#and add on a stranger touching me for that period of time and I’m ready to fully vomit

[folklaurr]

Something I haven’t really talked about is how Covid and the whole lockdown situation ruined all the work I’ve done on my agoraphobia. Like I’m thankful for the lockdown and honestly it should’ve lasted longer but there was a solid five months where I only left my house maybe six times and it’s caused all the progress I’ve made since being diagnosed six years ago to just disappear and now I have to start from scratch again and how fucking hard it is.

[svtoose]

When Everyone Else Forgot ft. Choi Seungcheol

pairing: seungcheol x gn!reader

word count: 1,300

F + some hurt/sadness

warnings: some cursing, rude friends, college au, cuddling, cheesecake

summary: everyone forgot your birthday except a special someone

a/n : s(ice cream s)coups

Today was going to be your special day, the day that only happens once a year. Today you would turn 21 years old.

As you awakened in bed, you promised yourself that nothing could ruin your day. No rude roommate, no grumpy teacher. Today was going to be a day spent with your friends filled with happiness, joy, and possibly some booze.

While getting dressed, you made sure to choose your favorite outfit and add just an extra touch of makeup. After all, you wanted to look nice for your birthday.

Once you got to the kitchen, you began to prepare your breakfast, not minding your grumpy roommate, Seungcheol, who would barely look in your direction.

As he shut the fridge right before you reached for the milk, you offered him an impatient deadpan look but quickly moved on and finished preparing your food for the rest of the day. As you had promised yourself earlier, no snarky attitude would get in the way of today’s happiness.

While you were checking your phone, you were surprised not to see any texts from your friends or family. It was true that you no longer lived with your parents, but you were sure they couldn’t possibly forget about today. Perhaps it’s just too early for them, you thought to yourself.

While your roommate shuffled back to his bedroom, you exited the apartment and made your way to class, looking forward to seeing your friends and what they might’ve prepared for you.

Once you reached the building, your friend found you and called your name.

“Y/N!” she shouted. With an extra pep in your step, you rushed toward your friend, ready to walk to your first class of the day together.

“Ugh. I’m so not in the mood for Anthropology right now," she complained.

“Yeah, me neither. At least we’ll get it over with.”

While your morning continued without a single “happy birthday,” you assumed that your friends were preparing a surprise for you during the lunch break. Maybe they’d take you out or get a cake for you.

But by the time your lunch period started, your friends were treating the day like any other. It’s not that you expected some extravagant event, but something special, a card, or a sweet birthday wish would’ve felt nice. After all, you were that friend who made everyone feel so appreciated on their birthdays.

Once lunch was over, you began to feel a bit dejected. You considered bringing it up to your friends, but that would be kind of pointless. You shouldn’t have to remind your friends of a day such as this one.

At 6 o’clock, you had completed your final class of the day and were ready to head home, without a single birthday wish, not even from your own family. As you walked along the pathway with your friend, ready to part ways as she headed toward her car, one of your classmates from biology passed by you.

“Oh, Y/N! Happy birthday, by the way!” You remembered having a conversation with your lab partner about this as she continued walking on her way.

“Thanks!” you replied. Your “friend” wore a surprised expression as the guilt spread to her cheeks and ears. You paid no mind and continued on your way home, not even surprised by the fact that she didn’t follow you.

Tears welled up in your eyes as you got on the bus, completely devastated by what happened today. You paid no mind to the sympathetic looks strangers gave you and continued home.

As you unlocked the door to your apartment, you dreaded Seungcheol seeing you in tears, but to your surprise, the apartment seemed empty. The only light on was the one that hung over the kitchen counter.

Ready to end this awful day, you were headed straight to your bedroom before a box on the counter caught your eye. As you inched up, you continued to sniffle before realizing what was in the box.

“Happy Birthday Y/N,” read the blueberry cheesecake that lay fresh in the box. On the bottom corner were the words, “-your asshole of a roommate.”

You couldn’t contain your tears of joy. Out of everyone that forgot, your mean roommate remembered. With your belongings still in your hands, you made your way to your roommate’s room, hoping he’d be home. You pushed through the door to find him lying in his bed facing away from you, watching something on his phone.

“Seungcheol?” you whispered. He turned around, slightly confused at first, before he clearly saw you in all of your tears.

“Why are you crying?” he asked, concern mixed with confusion.

You took a deep breath, trying to compose yourself. “It's just... today was supposed to be special, but no one remembered my birthday. Not my friends, not my family. It felt like no one cared.”

Seungcheol frowned. "I saw you on campus earlier. I could tell something was off. You looked really down."

You nodded, tears still streaming down your face. "Yeah, it was hard to keep it together. I tried to stay positive, but it was just so disappointing."

His expression slowly became understanding. Despite his urge to crack a mean joke, he slowly opened his arms as an invitation for you. For some reason, it just felt right. You crawled into his arms as he held you close, still teary-eyed from all of the emotions.

“Thank you, Seungcheol,” you said as the warmth of his embrace began to melt away your pain. You could feel his heart beating steadily under your ear, helping you feel grounded.

He held you a little tighter, his chin resting gently on the top of your head. "Listen, I know I can be an asshole at times," he began, his voice soft and sincere, "but I really do appreciate you. I guess I just don’t know how to behave around you."

You pulled back slightly to look at him, your eyes searching his face for any sign of insincerity, but all you saw was genuine concern and a hint of vulnerability that he usually kept well-hidden. "Why do you say that?" you asked curiously.

Seungcheol sighed, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. "I don’t know, Y/N. Maybe it’s because I’ve never been good at expressing my feelings, or maybe it’s because... well, because I care about you more than I let on."

Your heart skipped a beat at his confession. "You care about me?" you repeated, as if needing reassurance.

He nodded, a small, almost shy smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Yeah, I do. I might not show it the best way, but I do."

The tears that had been threatening to fall now did so freely.

"You remembered my birthday," you said.

Seungcheol chuckled softly. "Of course I did. How could I forget? I know today didn’t go the way you wanted, but I wanted to make sure you knew that someone cares. Even if that someone is me.”

You laughed through your tears. "You’re not so grumpy all the time," you teased, wiping at your eyes with the back of your hand.

"Don’t spread that around. I’ve got a reputation to maintain," he joked.

You settled back into his arms, feeling more at ease than you had all day. "Thank you for the cake. It means a lot. It’s my favorite too.”

"Anytime, Y/N. Anytime," he replied with his comforting voice.

As you lay there in his arms, the events of the day began to fade away. Now all you could think about was what your future might be like with this kinder, mushier side of your roommate.

[arvandus]

TW: Animal Loss - This is long and detailed because it’s late, I’m alone, and I need to process my grief.  So please beware - there are very raw emotions in here.

My babygirl is gone.  I’m so heartbroken.

Her epilepsy finally got her.  Back to back seizures for over thirty minutes.  By the time we were finally able to find an emergency vet that was open and get a friend to come over and help my husband take her there, it’d been over an hour.

They stabilized her, but her prognosis was not good. She had a very high fever for an extended period of time, and likely brain damage.  Add on that we’ve been slowly watching her struggle more and more with balance, have less energy, and she still struggled with her anxiety - her epilepsy/mental condition was likely worsening, her environment was changing due to us getting ready to move, etc.  She didn’t run and play like she used to.  She had a hard time jumping up on the couch or even just getting into her dog bed.  She didn’t enjoy walks the same way she did before.

She loved to snuggle.  And she followed my husband around like a shadow.  But we knew her quality of life was slowly fading, and with this last major seizure event, we knew it likely would never get better, if not be permanently worse.

We decided to say goodbye.

My son doesn’t know yet. He’s asleep in his bed, and I’m in the living room in tears, as the aftermath of what transpired lays strewn across the floor.  I should clean it up, but I can’t bring myself to do it.

I’m going to have to tell him tomorrow. I’m going to have to explain to him that he’ll never see his dog again.  He knew she was sick, and he’s asked about death and we’ve talked about it before.  But he’s never experienced it.  This will be his first.  I’m glad he wasn’t awake to see her suffering.  But I also wish he’d been able to say goodbye, to understand why she won’t be coming home.

This little house feels so empty now.  All the little memories of her life here with us are strewn around the home.  Her basket of dog toys, her dog bowl, the brand new dog food we’d just had delivered.  I can’t help but think...if this little house of ours feels this empty, how will it feel when we finally move into our bigger house?  It has a big yard - much bigger than the one we have now. We were so happy because we know she loves to run.  But now that’s going to feel empty too. Her toys are at the new house. I took her there to visit it, but she didn’t want to play. She just wanted to hop up into our laps and cuddle.

We got her when she was 10 months old.  She’d had a bad lot in life. She was found as a stray, and she had behavioral issues due to past trauma.  We’re certain she was abused, may have possibly been a bait dog (a dog used to rile up fighting dogs before a fight); her canines were filed down, and she was terrified of people (except for us...she was always good with us, even from the beginning).  If you touched/grabbed her collar, she would yelp, nip, and cower. She wasn’t potty trained when we got her.  She would growl and bark at people she saw across the street. The sound of my coughing always scared her.  Just me, not sure why. Maybe it was a woman who had abused her.  I’d comfort her, and usually she liked that - helped remind her she was safe.  Other times, she’d prefer my husband, who she developed a very strong attachment to.  That was okay, too.  It was what she needed.

I trained her as best I could with the time I had.  I taught her tricks, which she picked up quickly.  She learned shake, touch, sit, down, stay/wait, off, come.  She knew ball and rope and would tell them apart if you told her to get one or the other.  She loved to play with her tetherball in the backyard, booping it with her nose and smacking it with her paws.  She did her doggy puzzles in record time, quickly getting all the treats out.  I took her on walks and had her sit and gave treats every time we saw another person across the street.  She never got comfortable with strangers, but she did stop barking at them.  Would even sit and look at me, waiting for her treat.  She eventually trusted me enough to let me clean her ears when she began getting chronic yeast infections in her ear. She got so comfortable, that she’d come seek me out, stand there, and stare at me forelornly until I took her into the kitchen and cleaned her up and gave her a spoonful of peanut butter.

Despite her trauma and her anxiety issues, she was good with my son.  Always good to him.  She was curious about him when he was a baby, would come snifff him and check him out, would lay down next to him.  Never bit him. Gave a warning nip once or twice when he crossed a boundary, but never so much as scratched him.  She helped me teach him about how to respect a dog, how to understand that they’re animals and we have to be careful.  How to read her body language.  He was learning how to do her tricks with her; she would do touch with him and he loved it.

She was imperfect - I’ll be the first to admit that. She didn’t get along with everyone, and not everyone liked her. But she got along with most, which was more than we could ask for, considering where she came from and what she struggled with.  She wasn’t an easy dog to have, but we loved her, and I know we did our best for her. She was sweet, she was smart, and she was beautiful. I wish she could have had a longer life.  I wish we could have taken one more walk, or gone on a hike once the weather cooled down.  She was seven years old, too young to leave us.

I’m going to miss her so much.

[scuttling]

Forty-Eight

Fandom: Criminal Minds Pairing: Aaron Hotchner/Latina OFC Sophie Cortes Word Count: 3,092 Tags: NSFW, 18+, Unprotected sex, Hickies, Multiple orgasms, Overstimulation, Hitachi magic wand (sex toy), Food play (brief), Dom/sub, Daddy kink, Subspace, Aftercare Summary: Aaron has a special surprise planned for Sophie on his forty-eighth birthday. Link to A03 or read below! On the morning of Aaron’s 48th birthday, they skip the run and have sweet, sleepy, intimate sex instead. He lays draped over her back, kissing and sucking hickies on her shoulders, and she reaches back to hold his arms, to feel more of him, even though he’s like a warm, heavy blanket covering her from her neck to her toes.

“So sweet, baby. Tasting so good and feeling so good for me.” He grinds his cock inside her, rolling his hips, and she pants his name, breathless. “You’re going to be aching all day, remembering this.”

“Mmm, yes, daddy. My whole body will ache for you; do you want to use me tonight? For your birthday?” she asks, and she finds it a little funny that she’s getting turned on for the future while literally in the middle of super steamy sex.

“I have other plans for tonight, sweet girl, but thank you. Maybe I’ll use you roughly this weekend—fill you up with come, put my cock in your mouth, devour your pussy.” She moans, presses her ass back against him, and he bites down hard. “Fuck, baby, that’s it.” He shifts his weight onto his arms, lifts up a little, and gets his hands under her, to cup her breasts.

“Oh, yeah, harder, daddy,” she moans, and he squeezes them, thrusts rhythmically inside until she comes, dropping her forehead to the bed. He moves quicker, then, a dozen or so times, spills mostly inside, though he pulls out before he’s done, comes a little on her pussy, making her groan.

“So pretty, your little pussy covered with me. My special girl.” She hums, and when he lifts off of her she turns so she can receive some soft, loving kisses. “Let’s get cleaned up, and I’ll show you what I bought for tonight.”

“And you want me to use this, for your birthday? That hardly seems fair to you.” She’s holding in her hands something called the ‘Original Magic Wand’—she read reviews on Amazon, and she definitely gets why he saved it for a special occasion, but it’s a vibrating personal massager (very personal, according to the internet), not something that they can share.

“Oh, trust me, I’m going to get exactly what I want,” he assures, his voice low, and she looks up at him, very in love and super turned on. Apparently that’s the theme for today.

Work is torture, partially because her bra straps are digging into the hickies he made and making her thinking about the morning, partially because she’s imagining what’s going to happen with that massager, and partially because Aaron is really busy with meetings and she hasn’t seen his face for hours. He should have just taken the day off for his birthday like she tried to convince him to, but he’s stubborn.

They go out for dinner, Italian, and drink a responsible amount of wine, split a piece of tiramisu, but the most delicious part is when he presses a possessive hand to her back and guides her out of the restaurant, then crowds her up against the car to kiss her breathless, dizzy.

He knows exactly what he’s doing, pulls back and runs his thumb over her lips with a wink, and she’s a dripping mess from just that, revved up and ready to be destroyed by this gorgeous man and his insane ideas in the bedroom.

He keeps his clothes on, except for his button up shirt, which he wants to be the only thing she wears; she always likes wearing them, usually after sex, and it feels extra special and naughty to be wearing it now.

He lays her back on the bed, pillows behind her for comfort, and plugs in the massager; she turns it on low, and it’s so powerful she groans immediately, before it even touches her. Aaron chuckles, his voice deep.

“I think we’re going to have a good time with this,” he murmurs, rubbing his hand down her stomach. “I want you to come until you can’t come anymore. I brought water, and a snack, so we can take a break when you need to—but good girl, I’m going to push you a little. We’ll decide when you’re done together, unless you really need to stop; if you need to stop, tell me.” She nods like always, understands but appreciates that he goes over it every time they do something like this.

He lays along her side, brushes his fingers through her hair, and guides her hands lower, to press the wand against her pussy.

“Oh, my… Fuck,” she says, rolling her hips a little to get used to the sensation. She’s no stranger to vibrators, but this thing is like her trusty rabbit on steroids. Lots of steroids. “Daddy.” Aaron shushes her, smooths his hands over her body.

“I know baby, it’s okay. It’s pretty strong for a little girl like you, but I’m right here. To help you focus, I want you to count each time you come, and say it back to me: one, daddy, two, daddy. Do you understand?”

She licks her lips, goes to say yes, but she’s interrupted by a wave of tingling pleasure she’s not able to talk through.

Her first orgasm is super quick, and a little surprising—though maybe not, considering how loud this thing is—but not so strong she has to move the wand or switch it off after or anything. She sinks her teeth into her bottom lip, looks over at Aaron, says one, daddy, just like he asked.

“Good girl. So pretty for me,” he praises, rolling a nipple between his fingers. “Just one of many orgasms you’re having for me tonight. Keep counting.”

“Yes, daddy.”

Her second orgasm happens about three minutes after, and it’s definitely stronger, has her arching up and her clawing at the pillow behind her head. She’s a little nervous to continue, because her clit gets sensitive easily and this particular toy is wildly powerful, takes a deep breath in and out.

“Mmm. Two, daddy,” she breathes, and Aaron leans in, kisses her mouth hard like he did against the car earlier.

“Perfect, baby. I want to put my fingers in you for a minute, feel how wet that made you.” She spreads her legs a little more, and she’s so wet that when he puts two fingers in her they slide in easily, all the way. He adds a third, and there’s no resistance like there usually is; it makes them both groan. “Gorgeous girl, coming so hard for your daddy’s birthday. Let’s keep going.”

She clears her throat, and when he pulls his fingers out, she moves the massager down to her opening to get a little stimulation there, maybe save her clit from discomfort a little while longer. It feels different, but good, and she presses down on the head with her palm for a little more pressure where she wants it.

Her third orgasm is the best so far, lasts the longest, too, but it makes her clit throb uncomfortably immediately after, and she thinks she needs a little time to recover.

“Three, daddy, but it’s uncomfortable now. Can I turn it off for a little bit?” He presses his lips to her bruised shoulders, moves a hand down to switch the wand off, lightly rubs his fingers over her aching pussy.

“Of course, sweet girl. Two minutes, okay? Then it goes back on.” She nods, and he brings the water over for her, offers her a couple bites of pineapple and mango; they’re very juicy, and he treats the both of them a little, rubs a few pieces over her nipples and sucks them clean before eating the fruit.

She didn’t think she’d be actively horny after those three intense orgasms, but he finds a way to wind her up, just like always.

When two minutes are up, he turns the massager back on, kisses her deeply, tasting tropical and sweet. She arches her back to get away from the toy, too much sensation, but he guides her back down, whispers calming words into her ear until she settles enough to enjoy it.

Her fourth orgasm doesn’t want to come, and Aaron’s patient, but she isn’t, pouting and whimpering because it feels good but it’s not enough to get her there. He puts his hands on her hips, rolls her onto her stomach, and holds the wand under her, lets her hump against it until she comes, sinking her teeth into her own hand. She feels sweat on the back of her neck, her hair clinging there, and she looks up at him, chest heaving, sighs.

“Four, daddy.”

“So fucking gorgeous, baby girl,” he praises, squeezing her ass, and he’s starting to unravel a little, she can tell by his voice and the look in his eyes. She absolutely loves that he’s not unaffected by this, even if he pretends to be.

Her fifth orgasm is her favorite because he gets her onto her back again, puts his fingers inside her and lets her come on them; she’s not sure she could have gotten off without them, sucks them gratefully when she’s done trembling.

“That’s five, daddy.” Five is usually the most she can handle without becoming brainless, and that’s usually spread over a longer period of time; they’ve only been in bed for an hour and a half.

“Let’s keep going, baby, you’re doing so good,” he coos, palming her breasts, touching her flushed cheeks; his cock is hard, and leaking, the dark patch on his pants giving him away, and she can’t believe he hasn’t given up and shoved his dick in her yet. She’s thought about it probably a dozen times, knows he must have as well.

Her sixth orgasm takes a while because her clit is so sensitive. It feels good for about ten seconds, then feels uncomfortable for about ten seconds, then hurts for a little longer than that, and then she flinches away from the wand because it’s too much sensation. Over and over again. It’s frustrating, and she kind of wants to give up.

“It’s okay baby, you can do it. You’re okay,” he assures her, his hands on her thighs to keep them open, because she kept trying to clamp her legs together tight. “Do it for me, baby, for daddy’s birthday. Keep coming for me, perfect girl.”

She tries breathing through it, and that helps the hurt hurt less, but doesn’t get her any closer to climax. When she does eventually come, after several rounds of pleasure-discomfort-pain, her orgasm is so strong that her legs lift off the bed, her whole body shaking while she moans roughly, gutturally like she never has before.

“Six—six, daddy,” she whimpers when it’s over, her eyes watering a little, and he leans in for kisses, strokes his hands soothingly along her body, which is still trembling. “How many more?”

“Just two more, baby. Can you do it?” he asks, looking down at her so handsome and serious, like she is giving him all of her power and he treasures it, pushes her because it’s good for the both of them. She swallows, nods.

“I can do it, daddy. For you.” He briefly, softly closes his eyes, then presses his lips to hers a dozen times.

“Perfect girl. You’re so beautiful, so good for daddy. Doing so good. Coming so much for me.” He brushes his hand over her cheek, and it makes her feel warm and comfy, makes her eyes droop a little.

“Mm hmm, coming for you, daddy. Happy birthday, daddy.”

“Thank you, baby. You’re giving me just what I want. Do you want a sip of water?” he asks, helping her to sit up, and she takes it gratefully, hums, pleased, when he sets her head back on the pillow.

Her seventh orgasm is much different from the others, because he finds an attachment, something to slip over the wand and put inside her. He presses it in before switching it back on—he’ll have to hold it for her, because the angle is awkward now—and she nods to let him know it’s comfortable.

The moment he switches it on, she gasps and her hands fly down to it, because the vibration is so much more intense when it’s inside. She does her deep breathing, gets used to it, and it’s not long before she comes, her whole body clenched tight and tense, shivering as she bucks against it—which, she doesn’t even know why she’s doing that, because she’s not sure she can handle anything more.

When she comes down, her eyes are really sleepy, and her brain feels like mush, and her pussy is practically numb, and Aaron hugs her close while she lays there, breathing hard and blinking.

“Incredible. Daddy’s good, sweet girl. How many is that, baby?” he asks when she just pants, scraping her nails lightly over her own skin to soothe herself. She rolls her head toward him, but doesn’t answer, can’t remember the question. “Sophie, how many?”

“Hmm?” She knows she’s supposed to answer now but he’s too pretty, even when his mouth looks worried like it does right now. He needs to smile more, and stop worrying so much.

“Sophie, look at me. How many times?” he asks, hands on her cheeks to keep her gaze locked on his. She swallows hard, thinks harder.

“Siete. Siete veces, daddy,” she mumbles—seven times. Her mouth feels dry. “Agua, por favor?” He sits her up as best he can, but she’s really just leaning up against him, and presses the straw to her lips; she could drink forever, but he stops her, and she knows that must mean she’s had enough. She sighs, sinks against his shoulder. He smells so good, like rain in the summer, and safety. “Gracias; te amo, esposo.” Gentle thumbs rub over her eyelids; she hadn’t even realized she’d closed them.

“En inglés, por favor—English, baby. Can you?” He really needs to get better at Spanish, because sometimes the words just aren’t there, and Spanish is easier. It reminds her of her mother.

“I said, thank you, I love you,” she rasps after a moment, looking up at him, and he exhales softly.

“I know what you said. You were just worrying me. I thought maybe your brain was broken.” The corner of his mouth turns up in a smile, and it’s gorgeous. “We’re all done. Do you want a bath?”

“No, not done; one more,” she reminds him. She knows he said eight, before. This was only seven.

“No, baby, I think that’s enough. You weren’t responding; that’s not good for you.” She manages to bring her hands up to his face, his perfect, dark hair, guides him down for kisses.

“I’m better now. Want to give you eight. Want to make daddy’s cock feel better.” She reaches for it, just squeezes it, doesn’t feel coordinated enough to do much more. “No more of that thing; just come inside me?” Her pussy is definitely feeling a little worn out, but she knows she can handle that. He feels better than that loud toy, anyway, because she can actually feel him; being vibrated to death is interesting, but not her preferred method of orgasm, she now knows.

“Are you sure? It’s really alright,” he insists, and she nods, kisses him again.

“I’m sure. I want to feel you.” She smooths her hands over his undershirt, to his pants, gets them open and pushes them down just enough to get his cock out. She strokes him, not very well, but her touch is loving, and she looks up into his eyes, lets herself be guided back to the bed by his strong, gentle hands.

When he presses in, she feels full, satisfied in a way she hasn’t been so far; she gets her arms around his back, his mouth on hers, and sighs happily, content.

It doesn’t take much to get him off, which makes perfect sense considering the performance he’s been orchestrating the last couple of hours; she holds him so tightly, so close to her when he spills inside her, kisses him and tries to convey how very much she loves him with her lips.

He breathes hard when the kiss breaks, runs a hand down her body; when he rubs at her pussy with a couple of fingers, it doesn’t do much for her, but it doesn’t feel bad, either.

“Your clit is hiding from me,” he says into her throat, and she laughs softly.

“Do you blame it?” She hitches her legs up higher, presses against him so he’s deeper. “It’s okay if I don’t come again. Seven is more than enough; some might say a little excessive,” she teases, and he trails his mouth up her jaw, down the other side of her face, soft and sensual. “Hmm.”

“I think I have a couple more thrusts in me,” he whispers, and she shivers, because he’s so sexy always. “Let’s see if we can make eight happen.” He wraps his hands around her waist, lifting her up a little, changing the angle, and he gets his mouth on her nipple, sucks and fucks just right, gives her one last orgasm that is soft and brief and the best one of the night, because it’s all him giving it.

He draws them a bath after, and they soak for a while in companionable silence, his hand moving softly over her skin, his lips on her neck, since he pulled her hair up so it wouldn’t get wet.

“In two years I’ll be fifty. Fifty,” he laments quietly, kneading her hips, and she sighs, sinks further into his embrace.

“Hmm, I can’t wait for you to turn fifty.” He huffs against her ear in surprise.

“What? Why?”

“Because I have plans for a change. You’re going to take your birthday off, and so am I—I’m not taking no for an answer this time, so deal with it—and I’m going to have you all to myself for the whole day. That means I’m going to blow you, ride you, lick you, bite you… Really test that fifty-year-old stamina of yours.” He hums, mouths over her bruised shoulder, wraps his arms around her chest and holds her close.

“I guess being fifty doesn’t sound so bad after all.”

“It will be awesome,” she says, turning her head for a proper kiss, “especially because I have two long years to practice.”

[natrogersfics]

PREVIEW - Game Plan: Chapter 3

Artwork by @faith2nyc​ Catch up on Chapter 2  Read on AO3

He can’t breathe. Well, maybe he’s being a touch dramatic. It’s not as if the tightness he’s feeling in his chest right now is akin to having a three-hundred-plus-pound defensive end pinning him to the ground, though Steve’s certainly experienced that enough times to know it’s pretty damn close. And just like when he’s sacked in the pocket, he’s uncomfortable – irritated, even. But the worst part is, he doesn’t actually think it has anything to do with the interviewer that’s been trying to cajole him into a cringeworthy sound bite for the last half hour.

The irony that he’s now sitting for an interview does not escape him. When the Avengers had first announced his signing, the reception was a mixed bag. There were some who cheered, delighting in the idea of him mounting a comeback and raving about what a coup the front office had pulled. Nevertheless, many were skeptical. Hardcore fanatics were, at best, lukewarm about the idea of a former NFC West quarterback jumping to the AFC East. Pundits on Sports Center dissected his ability to play pro ball again after a two-season hiatus. Then there were the ever-unescapable critics. He’s sure they had a lot to say (and likely still do), but if he hadn’t paid attention to them back then, he sure as hell isn’t going to do so now.

Fast forward two weeks, one front page cover, and a charity campaign kickoff later, and suddenly the tides have turned. Such was the number of requests Natasha had received from podcast hosts to talk show producers alike to book time with him that they had no other option but to schedule back-to-back interviews while he trains at the Avengers’ remote facility out in New Jersey. And that’s how he wound up in his current predicament – his patience running thin as he sits mic’d up on a plush leather seat in the Press Room in the middle of his third interview of the day.

“Let’s talk about your career.”

The suggestion comes from his left, where a wooden desk with a surfeit of props across the surface has been situated on the makeshift set. Behind it sits Johann Schmidt, the famously mercurial host of the streaming talk show HAIL HYDRA! and known to sports fans across the nation as the Red Skull – a moniker bestowed upon him for his impossibly sharp features and his penchant for dressing in the fiery color.

“7 seasons, 102 games played, 23,671 passing yards, 171 total touchdowns, 73.4% pass completion rate…”

As Schmidt rattles off a list of his career statistics, he steals a glance towards the front of the room, half expecting Natasha to interject that his pass completion rate is actually 74.3%, not 73.4. But she doesn’t, and he realizes that unlike the last few times she’s cut in when an interviewer misstates a fact about him or his career statistics, she isn’t doing so now because her attention is elsewhere. Or, more accurately, it’s being monopolized by the towering stranger she’s been talking to since the start of this interview whose words now have her tipping her head back in laughter.

The thought triggers a bitter taste in his mouth, and right then and there, it hits him. The inexplicable tension in his body, the irritation he feels – it’s nothing short of the green-eyed monster.

He’s always been competitive. He is an athlete, after all, and he’s almost certain that anyone would be hard pressed to find one that didn’t prioritize winning. But jealousy is just not an emotion he’s ever leaned into. It’s childish, nonsensical, and he’s seen the crazy things it’s driven other people to do. Not to mention the fact that right now, he has absolutely no right to feel it – especially when it comes to Natasha. With that in mind, he shifts in his seat in an effort to shake the feeling away, turning his attention back to Schmidt.

“The New York Avengers haven’t had a successful run in the playoffs in quite some time,” Schmidt states into the windscreen covered microphone before him. “That said, it’s still the most storied franchise in the league, which is why it’s understandable that fans may be dubious about whether or not you’re the right man to lead the team back to glory.” Schmidt pauses, his expression bordering on menacing as he leans forward in his seat. “So, tell us, Steve, why do you think you’re the player to do that?” Schmidt lifts a shoulder. “What makes you so... special?”

“We all know I’ve suffered a major injury and that I haven’t played professionally in two seasons. So, I get it,” he acknowledges. “I get why fans are skeptical to give me a chance.” He shakes his head. “You ask what makes me the man to lift this team back up… What makes me so special? The answer, Schmidt, is nothing.” He shrugs. “It’s true that I’m often associated with LA because that’s where my career began. But at the end of the day, I’m just a kid from Brooklyn-”

“Just what every fan base wants to hear, am I right?” Schmidt interrupts, practically reveling in delight as he smirks. “The savior they’ve been waiting for… and he turns out to be nothing but ordinary.”

“Perhaps you see it that way, but I disagree,” he says, prompting Schmidt to raise a brow. “Being a kid from Brooklyn means that I can’t” – he pauses, shaking his head – “I won’t back down from a challenge.” He sighs. “So, while I can’t guarantee fans a Lombardi at the end of the season, what I can guarantee is that every time I put on that uniform, I will leave my heart out on that field.”

Schmidt is stunned into silence, and it’s only when the room suddenly bursts in applause that he comprehends why the man’s glib expression has soured into a scowl. Turning away from the host, he allows his eyes to sweep across the room to see the entire crew – both from the Avengers and from HYDRA – clapping enthusiastically. As he spots Darcy and Wanda in the corner, both of whom offer him two thumbs up, pride begins to surge through him. But it’s only when he sees Natasha next to them, her lips quirking as she gives him a nod of approval, that he smiles – his earlier discomfort all but forgotten.

“You killed it!” Natasha exclaims as he walks towards her at the end of the interview, and he’s surprised when she leans in to wrap her arms around him.

“Think so?” he says, returning the embrace and letting his lips pull upwards into a smile.

“Know so,” Natasha says as she pulls away. “Oh, there’s someone I’d like you to meet.” Natasha moves to his side, and he looks up to see the man she was talking to earlier standing before them. He’s dressed in an impeccably tailored charcoal suit, his stature massive enough that he could easily be a tight end or even a center. “Steve,” Natasha begins, “this is Thor Odinson, CEO of Point Break, the country’s leading athletic wear brand and your new sponsor.” Her words cause the tension in his shoulders to dissipate. “Thor, this is Steve, our starting quarterback.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen Johann Schmidt stunned into silence before,” Thor says, flashing his perfect teeth as he smiles and extends his hand out to him. “Seriously, good job.”

“Thank you,” he says, shaking Thor’s hand. “But that was all Natasha. She prepared me well.”

He beams in pride as he turns to Natasha, because if he’s learned anything in the last two weeks, it’s that her dedication to her job is unparalleled. Every day since this media campaign has started, she’s easily the most prepared person in the room – ready to fire off a Plan B, C, or D when necessary. While things haven’t always been smooth sailing, he’s certain that nothing has ever escalated into a mishap because of her quick thinking. If he’s had any success in turning the public’s opinion on him, it’s only because he’s been fortunate enough to have her as his guide every step of the way.

More impressive than Natasha’s work ethic though, is her capacity for kindness, and it’s something he’s witnessed time again throughout their relatively short time together. As his Publicist, she’s often the first line of defense when it comes to the media, and though he’s only been back in the public eye for a brief period of time, he’s seen how brash they can be when they press her for information. And yet, she’s never been anything but professional, even when the person before her does not warrant it. Add to that the way she watches over her team and how lovingly she speaks of her sister, and he’s not sure how anyone can do anything but admire her.

“This one,” Thor says, pointing a thumb at Natasha, “is a force to be reckoned with.”

“Truer words have never been spoken,” he says to her more than anyone else, and as she playfully rolls her eyes, he pretends not to notice the hand Thor places on her shoulder.

“When he can nail interviews like that, my job is basically a breeze,” Natasha says, turning to Thor. “Anyway, shall the three of us discuss the rollout strategy for the sponsorship?”

“Yes, let’s,” Thor says, gesturing towards the door. “Lead the way, Nat.”

He arches a brow as he follows them out of the Press Room. Nat?

Read all of chapter 3 here

[hawkinsschoolcounselor]

Okay. So I have a tough question. Considering you have a degree in Psychology. I wanted to ask you.

After everything our characters in ST went through and what they are still going through especially characters like Will, Mike and El. We are in the 80's where growing as a teenager must've been extremely diffucult (though one might say that every generation has a tough time growing up.). We are in a coming of age story very much centered around children and teenagers and whose audience is, for the most part, teenagers or young adults.

I really didn't know how to talk about it as this subject is a very sensitive one and I preferred to chose someone who is, to my knowledge, the most qualified in that field. Sorry if it adds a pressure on you, I really don't want you to have that but I wanted to take it safe as I know it is a difficult subject.

I have wanted the show to go back to it's more mature and raw elements.

Do you think there is a possibilty that Stranger Things might, in season 4 or later, explore the subject of suicide or suicidal tendencies ?

I am sorry, I know it is a tough question but since Stranger Things each season is touching more difficult themes each time. I'd figured that at some point a show like Stranger Things will have to talk about it. Of course it doesn't have to but it's the most logical thing for me. (Also Gaten in an interview said that the characters will deal with more mature subjects.) Especially since a lot of characters do a lot of self-sacrificing actions but it's never really touched upon except maybe Hopper and Billy.

Warning: This post contains discussion of suicide. This is a deep topic, but one worth discussing. I won't pretend to be some all-knowing expert on the topic of suicide, but, as a school counselor, it is something I have to be ready for. I am trained to spot the warning signs and to screen for the need for intervention. I've also personally grappled with this myself. I went through a period where I honestly felt like it was the only thing I could do.

I wish to start by speaking plainly and directly. If you have ever felt like you may wish to take your own life, or know someone who does, please get any available help.

Dealing with a topic like suicide on TV is an extremely delicate undertaking. It's noble to want to address a very real problem, but the last thing that needs to be done is for it to be romanticized. At the same time, it also can't be demonized. Real people grapple with this. It's a real danger to show heartfelt mourning after a suicide, as someone grappling with it may see it as a reason to go ahead with it. "Look how much people will miss me!" At the same time, treating it like some cardinal sin will only make people less likely to share suicidal thoughts with those who may be able to help.

I've written before that Will may consider suicide during the course of Stranger Things, so that’s who I will use for this hypothetical. It could just as easily be another character. The question is how can a fantastical sci-fi show like Stranger Things handle such a real life issue in an appropriate fashion?

I do feel like the show has so far done a very good job working reality into this sort of fantasy story. I can see it working out so long as they are careful to avoid either romanticizing or condemning it.

In my conceptualization, it will be a result of him discovering that he unknowingly created the Upside Down. Will would essentially blame himself for everything that has happened. To him, suicide would be the way to stop it all.

In real life, suicide has been found to have some common elements. I won’t go into an exhaustive list, but these commonalities include enduring psychological pain, looking for a solution to a problem (the solution being suicide), a desire to cease consciousness, and a sense of hopelessness or despair. Essentially, a psychologically tortured individual seeks a solution to their problems, and, since it seems so utterly hopeless, they decide that ending their life is the best solution. Granted, it gets a bit nuanced, but this is what it looks like from a general perspective. In most cases, it’s something an individual has put some thought into. Those thoughts are distorted, though, as an individual will almost tunnel visioned to the point that alternate solutions aren’t even considered, and it becomes more of a necessity than a desire to follow through with it.

In Stranger Things, it’s possible to map these same elements to the story being told. Many fans, such as myself, already see Stranger Things as using the sci-fi and horror elements of the show to illustrate psychological trauma. The threat of the Upside Down has steadily become more insidious and pervasive, growing from a solitary monster threatening the real world, to a possessed child commanding an army of monsters, to many townspeople being used as murderous puppets and parts of a grotesque amalgamation. It’s slowly taking over Hawkins, only ever being temporarily subdued until some new trauma brings it back worse than before. Suppressed trauma is manifesting as a consuming darkness (the Upside Down), which can be seen as a metaphor for depression. Imagine Will finding out it’s all connected to him, a result of him subconsciously trying to bottle up his trauma.

He already has the psychological pain, as it is (in my conceptualization) what’s manifesting all the supernatural horrors his family and friends have to deal with year and year. He’ll want a solution to it, and, in his moment of despair, will think that the only solution is to stop it at the source. Too many people have already died, and he’ll blame himself for all of them. He’ll decide that he needs to die in order to make it all go away. It’s not so much a desire as it is a necessity.

Now, I don’t think they’ll actually kill Will off. That would be an incredibly depressing ending, and it would more or less affirm that suicide is the only answer. I think he may attempt it, and it would take the love of his family and friends, as it always does, to save him. Ultimately, though, I feel it would be far more effective to use the narrative to show Will facing, accepting, and overcoming his past trauma. In doing so, Will would be able to end the threat of the Upside Down by making peace with it, with the help of his loved ones and professional treatment. 

In short, Will might see suicide as the only viable solution to an overwhelming darkness that just keeps getting worse. In the end, though, he’d be able to confront and make peace with that darkness, instead. How the Duffers would go about showing that is a better question for experienced writers.

I must have written and re-written this answer ten times. I’m still not overly thrilled with it, but I can’t keep stressing it. I hope it meets your expectations. This has been a touchy topic, and I tried to treat it with the seriousness it deserves. I hope the care I put into writing it comes across to those who read it.

If anyone out there reading this is currently facing their own darkness, please don’t try to bottle it up or take it on alone. It has a way of making you think you don’t have options, but you do. You just sometimes need other people to remind you of it and help you shine a light again.

[flowerflamestars]

Nesta Under the Mountain part 3: acomaf, the later half

So while some extremely painful flirting is happening, so is plot. Azriel periodically disappears to try to infiltrate the Queens palace. Morrigan splits her time between Velaris and trying to keep Keir remotely in line. Amren and Lucien teach Nesta how to use magic, Cassian readies the legions for war.

So Nesta, unlike Feyre, has multiple sources for her most important questions: What the hell is Hybern doing? Trying to build an empire of old. Reaching for glory that isn’t there, because Prythian is wealthy.

Why Amarantha? Why was she so powerful?

It’s Rhysand who answers her, one day when they’re alone. He’s drinking on the roof- Nesta is inclined to make a comment about lordly behavior but doesn’t because she knows, she knows, from the look in his eyes, that he’s going to answer for real.

Amarantha liked to talk in bed. And Rhysand had, eventually, put the pieces together: Amarantha was the invading force alone, because Amarantha needed to earn Hyberns favor.

What did Hybern have? A kingdom crippled without its slaves. A King who’d ruled so long the world forgot his name. No heir, no other ruler. No son, only daughters.

Amarantha sought to earn her place in succession- with her father’s stolen magical secrets and a taste for vengeance.

Nesta accepts this, and has a drink.

There’s an interim of weeks, while Amren relearns a dead language and Azriel tries his last, worst plans. Nesta is so ready to tear out of her skin- Morrigan succeeds in getting Nesta to go out with her.

Morrigan pulls her over cobblestones to Ritas, and Nesta absolutely doesn’t tell her Lucien had found the place on his first city walkabout and been toasting their bitter victories there every one since.

Cassian, as he tends to wherever Nesta is, appears. They haven’t spoken since she came back with the book. Lucien trickles in with glitter in his hair, Azriel silent, offensively handsome drawing the light by his side.

And Morrigan watches. Cassian will spend the night quietly pressing fresh drinks into Nesta’s hand and glaring like absolute murder at any stranger who tries to get near. She sees how Cassian, her friend for five centuries, is contextualizing this: service, gladly rendered.

Understands he will make it small in his head and it means the opposite- the very opposite- that Nesta is letting him do either of those things for her. That she trusts him, to be near at all.

Morrigan and Nesta have a very different talk afterward than her and Feyre would have. Mor thinks it might be a good idea to make it really clear she herself doesn’t ever want Cassian, in case, that too, is standing in the way.

(Nesta also just...so clearly doesn’t have a single negative thought about Lucien doing...whatever Lucien does. They’ll get insouciant and mean and discuss the attractiveness of anyone. Nesta, unlike Feyre, reacts to queerness without even blinking)

So Mor and Nesta might not enjoy each other, exactly, but they respect one another. When Rhysand poses his insane Nesta you were mortal, let’s meet the Queens on mortal land plan, Morrigan, more than anyone, is the one who listens when Nesta explains that the Queens hate faeries.

Hate magic. Hate, even, it seems, the mortals that live along the wall for existing in proximity to Prythian.

It’s like letting go of a dream- for the chance of something real. Five centuries have passed, and that’s not much for Mor, but it’s everything, to mortals. Their bright lives are so quick, so valuable in an eyeblink- and that’s why Nesta’s here at all.

A mortal heart.

Azriel and Nesta team up- she scoffs that infiltration has fails, laughs outright at the idea she should be a diplomat, and proposes something else. They veritable army of spies, why are none of them mortal? Hundreds of humans work in Court of Queens. Voiceless, unrecognized. None of the magical protections would stop them.

So instead of Keir, or the Veritas, or her sisters- we bring back the lady mercenary. We bring in a whole bunch of lady mercenaries. A new network of information, passed from overlooked woman to overlooked woman, carried in shadows, all the way back to the Court of Night.

There’s no meeting. Because Hybern is already there. 

And Nesta thinks its the most insane thing she’s ever heard- they want to live forever?

Morrigan tries to comfort her, Lucien tries to stop Morrigan, because he knows- Nesta doesn’t regret. And she tells them all that, looking over the war map, each grim face and strange shred of sympathy. 

Nesta says, I know I’m a monster and I’m glad of it. I will never belong to just one Court, never go home. I cannot, because that life was taken from me and I am glad, because it will take a monster to protect the humans from other monsters. 

And Rhysand says, oh so very quietly: You can belong. 

But it’s lost, completely, in two things- the way Lucien has stepped around Azriel to let Nesta, not lean- Nesta, sober, leans on absolutely no one- but to be there, close, in her orbit, and Cassian standing up. 

It’s the Queens Meeting promise, dark chocolate version. Cassian wipes away that one tear on her perfect face. Says to her and her alone like no one else is there, that he’d done monstrous things his entire life in the name of what was right. But he’d become something worse, unleash a whole ocean of blood, to protect the innocents who needed it. Die a monster, in defense of those mortals with her.

And Nesta just looks at him. Like she can see all the way through to his aching soul, and nods. 

One commander to another. Absolute, perfect, understanding.

So what happens, if the mcguffin of the book cannot work?

Nesta says, like Cassian isn’t still staring at her, like she isn’t leaning into Lucien’s bodyheat like a refuge- the book is to control the Cauldron, but why can’t we just go after the Cauldron?

Steal it? Break it? Use it ourselves.

No ones answers particularly satisfy her- they can winnow. They can move unseen. There’s more power in this room than whole kingdoms possess, why the hell can’t they just break in, touch the Cauldron, and winnow away?

Cassian says it’s suicide. The castle is a deathtrap. Guards, wards, magic.

And, Rhysand adds, the Cauldron might not play along. It’s too powerful, too old to just treat like an object. The Cauldron itself could resist.

They’re all piling out of the townhouse, after the unsuccessful meeting, when Lucien goes white. Freezes.

And Nesta knows.

Knows that despite every precaution, the words that have never, ever escaped her lips in Prythian. Despite Tamlin dead- someone, somehow, found out that Prythian’s vengeance has two vulnerable, mortal sisters.

Nesta is grabbing onto Lucien to winnow away before anyone can ask what is wrong. Because something is wrong, so, so wrong- at the last second, Cassian snatches her hand, and ends up dragged along.

The Archeron estate is on fire.

There’s no time to ask- no time to talk. Cassian starts killing Hybernian soldiers left and right, no one here that can actually stop him.

Nesta runs straight into the fire, Lucien on her heels, keeping the flames away. Not that he needs to- Nesta is shimmering with power, every Court’s strength right on the surface, teeming to be used. She kills six men before she finds Elain, kicking and screaming in a soldiers arms. 

That soldier loses his head- that man, Lucien turns to ash.

It’s Cassian who finds Feyre, hidden in the kitchen, standing on top of table having just dumped a small ocean on lye on her attackers. Despite making short work of the burnt, pissed off faeries, she’s still throwing shit at him when Nesta, screaming her name, is finally close enough to be heard.

Nesta almost stabs Cassian in the back getting to Feyre. Fey jumps off the table, straight at her sister- there’s no pause for thought, no flinch at her faery face and bloody hands, just an armload full of her taller baby sister, an easy weight to carry now.

When they make it out of the collapsing house, Azriel and Rhys are waiting.

It’s Rhys who says, in that tone of voice that makes Nesta want to beat him to death, the voice that insists, I understand, who says, you have a family?

Nesta doesn’t answer. Nesta doesn’t say a goddamn word to anyone at all except for Feyre and Elain as they take them back to Velaris. As she settles them in the roaring warmth of one of the palatial sitting rooms, wraps them in blankets. Conveys, solely with a head jerk and a glare, that Cassian should make himself useful and provide hot beverages.

Nesta doesn’t say anything until the burns are healed by Lucien, her sisters understand where they are, and what has happened.

It’s Feyre who snaps first and bodily pulls Nesta down on the couch between them. Elain who leans hard, shoulder to shoulder, and wipes the blood off Nesta’s face.

They love each other- they still love her, don’t blame her, and that is what makes Nesta’s choice.

She introduces them to Lucien, her friend. To the others without explanation, the odd bedfellows of war Nesta really is starting to like despite herself. Except Rhys. Rhys can fall in the damned ocean. 

It’s a long, long evening, and they all get settled eventually- Feyre, in particular, with a shy smile and an extra mug of Cassian’s hot chocolate. 

Everyone goes their separate ways, and Lucien, quietly, slips off to find Nesta in the dark.

He knows what she’s going to say. Hybern came for her family- Hybern almost killed her sisters. Nesta doesn’t give a fuck about the book, about Rhysand’s alliances, or hangup on the mortal queens- Nesta wants Hybern to pay.

Lucien sometimes looks at his life now- free, safe as he choses, the dark eyed smile of man who fears no part of him- and thinks it’s all because of Nesta Archeron’s heart. Nesta, who believed in loyalty enough to buy his safety. Nesta, who had every reason to hate Spring and still been the only person to look close enough and see, that Lucien was just as trapped.

No one in his life had ever given him that, so easily. No one had cared. 

Nesta didn’t even think about it- he was in her corner and she was in his, friends. Best friends, only friends they had. Lucien would have still chosen her, every time.

Choses her now- Nesta says, I’m going tonight. I’m going alone. I’m not waiting any longer.

And Lucien squeezes her hand, and tells her, not alone.

They winnow to the castle like bone across the sea. 

Lucien might not know why he can break wards, why foul enchantment can’t touch him, but he knows how to use it. How to fight and kill, and does just that. Lucien stands guard, Lucien gets Nesta to the Cauldron.

No Book, no plan, just this- Nesta’s will do what is right.

Two hands on the Cauldron- and Rhysand was right. It won’t move. It won’t be winnowed away, it pulls her in and speaks. 

The story of the Cauldron is the story of a woman. 

Power, power, power- endless potential, utilized to create. A thousand children, a million voices. But then her children grew- into their own power, their own politics and ways. They forgot her voice, that forget she’d made them- and they trapped her. Broke her. Imprisoned her.

Forgot she was not a cauldron- she was their Mother.

But the Mother was also once the Maiden, the Mother always becomes the Crone.

The Crones watches, as the dark night comes, and all life eventually ends.

She’d been imprisoned all over again.

Nesta Archeron, drowning in power, communicates by sheer force of screaming, raging will. 

I was imprisoned, I stolen, I was remade against my will-

I was broken, and all I asked was that my family be safe- all I wanted- I am the child of every Court you made, I am the daughter of your power and i WILL NOT- I will not allow your sons to kill what is ours-

The Cauldron, seething, stills, if only for a moment.

Nesta thinks she’s won. Nesta realizes, too late, that she can smell blood. Lucien, stabbed and scrabbling, Nesta being dragged away from the Cauldron- the King had waited for her.

And how he crooned with joy- Nesta Archeron, the destroyer. Nesta Archeron, Prythian’s vengeance. Nesta Archeron you will be mine, you, you, you, finally, a worthy woman-

It’s a desperate, stupid ploy. Nesta can’t escape, Nesta can’t save Lucien, knows it from the blood dripping off his lips as he mouthes, a goodbye: love you, Archeron. 

Nesta jumps into the Cauldron.

What comes out is not what went in- young as a fawn, old as the seas- Nesta doesn’t have to steal eternity. She’s already eternal, she’s already powerful in her rage-

But the Cauldron, who’d slept so long. Broken in peices, cold, welcomes her fire like the fierce magic of her first children, and gives her a gift. 

Nesta’s no maiden or mother, but the Cauldron is happy to let the Crone out.

Death comes out of those waters, and mists the King of Hybern.

Scoops up her beloved companion, the fire that lights the way, and leaves the castle of the king unraveling behind her.

Nesta brings the Cauldron home. 

The bloody bundle of Lucien is pulled from her arms on the floor of Rhysand’s townhouse, the Cauldron quiet behind them. It’s to Cassian who is frankly patting her down, searching for injuries, that Nesta says:

She wasn’t the only sister, and then passes out.

[goldencuffs]

aberrant affairs

Laurent Revere comes down the wide, glossy staircase wearing a sheer, silk shirt that matches the pink in his cheeks and lips, and jeans that are too tight to be appropriate. His golden hair is neat, styled with care, and it shines brighter than the chandelier he stands under. He’s still wearing his ring, a giant cut of diamond that is obnoxious, yet tasteful.

“Goddamn,” Lazar mutters under his breath. His mouth is open, and his gaze is glassy.

Jord agrees. Goddamn. No one should look this sinful two days after their husband’s death.

“Gentlemen,” Laurent greets politely. His voice is husky, a gentle purr that is seductive to its core. “I apologise if we’ve met before, but I can’t seem to place your faces.”

Jord shifts his jacket so it falls open at his hip. There, his badge gleams in the lighting of the foyer.

Laurent’s eyes fix on it for a few beats before he tilts his head. “Ah,” he says. “Please, follow me.”

Laurent leads them through his mansion with ease. The hallway itself is grand, high ceilinged and designed with white marble. The room they eventually end up in is ostentatious; it overlooks the sea, and the minimal furniture in it are gold trimmed vintage pieces.

“Coffee or tea?” Laurent asks, so sweetly it catches Jord off guard.

He clears his throat.“Coffee.” He adds: “For both of us,” when he notices how dazed Lazar still is.

Laurent busies himself making coffee for them in the corner, where an expensive, steel machine rests on top of a gold plated bench.

Jord’s gaze is helplessly drawn to the curve of Laurent’s backside, the tops of his thighs and the white of his feet, which are bare. It somehow makes Laurent look both boyish and expensive.

Lazar is staring too, but with less subtlety. They both catch themselves at the same time and turn away; guiltily, they turn their faces out towards the view of the sea.

Laurent comes back with three cups of rich coffee balanced on a silver tray. It smells divine, and Jord picks his up with too much eagerness.

They sit in silence for a while. Jord watches Laurent carefully. His skin, lily white, is unblemished: there are no dark circles or red rimmed eyes. He doesn’t look like he’s been mourning. He doesn’t even seem shocked. Nothing about Laurent suggests he’s just lost a husband. Instead, he looks regal, like a spoilt, bratty sugar baby that’s never had to work for anything in his life. Jord’s blood boils.

Lazar puts his cup down with a small clink and says, “I’m sure you must be wondering why we’re here, Mr Revere.”

“Please call me Laurent, detective,” Laurent says. He watches the both of them over the rim of his cup, his blue eyes steady. “And yes, I have been wondering.”

Jord says, “We have some questions about your husband’s death.”

Laurent wraps both palms around his cup and nestles it on his lap. His nails are clean and his fingertips are pinked. “Oh?” he says, and god — Jord finds himself genuinely impressed. The kid is good; he legitimately sounds confused.

“Where were you on Saturday evening?”

“Here,” Laurent blinks, his long lashes fluttering. “At home.”

“Was there anyone with you?” Beside him, Lazar is dutifully writing down Laurent’s responses.

“Just the usual staff.”

“And why weren’t you with your husband at the gala? It seemed like a pretty big event to miss.”

Laurent’s lips purse. “I had a terrible headache.” He pushes back his hair on his forehead with the delicateness of a virgin milkmaid from a period drama. “I’m prone to them quite often.”

Jord — barely — keeps from rolling his eyes. He asks, “What were you doing when you received the call that your husband died?”

“I was getting ready for bed. I was —” Laurent’s chin quivers enough for it to be noticeable, the first real signs of distress. “I was waiting for him to come back.” His voice wavers as he says it. With a polite cough, he excuses himself with a meek, “I’m terribly sorry.”

It’s so convincing. It’s confounding how effortless his acting is. It’s why Jord says, lightly, “Well, at this point, you must be used to those kinds of calls.”

Jord finds himself subjected to Laurent’s sapphire gaze. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“What I mean,” Jord begins, “is that being married to you seems to suddenly drop a man’s life expectancy. Twenty six years old, and all three of your marriages have ended with your husband’s untimely deaths.”

Laurent’s face goes ashen.

Jord doesn’t fall for it. He’s not going to be swayed by such a pretty face — isn’t going to be another victim in Revere’s life.

He knows Laurent’s history by heart at this point; he and Lazar have been vigorously studying it for the last two days.

Laurent’s first husband, a refined gentleman from a small village in Kempt, had died just seven months into their marriage. The second, a professor at one of Akielos’ most renowned universities, had died in his sleep. He’d only been married to Laurent for six weeks. Laurent’s last husband, a famous socialite with ties to the Patran royal family, had dropped dead in the middle of his speech last Saturday at a private gala with over five thousand witnesses, just shy of their one year anniversary.

All three men had several unfortunate things in common: each had been extensively older than Laurent, wealthy, and had been so enamoured by Laurent, they had married him within months, sometimes weeks, after meeting him.

Jord has done this long enough to know that three of anything is never a coincidence.

Sitting in a multi million mansion, watching the sun catch the gold of Laurent’s hair, he can see exactly why a lonely, older man with a fortune to spare would be so eager to capture Laurent’s attention.

Laurent’s response is cold, composed, but underneath his thin shirt, his chest rises and falls rapidly. “Perhaps I’ve misunderstood, detective, but are you — insinuating that I had something to do with my husband’s death?”

Lazar leans forward. “You do have to admit, Laurent, that it is incredibly suspicious that every single husband you’ve had has died shortly after marrying you.”

It’s oddly gratifying to see how much colour drains from Laurent’s face. But the tears that suddenly well in his eyes makes Jord pause.

“Get out,” says Laurent, quietly. His words are so choked, at first, it’s hard to make them out. “You have no right — how dare you —” Laurent cuts himself off, frustrated, and still breathing heavily. “Just go. I don’t want either of you in my house.”

Jord almost declines; he wants to push more answers from Laurent, wants to let him know that a few tears won’t dissuade him from getting to know the truth. Then he thinks better of it; they have time. Jord isn’t going to rush this case.

So he stands. Lazar does too.

“We’ll be off then,” Jord says. “Thank you for your hospitality, Mr Revere.”

Laurent mutters something too quiet for Jord to pick up on. From his tone, it isn’t hard to guess what, though.

Still, probably trained under his husband — husbands — to be as gracious as possible, Laurent stands too, intent on leading them to the doorway.

In the foyer, there’s a tall, well-dressed man standing near the staircase. His features suggest he is Akielon through and through: his nose is straight, eyes and hair both dark, and underneath his suit, it’s obvious he is nothing but muscle. He is stunningly attractive, although not exactly Jord’s type.

When he sees Laurent, the sheer joy on his face is blinding. It dampens considerably as his gaze shifts to Jord and Lazar.

“Hey,” the stranger says, in rough Akielon, addressing Laurent. “Erasmus just let me in, but he didn’t say you had company over.” Once again his eyes roam over Jord and Lazar, but almost against his will, his attention is quickly stolen by Laurent.

Laurent offers a small smile. “Damen,” he greets, and his voice is pleased, a little relieved. “These lovely gentlemen were just on their way. Detectives, this is Damen Vallis, my best friend.”

Jord watches Damen’s eyes narrow at the word detectives, but his smile is friendly as he shakes their hands.

And then Damen steps closer and finally takes a good look at Laurent’s face, his red eyes and pink nose. The anger that contorts his face is so sudden, it startles Jord. From the corner of his eye, he can see Lazar raise his eyebrows.

Still in Akielon, Damen says, “What the fuck did they say to you?” It comes out biting, harsh.

Laurent winces. In a placating gesture, he places his hand on Damen’s forearm. “Nothing, I swear. I’m alright.”

Damen shakes off his hand with a grimace, mouth pulled tight. The disgust on his face is evident.

Laurent looks hurt, but doesn’t outwardly react. He seems to realise that Jord and Lazar are still there because he says, “Just wait in the living room, okay? I’m just going to say goodbye.”

Damen nods, curt, and stomps off, his fists clenched. He doesn’t acknowledge anyone else.

“Sorry,” Laurent says, after a brief pause. “He isn’t normally so rude, but his clients have been giving him grief lately.”

“He’s a lawyer?” Lazar asks, and Laurent nods.

“Best in the state,” he says, genuine pride in his tone.

“How long have you two known each other?”

“Since forever. Our families are very close.”

Jord nods, only half listening. While they walk through the same marbled hallways, he thinks of the look on Damen’s face when he had caught sight of Laurent: smitten, completely besotted. There was a strange violence thrumming under the surface of his anger when he had realised Laurent had been crying. But those things aren’t necessarily abnormal. It isn’t uncommon for best friends to be so loyal.

It’s the way Damen reacted when Laurent had touched him that keeps replaying in Jord’s mind. Something about it had seemed off.

It isn’t until they’re back in the car that he realises what had bothered him about it. Laurent had touched Damen with his left hand, the hand that still had his ring on it.

Damen had seemed… outraged over the fact that Laurent was still wearing it.

As they drive off, Jord watches Laurent step back inside his mansion and thinks he might have misjudged him, after all.

[artificialqueens]

(We Don’t Need Words) Let Your Body Talk (Rosnali) - Goodemethyd

A/N: it was only a matter of time before i wrote rosnali smut. and here it is. thanks to @crygiankiedoll-rps for listening to me ramble about this and helping me brainstorm and encouraging me.

Summary: It turns out Denali lives just a couple blocks from the club, which is why she’s there all the time, and Rosé is glad that she talks enough for the both of them on the walk there. When they get through the door of Denali’s apartment, and she pushes Rosé up against the wall and kisses her, Rosé is instantly more at ease. While she may not be great with words, she’s an expert in body language.

OR

Rosé can’t words because Denali too pretty. But Denali takes it into her own hands. And then Rosé takes Denali into her own hands?

Read on AO3

It’s a Saturday night and Rosé is at work, tending bar at one of the hottest nightclubs in New York. Even though there are times it’s so busy she doesn’t even have time to think, it’s a pretty easy gig, slinging drinks and sticking her chest out at annoying guys to get bigger tips. Plus she gets to look at hot ladies on the dance floor all night long.

Lately she’s had her eye on one in particular. She’s got long, straight black hair that practically floats around her when she’s moving. The few times she’s taken a break from dancing to order drinks, Rosé has been captivated by her smile and the dimples that show up in each of her cheeks. She is the most gorgeous girl Rosé has ever seen in her life, period.

If only she could work up the courage to talk to her. Every time she’s seen her coming, she pretends to be busy and leaves it up to Jan, Lagoona, or one of her other coworkers to take care of it. She just watches from afar, admiring her beauty, and trying not to seem like a stalker.

Tonight, though, is a little different. Rosé hands a rum and coke to a frat boy at the bar, smiling and leaning over as she does so, and thanks him for his generous tip. She moves on to the next person without realizing that it’s her, the dark haired goddess that she’s been obsessing over for weeks.

Rosé just stares at her. Like a fucking moron. And kind of wants to die.

“Um, can I get a drink please?” she asks, looking at Rosé like she has two heads, which she honestly doesn’t blame her for. She knows she’s acting weird as fuck.

She just nods her head and keeps staring.

“Um, can I get a shot of tequila?” she asks, now realizing that Rosé apparently isn’t going to say anything.

Rosé nods again and practically runs off to grab the bottle of tequila from the shelf. She pours a shot and contemplates downing it herself before she turns around and passes it over to the pretty girl.

“How much?” she asks.

“On the house,” Rosé manages to say, barely loud enough for the girl to hear, then curses herself inwardly since that will have to come out of her check and she poured the high class shit.

“Thanks.” The smile that graces her face, her dimples as prominent as ever, makes it all worth it to Rosé. She stares after her as she goes, watching the sway of her hips as she walks, and once again can’t believe how gorgeous she is.

“That was the most awkward thing I’ve ever fucking seen!” Lagoona yells out to her, cackling, as she grabs two bottles of beer for a customer.

“Shut up!” Rosé cries, tucking her long ginger locks behind her ear and turning to the bar, looking for someone to serve drinks to so she can ignore her friends.

“Seriously. Painful,” Jan chimes in from her other side, mixing a cocktail for someone who looks like they definitely have a fake.

“Listen, I don’t need this from you!” she snaps. “From either of you!” she adds, turning back to Lagoona.

“I don’t know why you don’t just tell her you think she’s hot. It’s obvious to anyone with eyes.”

“Fuck off! I’m taking a break,” she says before storming off to the back alley. She needs some fucking air.

She paces back and forth a few times, trying to give herself a pep talk, hoping no one’s around to hear how crazy she sounds as she talks to herself.

“Come on Rosé. Stop being a fucking bitch and talk to her. What’s the worst that could happen? Oh yeah, she could reject you and you could end up humiliated and have to quit the best job you’ve ever had in your life. So yeah, good idea, don’t talk to her.”

She feels like she’s losing it, wondering how a virtual stranger who she’s only had one interaction with could be affecting her in this way. She doesn’t know what it is about this girl, but Rosé just knows that she’s special. She can just tell.

Rosé shakes her head, trying to shake these thoughts from her brain so she can go back inside and focus on work. It doesn’t really work, but she tells herself it does anyway.

When she gets back inside the lines are long as hell and Jan and Lagoona and the other bartenders on shift are running their asses off trying to serve everyone. Rosé jumps in, taking orders left and right, making tips like nobody’s business, and they get things mostly under control again. At least for a little while. So Rosé lets her guard down.

Big fucking mistake.

The hottie with the body comes up to the bar again before she realizes it and goes directly to Rosé for her order. She’s surprised she didn’t completely scare her off last time.

“Can I get another tequila shot, please?” she asks, breaking out the dimples yet again.

Rosé manages to say yes this time instead of just staring and nodding before she goes to grab the same bottle. She pours the shot and this time as she hands it over their fingers brush against each other’s. Rosé swears she feels a spark of electricity from where they make contact that runs all through her body.

“Thank you.” She smiles again before downing the shot and heading back to the dance floor.

“You’re welcome,” Rosé whispers feebly after she’s definitely out of ear shot, and realizes she didn’t make her pay for it again.

“Wow, a couple more words this time. At this rate you’ll say a full sentence to her by this time next year,” Lagoona teases her again and Rosé puts her head in her hands and groans, because she knows she’s right.

“Seriously,” Jan starts again. “I don’t know why it’s so hard for you to talk to her. You never fucking shut up with us.”

“It’s because I hate both of you!” Rosé shouts and they both just laugh at her.

The rest of the night goes better, and Rosé doesn’t make a fool of herself again because the girl stays on the dance floor, showing off some of the best moves Rosé has ever seen. And she’s seen a lot working here.

It’s almost closing time and the crowd at the bar has died down enough that they have more of a chance to talk to each other instead of just yelling while they’re grabbing drinks.

“Ok, so what are you gonna do about this little crush, Rosé?” Jan asks as she catches her staring again.

“I’m going to do absolutely nothing. And you need to mind your business.” Rosé replies, leaning up against the bar and crossing her arms with her back to the dance floor so she’s not tempted to look again and give Jan any more ammunition.

“Oh yeah, like you did with Jackie?”

She’s about to say that’s different, but she knows it’s absolutely not.

“Why don’t you just try to talk to her like a normal human being instead of whatever the fuck it is that you were doing earlier?” Lagoona adds.

“I can’t talk to cute people, okay? I don’t know how to flirt!” she yells, turning around so she doesn’t have to look at her friends anymore, and comes face to face with the girl.

“I usually start with something simple, like asking their name,” she says, clearly indicating that she heard Rosé loud and clear. “But I’ll save you the trouble. I’m Denali. And I already know that your name is Rosé.”

Rosé almost swallows her own tongue.

“Sometimes it’s nice to touch them as you’re talking, too, like this.” She reaches out and places her hand on Rosé’s bare shoulder.

“What time do you get off work?” Denali asks, sliding her hand down Rosé’s arm, and she feels shivers run down her spine. She looks up at her through her lashes, and Rosé feels like she’s going to spontaneously combust.

“She gets off work right now,” Lagoona answers the question behind her, even though she normally would be there for a few more hours, at least, cleaning and closing up.

“And she would love to go home with you,” Jan provides. Rosé is going to owe them big time.

“I really, really would,” Rosé adds breathily, words falling from her lips before she realizes it, and she’s fully ready to be rejected because she sounds so needy.

But Denali just smiles and giggles. “I’d like that, too.”

Rosé doesn’t think she’s ever moved as quickly as she does then, stepping out from behind the bar and moving next to Denali. “Let’s go.”

It turns out Denali lives just a couple blocks from the club, which is why she’s there all the time, and Rosé is glad that she talks enough for the both of them on the walk there. When they get through the door of Denali’s apartment, and she pushes Rosé up against the wall and kisses her, Rosé is instantly more at ease. While she may not be great with words, she’s an expert in body language.

Denali’s lips are soft and full against hers, and she tastes like the tequila Rosé served her at the bar. The soft moan that Denali emits when Rosé licks into her mouth almost makes her weak in the knees, and she’s grateful that she’s sandwiched between the wall and Denali’s strong body to keep her upright.

As she runs her hands up and down Denali’s back, sides, arms, anywhere she can reach, Rosé can feel all of the muscles she’s seen put to work on the dance floor. And they feel better than she could’ve ever imagined.

Rosé is pretty sure she could spend the whole night kissing her, feeling Denali’s tongue caressing hers and enjoying every second of it. But she also needs to see her and touch her and fuck her. And she’s not going to be able to do that until they move. Rosé pulls back slightly, nibbling on Denali’s bottom lip as she does so, and Denali lets out another soft moan that Rosé feels straight down to her core.

“Fuck,” Rosé breathes out. “I really want to fuck you.” Suddenly she has no problem saying what she wants, probably because she’s been kissed stupid by Denali and she has no brain power left to be nervous anymore.

“God, yes, please.”

“Okay, this is probably going to sound weird,” Rosé starts, like everything she’s already said tonight hasn’t been already. “But do you mind if I use your shower real quick first? Someone spilled beer on me tonight and I’m really gross and sticky.”

“I don’t mind as long as you don’t mind me getting in there with you,” Denali replies, raising an eyebrow like she’s giving her a challenge. “I worked up quite a sweat showing off for you tonight.” She winks and Rosé feels like her knees might go weak again.

“Um, yep. Yeah. That would… that would be great.”

Denali takes Rosé’s hand and leads her toward the bathroom. When she strips out of her clothes, she moves just as smoothly and gracefully as she does on the dance floor. So Rosé has to kiss her again before she takes off her own tank top and jeans. She throws them on the bathroom floor next to the pile of Denali’s discarded clothes as Denali gets the shower started.

Once the water is running, Denali reaches out to grab her hand again, smiling and showing off the dimples that Rosé is quickly becoming obsessed with, before she pulls her into the shower. She admires Denali’s body as she steps under the spray of the hot water, and she wonders how the fuck she got so lucky that this woman actually wanted to take her home. Whatever the reason, Rosé’s not dumb enough to look a gift horse in the mouth, and she’s going to fully take advantage of the situation.

Rosé plasters herself against Denali’s back, reaching around to cup her breast in one hand and running the other down her side. She rubs her thumb against a nipple and Denali gasps, pressing back even further into Rosé. She’s never thought of herself as an ass girl, but being pressed up against Denali’s perfect, round backside has her feeling some type of way, and she can’t wait to focus her attention on it later.

For now though, she has one goal. She moves the hand on Denali’s side around to the front, dipping in between her legs and feeling a different kind of wetness not caused by the shower.

“Fuuuuuck,” Denali groans, throwing her head back against Rosé’s shoulder.

“Yeah,” Rosé replies nonsensically as she runs her fingers along Denali’s folds, spreading the slick. Denali reaches down and grips her wrist, maneuvering her hand where she wants it until Rose’s fingers are focused on her clit.

“Right there, Rosé, yessss.” Her name sounds so good coming from Denali’s lips that she vows to make her say it again, multiple times, that night. For now, though, she focuses on the task at hand, moving her fingers deftly to make Denali feel good. The sounds falling from her lips urge Rosé on, and her movements get quicker and rougher, until Denali is coming, thrusting up into Rosé’s hand and mumbling profanities.

Once she’s finished, she turns around quickly and crashes her lips against Rosé’s, kissing her breathless. Denali cups her face with one hand and snakes the other down her body, settling between her legs and returning the favor. Rosé feels her orgasm start building much quicker than she would normally expect, but it doesn’t surprise her. She’s been low key turned on since she saw Denali’s moves on the dance floor earlier that night.

Rosé bites down on Denali’s lip as she comes, feeling it in every nerve ending in her body. It’s one of the best orgasms she’s had in awhile and she doesn’t know if it’s because it’s truly that good or if it’s just because it’s with Denali.

Their kissing slows down then, getting less frantic and more relaxed, now that they’ve both relieved some of the tension. And Rosé remembers the actual reason they got in the shower in the first place.

They get cleaned up quickly, washing the sweat and sticky alcohol off of each other, then drying off with big fluffy towels that Denali grabs from the closet.

“That was fun!” Denali says as she’s drying her hair, fluffing it up with the towel, and Rosé is instantly disappointed that it seems like the night is over already. She had so many more plans.

But her mood does a full one-eighty when Denali starts speaking again.

“I can’t wait to see what else you can do.”

Rosé grins devilishly before replying, feeling all the confidence in the world after those orgasms. “Oh baby, you are in for a treat.”

“Don’t let me down,” Denali challenges before exiting the bathroom, completely naked, leaving Rosé to stare at her glorious ass as she walks away until she pulls herself together long enough to follow.

When Rosé finds her, Denali is lying sideways on her bed, head propped up on her hand, long dark hair cascading down her chest with a nipple just barely peeking out. Rosé wants to absolutely destroy her.

“Come show me what you got,” Denali says with a smirk and Rosé moves without a second thought.

She pushes Denali onto her back and climbs on top of her, legs intertwining as she drops kisses onto her lips, her cheeks, her neck, her collarbone, and trails down to her breasts. She sucks a nipple into her mouth and is spurred on by Denali’s words of encouragement and the hand that’s tangling in her damp hair, trying to pull Rosé even closer into her chest as she arches her back.

“Oh god, your tongue,” Denali gasps when Rosé swirls it around.

“Wait till you see what else it does,” Rosé brags, leaning up to look Denali in her eyes.

“Fuck, fuck, show me now!” She uses the hand that’s still tangled in her hair and starts pushing Rosé down her body.

Rosé chuckles as she goes, pressing a soft kiss right next to Denali’s belly button before giving her what she wants, parting her folds with her thumbs before licking in. The noise Denali makes goes straight to her core and if her hands weren’t already occupied, she’d be sliding one down in between her own legs right about now.

But for now, she’s focusing on Denali, licking long, broad stripes up and down her cunt, starting slowly before going all in. Once Denali starts squirming underneath her, unable to stay still, Rosé makes her move. She goes from slow licks to quick flicks of her tongue, focusing on her clit now, but backing off every now and then to move back down toward her entrance, not quite ready yet to go in for the kill.

“Please, please, Rosé! I need to come. Please make me come!” Now that Denali is babbling and begging, Rosé shifts back to her clit and stays there. She uses her tongue and her lips, sucking it into her mouth and swirling her tongue around it. “Oh fuck yeahhhh! Right there! Don’t fucking stop!” Rosé wouldn’t dream of it.

Denali comes a few moments later, crying out Rosé’s name and tangling her fingers through her hair again. She keeps licking her through her orgasm, then pulls away, looking up her body at her flushed, heaving chest and feels a sense of pride that she’s the one who caused that.

“Holy shit,” Denali breathes out. “You weren’t lying. I don’t think I’ve ever come that hard in my life.”

Rosé grins, pleased by the praise and the validation. She lays a soft kiss on Denali’s inner thigh before running a finger through her folds, absolutely dripping now, and Denali shivers, clenching her legs together.

“Oh god, that feels good, but I don’t think I can go again yet.” She’s still breathing hard, but she’s smiling and she has this glow to her. Rosé is yet again in awe of the fact that this gorgeous woman has chosen her, has let her do this.

“Let me take care of you now.” Before Rosé realizes what’s going on, Denali is moving quickly, flipping Rosé over like she weighs nothing, and settling between her legs. She dives in without preamble, getting her tongue in just the right places, and Rosé is worried she’s going to come embarrassingly fast, already keyed up and turned on just from eating Denali out. She tries to take deep breaths, calm herself down, but that’s easier said than done.

Rosé whimpers with relief when Denali pauses and pulls away for a moment, and she tries to regain any composure she might have had at the beginning of the night. But that flies out the window when Denali looks up at her and Rosé sees evidence of her own arousal glistening around her mouth and on her chin.

“Do you want fingers too? Or just my mouth?” Denali asks, licking her lips.

“Ugh, yes. Both,” she answers and Denali doesn’t waste any time complying, pressing one finger into her slowly as she works her tongue on her clit. “Fuuuuuck,” Rosé breathes out, feeling entirely consumed. She can’t control the buck of her hips when Denali pushes another finger in, but it doesn’t seem to deter her one bit. She fucks Rosé with her fingers as she sucks at her clit, and Rosé loses control of what comes out of her mouth as she gives herself over to the intense pleasure.

Rosé’s legs start trembling as she feels her orgasm that’s been building slowly start to rush closer to the surface. She knows that she can’t hold on for much longer, even if she wishes she could let Denali do this all night.

She comes with a breathy moan, repeating Denali’s name over and over as her climax pulses through her, clenching around the fingers that are buried deep inside of her. Denali works her through it, her movements slowing until they stop altogether and Rosé feels like she won’t be able to move for at least half an hour, maybe longer. Denali kisses her clit softly before pulling her fingers out, and Rosé misses them immediately.

“Fuck.” Rosé doesn’t have enough energy to say anything else, but it seems like that word conveys what she’s feeling enough because Denali nods her head in agreement as she crawls back up the bed. She settles on her side next to Rosé, looking over at her and running her fingers along the various tattoos on her arms. Rosé wishes she would never stop touching her.

Once she can move again, Rosé turns onto her side to face Denali, and she cups her cheek before attaching their lips together again. She gets the taste of each of them on her tongue, mingling together and it makes the kiss even hotter. Denali buries her fingers in Rosé’s hair as she kisses her back fiercely. Rosé breaks from the kiss, gasping, when Denali tugs on it. She’s never been one for hair pulling before, but apparently Denali isn’t capable of doing anything that doesn’t absolutely do it for her.

“That feels good,” Rosé whispers and Denali does it again, pulling a moan from her, before her touch turns gentle again.

“Your hair is so gorgeous,” she says as she goes back to running her fingers through it. “That’s the first thing I noticed about you.”

“You noticed me?” Rosé asks, shocked that someone like Denali would notice someone like her.

“Are you kidding?” Denali snorts. “A tall, sexy redhead with tattoos who gives me free tequila shots? Of course I fucking noticed you, don’t be stupid. And I noticed you watching me too. It was really hot. I liked dancing and showing off for you.”

Rosé feels like she should maybe be offended by the fact that Denali just called her stupid, but she’d much rather focus on the fact that she called her sexy.

“You could dance and show off for me right now,” Rosé suggests, wiggling her eyebrows at Denali. Now that they’ve exchanged multiple orgasms, and she knows for a fact that Denali likes her, Rosé plans on saying anything that comes to mind.

“That could be arranged,” Denali replies with a suggestive grin, and Rosé wonders for what seems like the hundredth time that night how this is actually her life.

[exhaustedfander]

Okay uhhh I‘m not good at giving requests. How about prinxiety and them seeing each other again after a long time! Or sth like that.😅

I had three sperate ideas for this one, but this is the one I settled on. Here’s a fluffy little human au. I’d love to hear what you think! 

a03 link

materpost link

word count: 1,638

The Best Gift

Virgil rocks on his heels, glancing at his phone. According to Roman’s text, his plane landed about fifteen minutes ago. He’d be outside to greet him any moment now, and that in itself fills Virgil with more joy than he’d felt in a while.

Roman does what he could to avoid performing in shows too far away from home. He’s always scouring for gigs in the area, or at least not too terribly far away, not exactly eager to spend long periods away from his emo nightmare. However, sometimes there are roles that Roman can’t shy away from, as much as he hates the idea of leaving Virgil, and this had been one of those times.

It isn’t as though Virgil doesn’t understand; dating a traveling actor, his boyfriend actually traveling, sometimes, isn’t something that can really come from a surprise. More than that, Virgil’s incredibly supportive of his partner. Roman’s a hell of an actor and he knows it. He deserves to grace every stage that will have him, larger ones, especially. But that doesn’t make the time apart any less difficult.

Sure, they call each other a ton, Roman insists on Facetiming nightly, and they keep in touch as best they can. But it’s never any easier, facing that empty bed at the end of the day. It can be a lot to handle, realizing audiences of strangers are being graced with Roman’s presence while Virgil is home alone eating Ramen Noodles and sulking.

It’s not as though Roman is Virgil’s entire world – he’s damn close, though. Virgil has friends he loves spending time with. He works as a freelance artist, so holing himself up at home is usually more fun than depressing, painting all day long. But god, he misses Roman when he’s away. Maybe more than he’s willing to admit, sometimes.

Three months has got to be the longest they’ve spent apart since they’ve been dating, at least as far as Virgil can remember. The gig was a role of a lifetime, Roman would’ve had to be sufficiently stupid not to take it, but it wasn’t easy on the couple. Virgil flew up to see one of Roman’s shows, and that was great, but it made going back home all the more challenging. Roman’s been gone so long, Virgil’s aching to see him, and any minute now, he’s gonna get to.

Virgil can certainly think of worse ways to spend a birthday.

“Virgil?” Virgil swivels around, grinning ear-to-ear when he sees Roman walking his way, suitcase in tow. Virgil practically sprints toward him, immediately pulled into a firm embrace the moment they make contact.

“My love, my angel, mi amour,” Roman drawls, dramatic as ever but Virgil can’t find it in himself to be irritated with him, “I missed you!” Roman gets on his tiptoes (Virgil would be lying if he said he hadn’t always found their height difference adorable) pressing their lips together soundly. If they weren’t in public, Virgil would want nothing more than to keep kissing Roman for eternity, but alas.

“I missed you too, dork,” Virgil says with an unshakable grin as they pull apart, though his hand quickly finds Roman’s free-one as they walk towards the taxis, the sound of Roman’s luggage wheeling behind them. “How’s the jet lag?”

“Absolutely abysmal,” Roman declares, and Virgil’s fairly sure he’s being a little dramatic, if such a thing is even possible, “Can we have a quiet day at home? I want nothing more than to lay on the couch with you and watch Disney movies, and continue to declare my undying love for you.” Virgil snorts.

“Aw, you poor baby,” he says, only half-sarcastically, “Sure, babe. Whatever you want. Sound good to me.”

The two talk of their missed time together in the cab, Virgil telling him of some of the new pieces he’s been working on and Roman filling him in on how the play went.

“That’s the last far-away show I do for a while,” Roman says once they’ve arrived home, flopping down on the couch, “God, it’s good to be home with you.”

“That’d be nice,” Virgil admits, sitting beside Roman, which quickly turns to settling into his lap, Roman’s fingers threaded in his hair, “Not – not that you can’t do shows wherever. I get it.”

“Hey, I mean it,” Roman says, voice edging on seriousness, “I’ve missed you terribly. I’ve missed us. I loved doing the show, and I met some very wonderful people, but very little compares to you, my love.” Virgil laughs lightly as Roman presses a kiss to his lips, firm and overwhelmingly loving.

“Jesus, you’ve managed to get even sappier than usual.”

“Absence makes the heart grow fonder, darling,” Roman says, “And, also, shut up! You love it.” Virgil glares playfully at his boyfriend.

“And what if I do?”

“And you looove me,” Roman says, drawling out the ‘o’ as far as it’ll stretch. Virgil rolls his eyes, but his expression betrays nothing but fondness. “Yeah, I do. I really fucking love you, Ro.”

“More than angsty emo bands?”

“Well… let’s not go that far.” Roman squawks in offense.

“You wound me!” Virgil laughs again, the sound far more content than he’s felt in the last few months, his arms winding around his boyfriend so that he’s lying against his chest.

“I’m teasing and you know it,” Virgil says, kissing Roman once more as if to further his point, or maybe just because he’s really missed kissing him, “I missed you like crazy.”

“One of my co-stars flirted with me; would you believe that?” Virgil hums in place of a response, lost in the feeling of embracing Roman against for the first time in what feels like forever. “I have you as my lock screen, and I talk of you constantly. Also, where in the world did she get the impression I had the slightest interest in women?!” Virgil snorts at that.

“Must’ve been an off-day for her if she was delusional enough to think you were straight, or bi, or anything that isn’t insanely gay.”

“I know, right!”

Virgil’s missed this so much. Their playful back-and-forth, innocuous teasing, cuddling on the couch and basking in each other's company. As far as he’s concerned, he’d like to keep holding onto Roman like this and never, ever let him go. Virgil can’t recall when he’d become such a fucking sap, but there’s no changing it now. He’s just gonna have to live with it, and he really doesn’t mind the thought of that.

They watch Disney movies as discussed, Virgil critiquing and pointing out plot-holes all the while (Virgil, everyone knows Beauty and the Beast is a little problematic, and frankly, I don’t want to hear it!) He can tell the long flight really wore Roman out, so he decides not to comment about the fact that it’s his birthday, instead putting all of his focus on being together again.

That is until Virgil comes out of the bathroom some hours later, having just gotten ready for bed, and finding Roman sitting on their bed with a sullen expression.

“Whoa, hey, Roman, what’s the matter?” He asks, quickly sitting beside his partner.

“I’m a terrible boyfriend.” Virgil blinks. What the fuck?

“What? No, you’re not. What the hell are you talking about?”

“Your birthday,” Roman supplies, sounding gut-wrenchingly guilty, “I forgot your birthday!”

Oh. Virgil had kinda forgotten himself, too caught up in having Roman by his side once more. He glances at the clock.

“It’s not midnight yet,” he says, “You didn’t forget. Just remembered a little late.” Roman buries his face in his hands.

“I didn’t get you anything! I didn’t wish you happy birthday! I-I’m terrible, you must hate me!” Virgil sighs, settling a hand on Roman’s shoulder.

“Roman…”

“I’m sorry,” Roman mumbles weakly, embarrassedly.

“Hey, it’s okay. I don’t hate you.” Roman peaks up from his hands, daring to make eye-contact.

“You… you don’t?”

“Jesus Christ, of course not! I love you, you idiot. It’s just a birthday, I’m gonna have more of those, you know. It’s kind of this annual thing.”

“But- but I didn’t –.”

“It’s fine, babe. Seriously, I kinda forgot, too. Having you home again is gift enough, as it is. I can’t think of a better present than that.”

“I’ll make it up to you.” Virgil shakes his head, planting a kiss to Roman’s cheek.

“No need. There’s nothing to make up for. You look ready to pass out right now, as it is. I’m not mad at you for forgetting; you’ve been so fucking busy for the last couple of months, and you had a long-ass plane ride today. You’re permitted a little forgetfulness, okay?” Roman sighs as he slides into bed with Virgil and shuts out the light, his head resting on his boyfriend’s shoulder.

“I’m taking you to dinner tomorrow.” Virgil lets out a sigh.

“You don’t have to –.”

“I want to,” Roman insists, “It’s the least I can do since you’re being so gracious.”

“What, were you expecting me to force you to the couch, or something?” Roman pauses. “Roman?”

“…Maybe.” Virgil can’t help but bark out a laugh.

“Are you kidding me? After all those nights without you, I’m not letting you go anywhere.” To make sure things are crystal-clear, he tightens his hold on Roman, pressing a kiss into his hair.

“That’s good because I really wasn’t looking forward to it.”

“You’re such a dramatic doofus. Lucky that you’re so cute,” Virgil says, feeling Roman begin to go lax with exhaustion.

“Mm, love you, Virgey,” Roman mumbles sleepily.

“I love you too, Ro.”

“Happy birthday…,” Roman says before sleep greets him and he drifts off. Virgil shuts his eyes, contentment washing over him as, too, welcomes slumber.

Despite Roman’s insistent apology, Virgil still can’t think of a better birthday present.

=+=

Taglist:

@nadiestar

@unoriginalgayboyalex 

Please let me know if you wanna be added to my taglist! I’d be happy to add you! 

[thehomierobbstark]

Kissing Strangers II: Communication

Shame [Prelude] // Kissing Strangers [Part I] // In The Cut [Side Story]

A/N: Annndd we’re back yall!! I know I disappeared for a long while this time, but I’ve been writing and strategizing in the background and I’m hoping I can publish at least some of the things I’ve been working on very soon. Forever thankful for your patience. Forever grateful for your support. Always humbled by the fact you guys allow me to do my thing offline and come back when I need to. Y’all are unreal, and the love is very very real, and I don’t think I can ever put into words how much all of you honestly mean to me ❤️❤️❤️. Anyway. Back to this story.  A tiny insight into just one of the things I’ve been struggling with and trying to overcome this year, so I decided to put it into a fic and share it with yall. As always, thank you for the support and I hope you enjoy!!!

Warnings: Minimal Erik appearance, this is mostly x reader based. We on some Softgirl shit this chapter ya’ll. There is a POV change at the very end, hopefully it doesn’t read too confusing.

This is for all my lil cute ass black gorditas out there rockin back fat, belly rolls and thick ass thighs that touch!!  x Reader is always gon be black, chubby, and sassy.

Sidenote: No tags this round until I can get a few more pieces out but all new stories will be linked in my bio!

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

“…You know I still don’t see what the problem is, Y/N.”

You throw your head back, silently groaning to keep your friend on the other side of the line from hearing you.

You knew you should have called Simone instead.

“Um, hello??? Did you forget you had me on speaker phone, bitch? Don’t be grumbling under your breath at me goddammit, you know I’m right!  And don’t you dare call Simone ass either after we hang up. I love her, but she’ll have you overthinking and seeing problems that aren’t really there. You know how them Scorpios be.”

You mumble a defeated ‘fine, OK’ at her and grab your phone, relocating yourself over to your vanity table to continue your conversation while you do your hair.

Reaching up, you tug the t-shirt wrapped around your head free as your damp curls fall over your face, turning around to drape the wet shirt over the back of your chair.

Tying the front of your hair up in a bun, you grab your spray bottle and one of your brushes and start to spray and detangle your hair, the leftover conditioner in it from the shower helping to make the process easier.

As you gently smooth your brush through your curls and fall into your hair routine, you start to ponder on your current predicament, allowing your friends wise words to penetrate your mind.

Maybe you were overthinking it.

“Don’t get silent on me now, Y/N. Tell me what’s on your mind.”

You take a deep breath, trying to filter your thoughts and make some sense of them.

“I don’t know, Kay. I don’t really know how to explain it. I just feel like he’s not…interested.”  You shrug your shoulders even though you know she can’t see it, not really knowing any other way to explain yourself.

“Okay.  And what makes you say that?”

You inhale, taking a small scoop of leave-in conditioner and working it through a section of hair while you think.

“I dunno. I feel like when we do talk, its great, and there’s a connection there. But sometimes there’s these long periods of absence with no communication, and when that happens I feel like I’m always the last one whose reached out, you know?”

Raking your fingers through your curls one last time, you watch your coils shrink up in the mirror, the tights spirals coming to life after their first layer of moisture.

Unclipping another section in the back, you scoop some more product into your hands, repeating the process.

“Okay, I can feel where you’re coming from. But let me ask you this: what do you mean by long periods of absence?”

Your hands pause in your hair, and you bite your lip, knowing your next words are gonna make you sound like a complete dumbass.

“Uhh…”

“Yeah?” Kay prompts you to continue.

“Umm.. like… two or three days… sometimes?” Your voice gets really small and high pitched at the end, knowing you were being a little ridiculous.

“…Girl.”

You add some additional info, hoping maybe it will help your case.

“Sometimes it’ll even be a whole week tho, too!”

“Y/N.”

“…yes, Kay.”

“You know Erik is in the military, right?”

You roll your eyes, annoyed at the reminder of a fact you knew and thought about often yourself, especially when it came to this issue.

“Yes, I know that Kay.”

“Okay, then you also know that he probably has a lot on his plate and he’s most likely constantly busy all the time.”

You kiss your teeth, absentmindedly running your fingers through your hair again, more-so in a frustratedly-busy way than in a hair-care way.

“Yes Kay, I know that. But come on now.  Let’s not act like people aren’t constantly on their phones all the time nowadays.  Not to push the tiresome ‘millennial narrative’, but who goes days without checking their phone anymore? It’s not like that nigga is out fighting a war, he’s doing combat training.”

You can hear the undertone of complaint and whining in your voice, and you absolutely hated it.  Here you were, a Communications major and Black Women’s Studies minor, and you were getting bothered some dude you kissed once, (okay, twice) wasn’t talking to you enough.

You had yourself fucked up.

You hear chuckling on the other end of the phone and your internal rage subdues itself for a moment, irritation taking its place.

“Damn, Y/N.  You must really like this guy.”

You cross your arms, slouching down in your chair while you pout, having too much pride to grace her with a response.  She continues, already knowing the look on your face.

“In all the years I’ve known you, I’ve never seen you get so worked up over someone. He must really be something special.”

You grab your phone, holding it to your face and practically yelling into it.

“HELLO!! Did you not just hear what I said? I just told you this nigga is borderline ignoring me and you just called him ‘special’!”

More laughter takes over on her end again and you toss your phone back on the table, finishing your section and unclipping the last one in the back, muttering under your breath about Erik being a special piece of shit.

Once Kay finally recovers from your mini tirade, she speaks once again, full of a wisdom and knowledge you knew your stubborn ass needed to hear, even if you didn’t want to at the moment.

“He’s not ignoring you Y/N, and you know that.  The only reason you feel like this is because you have strong feelings and you’re not sure if they’re being reciprocated or not, and the long distance certainly doesn’t help.  Have you told him how you’ve been feeling?”

You sit there and delay a moment, nestling a little more into your stubbornness because of the fact that her words just punched a hole right into the wall of insecurity you’d been maintaining over the years.

She waits for your response, already knowing the answer.

“….No.”

Her voice softens.  “Okay, but how do you expect for him to know how you’re feeling if you don’t tell him?  You’re letting yourself overthink and go through all of these emotions by yourself, meanwhile he’s half a world away thinking that everything is fine.  If you don’t clue him in to what it is you’re going through, he won’t be able to help.”

Finishing with the bottom half of your hair, you wipe your hands off on the damp t-shirt and unwrap the rest of the hair on the top of your head.  You frown at her last statement, not liking the way it made you feel.

“I don’t know if he should even have to help me with any of this though, Kay.  I mean, these are my issues.  I’m the one whose clearly having trouble with this, it’s not fair for me to ask him to help me figure my shit out.”

She makes a hum of acknowledgement while you continue expressing yourself.

“I mean, how would I feel if some dude came to me with a mountain full of problems expecting me to fix them?  I’d fucking laugh in his face and walk away.  I can’t ask that of him.” The more you thought about it, the more you realized that you had a lot of unresolved issues you were still healing from.  What kind of person would you be if you involved yourself with someone else, knowing that?

“Okay.  I can see where you would think that, but you’re thinking about it in the wrong way.  You think that if you open up to him and tell him what you’re feeling, that it’s the same as asking him to fix your problems. But you’re not like that, Y/N. In fact, you’ve never been like that.”

You think a moment about what it is she’s saying, trying to decide whether or not you agree.  

“I mean, think about it, Y/N.  When have you ever asked someone for help?  I mean genuinely stopped and reached out to someone else, or even told them when you’re having trouble with something?  You don’t, hun.  You’ve always dug your heels into the dirt and rolled up your sleeves to get it done by yourself because you don’t trust that someone else can really be there for you the way you need them to be.  No matter how many people you have in your corner ready to fight for you.”

You think about all the lectures and scoldings you’d gotten from friends and family over the years because of the times you’d soldiered at something alone rather than take the help that was offered to you.  You’d felt that if you always needed someone else to help you get through something, then what did that say about your own strength and ability to take care of yourself?  You’d rather die struggling than ever give someone else the power to say that you wouldn’t be anything without them.

“Look, Y/N/N.  I know this is really hard.  And I know this is something you don’t like to talk about, but if you like this guy as much as I think you do, you’re gonna have to learn how to let go and trust that you and Erik are building a relationship where you can truly depend on each other. That includes communicating your feelings even when you’re not sure how the other person will receive them.

It’s gonna be scary as hell, I won’t lie.  But you gotta know deep down inside that love can’t exist in the same place that doubt lives.  You gotta trust the process.”

You’d stopped doing your hair completely now, sitting back and twirling a finger around one of your strands while Kay talked.

It wasn’t like you didn’t understand exactly what she was saying.  Kay definitely had the bulk of experience between the two of you when it came to romantic relationships, and the thing you’d come to really admire about her throughout the years of your friendship was her ability to always put herself back out there once again with an open heart and mind, no matter how badly the last relationship may have ended.

Your own inability to deal with your emotional vulnerability was something you were far too aware of, and you’d seen it affect your personal relationships time and time again,  your current situation with Erik just being the most recent example.

It was rare for you to catch feelings for someone, and to be honest, the fact that you and  Erik had made it this far into whatever it was you guys were doing had you shaken to your core.  Every moment and interaction with him was completely new for you, and your uncertainty with navigating this new ‘thing’ was starting to show with your recent anxieties about the situation.

You really wanted to believe that Erik was feeling you, because it was too late to deny your feelings for him.  But there was a tiny little voice in the back of your head always saying something to keep you guessing, making you doubt whether or not what the both of you had was even real.

It was time for you to make a decision.

“Y/N? Y/N? You still there?”

You blink yourself back to the present, clearing your throat and picking up the phone, taking it off speaker phone and holding it to your ear.

“Yeah, I’m still hear, Kay.”

“Did you hear what I said?”

“Yeah.”  Your voice sounds far away, still deep in thought as you reflect on the mental hurdles your mind was trying to overcome so you could figure out how to move past the fear holding your heart hostage.

“Well okay, girl.  I don’t want to hold you up, but I want you to think about what I said some more, OK?”

You chuckle a little, nodding your head as you answer your friend.

“Okay, Kay. I will. I promise.” You add on the last two words, knowing that if you said them, she would believe you.  You always kept your promises.

“Good. I expect a full report tomorrow morning when I call you before work!” She laughs too, halfway serious.  “…And Y/N?”

“Yeah, Kay?”

You can hear her quiet back down a little, the soft tenderness of her voice seeping back into her words once more as she spoke.

“Do me a favor please and try to call him, okay? Just, try and talk to him, at least once.  That way when you hear his voice and listen to what he says, you’ll know whether or not what you feel is real.”

Your breath gets heavy and your heart skips a beat, almost feeling it in your throat.  Call him?  You hadn’t thought of that. Come to think of it, you’d never called him.

Other than the last time you saw him in person, pretty much all your communication had been through text except for the occasional video message.

“Can you do that, Y/N?” Your best friends compassionate voice speaks in your ear, and you swallow thickly, nodding your head.

“Yeah, I can do that I think.”

“You promise?”  

Damn.  Should’ve never said that shit.

You roll your eyes, stifling a deep breath.  “Yeah yeah, I promise.”

“Good!” You can practically feel her cheesy ass grin through the phone, already knowing it was plastered on her face triumphantly from giving you the challenge.

“Love youuu,” she sings out over the phone, and you kiss your teeth, groaning.

“Love your annoying ass too. Now get off my phone, wasting all my damn minutes.”

“Bitch, now you know damn well you ain’t got no one else to talk to to be kicking me off like this.”

“GOOD-BYE KAY.”

After a few more rounds of back and forth and finally hanging up (but not before agreeing to call her back in the morning with allll the details), you walk over to your nightstand and plug your phone in, returning to the vanity to finish your hair.

After slathering your strands in a second coat of hair cream and deciding against using a gel this week, you glance at the clock, noting that the night was still young and you had time to cook and clean the kitchen like you’d planned.  Tying your hair up in a high pineapple, you slip on some fuzzy socks and head to the kitchen, stomach grumbling hungrily.

~~~

A couple hours later you plop down onto your bed, completely exhausted and ready to relax.  Pulling your bowl of shrimp scampi over to you, you spike a shrimp with your fork, popping it into your mouth while you flip through the channels to find something to watch.  

Your eyes glance down to the time on the cable box, seeing that it was only about 7:30.  

It should be about 10:30 where Erik is, now.

The thought had crossed your mind before you could even stop it, and you close your eyes, willing yourself to get control over your thoughts.

You promised Kay you would call him.

Goddammit.  You slam the remote down on the bed, it making a soft thud against the comforter, and you sit up, placing your bowl onto your nightstand and picking up your phone, unplugging it.

You twirl it around in your hand a few times, trying one last time to try and find a way to talk yourself out of it.  

But of course, the one time you actually want the nagging little voice in the back of your mind to say something, she’s as quiet as a mouse.

Before you can second guess it, you quickly open your phone and tap the screen until you reach Erik’s contact, finger hovering over the call button.

It’s time to make a decision, Y/N.

Fuck it.

Taking a deep breath, you press the phone icon, pressing the phone to your ear as you wait for the call to connect.

When it starts to ring, you tense a little, bringing your knees to your chest as you wrap your arm around them, feeling your nerves start to creep up on you.

By the third ring, you wonder if maybe you caught him at a bad time, remembering what he’d said to you once about having a strict bed ti-

“Hello?”

You pause, your mouth agape as your eyes widen, your words getting stuck in your throat.

“Y/N? Are you there?”

You open and close your mouth, not sure what to say.

“Babygirl?”

You finally get the breath back in your lungs, and you speak.

“Yeah, yeah I’m here. Sorry, I just, I didn’t know what to say. I…I’ve never called you before.” You give a weak chuckle, your fingers winding themselves tightly around the hem of your shirt.

“I know. Is everything okay? Are you okay?” You can hear the worry in his voice, and you could kick yourself for accidentally making him panic like this.

“Yeah I’m okay, Erik.  I’m okay.”

“Okay, good.” You hear his voice calm a little, followed by a whoosh of breath. “What’s up then, baby?”

You feel your insides warm at the pet name, your cheeks twitching at the corners into a small smile.

“Nothing, I um…”

You fist your free hand into a loose fist, twiddling your fingers against one another as you struggle to get the words out.

Just say it.

Closing your eyes, you try again, clearing your throat.

“I uh… I miss you.”

~~~~~

Three thousand miles away at the Natick, MA US Navy Department, Erik stands outside the Naval Operations building, the rough sound of two M1161 Growlers noisily passing by in the background.  

It had been a tough week, much like the past four that he’d been struggling to get through without losing a part of himself in some way.  He knew you always went to bed early for work, so he’d been putting off talking to you for another few days until he had time that he could set aside and devote to just you.  

But here you were, on his line, calling him out of the blue.  And the sound of your voice was the sweetest thing he’d heard all deployment.

His cheeks ache at your confession, much like his heart, and he bites his lip to keep from smiling like a lovestruck teen.

“I miss you too, babygirl.  More than you even know.”

[shemakesmusic-uk]

This segment features artists who have submitted their tracks/videos to She Makes Music. If you would like to be featured here then please send an e-mail to shemakesmusic@hotmail.com. We look forward to hearing from you!

Adi Shaham

Adi Shaham is a musician and producer based in Tel Aviv. Adi creates danceable electro-pop protest music. In her songs she finds sophisticated ways to mainstream subversive observations about gender and power structures. Two years after her successful debut album Army of Witches, she’s releasing her second album Last on the Shore. With a more accessible, poppier sound, and an electronic, techno touch, the album delves into our complex relationship with money in a capitalist and ultra-competitive society. The album is self-produced by Shaham and was created, recorded and mixed at Penguin Studios TLV, owned and operated by Shaham and Yuval Rozin who mixed the album and also plays on all of the tracks. Shaham wrote the album over a period of two years, during which she attempted to live as a financially independent musician, without relying on her family or partner, in an insatiable, achievement obsessed city. Alongside this, Shaham further developed as a musical producer and began producing records for other musicians such as Tal Oren and Roy Zemach. Her production style is inspired by the electro pop style of artists like St. Vincent, Robyn, Susanne Sundfur and The Knife. The final result is a sexy, pointed album, full of catchy, danceable anthems with a lot to say. Latest cut ‘Visit to the Zoo’ was written to overcome heartbreak after ghosting. “I wrote the song after a guy I was dating disappeared on me,” says Adi. “In retrospect I realized the signs were there all along: he didn't want to meet in crowded places, bragged to his friends that he was dating the "Florentin musician" as if I was an exotic bird, and each meeting was rescheduled three times before it happened. It made me realize in relationships we sometimes use each other to fill a space, rather than treat each other like a whole person.” Listen below.

Stephanie Rezendes

Stephanie Rezendes is a 15 year old artist from Boston, MA. She writes and plays piano and records everything from her childhood bedroom. ‘Stranger in the Shelter’ is the first song on her 6 song EP that comes out April 16. “This is a song I wrote about myself when i was feeling sad,” Stephanie explains. “At the time i was listening to a lot of Phoebe Bridgers, so the whole vibe that goes along with this is inspired by her. I’ve never musically written a song like this, so I’m proud of the sound it has. I think this song sort of demonstrates where i am right now, and where I was creating this project. I wanted to add to that and explain why i didn’t want my songs to sound “professionally produced” on this EP. I feel like the way I wrote these songs are the way they’re meant to be heard. Its messy and raw but that’s kind of the point. I feel like it’s more personal to me and to everyone else listening that way.” Listen below.

Stephanie Rezendes · Stranger in the Shelter

Stefanie Parnell

Born and raised in Montreal, Quebec, Stefanie Parnell is an insightful, refined and melodically driven Canadian singer-songwriter. Parnell sings from a place where her deep-seated anxieties lie beneath the surface as she expresses her heartfelt experiences. Her music will leave you feeling comforted by the dissonant chords and melancholic lyrics. Have you ever felt like a nomad, a wandering soul in search of something you can’t quite identify? The new song she is sharing ‘If I Leave’, explores the feeling that something is missing despite being in a good situation. The lack of security can leave you constantly searching in life. "’If I Leave’ came to me when thinking back on my first serious relationship,” explains Stefanie. “After it ended, I was not ready to deal with any unresolved feelings until I sat down to write this song. Writing ‘If I Leave’ brought me the closure I needed. Although I loved the person I was with, I knew that, for whatever reason, what we were doing was not right for me. This song encompasses the raw emotion I was feeling at the time, but I am surprised to see its meaning evolve over the years. It grew from how I felt in one particular relationship to the realization of a common theme in all my relationships. Because of this, I have grown to fall in love with it again and again. ‘If I Leave’ goes out to anyone who is looking for comfort but also for those who are looking to get lost.” Listen below.

Stefanie Parnell · If I Leave

Ciara Watt

With her melodic, acoustic folk-pop, Scottish singer-songwriter Ciara Watt has combined her love of storytelling and rhyme with her talent for writing melodies and songs. At only nineteen years old, Ciara has supported bands such as The Snuts as part of their 2019 tour and has written countless songs to soundtrack her story so far. Over the last year, while continuing to study her degree in English Literature, Ciara has been busy writing and while locked down composed her latest single ‘Alone in the Dark’ which expresses how it can feel to never fit in anywhere except in your own head. She creates a visual landscape of her escapisms from the mundane which help to distract her from the unpleasant and uncomfortable situation she describes. With catchy, quirky and clever lyrics and folk-pop melodies, Ciara transports us to our own places of comfort when we are ‘Alone in the Dark’. Listen below.

Bad Bloom

New York-based rising duo Bad Bloom continues to make strides with the release of their new EP Leave.The fuzzy, ethereal collection of songs is released after the band’s strong debut in 2019, bringing a fresh spirit to the shoegaze/post punk/indie rock genre. The overall tone of the EP reflects the idea of escapism. “It’s been difficult to break away from the monotony of life, and with this album, we explore a world where we can abandon responsibility,” shares Kate Rogers. “It’s such anemotional balance knowing that the real world is where we should stay...but we wanted our listener to get lost in their own mind and explore a sense of wonder through the music.” In the summer of 2020, the tracks were recorded both in Brooklyn, NY and remotely in Rochester, NY during the lock-down. Spending three days in-studio and completing the tune via remote sessions, producer Michael Abiuso (Behind the Curtains Media) worked with Bad Bloom to create their second EP. Dreamy and emotional, stand out track 'Paperwork' reflects a moment when passion turns to anger...and then fades into apathy. It feels like a gentle rage, a fury, that can only be expressed with layers of noise and sound to drown everything out. I think we've all been there at some point in our lives - where it is hard to express how you feel and immersing yourself in turbulence....whatever that may be....is the only way out. Listen below.

[paradisefanfiction]

Nineteen

February 9, 2016

Midnight

Teyana

“I wanna watch you.”

“Ahh” Tae cried out in ecstasy. Her index and middle finger pumped in and out of her juicy peach with stride just as I had instructed her to do. Sitting in the chair across from her bed I watched her, my legs wide as my hand rested in between my crotch. I palmed myself hissing at the delicious friction the fabric of the boy shorts I was wearing under my sweats sent my swollen folds. “Slow that shit down for me,” I hissed again moving my hand to rest on the waistband of my pants.

“Open them legs up wider too,” I added, moving my hands inside both my sweats and boy shorts to rub in between my folds with my index finger. “Show me how I make that pussy feel.” Tae moaned long and hard, throwing her head back against the headboard. Her pussy was dripping like honey and I wanted a bite of it. Pussy lips swollen while the nectar from inside kept oozing out like a juicy berry. It’s aroma intoxicating like a drug I could never resist and didn’t want to. Sitting up she tried to keep her eyes on me as I also instructed her to do. Pulling her fingers out, a long strip of her juices pulled from her pussy to her fingertips. She devoured her fingers with her mouth, her eyes locked with mine. 

A coil filled with lust began to build in my stomach making me add a little pressure to my the way I fucked myself while watching her fine ass. I licked my lips and widened my legs more to give my finger my access to my spot now fucking myself faster. Tae pinched her right nipple then slapped it curving her lips into a kinky grin then began tapping against her pussy with the palm of her hand. Its stickiness sounded off against her bedroom walls was enough to make me eat her right the fuck then and there. But I wanted her to show me how I made her feel. I wanted her to show me just how much she wanted me. Needed me. 

“That pussy creamin’ for me, huh Tae?”

“Yessss,” she purred out.

“Lemme see you fuck your fingers, poke that shit up” I gritted my teeth then bit my lip, “Now fuck that pretty pussy nice and slow.”

“Mmmm shit,” she moaned now grinding against her finger as she fucked herself. She curved it up gyrating her hips then pulled out her fingers and slapped her other nipple. Giving it a squeeze she held my gaze bringing two fingers down to her folds and made circles around them until her pussy was shinier than it was before. My eyes didn’t leave her either. I wanted to eat her ass up right then and there with how good she looked fucking herself for me. Cream coating her fingers, she circled her pussy quicker and looked down at her glistening folds then back up at me. Her eyes were glossy and held heat and desire in them. I knew she wanted to either tap out or for me to come over there and make her tap out but nah, she was gonna give me that nut all by herself.

Adding a third finger she slid all three of them inside of her then started bouncing back and forth slowly. My fingers matched her rhythm until we were rocking and staring at each other at the same pace. I hissed again then bit my plump bottom lip with my teeth. Shit, she was about to make me cum and I wasn’t ready to yet. I didn’t even want her to hear me moan because I didn’t want her to know she had my ass spent without even touching me too. 

For months now I imagined Tae’s soft ass lips making up with my pussy while she sucked kissed and licked on it until I was satisfied. Now before me, I had the real thing but I wanted her to work for it. Payback.

“Oooooooh fuuuuck,” she cried out rolling her thick caramel hips against her fingers that I was beginning to get jealous of for being coated in her sweetness and not me. Finding my spot I sunk into the chair as my eyes went hazy, I knew I was about to tap out but I wanted her to first. This would be the third time that I had made her cum tonight. Call me cocky but I was trying to prove some shit to myself so, I turned shit up a level just to drive her closer to nutting. 

“I hear that pussy gushing for me,” I said biting my bottom lip once more but harder this time, “Fuck that mf like it’s me.” 

 “Mmm, I am baby,” she cried out, “This yo pussy.”

“Oh word,” I toyed with her still fucking myself, “Show me then. Make that motherfucka talk back to me.”

I groaned when she sped up and her pussy started sounded like somebody was stirring a bowl of mac and cheese. Only this was all mine nobody else’s Tae had just said so herself shit.

When Tae’s thrusts became rough I knew she was close and so was I. “Fuck, Tae,” I groaned my eyes closing while I rocked gently against my hand. Watching me, Tae’s eyes rolled as she moaned out loudly, “Cumming!”

I licked my lips then closed my own eyes clenching tightly around my finger as I released.

“Shit,” I panted, opening my eyes back up and resting my now sticky hand on my exposed stomach. Within seconds Tae had straddled me, the scent and stickiness from her still wet pussy was cold on my stomach and made my mouth water. Grabbing my chin, she pecked my lips then sucked on my bottom one, making me moan softly. My throat was dry and my voice was raspy from tonight’s activities but I could definitely go another round. Leaning her head over my shoulder she nibbled on my ear.

“Is it my turn yet,” she whispered sweetly making me smirk. She looked down at me innocently. I grinned then shook my head no. Tae crossed her arms then pouted. “But...,” she said leaning back over my shoulder to slide the tip of her tongue from the bottom to the top of my ear then she whispered, “But I got some making up to do bae.”

I sighed, pretending to ignore her, moving my head to the other side as she went to the other side of my neck, kissing then grazing her teeth against it.

“Come on Tey,” she whispered, her hands finding there way inside my sweats and underwear with ease.

“Lemme fuck you.”

I groaned immediately feeling her soft hands against my flesh and I was turned on all over again with the quickness. “Shit,” I swallowed while she bit my large hardened nipples that were poking out underneath my sports bra.

“It’s like I said,” Tae whispered, lifting my bra up and kissing my left nipple, “My pussy is yours.” She flicked her tongue up and down it quickly then pulled it with her teeth making me growl lowly. 

“And this pussy,” she continued toying with my sensitive clit grinding her bare pussy against my thigh, “Is definitely mine.”

//

February 10, 2016

10:30 a.m.

Tae

I played in Teyana’s curls looking down at her fast asleep. I put it on her good and she did me the same. I knew things wouldn’t just go back to being peachy between us just because we made up... several times last night and this morning. But hell, I knew this definitely was a start. The way Teyana made me feel was indescribable it’s like she was meant for me from the moment I saw her at Clark. I wasn’t messing up and losing her this time. So hopefully Mia, Milly or whatever the fuck her girlfriend’s name is can go on about her business. 

Teyana is mine, period. 

Hearing what sounded like the back door in the kitchen downstairs close, I leaned up causing Teyana to stir in her sleep while she laid on my breast. “Quit moving,” she griped in a sleepy and annoyed tone.

“I heard something.”

“Only thing I hear is your loud ass, go back to sleep!”

I hit her arm lightly, making her raise up squinting at me, “The fuck you hit me for, Tae? Don’t make me tap that ass.”

I grinned then shook my head, “I’m serious stupid, I heard something downstairs.” Pulling the covers off of me, Teyana pulled me back just as I was about to stand up.

“Nah uh, stay here with me,” she pouted her full lips then smacked regaining her position on my breast. Then I heard a sound again. It couldn’t be Miss Rose because she would’ve called me to pick her up from the hospital. I grabbed my phone from the nightstand then checked it to see I didn’t have any missed calls from her but did have a few from an Unknown caller. Knowing Miss Rose kept a gun in the top drawer in her bedroom, I attempted to crawl out of bed again. This time Teyana didn’t move. Putting on her hoodie, I opened my door slowly then tip-toed across the hall headed towards Miss Rose’s room until a thick glove cover hand covered my mouth. I squealed, which was muffled by the male’s hand while his other arm wrapped around my waist and walked me down the steps. Once we were downstairs I began fighting the stranger until I knocked my head back against his teeth.

“Ahh fuck,” he exclaimed. I recognized the voice immediately. Now out of his grip, I turned around to face him.

“Brandon,” I questioned, looking back at him who was wearing a black ski mask, black hoodie, and black pants. He looked like a damn burglar and I guess you could say he was since he was inside the house uninvited.

“What the fuck are you doing here,” I asked while he took the ski mask off. His eyes were different. Dark. Cold. He didn’t answer but just smirked as I stood on the other side of the island in the kitchen. I quickly glanced down to see if I left a knife out or anything but there wasn’t one. I looked back at him who was breathing heavily, shoulder’s rising and falling and jaw clenched tight.

“I never thought you’d try and ruin my shit too like you did Teyana,” he spat, “But I guess after you got a taste of pussy, you lost ya shit, huh?”

I frowned at him then started backing up as he began coming around the island and towards me.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about but you need to leave.”

“Or maybe it's because of that nutty as momma of yours. You know craziness can be hereditary.” Now completely from behind the island I moved around towards the sink as he continued approaching me. I didn’t see that he was carrying but that didn’t mean that he wasn’t. We kept our knives next to the sink so I knew if only I was closer, I’d be able to defend myself if I needed to. But it was risky with it being so far away at the moment and Brandon inching closer by the second. If I was gonna make a move it needed to be soon.

I figured he’d be mad at me for cheating on him but me ruining his life is something I had no knowledge of. And honestly, after all this nigga put me through, I could care less about what goes on in his life anymore. I mean did he forget that he cheated on me too with the fake Puerto Rican princess? Selective memory having ass. But speaking on my mother was and still is OFF LIMITS!

“Don’t speak on my momma ever again” I narrowed my eyes at him feeling my anger build and looking at the knife rack from the corner of my eye.

“Oh, there she go, the bold bitch I caught a glimpse of at the banquet,” his grin sinister, “Tell me how come I never got a taste of her, huh Tae? Or was Teyana the only person who could bring her out of you?”

Not wanting to waste another second I made a dash to my left towards the knives but he cornered me, trapping me between his arms. “Answer me,” he shouted, slamming my back against the cupboards.

“I bet I could bring her out of you,” he snickered, lifting the hoodie I was wearing up with his hand to expose that I wasn’t wearing anything underneath.

“Oooh, and you ain’t wearin’ no panties just how I like it,” he snickered, “I tell you what, how about I fuck you before I kill you?”

Tears began building in my eyes as my body shook at his last words, “Bradon please...”

He pulled a gun out from behind his back that had been tucked in his pants then cooed me while resting it under my chin to lift it. “Shh, you know I don’t like rats baby, but that’s what you are, a gutter rat who can’t keep her legs closed and lied on me to the motherfuckin’ police,” the gun remained under my chin making me look up at him while my whole body shook. I don’t want to die and the fear of that and him killing Teyana too once he finds out she’s here scared me to no end. But him mentioning the police had me confused.

“But I didn’t talk to no police,” I pleaded but he shuts me up, now putting the gun to my chest. My heart beats faster underneath it while I think over my entire life but then Brandon snapped me back to reality.

“Now open up them legs so you remembering whose pussy this is be the last thing you get before you leave this world.” Tears stream down my face as he sat me up on the counter then put the gun down behind him on the island to unbuckle his pants. I close my eyes and began praying knowing I’m not gonna be quick enough to grab the gun before he does.

“See that’s where you’re wrong, Brandon,” Teyana’s voice caused me to snap my eyes open and Brandon to turn around. There she is in her sports bra and boy shorts holding Miss Rose’s gun pointed at him. He struggled with his pants then tried to reach for his gun but I quickly kicked him out of the way with my foot. He glared up at me then back at Teyana who shoots above his head. He narrowed his eyes at her then slowly stands up. He blinks at Tey then at his gun then at me. Teyana turns the bullets inside the gun as he glares at her.

“Bitch, wrong about what?”

She chuckles then he attempts to grab the gun but Teyana shoots, once, “That’s not your pussy.” Teyana shot a second time, “It’s mine.”

Then she shot a third time until he was down.

My heart pounding, I slid off the counter looking down at Brandon. A pool of ruby red blood grew around his head.

[leigh-kelly]

(More Hospital!AU)

After they get back from Boston, Brittany is still a little moody. Santana worries about her because she’s normally so even tempered that it’s surprising to see it happen. But she doesn’t take it out on Santana and the boys. Instead, Santana hears the interns talking about Dr. Pierce snapping at them and giving them scut. She knows that Brittany is having a little bit of a hard time, but she doesn’t want to force her to talk about it any further. She knows that Brittany is mostly a closed book when it comes to her sister and Santana is convinced that she thinks talking about it will make her break.

Instead, Santana gives Brittany her space at work, choosing to pump in her own office instead of commandeering Brittany’s as often as she was. But still, she brings her lunch and coffee, she just tries to remind her that she loves her and she’s here if she needs anything. It’ll be good when the Pierces get to New York, Santana knows that, but it’s just the transition period of them trying to sell the house that has Brittany in a state. 

One night, Brittany stays at work late. Santana gets the boys fed dinner and in bed before running a bath and getting in. Her back is sore from doing back to back surgeries, and she’s sure it will make her feel better. Just as she’s about to get in, she hears the keys in the lock and Brittany drops her bag at the door before coming up the stairs. Santana is standing in her robe when Brittany just wraps her arms tightly around her and lets Santana hold her for a long while, forgetting that her bath is getting cold. It just feels so good to have her wife in her arms and she tucks her face into her shoulder, getting as close as she can.

“Were you getting in the shower?” Brittany finally asks.

“The bath, actually. Do you want to come in with me?”

“That would be really good, yeah.”

While Brittany undresses, Santana adds more hot water to the tub and they get in together, Santana leaning into Brittany’s front once they’re settled. The big bath tub is probably the best thing about their house and Santana lifts Brittany’s hand, playing with her fingers.

“I had a burn victim today.” Brittany says quietly. “That’s why I worked that.”

“Oh, Britt.”

“The smell of burnt flesh is the worst smell in the world. It makes me almost physically sick every single time. Did you know that I saw Liv’s body?”

“I didn’t.” Santana answers carefully.

“I wanted to spare my parents of having to identify it. She didn’t look anything like her. But the worst thing was the smell. I’d been a plastic surgeon for years by that point and I’d treated so many burn victims, but I haven’t been able to do it the same since that day.”

“I...I can’t imagine.”

“I don’t want to remember her like that and sometimes I can’t help it. That’s why I’m trying to cling to the memories in the house...”

“Britt, do you want to buy the house?”

“It wouldn’t be the same. And we’d probably have to rent it out and then there’d still be strangers living in there. I just have to figure out how to let go.”

“Mommy Noodle!” Liam cries out from Santana and Brittany’s bedroom. “I need you!”

“I’ll get it.” Brittany offers.

“Stay, I’ll get it.”

“But this is your bath.”

“You need it more than I do. Seriously, relax. I’ll take care of Liam.”

Santana gets out of the tub, slips into her robe and finds Liam curled up on her and Brittany’s bed hugging a pillow. His little cheeks are tear stained and Santana lifts him into her arms, hugging him tight as he cries against her. He doesn’t say anything as she carries him back to his room but when they get there, he opens his mouth and a big hiccuping sob comes out.

“I had a scary dream, Mommy Noodle.”

“What happened in your scary dream, Sir?” She tucks him into his bed and lays down beside him.

“I couldn’t find you or Mama or Maxie or Ollie. Everybody was gone.”

“We’re right here, bud, you don’t have to worry about that.”

“I want you to stay with me.”

“I’m right next to you and you can hold my hand while you fall asleep?”

“You gonna leave?”

“After you fall back to sleep, I’m going to sleep in my bed, but you know where to find me.”

“Where’s Mama?”

“Mama’s having a little relaxation time in the tub, but she’ll come into kiss you goodnight.”

“Where are Maxie and Ollie?”

“They’re sleeping right next to my bed.”

“Why can’t I sleep right next to your bed?” He asks, almost begging.

“Because you’re a big guy and this is your bed right in here.”

“But I want to sleep with you.”

“Li, you’re going to be okay in your own big bed.” Brittany appears at the door. “Do you want me to lay with you too for a little while?”

“I want you to sleep with me all night long.”

“I’m not sure there’s room for me, you and Mommy in the bed, but we’ll stay with you until you fall asleep.”

“And you won’t lose me?”

“I won’t lose you, promise.”

As they promised, Santana and Brittany stay in bed with Liam until he falls asleep. When they go back into their bedroom and Santana pulls on a shirt, she winces, remembering that she still hasn’t gone to Roz to talk to her about her nipple infection. She’s been powering through it, nursing on the infected side like the internet has said and trying to always put Oliver there because he’s so much gentler. Brittany sees the pained look on Santana’s face and she comes over, touching the hem of her shirt.

“Let me see it.” She says gently.

“You’ve got a lot on your plate right now, I don’t need you worrying about my nipple.”

“You’re my wife, I’m a plastic surgeon, I just want to make sure it has nothing to do with your scar tissue.”

“Do you think it does?”

“Probably not, but I really want to check it.”

“Thank you.” Santana breathes a heavy sigh of relief as she lifts up her shirt. Brittany gently put her hand on Santana’s breast and she bites her lip so she doesn’t scream.

“That bad?”

“It hurts like hell. My week has been so crazy that I haven’t gone to Roz.”

“It’s hot to the touch. Let me feel your forehead.” Brittany lays the back of her hand against it. “You have a fever too.”

“Do you think it’s the scar tissue?”

“No, I think it’s mastitis, and that you should go see Roz first thing in the morning to get on antibiotics.”

“Ugh, you know antibiotics give me yeast infections. I’m going to be miserable for two weeks.”

“Better than having to get this drained later. Just have Roz write you a script for both meds, then hopefully you can beat out the yeast infection.”

“Is the mystery totally gone from our marriage?”

“I don’t care about mystery, I have intimacy with you, that’s more important.”

“You’re right, you’re always right.”

“You’re right a lot of the time too.” She smiles. “Do you feel okay for me to hold you in bed? I’ll get you some Tylenol first.”

“I can get it, Britt. Go lay down, you’ve had a long day.”

Santana goes into the bathroom both to take her usual medication and two Tylenol. She lays down with Brittany and rests her head on her wife’s chest. She’s really dreading the night feeding but she knows if she doesn’t do it, she’s going to feel worse in the morning. So she closes her eyes and falls asleep quickly, the Ambien and Brittany’s heartbeat lulling her into slumber.

The next morning, Brittany is already out of bed when Santana wakes up and after she gets ready for work, she goes downstairs to find her with Liam, Max and Oliver in the kitchen. She loves watching her with the boys and she stands back and smiles as Liam stands on his stool at the counter helping Brittany make eggs while the babies sit on the table in their seats.

“Morning, loves.” Santana goes over to kiss the babies, then Liam, then Brittany. “This breakfast smells yummy, I wish I could stay for it.”

“Why not Mommy Noodle?”

“I have to go see the doctor this morning, Sir.”

“Are you sick?”

“I’m not sick, don’t worry. I just need to see Dr. Roz for a little bit.”

“You got more babies in your belly? I think we got enough.”

“Mommy doesn’t have more babies in her belly.” Brittany laughs. “Come on Li, it’s your favorite part, I’m going to flip the eggs.”

Santana, even though she just kissed them all good morning a minute earlier, kisses them all goodbye and then takes a cab to the hospital so Brittany can have the car. After Roz confirms the mastitis, she calls in an antibiotic prescription—which Brittany probably could have just done for her—and a prescription for Diflucan in case Santana does get the dreaded yeast infection. Once she’s done, she goes up to her office to do her morning of consults and she notices that Shelby’s office looks like a revolving door. The search for a new peds surgeon hasn’t been great but Santana hopes that this round will go better.

As usual, the day’s schedule is jam packed for Santana and she’s sore while does back to back to back appendectomies after her patient consults and she’s anxious to talk to Shelby and see just how the interviews went. She knows that Shelby is always up front with her and she figures she’ll get the information if she just asks. After her last surgery is done, she goes back to her office to get everything packed up, then she goes to Shelby’s office and sees her talking with a woman. Santana had thought the interviews were over, but since it appears that Shelby is still doing them, she goes to turn away just as Shelby waves her into the office.

“Santana, I’m glad you’re here, I thought you’d left for the day.”

“My last surgery actually ran a little late, Brittany is waiting in her office for me.”

“I won’t keep you long, I just wanted to introduce you to our newest peds attending, Dr. Lauren Zizes. Lauren, this is Dr. Santana Lopez, one of the best attending surgeons I’ve ever had.”

“It’s so nice to meet you.” Santana reaches out her hand. “Glad you’re joining us.”

“Yeah, me too. I got the whole tour, met with Dr. Sylvester, met with HR, I start in three weeks.”

“Lauren is coming to us from Johns Hopkins.” Shelby beams. “I tried to get her to start sooner, but you can’t pack up your life that fast.”

“I’ll be glad when you start, Shelby has been looking for the right person to fill your position for awhile now.”

“So I heard. Well it was nice to meet you, Santana, I know you have to go.”

“Good luck with the move.”

“Thanks, I’m going to need it.”

With a smile on her face, Santana leaves Shelby’s office. Only three more weeks of the chaos she’s been living sounds really good and she hopes that Lauren will bring a lot to the department. When Santana gets to Brittany’s office, Brittany is sitting at her desk working intensely on something and Santana knows that she doesn’t hear her come in.

“Hey.” Santana murmurs, not wanting to startle her.

“Hi. I went and picked up your prescriptions when I had a break before. I knew you wouldn’t have time to go down to the pharmacy.”

“Have I told you lately that I love you?”

“Only once or twice.” Brittany smiles and gets up to kiss Santana. “Rough day?”

“I can’t wait to get this bra off.”

“I’m ready to go, I was just doing some scheduling stuff while I was waiting for you.”

“Sorry, my surgery ran late and then Shelby wanted to introduce me to the new attending, she finally hired someone!”

“That’s the best news, how much better do you feel?”

“Really good knowing there’s an end in sight to pulling double duty. Let’s get out of here though, I miss the boys.”

They get in the car and Brittany drives home. The traffic is bad because that extra half hour Santana was there really makes all the difference and though Brittany remains calm, Santana can’t handle the fact that no one knows how to drive. When the finally get to the house, it’s long past dinnertime so Santana knows her mom already fed Liam and she and Brittany will just order something after he goes to bed. All is quiet when they go inside, with Liam sprawled on the floor with a coloring book, working to use his right hand, and both Max and Oliver in Maribel’s arms on the couch.

“Sorry we’re late again, Ma.” Santana apologizes immediately as they walk in the door. “You know you can just stay here if you want so you don’t have to drive all the way home in traffic.”

“I appreciate that, Santana, but you know I’m okay driving.” Maribel smiles. “You look tired.”

“I am tired.”

“Mama, Mommy Noodle, come look at my pitcher.” Liam pops his head up as both Brittany and Santana take a baby from Maribel. “Isn’t it nice?”

“It’s so nice, bud.” Brittany grins. “Can I bring it to my office?”

“Well now I gotta make Mommy Noodle one too.”

“I would love that, Sir. Thank you.”

They say goodbye to Maribel and get the twins in the tub—after Santana gets her bra off—while Liam keeps coloring. While Santana is nursing, Brittany goes to bring Liam upstairs for his bath and once Max and Oliver are down for the night, she climbs into Liam’s bed and waits for him to come out and put his pajamas on. It always makes Santana smile when he comes in to do that, his wet, dark hair sticking up everywhere as he dances around and once he’s done, he climbs up into the bed between her and Brittany.

“Mama?” Liam looks up very earnestly at Brittany.

“Yeah Li?”

“Did I grow in your belly like Maxie and Ollie grew in Mommy Noodle’s belly?”

“Well...” Santana watches Brittany take a deep breath and she reaches over to grab her hand. “No, you didn’t grow in my belly.”

“So who’s belly did I grow in? We didn’t even know Mommy Noodle when I got borned so I couldna grown in her belly.”

“You’re right, you didn’t grow in Mommy’s belly. You grew in my sister’s belly.”

“You don’t got a sister.”

“I did have a sister, until you were a baby.” Brittany struggles with tears in her eyes and Santana doesn’t know what to do.

“Where’d she go? Did she go to the moon?”

“My sister was your mama, before I was your mama.”

“How was she my mama? I don’t know her. Why’d she go away?” Liam begins to panic and Brittany lets go of Santana’s hand so she can gather him in her arms.

“There was a fire when you were just a little baby. Remember, that’s how you got burned?”

“That’s why that boy called me a monster.”

“And you’re not. We were very, very lucky that you were safe even though you were burned. But your other mama and your daddy died in the fire.”

“I don’t know what that means, Mama.”

“When someone dies, it means we can’t see them anymore.” Brittany explains gently. “But that doesn’t mean they’re not always around us.”

“They don’t want to see me?”

“Oh no, Li, they would love to see you growing up so big and brave. But before they died, they made sure that I would be able to take care of you and be your mama too.”

“And Mommy Noodle?”

“They would have loved Mommy Noodle.” Tears run down Brittany’s face and Santana reaches over to wipe them away.

“Mommy Noodle did you know them?”

“I didn’t know them, Sir, only from stories that Mama has told me.”

“Tell me a story, Mama.”

“I’ll tell you the story about the day you were born. My sister, your first mama, was so excited that you were coming. I was working at the hospital in Boston and I found out that it was time for you to come. I went downstairs to where the babies are born and your mama was sitting in the middle of her bed, arms wrapped around her big belly and singing to you. Your daddy was watching her the whole time with the biggest smile on his face because he knew very soon he would get to meet you. Grandma and Grandpa were there too and we left to give your mama and daddy some privacy. Then, your daddy came running into the waiting room shouting that you were born. We got to go in the room to see you and your mama handed you to me and said ‘Liam, this is Aunt Brittany.’”

“That’s silly that she called you Aunt Brittany. You’re just Mama.”

“But I wasn’t your mama yet, I got to be Aunt Brittany first for a little while.”

“You don’t have to be Aunt Brittany again, right?”

“I’m going to be your mama forever, Li.”

“What if you die?” He asks, his whole face scrunched up.

“I’m going to try very hard not to do that, I want to see you grow up, and your brothers too.”

“Are you gonna die, Mommy Noodle?” Liam looks up at Santana, eyes filled with confused tears.

“I really hope not, like Mama, I’m going to try very hard not to.”

“I don’t remember my other mama or my daddy.”

“You were very little when they died, but they loved you so much. They would be so proud of how big you’re getting.”

“Can I see a picture of them?”

“Of course you can.” Brittany takes out her phone and scrolls until she finds a picture of her sister, her brother-in-law and Liam on the day he was born. “There they are, and that’s little baby you.”

“My other Mama has black hair like me and Mommy Noodle.”

“You’re right, that’s where you go it from.”

“I’m sad I don’t remember them.” 

“I’m sad about that too, but I promise that I’ll tell you any stories you want so you can know them, even though they’re not here.”

“Okey Mama.” Liam rubs his eyes. “I’m sleepy.”

“Go to sleep, love.” She lays back down on the bed with him curled into her side. “I’m right here.”

“I’ll leave you with him.” Santana mouths, understanding that Brittany needs the time. “I love you, Sir.”

“I love you, Mommy Noodle.”

Kissing Liam on the head, Santana retreats down the hall to her bedroom. She looks over at Max and Oliver sleeping and thinks of them and Liam and how she can’t imagine not seeing them grow up. It hurts her heart to think of Olivia, torn away from her baby by tragedy and missing out on such an amazing little boy. She feels tears spring to her eyes, but she knows that she can’t cry. She needs to be strong for Brittany when she comes out of Liam’s room and instead, she settles for stroking Max and Oliver’s little heads. Her Max, her strong boy that sometimes doesn’t get as much of her time because she’s so worried about Oliver, her Oliver, her little fighter, named after the woman that brought his big brother into the world. Those three boys, they’re her whole world and she watches two of them until she hears the door creak open.

“Hey.” Santana whispers. “Are you okay?”

“I think I’m better than I thought.” Brittany sirs down on the edge of the bed. “He knows now.”

“He does.”

“It didn’t change how much he loves us.”

“I didn’t think it would, Britt.”

“I’ve read horror stories about kids who find out they’re adopted. And this is just...a different thing all together. I couldn’t even tell him that Liv died saving his life.”

“You will when he’s older.” Santana assures her. “That’s a lot for a little boy.”

“I’m glad he knows, it feels like a weight off of me. I’m sorry I’ve been just...distant since we got back from Boston.”

“You’re going through a lot. You’re always there for me when I am.”

“I know, but I like to hold it together.”

“Babe, even through all of this, you’ve been cool, calm and collected.”

“I’ve never had any choice but to be. When I was a kid, I was the oldest and I watched out for Liv, then I was so focused on college and medical school and then Liv died and my mom was falling apart and Liam was in intensive care and they needed me to do what I’d always done and then...”

“And then came me.” Santana says softly.

“Santana, that’s not what I was going to say.”

“Britt, I know I’ve needed to lean on you probably more than is fair.”

“You’ve had a lot in your life.”

“So have you. But you manage things better than I do.”

“In the time I’ve known you, you’ve gotten infinitely better at managing things.” Brittany takes Santana’s hand. “And just like I don’t resent Liv or my mom or Liam, I don’t resent you. I’m glad that I can be there for you when things get hard.”

“Sometimes I just wish I was more...I don’t know what I’m trying to say. I don’t even know if it’s less of something or more of something. I guess on some level I thought that getting my boobs fixed would fix me, and then when that didn’t, I thought getting pregnant would. I’m sorry, I’m totally derailing the conversation about what happened tonight.”

“It’s okay. I’m just glad it’s over. And for the record, I don’t want you to be more or less of anything. I love you just as you are.”

[maladaptive-ninja-returns]

Kira (14)

CHAPTER 14: Even The Devil Has A Heart 

Loki x fem!Reader (Kira)

Series: Will contain fluff, smut, bloodshed, violence, anxiety, tears and the cries of my wilted soul.

Chapter content: I said there will be everything in this series, didn’t I

Warnings: yeah...brace yourselves. Just don’t curse me ‘cause I’m already a little cursed on the inside

Word count: My brothers and sister have been keeping me busy these past few days. So it has been nice as well as exhausting. I have changed my office for a few days. It’s...cool. Yeah, I mean for now, yeah. And I really need a drink. Hopefully this weekend.

MASTERLIST & Taglist in bio, my love

Ygritte has laid out the table for dinner. Loki's favourites wait for him. All things light. Soups and salads fit for a king. A bowl of glass noodles rests in the centre of the table. That one has been made specifically for Kira. It hasn't been often that she has told Ygritte what she prefers but when she did not stop complimenting the ramen Ygritte had made for her once, she made sure to keep something pan-Asian for her favourite kid on the table. To go with the food, fresh beer and iced tea in three flavours wait in glass jugs, making the woman proud of her arrangements. Content with the table, she goes to Loki and Kira's rooms to ready them before they arrive, turning on the geysers and lighting up a scented candle to help them ease them into sleep after the long journey. Of course, it wouldn't be easy ever since the incident with Robert, but she has to do everything in her power to make sure they rest well and have enough energy the next day to go to war with that cursed creature that did this to her fine boy.

With every last bit done and dusted in both rooms, she finally moves out to the hall to hear the same scratching noise echo through that she heard two hours ago. All she can do is sigh and walk towards the front door to find Fenrir whining and carving new patterns in the wood of the door.

"Fenrir! Stop ruining the door. They'll be here when they're here."

Fenrir outrightly ignores every word Ygritte says, carrying on with his mission of wood destruction.

"Do you really want your father to put you in time out?"

Now that seems to catch the wolf's ears as he puts his paws down, looks at the door, looks up at Ygritte, looks back at the door, scoffs and walks towards the back to go to the lounge, stops midway as his ears catch a moment, comes back in two huge steps and skids to a halt just as the lights from the SUV light up the walls in the entrance.

The door barely opens when Fenrir is lunging towards Loki, catching him in his own style of hug, licking him clean.

"Yes, yes! I missed you too. Now get off before I throw you out," Loki declares, hugging his wolf and petting him.

"Welcome back, Master Loki."

"Thank you, Ygritte."

Ygritte looks behind him to watch Heimdall standing and judging the wolf, who clearly isn't happy to see the Watcher either.

"Master Loki, where's Miss Kira?"

"She's coming home with Kol."

Ygritte smiles in acknowledgement, stepping aside to let the men in, looking at the night outside. The skies have gathered thunder clouds in a matter of minutes and the wind chimes around the estate are going off at every strong gust teasing them, alerting the grounds of the storm that is about to come. Even though she trusts what Loki says, her heart seems to be feeling a nauseating feeling, forcing her to close the door till about three inches are left, letting the soft lights from the driveway form a straight beam into the entrance hall. Doing that, she walks away to carry on with her work.

Heimdall notices this. When their ancestors had gone through the biblical famines in old history, a group of men had sought to find anything their families could live on. The women and children were left in protected shelters, where the women took to intricate- and impressive- measures to protect them and their children from the cold and the predators. But in order to let their men know they were alive and it was safe to enter the shelter, they would keep the entrance open with the fire on- the fire having to be fed after considerate intervals. And so began a tradition. Later on in the wars, the men and women would leave at least one door open when their partner was out and it was truly unknown if they would return. Heimdall can feel the same patience and anxiousness in Ygritte's actions. When he watches her leave, he turns on the porch light and walks away to his observatory.

.

Too loud.

Your heartbeat is too loud for you to make out anything that is going on around you.

Breathe.

Breathe, Kira, breathe.

Deep long breaths help a little, calming those thumping beats enough to make sense of the sounds around you. The sounds outside the walls where you've been kept sound thin. Heavy vehicles seem to hum around the huge hollow building. The walls and floor are cold and it smells like the outskirts of the city- the pungent smell of sulphur in the air too familiar to be breathed in this long; the only relief being the periodic wind forcing its way through whatever hole that you cannot see, bringing with it four seconds of freshness and the smell of rain.

Where the fuck am I?

From what you can recall, after being literally clad in darkness, you were forced up into a vehicle and brought to the outskirts on quite the bumpy road. The henchmen surrounding you had been hard at work, ignoring your anxious muffled cries yet keeping you in place whenever you tried to struggle with the zip ties keeping your hands tied in front.

There had been too much commotion wherever the vehicle had stopped. Sounds of heavy metal being thrown on thick concrete, wooden crates being opened, cries of moving the 'packages' away in local languages. The black fabric was no help in letting you make out the figures under the orange lights walking around the premise. You, amongst all the noise, were forced by your arm inside a building, the door- or whatever ominous frame closes with a metallic clang- shut behind you.

So, here you are, after taking careful steps towards the wall in God-knows-what direction, sitting on the cold floor, your hands limp inside your lap, your body realising the tiredness after the rush, your brain going into a shutdown.

What did I do to deserve this? Your sore muscles and bleeding scratches ask you.

You fell for the wrong man, a voice inside your head whispers. You try not to ignore it but it's like a demon attached to your back whose presence is heavy even though it's invisible.

The solitary confinement does give you a minute to gather yourself, mentally. How long have I gone missing? Someone ought to look for me, right?

You feel your body slide down the wall a little more, the cold touch of the wall on your neck dissipating the hotness gathering there. And before you know it, the basic instincts take over, instantly putting you to sleep.

You don't know how long it's been when you jerk at the clang of the door opening- five minutes, ten, an hour, the concept of time is not even a question anymore- and the sounds of multiple footsteps proceeding towards you.

You think it's bad to not know who these people are that are approaching you while keeping you in complete darkness till the footsteps stop a few feet away and no amount of concentration can help you concur what exactly is going on in this situation. And the accelerated thumping of your veins does not help.

You do not notice when your knees came up and close to your chest to wrap you in an invisible protective shield against the strangers in the room. But just as that happens, a lone pair of footsteps walk towards you, their echo a prick inside your just woken up brain. A low grunt follows the touch of strong arms grasping onto yours and picking you up without much effort before nearly dragging you away from the corner to stop dead somewhere; not before you find yourself bumping into what seems like a table. The same set of hands that brought you here undo the complex clasp at the back to take away the black fabric from over your head to reveal the gentle hollow eyes of Billy Russo smiling at you three feet away.

.

"I owe you my sincerest apologies for the way over the top charades to get you here. Though I'm not really sure if you'd have come with me if I'd asked you to."

You rub the bruises on your wrists where the ties were a minute ago, flashing a judgmental look at Billy for the comment he makes.

"You shot Robert."

"Well, I wasn't planning to," Billy states with a simple shrug and tilts his head at you with the look of sympathy in his eyes that is inciting all the wrong emotions inside you.

"Oh, so, you wanted me dead." The sharpness of your voice seems to add weight to the betrayal you're feeling right now.

Billy narrows his eyes in contemplation. "No, not really. No. I just wanted to-" he takes one step closer to you, visibly surprised when you don't flinch even a bit- "let the fact graze past your boss that I could've taken your life if I wanted to. Really simple strategy. Don't blame me for Robert tryna' be a hero, sweetheart."

The disgust your belly feels at his addressal leaves a sour taste in your mouth. "His security is tighter than before. I really don't get how you plan on getting past that and for what reason. Just because he didn't a business deal with you, Russo?"

"Aw, we'd just started on the first name basis!" He exclaims, taking another step towards you- forcing you to move back and away from him and his deceiving face. "And come on! You're smarter than you show the world, Kira. You know how a sturdy castle can crumble with the right blow at the right spot. It just so happens that you are the right spot when it comes to Loki Odinson, the Messiah of the third world countries!"

The distance is closed again. You do not hesitate to step back. "I'm just his assis-"

"Enough." His voice is low but the tremble it sends through the hollow building makes you second guess that slight smear of courage inside your heart. "I'm tired of hearing it. How aren't you? Have you seen the way that orphan looks at you? Like someone looks at their precious pet. Admiring them, showcasing them to the world and feeling proud when others stand in awe of their cute little slave-"

"You're going too far-"

"Glaring at the people with the stare of most violent death to anyone who looks at their pet with an intention they deem inappropriate. I mean-" he steps towards you, forcing you into the wall at the back- "I know he's killed me at least ten times in his mind since I've met you."

The perfect white smile is ominous at best, chilling your insides. His dark eyes gazing you with a haunted lust add to the dread.

"He does not-" you graze away his fingers trying to play with your stray hair- "like me. If that's what you're implying."

"Mm-hmm," Billy hums, not at all fazed by your hands trying to keep his away from you, "then how do you explain him not signing the deal with me? Hmm? Last I heard he and Solaris were this close to closing it on my name. Why does. A man. With such a powerful sway. Let his assistant make decisions for him?"

"Wha-"

"I know it was you who stopped him from closing on Anvil Corp, Kira."

The words should not hit as hard as they do in your gut but the shade of malice swimming in Billy's eyes seems to take control, wanting to reduce you to nothing. "I know you were the one who swung the deal from the Adachis in your favour."

"I had nothing t-"

"You had everything to do with this, Kira!" He shouts, failing his hands as he does a frustrated three-sixty. "Everything!"

"You had to go and be all sweet to their daughter, be the nicest person on the planet with them. The bonus? You and Loki being all heart-eyes in each other's presence. Ugh!"

He comes back to put his arms on the wall around you, trapping you in without so much as a window for a thought to escape. "You ruined our entire plan."

You want to be diffused into the wall for it sounds better than feeling the microscopic jolts of uneasiness from his stare lingering over your skin and hot breaths trying to tease your existence into withering away.

"And to think I nearly started questioning my motives in seducing you." His thumb grazes your jaw. His fingers plant themselves on your neck before you feel the force in his hand mercilessly turning your face to look at him while he presses himself against you. "I nearly started to think of you, Kira. I started to dream what it would be like to take you home. To wonder what it would be like to tie your hands and bend you on my table, ripping off your clothes one by one and fucking you till I made you cry. Ohhh...to force my cock in your mouth till you licked my orgasm clean. You really did a number on me, Kira."

The restraints are crumbling to the last bits when you feel his erection grinding against you. That's it. You cannot take it anymore.

"I'd rather die than let you fuck me," you hiss through your teeth.

Billy's eyes go wide. His face blank. Laughter roars through the room followed by his hand slapping the wall.

"Oh you never cease to amaze me, do you?"

Billy bites his lips through the smile still lingering on them. One hand goes away from the wall to gesture at the two men clad in black camo to walk away. And they do. Leaving you alone with this scum.

"You'd rather die than fuck me, hmm?" He whispers into your ear, inhaling the scent of fear coming out from you before kissing your forehead tenderly.

Your fists try to drive his chest away but his hand takes your wrists in them, letting his perfectly manicured nails dig into your skin to remind you of the dormant pain still lingering in there. The other hand has found its way into your trousers, fingers entering your folds to watching you grit your teeth and feel your muscles clench in rebellion at his touch.

"Ah!" He whispers, "let's see how you call upon death to get you out of this."

It is a split-second decision through the pain to find your knee making an impact with his balls, bringing him down groaning and pushing him back as his grip loosens on you. "You are a psychopath! No wonder your own mother hates you so much," your lungs shout.

The mention of his mother breaks something inside him; like a vial of toxins crushed under pressure to let them mingle in with the rest of the solution.

Even as you try in vain to run towards the door, he is catching you by the waist to throw you at the table.

All you can see is red in his eyes when you get up. All you see is the face of a mad man before his fist makes an impact with the side of your face.

.

"Aaah! It's so good to be back home!"

"Tell me about it."

"Friday! Put on something soothing, please. And get the fire started."

The hall livens up with soft jazz music as Pepper cocks her brow at the crackle of a fire in her fireplace before turning to Tony.

"Wow," she mentions, wetting her lips, "for someone who hosted a freaking convention, you seem not tired at all."

"No, you hosted the convention," Tony asserts as he fills two glass with champagne, "I just popped by to say hi to all the people I invited."

"Right," Pepper nods smirks, taking her glass from Tony and waiting for him to settle down next to her. Tony scooches as close to her as possible before putting his arm around the headrest of the couch and clinking his glass with hers.

"To Miss Potts and her work in making this expo the most successful thing yet." Tony smiles with his eyes.

"Why thank you, Mr Stark," Pepper mentions before raising her glass a little, "to Stark Industries. For having the most generous man running the company with the happiest employees."

Pepper rests her head on Tony's arm, making him smile his softest smile. He lets his arm embrace her, his fingers making patterns on her sleeve.

"So, Miss Potts," Tony coos into Pepper's ears, "are you dead tired or do you have enough energy for an entertaining shower?"

Pepper bites her lips to restrain the giggle. "Oh, I don't know Mr Stark. Are you really up for a round or do you plan on passing out midway to the bathroom like last time?"

"Ooh! Cocky much! You do have the energy."

Pepper giggles, giving Tony a long kiss on his lips.

"How about you turn on your favourite playlist while I warm up the water for you, Miss Potts."

"I'd like that very much, Mr Stark."

Giving another peck on his cheek, Pepper gets up to go towards the music system, undoing her hair bun on the way while Tony collects the champagne glasses to get up and walk towards the bathroom. 

"Fri-"

The words leave Pepper midway as she watches the screen in front of her, her eyes squinting in the gesture of finding out what exactly she was seeing. Two seconds later the very same blue eyes are going wide with a low gasp escaping her lungs.

"Oh, my G-TONY!"

.

The hot pressured water eases the muscles in Loki's back, lightly scarring the already decorated skin. Everything except his head gets this torture. The heat is turned off to be followed by the cold current that numbs his skull before disappearing at the turn of the handle. Towel wrapped around his waist, Loki walks out to the ring of his phone on the bed, his heartbeat quickening at the thought of watching your name on the screen, only to be disappointed to find the exact opposite energy calling him.

Loki accepts the call and puts it on the speaker at the very same moment Heimdall opens the door to his room.

"Stark," Loki greets the man, making Heimdall pause midway, preventing him from speaking.

"Where is she?"

Loki's heard Tony enough time to let his ears know which emotion Tony is pouring at that moment. And the amount of poisonous rage bubbling on speakerphone has been heard only once before- a time neither of them talks about. The voice carries rage and frustration. Not to mention a hidden pain that would drown thousands at any moment if Loki does not answer it correctly. The question, by this time, can only meant to be directed towards you. But how does Tony know about you so quickly? Has the news already been informed?

"Kira's fine. She's on her way home from her examina-"

"She is NOT fine, Loki!"

"Tony she's f-"

"Her heart rates' high, Loki! Her vitals are worse and her blood pressure is all kinds of abnormal!"

The confusion hits before the surprise. "What are you talking about?"

"YOU SON OF A-"

Loki can hear Pepper's voice trying to calm Tony down to retain an ounce of common sense to talk to him in a language that makes sense.

"Loki," Tony comes back, this time one breath cooler, "Kira is not fine right now. I just got an alert about her being in an emergency. So, tell me where she is."

The restraint in his voice is loud and clear. Loud enough to tell anyone listening that he would come out of the speakerphone and strangle someone right this very moment.

"Her phone's off. I can't locate her."

Loki turns around to find Heimdall looking down at his golden crystal balls and phone in either hand, suddenly clicking a switch inside Loki.

"The pendant I gave her," Tony calls out from the phone, "it has a beacon. But it'll take me two minutes to activate it. You guys better hurry because her vitals are not looking good."

"I'm on it," Heimdall states before turning to Loki, "you stay here in case-Loki? Loki?!"

All sounds feel like one streak of white noise being drowned out by shallow breaths increasing with every passing moment. The legs are on the edge of giving way any second while the neck burns like a firepit from hell, sweating and steaming away the stray water on the skin.

"Ygritte!" Heimdall shouts out for the woman before coming back to Loki, "Hey, hey, hey. It's okay. You're okay. She'll be fine. Hey. Hey! Look at me! Look. At. Me. Kira will be fine. I'll bring her back. Okay?"

Loki, breathless on the floor by this moment nods halfway, pushing away Heimdall's hands from his arms, gesturing him to be out of the room.

"Loki..."

Tony calls out for the man- no poison this time.

This voice, Loki doesn't like.

"Stark," Loki's trying to breathe through his airless aching lungs, "Stark lis-listen-"

"I'm not going anywhere till you find yourself. Breathe before you speak. I can't hear you through your wheezing anyway."

Loki hates the voice that reminds of the father he did not have.

.

The handkerchief cleans up the blood sticking over the lean fingers in multiple strokes, having to make a little extra effort to get the fabric to wipe away the piece of skin caught under the nails; not to mention the dried blood resting in between the foreskin and those recently manicured pieces of french art. It really is a task. How did he ever make it through those old army days without caring for the perfection that was him is really surprising for Billy. The handkerchief is folded to bring the clean side over and wipe off the blood dripping from wounds made down his throat. A curse leaves his lips to having found his flawless skin marred by a lowely woman.

"The car is ready, sir."

Billy looks up at the soldier he has hired for a few green bucks, scoffing and smirking at him before throwing the handkerchief. "Clear the area. Leave that trash."

The soldier walks away along with five other men, leaving Billy to turn to the unconscious figure lying on the ground in its own blood.

He sits down next to it, takes out a little wildflower from his jacket pocket and puts it beside the hand that flinches a little at the closeness of the man.

"It’s a shame really. You choosing death, I mean. We really could’ve had it all if you wanted, Kira."

He tilts his head and sighs before giving a farewell smile.

"Because death was still going to knock on your door later."

Getting up with one long look, etching his artwork in his mind, he walks away with a giddy tune being whistled on his lips, leaving you on the edge of eternal unconsciousness, the violent pain waiting to tip you over any moment.

.

Second-last chapter of Kira

[spectacularkkubi]

@ 18 or long before that

Eunbi falls out of love on her seventeenth birthday.

Wait no, hold on, that’s not right. Eunbi falls out of love long before then – before the arguments and the Incident and the angry silence – but this is when it all comes to a head.

She’s sitting in her backyard with Chaeyeon, feet kicking at the dirt as he runs his fingertips up and down her arm. It’s cold, enough that icy residue bites at her bare feet. She’s happy. With Chaeyeon, they’re so often fighting that she’s never really truly contented, but tonight she lets herself enjoy the breeze and look up at the glimmering stars.

She rests her head on Chaeyeon’s shoulder. He pulls her closer and says, “Eunbi, I’m seeing somebody else.”

Two days later, Yujin takes her to a friend’s house party, and Eunbi gets the drunkest she’s ever been. Wasted.

She doesn’t remember much afterwards – only a lot of alcohol, telling a stranger about her relationship problems and crying in a toilet – but she remembers Kang Hyewon cuddling up against her, pressing her lips to Eunbi’s neck, and Eunbi thinking Huh. Maybe.

Yujin dragged her away, of course, said something about Eunbi being too drunk to function, and so Eunbi doesn’t think about it again for a long time.

On Tuesday, Sakura arrives late to homeroom, spills coffee on herself, and only misses being marked absent by a mixture of bribery and intimidation of the homeroom teacher. She’s a sub, anyway; doesn’t care that much about retaining the class’ respect or anything, so it turns out okay.

She’s nearly late to English and next period finds out last minute that she has an AP Algebra test she hasn’t studied for. By lunch, she’s exhausted to the point where she just collapses next to Eunbi at the table and doesn’t say a word.

“Sakura,” says Eunbi. When Sakura doesn’t reply, she pets at her arm. “Sakura. Kkura. Are you okay?”

Sakura grunts.

“Have you had a bad day, sweetheart,” Eunbi says, stroking her head. “Tell momma Eunbi about it.”

“Eunbi unnie, you have no clue how weird that is.”

Eunbi just laughs. “Tell me about it, Kkura.”

Sakura complains for a solid thirty minutes about everything she can think of. Mixing Korean and Japanese words which confused Eunbi a lot but when she runs out of steam Eunbi rubs her back and Sakura blurts out, “AndMinjoobrokeupwithmelastnight.”

Eunbi says, “Oh.”

Sakura says, “Yep.”

Eunbi seems a little lost for words. Sakura steals one of Eunbi’s chips, just to be spiteful, and Eunbi says, “But you two were so happy.”

Yeah, of course that’s what Eunbi thinks. But Eunbi didn’t see the way Minjoo looked last night – beautiful, furious, and fucking crushed. “I guess we had different interests.”

“As in?”

“As in I was interested in somebody else.”

Eunbi raises an eyebrow. “You have feelings for somebody else?”

Sakura just shrugs.

“Why didn’t you say anything to me? We’re best friends, Kkura-yah!”

“Because it’s not a big deal,” says Sakura, “and don’t call me Kkura-yah. Let it go.”

Eunbi, to Sakura’s shock, actually drops it – if only temporarily. Eunbi says, “I’m so sorry, Sakura,” and hugs her tight, and then Yujin and Nako and the others suddenly appear, as if beckoned.

“Can we come sit down now,” whines Yena. “Eunbi unnie said we couldn’t.”

Sakura laughs, but it’s a little choked.

“What’s up, Kkura unnie?” Yujin asks, looking concerned.

Sakura tries to say something like It’s fine or Don’t worry about it but the words get stuck in her throat. She grabs her bag and rushes out of the cafeteria, because the worst thing in the world would be for all her friends and schoolmates to see her cry.

She finds her way to the bleachers and collapses down, putting her head in her hands. All she can hear is Minjoo’s I thought you loved me, how could I be so stupid and All this time, you’ve been lying to me? and Sakura’s not all this time, Minjoo-yah, no, please.

Which is a lie, of course. She’s been in love with Eunbi for about three years, and being in love with your straight best friend isn’t something you ever really get over.

Sex is one thing – but emotional infidelity is just as bad, or at least Minjoo seemed to think so. She stormed out of Sakura’s house, so, so angry and so, so sad, and Sakura hadn’t followed her, because there was nothing left she could do or say.

It only takes Eunbi ten minutes to find her, and she suspects the girl gave her a headstart. She doesn’t say anything as she sits beside Sakura. She doesn’t touch her, knows sometimes Sakura doesn’t like to be touched, especially when she’s upset. Sakura’s heart breaks a little and she holds out her hand; Eunbi takes it, knotting their fingers together.

“What happened,” says Eunbi, barely a question.

Sakura just shakes her head and Eunbi sighs, resting her head on Sakura’s shoulder. Sakura can’t stop looking at their hands clutching each other in between them, the paleness of Eunbi against Sakura’s skin, the blue of her veins.

“It will get better,” Eunbi says, because of course she knows.

“I know,” Sakura says, except she doesn’t, she doesn’t know at all.

=====

Sakura plans nothing for her weekend, purely to allocate at least two days to feel sorry for herself. Sakura’s parents are gone for the weekend, and Indra doesn’t live at home anymore, so she has the house all to herself. Of course, it’s about six on Friday night and Sakura is about to order some Yukhoe when the doorbell rings.

Eunbi stands there with a plastic bag of food in one hand and a bottle of Soju in the other. “I thought you could use the company. Also, I convinced a sunbae to buy me some alcohol because you needed it.”

Sakura lets her in, because how can she not, and says, “What food do you want? Wait, let me guess – chicken, you're so boring.”

Eunbi grins. “You know me too well, Kkura.” She lets herself into the kitchen to grab two shot glasses and makes her way upstairs while Sakura orders. She finishes ordering and follows Eunbi upstairs. Eunbi is already organised on the bed with two shots already poured, food spread across the bed, and Netflix on the TV.

“Chicken will be here in twenty,” says Sakura, and she grabs a shot off the bedside table and throws it back without preamble.

Eunbi looks delighted. “I see we’re starting right away.” She downs her own shot and only coughs a little. “I hope you’re ready for a night of fun and adventure because that’s exactly what this is gonna be.”

As it turns out, there isn’t that much adventure – they end up staying in and just watching shitty Netflix movies, because it starts to pour with rain outside and the temperature drops dramatically. She cries about Minjoo for about an hour, talking about their best memories, about finding Minjoo’s clothes everywhere, about Minjoo’s stupid gorgeous face. She loses steam around ten o’clock, when she stops being determinedly sad and starts just being really, really drunk.

Around midnight thunder begins to roll, and Eunbi burrows against Sakura for warmth, cold hands pressed to Sakura’s stomach.

Eunbi says, “I’ve been considering it, you know.”

“Considering what?”

“Girls.”

Sakura’s mind blanks out and she says, “What.”

“There was – Hyewon, last year, or earlier this year, I don’t know, and…” Eunbi brushes her lips against Sakura’s shoulder. “I think I might be bi, you know? Boys are great. Girls are great. Everybody’s great.”

“Have you…”

“No, not yet,” Eunbi says, and then she must be drunker than Sakura thought because she adds, “I was hoping you could show me. Kiss me. Whatever.”

Sakura must also be drunker than she thought, because all she says is, “Okay.”

Eunbi crawls over so she’s straddling Sakura, and Sakura can’t do much but stare up at her, and she’s beautiful. Holy shit, Sakura is so in love with her best friend, and so terrible, and it hurts, and –

Eunbi kisses her.

It’s gentle, at first; unsure. But then Eunbi seems to realise it’s not that different to kissing a guy – just softer, sweeter – and it gets a bit more heated. Sakura manoeuvers them so she’s on top, and Eunbi looks up at Sakura through her eyelashes and fuck. Her lips are all pretty and bruised, and her hair’s a mess. Sakura kisses Eunbi’s neck, with just the hint of teeth, and Eunbi moans.

The world spins a little bit, Sakura thinks holy shit I’m drunk, and she rolls off Eunbi to bury her face in her pillow.

When she turns her head to the side to look at Eunbi, Eunbi is watching her. There’s something in her eyes, something a little adoring that Sakura can’t quite name yet. Sakura clears her throat and says, “So what do you think?”

“Yeah,” Eunbi says a little breathily. “Definitely bisexual.”

=====

It’s a process. They don’t really talk about the kiss again, mostly because Sakura is getting over Minjoo and Eunbi is – well, respecting that. Of course, about a month later, Eunbi rushes to their table at lunch and reveals that she is in love.

“Her name is Chaewon and she’s gorgeous,” Eunbi says. “She’s younger than us and she's a kpop trainee and she said she can help me with auditions if I want to and we can share apartment once I graduated.”

“Are you kidding me?” Nako says, and she takes a swig of her red bull.

Eunbi ignores her. “You should see her, Kkura, she’s so amazing. You have to meet her, seriously – all of you, but especially you, Kkura, because you know how much it means to me what you think.”

Yujin actually facepalms. It’s good to know Sakura has some people on her side.

Two weeks later, Eunbi comes to Sakura’s house sobbing. “She said she’s so sorry, but her friend confessed her love and she’s The One or some shit, how dumb is that? How can you just give somebody up like that?”

“I don’t know, Eunbi unnie,” Sakura says, and tries not to think about the irony. “She doesn’t appreciate how amazing you are.”

Eunbi sighs and hugs Sakura tighter. “This is why I love you, Kkura,” she says, sobs subsiding a little. “Why can’t I just date you? You’d be the perfect girlfriend and you’re already my best friend.”

Sakura says, “Yeah, why not,” and Eunbi doesn’t reply.

When she looks down, Eunbi’s fallen asleep, mouth hanging open.

Sakura sighs.

=====

There isn’t anyone like Chaewon again, but Eunbi tears through men and women like she’s trying to make a point. Not just sex, but she’ll get fantastical crushes for very short periods of time and insist on telling Sakura all about them.

One Saturday night, Sakura gets a message from a very drunk Eunbi.

hys name is Myungsoo and I am in luv

Unnie, go to sleep

I cant sleep hes so pretty Sakura I wanna ruin him

Then go do that, Eunbi unnie, and don’t talk to me about it.

he's so gorgeous Sakura

do you think he likes me

well u don’t know him but if u did

im likeable right

Then, ten minutes later: Kkura ya, do u think im a slut

not just a sex slut but like

an emotional slut

Sakura runs a hand over her face. No, Eunbi-chan you’re fine. But why are you texting me about this?

Bc ur precious to me

And I love u

Like honestly so much babe

More than anybody else

Sakura throws her phone across the room and pulls the covers over her head. She doesn’t fall asleep for a very long time.

=====

Eunbi tries to text her apologising, even if she doesn’t quite know what for. Sakura ignores her all weekend, and goes to the library for lunch on Monday, avoids Eunbi in the hallways. By Tuesday she’s back to normal, joking with Eunbi, and she ignores it when Eunbi tries to ask.

On Tuesday night she goes to the movies with Yujin and Yena, because they’re the only others who enjoy romcom movies just as much as Sakura. They watch something that makes Yena actually cry. Afterwards they get ice cream and walk down the boardwalk, and Yujin says, “Have you considered actually, you know, telling her?”

“She doesn’t –” Sakura hesitates. “She might not exactly be my straight best friend anymore, but she’s still not interested.”

“How do you know that though,” Yujin says, not exactly a question.

Sakura just shrugs, and Yujin sighs. Yena says, “Leave her alone, Yujin,” because they’ve had a kind of bromance ever since Yena cried on Sakura’s shoulder for about four hours about Monty’s ‘stupid ethereal beauty’.

They’re as bad as each other, really.

“It’s okay,” Sakura says. “I’ll get over it.”

Yujin snorts, and she’s right.

She’s right, because Sakura has been in love with Eunbi for years now, and she’s not over it. Sometimes it dulls, like when she was dating Minjoo, but it’s always there. She thinks she’s safe, and then Eunbi is there, kissing Sakura’s cheek and pressing up against Sakura’s side, and Sakura falls in love over and over and over again.

Every time, it hurts even more.

But she’ll get over it. Probably.

Maybe.

*****

The week before Sakura turns eighteen, Eunbi is reunited with Chaeyeon Collins. It’s a bad idea all around – Eunbi’s relationship with Chaeyeon was unhealthy at best, generally toxic. They go out, and it’s not a date, except Chaeyeon confesses his love for her and says he’s no longer with that girl.

The next day, Eunbi doesn’t touch her lunch at all, the word maybe hidden somewhere beneath her tongue. Sakura can hear it.

Sakura catches her after their last period walking towards an unfamiliar silver car. After a second glance she realises it’s Chaeyeon in the driver’s seat. She says, “Eunbi, no.”

“Sakura,” Eunbi says, and her eyes are pleading, like she’s preparing for a fight that hasn’t even started yet. “I still love him.”

“No, you don’t. You just think you do.”

“It will be different this time, you don’t get it.”

“Things like that don’t change, Eunbi.”

“You –”

Eunbi stops, looking at something over Sakura’s shoulder. Sakura follows her gaze just in time to see another girl, a year above them, get into the passenger seat of Chaeyeon’s car. She’s pretty and blonde and so Eunbi, and it makes Sakura sick to her stomach to see it. Chaeyeon pulls out of the parking space and they’re gone in the blink of an eye.

Eunbi swallows. “Don’t,” she says.

“Eunbi.”

“Don’t, please.” She’s crying now. “I can’t take it. I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry. I’m a mess, I know it, but you should have let me go, I could have confronted him –”

“Chaeyeon’s not worth it, Eunbi,” says Sakura, gently as she can. “I couldn’t let you do that.”

“Maybe it wasn’t your choice to make,” Eunbi says, and she sounds angry. “Maybe I need to make my own mistakes. You’re my best friend, Lex, not my girlfriend.”

And wow, the words are like a slap to the face. Eunbi couldn’t have made it hurt more if she’d actually tried, and she looks immediately contrite when she sees the look on Sakura’s face.

“You’re right,” snaps Sakura, “I’m not your girlfriend. I’m just that girl who happens to be in love with you.”

She doesn’t give Eunbi a chance to reply, turning on her heel and rushing off to the bus stop. It would have been more dramatic if, you know, she could drive theatrically away. Instead she just stands at the bus stop as it begins to rain and lets out a choked sob that has passersby staring at her weirdly.

She manages to hold it together until she’s inside her empty house, and then she slides down with her back against the front door and drops her face into her hands.

Her phone buzzes, and she turns it off.

You should have let me go, she hears Eunbi say.

Sakura runs a hand over her face and begins to cry.

*****

She doesn’t go to school the next day, and then it’s the weekend, and she doesn’t see anybody for two days. Sunday morning Yena comes over with Yujin and Raven, and they don’t talk about it, just watch trashy television until Sakura feels a little bit better.

The pit in her stomach returns the second they leave, though.

The doorbell rings around five, when Sakura’s making dinner. She considers ignoring it, but eventually sighs, turning off the stove and walking to the door. She knows who it is even before she opens it.

“Sakura,” says Eunbi, and she looks surprised, like she wasn’t quite expecting Sakura to answer.

“Yep,” Sakura confirms, but she doesn’t move out of the way. “What do you want?”

“I’m sorry,” she blurts out. “I was angry at Chaeyeon and I wanted something like that again, you have to understand, and I didn’t mean to push you. If I’d known, I wouldn’t have – if I had any idea of your feelings, I wouldn’t have said something so horrible, God, I’m such a terrible person.”

“I’m inclined to agree.”

Eunbi laughs a little, and her eyes are watery. “You’d be right, definitely, you’d be so right.”

Sakura sighs and steps out of the way. “Come on then.”

Eunbi moves past her into the house cautiously, like she’s half-expecting Sakura to suddenly change her mind. Sakura walks back into the kitchen, expecting Eunbi to follow her. She’s right. She finishes dinner in silence and plates enough up for both of them. They eat quietly, with the soft sound of the TV in the background.

After that they move to the sofa, and Sakura sits pointedly on the other end of the couch. Eunbi keeps looking at her like a wounded animal, but Sakura refuses to give in so easily. She’s – she’s not just angry, she’s tired, too.

“Minjoo broke up with me because of you,” Sakura says eventually.

Eunbi turns her sad eyes to Sakura and says, “I thought so – well, I didn’t think so, but I’ve been thinking about it a lot and I wondered. Like, this last couple of days. I always wondered but I never – yeah.”

Sakura snorts. “Okay, Miss AP English.”

Eunbi makes a move as if to punch her jokingly in the shoulder, then pulls her hand back as if burned. Sakura feels a little guilty, seeing her so hesitant. Sakura holds out her hand, and Eunbi hooks her fingers through hers, just like that day.

“So, this past weekend, I’ve been thinking,” begins Eunbi.

“This doesn’t have to change things,” Sakura interupts, and Eunbi kisses her.

Sakura doesn’t kiss back at first, too shocked, frozen. Just when Eunbi is about to pull back, Sakura pulls her back in. The kiss is all teeth, furious and a little desperate, but it gets gentler, softer.

They separate, and Eunbi says, “In case you didn’t realise, I’m kind of in love with you too.”

“You realised that just this weekend?”

“Not all of us can be as self-aware as you,” Eunbi says. She swallows. “I always knew that. There was. Something. How could I not? But I didn’t want to face it.”

“You’re what? Ashamed?” The words come out a little sharp.

Eunbi shakes her head. “No, no, of course not. I was – scared. I knew you were out of my league. I didn’t think I stood a chance, so I ignored it. I mean, I considered it briefly, and then there was Minjoo and…I don’t know.”

“You’re an idiot,” Sakura says frankly.

“Yeah, I know.” Eunbi looks up at her hopefully. “I don’t suppose kissing is a thing that there will be a repeat of?”

Sakura snorts and pulls Eunbi in again.

“Happy birthday,” Eunbi murmurs against her lips, and Sakura just laughs.

*****

Sakura falls in love on her eighteen birthday.

Okay, that’s not quite right – she falls in love the second she meets Kwon Eunbi, but it’s the day Kwon Eunbi says she loves her back.

“I kind of love you a ridiculous amount,” says Eunbi, pressing kisses into Sakura’s skin. “It’s awful.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” Sakura says. “That’s pretty embarrassing.”

Eunbi hits her with a pillow. Sakura doesn’t remember ever being this happy.