#I wonder if anyone saw the tags that allude to why he had red hair as a baby

[mutodaes]

Baby Rhyvet

[shadow-assassin-blix]

A Picture is a Poem without Words

CHAPTER 8

Fluff. Some Smut/alludes to smut. But lots of Fluff. To make up for the trauma of the previous chapter. Dress is the 4th one found here

“Spanish” as always.

Everything tag: @mikeisthricedeceased​

Diego brought her home and she practically ran to him, when Navegante told her he was outside. She took him in once she spotted him, standing there looking out over the grounds. He was wearing bright yellow pants, a white button up shirt that appeared slightly see-through and a brown jacket over it.

She walked toward him, as he turned to look at her. As soon as she was in front of him, she slapped his arm.

The loud ow in response was satisfying.

“You weren’t going to tell me you had been shot at?” She demanded.

“I told Diego not to tell you because I didn’t want to worry you,” Pacho explained rubbing his arm slightly.

“No. You don’t…. you don’t get to decide that. If something had happened to you,” Her voice trailed off, as she felt tears begin to form in her eyes.

Pacho slowly pulled her into his arms, holding her tightly. She grasped the lapels of his jacket firmly in her hands and tried to take a deep breath to calm herself.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you,” He whispered to her.

She took a moment to gather herself and turned her head up to look at him.

“No more secrets… I’m all in,” She whispered to him.

He straightened up, staring at her seriously.

“You realize what that means? Do not say that if you are not aware of the repercussions of this. I want you by my side, but only if you are fully aware what that entails,” Pacho stated clearly, looking at her closely.

“I know. I realize that. If you need me to, I will say it again in the morning. But I doubt my statement will change. I… I realized while in Bogota, that I all I could think about was getting back here. To you. Nothing else really mattered,” She murmured looking him in the eyes, calmly.

His smile was small as he spoke, “Is that so?”

She hummed in response, pressing a kiss to his chest, before standing on her toes to kiss his lips. He kissed back, softly cupping her face with both hands. The kiss lasted a few minutes and was sweet but passionate.

When she pulled away, taking in a breath as she eased back down to her feet.

“Let’s go to bed, yeah?” She mentioned as a yawn moved through her.

Pacho and her walked upstairs to his room, and they quietly got ready for bed. She stole another of his shirts and silently watched him dress down. He was very meticulous in his movements. His accessories all had a particular place that they returned to. His belt and shoes in the closet, his rings and watch on the dresser, and his clothes went into laundry baskets that were separated by darks, whites, and dry clean. It was an intriguing process to watch.

Once he was down to his boxers, he turned to look at her and smiled somewhat sheepishly when he realized she had been watching him the entire time.

“Yes?” He questioned.

“Sorry. It’s kinda adorable to watch you get ready for bed. It’s almost as endearing as watching you get dressed. I am not…. That focused. I don’t…. even think… I’ve ever separated clothes…,” She admitted somewhat awkwardly.

He moved toward her, standing in front of her, with a small smirk. He leaned down and pulled her into a deep kiss, which led to her slowly falling back onto the bed, his body covering hers.

They made out for several minutes, just enjoying the feel of one another; switching from slow and soft to fast and passionate.

His hand began to unbutton the shirt she wore, pushing it off to the side to further expose her.

“I vaguely recall… promising you that I would ravish you upon your return?” Pacho groaned as he stared down at her.

“Hmm. Yes. I recall something like that being said,” Blix replied with a smile as she kissed him a few more times.

They somehow slipped under the covers, as they undressed each other. His movements were slow and purposeful, making sure she felt every thrust, kiss, and bite. It was well into the morning hours by the time they stopped, and Pacho had made sure she was mush.

They fell asleep, limbs tangled with one another.

It was late morning by the time they had begun to stir.

Pacho had roused first and took a moment to quietly admire her. It was while he was doing this that Diego, lightly knocked on the door frame, announcing his presence.

“Hey, Gilberto and Miguel are waiting for you. Plus… apparently the wives want to take Blix out to brunch? Might want to get up soon,” Diego suggested with a shake of his head, as he watched Blix, who was waking up, groan and hide into the pillows.

Pacho nodded his head, chuckling at Blix’s behavior. He kissed her back and shoulders, trying to encourage her to awaken further.

“Lovely. Time to get up,” He whispered pulling the pillow away from her.

She groaned loudly in protest, her hands trying to find the pillow again to take it back. When she couldn’t she lifted her head with a frown.

She turned toward Pacho sleepily, and muttered, “Why must I wake?”

“You apparently have plans,” He told her brushing her hair out of her face.

“Nooo. Why? Why plans?” She protested childishly grabbing the covers and hiding under them.

Both men laughed at her and Pacho got up, tugging her into following him. He led her toward the bathroom, and they took a shower together. It took her a moment to fully wake up as the hot water washed over them. They cleaned themselves up and relaxed.

When they stepped out, there was a dress waiting for her. She admired the gradient coloring from blue to orange, thinking it was very pretty. There was no bra but there was a pair of underwear waiting for her.

“Do you two…enjoy dressing me or something?” Blix asked as she looked over shoulder at Pacho.

“It is quite fun to be honest. Does it bother you?” Pacho asked poking his head out from his closet.

“No. But I do know how to choose my own outfits, I just wanted that noted. I love ya both, but I don’t need you to do this constantly,” She mentioned with a small smile.

He nodded his head in understanding and returned to getting dressed.

She got dressed in the outfit presented, slipping on the heels before stepping back into the bathroom to brush out her hair. She noted softly that there was a third toothbrush waiting for her to use. She brushed her teeth, before putting on a bit of makeup.

When she was done, she made her way toward her bedroom for one thing in particular. She had left her shark necklace on her dresser for safe keeping; didn’t want anyone to question it while she was in Bogota. She clipped it on and admired it for a moment in the mirror before heading downstairs.

As she stepped into the living room, she saw all 3 of Gilberto’s wives and Miguel’s wife, standing there waiting for her with Marta.

“Hello. What’s all this?” Blix greeted wondering why they were all there.

“We wanted to take you to brunch. Have a girl’s day essentially,” Marta explained cheerfully bouncing up to her.

Blix nodded her head and walked over to her messenger bag that she still had to unpack from her trip to Georgia. She pulled out the frame, followed by the bomber jacket that her sisters had given her.

Gilberto picked up the frame and cooed, “Aww. Look at this. You were very cute. I assume this was your horse that Pacho mentioned? Zeus?”

“Yes. Zeus was a thoroughbred. He won best in show and was a damn good racehorse. Even though he hated his rider. Would only ever let me ride him without complaint,” Blix stated proudly looking at the frame.

Mariela, Aura, and Camila, however, were distracted by the bomber jacket she had pulled out.

“Awww. This is very cute! I bet this would look adorable on any little one you have. Maybe you and Pacho should get to work on that,” Mariela, Gilberto’s first wife, noted.

“What should we get to work on?” Pacho questioned as he joined them.

“Nothing!” Blix quickly cut in setting the jacket down and hiding it away, as her cheeks turned red.

He looked at her curiously, reaching for the jacket to look at it. He raised an eyebrow at it, glancing at her and Mariela. He knew what she was probably referring to as he looked at the jacket, but said nothing as he handed it to Diego, requesting he put it someplace safe.

Blix looked at him appreciatively as the women led her out to one of the cars.

Soon enough they were at some 5-star restaurant, having brunch and mimosas.

“So, Blix. Tell us. Have you thought about having little ones with Pacho?” Camila asked in a teasing voice.

Blix cleared her throat awkwardly, before taking a long drink of her mimosa. The other wives joined in, asking her how many and what not.

It wasn’t until Stella, Miguel’s wife, cut in, “Ladies. Relax. If they want kids, they’ll have them. Their relationship is still pretty new as well. Stop making her feel uncomfortable.”

Blix nodded gratefully at her and simply stated, “We… we haven’t talked about any of that. It’s also not something… I’ve ever really thought about.”

They all nodded in understanding and they continued on talking about everything else. The ladies insisted upon taking her shopping and getting more… saucy outfits for her to wear for Pacho.

When they stepped out of the fifth store, and she had about 15 bags of clothes that they claimed she needed, she was never more grateful to see Navegante.

“Save me,” She mouthed stepping forward.

He laughed at that and said, “Ladies. I’m sorry to interrupt but I must steal Miss Lage here for now.”

They all made sad groans and waved goodbye to her. Once they were out of sight and she was alone with Navegante she begged, “Please. Help. I can’t feel my hands.”

She held out her arms, and Navegante quickly took several bags, tossing them into the trunk. She set the last of them in the trunk once the weight was eased off of her. She took a seat in the passenger side as Navegante got in on the driver’s side. He drove off and she took a small snooze as he did so.

At some point, the car came to a stop and he was gently trying to wake her up. Pacho, who was waiting, walked up to her side, opening the door.

“I got this Navegante. She’s not easy to wake,” Pacho informed him with a laugh.

He gently cooed to her, telling her to wake up. Her eyes fluttered open after a minute and sighed deeply.

She blinked trying to figure out where she was at.

“Why are we at the ranch?” She rasped, clearing her throat, as she straightened up.

She unbuckled herself stepping out, taking Pacho’s hand into hers.

He led her over to a man that was standing there.

“Blix. This is Jack Walters. He’s a-” Pacho began to introduce.

“A breeder from Georgia. Hi. Um. How are you, sir?” Blix finished as she recognized him.

“Yes. Hullo. I am doing jus�� fine lil missy. Now. I hear, you were the original owner of my most favorite horse. Zeus. Mr. Hurrera asked me if I knew of any of his offspring available and well,” Came Jack’s very southern accent, as he motioned toward the trailer that was behind him.

She stared blankly at the trailer, as the info she was given processed in her mind. A stable hand came up to the door of the trailer and led out a large black stallion, that looked just like Zeus. She was amazed as she strolled over to him.

He stood proudly as she approached him, nudging his head against her as she reached out to pet him. He neighed softly as he gently pushed her, wanting more attention.

She giggled at him and looked back toward Jack, asking, “What’s his name?”

“Well. Like his grandfather, he is very particular about who goes near ‘im. He earned the named Phobos cause he struck fear into the hearts of most of the stable hands n’ riders. Honestly, I am surprised he is allowing ya to touch him,” Jack said amazed.

“He’s about 3 years old. His father was an offspring of Zeus named Ares. We tried to stick to the Greek theme, as was requested by yer grandparents before they passed,” Jack concluded, handing her documents that certified that he was indeed a part of his line.

She took them gratefully, holding them to her chest tightly. He then handed her something else. It was a strip of leather, that had Zeus’ name on it and some photos.

“I was told that… the selling of Zeus was something that… ya disagreed upon. So, I wanted ya to know that he was well taken care of and lived a very happy life,” Jack said sympathetically.

She takes the items from him, thanking him softly.

“Now then, me and my guys gotta head on back home. It was very nice to meet ya. I am sure Phobos will be happy here with ya taking care of him,” Jack waved goodbye as he walked over to the truck, driving off with an empty trailer.

When his truck disappeared, she turned back to Pacho, who stood there with a hand in his pocket, leaning against the hood of his corvette.

“You… you got me a horse?” Blix asked amazed as she looked between him and Phobos who was rubbing his face against hers.

She laughed at him as he moved to stand between her and Pacho.

Pacho cautiously moved toward her, Phobos giving him side eye as he did so. He allowed him to pet his back but refused to move out of the way.

“Yes. It took some time to figure out where Zeus wound up, but when I did, I found out he had many children, and a few grandchildren. So. I called up Walters and asked if he had one who looked like Zeus. The rest was just a business deal,” He answered with a smirk. “He has his own stall already.”

He nodded toward the empty stall at the end and she was happy to see his name was already written on it as well. She quietly led Phobos over to it, checking that he had plenty of hay and water to eat before leading him all the way in. He calmly followed, and settled in quickly, munching softly on some hay.

“He was given a thorough brushing and was given a good walk before you showed up. He was in the trailer for like 5 minutes before you arrived. I wanted it to be a surprise,” Pacho informed her as she closed the stable door.

She looked at the door, biting her lip as she looked at the lock.

“You might… want someone to change this. If he’s anything like Zeus, he’s wicked smart. He will be able to unlatch this,” She advised him looking at the simple latch on the door.

“Good to know,” Pacho said, watching as Blix dusted off the horsehair that had managed to get on her.

She turned to him once she was done, throwing her arms around him, kissing him. He lifted her up slightly, kissing back.

They pulled apart and she turned back to Phobos, “I promise. Tomorrow I will come back, and I’ll show you the grounds.”

He neighed loudly in response and nodded his head.

The two of them moved to his car and they drove back home. They walked inside, where the brothers were waiting, discussing plans.

“Ah. Did you enjoy your surprise my dear?” Gilberto asked as he noticed them walking in.

“Very much,” She replied leaning into Pacho’s side.

“Pacho informed us… that you want to be all in? Correct? Do you know what that means my dear?” Miguel questioned.

She nodded her head firmly, “Yes.”

“Pacho, you are head of security. You decide how much she needs to know,” Gilberto declared with a grin.

Blix looked at him, and he led her upstairs to his office. He led her over to the filing cabinets.

“These… these cabinets are filled with everything you would ever need to know about the Cali Cartel. I want you to be aware of the trust you are being presented,” He disclosed pulling out a small key from within his desk.

He handed it to her, and as she took it, he backed away and allowed her to move forward.

She looked at him and then the key, “Everything… is in those 3 file cabinets? I… feel like that’s a lie.”

“It is. But I wanted to see your reaction. These cabinets are mostly about distribution and who does what. The real key is the large data book you’ll see Miguel carry around. That is our financial ace in the hole. If DEA ever got ahold of that, they would know everything,” Pacho revealed as he leaned against his desk.

“So…this was a test?” Blix asked lightly, toying with the key.

“In a way, yes. I wanted to see what your reaction would be. You did not disappoint,” Pacho stated with a smirk.

She handed the key back to him, or at least tried to. He closed her opened hand, giving her fist a small kiss.

“You currently hold the key to my heart. Keep it safe,” He flirted his hands coming to rest on her hips.

She smirked and shook her head at the cheesy line but held the key tightly in her hands.

He led her back downstairs to the brothers who were chowing down on some food that the chef made. Pacho moved over to the couch, and Blix followed, collapsing into his lap. She kicked off the heels she was wearing to curl her feet up on the couch.

While the brothers ate and talked about a soccer game going on, her and Pacho simply relaxed.

“So, what was Mariela talking about this morning when I came in?” Pacho asked his voice teasing.

“She was saying we should have kids. Which later led to further discussion that apparently, we would have cute ones given our looks,” Blix whispered in response.

“Oh. Yes. I agree. We would have cute kids. Only if you wanted them though,” He replied back kissing her cheek.

“Never really thought about it to be honest. I also lived far longer than I thought I would too,” Blix admitted quietly.

Pacho nodded in understanding.

“We can discuss that in the future if you’d like?” He offered her.

She nodded once, turning her head to kiss him on the lips in thanks.

“So… where did all my boxes wind up, by the way?” She asked realizing the only thing that was in the living room was the piano.

“The books have placed in your library. The box that was marked your room and a few others, are in your closet, waiting for you to go through. We have someone coming out tomorrow to tune the piano as well,” He listed out casually.

“My library?” She questioned, her brow furrowing in confusion.

“I’ll show you later. I was thinking… Maybe we could move some of your stuff here. You stay here often enough as it is,” He proposed his hand fiddling with hers.

She thought about it for a moment, before replying, “Sure. I’d like that. Saves me the trouble of having to buy groceries. I’ll use it as my office space. That way we won’t have to move that. Plus, it maintains my cover for work.”

He kissed her softly, his arms holding her tightly to him.

“Pacho. Do me a favor? No more soccer games. You got lucky this time, but I don’t want to see what happens when that luck runs out,” She requested as she watched the brothers argue over the game with a raised eyebrow.

He hummed quietly, “I will try not to make risky moves, but my dear. I am who I am. My life will always be in danger.”

“I know. I get that. I just…” She trailed off.

“What lovely?” He questioned.

She looked him in the eyes, and she spoke truthfully, “I love you.”

His eyes widen in slight surprise, but his smile grew, as he replied back, “I love you too.”

She kissed him again, and he kissed back with growing passion. They broke apart when they heard loud exclamations from Gilberto, laughing.

She stood up and allowed Pacho to get up as well, and he went to go see what was going on with the game. Blix stood there for a moment before making her way upstairs. She stepped into her room, dragging the boxes that were in the closet, out.

She opened them all up and started to go through them. When she pulled out the bear again, she simply set him by the laundry, planning to wash him when she could.

She pulled out several old trophies from dance competitions and such. She placed them over by the one wall in her room that had nothing on it.

When that box was emptied, she broke it down setting it by the door. She looked at the other boxes, one of which had tea set painted with cherry blossoms. As she dug further into the box, she found more antiques that her mother had collected. Most of which were antique weapons: knives, daggers, and a mace to name a few.

Which slowly made her realize… what was probably in one of the other boxes. She set the dagger she was holding on the floor, walking on her knees over to the next box. She ripped it open with a grin she couldn’t hide.

Inside, in delicately placed pieces, was a full suit of armor. She couldn’t help the laugh of pure joy that escaped her as she pulled the helmet out, examining it. It was heavier than she remembered it and was in dire need of a polishing.

Diego who had heard her laugh as he patrolled, stepped inside, curious as to what she was reacting to.

“Is that… a suit of armor?” Diego asked incredulously as he took in the scene before him.

Blix nodded excitedly, “Wanna help me set it out?”

Diego was over to her in the blink of an eye, helping her pull out each piece gently and laying them out on to her floor.

There was a larger/long box that had the stand and the sword wrapped up inside. She got the stand ready setting it in a corner of her room. Toward the bottom of the box of armor pieces her sisters had sent some polishers, brushes, and towels. The two of them began to make the pieces shiny again, talking idly.

By the time they were done, and had placed the armor on the stand, it was about dinnertime. Pacho came looking for them, and he watched the two of them quietly, leaning against the door frame. He was happy to see the two of them getting along and bonding.

He cleared his throat, drawing their attention away from their project.

“Dinner is ready you two,” Pacho tells them.

They go and wash their hands quickly, before joining Pacho at the door. The three of them walked downstairs to the dining room, Blix and Diego taking either side of Pacho.

They had dinner and the guys went outside to drink and swim. While they did that, Blix went into his office, key in hand. She opened the first cabinet with a deep breathe, pulling the drawer open revealing numerous files.

She grabbed a handful, took a seat at his desk, and began to read through them. He was correct in that most of it was distribution information but there were also details on security. Who could be trusted and who they kept a close eye on.

She read quietly, trying to take in as much info as possible, stopping at one point to find a notepad to write things down. She was so focused she didn’t notice how late it had gotten by the time she had gone through 2 drawers on the first cabinet.

In fact, it was around 3am when Gilberto walked in, rubbing his eyes, trying to figure out who was still awake at this hour.

He watched her curiously, as she made notations every so often.

“Late night reading my dear?” Gilberto asked causing her to jump slightly as she looked up.

She looked around, finding the clock, and realizing just how late it was.

“Didn’t realize the time,” She rasped slightly, before clearing her throat.

Gilberto walked in, taking the seat across from her.

“Pacho cares a great deal about you. The fact that he has allowed you such access means a lot. Not even Alvaro has seen these files. There will come a time where your loyalty may be tested. I trust… you will not break his heart,” Gilberto informed her.

“I don’t plan to. I know I am in deep. But I also know… I love him. I don’t plan to hurt him anytime soon. At least… not unless he asks me too,” Blix stated with a smirk.

Gilberto laughed at that, nodding his head.

“C’mon. To bed with you. You can finish your homework after you’ve slept,” He said in a somewhat serious tone.

She takes the files that she had been working on and placing a sticky note on it, as a reminder as to where she stopped. She locked the cabinet back up and Gilberto escorted her to her bedroom, before returning to his room.

She took off the dress she had been wearing all day, throwing on a Yankees t-shirt and some sweats. She slipped under the covers with a sigh and slept soundly.

She slept well past breakfast, which caused Pacho to worry slightly.

“Do not worry too much Pacho. She stayed up late doing homework,” Gilberto stated trying to ease his worries.

Pacho looked at him confused, “Homework?”

“I found her reading over files in your office,” Gilberto elaborated with a smirk.

Pacho shook his head and got up to go check on her, anyway. She was buried underneath her covers, sleeping soundly. He noticed that her hands had smudges of ink on both of them. He gently brushed some of her hair out of her face, stroking her cheek lightly.

Her eyes opened slowly, noticing the tickling sensation. She spies Pacho’s figure standing there, and she simply opens her covers beckoning him in.

He joined her with a smile, allowing her to wrap herself around him, tossing the blankets over their heads.

“Hi…. What time is it?” She asked in a whisper.

“It’s almost noon. You missed breakfast. Lunch should be ready in about 20 minutes though,” He reported to her.

She mouthed an ‘okay’ and buried herself into his arms further.

“Just wanna stay like this for a few minutes,” She explained with a sigh.

“I’m okay with that,” Pacho tells her, holding her close.

It was a moment of simplicity that she desperately needed. She enjoyed his company, even if it was just something as simple, hiding under her blankets. She knew that once she got up life would run at full speed, but here… life was slow and easy. So, she was going to enjoy it for a few minutes before returning to reality.

[youarejesting]

BTS Seoul mates: Flower Couple.4

[MASTERLIST]

Pairing: Jin x Reader

Summary: Jin has always had the words written on his wrist and when the fans found out they all took turns claiming to be his one and only. However, after a tiring fanmeet and greet Jin finds His Destiny. His Seoul mate.

Announcement:

I am sorry I have failed you.

I was planning on writing a fair amount tonight but I actually think I have a cold my throat has seriously started to burn, I might take some medicine and sleep it off if I can otherwise I might make it worse I am so sorry.

Jin looked beautiful as ever. However, he felt like a wreck. They had performed on stage at the Melon Music Awards. It was an elaborate work of art that had taken weeks to prepare training gruelling hours to perform perfectly and it all paid off. Except for the minor setback to Namjoon’s package, but he was hearing about it now. 

“I swear I was going to die, I was changing a new timing belt, and you decided it was a good time to hit yourself in the balls, I have never received a hit to the vagina before. Hell, I was crying on the repair and service floor. How are your balls?”

Jhope and Jungkook broke out in laughter. They had never heard anyone outright ask such a personal and hilarious question. They knew he would never be able to live it down. 

Namjoon blushed quietly trying to answer, “they are fine, we have to go, so I will call you when we get back to the hotel”

Jimin turned to Jin and grabbed his shoulder, looking seriously concerned. “Jin, How are your balls”

“What’s wrong with your balls?” You said walking into the dressing room with the other soulmates who stopped looking serious. The room fell silent at your words for a mere second before the boys erupted in laughter, Namjoon’s face turned bright red. 

Jimin laughed with his whole body and slipped off the arm of the couch, falling onto his plump backside. Aster rushed to his side lifting him bending him over the arm “Jiminie your poor Jibooty” Giggling and practically laying over him Aster rubbed Jimin’s butt making sure he didn’t break his tail bone. Well, that’s what Jin thought she was doing until she gasped looking Jin dead in the eyes. “Oh no Jimin your butt, it’s cracked in two”

The band members and their soulmates were hysterically falling over one another at the jokes and they took two large Starex vans back to Hannam The Hill. They passed through the security and parked in the lock-up garage. Namjoon Groaned getting out of the van still a little tender. They all headed up to their adjacent apartments in the elevator. The group separated and Jin went to his room and showered, scrubbing the sweat and fine dust from his skin.

He didn’t want to leave the shower, his muscles in his hips and shoulder alluding to his hard work on stage. After finally leaving the shower, he dried his hair and felt a warm feeling on his rest. The link between you and Jin was still strong. When Jin or yourself touched the words on your wrists, the other was always able to feel it. It was a warm tingle like a secure hand wrapping around your wrist.

He placed his lips to the mark and walked out to his room. There you sat on his bed fresh from a shower and your hair dry, you were wearing an oversized RJ shirt and underwear with RJ on the back, but you knew he didn’t know this because you were tucked under the blankets. 

“I am so tired, my beautiful blossom” He sighed pulling back the blankets, he saw a small splash of colour on your shirt and moved the blanket back entirely. “Ah, my son” 

“Yeah, I ordered some stuff I thought you might like”

“I love it,” he said staring at the ceiling, “I would kiss you but I am exhausted my sweetpea”

“It’s okay, I understand, you get some beauty sleep, but not too much I can only fight off so many girls”

“come here, my flower and lay in my arms” 

“Are you sure?” 

“Yeah, but can roll me to face you and move my arms around you”

“You're so tired” cooing as you turned him onto his side and lifted his arm and wrapped it around your waist pressing your lips to his sharing a sweet and slow kiss.

He whispered against your lips, “I keep falling in love with you over and over again”

You gently massaged his shoulders and chest trying to relieve the muscles he had exerted on stage. All while sharing sweet kisses that tasted like the strawberry champagne they had all been drinking at the MMA’s.

Waking early, all the Soulmates had decided to make the boys some pancakes as their own celebratory gift. They had snuck out of their rooms and Beau was laughing silently holding her side. She tried to explain between fits of silent laughter and wheezing that she had to tie Jungkook to the bed so he would follow and they all giggled getting to work.

Each taking care to make their own personal pancakes, Beau and Iris made extra for Namjoon and Hoseok who were texted to stay in bed when they work. Delivering the trays to Namjoon and Hoseok first, they congratulated them and move on to their rooms to spoil their men. Stepping inside you smiled at Jin who was laying in bed awake.

“Can you take the tray honey,” Watching him eating happily was a blessing, you turned and slipped off the pants so you could be comfortable in shirt and underwear once more. Jin coughed a piece of pancake from his trachea. 

“You have RJ on your panties” he shouted laughing loudly, and you heard laughing from the next room.

“Babe, can you wear, Chimmy underwear?” Jimin’s voice was muffled through the wall and Aster couldn’t stop laughing. “I won’t accept anything less than Chimmy underwear”

“What about if Aster wore no underwear Jimin?” Melody called from across the hall. Jin looked at you. His mouth fell open. You both covered your mouths laughing at the trouble you had started.

“I believe you would prefer my love when you aren’t wearing any underwear, my beautiful melody,” Yoongi’s voice could just be heard followed by a squeal. 

“Yoongi you just got golden syrup on my elbow”

“Let me get that for you”

“Can you guys get a room?” Jhope groaned, “Why are all of you in our apartment, anyway”

“Because Jungkook is in the other apartment and well, we can’t deal with the commotion” 

 It was late in the morning when the two of you emerged from the bed the boys had free time on their schedule until just after Jin’s birthday. Where they were heading to Japan for the magic shop Fanmeet. And for the first time ever you would go on stage and introduce yourselves to the fans and be included in some activities.

You were a little nervous; you had learnt Korean when you realized the first words your soulmate said to you were in Korean. But you didn’t know Japanese. All the girls seemed nervous about this, except Aster who had actually learnt Japanese before Korean and would often mix her languages together.

Iris was still learning Korean and was slowly getting closer with the other soulmates and band members. Beau being smart like Namjoon was picking up the concepts of speech quite easily. Jin couldn’t wait to show the army their soul mates. 

He walked into the room to hear you practising your speech. “Hello Army, My name is y/n. I am so happy to be here in Japan and I have had so many wonderful and unique experiences since arriving,” The smile that formed on Jin’s face was pure. He really loved you.

If you want to join the tags just send an ask:@latina-nerd​

[searchingwardrobes]

Self-Promo Sunday: Brother

I’ll be taking my entire needtobreathe series down from Ao3, starting with this deleted scene from 5x15, The Brothers Jones. It was one of those episodes that I was excited about but fell short of my expectations. There were some great moments, don’t get me wrong, but I wanted better for Emma’s one chance to get to know Liam. This deleted scene was a way for me to fix that.

Summary: Liam Jones overhears Emma’s conversation with Regina at the Underworld diner, then he and Emma have a heart to heart talk about the man they both love. From my series where every fic was a deleted scene based on a needtobreathe song.

Rating: G

Words in this chapter: just a ficlet at a bit less than 1,500 words

On Ao3 until Sunday 12/29/19

Tagging the usuals: @kmomof4 @snowbellewells @xhookswenchx @distant-rose @welllpthisishappening @bethacaciakay @teamhook @let-it-raines @whimsicallyenchantedrose @jennjenn615 @delirious-latenight-laughs @optomisticgirl @spartanguard @profdanglaisstuff @tiganasummertree @resident-of-storybrooke @snidgetsafan  @thislassishooked @stahlop @branlovestowrite @hollyethecurious​ @shireness-says​ @scientificapricot​ @winterbaby89​ @wellhellotragic​

Ramblers in the wilderness we can’t find what we need We get a little restless from the searching Get a little worn down in between Like a bull chasing the matador is the man left to his own schemes Everybody needs someone beside em’ shining like a lighthouse from the sea

Brother let me be your shelter Never leave you all alone I can be the one you call When you’re low Brother let me be your fortress When the night winds are driving on Be the one to light the way Bring you home

 “Does my brother really see me that way?”

Emma turned to see the self-righteous prick himself staring her down with his arms crossed. Regina’s eyes rose in silent sympathy as she hurried away with a mumbled good luck. Emma gave Liam Jones no quarter – matching his glare with one of her own. Yet as she searched the blue eyes that were a lighter shade than she was used to, but still so oddly similar, she saw the tiniest flicker of concern. And fear. His eyes darted as they searched hers.

“Does he? Think I walk on water?”

Emma leaned back against the bar with a shrug. “You heard him back at the house. It never once occurred to him that you might be here due to your own choices.”

Liam shook his head as his arms fell to his sides. “I never meant for him to think I was perfect. I’m far from it, believe me.”

Emma cocked her head to the side as she regarded him, then she dropped her chin as a wry laugh escaped her lips.

“I fail to see what’s so funny.”

That only made Emma chuckle more. Killian had always said Liam lacked a sense of humor. She finally decided to put the poor man out of his misery as she looked back up into his eyes. “It’s just I came down here to rescue Killian. That was it. I never thought I’d face my own ghosts. Yet here I am standing right in front of my second one.”

Liam’s brow furrowed in confusion. It was funny, Emma didn’t see all that much resemblance between him and Killian, but they knit their brows in the exact same way. “I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

“Do you have any idea what it’s like to love someone while standing in the shadow of ghosts?” Emma’s breathe shuddered slightly as she inhaled. She had never spoken of this to anyone; not even Killian. “He spent centuries avenging Milah. It’s only natural that I wondered if I measured up to her memory. But then I met her, and I could clearly see . . . she moved on. He moved on. He didn’t seem disappointed that he didn’t get to see her again.”

Emma bit her lip and glanced aside for a moment, gathering her courage before continuing. “Then there’s you. He’s told me so many stories, and in all of them, he paints you as the hero. He speaks of you more than Milah, honestly. He became a pirate because of your death. Did he tell you that?”

Liam’s eyes widened slightly and the he blinked rapidly. “No, he didn’t. I never . . . I didn’t want . . . “ He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “All the choices I made, everything I did, was for him.”

Emma’s mouth quirked up in a half smile. “That’s funny. I said the same thing when I was the Dark One. I justified everything with that same argument. Even murder.”

A flash of something passed across Liam’s face, and his skin became a mottled combination of red blush and pale skin. His adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. Emma’s eyes narrowed as she took it all in. “You know,” she continued, “I once told your brother that he and I understood each other. It seems that’s true for both Jones brothers.”

Liam’s face closed off at her words. “I just want him to be happy.”

“If that’s really true, then maybe you should think of what he could have if he comes home with me. Instead of worrying so much about clinging to that pedestal he’s put you on.”

Emma swallowed the threat of tears as she pushed past him and headed for the door. Right before she reached it, Liam grasped her elbow and turned her back around.

“I’m thinking of the hundreds of years of painful existence Killian has endured. I want him to have peace. Don’t you?”

Emma jerked her arm out of his grip just as the emotions she’s been struggling to keep at bay rose to the surface. “Didn’t you want him to have a home? Friends? A family? Because all of that is waiting for him back in Storybrooke. Do you think my parents, our friends, my son followed me down here just for moral support? No. They came because they want him home, too. We have a house waiting for us to fill up with a future – mine and his. He’s the one who picked out the damn thing, and if you have your way, he’ll never live in it.”

Emma struggled to keep her voice from rising and blinked to keep the tears back. Her vision blurred, but she thought she saw surprise on Liam’s face.

“He picked out a house for the two of you?” A look crossed his face, a nostalgic one, and Emma suddenly remembered one of Killian’s stories about his brother. Days at sea where the two of them would dream of a house to live in and a mother to love them. “What does it look like?”

“You’ve seen it,” Emma whispered. “You’ve been in it.”

“The house here? But the baby things – Killian said . . . I assumed it was the house you wanted with your parents.”

The tears spilled down Emma’s cheeks now, but she let them come. “I let Killian believe that. I let my parents believe that. But that house – and everything in it – are my dreams that died right along with Killian.”

Liam glanced down at Emma’s waist. “You’re . . . I mean, is that why you’re so desperate to bring him back?”

Emma shook her head, understanding immediately what he was alluding to. She dashed at her tears with the back of her hand. “No. I almost wish it were. Because I want it. So badly.”

“All I’m hearing is what you want,” Liam countered stubbornly.

Emma sighed in frustration and turned to go. Just as her hand reached for the doorknob, Liam’s voice stopped her.

“He was always small for his age. Did he ever tell you that?”

Emma turned back around. “No, he didn’t.” She gave a small but genuine laugh. “Doesn’t surprise me. He’s kind of cocky about his manhood, you know.”

Liam chuckled too, but then turned quickly serious. “I took lashings that were meant for him. Stepped in when he got himself in over his head.”

“But he’s not the weak one anymore, Liam.”

He ran a hand wearily down his face. “I never meant for him to feel that way. Like he was less than. The navy was far easier for him than me, you know. He was always so bright; a quick learner.”

Emma hugged her arms around her chest and smiled. “You’re telling me. You should have seen him when he discovered the internet. And don’t even get me started on the History Channel. Drives me and Henry crazy.”

Liam smiled back. “When he sets his mind on something, there’s no stopping him.”

Emma nodded. “When he’s in, he’s all in.”

“Loyal -“

“ – to a fault.”

“He loves with all that he is.”

The tears clogged Emma’s throat as she nodded agreement. “Yes. Yes he does.”

They both fell silent, regarding one another in an unspoken battle of wills. Emma saw something in those eyes that was so familiar, but not because of the man’s DNA. She smiled and turned to go, but not before giving Liam Jones a parting word.

“Like I said. You and I? We understand each other.”

Face down in the desert now there’s a cage locked around my heart I found a way to drop the keys where my failures were Now my hands can’t reach that far I ain’t made for a rivalry, I could never take the world alone I know that in my weakness I am stronger It’s your love that brings me home

Brother let me be your shelter I’ll never leave you all alone I can be the one you call When you’re low Brother let me be your fortress When the night winds are driving on Be the one to light the way Bring you home

[winterheart17]

How To Intimidate A Writer

TITLE OF STORY: How To Intimidate A Writer

CHAPTER NUMBER/TITLE/ONE SHOT: Part 27

AUTHOR: winterheart17

WHICH TOM/CHARACTER: Loki

STORY GENRE: Romance, Drama, Erotica

STORY SUMMARY: I think we can all just agree this has turned into a proper series even though it started off as a compilation of one shots for my story ‘How To Love A Writer’! What happens when a struggling virginal historical romance writer and the God of Mischief are thrown together, locked in a mansion and agree to a game of love and seduction?

STORY RATING: M

STORY WARNINGS/TRIGGERS/AUTHORS NOTES: None for this!

FEEDBACK/COMMENTS: Whew, sorry for the long break! I initially wanted to make this chapter longer - but as I was writing it, it kinda took a life of its own and I figured the part I had in mine (after where this one ends) would be better as another chapter. That’s the one I’m hoping all of you will feel proud of Little Writer! Until then, consider this as a build-up for an interesting chapter ahead (sorry, I know this chapter isn’t super jam-packed with things happening, but trust in the process! This build-up was needed). Feedback would be wonderful and ever inspiring for writing updates! <3 Do let me know if anyone would like to be on or of the tag list. 

Tagging @devikafernando @ureyesonly21 @nuggsmum @queen-sands @ihatespoilers @say-my-name-assbut @hsvbabe @jrubalcaba @dandelionlady96  @ashleyloveslots  @kiera-auroraborealis @alexakeyloveloki @damageditem @lokilvrr @cuteandnerdythings @everythingeverywherelistening @wildest-dreams-at-midnight @tfwqueenidjit @xxxprettydeadgirlxxx @noplacelikehome77 @vertdragain  @jessiejunebug @toaster-strudel-witch @a7xlizardqueen @starscreamloki @tinchentitri @prettyjewel93 @chantimoondancer @dangertoozmanykids101 @winterisakiller @humbleslvt

Masterpost of How To Love A Writer

Alternate link to Masterpost of How To Love A Writer (in case the above doesn’t work)

Well, fuck.

My fingers ran across the tines of the three forks placed to my left as I sat there, having ruminated for the past ten minutes, trying my best to recall if proper dining etiquette dictated I started with the utensils going outwards in, or vice versa.

Did they even adhere to the dining etiquette we had on Earth?

The placement of their utensils certainly alluded to so.  

And the last thing I wanted to do was to give them any cause to mock me or look at me with their downturned snobbish expressions.

How typical of a Midgardian.

I could already taste the disdain that would roll so easily and loosely off their tongues if the shifty and really, not-very-subtle gazes from various Asgardians seated at the long table – stretched from one end of the hall to the other – were anything to go by.

I winced, shifting in my seat. The high back of the chair was hard and stiff – made from pure gold, I was certain, what with the flamboyant theatrics the entire Hall was decked out in tonight.

It appeared… this King Ehrendil was someone to be impressed.

Though why, was absolutely beyond me as the minutes continued ticking away and he was nowhere to be seen.

If there was anything I detested, it was someone else who would take someone else’s time for granted – as if he or she had more important things to attend to instead of keeping an appointment. And judging from the amount of people seated at the table – I don’t think I did particularly well in Math in highschool, but I’d be damned if there weren’t at least 30 of us waiting with bated breath.

10 minutes? I could deal. Half an hour?

What was he doing?

Counting every single strand of eyebrow hair for his subjects to fawn over?

Well, it was no wonder his daughter turned out to be such a piece of work, whom, might I not-so-snidely note wasn’t present at the table either.

My eyes flickered to the figure sat across me and I berated myself for feeling my heart shrivel a little further with deflated hope as he sat there as he had for the past half hour – jaw locked in stoic silence with his eyes trained in every direction except the one where I would interrupt his line of vision.

What had I been expecting?

“I think I love you.”

My heart beat furiously in my chest – like a little hummingbird, drained and exhausted, but refused to be silenced.

Even when his arms around me tensed.

Even when I manoeuvred myself, tilting my head upwards only to see his jaw harden and his eyes sewn shut.

Even when my heart thudded dully in my chest – the little claws of doubt sinking into it – all flesh and blood as the thrumming grew louder and louder in my ears as seconds ticked past, melding into minutes.

Say anything.

I wanted to shout.

Wanted to scream.

Wanted to yell and shake him alive until my throat was raw and the colour of crimson red that splattered my insides.

Suddenly, all went quiet.

Silent.

And in that little space between the soft and even expelling of his breath and the loosening of his grip around me, I found my answer.

It was painful and it was damn near impossible to face, but it was the truth.

Rejection resided there.

Existed and grew tenfold until it filled every nook and cranny in my body – crushing my lungs.

Wheezing.

I gasped.

I couldn’t help it – couldn’t quite find an outlet for the stab that quietened into an ache that spread across my body, twisting and turning in my veins.

And still… still I could not bring myself to regret the words.

Even though I knew they were a mistake.

Even though I felt him pull further away than he had ever had before – placing brick after brick between the both of us to erect that infinite barrier he was walling himself into.

Even though a voice inside of me screamed that I had just single-handedly destroyed all that I had worked so hard towards.

And what was that?

A voice echoed in my head.

Just what had I been working so hard towards that I had sacrificed everything that should have mattered to me: the truth, my dignity, my heart.

To keep him by your side, you silly little girl.

And my throat began to close up – could feel the threatening prick of tears in my eyes.

The words had come out so effortlessly, so bravely… I’d be damned if I allowed myself to be shamed for them.

My fingers dug into his skin, unconsciously – leaving behind little red crescent marks.

He cleared his throat.

“I think we should sleep now.”

“You start with the outermost fork,” a gruff voice jolted me out of my painful recollection of the previous night’s happenings.

Of course, we hadn’t had a chance to since then speak.

When first light broke out across the sky, I had turned after a fitful night of sleep only to find his side of the bed cold, empty, and wanting. I couldn’t quite remember how long I had laid there, curled up in a ball, waiting for the tears to come.

Except they didn’t.

Not this time.

There was no sobbing and no theatrics, just numbness that chained my limbs and kept my eyes to the ceiling for hours on end until I dragged myself out of bed.

My head whipped to the right, in search of the owner’s voice.

And I found myself staring straight into a pair of familiar blue eyes.

“Thor!” the single syllable slipped out, carrying surprise.

Both seats that flanked me had been vacant prior to me spacing out – nobody had deigned to sit next to the lowly Midgardian, it appeared. Even if it was close to their King who sat at the head of the table next to Queen Frigga. There were two opposing empty seats right next to them and I could only deduce that they were reserved for the royal asses – literally and figuratively.  

He gave me an impish grin and a wink.

“Ah, just as I suspected, the Pompous Prick has yet to make an appearance. It was just as well I had slipped into the Royal Kitchens for some sustenance given his predilection for tardiness,” he quipped, before giving his taut belly a light but firm pat.

My eyes widened.

“The Pompous Prick?” I reiterated, slowly and carefully just to ensure I hadn’t misheard.

Unless they associated another sort of meaning with ‘pompous’ and ‘prick’ here on Asgard.

He raised a brow, before leaning in with slight tilt of his chin in agreement.

I followed suit.

“He’s a difficult to take a liking to being who thinks everyone is beneath him. Only Father would deem him worthy of such prestige. You have met his offspring, I presume?” he continued and I almost chocked.

Offspring.

He uttered the word with enough of a shudder and a tinge of revulsion, I couldn’t help but feel a kick of smugness in knowing I wasn’t the only one at the table who saw through her fake ass bullshit.

“Halwen?” I asked in hushed tones.

He wrinkled his nose.

“I take it you don’t like her?” I prodded.

He let out a derisive snort.

“If she had something to take a liking to in the first place,” he threw back.

“Oh, thank God,” I breathed, the prayer slipping out mindlessly and he raised a brow, quizzically.

“Which one?” he asked, and I had to stifle the urge not to burst out laughing like a maniacal woman.

Between torturing myself with unrequited feelings for a man who clearly derived satisfaction from using me and the outlandishly charming but buffoonish naivety of his brother – I could slowly feel my sanity slip out of my grip. Perhaps if I acted mad enough, they’d lock me away in their equivalent of an asylum.

“I’m just relieved you aren’t out to kiss both their asses like the rest of the goons here,” I explained in haste.

His eyes widened immediately for a fraction of a second, before his features contorted in absolute disgust as he shook his head, violently.

“Is this customary of you Midgardians? Twice now you have referenced what I may only imagine as a gesture and fascination Midgardians may have regarding… that area of… anatomy,” he forced out, making another face at what I could only imagine as garish imagery in his head.

If I hadn’t felt like choking then – I certainly felt like it now.

“That is not what it means!” I sputtered, straddling the line between exasperation and laughing.

He held up his hands as if in defence.

“While it may not be a tradition us Asgardians observe, far be it for me to pass judgement on the cultural exchanges of other beings,” he said in a non-committal response.

That earned him a thwack on his shoulder.

Which frankly, probably did my hand more harm than it did him.

“You didn’t tell me you were Thor, his brother,” I hissed.

He paused for a moment, looking genuinely flummoxed as to what I was referring to before a grin broke out wide across his face.

“Ah… that…” he muttered beneath his breath.

My eyes widened and I jabbed my finger into his forearm.

“Don’t you ah, that me. You knew exactly who I was and kept your identity a secret that night,” I admonished.

At least he had the decency to look sheepish as he ruffled his hair in an apologetic manner.

Almost.

“I thought it best lest you should mention to him of our encounter…” he started, his voice trailing off as his hand gestured as if expecting me to fill in the blanks.

I leaned closer, shaking my head at him – because if he was throwing a bone at me, I definitely wasn’t catching it.

He cleared his throat.

“Perhaps you have yet to notice, but my… brother doesn’t take too kindly to anything that involves my name. In fact, I am perhaps inviting his wrath just from my proximity to you right now,” he continued.

I glared at him still.

He winced, resting his hand on the back of his neck – his expression one reminiscent that of a guilty puppy and I felt my consternation budge.

God damn it.

I blew him a raspberry, throwing my hands in the air as I shrugged.

“Fine. I’ll let you off the hook this time. But in case you haven’t noticed, your brother and I… aren’t exactly on speaking terms at the moment. I hardly think he’d be bothered where I am concerned,” I hissed, trying to quieten the ringing truth I heard behind the words.

He paused, a brow slightly raised – disbelief clouding his eyes.

“I find that rather… difficult to believe,” he murmured, slowly.

And there it was – that little prick in my chest that had me torn between wanting to believe in the conviction he had in me and wanting to scream at his misguided trust.

My eyes narrowed on him.

“Oh, believe me. I wish it wasn—,” I started to say, but he cut me off.

“He hasn’t taken his eyes off you since the second I sat down,” he muttered his breath, so quickly and softly, it stunned me for a second.

“Wh—what?” I stuttered.

He met my gaze – his pupils sliding ever so subtly to the figure seated opposite us.

“He hasn’t taken his eyes off you since I sat down next to you,” he repeated, a little more solemnly this time.

My lips parted, eyes hazy and unfocused as I instinctively began to turn my head – as if his mere presence was the centre of my gravity – until Thor grabbed my forearm, firmly.

“Don’t look,” he bit out, snapping me back to reality.

He leaned in closer – so close I could feel his body heat emanating from his clothes as he blocked out whatever peripheral vision I had to whisper into my ear.

“There we go,” he mumbled and I didn’t even have to look at him to hear the smile in his voice.

“What?” I queried, not quite exactly sure what was going on.

“If I know my brother, and I believe I know him well – he should be roiling in his seat,” he continued, his words tinged with the low rumble of a chuckle.

Why?

Why bother?

The self-sympathetic question dancing on the tip of my tongue.

I wanted to tell Thor that it didn’t matter – that I had torn out my heart and given it to him, but he didn’t want it anyway.

But instead, I cleared my throat.

“Why are you doing this?” I asked, a lump lodged in the middle of my chest as he began to pull back, slowly.

Our eyes met and his twinkled.

“Because… sometimes… anger is needed to realise what is important in front of you,” he answered with a wink.

And in that very moment, I’d be lying if I said I didn’t feel the warmth that bloomed in my chest, trickling into my veins.

How different these two brothers were – day and night.

I leaned back a little, studying the gruff figure in front of me – noticing the way his hair shone and glinted in the warmth of the light as his skin glowed golden.

The Golden boy.

How different he looked in comparison to skin that came alive under the pale silvery light of the moon with hair the shade that disappeared into the night.

I felt a twinge.

But before I could part my lips to utter a reply, the doors to the Great Hall were flung open, the creaking and groaning filled the space – taking over the low thrumming din that had been background noise as it dimmed into nothing but pin drop electrically-charged silence.

“Here we go,” Thor sighed, that denoted the next few minutes of my life weren’t going to be exactly pleasant, before he pushed his seat back slowly to stand in honour.

The sound of chair legs scraping against the floor multiplied – echoing across the Hall as I followed suit, my eyes resting momentarily on Loki.

If he had been, as Thor had described, staring at us with venomously the entire time – he certainly wasn’t now.

His face was turned firmly away from me to his right and I followed his line of vision.

King Ehrendil.

Dressed in robes that called to mind the midnight sky laden with the twinkling of a million stars, I could only make out his profile as he strode past the entire length of his table – flanked left and right by guards with Halwen following close on his heels.

He was tall – that much I could make of and commanded a regal presence.

When he finally stopped about three seats away from us as he bowed his head ever so slightly as a gesture of respect towards Odin – in a manner that denoted he knew he was arrogantly that of higher ranking – I had to blink thrice to ensure the vision of the man in front of me was real.

His hair was that of starlight, long and straight that ended at his waist – his of that from another world with its soft and ethereal luminosity. A stark comparison to Halwen who seemed to gleam with the light from the sun.

“Asgard welcomes you, King Ehrendil,” Odin greeted with a bow himself.

I hadn’t even realised it was as if someone had hit the pause button on this entire scenario – I had barely even noticed how still everyone had become until both King Ehrendil and Halwen took their respective seats and it was almost as if every single individual let out a collective breath of relief, before the sound of chair legs scraping the floor resonated in the air once more as everyone settled back down.

“Thor,” I heard the sickeningly saccharine voice carry over to me as she sat down next to my only friend at the table… hell… in all of Asgard.

I didn’t have to turn to imagine the forced smile plastered across his face – could hear the reluctance in his voice as he returned her greeting.

“It has been far too long,” she remarked as I decided to return my concentration to the cutlery in front of me.

Keep my head low.

That was the game plan.

And not to speak unless absolutely required to or addressed.

Quite frankly, I swallowed, as I snuck another glance at the figure across the table who had started leaning in towards his left – his entire body tense and alert as he tried to make bits and pieces of the conversation between Odin and Ehrendil – the only thing that was weighing on my mind was the dreaded confrontation I knew was coming after all this was over.

I couldn’t…

I couldn’t keep living like this.

In limbo and in shame.

I tried to steady myself even as my hands began to shake at the very thought – if he didn’t want me, I would leave.

“Not nearly long enough,” I heard Thor mutter beneath his breath and it was difficult to stifle my smile.

“How have you been?” another question came and I wondered why in the world was she trying so very hard to win over someone who was clearly making his distaste for her evident.

Perhaps she was the sort who needed the adulation and adoration from everyone.

“Fairly well… until a few moments ago,” he answered, hesitating as he drew out the last few words so slowly, there was no mistaking the meaning behind those words.

There was a pregnant pause.

The tension palpable in the air and I only thanked the stars that he sat there separating the both of us.

“I see you’ve not lost much of your charm over time,” came the jab upon realisation that there was no need for such niceties.

“If only the same could have been said of you,” he jabbed right back.

A little bubble of mirth burst from my lips – I couldn’t help it. A reply as snide as that deserved a reaction.

It didn’t miss her ears and I only hoped to whatever higher power that was up there that it would grate further on her nerves.

“If I were you… I’d be showing a lot more respect to someone who may soon be a part of your family,” she growled.

Wow.

This woman took delusional to another level.

He let out a little snort.

“Well, then it is with much fortune – mine not yours – that you are not me, nor I am you,” he retorted and it took me all my willpower not to give this God a medal.

I could have sworn I heard a choking sound – perhaps the eek of her internal struggle of descending into incandescent rage and the awareness of not being able to blow her top off right there and then in front of so many.

I heard her clear her throat again, an underlying hitch that denoted a sense of purpose – a signal of sorts.

And from my peripheral vision, I saw King Ehrendil pause – filling my stomach with dread as the chatter between him and Odin slowly died down.

I knew what was coming next.  

And with the rest of the Hall’s chatter coming to a halt as the atmosphere began to climb electrically once more – it appeared that everyone else knew too.

“I believe an explanation on the breaking of the betrothal is required?” he queried.

God damn, even the man’s voice was out of this world – smooth and silky, caressing every nerve in my body as I froze, eyes still glued to the cutlery in front of me.

Don’t look up. Don’t look up.

It was quickly becoming clear that this would be my mantra for the night.

Prickly, uncomfortable silence spread across the Hall and I could only imagine the exchanging of awkward and concerned glances all around me.

“King Ehrendil, perhaps this conversation would be better suited in the priva—,” I recognised the timbre in Queen Frigga’s voice – a salve meant to soothe the thorny words and lingering hostility.

But he was having none of it.

A first thumped the table – the move reverberating throughout the Great Hall – causing my plate and cutlery to rattle. I jumped in my seat – almost jumping out of my skin at the unexpected display of anger.

“With all due respect, Queen Frigga…” his words meted out, cold and stony – even her name sounded derogatory coming from him.

“… this betrothal had been meant to be the unification between our worlds. Should the discussion of the breaking of it then not include both worlds? Or has years of peace lulled you into a false sense of impression that Alfheim would take such humiliation quietly?” he snapped.

Well, clearly, this was someone who got his way frequently.

“You misunderstand us, King Ehrendil,” Odin jumped in.

I snuck a glance up quickly at his face and there was no mistaking the displeasure he was openly displaying for the world to see. He arched a sardonic brow.

“A misunderstanding,” he repeated, slowly – rolling the words off his tongue, mockingly.

Quiet rage simmered beneath the surface – as if one tiny spark would be enough to set him off on a course of war.

“And was it a misunderstanding when Halwen delivered the news to me – the breaking of the betrothal… a treaty years in the making – instigated by your son, Loki, with no other explanation other than a… Midgardian girl is involved?” he growled, another fist to the table.  

Well, shit.

Right.

My heart thumped in my chest.

That’s my cue to look down.

Look down.

He turned his head, slowly.

Look the fuck down.

But it was too late.

Starlit eyes locked onto mine.

[kurokoros]

Black Eye Syndrome | Part 1 (eventual sweet pea x oc)

Title: Black Eye Syndrome

Rated: M | Warnings: violence, domestic abuse, language, alluded/mentioned rape (one of chapter)

Words: 5,588

Pairing: (eventual) Sweet Pea X OC (Rosie O’Malley); (initial) OC X OC

Summary: “And for a moment Rosie wonders when love began to sound like a sudden gush of vitriol and her favorite lamp shattering against the wall behind her head, when it started tasting like bourbon and blood in her mouth from where she bit her cheek. She wonders when loving Matt became a one-sided screaming match and bruises around her wrists, dark marks dotting her thighs from where fingers squeezed to wound, backhanded comments breathed against her collarbones. She wonders when love started to hurt.

More than that, she wonders when she started thinking that was okay.”

AN: I’m still nervous about posting this, because the topic. This story is about domestic violence. I’m open to feedback with this one because any advice for writing this is helpful. All warnings will be tagged at the beginning of the chapter, but please know what you’re getting into with this. It will get graphic at times. 

Leave me an ask/reply if you want to be in the tag list I’m making specifically for this fic.

Special thanks to @starryeyedauthor​, @sweetfogarty​, and @rosiethequeerlesbian​ for their encouragement! I really appreciate it and probably wouldn’t have finished this without your positivity!

It was her fault.

He just wanted to spend the day with her on her one day off this week, wanted to take her out on a proper date because they haven’t been on one in weeks. He wanted to surprise her, but all she wanted was to go to the Wyrm and see Toni and Fangs and Sweet Pea because it’s felt like months since she last saw any of them. And maybe it has been. She hasn’t been keeping track of time lately. Matt only wanted to spend some time with her and all she’d done was piss him off. And that was her fault.

He’s always had a temper, but that was nothing she ever worried about. Growing up on the Southside meant most people had a temper and knew how to use it, channeling their anger into their fists. She’s been best friends with Sweet Pea for as long as she can remember, and his anger is practically infamous around Riverdale, so no, a temper was never anything she worried about, though maybe it should have been.

Matt’s temper has always been different from Sweet Pea’s, or anyone else she knows from the Southside. Instead of righteous fists and a short fuse, Matt was a switch just waiting to be flipped. His temper came and went without warning, sometimes without provocation, and it would be the smallest things that set him off: she didn’t kiss him goodbye, she missed his phone call, her makeup was too dark around the eyes, her skirt too short.

She’s always had a knack for pushing all of the wrong buttons.

So really, it was her fault.

Rosie isn’t sure exactly how the fight started. Not the first one anyway. She’d made a comment about redecorating the old house, the one that used to belong to her grandmother. The wallpaper started peeling and the entire place wasn’t as homey as it used to be, feeling more tired than anything. Something in the house started feeling off and Rosie needed to fix it.

He didn’t like the color scheme she was thinking of using, and she refused to pull up the carpet, and it was normal banter, barbed, but harmless.

And then Matt made a grating comment about the lamp in the living room, asking if she was finally going to get rid of it, and it bothered her more than she’d care to admit, because he knew how much she loved that lamp. And really, she should have just let it go, but after a full week of work, she was tired and stressed, and something sarcastic had slipped out of her mouth before she could stop it.

The fight was over before it really started: a handful of snippy remarks and a bruising kiss that left her stomach in knots. That was it. It was nothing serious. Nothing they would remember by the end of the day, and that was fine.

The second fight was worse.

He was just trying to be sweet and she’d picked a fight over it. Rosie didn’t mean to act like a date night wasn’t important to her, hadn’t meant to make it seem like she was choosing her friends at the Wyrm over him, but she did.

She hadn’t meant to snap at him either, but after a long week, all she wanted was to find Toni and complain about long hours and shitty customers and horrible bosses. Matt never cared about those kinds of problems. He never wanted to listen to her whine about them. And that was okay. He didn’t have to, but she still needed to let the words spill out to someone.

Matt took it the wrong way when she told him that, asking if she thought he didn’t care about her. She tried to backtrack but it only made things worse.

He was trying to do something nice and she ruined it, just like she always does.

The shouting started before she knew what was happening, Matt hurling words at her, blaming her for the fight, accusing her of something she can hardly remember, and then the lamp was shattering into pieces beside her head, glass splintering into pieces and piling on the floor, nicking at her skin. She doesn’t remember trying to walk away, but she must have, a firm hand wrapping around her wrist and squeezing until it hurt. And maybe she told him to let go or maybe she didn’t, but when he leaned in to kiss, she’d turned away.

That way the wrong thing to do.

He let go just as quickly, storming out of the house without another word, the door slamming shut behind him, leaving her standing in the middle of the room unsure of what happened, the lamp broken on the floor and the sound of glass shattering ringing in her ears, her hands trembling at her sides, heart practically crawling in her mouth.

And Rosie cleaned up the glass.

That was hours ago, or maybe not. She hasn’t checked the time and the blinds have been drawn shut since Matt stormed out, Rosie unable to bring herself to stand from where she’s curled into the couch.

Matt only wanted to go on a date like they used to. It was the one night they both had off and they were in desperate need of a night out. And she’d picked two fights in exchange and made him storm out the door.

Obviously it was her fault.

So why is she the one curled up on the couch, sick to her stomach and shivering, alone and feeling like her bones are crumbling into dust inside her?

The click of the front door being unlocked makes Rosie’s head snap up, her pupils blown wide. She hugs her knees tight to her chest, tucking them beneath the sweater she must have stolen from Sweet Pea at one point, the loose fabric several sizes too large for her frame, practically swallowing her whole. Despite the fabric she’s drowning in, a desperate ache to make herself even smaller settles deep in Rosie’s bones, a sick feeling twisting at her insides. Her chest goes cold and for a tense moment she forgets how to breathe.

Rosie’s heart lodges in her throat as the door is edged open, old hinges creaking loudly, the soft squeal of the front door making her skin crawl. Matt keeps telling her to fix the hinge, keep the door from making so much noise, but she can’t bring herself to do it. The door hasn’t been fixed since she was a child and it was just her and her grandmother living in this house, one of the few on the Southside. The house is warm and cozy and creaks and squeaks and that’s not something that she wants to change.

It has nothing to do with Matt and the few seconds of warning it gives her when he comes home at three in the morning, piss drunk and looking for an argument.

“Rosie, you home?”

But it’s not Matt that comes through the door. It isn’t blond hair and blue eyes the same color as his letterman jacket. It isn’t stark white sneakers and a thin-lipped smile that cuts through her like a knife. It isn’t unblemished hands that grip too tight and pull too hard. No, it’s dark hair and eyes, a leather jacket with an angry snake twisted across the back, motorcycle boots and a crooked but all too familiar smile, calloused fingertips that have never been anything but gentle with her.

She doesn’t realize she was shaking until she stops, the reaction instantaneous. “What are you doing here, Sweets?” she murmurs from the couch, pulling at a loose thread in her sweater, the soft gray fabric making her red hair shine just a little bit brighter. The smile that pulls at her lips is small, a little sad but more genuine than it’s been in days.

Rosie practically lights up when she sees Sweet Pea standing in the doorway, even if it isn’t nearly as bright as it used to be.

He grins back at her, rolling his shoulders as he shuts the door behind him, that awful squeal splitting through the room. “A little bird told me it was your day off,” he jokes, eyes crinkling at the edges in good humor. “Said you might swing by the Wyrm.” He leaves the sentence hanging in the air, unfinished, but the implication glaringly obvious.

But she didn’t come by. And he hasn’t seen her in weeks. And he’s been worried about her. There’s no accusation in his eyes or his voice, but it still makes her curl tighter in on herself, Rosie’s stomach twisting into knots as Sweet Pea sends her a look so filled with open concern that she might suffocate under it, because Sweet Pea never looks at anyone like that.

Rosie practically shrinks under his gaze and something in his eyes flickers, but it’s there and gone before she can tell what it was. Before she can say anything, Sweet Pea continues, leaning sideways against the wall, expression soft but unreadable. “We’ve missed you down there. Some of the younger boys keep asking where you’ve been.” Again, there’s something unspoken in his words, his voice low and rough.

He hasn’t been able to give them an answer, which is something that hasn’t happened in years. They’ve always known where to find each other, ever since they were kids, but in the last few months things have shifted, just enough for things to seem off, wrong.

Rosie isn’t a Serpent. She never has been, probably never will, but she might as well be. They know her name and her face down at the Wyrm. They know she has a lilting voice like some kind of siren and a mean right hook for someone five foot nothing and how she’s the only one that can stop Sweet Pea when he goes looking for a fight. The Serpents know she’s as much Sweet Pea’s as he is hers, that she wears one of his rings on a chain around her neck and that he has a rose tattooed on the inside of his left arm where no one can see it.

The two of them are practically attached at the hip. It’s been that way since they were seven years old and Sweet Pea pulled at her curls, awestruck by her wild copper hair, and she retaliated by punching him square in the jaw. He lost a baby tooth and her knuckles bruised and it was in that moment that Sweet Pea knew he would do absolutely anything for her, to keep her safe.

She’s always been wildfire. Bright and raging and all-consuming, burning through people in the best ways.

And six months ago that fire was put out, even if it doesn’t seem like it.

That’s when things started to change. It was so gradual that she didn’t even recognize it was happening at first. It started slow, a few missed movie nights with Toni and the girls because Matt wanted to stay in, abandoning her late night talks with Fangs because Matt didn’t like it when they were alone together, not visiting the Wyrm as much because Matt didn’t like the crowd and didn’t want her going alone, not seeing Sweet Pea nearly as much because Matt said he didn’t like the way he looked at her. Matt’s grip turning bruising whenever Sweet Pea was mentioned, his smile thin and his eyes angry.

Rosie catches her lower lip between her teeth, biting down hard but being careful not to break the skin, aware of Sweet Pea watching her. She can practically feel his gaze washing over her, but where it would usually feel comforting all she can feel is an itch under her skin, her stomach in knots. “I didn’t feel like going out today,” she tells him, because it’s as close to the truth as she’s willing to give. After her fight with Matt she really didn’t want to leave the house. It would only make him more upset later. “Besides,” she continues, sending him what she hopes is an easy smile, “I’ve been busy. And so have you, from what I’ve heard.”

FP has been giving him more jobs lately, slowly passing the mantle to the younger generation. It kills her a little that she hasn’t been there for him, to patch up his bloody knuckles and tell him how damn proud of him she is, because the Serpents are going to do great things because of him.

Sweet Pea snorts, but his smile is fond as he finally pushes away from the wall, a familiar teasing glint in his eyes. “Your boyfriend steals all your time,” he tells her, kicking off his boots as he steps further into the house.

It’s meant to be a joke, the same kind of friendly ribbing they’ve always had, but it cuts deeper that it’s meant to. Rosie doesn’t mean to flinch but she does. And Sweet Pea catches the motion. He goes tense, straightening to his full height, on edge because she is.

Brushing her hair over her shoulder, Rosie stares down at her bare toes, avoiding his eyes. Her sweater slips lower on her shoulder with the motion, the newly bared skin going cold. “Yeah, well, that shouldn’t be a problem today,” she replies, somewhat strained, still not looking at him.

The air in the room grows cold, both of them silent for several heartbeats to long. Sweet Pea shifts from one leg to the other, his eyes narrowing just a tick. “You two get in a fight?” There’s something off about the way he says it, an edge to the question that she doesn’t want to think about.

Because it wasn’t that bad. Not really. And it was her fault anyway.

“Something like that,” she concedes, knowing she can’t tell him a blatant lie. “But it doesn’t matter.” She finally looks at him again, a small smile pulling at her lips. Sweet Pea’s stance doesn’t slacken, his gaze still sharper than a knife, and she unfurls herself from the sweater she’s drowning in, toes curling into the couch cushion. “It’ll blow over. Nothing major. You know how it is.”

He doesn’t. And she hopes he never does.

It takes a moment, but he softens, deflating just as quickly as he went still, the tension slipping from his shoulders. Sweet Pea takes a step towards her and Rosie looks down at her hands, her fingers curling around the sleeves of her sweater.

“Your lamp is gone,” Sweet Pea says suddenly, causing Rosie to jolt from her spot on the couch. Her gaze immediately flicks to the empty spot on the other end of the couch, the side table bare where the lamp was this morning. It’s almost as if it was never there at all.

There’s an edge to Sweet Pea’s voice that’s thicker and rougher than before and it makes her stomach twist sickly. The way he says it makes it seem like a bigger deal than it really is. And maybe it is a big deal.

She fought tooth and nail for that lamp. It was an ugly little thing, oddly-shaped and lumpy in all the wrong places, a putrid yellow color with a bulb that never gave off enough light for the lamp to be put to any use. It probably wasn’t worth half of what the thrift store was selling it for, but god did she love it. It looked exactly like the one her grandmother used to keep in her house. Maybe it was the same one, she doesn’t know. After seeing that thing in the window of the shop for months, she finally brought it home one winter night when she was sixteen.

It was an eyesore and her friends all teased her about it, but they were careful when it came to that lamp, as if it were a baby bird, because they knew how much it meant to her.

The side table where it sat looks bare without it, a thin layer of dust coating the surface around the lamp where she hasn’t cleaned it for a week. It looks wrong somehow without her lamp, out of place, and the way Sweet Pea stares at the naked space where it used to be unsettles her to her very core.

“Matt didn’t like it,” Rosie says breezily, shrugging, and Sweet Pea’s gaze snaps to her face, his eyes narrowing in a look she’s entirely familiar with, but she chooses to ignore it, curling in on herself and playing with the worn sleeves of her baggy sweater. He looks at her like he can see right through her, as if he can see the dip in the wall behind her where that lamp shattered inches from her head, as if he can see the shallow cut on her shoulder from where a shard nicked her skin or the way Matt grabbed her when she tried to walk away. And maybe Sweet Pea can.

Her breath catches in her throat, her hands beginning to tremble. She refuses to look him in the eyes, fiddling with a loose thread on her sweater. He’s always had a way of just knowing what’s going on in her head, even when she wished he couldn’t. There’s a certain vulnerability that comes with the way he looks at her, like he’s peeling back her skin and seeing all the little things that make her tick, and she can’t have that right now.

And it’s not a lie, not really. Matt really didn’t like the lamp. He never has. Hell, he practically hated it. He always said it was a bad color, that it was too bulky in the room and that it wasn’t worth keeping around. It was only a coincidence that it was the closest thing within reach at the time. Or maybe it wasn’t. She can never be quite sure. There have been so many accidents that she doesn’t know when exactly they started being on purpose.

“Besides,” she continues quickly, noticing the dark flicker in Sweet Pea’s eyes, “it was time for a change.” Her smile feels too bright, too forced, unnatural in the way it pulls at her lips, and she hopes he doesn’t notice it. “I’ve been thinking about redecorating,” Rosie tells him, “and it was hard to do with that lamp it here.” Her smile dampens into something a little sad, a little bitter. “It really was an ugly thing.”

He’s quiet for a long, tense moment, and then, “you love that lamp.”

“Yeah.” And that’s the end of it. She’s clammed up and Sweet Pea knows her well enough to know that’s all he’ll get out of her even if he doesn’t like it.

He hesitates, still halfway across the room, and Rosie thinks he might press the subject, but then Sweet Pea sighs, seeming to deflate entirely, the tension draining from him like water. His footsteps are loud against the floor, and as he gets closer she’s overtaken by the smell of gasoline and wood smoke and the cologne he always wears that she can’t remember the name of, but has branded in her memory regardless.

“All right, Sweetness,” he murmurs, voice low and softer than usual, “move over.”

Rosie’s head snaps up, her eyes narrowing in confusion. “What?” She barely gets the word out before he drops onto the couch next to her, nearly on top of her. Rosie shrieks softly in surprise, barely moving her feet out of the way in time to not be squished by him. “Sweet Pea!” He only grins in response and it startles a laugh out of her, Rosie’s shoulders shaking with the force of it.

He reaches out to ruffle her hair, making the curly strands an even bigger mess, and she swats him away playfully, leaning into the familiar contact and making him smile wider. Sweet Pea’s hand leaves her head, instead falling to her bare leg, his hand on her calf. “You still have your trashy musical stash?” he asks, giving her a gentle squeeze.

“They aren’t trashy,” she scoffs, nudging his thigh with her toes in a halfhearted kick that only makes him laugh.

Sweet Pea ignores her comment, giving her leg a pinch that’s more surprising than painful. Rosie jerks her leg away, shooting him a playfully sour look, the two of them falling back into a natural rhythm together, one that a few months of distance can’t break them from. “Go grab it,” he tells her, knocking his leg against hers and jerking his chin towards the stairs.

Her head cocks to the side, eyes narrowing in slight confusion. “Why? You don’t like musicals.” He never has, though he’s begrudgingly suffered through movie musical nights, outnumbered by Rosie, Toni, and Fangs.

The look he sends her is almost surprised. “You do,” he replies, as if it’s that simple. One of his shoulders tilts up in a half-shrug, his eyes locked with hers.

The easy answer cracks something inside of her.

The next few hours drift by, slow and warm and more at ease than she’s been in days. The two of them slip into a comfortable silence, a musical neither of them are really paying any attention to playing on the old TV. Sweet Pea has his gaze on the screen, the flickering lights casting shadows across his face, his eyes so much darker in the low light. He isn’t watching the movie though, and they both know it, but he pretends to be sucked into the characters on screen anyway.

And Rosalie pretends she isn’t glancing at the clock every few minutes, worried that Matt might come home and catch her wrapped up with Sweet Pea on the couch. It’s not that they’re doing anything inappropriate. They’re barely touching aside from her legs tossed across his lap and the fingers he has curled around her ankle, anchoring the two of them together with a loose grip, but Matt would pick a fight over it anyway. He’s always hated how close she is with Sweet Pea, how well he knows her and how easily the two of them fit together, slotting against each other like it’s right. And maybe they are too close, but he’s always been home to her. She couldn’t cut him from her life if she wanted to, not without losing herself in the process.

Sweet Pea’s thumb traces slow circles against her ankle as they watch the movie, and slowly, hesitantly, she relaxes against him, letting out a breath she’s been holding since Matt threw the lamp. She presses tighter against Sweet Pea’s side, just enough to curl her fingers around the sleeve of his jacket, the leather familiar beneath her fingertips. Maybe he doesn’t notice, or maybe he just pretends not to, but he doesn’t react to her movement, letting her do what she needs to.

He’s always known when she’s needed words and when she doesn’t, and right now Rosie is content to just sit here with him, to not be alone.

She doesn’t notice when her sleeve rides up, her wrist dark where Matt grabbed her earlier. Sweet Pea does.

He goes still against her side, inhaling sharply through his nose. The sudden sound draws her attention, and she glances at him, only to find his gaze drawn lower, his eyes wide with a confusing mix of emotion. “Rosie, what the hell happened to your arm?”

She doesn’t flinch. Barely breathes. Tries not to let her hands tremble. “It was an accident.” It tastes like a lie on her tongue, and her throat grows tight, but she swallows it back, not wanting to worry him. “I must have bumped into something.”

He doesn’t look convinced, his eyes narrowing further. “And you didn’t notice?” He snorts softly, shaking his head, and lifts her wrist closer to his face, his hand gentle as he cradles her wrist in his much larger palm. “You don’t bruise that easy,” Sweet Pea mumbles, more to himself than her, and for a horrifying moment she thinks he might recognize the faint lines around her wrist as being from fingers, but he only smooths his thumb across the bruises that decorate her skin like an ugly bracelet, attached so neatly to her skin that she can’t rip them out.

“Maybe I need more iron in my diet,” she jokes, shrugging. Gently, she tugs her wrist free from Sweet Pea’s loose grip, letting her hand drop back into her lap.

His brows furrow, his thumb still tracing circles against her ankle. “I keep telling you that kale isn’t a meal.”

Rosie huffs a laugh. “Sorry I don’t eat three burgers in one sitting like you do.” She nudges his ribs with her knee, poking at his soft spot and making him jerk away from her. She’s watched him put away more food at once than she would ever know what to do with, and she’s never sure if she should be impressed or disgusted by it.

Sweet Pea snorts, fingers squeezing around her ankle just enough so that she can feel it. “Oh please,” he scoffs back at her, rolling his eyes in amusement. “I’ve seen you put away enough fries to put Jughead to shame.” He bumps his shoulder against hers, eyes bright with amusement. “You only started eating like a lady when you started dating The Northsider.”

She prods at his side again, squirming against his lap and making him release his grip on her ankle. “I’ve always been a lady, Sweet Pea,” she argues, clicking her tongue at him and shaking her head, unable to hide the smile growing on her face.

“You keep telling yourself that, Sweetness,” he says, patting her leg to placate her, “but I’ve seen you make grown men cry before.”

“If they cried they deserved it.”

Rosie can feel his laughter echo through her bones.

She wakes up to a heavy hand shaking her shoulder roughly, the smell of whiskey thick in the air, and Matt’s voice low in her ear. “Rose,” he slurs, shaking her again. “Rosalie. Wake up, Baby.” The hand on her arm is incessant, grip too tight as she’s dragged out of sleep.

“Matt?” she murmurs back to him, shifting on the couch until she’s facing him. “What time is it?” Dimly, Rosie is aware of Sweet Pea leaving at some point after the sun had gone down, the sky black and the house quiet as he shut off the television. The entire room was dark, a thin sliver of moonlight creeping in through the blinds, just enough for her to catch the outline of Sweet Pea’s body as he slide out from underneath her, laying her legs down gently against the couch. She was only half awake, exhausted by the days events, and a part of her wanted to ask him to stay with her, not wanting to be alone in the house, but her thoughts were slow, her tongue heavy in her mouth.

Sweet Pea mumbled something she didn’t catch, brushing the hair from her face with a gentle hand, his fingers lingering against her cheek for a heartbeat too long. Something warm and heavy was draped over her frame, covering her like a blanket. Then he was gone, slipping out of the house without waking her.

She can’t help but be relieved that he left before Matt came home.

“Hey, Baby,” Matt repeats, tugging her around to face him. “I’m sorry it’s so late, but I didn’t want to leave this until morning,” he tells her. There are roses on the table, a dozen of them, and she never has liked roses much. Matt continues before she can say anything, forcing her to sit up as he speaks. Something slips from her lap onto the couch, but she doesn’t pay it any attention. “I shouldn’t have broken the lamp. I shouldn’t have thrown it at you, but god, Rosie, you just make me so damn angry sometimes,” he tells her, and something about the words makes her sick, but she’s caught in his blue gaze and it paralyzes her. “I never mean to hurt you, Baby,” he continues, practically cooing. His hands come up to cup her face.

She sends him the best smile she can manage, nodding her head. “I know,” she whispers, allowing him to pull her to her feet, her mind still foggy with sleep, everything slow.

He continues, but she’s only half listening, already knowing what he’s saying. That’s he’s sorry. That it won’t happen again. That it was her fault. That if she would just stop making him mad, they wouldn’t have to fight. “I just… what the fuck is that.” The break from the routine makes her jump, Matt more angry than she’s ever heard him before. He sucks in an angry break, his hand on her chin gripping tight enough to leave a mark. She thinks she asks what’s wrong, but she can’t be sure if her mouth forms the words with the way he’s squeezing her jaw. “Jesus fucking Christ,” he sneers, “what the fuck is this, Rosalie?”

She’s confused until he forces her head around so quickly she hears a crack in her neck, the leather jacket resting on the couch the only thing that could be out of place.

Rosie lets out a breath, not understanding the severity of it when she’s only just beginning to wake up. “Matt, it’s just a jacket,” she mumbles back to him. She stiffens as soon as she says it, snapping awake as she realizes what’s wrong, realizes that Sweet Pea left his jacket behind, either on purpose or not.

The angry green snake patch glares back at the two of them, and Rosie wishes it would leap off the fabric and swallow her whole.

Matt jerks her back around to look at him, blue eyes a hurricane as he glares down at her, a storm swirling in his eyes that promises nothing good. “You screwing a serpent now, Rosie?” he sneers in her face, breath thick with alcohol. He’s drunk.

“No,” she gasps back. “No! God, Matt, it’s Sweet Pea’s!” She realizes it’s the wrong thing to say just a moment later.

Matt goes still, so still she’s not even sure if he’s breathing anymore. His grip on her goes slack and she stumbles backwards away from him, nearly tripping on the edge of the couch as she backs up against the wall. Matt only stares down at the leather jacket on the couch, expression blank. “Sweet Pea was here.” It isn’t a question and they both know it.

Rosie wets her lips, arms curling tight around herself. She bunches her sweater in her hands, trying to keep her fingers from shaking. “He stopped by earlier,” she whispers, unable to look Matt in the eye. Maybe it’s because he’s drunk or maybe it’s because he isn’t yelling anymore, but there’s something unnerving about him, like a single word would set him off.

Something that isn’t quite a laugh spills from his lips. “What,” he mumbles, “so we get in one fight and you…” he doesn’t finish the thought, but the implication is there.

“We’re friends, Matt,” she spits back, straightening and forcing herself to look at him, all wildfire. Something about Sweet Pea being here earlier makes her feel braver than she should. “He’s allowed to come to my house.”

Matt’s eyes snap to hers, his gaze just as intense as hers. He straightens to his full height, barely six feet tall, but still towering over her. He doesn’t say a word, barely blinks, and then suddenly she’s shoved back against the wall and his mouth is on hers in a kiss that’s all teeth and tongue, lips practically bruising against hers. He lifts her straight off the ground, forcing her legs to lock around his hips, and his hands are everywhere: her thighs, her hips, around her throat and squeezing. And maybe she tries to push him away once, but when he doesn’t budge she relents, and then her hands are being held above her head and she’s too lost in the sensations to think that something isn’t right.

The sex that follows is bruising, less make-up and more make-a-point. His hands are careless and bruising, containing none of the soft wandering as usual, and he practically hisses in her ear: possessive things, humiliating things, snarls of “do you think Sweet Pea could make you moan like this?”. And in the morning he’ll chalk it up to rough sex, like always. And he’ll give her a look that would make her feel stupid and small for even mentioning it, because she always had liked it rough, hadn’t she? And she’ll never be able to find the words to address the satisfaction that would flash in his eyes whenever she’d wince in pain, like he wants to hurt her.

And for a moment Rosie wonders when love began to sound like a sudden gush of vitriol and her favorite lamp shattering against the wall behind her head, when it started tasting like bourbon and blood in her mouth from where she bit her cheek. She wonders when loving Matt became a one-sided screaming match and bruises around her wrists, dark marks dotting her thighs from where fingers squeezed to wound, backhanded comments breathed against her collarbones. She wonders when love started to hurt.

More than that, she wonders when she started thinking that was okay.

[sak-a]

A Flower by Any Other Kind (Akira Kurusu x Reader)

Word Count: 2,428

Got a few requests for Akira working at a flower shop; I’m here to barely deliver that.  ;u; A charming Akira with a reader with low self confidence; hope you enjoy!

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     Akira Kurusu is the most beautiful man you’ve ever seen, and the kindest person you know.

     You wonder how many times you’ve perused 105’s underground mall, and how you managed to overlook that suave boy at the flower shop. When you think back, it was probably because he only started working there recently. He certainly seems suited for the job, and he’s a sight for sore eyes, you decided. Even the natural beauty of nature’s gifts couldn’t compare. If anything, being around him only enhanced his charms. How did he make an apron look so good?

     While you wouldn’t necessarily call what you were doing stalking, you couldn’t help but admire him from afar once you noticed he worked on Wednesdays. On the day you finally talked to each other, he was crouched near the potted flowers on the ground and watering them. He had a little smile filled with kindness, and the sight was so precious you found yourself smiling too. The holidays that capitalized on over-priced flowers ended a while ago, so there hadn’t been many customers that day. Good for you, you could stare at him all you liked without anyone obstructing your line of sight. All that got in the way was the rack of shoes you always hid behind. God forbid you could handle the idea of chatting him up before turning into a nervous wreck.

     He hadn’t noticed you since you started your outings of appreciating his beauty. You weren’t exactly head-turning in terms of looks so you should have been safe. Or so you thought until he looked up and your eyes met. You got the feeling of what it’s like to be a deer in the headlights and held your breath. Oh, god, just look at the damn shoes, look away already, play it cool--you waited too long, you’re pretty sure he’s figured out you were staring at him. Yeah, no, time to retreat for the day.

     When you spoke to your friends about what happened, they teased you for just how incredibly smooth you were, and asked when the wedding was. Their advice wasn’t helpful either; Seduce him with flowers that meant you were interested, pretend you were window shopping and ask for recommendations--all things that required you to go up and talk to him. As if, you sighed and mulled over the encounter until the next Wednesday rolled around. It probably would have been better if you didn’t go that day so that you didn’t look like a stalker, but you were already on the train to Shibuya out of habit.

     Where could you hide this time? The rack you usually hid behind had been cleared out because of the sale sign beside it. Wait, where was he? You only saw the owner standing by...

     “Would you like to visit the shop today?”

     You jumped, hearing an unfamiliar voice and spun around, met with a huge bouquet of little white flowers and a pair of amused eyes behind glasses. He couldn’t have been expecting you to show up, could he? It was hard to tell from his expression. As you held your hand to your chest to calm your racing heart, he blinked and tilted his head a bit. “I didn’t scare you that much, did I?” Yes, he did, but you shake your head to be polite and he grins. “You can loiter around the shop if you want. Miss Hanasaki won’t mind.” You assumed that was the owner’s name. He walked past you and you remembered what your friends said, deciding to take the invitation and follow him.

     The different flowers’ fragrances hit you like a brick wall, yet they surprisingly didn’t overwhelm your senses. You never got close enough to smell them before. He set the bouquet into a glass vase, and you figured there was no better ice breaker than asking him what they were. “White violets. Their color alludes to innocence, but they have an interesting meaning in the language of the flowers.” He adjusted the purple cellophane wrapping around the bouquet. “‘Let’s take a chance on happiness.’ Or, to put it in other words, to gamble on love.” He glanced to you. “How about it? Feel like taking a gamble with me?” Your throat quickly felt dry all and you looked to your feet out of embarrassment.

     He covers his mouth as a soft laughter spills out at your reaction, and you can feel your heart fluttering at the sound of it. When you lift your head, you see he’s trying his hardest to stifle it. Now’s not the time to be admiring how cute, though. You take a peek at his name tag. Kurusu. Doesn’t sound like a first name. “Akira,” he says. “Feel free to call me that.” Were you that obvious about looking? To distract yourself from your increasingly warm face, you ask about the meanings of the other plants, and he has no trouble educating you about the language of the flowers.

     “Along with the type, the color can also change its meaning,” he explained as he tended to them, adjusting their displays or watering them as needed. “Red tulips may convey a declaration of passionate love, while yellow ones tell the recipient there’s sunshine in their smile. You can usually guess a flower’s meaning from their color--white for purity, yellow for cheerfulness, red for deep love, and so on.” You nodded along, finding the trivia interesting. Perhaps it will come in handy if your friends needed emergency flowers.

     +1 Knowledge

     “Kurusu, you can go home now,” Hanasaki called out from below where she’s clearing dead leaves out of the flower pots. “Thanks for your hard work today.”

     “You too,” he bowed and went to put away his apron. You were able to talk to him for the first time that day, and learned his name on top of that. That’s something to pat yourself on the back for, right? The male in question came out in a blazer and toted a large brown purse. Despite the oddity slung over his shoulder, he still managed to look so stylish and handsome. Akira saw you had stuck around and seemed pleased before going over to Hanasaki to ask her for a flower. You can’t see what kind it is when he comes up to you. “I hope you didn’t get too bored talking with me. May I offer this as an apology?”

     He held up his purchase for you to see: a carefully wrapped tulip with red streaks on yellow petals. You’ve seen this pattern before but you don’t think he told you if it had a meaning. “It’s a variegated tulip. Its pattern is caused by a plant virus.” With his other hand, he takes yours and brings his lips to your knuckles. “Thanks for keeping me company today. Hope I can see you again.” He slipped the flower into your hand when he saw you were too shocked to take it yourself. “By the way, variegated tulips mean you’ve got beautiful eyes. I’d rather see yours up close than behind shoes, alright?” He waves and leaves you dumbfounded.

     So he did notice.

     That was how you met, and now you were somehow together. He could have picked anyone else, you knew he hung out with girls and guys who were just as wonderful as him. Compared to them, how could you not to wonder why he chose you? As much as you wished you could just enjoy your time together, your anxiety always got the better of you.

     Because there wasn’t anything you liked about yourself.

     And you couldn’t hide it from him. Akira doesn’t need much to see through you, and your self-deprecating jokes never lightened the mood like you hope. When it got awkward, he would put his arms around you and hold you gently until you forgot about your lack of self-esteem.

     But tonight, you’re feeling more self-conscious than usual.

     You went to a carnival and he’s exceeded your expectations for the night. New one-liners to make you flush despite how cheesy they were, perfectly timed kisses, and even a stuffed teddy bear ten times your size. It was quite the spectacle when he won it and the booth owner’s jaw dropped like a rock. You’re both enjoying yourselves during the festivities, but you’re not the only one who’s being drawn in by his charm.

     People keep approaching him despite how clearly you were holding hands. It’s like you’re invisible. Akira’s quick to turn them down, but it’s surprising how persistent people can be. You start comparing yourself to each person who tries to lure him away from you. Then you start remembering what you hate about your body, your personality, your...

     Your head’s starting to pound. You’re stressing yourself out.

     “Hey.” Akira squeezes your hand, disrupting your thoughts and you can see how concerned he is. He presses a light kiss to your forehead and flashes his gorgeous smile; you wish you could stare at him forever. “Wanna take a break?” He gestures towards an empty bench. Might as well, you agree and sit your tired body down. The teddy bear makes for a good cushion. Akira naturally sits with you and he rests his head on your shoulder. The soft curls of his hair tickle your skin and you can smell the mixed scents of his shampoo, flowers, and coffee.

     The quiet moment lasts for a few seconds before he speaks again. “You’re wonderful, you know?” His sudden compliment caught you off-gurad. Akira closes his eyes and continues with genuine affection in his words. “You don’t need to be so harsh with yourself. You’re fine the way you are.” You feel the weight of his body when he relaxes against you. “There’s nothing wrong with you.” When he tries to meet your eyes you can’t help but look away. Even if it’s coming from him, it’s a difficult for you to believe him.

     You can’t see anything other than your flaws, after all.

     You feel your side lighten. When you look back, you watch him stand and shove his hands in his pockets. Is he upset from your reaction? Before any apology could leave your mouth, he pets your head in assurance, dispelling any incoming anxiety.

     “Is it alright if we backtrack? There’s a booth I wanna check out.” No reason to say no. You take the hand he offers and follow quietly. As you walk side by side, your eyes are drawn to other couples passing by, laughing and openly clinging to each other without a care in the world. If only you could do the same without thinking about how you looked or how disappointingly boring you were. You feel Akira squeeze your hand and he tries to reassure you with another smile; it’s hard to hang onto any doubt.

     Akira ended up taking you to a flower booth. How did you not notice this? To be fair, the flowers weren’t anywhere near as pretty as the ones in the underground mall. The booth wasn’t exactly packed, it only had the occasional couple or two who stopped by to look around; Akira didn’t take you here to do the same. Although he also seemed to deem the selection wasn’t anywhere near the quality of his part time job’s shop, from the way his eyes were scanning them.

     “They looked better when we were just passing by,” he laughs and looks at you. “But how can I put this into words?” He closes his eyes for a moment before he squeezes your hand again. “Red roses are overused, aren’t they? But the depth of emotion they convey is undeniable. Red carnations are a suitable substitute and have more or less the same meaning, but they don’t have the same visual impact. Then there’s blue orchids, which mean ‘rare beauty’ since they aren’t naturally blue. Sometimes purple ones look blue or white ones are colored.” You listen to his mesmerizing voice and feel lost in his eyes as you stared, wondering where he was going with this line of conversation.

     “Gardenias are just as beautiful as roses. Although it’s more for expressing or confessing love.” Akira leans over and touches his forehead against yours. “I think you understand the extent of my feelings for you already though.” You feel yourself blushing and simply nod. He smiles from ear to ear and kisses the top of your head. “No matter how many flowers I find to express how I feel about you, I’ll never be able to find one that suits you.” He kisses your cheek. “You’re the loveliest flower of all. You don’t need to bend towards society’s distorted image of perfection. Keep growing as you are.”

     Akira kisses you briefly on your lips. Despite how short it was, you felt his affection for you and understood well enough. “I love the ‘you’ I see now. No amount of flowers could amount to what you are right now.” It’s all you can do to keep yourself from crying on the spot and press your face against his chest. He drapes his arms around your shoulders and pulls you close, resting his head on top of yours. “I’m not lying,” he murmurs. “I love you.”

     You can’t believe someone could accept you and see you in such a bright light. Had anyone else said those words to you, you think you couldn’t have believed them so easily. However, you know Akira would never dream of lying to you; your anxieties are fading away, unable to keep you chained to their whispers of depressing thoughts. It would take more than this to start seeing yourself the way he did, but tonight you resign to him. The booth owner yells at you both for loitering around and you continue on your date until the moon rose to its highest point in the sky and the carnival closed.

     Akira escorted you home, behaving extra affectionate on the train ride back until you were outside your home. It was certainly a challenge to separate yourselves from each other. When he tried to end a kiss, you started another one; when you tried to pull away, he brought you back. Your makeout session went on for probably ten minutes in front of your door when you finally run out of breath and inhale deeply. Akira licks his lips and holds your gaze for what felt like eternity before he leans down to your ear and whispers in a husky voice.

     “Want me to make you feel beautiful?”