#and so the vacuum just sat in the closer all day festering

[modern-alebrije]

you try to fight your bossy micromanaging nature but then your roommate does something like vacuuming up the water and glass shards of the snow globe her cat knocked over and broke

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

The Little Things in Life - 4

Warnings: cheating, non-consent sex (series); not the sex you’re expecting but it’s the sex you get.

This is dark!Steve and explicit. 18+ only.

Series Summary: Your suburban life begins to show cracks and your next door neighbour, Steve Rogers, seems intent on shattering what’s left.

Note: So I didn’t write at all yesterday. Dunno if I will today. My anxiety’s through the roof and I’m sorry to everyone waiting on different things. I see the asks and I’m doing my best. TBH I’m not in the greatest head space but I have up to part 5 done on this. Thanks to everyone for their feedback. :)

I really hope you enjoy. 💋

<3 Let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply or an ask! Love ya!

Based on this drabble

Your escape from the garage was uneventful. You beat Steve in the fourth match and excused yourself to the washroom. You hid in there for some time. You stared in the mirror at your glossy eyes. You didn’t look like yourself. You didn’t feel like yourself.

You were careful to avoid Steve for the rest of the night. He didn’t make it easy. Neither did Sharon. She found you in the beach chair staring at the water, a perfect excuse for her husband to get closer. Her husband.

Had you encouraged Steve without knowing? Been too friendly? Well, you would never expect the golden saviour of New York to betray his own wife. His perfect wife! Her blond hair, her long legs, her crystalline eyes. She was his match in everything and he could just do that. And what did you do but whine a little bit?

You found your husband among the crowd and cringed. He was cheating on you. And you just sat there and did nothing. Fucking his boss! Never home to help with Kayla; the most you could get out of him when he was was twenty minutes of distraction. Enough to do the dishes or vacuum the living room. You hated him. But you still loved him.

You dragged Logan home just after midnight. He was worse off than you. You barely got him up the stairs as he slung himself over your shoulder. He was heavy. He flopped face first into bed, sprawled diagonal across it. You turned his head over the edge and set a bucket beside him.

You slept on the couch. Twenty minutes before you awoke with vertigo and stumbled your way to the bathroom to spill your guts. It burned terribly and you felt as if your chest would collapse with each wretch. You fell back onto the cushions with a grunt and sank into an alcohol-laced slumber.

You woke to a nail in your skull. You sat up and it pushed deeper. You felt awful. Dirty. You looked in on Logan, snoring loudly into the pillow. You showered with a bottle of Tylenol and forced down a tall glass of filtered water. Your phone nearly burst your eardrums as it rang and you picked it up frantically before your head began to buzz again.

It was your mother. She was on her way to the McDonald’s in town. She wanted to take Kayla to the play place. You offered to meet her there to relieve her of her babysitting shift. You drove with sunglasses on and the radio off.

You were thankful when you arrived to Kayla already lost in the plastic tubes. You sat with your mother who shoved a mcmuffin in your direction. You took a gulp of coffee and scarfed down the sandwich.

“Jeez, this reminds me of your college days,” Your mother chided. “Sweats, sunglasses… wild night?”

“Long week,” You groaned and leaned on your elbow as you looked over at the playplace. “How was she?”

“An angel. As usual.” She said. “She was telling me about her friend Steve.”

“Our neighbour,” You mumbled into your coffee. “He’s… nice to her.”

“And you?” Your mother prodded.

You were silent as you set down your cup. You pushed up your sunglasses and rubbed away the dampness around your eyes with your knuckles. You’d not even known you were crying.

“What is it?” She reached across the table.

“Logan…” You sniffed. “He’s sleeping with his boss.”

“No,” Your mother’s breath wisped out of her. “Oh, honey.”

“I saw them a couple days ago and… I don’t know what to do. What to say.” You flipped your glasses back down. “I’m fucking pissed but I’m so fucking terrified.”

“How could he--” You mother huffed. “You know what I would do.”

“Yeah, mum,” You scoffed. “A kick in the balls?”

“And more,” She sneered. “Say the word and I’m going over right now and knocking him--”

“No, no,” You raised your hand. “I’ll… handle it. I just… I’m processing.”

You played with the string of your sweats as you crossed your legs. You thought of Steve and the pool table. You should tell her, but what would you say? You let another man finger you because you were mad at your husband? Two wrongs...

“You know, the guest room’s always open.” Your mother said. “For you and Kayla.”

“Kayla,” You uttered. “I couldn’t… you think he’d take her from me.”

“And what? Sounds to me like he’s so busy messing around, he doesn’t have time for either of you.” She rolled her eyes. “She told me he’s never home. That he’s always on his phone.”

“She’s too honest for her own good,” You shook your head. “Too innocent. I don’t know if I could put her through that.”

“And let her live with festering resent?” Your mother argued. “Look, I’m not gonna tell you what to do, but you can’t do nothing.”

“I know,” You emptied your coffee and picked up a cold hash brown. “Just… don’t say anything.”

“To who?” She asked. “My walls.”

🏠

You pulled up to the house as Kayla played with the little elephant she’d gotten with her meal. As you climbed out and unbuckled her, you spied a familiar figure from your peripheral. You ignored it as you grabbed her bag and helped her out onto the pavement. You closed the door as you tried to keep your daughter on the other side of you.

“Steve!” Kayla peeked past you and waved to your neighbour.

“Kayla, come on,” You tried to nudge her up the walk but Steve was already on his way across the street.

“Hey, you guys,” You turned to him as Kayla ran forward to hug his leg. “Early morning. Surprised you made it past the front door.”

“Yeah,” You kept your eyes averted behind your shades. “Kayla, come on. We gotta go.”

“What’s the plan for today?” Steve asked as you reached for your daughter.

“Family time,” You said tersely. 

“Mommy said I can paint butterflies on my wall!” Kayla said.

“Ooh, that sounds fun,” He smiled but barely looked at the girl. His eyes were set on you. 

“Kayla,” You pulled her towards the door and unlocked it. “Your father’s upstairs. Go wake him up. I’ll be in in just a second.”

“But I wanna talk to Steve,” She argued.

“Go inside,” You opened the door and waved her in. “You go right upstairs and get your dad.”

She pouted but did as you said. You watch her amble up the carpeted stairs and you turned back to Steve as you heard her calling to Logan. You closed the door and stormed back towards him.

“Look, what happened last night was wrong and I never want to talk about it again,” You hissed. “And… I don’t want to talk to you.”

He smiled and shook his head.

“As far as I could tell you liked it. Wanted it.” He crossed his arms. “You’re just too afraid to admit it.”

“I have a husband.” You snarled.

“Who’d rather fuck some crusty lady in a pants suit than you,” He challenged.

“You have a wife. A newborn.” You scowled. 

“I’ve learned a lot of things since I woke up in a whole new century. New lingo.” He tilted his head. “I’m sure you know what a ‘trophy wife’ is.”

“Is that what she is? Maybe you should tell her that.”

“Me and Sharon look good for the public. And for work. Suits never would’ve let me marry a civilian. We make a great little family.” He shrugged. “I gave her a baby. She got what she wanted and so did SHIELD.”

“I don’t believe you,” You said.

“I don’t care if you do. Sharon’s going back within the year. She misses the field. She misses a certain intelligence officer.” Steve said coolly. “It won’t be long before… well.”

“Listen, stay away from me.” You backed away from him. “I have enough going on.” You turned and grasped the door handle, paused as you looked back at him. “I can’t believe you. I really thought you were someone else.”

“Hey, I never said the propaganda wasn’t effective,” He winked. “I’ll see you around.”

You pushed inside and quickly closed the door. You pulled back the narrow curtain to look out through the frosted glass of the door. Steve’s hazy figure lingered until finally he retreated. Kayla’s voice drew you away.

“Mommy,” She called down the stairs. “Daddy’s sick.”

🏠

Logan was in bed for most of the day “recovering”. You left him to his sulking and helped Kayla paint her butterflies. The few times you passed by the room, you peeked through the small space between the door and the frame. He had his phone out. You could guess who he was texting. If you asked, he’d say work and it wouldn’t be an all out lie.

You put Kayla to bed and spent an hour in the living room watching re-runs before you found the nerve to go upstairs. Logan had a video running on his phone about homemade axes or some nonsense. You changed into a long tee and climbed into bed. You turned your back to him and closed your eyes.

“Sorry, babe,” He tickled your spine. “I drank way too much yesterday.”

“Mhmm,” You grumbled.

“You mad?” He asked.

“No,” You lied. “Hungover.”

“I should’ve helped with Kayla today,” He moped.

“So why didn’t you?” You snapped.

“You are mad.” He said.

Not about that, you thought. 

“I’m just tired.” You said.

“Next weekend, we’ll do something with Kayla together.” He coaxed. “Take her to the aquarium. Oh, and Steve texted me. Him and Sharon want us to come over for dinner on Thursday. I told him I’d try to move some things around at work.”

“Thursday,” You repeated. “Alright.”

“You sure you’re okay?” His hand strayed to your hip. 

“I just need to sleep it off,” You tapped his hand. “I’m fine.”

🏠

You woke up not shortly after you fell asleep. It was dark and the bed next to you was empty. You sat up and checked the time. It wasn’t even one in the morning. A slat of light escaped from your attached bathroom and you threw your legs over the edge of the mattress.

You tiptoed to the door and peered in. Logan was naked before the mirror as he held up his phone to take a picture. You wanted to scoff at how he flexed. He wasn’t as fit as he used to be, but neither were you. He snapped the pic and sent it with a devious grin. You saw his screen flash with a response shortly after. 

You felt the air rush out of you but could only back away and slink back to bed. It was ten minutes before he returned. He crawled under the blanket and pressed himself to your back. He was hard. His hand tickled your thigh and he played with the hem of your tee shirt.

“Babe,” He cooed gently. “Babe…” He continued as until you pretended to stir. “I forgot to tell you how great you looked yesterday in those shorts.”

“Logan, it’s late,” You grumbled but his hand brushed along your small patch of hair.

“Come on, babe,” He purred as he nuzzled the back of your neck. “It’s been… a while.”

You were quiet as he poked his fingers down and forced them between your legs. You flinched as he pushed on your clit.

“Babe,” He said again.

“Mmm,” You mumbled.

He pushed against you again and you sighed. You arched into him and let him lift your leg. He prodded your entrance and impaled you slowly. It was painful as you were barely aroused. You just wanted to be done with it. You knew he didn’t want you; he’d just gotten himself riled up and needed a release.

When he was at his limit, he gasped. His fingers slid off your clit as he began to thrust and he was toying with the crook of your leg rather than any part of your cunt. You grabbed the corner of your pillow and turned your face into it. He moved faster and faster as he quickly approached his peek.

You held back the tears as he jolted your entire body. You felt the warmth burst inside of you as he gave a pathetic moan. He spasmed a few times and slipped out of you. He rolled onto his back and gave your ass a tap.

“Mmm,” He hummed. “That was good.”

“Y-yeah,” You carefully shimmied to the edge. “I gotta go clean up.”

“Dirty girl,” He purred and you quickly fled to the bathroom, his cum dripping down your thighs.

You closed the door and sat on the toilet. You wiped yourself clean with tissue and let out the pressure which had built in your bladder. Finished, you remained as you were. You hung your head and covered your mouth with your hand as you began to cry. You were such a coward.

[zhangedward]

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[the-winchesterboys]

Across the Veil - Part 2

Summary: After refusing Crowley’s offer, you find yourself stuck in a room with your memories, making you want to take his deal. With 24 hours to decide, you try to focus on helping Sam solve the case (unbeknownst to him). That is, until Sam heads to sleep and Dean sneaks out - ready to do something dangerous.

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Word Count: 2,273

This is a series! Find Part 1 here.

A/N: Thanks so much for reading!

“No way. No way, Crowley, no matter what it is you’re here to sell - I’m not buying.” You stood across the room from him, your eyes focused and certain, your hands in fists at your sides.

“Well I haven’t even told you what I’m proposing yet,” the king of demons muttered, his hands calmly rested in his pockets. “S’a bit rude not to let me offer first.”

The now quiet motel room grew smaller around you as you stepped further from him, shrugging your shoulders. “I’m sure you mean well.” The sarcasm was dripping from your voice. “But it isn’t happening.” You sat down, attempting to appear as cool, calm, and collected as you could - if Crowley didn’t know how desperate you were, he couldn’t use it against you.

But nevertheless, he’d been a demon for much longer than you’d been alive - centuries longer, of course - and whether you wanted him to know you were desperate or not, he knew. He’d known for quite a while. He wouldn’t be standing there in front of you if he wasn’t absolutely confident that you needed exactly what he was offering.

“Listen, we could do this all day, but being the King of Hell and all, I’m a bit busy; so I’ll cut to the chase for you, darling,” he stated, just as calm, walking forward and seating himself across from you where Dean had been only minutes before. He scratched his scruff and leaned forward in the chair, eyeing you, sizing you up. You still remained reclined, watching him silently. You were lightly tapping your cold fingers on your blood- and denim-covered thighs, lips pursed in thought. For a ghost, you seemed to be handling it all remarkably well, Crowley thought to himself - you’d’ve made a great demon. “I need something, and you and these two lunkheads can get it for me. In exchange, I give you a cut of the profits, and you make off with your man and live happily ever after, blah blah blah. Sound peachy?”

You furrowed your brows. “I thought you said you were, quote-” you took on a heavy, only mildly condescending imitation of Crowley’s voice, “‘Here to bring me back’.” The King rolled his eyes at your obvious disrespect and utter hatred for him, shaking his head.

“Did you hear me tell you I don’t have time for this?” he blurted, “Alright, look. I’ve got someone that I need to bring back myself; she’s a bit important to some things I have planned.” You immediately tensed, sitting forward, ready to fight. “They’re for the leviathan, don’t give yourself an aneurism.” You hardly relaxed at his words, but were listening once again.

“Regardless,” he sighed, “I can’t find the pieces of the puzzle, nor can I retrieve them once they’re found. They’re warded against me and my kind.”

“So you want us to go on a hunt for you? Am I hearing this right?” You folded your hands in front of you, staring him down. He couldn’t see it, but you were tightly squeezing your fingers together, trying to keep yourself under control as frustration began to fester under the surface.

“Yes.” He answered simply, and waited to give you the information you were looking for. To tell you what you would receive in return. “And for your trouble-” he took a pause, just for the fun of it, enjoying watching you fight the urge to squirm, “You get one of the three doses the spell makes. One dose and no matter how many pieces of ash your bones are in, you’ll be back and on your feet within 48 hours.”

“No,” you said, standing again. You couldn’t let him do this. Couldn’t let him make you think about it, even imagine it. You stared out the window, the thin curtains draped into one another, your eyes looking anywhere but at the devil behind you.

“I know what you think of me,” Crowley started, crossing one leg casually over the other, “But put that aside for a moment. Think of being back with your beloved. Don’t you miss him? Don’t you miss your little life together, hunting and all that? Don’t you spend every hour of every day just watching him? I know you-”

You spun on your heel and bared your teeth. “You don’t know anything about me. You don’t know anything about what or who I miss, and you sure as hell don’t know anything about my relationship with Dean.” The air in the room grew freezing, and sure as you’d ever seen when hunting, every light in the room dipped in and out of power, flickering for a moment as Crowley shivered. He stood.

“Alright, fine - I really must be off. But know that you’re missing an opportunity, love.” He took a long pause, watching the angry young woman in front of him, struggling to push down the feelings of rage. A small smile crept over his lips. “But you know what? Because I’m so generous, I’ll give you one more chance. 24 hours to decide. I’ll be back tomorrow; and when I return, you tell me what you’ve decided.”

He was so level-headed, so eerily calm, it made your skin crawl. “The answer will be no.” You stared him down.

“We’ll see.” He lifted his hands and snapped his fingers and just like that, was gone.

You let out a massive breath, falling to the side and catching yourself on the table just in time, your palm becoming tangible just as it made contact with the cheap wood.

Fear sunk into your chest as you moved towards Dean’s bed, lowering yourself to sit on the end of it and burying your face in your hands. You could’ve just missed the chance to be with Dean again, to be back in his arms. To have life again. To hunt again. To fight the evil things that you’d always fought, to be who you used to be.

You used to go on runs with Sam, you thought to yourself, a sad smile on your lips. You used to come back from the Gas ‘N Sip with pie and kale chips in hand and be greeted with joy from the boys like you were returning from war. You used to paint, and you used to use every color you could imagine to find a way to process all you’d been through. And Dean used to sit and watch you paint for hours, sipping away at a cold beer, no other distractions, just happy to be watching you do something you loved so much.

You used to be alive - in more ways than just one. You were alive with Dean. There was something electric about every moment you spent together. Even the fun moments - the silly things. But you could still taste his laughter when he’d gone a bit past tipsy, could still feel his rough and protective squeeze around your shoulder whenever he sensed that something wasn’t right on a hunt, could still hear him calling your name when he and Sam had found the right show to watch on your shitty motel cable. And all of it hurt. It hurt to know that even if you could be around, eternally waiting across the veil for him to return to you for the rest of time, you would never feel his touch again, never see his eyes meet yours as he murmured a quiet, genuine “I love you”; it all made you want to scream for Crowley to hurry back, made you want to agree to anything at all so you could have it back.

So you could have him back.

You sat like that for over an hour, the thoughts reeling in your head, your memories playing like a tape over, and over, and over.

The rumble of the Impala and cool headlights fading over you through the window broke you from the endless loop of memories, and you looked up as the familiar creak of the doors opening and closing echoed from outside. The boys’ soft voices grew closer as they reached the room’s door. “Maybe an arachne? Or a vetala? They both store their victims for days, don’t they?” Keys jingled, and then the lock clicked and there they were again, as they were every day. You sighed softly, watching Dean walk in and toss the keys into a small, dusty - empty - candy bowl. He shrugged off his jacket as Sam closed the door behind them.

“No, an arachne only stores its victims if it’s turning them,” Sam mumbled, sitting right back down next to his laptop and lifting it into his lap. Dean turned and raised his brow.

“Dude.” Sam looked at him, confused and innocent.

“What?” Sam mumbled, typing his password in and staring up at Dean.

“How are you ready to keep going? I’m exhausted. I’m turnin’ in.” Dean collapsed into the bed face-first, palms turned up at his sides, and Sam’s soft chuckle and quiet “whatever” was all that was said after that. You watched Dean, sitting beside him and mulling Crowley’s words over in your mind. Dean’s breathing was heavy, evident of genuine exhaustion, and you frowned, shaking your head. He so rarely slept. And when he did, it seemed to be full of restless fever-dreaming.

Sam stayed up another couple of hours, research sprawled out in front of him across the table. As he grew more tired, his fingers pushed his hair back constantly, his eyes struggling to stay open. You had moved to sit beside him, reading along with him over his shoulder. “Maybe…” you whispered softly. You sighed frustratedly.

“Hold on.” He paused, his eyes looking over the list of victims one more time. “Each vic is...” he trailed off, a slow breath of thought leaving his lips.

“Wait.” You sat up, staring at the crime scene photos. “Dragon.”

“Dragon?” Sam stood immediately, his words echoing barely a second off of yours as he went to the wall and tried to make the connection. He ran his eyes over the photos, followed the strings from tac to tac, trying not to miss a single detail.

He stopped on one of the faces. A girl he’d seen at the bar, her lips vacuum sealed to a man’s who’d been happy to take her home with him just a few minutes later. Based on how she was behaving with him, or how she was handling him, rather; she was most definitely not a virgin.

“No…” you both sighed in unison, Sam groaning tiredly as he rubbed a hand over his face. You just continued to eye the evidence in front of you as he stepped back.

Sam went to the laptop and shut it down, burrowing into the covers of his bed just moments later. You shook your head as you turned to see him barely half under covers, your gaze the moving to land once more on Dean. He was far too beautiful for a man who was drooling all over his pillow. A soft, sad smile came across your face and you quietly left the room. Ever since you’d been this way, you felt weird about hovering in the room as they slept. Not only did it make you feel creepy, but they weren’t particularly entertaining. And Sam farted a lot in his sleep.

So, you sat yourself down onto the steps of the motel room’s tiny front porch - really, just a two by four stoop - and set your elbows onto your knees, head resting on your palm. You stared out at the night, appreciating being able to experience it this way most nights. It was beautiful; and being that you were already dead, you could be out here in the night without apprehension or fear. You could just be out here and enjoy the air without your gun ready at your hip. The stars above, the sounds all around, the lights and animals and - just, everything. There was life. And you found it to be absolutely breathtaking.

A small, dark cat with white spots made its way toward you, creeping carefully and slowly as if ready for a life-or-death fight at any moment. You smiled, your eyes following its path as it seemed to get closer to you.

“Can you see me?” you murmured, your head tilting to one side. The cat stopped moving, and you could’ve sworn it was staring right up into your eyes. You reached out to pet it, letting your arm slowly fade back, tangible enough to brush the soft fur of the cat in front of you.

Suddenly, though, a warm feeling overwhelmed you, and you flitted back into the room without hesitation. Sure enough, Dean stood there, holding what he had left of you, awake despite the awful hour of night and turning the item around in his hands as if he had been missing it for years.

In his palm was the gift that you had given him two years before; a beautiful, wood-handled switchblade etched with spellwork and sigils - but more importantly, along the handle, carved into the wood, was a single word. Winchester. Dean sighed and slipped the blade into his back pocket, grabbing his keys and striding across the room before you could process what he was doing.

As he sat into his car, turning over the engine and backing out of the lot, you sat in the front seat, nervous and concerned. For a moment, as he pulled out onto the main road, you wished you’d woken Sam before Dean could get away.

Your gut sunk with a terrible feeling. Something was seriously, seriously wrong.

Previous Chapter  //  Next Chapter 

[ellebeebee]

Seachange

Part Four/Nine

Part One || Part Two || Part Three

Mira is second guessing herself over telling her brother the truth.  And post-Voeld, and post-Aya outing, she still can’t be sure about where she sits with Liam.  A weird emotional precipice they’re both balancing on.

2891 words, Liam x f!Ryder, teen rating

AO3

-

She woke up with her lungs collapsing and her eyes burning with the neon afterimages of her father’s mouth moving, imparting words only heard by the void.

Mira struggled with her blankets, disoriented.  She breathed and her hands flew up to push her damp hair out of her face.  As she sat up, she balled up the length of her hair, pulled it away from her hot neck.  The console beside her bed read 0232, and the darkness of her quarters was barely broken against the shimmer of stars outside the broad windows.  Their light a faint memory from light years ago.

“Are you alright, Pathfinder?” SAM asked.

His vivid blue holo-representation on her desk had come back online, no doubt on account of her.

“Yeah,” Mira replied.

He could roll off her raised vitals, obvious proof contrary to her claim, but they’d gotten to the point where what is obvious doesn’t need to said.  It could maybe (possibly, improbably) even be called trust.

Mira kicked off her blankets and stood.  She threw off her heavy sweats, the Tempest’s constantly cool air grazing her bare chest, and pulled on a lighter t-shirt and shorts.  She put up her hair.

It wasn’t really Dad that was giving her nightmares; although, he was one reason.  One persistent, awful thing that always skulked around her head and reminded her that she was an orphan, that she was playing at being a being a hero, that she had never really known him--

Mira stopped that line of thought.

Everything sucked and she didn’t want to cry again.  But if she didn’t, it would just get bigger, and the crying harder.  But she couldn’t stop herself from stopping herself from venting.  She was a freaking trainwreck that kept wrecking and wrecking.

Mira went to her terminal at the desk to check her e-mail.  It wasn’t a cigarette, but one neurotic tic usually substituted for another.  She wished this was Mars, where no one cared if you smoked, and she could sit on the research center’s battlements, look at the bright dot that was Earth, and think about all the times she should’ve been better to Mom.  But Mira’d quit when they came to the Initiative, before the leap.  And she’d already had one ear chewed off by Lexi about her medical history; she’d rather keep the other one than start smoking again.

Vetra probably knew how to get human cigarettes.

No, no.

Don’t think about that.

Think about the real problem.

Deal with things.  Don’t let them fester.

...Or maybe write these e-mails.

Yes, good plan, great job, Mira.  You’re doing awesome.  Yep, you tell Evfra you’re glad the Moshae is settling in.  Write confident.  You’re the Pathfinder.  Angara probs can’t tell how young you are, anyways.  Yeah, you tell Tann you don’t care what he thinks about Kadara!  Yeah.  Except politely.  Professional!  That’s what you are.  A professional.  Yeah.

And then she started worrying about the time and what they’d think when they got these mails at the asscrack of not even dawn, and that was another thing to think excessively about.  So that was good.

And then a line, completely unrelated made her pause and she could hear it, clear as day--

I don’t feel well.

And all Mira could do was stare at her hands, awash in the blue light of SAM and her terminal.  Her fingers curled in.

She had asked herself this a million times already, and she’d no doubt ask herself a billion times more: had she done the right thing telling Forta about Dad?  About Heleus?

This… is a nightmare.

Exactly her thoughts, but she didn’t want Forta thinking that.  Not when he was so vulnerable… And just.  Pitiful.  Even if it was true.  But she didn’t want her brother worrying about that.  He needed to get better.

Mira’s stomach clenched, and her face got so hot.  And she knew her expression, she knew, was falling fast.

He needed to get better.  He just had to.

-

And that’s how she found herself in the galley, the little table in there covered in containers and canisters and vacuum-sealed jugs.

Mira scrolled down a datapad of baking recipes and tips, copying and pasting things she found relevant and making notes of her own.  She was no stranger to this process, but she had to be prepared.  This was a one-shot deal and once she started, there was no going back.

“Ryder?”

She looked up.

Liam stood in the galley hatchway.  Because of course he did.  The one time she ventured out into the ship without a bra, and he showed up.  And too late to pull down her hair-- but he hadn’t seemed to notice, and in any case, he looked like his mind was elsewhere.  His face was drawn and his smile was just… off.  Red rimmed his eyes.

“Hey,” she said.

“Hey.”

And he studied her face, and she wasn’t sure it looked much better than his.

“Umm…” he started, hand coming up to rub at his neck.  His eyes darted down from her gaze to look at all the stuff she’d pulled out. “What are you doing?”

Despite herself, Mira’s chest ached.  After their Aya outing (after her disaster of a confession on Voeld), they hadn’t talked a lot.  About anything beyond some dumb B-list movie or the next mission.  They were still hanging again, yeah, but it was like invisible lines had been drawn at some point.  He seemed distracted and hyper-concerned about the condition of the colonies.  And that was one of the things that she loved about him: that he tried so hard for the sake of others.

So no, she didn’t want to take that away from him.  No, she didn’t want to force him into anything he didn’t want.  But was it really bad of her to want someone to confide in, like, really really confide in?  Did it make her a shitty person to want someone to need to know how she (She!  Her!  Mira!  Ryder!) was doing?

Was it awful that she wanted Liam Kosta to ask her what was wrong?

Mira cleared her throat. “Making brownies.”

His brow shot up. “Brownies?”

“Brownies,” she repeated, trying a small smile. “Um, I couldn’t sleep.  And I-- uh.”

“You bake when you can’t sleep?” Liam supplied.  He pulled the fridge open to take out a water.

Mira went back to her canisters of synth-flour and the jug of that weird asari native animal’s ‘milk’ that worked so well as an egg substitute.

“Yeah,” she said. “I mean, not so much since we got to Heleus.  Because, resources.  But at home I did all the time.”

He slid into a seat at the table, careful not to disturb all her ingredients.  Closer, she could see he really was puffy and red around the eyes.  She glanced back to her datapad.  That made her chest ache, too.  She wanted so bad to know if he’d been crying himself to sleep again.  If it was really a regular occurrence

But she was afraid to ask.  She was afraid he’d think it was weird, too soon, or worse-- tell her it was never gonna happen.  He knew what she felt about… all of, y’know, them or whatever.  But she didn’t know what he thought, and this had gone on long enough (she had it bad enough at this point) that she was too much of a coward to ask.

Shit.

It just.  Sucked.

Liam chugged some water and considered her. “Don’t brownies take a lot of chocolate?”

Mira froze.  She glanced at him.

He looked back.  And then he broke out into a real grin. “You look guilty, Ryder.  You done something, haven’t you?”

She cleared her throat, tried to go back to her measurements and look natural. “Me?  No way.”

“Ryyyderrr,” Liam drawled. “You know you’ve a shit poker face right?  Terrible.”

She huffed. “Well, excuse me.”

“Awful.”

She ignored him.

“Absolute shit.  Face it, Ryder.  You’re as transparent as plexi.”

She stuck her tongue out at him. “Y’know.  I was thinking of giving you first bite…”

He laughed. “Alright, I’m sorry for pointing out the obvious.  But you’re still sharing.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do,” he stated, winking. “‘Cause I’m cute.”

Then she laughed. “Whatever, Kosta.”

“C’mon.  Spill already.”

Mira glanced at him. “Don’t tell Vetra.  But I… ‘commandeered’ a lot of our chocolate supply.”

Liam whistled in admiration. “And blamed it on the pyjak.  Mira Ryder, you rebel.”

She laughed.  And he watched as she finally decided on her game plan for these impromptu, make-do brownies.  She precisely measured out each of her ingredients.  And as she turned the oven on and began to melt the ‘butter’ (actually a levo ‘cheese’ made by a dextro company that seemed confused about levo cheeses) and the chocolate, she did her best to ignore the way Liam watched her move around the galley.

To distract him (and herself) for a while, she babbled a bit about their chocolate.  It was really, really good stuff.  Like, nothing synth or vat cloned about it.  Rich and dark, it would probably cover up plenty of sins from the other elements.  Mira had Liam help her pour the melted chocolate into the rest of the wet ingredients while she folded it all together, and then the dry stuff.  While she gently did the final mixing, he stole tastes of the raw batter.  Which she ignored.

It was nice.  Middle of the night, had the whole ship really to themselves.  Making brownies.  It was… normal.

When she finally had the pan of dark batter in the oven, she nudged Liam into helping her clean up.  

As he closed up canisters, he said, “So.  Are these brownies ‘for two’ or are you sharing with everyone?  Because I may know a good hiding spot.”

She paused from wiping down the counter.  She glanced at him.

“Actually,” Mira started. “They’re, uh-- I’m actually planning on vacuum sealing most of them and sending them back to the Hyperion.”

He put something back in the fridge, closed the door, and leaned against it to study her.  She studiously went back to cleaning.

“The Hyperion?” Liam asked.

She nodded. “Yeah.  Um.  Some for Harry.  Because, y’know.  He’s done so much for my brother… and--”

And she’d stopped cleaning, and she couldn’t look up from staring at her hands.  And her ears were ringing.

“Shit, it’s so dumb--” she gasped, and covered her face with those same hands damp with soap.

She felt Liam moving nearby, probably freaked by her sudden shift in mood.  But she couldn’t help it.  It just all came on like a tsunami.  Everything was just…

Mira pulled her hands down and choked out a wet laugh. “It’s really, really dumb, but I wanted to make brownies for Forta, because I don’t know if I did the right thing.  If I hurt him, and it doesn’t make sense.  It doesn’t make up for anything, but--”

“Hey, hey--”

And he took her into his arms, folded her into his chest.  Enveloped her into a warmth she so desperately needed and hadn’t been able to vocalize, even to herself.  And that was painful.  Goddam him but his goodness was so painful.  What she felt for him was painful.  And everything sucked, and all she could do was cry into his shoulder.  Clutch at him with twitching fingers, and sob.

And it was all new again, because their bodies knew each other but really didn’t know anything.  Were complete, utter, total, absolute strangers.  Strangers pressed again into embrace that needed.  They needed and needed and needed each other.  She needed him holding her against the aluminum edge of the galley counter, needed him holding her against the strength of her own feelings.

When she calmed down, she pushed back against him.  But not away from her.  She wasn’t nearly unselfish enough for that.

“Don’t say sorry,” Liam instantly said, before she could open her mouth.

So she just stared up into his brown eyes.  The wetness on the brown skin around his eyes.  He looked a sight, but no way could he look worse than she probably did.

“Mira,” he said.  And he leaned in to place his forehead against hers.  She closed her eyes.

He continued. “I think your brother knows what you feel.  He understands.”

“Yeah,” she whispered. “We made a promise-- when we were kids.  That we’d never lie to each other.  Twin promise.  Way more serious than pinkie promise.”

He made a small huff of amusement that tickled her lashes. “See?  There you go.”

The twin promises.  With all the gravity of blood sacraments, she and Forta had sworn to never forsake such oaths.  On pain of foregoing their desserts to the other for all eternity.  The never lying had mostly been deemed necessary when it was clear that Mom’s “I’ll come play in just a minute” had generally meant several hours later into whatever project she’d been on when she’d realized what she had told them, and when it was clear that Dad’s “I’ll be there for the holiday” had really meant he’d vidcall for about twenty minutes.  But Mira and Forta had never made such empty promises to each other; they swore to always be upfront, and hadn’t broken that record yet.

So what could she have done?

Even if it had upset him in that fragile state, what could she have done?

She shook her head. “But I can’t lose him, Liam.  If he’s gone, too--”

She stopped.  And he pulled her back in tightly.

“Yeah,” he said, his voice low. “Yeah, I know.”

And he understood.  She hated that he did.  Wished that he didn’t, but he understood.

The hug continued for a while, until her tears stopped and she stopped sniffing.  And the smell of sweetness and chocolate asserted itself more and more throughout the small kitchen.  Parading its deliciousness.  So Mira gently pushed against him and stepped back; Liam seemed to hesitate, but did let go.  And they had an awkward period where they didn’t know what to do with their hands without holding onto the other.  So she smiled sheepishly and wiped at her cheeks.

Liam cleared his throat. “Uh.  Just so you know-- that smells amazing.  Honestly, if I were coming out of a coma, brownies would be priority number one for me.”

She snorted and shook her head. “Jeez, you and Forta-- there’s no way I’m letting you two meet.  What a disaster.”

She was choosing for the moment to ignore the “if” in those statements.  If he wakes from the coma.  If he gets the chance to meet Liam.  Because the crying had made her body seem lighter, as if some part of the sadness dissipated through the tears, and the perfume of brownies had already smothered her cortisol and fired off her serotonin.  Seemed to, anyway.

As she bent to check on the pan through the glass door of the over, she considered her next words.  She straightened, tucked a curl out of her eyes, and considered Liam.  He sat against the counter watching her.  His eyes were still a bit red, but he generally looked better somehow than when he first came into the galley.

“Liam,” she said. “Sorry-- no, wait.  Sorry for dumping all that on you.”

He shook his head and shifted again, hands at his sides twitching like he was gonna reach for her again.

“No sorries. Really, Mira, you don’t need--  We’re…”

And when he trailed off, the light in his eyes flickering, she gave him a small smile.

“See?  We’re…” she pointedly trailed off too, and shrugged.

An idle hand mussed in his hair, as his brows drew in. “Shit, I-- Y’know, I keep dicking this up, I know, but…”

“Liam,” she stopped him. “I know.  We’re all just going in a bit blind.  For what it’s worth?  I’d rather have you dicking things up than anything else.”

That poked a laugh from him.  Quiet, and a bit awkward, but a laugh nonetheless.

With impeccable timing, Mira’s timer for the brownies went off.  They came out of the oven with an absolutely beautiful crackled chocolate crust on top, and the perfect amount of thick fudgy crumbs clinging to the eating stick she tested the center with.  She straightened from the pan with a smile.

“A success,” she declared.

Liam had been conspicuously edging closer the instant the pan came out. “So?  You promised.  First taste.”

She smiled at him and rolled her eyes.

Somehow, they ended up sneaking back into the cargo bay on silent tiptoes, the brownies carefully hidden beneath kitchen towels.  And they laid out in storage, continuing the twenty-first century drell drama they’d started the other day and eating out of the warm brownie pan with two forks.  At some point around 0600 they passed out, nestled against each other and most of the brownies devoured.

Sometime later, Harry Carlyle received a package on the Hyperion.  Two vacuum-sealed containers, incredibly tiny, with a note from the pathfinder.  One(1) brownie for Dr. Carlyle, to thank him for his work, and one(1) for Forta Ryder, once he finally got his ass out of bed.  Chocolate rations being what they were, sorry there wasn’t more.

Harry wasn’t complaining; it was a very good brownie.