#and it's like boiling hot outside and not a soul paying attention

[menlove]

just walked passed a sight that would've inspired a stephen king novel I fear

[titan-fodder]

Prima Vista Part VII

[ previous ]

Rating: E (explicit; mdni)

Warnings: dramatics, gaslighting, pining pining pining, drinking, attempted drugging, blacking out, vomiting, Nile and Hitch hook up, did I mention pining, one Greek word (thank you again, @cynnyc .)

It’s nearly ten PM as you climb the steps to the PKA house. The brisk October air makes you pull your jacket tighter around yourself and move toward the door faster. You probably should’ve texted your target first, checked to see if he’s even here, but you’re not about to stand outside and wait for a reply, not when you can just knock and ask a living soul.

 It’s Reiner who answers, looking extremely tired with dark circles under his eyes. You idly wonder if he and the other new kids are being kept awake as another stupid fucking hazing ritual, but you don’t really have the time for small talk. 

 “Erwin here?”

 The blond nods and steps out of the way. “His room. Might already be asleep.”

 Shrugging, you walk inside, mumbling, “Just gonna have to wake his ass up then.”

 Which you do, climbing up to the third story after Reiner tells you which room he’s in now. You knock on the door a couple times and almost feel bad when Erwin answers, clearly rumpled in pajama pants and bedhead. 

 He squints at you, and you snort. “Sleep before ten? You some kinda nerd or somethin’?”

 “What do you want?” He gruffs, voice a little scratchy. 

 You can see part of the room behind him, looks pretty similar to the one from last year. That had been the only time you’d really gotten a close look into his space, and it had not ended well. You hope this time will be different. 

 “I needed to talk to you about something.”

 Erwin scrubs a hand down his face then rests his head against his doorframe. “I’ll take a wild guess and say this is about Mike.”

 You push your lips out in a pout and respond, “Maybe.”

 He lets you into his room, catches you off guard when he asks, “Door open or closed?” 

 “Depends. You gonna come onto me again?”

 He chuckles and shakes his head. “I learned my lesson last time.”

 “You can shut it then.”

 Taking up the chair at his desk, you watch as Erwin just crawls back under his covers and fixes cerulean eyes on you. 

 “Why haven’t you been talking to him?”

 Something in your stomach flips, eyes growing as you splutter, “I haven’t been talking to him? He hasn’t been talking to me!” 

 Erwin frowns. “What? He’s been bitching to me incessantly.”

 “And, I’ve been bitching to Hitch incessantly.”

 Groaning into his pillow, Erwin holds out his hand, and you hear a muffled command, “Give me your phone.”

 You do without hesitation, rattle off the passcode then sit and wait as Erwin scrolls through what you assume to be your settings or contacts. The thought that you should be a little scared crosses your mind—you do have some compromising photos in an unlocked folder—but judging by Erwin’s current mood, he doesn’t seem interested in anything except sleeping. 

 “That motherfucker,” he grunts.

 “What?”

 “You blocked his number.”

 “What?” This time is much louder and panicked. “No, I didn’t! I swear I didn’t.”

 He tosses you the device back and gestures in a ‘see for yourself’ manner. “Someone did.”

 Your blood begins to boil as you stare down at your short list of blocked contacts, Mike’s name right on top.

 “Are you fucking kidding me?” You quickly tap to remedy the problem, hands beginning to shake. “I don’t even know how—”

 “My money’s on the shitty boyfriend,” Erwin mumbles.

 You want to text Mike, but you have no idea what to say. Sorry we haven’t talked in over a month. Zeke figured out my phone password and blocked your number haha. You doubt that would fly.

 If you had just come to Erwin sooner, most of this could have been avoided. You don’t know if you’re more upset at Zeke or at yourself.

 Zeke. Definitely Zeke. That is some wildly possessive behavior. That’s isolation. The idea makes you nauseous. This is just another instance of him showing what you believe to be his true self. Between all the fighting and grudges, you’re at your wit’s end. Just the other day, the two of you had gotten into yet another argument when you happened to get a glance at the Tinder icon in his app list. 

 “Why do you still have that?” You’d asked with a frown. You really hadn’t planned on it turning into an ordeal. 

 “Have what?”

 “Tinder.”

 “What are you talking about?”

 Then, right in front of your eyes, he had deleted the app. You saw it, but that didn’t stop Zeke from looking at you with a straight face and telling you, “I think you’re just confused, babe.”

 That’s when it turned into an ordeal. That’s when you got defensive and incredulous. That’s when he just kept telling you that you were wrong, that you were just seeing things, and after a good thirty minutes once you were nice and high strung, he actually had you halfway convinced. 

 Because he always sounds so sure of himself, always makes it so that his word is law. You had doubted yourself—you’re still doubting yourself. 

 “Jesus, I can’t believe this,” you breathe, leaning back in the rolling chair and staring up at the ceiling. You can believe it, actually, you just hadn’t expected him to sink that low. “What do I even say to Mike?”

 Erwin finally pushes himself into a sitting position and stretches. Seems like he’s just resigning himself to being awake. “Whatever it is, you should probably talk it out in person.”

 “Probably.”

 “Might be a little difficult now, though.”

 Heaving a sigh, you mutter, “Yeah, I assume he's pretty pissed at me.”

 Erwin hums, but his voice comes out a little unsure when he says, “Well, that, but also…”

 You're suddenly sitting straight up. “Also what?”

 Making a face, the man across from you enlightens you to the fact that, “Mike is kind of seeing someone. I think.”

 You blink at him, trying to process what he’s telling you. Mike is… With someone? You feel sick.

 But, you shouldn’t because he’s allowed to branch out. You surely did, and you hurt him in the process. 

 “It, uh… It gets worse.”

 Swallowing, you try to hide the lump in your throat when you rasp, “How?”

 Don’t cry. Do not cry. You have no right to cry. 

 “I’m about ninety-nine percent positive it’s Zeke’s ex.”

 Every muscle in your face suddenly relaxes, but it isn’t in a good way. Instead of frowning, your brow softens into its normal position. You release the tension in your jaw, the teeth that were just clenched falling away from each other as your lips part. Erwin moves in and out of focus as your gaze becomes blurry, hot tears gathering at your waterline, and now you don’t even try to stop them from falling. 

 Fucking Rhi. She had been nothing more than an annoyance before, a peppy little annoyance trying to grab your boyfriend’s attention. But, now… Now, you’re ready to fight. Parking lot brawl, throwing fists and pulling hair, and screeching—you want to destroy her. 

 “Oh.” You sniffle then wipe your nose with the back of your hand. “That’s good. I mean—” a quiet cough, “—that’s good for him. I’m glad.”

 Erwin snorts. “No, you’re not,” his volume rises a bit. “So, don’t pretend like you are. God, why are you guys so bad at this?”

 You let out a humorless laugh and shrug. “‘Cause I have shitty timing, I guess.” You bite your lip and look back to the ceiling, trying not to weep too openly, but your lungs are burning, preventing you from breathing, and your heart is bruising your ribcage, and you think your bones just might shatter inside of your chest. 

 There’s a rustling on the bed, and when you look back at Erwin, you find him laying down again but holding the blankets up in front of him. 

 “Come on.”

 “W-what? Erwin, that is literally the last thing we—”

 “I’m not trying to fuck,” he says, eyes heavy as he stares at you. “You need to relax, and I need to sleep, so just come on."

 You consider for a while, looking from Erwin to the mattress. You’re really not that close, would barely even call him your friend, but you did come to him tonight. You had chosen to confide in him. He makes some pretty questionable decisions sometimes, but you still believe that ultimately he’s a good person. 

 “Fine, but put a shirt on.”

 “Then, grab one. Second drawer. Make sure it’s soft.”

 You roll your eyes but do as you're told, running your hands over a few t-shirts until you find one that he should be pleased enough with. He tugs it on then collapses back on the bed, and you kick your shoes off then slip out of your jacket and under the covers.

 You’re facing him, trying to keep a few inches between yourself and his chest, but as you think about the position you’re in—why you’re in it, the tears start flowing freely again, and you’re holding back little whimpers, shoulders shaking at the effort. Erwin breathes in deeply then uses the arm he isn’t laying on to pull you to him, shushing you as he rubs the space between your shoulder blades with a warm hand. 

 “We’ll get it sorted out,” he promises, voice quiet as he starts to doze. 

 It’s not how you expected to end the night, but you suppose there are worse ways.

*

 Mike learns a lot of information in a very short amount of time. Nile meets him outside of the fitness center to give him the scoop, trying to look casual as he walks, but Mike can tell he's nervous. 

 He starts by asking if Mike has talked to you at all recently, and no, he has not. So, Nile tells him that you broke things off with Zeke and apparently it got messy. 

 "Something about him being a manipulative bastard," Nile waves a hand. 

 "Doesn’t surprise me. Took her long enough."

 You've been hanging around the Pike house again, sometimes by yourself and sometimes with Hitch—"Who's really fucking cute, by the way." Obviously Nile and Marie are in the 'off' portion of their relationship cycle. "And, you would know all this if you would just start coming around again. It's stupid to pay dues and not actually engage with the frat, dude."

 "I've just been busy with school," Mike tells him. It's only a half lie. His senior courses are kind of kicking his ass, but he's also been busying himself with Rhi who is… tolerable. 

 "Whatever. Halloween party is in, like, a week. If you don't show up, I'm gonna be real pissed."

 "I'll be there, Nile."

 "Okay, then lemme prepare you for one more thing."

 Mike stops walking and looks at the smaller man who inhales deeply then blows air out through his teeth. 

 "So, uh, she's hanging around again, right? And, you're not there, so it seems like she's sort of, uh, latched onto…" He makes a face, and Mike leans back. 

 "Don't fucking tell me."

 Nile cringes. "Yeah. I don't think they're fucking or anything. I haven't heard them in his room like I used to hear the two of you."

 "She goes into his room?" Mike has to flex his hand by his side, but the brick wall of the library they've stopped in front of is looking mighty nice. Break a few bones, bleed a little, it'll feel good. 

 "Yeah, but, like, they're nowhere near as close as you and her."

 "How close we used to be. It's been so fucking long since we've even talked, dude. And, any time I try to catch her on campus, the dickbag is with her—"

 "Well, at least you don't have to worry about that anymore."

 "Yeah, now I just have to worry about her fucking my best friend. Fuck, she just—" Mike growls in his throat, contemplates turning to go back to the gym because he needs to get this energy out somehow. "She drives me fucking crazy."

 "Yeah, I know, man. I just didn't want you to be surprised at the party when you see 'em all buddy-buddy."

 "I'm gonna punch him," Mike states. "Just lay him out in front of everyone."

 "Please don't," Nile sounds genuinely worried. "Maybe use the party as a way to, I don't know, talk to your girl? Like an adult?" 

 "Obviously not my girl, and I've been screwing around with Rhi anyway. Maybe it's just time we went our separate ways or whatever." 

 It physically hurts to even suggest, but he's trying to put on a brave face for his friend—act annoyed rather than fucking crushed, but god, he is aching. His stomach has opened up into nothing, his chest feels void of everything that was once inside, and he knows he's being dramatic, but fuck fuck fuck, first Zeke and now Erwin? What is it that Mike doesn't have? What can't he provide you with that they can? Just tell him, and he'll fucking fix it. 

 "Yeah, I think we both know that's not gonna happen. Plus, you do realize Rhi is probably just using you to make Zeke jealous."

 "I'm not fucking stupid, Nile, of course I know that." But, Mike is really tired of his love life revolving around that asshole, like he has to wait for Zeke to call all the shots. "I'm using her as much as she's using me, so—"

 "As a distraction?" 

 Mike lets his head loll to the side, peering down at Nile from the corner of his eyes. "What do you think?" 

 The other man gives him a light punch to the shoulder and once again suggests, "Talk things out. Just pull her aside at the party." 

 It's easier said than done. When Halloween rolls around, it's a little insane. It's too big and too loud with a flashing strobe that hurts Mike’s eyes. There are all sorts of costumes, making it hard to recognize anyone. The jungle juice is a mystery, one Mike doesn't plan on touching but that many people will. He has a feeling that more than a few party-goers are gonna end up sick, probably passing out in various locations of the house. 

 Mike has opted for an easy costume, the tacky tourist complete with his pink Hawaiian shirt, a straw hat, sunglasses, and a fanny pack. It's so awful, it actually made him laugh, but Rhi, clad in a spandex tiger suit, is not nearly as amused. She probably wanted him to go the sexy cop route or something equally as cringey, but Mike just doesn't have it in him tonight. 

 Nile is a shirtless cowboy, Hitch is a Catholic schoolgirl, Gelgar is Freddy Krueger with a pompadour, Reiner is a werewolf, the list goes on and on. Sexy, bloody nurses, superheroes, Harry Potter, and so on. 

 When his eyes land on you for the first time that night, Mike comes close to drooling his drink. Lola Bunny in her skimpy basketball uniform and a rabbit ear headband. Your face is painted, and you're carrying around one of those foam balls kids use to dunk into Fisher Price hoops, and he has no doubt the prop will be lost by the end of the party. 

 Mike thinks back to Spring Break, to you wincing at his movie choice then trying to sleep through it. You had woken up to him flipping through the photo album, then chose to finally open up to him. 

 So, why this costume? Why "torture" yourself like this? 

 And, speaking of torture, you're sticking to Erwin just like Nile said you would. The blond is in a tailored suit, his face painted like a skull. It's both classy and creepy, and Mike hates him for it. In fact, it calls for another drink. 

 Rhi finds him in the kitchen after making her rounds, taking up her former place on Mike's arm as he uses the counter to pop the lid off a fresh bottle. They watch the game of beer pong playing out in front of them, but Rhi doesn't seem content to just sit. 

 She has to stand on her tip-toes and shout into his ear, "Wanna walk around some?" 

 No. He really doesn't, but he can placate her, especially if it means getting laid later tonight. 

 They trek back to the main room, observing the debauchery taking place. People are grinding and stripping to Monster Mash. Several couples are spread out in the chairs or up against the wall getting pretty close to full on exhibitionism. 

 They stop to talk to "Officer" Marie for a while then move on to Nile and Hitch to whom Rhi spills everything she just heard from the busty redhead. They joke with Gelgar and his catch of the day, some of the pledges—Jean, Reiner, and Eren—who are just trying to survive, and then at last… you and Erwin. 

 Mike sees the way your chest rises with a deep breath, how your fingers tighten around the little basketball. Your eyes flit from Rhi to Mike, flashing when Rhi greets you. 

 Oh, you don't like her. 

 "Love the costume," she tells you. "Who are you supposed to be again?" 

 Mike chokes on his drink, and you suck your teeth before replying, "Lola Bunny. The Loony Toon."

 "Oh, is that, like, Bugs Bunny's girlfriend?"

 "Kind of?" You try. 

 Rhi looks to Erwin who visibly cringes when she asks, "Why aren't you dressed as Bugs then?" 

 Mike wants to turn around, to put as much distance between all of you as possible. 

 Erwin clears his throat. "Because that would be a couple's costume, and we're not…"

 Mike knows his expression is skeptical, cold even, and when he settles it on you, you give him a little shake of your head that he doesn't really believe. 

 "Oh, alright," Rhi concedes only to chime, "'Cause I heard—"

 "Wrong," Erwin cuts her off. "You heard wrong, Rhi." A hard, blue stare lands on Mike, unforgiving when he tells him, "I think it's time you two talked."

 "I don't think that's really—"

 "Oh, fuck," your swear gets everyone's attention, and Mike takes in the shock written all over your face then follows your line of sight to the entry way where Zeke god damn Jaeger is making his way through the crowd. 

 "What the hell is he doing here?" Erwin spits. 

 "You and Nile decided this should be an open party, dumbass," Mike reminds him with a roll of his eyes. 

 "Oh, so we're name-calling now? Jesus Mike, grow up. You're just assuming shit!" As he rants, Erwin takes hold of one of your arms and pulls you behind him, snatching the furry headband from you so the ears don't stick out. 

 For a split second, Mike thinks he's trying to protect you from him, but then he nods to bring Mike's attention to the approaching figure behind him, and Mike understands. 

 He turns his body to face Zeke who's walking over, fragmented by the strobe, his icy eyes piercing straight through his glasses. Mike, despite his anger toward you, feels the primal urge to protect you. 

 "The fuck do you want, Jaeger?" 

 "Woah, calm down, bud. Just looking for a brat—about yea high, spreads her legs for any athlete she comes in contact with. You guys seen her?" 

 Mike steps toward him, but he's stopped by a hand that fists in the back of his shirt. 

 "Ah, there she is," Zeke smirks, and Mike looks over his shoulder to see you now in front of Erwin with your fingers clutching the pink material across his back. 

 "He's not worth it, Mike."

 Mike thinks he is, though. He feels like he keeps getting whiplash, going back and forth between who he wants to hit at any given moment because it seems to change by the second.

 He's just been so incredibly frustrated for the past few months. Lacrosse doesn't help, and  the gym doesn't help, and fucking Rhi doesn't help. Mike has just been stewing, letting everything fester during the radio silence between the two of you. He's mad at so many people including himself, and all he wants to do is shove his way out of this stupid fucking party and take off his stupid fucking fanny pack and be alone in his apartment under his dumb fairy lights. 

 He shrugs out of your grip, figures the best thing he can do right now is get away from all of you. Zeke stumbles when Mike shoulders into him forcefully. He's not even a little surprised when Rhi doesn't follow him, choosing to vie for Zeke's attention instead. 

 It doesn't matter. All that matters is that Mike gets another drink in him. 

 He tries not to watch the way the heated conversation turns out, the way you bow up to Zeke and Erwin has to once again put himself in between you and the other blond. He tries not to smile at the fire in your eyes, that blaze he's seen so many times (usually when you're annoyed at him), and yes, there's that pain again, barely overshadowing Mike's anger. 

 You yell something at Zeke. He yells back. Erwin feels the need to add his own opinion, but the music is too loud for Mike to be able to make any of it out. Whatever is shouted makes Zeke huff and walk away. Rhi prances after him, and Mike resigns himself to the fact that he probably will not be fucking her after this shit show. He could always find someone else, but that takes effort (not much, but still), and then they usually get clingy afterward, and he just can't be bothered with all that right now. Mike can't be bothered with anything right now. 

 So he drinks. 

 He keeps an eye on Zeke who doesn't actually leave the party, and he drinks. He stares at you from across the room, bunny ears back in place, and he drinks. Somewhere between Boom and Beer Pong, he loses the fanny pack, looks down at some point and finds that it's just no longer there. All he had in there was a lighter and a couple condoms, so he isn't too broken up about it, but he does wonder—

 Mike isn't sure what makes him look over at the counter where all the different drinks are set out, but he does, and it's just in time to see Eren hunching over the bowl of jungle juice like some shady motherfucker, and when Mike makes his way over, world spinning just a little bit, he sees the younger Jaeger brother emptying a little plastic bag of green pills into the punch. 

 "What the fu—" Mike has him by the collar before he can even finish his own question, tosses the kid away from the counter so that he actually falls to the floor. It causes a few people to hop out of the way, their drinks sloshing and spilling on the tile. "What the fuck are you doing?" 

 Eren looks up at Mike with wide, panicked eyes, like he's scared and waiting for someone to save him. 

 "I—I don't know what you think you saw, man—"

 "I know exactly what I saw, you little creep!" 

 Everyone in the kitchen is looking at the two of them as more people trickle in. 

 "What even was that? You trying to roofie the whole fucking party or something?" 

 "No!" 

 "Just one person, then? That one special girl," Mike hisses.

 He walks back to the counter and grabs the large bowl of juice, carrying it over to Eren who's still on the ground. The kid covers his face just in time for Mike to empty the contents over his head, drenching him so that red drips from his hair and trickles down his arms. 

 "Drink up, bitch," Mike snarls before throwing the bowl so that it bounces off Eren's head. 

 Naturally, a bigger crowd has gathered, and Nile shoves his way through, shouting over the music, "What is happening?" 

 Mike leans over to yell in his ear, "Saw him pouring pills into the punch."

 "Are you serious?" 

 Mike nods but steps away when Eren pushes himself off the wet floor and nearly throws himself at Nile. 

 "I didn't do it! I don't know what the fuck he's talking about!" 

 Nile arm-bars Mike when he tries to move toward the little twerp, lips pulling back from his teeth because it has been a shitty night. A shitty week. Shitty month. And, now his fury has shifted yet again. 

 "Did anyone else see it, Mike?" Nile asks. 

 "Probably not since everyone is fucked up—"

 "Including you."

 Mike looks over at his friend in genuine surprise because it's starting to sound like Nile doesn't believe him. 

 "Why the fuck would I lie about something like this?" 

 "Maybe because he's Zeke's brother," Nile suggests. 

 Mike is heated. He can feel the blood underneath his skin cooking his god damn insides, frying his brain so that all he can think about is throwing a punch or two (or twenty). 

 Jaw sliding, Mike shuts his eyes, takes a deep breath to steady himself, to stop his hands from shaking as he tries to figure out when his friends started looking at him as some unhinged freak. 

 "What are you doing—the fu—dude, stop!"

 Opening his eyes again, Mike sees that Gelgar has inserted himself into the situation and has Eren pinned against the counter as he shoves his hands in every one of his pockets. He's growling something at the younger man, keeps shoving his face down against the linoleum any time Eren squirms, and after about a minute of people watching and gasping and making crude remarks about the position the two are in, Gelgar straightens up with a plastic bag identical to the one Mike saw Eren emptying into the jungle juice. 

 "It's just Adderall, I swear!"

 Gelgar scoffs. "This is definitely not Adderall. Believe me, I'd know." He tosses the pills to Nile who takes a long look at them before glaring at Eren. 

 "Get the fuck out before I call the cops."

 He should call them anyway, Mike thinks, but he understands Nile's hesitance. There's a lot going on at the party—underage drinking, party drugs in various rooms, etc. Eren wouldn't be the only one taken into custody if the police showed up. 

 Another voice rings out, asking the same question everyone else has, "What the hell is going on?" and Mike comes close to hurling the closest bottle at Zeke as he makes his way to his brother. "Why are you…" He gestures nebulously as his eyebrows pull together. Rhi is close behind him, and further still, you and Erwin are peeking into the kitchen. 

 "They think I drugged the jungle juice!" Eren looks at Zeke with puppy eyes that probably worked when he was a kid, might still work judging by the way the blond whirls around to face Mike and Nile. 

 "Have any proof, or are you just trying to—"

 "Pipe down, Jaeger," Nile cuts him off, holding up the bag and explaining, "Mike saw him dropping these in the punch."

 Zeke is silent for a few solid seconds before rounding on his brother again and grabbing him by the shirt right where Mike had previously held him, and everyone watches in rapt attention as he steers Eren through the crowd, shouting at him the entire time. 

 Having both of them leave is a relief, but Mike is a little disappointed that he didn't get to fight either of them. It would have been nice to feel a nose break under his fist, but he supposed it's better this way. 

 "Hey, thanks for catching that, dude," Nile says, slapping Mike's back. 

 It doesn't make him feel good. If anything, it pisses him off. Mike would understand if his friend had been skeptical of one of the pledges or second years making the accusation he had, but Nile is one of his best friends. They were inducted at the same time, were hazed side by side. Mike never would have thought Nile had such a low opinion of him, that he’d believe Mike’s little broken heart would cloud his judgement to the point of slandering someone without cause. 

 "Whatever," he shrugs before grabbing another drink. 

 He should just go back home. He isn't having a good time. He's angry at just about everyone he looks at. When Rhi decides he's worth her time again, Mike actually tells her to fuck off. He's lost the accessories to his costume, and he's about to lose his mind. 

 It's getting late. Mike isn't sure how late because as the night progresses, he gets steadily inebriated. He tries to avoid anyone and everyone in his fraternity, hanging out with people he knows from lacrosse or his classes instead. They play a few drinking games, take body shots off some sorority girls (or maybe it's the same one, he can't tell anymore). The music becomes bearable, and the strobe light stops hurting his head, and eventually, Mike just… forgets. 

 He forgets about Nile's lack of faith. He forgets about the fuckhead Jaeger brothers. He forgets about you and Erwin walking around and laughing together oh, ha ha we're so close now. He is finally spared from all of his negative thoughts. 

 Mostly because somewhere between shot number seven and beer number who knows what, Mike pukes into a plant (maybe?) and blacks out.

 *

 "God dammit. Erwin," you tug on his jacket sleeve and point to the corner that is home to a fake ficus that Mike is currently throwing up in. 

 Erwin groans, "Oh, Jesus Christ," and starts making his way over with you hot on his heels. 

 A few people are making faces as they glance at Mike, moving away as he coughs, straightens, then bends over again. 

 "Mike, come on, buddy," Erwin pats his back, waiting for Mike to pause in his retching so that he can duck under his arm and support him. "Gotta get you to a bathroom."

 "No bath," Mike snorts. "No green there, no…"

 You take a place on his other side, not that you can help much in getting him down the hall and in one of the downstairs restrooms, but you at least support his other arm and steer him in the right direction. 

 "Why is he talking about green?" Erwin grumbles as you both lower Mike to the tiled floor in front of the toilet where he promptly pukes again. 

 "The leaves maybe? I don't know, dude. Just…" You cringe as you notice the way Mike's shaggy hair hangs down into the toilet bowl, subject to all kinds of splash back. "Do you have a hair tie on you?" 

 "Literally why in the fuck would I have a hair tie on me?" Erwin asks incredulously, and you laugh because a couple weeks ago, he never would have used that word in this context since it's wrong, but the more you spend time with him, the more he picks up on your vernacular, and that really doesn't matter right now because—

 "Water," Mike croaks, voice echoing off the ceramic. 

 "I don't think you'll be able to drink any right this second, man," Erwin tells him, squatting beside him. 

 Mike shakes his head. "Wanna feel—feel water. Cold."

 "He sounds like a fucking caveman," you snicker. 

 You're really just trying to stay calm, masking the sick feeling in your stomach with amusement, but you've been watching Mike all night as he downed beer after beer, mixing various liquors as he took shots and licked salt off some chick's stomach. You figured he would get sick, but there wasn't really much you could do about it. He had made it pretty clear he isn’t interested in speaking to you. Still, you had purposely remained mostly sober just in case something like this happened (also because you make bad decisions when you get fucked up at frat parties).

 "Yeah, he definitely won't remember any of this."

 "Waterrr," Mike tries again, and you look at the way his arm is dangling over the side of the tub, the faucet on the opposite side, and glance at Erwin at a loss. 

 He shrugs, eyes darting around until he sees the plastic cup upside down on the shower rack. He grabs it, turns the water on and fills the cup, then dumps it over Mike's hand. 

 Mike groans, slowly wriggles his fingers under the stream, and drawls, "Thaaaank."

 You shake your head and motion for the cup, talk loud enough to be heard over the faucet, "I can handle this. You go back outside."

 "What? No."

 "There's no reason both of us have to be in here. He's just gonna puke his guts out for a few hours and then pass out." 

 Erwin doesn't seem sold on the idea. 

 "Come on. You've gotta go back. You're vice president or whatever."

 "So?" 

 "Erwin."

 He stares at you for a while then deflates. "Fine. Do you have your phone on you?" 

 "Always." You gesture to the elastic waistband of your shorts, phone pressed to your hip as it hangs on the inside of the material.

 "Text me if you need help, alright?" 

 "You got it, boss."

 He leaves just in time for Mike to violently retch into the toilet, one hand clutching the bowl as his spine curves. You fill the cup back up, pour it over his hand once again, and repeat the action over… and over… and over.

 His face and hair are gonna be a mess, probably his shirt too which is actually a blessing because you'll finally have a legitimate reason to burn it. Pepto Bismol pink and sketched palm trees stare at you as you sit on the edge of the tub, and all you can think of is the first time you saw Mike wearing the terrible shirt, how that had ended up, how you left with it the following morning. 

 How had the two of you gone from that to this? Sure, you weren't super fond of him at the beginning of it all, but he grew on you. A lot. He's your best fucking friend. Through the last couple months, through this weird fight you're having, he is your best friend. It's why you're here right now taking care of his drunk ass. 

 It'll pass. This phase will pass, and you'll make up, and you'll get your chance to be honest with him, to tell him how you feel about him. It may have taken you a little too long to arrive at your destination, so to speak, but better late than never. Soon, you'll both be able to look back on this and laugh. 

 People knock on the door here and there, and you scream at them to go away, eventually getting tired of it and just clicking the lock into place. 

 Any time you stop pouring water over his hand, Mike whines and attempts to say something, choppy words that don't make a ton of sense. You wonder if you need to call an ambulance, look for the signs of alcohol poisoning, but he doesn't feel cold, his breathing is even between bouts of vomiting, and his arms aren't curling in that tell-tale way. 

 More than likely, he just made himself sick. He knows better, too. He's been partying for a long enough time to be well aware of the mixing rules. Beer before liquor and all that shit. He may have just not cared tonight, though. From what Erwin has told you, Mike has just been in a generally bad mood for a while now (and Erwin has not tried to be subtle about why). He's barely around the Pike house anymore, he keeps getting called for personal fouls in lacrosse, and he's sleeping with Rhi which is nobody's business but is also strange considering her history—some kind of mutualistic symbiotic relationship that nobody is a real fan of. 

 Not my circus, not my monkeys, you think to yourself, emptying another cup from your place on the floor now. The ceramic was starting to hurt your ass, and you know your arm will probably be a little sore tomorrow, or later today since it's nearing three. 

 Fatigue is beginning to set in, and you know Mike is exhausted because he keeps dozing off on the toilet seat so that you have to nudge him back awake. Until he can speak in mostly coherent sentences, he's not allowed to sleep. 

 Sitting in the bathroom gives you ample amount of time to think. You go over some mental flashcards for a while, notes you took with the help of Mike's magic textbook. Then you think about going to your mom's for Thanksgiving and how much you aren't looking forward to it. Then you think about Zeke showing up only to have to escort his shady brother from the house. God, you had not been happy to see him. You'd been a little afraid, if you're being honest. 

 After figuring out that he had, in fact, blocked Mike's number on your phone, you had stomped into his apartment and initiated a screaming match. You got loud, he got louder, called you a stupid bitch and punched a hole in the drywall. You had decided that was a pretty good time to leave, both the apartment and the relationship. He's been lurking on campus around your most frequented spots—the science building, the library, but you've been doing a good job of camouflaging yourself in groups of other students. Even if he can see you, he can't do much about it. 

 You've thought about reporting him to campus police, but you know nothing will come of it. The golden boy can do no wrong. It's why you've been spending so much time at the PKA house again. You know most of them have your back, and you are absolutely not above asking any of them to walk somewhere with you to fend off your angry ex. 

 You can't wrap your head around what his fucking deal is. Surely he didn't treat Rhi like this after they split. There's no way she would still be so infatuated with him if he had. Is it just because you're the one who dumped him? He had to have seen it coming once you started putting the pieces together, the way he constantly tried to make you feel guilty, isolating you from your friends, invading the privacy of your phone to not only block Mike but also to turn your fucking location on so he could track you (you had found that out after that first trip back to the frat house to talk with Erwin. It had not been pretty).

 It's hard to believe you put up with it for as long as you did. It was only five months, but that's still five months too long. 

 Mike is quiet for several minutes, and you sigh when you see that his eyes are closed once again. He makes a noise of displeasure when you use your foot to gently shake him, grumbling, "Sto-o-op."

 "Nope. Gotta stay awake, Miche. Can't have you fallin' into a coma or something'."

 "Nooo. No Miche."

 "Yes, Miche," you laugh. 

 He scrunches his face up, shakes his head, but the motion seems to make him sick again. 

 When he finishes gagging into the toilet, he lets out a deep, "Gu-uuh," then sniffs. "No Miche. Jus' she—she—...Jus' her."

 You can figure out the rest, but you can't decide if you want to smile or cry. Only you can call him that. Well, you and his mom. You miss her. And his dad. And Scout. You hope to see them again. 

 "Okay. Just Mike then."

 He hums in confirmation then shakes his hand in the tub so that you'll douse it once again. 

 "You're a needy drunk, you know that?" 

 Mike doesn't respond to that, just takes a few deep breaths as his eyes close yet again. 

 "Sleep now," he mumbles. 

 "No, no sleep now."

 "Sleep now."

 "Oh my fucking god."

 His mouth drops open a little, and the first thing you think to do is splash him in the face with the cup of water. 

 He spits and splutters but doesn't shift much, still wrapped around the toilet. You try not to look inside when you stand and reach to flush what's already gathered, trying to shield some of Mike's face from any flying droplets. Then you wash your hands and sit back down. You figure you'll be here for at least another couple of hours. The sun will be coming up soon. Thank god it's a Saturday. 

 Both Erwin and Nile knock on the door for an update, and you yell that you're okay. Mike isn't throwing up as often, and when he does, nothing is coming up anymore. He's gonna be in a world of pain when he returns to his normal self. 

 So fucking stupid. He's so fucking stupid. 

 He mutters nonsense on and off. Sometimes you can translate what he's trying to say, but other times not so much. 

 "President… dumb boyyy."

 "Hy-poc-risy an' jealous… Hypocrite… I…"

 "Hand… wanna hold…" but when you grab it, he just gurgles, "Waterrr." 

 There's really no pleasing him. 

 "Why-y-y… dick… Erwin."

 "Volcano books… n' space jam… come an' sam… an'... to the jam."

 You laugh too loudly, and Mike cringes at the noise, but the corner of his mouth still lifts. You don't think he knows what he's doing or saying yet—isn't downloading any new memories—it doesn't matter because you will remember this for the both of you. 

 "You're fucking ridiculous."

 Mike pushes himself back from the toilet to sit against the wall, hissing and clumsily rubbing his chest. His shirt is wet and disgusting, and he must know on some level because he says, "Shower," and starts pulling himself over the tub. 

 "Jesus Christ, Mike."

 He's too tall, dangling an arm and a leg over the side and sinking lower. 

 "Water, pleeeease."

 He apparently isn't aware of the faucet that is still on. Whoever has to pay these bills… You feel sorry for them. 

 "No, dude. I am not letting you drown."

 Mike fucking giggles, "Lifeguard," then tries to take his shirt off. He doesn't have the motor skills to handle buttons and looks to be confused by them anyway, so his next solution is to just rip the material down the middle. 

 "Yeah, okay, I guess that works."

 The showerhead is turned on, and you sit on the edge of the tub again, shivering when the cool spray blows toward you while keeping an eye on Mike. Reaching over, you turn the temperature up a little, knowing that the alcohol has dropped his body temperature some. You're almost tempted to slide under the water with him, but there's no room, and you're not about to just make yourself comfortable on top of him.

 So, you just sit and stare and think about how tired you are. Physically and mentally and spiritually tired. You just need some time to not exist—just a few days. It feels like this semester has been nothing but drama so far, and it is exhausting. Maybe that's why Mike did this to himself. Maybe he just needed to not exist. 

 He starts to sit up a little in the tub, but his hand falters and sends him sliding back down. "Fuck."

 Not caring about getting wet at this point, you simply stand up between his spread legs, the shower drenching you immediately, and grab his hands to tug him upright. 

 "ευχαριστώ."

 "Come again?"

 "Means thanks," he mumbles, slumping forward. 

 You think of his family again, how he and his mother had just fallen into Greek as soon as you'd stepped into the house, leaving you surprised and impressed and warm in several different ways. 

 Squatting, you tilt your head to catch his half-lidded gaze. 

 "You back with me yet?" It's been nearly four hours—Fuck, why is there music playing still—but he might need more time. 

 "Dunno."

 "Can you tell who I am?" 

 Mike does his best to roll his eyes. "'m drunk, not a amnes—amnesic—"

 "Amnesiac," you supply with a smirk. Smartass.

 "That," he nods, pointing at you with a finger gun. 

 He can actually understand you now, so that's good, don't have to worry about him dying anymore since he's making progress. 

 Opening his mouth, Mike catches some water in it, swishes and spits. You expect him to tell you that you can leave. He can take care of himself, doesn't want to see you, all manner of hurtful things he has every reason to feel. 

 Instead, he blinks at you, extends his arms, and makes grabby hands. 

 "Can I help you?" 

 He doesn't say anything, just keeps reaching for you. He could grab you without issue. His fingers are already brushing your knees, but he either doesn't notice or wants to wait for you. 

 "Mike, I can't get any closer," you laugh. 

 Switching tactics, he pats his chest. 

 "Oh, no. I am but about to put myself in the line of vom just 'cause you wanna cuddle or some shit."

 Truthfully, you would also like to cuddle, to feel Mike's body against yours again, trace your fingers over his skin and listen to his heartbeat, but…

 Not like this. 

 "Please. No more vom. Promise."

 "I don't think you're in a state to make promises like that."

 He says your name followed by one more, "Please," and you give in, letting out a long breath and grunting as you find a way to lay between his legs with your head on the lower part of his sternum. You're curled a little awkwardly, one foot up against the ceramic while the other is curled beneath you. It is not by any means a comfortable position, but it's what Mike wants. 

 A few months ago, laying like this would inevitably lead to other things. Talking and joking would lead to giggling, maybe some well aimed prods to your ribs. You would bite in retaliation, his shoulder or, if the angle was right, his nipple, until he pulled you up further to sit in his lap, hot mouth finding yours, and so on and so forth. 

 This is different on every possible level. Neither of you are speaking. Your hands are unmoving on each other's bodies. There's no heat save for the water that's pouring down on both of you, plastering your silky costume to your skin. 

 Still, it's enough to lull you into a drowsy state, the ache in your eyes urging you to close them, but as soon as you do, Mike speaks. 

 "'m mad at you."

 Your stomach drops. His words don't come as a surprise, but they still sting. 

 "I know," you sigh. "I'm mad at me too."

 Your head moves with his chest, a gentle up and down that could—and has—put you to sleep. 

 "Still love you."

 You bite your lip, fingers lightly digging into Mike's warm skin as you remind yourself that he's drunk, and he hates you, and he probably won't remember any of this when he wakes up anyway. There's no reason to get emotional over it. No reason. 

 "I love you too, Miche."

 Silence closes in around you once more. You drift in and out for about half an hour until a loud knock jolts you awake. 

 You scramble off of Mike and hop to the door, leaving puddles and drops behind you. Both Nile and Erwin look panicked in the hallway, the shorter man nearly shouting, "Is he fucking dead in there?" 

 "Not deeeead," Mike calls from the tub. 

 Erwin peers over your shoulder at him, then at you, then takes on a disappointed expression. "You didn't. Come on, he's so drunk."

 "What do you—" You frown as you piece together his implication, then squawk and shove Erwin with two wet hands. "I didn't fuck him, you perv! What is wrong with you?" 

 He chuckles and bats away your hands. "I never know with you two! You can't blame me!" 

 "You're disgusting."

 "Look who's talking. Have you seen yourself in the mirror?" Erwin raises his eyebrows. "Less bunny and more… I don't know, ghoul?"

 God, you had completely forgotten about the face paint. 

 "Shut up, yours isn't much better." His black and white paint is smeared in several places like someone ran their fingers through it. The collar of his shirt is stained, and his hair is tousled. You can't tell if it's the result of getting frisky or falling asleep. 

 "Stop flirting in front of meeee," Mike whines loudly, sitting up and pushing the shower knob a little too hard to shut the water off. 

 "We're not—" You and Erwin start at the same time.

 Nile interrupts with a drawn out, unconvinced little note and informs both of you, "You guys get a little flirty sometimes. Sorry to break it to you."

 You frown at the blond and he frowns back, then you both frown at Nile who shrugs. "I'm just saying. There's a reason people are thinking things."

 It's not important, and you'd rather not dwell on it because you know the truth, and Erwin knows the truth, and Mike will if he'll just fucking listen, but he's fucked up right now, so that's a problem for another day. 

 "Whatever, we'll work on it, but for now…" You watch as Mike tries and fails to pull himself out of the tub. 

 "He looks like the girl from The Ring," Erwin snorts. 

 "Yeah, if she was giant. And, a guy," you add. 

 Wet hair is hanging over Mike's eyes, still sopping wet and dripping. He's all awkward angles as he hoists himself up, kicking a leg over and swearing. 

 "We should probably help him," Nile says, fighting his own smile. 

 "Probably."

 Between the three of you, you manage to transport Mike from the bathroom to Erwin's room on the third fucking floor which is no easy feat. Nile waits for his friend to be dumped onto the mattress, then announces that Hitch is waiting for him to come back to bed. You don't know how long that will last, but your friend falling into the same frat boy trap you did is mildly hilarious. 

 It leaves you and Erwin to make Mike comfortable. You wrap his head in a towel you found poking out of the hamper, murmur, "Hope this doesn't have anything gross on it," to which Erwin responds with an unamused look. 

 You peel the ruined, tacky shirt from Mike’s shoulders and toss it into a corner but you let Erwin take care of the rest. You've seen everything Mike has to offer, but that doesn't stop you from feeling weird about seeing his dick when he can't really stop you. So, like Mike did last year when he spilled water on your shirt, you turn your back to allow him some privacy. 

 There's some rustling and grunting, but when Erwin tells you it's safe, you look to find Mike in a pair of gym shorts, hair still wrapped, looking more disgruntled than you've ever seen him. 

 "'m still wet."

 "You sure are, big guy," Erwin agrees, slowly guiding him to lay down on his side and explaining, "You need to sleep like this, alright? Otherwise you might choke and die."

 "Erwin!" You throw your hands up in the air. "Why would you even—?"

 "Know how it works, dumb… butt."

 "Oh, dumb butt. That's a good one," Erwin grins. "Very creative."

 "Don't panotrize me!" 

 You have to cover your mouth to keep from cackling, and Erwin shakes his head, corrects, "Patronize, Mike. Patronize."

 "That's what I said!" 

 It takes a while to get him relaxed again. Apparently, Mike's favorite thing to do while drunk is run his mouth to Erwin, so while he's busy dealing with that, you raid Erwin's closet for a shirt and then his dresser for boxers. Once you are mostly dry, you snatch the towel from Mike's hair to wipe your face and toss it away, then step up onto the bed near the pillows, urging Mike to shift so that you can sit against the headboard. 

 He immediately rests his stubbled cheek on one of your thighs, then wraps both arms around the other, his fingers melting into the fat just below your ass as he grunts, "Mine."

 "All yours, buddy," Erwin assures with a grin before glancing at you. "I'm gonna pass out in the chair—" he gestures to the one in the corner of the room, "—if you need me for anything, just wake me up, okay?" 

 "Yeah, thanks." Then, "Hey, Erwin?" He hums in response. "Don't tell him about tonight, like, me staying with him."

 "Why?" 

 "I don't want him to stress out about what he may have said or done. 'Cause I know he will."

 "Whatever you say," Erwin shrugs, collapsing in the chair without even changing or washing his face. All three of you are gonna look like characters from a horror movie whenever you wake up, and the thought makes you smirk as you card your fingers through Mike's damp hair. 

 It's getting longer. He could probably put it up if he wanted to. He's been letting his beard grow a little too. You aren't sure if it's laziness or just trying a slightly different look, but whatever the case, it's hot. 

 He keeps your leg clutched tightly to him like some kind of stuffed animal until he drifts off to sleep. It's nearing five, and you know you probably won't get any quality rest while you're here, so you figure you'll just doze for a while until you can safely extract yourself from Mike's grip. He probably won't appreciate waking up like this anyway. No matter what he's said to you and Erwin—declarations and staked claims—it'll all be worthless in just a few hours. 

 A symphony of snores plays through the room, Erwin splayed out in his chair like he's passed out in a cheap Vegas hotel while Mike drools on your thigh, and if it was anyone else, you'd be disgusted and shove him away, but since it’s Mike, it’s weirdly endearing. He can slobber on you all he wants, it won’t bother you in the slightest. 

 Eventually, the sun shining through the window becomes too bright for you to even fall into a light sleep, so just as you planned, you gently untangle yourself from Mike, pausing when he grunts and frowns, but when he doesn’t stir any more than that, you manage to slip out of the bed. 

 Grabbing your phone and costume, still a little wet and cold because of it, you leave as quietly as you can. Your shoes are still in the downstairs bathroom along with Mike’s shirt, and you have a legitimate mental debate over whether you really should just toss it, but as much as you hate it, you decide against it. 

 You have to step over several bodies to get to the front door, more than usual which is concerning since the punch Eren spiked was thrown out (or really, thrown all over him), but you’re able to make it out without tripping.

 The drive to your dorm feels too long, sun beaming right into your itchy eyes the entire way. You nearly cry in relief when you finally fall onto your mattress, already well aware that most, if not all, of your day will be spent under the covers. You’re more than fine with it, allowing yourself to just not exist for several hours exactly how you wanted to.

[katelyn--renee]

Composure

Title: Composure

Fandom: Supernatural

Characters: Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Reader/(Y/N) Winchester (mentioned), Harper Winchester (OC, mentioned), Daniel Winchester (OC, mentioned), Crowley (mentioned)

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Wife!Reader

Words: ±2670

Description: Dean and (Y/N) take their shot at a normal life and settle down. Over the years, they have a few kids. Things are good. Until they’re not. What will Dean do when his past comes back to put an end to his happily ever after?

Written For: @deanwanddamons ​ 2K Celebration! Congratulations babe! That’s awesome! My prompt will be in bold -  “Just when I thought I was out, they pull me back in.”

Warnings: ANGST! Descriptions of blood. Mentions of breaking and entering. Kidnaping. Show level violence/outbursts of anger. 

Author’s Note: This is in correlation with another fic of mine, Sweet Cherry Pie. It takes place about twelve to thirteen years after that one, to give you a brief timeline. There will be other fics with that original storyline, so stay tuned.

Thank you so much to @wonder-cole​ for being my beta for this wonderful piece and helping me with the title. You’re awesome and much appreciated! She has some amazing work of her own, so please do yourself a favor and check it out! Check out @talesmaniac89​ for more awesome page dividers!!

Disclaimer: I do not own any photos or gifs, all rights go to original creators/owners.

Interested in more of my work, check out the link below.

Masterlist

The rain was heavy tonight, thick and angry as it poured from the dark clouds above. The fat raindrops were noisy against the single paned windows. The water coated the glass surface and made it impossible to see through, even as the flashes of lightning lit up the night sky and cast long shadows through the living room of 35 Maplewood Road. There was a heaviness surrounding the house, as if something wicked had been there.

The home was dark and empty, and the furniture was overturned and broken in places; the sofa was thrown over backwards, the cushions laying discarded across the floor with the end table toppled over beside it. The lamp that had occupied its surface was shattered to pieces on the wooden floor, and the rug had been stained with something dark and red. 

The coffee table was shoved out of place, the glass surface no longer there in one piece and the mirror that hung in the hallway had a spider web like crack across the surface, hanging now only by one screw. In the very center of the crack, something crimson and shiny caught the lighting from outside, almost as if someone’s skull had been smashed there.

The familiar idling of Baby’s engine grew louder as Dean pulled in the driveway of his home, the brakes squealing as he came to a stop and put the Chevy into park. A feeling of dread began to knot into his stomach, making the muscles of his jaw flex as he tried to bite back the feeling. Something was wrong; all those years of hunting and honing his instincts told him that much. Not a single light was on inside of the home and yet, (Y/N)’s car was parked out front. Not good.

Dean fished his phone from his jacket and swiftly unlocked the screen with a swipe of his thumb across the glass, dialing the number he knew so well. Pressing the receiver to his ear, he waited while the call rang out once... twice… “Come on, (Y/N/N).” He muttered under his breath as the fifth tone sounded. Her voice greeted his ear, but it was artificial; the recording of her voicemail, Hi, you’ve reached (Y/N)... 

“Damn it.” He cursed between gritted teeth and ended the call. He tried again, pressing redial. “Come on, baby, answer your damn phone!” He shut his eyes when he got the same results as before, cursing to himself as he shoved the device back into his pocket.

Never taking his eyes off the front of the house, he leaned over for the glove box and swiftly unlatched the compartment door, just as he’d done a million times before. Green eyes continued to scan for any signs of movement, even through the thick wall of rain that coated the windshield, despite the efforts of the wiper blades. 

Reaching a steady hand inside, he pulled out a pocket sized flashlight and his beloved stainless steel Colt, the engraving on the barrel catching the lightning as it bolted across the sky. Expertly, he removed the clip with a press of his thumb and double checked the bullets inside before sliding it back into the place, securing it with another click. It’d been years since he’d held the weapon, but the pearl coated handle felt just as natural as breathing against his palm.

Leaving the Impala’s engine running, Dean climbed out from behind the wheel and shut the door, the hinges creaking with age. Clicking on the flashlight, he approached the home with long, yet cautious strides, his booted feet silent in his approach, even through the heavy rain. 

His mind was racing with every terrible possibility, his guilt threatening to eat him alive as images of his family, in the worst possible outcome, flashed before his eyes. It made his blood run cold. His heart was pounding rapidly with fear, pushing the adrenaline through his veins and forcing him to move forward rather than let the panic overwhelm him.

He tried to peer inside the living room through the set of windows lining the front of the house, but it did little to ease his uncertainty; if anything, it only made it worse, only able to make out long shadows and dark shapes. His clothes were completely soaked through, hugging his large frame by the time he’d reached the front porch, the coolness of the rain chilling him to the bone. Droplets of water dripped down his face and the tip of his nose, and his hair clung against his forehead.

Approaching the large red door, his scowl only deepened, darkening his features when he discovered that it had been left unlatched, allowing in a single beam of light with each flash from the storm overhead. He glared at the lock and then narrowed his eyes as something caught his attention, the muscles there twitching. Stretching a hand out, he examined the wooden surface, his fingertips grazing over the chipped paint and splintered wood. Someone had broken in.

Taking only a moment to compose himself, Dean exhaled slowly and swallowed back his apprehension, forcing himself to go on. Using the weight of his body, he nudged the door open cautiously and poked his head inside. The experienced hunter kept his gun aimed high and at the ready, his finger hovering over the trigger. Wrist over wrist, Dean held the flashlight steady with the opposite hand, the beam unmoving, providing him with some light through the darkness.

All of those years of training were put to the test as he stepped through the threshold of his home, his expression as hard as stone and giving away absolutely nothing, despite the fear that was boiling just beneath the surface. His eyes darted around the room, following the beam of his flashlight, taking in every detail of his surroundings just as he’d been taught all those years ago.

Following the layout of the house, Dean came to the living room first, stepping over the broken furniture and discarded decorations. The sight of his home in this state made him uneasy and that much harder to keep his cool, able to sense the panic starting to creep in. Where was (Y/N)? Where were the kids? Who had done this to his family? Was it revenge?

Another flash of lightning caused something slick and shiny to catch his eye, and Dean let out a shaky breath. Hesitating for only a moment, he crossed the room and crouched down next to the sofa to investigate, the troubling sight seized his heart. There was a substantial amount of blood there, a large pool of crimson that had soaked into the fibers of the rug. 

Near the top of the stain, a gold chain necklace was lost within the mess and a thin layer of another substance was scattered around it. It was almost yellow in color and had a very distinct, very specific scent that accompanied it. Touching the surface of the floor next to the stain, Dean felt something grainy under his finger tips. Lifting it to his nose, the smell of sulfur invaded his senses. Demons.

“Fuck,” He cursed, the boom of the thunder shaking his house as it lit up his face simultaneously. Still crouched, he plucked the necklace out of the sticky crimson mess and glared at the amulet with a heavy gaze, his hand shaking. He shut his eyes and closed his fingers into a fist, the knuckles turning white around the piece of jewelry. It belonged to (Y/N). It had been a gift, a charm to ward off evil and prevent possession.

This was all his fault. He should have known better. Hell, he did know better and yet, he ignored it, because he had a chance to finally be happy. To have an actual family and live the normal, apple pie life he’d always wanted. And now the ones he loved were missing and more than likely dead. Or probably close to it.

His chin quivered for a moment and hot tears stung at the corners of his eyes, his emotions getting the better of him. How could he let this happen? How could he be so stupid and reckless? He knew better, damn it! Once a hunter, always a hunter. There is no getting out of the life, not entirely, because those evil sons-of-bitches will always be out there. 

One way or another, they always find a way to catch back up to any hunter who has tried, and every single time it ends bloody and messy and violent. He needed to find them, he just had to. And he would save them, no matter what it cost. He’d pay it.

Releasing a heavy breath, he opened his eyes and willed the tears away, shoving the emotions back down into the pit of his soul. Despite his efforts, a solitary tear made it’s escape, dripping down his left cheek and onto the color of his shirt before he could stop it.

Dean rose to his full height and squared his shoulders, prepared to continue his search. Sliding the necklace into his jacket pocket with care, he followed the trail into the hall with a heavy heart. 

Glass cracked and snapped under his boots as he walked through the space, his jaw flexing when he saw the picture of his family shattered on the floor. Their happy faces only added to his grieving heart and guilty conscious, their smiles making his soul ache.

That had been a good day, nearly five years ago now; (Y/N) had worn his favorite blue dress that day, the strapless one that stopped right above her knees and showed off her sexy legs. 

She had on that silly - but achingly cute - oversized tan hat that kept the sun from her eyes. He would always tease her about that goofy hat, but she never cared what others thought of her, never ceasing to be herself, no matter what.

They’d gone to the park that day, had an actual picnic and he’d played catch with his son while the girls giggled and painted their nails...  They even taught the twins how to ride their bikes that day. They couldn’t have been more than seven years old.

Harper had caught on much quicker than her brother, of course, taking after her mother in that way. Those girls were naturals at almost everything they did, only needing to try something a few times before perfecting it. That had been something he’d adored and admired about his wife and it was a huge part of what made her such a skilled hunter when they met.

Daniel, on the other hand, had to take the time to understand how something worked first. He needed to study the mechanics of things, take them apart, rebuild and understand it completely, inside and out, before he was able to master it. Danny often reminded Dean of the Winchester side of the family. That had been a good day, one of many they’d shared together.

Brought out of his memories by another angry boom from outside, Dean pressed on. Where the picture had once hung, there was a bloody handprint smeared on the white wall, the two colors contrasting greatly. 

The blood streaked out toward the kitchen, giving the hunter a clear path to follow. Damn it. Dean grit his teeth. It felt as if something had his heart in a vice, squeezing it tighter and making it increasingly difficult to breathe the further he went.

His emotions were threatening to break through the surface again, fighting hard against his resolve, but he held his ground against them, purely focused on finding his loved ones. Now was not the time to break down. Following the trail of blood and debris, he checked each room along the way, trying to be as thorough as possible. He couldn’t afford to miss a damn thing. 

Their bedrooms were empty, and unsurprisingly, every inch had been torn apart. Dean’s chest heaved with emotion, his breath hitching in his throat; if anything happened to those kids, he would never be able to forgive himself.

Continuing on, the hunter emerged into the next room, and found much of the same; broken furniture, shattered pictures and even more blood. But not a single sign of his family. The sliding glass door had been left open, allowing the rain from the storm to collect onto the tile floor. 

Dean shut his eyes and took several deep breaths, his chest aching with every forceful beat of his heart. He needed to call Sammy, needed to form a plan. When he opened his eyes, something on the countertop caught his eye; a sheet of paper. Cocking his head with curiosity, he crossed the room in three long, determined strides.

It was a note, addressed to him.

It’s been too long, darling. How’s Moose? Hope the wife and kids are well...oh, wait, that’s right, you’re as clueless as ever. No surprise there. Before we get to the fun bits, let’s talk business; I need a favor and you and your giant of a brother are going to help me. Now, to ensure that things go as planned, I have something of yours. I assure you, they are safe. For now. Do as I ask, and they will be returned to you, alive. So, Dean, dear, let’s make a deal, shall we? You know where to meet me.

Squirrel,

Yours truly, 

The King of Hell

“Crowley.” Dean growled deep in his chest, his teeth clenched as his blood began to boil over with rage. “Goddamn it!” He shouted, swiping the contents of the counter onto the floor. “Fuck!” He kicked something across the room, too angry to pay much attention to it as it slammed into the stainless steel refrigerator. He swung at the closest surface, his fist connecting with a nearby wall.

The drywall collapsed around his fist as the plaster fell to the floor at his feet. His knuckles were screaming at him, but he didn’t care, too fueled by his rage to notice. What could Crowley possibly need their help with? It didn’t matter. Whatever it was, they would get it done and save his family. Crowley would get what’s coming to him; Dean would make damn sure of that.

Taking a few calming breaths, Dean removed his phone with a bloodied hand and opened his contacts, scrolling through the names until he found what he was searching for. Sammy. Dialing the number, Dean held the phone to his ear with baited breath. After the third ring, Sam’s voice came in through the other end, sounding concerned because of the late hour, “Dean? Everything alright?”

Dean shook his head, his vision blurring with tears. He cleared his throat, trying to prevent it from shaking too much. “No, Sammy. It ain’t alright.” He admitted, gripping the counter with his free hand, bracing himself. He wanted to crumble onto the floor, his body trembling; his mind flooded with so many different emotions, each of them trying to overpower the other: fear, guilt, anger, heartache…

“Dean, what is it?” The younger Winchester questioned, the worry evident in his voice. “Is it (Y/N)? The kids? Is everyone okay?” He waited patiently on the other end, but Dean could hear him moving around; he assumed his brother was getting his things ready to head out.

“Damn it, Sammy,” Dean’s voice broke as a few tears slipped through the cracks, “Just when I thought I was out, they pull me back in.” He shook his head, allowing himself a moment to break, his chest heaving. “We were out!” He slammed his fist down onto the counter, terrified and angry.

“Dean, what’s going on?” Sam pleaded, wanting desperately to help his big brother. 

“Crowley.” Dean clarified, going into more detail as he composed himself and straightened his stance, “Crowley’s taken them.” He took a calming breath, his moment of weakness over. “I need your help, Sammy.”

“Already on my way.”

Annnnnnd there you have it. I hope that wasn’t too rough on the heart? No worries, there may or may not be a part two in the works? We shall see. ;) 

Anyway, if you enjoyed that, please like and comment and if you’re feeling a little extra generous, share it with your friends, too! You’re feedback is like GOLD! As always, thanks for reading! 

Taglist!

Supernatural

@akshi8278​ // @flamencodiva​ // @perpetualabsurdity​

[randomfandominserts]

Zuko x Reader - Home

Request:  Hi! I wonder if you take requests. If that's the case would you maybe write something with Zuko please? Maybe Reader is really soft and friendly despite his efforts to push her away and gives him the feeling that hes enough, and that theres no need to return to his father. And he can't help but grow fond of her and get soft and maybe its the first time he lets her hug him and she kisses him on the cheek and he blushes?

Word Count: 4619

Note: So this is way longer and angsty-er than I was expecting it to be. It’s the first time I’ve written in a while so I’m super rusty but I hope you enjoy!

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It was never easy to be a Fire Nation run-away, a refugee with no way to express the loss you’ve had to face for fear of being banished from your new home. You were the child of a Fire Nation nobleman, a child who had been locked away from the world for years due to your lack of bending and possession of curiosity and empathy. Though you were usually soft-spoken and hesitant to disobey authority, you still made an effort to let those around you know you were against the Fire Lord and the war he supported. 

Your blatant disrespect for the Fire Lord’s rule at royal events led to your separation from the noble world, and eventually the entire world. Fire Lord Ozai was clear, very clear, that had you continued to let your presence disrupt his events, you would face a fate worse than death and your parents would be punished for raising such a disrespectful child. So you were locked away, with no one to see but your tutors and the parents who desperately tried to pass on their vicious world views. No amount of force or manipulation could influence you to think anything but poor thoughts of the Fire Nation. The point came where they wanted nothing more than to rid themselves of their wretched child, and they offered to have you sent to the Fire Lord’s prison on charges of treason. 

And so you left. 

You ventured into the world, escaping in the night with a satchel full of stolen coins and a month’s worth of bread. You walked and walked, then hid away on a ship to travel to the Earth Kingdom, then continued to walk, then bought an ostrich horse and traveled more. Eventually, after months of travel, you made your way into Ba Sing Se as a refugee, beginning your new life. 

Of course, life went on like this for months, until one day you ventured into your neighborhood’s tea shop and came face-to-face with two familiar men. Two very familiar members of the Fire Nation’s royal family. 

It took everything in you not to scream out in surprise. Were they here to take you back? Punish you for escaping your fate? Execute you for treason? How had they even gotten into Ba Sing Se? But Iroh quickly pulled you aside, the gentle smile on his kind face calming your nerves immediately. “(Y/N),” he said, “It is very good to see you again.” You decided that a reunion with a friendly face was just what you needed, so you invited the pair over for dinner to learn more about what had happened.

You learned of their journey to find the Avatar, and you learned of Azula’s betrayal and their flee to the Earth Kingdom capital. Iroh was welcoming of having you in his life. He was always a kind man during court events, escorting you out and giving you tea when you angered his brother. Zuko, on the other hand, was more apprehensive about having you around. He had heard your words in the past defaming his father and protesting the war. He was unsure that you would keep their secret. 

But you were much too kind to rat out two poor souls looking to move on with their lives. Besides, ratting them out only gave them reason to throw you under the bus as well. It was much better to simply throw caution to the wind and stick together. Keep your friends close and enemies closer, and anyone in-between stays close as well, you supposed.

With the help of the former royals, you were able to buy a much better place for the three of you. It was not fancy or even nice, but it was better than before and had two bedrooms, one for you and one for your housemates, and a living area rather than simply one large room. 

Life was good. You and Iroh grew closer, much to Zuko’s dismay. He still distrusted you and was hesitant to let himself get close to you for fear of betrayal. You tried, though. Every evening when you both arrived home from work you greeted him with a smile, and sometimes a small gift from the shop you worked at. He was never blatantly rude, always mumbling a quick greeting or thank you, but would always shuffle into his room without a second word. You were determined to get on his good side, but he never seemed to show himself to you long enough to break the surface. 

Slowly but surely, you and Iroh began to help Zuko warm to the idea of being your friend. Every day he would say a couple more words, stay out a little later before he shuffled to his room for the night. His (slight) openness warmed your heart, and you found yourself growing fond of the boy. 

One night, Iroh was out late with some men he played Pai Sho with. That meant you were in charge of feeding yourself and Zuko for the night. You cooked up an old recipe you had learned years ago and placed the platters in front of the both of you. 

“I hope you like it,” you started, watching as Zuko took a small spoonful into his mouth. “I haven’t cooked in ages.” 

“Thank you,” Zuko replied, swirling the food in his bowl. “It’s good.”

“It’s an old recipe that my grandmother taught me.” Zuko took another mouthful of food, quietly thinking over the words you said. 

“You must miss her,” he finally said. It was a statement rather than a question, and though he was unsure he painted it as though he was certain of himself.

“I couldn’t,” you countered, placing your own bite on your tongue. There was silence as Zuko watched you swallow your food, waiting for you to continue. “The things that my family has done, what would make me miss such corruption and misery?” You found yourself staring down at your bowl, the steam hitting your face in a comforting puff of heat. “It’s much like your father. You don’t miss him.” Your words shadowed his, an unsure statement once again presented as confident truth.

Zuko didn’t reply, instead opting to sip his water and stare past your head. You figured that meant the conversation had ended, so you sighed and continued to eat your food in silence. Zuko’s sharp breathing and the clattering of spoons against bowls were the only noises present until Iroh burst in through the door, cheerfully greeting you both. He paused once he sensed the tense atmosphere and settled at the table with you both. 

“What are you eating? It looks delicious,” he said, causing you to smile. 

“I’ll grab you a bowl,” you said, rising from the table quickly. Once you cleaned your bowl and filled one for Iroh, you headed back to the table. “It’s an old Fire Nation recipe. I think you’ll like it,” you told Iroh as you placed his food in front of him. Zuko continued to avoid your gaze, and you figured it was time to go. “I think I’ll head to bed now. Goodnight.” With that, you were off. 

.

.

.

You hadn’t been able to sleep. You were unsure of what time it was, but the black sky outside your window told you it wasn’t yet nearing the morning. With a sigh, you pushed yourself out of bed and off to the kitchen to fetch a cup of tea to soothe you to sleep. 

To your surprise, the kitchen wasn’t empty when you arrived. Zuko sat at the table, a cup of tea sitting on the table in front of him. He twirled the contents of the cup with a single heated finger, causing the contents to boil and bubble. As you shut your door, he swung around to meet your eyes with a questioning look. “I couldn’t sleep,” you said simply as you took the seat across from him. He nodded before standing to grab a second cup from the cupboard.

“Would you like some tea?” he asked, lifting the pot to begin his pour. “Don’t worry, my uncle made it before he went to sleep.” You nodded, taking the warm cup from his hands and sipping it. You both sat in silence for a moment, daring the other to break it. You decided to take the bait and set your cup down with a gentle thud.

“I apologize for what I said earlier,” you started, staring down at your mug. The lightly-colored liquid glistened in the light of the lone lantern Zuko had lit, and you couldn’t help but fasten your attention to the shimmering reflection rather than the grumpy prince. “I meant nothing by implying you didn’t miss your father. I only assumed-” 

“It’s fine.” He cut you off suddenly, his scratchy voice holding a sharp tone. “I don’t miss him. You’re right.” Though he tried to hide it, he always tried to hide it, you could hear the pain in his voice. You looked up and met his amber eyes, searching for answers.

“You must miss something.” There was something about the way he worded his sentence, something about the way he avoided looking directly at you. You could tell he wasn’t being entirely truthful, so you pushed. 

“I suppose I do.” He was curt, unwilling to give you the answer you desired, so you changed the subject before the tense silence you were both so accustomed to could swallow you whole.

“It’s beginning to feel like a home here, isn’t it?” You tried to give him a small smile, evoke a little emotion from the boy, but he stared blankly as you spoke. “The plants I bought from the shop bring a little light into this place.” 

“This isn’t a home.” Zuko stood abruptly, shaking the table as he pushed away. Drops of tea spilled over the top of your cup, splashing onto the wood of the table. “This isn’t my home.” He stormed out of the house, leaving no trace except his boiling cup of tea and your spilled one. You sighed before rising to clean up.

You traveled around the table to grab Zuko’s half-filled drink, only to immediately drop it at the feeling of the burning hot cup. You cursed as the hot contents spilled onto your bare feet and the cup shattered on the floor. At the sound of this commotion, Iroh slid open his door and peeked into the kitchen. 

“Zuko is gone. Is everything alright?” You gave no answer, instead sitting on the floor to look at your burnt feet and clean up the broken cup. Iroh stepped out into the kitchen to examine the situation, sighing when he saw your red feet and turning back to his room. He returned with a towel, a broom, and some bandages for your feet, and helped lift you to a seat to bandage yourself while he cleaned the spilled tea. You slowly wrapped your burns, unsure of what to say. Luckily, Iroh knew how to break the silence. “Did you fight?” he questioned. You shook your head. 

“We were having a discussion.” 

“A discussion.” Iroh’s hearty laugh filled the atmosphere, instantly bringing you comfort. “My nephew hardly knows how to have a discussion.” You shrugged, not knowing what to say. 

“I hadn’t meant to offend him.” You finished wrapping your feet and stood, testing to make sure the bandages would stay. “We spoke of his father, and he said he didn’t miss him, but he still sounded sad.” You stumbled to the flower pot which housed the small flowering bush you had brought home. It made the place feel so lovely, and it was such a beautiful addition to the dreary interior of your poor home. You sighed and brushed a finger over its leaves. “I spoke of home, this home. But this isn’t his home.”

“Come, sit.” Iroh walked over and helped you to sit in a chair at the table. He sat across from you and slid a cup across the table. “I figure you could use some fresh tea,” he said with a smile. You took a sip and smiled, silently thanking him for the warmth and comfort housed in the cup. 

The silence was once again broken by Iroh’s kind voice. “My nephew has been through many things. It has been a long while since he has had a place to call home.” 

“Of course. I never meant to invalidate him in any way.” You hadn’t meant to hurt or offend Zuko. It felt as though Ba Sing Se was becoming a home, a true home, for both you and him. “I only thought that we finally had something good, all of us. A home.” 

“And that we do.” Iroh took a sip of his own tea and let out a sigh. “But this is not the home my nephew wants. He desires a home with his family.” 

“You’re his family. Is this not enough for him?” You felt yourself getting worked up, and your tea threatened to once again spill over the edge of the cup that rested in your shaky hands. “How can he desire to go home to people who have hurt him?” 

“Family is a strange thing, (Y/N). As is desire.”

“His father scarred him. Banished him. What more proof does he need that there is no home where that man is?” Once again, drops of tea splashed onto the wood in front of you. Quickly, you set the tea down and rose from your chair. “Thank you for the tea. I think I’ll be heading to bed.” Iroh simply sipped his tea and nodded.

“Remember, it takes courage to stand fast in your beliefs. All are not as strong as you, (Y/N). All are not so certain.” You nodded your head before slipping away to your room. As you laid in bed, Iroh’s words echoed in your ears. Zuko desperately wanted a home with his family. He wanted acceptance, despite anything that may have happened to him. It broke your heart knowing that he wanted nothing more than his father’s love, even when his father cared so little of him.

.

.

.

“Zuko!” You called out to the taller boy, waving him outside. He was working, but the shop wasn’t busy and it seemed they had little to do.  It had been a couple of days since your tense chat, and though you both seemed to be back to normal you had yet to discuss what had happened. It was constantly on your mind, but you felt it was better to keep the peace than put Zuko in an uncomfortable position to discuss family with an outsider. “I’m about to head to lunch. Would you like to join me?”

He nodded in your direction, let Iroh know where he was off to, and stripped off his apron. “Where are we eating?” he asked as you walked down the stone streets. You held up a basket of food, a small smile on your face. 

“I thought we could picnic, if that’s alright?” Zuko once again nodded, and you two set off to find a nice spot to sit and eat. Your walk was silent, the only sound present being the beating of your feet against the stone path, but it was strangely comforting. Eventually, you came across an empty plaza and settled down by the fountain. As you worked to pull out the food you prepared, Zuko strolled around the plaza.

“Thank you for this,” he said when you finished, and plopped down next to you. “You don’t need to always cook for me.” 

“It’s not a problem,” you insisted, shoving some food in his hands. “Here, try this. You like spicy food, right?” With that, the two of you began your quiet meal. Zuko was, as usual, not very talkative, but you tried to fill the empty space with jokes and laughter. You even managed to get a small smile out of the dark-haired boy. 

All too soon, lunch was over and the two of you had to get back to your respective jobs. As you journeyed back through the streets, a sheet of paper floated down just in front of you both. Zuko reached out to pluck it from the air, eyeing it carefully. His eyes seemed to widen as he read the sheet. “What is it?” you asked, peering over to try and catch a glimpse. The sheet was quickly removed from your line of sight with a grumbled response telling you it was nothing, don’t worry about it. Unconvinced, you reached over and ripped the sheet from his hands, giving it a quick once over. 

“A… flying bison?” You were confused, why did a missing pet have Zuko in such a mood? You continued scanning the sheet until you reached the bottom, where it listed who to contact if the bison were found. “Oh.” You held the crumpled sheet back out to Zuko, and he was quick to snatch it from your hands. You felt a lump growing in your throat, unsure of what to say to the boy who stood beside you. The Avatar was in Ba Sing Se, and it seemed Zuko was ready to run after him and return back to his old life immediately.

“I have to go,” he said, but you reached out and grabbed his wrist to stop him from entering the shop.  At this moment words seemed to fail you, and you just stared up at him, sadness in your eyes. He avoided your gaze. He looked anywhere but at your accusing stare, anywhere but the disappointment your eyes held. Slowly, you loosened your grip on his wrist, and his arm dropped back to his side. “Thank you for lunch.” 

Later, you sat in your apartment helping Iroh brainstorm names for his new tea shop while you cooked dinner. Iroh had gotten the offer to have his own shop and a nicer apartment today, and upon hearing the news you decided to celebrate. Zuko stormed in while you were tossing around silly names, the crumpled flyer held tight in his hand.

“The Avatar is here in Ba Sing Se,” he said, holding the paper out to Iroh. You tensed upon hearing the words, knowing what conversation was to follow. “He’s lost his bison.”

Iroh was as displeased as you, and voiced his concerns to Zuko. The boy stormed off, leaving you and Iroh frozen in the kitchen. You softly stirred the food while Iroh continued to spout silly name ideas for the new shop.

.

.

.

That night, you were staring at the ceiling when you heard a noise from the front, followed by a quiet curse. You rolled out of bed and exited your room, only to find Zuko in the living area, shoes on and dual swords by his side. “Where are you going?” you questioned, causing the boy to jump.

“Out,” he replied simply as he dug through a box. What was he was searching for? You crossed the room to take the spot beside him and leaned over the box for a peak. It was full of random keepsakes, things you’d never seen before. Probably a box that was purposefully hidden away, full of things Zuko wanted no one else to see.

“Out,” you repeated, a hint of resignation in your voice. You knew exactly what that meant, and your suspicions were only confirmed when you saw Zuko pull a blue mask from the depths of his box. “You’re going after the bison, aren’t you?” 

“What do you think, (Y/N)?” He stood up, tucking the mask into his waistband. “I have to.” 

“You don’t,” you said gently. He shook his head at the thought and moved to turn away, but you grabbed his wrist and tugged, forcing him to turn back to you. “Zuko, this isn’t your responsibility anymore. You’re free. You’re finally free to be who you want, and yet you still choose this path of pain.” You tried to look to him, but he was looking away from you, hiding any emotion that he might be showing on his face. 

“You don’t get it,” he tried to say, but you scoffed at the thought. 

“No, you don’t get it, Zuko!” Rare as it was, you felt yourself losing your grip. He couldn’t see how much this was hurting him, or hurting his uncle, or hurting you. He couldn’t see that he had options now that he resided in Ba Sing Se. He couldn’t see the home that you and Iroh had built up for him. “You don’t understand how much you have. We have a home, Zuko, we have our little family. Iroh is happy! He’s getting his own tea shop. You’ll be able to enjoy your life, and yet you still want to do everything you can to make your father proud and go back to that wretched palace.” 

You were so frustrated and tears threatened to spill, but Zuko still refused to even glance in your direction. He tried to tug free of your grip, but you still held on tight. “Let go,” he said, his voice firm. You hesitated before complying, but he didn’t move immediately. 

“Can you at least look at me?” Your voice trembled. You didn’t have much left in you. The least he could do was look in your eyes while you pleaded with him to stay. It took a moment before he turned his head back towards you. His expression was blank, but his eyes betrayed him. Though you couldn’t decipher it, there was something hidden behind his gaze. Sadness, anger, guilt? You couldn’t tell. “You don’t have to go. Stay here. Be happy with us. Don’t do this, please.” 

“You have no idea what you’re talking about.” 

“I know exactly what I’m talking about.” You tried to reach out to him, to grab his arm once again and tug him closer, but he stepped just out of your reach. “Zuko, there’s nothing left for you there. You may steal the bison or capture the Avatar, but then what? You return home to a family that doesn’t care for you as much as we do. They don’t love you at all.” He was turning away from you again, and you leapt forward to latch onto him. “Look at me. Please, just look at me and tell me honestly that you’ll be happier with your father than with us.” He couldn’t, and you knew he couldn’t. You tried holding his attention, but he tugged his arm away without a word and averted his eyes.

“I’m going. Don’t follow me.” Your pleas had fallen on deaf ears. Zuko tucked his swords into their holder and left, not even sparing you a second glance. You felt frozen in time as quiet tears streaked down your face.

After what felt like hours (but was likely only minutes), you shuffled to the back room and knocked on a door. It opened to reveal a sleepy-looking Iroh, but he immediately woke when he saw the state you were in. “Zuko’s gone.”

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.

.

You barely slept that night, and you slept even less when Zuko came back with a fever. You stayed by his side, making sure he always had a cool rag on his head and some water nearby to drink. Iroh insisted you take turns watching over the prince, but you couldn’t help but worry. 

Iroh had told you what happened that night, and you were incredibly proud of Zuko. You knew it must have been hard for him to realize his path, but you were glad that this was the path that he had chosen. You wanted more than anything for him to have a chance at happiness alongside you and his uncle.

It was late at night when Zuko finally recovered from his feverish state. You were reading a book beside him and barely noticed he had risen when he decided to speak. “How long have I been sick?” You glanced over the top of your book to see the prince sitting up on the floor. He looked much better, albeit still a bit weak from the cold. You could hardly contain the smile that spread onto your face. 

“It’s only been a couple of days. Are you hungry?” You quickly rose from your seat beside him, but he reached out to you as you walked away. 

“Wait,” he requested. You slowed to a stop and returned to his side. “I wanted to thank you for what you said.” The complex mix of emotions you had seen in his eyes the night he left was now spread across his face. Sadness, anger, guilt, and now embarrassment? You couldn’t tell, but at least now he wasn’t hiding it. “You helped me realize that I do have a choice. I can be happy, I just need to choose it.” 

The smile on your face grew wider. “And you’re choosing us?” 

“I’ve realized you and my uncle are my real family.” You couldn’t contain your joy as you reached out to hug Zuko. He hadn’t noticed and was moving to get up, so you quickly stopped and regained your composure. You stood too, hoping the boy hadn’t noticed. 

“I’ll go get Iroh. I’m sure he’s excited to see you.” 

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.

.

It was the first morning in your new apartment in the Upper Ring. You could smell Iroh cooking in the large kitchen, but you were distracted by the sight of Zuko watering the plants you had brought from your old apartment. He had gotten up much earlier than you, which didn’t usually happen, so it was a welcoming sight to see him glowing in the morning sun with your plants. 

“I didn’t think you liked those,” you said, causing him to jump. Once he saw it was you, he shook his head as he returned his attention to the plants. 

“They’ve grown on me,” he replied. You smiled and moved to his side, watching as he cared for the bush. He seemed so happy now, his usual scowl replaced with the hint of a smile and shining eyes. You wished you could watch the scene play out forever, but he broke the moment when he set the watering can down and turned to you. “You were right. They do make it feel like home.” He gave you a small smile, and your heart melted.

Without thinking, you stepped closer to him and wrapped your arms around him. He was taken by surprise and stood frozen for a moment, before gently wrapping his around you. “I’m so glad you stayed,” you said softly. “I’m glad you’re home.” You pulled away to smile up at him and quickly rose on your toes to peck his cheek. He immediately grew red at the kiss.

“I- uh, well, I’m glad I stayed too,” he stammered, turning his face away from you. Of course, Iroh chose that moment to enter the room. 

“Nephew, your face is as red as a tomato,” he said with a chuckle. “Has your fever returned?” 

“Of course not,” Zuko countered, before picking up the watering can and shuffling quickly out of the room to avoid any more conversation. With a knowing look on his face, Iroh shot you a wink and then let you know breakfast was ready. He exited, leaving you alone in the room. 

You reached out to gently stroke the leaves of the bush in front of you. You were all finally home. Only good things could be in store for your new-found family. With a small smile plastered on, you skipped off to the kitchen to enjoy the first breakfast of your new, happy life.

[5-falsehoods-phonated]

When Our Hands Next Meet

Series summary: Soulmates are given memories of their past lives when their hands touch. For Virgil and Logan, each memory is happier than the last.

This series was created for @analogicalweek and made in collaboration with the lovely @birdsongisland! Please go look at the wonderful drawing that pairs with this work and support them with reblogs so their work can be seen!

Credit to birdsongisland for beta reading this as well, it came out a lot better because of them!

Chapter 5: We’ll Meet in the Middle

Chapter Summary: Virgil didn’t know what he had been expecting when he asked for a tutor to help with his studies, but it definitely wasn’t who could kick flip a skateboard without even looking down and also happened to be his soulmate. 

Day 5 Prompt: Vocab Card/Skateboard

Warnings: none. If there are others please let me know!

WC: 1539

AO3 link

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Virgil huffed as he cupped his chin aggressively in his hand, staring down the road to wait for his tutor to show up. Not to get the wrong idea- he was very grateful to the person who had agreed to help him with his vocabulary; he just...wasn’t the best with people. He was socially awkward and very obviously had a vague emo style- wavy purple hair with white streaks fell messily over shadowed eyes and cheeks that would burn in five minutes outside despite his tanned complexion. His black nail  polish was chipping from the constant picking and he was never seen anywhere without his favorite purple hoodie hugging him like a portable blanket. But he was falling a bit behind in class because he couldn’t seem to remember the constant influx of new terminology thrown at him each week. Asking the professor about extra practice had landed him a phone number that he had agonized over for too many hours before finally biting the bullet and calling.

The voice on the other end alone was enough to make his stomach flip, light and lilting even when talking about something as boring as scheduling. Virgil knew it then and he was stewing over it now- he was absolutely done for. No one had that kind of voice without being kind and patient and while those were things he definitely needed if he was going to learn anything he was sure he’d get distracted anyway. Forming a squish from a voice- that had to be the worst joke played on him yet.

Looking up however nearly made him want to cry at the irony. That had to be him, the only person on campus at the moment standing tall on a skateboard while gripping a dark blue messenger bag. From what Virgil could see he had blue hair that was pulled to one side with the other shaved, immediately piquing Virgil’s interest with the unique look. He tried his hardest not to stare as he came closer and his jacket came into view; a leather one spiked at the shoulders and sporting pride flags at the chest. Virgil felt his own chest constrict as he stored that away for later, the pintrovert system coming in handy for what felt like the first time in his life.

Just as he was getting his crutches situated to stand up he noticed the other man riding straight for the sidewalk seemingly not paying attention to where he was going. Scrambling to his feet he lurched forward to yell out.

“Hey watch ou-” The warning died on his lips as his tutor executed a perfect lick flip onto the sidewalk, letting the momentum carry him a couple more feet before stopping and tucking the skateboard under his arms. Virgil was sure he looked like an absolute idiot as he approached him, trying his hardest not to gape while practically feeling his eyes sparkling while looking at the punk with wide eyes. 

“Hello, I’m Logan. And you’re Virgil right? The person I’m supposed to help with his medical terms?” He waited for Virgil to nod before continuing. “Excellent. Is the library fine?”

Realizing He’d been silent too long, he managed to squeak out a “Yeah,” as he reached down to swing his bag over his shoulder. Logan started towards the doors with him, shuffling things around in his bag to pull out notecards and stuff the skateboard into it. How it fit Virgil had no idea but taking in the aesthetic he honestly wouldn’t be surprised if it involved some sort of fae magic. 

They settled down at the table and Logan looked over at him, making his heart once again skip a beat as he took in the beautiful shade of brown. Shaking his head slightly he tried to focus on what Logan was currently talking about while organizing several colored pens in front of them.

“-that way you’ll be able to separate the terms better and your brain will be better equipped to compartmentalize the terms you need to remember in half the time. Does that make sense?”

It didn’t. It really, really didn’t. He had a soulmate somewhere that he hadn’t found yet and most likely wouldn’t for a long time to come, and yet here he was trying desperately to hide a blush because this person was just- he was so cool. His voice and eyes were pretty and he was obviously smart if he had been the first person his teacher had recommended to tutor him…

“Are you feeling alright? You look flushed.” Hearing this Virgil snapped back to reality and gave a thumbs up, ducking his head while trying to resist the urge to slam it into the wood. 

“Fine, yeah! Just you’re- it’s hot! Hot in the hoodie.” Praying he had saved that sentence quickly enough he dared to peak back at Logan through his bangs, who was just smiling slightly with an arm draped over the back of his chair.

“You can take that off then, if you want.” Logan pointed to the hoodie. “Since you’re hot.”

Virgil decided then, somehow managing to keep a straight face through his panic, that it was quite homophobic of the floor to not simply open and swallow him whole. Try as he might to calm himself he could still feel the remnants of the harsh flush in his cheeks as he saw Logan simply look at him with that smile, making him idly wonder if the sly bastard was really flirting with him or was actually just that oblivious.

Virgil sputtered as he wrapped the hoodie tighter around himself, shaking his head slightly. “Nah, I’m fine actually! You were saying about colors?”

“Just that color coding can help you study better. I’m here to give you tips as well so please pay attention.” Leaning forward again, Logan started explaining how to separate the different concepts and how to decide what was important and what wasn’t; honestly Virgil was genuinely surprised at how much he retained, forgetting his panic in favor of actually learning, for which he was very grateful. By the time an hour had passed he had a pretty good grasp on what he was meant to be learning and how to go about it. He stacked his much improved notecards together and shoved them in his pocket for later, shifting around in his seat to look at Logan properly.

“Thank you honestly, I feel a lot better about the class now.”

“It was no trouble, I’m grateful I was able to help. And if you’re in need of further assistance before next week, call me?” Logan smiled crookedly. “I use the library’s phone for tutor scheduling, this is for my actual phone..”

Virgil gaped at the slip of paper offered to him with a wink, fully cementing the idea that Logan had, in fact, been flirting with him and Virgil had been too infatuated with his style to actually notice. Purple nail polish caught his eye as his hand moved closer and he had the vague thought of that being his favorite color and how did he keep them from chipping? Before his thoughts could wonder further he was taking the paper and smiling, just aware enough of their fingers brushing as he remembered  being with this person, his soulmate, time and time again. Every time was better than the last as their souls grew accustomed to one another and grew over eternity, strengthening their bond with every word exchanged.

Virgil looked at his soulmate's dazed expression, the most beautiful smile he’d ever seen gracing his lips and eyes watering with emotion at having found him again. So many words stuck in his throat as he struggled with the perfect thing to say, something that would capture how happy he was to finally be together again and how excited he was to explore this lifetime together. Something that would make Logan understand just how much he meant to him.

“I think this is the coolest form you’ve ever taken.” He blurted, immediately covering his mouth and cursing himself twice over.

His heart sank as Logan barked out a laugh, snorting into his own hand and taking a minute to compose himself before laying a gentle hand on his cheek. 

“And I think this is the loveliest I’ve seen you.” 

He laughed softly as Virgil went completely red, fingers twitching with indecision over whether to flap his hand or slap the idiot beside him. Deciding on a combination of both he frantically beat a hand against his shoulder while sleeping his other over his mouth, mumbling profanities under his breath. Whipping around as his hand was caught he couldn’t help but grin at Logan’s own brilliant smile, even if his face felt like he had dipped it in a vat of boiling water.

“It’s getting late, I could walk you home?”

“Yeah,” Virgil managed. “I’d like that.”

Walking home and still slightly wishing the floor had opened up beneath him, he couldn’t help but feel lucky that he had found Logan so soon. They had an eternity to catch up on and if it had to start with fixing his bad study habits, he supposed he couldn’t complain.

Previous     Next

[divinerivals]

Fire Like Sin

Written for @fateandluminary​ 

Prompt Request: Jurdan- “Horns”- Bryce Fox 

I basically listened to this song on repeat until I stopped typing. 

WARNING NSFW CONTENT BELOW

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

Cardan strode into the heady club, smoke swirling around him as he moved passed the hoard of desire-driven patrons. This was madness, utter madness. If they were going to make a break for it, it was the only way.

The first time he watched her wrapped that damned silken leg around the silvered pole as she spun round and round. Her hair cascading down to the stage and two makeshift horns styled atop her head, he had become entranced. Then her bronzed eyes locked on to his. From the moment they made contact on that fateful evening she had damned the very air he breathed. It was like the black mark on his soul had a match with the then stranger. The first month of her dancing he watched her in an obsessive annoyance as she had called it. He recognized the anger and fury roiling in her. The cold as ice blood and stone heart too. Cardan knew it so well because he was the same on the inside. Just a pit of blackness using his tongue, liquor, and sex to get through his fucked up life. Until her.

Several months ago, Jude Duarte cornered him in a private room saved for the higher paying customers. They argued, voices hoarse as screaming at each other. Over a patron who touched her in a way that made Cardan’s blood boil. He had no grounds to step in. He should have let her make the mistake, yet he couldn’t help it. The youngest Greenbriar chose to express it as Jude being property to not be touched. That she belonged to the Hollow, to his brother Balekin. Until she paid off her debt. And no one was to touch her less they pay for it. Locke was a dirty patron Cardan knew didn’t pay it. Jude raised her hand, striking him across the cheek. Every fiber of being filled with heat and lust. It was then Cardan realized he was insane. The smart thing would’ve been to get Balekin. He did no such thing. She was his tinder, and he, her flint.

Cardan gripped her arm, then the flint struck against tinder, igniting the sparks that led to burning flames. Crushing his mouth onto hers, bruising those lips he’s dreamed of since he first saw them. those smooth lush lips and the teeth behind them that grazed and pulled on his own. She never backed away. Only pushing into him further and further. He could taste the want and desperation on her as her tongue rolled around his. The need to feel alive. They were alone and he opened the way for Jude to get everything she needed. At that time it meant nothing. He meant nothing. Cardan didn’t care how or when she wanted him. All he knew was she was a tempting sin that he couldn’t resist. Horns like a devil, mouth as wicked as one too. He would sell his darkened soul to this she-devil if only to experience this high again and again.

He was undone. Forever.

Now he sits in the same leather seat that started this all. The very same that begun his fascination with her. When all he did was pleasure himself to wicked thoughts of her body and his. To bringing those dreams to life where they both used each other's bodies purely for distraction. The feelings, the deep-seated affection, and love came after. Until Balekin found out and Cardan was attacked brutally by him. Struck repeatedly till his bones screamed in agony for sleeping with his brother’s prized dancer. Balekin tripled her debt to a price even Cardan couldn’t pay off. Cardan was stuck in the hospital for a week as he and Jude discussed plans to leave Insmire behind and for good. Jude wanted to kill the bastard for what he did to Cardan. His face swollen and bloodied so badly she hardly recognized the devastatingly handsome features underneath. Cardan said no. He didn’t want his brother’s death on her hands nor did he want them to be running all their lives. Cardan had enough money for them to leave Elfhame and the city of Insmoor behind. To live on a new continent where the name Greenbriar was just another name.

On the outside, he looked calm and ready for this. To bolt like hell when her dance was done. On the inside he felt the burning rise of bile, his stomach churning and anxiousness rippling through his veins. After this, they would be freed from a hellish paradise to a heavenly one. Cardan was sure after the grueling and horrid things he and Jude have done in their lives that neither deserves such a thing. They didn’t care, They were sneaking their way out to freedom. Lights turned low as the deep red lights shined on the black curtain before him. The bass began to fill the room vibrating within his chest. Cardan had to stifle the grin when he heard the song play. Horns, the one he played for her in his apartment claiming it reminded him of her. Of how it described the way she burst into miserable life, She laughed crawling on top over his lap, taking him to the hilt.

Cardan shook away from the pleasurable memory. This wasn’t the time to reminisce he needed to keep alert and focused. Hell, he hadn’t even touched his wine, only ordering for show. The curtains pulled apart and there his wonderfully wicked lady stood. Her last and final dance, she was to make a show of it. As the bass thundered around them, Cardan only saw her, as he knew she did the same. Mother above the costume choice, Jude truly took the song and magnified it. Hair darkened by the light fell in long waves, except for those horns of hers styled upward with a slight edge. Desperately he longed to grip her hair of horns and fuck her ruthlessly. That would come later when they were safely away.

She sauntered down the shimmering black catwalk in eight-inch heels that melded from red to black and red again. His darkened gaze followed up from her accentuated legs to barely-there garment hugging on her hips, showing off the curves of her ass and hips for all the world to see. Her breasts generously spilling over from the center of the bra, if one could call it that. Both pieces black with a glittering crimson throughout. Good. She kept it as practical as she could without raising too much attention. Jude’s lips were of the deepest scarlet, and eyelids covered in the darkest of blacks. Her gaze met Cardan’s as is if to speak one single word.

Soon.

Yes, soon they would be away from abusive family and men who leered at Jude while she moved her body in tantalizing ways. Wishing to eat her alive. What these men didn’t know, was Jude would do the same and leave their corpses in her wake. In minutes they would be away from here and the grimy streets of Insmoor City. Jude reached up to the top of her pole and begun her dance.

Her legs spread wide, for her audience. The whistles came and so did the money being thrown to the stage as he wrapped her legs around the pole, arching her back upward. Her palms trailing up the expanse of her body grasping her breasts in the movement. Winking and blowing kisses at no one in particular. She was making it difficult for him to focus. With the way, she grasped at her soft mounds. The same way Cardan did when he plowed into her and Jude’s leg wrapped around him. His mouth hot on her neck. He shook his head once more watching with wanton intensity. Listening to people around him shouting at her to remove more. He fought the envy roiling inside him at the demanding, pleading requests. Cardan watched her glide round and round on the pole like it was a slide. She gripped the metal once more flinging her body around and curling herself inward before slipping to the stage. On all fours she crawled towards him, eyes sharp and glowing like a predator hunting her prey.

Cardan leaned back in the cushioned, worn leather as Jude climbed on to him in a sensual fluid motion. Her hands sliding up his thighs, reaching in between palming at his half-hard cock. His hands steadied on her hips, the tips of his fingers pressing into her ass, Jude rolled her hips tipping her head back simultaneously against him. Winding her fingers through his thick onyx locks angling his head where she could run her hot mouth and fire breaths over his neck and to his lobe.

“Do me and my two horns give you a little bit?” that lustful wickedness pouring out of her, her fingers dropped back down stroking his length over his slacks, “I guess so.”

“Fuck Jude,” he growled.

She kept grinding her hips over his, As she pl toyed with his hair. Nails raking along his hairline as if he was another customer, "Did you do it?”

He resisted every urge in his body screaming at him to claim her mouth, bury himself in her witnessing Jude turn into a mess of keen moans and panting breaths. Give these people a real show. It wasn't beneath him to do so. His brother's cronies were in the shadows and leaving held priority.

"Out like a light," the scorching touch of his palms splayed on her bareback, sliding to the nape of her neck. Jude lifted a leg in front of him, twisting around her back against his solid frame. Cardan pulled Jude flush to him. Nose brushing along her shoulder replacing the path with his mouth then his teeth, nipping at her exposed his flesh, "The ghost said he gave enough for him to be out cold for 8-10 hours, " he murmured into her ear, "By then we will be gone."

Jude turned to face him. A smirk on her rouge colored lips resolve and excitement dancing in her eyes at the unknowing future, gone the face of a broken exotic dancer who lost everything and everyone. Cardan pretended to whisper sultry nothings in her ear. She giggled perfectly playing the part of a flirty dancer.

"Good. I'm done dancing," Jude slipped her hand in his, tugging up him from his seat, "Ready?"

"My dearest Jude, lead the way."

He followed her like he was another drunk patron, paying for extra services. They maneuvered through the crowd and no one paid the pair no mind. Slipping past a waitress with a tray of drinks in her hand, Jude pulled Cardan onto her in a small alcove. Her eyes searched his. A moment of sincerity crossed onto her features.

"Card, if he finds us. I won't hesitate to kill him," it wasn't a threat, but a promise.

"I know. Let's hope he doesn't," he knew she would. If not for the determination in her tone, but the fact she swore it daily, "Shall we?"

Bracing an arm on the door, the other curling around her waist. His mouth meeting hers in a hungry kiss, teeth, and tongues clashing, acting the way a drunk patron would if she was going to take him. Jude reached for the knob, twisting it, while Cardan kept her close, and together they slipped through the doorway into the cool night air.

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

Available on ao3

would anyone be interested to see this continue??

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[theonewiththefanfics]

Hate (one-shot)

Synopsys: Bucky and reader have been stuck in the safe house for quite a while now, and the snow doesn’t seem like it will be letting off any time soon. New Year is creeping closer and closer. And it’s just the Reader’s luck that she’s stuck with a person who absolutely despises her guts.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x f!Reader

Genre: fluuuuuuuuffff, soft angst 

Warnings: swearing, the reader is so dumb... like the last three brain cells she had, left the chat because of what an idiot she is

Word count: 2816

He hated her. Y/N was absolutely one hundred percent sure – Bucky Barnes despised her. The war veteran, the last serving Howling Commando, the longest-held war prisoner and the man who had stolen her heart hated her.

      She watched him from over the rim of her coffee cup, how his long brown locks fell over his high cheekbones, and he huffed pushing them away from his face. Y/N had to force down the groan of just how much she had to restrain herself from going over, running her fingers through his hair and maybe tying it back in a little bun. Fuck, if he ever did that, she was sure she’d die from the hotness that was Bucky Barnes.

      They hadn’t known one another for that long. Y/N had joined the Avengers a couple of months after the whole Thanos thing. For one, she had been one of the unfortunate ones to be dusted. She had been taking a warm, relaxing bath after a long day when her feet suddenly disintegrated in the water. The last thing Y/N had managed was to throw her book over the side, so at least that didn’t get wet.

      Sam had found her after everyone was brought back by Bruce. He was recruiting new people for the team as the new captain, and the first thing she had been there to witness was his try-on haul of the new star-spangled costume.

      “Don’t you think it’s a bit novel?” Y/N asked biting on her lip. “I think the shield would be enough to tell them who’s the boss.”

      “It’s a symbol!” Sam emphasized and turned around to look at his ass. “It’s supposed to send a message.”

      Y/N hid her smile behind her palm and shrugged. “Just… never picked you as the tights guy.”

      Sam groaned. “They are not tights!”

      That was the moment when Y/N had met Bucky, and that’s when all of her rational thinking flew out of the window faster than Redwing.

      He came sauntering into the living room, a grey T-shirt stained with sweat and clinging to his body, the fabric defining each and every muscle the man owned. When Sam said that Y/N started drooling quite literally, it might've been because of the fact that a little dribble of her coffee she had had in her mouth actually spilt out on her leg.

      “You look like the American fucking flag,” Bucky snorted and gulped down a large mouthful of water, cocking his hip out.

      Fuck, Y/N thought to herself, how in the absolute hell can someone drinking be the most sinful thing on Earth. Like holy hell when did sweat become a turn on for her? Especially when it slowly slid along his neck and disappeared down his chest. She had to close her eyes to remove the mental image of him panting on top of her. Sweaty, like in that moment, but because of different reasons.

      “Fuck off, tin can,” Sam snapped back, “or I’ll replace you with her.” He motioned with his head towards Y/N, and she ducked further down on the couch. “You’re not special with your sniping.”

      Bucky shook his head and threw her a quizzical look. “And what’s so special about you?”

      Y/N would’ve probably answered nothing, that she’s completely ordinary because actually talking about her abilities and giving herself some credit was way beyond her skill set, so Sam stepped in.

      “She’s an army vet and was in the Snakeskin program.”

      Bucky’s eyebrows furrowed. “Snakeskin?”

      “They were an elite ground force group of troops trained to be as stealthy as assassins. Her specialty is sniping. So, don't go on thinking you're something special. 'Cause you're not.”

      The super soldier now fully looked her over, and Y/N wanted the couch to cut open and swallow her whole, because holy fucking fuck, was Bucky’s gaze intense. It was like he was trying to carve out her soul just by looking at her. The only thing that came to her mind was to give him an awkward smile and a small wave. He gave her a nod and then looked back at Sam.

      “I’ll be out for the rest of the day. Steve said he wanted some help with repainting the fence.”

      “Yeah, you go be a good wife,” Sam waved him off and looked himself over once more in the mirror. “And please remind him he owes me twenty bucks.”

      “What for?” Bucky hollered from the hallway.

      “He knows!”

      They only heard a scoff before the elevator dinged, announcing Bucky’s exit.

      “So,” Sam looked at Y/N through the mirror. “That went well.”

      If only that was how she saw it. Y/N thought Bucky hated her, and Sam’s little remark about her replacing him was not sitting well with the woman. She wasn’t there to replace anyone, least of all one of her childhood heroes who was doing everything in his power to prove his worth to the world (even though she didn’t think he had anything to prove and everyone else could just go off and fuck themselves).

      She was just there to hopefully once again regain some sort of a sense to her life. After leaving the Snakeskin program, and being one of the victims of the Snap, it was hard to find where she belonged. Then Sam called Y/N up and told her they were reforming the Earth’s Mightiest Heroes, and he wanted her to be a part of it, so she jumped on the opportunity.

      And that’s what lead them to that moment – Y/N slowly sipping her coffee as Bucky tried to finish up a crossword puzzle. From time to time she glanced up from the swirling black liquid to the super-soldier, but of course, he wasn’t paying any kind of attention to her. He never did.

      After their first meeting, their interactions were limited to small ‘hellos’ and ‘goodbyes’ and communicating during missions. There was never any direct animosity, but the fact that Bucky talked to everyone on a daily basis except for Y/N – well, she didn’t need it to be spelt out.

      But it was just Y/N’s luck, wasn’t it? First, she got sent out on a mission with a man who can’t stand to even spare her a glance, then they get snowed in without a way out (even the jet was seven feet under the snow), and now New Years was right around the corner, and she would have to spend it all alone.

      Y/N looked out the window to the never-changing scene of swirling white flakes. They weaved and moved in a dance she couldn’t comprehend. But while she watched what was happening beyond the glass, Bucky was watching her.

      His eyes trailed the way her face curved and sloped, eyelids half-closed surveying the scenery, but mostly how her flannel shirt had slipped off from one of her shoulders. He so badly wanted to reach out and gently place it back to where it was, but he couldn’t.

      Bucky was no longer the same confident man in an army uniform that used to sweep ladies off their feet and make them dance the night away. This man woke up in the middle of the night in cold sweat and could barely keep eye contact with anyone that wasn’t Steve, Shuri or Sam for no longer than five seconds. So, pulling Y/N’s shirt back up was out of the fucking question. But he didn’t have to dwell on it for too long.

      “I’m gonna take a shower,” she announced, although she had no real idea as to why. Bucky only responded with a hum, which she guessed was more than what she expected to receive, but then again – it was more of an acknowledgement than she’d gotten in the three days they’d been stranded together.

      The stream of hot water pelleting her skin was a welcome change from the icy touch of being ignored and discarded. Although Y/N was stuck in a safe house somewhere in the middle of the woods, in the middle of nowhere in Finland, it was a Stark-created safehouse. So, it was occupied by every possible piece of technology. Including the best speakers known to man.

      Because Y/N was a punk-rock emo bitch at heart (did you really think I wouldn’t put this in? Killjoys are back, suckers! Put on your fucking eyeliner and get ready cause it was not a phase, mom, it's a fucking lifestyle!), her playlist automatically switched from ‘Kicking-Ass’ that was designed to hype her up during missions to ‘Singing-Like-A-Rock-Star’ with ‘Gives You Hell’ blasting through the bathroom.

      It was like Tony had known that people would be absolutely jamming in the bathrooms because the floor was lined with a rubber mat, giving Y/N the freedom to go ham.

      And she sent up a little 'thank you' to wherever Tony was because she had needed that. She had needed to let go of all of the tension and thoughts that had collected in her body just so she could re-enter that same worrying state a second later. Just with clean hair now.

      Pulling on comfy grey sweats and a huge navy-blue T-shirt, she twisted the towel and plopped it back over her head to keep the wet strands away. The house was constantly warm because Bucky kept the fireplace stocked almost 24/7, but it was even warmer now as he had added a new pile of wood, though the man himself was nowhere to be seen. Which was fine by Y/N.

      With a huff and a roll of her head, she ventured into the kitchen, having decided that dinner needed to be had. It was halfway through her boiling pasta when the shrill sound of her phone ringing made her drop the sauce-slathered spoon.

      “Yeah?” She pressed the phone between her shoulder and ear and went to wash off the spoon, careful not to put the curved-inward part under the stream.

      “Y/N,” Sam’s warm voice invaded her senses. “How are you holding up? Fury and Maria says the storm’s still raging.”

      A glance outside of the window told her as much. “Any news on when it might stop?”

      “None at this moment,” Sam replied. “They’re checking every five minutes for an update so they can finally send an extraction bird out.”

      “Ooh, can you ask Maria to send the one with the bed?”

      “Sorry,” Sam sighed in mock sadness, “that one’s been sent out to Guatemala to pick up Wanda.”

      “Ugh,” Y/N groaned and threw her head back. “Damn Wanda and her mission. Could she not like manage until she got back to the Tower? It's not like she's had to sleep in the middle of the jungle or something?”

      Sam laughed, and it made her smile, knowing that he understood her joking tone. “Yeah, right? What a princess!”

      Y/N smiled and finally added the pasta to the boiling water. “What are you gonna get her for her birthday?”

      “Dunno,” her friend replied. “She’s been looking at that one perfume for a while, but we gotta figure out what Vis is getting first… speaking of other halves – you and Bucky getting on well?”

      Y/N huffed turning to face the boiling pot and stirring the pasta in it. A little vortex formed completely mimicking how she felt on the inside. “As well as two people who can’t stand to be near one another, but have to share a place, can.”

      She heard him chuckle. “Come on, it can’t be that bad! I still don’t think you’re in the right about this.”

      “About what?” her eyebrows furrowed. She took out a piece of pasta and chewed on it. Still wasn’t the right texture.

      “About Bucky. I think you’ve got it all wrong.”

      The scoff that wanted to escape her throat was blocked by the piece of food, and she almost choked on it. “Sam, he fucking hates me!”

      “I – I don’t hate you,” came a voice from behind Y/N, and she spun around, mouth left hanging open as her phone was clutched tightly by her ear.

      She could practically hear Sam grin through the phone. “I guess you gotta go.”

      Bucky stepped closer just as she lowered the now silent mobile. “Y/N, why would you ever think I hate you?”

      “Be – because you do?”

      “When did I say that?”

      She shook her head. “You didn’t have to.”

      Bucky’s whole face fell at her words. “What do you mean?”

      “I mean you talk with everyone else but me. You can’t look me in the eye one bit, and do I need to remind you when you actually left the whole Christmas gala thing right after I walked in, and I quote ‘I can’t be around her’.”

      Bucky’s eyes widened, and this time it was his jaw that hung open. “You heard that.”

      “Loud and clear.”

      “I – I,” he stammered and then cleared his throat. It was time to put all the cards on the table. “I only said that because had I stayed; I would’ve done something I’d regret.”

      “Like what?”

      “Like kissed you.”

      And there went Y/N’s breath. And her heart. And her sanity. And frankly, everything she’d ever known.

      “I would’ve most likely told you how I felt,” he said and stepped closer watching every facial feature of hers.

      “And how do I make you feel?” she breathed out.

      “Nervous. I haven’t had feelings like this for a girl in decades… and I didn’t know how to process them let alone act on them. Things have changed so much since I was chasing skirts… nowadays everything’s so complicated… and I was scared you wouldn’t feel the same. I mean, we have to work together, and we live in the same place, so if things didn’t work out… I just didn’t wanna risk it.”

      As he talked, she had started to pace. In stressful situations where she didn’t have to focus on pulling the trigger or if she wasn’t trying not to trip off a treadmill, Y/N paced. A lot. She was pretty sure there was a line in the living room floor where she had done her thinking before missions.

      “Wait, so you like me?” Y/N spun around and pointed at him. “Like really like me?”

      “Yeah,” Bucky chuckled as relief flooded his veins. He wouldn’t have smiled as wide as he did, had he not seen her lips quirk up. “Yeah, I really like you.”

      “And you don’t hate me?”

      “Not one bit.”

      Y/N stepped forward, head hanging low as she carefully grasped Bucky’s hand and intertwined their fingers, metal twining with flesh. “So, you like me?” she looked up at him, eyes intently watching his face. He squeezed her palm stepping closer as well, chest to chest at that point. He placed both of their hands right over his beating heart.

      “Yeah, I do... Happy New Year, Y/N,” Bucky muttered with a shy smile gracing his face.

      “What?” she had been so lost in his eyes that his words weren’t registering. His soft chuckle was like a melody designed by angels.

      “I said Happy New Year.”

      Y/N looked down to the worn watch on his right wrist and sure enough, the two hands were perfectly aligned to 12. A small chuckle escaped her mouth as she reconnected their gazes.

      “Happy New Year, Buck.”

      He was so close to her; she could smell the hot chocolate he had been drinking. Y/N closed her eyes, insides trembling as he leaned closer. But the kiss never came

      “I heard you in the shower.”

      “What!?”

      Bucky grabbed a spoon from the table and used it as a microphone, pointing at Y/N and wiggling his hips to the rhythm of the song. “’ Hope it gives you hell, hope it gives you hell!’” She shoved him away from her and through a laugh threw her towel at him.

      “Ugh, I hate you!”

      “No, you don’t!” Bucky grabbed at her waist and pulled her to him. Together they plopped down on the couch, and Bucky didn’t hesitate to pull her in his lap, legs thrown over his and head resting against his shoulder. Y/N looked up at him, her hand leaning against his stomach as she drew gentle circles on the shirt clad torso.

      “Can I kiss you?”

      She chuckled and moved closer to Bucky. “Are you still going to make fun of me and my singing?”

      He looked like he was contemplating before he nodded, a wide smile on his face as he pressed his forehead against hers. “Yeah. Most definitely. For as long as you let me.”

      “And if I say forever?”

      She didn’t need to hear him say what was on his mind when the only thing that existed was Bucky’s smile. Y/N’s own lips widened, as he bent closer. The New Year and the new decade had begun quite a few minutes ago, but neither cared much because as their lips touched, a new chapter in their lives opened.

Tags (crossed out wouldn’t take):

Bucky tag list: @thunderous-flower @who-cares-rn​ @projectxhappiness​ @callmebucky-doll​ @coal000​ @killuaenthusiast @courtneychicken​ @sophiealiice​ @raquelbc2003​ @watch-out-for-thorns​ @potentially-kinetic​ @thatonegirljessy99​ @proxinge @bbkenna @buckysclub​ @ulired @fangirlofeverythingbasically @mrsalh32611​ @horrorx570ximagines​ @the-nargles-made-me-do-it​ @pooslie​ @itsisabelanotisabella @httpmcrvel​ @purplebananatragedy​ @pxrrishly​ @parker-barnes-af​ @skulliebythesea​ @california-grown​ @stevehesaidabadlanguageword​ @belongsto-prachi​ @hello-i-am-insane @its-nott-my-problem

Marvel tags: @nerissa98​ @happyseagrill​ @asguardiansoftheavengers​ @crazybutconfidentaf​ @wishingforahome​ @pizzarollpatrol​ @desir-ae​

Forever tags: @lumelgy​ @palaiasaurus64​ @supernaturalbaesduh​ @breezy1415​ @crazy--me​ @thatawkwardlittlefangirl​ @sea040561​ @staryeyedgirl​ @deathbyarabbit​ @s-c-a-r-e-d-po-t-t-e-r @reblogger-not-a-blogger @m-a-t-91​ @dalilx​ @i-need-a-hero-i-need-a-loki​ @maladaptive-ninja-returns​ @averyrogers83​ @in-the-end-im-still-trash​ @gallifreyansass​ @dewy-biitch​ @avxgers​ @unlikelygalaxygiver​ @sweet-ladyy​ @magicwithaknife​ @ollyoxenfrees​ @bnhvrdy​ @tvwhoresblog @celebsimagines​ @thatkindofgurl​ @sj-thefan​ @teenwolflover28

A/N: Hi! so, quite a lot of things have happened. and the biggest thing is... I’m gonna be seeing MY CHEMICAL ROMANCE in JUNE!!! AAAHHHHH!!! I’ve been a fan of them since I was nine, and now I finally get the chance to see them perform live! I’ve never been so stressed in my life while trying to get tickets to something! I was in the middle of my 9 AM lecture and I was legit shaking. I fuffed about for like 3 seconds and those 3 seconds cost me the tickets... at first! and then it was like the emo gods were smiling down upon me, I saw there was another date added. I thought it was a glitch in the system because nothing was announced. so, obviously, I clicked off, only for my twitter notification to go off that they have announced they have added another date. I think it’s fair to say that I was barely functioning as I clicked furiously on my computer. And now I get the chance to see them... I am STOAKED!!!

[the-pale-goddess]

Blind - Ethan Ramsey x MC (Tiffany Addams)

The annual Edenbrook gala is all about extraordinary food, free booze, serving looks...and jealousy in every possible form. Who will crash and who will burn this night?

Warnings: NSFW (+18) Nothing too explicit this time! But obviously, suggestive adult themes are all over the story. Plus there’s alcohol, a lot of swearing and all that jealous angst we like.

Rating/Category: Mature / AU

Author’s note: This fic takes place not long after the AU Miami conference in the Miami Heat series where E&T went all the way.  I hope you’ll like the twist! It’s also kinda long - sorry about that.

Taglist (let me know if you want in or out)

@caseyvalentineramsey  @interobanginyourmom  @newcolonies @ernest-harrington @openheart12 @perriewinklenerdie @mvalentine @ethandaddyramsey @kaavyaethanramsey @lion-ess24 @choices-love-affair @justanotherrookie @rookieoh @rookie-ramsey @queencarb​ @schnitzelbutterfingers​ @doilooklikeiknow​

_____

„Ramsey, would it hurt you to crack a little smile? We're at a freaking gala.” Dr. Tanaka's teasing voice was just as annoying as his remark, but it failed to provoke any kind of emotion in Ethan. He shot the other attending a condescending glare from above his glass of scotch.

„I see no correlation.” Tanaka laughed at the blunt response, shaking his head in disbelief.  

„Is open bar not reason enough to get a little festive?” He leaned against the bar, his hand pointing at the impressive wall of liquor in front of them.

„I can afford my own alcohol, Tanaka, and I'd rather drink it, quite literally, anywhere else.”

„If you hate it so much why are you even here?” That was in fact an excellent question. Why was he still there? Ethan rubbed his brow and took a look around before responding. The spacious ballroom was already packed. All these familiar faces passing through in their best gowns, getting advantage of the night off at a luxurious hotel.

„As tedious and pointless as this schmoozing is, it's still a work duty. Everyone has to do their part.” He downed his drink and called the bartender to do a refill. In that very moment three young nurses approached the bar, standing right behind Dr. Ramsey, all of them oblivious to each other's presence. „I've been actually meaning to ask you about my lung cancer patient. Have you managed to read the file I left you today?”

„Yes. Dr. Mirani consulted with me before the recent development occured. I've allowed myself to...” Tanaka's voice dropped to a background noise when someone said her name. Ethan's attention immediately shifted to the lively chatter behind his back.

„...Have you seen Addams? Who does she think she is? A Grammy winner? This isn't the red carpet, sweetie.” All of them giggled. Ethan felt a tingle of irritation while trying to focus on his own conversation. But he just couldn't stop listening...

„Totally! That dress is scandalous.” The other nurse added. „Three mojitos, please!”

„Come on, girls. She's smoking hot with or without makep, in scrubs or in a way too revealing dress. I'd kill to have a body like Addams. You're just jealous because Scalpel Jockey is all over her, not you.” Ethan almost choked on his drink. Did he hear that right?

„I suppose she cleans up real well, yeah. But Brycey could've done so much better, is all I'm saying.” It was the first nurse talking again, her voice full of envy. Ethan's face turned red, eyes wandered to the glass he gripped with white knuckles, not paying any attention to Tanaka and his surgical rant.

„How long have they been a thing?” The question made Ethan's blood boil. Are they really a thing?

„I didn't even know they were a thing.” The first nurse theorized. „That chick's always running after Ramsey.”

„Susan, shhhhhhhh...” The second nurse whispered and the conversation suddenly died. None of the nurses realized it was already too late for shushing. As soon as they received their drinks they were gone, leaving the messy gossip buzzing around Ethan's head.

„What do you think, Ramsey?” He finally looked up at Tanaka. Fuck. Fucking fuck. Fucking fuckety fuck. What were they even bouncing around? He scratched his chin trying not to look too distracted.

„I...I just remembered. There is a matter that needs to be taken care of.” He gulped the scotch down and left the glass at the bar. „I'll stop by your office the first thing in the morning to discuss the case. Enjoy the rest of your night, Dr. Tanaka.”

Ethan whisked through the crowd looking for air. Meanwhile, his mind had a race of its own. Tiffany's seeing Lahela. So what? It's none of his business. He made that clear after the Miami incident. They both agreed it was irresponsible, unethical and can never happen again. She's his intern. The best one there was. He won't jeopardize her career development over a stupid crush. It was a crush, right? Just a simple chemical reaction, pure physical attraction....She's a brilliant and ravishing young woman – everyone would fall for her. No wonder that real-life Ken doll took his chance. Whatever. She's only his intern, he shouldn't care about her personal life. So why was she still on his mind? And why hadn't he seen her yet?

Luckily, the balcony wasn't as crowded as the ballroom. Ethan walked up the railing and sighed deeply, knowing no one in the close proximity was beside him. The chilly breeze of the night proved to be a great companion as he didn't need another dull small talk with any of his coworkers or the company leeches. He just needed a moment of peace to clear his mind, that's all. But then he heard a familiar laughter, the sound that owned his soul. Hesitantly, he turned around and his jaw dropped.

The dress was scandalous, indeed. Its milky white satin material accentuated all her curves in an obscene way. But that wasn't even the most outrageous part – the slit was the worst. The thigh-high, treacherous side slit that put her long leg on display. When Tiffany turned her back another surprise awaited – the exposed skin of her back was glowing at him. Her every move was torture and he was being punished, but he wouldn't look away. Her black hair was styled in perfect Hollywood waves that cascaded down her bare shoulders. And finally – the cherry on the cake, her full lips painted red, seeking undivided attention. She was absolutely breathtaking.

And she caught him staring. Their gaze met for the first time this evening. She didn't smile, but he could swear there was a glimmer of excitement in her eyes. She looked him up and down, trailing over his expensive tailor-made tux, fresh haircut and a flushed face, and then she had the audacity to bite her bottom lip, the movement slow and subtle, followed by a tantalizing flick of the tongue. Suddenly, he felt an uncomfortable motion in his pants. For fuck's sake, Tiffany.

The horror took a different form when a wave of his inappropriate thoughts was interrupted by a large hand that slipped on Tiffany's lower back. Ethan took a deep breath, trying to control the anger building up inside of him.

Lahela looked much like the dreamy prom king from a teen movie, with his golden bronze skin and perfect white teeth. His blonde hair, usually side swept and tousled, today made a rare slicked back appearance. He was whispering something to Tiffany's ear, but her gaze was still fixed on Ethan. What was she thinking about? And then she turned to Bryce, giggling like his very own prom queen, waving at the rest of their friends standing nearby. Except she was not some clueless chick, she was his intern. His Rookie.

Another minute of observing this bizzare spectacle would make Ethan think he's a masochist. He desperately needed a drink, but the gang was standing in the way of the outside bar. Without thinking, he took one of the champagne glasses distributed by a waitress, chugged it quickly, then took another and rushed inside.

~ A malicious rumour ~

„Please, welcome my dear friend – Don Julio!” Jackie got back to the gang's table with a tray full of tequila shots, receiving a perplexed look from Sienna. „What, you didn't believe in me? I can be very persuasive.” She moved her chest to the sides, making her tits jiggle, while distributing the shots.

„I genuinely hoped the bartender would tell you off and qualify as too drunk for another round.” Sienna rolled her eyes and glanced at Landry as if she was waiting for him to back her up, but he was lost deep in his thought. „We'll be doomed tomorrow.”

„Si, please, turning free booze down is like throwing real money into trash.” Elijah gently smacked her elbow.

„Who said anything about turning it down?” She laughed, holding her shot close.

„That's my girl!” Jackie whistled and clinked her glass with Sienna's. „Let's drink like we've won the lottery tonight!”

„Earth to Landry!” Sienna pointed at him with her shot. „Are you drinking with us?”

„Yeah, yeah, sorry...” He smiled briefly and took his glass up. „To Edenbrook!”

„Hell yeah to Edenbrook! Thanks for making us fucking plastered.” Elijah marked the toast and they all downed their shots.

„This is...” Sienna blinked and a single tear fell down her cheek.

„Nasty?” Elijah winced with disgust while Jackie grinned. „Delicious fucking meal?” The group burst out laughing and then proceeded with drinking.

„Where's Tiffany? I haven't seen her around for a while.” Sienna wondered.

„She's probably getting busy with Meathead in one of these lavish bathrooms.” Jackie's response resulted in Sienna's squeak. „Kidding, he got stuck in the friendzone. Who cares.”

„But he's also missing, isn't he?” Elijah looked at Jackie quizzically, challenging her for another take at the theory.

„Turn around, Walmart Sherlock.” They all turned their heads just to see Bryce walking in their direction with other surgical interns. Elijah folded his arms in defeat, while Jackie continued, trying to hold back a chuckle. „She said something about an important phonecall before disappearing.”

„What if something...happened to her?” Sienna's face was etched with worry.

„Well. I'm too drunk to get up...So.” Jackie pointed at the stairs on the other side of the room. „The last time I saw her she was walking down there.”

„I'll go check it out. Call me if you find her before I do.”

~

The hotel was huge. After running down what felt like a hundred stairs, Landry reached a long corridor. He wandered slowly, trying not to make any noise just in case. At the end of the hall he found another stairs. He walked down, and down, and down...Until he heard some grumbling and stopped in his tracks. He wasn't sure where was it coming from and what the sound was. Cautiously, he continued his journey, his steps as silent as possible. When he finally saw the floor his eyes went wide and he almost screamed at the sight. With the last bit of his sane mind, he took a step back, still having a good look but not in a way his presence would be compromised, and watched the scene unfold.

It was unmistakably Tiffany. Even though her red lipstick was smeared, perfect hair ruined, disheveled along with her satin dress, it was definitely his friend. Her body pulled against a man he was about to recognize...

Ethan Freaking Ramsey.

The blood drained from Landry's face. He was appalled to the core, clenching his fists until the knuckles got white. But he couldn't move. He just kept on lurking.

Ethan was kissing her neck with such force, the marks of this shameless encounter will surely bruise her skin. But she didn't seem to mind. Her mouth let out muffled moans as her hands greedily explored his body. Her leg was hiking up Ethan's waist and his possessive hand gripped her exposed thigh, sliding his fingers up and down, grabbing her skin, smacking her ass and squeezing it.

„You're mine, Rookie.” He whispered into her ear. Tiffany moaned loudly, clearly forgetting they were in a public space.

„I'm all yours.” She purred. Ethan smirked and moved his lips to meet hers. Their kiss was passionate and urgent, as their tongues fought for dominance. Their bodies were grinding against each other in an unsteady rhythm...

He's seen enough. He tried to back away. There was no reason to continue watching two people in a loving act...But it was not loving, was it? She corrupted him. She seduced him. That tricky little bitch! She wanted to win the competition but she couldn't outshine the others, so she had to come up with a plan of her own. Was Ramsey really that stupid and blind after all?

Landry's whole world crushed down and a wash of despair fell on him while trying to think of a solution. He was determined to make Tiffany pay for her deviousness. For a single minute a defiant thought crossed his mind – maybe it's a little unfair to interpret the nature of their relationship without knowing the slightest hint of their story? But it was too late, he was already blinded by his jealousy. He found himself in a position to judge, and that advantage was vindictive enough. He shook his last decent thought off and doubled back to the party.

~ A blinding revelation ~

Inside wasn't safe either. Everyone watched The Ethan Ramsey follow his nose straight to the bar. Some of the big fish already made their steps towards him, dying to talk to him. Just one more reason to get out of this horrifying event...Before he managed to place an order, a strong vanilla scent filled the air around him. The savor deeply evocative to him, despite his effort to deny its importance. The muscles in his jaw clenched. He didn't even have to look. He didn't want to look.

„Dr. Ramsey, what a surprise. I didn't think I'd find you here.” Tiffany leaned her back against the bar, a glass of champagne in her hand, her eyes scanned the ballroom carefully before they landed on Ethan. He ran the risk of looking back at her. She was even more stunning up close. His eyes quickly avoided hers, finding a neutral spot at the height of her ear.

„Where else would I be, Addams?” His brow arched.

„Literally anywhere else. This isn't a typical Ramsey environment.” Tiffany laughed softly. Ethan's gaze fell back at her face, studying it as if looking for an answer to a question he wouldn't even dare to ask himself. She noticed the cryptic staring and her cheeks flushed with a tint of red. „What did I do now?”

Ethan was silent for a moment, considering his options. The image of Bryce's hand claiming his intern repeatedly slapped him in the face, leaving him no choice but to surrender to this blind rage.

„So you're Lahela's pain in the ass tonight.” He alleged, his speech stilted and mocking.

„Didn't hear him complaining.” She shrugged, dodging a bullet and pointing her own gun at him, scratching him in defence.

„There is no conclusive evidence to prove that, Rookie. You're standing here annoying me, not him.” The intensity of their stare was hardly appropriate for the place they were in. But they were too absorbed in their interaction to register that.

„What if that was my plan all along?” Tiffany's finger brushed his hand as if by accident when she began to walk away. His eyes followed her every move, focusing on how her hips swayed, lingering on her curves. And then, in the middle of the ballroom, she stopped and looked at Ethan over her shoulder. He swallowed loud, knowing damn well what was about to happen next. She bit her bottom lip, smiled teasingly and continued her walk. For fuck’s sake.

Ethan cursed himself for being such a fool and followed her at a safe distance. She was heading downstairs, like she knew exactly where she was going. Except she didn't. It was an exciting, alcohol-driven improvisation.

A trail of vanilla scent she left behind intoxicated him to the point he failed to notice how far from the party they wandered. Judging by the long corridor they passed through, they possibly entered the hotel wing. They were finally alone. Just the two of them and a meaningful silence punctuated by the violent sound of her heels. They reached a luxorious lounge when Tiffany decided to end the journey. She leaned against a white table, sipping her drink with eyes glued to Ethan.

„Why did you follow me?”

„Why would you want to come here? Wherever we are.” They smiled at each other in agreement – they truly deserved each other. The cheeky grin on Ethan's face quickly disappeared, as he moved next to Tiffany, playing with his glass of champagne.

„I'm simply trying to avoid a very public catastrophe.” The young doctor admitted. She hopped on the table and crossed her legs, letting the material of her dress slip to the side, completely exposing her leg.

„Are you seeing Scalpel Jockey?” The waspishness of his own voice sickened him as much as the fact, that the decision to spit the question out was motivated solely by self-interest.

„Why do you care?” She looked at him staggered.

„I don't.” He responded immediately. His words, as sharp as a knife, cut her deep and she turned away. The look of sadness on her face made him bite his tongue...Only just a second too late.

„Tiffany...” His hand reached her shoulder, but she threw it off. She remained silent for a long moment, her chest moving furiously, face hidden behind her locks. The catastrophe was on its way. When she finally regained her composure, her head angled at Ethan revealing an indignant glare.

„I'm so done with your hot and cold bullshit. You have no right to treat me like this...You rejected me. You made it painfully clear that you're only interested in Doctor Addams.”

„I know, but...”

„You know?” She got up and scoffed at him, taking a step in his direction. „You know, yet you continue this immature act. You're all jealous and possessive, but when it comes to owning it you deny everything.”

„Tiffany, your whole career is at stake here. Why am I the only one thinking about it?” He said through gritted teeth.

„Man the fuck up instead of altering the subject.” She leaned closer, unaware of the consequences, until their faces were merely inches apart.

„What's that supposed to mean?” He knew exactly what she meant. In fact, he knew way too well. Playing dumb, are we?

„Tell me now, Ethan. Right in the eye.” Her voice was filled with pain and frustration as she pointed her finger at her teary eyes. „Tell me you don't care about me.”

„What...” He blinked, utterly disconcerted.

„Tell me I can date and fuck whoever I want.” She's seen him mad before. This was something different. An entire new level of rage crossed his face. He was breathing fire.

„That's enough, Addams.” He pursed his lips and shook his head with eyes closed, as if he was trying to teleport to another dimension just to calm himself down.

„Using my surname won't...”

„Do you really think it's easy for me?” He hissed, interrupting her. „It's not like I've walked into the waiting room the day we met and decided to fall in love with an intern. Nothing of this was my intention.”

Ethan's words made her stand straight. Her face softened, lips slightly parted. They waited in silence for a minute, trying to deal with the surprising turn of events. Ethan felt the need to even his breath, when a blinding revelation downed at him.

„I have feelings for you, Tiffany.” She moved closer, standing between his legs, her hand flicked through his thick hair.

„Yes, you said something about falling in love.”

„Stop it. I know what I said.” He leaned into her touch and put an arm around her waist, a playful smile playing on his lips. She pulled his head closer, letting his chin fall between her breasts.

„I'm not seeing Bryce. I just had to see you green with envy.” Tiffany confessed, caressing his cheek with the back of her hand.

„And that worked extremely well, didn't it?” Ethan arched his brow, his hand traced her curves up and down on the side.

„It did. I think I got what I wanted.” Their eyes were still locked, his baby blues finding safety in the green of her emeralds.

„You might want to revaluate that.”

„Wha...” He didn't let her finish. With a brisk movement he stood up, catching her in his strong arms, and kissed her hungrily.

Tiffany melted into him, staining his lips Russian Red with every kiss. Her arms immediately twined around him as he blindly moved her forward until her back was pinned against the wall. The kiss deepened, making them both dizzy with its intensity. They gasped into each other's mouth while their tongues danced together.

„I see your point now, Doctor.” She mumbled when they finally parted for air. The lipstick printed on Ethan's lips made her chuckle. „How come you look so good in red?”

„I can assure you, it's not as good as your smudged look.” He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, inhaling her delicious scent.

„Shut up and kiss me.”

She didn't have to tell him twice. He crashed into her again with renewed passion, his hands tugging at the satin of her dress. Never breaking the kiss, she slightly spread her legs and he instantly felt the movement, pressing his body even closer against hers. The rock hard bulge begged for her attention by rubbing on her inner thigh, and she willingly complied. Her hand slipped into his pants and stroked his length teasingly through the fabric of his underwear. He moaned into her lips and gripped her ass, as they continued kissing.

„You're making me crazy, Tiffany. And that dress...” He trailed off, trying to find a proper word that matched with his unholy thoughts.

„You'd like to tear it off, wouldn't you?” The lustful glance followed by a tightened grip was answer enough and it made her grin from ear to ear. „Not so fast.”

She quickly unzipped Ethan's pants, and before he realized, she was on her knees, her slim fingers tracing the waistband of his underwear.

„Tiffany...” He was slack-jawed, unable to move. His mind went off for a split of second. Luckily, he managed to come to his senses before she pulled his pants down. He reached for her shoulders and gently brought her back into his arms.

„Ethan, let me. I want to taste you.” She whispered, cleary disappointed he spoiled the fun. Ethan stared at her in awe, trying to shake off the image of his cock in her mouth.

„No...Not here.” His hand held her jaw and tilted it slightly up. „Someone might walk in on us any minute.”

Then he began kissing her neck with such force, the marks of this shameless encounter will surely bruise her skin. But she didn't mind, she was delirious. Her mouth let out muffled moans as her hands greedily explored his body. The high slit came in handy when her leg was hiking up Ethan's waist and his possessive hand gripped her exposed thigh, sliding his fingers up and down, grabbing her skin, smacking her ass and squeezing it.

„You're mine, Rookie.” He whispered into her ear and sucked the skin behind it. Tiffany moaned loudly, forgetting they were in a public space.

„I'm all yours.” She purred. Ethan smirked, pleased at the response, and moved his lips to meet hers. Their kiss was passionate and urgent, as their tongues fought for dominance. Their bodies were grinding against each other in an unsteady rhythm, desperate to feel skin on skin. „Let's move somewhere private.”

„We need to clean this mess up first.” Ethan took a tissue out of his pocket in order to get rid of the lipstick smudges all over his face.

„It's pointless. I sucked on your lip pretty hard, you’re staying red.”

„Give me the lipstick then.” She burst with laughter and Ethan soon followed.

They did their best attempt at tidying themselves up with the minimal equipment Tiffany carried in her tiny purse. They really did. Was it enough? Probably not. Did they care? Surprisingly, not in the slightest.

„Ethan?” Tiffany took his hand in hers right before they decided they looked decent enough to head back to the ballroom. He laced their fingers together when their gaze met.

„I have feelings for you too.” She coughed up nervously. A very rare beaming smile lit up Ethan's face. He gave her hand a gentle squeeze.

„I know.”

[lia-jones]

Growing Together - Chapter Twenty - The Green Eyed Monster

It was early dawn when we left the apartment, the cold breeze enough to jolt me awake from my remaining morning sleepiness. Loveland was still asleep, as it would be on a very early Saturday morning, and the only thing we could hear was the sound of our footsteps on the gravel… and my moaned complaints. I’m really not a morning person, and making me leave the warmth of my bed to face the frosty 6 am air without even letting me have my coffee first was pure torture. Needless to say, I was beyond moody.

It had been almost a month since Owen’s grandmother’s first and last contact with us, which meant that probably she took my words to heart and decided to leave us alone. Victor announced a week later that Daniel had been sentenced to 15 years of prison, and was waiting to be charged for other crimes, which meant he would probably never leave prison. All of the things that were taunting us were slowly but surely slipping away, and now we dared to take a deep breath of relief. Which led us to why we were getting up so early in the first place.

We were aware that things would become hectic pretty soon. LFG France was almost ready to make its official debut, which meant that Victor would have to make a long business trip to France in order to tie up the last loose ends, and we would be seeing much less of him in the upcoming weeks. With that in mind, my husband decided to treat the family with a comfort meal, and take the three of us on a small field trip: we were going to Loveland’s Farmer’s Market to get the best ingredients. Early. When it was freezing outside. This meal had better be worth it.

“Are you cold?” Victor wrapped his arm around me as we walked towards the market. “I told you to put on more clothes. It’s chilly early in the morning.”

I grunted in protest, but still leaned my nose on his chest, looking for warmth.

“I see what this is all about.” He let out a chuckle. “Don’t worry, you’ll have your coffee soon enough.”

“I want a hot chocolate!” Owen chimed in, excited. “Do you think I can ask for marshmallows?”

“How are you so perky?” I squinted at my son, offended that he could be so alert while I was still trying to stave off sleep.

“Dad says that all the great chefs go at this hour, and they personally pick the ingredients.” Owen jumped as he explained. “Can you imagine meeting one of those top chefs that we see on TV?”

I grunted again, burying myself in Victor as much as I could. The only chef I wanted to meet was Pillow Boyardee, back in my bed, where it was still warm. But that was so far away that it felt like I had left it in another dimension.

“Hey, sleepyhead.” Victor nudged me playfully, making me look at him. “We’re here. Do you want something else with your coffee?”

The scent of freshly ground beans hit my nostrils, awakening from my stupor. The Promised Land! Finally, I had arrived at a place where I could be happy: the coffee shop. Victor laughed again, as I promptly gave up his warm embrace for the promise of caffeine.

“Two coffees, one hot chocolate with marshmallows and three cinnamon rolls, please.” He asked the cashier, a perky brunette in her early twenties.

“Can I have the names to identify the beverages, please?” The cashier smiled widely at him.

“Coffee for Andrea and Victor, and hot chocolate for Owen.”

“Andrea, Owen and Victor…” The girl rolled her tongue weirdly as she pronounced Victor’s name. “You can have a seat anywhere, I’ll meet you there. After all, you are very hard to miss.” She gave him a sultry smile.

I blinked in confusion as Victor took mine and Owen’s hands, leading us to a table nearby.

“Is it just me or was that girl a little bit too friendly?” I asked as Victor pulled a chair for me to sit.

“What girl? The cashier?” He gave me a confused frown.

“You didn’t notice? I could swear she wa-”

“Here’s your coffee.” The cashier came with our order. “Strong and hot, just like you.” She winked at Victor.

I was so appalled I couldn’t even react. How dare she hit on my husband right in front of me?

“Careful, she said it’s hot.” Victor slid my coffee cup towards me, seemingly ignorant of what just happened.

“Ok, there is no way you didn’t see that.” I glared at him, only to have my glare returned with a confused look.

“See what?”

“Strong and hot, just like you.” I repeated her words with a nasal voice. “She was flirting!”

“You probably heard it wrong. I’m sure she didn’t say that.”

I felt my blood boil.

“So I’m hearing thin-”

“And even if she did, it would be useless. I’m happily married.” He said matter-of-factly. “Drink your coffee, you’ll feel better.”

The table fell silent. Victor was minding his phone while Owen was focused on blowing on his hot chocolate, poking the marshmallows with his little finger so they would melt a bit more. And I was steaming just as much as my coffee, but I kept quiet, not wanting to make a scene.

“What are we buying, Dad?” Owen broke the silence.

“I am glad you asked, my loyal esquire. This quest will not be an easy one.” Victor answered in all seriousness. “It is essential that today we make a meal fit for royalty, since our Queen is discontent.”

He was teasing me to make me laugh, and the sad part was, it was working. I took a sip of my coffee to hide my grin, but obviously he caught it and kept on playing, his tone even more exaggeratedly ceremonious than before.

“We start our perilous adventure fighting the most ruthless of adversaries: the butcher. We must obtain from his bloody hands the most precious cut of meat, the tenderloin.”

“We will go into the woods, holding our mighty swords, looking for the beast to hunt it down.” Owen continued, amused with the story.

“Or, in your father’s case, he’ll go into the market holding his mighty wallet.” I chimed in with a dry tone, although I was melting with how playful these two could be.

“The tool is irrelevant.” Victor smiled at me, sipping his drink. “All that matters is that I win the Queen’s heart.”

And just like that, Victor was making me giggle like a schoolgirl. He was good, I had to give him that.

“Why is there a number written under your cup?” Owen interrupted, frowning at the bottom of Victor’s cup.

“She wrote her number under your cup?” I looked at the paper cup like it was cursed.

“It's nothing.” He lifted his cup at an odd angle, so I wouldn’t see the bottom, drinking his coffee in one go. “Let's go. The market will get busy soon.” He declared as he crumpled the cup and promptly threw it away.

Somehow I managed to let myself be led out of that coffee shop without making a scene, but the truth was I was barely holding myself. Jealousy was churning inside me, and I wanted nothing more than to unleash all my anger. That girl had some nerve, hitting on a married man in front of his wife.

“You are surprisingly quiet.” Victor noticed. “Is this because of that woman?”

“No.” I pouted as I lied. Of course, he wouldn’t buy it.

“Why are you making such a fuss over this? I clearly have no intention to pursue any other romantic endeavors. You are too much trouble already.” He tickled my ribs, trying to get a smile out of me. He got an annoyed scoff instead.

“This doesn’t become you, you know.” He continued. “Jealousy is for insecure people with unfulfilling relationships.”

“I'm not jealous. I’m just annoyed that she flirted with you in front of me. What happened to sisters before misters?”

“I admit it was crass, but since when do you even pay attention to those things?"

“I don't.” I threw, wanting to close the topic. “It’s over, let’s move on.”

I could feel his eyes studying me and all my movements. When I turned to scold him, he was smiling mischievously.

“Well, I suppose you do have reasons to be cautious about other women.” He gave me a smug smile. “I am quite the catch.”

“Self-confident, are we?” I gave him a warning look.

“Rightfully so. You fell for my charms, didn’t you?”

“Ugh.” I walked faster, hoping he would just drop the subject. It was obvious he wouldn't.

“Admit it, I’m irresistible. You tell me yourself every day, I’m handsome, I have a promising career, I can cook…”

“You can be ridiculously annoying sometimes.” I added. “Like now.”

“They called me Loveland’s Most Eligible Bachelor, after all.” He continued, amused. “You can’t blame me for having all these women falling at my feet. Because, in all seriousness, who wouldn’t fall for this?” He pointed at himself like he was presenting an appliance in a game show.

“You're such an idiot." I shook my head.

“You're such a moron." He quipped.

It was true that there would always be some floozie flirting with Victor, he was indeed a remarkable man. But it was also true that, probably due to some lucky star, he only had eyes for me, and he showed me that every single day. Why was I letting such petty things get to me? The green-eyed monster was definitely not a good advisor, and I wasn’t going to let him ruin my day. Especially when I felt my husband’s hand hold mine, his fingers entwined with my own.

We finally stopped at the butcher’s door, Owen looking at it in amazement. He probably was expecting a violent man chopping off some animal’s head inside, and not the scrawny guy with a high-pitched voice that Victor called Clarence. Nonetheless, Victor looked at Owen with wide scared eyes.

“Do not look straight at him.” He warned, and I couldn’t help but laugh at Owen’s excited gasp. “His eyes feed on the souls of fools.”

“I am no fool!” Owen declared. “I will go prepared!”

Of course, he had nothing to prepare for, the butcher shop was as normal as any other, with burgers and meatballs on display, along with some other cuts of meat.

“Mr. Lee!” We heard Clarence’s high-pitched voice, very unlike someone who can eat your soul with his eyes. “Came to take your order?”

Victor was distracted for a few moments, staring at the door.

“Yes, my wife will take it for me. Here.” He quickly put some money on the counter, turning to me afterward. “Wait for me outside, me and Owen will be right back.”

“Where are you going?”

“On another perilous mission.” He gave me a smug smile. “Don’t worry, Owen will swat away all the women that throw themselves at me. I will be safe.”

“Not as safe as you think.” I frowned.

I turned to face the counter again, part of me happy for seeing him in such a good mood, the other part a bit concerned that now that he knew I was jealous, he would be teasing me all day. I caught one of the workers watching our interaction, a large bag in her hands.

“Here’s your order.” She smiled. “May I interest you in anything else?”

“No need, thank you.” I smiled. “To be honest, I have no idea what he’s cooking.”

“Mr. Lee is cooking?” She sighed. “You are lucky. A good-looking husband that can cook? Most of us can only hope.”

I felt the green-eyed monster poking my shoulder.

“Don’t get too excited, he doesn’t cook that well.” I lied through my teeth. What was with Victor and women today? Jesus.

As agreed, I waited by the butcher’s door, holding a bag full of meat, wondering where the hell could the two men of my life be. I felt a hand on my shoulder and immediately turned around, expecting to see my husband’s smug smile again. I had a whole different thing coming.

“Andy?”

“Levi!” I threw myself into his arms for a big hug. “I haven’t seen you in ages, how are you?”

“Last time I saw you was when Victor had that accident. I never heard from you since.” His voice had a tinge of hurt. “I knew you moved from the guys that were taking your stuff from your apartment.”

“Oh God, yes.” I grimaced. “A lot has happened since.”

“Oh, I know. I saw your wedding on TV. You looked beautiful, by the way.” He gave me a sweet look. “And congratulations on your award. And for the new job position.”

“Thank you, like I said, I have been pretty busy.” I smiled, feeling awful. I had been a terrible friend. Levi was a very close friend before I met Victor, my greatest support when I was alone and had no one to help me, and I didn’t even invite him to my wedding. Even worse, I couldn’t find the time to make a call. All he knew from me, he had to learn from the media. “I’m sorry, I am a bad friend.”

“It’s alright, it’s never too late to catch… Oh, hi, Victor, how are you?”

Victor was standing right behind me, his earlier playfulness gone, a grim expression instead, eyeing Levi like he was one of the monsters he and Owen were supposed to be slaying. Levi extended his hand for Victor to shake. Victor shamelessly ignored it.

“Mom! Mom!” Owen pulled my arm, excited. “We got something for you!”

I looked back at Victor’s hands and spotted the bouquet of roses he was holding.

“You’re a mom?” Levi asked, seemingly incredulous.

“Oh yes, I am sorry.” I took my son’s hand. “Levi, this is Owen, my son. Owen, this is Levi, my friend. He used to teach me Krav Maga. It’s a martial art.”

“You taught my mother how to fight?” Owen’s interest in Levi peeked instantly. “Will you teach me too?”

“I sure will.” Levi nodded. “Ask your mom to bring you to the studio one of these days, we have a kids’ class you can attend.” He turned to me with a smile. “And maybe she will let me buy her some coffee, see if we can catch up on lost time.”

“I can’t really promise you that for now, I have been super busy with work. But text me the time, maybe I’ll ask our nanny to drive Owen.” I looked at my beautiful boy. “Would you like that?”

“Yes, yes, I would love it! I want to be strong like Levi!” Owen turned to Victor. “Can I, Dad? Can I?”

“We’ll discuss it later.” Victor answered dryly. “Shall we?” He took my hand.

“Yes, we need to go. So nice to see you, Levi.” I let go of my husband’s hand to give Levi another tight hug.

“Don’t be a stranger, will you?” He ruffled my curls. “And no excuses, I want your sweet tushie in my studio for proper training!”

I had no time for Krav Maga, but the truth was, I did miss it. I had been so stressed the last few weeks, I definitely could use blowing off some steam. Owen definitely seemed excited about it.

“Mom, do you think he will teach me how to kick, like this?” He lifted his little leg haphazardly, kicking the air. “I bet he is super strong! I bet he can lift forty pounds!”

“Who cares if he can lift forty pounds?” Victor muttered. “Elephants can lift a lot more, they don’t waste their time bragging about it.”

“He didn’t brag about it, Owen was the one who mentioned it.” I pointed at the flowers in his hand. “Are those for me?”

“No.” Victor almost pouted, pulling the flowers to himself. “And you don’t need to defend Leonard. If he is so incredibly strong, he can defend himself.”

“Ok, number one, I wasn’t defending him, I was merely pointing out an inaccuracy.” I spoke gently, trying not to aggravate my already very aggravated husband.

“You’re an inaccuracy.” He childishly muttered, but I wouldn’t be deterred.

“Number two!” I called his attention again, holding up two fingers. “His name is Levi and you know it.”

“I do not have the time nor the interest to memorize Larry’s name.” He scoffed.

“Did you know that the elephant communicates with others by purring as cats do?” Owen chimed in, completely oblivious to the subject at hand. “And that they are the only mammal that can’t jump?”

“That does sound like Lenny.” Victor quipped. “Quick to purr, but slow on the jump. ”

I looked at my husband, reading his expression and posture as he stopped by one of the many colorful stalls to pick some vegetables. His eyes were focused on whatever produce he was handling, but his jaw told me he was churning over something else. He was jealous.

I observed him for a while longer, wondering if I should take this moment to my advantage and tease him as he teased me. The answer was pretty simple.

“Come on, Victor, are you jealous of Levi?” I joked. “You said it yourself, jealousy is for insecure people with unfulfilling relationships.”

“I am not jealous, why would I be jealous?” He frowned. “Because Lemur was flirting with you, despite the wedding ring you have on your finger? Maybe I’ll have to buy you a bigger diamond, or a traffic cone. Do you think he will see that?”

“Why would Mom wear a traffic cone?” Owen giggled, again completely unaware of our argument. “That’s ridiculous.”

Victor scoffed as he took the bags full of groceries from the vendor, and I prepared to deliver a final blow.

“Ok, I will let you have this one.” I threw my hands up in defeat. “You are right.”

“You don’t need to tell me, I know I am.”

“It’s just like you said earlier.” I gave him a cocky grin. “I can’t help being this irresistible.”

He paused to look at me, right before unlocking our car.

“So, that’s how you are going to play this.”

“Well, it’s not like I can turn it off.” I continued. “Of course I will have men throwing themselves at me.”

“Fine.” He declared before getting in the vehicle.

“I mean, I did get Loveland’s Most Eligible Bachelor to marry me, that has to count for something.” I stuck my tongue out to him.

“Can I drive us home in peace or do you want to cause an accident?” He glared at me before starting the car.

“Can you acknowledge your jealousy is just as ridiculous as mine?” I glared back.

“Shut up.” He pressed the Start button.

Victor seemed to be incredibly tense the whole ride, so I decided to leave things as they were. It was pointless to discuss things that would never happen anyway, we were both loyal, I knew that. And talking only seemed to make things worse, so the best thing to do was to hope that cooking would distract him, and eventually the green eyed monster would leave him as well.

Sadly, that was not the case. After I helped him put all the food away, I found him flattening the steaks with a hammer, his blows so hard he almost punched a hole in one of them.

“Victor, you’re hurting the food.”

“Do you think Lawrence would do a better job?”

Even though I knew it would only upset him more, I had to laugh. Victor’s commitment to not mentioning Levi’s name was truly commendable.

“Why are you laughing? Is my distress amusing to you?”

“I have to admit it is a bit amusing.” I came closer, running my hands through his chest. “Come on, let’s end this.”

“There is nothing to end.” He stiffened.

“You know, I’m an idiot.”

“I agree.”

“So are you!” I playfully smacked him on the chest. “We love each other. Why waste time with this?” I wrapped my arms around his neck, prompting him to come down for a kiss. Victor, however, stood tall, unwilling to give in.

“Come on, let me make it better.” I purred.

“I need to get lunch ready.”

I wasted no time. I grabbed his shoulders and basically jumped up, knowing he would catch me so I wouldn’t hurt myself. I wasn’t wrong. His arms wrapped around my waist out of instinct.

“Are you trying to get yourself hurt?” He scolded.

I kissed him, my tongue grazing his lips. He hardly resisted, deepening the kiss as he placed me on top of the kitchen island, so his hands would be free to roam my body.

“Now, doesn’t it feel better?”

“Not really. I burned my tongue drinking my coffee so fast.” He was still trying to appear upset, but his tone told me otherwise.

“So I wouldn’t see what she wrote?”

“So you wouldn’t get upset. I don’t want you to ever feel insecure about other women. There is no need for that.” He gave me an earnest look.

“Same goes for other men. I’m yours.”

“I guess we both are idiots.” Victor reached behind my back, presenting me with the bouquet he bought.

“Aw, Mr. Lee, those are for me?” I smelled the beautiful red buttons.

“They were always meant for you, and you know it.” He complained as he slowly pecked the tip of my nose, moving to my mouth, and then my neck, making me shiver with pleasure.

The sound of our doorbell echoed through the apartment.

“Are you expecting anyone?” I gave him a curious look.

Without a word, Victor walked to the hall. I followed him.

“Mr. Victor Lee and Mrs. Andrea Lee?” I heard a man ask.

“Yes?”

“You have been served.” The man handed Victor two envelopes, turning to leave.

Victor closed the door with a stern look and went to the study to find a letter opener. I found him wide-eyed, reading the contents of the envelopes.

“Pamela is suing for Owen’s custody.”

“What?” I took one of the letters from Victor’s hands to read. “She said she wouldn’t interfere in the adoption.”

“And you believed her? It’s irrelevant, either way. She won’t get him.” Victor declared, narrowing his eyes at the piece of paper. “He’s our son.”

Sometimes, jealousy -- or in Pamela’s case, greed -- gets the best of us. It tells us that we don’t deserve something, and urges us to do the craziest things to secure them. Crazy like throwing an irrational fit, or like removing a child from a safe loving place. Either way, at the end of the day, we all fall prey to the green-eyed monster.

[shu-yaminos-shoes]

Hot & Gaming [Kaminari Denki x F!Reader] {Mature}

Warnings: FILTH AS IN PURE FILTH! 

Characters: Kaminari Denki, Female!Reader

Setting: Normal AU

A/n: So, I got a little bit of free time and decided to write this. I dunno why but my mind has been filled with this for a long time. I’ll go cleanse my soul with holy water now U_U As always, enjoy :)

Summary: Denki’s girlfriend, (Y/n) became horny on a hot summer’s day. Since her boyfriend wouldn’t pay attention to her, she’s got some other plans...

It was hot. As in boiling hot. It was probably 50 degrees outside that you can cook an egg on top of a car. You can’t even open the window for a fresh air since the wind was also hot. Your ACs weren’t working cause for some reason it decided to break down today and not to mention you became horny. 

You tried to get your boyfriend, Denki, in bed so you could do the frisky but he wasn’t listening except he was playing his dumb game with his friends on TV. You wore a green spaghetti strap and some short shorts while your boyfriend wore lose shorts and a tank top. Lucky for you, your fan was still working.

You stood behind the couch where your boyfriend was sitting on. Your eyes wandered to his muscles. They weren’t as big as Bakugou’s but they were just right. You drooled at the sight. Rolling your eyes at your boyfriend shouting at a win, your eyes went from his muscles to the thing in between his legs. Since he wouldn’t get frisky with you, you’d just have to distract him from what e’s doing..and you’ve got the perfect plan already laid out. 

~~

Denki was too busy playing and talking with his friends that he didn’t notice his girlfriend creep her left arm towards his crotch. He only noticed it when he felt her stroke his dick up and down slowly and teasingly and that she had pressed her breasts up on his head. He slowly peeked up only to see his girlfriend watching what was happening on the TV with a slight smirk on her face. 

He looked back to the TV trying to focus on the game and what his friends were telling/shouting at him. He couldn’t focus not when his girlfriend was stroking his dick a bit faster now and smearing the pre cum on his cock head around, using it as lube. His hips buckled up to her hand, wanting more friction but she didn’t give that. She slowly retracted her hand back while trailing her finger from his balls to the top of his cock. He quietly whined at the feeling of loss which didn’t go unnoticed by (Y/n). 

(Y/n) licked her lips and walked over to the front of the couch and went in between her boyfriend’s legs. She quietly giggled and put a finger to her mouth indicating that he should stay quiet. Denki nodded and tried to focus on the game. 

“Bro! You’re getting killed out there!”

You could hear Kirishima’s voice from his headphones but paid no heed. You freed Denki’s cock from his shorts and your eyes sparkled. Now, there was more pre cum leaking from the tip. You licked your lips and proceeded to suck the head. You sucked his tip, hollowing your cheeks then bobbed your head up and down on his cock. The carpet spot you were sitting down on was now wet with your pussy juices but you didn’t care, you kept sucking on Denki’s cock like it was a lollipop.

Denki tried to pay attention to the game but when he looked down to his girlfriend, he completely lost it. The way she bobbed her head down and how she sucked on it hollowing her cheeks. Could she be any more sexier? He had to log off of the game and tell his friend that an ‘Emergency’ came up. His hands went to his girlfriend’s head slowly pushing it down.

(Y/n) gave him a slutty look in the eyes and he was about to come right there in her mouth.

“(Y-Y/n)! I’m coming!” 

But before he could come, (Y/n) pulled away. 

“B-baby, wh-why. I was so c-close.” he moaned out.

“Not yet, Denki. I haven’t even cummed yet.” you put your finger in front of you, watching as how the pre cum sticks on your fingers like glue.

You smirked at him, forgetting about the heat, you removed your shorts along with your panties, sticky with your own cum. Denki gripped your hips as you slowly circled his dick with your pussy. He could feel your clit rubbing on him and his penis twitched. This continued on for a few more seconds when your boyfriend suddenly flipped you with your back to him and you ass facing him.

“My baby really loves teasing me huh.” he grinded his dick on your pussy then he slowly pumped it and put the head in along with the rest, feeling your walls slowly squeeze it.

“Fuck, baby. You feel so good...so damn good...” he moans as he finally starts thrusting in you.

His pace started slow at first then it suddenly went fast. You felt his cock grow a bit bigger in you and you moaned. 

“You like that, he?” you felt him move much more faster then before and this time he hit your g-spot, causing you to squirm under him. 

“Oh? Looks like I hit the jackpot.” he kept pounding on the same spot causing you to see stars.

“How does it feel baby? Tell me?”

You couldn’t give him an answer except for a moan which he didn’t like so he pulled you up from below your breasts and sat down on the couch, bouncing you on him. He flipped you to your front causing your boobs to bounce in his face. He took one in his hands and kept the other hand on your waist holding you down. He took the nipple of the boob he was holding and sucked on it, sometimes biting.

“D-Denki, I’m c-cumming!”

Once you said this, he kept pounding harder and faster now.

“Hold it in baby. Let’s both cum together. Hold it...in” he grunted.

He kept pounding on your g-spot and you couldn’t hold it in, so you mewled out to Denki,

“I can’t hold it in anymore, Denki! Let me cum!” 

He just kept pounding into you until he finally felt his release coming. 

“Oh baby. You can come now. CUM!”

At the last shout, you came. Your juices gushing down on his hips and then he finally came. Thick, hot, cum seeping out of your pussy. You both panted at the aftermath of your sinful doings and collapsed on your couch, with you on top of him.

“God, baby. That was hot! No pun intended.” he chuckled.

You giggled and slowly stood up, feeling the cum slowly dribbling its way down your pussy. Denki watched as you put your fingers inside your pussy, scooping out his cum. Your eyes watched Denki as he gulped his saliva down when he watched as you ate his cum from his fingers.

“So...round 2?” you smirked.

And this time he smirked back. 

“How ‘bout we go 10 rounds, whadya say?”

[brighterthanghosts]

Meant for Romance

Word count: 1,893

Part 1/1

Pairing: Taishiro (past Koumi)

Read below the cut or on ao3

Summary:  “So let me get this straight,” Miyako says, swiftly biting into her toast. “You got sloppy drunk on a Tuesday and hooked up with your hot best friend. He let you sleep in his bed overnight and brought you breakfast.” 

“And now you’re here, having breakfast with me,” Miyako says with a bored sigh, “When you could be having a coffee-flavored makeout sesh with your hot best friend.”

Heavily implied nsfw. Lots of awkward. Humor maybe? Largely fueled by too much coffee at 4 a.m.

So warm.

Koushiro doesn’t remember ever feeling so cozy in his life. He knows he needs to get up soon — the morning sun on the other side of his eyelids beckons him to start the day. But sleep is still within his grasp, and his pillow smells so nice, like sage and bergamot and mint. He recognizes that scent, though he can’t quite place it, but his brain supplies him with hot breaths on his neck and a husky coo of his name.

Koushiro shivers, pulls the cotton sheet under his chin, and revels in the way it drags across his skin. His skin. All of his skin.

Eyes snapping open, Koushiro jolts up. The sheet, having fallen to the tops of his thighs, answers his first question, but — Where the hell am I?

He remembers Mimi, her pretty hair pulled back, making her deep-set frown stand out even more. She told him it wasn’t working out, that there’s someone else, that this just wasn’t doing it for her anymore. I wasn’t doing it for her at all.

He remembers calling Taichi, desperate and agonizing. Taichi saying he’d be there in 30 minutes. Taichi hailing down a cab to take them to a bar where “the drinks are cheap and totally worth it.” Taichi making him feel better instantly with big grins and fond laughter because that’s what friends do.

Spotting his clothes loosely folded on the desk chair across from the bed, Koushiro moves hastily and slips his underwear on, left foot then right foot. He knows he told Taichi about the breakup. Well, it wasn’t really a breakup, considering he and Mimi had never put a label to what they were doing, which wasn’t much.

Koushiro was busy, and Mimi was needy. She needed things from him that he couldn’t give. They’d tried to engage in sexual activities exactly twice, and neither time could Koushiro perform. It was something that embarrassed him to no end because he liked Mimi and he thought she was cute, but for the entire 8 months they were seeing each other, his body just wouldn’t respond.

Taichi spent most of that conversation listening, Koushiro realizes now, and he never poked fun or judged him. He loves that about Taichi. He’s working on the fourth button of his white dress shirt when his eyes dart to a Polaroid photo propped up on the desk. In the bottom right-hand corner reads ‘The Yagamis 2002.’  Nonononono.

And it hits him like a bullet train. Rough hands, harsh lips. Hips colliding, hot with need. Smooth, sun-kissed skin everywhere. Taichi over him, eyes wide and lips swollen. “Perfect. You’re so perfect.”

“Fuck,” Koushiro stutters, palms suddenly clamy. He’s got both legs in his pants, pulling them up in one swoop, and he hears the door unlock. Fuck.

“Hey, you’re awake!” Taichi says, smiling. At least, Koushiro suspects he’s smiling, but he doesn’t want to know. He can’t bring himself to look at his friend. He hears a rustle of plastic and something heavy hitting the table, but his mind can only focus on slipping on his socks at light speed.

“Sorry to leave you alone,” Taichi sounds sincere. It makes Koushiro feel worse. “I didn’t have much in the fridge, so I ran to the convenience store down the street. I grabbed that bottled Oolong you like. I hope eggs and — you’re leaving?”

“Sorry, Taichi-san. I have to go.” And Koushiro is out the door, leaving Taichi to stand alone in his little apartment.

***

He’s not sure where he’s going, not exactly paying attention, but he spots a park and some familiar treelines, and he manages to make it to a door, knocking furiously.

A beat passes, and he knocks again.

“Jesus, what!?” Miyako says, whipping the door open and looking like she just rolled out of bed. She eyes Koushiro, his tousled hair, frazzled expression, and haphazard outfit.

“Either you’ve met a very unfriendly tornado, or you’re doing the walk of shame,” she says, causing Koushiro to flush from the neck up. “Ah. Walk of shame, huh? Come in.”

The next 20 minutes are filled with Miyako filling her toaster and putting on a pot of coffee while Koushiro relays the previous night’s events with record speed. He’s beet red.

“So let me get this straight,” Miyako says, swiftly biting into her toast. “You got sloppy drunk on a Tuesday and hooked up with your hot best friend. He let you sleep in his bed overnight and brought you breakfast.”

She pauses to look directly into his soul, and Koushiro would like nothing more than to simply pass away.

“And you panicked.” Miyako’s tone is pointed, but when she doesn’t immediately continue, Koushiro opens his mouth to reply in uncoordinated hand gestures and wordless exasperation. He nods instead.

“And now you’re here, having breakfast with me,” Miyako says with a bored sigh, “When you could be having a coffee-flavored makeout sesh with your hot best friend.”

“It’s not like that!” Koushiro defends. Taichi was his very first friend and probably his closest friend — there was no way he could jeopardize that. His failed attempt at a relationship with Mimi was proof enough that Koushiro isn’t meant for romantic endeavors of any kind.

“I just got out of a relationship!” Koushiro pleads, but Miyako’s expression is solid. She’s not buying this for a moment. Softer, Koushiro says, “And Taichi is my friend. I don’t want to take advantage of him.”

“He obviously didn’t mind,” Miyako, says, annoyed and unimpressed with Koushiro’s half-hearted explanation. Koushiro grunts and looks down at the kitchen counter — he’s not entirely sure he believes himself. Miyako sighs again, this time with a hint of sincere tiredness woven in, and saunters toward her bedroom. “Tragic.”

***

The drive to the office is mostly silent, except for Miyako’s intermittent humming to whatever song is playing on the radio. Koushiro can’t make out any of the words over the sound of his heart thrumming like an upright bass in his ears. Miyako doesn’t seem to notice.

It’s times like this when he truly appreciates her — hiring Miyako as his assistant director was one of his best decisions. She always sorts him out when he gets too caught up in the details. Which is probably why he randomly showed up at her home this morning.

They’re walking into the building, and Miyako greets the receptionist quickly, shielding Koushiro from anyone passing through. He looks a mess, he knows, and Miyako’s being kind by attempting to uphold his reputation. She walks him all the way to his office, reminding him to pull the curtain over the glass windows by his door. She says to find her when he’s done.

It was also Miyako who mothered him into keeping spare clothes at the office after one too many all-nighters. “You look like a trash panda, honestly.”

The morning goes as usual, answering emails, IMing Miyako about the slides for their monthly report. He doesn’t notice when noon rolls around. He doesn’t pay attention when his office door opens, or when the sound of rustling plastic makes its second appearance today.

“Koushiro,” comes a soft voice. Koushiro’s fingers hover above his keyboard and a shiver runs down his spine. “Koushiro,” Taichi says again.

He knows he needs to respond but he can’t pull himself away from his safety net just yet. His fingers touch down on the keyboard again, and he exhales shakily.

“Hello, Taichi-san.”

“I was worried you didn’t eat, so I brought you lunch,” Taichi says quietly. It’s unlike him, and it breaks Koushiro’s heart. He knows he’s being selfish. He knows he should acknowledge his friend, but —

“Koushiro, please,” Taichi says, voice sadder now, a tinge of anguish in that last word. “Can we please talk?”

Koushiro freezes again. He’s so utterly fucked and completely inexperienced in all aspects of what’s sure to unfold here. But Taichi sounds hurt, and he doesn’t want to be someone who hurts Taichi.

He swivels around in his chair, facing Taichi on the sofa but looking at the ground where the toe of his shoe meets the wood floor. He wants to say something, taps his foot a few times, and finally looks up.

“Taichi-san, I —”

“What the fuck?”

“Huh?” Koushiro says, caught off guard. Mimi is storming into his office, face fire-engine red.

“You cheated on me?!” She squawks.

“Excuse me?” Koushiro musters because this is his ex, and his mother taught him to mind his manners, but he feels offended.

“Sora heard from Yamato that you slept with someone last night!” Mimi is causing a scene. A few of Koushiro’s colleagues have poked their heads into the hallway outside Koushiro’s office.

“Did you know about this? Who is she?”

She’s addressing Taichi now, who sinks deeper into the sofa and looks like he might combust, and Koushiro’s blood is boiling. He stands, moving into her line of vision.

“Mimi-san, I hardly think anything I did last night could be considered cheating as we never defined the exclusivity of our relationship and you said there was someone else.” Koushiro says with as much confidence as he can. “I think that gives me the right to do as I want.”

Mimi stomps her foot and raises her arms, ready to shout a thousand expletives, but Miyako is through the door and in Mimi’s face like a forcefield.

“Good afternoon, and welcome to Izumi Corporation. My name is Inoue Miyako, and I’m the lead director of team shut down. As in, I’m shutting this down immediately,” Miyako says, straight faced and with her kindest customer service voice. The first-floor security guard stands just outside Koushiro’s office, already escorting Mimi out. Miyako follows after them, stopping in the doorframe. “Thank you for your visit to Izumi Corp! Have a nice day!”

She smiles and waves, and Koushiro feels like he can breathe again. He has know idea what just happened, and his head is pounding. Miyako’s smile falls, eyebrows pull together, and from the doorway, she points her finger at Koushiro and yells, “I expect a raise!”

She shuts his curtains, slams the door behind her and disappears after that. Koushiro’s mind would normally leave the train station in 50 directions at once, but he’s just stunned. He turns, hoping to find Advil in his desk drawer, and — Taichi!

“Taichi-san, I’m so sorry,” Koushiro turns around to face him, and it’s all he can do because Taichi doesn’t deserve any of this. Taichi is looking at him unexpectedly, reaches a hand up to scratch at the nape of his neck and smiles slightly.

“So,” Taichi says and pauses, looking at the table, “lunch?”

Koushiro stares in awe. Taichi smiles and after a beat, looks up and says, “And maybe we can start this day over?”

They spend the rest of the afternoon talking, and Koushiro apologizes with his entire being. For the event with Mimi. For leaving him. For being so cold. Taichi reassures every “I’m sorry.” Taichi says it’s okay because he doesn’t expect the world Koushiro. Taichi is his best friend. Taichi would like to try last night again. Today, preferably, with less alcohol, but he isn’t pushing.

They weathered a year’s worth of drama in a single day. Koushiro is still breathing, and Taichi still smiles at him like Koushiro is the sun. And maybe Koushiro is meant for romance.

[korkisobsessions]

The Oath

XVIII. Hangover

Yeongshin experienced one of the hardest mornings. His head pounding with pain, when he opened his eyes to bright and warm morning. His tongue heavy in his dry mouth.

He wanted to sleep a little longer, but cheerful voice of Beom Pal get him out of the bed. His pride didn’t let him sleep longer, than some noble city boy. He can’t admit that he cannot handle his drinks.

He took all of his strength and made his way out of bedroom. Beom Pal was sitting with Nilah on their porch, enjoying late morning with bowl of rice and tea.

Yeongshin shield his eyes from sharp sunshine and frowned.

“Here he is. Brave chakho, who defeat hordes of undead, but loose against few bottles of soju.” Beom Pal laughs and toss him cup of tea.

“I didn’t loose.” He frowns and kisses giggling Nilah. “Maybe we are even.”

“It’s understandable. You are not used to drink. When I lived in Dongnae, I used to drink more soju than water. I think I’m immune...” Beom Pal considered.

“Then why is this cup, full of grass?” Yeong shin raised his eyebrow, when he noticed that.

Beom Pal looks at him with red and glossy eyes and smiled. “So...I’m probably still drunk.”

“You should eat something.” Nilah gave him bowl of soup and sit back to sunlight. It was beautiful day.

Yeongshin took of his stinking shirt and made his way to river. He throws himself to cold embrace of water and almost moans. It feels so good and he immediately feels better. He was floating on the surface and felt warm pleasant feeling in his chest. He was back in the world of living. When someone asks him for his identity tag, he could proudly give it to him and identify himself as a common citizen. He doesn’t have to use his false tag or run away.

He can marry Nilah...

Gentle waves swing him towards the sandy bank where he sat in the shallow and wash his face.

“Yeong shin?” Miho’s voice brings him back. Boy was sitting in the tall grass, with makeshift rod. He watched Yeong shin’s body full of scars with mixture of terror and awe.

Yeongshin wiped water from his chest and took back dirty shirt, not to scare the boy longer that was necessary.

Miho put down his rod and came closer with head hang low.

“What is it?” Yeongshin was suddenly worried, that something happened in village. Maybe another dead body.

“I’m sorry I scared you yesterday. I didn’t know who that man was...” his eyes were glossy and ears red with shame. “I scared you for no reason.” He wipes his nose.

“No! Miho...” Yeongshin kneeled in front of the boy, to have eyes in same level and put his palms on Miho’s little shoulders. “You did the right thing. I’m glad you came for me.”

Miho raised his stare from the ground and find the courage to look Yeongshin in the eyes.

Yeong shin’s throat was tight when he remembered his little brother, how he held his shoulders just like he holds Miho now.

“I know that something happened to you and Nilah. I just want to help.”

“You were very brave. Come with me.” He nods towards the house.

Nilah was in the garden and wave at them when they come closer. He left Miho outside and walks inside the house. Loud snoring of Beom Pal was filling the air with odour of alcohol. He made his way to his things and after few moments found what he was looking for and didn’t forgot to change his shirt.

“This is for you. For your help” He gave boy big tiger’s fang on leather cord. “It’s from the tiger that gave me this...” he touches his chest. He knows that Miho saw his scars. Boy’s eyes were big and full of astonishment. His trembling palm grip the tiger’s tooth and Yeong shin can’t fight the smile.

“Thank you.” He put it around his neck with awe like it was precious gem.

“Just be careful, kid.”

That word escapes his lips quickly and naturally, but his heart hurts when he remembered his master who used to call him like this. “I need to talk to your father. Is he home?”

“Hmm hmm.” Miho hum with agreement, not paying attention to anything but the fang.

Yeongshin made his way to garden, where Nilah was checking their little sprouts of vegetables. She lifts her eyes and smiled at him, smudge of soil on her cheek. He squat next to her, and gently wiped the smudge with his thumb, holding her face in his palm. She lean into his touch and closed her eyes.

“About last night and Beom Pal’s gift...” he started but she silenced him with her lips. He was caught unprepared and almost fell to the ground with her arms around his neck. She kissed him hungrily pulling him closer, her heart beat fast and strong. He held her around her waist with one arm and second tangled into her hair. Her tongue was hot and sweet, pushing into his mouth, he almost moans out loud.

And when she pulls away, her cheeks were red, lips swollen and eyes wild. “I understand, what that tag means to you. And I’m happy for you.” She put her open palm over his heart. “But for me, nothing changed. You are still same person that I love more than anything. I love your heart, not your name.”

“I know.” He touches her forehead with his and held her face in his rough palms. “But you know that world is not so simple.”

“Don’t forget that I’m just a pagan...” she laughed, but Yeongshin stopped her with serious face.

“Not anymore. You are citizen of this kingdom, just like me.”

“Its strange feeling. I still can’t get used to it.”

“I know...but for me nothing changed.” He repeated her words. “You are still the same person I love more than anything.” He held her hand and kissed her knuckles. “I need to see Jae Bong. And I will bring something for supper.”

He stood up and left garden. Miho was still standing in the same place examining his treasure.

~

Nilah stay at the garden and weed the plant beds. Plants were grown enough to put them in the field. They just need to prepare the ground. Yeong shin bought plow and their donkey were strong enough to work. It was just a matter of a few days.

Sun was high when Beom Pal found his way out of the house clean and prepared.

“My beautiful lady, I was honoured to be your guest, but I’m needed elsewhere.”

Nilah smiled and wiped away her dirty hands.

“It was my honour, my lord.” She bows her head and takes a pouch with food and water for his journey back to Hanyang.

“You must visit me in the city. We will make great celebration.” He made his way to his horse that was fed and well rested.

“I don’t thin that the capital city is ready for dancing chakho.”

Beom Pal burst in laughter and almost fell. “I don’t know if I was ready for it. When I will be old and dying, I will remember it and I will die with laughter.”

Nilah laughed genuinely and give him the food.

“Oh! I’m such a fool!” Beom Pal was suddenly serious and takes one of the bags from the horse seat. “I was so glad to see you that I almost forgot.” He gave Nilah that bag. It was quite heavy. She was confused but don’t get the chance to ask what it is. “You still have a few friends in Sangju. They collect your things and send it to me.”

“What?” her voice trembled when she opened the bag and found her old clothes and uniform, her sword and the most precious thing. Her book with stories. She came to Sangju with nothing. But she didn’t mind it. All she ever missed were her books with stories and fairy tales. One day she starts to remember them and writing it in empty book she got from Deok Sung. To not forget.

But then came Lee Chang with Seo-Bi and wild chakho, and she left Sangju without her things.

“My lord...” She sobs with broken voice. “I...have no words.”

“I said, it wasn’t me, but your friends.” Beom Pal made few steps closer towards her and laid his palms on her shoulders. “I know it was bad, but don’t forget there are good people behind you. And don’t be hard on yourself when you are scared. Your soul is like your broken leg. It needs time to heal. It sometimes hurts, but it will be better with time.”

Her lips were trembling when she fought with tears. His words touch her heart with so much comfort.

“I’m so sorry, but I must...” Nilah let out with one breath and throw herself to his arms. She hugs him tightly and whispering ‘thank you’ over and over again.

She still remember the silly man standing on the rooftop with sword in his trembling hands too scared to cut his palm, too afraid of pain. But he was still there. Fighting with them.

And now he was here, same silly man, telling her these wise words.

When he was disappearing in the distance, she was sad, but she knows that they will see him again.

~°~

“So...everything is fine...” Jae Bong asks as they walk side by side towards old barn, where the body of unknown man was hidden.

“Yeah, it is.” Yeong shin nods innocently avoiding other man’s stare.

“And it was completely normal that you run like a mad man, with pure terror in the eyes, just because some man came to your house.”

They approached the barn and both of them covered their faces with piece of cloth to avoid the smell of decaying corpse.

“I know, I was overreacting. It was mistake.”

“Stop bullshiting me chakho!” Jae Bong closed the door before Yeongshin had a chance to open them. He pushed down the reflex of grabbing his knife. Jae Bong looked pissed and even though he said he never fights, Yeong shin didn’t want to be his first. He was a huge man with lot of strength. And he didn’t want to lie to him. He just bows his head and nod.

“You don’t have to be worried. That thing is very personal. There was a man. He was Nilah’s captain. And he was probably in love with her. Or it was some kind of possession. And when he can’t have her, he pushed her into desertion. She runs away but he hunts her down and locked her in the prison. And he...he hurt her very badly.”

Even though it was long time ago, he still had clenched fists, when he thought about it. His knuckles white and blood boiling with rage.

“I see...” Jae Bong hummed and his shoulders loose the tension.

“Few days ago, day when we found the body, she thought that she saw that captain, looking at her through the window. It scared her. But I searched everything around the house and there were no tracks, or anything. It was just a bad day, but it always leaves me uneasy.”

He felt like he put down little weight from his shoulders. Just saying it out loud helped him.

“I’m sorry. I really am.”

“You don’t have to be. We are good...we will be.”

Jae Bong leaves his vigilance and open door of the barn.

The smell was terrible. It was heavy and they felt it, even though they had covered faces. It fills their nostrils and they felt it in their mouths. And what Yeongshin hated the most was flies. Their disgusting buzzing around the corpse woke bad memories from war. When he was recovering from his injuries, flies were everywhere. And when they sit on someone for too long, it was a sign that person is dead.

He just hated it.

“We must burn the body.” He mumbled. He didn’t want to open his mouth more than was necessary.

“Yeah I know.” Jae Bong spoke with choked voice. He was fighting with nausea. “But I had idea. Can you tell, what kind of weapon the murderer used?”  

Yeongshin came closer to body and examined the wounds.

“I think that it was two kinds of weapons.” He point towards wound on the neck. “This could be a sword. Strong and sharp. Sword can cut of head. But this...” he carefully turned the body and revealed the open wounds on the back. “This couldn’t be a sword. This is too much of bones. It must be something like axe, or butchers had this cleaver...”

And suddenly it hit him. It was like blow to the chest. His hands trembled, when he realised, how he knows that. How he was fighting with bones of that young boy in Jiyulheon. How he had to chop one bone several times, to separate the parts. It was terrible and desperate thing.

“Are you alright chakho? You are pale.”

“I’m.” he choked. But wave of nausea hit him, when one of the flies sat on his forearm. He remembered the flies flying around Dan-I and how he was brushing them away, to not spoil the meat. He was thinking about the boy, like about flesh and nothing more.

And how it starts everything.

He felt vomit in the mouth and quickly run outside to throw up. Maybe it was because his drinking yesterday or it was guilt.

Guilt that he never told Nilah, how IT was all his fault.

How it all started, with one soup for starving innocents.

~°~

They burned the body and pay him respect. Who knows who that man was, but he died with horrible death, so they at least gave some comfort to his soul.

Yeongshin wasn’t much of believer. He did not believe that soul of the man will be wandering around, headless just because he died like this. He saw too much violent deaths, that it would turn world into hell, if there was so much angry ghosts.

He just doesn’t have faith in something he never saw. He just believes in sun, in sky and orders of nature. Sometimes a man must die so that another man can live.

“You don’t look good.” Jae Bong raised his eyebrows, when he noticed his distraction.

“I drink too much yesterday.” Yeongshin was watching the flames eating rotten flash of unknown soldier and his stomach was cramped.

He needs to tell Nilah everything. To redeem himself. To be honest with her in every way. But he was scared. Scared, that she will despise him.

“Tonight will be bonfire in village. You should come.”

“Why?” his voice was dry in his throat.

“Because it is celebration of village you are part of.” He said it like an obvious thing.

“But...people hate us.” He would like to come. To be part of village celebration. But unfriendly looks in the villagers eyes was something he would rather pass.

Jae Bong furrowed his brow and looked at him with little pity.

“That’s not true. They were scared, but now they see you are not danger.”

“Maybe...”

Pile of wood collapsed and buried the bones in the ash.

He head back home with heavy heart.

Nilah was sitting in the grass with flower crown on her head and reading out loud from a book he never saw. It looks more like old journal. Miho and other boys were digging hole for a young walnut tree and girls were tangling Nilah’s hair.

“...And then the mountain king turned young Upa into a stone for her foolishness. Her good heart stays alive, but full of pain...and she cried. The stone cried. Her tears join together and made river. Mountain King was trying to stop the water, throwing stones and rocks to her way, but he wasn’t so powerful to stop her. And that river was called Upa after that young woman, who falls in love with mountain King.” She closed her book and when she saw approaching Yeongshin her lips widen in smile. But it froze, when she noticed his worried face.

“That was sad story.” One of the girls complained. “I wanted to hear the story about lost princess.”

“Maybe tomorrow” Nilah watched Yeongshin sat heavily on bench in front of the house and starts to cleaning his rifle. She recognised the tension in his movements. Something was wrong.

“I think that you were princess. And Yeongshin was your guard. You fall in love and run away to be together.” Girls giggled with blushing cheeks. If they only knew, how they got together, they wouldn’t sleep for a month.

“And what if Yeongshin was prince and I was his guard?” she tried to make fun of them and girls even the boys burst in laughter. Yeongshin raised his eyes from the rifle with the questionable look.

“He can’t be a Prince.” Girl In-ha laughed with something little cruel in her voice. She was always judging everything and everyone.

“You are right. He can’t be.” Nilah was watching her man, how his eyes saddened. “I met Prince and I met Lords and wealthy men. But no one is better than Yeong shin.”

Her heart was pounding so strong and just for him. She still can’t get used to, how much she loves him. His ears reddened, when he heard their conversation.

“It’s enough kids. It’s getting late and your parents will be waiting for you. You need to prepare yourself for evening celebration.” Nilah stood up and gave boys reward for their job. It was a few coins, but boys appreciated it with joyful yelp.

When kids disappeared over the hill, she made her way to Yeongshin and sat on the ground next to him and laid her head into his lap. He put down his rifle and gently cares her temple. He let out deep exhale and get down from the bench and hug her tightly.

She was worried, but for a while she didn’t want to ruin her nice day. Just for a few short moments she wanted to be happy.

“I...must tell you something.”

His voice wasn’t firm like always. He was nervous. She saw his hands shaking so she holds them in her palms and kissed his knuckles.

“It will be all right.” It was all, she could say.

“You know...when I lost everything...my master, my brother and Sumang. I swore to myself that I will revenge them. That I will kill that man, who brought dead back.  Lee Seung-hui. Then the man who gave the order to bring them back, Cho Hak Joo. And a man who followed the order, Ahn Hyun.”

His voice was dull and empty. Like he was speaking about someone else.

“First was the healer. It took me a while to found him. Finally I was in this clinic but He was in Hanyang, so I was pretending that I hurt my shoulder and want only his treatment and wait for him. But when he returns, he brought dead man with him. It was probably his apprentice who died in Hanyang.”

He was quite for a few moments fighting with something deep inside him. Something he wanted to bury.

“I saw terrible things. But one of the worst things was look in the eyes of desperate mother that cannot feed her baby because she was starving.

People there were sick and dying of hunger. And no one was going to help them. So I have decided.”

Nilah was silent and still, but everything inside her was trembling “What have you done?”

“I feed them.” His voice was low and dreadful.

“Where you got the food?” she starts to get sick.

“The healer brought it from Hanyang.”

Nilah covered her mouth with palm and all colours left her face. She was suddenly white like snow.

“Yeongshin, what have you done?”

Yeongshin had traitorous tears in his eyes, but he angrily whipped them away. “I chopped that boy to pieces and made a soup. Finally they could eat something and not die!” he shouts.

For the first time he was shouting at her and it hurts him so badly, he wanted to scream at himself.

“No, it can’t be.” She felt cold sweat running down her spine and her throat was tight. The idea of Yeongshin cooking human flesh was terrible.

They didn’t even realise that they were both on their feet. No more siting side by side. No more gentle holding hands. If stranger approached them, he would though that they will be fighting with each other.

“Did they know?” her voice was barely audible.

She always said that she love Yeongshin no matter what. She knows that he was chakho and that Chakhos do everything to survive. She heard stories about them that chakhos used to eat hearts of their enemies. But she never believed it. It was just scary stories of drunken soldiers to scare the younger ones.

But part of her always hoped that Yeong shin’s everything had some borders.

“Did they know, what?” he barked like dog in the corner.

“Did they know what they were eating?” tears stung in her eyes and her voice was trembling.

“No. Does it matter?” his voice was bitter and all his muscles were limp. He wanted to be honest, but all he gets was his worst nightmare.

“Yes it does Yeong shin! You don’t gave them choice!” There she was. Screaming at him...mad at him. Maybe she hated him and for what? For his peace of mind. He thought that he will feel better. But it was worse.

Much worse. He saw regret in Nilah’s eyes.

And his stupid mind fought with her. Tried to justify his actions.

“What choice Nilah? There were only two options! Eat or die.” His voice was too loud, too rough. And in his first instinct, he wanted to touch her. Held her shoulders, to listen to him. To believe that all he wanted to do was save that people. That his actions were selfless. It was his salvation...or curse that he was the only one who survived. Because he was making sure that everyone is fed first.

But Nilah flinch back from his touch. Like she was scared of him. He tried to hide his feelings, but he felt the painful sting through his heart to the tips of his toes. Her eyes were glossy in the last sun beams pain and confusing and betrayal.

“It doesn’t matter. They are all dead.” He whispered with death voice. “Boy was bitten, his meat was infected. Everyone who eats that meat died and turned into monsters.”

Nilah cried.

Her tears were making stains on her azure shirt. She didn’t even try to wipe them away.

“They told me it came from Gyeongsang.” She was whispering slowly. “I wish to be only thing I know about the beginning of the plague.”

And than she turns and starts walking away. Away from him. And that scared him to death. That she was leaving him. He thought that they have something like unbreakable bond. After all they’ve been through. Ready to sacrifice life for each other, she was leaving and his heart ache more than it aches in Hanyang when he found that Nilah served to Ahn Hyun.

It hurts more because it was all his fault she was leaving.

“Nilah...” it was barely whisper, but she heard him. She stopped, but didn’t turn back. He was facing her stiff backs.

“There is bonfire in village. Kids are waiting for me.”

It was like she was talking to stranger. She took her plaid and left.

Yeong shin stood there outside their houses in half light suddenly alone and lost.

[god-save-the-keen]

Daughters of Rheya

Chapter 1

Summary: After the final battle with Reyha, a new enemy rise. (Based in Serafine's finale of you don't do the diamond)

Pairing: Adrian Raines x mc (Amy) / Participation of Kamilah and Jax / Mention of Lily.

Words: 1.379

Warning: This serie will contain death or mention of it, nsfw and swearing.

Note: I'm going to use my permanent tagg list and Adrian x mc tagg list so let me know if you want to be removed or added for this serie.

Permanent tagg list: @gardeningourmet @eileendannie @desireepow-1986 @dawn-1994 @violinet @darley1101 @blackcatkita @flyawayboo @drakewalker04 @simplymissjulia @luckyferrero

Adrian Raines x mc tagg list: @senator-adrian-raines-wifey @alesana45 @choicesfannatalie @mattrodriguezmylife @bigmemesplz @perriewinklenerdie @x-kyne-x @livingpurpose @adriansbiss @badgoodfishes @amyraineshessa @queencordonia @bloodboundismylife @theitcaramelchick @bloodboundhoe

She woke up. Her head hurt and her body was sore, she definitely wasn't expecting Amy to be this strong. Everything around her was too quiet and dark, something wasn't right. She stumbled, going to the front part of the theatre expecting to see her Goddess, ready to drop to her knees and serve her, in whatever way she wanted, as her soldier or something more. She could almost savor the taste of her skin in her mouth or her sweet smell. Her Goddess was everything to her and she would do anything for her.

She finally reached the stage, empty and dark, in the middle of it a pile of ashes lay and the truth hit her. Somehow she knew that those ashes were everything that was left of Rheya.

"Nooo!" A strangled, angry and pained cry came out of her lips as her eyes turned red and her fangs descended as her fist went through the floor leaving a huge crater.

"Serafine?" A shy voice said behind her. She abruptly turned around, ready to attack whoever dared to interrupt her in this agonizing moment until she saw Lori, another of Rheya's followers, come out from the shadows. She was crying looking at the ashes.

"Lori, you saw what happened?"

"Yes… Rheya was fighting with the traitors and that girl, the one who knocked you out, sh-she--" She interrupted herself sobbing.

"She what?!"

"She must have done something with our Goddess' mind, she touched her for a moment and then cut Rheya's head off." Serafine wobbled to a nearby wall until her back hit the hard surface as she slipped to the floor. Amy, the new blood, that little bitch had killed her. Her Goddess was dead because of her. Her head started to spin, her blood boiling inside her and her sight was red with fury. She couldn't and wouldn't let things happen like this.

"Tori, go find the rest of the true followers and believers and take them to the cave I told you about, I'll meet you there in a few hours."

"On it." The young vampire took off running to the entrance of the building and disappeared in a matter of seconds.

Serafine stood up and started to walk backstage until she found a beautiful ornate gold box. With a heaviness in her heart she went back to Rheya's ashes and, carefully and respectfully, collected them, placing them inside the box. "We are going to make justice for you, my Goodness. I swear." Amy's face popped in her mind, mockingly smirking. That Bloodkeeper, facing her Goddess as if she were her equal, to think she had helped her to master part of her powers. She thought of all the traitors, Adrian and Kamilah, the fact that at some point in her life she had loved them made her feel sick, and that shameless clanless fighting alongside with them. They were all going to pay with their blood. And she knew exactly where to start.

.

.

.

Kamilah hugged Amy, holding her tightly one last time for the night, before standing up. Jax, taking her cue, also wrapped her in a long hug, his eyes burning and his heart broken. He stood up and followed Kamilah to the front door as they were accompanied by Adrian.

"Call us if you need anything, brother." She said, giving him a brief hug.

"Thank you." He responded, returning the gesture.

Jax clapped his shoulder, his gaze on Amy, curled up on the couch, still, pale and with her stare lost. "Take care of her."

"I will, don't worry. I'll let you know any news." Jax nodded and they left the penthouse. Adrian returned to Amy's side, worried for her and sad for what had happened. What should be a celebration of finally defeating Rheya, was a night of mourning Lily's death, especially for Amy. He could see how broken she was, they had won, sure, but the cost they paid was too expensive. "Amy." She stood indifferent to his voice. Her hands held the remainder of Lily's ashes, her eyes fixed on her palms, red from crying, and she was still wearing her battle clothes. He enfolded his arms around her, softly bringing her to his chest as her eyes filled with tears once more.

"Why did she do that?" She asked after a long time, her voice hoarse and weak.

"She loved you. She saved you. Any of us would do the same for you as you did it for us at the Met." He knew that memory would haunt him for a very long time.

"I just can't believe she's gone. That she left me." She looked at him. "It hurts so bad."

"I know love." He hugged tightly. "And it's going to hurt for a long time but everyday is going to be a little less painful, I promise." After a long moment, and when he felt her crying had stopped, he caught her attention with a sweet squeeze on her arm. "How about you take a shower and I make you something to eat? If you feel up for it."

"Yeah… Maybe it's a good idea." He kissed her cheek and she stood up, going to the bathroom. The last few months had been so hectic that she barely went to the apartment she used to share with Lily, all the clothes she was carrying with her were damaged, dirty or were uncomfortable to just relaxing after a battle. She found a pair of clean panties and black leggings in her belongings and, after a little bit of looking around, a gray t-shirt of Adrian's. The shower was more calming that she had expected, the hot water falling to her hair and back, warming her body and soul, the soap like a soft caress and, even though she felt broken inside, for just a moment, she was at peace.

During that time, the apartment filled with a delicious smell. Adrian was in the kitchen, his jacket off and the sleeves of his shirt rolled up. She hugged him from behind, leaning her head against his back.

"How was the shower?"

"Good… I stole one of your t-shirts." A tiny smile creeped on his face as one of his hands held hers on his waist.

"There's blood in the fridge if you want some."

"I'm okay." She kissed his nape and sat on the counter. She looked as destroyed as she did an hour ago but at least she was calmer. "Do you need help?"

"No, it's almost done." He served two glasses of wine and passed one to her, that she gratefully took. Amy sipped it and smiled.

"You know, a while ago I was talking with Lily about the day I woke up and I told her you had cooked for me… She was so astonished." She made a sound between a laugh and sob. "She said that she was expecting you to have some sort of cooking robot." Adrian chuckled a bit, turning off the burner.

"I recognize it's not an activity I do often." He stood in front of her, his hand brushing her cheek before gently pressing his forehead against hers. "But I would do anything for you."

She was about to answer when a weird sensation peaked her attention. She jumped off of the counter and took a few hesitant steps forward, her brows knitting together and her senses aware.

"What is it?"

"I don't know… I had a strange feeling, like some energy or power…" She suddenly headed to the front door, running down the stairs as Adrian followed her. She went outside and slowly looked around.

"Where do you feel it?"

"For a moment I sensed it there but I think it's gone." Adrian looked to the place she was pointing, sharpening his senses but coming up empty. The sky turned a light blue, indicating that the sun would come up soon.

"Come on, love. Let's go inside." Adrian took her hand and headed to the building, she looked around one last time and followed him, convinced that the tiredness and grief had confused her. Neither of them noticed the black curly hair that was centimeters away from the place that Amy had pointed at, disappearing in the shadows.

❣️

[mor-beck-more-problems]

Zombie Jenga || Morgan & Deirdre

TIMING: Current

PARTIES: @deathduty & @mor-beck-more-problems

SUMMARY: Days after finding Lydia in the basement, Morgan continues to struggle to find her footing. A bad day takes a turn for the worse.

CONTAINS: parental death, head trauma, depression, brief mentions of past abuse, car accident, mentions of needles

Days after finding Lydia in the basement, Morgan struggled to find herself. Making tea and bringing it back to share with Deirdre was the one task she allotted herself as a challenge, as a hope for a good day. Smiling with anything but affectionate, needy sadness was out of the question. Going outside, unthinkable. But maybe she could give something, like tea, and the space between herself and Deirdre would ease and she would remember what being herself felt like. Then a Prius sped past the window, then a stop sign, and crunched into a soccer mom van, sending it skidding off course until it jumped the curb and the bushes planted on the road verge until it slammed into a young birch tree, which snapped and fell on the roof. The alarms whined, children screamed, and women swore. Morgan watched the disaster from the kitchen window, still holding the tea kettle, which spilled by accident at the moment of crunching metal and glass broke through the quiet neighborhood, then thrown on the floor in frustration. There was a special sound cars made when they came apart. It wasn’t as heavy as the movies made you think, but it did carry, and between her death on the pavement in a pileup at rush hour and her father’s after they steered the family Honda into a palm tree, she remembered.

Morgan had been too busy singing “Maybe This Time” from the Cabaret revival to notice her dad’s hand fall from the wheel. It wasn’t until she started talking to him about the work drama she was going into and he didn’t answer that she looked. She asked him if he was okay, and he said nothing, just continued on the road. Morgan remembered wondering if she’d made him angry, but her dad was never angry. He never shut down or went cold. When they disagreed, they argued, and Morgan felt safe enough to be reckless about it. So when she pulled on his arm, limp on the console, she knew it wasn’t him. She screamed for him to stop the car for about two more miles, not wanting to understand the meaning of his sagging face or how he could only sputter incoherently at her despite the wide, panicked focus in his eyes as he stared straight ahead. But Morgan knew then. This was how the world ended again. This was her bullshit, her secret, come back to punish her.

Morgan, in her kitchen, sank to the floor without a fight. A week ago or more she might have fought, straining against herself: come on, please, don’t be like this. But there didn’t seem to be a point today. When her own hands went limp and her insides slid down into the tar pit she carried inside her, it was almost a relief. Against the sound of competing car alarms, she curled herself as small and tight as her body would let her. The ambulances would follow and she wasn’t sure if she wished all of them would make it out alive or if knowing someone’s mom or dad walked out without a scratch would feel too personally unfair. Her limbs were heavy, as numb and ghostly as if they’d been left out in the freezing rain, and she sank into the puddle she’d made until she could imagine herself melting into it, and the nothing beyond.

Deirdre’s ears were deaf to tragedy; the tire screeching, metal crunching was no more noise to her than crickets’ chirping. She knew car crashes because she’d seen them a thousand different ways, a thousand different times—and even this one came as no surprise to the banshee. What caught her attention was the clang of metal below, too close to home to be the wreck. She waited and listened; her senses were dulled to horror but at their fullest for Morgan, who had been preparing tea. The kettle did not whistle, Morgan wasn’t pattering up the stairs. She rose quickly, descended the stairs quicker, and rushed to Morgan with enviable reflex—something those drivers might have killed for outside, if they thought about it between their yelling. She knelt at her body, as if paying respects, and picked the upturned kettle off the ground. Most of the boiling tea had spilt and begun its toll on Morgan’s quick-healing flesh, but Deirdre still pulled a kitchen towel free and mopped up whatever mess was or would touch Morgan. “My love,” her voice was soft and forgiving. As she took in the sight of Morgan on the floor, she understood that panic would not help her. She settled her body around Morgan’s and held her tight, the best she could do for now. “How bad is it?” She asked, the only question she would offer for the moment, “one to ten; how bad?”

The family Honda had looped around the feeder twice before Morgan, eighteen and terrified, got control of the wheel and steered them into the shopping strip where she had just gotten a summer job. The console bruised her side and she couldn’t figure out how to press on her dad’s limbs to control the gas or the break or which pedal did which thing, she just didn’t want to kill anyone and her dad was sputtering noises she’d never heard a person make and staring back from her to the road and back again, no longer her dad who knew everything and comforted, but just a soul on the brink of terror. No one had called Morgan ‘a kid,’ then. No one had warned her that it was only going to get worse from there either.

In the kitchen, in the back of Morgan’s mind where a seed of herself remained, she thought, Deirdre probably needs to know. But elsewhere, Morgan also thought, Well gee, what does it look like? She said neither, only sank. Maybe if she had been quieter about it, or stayed in their room and abandoned any idea so absurd as having an okay day, this would have been it. Mission failure; better luck next time. But then Morgan’s corpse was lifted and the stiff pressure of Deirdre squeezed around her. It popped something loose inside her body and her face crumpled as she began to cry. She didn’t have any words to offer, not in her throat or anywhere else. She knew the truth (today was a ten) and what some other version of herself would beg her to say (I’m sorry, I’ve maybe definitely put off my next round of decap by two days now, please help me). But these thoughts never left the dark inside her. Morgan only hid her face in the crook of her neck, hating how badly she craved Deirdre’s grip, and worse, how little it helped.

Deirdre knew what a lack of answer meant, and wordlessly, she tightened her grip around Morgan until her muscles began to quiver. She didn’t care about cracking ribs or crushing lungs, she would give Morgan as much pressure as her body would allow, and then she’d find a way to give her more. Deirdre brought her lips to Morgan’s ear, making sure her low hummed voice was the only sound Morgan would be hearing. Whatever was in her head, the world around her was safe and waiting for her to come back. “You’re here,” she rasped, “you’re in my arms right now, my love, okay? You’re here. I’m here. There’s nothing else.” She wasn’t sure how long she would be holding Morgan, there was no equation for this sort of thing, but there was no rush in her mind--no place she would rather be. If it took them hours, she would be here for hours. If it took them years, then she’d be there, holding Morgan against their tea-stained tiles, for years. She tightened her grip, finding her arms could offer no more strength. “I’m here,” she repeated, “I’m here. I’m here. I’m here.” Deirdre wouldn’t know what was happening in Morgan’s head unless she shared, and she didn’t know how long it would be until she found her tongue, but she didn’t concern herself with time or guessing traumas. She was here. She would stay. She would wait.

In Morgan’s mind, the wreck lasted for hours and no time at all at once. Whether by magic or by will, the family Honda obeyed each traffic light and never hit another car with more than a bump. Morgan, still eighteen, still stiff and waiting for the universe to show her what to do. She was afraid of ruining someone else’s car, and she was afraid no one would notice the teenager straining against her seatbelt for control of the wheel. In another, less-cursed world, there would be some nurse or a surgeon on the freeway at the same time, heading to the parking ride ten minutes away, and they would swerve in front of the car and make  everything stop and tell Morgan what was going on and how it was all going to be okay. But she pulled them across traffic without anyone sounding their horn for more than a second. When the car, still rolling forward at forty miles per hour, jumped the curb and smashed into a decorative palm tree.

Her dad’s head listed to one side, like he was too tired to sit anymore, and Morgan thought for a second that was the end of it. Then he started to groan and cough, sick dribbling down his lips and the front of his shirt. He was choking. Morgan couldn’t pull back his seat, or work her arms around his body to give him the Hamlisch from her spot in the passenger seat. She could only shove her weight behind his back until he flopped onto the wheel, climb out of the car, screaming for a phone. It was still hot, so working enough of a sweat to soak her back didn’t tell her anything about the time, just that a girl screaming for help wasn't worth even stopping to gawk at.

In the kitchen, the sun moved to a different place in the sky. Morgan wheezed to find an easy breath. It was cruel, how good Deirdre’s words sounded and how much they weren’t true. Deirdre had left half her brain at Lydia’s, and if she were really all there was in the world, Morgan wouldn’t hurt in the first place.

There was more than just Deirdre around her, too, much as Morgan wanted to believe otherwise. Morgan’s corpse, for one thing, could only take in so much touch; the rest was cotton and air. And how much was Morgan really here? If she were, her ribs would’ve cracked by now and the pinch in her back wouldn’t have taken so long to notice. A Morgan that was really here would have more than gravity and pressure to anchor herself, and more color on her besides necrosis. She wouldn’t be floating away from her body like old wallpaper that had lost its glue. Had her dad felt this numb in his last moments? Did his brain let him feel anything at all, or did he just stay scared and tired as all the good parts of him flooded with blood and shut down? Was this how dead people were supposed to feel? Were they glad they didn’t have to be anything at all? Was it bad if part of her envied how quickly his eyes had closed now? That she wanted just a piece of  his heavy, god-awful sleep?

“Mmm...I’m…” Her mouth felt numb and clumsy. She gave up and stayed limp in Deirdre’s arms some more. There was no sleep, no escaping, no relief. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. Real death was quiet. It was the only peace you needed. Morgan would take just a nap, half an hour of oblivion, and a sense that the world wasn’t so bad as you thought before. She’d give anything to be able to make the world stop and recharge like that.

Deirdre’s words circled her ears even when she grew quiet, a song stuck on repeat. Morgan whimpered, bitterly wishing for the ends between the two of them to meet, for there to be anything but the dark and the pit. The sun moved again, and Morgan felt Deirdre shift around her. Afternoon. Lydia. Which meant Deirdre being here was a lie now too. Morgan shook her head, trying to dispel the song of her girlfriend’s words. Wanting them to be true wouldn’t make it so.

“We crashed like that, when my dad died,” she croaked. “I was steering from the passenger seat. I tried so hard to keep him awake. I ran back and forth from the shops in the strip we were at to the car. He was so heavy, I couldn’t shake him awake.” She shrank into herself, willing her body to melt into the floor again. “I know you have somewhere else to be,” she said, her voice hardening. “And why should you or anyone else care? He was just a human.”

Morgan’s words rang through the air, vibrating against Deirdre’s ribcage and down into her depths. For as long as it took Morgan to speak, Deirdre held her; taut even against her own pain. She whispered words of nonsensical comfort; words of her being here, words of her love and the breadth of her care. What normally slipped between Morgan’s lips when she summoned the power to speak was an apology, an apology Deirdre was always swift to say wasn’t needed, but an apology all the same. Morgan’s words now were part explanation, part injury. She couldn’t have been saying her father was just human for any purpose than to hurt Deirdre, and stunned that the woman who was always so afraid of just that was now doing it so plainly, Deirdre hushed her whispers. “I have nowhere else to be,” she said, her voice mimicking Morgan’s hardened tone. “If you want me gone, you have to say it. If you can’t, then I’m going to keep holding you. And you can say anything else you want, but it won’t make me let you go.” It was true the sky was red, inching its way towards dark. And it was true that outside of them, Lydia would be coming back home, and Deirdre had always made a point to be there for her. But Deirdre’s love was stubborn, and it knew better. She noted car crashes as something to warn Morgan about, and made another decision to drive less hectically. With her arms, muscles alight with agony and old injuries awoken, she scrounged enough strength to pull her girlfriend closer. “So tell me about your father and what you’re thinking. Tell me about that day. Tell me about anything you can, anything you want to. Anything at all.”

Morgan flinched at Deirdre’s reply. As much as she tried, she could sink to the ground no further with Deirdre vibrating against her body with the force of her grip. Morgan tried, clenching up to make herself small one moment and then turning into dead weight the next. A sob fell through her clenched teeth. “Don’t lie. You can’t wait to leave and worry about someone else. Why wouldn’t you? Why would you stay when I’m this miserable?” For a few choice seconds, it seemed like Morgan’s bitterness would be strong enough to propel her to her feet or at least shoot enough energy into her arms to make her claw her way down to the floor and bury her face in spilled tea where it belonged. She brought a trembling hand up to clasp Deirdre’s, which had latched on as if with claws and would not let go. Morgan gripped it, thinking she might just use her strength to tear it off—and squeezed, pressing it further into her body. More sobs broke through her. She could not see from the pit inside her what was worth staying for or why Deirdre remained. But she was too aware of how her body fit around hers like an exoskeleton. Morgan imagined what would be to simply crawl inside Deirdre and hide inside her until the pain stopped. She imagined how it would be to scream and take everything she hated down with it. But when she opened her mouth again, the sound was so strangled and broken, it barely made a noise at all. I don’t understand, she wanted to tell her. Explain why you’re here and why you love me, why is this happening, why am I so awful and stupid after everything that’s happened… One broken cry followed another, one for each thought she didn’t have the words to speak.

When she did find them, throaty and halting, they weren’t any of the impossible questions she ached to ask. As Deirdre asked, she told her about the day. Maybe it didn’t make sense, starting with the lunch they’d shared at the Olive Garden that she had been so absurdly proud of paying for, but it was always what Morgan thought about when she was looking for an ‘undo’ button for the whole thing. She’d ordered them cannolis for dessert, which were doomed to end up on the steering wheel looking like cottage cheese not two hours later. There were the X-Files tapes she was asking about for her birthday, October and November was the time to start saving and planning, nothing too expensive or too precious. And maybe the glare of the sun on the windshield was inconsequential too. It stung Morgan’s eyes the same way it did on every bright day before and after, but maybe if she had been looking somewhere else she might have noticed something sooner. The song from Cabaret that had been playing right before everything started was important, without a doubt, but Morgan couldn’t explain why, even to herself. She only knew it was as clear in her mind as the wailing ambulance sirens and the way she’d yelled at the paramedics trying to help. She still sang “Maybe This Time” around the house sometimes; for some reason it never made her sad. The book she had been halfway through that day, on the other hand, was another story. Morgan’s original copy had been stuck on the floor of the car, then ripped open somewhere in her panicked crawling back and forth, so there was that. But Ruth, in an act of misguided kindness, had bought her another one to cheer her up a week after the accident. But try as Morgan might, everything after page 132 blurred together into nonsense. Her brain refused to process the rest of the story, not when the dad she’d liked talking about it with didn’t exist anymore. Morgan told Deirdre this and everything else, everything she’d kept under lock and key because some people were too precious to share, or so she sometimes thought. There were silences that felt long to her, staring halfway into the nowhere space she pretended to sleep in, because she’d already seen it some ten or a hund red times and didn’t want to go for a hundred and one. If she could go to the floor, if she couldn’t go to her grave or sick her head into her girlfriend’s chest cavity, maybe she could go into the air, or the ether, a ghost of herself so she wouldn’t have to look.

It didn’t work. The words, now loosened for the first time out of a sliding scale therapy office, wouldn’t stop, and she flinched and choked on the memory until there was nothing left to say. “I think everything good about me came from him,” she mumbled, no joy in the statement, however much she knew it to be true. “Maybe eighteen was too soon for more of it to stick, and that’s why I’m such a shitshow. That, and that fucking ghost witch…” There was something else, something more substantial and practical that Deirdre needed to know, but it was like that book, all fuzzy and incomprehensible right at the bottom of the page where ‘what now’ was supposed to be.

The pit, as Morgan called it, was a strange place to be. It twisted words; made logic into falsehood and lies into reality. But Deirdre did not groan at the pit’s manipulation, she did not hiss in impatience or scold the fallacies. Calmly, steadily, she reminded Morgan of facts that hadn’t changed, and would never: she loved her today, now, just as she did yesterday. She would love her tomorrow and the day after and many more days beyond. Love was never miserable work. “I promise,” she said, “that I want to be here with you. I promise that there is nowhere else I would rather be right now. I promise that I love you--now, still, always. I promise that I’m here, and that I’m listening to you.” Her arms protested, body heavy with ache, but she kept her hold around Morgan. She thought of each torturous piece of training she’d endured--all the drowning, cutting, whipping, stabbing, killing--none of it was like this, because this wasn’t torture, and it never would be. “I want to be here because I love you, Morgan. I care about you. That’s true no matter what state you’re in, my love. I promise it is. I love you just as you are, however you are, always.” She knew better than to take Morgan’s bitterness to heart, not when it was intertwined with sobs and unable to produce the sentence she was asking for. It might have been new to her in this state, but the pit was a strange place to be, and it did strange things.

When Morgan found her words again, less angry though no bit less broken, Deirdre shifted her grip so Morgan’s story wouldn’t be muffled into her blouse. What she knew of Morgan’s father was limited, though she understood Morgan’s hesitance. So much of her life had been marked by tragedy and loss. The good was always stained with the unbearable, the memory of her father was touched by death in its cruelest form. She often wondered if Morgan told the year aparts by the hurt that encapsulated them, by the systematic horror that revealed itself year after year, after year---even beyond the curse. Or perhaps, especially beyond it. Then she wondered what she could do to give Morgan good years, until she knew them by their pleasures. Was there some remedy of going back in time? Did she pluck eighteen year old Morgan from that day, after her lunch, bearing the sun from the family car? Deirdre couldn’t hold that girl who cried and shouted and didn’t understand, but she gripped Morgan tighter instead, and imagined she could manipulate time. She would’ve stopped the car, she would’ve told Morgan everything would be okay, she would’ve gone back to the days of Agnes and killed Constance herself. Their clock ticked around them, as if mocking their inability to be anywhere else---there were no times to travel to, and no girls to take from their trauma. There was here and now, living with what had happened. “I think everything good about you comes from you,” she whispered, frail only to her own tears, which she spilled on Morgan’s behalf. “I think nothing about you is a shitshow. You are the strongest person I know, the best person---my favorite person.” But the here and now was thick with pain, and Deirdre realized it wasn’t the past she wanted to tamper with, but the future that she wanted to bring them to---the place where the years had been good for a while, and Morgan could remember her father better as he lived than how he died. “I think you’re good, I think you’ve always been good. I think you’re good now.” Deirdre breathed, repeating herself as if her words might form into a salve. There was the here and the now and both were terrible, but it was all they had.  

Morgan didn’t know how to believe Deirdre, but she promised, she promised so many times and didn’t get sick, only cried, because Morgan was small and pitiful and so unlike herself, and she had to be in pain, rocking with her and holding her so tight her body bent in ways it wasn’t supposed to. “I’m not,” Morgan whimpered. How could she be, like this? With what she knew? With what she wanted? She shivered, working her hands into fists on Deirdre’s shirt. She could find the words she needed more easily now, but she was choking on bent ribs and swallowed sobs. “I’m...s-sorry…” she said. “...I need...I’m sorry...My decap…” For the first time, she tried to lift her head and look at Deirdre face to face. Her lashes dripped with tears, making her eyes seem even wider, her silent plea more desperate. As she spoke, she could hardly bear to think about how much it would sting to stay on the floor for the minute or two it would take for Deirdre to find her concoction and inject it into her brain stem, and worse, of the shame of her own making (who put off taking the medication that kept them from falling into a spiral every other week...because they were too busy falling into a spiral?). What she could grasp, even from the pit, was that she did not want to stay like this. She did not want her dead, numbed chest to keep hurting, nor her throat to turn brittle and raw. A look at her arms showed the necrosis and discoloration taking over her skin; she hadn’t eaten since she’d come back from Lydia’s. Not once. Morgan couldn’t stomach staying that way either. “P-please...m-my decap. The medicine cabinet. I’m sorry I didn’t…” Didn’t take it, or say anything sooner. They might have avoided at least some of this if she’d just told Deirdre while they were laying on each other in bed, trying to hide from the world. But that would’ve just made too much sense, wouldn’t it?” Morgan’s lip trembled, searching for a word that would put everything she wanted to explain into Deirdre’s hands, a single sound to encapsulate, I need you, I’m scared, I don’t want to be like this, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it, I love you, please help me. All that came out was a broken whine. Morgan lowered her face as misery clenched her insides. Deirdre would do it, because Deirdre was kind and loved her for some mysterious reason, but this was all Morgan’s fault in the first place. And how awful was it, to dread an absence of less than five minutes? To fear that it was just enough time for Deirdre to realize how badly Morgan had hurt her and wasted her day?

“You are,” Deirdre insisted. And though under any other circumstance, she might have thought it childish to argue back and forth about it, she felt it was something she could do tirelessly now--without complaint. She knew it to be true, and she’d say it until her voice gave, and then she’d write it until her fingers turned to bone. “Decap?” She perked up, registering that after hours of laying there, Morgan was finally asking her for something. Something specific, something she could do. “Right. Yeah.” But the medicine cabinet was far from them, and no matter how quickly she ran, precious minutes would still be spent apart. She pressed a kiss to Morgan’s cheek, lingering long enough to press another to the corner of her lips. “I’ll be right back, okay? I promise.” The promise wasn’t necessary, but the pit was strange, and she wouldn’t take any chances on whatever words the tar was bubbling to Morgan. Slowly, she lifted herself off the ground, keeping close to Morgan for as long as she could, and then stumbled upright as her legs tried to remember what it was like to move. Her body throbbed, but with one enthusiastic push against their counter, she rushed on her way. The decap was where it always was--syringe and vials in their medicine cabinet upstairs in their bathroom. She took what she needed and sprinted back down; her long legs were like stone and clumsy as they stomped around, but she didn’t mind bumping against walls and stubbing toes against furniture as she moved by Morgan’s side again. “Can you turn your head for me, my love?” She asked sweetly, though she extended her hand and helped Morgan articulate herself anyway. The injection went next and, brushing Morgan’s hair aside with the same care, she administered it as though it were something she did everyday, without fail. In truth, her memory worked well under panic, and her body took over where her mind blanked on the steps. “There,” she rasped, setting the medicine aside on the counter. “Was that okay?” She didn’t wait for an answer, and pulled Morgan into her arms again. Her mind was still catching up; her first unspoken question was if double-dosing like that was okay. And the second was the jumbled realization that she hadn’t taken it today, and the question of if she’d missed more. There was no judgement that coated her thoughts, only care. If it was hard for Morgan, she could do it. If Morgan needed something else, she could provide it. In the end, she responded to her own questions. “It’s okay,” she breathed Morgan in, “one day at a time. We take it one day at a time.” The here, the now; one day at a time.

Morgan turned limp in Deirdre’s arms, sighing with relief when she told her it was done. The drug would not work instantly, but she would be able to heat herself some dinner later tonight and maybe she would find the words to say all she wanted to give Deirdre. In the here and now, the only language she had was silence and apology, both clumsy in her body, just as painful to bear as all the rest. But Morgan mumbled them between silences: I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry... She did not grip or pull or beg. All of that energy was spent and working its way through her skull, mending some of the imbalance that kept her chained to the floor. The sun moved, and the words Morgan wanted to say started to take shape. Had Deirdre changed out of her sleepwear? Did she need a bathroom break? Did she know Morgan was still sorry? Did she only think Morgan was good because she loved her? Morgan tried to ask these several times, but the words dissolved on her tongue as soon as she tried, and the point, to try at all, seemed so very small just then. “...Thank you,” she finally managed, her voice only half garbled. “I do love you. And I’m...you shouldn’t have to do this. I don’t like to do this...be this. Deirdre…” Her girlfriend’s name came out like its own prayer. Looking up, head on her shoulder, Morgan reached out to touch the dry dears on Deirdre’s cheek. She whispered her name again, reverent and sorrowful, the way you spoke words of penance. “I’m sorry. I screwed up. I didn’t mean to, I was just so tired inside, and I thought I’d be able to…” she shook her head and tried to curl up her body on will alone.

Legs stiff, arms throbbing, carrying Morgan to bed was a harder task than Deirdre thought it ought to be, but she was thankful when the threshold of their bedroom was crossed and she could collapse them on their plush mattress. Pulling the sheets up around them was another thing, but once the brunt of the work was done, everything else was instinct. She shot Lydia a quick text about where she was and another to her assistant to come in and feed the cats. Then she bundled around Morgan, holding and waiting and listening. Whatever Morgan was trying to say was just whimpers, and though Deirdre tried her best to decipher them, all she got in the end were whimpers. But she waited, she listened, she held Morgan as if she’d fall apart if she didn’t. Words came eventually in a ‘thank you’, easily met with a, “don’t thank me, my love. You don’t have to.” If words were hard, Deirdre wanted Morgan to save them for the things that mattered, a thank you did not. “Why shouldn’t I have to?” She challenged, gentle in her argument. “I love you, I care about you, I’m not blind to what that entails. If that means you want me to hold you when this happens, then I’ll hold you. I’d be honoured to. I know you don’t want to be like this, Morgan, no one does...but…” she turned and met Morgan’s gaze, greeting her sadness with a warm smile. “...it’s okay that you are. I don’t mind. It’s all okay, my love. All of it, every bit. I love you so much, always.” She shifted, pressing her fingers against Morgan’s ribs, trying to see if she’d jostled them too far out of their place somehow. She reached for her heart next, knowing there was no beat to pulse under her fingers, but drumming one there anyway. “You didn’t screw anything up. Don’t you dare be sorry, I won’t take it. Your thank you’s are already on thin ice, love. Can’t add any more weight to the load there. So we’ll take your apologies and put them somewhere else; they’re not for you and they’re not for me.” She knew there was no sleep for Morgan to find, not anymore, but she shifted them again and tried to tuck Morgan in for rest. “Anything else you want to get off your chest before I start covering you in kisses?”

Morgan tried to find her arguments, which seemed very clear in her mind but did not seem to hold up well to words. Why should anyone have to spend their day on the floor? How on the mother’s earth could any of her warnings from their early days have prepared Deirdre for this? Did she realize that even with her treatment, making it out of bed for more than a couple of hours was an idiot’s guessing game? Morgan didn’t even want that for herself, much less someone she loved. Morgan couldn’t get them out, and Deirdre’s energy was steadfast as ice, and she settled for placing soft, melancholic kisses on her skin where she could reach without really lifting her head. Some of the weight around her had receded, and the odd floating feeling of being somewhere so soft as a bed had become a comfort. Morgan did not fight being tucked or caressed. She let her obedience look like calm if that was what it wanted to look like and wished for a better life, as she had all those years before. “Did you know...you’ve known me longer dead than alive?” She said, staring at the ceiling so she wouldn’t wilt or cry under Deirdre’s compassion for her. “Everything about us from before is going to be so small, if it isn’t already. Some days I forget what you used to feel like, so I remember what I wrote about it instead.” Morgan could not speak about her longing without at least looking at her love. Her eyes slid sidelong, and fresh tears bubbled at the corners. “It’s not fair. My whole life… it wasn’t even for anything, just Constance. Nothing was better, no one got anything out of it, it was all just so she could feel better. Everything I carried, thinking I could just trade it in and have the rest of my time to...be happy. I wanted to be happy with you so badly…” But then one day she went out for ice cream and Constance found her. “I don’t even know who I am without dragging this curse behind me. I can’t believe I ever thought I’d get free…” She thought back to the eighteen year old she’d been, screaming her head off in a parking lot, and then waiting mute in the emergency room, and then the funeral home while a neighbor woman observed that, well, at least she was mostly grown up, if it had to happen. At least she got to have the important years, but what a shame that he would never be able to give her away to a husband now. And Morgan thought of Constance: Constance and her ratty red braids, the hatred burning in her blue eyes, her crooked teeth cut in a grimace. It didn’t matter that her life had been destroyed, or almost destroyed, or whatever the story turned out to be. It didn’t matter that she was young and reckless, and a witch. What mattered was the cauldron Constance gave herself to over a hundred years ago and the ritual Morgan kept locked in her safe along with her growing stockpile of ingredients. There was nothing she could ever do to fully lift herself out of this wakeful fog, no escape from the pit entirely. But she could seal its source and make it so not one more anguish was added, not one more body was made. And maybe when the exorcist waved the iron comb over the circle, Constance’s form would peel away like cheese through a shredder, and the sound would be enough like Morgan’s own useless cries that maybe for a couple of minutes they would feel even.

Morgan held this thought tightly to her heart and breathed through her teeth in shaky intervals, yearning for the calm it would bring her, and the comfort being offered by Deirdre in front of her. “I don’t know how to tell you,” she whispered, “What feeling like this is, where everything is so strong, and so far away at the same time. I can’t even use all of my old coping strategies. I don’t feel enough things, and my brain doesn’t talk to my body like it’s alive anymore, so I have to adjust the technique, and then when I do, it’s like I hit a square one button and everything becomes twice as sad as before. I don’t know how to explain how nothing helps, or how...even if nothing helps it hurts so much less when you look at me like that, and when you hold me. I don’t understand it, and I wish you didn’t have to, but it hurts so much less, Deirdre…” She hiccuped a cry and wiped her eyes. “M-maybe tomorrow, or next week...I can make things better? I can...do something? Will you kiss me and tell me I can do something?”

There were no words to describe Deirdre’s relief; Morgan was talking and thinking and not trying to be hurtful. She was still far from smiling and laughing, but she was better than she had been, and for Deirdre, the happiness couldn’t be contained. It was as if she felt everything twice for the both of them. Settled in, she began the task of painting Morgan’s body with kisses, nips and the occasional mumbled word of affection, as if she could alchemist its meaning there and make it stick. “I remember,” she mumbled, lifting her hand and running it down Morgan’s hip, pausing in the middle of her thigh where she couldn’t reach anymore. “This would always make you shiver.” She tried the action again, harder, and again and again until she had no more pressure left to apply. Her fingers could only do so much now, and she cursed them for being so useless—she could tell where Morgan wanted more and where her body was just shy of giving everything over. It frustrated her to no end that there were limits she couldn’t pass, things she couldn’t completely offer Morgan. But frustration and limitation fueled creativity, and she’d only ever wanted to be able to give Morgan more; give her everything. “But you know I don’t think of it like that—alive and dead. And if I did, wouldn’t I be lucky? To be able to know your body twice, learn it twice? To have loved you, twice? I’d be the luckiest.” She raked her teeth down Morgan’s shoulder, pressing in. “I’m already so lucky, just like this. And whatever you can’t feel, I’ll feel for the both of us. It won’t be small, I won’t let it be small, not for me. Even when you learn to feel me differently. I remember, and I can tell you. Morgan, I—“ Deirdre pressed in harder, arms taut, body flush, teeth bared in bite. She wanted to pull Morgan safe behind her ribcage if she could, someplace deep and warm inside of her where her pit of coldness could be replaced with one that burned of love. “I was made better by your life, Morgan. And I had only known you then some months. Can you imagine how you must’ve touched others in ways they never could tell you? I don’t believe for a second that your life was for nothing. It was for you, it was yours. You lived it the best you could, better than anyone else could have. My love, you are bright and kind and hopeful and persistent and you told me that the only thing you could do was try and you tried better than anyone else I’ve known. It wasn’t fair that she took you, it’s not fair that you must remember your life by its tragedies, but you did good, Morgan. You did the best. Please don’t let her take ownership of your life’s memory. You made it good, you made it mean something, you made your life—it’s yours, it was for you.” Fate was not kind to Morgan, but Deirdre had always loved and admired how Morgan carved her life out despite it. She was buried underground, as if born in a cave that closed over. And she dug and dug, and got tired, and dug again even when more dirt filled back her work. And that was nothing short of commendable, nothing shy of loveable. It was amazing, and it would always speak incredible volumes to Morgan’s life—beautiful, persistent, and messy. “I love you so much. The hope you had wasn’t foolish, it proved everything good about you; your dedication, your kindness, your understanding, your stubbornness, even right down to your boundless strength. Your hope was something you made yourself; a diamond you molded under all the mud—invaluable, always. Beautiful forever. And as for who you are…” Deirdre smiled against her skin. “....you’re the one who told me it was okay to be figuring that out. So, it’s okay.”

The momentum of her speech fluttered momentarily as Deirdre paused to rasp all of her love against Morgan’s body. She found it in words, in a voice that cracked from all its fervent devotion. In the tips of her fingers, trying hard and expertly to be the feeling Morgan lacked. It was in her lips, each kiss she pressed and lingered. “I think you just explained it, my love,” she said. And while there was so much she wanted to say—Morgan would figure it out and she was here, right here with her, she would always be here—Deirdre kissed her as asked, rough and desperate and then again because she didn’t think the first time was good enough. She was always convinced that she could be kissing Morgan better, and she always tried. With teeth, with tongue, with her body wrapped tighter, hands somewhere else. She could try it a million times, and still want to try a million more. She almost didn’t want there to be a perfect kiss, so she could try forever. “There’s nothing to make better,” she breathed as they parted. “Nothing you have to do, but yes, yes. Whatever it is, you can. Whenever you want to. I’ll let you and I’ll be here and if you can’t then that’s okay, you can try it again later. As many times as you want. You can, you can, you can make everything better.”

Morgan cried silently to hear her girlfriend talk. Some of it was familiar, and soothing for the memories it gave her, even if they didn’t quite stick. She could see the path of the curse so clearly now that it had taken its final payment, even past when she was three, and into her mother’s regrets before then. All the dead relatives, the ruined houses, the opportunities for more that turned to ash as soon as they were touched. All the fight and determination in her, and she hadn’t walked off the path Constance had laid out for her even once. She had tried her best and when she came to stay in this house, it seemed like she could carve something out that would stick, for once. Then she was dead a month later. From here, flat on her back and choking on her own misery, all the hope and trying didn’t seem to amount to as much as they usually did.

It was much easier to focus on the simple fact of Deirdre’s voice, always a little musical, her accent lilting up as if she were about to break into song. And she did sing so pretty, when she let herself. Better was Deirdre’s touch, the places she pinched and tugged, and the sharp-sweet bite of her teeth. Morgan sighed, so relieved after the day to feel something besides apathy or disgust about her body. The marks Deirdre’s mouth left behind were gone in an instant, but Morgan imagined that her skin remembered, and knew where they were supposed to fit, where her skin belonged in her mouth. Her fingers twitched, knowing that sometimes touching Deirdre back would convince her that things weren’t so bad. If she could just be with her… But Morgan took one look at her hands, those first signs of decay, and her insides twisted all over again. She couldn’t even keep up with her feeding schedule like this. Morgan wanted to hide, or split herself in two and bury the one self under ground until this was over, let her other self be loved. How sad, that she wanted to be loved so badly she’d take anything, everything from Deirdre even when she felt like she wanted to crawl out of her own skin.

Morgan laid very still, and pretended to breathe so her mind had fewer places to wonder. She was tired. Not being able to sleep had an awful, funny way of making you feel so very tired sometimes, tired enough to scream, and too tired to do anything but pray for the impossible. “I’m sorr—” She winced, remembering the rule. “I wish I could be that person again. I feel like...I get really close sometimes, but then things like this happen, and then…I’m not anything. But I—” No ‘thank you’s. That was another rule too, one that she remembered agreeing to when she felt like herself, even if it seemed absurd now. “It means everything, that you’re here. That you still, that you’re always gonna...I don’t even know if I can trust half the thoughts in my own head right now, but I can believe in you. I tried not to and it didn’t work, so I…”  Try as she might, Morgan couldn’t quite make all the words come together. There was something to be said about how she hadn’t known, even alive, if there was such a thing as love that could withstand disaster, love that was unconditional and strong and alive. She had acted as though there was so she could make it herself, manifest the thing she wanted as if by magic. But Deirdre was the one who sealed the spell every time she picked her up off the floor. Deirdre made the world worth believing in when Morgan couldn’t believe in anything else at all. And maybe that was a mistake, maybe they were building one rickety jenga tower together that was one bad wish away from falling over, but it was all Morgan had and she couldn’t have been more grateful for it.

“I love you,” she said, dragging her lips over Deirdre’s skin, whatever she could touch without lifting her head. “Please believe that even when I’m awful like this, I still love you.” She sniffled, and breathed out slowly. “Please kiss me again.” Next time, tomorrow would be better. Or it wouldn’t, but maybe she wouldn’t drop the kettle or she’d make it to the couch instead of the floor. Maybe next time she would wake up and believe that the world was wonderful and people were kind more often than not, and she wasn’t terrible for anything she was or wanted or felt. Maybe next time, she would know what to do, and she would crawl out of the pit a little further. Maybe.

[thecleverdame]

Gods of Twilight - 4

Alpha!Werewolf!Sam x Human!Reader

Master List (posting schedule is there as well)

Summary: You marry Sam, The King of Lebanon, as part of an alliance between two lands. You soon discover that nothing is as it appears and that your husband is hiding a secret that may end your relationship before it can begin.

Warnings: smut, dub-con, canon-level violence, domestic discipline, spanking

Beta:  ilikaicalie

*Chapters 5-24 are available on Patreon. To get access to this and many other stories, subscribe for a pledge of 2.50 per month. CLICK HERE

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“You know him?” your husband inquires as you attempt to walk side by side toward the Great Hall. His long legs are moving faster than you can walk and you have to scurry beside him to keep up.

“My father knew him. I’ve only heard the stories.” You look to Sam who’s dressed to the nines, as are you in an ornate forest green dress. You’re hosting the King of the neighboring Kingdom of Easton. “He has quite the reputation.”

While you haven’t been privy to all of the goings on, you’re aware of the issue between the lands. King Luther rules with an iron fist but he’s been less controlled with how his inhabitants treat the borderlands. His people have crossed in Lebanon several times, poaching wild game and last week, killing a farmer and his wife before pillaging their home. It’s serious enough that Sam’s hosting a formal dinner as a peace offering, in hopes of finding a solution before things escalate.

“Luther is the last person I want to waste my time on.” Sam takes your arm without looking, tucking it over his as you both pause outside the dining room. Despite how little time you spend together in private, as a king and queen it’s imperative that you present the illusion of a united front.

“Do you need me to do anything?” You inquire, thinking back to your mother hosting many parties, lubricating the social gears. She was more instrumental in political posturing than even your father.

“He likes beautiful women.” He stops to look at you, eyes sweeping across the swell of your breasts before flickering upward. “Flatter him. Be agreeable.”

“I can do that.” You smile,  taking his hand as you enter the hall.

There’s music playing, a band of musicians strumming an upbeat tune from the corner from the hall. A court jester has center stage, precariously balanced on one hand. Sam has certainly pulled out all the stops. The moment you enter the room the music fades and the entertainment comes to an abrupt halt, all eyes trained on the two of you.

King Luther doesn’t need to be pointed out to you. He’s easily discerned with his shiny cloak and jeweled fingers.

“King Samuel.” He nods his head, stepping forward.

“King Luther,” Sam responds in kind, stepping aside, pulling you forward by the hand. “My wife, Y/N.”

“I am pleased to make your acquaintance.” You bow your neck, watching his eyes hone in on your cleavage, just as Sam’s did only moments before.

He’s a short, round man with a red nose and pockmarked cheeks. Neary every finger is adorned with a ruby or emerald. He is a man who enjoys every indulgence his station affords, affirmed as his wine sloshes over the side of his chalice as he leers at you.

“I know your father.” His eyes drop down your body, appraising you as if Sam’s not even in the room. “I’ve heard of your beauty, but had no idea you were truly such an ethereal creature.”

“Thank you.” Your cheeks burn hot at the boldness of his words. It’s more his tone that bothers you, there’s a hint of impropriety and the way he’s sizing you up is as if he thinks there’s a possibility of taking you to bed.

“Shall we have a drink before dinner?” Sam intercedes, an arm slipping around your waist. He’s either sensed your displeasure or he’s displaying his dominance. Perhaps both.

“You’ll need to catch up!” Luther chuckles, patting his belly.

Sam sits at the head of the table, you at his right, directly across from King Luther.

The visiting King’s knights are lining the wall, next to the guards from your kingdom. The room is filled with men who have fought and killed, it’s an energy you’ll never grow used to.

Sam and Luther talk as the music plays and the Jester juggles a series of increasingly large objects. You try your best to remain attentive, but after your second glass of wine your mind wanders off, daydreaming about your old life and how different things could have been.

You’re jarred back to attention by a bowl of thick soup being set in front of you, a heap of meat and boiled vegetables in dark broth.

“This looks wonderful!” Luther picks up his spoon.

“Indeed.” You nod.

Luther shovels spoonful after spoonful into his mouth and Sam just stirs his own portion, looking annoyed.

“Tell me, King Luther. Did you have a good harvest?” You ask sweetly, taking another sip of wine.

“Yes, one of the best in recent history,” he says, looking rather self-satisfied. “But I have my men oversee each farmer, we do our own assessment of their crop to ensure they’re not cheating the system.”

From the years of your father’s dinner time discussion, you know the history of his land. He’s a tyrant who requires each every soul to pay an obscene monthly tax. Fifty percent of every penny made or crops harvested goes into the King’s bulging coffers.

“How fortunate.” You smile tightly, glancing at Sam who’s watching Luther like a hawk, both his forearms on the table. “And your wife, Queen Katherine, is she well?”

“She’s well as can be expected. She suffers through the changing seasons, her mood sours this time of year.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” you offer. As you sit back, your bowl is whisked away and servants lay out a feast before you. There’s stuffed peacock, roasted wild boar, and pears in red wine. The royal taster comes to the table, sampling all of Sam’s food before the three of you begin to eat.

“And your children, you have two sons, don’t you? Are they well?” Your question is met with a shrug as he rips at the pig with his teeth, lacking any and all manners you would expect from a man of his standing.

“My sons are lazy,” Luther grunts, picking meat from his teeth.

Your appetite is ruined. The sight of him eating as if he’s feeding from a trough erases your hunger. Sam cuts his meat like a gentleman, seemingly unphased by the feral display.

“Luther, I’m hoping we can speak of the recent situation between our Kingdoms.” Sam wipes his mouth with a cloth, dropping it to the table.

“Situation?” Luther looks up as if it’s the first he’s heard of it. He taps his glass with a dirty fork and a serf refills his wine.

“Several times over the last month your men have encroached, crossed the border to hunt. As you know we have certain restrictions. They’ve killed several deer and three wolves.” Sam’s nose scrunches up and you swear his lips curl in a barely visible snarl. But Luther is paying him no attention.

“Your precious wolves.” He shakes his head. “How do you know it was my men?” The round man looks at Sam, resting his arms on the table. He doesn’t stop chewing, an amused look on his face.

“Are you accusing me of lying?” Sam balks, sitting up straight.

“Of course not,” he waves his hand. “But how do you know for sure? I assume you weren’t out there in the wood, spying on poachers. So how do we really know for sure.”

“I know.” Sam clears his throat. “Hunters aside, two men from your village crossed into our land and robbed and murdered a farmer and his wife. An old man who was defenseless. It was a vicious attack.”

“You know what they’re like.” Rolling his eyes, Luther sets down his glass, balling his fists. “Peasants are always fighting and killing and fucking. They’re animals.”

“I’ll ask you to watch your language in front of my wife.” Sam doesn’t skip a beat. “I expect loyalty from my people, and in return, they expect my protection and fair justice.”

“Was this man a lord? Someone of importance” Luther looks confused, glancing at you. “I was told his farm was failing.”

“That is not the point.” Sam counters, losing his patience by the second. “Two of your men murdered two of mine. We know who the culprits are, all I ask is that you turn them over to me so that I can make an example of them.”

“Now listen,” Luther smiles at Sam. “I’ll handle this my own way. I’ll make sure they’re punished.”

“I’m afraid that’s not good enough.” Sam shakes his head.

“Where is your brother?” he slurs, “Dean has always been the more reasonable one. Why don’t you send him to me and we’ll work out a compromise.”

“I am King. Not my brother,” Sam spits, his eyes shining with anger. “And we need to sort this out Luther before things become less polite.”

“Are you threatening me?”

“No, I’m stating a fact. If these crimes go unpunished there will be more.”

“We’ll talk about this in the morning. I’ve had enough of this tonight.” He sighs heavily, resting both hands over his stomach. His focus drifts to you. “Cheer up, Samuel. You’re always so serious. With a wife a beautiful as this one, I’d be grinning like a fool.”

“Perhaps I should retire for the evening.” You look to Sam for confirmation. “Leave the two of you to talk.”

“Her mother tried to marry her off to me. Did you know that?” Luther is talking to Sam but his eyes are fixed on your bosom. “She was just a skinny little thing back then if I’d known she’d grow up so...full I would have snapped her up.”

“Watch yourself.” Sam reaches over, taking the wine glass from Luther as the King looks at him aghast. “You are very flippant about things that belong to me. I will not have my people murdered in cold blood and I certainly won’t allow you to speak about my wife in such a way. She is mine, make no mistake about that.”

Your bristle at his declaration of ownership. He typically seems disinterested in anything to do with you, but this is a sharp change.

“Again, I get the feeling you’re threatening me...” Luther raises an eyebrow.

“Good. I am.” Sam stands up, reaching over to grip your arm and pull you up with him, hauling you away from the table. “The time for conversation is over.”

“Good night!” Luther chuckles, offering a single wave of his hand without looking up.

Sam has you by the elbow, pulling you down the hallway, a half dozen guards following along.

“I should have known better than to invite him here,” he mutters, dragging you down the hall. “He’s always been a pig of a man and tonight was no different. I will not be talked to as if I’m a petulant child.”

“I’m sorry it didn’t go as you hoped,” you offer, as he approaches your chambers. There’s a guard outside the door, and he opens it as your husband hauls you inside.

“You mustn’t go out alone. Ever,” he instructs, holding your arm. He’s rarely this close and it’s a reminder of what a large, giant of a man he really is as he looks down at you expectantly.

“I won’t,” you assure him.

“This situation will escalate. My men are better fighters, so Luther will look for my weak spot. And right now, that’s you.”

“Oh.” You watch him get lost in his thoughts, beautiful hazel eyes shifting to your mouth as his tongue darts over his bottom lip.

“I shouldn’t have reacted, he was fishing and I gave him what he was looking for.” He’s staring at you now, getting lost in his thoughts as his eyes trail from your mouth down your neck and to your cleavage. You’re both silent as he stares down you, his grip on your arm tightening.

“Would you…” you gulp, as his gaze shifts back your mouth. You do what’s expected and offer yourself to him “Would you like to have me?” you murmur.

He sucks in a breath, glancing up at the fading light outside the window.

His eyes narrow, pulling you closer and he leans down, running his nose under your jaw. His mouth rubs over the skin at the juncture of your neck and shoulder, sending little shivers up your spine. This is by far the most intimate interaction you’ve had. Two hands curl around your waist as he breathes deeply as if imbibing the scent of you, letting his teeth scrape along your pulse point as you gasp in response, placing open palms on his chest.

“Turn around.” He huffs, pulling back to look at you and you swear his pupils have turned his eyes black.

You comply, nearly yelping in surprise as he curls around from behind, big hands back on your hips, his mouth back at your neck, this time nipping softly at your flesh. When his hands move from their hold it’s only to unlace the back of your dress, pushing layers of clothing to the ground until you’re nude.

And just like always he shuffles forward, bending you over the bed and fucking you wordlessly until he’s had his fill. Tonight, however, he carefully places a wet kiss at the top your spine, lingering for a moment before pulling himself out and disappearing into the night.

[artificialqueens]

Whiskey Girls, Chapter 1 (Branjie) - Mac

AN: Hi hi! So this is a little thing I’ve been working on for a bit! Thanks to Meggie for betaing and being a gem of a human. Hope you enjoy!

Summary: Brooke plays lead guitar in an all-female rock band. Vanessa owns the local bar in the tiny town of Walls, Mississippi. It’s the late 60s and it’s hotter than hell.

The oppressive heat and small town backdrop act as the perfect set for their chance encounter.

The summer of ‘68 brought record high temperatures to the Mississippi Delta, Desoto County ranking among the top ten hottest places in the US that year. Temperatures reached upwards of 110 degrees for two straight weeks.

But if you asked any local, they would tell you the same: it’s not the heat that gets you, it’s the humidity.

…

Rolling up into the little town of Walls, Brooke smiled instinctively, the small town ambiance reminding her of her own upbringing in a little community on the outskirts of Ontario. Though to be fair, Walls had that southern American flair that not many other places could boast. In that, it was ridiculously hot and housed a maximum population of 3,000.

This was made evident by the lack of buildings, or maybe Brooke had just gotten used to the bustling city streets of Los Angeles. Even after only a few month’s residence in the city, she had already become accustomed to the fast-paced nature of life there.

It was oddly refreshing when their tour bus pulled up to the only motel in town, the age stains on the outside of the establishment calming in their simplicity. The garish aqua of the doors clashed with the faded rust-red window trimmings, making the whole layout horrendously outdated.

But Victoria Motel stood proudly in its place, not looking a day over ancient.

Brooke liked it that way.

She and her fellow bandmates piled out of the bus, bags thrown over their shoulders, as they headed toward the small office just off the collection of rooms.

Nina went in and got their room keys, as was customary after they sent Yvie in a few stops ago and got the cops called on them. They were even deeper in the south now and attracted enough attention as an all-female rock band as it was, they didn’t need any more trouble.

As the group stumbled down the long corridor, dragging their feet in their exhaustion, Brooke chanced a look around, noting vending and ice machines just past the farthest room. She felt sweat on the back of her neck begin to slide down her spine, slipping down each vertebra with every step she took. As more sweat began to prick at her hairline, Brooke was faced with a hard truth, the heat was inescapable.

They had barely unlocked the door to room 138 when Yvie launched herself onto the only bed in the rundown room.

“Dibs,” she mumbled against the off-white comforter.

Nina just rolled her eyes and looked to Brooke who shrugged. They both turned in time to see Scarlet get a running start from the door and launch herself on top of Yvie, the younger of the two shrieked at the sudden weight on top of her.

Nina and Brooke just backed away slowly, content to let the pair fight it out.

They walked a few steps over to the adjacent room, pushing open the door with a bit of extra force as it stuck to the frame initially.

They surveyed their home for the next few weeks.

The walls were a drab sort of yellow that was patchy in some places, exposing the much rougher green pigment beneath it. The comforter on the bed looked worn in the middle.

But Brooke set her things down anyway, her precious guitar in the far corner of the room next to the bathroom. Nina smiled when she wasn’t looking.

The older woman stretched out on the uncomfortable-looking bed as Brooke turned around.

“You hungry?”

Nina shook her head.

“You about to pass out?”

Nina nodded, letting her eyes drift shut.

Brooke smiled softly to herself before turning to look at the still-open door to their room. “Well, I’m gonna go look around the town a bit.”

Nina pried one knowing eye open. “I knew you would.”

Brooke wiped at the back of her neck sheepishly.

“Go on.” Nina nodded toward the door.

Brooke gave her oldest friend an appreciative smile before shutting the door behind her quietly.

Brooke breathed in the hot Mississippi air, and a part of her felt like it never left her lungs. She walked down a few dirt roads before coming upon a paved street that led to what she presumed to be the heart of the town.

There was a collection of storefronts: a hair shop, a grocery store, and a municipal building all shared one edifice. Across the street was a drugstore and hardware shop. Each local business named after presumable residents of Walls.

Brooke continued walking down the sidewalk, noting the smattering of flyers on a bookstore front.

She came to the end of the street to find a bustling diner and the town’s local bar, Vanjie’s.

It was a bit run down, looked a bit like a barn, felt every bit what Brooke had expected from the small town.

The cheery music and boisterous conversations that could be heard just outside the establishment filled Brooke with surprising calm. The windows were wide open. They had to be with the Mississippi heat being what it was. But they also allowed the combination of music and conversation to flow freely out to her, drawing Brooke closer.

The well-worn wooden steps creaked as Brooke ascended them. The crisp summer night air brushed against her cheeks, and she smiled instinctively as warm light spilled out of the building and across her form.

She pushed open the door, noting the chime of the bell above her head.

The bar was crowded, but not overly so. Locals were gathered in groups around tables or waiting in line for pool. Brooke eyed an unused dartboard in the far corner next to the bar.

But what really caught Brooke’s attention was the pretty girl tending said bar.

She had her head thrown back in a raucous laugh that beat and echoed against the dark wood walls. Brooke found herself helplessly pulled closer to the gorgeous woman, whose chocolate brown eyes and wavy dark hair framed her face almost angelically.

Brooke pulled up a stool, the rough wood scratching against the floor.

The woman didn’t notice her at first, enthralled by an older man’s outrageous facial expressions coupled with his wide sweeping gestures.

Brooke watched for a while, as the pretty brunette gave laugh after laugh to the poor soul.

She only noticed Brooke’s presence when the man she had been paying so much attention to nodded in her direction. The bartender thanked him with a gentle hand that lingered a bit too long, before making her way over to Brooke’s side of the bar, sidling up and leaning across the counter.

“Haven’t seen you ‘round before,” the woman drawled, her accent thick, but not strong enough to overpower her words.

Brooke looked up from where she had been fiddling with the corner of a napkin, and god the bartender was even more beautiful up close.

“No, you wouldn’t have,” she mused.

“Just passin’ through?”

Brooke smiled to herself. “My band is on tour. We’re making a stop here for a few weeks.”

“Oh, you in a band?” The woman raised an eyebrow. “That supposed to impress me?” she teased.

Brooke chuckled and looked down to fiddle with the napkin again. “No, but I play guitar.”

“And why’s that impressive?”

Brooke glanced back up with a devilish smirk. “It means I know how to use my fingers.”

Usually, when Brooke came on strong to women they did one of two things, they either melted on the spot or rejected her without another word.

But this woman, this gorgeously fascinating woman, just whistled high and shook her head knowingly. “You sound like trouble.”

“You seem the type to like trouble,” Brooke shot back.

The pretty bartender hummed noncommittally, but the corner of her mouth quirked up, which Brooke counted as a win.

She smiled and eased back in her seat, mind suddenly swimming with possibilities.

It wasn’t often that she came across other people like her. The world was changing, albeit at a glacial pace, but it was changing. Still, setting foot on southern soil always made unease pool in Brooke’s stomach. The constant worry, and even fear at times was crippling.

But for some reason this girl seemed to ease that nagging. She made Brooke feel brave.

“What can I get you to drink, Miss Famous Guitar Player?”

“An old fashioned.”

The woman smiled to herself before nodding and turning away.

Brooke watched her walk, openly admiring the view.

She knew she was being ballsy. More reckless than she probably should be seeing as they were in rural Mississippi. But she couldn’t seem to help herself, the charm practically rolling off her tongue of its own free will.

And who was she to deny herself?

When the pretty girl flirted back.

Brooke let her eyes stay fixed on the bartender as she made her way over to the unoccupied dartboard in the corner, beginning to fire shot after shot against the board.

The woman came over to place Brooke’s drink down on the table behind her, and much to Brooke’s surprise, she sat down at said table and propped her feet up on the stool across from her, eyes never leaving the dartboard.

Brooke soon learned her name was Vanessa and she owned the place. Brooke thought she was awfully young to be a business owner, but Vanessa didn’t elaborate. She got up every now and then to top off drinks and keep everything running smoothly, but she always came back to watch Brooke throw dart after dart against the board.

She didn’t say much, only made discontented noises under her breath when Brooke messed up a throw.

After one particularly lousy shot, Vanessa stood up with a huff, her irritation reaching a boiling point. The stool scraping against the floor set Brooke’s nerves alight, but she stood her ground, watching from over her shoulder as Vanessa took three confident steps forward so she was practically flush against Brooke’s back. The younger woman’s hands moved almost in slow motion up toward Brooke’s shoulders.

Her eyes flicked upward in that suspended moment in time, question clear in the dark brown orbs.

‘Is this okay?’

Brooke nodded dumbly, surprising herself with how much she suddenly craved skin to skin contact.

Vanessa smiled, and time moved normally once again as her shorter arm ran the length of Brooke’s outstretched hand, wrapping loosely around Brooke’s that held the dart.

“You gotta line yo’ hand up with the center.” Her breath tickled the base of Brooke’s neck, sending pleasant shivers down to her toes.

Brooke did her best to focus, her mind feeling hazy as Vanessa’s warm exhales beat against her already overheated skin.

“Keep lookin’ at the center,” she instructed. “Don’t look away.”

Brooke focused, lining up her shot with Vanessa’s steady hand as a guide. She breathed in and out slowly, steadying her suddenly racing heartbeat.

Vanessa led her hand slightly back toward their faces.

“One. Two. Three.”

Brooke turned her head just the slightest bit at the last second and the dart went flying, landing with a resounding thud just off center of the bullseye.

“You looked away!” The bartender exclaimed, eyes wide, one hand planted firmly on a hip.

“I couldn’t help it!” Brooke threw her hands up dramatically. “You’re too pretty. It’s distracting.”

Vanessa chuckled and shook her head disbelievingly, “I dunno where you come from, but down here you ain’t talk to another girl like that.”

“Well, where I come from you don’t blush like that unless you’re interested.”

Vanessa bit the inside of her cheek to hide a smile.

Brooke made no attempt to hide hers.

The two women stared at each other for a beat, letting the past few minutes wash over them, getting lost in it.

“I gotta get back to work,” Vanessa finally said, cutting into silence.

Brooke nodded, making no attempt to stop her.

Vanessa lingered a moment, seemingly torn about what to say. She shook her head and made to get back to the bar, but stopped a second later.

She turned back to Brooke. “You’ll come back tomorrow, yeah?”

“Was that a question or a request?”

Vanessa rolled her eyes. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

Brooke chuckled and nodded her head. Yes. She would come back tomorrow

…

As Vanessa locked up the bar for the night, she found her mind kept drifting back to the beautiful blonde stranger. Her long legs and bright blue eyes and her incessant flirting that Vanessa really should have put a stop to sooner.

She still wasn’t entirely sure why she didn’t. If anyone else had been half as brazen as the woman, Vanessa would have kicked them to the curb without a second thought.

But for some reason, the playful smile at Vanessa’s lips wouldn’t abate.

No matter how much she wanted it to.