#add a piggly smile

[artcallednonsensed]

I believe my sector

I captures Putin & Hamas also Tin even RumpT

And after a revolution or two all have been captured upon our World

Including myself

I began this, writing or punching, in my Universe

[theveryworstthing]

So over on patreon Trevor asked for my take on the Addams Family and I grew up LOVING the Addams family movies so here we are. Instead of doing a straight up style interpretation, I decided to do a full on design challenge, using the characters as bases to make a black southern gothic Addams au. I actually drew the kids first, using the character bases of Wednesday and Pugsley to create some delightful kiddos I'm calling Sunday and Blanche. I of course then redesigned Gomez and Morticia into Carlisle and Mortesha.

The Addams have a very specific high aristocratic goth aesthetic (they've got a butler and nobody really works among other things) so in this re-imagining I wanted to go with vibes that run a little more middle class/upper middle class.  I thought it would be interesting to think about what would be considered weird and off-putting in an entirely different culture, and how being a big ol' goth is way less controversial than it used to be.

I tried to keep this short (HAHAHAHAHAHA) so I didn't spin off into an essay about villain coded families, black people in the horror genre, and normalcy as it pertains to social survival, but just...bits of that are in these designs and lore. Keep that in mind.

Also I made the kids twins because they've flip flopped in age so much in different media and also twins run in my family (i'm the daughter of one). And let's face it, I'm pulling a lot of their southern gothic traits from living as a southern goth so *shrug*.

10 thousand pounds of lore incoming loooooooooool.

The Parents

From the moment he saw her he knew that there was a 50/50 chance of him either never making it out of that swamp alive or marrying the figure that was creeping out from under the distant willow tree in a black cocktail dress. The third time she found him trussed up in one of her traps, he complimented her rope work and asked if she'd like to go out sometime after his head wound stopped bleeding.

Or while it was still bleeding.

If she was into that.

Some kids and a mysteriously burnt down Piggly Wiggly later, their love is still as strong and inescapable as a bear trap in a sink hole.

Carlisle Guillermo (now Addams through marriage but I wanted to give him two first names for a name since Gomez has two last names) makes a vaguely described living practicing ‘law’ around town. A loophole king, people come to him from miles around with contracts signed in blood, fights over chunks of hair buried in their rivals’ yard, dehydrated primate hands, memories that seemed like dreams until the evidence of their happenings became too real, and other regular Legal Items asking for counsel which he is all too happy to give. For a price. Sometimes that price is a homemade pie and sometimes it’s a million dollars, depends on who you are. Whatever you’re asked to pay it’s worth that price, and if you try to scam him out of work or he just plain doesn’t like you? Well. He knows how to twist a contract better than anything at the crossroads.

And he always gets his due.

He doesn’t just serve the local (living)humans though, there are many things that need proper legal representation in this day and age. You wouldn’t believe how many city councils try to build on sacred burial grounds even after he lets them know that his ghostly clients are totally gonna haunt the FUCK out of the ensuing shitty condos and curse their families for all eternity. At least 50% of his energy goes towards dealing with real estate bullshit.

Carl is an excitable and good natured(?) man who loves his family, cigars, dancing, and his many knife-based hobbies. People find him very charming once they get past the feeling that they’re talking to a sultry gator badly disguising itself as a human. I didn’t put a ton of deep thought into designing him, mostly I wanted to make a middle aged dude who looked like he would have been voted ‘most likely to smooch the literal devil’ in high school. Tbh he probably has, but no demonic ex’s can compare to his lovely wife~

Mortesha Addams(her name was already perfect so I just tweaked it)is a woman of many talents. A self proclaimed homemaker, she prides herself on a greenhouse full of Concerning Foliage, a beautiful wasp apiary, and a coop full of what are probably chickens that she keeps for what are probably eggs. She’s also an avid creator of the outsider art that can be seen around the estate. She has taken on the family business of selling her homemade goods in a little stall by the road just outside the swamp with her mom, and makes pretty good money doing so. A surprising amount of poison gets bought in quaint southern towns.

Speaking of poison, people who come out to the edge of the swamp to buy it are usually carrying a lot of secrets around, and Mortesha knows most of them. It’s not like she pries the truth out of people, it just so happens that many nervous hellos eventually turn into the tragic backstory power hour if she’s alone with a client for long enough. She supposes that’s just how people are. Despite the fact that the Addams are very active in the community (whether the community likes it or not) she especially, as a direct descendant of the first Addams matriarch, is seen as…Well not an outsider because the community feels A Certain Way about outsiders and despite it all the Addams are their people, but maybe something like an exception. They feel like whatever weirdness they’re hiding can’t be weirder than any given Addams, so they get a little loose with their words.

This is amusing to her, since Addams’ don’t naturally keep the kind dramatic secrets that their surface level prim and proper neighbors do. It’s much more fun to openly talk about those things.

Do they have a sadly decrepit yet terrifying grandma up in the attic? Yeah, like three. They got a tv, all the creepy porcelain dolls they could want, and they’re close to family. Where do you keep your gram-grams?

Any bodies buried on the property? Yeah some, but most are thrown to the gators.

Any creeping through the balmy summer night with ill intentions? Yeah dude, everyone loves a nice family stroll.

What about dangerous forbidden love? If an adult Addams isn’t incorporeal then they’re either queer or in a torrid romance with some person/thing mysteriously drawn to that awful swamp. Sometimes both at the same time. Most times actually.

Mortesha would know.

The current head of the Addams family is just as outgoing as her husband but a lot quieter and harder to read. She never really seems to get mad about much and always has a genteel smile for everyone whether they deserve it or not. A seven foot tall human shaped “Oh, bless your heart”. A perfectly composed Lady even when she’s, oh I dunno, burning down a Piggly Wiggly. You know. A regular southern mom. Chat her up at the hair salon for 50% off a jar of wasp honey with your next purchase of a mysterious but foreboding packet of herbs.

Designing her was pretty easy because I just drew a lankier Grace Jones and called it a day. I had some problems with her outfit simply because if we were going HARD southern gothic then she’d probably be wearing a white/cream dress with a fuller skirt but I thought keeping the silhouette and the black was more important. She’s supposed to be an anti southern gothic southern gothic character anyway. A woman who looks like she has a million secrets who is actually the most open person you could meet. For better or worse. The red hair came from a coloring error that I really ended up liking (my mom had red hair her whole childhood that only darkened up in high school so I can buy that an Addams can be naturally fire engine red) and the veil was to get more of that classic Morticia silhouette in there.

The Children

Sunday and Blanche are the twin children of Carlisle and Mortesha Addams. Some say the Addams clan got their cursed homestead when a wealthy local businessman made a deal with the devil and lost, leaving his grand mansion to his least favorite maid and cutting his losses once he realized that the swamp would do everything it could to drag the house into the water and take what was owed with its horrible curse. Others say that the family has just always squatted there and no one really cares because man, fuck that particular swamp. Have you been in there? Absolute horror show.

Anyway.

Blanche is the more outgoing sibling and quite the engineer/mad scientist in the making. He started going grey at 2 weeks old but considering he was also rocking some extra fingers, toes, and a tiny tail (he takes after his dad), his parents just put it on the 'not life threatening' pile and decided not to worry about it. He's the kind of smart that teachers find utterly infuriating, less a dog eagerly learning and obeying commands and more a hyena who keeps teaching itself how to pick locks. He has a few friends in his school's robotics club (which they honestly allowed him to make so the school could contain his... creations) but mostly hangs out with his sister exploring the swamp. They find all sorts of neat things in there! wedding rings, suspiciously lumpy garbage bags, cloaked cultists who can't read private property signs, it's an adventure every day!

Blanche is all about experimentation with his creations, his look, and his tether to this mortal coil. Is lipstick a cool thing to try? Let's find out. Can he get out of a strait jacket fast enough after being pushed into the depths of the swamp by his sister? let's find out. He's not dead yet and confused local doctors can attest to the fact that he's rarely attained more than a bad bruise so he's pretty set on continuing to kiss rattlesnakes on their cute little heads and have his sister practice her knife throwing at him until that fact changes.

Blanche is very much a country goth. Cowboy boots (customized by his mom), knife, and lighter are daily accessories. He likes to wear the crusty swamp jewelry they find (the rust adds a splash of color!) and despite appearances he does try to keep himself neat. He's just got  natural Grunge Colors and a tendency to wear clothes he likes until they fall apart. Pugsley always seemed the most modernly styled to me (which might just be because little boys clothes have been the same for a long time) so I wanted Blanche to be the most purposely fashionable Addams. Everyone else is goth by nature, but he's the only one truly familiar with goth as an alternative fashion.

I got really into designing Blanche because honestly, I find Pugsley to be the most boring member of the family. And he was hard to design! I had to mess with his vibe a lot to get him looking how I wanted. I know he's supposed to evoke an " 'evil' little boy next door who's parents never reign him in", but that's just goth Dennis The Menace.  I's 2020. We can at least go queer goth Calvin.

Sunday was much easier to design. Wednesday was my favorite as a child (of course) and I really wanted to keep the spirit of her look while adding things like billowy sleeves (it gets HOT down here), big poofy twists instead of braids, and a nice tie. She's a professional after all, been running the local pet cemetery since she was 6 and the previous groundskeeper met with an unfortunate accident after telling her that tarantulas don't have souls. Her specialty is creating beautiful naturalistic animal funerals similar to those that Maquenda (https://linktr.ee/artofmaquenda) makes, and she takes pride in creating miniature dioramas of her subjects after each burial which she uses as a kind of 3D catalog for future clients.

She really wants to try out her skills on humans one day. Well. Publicly try out her skills. Lotta random bodies float into the swamp. None of them have turned down her requests for diorama models so far. Most seem downright flattered. Plus, she usually figures out which graveyard/crime scene they floated over from and gets her parents to give them a lift back. She'll even help enact terrifying revenge from beyond the grave on whoever put them there if she's not, y'know, busy.

Besides arts, crafts, and pet based funerary arrangements, Sunday is an avid lover of archery (any ranged weapon really), books where little fantasy adventure animals die dramatic deaths, and history. She is That Kid who eagerly raises her hand when asked who Christopher Columbus was and ends up being sent out of class after 15 minutes for making 'a scene'. Her favorite party trick is just picking an item in the room and talking about how it relates to either some obscure historical figure with a buck wild life or a horrible disaster. At least one charity pancake breakfast ended with children in tears after her vivid description of the Great Molasses Flood of 1919.

Social-wise, while Wednesday is the girl that people ask to smile because they think she'd, "look so pretty", Sunday is rarely asked anything at all. People just kind of assume from her quiet nature (in between horrible history facts) that she's angry all the time and that she hates everyone. This is untrue. She hates some people but she's ambivalent to most everyone else and even downright friendly if you bother to talk to her like a person instead of a terrifying cryptid. Like, she IS a terrifying cryptid but she's also a little girl.  

That’s about it for now. One day I might do the other family members but for now I’m happy with the four I’ve redesigned. Making an au! Lurch in a family that doesn’t do butlers could be interesting. Over on patreon I put forth that he could just be Motesha’s mute little brother (similar bone structure) but Amy Crook had the nice idea of quote: “ a mysterious "cousin" that "helps around the house" whose origins are both long in the past and faintly unsettling. He's good for lifting heavy things, like that tank of propane you're about to throw into the burning Piggly Wiggly... “ which i now consider canon. Who's kid is he? How old is he? Not important. Anyone willing to commit arson with you is family.

Annnnyway.  This challenge was a lot of fun! I love indulging in AU’s.

[one-d-library]

Longer Fics

Here are some longer (mostly Larry) fics, most have multiple chapters: Organized by length, this is mainly chaotic but oh well. 

Longer Fics (2) can be found here!

~

TGIF by dinosaursmate {explicit, 20k, smut, friends to lovers, childhood friends, OT5 friendship}

“So, you moved in today?” “Yeah.” Louis huffed. “I’ve had to leave all my friends behind in Donny and move here because my mum got a good job. And this house is bigger than the one we were in, so that’s good. But I just… I was popular, I had loads of friends, I was captain of the football team. I don’t think the school I’m going to even has a football team.” “What school are you going to?” “St. Mary’s.” ”That’s my school!” Harry stopped, and the ball hit his foot. “I’ll be your friend.” Louis smiled, and something about it made Harry’s stomach twist uneasily.

“That’s sweet, Harry. But I can’t exactly hang out with an eleven year old.” Harry’s mouth twisted into a frown, but he kicked the ball back anyway. “Okay.” “We can hang out here, though.”

Louis, 13, moves in next door to Harry, eleven. They immediately hit it off and quickly become best friends, but as they get older, things get a little complicated.

~

The Melody You Never Heard by bananasandboots {explicit, 30k, smut, friends to lovers, slow burn, OT5 friendship, camping AU}

It's one last adventure. One last chance to be young and carefree. One final weekend before they take up their internships, their corporate positions, before they enter the real world, fresh out of university. Niall's his best mate. Liam's been there for him since they were lost, little freshmen, trying to find their ways through an overwhelming first year. Harry can't disappoint them, even if it means enduring four days with Louis. 

Louis, who he does share a history with, a history he's never told anyone about, not even Niall, a history he hasn't brought up in three years because it's stupid and embarrassing and confusing.

Or, the one where Harry gets roped into a four-day camping trip with the boy who kissed him and never called back.

~

Long Before We Both Thought The Same Thing by allasavedtheday {mature, 36k, smut, friends to lovers, slow burn, OT5 friendship}

“So are you admitting you love Harry yet?” Louis pauses in the middle of his story about the movie he and Harry went to see last night to raise an incredulous eyebrow. “What are you on about? Of course I love Harry.” Has Zayn lost his mind? He’s been friends with Louis for nearly seven years and Harry for six, under what circumstances did it appear like they didn’t love each other? “Okay, let me rephrase,” Zayn says, an amused little quirk to his mouth like he knows something Louis doesn’t. “Are you admitting you’re in love with Harry yet?” Louis stares at him in bewilderment, mouth working as he tries to form a response. “I…what?”*

Or, Louis maybe, sort of realises he's in love with his best friend of almost twenty years and he maybe, sort of thinks that said best friend could love him back?

[there is a sequel to this written by the same author, it is If You Asked Me If I Love Him (I’d Lie), it’s really good!! they hide their marriage from their families at Lottie’s wedding but fail miserably]

~

Promise Not to Fall by dimpled_halo {explicit, 38k, 2 chapters, smut, friends to lovers, slow burn, hiatus fic, canon divergent}

Louis raises his eyebrows. “You want to be friends with benefits?” Harry shrugs, “If that’s what you want to call it then, yeah. Why not?” Louis brings his hand to rub the stubble on his jaw, seeming lost in his own thoughts. “Okay, I’ll agree on three conditions.” “One: no sleep overs.” Harry nods, “Okay." “Two: if either of us finds someone else we call it off no questions asked.”Harry isn’t sure why his stomach turns at that, but he agrees anyway.“ And three,” Louis’ face hardens, “you cannot, under any circumstances, fall in love with me.”Harry snorts, “Yeah, okay,” he chuckles lightly.

or- When One Direction goes on hiatus, Harry and Louis reconnect, becoming the friends they once were during their days in the X Factor. It doesn’t take long for their friendship to evolve into friends with benefits, unable to resist the physical attraction between them. Things get complicated when feelings get in the way.

~

The Sound of Your Voice From Far Away by pukeandcry {explicit, 39k, smut, friends to lovers, slow burn, canon compliant}

It'd be perfect, he convinces himself. Things with Lou are – well. They're the way they are, and there's no point dwelling on why it's got that way. But he thinks this would help -- not fix them, because they're not broken. They don't need to be put back together, they're just. Out of sync, maybe. It would help. He thinks it would, anyway, if they could just be the two of them again, to be alone together with no outside influences pressing claustrophobically in on them, just for a bit. And driving down an empty highway with nothing else but Louis beside him is the best way to do that that he can imagine.

Or, after the U.S. leg of the Take Me Home tour, Harry and Louis drive from L.A. to NYC. They figure some things out, like how to deal with the distance that's been growing between them.

~

All Eyes On You by rainbow_kings {explicit,49k, 2 chapters, smut, slow burn, established relationship, road trip AU}

Harry and Louis have been married for ten years and they have three children. When their relationship is threatened with a divorce, they pack their belongings and go on a road trip in means to save their relationship. They promise to stay on the road and only returning once they've sorted through their problems. 

~

Never Let Me Go by loveisalaserquest17 {explicit, 55k, 3 chapters, slow burn, angst, pining, friends to lovers, OT5 friendship, smut}

“Harry! I’ll tell you what,” Louis exclaims, clapping his hands together. There’s a big grin on his face. “If both of us are still single by your thirtieth birthday, we’ll marry each other.” Harry’s head snaps up, eyes widening. “What?”

Harry and Louis have been friends forever, but they couldn't be more different. One night, with a little too much alcohol, they make a pact to marry in ten years if they're both still single. Now, one month before the deadline, Louis is willing to do whatever it takes to avoid ending up with his best friend. But is he, really? | Loosely inspired by The 10 Year Plan

~

Here In The Afterglow by fondleeds {not rated, 88k, 3 chapters, 1970s AU, highschool AU, period typical homophobia, angst, fluff, slight friends to lovers, hurt/comfort, OT5 invovlement}

“If you hadn’t noticed, I don’t have many friends,” Louis whispers, the blossom of insecurity in his stomach unfurling and clawing its way into his throat.

Harry is silent for a long time, and then he speaks; a soft, slow uncurl that makes Louis’ stomach shake. “I’ll be your friend.”

1970’s AU. In a tiny town in Idaho, Louis’ life is changed forever by the arrival of a curious stranger.

~

Unbelievers by isthatyoularry {explicit, 136k, 10 chapters, smut, slow burn, football AU, enemies to lovers}

It’s Louis’ senior year, and he’s dead set on doing it right. However, along with his pair of cleats, a healthy dose of sarcasm and his ridiculous best friend, he’s also got a complicated family, a terrifyingly uncertain future, and a mortal enemy making his life just that much worse. Mortal enemies “with benefits” was not exactly the plan.

Or: The one where Louis and Harry definitely aren’t friends, and football is everything.

~

And Then a Bit by infinitelymint {explicit, 158k, 14 chapters, smut, friends w benefits, fake relationship, canon divergent + compliant, OT5 friendship + involvement}

“We’d like to give the fans what they want.” Magee states, placing his hand on the table in front of him and leaning forward. “We want to give them Larry Stylinson.”

Or, take a parallel universe where Louis and Harry were never together, mix in a two year hiatus and an impending comeback, pour in a dash of lost fans, two tablespoons of strong friendship and a Modest! employee with a good idea. Add a squeeze of pretending to be a couple, lots of kisses and a tattoo or two. Stir. Serve: the mother of all publicity stunts.

(aka Harry and Louis fake a relationship for publicity. Eventually it becomes a lot less fake and a lot more real.)

~

Given a Chance by fabby  {explicit, 173k, 12 chapters, smut, slow burn, angst, fluff, nouis friendship, exes to lovers, canon divergent}

Five years after One Direction took their last tour, the last thing Louis Tomlinson ever expected to happen while on a tea run at the local Piggly Wiggly was to run into his ex-boyfriend and ex-bandmate Harry Styles.The odds of them ever running into each other again had to be super slim, right? Wrong.

What happens when you mix ex-boyfriends with a large serving of Small Town America? Will Louis and Harry be able to set aside their differences, or will Louis be able to stay breezy as fuck in the wake of Harry’s arrival?

(or, the one where Louis and Harry run into each other five years after One Direction ends and learn how to love each other again. Featuring: Reggie as the overweight labrador, Niall as Louis’ last grip on reality, and Nowheresville, North Carolina as the setting for Louis’ worst nightmare to come true.)

~

Young & Beautiful by Velvetoscar {mature, 227k, 34 chapters, slow burn, angst, uni AU} 

Louis, to his horror, attends an elitist university in which the name Zayn Malik means something, Niall Horan doesn't stop talking, there are pianos everywhere, and Harry Styles, only son of a drug-addled, clinically insane ex-rocker, has a perfect smile and empty eyes.

~

more fic recs can be found here!

[gillasue345]

Desiderium

12x02 Coda fic AO3

Desiderium:  an ardent desire or longing; especially :  a feeling of loss or grief for something lost.

Perhaps there is a limit to the grieving that the human heart can do. As when one adds salt to a tumbler of water, there comes a point where simply no more will be absorbed.

~Sarah Waters~

************************************************************************

By the time Mary closed the journal with trembling fingers, her tea had long since gone cold. She sniffed, wiping furiously at the tears in her eyes, and pushed the journal away from her in disgust. She glanced at the chipped cup in front of her, untouched.

Her body was stiff as she stood up from the desk. The painful ache behind her nipples reminded her that she needed to pump before she went to bed. It was strange, she thought, to produce milk for a baby who was now a grown man. Her body still thought it was 1983, despite all evidence to the contrary around her.

A sob worked its way up her throat, but Mary caught it before the sound could break the silence of the room.

She swallowed the pain like she always had, pushed the anger that had arisen in her as she read her husband’s journal down. She picked up the cup, careful not to spill its contents. She slipped on a pair of old loafers she’d found in the wardrobe of her new bedroom and made her way down the hall to the kitchen. Mary needed something stronger than tea.

The bunker was still much like a maze, but she remembered which room was Sam’s. Out of habit, she cracked the door, glancing in. The light was still on but the room was silent save for the deep breathing of her youngest child. Sam was lying diagonally across the mattress of his bed, his knees bent so that they didn’t slip off the edge. On hand was cradled in the other, his thumb pressed into a deep scar on his palm.

He looked so vulnerable in sleep, so utterly exhausted that another sob threatened to break the peace of his room. Mary reached over, flipping the old fashioned light switch off and plunging Sam into darkness. She closed the door and continued down the hall.

Dean’s room was empty. She frowned, glancing at the delicate watch Dean had given her, hidden in a box of her things he’d kept, including her old vinyl records. It was late enough that she thought Dean would have gone to sleep by now. Mary closed his bedroom door and continued on to the kitchen. Maybe he was going to the bathroom or something.

The bunker was always cold, and Mary wrapped her robe more tightly around herself. She got lost only once, making a right turn and ending up in the “dungeon” as Dean had called it when he gave her the grand tour. Eventually, she found the right hallway, but slowed her steps as she approached the kitchen. Light was pouring into the hallway from its open doorway, and she heard the muffled sound of voices coming from within.

“Dean, please just talk to me. Tell me what’s wrong.” Mary stopped. She could hear the sound of beer bottles being thrown into the trashcan. A lot of beer bottles.

“Everything’s wrong, Cas.” Dean’s slurred voice echoed out into the hall. “She’s back. She’s alive and real and its like she was never even gone. Except she was gone, Cas. She was gone for so long, and I��” Dean trailed off.

Mary pressed her back against the wall. She should announce her presence, cough and enter. Apologize for the life her death caused. But she couldn’t move. Cas—she thought it was Cas anyway—sighed, and she listened to his footsteps as he crossed the kitchen, presumably to join her son.

“Dean—” Cas began, but before he could speak, Dean interrupted him.

“—Cas, she’s not my mom.”

“Of course she’s your mother.”

“No! I mean, fuck, I don’t know what I mean,” Dean let out a shuddering breath. “She’s different, Cas.”

“Dean, she’s just been dropped 33 years into the future. It’s going to take her some time to adjust to that.”

“No Cas. I mean she’s different from the mom I remember. All those memories I’ve clung to all these years… they weren’t real.”

“I don’t understand what you mean. She’s the same person, Dean.”

“No she isn't the same person. She is… Mary. Not Mom. Mary is the hunter, the fighter. Mary… doesn’t cook. I mean… even with that vet, when she told you to hurt him. That’s not the mother I remember. That’s not the mother who made me tomato rice soup when I got the chicken pox. That’s not the mom who used to sing me to sleep and tell me angels were watching over me Cas.”

“But it is.”

“No, that’s like saying the way Sam was at Stanford is the same Sam who’s sleeping down the hall.”

“It may be a… different side of her, but don’t you remember what it was like with Lisa and Ben?” Cas asked gently. Mary wondered who Lisa and Ben were. “Don’t you remember getting out of the hunting life?” Mary’s breath caught in her throat. Dean had gotten out of the life too? Why was he back? Why did her children ever come back to this life if they had a chance at happiness?

“Cas, I drank a fifth of whiskey every night just to stay functional with them.”

“I watched you with them,” Cas said, and it sounded like a confession. Dean didn’t respond. “You got out of the life. And you may not have been happy, but you were content, if not resigned to it. There was a day that I needed your help with Raphael. It was autumn. And you were raking leaves. And I watched you. You looked so… miserable. So lost. But then you went inside, and you forced yourself to smile. You helped Ben with his homework. Fractions. You made apple cobbler. You put on an act. And that night, you locked all the doors and windows, you checked the devils’ trap on the door. You drank four glasses of whiskey and out of habit, checked the obituaries for unexplained deaths. You never really got out.” Cas’ speech hung in the air for a moment. “But you weren't the same man with them either.”

“All the memories I have of her are false,” Dean finally said. “She got out of the life, Cas. And I remember her differently.”

“You have the idolized recollections of a child,” Castiel said. “It’s natural to feel confused when the memory you’ve clung to for so long turns out to be different in reality.”

Dean chuckled, low and deep. “Thanks Dr. Phil.”

“I am not a doctor, Dean.”

"You know, I’ve been trying to recreate her meatloaf recipe for years? Years Cas! And she fucking bought the goddamn thing at the Piggly Wiggly. It’s like everything I know about her is gonna turn out be a lie.”

“I’m sure that’s not true.”

“But what if it is? Cuz man… having her back, getting to know her, it feels like I’ve lost her all over again. And it’s hard to let go of the memories because that was all I had for so long.” Dean started crying, and Mary felt something break loose deep within her chest. His raw grief pierced her like an ice pick to the belly, and she felt her own tears well up in her eyes. She wasn’t sure how long he cried, but eventually his sobs quieted. Mary was paralyzed on the ground in front of the kitchen. She should go to him. She should comfort him.

But Mary couldn’t move.

Dean’s voice cut through the sudden silence. “Yesterday morning, she said ‘he was a great father,’ with such… certainty man, and it…I resented it,” Dean trailed off. He coughed. “I resented her for the first time.”

Cas didn't speak, but Mary could imagine his inquisitive expression, even with having known him only a  few short days.

“He wasn’t a great father. Hell he wasn’t even a good father after she died. She became his excuse for every shitty thing he ever did. We had to stay in crap motels because he was hunting the thing that killed mom. We were always on the move because he had a job to do. He let the job consume him. He drank so much because he was sad. And I think… I think deep down I always resented her for leaving us to deal with him.”

Mary’s eyes, already filled with tears, snapped shut, and she buried her head in her hands. The movement jostled the cup of tea resting on her lap. Cold liquid seeped into the fabric of her robe, staining the nightgown beneath. She gasped.

“And then I felt guilty,” Dean continued. “I felt so damn guilty, because it wasn’t her fault he was such a shit father. She doesn't deserve to be blamed for that.”

“No, she doesn’t,” Castiel agreed.

“But I’m afraid of bursting her bubble. I’m afraid of telling her all the things that happened because then both of us will feel this way.”

“Overwhelmed?” Cas clarified.

“Yeah,” Dean replied. “Because how can I ever get past the fact that the great father she was speaking about was the same one who was off on a bender the first time I got raped by some douchebag motel manager, because the room money went straight to his liver?” The confession came out in a rush, like he’d never said those words out loud before. He probably hadn’t.  He paused before continuing. “That the guy she remembered was the same man who beat me bloody because Sammy ran away in Flagstaff and I couldn’t find him? The same man who told Sammy if he went to college to never come back? How do I break her heart like that? So I pretend everything’s okay. Just like I always do. I push the hurt down and pretend it’s all fine. I eat the pie because that’s what they expect. I make the jokes. I can be that for her, because I refuse to be the one that breaks her too.”

“You can’t keep this bottled up,” Castiel said. “But you don’t have to tell her.” Castiel hesitated before he continued. “You can tell me, Dean.”

There was a long, long pause. “I can’t put all this shit on you, man.” Dean’s voice was soft, quiet. He sounded half asleep.

“You can and you will, Dean. That’s what family is for.”

Mary felt her fists clench. Anger flared through her at her son’s words. How could she have been so stupid? It was so much worse than growing up as hunters. John raised them in the life, which was bad enough, but then to neglect them? To beat them? To put them in dangerous situations? This wasn’t the John she knew. But the John she knew was a mechanic. Not a hunter.

The John she knew was strong, stubborn, loving. He was the kind of father who doted on his children. Who made chili hot enough to clear your sinuses, and who burnt the cornbread every time.

Her John wasn’t a cold man so hell bent upon revenge that he forgot to live.

The men in the kitchen weren’t speaking anymore. She heard footsteps coming toward her. Before she could move out of the way, Castiel emerged, carrying the bulk of Dean’s weight on his shoulder as they walked towards Dean’s bedroom. Cas stopped abruptly, staring at her slumped against the wall, with tears streaming down her face.

Dean was too far gone to even notice her there, he leaned heavily against Cas’ side, his eyes half shut as Castiel led the way. Castiel didn't say anything to her.

He returned alone a few minutes later. Mary hadn’t moved.

Silently Castiel bent to pick up the overturned cup, and held out his hand. She took it and he helped her up. Mary winced. It had been too long since she pumped. The ache in her chest had flared to sharp stabbing needles.

She followed Castiel into the kitchen. She saw the waste bin and bit her lip. It was full of bottles. Strewn across the floor in between the island and the stove were dozens of pictures.

She knelt down and picked them up as Castiel put the cup in the sink. He grabbed a bottle of Jack Daniels carefully hidden in one of the large ceramic crocks on the bottom shelf of the pantry and got two glasses. Mary moved over to the wooden table. She spread the pictures out in front of her. Several of them were familiar to her. But most of them were from after she died.

Castiel sat opposite her. He still hadn’t said a word and neither had she. She continued to pore over the pictures. One of Sam and Dean with an older man with a ginger beard and a trucker cap. One with a teenaged Sam awkwardly standing next to a girl with braces and brown hair. One with Dean, his hair long and greasy, leaning over the engine of the Impala, a plaid shirt tied carelessly around his waist as he worked.

Dean, gangly and tall, in the leather jacket she’d gotten John for Christmas last year—no, she reminded herself. The leather jacket she’d gotten John the Christmas before she died. Before she burned.

They were some of the missing pieces she’d been craving.

“I could take that away,” Castiel said, finally breaking the silence.

Mary gripped the pictures tighter to her, defensively. “Take what away?” she asked, rather more harshly than she intended.

“Your discomfort,” Cas said. “From lactating,” he clarified.

Mary crossed her arms over her chest. “How do you know about that?” she asked.

“I’m an angel.”

Mary almost laughed. Castiel was the furthest thing from what Mary considered angelic. “I’m fine,” she replied automatically. “My body just hasn’t caught up to 2016 yet.”

“I can help with that,” Castiel offered. “I could heal your pain.”

“What can you possibly know about my pain?”

“I know you heard what Dean said.” Castiel’s voice was even, calm, but with a hint of accusation beneath it. “He’d be mortified if he found out you heard him.”

“Is it true?” Mary asked, her voice was small and she couldn't meet Cas’ gaze. She stared at the wood tabletop’s uneven stain, picking with a fingernail at a scratch on the surface. “What he said about what happened to him?”

“Yes,” Cas replied. “But I’m almost certain he's never told anyone about it before. The only reason he told me, I suspect, is because he was very intoxicated. More than he’s been in a while.”

“Does he… drink often?”

Cas bit his lip. In a very human gesture, he ran a hand through his hair. “He drinks to forget, but I thought he was getting a little better. Tonight was a… step back.”

“What does he need to forget so badly that he drinks so much?” Mary asked. What had happened to her baby that was so bad that he hid behind a bottle? What else was her fault?

“His nightmares are from his time in hell, mostly. Sometimes he has nightmares about a man with rancid breath and crooked yellow teeth. I try to calm those as soon as I feel them coming on. But sometimes he dreams about his time with Lisa and Ben. Those are the good nights.”

“Ben? The vampire that bitch of letters was talking about?” Mary asked, latching onto the familiar name because she refused to think about her son in Hell. Refused to think about her son being raped.

“No,” Cas said. “Ben Braeden. His son.”

The bottom dropped out of Mary’s stomach. “I have a grandson?”

“Yes,” Cas said. “Dean was never one hundred percent positive, but he was Ben’s father. A few years back Dean made me wipe Ben's memories of him.”

“Why would he do that?”

“Lisa, Ben’s mother, took Dean in after… after Sam stopped the apocalypse. After Sam died, Dean got out of the hunting life. But the hunting life never… really left him. When he went back on the road, Lisa and Ben were kidnapped by some demons. Lisa almost died, and Ben had to do some things no child should ever have to do,” Cas recited the narrative like he was reading an owners manual. “Dean broke ties to protect them. To keep Ben out of the life he grew up in. And he hates himself for it.”

Fresh tears fell, covering the dried tear tracks from before.

“I should have protected them,” she finally said. “I should have warded the house. I should have been more vigilant. If I had, none of this would have happened.”

Castiel reached across the table, grasping Mary’s hand in his. “It would have happened anyway.”

“Then I should have told John before it did. I should have prepared him. Told him about the life so that he could have handled it better. I shouldn’t have hidden behind a facade of a normal life,” her voice raised. She was yelling now, so angry at her own cowardice. “I was such a fool, Castiel.”

“Your life has been predestined from the moment you were born,” Cas replied. “You and John… had to get together. You had to live your life away from hunting. It was destiny.”

“Why?”

Cas bit his lip. “So Sam and Dean could be born. So they could fulfill the prophecy of the apocalypse.”

Mary shook her head, snatching her hand back. It was too much to process. She reached over and took the bottle of whiskey from Cas’ grasp and poured a healthy portion for both of them. Mary downed hers in one swallow, slamming the glass onto the tabletop so hard she almost broke it.

“How do I do it Castiel? How do I connect with them again? Just... last week they were babies. And now… they’re older than I am.”

Castiel contemplated her question, sipping idly at the whiskey she’d poured him. “I think, with Sam it will be easier. He has no memories of you. No real ones anyway. It will be a clean slate. But Dean…” Castiel trailed off.

“He has this notion of who I am. Who I was. And I’m not measuring up.”

“How could you?” Castiel asked gently. “You… his memory of you… You were in many ways a saint to Dean. He isn’t a man of faith. But that doesn't mean he was a faithless man. Dean put his faith into family. Into your memory. Into honoring you, and being brave for you. Being strong because in many ways he had to fill your shoes after you died.” Mary roughly brushed more tears from her eyes. Castiel smiled sadly. “You don’t have to hide your tears from me Mary, I won’t judge you for them.”

Mary laughed. It was a broken, hollow laugh, but the weak smile she gave was almost genuine. “Thank you, Castiel. Thank you for watching over them.”

Cas smiled tightly. He stood up, and clapped a hand to her shoulder. “It’s all going to be okay, Mary.” Instantly, the pain behind her nipples subsided, the heavy feeling in her breasts gone. Cas healed her. Helped her body stop lactating for a baby who no longer needed the sustenance. She pressed a hand on top of his in gratitude.

He left then, his footsteps echoing down the hall. Mary stared at the bottle in front of her and poured another glass.

************************************************************************

The sound of a cabinet door shutting snapped her out of a deep sleep. A blanket wrapped loosely around her shoulders fell to the ground as Mary sat up, groaning at the crick in her neck and the throbbing of her temples. The bottle of whiskey was half empty, and she felt every single drop as nausea rolled her stomach and spun the world.

“Oh god,” she groaned, pressing a trembling hand to her head. “Oh, mistakes were made last night.”

A laugh from the other side of the kitchen startled her. Dean stood at the stove, his back to her. He looked over his shoulder. “Have fun?” he asked, glancing pointedly at the bottle in front of her.

She studied him. He didn't even look hungover. “Did you?” she asked, raising her eyebrows at the beer bottles filling the trash can next to the door.

Dean shrugged. “Needed to let off some steam.”

“Me too,” Mary replied. She stood up and stretched. The familiar ache to pump was gone, and Mary found she missed the sensation. She missed the feeling of being needed.

She moved from the table to the kitchen island, taking a seat at the stool as she watched her son cook.  Mary laughed and shook her head. Dean turned around, a piece of bacon still held in his tongs. “What?” he asked.

“Nothing,” Mary said. Dean shrugged and turned back, pulling the bacon out of the pan and starting another batch. “Dean,” Mary began, and he faced her, expectant and looking a little annoyed. “I just wanted to say… I mean I just wanted to tell you…” She couldn’t find the right words. Finally she took a deep breath. “Sam gave me John’s journal,” she said. “I’m… so sorry.”

Dean put the tongs down. He walked around the island to where Mary was sitting. Gently, he pressed a hand to her cheek.

“You don’t have to be, Mom.” He pulled her into a hug. When he pulled back, tears were in his eyes, welling up like rain drops on a windshield. Mary reached out and wiped them away, just like she always did.

“Mom?” he began.

“Yes?” she replied, wiping away her own tears.

“How do you like your eggs?” he asked simply.

It was an olive branch. A chance for them to start over, to get to know one another without the expectations of who each of them remembered. And as much as Mary wanted to fall onto her knees and beg for forgiveness for leaving her son behind to clean up her mess, Mary took it.

“Fried, medium.”

Dean’s face lit up in the first genuine smile Mary had seen in days. “Me too.”

[nanlanmoarchived]

prayingfxryou‌:

Boe looked at the selection before him and smiled. It was a nice offer, but he wasn’t that hungry despite his previous proposal of going to dinner. He just wanted to see her outside of the work zone. “I think what you have on is awful pretty, but okay. Good thing we’ll be seeing a lot of one another once work around here starts,” he said, reaching forward for a beer. He wasn’t much of a drinker, but he couldn’t be completely rude. “How long have you been… This way?” he asked, not sure exactly how to word what he was trying to say. How did you flat out ask someone how long they had been a vampire for? Popping the lid off the beer, Boe took a sip of the drink and then sat the bottle down on a coaster. “You don’t have to answer that if you don’t want. Tell me if I’m ever being a dick because I don’t know much about any of… this.”

Feeding humans was hard as a vampire. Add on that she had almost no home keeping skills, the momma bird drop of snacks was about the closest thing to up keep she’d mastered. Even Hoyt had spent most of his time stumbling through the aisles of the Piggly Wiggly on his own. But that was a whole other matter. “Don’t worry, I don’t mind sharin’. Most vampires like to keep their age a mystery because there’s a pretty strict peckin’ order but,” she shrugs, “Everyone was older than me for the most of my first couple of years so I stopped carin’. They all just called me baby vamp and ignored me.” Jessica laughed softly, taking a small pull off of her bottle, “I’m nine in vampire years just as of last week. Which pretty much means I piss off damn near every older vampire when they have to answer to me because it’s the equivalent of an adult havin’ to answer to a second grader.”

[romancereadingdiva]

I Promise You by Ilsa Madden-Mills

I promise you will love this book! 👑👑👑👑👑

I promise you’ll love this book, because I certainly did! Here’s why: this book got me in my feels. Not only did it get me in my feels, it made me smile and laugh and was just all around entertaining. I started enjoying this book from the beginning, but then my heart broke for Dillion. Dillion and Serena had chemistry from their first meeting, and he was already making me swoon at his thoughts! They had me on their side from the get go. They sparred because at first they didn’t like the surface layers of each other, and it was definitely entertaining. I was intrigued by Serena from her first chapter, then I liked her. She and her family are quirky and “original,” and I loved them and they made me laugh. Serena’s Nana is the best, and you will just have to read to find out why! But Serena has walls up because of her past, and like Dillion I really wanted her to let him in. At first it seems like Dillion is just a charming party boy, but is he really? Read and find out like Serena did, but I loved the slow peeling back of his layers. He could be shy and uncertain around her as he was trying to win her, and it was adorable! Their chemistry turned into connection, but when drama came I couldn’t stop the tears from flowing because I was so invested in them. This book made me smile, made me laugh, made me cry, made me swoon, so if you want all that then promise me you will read this book! 

*I requested and received an advanced copy of this ebook for my honest review that I am voluntarily leaving.*

Blurb:

Dillon McQueen: Babe. I promise. You want me.

Serena Jensen: Um, who are you?

There’s a legend at Waylon University: the first girl you kiss freshman year at the bonfire party is the one you’ll never forget. She’ll crawl under your skin and never leave. She’ll spark a passion so fierce you’ll burn the world down to possess her. 

You might even put a ring on it. 

As in all things with fate, timing is everything. That kiss can go horribly wrong. She might run in the opposite direction. And boy, did Serena run.

Dillon is Waylon’s hotshot quarterback with something to prove. All he wants is to graduate and make it to the NFL. What he doesn’t need is to finally meet the mystery girl he kissed at the bonfire freshman year. Isn’t it enough that she’s haunted his dreams for more than a thousand nights? 

Fate laughs in his face when he runs into the quirky girl at the Piggly Wiggly. Surrounded by his entourage, he’s got all the Oreos in his cart; she gets revenge by buying every six-pack of his favorite beer.

Obviously, that legend is a curse. She’s not his type and hates him. Worst of all, how can she not remember him when she left a Serena-shaped hole in his heart for the past three years?

So why can’t he stop trying to win her?

Will this quarterback score the girl or make the biggest fumble of his life?

Available Now! FREE in Kindle Unlimited!  

Amazon: https://amzn.to/33Cwo3H Amazon Worldwide: http://mybook.to/ipromiseyou Amazon Paperback: https://amzn.to/2GKFfI6 

Add I PROMISE YOU to Goodreads: https://bit.ly/3hRezT9 

[anavoliselenu]

Creighton chapter 22

What the hell is he doing here? My mind spins, looking for answers, and I can’t grasp a single one. My confusion must be obvious, because Justin raises an eyebrow. “You don’t remember last night?” Last night? My memory might as well be a black hole. I shake my head, and splinters of pain shoot from behind my eyeballs. Whoa, Selena. Take it easy. I look at Justin once more, but his dark expression sends a new and different kind of pain through my head. It’s a look I’ve seen before. Justin is pissed. The reason for it comes out quickly. “The fact that you expected another man to be in your bedroom pisses me the fuck off, Selena.” Big swamping waves invade my stomach, notching up the nausea at the thought of the coming confrontation—one I’m not nearly ready for—and I swing my legs off the bed and bolt into my tiny bathroom. Dry heaves rack my body until tears stream down my face. A glass of water appears beside me magically. Well, if you consider Justin Karas to be magic. I refuse to give my opinion on the matter. Mumbling my thanks, I take a sip and spit it into the toilet. I feel like road kill, and not a single memory of last night surfaces from the black hole. Not a good sign. Justin takes the water from me and produces a damp washcloth before leaving the tiny bathroom. I wipe my face and carefully stand. A peek in the mirror reveals that I also look like road kill resurrected from the dead. I wipe at the raccoon eyes left by my mascara, and attempt to look less awful. My hair is tangled and knotted, so I grab a hair tie off the counter and attempt to pull it away from my face into some semblance of order, but it’s really not happening. Nothing is going to touch this hot mess but a shower. Wary, I poke my head out of the bathroom door. Justin is sitting on my bed, looking completely out of place in my white and pale lilac room. His eyes are on me, and his pissed-off vibe hasn’t lessened a bit. “I, um, I’m going to grab a shower.” The nod he gives me is stiff, and I can’t read anything beyond not frigging pleased in his expression. Frowning, I slip back into the bathroom and shut the door. After stripping off my rumpled clothes, I turn the ancient showerhead all the way to Hot and hope it can wash away . . . something. Everything? I don’t even know anymore. I came here to get away, to regroup, but part of me is really happy to see Justin in my bedroom. I thought I’d be ashamed to have him see this side of me, but something about it is actually . . . freeing? Like I no longer have anything to hide. Like he’s seen all of me, including the innermost and least fame-worthy part of me, and he’s still here. I smile into the nearly scalding water, and when I feel something like hope bubbling up inside me, I can’t help but start singing in the shower. After I brush the hell out of my teeth and my tongue is mostly numb from Listerine, I reach for the door handle. The smile on my face is wide, and I feel almost human again. I’m ready to talk to Justin, ready to lay out my cards and see if we can figure out where we go from here. My room is silent and empty when I push open the door. I hang my towel on the back of my chair, and dig some yoga pants and a T-shirt out of my bag. Listening for sounds of life in the house, I pad down the stairs. There’s more silence when I enter the kitchen. My stomach churns, although it was calm only a few minutes ago, and I think I’m going to be sick again. Justin’s gone, and there’s no sign to suggest I didn’t just imagine his presence. With measured steps, I cross the room and peek out the lace curtains to the front yard and gravel drive. Empty. I don’t remember what Justin drove last night due to the memory thief called tequila, but I know he must have a car. There’s no garage for it to hide in. Which means . . . he’s really gone. Gone. I stumble back from the window as the realization hits me. Gone. I slide into a chair at the kitchen table that takes up the center of the room. My elbow smacks into the edge, and I wince at the pain shooting up my arm. My eyes sting with tears when I see the note that says simply: Two words. “What the hell?” I say to the empty room. “What does that mean?” I don’t know why I ask the question, because the ivy-printed wallpaper isn’t going to answer me. Then it hits me. Two words. Each time I’ve left him, I left a note with two words: Good-bye, Justin. Is this just him being an asshole and making a point? I blink back the tears. I don’t have time for tears.

It’s then I see a guitar case leaning up against the wall in the corner, the same leather guitar case I left in the penthouse in New York. I push up from the table, my elbow still stinging, and take the few steps necessary to bring me to it. Crouching, I lay it flat on the floor, flick the latches, and lift the lid. Inside is the Gibson, looking just as beautiful as it did the day it was delivered. But that’s all that’s inside the velvet case. There’s no note or any other indication of what Justin was thinking when he left it here. I drop to my butt, lean my back against the stove, and lift the guitar into my lap. After strumming a few chords to make sure it’s in tune, I begin to play. The song I sing? It’s the one I’ve poured all my insecurities into, the self-doubt that was temporarily beaten back when I was singing in the shower. “Lost on Fifth Avenue.” I slam my hand down on the strings midway through the second verse. Screw. This. I’m not going to sit in the corner and wallow in pity. I’m done throwing pity parties. Because what is that going to accomplish anyway? Not a thing. If I want to make something happen, I need to get off my butt and go do it. I slide the guitar back into the case and shut it. Justin and I need to hash things out, if it’s not already too late. And damn it, if he left—really left—then it’s my turn to track him down. My purse is hanging off the back of the kitchen chair closest to me. I pull it down and dig around for my phone. It’s not dead, which is a win. Finding Justin’s contact info, I hit Send. It rings twice and goes to voice mail. Did he seriously hit Ignore? On me? What the fuck? I call him again. Rings once. Voice mail. I text. ME: Two words? Seriously? Two words? I wait. And wait. And wait. And nothing. I’m being completely irrational; I know it. I have absolutely no right to be pissed about this. None. But knowing that doesn’t stop me from feeling this way. So I text him again. ME: I’ve got two words for you, Justin. Care to guess what they are? As soon as I hit SEND, I’m wishing I had an UNDO button. Chill out, Selena. But that doesn’t mean I’m any less pissed. A car door slams outside. Jumping up, I put down the phone and stalk to the door and yank it open. I freeze when it’s not Justin. It’s Logan, and he wastes no time nodding in greeting. “Good to see that you’re alive and kickin’ this morning. Was a little worried about you last night.” “Maybe you should’ve cut me off before I drowned myself in tequila and regret.” He smiles, not looking apologetic in the least. “You’re a big girl. Figured you could make your own decision as to when you’d had enough.” “Thanks for the vote of confidence.” “You made it this far. Didn’t think one drunk night back on your old stompin’ grounds would derail you too much. Besides, the pictures of you online look pretty damn good.” “Pictures?” My voice comes out a little screechy. “Shit. I didn’t even think . . .” “Don’t worry. The captions all say stuff about you having an impromptu concert in your hometown. Nothing scandalous.” My mind spins. “Since when do you google me and read all that stuff?” If I expected him to be embarrassed by my question, I would be wrong. His smile widens. “Since before you showed up at my shop in that piece-of-shit Pontiac.” Logan Brantley just admitted to stalking me online. I’ve entered the Twilight Zone. “How long before?” I ask, my curiosity getting the better of me. “On that one, I’m gonna have to plead the Fifth.” He leans against the big black truck. “Was surprised to see the Caddy in the parking lot of Piggly Wiggly this morning.” Caddy? Piggly Wiggly? Those seem like two things that don’t belong in the same sentence. My confusion must be obvious because Logan adds, “You don’t remember the Caddy? You damn near puked all over it. Barely got the door open in time. Karas’s rental bill would’ve been a little bit higher then, not that he would’ve probably cared.” The picture is starting to come together, and sweet relief is flooding me. “Are you telling me that Justin is at Piggly Wiggly?” The mental image is comical. Justin in a three-piece suit, pushing a shopping cart and picking up . . . what? Eggs and bacon? Then what was with the note? Was that just a taste of my own medicine? Logan shrugs. “That was my assumption, anyway.” I’m still trying to absorb this new development when the deep purr of an engine catches my attention, and a shiny black Cadillac crunches over the gravel drive, stopping next to Logan’s truck. The Caddy. Justin’s rental car. The man in question puts the car in PARK and opens the door. I can’t read his expression when he steps out.

While we were on tour, I saw Justin in jeans several times, but something about the denim clinging to his hips sucks IQ points straight out of my brain. The black thermal knit shirt hugging his broad shoulders and defined chest adds to the effect. His diligence in keeping fit surprised me as well on tour. He and Boone bonded over weight lifting stuff that meant nothing to me. I was happy he developed an easy camaraderie with BT. It was another way he fit into my world that I didn’t expect. He glances at Logan. “Brantley. You need something?” “Nothing at all. Just stopping in to see how Selena is feeling this morning.” Justin nods and presses a button on the remote in his hand. The trunk lid pops open. “Might as well make yourself useful and carry in groceries before Selena tries to help.” Logan looks from me to Justin and does exactly that. The men both carry in armfuls of grocery bags. “Damn, you planning to feed the whole neighborhood?” Logan asks before pausing and adding, “Or are you planning on staying a while?” “Staying as long as Selena wants.” Justin’s response is matter-of-fact. I’m following them up the steps of the front porch and trip as the words come out of his mouth. I would have fallen on my face, but Justin drops an armload of bags and grabs me before my forehead connects with the porch’s wood planks. “Shit, Selena. Are you okay?” he asks as he carefully spins me to face him. Stunned, I stare up into his dark brown eyes, wondering when everything changed. I expected him to still be furious, as furious as he looked this morning. But instead I’m caught up in the arms of a man who is looking at me like not letting me fall is the most important thing in his life. No man has ever dropped anything—literally or figuratively—to catch me from falling. So in that moment, my two options become very clear: continue to hold up my walls and be afraid to rest easy in the safety of his arms, or lean into him and let the walls crumble around me. Blind trust is a new concept for me. Actually, it never occurred to me to trust a man. They rotated in and out of my childhood, and except for Ben, no man has ever shown me that my trust would be safely placed with him. But Justin might as well be a breed of his own. “Selena?” Justin asks again, and I realize I’ve totally checked out. “Yeah. I’m fine. Sorry. Just . . . missed a step.” Maybe missed a lot more than a step. Justin’s stare intensifies. “I think we’ve both missed several steps. And that’s something we’re going to rectify.” He sets me on my feet and gathers up the bags. My gaze cuts to Logan, who is watching us both. His eyebrows are drawn together as if he’s trying to dissect what the heck is going on. I pull open the door, and the men both carry their bags inside. “You can just put them on the table.” Logan sets his down and looks to Justin and then to me. “You need anything from me while you’re in town, just holler. You still want me to fix up the car? It’ll sell better if it runs.” “You can tow it to the junkyard. Selena will have a new car waiting for her in Nashville.” Okay, so maybe my trust is a gradual thing, and not so blind or immediate. Baby steps. “Whoa. No one is selling my car or towing it to a junkyard. I need it.” Logan is leaning against the cupboard, and Justin is standing near the wall. Both men are looking at me with nearly identical expressions. “You can’t drive that piece of shit,” Logan says. “Says who?” I ask. “Says me,” Justin replies. “Not your call.” My tone is adamant. Logan pushes off the cupboard. “This sounds like a domestic issue. I’ll let you two sort it out.” He touches the brim of his baseball cap. “Call me when you decide.” I open my mouth to tell him I’ve already decided, but Justin moves to stand beside me and reaches down to thread his fingers through mine. When he squeezes lightly, the move silences me. “Thanks, Brantley. We’ll be in touch.” Logan crosses to the door, pulls it open, and gives us one last glance. He’s smirking, and I’m pretty sure he’s seeing something I’m not. “See you around, Karas.” When the door shuts behind Logan, I’m left in the kitchen with piles of Piggly Wiggly bags and my husband’s hand wrapped around mine. Justin releases his hold on me slowly, but his eyes never leave mine. He’s daring me to ask him the question that’s burning on my tongue. So I do. “You’re staying?” He doesn’t answer right away, just continues to hold my gaze until the urge to fidget has me shifting where I stand. “We’re going to get one thing straight.” “Okay,” I whisper. “This whole disappearing act bullshit? It’s not so much fun to be on the other end, is it?” I knew there would be consequences for my actions. I break his stare? looking down at my feet. “No. It’s not.” He drops my hand and raises it to my jaw. Tilting my chin up, he forces me to meet his eyes. “No, it’s fucking not, Selena. And I’m done with it. No more running. This isn’t a game.”

My stomach flops wildly, and I know he’s right. “Okay. No more running.” His grip on my chin tightens. “You have a problem, you feel the need to run, you come to me and we’ll figure it out.” I nod, but instantly know he’ll want the words. “Okay. I . . . I’ll come to you. I won’t run. I swear.” “Good girl.” His touch turns soft, his thumb smoothing across my cheek. “So you’re staying?” I ask again, needing to hear those words from him. “Yes, I’m staying.” “You’re sure?” He nods again, a smile tugging away the serious expression he had only moments ago. “Yes. Because you’re here.” “As simple as that?” “Not everything has to be complicated, Selena. We don’t have to be complicated.” Justin releases his hold on me, but his eyes never leave mine. I’m processing what just passed between us. I open my mouth to say something, but words desert me completely. Instead I reach into a bag on the table and start removing the contents. I freeze when I pull out a box of Lucky Charms. Staring at the brightly colored cereal box, I mumble, “You bought Lucky Charms?” “I thought you liked them. You mentioned them in your first single.” This time my stomach flops again, but it’s a completely new emotion fueling it. My reference to the cereal was one fleeting mention in the second verse. Most people probably wouldn’t really notice. “You actually listened to the lyrics of my first single?” Justin straightens. “Selena, I’ve seen you perform live almost a dozen times. I know every word of every song at this point.” “Oh.” “Yeah. Oh.” He turns, and instinctively I back up until my spine connects with the fridge. He doesn’t touch me, just presses a palm to the fridge on either side of my head. “Why does that surprise you? It shouldn’t.” “I just figured that . . .” “What?” “That you watch me but don’t really pay attention. You’ve got more important things to think about.” He shakes his head. “You don’t get it, Selena, and I’m not going anywhere until you do.” “Get what?” “That you’re the most important thing in my life now.” The box slips from my nerveless fingers and lands on the floor. He smiles, but it’s more predatory than anything else. “See? You don’t believe me. But you will.” My brain is trying to work. Trying—and failing. Lifting a hand to my chin, Justin tilts it up before lowering his mouth nearly to my lips. My breasts rise and fall, pressing against his chest, and my heart hammers against my ribs. “Well, maybe your body believes me. I guess I’ll start there and work my way into convincing the rest of you.” I expect him to crush his lips to mine, but he doesn’t. He brushes them lightly over my lips, his tongue darting out, teasing, tasting . . . seducing. My hands find their way to his upper arms and curl into the soft cotton of his shirt, sliding upward and testing the thick muscles of his shoulders. The sweet, soft kiss is driving me out of my ever-loving mind, when all I really want to do is climb the man like a dang coconut tree. Not that I’ve ever climbed a coconut tree, but those guys on TV make it look so freaking easy and cool, and you get the prize when you get to the top, which in this case, would be my pussy against Justin’s mouth, so that’s pretty much the same thing, right? My mind spins, my inner thoughts turning into a crazy ramble. Screw it. I hop up and wrap my legs around Justin’s hips and practically attack him. I register the slight umph at the impact of my body slamming into his, and my legs attempt to squeeze the life out of him like some kind of anaconda, but I don’t care. I want him. Bad. Right now. Justin’s head moves back an inch, but my hands are already tangling in his dark hair and fusing his lips to mine. I’m on the offensive here. I’m the aggressor. And it’s glorious. Because I know, deep down, I’m only in charge because he lets me. Which gives me a thought. I release his hair and pull my mouth away from his. “How do you want to convince me? Because right now, I’d like you to convince me against the kitchen table.” Justin’s whole chest rumbles with his chuckle. “Jesus, woman. I fucking love you.” We both freeze, and the words seem to hang in the air between us. “What did you say?” I whisper. His jaw tenses, his stare intensifying. “I said I fucking love you.” It’s not eloquent, it’s not elegant, and it’s definitely not fancy. It’s raw and real and spur of the moment. “Do you mean it?” I ask quietly. His dark eyes spear straight to the heart of me, and he lifts a hand to cup my cheek again. “Of course I mean it. I rarely say anything I don’t mean.”

I open my mouth to say something . . . what, I’m not sure. But Justin’s thumb slides over my lips and he shakes his head. “No. Don’t say anything. When you tell me how you feel, I don’t want there to be any hesitation, any question. I want the feeling to be burning through you so hot and fierce that you can’t hold it back, and you blurt it out at the most inopportune moment. That’s what I want from you, Selena. Until I can have that, I’ll settle for the rest of you. Because that’s a pretty fucking fabulous deal on my part too.” I’m pretty sure my insides just melted. Maybe my heart. Most definitely my panties. I love that he wants the same raw, real, and beautiful declaration from me—and he’s willing to wait for it. “You’re so getting laid right now.” His grin dang near stops my heart. “I know.” He turns and sits me on the kitchen table. Uncurling me from around his body, he scoops up all of the grocery bags, opens the fridge, and shoves them inside. “Really? They don’t all need to—” “Do you really care right now?” Justin asks. I shake my head. “Nope. Not even a little bit.” He slams the fridge door. “Good.” Only one step separates us, and I already have my shirt over my head and tossed to the floor by the time he closes that tiny distance. Eager doesn’t begin to cover how I’m feeling, and by the grin on Justin’s face, he has no problem with my eagerness. Quite the opposite, judging by the bulge in his jeans. His eyes make a valiant attempt to stay on my face, but my heaving lungs have my boobs bouncing in my bra. “Jesus Christ, Selena. You’re fucking incredible.” I lean back on the table, my hands sliding across the weathered wood. Justin’s hands find the button of my jeans and unsnap it, tugging the zipper down in one smooth motion before peeling them off my legs. “Woman, I’m going to fuck you so hard we break this goddamn table.” “Thank God,” I whisper. Seeing Selena spread out on the table, eyes shining, tits heaving, and legs spread, almost stops my heart. Every fucking time. You’d think I’d be used to it by now. But there’s something about her that grabs hold of me and won’t let go. I think it might be the universe telling me that I need to appreciate every fucking minute I have with her, because if I don’t, a sorry bastard like me might have her snatched away before I know what happened. I’ve already learned what it’s like to lose her—twice now—and that gut-wrenching emptiness isn’t something I ever want to feel again. My heart is on the line here, which is completely new territory for me. I drop to my knees between her legs, a hand on each knee. Sliding my palms up her thighs, I say, “It’s been too fucking long since I’ve had my mouth on your cunt.” Selena nods. “Yes. Yes, it has. I totally agree.” I’m going to fuck the sass right out of my sassy little wife. Well, maybe only most of it. I happen to like her sass. I reach up and grab the front of her lacy thong and rip it off. “Hey!” “Unless you’re moaning or saying ‘more’ or ‘harder’ or ‘yes’ or ‘like that’ or ‘Justin, you’re a fucking pussy-eating god,’ I don’t want to hear it, Selena.” I look up and catch her saucy grin. This woman. I wrap my hands around her thighs and yank her ass to the edge of the table. I don’t wait any longer before lowering my mouth to her cunt. I could eat Selena’s pussy for every goddamn meal of the day. Using everything I’ve got—tongue, lips, teeth—I devour her until she’s writhing on the table. I slide two fingers inside her just as she begins to clench and the orgasm rips through her. The muscles of my jaw tense in anticipation. I want to feel that on my dick. I pull back, grab her hand, and put it on her pussy. “Keep touching yourself. I want you coming again by the time I’m splitting you wide open with my cock.” Her eyes, already hazy, widen. But she complies, her hand landing on her clit and teasing and circling it in a way that prolongs her pleasure and has her hips bucking toward me. I didn’t think my dick could get any harder than it already was, but watching her play and keep herself on the edge holds a top spot on the list of the sexiest fucking things I’ve seen Selena do. I rip open my jeans, grip my shaft, and line the head up with her entrance. “Hard and fast, yeah?” She nods, her head jerking. “Then let’s get to breaking this fucking table.” I slam home, balls deep in one thrust, and Selena’s scream of pleasure echoes in the small kitchen. Her pussy grips my cock and flutters, signaling the orgasm rippling through her. “Jesus, woman.”