#I think he would go straight onto space Amazon

[iwouldn-tdothatifiwereyou]

Begging For Attention (18+)

AMAB!NONBINARY!RAY TORO x FTM! READER

SUMMARY: Ray’s been teasing Y/N for, like, 5 days. He seriously hadn’t meant to say it, but Ray has plans.

WORD COUNT: ~4.4K

———

Y/N's spouse grinned at him like a mischievous little fucking duende with their forehead resting in the crook of his neck. They were snickering unashamedly.

Y/N's face and neck burned bright red and he did his best to not make eye contact with Ray, darting back and forth looking at the space around their head. "I have a feeling I'm never going to live this down," he muttered, and Ray's smile curled playfully and they batted their eyelashes like they weren't going to make Y/N's life a living hell for at least the next couple days.

But eventually they relented in poking fun at him and they stripped off their dirty clothes before lying back down and pulling the covers up, spooning skin-to-skin all the way down and fell asleep listening to each other's heartbeats slowing down.

\/\ /\/

The next couple days were fucking tedious. Ray had been brushing off his requests to take showers with him, no naked cuddling, no making out. His heart was constantly thudding so fast, nerves thrumming under his skin whenever his partner's palm settled into the middle of his back but never going lower. Couldn't help but notice the playful glint in Ray's eyes, and every time they made eye contact Ray would flash an unnervingly hungry grin or flick their tongue over their bottom lip, and then the hand would be gone and Y/N would complain wordlessly, dragging long whines out.

But it was all he could focus on, had to stick a couple fingers inside himself as soon as Ray got up to make breakfast for the last four days in a row, and then take a shower sometime before dinner just to touch himself again, thinking about how fucking bad he needed Ray to stop teasing him and fuck his brains out or finger him or something.

Ray had been called in to the studio this morning, but it was Y/N's day off so he'd finished cleaning up breakfast and then curled into a little ball settling in the corner of the green-grey corduroy loveseat in their living room. And he had tried with all of his might to find something to watch on TV for a little while, scroll through tumblr, read the book he'd rented on Amazon before it expired... But his hand had started mindlessly trailing down his stomach, down, down, until the tips of his fingers were dragging against the fabric of his sweatpants and pressing up firmly into his cunt.

He set a rolling, steady rhythm, fingers dipping deeper towards his perineum and then dragging back out as he went up towards his clit. He felt like he was gaping open, so wet already thinking about the size of Ray's hand next to his, the size of their massive cock, so thick they have to prep him no matter how wet and loose he already is. He was literally so tiny next to his spouse, could fit so easily in his lap like a little lapdog.

A wave of dizziness washed over him and his hand stuttered, fingers pressing harder into his pussy through the fabric. He keened, squeezing his eyes shut tight and pressing himself more firmly in half, entire stomach flat against his thighs as he imagined Ray's palms splaying out over the backs of his thighs and squeezing.

He rocked his hips down hard onto his fingers and whimpered, feeling his walls clench around nothing and getting so much wetter. He kept going, fabric of his boxers sliding against his pussy so good; his body was hot all over, almost there, tripping over his movements and abs tightening as he buried his face between his knees, whining loud and unabashedly.

The handle on the front door jiggled as it was being unlocked and then it twisted, and Y/N's head shot up, eyes going wide and orgasm stabbing straight through him hot and fast and unexpected, hips canting downward sloppily, fingers pointing sharp as he drove down onto them. He sucked in a sharp, hiccuped breath to try and mask the sob that involuntarily ripped through him as he made eye contact with his spouse just closing the front door behind themself.

Wearing the tallest fucking leather platform boots he had ever seen. He's dead serious, his partner was already over six foot, and the boots... Fuck, they could touch their head to the ceiling if they stood on their tiptoes.

Their hair was thrown up in a bun, little strands falling out in front of their ears and they wore a t-shirt that was just barely too small for them, and a corset over it... the outline of their cock in grey ripped skinny jeans and oh my god. Oh my god. A literal god.

Ray leaned against the doorframe nonchalantly, that shit-eating grin coming out to tease Y/N again. He felt his pussy drip, pulse hard and fast in his sensitive clit. His face and neck were on fire, but he couldn't rip his gaze away from Ray's heavy-lidded eyes, taunting and dark. It felt like they stayed like that forever and ever, Y/N's hips beginning to twitch downwards subconsciously.

Ray patted their thigh lightly, pointing at the ground in front of their feet. Y/N's whole body went numb, hearing muffled and limbs heavy as he scrambled to stand up from the couch, failing a few times before resigning himself to the humiliating task of crawling on all fours towards them, knees burning from the fabric of his sweats pulling across his skin and palms freezing on the tile. He heard Ray chuckling at him, hanging his head as low between his shoulders as he could.

When he sat back on his legs, folded under himself, he realized just how much smaller he was than Ray at this moment. Even if he had been up on his knees, Ray's cock would still be so out of reach. The concept had him going cross-eyed, cheek smushing against Ray's knee as he tried to catch his breath. And Ray let him, fingers coming down to brush through his hair, tugging softly. His eyes fluttered closed.

"Yeah? My pretty boy's so tired of waiting, huh?" Their voice boomed even though their volume was close to a whisper; Y/N felt encapsulated in their existence.

He nuzzled further up Ray's thigh, forehead touching the midway point when he stretched out his neck as far as he could and he whined as he realized that he couldn't actually figure out how he was going to be able to give his partner head like this, when their cock was so comically out of reach. "Please."

"Yeah? You want it?" They jutted their hips forward a little bit, teasing. Y/N whined petulantly, pressing his head further into Ray's hand.

"Don't tease, been waiting so long already," he begged, sounding nothing short of pathetic, and Ray barked out a laugh at him, mean and pointed.

"Awh, but you're so cute when you beg." They tugged on his hair softly before nudging him to the side with their foot and stepping further into the house. Y/N fussed softly, crawling on wobbly limbs after them... into the office across from their shared bedroom. Where Ray would go to practice or write.

Ray plopped down on the sofa against the wall, propping their pretty acoustic guitar up on their thigh, legs spread wide. The fat on their thighs strained against the threads in the rips of their jeans, skin a warmer, deeper tan from the recent summer days by the pool. It was getting just a hair too cold for swimming anymore and Y/N missed seeing their hair pulled back from their face while they had breath-holding contests and made pretty dives off the side of the pool... and hot tub sex, oh, yeah. Hot tub sex was also phenomenal.

Ray patted the space between their legs on the sofa, and Y/N dragged his body with liquidated muscles over to sit right in front of them. With the change in angle, he was more or less eye-level with Ray's dick, and he could see the dark spot spreading on the front of the crotch. The fabric stretched so tight over the bulge there, it must have been borderline painful.

Y/N swallowed before he could start fucking drooling all over the seat of the couch, gaze traveling up to meet Ray's still dark eyes. "Come on, baby. Show me how good you can be, hmm?"

Y/N nodded enthusiastically at the invitation, trembling fingers tugging at the button of their jeans. It was just a fastener one, didn't take much maneuvering, and then there was the zipper, a longer stretch of fly than normal; they might have been high-waisted, if he wasn't mistaken.

The white cotton boxers underneath might as well have been holding themselves together by a singular thread, the bulge of Ray's cock impossibly huge, and suddenly Y/N's head was filled with cotton, a moan bubbling up out of his throat as he pressed his face into it.

Ray groaned appreciatively, hips shifting forward just a little bit. "Gonna cockwarm me while I finish up this song? I know you can be so good for me, my sweet babydoll." They carded their fingers through Y/N's hair a few times and pushed their hips forward just a little bit more, inviting him to pull the fabric down. And he did, thrumming with anticipation as the base of their cock came into view, and then he pulled the boxers just a little bit lower, just enough to pull it all the way out.

The weight was heavy in his hand, and the fact that he couldn't even wrap his fingers all the way around it never ceased to make him start fucking drooling. He leaned forward, pressing an open-mouthed, wet kiss to the head of it, tongue pressing flat against it and then laving up to dig into the slit. He sucked on it for a moment, head positively swimming and stomach swooping wantonly.

He dipped his head lower, doing his best to gather spit in his mouth to drag around the girth of it in an attempt to make the slide easier. Rinse and repeat, two or three more times, until his nose was nestled at the base of their cock, pubes tickling his face. And he sat there, remembering every once in a while that he had to breathe, lifting his head up like it would help clear up any semblance of a pathway for him to suck in a shallow breath through his nostrils, and then he would set his chin back down on the cushion on the sofa and Ray's cock would nudge just a little bit deeper down his throat, making him go cross-eyed and empty-headed.

And Ray would stop strumming and plucking every once in a while to coo at him, scratching behind his ears like a dog, and then they would go back to what they were working on. The last time Y/N had checked the clock sometime before Ray had gotten home, it was around 1:30 in the afternoon, but he watched the sun sink far below the tree-line behind their house during the time that he was on his knees in the office with Ray paying him almost no attention. It had to be almost 6:00PM by now, and Ray had promised an eternity ago that they were almost done for the day. His throat was sore from being forced to stay open so wide for such a long time and he was beginning to whine in an attempt to get his spouse's attention.

"I'm almost done, baby, I promise. You're doing so good for me, yeah? Such a good baby," they crooned at him, cupping his cheek with one hand for a moment before patting it almost dismissively and repositioning the guitar on their thigh. Y/N's boxers were fucking filthy, he could feel the wet, sticky fabric sliding against his skin every time he readjusted himself on his knees. Cum and discharge layered on top of each other, and his fingers twitched every once in a while as he tried to discern whether he would be allowed to touch himself.

An eternity later, when the stars were beginning to twinkle outside and Ray's cock was just far enough down his throat that he was struggling to get any air no matter how hard he tried, he heard the guitar get set carefully back on the ground, and Ray stretched, jutting his hips forward meanly and Y/N spluttered around the sudden shift, cockhead breaching the back of his throat and cutting off his airway completely. He whimpered, trembling.

Ray tilted his head up so they could make eye contact, and their eyes were dark and possessive. "Such a good boy, my little fuckdoll. Gonna fuck your face, you want me to?"

Y/N's head jerked up and down a couple times, the closest thing he could get to a nod, and Ray smiled down at him, sickly sweet. They caressed his jaw gently as they eased their cock back out of Y/N's throat so that just the head was sitting heavy on his tongue, and he gasped, lungs aching as they stretched. He hadn't taken any semblance of an adequate breath in hours, the rush of oxygen making him lightheaded.

"Need me to count?" They swiped their thumb over  Y/N's swollen, wet top lip, and he nodded sluggishly. "Okay, my sweet baby. So good to me, huh? Love you so much." Their hands shifted from cupping both sides of his jaw to holding his head firmly, palms pressed flat over his ears, making everything sound muffled and fuzzy. He watched Ray's lips move and heard their voice faintly. One, two, three. And then their cock was sliding back into his mouth, hitting the back of his throat and grinding down before it slid back out.

They fucked his face slow, undulations strong and defined. Their head was thrown back, showing off the pretty tanned column of their throat. Y/N sucked on the cockhead for a moment every time it came back to rest against the front half of his tongue, swallowing around it as it pressed deeper, adding to the intensity of the slow rhythm.

Ray showered Y/N in praise as they fucked his face, thrusts starting to get sloppy, faster and harder than before. "Such a sweet baby, so good for me, treat me so well. You're a fuckin' god, doll. Shit."

Y/N's chest heated up bright red at the praise, preening as tears pricked at his eyes and his nose burned, body instinctually starting to panic at the lack of oxygen and so much more fucking turned on by it than he should be.

He felt his partner's grip on the sides of his head tense up just a little more. Their hips stuttered as they groaned and shoved their cock as deep as it could go, Y/N's vision dimming and going black around the edges as they came. They rode out their orgasm like that, Y/N's face going numb from the lack of oxygen as they grinded the blunt head of their cock into the back of his throat. He swore he was seeing stars, hips spasming as he tried to get any pressure on his cunt, alleviate some of the aching he'd been trying so hard to ignore for hours.

Ray didn't pull out until his whole body was convulsing, face wet with tears and drool and snot as he trembled, spluttering weakly and pressing himself hard into the front of the sofa so that he wouldn't fall over. His skin prickled as his limbs woke up. Ray pet his hair softly for a little while, letting him catch his breath.

"You wanna come up here, baby?" they hummed. Y/N sniffled, nodded, whining when he felt strong hands grip under his arms and haul him up. Ray laid his head in their lap, the rest of his body curled up next to them on the sofa.

"My precious boy, aren't you? Doing so good for me." Their hand rubbed up and down his back, pushing up the t-shirt he was wearing and making contact with his feverish skin. He was practically purring now, rolling his head back to settle his gooey, heavy-lidded gaze on his partner's flushed, sweaty face. Ray smiled at him adoringly.

Their hand trailed lower on his back after a while, down the backs of his thighs, and Y/N sucked in a sharp breath, mouth falling open. They started just petting the back of his thighs, heart eyes eating him up and Y/N whimpered, pushing back against their hand just a little bit, made a weak attempt at enticing them by wiggling his hips.

And their gaze shifted a little bit, smug grin spreading wide over their face the more needy he got. "Yeah, honey? Want it?" He poked out his bottom lip, whining as his hips twitched. Ray was grazing their fingers along the inner part of his thighs, pressing feather-light up against his pussy.

"So pretty when you're like this, huh, baby? Have you been good? Did you earn it?" Y/N nodded, fast and hard, head spinning, and Ray dipped their fingertips just a little bit deeper, making Y/N's legs quiver. "Are you sure?"

"Please," he huffed, batting his eyelashes and rubbing his cheek up against Ray's semi, tucked back into their briefs. His voice was whispery and hoarse and it stung just a little.

"So fucking cockdrunk, puppy," they snickered, using their free hand to hold Y/N's head still and grind up into his face. His stomach swooped. "You want it so bad? Tell me what a good fucking boy you are. Wanna hear you say it."

Y/N's breathing stuttered, hiccuping loud and surprised. The cotton in his head had begun to thin out, but now he was back to square one, floating around the room, limbs buzzing and thoughts foggy.

Ray pinched the inside of his thigh and he sobbed, torn between pushing into the contact and trying to scramble away from it. "You're not being a very good boy," they teased. There wasn't any heat behind this statement, though. Never was. Y/N was always a good boy, even when he slipped up. They promised him that all the time.

"I—I'm a good boy," he stuttered, convicted. Paused, gauged Ray's reaction.

"Yeah?" they hummed, thumb soothing over where they had pinched him but not giving him anything else. "Come on, doll, you can do better than that. What makes you such a good puppy, huh?"

He blinked sluggishly, mind so hazy by now. He made a noise, thinking hard. Ray's expression tweaked, and they smoothed their palm over his hair a few times, thumb rubbing soft circles into his temple. His eyelashes fluttered, head spinning from the feather-light touch. "Uhhn..."

"My little doll so fucked out he can't even talk, hmm? Can't do anything by himself," Ray cooed, pinching his cheek just this side of stinging, and then curled their hand under his neck to lift his head up. They shifted their weight forward, standing up for a few seconds only to climb back up on the sofa, balancing on their knees. They rolled Y/N over on his back and then nudged his thighs apart, crawling in between them. "That's okay, baby. I can take care of you, you don't have to think about a thing."

Y/N moaned, loud and high. He lifted his arms over his head, face lolling to the side and baring his neck. Ray beamed at him, pressing their thumb lightly into the soft flesh beneath his jaw. "So pretty, honey. Gonna be the fucking death of me, babe."

They hoisted Y/N's hips up, knees dragged upwards to hook over their shoulders. He grinded down, looking for friction, and Ray obliged, cupping his pussy almost reverently through his sweatpants and dipping into it with their thumb, rubbing up and down as Y/N trembled, gasping.

"That's my good doll," Ray praised, thumb digging harder into his cunt through the fabric, a little mean. "Can't wait to feel how wet you are for me, bet I could get a couple fingers in next to my cock, huh? Could your cute little pussy take all of it?"

The world tilted sharply, Y/N's gut plummeting fast as he nodded, the thought of being stretched that fucking full making him quiver in anticipation. Ray grinned, wide and toothy, coming down to cup Y/N's face and press their wet lips together, licking into his mouth. And Y/N remembered vaguely that Ray had cum down his throat just a little while ago, mouth still bitter and sticky, and he sighed as his stomach swooped, numb, heavy arms coming up to wrap around their neck, grinding down on their thumb, trying to get it to go deeper.

When their lips disconnected, a thick trail of saliva drooped between their mouths. Ray rolled their thumb one more time, catching it on the opening of Y/N's vagina for a second and he whimpered, shaking hard. And then they slid their hand up, fingers digging under the band of his sweatpants and boxers, tugging them down. Repositioning every once in a while so they wouldn't snag, they ended up discarded on the ground next to the sofa.

It was unfair, how Ray's heart-eyes went dark as they dragged their fingers through the mess between Y/N's legs. They curled their fingers in the wetness and grinded them against him, thumb circling slowly around his dick as two fingers pushed all the way inside him at once, sending him reeling, a sob intended to be Ray's name shoving its way out from the pit of his stomach, arms wrapping tighter around his partner's neck and hips grinding down clumsily.

"Wish you could see how pretty you are, honey. Needy little thing."

"You think 'm pretty?" Y/N huffed, preening cutely, and Ray kissed the tip of his nose, slipping their fingers out of their baby's cunt and fucking back in. Y/N's mouth dropped open and he whined.

"So pretty, babydoll," they cooed. They dragged their fingers in and out a couple more times, pulling their knuckles apart to coax him to relax his body so that they could push in another digit. Rinse and repeat one more time, Y/N's whole body feeling pliant and cunt positively gaping, too overwhelmed with it all to put energy into clenching around their fingers.

He felt so close to cumming, thighs and stomach tense and whole body quivering as tears slipped down his cheeks again, drenching his face and Ray's shoulder. "Please—want your cock wanna cum on your cock please mommy—" Ray shushed him sweetly.

Had Y/N's eyes been open, he would have seen the smug smile tugging at Ray's lips as they pulled out of him. "You want it, huh, baby? Want mommy to fuck your tight little cunt till you cum?"

He shuddered, hips twitching hard as he fumbled with his words, mind melting and tongue heavy. "Uh huh." Ray kissed his forehead. He watched in buzzing anticipation as they palmed themself a few times through their briefs, pulling out their cock and thumbing at the head of it. His head swam watching Ray's hips twitch stiffly, like all their self control was being put into not fucking up into their own hand. Just a few languid strokes up and down, and then biting Y/N's bottom lip hard only to soothe it with their tongue as they dragged the head of their dick up and down his pussy and pushed in slowly.

Y/N's entire body trembled, latching onto Ray's bottom lip and sucking on it to pacify himself as they kept pushing in, the stretch borderline dizzying. He clenched around their dick, a partial accident, and they grunted, halting their progress for a second as they squeezed Y/N's thigh. "Gonna cum before I even get to fuck you if you do that again, doll. Feel so fucking good."

Y/N's stomach twisted, mind cloudy, limbs feeling floaty and useless as Ray finally bottomed out. His breath caught in his throat when they just kept moving, grinding deeper into him than they should physically be able to, and he responded dizzily. His thighs shook like he was trying (and failing) to ride them the day after after leg day, or something, and he was making some really humiliating noises, sniffling against Ray's cheek. He could feel them grinning.

Something like panic exploded in his chest when one of his partner's hands stopped touching his thigh and he whined in protest. "Hush, honey," Ray whispered, kissing his cheek. "Mommy's gonna take such good care of you, I promise."

And then a finger was sliding into him beside their dick, stretching him so much wider, sparks shooting up his spine as the pad of it rubbed up against his g-spot, and for the second time today his orgasm built up and crashed over him without warning, clawing at Ray's back under their shirt as he sobbed, hips rocking down hard and sloppy, a melted puddle of a person.

Ray showered him in praises, petting the back of his head and kissing his cheeks and nose and forehead.

So perfect, babydoll.

Mommy's so proud, such a good boy.

Never wanna stop fucking your perfect little pussy.

Everything blurred together as Ray kept fucking him, slow and gentle, hips stuttering as they came and pulled out. They pulled him with them as they sat back up, lounging on the sofa with Y/N curled up in their lap, drawing little things with their fingers on his back from under his shirt.

He let his eyes droop shut, breathing slowing down and heartbeat settled. "You look pretty," he mumbled. Ray hummed and kissed the crown of his head.

"Thank you, baby."

———

i wrote this over a year ago and i still consider it my magnum opus lol anyways this was actually a req from someone on AO3, i post on there too. i have more fics over there than here rn

but hope you liked it i am accepting requests <3

[wkemeup]

Play Pretend (II)

summary: In the aftermath of Munich, Bucky struggles to go back to how things were before. But now that he knows how it is to love you, he's not sure he can. pairing: bucky x reader word count: 5.8k warnings: smut (18+), mutual pining idiots a/n: here is the final part! make sure you catch up at part 1 first! gif by @crispychrissy

Bucky couldn’t get the image out of his head for days after the mission in Munich. Pictures of you laying so beautifully beneath him, the slight curve of your lips as a moan slipped past, skin so soft it begged to be touched and soothed and worshiped. He couldn’t let go of how you sounded, how you cried out his name or the gentle whimpers spoken so sweetly against his ear. He couldn’t stop craving you wrapped so tightly around him, your hands caressing down his arms, his back, his shoulders, your unbridged desire to touch every part of him, even the parts he despised.

Memories that found him in his sleep in the early hours of the morning, in the shower when his legs were weak and tired, at the breakfast table when you strolled in wearing a t-shirt down to your thighs and the evident curve of your breasts bare beneath the fabric.

Bucky tried to push the thoughts away. He tried to stop thinking of what happened in that cold, abandoned Hydra base. He tried to bury that longing somewhere deep, somewhere he’d never be bothered by it again. But it always came back in the image of you in that cell.

It plagued him. It taunted him.

He wanted more.

He didn’t know how to admit it. Not to himself, and certainly not to you. So, he did his best to suffocate those feelings, those cravings for something real, but they still found their way to the surface.

They spilled over on movie nights with the team and Bucky would find himself inching closer to you, in the gym when he took just a second longer to lift his weight from your body after a winded match that ended on the surface of the mat, on walks around the compound when he found himself wanting to capture your hand in his own as your fingers brushed by.

Those feelings slipped from his smothering hold on missions when he watched your back far more than his own, when he’d missed an obvious target in an attempt to clear your enemy line and ended up catching three bullets himself. He lost composure whenever you didn’t respond on coms or when you’d stumble back onto the quinjet with an injury you’d been hiding. He dove headfirst into fires and threw his body up as a shield and spent every night in agony wondering if you knew that he’d give his whole life to you if you’d asked.

It made him stupid. It made him reckless. It might actually get him killed.

But it hadn’t started in Munich. No, that was just the catalyst of it all. Bucky had loved you long before that drug infiltrated his system and left the two of you in an impossible position. He’d managed to keep his feelings at bay for years; hiding behind quick witted jokes and friendly banter and a genuine friendship and it had been enough. Honest, it had.

Only, now he knew what it was like to be with you. He caught a taste of what it would be like to make love to you and he didn’t know if he could ever forget and move on. It had been weeks since Munich and it still felt like it happened yesterday.

He had to do something to keep it from consuming him, even if it broke your heart. Even if it broke his, too.

***

“What the hell do you mean you can’t work with Y/n anymore?”

Steve groaned, pinching at the bridge of his nose. It had been a long day of debriefing with about a dozen agents making demands he was unwilling to compromise on. This, separating his best team, was among them.

“It’s just not a good idea, Steve,” Bucky said, arms folded tightly over his chest as he watched Steve pace relentlessly down the conference room.

“That’s ridiculous, Buck.” Steve slumped into the chair beside his friend. “You two are the best insurgent team I have.”

“Just trust me. You’ve seen how I’ve been in the field lately. I can’t keep a straight head around her, okay? Not after—” Bucky clenched his jaw, turning away.

Steve sighed, hanging his head. “You ever gonna tell me what happened in Munich?”

Bucky’s lip was chewed raw; scars over broken wounds, teeth digging into painful cracks. It was a nasty habit he picked up after Munich. He wasn’t used to this kind of nervousness; a deep and unsettling feeling churned to stone in the pit of his stomach.

“Reassign me, Steve,” Bucky asked again, firmer. He could feel Steve’s eyes burning on him, tracing every inch of his face, searching for a tell, but he wouldn’t find one. Bucky was trained better than that. He knew to keep his features cold, stoned, even if his heart was pounding against his chest. He wondered it Steve could hear it, too.

The silence hung heavy in the air.

“Alright,” Steve finally conceded. He shook his head reluctantly. “I’ll see what I can do.”

Bucky sighed a breath of relief, the weight of months filled with a longing he couldn’t tame and painful twist in his heart slipping from him in seconds. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me.” Steve stood up from his chair, gathered the papers from the desk and made his way to the door. He paused just at the frame, turned around slowly to find Bucky had relaxed a little too much for his liking and added, “you’re going to be the one to tell her.”

“What?” Bucky scrambled out of his chair, nearly losing his footing and all composure as he stood to face Steve.

“You’ve been partners for years,” Steve shot back tensely. “She’s had your back on countless missions, saved your life on more than one occasion, and—come on, Buck— you guys are friends! The two of you spend every day together, even when you’re benched! You don’t want to give me an explanation? Fine. But you sure as hell owe her one.”

Bucky shook his head rapidly, hands clenching at the fraying edges of his t-shirt. “Steve, I—”

“Just talk to her,” Steve said, a heavy disappointment lingering in his voice. His lips parted, as if there were more he wanted to say, but decided against it. He hung his head, pat Bucky firmly on his shoulder, and left.

***

Had he always been able to hear his own heartbeat like this?

It was pounding in his ears, thunderous, deafening, and he swore just about everyone else on the floor could its thumping as he approached your room.

The door was open ajar with a small glimmer of sunlight streaming out into the dimly lit hallway. You were singly quietly to yourself – humming, maybe – as you sat on the edge of your bed, staring down onto your phone. You didn’t seem to notice him at the door. He knocked.

Your head popped up, surprised at the sudden intrusion and your eyes only narrowed upon finding it was Bucky standing below the doorframe. You looked at him for a moment before you turned back to your phone without saying another word.

He deserved that.

“Can I come in?” Bucky asked sheepishly, scratching the back of his neck. He was still staring into the room through the small slit in the door.

You shrugged. “Depends. Are you still avoiding me?”

A sharp sting burned in his chest as Bucky tried to unclench his jaw. Truthfully, he had been avoiding you for days now. Ever since he made up his mind to ask for a reassignment. It didn’t matter if Steve shipped him off to Alaska or the Amazons or out into space with the goddamn raccoon; all he knew was that every minute he spent beside you was agony and he needed to get away from it – away from you – before it consumed him whole.

None of that was your fault. You didn’t know why he was suddenly too busy to spar on your usual weekdays or join the team for movie nights. He never told you why he suddenly started pulling away, cutting off all contact as if you hadn’t been friends for years before Munich.

“I’ve got something important to talk to you about,” Bucky replied, clearing his throat.

You sat up, sitting the phone down by your side as you recognized the tone in his voice. Clinical. Mission oriented. Business. He didn’t want it to sound so cold, but he wasn’t sure he could do this if it wasn’t.

Bucky stepped into the room, prying the door open gently with a slow squeak on its hinges as he closed it behind him. He’d been in your room dozens of times before, but somehow, in this moment, it felt like an invasion of privacy, like he wasn’t supposed to be there.

He took a deep breath, trying to keep focus. He took a few steps forward and gingerly sat on the edge of your bed, keeping careful distance as he wrung at his hands in his lap.

“I’m being reassigned.”

You furrowed your brow. He could practically hear your heart skip a beat.

“What? No. They can’t do that!” You shook your head, determined. There were traces of disbelief on your face – anger, too. Your hands gripped tightly into the sheets at your sides. “They can’t just reassign you, Buck. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Y/n, you don’t understand,” he started to say, but you were already on your feet, pacing around the room. It was how you calmed yourself when your thoughts were racing too fast. The stabbing pain in Bucky’s chest only seemed to dig deeper.

“I know the field has been messy lately, but that happens to everyone! They can’t split us up because of a few extra trips to the med bay,” you argued, wearing trenches into the carpet of your bedroom. You stopped abruptly. “Who gave the order? Steve? Tony? I’ll take this up with Fury if I have to, okay? I won’t let them—”

“Y/n, stop. Please.” Bucky hung his head. His right hand was red as his left clasped and tugged at the skin. He couldn’t find the courage to meet your eye but he could tell from the way you stilled that you knew what he was about to say. “It was me. I asked for reassignment.”

It didn’t seem to hurt any less though because your stance still faltered. It was barely noticeable, not to the human eye, but Bucky’s sensed were advanced thanks to his time in Hydra. He saw the way your body weight shifted just slightly, how your breath caught in your chest, the slight flicker of your eyes. Shock. Betrayal. Hurt.

“You said it yourself,” Bucky reasoned, trying to find excuses where there were none, “there’s been too many ER trips lately. I keep getting hurt.”

“Because you insist on using your body as human shield, Buck!” you retorted, arms flung out to the sides. “Just knock that off and we’ll be fine!”

Bucky shook his head, his lips curling ever so slightly though it didn’t touch his eyes. “It’s not that simple.”

“Of course, it is!” you argued. You started pacing again. “Don’t be an idiot, Barnes. I’m not losing my partner. Go tell them you were joking or concussed and not thinking straight!”

“I’m not going to do that.” Bucky clenched his jaw. His right hand was starting to lose feeling from how tightly he was gripping it.

Why couldn’t you make this easy on him? You were supposed to be angry with him for ignoring you for the last week. You were angry with him and yet you still fought for him. He couldn’t make sense of it.

The pacing stopped again, though this time it came in slow, like a realization that found its way piece by piece until it melded into a visible image.

“Was it something I did?”

Bucky jumped up to his feet, instinctively wanting to walk towards you but you held your ground. He froze, standing several feet away.

“No,” he said firmly. “God no. You didn’t do anything wrong, Y/n.”

“Then what?” You raised your arms out to the side in question. “We’ve been partners for years, Bucky. I’ve relied on you all that time to have my back, to keep me alive out there, and—and—” you groaned rather loudly, “you’re my best friend! You can’t just up and decide you’re done with me and move on!”

Bucky frowned. “That’s not what this is.”

You shook your head, arms folding tightly over your chest protectively. “Sure feels like it.”

The silence between you was unbearable. Bucky didn’t have a good excuse. You were right to be angry with him. He was abandoning you. He was a coward. He was running away from a painful situation to avoid facing it head on because he was terrified to lose you. Though, as you pressed the heels of your palms into your eyes, pulling them away a moment later to find a soft glisten of reflection in their wake, Bucky started to wonder that were already true.

“Oh God,” you exhaled, a heavy realization in your voice as you turned to him. Your shoulders slumped. “This is because of Munich, isn’t it?”

Bucky flinched. He tried not to, but you noticed. A look of absolute devastation crossed your features as your lips parted, sinking down onto your bed.

“I knew things were different after that mission. I mean, how could they not be?” You leaned over against your thighs, letting your hair fall down to shield your face where Bucky could not see. “I crossed a line. I shouldn’t have given in. You couldn’t consent with that shit running through your veins. Not really. So— fuck – I completely understand if you can’t be around me after I—”

“That’s not what happened,” Bucky interjected sharply, shaking himself from the fear coursing through him as he crossed the room to you. He knelt down beside your bed and waited patiently for you to lift your head and let the curtain of hall fall away from your face. “I could have fought it. It hurt like hell, but I would have survived it even if we… if we hadn’t…”

He let his voice trail off, his cheeks turning a slight side of pink. He sighed. “The point... is that I wanted to. I really wanted to. And that’s the problem.”

You narrowed your eyes, confused.

Was he really going to tell you? Wasn’t this what he had been trying to avoid? Throwing away years of friendship to confess deeper feelings he was all but sure you’d never reciprocate?

But there was something about the way you were looking at him. With tears glistening in your eyes and a grief he couldn’t quite place nestled into the lines on your forehead, Bucky began to wonder if walking away would give him any relief at all. He wasn’t sure he could ever leave this room again if you were left blaming yourself for his crimes.

Bucky slowly placed his right hand on your knee, rubbing his thumb gently along the dimple. Your eyes followed his movements, watching curiously until he found the courage to speak.

“We’ve been partners for a while,” he started, clearing his voice when it came out shaken. You nodded. “I feel like sometimes I know what you’re thinking just by looking at you and when we’re out in the field, even in the middle of chaos, it’s like you can tell what I’m doing before I actually figure it out myself. We’re really good together. Out there. It’s hard to find that these days.”

You didn’t say anything and for that, he was grateful. He needed to get this out before he shut down completely.

“I think we only got that good because we’re… uhm… we’re close, you know?” Bucky took a deep breath, releasing his grip on your knee when he realized he’d started to squeeze it a little too hard. Your hand was sitting on your thigh, but you’d inched it closer to his, enough so the tips of your fingers overlapped onto his.

“We’re friends.” Bucky paused at the term, deciding it wasn’t strong enough. “It’s more than that though. I trust you with things I wouldn’t even tell Steve. You were the first person I felt like I could be myself around. Not the Bucky that Steve remembers or the one Hydra manipulated. This one. Whatever that means.”

Your whole hand covered his now, as much as it would allow. He glanced up to find your fingers curling under his, a slight squeeze to tell him you were still listening. He exhaled another breath and the pressure in his chest felt a little lighter.

“What happened in Munich didn’t awaken anything or… or open my eyes to something I didn’t know was there,” Bucky continued, his eyes trained on your legs, unable to find the courage to face you. “I’ve known how I felt about you for a long time. I was okay with it. I learned to live with it and manage it because being your friend and being your partner was too important to lose. But…”

He felt your hands squeeze his again.

“But after Munich… I don’t know how to go back. I don’t think I can.” Bucky didn’t dare to meet your eye. He could feel the words slipping past his lips before he had a chance to pull them back in. A waterfall of confessions he couldn’t hope to control. “It’s why I’ve been so reckless in the field, why I keep ending up in the med wing. I can’t shove it down anymore and it punctures me right through the goddamn heart when I see you surrounded by armed agents or when there’s a weapon aimed at you and my instinct is to run towards you. Screw what happens to me.

“I know you’re good at your job,” Bucky stressed, shaking his head. “I know you can handle yourself and you don’t need me to protect you but… but I want to. I want to keep you safe and hold your hand when you’re getting stitches and curl up beside you at night just so I can remind myself you’re real when the nightmares get the better of me. I want… I want more than I should.”

He could hear the skip in your heartbeat, how it gradually picked up in pace the longer he spoke. Your breathing was shorter, too. Shallower. Bucky was certain it was all confirmation of the story he’d been telling himself for years.

“This… How I feel… It’s not good for us. As friends. As partners. I’m trying to do us a favor and just remove myself from the equation.”

Bucky still had yet to meet your eye. He’d turned to examining every detail he could find on the fabric of your sleep shorts, in the sheets you sat upon, in the divots and dimples and blemishes on your thighs. He wasn’t sure he’d have the resolve to leave if he looked at your face.

Several beats of silence passed by and Bucky wondered how it was possible you hadn’t lashed out at him yet. He expected you to be angry for driving a wedge between you with something as reckless as love and affection. He expected you to turn your shoulder, reject him for everything he was, because it was one thing to befriend the Winter Soldier, another entirely to love him.

Bucky slowly rose back to his feet, letting his hand slip away from your knee and your gentle hold on him fell away. He mistook your silence for acceptance, maybe even agreement. He cleared his throat, starting to back up towards the door.

“So, um,” Bucky said nervously, trying to fill the silence in his escape, “that’s why. I hope you can forgive me some day for all of this. I’ll, uh, I’ll go.”

Bucky barely had his hand on the knob when he heard the soft squeak of your mattress springs as you rose to your feet.

“You’re wrong.”

The sound of your voice startled him, enough to get him to look back at you before he could stop himself. Your hands were clenched at your sides, eyes red with tears, bottom lip chewed raw.

“Y/n, I—”

“You’re wrong,” you said again, almost angry and somehow that was a relief. It would make it easier for him to leave if you were angry, but you had different plans. “You’re wrong if you think you’re doing me some kind of favor by leaving.”

Tears were on your cheeks now and Bucky’s stomach lurched. This wasn’t what he wanted. This was agony.

He took a step closer to you. “You have to trust me, it’s not a good idea for us to—”

“You’re wrong,” you continued, cutting him off again as you rubbed at the tears under your eyes. “You’re wrong to assume that I don’t feel the exact fucking way about you and—and if you leave, Bucky, I swear to God it will kill me.”

Bucky froze. His heart stopped beating completely, might have plunged down through his stomach, broken through the floorboards and buried itself into molten lava and dirt, because of all the things he was expecting you to say, that was not one of them.

“Don’t do this,” you implored, voice a little broken, barely above a whisper. “Please don’t go.”

Bucky was at a loss. He didn’t know what to say. He hadn’t prepared for this. He never even considered you might beg him to stay, that you might feel for him in the way he felt for you. It never once crossed his mind. It felt like a dream.

“I miss you.” Your voice was so small and still, it nearly tore him straight in half. “I miss how we used to be. I miss seeing you smile and your stupid jokes at the most inappropriate times in the field.” You laughed to yourself, under your breath, and even through the tears it was the most beautiful thing he’d ever heard. But you sighed, the smile falling away. “I miss you when you’re not here. All the time. So much it hurts. I feel like I’m going out of my mind when I’m not with you. You’re my best friend, but I… I also… I miss Munich.”

Bucky’s eyes widened and you only caught a glimpse of him for a second before your face was in your hands, trying to shield yourself from him.

“I know it’s wrong,” you murmured, muffled by your palms. “I know it’s not right to miss a moment when you were in pain and made to feel something you didn’t ask for, but… I think about it a lot and... how much I want more.”

Stunned silence. Throat dry. Heart pounding.

“What are you saying?” Bucky finally found the courage to ask.

You lifted your head, finally meeting his eye and there was a relief there as you looked up at him. Your shoulders eased. A soft smile returned to your lips and it nearly melted him completely.

“The same thing you are, I think.”

He swallowed. “Oh.”

Bucky watched, near frozen, as you crossed the room, bare feet padding softly over the carpet until you were only inches from him. The space between you closing as your hands slid up his arms, resting against his shoulders, cupping at the sides of his face, just observing, just feeling. There was no venom in his veins and yet, Bucky felt electrified under your touch. His heart stammered in his chest as your fingers wove at the strands of hair at the base of his neck.

“I’m going to kiss you now,” you told him and he wondered for a moment if he stopped breathing entirely. "No Hydra chemicals. No foreign influence. Just us, okay? You and me.”

Bucky nodded, a little stunned.

Slowly, you inched up closer to him, your eyes drawing closed until you were a breath from his lips. Just barely grazing upon his own, waiting, and Bucky let his hands slid up against your back, tugging you closed against him, and captured your lips in his own.

It was different than the first time in Munich, less rushed, less desperate, but instead filled with a longing that had spanned years between you, coated in affection and heartache and need for one another beyond anything a serum in a lab could fabricate.

Your hands wove into his hair, his arms pressing you firm against his chest, and it was like you were holding onto him for dear life. Your feet began to carry the two of you backwards, dragging Bucky towards the bed, and you yelped as your knees caught on the edge of the mattress, sending the two of you spiraling onto the bed.

“You alright?” Bucky laughed, brushing away the hair in your eyes as he propped himself up on his elbows caged around your shoulders; most of his weight laying upon you in the sweetest comfort of pressure.

“I'm perfect,” you replied, bright smiles and joy radiating from every pore. It was contagious.

“We can stop here, if you want,” Bucky offered sincerely. He was riding a high he never thought he’d ever experience and anything you’d be willing to share with him was a gift within itself. He’d kiss you for hours if you’d let him.

“And if I don’t want to stop?” you questioned, staring up at him with a hunger in your eyes. Your fingers trailed down his t-shirt, dancing around the hem of the fabric at his hips. “If I wanted to keep going... If I wanted you...?”

“I’m yours, sweetheart.”

A simple answer. A true one. He’d never been more certain of anything in his life.

Bucky knelt back, tugged on the fabric of his shirt between his shoulder blades and pulled it over his head. You watching him as he tossed it to the corner of the room before he settled back down against you. Your hands ran along the lines of his muscles, over the scars and imperfections, and for once, Bucky didn’t shy away from the hands of a woman. It didn’t feel like a twist to his gut, he didn’t hold his breath. No – instead, it felt renewing, healing almost.

His hands slid under the waist of your shirt, inching it higher as he rand his touch along the curves of your sides, until you leaned up for him to help remove the fabric. It joined his shirt at the edge of the room.

Perfect and bare. Stunning in your nakedness. A privilege he never thought he’d be granted.

“You want to take a picture or...?” you teased him, noticing how long he’d been staring at you.

Bucky laughed, shaking his head. “Don’t temp me. Besides, I’m hoping I won’t need a picture to see you like this again.”

“Definitely not,” you confirmed, tugging him down to meet your lips again.

It was laced in smiled and laughter and ages of holding back from one another all rolled into one. A freedom of taking your time, of enjoying one another, and learning to memorize your bodies. Bucky would have wondered if he were dreaming if not for the way you wrapped your legs around his waist, grinding against his hardening cock – no dream could produce a feeling like that.

With his lips on your neck, Bucky played with the hem of your shorts, waiting until you lifted your hips just enough to give him the access to slid them down your legs, removing the last remaining fabric along with it.

Bucky kissed his way down your body, mapping a trail from your neck, to the hills of your breasts, to your ribs, to the comfort of cushion at your stomach, to the crevices at your legs and inner thighs. He paused for a moment, setting his cheek against your thigh as he drew his fingers between your lips, separating them to give access to the sweetest parts of you.

You flinched a little as he touched your clit, a gasp emitting from your lips as your hands curled into the sheets. Bucky grinned, encouraged by your reaction as he began to circle the pads of his fingers at your entrance. Listening for the subtle changes in your breath, the moans the slipped past, and the curl of your fingers, Bucky leaned in and wrapped his lips around your clit.

“F-fuck, Bucky,” you whined, hands snaking into his hair and gripping tight against his scalp.

He smiled at the feeling, at the way you cried his name, and he pressed his slicked fingers inside of you. Perhaps it was the haze of the foreign chemicals the last time he had you under him like this, but he didn’t remember you being so vocal, so sensitive to his touch. It was a rush and he had to keep himself from rutted up against the mattress as added a third finger, curling them just enough and massaging at the walls as they squeezed tight around him.

Tongue lapping at the wetness, sucking around the sensitive bud of nerves, fingers perfectly drawing out the high as it built at your core, it only took moments before you crashed. You cried out his name, legs wrestling against him in the sensitivity as he drew out the feeling as long as he could, moving slower and slower until you stilled under him.

“Fuck,” you exhaled, a laugh entranced in your voice.

Bucky grinned, pleased with himself as he crawled his way back up the bed to meet your lips. He didn’t bother to wipe the remnants of your high from his mouth and you didn’t seem to mind as you kissed him, certainly tasting yourself upon his lips, and it only made him want you more.

“You’re turn,” you smirked, trying to slide out from under him as you licked your lips, but Bucky held you down.

“Next time, okay?” he countered and you sunk back into the mattress with a pout on your lips. “I don’t think I can last if you get your mouth on me.”

“Is that such a bad thing?” you teased, running your fingers down his stomach until he began to shiver.

“Yes,” he chuckled, swatting your hands away playfully. He winked. “I’m gonna die if I don’t have you right now.”

“Jesus, Buck, don’t even joke,” you laughed, hiding your face in your hands.

“Hey, someone's gotta,” Bucky grinned as he tugged down his pants, kicking them off to land amongst the rest of the discarded clothing. “If it got me here, I’ll happily make light of a fucked up Hydra breeding experiment.”

“Would you have told me if it hadn’t happened?” you asked, voice a little softer, peering out from behind your hands.

Bucky stilled, his grin falling into something gentler and he shrugged. “Don’t know if I ever would have had the courage. I never thought we’d be here. Never could have imagined you’d feel the same way.” He leaned down to press a kiss to your shoulder. “Would you have said anything?”

“I don’t think I really knew until you threatened to walk away,” you admitted.

“Well,” Bucky sighed, pressing a trail of kissed along your collarbone as he settled between your legs, his length pressing against your thigh, “good thing I’m not going anywhere.”

“Better not,” you murmured against his lips as you drew his mouth to yours.

Then, as he felt the hitch of your breath against his lips, he sank into you. Stretching walls and guiding your legs to wrap at his waist to offer an angle that left your jaw slacked. Your eyes fluttered closed, lips parted, and Bucky felt a rush unlike anything he’d ever experienced. Even through the smoke filled haze of that serum in Munich, he’d never felt an ounce of the relief as he did in this moment. To be completely and entirely yours.

He felt you squeeze at his shoulders, urging him to move, and slowly, he rocked his hips against you. Slow and steady. Needy. Until your nails dug into his spine and Bucky couldn’t prolong the tender build up any longer.

Chasing and chasing; higher and higher. Bucky could tell you were close from how tight your walls were clenched around him. It took near everything he had not to come on the spot, but he held on, waiting, watching as your lips parted, as the most beautiful sounds he’d ever heard slipped past, and you cried out his name.

“Oh fuck—fuck—Bucky, don’t stop.” Your breath was hot against his cheek. “I’m so close. I’m—ah—”

A hitch in your breath and your whole body seemed to fall slack. It only spurred him on. Hips snapped, fingers rubbing quick circles at your clit, until you were whining and shaking under him, until he was satisfied with the blissful look on your face and he let himself go.

He spilled into you, rutting his hips in a few final, lazy thrusts as he sank into the crook of your neck, panting. Dizzy and content, riding a high that extended beyond his body, Bucky hummed into your collarbone as he felt your nails draw patterns along his back in gentle sweeps. It tingled on his skin, send shivers along his spine, and he never wanted it to stop.

“Hey, Y/n?”

You paused, just for a moment, before you resumed tracing the lines on his back, over muscles and scars alike. “Yes, Bucky?”

He could hear the teasing in your voice, the light-hearted laugh, the warmth that made him fall in love with you and his heart clenched. He wrapped his arms under your shoulders, the full weight of his body still pressing you down to the mattress, still buried inside of you.

“Promise me this is real.” An embarrassment crept up as he said it, though the drawing on his back didn’t skip a beat. “You and me. I’m not dreaming or stuck in my head. This is real, right?”

Your hands slid up along his shoulders to his neck, and then to the sides of his face as you guided him off your chest to meet your eye; more beautiful than he’d ever seen you, with a glimmer of sweat and an afterglow radiating in the smile lifting your cheeks.

“This is real, honey,” you told him, leaning in to kiss him sweetly on the lips.

“Okay. Okay, good.” Bucky grinned, cheeks flushed in heat. He settled back against your chest, resting his cheek to your heart as you resumed drawing the lazy patterns on his back.

Perfectly content.

Warm. Safe.

Home.

---

Thank you so much for reading! ❤️ If you enjoyed this fic, please consider supporting me at my ko-fi account ✨

[nctdeeznutz]

The Sun Sets Better With You

Author’s note: This is my first time posting my own work on here....A little nervous. I just hope my imagination was accurately described during the smut. To think this started because of Taeyong and his sunset lamp light that he uses in some of of IG stories. Because in my story he’s just a bottom!b*tch. He honestly will be the death of me. The OC has the restraint I WISH I had for this man jfc. PLEASE DNI IF YOU ARE UNDERAGE!!!! 

Warnings: dirty talk, oral, (self)handjob, unprotected sex (wrap it up like pig in a blanket, yall. frfr), established relationship, descriptive usage of lights and shadows, just pure, filthy, unruly, and insatiable sub!Tae, OC is kinda domish (if you squint one eye just a wee bit)

Sneekie Peekies👀: He smiled from her question and his own ministrations causing him to shiver. It felt too good to finally be seen. The look in his eyes was so intense but his eyelids laid so low. Almost making him look sleepy. “Tell me I look pretty in our new light.” His demand was soft but so loud.

“Izzy~! It’s here! It finally came!” 

Taeyong busted into the shared bedroom of he and his girlfriend’s apartment. There was a small box in hand from what his girlfriend, who sat in their bed, could see. He vigorously shook the package above his head like an excited child. Unamused she looked up from her laptop.

“Whatever it is…I’m sure it’s broken now.” It was so sassy. Izzy just looked back down at her laptop screen continuing her work. Pursing his lips with force and squinting his eyes.  

“It is not broken! Just watch…” To prove a point he stomped across the room. There was a bedside table sitting to the left of Izzy. Taeyong stood hunched over the box in pure concentration as his eyebrows furrowed together mumbling to himself. His mouth formed a thin line that slide to the left of his face while pushing his lips outward. He was cute as he tried to get the tape off the box. He was always very careful for some strange reason about opening all of his packages. 

Fixating on lights and colors was a hobby of his. Ambiance was just something he had an eye for. It got him the job he had been hoping for at G&J Entertainment as their light show specialist several years ago. He loved his job. Taeyong encouraged himself to always work on his craft, even at home. The lighting in their home was picture worthy. Straight out of a Pinterest post. It was something he loved to do; Izzy got to be enchanted by the different colors and patterns that danced around her ceiling. Everyone was happy. She did like his eye for colors and detail. When he saw this sunset light lamp on Amazon he was enthralled. The orange hue was something he knew would look great against her soft flesh. Bring out the yellow undertones in every curve and bump. The product was so small but had so much potential. His mind immediately imaged how it would look in their space. On them. Together.

“Prepare to be amazed…” Taeyong said aloud but more so to himself as he unraveled the cords to the electronic.

“Amazed? How can I be amazed when you keep buying lights? Our bill was $379.68 last month. Lord, help me. If you bring another light into this house I’m going to skin you alive and wear you for Halloween like a latex suit.”

The man was too stunned to speak. “That’s kind of sexy.”

His eyebrow arched as he thought about his lover in a latex suit. That thought scurried away when he registered her tone. Big eyes were wide as he stood there with his shoulders hung over. Slouched and obviously sad.

“Did you have to remember it down to the cents though?” He groaned. “That was one time!”

“It’s been climbing but now it’s getting ridiculous.”

“Don’t ruin this for me.” The “me” in his beg was drawn out which caused him to drop his shoulders as low as he physically could, the box in hand dropped onto the floor with his arms. “I thought this was a safe space.” His faux cry reached her ear but not once did she did stop clicking.

“Send it back.” She deadpanned.  With slight force the laptop closed. This was not something up for discussion right now. It was the truth. She shifted picking up her laptop to finish her work in their shared study room. Before she could get too far his comment made her stop.

“But it has fifteen different settings.” To the left of his head was his arm raised at a 90º angle with the small remote between his fingers and thumb, loose wires in the other. On his face was a still a pout.

“Now.” Still unamused she walked past him.

Three hours had passed since then. She had heard him grunting in annoyance at the light fixture and the overpriced, weak wifi. Something was off when she really began to listen. Silence in the house was not unusual but Taeyong has been quiet. Too quiet. Izzy’s project has come to an end and she was hungry. Lazily, she walked down the hallway to their bedroom. There was a soft red tint that changed to orange. Figuring it was the light that he just bought she shrugged it off. The door swung open with little force as Izzy pushed herself the rest of the way in. Nothing could have prepared Izzy for what he was doing. The orange sunset lamp reflected off of him and the white bedding. Taeyong’s hair was in his eyes but they were shut. Silver-ish hair looked orange only for a second before it flashed a soft purple and blue light. Blue light radiated off of his sharp features making a shadow under his jawline. His cheekbones, nose, and lips were illuminated. His dewy skin made it look as though he wore highlighter. He looked beautiful. She almost forgot what he was doing before a hand slid up onto his neck. The hand came across the width to grasp it firmly. Izzy’s breath caught in her throat. She could hear a consistent slight slick as he worked himself.  

“Tae?” She sounded curious and soft. Taeyong moaned; his eyes still closed. Two brown eyes watched his hand slide from around his own throat to collect some oil that had been applied to his upper body and spread it to his privates. His muscles looked even more sculpted. The way his triceps moved under his smooth skin made her mouth go dry. The veins in his forearms showing. Pink to purple hue of light bounced off the oil. Four soft steps were taken. Only a few more to go as she grabbed the bed post to get a closer look.

“How long have you been doing this?” Izzy noted that she sounded so breathless. As if she was the one touching herself in the middle of their bed. Finally Taeyong opened his eyes to make eye contact with her.

“So long. For so long. I’ve been edging myself…waiting for you to find me.” Her brain trying to process what he said had put her brain into overdrive for a moment. It left her with one question.

“Why?”

He smiled from her question and his own ministrations causing him to shiver. It felt too good to finally be seen. The look in his eyes was so intense but his eyelids laid so low. Almost making him look sleepy.

“Tell me I look pretty in our new light.” His demand was soft but so loud. “Look. Look at the wall.” Izzy’s eyes watched his head drift to the right. What he saw made his own breathing uneven.

“Izzy?”

Stuck. Izzy was stuck. Her eyes were the first thing to move then her head followed. On the wall was the shadow of his body’s outline.Taeyong moved his head back to its original position. The round of his forehead, point of his nose, curve of his lips, and bumps of his Adam’s apple making a hill on the valley of his neck.  She let her eyes travel lower past the plain of his toned chest and stomach to the hard on in his hands. The sight she’s been teasing herself with this whole time. In the shadow she could make out the knuckles of his hands at the base of his dick. The ridges created a contrast to the smooth curved black figure. Slowly the top hand slid up, circling around the tip only to come back down to meet the other again. To her left Taeyong was releasing moans that made her core pulse. He did this multiple times. After those strokes he intertwined his fingers together, wrapped his palms around either side of his dick, and connected his wrist. The shadow of his muscular leg combined with the flatness of his resting other leg, created a triangle against the wall before he brought his other leg up. Only his shoulders and flats of his feet touched the bed as he began to thrust into his hands. Hips touched his hands with relaxed, even strokes. Izzy was dazzled by the performance before her. The dampness in her pajama shorts was unwavering. She wished his delicate hands were her own. Her immediate grip on the bed post kept her grounded as she blinked a few times then he called her name again.

“Izzy. Tell me. Please.” By now, she was standing next to him. Her figure in the light now. The light is no longer the color it once was. It has changed to the original setting to start all over. Seemed like Taeyong figured out how to put it on some sort of repeated cycle. Orange and Yellow. His dick looked stiff and red. Past his privates was his abs, chest, neck, and finally his face. He looked at her with expectancy. A pink tongue coated his lips. Now they glistened just like his upper body. So tangible. Silently, her hand closest to him reached out to graze his thigh.

“So pretty, baby. You look so pretty.” That compliment sent Taeyong to jerk his dick a little faster. Silently, Izzy undressed. To say that he was excited to see his girlfriend going along with his antics was an understatement. It made his finger tips tingle. He grabbed the remote to set the light to his favorite just to sit it back down. Eagerly he got up to touch her naked frame.

“Why haven’t you kissed me if I look so pretty? You know I’m doing this for you.” Her and her mate saw eye to eye. His pouty lips looked so enticing. She felt his hands skirt along her hips to remain there; he pulled her body against his. Naturally, the exposed skin collected some of the oil from his body. Izzy could feel it pressing into her pores. They're foreheads touched but no lips connected fully. Just a few grazes here and there. They were teasing each other. Izzy smiled into the kiss. Only because Taeyong cracked first. She could feel him press himself into her like a puzzle piece. The kiss made him whimper. Long awaited intimacy that he had been craving since he started this game. He felt like he deserved it. He had been so patient. Soft smacks of kisses could be heard in the silence of the bedroom. Taeyong needed more. So he took the lead to pull her flat against him. They casually fell onto the bed in their heated kiss.

“You’ve been here stroking yourself this whole time…hoping for me to come back from the study. It’s only fair I get a chance to get pleasure too.” Izzy took advantage of the oil and used her thumb to subtly flick Taeyong’s nipples as she pulled his earlobe into her mouth. His hips ground up into nothing hoping for something.

“Anything. Anything you want.” Pale fingers gripped the comforter under him while his hips never stopped grinding up. His girlfriend looked down. Slender gold-ringed fingers braced themselves on the sides of Taeyong’s head instead his nipples.

“If you don’t stop thrusting like that you’re going to come. Calm down.” Her tone was soft. Her warm lips caressed his own from left to right. She did not want to pull away from him completely. All Taeyong could do was nod his head. Their breaths calmed down.

“Get comfortable on the bed, baby.” Taeyong rearranged some pillows to lay in the top middle of the bed. Following his lead Izzy kneeled over him. Her knees inched past his shoulders, ears, and stopping then the tips met the top of his head. From above Taeyong was so pleased. His pale hands slid upward to her hips that followed the same trail back down. With ease, Izzy lowered herself over his mouth. The heat that escaped his open mouth made her stomach bubble with anticipation. Eating pussy was one the things that he was best at. If Izzy were too look back on all of her exes Taeyong still took the crown. He did it with so much passion and confidence. He knew he was good too. She could feel it in the way his mouth greeted her clit much like it was doing at the moment. Lips kissed hers with slow appreciation. All Izzy could do was grip the headboard, moan, then look down at her boyfriend. Deep, determined eyes met her lust filled ones. The technique had changed to his mouth suctioned around her clit with his tongue pressed right against it. Somehow he managed to make a pulse like sensation that made her so wet. Izzy’s back glistened with sweat. She was so hot from being on top; it took a lot of effort to control her stability while her abdomen shook with pleasure. Loud slurps followed by obnoxious eating noises only made her more weak.

“Don’t you want to fuck me?” Taeyong, who sounded intoxicated, questioned. Izzy stopped to open her eyes. When she looked down, Taeyong was giving her this stare all while he licked his lips.

“Maybe even come around me? Because I want you to.”

There was a strong grip on her ass as he spoke. He was right. She was more than wet enough from the prior show then the immaculate head had kept her on the edge long enough. Without a word she scooted back to sit on his lap. Taeyong placed himself with his back rested against a pile of pillows. Izzy’s thighs on either side of his. Straddling him. Her lean thighs always fit so perfectly in his hand so that if he wanted to grip them with force, the skin would bulge beneath the pressure. Making the prettiest impressions. So warm, so soft. With her right hand she rearranged their genitals so her lips were spread over the underside of his hard-on. Her wetness smeared as she began to rock back and forth. Every once in a while her clit would rub the tip. Taeyong was enjoying this dry humping all too much. His focus was on the way his penis was now glistening. Thrust so eager that they would falter past her pussy. Izzy moaned. Two grinds later when Taeyong’s tip caught Izzy’s hole on his thrust up. He did not push all the way. The enjoyment of sliding into Izzy was that it should be done slowly. He felt everything clenching and pulling him in. Soft and wet. It evoked a carnal desire to be so sub. Izzy was fully seated on him now. Not moving, just feeling his length hard inside of her. Her nails dug into his ribs as she leaned forward to kiss him. To his surprise she brought her hips up, rolled around the tip, and fully sat him inside her again. Taeyong’s eyes rolled to the back of his head. The toes on his feet bending with restraint. Then her thrust became more persistent. The muscles in her ass, hips, and lower back flexing beneath the skin as she rode him. This was his favorite. Her chest grazing his as she proceeded to rotate her hips. Giving his tip attention that caused his chest to move in a way that looked shaky. His moans went higher in pitch. Her hips swiveled in a slow melodic pace. Her touch was a contradiction. The way one hand had a stronghold on his shoulder and the other in the back of his head, gripping the patch of silver hair there. Taeyong closed his mouth trying to swallow whatever saliva had accumulated. Though it was not much because he was breathing through his mouth rather harshly. Everything just felt so good. Every time his girlfriend brought her hips forward her walls would grab him in a way that made his mouth fall open again. Caramel skin in the light of his sunset light lamp took his breath away. Looking up at her with his mouth open, eyebrows slightly raised, and eyes so glossy. They shimmered when he looked at her. The different hues of orange and yellow made her look celestial. If he looked to his right he could see the shadow of their figures on the wall adjacent to him. He looked absolutely fucked out. Both of his hands gripped her ass to press his hips into hers.

“Please…” Taeyong leaned forward. He honestly couldn’t tell if the pull was from her gripping him harder while riding him faster or the sheer weakness he felt from all pleasure. Either way he was addicted. His mouth lingered on the area where her neck and shoulder met. Slowly, he opened his mouth, letting his tongue lick the area with hunger. Finally letting a low whimper out. His hips stuttered in her. Although he danced, for some reason, he couldn’t help but to give stammered pumps while she expertly swiveled hers.

“Fuck…Izzy—“ Taeyong felt dizzy. He was so hard and on the edge. She could tell. What Izzy loved the most was to watch him fall apart. He wasn’t coming but she drooled over how easily he got worked up. Similar to a loose string in the stitching of a fabric. So easy. He had always been like that. She smiled to herself as she pulled him closer to her chest. The feeling of adoration and pride seeping from her sweaty frame. It felt good to put in this hard work for the reward to be a whimpering boyfriend who is eager to please. Allowing him room to breath but cradling him so closely, she slowed her hips again. This torture continued as Taeyong ate it up.  The way she held him and whispered praises in his ear was forbidden. 

Taeyong felt his head gripped by the top of his head and chin. Moving shadows on the wall came into view. It’s not something anyone would make out immediately but it did look like two people intertwined. The height advantage his girlfriend’s head displayed over his, her head hung back and her open mouth made a gap in the outline. The loose curls in her head that bounced as she worked him to completion and the outline of her back along with the curve of her ass was all on display. His eyes and head rolled back again. Silver hair that was once covering his forehead now split down the middle. Allowing Izzy to see his face fully. His eyebrows were raised higher than before as he took a deep exhale.  

“B-Baby. Baby… Stop.” His chested heaved to gather some oxygen from the deep exhale he blew out earlier. Izzy, who was still looking at her boyfriend, smiled. Hunched over she kissed up his neck only to top it all off with a lick from his collar bone to his chin. He shivered and laughed. Hands moved from her ass to her face. Taeyong was the best kisser. Always a quick leaner. He took Izzy’s breath away every time. They're lips locked with slow, intimate kisses. Sometimes his tongue would slip into her mouth grazing her tongue to slip out of her mouth again. Izzy groaned with impatience.

“You wanna know what I think?” She asked in between wet, plush kisses. Affected by her words Taeyong briefly let his imagination run free.

“God,” he exhaled. Taeyong’s lips ghosted over Izzy’s. Hands on either side of her face kept her still so she could feel his lips move while he spoke: “I’d let you do whatever you want to me. I just want to be your good boy. So, please. Let me be good for you…” Everything he just stated came out in a hushed, used whisper. Too fast. Too desperate. He couldn’t help it. With another loud deep breath he kissed Izzy hard. Lips messily slid together with immense amount of primal want.

“I haven’t said anything yet, Tae.”

“Let me cum for you…” He managed to let another plea let loose. Their kiss and closeness encouraged them to began rocking again. Lightly his hips rocked up into her warm heat. Every thrust meeting her grinds. He was so deep in her. As many times as they have been intimate Taeyong could never get used to Izzy riding him balls deep, lingering kisses on his neck, and telling him he deserves to come. Truth be told he does. Letting her drive the boat was something he preferred. Being used, grabbed, bitten, and anything else under the sun just so happened to be something she found out he liked. 

She angled her chin upward as she looked down on him. His balls tightened. By now, Taeyong’s legs were extended outward, a basic reaction when he gets close to coming. Every once in a while he would flex his butt muscles to emulate some form of undulation. The tension in his muscles only applied more pressure toward his orgasm. Her walls gripped him a few more time so he held his breath. A vein in his neck grew in visibility the closer he got. He was holding back. Trying not to let feeling to the orgasm completely sweep him away in the waters of euphoria to later drown.

“‘m so cl-ose.” Eyes closed. Lips dry. His Adam’s apple bobbed with need. Taking advantage of his eyes being closed Izzy leaned forward to grip Taeyong’s chin.

“Open those pretty eyes of yours, baby.” Izzy’s tongue peeked from her mouth and traced the small circular opening of her partners parted lips. Taeyong’s big, round eyes landed on Izzy. She felt like a star. “I want you to look at me as best you can while you come. Can you do that for me?” His eyes just followed her every movement. There was no response but she knew he was going to do it.

“…gonna make…make me come s’hard- Oh shit.” Naturally his breaths became deeper and deeper. The grip on her hips had tightened. With two more swirls of her hips, his orgasm had hit him hard. Taeyong had managed to uphold the eye contact but only for a second. He most certainly was not looking at her directly. One of his eyes managed to roll in a different direction. His pupils had almost rolled past visibility before his eyes fluttered closed. His mouth released the longest, loudest moan accompanied by a drawn out “fuck”. He was breathless. His body was completely locked up as he felt the aftershocks of his orgasm. He could not control the shake of his right leg or the jerking of his abdomen.

“You ride me so good…” He chanted absent-mindedly.

Mindlessly, his hips still stuttered into her heat. The combination of him coming and his thrust had her come undone with a shudder.

“God damnnit.” Proclaimed his tired girlfriend. Izzy was out of breath; her thighs burned. It was all worth it to see him with his eyes closed and a small smile on his face. Taeyong laughed to himself as he hugged her. She stayed in his lap while he rubbed circles into her lower back.

A single kissed was placed on her neck before he spoke: “So, we’re keeping the light?”

[trillian-anders]

four christmases

pairing: ransom drysdale x reader

warnings:  slight violence, angst, fluff, smut && SPOILERS

word count: 16k

description: part 2 of 5. CONTAINS MAJOR SPOILERS, PLEASE DO NOT READ IF YOU HAVE NOT WATCHED THE FILM. you’ve been working for the thrombeys for four years now,the last three years of your service being a glorified babysitter to the most annoying, self-absorbed, dickhead hugh ransom drysdale. These are the four christmases you’ve spent with the thrombey/drysdale clan during your times of service. 

a/n: this story is brought to you by season 4 of schitt’s creek and maybe 12 cups of coffee. it felt like it took forever to write, but i’m happy to bring it to you. this is the follow up for my other ransom one-shot ‘the assistant’. i hope you guys like it! 

2018

What a fucking asshole. 

“You have to be there, it’s your job.” Ransom huffed indignantly. You rolled your eyes from the passenger seat of his beamer, tablet open in your lap as you scrolled through your sister’s amazon wishlist. 

“I have a family too Ransom. I can’t just abandon my own family on Christmas just because you can’t get along with yours.” His knuckles turned white against the gear shift. Nothing else mattered, only him it seemed, and his whining Mommy complex. 

“You were hired to assist me,” Ransom pulled into the drive of his house, tires crunching on the gavel, “So assist.” What a fucking tool. He quickly exited the car not looking behind him to see if you were following into the house, but leaving the front door wide open with the expectation that you were coming right behind. 

You had just hopped onto this assistant gig a few months ago. There you were minding your own business as fall began, working for a temp agency, when Linda Drysdale rang you up and asked you to come work for the family again. You had recently been tutoring one of the youngest of the clan, Meg, with her English coursework for her last school year. The pay was good and you were kind of let down when they opted not to keep you on after summer concluded. 

Babysitting Ransom paid well, better than it had been to help Meg out, but was it really worth the price? Ransom was a fucking child. You cooked his meals, washed his laundry, and were forced to tail him as he went about whatever business he deemed worthy of his days. Just until 9 pm, that’s all you had to do. Twelve hours a day, five days a week. Off Sundays and Mondays. 

It felt like too much and not worth the paycheck. Even if the trust-fund asshole spent his days flirting around from one party to the next. More often than not he found himself a body to bring home leaving you to get an uber back to his place just so you could get your car to go home, or worse yet having you sit awkwardly in the backseat of the car as whoever was in the passenger seat desperately tried to give him road head. 

He loved it. You know he did. Eyes flitting to yours in the rear-view mirror as a girl ten years younger than him fumbled with his belt. A fucking smirk on his face. You wanted to punch him, but your sister’s private school tuition held you back. 

You followed him into the house, one you had just spent the entire morning cleaning as Ransom slept off his hangover. The prick had dropped his coat on the floor adjacent to the coat hook, shoes haphazardly kicked off beside it, glaring at him as you picked them up while he drank orange juice straight from the carton. 

“I’ll pay you time and a half if you come.” He bartered. 

“You don’t pay me anything,” You scoffed. “Your Mom pays me.” 

“Exactly.” He tossed the carton back in the fridge, coming around the counter to get closer to you. He dropped his voice in what he probably thought was a seductive whisper. The fire it lit in your core would lead you to believe that it actually was a seductive whisper and you just fucking hated him. “I’ll make it worth your while.” He drug a finger down your cheek softly. It only caused you to roll your eyes, batting his finger away and stripping yourself of your coat you turned back to him, 

“I want triple.” 

Your sister was going to be pissed, but she’ll survive once she realizes you were able to get her a new laptop for school. A compromise. 

She cried. 

The Thrombey’s were probably the worst people you’ve ever met in your entire life. Harlan was prideful, pompous. He cared about his family, to an extent. He created them after all, his monsters. 

Linda was okay, but she was a lot like her father. She felt as though she was better than everyone else simply because she ‘built herself from the ground up’ yeah, if the ground was a million dollars gifted from Daddy. Her husband, Richard, was a glorified sugar baby, you were sure at one point he was a real estate broker, but Linda had the business, he just rode on her coattails. 

Walt was a whiny bastard. He was meek. He walked around with a cane and you weren’t sure he even needed it. It could totally be a ploy to try and gain more sympathy from his father. His wife was a drunk, you couldn’t remember her name, but it didn’t matter because she wouldn’t talk to you anyway. You can’t talk if you always have your mouth wrapped around the lip of a martini glass. Their son, Jacob, was a little alt-right shit. Every comment that came out of his mouth was a dig on some less privileged 99% and if you didn’t need this job you’d shove his head in the toilet yourself.

That leads you to Joni and Meg. Joni and Ransom had both been given an allowance every month. That’s the way they were mostly the same. How they differed was that Joni was at least attempting to have some sort of entrepreneur business where she gained some income, but not enough to live the lifestyle she was accustomed to. She had Meg in this expensive ass private school that cost more than your salary a month and Meg found this group of liberal women and now she was becoming the extreme opposite of Jacob. They often bumped heads, with Meg slowly giving in. She always gave in. This was her family and as much as she wanted to fight for the 99% she never actually wanted to be one. 

But it was fine. 

It didn’t really matter. 

You just wanted to go home. 

Ransom hasn’t had an empty hand all day thanks to you. “If I’m ever without a drink,” He said on the way over, “You’re walking home.” So this is where you’re standing, with Marta and Fran, you sipping on a weak mimosa that Marta had compromised on, waiting for the day to be over. 

Ransom’s eyes met yours from across the room, hand raising his glass, the last little mouthful swishing against its side. You sighed and rolled your eyes, turning to grab the decanter behind you, walking over to fill his glass. “So I told him to shove it up his ass,” Linda was telling Harlan a story, “If you think for one moment I would give in to anything less than market price you’re out of your mind.” Please love me, she was saying, please see that I’m the best child you have. Harlan’s eyes were dazed, not looking at hers. Thinking. He was always thinking. 

The only time Ransom didn’t need you was when he disappeared into his Grandfather’s office. Presents were handed out just before, new iphones, apple watches, macbooks, cartier bracelets, rolexes, a couple of little bonus checks to their allowances, the spirit of Christmas was definitely lost on this family. 

It doesn’t matter. 

You had just filled Ransom’s glass before he entered the study and you knew he wouldn’t need you until some kind of argument broke out with his Grandfather and you had to be ready to leave the house at a moment’s notice. 

“How’s it goin’ kid?” Richard always kind of made you uncomfortable. He seemed normal, but you were uncomfortable in a ‘this is a rich older white man who liked to corner you alone’ kind of way. For the most part he’s been harmless. 

One time, this was early on when you first started to tutor Meg, he found you in a similar way. Alone, in the kitchen. This was one of the first times he had met you and he was sure to let you know, “You’ve got a really pretty face, you know that?” Ew. Thanks? He had gotten close, too close. “How’d a pretty girl like you end up as a tutor?” That’s worse. And cheesy. This looked like one of those times, except he’d been drinking since 8 am. 

“I’m fine thanks.” You had been trying to find a minute of peace. There was always someone talking in this house, during ‘debates’ there were usually three or four. This was supposed to be a break. Ransom having been passed off to another wet nurse he could suck off of while you got some rest, and maybe sneak a couple of those expensive chocolate artisanal cookies for good measure. Richard grinned at you, not in the way Ransom would when he was fucking with you, but something more predatory. He was feeling ambitious. 

“I just wanted to give you this,” He slipped an envelope across the counter to you, hand resting on it, waiting for you to take it. As your hand met the envelope, he did the fucking worst thing he could possibly do in this moment, and took your hand. Your heart was racing and you felt wildly uncomfortable. He held your hand, taking a step into your space, body crowding yours against the counter. You stared him down, please just let me go. Please just fucking let me go. “How’s my son treating you?” He asked. What exactly did he think you were doing for his son?

“Fine.” You swallowed harshly. Please just let me go. You could smell the whiskey on his breath, face coming closer to yours. 

“If you ever need anything…” Closer and closer. You wished you could pull back completely, get out of this situation, but the vice grip he currently had on your hand was making it difficult. 

“Y/N.” Your eyes snapped over to the doorway, Ransom. His jaw was clenched, face flushed from what you were sure was an argument with Harlan. “We’re leaving.” Richard turned and smiled at his son, releasing your hand. You quietly slipped the envelope into your jeans pocket, backing yourself away from him, and joining Ransom across the room where his eyes hadn’t yet left his father. It wasn’t until you made it to the front door, grabbing your coat from the coat rack did he stomp his way out of the house, digging his car keys from his pockets. 

“Ransom I don’t think you should be driving-” You started, but he turned to you, eyes wild. This scared you. 

“Get in the car.” He demanded. Fuck, he’s drunk.

“Ransom you’re drunk, you can’t drive right now.” His eyes looked behind you and you turned to look at his family, peeking out through the curtains to watch the show. He quickly grabbed your arm, tugging you to the passenger seat, wrenching the door open and shoving you in, slamming the door behind you to circle around to the drivers side. “Just let me drive.” You pleaded. He slammed his own car door, revving the engine and quickly whipping the car out of the driveway. 

He wasn’t saying anything and Ransom always had something to say. 

“Ransom-”

“Shut the fuck up.” His knuckles were white against the wheel, eyes staring straight ahead as he began gaining speed. 

60 mph,

65 mph,

70…

“Slow down!” He was scaring you, these roads were winding and dark, his high beams only did so much and you weren’t sure how many deer you’d be seeing tonight. His foot was heavy on the accelerator. 

75

80

85

“Ransom please!” You cried. His breathing was heavy. His eyes were moving wildly left to right as he moved the wheel to turn.

90

95

100

You were going to die. This was it, this was the end. The car hit the open road, the interstate, and to the left of the on ramp you had just flew through was a cop. Their lights started flashing, red and blue filling the car as Ransom kept accelerating. It wasn’t late at night, probably around nine or so. There were other cars here as Ransom kept gaining speed, swerving in and out of traffic. “You’ve got to pull over!” You yelled at him.

105

110

115

“Ransom for the love of god, fucking stop!” His eyes looked in the rearview, two cops now. It was then he began to slow down, moving over to the side of the road, your heart still racing in your chest. You relax your fingers which you didn’t even realize was gripping Ransom’s bicep in a steel grip. Both of you breathing heavily inside the car. It wasn’t until the cop heavily banged on the window that either of you even moved. 

“Sir, I’m gonna have to ask you to step out of the vehicle.” A bright flashlight in your face as you dug around for his registration and insurance in the glove box. Exiting the car and circling to the trunk as Ransom was handing the four cops bills from his money clip. Why the fuck did Ransom have a money clip full of hundreds? Ransom’s eyes met yours as he stuffed his money clip back in his coat pocket before tossing you the keys which you caught awkwardly. 

“Take me home.” 

You looked over at the cops who were getting back in their squad cars before quietly getting in the driver's seat and shutting the door. Your heart was still pounding and as the adrenaline began wearing off you suddenly grew very tired. 

“Drive.” You didn’t want to hear his voice. You never wanted to see his face again. You never even wanted to hear his name again. 

“You’re the fucking worst.” You could feel yourself crying. That was the most terrifying experience you’ve ever had in your life. 

“Well you’re fucking my father so,” He sunk down in his seat. “I think I have some competition.”

“I’m not fucking your father!” You exclaimed, hand hitting the steering wheel. You hear him scoff from the passenger seat.

“Not today since I walked in on you. Which is funny, you put on this whole show about not wanting to be around my family and what was it all for? A fucking ploy so I didn’t know.” Ransom didn’t fucking know how much of a goddamn idiot he was being right now. 

As the gravel crunched beneath the tires of the beamer, your argument continued. “I’m not fucking your father, I’ve never fucked your father, and I never will fuck your father.” He wasn’t hearing you. 

“Is this why Linda pays you so much?” He scoffed, exiting the car. He looked at you from over the roof and continued, “So you keep Richard out of her bed?” You hadn’t stopped crying. Still half going from fear and the other half from frustration. It was so goddamn cold out that the tears were freezing against your cheeks. 

“Ransom, I am not fucking your father!” You yelled, “The reason she pays me what she does is because the exact fucking thing you’re doing right now.” He rolled his eyes, walking up to the front door of his house, 

“Give me my keys.” 

“No.” You were still standing by the car, keys fisted in your hand. “You’re being a fucking asshole right now.” 

He clenched his fist, slamming it into the front door before turning back to you and yelling, “Give me my fucking keys Y/N.” You both looked at one another for a moment. 

You took a deep breath. “I have nothing to do with your father Ransom. My only job is to wait on you like a fucking servant and that is what I get paid to do. Not be your fucking punching bag when your family turns out to be a bunch of dicks-”

“Give me-”

“I’m not finished!” You screamed. Tears were still streaming heavily down your face and Ransom stood five feet away from you awkwardly letting you continue. “I don’t deserve this Ransom. I really fucking don’t. You literally almost just fucking killed me. So you’re going to say you’re sorry, you’re going to go into your fucking house, you’re going to give me what you promised me for even having to deal with this shit tonight, and you’re going to give me the rest of the week off.” 

It was silent for a moment. The two of you standing in the cold Massachusetts air in silence. Your face was starting to burn and as the silence stretched on you began to doubt everything you just said. Fuck this could cost you the job. The envelope Richard had handed you weighed heavily in your pocket. Hopefully it would be enough to hold you over until you could get back to the temp agency. 

Ransom let out a breath he had been holding, turning fully to you, and walking down the two steps of his porch. You flinched back away from him, looking at his knuckles that were split and bleeding from punching the door. His eyes met yours and he looked like he was debating something. 

“I’m sorry.” His words were soft and whispered, hand coming forward with an open palm, waiting for his keys. You gently gave them back to him. That soft, whispered, ‘I’m sorry’ stunned you. You didn’t expect your yelling to actually work. You expected to be fired. His keys jingled as he reached in his pocket and brought that money clip back out, extracting a bundle of hundreds and holding them out to you between two fingers. “Go home.” 

That was never spoken of again. The thing with Richard in the kitchen, being pulled over on 95, the screaming match that ensued, and nothing was ever said about the solid gold, $6,500 cartier bracelet that was by no doubt wrapped at the store that was waiting for you when you arrived back at work five days later. 

2019

“What did he do?” You were sweating. It was so fucking hot in here, but you were afraid to take off your coat. The fanfare in which the detectives had pulled up to your apartment complex was embarrassing, quickly bringing you down to the police station and shoving you in an interrogation room. 

“What did who do?” The man who had introduced himself as Lieutenant Elliot asked you. Shit. What the fuck did Ransom do? The death of Harlan Thrombey was sudden, right after his birthday just two weeks ago. It was unsettling, the suicide. The funeral was uncomfortable to say the least. Ransom told you to go and then didn’t go himself so you stood there like some weird interloper on the tails of everyone’s grief. 

You were going to throw up, you’ve never so much as gotten a speeding ticket but suddenly you had a kilo of coke on you and an unlicensed gun. “Where were you the night Harlan Thrombey committed suicide?” You picked at your fingernails. 

“I was at the party,” Your throat was so dry, you were afraid to touch the glass of water they had set before you, “I always feel strange around the family so unless Ransom needs me I try to hide out in the kitchen.” 

“You’re his assistant?” Elliot asked, “He doesn’t have a job, so what exactly do you assist with?”

“I’m pretty much his babysitter.” You explained, “I make sure he doesn’t get into too much trouble…” It’s ironic right? You bit your bottom lip. “Why am I here exactly?” The other man in the room, Wagner, spoke up, 

“Hugh Drysdale has been arrested in the murder of Harlan Thrombey’s housekeeper.” Elliot gave him a dirty look. 

“Fran’s dead?” The shock was evident on your face. You leaned back in the uncomfortable metal chair, discarding your coat and scarf and taking a large mouthful of water. 

“You seemed surprisingly absent from Hugh’s side throughout the aftermath of Harlan’s suicide, why is that?” The third man spoke up from his spot sitting in the corner of the room, the thick southern accent was almost comical. 

“Ransom gave me time off,” You recalled, voice trailing off as you finish your sentence, “He said I could go to my sister’s cello recital…”  Did he really kill her? “Why would he kill Fran?” It made no sense. “I mean, he’s an asshole, but murder?”

They played a recording. Ransom in his own, self-righteous, pompous voice. Fuck me. What a fucking idiot. “So tell us where you were on the dates in question, spare no details.”

You had thought it strange, Ransom had left you stranded at the Thrombey house and you were forced to find your own way back to his house to get your car. It wasn’t at all strange that when you got to his house his car wasn’t there. You’d just assumed he’d gone out. It wasn’t uncommon for him to go out after finding arguments with his family. But the next day when he suggested that you take the week off, spend time with your sister, go to that recital you didn’t know he knew about, you checked his forehead with your wrist.

“Are you sick?” You had asked. He gently pushed your wrist off of his forehead, giving you a terse look. 

“Harlan committed suicide last night, the funeral is tomorrow, but after that you should take some time. I need some time.” Your heart broke a bit. Yeah Ransom and Harlan butt heads all the time, but they were practically the same person so it made sense to you that they would fight. Both prideful assholes. 

“I’m so sorry Ransom.” Should you hug him? You didn’t know. You two didn’t have any physical contact really. You’d never seen him hug anyone. So no, no hugs. “Is there anything I can do for you?” You opted to just gently lay your hand on his wrist. His eyes met yours for a moment, silence. 

“Just come to the funeral.” With that he stood up and walked away. 

That’s why it was so off-putting when the bastard didn’t even show up to the funeral and as you stood there with his sobbing family you figured next time you saw him you were going to spit in his coffee. 

“I haven’t seen him since the day before the funeral.” You admitted to the officers. “He asked me to go, and didn’t even show up.” 

“If we have any other questions we’ll let you know.” And you were released from questioning, but you had so many questions yourself. Arson? Fran? He attempted to murder Marta. Was this worth it? The fucking asshole never had to work for anything in his life, and even now as you stood in the courtroom waiting to see what bail would be set as so you could relay to Linda, you wanted to smack his pretty little face for being such a fucking idiot. 

A bailiff read out the case number and in walked Ransom. You’d never seen him in any outfit that cost less than your rent and here the bastard was, walking in with a black and white striped jumpsuit, the county jail logo stamped in red on the back.  You were the only person that showed up for him. Linda was half waiting for you to text her a dollar amount so she could pay his bail, the other half of her was debating on whether to leave him there or not. At least, that’s what she told you anyway. 

You could only imagine what you looked like to him. Your eyes were puffy and red from just crying in the parking lot for an hour in between getting questioned and coming to his hearing. Before that the detectives had taken you practically from your bed. But you were here, in yoga pants and a sweatshirt, coat pulled over the ratty thing, and snow boots on your feet. It started snowing this morning. 

His eyes caught yours as soon as he entered, but he quickly looked away. It was like a goddamn movie, his wrists cuffed to his waist, a chain leading down to the cuffs around his ankles. 

Ransom Drysdale murdered someone. 

A chill went down your spine, “Bail set at a million dollars.” And a gavel. Cameras clicking behind you. Thirty minutes later you were waiting for his release. You handed a dry cleaning bag with clothes to the officer at the front desk. 

Ransom Drysdale murdered someone. 

It wasn’t long before the secure, thick, metal door behind the metal detectors opened and Ransom was walking through it back to you. He wouldn’t meet your eyes, quickly circling to the desk to get his phone, wallet, and keys back. The garment bag was shoved back in your hands containing the clothes he was wearing when he was arrested, and then he was out the doors of the county jail, speed walking to your car. His was taken in as evidence. 

You used your key fob to unlock the car, Ransom wordlessly climbing in the passenger seat and slamming the door behind him as you settled in the driver’s. This was uncomfortable. You drove in silence for a minute, awkwardly leaning over to turn on the radio. The song only played for a second before Ransom leaned over, smacking the button to turn it off again. 

“Just say it.” He spat out at you. Your hands gripped the steering wheel tightly. 

“Say what, Ransom?” You were scared of him now and he could tell. He breathed harshly through his nose. You could feel his eyes on you. 

“Aren’t you going to ask me if I did it? Why I did it? Yell at me for being a fucking idiot?” He threw his hands up in frustration. There was a beat of silence more, “Say something.” 

“I don’t know what to say!” You really didn’t. What do you even say? You’ve been cursing him for a while. In your head. Cursing him since you left the interrogation earlier. You didn’t know what any of this meant for your job, if you’ll be able to keep your sister in school, if you’ll be able to even afford the apartment you two live in right now. And all because Ransom wasn’t getting anymore fucking money from his Grandfather the fucking prick. 

“Anything. Fucking say…” He leaned over in his seat, growing close to you. “Are you scared of me?” He smirked. Not in his, I’m playing with you and getting my way, smirk. And not in his, I’m making you weirdly uncomfortable and it really gets me off, smirk. But some sick sinister type of smirk that made your stomach roll. 

“You fucking murdered someone Ransom.” You said between clenched teeth. He studied you for a minute before settling back in his seat. Silence took over until you made it to the front door of his house. Lawyers should be coming by in about an hour to start working on his case, his parents should be here soon as well seeing as they were backing all of this. 

“You think I would hurt you?” Ransom asked as he stripped himself of his coat, purposefully letting it fall to the floor just so you’d have to pick it up. You left it there. He turned to look at you, still in the doorway of his house. “I killed Fran because I had to.” He spat. “It was for the bigger fucking picture. You want to be paid don’t you? You like having money right?”

“Your Mom pays me Ransom.” You stated calmly. His voice was escalating in volume as he continued.

“So fucking what? Who bought you that fucking coat, huh?” He was talking about the expensive wool coat you are currently wearing. He bought it for you after seeing that your old bubble coat had stuffing pouring out of the right pocket. You didn’t ask for it. “Who pays for your fucking phone, huh?” You had a month-by-month plan before. Ransom gifted you and your sister iphones sometime in the spring, saying that he needed to be able to reach you without having every call get dropped due to bad reception. Your sister’s was just because they were buy-one-get-one, or so he said. You didn’t ask for it. “And that fucking bracelet on your wrist too? Is my Mom buying you jewelry? Or just me and my fucking Dad?” He was still under the impression that something had gone on between you and his father apparently. 

“That’s it! I’m done.” You yelled back at him. “I fucking quit.”  You stripped the coat off your shoulders and tossed  it on the floor beside his watching his mouth snap shut. You wiggled the bracelet off your wrist and threw that down on top of it before slipping your phone out of the side pocket of your yoga pants and throwing that on the pile. “I’ll mail Julia’s phone back to you.” You still hadn’t stepped foot inside the house, turning to walk back to your car when Ransom’s thundering footsteps could be heard behind you. 

Fuck he was going to kill you. 

It had continued to snow throughout the morning, the soft white stuff still falling heavily from the sky as you rushed to your car, you had to get away. You didn’t make it far before Ransom’s arms wrapped around your body from behind, tugging you tightly to his chest. You let out a loud scream before he covered your mouth with his hand. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” He whispered quickly into your ear. “Please stop, I’m sorry.” His large body was bent over your back as you were crouched over trying to get him to release you, both of you breathing heavily as you settled against him. “Y/N I’m sorry.” He slowly started walking the two of you back toward the house, “I’m not gonna hurt you!” He shouted as you tried to bite his hand. He uncovered your mouth, arms loosening. “I’m not gonna hurt you,” He repeated a little more calmly. 

He brought you back into the house, shutting the door softly behind him. You wanted to leave, eyes tearing up. What the fuck were you supposed to do now? Ransom stood for a moment with his back against the door before peeling the wet socks off of his feet. You hadn’t realized that he took his shoes off when he originally came in. His feet were bright red from the cold. You glanced to your left at the knife block there, slowly backing away. 

“No, no, no, I’m not going to hurt you.” He sunk down to his knees. He looked like a fucking idiot, face flushed from the cold, kneeling in front of the door. He slowly made his way over to you, not rising from his knees, shuffling forward with his hands open and facing you. Your heart was racing as he stopped at your feet, slowly moving his arms to wrap around your waist, burying his face in your ratty old college sweatshirt. 

He was hugging you. Actually hugging you, on his knees, face turned into your belly. You could have sworn he whispered, “Please don’t go.” But you couldn’t be sure. 

A pot of coffee was made, coats picked up, and floor mopped before the lawyers and his parents arrived. The only evidence of your earlier fight was the absence of the cartier bracelet you refused to put back on. It sat heavily in Ransom’s pants pocket. Their discussion was loud in the living room and no one looked up as you lay the coffee and finger foods on the coffee table, Ransom’s cup unmade for him out of spite. As you turned to make your way back to the kitchen, Richard’s hand shot out to grab you harm, halting your movements, 

“Grab me some Macallan for me, would you sweetheart?” Your eyes flit over to Ransom, who’s jaw twitched, sharing a look with you before looking back to his lawyers and mother. 

This was none of your business, but you needed to know what your future was going to look like. Were you out of a job? If Ransom went to prison there would be no one to babysit. So yeah, you would be. He admitted on tape to arson and murder. Pre-meditated arson was minimum of 10 years, Murder was 30 years. He’s looking at at least 40 years in prison. He would be an old man before he was even allowed parole. 

The group grew silent, or you couldn’t hear them as you started dinner for that evening. You were sure the four of them would be staying. “Y’N, would you come here please?” That was Linda. 

You made your way over to the group, shuffling nervously in your wool socks. “Yes Mrs. Drysdale?” Linda smiled, 

“It’s back to Thrombey now, but that’s another issue.” Hmmm. “If I was willing to pay you…. Say four times what you’re making now, would you take Ransom’s house arrest? That is, if we are able to work the judge down to that.” 

“House arrest?” You looked to Ransom confused, he wasn’t meeting your eyes. “Murder and Arson-”

“The only proof they have is the recording, the only thing they’re going to be able to pin on Mr. Drysdale here would be the attempted murder of the nurse.” A chill went down your spine, 

“You tried to kill Marta too?” You asked Ransom, incredulously. He didn’t respond, popping a cube of cheese into his mouth. His lawyers made you uncomfortable, they were definitely sleazy and you knew money could get you far in the justice system. If that recording was 75% of the evidence against Ransom and it was suddenly and accidentally destroyed, they would only have what was actually witnessed. 

“Well, would you?” Linda asked again. 

“I uhm… I have a sister who lives with me, I can’t just-”

“I’m sure there’s someone else who can take care of her. How long would it be for?” She looked to the lawyers, “Two or three years?” This was impossible. You couldn’t. Linda looked back at you. “How about this…” She leaned over and clasped your hands softly. “We will pay for your sister’s school, her housing, everything she needs while you’re doing this for us, and you’ll still get paid what I originally offered.”

“If Ransom gets house arrest?” You asked. 

“Yes ‘if’.” She was selling it hard. Julia could stay with your aunt. She didn’t live far from where the two of you currently reside. The majority of your income went to her school, books, clothes, rent, and groceries. Having all of that taken care of would mean you’d be getting four times your current salary and not having to spend any of it. Just for a couple years. 

“If Ransom gets house arrest,” you looked over at him, his eyes briefly meeting yours, studying you it felt like, “If he does, I will do what you need me to do. But I don’t even know how-” Linda’s hands quickly released yours. 

“We will figure that out when the time comes,” Linda has a shit eating grin on her face, “Write up a contract.” Directed at the lawyers, “Now, how are we going to get our hands on that recording?” That’s it. You were dismissed until they needed you again. 

“Why would you do that?” Ransom asked you. Everyone had left a little bit ago, you were busy washing the dishes, knowing as soon as this task was finished you’d be able to go home and this day from hell would be over. 

“Do what?” There was a piece of cheese melted on the side of the casserole dish that wouldn’t fucking come off. 

“Agree to take my punishment?” You paused in your scrubbing, 

“That’s if they actually settle on house arrest.” You finally unwedged the cheese, rinsing off the casserole dish and placing it in the dishwasher. 

“Hmpf.” Ransom had been cold and distant since he burrowed his head into your belly. Has to make up for his extreme weakness then. “But why?” He asked again.

You turned to him, eyes staring directly into his. You watched him fiddling with the gold bracelet you had taken off earlier, it was in his hand down by his side. “It’s what you said earlier right?” You scoffed, removing the rubber gloves from your hands and throwing them in the sink. You walked closer to him, not breaking eye contact. “Because I need the fucking money.” 

The two of you didn’t talk for the rest of the weekend. Usually there was texting here and there, ‘Where are my grey socks, the ones I usually wear with the navy Ralph Lauren slacks?’ or ‘Next week when you meal prep for my weekend can you make me this?’ with a link to a recipe. ‘Pick me up a pack of magnums on your way in.’ Fuck you. 

You got him regular Trojans. 

Monday was Christmas luckily enough, and you knew you weren’t going in. Ransom didn’t even text you to see where you were. His account was rapidly depleting funds, you checked every once in a while. 

234.72 ETRN-STD

523.50 DRNK

435.62 HAWTHNE

The list went on. Multiple spots a day over the weekend. That’s who he was going to be now, the old fucking white dude who sits at a bar all day hitting on girls uncomfortably too young. How many giggling 18 year olds would you kick out crying and screaming the next day? Disgusting.  

“Do you have them?” Them meaning the cookies that were currently at the bottom of your reusable Aldi bag. Your sister, Julia, was off to your right, setting a pot with water on the stove to boil. It was Christmas, just the two of you, and with the aftermath of everything that was going on with the Thrombey/Drysdale clan, you were happy to get some time off to relax. You might even push it so that you wouldn’t have to work tomorrow. We’ll see if Ransom texts you. 

“Of course I do.” This bag has been in your closet all weekend. There’s a bakery near your apartment that your Mom would take you to all the time, every time you got an A, won a game, gotten an award. Everything they made reminded you of her, and it was something you craved more than anything. Every Christmas they would make these fresh baked cookie packs with all kinds, chocolate chip, double chocolate chunk, snicker doodle, gingerbread, white chocolate macadamia, chocolate and peanut butter. 

Every Christmas, after dinner, you and your sister would slouch in front of the TV with scalding hot cups of hot chocolate and devour almost the whole box. Every year except last year when at the time your sister was home alone watching The Grinch you were in a car with Ransom going over a hundred miles an hour and scared for your life. This Christmas, Ransom would not be getting between the two of you, food was cooking, lights in the living room were dimmed. The tree was all lit up and the presents you had exchanged earlier that morning sat unwrapped beneath it. 

Christmas music was playing softly on the tv as you heard someone knock on your front door. 

“Coming!” You yelled. It wasn’t uncommon for a neighbor to have forgotten something, sugar, butter, milk, that they needed for dinner. It wasn’t uncommon for you to answer your door without looking through the peephole. What was uncommon was Ransom Drysdale standing sheepishly on the other side. His cheeks, nose, and eyes were red. The cheeks and nose from the cold, the eyes probably from the alcohol you could smell on him. You sighed heavily, feeling a headache coming on, “What are you doing here?” 

“Bar called me an uber and I didn’t want to go home.” He explained quickly, words slurring slightly. 

“Your parents-”

“Fuck my parents!” He yelled, you quickly shushed him, looking down the halls to see if anyone was peeking out into the hallway. “Fuck my parents.” He said quietly. 

“Ransom…” You sighed, stepping out into the hall, closing the door softly behind you. “What do you want?” His eyes were glazed, he shrugged dumbly, swaying forward. “Okay big guy,” I guess this is happening, “Come on.” You quietly ushered him inside, shutting the door softly behind you. 

“Who is it? Oh, woah.” Julia’s eyes bugged out of her head, shifting over to you. ‘Murderer’ she mouthed. 

“Go set the table.” You ushered Ransom over to the small table that could barely seat the two of you let alone a third, quickly brewing a pot of coffee and keeping an eye on your sister who was scared to get to close to him. “He’s harmless Julia.” You reassured her, or were you reassuring yourself so that you didn’t feel like such a bad guardian, letting a murderer into your home. He was past angry drunk Ransom, which is probably why the bar kicked him out, he was sad Ransom right now. You’d never seen him cry but this was probably the closest you were going to get to it. He was quiet, sat in the chair just staring as you and your sister finished dinner. 

You poured him a cup of coffee and a glass of water, hoping to sober him up enough that you could safely send him home later on. The three of you sat down to eat. Ransom staring listlessly out the window. You made him a plate and told him to eat. And he did. You told him to finish his water. And he did. You told him to finish his coffee. And he did. This was almost terrifying. He hadn’t said anything since ‘fuck my parents’, and he looked dead on his feet. 

“Send him home,” Your sister pleaded. The man hadn’t moved. Cleanup had already started and finished, he was still nursing the third glass of water you’d given him. Cookies were warming in the oven. His eyes were less glassy now. He was slowly sobering up. The large helping of mashed potatoes and three bread rolls he ate didn’t hurt either. 

“He’s my boss, I can’t really kick him out.” You explained, “Let me get him sober enough that I know he’s okay and then he’ll go home.” She rolled her eyes at you, stirring the pot of hot chocolate on the stove, adding more chunks of chocolate to melt. Ransom, still unspeaking, didn’t protest when you moved him into the living room, setting him up in the recliner with his own cup of hot chocolate and three cookies, before snuggling down with your sister and watching How the Grinch Stole Christmas. You moved only once when he tapped the mug against your arm. 

More.

“I’ve never done anything.” He said. “Never went to college, barely graduated high school.” He was rambling to himself, maybe to you? “I’ve spent the entirety of my adult years inside someone’s cunt.” 

“Alright, Julia. Time for bed.” You ignored her whining protests. The movie wasn’t over yet. “Please?” You begged her. She hated Ransom. You knew this. She knows you know this. ‘All he does is take you from me.’ is what she once said to you. Just to treat you like shit. 

“I have no money.” Ransom’s eyes met yours. “None.” 

“I know Ransom.” He scoffed. 

“I’m no better off than you now.” 

“You still have your house. I’d say you are still better off.” You started cleaning up around him, letting the asshole sit in his self-pity. 

“C’mere.” It was a quiet request. The Grinch was packing up his sleigh in the background. You dropped the two mugs you were holding onto the counter, circling back to the recliner. Ransom’s hand came out soft, wrapping around your forearm and gently guiding you to sit in his lap.

“Ransom, I don’t think this is appropriate.” You tried to pull away, heartbeat beginning to pick up. His still bloodshot eyes raised to meet yours. 

“Please hold me.” Fuck. What were you supposed to do with that? Heart melting you sunk into his lap, wrapping your arms around him and pulling him in tight. It was quiet for a while. Sitting with the credits rolling, Ransom’s arms wrapped around your waist while yours were wrapped around his shoulders. Comforting him from whatever crisis he was currently going through. 

“Marta ruined everything” He whispered into your neck. 

“No Ransom, you did.” 

2020

The trial, fuck me, the trial. The whole fucking family showed to watch Ransom crash and burn and get exactly what he deserved. Well that and to stare down Marta Cabrera who sat with the prosecution in some shiny new digs, a stunning gold cartier bracelet on her wrist. That was familiar. Ransom’s cheap bought apology. There was a tension there, you knew. He always had a thing for ‘the help’. You wondered if that’s where he had been this past week. But it’s strange isn’t it? This whole situation. It was unsettling and for some reason you felt irreversibly used.  

“I knew the knife was a prop.” And that was that. Audio recording gone, attempted murder charge whittled down to aggravated assault. A slap on the wrist. Two years of house arrest. And here you were, in Ransom’s home with a fucking house arrest bracelet making your ankle itch. Unfucking believable. Ransom had sat in the courtroom, head raised, armani suit, legs crossed and body relaxed. He knew he was getting out of this from the minute he walked in. 

The Thrombey trial that was supposedly going to last three months only lasted a week. You still had a job, and in a remarkable turn of events Linda Drysdale and their legal team got exactly what they predicted. 

“I’m going out.” Was the first thing Ransom told you as you unpacked your clothes. He had half thought to buy you a bed and a small dresser that he haphazardly got someone to shove between his Pam Anderson Baywatch poster and the unplugged Space Invaders original arcade console. This was a 90s teenage boy’s dream bedroom. And now it was yours. He didn’t give you much time to respond and he was gone. 

They say that you never really know someone until you live with them. And you’ve never felt that saying more true. Ransom was a fucking asshole. 

During your previous employment schedule you would come in at 9 am with breakfast and let him know of anything he needed to do that day, if his Mom needed him for whatever reason, events his was scheduled to go to, dates he promised he’d keep. He’d let you know what to cancel and what he would get ready for, and then you were off. Cleaning and maintaining the home to the best of your ability, binge watching tv shows, trying new recipes from pinterest. 

Ransom was disgusting. 

Clothes discarded all over his floor, bedroom, living room, hallways. Beard trimmings all over the sink and what you would hopefully assume were more beard trimmings lining the bottom of his shower. You really didn’t want to think about Ransom’s pubic hair situation. He would do things like take his coffee mugs into his room or into the study and leave like a sip left in each one, letting it sit there until the milk began to curdle. Wet towels shoved into corners and every morning when you went in to make his bed it was like he was running in his sleep, loose and fitted scrunched in the corner of the foot board, duvet thrown off and pillows with half off shams. 

He was doing this shit on purpose. 

And you hated him for it. 

It wasn’t long after the trial that he began a steady routine. Gym, breakfast, some puttering around the house, making plans and then he would go out. And that’s when we come to this, 

“He said he would be back and we would have breakfast together.” The girl was pretty, but her voice was annoying. 

“I’m one hundred percent sure he did not say that.” You stood with arms crossed in the doorway, watching her fix her face in the mirror propped against his bedroom wall. An old antique thing that didn’t match with the decor of the house at all. 

“Hmpf.” She glared at you, “Fine, when he gets back, we’ll see who is right.” This was before you became practiced at this kind of thing. 

You felt your phone buzz in the pocket of your jeans, 

Is she gone yet? 

Fucking prick. 

“I’ll have him call you when he gets in,” You explained, “He has a lot to do today, I’m sure if he said you’ll go out for breakfast it’ll probably be another day.” 

“I said.” She stepped up to you, “I’m staying.” Fuck. You rolled your eyes and walked past her into the room, 

Not leaving, come deal with her yourself

He had been waiting down the street like a psycho, waiting to see her leave so he can come back home, but it’s not really working out in his favor. You could feel her eyes on you as you made the bed and picked his laundry up from the floor, tossing them two feet away into the laundry basket you left in his bathroom in hopes he would actually use it. The socks left discarded beside it was a clear message of disregard, a ‘fuck you’ from a petulant child. 

You could hear the door slam downstairs. Great, you looked at the girl who was scrolling through her phone curled up in the reading chair in the corner of his room, he’s pissed. You could hear his stomping feet climb the stairs and the girl looked up from her phone hopeful towards the door. 

“Alright, time to go.” He huffed, coming into view. The girl stood from the chair, shifting over towards him and trying to wrap her arms around his neck. “Nope. Let’s go, your uber is here.” 

“But, I-” She began, you could see tears welling up in her eyes and you began to feel bad for her. 

You were never one to have one night stands. You had one serious boyfriend when you were in college, but when your Mom got sick you had ended it and moved back home. You hadn’t dated or been with anyone else since. You just didn’t have the time. That being said, this girl honestly thought Ransom had a heart. She was naive and young, younger than you. Your heart hurt for her, but honestly, no one should be with Ransom anyway. 

His birthday dinner had soon come and gone. Linda and Richard sat around the dinner table eating Ransom’s favorite foods you’d spent the day cooking for him. Drinking whiskey and wine, Ransom’s glass never empty. You’d had a few glasses yourself with the tapas style dinner you’d put together. A beautifully iced spice cake sitting on the counter with unlit candles for dessert. 

This was the night that Ransom blew up on you for the last time. The night he cried into your neck, drunk and unstable. Clutching desperately at your body for comfort, burying himself against you all touch starved and needy. This was more intense than last Christmas where his dry eyed stare begged you to hold him in an uncommon moment of weakness. 

He was so hard to read sometimes and you were never quite sure where you stood. You knew you really hated him sometimes, other times… not so much. The more you knew his parents, the more you understood why Ransom was an ungrateful shit to begin with. You almost couldn’t blame him for how he turned out.

Almost. 

“Help me with this.” He stood in the doorway to the small office he never used. It was pretty much just for show. A large wooden ornate desk, his macbook, and a bookshelf full of books you know he probably never read. Including the ones penned by his own Grandfather. 

There were beginnings here. Multi-colored post its lined the desk, laptop left on the seat of one of the chairs in the room. 

“What is this?” You asked him, fingers plucking a post-it from the desk,

Crime of Passion?

He had been watching a lot of true crime documentaries lately. It didn’t help but creep you out. This man, a murderer, suddenly extremely into serial killers and murder itself. 

“I’m going to write a book.” He explained. His face was in a grin, almost giddy. 

“A book.” You looked at him incredulously. Your eyes drifted over to Harlan’s novels sitting stacked on another chair, spines finally cracked and pages thumbed through, sticky tabs stuck throughout the pages. You pointed to them, “A book?”

“Yeah,” He gestured around to the post-its, “What do you think?” It’ll keep him busy that’s for sure. You sighed, sticking the post-it back on the desk and looked at him. He was waiting, expectantly, why did he care what you thought about this?

“Is it gonna be about Fran?” You asked awkwardly, he scoffed,

“No, I’m gonna write books like my Grandfather wrote,” He plucked a post-it from the desk, showing you,

Wife murders husband?

“I’m gonna write a mystery novel.” 

He was good. You couldn’t lie about that. And you wouldn’t. This was a strange thing. The routine changed. Gym, breakfast, writing, lunch, writing, dinner, and then he would go out. His mind was moving faster than his fingers could and you were left reading a new chapter or two every night. You’d once loved Harlan’s novels. Your Mother was obsessed with them. It was partially why you had even taken the job tutoring Meg in the first place, but you know what they say. Never meet your heroes. 

Harlan was kind in some ways, funny, but proud. His pride is what eventually killed him you’ve found out. The medicine Ransom had switched wasn’t his cause of death, his refusal for help was. 

Ransom was as good as he was, better even. 

“He’s got a lot of me in him,” Harlan said to you once, “He could have everything I’ve ever had if he would pull his head out of his ass.” 

This was promising. 

You were honestly afraid when Ransom first said he would be writing a novel. What if he wasn’t a good writer? Could you really lie and try to support him even though it was absolute garbage? You supposed you would have to. You were relieved to find out that it was unnecessary. 

He slipped a red pen into your hand when handing you this last chapter, the book almost finished. “I want to see how you react to everything,” He explained, the book was coming to the climax, you were a chapter away from the big reveal and the aftermath, his hands gently massaged your shoulders before he bent at the waist, wrapping his arms around you from behind as you sat on the sofa. “Do you like it?” His hot breath brushed against your ear, a tingle went down your spine. 

“Ransom,” Your hand came up to lay over his forearm, brushing the skin with your thumb, “It’s amazing.” You could almost feel the grin that stretched across his face, he turned, pressing his face into your hair where you could swear he laid a soft kiss before releasing you. 

“Of course it is,” Here we go, “I’m a fucking Thrombey.” His fucking smirk. That's what he left you with, returning to his office to pound out the last two chapters. 

It was a process. The editing, printing, shipping off to multiple publishers. He got replies after a month. 

Eager replies. 

Whatever Ransom wanted, Ransom got. The lucky bastard stayed lucky.

“Look Babe.” Ransom dropped a heavy box on the table in front of you, “Look at this shit.” He grabs a knife from the block on the counter, slipping it under the packing tape to open the box revealing glossy black covers. He first fucking novel. There. Printed. A picture of a fireplace, chair facing it, empty. A blood soaked carpet. He picked one from the box, opening it. And there in the forward, the dedication, Harlan’s name…

...and yours. 

“Don’t get all big headed about it kid.” He smirked. Your heart was racing in your chest. 

“Why would you…” Your fingers gently traced the letters of your name, there in print, as it would be on every copy sold. 

“Wouldn’t have been able to write it without you being chained to my house, only seems fair.” He shrugged. “We can call it even.” You scoffed,

“Dedicating your book to me hardly makes my doing your house arrest for you even Ransom.” He smirked again, flipping through the pages, seeing his words in bold print. 

“I think it’s plenty fair,” Okay, now you wanted to smack him, “You live here for free, you eat here for free, and you get paid pretty well to do so.” His devilish eyes met yours over the top of the book he was still thumbing through. “If anything you’re still ahead because you’re the kept woman of a bestselling author.” 

“A kept woman?” You dropped the book onto the table. “I’m not your fucking whore Ransom.” 

“Not yet.” Audibly you made noise of protest, internally your core thrummed with heat. 

“Never.” You packed up your tablet and the new book, attempting to walk around him to go sit out by the fire pit for a while. His large hand gently grabbed your upper arm, tugging you into his body, wrapping his arms around your shoulders, your arms trapped between you.

“Tell me you’re proud of me.” He whispered into your hair, his voice suddenly soft, heartbreaking. 

“I am proud of you Ransom.” You shifted your belongings to your left hand, tugging your right from against his chest to wrap around his torso. “I’m very proud of you.” 

Book published, royalties rolling in, Ransom was making his own money now. He was more cocky than ever. Proud. The, I-don’t-need-you-anymore-mom, attitude. But can you still pay my babysitter? The girls came more easily than ever before, not that they didn’t come easy before the bestseller. 

Every. Night. 

Sometimes two girls were leaving in the morning, gently ushered out the door with promises of a phone call and a, “I’ll let him know.” It made you feel dirty, betraying almost. Like you were supposed to be on these girl’s side instead of cleaning up after Ransom’s mess. 

You could gag. The milky condoms, two of them, tossed haphazardly aside on the hardwood floor of Ransom’s bedroom. Disgusting. You could hear him laughing at you now. 

“It could be you,” He says, “Just say the word.” If you weren’t so irritated with Ransom for this very thing your panties would be dripping with the thought. 

He’s sitting at the kitchen island forking soft scrambled eggs into his mouth, cheesy with peppers and onions, the way he likes them, the way you made them, when you come downstairs. “You could at least throw the condoms in the fucking trash Ransom.” He looked up from his eggs to you, peeling off the latex gloves you’d just used, smirking. 

“Where’s the fun in that?” Asshole. 

“You’re disgusting.” You begin on the dishes, taking a sip of your now lukewarm coffee. You hear the stool scoot back against the floor, “That wasn’t an invitation.” You said, hearing his approach. His arms wrapped around your middle as you began to scrub. His head rested on your shoulder. 

“You love me.” He slowly rocked your body side to side, “You love how disgusting I am.” You tried to shrug him off of you, but he held you tighter. Since last Christmas when you curled up in his lap and held him for two hours until he was sober enough to leave you he’d been slowly getting more and more affectionate with you. He was touch starved, hungry for it. The intimacy of holding and being held. 

You didn’t picture Linda as much of a hugger.

The house was decorated. It was the least he could do for you really. This was the first Christmas since your Mother died that you and your sister wouldn’t be completing your tradition, but you tried not to think about it. Ransom humored you just after Thanksgiving, bringing home a fake Christmas tree, ornaments and lights. You’d ordered a couple of extras online and three stockings were on the mantle, Christmas lights lined the windows giving the house a warm glow. 

“I’m sending everyone in my family a copy.” He told you, “a signed copy.” Of his book. Rubbing their noses in it. The book has firmly held the number one spot on the New York Times Bestseller List for weeks. Already over a million copies have been sold. Whether its due to the fame of the not-murder trial or Harlan’s legacy you couldn’t be sure, but even without those things the book was incredibly good. 

Ransom could have made it on his own, a long time ago. 

“You don’t think that’s a little crass?” He released you long enough for you to finish loading the dishwasher, watching you place the pod of soap and shut it like he didn’t realize that’s actually what you’re supposed to do. 

“Fuck them,” He scoffed, “They’ve always hated me.” 

“To be fair,” You turned to the soft sweater clad man leaning against the kitchen island, “You’re an asshole.” 

He smirked, “Yeah, but that’s why I’m so charming.” You couldn’t help but roll your eyes. 

It could almost be domestic. The way things were now. So different from before. Yeah Ransom was still bringing a new girl home almost every night and sure you could hear them fuck from your bed on the other side of the wall, but for the most part it was always just the two of you. 

His parents never ventured out here much anymore, since his book was published he had a deadline for the next book that needed to be completed so he wrote almost every day now, sometimes for hours. You made his every meal, on the odd occasion you’d order out. Sometimes when he needed a break he would come sit on the sofa with you as you watched whatever show you were currently obsessed with. One time you walked in on him watching Love Island by himself and you hadn’t let him live it down yet, maybe not ever. 

He grew soft, sweet almost. A kiss against your palm. Hugs from behind as you worked at the stove. A snuggle of feet under his thigh as you watched Miracle on 34th Street by a crackling fire. Wordlessly anticipating each others needs. It spoke to a high level of intimacy. Something you both chose to ignore. 

It was nice. 

He didn’t go out on Christmas Eve. Not only because his usual bar was closing earlier than normal because of the holiday, he assured you, but because he wanted to stay in. Snow was falling thick outside, a foot of it already blanketed on the ground. To tell the truth you didn’t want him to go out in this weather anyway. You knew he was willing to drive a little drunk and he didn’t exactly obey speed limits. It was safer here. 

You were still reeling from the argument you had with your sister earlier in the night. You called her to see what she was doing, but she was at a friends house and wanted nothing to do with you. Since the house arrest you haven’t exactly been on speaking terms. She wasn’t Ransom’s biggest fan and didn’t really understand why you needed to do this. You could kind of blame it on yourself for her having no idea how much money you needed to keep her in school, her cello and lessons weren’t cheap and nor are the electronics she seemed so attached to. This two year sentence you were playing out for Ransom would put you in the green, far in the green, so far in the green that you were willing to put up with all his petty bullshit and be okay with your sister hating you if it meant your futures were secure. 

After all this was over, you might just be able to go back to school. 

“Are you hungry?” You removed your feet from their spot beneath his thigh, grabbing both of your now empty mugs, padding over to the kitchen. Your stomach had just begun to growl. The stew you had simmering on the stove was ready to eat. 

“Yeah,” Ransom replied, not turning away from the television. Santa’s trial had just began. It was a strange thing, having him watch classic Christmas movies, soft in sweats and a comical christmas sweater you jokingly bought him. “I look good in anything.” He said. He wasn’t lying. 

You poured two bowls full, bringing over a plate with some crusty bread he was kind enough to go out and grab for you earlier in the day. “Thank you,” He said softly as he took the bowl from your hands, eyes still not moving from the screen. He quickly spooned some into his mouth, 

“It’s hot.” You said, his only reaction being trying to rapidly cool it in his mouth, his tongue probably burned. He gave you a glare, before resting the bowl on the coffee table. This could almost be a relationship. The two of you together. In this oddly domestic moment. He was the only man in your life right now, it wasn’t like you had many options for seeking others. 

That’s why you would get so hot and bothered with him. And that’s the only reason. 

He had never seen A Miracle on 34th Street before. You’d think with how old fashioned Harlan was he would have at least seen it once or twice, but then again, any time spent together as a family was always strained and argumentative. 

Even when he was a kid though? He was the first grandchild. His mother was the first child of Harlan. You were sure when he was a child he was spoiled rotten, more toys than he could play with, never wanting for anything. But that wasn’t exactly true. The touch starved trust-fund baby didn’t get the one thing kids need the most, more than presents, toys, electronics. Real genuine love. 

His Mother loved him to an extent. It’s why you were the one on house arrest instead of him, but she thought loving him meant giving him whatever he wants. When we all know that’s not what kids want. They want to be told no, given structure, rules. How many times have you gotten into arguments with your sister because you didn’t allow her to go roam the streets at night without supervision or give her money for some stupid thing she wouldn’t be even bothered with in two weeks?

But you could also see how no one really knows how to raise a child and you just try your best. Having Harlan for a Father couldn’t have been easy. 

Under the tree that you’d decorated and in the stockings you’d hung were presents. Ransom had everything he’d ever wanted, but you couldn’t help but want him to have something to open tomorrow morning. Granted it wouldn’t be much, but it’s the thought that counts. In the fridge you already have most of what will go into tomorrow’s dinner made. Hopefully your sister thinks about your extended invitation and Ransom can go pick her up at some point tomorrow. You missed her, a lot. Your heart ached with wishes that she was here right now. 

Ransom’s eyes had gotten shifty. The movie was coming to an end and his bowl was empty. “Did you want more?” You asked him, thinking that would be the cause of his shiftiness, maybe indecisive? 

“No.” He cleared his throat, “I’m not going to be home for dinner tomorrow.” You weren’t sure you heard that properly.

“You’re not going to be home….” You started, picking his bowl up from the coffee table and standing, “For dinner on Christmas?” 

He was scared to tell you, that’s cute. Your body was bristling with anger as you took the stew off the stove to cool before you could properly store it. He didn’t move from his spot on the couch. 

“My Mother wants me to go to this dinner with-” 

“So every other time your Mother wants you to do something it’s ‘fuck you’ and ‘eat shit’, but when we’ve already made plans for tomorrow and my sister-” You felt tears prickle in your eyes. “What the fuck Ransom?” His face was stoic from the couch. 

“Why does it matter?” He asked, “I stayed home tonight!”

“And that makes up for it?” You stood at the kitchen counter, staring across the room at him. “I already started on dinner, Ransom. You couldn’t have maybe said something while I was prepping all of this?” You gestured to the fridge. He shrugged. 

“I didn’t know that was all for tomorrow.” His face still betrayed no expression. 

“She can come here,” You offered, “We can have dinner here.” His eyes shifted away from yours to watch the rolling credits. 

“She doesn’t want to.” He stood from the couch, rounding towards the tree slowly, searching. 

“Why not?” He was being shady about this, the whole situation was strange. “I already have all of this food prepared and I can’t pick up Julia myself… Ransom?” 

“She doesn’t like being around you.” He stated honestly, he picked a box out among the presents under the tree, eyes meeting yours as he fumbled with it. 

“What?” You get it. She’s technically your employer. But she’s never had any issue dropping in for dinner or putting you to work on some task for herself. 

“Listen,” He came closer to where you still stood, your chest tightening. “Y/N, I hate my family-”

“Then why are you going to-”

“I have to do this.” His cheeks were flushed, you could tell he was uncomfortable. “My therapist… I don’t want to do this.” He slid the box across the counter top. “I don’t want to go, but I have to.” 

“Is this supposed to make me feel better about it?” You scoffed, picking up the gold wrapped box. His mouth opened and then quickly shut without speaking. You sighed heavily, a headache coming on. “I’ve got nothing, Ransom. All I wanted to do tomorrow was spend some time with my family and if you’re not going to be around…” 

“I know, I can maybe go pick your sister up in the morning?” He offered. Your eyes watery, staring at him. He doesn’t get it. Your heart was aching a bit. 

“You’re such an asshole.” You spat, leaving the present still wrapped in front of you, thumbing the thick wrapping paper. 

“I know.” He swallowed. 

“What does your therapist want you to do?” You never talked about what went on in his therapy sessions. He was too closed off after them, drank too heavily, lashed out too easily. You’d let him slowly work through his refractory period and let him cozy up to you once he was feeling better. 

Ransom felt awkward, you could feel it. He was uncomfortable. 

“Why does this matter so much to you?” He asked. He was turning. He got too emotional. “It doesn’t matter what I have to do or where I have to do it. I said I would go pick Julia up, I’m giving you what you want.” 

“Fine.” You were staring each other down. “I’ll let her know you’ll be there to get her around noon and then you can go have dinner with the people you hate.” He rolled his eyes, 

“I don’t know what you think this is, Y/N.” He scoffed, “You still work for me, we’re not playing house here.” 

“Then stop making me.” You spat back at him, both of you in a similar stance, hands gripping the edge of the stone counter top. 

“I’m not making you do anything.” There was a rage growing in his eyes. 

“You are, Ransom. I take care of you like you’re my own fucking child. I clean up all of your messes, I cook all of your fucking food, I do everything for you.” 

“I don’t ask you to.”

“You don’t have to! You literally just expect it of me.” You yelled. 

“Because it’s your job.” He laughed, throwing his hands into the air. “I have no loyalty to you Y/N. None.” Fine.

Fine.

You hated him. You fucking hated him. You were doing all of this for him. And you’ve never felt more dumb in your life. The house arrest bracelet on your ankle felt heavier than ever. It itches like mad. 

“Fuck you Ransom.” You rounded the counter, moving towards the stairs when he grabbed your arm. 

“Take the gift.” He slapped the box into your hand. 

“I don’t want the fucking gift, Hugh.” He looked taken aback for a moment.

“Don’t call me that.” His hand fell from your arm, stepping closer to you. 

“That’s what you want, right?” You asked, “You want me to do all of these things for you and take care of you and fucking hold you when you need comfort but when I’m fucking trying to make things easier for you, you’re all the sudden ‘I have no loyalty to you.” 

“Wait a fucking minute,” He growled, “I take care of you too. Who the fuck buys all the shit you want on a fucking whim? You’re in the mood for curry, I get you curry. You make a comment about how you really want to decorate for Christmas and who fucking gets you everything you need to do that? You say that you really want to get into fucking knitting and who gets you all the fucking shit you need to fucking knit?” 

“Buying me things doesn’t mean you care about me Ransom.” You shook the box in your hand for emphasis. “All I wanted to know is what your therapist wants you to do tomorrow, you can go have dinner with your Mother. It’s fine. I just wanted you to fucking open up to me.” 

“I am open with you!” He yells, “You know more about me than anyone else in my fucking life, it’s hard for me okay? I can never escape you, you’re always fucking there. I don’t get to fucking-” He placed his hands on his hips, turning from you. He let out a heavy, slow breath. Calming himself down. “I don’t want to go tomorrow, trust me Y/N, I really don’t, but I have to.” His eyes met yours, softer this time. 

You felt like some part of you was being irrational. This dinner might help his growth. Whatever milestone he was reaching with his therapist, this could be really good for him. But you also felt a little selfish, you wanted him here, with you. You felt more like his family than anyone else. Or at least, he felt more like your family and he should be here to spend Christmas with his family. You knew he felt at least somewhat the same, if the gifts addressed to Julia under the tree from him were anything to go by. You wanted him here, but he wasn’t yours. 

“I’m sorry.” You whispered, the tears that were once threatening to spill, now did. “It’s fine.” Your head was pounding. “It’s fine.” 

“I know it’s not,” He said softly. “But we can maybe do presents and lunch before I go,” He gestured towards the tree. “I should be back in time for the Grinch.” You were shaking a bit as he approached you, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you tightly against his body. “I’m sorry baby.” He was so warm, a little sweaty from arguing, but warm. “I’ll make it up to you.” A soft whisper into your hair. 

The little gold box was soon opened, a new rose gold cartier bracelet slipped onto your wrist and Ransom left you and your sister the next day wearing the sweater you had so carefully knit for him. 

2021

Your breath hitched in your throat, back arching, a loud moan breaking from your lungs. How was he so good at this? Ransom’s tongue was at work between your thighs, large hands cradling your hips, burying his face in your moist heat. You were so close to cumming. And he knew it. 

“Oh god,” you moaned, bucking your hips into his face as you rode your orgasm until your body was too sensitive to continue, Ransom moving his attentions to press his lips sloppily against your thighs before making his way up your body. 

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he lamented as he pressed his lips to your flushed cheeks and panting mouth, parting your thighs fully around his hips to tease your opening with the blunt head of his cock. “So fucking beautiful.” He moaned into your open mouth as he breeches you. 

He felt so fucking good. You’d never get over it, you were sure. Ransom was patient, biding his time. He wasn’t that guy who had to be as deep inside you as possible, chasing his orgasm by stabbing your cervix. Over time he mapped out the location of your g-spot, shifting his hips and cock to brush against the spot with every thrust, working you up and making your eyes roll back in your head. 

Those girls screamed with good reason. Just as you did now. Gushing wet around him as you came for the second time, looking up wantonly into his flushed face, lips swollen from first kissing and then pulling you apart with his tongue. Your fingers curled in his chest hair as he picked up pace, chasing his own release now, your hips lifting off the bed to aid him.

“So fucking good baby,” His eyes screwed shut as he moans, arms trembling, “You fuck me so good baby.” He sat back on his haunches, pulling your hips roughly to his, your sensitive clit grinding against his pubic bone almost bringing you over again as he cums. Hips stuttering into yours as you feel him empty himself into you. 

His head tilted towards the ceiling, eyes dropping to find you, hands still gripping your hips and as much of your ass as he can manage. “I love you.” 

It never gets old. 

He said those words to you ever chance he got. It was as if he was trying to make up for a lifetime without it. Love. 

Early morning sleepy soft kisses, I love you.

Silent breakfast with your feet in his lap, I love you.

Scratching his back as you peered over his shoulder while he was writing, I love you. 

Feet stuffed under his thigh watching Outlander and drinking hot tea, I love you.

Buried deep inside you, panting mouths a breath apart, bodies flushed and sweaty, sheets damp with cum, I love you.

“I think you’re the only person I’ve ever loved.” 

It was intense. His love for you.

He tried hard. He didn’t know how it was supposed to work. A real relationship, a real honest to god loving relationship. But he was trying. 

The first few months of the relationship you gained a lot of new jewelry, a new iPad, clothes, shoes. “You don’t have to buy me things to prove that you love me, Ransom.” 

Then came flowers and lots of them. Sometimes just one, sometimes a bouquet. Regardless there were multiple vases that stayed filled throughout the house, always with fresh flowers never given time to fully wilt. 

After that was the touching. Always some sort of physical contact. Whether you were cuddling on the couch or a blink away from sleep with his ankle wrapped around yours, if you were in a room together there was always some sort of contact. 

Your house arrest bracelet was removed, and a gold anklet replaced it. You were free to leave, live on your own. Move out and back into that shitty apartment with your sister, but this was early days in the newfound relationship with Ransom. 

He’d bought you a house. 

He’s paying for your sisters school.

He’s paying you to still work for him.

It was a Victorian. The house. Not at all like his contemporary cube he knew you despised. A rich dark brown with a large porch. Much too big for just you and your sister, so 6 months after the two of you moved in, Ransom sold his house and moved in too. 

Julia was warming up to him. At first she wasn’t a fan. It took a long time, many dinners with Ransom, ‘family outings’, you hoped she could see the way he treated you now. The way he’s kind of always treated you. Her love was easily bought with the new house, her latest generation iPhone and the fact that she now had a monthly allowance. It didn’t stop you from making her get an after school job at the school library though. 

Now with a house of your own, you were doing something you’d always dreamed of. Watching Ransom try to hang Christmas lights. 

“I’ll just pay someone to do it,” He offered, looking skeptically at the boxes you had placed on the dining room table, “I’m not going up there to do it.” 

But there he was, up there doing it while you looked up at him from the bottom of the ladder. “This is the fucking worst.” He exclaimed, taking the light clips and attaching them to the roof. “Why are we doing this?” 

“Because you love me and you want to make me happy.” You laughed. He rolled his eyes, squinting against the sun. 

“I’m not so sure,” He attached a few more clips within reach before steadily climbing down the ladder. “I think you’re trying to kill me.” 

“I’m the beneficiary on your life insurance right?” You jokingly asked as his feet hit the ground. He laughed at your bad joke, 

“I think that’s in pretty poor taste, but…” He pressed a kiss to your forehead, “Yes.” 

“Julia should be home soon and then we can decorate the tree,” You wrapped your arms around his middle, capturing his lips with your own, “And make some cookies,” You kissed him again, 

“And have a drink.” He smirked against your lips. 

“You have a therapy appointment today,” You walked over to the steps, “You’re not having anything to drink.” He rolled his eyes at you once more, shooing you into the house as he re-positioned the ladder to go back up and finish stringing the lights. 

You had to be proud of him. Court mandated therapy ended when your house arrest did, but he still went every week. At first it was due to a little pushing by you, but eventually he made the appointments on his own. He was getting better. Still a dick, but that was his nature. He wasn’t quick to anger anymore, his emotions took a more level head. And he was now publishing books twice a year. He’s got five books out now, and almost 100 million copies sold. Which is incredible. 

You started back to school, Ransom wanting to start his own publishing company, “I’m paying for you to go to business school as an investment in our future.” He claimed. Once you were done with school your job would be to then help him open his own publishing company where you’d overlook everything. A daunting task, but it was hard not to believe in yourself when Ransom made himself your own personal cheerleader. “You’re brilliant,” He would say, “You’re so smart, you’ve just been dealt a bad hand until now.” 

And now he was stacking that hand to the best of his ability. 

Finals had been last week and you still marveled at the fact that as you poured over your last assignments and studying, Ransom would make you coffee and massage your shoulders whereas you would usually do the same for him as he was finishing a book. 

You’d gone to a couple therapy sessions with him, the first time he’d invited you was strange and you didn’t know what would even be discussed, but as you sat in the session and he was finally completely bare to you, you couldn’t help but feel like it was his idea and not his therapist’s. 

That session changed the dynamic between the two of you for sure. 

After the dam broke, the two of you having sex for the first time and Ransom’s admission of love it wasn’t easy. He was still an asshole and as someone who had never been in a relationship before, this first real relationship, he didn’t really know how to behave. 

You had one session a month together and it was probably one of the best ideas Ransom ever had. 

He was a little sullen when he came home later that night, coming to curl himself around you as you placed the cookies you and Julia had baked earlier into the decorative metal tins you had just bought. 

Sometimes it was like this, sadness. His lips gently pressing themselves against your cheek, his body tightly pressed against yours trying to pull as much comfort as he possibly could. “I don’t want to talk about it,” He whispered softly, “Not yet.” 

“Okay.” You knew what he needed and what he needed was a little bit of time. You offered him a cookie, chocolate and peanut butter, still warm. He took it gently from your fingers, pulling away to go to his study, but not before pulling you into a soft lingering kiss. An apology for what you knew would be a distant night. A ‘I don’t know when I’ll be coming to bed’ night. You were sure you’d have three new chapters to go over in the morning.

You loved the snow. Almost a foot of it had fallen overnight, frosting the windows and giving your home a beautiful Christmas glow. It made your home feel cozy and well slept as you stretched your limbs out, hand coming to run across Ransom’s back. So he did come to bed after all. You rolled over to face him, laying on his belly, arms folded under his pillow facing you. 

God he is beautiful. 

You hated it about him. So handsome. You brushed his fallen hair out of his face, pressing a kiss to his scrunched brow. He was letting his beard grow out for the winter. It made him even more attractive, the bastard. 

Julia was just getting up for school, standing in the kitchen in her uniform, eating toast and facetiming a friend. She was in a carpool, this house you lived in, while comfortably distanced from others, was in a neighborhood of other kids that went to her same school. Something you’re sure Ransom took into account when buying this house in the first place. You drove the kids to school on Friday when you didn’t have any classes. Today was a different parent’s turn. 

“Can I take some of these to school?” She asked, picking up a tin of cookies. 

“Yeah, but take the red one.” You popped a k-cup into the keurig. “Those haven’t touched any nuts.” 

“Mila’s Mom said we can go to the mall after school to go get presents for the pollyanna our class is having, is that okay?” She was such a good kid. Getting older now, she was almost ready to learn how to drive, something you’d been dreading, but for whatever reason Ransom was really looking forward to. 

“You have money still?” You asked, preparing a second cup of coffee for the sleeping bear upstairs. 

“I mean,” She smirked, “Unless you want to give me more…?” You rolled your eyes, turning towards your younger sibling. 

“What time will you be home?” The car had just pulled up outside, horn letting out a quick ‘honk’ to let her know they were here. 

Julia shrugged, hugging you, “We might get dinner, but probably no later than 8. I’ll text you.” She shrugged her coat on, opening the front door as you called behind her, 

“Text me when you get to the mall and when you’re on your way home!” 

“Okay!” She yelled back, trudging through the snow to the car.

“Keep your location on!” You could almost feel her roll her eyes at you, 

“Okay!” Annoyed this time.

“I love you!” You shouted as she got in the car, slamming the door behind her. Your phone chimed with reply, 

love you too

With that you went to rouse the sleeping man upstairs. 

He groaned unhappily when you woke him up, but it was quickly soothed by the coffee you’d supplied him with. 

Christmas was quickly approaching. The first Christmas you’d be spending together as a real, honest to god, family. In your own home, ready to begin your own traditions. The house was beautifully decorated and almost always smelled like cookies and a Christmas movie or music was always playing in the background. 

There was a truly sweet moment you’d wanted to commit to memory for the rest of your life. Julia rolling out cookie dough, Christmas music blaring obnoxiously loud and Ransom coming out from his study yelling, 

“I can’t write anything in a house this loud!” Walking over to the sound system and turning it down to a soft ambling. Your sister and you looking at him and laughing, the red faced lumberjack quickly losing steam as he realized he was wearing the hideous Christmas sweater you’d jokingly bought him last year. “It’s the warmest sweater I own.” He claimed. Sure. Sure it is. 

He turned the music back up a little louder, coming to a happy medium. His embarrassment waning as he looked at the two of you in the kitchen. A family that didn’t argue with every other word. People who genuinely loved each other. Something he never knew he wanted or needed. He came over to you, gently clasping your hands before tugging you into his body to ridiculously dance around to Jingle Bell Rock. The three of you peeling with laughter. Was this even real life anymore? With a soft parting kiss and a peak over your sisters shoulder to steal some cookie dough he was reluctantly walking back to his study, coming to join you twenty minutes later after finishing the chapter he’d been working on all day. 

The three of you spent the rest of the night in the living room, watching the cheesy A Christmas Prince series on Netflix and eating what was sure your body weight in popcorn. Cozy with your little family. 

“Do you think she’d like a puppy?” Ransom whispered into your neck one night. 

“Do not.” You were close to sleep, just about to drift off, when his question stirred you awake. 

“I always wanted a puppy when I was a kid.” He pressed a kiss against your neck, fingers gently tugging your nipple. 

“I’ll be the one taking care of it,” You whimpered as his other hand sunk between your thighs, “Do not get her a puppy.” His lips met your shoulder and you turned in his arms, thighs parting as he lightly stroked your clit. 

“You’ll get there.” He pressed his lips against yours, teasing your entrance with his fingers, his now hard cock nudging against your thigh. “You’ll warm up to the idea.” 

“No…” You whined, his fingers beginning to stroke your g-spot, his body coming to lay over yours, his eyes half lidded and lips wet and red came to meet yours as he removed his fingers and replaced them with his cock. “Fuck.” His fingers laced themselves through yours, pressing your hands against the sheets as he began to rock his hips slowly into yours. 

“You’re so sweet on me baby,” He mouthed against your lips, “So sweet on us.” He moaned. Your hips ground against his with every thrust. This slow love making that was making you gush around him, pussy making obscene sounds with every tilt of his hips, gently brushing the parts of you that make your legs shake. He chest close to yours, the begging in his eyes, 

“You’ll be such a good mother,” His hips met yours a little harder on that one causing you to gasp, pussy clenching around him. “Gonna give me what I want for Christmas?” He asked. He did this sometimes, knowing you were still on birth control and the actual relationship was still relatively new, the two of you had been together for almost a year now, you knew that he’d been toying with the idea of having a baby. You’d talked about it in therapy recently. 

“I love you,” He moaned, his hips build up a little speed as your legs came to wrap high around his waist. “I can’t wait,” He groaned, “So good to me.” His lips capturing yours passionately as his hips stalled, grinding himself against your g-spot, pubic bone rubbing your clit as you found your orgasm, pussy gushing wet dripping down his thighs onto the bed as you moaned into his mouth. 

“You’ll be such a good mother baby, such a good fucking mother.” His hips picked back up in pace, “I’d do anything for you baby. Anything.” He was chasing his release now, thrusting against your sensitive clit making you reel again before releasing your hands and grabbing your thighs, pushing them back high against the bed, just making you take it. You both had to try to be quiet here, your sister on the floor above you, your hand covered your mouth as you tried to muffle the loud obnoxious squealing that came uncontrollably as his hips slapped against your ass in this position. Sweat forming on his brow and head thrown back as he groans through his teeth, feeling him empty his seed deep against your cervix. 

In all the years you’d known him Ransom was never a kid person. He didn’t like small children, but he also didn’t come into contact with them often which is why it was so strange two months ago when he originally brought up the idea. “I think we would make pretty okay parents,” He said, “Better than mine definitely.” It made your heart flutter, thinking of a life with him. Knowing that he was also thinking about a life with you, but it’s just not the right time. 

What wasn’t surprising about any of this was on Christmas morning, after breakfast and the exchanging of handmade sweaters, new books to read, a couple new apple watches, and your sister and you receiving matching earrings, a gorgeous little blue nose pit bull puppy, one that reminded you of your childhood dog was brought out with a little pink bow around its neck. Ransom ignored your glare as he handed the sweet little thing to your sister, who was crying in happiness. 

He would remind you later on that he found you cooing to the sweet little thing only a few minutes after that, the puppy curled up in your arms, licking your fingers in earnest. 

“Don’t you have something else?” Julia asked him. 

“Julia this is plenty,” You scolded, “He’s gotten you enough.” She rolled her eyes. 

“It’s not for me.” She laughed. The little puppy sleeping in her arms and you scratched it behind it’s ears, turning to Ransom who shifted nervously to one knee, a ring box open in his hand. 

“Stop it.” Came out from a very watery smile. He licked his lips, tugging his bottom one between his teeth before starting, 

“You’re the only woman I’ve ever loved.” 

.

.

.

TAGLIST //

@littlechillies @hellizhelusive2 @notbexmader @marvelouspottering @whitequeenasitbgan @Thegraylaway @readermia​ @i-believe-in-unicorns-and-you @princess-evans-addict @perplexed3001 @deidrashouseofpain @hailmary-yramliah​ @sleepycvpid​ @joannaliceevans-fanficblog​ @starlywars​ @gifsbysimplysonia​ @rocknbasil​ @imnotelasticheart​ @wannabegonnie @d1sconnect3d​ @heyguyz13 @unimomajo @this-is-serenaa​  @bookish-shristi​ @auroussss​

[razieltwelve]

Flight (Final Fall)

Note: This is set beyond Final Effect. It occurs during the Fall of Federation when the Federation of Free Worlds turn on its own Heroic Houses in a bid to secure more resources and to reassert its control after centuries of decline.

X     X     X

“We are so screwed.” The Dia-Farron grabbed Jason Arc XII and hauled him along the alleyway. “What the hell is even going on?”

The other Dia-Farron shook her head and peered around the corner of the alley. Even with stealth units, there was no guarantee they wouldn’t be spotted. Any force strong enough to seriously injure the Head of the House of Arc would have anti-stealth specialists. “Come on. We can worry about what’s going on after we’re back at the ship.”

Jason clutched at his side. His Aura was almost completely depleted, and h would have bled out long ago if not for the emergency nanite injection they’d given him. Yet even so, the various poisons and toxins his opponents had used were keeping him on the verge of losing consciousness. “Trap. It was a trap.” He shook his head to try to clear it. “The Federation wants to confiscate our holdings. Not just my House. All of them. I suspected... so I left my family at home. They ambushed me. They were prepared.”

“I figured.” The male Dia-Farron waited for the sensors he’d deployed ahead to give the all-clear before they continued. “Our ship isn’t far.”

“They’re not going to let you leave,” Jason muttered.

“We’ll bluff our way out of it.”

X     X     X

It was a testament to his ability to spew absolute bullshit with a straight face that Solis Dia-Farron managed to keep the smile on his face despite his research vessel being surrounded by an entire dreadnought battlegroup.

“You are not authorised to leave this planet.” The dreadnought’s captain was not happy. “Martial law has been declared and all ships are subject to search.”

“Yeah, about that...” Solis shrugged. “Not happening. My ship was deployed to the border regions specifically to gather important scientific data for a classified project. We are only here to resupply in accordance with the Empire-Federation Treaties.”

“Be that as it may -”

“Those same treaties state very clearly that we are not to be subjected to search unless there is reason to believe that we are involved in criminal activity. Furthermore, those treaties also state that any attempt to seize our data will be treated as an act of war.”

The captain sputtered. “We are not trying to seize your research data!”

“Well, it seems an awful lot like you are. I mean you’ve got an entire battlegroup around my ship, and you’re pointing enough weaponry at me to reduce a solar system or three to powder.”

“We want to search your ship for a wanted criminal.”

“And who would this criminal be?” Solis shot back. If he knew the Federation, they would not be willing to just say they’d declared war on their Heroic Houses because they knew how many people would disagree.

“I am not at liberty to say.”

“So... you want to come on board my ship and search it supposedly for a criminal, but you can’t tell me who that criminal is or why they might even be on my ship.”

“Do not make this difficult.”

“You’re the one making this difficult. I’m just trying to go about my business - business that the treaties the Federation signed allow me to do - but here you are threatening me. I should just leave -”

“If you attempt to leave, we will take all necessary steps to stop you.”

Solis raised one eyebrow. “Are you sure you want to do that? I am a Dia-Farron on a Dia-Farron research vessel.”

“And I am a captain of the Federation’s Fleet in command of a dreadnought battle group. You will stand down.”

“Or what? Are you going to shoot me down? If you do, you’re an idiot.” Behind the captain, Solis could see the rest of the bridge’s crew growing nervous. “You shoot me down, and the Dia-Farron will go to war. Sure, I’ll be dead, but you’ll have a dozen super weapons and the entire Dia-Farron science fleet on your doorstep before the end of the day.” 

“If you think you can threaten me,” the captain shot back. “You are sorely mistaken.”

“Hey you.” Solis addressed his next words to the crew he could see behind the captain. “Do you know what happened to the last people to shoot down a Dia-Farron research vessel in cold blood?” 

“Do not listen to him -”

“The last time someone was dumb enough to do that, my family didn’t just kill the captain of the ship. They killed every single person who was in any way shape or form involved. The helmsman? Dead. The fire crews? Dead. The damn maintenance people who repaired the cannons? Dead. If he gives the order to shoot me down and you carry it out, do you really think you’re going to live very long afterward?”

X     X     X

“He’s full of shit,” Jason muttered as the Dia-Farron medic continued to work on his injuries. The conversation with the dreadnought battle group’s leader was being broadcast throughout the ship. 

“Yep.” The medic smirked. “He’s also just playing for time.”

“Oh?” Jason winced as his shattered ribs finally began to mend.

“We’ve been running scans this whole time. We all know that they’re not going to let us go. But if we just tried to jump into hyperspace, there’s a good chance their interdiction systems could stop us from going anywhere.”

“Then...”

“He’s playing for time, so we can finish our scans and devise countermeasures to ensure they can’t stop us making the jump. Once we do jump into hyperspace, we can overload the drive and boost our speed enough that they can’t possibly catch us before we’re back in Imperial space. They also won’t be able to jam our long-range comms for much longer. When we land back in Imperial space, we’ll have help waiting for us. A dreadnought battle group might be scary, but if the Empire hears a distress signal from a Dia-Farron research vessel calling for all available units to respond and with high-level authentication codes? Yeah. They’re going to be badly outnumbered and outgunned.”

“Heh.” Jason nodded. “Good. They don’t have the forces to attack my family’s holdings yet. Capturing me and using me as a hostage was their best bet. If you can get me out of here...” He sighed. “Although I’m sorry to drag you into this.”

“Meh. We’re used to getting into trouble, and our families go way back.” The Dia-Farron glanced down as her scroll began to flash. “Okay. He’s bought enough time. Brace yourself.”

X     X     X

“Will you stand down or not?” the captain thundered.

Solis shrugged. “How about no?”

“How dare -”

His next words were unintelligible as the research vessel made an unexpected jump straight into hyperspace.

X     X     X

Captain Zephyr Errant of the Zealous Defender kept his gaze locked onto the tactical display. “All hands prepare for combat.” He addressed the ship’s AI. “Defender, what have you got?”

“Incoming Dia-Farron research vessel. It should drop into real space any moment now. There appears to be a dreadnought battle group in pursuit, Federation based on the sensor signatures.”

“For the love of...” Zephyr sighed. “What have they gotten themselves involved in this time? It doesn’t matter. They’re in Imperial territory now, and we’re not about to let anyone lay hands on them. If they’re running, they must have a good reason. They always do.” He cleared his throat. “All forces, prepare to engage. We’ll try talking this out, but if they want a fight, they’ll get one.”

All one hundred ships that had responded to the distress call readied their weapons.

X     X     X

Author’s Notes

When you’re in a jam... the Dia-Farron know what to do.

But in all seriousness, this is how it might go. Capturing the Head of the House of Arc to use as a hostage is there best shot since attacking Arc-held systems is going to turn into war of attrition. The Federation will eventually win that war, but they’re trying to cut the head off the snake, so to speak.

As for the Imperial response, it basically boils down to: the Dia-Farron are crazy bastards who get into trouble all the time, but there’s usually a reason for it. Plus, anyone trying to shoot down an Imperial vessel in Imperial territory is asking for it.

If you’re interested in my thoughts on writing and other topics, you can find those here.

I also write original fiction, which you can find on Amazon here or on Audible here.

[wallwriterstuff]

From The Doorstep || Demetri Volturi x Child!OC ||

Part 2: Anything You Can Do 

Words: 3978

Warnings: There is talk of abandonment and the care system (fostering/adoption etc.) that is less than complimentary, but it has a very fluffy ending. 

Summary: On a starry night in Volterra, Demetri finds an unexpected package on their doorstep, leading to a steep learning curve and some tough decisions that make for an unconventional bedtime story.

It was Demetri who had found it, squirming and making noises that were completely unintelligible as it reached for the tiny ribbon wrapped around the basket handle. He’d glanced up and down the street and across the square but few people who were still there at this time paid the wriggling pink mass any attention. The next thing he did was snatch its tenor and weave his way through its mind to find another one he could follow to return the chubby little mess to its rightful owner. There was a tenor there, but he had had to dig quite a while to find it, and usually the longer he had to search for it the weaker the bond between those people who the tenors belonged to was, their strongest bonds usually at the forefront of their minds making it easier to find the people they thought of and saw most often. Since the gurgling mass of blankets before him had only three tenors in its repertoire, he was going to hazard a guess that the weak connections between them meant none of the three those tenors belonged to actually wanted this baby on their doorstep.

With no other choice, he’d lifted the basket with ease and hauled the little human inside with a resigned sigh. In that moment, he’d been intending to have the secretary help him find the nearest person to pass the babe off to; it smelled something awful and was starting to get grouchy if the noises it was making was any indication, but neither he nor anyone else in the castle was equipped to handle a human baby so it made sense to pass it onto someone who did. It had been a very long time since most of them were human, meaning if any of them had had children they were a faded memory at best, and the knowledge of how to care for them was long gone. His nose had wrinkled against the smell as it began to scream, and he’d moved his hand into the moses basket it had been left in, intending on patting it gently in the hopes it would calm down before any of the guard came running.

He’d not expected it to reach out and wrap tiny fingers around one of his own. His eyes went a little wide as it tugged on his hand, trying to pull it closer. Demetri let it, suddenly utterly fascinated with its chubby little face as it turned red with the effort it put into screaming and bawling at him, glistening tears clinging to dark lashes as it tried to suckle his fingers. He winced a little, slightly disgusted by the wet, slippery saliva now coating them as soft gums closed around his granite skin. It moved his fingers in its mouth until they rested at an angle a little to the right, its cries quieting to sniffles and grumbling sounds. Was it hungry? Is that what this meant? It had no teeth so it wasn’t like he could feed it anything the secretary kept in her desk as snack foods. Mindlessly, he carefully set the basket on her desk and reached for the phone to call the young woman back for the night to sort his odd discovery.

He learned a lot that night to. The moment he had mentioned he had discovered a baby the secretary had come running back with a whole bag of tricks. Demetri had let her use his room, though he was loathe to lower the messy little thing into the shallow water she’d ran into his bathtub after seeing the mess it had made soiling itself, but she’d left his bathroom as spotless as she’d found it after she was done bathing what turned out to be a baby girl. The secretary had changed her nappy next, fed her a bottle of some foul-smelling thing she’d called formula, and made the little girl burp on demand. He had had no idea humans could be encouraged to burp simply by tapping on their back and had quietly resolved to try it on the next unsuspecting human he found to see if it was a trait they carried through to their adult life. Demetri had really thought they’d made the baby girl quite happy, now she was clean and fed and warm, but then she’d started screaming again and just like before she’d immediately turned to suckling his fingers when he’d offered them to her. He’d had to learn about teething then and was somewhat pleased, on some level, to know he had eased the little one’s pain.

All that screaming had attracted attention of course, and suddenly Felix was in his room, as well as Alec and Jane, the latter promptly running off to tell the Masters of their tiny, unexpected guest. The bombshell had been when Caius demanded he get rid of it immediately. He was not happy at all with the secretary’s response.

“Master…I cannot call anybody until tomorrow.”

Demetri hadn’t really been listening if he was perfectly honestly, only catching little bits and pieces of the conversation as they’d spoken about where the baby should go next. He’d been fascinated by the way she played with his fingers, the gummy smile she gave him when he chuckled at her and tickled her stomach with his free hand. Demetri had been thoroughly preoccupied with how the stubborn little thing had tried to fight falling asleep, big green eyes blinking owlishly at him before she simply couldn’t keep them open anymore, tiny lips pressed together in a sweet sort of pout as heavy little breaths escaped her nose. She had a thin tuft of brown hair on her head, and he’d curiously ran his hand over it, surprised by how soft it had been beneath his fingertips. Demetri had agreed the girl could stay with him through the night, since he had watched the secretary feed, wind and settle the child and it would potentially need to be done every few hours if she was as young as her small stature suggested.

He’d googled what he’d missed after they all left him be, Felix grinning smugly at him as if he expected him to break any moment. The more he read, the worse he felt. This sweet little thing would have to go to the police first, then be put into the system? Worse yet, people might not even adopt her! She might never find a permanent home with a family that loved her! She could instead be fostered, live in someone’s home for a little while and then be moved on to a new family. So many children were already in need of homes…would she be lost in their system? Would anyone notice her? Help her? The thought made him horribly anxious, especially when he went on to read all the horrible statistics about children in care. More likely to commit crimes, less likely to go onto higher education, more likely to die earlier in life…

Demetri had slammed his laptop lid closed, marched straight to Aro, and refused to hand her over to the human authorities. He had had to fight for her to, the entirety of the guard pretty much against the idea and thinking he was crazy. Not wanting to lose his tracker however, Aro had given him a week to prove he could step up and parent the little girl. Demetri had immediately used his Amazon Prime privileges to priority order as many parenting books with five star ratings as he could and remodelled an entire corner of his quarters into a nursery, refusing any help offered since he was determined to prove them all wrong. In the space of a week, through copious amounts of reading and hands on experience, Demetri became an expert in all things baby. It wasn’t unusual to find him walking around the gardens with the little girl in his arms, or reading to her before bed as she slammed little hands down onto the pictures in the picture books he’d brought, exposing her to all sorts of new things to keep her mind engaged and stimulated.

Astraea Volturi had received her coven necklace two years ago and been doted on ever since.

“Well done dear ones, you have served us well.” Aro smiled at each of his guard, clearly pleased with their work, and Demetri stood a little taller before his Master. It had been agonising to be away as long as he had been, even though he knew she’d been well taken care of by her family. Felix had come with him as he always did, but Alec and Jane had been left behind, a few spare members of the lower guard all that were needed to take care of the nomads having a territory squabble – he’d been thoroughly amused at having to remind nomads that they had no territory. He had expected to find her with them now, the twins coddling his sweet girl as they often did when they had the chance to play with her. Astraea was nowhere to be seen though. Not a hint of cocoa coloured hair or sparkling green irises anywhere. He almost groaned when Aro turned to talk to the lower guard that had been under his command without dismissing him to go and find her.

His words blended together, Demetri unsure if it was just his impatience or if Aro really was dragging this out with meaningless words and gushing praise. He put his gift to good use, internally reaching for her tenor when he caught it, the pitter patter of little feet he knew so well echoing faintly down the hall. He almost turned his head, but then the footsteps paused and a warm, delightful giggle hit his ears, quickly followed by a hushing. Demetri turned his head back towards Aro, seeing the glint in his eyes. Clearly his Master was in on it to, buying her time to pull off whatever little trick she had up her sleeve. His Astraea had grown into an energetic, bubbly little thing and it wasn’t the first time she’d gotten up to some mischief, mischief he mostly blamed Uncle Felix’s bad influence for.

“Quietly now, you do you want your father knowing you are sneaking up on him now, do you?” Heid’s voice was easily recognisable to his ears and Demetri couldn’t help but smile slightly. Sneaking up on him, was she? He had seen a documentary once where predators in the animal kingdom let their children sneak up on them and pretended to be scared so they could finetune their hunting instincts, perhaps he should do the same? She would hopefully one day become the same kind of predator he was, there was no harm in preparing her early was there? Besides that, he didn’t think he could stand to see the disappointment on her face if it didn’t work. The quiet creak of the door made his lips twitch upwards. She was only human after all, his sweet girl clumsy on her feet at the best of times having only just really learned to use them. It was like having an elephant come stamping across the stone towards him but he pretended to be suitably distracted by Aro’s ramblings, unsurprised the man had indulged her in this.

He heard her before he felt her.

“Rrraaaaaa!”

Dutifully, he flinched and gasped in shock, eyes widening and jaw dropping as he very carefully took a step away. She had heard him growl once before and had been trying to imitate the sound ever since in her own, adorable way, though she could never get close to the low threatening sounds he could produce. If anything, it was like watching a kitten struggle to meow, but she’d leapt forward simultaneously and began tugging at his hand to to complete her terrifying attack. Hand fluttering dramatically to his chest, Demetri slowly broke into a smile, his heart melting at the look of triumph on her chubby little face. Maybe one day she’d look back and realise just how fake his acting really was, but for today it was clear he had made her happy in this small fraction of forever they’d get to spend together.  

“You scared me sweet girl!” he chuckled. She had most of her milk teeth through now but there were still a few gaps towards the back of her mouth. It was not enough to ruin the brilliance of her smile. Still giggling manically, she let him go in favour of lifting her arms up, her grabby hands telling him exactly what she wanted. It was no trouble for him to pull her up onto his hip, his lips finding her forehead automatically as his fingertips tickled over her stomach. Peals of laughter rang out, making his smile stretch wider as he tightened his grip so her squirming wouldn’t make her fall.

“No Daddy!” she cried.

“No? You dare say no to the tickle monster?” he challenged, his voice a rough growl. A halo of curls bounced about her face, one quickly turning red. Demetri stopped tickling her, hand coming around to clasp her shoulder gently. Her giggles slowly died away, two short arms wrapping around his neck and soft hair tickling his cheek as she rested her head against his shoulder.

“I missed you Daddy.” She said, snuggling closer as his heart melted. She smelt of that strawberry shampoo she liked, the kind he bought specifically because it wasn’t supposed to sting if it accidentally found it’s way into her eyes, and the fresh, clean scent that came with her bubble bath. Heidi had clearly already bathed her and she was clad in her pyjamas now, the colourful stripes encasing her body very different from the little dress he’d seen her in when he left. She’d cried that day, not understanding why he had to leave her again so soon after he’d gotten back, and he had spent as often as he could while out on this mission calling home to ensure his little Astraea didn’t feel she’d been forgotten about. He’d picked her up a few little presents to, but those could wait until tomorrow when she was well rested.

“I missed you to sweet girl, so very much.” He murmured.

“Are you reading me?” she asked, doe-eyed. Demetri smiled, glancing to his Masters and nodding briefly when he was dismissed with a quiet wave of Aro’s hand before he turned and exited the throne room. Astraea remained cuddled into his side, eyes shining.

“To me, are you reading to me, tonight.” He amended automatically as she curled her fingers into his cloak, then uncurled once more.

“Are you?” she repeated. Her speech had come along a little slowly for his tastes, but she was doing well, picking up words and phrases from them like a sponge now.

“Yes, I will be reading you your story tonight.” He confirmed, turning the corner to head up the stairs to their floor. For a while Demetri had been okay with the crib in his room, Astraea still so young she didn’t always sleep through consistently and seemed to prefer being close to him, but slowly as time marched on and she grew he knew she needed a space of her own. She very clearly wasn’t keen on the idea of leaving his room so the guard had made it an exciting affair, letting her choose everything from the toddler bed she’d sleep in to the colours they’d paint the doors in her room. With Astraea ‘in charge’  they’d quickly set to work decorating her new bedroom and she’d been very excited to see her scribbly designs (a bunch of lines on paper Demetri had pretended he understood as she babbled about them to him) come to life.

Once he’d opened her door, he set her down with a smile, watching her scamper her way towards her bed while he unhooked the cloak from his shoulders, flashing into his room just across from her to place it on the coat rack before he moved back into her room. She had already crawled her way up onto the covers, pulling them back with both hands so she could move onto the mattress beneath. Demetri bent at the waist, flicking on her nightlight by the door and turning off the main light. She reached to turn on her bedside lamp, the stars illuminating bright white as he tucked her in and settled on the edge of her bed.

“Daddy? Tell me it?” she requested, hugging her preferred cuddly toy to her chest as she looked up at him.

“Tell you what?” Demetri tilted his head, fishing for more information as he reached for her storybook. They were currently reading a series of stories Heidi had found on her travels, The Wishing Chair Collection.

“Not that one!” she whined. Demetri frowned, setting the book on the mattress.

“You do not want to read this tonight?” he questioned. She shook her head, looking down at her little lion friend.

“We want name story.” She said matter of factly. His expression softened.

“Again?” he chuckled. Astraea nodded her head, her smile dazzling as she showed off her little teeth once more.

“Please?” she dragged out the ‘ee’ sound and Demetri was quick to put a finger to his lips, silencing her so he could gather his thoughts. It was a story he had told her once, not expecting her to find it interesting, but for whatever reason she’d latched onto it.

“A long time ago, on a dark, breezy night, a knight was patrolling his Masters castle.” He started. Astraea settled into her pillows, green eyes watching him with such reverence it made his heart swell. “Whilst patrolling his route, he heard a strange sound coming from outside the castle doors, so the knight went to investigate and found the most beautiful baby in all the land.” He continued, smiling when she giggled.

“That’s me!” she cheered. Demetri leaned forward to gently tap her nose.

“This beautiful baby had the brightest green eyes, and hair so soft it was like touching angel wings. The knight could not understand why she was all alone. She lay in a basket, her only belongings being her clothes, and her blanket. She was very cold, and very sad, so the knight took her inside to help her.” he carried on as though she hadn’t interrupted, his body now resting alongside her small legs, propped up on his elbow so he could stroke her hair gently. Her eyes were already starting to droop.

“Then what?” she asked.

“Then, the knight had to call for some help. He was not really sure how to look after the beautiful baby so he needed someone to teach him. His Masters tried to tell him she would be better in a different home, that someone who already knew how to look after her could do better than he could, but he knew, from the moment he had seen her, that the beautiful baby was meant to be his. She was a gift from the Gods.” He said, voice quieter now as she blinked owlishly.

“So…kept her.” she mumbled. He nodded.

“He kept her,” he confirmed, “But then the knight realised the beautiful baby had no name. He thought of lots of different names, like Phoebe, Valeria, Carina…none of them fit. They were pretty yes but not right for the beautiful baby. He remembered the night he had found her that the stars had been so bright, almost as though they had turned on solely to guide the knight to his baby.” Her eyes were drooping now, her body turned ever so slightly towards him and sharp little inhales escaping her whenever she woke herself back up from her slumber. Sleep was quickly claiming her and she would be no match for it soon enough he knew, but to see her so desperate trying to stay awake simply to stay with him a little longer…

“Softie.” Felix’s voice reached his ears but when he glanced at the door there was nobody there. Demetri dutifully ignored him to continue his story, his hand never ceasing the rhythmic motions on her hair, relishing in the softness of the strands between his fingers.

“Before he served his Masters, the knight had served the Gods of his village. There were many Gods, all in charge of different things, but one was a star-maiden, a goddess of justice and innocence who was rumoured to have rejoined the stars when Earth became to corrupt for her to live on. He looked back at the beautiful baby. She was innocent and had fallen from the stars right into the arms of a knight who pursued justice…so he named her after the star-maiden, he named her Astraea.” He concluded, his voice as soft as a breath of air. Her eyes had fluttered closed at some point and stayed that way ever since, but Demetri couldn’t bring himself to pull away from his sweet girl just yet.

Her breathing was soft, even, her fingers occasionally tightening around her little lion friend. Demetri kissed his middle and index fingers, pressing them lightly to the cuddly toy’s forehead before he repeated the motion with Astraea. She didn’t stir at all, the innocence radiating from her little body. He wondered briefly exactly what she dreamed about, seeing the way her nose scrunched in her sleep, and he hoped he had made her life nice enough that whatever she dreamt of was pleasant.

“Who would have guessed the key to bringing the Volturi bloodhound to heel lay in the hands of a small human?” Felix’s voice was low, teasing, so quiet Astraea would definitely not stir. Demetri rolled his eyes, pushing to his feet and making sure her duvet was tucked up beneath her chin how she liked it before he turned off her bedside lamp and headed for the door. He left it ajar as he always did and found Felix leaning against the wall just outside.

“You are just as besotted with her as me.” He accused. Felix grinned at his defensive tone and for a moment they lapsed into silence, just listening to the gentle sound ofher breathing. It was calming to Demetri in a way nothing else was, knowing his child was safe in her bed.

“We were going to play some cards in the common room if you wished to join us.” Felix said finally. Demetri nodded once.

“I’ll be down after a shower.” He agreed. No more was said as they parted ways, Demetri entering his quarters and kicking off his shoes. His room was littered with photographs he had never in a thousand years dreamed he would ever have, but her radiant smile beamed out of each frame from all corners of his room. His fingertips trailed the edge of the frame sitting on his bedside table as he passed it on the way to his closet for fresh clothes. Astraea had barely been in his care for three days when this one was taken, but he recalled the moment well. After a stressful few days trying to ensure he had all he needed and knew what he had to, it was the first moment of calm after the storm. Astraea had settled in his arms after a feeding and simply…gone to sleep, finally comfortable with her surroundings and with him. His lips twitched into a smile. She was so much smaller then, even tinier than she was now, the length of his lap at most.

His sweet girl was growing up fast, but Demetri was surrounded by all their most precious memories so as they moved from one to the next, he would never forget what happened after he took her from the doorstep.  

[utterlyinevitable]

The Conference (Part 5)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

Paring: Dr. Ethan Ramsey x F!MC (Dr. Rebecca Lao) Word Count: 2.9k Rating: T+ Warning: Some cursing  Summary: Rebecca reminisces about the night she finally pushed Ethan away. 

Author’s Note: ngl the last part with the ryan arc was 100% self indulgent. it was also the first thing i wrote and built the series around. have ya ever had a friend/lover/someone you never got a proper goodbye with and carried with you everything you wish you’d said? yeah. that’s what that was. it also is the perfect contrast to mc x ethan’s relationship.

Taglist: @ohchoices @dulceghernandez @aylamwrites @binny1985 @ramseysno1rookie @interobanginyourmom @queencarb @imactuallytheceoofthecompany @rookiefromedenbrook @eramsey28 @choicesficwriterscreations @heauxplesslydevoted @schnitzelbutterfingers @purpledragonturtles @ramseyandrys​ @ermidc @mrsdrakewalkerblog

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I finally walked into the foreign and dimly lit tavern after wasting the beginning hours of my day off scrolling through Bumble, scouring the app for a good distraction. Eventually I found one - a legal assistant named Cameron. He was cute and his choice of profession gave me the feeling he could carry an intelligent conversation with minimal sexual advances. His tone was friendly enough and a little awkward at times but harmless. We messaged back and forth for like an hour and a half before agreeing to a date across town. 

I made sure to put on my best face, watching youtube tutorials for the perfect date night eye to accompany my black cap sleeved maxi dress - you know that one with the high slit. A little bit of sultry but not enough to give him the assumption he could take me home. 

I’d never been to The Happenstance tavern before. Hell, I barely had any time to explore parts of the city that weren’t directly surrounding Edenbrook. I was pumped with adrenaline for my first actual date in god knows how long. Thus for once in my life I was fifteen minutes early and decided to sit at the bar to calm my nerves. 

I’m meeting a stranger I’ve had half a conversation with an hour ago! In a part of the city I’ve never been to! What am I doing!? 

I didn’t even have a chance to flag down the bartender before my name was called over my shoulder. 

“Rebecca,” my name fell expertly off his lips and I turned towards the velvety voice fully thinking my date was nervous enough to arrive early too.

There he was, only a footfall away. My eyes quickly and involuntarily trailed over him. His slate gray slimming slacks elongating his legs and outlining the curvature of his manhood, a navy blue polo tucked in with the two top buttons undone and form fitting to hide the taut muscles underneath but accentuating the uncertain look in his eyes. 

The hair stood at the back of my neck and I swear goosebumps coated my skin. 

Nope. No. Nope!

Immediately I turned right back around on my stool. 

Not happening! 

“What are you doing here?” he asked, taking the empty seat and motioning to the bartender for two more of whatever he had earlier. 

I had been ignoring Ethan, as best I could given our close workplace dynamic. We’d only talk about patients and pertinent information to the caseload. No hello’s, how are yous or see you tomorrows. Nope. Those little accolades were reserved for friends - someone you actually give a damn about. 

It had been nearly twelve weeks since we spent that last night of heated passion in my apartment; 12 weeks since I thought it was the start of something new, the start of us. As surely as he promised me we would make a future work, he took it all right back. Running all the way to the fucking Amazon. But I forgave him the moment he came back and our eyes locked in the beer garden of Donohue’s. I trusted him above all else - his reason for leaving was probably justified. Oh how wrong I was. I kissed him and he - he did nothing. He reset us without my knowledge. He made the executive decision for my heart. 

That was the final straw. 

He couldn’t keep toying with me and my emotions. No. No more push and pull. That’s not a lover that’s… that’s... I’m not quite sure what that was but it certainly isn’t the actions of a respected partner. He knew where I stood and I needed to take my own stand - to continue living my life as if I never experienced him. 

I chose to push him away. 

To move on from chasing the notion of wholly and completely loving The Ethan Ramsey. Finally. 

“If you must know, I have a date,” I said with the most nonchalant malice I could muster.  

There was a thick and uncomfortable silence taking up the small foot of space between our seats. 

I was staring dead ahead at the bottles meticulously placed behind the bar but out the corner of my eye I could see Ethan’s eyes fell from me to the two tumblers now sitting in front of us. 

I reached out for my drink, letting the cold glass soothe my boiling blood. “At least someone wants to date me.” I muttered it mostly to myself, but secretly hoping the words would hit him where it hurts the most. 

Take the hint and leave, Ethan.  

His voice was even and the words melted off his tongue like butter, “It has nothing to do with want, you know that.” It was a truth he came to know. 

My eyes now fixated on the decorative mirror behind the bar as I took a drag of the scotch, hoping to take a peek at how my words affected him. With a thick roll of my eyes I shrugged, “Want, can’t, what’s the difference?” 

“The difference is your professional development and our jobs,” his voice was straight as he repeated his same rationale over and over again. “Once you’re an attending -” 

That’s a new additive. What -? 

The last words took me by surprise. He’d never added them into the mix of rejections before - he never added a glimmer of hope into the mix before… 

Don’t let him suck you back in, Bec. 

I shook my head dismissively to myself. “You’ll find other excuses to push me away.” I brought the liquid to my lips as I took a moment to let myself turn enough to see his full body language. He was at the edge of his seat, body angled towards me, one arm leaning on the bar and the other tightly gripping his thigh, his scotch untouched and forgotten. An onlooker would assume he was a casual man but to me he looked distraught; the careful ridges in his daily features had fallen.  

Good. 

My glass hovered just above my lips and I could feel the heat from Ethan’s gaze boring into my cheek. With a little bit of courage and a sly smirk I added, “Either way you’ve made your choice and I'm moving on, don’t worry.”  

I checked the time on my phone, downed the rest of the scotch in my glass and slipped off the stool gathering my things into my bag, preparing to head to the back where I agreed to meet Cameron at a reserved table.  

My feet fled all of two steps before there was pressure on my forearm grounding me back towards the bar. I whipped around to finally see him face to face, my heels bringing me to his level. 

We were close. Much too close. In the simplest of movements his body could be flush against mine. 

Stop, Rebecca, don't go there. Don’t think about it - don’t think about his lips or… 

I was acutely aware of his firm yet gentle hold. His shoulders once stiff and rigid fell with vulnerability. His soft and supple lips were parted and begging to be bitten.

Pull yourself together, woman! 

 “Rookie,” his grip on the back of my arm tightened, lighting every nerve in my body on fire. “Rebecca,” he breathed, “Please.” Ethan’s stormy blue eyes were pleading, conveying all he wished he had the strength to say.  

I tried to coax it out of him, “Say it.”

“I -”

Even now. Even with me visibly moving to put us in the past like he instructed and the shattered heart he must have had, he doesn’t have the balls to tell me. 

If he can’t say it he can’t have me.  

“Say it and I’ll stop,” I taunted. “I’ll squash this right now.”

Our eyes locked in showdown. Enraged brown overtaking conflicted icy blue. Standing my ground with a tightened jaw I internally gave him just three seconds before I pulled away once and for all. 

Three... 

His grip on my arm loosened. 

Two... 

His eyes squeezed closed and he shook his head.  

O- 

I was being pulled towards the exit by my hand. 

“Lets go,” Ethan said gruffly as he laced out fingers together in a tight hold.   

My heart fluttered, Good enough.

I wish I was stronger. God, do I wish I was strong enough to pull away from the black hole that is Ethan Ramsey but I couldn’t. His gravitational pull was too strong. I was and will forever be sucked in. I had a probably perfectly nice boy waiting for me in the other room with a promise of mutual affection. And what did I do? 

I got into Ethan’s car. 

On the drive we sat in silence, Ethan’s hand never freeing mine except to start the car. The purple and pink evening Boston sky passed by the window. I smiled at the people out the window who were still going about their day and, for the first time in months, I was content. Content with my feelings that never seemed to fade away no matter how hard I tried. Content that he feels the same way. Content that this is an actionable promise that we can be something. 

I noticed Edenbrook pass in the distance. My eyebrows furrowed as I realized we were getting further from his apartment complex. The other all-too-familiar street now coming into view.

“Ethan, what the fuck. You’re taking me home?” 

He said nothing.

“I thought…” I trailed off, mentally chastising myself for thinking he’d actually give in and let ourselves be happy. I huffed, “So I can’t have fun and I can’t have you. That seems fair…” I tried to free my hand but he held onto me tighter.  

A few moments of time passed in the dead silence of his car. Ethan was focused on the road ahead and I was trapped in limbo. Again.  

“Are you gonna say anything?” I bit, clearly needing an explanation for this round of betrayal.   

He opened his mouth slightly but nothing came out. My unencumbered rage started bubbling over like an active volcano. 

WHAT THE FUCK!!!

“Let me out, Ethan.” I said sternly and yanked my hand out of his. His hand now left palm up on the center console as he kept driving. 

And he wasn’t slowing down. 

I rose my voice through gritted teeth, “Let me out of the fucking car right now.” 

Still the side streets passed behind us at a steady pace. Surely he was ignoring me. 

My red hot anger reached my ears when I yelled, “Doctor! Ramsey!” 

Ethan jumped bringing both hands securely on the steering wheel. Within thirty seconds he pulled the car over. Panic set in and I needed to use all my strength to control my breathing. 

Not again. He’s not doing this to me again.  

As soon as the car stopped at the curb I unbuckled my seat-belt.

Still staring out the windshield and white knuckles gripping the wheel he begged, “Please let me get you home safely.” 

I scoffed, “I can take care of myself.” 

What the fuck does he want from me? 

He pinched the bridge of his nose as he sighed, “I know.”

I looked over at him completely dumbfounded. If we weren’t going to be anything he should just let me move the hell on.  

“I’m not your responsibility,” I said honestly through my rage as I moved to get out of the car. “I know deep down you want to help but you’re not. You’re making things worse.” I looked over at him. His fingers left his nose and he started to sit up straighter at my words. “You - You…” 

I wanted to tell him he’s broken my heart over and over again. I wanted to tell him how much I missed him and that if he just promised me we’d give us a proper try I’d forgive him. But I didn’t, because saying those words out loud wouldn’t change a thing. Everything with Ethan was inevitably complicated. 

He looked over at me for the first time since the tavern. The whites of his eyes were starting to go red and my chest began to ache at the sight. He shakily asked, “I… what?” 

Why do you keep doing this to yourself? 

“Nothing. It doesn’t matter.” Furiously I pulled the door handle and jumped out of the car as best as my dress would allow. The air in the car was suffocating. 

Behind me I heard the car shut off and a loud slam of the door. There were two beeps alerting me that Ethan did indeed leave his car in the no parking zone. Heavy footfalls caught up to me on the sidewalk accompanied by the uneven huffs of breath from the brisk jog. 

“Let me walk with you. Please.” 

We were only a 10 minutes walk away from my place. As mad as I was at Ethan for the false pretenses, I was angrier at myself for falling for it. For letting him have me unconditionally. The thought of going through this same old cycle with him again and again made me nauseous.  

I can’t do this anymore. 

“Stop,” we both ceased our movements at my definitive tone. Turning to Ethan I saw the storm brewing within. Frankly, I didn’t give a damn. “You’re not listening to me.” 

His eyes widened like that of a scolded child. 

My next words were frank and to the point, “I cannot do this anymore. You cannot turn up and pretend you care when it’s convenient for you.”  

“I do -”  

“No.” I shook my head. “You’re self-serving,” the words fell quickly off my expert lips. “Choose me or lose me, Ramsey. You don’t get both.” 

I paused my rant for a brief second expecting the rebuttal that never came. 

“I’m confused enough as it is,” I continued. “Jus - Just get back in your car and find me when you figure your shit out.” I bit my lip before harshly saying, “I’ll be fine without you.”  

There on the narrow street on a Tuesday evening in Boston my chest tightened as I took one final look at the man I once trusted above all else. His hair windswept, cheeks flush, shoulders slumped in defeat and...

His hand twitched at his side beginning to reach out for mine. But I was quicker on my heels, turning around and storming off.

The last thing I heard as I sauntered off with a heavy heart was the unlocking of a car.  

“Hey, I thought you had a date tonight?” Sienna asked from the kitchen when she saw me cross the threshold of our apartment. 

“It didn’t happen,” I said flatly.   

“Oh no!” My dearest friend started moving around the kitchen, pulling out all the comfort food we had on tap - a pint of ice cream, cookies she had made earlier that evening, a bag of popcorn - all because she thought I was stood up. 

“I…” Fuck, how do I tell her? “didn’t make it.”  

Sienna stopped in her tracks and her light brown eyes looked up in confusion, “Huh?”  

I shouldn’t feel guilty but I do. Sienna’s the only person who would understand, she did catch him sneaking out of my room that last morning. She’s also the only person whose opinion matters most to me. My stomach tied in knots as I sighed, “Ethan…” 

“What!” she practically shouted. Luckily the others were in their rooms for the night otherwise it would have been a very awkward conversation between us. Having to tell Aurora about Ethan is another certain kind of hell I’d rather not deal with any time soon.   

“He was at the bar,” I began to explain in complete exasperation. “Of course he was at the bar, of all the bars in Boston he had to choose this one tonight.” I threw my hands in the air for dramatic effect. The irony isn’t lost on me; I agreed to The Happenstance because I knew I wouldn’t run into anyone I know and yet the one person I absolutely never would have wanted to see was already there. “He stopped me before I could meet the guy.”  

There was a hopeful gleam in Sienna’s eyes, “And?”  

“And he had the audacity to drive me home.” I made a ‘here I am’ motion with my arms. 

“That’s it?” she pouted, obviously wanting this story to have a happy ending.  

I leaned my arms on the counter and rested my head in my hands, trying to rub the evening out of my eyes and the weight of what I’d said finally sinking in. 

“I told him to leave me alone until he got his shit straight. I’m done with him,” my voice cracked at the end and I hoped Sienna didn’t hear it.  

If she did, she didn’t let on because her next question was, “Then… why don’t you call that guy and tell him something came up at the hospital?” 

Why wasn’t I going to call Cameron? Well for starters I was embarrassed for standing him up - no fake medical emergency could blow that over. I also never wanted to set foot in another bar again - Ethan can set claim to every bar in the state for all I care. I don’t want to see him outside of work ever again. 

If you don’t want anything to do with him why do you feel so guilty?  

With a weighted sigh I said, “I think I’m just gonna go to bed.” 

And that’s the story of how I pushed the man I loved away.

___________________

A/N: becca is literally the most unreliable narrator, she’s so problematic 😔 also sorry for this chapter, it’s not the best thing i’ve written :/ fun fact: this scene started out as a one shot called ‘good enough’ 

comment/reblog bc i need the validation

[winifredsandersonsbitch]

“While It Lasts”

Faith Lehane x Reader

Warnings: cursing, underage drinking, almost violence, sexual themes (but not quite smut). Non- gender specific reader.

Description: Your relationship with Faith is... a little complicated. All you want is to be friendly, but it’s obvious to everyone that there’s something brewing just under the surface. One night while you’re out partying, a game of Seven Minutes in Heaven causes you to act on the tension.

The more you try to make Faith feel welcome or include her in the group, the more she tries to turn it into something sexual. During group movie nights, she maneuvers herself onto the couch or the floor or the easy chair with you to share your blanket. Everyone thinks you’re breathing is quickening at the scary parts, when really you’re trying to keep Faith from touching what she shouldn’t.

At the Bronze, she brings you drinks, insisting that you need help loosening up. She pulls you onto the dance floor, grinds up on you as the others talk about Angel and impending doom. You smell the sweat of the bodies on the dance floor, feel her hips rock against yours, and let the music move through you.

It’s all in good fun. Faith’s flirty with everyone, especially Buffy. It seems to you that she craves closeness so much she’s willing to manufacture it, but she also never stops working to dismiss it. She needs to escalate to romantics so she has an excuse to drop people when she’s through with them.

You care about her, though, and you don’t like seeing her cut off from the rest of the group. It’s hard for her to make friends at the high school when the only social skills she’s developed are related to fighting.

On nights when the Hellmouth is quiet, or, at least as quiet as it will ever be, you go to your fair share of parties, making up excuses about sleeping over at a friend’s when you’re too drunk to come home. It’s a way to take the edge off, to wind down from all of the near-death experiences. The people in Sunnydale are different, sure, but at least they’re interesting.

So when one of your friends tells you about a college party going on this weekend, you decide to bring Faith along.

You leave for the frat house around 11. Your mom has realized by now that if Buffy can be trusted to fight monsters, you can be trusted to go out with some friends. She waves goodbye from the door, crossing her arms in an I’m-anxious-but-I-know-you’re-growing-up way. She doesn’t go inside until your sedan has made it all the way to the stoplight at the end of the street.

You pick Faith up ten minutes later from the “apartment” where she’s been living, which is really more of a motel. She’s dressed in a slinky black dress that leaves her tattoo (and pretty much everything else) fully visible, her lips coated in a layer of her signature dark red. You’ve kept it a little more casual, not wanting to seem like you were trying to impress her or anyone else, but you’ve still left a lot more skin on display than usual. Her eyes wander downward and you resist the urge to cross your arms over yourself for cover. When she flicks her gaze back up to meet yours, she’s smirking.

“You look good. Do you save these outfits for when I’m not around or something?” She pops her gum, leaning against the doorway. Her dress rides up higher on her thigh when she angles her hip out. You try not to look.

“They’re not exactly pro-monster-hunting and Snyder would dress code me for sure,” you laugh, dangling the keys. “Wanna drive?”

“You’re kidding, right?”

Your car is your baby. You don’t even let Buffy drive it unless Mom forces you. But Faith can handle herself behind the wheel, even if she is a little reckless. And you’re feeling more than a little reckless tonight.

“Knock yourself out.”

Seeing her in the driver’s seat is something else. She’s totally confident, totally in control, with none of the slightly desperate loneliness that you sometimes sense from her. She shakes her hair back behind her shoulders, turns the key in the ignition, and she’s off.

If you hoped she would gun it, you’re disappointed. She’s over the speed limit for sure, but by an amount that no one would question in a town with as many problems as Sunnydale. On occasion, she checks herself out in the mirror, fiddles with the dials on the radio until she finds something loud and sexual, takes her eyes off the empty road to drink you in. She rolls all the windows down until it feels like you’re caught in a hurricane, a storm of your own making, both of you screaming with the wind and then erupting into laughter.

She pulls onto the street adjacent to the frat house, hopping out of the car with her feet planted in a power pose, hands on her hips. Her hair is wild from the wind in a way that calls to mind witches on broomsticks and demon women making deals at crossroads. Part of her is feral, unwilling and unable to be grounded in anything but the moment.

“I’m feeling good about tonight,” she says, surveying the clear night sky, the moon hanging low over the trees. She slams the car door, comes over to meet you on your side. “What about you?”

Your breath catches in your throat, all of your thoughts about how gorgeous she looks bubbling to the surface. When you respond, your words come out slow and syrupy. “I think you’re right.”

She’s immediate in front of you, an Amazon clad in the colors of the night, her eyes dark and hungry. “Let’s go then.”

She grips your hand tightly in hers, leads you onto the sidewalk and down the street. At some point, she slips the car keys into the front pocket of your jeans for safekeeping, and your body throbs with the closeness of her. Every so often, your entwined arms knock against her thigh or yours, sending a jolt up your spine.

This is Faith, you try to convince yourself. Faith, who trains with Giles and Buffy. Faith, who has slept over at the house countless times.

But everything about tonight is different.

The frat house is packed. You can barely get in through the front door thanks to the crowd of drunk, horny teenagers. The music pulses with a thrumming beat that has them all swinging their hips, knocking into each other, breathing in a heady combination of sweat and pheromones. You’ve missed this, the simplicity of a party, the company of strangers. It makes you feel a little high, like you’re floating above yourself, like you’re walking on air. There’s nothing like it.

Faith doesn’t feel the same religiosity of the moment.

“Move it or lose it!” she yells, dragging you behind her and elbowing people out of your way. She gets you as far as the kitchen before a jock whips around to face her and calls her a bitch.

She shoves a hard fist right up under his nose and growls, “Call me a bitch again and see what happens.”

He’s going to, if for no other reason than to stand his ground in front of the people nearby who have been craning their necks to look. Before he can open his mouth or she can deck him, you tug on Faith’s arm, squeezing past a couple necking in front of the counter. She reluctantly lets herself be pulled away, but she holds up her middle finger to the guy on her way out.

She finally lets go of your hand to grab a cold beer out of the cooler and it makes you feel... empty. Before you can wonder at the feeling, she closes your fingers around a wine cooler.

“You’ve always liked that fruity, girly shit,” she says with a grin, tossing her hair back over her shoulder and cracking open the tab. She takes a long swig, leans back, wipes her mouth and smears her lipstick the tiniest bit. “Guarantee there’s a game of truth or dare going on upstairs. Wanna find it?”

You would go find hell with her, if that’s what she wanted. Right at this moment, she has you more dazed than alcohol ever has, including that night at Tina Gardener’s when you were so drunk that Buffy had to come pick you up in the middle of the night. She had only been 14 and she didn’t even have her license yet, but she managed without crashing and then snuck you into the house. The next morning, you’d had a wicked hangover, but Joyce never found out.

You weren’t exactly a lightweight, but you and Faith were drinking so much so quickly that you stumbled a little as you went up the stairs. She had found a bottle of vodka stashed in the cabinet, which had probably been reserved for later in the night. A minute later, she had you sipping straight from the bottle.

“That’s right, baby,” she croons, holding onto the bottle with one hand and you with the other. Her Slayer strength keeps you upright as you brush past other couples going down into the heat of the ground floor. “Tonight’s all about you. Cut loose.”

When you reach the second floor, you knock on doors until you find the game room, where a group of college kids are sitting around in a circle. An empty wine bottle is the centerpiece, illuminated only by candlelight. It’s decidedly cult-like, with all the moaning and groaning from nearby rooms leeching in, but this is a ritual you know well.

Without being asked, the others widen the circle to include the two of you. You take a seat next to a girl with spiky purple hair, serious eyeliner, and six piercings. She bites her lip, traces the carpet in front of her with an infinity shape.

“You’re cute,” she says, baring her teeth like a hyperactive puppy. The freckled boy next to her swats her knee.

“Francine, play by the rules,” he chides, but he’s eyeing Faith. She soaks it in instead of leveling her usual glare, happy to bask in the attention for the moment. Still, if he tries to touch her, you’re betting on a broken wrist.

“Aw, they don’t mind,” she whines, but she pulls back.

Clearly, these are not the coolest kids, at least not in the frat/sorority definition of the term. You and Faith always seem to end up here sooner or later, sharing space with the kids who didn’t go to prom. You don’t mind, exactly. It’s quieter up here in the study room, more intimate. And these kids are less predictable than the jocks downstairs. You’re only worried how Faith is going to treat them once she gets tired of playing.

“If you’re finished,” a redheaded boy across from you sniffs, “we can get started again.”

Faith’s lips brush your ear, her voice low and conspiratory. “Jesus, I hope neither of us get stuck with that one.”

You stifle a giggle, feeling the vodka warm you like an embrace. Faith passes the bottle back to you as the redhead goes over the rules of seven minutes in heaven, like everyone doesn’t already know.

Well. Considering the crowd you’re currently with, some of them might actually be first-timers. In this room, you’re probably actually one of the more experienced players. That, along with the drinking, takes a considerable edge off.

The girl next to you, Francine, spins first. When the bottle lands on a blond boy with braces, she’s visibly disappointed, flicking her eyes to you before leading him into the bathroom across the hall.

Next, it’s your turn, and since there is no shortage of rooms in the frat house, you can spin right away. The bottle makes a full circle before landing directly in between Faith and a shaggy-haired boy who’s cute in a shy, future-librarian kind of way.

You stand up, wobbling only slightly, and reach out a hand to him to save him from having to make the first move, but Faith closes her fingers around yours instead.

“I’ve got this one, champ,” she tells him, and he yanks back like he’s been burned.

“What are you doing?”

She leads you from the room without answering, knocking on doors to find one that’s empty, and then pulling you inside.

“Playing the game. Did you think I was going to let you kiss that loser? You deserve better. Hell, his blow-up doll deserves better.”

You don’t like it when she gets like this, all catty and rough around the edges. She knows it, too— sees it in the way your shoulders stiffen. As an apology, she helps you into one of the beds and sits criss-cross next to you, lets you lean your head against her. In the darkness, it’s easy to pretend that it’s just the two of you here, no raging party downstairs, no other people coupling up in the room next door.

“Seven minutes in heaven,” she scoffs, winding herself up again, and you feel the words come from her mouth. She’s animated, motioning with her hands, but careful not to shake you off. “It’s just an excuse for a bunch of geeks who couldn’t get some any other way to hook up.”

“I dunno,” you say, your voice soft. “I think it’s kind of fun. I mean, I used to be one of those geeks.”

It’s been a long time since you felt like you were some kind of outcast, but you can sympathize with the need to belong. To be loved. You only want to show her that some people take longer than others to grow out of that phase, but she takes personal offense.

“No, you weren’t.” Faith is insistent, and she jerks her shoulder so that you almost fall on top of her. You regain your balance, hands spread to hold your weight. She doesn’t notice. She’s frowning, her eyebrows drawn together. “You’re smart, okay, but you’re not some kind of weirdo. You’ve got social graces. Just look at you here with me. You think I’d hang out with someone who wasn’t on my level?”

You don’t answer. You’re not afraid of making her mad, but you don’t want to ruin the night out for either of you. It’s not often anymore that the two of you get a pass to do whatever you want.

Sensing your discomfort, she angles her body toward you, strokes your hair lightly. In the dim sliver of light coming from under the door, you can see the slope of her nose, a flash of a smile. “What, did I make you nervous or something? Come on, it’s me.”

“Not nervous, only—” Only she’s so close to you now that you can feel her warm, vodka-flavored breath against your cheek. Only her eyes are dark and deep like the bottom of a well you’d gladly drown in. You lose your train of thought and maybe it’s just the alcohol, but her perfume is the sweetest thing you’ve ever smelled. It’s sharp and heavy, pulling you under, dragging you upside down and sideways.

“Only what?” Her red lips form an O. She’s teasing you. She knows. You sit up, try to scramble back, too aware of where your hands are still positioned by her hip, but her fingers lock around your wrist. Not hard, not bruising, but commanding all the same.

Stay, they say. Don’t shy away from this. Don’t write it off.

“I—”

You’re glad she kisses you then, if only to shut you up.

You want to smear her lipstick, have it printed on your face like in the movies, but she’s not in any hurry. Her mouth is steady, in control, soft and wanting and unyielding. She slips you her tongue, pulls you into her lap, purrs with a grin you feel against your own.

“Relax, baby. Daddy’s here.”

Under other circumstances, a laugh might gurgle up from your throat, but Faith’s not joking. She’s setting the tone, her hands finding where you’re sensitive and squeezing, searching for the spots that will make you sigh against her. When her lips leave yours, you sag a little, but then she bites at your earlobe and nearly has you singing.

“Nerves, baby, it’s all about nerves,” she says, unzipping your jeans and yanking them down, her hands wandering between your thighs. When your try to make a reciprocal gesture, she pinches your ass, making you yelp. “What did I say earlier? Tonight’s about you.”

After that, you rest your head on her chest as she explores, letting her do as she wishes. There’s some gasping on your end, rocking against her fingers to create more friction, toe-curling spasms of pure bliss. She’s breathing you in, working you for the finale. She knows exactly what buttons to push to make you pop, always has.

You call out her name, eyes squeezed shut, biting your lip, and she’s running down a long list of pet names, each one more ridiculous than the last, as one hand reaches down your shirt—

Then the door opens, letting in a shock of white light. You blink like it’s the second coming. Like aliens have landed on planet Earth and have come to announce their plans. Who else but Jesus or aliens would dare interrupt this?

“Seven minutes are up,” the redheaded boy says. He squints at your position curled into Faith, where you’ve frozen like a deer caught in headlights. His smile takes on a decidedly more predatory look, but before he can make any suggestions, Faith stands up, sending you rolling off her lap and back onto the bed. She makes it to the door in three quick strides.

“Fuck off,” she says, slamming it closed on him. Then she turns to you. She’s been taken out of her element, her chest rising and falling with short angry breaths. Then she leans against the door. Locks it.

“Not going to flake out on me now, are you, babe?” she asks, crossing her arms. “Because that wouldn’t be fair, so close to the finish line.”

“’Course not.” Your voice is a little shaky from the stimulation, but she knows you mean it. You’re a lot of things, but you’re not a quitter.

“Good.” The bed is small, but you scooted up against the headboard in your surprise, creating enough room for her to crawl the short distance over to you on her knees. The mattress’s squeak is the most beautiful sound you’ve ever heard. “Where were—”

There’s the sound of shouting downstairs and red and blue lights color the side of Faith’s face. She shoves the window open to reveal cop cars pulling into the driveway, sirens squealing. You tug your jeans up sharply, almost tripping over the legs as you stumble off the bed to stand next to her.

“Do you trust me?” she asks, surveying the roof and ditching her heels. You’re not sure that the answer should be yes, but it is. You take the hand offered to you, still sticky with sweat and other more intimate fluids, and follow her out.

Below, there are cops ducking people into squad cars and giving breathalyzers to minors, but everyone is too preoccupied to notice the two of you. Faith’s feet grip the shingles, keeping you grounded. You keep slipping, thrown off by your own drunkenness and the fact that this is not exactly your area of expertise, but she never lets you fall.

The house is surrounded. It makes you kind of irrationally angry, how many cops have been brought in to make this bust when you all know there are much worse things prowling the streets than some underage drinkers.

Even so, Faith could make it out if she were on her own. She’s athletic, nimble enough to make the jump off the roof and then run until she’s clear. But with you in tow, there’s no chance in hell. The vodka went straight to your head.

You do make it to the back of the roof, all the way up the triangle-shaped peak and then halfway down so that you’re in the shadows, away from the streetlights and nestled underneath one of the windows. It’s a little cold, so Faith wraps her arm around you, drawing you in so close you can hear her heart beating. Quicker, with the adrenaline, but steady and sure. Not like yours, which feels ready to pop right out of your chest.

“We’ll hang out here for awhile and climb down when they’re gone,” she says. She squeezes your shoulder, grinning. “It’ll be like a rooftop campout. A novelty.”

You laugh, despite the cold and how all the alcohol you drank earlier is beginning to make you sick to your stomach. “Everything about tonight has been a novelty.”

It’s the wrong thing to say, even though she was probably thinking it, too. Her arm goes limp and her smile slides right off the roof. You backpedal.

“That’s not what I meant,” you say, fumbling. “Tonight’s been—”

“It’s been great. Thanks for inviting me.”

Her voice is suddenly flat, dull. She watches the policemen below with an avoidant fascination.

“I like being around you.”

You don’t know how to fix this. You don’t want to hurt her, but what else can you do except scare her off? You know how Faith operates. She has her fun, then moves on. You’ve seen it a million times. You’ve been jealous a million times. She’s never indicated that flirting with you was anything more than that.

She meets your eyes finally, brushes your cheek with her lips. “I like being around you too, peaches. Now let’s enjoy the show while it lasts, ‘kay?”

You nod, focusing on the teenagers below who are hopping fences and pretending sobriety. You watch the lights until your eyes ache, until there’s nothing else in the world to you except red and blue. That, and the weight of Faith’s arm across your shoulder.

While it lasts.

[lilwenney]

BUT WE WERE HAPPY

pairing: will x female!reader warning(s): alcohol, & so much fluff it hurts my heart  word count: 2.2k a/n: i needed will fluff. so i wrote will fluff. based off me & you together song by the 1975 enjoy <3

“Hey, do you need anything from the shops?” She asked Will, propping a foot up on a chair to tie the laces of her trainers. 

Will hummed, jogging down the remaining stairs and into the kitchen. “Don’t think so. I went yesterday and got everything we needed.”

“But not bin bags?” 

“Alright, so almost everything we needed.” 

She laughed and nodded, dropping her foot back to the floor. “It’s okay,” She walked over to the kitchen table and grabbed her phone, her keys to the door, tucking them in the pocket of her jacket. She made sure to grab her mask too, holding it in her hands. “I’ll be the responsible one then. Since it’s definitely not going to be you.” 

“Gee is just as bad!” He whined, motioning to the living room where Gee was lying on the sofa. “Last time she went to the shop, she spent most of her money on a new mirror for her room and left like ten quid for food.” 

In the living room just off the kitchen, Gee paused her show and tilted her head over the back of the sofa. “Excuse me, do not drag me and my LED mirror into this.” 

“It’s alright, I’m off then.” (Y/N) laughed. She walked around the edge of the kitchen table to Will, crossing the space between them and pressing a swift kiss to his cheek. “I’ll be back in a bit.” 

(Y/N) hadn’t been in Canary Wharf for long, a little over two weeks at the most, but she knew the pavement like the back of her hand. In the last few days, she had taken many trips to the nearby shops for necessities, or anything just to get some fresh air, proving to both Will and Gee that she could go and come back in one piece.

While her and Will’s relationship was still relatively new, in its early stages, the sudden events of quarantine happened to speed things up quite a bit. One weekend spent in London with him turned into almost three weeks of sleeping in the same bed and spending every single today together. It was a happy accident, or at least that was how they saw it. In all fairness, they would rather spend however long it would be together than the undisclosed amount of time apart. 

She stepped out of the lobby doors, into the warmer Spring weather. London had its moments when it came to weather, it could be bright and sunny at noon, but cloudy and rainy at 12:05, however since events and social life came to a complete halt, the weather had been at its best for the first time in months. 

Turning the corner on the side of her trainers, she tucked the straps of her mask behind her ears and strolled into the nearest shop. It wasn’t as packed as she imagined it would be, so she took another second after grabbing the bin bags to look at the miscellaneous things around her. She tossed snacks and other necessities like hygiene products and light bulbs into the basket, and at the last second, tossed in Will’s favorite candy bar on top of everything else before she checked out.

It was a quick trip, there and back in fifteen minutes, she counted when she stepped foot onto the lift. She pressed the button for their floor and then quickly pulled the mask from her face while palming her keys and phone. It was a quick ride up, the lift shooting up the lower and arriving at their floor no less than a minute later. 

Walking down the length of the corridor, she could hear music leading her straight to the door of the flat. It was a song she could recognize anywhere, mostly because she played it nonstop for a week after it dropped just months before. She raised a brow before shoving the key into the door and turning the lock, pushing it open to see Will standing behind the sofa, greeting her with a bright smile. She laughed and pulled the key out of the lock, letting the door shut behind her. 

“What’s that smile about?” She finally asked, crossing the flat to the kitchen table where she sat the bags down. Will, still with a smile, just shrugged, and she raised a brow. “Oh, I don’t trust you at all right now. 

“That makes me feel lovely.” 

“The last time you did something without telling me, you accidentally nailed my hairdryer to the holder.” It was supposed to be a cute gesture, and it was in Will’s mind as he screwed the holder into her vanity, but what he also did was drive the nail through the end of her hairdryer, pinning it to where she could no longer pull it out. He bought her a new one to make up for it, but she still brought it up every chance she could to tease him. 

“Oh that was so long ago!” He called out. 

“It was two months ago,” she said with a playful eye roll.

Opening the bags from the shop, she reached in and pulled out the handful of things she bought, and then she pulled out the last thing, which was a candy bar. She turned her body back to Will and held it up with a smile. 

“I thought of you.” 

Will’s eyes lit up at the sight of his favorite sweet and he smiled, eyes crinkled. It was her favorite smile of his, admiring how it lit up his whole face. “Thank you, love,” he said as she stepped forward and handed it to him. He pressed a kiss to her forehead, taking it from her hand. “And while you were gone, I managed to be a semi-decent boyfriend.” 

“Please tell me you didn’t nail my hair straight-” 

“I didn’t touch anything of yours.” He cut her off and they laughed under their breath. “But I know you hate feeling cramped up in here since we can’t go out all that often except to the shops, so,” her curious eyes followed him as he stepped over to the balcony doors. She had been so caught up in his smile and their playful bickering that she didn’t even notice what was on the balcony.

Across from their table and chairs, right in the sun laid a blanket across the balcony, pillows cushioning a spot against the glass doors, and a picnic basket sat on the corner accompanied by a bottle of pink wine and flowers. 

“Will,” she breathed out, taking a step further. When she looked back up to meet Will’s eyes, she felt her heart swell ten times its size. “You did this while I was gone for ten minutes?” 

“Gee helped, but it was mostly me.” He said, stepping out into the sunshine. “I know how much you like going out and having dates at the park and stuff like that. Since you can’t have that, I figured that I could, you know, bring it to you.” 

She followed behind him, walking on to the balcony and lowering down onto the blanket. She tipped open the top of the basket to see containers of food and even more flowers. Sitting back on her calves, she shook her head, hands brought to her cheeks as she drank it all in. It was a simple gesture that for her, was so much. It was really the small things.

Will pointed to the basket. “I ordered it off Amazon. That’s why that parcel was so big the other day.” 

“Thought that was for your lobster costume.” 

“And that too,” he chuckled, “but the basket came in too, and I bought everything else while I was at the shops yesterday.” 

“Is that why you forgot everything else? Because you were distracted trying to pick up all of this stuff?” 

“Yes,” he nodded firmly with a chuckle, “buying it and hiding it from you was more of a chore than anything else.” 

Will squatted down next to her when she reached for the small bouquet of white tulips he had bought. She took them in her hand, feeling the soft petals against her fingertips, and then turning to him with a smile that matched the warmth of the sun beating down on their shoulders. 

“This is beautiful, William, seriously.” She said, motioning to everything around her. “Thank you so much. I love it.” 

He reached up and grabbed the brim of his hat, turning it around and tilting his head down to kiss her. So overcome with joy, she laughed into the kiss, causing him to smile, and she grabbed his chin to kiss him again. 

“I love it,” she repeated, staring into his eyes. They were filled with adoration and another emotion she couldn’t quite decipher, but it was as soft and sweet as the springtime around them. She smiled, her thumb grazing across his bottom lip. “I love you,” 

The same smile she loved spread across his face at the realization of her words, the corners of his lips meeting his eyes. Both of Will’s hands shot out, grabbing her cheeks, and kissing her so wildly it knocked them both down onto the blanket. They laughed between kisses as he held his weight above her, peppering her lips, her cheeks with love. 

“Can’t believe I waited you out so long you said it before me.” 

She paused, looking up at him with eyes like saucers. “You love me?” 

“Have for the longest time.” He said kissing her cheek and then moving over, dropping onto his side next to her. She moved her head and looked at him.

“And you waited until I told you to say anything?” 

“I mean,” Will paused and looked at the scenery around him, “I tried to show it, you know. I didn’t bloody nail your hairdryer to the vanity on purpose.” He said and she laughed, shaking her head at the memory once again flashing in her mind. “I was trying to do all these things to show you that I love you without… you know, saying it. ‘Cause I was scared you wouldn’t feel the same.” 

“Well, if I had known your awful handy work in my flat was a sign of love, I would have definitely told you sooner.” She leaned over and kissed him once more before sitting up. “Okay, can we eat the sandwiches you made now?” 

He chuckled, sitting up and opening the top of the basket. “I thought you would go for the wine first.” 

“And that too,”

Stripping of her jacket and toeing off her trainers, she sat with her legs crossed and pulled out sandwiches wrapped in red and white checkered paper for her and Will, and then the bags of crisps he had tossed in as well. 

Spring time had always been her favorite time of the year, the perfect mix of cool mornings with warm afternoons, and it was a sentiment that she shared with Will. And she thought he was as gorgeous as the season itself when she glanced up at him, clutching one of the sandwiches he had made just minutes prior to arrival back from the shops. He wasn’t looking at her, instead his eyes glazed over the wide expanse of the Canary Wharf and the river below them, the balcony becoming a haven of the seclusion and privacy they both yearned for. It was nice feeling like they were the only ones in their little world, but now that the word has come to a standstill, and they were trying to take advantage of the it as much as possible. 

After the sandwiches and crisps, and a series of taking photos of each other, they sat back in the shade, enjoying the music, the view, and the company of the other.

Leaning back, the cool glass of the door pierced against her hot skin and she smiled in relief, her head tilting over and meeting Will’s shoulder in the middle. They sat in the shade of the balcony above them, listening to the river, to the wind, to the music playing from inside, while sipping on pink wine in crystal wine glasses with wide smiles. 

But it's true Yeah it's you, you're the one that makes me feel right

She turned and pressed a kiss to his shoulder through the material of his shirt.

We went to Winter Wonderland And it was shit but we were happy

(Y/N) let out a laugh and Will glanced down at her, his cheek meeting the top of her head. “What you laughin’ about down there?” 

“The song, it describes us right now,” she said and then repeated the lyrics, “and it was shit but we were happy.” 

Will laughed too. “Yeah, sounds about like us.” 

“But we make the best of it.” She reached down and grabbed his hand, slowly interlocking her fingers with his. Will smiled and kissed her forehead again before the conversation slowed and the song continued.

Overlooking the view of the river, the O2, the outskirts of London in the distance, she smiled. The last few weeks had been particularly rough from a change of life to a change of pace, and for a while, it felt like things were only going downhill. But Will… the glorious son of a bitch did everything in his power to make her feel a bit more in tune with her old life, which included breaking out the picnic blanket. And it made her happy. It made her realize that while she was in love with him, she was also falling in love with her life with him.

I've been in love with you for ages And ages, and ages I've been in love with you for ages

[calypsoff]

Four. Part 5

Robyn is making some calls, I don’t know what for but she said she will be back once I asked her what we going to be doing she was quick to act on it, maybe she didn’t have anything planned, I mean I don’t mind that too. We can just speak here in this apartment, but she gone to make some calls. I feel relieved, more relieved that Robyn is not crying because I felt so awful that she cried, I didn’t want her to cry about it. I know she is feeling love and I also feel that aura with her, I have so much respect for her so for her to cry it did hurt me but she got to understand that I won’t be going back to Virginia and acting the same as I did with Seiko, I mean how can I, after being with Robyn I now really just want to be with her. Seiko has text me again for the second time so I better call her, if I don’t then she will keep on harassing me until I answer. Listening to phone ring out, she better answers before I put the phone down “I miss you!” She shouted down the phone, Seiko is being so loud “hey you good? You text me twice” I am trying to be distant with her “well you weren’t answering me” letting out an oh “my driver is coming so we are good to go” Robyn half shouted, my eyes widened “huh?” Seiko said “yeah?” Robyn and I just stared at each other “you are watching Rihanna interviews or something?” I just paused not knowing what to say, do I tell her yes or act dumb “yes” I agreed, Robyn side eyed me “well don’t be getting ideas now, why are you even watching her interviews? Don’t tell me those little feelings are coming back? Awww baby, she bigger then you now” who the hell is this bird teasing “she is bigger than me now I know, it just came on the TV. That’s it” Robyn sat next to me this time, I think she is trying to be nosey “mhmm don’t be getting any ideas now” moving my phone away from my ear and putting it on speakerphone, Robyn squinted her eyes at me which made me laugh. She lazily placed her arm on my shoulder “sorry what did you say?” Trying to not laugh “I said don’t get ideas now that you met her, that little young love you had has got to be gone now. I still side eye why you took ages” Seiko is dumb she will say something dumb “how you know she wasn’t putting it down on me?” I said laughing, I can hear Seiko bird friends in the background “that wouldn’t shock me, she gets around but no you didn’t” Robyn gasped “that is rude you said you loved her? Huh?” She dislikes her now “I do, I like her whore vibe” holding in a laugh, Robyn is shook right now “ok anyways, you’re rude” Robyn wrapped her arms around my neck “I am going to steal her man and whore myself on his dick” she licked my ear, my mouth fell open turning my head slowly staring at her, Robyn puckered her lips up smirking “say that to her” licking my lips shaking my head “Chris!?” Seiko half shouted “yeah, I need to go” Robyn is crazy, like she is turning me on.

Robyn and I just laughed out as I disconnected the call, she rested her head on my shoulder “you are bad” shaking my head laughing “she got me angry, who is she calling a whore. Her mother is a whore, I’m not even like that, I am seriously pissed off that she said that. Why do people think I am that? I’m really not” Robyn lifted her head up from my shoulder “because they don’t know you like that, I know you. I know that you ain’t a whore, man your pussy be saying otherwise. I know you would be truthful with me, I got you, you got me” Robyn kissed my cheek “I can’t believe you made me cry actually” oh she remembers “it’s a lot Robyn, but let’s now look to the future. Let’s think of now yeah?” She nodded her head in agreement “where are we going twin?” She ain’t say “mhmm well. Remember that time we said we would get matching tattoos? We only live once” she winked “yeah, I remember that. Dude coming here? I feel like we are reliving where we left off” I can’t believe she remembered that I am actually shocked “nah we are going there, he is keeping the store open for us so we can you know, do the thing. I told you Chris I ain’t holding back” she pressed a hard kiss to my cheek and got up from the couch, Robyn is not holding back. She means those words and I accept it, I think she is the one to bring that out of me. I just couldn’t help myself, watching Robyn stretch out I reached over and pinched her butt “aye” she looked behind her and at me “I am going to get changed, do I look ok without makeup? I really can’t be bothered” staring at her face nodding “I think you are good, promise” she walked off, what I mean is she skipped off. She is so happy, and I love that about her, she is good vibes.

Zipping my coat up “am I hidden enough?” Robyn turned to me with her shades on and a snapback, well my snapback actually “you look good, the forehead hidden so nobody will know it’s you” I know she is mugging me under those shades “do you have Instagram? I know I can’t follow you but can I see?” pulling my coat down “uh yeah, you can see. It’s uhm, fuckyopictures, one word” I pointed out “will duh, actually let’s go. We will be late to bang bang, he won’t be happy” gesturing Robyn to go ahead of me, I will let her take the lead. I don’t know this bang bang dude. I think I will let Robyn have that tattoo and I will just watch, I don’t think I got space, maybe I do but still. I ain’t think about having another yet. Come to think of it maybe we could have stayed here and just fucked, wrapping my arms around Robyn and pulling her back into me “uh, you said let’s go now” she yanked my arm back, she got a point. Stuffing my hands in my coat pockets as we made our way to the elevator “it’s raining out there, I think I need” I dragged out “don’t say it! I promise you I will scream” I mean it’s fitting to the situation “you had my heart….” I stepped back before she hit my arm “get yo ass in the elevator ma’am” following into the elevator “you think I look better on your snapback? I think I do” Robyn is checking herself out in the mirror, tilting my head to the side “mhmmm you look good” wrapping my arms around Robyn, humping her “oh my god, seriously?” she laughed “stop that, I need to press the button” still humping as she tried to turn around “no!” she yelped out, moving back from her “shit!, it’s going up now. Oh my god, this is your fault” let me stand in this corner like a good boy “why you tripping?” she shook her head walking over to me “I am going to miss you like crazy when you decide to go” lazily she wrapped her arms around my torso, pouting her lips as she rested her head on me “already thinking about me going, relax” Robyn turned her head away, the door opened and a couple of girls walked onto the elevator. They looked at us and then looked at me, she straight checked me out, but I won’t mention that to Robyn.

Turning in the seat to face Robyn “Seiko has the log in for that page, I don’t even go on it because she may run a report on where I logged in from. She practically is logged into that; she really just runs my social media in a weird way” I shrugged “really? I can tell that flat faced rat is, she isn’t even that cute. She looks fake, she sounds fake. What did you see in her, why is she like that with you? What did you do?” I lightly laughed “well, I cheated on her during the relationship. I had a lot of girls sending me nudes. So she doesn’t trust me, shock. Uh yeah, that is it. She chased me in a way, but I just wanted to settle, I came out of being locked up. I wanted peace” Robyn is so nosey “oh my god, is this your mug shot?” she turned her phone to me, nodding my head “you look sexy, I mean that face. Look how innocent you are, were you crying? You were, I can tell by your eyes” she knows me well “yeah, my ma was angry, and I was desperate to just get out. It was hard because it was a mistake, I fucked up my life you know” shaking my head “I am saving this picture but what exactly happened, so you were helping that same bum ass cousin I told you not to hang with” Robyn questioned “yes, it was quick money and I was enjoying the thrill. I wanted to make quick money and also my cousin said we family, we run as one. My parents ain’t have the money for college for me, so I just wanted to make some money for that. It went wrong and I got locked up, I should have been there longer, they was looking at putting me away for fifty years” Robyn’ face dropped “what the fuck what did you have on you? How!?” she spat.

“The car had a trunk full of cocaine, I was delivering the car like I do, I have been doing it for a while. So I was driving at the spot, I realised there is police all over the spot, niggas being arrested, I looked and drove by, but I made eye contact with an officer and I guess they saw my shocked face, there was a cop chase. And they found a hell of a lot of drugs that they were going to sentence me that unless I snitched, they promised they would put me in a different jail, I wanted less sentence and I know the word on the street is to not snitch but I didn’t want that life, so I did. But the fucking police lied to me, they all lied to me. But I got five years, I got jumped the first night I entered the jail, their people got to me but I know they set me up, the guards set me up. I was in so much pain, I wanted to die. My face was gone, they had a made up shank, knife yeah. That is why I got the scar on my shoulder. They kept kicking me, like six of them. I passed out, woke up in the prison hospital. I couldn’t talk, they then moved me. I healed, came out. Amazon gave me a job, Barry’ uncle helped me big time. I just want a quiet life, it changed me being there. It broke me, and I did remember you, and how that became a mess because you went but then I was happy for you, I would hear uhm” I clicked my fingers “don’t stop the music, when they let us have radio time. For good behaviour, for like an hour and I would be grinning so hard, like that is my twin. She doing big things, my little coconut head Barbadian cherry pop, I am and was super proud of you. But I just, I fucked up Robyn and I feel like that took it out of me that I became this closed off guy. The last year in jail was ok, it got better I suppose. I started getting tattoos, but I just got skinnier. I came out and my parents paid for the apartment I am in now, blessed about it. I paid them off, I put in hours at Amazon. That is me Robyn” Robyn is in shock, she even had to put her phone down.

I didn’t expect Robyn to cry “aye, stop it. Please” placing my hand over hers “I feel bad, like if I didn’t leave you and I remained you would be not in that. I just feel emotional about this Chris, how can I not? You have always been on my mind, thinking what is he doing? I was waiting on the moment where I saw Chris Brown the basketball player” Robyn wiped her tears “I just feel sad because I can imagine how much that crushed you, oh my god. You have the most beautiful personality, and it drew me to you. When I met you again, I hugged you and it was like I was hugging you but you wasn’t there, and every hour I am with you I am seeing you be you, I had no idea and maybe if I investigated but Barry acted like nothing, I went to the school wanting to see you. I came for you; I didn’t care for the personal tour. I went back into the classroom we first met; it hurt me Chris. This has really hurt me to know you went through that, oh god. My heart, I could have lost you and I wouldn’t have known. This scares me, I am so happy you’re here and you’re ok” Robyn rubbed my cheek “I am good, I just can’t fuck up again” her fingers gently rubbing the side of my cheek “but all is well, I don’t want to keep reliving the past. But you deserve to know that, this could make you look bad. I don’t want that for you” Robyn placed her hand over my mouth “I told you, I am not going to lose you. You said we will work at it, we will” nodding my head, Robyn is making me feel so much like she is making me feel whole again.

[yourdeepestfathoms]

Fractal Scarring

[Broadway Kids]

FINALLY THIS IS FINISHED. two days to write 12,000 words? that’s so shameful :/ 

also i hate writing in present tense

Word count: 12,029

Prompt: “And just WHERE do you think you’re putting your hands?” “Don’t you hurt a single hair on her head.” “Shh, you’re safe. I won’t let you go.”

Tw: Abuse, waterboarding

--------------

The sound of the doorbell ringing rudely interrupts the heated kiss between Lynn and her girlfriend, Estelle. Lynn pulls back with a growl of frustration, waiting a moment before leaning into Estelle again.

  “You’re not going to get that?” Estelle asks.

  “No need,” Lynn says dismissively. “It’s probably just the Amazon guy.”

  “What did you order this time? More sneakers? Special energy drinks?” Estelle says teasingly.

  “Oh, hush,” Lynn bats at her. “Just because I’m a coach doesn’t mean everything revolves around sports. You, for example.” And then she leans in again, locking her lips with Estelle’s and falling back into the warm, buzzing trance of kissing.

And then the doorbell rings again.

And again.

And again, until it was going off every second in a rapid fire cacophony of chiming.

  “Persistent Amazon guy,” Estelle observes.

  “Oh my god!!” Lynn yells. She rips off the blankets, nearly exposing her girlfriend’s own naked body in the process, snatches her robe from the bathroom door (although she had considered flashing the solicitors to scare them off), and marches to the front door. There was a glass window at the very top, but was too high to see who it was, so she had no idea who was ruining her time with her girlfriend until she yanks open the door with force.

  “Sue?!”

Her student blinks at her from the stoop, trying very hard to not look at the white robe she was swathed in and put the pieces together. The way she clears her throat and then proceeds to say absolutely nothing didn’t help the situation be any less awkward, either. A halo of raindrops from the drizzle falling from the grey-blue sky twinkles on the crown of her head like dozens of silver spider eyes that seemed to stare straight through Lynn’s fluffy covering.

  “What-” Lynn finds her voice, although it came out tight and strangled from embarrassment for a moment. “What are you DOING here?! How do you know where I LIVE?!”

Shrugging nonchalantly, as if this was the most normal thing in the world, Sue says, “Chris knows a guy.”

THAT Lynn didn’t doubt. She wonders if this “guy” was Billy Nolan or her father tracking her or someone else entirely. Feeling like there were several more eyes on her, Lynn shifts uncomfortably and pulls the laces around her stomach even tighter.

  “Why are you here?” She demands with her Coach Voice. It made Sue jump, but then she realized that it wasn’t in fear like she was hoping, but some sort of jolt of remembrance.

  “Oh! Right!” Sue looks over her shoulder. Dismayed, Lynn saw that Tommy was there, too, but he was halfway hunched in his Jeep, fumbling with something. “Miss Gardener, you are the most trusted adult we know. Something happened- something really bad, and we need you.”

Usually, Lynn would instantly mount the problem that one of her students was facing and bring it down, but right now, she really rather be mounting something else and be brought down on a bed, so this was not her top priority at the moment. If none of her loved ones were dead, then she really didn’t want to hear it.

  “What about your PARENTS?” Lynn says, shooing Sue backwards. “Go to them!”

  “No, Miss Gardener, you don’t understand!” Sue cries. “It’s Carrie!”

Lynn froze.

And, at that moment, Tommy pulled out a bloody, beaten Carrie out of the backseat of the Jeep and into sight.

  “Bring her inside.” Lynn says without a shred of resistance. “Sue. Tell me everything.”

------

  “How do I look?” Tommy asked. “Good? Good enough? Christian-like?”

Sue giggled. “You look great, you dork. There’s no need to worry. It’s not that big of a deal.”

  “It absolutely IS a big deal!” Tommy squawked.

It really was, Sue had to admit. It was the first time Carrie White was EVER having people over at her house.

She said she had begged her mother for hours, swearing up and down that she would be the best daughter and never ever complain ever again if she could have her friends over, and her mother had finally relented. So, now Tommy and Sue were parked outside a cottage as old as time itself. It’s swathed by tendrils of ivy climbing their way towards the roof that was missing several shingles and splotched with patches of emerald green moss. The weathered wood is a chalk color, paint peeling and flaking off, and black peppering along its breast. The windows are tinted a deep brown and covered up by drapes, many of them cracked. The yard was a sea of weeds and the walkway leading up to the house was lined with deceased trees; their ebony branches bore no leaves. The very age of the cottage is shown in its deterioration.

This was no place for any child to be raised.

Withered brown leaves rustled in the ghostly wind. The street was almost silent, if not for the wailing gust, the crackle of fronds, and the gentle rumble of the Jeep’s engine. Black tires trampled over the dead blades scattered on the edge of the poorly-kept street, the crunching of their filaments like bones beneath a hammer. A flurry of brown leaves swept across the windshield. 

The couple slid out of Tommy’s car after Tommy checked his neatly-combed hair for the tenth time. He was acting like he did the day he met Sue’s parents for the first time in junior year, which was actually quite polite of him to do so. He was taking this very seriously. 

Above, the sky was awash with low churning clouds. Towering trees with ebony branches reached down far, almost blocking the way. Their naked twigs grabbed like fingers, clawing at their faces as they trekked up the driveway. The brittle limbs snapped and fell as kindling onto the ground when brushed away. They too cracked beneath footfalls as Sue and Tommy made their way up to the stoop, across the cracked sidewalk and through reaching snarls of weeds sprouting from the overgrown yard. The porch creaked beneath their weight, and for a split second they feared it might cave in, but the old wood held together firmly despite its age. Tommy knocked on the door; there were cracks inside the frame and the hinges were green. It looked like it would fall over if the curved door knob was yanked too hard.

There was a shuffling sound from inside and the tumblers of a locking mechanism fell away with a grinding crack. When the front door was pulled open, the hinges protested with a deafening creak, sounding as though the rotten wood was splintering even as the heavy door scraped along the floor. Carrie peered out at them like a lime green macaw in a tunnel of darkness in the overalls she was wearing, beaming.

  “Hello!” She greeted eagerly. “Come in!”

They stepped inside and entered a world that reeked of religion.

Wall-to-wall there were crosses ranging in various sizes and made of many different materials. There were wooden crosses, metal crosses, crosses made of twigs twisted together and crosses created from woven tangles of barbed wire. Among them were pictures of Bible scenes, like The Last Supper and Noah’s Ark and Jesus doing something with a staff and water- or was that Moses? Sue wasn’t very up to speed on Christianity, so she didn’t know exactly what was going on, but the bearded dude was definitely doing /something/ with water.

Aside from the paintings and crosses and some candles, there didn’t appear to be any other decorations. No photos of Carrie as a little girl, no potted plants, no big wooden letters spelling out “WHITE” on the wall- there were only religious adornments.

Carrie led Tommy and Sue through the cramped front room, passing a closet door and a small circular table with a single red candle on it, and into the living room. The smell of baking bread wafted strongly in this room, flowing from the nearby kitchen. A large crucifix was poised menacingly over the ancient fireplace mantle, Jesus’s face frozen in a permanent expression of agony. Each rivulet of blood, every cut opened up on his skull from the Crown of Thorns held so much detail that it almost looked like a real person nailed to the giant wooden cross instead of just precisely carved plastic.

There’s no TV, not that either Sue or Tommy were surprised, so the scuffed, fraying leather sofa taking up a large space in the room was just sitting in front of the fireplace with only a grotesque crucifix to watch. The coffee table in front of it held a Bible that looked like it would crumble into dust if picked up and a well kept nativity set of baby Jesus’s birth. It was probably the nicest thing in the living room, maybe even the entire house, with all the animals shined to perfection and the humans not bearing a single scratch upon their porcelain flesh. There was also a washed out velvet lounge chair with intricate golden designs across the fabric, where a woman sat sewing an article of clothing and watching the new arrivals intently.

Mrs. White was as mangy as her daughter, but not quite as filled out as Carrie was. She was thin and bony, with sunken facial features and spindly fingers like the hands of a skeleton. Tangles of chocolate brown hair were tied up in a messy ponytail, revealing her pale, narrow neck to the light of the several lit candles around the house, and Sue and Tommy both concluded that Carrie must have gotten most of her features from her father because she looked nothing like this banshee of a woman dressed in a grey-blue gown sitting before them. The only noticeable thing they had in common were their brown eyes, which were so dark they were nearly black. Mrs. White’s were piercing, yet tired and haunted, and she was looking at Tommy and Sue like she already hated them.

This woman had done terrible things that tormented her, Sue could tell.

------

  “That definitely sounds like Margaret.”

Sue and Tommy’s head whip around, but Lynn’s whips faster. She stares at her girlfriend, fully dressed, standing in the hallway spitting out into the rest of the house from the master bedroom. Her blonde hair is combed neatly, leaving no evidence of...things...having been going on. Her grey eyes are troubled.

  “You know Margaret White?” Sue asks.

  “Who are you?” Tommy says at the same time.

  “Estelle Horan,” Estelle answers the nosy teenagers. “And, yes, I knew her.”

She strides across the floor and into the living room. Carrie is lying on one of the couches, expression pinched even in unconsciousness. Sweat is beaded on her forehead and she breathes raggedly.

  “How do you know her?” Sue prods further.

Estelle looks at her, then says, “I was their neighbor.”

A beat of silence passes. A pin dropping would be the loudest sound in the room. And then-

  “WHAT?” Lynn yelps.

Estelle gives her an amused look. “Did I never tell you?”

  “No!”

  “Oh.” Estelle shrugs. “There wasn’t ever a good time to bring it up. And I’ve tried to put it out of my mind…” She trails off, a haunted expression flickering in her eyes, like something had shaken her. She looks at Carrie’s frail, bruised body and frowns. “I--never thought she would live this long.”

Lynn gets a terrified look on her face. She didn’t exactly like showing so much fear and weakness around her students, but she couldn’t help it. There’s no way Carrie’s life was as bad as everyone was making it out to be. There’s no way she had suffered so much for so long and she hadn’t done anything to help her.

  “What-- what do you mean?” Tommy asks softly. His expression is a mix of horror and rage and his fists are clenched tightly at his sides.

Estelle reaches out and gently touches Carrie’s head. “Everyone in the neighborhood knew of Carrie’s treatment. But nobody did anything. And then, one day when I was seventeen, Carrie came up to me while I was tanning. She was five? Maybe six? Anyway, she-” She laughs, “-she pointed to my breasts and asked me what they were. I told her and she said she wished she had some and then said how good girls wouldn’t. She said that her mother was ‘bad when she made her.’ Margaret called them ‘dirty pillows’ or something stupid.”

Tommy snorts. Sue elbows him lightly. Estelle shoots him a quick, agreeing smile, then continues.

  “Then her mother came out and snapped at her to come back inside. Margaret called me a whore, I called her a cow- I was a very mature and polite seventeen year old.” Estelle chuckles. Her expression soon darkens, however. “I could hear--her screams--from inside the house. After Margaret dragged her back in. Carrie started screaming and crying so loud that I could hear them from outside. Everyone started coming out, but--” She sighs, looking ashamed. “--we didn’t help. Not after the meteor shower. We all ran.”

  “Wait-” Sue says. “Did you say ‘meteor shower’?”

  “Yeah,” Estelle says. “These rocks just started falling from the sky, but they only hit the White’s house for some reason. It was so weird.”

Tommy and Sue exchange looks. 

  “Carrie mentioned something about stones…” Tommy says.

Estelle furrows her eyebrows. Lynn kneels down next to her and takes one of her hands, not caring about secrecy around her students anymore.

  “Sue,” She says to the girl, “continue the story. What happened next?”

------

  “Mama,” Carrie said, and the sound of her voice startled both Sue and Tommy. They don’t know why they had assumed Carrie would sign at home; her mother didn’t exactly seem like the type to put up with sign language. “These are my friends! Tommy and Sue!” She beamed at them both, radiating with pride. Her voice was so sweet and youthful.

  “Hmm,” Mrs. White merely said. Her hands are still working a needle and thread through the pale purple fabric, and Sue can see muscles rippling beneath the skin.

Tommy stepped forward first, gathering his shoulders up into a straightened position and marching smoothly across the room. Carrie skittered after him and stood beside one side of the chair, and then Sue followed.

  “Tommy Ross,” Tommy extended a hand and flashed a dazzling smile. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, ma’am.”

Mrs. White looked at Tommy’s hand with visible disgust, but she shook it firmly when Carrie nudged her arm. She did the same with Sue, but with less reluctance. Sue guessed that she probably had something against men, which was something she never had a problem with, there were MANY reasons to hate men, but this woman looked like she wanted to chop off the penis of every male in existence and violently choke them with it. 

Or, perhaps, do something even worse.

  “It’s nice to meet you both, too,” Mrs. White finally said in a voice that could crack an iceberg in two. She sized Tommy and Sue up silently, sneering at Sue’s skirt, which barely reached her knees, but didn’t comment about it. “It’s so...wonderful...to see my precious angel with people she can trust.” She lifted a hand and Carrie eagerly ducked her head beneath it. It was quite cute to see her blissfully get affection, but Sue got a feeling of uneasiness in her stomach when she noticed that the action made Carrie look like a trained dog. And Mrs. White was her owner.

  “Carrie is a lot of fun to have around,” Tommy said, and Carrie grinned brightly at him. “Your daughter is amazing!”

  “Hmm,” Mrs. White said again. She looked at Carrie and a smile tugged on her lips. “She is, isn’t she?” She patted Carrie’s cheek. “Run along, my darling. Go play.”

Carrie nodded and her face scrunched up adorably with giddiness when she got a kiss on the forehead. She jumped up a moment later, darting past Tommy and Sue and to the staircase. She waved to them to follow her eagerly, grinning her head off and doing a little dance on the first step.

  “We’re coming, we’re coming!” Sue laughed as she and Tommy walked over. “Calm down!”

They ascended the stairs, and Sue could feel Margaret’s burning gaze scorch holes into her back with every step she took.

The first thing Sue and Tommy noticed upon entering the bedroom were the bars over the window.

Carrie’s room was plain. Plain cream walls, plain scuffed hardwood floor, plain white bed sheets and blankets (no pillow, as she had once mentioned before). There was a nightstand next to her bed with a lamp and a small Bible on it and a splintering bookshelf with very few books set up neatly. A chest at the end of the bed had ribbons of colorful fabric overflowing from the closed lid and a desk had a current sewing project spread out over its surface. A small table in the corner held a few old stuffed animals stacked neatly in a fuzzy pyramid. 

  “Welcome,” Carrie signed with a grand gesture with outstretched arms. She spun around once, looking around her room, then centered to Tommy and Sue again with a sheepish expression. “I--don’t know what to do now.”

Sue tilted her head, not understanding her hand movements, and Tommy translated. It made her pause in thought- what WAS there to do at Carrie’s house? There was no TV to watch movies on or teach her how to play video games like Tommy usually did. The place was actually quite...boring. Sue couldn’t bear to live in such a bare place.

  “Sorry…” Carrie lowered her head in shame.

  “Hey, no, it’s okay!” Tommy said quickly. “No worries!”

Sue looked around, trying to find something that would hopefully ease Carrie’s tension. She spotted the piece of fabric on the desk, which was a plum color with frills along the breast. She nodded at it.

  “That’s pretty.” She said.

  “Oh!” Carrie skittered over to it. “Thank you. It’s not finished yet, but it’s going to be a dress!”

Tommy translated her signs and Sue smiled. “Do you make all your clothes?”

  “Most of them,” Carrie nodded. 

  “That’s so cool!” Sue said. 

Carrie blushed. “Thank you.” She lightly brushed her project. “I can--teach you how to. If you want.”

------

  “And then we started sewing,” Sue says. She stares into the cup of water Lynn had gotten for her with a deeply troubled look. 

  “I made a scarf.” Tommy states in an attempt to lighten the mood.

  “It was supposed to be a sweater.” Sue manages a giggle, although it was tight and slightly strangled.

Lynn wants to smile, she really does, but as she is pressing a wet rag to a welt on her young student’s stomach, watching blood seep into the white fabric, such an action feels impossible. 

If Carrie had looked worrisome when Lynn first saw her, then the removal of most of her clothes has only increased that concern tenfold. The few injuries that had been visible when she first got there were bad enough, but the skin on her torso and back were splattered with impossibly dark colors that were split open in the center of each mark, like she had been beaten with a thin object. Cuts and scrapes marred her tanned skin, which was now horribly pale.

Carrie is stripped down to the black shorts and white tank top she had been wearing underneath her green overalls, which were stained in her blood (not that it was much of a loss- those things were hideous). Her face is tight with pain and all her muscles were tense as if she wanted to run, but couldn’t. Each breath she took came out shallow and ragged.

There’s too many wounds. There’s too many injuries on her little body. She isn’t going to live. Carrie will die.

A touch on her shoulder brought Lynn out of her morbid thoughts. She looks up to see Estelle, still kneeling next to her, a worried, but “I’m here for you” look on her face. She leans against her and a sick feeling settles into the pit of her stomach. Her mind is a jumbled mess, a tornado of disconnected thoughts and overwhelming stress.

Sue takes a deep breath and all eyes turn to her again. She pries her gaze away from her cup, rests her head against Tommy’s shoulder for support, and begins the story again.

------

  “WHAT is THAT?” Carrie signed.

  “IT is a SCARF!” Tommy declared defensively, holding the long piece of red wool fabric as if it were a live snake. “And it’s very stylish!” He flicked it around his neck and lifted his nose in a very haughty, pompous manner. Carrie flopped backwards, giggling and kicking her legs in the air. Tommy looked delighted at her reaction.

  “I thought we were making sweaters…” Sue said, blinking down at the misshapen purple blob in her hands. Carrie giggled louder. 

She giggled and giggled, such a pleasant, relieving sound.

And then the bedroom door opened.

And a thunderous voice that could shatter a glacier spoke up.

  “What is going on in here?”

Tommy, Sue, and Carrie all jumped and twisted around to see Mrs. White slithering inside, growing bigger and more menacing with every step she took. Tommy and Sue both straightened up, trying to look like model guests, while Carrie scrambled up off of her back and to her feet. She was still beaming, however.

  “Hello, Mama,” She greeted sweetly. “I was just teaching Tommy and Sue how to sew! They’re not very good.”

  “I made a scarf,” Tommy said, holding up the droopy ends of his silly creation for Mrs. White to see. She looked at it as if it were the serpent that had bewitched Eve. “Also, oi! Rude!” He poked Carrie in the leg, then glanced up at Mrs. White again, like he was saying, Look at how good I am with your daughter! Look at how nice I am to her! Please like me!

  “Hmm.” Mrs. White merely said. She looked very suspicious of all three of them, even her own daughter. She looked around the room like she was searching for a shred of impurity that would give her a reason to throw Tommy and Sue out. This process, however, was halted when Carrie hopped forward and latched onto her arm.

  “Mama, I finished the dress,” She said. She bumped her head against her mother’s shoulder and smiled up at her.

She really does love her mom. Sue thought. But does Mrs. White love her back?

  “Did you?” Mrs. White said, half distracted. She was trying to not take her eyes off of the guests, Tommy the most in particular.

  “Mhm!” Carrie ran and grabbed the dress she had finished while she was giving the sewing lessons. She presented it to Mrs. White proudly. “See?”

Mrs. White delicately ran her bony fingers along the stitching and frills. Then, she looked up and smiled at Carrie. “Very good, darling.”

That smile flickered away, however, when she looked back to her daughter’s friends. She frowned at Sue, who was rigid next to Tommy. She wasn’t trying to suck up to her like he was.

  “You.” She said. “What are you making?”

  “Oh, uh--” Sue looked down at the malformed, barely-sewn sweater flopped pathetically in her hands. “A-a sweater.” She wanted to kick herself for stammering. Why was she so nervous around this lady? “I think?”

  “My scarf is better.” Tommy muttered, then flashed a smile at Mrs. White. She blinked at him slowly. Even she was curious about his adamant attempt to get on her good side.

Mrs. White sniffed. The edges of her eyes crinkled in distaste. “Maybe you should try lengthening that skirt. You’ll be burning in hell in no time looking like that.”

Sue stiffened. She suddenly felt like her clothes were paper thin--or maybe not even there at all. Mrs. White was staring at her like she had just finished having sex with every man in the entire world and was currently dripping semen all over her floor. Sue struggled not to squirm as silence descended upon the room.

At her side, Tommy’s mouth was half open in shock that an adult would talk to a kid, especially a guest in their house, like that. He kept looking from Sue, to Mrs. White, and then back to Sue, conflicted on whether he should defend his girlfriend and risk Mrs. White hating him even more or not say anything and have Sue possibly hate him (but she wouldn’t hate him. if it were him essentially being called a man slut, she would probably be too scared to say anything, too).

Mrs. White was stood up straight and she looked like she was trying very hard not to smirk. She may be thin and ragged, but she was alight with disgust, like a flame that would never go out. Beside her, Carrie was rigid, but didn’t seem very surprised by her mother’s comment. Her head was lowered, dark eyes flitting towards Sue with an apologetic look. And then, she moved, slotting herself between Sue and Mrs. White.

  “Mama, Sue is the nicest girl I know.” She said, and Sue felt a flutter of guilt inside her stomach. At one point, she had participated in all the teasing Carrie got. She had been in on schemes to humiliate her and had looked at her like she was the most awful creature to ever walk the earth, and Carrie knew this, she had known it, and yet she still defended her. “If she doesn’t go to heaven, then heaven is wrong.”

Crack, went something in Mrs. White’s head.

Carrie noticed it first, the way her mother’s twisted expression twitched and rippled on her face like a melting wax mask, the way a diseased light flickered behind her eyes, the way her nostrils flared with a silent breath, and then Sue and Tommy followed. They could see it now, too, how Mrs. White still had the same look on her face as she had when she insulted Sue, but just slightly lopsided. It was like a wrinkled photograph cut from a magazine or a blurry movie still. There was something awful swimming behind those beetle-black eyes, and Carrie had accidentally awakened it. 

Sue wondered for a fleeting second if she were infected with the same parasite as her mother.

Carrie was very tense, so much so that Sue could see the muscles in her neck bunching up and popping out painfully. Her knees were shaking and a bead of sweat ran down the side of her face slowly. Sue and Tommy had both seen her scared before, but this was nothing like the fear that came from bullying at school or being called on in class or getting humiliated somehow.

Carrie looked terrified. Genuinely terrified. Like she thought she was going to die.

  “Carrie.” Mrs. White said calmly, but they all still shivered. The weight of the fury in that one simple word--Sue hoped she would never have to hear anyone say her name like that. She might as well have called her daughter ‘Disappointment.’ “Dear. Come here.”

But Carrie didn’t move. Her breathing starts to become more ragged.

  “No, mama,” She whispered, and Sue had never heard so much fear in her voice before.

Twitch, went something on Mrs. White’s expression.

  “M-my friends--” Carrie went on shakily, trying to give a good reason for her to talk back. “Th-they’re here. C-can’t we wait…” But her words trailed off into meaninglessness when she met her mother’s sharp gaze and she fell into helpless silence.

Mrs. White stretched her neck to the left and there was a series of pops that reverberated around the room. She seemed to be swelling up like a venomous snake.

  “Hey--” Tommy leapt to his feet, the tail of his sweater-scarf wagging lazily in front of him. “It’s not Carrie’s fault. She was just being a good friend.”

Mrs. White snapped her smoldering gaze over to Tommy, and that was enough to send him slamming right back to the floor in a rigid sitting position. Sue had never seen him obey so much like a trained dog before. It was horrifying how much this single woman could strike so much terror into all of them.

  “Carietta Nancy White.” Mrs. White hissed, her voice dripping with icicles. “I will not tell you again.”

She knows she could just grab Carrie. Sue realized with a twist in her stomach. She wants the satisfaction of Carrie obeying her.

Carrie moved slowly, dragging her feet as if they were weighed down by chains, head bowed in a submissive way. The moment she was in reach, Mrs. White snatched her by the forearm and dug her nails in so deep tiny jewels of blood bubbled up around her fingers. Tommy twitched at Sue’s side, like he wanted to jump up and tackle Mrs. White, but his nerves were holding him back.

  “I’m sorry…” Carrie whispered, although Sue doesn’t know if it’s directed to her and Tommy or to her mother. She’s briskly guided out of the room a moment later, so fast that she actually clipped her forehead on the doorframe, but Mrs. White doesn’t stop to let her recover. Their footsteps shuffle and stomp down the hallway, down the steps, and then disappear downstairs.

Silence.

Sue and Tommy waited for yelling, crashing, banging, fighting to break out, but there was nothing. They could only hear the distant sound of Mrs. White’s voice, but neither of them dared to move to listen closer. They just sat there in Carrie’s room, surrounded by scraps of colorful fabric and sewing needles, not speaking a word.

Mrs. White came to get them five minutes later. Her eyes were filled with disgust and hatred and her mouth was twisted in a sneer.

  “Get out.” Was all she said in a voice filled with malice.

Sue and Tommy leapt to their feet and scampered out of the house with metaphorical tails tucked between their legs as fast they could. Mrs. White followed close behind them, like the devil on their heels, until they were out on the stoop. She slammed the door so hard Sue was surprised the entire house didn’t come crumbling down and they heard the sound of a lock clicking into place.

Silence.

  “That...was eventful.” Sue said.

Tommy doesn’t answer. He just began to pace up and down the front walkway, crunching gravel and pebbles underneath his shoes. 

  “Tommy?”

  “We have to do something.” Tommy blurted.

Surprised, Sue said, “What?”

  “We can’t just leave her in there!” Tommy said, then quickly quieted his voice. He looked around. “We have to save her.”

Sue knew they had to, even if the thought scared her. She wouldn’t be able to sleep that night knowing Carrie was probably thrashed for the skirt her friend had been wearing.

The two of them wait a moment, then sneak around the side of the house, romping through overgrown weeds and grass and knowing full well that they’ll get hell rained upon them if they’re caught. Tommy peeked in through a back window with a crack in it and saw the fleeting figure of Margaret ascending the staircase, giving him and Sue a chance to slip in through the back door and re-enter the house.

Being inside that place felt wrong, like they were intruding on sacred grounds. But the house was anything but sacred, especially with the muffled sniffles echoing from somewhere they couldn’t see.

Sue and Tommy ducked into a small closet that was cluttered with moth-eaten blankets and boxes. They were at the end of the main downstairs hallway and it was dark enough for them to crack open the door and peek out without being seen. There, they waited, peering out of the barely-open door. Sue’s back was just starting to hurt from hunching over when footsteps stomped down the staircase. She and Tommy watched as Mrs. White unlocked what they thought had just been a coat closet, reached in, and pulled Carrie out.

  “I’m sorry, Mama!” Carrie blurted instantly, as submissive as always.

Mrs. White answered in a low rumbling noise. She dragged Carrie into the den and out of sight.

  “Mama, please talk to me.” Sue and Tommy heard Carrie beg. “Please, I’m sorry! I just-- they’re my friends and I don’t like when people are mean to them. I’m sorry, Mama. I shouldn’t have talked back to you.”

Mrs. White snorted. “Friends.” She repeated the word as if it were a curse. “They aren’t your friends.”

  “They are!” Carrie said. “They are, Mama! And they’re really nice, too, you’ll see!”

Mrs. White huffed out a breath and Sue thought she may be shaking her head. “Nobody is friends with you, Carrie. You don’t have friends. You know why.”

Sue winced. That felt like it was needlessly cruel to the poor girl.

  “No, Mama,” Carrie said, this time much softer.

  “If I told them what you are--what you can do, they’ll run for the hills. Or worse: they’d lock you up and use your gifts. But me? I’ve always accepted and loved you the way you are, my sweet girl.” Mrs. White crooned. “You’re different, Carrie. And you know people love to destroy what is not like them.”

  “I don’t have to be,” Carrie said. “Tommy says I can be whoever I want!”

  “Oh. That BOY.” Mrs. White said with great disgust. “You know how boys are, Carrie. Do I need to remind you of your father?”

  “No, Mama.” Carrie replied with a shudder in her voice.

Sue and Tommy exchanged looks. They had both wondered on their own about Carrie’s father, but neither ever brought it up to her. By the sound of it, whatever happened to him wasn’t very good.

  “They’re good, Mama,” Carrie was saying when focus was brought back to the conversation. “I promise! I’m sorry for talking back, but Tommy and Sue are good people!”

  “They’ve entranced you,” Mrs. White said, not even listening to her daughters. “They are imps sent from the devil!”

  “No, Mama!” There’s a rustle of fabric and the scuffing of feet against the floor- Carrie must have been standing up. “They aren’t! Don’t you dare say that about them! They’re not imps, YOU are!”

The sound of a hand smashing against flesh filled the house; Carrie’s body fell backwards into sight on her stomach. She’s frozen in shock for a moment before pushing herself up on her hands. A second later, one of her legs was grappled and she was dragged backwards into the den, screaming and clawing helplessly at the floor.

It was like a scene ripped straight out of a horror movie.

  “Mama, stop! Stop it, Mama! I’m sorry!”

  “You’re going to repent, you vile little beast--”

Another slap reverberated through the house, followed by a sharp yelp reminiscent of a puppy getting its foot stepped on. 

  “Mama! Mama, no! Please, no! I’m sorry!”

  “You must be washed clean of the filth they put on you.”

There’s the sound of fabric scraping against the floor that traveled into the kitchen. A clatter of a body being thrown into a chair echoed from that room, followed by a stern, “Stay.”

  “Mama, please,” Carrie pleaded. “I don’t want to, Mama, I don’t want to be cleaned--”

Sue heard the sink running in the kitchen. What was going on?

--

A hand yanked her head backwards by the hair. Water hit the over her face cloth- small drips and then a heavy torrent. It flooded into her nose. She instinctively opened her mouth to gasp for a breath, and the water poured in. Her heart was racing, and her whole body was frozen. She could feel the freezing water trickling down her throat. She tried to toss her head to escape the torrent, but she couldn't even twitch. The only part of her that was moving was her chest as her body fought frantically to cough, to escape, to breathe, to survive.

   “Don’t like that, do you?” Mama’s voice was crowing as she lifted the cloth. She smirked at the way her daughter gasped for air, taking in quick, rapid breaths to soothe her lungs. “No, you don’t.” She felt her shake her hand beneath her hand. “Admit it, my darling. Admit that that boy and girl are sent from the devil and dirtied you. Admit it and it will end.”

Desperate to retain at least a shred of her dignity, Carrie said, “No.”

The cloth drops back down over her face with a wet plop.

She felt the moment the water hit her lungs this time around- there was a lot more poured over her. There was a sickening chill, so at odds with the burning pain. And then her arms and legs were tugging against the ropes as sheer panic enveloped her. She wasn't thinking of twisting her wrists to try to free them; her arms moved of their own accord, tearing the skin. She wasn't thinking of kicking out with all her strength; her legs jerked and tugged against the restraints, wrenching their own muscles. She wasn't thinking of trying to get away from whatever was pinning her down; her body writhed and shifted as panic and fear pulsed through it.

When Mama lifted the cloth again, water was spit up from Carrie’s lips. She lowered it, not giving her much room to breathe. She whined sharply, pathetically when she just inhaled a wet rag.

   “Please, please, Mama...” Carrie begged through breathless sobs.

   “Tell me the truth. Admit it. You know you want to. You want to damn their souls to hell for cursing you.”

    “No, Mama, I don’t--”

Carrie cut herself off with a horrid gag and water rushed down her throat, choking her.

Dying. Dying. Dying. She could feel it. Her very bones were vibrating with the knowledge that she couldn't survive. That oxygen, held away from her by nothing more than a piece of fabric, was still too far away for her to reach. That every frantic heave of her chest was drawing the water further and further down, pulling in more and more liquid.

Every fiber of her being wanted to fight, was trying to fight, but it wasn't a fight she could win. There was nothing she could do.

Unless…

   “I--”

Carrie’s squeal ended in an intense dry heave that twisted her stomach so badly she began to feel nauseous. Her head spun and the crying was adding to the extreme pain that infected her chest and abdomen.

   “Mama--”

A whimper, a whine, a keen of helplessness as Carrie’s limbs began to go limp.

   “I do!”

The bowl clattered to the ground. Mama removed the rag from her face, stared deep into her teary eyes.

   “What was that?”

   “I--” A weak sob shook Carrie, “I do. I do want to send them to hell. They made me dirty.”

She thought she’s having to lie to get out alive, but her mind is too fuzzy to know for sure... Maybe she does want them to burn for all eternity in hell.

   “You do?”

   “Yes, Mama. Yes, Mama.” Carrie bobbed her head rapidly. “I’m sorry, Mama. I’m so sorry. I should have listened.”

Mama knelt down beside her and began wiping her face off with a dry cloth. When fresh tears streamed from her eyes, she gently dabbed them away. Carrie couldn’t help but press into his touch.

   “Is this the truth, Carietta? Are you really sorry?”

   “Yes, Mama,” Carrie said with a sob. “Yes, yes, I am. I’m so sorry. I’m sorry, I’m sorry...”

   “Good girl,” Mama crooned, continuing to dry off her face.

   “I’m sorry.”

   “Yes, I’m glad you know to tell the truth, but that doesn’t change what you did.”

Ice cold fear shot through Carrie’s veins.

   “I took your gun.” She was desperate now.

   “You still have to be punished, little jade.”

She lets out a whimper.

   “You know what you did.”

The dry cloth is put over her face.

Water sloshed above her.

She wanted to say she was sorry. She was sorry. She was so sorry. She wanted to be a good, obedient daughter. She wanted to make Mama happy. She wanted her to be proud.

Drip-drip-drip

The cloth soaked up the water, slowly this time, to drag out her punishment. Carrie took a shuddering breath of air, fills her lungs as far as they can go, fills them so full she feels like they’re going to burst.

Mama’s voice echoed.

You need to be punished

The water soaked the cloth. The cloth clung to Carrie’s nose as she inhaled, clung when she exhaled, and the panic exploded in her chest. Water slid down her throat, over her neck and into her hair, over her shoulders. So cold it burns.

She’s drowning. She’s dying. She’s suffocating.

Screaming.

Her throat hurts. There’s no air in her mouth, in her lungs. She can feel the water trickling into her nose. Can’t breathe. No air. No air. No air.

The ropes on her arms loosen and then are gone. She wanted to die. She can’t breathe past the panic in her chest. She was shaking. She was dying. She wanted it to end.

Oh god, please keep pouring. Please. Please. Please. You can kill me right now.

But then the faces of Tommy and Sue and Miss Gardener flash in her head and she thought, Do I really want to die?

--

Sue and Tommy didn’t think anything could get worse than Mrs. White waterboarding her own child, but then she raised a wicked-looking switch when Carrie lurched out of the chair she had been punished in. She coughed violently and slipped in the water coating the kitchen floor, falling to her hands and knees, but jolted forward as the switch swung down at her. It just barely missed her left leg.

  “I’ll thrash the devil out of you!!” Mrs. White screeched.

Carrie catapulted herself over the dining room table to get away from her and her switch. Sue and Tommy watched as she clambered over the top, scattering porcelain plates and cups, before tipping over in a very ungraceful landing. After hitting the ground, she scrambled up again to flee, but her mother was already upon her.

   “Ma--!!”

Before she could get the word completely out, the switch connected with her back with a horrible CRACK.

Carrie doesn’t scream, but she does whine sharply at the burning sensation that had to be blazing through her shoulder blades, even with her shirt on. She scampered around like a mouse below Mrs. White, as she had easily been sent to her knees by the blow. She’s fidgeting and fumbling, trying to speak up without sounding pained, as that would make her seem even weaker.

   “Mama, please, I--”

Another lash streaked across her lower back and Carrie gritted her teeth through the pain. Her fingernails claw and catch into the floorboards, but she would have much preferred splinters uprooting her nails than this beating.

   “Worthless girl! When will you learn to obey me?!” Mrs. White roared overhead before cracking the switch against her daughter’s waist.

Carrie’s arms gave in and she toppled over onto her side. She squirmed helplessly, pushing her heels against the ground in an attempt to get away, mouth agape as she watched Mrs. White raised her arm yet again.

   “Mama--”

This time, Carrie does scream.

She does scream because the switch lashed right across her belly. Her head threw itself backwards, knocking her skull against the floorboards, but it’s not enough to lessen the searing sensation burning itself through her midsection. For a moment, she can only choke and cry out, but then the incomprehensible wail turns into words.

  “MOMMY, STOP IT!! PLEASE, MOMMY, STOP!!!”

But Mrs. White doesn’t stop. She just kept on lashing her daughter until blood is soaking through green overalls and Carrie is a shuddering, whimpering ball at her feet. Even then, she does not stop.

Not until a voice cried out.

  “THAT’S ENOUGH!!” Tommy barreled out into the den, absolutely fuming and seeing red. It surprised Sue, who had been recording the abuse on her phone in shocked silence. She followed after him quickly.

  “Don’t you hurt a single hair on her head.” Tommy warned. His fingers were clenched and shaking, teeth bared, eyes alight with rage.

  “Tommy,” Carrie coughed out weakly.

Tommy looked down at Carrie and his eyes softened instantly. He looked anguished about how he wasn’t able to go to her, not with Mrs. White poising the switch over her back. 

  “I’m here, Caz,” He murmured. “I’m here.”

Carrie made a feeble whimpering sound. She tried to look up at him, blinking through tears and water and sweat and blood, but she was exhausted from the beating and her head flopped uselessly to the ground. She panted heavily, trying to curl away from her mother.

  “I thought I threw you both out.” Mrs. White said.

  “We would never leave Carrie.” Tommy said. “Not so devilish now, huh?”

Mrs. White snorted. “You think this proves anything? I know what you people are like.”

  “I got what you did on video,” Sue said, holding up her phone. “Just so you know.”

Mrs. White laughed an awful laugh. “Oh, you empty-headed whore,” She cackled. “You think evidence is going to change anything? Everyone in the neighborhood, new and old, have heard Carrie’s cries for years and they have never done anything. Not even when police are called. Nothing is ever done, and you want to know why?” She smirked wickedly. “It’s because nobody cares.”

Sue felt a sinking feeling of dread. Would really nothing be done to save Carrie even with video evidence?

  “I care.” Tommy said. “Sue cares. So does Miss Gardener.”

------

  “I do,” Lynn murmurs, gently touching one of Carrie’s hands. Tommy and Sue both give her tight smiles, then Sue continues telling the story.

------

Mrs. White rolled her eyes. “No you don’t! You’re lying!” She nudged Carrie with her foot and Carrie moaned weakly in response. Her daughter rolled over slightly, blood squelching beneath her, and gave her her full attention, even after being beaten to a bloody pulp. “I’m the only one who cares about you. No one will ever love you except me. You’ll always be a monster to everyone else.”

Sue shivered. It sounded like some kind of chant or curse, like something Mrs. White had repeated this to Carrie several times before.

Carrie whimpered. She craned her neck slowly, wincing in pain, and looked at Sue and Tommy desperately. Mrs. White nudged her again, prodding her foot against one of the cuts along her lower back and making her look back at her.

  “She’s not a monster.” Sue spoke up, glaring at Mrs. White.

Mrs. White barked a laugh. She looked down at Carrie quivering beneath her. “Is that what you’ve made them think? That you’re just some shy, innocent little mouse?” She laughed again and turned her blistering gaze back to Tommy and Sue. “You have no idea what you’ve gotten yourselves into, children.”

What did she do? Sue thought. What has Carrie done to make her own mother call her a monster? 

And will she do the same thing to us?

  “Don’t you DARE talk about Carrie like that!” Tommy growled. “You have no right!”

  “I have every right,” Mrs. White said airily. “I am her mother.” She spread her arms in a grand gesture. Droplets of sparkling red blood twinkle on the edges of the switch she was still holding. “And I am just trying to cleanse the little devil he put inside of me.”

A tense silence descended upon the den, only broken by Carrie’s soft gasps and sniffles.

  “Who?” Sue asked quietly, reluctantly.

Mrs. White began to pace around the room, swinging the switch at her side and sending blood flying through the air in glittering crimson arcs. “I didn’t want him to put it in me. I tried to fight him.” She said.

  “Mama, please don’t,” Carrie begged weakly. She covered her ears and curled up tighter.

  “But he didn’t listen.” Mrs. White hissed, ignoring her daughter’s pleas. “He made me enjoy it. Satan gave him sin and, in return, he put a devil child inside of me.”

Oh. Sue realized with a jolt. She was raped.

Mrs. White shook her head. “I don’t hate Carrie. Far from it. If I did, she would be long dead.” She looked down at her daughter with a strange look in her eyes. “I just...have to cleanse her. Remove all her sin.” She tilted her head like Carrie was a new plastic body to decorate the crucifixes with. “And then--she will be--perfect.”

There was something very, very wrong with Margaret White. And Sue didn’t feel safe being around her any longer.

How could Carrie live with such a mother?

Mrs. White looked up at Tommy and Sue, scrutinizing them. “Does that make sense?”

Sue nodded a tiny bit and Mrs. White gave her an appraising look. Tommy, however, only fumed even more.

  “What the fuck?” He seethed. “No! Not only no, but HELL NO!” He glared at Mrs. White. “You are fucking psychotic! You can’t treat people like that! Why did I want you to like me? You’re insane!”

Mrs. White glared right back at him. “I should have known you wouldn’t understand. Men.” She nudged Carrie, who tentatively removed her hands from her ears. “Why don’t I show you why purification is necessary? Carrie, my darling little creature, show them.”

Carrie doesn’t move. Mrs. White exasperatedly rolled her eyes and grabbed her by the top of the head, throwing her to Sue and Tommy’s feet. Carrie landed with a heavy thud and a soft grunt. She looked up at the pair with guilty black-brown eyes so eerily like her mother’s. Sue shivered, finding it difficult to look at her anymore.

  “Go on.” Mrs. White waved a hand.

  “No, Mama,” Carrie whispered. She tried to make herself as small as possible.

  “Why not?” Mrs. White smirked. “Is it because you know they’ll hate you for it?”

Carrie whimpered. Fresh tears stream down her cheeks. She began to rock herself back and forth on her knees.

  “Look at that,” Mrs. White mused. “She doesn’t trust either of you at all. How sad. Some great friends you are if she can’t tell secrets to you.”

Sue felt a smudge of betrayal streak through her. What was so important that Carrie couldn’t tell her and Tommy about? Did the best friend's oath she once made them take mean nothing? She looked to Tommy to see his reaction, but there wasn’t a hint of hurt on his face. He squared his shoulders and narrowed his eyes at Mrs. White.

  “It’s her business,” He said. “She can tell us when she’s ready. I wouldn’t admit anything while being pressured, either.”

I should have reacted like that, Sue thought with a twist of guilt. Not immediately assume Carrie is a bad person. She looked at Mrs. White. She’s...so cunning. And convincing. It’s scary.

  “Tommy,” Carrie gasped from below. She gripped tightly to one of his pant legs. “Tommy, it hurts.”

Tommy dropped to his knees in front of Carrie and bundled her protectively in his arms. Blood smeared against his clothes, but he doesn’t seem to care much. Mrs. White watched with a murderous look in her eyes.

  “Shh, you’re safe. I won’t let you go.” Tommy whispered to her soothingly.

  “And just WHERE do you think you’re putting your hands?” She spat.

Tommy glared right back up at her. “I’m protecting her from you.” He said.

  “Foolish boy,” Mrs. White shook her head. “You don’t know what she could do to you.”

  “Carrie would never hurt me.” Tommy said.

Mrs. White laughed. “That’s what you think! But she could! She easily could!”

  “Mama,” Carrie wheedled. 

  “Release my daughter.” Mrs. White said. “This instant.”

Tommy narrowed his eyes at her and said, “No.”

Mrs. White’s face twisted in fury. She gripped the switch in her hands tightly and, for a moment, Sue worried she was going to strike Tommy with it.

But she didn’t.

She didn’t move.

  “Mama, please stop.” Carrie begged. She had her head twisted around to stare at her mother. Most of her wounds have stopped bleeding by now; dried blood clashed horribly with her green overalls.

  “You devil,” Mrs. White hissed lowly. 

  “I don’t want to hurt you, Mama.” Carrie whispered. Her body had gone worryingly cold in Tommy’s arms. Her voice was the sound of dead leaves rustling against pavement. “Please don’t make me hurt you…”

Mrs. White was stiff in her spot, arm half raised. The muscles were contracted tightly beneath her skin. Why wasn’t she moving? Was she scared of Carrie? And if so...why? Carrie was anything but threatening.

The next words Carrie spoke made her mother go deathly pale.

  “I’ll bring the stones again.”

Mrs. White staggered backwards, eyes wide. “You wouldn’t.” She whispered.

Thunder rumbled deeply, then cracked across the darkening sky outside like a warning. Lightning flickered in through the tightly-drawn drapes, illuminating Carrie’s eyes like ebony flames, and Sue realized they weren’t as black as she thought. There were hues of amber and red-brown, and they glowed intensely in her skull. Her gaze was hard and cold.

  “I will, Mama.” Carrie said. Her voice was drained and dry; she sounded so tired. “If you touch them-- If you dare--” She was shaking like a newborn baby goat in Tommy’s arms. She looked up at her mother with the same diseased light that had been in her mother’s eyes. “I will bring the fire down on you.”

Mrs. White dropped to her knees, falling like a bird with broken wings. She clasped her hands together and began to pray loudly, although her words were wavering and slurring together. She rocked back and forth, shaking her head like she was trying to ward off sinful thoughts from worming their way into her brain.

Carrie sucked in a sharp breath, her body shuddering in an awful, bone-shattering way. Her head flopped limply onto one of Tommy’s shoulders, panting heavily. Sweat was soaking her brow and a feverish expression contorted her face.

  “Tommy,” She gasped weakly.

  “Grab her.” Sue ordered. “Grab her, Tommy! Let’s go!”

Tommy scooped Carrie up into his arms and ran for the door, Sue tailing right behind him.

Mrs. White did not stop them.

------

  “And then we got in the car and drove here.” Sue concludes with a frown.

An uncomfortable silence descends upon the house, only broken by the pattering of rain on the window and low rumbles of thunder. Tommy shifts closer to the couch, casting Carrie yet another worried glance. His gaze practically screamed, Wake up. Please wake up.

  “That can’t--that can’t be true,” Lynn whispers. Her breath is caught in her throat in horror. There was just no way. No parent could possibly be that cruel to their own child. She didn’t want to believe it.

  “It is.” Sue says sadly. She slips her phone out of her pocket and hands it to Lynn. Estelle leans over her shoulder to see. A video is displayed on the screen. With a quaking finger, Lynn presses the play button.

And it all fell away.

Hope that the story wasn’t true, hope that Margaret wasn’t as bad as Sue and Tommy made her out to be, hope that Carrie wasn’t getting brutally abused this whole time, right under her nose, and she never did anything to help her.

Because on the screen, clear as day, is Margaret White lashing her young daughter with a whip-thin switch, splattering blood everywhere. And the agonized yowls of Carrie will echo in her ears, haunt her nightmares, for years to come, always reminding her that it was very, very real.

Lynn’s vision blurs and she realizes she is tearing up. She blinks and claws away the tears hopefully before anyone would notice, trying her best to be strong, trying to not let her facade fall and reveal that she was actually horrified. Horrified and sickened and shocked and livid. She would not let her mask fall, and not just because she was supposed to be a tough-as-nails gym coach that would make numerous students vomit during Suicides and never flinch when bones broke savagely during games. But because she has to be strong for Carrie’s sake.

And then she looks up and sees blank onyx eyes peering at her blankly and tears cloud her vision all over again.

  “Carrie!”

Tommy is the first one to react, lunging to his friend’s side in an instant, nearly falling face-first into the rug in the process. He clasps one of her hands with both of his.

  “Carrie,” He says again, this time quieter. “How are you feeling?”

  “Everything hurts,” Carrie replies in a soft, hoarse voice. She sighs. “But what else is new?”

She...doesn’t sound very surprised, Lynn realizes with an awful twist in her stomach. Like this has happened before.

Like she’s gotten used to it. Waking up in pain.

Carrie lifts her head slightly, wincing, and looks around the room. “Where am I? Why is Miss Gardener here?”

  “Hi, sweetheart,” Lynn smiles at her warmly.

  “We brought you here.” Sue says.

  “Oh.” Carrie’s dark eyes dart around again, searching, and then fall on Estelle. Her brow pinches together. “I know you.” She whispers.

Estelle moves closer. “Hello, Carrie. It’s been a long time.”

  “You were my neighbor,” Carrie says. “I asked you what breasts were. Estelle.”

Despite the situation, light laughter ripples through the room. It almost, almost eases the weight pressing on Lynn’s heart.

  “Yes, that’s me,” Estelle chuckles. “It’s good to see you again, Carrie.”

  “You called Mama a cow,” Carrie muses, slightly dazed. Sue gets up to grab the painkillers Lynn left on the kitchen counter.

Lynn gives Estelle a look that says, “You what?” Estelle returns with a crooked smile.

  “Where is she?” Carrie asks. She’s looking around more fervently now and trying to get up. “Where’s my Mama?”

Lynn feels that awful twist in her heart again. Even after what Margaret did to her, Carrie is still so attached to her mother. But after living with such a treatment all her life, she must have gotten used to it. Maybe she even learns to overlook it.

  “She’s at your house, Caz.” Tommy says, brushing back a loose fringe of hair from Carrie’s face.

  “Is she alive?” Carrie asks. Then, more softly, “Did I hurt her?”

The beat of silence and exchange of worried glances is just a bit too long; Carrie begins to whimper and cry. Tommy soothes her quickly, brushing her tears away with gentle hands.

  “She’s okay, Caz. She’s alive, I promise.” He assures her. “Shh… It’s okay.”

Carrie looks up at him and calms slightly. Lynn is impressed- out of everyone in the room, she would have thought Tommy would be the least comforting, but here he was, treating Carrie so tenderly. Perhaps the most awkward one with comfort, at least with Carrie, would be Sue, who was standing listlessly with the bottle of Ibuprofen gripped tightly in her hands. Lynn takes it from her and she and Tommy are able to convince Carrie to swallow two of the pills.

  “They’ll make you feel better,” Tommy tells her, stroking her hair.

  “Do you ever take medicine?” Sue asks curiously.

Carrie shrugs. “Sometimes. Not always. Mama didn’t--believe--in that kind of stuff.” 

With weak arms, she pushes herself up into a sitting position, despite the several arguments for her to stay laying down. She sucks in a sharp breath, the cuts along her belly straining and stinging in the open air, and she stubbornly tugs her shirt back down to shield the expanse of scarred flesh. Lynn makes a clucking noise of disapproval.

  “You shouldn’t have your clothes covering them,” She says. “They could get infected.”

Carrie gives her a wry smile, “I haven’t got any awful infections yet, have I?”

Lynn’s heart wrenched once again, like a claw was dug inside her chest and turning it to mush. Carrie looks so used to this, so used to getting up and shaking off wounds from abuse, and she hates it. She wants to take her away from that kind of lifestyle so badly.

For a long few minutes, the house is silent. Carrie is looking down, her eyes clouded and haunted; Sue is over near the window, hands gripping the sill firmly, peering out at the storm with a deeply troubled expression, like she was considering leaping out into the tempest so the rain could wash away the chill rattling through her body; Tommy has climbed up onto the couch beside Carrie and kept squeezing her hand like he was trying to remind himself that she was still there with him and still alive; Estelle’s arms are crossed over her chest and she’s considering Carrie in thoughtful silence, most likely straining her memories back to the days when she was the White’s neighbor; Lynn is currently getting her heart turned into pulp, emotions tumbling over themselves in the whirlwind that was her mind- anger, guilt, shock, fear, maternal instincts, anger again, then guilt...it was all mixing together. 

Everyone was lost in their individual thoughts, listlessly wandering the winding corridors of their own minds.

The one who speaks first is Sue.

  “Carrie,” She says slowly, turning away from the window, “why do you love your mother?”

  “Sue!” Tommy hisses, then whips his head around to see Carrie’s reaction.

For just a moment, there is a flash of anger, and Lynn so badly wants to see it come out. She wants to see Carrie get mad at her mother for the treatment she got. But it is chased off by deep sadness and confusion, like Carrie herself didn’t know why she was so attached to such a wicked woman.

  “How much do you know about her?” Carrie asks instead of answering. She looks around, including everyone in the question. “Aside from her being an extremist, how much do you know?” 

Looks were exchanged as minds were dug through for any information on Margaret White that weren’t rumors. Carrie waits patiently, a tiny, sad smile ghosting her lips. 

  “You once said,” Estelle starts slowly, “that she was ‘bad when she made you.’”

Carrie nods, her smile twitching up a little more. “My Mama,” She says, “is a delusional, accursed witch.”

Stunned silence. Carrie tilts her head at them, as if to say, “What? I thought you were waiting for me to say something mean about her?” She shakes herself out, like she was getting rid of evil spirits clinging to her, then went on, “She hates everything about the world. Men, most girls, people who follow different religions, even churches. She doesn’t trust them, so we hold our own ceremonies at the house. She’s the preacher, I’m the congregation…” She splays open her hands and looks at them as if they had nails lanced through the palms. “She hates my father the most, I think. Even though I believe she does love him still, despite what happened. And that makes her hate him even more.” She closes her fists and looks up with dark eyes. “She hates me, too. She says she doesn’t but I know. I’ve seen the way she looks at me. I remind her of him.”

  “Have you seen him before?” Sue asks softly. “Your dad?”

  “Only once,” Carrie answers. “In a picture. I look like him.”

There’s a beat of silence. Carrie runs a hand thoughtfully over her bottom jaw, looking horrifyingly calm while speaking of her home life. But there was fear in her eyes. Lynn could see it flickering in her hugely dilated red-brown-black pupils, very much there, but being stamped down. It was honestly quite startling to see her young student, who would flinch when someone simply raised their hand to ask a question, who always tried to make herself seem smaller when teams were picked for games, who had to use sign language to speak to people because she was too anxious to even verbally talk, be so reserved and nonchalant.

That was another thing- Carrie speaking so many words. Lynn doesn’t think she’s ever heard her talk so much before. She’s wanted to hear her talk, yes, but not like this.

  “If a prayer was said just a little wrong,” Carrie begins again, “if a cross was bumped and became crooked, it all fell apart for her.” She leans back, staring out the window. What is that look in her eyes? Disdain, fear, anxiety, relief about finally telling about this? “And she took it out on me over...”

  “…and over…”

  “…and over…”

  “…and over…”

Carrie’s eyes became vacant, darkening until they looked completely black, lost in the abuse that gripped her so tightly. The calm demeanor only then breaks and is replaced by intense terror and anxiety. At her side, Tommy is too stunned to react, so Lynn lunges forward, grabbing the girl by the shoulders. As soon as contact is made, Carrie begins to thrash and cries out, “…AND OVER!” 

Lynn’s grip on Carrie’s shoulders does not break, even when the girl swats fearfully at her arms in a panic. She could only stare as she seized out of control. It was like watching an exorcism happen right in front of her.

  “Carrie, stop!” Tommy pleads.

With a start, Carrie stops breathing and tightens every muscle in her body. Prolonged contact with someone who wouldn’t hurt her is starting to have an effect. Her eyes close and her spasms slow. Silence fell around the group.

Then, Carrie expels her breath and sucks in another. She grasps Lynn’s hands and gently pries them away from her shoulders; her touch is like ice.

Sue beseeches her, “What happened to you?”

And on the inside, Lynn thinks, “Is this the girl I want to take in?”

Carrie didn’t look at anyone. Shame carves deep grooves in her face. 

  “Mama says I’m different,” Carrie smolders. “That I was born from my father’s sin and that’s why--I’m the way I am. And she believes that she has to purify me and remove the devil from inside of me.” 

After a second, Carrie turns her head back ever so slightly and peers at the group around her out of the corner of her vision. There was pain in that bloody ebony eye. 

Her next three words were tight with humiliation.

  “She broke me.”

The pit in Lynn’s stomach dropped until it was a chasm. She can’t speak. Nobody could speak. Carrie looks away again, hiding her disgrace from sight.

  “My Mama damaged me in a way that cannot ever be repaired. No matter how many decades pass, I will always be just as broken as I am now. I can’t become whole again.” Her voice cracked as she mourned. “She passed her sickness onto me.”

Tommy reaches over, slowly bridging the gap between him and his dear little sister figure, but Carrie shrinks away from the hand, shaking her head and whimpering, “It’s like a curse that spreads from people to people.”

Tommy swiftly retracts his hand, and the speed at which he does so causes guilt to bloom all over his face. Carrie looks up at him with an understanding frown.

  “I will never let anyone share in my sickness. I can’t.” She shakes her head miserably. “I have to--stay away--from people. To protect them. That’s what Mama says.” She clenches her fingers into claws and anger, pain, longing, shame all flash in her eyes. 

  “But Carrie, how could you pass that sickness onto other people? Onto us?” Tommy asks. “You wouldn’t hurt us!”

Suddenly, a guilt-ridden sob tears out of Carrie’s throat and she doubles over, face buried in her hands.

Quivering, Tommy whispers, “You wouldn’t hurt me, right?”

Carrie wails. 

Everything is falling to pieces, to ashes. Lynn is frozen, unable to think straight. At her side, Estelle is frowning--like she’s seen this before.

  “You don’t want to hurt us.” Estelle says. “You don’t want to hurt anyone at all.”

Carrie sniffles and looks up from her hands. She looks absolutely miserable.

  “Would it matter if I did?” She shakes her head and looks at her hands with so much hatred. “I’m a monster. Just like Mama always says.” She covers her face again and sobs.

Lynn can see it now: Carrie wasn’t just shy and anxious and socially awkward, she was fragile, too--too fragile for the awful things she’s been through.

  “Oh, Carrie,” Tommy murmurs. Despite what had been said, he pulls Carrie securely into his arms and she lets him, curling into his warmth. “Carrie. Carrie, I love you anyway. I don’t care.”

And Carrie cries.

She cries and cries and cries for a long time. She cries until she’s reduced to weak sniffles and hiccups and can barely lift her head from Tommy’s chest. She looks absolutely exhausted by the end of it, completely drained. She is feeling the full effect of her wounds, now, and whimpers softly.

  “I have a spare bedroom,” Lynn says. “She can sleep there. She’s tired.” She frowns at Carrie’s pale face.

Tommy nods silently and carefully picks Carrie up. Lynn leads him to the guest bedroom and he sets Carrie down beneath the blankets. Her eyelids are fluttering as sleep--or maybe unconsciousness--begins to take hold of her. Tommy kisses her forehead.

  “Sleep well, Caz,” He murmurs.

Silence descends upon the house once again. Lynn, Estelle, Tommy, and Sue all sit at the dining room table with mugs of peppermint tea Estelle had made. They didn’t look at each other for a long time.

  “What are we gonna do?”

Everyone looks up. Like before, it was Sue who spoke first.

  “About Carrie.” Sue states, but it wasn’t really necessary. They all knew who she was referring to.

  “She can’t go back home,” Tommy says. 

  “But she also needs help.” Sue says. “I’m not-- I don’t know if it’s the best idea, but there’s a mental hospital in--”

  “No.” Tommy growled. “Hell no.”

  “Tommy, she needs help!” Sue says.

  “She wouldn’t last a day in a place like that!” Tommy reprimands. “You know that. And mental hospitals aren’t exactly well known for actually helping people. Locking Carrie up with batshit insane people isn’t going to fix her, it’s just going to make her worse.”

  “He’s right,” Estelle nods. “I have a cousin who was in a mental hospital for a few days. He said that both suicidal people and homicidal people were put together. So there would be someone who tries to kill themselves with any object they could get their hands on and then someone who loudly talks about wanting to kill everyone in the place in the same room. Not exactly very comforting.” She shakes her head. “What Carrie needs is a stable place to live with sane people who can take care of her. Does she have any relatives?”

  “Doubt it.” Tommy sighs.

  “She can stay here.”

All eyes turn to Lynn. Her jaw is set and she looks confident in what she said.

  “Really?” Tommy’s eyes lit up slightly in hope.

  “Yes, really,” Lynn says. “As Estelle said, she needs someone who will take care of her. I can. I /will/. And I want to.”

  “That’s a really sweet thing for you to do, Lynnie,” Estelle coos.

  “Ooooo, Lynnie?” Sue and Tommy tease simultaneously. For the first time in hours, they had real, wide smiles on their faces. 

Lynn rolls her eyes. “Watch it, Snell. I’m still your coach. I can make you run until your legs give out.”

  “But you’re not mine.” Tommy says, puffing out his chest.

  “You doubt my ability to make kids run Suicides.” Lynn smirked at him.

For just a moment, things felt good again. And maybe they would continue to be good, because if Lynn had her way, Margaret White was never going to see her daughter ever again.

[etlunainmorte]

"WHAT THE FFFUUUCCCKKK?!"

Christopher wailed helplessly for seemingly the sixtieth time that evening. He has been brought by an unknown force to many places he hasn't even seen, and in a space of only thirty minutes, it was safe to say that he has traveled all four or so corners, and nooks and crannies, of the planet Earth.

And now, he found himself standing at the edge of the cliff, staring down from a height where he could fall down, down, down into the deep, vast ocean where the waves crashed wildly, with no hope of coming back up alive.

"WHOA, WHOA, WHOA!" Christopher was truly about to stumble down when a strong hand grabbed his already wrinkled coat, saving him from his demise.

"I GIVE UP!" The doctor finally cried in defeat. "I GIVE UP!"

"Come again?" Came the threatening voice of the man behind him. The man who was responsible for all of these unwanted travels.

"I GIVE UP! I'M SORRY! I WILL NEVER INTERFERE AGAIN!"

"Ah, I can't quite hear you." Vergil simply answered. "The waves are too loud. But, where shall we go next? The Himalayas? The Amazon? Or perhaps the - ?"

"STOP! PLEASE! NOT THE HIMALAYAS AGAIN! I'M SORRY!" Christopher cried helplessly. "I'LL,... I'LL GIVE THE NECKLACE BACK. JUST,... PLEASE! BRING ME BACK HOME!"

"And you swear it?"

"YES! YES!"

"Very well." Vergil replied, and after another slash of the Yamato, Christopher and him were back to Swan Lane in mere seconds.

Christopher collapsed on the ground, almost worshipping the dirty asphalt for seeing and feeling it once more. Then, fishing the necklace from his pocket, he turned around to see the eldest son of Sparda looking down at him.

"Here, man, take it!" Christopher said as he handed the trinket back to Vergil.

"And I hope you learned your lesson." Vergil spoke as calmly as he could as he took the thing from Christopher's hand. He knew that the man would have no reason to lie now, and should he find him doing it again, he'll take it upon himself to make him face even greater consequences than ever before ( he was strongly debating whether to leave the doctor on an indigenous island tribe who still used poison darts to assault invaders but, he took mercy upon him and avoided the place altogether ).

"Yes! Yes! I swear I will be good!"

"Very well, then." Vergil nodded, then turned on his heel.

Christopher waited for Vergil to disappear and only then did he finally try to get up. Thinking with gusto on what to have for breakfast ( for it was, indeed, almost morning ), he simply walked back home without calling for a taxi ( luckily, he didn't drop his cellphone on the way to Nairobi ). Opening the door and going straight to his kitchen, he opened his fridge and found,... nothing.

Thinking that his eyes might only be tired from seeing too much within a single night, he closed the fridge and blinked several times. Then, he opened the fridge once more. Still nothing.

"What,... the hell?" Christopher muttered under his breath.

His hunger almost consuming him, he began ransacking the shelves for anything to eat, anything at all. But, it was useless.

Someone stole all of his food!

Collapsing on the chair, he tried to stifle his screams of frustration as he grabbed fistfuls of his hair when he saw a piece of paper on the table right in front of him.

Curious, he grabbed the paper and read the words written on it.

Kittee an I ate all yer foods

It was yummee

Bydawei (Y/N)'s pupels tot me da alfebet last kreesmas and I learnt how ta wraite

Thankz fer da meal!

Yum yum yum

- Griffin

Can we go bak next time? Da mufens r hella delishas! Will bring Nitemerr too! He sez he wants ta see ya!

And at the bottom of the letter was a drawing of a frazzled - looking bird, with fierce - looking red eyes, in different shades of blue. And beside it, an illustration of a black cat with red eyes with the words, haha! Kittee gos mrreow! written next to it.

That damned poet's pets,... ate all of his damned food!

"FFFUUUCCCKKK!"

***

🌸 Three Wishes 🌸

***

The start of the new year proved to be very fruitful for you. First of all, Christopher Lancaster has moved to a different city that was very far from Swan Lane ( you found it strange that Griffon and Shadow seemed to be saddened by this fact ). Avery and Roman finally shared the good news to everyone ( you were not that surprised, actually, but all of you were very happy for the couple, nonetheless ). Your grandmother and Fleminger started seeing each other more and more and they both looked very happy ( once, Fleminger even visited the kindergarten you were working at and gave a musical instrument to each child, not to mention the more than generous sum he donated a week prior ). Dante left alone for Gaoltown on a mysterious gig he didn't want to share with others ( he didn't divulge the full details of the commission but, Morrison did spill that the client this time needed more than an Exorcist, and because of that, you have a strong feeling of what the Devil Hunter would be facing there ). Lady and Trish took turns watching over Dante's shop at Morrison's behest ( said they have this ladies' night thing going on and that they were working so hard because of this ). Nero went on more Devil Hunting missions with Nico ( Kyrie started tagging along, cooking foods for them and assisting Nico with Breaker repairs ). And Vergil? Let's just say he was busy with something,...

What about you and V?

For one, you have witnessed how V's demeanor changed for the better. As a matter of fact, he felt so different now compared to how he was the first time you've met him. Now, he smiled a lot, ate more than ever before, and most importantly, he finally allowed himself to loosen up a bit and have fun. 

Also, you're very happy to see how well he has gotten along with your students ( he insisted on visiting there every once in a while, either to play the violin or to read fairy tales ), that, over time, the children has gotten attached to him. So, he finally made the decision to apply there as a substitute teacher ( he can't focus on a full time teaching job because he was still active as a Devil Hunter ), and, honestly? You were beyond thrilled and excited. You even began looking forward to the days when it was his turn to teach because, every time he whips up fun tales for the children to listen to, he would always ask Griffon and Shadow to act out as the main characters ( the demonic bird was already asked to play as an astronaut who got lost in space, a pirate who can't swim, and a Genie who can't cook barbecue, and the demonic feline was already made to play a mermaid who turned into a hair brush, a warrior who came out of a durian, and a witch who turn swine into fish ). On some rare cases, the generous poet, along with his pet demons, would play tirelessly with the children for hours on end until the familiars got so tired, they turned into their stalemate states a few times.

And what about outside your work? Honestly, you couldn't ask for anything else, for you felt so content and satisfied with V by your side. He has even taken a vast interest with your full - time occupation as a pianist ( being a surprisingly talented musician, himself ). He never missed any of your concours and he has become your biggest fan ( he would always kindly ask to play something with you if you're not busy ). 

At times, you didn't know, or couldn't figure out, what you did to deserve such a very loving, thoughtful, and wonderful person. Your wounds of your past has now fully healed, thanks to V, and everyday, you look forward to seeing him and spending the rest of the day with him. You never stopped thanking the Heavens for granting you this wonderful opportunity of being together with the most loving, caring, and gentle man you have ever met.

Indeed, with V by your side, you have become the happiest woman on earth.

*

February 14, 2020

*

" ... and we can handle the rest. No worries!"

You still couldn't understand. Your partner's back! And what's more, she's with Vergil!

Vergil Sparda, of all people!

The two were graciously asking you to take a rest from teaching, taking over as teachers for the day to make up for the lost time ( your partner has been absent for quite a while ). And honestly? The two were doing a pretty good job ( you were a bit scared of what the students would think of Vergil, turned out he was fond of children deep beneath his stoic and intimidating shell, and they easily fell in love with him ) that you instantly felt confident of their skills.

But, work matters aside: Vergil was, indeed, the man who has been visiting your partner since last year! The man has been trying so hard to win her affections over the holidays, hence his absence from Devil hunting missions! And you saw that he has finally succeeded! The smile on his face said so!

And your partner? She looked positively radiant! And she should be! She's finally together with someone who deserved her love and kindness!

Finally, she would no longer feel heartbroken and lonely, and she could focus more on her violin now!

"It's alright, (Y/N)." Vergil reiterated as he handed a stuffed tiger to a little girl. "We can take it from here."

"Thank you, Vergil." You said, smiling at him and feeling so grateful for his initiative and generosity.

"No. Thank you. For taking care of my brother." The eldest son of Sparda answered. "I have never seen V so happy. And content. And full of life. He has changed, and for the better. I'm sure mother would be so proud of you, and she would feel honored to have you as a new member of the Sparda family,... little sister."

"Oh! I," you mumbled, suddenly feeling the heat creep up your cheeks and ears at the thought of marrying into the Sparda family. " ... thank you so much, Vergil."

"Come on, (Y/N), it's the fourteenth of February!" Your partner playfully told you as she held onto your arm. "You know what it means, don't you?"

"I don't know about that!" You lied with a shy smile, already feeling excited for this wonderful day.

"Go on! I'm sure he's waiting for you outside." Your partner let you go and practically pushed you out of the room with a mischievous look.

Giving the couple one last look before going out, you waved at them and said, "Thanks, guys!"

"You're welcome, (Y/N)."

"No problem, partner!"

Wearing a smile that could only be described as full of love and happiness, you went outside the colorful kindergarten building and, indeed, saw V waiting for you outside. And what's more, he was atop a jet black motorcycle that made your eyes widen in awe.

With a devilish smirk, V gestured for you to join him and said, "Nero persuaded me to get my own vehicle, since we would not be getting Nico's services for the next couple of months."

"That,... looks positively badass!" You admitted as you received your helmet from him. "Is this what you're trying to learn last month? How to ride a motorcycle?"

"Indeed." V answered as he felt your arms wrapping around his mid section. "Surprised?"

"Yeah!" You answered as you watched him wear his own helmet.

"Where to, my sweet lady?" V asked, his deep voice laced with mischief and excitement.

And with a little smirk of your own, you said, leaning onto him, "Wherever your heart desires, my dear poet."

***

🐦 Griffon's love letter is brought to you by my one and only little chicken, @lilttlechicken . Thank you so much for the help and support! 🐦

🌸 Thank you so much for the love and support, guys! By the way, there is a running joke / trend in every chapter of this fic. Let me know in the comments section if you noticed it, and I might give you a little gift. ;) 🌸

🌸 @la-vita , @dreaming-gamer , @birdgirl69 , and @v-vic . 🌸

***

...

...

...

"V,..." The poet heard Dante's voice from a distance. "V! Wake up!"

V opened his eyes and saw the worried look on Dante and Griffon's faces.

"V," Dante muttered as he grabbed the poet's shoulders, helping him sit and trying to wake him up by shaking him a bit. " ... are you okay? What happened?"

"I thought you're done for, V!" Griffon, who gently landed on his leg, sounded like he was crying in despair.

V felt his eyes getting heavy and hot with unshed tears, and there was a growing pain in his chest that was beginning to feel more and more like a massive inconvenience. His hand reached up and clutched it, feeling emptier and lonelier than ever before.

"I saw her." The poet began, his voice hoarse and raw with emotion after such a shocking and harrowing experience. "As a dancer, a musician, a teacher, a patient, a partner, a lover,... " Looking into Dante's eyes, he let out those words that nagged and gnawed on his conscience, begging to be freed after such a long time. "It has always been her, Dante."

"What do you mean by that, V?"

"It was (Y/N). We were always together. It has always been her. And her alone." Taking a deep breath, he finally set those tears of his free from their deep, jade prison and declared, with a clear voice, "(Y/N),... is, indeed, my soulmate."

Leaving the poet for a while, Dante stood and marched directly towards the one who caused V all this misery.

The one woman, dressed from head to toe in black, who mourned for the lost of her love.

For many centuries.

"Azalea," Dante began, looking down at her and trying to get through her intimidating shell one more time. But, he still couldn't. " ... what happened to V? What did you do to him?"

The woman named Azalea returned Dante's worried gazr, her pair of gold rose eyes that shed so many tears seemingly penetrating the depths of his own soul.

And with a look that made the Legendary Devil Hunter realize how weak he really was before her, she spoke,...

"I opened,... his eyes."

***

V and Dante will return.

***

🌸🌸🌸

***

[do-ya-hear-that-sound]

Request for Christmas with the deetz & maitlands & bj. Like what they got each other, decorating, all that good stuff because tis the season !

Aye, it’s Christmas Eve so better now than never to answer this, amiright?

(don’t answer that)

Charles is THE ABSOLUTE WORST at shopping. Thank god for Delia, she’s a shopping demon. Black Friday is her JAM, and she did all of the holiday shopping after Thanksgiving. 

(Emily was the one who always did the shopping in the family, not because he didn’t have any idea what to get them, he loves his family dearly but... Charles isn’t the most emotionally intelligent, and it really shows around this time of year. Charles said he married Delia because Lydia needed a mom, but honestly, Charles really needed a partner again.)

And speaking of demons...

Beej is absolutely confused as to what is happening around him

“Why the fuck is there a tree inside the house now???”

“Why are there fucking socks hanging over the fireplace??? Isn’t that a fire hazard?? Are you breathers T R Y I N G to go to the Netherworld again???” “Beej, we don’t have fires during the nig-” “IT’S DANGEROUS LYDIA”

“Okay, wait. I’m totally down for the fungus hanging over the doorframe... Can I eat it?”

Everyone thinks he’s just messing around until Barabra straight-up asks him if he knows it’s Christmas time. The Ghost just blinks, looks around, and you can see the dots connecting in his head. 

“Ohhhhh, that’s what this is. Huh. And here I thought you guys were starting a cult without me.”

Everyone is pretty shook over that Beej doesn’t know what Christmas is. They still think he’s messing with them. 

“Guys. I died over a millennia ago. I've been bouncing around between the living world and the Netherworld since then. Last time I was topside during this time of year, people were calling this Yule. ’Sides, I’m Jewish. This pagan shit is cool to get fucked up with, but I don’t keep tabs on it.”

Delia goes out and buys as many Hanukkah themed sweaters and decorations as her credit card will allow her that very same day. Barbara helps Lydia research traditional foods. Charles and Adam research how to celebrate each day. 

They all surprise at sundown, when the first candle is to be lit on the Menorah. Beej is touched at the effort. He recites the prayer and lights the candle. (And if anyone sees his eyes glistening, they know better than to point it out to him.)

He hovers over the kitchen along with Barabra to help the Deetz’s with preparing meals for the rest of the holiday. He’s not exactly calm now, but he’s significantly less chaotic after the first night. (Which Charles is more than grateful for)

Barabra and Adam can’t really go out to shop, so they get Lydia and Delia to help them out! 

Barbara gets Adam some new paints for his town model. Adam gets her some new vinyls she had her eyes on before she died.

Delia gets Lydia a new camera lens, as well as a travel bag to hold Lydia's camera. Lydia gets Delia some crystals (duh) and a horoscope book for the upcoming year. 

Charles, after much internal debate (and some encouragement from Delia), gives Lydia a scrapbook of Emily’s writings and various works she created from when she was around her age. The book was originally a gift from Emily’s father. He gave it to Emily as a birthday gift after Lydia was born.

"I think they both knew it would find its way to you, eventually. " Charles smiles softly, eyes glistening. "Your mother would be so proud of you, Lydia. She would have want you to have this. She loved you. So much."

Lydia hugs her dad so tight, and if there are tears in both of their eyes, well, neither of them says anything about it.

They stay like that for a while. For once, nothing needs to be said between them at all.

The whole group pitches in and gets a leatherbound portfolio folder for Lydia, with her name etched onto the cover.

Beej gets Lydia some film for his camera. He gives the Maitlands some wool gloves (death is pretty chilly, after all). For the Deetz’s, he gets Delia some incense and Charles a coupon book full of favors that he can cash in for The Ghost with the Most to do at any time.

("One Mind-Blowing Threesome" is Beej's personal favorite. "One Entire Day of Peace and Quiet" and "Get Rid of Annoying House Guest" are the ones that Charles is most likely to use, tbh)

For Lydia, he gets her a locket with a rather large mirror in it.

“It’s two way, Lyds. You can summon me at any time just by saying my name, but if, for whatever reason, you can’t, just open the locket, and I’ll go completely ape shit on whatever you got yourself into this time.”

Lydia gives Beej an old phone: “It’s so we can send each other memes and tik toks. It won’t work without WiFi, but that shouldn’t be much of an issue. We can even facetime while I’m not at the house, too.”

Lydia fucking KOed him. He’s straight-up crying. Lydia has to pat his back awkwardly while Beej clutches his phone and sobs. 

The Maitlands get Beej under the mistletoe and kiss him on the cheek at the same time as their Christmas present to him. Beej short-circuits and has a dopey smile on his face while it's happening. It’s a sweet moment... until he snaps out of it and tries to make out with one of them.  

Charles and Delia get Beej his own space in the house. The Maitlands have the attic, and the basement is Lydia’s darkroom, but another room in the house’s only used as storage. Delia and Charles have cleared it out and have been ordering stuff off Amazon to make it a home for him. It’s mostly black and white stuff, but there are a few green and purple pieces there as well. 

Aaaaaaaaand he’s crying again

It’s a good Christmas all around, my dudes 🎄🎄🎄

[spoopycreepyhorrorcreepypasta]

Stay Safe

I’m on the sixth floor of my apartment complex. It’s a small studio, and almost fully furnished. The only items I moved in were my twin-sized bed, various personal belongings, and kitchenware. Included in the apartment is a desk that folds out on the right side of the wall, a dresser, and coffee table. 

Pat, my realtor, smiled at me with wide eyes when she showed me the apartment. “What do you think?” she asked, hands clutching her clipboard. “It’s fine, I guess,” I said. I had never lived on my own before. I was about to start college at DePaul. Chicago is a big city, and I didn’t know anyone yet. 

“Great!” she exclaimed. “I’ll send you the final paperwork via email as soon as I get home, Becca.” She ushered me out into the hallway, taking a nervous glance behind her as we made our way to the elevator.

The only way that I can explain it is that her vibes were off. But, the apartment was actually below my price-range, and in a decent neighborhood (or so I was told by Reddit), so I couldn’t say no.

That first night, I barely slept. I was startled every time I heard the rushing of trains a few blocks away. Dogs were barking, car horns honking. This was so different from the small, quiet town I grew up in back in Indiana.

I didn’t have to start school until the next month, so I had loads of time to unpack and adjust to my new life in the big city. To help with motivation, I put on pop music and sung along as I unfolded all of my clothes and put them away into my new dresser, put away my kitchenware, and set up my desk space with my new office chair, which I had just ordered from Amazon.

The fold-out desk looked old. I wasn’t sure when the apartment complex was built, but it must have been decades ago. It was a little squeaky, so I dug out the WD40 my uncle had slipped into one of my boxes began dripping the liquid on the rusted metal parts of the desk.

I saw scratches on the underbelly of the wood. This was odd to me as the desk folded down to about thigh-height, so it’s not like anyone could have been underneath, clawing away. Perhaps someone had been working at this desk with some sort of severe anxiety and had dug their nails into the wood. I looked closer. The scratches were tinged with dark red stains. Chills ran through my body. I immediately whipped out my Magic Eraser and began scrubbing. 

The stains were not rubbing out. I clenched my fists and scrubbed harder, to no avail. The scratch makes made my skin crawl, and I was really uncomfortable at the possibly that there would be stained blood right underneath me while doing schoolwork. 

The days were long. I did begin to feel more comfortable as all of my items from home were coming together nicely in my new space. 

The nights were longer. The trains still irked me, the dogs barking was unnerving. The third night, things got worse.

The scratching began. 

As I was drifting off to sleep, I heard a “skritch” on the other side of the wall, opposite the desk. I thought nothing of it. The scratching continued, small noises, intermittently, with no distinct pattern. I tried to ignore them as best I could. I assumed it was a neighbor painting their wall, or maybe it was furniture of theirs scraping for some reason. Maybe they had a desk like me, which wasn’t sturdy, and they were working overnight.

The next morning, I made myself breakfast on my tiny kitchen stove. My eyes were drawn the to the desk, and my wall behind it. 

“I’m going to take out the trash,” I thought to myself, “and explore my new building.”

The trash bag wasn’t heavy, as I didn’t have much to dispose of yet, but this was a good excuse to meander about. As I exited the apartment and turned to lock the door, I realized that there was no apartment on the left hand side of me, as my apartment was snuggled into the corner. The left side of the wall was where the scratches were coming from. 

I ran to the garbage bin outside, tossed the bag, and headed back inside the building. As I approached my door, I questioned myself as to why I was so antsy to go back in. 

"You're being stupid," I told myself. "There must be something in the walls. Maybe I can track down a neighbor and ask them if they've had similar experiences." 

I did run into a neighbor that weekend, in the lobby. 

I mustered up my courage to approach the strange man. "Hi," I said. "I'm Becca. I'm in apartment 608. Do you mind if I ask you a weird question?" 

He was handsome, and his brow gleamed with sweat. His name was Greg, he said, and he was actually moving out. He set down the box he was carrying and brushed off his shirt. I could see the U-Haul parked out front of the complex. 

"Oh," I said. "Congrats on the move?" You never know if someone is moving because they found a better opportunity, or worse, if they are breaking up with a partner. 

"Hah," he said, chuckling a bit. "Yeah, I can't stay in this apartment much longer. So, your question might not be so weird." He chuckled a bit but I could see a glint of fear in his eyes. 

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"Well, you have a weird question, but I bet I have a weirder answer. Let's sit down."

I froze, worried that he would invite me into his apartment, but thankfully he pointed to the couch on the other side of the lobby, next to the Keurig machine (which sadly isn't free, I noticed). 

"Listen," he said, leaning forward. "This place is fucking weird." 

I was taken aback. I wasn't used to cursing nor was I prepared for what he was about to say.

"I moved in about six months ago. I mean, this is a pretty cool place, right? Decent location, close to the train." He looked around, as if reminiscing. "Shit started to go down within the first week. I'm alone, right? How are my keys going to be place on my desk and when I turn around they're in my bathroom? Or in my fucking bathtub?!" He shook his head. "I'm thinking I'm going crazy. I'm hearing all these weird noises. I swear something is watching me. I'm finding nails on the floor. I'm seeing all this weird shit outside my window. And I'm on the third floor!" 

My mouth fell open, agape. 

"Bro, I had the creepiest feelings, too, I can't even explain them. Just like, the heebie-jeebies. Someone is watching me." He said it again. Someone was watching him. "I'm not even religious at all, but I'm praying every night. I had to get out. I was just done. I called the landlord and I broke my lease and I said 'I'm out, I gotta go.' She actually didn't ask questions..." He pondered this for a moment. "..and I didn't ask questions, either. So two weeks later, here I am, bailing."

"I've been hearing scratches," I said shakily. "They started a few days after I moved in. I also feel really...weird."

"The scratches!" He exclaimed. He took my hand, and I instinctively pulled away, but he held on. "The scratches is how it begins. You gotta get out," he said. "You need to leave."

He stood up quickly, before I could ask any questions. "Listen," he said. "I gotta go. I'm on a time crunch here. I really hope you, uh..." he was at a loss for words. "Stay safe." 

Greg picked up the box he had left up front and hauled it out the front door, glancing back at me once, nodding his head, as if confirming his words, which echoed in my head. "You need to leave," he had said. "Stay safe."

I sat in the lobby for another ten minutes, cursing myself that I didn't have quarters for the Keurig. I could have gotten some hot cocoa. My aunt always made it for me when I was feeling anxious or scared.

I didn't want to go back into my apartment. But I had no choice. 

Greg was right. The scratching was how it begun. It got louder, and louder. The scratches sounded longer, like someone scraping their nails across the walls in long strokes. I began to sleep with my AirPods in. The soothing sounds of ocean waves washed around me. "He was just messing with me," I thought. "It's just rats, or mice," I thought. "It's just a creaky old building, this is just in my head, this is all a dream, just a fever dream..."

I was reading in bed one afternoon. The sun was glimmering through the window, and the scratches started again. But they weren't coming from behind the desk. They were coming from the wall behind me.

I jumped out of bed, and flung my bed to the floor. I couldn't stand this anymore. I began knocking on the wall. "Hello!?" I said loudly. "Please be quiet!" 

The scratching became louder. The noise traveled up the wall, creeping over my head, and onto the ceiling. RIPPP! SKREEEET!

I screamed, grabbed my phone and keys, and ran to the lobby, then outside, gasping for air. I looked around. Where was I going to go? What was I going to do?

"My realtor," I thought. "She has go to know something." The memory of her odd behavior when I accepted the space entered into my mind. 

I dialed her number, and surprisingly, she picked up almost immediately.

"Hi Becca," she said. "So... how are things?"

"Listen, Pat. Please be straight with me. What is going on in this apartment."

She drew in a long, labored sigh. "What's happening to you?" she asked.

"Scratching!" I exclaimed. "My desk, it has stains on it. It's like, fingernail scratches and there is blood! There is blood, Pat! And the skritching, the scratching, it's like... creatures trapped in my walls! Is it rats? Mice? Racoons? Greg told me he heard it too." The words were rushing out of my mouth. "He said he saw something outside, Greg said that he was freaked out, Greg is moving out!" I'm almost yelling at this point.

"Hon," she said. "It's going to be okay. Meet me at the Starbucks down the street tomorrow. Does 3pm work for you?"

My breathing is slowing. "Sure," I said. "Sure. I'll see you there."

"I need to go," Pat said, sounding distracted. "I uh, I'll see you tomorrow." She hung up. 

I didn't meet up with Pat the next day.

That night, the pitter patter of rain tapped gently on my window. I decided to not sleep with my AirPods in, as the rain was soothing enough.

Tap, tap! "It must be raining harder," I thought. "Tap, tap, tap." This didn't sound like rain though. 

Scrreeeeeeeeeech! The sound of nails dragging on glass. Scriiiiiiiitch! 

I closed my eyes tighter. "This isn't happening," I told myself. "I am dreaming, you are dreaming." 

SCRIEEEEEEECCCH. I couldn't ignore it.

I shifted my head toward the window, moving at the slowest pace possibly, and saw it.

It wasn't a shadow. It was darker than a shadow. But solid. I was frozen.

Sunken eyes, sunken jowls, sunken cheekbones. The longest face, a dripping chin, like melting wax. Arms raised above it's head, claws like a bird's beak, scritching, scraping down my window. Head tilted, it noticed my presence. A small hole formed where a mouth would be. A small hole growing larger, wider. The scratching, it was scratching faster, and faster, the mouth growing larger, and larger, until it screamed louder than I could have possibly imagined, piecing my ears. Like a banshee, like a demon, a sound from the pits of hell. 

I couldn't move. I couldn't look away. The shrill shriek seemed to last for eons. But then it stopped. It tilted it's head once more, and then scurried sideways out of sight. 

The next morning I gathered my essentials, rented a car, texted Pat that I couldn't make it, and drove back to Indiana. 

I had to break my least, which was a kick in the butt financially. I called Pat about a week later and told her that things just didn't work out. 

"Oh," she said, sounding downtrodden. "Can I ask why?"

"No," I said firmly. "I am never speaking of it again." I hung up the phone. 

I still see it. I see it in my nightmares. I see it in the corner of my eye. I ignore it. I think I made a mistake. I shouldn't have looked at it. I shouldn't have looked in those eyes. Those blackened, sunken eyes. 

[mpregwrites]

Pop That Lock

rated: g/soft t for swearing words: 2302

@soukokuweek​ day one: “trial and error”

--

***

The only thing that kept Chuuya from launching his phone full-force against the nearest wall was the fact that he was a reasonable person who could control his temper when dealing with shithead Dazai and all of his stupid ass shit. Definitely not because he did that exact thing last week and had to make a very embarrassing trip to the service provider with the barely-recognizable smashed remains of an iPhone X that probably deserved better. He refused to go back for at least the next month or they were going to start worrying about him and his tendency to go through thousand dollar phones every couple of months at best.

There was still a pressing matter at hand: Kouyou’s birthday party. He had already requested leave for the rest of the day starting at noon but that didn’t do anything to mitigate the issue of Dazai most definitely showing up just to ruin it, and Kouyou deserved better. In the past year or so he had installed seven more deadbolts on his apartment door and started locking them at random in the vain hopes that it might deter Dazai from just breaking in whenever the hell he felt like it, but Dazai’s lockpicking abilities were second to none in the worst way. He could put up with having his furniture moved two inches to the left but he drew the line at crashing Kouyou’s birthday party.

He tapped his foot quickly on the ground, arms crossed over his chest. There had to be some way to keep Dazai from showing up uninvited and eating all the crab. It was rude to keep excusing himself from the festivities to re-lock the door every couple of minutes, not to mention how fucking annoying that would be. Sometimes it felt like Dazai hadn’t really outgrown all of his 16-year-old mischief.

Regrettably, though, Chuuya was far too mature these days to match all of Dazai’s nonsense blow-for-blow, and he was fresh out of teenagers to ask for tips and tricks. Maybe he could hire one for the night—

He smacked himself in the forehead. The answer was staring him in the face the whole time.

Fishing his phone out of his pocket, he opened his contact list and pressed ‘call’ on Mori’s contact info, not even bothering to hide the mania of the grin cracking across his face as it rang. Gin only raised an eyebrow at him before going back to sharpening her knife with extreme prejudice, because Gin only knew how to do things with extreme prejudice and Chuuya appreciated such an honest and straightforward approach to life.

Finally, Mori answered the phone. “Hello, Chuuya-kun. Did you need something?”

“Apologies for bothering you, Boss,” he replied, bowing slightly even though Mori couldn’t see it. “I have a, uh… peculiar request to make of you pertaining to the festivities tonight.”

“Oh? I’m intrigued.”

Chuuya shifted the phone from one ear to the other so he could grab his wallet out of his pocket and rifle through the bills in the fold. “In the interests of keeping unscrupulous characters from disturbing said festivities, I was wondering if it would be okay for me to borrow a certain asset for the night.”

Mori chuckled, amused. “They’ve been in a bit of a mood lately, you know. Are you sure you can handle that?”

“I’m sure.”

“Alright, then. I leave them in your capable hands.” And with that, Mori hung up, leaving Chuuya with a rising giddiness under his skin that thrummed warmly. Kouyou was going to have a fantastic birthday party because he was finally, finally going to be able to outsmart Dazai after ten years of knowing each other and a lot of mortifying losses taken.

Everything was going perfectly.

***

Q removed one earbud from their ear and looked Chuuya up and down from where they were perched on their bed. “I don’t want to, though.”

So things maybe weren’t going perfectly, but Chuuya wasn’t going to admit defeat to a fucking teenager. He ground his teeth together tightly and counted backwards from ten in Japanese, then French, then Russian, Italian, Spanish, and eventually English before he felt like he could open his mouth without screaming obscenities. “You will notice that it wasn’t a request and I specifically phrased it as such to avoid confusion, Kyuusaku.”

They rolled their eyes and a vein started throbbing in Chuuya’s forehead. After the heavy traumatization they received during the entire Guild bullshit three years prior it had been decided that maybe locking them up like an animal wasn’t exactly welcoming to the development of a healthy mental state, so Chuuya and Kouyou both lobbied for at least humane treatment. They were given their own room and the periodic ability to head out into the dregs of normal society, provided they behaved and were accompanied by several mafiosi.

Unfortunately, this also meant that they had the chance to develop a personality, and mixed in with the dangerous cocktail of hormones running through their pubescent veins, it meant they were kind of a snarky shithead. God, he hated dealing with teenagers.

“What do I even get out of this?” Q asked, reclining back onto their elbows and crossing their legs at their ankles. “It sounds boring with no payoff. No thanks! I’ll just read manga here instead.”

More than he hated dealing with teenagers, he hated dealing with mouthy teenagers with zero work ethic, and—holy fuck, 16-year-old Q was just a repackaged version of Dazai at 15. Chuuya wanted to scream.

“Look,” Chuuya said, trying to level with Q as best as he knew how. “I’ll give you $500 and a PS Vita with three games of your choice if you just sit by the front door and flip locks all night. A monkey could do this.”

“Then hire a monkey to do it.”

“I’m trying.”

Q frowned. “I said it sounds boring and I don’t want to do it. It’s not worth the effort.”

“I’ll give you an extra $100 for every time Dazai gets frustrated and swears.”

They sat up straight, pulling their legs in to sit cross-legged on the bed. “I guess… it doesn’t sound that bad when you put it like that.” Q tapped a finger on their chin thoughtfully, humming a long tone that only got longer the more Chuuya’s foot started involuntarily tapping out of irritation. “Okay, fine. I’ll do it. But I want one of the new Vita models. None of the crappy older ones. And let me use your Amazon Prime account to order figures.”

Chuuya sighed. “Deal.”

***

Dazai whistled a happy little tune to himself as he walked by the doorman and the person manning the front desk of Chuuya’s apartment building, waving at them. They waved back. All was right in the world.

The elevator ride was the longest part of the job every single time he came here, and he was running fashionably late to his already fashionably late lockpicking session. His lockpick set bounced against his leg in his jacket pocket as he shifted from side to side to stretch out his back for the crouching hell he was about to endure. Soon enough, the elevator slowed to a stop, dinged, and the doors opened.

Chuuya’s apartment was more than one apartment. The hat rack decided years ago that one apartment wasn’t enough for him, so he bought half a floor’s worth of apartments and had it remodeled into one massive living space, complete with multiple bedrooms for guests, an entertainment center, a full library, two different kitchens, more bathrooms than any person with one ass could ever need, and several other luxuries he definitely didn’t need. He liked to throw his fancy executive paycheck around as much as he could, and it was kind of cute.

He also refused to give Dazai a spare key to it, not that it ever stopped him. Eating all of his crackers and leaving crumbs on the couch was part of the experience of their relationship, after all.

The party was clearly a rager from what he could hear from behind the closed door. Surveying the eight deadbolts between him and Chuuya’s home cooking and absurdly expensive alcohol collection, he whipped out his lockpicking set and got to work.

The first bolt gave easily, and the next two weren’t locked. The third was, as was the fourth, but the fifth wasn’t set. The sixth and eighth were, the seventh not. It was easy enough to fiddle with the picks to get them open, and all in all it took less than ten minutes to get through all eight. He stood up, brushed himself off, and then grabbed the handle and turned it.

Or, well, he tried turning it. It didn’t budge.

He stared at his hand, still around the doorknob, and said, “What the fuck.”

***

Senbonzakura faded out and Fukagyaku Replace started up, but Q had their other ear trained on the door. Every time they heard a lock click out of place, they would either lock it back up or lock one of the ones that hadn’t been locked. It was mindless work, but at least they were going to get free food out of it once the party was over on top of the other agreed-upon spoils.

They heard Dazai swear again outside the door and added another tally to their list.

***

Three hours of hosting later, Kouyou was pleasantly tipsy and ready to go home. The consensus among the rest of the guests was much the same, and they all thanked Chuuya in turn as he escorted them to the door, undoing all the locks in one swift motion and letting them out. When the last of them had left, he stood in the threshold and looked down.

On the floor outside the apartment, Dazai sat with his knees to his chest and a pout on his face. It was equal parts hilarious and adorable. Chuuya kicked him with the toe of his house slipper. “Get up, asshole. There’s leftovers.”

“I think I’ll just sit out here until I die of starvation instead,” Dazai replied, the pout infecting even his voice. “Since you clearly don’t want me around. This is a pretty cruel method of torture, even for you.”

“In case you’ve forgotten, you were the torture specialist, Demon Prodigy,” Chuuya said back flatly, kicking Dazai again. “Stop pouting and get in here already and fucking eat something. I’ve gotta get Cinderella back before midnight.”

“I don’t want to now. McDonald’s wouldn’t treat me like this.”

Chuuya snorted, leaning back into the apartment to address Q from where they were still sitting on the stool they had been provided at the start of the party, one earbud in as they played Snake on the shitty Nokia flip phone Mori allowed them to have. “Honor system, but how much do I owe you for this one?”

Q pursed their lips and did some quick mental math. “Well, you said $100 every time he swore, so with the $500 you started with… $2000?”

“I’ll make it $3000 because he’s pouting like a goddamn child.” He pulled out his wallet and selected the appropriate amount of cash before handing it to Q. “Go ahead and grab some food before I take you back to headquarters. You’ve earned it.”

Almost immediately after the words came out of Chuuya’s mouth, Q vacated their seat with enviable speed and scurried over to the spread of leftovers on the dining room table, loading a plate up with everything they could see. With that problem out of the way, it was time to get his stupid manchild of an ex-partner to stop throwing a silent fit on the floor outside his apartment.

He put his hand on the top of Dazai’s hair and gave it an affectionate ruffle he would deny until his last breath. “I made crab. Just the way you like it.”

Dazai looked up at Chuuya, the angle accentuating the way his bottom lip was dramatically sticking out. He sniffed. “I guess if you make it up to me with a romantic dinner I can get over the pain you’ve caused my poor heart.”

“Yeah, yeah. Get in here, stupid.”

***

Q stuffed another bread roll into their mouth, glancing back and forth between Chuuya—his mouth so impressively turned down into a frown it was a wonder his lips hadn’t fallen off yet—and Dazai—currently holding his fork so tight it was threatening to bend in his hand—while chewing. They swallowed. “Are you guys gonna eat?”

“You know, Chuuya,” Dazai said, icicles forming on the words, “when I say ‘romantic dinner,’ it usually means just the two of us.”

“I don’t think they could pick up a hint if you dropped it right at their feet and literally fucking pointed at it, Dazai.”

They took another bite of the roll and chewed slower this time, more deliberately. They were pretty sure there was some kind of tension in the room over something, but knowing Dazai and Chuuya it could easily have been over just about anything under the sun. It wasn’t worth worrying about it, not when there was so much food ready to be eaten. And why would they eat in the living room when there was a perfectly good table begging to be dined on?

Chuuya put his face in his hands and sighed deeply. Dazai’s top lip twitched violently.

After about five minutes of that, Q swallowed, drank half a glass of water, and pointed at Dazai’s plate before saying, “Do you want that or not?”

The fork finally gave out.

[miraclejune]

HERO’S SOUP: CHAPTER 17

District 9

Minho and Felix popped inside through the window. A hint of snow wafted around as Felix transformed back into human form. Minho quietly emerged from the dark corner.

Woojin helped Woong from getting some extra chairs from one of the rooms. They settled down and paid attention to the heavy conversation that was bound to happen.

"Jisung got kidnapped. Jeongin met another one of Merlin's apprentices. Changbin almost got killed. And Chan has real friends outside the mansion."

"Really? That's one of the big issues?" Chan rolled his eyes after receiving no response from Hyunjin. "I've heard about all of that except for the last part." Woong chuckled as he spoke.

"How?”

“Rumors spread faster than the plague here. And the Sofia's aren't good at keeping secrets." the vampire couldn't agree more. He heard a lot of chatter before at the clan, mostly some petty quarrels and scandals. Rare cases would be fights and disagreements within their 'businesses'. They spread petty rumors about other people but not even the slightest information from them was leaked.

"So, basically every supernatural being knows?" Woojin slumped down as he saw Woong's soft nod.

"Is it all connected though?" Jeongin asked.

"I hope so. It'll be much easier to deal with." Minho responded. He was right. If the following scenes came from different sources, it would be very difficult to handle. They didn't have the resources nor the time to do so. When it comes to manpower, they do have Jisung and Chan.

"Do you guys think they're tracking us?"

"Jeongin, you watch too many detective movies." Felix chuckled, moving to sit in between the boy's legs. "Well," Jeongin leaned forward and placed his hands on Felix's shoulders. "I do watch a lot of those films but maybe it's possible? No harm in finding out.”

"Let's hear him out." Minho suggested. He nodded at the boy signaling him to continue. "So, Jisung had been kidnapped before, right? Thankfully we all got out alive. Which is weird?"

"How is that weird?" Seungmin furrowed his eyebrows. Woojin put out a hand to calm him down, he noticed his tone was rising for a bit. "Go on." he said.

"O-okay." Taking a big breath, Jeongin calmed his racing heart.

"They let us go so easily. No backup. No follow up attacks. No nothing. It was too peaceful for my liking. A couple of weeks passed by peacefully, except for that one encounter with Ms. Yoo. Do you guys think she was somehow warning us? That something bad would happen soon."

"Kazuo has been giving us hints as well." Seungmin added.

Hyunjin rested his chin on his hand. "Ms. Yoo didn't hurt you. But she did scare the shit out of you." Jeongin nodded. To be honest, he did almost piss his pants.

"I tried to find her. But I couldn't get a grip of her. I couldn't ask around because people might question why I, an alpha wolf, is looking for one of Merlin's Descendants with no valid reason to state." Hyunjin turned to the alpha. He was also part of that search team.

"What we know for sure is that she's not our enemy nor our ally. I haven't seen her around the university ever since." Seungmin added. It somehow made sense. After not seeing her at the campus, weird things started to happen.

"We keep on encountering Kazuo though." Seungmin pointed out. Everyone in the room went still. "He's helping us." Chan replied. "We're not so sure about that." Minho retaliated. Chan didn't respond back.

"Two days ago. I received a letter from my former master." Seungmin's confession drew everyone's attention. "It was mostly monthly updates on how the academy is and some special events. But she did disclose a hidden message."

Hyunjin tilted his head. "Huh, as far as I know. No secret code nor language can't be deciphered by your former academy. Everything that comes in and out is to be sorted and searched very thoroughly." It was common knowledge for everyone.

Not only Seungmin's former witch academy but most of the facilities regarding students and workers. "That's the problem. They scrutinize every detail of it except for the very simple ones. They tend to overlook it."

He snapped his fingers and a sealed amazon box fell onto his lap. He reached out for Woojin's hand, who was beside the sofa sitting on a different chair.

On cue, the alpha's nails grew longer. "You just used our alpha as a cutter to open up the box.." Changbin shook his head in disbelief.

"Anyway, it said something about another package that was sent to me via mail." Seungmin ignored the wolf's remarks.

He stopped halfway through opening it.

"Like, normal mailing." what he meant was, normal human mailing.

"Yeah, the FedEx box is a dead giveaway." Felix commented.

"I planned on opening it the day I received it, but I forgot." the rest weren't paying attention to his words. They were excited to see what was in the package.

Seungmin pulled out a bunch of old letters, books, and smaller boxes. "Oh, these are just stuff I left there." He flipped through some of the books, handing one or two to Woong, the rest wondered why Seungmin had Woong's belongings.

"She scares me." Woong thanked him, sighing in agreement with what he said. "Seriously, she knows the exact time and place we would meet. Even when you're gonna open the package."

"You guys went to the same academy?" Jeongin asked.

"Yup!" Woong snapped his fingers, a big book appearing from thin dust. The book floats in front of everyone. It was sort of like a yearbook. Something straight out of Harry Potter. It flipped through the page where Woong's class was featured. "I was in my last year when Seungmin came in. So, we didn't see each other often." Seungmin waves his hand in the air, flipping through the pages once more until it stops at his class photo. "I hated taking these class photos," he confessed.

"Why'd you get the book?" Seungmin asked. "I also got the tablet. But I don't know where I placed it." Basically, their academy offers two options for the 'yearbook' either print or digital. Hey, it's a new age.

Woong threw the books he received at the shelf. They slowed down and squeezed neatly on a few vacant spaces. "Why didn't you just search for her there?" he pointed at the book. "Ms. Yoo is older than both of you.. so, it won't make sense."

"The book shows every class from the beginning of the academy to the last." Woong proclaimed proudly. "Damn, why wasn't I cursed as a witch." Changbin completely forgot about his words earlier. He was impressed.

Seungmin thinned his lips before answering. 

"I did."

The book closed. The cover slowly changed into a different color, as well as a year printed on the front. It opened and flipped through a couple of pages stopping abruptly on the last page. "This was Ms. Yoo's class. There were only 10 of them and I heard that all of them were expelled."

They all leaned in to see an empty sheet with only the year printed on top of it, the ink was runny. It looked creepy as hell...

"Why haven't we heard of this?" Chan looked at Seungmin and Woong exchanging glances with each other. "An expelled student is normal but a whole class was definitely sketchy. We have no idea how and why. We were just given a warning not to bring it up if necessary."

The room sat in silence.

Jeongin observed the book, shifting his gaze to the two witches. Woong snapped his fingers and the book disappeared.

As they were settling on their seats, Jeongin spoke up. "You guys are cursed."

Woojin walked across the room, kneeling in front of the boy. "How did you know?" softly caressing his cheek, he asked. "I just know." Jeongin wasn't quite sure as to why he knew. He just blurted out the first thing that came to mind and based on Woojin's actions, he knew also.

"We are." Woong gave a sad smile.

"Cursed not to talk about it." Seungmin murmured.

"But how? You guys just mentioned it." Minho tilted his head after asking. He was boggled by what was happening at that moment. "We can talk about the whole class being expelled, but not the reason why."

"So, you are cursed not to talk about it?" Felix asked again.

"No. We can say what happened but not the details."

"Why not?" Chan asked this time.

As soon as he did, they all shut their mouths. They got it. The witches were cursed. They're just repeating themselves, not really getting anything out of it. It was an endless cycle. It sent shivers down their spine.

Chan recalled Seungmin saying something about a curse he wanted to be removed as he entered the neutral zone. So this was it.

A curse that had a purpose won't be able to break in neutral zones. He glanced at Changbin who searched for every neutral zone in South Korea just to find a way to undo his curse. But it didn't.

"Let's move on." Woojin broke the silence, smiling amongst the agitated faces of his friends. He stood up and went back to his seat. "So, there was nothing special about the package? Why would your master send it through normal mail?"

"Oh, there is something there." Woong implied.

Seungmin emptied the remaining contents of the package.

"Woong, if you mind." he neatly removed the contents of the coffee table, asking the others to hold on to their cups for the meantime.

Seungmin placed the box on top of the table, holding out his hands in the air. Woong walked to the opposite side and mimicked Seungmin's actions.

After a few seconds, the curtains closed and the lights dimmed, engulfing the room in darkness. The box levitated in midair, glowing as bright as the witches' hair.

The rest of them expected some cool outcome or important information. However as they felt the climax reaching its point, the box fell, and the witches fell on their knees as well.

"This sealing is so complicated." Jeongin looked at the box as he helped Woong get on his feet. "She really sent something so cryptic even though she knows we can't remove the seal easily." Seungmin thanked Woong who supported him when he was about to fall.

"Jeongin, don't touch it." Chan was too late. The boy had already picked up the box.

He momentarily stopped to realize what he had done and proceeded to turn it over to its original position. "Chan, it's fine. It's not harmful." Woong reassured.

"So, you can't open it?" Hyunjin mumbled.

Seungmin snorted. "I didn't say we can't." Both went back to their original positions. "It'll be much easier now." Woong continued.

And so, they did. It only took a few seconds before the box was engulfed in flames; no trace of ash nor residue was left.

"District 9." the witches said in unison.

"That place?" Minho probed.

"That's where Origin is." he continued. "Rank 1?" Felix nodded softly at Jeongin answering his question.

The strongest of the 11 families. No one has a clue about them. What they are capable of, who their leader is or where they’re from. Rumor has it they attacked the lower ranked families that’s why they vanished, but no one has proven anything yet. No one even knows how many members they have, or if its just one person.

"Was." Woojin corrected Minho. "They're gone."

"We don't know that." Hyunjin argued. "It's been a couple thousand years." Woojin replied. "They probably perished after getting rid of the other families.” he continued.

“That’s not possible. They can’t just disappear like that!”

“Hyunjin, don’t you fucking dare raise your voice at me.” Woojin's growl left the room in a terrifying silence. Every natural body movement was on hold.

Jeongin could hear his pulse banging in his ears and there was sweat dripping down his back. Even Woong was frozen in fear. He had seen Woojin in a bad mood before. He was not frightened nor was he afraid. What he felt was beyond such mere nouns. And he knew everyone else in the room except Hyunjin was feeling it.

Hyunjin hastily stood up, balling his fists as he stared down on Woojin. Out of all the members, he was the only one who wasn’t scared of Hyunjin. He is the beta. Second in command. And he’s not gonna let his alpha push him around just because he’s second.

“Hyunjin, stop.” Chan demanded. But the beta was not hearing anything else. He only heard the anger in his body slowly rising, wanting to be let out. He hated how Woojin was staring back at him intensely, obviously asking him to cut the crap and just quietly sit in the corner.

Seungmin felt the nauseating atmosphere, he couldn’t bear it. He noticed Hyunjin slowly inching towards Woojin, who was beside him.

He abruptly stood up, creating a temporary wall between the two. “Hyunjin, you need to calm down.”

Changbin walked behind Hyunjin, placing a soothing hand on his back. “It’s not time for us to go against each other.”

“Look, I have zero fucking idea what’s happening, why we’re all getting mad and stuff but it’s not right for us to gang up on each other. We only have each other. I don’t want to be alone again.” all eyes fell onto Felix. His baritone voice had a hint of anger and sadness in it.

Hyunjin's intense stare on the alpha faltered. His eyes fell on the floor. Changbin felt him calming down, so he pulled him into a small hug before going back to his seat.

“I’m sorry.” he murmured. Woojin stood up and kneeled in front of his beta. He lifted up Hyunjin's chin and as their eyes met, he smiled softly. “It’s okay. I know what you’re feeling. I’m sorry.” as they settled back down, the air slowly went back to its normal state.

Chan cleared his throat.

"For now, let's try to find out if they really are tracking us." The next 30 minutes consisted of Jisung refusing to go to the basement with the two witches, Hyunjin detaching himself from Jisung who was clinging to him like crazy, and Felix laughing at the scene unfolding in front of his eyes.

The three disappeared downstairs, leaving the rest in the living room. "We have to lay low for a while. It's almost midnight outside, so the mansion is guarded. However, we cannot go back home just yet." Chan suggested.

It was dangerous for them to continue with their daily lives for now. Jeongin was worried about school. He hoped that this mess would be finished soon.

“I’m leaving.”

“Ok-Huh? WAIT, CHRIS!!” Before Jeongin could process what happened, the vampire disappeared in the middle of the living room.

“Now, what!” Changbin threw his hands in the air as a sign of defeat. "He never changed! Fucking selfish prick." he exclaimed.

Felix and Minho shook their heads.

"Where's the vamp?" Hyunjin pops out from what seems to be the kitchen because of the piece of bread on his mouth. Woojin followed up from behind.

"Lemme help you with that." Felix took some contents out of Woojin's hands. After placing everything on the coffee table, he straightened up and looked around the room. He broke into a small smile. “He left, didn’t he?” Changbin nodded, rolling his eyes afterwards.

The remaining people settled back down the living room. “Is it okay for us to eat Woong's food?”

“You shouldn’t be asking that as you stuff your face with his bread.” Hyunjin coughed and almost choked to death before Minho would give him a glass of water. “Assholes.” Hyunjin muttered, water dripping down his chin.

“It’s fine. He said to help ourselves since we’re probably gonna be staying here for a while.” Woojin answered. “Anyway, let Chan be. He’s not used to fighting in groups.”

Jeongin smiled. “We can tell.”

“I just hope he reaches out for us every now and then. I’m jealous of all the action he’s getting.” Felix proclaimed.

“Chan doesn’t really fall in line with ‘Character Development’. Well, some aspects of him change but not drastically. He’s still the same old vampire we knew." Felix paused and smiled.

"But that didn’t stop us from loving him, right?” he continued.

The silence around him meant ‘yes’.

They talked lightly for quite a while. Some of them grew impatient and tried poking into the witches’ business. 

So, now Jeongin's been playing with 2 wolf cubs, 1 baby fox, and a black kitten.

‘Some of them’ included everyone in the room except him and Woojin.

“I told you guys to just wait.” Woojin giggled loudly, he sat beside Jeongin, taking the 2 wolf cubs onto his lap.

“This isn’t really any different from what you guys originally are.” That statement earned him a bite on his thumb, it was pretty deep but healed quickly. “Changbin, how dare you bite your alpha!” Woojin exclaimed in a joking manner as he tickled both of them.

“We’re done.” The basement door opened in a hurry, they looked back just in time to see a disheveled Jisung limp his way to the nearest chair.

“What the hell did they do to you?” Jeongin stood up, grasping the baby fox and kitten firmly on his arms so they wouldn't fall.

Honestly, he would have laughed if the situation wasn’t so dire. “Dude, you looked like you’ve been molested!” Woojin was like 'fuck it' and laughed after what he said. Jisung would’ve glared at him but he was too disoriented.

“These evil fucking sorcerers have defiled me. MY DIGNITY. MY PURENESS. MY LIFE WILL NEVER BE THE SAME.”

Talk about being over dramatic.

“Oh, shut up. We thought it was just a hoot and a half.” Woong shook Seungmin's hand, making Jisung more and more annoyed.

“We’ll file a lawsuit later, Jisung. For now, did you find any traces?” Jeongin escorted Jisung to the room upstairs to rest, when he got back. They continued.

“We found a few traces of silver inside his body.” Woojin smiled sadly. “Yeah, that’s been there for a long time.”

Seungmin realized it was a sensitive topic. “O-okay. Other than that, we couldn’t find anything. He’s clean.” He tried disregarding his words earlier. Woojin fell into thought.

“Where’s Chan by the way?”

“He left.” Jeongin said.

“Fucking selfish prick.” The boy almost laughed at Seungmin's familiar insult.

“Well, we’ll figure it out once you guys get enough rest. I prepared all your rooms, sorry but you guys have to room with each other for a while.” Woojin bowed his head in apology. “No! Sorry for coming in unannounced. Thank you for helping us, Woong.” Woojin replied.

Woong ushered them upstairs, clearly forgetting about the little ones.

Changbin pleaded, their little feet couldn’t climb up the steep stairs.

“Relax! You’ll transform back in 50 years.”

Hyunjin cried for a while so they were forced to transform them back.

"Crybaby." Seungmin muttered as he closed the door behind him before Hyunjin could claw his guts out.