#after release though so maybe I can let ideas fester first. I have so many screenshots I could redraw and concepts for the final boss

[oliverniko]

Just finished the main story + collectibles on Princess Peach Showtime, MAN this game is a delight. Easy but not in a bad way, it's still enjoyable because of the art and theatrics. Very creative bosses and well done animations. I'm so glad it's done Peach Justice. 😭

And there's a post game! I'll probably return to Unicorn Overlord now I'm out of an intense flare for a couple days first but excited to have a little more to play.

[erwinsvow]

𝐭𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐬𝐥𝐞𝐞𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐞.

summary: he wasn't always alone. in fact, there was a time when levi had you.

warnings: angst, fluff, mentions/description of injury and patching up, levi needs sleep

author's note: been in the works for a while because i couldn't figure out what i wanted to do, but this takes place after levi & zeke's conversation and there will be an angsty part two, i hope everyone likes it! it doesn't really make much sense but bear with me :)

listening to: don't let me go

“I bet you’re not popular with the ladies. Don’t act like you know about someone’s feelings.”

He pauses, feeling his heart skip a beat.

“I know. And I was… popular enough.”

He lets his mind take him back, back a time before everything in the world was so messed up. When he knew what his responsibilities were, and when there were clear orders to follow. He can’t seem to recall when everything went straight to shit. It feels like it’s been a long time coming.

He knew he was screwed years ago, when he was trying to stitch up the deep gash on his shoulder by himself, sitting in his quarters with a bowl of warm water and bloody bandages. You had been helping the others, a traumatized recruit with a concussion and broken leg, courtesy of the fifteen meter that had overwhelmed him.

There were a few others too, especially a familiar face that seemingly always needed your assistance after a mission. He wondered just how many times the boy—because that’s all he is, a boy, and that’s all you are, a girl—could get away with the same old ruse.

Regardless, he wouldn’t be visiting you tonight. Never mind that the cut he’s trying to nurse by himself is nearly impossible to properly reach, and that he feels dizzy from consistent bleeding and lack of energy in his body. The alcohol he ingested to calm his nerves doesn’t really do anything, either, since there isn’t nearly enough of the stuff in his room to actually have an impact.

He’s going to crash soon, he knows, and even though sleep always evades him, he just wanted to get this wrapped up and lay down without making a bloody mess everywhere. He releases a deep breath he didn’t know he was holding. The very thought of you is enough to tense up every muscle in his body, and the idea of you being alone with that idiotic, improper recruit makes his fist tighten around the needle. Sewing himself up tonight is a lost cause. He finally decides a bandage, no matter how bloody it might become, will have to do.

He stands up, slowly because he doesn’t want to pass out from a head rush, when there’s a knock on the door. He groans a little too loudly at the sound of it. He doesn’t feel like talking to anyone tonight, especially in this condition, wearing a torn scrap of a shirt and blood trapped underneath his nails.

“Who is it?” he calls out harshly, wondering if maybe they’ll just leave if he sounds scary. The other scouts knew he didn’t like to be bothered, and wouldn’t have come unless there was an emergency. If it was Hange she would have barged in already, and he would have recognized Erwin’s heavy footsteps from down the hall. No, he knows who it is. He just wishes that he’s wrong.

“It- It’s me. Petra said you were hurt earlier and that it looked bad. I just wanted to make sure it was okay…” Your soft, hesitant voice trails off, and he knows how much courage it took for you to knock on his door.

What he doesn’t know is that there was no way you were falling asleep tonight without making sure Levi was okay, no matter how angry he would get at you for bothering him at night.

You’re bracing for that reaction when the door opens, but when your wide eyes meet his tired grey ones, you feel yourself melt and all the words in your head disappear. There’s only one fragment of a thought left, the fact that Levi’s bleeding, and a lot, at that. You don’t even wait for his permission to step inside, suddenly energized by anger and mumbling to yourself as you set down your supplies and rummage through them.

“What exactly do you think you’re doing?” he questions quietly. He tries to line his voice with steel like he always does, but the facade is fading with every passing minute.

“I have to clean out your wound, captain, before something festers. If you had told me about this, say, right when we got back, it would have been fine by now, but now I have to rush because you’re too proud to ask for help-” You still and silence yourself.

It was out of line to enter without permission, but this is something else all together. Caring too much is one thing, you know, but insubordination is not tolerated, especially not by Levi.

You pick up a clean needle and thin silk thread that you need to patch up the wound, while searching for the jar of boiled water you need to clean it out first. Alcohol would work too, and you can smell it in the air, but you can’t find the words to ask for it.

Levi’s hands are unusually still, you know because you always notice them, and it’s a stark contrast to the way you’re shaking right now. It’s strange, because you stitched up a handful of others earlier today, and you were completely fine. Even Gunther, who you had always thought was handsome and could make you blush with an off-hand smile, never incited this kind of reaction from you.

You’re silently praying that Levi doesn’t comment on the tremor, but since you’re about to dig a sharp point into his shoulder to tie the skin back together, it would be idiotic if he didn’t say something. You turn to look at him, but it feels like he’s not even there.

His head is hanging down, propped up by the single functional arm, as the other one continues to bleed. You know it’s painful and that he should be saying something, something that makes you stutter and stumble over your words like he always makes you, but he’s just silent.

“Well, get on with it then. If that’s really why you came here this late.” His voice makes you tremble even harder.

There’s so much you try hard at. You try to be the best soldier you can be, even though both you and your superiors know you weren’t meant for this. Sometimes you can fool your fellow soldiers, and the handful of people you can call your friends, and with a few years under your belt, it seems like it’s getting easier to live this life. But you know deep down that it’s not. The one person who always sees right through it is Levi, though.

It’s part of the reason why you’re such a damn mess around him, because there’s no reason to present a false veneer if he knows the truth. You’re not a real soldier, not a real fighter, and you’re more useful as a medic stitching people up than anything else.

And yet, it’s always him who saves you. Him, who makes sure that any threat in between you and the scout you’re trying to rescue from the brink of death is eliminated. Him, that keeps one eye on the target and one eye on your back just in case. And every time, every goddamn time you need to be rescued, he rescues you.

But now, with his head hanging low and any semblance of not knowing why he always saves you gone, it feels your chance to repay him has finally arrived. The shaking stops when you go to sit down near him. Maybe it’s the sudden rush of energy in your body, but you find yourself unbuttoning his shirt to remove whatever remains of the cloth.

His body tenses further, but he doesn’t stop you, and he doesn’t say anything. You’re as gentle and careful as you can be, and once you’re successful, you drop the mangled shirt on the floor. Taking the water, you pour it over the wound as Levi releases a soft hiss at the feeling, for which you’re apologizing before you can even realize the words have left your mouth. He doesn’t say anything, but his shoulder relaxing encourages you to keep going.

You take your time, trying to clean off all the blood you can. You think he’ll protest when you pick up his hands, and wash those too, but he doesn’t. It’s not until you run your own hand over his softly, squeezing the top of it because you don’t have any words to express the thoughts going through your mind, that he finally speaks up.

“Thank you.”

It’s so quiet, you could swear that you had imagined it. He doesn’t look up to meet your eyes like you wish he would, but a smile forces its way onto your face regardless. You focus on the hard part now; stitching up your captain and making sure your work doesn’t leave him with any scars. You focus on your technique, fingers working nimbly and mind focused on this, and for a short time, it doesn’t feel like you’re with your captain, your superior. It just feels like being there with Levi.

All the while, his brain is working overtime to figure out why you’re like this. Why you’re treating him so carefully and gently, when you have no reason to. He doesn’t pick favorites, and even if he did, you wouldn’t be anywhere near that list. You’re not the fastest, you’re not the most lethal, and in fact, he could count on one hand your titan kills and assists. You help people. You save people. But most of the time, you’re just recovering a half-dead soldier so that their body can be buried at home and not forced to remain out there, alone. You’re just there so that parents can have a grave to mourn at, instead of an empty tomb.

He doesn’t treat you better than anyone else, and most of the time assigns you more cleaning duties than the others. You always take it and never complain, something else that he always wonders about. He had come to the conclusion it was because he’s saved your life countless times, and the fact that he isn’t going to let up soon. So you take everything he gives you with a polite smile. And for some goddamn reason, he can’t get that smile out of his head, no matter how hard he tries. You don’t even know how you make him feel; like he’s special and that he deserves these attentions.

A particularly painful turn of the needle makes him flinch, and brings him back to reality. You’re apologizing again, murmuring how you’re almost done, but he doesn’t want you to leave yet. He lets his mind flicker over how you’re always apologizing, and how much he just wants to tell you that you don’t have to, not for anything. Not for having to come and save you, not for stitching him up, not for trying to fix him.

You let out a sharp breath once you finish, getting back up to fetch a dressing, but his hand grabs yours before you can get too far. Levi looks up, grey eyes full of an emotion you can’t exactly pinpoint, one you have never seen before from him.

“Will you stay a little longer?” And just like that, everything in the world seems to fall into place.

“Of course. Let me just wrap it up, first. I’ll stay as long as you want.” You’re surprised at yourself for finding the words so quickly, because your heart has never pounded so fast in your life. You fumble around, trying to find the right thing, hands shaking again, and you can’t seem to get them to stop.

You go back to Levi, wrapping the cloth around his shoulder and securing it around his arm, suddenly hyper aware of the feel of his skin. It’s softer than you had imagined it would be. Both of you sit in the silence for a while, your hand finding a place over his and rubbing soft circles on his knuckles with your thumb.

You want to say something, anything, but there aren’t any words that seem right. His fingers deftly work their way around yours, and you honestly wonder if he can hear your heartbeat or the blood rushing to your cheeks. It’s past midnight now, and you have a feeling dawn will be approaching before long.

“You should really sleep now. It won’t get better until you rest a little.” You’re speaking because his actions gave you a little bit of confidence, but he interprets it wrong almost immediately.

“Of course. You’d like to go now?”

“N-no! No, I just thought that, that you would be tired now. I can go if you want, I-”

“I don’t get much sleep anyways.” He doesn’t even mean to sound so dejected, but it comes out before he can stop himself. He’s spent too, too many nights laying awake, sleep ever-evading him, wondering how it might be to sleep besides you. Would he get some rest? Would he be able to close his eyes and not open them an hour later with a pounding chest? He can’t remember the last time he was able to fall asleep, and stay asleep. You don’t make any movement to get away, and he notices your hand twitch and wonders why.

You have to fight yourself internally to keep your hand down, and not wrap your arms around your captain as you process his words. Your heart feels strangely heavy at the thought of Levi laying awake, all alone, exhausted but unable to succumb to the ease of rest. He’s on guard, all the time, every minute of every day, and half the time he’s expending his energy on saving you.

You’re not confident, like some of the others. You never have been. But in this moment, you feel something rushing into your body and coursing through your veins, something close to confidence but slightly different. The feeling makes you release Levi’s hand and shed your sweater, and crawl into his bed. It’s almost exactly as you expected, and not nearly as soft or warm as your own. But you think about Levi sleeping soundly beside you, him peaceful and content, and it doesn’t matter how comfortable his bed is. You just want him to fall asleep.

He looks at you with a mix of emotions, surprise being mixed in with them. He hadn’t been expecting that, but it doesn’t mean he doesn’t appreciate it.

You’re sitting under the covers now, waiting expectedly for something. A part of you fears that this wasn’t what he meant, or wanted, but your racing heart calms down a little at the sight of him coming in to get settled beside you. He releases a sigh when his shoulder hits the mattress, at ease finally, and so exhausted that every muscle in his body is about to give out.

He sleeps on his back, you note, before shifting your gaze to the ceiling quickly. You certainly don’t want him to notice that you’re staring, or that you keep fingering the soft sheets between your fingers to remind yourself this is real and really happening.

“Stop fidgeting.” His voice is quiet, and even, and stills you instantly. You finally lift your head to look at him, letting out a breath at how he looks. Eyes closed, almost peaceful, laying on his back with his hand resting right near you.

You’re not sure if it’s the confidence from earlier, or something new entirely, but you adjust the sheets to cover him more, pulling them and letting them rest on his chest. He doesn’t open his eyes, but you notice the way he jerks a little at the motion.

“Sorry, Levi,” you whisper, trying to remain as quiet as possible. You lay your hand on top of his, intertwining your fingers and letting your own eyes close. You can hear his every breath, the scent of his skin taking over and clouding your mind as every sense slowly focused on one thing; him. “Let’s sleep now.”

[coeurdastronaute]

The Cover Story, Ch. 1

Greetings! This is a preview of my first chapter that I’m posting exclusively on my patreon. If you like it, I hope you follow along as I work on it there. I appreciate your time and thoughts and would love to hear what you think. 

Without further ado, or perhaps much ado about thing...

Lucy Madani was not going to cry. 

That was a lie. She might cry. She wanted to cry. She was known to cry very easily, but not without reason, and there certainly were more than enough reasons already for her to tear up as she stood on the corner and felt a wave of water from a bus going through a puddle splash her legs and skirt. It was only just after eight in the morning, and she was ready to crawl back into bed, admit defeat graciously, and sleep straight through to tomorrow. 

“I can’t talk right now, Baba,” Lucy muttered into her phone as she resumed her quick walk down the street. 

“You are mad, and we need to talk.” 

“Let me rephrase it. I don’t want to and I also can’t. I’m going to be late for my meeting.”

“Your big interview pitch. I wanted to wish you good luck, but you stormed off.” 

“Yes, that is what one tends to do when their father informs them that he is getting engaged,” she fumed, her anger coming over her once again at the thought as she darted across the street, waving her hand at the honking car. 

She was an adult, she tried to remind herself. A full, grown adult. An adult-adult who barely had a stable job, had heaps of student loans, and still lived with her widowed father. She didn’t throw tantrums and she wasn’t going to cry about any of it. Today was too important for that, and she was going to nail the pitch and finally move on from puff pieces for teen magazines. She was going to make the jump to serious journalist. She was going to be requested, by name. 

Today she was not going to cry. 

At least not on purpose. 

“Will you be home for dinner?” 

Luckily, he knew enough to sound sorry, though it wasn’t enough of a victory for her, only fueling the prickling behind her eyes. 

“No, I’m going over Laila’s. I’ll just stay there. Wouldn’t want to interrupt your time with her.” 

“Lucy joon, please talk to me. I know you’re mad-- you have your mother’s temper, but I think we should talk about this.” 

“I’m going into my meeting. We’ll talk sometime this week,” she offered, shaking her head. “Just… I have to go.” 

She didn’t wait for much of a reply because she knew he was playing low, dragging her mother into it. It only made it worse. Shoes sloshing against the tile of the lobby, she made her way to the elevator and decided firmly, once again, that she was not going to cry. 

Her phone chimed with a handful of well wishes and good luck’s from the group chat and she thanked them quickly before trying to find the meeting information from her calendar, head down and lost in her own world as she stepped into the elevator and right into a stranger. 

“I’m so sorry,” Lucy hurried, looking forward and then following the chest and then long pale neck up a few more inches to an amused smirk and eyes hidden by wayfarer sunglasses. 

“Not a problem. I was in the way.” 

The stranger ran her hand through a mop of curly copper hair atop her head, faded on the sides and shaggy on top, decidedly better put together than any tiktok boy’s. Her small smile pulled at bow-shaped lips and left dimples on both cheeks, and there were too many freckles to even begin counting. Lucy gulped before moving to the side and slinking to the back corner. 

Of course she would get into an elevator with the hottest woman she’d ever seen. Of course she would nearly plow her over in her hurry. Of course she would be sweet and smile like that and have an adorably shaped chin and face. Of course Lucy would do all of that while looking like something the cat dragged in after a bad night. 

But luck wasn’t with her today, and she was unable to hide too long, as no one else got on behind her and she heaved the heaviest sigh before looking down at her ruined stockings, spattered with mud and whatever else was festering in that puddle. Her skirt was soaked still and dripping and she was beginning to really feel it sinking into her skin. Phone clutched tightly in her hand, she felt the weight of it all and didn’t know what to do with it. 

From under her brow she looked up to study the back of the stranger, their long legs and black jeans, their primly tucked in black t-shirt that stretched slightly across her shoulders, and the softest looking hair in the most beautiful shade of red she’d ever seen. 

The elevator ascended approximately three floors before she started crying. Alligator tears slipped down her cheeks before she could do anything to stop them. And then the stranger cleared their throat and quietly turned around to verify what was happening, was actually happening, only making it worse. 

But she didn’t say anything, just turned back around, and with the smallest movement stretched an arm forward to hold the elevator between floors, and quickly, Lucy turned herself around and faced the wall. She took a few steadying breaths and wiped her cheeks, mentally preparing to leave everything else behind and focus on the moment-- when she would be selling herself to one of the largest companies of all time to be the writer of the profile of their Director of Creative Design before they went public. She’d prepared. She was ready. Nothing else mattered and she was a goddamn adult. 

The stranger, the kind, hot stranger pushed her sunglasses up into the messy curly hair and offered a smaller smile than before, the communal ‘it’ll be okay’ without saying anything. Lucy didn’t register much of it, just stared at the grey-green of her eyes, forgetting all else, and especially that she was a goddamn adult who desperately needed a payday to move out of her father’s place and away from whoever was moving into her mother’s side of the bed. 

“I’m not usually,” she began, but bit her tongue because she didn’t want to lie. She was usually like this, just occasionally less muddy. “Thank you.” 

“We can stay a few more minutes if you’d like. I don’t really want to go to work today.” 

For the first time all day, Lucy smiled genuinely and felt lighter. It was that quick and that easy. 

“It’s okay. I’m ready.” 

A curt nod led to a stretch again and the elevator started once more. Lucy leaned across and pressed the button for her floor, catching a whiff of a distinctly woodsy smell, like sandalwood perhaps? There was a hit of lavender? Maybe cedar? It was wonderful. She wanted to breathe in more of it, but retreated before she was the girl who cried and sniffed people in the elevator. 

The silence was oddly comfortable for a few more seconds until it dinged and she took the step out. The stranger politely held the door and offered one final smile, complete with just one dimple this time. 

“Good luck,” she winked before pulling back, hands clasped loosely in front of her before the doors closed forever. 

It couldn’t get better than that, Lucy decided, staring at the elevator doors and steadying herself once again. But she was hoping it couldn’t get worse either. 

XXXXXXXXXXX

Quinn Sullivan wanted to die. 

Not really die, but she might have taken a good coma. Just for like a week maybe. Or six months. Something long enough to beat out this hangover she was sporting, courtesy of her very thoughtful best friend, and if she was lucky, long enough to survive the offering and release of the new game. Maybe a year-long coma? Was that too much to ask for, honestly? Maybe the universe could toss her a bone, just this once, especially after the previous year of her life. 

But in lieu of a swift and merciful death and/or coma, she was just going to have to survive the giant hangover that was currently attacking her body. All she needed was a quiet day and an extra large piece of leftover pizza she was certain was waiting in the staff fridge somewhere. Maybe some birthday cake--

And then a five-five wrecking ball of a human barreled into her chest. 

The rest of her ride up, Quinn thought about the weird trip it’d been, and if she should have done something different. And then she beat herself up for winking. Who winked? Why did she wink? She’d never done it before. But she earned a smile from a cute girl, and there was a tiny flutter at the base of her rib cage, one she hadn’t noticed in a long, long time. She pressed her fingertips there for the rest of the ride to her floor. 

With a groan, she put her sunglasses back on as the elevator dinged to her floor and took a deep breath to prepare for her day, not allowing her brain to trace out an entire life with the cute, crying stranger where they bought peaches at the farmer’s market on Saturday’s and danced in the kitchen. Romance was dead and dreaming was forbidden. 

“Aspirin is already on your desk,” Jenny greeted her cheerfully. “With an egg sandwich and some fruit.”

“No leftover pizza?” Quinn didn’t pout, but she might have for that.

“Trust me, this will fix you up much better. I went to a state school, remember, MIT?” 

“We partied…” Quinn trailed off as she pushed open the door to her office. 

She hadn’t partied, but she was certain people had to have partied. It was college, and though it was many moons ago, she certainly couldn’t remember hangovers feeling like this. Maybe this is what almost thirty felt like. That thought didn’t help with the headache.

“All-night coding sessions don’t count. Eat the food. I’ll hold the wolves at bay as long as I can, but Chris and the Exlust team are adamant you have the meeting today to resolve story issues.” 

Quinn tossed back the aspirin before she even sat down. Maybe Jenny was her universal compensation. The shades were already drawn so her normally bright office was much more tolerable. Even the eggs didn’t make her stomach swirl, and she was grateful her assistant learned something useful while studying biomedical engineering.. 

“I just need like an hour to work something out. I had an idea last night--”

“Before or after the sangria?” 

“During. Definitely during, but still. I just need to work through it and then they can tear me to shreds. Can you add to my calendar a warning to never drink again?” 

Quinn was fairly certain she’d texted her assistant that at some point in the morning. Probably before the shower, but after the first cup of coffee. 

“Gladly,” Jenny smiled softly. “You doing okay? It’s been a while since you tied one on like this.” 

“I’m fine. Just celebrating with Darcy. No more sad drinking, I believe was the rule you came up with and I follow all of your rules.” 

With a roll of the eyes, files were placed on her desk and her assistant retreated to the ringing phones, which when the door was held open, were actual torture devices to Quinn’s brain. 

“Sadie wants your afternoon free. I think it’s another reporter.” 

“She’s relentless.” 

“Maybe you’re impossible?” 

“It’s genetic then,” Quinn sighed, munching on a grape and tugging open a notebook. “One hour, please?” 

“I got you, boss.” 

“Thanks.” 

Never quite sure how Jenny did it, Quinn chose not to ask any questions. But when she asked for an hour, she got it. And despite the headache and laziness in her muscles, the food and aspirin did help so that by the end of her allotted time, she felt like she had captured the breakthrough that appeared to her the night before. 

Before she could admire her work though, her team filed in and she was prepared to start her day, finally, even with the nagging idea of a reporter nipping at her thoughts through it all. 

Somewhere between her breakfast and lunch, Quinn felt better. She fired off a few texts to see how Darcy was handling it and received only pictures of a half obscured but obviously still in bed face and chuckled to herself. It was a slower day, and she wasn’t about to waste it with a hangover. She should give Jenny a raise, she decided, because the woman could cure hangovers. Maybe submit her for the Nobel for Science. 

“Sadie is here,” her assistant buzzed and Quinn lost all forms of motivation. 

Her head hit her desk dramatically as the door opened and her sister walked in. Slightly shorter, but older by two years, Sadie was nearly everything Quinn could never manage to be despite her best intentions. She had the MBA from Harvard and the doting husband that came with it, a cute brownstone near White Hill and the park, and her first baby on the way. But even past her resume, Sadie Sullivan-Hawkins was personable and charismatic. She was adored and shrewd, capable of disarming anyone and eviscerating the others. It all came so easy to her, to have people around, to talk and be listened to, to be loved. She was a shark in business, and at the same time warm and put people at ease. 

Quinn could barely tie her shoes and Sadie was running a marathon in life. 

“Want to talk about it?” Sadie smiled as she took the seat across from Quinn’s desk. 

“About what?” 

“Why you’re getting drunk with Darcy on a Tuesday?” 

“She got the job at Taylor and Vine. We were celebrating.” 

“So not about Chloe’s announcement in the Times?” 

Quinn played dumb, typing gibberish into her phone because she didn’t want to look at her sister’s kind and caring face. If she looked, then she’d have more feelings, and for the life of her, she just wanted the incessant tinnitus of the break up to disappear completely. 

“Nope, I caught that this morning though, so I was in the right physical and mental place to really wallow. I don’t care about her.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard.”

“I have these notes to get done for the Shadow Operation team before our meeting with design. I’m fine. My ex can marry whoever she wants-- God knows she didn’t want to marry me. Good luck to the next sap.”

This made her sister chuckle, and Quinn smiled quietly to herself. There was still a bitterness there that she couldn’t get rid of. It was masking potentially the worst hurt imaginable. She preferred the bite of the bitter though. Easier to navigate. 

“I have someone I want you to meet with.” 

“Oh, fuck off Sadie,” Quinn moaned, knowing full well what was about to happen. “I’m not talking to anyone. You’re the face of this outfit. That’s what you told me.” 

“You’ve run off three other reporters. Our public offering is going to underperform if there is no faith in the heart of our company,” she explained, sitting up a little straighter. “And that’s you. I might crunch the numbers and keep the lights on, but you are what people are buying.”

“Then you tell them about me. I don’t even have to be there.”

“If only that were true, my job would be a lot easier.” 

At a stalemate, the sisters stared at each other for a few moments before Sadie broke, making a face as she smiled towards her lap, running her hand over the smallest bump barely showing. Quinn shook her head and looked away. Anywhere else was better than the damn disapproving look leveled at her now. 

“I don’t know what to say,” Quinn finally muttered. “I don’t want to-- I can’t--”

“Chloe was an idiot. She broke your heart. Now, you barely exist, but I know that you’re still you. And we need this.” 

“I can’t. I really can’t. I wish you’d get it.” 

It hurt too much all over again. In a weird way, Quinn missed the feeling of the hangover because at least that was a useful ache. The dull throbbing in her chest and bones just felt hollow and haunting. 

“We have a meeting with her. I’ve already walked her through the contracts and final edits, as well as shown her around. Please just rip the bandaid off and get it over with. She’s good. I’ve read a few of her pieces and Donna recommended her to me.” 

Sadie had their mother’s eyes. It drove Quinn crazy, that she looked like she didn’t belong in her own family. It also meant it felt like her mom was staring at her and reminding her to do her chores. She rubbed the back of her neck, letting her head lull to the side. 

“I’ll… I’ll try.” 

“Yes! I knew it. Thank you. Seriously, Q. It’s going to be great. This is going to--”

“I said I’ll try. I didn’t say I’d do it.” 

“It’ll be great,” Sadie ignored the warning, hopping up from her chair and moving to the door to beckon the reporter in. “Come in and meet the genius of the whole outfit.” 

Quinn rubbed her face with her hands, digging her fingers into the corners of her eyes under her glasses before steadying herself. She could do it for her sister, she reminded herself, and that stupid niece or nephew she was incubating. 

Maybe it would be as simple as ripping off a band-aid. Maybe she could just let a stranger rifle through her entire life and being, except that she wasn’t sure there was anything there anymore. Everything felt like she was going through the motions, and it was terrifying to Quinn to let someone see that she was barely stitched together. How could she explain that there was nothing behind door number one? Let alone number two or number three. 

“Quinn, this is Lucy Madani. She’s a freelancer hired by New York Magazine. She did a great piece on the Attorney General last month and her article on the director who went on to win Cannes went viral.” 

There was still mud on her skirt, but her stockings had been disbanded, gone forever, but it was unmistakable the stranger from the elevator standing in her office. That felt like an entire lifetime ago, and yet Quinn tried to swallow. 

“You have longer hair, in the pictures I found of you online,” Lucy offered, overcoming her surprise much quicker. She stuck out her hand over Quinn’s desk and waited for her to shake it. 

She was a reporter. A reporter who cried in the elevator. A reporter Quinn had, if she were being honest, checked out. But foremost, she was a reporter. She wanted to dive into the deepest parts of Quinn’s brain for profit, mutual benefit and all. It sounded dreadful. 

The universe did not owe her anything, Quinn remembered, but the perpetual mocking was getting a little over the top. 

“Quinn Sullivan,” she shook the hand presented and tried to breathe. Lucy’s hand was warm and felt soft. She wasn’t sure how to let go. “How’s it going?” 

Fuck! Her mind blared as she dropped the reporter’s hand and mentally beat herself to a pulp. Who talked like that? And still, she could not answer, winked?

“It’s been a day,” she smiled, nodding to herself as she accepted the seat Quinn offered. “Your sister has sung your praises all morning though. I feel like I could write about your without even meeting you.”

“Great. Let’s do that.” 

Sadie laughed but gave Quinn a stern look. 

“I’m going to go grab you some passes and copies of the contracts,” Sadie smiled graciously at Lucy before turning to her sister. “Listen to her pitch.” 

“Seems it’s been decided,” she muttered to herself before plastering on a smile. 

“Don’t have too much fun. I’ll be right back.” 

And with that she truly was gone, and Quinn was left in her office with the reporter who had pretty eyes. They felt like syrup-- warm and deep brown, gooey and sticky. Her face was longer, her nose thin and long, her lips full and bitten-- and Quinn snapped herself out of her perusal and felt her chest warm too much. No, the universe didn’t owe her anything, and the punishment for thinking it did was sitting across from her in a muddy skirt and gentle smile.

For just a moment, Quinn held her breath and willed a coma..

[nepenthendline]

Together - Tsukishima Kei

Summary: Tsukishima isn’t good at helping you out of a dark point, but you won’t be going through it alone

A/N: This follows my hcs for Tsukishima with depression and anxiety

TW: depression

Tsukishima:

Some days were worse than others, and some days you felt like there was nothing wrong at all, but at this time your thoughts were in control, taking your mind and body as their slaves as they festered and multiplied. The past few days blurred into one; you're surprised you could even tell a few days had past since your body felt so empty and distant.

Those voices chose to chant in your head sometimes, telling you that you're worthless, stupid, a waste of space, and at other times they left you in a deafening silence, taking away any ounce of joy or content that you could possibly muster. It's like your mind decided to go into hibernation, just waiting until the cold inside you was over before it would restart and allow you to function as usual.

Your sleep schedule was a mess; falling asleep in the early hours of the morning, waking up late in the day and napping in the time between. Your dorm room was littered with empty snack packets; it seemed you'd been eating a ton recently, although none of it had been an actual meal, and barely any water had passed your dry lips.

Normally you would be anxious about all the classes you had missed at university, but right now you couldn't care less. It didn't matter anyway, none of it mattered when your life was pointless in the first place.

Your phone lit up with a notification, forcing your eyes to squint in the dark room. With a sigh, you turned over in bed, waiting for the screen to shut off once again. And it did, until a minute later when another notification brought it back to life. But you ignored it once again, reaching over and turning your phone to face down on the table before shutting your eyes again, although you weren't exactly sleeping.

A while later you could hear some movement in the hallway outside your room, although you didn't have the energy to pay much attention. A knock rattled through your room, followed by the door opening and letting through streaks of much-needed light around the tall figure that entered.

You knew someone had come in, despite them not saying anything, but you couldn't bring yourself to pull the blanket from around your head and stayed still, hoping they would just assume you were asleep and leave. Not even when the person sat on the side of your bed and placed a hand on your covered body. It was a large hand, quite cold too, and the weight was familiar - Tsukishima.

"Are you going to get out of bed any time soon?" His deep voice, the first sound you had heard in a while, seemed to boom through your skull, even though he spoke relatively quiet. You shook your head, jaw clenched and pulling the blanket closer to you. You didn't want to speak, in fact you probably couldn't at the moment even if you tried since your voicebox had retired for the past few days.

It was silent for a minute or so before the heavy hand removed itself from your body, and the weight on the bed left. The last sound you heard was your door opening and closing, plummeting you back into the dark quiet.

This is technically what you wanted, to be left alone, but the lump in your throat still managed to grow larger at the thought that Tsukishima had left you. You couldn't tell if you'd rather he was there or not; you definitely didn't have the energy to interact with him, but your hypothalamus was screaming for you to invite him back and hold onto him and be wrapped up in his arms.

You fell back into your catatonic state, laying still and silent but awake for a while, maybe half an hour, just living the time away. Your body tensed a little when your door opened once again. The figure entered and placed something down on the beside table, although you weren't facing the right way to see. Even through the blanket you could see the dim, warm light that filtered through the room from your lamp.

After some shuffling, the blanket was raised near your back, and then the warm figure took the empty space beside you. One arm raised and, tentatively, wormed its way around your body, holding you tighter to his side. You hadn't moved an inch since he held you, so he leaned in closer, pressing his face into your warm neck and left a light kiss in its new presence. He laid still by your side for a couple minutes, before his arm moved away again, although not going far this time. Reaching for his phone, he scrolled through the abundance of playlists he had carefully created, many of them for you in one way or another, and settled on one. Quiet, gentle acoustic music took the place of the silence, and his arm was wrapped back around you.

You don’t know how long you two laid there for, possibly a few hours since you had fallen asleep at some point. As your eyes opened, your focus was brought to the hand that had fitted its way into yours; his thumb stroking your skin just barely. Letting out a sigh, you occupied your mind with the electric feeling that spread across your hand. It was only a tiny fraction of what you normally felt in his presence, but it was the most you had felt in a little while.

Taking a deep breath, you collected a few drops of energy to turn over, instantly coming face-to-face with your boyfriend. His golden eyes stared into yours, fluttering around slightly as he looked over your face. He looked so soft and gentle in the dim light, and you could see his eyes perfectly since his glasses weren’t covering them like usual. Shuffling forward, you tucked your head into his chest, breathing deeply and letting his scent overwhelm you. You felt his head tilt down, brushing over your hair and placing a kiss on your scalp.

Part of you wanted to release at that moment, to cry and let it out, but the reality is that the numbness was stronger. So you settled for listening to the music and his heartbeat - anything to drown out the rattling emptiness in your head. Although it was quiet, a song that was new to you played through his phone speaker. It was comforting and sweet and, before you thought about it, your hand lifted from below the blanket to reach for his phone and find out the title. Once you put the phone down, you noticed the bag on the table, the one he must have put down earlier. It was still too dark to see clearly, but you could tell it was containers of food, plus a couple bottles of water placed next to it.

“I got some pork buns, in case you felt like eating later,” he spoke, following your eye line to the bag. You nodded, tucking back into his chest.

You wished you could empty all of your thoughts to him, tell him everything that made your heart feel so heavy, but the truth was you didn’t even know how you felt yourself. You couldn’t put it into words to share with him, but he knew that.

“I…” you started, whispering into his chest as your throat scratched at it’s first warm up. You swallowed and breathed deeply, before shrugging, “ I don’t know.” It was all you could say, and it made no sense, but you felt him nod above you.

“I know,” he murmured back, raising one hand to brush through your hair.

“You can go if you want, it’s ok,” you muttered, although now you were in his hold, you couldn’t stand to let go, and luckily, he shook his head.

“Honestly I have no idea how to help you. I don’t know what’s going to make things better but I know how you feel, I get it. I can’t even sort myself out when I’m like this, so there’s no chance I’m going to be any help to you, but I’m not going to let you deal with it alone. We’ll go through it together.”

And you did. You spent the rest of the day in bed, drifting in an out of sleep as the music continued to play. Tsukishima passed you pieces of food every now and then to nibble on, and make you take a sip of water ever half hour. He listened to you if you needed to say things, and let you be when you needed silence. But he never once left your side.

[monicashipslokius]

Soulmates, Actually Pt 4

(read part 1/part 2/part 3)

A sharp, shrill alarm blares before the sun has even risen, rousing Loki from a perfect slumber. Loki groans their disgust, but it’s muffled in the meat of Mobius’s shoulder.

“Easy, sunshine,” Mobius says, and the infernal man is actually trying to move.

Loki grumbles louder. Mobius, chuckling, eases Loki away from him and onto the pillow instead. It’s not the same - too soft and not nearly warm enough. Loki clings tighter around Mobius’s waist in retaliation.

“We talked about this,” Mobius says. “I have to go back to work today.”

Loki huffs in frustration as they let Mobius remove their hold and lower their arms to the bed. The pillow is a poor replacement.

For a moment, Mobius brushes Loki’s hair back away from their face. His fingers linger, feather-light, at the edge of Loki’s cheekbone. Too soon, the touch is gone.

“I’ll be back at six pm sharp.”

Loki rolls onto Mobius’s side of the bed and falls asleep again.

When they awaken, the sun is bright and the sheets are cool. Loki’s stomach rumbles. They groan as they pull themself out of bed and finally face the day.

The long, lonely day.

A week has passed since Thor’s departure - a week of Loki and Mobius redecorating and cuddling and learning each other.

They bought six plants of varying sizes, new drapes the color of the ocean, and a soft bedspread to match. Mobius fixed up the broken bathroom door, and Loki hung a few new art pieces and string lights.

The La-Z-Boy they arranged in front of a small boxy television set became a fast favorite.

“What did I tell you?” Mobius said the first time Loki relaxed deeply into the recliner. “It’s the perfect throne.”

Mobius may not understand color palettes, but the man knows comfort.

“It will do for now,” Loki told him, not wanting to give too much away.

Mobius’s smile never wavered. “Mmhm.”

Now, Loki drags themself to the kitchen to make a sandwich. Ten minutes later, they are perched on the recliner, plate on their lap, watching soap operas on television.

Claudio is surprised to find that his fiance Regina’s twin sister Georgina has been behind all of his misfortune, but the plot twist has Loki rolling their eyes.

“Amateurs.” Loki bites into an apple slice.

The hours tick by. Loki watches the anchor-shaped clock that hangs in the kitchen - much of their new decor has an ocean theme. But the more Loki watches the clock, the slower time seems to pass.

Time flew by with Mobius here. But without him...

After the soap operas, the courtroom shows begin. And then the news programs. Loki walks laps around the apartment while listening to the weather forecast for the third time - partly cloudy with a 30% chance of rain. The cost of gasoline is skyrocketing. The local high school football team might make county finals, whatever that means.

At quarter to six, Loki thanks the cosmos. Finally. Mobius will be home and put an end to this monotony.

Loki cleans up a bit, dusting some crumbs off the arms of the recliner. They place the plates in the sink.

Then, because they don’t want to appear too eager, they grab a book and stretch out on the bed.

Six o’clock comes and goes. Mobius does not arrive.

By seven, Loki is annoyed.

By eight, they are angry.

By ten, they are concerned.

Dubuque seems relatively safe. And Mobius has lived here alone for a long time before Loki.

But Loki has enemies. Many, many enemies. All of whom would be more than happy to get their hands on their soulmate.

Mobius is probably fine.

But what if he’s not?

At eleven, they are examining the photo of his office building that Mobius keeps on the dresser. Mobius had taken them to see it in the past week, though they hadn’t gone inside. It wasn’t too far a walk, if they recall. Loki is certain that they could find it again, even in darkness.

So they change into a black suit and hurry out the door. The Dubuque city streets are barren this time of night. Loki encounters no one on their trek to the office - until they barge through the front door and are stopped by a security guard.

Loki promised Mobius that they would not hurt anyone, so instead they create a projection of themself to distract the guard while they themself head toward the elevators. Following the signs for the data analytics department, they ride the elevator to the fourth floor.

They step off the elevator into a darkened field of cubicles. Each is the same - small desk, computer, and chair. All are empty. But Loki isn’t alone here. They follow a light through the cubicle maze and come to one that is occupied.

Mobius has a foot-high pile of files on his desk. He’s tapping at his computer keyboard with the index finger of each hand and peering at the small monitor.

“Mobius?”

Mobius jumps, then clutches his chest. He exhales when he sees Loki standing in the opening of his 3ft x 4ft cell. “Give a guy a warning next time.” He smiles. “But it’s good to see you. How’d you get here? Security let you in?”

Loki only frowns at him. “You said you’d be back at six.”

Mobius’s smile loses some of its brightness. “I have to work a little late. Next time we go out, we’ll get you a phone so I can call and let you know -”

“’A little late?’ Mobius, it’s been hours. I thought you were...” They won’t give name to their truest fears. That Mobius had been kidnapped or killed. Or perhaps that he had finally seen the true darkness in Loki and left of his own free will.

Mobius shakes his head. “Come on, Loki. It hasn’t been that long. It’s only...” He glances at his monitor. “Midnight? That can’t be right.”

“I assure you that is accurate.”

Mobius sits back in his squeaking chair, and rubs his hands over his face. “I’m sorry...” He releases a drawn out sigh and his whole body droops. “Boss was cheesed that I bailed on the conference. I have a lot of work to make up.”

The stack of folders towers over Mobius’s slouched shoulders.

“Would it helped if I -”

“You can’t kill him,” Mobius says.

Loki closes their mouth. Tries again. “He needn’t be killed. I could simply... frighten him.”

Mobius shoots Loki a flat look.

“Fine,” Loki says, disappointed. “But what is your intention? To stay here all night?”

Mobius side-eyes the folder mountain. “I’m going to have to.”

“No.”

Mobius sighs. “Loki -”

“This is a place of employment, Mobius, not a living space.”

“It’s my own fault. I should have come back sooner.” He rubs at the corner of one eye. “Maybe I should have stayed at the conference.”

The words stab Loki between the ribs.

“Magicking away was not my best idea,” Mobius says. “I shouldn’t have run from my responsibilities. I’ll never catch up on this work.”

More stabs, a thousand tiny cuts.

“So you regret everything,” Loki says, fighting hard to keep the hurt from their voice. They are disappointed by their own surprise, their own pain. They had thought Mobius was different. They should have known.

Thor was wrong when he said no one could hold Loki’s interest. It was the other way around. Loki protected themself by leaving before the other could get bored. They should have done that here.

But they thought...

Mobius is supposed to be their perfect match.

“No, hey,” Mobius jumps from his chair. That’s all it takes to put him in Loki’s space. Loki takes a step back. “That’s not what I meant. I don’t regret everything, just some things.”

“You regret coming with me when we escaped.”

“N-no,” he says, but not without hesitation.

“You could have stayed. They weren’t chasing you. You could have told them I brainwashed you and gone on with your day.”

“That’s not what I’m saying.” The bags are heavy under Mobius’s eyes. He’s tired, Loki knows that - but Loki’s tired too. Sitting, waiting, stressing.

The room sparks with tension. Loki’s pain festers under their skin.

And Mobius regrets.

Loki takes a breath, searching for calm. For understanding. For their soulmate. “Come home,” they say, “And we can continue talking in the morning.”

Mobius exhales again, too sharp. He places his hands on his hips and looks at that damned pile of folders again. “I can’t go anywhere.”

“Mobius -”

“This is my life, Loki,” Mobius tells him. “Data analysis is my life. You have to understand that.”

Something dark in Loki’s chest snaps clean in half. “This is your life. This.” They wave a hand around. “This tiny box in a sea of tiny boxes. Where everyone else has left you here in the dark. Where your employer buries you under papers so deep that you cannot find your way out of them. Is all this extra work truly because you left the conference? How often would you work late before I arrived?”

Mobius looks away, and Loki knows they’re right. The answer, too often.

“Are you at least receiving additional benefits for all this extra time spent here?”

Mobius still won’t look at them.

“They are taking advantage of you, of your loyalty, and you are letting them.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Mobius snaps, the sharpest he’s ever spoken to Loki.

Loki stands taller. They’re used to anger, to cutting words, to pain - more than they were ever used to kindness.

“I am trying to protect you,” Loki says.

“I don’t need protection from my job.”

For one wild moment, Loki thinks of grabbing those folders and tossing them across the room. They dream of throwing Mobius over their shoulder and saving them from this drab place and its tan carpet and eggshell walls.

Instead, they insist, “No, you do. You owned three photos when I first met you: one of your parents, one of a jetski, and one of this office. Can you not see how depressing that is?”

Mobius face hardens.

“You are meant for better things than this. When was the last time you even rode a jetski? Or had fun of any kind?”

“I’m an adult. I don’t need fun.”

“That is absurd.”

Mobius’s brows draw together. “Listen, not all of us could be born into royalty, and just go around doing whatever we want all the time.”

Born into royalty. A fresh sting, not one Mobius could know would hit so hard. But it does all the same. Loki steps backward from the force of it.

Mobius unhooks his arms. “Loki -”

Loki shakes their head. Mobius watches them, confusion replacing frustration, followed quickly by concern. He lifts his hand, but Loki steps back again, further out of reach.

“It’s fine,” Loki says, lying. “Stay as long as you like.” They bury the pain down deep. It’s familiar, an old, hated friend. “I wouldn’t dare dream of treading on your unhappiness.”

Mobius drops his hand. “I am happy. I am perfectly happy.”

“Good,” Loki says.

“Great,” Mobius says.

“Wonderful.”

“Fantastic.”

They stare hard at each other. Loki refuses to look away first.

When Mobius finally does, turning back to his cubicle and his chair and the stack of folders, disappointment floods through Loki.

They don’t wait to be dismissed, they turn and leave on their own.

*

Loki does not return to the apartment. Instead, they walk and they walk and they walk. They almost hope to be accosted by vagrants, so as to release some restless energy in a fight, but they see no one. They reach a river and follow it into a forest.

They sit along the riverbank and watch the sunlight crest over the trees.

Maybe they shouldn’t have surrendered the scepter. With the tesseract, they could have traveled anywhere. Now they are limited to the distance of their own two legs. Not that they would know where to go anyway.

The only place they want to be is back at the apartment with Mobius.

It’s evening when they eventually make their way back there. Their stomach growls, and they’re thirsty and tired. With some food and a good night’s rest, perhaps they could leave again with a plan this time. Hire a taxi to an airport and take a plane. Find a city of decadence and lose themself for a few decades.

They don’t expect Mobius to be home. It’s only shortly after seven, far too early for his beloved late nights. Yet as they place the key into the lock and start to turn, they barely have time to remove it before being yanked forward into the apartment and into a crushing embrace.

“Don’t leave me,” Mobius says. His arms are sure around Loki’s waist. His nose is buried in the crook of Loki’s neck and shoulder. His words are muffled by Loki’s forest-dirty suit coat. “I’m not happy. I haven’t been in a long time. Not until you. And not without you.”

Loki sags into his arms, and he holds tighter, keeping Loki upright. Keeping them safe. They close their eyes and let the warmth of Mobius’s body chase away the chill of the Iowa evening air.

“You scared the hell outta me,” Mobius says, voice shaky. “I looked for you everywhere, but I kept checking here. I kept hoping you’d come back. I’m so sorry.” Mobius leans back. He reaches up and cups Loki’s face between his palms. Gently, he rubs his thumbs over Loki’s cheekbones. “I want to be good for you.”

“How could you think you’re not?”

Regret shines in Mobius’s eyes now, more than it ever did during their argument. “I hurt you. I don’t want to ever do that again.”

Loki places their hand over one of Mobius’s on their face. “I hurt you, too, I suspect.”

“No, everything you said was right.” He swallows. “Work’s all I had for so long, and when I was back there, and they started piling it on... Everyone else in that office has always had someone, so before I would take on the extra work myself. It was better than coming home alone. It’s a hard habit to break. Loki, I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to do this.” But Loki still wants to hear it. Each of Mobius’s words are a balm over their pain. Mobius keeps going. He doesn’t even stop for breath.

“I lashed out at you, and I only did that because you were right. And I didn’t want to hear it. But then you were gone.”

“I’m here,” Loki says. “I’m here now.”

“I am a lousy soulmate.” Mobius smiles, but it’s too soft, too sad. “After so long alone, I don’t think that I know how to be with somebody. But I want to learn. I want to deserve this, with you.”

“Mobius,” Loki says, and their mending heart threatens to break again. “I am no great prize.”

Mobius starts to laugh. “I’m trying to be serious, Loki.”

“I am too,” Loki says, and whatever Mobius sees on their face stops the laughter. Loki studies the softness in Mobius’s gaze, the adoration, the great care, memorizing as much as they can, in case this is the last time they see it. “I’m a monster.”

Mobius, voice flat and unamused, says, “Be serious.”

“I was not born to royalty. Not like you think,” Loki says and waits. Dread rolls over them in waves, but Mobius does not react more than a slight cant of his head. “I’m not...” It would be easier to show him, but Loki can’t. If they do, Mobius will change all of his sweet words. He won’t stand to share this small apartment with them any longer, and Loki will be back on that riverside. “How you see me is not... how I am.”

Mobius is patient. Mobius waits. Maybe Loki wasn’t wrong about Mobius after all. Maybe Mobius, like them, is imperfect and a little afraid but trying.

Slowly, Loki pulls Mobius’s hands from their face so as not to burn him with the cold of their skin as they lift the glamour that hides their Jotunn form.

They want to look away, to hide from the horror they are sure to see on Mobius’s face, but simultaneously are too desperate to see any and every reaction.

Mobius’s eyes grow wide. His lips part. He blinks a few times.

“Loki,” Mobius says, and Loki braces for fresh heartache. But then he smiles, real and true and bright, a lighthouse in a lifetime of hurt. “Blue like the ocean.” The adoration never dims from his eyes. “You are beautiful.”

*

Mobius insists he doesn’t care, but Loki only feels comfortable again with their glamour restored.

“Either way,” Mobius says, and sends Loki off to the bathroom to shower and change. “I’ll have dinner ready by the time you’re done.”

When Loki leaves the tiny bathroom in their silk pajamas, they find the small two-person table lit by candlelight. Mobius stands beside it, wearing one of the dark suits Loki picked out for him at the store, with a deep green tie that’s slightly askew.

“What’s all this?” Loki asks.

“I know we’re soulmates, and our fates are destined and everything,” Mobius says, tugging at his collar. A bit of pink dusts his cheeks. “But some things should be done the old fashioned way. I want to win your heart, so I thought...” He clears his throat. “I want to wine and dine you. Properly.”

“Ah.” Loki slides further into the room, heart lighter than it’s been in the past forty-eight hours. All the lingering hurts are mended. And Mobius looks delectable in that suit, just as Loki thought he would. Loki strides right up to him, reaches out, and adjusts his tie. “You are attempting to seduce me.”

Mobius’s cheeks redden. He glances away for the briefest of moments before his eyes return to Loki’s face.

“You are everything a guy could want,” Mobius says. “More than I ever dreamed.”

Loki finishes fixing Mobius’s tie, but leaves their hands flat on Mobius’s chest. Mobius takes one and brings it to his mouth. He places a kiss to Loki’s palm.

Loki shivers, but not from any cold.

“Loki,” Mobius says, giving so much weight to the name - things unspoken, maybe not ready to be said, but are known - so known, and ready to be shown.

Mobius leans, and Loki stays very still, waiting, wanting but so, so afraid.

Mobius stops just out of reach. His breath hot on Loki’s lips, he asks, “Can I kiss you?”

Loki swallows all their fear and whispers, “Please.”

Mobius closes the distance and presses their lips together.

Fireworks ignite in Loki’s chest. Their heart thunders. Their hands itch for more, so they grab Mobius by the shoulders and hold, clinging, ruining the new suit and not caring at all.

Mobius cups Loki’s jawline, guiding them closer, tilting gently, positioning Loki just as he wants them. Loki goes willingly, opening their mouth as Mobius licks his way inside.

They should have done this long ago. They should do this all the time. This should never, ever stop.

Loki moans as Mobius’s fingers comb into their hair. Mobius breaks for air, tilts his head, and comes back for more. Loki holds Mobius so close, they are certain their heart beats straight into Mobius’s chest.

It’s perfect, passion incarnate, and Loki wants so much that they -

Loki’s stomach growls. Loudly.

Mobius smiles against Loki’s lips.

Loki groans as Mobius plants one more soft kiss and pulls away.

“Wining and dining time,” he says with a wink.

Loki is both endeared and annoyed. “I will have more of this.” His stomach grumbles again. “After dinner.”

Loki doesn’t miss the flush of Mobius’s cheeks, even as his easy smile returns. “It would be my absolute pleasure, and I mean that.”

[socketz]

Charlie Dalton x Female!Reader

Angels of the Night.

Type : Fluff and Smut! (with a little Angst at the beginning)

Warnings : Very sexual at certain parts & particularly detailed, talks of death (in general, not Neil, don’t worry), crying I suppose, but that’s about it.

Word Count : 10.4K (roughly) I got a little carried away, oopsies

Request : Anonymous: So for the request, I was wondering if you could do something soft and smutty with Charlie (Dalton)? Like his and a fem reader’s first time together or smth?

Summary : Essentially the request but they go out to make snow angels after, and there’s a little bit more plot :)

Authors Note : Plsss🥺🥺🥺 I love this so much and the idea was so sweet, Charlie is my BABY. I love him fodjdjdbfi. Thank you for this request! And my other requested fics will be put up as soon as I’ve finished them <3

Angels of the Night, Charlie Dalton x Female!Reader

Perhaps it were the midst of Winter engulfing my complexion, rupturing me cold and abnormally behaved, or maybe I was simply being overdramatic. My nose cold, stained with the shiver of a scarlet hue - eyes something of a similar shade, glossy and leaking. Pathetic, my mind spat, utterly pathetic. The sobs escaping my throat were hardly stifled by the wool of my knitted scarf, eyebrows furrowed and blush - I presumed - something of a terrible crimson. I found myself choking on my laboured breaths, feet crunching upon the delicate, unscathed, snow below.

He could hardly love you, my mind seemed to snear, something icier than the wind whipping through my locks. You are too difficult to adore. 

Another stifled cry whimpered between the ruffle of my lips, moist and troubling, and I simply hoped - my vision blurred, incompetent - that my direction were a honest path, and I should discover the courtyard of the infamous Hell-ton (a place often discouraged and avoided by my conscience, for girls were surely not prohibited, and Charlie would be oh-so-severly punished, should I find myself caught.) in no time at all. 

But, oh, it were true. A wreck, I was, and impossible to love. Charlie; a man with such incredible charm, a certain warmth to his gaze, and the intelligence of someone wonderful. Everything a dream could give, embodied - real. Perhaps he was the kind of guy, the kind of face, that poetry was bound from. The kind of person the Gods found pride within - a joyously great boy. 

My footsteps found a rhythm, falling within the tough scale of such icy blankets; fingers but limbs of solid numbness, fumbling within the depth of my pockets; a gentle pulse to racket the edges of my brain. Thump, thump, thump, it said; Charlie, Charlie, Charlie. 

What was I even to do? To approach him, to mortify him - though undoubtedly far more myself - before his friends, his closest companions, and express my excessive need for clarification? Was I going to whine for his adoration, for a smitten smile - the kind I’d always read about, always heard in folk-talk about the town - and the attention I found myself so desperate for? It was all so absurd, and, as I glanced with a blurred sense upon the harsh white all around, I found myself wanting to burrow beneath it all, and await the part of death to crawl within my veins, to freeze until I perished. Dramatic, perhaps, though valid nonetheless.

I suddenly felt warm, doused in the flush of embarrassed scarlet, a hue so easily identifiable - especially among the fleet of snow, draped upon the landscape for miles, and miles, to stretch. Heavens, I felt ill. Sick with stupidity - my own, all the same. 

How could I possibly fall so low as to beg a man for adoration? My cheeks were a furious red, stricken with frustration. I felt a fool, storming over to his school - his strict, unapologetic, pro-punishment, school - with tear-stained cheeks, a lump in my throat and a pensive anxiety through the roof - all as though my implored desire were of anything important, anything meaningful. Charlie was a man of great confidence, and surely - by now, at least - his true feelings for me, if any at all, would have confessed their way to me, somehow - anyhow. 

And yet, despite our many months of close friendship, our continuous flirting, and the pet names - though only to be revealed when swarmed with the comfort of desolation -, with the dates (he had assured me that they were, in fact, dates, and not just a friendly accommodation) - despite it all, he had not once confessed to his true feelings. And I suppose that I struggled to believe whether he held anything romantic for me at all, anymore. Perhaps he was excited, in the beginning, and thus he felt something then, and now - now that we had never quite ventured within the sexually active side of things - I supposed that he were growing bored, and those feelings - whichever he may have obtained - were diminished,  unimportant, and-

“Y/N?” The delirious notion of my attention snapped up, grasping the direction of the calling - a familiar tone. Knox. I found myself spinning, undoubtedly a natural reaction, to turn away from his curious gaze. I wiped my eyes, a harsher manner than intended, with my numb digits digging a little deeper upon the flushed complexion than comfortable. “What are you doing here?” There was a breathy laugh, and I suppose he hadn’t noticed my watery expression, his crunching footsteps achingly close. 

“I- uh-” Turning to face him once more, I fluttered a kind smile upon my features - hoped he wouldn’t notice. “I came to visit Charlie.” I said. 

“Oh.” He said, dismissive, with another curious gaze and a tilted head. “He’s in a meeting-” He caught himself, glancing with something worried, “You okay?” He asked. Through his furrowed eyebrows and his genuine eyes - always gentle, always dreaming - I found comfort among the softness of his stare. Knox was a good friend - hopelessly in love with Chris, of course - and utterly tender. It was no wonder he and Charlie were the closest of companions. Both irresistible, both dependent upon each other - brothers, soulmates, a match for angelic enigma.

I hardly had a chance to catch my movement, shoulders falling and descending to a slouch, a sigh breaching my lips. “I’ve worried myself ill.” I said, and true it surely was. He smiled, a humorous smile, and shook his head.

“Always a worrier.” He spoke, fondly, taking me beneath his arm, and pulling me to the direction of the entry door. I almost thanked the warmth he radiated, had it not been for his words interrupting my decision, “You’ve been crying, I can see.” He said, and I nodded something silent. “What’s wrong?” 

“It’s Charlie.”  I sighed, unable to pause the way it slipped, so easily, through my teeth. I tried to bite it back, but it begged for release and I could fool myself no longer. I needed to talk about the issue, I needed advice. “I feel as though I bore him - as if he doesn’t like me - like that - anymore.”

He let out a laugh, full and plentiful, as we walked through the waft of warmth, basked by the golden-lit entrance. His stare was wary, cautious, and he - in his height, with that uniformed jacket clung around a part of myself -  buried me within his hold, ushering us through the walkway with a slight urgency. “Why the hell not?” He said, amused and slightly riddled with disbelief. 

“I-” I paused, a kind of summary attempting to congregate within the depth of my mind, every anxiety rushing to the front in a large blur of nothingness, “I just do.” I said, a deep puff of air to follow. “We’re nothing official, and I know that - of course I do! I just…” A moment of silence followed, we wandered up the staircase, feet echoing simultaneously as our tones found hushed whispers. To be caught was simply not an option “I suppose I need to know.” 

I found a gentle ache to sprout, deeply, within the base of my throat, a roundly stinging sensation to my eyes, and I knew - Oh, I knew it well, my jaw clenched, and orbs rolling to the sky - that tonight was a night for honesty, and for feeling morose. Charlie liked that word - morose - for it reminded him of things pleasant - ironically - and thus he used it in the incorrect context. ‘I am morose, tonight, Dear,’ he would say, a grin and faux British accent, all the while proceeding to play his cheeriest Saxophone pieces, all so wonderful and joyful. Nothing morose about it, but that was just Charlie. That was Just Charlie, and Charlie was the man I loved. 

The tears began to fall - a first, and then a second, and then there was simply no stopping them after that. Knox hummed, and we entered the hallway. “Need to know what?” He said, our footsteps echoing upon the wooden flooring in a patterned, mismatched, rhythm.  

“How he feels.” I said, a gentle sob to fall from my tongue. “How he feels about me - and him. Together - us.”  We paraded through the course of the rooms, an occasional curious eye from a bystander - usually a boy with books, or perhaps a recognizable face - and landed before a familiar door.

“Ah,” He said, “So that’s why you’re here? To confess your feelings and hope that he reciprocates?” I found myself pausing in the doorway, Knox almost diving upon the neatly made bed - upon Charlie’s neatly made bed - that anxiety riddled within my head all over again. Thump, thump, thump, it said. Hope, hope, hope.

“Hope?” I said, “What do you mean, hope?” 

He furrowed his eyebrows, dismissive to my worries, and picked up the small clock - slightly battered and a little broken - from upon the side table, stacked with loose paper and a few poorly handled novels, and said: “I worded that wrong.” With a reassuring smile to soften his expression. “You’re worried over nothing, Y/N.” He chuckled, gentle and kind. 

But what if I wasn’t? “And if I’m not?” 

“Then it would seem I don’t know Charlie at all.” He said. And, oh, how honest he seemed, so undeniably truthful, but that little voice - that fester of illness, sprouted within my gut -  found my eyebrows pinched, and my frame collapsed within the chair of Charlie’s desk. I removed the wool of my scarf, a sigh slipping the brace of my gritted teeth, gentle moisture collecting upon my complexion, flushed with the sudden gust of warmth, and similarly cold by the retraction of heat. 

“I hope those shoes are clean, Overstreet.” I said, breathless to my thoughts. He snorted a laugh, and my lip quivered at the corner. Perhaps I was worrying over nothing - yes, yes, nothing at all. Though my tears seemed to occupy my anxieties, and such a thought did little to diffuse my worry. “But what if he doesn’t have feelings for me?” I said, exasperated. Knox sighed, a pointed look from his direction. “I mean, how embarrassing! I’d surely never recover.” 

Another scoff breached his throat, “Are you kidding me?” He said, rolling his eyes with a subtle fondness about him. “He practically worships you.”

“And you’re sure he likes me? Romantically?” 

“Smitten.” He said, toying with the ill-treated clock as it lay within his hands, tossing it from one hand, to the other, up and down, left and right. I watched with a glimmer of amusement as the contraption fell from his grasp, landing heavily upon the wooden flooring. The mechanisms simply fell apart - meat from the bone - and a light wince sounded out from his direction. “Damn.” He mumbled. A soft laugh fluttered from my lips, and his rose to a tender smile, soft and kind - always so kind. 

The door billowed open, a gentle slam against the opposing wall a thunder upon the scene. A waft of cologne, a roll of the eyes from Knox, and I found my smile broadening a little, broadening enough.  Always the kind for an entrance, I thought, as the wooden plank poised between the man himself, and I. “Knoxious.” Charlie called, a tone of thick amusement and mischief to coax his smirk - a factor so notoriously him, I could hear it through his speech. 

Knox grinned, a furtherly boyish kind than the ones he shared with me, and avoided the shattered clock altogether, as it lay, pathetically, upon the ground. “How’d it go?” He asked, lying pointedly within the comfort of Charlie’s bed, making a fact of wiggling upon the comforter.

“Not so bad.” Charlie said, blissfully ignoring his teasing. “Meeks agreed to help. Study group and all that.” 

Knox nodded, glancing once in my direction, as I found myself merely grinning - for whichever reason, I had no particular clue. Perhaps it were his voice, or his smile - the way it conveyed within his speech. I didn’t know, and I found, as he spoke once again, that I didn’t care to find out. 

“How was the Danbury’s future wife?” He teased, “Seen her naked, yet?” His tone of humour were almost overbearing, as he strode forward - in front of myself, my presence consequently unknown - and kicked the door shut, the thud another echo throughout the almost silent corridor. 

He rolled his eyes, the ghost of a smile to be present, and spoke gently, “Shut up, Dalton.” He said, motioning effortlessly in my direction, “Your girl’s here to see you.” 

As though an elastic band, he swiveled upon his toes, eyes precariously enlarged with a sense of surprise. My grin remained, and his gaze seemed to soften somewhat upon noticing my hunched posture, curled within that chair of his fabulous desk. His expression eloped with something wide, his smile crawling instantaneously, as he strode to rest himself behind me, engulfing my shoulders in a two-armed-cradle. His chin rested upon the dip in my neck, breath warm; close. “Hi.” He said, tone soft with a joyous grin. 

“Hello.” I mumbled, resting the side of my cheek upon his head. Serenity, peace - I had almost forgotten the moisture to lie upon my rosy complexion. “What was the meeting about?” I asked.

“It’s nothing, just-” “He’s flunking trig.” Knox interrupted, a flutter of buried snickers to follow. 

My eyebrows furrowed, knitted tightly as I positioned myself to face Charlie furtherly forward. “You’re flunking trig?” I asked. He shrugged slightly, tightening his embrace 

with a sharp inhale to his nose. 

“Only a little.” He said, gaze roaming upon my expression. Two digits, curled to the softness of his palm, graced the damp flush of my cheek, recoiling with a scowl of fond woe displaced upon his furrowed brows. “What’s the matter?” He asked, something mellow. 

As though dancing to their own accord, the tears found themselves heavier than before, trickling upon my features as they found a subtle scrunch, and his frown drew deeper. “Hey,” He whispered, brushing - almost nervously, dare I say - a few strands of hair away from my face, tucking them behind an ear, with a glance of thorough concern. 

I stared, albeit tried to, with such blurry gaze, into his eyes. So warm, so amiable -  hot chocolate, topped with sweetened whipped cream and marshmallows on a chilly Wednesday afternoon - Home, his eyes, they looked like home. He felt like home. And, oh, how dearly I loved him. “What happened?” He mumbled, “Knoxious,” he said, turned to face the boy who glanced something somber, “What did you do?” 

I could care to notice the smile upon Charlie’s expression, and from the reciprocated grin festered within the boy across the room, I understood, a teary smile and a gentle laugh, that he was doing what he did best - he was going to cheer me up. “Overstreet.” He said, standing with a sudden gust of wind. 

Knox stood, a scramble to his feet, a mischievous grin eloped upon his expression. “Dalton?” He said, a tilt of his head - a nod, I suppose, though something mocking. 

“Grab me a bowl.” Charlie ordered. 

His smile fell, and he said: “A bowl?” 

“Yeah, of food.” He said, “I’m hungry. Whatever’s for Dinner, alright?” 

He nodded, somewhat dazzled, and the smirk crawled back upon his expression. “Yes, Sir.” He said, “What about the others?” 

“The others?” 

“The Dead Poets?” Knox said, “What’ll I tell ‘em?” 

Charlie shrugged, he glanced once to myself as I sniffled, and I wiped my eyes with my hands once more. “Tell ‘em I’m busy.” He said, a smile. Knox knew - he knew better than anyone - just how deeply controlling love could feel, how gut-wrenchingly wonderful it tended to grow, and thus he left without another word, merely a smirk, and a gentle wave to I. 

The door remained cracked, though only a slither, and before a moment's silence had passed between us, Charlie planted his lips upon the cold complexion of my snow-kissed cheek. A retraction, “God,” He said, “you’re freezing.” I didn’t feel particularly cold - not anymore, at least -- not after the weight of his tightly woven arms upon my shoulders. It should seem, however, that the glisten of moisture upon my cheeks were enough to remind my complexion of it’s shiver, Charlie - without hesitation - ripping into the array of clothing, shoved messily at the pit of his closet. “Here.” He mumbled, a thick, woolen, jumper extended from his slightly pink cheeks. “Put this on, you’ll get sick.” 

I have fallen sick already, I almost scoffed - sick with the worries of my own foolish mind. But I grabbed the soft material nonetheless - a favorite of mine, one I thought he wore so very well - and removed my jacket, peeling the cold material from my bare arms. I placed it on, woozy with the intoxicating smell that was him, engulfing my frame in a combustion of warmth, of safety, and I smiled. A toothy, poorly contained, smile. 

That smirk fell upon his lips, a signature twist of features. I watched his supple gaze, drifting upon my figure from across the room, and those butterflies - the ones I’d so anxiously murdered a while ago, when such intrusive thoughts seemed too dangerous to express fondly - found themselves utterly contempt, dazzling themselves drunk with romance. Eyes darkened slightly, though soft, as though glancing to something delicate, and his hands fumbled within his pockets. How pretty he was, I found myself thinking, and I adored him all the same. 

He smiled, a shake of the head, and said: “I wasn’t expecting to see you.” 

“Oh, yeah…” I said, another sniffle, contained and hardly morose at all. My expression seemed to falter, though only marginally - enough for Charlie to notice, his gaze scowling something gentle, something worried - and I presumed, as he motioned for me to join him, himself clambering upon the mattress and lying upon the cover, that I would simply have to let it all out. “I wanted to talk to you about something.” I began, sitting at the edge of the bed. He kicked off his shoes, allowing them to clatter upon the ground with a careless sense, attentive and glancing warily to myself. 

He frowned, subliminally displeased by the distance I had placed between us. “Are you mad at me?” He asked, confusion to bind between his features. 

It was my turn to furrow my eyebrows, a rather quick shake of the head. “No, no, nothing like that.” I said, “No, quite the opposite, really.” I kicked off my own shoes, not nearly as eager to ruin his bedding as Knox had seemed to be, and placed them side by side, a neat sort of line. The tears, they had stopped - or paused, perhaps - though the dampness of my blush was something rather frustrating, as I harshly wiped upon the irritated skin, attempting to rid of the lightly tangy moisture. 

“Alright.” He hummed, an arm to lock upon the soft of my stomach, drawing me closer in a swift kind of movement. I laid back, his chest moving something rhythmical, my head falling within the crook of his neck, glancing up to the side of his face. He was surely the prettiest boy I had ever known. And as his thumb stroked the skin of my knuckles, his eyes glancing down to meet my own, I found myself thoughtless. Blank - nothing. He smiled. “Well?” 

I rolled my eyes half heartedly, for I was so filled with something fuzzy, something fond, I was unable to spark any kind of annoyance. “So impatient.” I grinned, shuffling lightly to tangle my feet beneath his own. Oh, how cold my toes were. He hissed lightly at the contact, though allowed it nonetheless, and I found myself unable to dismiss the gentle grin as it slipped upon my lips. “I- Well, I-“ I coughed, an ache to my throat. Feelings, themselves, were particularly frustrating - difficult things to understand - and yet confessing them were so much harder. “God,” I sighed, closing my eyes with a light groan. Carpe diem - it was all Charlie used to say, before he’d do something risky; before he asked me on a date for the first time; before he inevitably did a thing he’d surely regret, or, perhaps, receive a kind of punishment for. Carpe diem. “Do you like me?” I asked. It was timid, shy. 

A moment of silence graced us by, the soft hum of his breathing  mingled with that of my own the only disruptive notion. I peered through my lashes, cautious as to my findings, and gazed upon his beautifully carved features. Glancing to his lightly flushed expression, his smile, and his subtle laughter, I suppose that I gathered I had been worrying about nothing, after all. Stretched within his grin, he said: “What’s the matter with you?”, a gentle laugh soon followed . “Of course I like you.” He said. “Why’d I keep you around if I didn’t?” 

I felt myself bubble with a lightly humiliated laugh, trickling from my tongue like treacle - not honey, far too thick, too sticky. Unpleasant - it was a frustrated and false kind. “I don’t know.” I muttered. “I thought you did it all out of pity.” 

A snort escaped him, “Fucking pity?” He echoed, bemused as before. “You think I’d deliberately risk getting my ass kicked by my Father, for bringing a girl to school, if it was out of pity?” I shrugged something small - utterly humiliated. Though, in a way, I suppose I kind of enjoyed this humiliation. I found a certain warmth in his mocking, for I knew it was his dote of affection. I knew that although his commentary were merely humorous, I could find a sense of adoration between the lines, a sense of truth. There always seemed to be such things. 

And so, as though a strike of courage had flourished within the depth of my bones, I found myself speaking thoughtlessly. “You just never…” I paused, hesitation riddled within such courage. “You’ve never told me that.” I sighed, glancing away with such an inflammation to my cheeks, I simply thought I’d explode into a ball of flames.

“Oh,” He muttered, a tinge of disheartenment to his tone. I flickered my stare to fixate upon his expression once more, crossed handsomely with a frown. He didn’t meet my gaze, “Well, what do you want me to say?” He said, a little thickly, with a hint of discomfort. 

Tell me you love me, I wanted to say, confess your adoration! Though instead, there was a: “Nothing.” and an: “I’m sorry, I’m being dramatic.” 

“No, no,” He said, a stroke to my side; up and down, up and down, so gentle, so soft. “No, you’re right.” A curt pause followed, a tense thing. He drew in a sharp breath, “I just thought that…” He trailed, marinating his words, as though deciphering how to piece them together. “I thought you could tell.” He smiled fondly, shook his head, “The Dead Poets… All they do is tease me. They see it.” He glanced toward me, a curious glance, and said: “Why can’t you?” 

I paused, the gentle stammer to exit my mouth, “I-” but caught myself before mine own excuses. There was a furrow to my brows, one that rose a single of his own, and surely, he were right. 

Between the gentle dotes of affection - often an arm burrowed around my waist, or my shoulders, or a kiss to my cheek, hand holding (though usually interlocked pinkies) - the long, - dare I say - intimate stares; the softness of each glance, of every expression; the subtle compliments, followed with a fond kind of joke, or a faux insult; the adoration, spilled between every moment we spent together, that I were simply too worried to notice. Damn, I almost sighed, though bit it back (barely) - I felt bitterly foolish. 

Heavens, how could I not have noticed? 

There was an overwhelming kind of heat washing over me, and oh, I truly wanted to hide - to run, and to hide, far, far,  away.  What a fool, an incompetent fool. The flutter of a laugh slipped between his lips, a lullaby to my fixated embarrassment, and - before long - I found myself reciprocating a gentle giggle, too. 

“Idiot.” He teased, another snort of laughter, though only quiet - a fond mocking, one could say. I rolled my eyes, unbearably aware for the scarlet flush upon my cheeks, and swatted his chest gently. His digits wrapped around my own, drawing the back of my hand to his smile, as he peppered a loving kiss upon the complexion.  “‘Looks good.” He grinned, “My clothes - they suit you.” And there I was, blushing all over again. 

“Shut up.” I mumbled, burning something violent. 

He smiled, that toothy, mischievous, and utterly him, smile. “Never.” He whispered, a wink, and a closing gap. 

His eyes, those beautifully entrancing eyes - gorgeously brown, amorous in shade - glanced, feverishly, upon my lips, slightly agape - drying. The space between our mingled breaths seemed to lessen, the scent of his cologne an overwhelming disorientation to my unmoving self. I found my frame utterly frozen - we had never kissed before. I gulped, our gazes entangling once again, and his expression found a subtle pinch. 

Is this okay? It seemed to ask, and oh, how I melted. I nodded, soft and hesitant - merely within my own - or, rather, lack there of - experience. His digits ran smoothly upon my side, trickling their way upon my tingling complexion, and weighted a supple grip upon my jaw, thumb tracing the flush of my cheek. 

And then, the space between two such lovers diminished. 

Molded so wondrously, an aubade of something perfect. My eyes found a restful close, the pressure of his lips, so tender and gentle - passionately loving - upon mine, a soulful clash of dreamy nights, and explicit daydreams, embodied. The digits upon my cheek failed to release, momentarily squeezing, as the barricade upon my lower back embraced my frame, warm and comforting, and his strength lulled me closer. 

I tilted my head, only slightly to the left, as to deepen such affection, and the simple way in which my nose brushed upon his, found my heart slurry with a combustion I could hardly contain. My hands trailed upon his chest, pathing a certain comfort upon his clothed complexion, winding to a settlement along his jaw, cupping his face in a brisk motion of adoration. This was real, I found such a touch reminding me, he was truly within my hands, and his lips were smitten upon my own. Oh, how long I had dreamed such a night.

It seemed almost strange, that such a new found discovery could feel so dearly like home - like comfort, fed upon a delectably silver spoon. 

Sweeter than any honey infused dessert, delighted with the bitterness of inexperience and unveiled expressions, my awareness a haze of muddled infatuation. For although my fingertips caressed the smooth complexion of his jaw, and my frame lay, entangled, within his own, it seemed that my feel, my sense of attention, was something of a great lack. Everything seemed so out of focus, so ill-tuned. All but the pressure of the fiery ignition, between the kiss of an epilogue I dreaded immensely. 

My breaths fell short, something deep and ravenous, and I found yourself withdrawing gently, engulfing the sudden gulp of oxygen with a slight pant to accompany it. Charlie’s glance was warm; every kind of affection intertwined within one honey glaze; mouth agape, clawing to the fresh air with a timid smirk, reddened and slightly swollen - kissable. His thumb caressed the complexion of my rosy cheek, a falter nowhere to be seen, and his grip on my lower back trailed up, grasping the base of my neck in a sloppily tender hold. He pulled me nearer, a soft guidance, as his breath fanned my expression, gorged with a timid and delightful smile, and the gingerly peppered peck followed. "I love you." He mumbled, eyes fluttered shut. 

He loved me - He loved me! Oh, how I had longed to hear such a confession! I truly pondered the sincerity to his words, though decided that perhaps a paranoid ponderous session was in fact unnecessary, and, in due time, such doubts could trail my conscience. After all, he had confessed that he loved me, and, well, that was just enough for my satisfaction. 

Tugging upon the hem of his jawline, a subtle smile traced the hue of his expression - peacefully quiet, with his orbs still hidden to a close - and my lips descended, something brash and seemingly passionate, upon his own. His response trailed suit, the grip upon my neck squeezing momentarily - an embrace I found alluringly entrancing, with a tingle between my thighs - and a gape to mold within his mouth. Craning his neck, once more, Charlie tilted his head to the right, in a consequent attempt to deepen the kiss. And perhaps it were foolish of me to notice such simplicity, but I found it captivating, the way in which our eyelashes freckled upon each other's cheeks, and our noses clashed so gently, brushing a blushed complexion with no morsel of objection. 

His tongue ran along the moisturized flesh of my flushed lower lip, a subtle nip between his front teeth igniting the heated warmth, oozing between my own frustrations, and - although I had, for arguments unbeknownst to myself, never before used my tongue in a passionate manner - I found my lips parting subconsciously, and welcoming the sloppy warmth of an entity my dreams could hardly fathom such experience of. 

A gentle invasion, something utterly welcome and wondrous; his tongue ran along the edge of my own, myself mimicking the soft touch with slight hesitance. His thumb caressed the complexion of my cheek once more, lightly gripping upon the side of my face and tilting it such, himself adjusting to furtherly explore the depth of my intertwined lips. I were surely rendered breathless, a slight ache beginning to accumulate within the pit of my lungs - I hardly knew how to breathe through such intimacy. Charlie sighed something gentle, the puff of air to tickle my upper lip, and it seemed the recollection of my nose fluttered on back to me, as I gulped a large inhale through the deprived nostrils, a subtle blush encasing my cheeks, flourished with the tinge of thickening embarrassment. That was a bit fucking stupid, I scolded, shamed by my bitter inexperience. 

I wondered if I were... Well, if I were any good, to put it simply. Never before had I truly made out with a boy, and every time they tried, it seemed to - somehow, somewhere - go wrong. Of course, I had shared subtle kisses with pretty boys, and my virginity was long gone - many moons ago, was it taken, by a man unbelievably unworthy of the title - but it was never anything emotional. Nothing riddled with mutual feelings, and adoration spilling from every passing moment. It was different - Charlie was different. 

And as my grip slithered upon the roots of his hair, planted along his lower cranium, and entangled with a gentle tug, I understood that perhaps he thought I was different, too. For the sound he made was heavenly, as the groan slipped between his lips, and vibrated upon my tongue, and oh, did I crave to hear it again. His smile was a radiance of arrogant pleasure, tattered against my lips, as his teeth nibbled something tender upon my swollen flesh, and, Heavens, how the shuddered sigh mortified me. I had little time to control myself, as his grip tightened upon the base of my neck, and the other hand slunk itself upon my clothing, wriggling the base of my shirt, and planting a firm grip upon my bare waist. 

I wondered, merely a moment of passing thought, whether my skin were as smooth as his own, or that of the other girls he had bedded, before myself. At least, I assumed such a happening would unfold within the shared company, as my lips began to shimmer a light sting, something barbarically pleasing. Another nibble ran upon my lower lip, a slightly harsher endeavor, as a sharp flourish of pain cursed through my mouth, eloping the pleasurable chafe in a reactive heat. My fist clenched, tightly engaged, within the roots of those chocolate, brown, locks, yet another groan to interrupt the blurry silence, and a sudden flavor - something unusual, unknown - infiltrated the bliss, and... Metallic? I frowned subtly, decidedly unknowing as to just what it could be, and - Blood. 

Heavens, I was bleeding! I felt myself gasp something light, his smirk merely amplifying to such a bemusing reaction, and his tongue softly grazed the small wound with great humor, before slithering within the gaped part of my inflamed mouth. 

His hand squeezed, momentarily, upon the rear of my neck, it's warmth surely missed, as it trailed an affable motion along my back, and his digits curled upon the hem of my shirt. One subtle tug, and a second shortly followed, his permission permitted clearly, and his grip maneuvered such clothing from upon my heated frame, hands lightly brushing the shivered complexion of my bare sides, with deliberate teasing, as he went. The shirt was thrown somewhere unbeknownst to myself, the knitted jumper a deduced accomplice,  and I simply hoped it wouldn't land upon Richards bed - that kind of commentary I would surely never live down - as my hands slithered their way beneath his own clothing, resting upon the warm complexion of his softly animated chest, rising and deflating rhythmically beneath my grip.

A supple grasp of his warm touch, cupping upon the thinly laced fabric of my forgettable bra, found delightful swarms of shivers, crawling with great animation, to scuttle upon my spine. The gentle arc of my back, a soft pressure of my chest upon his own, allowed our mingled affection to deepen, be it only slight, as his tongue slithered endearingly alongside mine. Once more, I hoped that my actions were at least satisfactory, as the persistence of the surprisingly wondrous invasion, sultry within my mouth, peppered on. His breath was short, gentle, yet utterly irrational, a certain tinge of warmth to radiate from the subtlety of his glamorously expensive cologne. 

And, despite my growing adoration for the way in which our bodies found a perfect kind of mold, so effortlessly, the tender reminder that Charlie was still... Well, he was still bothersome in clothing, his attire entirely intact, as he lay responsive below my trembling self, found a certain nerve within the depth of my hidden anxieties. Perhaps I had read too far into such a night, and it would not quite end the way I had hoped - perhaps he was simply going along with everything through courtesy. He was a rather gentlemanly man, I could agree. I found a timid blush crawling the complexion of my expression - oh, how foolish I felt! My mind rendered itself bitterly clouded - maybe my crowing insecurities would, in fact, not wait - and my hesitant touch seemed to lightly drift, no longer positioned upon the warmth of his beautiful skin. He didn't even want this, I was almost certain. After all, it was me lying flat upon his frame - not him. I had control - idiotically so - and therefore, he did not want me. Not in that way, at least. 

The distance forced itself between such entanglement far before I found a moment to conceal the concerns, myself positioned to a particularly uncomfortable straddle, perched lightly upon his pelvis with my hands palmed upon his erratically pulsating chest. His eyebrows furrowed ever-so-slightly, toppled with a mantra of concern, lips bruised an almost impressive tinge of inflamed scarlet. "What's wrong?" He muttered, albeit breathless and slightly dumbfounded. His darkened gaze pinned me silent, a flicker of uncomfortability to reside within my mind. I could hardly see just why he would want me, in any kind of way, never mind the sexual kind. 

I glanced to my hands, toying subtly with the fabric of his clothing, and my stomach spiked with some kind of nervous gip. Fucking hell, I scolded, what is wrong with you?  His digits encased my own, plush lips a delicacy upon the soft complexion, as he traced my palm with a gentle touch, and peppered affection among my knuckles. "Y/N..." He sighed, a sudden softness about his expression. My eyes danced reluctantly, cautious and riddled with my cock-blocking, frustrating, anxieties, and met his gaze with a shy tinge. "What's with the nerves, all of a sudden?" A lovable flutter of laughter slipped his throat, engulfing his expression in that wide grin I found myself adoring so deeply, and another blush drooped upon my smile, small and timid in itself. 

"Sorry." I mumbled, somewhat awkwardly, as I lightly shifted my positioning. 

A slight hiss escaped the gape of his reddened lips, "Oh, God," He said, "please - God, fuck - don't do that." He groaned, a strong grip and swift maneuvering moment of furrowed expression and concerning grumbles to follow, and I discovered a position of swandled helplessness, upon my back, himself a display of further dominance, as he hung above my confused person. A slither of arrogance spilled within his smirk, particularly delighted with the shift in positioning. 

Perhaps he did want me, after all, I dared to ponder. Heavens - he surely looked Godly, struck above, a slight strain to his muscles, and a shimmer of reddened blush to coax his complexion. Two digits maneuvered upon my cheek, another pinch smitten within his expression, and he stroked my features, as he said: “We don’t have to do it, you know.” And he smiled something gentle, reassuring. 

I found myself silly with a grin, shaking my head subtly. “No,” I said, “No, I want to.” I brushed away the fringe of fallen hair, tucking it away from his forehead. Truly the most beautiful boy I had ever known. “I want to, I just-” I paused, sighed, “I want to make sure you do, as well.” I said, quieter, with a furrow to my brows. 

That similarly contagious smile only seemed to brighten, the breath of a laugh a whisper to the quiet. “Me?” He somewhat scoffed, “Sweetheart, tonight is about you.” 

Contorted with a sense of confusion, I said, “Are you sure?” And wrapped his warm expression within the palms of my hands. “I don’t want you to do something you don’t want to do, Charlie.” I said. 

His grin something soft, he shook his head. “Dammit, Y/N, the name is Nuwanda.” He said, with not a moment's hesitation. His lips found mine own once more, eloped within that same enigma of beautiful, gratifying, expression. And, oh, if this were the love I had read about, that I had heard the stories of, perhaps I could dare to allow myself to fall. 

Mouth a hot trail, lingering with a sloppy kind of warmth, trickled - like honey, sweet, addictive - upon the flush of my complexion, gently peppered along my neck, a rough trail to the crane of my breast, parting through the middle, and a pause at my stomach. The tips of his fingers wound little circles within my pale flesh, a tickle embraced delightfully, and I found myself flustered and warm - dampening, perhaps, in an area more than one. 

The gentle, almost trembling, I cared to notice, graze of his fingertips, caressing the sensitivity of the skin most unscathed, perched above the button of my waistband, found a fluttered breath to fall from my tongue. A sigh, one could admit. And, as he maneuvered such digits to undo the subtle mechanisms of the button, and of the zipper, I found my gaze interlocking with his own, a dirty kind of smile to pepper his expression. 

“Wait-” I breathed, a little sultry - too sultry for my liking, though his grin only widened upon such a shaky tone. 

“Yes, Dear?” He said, a grip to my waist - something squeezed, something utterly distracting - and crawled his way to hover above me, our gazes interlocked and level. A sharp inhale found my throat, and I paused, albeit disorientated, and that intense expression of his dimmed somewhat. I found myself blushing, flustered idiotically, and I tugged upon the lower creases of his shirt. He glanced down, a breathy laugh to follow. 

He sat back slightly, resting mostly upon his legs, straddled either side of myself, as I lie, watching - no doubt looking a mess, with disgruntled hair, and half a naked body - and he began to unbutton the cotton of his creased, white, shirt. 

Pasty, toned - oh, I were surely thankful to Nolan for such persistent rowing training - and utterly divine. The shirt found the floor, and I subconsciously began trailing patterns, gently, upon the muscled complexion of his abdominal region. His smile was infectious, dazed, as though swarmed with consuming bliss, and his slow descent was something teasing, patient. 

I leaned up, unable to pause myself, and caught his lips with my own, furtherly passionate than previously seemed - harsher, dripping with an uncanny tinge of desperation. He slipped his way back down, continual pressures of feathered kisses, slobbered messily upon the heated skin of my neck, my breast, and the lower fraction of my stomach. My hands wove between the gloriously soft strands of his hair, clenching upon the roots with a great anticipation. I surely wanted him - needed him. 

Picking off from where he had found himself interrupted, Charlie made a point to daringly drag the material from upon my limbs - slow, deliberate - and peel them unto the floor. That smile - that damned smile - bled me something mushy, utterly submissive to every which occurrence seemed to take place henceforth. His mouth, hot, entirely entrancing - dreamy, perhaps - pressed, a ragged breath to accompany, upon the flesh of my thigh, trailing up, further, further, until they grazed the cloth of my lacy waistband. 

Naturally - with somewhat an embarrassing notion - my hips seemed to rise, to buck up, and follow his retreating mouth. The gaze in which he dared to share, - oh - it ached me. My stomach pooling - almost, as it seemed, distributing elsewhere, in a mantra of pleasure, and of need.  And the sound that escaped the gape of my mouth were something utterly mortifying.

He breathed a gentle chuckle, crawling up once more, his thumbs brushing lightly upon the fabricated hip, and allowed his forehead to rest upon my cheek, a deep breath - in, and out, in, and out - with a number of peppered affection to burn the complexion of my jaw. My grip remained, gentler, within the roots of his hair, rummaging among such luscious locks, and his breathing feathered, wavering with a soft tremble. 

Charlie snuffed his way, knocking my nose with his own, and smiled something tender, a to lock our gaze. “I love you.” He mumbled, the gentle ghost of a kiss to slither upon my lips. 

I hardly awaited a moment’s hesitation, “I love you,” I said, and I surely meant it. 

There was a moment of shuffling, himself withdrawing the belt - a clink, and a burning fire between the ache of my thighs - and the rustle of descending cloth. Our lips a tangle of blissful abundance, daydreams, passion, all that seemed so wonderful - all that life seemed to be understood for - wrapped within such a sweetened, musky scent. And then, as he parted my legs, something gentle, and particularly kind, and the lace of my dampened panties were discarded to the side, I found, for a heightened moment, I understood the root of all poetry. 

For the breeze was nippy, but he was a kind of warmth - a slow, graceful, entrance. He shuddered a breath, his member fulfilling the absence of a warm embrace, and I found myself a wholly consumed fool. “Charlie,” I breathed, a gentle tug to his hair. He groaned something heavenly, vibrating among the thickening air - sticky, almost, with such a sweet sensation, and then he began to move. 

Gradual, as he dug further, a greatly whole sensation washing over my pleasured shudder, until he paused, entirely consumed by his depth. Breathing deepened, ravenously implored by my tender whimpers, he captured my moans in a grunt of his own, “Shhh,” he muttered, a strained kind of speech. “You’ve got to be quiet.” He muttered, a whisper of a breath upon my lips. 

He retracted, slow, daring, from within me, movement slick and utterly dangerous. “We don’t-” A muffled groan fell from his lips, pausing with a noticeable withdrawal, his smirk something bitterly infused with desperation, with longing. “We don’t wanna get caught, do we?” 

I shook my head, far too engrossed within the bask of delight and satisfaction to pay my embarrassment any kind of interest. “No,” I breathed, my hips rising once more and grazing the moisture of his hardened self. A subtle moan escaped the rumble of his throat, a bastardly smile embracing his daring expression, lips crashing to connect with my own once more. 

His digits encased my own, hardly noticed and utterly trusted, and he withheld such grip above my head, smitten upon the pillows, and the headrest, and he entered me once more. I found a muffled moan escaping my throat, digested with the greedy tongue of his own, as he withdrew his frame, and began to find a kind of rhythm. He ground something gentle into  me, a tender type of jive, and allowed the rhythm something slow, something gradual. It were a mere mumble upon the flush of my lips, though I smiled nonetheless, as he said - breathed -: “Is this-” A pause, a shuddered inhale, “Is this alright?” 

I nodded, unable - quite - to express such simplicity in any which way. “Perfect,” I muttered, allowing my head to fall comfortably, resting with my gaze locked upon the ceiling.

Ragged breaths, furtherly accompanied by the feathering pepper of his sprinkled kisses, planted sparsely along my jaw; an embodiment of all the wonders, every kind of lyric, every stanza, every momentary pleasure; the warmth of a gradually increasing rhythm, so comfortingly blissful, my lower stomach contracting with a pleasurably unfamiliar sense of tightness; that musky scent, so beautifully him, so perfectly raw. 

He found a lightly harsher stroke, breath an uneven hymn, a prayer the angels seemed to cry, and I found my moan something - soberly - mortifying, drunk with a combustion of thickening lust, of adoration, of love. He heaved a breath, somewhat a laugh, and tilted my chin to level our gaze, his lips capturing my whimpers in a silencing kind of manner. He reached to my hips, their slow slipping of something unsatisfactory to his heavy grip, and he tugged me down upon his thrusts. A cry - a moan - slipped between our mingled breaths, and he seemed to pick up such speed, delicately embracing my complexion in a gentle manner, a loveable motion, and pulling me into his stroke.

A knot, something unfamiliar with the burden of time, tightened somewhere deeply, warmth emitting between the slick moisture between my thighs, and igniting a rich kind of fire within the enigma of my lower stomach, and Oh- 

A moan slipped the gape of my lips, his member discovering a kind of depth I had hardly realized accessible, and I- “Charlie,” I breathed, a pathetic taunt within the front of my conscience. His groan was something reciprocal, strokes strong, deepening, and undoubtedly a kind of heavenly descent. 

He muttered my name, a breath I found myself entirely enthralled by, and found his rhythm to a slower pace, retracting gradually and entering - deeper, oh, far deeper - with a furtherly slow invitation. A shuddered, heightened, moan slipped the grasp of my throat, coarser and far more depthful, and that knot - Heavens, that damn knot - tightened; it tightened and it squeezed, and it ached the course of my thighs. “Charlie-” I whispered, almost certain for the fiery warmth, engulfing the towering pull among my abdomen. 

He nodded, a breath to trickle his expression, “Yeah,” He said, “Yeah, me too.” 

The knot rose, a consuming tug among my dizzying conscience, and it lulled my limbs into a distracted, sedated, kind of manner, blissfully encased with a pleasure enamoured. Another moan found my throat, and his rhythm remained something increasingly shaky, strong and utterly defying. 

His breath fell to something unstable, gradually embracing an elated sense of ragged unevenness, as he captured our lips once more. A series of whimpers found the depth of my throat, my attempt to bite them back insufficient to his rhythmic thrusts, member far deeper than it seemed I could reach, myself. “Charlie,” I mumbled, almost finding myself warning as to the upcoming occurrence, himself smirking thickly against the gasp of my lips. 

“Go ahead, Baby,” he shuddered, “I’ve got you.” And then, I found myself unable to hold on any longer. 

A tremble of muffled cries - once, twice, copious times again, until my throat lay wretched with not a sound but the mere whimpers of pleasure. The knot, it combusted in a matter of electrical warmth, flushing through the gape of my parted, shuddering, legs. “Charlie,” I cried, like a song upon the dry whimper of my throat, “Charlie, Charlie,” until his name seemed nothing more than a word upon my tongue. Such a wave, engulfing me in a sensational kind of suffocation, an infectious kind of entrapment. I ached, another moan to fall from my lightly gasped mouth, and I found the knot, the gentle tug, no longer there - diminishing, one may say. 

I had hardly noticed the withdrawal of his softening member, stomach glistened with the tone of his undoing, his breaths ragged - deepened - though upon meeting his glance with that of my own, I understood that this - this man whom I loved, whom I adored - were someone I could most certainly Carpe Diem with every goddamn day. He smiled, something tender, something soft, and draped his lips upon my own, a sweet, kind, peck. 

“I love you,” He muttered upon the swollen flesh. 

A smile, “I love you,” I said. 

There was a moment of nothingness, filled by the still of ragged breathing, and his tone came teasing, came blissfully characteristic. “I’ll never hear my name fall from your lips innocently again.” He said, the light trickle of laughter to drabble by. “But, oh,” He closed his eyes, head tilted dramatically, “Oh, it was the sweetest song I ever heard.” I rang with a short giggle, a roll to my eyes, and muttered a gentle curse for his mortifying dictation. 

“Fuck you, Dalton.” I mumbled. 

His lips caught mine, once more, with a sloppy sense of warmth, and he said: “I’m afraid you already have, Dear.” With a wink and a poke to my naked side. 

His withdrawal were something quick, a suddenly cold departure, as he picked up the discarded shirt from upon the floor. He pinched his expression, a conflicting frown, and I maneuvered to rest upon my forearms, a furrow to my brows. “What are you doing?” I asked, a dopey smile unnoticed yet utterly welcome. 

He breathed a laugh, “I’m not sure if this is my last shirt.” He mumbled, scratching the base of his neck with another little chuckle. I let out a short snort, shaking my head, and spoke teasingly, unable to help the way it fell from my tongue. 

“To say I’m surprised would simply be a lie. Grab mine.” I said, motioning to the entanglement of woolen jumper and cheap t-shirt. 

He passed such fabric to myself, and I made an effort to scrape the slick moisture, puddled upon my stomach, a slight sigh to escape my mouth. The click of a lighter, and the rustle of an almost empty cigarette carton caught my attention, gaze drifting to watch as Charlie inhaled a deep breath, the chemicals of the darkened smoke disrupturing to his toughened throat, hands fondling the clasp of his belt. 

I found my underwear, sliding into the small item of clothing, rising to a standing position as I did so, and the cigarette fell between my lips, a wink to follow his retreat. 

“Let’s make some snow angels.” He said, a glimmer of something bright to sprinkle within his gaze. The laugh coughed from my chest, deep and humorous - oh, how I loved him. “Hey,” he scoffed, taking back the cigarette and handing me his woolen jumper, “I’m serious!” An inhale, a smirk, and a darkened gaze, watching with great intent as I wrapped my frame within the loose fabric of his favourite jumper. 

I smiled, “Of course we can, Charlie.” I said, unable to stop the slip of the giggle that found its way out. He grinned, a final toke of the cigarette, before stubbing it out upon the bedpost, tossing the end through the window he slid open, and basked within the cool breeze for a moment or two. 

Scoping my pants, I threw the material upon my legs, doing up the mechanisms, and simply watching his relaxed frame, gazing through the gape of the window. A pale complexion, littered with small, yet noticeable, moles, and bodily freckles. Athletically lean, though not particularly tall, and ridden with just enough muscle - wondrously divine architecture, I could dare to admit. 

“Come on,” He grinned, whipping around and wriggling his eyebrows something childish. Another snicker escaped me, though I placed on my shoes, and I tugged on my jacket nonetheless, awaiting his restless dressing. He threw on the shirt, hardly bothering to button the majority of the buttons, and his shoes, tying them scruffily in a manner I were sure would simply undo in a moment’s notice, his hand encasing my own in a youthful taste of blissful excitement, dragging me to the door as he collected his coat, and found his way into the hallway. 

Desolate, empty - entirely surprising. 

In truth, I had expected a kind of congregation to fall through the entrance as Charlie swung open the door, and yet, not but a whispered sound was to be heard. Admittedly, such a discovery were something welcomed and serene - I doubted I would ever live down such humiliation. It occured to me, as I glanced upon the solitude of the hallway, that Knox had not returned, either. Perhaps he had heard the… the happenings, from behind the door, and decided simply to take a hint. I adored that boy, his heart of gold, I thought, a gentle graze of a smile upon my lips. 

Charlie barreled into the limbs of the woolen coat, buttoning only a few of the gloriously expensive pegs, as he interlinked our pinkies - much the same as he had always done - and dragged me through the hall. 

“Charlie-” I attempted to whisper, anxious as to his dismay of cautious rationality, though instead of a useful kind of attention, I found his lips crashed upon my own. Against my better judgement, I melted within the warmth, a sigh to exit my mouth, and allowed his silencer to work its wonder. He pulled away, a wink and a peck to my nose, and continued with his fast paced march. 

I followed, helpless, and slightly anticipated, riddled with nerves, as we hurriedly descended the stairs, our light feet echoing gently among the silence around, and we entered the main entrance-way. The trophy case, lined with achievements, with pictures of men no one truly knew, nor particularly cared for, passed us by in a whir of rushed blur. A subtle laugh fell from my tongue as Charlie broke out in an increasingly paced run. 

He took off, dragging myself along merely a few steps behind, with an incredibly fast kind of speed, unable to halt the laugh that stifled passed his lips. The wind were of something bitterly cold, whipping our laughter from the left, to the right, though such a stinging sensation of sour change did little to defy the warmth within my blood, my chest. 

And then, myself undoubtedly following behind, he seemed to tumble. The groan of the thud, where his frame collapsed to the ground, ached within the air, his grip unwavering upon that of myself, as I, too, clattered within the snow. Upon my layers, and the soft of the whitened blanket, I felt little to nothing, as I lay, a little dizzy, with a loud laugh to accompany Charlie’s own. 

“Shit,” he chuckled, “You alright?” 

My laughter rang loud, free, and it should seem that everything felt better with Charlie at my side. “Perfect.” I smiled, albeit winded from such a clatter of clouded descent. Somewhere within the beat of silenced laughter, air thick - sweet - with an indescribable sense of contentment, Charlie had shuffled to embrace my frame in a hold, an arm around my shoulders, as he toyed with the ends of my hair. We stared to the pattern of gentle snow, cascading so beautifully - tender, soft - upon our stoic position, a natural entrancement, as the dark hue of the sky loomed above. The moon, hardly peeking behind the thick array of winter clouding, seemed to smile - to sigh, with a great sense of complacency. It seemed to twinkle with a kind of reserved joy, saved just for us - just for us, and our blooming love. 

“O’ me, o’ life,” Charlie muttered, “of the questions of these recurring.” He paused, as though contemplating his words, and spoke gently, “Carpe diem.” He said, with a smile upon his face. “You know what it means?” 

I raised an eyebrow, almost lost within the perpetual tranquility that was the nigh. “No.” I said, and I basked in his warmth. 

“Seize the day.” He said; “Seize the day, boys, make your lives extraordinary.” The gentle mumble of his tone were almost lost within the vast quiet, though I caught it all the same. “Captain - Mr K -” He said, “He’s crazy.”

I found myself smiling, “You like him, though.” I said. 

He grinned, “He makes it difficult not to.” He said. “Seize the day - Carpe diem - O’ Captain, my Captain - I mean, who teaches the idea of free thought? Of freedom? Passion? He’s crazy.”

“He sounds wonderful.” I said. And to which I had not lied. “What was the first bit?” I asked, “The ‘Oh me, oh life,’ one.” 

“The question, O’ me! So sad, recurring - What good amid these, O’ me, O’ life?” He recited, the bite of a classically brightening smile to his tone. “The answer? That you are here - that life exists and identity. That the powerful play goes on, and you may contribute a verse.” 

That the powerful play goes on, and you may contribute a verse. 

“Puts things into perspective.” I mumbled, awashed beneath Charlie’s gorgeously muttered recital, and the prospect of the pattering snowflakes. “That we, as humans, mean nothing. What may affect us today, has no say on tomorrow.” I said. I hardly knew the words as they fell from my lips, though I allowed them nonetheless. “And no matter how greatly we fear the inevitable, life will throw us away and be done with us, when our time comes around.” 

There was a gentle pause, softly laboured breaths, and he said: “Yeah.” With a light, breathy, chuckle. “We’ll all die, someday.” He said. “And that’s alright. Seize the day while you can, live and don’t just exist, and things will be alright.” 

I smiled, and said: “Yeah.” With not a word more. 

A moment, perhaps a few, of silence graced us by, mingled in comfortability and unspoken adoration, and I marvelled in the way his breathing deepened, tinged with an entanglement of a rough-nights-sleep. He was tired - exhausted - and I certainly hadn’t helped - of such, I was certain. 

“Charlie,” I muttered, adoring the softly responsive hum to fall from his breath. “Char, it’s getting real late.” I mentioned, a gentle stroke to his knuckles, as they dwindled within the ends of my locks. Another hum followed, and light shuffling was to be heard. 

“Can you get home alright?” He mumbled, thick, with a sense of tiredness. 

“Yeah.” I nodded, truly feeling the absence of warmth, as he shuffled to displace his entanglement next to myself. I frowned slightly, glancing to face the boy.

His eyes had found a restful close, timid with a tender smirk, and his limbs began to brush - up, and down, up and down - once, twice, three times more, with a deepening indent upon the snow. A smile drooped upon my features, and I allowed my frame to excerpt the similar movement, ridden with a light shiver as the material at my legs found something damp, seeping slightly. 

“You have to go?” He whispered, a gentle frown upon such expression. 

I smiled; how beautiful he was. “Yes, Charlie.” I said, “You’ll be expelled if we’re caught.” 

A quiet sigh vibrated through the air, and I knew of his compliance. He sat up, glancing to myself with a smile of utter tenderness. “I suppose I’d best let you go, then.” He said. I grinned, and he continued. “I’ll watch you leave, though. Not risking some creep snatching you up in the bushes, alright?” 

I laughed something gentle, “Okay, Char.” I said, and we rose to our feet. 

His digits were cold, numbingly cold, and a furious pink, as he lay his palms upon my face, and drew me a little closer, our noses to brush upon each other’s. “I love you, y’know.” He said, and I found myself smiling with a roll of the eyes. 

“Yes,” I said, “I know. And I love you, too.” 

His grin was radiant, peppered with the scarlet hue of all things wondrously cold. “Good.” He said, a subtly trailed glance to the subtle indents of our motioned frames, trailed within the soft blanket of snow. “We make good Angels, huh?” He smiled. 

A laugh rumbled through me, “Yeah,” I said, resting my forehead upon the cold complexion of his flushed cheek. “We make wonderful Angels.” 

“Angels of the night.” He mused, turning back to face me. I merely smiled, engulfed in the way the shadows loomed across his expression, lowering with a light glimmer of something morose. “Take a cab, please.” He sighed, “And be safe.” He fluttered a tender peck upon the very tip of my nose, before capturing my lips in the swoon of a honey dripped kiss. It lasted hardly a moment, for we were numb with the cold, and bitterly exhausted. He laughed, pulled away, and said: “Sorry.” 

I smiled, “No.” I mumbled, “Don’t be.” 

“Okay.” He said, thumb brushing lightly upon the flushed complexion of my cheekbone. “I’ll see you later, then?” 

“Of course.” I said, a curtly peppered peck to his coldly chapped lips, before smiling something warm, and beginning mine own retreat. 

Footsteps echoing among the plush of the winter snow, sinking with every passing stride, I found my grin something silly - something foolishly reciprocant for my adoration. And, upon glancing behind me slightly, approaching the hardly open gate, I noticed the swarm of familiar faces, each bounding over to a stoic Charlie, perched with his hands in his pockets, and a lovesick smile upon his face. They crowded him around, yelling and cheering things incoherent, and yet, still, he smiled on, merely widening with the attention of their supportive company. 

A laugh rippled through me, and I waved something curt, receiving a soft repeat from the Lover-Boy himself, and a particularly exaggerated, full-arm, wave from Knox, as he bellowed a loud; “YAWP!” And tackled Charlie in a boyish embrace.

Idiots, I thought, though I’d have it no other way. 

[wkemeup]

Hope Haven

inbox request: “Saw your post about BAON oneshots and a thought occurred to me. Does Reader ever recover even a little of her inheritance? Maybe she donates to women's shelters?” by @amandatar-06​​ ❤️ pairing: bucky x reader chapter word count: 2.8k warnings: bucky continues to be an angel, focus on women’s shelters and domestic violence a/n:  US national domestic violence hotline 1-800-799-7233 🌹series masterlist 🌹

The bills were piling up on the kitchen table. Hidden under stacks of personnel files from the academy and a container of Thai takeout, sat dozens of unopened envelopes from the law firm you’d hired in an effort to unfreeze Brock’s accounts. You dug your fingers into your scalp, trying to find the willpower to look at the damage inside.

A year’s worth of legal battles and arrogant attorneys, only to be told that you’d never see a penny of your stolen inheritance. You’d signed it away in sound mind, they said. You knew what you were doing. It didn’t matter that you’d been drowning in grief and your husband saw an opportunity to manipulate you. The law didn’t care that Brock Rumlow took advantage of the woman he was supposed to love in order to fill his own pockets. You signed the damn forms.

So, your case was thrown out and you were thousands in debt for the trouble.

You’d been working back at Columbia for a while now, but there was no way you’d be able to cover the cost of the attorneys on your own and you weren’t about to ask Bucky for help, not after all he’d already done for you. You put so much on his shoulders and while you knew he’d carry the weight of the world for you with a goddamn smile on his face, there were just some things you wanted to do for yourself.

You didn’t miss the money. You’d been happier in this last year cramped up in a tiny one-bedroom apartment in Brooklyn than you had in years living in a mansion filled with expensive artwork and a full-time staff. You wanted the inheritance back for a reason; one you though might help alleviate some of the stone that had nestled its way into your chest the day you met Brock.

A flyer was crumpled up in your work bag beside you; folded and tucked securely in the side pocket. You gently pulled it into your lap and brushed out the wrinkles. At the top it read, Hope Haven Women’s Shelter in large, purple block printed letters. Below it listed details of the address in Brooklyn, along with a 24/7 hotline, and an invitation to attend an open house this coming Saturday.

You’d kept in your bag for nearly two weeks. Not quite sure what to do with it. You hadn’t told Bucky about it either, unsure of how he would react. While Brock was in your past and you knew with absolutely certainty that Bucky would never hurt you – hell, he’d cut off his own hand before it could strike you – you still felt that pull towards the shelter. There was no money left to donate, and you didn’t know if it was for yourself or just wanting to give back in any way you could, but you wanted to go.

Inner conflict and guilt and a strange mix of belonging all rolled into one. Part of you felt like you didn’t deserve to be there, to share a space with women who bravely sought out the help they needed to escape from violent and cruel men, when you’d succumbed for so many years. You’d been part of the problem, hadn’t you? Silent and pretty as you stood next to a powerful man who spent his money and time making the city a darker, more vengeful place. 

There was a voice, one screaming at you to believe that you’d been manipulated and taken advantage of and blackmailed unto submission. You did not have the choice to run or seek help when you needed it. You knew the power Brock held and what he could have done if he’d found out. 

And still. The guilt, the feeling as though you don’t belong, festered. 

You didn’t notice the front door unlatch as Bucky quietly made his way into the kitchen. So, as he came up behind you and leaned down to press a kiss to the crown of your head, it startled you.

You yelped, clutching the flyer tight to your chest as Bucky jumped back, hands up defensively.

“Hey, hey, it’s just me,” Bucky eased, sinking down to his knees beside you. He rested his hands on your thighs, watching as you slowly nodded at him, regaining your breath. “Sorry honey, I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“No, it’s alright,” you said with a tired smile, “been a long day.”

The crinkling of the paper in your hands seemed to draw his attention down to your lap. He narrowed his eyes, curious.

“What’s this?”

You crumpled it tight into your grip. “Nothing.”

Bucky softened, watching the tension build quickly into your shoulders; leftover panic from your time with Rumlow. It was ingrained in you and it would take more than just Bucky’s kindness and his love for you to let it go. You needed time, years maybe, to relearn how not to be afraid and he understood that.

But he’d seen the flyers posted around campus on the days he’d come up to visit you. He saw the bright purple border on the paper clutched in your fist and recognized it from the bulletin board posted outside your office. He knew what you held in your hand.

“We don’t have to talk about it,” Bucky said softly, glancing up to meet your eyes. Surprised, wide, and a little nervous, but he offered a smile in response, his thumb soothing over your knee. “I just want you to know I think it’s a good idea. I mean, you don’t need my support to go but… you have it.”

Bucky cleared his throat nervously, offering a shy sort of smile as he continued. “I could, um, go with you if you want? Or we can call Nat? I know she’d go with you in a heartbeat if you asked. Whatever you want, sweetheart. I just want you to be happy.”

You were still for a moment, stunned, before you nodded. It’s not that you expected anything less from Bucky but it still surprised you most days that anyone could be as wonderful as he was. Brock had done a number on you and Bucky spent most of his time helping to undo all the damage your husband had caused. Bucky filled the shadows and the holes with flowers and light and love and slowly, all the good in him outshined all the bad in Brock.

“Thank you,” you exhaled, feeling a weight lift off your shoulders.

Bucky nodded, a hand reaching up to brush your hair from your eyes. It rested on your neck, sweeping tenderly over your cheekbone. The most beautiful man you’d ever known.

***

Natasha picked you up ten minutes before the open house. You were pacing back and forth in the kitchen, sure to wear trenches into the tiles, while Bucky watched you from over the top of his book. Hands tugging at your shirt, eyes glancing back at the door every few paces, the anxiety was creeping its way through your entire body. Cheddar was weaving in and around your feet, daring you to trip over his tiny paws. 

“You don’t have to go today,” Bucky offered but you shook your head. 

“No, no. I need to do this.”

Bucky nodded, returning to his book without another word, though he still glanced up in your direction between paragraphs. 

The buzzer nearly startled you out of your skin as it rang out. Cheddar scurried across the tile and sprang up onto the couch with Bucky, nestling his way onto the top cushions of the backrest. 

Hand clutched at your chest, heart pounding a little faster, you quickly made your way to the door. 

“Your jacket, love!” Bucky called out behind you, rushing up from his position on the couch to help wrap you up in the raincoat. He pressed a kiss to your forehead, smiling at you with a sort of pride in his eyes that made your stomach twist to knots.

“I’ll be back soon,” you told him, though he waved you off. 

“Take your time. I’ll be here.” With that, Bucky returned to his place on the couch, book curled back up in his hands, blanket draped over his lap. 

You paused by the door, watching him for a second longer, wondering how it was possible that you found a man so understanding and supportive after all you’d been through. It was as if he were a gift provided from the heavens for walking through hell. 

As you made your way outside, locking the door behind you and descending the stairs, you found Natasha waiting patiently for you. Leaning against the exterior brick wall, arms folded over her chest, she smiled as you walked up to her. 

“Ready?” 

“I don’t know if that’s the right term for it, but I suppose.” You scratched at the back of your check, feeling the nerves dancing upon your skin. 

“You’ll be just fine, I promise,” Nat swore, placing a gentle hand on your back and guiding you down the sidewalk. Her hand didn’t leave you until she’d distracted you enough with old stories of Sam and Bucky at the academy and the rush of your heartbeat had eased. 

A few blocks and a short subway ride later, you found yourself standing outside a small, stoned building on the border of Brooklyn. It had little to identify it as a women’s shelter save for the small purple ribbon hung around the bannister. You stared up at it for a while, feeling a sudden sense of dread. 

“Hey, come on,” Nat grabbed your hand, giving it a tight squeeze, “you’ve got this.” 

You nodded, taking in a deep breath, though you did not release Natasha’s hand. Like an anchor keeping you afloat, she led you up the stairs and through the front door. 

Inside, dozens of women were talking amongst one another. Some in lavender t-shirts identifying themselves as volunteers and employees of Hope Haven, others mingling quietly by the refreshments table or sitting awkwardly upon the couches looking around in silence. It was clear some of these women were familiar with one another, with the house itself, and the sanctuary it offered, but for many, it was their first time wandering into such a place. 

You tried to avoid the startling discoloration on the neck of a woman sitting quietly on the couch by herself. Though Nat pulled you forward, you found yourself glancing back at the woman. She was stunning, beautiful in every way, but the expression on her face was one you recognized well; one of lingering panic, of the carpet sure to sweep out from under her feet, glances back at the door like she was expecting someone to come barging through. 

“Oh my god, is that Y/n Rumlow?”

You froze dead in your tracks. Natasha’s hand squeezed yours again, drawing you back to the ground. You could feel the tension radiate through Natasha’s arm, as if she were already on the defensive for you, but as you met the eyes of the woman who called your name, she began to soften. 

The woman stepped forward, a wide smile upon her face as she extended a hand to you; not to shake, but to hold. You gave her your free one cautiously, and she lit up. 

“It is such a joy to have you here,” she said. “My name’s Shavonne. I do my best to run things around here for these ladies.”

You nodded, still unsure why she singled you out. In your experience, that usually wasn’t for anything good. 

“We had the Hydra story on around here for weeks after the arrests last year,” she explained and several women around her nodded enthusiastically, smiling in your direction. “It was incredible what you did. The girls here were so enthralled, we had a watch party for the trial!”

Many of the women laughed and cheered in response. You looked around at them, stunned, as they smiled warmly back at you.

“You are exceptionally brave, Y/n,” Shavonne said and you could feel the sincerity in her words. “Thank you for coming today. We are so happy you’re here. Now, please! Enjoy the free food! Let me know if I can help you with anything at all.”

“I will,” you said, voice a little smaller than you meant, but she heard it. You supposed she must be used it by now with the amount of women in the home. 

As Shavonne walked over to chat with some of the women standing by the television, you felt Nat tug you a little closer. 

“You alright?”

You nodded, a smile tugging at your cheeks as a petite woman by the mini sandwiches waved at you like an old friend. 

“Actually, I’ll be right back,” you said, releasing your hand from Natasha’s hold. She narrowed her eyes on you, a little concerned, before she followed your gaze over to the woman on the couch you’d been eyeing as you walked in. 

“I’ll be right here if you need me.”

Slowly, you crossed through the room, passing by women who whispered your name with traces of excitement rather than fear, who smiled brightly at you as you caught their eye, who giggled amongst themselves as you returned their waves. You’d never experienced anything like it. 

You were used to people cowering in fear, whispering gossip under their breath, and turning their backs to you. These women welcomed you without a second thought, embraced you like their own. Whatever fears you had of not belonging, of not being enough, dissolved away. 

“Is this seat taken?” 

The women sitting alone upon the couch glanced up at you. She seemed a little startled by your presence, though she shook her head, and it was then you noticed the little boy sitting at her feet; tucked around her left shin, holding onto a toy plane as he weaved it through the air. 

“Your son?” you asked, sitting down beside her. She nodded, brushing a hand over his head. “He’s beautiful.”

“Thank you.” Her voice was small, a little raspy, and you didn’t dare to draw the connection to the discoloration on her neck. 

“This is my first time here, too,” you said slowly, glancing around the house. It seemed to surprise her. 

“Really?” 

You nodded. “I never had the courage to seek out a place like this when I really needed it. It’s nice to know it’s here, though. I’m hoping I can volunteer, actually. After everything I’ve been through, to end up as happy as I am with a man who is beyond kind and exceptionally loving, it feels right to try to pass some of that onto others, you know?”

She watched you as you spoke and you could tell by the way she nodded along that she knew who you were. 

“I thought you had a lot of courage,” she said after a moment, her fingers gently raking through her son’s hair. “Standing up the way you did... Working with the FBI to bring down Hydra and your own husband? It’s the kind of courage I dream of.”

“You’re here, aren’t you?” You smiled warmly at her, offering your hand and waiting for her to take it. She placed it into your grasp and you gave it a light squeeze. “You have exceptional courage.”

She smiled at you, reflective tears brimming in her eyes. You pulled a small notebook from your bag, quickly ripping off the top sheet filled with notes for your next lecture, and scribbled down your number. 

“I’m here for you if you need me, alright?” You handed her the paper. “Call anytime.”

She nodded, stunned, and quickly inputted the number to her phone. “Thanks. I’m Nina, by the way. This is my son, Marcos.” 

“It’s really nice to meet you, Nina,” you grinned, peering around her legs to her son, “and you too, Marcos.”

“Hi, honey, do you mind if I steal Y/n for a second?” Shavonne swept in from behind the couch. 

Nina shook her head, a brighter smile on her face as she returned her attention to her son. You stood and followed Shavonne, glancing back to find two other women had moved in your place beside Nina and began to play with her son. She was laughing before you made it to the other side of the room. 

***

“So how was it?” Bucky asked as you closed the door behind you, back safely inside the warm glow of the apartment. 

Natasha had walked you back, grinning ear to ear at how excited she was to teach self defense classes once a month down at Hope Haven. She’d arranged it with Shavonne while you were talking with Nina. Shavonne had been thrilled to find out Nat was on the team that helped dismantle Hydra. It seemed many of the women had their own connections to the vile men in that organization. 

You’d asked if you could volunteer on a few weekends a month and Shavonne, as warm and welcoming as she was, gave you a t-shirt on the spot and helped you fill out the forms at the kitchen table amongst the bowls of chips and mini-cupcakes. 

You smiled the whole way home. 

Bucky was watching you from his place on the couch, likely having barely moved since you left, though he was noticeably further along in his book. Cheddar was curled up in his lap, the soft orange hue of the lamp cast over him, waiting patiently under a starry night sky for you to return. 

“Really good,” you said, shrugging off your coat and crossing the room to him. Cheddar jumped up to the top of the sofa as you crawled on top of Bucky, resting your head on his chest, arms curling around his sides. “Just really glad I found you.”

Cheddar purred softly beside you, his tail swinging down and brushing against your shoulder blades. Bucky swept your hair from your face, pulling you up to press a kiss against your lips, short and sweet, before you nestled back in against him.

“Me too, love.”

Bucky propped his book up on your back and began to read aloud. Safe and content. Warm and sound. Exceptionally and emphatically loved. 

[k-writer1998]

Stepping Back

Prompt fic: baker! seungmin x florist! reader

angsty fluff

w.c: 2.2k

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Seungmin you’re always so rough with the dough. If you keep that up the bread is gonna be tough again,” Felix pointed out as he passed by the boy’s workstation.

      With a groan Seungmin threw the dough back into the bowl right before the front bell rang. Felix shooed the boy to the front as he went to handle the abandoned dough. Seungmin and the kitchen never seem to get along yet how he ended up working at a bakery is a mystery. The pay was good and the work wasn’t that bad, except for the need to bake things and a few weird customers. The top of his list being the owner's niece who stops by to help her uncle tend to the plants in the bakery. As he puts it "her mom took all the gardening genes leaving plants to die under my care." She as a person wasn't weird, many would say she's endearing with her bubbly personality, the weird part is her "usual" she asks for every time she comes in. The usual is whatever was freshly made the night before but it took a bit for Seungmin to learn that so whenever her voice says "the usual" there is always the slightest hint of annoyance that jabs at him. Why she asks for those goods specifically was beyond him as he knew that usually it's Felix and him making those.

      If it hasn't been noticed yet, Seungmin was in a particularly foul mood today. I mean as a stressed college student who barely gets sleep he's never quite in a pleasant mood but today was more than usual as he has back to back exams and project deadlines approaching. The poor dough was the first victim and unbeknownst to all the second was the poor girl who walked through the door. As always she gave him a sunny smile before she said those four cursed words to Seungmin.

“I’ll have the usual.”

“You say that every time.” 

      Due to the stress, his self-restraint lacked as the comment fell from his lips naturally but Y/n was unfazed. Her smile stayed in place as she walked around the counter to grab the watering can and started to water the shop’s plants. If he didn’t have school consuming his mind then maybe he would have understood the meaning behind the little glances she stole at him or the light blush that danced across her cheeks when she locked eyes with him. Instead it only further annoyed him but the pushing force was the small giggle that escaped her lips as she took a bite.

“I get that you like to come here and make fun of me but could you at least make it not so obvious?”

      At his sudden burst y/n jumped before a look of confusion crossed her face. She had just giggled in glee at the realization that Seungmin had made this batch because as the baker’s niece, y/n had seasoned taste buds. Why was he so mad?

“Make fun of you? Seungmin I would never do that.”

“Yeah, okay,” he rolled his eyes as he turned to walk away but she got up and grabbed his wrist.

“Wait, I’m being serious. Why would you think that?”

“Just give it a rest y/n.”

“No, Seungmin-”

“Well obviously I can feel you watching me and half the time I bring your order you laugh at me. You order a “usual” as if there was anything usual about your order. If anything you just like messing with me and just hide behind the fact you’re the owner’s niece,” he snapped.

“That’s not the reason I- Do you really think that of me?”

      In that moment, as y/n looked at him with a pained expression, Seungmin snapped from his irritated state, guilt flushing his system instead. Both parties were frozen there for a moment. Neither of them knew the other well enough to understand that y/n hates being accused because of a misunderstanding and Seungmin will bite back if backed into a corner. Y/n was the first to drop her gaze and her hold on his wrist, sadly he didn’t know what else to do but to remove himself from the situation. Another beat passed before the weight that seemed to be crushing y/n released and she quickly took the chance to escape before the tears fell. Felix wondered why Seungmin flew past him in a flurry but catching y/n leaving in the same manner with the pastry abandoned on the table, and the fact he heard the male’s raised voice, it was easy to tell what went on. 

      After that she stopped showing up around Seungmin’s shifts and as the days passed the guilt grew. His nights were spent trying to figure out how to apologize, beating himself up, or wondering how much she must hate him that sleep wasn’t really an option. That took a toll on him though so one night as he and Felix were prepping for the next day and waiting for the oven to finish cooking the tart shells, Seungmin ended up falling asleep in the front. There was the slightest click as the lock opened and y/n slipped in, grabbing the bells to stop the soft jingling that would alert the boys. She just needed to grab her forgotten notebook, from when she came in earlier. She rounds the counter and sees it tucked under the register like her uncle said but she was not prepared to see the sleeping boy when she whirled around. She silently grabs her chest in surprise but when she noticed his gentle breathing, she relaxed. Her eyes softened, regardless of the fact she was avoiding him, she still missed him. Y/n's body moved closer before her brain had time to resist and squatted at the end of the table to be level with Seungmin. As she was fighting the urge to reach out and touch his hair, a voice called out which made her stand and snap her head in the direction of the voice.

“Y/n? What are you doing here so late?”

“ … I forgot my notebook when I stopped by to water the plants earlier.”

“How are you holding up?”

      Y/n knew what Felix meant by the question as his eyes darted past her to the boy who was still asleep. She looked down, her hands suddenly looking so much more interesting.

“It’s hard. I acted on my own whims, not even taking into consideration how he would feel…”

“I’m sorry he’s so dense, but he didn’t mean what he said. Even if he won’t admit it, his eyes keep looking for yo-”

“Felix don’t. Not the false hope…” 

      She cuts Felix off before she turns to look at Seungmin’s sleeping figure. Her hand moves to touch his hair but freezes mere centimeters away.

“Even this is too much. I like him so much it hurts,” y/n’s voice trembles as she hesitantly pulls her hand back and gives Felix a weak smile. “I’m sorry, I should go.”

      She quickly collected her things and exited the bakery. With a gentle shake of his head and a sigh, Felix went back to the kitchen to take the tart shells from the oven which left a guilty Seungmin to finally raise his head. He had woken up mid-conversation, meaning he heard the indirect confession and the pain behind it. The guilt he felt for snapping at her now grew by tenfold. The next few days Seungmin continued to wait to hear her cheerful voice enter the bakery but it never came. Felix, tired of watching two of his friends play this stupid game of cat and mouse, decided to step in.

“I seriously can’t with the two of you. If she doesn’t come here why don’t you go to her?”

“I- What are you talking ab-”

“Seungmin who do you think you’re kidding here? You miss having her around whether you admit it or not. You aren’t one to sit back and wait, so why are you doing it now?”

      Felix had a point and Seungmin knew it. He wasn’t one to let things fester like this and he wasn’t quite sure why this was different than any other situation. He wasn’t sure of what he felt towards y/n right now but he didn’t like where they currently stood. Felix said that he could watch the bakery on his own before pushing Seungmin out the door, leaving the boy no more room to hesitate. Running into a situation without a plan wasn’t like Seungmin but he liked the spark of spontaneity as his feet broke into a run. Before he knew it he had burst through the door of the flower shop, giving y/n quite the shock by both the loud entrance and the boy who caused it.

“Seungmin? Are you okay?” 

      Instead of answering, he struggled to catch his breath. Concern swelled her body as she rounded the counter and was beside the boy in seconds, looking out the windows in an attempt to catch a glimpse at what was apparently chasing the boy. The fact that she was hiding from him was thrown to the wind but it came back the moment she felt his hand on her shoulder as he stood tall. By then it was too late because she was now stuck in his grasp but as much as she started to panic so did Seungmin. He charged over here with no plan whatsoever and he had no idea where to start. As his eyes quickly scanned the interior of the florist shop his eyes landed on the bouquet in process sitting on the counter and everything clicked in his mind.

“I’m fine, didn’t mean to scare you. I’m just in urgent need of a bouquet.”

“Oh… what’s the occasion? You seem in a rush so I can pull something together really quick.”

“I wanted to say I’m sorry.”

“Sounds like you caused trouble,” she responded with a small laugh as she went to grab a few flowers. “Tulips for forgiveness and new beginnings, a touch of ivy for support, and a few pink roses to show you appreciate them… How bad did you mess up?”

“Well they aren’t talking to me so I would say pretty bad.”

“Then we are definitely going to need to add some white orchids to show your sincerity.”

      As Seungmin watched her move around the flower shop he realized how much he missed seeing her in her element like this, even if he pretended to find her annoying. It was also a show of how little he truly knew about her other than the basic things he heard from her uncle, and there it was that guilty feeling again. He swallowed it down as he watched her put the seemingly odd array of flowers together. Y/n on the other hand felt the heat of his gaze on her as she worked and she realized how Seungmin must’ve felt when she watched him, it made her nervous. With a final tie of the ribbon Seungmin’s bouquet was finished and as she handed it to him she couldn’t help but ask. She justified her curiosity as normal questions she would usually ask customers.

“Here they’re on the house. Hope the person forgives you, who are they anyways?”

“No you have to let me pay,” he demanded as he pushed the cash into her hand before he shoved the bouquet back onto her. “I can’t let you pay for your own apology bouquet.”

      Her mouth fell agape as she looked wide eyed at Seungmin. She was able to recover her wits enough to shake her head in confusion.

“Why are you apologizing? I was the one who was making you uncomfortable at work.”

“You really weren’t. It’s no excuse but I was extremely irritable that day because of all the stress from school and I just so happened to take it out on you. Y/n you didn’t deserve me speaking to you like that, I’m sorry.”

      The sincerity in his eyes burned the blush onto her cheeks so she had to break the eye contact before he noticed. Looking down at the bouquet she had a bright idea because she still felt a bit apologetic for her own actions that day as well.

“Thanks… I’ll accept your apology but you have to accept this as well,” y/n held out a white orchid to the boy with a soft smile. “I am partially responsible cause I kept pushing you and that’s my fault.”

“Deal.”

      As they both smiled at each other, both holding their own flowers, the tension between them melted and something in Seungmin changed. Did her smile always make him feel like this? His hands felt clammy and his heart started to pick up speed as he felt warmth creep up his face. Apparently he was full of impulsive decisions today and this one really was the cream of the crop as the words tumbled from his lips. 

“Actually there was one more thing I wanted to tell you...”

I mean things work out… they just don’t know it yet.

[wu-sisyphus-gang]

Motion Sickness Chapter 73

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(Ruby PoV)

"You spent the night in his room," Blake accused Weiss as she rejoined us.

"He had nightmares that kept him up. Dreams from Salem," Weiss responded. "Nothing happened."

"I gave it away to Adam too soon. I regret it."

"Nothing happened," Weiss repeated.

"And our Cloud isn't like your Adam," I said. "I don't regret having sex with him the times that I did. It was wonderful. If something happened between Weiss and him, it's not like what happened between you and Adam."

"And I'm telling you nothing happened anyways. I set boundaries and he respected them," Weiss said.

"He never did that at Beacon," Yang tossed in. "He was always all over you."

"He was a newborn at Beacon. And it was never as bad as I made it seem," Weiss defended. "He was always polite and… he was afraid. It was a first crush and it was never like what Blake must have gone through. Jaune, when he was Jaune, pressured me into going to the movies, not even close to sex. It's just not the same. I think he would have been scared of something like that."

"So what did you get up to, then?" Yang asked. She sounded bored.

"He told me a bit about what his new meds were like. How they all had side effects and he was on some just to treat the side effects of others. He said he felt doped up all the time," Weiss answered. "He said he felt half asleep."

"That's no good if he gets in a fight," Yang muttered.

"Cloud is skilled. He should be fine," I defended.

"I don't know. I'm worried about him, Ruby," Weiss said. "His nightmares are bad. And Salem is always trying to press on his mind."

"So what should we do? It's not like we can kill Salem. She's invincible, or close to it," I murmured.

"Does Cloud know that?" Blake asked. "I wouldn't tell him. He might decide to kill himself if he thought it was hopeless. He told me he tried it after he killed Ren and Nora."

"He tried to kill himself?" Weiss asked, astonished.

"You didn't know?" Blake returned. "He mentioned it to me when we talked about Adam."

"No, I didn't know." Weiss shot a look back through the door she came through, she looked like she might go back to him.

"Maybe we should talk to him," I managed.

"You haven't been able to help him yet," Blake muttered.

"Blake! Who's side are you on?" Weiss asked.

"His, evidently. I think he agrees with me about him," Blake returned. "I think he knows his situation is hopeless."

"He's not hopeless. He's resisting her," I said.

"How long can he keep that up?" Blake wondered. Her palms outstretched. "Even he doesn't think he can last forever against her, does he?" She shot the last bit to Weiss.

"He thinks it's permanent brain damage. He thinks he's having seizures or strokes," Weiss said. "He thinks she'll get to him. Especially while he's sleeping."

I chewed on my lip. "So what do we do? Send him back to the hospital?" I wondered.

Weiss winced. "Cloud won't like that. They took his weapon away last time. He doesn't want to go back and 'get locked up.'"

"Should he even have his weapon?" Yang asked. We all looked at her. "Well should he? He's a little fucked up."

"When he killed for the first time, I was so worried about him. It doesn't seem like he's slowed down since then. It's all been a blur," I said. "I was so worried. I thought I messed everything up. But what if this has just been in him. Festering beneath the surface. He's been sick."

"He is. I hoped that we would be able to take care of him. Are we going to give that up?" Weiss asked.

"I don't know. What do we do, Weiss?"

"Me? I have no idea."

"You've always been the smart one."

"So I should know what to do about this?" She shook her head. "I have no clue. He's in a lot of pain. All the time."

"Well, where is he now?" I asked.

She pointed back at the door she came through. "He's getting ready for another day. I don't know if he has an assignment or if he's just slated for training."

"We should be too," Blake said. she got up and began pulling her nightwear off. "I'm sure he has his head in the game."

"Blake is probably right." Weiss slunk inside and began to strip out of her clothes too. "Maybe we'll get lucky and only have training today. She stripped down to her brassiere before I looked away.

Bad bi thoughts. Now is not the time.

I dressed supernaturally fast and was waiting for Cloud outside of his room for when he was ready in just a few minutes.

He strode from his room looking tall, dark, and handsome. His massive blade was in its harness behind his back.

"Ja-Cloud, Weiss told me a bit about what you're going through with your meds. I just wanted you to know I'm here for you. If you needed anything."

He looked surprised. His eyes flickered over my head towards my room for a moment. Then they came back to me. "I know Ruby. It's just Salem. She's always on me."

"Cloud… I talked to Ozpin… I wanted to let you know that Salem is invincible."

"Immortal," he corrected. "Not invincible."

"You knew?" I asked.

"It's what I asked the relic of knowledge. How to defeat her, I mean. I have a plan. I'm going to cut her into pieces and never ever give her the chance to heal."

"You think that will work?" I wondered. My gaze brushed over his bronze and white sword.

"It's worth a shot. If not I'm doomed."

"You're not doomed. And you're not… you're not thinking about killing yourself, are you?"

He sighed. He met my eye. "Don't freak out on me Ruby."

"I won't." I vowed.

"I'm always thinking about killing myself. It seems like the fastest way to get away from her."

My mouth dropped open. "Cloud…"

"Other times it seems like exactly what she wants. I have no idea what to do."

"You're not going to hurt yourself, are you?" I pleaded and begged.

"Probably not today."

"Cloud…" I murmured.

"It has nothing to do with you, or how great you are to me." He pulled his hand down and cupped my cheek. "It all has to do with her. With my mother. Her control over my mind isn't simple. She is constantly attacking my subconscious. That's what makes it hard to resist. If I'm paying attention it's easy enough for the most part, but I have to constantly be afraid of what's slipping through the cracks. Like calling her my mother, for one. That's constantly coming through, no matter how hard I try. I have to be afraid of what else is happening like that."

"She is your mother," I whispered.

"That's not why I call her that, though." He sighed and shifted. He grabbed the hilt of his weapon for a long moment. Like he might draw it. But against what? It was just him, I, and his loud thoughts in a long corridor.

He released the long red handle and sighed. He rubbed his face hard.

"Weiss mentioned you were having strokes and seizures."

"I asked her not to share that with you…"

"What? Why?" I had to wonder. My heart broke a little.

"I didn't want to worry you. This is normal for me now. I was worried it would break your little Ruby heart."

"Too late…" I grumbled. "You should know you can share anything with me."

"You're right. Of course you're right. And you'd be right to be worried about me. Something is happening to me that I can't understand."

Weiss, Blake, and Yang walked out of our room but only Weiss walked over to us.

"You told her about the seizures," Cloud commented.

"Of course," Weiss said. She crossed her arms. "It was never up for a discussion."

"Fair enough," Cloud whistled. "Fair cop."

"Blake mentioned you tried to kill yourself," Weiss went on. "But you didn't feel like sharing that with us."

Cloud scratched the back of his head. "It slipped my mind amongst everything else."

"Uh huh," Weiss muttered tursley. Her expression made it clear that wasn't going to fly. "Are you forgetting anything else?"

I crossed my arms beside her but I don't think I managed to direct the same amount of disappointment at him as she did.

"I promise to tell at least one of you if I remember," Cloud vowed.

"At least one of us?" Weiss asked. She leveled her glare at him and flared her nostrils in his direction.

"Both of you, then." Cloud agreed. "And the moment I remember."

"That's how things need to be for this to work," Weiss said.

"You got it." I thought Cloud might salute at her but that would be just a bit much.

"Look I don't want to be the bad guy here," Weiss murmured. "But this needs to be ironed out."

"You're not. It's on me. Pinkie swear," Cloud seemed all onboard.

Weiss sighed. "We're worried about you. We don't know how to help you."

"I think that no one can. And I resent putting you in that position."

"We want to be in that position," I said softly. "We want to try our hardest to help you."

Cloud looked stunned. His jaw worked for a moment while he tried to figure out something to say. "You're right. I'm sorry. You of all people I shouldn't be cutting out like that. I just don't know what to do. And I'm scared. I'm scared that there's nothing you can do."

"Let us try," I whispered.

He reeled back like I struck him across the face. He flinched back and had trouble meeting my eye.

He gave a slow firm nod of assent. It couldn't be mistaken for anything else. He was giving his word that he would do what he could to help us help him.

"Now," I said with all that cleared up. "Do you need to go back to the hospital?"

"I don't know. They weren't the most helpful. They took my weapon away. They take everything away. There's nothing to do but wait for my next meal. It makes me feel like a dog."

"You're not a dog," Weiss murmured.

"I am to Salem," he countered. "She's so old and strong. I'm like a dog to her if she's like a person to me."

"Is anything getting better on your medication?" I asked.

"Maybe the hallucinations but it's hard to tell." He rubbed his face with his hand. "There's not exactly a good reference frame for it. How loud they are. How intense they are."

"How many medications are you on at this point? You said they kept prescribing things."

"Four. Two tranquilizers, an antipsychotic, and some other one that's supposed to help with racing thoughts and tremors caused by the others."

"Is that a lot?" I asked Weiss with a look.

"I don't know," Weiss muttered. "I'm not a psychiatrist."

"They want to get me down to just two medications. They're still experimenting with what works and what doesn't. Some of the medications can make things worse more than they make things better. It's not exact and I just have to trust that they know what they're doing."

"Maybe we need to get a second opinion," Weiss crossed her arms. "Maybe we need to talk to a private provider."

"That means telling them my story again, and it'll take time."

"And it will cost money," I said.

"Money isn't a problem. I have some bank accounts from when I stole from people on the wrong side of the law with millions of Lien, still," Cloud said.

"Who'd you steal that from?" Weiss asked.

"Don Corneo. Then I killed him. Neo and I did. I still have those private bank accounts, they didn't take them from me when I was arrested. Didn't know that they existed."

"Hang in there, Cloud. We'll find something that works for you," Weiss murmured. "It can and will get better."

"I just… I just don't think we will. Don't think it will. Mother's hooks are in me deep. And if this is all I have to look forward to, maybe I should kill myself."

"Don't think that way," I pleaded.

"I am thinking that way. All the time. I can't help it," he muttered. "I obsess about it. Part of why I think maybe she wants me to do it. She told me to run away, in a whisper, once. This is the ultimate form of that. I'm terrified that if I try and kill myself I won't die and I'll become even more of a burden on you both."

"Holy shit," I breathed, eyes wide.

"Let's get that second opinion. It's a good place to start," Weiss said. "Then we'll see. Just… just don't do anything rash."

He gave us a shaky but agreeable nod.

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"How's your boyfriend and girlfriend?" Penny asked as the truck hummed along.

"We had a date that went well the other day. All three of us. But… but Weiss and I are worried about him. I worry about him all the time. He has all these dark thoughts. Remnants of what Salem did to his mind," I answered. "I don't know how to help him. He's struggling and I'm not sure how to reach him."

"Well what did Salem do to him?"

"She took over his mind. He says she spoke and he had to obey."

"Like he was programmed to?" She asked. I looked at Penny. She was a machine for all that she was a real person too, maybe she had some insights I was lacking because of how she was made. "I'm slated for a sparring match with him later this week. His powers make it so that he might be able to keep up with me and present me a real one on one challenge. My abilities often make it difficult for an individual to contest me alone. Ironwood said to treat it like I was fighting Cinder Fall because of how he might have magic. It might be my best chance to practice against such a foe until Winter becomes the new winter maiden."

"That's…" I paused. I hadn't had the chance to go up against him myself any time recently. Not since before Weiss and Yang showed up in Mistral. "I should spar with him too. We always used to back in Anima. I miss it." I shook those thoughts off. "And he says his subconscious is always under her attack. He's afraid of what might be coming through when he's not paying attention. And even when he is sometimes things slip past him."

"He's on a medication regiment, yes?"

I nodded. "But he's not sure how well it's working."

"If I found out I was programmed to do something I hated I'm not sure how I would respond," Penny said. She shook her head slightly. "It would make me sad to say nothing else. And he killed his friends. I can only imagine how hard that would be."

I nodded. "But Salem hasn't had any control over him since then."

"That he himself knows of. If I was programmed against my will I don't know that I would notice it. Would I? Could I? Perhaps that's what he's afraid of. He might be afraid of doing her will unknowingly."

"He said that about killing himself. That he wasn't sure if he would just be playing into her hands if he did take his life. It's… it's too scary to think about. What if I lost him again? It would be my own fault."

"No one would hold you responsible. Salem is a monster. And she's doing something horrible to him. She's hacking his brain."

"Is there any way I can keep him safe? He doesn't sleep well. He says he's vulnerable to her while he does."

"He's probably right. And sleep is a time for the brain to repair itself. Has he suffered any other brain trauma related phenomena?"

"He thinks he's having miniature strokes and seizures because of it."

"Ruby… this sounds bad," Penny confessed to me. "It sounds like she's winning. Slowly but surely. She's breaking him down into what she wants him to be. If he was a machine like me it would be fast but this wetware attack is slow going."

"What do I do, Penny? How do I save him from this?"

"I'm not sure that you can, it sounds like he must fight as well as he is able against her attacks. For as long as he is able."

The truck rolled along for a quiet moment.

"He has sisters, right? They might be able to shed some light on this. The successful models may know more," Penny murmured.

"They work for Salem. She has them too."

"Ruby…"

I felt like crying. I felt so utterly helpless. How could I possibly save him from this… this nightmare he lived in.

"I'm going to be there for him. Whatever he needs. I won't let him lose himself. Not over to Salem."

"Ruby I think… I think you should start to let go. Remember him how he was, before it's too late. Before she takes him."

"I'm not going to give up on him. I refuse to abandon him." I was adamant.

"I think you're going to hurt yourself. I hate to see you this way."

"Weiss and I will come up with a plan to keep him safe."

"It doesn't sound like you can. He's being hacked remotely. Not unless you kill Salem. Stop things at the source."

"We can't kill her. She's immortal. Like Ozpin." It was so unfair. It felt like checkmate five turns ago. "I won't let him walk through hell. I would lose myself for him."

"Ruby…"

"I mean it. If I have to fight Salem herself I will. Cloud says he knows where she is all the time. Like some kind of radar. We can find her and beat her. She's only immortal. Not invincible. That's what Cloud said. I'm going to help him cut her into tiny pieces so she can never harm a hair on his head again."

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-WG

[hearthandhomemagick]

Cottage Witch Journal Entry

I have a longing for Tennessee. 

I have a pure, unadulterated and wild attraction to the Tennessee Mountains. This is a dream I’ve had, and a yearning I’ve felt, for years. A need to be hidden deep in the mountains in a tiny cottage/cabin of sorts. I’m sure this is an affinity very popular in mainstream culture today, and all I can think of when I hear people say they want a cottage or cabin in the mountains is, “How the Hell does everyone expect to FIT on these mountains?!” But, this is my Shadow Self, the over realistic and overthinking side of myself. And I easily get discouraged from my own wants thinking of others wants. 

This is a side of me to notice in myself. I need to be able to move past thoughts of, “If everyone wants it, I’ll never have it.” and move forward with thoughts of, “This is something I want for myself, and I deserve to work hard for it.” And that’s a goal I have with myself. 

You see, this post isn’t just about my want to be in Tennessee in the woods, it’s much deeper than that I feel. It’s about improvement and wanting to grow. 

I bring up Tennessee because that is not a goal I can easily obtain within a couple of weeks or even a month. But, it is something I want to build up to obtaining. Something I want to do right so that everything is exactly as it needs to be. And I can’t fully accomplish this until I accomplish other goals that take precedent first. For Example, my physical health.

As a witch, I truly believe in loving every part of yourself, the good and the bad. The exciting and the terrifying. The understood and the neglected. Part of this acceptance process is learning what is and is not acceptable for my body. Now, I have struggled with my weight and how I see myself since I was a child. I remember a little boy seeing my tummy in a bathing suit in 1st grade and him telling me I was fat and that his dad said fat girls were ugly. Comments like this, stares and whispers were constant when in regards to my weight. It felt like an overwhelming amount of attention was directed at the way I looked, even if no one was looking at me I felt as though everyone was thinking about it. Over the years, this mental state took a tole on a lot more than I expected, even affecting me today with my Significant Other. The consistent attention to my own weight pulled me into depression, our of depression, into anxiety and out of anxiety. What I mean is I had an up and down relationship with my tummy. 

I felt abandoned most days. I would get this idea that I was too much and not enough all at once. A gentle and cooing tone from my toxic thoughts led to a lot of issues and concerns for me and my health. Some days, I would read something that made me feel as though I was a Queen. A bad bitch lurking in this cruel world and taking it by the throat to stare it in the eyes and say, “I love my body fat.” 

The sad part is your heart, mind and body know when you are lying to it. I didn’t love my body. Not in those confident moments and not in those depressed moments. I was locked away in a cage in my mind that gave me two illusions to choose from, while hiding my third option under the rug. I neglected my feelings because I didn’t want to experience them. I neglected my health because I didn’t want to deal with it. And I neglected my body because I hated it. 

Reality here is that this is the only fucking body I have. Do you understand that? Let me repeat this so maybe you can understand how harsh of a reality this was to me. 

I am on this Earth for goodness knows how long. 50 years, 20 years, 72 days. I don’t know, and no one does. I was literally forced into owning this body, whether I like it or not, it is mine. I can move houses, I can get a new car, I can get a new job. I cannot get a new body. 

I heard this in High School and started what I called my weight loss journey. I lost maybe 20 pounds while attending a workout-boot camp of sorts and trying to maintain a healthy diet. That sentence resonated so much with me that I repeated it every day to myself. My motivation was on point. Then, I stopped going. There are multiple reasons why I stopped, but none of them are rightful excuses.

I just stopped. 

Now, during those days I had lost weight, I was starting to gain confidence in myself and was attempting to genuinely look out for my health. I had more energy and felt amazing! But like I said, I had stopped for terrible reasons. 

Fast-forward to college and you will find a very anxiety filled, sleep deprived and mentally exhausted Carly. Some nights I wouldn’t sleep but for 4-5 hours. Other nights I didn’t sleep at all. I believe my stay up streak was 3, going on 4 nights. All due to homework. My coping technique has always been eating food, too. So when you have a sleep deprived student settled next to a 24/7 pizza joint with half baked cookies, you gain 30-40 pounds. 

At 245 Pounds, I was at my heaviest. This weight gain came on as my roommates were saying I was fat, stupid and were making me question myself frequently. Self hate festers among others who don’t value your worth, remember that. So, through those years of college I weighed an uncomfortable amount of weight that made my body start shutting down physically. 

Mental Health had a lot to do with my physical health, here as well. When I was in a really bad place, I would stop moving completely and just sit still. If I had a terrible feeling, I’d cook something to make myself feel better or would just grab a processed, quick snack. It was a pattern of mine. I’d get just enough motivation to do one or two things, and then I’d stop all together and feel as though that was enough for a few weeks. 

Eventually, when I was done with college, I started back on that rollercoaster of healthy and unhealthy. I’d lose 5 pounds, then gain 7 pounds right back. I started detail critiquing myself and stressing myself out. My weight never could get under control, and I couldn’t break the 200 mark to save my life. I would see pictures and videos of myself and feel as though I had eaten an entire buffet. Not too long after getting with my S/O and starting my job as a Sexual Violence Outreach Advocate, I got sick.

It started as a birthday dinner at a Korean Barbecue in 2019. I was with my two best friends at the time and having a blast. We all ate the same food, but when I woke up the following morning I was throwing up everything in my tummy. 

The throwing up went on for 4 days before I was taken to the hospital, only for them to release me saying it was virus. My personal doctor couldn’t figure out what was wrong and it eventually became an everyday thing. I would wake up between 3-6 in the morning, go to the bathroom and be sick for hours before pulling myself together to make it to work. 

Weeks turned into months, and months turned into a year. 

I lost 50 pounds from this thing that no doctor could seem to figure out. I got x-rays and everything, but nothing and no one could tell me exactly what was going on with me. I couldn’t eat anything friend, only raw fruits and veggies, or broth. I only drank water and ginger based drinks, and could not for the life of me stop what was going on with my body. Many doctors tried to pass it as a virus, stomach ulcers, GURD, or even Heart Burn (?). None of them were right. 

After a long time, my mom finally confessed that every woman in our family has Endometriosis. If you don’t know what this is, it is the build up of scar tissue on the outside of your uterus. This leads to nausea, ovarian cysts (which they found on me in x-rays) and sub or infertility. No doctor can diagnose it, either, unless you have a surgery to see if there is scarring. So for many, suffering on your own is easier than seeing a doctor. 

I discussed this with my doctor, and it was as if a light flashed in her brain. This is a disease she cannot say I have, but can say it sounds very much like that. It is hereditary and once you have it, you have it for good.

After this information entered my line of though, I decided the stress from my job was too much for too little pay, and chose to leave. Leading up to my leaving the job, I was sick almost every second of every day. The moment I left, I felt better.

I still feel pain in my ovary area, but because I don’t have the money to see a doctor, and can control my pains with eating habits and physical influence, I choose to work through it alone. 

I said ALL THAT BACKGROUND BULLSHIT JUST TO SAY THIS!!!!!

This is the part that marks my new journey. It is the Journey to Strength and Well Being. The Journey to Feeling Good. The Journey the Choosing my happiness over anything else. And the Journey to choosing the health of my body over my insecurities.

I wrote this because a couple of days ago I had a very graphic and vivid dream about my boyfriend falling in love with the woman I wanted to be. In other words, I seen him with a woman who literally presented all of my insecurities to me. Small, lithe and dainty, gentle and calming, and everything I wasn’t. She was beautiful. And he seen this, and did things for her that he never did for me. I woke up almost in tears, because my emotions were raw, but I had no idea that my insecurities were still very deeply rooted. 

I pondered over the last few days of this dream. What it could mean, what I should do, how I should feel and I have finally come to a conclusion.

This dream is a depiction of my fears. My brain was saying, “You need to address this shit right now.” and did it in the most face slap kind of way I could think. 

I still, even after learning to love myself genuinely, have image issues that need to be nurtured and tended to before I can move forward in my life.

So, I’m making 1-3 goals every month that are attainable and reachable. This will be a brick road to my obtaining that cottage/cabin in the Tennessee Mountains. 

This months Goals start today! 

GOAL 1 -  Learn to do a split, find a healthy yoga sequence, be able to do 15 pushups, & 30 Squats by the end of December. 

GOAL 2 - Make a conscious effort to what you eat/making a new dish once a week to try.

GOAL 3 - Save $100.

This is a process, and I am only human. I don’t want to fall back into the habits of toxic mentality. I don’t want to neglect myself or how I feel and I don’t want to lose myself in to the world in the process of searching for freedom from myself. 

I expect myself to exude self control, self love, and empowerment. I expect to expect better from and for myself, and I expect to accomplish my goals.

I manifest it here, I can do a split. I have a healthy maintainable yoga sequence that I have committed to growing expanding and changing. I can do 15 push ups and 30 squats. I have 100 dollars saved up already and make concious decisions that better my health rather than hurt it. This is part of my lifstyle now! 

And it is for the better!

Thank you to anyone who read this through. These entries are more for my benefit and thought process, but appreciate anyone who recognizes it or even relates and wants to talk about it. It’s personal to me and means a lot. I intend on being on here more often to update my challenges and express how I use my witchcraft in the process of this Journey.

I love you all! Stay safe, warm and full to the brim! Later Witches! xx

[let-it-raines]

another kind of green (4/?)

Emma Swan spends her days in pretty white dresses and heavy layers of makeup. Day after day and dress after dress, she poses for pictures and acts like she’s in love and having the happiest day of her life with the man standing next to her.

It’s not. This is all a gig, and at the end of the day, she’s no longer the girl in the pretty dress who’s faking getting married for a magazine cover or a wedding convention. Instead, she’s the girl who probably never wants to get married.

Little does she know, she already is.

| Based on two-trope game forgotten first meeting + accidentally married |

a/n: thanks for reading, lovely people, and thanks to @resident-of-storybrooke​ for looking over these words even though I keep changing them on her😊 

AO3: Beginning | Current

Tumblr: 1 | 2| 3 | 4

-/-

“Hello, love.” Killian waves to Marlene before placing a folder of some of his paperwork on her desk. “Can you do me a favor and send these up to Captain Roberts? It’s the rest of the paperwork he needed.”

“Of course. Do you need anything else?”

Killian hums and winks. “Just for you to have a good day, Marlene.”

“It’s always brightened when you come by.”

Killian huffs before forcing a brighter smile onto his face. He’s been posing for pictures for the past two hours, and he’s not sure how much more smiling he can take. This is why he has to get out of this job and get everything squared away at the station so he can do more with his life.

So he can move on.

Liam was a damn fine officer, and if he were still here, he’d be proud of Killian doing this. It’s so much more than him posing for pictures. When he was younger and had no plan in life, he’d drink too much and sleep with far too many women. That calmed down with Milah, but Liam never really saw Killian turn his life around before Liam died. He’d been there for the early years with Milah, but it hadn’t been enough.

(And on occasion, like with Emma, Killian falls back into old habits.)

Killian has always resented that Liam never saw him try to be better, has always let that hatred fester inside of him, but he’s working on it. That’s the mantra he keeps having to repeat, especially this morning at his shoot as he was poked and prodded and treated like a fucking mannequin.

“Thank you,” Killian tells Marlene. “I’ll see you soon. Thanks again.”

She opens her mouth to say something, and he braces himself for it before she simply smiles and nods, allowing him to be on his way. Killian turns on his heels and exits the police station, putting his sunglasses over his eyes and walking up the stairs only to come face to face with Detective Humbert.

Fuck.

He doesn’t know what kind of relationship Emma had with the man, but he’s got a pretty good idea. Doesn’t the guy ever stay at his desk or out in the field? That would be helpful.

“Detective Humbert,” Killian says, keeping his smile from earlier.

Graham blinks, and for a moment Killian thinks he’ll get away with this interaction without Graham recognizing him, but things don’t really seem to be going his way today.

“Jones, right?”

“Aye.” Killian reaches his hand forward to shake Graham’s hand, and Graham moves down a step until they’re on equal footing to shake hands. “Killian Jones.”

“Nice to see you, Jones. Is Emma with you today?”

Killian releases Graham’s hand to scratch behind his ear. “No. She’s working.”

He’s got no bloody clue if she’s working, but he doesn’t know what else to say. If Graham was part of Killian’s training team, he already knows he would have no chance in hell in getting his certification.

“She still modeling?”

“She is.”

They stay standing there in silence, the seconds passing by as cars speed down the road and the construction across the street carries on, the crane lifting a large beam in the air.

Graham nods, pressing a tight smile onto his face. “Tell her I said hello then,” he says before stepping down another step and walking toward the entrance.

“Humbert,” Killian calls out because he’s a fucking idiot who for some reason feels obligated to do the right thing here since he could have royally screwed up Emma’s life a few weeks ago when they were here. Graham stops walking and turns around. “Look, mate, I don’t know how to say this without making myself look like an ass, but Emma and I aren’t married.”

“Excuse me?”

“I mean, we are married. Legally, at least. We were both working out at a wedding convention in Vegas, got a little tipsy, and got married. We’re getting it annulled though. I was just being an ass and bothering her when I told Marlene she was my wife. I had no idea someone she knew was going to walk through the doors.”

Graham crosses his arms over his chest and sighs, staring Killian down despite the fact that Killian is on higher ground. “Isn’t there some kind of rule in Vegas that they can’t give you a license if you’re drunk?”

“Aye. Emma and I are apparently fantastic at acting sober.”

“That’s, well, that’s fucking crazy, but it does make more sense to me. Emma was never really the marrying type.”

“Pardon?” Killian says as the tiniest bit of anger boils in his stomach.

“I don’t mean it in an offensive way,” Graham explains. “There’s nothing wrong with her feeling that way. I know how she is. We were together for awhile, but I wasn’t the right man for her. Maybe you will be if you can make it past the whole getting married thing.”

Killian wants to explain that they’re not together, that they’ve never been together for anything other than a night of sex, but there have been other officers walking by he and Graham this entire time. He really doesn’t need to get into any of this. Hell, Emma will kill him if he says anything else to her ex. It’s just not his business.

“Thanks. See you around, Humbert.”

“See you around, Jones. Remember to tell Emma I said hello when you see her.”

“Of course.” Finally, Graham leaves and goes inside the station, and Killian is free to get out of downtown and go home.

He needs at least a little break before tonight.

-/-

“Oi, why are we going out to watch fireworks?”

“Because Ariel wants us to.” “And we do everything Ariel wants?”

“It’s a nice show,” Killian yells into the other room, pulling off the pair of sweats he changed into when he got home and tugging on a pair of jeans, the holes at the knees getting caught before he can pull them to his waist and button them. “And she invited us to meet them down by the harbor for dinner and the Labor Day fireworks. Ariel loves this kind of stuff, and believe it or not, on occasion it is alright to be nice to someone you care about.”

“I have a late shift at the bar tonight, mate. I don’t think I can watch the whole show, and it’s in the opposite part of the city and all.”

Killian sighs and grabs a t-shirt to put on before walking out of his bedroom and down the hallway so he can actually see Will when he’s talking to him instead of having to yell. He’s sure their neighbors love it when they do that. But he’s still tired, is still partially ready for this day to be over with, and he’s agitated enough to not want to have to put up with Will’s shit.

“Look, if you don’t want to come, you don’t have to. Despite your general attitude, you’re an adult. You can make your own decisions.”

Will puts down the dish he’s washing, porcelain of the plate hitting against the metal of the sink. “Don’t be an ass about it. Is this your way of guilt tripping me?”

“Oh, definitely not.”

“Fuck it, Jones,” Will groans, “you are guilt tripping me.”

Killian smiles, but he says nothing as Will keeps blinking at him.

Perfect.

Maybe he is being a bit of an ass about it.

“I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.”

“I do.”

“You don’t, you git. Now go get dressed. A and Eric are probably saving us seats at the Wharf.”

“I can stay for thirty minutes, and then I have to go to work. Not all of us can use our pretty faces to make our money.”

“Stop being jealous and put on a shirt without stains, Scarlet.”

-/-

Ariel and Eric are waiting for them at the Wharf, just like Killian knew they would be, and Ariel absolutely gushes over Will showing up. She’s got a soft spot for him, God knows why, but Killian’s glad he pulled Will out of the apartment for long enough that he would come down here even if it’s just for a beer before he goes to serve actual beers to people who are reveling in having a three-day weekend.

If Killian had a regular job, which he’d one day like to have now that he’s dropped off the rest of his paperwork for the PAT. He had it scheduled, but then it got rescheduled after the whole background check debacle and so he can take it with a bigger recruiting class that will all be in the Academy together. It’s why he’s got his phone pretty consistently in his hand waiting for an email or a text or something.

From Captain Roberts…or Emma.

He’s been thinking about her all day, pretty much ever since he ran into Graham. It’s been twenty or so days since he last saw her, since he last heard from her in a coffee shop as they hashed out the details of their annulment. She’d been more than ready to get it over with, had practically only talked about it, and he gets that. He does. Why would she want to stay married to him, especially when he gets the sense that Emma is jumpy? At first it was the nervousness outside the precinct, then how she was inside after they ran into Graham. Now he knows that she’s not one for marriage, apparently, and he went and married her the night they met.

And now that they’re trying to fix that he keeps pressing her into having an actual conversation about anything else.

What the hell is wrong with him?

Why is he trying to get to know a woman who doesn’t want to get to know him?

Oh, because she’s charming and funny and sexy as hell.

But mostly, he thinks, she’d been freaked out over the process of having to get the annulment. She was the one who brought up the lawyer but kept insisting that maybe they didn’t have to use one even if the both of them are pretty sure that they’re in so far over their heads that they need all of the help they can get.

He’s thirty years old, but sometimes Killian can’t help but feel like a kid who’s waiting for his brother to find a solution to all of his problems.

That’s not going to be something that happens ever again, and even though it’s been years, Killian still forgets that Liam isn’t here.

Is never going to be here.

Right now, all he really wants is for Emma to text him or call him or send him a damn email with the attorney’s name she decided on so that they can file the annulment papers and go ahead and get it in the system and have it be over with. Neither of them are contesting it, so it shouldn’t take too long.

Move on. He desperately wants to move on with his life.

“Earth to Killian Jones. Are you there? Is there anything going on inside of that head of yours? No? I knew pretty people couldn’t also be smart.”

“So what does that say about you, A?”

Ariel scoffs and rolls her eyes while Killian shakes himself out of his thoughts. “I think you meant to insult me, but really, all you did was compliment me.”

“He’s not very good at the insults,” Will sighs. “But he’s an expert at the compliments. He could get any woman out here to go on a date with him in five minutes.” “That sounds like a challenge.” It’s Killian’s turn to roll his eyes at Eric before reaching down and taking a sip of his beer while his eyes scan over the crowd that’s flooding the boardwalk and moving over to the open green space where several booths and food trucks are spread out with a few hundred people lounging around on their backs or sitting on chairs they brought with them to watch the fireworks and celebrate Labor Day weekend. “What do you say, Jones? You want to try that?”

Ariel slaps her husband. “We are not having Killian make a bet on whether or not he can get a woman to go out with him. That’s how every single nineties’ romantic comedy got their drama.”

“Wait. You’re opposed to this because it goes awry in a few movies?”

“And the fact that it’s kind of misogynistic. You can’t just make a joke out of someone’s feelings.”

“So if I were to tell you that I asked you out on a date because – ” Ariel moves to slap Eric again, but he catches her hand before she can touch his shoulder and then leans forward to quickly brush his lips against her cheek. “I’m kidding, sweetheart. I asked you on a date because you were the most beautiful woman in my American literature class.”

“You two are bloody saccharine,” Will mumbles.

“Hey, look at you with your big word there, Scarlet.”

“That’s it,” Will groans, standing from his chair at the table, “I’m going to work. I’ve talked, had a beer and some potato logs, and I want to go stand in the air conditioning of the bar.”

“See you at home, mate?” Killian questions.

“Yeah, whatever. Bring me home a bag of those donuts from the booth over there.”

Killian mock salutes as Will walks away, his head slowly shaking from side to side. Killian’s agitated mood seems to have passed over to Will for the most part, and he’s not even going to be sorry about it today. He needs a night where things go right.

“He loves us,” Ariel sighs. “You can tell in the look in his eyes. That’s all love there.”

“Yeah,” Killian huffs, drinking his beer while his eyes land on a woman with long, lean legs and an ass that fits perfectly inside of her jean shorts which don’t seem to be covering much of her thighs. She’s got blonde hair pulled back into a braid and…holy shit. The universe can’t seem to give him a break. Or, well, maybe it can. “Hey, Fisher?”

“Yeah?” they both say.

“Hundred bucks says I can get a woman to come over here to our table and spend the night with me.”

“We are not betting on you having sex with someone.”

Killian rolls his eyes. “No, not that kind of spending the night. I want her to spend the evening with me, and if she so chooses to come back to my place, that’s none of your business.”

“I thought we said we weren’t doing that.”

Killian leans forward and winks. “I do so love a challenge.”

And then he’s getting up and walking away from the table to the sound of Ariel’s protests of him being an asshole. And yeah, he knows that he can be, but he’s not about to be an asshole right now. He wouldn’t even think about doing this, at least not anymore, if he didn’t know who this woman was.

“Swan,” he calls out, and he sees the muscles in her shoulders tense before she turns around from the group of people she was talking to. “Fancy seeing you here.”

He can feel the eyes of everyone on them, but he blocks them out and only focuses on Emma. She’s only got on a thin top that shows off her shoulders and the curves of her breasts while also revealing her toned midriff, and he has to fight back memories of their night together if he doesn’t want his jeans to get too tight.

Of all the women in the world to be here.

“Well, you know, Boston is a big city, but it’s apparently much smaller than I thought.”

“Which is a good thing, I assume.”

“Depends on the situation.”

Killian chuckles and takes another step closer to her before glancing up at her group of friends. “Can we talk for a minute?”

“You know, I’m with my friends and – ”

“Of course she can talk to you,” one of her friends says, a woman with long brown hair full of red streaks and a wolfish smile. “She can make all the time in the world for you, handsome.”

“Ruby,” Emma hisses, “shut up.”

“A hot as hell man just came up to you because he knows you and is asking to speak. You need to go, Emma. You know what they say about droughts and everything getting dried up down – ”

“Okay,” Emma sing-songs, thrusting her hand forward to push at Killian’s chest until he’s backing away, “I will go talk to him if you shut up because none of that is true.”

“I mean, it could be.”

“Rubes.”

“Fine, fine.”

Killian’s trying to stifle his laugh. He really is, but he can’t help himself when a small chuckle escapes and he gets an absolute death stare from Emma. Ah, he’s kind of missed that. She’s a feisty lass.

“What do you need, Jones?” Emma huffs out when they get far enough away from her friends that they can’t hear the conversation.

“I was wondering why I haven’t heard from you in twenty days.”

He should not have said the exact amount of days. He shouldn’t have. That’s too much.

“The phone works both ways.”

“Ah, yes, but I have a feeling you wouldn’t have answered my calls or texts if I had tried.”

She crosses her arms, and it takes everything in him not to look at how the movement pushes her breasts up. He’s not going to be that guy. “Look, I haven’t found a lawyer yet, okay? I’ve had shoots pretty much every day for the past three weeks, and it hasn’t been at the top of my list of priorities.”

“Oh really? Ending your marriage hasn’t been at the top of your list? You were the one who said you wanted to pick the attorney because you didn’t want to work with just anyone. It’s some paperwork, Swan. I’ve done some more research and am pretty sure we can do it ourselves. We’re not settling in for a custody battle that’s going to last two years.”

Her eyes narrow. “I’ll get around to it. It’s not like this is keeping you from living your life anymore. I talked to your Captain. Your background check has been cleared, and you can take all of your little tests now. You don’t need me anymore for anything besides filing the papers.”

“Love – ”

“What did I say about calling me that?”

“It’s a force of habit. It’s not something special, so don’t let it get you too high on your horse.”

“You absolute ass- ”

“Emma Swan?” Ariel gasps, and both he and Emma turn to the side to see Ariel walking up to them, absolutely beaming. “Emma Swan, is that you?”

She looks back at him quickly, green eyes as wide as he’s ever seen them, and suddenly the absolutely threatening look she was giving him is turned into a vibrant smile that makes small lines around her eyes appear.

Her eyes have to be another kind of green because he’s never seen any quite so captivating.

“Ariel, hi. What are you doing here?”

How the hell do the two of them know each other? Is Boston actually the smallest city in the world?

“I’m here with my husband and, well, Killian actually. I don’t mean to interrupt you, especially since I know Killian came over here to ask you out, but then I noticed it was you he was talking to and had to come and say hello.”

What the hell is going on?

“Oh,” Emma laughs, “is that what he was doing? Asking me out? I had no idea. That wasn’t very smooth, Jones. I thought you knew how to sweet-talk a woman.”

“Oi, I was not asking you out. I mean, that’s what I told Ariel and Eric but – ”

“Why would you tell them that?”

“There was a bet and – ”

“A bet?”

“Aye, but – ”

“A fucking bet, Jones? What is this? A rom com from the nineties? You can’t ask me out over a bet? And you of all people should know that I’m not exactly interested in dating you. I mean – ”

“Love, if you could let me finish a sentence, I think you’d see that this all makes a little more sense than you’re thinking it does.”

“Try me.”

“Okay, so I – ”

“Wait,” Ariel interrupts as Killian reaches up to pinch the bridge of his nose, “do you two know each other? How do you know each other?”

“Funny, A, I could ask you the same thing.” “Ariel knows my agent, Mary Margaret” Emma explains. “Wait. Is Ariel your agent?”

“Aye, but I don’t know a Mary Margaret.”

“Oh, sure you do,” Ariel says, waving him away. “I’ve talked about her plenty. She and her husband go out with Eric and me quite often. So how do you know each other again?”

“Um,” Killian begins, scratching behind his ear.

“We did the convention shoot in Vegas at the end of July,” Emma quickly explains, shooting him a look. “He was my fake husband for the day.” “And your real husband right now,” he mumbles under his breath until Emma slaps him.

“What was that?” Ariel asks.

“Nothing, darling. So, what a small world that you all know each other. What are the odds?”

“Well, catalog model agents in Boston run a very small circle. It’s not like we’re in New York or something like that. Also, you lose your bet because you knew Emma. That doesn’t count.”

“I was never going to take Eric’s money, A.”

“I was never going to go out with him anyways. He’s not exactly my type.”

Bloody liar.

Ariel laughs at Emma before placing her hand on Emma’s shoulder. “Why don’t you and your friends join us? We’re about to eat some food and then watch the fireworks. I’m sure we can get an extra seat or two for the table.”

“Oh, no,” Emma protests. “I wouldn’t want to intrude.”

“It’s not intruding at all.”

“Did someone say food?” Ruby asks, skipping up to her and dragging the woman behind her with her. “I’m up for some food.”

Emma turns around to look at her friend, and if he could see her face, he’s sure it would scream murder right now. Holding in his chuckle is more difficult than it should be, but this is all too perfect. He’s not about to pass up on an opportunity to have a night messing with Emma.

“Come on, Swan,” Killian urges, kicking his foot at her, “get something to eat with us. I’ll buy you a beer, though I know you’re partial to champagne and tequila.”

The look she gives him definitely screams murder.

“They sell margaritas at one of these booths. Buy me one, and we’ll eat with you guys. Don’t think I’m taking my eyes off you for a second.”

“I would despair if you did.”

He learns that Ruby is also a model, but that she does more work than Emma because she wants to move onto bigger gigs, and that her girlfriend Mulan is a physical trainer who apparently regularly kicks Emma’s ass enough that Emma will go to another gym some days. This causes Mulan to go into some kind of rant about Emma needing to show up at a class and that the other gym she goes to is a waste of money, but Emma waves her away, murmuring something about finding a cheeseburger, some onion rings, and whatever the largest margarita sold is. That’s how they end up leaving Mulan and Ruby with Eric and Ariel as he and Emma go in search of her food and her drink.

“So onion rings? Not fries?”

“I mean, I like fries,” Emma explains as she walks slightly ahead of him before slowing down to fall in step with him, “and I’ll eat them. But onion rings are undeniably better.”

“Undeniably, huh?”

“Yes.”

“Can you defend that?”

“I like them more, so they’re better.”

Killian chuckles. He doesn’t have a particular fondness for either, but he’s not about to argue. “Okay, lass. Whatever you say. So, have you told any of your friends that you have been happily joined in matrimony?”

She stumbles in her walk. “I told my agent and her husband, who’s a cop, but I didn’t tell anyone else. I had a few questions for David about how to become a cop and all that you were going through. I don’t know…it seemed right to tell them because I knew they could help. You?”

“I haven’t told any of my friends.”

“Yeah?”

“Mhm. I think there’s a burger truck in the second row to your left, Swan. And yeah, I don’t know, didn’t feel like it was something anyone needed to know.”

Emma doesn’t say anything, but she does turn to move toward the food truck he pointed out.

“I can help you find an attorney, you know? I’m sure it’s not a big deal.”

“I can handle it.”

“Swan.”

“I said I can handle it.”

“It’s been nearly a month. The longer we wait, the longer it’s going to take to get it done.”

She groans and turns around, slapping her hands against her thighs. “Look, I have a thing about lawyers and courthouses and the whole damn legal system, but I really have been busy, okay? I’ll get to it this week and make a decision on how I want to move forward.”

“Does your thing have anything to do with Detective Humbert?”

Oh boy he really is an asshole.

“You know, like I already said, that’s not really any of your business, but no, it doesn’t.” She turns and her braid flips over her shoulder. It’s a dismissal if he’s ever seen one, and any opportunity to tell her he talked to Graham is gone. It wasn’t a big deal, and he’s sure she doesn’t want to hear about her ex anyways. “I’m hungry. Let’s go get dinner. I will find someone to help me do it.”

“Okay, Swan. I trust you to do that.”

She stops again, making him nearly run into her in the crowded area, but then she’s quickly moving again and working her way to get her food. Emma Swan makes absolutely no sense to him. None.

But he cannot deny that he is incredibly intrigued by this woman.

He can’t deny that it’s the first time in a long time that something like that has happened, either.

“Jones,” she yells out, “you’re getting me the extra-large margarita.”

“It would be my pleasure, love.”

She only rolls her eyes at his endearment this time, and Killian marks that one down as a success.

Or, well, progress.

Like he said, he does love a challenge.

-/-

-/-

Tag list: @xemmaloveskillianx​ @stahlop @shardminds @carpedzem @captainsjedi  @galaxyzxstark @thejollyroger-writer @kmomof4 @tiganasummertree @xellewoods @idristardis @karenfrommisthaven @shireness-says @scientificapricot @captswanis4vr @a-faekindagirl @ultimiflos @jamif @dreameronarooftop15 @nikkiemms @resident-of-storybrooke  @bmbbcs4evr @onceuponaprincessworld @jennjenn615 @mayquita @teamhook @kmomof4 @ekr032-blog-blog @superchocovian @ultraluckycatnd @cs-forlife @andiirivera @qualitycoffeethings @jonirobinson64 @mariakov81 @spartanguard @snowbellewells @therealstartraveller776​ @onepunintendid​ @bluewildcatfanatic​

[motherofbulldogs]

ALEXANDRA SHULMAN: I know the efforts aides made to make Meghan welcome. She didn't want their help

https://www.dailymail.co.uk/debate/article-9334003/ALEXANDRA-SHULMAN-know-efforts-aides-make-Meghan-welcome-didnt-want-help.html

Before the Duke and Duchess of Sussex married, a professional creative, well used to the intricacies and diplomacy involved in working with Royal households, was interviewed for a role by Meghan.

A mutual friend ran into the candidate immediately after the interview and asked excitedly how the experience had been.

The reply did not sound encouraging. ‘Well. Let’s just say it was like The Devil Wears Prada. And I was not Meryl Streep.’

Judging by the bullying allegations that have now emerged in a leaked email from the Royal couple’s then communications secretary, Jason Knauf, this was not an uncommon reaction.

It turns out that Meghan did not want guidance or support, or certainly not of the kind she was getting. No, as we later learnt in her interview with Tom Bradby on the South Africa tour, she wanted to be asked how she felt

I have met Knauf many times and I have to say that he must have felt pretty hard-pushed to do something that could undermine any of his bosses.

With her beautiful son Archie, current pregnancy, dashing Prince, stonking commercial deals, Montecito mansion and now her global fame, you would think that the Duchess of Sussex might feel… job done.

What more could she possibly wish for? But as we will be hearing on her Oprah interview (and how I wish I was strong-willed enough not to watch it), that is very far from how she feels.

She is aggrieved. She is a woman much misunderstood. She was, until she was able to flee to Santa Barbara, a voiceless victim like so many of the abused women she constantly tells us she supports.

And who were these tormentors? Well, first up are, apparently, the British media, whom her husband has long also disliked. But a close second are those Royal courtiers and aides who peopled the world she was expected to operate in when she arrived to live here.

One of the striking things about Kensington Palace – the centre of ops for both the Cambridges and Harry when Meghan Markle moved in – is how very old-fashioned it is; think brick-walled cloisters, Jammie Dodgers and hunting prints, strangely muted and dim.

She is aggrieved. She is a woman much misunderstood. She was, until she was able to flee to Santa Barbara, a voiceless victim like so many of the abused women she constantly tells us she supports. Meghan is pictured above with Harry while the aide whose email exposed bullying claims is seen left

KP, as everyone calls it, is actually a labyrinth of small rooms and neatly proportioned apartments with battalions of young staff steering visitors around the corridors to their final destination.

Like many palaces, it is literally inward-looking with not much of a view and a little bit claustrophobic. As a confirmed California girl, Meghan no doubt found it so. And probably a bit depressing.

The staff who work at KP, like those at Clarence House and Buckingham Palace, are a hugely industrious bunch, happy to put in incredibly long hours for comparatively low salaries because they enjoy the status of working for the Royal Family. And they care. They care a great deal about protecting the Royals in every way, from organising the details of daily life to their image and security.

I remember meeting Knauf for the first time. He was a good-looking young American (a direct contemporary of Harry) wearing a formal grey suit and the requisite palace lanyard, and I found him quite daunting.

He didn’t seem big on small talk or even the smallest joke, and clearly took the view that this meeting was mine to lose. He was the one in control. As I got to know him better, I discovered he has a great sense of humour but, even off-duty, he was implacably loyal to his bosses.

The idea that he, or anyone working alongside him, would have had any interest in not supporting the incoming Meghan Markle as she tried to navigate this new world is simply not credible.

In truth, the opposite is true. Even before Meghan arrived, I know for a fact that the KP team were busy rallying a group of interesting and influential people who might be helpful and friendly to her in a new country.

They had learnt from the sad story of Princess Diana that letting a newcomer flounder in the somewhat archaic Royal pool, where they could feel isolated and unsupported, could be disastrous.

But herein lay the problem. It turns out that Meghan did not want guidance or support, or certainly not of the kind she was getting. No, as we later learnt in her interview with Tom Bradby on the South Africa tour, she wanted to be asked how she felt.

Knauf’s email raising concerns about Meghan’s intimidating behaviour came about after a growing number of complaints – all from women – in Kensington Palace.

At that time in 2018, the corporate world was finally beginning to take accusations of bullying and bad workplace practice seriously – and Knauf, an accomplished corporate professional, had his ear close enough to the ground to know that such things couldn’t be allowed to fester, even in a palace.

The decision to confront this toxic situation would have been nightmarish to make. The last thing Knauf would have wanted was the idea that he and his colleagues were ganging up against Meghan.

In addition, Harry and William were still linked by their joint foundation and a huge amount of behind-the-scenes work had been put into developing the notion of the two brothers as emotionally literate, empowering, modern Princes – and nobody wanted the whole thing to fall apart because of the new wife on the scene.

So, no doubt to begin with, allowances would have been made for Meghan being used to a different workplace culture. The serried ranks of polite young women in KP, with their unassuming clothes and understated make-up, all used to working quietly and cautiously in a certain way, may have appeared lacklustre to her.

But reports that staff were bothered by her sending 5am emails from her yoga mat, as if that were too demanding, would have been wide of the mark. Employees in the Royal offices know they have signed up for 24/7. Pretty well every day of the year. It’s less of a job than a vocation involving a big slurp of the Kool Aid and being prepared to put your own life on the back-burner.

Although we might think that we Brits have a more hierarchical culture than the Americans, the US workplace is far more status-led, with much more visible deference expected from juniors to seniors.

Meghan would have been used to the noisy can-do ethos of that arena in contrast to the measured but often more effective British approach.

In the States, at least until very recently, it was not uncommon for employers to scream and shout when they couldn’t get what they wanted – right now. Harry’s ‘What Meghan wants, Meghan gets’ admonishment, so jarring to our ears, would have been an entirely acceptable mantra in many an American institution.

But perhaps more difficult than a clash over working styles for the team who worked for Meghan, and possibly for Meghan herself, is that they seemed unable to provide her with what she wanted. Or even to know what that was.

What was clear though was what she didn’t want: being told what she could and couldn’t do.

I have always thought that an American woman I know found me patronising because, on our first meeting when she was new in town, I suggested places and people she might be interested in. She lost no time in telling me that she knew it all already. Meghan clearly felt similarly.

One of the striking things about Kensington Palace – the centre of ops for both the Cambridges and Harry when Meghan Markle moved in – is how very old-fashioned it is; think brick-walled cloisters, Jammie Dodgers and hunting prints, strangely muted and dim

Unlike the Princess of Wales, Meghan arrived on the scene as a woman in her 30s, with friends and connections, experience and opinions all bedded in. She knew what she liked and wanted, and had no interest in anyone thinking there might be any gaps where she would appreciate a bit of advice.

And unlike Catherine Middleton, who, by the time she married Prince William, had experienced years of living in the Royal goldfish bowl with its oxygen of protocol and precedence, Meghan would have been confounded by what might seem ridiculous prohibitions and rules.

Maybe it’s not surprising that she shot the hapless messengers, venting frustration on the team trying to help, and drove them away. Her lawyers deny bullying ever took place, but I don’t think I’ve ever heard a bully acknowledge themselves as such. Often they don’t even recognise they are doing it.

You have only to hear the way Meghan refers to The Firm (Prince Philip’s term for the working Royals), as if it were a cross between the Cosa Nostra and the Scientologists, to know that Team Sussex will no doubt regard the timing of the release of these accusations as directly targeting Meghan in revenge for the Oprah interview. And they may well be right.

But such is the Oprah machine’s build-up of the revelations of this interview (and let’s not forget one being broadcast as Prince Philip lies in hospital, which unless the Sussexes had rubbish lawyers, they would have reserved the ability to postpone), it was probably too much too expect, of even our usually buttoned-up Royals, to sit back and take it.

After all, they, like Meghan, are only human.

[kpopisthereasonihavenolife]

Retracted Claws | 04

BTS

Kim Taehyung/Reader [F]

Genre: Hybrid/Mafia AU, Violence, Angst, Dark Themes, Fluff - Tae is soft for Y/n

Warnings!: Implications of past abuse (Mental/Physical/Sexual), Implied Sex Service 

Words: 6.8k

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@hyunmintae  @lunaxmadel @jiminslye @taelzia @shimiory @sabri-na130 @ms-bookdragon @fuxk-feelxngs @btsstan4life @lil-meow-meow-goes-rawr @moniebuns @imaforeigner @agoddesswithablade @brother-lets-cry-cry @magsjv @chocolateandchagall @heckin-mood @vannilacake @that-barista@chaoticevilcappuccino @ethereal-ashes @anoushe01 @enthusiastt@minseoltanggi @houseofhecatetrilogy @want-to-say-hello

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It’s almost unnerving at how fast time can tick by after a tragic event.  It’s already been 2 months since you were attacked on the streets and it’s also been 2 months since Taehyung snapped at you.  True to his apology, he’s done everything in his power to control his temper, especially around you.  You understood that he had to be strict and hold a sense of power to keep his men in line and he couldn’t really run his mafia if he was soft on them.  You didn’t mind when he yelled and threw shit at someone who didn’t listen, but if you were with him, he would keep it short- promising punishment to them later. 

The guilt from that time still ate away at his stomach early morning and he’s woken up enough times panicking when the memory of your blood body haunts his dreams.  Taehyung had almost moved into your room by home much he was in there with you, sleeping in your bed at your side and even making sure you don’t slip in your own shower.  

While he’s become even more doting, you’ve started becoming more independent; albeit in baby steps.  You can wander around the manor on your own, you can stay in your room and shower on your own now without fear of some random man charging at you when your back was turned.  For lack of better terms, here in this manor where you had Taehyung and you had Jimin, you felt safe.  These walls of this grand manor were ones you could trust. 

You’ve also started trying to speak up more.  You were almost always limited to speaking to Jimin or to Taehyung.  Humans are vile and scary, and you couldn’t bring yourself to say two words if someone paid you (mostly because payment for you never turned out).  

Perhaps, that's why Taehyung had been a bit more relaxed when it came to you being indoors.  He would always be watching you in the corner of his eye, or he asks Jimin or a trusted member of his men to watch over you, but as opposed to the constant hovering he did before, he had grown less tense about it. 

Now, here you stand in the corner of Taehyung's meeting room.  Jimin sat at the table and Yoongi speaking over the phone.  Taehyung sat at the end of a long table and a stranger sat at the other end.  He was apparently a client of Taehyung's that has been shifted in his loyalty as of late.  He claims to have some dirt on some rival companies and drug lords, but he's not willing to talk easily.  No one was even sure if his claims of information were true, to begin with.  It was all one big assumption. 

So, here Taehyung sits, annoyed and impatient.  His legs were crossed under the table, one hand tapping on the wood and the other curled around his mouth as his eyes were lidded with annoyance.  The dark glimmer in them still sent shivers down your spine as your ears would unconsciously fold backward. 

Even after all this time beside him and being fully aware since day one, just who Taehyung is and what he does, it doesn't lessen the chill you get from him when he's engulfed in his work. 

"As I'm sure you're aware," Taehyung finally spoke.  Jimin looked at his friend in a blank expression- he was good at hiding what needed to be hidden in such dire and heavy atmospheres.  "I don't have all day and frankly, you're already wasting my time.  So, either start talking or get the hell out."

"Taehyung," Jimin warned, trying to reign in his temper before it would spiral out of hand.  Ever the professional when it comes to something business related.  Jimin had too many sides, more than a die would and you always wondered which was legitimate.

"I want my payment before I tell you what I know," he spoke with an almost too proud smile.  Taehyung's eyes narrowed. 

"Tell me one good reason why I should reverse the ways of a trade when it comes to you specifically?  I see nothing special about you compared to any other barber who comes my way."

"I won't tell you a thing otherwise.  Who knows, maybe I have some good intel."

"And perhaps you're a liar who is just trying to pry at what clearly doesn't belong to you by putting on a face of pride."  Taehyung dropped his hand from his mouth, joining it with his other than tapped on the table. Now clasped together they sit still.  "You could very well have something, sure.  However, you would just as easily be completely empty-handed when it comes to anything that could possibly be helpful to me."

It was tense as you stood.  Your ears flicked as you scanned the stranger's body.  His posture was slack like he didn't care how he presented himself in front of the man who is still technically his boss.  He bit back and a cocky smirk that fueled his equally cocky attitude. Sat without a care in the world. 

Then, his eyes flicked to you standing beside the door.  It wasn't really intended that you be here, but Taehyung hadn't minded you sitting in if you wanted to so he didn't chase you out as he had before.  If he were discussing proper mafia etiquette with his men and laying out blueprints of their next heist, then he'd tell you to go preoccupy yourself until he finished. 

When he lashed out at you and you ran off, getting injured, he wanted to keep as much cruelty away from you.  He didn't want what happened to you that night to happen again.  He knew he couldn't always avoid it and he knows that maybe one day it would happen and it wouldn't be his fault, but it still scared him.   If you so much as got a tiny papercut he felt like he could cry for hours. 

He's grown up like this, but the nightmarish stain of your blood painting his memory like candle wax that won't burn off.  Reminding him that this isn't the place you deserve to be, but the place he is selfishly keeping you for his sake. The sake of the small sliver of humanity in him,  you kept it grounded.  You were the anchor to his sinking ship.

"How about we do a half trade," Jimin spoke up as he flipped open a laptop he had laid out on the table in front of him.  Powering it up and gaining the two men's attention, he soon began typing and clicking around on his screen. You watched from the wall and saw him typing up some sort of document, all sorts of paragraphs and bullet points before he swung the laptop around so the screen faced away from him. "If you give up half of your information- that you claim to have- now, we can offer a proper payment and then you would then be obligated to reveal the remaining withheld information." 

Taehyung half negotiations.  He leaned back in his chair as he crossed his arms.  Uncrossing his legs as they sat apart under the table.  He bit at the inside of his cheek to keep from grimacing.  Half negotiations were always a floozy deal.  There are too many ways they could fall through or not work out.  Half the time they ended up with Taehyung having to track down the client and killing them for not sticking to contractual obligations.

In short, the odds were never really in Taehyung's favor- and Taehyung hates wasting time, energy and supplies on something that could've been avoided in the first place.

The man across the table seemed to roll the idea in his head, knowing that is Jimin is proposing it, there's a chance Taehyung won't decline it.  Jimin worked as Taehyung's eyes and ears, along with upholding his rationality.

"I suppose I'd be willing to work under the terms of a half," he said after some thought- a hard feat for such a dunce Taehyung was sure.  Taehyung glared when he caught the man eyeing you up again for the third time since he sat in his stupid chair.  He quickly lifted his leg, the toe of his boot harshing connecting to the bottom of the table.

The wood jostled and anything on top of it shook and rattled.  The man jumped as Jimin just withheld a sigh. You also jumped from the sudden sound as you soon breathed and eased your shoulders back down. He dropped his leg back onto the carpet when the man's eyes were back on his where they needed to stay.

"If you don't want to lose one of your eyes, you'd do best to keep them off Y/n," you looked at Taehyung as he growled at the man.  Jimin looked over his shoulder at you as you slightly shook his head. You saw him look at you before, but you didn't think much of it.  You often got odd looks because of you being a hybrid.  You've grown used to it.  Though, it was true that this man's eyes gave you the worst kind of chills.

The meeting continued and both parties decided on a half trade, much to Taehyung's disinterest.  The man gave up information about a small rebellious patch that seemed to be festering in a small portion of Taehyung's men.  Many were older gentlemen who were beyond disgusted at his decision to take in and hybrid and give her rank as high as him.

Jimin all the while was typing away every word that came out of the man's mouth.  The information was copied into the laptop word for word.  You were contemplating leaving, as the meeting seemed it would be easy enough to finish.  All that was left was to hear what the man wanted in terms of payment before the rest of the deal would be carried out. 

You moved towards Taehyung, walking to his side to tell him that you would be going.  Jimin was talking to the man for a moment, so you took the chance to tell him.  He looked at you walking up to him and almost released the tension in his shoulders.  You look down at him.

"I'm going to go back to my room if that's alright?" You softly spoke.  He almost smiled as he nodded. 

"It's a decision for you, kitten.  If you wish to leave, then you may at any time." You nodded at him as you turned to leave, but the man across the table's eyes stopped you.  They caught yours again as you shivered.  They were dark and reminded you too much of the past.  Taehyung noticed how you stalled and reached to place a hand on your forearm.  You flinched, stuck in your head when he touched you. "I'm sorry," he whispered when you calmed.

You shook your head as the man across the table started chuckling.  Taehyung moved to hardened his eyes into a glare at the man as he sat confining his chuckled behind his hand.

"You know, with all due respect sir, it may not be the brightest idea to parade off an animal," he chided.  Taehyung's grip on your arm almost tightened unconsciously.  He watched Jimin look at the man with distaste as you were somehow brought into the conversation. "She's not exactly fitting into the mold you created for everyone else.  A rarity is sought after in this line of work."

"I don't remember asking your opinion on who I decided to let in or out of my work," he snarled back.  He was annoyed that the man referred to you like some animal, to begin with. Now his accusation seemed to hold a second meaning.  Taehyung wasn't stupid. 

"The contract states that whatever I request in payment is to be delivered since I held up my first half of the bargain," he grotesque smile formed on his greasy face.  Taehyung stood from his chair, knocking it back with the force of his standing.  He tugging your arm as you moved behind him as he pulled his gun tucked in its snug holster on his belt and pointed it at the man.

"I'll shoot you right here and now if you so much as open your fucking mouth again."  You could feel Taehyung's hand shaking around your arm as he breathed through his nose harshly.  He gripped his gu so hard his hand shook as his veins bulged in anger up his neck.  His shoulder square and he was absolutely serious when he said he'd shoot him.  You had no doubt.

Jimin could already understand where this is going as he stood up.  He looked down and across at the man who remained seated, almost unbothered. 

"Although a trade like this is usually open game, we aren't into selling people for their bodies for something like this.  We have other ways of gathering information.  Your request would be denied." Jimin voice was stone, as he was far better at controlling his anger than Taehyung.

Your eyes widened when you realized what the man was going to ask for.  Why he'd been staring, why Taehyung was on edge and why he was suddenly now pointing a gun at him.  he was going to ask to spend the night with you.  You gasped lightly when you feared your old life coming back for you.  Clawing at your ankles and ensnaring you like a bear trap.  You were truly still chained to your past after all. 

You looked at Jimin's calm rage and then looked at the back of Taehyung's head.  He was so angry, and he cared about you so the point he's willing to kill clients and terminated contracts if you were so much to be involved.  You took a breath, steeling yourself for a decision.

You vowed to get stronger, to grow and help Taehyung.  Help him understand and love himself.  To pull him out of his self-hate.  You vowed to understand and work with him, alongside him as a person, not his hybrid.  If you had to be brought in to finalize a deal with someone with possibly valuable information that could be a line between something dangerous aimed at the man you've grown so fond of, so be it.

You pulled your arm from Taehyung's hand as you moved to wrap your arms around his waist from behind him.  You pushed your forehead into his back as you turned your head and rested your cheek between his shoulder blades.  Resting easy, he leaned back into you slightly. 

"Y/n?" He whispered as he moved to look behind him.

"Just, trust me," you told him as you let go of him and walked around to his side and moving to stand slightly in front of him.  Facing the man sitting at the table head on.  "I'm willing to work with you," you told him as Jimin whipped around from the man to look at you with wide eyes.  Taehyung behind you dropped his arm with his gun as he stared at the back of your head. 

Your ears were standing on your head, not back in gear or anxiety.  Your frame was firm, straight as you stared this man down.  The man you were willing to revert to your past to if it would benefit Taehyung even the tiniest bit.   Taehyung's gun slipped from his hand as you and the man kept eye contact. 

"Is that so?  You're willing to conduct yourself to my whim without complaint?" You nodded. 

"I'm more than capable of doing so, rest assured." 

He laughed.  "What a stupidly obedient pet."  He waved before digging into his pocket and throwing a key at you which you swiped out of the air.  Some might say you had some cat-like reflexes.  "So long as you show up, I'll go and tell your little owner whatever he wants to know.  Location is on that key, sweetheart."  You nodded as you tucked the key away in your pants pocket. 

You bowed lowly to the man before you turned and left the room without a word to Jimin or Taehyung.  Jimin watched you go with astonishment as Taehyung couldn't move.  Even moving his eyes felt taxing. 

Too much.  This was too much.  What just happened?  Taehyung shook his head slowly in small swivels before he was marching out of the room, swinging the door open with enough force to rip it clean off the hinges before he was chasing you down. 

Rushing into the halls, catching a glimpse of you before you rounded a corner.  He sprinted down the hall before catching your arm.  “Y/n, wait,” he told you.  It was hard to face him, so you didn’t.  You never moved to acknowledge him at all. Taehyung’s breath was labored. He looked to his left then right.  Just a few doors down was a vacant storage room. Not too much held inside it if memory served.  He let go of your arm and moved to grab your hand instead before pulling you in tow to the room.  Going inside and locking the door behind both of you. 

Flipping on the dim storage light, it shadowed your face to look almost grim.  

“What in the hell are you thinking” His voice held a wave of calm anger. He was determined not to raise his voice or chase you away.  The memory of him doing so in the past still burned into his head.  “Are you crazy? You can’t just butt into deals like that.” 

“You were able to follow through with a business partnership though, right?” Your voice was low.  Quiet and timid as your head hung low.  

“That’s not what’s important.  I prioritize you over my work and you should know that.” Taehyung watched as your curled hand shook like a vibrating machine.  Hold it, he gently uncurled your fingers to reveal the key that man gave you.  Red skin and indentions in your palm from gripping it so tightly.  When Taehyung went to grab it, your fist closed around the metal again.  “Y/n, let me have it.” 

You shook your head.  Taehyung moved you to sit on a spare crate.  Kneeling in front of you and softly holding your hand that kept the key hostage.  

“Y/n, you don’t need to do this.  Just hand me the key and I can take care of everything.”  He took a breath, calming himself when you shook your head again. “Please, “ he pleaded.  “Don’t go through with something that scares you.  Let me handle it.”  

“I want to be of use to you,” you told him.  Taehyung remained silent as he knelt before you, listening.  “I know work is important to you and you’ve done so much for me.”  You swallowed a lump in your throat as your nose was becoming stuffy.  Ears flat against the top of your head.  “So, please,” your voice cracked, “please just let me do one thing in return.” 

Taehyug’s eyes softened as his thumb ran over the skin of your hands.  He sighed. 

“There’s nothing at all I can say- or do- to make you back out?” 

“No, you answered quietly. Taehyung gently tugged on your hand, ushering you onto the floor with him.  He sat himself down as he soon tugged you beside him.  Looping his arm around your shoulder, he leaned his head against yours. “Taehyung?” 

“Promise me that you’ll come directly to me afterward.  Immediately, no matter what.” You nodded as you both sat silently. Taehyung hating the decision of allowing you to do the last thing he was sure you wanted to. His grip on your shoulders tightening. 

XXX

That night you were going through your closet looking for something that would reminisce about your past life.  Your past jobs that happened when the moon was as high as the men who would coop you in room after room with strangers from men to women. You hated trying to piece together something that the man you would be visiting might find pleasing enough.  Your past hasn’t left, and right now at this moment, you doubt it would be going anywhere anytime soon. 

Taehyung stood outside your door.  Arms crossed, and body rigid.  He tapped on his arm with his finger as he stared- rather glared- across the hall at the empty wall.  This whole thing has him beyond angry, so much he debated knocking you out and dealing with the scumbag himself.  However, he knew this was your decision and even if he hated, he couldn’t take that away from you.  

He pushed off the wall the moment he heard your door handle move and soon you were stepping out of your room. Taehyung’s brow twitched.  For the first time since he did it, Taehyung almost regrets buying you new clothes.  Taehyung’s jaw clenched as his hand twitched to grab his gun and march his ass to shoot the man himself. 

You looked at him as you stood in the most revealing outside you could muster.  A tube top that had a zipper running down the center of your breasts down to your belly.  Shoulders, collarbones, and arms exposed.  A pair of garter shorts that clung to your legs and waist at the garters strapped into your thighs.  You forewent shoes, not even putting on socks as you walked barefoot. Hair down as it fell in small teases. 

Taehyung just stared at you as you crossed your arms over your chest.  You never felt subconscious like this before, it was too normal for you. Wearing something like this was everyday attire back then, but standing in front of Taehyung had your stomach churning.  This was what you used to be and this is something someone like him could easily toss away like trash.  Your face darkened as you began to panic. Would he throw you out if you really did this?  Would he push you away again? Would he give you up to a shelter or make Jimin take you someone out of his sight? 

You flinched when he took a step towards you, clamping your eyes shut.  You didn’t mean to, but you soon relaxed and almost burst into tears when he stood in the hallway outside your room holding you.  He held your head in his neck as he rubbed up and down your shoulder, calming you down.  He knew you were nervous and didn’t really want to do this, but you were forcing yourself.  He didn’t understand why, and frankly, he didn’t think you knew either.  It was just something you felt you had to do- and that was that.

“I’ll walk you to your car, okay?” Taehyung whispered to you as you both rocked ever so slightly back and forth.  You nodded against him as he soon was pulling away from you and walking down the hall, his hand holding yours.  When you came to a stop at the car waiting to take you to the location the man had given to Jimin earlier, you looked up and were shocked to see your driver would be Jimin himself. 

He smiled at you gently as he pets your head, scratching behind your ears as you purred the slightest bit.  He chuckled as he opened the backdoor of the car. Taehyung pulled your hand to tell you something, whispering in your ear. 

“Don’t forget your promise,” he told you.  Your face reddened at his breath pushing against your cheek.  You nodded.  You wouldn’t forget it would be repeating in your mind all nights so that you wouldn’t forget.  It would get you through the nightmare you were going to put yourself though.  Taehyung would be your blissful dream after all the hell.   “Please be safe,” he muttered once more before you were sitting in the backseat, Jimin shutting the door after you. 

Jimin went to his friend’s side, patting his shoulder as he saw so much distress on Taehyung’s face. 

“Thank you for going with her, Chim.” 

Jimin shook his head as he looked over his shoulder at you in the back seat.  He could tell you were fiddling with your fingers, picking and pulling at them.  A nervous tick you developed that Taehyung is trying to get you to stop. Your claws weren’t something you needed to be picking at, they can bleed too easily. 

“I’m glad to go, I’m sure she’ll feel better if she knows I’m just right outside.”  

“I wish she wouldn’t go,” Taehyung declared with a soft voice and clenched fists. 

“I know.” Soon enough, Taehyung was standing at his front manor door, watching as the car, Jimin and you drive off.  Leaving the property and not returning nearly as soon as he wished. 

XXX

You sat nervously in the backseat at Jimin drove you to your location, the GPS ticking down the miles left until arrival.  He kept glancing back at you through the rearview mirror, each time seeing the grim atmosphere around you thicken and darken in your eyes.  Your eyes hadn’t moved from their flat position on your head since you got in. 

You would move your attention to the seat in front of you, to your nails again and outside.  Watching the city blitz by as Jimin drove and took in the sights, signs, and people when he was stopped at a light.  You were glad the windows were tinted because if someone happened to see you- a hybrid- in such a car like this with only Jimin driving.  Well, they would surely shoot you the dirtiest of looks and you were certain you’d break down into a fit of sobs if something were to push you any further right now. 

Soon, Jimin was tightly gripping his steering wheel as he begrudgingly put the car into park on the side of the road.  He parked in front of a love hotel, one made for a couple looking to hook up discreetly or for newlyweds to try out their wedding night games.  Or maybe just for a long time pair to spice things up again. Point being, this was no place for you.  Jimin didn’t nearly feel as sick to his stomach as he knew Taehyung did, but you were someone precious to him too.  Like a younger sibling, he hadn’t met before, and if he did have a younger sister he sure as hell wouldn’t want her here. 

Jimin got out of the front seat, yanking his keys out of the ignition with annoyance as he walked around to your door.  Opening it he watched you take your seatbelt off slowly as you hesitantly stepped out.  Your bare feet hitting the cool concrete of the city and stepping on the property of the sex-site. Jimin had half a mind to give you hit boots or even a jacket, but he knew you’d refuse them. 

“Y/n,” he called as you turned to him.  “You can still turn back, you don’t have to go in.” You shook your head as you smiled small.  Jimin’s face fell, knowing what he said didn’t matter because if Taehyung couldn’t get you to change your mind, he certainly wouldn’t do it either. 

“Thank you,” you told him before you walked inside, the plush red carpet meeting your bare toes in a blissful softness.  The only thing you can say for sure you would enjoy in this place.  Yes, the carpet was nice as you make your way to the room the key had inscribed on it and knocked as you stood before it.  Greeted with a sick grin and yanked into a room, locked inside for a night. 

5 hours passed by as Jimin sat in his car outside the hotel waiting.  Taking near back to back calls every hour from Taehyung as well as receiving copious amounts of texts about you.  Jimin knew as much as he did, a whopping plate of nothing. 

Jimin was reclined in his seat, listening to some CD a friend had lent hi not too long ago.  Jimin wasn’t a smoker like Taehyung was (even if Tae was trying to stop) but this wait almost made him start smoking.  The tension was too high and he was too restless. He bounced his leg, tapping, hummed, and even beat on the ceiling of the car a few times to try and release some pent up energy. 

He held his phone above his reclined face, one arm behind his head as he read yet another incoming message from his friend.  He was tapping another ‘I don’t know’ when he saw the doors to the hotel slide open. You came rushing out.  Holding your tube top at your chest.  Jimin jumped up and ran to your side after bursting out of the car. He ran to you before he focused on the car to open the door for you to get inside of it.  Inside to the safety you had been lacking for hours now. 

He held you by the shoulders but retracted his hands almost instantly as you flinched at the contact.  “Y/n!” He called your name as you didn’t once look up to meet his eyes.  He just shook his head, foregoing any other words he may want to say, and just moved to open the car door and usher you gently inside.  You slid into the seat and instantly slumped to lay across it instead.  Jimin shut the door as you lay in the back, getting up front and driving off. Back to the manor- breaking a few traffic laws along the way. 

XXX

When he got the message that Jimin was on his way back with you, Taehyng flew from his bed.  He hadn’t slept, he refused to lay down, he was just pacing back and forth in his room.  Taking breaks from his worries to work but soon back on his worry parade.  He ran his fingers through his hair, held his face in his hands, kicked his trash bin at his desk and almost ripping a framed photo off his wall in frustration.  

He had been or uneasy that he grew too hot to even stay completely dressed.  Old, worn sweats hanging off his hips and that was all he could muster.  He nearly flung his door across the hall when he busted it open to run down the halls, descended the stairs and skidded to a halt at the front door.  He stood outside on the steps of his home waiting for that car to pull in his driveway. 

Half an hour later and he hopped up the stair-step he sat on when he heard the revving of the car as it pulled around the gates and stopped at the bottom of his stairs to see Jimin get out of the front.  Rounding the car to your side as Taehyung sped down the stairs, skipping steps as he went. Jimin helped your sit up as you slowly raised yourself out.  

Tubetop still on, but zipper busted as you held it together at your chest.  Shorts on, but wrinkled and hair a tangled, unkempt mess.  You wouldn’t raise your head and Taehyung couldn’t see you.  You were so dazed that you didn’t even hear, let alone recognized Taehyung’s scent as he came closer.  You only looked up when you saw the slippers he wore outside when he didn't want to bother with shoes.  

Slowly raise your head up, Taehyung saw the red coating around your eyes like a sickness.  The puffy cheeks of yours as the red, button nose that glowed in the dark night around you.  You shivered slightly as you took shaking breaths.  His angry spiked when he saw something around your neck, a thick line that seemed raw.  He pulled his fingers into a fist as his nails dug into his palm enough to cause himself the slightest bit of pain.  That bastard put you in a fucking collar.  Not to mention, his blood boiled at the mark- the bruise of purple just below the collar mark. He put you in a collar and sucked a mark into your skin. 

That man put something, two somethings, on you.  You who belonged to Taehyung- with Taehyung.  Taehyung kicked off his slippers, making your step into them instead. He moved to grab your hand as he started away.  

You followed behind mindlessly as Taehyung took you inside, up the stairs, down the halls you knew so well and into his room. It had been a while since you were truly in here.  Taehyung shut the door behind your back, flicking it shut as he moved to hold you.  

Tucking you into him as he held you so tight you couldn’t breathe.  He hung his head as it rested against the side of yours; his shaking breathing hitting your ears.  He tightened his hand that was on your back as he held you in place, not letting you move away from him an inch. You stood against his warmth, relaxing.  

His scent was calming and his skin warm. You dropped your hand from holding up your tube top as you wrapped your arms around his naked waist back. Your nose pushing into his neck as you finally wept.  He stood holding you- crying and shaking you- as you wailed out your misery.  Tears sprung into Taehyung’s eyes as well. 

When you calmed down, Taehyung held your cheeks as he looked at your red face.  “I am so sorry,” he told you.  You sniffed at your eyes twitched.  He pushed his forehead against yours as he kissed the tip of your nose.  “Let’s get you cleaned up and to bed, okay?” You nodded.  

A bath, set of Taehyung’s clothes covering you and being tucked into his bed later, he sat beside your sleeping body, scratching your ears.  You purred in your sleep as you watched you.  His hair is still damp from his bath with you as it dripped occasionally.  His eyes still stung as he pulled the comforter you had pulled up your chin back.  

Leaning down, he placed a small, gentle kiss on your neck. Covering that mark that seemed to be fading from the collar and glaring at the bite that man gave you.  Putting one more kiss on your neck, he tucks you back in as he left his room.

Taehyung found Jiin in his living room on his laptop, the two made eye contact and seemed to already be on the page thought process of what needs to happen ASAP. 

“I’ve already got camera captures of where he went when he left and where he is.  Wanna see?” Jimin asked him. 

“Just give me a location, I’ll deal with the rest.”  Jimin nodded as he pulled a gun from under the coffee table, tossing it to Taehyung. 

“It’s not yours, but it can shoot and I took the initiative to load it, full chamber my friend.”  Taehyung smiled at the gun, holding it at his hip before his phone went off with a location from Jimin.  Taehyung was driving off with two men in 10 minutes before he was on the road. 

Driving to a small home just outside the city, Taehyung started laughing at the location.  This man had a secluded country home, making his job that much easier.  It was laughable as Taehyung flicked the safety off and cocked it back.�� The car that had to two men up front stopped as the man who was responsible for the other half of the deal was outside smoking.  He stood up ready to tell off the car that just parked in his driveway but stopped when he saw Taehyung step out.  

Still only in his sweats, he marched up to the man who dropped the cigarette from his mouth from keeping it agape.  Taehyung raised his gun, pushing the barrel up against the bottom of the man’s chin, shutting his mouth with a clack of his teeth.  

“We don’t want you swallowing a fly, so shut that mouth of yours,” he cooed in fake sincerity.  He moved the gun to tap against his cheek, the cool metal of it striking fear with each skin tap.  The man’s skin raising in gooseflesh.  “Let’s have a discussion of men, yeah?”  Then Taehyung was dragging him inside, to men following him as the front door shut. 

XXX

Taehyung had dragged the man into his bathroom as he threw him onto the tiled floor. Banging his head off the toilet bowl’s edge.  The man squirmed on the floor as Taehyung put his gun on the sink as he knelt and picked the man up by his collar.  “Talk, you piece of whoreshit,” Taehyung growled. The look in his eyes made the man below him shiver.  He was rendered speechless as Taehyung pushed him back on the floor as he stood up towering over the man.  Lifting his barefoot, he began pushing his foot onto the man’s neck cutting off his air.  

The man on the floor squirmed as he pulled trying to get Taehyung off him, the mafia leader only stepping down harder.  He released a moment later, not wanting the piece of trash to die- not yet.  He moved to stomp his heel into the man’s gut.  

Moving away, Taehyung opened the bathroom door, left and came back with what looked like fishing line. The man had moved to sit up against the side of the standing metal shower door. Taehyung began unwinding the line.  He looked at the man, eyes narrowed and cold.  Calling the two of his men inside the bathroom, the two were soon holding the man on his feet, holding his hands above him as Taehyung began winding and winding and winding the fishing line around his wrists and tying them to the metal frame of the shower door. 

His hands turned red as the line cut into his skin to make small beads of blood.  Taehyung smiled at the blood.  “Who knew, even a monster like you has red blood,” he chuckled out. Taehyung told his men to leave, as he remained alone with the man.  Tapping his gun against his thigh as he got closer to him.  He pushed his gun into the man’s side as he got closer still.  “I want every piece of information you have,” he said as he pulled his trigger.  

A single bullet grazing his side as the bullet shot and shattered the glass door behind him.  Glass falling into the shower and onto the floor, above Taehyung’s bare feet.  He couldn’t be bothered as the man hissed and breathed in labored breaths from the bullet graze.  

“Another thing,” he told him as his eyes hardened again.  “I want you to tell me what the fuck you did to Y/n and for each lie you tell me, I’ll break each one of your fingers until you only have toes left.  Then I’ll break those until I get to start to crack your ribs one by one, motherfucker.”  The man froze in his tied up imprisonment.  Taehyung smiled, holding the information that whatever he did do to you wouldn’t just have his fingers broke, no.  Taehyung would be getting the dullest blade from the kitchen and cutting his fingers off completely.  

When he was done of the night, he walked out of the bathroom, shutting the door behind him as he muffled the cries and whimpers inside.  “His screaming is so annoying” he muttered as he wiped his bloody hands.  Looking at the bloodstained sweats, he grimaced. “I liked these too,” he sighed.  He turned to one of his men outside the door. “Find something to gag him with a sock, a shirt, underwear I don’t care.  I’ll send reinforcements in the morning.  Don’t let him out of this room,” he chuckled.  “Not that he’s going anywhere.” 

“Yes, sir!” One man told him as he moved to go search for something to gag the man.  Taehyung left the house as he walked the perimeter.  He scoffed, a pathetic area, but it doesn’t matter. It’s his now.  He pulled his phone from his pocket, his red dried fingers calling Jimin.  

“Send me 3 cars, 6 men each.  This area is under my jurisdiction now.” 

“He’s not dead, is he?”  Jimin questioned hoping he didn’t jump the gun and just kill the fucker.  

“No, he’s not.  Calm down.  I just roughed him up a bit, had a little chat,” Taehyung laughed through the line.  Jimin didn’t question further.  “I’ll need a change of clothes too. I don’t want Y/n seeing me like this right now.” 

The line cut after that.  Taehyung sat on the hood of his car as he sighed, looking at the night sky that was teasing the light of dawn. Digging inside his car and popping open the glove compartment, he pulled a pack of cigarettes.  “Y/n is going to be mad if she finds out I smoked,” he said to himself.  “Guess, I’ll just take the bullet,” he chuckled at his own chuckled as he lit it and blew the addicting smoke into the air.  “It’s quiet this morning.” 

The humming of cars and clacking of guns not too far off in the distance.  

-Pt. 5?-

a/n: this is the shortest and possibly worst chapters of this series so far (I’m not v happy with it kinda), but I fiugred since I had it written here you go! Still on hiatus lmao

[giurochedadomani]

It’s bound to ruin ya, honey

He shakes Leonardo off when he passes his fingers lightly over the blooming bruise on his cheekbone. His mood comes crashing down. He suddenly feels small, so very ridiculous, like when he used to take refuge in Leonardo and Regina’s house after a row with his father. Leave it to Leonardo not to leave him licking his wounds in solitude and peace.

“I fail to see how is it any of your fucking business”.

The point is, Vittorio also has broad shoulders, and a disarming laugh, and a curly mane of hair not much different from Leonardo’s, but he’s not married, and he actually wants Primo. It’s so exhilarating, being wanted. Primo has let him introduce him to many new experiences, starting by cocaine highs.

Or, Primo kisses Leonardo for the first time while being as high as a kite.

Continue reading on AO3 or under the cut.

TW: Drug use, Implied / Referenced Abuse (not by Leonardo or to Leonardo’s family)

“Leave him”. 

Primo giggles. 

“You don’t even have to actually kill the guy. Didn’t he want to go back to Sicily, or something? Tell him to fuck off”. 

Leonardo’s cardigan is snug on the other’s broad shoulders. There’s a stain on his chest, and it’s dark, so it looks like blood, but it’s probably tomato sauce. When was the last time Regina prepared lasagna? He’d lick the sauce of the plate if he didn’t risk her kicking him out the table. Fuck, he’s starving.

“Let’s go to Alfredo’s!” 

“It’s three in the morning”. 

Primo doesn’t see any problem. He grabs Leonardo’s arm and tries to push him forward, but the other doesn’t bulge. Does he need some convincing? He can do some convincing. “I can tell him to get us a table, even if the place is full. The bastard owes me a favour big time! He ought to break the good wine”. 

“Will you, fuck”, Leonardo pulls him back to him. “Will you listen to me, for the love of God?” 

 What Primo would really, really like to do with Leonardo right in this moment is to dance. He’s very clumsy, and laughs a lot, which makes Primo tingle all over when he’s the cause of it. He could probably tease him enough to get him to grab him. Leonardo is so very easy to rile up. “And the music— you know he’s got the best music. Le Orme, and Premiata Forneria Marconi, and the others, the ones who use bases of, of classical stuff—” 

Fuck, what they were called? It’s going to bother him until he remembers. It’s something in English, that’s for sure. Leonardo probably knows, he’s good when it comes to remembering things. He wonders whether or not he could get him to teach him some phrases in English. He’d be a quick student. If Leonardo asked, he’d behave very well.

“You cannot continue like this”. 

Leonardo’s glaring at him, and while it’s adorable, why is he glaring at him? He’s not exactly glaring at him, though. He’s focusing his eyes on the left side of Primo’s face, and Primo’s been ignoring that, and Vittorio, and specially and specifically Vittorio slapping him hard enough to leave a bruise for the better part of the last hour, so he doesn’t see why he should stop now.  

“Like what?” 

He shakes Leonardo off when he passes his fingers lightly over the blooming bruise on his cheekbone. His mood comes crashing down. He suddenly feels small, so very ridiculous, like when he used to take refuge in Leonardo and Regina’s house after a row with his father. Leave it to Leonardo not to leave him licking his wounds in solitude and peace. 

“I fail to see how is it any of your fucking business”. 

The point is, Vittorio also has broad shoulders, and a disarming laugh, and a curly mane of hair not much different from Leonardo’s, but he’s not married, and he actually wants Primo. It’s so exhilarating, being wanted. Primo has let him introduce him to many new experiences, starting by cocaine highs. 

Vittorio can be gentle, when he puts his mind to it, though it’s his mean streak, the one that has won Salvatore over in a matter of months. While it has been liberating seeing his uncle fester in hypocrisy as he actually gives praise to a guy the old man knows he fucks on the regular, the fact that Primo is still fighting for a place at his uncle’s table has driven a little bit of a wedge between them. There have been— fights. Physical fights. But no, no. Whatever Leonardo’s implying— Primo gives as much as he receives. 

Leonardo’s tone is serious enough to make him actually listen to whatever he’s rambling about. Primo knows Leonardo’s very intelligent, and that his advice is to be taken into account. He wouldn’t have survived this long next to his uncle if he wasn’t. So Primo tries to picture himself telling Salvatore that he has been forced to drive Vittorio off Calabria and instantly he can almost hear his uncle’s voice going on and on about the untrustworthiness of fags while Primo is in the same fucking room. 

“And then, what? I tell him to fuck off, do I gain anything, besides— having to deal with Salvatore gloating about it for months?” 

He’d rather keep taking the beat— He’d rather keep on the fights. 

“You’re doing all of this to piss your uncle off? To get him to chase you off the village?”

The first time Salvatore kicked him off his house, he was sixteen, and he had just taken a beating after being caught making out with another boy by the river. He had spent the whole night on Leonardo and Regina’s sofa, Leonardo’s fussiness helping him ignore how his bruised chest burned every time he tried to breathe.  

He has fought so very hard to have this flimsy say in his uncle’s business that the idea of being kicked off, again, and having to start anew, fucking again, makes his blood boil. He wonders if Leonardo’s as tired as him. It must be exhausting, the amount of time he wastes covering Primo’s ass. Maybe that’s why he’s going on and on about this: he’s probably just trying to get the problem that Primo constitutes out of his plate. 

“Do you want to chase me off? Back to Rome?” 

“How’s that related to anything?” 

In any other circumstance, he would find Leonardo’s confused look hysterical, now it just makes him itch for a fight. His tolerance for Leonardo’s advice is plummeting by the moment, especially now that he cannot think about anything, but in how Leonardo wants him so very little that he wants him out of the village. Primo’s chest’s constricting very painfully. 

He tries to step out, but now it’s Leonardo the one who grabs him. 

“I don’t want you to fucking die, you see? I don’t want to wonder whether I’m going to find your body in a ditch every night I hear you both shouting at each other. I don’t— ”, Leonardo stops himself.  

Primo can feel the ice in his veins. Don’t say it, don’t say it, don’t say it. 

“I don’t want you to end up like your mother!”  

Primo’s mother died when he was fifteen. Salvatore took a long look at Primo’s father, his brother, and sentenced that it had been an accident. 

Primo’s father didn’t survive his wife for long. Primo said it had been an accident, too. 

Primo wants to shout. He wants to punch Leonardo, and also grab him by the lapels and— he pushes him. Leonardo’s back hits the wall with a loud thud. 

Primo cups his face and kisses him.

He releases his grip as if it burns after a moment. He wills his breaths to even out, and he straightens his jacket, and waits for a reaction, any kind of reaction. He can feel his heart on his throat. His head, pounding, makes him dizzy. 

Leonardo won’t even look at him.  

Primo leaves the room pretending he’s not fleeing and blaming his unsteady stomach on the end of the high. 

[thanks--for--listening]

I’ll only hurt you (if you let me)

finally finished a BOP fic ayy i have so many more ideas and one that’s close to done but your validation will probably speed up that process. (also on ao3)

--

Helena Bertinelli didn’t cry. 

That had been her first lesson. When she’d arrived, it was just about all she could do. He’d sat next to her, told her you cry tonight, child, but tomorrow you take those feelings and you use them. Crying will get you nothing. Sadness will not help you. It is anger you want, anger you can use. She nodded her head, cried herself to sleep, then woke up with a fury she’d never felt before. As she began training, she grew to understand that he was right. Tears had their purpose, initially, but overall they were counterproductive, and she had a job to do. Crying in the face of pain would do nothing, so she vowed to never do it again, no matter how much she wanted to. And she didn’t. 

But damn if this didn’t hurt like a bitch. 

“Can you just get it out already?” She yelled behind clenched teeth. Lying on the couch, she wanted to close her eyes, but she didn’t trust the frenzy around her not to lose their shit if she did. It was like they’d never seen a bullet wound before. 

“I’m trying,” Harley said, “but I’m also trying to not kill you in the process, so if you could just stop yelling at us, maybe it would go faster.”

“I’d stop yelling if you all could stop being babies and get this fucking bullet out of my fucking thigh!”

“Okay, let's all take a breath,” Renee said.

“I can’t take a breath, because there’s a bullet in my leg and you’re all too stupid to take it out!”

“Hey, watch who you call stupid, Robin Hood, because I could always just take my PhD and go.”

“Fine, leave! I’ll do it my-fucking-self,” Helena grumbled as she tried to sit up. She felt hands on her chest immediately, saw Renee and Dinah on either side of her pushing her back into the couch. “It’s a PhD in Psychology, dumbass, that doesn’t make you a fucking surgeon,” she mumbled as she laid back down. 

“Okay, this is insane,” Dinah sighed. “Harley, stop being dramatic and just try and get it out. Helena, you gotta calm the fuck down, because we can’t help you if you keep trying to fight us.”

“Yeah, you gotta relax,” Harley said, and Helena’s face must have matched the way she felt, because Harley held both hands up. “I’m talking from a strictly medical perspective, here,” she added. “It’s harder to get the bullet out when you’re all tense like this.”

“Well excuse me if I’m having trouble relaxing when there’s a bullet in my fucking leg,” she said, and she felt Dinah’s hands on her shoulder again. 

“H, look at me,” she said, “ignore her.” Helena turned toward her, and she smiled, and even though Helena could tell it was forced, it still made her feel warm, somehow. Unless, of course, that was just her body fighting off the foreign invader in the form of the bullet that was still in her fucking leg.

“Woah, Crossbow,” Dinah said, and she wondered how she saw the anger in her without her having to say a word. “Eyes on me. What do you do to calm down normally?”

“She’s never calm,” Harley mumbled under her breath.

“Harley!”

“Well, it’s true!” 

“Just focus on the bullet wound, please,” Dinah asked her, and Helena could feel the exasperation coming off her. Somehow, by the time she turned back to face her, though, it was gone, replaced with a look that was both serious and calm, and just a little stressed. 

“I don’t know,” Helena answered her earlier question. 

“What do you do when we get back from missions, huh? What do you do then? To...decompress, or whatever?”

“I don’t know!” She yelled without meaning to. She felt and saw Dinah flinch, which made her more upset at herself than she was at Harley. “I listen to music, I guess,” she said in a much softer tone. 

Usually she didn’t mind silence, but she’d always had a soft spot for music. The men who raised her didn’t really do leisure time, but music had been their only exception. Sometimes they played it while they trained, anything from hip hop to Italian opera. Other times, usually when someone brought out a second bottle of wine, they’d break out the guitar and create it themselves. Outside of success in her training, it was the only thing that had made her feel anything but angry. 

“Good!” Dinah said, “That’s good. Where’s your phone? We’ll play some right now.” 

“Yeah, that might not be a possibility,” Renee said, and Helena forced herself to turn her head and look at the completely shattered phone Renee held in her hand. 

“That’s alright!” Dinah said in a tone that was way too cheery to be sincere. Helena looked back at her, saw her rummaging through her bag. “I’ll just play something from mine and—“

Helena gasped so loudly she felt as if she sucked the rest of the noise straight out of the apartment. The pain was blinding, white dots dancing around her eyes. “Jesus fucking Christ,” she felt rather than heard herself say, and she finally had to shut her eyes because everything was too much and she didn’t think she could even breathe let alone—

The hand in her own grounded her. “It’s alright,” she heard, and even though she knew Dinah was right next to her, her voice still sounded miles away. “It’s alright.”

She heard the others speak, but none of their words were clear enough to make out. Everything was muffled, like she was underwater and they were all on land. She could feel herself breathing, and she knew each breath was too short but she couldn’t stop it and the voices got louder and it hurt so bad, got it hurt so fucking bad and—

She stopped breathing when she heard her. Just for a second, before she forced herself to exhale. Her eyes were still shut but she didn’t need to see it to know what was happening: Dinah was sitting next to her, holding her hand, and she was singing. 

Helena didn’t know any of the words. She didn’t recognize the melody, either, but it didn’t matter. It was the most beautiful thing she’d ever heard. It was slow and soft and gentle. She could hear the phrases, tried to breathe along with it. Tears stung at her eyes but she kept them at bay. 

She kept her eyes shut, even as she heard Harley exclaim “I got it!”, the first words from her or Renee to break through her fog. Dinah stopped singing, and she forced her eyes open to look over at her. 

She was smiling, and if she hadn’t been lying there with an open wound, the sight would have been enough to make her smile, too. She tried to speak, but she didn’t trust herself to open her mouth and not let tears out, so she kept looking at Dinah, trying to thank her without words. 

“You see, if you had just calmed down when I told you to, that would have gone a lot faster,” Harley said as she began to stitch the wound, and as much as she didn’t want to take her eyes off Dinah, she forced herself to glare at Harley long enough to flip her off. 

“I’m gonna go check on Cass.” Helena’s face must have reflected her confusion, because Renee elaborated. “We locked her in Dinah’s room when they got here,” she explained. “I think you were too busy screaming every swear word known to man to notice.”

Oh. The thought of Cass hearing all that, hearing her pain and anger, brought her closer to tears than the bullet wound itself. Dinah had told her about when she’d first met Cass, about the foster parents who were always yelling awful things at each other, and now she’d had to listen to her do the same thing to Harley, to the others, and she had to look up at the ceiling because if she didn’t she was going to break her own rule and all that would do was make everything worse. 

“With the way she blasts her music, I’d be surprised if she heard any of it,” Dinah told Renee, but she squeezed her hand again as she said it, and Helena knew the words were meant for her. She tried to squeeze back, but the more she stared up, the more she felt the world spinning around her. She closed her eyes, and as soon as she felt Harley finish the last stitch, she drifted off to sleep. 

Her exhaustion didn’t stop the dreams. 

Every night it was slightly different. Sometimes she’d start in Italy, getting the shit beat out of her over and over and over again until she learned to fight back. Sometimes it was the bad stuff from After, the boys who made fun of her lack of skill at the start, the ones who mocked her smug reaction to shooting an arrow on target, because while she thought putting her archery lessons on display was impressive, they’d long since graduated from the childish bow and arrow. Sometimes she closed her eyes and all she saw was the scarlet fury that had spent over a decade festering inside her, and she woke up scared of how much she craved finding a release for it. 

It wasn’t alway bad. Some days she saw mostly good stuff. The days as a child where her mom used to braid her hair. Playing video games with her little brother in the basement, letting him win and not feeling bad about it. The boy in Italy who noticed that she never sang or danced with the rest of them, who found an old string base and taught her how to play so she could be a part of the group. Those days, though, waking up hurt more, because she knew that no matter how many times she closed her eyes, she could never truly go back.

Tonight was both different and the same. 

She sat at the bottom of the pool. Up above, she could hear her father yelling. He was always on the phone, always angry at someone, but down here it wasn’t so bad. Down here, she could see how long her breath would last, how long she could go without having to stick her head above water. Her long hair floated around her, and she liked the idea of it having a life of its own, moving with its own free will. 

The singing got her attention. It cut through the water, echoed against the walls and the pool floor, carried her up, higher and higher, until she left the pool and her house and the whole world behind. It took her up to the clouds, where she saw Dinah. She smiled at her, the one that made her feel weak inside in a way she didn’t mind. Helena noticed that she was herself again, the adult version, the version that got to know her. Dinah motioned for her to come sit, so she did, and they sat there on the clouds, looking down on the world below. The singing stopped, but it was replaced with a gentle kind of quiet. It was peaceful. It was comfortable. It was perfect.

“It won’t last.” She turned and saw Dinah staring right at her, a serious expression on her face. “You’re going to lose me just like everybody else. You’re going to lose all of us.”

She tried to speak, tried to protest, but the words died on her lips. She watched as the clouds slowly evaporated, as Dinah evaporated with them. She reached for her, but Dinah was ash and dust and Helena was painfully solid. The soft surface disappeared beneath her and she dropped, fell through the sky, through time itself. When she landed, she was twelve again, walking into her house for the very last time. She tried to scream but she couldn’t, she couldn’t do anything but watch as the bodies fell, all at once, motionless around her. She felt her parents’ weight on top of her, so heavy on her chest she could barely breathe. She saw red, had to close her eyes as someone’s blood dripped onto her face. She didn’t know whose it was, her mother’s or her father’s, but she knew it was warmer than both of them. 

Worst of all was the noise. The shots still echoed in her ears, ringing out even though she knew the shooting was over, knew because she still heard the shots but not the screaming. 

After a minute, the laughing started. She shut her eyes, begged God to kill her right there, because she didn’t want to hear it anymore, didn’t want to feel it anymore. Everything was too much, and she silently begged Him to let her go with them, to not leave her behind, but He was as silent as her family, and she knew then that He’d died right along with them. 

Suddenly an arm was on hers; an instant later she gasped as she woke up. She kept her body motionless but her eyes were frantic, wouldn’t stop moving until she remembered where she was. At home. On the couch. Bullet wound in her leg. Dinah next to her. 

Wait. She turned her head quickly at the realization and saw her kneeling next to her, hands still on her shoulder. They both noticed it at the same time, and Dinah moved them away quickly. 

“Sorry,” She said softly. “You were breathing really weird and your whole body was tense and I was worried you’d try and move or something and ruin your stitches.”

“Oh,” she said softly, her voice scratchy and hoarse. Dinah noticed, handed her a glass of water, and she chugged half of it before she added a weak “thanks.”

“Do you wanna talk about it?” She asked, and she said it so casually that Helena found that she was almost tempted to say yes. Instead, she shook her head. She wondered if Dinah would push it, would try and coerce information out of her, but she just nodded, and asked, “Does it hurt? Your leg?” 

“It’s nothing I can’t handle”. The memory of the dream was fading, replaced with reminders of what happened when she was awake. “How’s Cass?” She asked her. “Is she—I mean, did I—“

“She’s fine,” Dinah told her, and even when she was just talking there was something so soothing about her voice, something she almost couldn’t describe. “She’s just worried about you.”

“She shouldn’t worry,” Helena said quickly, “I’m fine.”

“She only worries because she cares about you,” Dinah said, and she could hear her surprise, her hesitation, in the inflection of her voice, heard it telling her to calm down. It didn’t work. 

“She shouldn’t.”

“Shouldn’t what? Shouldn’t care?” Helena didn’t answer, and she could feel the shift, knew that Dinah’s hesitation was turning into incredulity and confusion and pity. She hated that she knew what she was feeling. A person's emotions could be used to predict their actions, or so she’d been told. It was why she’d been forced to study them, to always know how to read someone’s face or body, how to hear words in their voice they didn’t say. But just because she knew what people felt didn’t mean she knew what to do with those feelings. Especially when they weren’t coming from an enemy she could fight.

“Helena,” Dinah’s voice snapped her out of her own head. “Why shouldn’t she care about you?”

She didn’t want to answer. She didn’t, but she was tired and angry and the fear from her dreams was lingering longer than it usually did, so she opened her mouth and confessed. “Because everyone who cares about me gets hurt.”

“That isn’t true,” Dinah said, and Helena felt the fear in her stomach growing, and she forced it down, because she knew that if she let it out, it would be anger who would rear its ugly head. It always was. 

“I won’t be the cause of any of her pain,” she managed to say. 

“You’re not.”

“But I will be. It’s inevitable.”

“You love Cass, and she loves you, so how could you possibly hurt her?”

“She’ll get hurt because she loves me! Don’t you get it?” She hated herself for raising her voice. Even if it only reached her normal speaking volume, it felt like she was screaming. 

“No, I don’t.” Dinah held her ground, shaking her head and staring straight at her. “Explain it to me.” 

“There’s a reason I was working alone before I met you guys,” she said, “and it’s not just because of my inability to play well with others. There’s no one left.”

“Helena,” Dinah said in that tone that she hated, the one that was all sympathy and pity. “What happened to your family, that’s not your fault.”

“Of course it’s not my fault.” She didn’t think Dinah was expecting that answer, but she didn’t give her much time to process it. “I killed the people whose fault it was. But it is a fact that every single person who’s ever loved me is dead. Except—“ she stopped herself, realized the confession that sat on her lips. 

“Except…” Dinah said, trying to prompt her to finish, and she wasn’t going to, she really wasn’t, but she made the mistake of looking in her eyes, and all of a sudden she was drowning all over again. 

“Except for you,” she said, then quickly added “and Cass. And Renee. And even Harley, even though she doesn’t always act like it. I know she does— I know you all do. I can tell.”

“So what, you’re just going to get us to stop caring about you?” Dinah asked. “That’s your big plan for keeping us alive?”

Helena just looked away. When she said it out loud, it didn’t sound as serious as it felt to her. Dinah had a way of exposing the illogical, and this was no exception. 

“Hey,” she said, and Helena felt a hand on her arm, and she turned to look at her. She wasn’t smiling, but there was something so gentle about the way she looked at her that it felt like she was. “I get it. I really do. But look at what we do, the line of work we’re in. Even if...even if something happens to one of us, it won’t be because we love you. I promise.”

“I—“ she hesitated. She knew that everything Dinah said made sense. She knew that, but she still saw the faces that haunted her at night, and she knew what it felt like to be completely alone in the world, and the thought of losing everything again…

“I just can’t risk it,” she finally told Dinah. “I can’t risk you. Any of you.”

Dinah was quiet for a long time. Helena just sat there, waiting for words she was sure would come. For her sake, she hoped Dinah would just accept it without making too much of a fuss. It would make everything easier. It would save her. Even if Helena would never truly get over it. 

“For the longest time,” Dinah finally said, her voice low and her eyes glued to her lap. “I only ever cared about one person. She was the only person in the world who loved me. And I lost her.” She looked up, waited until their eyes met before telling her, “I guess everyone who cares about me gets hurt, too. So really, it’s you who shouldn’t care about me.”

She felt as if time stopped. The thought of living a life where she couldn’t care about the woman in front of her was an impossible scenario. Dinah was everything that was good and beautiful in the world. She’d prepared herself to spend eternity loving her from afar. She’d do anything for her. She’d die for her, kill for her, but stop caring about her? 

“No.” She blurted out. 

“No?”

“No.”

Dinah waited a minute, before smiling slightly. “Okay,” She said. “Then how about we agree to care about each other? You put up with my pain, and I’ll put up with yours, and maybe we’ll find a way to protect each other from fate, or God, or whoever decided that we don’t get to be loved.”

“Okay,” She said softly. She was aware that they’d never talked this much before, at least not about feelings. Usually moments like this one freaked her out, but there was something about Dinah that made her feel calm. It was that calm feeling that made her ask, “What was that song you were singing? While Harley was pulling the bullet out?”

“Oh,” Dinah smiled, and if she could’ve seen better, if the only source of light hadn’t been the moon hanging right outside their window, Helena would have sworn the other woman was blushing. “Nothing. Just some song Cass wanted me to learn. She wants me to make these videos with her so she can get famous on some app or something. It’s not really what I’d usually sing, but I already told Cass I wouldn’t let her record me shattering stuff with my voice, so I figured this would hold her over for a minute.”

“You should sing like that more often,” she said softly. “It was beautiful.”

Dinah just smiled at her, and Helena felt herself melting. “You should get some sleep,” she told her. 

Helena nodded, but Dinah didn’t make any effort to move, and it was only then that she noticed the pillow and blanket on the floor next to her. “Why aren’t you sleeping in your room?” 

“Harley’s sleeping there.”

“Why isn’t she sleeping in my room?”

“Cass is in your room,” Dinah told her, and Helena didn’t get it, because she knew that Harley and Dinah and Harley and Cass had all shared beds before, and she tried to figure out why this time might be different, but before she could she heard Dinah laughing. “I volunteered to sleep out here,” she said. 

“Why?”

“I wanted to. In case you woke up and needed something, or you were in pain, or you know, something like this happened.” Helena felt the urge to look away, but she forced herself not to. “Besides, she continued with a smile, “based earlier today, we figured I had the best chance of not facing the wrath of Cranky Helena.”

“Oh, God,” she groaned, “I’m gonna have to apologize to Harley, aren’t I?”

Dinah laughed, trying to muffle the sound so as not to wake anyone up, and Helena couldn’t help but laugh a little too. She couldn’t remember a time where she’d laughed after a night like this one.

Their laughter died down, swallowed by the silence around them. Helena shifted, stared up at the ceiling, and she knew what she wanted to ask for, knew that normally she’d never actually do it, but there was something about the middle of the night that gave people bravery they didn’t have, so she kept her eyes glued to the ceiling and asked softly, “Can you sing it again?”

For fifteen seconds, Dinah didn’t make a sound, and Helena had an apology waiting on the tip of her tongue, but before she could blurt it out, she heard her. Her voice was soft, raspy almost, and quiet. She was singing just for her and they both knew it. This time, Helena listened to the words, listened and realized that the lyrics were a little bit tragic and a little bit desperate, that the music itself was low and high and everything in between, but when she closed her eyes, all she heard was Dinah. And she was beautiful. So, so beautiful. 

[astarisms]

my fair lady

pairing: natan word count: 888 summary: the bridge has already burned and fallen down, but she will rebuild it. notes: i had this absolutely BRILLIANT idea in my head and it just... flopped on the page lmao this is awful but here’s my attempt to fulfill the bridge prompt for day three of @natanweek

Lucifer does not sleep, and so he does not dream. Not like humans. 

Instead, in his quieter moments, he relives his own memories, the ones that would keep him up at night if he could sleep. He has many regrets in his immortal life, and they are unwilling to release their grip on him, to let him go a day without the reminder of all the ways he has failed, despite his triumphs. 

The memories are always so vivid, he almost forgets that they have already happened, that he is not living them anymore. 

He tastes the ash on his tongue. He hears the clash of weapons and the roars of betrayal. He smells the blood and the burning. He sees the chaos he incited all around him. 

He feels the mind numbing pain of Michael tearing his wings off, the white hot agony of nerves and muscle and tissue being rent from his back. 

The memory of his family is so heavily corrupted with this instance and everything that followed that Lucifer has spent millenia avoiding them or otherwise losing his temper. 

He had not wanted a war, but Michael’s pride had not allowed him and his followers to leave Heaven without one. Lucifer resents him for it, and he resents him even more for the fact that he aches when he remembers the brother he once had. 

A quiet whisper of his name has him looking up, into Natalie’s drowsy eyes. She rubs the sleep from them and sits up, recalling memories that are not hers and have no business playing behind her eyelids. 

It’s been too long, he thinks of their contract, but Natalie is looking at him in concern, squinting in the dark. He waves her off, telling her to go back to sleep, trying to swallow his own panic. If she can see this, what else can she see? What else can she feel? 

He tries to play it off as a fluke. He does not want to think of the implications of this.

But Natalie is never one to let things rest, and in the morning she’s uncharacteristically quiet, sneaking glances at him her entire walk to school. He knows it’s coming, and he has a snappish response ready on the tip of his tongue, but of all the things he expected her to say about his memories, what comes out of her mouth is not one of them. 

“They still love you, you know,” she says, softly as they reach the front steps. She adjusts the strap of her bag on her shoulder, and continues before he can hide his shock, “otherwise Michael wouldn’t use me as an excuse to see you so often. Gabriel and Ralph wouldn’t have helped after Oregon.”

Finally getting his expression under control, he scowls at her, a warning in his voice when he tells her, “don’t speak of what you don’t know, kid.”

Natalie shrugs, because he’s never really listened to her and she doesn’t expect him to now, not on something like this. 

“Whatever you say. But I can tell. Maybe it’s time to bury the hatchet.”

She says it like it’s so easy, but she doesn’t stick around to hear his indignant response, instead turning and disappearing up the stairs with a wave goodbye. 

He’s not surprised, of course. With how diligently she forgives, he thinks she might have been a saint, had she not sold her soul to the Devil. But as much as he would like to shake off her words, to hold onto that resentment towards his family that has festered for centuries, he finds he can’t.

He wonders if there’s any truth to them, and if so, how someone as dense and painfully oblivious as Natalie had been the one to pick up on his brothers’ intentions.

Otherwise Michael wouldn’t use me as an excuse to see you so often.

Lucifer can’t deny that he has seen Michael more in the months he’s been contracted with Natalie than he has in centuries. 

He looks up sharply, at the spot Natalie disappeared inside the school, his brow furrowed deep in thought. The idea that Natalie has been a glorified excuse for his brother to come to earth so often is absurd.

And yet… he would be lying to himself if he said he hadn’t noticed that Natalie did not always commanded Michael’s full attention, though Lucifer usually attributed that to Michael’s plotting.

Shocked at the revelation, Lucifer finds himself staring once more at Natalie’s school. Not for the first time, he wonders at her, at this human who by all appearances is not anything special. How then, has she managed to affix herself so closely to him that she has the answers he has been searching centuries for? 

He thinks back on what she said, on how unlikely it was that he would have seen his siblings at all if not for her interference. 

Prophecy child, some part of him whispers, but he shakes it off. Prophecy child or not, she has done something extraordinary.

For the first time in centuries, she has connected him to his family again, however unwillingly.

Natalie McAllister has bridged Heaven and Hell. 

For that, he doesn’t know if he should thank her or shake her, even if he feels a little lighter for it.