into his hair. “Jin.” That’s definitely a murmur of encouragement.

Your hands tug at his hair, eliciting shocks of pain across his scalp that he uses for further encouragement. The flavor of your arousal fills his mouth as he greedily sucks and laps at you. Every flick of his tongue against your clit makes breathy little moans puff past your lips.

Seokjin grips one of your calves, encouraging you to lift your leg and rest it over his shoulder. The movement opens you even further, allowing his tongue to dip lower. Like a man starved, he devours you and swallows down everything that drips onto his tongue. “Such a good girl,” the words are more of a vibration against your core, making you shudder above him.

Deep satisfaction settles in his chest as he rumbles with a moan of his own. His cock is straining so hard against the fly of his pants that it hurts. He can’t remember ever feeling like this. All he wants to do is slide home into your body, claim you for himself. But this will have to be enough.

“I’m going to cum,” you mewl as you writh, pinned between his ravenous mouth and the door. Seokjin wants to feel you fall apart for him—because of him. Releasing the grip on one of your hips, he works two fingers beneath his chin, slipping them inside of you.

He can feel your body poised on the edge, ready to shatter for him. Crooking his fingers up, he draws a hearty moan from you that bleeds into an open-mouthed silent cry as he sends you careening over the edge with his tongue rolling against your clit.

It’s over too soon, your body slumping against the door. You release your grip on his hair and drop your leg from his shoulder. “That was,” he pauses, sucking in a few unsteady breaths, “amazing.”

The look you give him as he stands has butterflies filling the pit of his stomach. Your fingers tremble when you reach out to cup his jaw, your thumb rubbing along his bottom lip. “I don’t even know what to say,” you finally whisper. Your eyes are large, full of life and wonder. It’s like a dagger to the heart knowing he’ll probably never see this look from you again–that he’ll be the one to forcibly remove it.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you how I felt sooner,” he admits.

Your laugh is light and airy as you begin to fix your clothes. He sees you glance at his pocket, where your panties were stuffed earlier. But you don’t ask for them back, just shimmy your dress back over your hips and smooth over it with your palms. “You didn’t exactly say anything.”

Seokjin purses his lips. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, really. I-I mean, obvi-obviously,” your words stutter out with mild embarrassment. It’s cute. Seokjin likes you like this. He tucks away the image of how flushed you are, the way your hands twist together as you look up at him through your lashes. “I liked it.”

Time to twist the dagger now sliding into his belly. “I’m not sorry for that.” The look of confusion on your face is the first twist of the knife. “This shouldn’t have happened.”

“What? But you just said—“

“It’s the wine. I’m sorry. I need to go.” It’s painful, slipping on that mask of indifference, the final twist of the blade.

Your chin warbles, nearly bringing Seokjin to his knees. “Right,” you say smoothly, donning your own cold mask. “You should head to the ballroom, things will be beginning shortly. I’m sure your parents will be looking for you.” Your words are as much a dismissal as you’ll warrant without outright telling him to fuck off. He knows the last few weeks haven’t earned him any favors with you. And what he just did is the last nail in his coffin. He lets his eyes linger on you a moment longer, watching as you square your shoulders and snatch the clipboard off the floor.

He gives you one last look, hoping you’ll meet his gaze and see through his lies. But, when you continue to ignore him and intentionally stare at the clipboard, he exits the storage room and then the kitchen. He doesn’t look back as he approaches the double doors that lead into the ballroom. Pulling out the folded red mask from the inside of his coat pocket, he slides the band over the back of his head. He swallows thickly, staring at the gilded handles of the doors a moment before grabbing one, twisting, and pushing through to walk forward like a man being prodded along a plank, a raging, bellowing sea churning just below, waiting for him to plunge into its icy darkness.

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#seokjin x reader #kim seokjin #seokjin smut #seokjin angst #bts fanfic #seokjin fanfic #jin fanfic #bts smut #bangtanwhq

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yermes · 1 year ago

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PAC: 🍁

School started for me and starbies just came out with their seasonal fall flavors so even though I am a victim of broke college student fevar I went to starbs bc whats $15 when yr already in a fuck ton of debt. So I went to starbs with my roomie to get some PSLs. But while we were there one of the baristas was just losing their absolute fucking mind at another barista who was just trying to help these young highschoolers not be late. Like???? Screaming at her not to touch anything and she can’t fucking jump the line my heart literally broke. If I had any money like fucking dollar bills I would have given them to her. Like so fucking awful. But honestly so many people are under appreciated. I literally spend my life taking care of people who claim that. “They only think of others, and they never put themselves first, or I am JUST SUCH A CARE TAKER.” But when push comes to shove they’re no where to be found. A READING FOR MY UNDER APPRECIATED MOTHER FUCKERS SO YOU KNOW HOW LOVED AND VALUED YOU AREEEE.

(I know most of you are mystics who wish to be the most esoteric babe in the mystic forest, who has to work a 9-5 so this is for youu)

Pick a meme

The cards

Nine of Wands (Reversed) 🧸

Yesod, Lord of Great Strength, Moon in Sagittarius, 10°–20°. Angels Yirthiel and Sahiah

You are putting something off in so you can help others. Something is being delayed. You are intentionally abstaining from something which in turn is causing you to spiral. Maybe your ass is working the rush shift everyday and your coworkers are assholes and you cannot bare to leave that anxious toxic ass mess. However, you owe it to yourself to find a better environment. People don’t leave because the security of which is offered but are you actually secure or are you comfortable in your mistreatment?

find people who will do better and will work with you and match your energy.

Futility 🪒

Moon 3. In Aquarius, Netzach in Air, seven of swords

The seventh suit. A notably unlucky suit. You have been backed into a corner and you need to get your way out. Now this isn’t a gun fight its a fight of wits. You need to use your cleverness to escape. Honestly, maybe a toxic friend or person you know led you down a dark path? Maybe you got love bombed so hard and led with the promise of love and compromise you fell so hard and breaking every bone on the way down. Be safe. Get out of there

Back rooms level RUN!

Fortitude (Reversed) 🫁

Daughter of the Flaming Sword, Teth, Serpent

Damn bitch you gave so much of yourself you became ill and have been weakened SEVERELY. You are also getting resentful which is hard. Like you said you were this strong ass bitch who could do anything. So you did everything and now you have egg on your face. Some athletes get trained so hard and so extreme they die. You’ve been giving so much mentally and emotionally you weakened yourself. You wouldn’t workout till death why would you give so much till failure?

Make room for yourself and forgive yourself.

The Star 💫

Jupiter in Aquarius, Chokmah to Tiphareth, Air

Its the hope that guides us all. You have such a deep well of love in that little heart of yours. The way its telling you to go is the right one. However, an off putting aspect is there may be part of the code thats got a bug, which makes your hopeful manifestations plagued by illusions. Live in the moment. Be confident of nature and your gut. Somethings may not be clear now but day by day and little by little you will find out more and more.

Take care of yourself and protect your peace

Extras:

Story/vent: once again athlete student life os difficult and I am shoving this reading in so that I can feel productive. Plus I love yo do it!

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jaqobis · 2 years ago

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okay, it’s time for me to sort out my thoughts about AMOL and this part of the series.

i’ve gone ahead and tagged this with the warning that there’s going to be negativity about sanderson’s choices in here. if you really enjoyed how he approached the last three books, full respect, but this post probably isn’t for you! skdjfkl i might be warning too much, but as i’ve said before i usually prefer to focus on what i did like for these wot read posts so this is a divergence for me!

in short: a lot of these last three books, especially the things we know sanderson did wholecloth, really didn’t work for me.

rj had his flaws, for sure. but wow these last three felt like they hated women so much! aes sedai are suddenly weaker without warders for some reason, gawyn’s lecturing egwene on how it’s the WORLD’S business if aes sedai refuse warders and let themselves be ~ vulnerable ~ in that way has the same vibes as bashere asserting that andor DESERVES to know whose babies elayne is carrying! the only time elayne is specifically threatened with (pretty graphic) violence against her as a pregnant woman is by mellor in AMOL. her kidnapping in KoD, in contrast, was written the same way as anything before she got pregnant. cadsuane, who is defined by her inability to be cowed by rand, is now frightened by him multiple times and/or the target of put-downs by rand. which feels a lot like Putting Her In Her Place.

like i do genuinely like egwene/gawyn but the framing in TOM that he was right and she was wrong about her needing him (as a warder incidentally), together with her conflict with rand (more on that in a moment) is pretty bad actually! i have no problem with her disagreeing with rand — he literally waltzed in, said he’d break the seals, and left — but taking rj’s notes that say “rand and egwene will fight” and basically making it a situation where rand is right and egwene is wrong sure is a choice. her entire death feels nonsensical because as cool as parts of the scene are, it’s premised on the forsaken suddenly not being afraid of using balefire anymore — not even that, on them spamming the weave like there’s no tomorrow, when we have 11 prior books of material that they use it sparingly if at all because of horrors they witnessed in the war of power. don’t get me going on perrin going “it’s just a weave” and being the dream person now while egwene regresses in her TAR abilities for no reason.

i do not care about androl. tbh i ran out of the ability to care about new characters by the time the sea folk arrived on the scene, so this isn’t entirely a problem i have with sanderson. but androl ate up a LOT of screentime in AMOL specifically when i would’ve rather spent that time with established characters and getting some of the reunions that we did...not get. his ability with gateways also breaks all previously established gateways lore, but frankly just about every use of gateways in AMOL does.

one of my BIGGEST problems is a thematic mismatch between the rj and sanderson books; the rj books are heavy on war as horror, violence as terrible, and delving into the psychological fallout of that and other traumatic events on the characters. in the sandersons everyone’s body counts rise dramatically and fantasy war treated as cool, some parts of the violence as justified, and the good guy characters read kinda bloodthirstier. i think it’s really notable that rand spends all of the path of daggers on a military campaign but the battles are almost never onscreen, we most live in the aftermath and the in-between, whereas AMOL is like 80% battles. this isn’t a thing i’m here to moralize about, just that it’s a pretty jarring change after reading 11 books in a series with themes pointing one way, only for them to go another way at the end.

relatedly: i really wanted to like darth rand, before i got there. i was pretty puzzled when i got up to KoD with no sith behavior; i hadn’t realized until then that darth rand is a one-book wonder. still, i was ready! but boy. before i get into this, i’ll admit that i got to the end of AMOL and had a Feeling but not as big of one as i’d expected. then i realized that rand had felt so unrecognizable to me for most of these last three books that i’d felt like he was already gone after KoD.

it’s terrible that minimal attention is paid to the fact that he lost a hand. it’s terrible that his chronic pain and unhealing wounds become a footnote to his narrative. it’s doubly terrible that both things mostly only come up in rand’s pov chapters when he’s darth rand, and barely post-dragonmount. it’s not only erasure of his disabilities, it’s really nasty framing to associate rand struggling with his mental health and physical unwellness with literally being surrounded by an aura of darkness and No Longer Caring About Others and committing atrocities. it’s really nasty framing when post-dragonmount rand who is literally surrounded by an aura of light and makes flowers bloom with his presence doesn’t have ptsd flashbacks anymore, doesn’t struggle with pain, doesn’t anything. it’s really nasty framing that rand just needed An Epiphany Moment to simply Get Over all of this. in a series that took a lot of care with his mental deterioration and chronic wounds for 11 books, it’s a slap in the face.

i genuinely have a hard time even remembering who died in AMOL aside from gawyn and egwene — which did evoke a lot of feelings — because it mostly goes by so fast. there’s little time dwelt on the losses, on the impact of those losses on the people who are left, on the world going into the fourth age. together with the number of death fakeouts i’m pretty ??? on who’s left or what they’ll be doing with their lives now.

circling back to the approach to violence: bringing back the tuatha’an for a pov in AMOL just to criticize their peaceful existence. we get raen sort of tempted to pick up a weapon. we get contemplation that they should be nicer about people who do choose to fight. we get the suggestion that some of those choosing not to fight are simply being opportunistic cowards. the traveling people are literally in this book solely for this critique. together with the aiel being presented as Only capable of fighting and being locked into another warrior-focused role for the foreseeable future after what a big deal the reveal about their past peaceful ways had been is a whole Message.

though i could write an entire additional meta about the dragon’s peace and the idea of locking in status quo like that in a series premised on being a time of change and upheaval and the themes of necessary change and positive destruction (see: the creation of the lake at rhuidean, rand changing laws wherever he goes to favor the poor, the wonder girls revolutionizing the white tower, the rediscovery of many lost Talents, etc).

this is really long already so i’ll stop here and say: the tl;dr is that i only enjoyed the last three in bits and pieces and i’ll probably focus future rereads on the first 11.

#wheel of time read #wot book spoilers #sanderson critical #words #this is probably also incoherent sorry guys #long long post

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mongayakai · 8 months ago

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The Boys style superheroes bnh costume art style. Super hostages of the government. Container staffs with liquid magic to indicate how much power they have. Super Character who doesn't know about the hero government system and has giant hourglass staff full to the brim with blue magic. Stealthily stumbles into witnessing an argument between two superheros blue kappa bird and greenish yellowy samurai lookin guy with yellow ink jar magic staff topper. Small containers for magic and a small amount inside, but presumed to be a significant amount for the heros in general.

"I see you've hidden away staches of your magic. Plotting a coo, are you?!"

"So what if I am? All the more ink to slash you to bits! I will not be blackmailed, and i certainly wont go down against the pitiful likes of you!"

"Now, now, settle down, warrior! There's no need to point your brush at me. It's a hostage situation, we're in the same boat here!"

Panic amongst heros about a scandal where someone's secret identity was revealed and the hero was charged with moider of a bystander.

A group of lesser heros are having a meeting in a super granny group home house. House is in line of fire for two super heros fighting a villain. Squirrel Girl and Homelander type supers. Discover the lesser heros bodies as result of their battle. They attempt to get the bodies picked up while also trying to sort out an alibi and make up a different reason for their deaths. Squirrel Girl comes up with putting them in their civilian clothes and secret identities so it looks like just civilian casualties. Main lesser hero has a tennis racket for a head. Transformed into blond hair blue eyed young adult boy when in secret identity. His sister comes to the house and asks the living heros if they've seen her brother. They help her retrieve him and discover the rest of the lesser heros. Racket Head has secret power to communicate beyond the grave and brings everyone back to life, accidentally revealing their identities. Press immediately make the secret identities public. One of the lesser heros were called the yeti. A businessman identity of the lesser heros makes a plot of revenge.

#dreampai #dream #dreams #dream journal #dream analysis

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zablife · 1 year ago

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Oh, Eli this was incredible! I think I sat in silence for about ten minutes before commenting bc I was in shock after that ending. The depth of emotion in this chapter has hit me hard, but I'll attempt to discuss my thoughts below.

First off, the routine they've settled into at the beginning was so comforting. The image of Tommy tiptoeing thru the bedroom so as not to wake her, along with his habit of finding her at the end of the day and how she waits for him so he doesn't worry speaks to a pleasant domesticity they both badly need. And I adore their tradition of riding together after difficult days, sometimes in complete silence, to allow Tommy to decompress bc he wouldn't do this sort of thing unprompted. He would work himself to death if given the chance as Y/n teases him for later.

I thought it was nice that rather than give us a time jump, you've chosen to show the passage of time thru vivid seasonal descriptions of these outings as a way to illustrate how their bond has strengthened with time. These lines in particular stood out to me, illustrating that closeness:

You share a need for expressing the sharp darker edges of your personalities. You think that, often, you look around you and want to tell someone that you’re standing on the edge of a cliff, holding on, when really you just want to fall. But how can you say that to someone other than him? How could anyone but him understand what you’re trying to put into words? *chef's kiss*

There's an implicit understanding that the demons are there, but that they also have each other as an ally to fight them if they so choose. I particularly enjoyed the conversation about nightmares as they continue to learn to trust each other. Tommy's line was utterly heartbreaking tho. “Because, I have to make up for the fact that it’s me.” Wow...even after everything he's allowed her to see of himself...

This is already a very long comment, but there are so many amazing quotes I can't not mention all my faves!! This one was lovely for Y/n to impress bc she's just seen the blood on Tommy's sleeve and had to trust that he will tell her what she needs to know in time. It can't be easy to put her future in his hands. “If you want me to trust that you’re going to take care of yourself, you get to trust me that I’m not going to lead us off a cliff. Believe it or not, I also don’t want to die.”

That brings us to her thoughts on Tommy's treatment of her in the past. "Horses have taught you that you can never discipline someone for trying. You can never hurt someone for a failed attempt." She shows such grace toward him which I found extraordinary, esp her view about not wanting to be a victim any longer. It felt as tho they were really making progress, esp when they made their simple agreement, “You wake me, I wake you.”

The fact that everything comes crashing down on her in the next scene seems inevitable considering Tommy's secrecy and her refusal to confront him, yet still so very jarring. Her moment of hesitation when Arthur appears covered in blood had my heart pumping as I knew something awful had happened at the brothel. I felt breathless and tearful as I read what Tommy had done, wishing he'd sought her advice. The consequences of his actions are swift and merciless as Hollis and Y/n are ripped from his grasp. I'm not sure what to expect next tbh, but I can only hope Y/n's wits and strength see her thru.

The Ends of The Earth

Author's Note: From here on out, the story will be quite a bit darker. We are reaching the climax. There will be no graphic sexual assault, but there will be heavy implications of such. Once again, read at your own discretion. Description: You and Tommy go for a ride, and, later, an incident leads to a major change. Warnings: blood, guns, references to sexual assault and rape, canon-typical violence, Tommy fucking up again, language Word Count: 4937 (sorry) Tag List: @theshelbyslimited @ttaechi @weaponizedvirtue @majesticcmey @optimisticsandwichgladiator @zablife @princesssterek @mm0thie @callsignvenus @ay0nha @mgdixon @fairytale07 @dreamy-caramel @ce1iat @algae-tm @dragonsondragons @trentknd @nothingofsimplicity @babayaga67 @shelbydelrey @globetrotter28 @look-at-the-soul @notalxx @chaengist @cookiez56-blog @skxawngs @h0neylemon

The moon will be full tonight.

Dusk falls and you saddle Draco, your last horse of the day. You’ve been sleeping more these days, finding some kind of peace in the companionship of Tommy. Still, you sometimes wake up tired, exhausted by old phantoms of scars and the touch of rough hands. It’s a flip of a coin whether you rest, or find yourself awake at night.

You haven’t seen Tom all day. He woke before you did, and you heard the echo of his footsteps as he left the room, the creak of the door as he closed it behind him. You’ve found him to be quiet, light on his feet and gentle with his hands, and he barely wakes you when he moves about the room. You know, though, that he’ll find you when he returns, as he always does. So, before you go mount your horse, you wait for him. He’d never tell you, but you’re certain that he worries when he returns and you’re not in the yard.

Minutes later, he appears. Hands shoved in the pockets of his suit jacket, eyes firmly on the ground in front of him, face hidden under the shadow of his cap. You turn to watch him approach, scanning him only to find dark shadows under his eyes and a pallid, stressed paleness to his skin. You nod to yourself and turn away, heading towards Nifty’s stall without a word. Tommy stops by Draco’s head, stroking his nose, murmuring to him.

You bring Nifty out and tie him next to Draco, then face Tommy, meeting his blue eyes, confirming quietly the plan that’s formed in your head. The horses touch noses, greeting each other, nuzzling. Tommy nods and you smile at him, reaching out to briefly touch his arm, then walking to the tack room to pull Nifty’s saddle out for yourself.

A few minutes pass, and you’ve tacked up Nifty and handed Tommy the bridle for Draco. The two of you mount, and slowly, the horses take you out of the barn, out past Arrow House, and towards the hills that remind so strongly of the countryside around your old home. This is the routine you’ve created together, the silent agreement of getting away from the life that he feels stuck in. It harkens back to who he used to be, and you think that, sometimes, it gives him the chance to feel like a boy again, to claim back a childhood that wasn’t fully what he needed. On rough days, when he comes home with the expression of a beaten man, you go for a ride together. Sometimes you go fully in silence, not interrupting the rush of the wind and the chill of the weather. Other times, you speak quietly, talking about nothing and everything, all the little things that usually go unnoticed. You share a need for expressing the sharp darker edges of your personalities. You think that, often, you look around you and want to tell someone that you’re standing on the edge of a cliff, holding on, when really you just want to fall. But how can you say that to someone other than him? How could anyone but him understand what you’re trying to put into words?

Early Spring turns the trees into bones, thin and white and strong. You turn your head, steering your horse one-handed, and run your eyes over Tommy. They stop on a spot of red on his cuff, half-hidden beneath his suit jacket.

It explains the drawn expression on his face. You don’t question whether it was necessary. You gather your reins and pick up the trot, posting in silence, and he follows you faithfully. You choose the route and he follows, giving up control for once in his life. The horse’s hooves beat unwaveringly on the path, and then quiet as you turn off the beaten trail, leading the two of you through the grass, out to the tamed wilderness.

He breaks the silence. “Where’re we going?”

You glance back at him, slowing your horse. “I found somewhere new. Trust me.”

He inclines his head slightly. You look forward once more, tracking your way through the barren, but starkly beautiful hills. The groggy sun sends arcing shadows down over the pale grass, cast from the bare trees and shrubs and the moving bodies of the horses. In contrast to the muted land, the sky boasts bright burdens, red and orange and streaks of yellow and pink through the clouds.

After a while, you slow to a walk, sighing as your hips and thighs fall into the familiar swing of NIfty’s movement. You don’t look back at him when you speak.

“Who was it?”

He thinks before he responds to you, probably considering a way to avoid answering truthfully before giving up, deciding that honesty goes the furthest with you. “A man who had eyes for a young girl.”

Your blood freezes over, then slowly thaws out, leaving you with a tingling sensation through your veins. You huff a breath, hand shaking on the reins before you clamp it down on Nifty’s mane, and nod slowly. “You’re doing things without asking me about them first.”

“I didn’t think it was my responsibility to inform you of business that doesn’t—”

“Tom, you’re walking blindly into a dark room you’ve never been in before that I have memorized. If you’re going to do this against my will, at least let me advise you.” Draco’s ears flick towards you, as if he too listens to what you have to say. “I used to know this world you’re trying to destroy. I probably still do. Let me help you.”

He looks down at Draco’s arched neck, chest rising and falling with a sigh. “It was a man who thought I was interested in one of the girls. It was his girl, he said. I told him I wouldn’t interfere. He must’ve seen the look on my face because he was coming at me, yelling about ownership and first-come, first-served.” His eyes flick to yours, trying to read an empty page. “I didn’t kill him.”

“It was self defense and a petty bar fight.” You close your eyes for a moment, trying to fight off the fierce beating of your heart. “You were good not to kill him.”

He makes a small, noncommittal noise, and you open your eyes.

“Tell me what you’re planning.”

He shakes his head, a small movement, slow and hesitant.

“Why not?” You stop your horse, and Draco stops instinctively. “Why not tell the only person who knows what this is like, Thomas?”

He doesn’t respond, just watches you passively.

“I won’t try to stop you, if that’s what you’re worried about.” You meet his eyes. The wind rushes past you, whipping the words out of your mouth and sending them hurtling away. “I know I couldn’t even if I wanted to. You’re as stubborn as I am.”

“I will tell you when the time comes.” His voice is steady, certain. “That time is not now.”

“Fine.” You shake your head, shivering faintly in the cold. Anger burns quietly in you, that you are not being allowed to save yourself, that you have to rely on a man who will not tell you how he plans to be your savior. Years and years of dreaming and rage has turned your madness into something holy. It’s almost silent, an ember buried in the ashes, but it exists, and it’s inconsolable. Your anger is what allows you to pull the trigger and smash a skull, allows you to tolerate pain and suffering in order to reach your goal. Whoever said that anger was iron, heavy and burdening, should’ve known it was made of fire, light and destructive and glowing in the dark.

You turn back and face the hill you’re about to climb. Once again, there is no path. Craggy rocks scatter over the surface, broken in places, and small ditches and gopher holes pattern it. Still, in the midst of the minutely dangerous land, there are hoofprints laid down from the first time you’d come this way. It is the road less taken.

You slide your leg back and pick up the canter. Your heart rises in your chest as the frigid wind casts across you and you’re taken over by the strength of the animal beneath you. Behind you, the shadow of Draco and Tommy ripples on the uneven ground. Slowly, you release the reins, and let the retired racehorse relive his days on the track, stretching out his legs and flattening out.

The summit nears, but out of the corner of your eye, you see Draco falter, then slow. You do the same, stopping and twisting in the saddle to face him.

“Where are we going?” Tommy lifts his head to gesture towards the flattening hill above you. “That’s a dead end, there.”

“If you want me to trust that you’re going to take care of yourself, you get to trust me that I’m not going to lead us off a cliff. Believe it or not, I also don’t want to die.” You smile faintly, a little thrill shocking through you at the truth of the words. Despite the conflict, despite the instability of your circumstance, you feel alive for the first time since before you were sent to France. And you don’t want it to end.

“I trust you,” he insists.

“Good, then let’s go.” You look forward and slip once again into a canter. Before you know it, you’re at the summit, riding along a flat ridge, a gentle decline on either side of you. You live, for a moment, in the pink sky, swimming through the clouds on frigid air, nothing around you but emptiness. Then you blink, and the land comes back into focus, and the height makes your heart skip a beat. You grin.

Glancing out of the corner of your eye, you see Tommy’s head swiveling, on alert, taking in the view of the world, and, in a way, his world. His massive house suddenly small enough to pinch between two fingers. Problems shrunken in the scheme of sunset.

You walk along the ridge in silence, watching the sun drown in the color of the horizon. You used to ride like this on your own, trying to make the world seem small, trying to break out of the shell you lived in by literally gaining some perspective. It was quiet, yes, but never peaceful, to go out by yourself. The singular hoofsteps did little to drown out your thoughts, little to shift the tides of emotion that rippled in and out of you. It promoted a deep emptiness you could never explain, a hunger for something like the love you had for the other girl, your comrade in the war of your childhood, so ravenous that you felt you would eat yourself alive from it. The price of freedom was loneliness.

You watch your shadows travel over the craggy edge of the path you’ve created, and, slowing your horse to near Draco, you ask a question that’s been hanging on you for days.

“Why don’t you wake me when you have nightmares?”

Usually, you’re called back to the land of the living too late, once he’s sat up and calmed himself, except for when he talks in his sleep. You catch the jagged end of his fear, the deep breath of centering, the relaxing of tensed muscles. Asking a question, offering comfort, doing anything other than watching helplessly makes him shy away from you, the closest you’ve ever seen him get to nervous. And, so, you smile sadly and wait for him to lay back down before you allow sleep to wash back over you.

“Why don’t you?” His response is not an accusation, not shutting you down. It sounds genuine. You know he plays games, know he struggles to turn off the finely-dressed, hard-masked version of himself, and part of you goes out to him when he’s earnest.

“Because it feels… private.” It’s true that you don’t wake him when you dream. Like him, you want to boast a certain toughness, like the world could kick you while you were down and you’d still stand up, spit out a tooth, and grin. There’s no amount of rakish armor to subconscious terror. There’s no hiding the effect it has in the first moments after. It feels different, though, for you than to him. “But you’ve told me what you dream about. I know it already.”

“It feels private because it is. You’re asking me to let you in on who I am when there’s no business to be done and no fight to be won. It’s not impressive and it’s not pleasant to look at.” His voice remains even, casual, as if this means nothing, as if he hasn’t allowed you to catch a glimpse into his mind. Draco tosses his head, his mane catching on the dying light.

“Why do you have to be impressive to me?” You halt Nifty to allow Tommy to catch up to you, so you can look him in the eye.

His voice grows quiet, his eyes holding steady with yours, the lowering sun reflecting like an ember in his pupils. “Because, I have to make up for the fact that it’s me.”

Something sharp shoots through your heart, and you breathe deeply, hands tightening on the reins. Mixed thoughts rumble like an earthquake in your mind. He does have something to make up for; he made a mistake, and for that, you have to hold him accountable. But, not for being himself. You can’t blame him for that, can’t punish him for having to work to be good to you. Horses have taught you that you can never discipline someone for trying. You can never hurt someone for a failed attempt.

He has quite literally fought a war, and is still battling it with every breath he takes, and he is learning to be kind to you, which is a war in and of itself.

You don’t know how to express to him that, one way or another, you want him. Not the performance he puts on, not the shallow and violent image he creates, not the emotionless husk he can become when hurting. Maybe to some people, there wouldn’t be much more to him than that, but you know. You know that beneath the cracked and rocky surface, there’s black soil, soft and rich, and you have a shovel, and you’re ready to dig.

“Please, don’t.” It’s pathetic that that’s the only response you can come up with. “Don’t make up for it. I’m not— you hurt me, Tom, but I’m not angry, not anymore, and I barely blame you for it, though maybe I should. It’s like being a victim can become a habit, and I’m trying to break it, and all I need is for you to help me do that. Don’t make up for it. I want you to be you. That’s what I like.”

“It’s not something to be turned on and off.” He clicks his tongue and Draco moves forward, and you pick up the trot to get ahead of him again, continuing to lead the way.

“Well, you can wake me up when you dream.” You shrug. “That would be a start.”

“You can do the same.” His voice is light. You catch a small smile on his lips.

“Oh, we making deals now?” You lean your head back, looking up at the blazing sky. Pink clouds wandering through bloody red, darkening. A cold breeze searching for warmth to steal.

“I got the impression you wanted equality.” He almost chides you, teasing, and you feel your heart lift.

“So, we’re in agreement, then.” Ahead of you, an overcropping looms, dark and sharp rock casting a shadow over the ridge you wander on. “You wake me, I wake you.”

You step into the shadow of the overcropping, cool air raising the hair on your arms. You urge Nifty forward, thirsting for the view, the rush of a great height, the faint fear of a vertiginous cliff. The dark edge of the rock over you comes into sight, the ridge you walk on curling around it. Your eyes pin to the darkening sky beyond it, now a deep, warm orange, and, slowly, you turn the corner.

The cliff drops off in front of you. The view underneath it brings layers upon layers of green; hills and rippling grass, pathways and roads cutting through them. On the horizon, the dark, glowing smudge of a city stands, faint lights twinkling. Above, there’s color. Beyond description, sprawled out luxuriously across the dome of the sky. Deep blues twist into pinks and oranges and purples, splattered with the brightest stars shining through. The sun rests half-gone on the stark line of the horizon, the space around it golden. Wind whistles and the horses grow still, almost respectful of the culmination of the long walk they’d just taken.

“How did you find this?” Tommy asks quietly.

You shrug. “Had a bad day. Wanted to find the ends of the earth.”

For a while, you watch the sun lower, the sky darken, and the world slowly fall asleep. The horses swish their tails, ears turned back to listen to any possible cues you might give. Twilight comes, and faint purple surrounds you.

“We should go back.” Tommy breaks the silence, tugging on the reins to back his horse away, about to turn towards the overcropping’s edge, back to where you came from.

“No,” you say.

“No?”

“No.” You shake your head. “We’re staying here until it’s dark. The horses can find their way at night.”

“Why would we do that?” There’s faint amusement in his deep voice.

“Because.” You turn to look at him. “How long has it been since you wasted some time? How long’s it been since you fully watched the sunset?”

He considers you, blue eyes holding as much darkness as the falling night, then his lips purse slightly and he nods to you. “We stay til the sun is gone. No longer.”

“No longer.” You mock him, shooting him a grin. “C’mon, Tom, waste a moment with me and quit thinking about the work you have to do at home.”

He offers you a faint smile back, lifting his chin to face the lilac horizon. “The air is cleaner up here. Helps clear the muck.”

“It’s crisp. Makes you feel a little more alive.” That’s why you brought him here, to the end of your little earth, this cliff’s edge between the city, the wild lands, and Arrow House. For some, the rush of the cool night air would mean little. But the two of you have learned that the smaller things in life are what keep you alive. The two of you know how to give yourself another reason.

“Yep.” There’s a sort of settling in the word, like he’s come back to himself after a long day of pretending to be someone else. It’s low and rumbling, quiet, like he’s holding something else back, too hesitant to place another phrase into the ether between you.

“What?” You ask, twisting to place a hand on the cantle of your saddle and face him.

He shakes his head. “Nothing.”

“It’s never nothing with you.” You say it gently, and Draco’s ears prick towards you, recognizing your calming tone of voice. “Too much going on in that head for it to be nothing.”

“I said it was nothing, then it’s nothing.” His voice grows defensive.

“Alright.” You look back at the sunless sky, light still spread over the horizon like a blanket. “It’s nothing.”

—

You’ve known he’s been hiding something for a while now. He’s good at hiding it, you’ll admit that, but still, you can see it. He allows you to probe his day, his work, his thoughts, except for certain odd corners. Little details he won’t confide, locations and names and blocks of time that he leaves out. You don’t ask him why, don’t ask him what. His words amble through your mind, and you track them carefully, trying to piece it together. You remember infiltration, and you remember the men who touched you, the men who drugged you, the men who hurt you and never faltered.

Part of you blames yourself for the events that transpired next. You hoard your worries like a dragon with gold, unwilling or unable to disrupt the peace that hovers over Arrow House. The men who came after you are dead, and the fear of being pushed out, thrown into a world that will never welcome you, has dissipated. You are too much a coward to speak up.

It happens all at once, it seems. Your slow, steady life speeds up exponentially, cascading out from a single, horrible event.

Night falls. The horses sleep in their stables or out in the pasture, and the house is quiet. You sit on the floor in the entryway, toying with the hem of your shirt, worry icing your veins over like some internal ice age. Time ticks on, and you’ve heard nothing from him, and you hate to be the woman left at home, waiting for the man to come back. Part of your independence fades away the longer you sit and wait for him. Still, his line of work is dangerous, and he usually calls.

You lean your head back and close your eyes. The silence buzzes around you. Frances has gone to sleep already. Your mind drifts, and despite your best efforts, you slip into a kind of frenzied stupor, images flashing in your mind's eye, brow furrowing, not quite awake but not quite asleep.

The front door bangs open and you’re on your feet, backing away and drawing yourself up, preparing to fight. The world spins; you stood up too fast. Bright lights shine into your eyes, and a silhouette marches up the doorway, shouting something you don’t comprehend and you stumble backwards, about to turn and run.

“Help me get him inside!”

You recognize the voice and falter, poised, ready to bolt.

“I said, help me get him inside! Come on, don’t bloody run away from me. Help me!” Arthur. His voice shakes, anger and fear mixed together. “Come on, woman, get your man.”

You come back to yourself and walk forward, then, as Arthur comes fully into view, start into a jog. You see blood. Smeared up his front, as if he’d been carrying someone bleeding profusely. Your heart stutters in your chest and you flat-out run towards the car in the driveway. Arthur follows behind you.

You find Thomas laying in the back seat and your eyes sweep quickly over his body. Eyes open, breathing hard, fresh blood spilling from what looks to be his chest, dripping down onto the seat beneath him. He groans and writhes, as if trying to escape the apparent pain, then falls still and quiet when his eyes land on you.

“What did you do?” You matter to him as Arthur appears behind you. Silently, you move over to let him take Tommy’s front half and drag him out of the car, then you take up the rear and support his legs, holding him up.

“Got himself shot, is what he did.” Arthur shakes his head, face in sharp relief in the headlights. “Shoulda seen the other men, though.”

“Do you know what happened?” You reach the doorstep and head inside. Arthur seems to know where to go, what to do, so you follow his lead. You’ve done many things in your life, but doctoring a gunshot wound is not one of them. “Why didn’t you take him to the hospital?”

“Just a bullet.” He shrugs and moves into the kitchen, pulling out a chair to place Tommy down on it.

“Just a bullet?” You stare at him, momentarily stunned by the incredulity of this family and the amount of bullshit stored in their heads.

“Aye. Just a fucking bullet, isn’t that right, Tom?” Arthur cuffs his shoulder and Tommy nods vaguely, his eyes still stuck on you. He’s been quiet. Too quiet. “Alright, you stay with him, keep him upright, keep his fucking eyes open. Got it?”

“Got it.” You don’t ask where he’s going, just watch him stalk off, with that predator’s walk all the brother’s seem to have, one filled with confidence and self-assertion. Once he’s gone, you turn to Tommy, lean down, and lift his chin. “What the fuck did you do?”

Clear blue eyes stare into yours, and you can almost see the thoughts chugging behind them, despite the pain he must be in.

“Thomas.” Your other hand reaches out and slowly shifts his jacket away from the right side of his chest, where most of the blood appears to be coming from. A hole in his shirt, turning the white to pure crimson, not on his chest, but on his shoulder, marks where the bullet pierced him. “You tell me. You tell me what happened before Arthur comes back, or I will make a not-fun experience even worse.”

Your heart races. His eyes slowly close and you shake him roughly. He winces, brow furrowing, tsking quietly. “There’s been a setback. It’ll be dealt with.”

“A setback in what?” Your tone darkens. His eyes open and bore into yours, gaze so intense that chills rise up your spine. He doesn’t respond, so your grip on his chin tightens. “A setback in what?”

“There’s a girl. Hollis. Went to get her out today. Found a man with her. I couldn’t let him fucking live. Couldn’t do it.” His eyes stay steady on yours. “The bartender heard me. Sent men in. Got lucky getting out the way I did.”

“Thomas,” Your tone is deadly quiet. “You killed a client. You were seen on the way out. They know who you are. They probably followed you here. There’s no fucking muzzle on the mouth that just bit you, and they are coming after you. I told you that you couldn’t win this war.”

He groans, leaning his head back on the chair. His blood drips serenely onto the floor. “It’ll be handled.”

You grab his shoulder, just above the bullet wound, and he gasps as the pressure shifts the skin around it. “You’ve doomed us both. Do you understand that? You’ve fucked both of us over and there’s nothing—”

You take a breath, then stand up, turning to face the door. “There’s nothing you can do…”

But you. You can stop all of this in a moment. You can satisfy the bloodlust and the predatory need of the men he’s angered, you can give them a chew-toy, a distraction, a pacification. There’s an extra pair of lights pulling into the driveway.

You look down at him. “You fucker.”

You almost laugh. You either comply, give yourself up, or you watch Tommy and Arthur and likely Frances and Charlie be killed or, worse, taken in. This is the fragile thing about freedom. It doesn’t fully belong to you, not now, not ever. It relies on a web of people to hold you up, and when one person stumbles and falls, the rest tumbles down with it. You just didn’t expect that person to be Tommy. Freedom is the line that connects you to him, and you are about to hang yourself with it.

There’s a try at the front door, then the quiet clicking of someone picking the lock. Footsteps move slowly into the house, at least four pairs of them.

You take one final look at him. You are Tantalus submerged in water, the apple above you, and you have given up on reaching. Those blue eyes, that perfect face, the sudden realization in his expression.

“Run,” he says. “Just fucking run. Forget about us and run.”

You shake your head. “I fucking love you, you know that?”

It’s the trolley problem. It’s a philosopher’s dream. It’s the moment that you decide what kind of person you want to be. It’s when you decide, finally, that you won’t run.

There’s a rumbling sound in your ears, like thousands of people rolling over in their graves. There’s a look on his face that you’ve never seen before, some kind of shock and awe and terror and deep, unspeakable sadness. You smile faintly as the footsteps stop in the doorway and, out of the corner of your eye, you see a gun raised to point directly at him.

You will walk gladly into hell knowing that you’ve caught a glimpse of heaven. You will face the brimstone face on, and you won’t expect to be saved. There is no purgatory for you, not anymore. This body belongs to you. Nothing they do to it will ever change that. It is yours, it is yours, it is yours. In a thousand agonies, it belongs to you, and you love it for that fact.

You turn to face the men in the doorway, slowly raising your arms above your head. You are a child again, and you are watching your mother give you away, and you are watching the first love of your life be shot. Never again. Never again will you helplessly stand by as someone you love is hurt.

As you step away, giving yourself up to the men who will never care for you, never respect any part of you, never see you as anything more than a few holes to use, you hear a quiet response behind you.

“I love you, too.”

#zablife recommends

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badjokesbyjeff · 4 years ago

Text

If you like lawyer jokes, here are some of the best recorded interactions that have happened in actual courts or trials

ATTORNEY: What was the first thing your husband said to you that morning?

WITNESS: He said, 'Where am I, Cathy?'

ATTORNEY: And why did that upset you?

WITNESS: My name is Susan!

________

ATTORNEY: What gear were you in at the moment of the impact?

WITNESS: Gucci sweats and Reeboks.

________

ATTORNEY: Are you sexually active?

WITNESS: No, I just lie there.

________

ATTORNEY: What is your date of birth?

WITNESS: July 18th.

ATTORNEY: What year?

WITNESS: Every year.

________

ATTORNEY: How old is your son, the one living with you?

WITNESS: Thirty-eight or thirty-five, I can't remember which.

ATTORNEY: How long has he lived with you?

WITNESS: Forty-five years.

________

ATTORNEY: This myasthenia gravis, does it affect your memory at all?

WITNESS: Yes.

ATTORNEY: And in what ways does it affect your memory?

WITNESS: I forget..

ATTORNEY: You forget? Can you give us an example of something you forgot?

________

ATTORNEY: Now doctor, isn't it true that when a person dies in his sleep, he doesn't know about it until the next morning?

WITNESS: Did you actually pass the bar exam?

________

ATTORNEY: The youngest son, the 20-year-old, how old is he?

WITNESS: He's 20, much like your IQ.

________

ATTORNEY: Were you present when your picture was taken?

WITNESS: Are you shitting me?

________

ATTORNEY: So the date of conception (of the baby) was August 8th?

WITNESS: Yes.

ATTORNEY: And what were you doing at that time?

WITNESS: Getting laid

________

ATTORNEY: She had three children , right?

WITNESS: Yes.

ATTORNEY: How many were boys?

WITNESS: None.

ATTORNEY: Were there any girls?

WITNESS: Your Honor, I think I need a different attorney. Can I get a new attorney?

________

ATTORNEY: How was your first marriage terminated?

WITNESS: By death..

ATTORNEY: And by whose death was it terminated?

WITNESS: Take a guess.

________

ATTORNEY: Can you describe the individual?

WITNESS: He was about medium height and had a beard

ATTORNEY: Was this a male or a female?

WITNESS: Unless the Circus was in town I'm going with male.

________

ATTORNEY: Is your appearance here this morning pursuant to a deposition notice which I sent to your attorney?

WITNESS: No, this is how I dress when I go to work.

________

ATTORNEY: Doctor , how many of your autopsies have you performed on dead people?

WITNESS: All of them. The live ones put up too much of a fight.

________

ATTORNEY: ALL your responses MUST be oral, OK? What school did you go to?

WITNESS: Oral...

________

ATTORNEY: Do you recall the time that you examined the body?

WITNESS: The autopsy started around 8:30 PM

ATTORNEY: And Mr. Denton was dead at the time?

WITNESS: If not, he was by the time I finished.

________

ATTORNEY: Are you qualified to give a urine sample?

WITNESS: Are you qualified to ask that question?

________

ATTORNEY: Doctor, before you performed the autopsy, did you check for a pulse?

WITNESS: No.

ATTORNEY: Did you check for blood pressure?

WITNESS: No.

ATTORNEY: Did you check for breathing?

WITNESS: No..

ATTORNEY: So, then it is possible that the patient was alive when you began the autopsy?

WITNESS: No.

ATTORNEY: How can you be so sure, Doctor?

WITNESS: Because his brain was sitting on my desk in a jar.

ATTORNEY: I see, but could the patient have still been alive, nevertheless?

WITNESS: Yes, it is possible that he could have been alive and practicing law.

________

ATTORNEY: How far can you see at night?

WITNESS: I can see the moon, how far is that?

#funny #humor #jokes #lol #comedy

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alligatorjesie · 2 years ago

Note

you're really dedicated to making reylos look horrible. like maybe 60% of reylos are actually awful people right but you really just want to make it look like 100% of them are

Man, first off how fucking deep are you yanking these fucking numbers of your asshole because this is shit antis say. 60%? That's over fucking half. I've seen some pretty toxic fandoms, which reylo is most fucking certainty not fucking one of them, that have better numbers than that. Fuck the Star Wars fandom itself, you know the fandom that made the kid who played Anakin have to get therapy, the fandom that caused the man who played Jar Jar to consider killing himself, the fandom who made the actor who played adult Anakin quit fucking acting for a really long time, the fandom who made Gorge Lucas not want to make fucking star wars anymore, the fandom that made the actress who played Rey leave Instagram, and the fandom who made the actress who played Rose just leave the fucking internet entirely has a better statistic than that and there are actually nazis in that fandom, on top of all the shit I just listed which is hardly fucking everything this trash fandom has done. The worse I seen the Reylos do is get upset with John Boyega because he made comments about fucking his coworker and I'm pretty fucking sure Daisy Ridley, a married woman, wouldn't fucking appreciate that. Generally sexual comments are regarded as sexual harassment even if they're in tweet form. The reylos were more appalled that a man who is close to her and calls her a friend would say something like that. I don't make mean spirited sexual comments about my friends to goad people on twitter of all fucking places, that's fucking weird. Either way, what happened was fucking minor. John Boyega is still on twitter and fairly unaffected by the event. Daisy on the other hand was harassed off twitter and instagram by fanboys upset that a girl was the main character by sending her fucking death threats. These things are not the fucking same. If you fucking think they are you need to reevaluate your moral compass. What the ever-loving fuck is fucking wrong with you? But your shit morals aside: Mmm. But those reylos. Just thinking about how much they want to see the son of Leia Organa and Han Solo be redeemed and live a happy life for once is just enough to put any unsympathetic asshole's panties in a bunch. I'm being fucking sarcastic by the way. There is not a single fucking thing wrong with that mindset. What is a bad mindset is dedicating a large chunk of your life to hating what is essentially Space Beauty and the Beast because you can't emotionally comprehend a simple fucking redemption arc. No, I'm dedicated to telling anti assfucks to go fuck off and out of a tag they ain't got any fuckin business being in to fucking start with. I don't like Anime and wouldn't you fucking guess it? You'll catch me dead before you see me in the fucking anime tag being a useless twat to people in that fandom. Because I'm not a fucking twat. Well... I mean I am, but not to people who don't deserve it. Antis deserve it. Antis who come into my fandom space and actively harass me and my friends for enjoying a canon ship really fucking deserve it.

I don't fucking care what a anti thinks about me. I want antis to hate me, fuck they already do so what the fuck is a little more? I ain't winning you fucknuts over with honey any fucking day soon so baby it's time to get the Raid. I want every single anti who meets and fights with me to remember the fucking prick who told them to fuck off in such excruciating detail it would overfill a Jehovah's Witness pamphlet.

I want every single fucking anti asshole who comes into contact with me to remember the mean alligator reylo who told them they can kindly just pop their heads back into their shitty assholes where I can only assume their shitty opinion originate from and sonic roll out into low tide. I don't give a flying fuck and honestly at this fucking point I don't fucking care anymore. It's been 8 fucking years and if your opinion on reylo was this shit that long ago having one more telling you to kindly dick off isn't going to change your fucking mind. Oh no, one asshole thinks a reylo is an cunt, the same asshole who just told me statistically they already think over 60% of reylos are just fucking cunts so why the actual fucking Christmas Christ do you think I give a single solitary shit about you thinking I'm a cunt? Go ahead mate. I don't fucking care what you think. But you can close the door on your fucking way out and I hope it smacks you in the fuckin ass so hard it sends you flying out space never to be fucking seen again. Fucking Bye Felicia.

#reylo #anti talk #I have reached critically low levels of fuck oh no

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freydis-freydat · 6 months ago

Text

It wouldn’t be the first time Freydis had met someone who laughed in unfortunate circumstances. To hear laughter was jarring, but she had witnessed herself that for some it was more of a nervous tick than a marker of genuine entertainment. There had been a baker’s wife growing up, who always looked worn out and nervous who immediately pitched into a fit of cackles when her father had named the price for that day’s delivery from the mill. She remembered the way the laughter would cease when her father met her at a figure where they both agreed “Aleskander would not be cross with that price”. And then there was her mother’s own funeral only a few years prior, where Freydis remembered sitting beside her gray-haired aunt who laughed nearly the entire time, her hand cupped over her tear-stained face.

That memory felt consuming, as capable of swallowing her whole as the darkness of these caves did. Discretely, as if she were simply making a few more centimeters of room for her fellow passengers, Freydis pushed her back against the iron bars, hard, leaning into where she knew she had heavy bruising and lacerations. The biting pain and sparks of pain lit her nervous system ablaze. Still, she only leaned against it harder pushing the heaviness of her mind into the throbbing sensation until it subsided into a dull aching and felt manageable again.

When the woman spoke again, Freydis eyes tracked where she had last seen any of the witchers in the cage. She felt even given the vague explanation provided by her present company that the mines were not entirely out of the question for why she held such an aversion for dark caverns. More witchers than not made Freydis nervous and cagey; their intensity often eclipsed any other trait and the woman avoided them whenever she could.

“I would hate to step beyond my place and venture a guess as to what might make that dislike so acute,” Freydis responded quietly, “but I hope my worst inclination is wrong.” She offered a small, rueful smile and whispered, “I don’t think this is the type of ordeal anyone in their right mind handles well.” It seemed more likely that they would die than live, and she could accept that, though not without putting up a proper struggle. And not without doing whatever she could to fight to maintain the small mercies and kindness she could provide to others–she would not allow impending death to make her cruel as she had seen it make others. Her cruelty would be saved in full for those who deserved it, but not these prisoners. “Perhaps, if you are up for it, we have at least enough time to make one last friend. My name is Freydis.”

A miserable laughter escapes her split lips at the question that follows a brief act of kindness that is almost overwhelming in nature. Years ago, the act would mean nothing but a mere kindness amidst many, but Nuvi had been starved of kindness for so very long that any gesture became overwhelming. There was no kindness in the darkness of the mines, nothing else but the desperate desire to survive that urged people to work themselves to the bone, to kill those who proved a threat under the cover of darkness, and to ensure their warden’s gaze never turned upon them.

It was a miserable time, one devoid of any joy that she did not force herself to feel.

There was no kindness in the mines, but there was kindness here, in this new cage of hers.

That thought did more to bring her back to the present than anything else she could have thought of. Stopping her hysterical laughter by covering her mouth with a battered hand, holds her breath until the giggles are extinguished. Then, and only then, she sends the blonde a grim smile.

“Pardon me,” she apologizes slowly, voice soft. “I am not overly fond of the darkness or the caverns, on the contrary, so I am not handling this entire kidnapping very well.“

It’s the understatement of her century, but she is not about to explain the origins of her fear to a stranger without a proper reason, even if that stranger is a fellow prisoner. She had caught a glimpse of the Witcher that had captured her amongst her fellow prisoners, and that alone was a keen reminder that she was not safe even from the mortals around her.

#nuvi #nuvi 01

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dawntainbobbynash · 2 years ago

Text

Bleeding Love

The shooting leaves Bobby drowning in pain and the past, but he has every reason to fight.

Whumptober Day Three - Hair’s Breadth From Death

Warnings: Past suicidal thoughts, implied/reference drug addiction, guns, blood

Bobby/Athena, Bobby & the 118, Bobby & the Grant family ~ 2.5k ~ AO3

He doesn’t have time to feel fear when he realizes that what he thought was a victim is instead a strategically placed mannequin, or the strange combination of unease and relief that he’s alone, or the vulnerability of missing his bulletproof vest, something that had felt more like a noose than a shield only the day before. He only feels suspicious in a way he’s never been before, his heartrate skyrocketing as he squints through the smoke, searching for the danger his every instinct is now screaming at him to run from.

He isn’t fast enough.

Before he can turn, almost before he can move, the shot goes off. It’s quieter than he thought it would be, and, for a split second, it’s not even painful. The bullet tears through him, into his back and out the front, and for one last, stuttering breath, there’s only shock. He almost doesn’t even realize he’s falling.

Then his body hits the floor.

The impact jars the pain to life. It explodes through him, stealing his breath with a harshness he hasn’t experienced since the day the floor crumbled beneath him and the fall broke his back, and all he can do once again is lie there, struggling to breathe, clinging to consciousness. The pain whites out everything, digging vicious claws into every ounce of self-control he’s ever possessed, and he wants to scream, he wants to pass out, he wants to grab his radio and answer his team’s distant calls and beg for help, but whatever shred of awareness is left tells him not to do any of that, that he can’t do any of that.

A voice reminds him why, and when he gathers enough of his wits to twist around and look, the blur of a gun and the face behind it fills him with a flash of rage. This is the man that shot Eddie. He’s the reason that he had to wait in the hospital during yet another surgery, the reason Buck had to exhaust himself taking care of Chris, the reason he had to give a talk to his nervous team and scared victims about the danger that could lurk above them on any call. He’s the reason he had to worry about Athena hunting a killer while stubborn silence kept them from looking each other in the eye, leaving him unable to assuage the fear not quite hidden in her eyes as she helped him put on the bulletproof vest he should never have needed.

He clings to that rage, using it as fuel, as a barrier to the pain. He tears off his helmet and mask, deciding clear communication and a human face are better than whatever protection they could offer from the fire or a bullet, and presses a hand to the bleeding exit wound, trying not to think about how there’s little he can do for the entry wound on his back. Someone is still calling for him – Chimney, he realizes now that he’s regained some clarity – and Ethan is ordering him to answer.

“And if I don’t, what? We burn?” Bobby snaps.

He looms closer, gun trained unerringly on Bobby. So much for hoping his courage would fail, up close and personal with his victim.

The word he’s used countless times throughout his life suddenly sends a shiver down Bobby’s back. Victim.

I’m the victim.

“Call ‘em in. Tell them you broke your leg or something. Do it.”

“Nah.” Bobby half drags, half pushes himself backwards, trying futilely not to look like he’s running away. “I think you’ve shot enough firefighters already.”

His back hits a column, and he really doesn’t have much choice but to stop and lean on it, his limbs shaking with the effort of moving just a few feet. His spurt of strength is fading, and as the conversation carries on, it becomes all too clear that Ethan is hellbent on dying here, concerned only with taking as many firefighters as possible with him. At least Bobby can claim the limited dignity of sitting up now when he retorts that nobody is coming in after him.

Part of his mind wanders at that. Is anybody coming in? The evacuation order had come in well before the shot – surely the police are on the scene by now, maybe even S.W.AT. Will they lead his team in, or block them from entering the building at all? Surely they would charge in regardless. It’s what he would do had this been one of the others. But then…

It’s not my team anymore, is it?

Ethan is enraged. He’s bleeding out. Chimney’s likely taken over by now. The rage is softening, yielding to pain, and with the pain comes the fear. The odds of him escaping this room are growing slimmer with every passing second, every spilled drop of blood, every breath that’s harder than the one before it. He can feel unconsciousness creeping up on him again, the chill of death lurking just behind it, a sensation he’s become all too familiar with in the years since his family’s deaths.

This feels like it did that night. It’s been a while since he’s been maskless in a fire like this one, and now that he is, now that he’s thinking about it, the sensations, the memories are overwhelming. The searing heat and acrid smoke all around him, making it hard to think, even harder to breathe, and his hands twinge at the phantom pain of gripping overheated, broken flooring. Somewhere, he thinks he hears screaming, the screams that have haunted him for so long now, and he clenches his eyes shut against them, against all of it, trying to force himself to focus.

Because it’s not over. It can’t be over. Death stalking around the corner had been a welcome thought once, a desired outcome, but not now. Not anymore. His team are fighting for him, he knows they are, and so is Athena. He has plans with Michael and David next week, and he had promised to help Harry with his science homework, and he can’t let May be the dispatcher who had sent him to his death. He has to fight this.

There has to be hope.

“It’s not too late,” he finds himself saying, forcing his eyes open. “You can still save yourself. And I can help you get out of here.”

And you can help me, he leaves unspoken. The idea of trusting this man like that, of trusting him to help carry him out of a burning building, fills him with an unsettling mix of revulsion and terror, but he shoves it aside. If that’s his only option, if that’s what it takes to get home to his family and keep himself between his team and harm’s way, then that’s what he’ll do.

Ethan doesn’t even bother refusing the idea, and his next words are lances to Bobby’s heart. “You ever think it’s just a waste of time, Captain?” he asks. “That some lives just don’t deserve saving?”

Oh, if only you knew.

The memories surge again as Ethan rants on, recounting a story about deadly mistakes, innocents trampled in the path of selfishness, and the wrong person surviving it all. The words dig in deep, burrowing straight into Bobby’s darkest insecurities, and his mind is tempted to wander again, not to the question of if anyone is coming, but rather if anyone should come. He’s tempted to give in to the pain, to the darkness, to reach for the family he lost in an effort to prevent anyone from the family he has now putting themselves in danger to save him.

But only for a moment. He takes the deepest breath he can manage and reaches for different memories. Happier memories. He renews the pressure on his wound and relishes the way his wedding ring digs into his finger, calling up memories of peaceful dates and rambunctious family nights, of the first time he kissed Athena as her husband and hugged Harry and May as their stepfather. He feels the weight of his gear on his back and remembers smiling faces awaiting his lovingly cooked meals, banter and uplifting words traded even in the darkest of times, a precious camaraderie he once thought he had lost with the fire.

These people had taught him how to live again, and he will not give up on them now.

“Everyone deserves to be saved,” he says, remembering Buck and Hen holding him as he cried, Chimney reminding him in no uncertain terms that he still had every reason to live, and Athena pulling him back from the edge. “We don’t choose who lives or dies. We save everyone we can.”

Everyone. Including me.

I want to live.

The words only incense Ethan further. “You think saving lives is a hard job?”

He doesn’t give Bobby a chance to reply, but it doesn’t matter. He’s proud of himself for saying it. He’s proud of himself for believing it. If this is truly the end, then he can die knowing that this family saved him in every way that truly matters.

And this is surely the end, he realizes as I want to live becomes a prayer, repeated over and over with every frantic heartbeat. “Try having to take them,” Ethan snarls, finger tightening on the trigger, gun pointing squarely at Bobby’s face. He swallows, decades of training and protocol and experience running uselessly through his mind, knowing there’s nothing he can do and no chance a sniper can miss at this distance, and sends up a final, desperate prayer for salvation.

And it comes.

Movement catches his eye just as he’s thinking a goodbye to his wife, to his stepchildren, to his family. He turns, almost convinced he’s imagining it, and the sight of someone walking through a wall of fire and swinging their gun up, shooting Ethan twice like some scene in an action movie that Harry would love but Athena would critique as unrealistic, does little to dispel the conviction. He watches Ethan fall, but he takes a breath only to tense up, squinting through the smoke again, not yet letting himself drop his guard as he tries to determine who’s wearing a firefighter’s gear and wielding a gun.

Perhaps it shouldn’t, but it surprises him when they tear off their helmet and mask and he sees neither a stranger nor a member of his team, but his wife, looking more heaven-sent than ever as she tosses them aside.

“Athena?” he exclaims weakly, not even realizing he’s already relaxing, slumping back against the column while she kicks Ethan’s gun away.

She crouches beside him, hardly letting herself look at him until she checks his injury and radios in their status, and a shard of guilt pierces through his pain as that distance reminds him that his ignorance of the evacuation order has placed her in her own all too familiar situation. “Athena, wh…” he tries, hoping a conversation might set her at ease, but he’s breathless, exhausted, struggling. “How did you…”

She shakes her head, a signal to stop talking that he gladly takes. There have been plenty of times over the last three years when he’s been frustrated by the need for professionalism between them, and times when he’s been happy that one of them decided to hell with it, but he’s never been so relieved as he is right now when she grips his shoulders and softly promises him, “I’m here.”

He’s damn near loopy now, everything going in and out of focus, the stress and the wound catching up to him in a dizzying rush as it sinks in that he’s safe, but the intensity of her assurance is crystal clear. “I got you.”

He crumbles. Whatever strength he has left, whatever tension is clinging to his bones, it all vanishes in an instant, those three words breaking through every shield he has. He lifts his hand, clutching her shoulder, proving beyond a shadow of a doubt that she is real, and she leans forward with him, their foreheads meeting in the middle. He pants, groaning in pain, and God, he knows the aftermath of this will be one of the hardest things he’s ever lived through, that the eternity he’s spent trapped here will be nothing compared to the eternity it will take to heal, but in this moment, he doesn’t care.

He leans into her, into the kiss she places on his forehead, lets her shift around to support him from the side, slipping his gear off his back and tending the wound he’s been unable to care for. She kisses his temple when he drops his head on her shoulder, encouraging him gently yet firmly to stay awake, to stay with her, and he’ll apologize as soon as he can for the waver his carelessness has put in her voice, for making her relive one of the worst nights of her life, too. She never moves all the while out from between him and Ethan, and part of him never wants to leave her arms, never wants to leave her shelter, never wants the moment to end.

But it does, in a chorus of rushing footsteps and calls of his name, and though he moans when Athena moves away, she keeps a hand on his shoulder, and he welcomes the hands that catch him, hands he trusts to take care of him, trusts not to give him the wrong medicine. They slip an oxygen mask on him, place bandages on his wounds, and tell him that it’s ok, they’ve got him as they pick him up and set him on the gurney. Before he knows it, they’re in the ambulance, Hen and Chimney continuing to treat him as Athena rubs his arm and tells him that she’ll call May and Harry once they’re at the hospital.

He finally fades out as the doctors are wheeling him into surgery, and when he wakes, Athena is there, gathering his hand into both of hers and kissing the back of it with all the love he had feared he would lose after their argument, the apology he tries to give for what he put her through shushed before he can finish a sentence. He dozes for a while as she runs her fingers through his hair, and then Michael and David arrive bearing flowers, food, cards, and the kids, May coming around to hug him while he shares a fistbump with Harry, and when the four of them leave, they’re quickly replaced by Chimney, Hen, Maddie, Karen, Buck, and even more flowers, food, and cards.

It does not escape him that the coming weeks and months will be a fierce battle full of meetings and prayer and therapy, or that he’s already dreading the quiet that will come after visiting hours are over. But for now, the pain he can’t ease lurks only at the back of his mind, and reliving the terror is saved for his nightmares. For now, he is surrounded by laughter and joy, and he knows that even when they leave, their love will linger, providing the lifeline he’ll need to make it through to the brighter days ahead.

It's as different as it can be from the worst night of his life.

#whumptober2022 #no.3 #hair's breadth from death #911 #fic #suicide #addiction #guns #blood #bobby nash #athena grant #bathena #mine.#text #bobby #athena

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saphirered · 3 years ago

Note

Can I request the Mighty Nein funding out the reader had been hiding a kinda injury

I hope it turned out the way you wanted it! Thanks for requesting 😘

(Caleb)

Caleb is no stranger to physical injury and has embraced his squishy wizard nature. You however have covered up many injuries in the past, letting them heal on their own as you always had before you had handy clerics around to fix you up. Old habits die hard and unlucky for you, when he’s not nose deep in a book Caleb will see right through your brave face act.

Upon finding out you’re injured Caleb would simply sit you down. He’ll take it upon himself to tend to your injury despite your best efforts to convince him you’re fine and it’s just a scratch. He knows better.

Silence. You’ve never managed to get a word out of the wizard when he’s caring for your ailment. He’s completely focussed but will listen to you talk so his silence is not rooted in concentration.

Caleb won’t mention your injury to anyone. It will be your little secret but you’ll be able to catch him staring at you, and when you meet his eye he’ll give you a little half smile; a nonverbal ask to see if you’re alright.

(Beau)

Training accidents happen but hardly ever exceed bruises. A sparring match gone wrong may have ended with you getting a bo-staff to the ribs with a little too much force but you play it cool. It’ll be fine. Just some bruises. You assure Beau you’ll sleep it off and it wasn’t that bad.

Beau’s not entirely convinced and definitely pries until you come clean. Persuasion isn’t Beau’s strong suit but she makes some solid arguments, and threats that leave you forced to reveal your secret.

Upon seeing the injury Beau will curse like a sailor, telling you you should have told her. Best not to mention the trouble breathing… Wether you want to or not she’ll go get the clerics to fix you up despite any and all protests.

Beau will keep grilling you for weeks, bringing your injury up as ammo in any argument she needs won and will keep a close eye out. She’ll refuse to spar with you but we all know Beau likes her training and with you being one of the very few actually able to keep up (sorry Fjord) she’ll give in and beg you to train with her again, this time more mindful of her actions.

(Fjord)

Fjord may play cool but he tends to be a worrywart and when he already has enough on his plate you be mindful not to stress him out by facing him with anything else. That includes you getting a pretty heavy hit from an enemy in combat.

Back on the ship you resign yourself to the lower deck and cargo hold duties as to stay clear of Fjord’s direct line of sight. You’d take the crows nest but an injured leg will do you no good climbing.

Bad weather and a leg injury at sea do not mix well and you, being slammed into the side of the ship unable to get back up sends Fjord in overdrive. He’ll help you below deck to a safe spot and prepare for basic care until one of the clerics can come fix you.

Fjord’s seen enough injuries; others’ and his own and knows well enough what you got didn’t come from your little tumble. He’ll be extra tentative but scold you for not saying anything and telling you you should tell him in the future.

Regardless of the clerics’ opinions he puts you on bedrest for the next few days until he feels like you’ve learned your lesson. Don’t count on being allowed to go up to the crow’s nest for a while though.

(Veth)

Having taken a tumble down the stairs while reading a book and conversing with Caleb (who you had to swear to secrecy) you deliberately stayed clear of Veth unless you had any sort of object to lean on to support yourself.

It’s more out of embarrassment you’re hiding this one even though your ankle hurts like a bitch. Every time you, Caleb and Veth are in the same room you’re sending the wizard death glares when he holds back a comment or laugh at your desperate attempts to keep this a secret.

Veth’s a mom and if there’s one thing moms are good at it’s figuring out when someone’s hurt. The moment your facade falls through, she’ll go into overdrive, pushing you to lay down on a couch or similar soft surface area, rushing to get you extra pillows and the likes.

Be prepared to have Veth hoover over you until you’re in the clear. She’ll do whatever she can to make you comfortable and brings you some trinkets to pass the time. Maybe don’t ask where she got them because they were definitely not in her previous possession.

(Jester)

It was gonna be an epic move! You’d jump down, weapon at the ready to stab down into the creature; death from above! Didn’t go as planned as you got swatted out of the air by the creature before you could strike down.

Luckily no one saw. After the battle you just claimed the plan fell through and you had to improvise. Meaning, you gritted through the pain of being rag-dolled into a cavern wall, got back up through the pain and back to battle.

If only Jester hadn’t asked you to help harvest the monster parts so you could sell them. You could barely carry your weapon, swinging it; different story. But Jester is persistent and you couldn’t just refuse the cute blue tiefling so you obliged gritting through the pain hoping no one would notice you taking a quick breather every so often.

Jester did notice and came to inspect your work, with a tap on your shoulder you feel a radiant warmth spread through you, making breathing and moving in general a lot easier. A thanks is in order and you’re sort of glad Jester keeps this on the down-low.

“Next time just tell me, okay?” Jester makes you pinky promise and you know that’s binding so you better keep your promise.

(Caduceus)

There’s a reason why you leave the cooking to Caduceus. You’ll happily cut some vegetables but try to stay away from anything else throughout the process of preparing food. When Caduceus asked you to watch the stove and add some spices to the food as he rushed to the pantry to get some more ingredients you were worried…

What should you do? Caduceus didn’t tell you how much to add of anything. Maybe you can just sniff the spices? Yeah, that sounds right. Opening the small jars and pouches one by one go through. You add a little of the fragrant ones and a bit more of the neutral spices.

One sniff of a red flaky powder sends you into a coughing fit, your airways burning like a blazing fire. Water doesn’t help. If anything it makes it worse. You get your breathing and cough under control but you do not trust your voice and scalding throat so when the firbolg returns you keep quiet.

No responses from you are a bit odd and what were you thinking you could keep anything from this man. Caduceus calls you out on your behaviour asking questions that need words and not nods, shakes, shrugs or the likes.

Upon you trying to talk he immediately knows what happened. Putting on a quick brew, in a short time you’re presented some tea to remedy your burning throat. It may not be your worst injury ever but it surely is an uncomfortable one. You gain a new appreciation for the dead people tea.

(Yasha)

You felt like you couldn’t do anything but try to hide the bleeding gash on your side, luckily covered by your clothing. Yasha had already gone through enough, last you needed her to deal with is the knowledge she injured you severely when under the control of someone else.

Back to normal you head into the next fight. For some reason you’re faltering and making mistakes you otherwise wouldn’t. Yasha notices and will be at your side in an instance to defend you but a single enemy blow sends you unconscious.

You can confidently say that opening your eyes to a raging barbarian pouring the contents of a healing potion down your throat is one of the most terrifying and admirable moment’s you’ve witnessed in your life.

Yasha asks when you got the cut since your bloodstained clothes don’t 100% add up. Tempted to come up with an excuse Yasha has you figured out. Prepare for endless apologies and a guardian angel watching over your shoulder threatening anyone with even remotely malicious intent into thinking twice about their actions.

(Mollymauk)

Molly will pretend he hasn’t noticed you’re hiding anything when he’s caught on you are being secretive. You’re entitled to your secrets.When he finds out you’re injured that’s no different. Unless it’s something that could be the death of you he’ll play along. You’re stubborn so you get to feel the consequences of your stubbornness.

He’d ask you to help him with this new routine he’s been working on or push you to spar with him. He’d make sure you have to pay extra mind as to not make it hurt as bad as your injury does when resting because that’s when the severity of your injury becomes clear to him.

Molly would deliberately make everyday tasks a little harder. You’re doing dishes? could you carry the heavy tub of water? Setting up camp? Keep pressure on this or hammer that into the ground. Will put your things out of your reach where you’d have to climb or jump to get them.

He’ll keep these shenanigans going until either you come clean about your injury or he really gets worried to the point he’ll have to step in for your own wellbeing. The former usually occurs leaving him smug and willing to carry you claiming to be your daring saviour.

Depending on the severity of the injury he’ll be a pretty decent caretaker spending time with you and assisting you whenever you need it. When it’s not as bad anymore he’ll be teasing you as much as he can. He won’t make you forget your stubbornness and pride gets in your way of admitting defeat and we all know he loves winning the game.

#critical role #critical role x reader #critrole x reader #mighty nein x reader #mighty nein #caleb x reader #caleb widogast x reader #beau x reader #beauregard x reader #veth x reader #nott x reader #jester x reader #caduceus x reader #yasha x reader #mollymauk x reader

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stiltonbasket · 4 years ago

Note

Since wwx does die in the soulmate au, could we maybe see your take on the snow scene?

After Lan Xichen bids them farewell and heads back up the hill to the hanshi, Wei Wuxian takes his jar of Emperor’s Smile and seats himself on the porch, trying to come to terms with the day’s revelations as Lan Zhan goes back inside to play his guqin.

Since his return to the world of the living, Wei Wuxian’s nightmares have often dragged him back to that day at Qiongqi Dao. He will never forget the shock of seeing Jin Zixun and his men crest the edge of the cliff above him, or Lan Xichen’s fury when he spotted the twenty Lan cultivators with them. Nor will he forget that palest, faintest melody playing behind his, and how Wen Ning’s eyes went white and wild like a beast’s before he cracked Lan Xichen’s skull against the crumbling stone of the quarry and thrust a blade wrested from one of the Jin guards through Lan Zhan’s chest. And then Jin Zixuan was dead, and it happened so quickly that Wei Wuxian could scarcely comprehend what was going on: and by then, Lan Zhan was lifting his head to croak Wen Ning, take him away from here, don’t let them take Wei Ying--

Wei Wuxian died at the Nightless City believing that Lan Zhan and Lan Xichen were both either dying or dead, and that the family he rebuilt in the Burial Mounds had been murdered for his own crimes.

He could scarcely even bring himself to fight back before Jiang Yanli came running onto the battlefield, and threw herself in the path of a sword he had not cared to parry.

Jin Guangyao, he thinks hysterically, slopping half his wine down the front of his robes as he closes one shaking hand around his borrowed jade pass. If you were behind all this--if all these murders were yours, and even your own sworn brother’s didi--!

“Wei Ying?”

He turns around and forces a smile onto his face, toasting Lan Zhan with the jar of tianzi xiao. “Lan Zhan,” he greets. “It’s cold out here, isn’t it? You should go back inside.”

“My cultivation is higher,” his friend observes: once friend, and then zhiji, and ever so briefly his betrothed, before Wei Wuxian destroyed his yinhufu and let the backlash rip him to pieces. “You will fall ill. Come here.”

Lan Zhan unclasps his heavy outer robe and lays it over Wei Wuxian’s shoulders, and then he wraps his arms around Wei Wuxian’s waist like he used to do in the Burial Mounds, when they went to bed together with A-Yuan in their arms and kissed each other to sleep, night after blissful night until the haven they built was ultimately stolen away from them.

“I remember hearing that second flute,” Lan Zhan says, pressing a kiss to his head. “When Wen Ning struck Xiongzhang down, the melody was almost identical to yours, but I still caught it. And when he turned upon me, I could never mistake that dizi for your Chenqing.”

Wei Wuxian nods. “That couldn’t have been Jin Guangyao, though,” he says dismally. “He would never have raised a hand against Zewu-jun. We’re still no closer to finding out who cursed Jin Zixun, or who played the second dizi in Qishan, or whom that ghost-faced man was.”

“Jin Guangyao has many allies, but I know of none he would trust to help conceal the murder of a fellow sect leader,” Lan Zhan agrees, with a slight frown between his eyes. “Perhaps we can ask Xiongzhang to draw up a list tomorrow.”

At the mention of Zewu-jun, Wei Wuxian straightens up. “That reminds me--how did your brother know that arm was Chifeng-zun’s? Is it because they were soulmates?”

Lan Zhan shakes his head. “He knew when you told him that it did not harm the juniors at Mo Manor, or even attempt to. After witnessing what it was capable of doing in the Mingshi, to the elders and to me, he had no reason to doubt who it was, or why it would spare the children and not the others of the Mo family.”

“Ah? Why’s that, then?”

“Fierce corpses can sense their own blood,” his friend reminds him, with a quiet sigh. “The arm did not move against the juniors because Jingyi and Sizhui were standing in front of them. And Jingyi was not present in the mingshi when we tried Evocation, so it had no reason to restrain itself.”

Wei Wuxian gapes at him.

“Chifeng-zun had a son?” he hisses, scandalized. “But everyone knew he was in love with your brother, so how could he have betrayed Zewu-jun and--”

“He did not,” Lan Zhan chides gently. “To Jingyi, I am shufu in private, though he calls me Hanguang-jun in company. But he was born far too late to ever meet his father.”

“Does he know?”

“En, he does. But it is widely believed that Jingyi was born after some secret marriage to a lady, or a dalliance, much like the rumors we put about regarding A-Yuan,” Lan Zhan’s fists clench a little. “The truth would have seemed too far-fetched to those who do not know Brother’s cultivation path, so he has never spoken on the matter save to acknowledge Jingyi as his.”

“What about Jin Guangyao?”

“He visited often during those six months after Chifeng-zun died,” his friend says bitterly, loosening his hold on Wei Wuxian as he stares into the snowy garden. “He knows the truth about my nephew’s birth well enough."

“You said Zewu-jun was more willing to believe us than you expected, Lan Zhan. About Lianfang-zun, I mean.”

Lan Zhan’s hair is half-white with snowflakes by now, so he stands still and lets Wei Wuxian sweep the snow away before he speaks again.

“It was all too strange,” he offers. “You remember that one of Jin Zixun’s men shot at us right when we entered the valley, but he fumbled his shot and struck my brother instead of me or you. When I woke up back in the Cloud Recesses, Chifeng-zun was raging about the Jin arrowhead the healers pulled out of Xiongzhang’s chest, and he would not answer the summons to the assembly at Nightless City--and more than that, he swore that any Lan cultivator who decided to go would meet a swift end upon Baxia, so neither the Nie nor the Lan took part in the siege at all. But even so, when there was undeniable proof that Jin Zixun’s actions had nearly brought about the death of the Lan sect leader and heir, the Jins called a rally against you, and brought all their vassal clans to Qishan so they could make war upon the Burial Mounds.”

“And then Jin Guangyao went anyway after I was dead,” Wei Wuxian sighs, rubbing his temples in a vain effort to brush away his growing headache. “And you were beaten for injuring the elders who tried to get you to surrender to him.”

His zhiji inclines his head. “Xiongzhang and Jin Guangyao are sworn brothers, but their bond does not go so deep as that. All Brother knew was that he honored my request to escort you to Lanling and came to accompany me, and that you had not ordered Wen Ning to attack us--and then, when he regained consciousness from his head wound, he found me lying beside him with my back torn to shreds and A-Yuan in my arms, and heard that the Wens had all been slaughtered. He has never trusted the Jin sect since, even if he did not suspect Lianfang-zun himself.”

They stand there together for a little while longer, reliving the sheer horror of that day--remembering Jin Zixuan dead at their feet, and Lan Xichen’s crumpled body painting the ground crimson with the blood pouring from his head, before Wen Ning picked up a golden jian and charged towards Lan Zhan.

“If I ever find the man who was playing the dizi at Qiongqi,” Wei Wuxian whispers at last, “I will not let him live long enough to regret it.”

Lan Zhan inclines his head and leads Wei Wuxian back into the jingshi.

“I know,” he says, as the doors slide shut behind them. “Neither will I.”

#wangxian #the untamed #mo dao zu shi #soulmate au #nielan #my fic #guys im literally begging for reblogs pls

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alleiradayne · 3 years ago

Text

Innuendo

A Very Destiel Series

If you asked Castiel, something was definitely wrong with Dean. Of that, he had no doubt. Whatever it was that bothered him, Castiel also knew that were he to get to the bottom of it, he must tread lightly. Press too hard on Dean Winchester and he'd bottle up tighter than the lid on a pickle jar. But when the possibility of a hunt distracts them, Castiel is forced to put his concerns aside and focus on the task at hand. Unfortunately for them both, the case reveals far more about themselves than they ever anticipated.

Part IV - Headlong

Summary: Why bother with a plan when they always go to Hell in a handbasket? Warnings/Tags: Holy cerebral headspace, trippy, monsters, fighting, Main Character Death and Immediate Revival, lots of trauma-responses, mind-palace, elements of horror, it's the big fight, the showdown with this episode's Big Bad, okay, like, they're fighting a monster, it's dark, it's grim, it's fucking psychotic, Castiel goes through some shit and it's intense Characters/Pairings: Castiel, Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester Word Count: 3,075 Song: Headlong - Queen

“Alright, I take it back. This plan sucks.”

Castiel counted the marinas and docks glowing in the darkness like little beacons. The Merrimack River stretched away from their perch on a lift bridge, reaching for the distant horizon. At least six large warehouses dotted the southern shoreline as it widened and emptied into the Gulf of Maine, and more docks lined the northern bank. Dean was right. But Castiel kept that thought to himself.

A lone sedan crested the north embankment headed south, its headlights blindingly bright. Once it had passed, Castiel chanced a cautious look at Dean, and what he found there troubled him. “We could start inland and work our way northeast.”

“That would take the rest of the night and the better part of tomorrow,” Sam said.

He, too, was right. And again, Castiel kept the thought to himself. Why, though? Despite his concern, he held back, restrained the urge to speak. Yes, he wanted to avoid Dean’s ire. But to what end? His thoughts snarled further, tangled in a web of possibilities. Inevitabilities. He could hardly make any sense of it. The longer he stared at the river mouth, the worse his fears grew. Control slipped from his fingers with each reaching grasp, and terrifying conclusions spiraled wildly until the worst flashed before his eyes.

“We can start with the frontage roads at least,” Dean sighed as he turned back to the car.

Drawn from the depths of his subconscious, Castiel followed wordlessly. Three doors opened and shut in unison, and then the motor roared to life with a violent snarl.

And you’re rushing headlong, you’re out of control...

If he hadn’t caught Dean’s smirk in the rearview mirror, Castiel would have ignored the music. But it was Queen. Again. And something about it tripped whatever human instinct he had developed in the last six months. Inevitable violence lingered at the edges of his subconscious, like an old friend waiting their turn to greet him. So Castiel did the only thing he thought might work. Whatever he could try to keep Dean from rushing blindly into the fray, he’d do it.

“Maybe we should head back to the motel,” he said as Dean pulled away from the curb. “We could investigate the locations the witnesses said they saw the creature.”

The Impala pitched over the southern embankment and lumbered to a slow stop at the bottom of the hill. A blinking red stoplight droned on in the darkness, streaking through the amber streetlights that bathed the sidewalks in their golden glow. With each passing second, that impending dread pressed in, snaring his senses. The grim darkness at the edge of his subconscious loomed, threatened. Like a rolling fog, those distant reaches of his awareness encroached until he was consumed.

“Do you… are you guys seeing this?”

Castiel followed Sam’s pointing finger through the windshield to their right. As though his mind had manifested it, an actual fog, thick and dark as slate, crept past the old stone buildings. Low, it clung to the road as it coursed into the intersection. More crawled atop it, coalescing into a mass that overwhelmed the amber lamps, blotting out their light with inky darkness.

“Dean…”

Sam’s voice cracked through the eerie silence. But the Impala remained right where Dean had stopped, and it was then that Castiel realized he had shut the car off. As the wall of gray neared, a deafening silence accompanied it so thick Castiel hardly heard Dean speak.

“Like I said,” he started as he racked his silvery Colt, “one of our brains had to draw it out.”

“Dean, wait, we—”

Too late. Dean rushed ahead, a man with a mission. He had his hammer, and with a nail in sight, there would be no stopping him. The driver door swung wide silently, then shut without a sound despite Dean throwing it closed. Sam, grumbling all the while, followed expeditiously, gleaming Taurus in hand as he exited the car, and striding headlong into the fog after Dean.

Castiel swung the passenger door aside, silent as the grave. He looked over the roof of the car and found nothing but darkness amidst the gray. His boots bore him soundlessly to that massive roiling wall, towering so far over him that it disappeared into the endless night. Consumed. No sound escaped, no light penetrated. It was as if the entire world beyond had ceased to exist.

Mortal though he was, Castiel had to press on, rush into the maddening fray to save his family, the stupid man he loved and his stupid, stupid brother. Stupid though they were, without them, he was nothing. So he stepped, and like a lover greeting their partner, the gray enveloped him. Coiling tendrils smothered him, slithered up his nose, into his ears, his mouth. But there was no pain, no sensation at all. Weightless, he drifted in a sea of nothing, listing aimlessly.

“You have always been nothing, Castiel.”

Wet and thick, a fathomless voice echoed through the deafening silence as though it bubbled up from unplumbed depths. And yet, nothing had spoken. But he had felt it, that rolling thunder of words. The fine hairs on the back of his neck stood on end, and the air shifted just behind him. Only, when he turned, he found nothing but more of the great gray mass. The pressure, that sense of an impending presence teased at his every nerve, but there was no one. Always no one.

“You are aware of yourself. Acutely. Aware of how small and insignificant you are.”

Blood rushed past his ears as Castiel spun about. More gray, more darkness.

“Is that what you fear? That which you do not know about yourself? Those dark recesses where anything might hide?”

He whirled about once more, then shouted. “Dean!? Where are you?!”

Nothing.

“Or is that what robs you of rest? Irrelevance born out of sacrifice. You were valuable once, useful. Now you’re just like him.”

Castiel clamped his hands over his ears. “It’s an illusion,” he hissed. Then he called into the endless fog once more. “Dean?! Sam?!”

Silence. But only for a moment too brief.

“Rejected by everyone you’ve ever cared about. How… pathetic. Cast out by your own kind, but unworthy of acceptance by humans. So utterly alone. Even the man you love, the man to whom you confessed that love, has not returned it. And he never will.”

“No,” he cried. “That’s not true!” The damp sank into his bones. “Dean?!” he called as he shivered, stumbled. “Dean, where are you?!”

At long last, he heard something. Dean’s voice echoed in the distance, muted by the thick fog. He scrambled to his feet and ran towards it. Stronger, closer, each response to his frantic calls spurred him onward, racing as fast as his tired legs could move.

Then the gray parted so suddenly, Castiel skidded to a halt. And what he saw drained him of all hope.

A small clearing encircled the same intersection at which the Impala had stopped. At its center, Sam struggled on the ground, unable to gain his footing. And beside him, Dean fought for breath in the grasp of the most horrific creature Castiel had ever seen.

It towered well over twelve feet tall and exerted no effort holding Dean aloft. Whatever manner of disguise it had once used, the Illithid had abandoned it. The oblong head of an octopus tapered to a narrow face with four tentacles covering its mouth. Regal robes in shades of midnight blue, plum, and rosewood draped in many intricate layers, aiding the illusion that it levitated. A large brass pendant, worn with age, hung from its neck and lay on a narrow layer of white linen just below the hollow of its throat.

“You’re too late. As always.”

So close, that booming voice rang as though Castiel had shoved his head inside a struck church bell. Though it spoke barely above a whisper, that cavernous voice rolled like peels of earth-shattering thunder. He collapsed to one knee, hands clamped over his ears, and shook his head in a vain attempt to rid himself of the voice. Unrelenting, it struck again and again, repeating claps of thunder that rattled his teeth, his bones, his soul.

“Cas!” Dean’s faint gasp rent the air, a sharp breath slicing through the thick stillness. “Don’t listen to it!”

Castiel dared a look. His jaw dropped in absolute terror as webbed fingers tightened about Dean’s throat. His choking voice spluttered as he tried to speak, face reddening and eyes bulging. Castiel stared, no will to tear his eyes away and no courage to act. Every time Sam stood, he collapsed, wracked by the same silent voice that had cleaved Castiel’s mind asunder. And Dean’s face swelled, crimson plunging to purple as the last of his life drained from him.

“You fear that which you are becoming.”

No, he thought. He could tolerate it no longer. Castiel wanted—needed—to run, to flee the wretched nightmare. He could not witness the death of his family, not again. Not ever again. Too many times, he had seen their lifeless bodies. Too many times, they had died because of him. Too much, it was all too much, and against his own willpower, he screamed a righteous howl swallowed by the fog. He would not be a party to it again, no, never again, he loved them, and they loved him no matter what, no matter if he was human or angel or anything in between, if only he could just move—

Gray vanished, replaced by an inky black void. He felt the ground beneath his feet but saw nothing, endlessly nothing. The Illithid, Sam, Dean, the fog. Everything was gone. Familiar surroundings sucked the air from his lungs. His stomach plummeted, and a deep chill numbed his fingers and toes, drained of all sensation.

In one moment, he had become nothing.

“You cannot hide from me.”

A flashing image burst through the void, and Castiel watched as though he relived a memory. The Illithid released its grip, and Dean crumpled in a heap beside Sam.

“You have failed them again.”

No!

Somehow, Castiel fled. The endless nothing shifted, pitched, tumbled as his awareness vacated his physical existence, seeking, searching. But for what? Why that void? It no longer served a purpose. And yet, synapses fired, each connection leaping further and further as he neared something, someone.

“There is nowhere for you to go.”

Another vision penetrated the darkness, and he watched. Dean lay where his body had landed, unmoving. Sam reached for him, and with his feeble grasp, shook the lifeless body. Sam’s righteous howl of anguish barely broke the suffocating silence, but Castiel felt it all the same. Tears streamed down his cheeks as he wept, trails of ice that branded his skin.

In the depths of his misery, a tendril of gray fog lanced out of the darkness and pierced Castiel in the chest, straight through his heart. For one terrifying moment, death seemed inevitable. But that moment lingered, suspended, stretched so thin the universe split at the seams.

“You lie!”

“No!”

Crashing waves of laughter rolled over him, drowning Castiel in an endless sea of despair. “You do. You have lied to yourself and those you love every day. You claim to have sacrificed for that love. And yet you cling. Cleave. Clutch. Without it, you are nothing. Because of your cowardice, your selfishness, your fear, those people you profess to love so dearly will die.”

For the third time, the world split, and those seams stretched near to bursting, the very fabric of his existence ripping apart. But instead of fighting it, instead of railing against everything as he always had, Castiel submitted.

Without it, you are nothing.

He knew then. He understood the truth, not of what the Illithid spoke, but for what his mind dug so deep. And then he found what he had so desperately sought. There at the distant edges of the endless nothing sparked a tiny flicker of light. He raced for it, sprinting, chasing, flying...

“It will not save you.”

With each and every inch he covered, the light bloomed, pressing back the darkness until, at last, he bathed thoroughly in brilliant white. Relinquished of its bonds, his consciousness soared on wings reborn, obsidian iridescence glimmering with the very last remnant of his grace.

“No,” Castiel said. “But it might save them.”

That light, what felt like all the light in the world, collapsed so suddenly to a single pinprick. And in one liminal, fleeting second, Castiel floated in his euphoria, reunited with the one part of himself he had always trusted.

And then the world shattered.

Mind and body melded, coalesced with such force the concussive blast rocked Castiel back to reality. All that light burst from him, from his wide eyes and gaping mouth and freshly minted wings as he screamed. His entire body, down to the very last molecule, echoed his anguish as the light burned through him, consuming him in a righteous inferno. So many feathers, he thought. So many ruined plumes took to the wind for their final flight as cinders and ash.

But it was worth it. The gray receded, blown back in a sweeping arc. Sam stirred, rising to his hands and knees. Beside him, Dean coughed violently as he rolled to one arm, a knee, then shielded his eyes against the light. Castiel saw his lips move, saw how his neck strained as he shouted, but heard nothing.

Last, he looked to the Illithid, and though the final traces of his grace threatened to consume him, Castiel only knew relief. Understanding shined in the Illithid’s depthless gaze, almost as if it was inspired. Grateful. Amused.

Unburdened.

Foggy tendrils curled from its head, its hands. It seeped from every stitch in its regal robes. The gray diffuse amassed until it enveloped the Illithid. With open arms, it greeted the end, embraced its death, and vanished in a whorl of twisted clouds. On a zephyr gust, it took with it the towering walls of fog, and the world reemerged brilliantly illuminated by Castiel for one lingering moment.

Then he collapsed, hands and knees crashing to the asphalt. Gravel and dirt ground into his palms, stinging, cutting. The entire weight of the world seeped into his muscles, his bones, his very soul, threatening to crush him. A deep breath rattled his lungs, and he coughed, choked. One sleeve came away bloody from his mouth, and his hand shook. Not once before in all his millennia had he felt so used, so drained, but there was no mistaking it. He had been given yet another chance. Not just to make the right choice. But to devote himself. To the cause, to his family, to the world.

To Dean.

It was done. And it was worth the gloriously terrifying ache of complete humanity coursing through his entire body.

One foot steadied beneath him, and the other followed out of sheer force of will. As he stood, he found Sam and Dean dusting themselves off, checking in with each other. Then Dean turned to Castiel and, much to his surprise, enveloped him in a hug reminiscent of those they had shared upon reuniting in Purgatory. In The Empty.

In the Bunker after you saved me.

Committed. Of all the people in the world, Castiel knew then that he had bound himself once more, irrevocably, to Dean Winchester. And with that thought, he clung to him a little tighter, a little closer, as if to hold onto him forever.

“Do I want to know what just happened?”

“I uh—” Castiel stuttered a breath as Dean parted from him and held him at arm’s length. He laughed then and said, “I think the appropriate innuendo here would be that I went ‘balls to the wall’ and managed not to kill myself doing it this time.”

Sam choked back a laugh, and Dean startled back a step. The late October chill replaced his warmth, and Castiel silently cursed the distance between them. He had hoped an innuendo would work, would finally crack whatever armor Dean refused to shed.

Instead, Dean averted his long gaze and said, “That looked a helluva lot like angel powers.”

Not quite an accusation. But close enough. “That’s... because it was,” Castiel said.

“But I thought Billie… and The Shadow—”

“I did too,” he interjected. “It wasn’t a… conscious decision.” Words struggled to find his leaden tongue. “I think I didn’t want to give it up completely. Like a part of me was terrified of how useless I’d be if I became—”

Castiel caught himself before he finished the thought. But Dean’s glare darkened, angular brow and narrowed eyes weighing him, measuring.

“If you became human.”

He couldn’t bring himself to repeat it. So he nodded.

“Castiel, you’re not worthless.” Dean clapped a hand on his shoulder. “You’re family. Between you, Sam, and Jack, the three of you are all I got. I’ll take you, useless humanity and all, over any other douchebag out there.”

It was too much and not enough at the same time. “Thanks,” he sighed, as much out of relief as exhaustion. “I forgot what it felt like. I think I could sleep for a month.”

Dean turned him towards the car and began walking. “Completely human, then? Like, if I stabbed you with a sword, you’d—”

“Out of all the methods of murder with which you are familiar, why was your first thought swordplay?”

Pealing laughter echoed down the street as Sam doubled over, clutching his stomach. Dean stopped dead in his tracks and shot a glare over his shoulder at him, but that accomplished little beyond spurring Sam into motion. He cackled as he shuffled to the car, patting Castiel on the shoulder as he passed. Only when he was inside the vehicle did his laughter quiet. Marginally.

Castiel turned back to Dean and found, even in the darkness, a pink hue coloring his entire face and reaching his collar. And as much as he wanted to press, as much as he wanted to understand, Castiel thought better of it. At the very least, Dean was smiling. Happy, even. And when Castiel motioned to the car, Dean nodded, silent but for a single grunt. Together, they walked, shoulder to shoulder. And that was close enough, incidental connections and all.

For now.

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