#and after she smelled around a bit she leapt next to me in bed and went back to sleep

[vaugarde]

Reading up on cat behavior again and thinking about how Cricket literally got in my bed and slept with me on the very first night... waugh

[awarmcupofmilk]

Satosugu x Reader "The Most Twisted Curse of All"

summary: the three of you were undoubtedly entertwined from the moment you met. your bond was holy. until everything fell apart. what is love when it can’t save any of you?

content warnings: sad, language, major character death, violence (fight scenes), angst, mentions of domestic violence, spoilers/deviations from hidden inventory/cursed child/Shibuya arc

word count: 2k

note: a bit of backstory on reader! the story will really get going soon :)

pt 1 pt 2 pt 3

© 2024 awarmcupofmilk

please don’t repost, edit, translate, use, or copy my works on any platforms (if you’d really like to please reach out – reblogs are welcome)

“Y/N, have you thought about what your domain would look like?” Satoru asked, poking you with his foot from across the couch. Suguru, in between you two, listened in. Shoko was on her phone, lounging lazily on the other side of you.

“No idea,” you shrugged. “Probably pink with hearts everywhere or something,” you joked.  Satoru snorted. “No way, your technique is scary as hell,”

You mock offense.

“Come on,” Satoru continued. “You experience every single emotion as love, and beat people up with it. Isn’t love a scary thing for you, then?”

“Isn’t love a scary thing for everyone?” You laughed. Hoisting yourself up, you continue, “Alright, this conversation has officially gotten too pretentious for me. I’m gonna go train.”

✧✧✧

You had a small, sweet life before Jujutsu High. The years in the orphanage weren’t good---a gross understatement----but before the pain could settle into you, Akemi swept you away to a real life. At her constant whining for a sibling, her parents decided to foster you. Though you suspected you were only there because a biological sibling wasn’t an option, you never dared dwell on it too long. Gratitude flooded your thoughts so thoroughly that you loved the three of them immediately, and the thought they loved you any less became unbearable. Luckily, even if the thought was true, they never made you feel it. 

“You can see them too, right?” Akemi asked you, eyes and smile wide, gesturing to the curse around the corner.

You nodded, surprised. Relieved, too. 

“We’re special,” Akemi said. “Can you feel it? The energy?” 

You nodded again. 

Akemi was stronger than you. While you were still fumbling with the ins and outs of your technique, terrified being able to feel people’s souls, Akemi eagerly trained and sought out the curses of your small town. Her bravery would have made you jealous, if not for how equally eagerly she always included you, hauling you on trips to find the next curse. 

You hated exorcising cursed spirits. Feeling their crude, base instincts horrified you, feeling their fear and pain before death humanized them. You knew innately everything you felt through your technique was love. Somehow, for reasons you couldn’t explain, every emotion tied back to love. You couldn’t help wonder if that meant all the disgusting things curses felt and the gratitude you felt towards Akemi and her family was one and the same. Love was a scary thing. 

Yet, after every trip, Akemi would guide you home (you weren’t good with directions and she preferred to lead), holding your hand all the way. When Akemi’s mom---you didn’t dare think of her as your own---greeted the two of you at the door, the smell of nikujaga emanating from the kitchen, you could almost forget all the horrors that had been forced through your senses. 

✧✧✧

Akemi was so excited to join Jujutsu High. She never stopped talking about it. When you were twelve and Akemi fourteen, she had been scouted, shopping with friends after school. You were at home, sick. She sprinted through the doors, waking you in your sick daze. “Y/N! Y/N! Y/N!” She squealed as she bolted up the stairs. “You won’t believe it,” she said as she leapt onto your bed, suffocating you in a hug. “Emi,” you scolded. “I’m gonna get you sick!” She only hugged you tighter. “Don’t care,” she giggled. 

When she explained Jujutsu High to you, you were skeptical. “So some old guy came up to you in the street to get you to go?” But it made sense, jujutsu sorcerers were weird people. 

Akemi was a fit of giggles, so eager for the two of you to take on the city. But you weren’t so sure. You hated fighting curse spirits, feeling the shape of their souls. You didn’t want to do it for life. And you didn’t want to leave Akemi’s parents either. Still, you owed everything to Akemi. What she wanted, you’d do. It didn’t feel right to stay with Akemi’s parents while she was gone, anyway.

You never should’ve agreed to it. 

✧✧✧

Wandering Tokyo with Akemi at night, a few months before she was supposed to join Jujutsu High, the two of you had run into a cursed spirit. It spoke. You didn’t know they could do that. 

“Two pretty girls….how lucky am I?” The spirit leered. You could sense what it was feeling. You froze in fear. Akemi was only more excited, always ready to fight. “Emi,” you whimpered. “Let’s run,”  “Don’t worry,” Akemi reassured, pulling you behind her. “I’ll protect you!”

Yet before she could even turn back around, the curse grabbed her, crushing her so hard she spat out blood. You screamed, channeling your cursed technique. 

Everything blurred, then. You don’t even know how you did it. It was as if the air around you warped. Red rope, what you instinctively knew to be the red strings of fate, surrounded you, Akemi, and the curse in a dome. You attacked the curse then, who had fallen to its knees in what appeared to be insanity-inducing despair. 

You rushed at Akemi, but immediately sensed something was incredibly wrong. The shape of her soul had warped. She spat out more blood. You couldn’t stop it; you didn’t know how you were doing it. You hurried to release your technique, but Akemi had collapsed. You wanted to run to her, but you couldn’t move. You could only stand there in shock, absorbing all the violence of the emotions she was feeling. She was going to die. You killed her. The last thing you felt from her wasn’t fear, but resentment. Resentment that she was going to die, resentment that she couldn’t save you, but the strongest of all, resentment you were stronger than her. She died resenting you. 

You lied to Satoru. You already knew what your domain looked like. Love was the scariest fucking thing to you. 

✧✧✧

“Call me mom,” Akemi’s mother had encouraged when you were first taken in. She was so warm. Her husband, too, smiling so kindly, always saying, “My daughters,” when it would’ve been so easy to use the singular form. 

They were your first thought as Akemi passed was that you needed to bring her back to her parents. Your second thought was that you needed to protect them for Akemi’s sake. 

When you brought Akemi’s body home, they screamed, snatching her from you. You stood still as you saw their souls quiver, felt the pain behind their screams. “It should’ve been me,” you cried. “I’m so, so sorry.”

A part of you, that you immediately reprimanded for its selfishness, registered that they didn’t refute what you said. 

✧✧✧

Nothing was ever the same. You were an intruder in a mourning home, something they couldn’t get rid of. They didn’t let it on, but you could feel it. You always could. 

You never told the full truth, that it was your technique that killed her. You were too afraid that they’d agree, that it was all your fault, that you should’ve taken her place. 

It made sense to you, when the palm of Akemi’s mother’s hand made sharp, biting contact with your cheek. Three months after Akemi’s passing, you were in her room, touching the necklace she’d left behind. You’d barely raised it when you saw Akemi’s mother, eyes angry, rushing towards you. She thought you were stealing from Akemi. In your heart you believed that to be true. You had stolen her whole life. Akemi’s mother’s eyes widened when impact was made, shocked, it seemed, that she laid a hand on you. She cried and hugged you, apologizing frantically, but you weren’t upset. You weren’t even surprised. 

It happened more often, when the drinking started. They always apologized. You wished they wouldn’t. It just made everything feel worse. 

✧✧✧

When Yaga showed up at your door three years later, you weren’t going to go. You couldn’t leave Akemi’s family behind. You couldn’t fight curses; you were too afraid of yourself. But in a drunken anger, they told you, “Get out. Leave and take all your misfortune with you. You’re a curse.”

So, you left. And practiced. Started exorcising cursed spirits again. Using your technique. The more you felt their malice, the more desensitized you became. You didn’t love fighting, like Emi did, but you loved saving people. It made you feel like you deserved living. When Yaga admitted you to Jujutsu High, you told him as much. 

Love always left you for dead. 

✧✧✧

You liked that things felt so much lighter with Satoru, Suguru, and Shoko. You could feel a deep-seated anger somewhere within all of them, but they projected such ease and genuinely liked you. You tried not to tune into emotions when you could. It was for your peace of mind, really, but also to respect their privacy. The guilt from living Akemi’s stolen life ate away at you, but letting it overwhelm would only make you a pain for others. You learned to compress that pain, shove it into some tiny sphere in your heart. It came naturally, given your technique. When you did that, you felt like a different person, someone who has never known what a curse love makes you.

You could be good. You could be happy. No point in letting the dysfunction chip away at you. 

✧✧✧

Satoru had a way of getting on your nerves. He had a bad personality. Still, the two of you got along well. You werestrong, after all, and kept up well with his banter. 

“Y/N,” Satoru cooed. “You gotta do more than that to beat me, yknow.”

“Hm,” You hummed, channeling your cursed technique. The look in Satoru’s eyes changed, going blank. Manipulating emotions during a spar felt like cheating, but if he was going to be so smug, he has it coming. In his daze, you land a good punch right in his gut.  Satoru snapped back to reality, then. “No fair,” he complained, nursing his stomach. “Using your technique is low,”

“You said do more, I did more,” You shrugged, fighting a smirk. 

“You make all the curses you exorcise fall in love with you mid-fight, too?” Satoru grumbled.  “Is that what it felt like?” You patronized. “I just reduced your emotional capacity to its most basic state. Easiest way to overwhelm an opponent,” you explained. “Didn’t realize you felt that way, Toru,” you teased. You lied. You did manipulate his love towards yourself, watching his dazed, lovesick look amused you. Sensing your lie, Satoru narrowed his eyes, suspicious. Still, he blushed and said nothing. You were the only one that could shut him up, not even Suguru could claim this feat. Cackling, you left to claim your ten bucks from Shoko. “I win! Pay up.”

✧✧✧

You liked how strong Satoru and Suguru were. You felt that they wouldn’t break if you hit them. 

Assigned to a mission together, the three of you headed to the train. Satoru teasingly poked at Suguru, who held back his irritation. 

“A special grade,” you murmured. 

“You scared?” Gojo taunted. 

“Terrified,” you deadpan, rolling your eyes. 

“I just don’t know why they sent all three of us,” Suguru said. 

You nod. “Seems a bit overkill.”

Sure enough, before you knew it, the three of you were browsing the convenience store, buying snacks to bring back to Shoko. 

Licking a popsicle, you eye Satoru chewing on his. “You bite them?”

“You don’t? 

✧✧✧

When you wake up, you immediately notice the pain in your chest. Broken ribs. Then, an ice-cold pang runs through you, worse than the sharp throb of your bones. Nanako and Mimiko. Suguru’s fake. It all comes rushing back to you. Panicked, a million courses of action flood your mind. Yet, there was only one reasonable option. You had to go to Satoru.

<- Previous ✧⭐︎☆⭐︎✧  Next ->

✧ Masterlist ✧

[hayanwulf]

WIP game! How to Kill your Dragon

(WIP game)

Click here for the first and second parts of this WIP.

I did not think that so many people would be interested in the dragon fic, so color me surprised.

If you've read the first part, in it Stephen has recently escaped captivity as a dragon and unintentionally killed the Starks.

Aaand if you've read the second part, Stephen's pack is very much aware that he's a dragon, even if he thinks that they don't know.

Here's a snippet of what happens when he finally manages to get back to his hometown after that event at the prison.

-

Peter slowly broke their embrace, shaking his head at Stephen’s words. “You’re hurt,” he said in that same quivering voice, a tentative hand reaching towards Stephen’s throat.

“I’ll be alright,” Stephen said, stopping Peter’s hand.

“Stephen!”

He flinched at Christine’s voice from afar, already preparing to run again. He tried to get Peter to stop leaning on him.

“Peter! Stop him!”

“What!? What is—”

Stephen had extricated himself from Peter, but as he tried to run, Peter grabbed him by the arm and kept him pinned with impossible ease. How and when did his son get that super strength!? Stephen was a dragon, for crying out loud.

“Wait! What’s going on!?” Peter asked in confusion. “Why are you trying to—”

“Stephen!” Christine growled when she had finally caught up to them, then went on to grab Stephen by the shoulders to inspect him from head to toe. “Vishanti, you’re bleeding!”

Stephen sighed in defeat. “Thank you for the diagnosis. I’m aware.”

“Why is your first instinct to run after seeing me when you’re bleeding all over!?” She nagged as she pulled at him to encourage walking. Stephen took a step forward, and almost keeled over from the herculean effort it took him, only saved by Peter. “By the Vishanti, Stephen, when was the last time you ate?”

“A bite or a full meal?” Stephen said and then immediately bit his tongue.

“A full meal!” Christine said incredulously as she and Peter came to his side to support him.

Stephen pointedly decided to not answer, letting the two of them help him walk and not faceplant himself on the ground. “Running was much easier just a minute ago..” Of course it was, because adrenaline.

Christine continued to nag him throughout the short journey to his home. He deemed it wise to just take it all without complain.

Lancelot barked at him as they neared his house.

When they were in front of his house, Levi leapt out of literal sky, landed near his feet, and started meowing loudly, rubbing herself against Stephen’s legs and almost making him trip thrice in the process.

Stumbling through the doors and halls, Stephen finally let himself fall on his bed, taking a deep sniff of the blankets and pillows that smelled like himself and Peter.

“Peter, can you get me some cotton, and sage and calendula extract?” Christine requested as she sat herself down next to Stephen and started to undo the cloth tied around his throat. “And water for him.”

Peter left to fetch her the things, while Stephen just laughed self-deprecatingly. “It won’t work,” he told her.

“Why?” She frowned, inspecting his gash, no doubt noticing the bleeding persisting through his sutures.

“It’s a week old.”

Christine’s eyes widened. “What!? Stephen..”

“It should have closed. Yes, I know. I’ve tried everything, it won’t even start clotting. It won’t heal at all. It’s placed some kind of curse on me.”

Christine had a conflicted look on her face, until it just melted into sadness, her eyes glinting with unshed tears. “Oh, Stephen.” She took one of his hands in hers, gently massaging the scars on its back.

Stephen found himself responding to the calming gesture and wrapped his fingers around hers, before sliding his wrist scent gland against hers. “You’re not going to ask me what happened?”

She pursed her lips, eyebrows still stricken with pain. “Do you want me to?”

Stephen blinked. He hadn’t expected such a reply. “I—I meant, aren’t you curious how I got myself into this?”

She inhaled a shaky breath through nose, exhaled through parted mouth. “It’s not about whether I’m curious. It’s about whether you’re ready to share.”

That, Stephen had not expected to hear at all.

No, he wasn’t ready.

And now, he would never be ready to reveal to anyone close to him, that he was the same dragon that had murdered the Starks.

He averted his gaze and looked away in shame.

[braveclementine]

Chapter 6

Warnings: None (anyone can read this story)

Copyright: I do not own any Marvel characters or locations. I do not condone any copying of this.

𝓜𝓨 two new friends woke up at the crack of dawn, got dressed, and went out the door. They left it open a crack so that I could get out if I wanted to. I decided to continue to sleep lazily on their pillows- which were very nice and soft and tearable.

I scratched at them a little bit, but they weren't really good for my claws. They just tore very easily. I would have to find something harder to scratch.

An hour or so later when they didn't come back, I leapt down from the bed and padded over to the litter box that wasn't there last night and did my business, scraping more litter over my business, before I hopped out of the box and padded out of the room.

I found the metal box again and yowled. The doors seemed to slide open without any question and I walked inside.

I waited and the doors closed and went down. They opened again and I padded out and down a familiar hallway, finding myself in the kitchen.

"Hi Blizzard." Sam said cheerfully, being the first to notice me.

"Hi." I mewed softly, leaning back on my haunches before launching myself up onto the bar stool, and then leaping up onto the table.

"Well damn, she's got some strong back legs." The man named Clint said.

"Munchkin cats have unusually strong legs. She could jump from the floor to the top of the refrigerator in one bound when she reaches her full age." The robot voice said.

All of the eyes in the kitchen just looked at me.

"Well damn." Clint said again.

What kind of name was Clint? Seriously, what was wrong with these people?

I padded over to Pepper and asked, "Where is Tony?"

Pepper petted me and said, "I bet she's hungry. Do you guys have cat food?'

"Not yet." Sam said, going into the cold box and pulling out some small strips of chicken and put a small bowl of milk down in front of me as well. "Bruce reckons after we spoil her like this, she won't even eat cat food."

He would be right.

"But they have things like canned tuna and other canned meats for cats." Pepper said, "Maybe those will be good for her."

"We'll probably try them." Bruce said down at the end of the table. He looked very tired. I wondered how much sleep he got. I also wondered how much sleep Tony got.

Tony suddenly walked into the kitchen and I noticed right away that he looked much better than yesterday. He looked like he had gotten lots and lots of sleep.

He sat down next to Pepper.

"Well you slept well." Pepper grinned, almost like they had a secret between the two of them.

"Well I was just so exhausted after last nights activities." Tony murmured, leaning over and kissing her on the cheek.

"Not at the dinner table." Bruce said.

"Give me more details." Sam said with a grin.

"Shut up." Tony said defensively.

Pepper just laughed kindly, getting up to grab more breakfast. I sniffed at the strange food when she sat back down. It seemed wheaty and there something that smelled very sweet and sickly, like maple maybe.

"Nope, you can't have these Blizzard." Tony said, pushing me so that my paws slid across the slick counter so that I was away from Pepper's plate.

"Yes I can. I do what I want." I meowed at him.

I battered around my empty milk bowl, trying to knock it on the rim, and then see if I could run it off the table. I had discovered that sometimes, it would just roll in circles and was hard to knock off.

"I think she wants more milk." The man named Clint said, nodding towards me.

I got the bowl to pop up on its rim and I yowled in delight, starting to push it with my paws. I could tell they were all watching me, based on the way I felt extremely self aware. I batted it around for a bit, chasing it in complicated waving patterns, before it reached the edge of the table.

I twirled around, hitting it dramatically with my tail, before spinning around again to watch it sail off the edge and I waited in anticipation for it to smash along the wood.

A metal hand reached out, placing it back on the table.

"No! Why did you do that?" I mewed sadly. "It was going to make a spectacular crash!"

"Aw she's disappointed." Steve said with a grin.

"Oh let her bat one off the table." Sam said, smirking. "Tony pays for everything anyways. One little broken bowl isn't going to do anything."

Clint propped it back up on the rim, but I batted it back down flat, mewing at him, before stalking around it.

I loved how they all watched me, smiling and amused. I liked being the center of attention here, though I didn't think I would want it to be that somewhere else. Maybe this place was a safe haven for cats. Maybe it could be a safe haven for Billy and Tommy too. I didn't want them with anyone else.

I placed a well firm blow to the bowl and it popped up on it's rim. I ran it in circles, before getting frustrated and batting it with all my might. It sailed into Road's face, as he had propped his head on his elbow.

I mewed in laughter with everyone else. Tony clapped Road on the back, before lightly pushing the bowl back towards me. Road rubbed his nose, but he was smiling so I didn't think he was hurt to badly.

I batted the bowl away from Bucky so he wouldn't grab it again, letting it sail off the edge with my tail again. I watched as it smashed across the wood, small white and blue shards streaking everywhere.

I pranced on my paws, running and sliding across the tabletop, mewing with victory.

"Here Blizzard." Steve said, giving me a bowl of water. I noticed however, that this bowl was made of metal. I mewed in disappointment, knowing that metal bowls couldn't break. I lapped up the water anyways.

"Mr. Stark, I have the D.C. cameras ready for you." Robot lady said.

"Oh great, just show them up here, will you?" Tony said as the others started to clear the table.

"I should warn you that there will be signs of violence in the video." Robot lady said in the same monotone voice. "I have already locked down all of your suits, Mr. Rogers shield, and Mr. Barnes guns so that no damage can be done."

"You can't lock up my guns!" Bucky protested while I wondered what a gun and shield were.

"Yes, I can, Mr. Barnes." Robot lady said and I frowned up at her. No, no. Bucky could do whatever he wanted. Bad robot lady for taking away his playthings.

"Show us the cameras." Clint said. "We're all high in suspense now."

Tony scooped me up into his arms so that the table was completely clear and I watched as strange images seemed to show up in midair. They were fairly clear and I recognized the car that I had been in.

I watched Mr. Peters climb out of the car, walking around to get me out of my carrier.

There wasn't any sound, but I watched with the others as I clung to his arm, trying to hang on for dear life.

"Bastard." Steve grunted when Mr. Peters finally grabbed me by the tail.

"Language." Clint said with a hint of amusement.

Sam snickered, Bucky glared.

I watched, not realizing just how high into the air he had flung me before I had plunged into the water. I started to lick the bottom of my paws in discomfort.

I watched Mr. Peters get back into the car and drive away. I watched myself resurface, yacking and coughing, before attempting to swim over to the side and get out.

I watched as screen Steve and Bucky came tearing up the walk, obviously out for what they called a 'run'. I watched as Steve stopped first, calling to Bucky and then they paused. I watched as they walked over, and Bucky pulled me out of the water, before passing me off to Steve.

Then the cameras went off and I finally took a time to look around at the others.

Tony, Steve, and Bucky looked mutinous. I was sure that they would like to hurt Mr. Peters very badly, and I was looking forward to it.

"So it's official." Tony grunted. "She's staying with us."

"Obviously." Bucky hissed. "Like we would send her back to live with that maniac."

"But I have to go back for Tommy and Billy." I mewed in protest.

"Can we charge him for anything?" Bucky continued.

"Animal cruelty." Bruce spoke up. "Tony, you could have F.R.I.D.A.Y. look him up and see if you guys could get anything more on him."

"Yes, do that F.R.I.D.A.Y." Tony commanded.

The robot lady named Friday pulled up more screens, showing both Mr. Peters, and also Tommy and Billy's picture, along with a brown haired lady I had never seen before.

I mewed, prancing around, batting at Tommy and Billy's pictures. "We need to save them!"

"Anything in the files?" Gnat asked, sipping a cup of steaming coffee.

"Nothing really." Tony said and he sounded frustrated. "Wife is dead, died of Cancer when the boys were four. The boys are seven, almost eight now. But there isn't much on them. Although they don't have any hospital records other than their births. No broken arms or legs or sick checks, nothing."

"Cover up for physical abuse?" Wanda piped up. She hadn't taken her eyes off the boys yet. I had honestly forgotten that she was even here, sitting next to the strange metal man named Vision.

"Possibly." Bruce assented with a nod.

"We could go ahead and check it out." Sam said. "Just a couple of us go in, ask him about Blizzard, and then we can gauge his reactions with the boys and everything."

"Or stake it out." Gnat said. "Don't let him know the Avengers are knocking on his door. We can do an undercover spy mission."

"Whatever the case, we're going to need our weapons unlocked." Bucky said, calling up to the ceiling.

"Negative." Friday replied and I hissed at her. "You do not need a gun to ask a man a few questions. Don't be rash Mr. Barnes."

"Is she like the mother of the group?" I asked Bucky. He just petted me behind the ears. His metal fingers actually felt really good, almost as though they had been built to search out the good spots. I purred, rubbing against his hand.

"Fine." Bucky snapped. "I don't need my guns to kill a man anyways."

"When should we go down?" Steve asked, putting a calming hand on Bucky's shoulder and I watched Bucky lean into Steve. I also watched as Gnat looked down at her cup of coffee, squeezing it a little tighter. I also didn't miss the way that Clint looked awkward.

"Well today seems as good as any." Pepper said softly. "He doesn't live that far away, not to mention you'll have to be down there a few days most likely anyways."

"I say we have an hour to get ready and then we head down." Sam said.

"Wait, who all is coming with Steve, Barnes, and I?" Tony asked with a frown.

I frowned too. I only needed Steve, Bucky, and Tony. Maybe Sam and Pepper. But other than that-

"I'll go." Clint said with a shrug. "Sounds like fun."

"And I'll definitely be going." Sam said, crossing his arms over his chest.

"And I." Gnat said, though she sounded rather reluctant in her choice.

"You don't have to." I assured her. "I'm more than fine with you staying here."

"Alright then." Tony said, before turning to Pepper and having a quiet conversation with her.

"Come on Blizz." Bucky said, scooping me up off the table with one hand, putting me up on his shoulder. "Let's go pack to kill."

⬅️➡️

[shartsandpain]

I feel like I want to write about death. But I'm not sure exactly where to start or what to say.

I guess I'll start with why it might be something I think about.

I met my first wife when I was finishing my freshman year of college. She wasn't in school at the time, but we were only a month apart in age. We hit it off instantly.

The next year we lived in my dorm room together, getting married shortly after I graduated.

I'm not sure if it was a perfect relationship, but early on, things were good. She realized she had a drinking problem and got sober.

Then she was in a major car accident. No broken bones, but soft tissue damage and a concussion. Back then they didn't see anything so sent her on her way once they confirmed there were no broken bones. In hind sight, she clearly suffered a TBI.

She did ok for a bit, but chronic pain crept in and she started having progressive symptoms of CTE. She started drinking again, in part to deal with the pain, in part to deal with the progressive CTE symptoms, in part to deal with the PTSD, depression, and anxiety that were getting perpetually worse.

I watched someone who had a near photographic memory and extroverted personality turn into a shut in with memory problems. Turn into someone with emotional regulatory issues.

I was on a business trip in San Francisco and she came with me. The second morning there, I woke up and the room felt far more quiet and still than it should. I reached over to touch her and her body was cool.

Logically, my brain knew it was too late, but I leapt out of bed, pulled her onto the floor. Mentally I noted that she already had livor mortis. I could smell a vomit-like smell. I started chest compressions. I could hear the fluid in her lungs as I performed compressions. It wasn't vomit she aspirated, it was that she had been gone long enough fluid had drained into them. I called 911 while I was giving chest compressions.

When they got there they performed some actions, I know they knew it was futile. it was clear she was gone.

They let me stay in the room with her until the medical examiner? Coroner? Whoever, got there to declare her death.

I called my parents, I called hers. My cousin rushed to fly up from southern California.

After I walked around San Francisco, a strange city full of strangers. I had coworkers there, but not who I considered friends.

I talked to a couple of people on the phone. I went into a brew pub and had a beer or two. I remember thinking how surreal it was that there were people sitting there having a good time and I had just gone through what I went through.

My cousin got there, we to shit faced drunk. My parents got there the next day. We went to a funeral home. I remember thinking that she would have appreciated that it looked like it could have been a stand in for the funeral home in Six Feet Under, which had been one of her favorite shows.

The autopsy found the cause of death to be "acute multidrug toxicity". A combination of alcohol, Wellburtin, and Ativan. None of them were in excessive levels, other than the alcohol. And none in concentrations out of line than she had consumed hundreds of times before. "The Heath Ledger" special she would have called it. She had honestly said before it was how she would want to go. Just stop breathing in her sleep.

Before that, we had talked, many times, about getting her into treatment. She was scared.

I had honestly started to lose her years before I lost her. She suffered, we suffered. The last few years it felt like we were just surviving.

When she died, it felt like someone set off a grenade in my chest and the pieces of a shell were left.

I consciously told myself, I was going to put the pieces back together and build something good and healthy for myself.

I had a lot of help along the way. And I would very much make the choice to get out and not collapse in on myself, especially when it was hard.

I didn't always have a straight path there, but I am in a good place now. I reconnected with a friend from high school. We have been together 5 years now and are now married.

I am happy. I have had a lot of trauma. I am here.

[danydragons21]

TSTS Chapter 24: More

Read on ao3 here.

Chapter 24: More

Elain awoke to shimmery sunlight streaming through the curtains. She watched the dust motes float in the silvery shafts for a moment, lamenting the fact that she was awake. Her dream last night had been so lovely, so perfect, that she wished she could have stayed asleep just a bit longer. Maybe if she went back to sleep, she could pick up where she left off? She was incredibly comfortable, so it shouldn’t be too difficult. As she wiggled further into the cocoon of blankets, her back pressed against something hard and solid.

She twisted over, coming face to face with Azriel. He was still asleep and looked more peaceful than she’d ever seen him look before.

Her heart leapt with joy. It hadn’t been a dream at all. It had been real, all of it, and best of all, he was still here beside her. She felt her whole body grow warm with pure and utter contentment.

A moment later, he stirred, eyes blinking open lazily. He looked confused for a second, as if he had forgotten whose bed he was in, but when his gaze landed on Elain, the fogginess cleared, replaced by an affectionate glow.

“Good morning,” he said, his voice thick and raspy with sleep.

If her body was warm before, it was now burning red. “Good morning,” she said shyly, ducking her head and nuzzling into the crook of his neck, unable to hold his golden gaze. “How did you sleep?” she breathed against his skin. Good gods, he smelled delectable. Even after all the… extracurricular activities they’d undertaken last night, she still wanted to bottle up his scent and hold on to it for safekeeping.

“Very well.” She lifted her head up to see him frowning, as if a good night’s sleep was something out-of-the-ordinary. Something to be concerned over.

She settled her torso over his chest and interlocked her fingers under her chin. “I’ve heard that strenuous exercise helps you sleep better.”

He raised an eyebrow, lazily wrapping his arms around her back. “I’d like to think I exercise strenuously everyday. But I still rarely sleep well.”

Ignoring the swooping sensation in her belly at the unspoken implication that he had slept well next to her, as opposed to so many other nights alone, she dragged a finger down the drastic curve of his bicep. She bit her lip as his muscles tensed slightly. Every part of him was rock-solid. It made her soft, supple body feel even more so in comparison.

“It’s your age, then,” she said, now tracing one of the many spidery veins that laced his enormous arms, bulging out from underneath his bronzed skin. She resisted the urge to follow the lightning-like path with her tongue. “I’ve heard that as you get older, you need more and more sleep. That must be it.”

She felt his length harden between them and a moment later, he spun her around. Her back was flat on the mattress and he was hovering above her, each of her wrists clutched in his massive hands and a knee spreading her legs apart.

“You know, Elain,” he said, staring down at her, “I’m starting to think you like provoking me.”

“Who, me?” She batted her eyelashes innocently. She knew he could hear her racing heart, could probably feel it pounding against his own chest, but she was determined to maintain the facade. Determined to make him break before she did.

“Mhhm, you,” he said, bending forward to delicately nose the skin of her throat. “Some might say you’re taking advantage of my competitive nature.”

“How could I possibly take advantage of you?” She managed to hold in the gasp that threatened to escape as he licked down her neck. “You’re the teacher. I’m only your obedient, willing and eager student.”

He groaned against her skin. Threw his head up, dark and large pupils ringed by a small halo of hazel. Transferred the grip of both of her wrists into one hand and reached between her legs with the other. His fingers caressed her slippery folds.

Elain might have been embarrassed by how wet she already was—they hadn’t even done anything yet, for gods sake—but Azriel didn’t seem to mind.

“Eager is right,” he rasped, shaking his head with wonder. He kissed her on the lips, then, hard and hot, like he couldn’t resist. His talented fingers continued circling her, refusing to give into what he knew she wanted, until finally he slid a finger in, meeting no resistance.

It wasn’t enough.

She arched her back. “More,” she pleaded.

He added a second finger.

She winced, just slightly; it had been a long time since she’d had sex, after all, and he was certainly larger than the average male, so it didn’t surprise her that she was rather sore. But that didn’t mean she wanted to stop.

No. No, she didn’t want to stop at all. Not until he was buried deep inside her again. Not until she was once again experiencing the unparalleled ecstasy that came from their physical connection.

“More,” she breathed.

“More? You want another finger?”

She shook her head.

“My tongue?” he very nearly growled.

As good as that sounded…it wasn’t quite what she had in mind. So she shook her head again.

Releasing her wrists and removing his hand from between her legs, he grabbed her breasts, massaging and pushing them together.

“Use your words, sweet girl,” he murmured, dipping down. She thought he was going to focus on her nipple again, but he did something much better, sucking her breast into his mouth. Her entire breast.

“Aaaaazzz,” she moaned, his name a lusty and elongated sigh.

He released her with a pop. “Fuck, your little tits are so gorgeous.” His eyes were glazed. “Do you see how perfectly they fit in my mouth?” His teeth grazed against a taut peak. “I just want to eat you up.”

Holy hells, he was so good at talking dirty. She could barely think in coherent sentences, let alone form the wonderfully wicked words that came to him so easily.

But she had to try, didn’t she?

“Are you going to make me beg for your cock, or are you going to just give me what I want?”

He froze, then let out a dark chuckle. Slowly removed his hands from her chest and sat back on his knees, eyeing her thoughtfully.

“You know, I was going to be sweet with you this morning,” he murmured, drinking in her languid nude body sprawled across the bed. “Was going to treat you like a gentleman would treat a lady.”

“But not anymore?”

“Not anymore,” he repeated. Tilted his head to the side slightly, as if trying to decide what to do with her. A devious smile blossomed on his face.

Little did he know that Elain had absolutely no interest in being treated like a lady.

“Roll over.”

“What?” She furrowed her brows in confusion.

“Roll. Over.”

Full of trepidation and still puzzling over his intentions, she carefully rolled over onto her stomach.

“Knees up,” he said, tapping her leg.

Blushing furiously at the position, but unwilling to disobey an order, she pushed up until the top part of her body lay against the bed while the bottom part angled upwards.

A strangled noise came from Azriel’s throat. “Holy Mother of…” he said hoarsely. Without warning, his cool hands cupped her lower cheeks, pushing them together and apart, together and apart. Elain was moaning unrestrainedly.

“Please, Az,” she whined.

“Please, what?”

“Please. I want you.” Her voice was a desperate little whimper.

“I’m right here, though.”

She huffed with frustration, at his infuriating refusal and the teasing tone of his voice. He was really going to make her say it, wasn’t he?

“Come on, ‘Lain,” he whispered in her ear, his hot breath sending sparks to her brain.

Godsdamn him. “Az. I want you to fuck me. Please .”

“That wasn’t so hard now, was it?” He pressed a searing kiss to the tattoo on the back of her neck. Their tattoo. Waves of pleasure emanated from where his lips met her skin to the rest of her body.

“But I’m not going to fuck you.”

“What?” she gasped. She looked over her shoulder to find Azriel on his knees behind her, still staring at her ass while his hands slowly massaged the area. “Why not?” she demanded.

“You think I didn’t see you wince earlier?”

She ducked her head. Of course he saw. Stupid, all-seeing Spymaster.

His hand gently cupped her sex. “And I can see how swollen you are,” he said, running a finger down her seam. “Can feel how tender you are. I don’t want to hurt you.”

“I don’t care,” Elain said. And she didn’t. Not at all. She wanted the pain as much as she wanted the pleasure. With Azriel, the two were one and the same, anyway.

He placed another kiss against her tattoo, as if he knew how much she loved it when did that. As if he knew it was her weakness.

She sat back on her heels. Azriel let out a low sound of disappointment, probably because her ass was now out of sight, but he got over it a moment later when she nestled her back against his chest. She could feel his length, hard and thick, underneath her. His broad hands reached around and caressed her chest, twisting the turgid peaks.

“I don’t think it’s very fair that you get to decide if I’m okay enough to have sex,” she said.

She could hear the frown in his voice as he said, “Elain. I’m not going to do something I know will cause you pain.”

She looked over her shoulder, meeting his genuine, worried gaze. It melted her heart a little bit.

“I know,” she said softly. “But like I said. You don’t get to decide that.” She rolled her hips, and as Azriel’s length slid between her legs, meeting no friction whatsoever, he moaned brokenly. “I’ll tell you if it’s more than I can take. I promise.”

For a moment, he didn’t respond, and Elain held her breath in anticipation. But when Azriel tightened his grip on her breasts, she knew she’d won.

“Gods,” he muttered, “I have no control when it comes to you. You could ask me for the fucking moon and I’d probably fly into space and bring you back a piece.”

“I don’t want the moon,” she said, closing her eyes and circling her hips on his lap. “I just want you.”

“Fuck,” he swore. “Lean forward again.” And with a broad hand on her back, he pushed her into the previous position. Elain shivered slightly in anticipation. Moaned raggedly when he drew his length up and down against her slit.

Bliss. That’s what she felt as he shoved inside of her. Pure and utter bliss. They moaned in tandem at how smoothly he slid into her soaking depths. Even though she’d just felt him last night, she’d forgotten how incredible the sensation was. How perfectly they fit together. She was so full, sated to the very brim with his delicious cock.

“Gods save me,” he murmured, cupping a cheek in each hand and spreading her wide, so wide she thought he could look right through her, if he wanted. “This ass, Elain,” he said, lazily thrusting in and out of her, “this ass will be the death of me.” Whimpering at his words and the tortuously slow rhythm, she pushed back against him, silently begging him to pick up the pace. He only chuckled, knowing exactly what she was asking for but refusing to give it to her.

But slow was not the speed she wanted to go.

“If you’re afraid to go fast because you think you’ll finish too quickly, I promise I won’t judge you.” Azriel froze mid-thrust as her words hit him. She grinned into the pillow; provocation was such an underestimated weapon of manipulation. Truly.

Slender fingers wound through the strands of her hair and tugged roughly, pulling her flush against his chest. Elain’s breathing grew even more ragged as his hot lips caressed her neck.

“Has anyone ever told you how absolutely devilish you are?”

“No. Tell me.”

“You’re fucking evil, Elain. You’ll be my goddamn undoing.”

She’d never heard such delicious words.

“Elain?”

Oh gods. Someone was at the door.

In a flash, Azriel slapped a hand over her mouth. Just in time, too, for Elain couldn’t keep in her gasp of surprise. His cock was still inside of her, hot and throbbing.

“Elain, I know you’re awake. Are you still mad at me?”

It was Vassa. Of course. She needed to have a serious chat with her friend about a little something called timing .

Azriel’s hand loosened over her mouth. She glanced at him over her shoulder.

“Reply to her ,” he mouthed.

“No! ” she mouthed back, shaking her head. “ I can’t!”

His eyes narrowed and he pushed his hips further against hers. In the effort to remain quiet, she bit her lip so hard she broke skin.

“You can,” he whispered in her ear.

“I’m awake, Vassa,” Elain finally managed, her voice only shaking…well, a lot. “No, I’m not mad. Just…just a little tired is all.” She met Azriel’s gaze over her shoulder.

“ Tired ?” he arched a brow. She shrugged mischievously, then nearly screamed when he began thrusting into her again, slow and steady. Fuck, he felt so deep like this. One arm was hooked around her chest, fastening her body against his. Holding her right where he wanted her.

“So you’re good? You promise?”

Elain was finding it quite difficult to hold a conversation while stars were exploding in her head. “I’m…I’m good.”

“Okay,” Vassa said doubtfully. “You sound weird.”

Azriel bit down on her shoulder to stifle his laughter.

“I’m good, Vass. So good.”

“ Good, good, good ,” Azriel mimicked, far too quietly for Vassa’s human ears to hear. “You’re such a hard girl to please, ‘Lain. I guess I’ll have to work harder to get more than a ‘good’ from you.”

He didn’t go faster. He didn’t go harder. No. With a gentle but firm hand against her back, he pushed her down until her torso was pressed against the mattress, her ass high in the air, her legs nearly folded beneath her. Honestly, she’d had no idea she was flexible enough for something like this. She was practically bent in half.

Before she could fully register the change in position, he was pushing back into her, and holy hells above. How was he even deeper this way? She was going to explode. She was going to crack into a million little pieces. She was—

“Will you please come out and talk to me, Elain? I’m just…I’m still really worried about last night. Please?”

She was not going to last even a second longer.

“I’m coming!” she cried out, just as her body began to shake.

Hands twisted in her hair, Azriel tugged her back up against his chest and swallowed her scream with a punishing kiss. Devoured her like it was his last meal.

Fucked her mouth as hard as he was fucking her between the legs.

Pleasure, blinding and fierce, wracked through her body. For several glittering moments, she lost track of herself, of her surroundings: the only thing grounding her was the mouth still gently moving against her own.

When she finally came to, Azriel’s lips were hovering over her cheek, his hot breath searing her skin as he panted heavily.

“Elain? Hello?”

She was going to kill Vassa.

“Just give me a moment,” she snapped. “I’ll meet you downstairs in a few, okay?”

A slight pause, just enough to make Elain feel a little guilty, and then Vassa was walking away. Elain and Azriel stayed still until her footsteps faded entirely.

Gently, Azriel extricated himself, separating their bodies. She wrapped a sheet loosely around her body and faced him. He was staring at her with a wary expression on his handsome face.

The full impact of their changed dynamic hit her all at once. They had slept together. Twice. They weren’t even dating! Did Fae even “date,” anyway? She probably should have asked about that beforehand. Neither of them had ever explicitly stated the full extent of their feelings, though Elain thought it was quite obvious how she felt about him. It was his feelings she was still unsure about.

Uncertainty ran its hands down her back. What did this mean for them?

“What are you thinking?” Azriel was observing her intently.

She bit her lip. “I suppose I’m wondering what happens now.”

“What happens now?” he repeated.

She nodded. “Yes. I mean,” she cleared her throat, “In terms of, like, us .”

“Us,” he echoed.

Another nod. “Yeah. I mean, was this a one time thing, or should I expect it to happen again?”

He cocked his head to the side. “Do you want it to happen again?”

“Yes.” There was no hesitation in her response. “Do you?” She looked down and studied her interlocked hands, rather nervous to hear his response.

He caught her chin between two fingers. Forced her to meet his gaze. “Of course I do.” His voice was low and smoky. “I have plenty of other lessons planned,” he added.

She went lightheaded, a mixture of release and arousal swarming at his words. “Okay,” she whispered, a shy smile blossoming on her face.

The corner of his lip twitched up, his version of a smile. Then his eyes dipped down to her lips, and when they flicked back up, there was a dark and renewed intent burning in them. It didn’t matter that she’d come so recently—she could already feel herself growing wet between the legs again. Honestly, she wasn’t sure she’d ever stopped.

The tension stretched between them, fragile as glass. But who would crack first?

Without warning, Azriel released her chin and climbed off the bed. The moment was gone as quickly as it had come. She would have frowned dramatically if it wasn’t for the utterly glorious sight of his sculpted body illuminated in the dusty dawn light.

When he’d donned his pants, he spoke again. “I have a meeting in Velaris,” he said apologetically.

“It’s okay,” she said. “Is it an Inner Circle meeting?”

“No. You would be there if it was.” She didn’t realize how much she needed to hear those words of assurance until he said them aloud.

“Well, then what’s the meeting for?” Perhaps she was prying too much, but he did just have his cock inside of her, and while there were still no guidelines in place for this—this relationship , or whatever the hell was happening between them—she thought, at the very least, she was entitled to a bit of nosiness.

Azriel exhaled loudly, but she could tell his frustration wasn’t directed at her. He was fully dressed by the time he finally replied. “It’s with Rhys.”

“Oh.” She chewed her lip. “I suppose I should warn you, then.”

“Warn me?”

“Yeah. About…about my confrontation with Rhys. I know I sort of mentioned it to you, but I never went into details. Anyway…I may or may not have yelled at him. A lot. In front of other people.” She winced internally at the memory. While she didn’t necessarily regret what she’d said to Rhys (and while she still wanted to give him a swift kick up the ass), she did wish that she’d kept her temper better. Important words should never be said while in a fit of rage. If Nesta and Feyre had taught her one thing, it was that.

“It’s okay. I’ve already heard about it.”

“What do you mean?”

“Spymaster, remember?”

“I don’t, actually. Remind me?”

He shook his head, smiling. “You’re too much.”

“Is that a bad thing?”

“No.”

“ Good .” She couldn’t fight the bright and wide smile that lit up her face.

Azriel pinched his nose and closed his eyes for a brief moment. “Elain, I swear to the gods…” He inhaled deeply. “I really do have to go. But before I do, I want to tell you three things.

“One: Be on your guard. Don’t take any risks. With the threat of Koschei, and whatever damn shit the Autumn Court is trying to pull, things are precarious right now. Dangerous. If you have a troubling vision, or if you overhear anything suspicious from the Band of Exiles, or if you feel unsafe in any way, summon me. Immediately .” He raised his hand and tapped the back of his neck—the bargain tattoo—in demonstration. “I’ll come right away.”

Elain simply nodded. It seemed unnecessary to tell him that would be her first instinct, anyway.

“Two: I’m going to have to disguise your scent.”

“Pardon?”

He coughed uncomfortably. “If any Fae were to come near you right now, they’d smell me all over you. And you all over me.”

Shit. She had not even considered that very important detail. Even after two years, she still wasn’t entirely settled with all the aspects of her newfound Fae heritage. At least the only other beings near them right now were humans…but Lucien was expected to return today.

Her stomach turned to ice at the thought. The horror must have shown on her face, because Azriel said, “It’s fine. I’ll just cover up our scents, like we did for Nesta and Cassian at the Hewn City. No one will know.” His jaw worked, any softness in his expression gone entirely.

She didn’t know how to explain to him that it wasn’t that she didn’t want people to know about what they’d done; she just didn’t necessarily want them to know, either. But she couldn’t seem to find the words, so she remained quiet.

After disguising her scent, Azriel called his shadows to him.

“Where have they been?” she asked, registering that she hadn’t seen them in a while. Hadn’t seen them since last night, in fact. She grinned as one of the shadows twirled around her wrist playfully before joining its master.

“They were minding their own business,” he said. “As they should.”

Elain laughed. Azriel smiled again. She loved making him smile.

“I really do have to go,” he told her.

“Okay.” As he began to wrap his shadows around himself, she said, “Wait! What was the third thing? What did you want to tell me?”

His eyes gleamed. She began to suspect that he had intentionally omitted the third thing, if only for her to ask. If only for him to get his last wicked word in.

He crossed the distance between them in two long strides, leaning over her where she knelt on the bed, still cocooned in bed sheets. “Three,” he murmured, lightly caressing her face, “Try not to miss me too much.”

Azriel blinked down at her, wearing a ridiculously sinful smirk. For whatever reason, the sight made her heart twist with affection. She loved him when he was confident. Cocky. It was enticing as hell.

But she also knew it was a bit of an act. And despite the fact that she still had no idea where they stood, she wanted him to know that he was just as sexy—just as desirable—with all his proverbial armor thrown off. That she loved every piece of him she was offered.

So Elain sat up on her knees and lightly pressed her lips against his. Didn’t break the soft kiss as she breathed, “Impossible.”

***

The River House was empty when Azriel arrived. He sent his shadows to every room in search of Rhys to no avail. Annoyed that he’d left Elain only to be stood up by Rhys, but knowing he had to wait until the High Lord returned so they could have the meeting, he grumbled and sat down in the living room.

As per usual these days, his thoughts drifted toward Elain. Toward what had happened between them last night…and this morning. He still had trouble believing it had really occurred, that it wasn’t just a secret fantasy that lived in the depths of his dirty, twisted mind. But beneath the cover of magic, he could still smell her scent intertwined with his own, a tangible reminder of what had transpired between them.

He didn’t regret it. Of course he didn’t. No matter what mess came from this (and he was sure beyond reasonable belief that there would be a horrific mess to deal with, one way or another), he knew he’d never regret what they’d done. Some gifts are more costly than others. He’d gladly face the consequences.

No, he didn’t regret it. But he would be lying if he said he was perfectly composed.

It was easy to forget about the potential fallout of his actions when he was with Elain. When she was curled up in his arms, when he was balls deep inside of her, when her sweet mouth sang his name…Elain had a way of making him forget about all of his responsibilities. Made him forget about all the reasons why they shouldn’t be together until all he saw, all he could focus on, was her.

But here, now, alone in the River House with only his thoughts and half-hard cock and busybody shadows for company, apprehension swept in like the tide.

He and Elain had done something irreversible. Not just in the joining of their bodies, though that had been…Azriel shook his head in disbelief. It had been fucking unreal. It had shaken something loose inside of him that he doubted could ever be put back together entirely.

He had no idea what came after this. He had no idea what he even wanted to come from this, let alone what she wanted. All he knew was that the mere thought of never kissing Elain again made his blood boil and his hands shake and some beast deep in his belly growl with uncontrolled fury.

Fucking gods. A distraction. That’s what she was, a beautiful and dangerous distraction. He was the Spymaster of the Night Court, for Cauldron’s sake, and here he was, clenching his fists because he might not ever get to taste the Elain’s Archeron’s sweet mouth again? Pathetic. He was pathetic, and she was a distraction, and this was all going to blow up in his face, and -

“For someone so handsome, you look really constipated when you’re lost in thought like that.”

He stood up and whipped around. “Mor,” he said, and let out a bark of a laugh. Some of the heavy worry in his chest melted away.

They embraced, and Azriel felt his face grow slightly red when she kissed him on both cheeks. Mor, of course, thought nothing of it, and merely fell backwards onto the couch, propping her long, golden legs up on the ottoman and reclining luxuriously.

He sat beside her, smiling softly.

“So,” she began, and his smile fell. He knew that tone of voice like he knew the back of his scarred hand. “Care to share what’s on your mind?”

“Not particularly.”

“Az,” she whined, “I know something is wrong. And you know I’m not going to rest until you tell me, so why don’t we skip the usual song and dance where I beg pathetically and eventually cry out of pure frustration until you feel guilty enough to finally spill your guts and let your best friend know what’s bothering you?”

“Nah.”

Mor glowered at him, and Azriel just barely resisted the urge to laugh. She was funny when she was mad, if only because she never really got angry. At least not with him.

It had always been like this with him and Mor. One look and she was able to know if something was up with him—and vice versa. Sure, she was the Morrigan, and truth was her nature, but it was more than that. She was his best friend, and he hers, and that was that.

Well. That and the fact that Azriel had been hopelessly enamored with her for the past five centuries.

He fell in love with Mor the very first day he met her. Not when he first saw her, necessarily, though she was the most gorgeous female— being —he had ever seen. He remembered that day so clearly: he, Cas and Rhys were in between daily training sessions in Illyria and had a rare moment of rest. They were standing near the water spout when a herd of Fae appeared over the hill. All men, all fearsome, wearing the signature helms of the Court of Nightmares. All men, except for the figure in the middle.

His breath caught in his throat. He had been an Illyrian warrior-in-training for many years at this point, and before then the only females he saw were his mother and his horrendous step-mother. Sometimes, he and his fellow trainees would catch a glimpse of Illyrian females from the nearby towns, but they never stayed long once Azriel came around. Whenever they noticed his shadows, the females would scurry away in fear.

When Mor finished hugging Rhys and greeting Cassian with a big smile, he fully expected her to cringe away from him like all the rest. But her smile only grew wider as she exclaimed, “A shadowsinger! Oh, how wonderful!”

And just like that, he was smitten.

Mor was only visiting for a few days, and he only spent time with her when they weren’t training (which was hardly ever), but with every moment he spent in her presence, he fell in love a little more. She was engaging and kind and strikingly beautiful, inside and out, but most importantly, she looked at him like he was normal . Like he wasn’t some shadow-covered freak with scarred hands and wings he’d just learned how to use. She looked at him and all she saw was Azriel. And with Mor, for the first time in his life, he thought that just being Azriel wasn’t such a bad thing, after all.

Of course, then the whole debacle with Cassian happened, and Rhys had almost killed him in his anger. And Azriel…something broke in him that day. When he found out Mor had chosen Cassian over him, he knew, without a doubt, that love would never find him. It hadn’t surprised him, but it had certainly changed him. And he accepted that day that he would never be worthy of anyone, least of all Mor.

But it hadn’t stopped him loving her from afar. Hadn’t stopped his heart aching whenever he saw her and Cassian laughing and snuggling together. Hadn’t stopped the centuries of pining and self-deprecation and continuous refusal to open up his heart to anyone.

And it hadn’t stopped him from falling for someone else entirely, 500 years later. And the fact that he had fallen for someone who was irrevocably destined for another male…well, that didn’t surprise Azriel in the least.

Mor regarded him with undisguised worry in her brown eyes. “Spit it out, Az.”

“You’re annoying, you know.”

“I know. Now tell me. You know I’ll get it out of you eventually.”

He hesitated. Truth be told, he did kind of want to talk about his situation with someone. There was so much he wanted to sort out, so much confusion weaving tangled webs in his mind, that it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world to get some advice. But he’d be damned if he was about to tell Mor every detail. No, that was between him and Elain.

“Have you ever done something that you knew you shouldn’t do, but just wanted to do it so badly you didn't care about the consequences?” He was speaking very quietly, even though there was no one else in the house.

Her eyes softened. “Of course I have. I think everyone has.”

“But what if it’s something that affects other people? A lot of other people? What if it’s something that won’t end well no matter what? How do I justify that selfishness if it puts others at risk?”

“Azriel,” Mor said seriously, taking his hand, “if this is about—”

She was cut off as one of his shadows flew in quickly, alerting them to Rhys’ presence mere seconds before the High Lord strode through the front doors.

“Mor,” Rhys said, surprise ringing in his voice. Clearly her presence was unexpected. “Az.” An awkward nod from both males. “Sorry I’m late. Feyre asked me to bring Nyx to her studio in the Rainbow—she wants him to start painting with her—and of course the second we let him loose, he flies right into her supply of paints and destroys at least three easels. He is an absolute monster,” Rhys recounted affectionately, violet eyes glowing like embers.

“Nyx isn’t even here?” Mor exclaimed. “Well, I’m off then. I only have a few hours before I have to return to Vallahan and I’ll be damned if I’m spending it in the presence of you two grouchy males.”

“Cheers, Mor.”

“Ta ta,” she wiggled her hand, then pointed sternly at Azriel. “Don’t think we’re done with our conversation. To be continued.” Then she winnowed away.

“What conversation?” Rhys asked.

“Nothing important.”

“Alright,” Rhys said eventually, though Az could tell he wasn’t fully okay with being kept in the dark. But obviously their relationship was precarious enough that Rhys wasn’t willing to push him for any further information.

The two males eyed each other warily.

“I was hoping to get updates from you about what your spies have been up to,” Rhys began, and Azriel recognized his voice as not that of his friend or brother, but of his High Lord. Well. If that’s how it was going to be…

He took a subtle sniff of his own skin. There, beneath the layer of magic, far too disguised for Rhys to detect, was Elain’s scent mixed with his own. He breathed it in. Let that glorious combination of jasmine and honey fill his heart with something like strength.

“Of course.” Azriel schooled his face into its usual icy and stoic expression. “Let’s begin.”

***

Following Azriel’s departure, Elain bathed and dressed quickly before heading out to find Vassa. Her whole body was still buzzing with energy; she doubted she’d be able to fully relax for the next few hours, she was so worked up.

As she walked through the Manor, Elain looked for her friend half heartedly, her thoughts mostly preoccupied with the events that had transpired over the last 12 hours.

She couldn’t wait for Azriel to return. Sure, they’d have to be careful, would have to take precautions to ensure no one else knew what they were up to, but she was positive they’d find a way to continue her “lessons” discreetly.

Lessons . She remembered, then, that Lucien had also promised her lessons. Promised to teach her how to use her healing magic. Guilt gnawed at her. Even though she knew they did not owe each other anything, she couldn't help but feel like she was wronging him. Like she was betraying him.

Lost in her thoughts, she nearly ran into a wall. “Get a grip, Elain,” she muttered to herself. She was about to continue her search for Vassa when she heard whispers coming from a few doors down.

Inching closer on silent feet, she covertly listened to the murmured voices with her powerful Fae ears.

“...I just don’t understand what you’re waiting for.” That was Jurian.

“I’m waiting for the right time,” another voice—Vassa—said.

“And when exactly will that be?”

A sigh from Vassa, long and weary. “I don’t know.”

Quiet, for a brief moment, and then Jurian spoke again. “None of us know how much longer you have, Vassa. If you wait too long to tell her, it will be too late. And then we will all be doomed.”

“I know. I know . But how can I tell her something like this? How can I tell her of the inevitable horror she will have to face?”

“It won’t be easy. Of course it won’t. But she deserves to know. She has to know.”

“I’ll tell her. Soon. I promise.” A pause. “I just want to enjoy these last few weeks with her. Want to enjoy being her friend before she hates me. Before Lucien finds out and hates me, as well.”

“Give them both more credit. They love you.”

“They don’t know the truth I have been withholding from them. They won’t love me then.”

“You don’t know that.”

Vassa let out a dark laugh. “I don’t know a great many things, Jurian, but I know that they will find it difficult to forgive a betrayal like this.” Footsteps sounded as Vassa neared the door. “I’ll tell Elain soon. Just…give me a little longer, okay?”

Elain’s fingers gripped the wall so hard her knuckles went white. She heard the door open and before Vassa could even begin walking her way, raced silently down the hall with immortal speed and back into her quarters.

As soon as her door closed, she leaned against it, a cold sweat coating her skin. Her heart thundered in her chest.

Vassa was keeping something from her. Something big, something…something that would change everything.

Cold rage vibrated through her bones. She’d thought Vassa was her friend. Thought they shared a special bond. But if the conversation she’d just overheard was any indication, Vassa had been lying to her from the very beginning. Had been holding imperative information over her head, entirely unbeknownst to Elain, who had never felt more foolish. She’d been blinded by Vassa’s gregarious nature, taken in completely by her fraudulent friendship and misleading words, and the entire time Vassa had been keeping something from her that would seemingly affect every aspect of Elain’s life. That would apparently endanger her life.

What should she do now? It was obvious that she wasn’t entirely safe at the Mortal Manor. Not with Vassa and Jurian keeping such a secret from her. Not with the inevitable danger of Koschei and all the complications he brought with him.

But would she be safer at the Night Court? Koschei had managed to break through the boundaries in Velaris, as well. And while she no longer trusted Vassa and Jurian, their conversation made it clear that Lucien was just as unaware of the secrets the mortals were keeping as Elain was. And she knew without a sliver of doubt that Lucien would never hurt her. That he would protect her at all costs.

And if Lucien wasn’t at the Manor, then Azriel would be. The very thought of something happening to her while Azriel was around was laughable.

She recalled their conversation from this morning. If you overhear anything suspicious from the Band of Exiles, or if you feel unsafe in any way, summon me. Immediately.

Azriel would want to know about this. Of course he would. But Elain did not know what he would do with the information. He might decide it wasn’t safe for her at the Manor anymore. He might tell Rhys and Feyre, who would surely make her leave if her safety was no longer ensured.

And she was a spy. This was her duty. Her responsibility. She was placed at the Manor to find out what the mortal queen was hiding, and she was closer than ever in discovering what that was.

And most of all, whatever this secret was, it was about her. She deserved the truth. And she deserved to be the one to uncover it.

The pace of her heartbeat slowed significantly. She straightened up. Smoothed down her skirt. Took in a deep, calming breath. Exited her room with her head held high and a soft, serene expression on her face.

By the time she found the mortal queen, Elain’s smile was as believable as ever. “Hello, my dear,” she cooed, wrapping her arms around Vassa and ignoring the ache in her chest as Vassa hugged her back.

“Oh, Elain!” Vassa said, and if Elain didn’t know better, she’d think the relief in the queen’s voice was genuine. “I’m so glad you aren’t angry with me.”

Vassa’s words from weeks ago echoed in her head. “What good are secrets between those you love the most?”

The memory further confirmed what she already knew: Vassa did not care about her. She never had.

“I could never be angry with you,” Elain said.

No lie had ever tasted so sweet.

Please let me know your thoughts <3

[scarofthewind]

Slashers on Mother’s Day

A/N: Here is the first part of the mini, multi-fandom series I am doing in honor of mother’s day! I hope you all enjoy this pure fluff!

Mother’s Day master post

Warnings: None, pure fluff and joy, reader is a mother obviously

word count: 2.6k Tip Jar (every bit helps!)

Spoils you too much:

Charles Lee Ray: “I think she’ll like this one, what do you think?” Charles asks his daughter who stood next to him, looking up at the overpriced jewelry in her father’s hands. “Too big,” she shakes her head and Charles agrees after looking it over once again. He already had a whole basket on his arm full of stuff for you ranging from stuffed animals your daughter had picked out to flowers, jewelry and even some pieces of clothing. Just as the two thought they were done shopping and walked over to the check out, Charles pauses by the perfume stand and looks them over, picking up a few and smelling them before bending over and letting his daughter smell. “Smells like grandma, Dad,” she scrunched her nose as he quickly put it back. They spend more time shopping than they need to but the smile on your face when they bring out the loads of gifts is enough to make everyone happy. 

Brahms Heelshire: Brahms did all his shopping days before Mother’s day, but the amount of items he’d purchased made you question his sanity. “Don’t look at me, she picked that out,” Brahms shrugged, pointing to your daughter who was giggling next to you. “Mommy will look like a princess,” her contagious laugh made Brahms crack a smile as you put the simple tiara on your head. “Uh oh, the Queen needs to watch out,” he joked, resting his head on his palm as he watched you continue to open the countless gifts scattered in the living room. “You know this was too much right? Flowers and a card are usually what’s expected.” You told him with a smile. Brahms nodded over to the coffee table where a giant bouquet of flowers and a few cards sat, a shit-eating grin on his face. “I think you got this one for yourself,” you said to your daughter who was playing with the stuffed animal she had picked out as well. Another giggle erupted from her as you tickled her sides, Brahms watching from his spot, his heart flooding with a warmth he wanted to keep forever. 

Jason Voorhees: Since he doesn’t come from money, or have it for that matter, he likes to spoil you in other ways like physical touch or by waiting on you hand and foot. “I can get to the bathroom by myself you dork,” you told your lover as he carried you from the couch to the bathroom, only letting you down when you were inside. When you shut the door, Jason turned around to look at his daughter who was coloring a picture for you for Mother’s Day. “Look! Look!” She squealed in joy, waving her father over before pointing at the messy shaped people. “There’s you, me, and Momma!” Her eyes looked up to Jason with excitement and happiness that made him smile. “Should I draw her another one?” She asked, reaching across the table to grab another piece of paper before aggressively scribbling on it. The bathroom door opening made Jason move towards you, picking you up and walking you over to the kitchen table, not wanting you do any moving on your own today. With a soft kiss to your head once he sat you in a chair, he moved to sit next to you, watching as your daughter gave her artwork to her mother and wondering how he got so lucky. 

Bubba Sawyer: He woke up with the sun and so did his kid; both of them ready to spoil you as soon as you woke up with small gifts and lots of love. “I think we should make chocolate chip pancakes!” Bubba’s son said with a lopsided grin as they both stood in the kitchen. Looking at the stove, Bubba scratched his head, unsure of the recipe or how you even make them, his child doing the same thing. “Maybe we just make coffee?” The little boy suggested and Bubba nodded, moving over to the coffee machine and getting it started. “Flowers,” Bubba said suddenly, remembering what it was he thought he was forgetting. With a determined nod, his son took off to the garden to pick some of the wildflowers before bringing them inside to help his dad make them look pretty. Carefully taking the vase over to the table where a card and some homemade candy sat, Bubba set the flowers down and nodded in approval. “Boys?” You asked from upstairs, tiredly waking up and running your hands over your face before hearing two sets of footsteps come barreling up the stairs. “Happy Mother’s Day, Momma!” Your son shouted as he leapt across the bed, tackling you in a hug before Bubba did the same, nearly knocking the air from your lungs. The faint smell of coffee in the air and the spoils of a father and son with more than enough love to give, made your day the best. 

Wakes you up with a kiss and breakfast:

Michael Myers: “I made this at school for her,” Michael’s daughter said to him, holding up a poem about mother’s day she’d written for you. “I’m sure she’ll love it. Can you do me a favor and set the table?” He said gently, watching his daughter nod and walk over to the silverware drawer while he continued working on the bacon and eggs that were hot on the stove. It was quiet between the two like usual until his daughter spoke once more, “I’m hungry, when’s she waking up?” Turning the stove off and putting the pans on the opposite side of the appliance, Michael wiped his hands off on the kitchen towel before looking over at his child. The vase full of flowers almost blocked her tiny body from his view but when he stepped around the table, he could see her eyes that matched his, glimmering with excitement. “You stay here and I’ll go get her okay? Get your poem ready that you made for her,” Michael watched as she grabbed the paper and held on to it as he walked upstairs to the bedroom where you were sleeping peacefully. Looking around to make sure his daughter didn’t follow, Michael walked over to the side of the bed where you slept and began peppering kisses all over your face, watching you twitch and let out a low groan at being woken up. With a small smirk, Michael began kissing lower, his mouth attaching itself to your neck before you shot up, pushing him off you. “Happy Mother’s Day,” he chuckled, watching you smile and shake your head at him before moving to press a kiss to his lips. 

Pelle: All you felt were the feather-light kisses of your husband as he pressed his lips against your cheek, waking you from your sleep. As your eyes opened, Pelle pulled back and grinned down at you, letting you sit up before pressing his lips to yours, “Happy Mother’s Day to the best one in the world,” he said softly, your heart warming at his words as you hear the bedroom door open and your kids come walking in, the eldest holding a tray of food and the youngest carrying a cup carefully towards you. “We made breakfast- well- technically Dad did,” your oldest said with a smile, setting the tray down on your lap and letting his sibling set the cup down on your nightstand. “You didn’t have to do all this,” you said with a small smile, letting your kids hug you tightly, the youngest one crawling into bed next to you. “How else would we show our appreciation for you?” Pelle hummed, the corner’s of his eyes crinkling as he smiled. “We also have flowers and a few cards for you but I left them in the living room,” your eldest told you before he turned and went to get them. “Love you Momma,” the younger sibling said, yawning at your side with a tired smile on their face. “I love you too,” you replied, pressing a kiss to their head before looking down at the food on your lap and digging in. 

Thomas Hewitt: “A little to the left- just a bit more- perfect!” Thomas taped up the Mother’s Day banner in the place his daughter instructed before moving back and looking at it with a nod. “What flowers should I get?” His son asked as he came through the front door, hands covered in dirt. “Anything that’s bloomed and that’s not brown already,” Thomas told him before the boy took off outside. The daughter walked to the kitchen, fixing up the rest of the food before setting the table and getting the coffee ready. “You should go wake her up, Dad, I can get the rest of the stuff set up since there’s not much left.” With a nod, Thomas moved towards the stairs, making his way to the bedroom and opening the door only to find you sitting up in bed. “Did we wake you?” Thomas asked as he walked over, leaned down, and pressed a chaste kiss to your lips. You shook your head after he pulled away before moving to your knees to chase after his lips, kissing him once more. A low chuckle left him once you had your fill, a lazy smile resting on your face. “Happy Mother’s Day to the best woman in the world.” He said gently, watching you smile before following him downstairs where your kids waited with a wonderful meal and decorations. 

Vincent Sinclair: “What are you doing?” You laughed tiredly as Vincent proceeded to press kisses all along your face and neck, tickling you lightly. “Happy Mother’s Day,” he cooed, helping you sit up before he practically dragged you to the kitchen, showing you all of the food that he may or may not had Bo help him make for you. “Momma!” You heard your twins shout as they ran over from the living room, nearly taking you out as they hugged your legs. “Happy Mother’s Day! You’re the bestest Mom ever!” “We made you some stuff come look!” They both were such high energy that it made your face hurt from smiling as they pulled you over to the living room where they had little crafts all over the place for you. A painting of their handprints as well as Vincent’s that formed a tree made your heart flutter and you knew you’d be hanging that on the wall soon. The front door opened and Bo walked in carrying flowers for you and some candy for the twins, making them turn their attention towards him for the time being. “Happy Mother’s Day to the mother of my nieces,” he smiled at you, giving you a hug before being tackled by the twins as they searched him for the candy. Walking back into the kitchen, you put the flowers in a vase and moved to wrap your arms around Vincent, pressing your lips to his for a second, “Thank you for all this.” With a small laugh and his arms tightening around you, Vincent replied, “Anything for the love of my life and the mother of my two amazing daughters.”

Almost forgets but his kid reminds them:

Billy Loomis: “You’re lucky I told you,” Billy’s daughter laughed from her spot on the couch, a children’s show playing in the background as he struggled to get everything in place before you woke up. Billy cursed under his breath as he nearly knocked the vase that had a beautiful set of flowers, over. “That’s a bad word,” his daughter chimed and he gave her a look that made her face the T.V. quickly. Running his hands through his hair, Billy cleared his throat and poured you a cup of coffee just as you were walking down the stairs, tightening your robe around you and coming into the kitchen. “What’s all this?” You asked, looking down at the cards on the table and the bag of gifts that sat in your chair. “Happy Mother’s Day!” Your daughter shouted, leaping off the couch and running towards you with open arms and a wide smile. “Did you two do all this for me? You didn’t have to.” You said, looking over to Billy who smiled at you in return. “Of course we did, you’re the best mother anyone could ask for.” He pressed a kiss to your lips before his daughter gave him a look, knowing damn well if it wasn’t for her, he would’ve forgotten. However, at least now she had something to blackmail him with. 

Bo Sinclair: “Which one?” Bo asked his daughter as he held up two bouquet’s of flowers. “You’re probably going to need both since you forgot,” she sassed back, going back to texting her friends on her phone. “You think she’ll know?” He panicked, taking both anyways and walking over to the card section. Bo managed to sneak out of the house before you woke up to get you Mother’s Day stuff and he prayed that you would stay asleep until he came home. “It’s Mom, she knows everything.” With a glare, Bo ignored his teenaged child’s response before checking out and practically speeding home, making it just in time before you came sauntering to the living room, sleep still on your mind. “Happy Mother’s Day mom,” your daughter said with a smile, giving you a hug and distracting you from her dad’s struggle with putting the flowers in a vase. “He forgot didn’t he?” You whispered to her and she nodded with a small snort of laughter, “Yeah but don’t worry, I put him through the ringer for it,” she replied and you laughed in response before letting her go and making your way over to Bo who was trying to play it cool. 

Bughuul: He didn’t mean to forget; the time he spent between the human realm and the realm of the dead had his senses all backwards. So when his son came up to him and asked him what he got you for Mother’s Day, Bughuul panicked. “What do you think she’d like?” He asked his son who thought about it for a second before responding, “Something simple like flowers or something else she likes.” Bughuul sighed, trying to think of what to get you before settling on black roses and a few books and candles he thought you would enjoy. “Thank you for reminding me, I would’ve forgotten without you,” the deity told his son as they set the gifts up nicely in the living room before you came walking in with a cup of coffee in your hands. “Happy Mother’s Day, my love.” Bughuul said gently, watching his son bound over to you and give you a tight hug. “He forgot but don’t worry, I reminded him!” Your son shouted happily, much to Bughuul’s shock and he promptly apologized for the rest of the day. 

Norman Bates: With how fast Norman was running around the house trying to set up decorations and get the gifts ready for you, his daughter truly thought he’d end up breaking something. “Calm down, she’s not going to notice,” she told her panicked father as he quickly ran into the kitchen to get breakfast finished and add the finishing touches on your gifts before he remotely began to calm. “I can’t believe I forgot, I feel horrible.” He said, a disappointed look on his face that made his daughter pat him on the back. “It happens to the best of us, no need to worry. Mom loves you and she’ll love all this stuff you set up for her no matter what.” Norman smiled gently at his daughters words before your figure caught his attention ad he made his way over to you. “Happy Mother’s Day,” he grinned, bending down and pressing his lips against yours before he lead you into the kitchen to eat. 

[acapelladitty]

Heisenberg/Reader fic (nsfw)

Summary: After a short meeting with Lady Dimitrescu and her daughters barely escapes ending in bloodshed, Heisenberg is keen to show you just how much he appreciates your loyalty towards him. (Warnings includes rough sex, mild knifeplay, vandalism and restraints).

Karl Heisenberg was a selfish man.

He was selfish in almost every aspect of his life, and that selfishness also extended to you and your company. It was uncommon for him to allow you to join him when meeting others on his business outside the factory, with the only exception being your regular meetings with the Duke to acquire much needed parts for his equipment and experimentations.

However, a meeting with the Duke was necessary and the only available slot he had happened to directly follow a meeting Heisenberg had already planned with fellow Lord, Lady Dimitrescu. Due to this, options were limited, and the most sensible course of action was for you to accompany him for the meeting and then for you both to attend business discussions with the Duke within his room in the castle.

Which is how you ended up seated within the grand hall of Castle Dimitrescu with Heisenberg glued by your side as you both faced down the Lady of the castle and her three adopted daughters.

“And why should I listen to you?” Dimitrescu asks, her tone haughty as she ran a hand along the hem of her closest daughters’ dress in a loving manner. Cassandra, if the hair colour was anything to go by. Her lack of attention towards yourself and Heisenberg was intentional, a mark of disrespect, and a flare of irritation ignited within your gut at the pettiness.

“Miranda’s rules, not mine.” Heisenberg shrugged, delivering the message he had been requested to, “If you’ve got a problem then take it up with her. I don’t give a shit.”

Enjoying her mothers’ attentions, Cassandra tilted her head at her sisters as she shared a contemptuous look with them at Heisenberg’s words. Their attitude was just as rotten as their creators and it did nothing to dissuade your anger as Dimitrescu responded.

“Mother Miranda should have known better than to send a child to deliver a message to me. A true Lady should not have to deal with a foolish infant who can barely lay claim to the title of Lord.”

Against your better judgement, you can’t hold back a slight snort as Dimitrescu referred to herself as a true lady. Her hate for Heisenberg was without question and that hatred had long since leaked over to yourself and while Heisenberg was somewhat protected by his status as one of Miranda’s children, you were considered lower than dirt and she had made that opinion quite clear across your shared interactions.

She didn’t like you as you didn’t like her, and that was fine.

“Keep your filthy pet under control,” Dimitrescu snarled fixing you with a pointed glare, her hand flexing almost subconsciously against her white dress, “or I will personally put it down.”

“Is she talking to me?” You ask, glancing sideways at Heisenberg and ignoring Dimitrescu as you cut off her insult, “I’m your pet? While she’s sitting there with three bags of flies she dares to call her daughters?”

A loud chuckle escaped Heisenberg’s chest as low growls from the women ricocheted throughout the room at the brazen derision.

“You DARE insult House Dimitrescu?” Dimitrescu bellowed as she stood to her full height, the looming form admittedly very intimidating, “You dare open your common mouth against us while you sit by the side of scum like him?”

“At least he has a sense of humour,” you hold her furious gaze with a steeled spine, confident that you would be protected from harm, “and isn’t a frigid bitch living in a gifted castle.”

A lot of things happened at once as the daughter closest to your position, Bela, seemingly unable to restrain her anger any longer as her mother was insulted, leapt to her feet and withdrew her scythe from within her robes.

“I’ll bleed you dry!” The rage in her eyes was clear and her sharp blood-stained teeth were on full display as she darted quickly towards the couch you occupied, swerving across a small side-table as she advanced.

She had barely crossed the empty space between you when a pained cry escaped her throat as the scythe in her hand was wrenched free of her grip, finding a new home against her throat as the sharp tip of the blade dipped into the flesh there in warning as it froze her in place. The same went for the scythes which were hidden within the robes of Cassandra and Daniela, the weapons no longer beholden to their mistresses wishes as they bowed to Heisenberg’s influence and power and assumed a betraying position against their necks.

Along the edges of the grand hall, the armoured knights rattled as the very air in the room seemed to expand and contract in anticipation. High above, the metal grating which held the windows in place flexed and shook; a clear warning which dared any of them to move.

“Back the fuck off.” Heisenberg snarled into the room, his voice easily carrying above the feral hissing of the three daughters. Having only moved his head forward slightly, his expression was mostly hidden by his positioning and wide-brimmed hat but from your place at his side you can see the rage that is simmering behind his glasses, “Get control of your bitches before I carve them into a million pieces and leave you to clean up the mess.”

The rage that radiated from Dimitrescu’s form seemed to pulse for a moment as she flexed her long claws before a hint of uncertainty crossed her expression as her eyes darted between her three daughters. Unlike herself, they were more vulnerable to attack and it was no secret that Heisenberg’s life was worth more to Mother Miranda then their own.

There was no doubt within the room that Heisenberg would kill them, consequences be damned, and Dimitrescu could not take the risk, no matter how satisfying the reward.

Sheathing her claws, Dimitrescu straightened her back and faced Heisenberg directly.

“You come into my house, brother, and threaten my daughters with violence.” Her tone was measured, the anger buried beneath cold accusation, “Bela!” She indicated to her still body with a loose hand, “Come sit by my side, daughter. This fool and his plaything are beneath us and not worth the effort it would take to drain them.”

“Yes, mother.” Bela bit out, having no interest in peace but submissive to her mothers’ wishes as always.

You let out a quiet sigh of relief as the rattling of the metal within the room subsided and the tension eased off slightly. The three scythes clatter to the ground with dramatic flair as they are released and Heisenberg rises to stand at your side, indicating you to do the same.

“You have your message,” facing Dimitrescu, he inclined the rim of his hat at her with a twisted smirk, “now do as your mother asks and make sure that it’s done in time. This meeting is over.”

Calling his hammer from the floor, it flies into his hand with ease as his free hand comes to rest on your elbow, guiding you towards the stairs in a firm grip.

“See you next week, sister.”

He calls the words over his shoulder, not bothering to spare the lady of the house a glance.

One final insult.

Passing down the stairs of the great hall, a subdued cry of rage followed by hurried footsteps and hushed voices can be heard from the space you recently vacated, and the direction of the disappearing noise suggests that Dimitrescu was retiring to her quarters.

No doubt to complain of the day’s events to her disgusting spawn.

To your side, you can sense a restless energy radiating off Heisenberg as he marches you down the stairs but before you can question him, you find your arm seized in a vice-like grasp as he pulls you into a nearby room which lies opposite the room in which you are due to attend your meeting with the Duke.

Glancing around the room, you take in the space.

It is a small bedroom, mostly consisting of one large four-poster bed which was decked out in the same extravagant nature as the rest of the castle. Overhead, a large skylight made up the centre of the ceiling with its domed shape letting in a vast amount of light while also keeping out the cold. Two sets of drawers and a vanity table make up the rest of the furniture and you turn back to Heisenberg once more to question his actions.

You open your mouth to speak but are immediately cut off by his lips on yours as his hands move to his head to pull free his hat and drop it to the floor atop his freshly discarded hammer. Pulling away for a moment, he does the same with the glasses, dropping them into the same pile before returning to your lips; his mouth insistent against yours as he bites as your lower lip demanding entrance.

“What’s this about?” You ask and a grunt escapes you as he backs you up against the wall, your shoulders connecting with the hard surface roughly as he presses a leg between your thighs.

“It makes me so fucking hard to see you stand up to that bitch,” he grunts, nuzzling his head against your neck as he inhales your smell, “a little warrior, ready to go to war with nothing but your wits.”

“I have you.” You whine back as he bites into the skin of your neck, the force enough to guarantee a mark but not enough to break skin, “I don’t need anything else. You could tear that bitch and her infested little spawn to shreds without breaking a sweat.”

At the praise he presses his body against you and you can feel the hardness against your hip.

Ah.

“So loyal,” he purrs against you, rubbing himself on your hip, “and it doesn’t go unrewarded.”

“We can’t here,” you mutter with great regret even as arousal curls low in your belly, “my biggest fan or her daughters could appear at any time and I’d rather not deal with them while you’re inside me.”

His smirk is almost feral as he pulls free his blade from the inner pocket of his coat; the same blade which never left his person as a final line of defence against possible attack. Running the blade along the hem of your shirt, you suck in a soft breath and meet his eyes, seeing your arousal reflected in his own. He had tried to get you to learn to use one for your own defence but any attempts at training barely got underway before they were lost to more carnal pursuits.

Extending his hand with a flourish, the blade sliced through the air with great force, arcing upwards as it reached its target and smashed through the skylight. The shattering of the glass was loud and you instinctively duck to avoid any of the shards as they litter the canopy of the bed and fall to the floor.

“The fly-bitches can’t stand the cold.” He explains away the act of petty vandalism, shielding your body from the glass with his own as his hand summons his knife back within his grasp, “Now, where were we…”

His hands grip at your wrists, pinning them above your head as his knife works independently at his will; the sharp blade running along the buttons of your shirt with surgical precision as it slices them off, the small buttons bouncing along the floor as they fall free to expose more of your body.

A shiver rattles through your body, a result of both the low temperature of the room as the winter winds enter through the fresh hole in the ceiling and the anticipation of events as you watch his knife slowly remove your barriers. A soft creaking from a nearby lamp holder catches your attention and you jump in surprise as the metal features flies free of the wall, coming to imbed itself around your wrists as he releases them, pinning you into place against the wall.

His knife drops to the ground as his free hands come to rest on your shirt, spreading the fabric open to fully expose your chest and his mouth is immediately drawn to your nipple as he worries the sensitive nub there between his teeth gently. It ignites a warmth in your chest that draws a low moan from your throat as you push out to meet him, encouraging him as your other nipple is rolled between his fingers to the same effect.

“Just one quick fuck,” he grunts against your chest, his hands fumbling at his slacks as he frees himself, his cock twitching in the chilled air of the room, “and then we’ll continue with our business.”

You pant as his hands grip at your slacks, carelessly thrown on before you left, and he pulls them free of you, slipping them down past your knees and allowing them to fall to the floor carelessly as he exposes your clear arousal to his sight.

Lining himself up against your entrance, he pushes in with one swift thrust and the torrid mixture of pain and pleasure rips the breath from you as you clench around him, unable to do much else. The friction is almost too much as he sets a quick pace within you, the burn spurring you on to snap your hips back to meet him as he supports your weight, allowing your legs to wrap around his waist as he sheathes himself within you.

Wriggling against him as he pins you to the wall, you almost feel as though he is trying to fuck you through the stone and the rough growling of his throat as he does so is almost hypnotic as you whine and moan around him. Your fingers grip at their restraints as they are held in place by his power and your heels dig in to the soft of his back as you encourage him on.

As you cry out your pleasure, a rough hand comes to sit over your mouth as it muffles the cries. His fingers taste of oil and metal as your tongue meets them and the familiarity of it is pleasant as you moan around his hand. His cock stretches you as always and the brutal pace seems to be hitting every nerve inside of you as arousal curls your toes and tightens within your gut.

A grunt of surprise escapes you as he lifts you free of the wall, hurling you around with ease and dropping you on the bed as he continues to rut within you. It’s almost animalistic and you can do little but wrap your legs around his hips and meet every punishing thrust as your fingers dig into the flesh of his back.

Even as you whine below him, your orgasm still manages to catch you off guard as the tight band of tension within your gut snaps as your thighs tighten around him and your feet press against his spine, sheathing him within you as you clench around him and milk him for everything he’s worth. You can feel your mess but you ignore it as you focus on finishing him but he’s not far behind and, with a savage growl, you feel his cock jerk and the warmth of his release as it burns through you.

“So fucking loyal,” he snarls against your neck while his cock continues to twitch within you, each word punctuated by a lazy thrust as his pace slows, “so willing and warm and for nothing. Just for me and no one else. Mine.”

The final word is little more than a growl and, sensing that the words didn’t require an answer, you give a low grunt of acknowledgement as you release your grip of his back and allow yourself to relax into the sheets.

The bed is soft against your back as you continue to writhe against him, ignoring the mess that you’ve just made as you both enjoy the other. The chill of the room is offset by the heat of his body as he remains atop you and you focus on the strange duality as you try to steady your heaving chest.

Finally slipping free of you, Heisenberg pauses before pulling his slacks back up to wipe the mess from his cock off on to the soft bedding; leaving a noticeable stain against the expensive fabric with a satisfied smirk as he tucked himself back in.

Resisting the urge to roll your eyes at the immature display, you focus on righting yourself even as your knees lock into place to keep you steady. Your hand dips to the floor to grasp at your underwear and slacks and you pull them on quickly, ignoring the mess which you both made as you cover it with fabric.

Your eyes settle on your poor discarded shirt.

“And what the fuck am I supposed to wear?” You ask, indicating the slashed-up fabric with an open palm. In the cold air, your nipples were peaked and walking about shirtless in the middle of winter was not an appealing thought.

His laughter is open and genuine as he considers his actions, “Oops, maybe should have thought about that. If you weren’t such a fucking tease then this wouldn’t have happened.”

Remaining silent, you stare him down.

“Fine,” he grunts as he shuffles his shoulders out of his coat, “wear this.” He tosses the coat in your direction and you grasp it between your fingers, the fabric still warm as it clung on to his body heat.

Slipping your arms within the coat, the first thought to grab you is that it smells like him; that is, it smells like copper and oil with a hint of spice that you are never quite able to place. The second thought is that it is very heavy against your shoulders and you straighten up fully to balance it correctly as you easily close it over your exposed chest.

As you go to leave the room, his presence fills the space behind you and you can feel him pressed against your back.

“I think I like you in my clothes.” You can feel his grin against your neck, “It makes it clear who you belong to and it makes me want to fuck you again right here and now.”

“Business before pleasure.” You purr, tightening the coat around you as you move through the doorway as you guide him to your meeting, “We can negotiate terms later.”

As fun as it would be, you had both kept the Duke waiting too long and you would rather not be around when Lady Dimitrescu discovered her vandalised ceiling and come-stained bedding.

Fic also available on AO3 @ DittyWrites

[translations-by-aiimee]

The Husky and His White Cat Shizun - Chapter 16

Original Title:  二哈和他的白猫师尊

Genres: Drama, Romance, Tragedy, Xianxia, Yaoi

This translation is based on multiple MTLs and my own limited knowledge of Chinese characters. If I have made any egregious mistakes, please let me know.

Chapter Index

Chapter 16 - This Venerable One is Stunned

This really couldn't be blamed on the beast-like Mo Ran. Anyone in such a claustrophobic space, trapped with someone he'd slept with countless times - regardless of whether the sex meant anything, whether it was out of revenge or out of love - smelling the familiar smell on the other person, he could never help the lurching feeling in his heart.

Besides, Mo Ran himself was a bastard.

Shi Mei was his white moonlight. He absolutely couldn't bear to touch it, and he doesn't want to destroy it.

He patronized Chu Wanning and only Chu Wanning. All of his darkness, bestial-lust, and bone-crushing rage could be vented with no fear of repercussion.

He crushed him, tore him up underneath him, forcing him to take part in all the tricks he would never try with Shi Mei.

In his previous life, every time he saw Chu Waning tilting his neck and moving his throat, he felt he was about to degenerate into a vicious beast that only knew how to drink blood. He wanted to bite the man's throat open, grind his teeth, suck out his blood, chew through his flesh and bones.

He didn't care about Chu Wanning. He could defile him as much as he wanted.

At the end of it all, his body had developed a habit. Every time he smelled the scent of Chu Wanning's body, his stomach would feel like it's on fire, his heart would itch, and he wanted to tie him down to a bed and fuck him senseless.

There was a moment of silence in the coffin and Mo Ran's racing heart could be heard.

He knows that Chu Wanning's face was very close. He could feel the other's breathing. If he bit it right now, Chu Wanning wouldn't be able to break free, but. . .

Better to forget it.

Mo Ran leaned back and distanced himself from Chu Wanning. It wasn't really easy considering there wasn't really much room in the coffin.

"I'm sorry, Shizun." Mo Ran snorted and pretended to be meek. "I didn't expect the coffin to - shake!"

As soon as he spoke, the coffin slanted again. Mo Ran rolled into Chu Wanning's arms again with a grunt.

Chu Wanning: ". . ."

Mo Ran retreated again, the coffin shook again, and the cycle continued several more times.

"Un-fucking-believable." Mo Ran leaned back again.

The golden boy and girl were probably walking on a slope, and the inside of the coffin wall was slippery. He didn't hold on for too long, Mo Ran helplessly rolled on top of Chu Wanning.

"Shizun. . ." He bit his lip, feeling aggravated.

This guy originally looked kind of cute as a young man. If he deliberately hid his wolf tail and act like a puppy, he could actually pretend to be similar.

Chu Wanning didn't say a word.

Mo Ran really didn't want to roll around again, so he simply gave up the struggle: "I didn't mean to."

Chu Wanning: ". . ."

Mo Ran whispered: "But the wound on my back still hurts so much. . ."

In the darkness, Chu Wanning seemed to sigh gently. The gongs and drums outside were a bit noisy and Mo Ran wasn't sure whether he had really heard it.

But the next moment, Mo Ran smelled a clearer fragrance of begonia flowers, and Chu Wanning's hand wrapped behind his back, blocking the gap that he might have crashed into.

However, it wasn't a hug. Chu Wanning's arms were empty, deliberately avoiding physical contact with Mo Ran. Only the clothes and Mo Ran were touching each other, but this posture was still somewhat intimate.

"Be careful, don't hit it again." The voice was heavy, like porcelain soaked in a stream, with a kind of ancient demure. If he listened to it without hatred in mind, it was actually very nice.

". . . Alright."

Suddenly no one spoke anymore.

At this point, Mo Ran was still a young teenager who wasn't as tall as an adult, so he leaned in Chu Wanning's arms, his forehead fitting underneath Chu Wanning's chin.

This feeling was both familiar and unfamiliar.

What was familiar was the person lying next to him.

What was unfamiliar was the position they were in.

Once upon a time, the past events all transpired in Wushan Hall where he was lying on Life-Death Peak. The Immortal Emperor, who had become a lonely man, held Chu Waning in his arms for dear life in the long, breathless darkness.

At that time, he was already higher than Chu Wanning, and his strength was greater than that of his shizun's. His arms were like iron bars of a cage, locking the little remaining warmth in his arms, like holding the last fire burning in the world.

He bowed his head and kissed Chu Wanning's long black hair, and then greedily attached himself to his face, burying deep into the neck of the other, biting and nibbling without pity.

"I hate you, Chu Wanning. I hate you so much."

There was some hoarseness in his voice.

"But you're all I have left."

A violent smash shattered Mo Ran's memories. The sound of gongs and drums suddenly stopped, and there was dead silence surrounding them.

"Shizun. . ."

Chu Wanning stretched out his hand. He touched his lips, and said solemnly: "Don't talk, we're here."

Sure enough, there was no sound of footsteps outside, and there was only dead silence.

Chu Wanning's fingertips ignited in a cluster of pale golden flames and stroked the wall of the coffin to make a narrow opening, just large enough for two people to see through.

Sure enough, they were carried to the outskirts of Caidie Town. The earth temple dedicated to the Master of Ceremonies Ghost was already densely packed with coffins. The fragrance of the butterfly powder in the air became even denser, floating into the coffin through the wood.

Mo Ran suddenly felt something was wrong: "Shizun, do you think that the scent here, as well as the scent in the illusion, seems to be a bit different from the smell in Young Master Chen's coffin?"

". . . What do you mean?"

Mo Ran was more sensitive to the smell. He said: "When we were on the north mountain, the moment the coffin opened, the smell that floated out was very good. Considering it was the butterfly fragrance incense, there was nothing to make me dislike it. But since entering the illusion, I always felt that the smell was similar, but there were some subtle differences. I couldn't figure out what was different, but now. . . I think I probably know."

Chu Wanning looked at him sideways: "You don't like the smell?"

Mo Ran stuck against the gap, still staring outside, and then said: "Yeah. I haven't liked the smell of incense since I was a child. The smell here, and in the illusion, isn't the hundred butterfly fragrance poweder at all, but a special high fragrance used by the people of Caidie Town to burn when worshiping the Master of Ceremonies Ghost. Look there—"

Chu Wanning followed his line of sight and looked at the clay incense burner in front of the earth temple. Sure enough, three arm-thick vertical incense sticks were burning, and they were passing a sweet smell into the wind.

The people in Caidie Town were good at making all kinds of powders from various flowers, so all the fragrances that are used to pray to the gods were made in their own town, and they don't buy them from other places. Since the flowers used are all planted in the outskirts of the town, the smell that turned out wasn't that different from something made by an amateur.

Chu Wanning pondered: "Could it be that the fragrance in the coffin of Young Master Chen had nothing to do with the smell in the illusionary realm?"

Before he could ponder the details of this new discovery, a dazzling red light from the earth temple interrupted his thoughts. The two people hiding in the coffin looked together and saw that the temple was shining brightly, reflecting its brilliant surroundings. There was a row of iron shelves on the side of the temple with red lotus lanterns for making wishes. Those lotus lanterns had originally been extinguished, but now they were all being lit up, one by one.

The boys and girls guarding all the coffins knelt down one after another, chanting: "The Master of Ceremonies has come down to earth to guide us wild ghosts and lonely souls to be free from eternal suffering, to meet a good man, to lie in the same coffin, and to be companions in the Underworld."

Through the sound of chanting, the Master of Ceremonies Ghost in the temple radiated golden immortal light. Then, she lowered her eyelids, slowly moved the corners of her mouth, and leapt off the offering platform.

Her movements were quite elegant and graceful, her appearance a million times more elegant

It's a pity that the body was made of mud and she was too heavy. The girl's house, with a bang, was smashed into a big hole in the ground.

Mo Ran: "Pfft."

Chu Wanning: ". . ."

The Master of Ceremonies Ghost also seemed dissatisfied with the placement of her feet. She stared at the big pit in the ground for a while before pacing out of the pit and straightening her clothes.

She looked like a woman wearing heavy makeup, dressed in red and green, quite cheerful. In the dark night, it turned its neck and came to the hundred people buried in coffins. The night breeze was full of the stench of corpses. She seemed to be in a better mood. She slowly opened her arms and let out a few giggles.

"If you believe in me and make offerings to me, you will be able to meet a good destiny and complete the lifelong event that you weren't able to complete during your life." The tender voice drifted in the night, and the ghosts kowtowed in excitement.

"Blessings of the Master of Ceremonies--"

"Please let the Master of Ceremonies bless this marriage--"

The pleadings were coming from all around her and the Master of Ceremonies seemed to be enjoying herself. She slowly moved among the rows of coffins, and her long nails scraped against the bright red vermilion lacquered coffin boards, making a sharp and ear-piercing sound.

Mo Ran was curious: "Shizun, I remember you said that demons, immortals, ghosts, gods, humans and the devil belong to the six realms, but this immortal doesn't like in heaven. How come she's with these ghosts in the underground instead?"

"Because it cares about ghost marriages, and her main food source is the offerings of the ghosts." Chu Wanning said. "Ghosts can greatly increase her power, otherwise she wouldn't be able to cultivate her immortal body in only a hundred years. With such benefits, she's happy to stay with her 'friends' in the underworld."

The Master of Ceremonies Ghost walked around the group of coffins and returned to the front. The empty and tender voice rang again: "Open a coffin and I'll bless the marriage. Starting from the left."

Following its order, the first coffin on the left slowly opened, and the golden boy and girl were greeted by the two corpses inside staggeringly crawled out, and the gorgeous flaming red dress made the face of the dead look pale and lifeless.

The married couple slowly approached the Master of Ceremonies Ghost and knelt down.

The Master of Ceremonies Ghost put her hand between them and said: "In the name of the master of ceremonies, I grant you this marriage after death. From now on, you will be husband and wife, man and woman together in joy."

Mo Ran rolled his eyes and muttered: "If you can't write a poem, don't do it. It should be a good marriage vow, so why does it sound so lewd?"

Chu Wanning said coldly: "You have a dirty mind."

Mo Ran shut up.

But it didn't take long for the Master of Ceremonies Ghost to personally prove that it wasn't Mo Ran who was dirty-minded, but the god in charge of the marriage who was the lewd one.

He saw that the married corpses seemed to have swallowed some kind of aphrodisiac. They were already two dead ghosts, but suddenly they began to tear each other’s clothes, feverishly kissing and embracing each other passionately. They were entangled so shamelessly in public.

Chu Wanning: ". . ."

Mo Ran: ". . ."

"In the name of the Master of Ceremonies, I give you the joys of heaven. If Yin and Yang can intermingle, what's the harm with life and death!"

The cry of the Master of Ceremonies Ghost became more shrill and much louder.

The movements of the two corpses became more and more exaggerated. After removing the clothes, the male corpse was actually full of passion, full of energy, and no different from a living person.

Mo Ran was stunned: ". . . Is this. . . fucking. . . okay???"

Previous Chapter Next Chapter

[orionwhispers]

Bravado // Tommy Shelby Imagine

(A/N - its been a long ass time and i wanted to ease myself back into writing but this ended up being long and also super super angsty. sorry that this illness imagine came during covid idk whats going on with my imagination lol. love you guys SO much thank you for always being there. reblogs, comments and likes mean everything to me.)

trigger warnings - LOTS of angst. fluff. implied smut. my hc that tommy has a fear of illness, bad descriptions of hospitals. 

He knew something wasn’t right the minute his car pulled into the driveway and you weren’t waiting for him under the great concrete arch, with that smile on your face that made his knees buckle and heart race like he was a love struck teenager.

You were always there as soon as he came home. Barefoot in a broderie dress in the summer with tousled hair and baby pink toenails. Wrapped in a hand knit blanket with fire flushed cheeks and woollen socks in the winter - even running across the gravel and into his arms in the middle of a storm, the ice cold rain whipping across both of your faces as you kissed under the light of the moon.

No matter how shit his day or week or month was, no matter what stained his hands or darkened his heart, no matter what lay heavy and hard deep in his gut, seeing you made everything vanish in the night air like wisps of smoke. You made everything worth it.

He refused to give into fear, he wasn’t that kind of man, so he swallowed all of the nagging thoughts and apprehensions as he came up to the dark foggy windows and the iron cast door. It felt strange turning his key in the lock without the weight of you in his arms or the sticky peach kisses you left down his jaw and neck, the smell of the vanilla in your hair and lavender on your skin.

The second thing that sent a jolt of white hot electricity down his spine was Mary, watching him anxiously and wringing her hands in the hallway. Usually, she was calm and collected, taking his jacket and leather travel bag with her signature placid smile and gentle fingers. Usually she would return to the kitchen and finish up whatever she was making - a hearty roast lamb with rosemary and garlic and glazed potatoes or a pheasant pie with honeyed carrots, always followed by a three layer chocolate ganache cake that was so thick and rich you practically had to saw through the sponge. She would always have dinner piping hot and dripping with gravy by the time the two of you returned downstairs, no matter how many hours it took for you to get... reacquainted.

Now she looked sheepish and pale, her skin almost translucent under the syrupy yellow lights. There was something about the way she stood, as still as a wraith, that made his blood run cold.

“Mary. Where is she?”

“Mr Shelby, I - ” Her voice was strained and hesitant, like a slowly fraying rope.

“Where is my wife?”

She moved forward, creases forming around her eyes. “We tried ringing you in Liverpool but the hotel said that you had already left, so we...”

“You rang me? Why? What’s happened?” He couldn’t hold back the desperation in his voice, and it lingered and festered around them both like a poisonous gas.

“Mrs Shelby came down with something a few days ago, we thought that it was just a common cold but unfortunately she seems to be getting worse.”

He tore upstairs before he could even think, his shoes leaving perfect muddy footprints on the cream carpet. He almost slipped at the top, and he lurched forward, his hands reaching out and holding onto the portrait hanging above the stairs for stability.

It was the oil of the two of you. A soft, personal picture that revealed more than he ever possibly could. The love in your gazes, the hint of a soft, drunk smile on the dangerous gangsters face as you leaned into him, melting into him like butter, him holding onto you as though he couldn’t bear to let you go. It was his favourite photo, one that always washed a sense of calmness over him, a reminder of the woman that he loved and the way he felt around you. But now he felt as if was riding out a terrible storm.

He lived his life with no fear, he was capable and practical and used to the sound of bullets and the copper sweet smell of blood. There was really only one thing, one terrible thing that he couldn’t control, and that was what drove him crazy.

Sickness.

It gnawed at his insides like a rabid dog, clawed under his skin and settled behind his ribs. Losing someone he loved was like ripping out a piece of his heart straight from his chest, and he knew better than anyone what it was like to lose somebody to a violent, quick death - the pull of a trigger or the smack of a fist. At least in those moments he could lock them away in his mind, he could leap in front of a bullet or crack the neck of any man who dared to get too close to you, but there was almost nothing he could do to stop sickness, and the devastation it caused.

When you first met him it had been a surprise, almost amusing, that this powerful God of a man had these small little quirks. His house was always sparkling clean and smelling of Lysol, his fruit bowls were filled with citrus fruits and round, plump blueberries. He always made sure you were wrapped up warm in the winter, always placing his coat around your shoulders and bringing an extra pair of gloves in case you forgot yours. It was adorable, the way he took care of you,

It wasn’t till a little bit later when you learnt of those he had lost. His mother and his childhood sweetheart taken away from him much too soon. It broke your heart when he told you late one night of the sallow tint of their skin and the way he could almost see them vanishing from earth, the way that illness had moulded and changed those he loved the most.

You understood.

Your best friends older sister had died of tuberculosis when you were young. The elderly woman across the street from your first flat had passed away from a bout of horrendous smallpox. Your brother lost his first child to pneumonia. Times were changing but the fear of disease was ever present. Medicine was improving and so was knowledge, but still there remained a huge, dark cloud of what could happen, one that always hung around your husbands head.

——————————————-

All Tommy could think was the worst as he ran through the landing. His heart was in his ears and his bones felt loose, like the sweet liquorice the two of you would share at the pictures. He came to a stop by the bedroom door, tentatively pressing his palm onto the wood and ever so slightly pushing it open, listening to the gentle creak it made.

The room was warm. The lace curtains were pulled shut, and your favourite lavender candles were flickering on your vanity, casting syrupy shadows against the wall. He exhaled loudly as he saw you, bundled up under a mountain of satin sheets and hand crocheted blankets, your hair splayed across the pillows.

He moved to your bedside, pretending not to notice the large, untouched jug of water and the tissue box next to you, hoping and silently praying that you weren’t sick - just asleep and waiting for him, ready to wrap your arms around his neck.

You were silent, your lips parting every so often as you breathed, your chest rising and falling. He reached out gently, as though he was picking up shards of glass, and brushed his fingers against your cheek. Your forehead was beading with sweat, your cheeks flushed, and yet your skin was ice cold to the touch. He recoiled quickly, his heart dropping like a weight into his gut, and he inhaled a shaky, deep breath.

He saw something curled up beside your hands, a fluffy white cloud with sparkling emerald green eyes trained on him. Despite everything, he smiled. He thought of your birthday - of strawberry cheesecake and champagne, and surprising you with a ribbon wrapped little kitten as you woke up. He thought of that day often. How you smiled and leapt onto him with tears in your eyes, his whole world blissfully quiet as he spent the day in bed with you and your new best friend.

He would have preferred a big dog, one with sharp teeth and a menacing gaze to ward of visitors whilst he was away. But you were drawn to the tiny, malnourished runt of the litter who was scared of his own shadow. A kitten no bigger than the size of his clenched fist. A little white hairball who only ate and drank from fine pink saucers. A cat that had a very frustrating habit of crawling in the bedroom right as Tommy’s hand was up your skirt and his lips on the sweet spot of your neck, the tiny thing mewling and crying until you picked him up and nuzzled him into your chest.

He was a horse lover through and through, and never saw himself having time for any other pets. But in the summer when you saw the litter from one of John’s barn cats and fell in love with the sweet baby who mewled and cried and crawled right into your lap - he knew that he would give you anything and everything you wanted.

Including a cat who refused to accept that Tommy was the man of the house.

“Hello, boy.” He said, leaning over to scratch Comet under the chin, using a voice he only reserved for the two of you. “Have you been looking after my girl whilst I’ve been gone?”The cat meowed loudly in reply, pressing his head into Tommy’s palm but not moving from his spot beside you.

Tommy suddenly felt you shift under him and his heart lurched into his throat. He turned to face you, cupping the side of your clammy face as your eyelids fluttered open, blinking under the candlelight. A rush of red hot heat built up in his belly as you registered him, that angelic smile growing on your face, your tired eyes glimmering with recognition of the man you loved.

“Tommy?”

“Hi, Princess.”

You smiled sadly. “You’ve been gone for weeks - I missed you.”

He felt his brows crease as he rubbed along your jawline softly, trying to stop you from falling back asleep. He felt panic in his throat as sour as vomit, and he tried to bite back the nagging feeling that something was very wrong.

“No, sweetheart, I’m early. It’s only Thursday. I left on Monday.”

“Oh.” You said softly, your voice as gentle as the breeze rustling through the trees outside. “Well let me welcome you back properly - let me make you a lemon drizzle or a...” You lifted your head from the pillow and shuffled under your blanket, but he pressed his hands against your shoulder and held you down.

“No. You’re staying right here.”

“But - ”

“No.”

“Hmm. Don’t leave me, Tommy.”

“Never.” He said, his tone firm and cast like stone. He stroked your hair softly as your breathing slowed, but it didn’t nothing to quell the hard thump of his heart in his chest.

——————————-

Tommy left the room as quietly as he could after you had fallen asleep in his arms. He hadn’t wanted to move, not when you were pressed against his chest, looking ethereal but vacant, sweat beading under your brow and your face lacking colour. He wanted to stay with you, curled up by his side, his fingers laced through yours, the sound of your heart thumping in his ears.

But he was a man of action, and seeing you there - your lips cracked and dry, shudders passing through your body and goosebumps raised over your skin - he couldn’t fight the fiery urge to do everything in his power to make you feel alright again.

He found Mary waiting outside the door, chewing on the skin of her lips and swaying on the balls of her feet in anticipation. He grabbed her by the arm, harder than he meant to and something he would apologise for later, and pulled her downstairs, determined to let you rest whilst he got some answers. As soon as they reached the drawing room he spun her around, clenching his jaw and pointing a finger at the anxious maid.

“Where the fuck is the doctor? Why isn’t he here?”

“Mr Shelby.” She said, stepping forward calmly. “We phoned Doctor Moore and he came on Tuesday to see her.”

“Tuesday?” He seethed. “My wife has been ill since Tuesday and no one called me?”

Mary raised her hands in defeat, making it clear that the decision wasn’t hers to make. “He said it was nothing of concern . He gave her some antibiotics and told her to rest. She asked us herself not to call you, she knows how you.. worry.”

He ignored her sugar coated attempt to quell his anger, but if anything it made his vision darken. “When it’s my wife, It is always my concern.”

“Mr Shelby, we were just doing what we were told. As soon as we noticed she wasn’t getting better we phoned the surgery again, but Doctor Thomas was out for the day and said he didn’t think it was necessary to come round again, so we -”

“I don’t give a fuck. My wife is the number one priority. Ring every doctor in England if you have to, get somebody out here now to see my wife.”

He stormed away, anger pulsating through his veins, but he stopped suddenly, and threw out over his shoulder:

“And call Doctor Moore’s ’office. Tell him to expect a visit from the blinders soon.”

———————————————————

Once, when you were first dating, you found Tommy at the door to your flat at midnight, with scraped knuckles and blood dripping from his nose. You let him in, cleaned him up and sat with him in the bath until his skin was clear and his breathing was even. He knew that night, as you were pressed against his chest and his lips were pressed to your scalp that he was truly, madly and completely in love with you.

He remembered waking up the next morning, love drunk and blissful, and finding the bed beside him empty. He found you in the kitchen, wincing slightly and pressing a hot water bottle to your belly as you buttered a few pieces of toast. He rushed to your side with eyes as wide as saucers, concern lacing the features that were usually ice cold and hard as stone. You were completely baffled as he held you at arms length, his bright cerulean eyes trailing up and down your body for any signs of injury he might have missed. You were bewildered at the sight of the powerful man practically on his knees as he made sure you were alright, and you bit back a giggle as his warm palms spread over your abdomen.

“What is it? Whats wrong?”

“Tommy. Sweetheart.” You said softly, bringing his gaze level to yours. “It’s just - you know - that time of the month.”

He brushed off your embarrassment and ran his fingers through your hair, pressing a uncharacteristically gentle kiss to your forehead, sending a swarm of butterflies around the pain in your stomach.

“Do you need anything?” He asked, half ready to run down to the corner shop and buy any amount of painkillers or chocolate bars or your favourite lavender tea that you might need; not caring who saw the seemingly terrifying gang leader in the street with an armful of strawberry laces and salt water fudges.

You smiled like the summer sun and he melted, pulling you close as you whispered in the shell of his ear that you only needed him, and that was all you ever needed.

That was the first time you fully saw the extent of Tommy’s fear, but it definitely wasn’t the last. He knew he wanted you forever and always, and it took only six months of neck kisses and pillow talk, red hot jealousy and possessive hands across your skin and dancing in the rain and falling asleep under the pale yellow moon for him to put a ring on your finger. You were both consumed by your love, as though it was the only thing that mattered, it was insatiable and powerful - the wonderful mix of the devil and his sweet little angel.

And with that, came the good and the bad.

Like when you got food poisoning after Arthur cooked you a Sunday lunch to cheer you up whilst Tommy was gone. He came home to you retching over the toilet bowl with Mary holding back your hair, and swore that he would kill his brother with his own hands. Or when you slipped on ice and broke your arm while out with friends in London, and Tommy went ballistic and tried to ban you from ever leaving the house. It was just in his nature, how he always made sure you walked on the side furthest from the road, kept an arm slung around you whenever you were together, kept his eyes alert and vigilant no matter where you were - always looking out for his girl.

But he had never been like this.

———————————————————-

You were falling in and out of sleep. Waking up drowsy and heavy headed, squinting under bright lights, an ache in your skull and a burning in your throat. Every so often you felt a pinch in your upper arm, a squeeze on your palm, a kiss on your forehead - but you always drifted back into unconsciousness.

You weren’t sure how much time had passed when you woke up. The room was dark and you could hear the wind howling and whipping rain across the windows. You felt all too hot and all too cold at the same time, and the bed was damp with sweat. You struggled and tried to sit up, your head swaying and feeling as heavy as one of Tommy’s marble statues; as if you had been carved up and moulded. You could hear voices out in the hall, and unsteadily got to your feet, moving towards the noises.

“Pneumonia?” You heard through the thick wooden door, instantly recognising your husbands voice. “That’s impossible.”

“Sir...”

“Fucking. Impossible.” You knew his teeth were clenched.

The other man cleared his throat.“I know that it’s hard to hear, Mr Shelby, but your wife is very sick.”

“Just...” You felt your heart flutter and clench in your chest as the sound of his broken words, could practically feel his desperation and you wanted nothing more than to hold him. “Just tell me how to make her better.”

The second man spoke again, his voice softening and lowering, something you knew Tommy would hate. “Mr Shelby, the first round of antibiotics didn’t work and that means that it’s time for something stronger. Usually I would suggest the Birmingham hospital but I don’t think it’s equipped for...” He paused, trying to think over his words carefully. He wanted to convey the severity of the situation but also didn’t want to risk getting a bullet in his head from your very protective husband. “...This kind of reaction. I recommend we send her down to London for extra testing.”

“London? That’ll take two fucking hours. How the fuck can you recommend letting my wife travel that far? Are you out of your fucking mind?”

“I’m my opinion this is the wisest choice to make, but unfortunately that could mean your wife might get worse before she gets better.”

“Worse than she already is? That’s not an option.”

The man you assumed was the doctor was insistent, trying his best to portray the severity of the situation but failing as your hardheaded husband had already come to a decision.

“I’ll look after her here. She’s safest with me.”

Once Tommy had spoken that was the final result, and the doctor slinked away into the darkness and shook his head. You remained peering from behind the door, your tongue between your teeth and your heart hammering.

Tommy took one look at you and frowned, scooping you in his arms like a baby despite your protests. He ignored you, acting playfully and cheerful but you could feel his heated skin and the see flare of his nostrils. You wanted to help him but didn’t know how, and let him tuck you under the covers once again. He kissed your crown and stroked your hair and you wanted to speak but no words would leave your mouth.

“You stay there this time. You know I have no problem with tying you to the bed.”

You rolled your eyes as he left, and his clenched fists and tightened shoulders told you all you needed to know.

————————————————-

Comet watched from his spot beside you as Tommy wrestled with the fire. He had noticed you shivering despite your high temperature, and bundled you up in blankets whilst sparking matches beside the fireplace. There were raindrops across his shoulders, evidence that he had been outside and to the log store right at the end of the property - a job that had always been for the Groundskeeper. Your precious cat nudged the tips of your fingers as you sighed and watched your husband throw kindling onto the coal, a deep unease settling over your gut.

“Tommy, my love, I’m fine.” It wasn’t exactly true but you felt he needed to hear it. But you could practically see your words wash over him and evaporate like ocean spray.

He was shaking a metal tin in his palm as he worked, and you groaned and let your head hit the pillow as he pulled out two round chalky tablets. You winced as he placed them beside your glass, your mouth already tasting like the sour talc medicine you had come to loathe. He raised his eyebrows and shot you a look that told you he wasn’t far off plugging your nose with his fingers to force you to swallow, and you childishly stuck up two fingers as you took them.

Your stomach rumbled with nausea and you bit back the bile in your throat as you settled into the pillows. You watched your husband as he pulled off his crisp white shirt, revealing his taut tan stomach and the deep ink tattoos that you loved to trace with your fingertips and your lips. There was something about him standing there, with those damn cerulean eyes and hidden muscles, that boyish hair and slender fingers that you wanted desperately around your throat, that made a million tiny fireworks spark inside of you.

But instead you pushed him away from you despite your body wanting nothing but him wrapped all around you. “Don’t get too close. I might have something contagious. I can’t have you getting sick.”

He ignored you, smiling inwardly at the way you always put others before yourself. It was one of the million reasons he had fallen for you. You were sweating out a high fever and shivering in pain, and yet you always thought of him first. He pressed his lips to your temple and pulled you closer, knowing that skin to skin was a way to bring down a fever - even if it meant he had to restrain himself from tugging off your pretty little white nightgown and whatever frilly things you had on underneath.

“I’m not going anywhere. Fuck it if I catch anything.”

“That’s easy for you to say. I’m the one who will have to dote on you hand and foot, you big baby.” You teased, pressing yourself into him playfully, finally giving in.

He held you like a child, trying to hard to soften despite the way you felt underneath him. Everything on him was running a mile a minute, and he couldn’t help but want to try everything and everything to make you feel better. His hand was pressed against your temple to always try and measure your fever, his other palm across your chest to try and count your heart rate.

He could hear Mary treading across the landing carpet but he ignored his anxious maid, instead letting himself be completely consumed by the only thing that mattered - you.

This was something he had to do by himself. He was the only one who could care for you he reminded himself. And he let the words tumble over and over in his skull until they were all he could hear.

—————————————————————-

You had been asleep for a long time.

Every hour, after pacing the length of the hall and sanitising his hands and wiping the beads of sweat above your brow and above your breasts he woke you up and held a cool glass to your lips. You mumbled and moaned and pushed him away but he kept his fingers across your wrist - harsher than he ever had before - and kept you as close to him as possible.

He couldn’t remember the last time he had cooked. Perhaps it was last valentines when the two of you had camped out under the stars, drinking icy white wine and sharing stolen, day drunk kisses. That night he had roasted a chicken over the fire and it had burnt to a crisp as the two of you rolled around the grass, his head buried in your neck as you giggled at the poultry going up in flames.

He was trying now though, easy, plain substantial meals that wouldn’t upset your stomach. Boiled egg and dippy soldiers. Crackers with smooth cheese. Bubbly water and ginger biscuits. Each time he went upstairs you pushed him away, your whole body shuddering and almost retching, and he felt like smashing the plates against the wall at his defeat.

It had been almost thirty six hours since he had come home and it had been almost as long since you had eaten something, and his heart thundered and shattered in his chest when he found you gasping and wheezing over the toilet bowl when you had taken a bite of toast to calm him. He rarely left you alone, only for a few minutes to put the still full dishes in the sink, to ring Lizzie and tell her that he wouldn’t be coming for reasons that he refused to disclose, to smoke a cigarette under the grey stone archway, his shaking hands and bitten fingernails barely visible through the sleepy rolling fog.

He had grabbed handfuls of papers and the brass ink pen you had got him for your anniversary and broke his own rule - bringing work into your bedroom. It had always been a sacred space. For candlelight and soft laughter, aching hands and heart shaped bruises, a sanctuary for him to breathe and to love and to be loved fully in return. But he was afraid if he didn’t have a distraction, he might just completely lose it, and he had to be there for you.

So he sat squinting in his glasses, the room almost completely dark save for a few candles because of the migraines that had started to spread throughout your skull, and let himself be drawn into the mess of squiggly lines and numbers that suddenly didn’t add up, with you still centre stage in his peripheral.

After about forty minutes of rereading the same sentence a dozen times to try and make some sense of it, he heard your voice, like a small crack spreading across a sheet of ice, coming from the bed.

“Tom?” You sounded so weak, he practically flipped your cream vanity as he got to his feet and darted towards you. “I don’t feel well.”

He lifted you as you reached your arms up at him like a child. He almost gasped at the sweat pouring from your body but didn’t want to scare you, and instead held your shaking, shivering body against his own. How could you be so hot, yet so cold at the same time? Your skin was prickled with goosebumps yet you were burning with a fever, and for the first time in a long time, he had no fucking idea what to do.

He left you propped up against the headboard and he entered the bathroom. He ran over to the claw foot tub you loved, twisting the faucet and trying to find the perfect medium between boiling hot and freezing cold. He didn’t want to overwhelm you, just try and soothe your raging fever, and he ignored the shelves of expensive bath oils and scented soaps that you coveted, instead opting for a handful of something meant to ease tension - praying to whoever was listening that it would help you somehow.

There was a brutal, awful moment as he lifted you from the bed, limp as a rag doll, where he imagined what would happen if your heart were to stop. He couldn’t comprehend what it would be like to miss the weight of you in his arms, the smell of your skin, the feeling of your lips against him, the shovels stopping and fading into nothing. It hit him square in the chest, as merciless as a bullet, and he had to lean against the doorframe to stop the two of you from plummeting to the ground.

He undressed himself first. Tugging his white shirt off, sliding off his slacks and his underwear, keeping you as close to his chest as he could. Then he pulled your nightgown up and over your head. He gathered your hair and secured it up with a claw clip so that it was away from your face, the heat radiating off your neck as fierce as the fire now burnt down to ash in the bedroom.

He lowered the two of you into the bath, sinking down beneath the eucalyptus smelling lukewarm water, letting it wash over you both. Your teeth were chattering and you were barely awake. He gathered handfuls of water, letting it drip over your shoulders and pulse points, grabbing a washcloth and running it over your raised skin, hating how you barely registered his touch. As he scrubbed over your collarbones and up to your face he saw your lips had turned to an awful, silvery blue, as vibrant as a fresh bruise. He hissed and tugged on the plug, now determined to get you wrapped up in a fresh towel and tucked back into bed.

You were soft and placid and he helped you out, lacking the usual fire that he adored. Your eyes were glassy and missing their vibrance, like the vanishing spark of a lighter - and he felt miles and miles of invisible distance between the two of you. You were unsteady on your feet and he used his body to prop you up as he warmed your arms with a fluffy white towel. You suddenly stopped, lifting your hand to your mouth as you started to cough - a horrible, dry, gasping cough.

He noticed it almost immediately. His eyes darting to the splatter of red against the white, a smudge of crimson that was as loud and commanding as a siren, a warning signal that something was definitely not right. A bead of scarlet that would linger long behind his closed eyelids.

He managed to get you back into bed, remaining calm as he stroked your hair and kissed your temple. He tucked you under the duvet and waited for your breathing to even before he ran downstairs, his heart thumping in his ears as he practically ripped the phone off of the wall.

“Pol? Fuck. I think - I think I need help.”

—————————————————————-

The room smelt like bleach and metal. Unfamiliar and clinical. There was something hard on your chest and covering your mouth, it tasted like wet pennies and was as heavy as a hand over your throat, but for the first time in days you could finally breathe. You tried to sit up, but there was a needle in your chest, a gown you didn’t recognise cut straight down the middle to accommodate it. You struggled and lifted the thin bedsheet above your shivering torso, trying to look around the cold room.

“Careful!”

It was Polly, dressed immaculately despite her surroundings. She reached out and placed a manicured hand across yours, and you smiled at the woman who had always been a calming influence when you had joined the circus of a family. There was concern in her eyes, rimmed with black eyeliner and lifted lashes but still swimming deep around her pupils. That made you frown, and you moved as much as you could to face her.

“What happened?”

She ran her tongue over her teeth, choosing her words. “You gave us quite a fright, love.”

“I did?” Your memories of the past few days were much like a fever dream, blurry and distorted snapshots were all you could really remember.

“Your pneumonia got worse. A lot worse.” She paused, looking over to the door and you followed her gaze. “They found fluid in your lungs.”

“So...” You started, gesturing to the needle in your abdomen and the breathing apparatus around your head.

She nodded. “Yes. You were in surgery. It was touch and go for a little bit.”

“Really?” You were bewildered. You couldn’t remember anything, let alone having major surgery. You looked her straight in the eye, asking her the questions that had been on the tip of your tongue since you had woken up. “Where is he? Where’s Tommy?”

“He’s outside.” She clicked her tongue, reaching deep into her purse and pulling out some hand cream, gently rubbing your dry hands like she was your mother. You leant into her touch despite all of your questions.

“What? Why?”

“I think he blames himself. God knows what goes on in that mans head. All I really know is he was bloody terrified.” She paused, looking over in the distance. “I’ve never seen him so scared, not even on his wedding day.” She smiled sadly, trying to lighten the mood, but it soon faded. “He didn’t leave your side the whole time you were asleep.”

Your heart thumped in your chest, a soft aching that you knew all too well. “I want to see him.”

“I know you do. But right now...” She stopped right as a handful of nurses entered, clad in long blue dresses with white aprons, hair tied back and smelling of strong soap and disinfectant. You lost Polly in the bustle as one spoke softly to you before tugging on the needle right beside your ribs, your eyes just catching hers as she left, a promise to see you soon on her lips.

It wasn’t her you saw next, but Tommy.

The nurses had cleaned you up with wet flannels and bowls of warm soapy water. Your hair had been braided and your face washed, and walked you arm in arm over to the bathroom so you could relieve yourself. A skittish doctor followed after, his eyes darting across you and his touch gentle as he changed your dressings and took your blood - obviously under strict instructions from your husband, and despite everything, you smiled.

You were sat listening to the clock tick. A romance novel you had been given was dangling dangerously close to the end of the bed, but you were too tired to focus on it. You heard the door squeal softly, and the sound of familiar footsteps across the tiling, each small thud sending shockwaves across your spine.

“Tommy.”

He looked tired. Exhausted rather, as though he had been awake all the hours that you had been asleep. His eyes were bloodshot and his skin was sallow and bruised. His clean shaven face was dark with stubble and his hair was ruffled and unwashed. You longed to reach out to him and cradle him against you, but he stood in the doorway, lingering like a ghost.

“Tommy?” You repeated, your voice almost a whisper, breaking his already shattered heart once again.

“How are you feeling, my love?”

You smiled softly, like spun sugar and sweet honey. No hospital bed or itchy gown could dull your infectious light. “Better now.”

He approached you almost cautiously. He settled down on the hard chair beside your bed and stroked a line down from your temple to your lips, his touch setting you alight like an electrical storm. There was a sadness in his eyes that reminded you of how he got when things were bad, and you willed him to come back to you. His touch was tentative and he inhaled shakily as you cupped his hand with yours, pressing a tender kiss to the inside of his palm.

“Don’t scare me like that. Ever.” He was stern, as though hoping his words would make it true. “I mean it.” He kept his gaze on your pretty face, trying his best not to stare at the harsh bruising on your delicate flesh or the sickly tone of your skin.

“Tommy I’m going to get sick, even you can’t stop that.” You teased gently.

“I can bloody well try.” His hands cradled your face, pulling you into him and kissing you fiercely, still mindful of the wires and tubes taped to your body. There was something about the tenderness and deep longing in the kiss that when mixed with your total exhaustion and love for your husband prompted tears to start falling from your eyes. You sniffled as he pulled away, concern dripping from his beautiful features, his powerful mind wanting to do everything and anything to stop your hurting.

“Hey, hey.” He said, running his calloused fingertips under your eyes and wiping your tears away. You leant into his touch and he kissed your temple, squeezing you even tighter into him. “You know I hate it when you cry.” He toyed with your hair and winked playfully. “Besides, all you need to focus on is getting better. You’re going to have to take care of me when we get home, this week has given me a fucking stroke.”

You rolled your eyes, kissing the inside of his wrist. “You’re a idiot, Thomas Shelby.” You blinked at the clock looming above you both, wanting to stay in your blissful bubble but also knowing that Aunt Pol would probably be in the vicinity harassing a poor nurse over your results. “You should go and find Polly, let her know that everything’s alright.”

He shook his head and nuzzled his nose across yours, an act so innocent that your heart dipped and swooped in your chest. “Later.” He said, breathless and consumed by you. Everything had been too much. Almost losing you had been harrowing, it had punctured him completely and he just needed to feel his girl safe and warm around him. He needed to know that you weren’t found anywhere.

“I just want to stay here for a while. Just me and you.”

You grinned. “Always.”

[henryobsessed]

The Veterinarian and the Werewolf

Word Count: 1800

Summary: The calm before the storm

A/n hello, and thanks again @sillyrabbit81 for reading and editing for me :)

Chapter 11

Henry was angry. It was truly the first time he had allowed himself to feel such anger in almost fifteen years. Everything that was happening, all the pieces coming together to paint a picture of that night, it didn’t bring healing like it should, instead, it just bought more pain. All the locked away feelings he had tried so hard to forget from the past kept coming up, especially when he saw Tom’s face. Everything in him wanted to go full wolf, ignore human laws and decimate his friend’s abusers. If he had not felt a strong need to comfort Tom, to help heal some of his wounds then he would have snuck out right there and then.

But Jessie had different ideas, even after the boys left, she insisted he stay by her side. It was as if she knew what he was thinking, knew he would be reckless. When they arrived at the house, he did a quick sniff of the perimeter before feeling secure that there were no new smells. He found Jessie in the kitchen making a coffee. What he wouldn’t give to taste the magic brew again, it had been so long since his last sip. Wondering if she would understand him, he padded over to her and bumped her leg, put his nose in the air, sniffed at the cup she had finished pouring and then yipped. For the first time in a few days she smiled, a genuine large smile. “Did you want some coffee, Henry?” He yipped again, this time emphasising it with his tongue panting.

She found a small ceramic bowl and poured some coffee into it, she picked it up and placed it on the coffee table in the living room. It was the perfect height for him to first sniff the delectable scent, then hesitantly dip his tongue in. It was perfect, she had made it smooth, bold, and milky. He turned his head to her and almost laughed at the look on her face as she watched with anticipation. “Is it ok? I can change it if you don’t like it that milky.” Her nervousness was real, and he wanted to show her how much he liked it, so instead he turned around and lapped the whole bowl up before jumping on the couch and giving her a series of long sloppy kisses on the cheek. Giggling Jessie squealed, “Henry! Stop! If that’s a yes you liked it then great. But if that’s just a reaction to the coffee then no more for you mister.” He stopped immediately not wanting the coffee to stop.

Henry curled up next to her on the couch laying his head in her lap. It was the only intimate thing that he could do whilst he was still in wolf form. He wanted her to know she was safe. Her fingers began to caress his fur, threading through massaging his skin. The tension and anger melted, all that mattered at that moment was his mate.

She softly cleared her throat, “Henry, I need to let you know about something important. Please yip if you are understanding me.” It had been a while since her voice had not made sense, another sign he hoped that he was closer to the surface. “Yip” was his reply. Her body sagged a bit. “Good, I have insisted Tom come to live here for a while until he is safe to go home. But that might be a long while. I learned something this morning and I need to tell you, but I don’t want you to overreact, ok?”

Overreact, what was she talking about? Henry listened intently a soft growl intimating he heard but was not happy. “Tom, well Tom is my secret admirer.” At that comment, Henry leapt up sitting his full height on the couch. His eyes bored into Jessies, looking to see if what she said was true and not a horrible joke. But the seriousness on her face confirmed her words. Both her hands came up and cradled his muzzle, keeping his eyes on hers as she spoke with authority. “Now listen to me Henry, I know you have been jealous and I appreciate you trying to protect me from Boyd. But you know Tom, he is sweet, caring, and young. You have nothing to be jealous of. I see him as more of a younger brother, heck even as a son. So, you have nothing to fear, I want you to continue to care for him just as you have been. He needs our love and affection right now, not more rejection. Ok?”

Not sure how he felt about it, on top of everything else, he flopped back down in her lap. Not willing yet to acknowledge what she was asking of him. She didn’t know how much it hurt to see her with another, to know outside of a dream he could not hold her. He settled enjoying her hands once again scratching behind his ear and smoothing his fur. They stayed like that until the sound of multiple footsteps sounded at the front door, Henry jumped up and ran to the door his fur heckled and a low growl sending out a warning. “Hey Jessie, Wolfy, it’s just us.” Jessie walked past him and opened the door showing a mountain of bags hiding the two boys behind.

Henry’s heckles stayed up as he watched the wall of bags shuffle into the room. It wasn’t till the bags had been placed down, and Tom’s face was shown again, that his fur smoothed down, at that moment he made his mind up. No matter how painful it was seeing someone else fawn over his mate, he would treat Tom as family. He walked up to Tom, rubbing his body up against him then gave his hand a quick lick. Tom’s hand rested on his head-scratching behind his ear. “Thanks, Wolfy. I missed you too buddy.” Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Jessie with a soft smile on her face.

Joe stayed for dinner, the foursome enjoyed steak and veggies, with ice cream for dessert. After dinner, Joe tried to convince the party too, “Have a fashion parade.” A chorus of no’s including a growl from Henry had him lifting his hands in surrender,.“Oh, you guys are no fun. At least let us get dressed in our pj’s.” Jessie frowned at this comment, causing Joe to explain, “We thought with everything going on it might be a good idea to have a slumber party. You know an extra body in case you know who decides to turn up.” Henry was surprised at Joe’s gesture. As excitable as the boy was he was a true friend to Jessie. Jessie, he could see, was struggling and if he guessed her problem, it was accepting help. She had been independent for so long, had to be strong for herself, work everything out for herself. He could only guess if she was anything like himself that she would try to back out of this extra support.

Before she had a chance to speak, he pushed towards her, growling low making her look at him. He put as much feeling behind his eyes as he could trying harder than ever to push towards the surface. The message he wished to convey was one of “please, accept their help.”

She looked at him, her head cocked to one side before her ridged stance melted and her soft voice yielded. “As long as Dillon is ok with it, Joe that’s fine. Heaven knows this house has enough rooms to have 3 separate guests so I’m ok with you having a ‘slumber party.” Joe whooped at that and ran to ring his boyfriend.

Henry had to snigger, here she was surrounded by boys, Tom was 19, and Joe 22 they had gone and changed into PJ’s that had caused Jessie to giggle, the Pokémon images outlined on the two-piece top and pants make them look like overgrown children. Confirmed by them pulling the cushions of the chairs and creating a fort with blankets for them to sit in and eat popcorn as they watched movies. It truly was a sight to see but Henry could tell she was slightly uncomfortable with the interaction. But with his body surrounding hers, she began to relax and enjoy the constant chatter of Joe and Tom.

As the clock chimed 11pm, the party began to go quiet, and eventually, Jessie put on her boss hat. “All right boys. Time for teeth, toilet, and bed, and I want this room set to rights before you head upstairs.” Yawns and tired agreements grumbled as Henry got up and yipped to Jessie. “You need to go out Henry?” It was the first time she had addressed him with his full name in front of the others.

Joe was the only one who made any note of it as he was picking up the last cushion. “I like that name, Jessie. It suits him.” She smiled at Henry, then let him out.

When he was back inside, they locked up the doors and walked silently upstairs. She poked her head in both rooms saying the good night before moving to her own room. After looking after her own needs Jessie snuggled under the covers. Henry positioned himself so he was stretched out next to her ready to hold her in his arms he shut his eyes pleading for sleep to come fast.

Trees, trees, and more trees, the more he pushed the thicker they grew as if they were alive and deliberately holding him back. Henry began to grow angry again, how dare they stop him from seeing his mate. His anger hit a point causing him to turn into his wolf while in the dream state. This allowed him to duck under the branches until he finally broke free into the clearing. There was Jessie, patiently waiting for her man but the look of shock on her face when wolf Henry broke through into the clearing was evident.

“Henry? Are you, ok?” He looked up at her, the anger still burning hot in his eyes. She stilled for a moment then sat patting her lap in an invitation for him to join her. He passed back and forth for a moment before his heart rate began to settle, then he walked forward, and laid down beside her. His head in her lap she gently caressed his fur before he was fully calm. At that moment his desire for her pulled to the front so much so that he began to shift, she stilled as his body creaked and popped until Henry’s head laid in her lap his naked body stretched out for all to see.

Chapter 12

[emf005]

Disguised Part 1

Jack x Reader

Warnings: Swearing, blood, fights, angst

Hop you guys like! Sorry it took so long to get this out I have had one heck of a week.. lolol.. Please comment and let me know what you think!

Ten Years Earlier:

There were flames everywhere. As a seven year old you had no clue what was happening. It was hot, but it was winter. You couldn’t breathe. Your eyes burned and so did your lungs.

Your skin was alive with pain and stinging. You felt painfully numb. Was that even a feeling?

You coughed. And then coughed again, harder.

The room swam and you tripped over something, hitting the floor with full force. You stared at the door you had been searching for. There it was, finally. But out of reach. Why did it seem everything was always out of reach for you? Just too small to reach the top shelf, just too young to sit with the grown ups, just too female to do anything of importance…

Tears leaked from your eyes, and not just from physical pain.

The door opened and more smoke fled in. You heard footsteps running in and, with the last bit of energy you pushed yourself up. You saw the blurry edges of a familiar neighbor.

Charlie?

Then you passed out.

Xx

You woke up in a cot a few days later. Looking around the small room you realized that you were alone.

Where were you?

You heard voices and then footsteps. You shut your eyes tight again just as the door opened.

Someone sat down on your bed.

“I’s knows yous ain’t sleepin’.” Your eyes flew open and you looked up at Charles. A crutch leaned on the cot, but you didn’t pay mind. You jumped onto him, ignoring the pulling of your healing burns. You buried your head in his neck. He grabbed onto you and held you close, just as frightened as you, though he’d tell you he wasn’t. He was three years older than you and the brother you never had.

"What happened? Where am I? Where's mum and dad?" You asked. The questions pouring out of you. The last you saw them, they had been unconscious in the living room.

Instead of answering he just hugged you to his chest tighter…

Present day:

"Strike!" The Newsies, your unofficial brothers, screamed in response to Jack's very lengthy and moving monologue.

He leapt off the stage and started talking to Charles… Well, Crutchie now. He hadn't gone by that name since the fire happened and you two became newsies.

Nobody knew you were a girl and you preferred to keep it that way… although, A bit of extra attention from a certain Jack Kelly wouldn't be so bad. But beggars can't be choosers.

You watched as Katherin Plummer walked up to him and you felt your stomach drop. Rich, pretty, and successful. How could you beat that? Especially when he didn’t know you were a girl and he didn’t know your feelings.You sighed and walked to meet up with them, tasseling Race’s hair as you walked by him. He shoved you and you laughed.

“Hey!” You leaned on Crutchie’s shoulder as you joined the group. “Beautiful speech, Jacky-boy,” you said, rolling your eyes. “I’s think you’s gotta future as a politician.”

“Oh hardy hardy har, Scabs.”

Scabs.

Your name.

It was pretty appropriate for a few reasons. When you and Crutchie first joined you had healing burn marks and cuts all over your body. All of them scabbing. You also always had some sort of cut on you. That you were picking at, hence all your scars. Being a newsie, especially one with a big secret, caused a lot of anxiety, you couldn’t help it.

You smirked at him and shook your head.

“So, wheres we go from here?”

“That's a question for Davey.”

“Well, where is-” before you could get your statement out, chaos broke out. You turned around to see the Delancies break into the theatre with cops on their heels. You swore, and Jack pulled Katherine to get her out of the way. She willingly applied.

Delicate little-

You didn’t get to finish your thought before you had started shoving the cops and Delancies, entering the brawl with full force.

You watched as all the boys started to get their asses kicked and then get out of the theatre. You and Jack somehow ended up side by side, fighting the delancies as the cops chased after the others. But then you saw him.

Snider the Spider stared Jack down, an evil grin on his face.

Not on your watch.

“Jack, get outta here!” You screamed. Jack looked at you.

“No!”

“Jack! Just do it!”

“But-”

“GO!” He was so startled that he dodged his last punch and ran up into the catwalk of Medda’s place. You fought off the Delancies and ran. Turning around only when you herald CRutchie scream for mercy.

You turn and see the delancies and Spider standing over him.

“Crutch!” You scream and run back over even faster than you had running away, barreling over sand bags and loose wires.

The Delancies and Snider watched you and left CRutchie alone coming after you instead. You watched as Crutchie crawled away.

Morris came at you with a swing. You easily dodged it and threw him into his brother who stumbled back into Snider. You laughed and turned, about to make your get away. Instead you ran straight into an officer who threw you back onto the floor. Morris and Oscar attacked, like hungry piranhas, though they at least were prettier and smelled better.

You felt pain erupt all over you until it was gone and you felt nothing, saw nothing, and for a few hours were nothing…

Xx

Jack stumbled back into the Manhattan Newsies’ terf. The boys were all hanging around, checking on each other after the brawl.

He couldn’t believe they got Crutchie.

“Damn Crip,” he mumbled, shaking his head, not knowing what to do next.

“Jack!” he looked up when Race called his name. He came running up to him. “Jack, where Scab?”

“Scab?” Jack’s eyes widened. No. They couldn’t have gotten you, too. You-you had run. He saw you.

He heard the familiar Thunk Thunk of a crutch. He looked up and saw Crutchie a bit battered, but alive and here.

“Crutchie!?” The crippled boy swallowed, tears in his eyes.

“They-they got ‘er, Jack.” he rasped out. “Jack-they they got ‘er.”

He collapsed, his crutch falling out from under him. Jack caught him and Race left, letting them talk alone.

“Who’s her, Crutchie? WHo’s got her? How did you escape?” Crutchie swallowed.

“Y/N, they got, Y/N.”

“Who has her,” Jack said, a bit confused not knowing Crutchie had himself a girl.

“Snider!” He exploded, hitting Jack’s chest. “They got ‘er, Jack! They got ‘er.” He sobbed, his voice breaking.

“Ok, ok. How did he get your girl, Crutchie. Just calm down and explain it.” Crutchie stared at him for a second not understanding why he was acting like he was until he realized he used your real name.

Crutchie settled himself and took a breath.

“Jack, Y/N is Scab.” Jack stared at his friend for a moment.

“What?’ Crutches sighed and lowered himself to the ground.

“I think you need to have a seat, Jack.

Xx

You had woken up in the refuge, staring at the ceiling, a thin stream of moonlight streamed through the small barred slit in the wall that was considered a “window”. You were almost as wanted as Jack was. Only the best accommodations for the Enemy number 2, right?

You sighed and shivered as the wind blew in and froze your toes, the scratchy, old, thin blanket doing nothing to protect you.

“Y/N!” You look up to see Crutchie at the slit in the wall. You eyes widen and you spring up, running to him.

“Crutch! What are you doin’ here. Are you dumb or something?”

“I needed to make sure you were ok, kid.” You sighed. “Are you ok?”

“Yeah,” you put your head on the bars. “How are the boys? Everyone makes it out alright?”

“Yeah, but I have someone who wants ta see ya.”

He stepped out of the way and revealed Jack. You stared at him and knew immediately that he knew. That Crutchie had told him. You had never wanted to kill the boy who was like your brother more in your life.

“Hey, Scab, how ya doin’?”

“You told him,” you glared at Crutchie and he looked away, not being able to meet your eyes. “The hell, Crutch!” You shouted as loud as you dared. Snider was listening… always was… and you didn’t want to get the boys caught.

“Scab-er-Y/N, are you ok?” Jack asked, concern filling his expression. You looked at him, grateful for the street lights that hid your face, yet illuminated his.

“I’m fine, Jack. Did anyone else get caught?”

They shook their heads and you sighed.

“Good.” You heard footsteps coming down the hall. You looked over your shoulder and swallowed. They heard you. They had to of.”You guys should get going.”

“But-”

“Do yous wanna get caught?” he swallowed and shook his head.

“We’ll get you outta here.”

“No, Jacky-boy, I don’t think you will. Do the strike and do it good. Win.” He opened his mouth to object, but you looked at Crutchie. “Get ‘im and yourself outta here before yous get caught.” He looked down and tugged Jack’s sleeve, pulling him away from you. As they made their way down the fire escapes he caught a glimpse of you in the light and his eyes widened with horror as he took in your face. Bloodied, bruised, and puffy. They had got you good… and that was not going to fly...

[dinosaurtsukki]

[ it’s good to be home ] 

sequel to ‘the same eyes as you’ (read here)

pairing: tsukishima kei x f!reader

word count: 1.3k words

contains: fluff, tsukishima being an awkward dad

anon: helo..i'm sorry for requesting so suddenly--but can we get a part 2 of the same eyes as you???? like how hikari would react that mr tour guide man is her father and all fluff. if it's okay tho hdnsjfhd

a/n: okay i definitely feel like this drabble needs a part two because awkward dad!tsukishima is too good to miss. hope you enjoy this too !!

“brush.”

“wide one or tiny one?”

“medium one please.”

“you got it.” 

tsukishima watched out of the corner of his eye as his daughter, no, hikari, handed him the medium brush from his toolkit. the two of them were in tsukishima’s office in the museum, way down inside the basement where he sometimes worked on the cleaning and upkeep of some artifacts and fossils for display. 

it had been about a month since tsukishima met you again and he learned that he had a daughter. neither of you told hikari about it yet and figured it would be better to ease tsukishima into her life. of course, the ideal situation for him would be that you would also welcome him into your life too but he didn’t want to force you either. tsukishima was happy enough that you suggested that he pick up hikari from school.

he didn’t know the first thing about taking care of a seven-year old child, especially when it came to entertaining them. but to his pleasant surprise, hikari was pretty excited when she heard she was ‘going to mr. tour guide man’s office to help out’. right now, she looked as if she was enjoying being his little assistant and handing tsukishima his tools when he needed them.

“alright, ready to head home?” he asked once he looked up to see that it was already six in the evening. usually, he stayed overtime especially when he was finishing something but he knew it was only a matter of time when hikari would get bored or hungry.

“sure!” hikari hopped off the stool she was sitting on and grabbed her backpack before the two of them headed out of the museum. she had a habit of hopping over the sidewalk cracks when she walked, making tsukishima smile a bit as he watched.

“tsukishima-san, can we get strawberry milk again?” hikari asked, skipping to his side and pointing at the vending machine a few blocks away from where your apartment was.

“isn’t it almost dinnertime?” tsukishima raised an eyebrow. 

“i’ll still have room...” she pouted. of course, he couldn’t resist that either.

“alright,” he chuckled. “just make sure to finish all your dinner. and don’t tell your mother too. promise?”

“promise!” hikari grinned. 

there’s always that ache in his chest when he brings hikari home to you. everything -- from hearing hikari yell ‘we’re home mom!’, to the smell of your cooking, to seeing you emerge from the kitchen -- reminds tsukishima of what he’s been missing all these years because of something he did. and more than ever, he wants to make things right.

“welcome home,” you chuckle when hikari runs into your arms. “how was your day with tsukishima-san?”

“good! he let me touch some fossils but also to keep it a secret because no one else is allowed to,” hikari giggled.

“it’s called ‘assistant’s privileges’, remember,” tsukishima grinned at her.

“assistants privlidges,” hikari nodded.

“if you say so,” you laughed at them. tsukishima hitched his shoulder bag and stood up.

“well, i’ll be going ahead now,” he said, despite how much his feet hesitated by the door. “you two have a good night.”

“hold on.”

tsukishima stopped, feeling his heart leap to his chest when he felt your hand on his shoulder. from you, he heard the words he’s been wanting to hear for so long: “why don’t you stay for dinner?”

when he turned around, tsukishima met the softness in your eyes. you wanted him to stay. 

“sure,” he nodded. “dinner sounds great.”

...

you never thought the day when tsukishima would be eating dinner at your table right beside your daughter would come. but here it was: a family dinner unfolding before you. when you decided to let tsukishima slowly come into yours and hikari’s life again, you didn’t know what to expect. the tsukishima you dated back in your university days didn’t even bother with taking care of a plant, but he did have his moments of care especially when it was for you. 

needless to say, you were pleasantly surprised to hear hikari’s stories about being at the museum with her father and watching tsukishima intently listen to her talk about the fairy princess game she played with her friends.

maybe, this is something that could work.

“don’t forget to do your homework first before TV,” you called after your daughter after she ran off.

“yes mom!” she responded. and just like that, you and tsukishima were alone in the dining room.

“i’ll... wash up,” he cleared his throat and stood up to begin gathering the plates.

“no way. you’re the guest here,” you shook your head. 

“it’s alright. you cooked dinner already,” tsukishima insisted.

“okay, how about you wash and i dry,” you suggested. tsukishima blinked at you in surprise before nodding slowly.

“sure, why not?”

there was something comforting with feeling tsukishima’s arm next to yours as the two of you stood side by side at the sink. so much so that you ended up talking out loud a lot, just like those times when you two were younger. 

“sorry, i guess i got a bit carried away,” you laughed nervously as you put away the last plate. 

“i definitely see where hikari gets in from,” tsukishima snickered.

“oh, you have no idea,” you laughed. “sometimes i look at her and wonder how people were able to deal with me.”

“it’s not that much of a bad thing,” tsukishima glanced at you with a small smile on his face. “does she... does she ask about who her dad is?”

“yeah,” you nodded, staring down at the floor. “there was this one time she went through all my things and made a mess just trying to find a picture of you. she didn’t, though. and... i promised her that maybe someday, i’ll let her meet you.” with a sigh, you looked up at tsukishima. “but, i guess that day has come sooner rather than later.”

“i’m willing to wait as long as it takes,” he said earnestly. “until you’re ready. i mean, it’s not just for hikari but for you too. i... the past few weeks i’ve just been hitting myself in the head seeing how much i’ve missed all these years.”

“i know,” you nodded, leaning back against the sink. “and, it’s been nice having you around. i can tell hikari would absolutely love you too. but, it’s not all easy, tsukishima. you have to understand that.”

“i know. i’m ready,” tsukishima said. “well, actually not really ready but you never are for these kinds of things,” he chuckled.

“you’re right there,” you smiled and looked down the hallway in the direction of hikari’s room. maybe, it was now time. 

“would you like us to tell her?”

...

tsukishima knew that lingering by the doorway of hikari’s bedroom while you explained things to her was going to be one of the most tension-filled moments of his life. when he heard his daughter ask ‘so, why didn’t he look for us?’, tsukishima was almost certain that she would hate him. 

and then, she looked right at him, and asked: “are you going to stay now?” 

“of course i am,” tsukishima nodded. “i’ll stay for sure.”

“promise?” 

“promise.”

before he could react, hikari leapt off her bed and ran to where he was, wrapping her small arms tightly around his waist. “i knew it! i knew it!” she giggled.

“woah, knew what? that mr. tour guide man’s your dad?” you chuckled.

“cause he likes the same strawberry milk i do!” hikari insisted, grinning up at tsukishima. “you know, same traits passed down through evolution like you said.”

that made him laugh. “sure, hikari.” his daughter smiled at him and there was something different about it now that she knew she was his daughter. tsukishima didn’t know of any other happiness quite like this. he knelt down on the floor and wrapped his arms around hikari and looked up to find tears in your eyes.

“welcome home, dad,” hikari said softly. tsukishima held a hand out to you. 

“it’s good to be home.”

▸ 🎕 ┈┈┈┈ 🎕 ┈┈┈┈ 🎕 ┈┈┈┈ 🎕 ┈┈┈┈ 🎕 ◂

taglist (check out my post for details on being part of my taglist):@montys-chaos​ @miyumtwins​ @strawberriimilkshake​ @pocubo​ @sugawara-sweetheart @akaashisbabydoll @laure-chan​ @therainroguefanfiction​ @atetiffdoesart @stephdaninja @oikaw-ugh​ @charliefredb​ @dramaqueenweeb1469 @tremblinghearts @applepienation @doodleniella @haikyuu-my-love @waitforitillwritemywayout @kattykurr @atsumu-brainrot @goodfoodxoxoxo​ @ah-kaashi​ @guardianangelswings @definitely-yours @amberalisa​

[alwaysachorusgirl]

Cat Moms Included

Pairing: Frederick Chilton x FemReader

Word Count: 1,862

For: @storiesofsvu 1 Year Anniversary Bingo

Square: Mother's/Father's Day

TW: none really, briefly implied smut, but mostly tooth-rotting fluff

A/N: Yes, I know I'm a bit late for Mother's Day, but hey, I got something done! Cat Daddy Frederick and Buttercup are back, and they brought a whole lot of fluff with them. As always, if anyone wants to be tagged in a future fic post, please let me know!

Tags: @madamsnape921; @itsjustmyfantasyroom; @prurientpuddlejumper; @thatesqcrush; @raulesparza4eva; @teamsladsandgents; @welcometothemxdhouse

Frederick was awoken by a gentle pressure on his chest and a small wet nose nuzzling his own. His eyes fluttered open to see Buttercup’s furry face gazing back at him. She rubbed her face against his chin.

“Mew?”

“Good morning to you, too, sweetheart,” he said softly to the growing kitten. “I suppose you want breakfast?”

“Mew.”

“Okay then,” Frederick chuckled, giving her a little scratch between her ears. “You’re going to have to move so I can get up and freshen up first.” Buttercup let out a huff, but reluctantly padded down to the end of the bed and sat down.

Now came the hard apart. Frederick cast his eyes to you. You were curled up next to him, still asleep, using him as your pillow with one arm draped across his torso. One of his arms was wrapped around you, making sure that you didn’t drift away from him during the night. And you were still both very naked from the previous night’s activities. Frederick brushed a wisp of hair out of your face with his free hand, and his heart swelled with love when you sighed contentedly in your sleep and a soft smile crept across your lips. The last thing he wanted to do was tear himself away from your side. But if he wanted to feed Buttercup and prepare the final part of your surprise, he was going to have to.

He slowly and carefully extracted himself from your limbs, thanking his lucky stars that you were a sound sleeper. All the while Buttercup was staring him down and flicking her tail impatiently. He moved to the dresser, pulling out a clean pair of briefs, pajama pants, and a t-shirt, and headed to the en-suite bathroom to dress and brush his teeth. When he was done freshening up and dressed, he stepped back out into the bedroom, and stopped dead in his tracks.

“Darling! I’m sorry, did I wake you?”

“Hmm?” You looked up at him through dreamy half-lidded eyes, cuddling Buttercup. “Oh, no, my sweet girl just wanted to cuddle with her mommy, isn’t that right sweetie?” Buttercup just purred and rubbed her head against your cheek.

“Or she’s trying to coerce you into a second breakfast,” said Frederick with a sigh.

“Mew?” Buttercup whipped her head around at the sound of the word “Breakfast”.

“Yes, I’m still going to feed you. Now, come along and let your mother go back to sleep.” Buttercup swiftly stood and leapt from the bed down to the floor. Frederick looked back you lovingly. “I’ve got this, my love, you rest and stay right here. I have a surprise for you.”

“A surprise? For me?” Your eyes went wide. “Frederick, you shouldn’t. You already spoil me far too much.”

Frederick walked to the edge of the bed and cupped your face in his hands. “You, my exquisite angel, deserve to be spoiled every day. And I fully intend to spend the rest of my life doing just that.” His lips found yours, melding perfectly with them, just like always. You moaned into the kiss and grabbed his t-shirt, trying to pull him closer. Frederick chuckled at this and gently pulled away, drawing a whine from you. “There will be plenty of time for that later, my love, but first, your surprise, and believe it or not, Buttercup helped.”

You giggled at that and glanced down at you fur baby. “Oh, did she now?”

“Mew.”

“She did indeed,” answered Frederick, “and I just need you to stay right here and don’t come downstairs, regardless of what you might hear or smell.”

“I’m extremely concerned, but I can do that.” You kissed him one more time. “You and Buttercup go do whatever it is you need to do; I need to use the bathroom.”

Buttercup jumped off the bed as Frederick took your hand helped you stand. He sucked in a breath at the sight of your still naked body, awestruck by your beauty. It didn’t go unnoticed by you, and you made a point of teasing your lover, making it impossible for him to not stare at your ass as you bent over to pick your green silk robe up off the floor.

“Like what you see, Frederick?” You slung the robe over your shoulder and swayed your hips as you sauntered toward the bathroom.

“You minx, you know perfectly well that I can never get enough.”

“Well, I guess you’d better hurry back then.” You gave him a suggestive look over your shoulder before disappearing into the bathroom.

Frederick released a breath and looked down at Buttercup. “Let’s get to work then, shall we?”

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

You took your time brushing your teeth and washing your face. You were incessantly curious as to what Frederick and Buttercup were up to. As far as you knew, it wasn’t a special occasion. Not that Frederick needed one as an excuse to spoil you. He did so every chance he got. You did your best to do the same for him. It just seemed odd. The both of you always slept in on Sunday mornings. Even if Buttercup woke you up demanding breakfast, you were usually the one to get up and feed her, always coming right back to the comfort of Frederick’s arms after she was settled. You brushed your hair out and exited the bathroom. You would know soon enough what your dear, sweet man had up his sleeve.

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

After putting down fresh food and water for Buttercup, Frederick washed his hands, started brewing a fresh pot of your favorite coffee, and got to work. He had gotten out the waffle iron (and its instruction manual) and set it up on the counter the night before. He began pulling additional items from the cabinets and refrigerator one-by-one: a mixing bowl, waffle mix, a whisk, measuring cups, vegetable oil, eggs, chocolate chips, fresh strawberries, whipped cream, butter, syrup, and non-stick cooking spray. He opened the waffle iron and made sure the heart shaped mold was still securely attached, then closed it, plugged it in, and pushed the button to pre-heat.

He then got to work with measuring and mixing. He followed the instructions on the box of waffle mix, doing everything in the same order that you always did. He even used your method for cracking eggs, counting to three before swiftly cracking the shell on the edge of the bowl. He had been practicing with you for months. You loved waffles, and he had wanted to be able to make them for you. It had started with him observing and taking notes, but you insisted that when it came to cooking, you had to learn by doing. And so, you had given him a task and provided him with plenty of encouragement and praise. And you never yelled or belittled him when he made mistakes. You would always reassure him and the two of you would figure out a way to fix it.

“Mew,” Buttercup interrupted his train of thought. He glanced down and smiled at her, then chuckled as he saw her crouch down, wiggle her backside, then leap from the floor to the countertop.

“You’re getting good at that,” he remarked, “a month ago you still needed a chair to help you get all the way up. You’re getting bigger and stronger every day.”

“Mew,” replied Buttercup. “Mew?”

“Yes, I’m cooking without supervision. It’s all part of our plan to surprise Mommy, remember?”

“Mew?”

“Yes, I know what I’m doing.” Frederick finished whisking the waffle batter and verified that the waffle iron was hot and ready to go. He opened it and carefully and sprayed it with the non-stick cooking spray, and then used a measuring cup to pour the batter into the mold. He then closed the device and flipped it over, activating the built-in timer. He moved to busy himself with slicing up the strawberries while waiting.

“Mew?”

“Yes, I signed your name on the card.”

“Mew?”

“Yes, your gift is all wrapped and hiding in the bedroom closet.”

“Mew, mew?”

“Yes, I know I left my cane upstairs. I’ll be okay without it. And yes, I can get the tray upstairs without dropping it. I practiced while Mommy was at the store yesterday.”

The waffle maker started beeping and Frederick flipped it over and opened it. A heart shaped, golden brown chocolate chip waffle sat in the center of it, and Frederick grinned, quite please with himself. He used a fork to lift it out of the machine and onto a plate. He looked over at Buttercup, who appeared to be rather impressed.

“Not bad for “unsupervised”, eh? What do you say we try another one?”

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

You were lounging in bed in the silk pajamas that Frederick had bought you for Christmas, a copy of Jane Austen’s “Northanger Abbey” in hand. Frederick and Buttercup had not yet returned, and your curiosity gnawed at you with every passing moment. Your stomach growled for the umpteenth time. If they didn’t return soon you going to march down into the kitchen and devour whatever you found in the fridge. But then you heard the sound of feet padding steadily up the stairs, and sound of Frederick’s voice telling Buttercup to go on ahead. You put down your book as you saw Buttercup come trotting into the room. She leapt up onto the bed and made herself comfortable in your open arms. You kissed the top of her head and she purred contentedly.

“There’s my sweet baby, did you have fun with Daddy?”

“I would say so, “said Frederick, entering the room with a try of food, coffee, and cranberry juice.

“Frederick, what’s all this?” You sat up as Frederick made his way over to the bed, carefully placing the tray across your lap. Your mouth watered at the sight of the waffles, topped with butter, syrup, strawberries, and whipped cream.

“It’s for you, my love, Happy Mother’s Day,” replied Frederick, kissing your cheek.

“Mother’s Day? But Frederick we don’t- “

“It’s been expanded to include pet moms, and that means you,” said Frederick matter-of-factly. “And Buttercup agrees with me, don’t you sweetheart?”

“Mew,” said Buttercup, nuzzling your cheek with her nose.

You felt yourself getting misty eyed, your heart swelling with emotions. “Oh Frederick, thank you, it’s perfect. Now, come here.” You patted the spot next to you and pulled Frederick in for a kiss as he sat down next to you. “I love you, Frederick.”

“I love you, too, darling. Now, dig in.” He indicated the waffles, and you quickly picked the knife and fork and did so.

“Mmm… Frederick these are amazing! You did wonderful job, my love.”

“Thank you, my darling, I had an expert teacher.”

“Mew?” You saw Buttercup eyeing the plate hungrily, licking her chops. You put a small dollop of whipped cream on your finger and held it out to her. She eagerly lapped it up. You giggled and placed another kiss on her head. “Such a silly girl.”

And with that, you settled in, content to enjoy your breakfast and spend the day relaxing with your beloved boyfriend and fur baby.

[let-the-dream-begin]

In My Daughter’s Eyes Chapter 28: Storm Surge

Chapter 27

Read on AO3

Storm surge: rise in seawater level during a storm

——

Four days. That was how long Claire was stuck at the hospital, how many nights she slept on that shitty cot, how many days she’d eaten nothing but hospital food, how many days since she’d seen her daughter.

How many days that Jamie had spent with her daughter.

The roads were finally clear of debris at around noon, but her shift hadn’t ended until 8:30. She was racing home, desperate to get there before Faith fell asleep. She was certain she’d burst into tears if she couldn’t hug her after the longest separation of their lives. The last text she’d received from Jamie had assured her that they were both wide awake and watching The Little Mermaid, but who was to say that she wouldn’t crash during her drive home?

Unfortunately, the power was still not back at the apartment complex, and Claire’s drive home confirmed that it was not just them. People at the hospital were predicting it would be out at least a week. Claire prayed it would be sooner considering how upset Jamie said Faith had gotten when the lights would not work.

She pulled into the driveway, and did not even bother grabbing her duffle bag from the back seat. She snagged her purse and bolted up the front steps. The door swung open, and there she was, her little girl, bouncing with her arms stretched upward.

“Oh, hello!” Claire exclaimed, letting her purse fall to the floor and scooping Faith up. “Oh, my sweet girl, I missed you so much…”

Faith was humming loudly, squeezing her mother around the neck, and kicking her dangling legs uncontrollably. She began rubbing her cheek against Claire’s and running her fingers through her hair.

“Oh, yes, hello, love…” Claire kissed both of her cheeks over and over, then her head, then her cheeks again. Faith intercepted more kisses by slapping her palms against Claire’s cheeks, causing Claire to sputter and flinch, but she didn’t have the heart to scold her for it. Faith held her mother’s head in place, squishing their faces together.

“Yes, hi, baby, I missed you, too…” Claire nuzzled her nose against Faith’s, even as her little hands squeezed the life out of her cheeks. From the corner of her eye, Claire could see Jamie standing back, watching them. Claire shifted Faith in her arms, settling her on one hip so she could see again. Faith was not finished, however; she continued to rub Claire’s face and fiddle with her hair and rub their cheeks together.

“Hi,” Claire said, her voice thick with emotion, her face flushed.

“Hi,” Jamie answered, stepping closer.

Claire flicked her eyes down to the fort of sheets in the middle of the living room, and she bit her lip.

“It looked bigger in the pictures,” she said, laughing. “You really fit in there?”

“Aye,” Jamie said in mock offense. “It would be a failed endeavor entirely if I didna.”

Claire broke into an enormous grin, and she slid Faith down her body to set her on her feet. Before she could step into Jamie’s arms, Faith wrapped herself bodily around Claire’s legs, rubbing her face on her capris. Claire snorted with laughter as Jamie closed the distance between them, and she was still laughing when he captured her lips with his.

Behind Claire’s eyes danced every photo that Jamie had sent her over the last four days, every play-doh sculpture, every coloring book page, every lego structure, every selfie of the two of them in the fort, and she was overcome. She grasped his face in her hands, squeezing, deepening the kiss.

Despite how busy she’d been at the hospital, she’d had lots of time to think, many hours on that damned cot where sleep eluded her. And she knew, she knew to the very marrow of her bones the truth of what was ready to burst out of her like a storm surge.

Just when she was becoming dizzy for lack of air, she broke the kiss, and Jamie gaped at her. “What was that f— ”

“I love you.”

Jamie’s voice broke off immediately, his mouth flapping soundlessly. As Claire cradled his face close to hers, her stomach flipped, and her heart leapt into her throat. She’d meant it; meant it more than anything in her life. It was something she supposed she knew for a while, perhaps even before that first kiss, but it wasn’t something she’d allowed herself to feel until very recently. And it wasn’t something she was ready to say until it was ready to burst out of her. She was smacked over the head with it on that first night in her hospital cot, and the days and days before she could get back to him and tell him had been agony.

“What…” Jamie’s voice was light and airy, “did ye say..?”

Claire’s breath stuttered out of her with a tremble, and she wet her lips. “I love you, Jamie,” she repeated, resolutely, tightening her grip on his face.

His shuddering exhale danced across her skin, and she watched as his eyes welled up. They danced all over her face, as if to memorize her every feature the moment she’d said it.

“Christ…” His voice broke, and he laughed in spite of himself, a single tear spilling over. “I love you, Claire. God, how I love ye.”

As if he couldn’t control himself, he kissed her feverishly, threading his fingers through her hair. Claire nearly tipped backward at the force of his affection, being that her legs were rooted in place by a thirty-eight pound weight. Jamie quickly adjusted to catch her, covering the entire span of her back with his two hands. Their lips broke apart to laugh, and Jamie pulled her back upright into a tight embrace. They swayed for a good while to the tuneless melody of Faith’s joyful humming.

God, how I love you.

Claire inhaled deeply, breathing him in. He smelled of his aftershave, crisp and clean, and somehow also like spaghetti-os, like Angus’s dental treats, and like Faith’s shampoo that somehow always clung to her hair no matter how long it was between showers.

He smelled like home.

Reluctantly, Claire peeled herself away from him, then looked down at Faith. She debated using her harsher tone to make her let go, but then decided she didn’t have it in her at the moment. Instead, she melted to the floor, forcing Faith to topple on top of her. Faith got an idea then; Claire could see it in her eyes. Then she was being pulled into the fort, and there was absolutely nothing Claire could do about it.

Before Claire could even blink, she was nestled in a veritable bird’s nest of blankets and pillows, Faith in her lap, and Prince Eric was finding Ariel on the beach. Jamie crawled in after them, grinning impishly.

“I hope you realize what you’ve done,” Claire said. “I’ll never be able to take this down now. It’s going to become a permanent fixture. Are these pillows from my bed?”

She arched an eyebrow at him, attempting intimidation, but given the spread of Jamie’s grin, she supposed it was not at all working. He settled in beside her on the air mattress, brushing hair off her neck and kissing her there and then nuzzling the spot with his nose. Like a cat whose favorite scratching spot had been found, Claire’s body went limp and liquid against him until she was in his lap, pulling Faith with her. Eventually, they were in an indecipherable pile of limbs, all three of them. During “Kiss the Girl,” Jamie kept looking down at Claire and waggling his eyebrows absurdly until Claire rolled her eyes and obliged him for a quick peck. She lost count of how many times it happened by the end of the song.

Faith didn’t fall asleep during the movie, but neither did she want to move when it finished. Jamie retreated from the fort and returned with a plastic cup that came from the kitchen, a bathroom Dixie cup, and Faith’s toothbrush. To Claire’s bewildered look, Jamie replied:

“I wasna gonna let her get away wi’ no’ brushing until the power came back. So I brought it to her. It’s been working.”

Claire’s face softened as she remembered the meltdown over the lights that Jamie had mentioned on the first night. That he had found a workaround solution that did not distress Faith was astounding and heartwarming. She watched in awe as Faith sat in her nest of blankets with her mouth open, putting up no fight as Jamie brushed her teeth. He had her spit into the empty plastic cup, and then rinse and spit with the water from the Dixie cup.

“Good girl,” Jamie praised, poking her nose with her toothbrush. He departed then, and Claire could hear him washing the cup in the kitchen sink.

“Good job, baby,” Claire repeated, rubbing her shoulder and kissing her head. “You had so much fun with Jamie, didn’t you?” Faith hummed contently, swirling her fingers in Angus’s fur. “Such a good girl.”

Jamie returned shortly after, and Claire could not help but laugh at the sight of that Viking of a man crawling into the small opening. “So what now?” The words bubbled through her laughter. “We lay here all night?”

He blushed a little. “Well, that’s what I’ve been doing.”

Claire gawked. “Are you serious? I was joking.”

His blush deepened. “She got upset when I tried to leave. And she’d already melted down twice that day. Figured it wasna fair to make her go again just fer me.”

Claire could literally feel herself melting, inside and out. If she hadn’t already found the nerve to say it, she would have been overcome and blurted it out right then. Perhaps Jamie could see it, because he inched closer.

“Come here,” Claire crooned, holding onto Faith with one arm and pulling Jamie closer with the other, kissing him soundly. She pulled away when she felt something plastic poking at her nose, and she went cross-eyed trying to see what it was.

The medicine dropper.

“Right,” Claire said sheepishly, and Jamie smirked at her. Claire lifted Faith off her lap as Jamie simultaneously swiped the pillows that came from Claire’s bed off the air mattress. Faith settled in on her pillow, nestled under her blanket, and Claire gave her the Risperdal.

“Good girl,” she said, and she patted the space next to Faith, which Angus hopped into obediently. When she shifted in her seat on the air mattress, she saw Jamie lying on his back with his hands behind his head, a pillow on the floor for each of them. He raised his eyebrows invitingly and nodded toward the unoccupied pillow, and Claire groaned audibly.

“I am not sleeping here all night,” she grumbled, even as she nuzzled into him, mostly on him rather than the pillow. “Not after four nights on a cot.”

“Aye, alright,” he said, kissing her forehead. “We can move in about an hour.”

Claire sighed resignedly. “You’re staying the night?”

“I don’t have to — ”

“I want you to,” she interrupted firmly, resting her chin on his chest to look him in the eye. “It wasn’t really a question.”

“Aye.” Jamie chuckled nervously. “Alright.”

Smiling in victory she lay her head on his chest again. They lay tangled together, Jamie rubbing up and down her back, Claire tracing circles on his chest. Once Faith’s breathing grew heavy, they tentatively sat up. One by one, they inched out of the small opening to the fort, each of them holding a pillow, both of them having to bite their lips to keep from giggling like school children. Once they got to their feet, they crept quickly and silently to Claire’s bedroom, and the second the door was shut, they let loose the bubbling laughter. Jamie tossed the pillows onto the bed and turned back to her.

Even as they were both still laughing, Claire locked the door behind her and pressed her mouth to Jamie’s in one swift motion. She felt the growl in his chest before she heard it, and both sensations sent heat rushing to her core. They stumbled back until they landed in a heap on the bed, laughing again. Claire straddled him immediately, deepening the kiss and rolling her hips when Jamie greedily seized handfuls of her arse.

She sighed a delicious moan into his mouth, grabbing fistfuls of his shirt and pulling it off between kisses. In return, he pulled off her shirt and undid her bra with an expert ease of someone who’d been having sex much longer than he’d been.

“Oh, I missed you…” Claire crooned, her entire body tingling with delighted electricity at the feeling of skin on skin, her breasts pressed flat against his chest. To further relish in this feeling, she scooted lower to suckle at his neck, delighting in his groans and how his roaming hands on her back would stutter and dig their nails into her when she nibbled. She made her way down to his nipples, having recently learned that he was nearly as sensitive there as a woman. She teased him for probably longer than he could bear, considering he yanked her face back up to his for a searing kiss. He abruptly sat up, pushing her up with him, so she was straddling his lap. He bore his eyes into hers while he undid her button and fly.

“Take them off.”

She shivered from head to toe at his command, and she immediately obeyed, getting up on her knees to slide her capris and underwear down, and he did not help her get them over her knees and heels. She stayed up on her knees and he growled hungrily, reaching up to kiss her, trailing his hand up her inner thigh, and resting to cup her, cover her entirely. She gasped raggedly, tugging on his hair roughly. His fingers slipped in easily, and she groaned loudly, unable to stop from thrusting her hips, riding his hand.

“It is such an honor…to worship this body…” he breathed into her neck, stroking her walls deftly. “To love this body.”

Love.

Claire had had sex. She’d had sex before Frank, had sex with Frank. She’d had sex with Jamie, of course.

But she’d never, ever made love.

That was what this was, what it had to be. Sex, fucking, was not enough to describe it. She’d never been caressed inside the way Jamie did, she’d never known such affection as his other hand roaming up and down her torso, tenderly squeezing each breast in their turn. Every touch said he loved her.

And she believed him.

It would have been too easy to let his fingers finish her, and she would have been all the more ready for him, but she couldn’t stand another moment without him inside her. Caught off guard, Jamie did not expect the rough shove she gave him, pushing him onto his back, forcing his fingers out of her. She undid his fly and slid off the remainder of his clothing until he was fully bared to her.

She greedily roamed her eyes all over his perfect form, her lips flapping uselessly. What could she say that could even come close to the poetics that Jamie had uttered to her? “I’m honored to worship your body, too,” would be ridiculously stupid, not to mention inadequate.

So, she settled on the only thing she could think to say.

“I love you.”

She whispered it against his lips as she took him in, inch by inch, his grip on her arse tightening and tightening with every inch. He kissed her then, groaning. She rode him slowly, savoring every second; every second of their love-making.

“With all my heart, I love you.”

Tears sprang to his eyes at that, and she kissed them away. She didn’t realize that she, too, was crying, until he flipped her over, staying inside, and kissed away moisture on her own cheeks.

“I love you, Claire,” he groaned into her ear, moving slowly inside her. “My heart is yours. I love you.”

He loved her tenderly, softly, wildly, hard, so achingly hard, loudly. They fell together in shared ecstasy, their hearts beating as one. 

If his heart was hers, then hers was his.

Even while Claire was still convinced she was in love with Frank, she’d never known what it was like to lose her heart. Not until Faith. The second her baby was put in her arms, her heart was no longer hers. She thought it was impossible to give away something that had already been given.

But, without her knowing, there’d been a piece tucked away all along, a piece that was waiting for Jamie.

I’ve waited all my life to love you.

And as the blackness of a deep, dreamless sleep overcame her, the scent of their combined sweat dancing in her nose, his arms like a vice around her, she knew it to be true.

——

From a dead sleep, Claire was woken by a sudden chill. For a terrifying moment, she thought she might be coming down with something. She listened to her body for aches and pains but felt nothing. And then she realized.

Jamie’s warmth had left her.

She sat up, too quickly considering how her head spun, and could see in the light of the moon that Jamie was getting dressed.

“Where are you going?”

Jamie turned around, putting his arms through the sleeves of his t-shirt. “Ye didna hear?”

A loud bang sounded, making Claire jump ten feet in the air and instinctually cover herself with the sheets. The bang was followed by a loud whine, and the pieces clicked in her head.

Jamie tossed Claire a t-shirt, one of his given the scent of it, and a fresh pair of underwear. Claire was too tired to remark on his going through her underwear, but she tucked that away for later. Now in flannel pants and a fresh shirt, Jamie made his way to the door, turning to make sure that Claire was dressed before unlocking and opening it. Faith did not even address Jamie, and before he could say anything, she was already shuffling past him and toward the bed. Claire glanced at her phone for the time, two in the morning.

She sighed in defeat, helping Faith as she climbed clumsily into the bed. Angus trotted behind her and hopped up onto the bed, settling at Claire’s feet. As Claire was getting Faith settled, she felt the bed shift, and looked up to see Jamie getting in on the other side of Faith. It did not take long at all for Claire to fall dead asleep again, Jamie’s arm draped over Faith’s body and around Claire’s waist. The last thing she heard was a muffled kiss to a curly head, and not her own.

“I love ye, sweet Faith.”

[scapegrace74-blog]

Ginger Snap, Chapter 6

A/N  Well, here it is.  The last chapter of Ginger Snap.   As an unplanned fic inspired by a vanity license plate, I’m happy with how it turned out.   There will be a short epilogue posted in the next week or so.  In the meantime,  thank you so much for coming on this unexpected ride with me!   This chapter’s themed title is Fire in the Belly.

Previous chapters are best enjoyed on my AO3 page, because I have a bad habit of going back and editing them after they’ve been posted.

The next five months were some of the most difficult of my life.  

After our talk, Frank and I agreed that it would be best that we parted ways.  The Southside flat was close to the university, plus I’d never truly felt at home there, so it made sense for him to keep it.  Fortunately, we’d never combined our savings and I still had money tucked away from my time as a medical resident in Boston.

Geillis wanted me to move into her sprawling Murrayfield home, at least temporarily, but I knew that I needed a place of my own.  To stand on my own two feet, as it were.   Which was how I found myself moving my few belongings into a modest Morningside walk-up as the rest of Edinburgh celebrated Hogmanay with fireworks and drunken revelry.

I scheduled the written component of my medical licensing exam for February.  This was likely foolhardy, but I’d already wasted enough time.  As a result, almost every waking hour was dedicated to studying.  The flat remained an empty box whose naked beige walls bore witness to my rudimentary existence.

Geillis called regularly, reminding me to eat and to occasionally step outside for a breath of fresh air.  Returning up the high street from one of our weekly coffee dates, a bright flash in a shop window caught my eye.

I stopped and stared as the afternoon sun lit the vase like a shard of stained glass.  It was a profound shade of blue: the colour of a field of indigo, of the night sky in a Byzantine icon, of Jamie’s eyes when he laughed.  It sat on my windowsill, filled with the season’s first daffodils, as I pored over practice exams.

***

“Geillis, I passed!  I fucking passed!”  An elderly woman seated across from me on the bus muttered under her breath about vulgar Sassenachs, but I was too elated to care.

“Of course ye did, ye brilliant disaster.  Now I can brag tae the neighbours I have my own personal physician.”

“Not so fast, Duncan.  I still need to pass the clinical exam, and that’s no small thing.”  My gut twisted just thinking about it, but unlike the written exam, there was little I could do to prepare.  Either I knew how to perform as a doctor or I did not.  The long months since I’d last treated a patient loomed like a large shadow over that question.

“Och, yer bum’s oot the window Claire,” my friend dismissed blithely.  “Ye’re gonna do great.  When do ye head down tae yer homeland, then?”

“May first.”  The practical examination took place in Manchester and needed to be scheduled three months in advance.

“Sounds like ye’ve got some time on yer hands.  Whate’er are ye going tae do with yerself?” Geillis asked in a singsong voice.

Fortunately for me, spring was Edinburgh’s most pleasant season.  Its many gardens and laneways erupted in carpets of buds and blooms.  The air smelled fresh and green, like biting into a tart apple.  I took long walks and fell in love with the city I now called home.  There were secondhand bookstores to explore and a weekly craft market where I gradually amassed an assortment of items that made my flat feel like a home.  With each passing day, my existence felt more and more like a life; one I defined for myself.

I also started to explore my options for employment, hoping for a job offer from one of the city’s hospitals that was conditional upon my successful completion of the licensing process.  It was to that end that I found myself walking down the corridor of The Royal Edinburgh hospital after what I hoped had been a rather successful interview with the deputy director of surgery.

“Claire?”

I recognized her voice immediately.  Before turning around I closed my eyes and sent out a fervent appeal to the universe.

“Jenny, hi.  How are you?”

She looked just the same, her straight black hair such a contrast to her brother.  Next to her stood a man, but not the man I had conjured the moment I heard her voice.  I was unclear whether that meant my prayer had been answered or not.  Seeing my gaze stray, Jenny jumped to introductions.

“This is my husband, Ian.  We’re here fer treatment on his leg.”

“Nothing serious, I hope.”  

“Jes a fitting fer a new prosthetic.  Jenny keeps beatin’ me o’er the head with the old one, ye see.”  I laughed, instantly liking his easy-going manner, so in contrast with Jenny’s intensity.

“Ye must be the Claire I hear sae much about,” he went on, and I wondered what had been said about me in the Fraser household.

“Nothing bad, I hope.”

Ian smiled warmly.  “Only good things, I promise ye.”

“What brings ye tae the hospital, Claire?” Jenny interjected.

I explained how I was in the process of qualifying to practice medicine in Scotland, provided I could pass my exams.  Jenny and Ian were both delighted, congratulating me as though I’d already accomplished my goal.  As we spoke about Wee Jamie’s latest exploits and the ongoing growth of Ginger Snap, I couldn’t help notice that Jenny was staring at my hands.  At my left hand in particular.  Finally, I couldn’t resist temptation any longer.

“And, how is Jamie doing?”  I tried to sound casual, but I was certain my faltering voice betrayed me.

“Very well,” Jenny replied.  “Busy, as ye can imagine, but he thrives on chaos.”

I nodded, trying to be satisfied with the news that he was well.  It was the most I could hope for, really.  Jenny eyed me shrewdly before continuing.

“He’s a good man, my brother.  Any lass would be verra lucky tae have him.  I’d like tae see him settled, but he refuses tae be rushed.  Says the right woman is worth the wait.”  She paused before adding,  “I reckon ye ken wha’ he means.”

“Yes,” I breathed.  “I know exactly what he means.”

***

I took the overnight train from Edinburgh to Manchester.  It meant I was likely to arrive at the testing centre deprived of sleep, but I rationalized that most of my residency could be characterized as one long evaluation under similar conditions, and I hadn’t killed anyone yet.  Still, as the velvety darkness slipped by outside my window, studded by the lights of passing farms, my doubts got the better of me.

I texted Geillis, looking for moral support.  For once she didn’t reply immediately.  There was one other name on my laughably short list of contacts.  I deliberated for all of a minute, but the late hour and creeping panic made me impulsive.

Hello.

Best to start with something innocuous, rather than the slightly more revealing “I miss you.  I think about you every day.”  A reply bubble appeared immediately after I hit send.  At least I hadn’t woken him up.  A small tempest stirred in my gut.

Arsonist.  Hello.  How are you?

I tried to picture him.  Was he at home?  Working late?  Or, in a scenario that played out far too often in my mind, on a date?

I’m alright.  Well, to be honest, I feel like I’m going to puke and cry.  Not necessarily in that order.

Och, lass.  Do you need me to come over?

Damn it, this man.  I had done nothing to deserve his unswerving loyalty but mislead him and then disappear for months on end.  And yet here he was, willing to come to my aid on the flimsy pretext of a late night text.  Guilt and tenderness warred for possession of my heart.

That may prove a bit difficult, Jamie.  I’m on a train to England.

There was a long pause, and then a two letter reply.

Oh.

I realized at once that he’d leapt to the wrong conclusion: that I had left Edinburgh for good.  I rushed to correct the error.

I’m taking the second stage of my examination to practice as a NHS doctor tomorrow.   It’s all hands-on situations, and the licensing facility is in Manchester.

Arsonist, that’s wonderful news!  I’m so proud of you.

I blushed, then leaned my heated cheek against the chilled pane of glass.  It had been a rash impulse, but this conversation was exactly what I needed.  I wasn’t alone in this.  Geillis and Jamie were in my corner.

What has your stomach in a twist, then?

What if I’ve forgotten what to do?!  It’s been almost a year since I’ve so much as used a stethoscope, Jamie.  The exam is eighteen real-life situations and you’re given eight minutes to respond to each one.  Not a second longer.  I’m just...  what if I fail?

And there it was.  The kernel of fear that lived at the heart of everything I did.  What if I failed?   What if my best wasn’t good enough?

Claire, listen to me.  You’re a doctor, just as I am a chef.  It wouldn’t matter if I had not set foot in a kitchen in ten years, I would still remember how to cook, and I know that it’s the same for you.  I believe it with everything in me.

On some level, I knew that he was right.  But it still comforted me tremendously to hear it from someone I trusted.

Alright.  That helps.  I should let you get to bed.  Thank you for talking me off my ledge, Jamie.

Anytime, Arsonist.

As I got ready sign off, another text bubble appeared.

Oh, and Claire?  Don’t burn down their wee laboratory, okay? ;-)

I laughed out loud, muting my phone and reclining my seat.  Outside, the stars shone brightly, tiny fires in the firmament to guide me on my way.

***

It was a lovely late spring day, and the retractable doors to the fire station were open to the warm breeze.  I could hear Angus’ voice as he led a cooking demonstration for a group of young women; a bridal shower by the look of their ridiculous costumes.

“Mind the coriander, lass.  Tis a verra powerful aphrodisiac, ken?  I willna be held responsible if ye canna resist my considerable charms after ye eat yon soup.”

There was an outburst of giggles as I rounded the corner and entered the reception area.  Jenny was on the phone.  She halted mid-sentence when she saw me walk in.  I rubbed my hands down the front of my jeans, trying to stay calm.

“He’s in the storeroom, in the back,” Jenny prompted before I could even offer a greeting.  I smiled gratefully, relieved I didn’t have to make small talk.  I had only so much courage stored in reserve, and I didn’t want to use it all up before reaching my destination.

The storeroom was long and narrow, lit by a single naked bulb and girded with shelves.  Jamie stood with his broad back to the door, his curls absorbing the light like amber.  He had a clipboard in one hand, performing some kind of inventory.

“Jes how many lentils dae ye reckon we need, Janet?  There’s nine cans of them here already, and ye have us ordering ten more.”

I’d almost forgotten how much I loved his voice, the undulating grit and silk of it.  I had to remaster the art of speech before I could reply.

“It’s not Jenny.  It’s me.  Claire.”

He froze, and if it weren’t for the sudden rapid flow of his breath I would have assumed he hadn’t heard me.  My nerves got the better of me and I blurted out, “I like lentils.  You should listen to your sister.”

“Claire.”  More sigh than word.  He slowly turned.  It was when our eyes met that I knew nothing had changed for him.  It was still there, after all these months.  That look that told me I was the map to his journey, the focus to his vision, the reason to his why.  

Hopefully he could read that same certainty on my face.

“I passed my exams,” I began.  “I’m a doctor again.”

“Ye never stopped bein’ a doctor.  This jus’ makes it official.”

“I’m still a disaster in the kitchen,” I continued.  “Last week I ruined two saucepans.”

“Tha’s only a tragedy if ye dinna have someone willin’ tae cook fer ye,” he replied with a strange squinting motion I understood was meant to be a wink.

“I’m still learning who I am.  How to be true to the person on the inside,” I confessed.  This is what had kept me away for so long, worried that I would escape from Frank’s orbit just to be caught up in another.  Jamie never once expected my submission, but that didn’t mean I wouldn’t offer it out of habit.

“I’ll let ye in on a secret.  Sae is everyone else,” he replied.

Without realizing it, we’d both been moving until we were crowded together amongst the dried herbs and canned goods.  My hand rested against the solid metronome of his heart.  Just one more confession to go.

“I burn for you in a way I’ve never burned for anything before.”

There.  It was said.  A thousand wings of rapture beat against the cage of my ribs, clamoring to break free.  Jamie carefully pushed a loose curl behind my ear before cupping my jaw.

“Wee arsonist.  Come, set my life on fire.”