#and the other-the door frame is broken and you cannot enter through the main door

[thestarsofpines]

okay but why

[toms-cherry-trees]

"Look After You" || Tommy Shelby x Reader

Summary: Time and distance cannot break certain promises

Word count: 4.2k

Tags: Mentions of war, mental asylums, unjust imprisonment, mentions of controversial mental health treatments, cross dressing (?), implications of violence against women, illness, no betareading we go in raw

Author's note: You might have seen this post where I mention the life of Dorothy Lawrence. Well this is very loosely based on her life mixed with Tommy's story. Left it very open to a part 2 if people like the premise.

(Yes my people watch me put together moodboards instead of choosing gifs)

Requested tag (hope not to disappoint) @brummiereader @emotionalcadaver

The asylum stood tall and imponent before Tommy’s gaze, its towering central dome and flanking turrets framed by the bright sun rays of a cheerful spring afternoon. The radiant gardens contrasted dramatically with the derelict state of the building itself; rusty and broken drainpipes hanging from the roof, rotten wood frames and shattered window panes, missing chunks of brick on the walls, revealing the inner framing and plaster. Nothing about that place inspired trust to those who crossed its threshold, let alone hopes of betterment. The lamentable exterior stood like the perfect match of the decadence within.  

The smell of rot assaulted him the second he entered. The paint had started to peel off, and moisture stains crawled across walls and ceiling. Most windows in the main hall were shuttered, and the incandescent light bulbs did little to cut through the darkness, casting a sickly shadow over the room. The orderly that welcomed him in the entrance had an embittered face, and he questioned Tommy on his name, whom he was visiting and his reasons to. He patted him down and overturned his pockets, making him leave behind anything that could be used to harm or be harmed. Cap, cigar case, lighter, sleeve garters and shoelaces stayed behind while another orderly led him through long hallways and endless locked doors towards the morning hall where he’d meet the purpose of his visit.

Finally, they stopped before a wide set of oaken double doors with panels of rubbed glass, which allowed him a faint peek of what happened on the other side. The orderly barely opened the door enough to enter himself and told Tommy to wait outside, as if he feared something may escape from within given the chance. After a few minutes he returned, leaving the gap open for Tommy to pass through.

 “Sister Janice will take you to her. Don’t look at other patients. Don’t talk to other patients. If they come to you, ignore them. Don’t take anything they give you”

Perplexed, curious and mostly annoyed by all the delays, Tommy ducked under the orderly’s arm while he held the door open. As soon as he stepped inside the orderly let go, and the door closed behind him with a heavy click.

The sudden brightness hurt his eyes after the unceasing darkness, and Tommy had to squint briefly as his pupils grew accustomed to his surroundings. An ample hall stretched before him, arch windows spanning from floor to ceiling lining the west and north walls. Moth eaten draperies of blue velvet had been drawn back to allow sunlight in, in hopes of insufflating some life into the gelid heart of the asylum.

The room had surely once been a magnificent ballroom, but had now been reduced to the sad, dirty, abandoned alcove where the non-aggressive patients spent most of their waking hours, some engaged in the very few activities offered to them, others dragging their feet and mumbling to themselves like lost souls, their gazes absent and their appearance unkempt. Not one person appeared to have a coherent thought there, and Tommy wondered if it was due to their own ailments, or due to the medicines the nurses forced down their throats to keep them tame and peaceful, albeit stupid. 

As Tommy walked past, he couldn't help but notice the way his presence drew attention from them. The patients stopped in their tracks to stare at him as if he were the most marvellous wonder they had ever seen. They pointed at him, uttering incoherences and laughing at jokes no one else heard. Some tried to get close but were forced back with a sharp gesture by the nun accompanying him, whom only now Tommy noticed, carried a mean looking leather strap, hanging side by side with a rosary from her cord belt.

At long last, she came into view. Slouched on a rocking chair facing the windows, a ragged purple cardigan thrown over a white, floor length dress, resembling more a nightgown than any sort of decent clothing. A white linen cap covered her hair, and Tommy noticed that the ties had been removed, as had been from the rest of her garments. She looked thinner, thinner even than she did in France. She gave no indication that she had noticed their presence, her dulled eyes fixated on the gardens outside.

 “I have it from here, sister” Tommy dismissed the nun with a wave of his hand, dragging a nearby stool to sit next to the woman.

 “I’m sorry Mr. Shelby, but I cannot allow you to be unsupervised with a patient. She seems tame now, but who knows what atrocities a woman of sin like her might commit”

Tommy wanted to snort. She barely looked strong enough to hold herself in the chair, how could she harm anyone?

“She won’t attack me sister” Tommy insisted “Now step back, and I will make sure the asylum is handsomely rewarded for your troubles.”

The nun opened her mouth, ready to argue, but then chose against it. The asylum could do with some extra coin, after all. She straightened up and smoothed her habit, perhaps a way to reinstate her authority that Tommy had so brazenly challenged. 

“You have half an hour” She stated at last before walking away towards a group of patients who were seemingly arguing over a doll.

Tommy’s gaze returned to the woman in front of him, who continued to be absent from the world around her, and who gave no sign of life other than the steady rising and falling of her shoulders with each breath. Thomas allowed the pause to linger between them a few seconds longer, but he didn’t want to waste his allotted time. He wouldn’t put it past these people to drag him out like that; the laws of men did not apply in these sorts of places.

He called her name softly, in a nearly soothing whisper. Once, twice, thrice, yet it did not do to her more than the drafts howling through the broken panes or the maniac laughs of the patients around them. He didn’t want to touch her and risk startling her, but he didn’t want to spend his visit staring at her left cheek. He took his last chance, using this time a different name, a name he had not pronounced since 1915.

“Private Anders”

The name stirred something in her mind. Her back straightened a bit and her features quivered in recognition. Slowly, stiffly, she turned towards Tommy, her eyebrows first furrowing in confusion then rising in surprise.

“Sergeant Major?” Her shock could not be disguised, and she readied to rise and salute, but Tommy motioned for her to remain seated.

“At ease, private” 

~

Tommy recalled perfectly the first day he saw her. They were stationed near Albert, digging up a new front line as they tried to gain terrain from the Germans. The troops from the British Expeditionary Force and the 179th tunnelling company consisted mostly of coal miners, all turned sappers whose task was to ready up the land for battle. The clay rich soil basically melted between their fingers when it rained, making the digging of trenches and shelters a never-ending battle. The dampness crept up their legs and seeped into their bones, and Tommy had seen one too many soldiers whose feet rotted inside their boots. Even the strongest men, used to work from sun to sun in the depths of the coal mines breathing dust and methane, would sometimes succumb to the elements. 

Tommy worked paired with Tom Dunn, a man as thick of back as he was of skull. He could easily lift an adult man and throw him across the field like a sack of potatoes, and legend has it he pulled the coal carts in the mine when the horses couldn’t. If left to it, he could probably dig out the trench with only his hands and his helmet.

He had been the one to introduce Tommy to her. Dunn had hidden that little lunatic in an abandoned cottage, not too far from where the troops were stationed. Somehow, she had obtained a uniform, which she had padded with cotton wool to flatten her curves and broaden her shoulders. Her hair had been cut in a military style, scrapes on her cheeks simulated a shaving rash, and potassium permanganate attempted to sharpen her jaw and cheekbones with dark shadows. 

She slept in a damp mattress, with little more than a threadbare blanket to keep her warm; she had no means of acquiring something better, nor could she light a fire in the dusty hearth for fear of being discovered. Dunn had been feeding her with whatever he could spare from his own rations or snatch from others, which meant she had been eating the minimum for survival, since the woods offered nothing but naked branches at that time of year. 

Tommy had been left thunderstruck, far too much to react properly. A million questions came to his lips, and a million died there as his mind couldn’t exactly put into words what he wanted to know. His gaze flickered between them both, who looked at him pleadingly like a couple of children asking their parents to stay up late. His first instinct was to call up their superior and hand her over to them, for her own safety, but then he thought about it better. The things that could happen to her if he handed her over to the war office…and that’s it, if they handed her over in the first place, or chose to make justice themselves.

No, for the sake of her safety and his conscience, he would play along with them for now.

“What is your name?” He inquired, a simple question to cut through the gelid silence that had befallen them.

For an answer, she handed Tommy papers and a matching dog tag. Forgeries, most likely, and very good ones, which meant she spent money on those. Paying from her own pocket to go to war

They held each other's gaze for endless seconds. At long last, Tommy offered a handshake.

“Welcome to the 179th tunnelling company, Private John Anders. I’ll look after you” 

~ 

Tommy hadn’t been able to stop thinking about the meeting. The person who sat before him, hunched and dirty and completely lost to the world, bore no resemblance to the fiery, and perhaps a little unhinged, woman that had gone through every length to infiltrate herself in the front line. Years of memory seemed to have been erased from her mind, but she recalled vividly everything she went through in her time in France. She did not know the day and year she lived in but could easily recite the names of every man she met from the 179th, as well as every technique they implemented to dig out the clay.

Tommy was sure that, if he were to put a shovel in her hands, she would unconsciously start digging. 

He had partly placated his worries by placing a nurse in the asylum, one handpicked by Polly and paid out of his own pocket, to look after her. But that solution felt like not enough. Not by a mile. What that place did to her, what they were turning her into…Killing her bit by bit, stripping away her sanity to erase from her any memory she held of those weeks in the front. He still recalled the tunnel collapse, when the rain-soaked clay began to crumble over them like cold tar, obscuring their vision and sticking their feet to the ground. How the men dragged out each other, coated from head to toe in the reddish paste. She had tripped, her foot had gotten stuck, he couldn’t tell anymore. All he knew was that she had been left behind, and he had re-entered the tunnel for her. Feeling his way through the darkness, keeping an eye on the entrance, calling her name out; her fake name, for even in the face of danger he had the mental fortitude to remember the importance of her cover up. How she dropped her own facade, her fearful voice calling him as she stretched her arm towards him.

Tommy, Tommy, Tommy

“Tommy!” Billowed an angered female voice, dragging his thoughts back to the present time. 

Tommy squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, attempting to dissipate the fogs of the past that laid over them. Because he was not in the tunnels, nor in the Western front. He was sitting in his office, behind his desk, nursing a whiskey in his hands and with Polly sitting across him, equally angered and perplexed at her nephew’s inattention.

“You know I don’t appreciate my words being wasted”. It sounded like a threat, but half of the things Polly said usually did “If you had no interest in this briefing, you could have rescheduled our meeting”.

“You hate your time being wasted” Tommy pointed out.

“Which is exactly what you’re doing now” She remarked.

Silence lingered in the office while Polly lit a new cigarette and Tommy downed his drink, which had already begun to warm in his hands. He stood to pour another, which he finished almost immediately.

“So” Polly began, exhaling the smoke in an elegant blow “Will you tell me what’s on your mind?” As usual, Polly could see through him as easily as one would do through a clean glass. It unnerved him sometimes, to be laid open so vulnerably under her watchful gaze.

“It’s nothing” Tommy sat before the fire; hands laced behind his head in an attempt to seem relaxed.

“There’s been many things on your mind, Tommy, and nothing has never been one of them”. Polly’s slender fingers ran across the glass bottles on the bar cart before settling on gin, pouring herself a more than generous serving.

“You’re thinking of her”.

Tommy immediately thought of denying it, but what was the point? When Polly knew, no one could tell her otherwise. And as much as he hated others meddling in his business, the words came tumbling before he could hold them back.

“I’m just worried. She’s not the same she used to be. I don’t know what they do to her in that place, but she’s changed. Those medicines they give her, and who knows what else they’ve done. You know the treatments” He shook his head, as if to dismiss everything he said “Just worried” 

“It’s been many years since you last saw her. Everyone changed after the war. God knows you did”.

“This is not the same. They’re killing her there” Tommy stared up at the ceiling, as if hoping to find a solution to his problems in the plaster. Polly only watched him, pondering over her next words carefully. She only hoped she would not regret whatever her nephew chose to do next.

“If her wellbeing worries you so, you have to do the right thing”

He frowned, turning to look at her with confusion clear in his eyes. Polly sipped the gin, swirling it around her mouth as she gave it a last thought. This was one of the far and few times in which Tommy proved he had a heart, and that softened her as well.

“If you are worried, you act. If they’re killing her in there, you get her out”

~

The sun had finally shone upon the soldiers after nearly a week of bad weather, when rain and fog had turned the living conditions in the trenches into nearly inhumane. The soldiers were happy, for they would no longer shiver until their bones ached, and they would at last be able to put their clothes and themselves to dry. The tunnellers were less than pleased, for the sun had dried the clay into a solid wall, forcing them to exhaust their muscles to dig out chunks the size of their heads while the sweat ran down their temples and backs. Their comrades kept them supplied with water, but it felt like pouring water on a bottomless bucket. 

Tommy worked side by side with her. Him. Her. Her identity still got tied in his mind, and he had to think through every word addressed in her direction for fear of blowing her cover. He watched her out of the corner of the eye as she swung the pickaxe with a strength and determination he never expected to see in a woman. Despite her resilience, Tommy worried about her, and kept a watchful gaze for any sign of exhaustion. She could not afford to be taken ill or injured, for a trip to the medical tent would be enough to unravel all her carefully crafted lies. He had to take care of her.

They both worked in the very end of the trench, and the sounds around them would conceal any hushed conversation. Tommy’s curiosity was stronger than his willpower

“Why?”

She didn’t react at first, and Tommy thought she either didn’t listen to him, or chose to ignore him, both of which were valid. But before he could ask again, she whispered back, keeping her manly tone

“Why what?”

“Why come here? What sane person would come here, on her own free will, to be forced into coldness and starvation? Risk your life, and for what purpose? Couldn’t find good places to dig back in England?”

She snorted, the sound quite lighter than any man’s laugh, so she concealed it by clearing her throat

“I wanted to serve my country, same as you. Is there any sin on that?”

“Is that what you tell yourself at night to sleep?”

She stopped digging for a moment, leaving the pickaxe embedded in the clay. She sat in the upturned bucket they used as stool, wiping the sweat from her brow with her sleeve. She couldn’t work shirtless, and their uniforms had been made to shield from the cold only. Tommy offered her water; she drank a sip and poured the rest on her head. He noticed her hair had grown again, and curled behind her ears. He made a mental note to give her a trim after nightfall.

“I just wanted to see what it was like. What it really was. They don’t tell us the truth back home. The newspapers make it sound as if the front is almost peaceful and the men are just laying back eating turkey while the Germans fall a hundred a day. I wanted the truth, and I want to write about it. Make a book of all the lies they fed us home.”

Her reasoning didn’t sit well with him. All that effort, that trouble, that risk, just to figure out if war was as bad as she thought? Mad, mad in the head this one.

“And what does your family think you’re doing away from home?”

She scratched her chin, in the same way Tommy did when he got a shaving rash from his blunt razors. She had picked up male mannerisms quite fast, particularly his own

“Not much family left to care what I do or stop doing. I said I’d come to France to volunteer as a nurse, but they most likely think I came as a camp follower. If they knew what I’m up to, they would have me committed to the closest madhouse”

“The madhouse is where you belong” Tommy replied, albeit jokingly, as he stopped his work to pull out a cigarette from his pocket. But he was interrupted by a ball of clay being tossed at his face with masterful precision, dampened for maximum effect.

“Shut up, Sergeant Major”

 ~

Blue skies and a pleasant breeze welcomed them at the gates of Arrow House. Tommy chose to drive this time, taking the advice from the doctor who would oversee her care, who suggested she be exposed to the least amount of people possible during the first days as she adjusted to life outside. Only Tommy, Frances and the nurse who would be her primary caretaker.

She stared at the world around her with such wonder, like a blind whose sight had been restored. Every tree, every bird, the very landscape that surrounded his manor brought such wonder onto her face, like a child with a Christmas tree. Her happiness almost managed to convince him that this was, in fact, a good idea. 

When Polly told him to get her out, he knew she meant to put her in a home of her own, with a caretaker, and allow her to have a life of her own. And Tommy considered the idea, for a while. To place her in a nice neighbourhood, in a house with a garden and a balcony where she could enjoy the sun, with a nurse and maids and a car. But it didn’t sit right with him. She had been alone ever since they took her. Imprisoned until the war ended, and then released only to be taken to the madhouse at first chance. Not one familiar face around her for nearly a decade. No, Tommy wouldn’t take her out of a cage just to put her back in a smaller, prettier one. She needed someone to protect her. And for better or worse, that one could only be Tommy. 

When the car came to a halt, she was the first one out, gaping at the imponent state which Tommy owned. 

“Is this where you live, Sergeant Major?” The wonder was palpable in her voice. But the only thing Tommy noticed was that after everything she still couldn’t find it in her to call him by his name.

“2000 acres of land, of which 12 are just garden, and 750 acres of farming land”

She cocked an eyebrow, and in the amused twinkle of her eyes Tommy saw a glimpse of the one she used to be.

“Are you a farmer now, sir?” She disguised her laugh behind the handkerchief she insisted on carrying, looking down like a bashful schoolgirl.

Tommy pulled out a cigarette; he felt the corner of his lips pulled into the shadow of a smile, pleased to see her spirits lifted.

“My business is more focused on progress and modernity, but I wouldn’t reject the idea. Perhaps one day it’ll come in hand to have crops and cows”

“That would be the bloody day” She didn’t even try to hide her laughter this time “Our mighty Sergeant Major, dressed in overalls and with mud up to his knees shovelling cow shit”

“I find myself more interested in horse shit these days. Come on, I’ll show you around” 

Tommy gave her a complete tour of the house and adjacent grounds, both to show her everything that would be at her complete disposal, and also as a way to show off how far he had come since they were both in the trenches, hunched over a meagre fire lit inside an empty can and sharing a homemade cigarette made from tobacco leftovers. Her eyes were wide with wonder, her fingers running over tapestries, leathers and carved wood with childlike wonder

He saved her room for last. A wide bedroom at the very back of the house, situated in a corner with plenty of windows. It had a view of the back of the state, so she could enjoy the gardens, the horses and the surrounding woods. In the corner with the most sunlight Tommy had placed a writing desk, supplied with paper, pens, ink and a brand new typewriter. Amidst everything sat a bunch of old and worn pages, all of different sizes and materials, kept together nicely with leather cord. She picked it up gingerly, running her thumb over the first page. Even though the paper was stained and dusty, the words could be read as easily as the first day she wrote them.

Tears flooded her eyes, and she hugged the improvised diary to her chest like it was a most prized possession. And perhaps it was. She turned towards Tommy, a mixture of bewilderment and eternal gratitude plastered on her features

“Where did you get it? I thought they would have had it destroyed when they locked me up”

Tommy only smirked, pulling out a cigarette from the golden case he carried “Remember what I told you? Always make sure someone owes you something”

That gesture, so small yet so meaningful, shifted something inside her. Her eyes brimmed with tears she attempted to fight, but they won in the end. She practically jumped into Tommy’s arms, hugging him with the eagerness of a person who has been denied a caring touch for far too long.

“How will I ever be able to thank you enough, Sergeant Major?”

His free arm circled her frame, returning the gesture

“You can start by calling me Tommy”

~

Worry crept up Tommy’s spine as the higher ups did their rounds to inspect the work on the freshly dug trenches. It had been three days since she last showed up, and he would soon run out of lies to cover up for “Private Anders’” absence. 

As much as she tried to deny it, finally the harsh conditions had caught up to her. Her health had gone down a slippery slope with the arrival of winter. First it had been just a fretless dry cough, easily softened with pine tea. But then came the bone pains, the headaches, the constant fatigue. The dampness of her safe haven had seeped into her bones and caused some sort of rheumatism. Tommy noticed the swelling of her hands as they struggled to grip the pickaxe. Her hair began to fall out in clumps.

The shivers and the fever had finally knocked her off her feet. She had been unable to leave her cottage, which in turn worsened her condition even further. Tommy had tried to bring her something more substantial to eat, but she seemed unable to eat more than a few bites of stale bread dipped in some coffee the Americans had given them. Dry, suffocating coughs racked her body until she had to gasp for air, her teeth and lips speckled with blood.

“This is the end line” She had mumbled weakly during the third night, while Tommy tried to desperately convince her to light a fire to warm and dry the place

“No. You are not going to die. I won’t allow it. I told you I’d take care of you” He stated firmly, sitting on the floor by her side with her hand in his, his other one cupping her feverish cheek. He had been in a similar spot, not too long ago. Watching life fade away from a young woman’s eyes. He refused to let her die, not like that, not there where he would have to dump her body in the river.   

“I am not going to die” She stated with a conviction her current condition didn’t match “But to survive, I have to turn myself in”

The idea of handing her over to the war office filled Tommy with panic

“No, no you cannot do that. Do you have any idea what they could do to you? Your best prospect would be to be thrown in jail, to be given 10 years for impersonating a soldier. And that’s if the higher ups are feeling compassionate” He shuddered at thinking what those wolves would do to her “Listen, I get leave tomorrow night. I’ll go to the nearest town, get some medicine, maybe I can pawn some things and get you a new blanket. You-”

“No” With great effort, she propped herself up in one elbow. Tommy couldn’t help but notice the strands of hair left in the pillow “I’ve implicated you long enough. The excuses and lies you have made for me are enough to have you dishonourably discharged and tried. You have done everything you could for me, and for that I am  forever indebted to you, Sergeant Major. This next chapter in my life, I have to write it alone”

She sounded dejected and disappointed, as if she had failed some unwritten expectation of her adventure. But Tommy thought quite the opposite. He only felt admiration for the things she had put herself through in order to tell her story. He still thought she was mad in the head, but in a completely different way

“Will you mention my name when you write your book?” He asked jokingly, helping her lay back down slowly, pulling the ragged blanket up to her chin

“Only if you want to be jailed next to me for helping an intruder” She laughed, but the sound was cut short by another fit of coughing “I’ll dedicate it to you, Sergeant Major. Everything I write and do will be because of you”

~

Tommy awoke with a startle. His eyes were wide open, darting around the room as he tried to locate the source of the disturbance. Everything seemed to be calm in his room. And then it happened again. A dry thud in the wall, followed by a muffled scream.

In a heartbeat he was out of bed, gun in hand. He followed the noises, which seemed to grow louder the closer he got to her bedroom. The door was ajar, allowing a sliver of moonlight to project in the floor, in which Tommy could see two shadows moving.

He stormed inside, gun ready to fire. But he didn’t find an intruder, no. Just her, on her knees, banging her fists against the wall as she screamed. Her nurse stood by her side, amidst a disaster of clothes and books and other objects, unsuccessfully trying to coax her back to bed

“Miss, please. The hour is quite late. You need sleep”

“No, no. The walls are coming down. We have to get out, the roof’s collapsing!” She yelled desperately, clawing at the wall trying to dig herself out of some dark place that only existed in her head. He saw her nails tear the wallpaper with ferocity. And then he noticed the nurse unlocking a cabinet and pulling out a syringe

“No” He said almost immediately as he put a firm hand on the nurse’s arm “Go to bed. I have this”

“But Mr. Shelby!”

“I said go. Leave me with her”

The nurse doubted, holding his gaze, but chose to exit the room, closing the door behind her.

Tommy walked towards her slowly, afraid he would startle her. He gingerly touched her arm, but his presence went as unnoticed as a speck of dust. He called out her name, again and again, without success. The mud had seeped deep in her brain, as it had done his, and blocked her senses from the outside world. In order to get through, Tommy had to get into the mud with her

He stood tall, in martial position, hands behind his back

“Private Anders!”

Quick like a lightning bolt, she stood up and saluted in a firm position. Tears streaked her face and her entire body quivered like an autumn leaf

“Sergeant Major sir!”

“At ease, private. You are relieved of your duties. Time to go back home”

Like the lifting of a spell, her eyes glossed over as she blinked slowly, looking around her from the bed, to the things she had thrown around in haste, and finally towards Tommy. Her lower lip quivered

“What is happening to me?”

Her knees faltered. Tommy lunged forward before she could hit herself, coming down to the floor with her held in his arms. She burrowed herself in his chest, her fingers clinging to his shirt as she wept, her body racked by sobs. Tommy shushed her quietly, his fingers carding through her hair

“Don’t cry. I’ll take care of you”

[whentranslatorscry]

Chapter 3: Kakushidate Yakusuke Guiding (2/3)

The seven-story mixed-use building whose rooftop the middle school girl jumped from was actually the same one where I worked, at a secondhand bookstore named Truth Hall on the first floor. 

It was a very traditional shop specializing in mystery novels. The store, roughly thirteen square meters in size, was crammed full of used books, managed single-handedly by the owner—an epitome of a personal-run bookstore. I had a short spell working here.

It was just as I had gotten off work and left the bookstore to go home that the middle school girl fell on me. 

Every time I found a job, I would be embroiled in workplace disputes and accused without cause. I needed detectives to clear my name, but always ended up unable to stay, even getting fired—this inexplicable vicious cycle kept recurring, leaving me with virtually no freedom to choose my career. Truth Hall was a job I chose very proactively and positively.

Kondou-san might call it "having a foot in two boats", but to me, the key was the store's specialty in trading mystery novels. As a memorandum, I, who have been recording my experiences of incredible and baffling scandals, am eager to enhance my understanding of mystery and detective stories. I wanted to read not only bestsellers making the rounds but also more niche novels that are hard to find these days.

In other words, I was looking for a job that would balance my interests with a good work-life balance, but what was surprising was that this pipe dream actually came true on paper. Booksellers, like other people in the book trade, have to do physical labor (books are heavy), so when applying for this job, my large frame might have played to my advantage—since I could reach the top shelves close to the ceiling without a ladder, I must have been a godsend for the boss.

This was closer to reality than saying it was my passion that had moved him—but if really true, with my hand and foot broken, I would be of no use in this shop. 

Of course, once an employment contract is established, as long as I stubbornly cling on, regardless of my broken bones or the media casting suspicious glances at me, my boss cannot fire me. But I don't plan on doing that—I don't want to cause trouble for the workplace I've finally entered.

Just nearly dying at the store's entrance caused enough trouble. Even with all eyes suspecting me, the boss never accepted press interviews. I wished to respond to his attitude with sincerity.

Hence, when we arrived at the mixed-use high-rise three stops away from the hospital, Kyouko-san and I agreed to split up.

She went up to the rooftop first and I headed to the secondhand bookstore: Truth Hall.

"Can you walk on your own?" Kyouko-san expressed concern for me. I had thought it inappropriate to ask her assistance to announce my resignation—even if the keyword "specializing in the trade of mystery novels" had aroused her curiosity.

"Then let us meet on the rooftop."

Kyouko-san entered the elevatorless old building. Getting to the rooftop requires some stamina. If she had the energy to support my body all the way, walking up seven flights of stairs should be a piece of cake.

I made it sound grand, but part of me just wanted to get this nuisance over with. I went around to the other side of the building alone and headed to Truth Hall.

At first I thought the owner might not open due to the recent happening, but business seemed to be as usual. If it had been the day of the incident, police might have cordoned off the sidewalk at the scene, but this being a bustling main road, it couldn't be closed for long.

Well, if that's the case, then Kyouko-sam should be able to move freely to the rooftop without any hindrance.

I pushed open the manual sliding door of Truth Hall and stepped in.

It seemed business was as usual, and the owner, as he did when I was working here, was standing behind the cash register at the counter with the same stern face, flipping through what looked like used books for sale.

I got on with the resignation quietly. Even though I wasn't at fault, I did cause trouble for the store in practice. I was prepared to receive his complaints, but those expectations were betrayed.

On the other hand, I had faint hopes—that he might ask me to stay—but this hope too was dashed. 

No wonder, I hadn't been at it for long—I mentioned that I would bring back the apron and umbrella another day, but the boss said to consider them parting gifts. Wasn't it too casual as severance pay? Well, at least for mementos.

Leaving a word that I will come again as a customer next time, I didn't stay longer and my broken foot walked me out of the store. 

While the shop's name was, according to the boss, not smeared, the turnover had once increased as a result of the report, which made me feel a little better. Who knows, this might be just a kind lie from the hard-to-please boss—or should I say a lame lie.

"I'm glad that something like that happened to us. Because we're a mystery bookstore, you see…"

So that could be thought too.

Not to sound imprudent, I had to admire their unyielding entrepreneurial spirit—from the bottom of my heart, I hope that going forward, Truth Hall will continue to guard the bastion of culture known as mystery literature.

3

In conclusion, as I, now once more having effortlessly slipped back into the realm of the unemployed, lugging my broken right leg up several flights of stairs reached the rooftop. I was aghast to see Kyouko-san straddling a railing, for her skirt was hitched up as she clambered over the handrail. There couldn’t be any behavior more ill-bred than this.

Dangerous!

"K-Kyou—!"

I tried to call out unconsciously, but I choked. If my shout startled her there she might really tumble off. Even though the one genuinely petrified was I.

How I wished to dash over without a second thought, harness all my strength, and unceremoniously hoist up Kyouko-san from behind and drag her back to safety. But with a broken leg, I couldn’t dart over, and with a broken hand, I couldn’t hold her.

My recent unemployment only heightened my sense of powerlessness—By the time these thoughts had run their course, Kyouko-san had crossed the railing, turning to face me.

"Oh, Yakusuke-san, you're quite the trooper."

She flicked me a casual greeting.

I didn't need her greeting; I needed an explanation.

"Have your affairs been settled? Did you quit smoothly?"

"Uh huh, it went fine, very smoothly...”

What a weird exchange.

I mean, who has ever heard of quitting not going smoothly?...Yeah I guess you could.

A job isn't something you can just quit at your heart's desire, as I knew all too well first hand.

All things considered quitting was a success this time. 

Though battered and bruised, at least I hadn't had any disputes with the boss. 

Having explained this, I found myself still trembling, like a detective trying to coax a potential jumper off the ledge.

"So Kyouko-san, what might you be up to this time?"  

Kyouko-san stood nonchalantly on the other side of the railing, her footing no wider than the size of her own foot. A slight loss of balance, a gust of wind, and she could crash down.

In doing so, she might be seen as chasing the middle school girl to her death. I, who happened to be present on the scene, might indeed get slapped with suspicion serious enough to warrant the deployment of an investigative unit this time.

Right when my mind was brimming with a foreboding sense of being potentially framed for a great detective's murder, Kyouko-san—oblivious to my concerns—made a tangent.

"Chase, hmm... you could call it being influenced by the narrative nature of it."

It didn't seem that irrelevant actually?

"Whether it's for a reason or not, it appears humans inherently desire an end."

"An end…?"

"Should I call it a suicide wish? No matter adult or child, isn't there a present desire to 'die'?"

"......"

I couldn't bring myself to agree with her, though psychology does indeed recognize the term 'death instinct,' which refers to a self-destructive impulse—essentially, a desire to die.

Pessimistic.

Humans are fragile, not knowing for what reason they may lose their lives—this impulse may sometimes become uncontrollable and manifest.

If that were the case, for murderers who claim that their motive for committing grave crimes was to be sentenced to death, the impulse lurking in their hearts may not be dismissible with just a “for no reason”—because it is also one of the “common occurrences” that are annoyingly frequent.

Only calming down and looking closely, I found that Kyouko-san just stepped over the railing, and had not taken off her boots—this alone made it very clear that she (albeit presumptuously) did not mean to follow the middle school girl who had arranged her shoes before jumping.

In other words, this risky act was just part of the detective work—not to follow suit, but to recreate the scene. By actually standing in the same place the middle school girl did, she might discover something, which was Kyouko-san's usual "try it to know it."

Be that as it may, it still looked very dangerous—although I breathed a sigh of relief, in order not to startle Kyouko-san, I slowly approached her with my naturally slowed gait due to a broken leg.

"Any new discoveries while I was gone?"

I asked vaguely, and Kyouko-san, hand propped against her cheek, hummed thoughtfully, a contemplative expression on her face. This gesture was very cute, but I wished she'd keep both hands on the railing.

"Nothing that could be called a discovery at this stage... If I had to force it, there's just one thing I figured out—that Sakasezaka Masaka-chan really wished to die."

"...What do you mean?" 

Perhaps because we were alone on the rooftop, Kyouko-san mentioned the girl's name directly—adding 'chan' to it made the situation feel even more stark. It was a vivid reminder that this was real life, not a novel or a TV drama.

Sakasezaka Masaka.

Twelve years old.

This name contained a certain individuality that could not be summed up in a phrase such as "middle school girl."

"It's really something, standing here. You can feel just how tall seven-stories really is. Tumbling from this height, head over heels, would surely end in death."

Anyone could feel that without having to stand here, I thought...

"So, we can probably rule out the possibility that this was a staged performance to vent suicidal tendencies. This could be an essential clue."

"I see."

Not knowing what's so important, I'll nod along for now—asking the wrong thing could cause Kyouko-san to lose her footing. This was not the time to debate.

But with this, I really felt like a detective trying to stop a jumper

"You say falling means certain death, but Kyouko-san, Sakasezaka-chan survived, didn't she?"

"Only because you just happened to be passing under where she fell."

"Could there be a possibility that she staged it from the beginning, meaning to use someone to cushion the fall...?"

"No way! Even softer than asphalt, the human body is not a trampoline. Even if there was someone to cushion the fall, the chance of death is still high. In fact, Sakasezaka-chan is still in a critical condition, hardly what you'd call 'saved'."

I read too many detective stories and got into the habit of selling the plot. Well, it was a real miracle that I and she were saved.

To think of it, if I had been even shorter, I might not have had a chance to work at the bookstore, Truth Hall. If that was the case, I would not have met with such an accident on my way back.

So, everything may be more coincidental than a miracle.

Coincidence, but no conclusion.

"Indeed, we can't completely rule out the possibility that she waited for a tall, seemingly sturdy passerby before jumping—but from here, you can only see the top of people's heads."

Kyouko-san turned around 180 degrees on the narrow space at her feet, and looked down the road again.

"At the height of the seven-story building, it is impossible to see the height of the pedestrians—You are tall enough, but you're skinny."

For a meat cushion, you wouldn't be the best choice—Kyouko-san grasped the handrail with her left hand and tried to push her body out further from the building.

I'm glad you've finally grasped the handrail, but you're not doing gymnastics, so please don't lean your body forward at such a steep angle.

"I'd pick someone meatier if it were me! There's a high chance of failure still, that both of you will die anyway."

"Oh."

...I just threw out a hypothesis to start the conversation. A real scary thought. But this is what detective work is all about, looking at everything from every angle.

"With a meat cushion, twelve-year-old Sakasezaka Masaka might not have given a second thought to anything. Maybe she didn't even think about what would happen to the cushion when she crashed down like that."

This is so stupid that there is no need to discuss it at all.

But we can't rule it out, to say the least.

This is a common mistake of readers of detective stories, who assume that real-life events and real people do not plan or plot when they commit crimes.

Most of the incidents I have experienced are of no value whatsoever as literature; they are merely the result of a momentary lapse of attention.

From the sound of Kyouko-san's voice, it seems that she is not giving much thought to this possibility.

To be on the safe side, I'll say it.

Why not?

I'm the one who said that there is no possibility of it being staged. But at this point, I can't think of anything that would rule out the possibility. On the contrary, I think it is quite persuasive, and cannot even be sure that it is not true, that a child who read a comic book that glorified suicide and was influenced by it tried to play a "suicide game" and failed, and that the child's antics pulled a pedestrian (me) along.

"No, you see, there are a lot of low-rise six-story and five-story buildings in the neighborhood. If all you want is to play a game, you should jump off those buildings."

Is that how it is?

Of course, not all rooftops are open to the public, but if you want to stage suicide, it's human nature to jump from a lower floor—another strong clue that this may not have been self-staged. 

If this view was only accessible by crossing the handrail, then Kyouko-san's on site investigation today indeed had its worth. Ideally I would prefer her to wait until I joined her before crossing the railing. Though for a detective who places the highest value on speed, the concept of "waiting" may not even exist...

"Well. It's time we head to the publishing company."

Kyouko-san, abandoning her precarious 45-degree angle pose, prepared to cross the railing, meaning to rejoin me. It was really nice of her to retreat when she could have been in big trouble if she had been caught hanging around on the roof of the building. But her movements while crossing the railing were so unsteady it made my heart skip a beat. 

Reaching out to her was in danger of pushing her, so I had to content myself with watching. It was not at all a motion suitable while wearing a skirt—and she halted mid-step.

"Yakusuke-san, turn around please." She adjusted her disheveled long skirt back into place. 

"I, I'm sorry."

"No, thank you."

I couldn't just stand and stare.

Prev | Next

[sanguinesorcery]

Fariah listens to his explanations closely, the ear nearest him swiveling to show she is attentive even though she is not looking right at him. Though her brow creases ever-so-slightly, a delicate little wrinkle, hardly seen to anyone not looking for it.

"If it were so easy to explain away as 'magic user', it would react to many here, and especially toward the Oracles and Seers of the Clouded Isle. I suppose 'immense power' might, but it merely hums when around those that fit the definition."

Her steps slow slightly with a faint twinkling chaos of sound as her hems rest. However, she is very aware that her face finally shows a visible expression, one that accidentally carries across Kubyar's face as well with a quick glaze of his eyes before he's broken out of it. One of disgust. Not necessarily toward Ganondorf himself, but...

"...It might be the resurrection loop. Those things are incredibly cursed."

It's a very pointed statement. No dancing about or flowery prose to hide it. He at least seems to be aware of its damnable existence and reacts as anyone who realizes what they are should. With disdain.

Her face falls back into its softer neutrality before too long and she carries on smoothly through the halls at the quicker pace of before. "I should assure you that the Aeroglaive is merely performing its intended purpose. I do not find you particularly ... malevolent so as to need to heed it, and it cannot act on its own; it must be controlled with intent. That is not to say if I am ever forced to use it, it will not be eager to the intent. Otherwise, I feel it will warn me nonetheless of your presence in my vicinity. You will be hearing or feeling it quite a bit, I am afraid.

"However, perhaps later, I would very much like to hear of these relics of yours. If they are important to you and yours, then it would be good to learn of them. Even of this cycle of yours. So long as it cannot affect me and mine, I do admit to finding it ... morbidly intriguing."

The hallway exits into the main atrium, where the sun through tall stained glass windows at the front of the building casts colored shapes of light over the floor. It adds a certain dynamic to the mosaic there, a wide circle housing a cluster of carefully arranged geometric shapes. The stairs curving to either side of the room are ignored, as are the smaller entrances to side corridors, as the small party turns to enter the wider grand hall directly across from the front doors, carved into the marble under the upper landing.

Fariah gives a small touch to her forehead with her fingertips in silent greeting once in the gaze of the ceiling's white marble relief, the furious visage of the half-naked Goddess of War looking as though pulling herself directly out of her panel to descend on any visiting. Ten clawed hands grip the frame of her panel; one clawed foot resting on the bottom; three emblazoned eyes rimmed in gold set in such a way they follow those below her; silver-coated fangs bared on the world below. A shimmer over her claws betray they too are silver, camouflaged sconces placed in strategic places along the panel frames adding a touch of dramatic lighting across the immense sculpture's form.

The Goddess is briefly in sight at Fariah's pace, keeping near-perfect time with her chief of security down the main corridor. Although it is wider than the other hallways they have navigated before, the architecture is similar. Elegant sweeping pillars up the sides at specific intervals add both structure and little alcoves between.

Unlike the other hallways, each alcove here is decorated with a single painting each, portraits of generations past of what can only be the Imperial family. An Imperial and their spouse, sometimes an Emperor standing, sometimes an Empress; the ruling Ariad is always standing and shown holding the little baton the current does now. It is a discrepancy she would change, if she could.

One of the staff watering and pruning the potted plants surrounding each portrait is waved over briefly, and he nods his greeting first to the foreign King before crossing his path to fall in-line with his Empress. A short whispered command is given to the young man in the native tongue, and with a nod of understanding to her and another in departure of the visitor, he runs down the hall the way the party has come.

One thing off the list...

The Gerudo delights in perusing the library, but there's a more pressing matter: the energy coming from Fariah. She seems a bit taken aback by the question, though it doesn't bother him. Alarming others, intentionally or not, is something that's become a regular occurrence for him. Despite Kubyar not giving any large visual queues, he's sure it's something both of them are keeping note of. He is likely one of the only beings that has detected it without prior knowledge.

It's fascinating for the energy to spike after asking such questions. It does seem to have a mind of its own. Just as Ganondorf waits for a proper response, she confirms his suspicion. It's not the first he's heard of a weapon having sapience (though it's unclear if this only has simple sentience), but this unique case differs from the two of which he's aware. To gain a glimpse into its tale is quite eye-opening, thinking only one who's acquired its blessing has the sole right of leadership. The king's not well versed in the magic of these lands, but he can gleam similarities to other ethereal magics. The few days and nights shipbound gave him quite the first impression regardless.

Her explanation of why it has been so active is not the biggest shock. From her tone and how she said it, she isn't directly accusing Ganondorf of anything. The empress is only answering his questions. It could be a far longer discussion than they have the present time for, so he needs to be succinct.

His smile doesn't once fade, nor does it grow. "There could be a few reasons for such a response; I am a highly skilled wielder of magic, and I hold the three pieces of an artifact that grants immense power when possessing it in full." He hasn't tried hiding that fact. The three golden triangles softly glowing on the top of his left hand are on display for anyone who wishes to look.

"In addition, there is the reincarnation cycle in which I forever and unwillingly take part, but that is a far longer story to delve into with such a short amount of time. If you wish for that explanation during my stay, I have no objections to telling you."

[interestingfactsquotes]

7 Common Lock Problems and How to Fix Them

Locking doors is an essential step to add more security whether to your home place, office environment or car.  Unfortunately, thieves love to lock problems and trace them quite fast. So if you have any issue with your door lock, it’s highly recommended to deal with it as soon as possible.  Actions should be taken immediately, whether you will call a professional locksmith or fix it your way. Don’t leave a door opened and unlocked. Fix your lock problems through these easy guides.

What To Do With The Sticky Locks?

Within time, it happens to almost any door lock. You must jiggle the key several times until the lock lets it in. Sometimes, your effort brings a result in no time, but in other cases, you remain in front of your home for almost an hour, trying to get in. In this case, you should first get away with the main reason for the sticky lock – the grim. First, try to disinfect the lock carefully and then, if possible, apply some silicone or other lubricant. If nothing works, we suggest you replace your door lock not to remain homeless the next time you get a problem entering your own home.

How About The Frozen Locks?

Yes, this happens. When a bit of moisture gets inside the door lock and the next day the temperature drop under zero, you can expect it to freeze. In this case, you cannot even insert your key inside the lock. The worst thing you can do is make more and more effort to put inside. This is how people usually end up with a broken door lock. Of course, you can always call the emergency locksmith company to help you, but if you do it with a frozen lock case only, you will pay less than replacing it.

OMG! The key broke inside the lock

Anyway, let’s imagine you haven’t stuck to your piece of advice from above. And eventually, you get your key broken inside the lock. Actually, this might happen to anyone, including those who don’t live in a region with such low temperatures, to have their lock frozen. If the key breaks inside the lock, replacing the door lock is the fastest way to deal with this problem. But there’s one more thing to try before this drastic solution. Why don’t you grip the piece of the key that’s still exposed right inside the hole? Use a long enough nose plier for the purpose. Then, make sure to carefully and delicately pull the key straight out.

The lock is misaligned – now what?

Here’s one more problem many homeowners face: the door lock doesn’t latch the right way. In this case, the proper alignment was damaged. Whether it’s a door of low quality or a recently happened damage, you can do the following easy repairing DIY attempt: - Try to tighten the door hinge screws; - The primary purpose is to make that any sagging is eliminated; - Then, reposition the strike plate; - Try to let the door lock stud be even with the strike plate.

The door won’t close properly, what should I do?

When the door cannot latch correctly, it might cause considerable difficulty. Once this problem hits you, you won’t be needed to make huge efforts to lock the door during the first attempts. Yet, with time, getting your door locked will get harsher and harsher.  In the end, when it becomes too late and your door locked – too tortured – the only opportunity you will have is to replace it with a new one. Repair the door as soon as possible to avoid such a costly expense. Usually, it cannot close properly because of dirt or grim so you can sanitise it at first. If this doesn’t work, try to make repairs – the door is supposed to fit its frame with no effort.

The lock is broken – what are my options?

There are different reasons why a door lock gets broken.  But there’s usually one certain and 100% guaranteed hassle-free solution for this case. Simply call the local locksmith. You might try to fix it, too, but according to what we observe, usually, homeowners fail in their DIY projects to repair the broken lock. Also, don’t forget that buying a new door lock (or a new door as a whole) will cost you more than using professional assistance for a quick fix.

I Cannot insert key

The truth is that it happens at least once in life. You get back home from work – tired, depressed or quite angry with your boss – dreaming of having a relaxing bath with a glass of wine. But while you imagine this tranquil picture inside your mind, you find the key doesn’t get inside the door lock. You keep pushing and pushing until you give up, understanding that, indeed, this is the worst day of your life. But it shouldn’t be. We cannot help you with your boss conflict, but here’s what we can suggest you do with the door lock: - First, calm down and ensure you are not too nervous to have mistaken the key. Check out what key you try to insert. Is it the right one? - If you cannot insert the correct key, ensure you don’t cut the key poorly. Can you call your better half to come earlier from work and see if the other key can get inside the lock? - If no key can be inserted, the door lock seems out of order. Why don’t you relax on the bench nearby your house and wait for the locksmith to come and give you a hand? You had a bad day. It’s enough with the problems. You deserve someone to help you out.

Conclusion

As you can see, numerous wrong things can happen to your door lock. They can get you out of control at first, but there’s always a way out, right? Just make sure you know what you are doing if you plan to fix the problem yourself. If you have no skills, tools and helpers at hand, rely on the experts. Thankfully, there are 24/7 locksmith services for cases like yours in the UK. You are not alone in this. Read the full article

[estellaelysian]

Things left unsaid (Ethan x MC)

So this is the second part to Unsent letter (a.k.a where Alishka finds the letter Ethan wrote to her), suggested by the amazing @queencarb - thank you so much for thinking of this.

A little background – this is when they are fighting, but I couldn’t think of a topic they could fight on (although they can fight about almost everything), so I just skipped to the main/important part. But just for context, let’s say this is over a patient.

Also, I have included little snippets from the letter for it to make more sense.

Enjoy :)

**********

 Alishka faced him, stunned silence hanging over both of them. He rose from the couch and walked toward her, and when he got close, she pulled back, raising her arms like a barrier.

‘Look, Ethan, I don’t want you to touch me right now, okay?’

He flinched at her words but let his arms fall to his sides.

For a long moment, none of them said anything. The tension cackled in the air, alive and buzzing, but before long, she crossed her arms across her chest and glanced away.

‘You are saying that I am wrong?’ he asked.

‘No. I am saying that we are going to have to talk this out.’

‘So that you can try to convince me that I’m wrong?’

She shook her head at him and turned to the dining table, wishing she hadn’t come at all. At first, she thought his comment didn’t deserve a response at all, but anger got the better of her. ‘Why are you doing this?’ she demanded. ‘Why are you acting like this? What is going on with you? If you think my judgment was wrong, even though I don’t believe you, there are better ways to solve it, rather than doing what we are doing. I came here to spend time with you, not so that you could pick mistakes in my treatment plan.’

He didn’t answer. He didn’t know what to say, and she watched him, anticipating his words. With a shake of head, he started toward the door.

‘Where are you going?’

‘Just downstairs. I need some air.’

‘Why can’t we talk about it now?’ she pressed on, refusing to let him go out of the house. She knew his tendencies. He would go out; walk to Donahue’s and that would be the end of discussion.

‘Because, he said quietly, trying to keep his voice steady, ‘I need a few minutes alone so that I can think.’

Millions of statements leapt to her mind, most of them accusatory, but that wouldn’t be fair, so she  decided not to say anything at all. He sensed her hesitation and spoke over his shoulder, ‘I am not running from this, Alishka. I’ll be back in a few minutes, I just need some air.’

With that, he was gone.

She stared at the apartment door for a minute, waiting to see if he would come back, but evidently, he wasn’t.

She was angry with him. This wasn’t fair, never would be, but right now, she had no option but to wait for him to return. Not knowing what else to do, she started pacing the apartment. Outside the giant windows, Boston glittered, golden-silver and jewel like against the darkened sky. Car lights reflected off in the poodles which were a result of the endless pattering of raindrops from the morning, leaving the atmosphere damp and cold. Anonymous faces laughed richly, and she felt a burn of loneliness as she paced the apartment.

Where was he?

And why did he leave at all?

Looking around the empty house, she knew she couldn’t stand to be alone in here, not when he had left her by herself in the middle of what seemed to be a discussion, but was an argument between two unbendable people. Hesitating only for a moment, she entered the bedroom to retrieve the note paper he kept in his drawers. They could see each other tomorrow.

It was complicated. And somehow, she knew everything she said had come off wrong. All the logic told her to stay and talk to him, but would he really come back?

Looking for some paper, she continued shuffling – through medical journals, research reports, a few paperbacks, when a thick paper caught her eye. It was unlike anything he ever used, expensive, thick and sturdy, with a silhouette of a dark tree embossed in the upper right hand corner. The paper itself was crinkled and aged looking, almost as if it was stashed here for too long. She recognized his familiar scrawl across it. As she scrutinized it, she realised it was a letter, addressed to her.

Strange.

She had never seen him writing letters.

A letter for her?

There was a date on the top left corner.

February 21, 2020

Almost a year ago.

When he was in Amazon.

And she was here, in Boston.

How could that be?

She found herself holding her breath. She quickly made room in the drawer, pushing aside the journal and gently lifting out the letter. Still confused, she tried to pull herself together before glancing at the first page. There, in his scrawl, were the words:

Dear Alishka…

Oh my god. This couldn’t be.

Dear Alishka,

I know I have hurt you deeply…

***

She set down the letter.  A flood of emotions rushed to her and her throat ached, but she did not know why. Was it because she blamed him to leave her alone for almost two months without even talking to her, but knowing that he wasn’t okay with it too? Or because back then she had thought he had forgotten entirely about what they had?

Whatever it was, it made it hard for her to breathe. The overhead light was turning her unshed tears into a strange prism. She gulped, wiped at the hot tears frantically before composing herself and starting again.

***

…I have been to the bush a few times, and those deep greens, which are present only at its heart, remind me of your eyes. The rest is more like me, barren, stripped of everything. The angry heat reminds me of your pained expression when I pushed you away, but the sun reminds me of how radiant you look in the hospital when with your patients. Children play and giggle around the camp, reminding me of your childish giggle when you are with your friends. Everything here reminds me of you. It’s like no matter how much of a distance I put between us, you still follow me around. most of all though, whenever I am in the bush, I know one thing, as crystal clear as the sky: I was wrong to deny what was obvious to everyone else – that I cannot forget you easily.

Alishka stopped reading. The faint hum in the background seemed to echo the letters words.

I cannot forget you easily.

Leaning back, she closed her eyes, thinking how wrong she had been in thinking about him at that time, when they both were fractured, broken souls.

��Oh Ethan…’ she said to no one.

Cars continued to fly past, honking, beyond the windows. Slowly, she began reading again.

***

…As I sit here in the camp, I am praying that you’ll understand.

I am coming to Boston next week with the hope that you find a way to forgive me. may be I am too late now. I don’t know.

Ethan.

She wiped her eyes again, trying to imagine him writing this, his head bent over the paper, a fountain pen scratching across the page. Her fingers traced the words lightly, knowing his hand had been there before, fighting back her tears.

Why did he take so long?

Like most of the things about him, this letter was a secret he kept to himself. Toward the bottom of the page, she noticed his handwriting was hard to read, as if he had been gripping the pen tightly.

She barely heard the front door open and close as she kept the letter back again and pushed the drawer shut, gulping, wiping her face frantically.

Nothing could compare to the feelings that had risen in her when she read the letter. It was all too much for her to fathom.

Ethan called out, ‘Alishka, I am back.’ He paused, and she could hear him walking through the apartment.

Then, ‘Where are you?’

She didn’t answer. Her words felt caught in her throat.

Ethan stepped into the room and looked at him. Without meeting his gaze, she went and wrapped her arms around him, squeezing her eyes shut. Startled, he almost spoke.

Almost.

‘Is everything alright? Are you okay?’

‘Yeah,’ she mumbled into his chest.

‘You do remember that we were fighting right?’

She chuckled. ‘Shut up. I love you.’

He arms tightened around her slender frame. ‘I love you too.’

**********

I hope I got the date right 😂

Thank you all for reading :)

Let me know if you want to be added or removed to/from the tags.

[koalitypop]

broken promises

pairing: soobin x reader

genre: angst

word count: 1.9k

requested by anon

a/n: I started this one shot just before my first exam and I have been working on it for the past few weeks. Hope you enjoy it! What I wrote is a bit different from what has been requested, but I still hope you will like it! Thank you so much for spending your time reading! 

Maybe that was all life was about? Growing. Out of your comfort zone, out of your habits, out of letting people lead you to your doom. Out of not setting yourself first.  

Sitting in your office that day, you found yourself thinking about him once again. You were thankful to him. And you hated him. And yet you loved him, secretly. 

***

Coming back home after a long tiring day, you were excited to see Soobin. Lately, he had been so busy and you weren’t particularly free to visit him at the company, so you looked forward to spending some time with him that night.  

Entering the apartment, you were faced with darkness and coldness. Hasn’t Soobin already arrived? He said he’ll come back home early. Taking the phone out of your pocket, you call him.  

Beep  

Beep  

The person you are trying to reach is busy. Please try again later.  

You sighed and put the phone back in your pocket. It was okay, his job demanded lots of dedication, passion, focus. You took off your coat, turned on the thermostat and headed to the bedroom. All alone, you cosied up on the bed, trying to warm yourself.  

***

Nobody knew that, but you still kept that photo of you two making out on the couch on your bedside table. Framed, just behind the photo of you and your mother. You would open the frame way too often, taking the picture out and staring at, your finger on the place where your hands were, holding ever so tightly on each other. It would take you some time to brace yourself back, put the photo behind the one with your mom and closing the frame.  

Then you would get up, dress up and go back to your office. You’d rather spend the entire night there than looking at that photo.  

A bath, seven episodes of The Big Bang Theory and a half an hour nap, Soobin was nowhere to be seen. You tried to call him once again, but you again couldn’t reach him, so you just ditched your phone in the living room as you didn’t want to bother him. You didn’t want to admit it, but it hurt. He couldn’t find the time to simply text you that he’d be late for your date. That he got more and more forgetful of the things you were talking to him about, of the things you liked, of you. It hurt like hell.  

About an hour later, you heard the door open. You barely found it in yourself to get up and welcome him.  

“Hello, darling,” you greeted.  

***

As time went by, you became stronger, it got easier to hide all the pain, all the love. It felt wonderful to see yourself getting powerful, stoic, even more determined to make your dreams come true. Although, from time to time, it didn’t truly feel that your dream was power and success. But you were now able to stop those thoughts from consuming you and focus on your job.  

Maybe if that didn’t happen you would have always been so nice, so dependent, so scared of the big world. Maybe you should be thankful to Soobin for breaking your heart. Because you were able to pick them up and rearrange them in a way you can fight against the world.  

***

“Yeah, hi,” Soobin murmured, taking off his shoes.  

You came closer to him and tried to help him take his jacket off, when he took a step forward, moving away from you.  

“Actually, I’ll be quick,” he stated.  

“Oh, alright then,” you sighed.

You were disappointed, but nowhere near surprised. That had happened a bit too often the past few months to be taken aback, so you just took a deep breath and swallowed all the pain.  

Soobin sat on the couch and took one of the decorative pillows in his hands, playing with its uneven edges. You watched him closely and took a seat next to him, waiting for him to put his hand over your shoulders as he normally does.  

“I want to talk to you about something,” Soobin said, his eyes stuck to the decorative pillow.  

“What about?” you put on a smile on your face.  

“It’s something serious, Y/n.”

In your heart of hearts, you knew what he meant by that. But you refused to let yourself believe that.  

“I’m all ears, Soobin.”

***

Your heart still skipped a beat every time his name was mentioned. That was why you tried your best to avoid personal use of social media, you stopped watching TV, you didn’t even listen to TXT anymore, although you used to love their music.  

It was all work and success now. Nobody dared to leave you as you were so important, so competent, so powerful, so successful and capable of doing even more. Everyone respected you, tried their best to spend time with you, to reach you. You found yourself in a love-hate relationship with authority and triumph as the desperate need of the people around you to be with you happened to be somewhat annoying from time to time. Yet, it was way better than being left all alone, so you always grinned and let them believe they have your full interest.  

As you were reading the business plans of companies in need of investments, you found thinking yourself about Soobin. You put the business plan on your desk and inhaled deeply, eyes focused on the beautiful view of Seoul from your office. You were about to go back to reading the business plans when the ringtone of your personal phone tore the silence in your office apart.  

***

“It has become harder for both of us to stay happy in this relationship. You are constantly busy with your studies and the more TXT grows, the harder it is for me to find time for you. Believe me, I’ve tried to make you my main priority, but as a leader of a band like this, a band that’s getting bigger and bigger, I can’t run after you and you cannot do this as well.”

“Is it so hard for you to be honest to me one last time,” you laughed at him, looking at him coldly.  

“I am honest, Y/n, we both know that this relationship was doomed from the very beginni-”  

“Soobin, I don’t want to hear any of your poor excuses, they are meaningless to me,” you hissed, "you’ve fallen out of love with me, admit it.”

Soobin remained silent with you watching him as if you were ready to kick him out.  

“I’d prefer you scream. Or hit me. Or blame me. I’m saying the truth, Y/n, with lives like ours it’s just impossible to keep this relationship. The more we lie to ourselves, the more it will hurt,” Soobin muttered.  

You crossed your legs and looked him in the eyes.  

“You are such a coward. A coward for blaming your dream, my dream, everything else but your own emotions for the end of this relationship.”

***

Taking your phone out of your handbag, you wondered who it is. Your parents and the few friends you had knew better than to just call you during the day while you are at work, so it must be something urgent.  

The person’s phone number wasn’t added to your contact list, but you knew it too damn well for it to be unknown.  

***

“Look, I’m sorry, Y/n, I promise I tried to find time for you, but I just couldn’t keep track of everythi-”

“So, you are saying that you are breaking up with me because you don’t want me to feel left out.”

Soobin couldn’t look at you, knowing that you are well aware of what is happening but being fully incapable of telling the truth. Because telling you that the love he promised is gone would break you, as if you weren’t already in pieces.  

“I am so sorry, Y/n.”

“Don’t be,” you smiled.  

***

Soobin.  

You didn’t know why he would call you and you surely didn’t know whether you should pick up.  

Hot waves spread out your body. A breath was stuck in your lungs. Your hands were shaking as you held your phone.  

You picked up.  

***

You felt betrayed. Your body was cold yet hot. You felt like you couldn’t bear looking at Soobin any longer, still, you couldn’t take your eyes off him, somehow afraid he’ll slip away as sand through the fingers.  

Soobin was about to say something, but you knew way too well what his next words were going to be.  

“Don’t you even dare say you’re sorry again.”

“I couldn’t keep my promises.”  

That’s how you knew he doesn’t love you anymore. Promises. All of the time. Being there for you forever. Holding you forever.  

Loving you forever.  

***

“I bet you didn’t expect my call,” Soobin mumbled.  

His voice sounded like a lullaby. So soft, so soothing, magical. You didn’t know you had missed so bad.  

“You can’t blame me. But please, tell me, what’s the reason behind your call?” you asked, your grip on your phone ever so tight.  

“You sound different, Y/n,” he whined, his voice letting you know how tired and maybe even tipsy he is.  

“You can’t expect me to stay at home, crying and waiting for you to fix everything. I grew up and did it all on my own,” you scoffed, going to the window.  

“You’re right, I can’t,” Soobin murmured.  

You had a million thoughts running through your mind, you couldn’t choose which one you should bark out first, angry at him for calling you, making you go through all the feeling you have tried to hide for the past few years. At the very same time, you were glad he called. Because you knew you wanted to hear his voice. You shouldn’t but you needed to.  

“I heard you are a CEO now. Congratulations. I’ve always believed in you and your ideas.”

“Thanks, Soobin.”

It was the first time in years you’ve pronounced his name. You had nearly forgotten how beautiful it was, how your soul trembled by the sound of it.

“W-would it be selfish of me to confess that I miss you?” Soobin stuttered.  

You took a deep breath and sat back on your chair.  

“Yes. Very.”

***

“I-I think it’s time for me to go,” Soobin stated, putting the pillow back on the couch.  

If you were to open your mouth, you were going to start screaming. You wanted to keep your composure. You wanted to look stable. You wanted him to remember you like that. Broken yet strong. Because there was no way in this world, he didn’t know how bad he had just hurt you.

Done putting on his shoes, Soobin took a look at the apartment and at you, making you go crazy, hoping he’ll say that he’s taking his words back, that he wants you to stay by his side. Because that day was one of the last ones when you would’ve taken him back.  

“Goodbye, Y/n,” Soobin sighed, leaving.  

You took the pillow he played with and hugged it tightly, inhaling his scent. As you were looking at the door, a tear fell down your cheek. Thousands more followed.  

***

“Y/n, I promise, I-”

“Soobin, you see, your broken promises have taken me quite far. But please, do not make any more. I don’t think I’ll be able to get any better than that,” you enunciated.  

“So, there is no chance that we ever...?” Soobin couldn’t even finish his sentence.  

A light knock was heard from the door, your secretary asking for permission to come in.  

You laughed bitterly and rested on your chair.  

“The chance you are looking for now was lost a long time ago.”

[useless12sstuff]

Short Stories #4

. 4 The Crossroads of Destiny

The large roof and deep eaves curved into sharp, intimidating lines while the bamboo walls reflected a blue hue, a symptom of the night, as the house on the hill stood aglow before me. Motionless, crisp air burned my lungs with each inhale and smelt like the dew filled grass. The bonsai tree is unnaturally still, as if realizing the gravity of tonight. Water from the fountain gushed but it, too, seemed muted, while the full moon serenaded this tranquil visage, molding an illusion of serenity. The deafening silence is unnerving, but I'm not here to be cowed. The weight of my cold katana on my back grounds me. I'm on a mission.

After picking the lock, I entered by sliding the main door open, a pleasant woody scent filled my nose. My entrance seemed to have alerted an elderly man. He stared at me, his ridiculous, white beard curling at the end, near the collar of his indigo yukuta, trying to make out my masked face in the semi darkness. How unfortunate. For him. A quick slash from my katana and he is gone before he could make a sound. Before I could catch him, he fell with a loud thud, his throat spilling disgustingly, the copper scent of blood wafts in the air mixing with the incense. This seemed to have woken up other occupants on the ground floor. Doors slid open and men stepped out. I watch as horror fills their eyes, then understanding, then rage. One man grabs his tachi and lunges at me. Ah, wrong move. I dodge, hold my foot out and he trips and with a swift swing from me, his body jerks and he's out like a candle. I pick up his tachi with my other hand as more men trickle in to attack me. Dodge, parry, dodge again, leap, I use the wall as a support to leap again, using my knee I plow another in his groin, and swing, he goes down thrashing wildly. I swivel and clash my swords with yet another man, who jerks back from my abrupt motions. Using his momentary distraction, I surge forth, and elbow him in the face, then under the jaw, and finally a shattering blow to ribs. Blood splutters from his mouth and he wails, and I drive my trusted katana through his heart. An agonized shriek pierced through my haze but only barely. A raging duel has broken out. Now I was fighting four men at once, all of them shouting expletives at me. The children cowered while two women threw household items at me. The men are able-bodied, athletic and burly but my smaller, quicker frame gave me an advantage of speed and efficiency. I dodge the plate thrown at me and it hits one man behind me, in the face. I swivel and cut his head cleanly off his shoulders with the tachi. A man screamed in rage and ran towards me. I moved out his way and he slams against the wall, while another man lunges toward me holding his tanto straight. I knew then it would pierce my heart. I rolled under him and kicked him from the back and his tanto went through the back of the man who was still against the wall. Horror welled in his eyes and I deftly swung my katana at his jugular. As the saying goes, 'Hit two birds with one stone'. When the aggressive onslaught of attacks ended up hurting their own people or themselves, did the men realize what a formidable fighter I am. They are good, I admit, and they meet my expectations for a warrior family, but I, I'm a master and have been for decades. I take them all down one by one, effortlessly, my motions mechanical. Oh, these men were really good. I'm slightly out of breath, blood dribbles down my forehead and there's an ache in my muscles. Not an issue. I move towards the remaining women and the children. The fear in their eyes and their wrenching sobs almost make me pause. Almost. Alas, it must be done. I raise both swords and swing. Blood splatters on the bamboo walls, on the tatami mat flooring and on the Shōji attached to the wooden railing. The smell is unbearable down here, sweat, blood, other bodily fluids and incense combined together create an unholy stench which should be called an assault in and of itself. Wrinkling my nose, I drop the tachi and move forward.

I scour the house for any survivors. None remain. Good. I make my way upstairs and eliminate all those hiding. Barely feeling my heart beating, I slide the door to the last room. The mother screams and shields the child with her body. One cut and she too spills crimson at my feet. And oh. How I waited and plotted and planned for this moment. The bane of my existence, stares at me with large eyes, darker than the sky. So this is the infamous "child of the prophecy". This weakling. The child stares, I sneer back. To think this silly creature could do me harm, is frankly laughable. I raise my katana to swing, I pause and my arm drops. I lift my arm again and the sudden realization of what I'm about to do, what I just did, crashed down on me. I am hesitating. Why? I already killed the family without remorse, why is this so difficult?! The child stares and stares and I want to end him so badly, yet….

A sudden wisp of black and white smoke gathers around my feet. The child falls unconscious in his crib instantly. Yelping, I take a few steps back and hold my katana in a defensive position. Two unearthly beings, the white one a few steps ahead to my right and the black one a few steps ahead to my left. Terror strikes my heart like lightning. Was this what the prophecy meant? Is this my end? As the smoke cleared, I gasped, my sword falling with a clatter. Me?! These creatures wore my face, but no…. I can see a difference. The one on my left, was pale as the moon outside, and held a perpetual, cocky smirk, while the eyes had a glint sharper than my katana. Clothed in a kimono as pale as its skin, this creature seemed to glow, but it had a curious black spot on its forehead, in between the two milky eyes. It's companion, however, was the opposite. Glistening, pure black skin, and an ebony kimono, made the white spot on its forehead more pronounced. It's expression was stern, and shrewd but its shadowy eyes were watchful and old. It seemed to have sucked all the shadows around it. In essence they had my features but in different shades. As formidable as their presence felt, they created a rather bewitching sight. The being in white looks charming and enticing, a delicate elegance to its movements, while the being in black looks so divine and mesmerizing, its stature refined and striking.

"Hello Human", the white one grinned, it's voice-my voice but airy and seductive,"I am your Yang and this is my companion", Yang gestured to the other,"Yin". Yin, however did not speak, just kept me under its watchful gaze.

"Are you my punishment?" I murmured.

"No.",Yin finally spoke, it's voice clear and firm, "We are your conscious, and I am here to convince you to make the right choice."

"Oh please my darling Yin, and human," Yang adds as an afterthought, "there is only a choice and what you do with it. Right and wrong are subjective."

Yin scoffs and rolls its eyes. Yang tiptoes over to me, each slight step made it look like it was floating rather than touching the ground. It picks up my sword, slings its arm over my shoulder and pushes my katana in my blood coated hands.

"Go ahead, do it. Kill the child, you know he's a liability to the empire you spent ages building." Yang whispered in my ear.

"If you have an ounce of humanity left in you will put down that sword!"roared Yin. "You have slaughtered his family! Now he will definitely come for you because YOU put that prophecy in motion!"

"Now, now Yin, let's not lose our tempers," Yang soothes,"the prophecy was put in motion against our human's judgement. No point crying over spilt milk is there? What we need now is for our human to kill-"

" -There will be no killing." Yin interrupts, snarling.

"We'll see." Yang bites back and turns to me, one arm still over my shoulder, the other forcing my katana in my hand.

"I-well-I can't let this child live!" I sputter out. "I've spent over a century building it from the ashes that my father", I spit, "caused. I cannot let my work go to waste!"

"That's more like it!" Yang exclaims, a sharp grin dancing across its mouth.

"Not let your work go to waste!?" Yin bellows. "Surely you do realize, if you proceed you will become the same person your father was! Have you forgotten what he has done!?"

I flinch back from Yin's words and my old scar, racing down from my jugular till my heart, tingles.

"You set that prophecy in motion, now you deal with the consequences that come with it." Yin clenches its teeth and forces out, self righteous anger held with scarce restraint.

"Well, so what? Morality is dubious at best." trills Yang, while deftly skirting around the cold body of the mother." Yes the prophecy is in motion and what of it? Just end the boy. There will be no issue of him, ah, 'hunting you down for sweet revenge'. Murder makes everything easier." A sly grin appears on its face. "As you proved downstairs."

"Enough of this. The least you can do is compensate the boy for the loss you caused. If you murder that child, will you able to live with yourself?" Yin inquires, soulful eyes knowing.

Yang comes to an abrupt halt, its face twisted, as it looks towards Yin, who hadn't moved an inch from its position.

"Must you always complicate situations?" it sneers, then turns towards me, suddenly cold and demanding, "Human, kill that child."

"No! Spare the child!"

"I said kill the child!"

"And I said spare the child!"

"Kill the child!"

"Spare the child!"

"Kill the child!"

"Spare the child!"

"ENOUGH!" I erupt, and fall to my knees. Tears of frustration and uncertainty well in my eyes. Both beings, taken aback, turn to look at me. I hold my head in my hands, and soon enough, sobs wreak my body, my shoulders shaking.

Yin's lip curls as it stares down at me.

"So this is what the 'Great Leader' does whenever faced with a difficult situation." it sneers. "Cry."

"I do not wish to be like my father", I sob, my voice hoarse, "I wished for peace and security for me and my people, and then this-this prophecy came along and ruined it for me. This child-you don't understand-this child is destined to be my fall! All that I worked so hard on, I can not let it turn to dust. I just-" my voice breaks off, gut wrenching sobs ascend to heaves.

The beings watch me carefully, quietly, none moving till I calmed down.

"Human." Yin spoke, its voice firm and somber, thrummed in me like residual vibrations from a gigantic church bell. I lift my head. Yin and Yang stared back at me without blinking. An unnerving silence hung in the air.

"You are at the crossroads of destiny." Yang crooned, at last. My blood smeared katana laid in front of me, a trickle of moonlight gleaming on the visible metallic parts. Yin and Yang, then speak to me, in a voice of one,

"What will you choose?"

________________End_______________

In life we often come across crossroads, hopefully none as severe as this, in which we have to choose between desire and morality.

Yin is harsh and unyielding but the white spot on its forehead shows the good in difficulty, the emotional and mental strength it takes to do what is right. It shows the beauty of struggle and the iron fist you must wield to abide by morality.

Yang, on the other hand, is seductive, fluid and ever changing. It shifts from place to place, with a ruthless callousness and it is, often, rather flimsy. It shows the temptation of selfishness, of the desire to take and never give.

The most difficult battles, in truth, are varying shades of gray, rather than just black and white.

The ending is left open for the readers to interpret as they wish and to ask themselves the big question,

"What will YOU choose?"

[tailorvizsla]

A Proper Mandalorian Courtship - Chapter 4

Title: Fire (Or Some Mando Slice of Life) Pairing: Paz x OFC, OFC x OMC, Paz x Reader Word Count: ~6800 Rating: PG-13 Warnings: Sort-of graphic description of an injury and its treatment.

Chapters: 1 | 2 | 3 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 📚 My Master List 📚

Tag List: @hdlynn @princessbatears @ffiiggyy

If you want to be tagged, let me know! :) 

[flashback]

Paz returns to the karyai. Zephyr is with Norj in the nursery, safely shielded from the shit-show that is about to happen. Three minutes after his return, Armorer strides back into the room amidst pure silence. Mere seconds later, Zeli and Liam slink into the karyai, buckets firmly back in place. Neither even dares to look up as they come stand in front of the table where Armorer is standing. She stares at them for several moments. The silence drags on, his heartbeat roaring in his ears.

“You broke your Oath. Why?” Armorer asks, in a tone that some might regard as casual.

Paz knows better than that. Armorer is livid. She has probably gone from incandescent rage to calm and back several times. They take too long to respond, and she finally loses her temper.

“Why?” Armorer barks sharply at them.

“I have no explanation,” Zeli says, her voice wavering slightly.

“I have no explanation,” Liam says hoarsely.

Like a cold autumn breeze rasping leaves across the ground, whispers erupt through the crowd, and sends a wave of prickles down his flesh.

“The Tribe cannot come to a decision regarding your punishment,” Armorer says, her voice like ice. “Twelve votes for marriage, twelve votes for exile.”

The two of them exchange a look between themselves. He knows what they are thinking: there are twenty-eight adults in the Tribe; since the Alor usually abstains from these votes, the stalemate should have been broken.

“One individual abstained from the vote,” Armorer says, her tone calm and cold. “Thus, the decision falls to me.”

She withdraws her own dagger. Though beautifully ornate, it is honed to a lethal edge. It has taken many lives over the years. It is only fitting that it decides their final fate with the tribe. She does not hesitate to drive the blade under the tongs. Marriage. It shocks him to his core. Of all the people here, he thought she would vote for exile. She withdraws, her entire body tense. No one dares to argue, though he can hear angry mutterings.

“You will marry,” Armorer says flatly.

“What about – “ Zeli starts to say.

Zeli dares to look at him. Paz tightens his jaw, biting into the sides of his cheeks to avoid the caustic response. Here, right now, he feels no sorrow. Only anger. Pure unadulterated rage. While he simmers, Din growls. She quickly looks back down.

“What about Zephyr?” Liam finally asks.

How could a buir even hesitate to ask about their child’s wellbeing? Paz is beyond disgusted with Liam.

“What about Zephyr?” Armorer repeats, enunciating each word carefully. “Did you think to ask yourself that before you bared your face to Zeli?”

“Did Paz see our faces?” Liam asks.

“No,” he responds. “I did not look.”

“Then why take our helmets?” Zeli asks quietly. “I would have thought you would want us gone…”

Paz does not look at either of them.

“My Oath to this Tribe comes before anything else. If I had not acted – if I had walked away, pretending I had not seen what I saw, I would be complicit in this blatant disregard for the Oath we all swore,” Paz says, every word carefully modulated to remain as neutral as possible. “I did what I could to ensure the best possible outcome for Zephyr, which is more than I can say for either of you.”

More muttering, though it is a lot quieter than before. To drive the knife in deeper, he continues. He cannot help himself.

“Regardless of what has been done to me, I am no liar. I still have my honor and my integrity.”

This time, everyone remains silent.

“Do you wish to exchange vows?” Armorer asks, her voice silky soft.

“We…we will exchange them,” Liam says.

His voice is hoarse. Pained. Paz feels his lip curl in disgust. The two adulterers turn to one another. Quietly, they exchange their vows. With each word, Paz feels his stomach tighten to the point of pain. He wants to throw up, but he forces himself to witness their farce of a marriage.

This is not how it is meant to be. The riduurok – the marriage bond – is formed from love. To a Mandalorian, especially one as conservative as him, marriage is an oath of loyalty, fidelity, and unconditional support.

Marriage comes from a love that is formed from mutual admiration and acceptance; from whole-hearted, joyful surrender to ones’ other half. It comes from the type of respect that grows deep, strong roots. It culminates with two people joining their lives as one, from the moment the vows are spoken until the day they go marching far, far away.

Marriage is not the love that is formed from passion, lust, and deceit. When the heat leaves their hearts, and the nights grow cold, their roots will dry and weaken. They will not grow together and become one. There will only be rot stagnation until there is only distance and bitter resentment. He can only pray that Zephyr does not suffer further.

When they finish exchanging their vows, Armorer sighs and retrieves her dagger. One by one, the others follow suit. No one looks at them. Paz turns to exit. He will not be able to make them suffer the way he wants, but at least he can make them hurt a little. He can make them know how much he despises them for what they have done. Before he leaves, he pauses next to the newlyweds.

“My congratulations to the newlyweds. It is my greatest hope that the two of you will find peace and prosperity together,” he says calmly, coolly. “My gift to you.”

He reaches into his pocket and withdraws the ceremonial blade he had hoped to give her one day. Then he flicks it down onto the table, embedding the tip into the table before Zeli. She lets out a choked sob. Liam exhales and looks away.

“Paz,” Zeli starts to say.

“Please, ner vod,” Liam tries to say. “I am so sorry – “

“Do not ever address me by name again, demagolka,” he hisses at them, finally unable to keep his temper under control. “You are dead to me.”

He turns around before either of them can speak to them. From there, Paz heads back to his room. He hesitates at the door for just a moment. Then he exhales. The sooner he gets this done, the easier it will be. Entering, he finds Din already in the process of cleaning out Zeli’s property, tossing everything carelessly into a crate. He pokes through whatever Din has already packed to make sure nothing of his accidentally ends up in there. Paz unfolds another crate and starts going through the main room, listening as Din occasionally mutters an expletive or insult.

He finds several things that had once been at home with his – her second pair of boots, a bright pink sock, and a book. All of it goes straight into the crate. Piece by piece, he removes her from his life, each article erasing part of their eight years together. Like all other wounds, this pain will eventually heal, but he will not be the same as he was before. He can only hope that his new course in life will allow him to become a better man.

From here, he watches Din strip the bedding off the mattress. He balls it up and dumps it in the bottom of another crate. Paz turns away as Din flips the mattress over. Paz has never been one to get emotional about objects, but he cannot sleep there. He will replace it eventually, but it will do for now. A firm knock at the door makes his shoulders tense. He hadn’t the foresight to tell them to stay away, that their belongings would be left at their door.

Din is at the door before he can respond.

“What?” he asks.

A gloved hand pushes a basket into his arms.

“Take care of alor’ad,” Neten says. “He’s the only one…who can kick our asses the right way, you know?”

“Thanks,” Din says gruffly. “I’ll let him know.”

He shuts the door. Before Din can put the basket down, there is another knock. This time, it is more insistent. Din opens the door again.

“Hey, Reva - what the fuck – “

“Damn it, Djarin,” comes Revala’s voice. “Grab the other end, would you?”

“Let me put this down,” Din says indignantly.

Paz watches as Revala and Terys push a mattress into the room, brand new and still wrapped. He blinks a few times in utter confusion.

“Uhm…where did this come from?” Din asks, as he backs into the room, holding his end steady.

“Eh, Terys just had a spare one laying around,” Revala says briskly. “Thought the old man could use better support for his back.”

“Yeah, we got sick of hearing him bitch about it,” Terys says. “Every other fucking day. My back this, my back that.”

The other man drops a linen bag onto the couch.

“We’ll just help tidy up,” Terys says, going straight to the bedroom.

Paz watches in silence as the two of them swiftly push the old mattress toward the door.

“Don’t want to hear you bitching about your back, okay?” Revala asks, her voice choking up.

Suddenly, Paz realizes that Terys and Revala had been planning on moving in together. That they had bought the mattress for themselves. He did not even suspect they had been in a relationship, much less being at the point of moving in together. Sudden guilt wracks him.

“Yeah,” Paz says. “I won’t. How much – “

“If you even think about trying to pay me back, I will stab you in the kriffing balls,” Terys says flatly.

“You just want any excuse to touch his balls, don’t you?” Revala asks in a saucy tone.

“Oh, fuck off,” Terys snaps.

Paz holds both hands up in surrender. The two of them disappear, bickering between themselves. Paz helps Din set the bed up on the makeshift frame. It hangs over the edges a bit, but it will do until he can replace the frame. Din unpacks the sheets and snorts.

Paz stares at the monstrosity Din has lifted out of the bag. The sheets are a violent shade of pink with fluorescent green stripes. As if the eye-watering combination is not bad enough on its own, whoever had designed the pattern also included lines of tiny black taun-tauns running parallel to the stripes.

“Holy hell,” Din breathes. “That man has no taste.”

Paz hears the grin on Din’s face, and he can’t help himself. From losing two people he once loved all the way to his Tribe rallying behind him to support him through the clusterfuck his life has suddenly become…today has been a bizarre, surreal ride of emotions. He can only laugh. Hard. Din chortles a bit, though he is clearly worried about him.

“I’m keeping them,” Paz announces.

“You’re insane,” Din retorts.

“They’re great,” Paz shoots back as they get the bedding back in place. “They add…uh…character.”

Nothing in the bag matches. One pillowcase is fluorescent orange, while the other is black. The flat sheet looks like someone spilled a child’s watercolor palette onto a dirty tissue. It might have been bleached by accident at some point, but he cannot tell. At least the thick blanket is a relatively normal shade of brown, despite being made of cheap velour-like fabric.

“They certainly add something,” Din says, as they take a step back to survey the horror scene laid out in front of them, “But I’m not sure it can be called character.”

Paz nods, suddenly sober.

“Hey…thanks,” Paz says to Din.

Din responds by grabbing him by the chest plate and headbutting him hard enough to make his teeth rattle in his skull.

“If you need anything, send me a message,” Din says.

Cheekily, he reaches into the basket Neten had brought by. He grabs a beer and a handful of the snacks. Then, with a jaunty salute, Din leaves. After locking the door, Paz goes to the basket and takes out the alcohol. He pops the cap and takes a big swallow. He grimaces. Far too bitter, no flavor. He drinks it anyway.

Turning to the bottle is an unhealthy coping mechanism that has claimed a number of his brethren, but he has no plans to make it a habit. Tonight, he just wants to be numb.

[end flashback]

-

-

-

“My fayshe feels funny,” Paz says to Din, who sighs.

“Doctor Shen, Paz is starting to slur his words,” he calls out through the door.

No one responds.

Paz tilts his head to the doorway as Doctor Shen and Armorer argue in the main room. Well, it really is not an argument. The two of them are just repeating themselves over and over in different ways, trying to tell the other what needs to happen. Armorer says the bucket does not come off due to the Oath. Doctor Shen says that the bucket comes off. The two of them have been going around in circles for a while now, long enough such that the pain medications were starting to lose their edge. It is not until Doctor Shen brings up the fact that traumatic brain injury can render him completely useless to the Tribe that Armorer relents.

“Then we blindfold you,” Armorer says.

“How the fuck do you expect me to treat him with a blindfold on?” Doctor Shen asks in exasperation.

“That is the only way,” Armorer says.

“Can I use the deep tissue scanner?” Doctor Shen asks bluntly. “I technically won’t be looking at his face – just the bones and tissue underneath the skin.”

Armorer falters.

“Can you assure us that you will not know his identity?”

“Yes,” Doctor Shen stresses.

“Very well, do what you must to ensure Paz’s health and preserve his identity,” Armorer says.

“We are going to discuss this oath with the rest of the Tribe, Armorer,” Doctor Shen says flatly. “There must be an exclusion for medical professionals.”

“Doctor Shen – “

“Armorer,” Doctor Shen hisses through her teeth.

“I will leave you to your work, Doctor.”

Paz snickers as Armorer gracefully concedes defeat. It has been such a long time since he has last witnessed Armorer backing down from a fight. Then again, there is an unspoken rule – the chief medical officer outranks even the Alor when it involves someone’s health.

Coming into the room, Doctor Shen wheels the bed over to the deep tissue scanner. She positions the arm of the machine over his head. Then Din takes over, draping a sheet over everything to keep him from being seen. Once it is set to the deep scan mode, he removes his bucket. He grimaces as the bright light stabs straight through his pupils and into the back of his head.

“First of all, how many times have you gotten your nose broken?”

“Lost count,” he remarks.

“Fuck’s sakes. Hunters,” Doctor Shen hisses. “Stay still. You’re going to feel a bit of a tickling sensation in your teeth. I’m trying to set the bone fragments without causing further damage.”

Searing pain jolts down the side of his face. Paz gasps.

“Only a sadist would call that a tickle,” he groans.

“Din, jab this into his neck, right into the jugular.”

“What is it?” Din asks.

“Painkillers,” Doctor Shen says. “Now go do it before I take it back.”

“Aye, Doctor,” Din says. “I’m gonna stab you, okay?”

“How long have you been wanting to do that?” Paz asks.

“Stop moving,” Doctor Shen growls.

Din laughs as he jabs him in the neck. After a few seconds, Paz feels his head swim.

“N-now that…that’s the good shit,” he slurs out. “C-can’t f-feel my face.”

“That particular cocktail contains a bacta infusion as well as anti-inflammatory drugs that are targeted specifically to brain tissue. There’s also a mild muscle relaxer in there for your neck muscles. So, hopefully, that’ll keep you still.”

Paz relaxes, nearly falling asleep as Doctor Shen works to reposition the bone fragments in his face through the equipment. Once his nose is put back together, she gives him another injection to stimulate the bone cells and help support the bacta infusion. She reaches under the blanket, wearing latex gloves.

“Alright, I have to do this part by touch, since I can’t look at your face,” she says. “Stay. Still. I don’t want this falling into your mouth or your eyes.”

With one hand resting on his cheek, Doctor Shen’s other hand disappears. Then it returns with a strip of quick-set stabilizing bandage. She quickly maneuvers it into place. It heats up uncomfortably as it dries.

“That will keep the bridge of your nose in the right shape,” she says. “You can wear the bucket, but please be careful putting it on and taking it off for the next few days.”

“Sure thing, doc,” he says.

Din returns to his side and slides his bucket under the sheets.

“Hey, you cleaned it out,” Paz says. “Thanks, ner vod.”

“Your neck is fine, no damage to any of the nerves, muscles, or vessels,” she says. “But those muscles are going to hurt if you agitate them again before the bacta can do its job. I don’t want you doing anything stupid, Vizla.”

“I won’t do anything stupid,” he insists.

“You’re a hunter,” she retorts sharply.

“Point taken,” Paz says. “Nothing more vigorous than light sparring, then?”

“No sparring at all,” she says. “You can lift weights and jog for the next week. No sparring until I’ve had a chance to check your muscles again.”

“Can I go shooting?”

“Handheld blasters only, nothing heavier than a child,” she says.

“Fine,” he says. “Light shooting.”

“Alright, I’m happy with where you are right now health-wise,” Doctor Shen starts to say.

“Does…does this mean I can leave today?” Paz asks as he carefully puts his bucket back on.

Then he reaches out blindly, trying to remove the sheet from his face. Doctor Shen takes the sheets away, tossing them at Din. The unspoken command is clear to them both. Din goes and puts the sheets into the bin to be washed and sterilized.

“Absolutely not,” Doctor Shen says in an exasperated tone. “You have a concussion, Paz. We take brain injuries seriously around here. Your ass is staying in that bed overnight. In the morning, I’ll decide if you can leave.”

“Doctor Shen, please,” Paz says. “I have something very important that I need to do.”

“No. Your only job right now is to heal.”

“Please? It’s extremely important,” Paz insists.

“What is so important that you want to risk further brain damage?”

“Well…I have a date,” Paz says. “So, surely, you understand – “

Her head shoots up.

“Oh, no,” Doctor Shen says. “You are staying in bed and you are cancelling your plans.”

“But – “

She turns around slowly. Paz swallows as the inky black visor of her helmet tilts down toward him.

“Alright, I’m cancelling my plans,” he says. “No problem at all.”

“Good,” she says, pacing closer to his bed, looming over him. “I would hate to have to pull rank on you.”

Paz grimaces to himself under the bucket. The last thing he wants to do is piss off Doctor Shen. He knows she will make him stay another night if he mouths off. So, wisely, he stays where he is, hoping to be put out of his misery soon.

Din sends a message, informing him that he will be getting him some clean clothes. Paz sighs and closes his eyes. Doctor Shen allowed him to wipe some of the blood off with wipes, but everything from the chin down is saturated in blood. Once she can confirm the bacta is working and that the pain medications have not caused any adverse reactions, she will let him have a proper shower.

-

-

-

When you see Din come out of medical, you approach.

“How is he?” you ask, trying to keep the worry from your voice.

“Concussed,” Din sighs. “Idiot broke his nose, but he’ll be fine once the bacta kicks in.”

You nod. A broken nose and concussion aren’t too bad.

“Does he need anything?” you ask.

“Nah, he’ll be – “

Din suddenly stops talking as he tilts his head. Then slowly, he turns his head to look at you. You wait, hoping there’s something you can do.

“You know what, I think he might need a clean set of clothes,” Din says, in an odd tone. “But I need to take care of some stuff. Can you grab him something to change into?”

You jump at the chance to help Paz.

“Absolutely,” you say. “Did Doctor Shen specify visiting hours, or - ?”

“He’s going to have a checkup in two hours,” Din says. “Take stuff to him then. He’ll appreciate whatever you bring him.”

“Okay,” you say. “I can handle that.”

Din nods. A few minutes later, a message from Din pops up in your HUD, containing Paz’s door code. Immediately, you return to your room and grab one of your larger storage bags. Chewing on your lower lip, you consider what he might need for an overnight stay in medical. Pajamas, clean clothes for tomorrow, and toiletries. A small smile crosses your face – he will need his snacks, too. Warmth spreads across your cheeks as you stride down the hallway toward the officer’s quarters.

Paz always enjoys eating whatever you cook, even when it means he sneaks something off behind your back. You have long since started making extra so he can have some as well. He is also considerate and polite, a far cry from some of the coarser company available in the Tribe. You decide that you will be as considerate with him as he is with you.

Once at his door, you type in the code and let yourself in. His room is huge, you think enviously to yourself, as you look around. He also seems to have half the armory stacked on tables and in bins around his room. Along wall, he has a large table with neatly organized tools and a few partially assembled blasters.

Turning toward the bedroom, you hesitate. This is his bedroom, his personal space. You almost feel like you are trespassing here. Taking a deep breath, you shake your head, and move forward. Din gave you his code. If he didn’t trust you, he would not have given you access to Paz’s private space. You step in and head toward the shelves opposite the end of the bed. There, you find his clothes. Tonight, he will need pajamas, so you grab one of the soft-looking flannel sets. For tomorrow, you grab a suit, a set of padding, and a cowl in matching dark grey.

In one of the boxes on the lower shelves, you find compression shirts, shorts, and socks. Those are also added to the bag. Finally, you find his shower caddy and grab it as well. Once you are finished there, you leave the bedroom, and come into the living space. Stopping by the couch, you pick up the book on the table and add it to your bag. From there, you make your way through the karyai and into the kitchen.

He will need something edible to keep his strength up. You’ve had hospital rations before and they are unpleasant, to say the least. No flavor, no spice, and certainly no heat. Doctor Shen says that the rations are bland to ensure the patient can rest and heal, but you think she secretly enjoys the torture.

In the bottom of one of the bins, you find your cake supplies. You check the time. One hour and fifty-two minutes before you can see him and drop off supplies. Plenty of time to make him a small cake and get him some snacks. Exactly two hours and a minor burn later, you finish your gift to Paz. One small tray of uj’ayali cake, made with your dwindling stock of spices, syrup, and wine. You wrap the entire thing in parchment paper and include a fork.

Then you go to the stasis unit in the corner and steal some of the cheeses, crackers, and a small container of pickles. There, something to tide him over. In one of the bins, you find some apples. You take two for him so Doctor Shen cannot complain about him eating too much cake.

You would not do this for anyone else. You love your Tribe, but Paz is special to you. Nervously, you stop that train of thought before it can even depart the station. Paz is your friend first and foremost.

Glancing around, you take in your mess. It is extensive. Well, that all can wait until later. Paz needs you more than anything needs to be cleaned up. You turn the lights off and make your way to medical, hefting the bag onto your shoulder. You wait patiently inside the main room, listening as Doctor Shen scolds Paz for something or another. When Doctor Shen steps outside of the private room, she does a blatant double-take.

“What can I do for you?” she asks.

“I’d like to see Paz,” you say. “Is it okay if I go in?”

Doctor Shen pokes her head into the private room.

“You okay with seeing more visitors, buckethead?”

“Depends,” comes Paz’s voice. “Who is it?”

“Shu’shika,” Doctor Shen says.

“Sure,” Paz says. “Send her in.”

You step in, noting that Doctor Shen is watching you, her head cocked to one side. As soon as you come into the room, she follows you to the doorway, carrying a tray of equipment. Paz is resting on the bed, his legs crossed at the ankle, and his boots on the floor.

“Hey,” you say, echoing his words from earlier.

“Hey,” he repeats. “So, uh, what brings you here? What is all this, anyway?”

“Din said he has some really important stuff to work on, so I volunteered to get you some supplies,” you say to him. Digging into the bag, you grab his book and hand it to him. “Din sent the code for your door, by the way, I didn’t like break in or anything.”

Paz’s head jerks up at your words.

“Din…sent you the code?”

“Yes,” you say. “He was in such a rush to go finish his work. I hope you don’t mind?”

“Not at all,” he says, in an odd sort of tone. “I am so glad I cleaned up last night.”

You laugh as you hang the bag onto one of the wall hooks.

“I also came to see if you’re okay,” you say quietly, “And to see if you’d like some company?”

He nods in response.

“You want to stay and keep this cranky idiot company?” Doctor Shen asks, as she goes to the deep tissue scanner in the corner.

Paz growls as you sit down next to him.

“Well, of course,” you say. “Why wouldn’t I come see Paz?”

“I don’t mind,” Paz says. His voice takes a mischievous tone. “You did say you didn’t want to speak to Lyras. So now you don’t have to talk to him.”

You laugh, relief filling you. Then you clear your throat a bit.

“I…I also wanted to give you this,” you say, holding the tray to him.

He takes the tray from you, still slightly warm from the oven. He unwraps it and stares down at your offering to him.

“Uhm…my buir always said to eat plenty of uj’ayali if I was injured,” you say.

Inexplicably, you feel yourself blushing cherry-red, the heat filling you all the way down to your bellybutton.

“Where the hell did you find uj’ayali?” Doctor Shen asks.

“I-I made it,” you stammer out.

Oh, gods above, why did I even come here?

“You made this for me?” Paz repeats, his tone so gentle that your breath catches in your throat.

You nod earnestly at Paz. Thankfully, he does not seem too weirded out by your forwardness. In fact, he might even sound a bit happy at it.

“You made… You made - ?” Doctor Shen asks.

You can feel her incredulous stare through her bucket.

“I have some of that wine that you like,” you admit softly. “I kept a few bottles…for a special occasion.”

“Thank you,” he says, his voice sounding almost awed. “I really appreciate it, Shu’shika.”

“I’ll go finish something else,” Doctor Shen says, backing toward the door. “Uh…somewhere else.”

She shuts the door, leaving the two of you alone. As much as you appreciate the doctor, you are grateful that she has work to do. You have not had a lot of time with Paz in the past few weeks, so you would like to make the most of your visit with him today.

“Would you like to try some?” you ask. “I can wheel the privacy curtain over, if you’d like. We can…we can hang out. Since we can’t go shooting.”

Hopefully, he will not think that you are being clingy.

“Yeah,” he says, “I’d like that.”

You beam at him. You have no idea why Doctor Shen would say he is cranky.

-

-

-

Doctor Shen finishes putting her equipment into the autoclave just as Din carefully peers into the room, edging in as if expecting to be attacked. She looks up at him. He has to know about you and Paz. She goes to him.

“Did you know about Paz and Shu’shika?” she asks him in a low tone.

“Yes,” he says. “Are they - ?”

“Yeah,” Doctor Shen responds. “I’ll let her stay until I close down for the evening.”

Din nods just as they hear what seems to be a minor explosion down the hallway. Doctor Shen almost purses her lips as she hears Garan’s familiar bellowing. There is nothing new about this situation – some idiot hunter has rightfully earned their tongue-lashing from Garan. He takes nothing from anyone, especially not hunters.

“What’s all the noise down the hallway for?”

“I don’t know,” Din says. “Maybe someone left the water on again?”

They listen for a few moments, the occasional shout drifting back to them. She turns back to Din.

“Is Paz serious?” she asks.

Doctor Shen knows you well – after all, she has been caring for you for years now. Even as a child, you tagged along after her, pestering her endlessly with your questions and tendency to injure yourself. She was there when you put your bucket on at thirteen. She watched you grow up to become a skilled, competent, and hard-working member of the tribe. It is everything that she could have wanted for you.

“Dead serious,” Din responds. “He’s been thinking about this for a while. He went to Armorer two nights ago to talk to her about courtship.”

Doctor Shen feels relief fill her stomach. If there is a hunter she trusts, it is Paz. He is a good man and will not take advantage of you. Doctor Shen knows that you are an adult, but she still sometimes sees the little girl you used to be, complete with a busted lip and two scabby knees.

“Good,” Doctor Shen says to him. “Shu’shika might be a walking disaster, but she is our most precious disaster.”

Someone taking an interest in you was bound to happen eventually. She cannot help but to be overjoyed that it is a hunter of Paz’s caliber. Before Din can respond, they hear Garan shout your name.

“Where is she?” Garan roars. “If she’s not already dying, I’m going to kill her – “

Din grabs the surly mechanic by the chest plate and shoves him back out into the hallway.

“She’s busy,” Din says in his most menacing tone. “You will leave her alone.”

Undeterred, Garan shoves him back. This time, Din slams him up against the wall, pinning him in place with one arm against his chest plate and one finger pointed at his visor.

“I. Do. Not. Care,” Din hisses.

“This is the third time her carelessness has gotten something caught on fire,” Garan growls. “That little shit – “

“That little shit is busy,” Doctor Shen says from the doorway, her voice like ice. “Go back to the kitchen and take care of the mess. I’ll send her by later.”

Garan snarls but eventually concedes. Din grabs him by the shoulder and forcefully marches him away from medical. Doctor Shen goes to listen at the door. She hears only your combined laughter. Nodding to herself, she goes back to working on cleaning the equipment.

-

-

-

Din makes sure to keep Garan going forward to avoid letting him interfere. It is rare that you and Paz can spend more than a few minutes alone, so he wants to ensure that the two of you have as long as possible to talk and get to know each other a little better.

“Why the fuck are you even involved?” Garan asks moodily.

“It’s none of your fucking business,” Din says. “Workshop, I assume?”

“Yes.”

He escorts Garan to the workshop, where they pick up the parts they will need to replace the melted circuitry and charred air vent. Din carries the bag without protest, even as Garan complains with every single step. In the karyai, they find Dezha and Armorer at the kitchen window, watching as Terys finishes putting the flames out. Jalyn is by the backmost kitchen vent, trying to waft the smell of burnt wine and sugar out with a tea cloth. Din knows better – Jalyn is just here to snoop like the shameless little gossipmonger he is. Regardless, Din shoves Garan into the kitchen and bodily blocks the doorway.

“What is the problem?” Armorer asks, looking between the two of them.

“Just making sure Garan fixes everything in time for dinner,” Din says.

“Apparently, poor wittle Shu’shika is so busy I can’t yell at her for her carelessness,” Garan snaps moodily in his direction as he starts unpacking the components onto the counter.

“Yes. She is busy,” Din confirms.

Terys puts the fire extinguisher into the cabinet. Then he looks across the counter. Din can see the wheels turning. A few seconds later, Terys looks up sharply, having come to the logical conclusion.

“Did she make her special uj with wine syrup?” Terys asks slowly.

“She didn’t clean up after herself,” Garan interrupts as he shoves a pile of dirty dishes over. “And she didn’t even leave any for us. Brat.”

“Yes,” Din confirms. “Just for him.”

Garan continues grumbling as Armorer and Dezha look at each other. They come to the same conclusion.

“I will help you tidy up,” Dezha cuts in smoothly. “We can overlook this minor mistake.”

“Again?” Garan asks, turning to Dezha. “This is the third time, Alor. This has got to stop. We can’t afford to keep replacing everything her kriffing hands touch.”

“I am aware of that,” Dezha says. “But we will overlook it this time. I’ll talk to her when she is finished.”

Din leads the cleanup effort by picking up the charred pot. He tosses it straight into the trash bin. He will have to buy a new pot before Hannah discovers one is missing. Din pauses. Then again…Hannah will overlook any mistake as long as she knows that Paz is trying to court you. Din wonders if he can enlist their cook’s help in ensuring the process is as smooth and painless as possible for the rest of the Tribe.

Armorer starts sweeping the powder from the fire extinguisher into a neat pile on the floor, while Dezha works on wiping the counters down. Jalyn just keeps fanning the acrid air toward the vent. Judging by the wide grin on his face, he seems to have caught on already, though Din cannot fathom why he is still here. At long last, Garan seems to realize that something isn’t quite right. In the middle of replacing the filter, he pauses, and looks around, slowly taking stock of his present company. Everyone is quickly working to put the kitchen back in order in time for dinner.

“Why are you all here?” Garan asks slowly.

“Good question,” Hannah says, as she puts her apron on. “Why the hell are you crowding into my kitchen, anyway? And why do I smell smoke?”

“It was a minor incident,” Armorer says, cutting Garan off. “We are rectifying the problem.”

“Minor?” Hannah asks, picking up the charred remains of her pot out of the trash. “Did Shu’shika set another pot on fire? Gods above, someone needs to have a serious talk with that girl.”

“That’s what I tried to do earlier,” Garan says, “But nooo, Din said she was too busy to get a proper tongue-lashing for her kriffing carelessness.”

Din looks at Hannah.

“Shu’shika is looking after Paz,” he says diplomatically.

Hannah blinks, turning to look at him.

“Shu’shika…and Paz?” she asks.

When Armorer nods, Garan drops his wrench onto the counter. It goes clattering onto the floor. Garan wordlessly stares at each of them in turn. The only sounds that can be heard are Jalyn’s snickers and the sound of the tea cloth he is flapping at the vent.

“You’re shitting me,” Garan says as he shakes his. “Oh, no. No, that is not happening. I absolutely forbid it.”

“And what authority would you have to interfere?” Armorer challenges immediately, coming forward a step, her hand falling to the hammer tucked into her belt.

Din cracks his knuckles threateningly, though he is certain that his muscle will not be needed here. Armorer is lethal with her hammer. Garan sinks down to a seated position on the counter and rests his face plate in his hands.

“We are not going to survive this,” Garan says in a defeated tone.

“That is an unfair over-exaggeration,” Armorer scolds. “They are good together, Garan.”

“Do we know when he intends to propose? He won’t make us – her wait too long, will he?” Hannah asks nonchalantly, as she starts sorting through the ingredients for dinner.

No one is fooled by her tone. Everyone knows where her mind is – the bonfire feast. Hell, Din has found himself thinking about what he will bring back to celebrate their marriage. He has already purchased a scope for Paz and set aside a small piece of bes’kar for you. Now, he needs to figure out what food he is bringing, but that can wait until later. He doesn’t expect the two of you to marry for at least six months, if not more.

“Paz managed to give himself a concussion before they could go on their first date,” Din says. “It isn’t happening for a few months at least.”

Hannah and Armorer both seem to sulk at his words.

“You know, it might not be so bad,” Terys says. “He’s a bit older, you know. He will look after her. Maybe get her trained up so she can actually start participating in hunts on the regular?”

“We can only hope,” Garan sighs dejectedly. “We can only hope.”

Jalyn puts the cloth down and picks up his cane. Carefully, he picks his way back to them. Din wonders what the little shit-stirrer is going to do next.

“Oooorr,” Jalyn says, somehow splitting a single-syllable word into three. “Imagine what it’s going to be like once he finally knocks her up. Can you imagine them having a few Vizla brats with his temperament and her propensity for accidental arson?”

Silence fills the kitchen. Garan lets out a low noise of distress. Armorer and Dezha exchange a look. Din thinks that any child that you and Paz name as your own will be perfect the way they are, even if they end up being prone to damaging their surroundings. Hell, under the right conditions, that could be a benefit in combat.

“Regardless of their unique personality traits,” Armorer says. “Anyone who interferes will be made to regret their actions most severely. Be sure to pass that along with your gossip, Jalyn.”

“Please, everyone here wants more children to look after,” Jalyn says dismissively. “If there was a way to get them married tonight, we would do it.”

Garan picks up the bottle of wine and checks it. There is a quarter of it left. Garan shrugs to himself and lifts the front of his bucket. He chugs the wine down straight from the bottle. He wipes his mouth with the back of his gloved hand and lets out a rude belch.

“May the gods take mercy on us,” he says.

-

-

-

demagolka - someone who commits atrocities. Paz chooses this word because they risked hurting a child just so they could carry on an affair.

[angelicichor]

Hi, I just read your somft bois post. Hypothetically speaking, if one were to test you, how much softer could you go? Theoretically, of course. (In all seriousness I really loved it and I’m deadass gonna read whatever else you have to spare my grubby gremlin hands 💖)

You dare?? Question my somftness skills?? 

Bubba Sawyer:

♥ Bubba’s whole existence is softness personified. This boy is the walking manifestation of warm summer days at the beach with wind blowing in your face, but keeping the sand away, he’s the ice cream, the laughter and the joy of lying face-front in the sun, with the essence of dummy that comes with the realization that you did not put on sunscreen and are now burned. Worth it.

♥ Just the way he waves his hands in excitement when he sees you after a long time (so more than 6 minutes) is enough to make your day so much better than it was before and you ain’t even close to him yet. 

♥ He’s the essence of love, pulling you into a tight bear hug, enveloping you in his soft self, squishing air out of your longs and nuzzling your cheeks with his masked ones, it’s a bit disgusting, really, but he’s so happy to do it that you honestly don’t even care.

♥ Bubba’s a damn gentleman is what he is. He’ll take your coat if you’ve been out, sit you down, undo your shoes, pass you your slippers and proceed to take of that funny looking hat he gave you at some point and that funky scarf you’re wearing that was Nubbin’s gift, you don’t dare to question where either of them got those things, but you adore them never the less, makes you feel like a part of the family and I mean - You are! You’re Bubba’s darling! His angel, his everything! 

♥ He makes sure you know that by showering your freezing face with warm, sloppy kisses and pulling you into another hug, gasping in offence when you weasel your hands under his shirt, stealing his warmth.

♥ This man is a gosh darn walking radiator, fight me on this, I WILL WIN.

♥ Once you’re all dressed for staying home he takes your comparably tiny hands and after being stuck with an awestruck expression for a moment (because how can your skin feel so nice to touch?!) he’ll guide you to the main room and sit you down for a nice, warm meal.

♥ He’s already eaten, so instead he crouches by the table and looks at you lovingly, with those big, adorable eyes. And when you pet his head they close in immediate bliss and he shifts to hug your waist and lie his head on your lap while you’re still eating.

♥ In that way he’s like a cat, you’re stuck now, you cannot move him until you finish your soup. By then he’ll leave by himself to show you proudly a platter of cookies he made with his brother.

♥ They might or might not have razors in them, knowing his bastard brother, so he cracks each one of them open to check if he’s right. Yes, he is. With a lot of huffs he steps out of the room to be angry at Nubbins and you can’t help but laugh a little.

♥ And no, Nubbins doesn’t hate you… he’s just… being Nubbins.

♥ After a few rumbles and crashes your boy is back, dusting off his hands in an almost comedic way and picks you up without a warning to carry you to a couch with a TV in front of it.

♥ He sits you down, pats your head to make you stay and you nod at him with a happy smile, watching him leave and come back just a moment later with the cracked cookies. Scooting you over a bit he sits down, the couch creaking under his weight ever so slightly and he puts the platter on the small coffee table before lying down and pulling you on top of him, gently, carefully and only once he notices that he’s alright with moving you.

♥ The satisfied noise he makes once you’re on his chest and belly force you to hold back a squeak, because it’s just so adorable. 

♥ “You’re taking a nap, Bubba?” You ask gleefully, pinching his masked nose lightly. He nods eagerly and just huff a laughter. “Okay, but an hour and no longer, okay? I got work to do.” He pouts a bit and traps you in his arms. You’re not going anywhere before he gets his rest, he’s worked hard for it!

♥ The TV is turned on and before you know it your boy is snoring underneath you, his expression stuck in a stupid little smile that makes your heart flutter.

♥ I hope you don’t need to pee, because you’re stuck on him for an hour now.

Thomas Hewitt:

♥ Moving in with Thomas (without a real choice, but you CAN’T complain) turned out to make your days way more busy, with Luda Mae and Hoyt keeping you on your feet, tending to the house, it’s surroundings and it’s occupants if they needed anything. Thomas had a similar treatment, but being a country boy he was used to it, your city self couldn’t get accustomed that fast, so you worked slower than him, but a bit were a bit more careful with every task, so Luda was more than happy to have you help. Less dishes being broken that way and all.

♥ So at the end of the day you’d be completely wasted and wanting nothing more to just sit down and rest, but almost always Monty would call you to do one more thing, just to see you frown and pout and mope your way back to him to ask what he wanted.

♥ Except this time you don’t make it to his wheelchair, being lifted in the air and placed on a firm shoulder, your hands hitting a familiar, muscular back and your eyes spotting a very squeezable butt that could only belong to Tommy.

♥ Monty’s about to say something, but the Behemoth is quick to turn to him and squint his eyes, daring him to steal you away from him when it was HIS time to have you to himself.

♥ You weren’t dating, at least not yet (at least you’re pretty sure you ain’t???), but you were dear to him and each time someone made you do something when he was just about to grab you he grew just a bit more agitated and it showed. His walk was stiffer, more determined than usual and you were happy that his frame was so solid, keeping you from bouncing with his every step, huffing something under his breath, but you knew better than to expect any words to actually come out. Though he did speak sometimes, simple words, nothing more.

♥ He brought you upstairs into the room he rarely uses and slammed the door behind him with another huff, letting you slip down from his shoulders, you then giggling at his tired eye roll. You knew Hoyt made him chase after a group of teens today, too lazy to do his own damn work, so this Giant was W A S T E D.

♥ To confirm that, he kicked his boots off and slammed onto his bed, jumping a bit as he hit the mattress face first, groaning into the soft pillows. You couldn’t help but laugh at how over-dramatic he was being. Very few people knew this, but Tommy is a sassy bastard when he’s not around Hoyt.

♥ With another creak you saw Thomas turning, a lazy smile hidden under his mask, nudging his head towards the dresser, where a radio was laying, a few CDs right next to it. “Ya want me to play us somethin’?” You asked and he nodded quickly, sitting up and hunching forward slightly, eyes fixed on you as you looked through the albums. “Metallica will do?” you didn’t look back this time, so he just hummed in agreement and lied back down, letting the soft bass at the start of Enter Sandman hush his mind.

♥ This man looks so damn peaceful when his eyes are closed, his usually furrowed brows relaxing and head bobbing slightly to the rhythm of the music, barely paying any attention to you moving onto the bed and sitting on your legs right next to his chest, only opening one eye to see what you were up to.

♥ Didn’t expect to see you pouting though.

♥ Quietly you poked his covered cheek and he understood, lifting his tired body up and turning so you faced his back. Your heart skipped a beat, realizing how much trust he was putting in you, as your small fingers undid the belt that held the dark leather mask to his face, his hair falling down in cascades as he pulled it off, his breath stuttering slightly. It did every time, because even if he trusted you not to make fun of him or flinch in disgust, his trauma was still there and just like always he moved to press himself into the pillows as quick as possible, grunting, clearly displeased.

♥ Taking the opportunity you climb on his back and lay down, groaning as you felt every muscle on your poor, sore back relax. He laughed under you when your arms went around his neck in a nuzzling hug, turning his face to look at you and blushed ever so slightly when your lazy smile welcomed him.

♥ ”Allo, handsome.” You joked and he huffed in annoyance, lifting himself and throwing you off him in the process, letting you fall to his side with a small ‘oof’. “Rude.”

♥ He knew, but it’s an eye for an eye. At least now he’s actually facing you and you grin at his face, disfigured as it might be, you honestly didn’t care.

♥ ‘Sad But True’ rolled on and he starred at the radio, letting his head rest on his fist. Not a favorite for either of you, but still good. 

♥ You adored those evenings with Thomas, quiet, calm, chill, spent on listening to music and helping each other relax, cuddling, laughing at each other, play wrestling, banging you heads to the rhythm of the music and massaging sore muscle if needed. Tommy was great at the last part, well, he was amazing at all of those things, but his fingers were literal magic, kneading your back just right for you to relax, not even expecting you to do the same, because he knew your fingers hurt when you massaged him, muscle does that and it makes your hands sore after.

♥ But with those darling moments it always made you wonder just WHAT were you. It wasn’t just a friendship, you weren’t dating and there was no sex involved so, what then?

♥ Not bearing the question any longer you shoot up, startling him a bit and pinning him under you, eyes determined, making him chuckle at your sudden courage, ready to pounce back if you wanted to wrestle. “Thomas Hewitt Brown.” You start and he tilts his head in confusion, one brow raised, waiting for your next words - what did he do NOW? “What…” your gaze shifted to the side, not unnoticed by him and now both of you were blushing slightly. “What… am I to you?” finally you break the silence and look back at him, only to find his eyes wide in shock.

♥ It wasn’t your question, but the sudden realization that he has NO IDEA.

♥ Cue the slightly panicked shrug and him sitting up, holding you in place on his lap, making you blush at just how close he was. Usually neither of you would mind, but now with both your thoughts racing and ‘Wherever I May Roam’ surprisingly rolling up, the closeness was suffocating.

♥ He looks away, thumbs drawing circles in you back, furrowing his brows before smiling lightly, a cocky grin and a spark of deviousness in his eye as he pulled you closer to him by gently placing his hand at the back of your head.

♥ ”Tommy?” you asked, your body trembling when his dark eyes met yours in a heated daze, asking for something and when he inched closer, tilting his head slightly to the side and you didn’t shove away he knew he found his answer, kissing your lips softly, his heart clenching with pure joy and warmth when you kissed back, again and again, sweetly and carefully. Once he pulled away you were both blushing like crazy and with a happy giggle he pushed you down to his chest and slammed his back into the bed.

♥ You were huffing and puffing in embarrassment and he just laughed, petting your hair.

♥ “That answers no–” “Mine.” He cut you off and you rose slightly, amazed to hear his voice vibrating through his huge chest, the cocky grin not leaving his lips. With another huff you decided to just lay on him, digging your chin into his chest in a form of revenge, feeling his whole body shake in  warm laughter.

♥ “FINE. But that doesn’t explain a thing!” you groan jabbing at his side with your fingers and the way he catches your hand you know that you just brought a round of rough housing on yourself. “Oh, you’re ON.” you hiss and attack his sides, determined to win against him this time.

♥ Spoilers: You absolutely won… not.

Michael Myers (RZ):

♥ To say that Mikey is a problem child would be a SEVERE understatement.

♥ It’s not even his violent tendencies or his obsessive behavior, but the years he spent in the sanitarium, being feared by every single nurse, orderly, guard and doctor taught him, that he has enough power to just take what he wants whenever he wants it.

♥ Even if it meant holding you hostage in his ridiculously huge and strong arms, pressing his chin against the top of your head and sitting on the floor, because your protests made you fall of the couch and he’s NOT giving you the chance to slip away from him AGAIN.

♥ You’re both sitting there, brows furrowed, because he won’t let you go shopping and you are STARVING and it’s HIS fault because he’s just too damn big for his own good and ate ALL YOUR FOOD.

♥ And he won’t even apologize! No, instead he’s forcing you to give him love and affection! That touch starved bastard!

♥ “You’re such a dick.” you groan , trying to jab him with your elbows, but his hold is just too tight. Noticing your struggles he tenses his muscle to squeeze you inside him, making you squeak at the sudden tightness. “MICHAEL!!” you raise your tone and he groans, standing up with you and before you can even think of breaking free he’s throwing you on the sofa, falling onto you right after, knocking the air out of your lungs. “MICHAAAAEEEEEL!!!” you whine, shoving his arms to no avail. You know damn well that his gosh darn mountain of a man ain’t moving an inch unless he wants to humor you and he’s being a grumpy bastard right now.

♥ A low growl runs through his throat and his gaze shots up to you, making you shut up immediately. “Shut up and pet me.” he complains, nuzzling into your chest angrily like a damned child. 

♥ You open your mouth wide, shocked, appalled, distraught, how DARE HE.

♥ “MICHAEL I’M STARVIIIIIIING!!” you moan, slipping your hands from under him (he let you because how are you supposed to pet him otherwise) and brutally ruffling his mane of dirty blonde hair. He catches your hands and squints at you, huffing a loose strand of hand off his face, unmasked for once. You gulp and push further into the sofa, making yourself smaller as he loomed over you, a wide grin slowly rising on his face as he realized something that would give so much trouble. “Michael… we’re both adults… be rational.” you try to reason with him, but he’s already off you, moving towards the kitchen to look for something. Your face pales as you realize what he’s look for and jump of the sofa in PURE FEAR.

♥ You can hear a faint hum of approval as he found the object and is now turning towards you, his eyes squinted in a sinister smile and soon you can hear the whip of rope being pulled together, a lumbering laughter echoing from his chest. 

♥ “Mikey, no.” you warn.

♥ “Run.” But his warning sounds stronger, and you’re sprinting off with a laughing shriek as he chases after you with a wide, childish grin on his face.

Am I grinning while writing those??? A B S O L U T E L Y. 

Does my face hurt from doing that? Y A 

Hope this is somft enough for u bc I am just…. S HAkinG. So much fluffiness, we a pillow factory in this binch now. Amazing.

[katehuntington]

Title: He Is The Reason Author: Kate Huntington (please do not copy my work) Fandom: Supernatural Characters: Reader, Dean Winchester Pairing: Dean x Reader Summary: After a case almost goes wrong, Y/N reaches her breaking point. She tries to wash the memories away in the shower, but the only one who can really help her, is Dean. Warnings: NSFW, 18+ only (if you’re under 18, don’t read any further), angst, trauma, panic attack, smut, shower sex, oral sex (female receiving), fingering. Dean being absolutely amazing. Word Count:  2757 words Author’s note: Kate writing smut, it’s a pretty rare sighting. But, especially for you: emotional smangst. Thank you, @kittenofdoomage , @theyaremyveryownthoughts and @girl-with-a-fandom-fettish for being awesome betas! You are all a huge support. Hope you all enjoy!

     It’s way past midnight when the hunters entered the bunker. Exhausted and worn, Y/N dragged her feet to the showers, muttering to the boys that she needed some time. Clearing her sore throat, she closed the door and turned the faucet, before stripping herself from her dirty clothes. 

     Now, with the water running and steam spreading in the small space, she is staring at her reflection in the mirror while leaning on the sink. Moist builds up on the glass, but she doesn’t need a clear vision to detect the dark circles under her sunken eyes, the dirt on her dry skin and the blood in her tangled hair. Holy shit, you look like a stack of train wrecks.

     Her appearance matches her mental state. In the Impala, between balancing on the edge of unconsciousness and vivid tainted memories mixed together with a nightmare, she gave today’s outcome a lot of thought. God, this case could have gone so terribly wrong. Once again the hunters beat the odds, because honestly, what were the chances of the Winchesters finding her? 

     Demons took her, waiting for the opportune moment when she headed out by herself, to pick up some pizza. A team of five ambushed her in the little Italian place down Main Street in Lebanon, killing the staff while they were at it. It was a set up and clear as day that they wanted to catch Dean’s precious girlfriend alone. Payback, they called it, as the torture went on for hours on end. She knew she was being used for bait. She also knew the Winchesters would show at some point. The question was, if they were going to be on time. One wrong remark and those black eyed bastards would have killed her, just for sport. Anything to get revenge, for all of their kind that Sam and Dean sent back to Hell over the years. 

     Those three days that she was chained to an autopsy table in an abandoned morgue left enough marks as it is, though. Handling fear is in the job description, but fuck, she was terrified. They got creative. They undressed her, tied her up completely naked, cutting her delicate skin with dull knives. They pulled nails from her toes and beat her to the edge of unconsciousness, but never over it, because they didn’t want her to have a break from the pain. They used their powers to twist her intestines into bends she didn’t even know were possible and there were many times that she was sure something had burst inside of her. She trembled, cried, silently wished for Dean, the image of him the only thing that kept her hopes up. She prayed to Cas, even though the place was warded. When that didn’t work, she prayed to Chuck, but since when does God ever give a shit, right? 

     Leaving her blurry reflection for what it is, she turns away and gets in the shower. Water almost hot enough to burn her skin falls down, but she doesn’t flinch. The dirt, the filth, it has to wash off. It feels like acid is pouring into the breaks of her skin, but she bites down the pain. She needs to get clean in order to leave the memories behind. But let’s face facts; not even boiling hot water could wash away this trauma. 

     As she stands there under the hot rain, her breathing picks up. Tears mix with the water coming from the shower head as she rests her forehead against the cool tiles, trying to find support, might she collapse. With her eyes closed she cries, arms crossed in front of her chest protectively. There’s nothing left for the tough as nails, brave, and independent woman that she thought herself to be. These three days have been too much, forcing her to lose the game she used to play so well. I can’t do this anymore, she thinks to herself. 

     Her knees are about to give out, but before she  sinks down on the tiled floor, she hears the doorknob turn. Startled she pulls in a sharp breath, holds it and exhales slowly, trying to calm herself. Man up, wipe your tears away. Dean can't see you like this. But the sounds of her cries must have carried further than she wanted. That’s why he’s here, isn’t it? Deciding that there's no point in hiding it anymore, she waits, listening to the sound of fabrics wrinkling and rubbing as he strips down. The sound of his footsteps approaching the shower. The sound of the curtain sliding aside, letting a cool draft lick at her ankles. 

     The moment Dean lays eyes on her broken body, his heart crumbles. The woman for whom he would do anything to make her happy, has gone through hell. She got caught in the crossfire in this war he is fighting. She got hurt, because those sons of bitches knew it would hurt him. Guilt twists in his gut when he notices the cuts and bruising on her naked form. He has to make it right, he has to take the pain away. He owes her that much, after everything she has done for him.

     Contradicting thoughts cause her to remain unresponsive, her back turned to Dean while leaning against the tiles, shutting him out. He shouldn't be a witness of the mess that she is, but deep down he is all she wants right now. Without words Dean gives her exactly that, because within moments she feels his warm hands snake around her waist, after which he carefully pulls her back against his chest. His touch does something to her, something she doesn’t expect. One would expect the gesture to give her strength, but instead she falls to pieces in his arms.       “Shhh… I got you. I got you,” he hushes, his chin on her shoulder as he wraps his body around her a little tighter, offering his girl the shelter she desperately needs. “I know. I’m here now... You’re safe.”

     Moved by his affection she grabs his forearms and squeezes them, letting her tears run free as she rests the back of her head against his chest. Allowing herself to let out a sob, her walls fall. Physical pain rips through her chest as it tightens, causing it to be impossible to breathe. The breakdown isn’t just led on by this case, the life, the close call with death. It’s because she and Dean almost got separated for good, the one person she cannot imagine being without. They almost lost each other, and she can’t hide the fear that thought alone brings along. Not from him. The most intimate feelings and her scariest thoughts are safe with Dean, because he’s familiar with every single one of them, too.      “Breathe… Just breathe,” he soothes, holding her close as he can.      Fully accepting his support, she turns around in his arms, pressing herself against his strong frame. Still unable to stop herself from crying, she opens her hand and spreads her fingers over his chest, her cheek against his heart as she listens to his rhythm of life. She senses the kiss he leaves on her hair, but she doesn't see that Dean closes his eyes, moved as he does so. Her breathing evens out to meet the same pace as his soft caress on her back, soft whimpering fading into the sound of the water raining down on them. 

     Without breaking the intimacy, Dean takes the shower gel from the small shelf in the corner of the shower and squeezes the lotion out of the bottle into his hand. Hoping it will relieve some of the stress, he spreads it out over her shoulders and back, running his fingers over tense muscles as the soap starts to foam. Eventually she stops hitching, quieted by his touch as she leans against him, feeling his hands on tight knots between her shoulder blades. It hurts slightly as he rolls his fingers over the sore spots, but with every movement the tension in her back is relieved a little bit more, until the pain is as good as gone. Dean continues washing the dirt away, soaking the blood from her hair and letting the water take it into the drain. The way he takes care of her is so gentle and soothing, that she feels much better by the time she’s washed clean. 

     Y/N lifts her head and looks up into the sea of emerald green in his eyes, taking him in. Water droplets chase each other down from his shoulders, beads hanging from his hair. He probably didn't shave for days, since a week old scruff frames his strong features. Dark circles tell the story of long, worried days, but right below them playful freckles are sprinkled on his cheeks and nose. A small smile forms on her lips as she counts a couple, triggering Dean’s eyes to become a little brighter. For a few more seconds they dwell in that moment where they just look at each other, surrounded by mist and comfortably warm water, but then she closes the distance and tiptoes to kiss him. As their lips meet, both push everything that has happened to the back of their minds. It's still there, though, allowing the unconditional love they feel for each other to magnify. It could have been over. She could have died today. Yet here they are.

     He kisses her back with such passion that nothing else matters anymore. With her eyes closed she lets her hands explore his wet skin, moving up his toned chest, running up his neck to cup his face. Drops bounce off her shoulders and run down the lines of her bruised form, which Dean handles very gently, aware of how fragile she is right now. Arms crossed behind his neck she pulls him closer, pressing her body against his. She  wants him, she needs him, because who knows when it all might end? It’s the positive side of surviving such a traumatic event; one only then understands what’s truly important in life. It teaches a person to live in the moment, to treasure all that's beautiful and appreciate the time that is offered. 

     Willingly, Dean follows her cue and pushes his hips against her, his fingers raking through her hair. The water washes away the worry that weighed heavy on him and he closes his eyes, water drops dripping down his face and clinging to his eyelashes. He listens to the sound of the shower and Y/N’s respiration between kisses, rhythmic and intriguing. After slowly turning her around he pulls his girl closer, her back now against his chest, nuzzling his nose against her skin as he kisses her shoulder tenderly. God, it feels good to have her in his arms, to be intimate with her again. I found her. She’s still here. It’s the only thing he can think of as his hands trail over her breasts, then continue to follow the fine edges down her body. 

     Captivated by his touch that feels similar to the water seeking its way down her skin, so light, she lays her head back against his chest. Baring her neck for him to kiss, she moves her hands over his, fingers interlocking as she follows his movements. 

     Every touch says ‘I missed you.’ Every breath whispers ‘I’m so glad you’re alive’.

     Shivers run down her spine when his fingers slip down to the most intimate part of the female body, parting her folds. Closing her eyes she whimpers, letting him build her up as she holds still. While his lips gingerly brush her ear, his index finger swirls over  her sensitive nub. The slow-building high that starts to cloud her mind pushes the nightmares away, bathing her in a peaceful bliss. For a little while her train of thought stops completely and all she feels are the sparks that are triggered by his fingertips. 

     She lets him treat her, not fighting him for dominance like she usually does. Tonight he takes care of her, glueing the broken pieces back together. Curses won’t be falling from their lips, the sex will not be rough and fast paced. After the horror she endured, he wants to be tender. She needs to be reminded that it’s not just darkness and misery. She needs to be reminded that she can always come home to him.

     Dean slowly turns her around, facing her now, the water coming down gathering in a puddle when he presses his lower body against her. His lips don’t linger on hers long and he begins his descent, leaving a trail of goosebumps on her collarbone, then her breasts. 

     He gets on his knees, the pads of his fingers pressing into her hips. For a second he looks up to make sure she’s okay, and when he finds her looking down on him in anticipation, want swimming in her dark pupils, he presses a kiss below her belly button. Without rushing, he traces her inner thighs with his thumbs, holding her still as he laps at her vulva breezily, but then goes deeper, delving in his tongue. 

     She steadies herself with one hand against the slippery wall and the other on his strong shoulder, her jaw lowered and eyes shut. A pleading sigh escapes her when he parts from her heat for a second, but then he lifts her leg over his shoulder, granting him a better angle. Droplets pour down on them, rolling down her stomach, adding to her juices on Dean’s lips. He now attends her sweet spot, flicking, drawing figures, drinking her in. She grips him tighter, her soft moans filling the moist air. Her legs begin to give out and she buckles forward, her abdomen spasming now that he’s picking up the pace. Dean holds her up, though, giving her the support she needs. 

     In no rush, Dean slows down, parting her lips and giving her a minute to recover, before he intensifies the motions again. This time he brings her closer to the edge, knowing her body well enough to recognize the signs. Her calling his name, first a whisper, but a little louder with each time. Her pulling him even closer with the leg hanging over his shoulder, her heel digging in his back as she tenses up. Her breath hitching, not from crying, but from the sheer pleasure he’s offering her. 

     She begins to tremble, her grip on his shoulder so tight that he can feel her fingernails leaving crescent shapes in his skin. Then she comes, a last grunt pushed from her throat. He listens to her respiration, how she struggles to control it while he works her through her orgasm, but then he lets her leg slide off his shoulder. He gazes up at the woman who has his heart, making sure she has found her footing before he rises up. Dizzy, she opens her hazy eyes, dwelling in ecstacy. The drizzle leaves tiny drops on her face, spread across her flushed cheeks. 

     “You alright?” he checks, his voice soft.      She nods and buries her face in the nape of his neck, still catching her breath. He sighs and folds his arms around her, letting her lean against him as he presses a kiss on her soaked hair. Being able to hold her after everything that happened is a blessing, one that Dean is grateful for. He closes his eyes, breathing in the scent of her shampoo, the warm rain still coming down on them. This is it, this moment, right here. This is the moment neither of them thought they were ever going to experience again. Emotion hits him suddenly and he hugs her a little tighter.

     “I wanna stay here forever,” she whispers.      Dean swallows thickly. “Me too.”

     As she stands there, sheltered by his body, she realises something: He isn’t just the reason she’s still alive, he is the reason she wants to be alive. Maybe that's why he was the only one on her mind when her life was on the line. Maybe that’s why she feels healed, like she was touched by an angel, even though her injuries are still evident. 

     She lifts her chin, taking in the handsome man that is her partner. He tucks his head down, a small smile forming before he kisses her softly. Maybe that’s why, when his lips leave hers for a short moment, she whispers ‘I love you’, out loud, for the very first time.

Thank you for reading. I appreciate every single one of you, but if you do want to give me some extra love, you are free to reblog my work or buy me coffee (Link in bio at the top of the page).

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[bellemorte180]

Wanderlust Chapter Eight

Supervisory Special Agent Vincent Griffith was a tall, black man with thick curly black hair. He had a small beard that framed his mouth and dark eyes that were filled with experience. He could be a harsh man, but he was not unfeeling. He wore a dark suit jacket and dress pants even though he was not in the office. Vincent had not been in the field himself in years, Klaus having been trained by the man, and was only dispatched when an emergency arose.

The murder of one of his agents could be considered an emergency.

Both Vincent and Klaus looked down at Marcel’s body. He was undressed, cleaned and prepped for autopsy. He was laying on a cold slab in the morgue, the same morgue Klaus had been in several times with Marcel since the beginning of this case. Klaus never expected to be staring down at the body of his friend. His dark eyes were closed and gone was the boyish expression Marcel was known for. A bullet hole in the center of his head could be found instead; a sight that filled Klaus with fury; and unimaginable grief.

After Liz’s phone call. Klaus ordered Rosza and Vanchure to stay with Caroline while he broke every speed limit to get to his motel room. When he reached the room, he had been sleeping for the past couple weeks, Klaus felt as though the world stopped spinning. Cop cars were surrounding the motel and Klaus all but threw his SUV into park before running into the motel. Liz, who saw him coming, tried to stop him from entering but he blew past her as though she was nothing.

The room was as Klaus had left it that morning; the bed made, Styrofoam cups in the trash and his clothes still in his black go bag. The only difference was the yellow police tape on the door and the dead body in the other bed. Marcel had been sprawled on his bed, eyes closed and completely at ease. The only comfort Klaus had was that Marcel was unaware of his death; yet all the while he was cursing Marcel’s ability to sleep through the apocalypse and die in the process. On the wall above the bed was a message written in what Klaus assumed was red paint; as though Marcel’s dead body was not message enough.

Get the fuck out of Mystic Falls.

Seeing Marcel, Klaus had collapsed on the ground; his eyes never leaving the body of his dead friend. He could not hear Liz trying to talk to him or anything could to point to who killed his partner. All he could see was the death of the one true friend he had in the United States. The numb feeling was slowly fading away and Klaus cried; not caring the officers who saw him. Tears slipped down his cheeks and he hardly could register Liz’s arms that surrounded him.

“The coroner states that he wouldn’t have felt anything.” Vincent told him, pulling Klaus from his thoughts on the moment he found his friend. It was a memory that he would never be able to purge from his mind. He had seen many dead bodies in his time and yet the memory of his best friend dead was not something that was going to leave him for a long time. The sight of him lying on the bed, his brains splattered across the white pillow rivaled the memory of his mother’s dead beaten body on the floor of his childhood home. “Walk me through what happened.”

“We were at the station; Marcel had grown tired.” Klaus replied in a monotone voice, his eyes still glued to the body of his friend. “He couldn’t look at the files anymore. It was growing late, and he wanted to go back to the motel. He asked if I would be going with him. I told him I was going to stay behind and continue going over the files.”

“You split up?”

“Wouldn’t be the first time.” Klaus told him and Vincent nodded. They both knew it was impossible for partners to be together at all times during an investigation. It wasn’t blame, just a clarification but Klaus couldn’t help the feeling of guilt surging through him. “I lost track of time and before I knew it was very late. Almost early morning. I went to make some coffee when, Caroline, the killers most recent victim called me. Someone had broken into her house. I raced over there. I called Marcel but he didn’t answer. He is….was….a deep sleeper. I didn’t think anything of it.”

“It wasn’t your fault Klaus.” Vincent told him, hearing the break in his agent’s tone. Klaus’s jaw clenched and fury flashing behind his eyes. His mood shifting from numbness and anger was creeping upon him. “You were doing your job. If you had gone back to the motel with Marcel, there is a chance that you both would be dead. Okay?” Klaus nodded but silently not agreeing with Vincent’s assessment. “What happened next?”

“The killer shattered a window at Caroline’s house, leaving behind another note. He is no longer just watching her. He was watching us as well. Liz, Caroline’s mother, got a call from the station about gunshots heard. She said it most likely was a neighbor who tends to shoot them off. I thought nothing of it. I never thought that Marcel might have been in danger.”

“It’s a small town in the south, of course there are people who randomly set off guns.” Vincent told him and Klaus thought that this was possibly the first time his superior officer was trying to be kind to him. It wasn’t that Vincent hated Klaus, the two just butted head on more occasion than not, especially when Vincent stepped into a position of authority a few years back. It was part of the reason why Marcel was the one who typically dealt with Vincent. “What are your theories?”

“He would have known that we split up. He could have been watching the station or was waiting outside motel room. He had no intention of breaking into Caroline’s home, it was a distraction. He wanted to ensure that I would go to Caroline and would be out of the way. All the while he double backed and killed Marcel.”

“He wanted to send a message.”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“I have been…. working…with Caroline.” Klaus told him, looking up at Vincent for the first time; whose eyes held the same question Marcel had posed to him only days previously. However, Vincent’s expression lacked surprise. He had been informed of Klaus’s growing attachment to Caroline. If Marcel had not just died, Klaus would have been very angry with him. “She trusts me, and the killer is fixated on her. She is the one who got away and he thinks that I am the one standing in the way. He killed Marcel to send a message that he can get to me. And to her. It was a warning. He wants me to leave Mystic Falls or else.”

“Well, he is done killing.” Vincent replied and there was a hint of steel to his voice. While Vincent turned into a bureaucrat, which was the main dispute between Klaus and Vincent because Klaus had no patience for red tape, he was once an agent who had done this exact same job that Klaus was doing now for years. Vincent was a good profiler; he would have had to have been in order to climb the ladder has he had. “I’m staying until this case is solved.”

“Okay.” Klaus nodded; he was expecting that. Vincent was not going let the murder of one of his own go. This became more than just a serial murder but the death of an agent and in Vincent’s eyes; that was irredeemable. “I’ll get the case files to you and I will get you caught up on everything.”

“Marcel kept me in the loop and I’m well versed on the facts.” Klaus nodded, his eyes looking down at Marcel’s body; a bitter taste in his mouth. Marcel was always the one who kept touch with the office. Klaus realized that it was the first of many things he was going to miss about his old friend. “What I want is for you to give me a good reason why I shouldn’t remove you from this case.”

“What?”

“Your partner was just murdered. Marcel had concerns that you were getting too close to a victim. The killer clearly has you in his sights. Give me one good reason why I should not send you back to DC. The last thing I want is another dead agent on my hands and on my conscience.”

“Because you would be harming this case in the process and you know it.” Klaus snapped back with clenched teeth. He balled his hands into a fist, and he could feel his temper to flare. Nothing Vincent could say would cause him to go back to Washington DC without a fight. He would sooner leave the bureau completely before that happened. “You wouldn’t dare take me off this case.”

“I would.” Vincent replied, sensing his agent’s fury. “Your emotions are clouding your judgement. You cannot see things clearly and I can’t fault you for that. You and Marcel worked well together for years and a part of that was your friendship. What I am concerned about is this budding friendship between you and Ms. Forbes.”

“Don’t.” Klaus hissed but Vincent’s gaze was unwavering. Klaus turned from him and slammed his fist into one of the morgue’s freezers. It left a small dent and pain shot through his fists; something Klaus did not care about. “You take me off this case, you are letting the killer get away. I’m damn good at this job Vincent and taking me off of it will only let him get away and you know it.”

“Go cool off. Now.”

Klaus sent Vincent a murderous look before storming out of the morgue. Adrenaline was pulsing through his veins and everything in his sight had the twinge of red. Heading up the stairs that led directly into the police station, Klaus could see the officers staying out of his way; the same could be said for the dozen agents that Vincent had brought with him. Klaus’s reputation of being disagreeable had proceeded him and the loss of Marcel was bound to put the rest of the agents on edge.

Klaus made his way into the small conference room and looked around. The files had been removed and placed in Liz’s office, which Vincent had taken over. The board that held the timetable and photos of the victims was also gone. The only thing that remained was the cold cup of coffee Klaus had made before Caroline’s call came in. This was the room he had last seen Marcel in alive. They had been going over files, Marcel’s eyes blurry and tired from the strain and late night. Hot tears pooled at Klaus’s eyes and any restraint he was feeling snapped. Klaus picked up the cold cup of coffee and tossed it at the wall, the liquid spilling everywhere and the glass mug shattering once it made contact with the wall. In a fit of rage, Klaus yelled at the top of his lungs, flipping the conference table over and tossing the chairs around before he found himself pinned against the wall.

“Agent Mikaelson.” Vincent’s sound in his ear, realizing that he was the one who had him pinned against the beige and lifeless wall. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Liz standing in the doorway, sending him a sympathetic look. She did not appear angry at his display of violence, rather she had sympathy in her eyes; as though she understood what he was feeling. She had been there when he saw Marcel; she knew what the loss was doing to him. “Take a walk.”

Vincent let Klaus go and he all but stormed past them both. Every agent and officer turned their head; either avoiding his gaze or gaping at him. Not sure if his temper could handle looking at any of them, Klaus stormed out of the police station; slamming the front door behind him. He gripped the railings that faced the parking lot, his knuckles going white in the process. He eyes closed but all he could see was the dead body of his friend. The pure rage and fury still radiating from him.

“Klaus?” A soft voice came from beside him and he turned to see Caroline standing a few paces from him; Bonnie behind her. Klaus looked over the shoulder of both woman and saw agents Rosza and Vanchure lingering behind them. She had a worried expression on her face and stepped forward, placing her hand on his forearm. “Are you okay?”

“No.” Klaus told her, tossing a humorless laugh in her direction. “Marcel is dead. Murdered by the same psychopath who kidnapped you.” Caroline nodded, completely unsurprised and could not help but noticed how she froze in place. Liz would have told her, he assumed and for some reason, that only infuriated him further. Seeing her, hearing Vincent’s warning in his head and the thought of being removed from her case sent a fresh wave of anger down in spine. “Maybe if I hadn’t been so distracted, he would still be alive.”

“Distracted? What?”

“Maybe if I hadn’t been so worried about you, I might have been able to save my best friend. Instead, what was I doing? I was with you. It always comes down to you doesn’t it? You have my guard down and my thoughts clouded that I didn’t see what happened last night. I should have realized that the killer would use my affection for you as a distraction to send me a message. The moment I saw that note I should have turned around and gone back to my motel. But I was too blinded by you to think clearly.” Klaus yelled at her, not caring who heard or the consequences of what he was admitting.

Caroline pulled her hand from his form arm as though she had been burned. The look on her face shifted from concern to pure agony. The hurt sent a wave of shame through Klaus, tempering his rage; but quickly that agony Caroline was feeling shifted to anger. She crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes at him.

“Don’t you dare blame this on me.” Caroline hissed at him in a low tone. Klaus began to retort, an apology on his lips but Caroline held up a single finger, silencing him; something no one else was capable of doing that Klaus could remember. “You’re hurt and angry and you should be. But do not think for one second that I am going to stand here and take your abuse. You’re lashing out because your friend died. I get it but once you’re able to get control of yourself and apologize, and really mean it, don’t talk to me; especially not like this. I deserve more than to be your scapegoat.” She turned on her heels and walked back over to Bonnie, who was giving Klaus a cold glare. Caroline looked back over her shoulder at him. “When you’re done throwing a temper tantrum, come find me and we can talk about Marcel.”

Caroline walked towards Rosza and Vanchure, telling them to take her home. Bonnie was still standing in front of him, sending Klaus the coldest glare she could muster. For a moment, Klaus thought he was about to receive another lecture, but Bonnie did nothing more than shake her head at him in disappointment and chase after Caroline. Klaus watched them go, a fresh wave of shame echoing through him. She had come to see if he was okay, and three seconds after her arrival he had done nothing but lash out at her. He wanted to chase after her and apologize but he figured that it would only make things worse.

Klaus shook his head and walked in the other direction. He found himself sitting on the small picnic tree that Caroline and himself sat at only a week prior. It felt like a million years had passed. Things were far simpler then, even though it was only a few days. He found Caroline to be strong and fascinating but now, his feeling for her were far deeper rooted than they had been previously. Klaus was not a hopeless romantic and could not call it love; it was too soon for that, but he could see himself falling for her easily if they were given the time. If he had met her outside of this case; when she hadn’t just been traumatized, Klaus would be beyond happy. Perhaps, finding the end to very long and dark tunnel he had been wading through.

Yet, that was not the case. Caroline was a witness and Klaus was jeopardizing the capture of a serial killer because he could not focus on anything else. He should take a step back. He should let her go and never look back, but he couldn’t. Klaus did not love Caroline, but he sure as hell was falling. Seeing her hurt face at his words only made his shitty day worse.

Marcel was dead.

He remembered the first time he met Marcel. He was only a few years younger than himself and he was on the phone with his grandmother. The gentle tone he used with the old woman told Klaus everything he needed to know about the man. His first assumptions were that Marcel was not going to make it. Klaus all but told him so during his training. Marcel set out to prove him wrong; and succeeded. Now he was dead, and Klaus had wished that he was right the moment he had met the other agent. Klaus wondered who would be the one to call that old woman who loved Marcel more than life’s itself. Typically, it would be Vincent, a job Klaus did not envy, but in this Klaus decided it should be him. When this case was over, he would drive to New Orleans and tell that old woman who helped raised Marcel that her grandson was dead. Maybe Klaus would even track down his mother, if she would care to learn about her son’s death.

Klaus was unsure how much time passed but after a while, he saw Vincent walking across the yard towards him with a file in hand. Klaus signed, but said nothing as his boss sat down beside him. Vincent was silent for a moment before turning to Klaus and looking him in the eye.

“Feel better?”

“No. If anything I feel worse.”

“I suspected that.” Vincent muttered. “Want to tell me what that was with Ms. Forbes?” Klaus turned to him and tossed him a look. “Neither one of you were quiet and frankly, that lovers spat answered every single one of my concerns about the relationship between the two of you.”

“I’m not going to apologize or back off.”

“Damn it, Klaus. I should write you up and take you off this case. I trained you better than this.” Vincent pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed in annoyance; it was a motion that the man had done many times in regard to Klaus. “Getting involved with a witness is enough for a good defense attorney to get a mistrial. I should not just pull you off this case, I should suspend you!”

“Go ahead. I don’t care.” Klaus told him, suddenly not caring about what Vincent could do to him. “Pull me from the case, suspend me if you want. It won’t change anything. I’m not leaving town until this bastard is taken in. After that, I’m done. I quit.”

“Klaus, you’re being rash.” Vincent snapped but Klaus turned to him and narrowed his eyes. He shook his head. “For fucks sake, you are nothing more than a pain in my ass. Your temper has caused me more than one headache and Marcel was the only agent who could stand to work with you but behind all of that you’re a damn good agent and damn good at your job; your unprofessionalism with Ms. Forbes aside. Marcel’s murder is shocking and awful, and honestly has me pissed as well but do not let that lead you to making a rash decision.”

“It is not a rash decision.” Klaus admitted, staring off into the empty lawn. “It was something I’ve been thinking about for a long time. Before this case came to our attention, I was going to turn in my notice.” Vincent inhaled deeply and closed his eyes. Klaus wanted to be flattered by the slump in his boss’s shoulders. “Whether you fire me, or I quit, once this case is solved, I’m done. I can’t do it anymore. This job, I can’t take it. Maybe that makes me weak, I don’t know but I just can’t anymore”

“You lasted longer than most and you’re far from weak.” Vincent muttered but looked towards Klaus as though he was seeing him with fresh eyes. “Jesus, I’m going to regret this. Fine. You can stay on the case, but you will listen to me. If I say jump, you jump. Got it?” Klaus said nothing but just looked at Vincent; not caring about the man’s opinion or rules. He was done following them. Marcel was dead. He no longer wanted to work for the bureau. Vincent shook his head and handed over the file in his hand. “Davina got something.” Klaus took the file and flipped it open. His eyes widened at the words and the fog that was clouding his mind all morning seemed lifted. “I already sent agents to pick her up. She will be here shortly.”

“Bring her to the station?” Klaus asked, his eyes flying over the information Davina, Vincent’s contact at the DEA, sent over. Marcel and Klaus had always traveled to their suspects, never having enough to forcefully bring someone in to being interrogated. “You got a warrant signed that fast?”

“Dead federal agent will get you anything. At this point, I could bring the whole town in and hold them for as long as the law would allow.” Vincent’s tone was bitter and angry. Klaus envied the influence and power his boss had; he was able to get things that Klaus would have been denied. He knew it came with the position he held and the diplomatic hoops he had to jump through that Klaus detested. Klaus had been up for a management position before and never once had he considered taking it.

“Perhaps we should.” Klaus shut the file, his mind going a mile a minute. Marcel had been right, follow the drugs and it would lead to something. He had only wished Davina was able to come through sooner. Maybe Marcel would still be alive. “Do you think she had something to do with it?”

“We’re about to find out.” Vincent nodded towards the parking lot, seeing the black SUV pull into a spot. Klaus watched as two agents he was not too familiar with pull a young woman with long brown hair from the back seat. She was wearing scrubs and she was handcuffed; a fact that did not surprise Klaus.

Elena Gilbert was not one who would want to come quietly.

“Let’s do this.” Klaus muttered and the two agents stood, watching Elena being all but dragged into the police station. Klaus and Vincent followed them inside. Klaus went to the coffee maker and poured himself a cup of coffee, waiting for the agents to stick Elena in a small interrogation room. They wanted Elena to sweat for a few minutes before they pounced on her. As Klaus drank his coffee, the caffeine helping to sooth the anger he still felt, he read over the file Vincent had given him. Thirty minutes later, Vincent appeared in the kitchenette, having debriefed the agents and motioned for Klaus to follow him.

“You’ve dealt with Ms. Gilbert before?”

“Yes. She is not my biggest fan.”

“Good. Use that.” Vincent turned the knob on the interrogation room door and allowed Klaus to enter first. Elena was sitting on the other side of a steel table, arms crossed and an annoyed look upon her face. Behind those brown eyes, Klaus could see genuine worry, but it was drowned out by the defiance she had come to know with Elena. Klaus sat across from her, setting the file down in front of him, while Vincent just leaned against the back wall; it had been a long time since he interrogated anyone with Vincent by his side. Not since the early days of his training.

“Good afternoon, Elena.” Klaus told her, looking directly in her eyes as he folded his hands over the file. “Early this morning, my partner Special Agent Marcel Gerard was shot in the head and murdered. So, believe me when I tell you that I am not in the mood for games. You will be honest with me or this can go very badly.”

“I’m sorry for your loss but I have nothing to say to you.”

“See the man behind me. He is my boss and he is ready to throw this entire town into a jail cell if someone doesn’t start talking, and he will start with you.” Klaus was pleased as Elena’s eyes flickered towards Vincent before returning her glare to Klaus. There was an air of entitlement to Elena that made Klaus think she believed that nothing bad could happen to her. Klaus, knowing that his bias was speaking, wanted nothing more than to prove to her that she was completely wrong. He wanted to turn her entire world upside down, not just for the things she had done to Caroline; but because of the death of his friend as well. He flipped open the file in front of him and peered at the words. “Tell me about what happened in November of last year at Whitmore Hospital.”

“Nothing.” Elena shrugged as though she was innocent, but Klaus just glared at her. “I got suspended for a few days. That’s it. I stayed home and then within a couple days I was back at work, moving on with my life.”

“Says here that a large supply of Dilaudid went missing.” Still Elena did not react. “The drugs were checked out under your key card and when the theft was discovered, you were brought in by the medical board for questioning. The theft was reported to the authorities but then miraculously you were back at work. How is it that this was covered up and you did not lose your job, let alone face jail time?” Elena said nothing, but instead just stared at Klaus.

“Answer him. Now.” Vincent replied, a tone of authority that made Elena wince.

“Damon donated a sum of money that the hospital needed to add on to their maternity ward. In exchange, I got to keep my job.” Elena replied in a matter- of-fact tone as though the news of Damon buying her job was an everyday occurrence; something that the average person would have been able to do. Klaus laughed, seriously amused by the answer. “What’s funny?”

“Is that when it started? Your affair with your fiancé’s brother?” Klaus asked, Vincent shifting behind him. Vincent had not been aware of the affair between Damon and Elena; or rather, that she had been engaged to Damon’s brother Stefan. All he knew was that Elena was Damon’s alibi for the night of Caroline’s disappearance. It was a small detail that neither Klaus nor Marcel found relevant to the case, outside of an alibi. Apparently, they were wrong. “Where was Stefan?”

“Out of town. Like always.”

“I see.” Klaus replied, suddenly enjoying toying with her. Seeing her squirm almost made him forget that Marcel was dead. If he pretended hard enough, Marcel was in that room with him, questioning Elena. “The theft of the Dilaudid was covered up but the drugs were never returned to the hospital. What did you do with them?”

“Nothing.”

“Really? I doubt that.” Klaus leaned in closer to her, his eyes narrowing. “The woman who you claimed to be a good friend was kidnapped and drugged the same type of medication you stole eight months earlier. That does not seem like a coincidence to me.” Elena just huffed and shook her head, leaving against the metal chair. “You want to be a good friend to Caroline? Because let’s be honest, you’ve been a shit one thus far. Not only did you have sex with your fiancé’s brother, you had sex with your friend’s ex-boyfriend. The same one who put her in the hospital!” Elena said nothing still, but Klaus could see the tears pooling in her eyes. “What did you do with the drugs?”

“Nothing.”

“Did you give them to Damon? Is that why he paid off the hospital, so you didn’t lose your job?”

“No.”

“Is he the one killing these women?”

“No.”

“Then who is Elena?”

“I don’t know.”

“You’re lying.” Klaus hissed. Elena refused to look at him, but she had gone tense. “Four women are dead and one of your best friends almost ended up just like them. My partner and friend were murdered by the same monster who you gave these drugs too. How much more blood do you want on your hands, Elena?”

“What I want is a lawyer.” Klaus gave a bitter laugh and sat back on his chair. Elena still refused to look at him, but he could tell she was cracking. However, he could no longer question her once she asked to have a lawyer present. Klaus turned to look at Vincent, and he could see the calculation in his superior’s eyes.

“Fine. We will have one brought in for you.” Vincent replied in a cool tone. Elena’s shoulder’s slumped in relief, something both men noticed. “Until then Agent Mikaelson will escort you down to one of the holding cells.”

“What?!” Elena cried out, looking between Vincent and Klaus. Clearly, she had thought that by requesting a lawyer, it was a get out of jail free card. However, that was not case nor how the system worked. “You can’t do that?!”

“Yes, Ms. Gilbert. I can.” Vincent told her, walking to the table and picking up the file that sat in front of Klaus. “I can hold you for seventy-two hours and I will until you tell me what I want to know. Lawyer or no lawyer, I will get answers. Take her to a cell Klaus.” With that, Vincent strolled out of the room as Klaus was rising from his seat.

“What are you doing!?” Elena asked him but Klaus said nothing. Instead he gripped Elena by the forearm and pulled her from the chair. He led her out of the room and down the hall, her fighting him the entire way. “Let go of me!”

Klaus remained silent but did not let go of her arm. He all but dragged her down the hall and towards a set of doors that lead to the jail cells. He bustled past the deputy on duty, whose name tag Klaus did not bother to read, seemed startled at their sudden appearance and demanded the keys to one of the cells. Flabbergasted, the deputy handed over the keys and Klaus tossed Elena into one; slamming it shut behind her.

Klaus would be lying if seeing her terrified and distraught face did not bring some sort of satisfaction to him.

“Agent Mikaelson! Let me out! Please!” Elena shouted after him as he left; ignoring her. He gave the deputy strict instructions not to listen to her nor to let anyone himself and Vincent down to see her; with the exception of her lawyer. He climbed back up the stairs to the station and saw Vincent on the phone. He waived Klaus over to him just has he was disconnecting the call.

“I could hear her screaming from here.” Vincent replied and Klaus snorted. “That was Davina. She is going to see if she can find anything else on the Dilaudid. I don’t think she will find anything, Ms. Gilbert gave the drugs to somebody, and unless they sold them and it was caught by one of the DEA agents, it is unlikely those particular drugs will surface again.”

“Too small of a town. I don’t think Mystic Falls knew what an FBI agent looked like before all this let alone someone from the DEA.” Klaus paused, taking a deep breath. “When this is over, I want to tell Marcel’s family that he died, I want it to be the last thing I do as an agent. I was closest with him, I’ve met them on several occasions, they deserve to hear it from me.” Vincent turned to look at Klaus for a second, tempted to refuse the request. Klaus made it very clear that once this case is done, he was gone. “Please.”

“Okay.” Vincent nodded, and gripped Klaus’s shoulder in understanding. At the end of the day, Klaus and Vincent had their differences but they knew that they had some semblance for respect for the other; especially when they did not have to deal with one another. “We are no longer staying at the motel. I got the funds to rent out a small bed and breakfast, the only one in town, for the time being. It is ours alone so there will be no foot traffic outside the little old lady that owns it. Where is your go bag?”

“In my SUV.”

“Okay. Good.” Vincent nodded. “I think we should call it a day. Unless Davina comes up with something or Elena decides to speak, there is not much else we can do. I doubt an attorney will be here before morning. Plus, a night in jail might be enough for her.” Klaus nodded in agreement. Vincent looked at him in contemplation. They both knew that when Klaus walked out of that police station, he wasn’t going to the bed and breakfast. Vincent wanted to hold him there but knew he couldn’t. He could take Klaus off the case, but he would not leave town. There was little Vincent could do other than hope that none of this blew up in his face. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Right.” Klaus turned and walked away from his boss, stepping out into sunlight. It would be a few hours before it went down, but Klaus felt as though the day had lasted a millennium. He never felt more at a crossroads in his life and yet despite everything that had happened in the past twenty-four hours, he had never been more certain of his decision. He told Caroline that he was going to turn in his resignation the day her case was presented to him, and that was true, but even then, he waivered. It was a leap that he was not sure he was fully ready for.

Now he had never been certain of anything else.

As he reached his car, Klaus climbed into the vehicle and pulled out his phone. He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath and dialed the familiar number. He listened to it ring, knowing it would be late in England, but he could not put this phone call off. Perhaps he should wait until he spoke to Marcel’s family, but she would never forgive him if he did.

“Nik?” Chimed the voice of his little sister.

“Hey Bex.”

“I was about to climb into bed. What is it?” There a hesitant tone in her voice. Out of all his siblings, he spoke to Elijah and Rebekah the most, but he rarely called them out of the blue, especially when he knew it would be late for them. “What is wrong?”

“It’s Marcel.” Rebekah sucked in a breath. “He’s dead.” Klaus’s voice broke at the news and hearing Rebekah give out a sob on the other end only drove the shards in deeper. The relationship between Marcel and Rebekah was probably the worst mistake of both of their lives but Klaus knew that even with everything, they had loved one another at the start. “I know the two of you hadn’t spoken in a while, but I wanted you hear it from me.”

“How?”

“He was murdered.”

“Did you find the bastard?”

“I’m working on it.” Hearing Rebekah’s sniff on the other end told him everything that he needed to know. If anyone still had faith in Klaus, it was is baby sister, even if he had no faith in himself at the moment. “You’ll be okay? Call that friend of yours. The one I don’t like.”

“Genevieve?” Rebekah laughed lightly. “I will. I’ll be fine, okay. You just…..stay safe please?”

“Always and forever.” Klaus vowed. It was a little promise that Klaus had made with his siblings in the aftermath of their mother’s death and Mikael’s trial. They all stood behind Klaus and despite all of that, Klaus felt that he was the one who kept to that promise the least. “I love you Bex.”

“Love you too Nik. Thank you for telling me.” With that, Klaus hung up the phone and tossed it on the seat. He took a few deep breathes and started the car. He pulled out of the police station parking lot and drove through the small town; his mind wandering. Everything seemed strange and normal at the same time. Part of him wanted to drive to that motel, expecting to find Marcel there. Another part of him wanted to pick up his phone and dial his number; hearing some insult from him as a greeting. Yet, he knew none of that would happen again.

He should drive to the bed and breakfast, check in and try and get some sleep; but Klaus knew that was not going to happen. Despite being up for over twenty-four hours, Klaus would not be able to sleep. In that case, he should check in anyway and call Elijah; who would probably be awake anyway feeding his newborn baby. Klaus felt an urge to see that little girl more than he ever had before. Hell, he would even take seeing Finn’s two kids at the moment; or even Kol and listen to whatever situation his younger brother found himself in.

Instead, he found himself parked outside a little house in the middle of Mystic Falls. He saw an SUV similar to his parked outside but neither Rosza nor Vanchure was the ones stationed in it. Made sense, those two would need to sleep at some point two. They had been replaced by two different agents and Klaus frankly did not care who they were.

He climbed out of the SUV and made his way up the brick walkway and onto the small porch. He knocked lightly, knowing that she would be home. He could see a shadow on the other side of the door, hesitating. After a second, Klaus heard the knob turn and the door opened to reveal a tired looking Caroline. Neither exchanged words; neither knowing where to begin. Caroline however, simply stepped aside, opened the door wide enough for Klaus to step over the threshold and closed it behind them.

[jjbakaloskaiagathos]

A Bird in a Cell of Passione: The Butterfly is Flying to the Light 🕯

In the previous chapter:

- Don is waiting for you.

Chapter 2:

Carina has frozen. She cannot believe her ears. The girl attempts to look at the young man’s face to understand it is a joke or not. His serious facial expression and tight grip represents as an important intention.

Finally, the man has taken the hand. He understands that he might to scare Carina in a big way. The man has coughed up, touched a jacket and pointed the opposite direction from the exit.

- Follow me, please.

Carina has no other reason not to go with the stranger.

They are walking in complete silence but there is a chance to see the man. Obviously, he is so handsome. The stranger is tall height, following Carina like a guiding star. He has fair hair represents as strands, falling on the face, but they do not cover his violet eyes. They are pretty beautiful and at the same time his glance provokes anxiety. Perhaps, it seems like that because of unpredictable circumstances but maybe his eyes really saw something terrible. The stranger’s nose is straight, the cheekbones are sharp and the lips are so full a bit.

- This man looks like Dorian Gray. It is Dorian Gray who has already sinned. I hope he doesn’t hide something what he is afraid of. Perhaps, he hides the same portrait, - this thought has arisen in Carina’s head when she has stopped to look at the stranger.

They have already approached the stairs which leads the first floor. Although the stuff of interior is amazing and breath-taking, it doesn’t seems like Heaven’s door. On the contrary, setting foot on a new stair, the girl’s heart beats hardly. She is scared by the unknown place, people and situation. However, she has found out how the first floor of mansion looks: the same expensive furniture but this place is not crowded as others. All mafia’s members are polite but their speeches are false.

- Perhaps, one of this people definitely sold his or her soul to Satan to improve the status, - Carina is thinking, heavily breathing.

The longer the girl is on the floor with these mafia’s members, the more it seems to her that the hall is full of liars. She needs air.

- Oh, they must take a bigger room. Everyone walks in the group of two people: a person and the huge ego... I hope no one reads thoughts here.

Finally, the man and Carina went into a long dark corridor where there were no people who greet the girl’s companion every now and then. Apparently, he occupies one of the main positions at the mafia. The ex-model does not even know his name...

- You have come back, Fugo! I'm tired of waiting for you. Where are you all getting stuck today? - a voice hears ahead.

Carina has looked out from behind her companion, is named Fugo, and has seen a young man in front, leaning against the wall next to the wide door.

- Stop it, Mista. I’m late for five minutes. G... Don wants her.

After these words, the girl looked at Mista’s eyes. They silently met their glances, obviously enjoyed the view.

Mista represents as a real Italian and seems even taller than Fugo. His hair is hidden under a funny hat, but based on the color of the eyebrows, Carina can guess that Mista is a brunette. The eyes are framed by long eyelashes and plump lips are broken into a satisfied smirk.

- Okay, you may come in. Don is waiting for you, - says the man, smiling.

Сarina only nodded when Mista opened the door. It is interesting that she was not blinded by a bright light. On the contrary, the room is dark. The moon has lit up the place and its shining is breaking through the windows.

When Carina stepped on the marble floor, she was struck: the stranger, who appeared in the orchard, is sitting at the large table.

- Boss, I brought her.

- Thank you so much, Fugo. Enjoy the event with Mista.

The word “Boss” is entering Carina into trance. She did not believe in her eyes and her stupidity.

- You called me discerning but I didn’t realize who you are! What a disgrace!

When the door closed, Carina was standing without any movement. The ex-model does not know what she should expect: punishment, praise... Death?

- Often I have dinner by myself but I think you can make up a company today. Will you do me an honor?

Сarina nodded and obediently took the place in front of Don. There are a fish and vegetables on the plate.

- I don’t know your tastes but I guess that you are going to eat it.

- I’m fine, thank you so much, - says the girl calmly, looking down at the dish.

- Are you afraid of me?

- I respect you. Do you want to hear these words?

- Why do you think like that?

- I suppose the true authority must be based on respect and fear should disappear. Otherwise, a rebel can lead people and this power can be overthrown. Don, you control all mafia and its members then you need to get support and love, - answers the girl, spreading peas on the plate.

Finally, she has made a decision to look at Don because he said nothing. Boss is smiling and approval is being read on his lips.

The dinner lasted about forty minutes. The conversation was full of interesting and serious topics and the man asked some general questions about Carina. She answered honestly but partially, suspecting that Don has already checked the girl’s file.

Drinking the second glass of wine, Boss says:

- It’s too dark outside. How are you going to get home?

- I'm going by taxi.

- I think that Fugo can give you a ride.

- This is not necessary, thank you. I don’t want to bother your colleague.

- Everything is fine. I want to know that you will get safe and sound.

Сarina was embarrassed a bit but she understands that refusing is not a good idea. She was silent when Don was calling Fugo.

- I want to thank you for the dinner. However, I noticed you didn’t eat anything. Didn’t you like it?

- Everything was delicious on the plate but I'm just not hungry.

That is a lie. When the girl is being nervous, she can never eat.

- You are lucky that I’m not going to lick your cheek to find out a liar you or not, - says Don, looking teasingly at ex-model.

Carina feels cold drops of sweat on her back, listening to this strange phrase. She is saved by knocking.

- Boss, did you need me?

- Yes, I did. Can you get this pretty girl to home? She will tell you her address.

- Of course, will be done.

- See you soon, Carina, - says Don with a smile.

When ex-model left the office, she noticed the man who wears strange hat. He waved to her and then disappeared into the familiar room, closing the door behind.

- Giorno, the last time we were in that club and I chose a blonde for you. Our Don can just say that he likes dark-haired chicks more, - says the bodyguard, touching the man’s shoulder.

- I have no idea what you're talking about, Mista, - answers Boss shortly.

- Oh, come on, dude. By the way, why did you say that you usually have dinner by yourself? We always eat together.

- Don’t tell me that you overheard.

Carina is following Fugo. She noticed that he does not laid back because of this sudden responsibility.

- Sorry, can I go into the ladies’ room?

- Okay. Hurry up. I'll be waiting for you.

Carina has nodded in agreement and started to find the place. When the girl finished, she did not see her companion. However, ex-model noticed two middle-aged men who have greeted Fugo particularly friendly lately.

- Maybe they have met him. Come on Сarina, just ask.

The girl took a deep breath and approached. Noticing her, mafia’s members smiled.

- I'm sorry, gentlemen, but I'm looking for my friend and his name is Fugo. He is accompanying me...

- Ah, you're looking for Pannacotta. I think he has already come down and is waiting for you.

- Oh, thank you! Sorry for interrupting. Good night!

Carina has gone away.

- I didn’t know that Don prefers such cute whores.

- Now this isn’t important. Who is she?

- I never saw her here. Obviously, she is another pawn.

- We need to take Panacotta hostage and get rid of the girl. Before that, I want to see how she can sob when I will tear her clothes.

Smiling at each other, the men raised their glasses and drank.

⬅️ To be continued

[quierick]

runaway // zabdiel de jesus

[ pairing ] badboy!zabdiel x reader

[ word count ] 10.3k

[ genre; part ] fluff, romance, drama, angst; oneshot 

[ sum. ]  

“if you run up we can runaway. i know you think about it everyday. i cannot say no to the pretty face. baby, we can lean in it��� - runaway

[ tag list ]  @smoljoelito @richukisbb @mepuserojito @cnc-oh-boi @dimelo-cnco @ericksmamita @joelsaww @marveloucnco @christiiineexx @besosdecnco @zabdielsdimples @cnco-babes @sevuelveloca394 @m1jita-flores @richardsbbygirl @undeadspazzattack @zabdielsqueenb @cnchoebaby @cncoh-damn @h-bea92 @estefania723 [ join tag list here ]

[ a/n ]  this is for @ericks-mala-actitud 300 contest! i loosely used the prompt for some inspiration but the main idea of this fic is a back story to zabdiel in de cero. also the italics means that it is a flashback. enjoy!

“Zabdiel...” You giggled as pushed your boyfriend away from your neck which he was just kissing. You watched him break out into a small chuckle as his hands cupped your face, looking at you with his dark eyes. 

“Mi amor, just a little longer?” He whined which made you roll your eyes quickly as you knew there was no way you could tell him no. Zabdiel wasted no time to attack your lips with his own. His kisses always made your stomach flutter, a sensation you never get used to. After a minute of two you pushed him away once more. 

“Okay, I really have to go now.” You told him. He put a small pout on his face as he finally sat up. He grabbed the shirt off the bed and slipped it on, covering the tattoos on his chest and back. You bit your bottom lip as you sat up, buttoning your own shirt. You hated this part of your relationship. The way it always had to end at 5 PM, the way you could only be a couple in his bedroom, the way your family hates him. You sighed as leaned onto his back, draping your arms around his neck to encase him in a soft hug and then pressing a small peck on the side of his cheek. “I’m sorry. I love you.”

“I know, I love you too.” Zabdiel whispered as he turned to place a small peck on your lips. His pout was gone as he smiled into the short kiss. He pulled away and you rested your head on his shoulder as you both didn’t want to leave just yet. He raised a hand to your cheek, caressing it softly. “Mi amor, I’m always going to love you.”

-- 

You woke up with a groan escaping. You sat up from your sleeping position as you turned to read the bright red letter to your right. The time read 8:02 and that’s all you need to raise into panic as you were now running late for work.

“What’s got you in a hurry?” The voice of your boyfriend, if you could even call him that, said with a chuckle. You rolled your eyes as rushed past him to the bathroom to go get ready. He always did this sort of thing, not caring about anyone other than himself. “Babe?”

“Don’t babe me. Don’t turn off the fucking alarm when I have to go work.” You seethed right before you started to brush your teeth. 

“You weren’t waking up, so I turned it off.” He told you which made you stop your actions, to turn towards him. You studied the way he was standing against the door frame, his arms were crossed and he should absolutely no remorse in his actions. You quickly rinse your mouth out and wiped the excess away before turning back to the man. 

“Look, I don’t who you think you are but this is my apartment. I turn off the alarm when I want, I get up when I want, I do what I want.” You exploded which caught him off guard, making him let out a series of chuckles. You grew angrier as you could see that he was obviously not taking your seriously. “You know what, leave. This little whatever-we-had is over.”

“Whatever-we-had? We’re dating!” He outburst as he took a step backwards, away from you. You rolled you took a step out of the bathroom, following him. He took a seat on the edge of the bed still letting out a couple of airy laughs, trying to ignore your previous statement. You crossed your arms and looked to his sitting frame. “Well, it’s over. Pack your shit and leave.”

“Are you serious?” He asked as he ran a hand through his hair. He sighed as he stood up from where he was sitting. “You know, You’re right. We never really had anything because of you. You’re still fucking hung up on that guy, the one from high school? Look, you put on the stupid damn bracelet again.”

“This has no-”

“Bullshit. You just don’t want to look pathetic, but you are.” He jabbed at you with his eyes never left you. You shake your head and close your eyes, turning away from him. “See, you can’t even tell me I’m wrong.”

“Whatever, I have to go to work. Just get out of here.” You told him as you wandered into the bathroom to go wash your face. You entered the bathroom, closing the door as you looked down to your wrist which had the bracelet Zabdiel had given to you. Your hands lightly went over to the jewel and sighed. You put it unconsciously, like every other day. You hated to admit but the man angrily packing his clothes in your bedroom was right, you weren’t over Zabdiel. However, that doesn’t matter as that relationship was left in the past. 

--

“Ah, it’s so cold.” You shivered as you entered Zabdiel’s small apartment. You could hear Zabdiel let out a little giggle as he locked the door behind you both. It was pouring outside and you both ran to his apartment as quick as you could but that didn’t save you from getting completely soaked. 

“Mi amor, go ahead and jump in the shower. I will throw your clothes in the wash.” He told as he kissed the top of your head. You smiled at his actions but then you turned and draped your heavily drenched arms and draped them around Zabdiel neck.  He raised an eyebrow as he copied your actions, wrapping his arms around your frame. You watched his dark curls to stick to his skin and his dark eyes as they  never leaving your own.You didn’t have anything to say you just wanted to stay in this moment forever. “Mi mujer, you’re going to get sick.”

You ignored his words as you stared at the smile that broke onto his face. You knew that he didn’t know what you were doing, if you were honest, you didn’t either. All you knew was that you wanted to be in his arms and stare into his beautiful features forever. You felt your eyes soften as you stared into his beautifully confused ones. “I love you.”

“I love you,” He replied immediately. It was nothing you hadn’t heard before but every time those words left his mouth, they left you feeling as if you were on cloud nine. You felt him his lips press against your forehead. “More than anything....”

You lifted your face as a way to tell him that you wanted an actual kiss now, he chuckled as he complied with you desires. His lips were colder than you expected but you didn’t hesitate to pull him closer by his neck. You could feel Zabdiel break a smile into the kiss as be bent a little so the kiss could get more intimate. Finally, after what seemed like forever, Zabdiel pulled away. His hands left your waist as they went to cup your cheeks. He gave them a light pinch before placing a quick peck on your left cheek.. “Now, go shower before you get sick.”

“I won’t.” You pouted as you dropped your hands from him neck. You knew that if you went to take a shower now then the time your guys would have would be cut shorter than what it already was. 

“You will. If you get sick, then I would have to days without seeing you.” He argued in a soft voice. You let out a puff of air and rolled your eyes. There wasn’t a way you could win this battle so you turned to the bedroom and then turned back to Zabdiel, trying to get him to side on you. He let out a soft chuckle before he grabbed your shoulder and manually turned you towards the room himself. You grumbled as you took your way to his dark bedroom. The only light was the one entering through the dark curtains, but with it being so dark outside there was barely any light. You flipped the switch of the bedroom which didn’t light the room as much as anyone would expect, the apartment that Zabdiel had was far from what you could call nice. The sink was broken, the lights barely worked, the water pressure was horrid, the fire alarm goes off at least three times a week,  the neighbors were always fighting, but even through all of that, this was your happy place. The only place in the world where you can love Zabdiel as freely as you want, no worry about your family finding out, no worry about anything. Just you and the love of your life being as happy as you could be. 

You ventured over the familiar drawers in his closer and pulled out a pair of boxers and then proceeded to look at the variety of sweaters and hoodies you had to choose from. You chose his pink one that he only ever wore inside. Though he has this bad boy exterior to the outside world, you are one of the few who knew about his love of cute colored things. You hugged the hoodie, taking in Zabdiel’s lingering scent. You quickly moved to start the shower so you could hurry with your shower so you could go back to kissing your boyfriend. The shower was mediocrely warm but it was enough to out beat the cold rain drops that your had you drench prior. Quickly washing your hair and body with the sad products that Zabdiel had, your shower was done at a hasty pace. You changed into the clothes you had stolen from Zabdi’s wardrobe a few minutes ago but as you did so you could see that your boyfriend had snuck into the bathroom to take your wet clothes. Once fully dressed with your hair barely dry, you hopped out of the bathroom and into the bedroom where you boyfriend surprisingly wasn’t. He usually laid on the bed, relaxing whenever you had to take a shower. You curiously turned down the hallway to find him in the kitchen where he stood standing over the stove, letting out a trail of curse words. “Zabdi?”

“Ah, are you done already?” He questioned as you could tell that he was shocked to hear your voice as you do have a track record of taking long showers. You smiled for your answer as you also lifted an eyebrow as a way to ask what he was doing. “Well, we weren’t able to get something to eat since its raining and everything, I was going to make you something but this damn stove...it sucks.”

“It’s okay, I’m not hungry.” You lied as you smiled once more. He turned to look at you with an unimpressed face as he then turned back to the stove top playing a little more with the burner until a small burst of fire appeared. You boyfriend let out a small cheer as you felt your heart drop. “Zabdiel! Be careful!”

He let out a genuine laugh as he turned to you, he leaned over to you with puckered lips. You, of course gave him a small peck but that followed with a slap to his arm. Zabdiel let out another laugh then turned back to the stove where he was melting some butter. He smirked as he turned to open the fridge really quick. “I hope you like...uh eggs.”

You giggled yourself as you took in the sight of your boyfriend. He primarily survived on food from the lady down the street who ran a small food stand of Boricua food, never really having much to cook for himself. This was solely due to the fact that he didn’t know how to cook, your mind reminiscenced of the time he tried to cook you a genuine dinner which ended up being a major failure. You silently watched as he cracked an egg into the pan, a small cure leaving his lips as immediately started to pick out eggshells with the fork. “Babe, do you want me to cook?”

‘No,no. I got this.” Zabdiel replied proudly as intensely watched the egg cook. You watched with love filled eyes as you he panicked and cursed at the meal he was cooking. You had no expectations for the results but just seeing the amount of effort he was putting into cooking made you not care. He slide your food onto a paper plate he pulled from the cabinet above. “Ta-dah!”

You eyed the meal in front of you. Despite his best efforts, the eggs were slightly burned. You smiled to your boyfriend who had an expecting face. His worried face turned into a smile. He then clapped his hands together as opened his fridge once again. “La tia, she gives me lots of tortillas which will make it better.”

He took out an aluminum covered package and quickly threw it into the microwave and started to press buttons. You stood from your spot in worry as you looked at you boyfriend in panic. “Zabdiel, no!”

Your large boyfriend turned to you with his eyebrows furrowed as he tried to understand what you were yelling about. “The metal! Zabdi you can’t microwave metal!”

“Ah!” He exclaimed as he quickly opened the microwave and took the small stack of tortillas out. He let a small chuckle before placing them on a plate. You sighed in relief as you sat back down in your seat with your heart still racing, you wondered how he had forgotten such a thing. Once they were down he turned with a proud smile as he placed the tortillas next to the eggs. He could tell that you weren’t pleased with what just happened so he nervously put his hand on the back of his neck, avoiding eye contact with you. “You see, I usually just get tortillas there so I don’t have to worry about cooking. These were just left over, it  just slipped my mind.”

You raised an eyebrow as you reached for a warm tortilla. This event that just happened made you even more nervous about Zabdiel living by himself as he always seemed to mess something up. He didn’t know how to wash his clothes so he just kept buying new cheap white tank tops at the flea market, he had no idea he had to pay a water bill until you had to complain about the insanely cold shower you had to take, and now the microwave you were scared for him. You nibbled at the tortilla as you waited for your boyfriend to take a seat with you. He was rummaging through his cabinets to find a cup so you guys could drink something, finally he found an old mug that he or his friends hadn’t broken yet. Zabdiel filled the small glass with tap water before he took a seat next to you. “You know, you make so worried when you do stuff like that.”

“Ah, mamita,” Your boyfriend sighed as he grabbed a tortilla for himself. He bit off a large piece of it off and started to chew obnoxiously loud. You rolled your eyes at him which then prompted him to do it even louder, and with his mouth still full he began talking. “You don’t need to worry about me. I am perfectly fine.”

“Ay, okay. Just stop talking with your mouth full.” You say as you tried to suppress a laugh that did you no good as a giggle was let loose. You watched as your boyfriend leaned back in his chair with a perfect little grin was placed on his face. 

“There is the laugh I love.” Zabdiel said softly. You could feel yourself blush, nothing like when two had first started dating but still enough for Zabdiel to notice. He just had this way with you, something that made you never want to leave.  There was nothing about Zabdiel that turned you away. He wasn’t the best student, but he is kind. He doesn’t care, but he believes in you. He doesn’t let people in, but he feels like home. He was perfect for you. 

You both ate the food with little small talks filling in some of the silence. The plate was quickly finished as Zabdiel didn’t seem to realize 3 eggs isn’t much to fill up the both of your. “Should I make some more?” 

“No, I’m full.” You fibbed. You loved your boyfriend, you truly did but the eggs were probably more bland than anything you have you ever eaten in your life. You quickly smiled as you caught a glimpse of Zabdiel eyeing you. “It was good! I ate most of it!”

“Ah...You liar.” He sucked his teeth as he picked up the plate. He then broke out into a loud laugh which caught you by surprise. “It was...disgusting. I’m so sorry… You really did eat all of those nasty flavorless eggs…”

Your jaw dropped as you watched you boyfriend hurry to pick up the dishes. You lightly slapped his arm as it reached down in front of you. You tried so hard to eat the food he worked so hard to make and there he was admitting that it was gross. “I can’t believe this... You let me suffer like that?”

“Lo siento, mi amor.” Zabdiel said softly as he placed a quick peck on the side of your cheek. You rolled your eyes as you watched Zabdiel leave towards the kitchen. You began to pout slightly so you could get your boyfriend to notice you which of course he did. You watched as he broke out into another laugh. He dropped the plates into his tiny sink and walked back over to the spot where you were still sitting. “Hm? Let me go make this up to you, yeah?”

Your pout broke into a small smirk as you let your boyfriend’s large hand encase yours as he pulled you towards the bedroom. The room was still dark and the sound of the harsh rain was loud against the window which didn’t matter much to you as you quick came plopping down onto your boyfriend who was laid out on the bed. You looked at his dark curly hair and ran one of your hands through it. His hair was so soft and delicate, you absolutely loved it. Someone who also loved you playing with his hair was Zabdiel himself. You saw his eyes close with pleasure which made you happy at such a scene but after a minute you gave him hair a soft yank. “Hey, I thought you were making it up to me?”

“Ah,” Zabdiel said as he opened his eyes slowly. He snaked a hand around your waist and swiftly flipped you over so know his larger frame was looming over yours. You bit your lip before pulling the rosary that was draped around his neck to pull him into a kiss, which he easily complied with. He moved his hand from your waist to start trailing up inside the oversized hoodie. “Have I ever told you how hot it is when you wear my clothes?”

“Hmm,” You hummed as you but your lips rolling your eyes in a cute fashion before finding your boyfriend’s love filled ones. “You might have mentioned it once or twice.”

“Well, I should tell you more often.” Zabdiel mumbled as he moved back down for a kiss before you socul say anything, the less talking the better. Zabdiel cut his kisses shortened as he started to trail down the edge of your collarbone. You bit your lips as you tried to take in the feeling of him kissing your neck as long as you could, but as he started to focus on a spot you both knew all too well, you had to push him away. You boyfriend pulled away from you with a worried look. “Eh? Que paso? Esta bien?”

You let out an airy giggle as you shake your head to ease him of his nervousness. Zabdiel was so gentle and caring, you never had to worry about him doing anything you didn’t want him to. You sighed as you began to sit up which the tall male followed you actions as he got from on top of you. “It’s not you, last time we kinda… you know… and there was a mark. My parents got totally freaked but luckily I covered it up with a lie about a book falling on me.”

Zabdiel let out a silent nod, he understood the condition about your parents. Of course, he hated it but he would rather deal with it rather than not have you at all. You nibbled on your bottom lip in guilt as you tried to read what was on his mind. Before you could think of something to say to fill the tense silence, you watched your curly haired lover stand up off the bed. “Zabdi…?”

Zabdiel didn’t answer you, instead he walked over to his dresser. He rummaged through his pants draw for a quick second, pulling out a small black velvet drawstring bag. You could see him fiddling with the strings in nervousness which must of been contagious as you felt your stomach swirling trying to understand what was happening. Your boyfriend stood in front of you for a moment, taking a deep breath before looking up to find you eyes. “Mi amor, I’m sorry about always getting you in trouble. I just can’t help it… I truly love you so much…”

You were speechless, you had heard Zabdiel say these words at least a thousand times before but with the sincerity in his voice you couldn’t comprehend anything, all you knew was the boy in front of you is most definitely the love of your life. You snapped out of your trance of admiring your boyfriend when he broke the silence with a clearing of his throat. 

“I got these a while ago,” Zabdiel began as he started to open the small pouch. There were two bracelets with an amethyst jewel connected to it. He took a step forward and held one of the pieces of jewelry out to you. You gently grabbed it and took in the beauty of the bracelet. It was sleek and simple but so pretty and the best part was the the shy face that your lover had as he watched you look at it in awe. “I know they aren’t the prettiest or the most expensive...but I want to be connected to you, always... Y/n, I’m so crazy about you.”

You weren’t one to be emotional but watching your boyfriend be so raw and heartfelt with you, there was no other choice but to let you emotions through. Tears swelled up in you eyes which you swiftly tried to sniffle them back but there was no use since on had already fallen. “Ah, Mi Amor? I can get you something else...please don’t cry…”

“Aye, I’m not crying because of that!” You snapped to you boyfriend as you looked up to see anxious face. You let out another empty laugh as you wiped the tears away from you face. “Zabdiel, I love it. I’m going to treasure it...If you call it ugly one more time, I will hurt you.”

You viewed as his face turned from nervous to blissful in a matter of seconds. You turned your attention away from your boyfriend and clicked the bracelet onto your wrist, taking a moment to admire the subtle beauty of the jewelry. You then lifted your head to smile at your boyfriend who stood there admiring you. You reached you grab his hand and pulled him closer. His skin was cold yet intensely hot to you, you wanted to hold his hand forever. You took the bracelet from his fingers and clasped in on him. You trailed you fingers over it for a second, having your eyes go from his wrist to your own. You felt a sense of ease as now you could be known as Zabdiel’s girlfriend without hickeys on your neck or secret hideout dates. With this bracelet you guys were attached to each other without others having to know. A grin started to grow on your face as you looked back up to you expectant boyfriend. “Look, now we’re connected.”

Zabdiel put on a soft smile as he bent down to place a kiss on your lips again. He intertwined his fingers with his own. You could feel the passion, the genuine love within in his kiss. As if you needed anything more to melt about later on when you lay in bed thinking about today he broke a word into your kiss which made your heart leap. “Always.”

---

“Late again, L/n?” You heard your boss call out once you entered the office. You mentally rolled your eyes as you put on an apologetic look, letting out empty apologies. You could see your his put on a smug look as he handed you a pile of small files which you immediately internally groaned at. “Since, you don’t want to take your job seriously, you take care of the minor disputes.”

“Sir, this isn’t my area...” You spoke softly, trying to snap at the taller man. He gave you a smirk and a small shrug as he walked past you and towards his own office. You were ignored and embarrassed. You worked hard to get to where you were but that doesn’t change the fact that you were merely an intern, working at a pathetic wage. It just showed how much this county cared about the people, as they left it up to you to tell the criminals their charges and fees. You knew it was because the real cops didn’t want to deal with the people pleas and profanity. You dropped your bag at the pathetic excuse of a desk. Your eyes turned to your fellow intern who was sitting across from you, you view him updating files. He gave you an apologetic nod as he had obviously watched how your boss had embarrassed you. “What made him give you files?”

“I bought the wrong creamer.” He sighed as he continued to type on the computer. You nodded, as you took a step out of the intern’s cub. The interns were treated so badly that it was practically a joke. You held the papers files in your hand with nothing but an annoyed look as   you stopped at the front desk to greet your favorite person in the office. He was an officer but he usually dealt with missing cases and informing families on any news/evidence that was added to their cases. “Hey!”

“Ah Y/n! Good Morning...stuck with minor disputes again?” He asked in a quiet voice as you could only give him a lowly nod. He gave you a quick frown and tapped his fingers against the corner of his desk. “You would think that would be considered illegal...I can help out, bring the prisoners to you so you don’t have to hear any of those lowlife catcalls.”

“Yes, that would be such a big help.” You told him as you recalled the times when the people behind the bars would slur drunken curses and even spit at you, it was a nerve wracking situation that you were happy to not have to be in. He gave you a thumbs up as he reached for the keys that resided besides his computer monitor. You sighed as you began making your way to the conference room with a stack of files in your hands, some were small and short which usually mean that they had no track record while others who had multiple offences had a larger folders. “007 is up first.” You called out so you could get this done as fast as you could. 

You went through the people as quick as you could since most of them were truly minor, but eveen with your quick pace you were already four hours in and you were getting tired. Most of the people you had actually known, there was a party yesterday and many people had gotten caught which resulted in them getting detained for drinking underage and smoking weed. They we’re given a small slap on the wrist, in other words 20 hours of community service and a two hundred dollar fine. You grew tired of repeating the same phrases so as odd as it sounded, you enjoyed the moment you got to the bigger problems, a change from college kids crying on how their parents were going to kill them. There was only one big file for today and you decided to take a peek at who it was, opening the file to find a picture of a boy you hadn’t seen in three long years. You stared at the picture to see the almost unfamiliar brown eyes that held little to no emotion in them. Shaking your head slightly as you tried to tell yourself that it wasn’t the boy you knew but once your eyes trailed to the name, you couldn’t lie to yourself even farther once you saw it. Zabdiel De Jesus

----

“Nena,” Your boyfriend laughed as he knocked on your bedroom window. Usually the idea of Zabdiel coming even within two streets of your home was totally off the table out of the fear that your parents finding out but this was a special occurrence of your parent’s yearly visit to your grandmother who lived across the country. You giddily cracked the window open. Zabdiel had a duffel bag filled with clothes for him to spend the night. He pulled the window open with little to no problem which was incredibly sexy to you as you barely had half the strength to pull it open three inches. Your boyfriend reached the duffel bag into the room, dropping it softly on the ground then he climbed through the window himself. He turned to quickly close the window before it rained again as rain always seemed to love to show up at random times. Zabdiel turned to you who was standing at the edge of your bed with your hands clasped together as if you were holding your breath, which you were. This is the first time Zabdiel had ever agreed to spend the night with you. He draped his arms around your neck and bent down to place a kiss on your lips. “Mi amor, you look nervous… I don’t have to stay the night if it worries you.”

“No, no. I’m sorry, I don't know what is wrong with me.” You admitted to him. Zabdiel has been in your bedroom before but the thought of him staying the night was just something new. You were scared you would be caught.

“Y/n, don’t worry. Your aunt, she already checked in, no?” He asked as he rubbed your arms slightly to calm you down. You gave him a shallow nod. He then proceeded to ask if your parents sent you their obligatory phone call tell you that they arrived safely and you gave him another nod. Zabdiel smiled as he pecked your lips softly. “There is no need to worry, I promise. I wouldn’t have agreed to stay over if I thought we would get caught.”

“Aren’t you tired of that?” You inquired as your neutral face turned into a frown as you thought more on what he had just said. Caught. You were getting tired of how it felt as if you and Zabdiel were something bad, something other than two teenagers in love. Your boyfriend gave a confused look as his eyes questioned what you meant. You let out a small sigh as you tried to collect a way to word it. “I mean, hiding around and never getting to be a real couple. You have to be tired of it, I am. I just don’t understand why you even bother with this, you have tons of other girls throwing themselves at you the second they see you.”

“Hey,” Zabdiel eased as he looked at you with soft eyes and his hands reached up to cup your face. You looked into his gaze and you could already tell what he was going to say. “Y/n, I love you. I love you more than anything and if sneaking around town means I can be with you then that is what I will do with no complaints. I just want you. One day, we can be able to hold hands and love each other freely without having to worry about anyone else, not even the girls who dream of me.”

You let a chuckle due to his last words. He always said these words to you when you got nervous or angry about your relationship. Zabdiel was a dictionary definition of a perfect boyfriend; he listens, he cares, he waits, and he is head over heels in love with you. Yet the stress within you never let up. You both always talked about the day you would walk the streets holding hands without caring about a single thing but that wasn’t enough for you anymore. “When?”

“What?...When?” Your boyfriend repeated with a confused look taking over his face. You could see that he didn’t understand where you were getting at so you took another deep breath and clarified. “When do we get to be a normal couple?” You affirmed.

“When...When do you want to be?” He questioned as he looked down to your lips. He didn't wait for you to notice as he pressed a kiss onto your lips. Zabdiel had taken a step forward which made you take one back, this had you bumping into the bed. You tried to keep the kiss going while still trying to keep you balance but your boyfriend leaned in even more which made you fall back into the bed, breaking the intimate moment. “What do you want, mi amor?”

“I want you, Zabdiel.” You told him has your eyes focused on his serious face and you knew the words you spoke were completely true. Your heart raced in anticipation of what was going to happen next. You saw Zabdiel lean down to induce you into another kiss, this one being more tender than the last one but you didn’t care, the way you were feeling right now, you just wanted to kiss this boy for the rest of your life. Zabdiel quickly moved from your lips and began to trail pecks down your neck until he pulled away once more. You both locked eyes with each other, just rolling in nothing but love. You placed one hand on his cheek, rubbing your thumb under his eye softly. “Let’s do it.”

“W-what?” Zabdiel asked with shock obvious in his tone. You broke into a small chuckle as you realized where his mind had gone to. You rolled your eyes and dropped your hand away from his face. He gave you a confused look, wondering what you were talking about. You lightly tapped his chest to signal him to move aside. Zabdiel lazily pulled away from you with his puzzled stare never leaving you. You sat up turning to your adorably, clueless boyfriend. You reached for his hand. You used both of your hands to enclose one of his large ones. 

“Let’s runaway.” You blatantly told him. You watched as Zabdiel tilted his head, still not fully understanding what the hell you were talking about. You took a quick deep breath as you rubbed one of your thumbs over his knuckles, using this short time to collect you thoughts. You were on the edge, about to burst with all your emotions but you didn’t want to confuse the large boy even more. “My love, we are never going to get to be that couple we dream about. Not here, in this town at least.”

“So, you want to leave?” Zabdiel trailed immediately. His face was serious and sincere, he was listening to your words with an open mind and heart. You could feel you heart beat start to pick up with the intensity that he was giving you. 

“I can leave this all behind for you.” You stated with no hesitation. You were being truthful with yourself for once. You wanted to be with Zabdiel more than anything. Your desire for Zabdiel was nothing but greedy, too much was never enough for you. The days you can’t be with him felt so empty and so punishing, longing for nothing but to feel his embrace once more. When you first started this relationship, you thought the secrecy of dating of him was the fuel to the passion within you however that was never the case. It was him. He made you feel like a different person, your true self.  You always had expectations and an appearance to keep up with everyone around you but once you were with Zabdiel, it all disappeared. He loved your raw side, the one with no filter. You loved that about him too, you loved everything about him. He was the one who made you stomach flip and your head spin with every little thing he did. 

“Y/n, what about school? Your family?” He questioned. Zabdiel was all the way in, he always was when it came to you but he knew how you always got ahead of yourself in your ideas. He didn’t want to get his hopes up. You were expecting this from Zabdiel, he was always the cautious one. He kept his feet on the ground, having no problem taking your relationship one step at a time while you fell onto the spirited side of your relationship, hoping for the impossible.

“School? I graduated. My family? Zabdiel, they don’t care about what I want, so I have to do this for myself. I am finally going to be my own person. I don’t care anymore. I want you. I want you so much, Zabdiel-” You sentence was interrupted with his lips crashing onto your own. You squeezed his hand as the other one found a place on your neck, pulling you deeper into the kiss. His tongue slipped into your mouth and you could feel tender emotions, on a scale that you have never experienced from him before. Zabdiel was always the one to have a rough exterior, you were never able to truly tell his feelings yet there were times like these where they were painfully apparent, times where holding nothing back. 

Finally, after what seemed like a blissful eternity, Zabdiel pulled away with taking a moment to recollect his breath while always loving gazing into your eyes. You saw his dark orbs filled with so much eagerness and admiration, you were lost in them. He broke into a small smile as he pressed his forehead to your own. He closed his eyes and “Let’s go.”

---

 The name placed in front of you caused you heart begin to race with panic. You must’ve reread the letter arrangements a thousands times trying to convince yourself that there was no way it was you Zabdiel. The door, as if on cue, let out an obnoxiously loud creak and you swiftly turned your head anxiously, the appearance of a familiar face killed any of you hopes of this being a wholesome coincidence. 

You could see his dark brown orbs grow at the sight of you. You felt your own eyes grow in size but you turned your head quickly, not wanting to let on any ideas. You cleared your throat loudly as you returned your sight back to Zabdiel. His eyes looked as if they never left your body for even a second which made you heart race in an all too familiar. 

“This is your last one for today. Your hours will be up so if you want to get this one over quick.” The guard reassured and you were sure there was no reason because you planned to get this over with as soon as you could. Zabdiel silently took a seat in the chair across from you with his handcuffed hands against his lap. This wasn’t the Zabdi you once knew, the bleach blonde locks falling into his forehead were unfamiliar. The dark look in his eyes was unfamiliar. The tattoos across his chest, unfamiliar. You couldn’t find the soft-hearted Zabdiel you were once in love with. You nodded for your buddy to leave yet you wished for him to stay behind so you could avoid the staring boy in front of you. You watched his figure walk through the door and with a silent sigh you turn back to Zabdiel who had an unimpressed expression. “You’re a cop?

“W-what? No,” You stutter surprised by the low tone he used. His voice was always so sweet and tender but he held almost no emotion in his words. You fiddled with the paper in front of you while you tried to compose yourself together, not wanting to continue to be an anxious mess. You took a small breath before you began to talk. “I am interning here while I study at the college.”

“What was that?” You heard him as in a louder voice. You lifted your eyes to meet your own and you had no other option but to assume that was his goal as a smirk played on his lips showing the view of his dimple that makes his sight familiar to an extent which somehow breaks your heart in too many ways. You blink your eyes away from him before whispering. “You heard what I said.”

The room fell silent. You were filling out the papers while having your ears sensitive to almost any sound, almost as if you hoping for him to continue to say something. You fought of the intense urge to sneak peeks towards Zabdiel, you felt that if you were caught then you would feel guilty. 

“Hmm…” He hummed and you lifted your head to look at him practically the moment the sound left his mouth. You felt as if you were being played as you watched the smirk on his face grow in size. You bit you lips as you turned your head back down to the paperwork. It hurt to see him yet it was hard to look away. “Your hair is shorter.”

“And you're blond.” You commented in a soft voice. Even though you loved the brown, this wasn’t the boy you once knew.

“Do you like it? Chris and RIchard did it. I thought-” Zabdiel cut himself when he brought up an unfamiliar name to your ears. You looked at him wanting to hear more, learn more about this new person he had become. Your eyes silently begged for him to continue. He could talk about anything and you would gladly take in every word. For the first time, his head was turned towards the window, avoiding your gaze. You bit your bottom lip. You were torn in speaking up and keeping silent, you had to go with the later because it wasn’t fair to him. You were never fair to him. “It’s too hard.” 

“Wh-”

“Don’t ask what. You know exactly what.” Zabdiel turned his vision back onto you with his eyes boring into your own with pain and betrayal flaring within them. You almost uttered some words of apology to him but you stopped yourself because in no way would that help your situation. Zabdiel gave you an eye roll when he saw that you had nothing to say and turned his attention back onto anything in this meeting room that would get his eyes away from you. Keeping your side quiet, you anxiously watched your former boyfriend.. He finally brought the words you have been dreading to hear into the air. “Did you get what you want?” 

--

You fiddled with the bracelet that was, for the first time, not attached to your wrist. You were taking time to build up the courage to walk over to your happily-nervous boyfriend who was standing underneath the oak tree on the hill just above you. You could feel you breath hitch when you caught a view of him. He was as beautiful as he always, a smile cute smile on his face and his hands clasped together. Zabdiel was waiting for you with his whole life packed at his feet and here you stood with no baggage in sight. You blinked back the tears that were threatening to slip out. You knew if you were going to do this you would have to have no tears. That isn’t fair to Zabdiel.

You climbed the hill with steep steps and the smile on your boyfriend’s face grew tremendously, shrinking for a millisecond when he noticed there was no luggage with you but he resumed his smile once you had finally reached him. You tried to go at an extremely slow pace to bring you courage up but there would never be enough time for that. The moment you saw his innocent smiling face and caring eye, you knew there was no possible way for you to do this without breaking your own heart. “Mi amor, tu maleta? Were they too heavy to bring up here? Want me to go gra-”

“Zabdiel…” You cut him off in a short breath. You heart was racing in nervousness as you still fiddled with the bracelet in your hands. Once Zabdiel could see that the jewelry wasn’t on you he knew something was up so he waited for you to continue, giving you time to develop the words that sat on the tip of your tongue. “...there isn’t and luggage....”

“Why?” He questioned in a tender voice. His demeanor was soft and warm, you could probably count on one hand how many times he had gotten mad with you. Your felt your chest physically hurt as you looked into his understanding eyes, wanting you to explain what was going on. You turned away to look down to his shoes as tears dropped from your eyes. 

“I’m not go with you.” You let out in a choke as you sniffled to calm the tears that were no longer hesitant to fall. The words you dreaded to speak were now out in the open and you couldn’t bare to look at Zabdiel’s face for the next blow you were planning to deliver. 

“Mi amor? What happened?” Zabdiel’s kind voice spoke as his large hand reached your shoulder, rubbing it softly to help you calm yourself down. He let out small hush sounds as a way to tell you that there was no need to cry so much, a way to comfort you. That wasn’t what you wanted. You felt that you didn’t deserve for him to be so sweet towards you. Getting his hopes up only to let him down for what seems like the millionth time. You felt as he pulled you closed, wrapping his long arms around your shoulders while his hand landed on your head, making it lean into his chest. “Did your parents find out? Just tell me what happened…”

Your eyes squeezed shut at his statement. You let out a loud sob in guilt. It would have been so much easier if your parents caught onto your plans with Zabdiel. Yet here you stood bagless, and no parents to blame. You agonized for hours trying to decide between your family and your dreams or Zabdiel, your answer is painfully obvious. You shake your head in Zabdi’s chest as one of your hands found his abdomen, you pushed yourself away from your beloved boyfriend. You raised your eyes to meet his soft ones, his saddened expression was hard to look at. It broke you heart so much more than you ever could have imagined. You sniffled and took a deep breath, deciding to own up to your decision because he deserves that in the least. “No, Zabdiel. My parents aren’t the reason I showed up with no suitcase.”

“If not your parents...what? What was it?” His expression was hurt and confused, not following on what you were getting at. You licked your lips for a quick second thinking of your next words, trying to place the feelings you were feeling into words yet there wasn’t anyway to do that. Taking one of his hands, you placed the bracelet, you were holding onto dearly, in the center of his large palm. Zabdiel looked down to his fist and then back to your face to try to understand what this action meant. Your eyes cowardly avoided his gaze. “Y/n…? What the hell does this mean?”

You closed your eyes again taking your hundredth deep breath, you turned your head back toward Zabdiel. You don’t get to be the coward here, you decided this. You have to go through with it. “Zabdiel...I can’t go with you. I sat home last night, packing for today. I was on my fourth pair of pants when I saw my acceptance letter. Zabdiel, I can’t leave that behind. I worked my whole life to get there and my parents, I can’t say goodbye to them. They wouldn’t approve of us, I know but to never see them again? I can’t do that to them. Zabdiel… I’m so so so sorry.”

Midway through your speech, Zabdiel was the one to turn his eyes away from you. You swallowed the lump in you through as you waited to hear something from him, anything at all. You wanted to know what he was feeling, you wanted him to let all his emotions loose. You were shocked when you abruptly felt the bracelet being shoved back into your hand while his eyes snapped back onto yours. You blinked in confusion. “You keep that. Keep it as a reminder that I wasn’t enough for you.” 

Zabdiel let go of your hand as he took a few steps away from you, he dipped down to pick up the duffel bag. You took a few moments to comprehend the words Zabdi had just spoken to you. This was not how it was supposed to go down. You followed him swiftly, grabbing his arm in an effort to make him face you yet he shook off your grip. You had to take quick steps to get in front of him. You narrowed your gaze on his face which was enraged and upset, clearly not wanting to see you. “Zabdiel, I don’t feel that way at all. I love-”

“Bullshit.” He cut you off which made you jump in shock. His tone was as cold as ice, there was not a single trace of the warm Zabdiel in sight. You brows furrowed as you wanted to hear what he had to say, he had the right to let this out. He let out a trail of spanish curses as he lifted the duffel bag up for emphasis. “See this? I packed my whole life in here for you. I gave everything up for you. You know why? Because I love you. You say you can’t leave your dreams behind? Why can’t you go to a college near where we were going to go? Huh? Your parents? Never seeing them again? If your parents disowned you over me, then why would you want to ever see them? You don’t love me, you only love yourself.”

“You’re right.” You shrug with the tears spilling out of your eyes. “I do love myself. Zabdiel, I love you too. Why do you think I am standing here pathetically trying to get you to hate me? You have given up so much for me and I do this to you? Please, just let it all loose. I want to take the pain away from you…”

“That’s impossible. This hurts more than anything. Y/n, my heart is broken because of you. You can keep every reminder of us because I don’t want them. I don’t want this anymore, I don’t want to be a burden to you. Go after your dreams, live your life, do what you want.”

“Wait, Zabdiel. What is that supposed to mean?” You choked out. You had already expected this to be the end of your relationship yet you were still clinging onto a lingering hope that you both could work this out, like you always did. 

“Y/n...You made this choice.” He spoke coolly yet you could see the tears trickle down his beautiful face. You nodded as you cried harder. He was right, you did this because you were selfish. You have always been that way. You want to have your dreams but you still wanted Zabdiel, yet throwing everything away for him, scared you. 

“I’m sorry.” You say and you can see the hurt expression on his face as he sniffled back his own tears. Zabdiel slipped the duffel bag onto his shoulder as he began to walk past you. You turned to see the distance between the both of you grow more and more. You bit your lip before calling out to him for the last time. “Zabdiel, I will always love you.”

Almost as if you said the right words, Zabdiel dropped the duffel bag on the dirt road and turned the heel of his right foot. His actions were quick yet you perceived them in slow motion, almost as if this was a movie. It didn’t even take five seconds before he was standing in front of you. He looked at you, taking in your appearance just as you did to him. His tall frame was towering over your own, his dark curls were pushed back with his headband and his eyes were lit with a fiery passion and darkened with a deep sense of hurt. He brought his hand up to cup your face and his lips came crashing into your own. The kiss was far more intense than any of the ones you both had shared before and you found yourself drowning in it. You were trying to get the most out of it as you could, you knew that this was more than likely going to be the last time you were ever going to feel his lips. The kiss went on for minutes, the lack of breath made you knees weak but Zabdiel pulled away a moment sooner than too much. You sucked in air almost instantly, trying to give your lungs the oxygen they were denied for the past minute or two. You eyes hazily were drawn to focus on Zabdiel once more. He was taking a couple deep breaths himself and you wanted nothing more to pull him into another kiss, wanting to ignore the fact that in a minute he would turn his back to you once more and you would probably never see him again. Zabdiel dropped his hands from your face and you were shocked that you hadn’t even remembered that they were there. He took one long breath before he finally spoke his final words. “I hope you regret this for the rest of your life.”

--

“Of course not.” You answered quietly. You knew the mistake you made. You were scared of what your life would be with Zabdi alone yet somehow you never took into consideration how hard it was to be without him. You spent days worth of time imagining how your life would be if you would have gone with him that time. Yet the underlying fact was that you didn’t and no matter how hard you try, you can’t change the past. You drifted you gaze towards Zabdiel who was watching you with a familiar glimmer in his eyes. “I have regretted it... that day.”

“Me too.” He told you softly which caught your attention. You looked at him and his soft demeanor was somewhat apparent now. Though his appearance was not the same of the boy you said goodbye to on the hill, he was still Zabdiel. He could see your desperation for so sort of closure. “I was hurt but I had no idea what it would be like to not have you. I spent days coming to my apartment and even though I had all my valuables from my old place, I never felt at home so I would…”

“What?” You questioned further when he trailed him on the later half of his sentence. He let out a sigh and your mind raced with possibilities of what it could be. 

“I would just miss you. You made me happy and I messed that up being dramatic and childish.” He stated while he fiddled his fingers together. You were happy to hear those words yet there was a sour taste left in your mouth when you heard that he blamed himself for what happened between the both of you when it was clearly your actions that ended the relationship. “When I saw you, I was struck with all my emotions again and I wanted to be mad at you. I just can’t. Watching speak in such a soft voice and avoid looking at me, I hate it. Y/n, I want you back so bad. Please just tell me what I need to do and it’s done.”

“Wait, You’re asking me forgiveness? Zabdiel… I’m the one who ruined us.” you told him honest which made him shake his head not accepting your words. You rolled your eyes and began to speak up the many thought you had acquired through the years. “Zabdiel, you owe me no apology. I should be the one asking for a second chance. If it wasn’t for my stupid fear and irrational thinking, that day never would have happened.”

“Fear? What fear?” He asked with the same soft and sweet tone that he did back in the day when he was worried about you. 

“I was scared to leave. I said it was because of college and my parents but I don’t know, I was scared to change my whole life...because it was already perfect.” You said as you repeatedly clicked your pen in nervousness. It was true though, after the years of thoughts you had put in. You loved your teen years with Zabdiel, the only problem was you parents which was easily avoided since they were usually always working but changing everything with Zabdiel frightened you because life was never like the movies. People don’t live those fairy tale romances which was the main thing that scared you, what if by chance, Zabdiel were to fall out of love with you. That was the underlying fear which took a little too long to figure out. You looked back to the tall Puerto Rican man in front of you who was looking at you as if you were a precious gem. “I’m sorry. For that day, for breaking your heart, for everything…”

“I forgive you.” Zabdiel answered with no hesitation. The words slipped off his tongue as if he had been holding them there for such a long time. You blinked several times in shock but you could see the sincerity on his face which made you shake your head in disbelief, muttering that he was being irrational. There was just no way he could forgive you. He stood up in one action, picking up his hands which he had failed to remember that they were handcuffed. “I forgive you, Y/n. All gone, all forgotten. I mean it.”

You bit your bottom lip at the sound of his words. You couldn’t count the times you had dreamed of him saying those words to you and now here he was. You shook your head as you also stood up to get closer to eye level with him, he had grown at least and inch or two since the last time you had seen him. “Zabdiel…”

You grabbed his hands as silence filled the air. You rubbed your fingers over his now tattooed knuckles, slowly moving them up to reach the cold metal of the handcuff which were accompanied with a piece of jewelry. You dropped your head to look at his wrist and saw a familiar silver cuff with an amethyst jewel hanging off of the top. A smile creeped onto your face as you began to unlock the handcuffs locked around his wrist. He wore it. The words he told you weren’t coming from the rush of emotion from this sudden reunion. The fact that he was wearing this bracelet without possibly have knowing that you would be here, meant that he never got over what the both of you had, just like you. You looked up to his pleading eyes, and for a second you wondered how he could forgive you for what you had done to him. Yet just as you always were, you were selfish. You decided to throw the regret from that day away the second you started to lean into him. There was no use in hating that day any longer when here Zabdiel was, standing in front of you with his heart in his hands waiting for you to just reach out and grab it. It was painfully clear to you that Zabdiel was the love of your life and you weren’t going to stand there and waste this chance for you. Your lips found his in a tender kiss which you once again found yourself deeply falling into. The taste of his kiss you missed it for far too long. Pulling back out of the kiss which seemed too short for you, wishing to lean back into another kiss, you looked into the now familiar soft brown eyes that were filled with pure love and admiration. “I love you.” You spoke tenderly 

“Always.”

[artificialqueens]

(treat me nice) never let me go [branjie] 11/15 - pinkgrapefruit

[ chapter 11. sing me a song, your voice is like silver ]

“If I forget to tell you this later, I had a really great time tonight,” she tells Brooke, her voice so sincere, so raw, it makes Brooke emotional. She lifts their intertwined fingers to her mouth and presses her lips to the knuckles.

“Shall we, beautiful?” She asks, head tilting towards the door.

“Let’s go!”

[ pretty woman au ]

A/N - i’m really on a roll! i hope you enjoy!

They meet in the lobby again. Brooke waits at the bottom of the stairs in a deep green, satin dress, the cowl neck accentuating what she lacks in cleavage. Her hair is perfectly curled and falling over one shoulder, and her heels only make her tower further into the sky. She has a black, velvet dinner jacket slung over one arm and a box in the other hand. She inhales deeply and then smiles.

Vanessa descends the stairs like she is made for this. She’s dressed in a deep red dress, one that hugs her curves and flairs out only at the bottom. She makes Brooke’s mouth go dry as she watches her hips sway. Fuck.

“Do I look okay?” She asks as she reaches the bottom of the stairs, the train of her dress gathering at her feet. Her caramel curls are pinned into a loose bun, and a few strands of hair frame her face. In the mid-afternoon light she looks ethereal.

“Mhmm,” Brooke hums as she blatantly stares. Vanessa snaps her fingers with a smirk to get Brooke’s eyes to meet hers. “Mhmm,” she repeats but this time she’s grinning. “I think there’s something missing,” She mock muses, waving the box.

“Nothing else is gonna fit in this dress, Mary, I’m telling ya,” Vanessa jokes as she twirls in it, feeling like a fairy princess for the second time in a week. Brooke smiles and raises an eyebrow.

“What about something from this box?” She asks with a cheeky smirk as she slowly lifts the lid. Brooke watches Vanessa’s face move from teasing to excited as her face is lit up by a pattern of light refractions. “I don’t want you to get too excited babe, this is just on loan.” Vanessa’s eyes are like orbs by the time she looks up, full puppy dog in effect as she practically begs Brooke to put it on her.

“They let you borrow this from a store?” Vanessa asks in wonder as Brooke fastens it securely around her neck.

Brooke chuckles as she makes sure it’s sitting correctly, “I’m a very good customer.”

“Yeah, but how much would it cost?”

“A quarter of a million dollars.” Brooke deadpans, standing behind Vanessa, who is examining the necklace in an ornate mirror in the lobby. She bursts out laughing at Vanessa’s shocked expression.

“Sweet baby Jesus,” the girl mumbles under her breath before turning on her heels and pressing a light kiss to Brooke’s cheek. “Okay, where are we going?”

Brooke just winks and tries to grab her hand to pull her out of the lobby, but Vanessa gives her hand enough of a tug to stop them both in place. She smiles in a way that seems more intimate than the excitement they’ve been sharing.

“If I forget to tell you this later, I had a really great time tonight,” she tells Brooke, her voice so sincere, so raw, it makes Brooke emotional. She lifts their intertwined fingers to her mouth and presses her lips to the knuckles.

“Shall we, beautiful?” She asks, head tilting towards the door.

“Let’s go!”

*

They sit too close together in the taxi, Brooke’s bare thigh pressed against the smooth red fabric of Vanessa’s dress, but she can still feel the warmth of her body. She directs the driver minimally, preferring to pour her attention into the way Vanessa can’t meet the intensity of her gaze as her eyes trail the open skin of her neck. Her hair tumbles over the shoulder Brooke cannot see and she’s somewhere torn between grateful and unbearably tempted to lay wreckage to the pristine skin. But where they’re heading - a love bite would not be an appropriate attire.

She straightens her back, leaning forward just a little to whisper into Vanessa’s ear. “Have I told you yet you look beautiful?” She asks in a low timbre that sends shivers down her counterparts spine.

“Not nearly enough,” Vanessa quips, voice quiet and shaky.

Brooke lowers her mouth until her breath is ghosting over Vanessa’s open skin. “You look beautiful,” she exhales, and the way Vanessa grips her thigh indicates she’s achieving exactly the effect she wants.

Before she can continue any further torture, the driver pulls up at the enterance of an ornate theatre. It looks to be built for opera with its rounded design and white columns.

Brooke holds her hand out to help Vanessa out of the cab, and the two of them stand on the street for a second, hands clasped together as Vanessa looks on in awe. She is reminded, in the best way, that Vanessa is not accustomed to this life. The grandeur - the pomp and stance of these events are foreign, and she hopes the shorter brunette will bring a new view to it all - invigorate it.

She lets go of her hand only to offer her her arm instead. “Would you do me the honour?” She asks - the question leading, but Vanessa understands what she’s being asked.

“I would,” she answers with a still awed smile, and they step into the entrance together.

*

Despite knowing Vanessa is out of place - Brooke would not be able to spot it, the woman practically floating through. They spot a little girl in a puffy tulle dress and Vanessa crouches to her height - scrunching her nose at the tiny blonde in an effort to make her laugh. She does laugh, and it’s contagious and beautiful, and then she asks if Vanessa is a princess and the brunette looks like she could cry. Brooke helps her up, handing her the complimentary champagne and laying a soft kiss on her exposed shoulder.

“You make me feel like a princess,” she admits - sipping the champagne with little of the decorum she’d be showing off earlier.

“It’s an honour,” quips Brooke, hand on Vanessa’s lower back to guide her through the archway into the main theatre.

“You never said why we’re here,” Vanessa points out as she’s guided up a narrow flight of emerald carpeted stairs.

“I promise you’ll like it,” responds Brooke, refusing to give the game away, but also astonished Vanessa didn’t pick it up from the mass marketing at play within the theatre. She removes a strand of blonde hair from where it’s caught on her lip gloss and takes a large swig of champagne - free to be as brash as she wants while they’re out of the watchful eye of old theatre goers and the upper echelon of Malibu.

They come out into a box at the top of the theatre with a prime view of the stage and - Brooke’s favourite bit  - the orchestra pit. The seats are red and plush velvet, the kind that bounce back when pushed with a finger, and yet you could sink into them and not move for hours. Vanessa sits, but almost immediately stands back up - her inability to find stillness evident as she struggles to contain her excitement. Brooke thinks it’s like watching a puppy learning to sit, and she finds it immensely endearing as she places a hand on Vanessa’s now trembling knee. She’s grateful for the privacy of the box now - that she can enjoy it with just Vanessa.

“If you’re afraid of heights, why did you get seats up here?” Vanessa asks openly. She looks like she’s trying to dive deep into Brooke’s soul and for a second Brooke wants to let her in.

“Because they’re the best,” she answers simply before amending, “you deserve the best.”

Vanessa hums in understanding, but turns back to examining the fine gold detailing on the railing ahead of them.

“Your glasses are in there.” Brooke points to the pocket embedded in the wall - pulling out a pair of deep red binoculars affixed to a stick. Vanessa makes grabby hands at her, Brooke passing them over willingly and watching as the brunette tries to figure them out.

“They’re broken,” she whines as she holds them backwards. “Everything is small.” She pouts like the girl they saw in the entrance, and Brooke raises an eyebrow at her affectionately.

“They’re backwards,” she chastises lightly. Vanessa’s mouth makes an ‘O’ shape for a second as she starts to re-examine the scenery just as the lights begin to dim.

“Welcome,” Brooke announces softly, “to french ballet.”

Vanessa’s eyes widen in the dark, her mouth curving upwards as she understands the significance before frowning slightly again. “If it’s french, how am I meant to understand it?” She asks, nose scrunched in confusion.

“It’s all about the movement and the music,” Brooke reminds. “It’s powerful.” She’s already absorbed in the opening notes, transported back to her childhood.

“There’s a band,” Vanessa exclaims under her breath - finding the orchestra pit with her binoculars and staring interested at the Cellist. “That’s cool.”

“People’s reactions the first time they see it are always very dramatic.” Brooke states, eyes still mesmerised by the opening movements of the long introduction. “They either love it or they hate it. If they love it - they will always love it. If they don’t, they might learn to appreciate it,” she looks at Vanessa, a different look, new and more open, “but it will never become part of their soul. It is a part of my soul.”

They sit in silence for an hour and a bit, Vanessa leaning forward at times, captivated by the dancers. Brooke moves her feet under the chair - mirroring the movements like she has done them. If Vanessa sees a tear fall, she doesn’t mention it, simply slipping a hand into Brooke’s and renewing her attention on the beauty on stage. It reminds her of the night they spent dancing in the gold-embellished hall- a feeling of longing she did not know was within her. She longs to dance with Brooke again - to evoke the emotions she’s watching the blonde display.

At the act break, Vanessa goes with the rest of the children to purchase an ice cream with Brooke’s money, as the blonde sits in contemplation of what she has become with Vanessa. The brunette returns, handing Brooke change and a tub of artisan vanilla ice cream. “Seemed like your speed,” she quips as she buries a plastic spoon in a pot of chocolate cinnamon swirl, and Brooke laughs because she is right.

They sit through the second act with ease - Brooke spending more time watching Vanessa, because she knows this ballet well, and Vanessa is more interesting than art to begin with (and more beautiful).

They descend the stairs into the crowd like two young women at a debutante ball - Vanessa’s fingers looped around Brooke’s surprisingly firm bicep as she tries not to fall over, tipsy in high heels.

She rests her head on Brooke’s shoulder in the cab home - or back to the hotel - and has to resist the urge to fall asleep as Brooke ghosts her lips over her forehead. She feels secure, safe, satiated. She’s happy.

Brooke all but carries her up the stairs and into the bed - removing the fancy dress with the ease of someone who’s done it before and will undoubtedly do it again - leaving them both in their underwear as she pulls out a vest and a pair of shorts for herself, letting Vanessa potter around in her pants taking off her makeup.

They fall asleep with the aircon whirring, Vanessa’s cheek on the point of Brooke’s shoulder, sheets pulled up to her chin.

“I had a good time tonight,” Brooke whispers into her hair. “Wonderful, really.”

[jeanstoppable]

20th & 21st OF OCTOBER

~change the channel~ (substitute)

~island in the sun~

(A/N: I cannot, for the life of me, make these prompts shorter. But anyways, here’s some more of my Cyberpunk oc and a bit of world building)

WARNING: Mentions of Drug Use/Dark themes

The door shut with a soft click, the metal barrier cancelling out the harsh and turbulent noise of the downpour outside, as a clear ping pierced the silence of the room, signalling the automatic lock being completed.

I tossed the drenched sling bag somewhere on the floor, hearing it land but not bothering to check where, and started peeling the equally wet jacket off my torso, leaving me in a sleeveless black top.

I should take a shower first. I thought. But my legs didn’t move towards the bathroom to my far right, instead my eyes were fixated on the desk beside my bed, and then gradually brought them up on the old painting displayed right above it.

Later. This can’t wait. Heart and mind decided, I shuffled over to the desk in a sense of urgency, grabbed the painting by its sides and then plucked it from the hook. Flipping the frame around, a black plate covered the back of the canvas. With familiar ease, I slid my fingers across the upper corner edges and found the latch, successfully unfastening the plate to unveil a couple of worn-out journals hidden inside. Untouched.

A breath of relief escaped me, my fear of the notebooks being discovered momentarily disappearing.

I picked out the one I’ve been using as of late—the tenth one if I recall correctly, since I’ve already used up every bit of space from the others—and opened the journal where it had a bookmark.

The yellowed blank pages were a frequent sight as I ran a hand across the smooth surface while my other hand pulled a pen from a cup that was also holding a heap of markers and then started writing my thoughts—

It was a common enough phrase.

“CHANGE THE CHANNEL”

It doesn’t pique interest, at least to...someone like me, so it shouldn’t raise any suspicions, right?

I hovered the nib of the pen slightly above the paper, thinking if I should continue to write about the news we’ve received today. It was shocking enough that I even had to pinch myself a couple of times to see if I was dreaming or not because the news wasn’t just good nor great---it was the best fucking thing I’ve heard in years and it also just happens to be the one we’ve all been waiting for.

Setting down the pen, I reached for the hidden compartment again, took the very first journal I owned and then absently flipped through the filled pages, the crisp, crinkling sounds tenderly jogging my memory.

I stopped at the beginning of the notebook, a reminiscing smile graced my lips as I traced the old ink with the tip of a finger.

Don’t let anyone steal this.

I snorted, of course, this was written on the day I got my ass beat and left without so much of a coin in my pocket—thus, I was forced to resort to stealing. Strangely enough, this journal was the first thing I stole and to this day, I can’t seem to remember the reason why but I do remember how awful the act made me feel, the feeling lasted for days.

Nonetheless, those feelings subsided after getting accustomed to this lifestyle. Crime practically lived and breathed under my skin, these hands and feet of mine becoming my very own accomplices.

I closed my eyes as the usual barrage of emotions washed over me: disappointment, disgust, anger, hate—so much hate and all of it was directed at the only person I can blame at the moment.

Well to be fair, not once did I deny the indisputable fact that I hated how my life turned out, how everything turned out considering that there’s no one even left to impress, no one to see me pretend as if I wasn’t so horribly broken-down on the inside.

I hated how I was still here, anchored by some self-righteous bullshit I’d placed like a burden on my shoulders that one miserable night, a burden that still stubbornly carries the promise of changing the lives of so many other people.

My gaze landed on the scribbled date at the top of the page.

It’s been 6 years since the incident.

I breathed out my nose unevenly and closed the book with a snap, pushing it aside as I returned to the previous journal and picked up the pen to finish today’s log.

It’s happening.. It’s finally happening.

Today marks the fucking day of something revolutionary as we received reports, genuine physical reports, of a planned coup in all of five districts. And I know there had been a lot of them in the past and those who participated lost their lives after being executed on the spot… However, this time around, my gut tells me otherwise.

I think I mentioned this in my previous logs; it’s about the power balance shifting. It began to tip since last year and it hasn’t stopped till now. I fiercely believe that the power will eventually find its way back to us, as it rightfully should.

This was a long time coming after all. Years and years of effort had been put in just to dethrone those who forcefully robbed us of our lives and not just that---Our identities.. Our Family and friends. The voice itself of the public.

Letting out a tortured laugh, I wrote the end of the log:

CHANGE THE CHANNEL

Simple, dismissive and yet it holds the power of treason. It speaks the word of rebellion. I’m not afraid anymore because this phrase will take us one step closer to freedom.

. . .

“...Are you sure this is the right place?”

“Positive.”

I cast my partner a skeptical glance.

“...I’m 80% sure.” He nervously admitted, purposely avoiding my prodding eyes.

A huff of disbelief slipped past my lips as I demanded from him, “What did the message say anyway?”

“It was a recorded message programmed inside a toy, it only said the time and the address before self-destructing. But like I said, I don’t think I got any of the information wrong.”

“Maybe you misheard or missed something because this—”

I swallowed the sentence and did another scan of the building in front of us, our position from an empty terrace across the street granting us to overlook the supposed meeting place, the rendezvous as it turns out was a grand and luxurious night club.

It seemed that access was only given to those in the upper class but since it was fairly new and as far as rumors go, I heard it has an eccentricity to it, so the club wasn’t bustling like the other similar establishments scattered in the district. Still, entry to the venue remains as a privilege only to those who can afford to waste money, in this economy.

I eyed the flashy neon sign just above the main doors with slight distaste and a growing curiosity.

Island in the Sun

The name certainly snatches attention.

After seeing a bunch of people dressed in stylish clothes walk out, I run a hand through my hair, suddenly feeling a tiny bit insecure about what I’m wearing.

Hell, nothing about my attire was fancy by any means so I shot my partner another worried glance, “Do we really have no further means of communication with them? Do we really have to enter through the front? Can’t we just, you know, sneak inside a window? I mean, we don’t—we’re not—”

I gestured to his clothes and then mine, “We’ll stick out like sore fucking thumbs.”

“You do make a sound point.” He murmured and then lowered his goggles to finally address me, his grey orbs illuminated by the numerous bright neon signs, “I never expected our sponsor to be this...shameless? They’re practically waving their wealth in our faces, makes me wanna take a swipe at them.”

“Arman,” I quietly sighed, “What are we getting ourselves into?”

Is this what having cold feet feels like?

My partner surveyed me for a instant before having the nerve to roll his eyes, “Just treat this as one of our regular heists, Sonya. Aren’t you the least excited to experience what it’s like partying with the upper class?”

I stayed silent, not bothering to tell him that I did have prior experience, and just rubbed my temples, a headache forming at the prospect of how tonight will go.

“Time for a channel change.” My partner winked, his wise words partnered with the small gesture cracked my lips into a smile.

He then put a hand under his chin, thinking carefully as he relayed more of his thoughts, “And maybe get laid by the end of the night.” This time, I was the one to roll my eyes and got a glower from him in exchange.

“You could use it as well… When’s the last time you—”

“Shut the fuck up, Arman.” I tried snapping back but it turned into a laugh instead.

He only grinned toothily, looking guilty but proud, “Less nervous?”

“Let’s just get this over with.”

“Wait.” He said all of a sudden.

I raised a brow in question, my hands already gripping onto the rails, poised to scale down at any moment.

“Clothes.” Arman waved a hand and I grimaced.

“Ah yeah, right.”

A terse silence passed before we both launched smirks at each other, the same heinous idea forming in our minds as he pointed towards a closed clothing shop a few blocks away.

“What say you for one more heist this evening? It won’t be as grandiose as the previous ones, I’m afraid.”

“I thought you’d never ask.”

. . .

Your ass looks nice in that.

Yeah? I’m taking this one then.

...Well?

Your ass always looks great, Arman.

So you’re saying mine looks better? Thanks.

Wear a skirt and then we’ll talk.

Oh, Sonya, just watch and learn.

. . .

I leaned against a street light, scrutinising our target club while waiting for my partner to finish finding the ‘perfect outfit’ as he called it, his words not mine. In the end, I settled for a wine coloured fitted dress with a criss-cross pattern exposing my back, a black corset on top, a semi transparent blazer for my shoulders, and then I picked out simple knee length combat boots—in case the deal goes awry and we had to flee.

Hearing footsteps behind me, I peeked over and my jaw dropped as soon as I laid eyes on Arman.

He was wearing a skin tight turtleneck black dress, showing off his lean but toned figure, a beautiful velvet burgundy blazer that looked amazing on his broad shoulders and then his shoes were thick polished combat boots, almost same as mine, the only difference was his heels were an inch higher, making him look taller than he normally is.

I whistled in pure awe, “Damn, Island in the Sun is about to get a whole lot hotter.”

A smug expression graced his handsome features when he walked past me, swaying his ass deliberately, “Told you so,”

I huffed at his haughty but rightfully placed attitude and caught up to him, looping an arm around his, “Well, won’t you tell me—am I your designated arm candy or are you mine?”

“Why can’t we just be both?”

We toned down the volume of our conversation when we neared the establishment, Arman breaking off as he walked up to the main entrance. It was as we expected, one of the large bouncers blocked him immediately and then pointed to the side towards the long line of people waiting for their own turn.

Arman straightened his shoulders and crossed his arms, “We have an appointment with your employer.”

The bouncer examined my partner from head to toe, not looking the least convinced although the second after, he pressed a button on his collar, “Can you direct me to the boss’ line?”

“Hey!” A voice shouted off to the side where the line was, “Wait in line like the rest of—”

I whirled on whoever was speaking and gave them my most vicious glare, that person stopped in the middle of their sentence and then promptly averted their eyes. I scoffed at them.

“Boss, there’s two individuals here that say they have an appointment with you.” The bouncer said, nodding while listening to his receiver and then finally turned back to Arman, “I apologise but the boss doesn’t have any more appointments for tonight.”

Arman took this information calmly and then leaned in, a hand covering his lips as he whispered something to the bouncer, keeping his voice as quiet as possible.

The bouncer’s eyes widened, stared at Arnan and me before ultimately stepping aside, handing us two glowing yellow bracelets, “I’m sorry for the delay, the boss is expecting you.”

My partner brightened and accepted the bracelets, holding me by my wrist as he ushered us past the main entrance. Still confused about the whole ordeal, I reluctantly put on the accessory without saying a word, the bracelet giving a weird sting when it made contact with my skin, and then followed Arman inside.

“What was that?” I asked the moment we’re left alone.

“Did you forget why we’re here?” He quipped back cheerfully and the realisation struck me later than I would have liked.

“...What do you think this is for?” I changed the subject to both our glowing bracelets, raising mine to my eye level just to get a good look at it.

“I don’t know. Gimmicks?” Arman absently rubbed his, faintly knotting his eyebrows and then started inspecting the empty hallway we were walking through, “For a club named Island in the Sun, it doesn’t seem very hot.”

We reached the end of the hallway and the doors opened upon sensing us, revealing another set of corridors, three to be exact that split into different directions: There was muffled music coming from our right, while there’s really faint sounds of people chattering to the left, and then nothing from the one ahead of us.

I took a step towards the middle corridor, figuring it was where we needed to go but Arman blocked an arm in my way, “Don’t you want to check out the other rooms? We might as well explore before we get kicked out after our appointment.”

My expression definitely disapproved of the idea and he could see that, although I think I might’ve surprised him when I agreed to his request, “No more than five minutes.”

His grey orbs gleamed with excitement, “I’ll go this way,” he pointed to the right, “Take the left.” With that said, Arman pivoted and headed for the direction with the music, and I walked towards the left corridor.

The doors were glass so I’d seen what was inside while waiting for them to open.

I scrunched my brows in bewilderment at what awaited me. The room was massive so to say and furthermore, it has a second floor filled with—What were those? There were these weird opaque bubbles that had a hatch on the front with a keypad beside it and almost all of them were lit, vague silhouettes of people moving to and fro inside but nothing more than that.

My eyes landed on the pit with a glass dome in the centre, a couple of people were lounging on long circular couches whilst socialising with each other. I was so focused on the bizarre scene that I didn’t notice the doors sliding open and the cyborg standing off to the side, making me almost jump when it had announced itself.

WELCOME. WOULD YOU LIKE TO PROCURE AN ISLAND?

“I---uh, what...does that mean exactly?” I awkwardly rubbed my nape, feeling the need to occupy my shaking hands as I peered up at the cyborg.

WOULD YOU LIKE ME TO DEMONSTRATE HOW OUR ISLANDS WORK?

I simply nodded and the cyborg’s eyes immediately flashed bright, projecting a hologram into the empty space between us, leaving me to watch in wonder as a 3D model of one of the bubbles appeared.

ESSENTIALLY, OUR SPHERICAL ISLANDS ARE DESIGNED TO SERVE AS ADVANCED PRIVATE SUITS FOR SPECIAL CUSTOMERS. ITS CURVED WALLS ARE BUILT-IN WITH HIGH POWERED LED SCREENS THAT LETS YOU PROJECT ANY KIND OF SCENERY YOU’D PREFER AND IT’S ALSO COMPLETE WITH FURNITURE THAT CAN SATISFY TO EACH AND EVERY ONE OF YOUR NEEDS.

The holograms changed and now it showed one of those glowing bracelets.

WHILE YOU’RE INSIDE THE CLUB, WE WILL ALSO EXCLUSIVELY PROVIDE YOU WITH OUR CLUB’S HOTTEST PRODUCT TO MAKE YOUR NIGHT BETTER AND MORE ENJOYABLE.

I frowned, asking warily, “Product?”

I’M PROHIBITED TO EXPLAIN ANY FURTHER DETAILS OF THE PRODUCT. HOWEVER, YOU CAN FIND OUT FOR YOURSELF THROUGH ONE OF OUR ISLANDS, THE PIT, OR IN THE PARTY ROOM.

Something cold settled in my stomach, “The party room...it’s the room opposite this one , right?”

CORRECT. NOW, THAT YOU ARE AWARE OF OUR CLUB’S COMMODITIES, WOULD YOU LIKE TO PROCURE AN ISLAND?

I shook my head, about to refuse the offer when a question crossed my mind, “...How much is one island?”

The cyborg turned off the projection and turned its gaze downwards, scanning my bracelet through its lens.

NO PAYMENT NEEDED FOR VIP CUSTOMERS.

“VIP...?” My throat dried up as I covered the bracelet on my wrist with a hand, “I...won’t be taking an island, thank you.” The cyborg merely bowed and then went back to its corner, waiting for someone new to serve.

“Shit, I have a bad feeling about this.” I said to myself, returning to the intersection from before and making my way towards the party room.

The moment the doors slid open, the music hit me and my eardrums in full blast. I winced at the intensity of it and more so at the large crowd dancing and grooving to the loud beat. It was difficult to even hear my own voice. I internally groaned, how am I supposed to find him at this rate?

Keeping my eyes sharp despite it being extremely dark and the occasional blinding strobe lights, I moved through the mob of people pressed against one another, awkwardly bumping into some people dancing and then sometimes getting pushed back. I bit my lip, refraining from picking a fight as I held on to my rapidly waning patience.

All of a sudden, someone slapped a hand to my ass and the leash briefly snapped—I quickly rounded on that person, a fist almost flying out when I saw that the hand belonged to a man a couple of inches shorter than me with a greasy sneer on his face.

“Do that again...” I fisted his shirt and followed with a violent promise, “And you’ll go home left-handed.” I threatened, my voice brimming with spite.

Once I saw the frightened understanding in his eyes, I released him and turned away. “Arman, you better show yourself right now.” I growled.

Finally, I spotted a familiar burgundy jacket behind a pillar and I set my sights on it, carelessly pushing my way through, ignoring the curses and rude remarks of the people I shoved because I have had enough of this.

I shouldn’t have to search for him.

As I got closer to the pillar, I only noticed then that he was making out with someone. Oh you’re dead. My fingers shot out to grab the shoulder of the man I’ve been searching for, ready to cuss at him till his ears fall off.

“Oi! What the fuck happened to five minutes?!”

I halted as I met face to face with a stranger, and not at all my partner, “A-ah, I’m sorry I thought you were—“ My eyes flicked towards the person standing beside them.

“Arman!” I shouted, obviously relieved to see him alright but then remembered I was still pissed off, “What the hell? I was looking all over for you!”

His eyebrows creased for a moment before a loopy smile graced his lips, “Sonya! I’m sorry, I got a bit distracted…” Arman’s gaze trailed off to the side but at the same time, he gripped the waist of the man he kissed earlier closer to his body.

I gawked at him. Honestly speechless. But then I lashed out a hand to circle around his wrist, the one with that damned bracelet, and discovered that the yellow glow was at half now.

This was their exclusive product.

I fumed as I took out a spare light from the pocket of my blazer and yanked his head down to my level, “Let me see your fucking eyes.”

I shined the light on them and noticed how bloodshot they were, his pupils were unusually blown wide. I cursed again, letting out my frustrations, “Arman, you’re blazed!”

“What?! No, no, no. I-I haven’t taken any.” He stumbled over his words, making me doubt him even more.

“Excuse me.” A new voice piped in.

I flipped my attention to Arman’s...date? Lover? Who the hell cares, I completely forgot he was even there, “Aren’t you being a bit rude? Who are you anyways?” The man asked snobbishly while squinting at me.

I glared back, a dangerous smile framing my painted lips, “I’m his girlfriend. Who are you?”

“Sonya!” Arman yelled in disbelief.

The man mouth hung open and then tried explaining himself, “I-I’m—“

I held up a finger, “You know what, I don’t give a rat’s ass.” Locking an arm around Arman’s, I pulled him away from the man and roughly dragged him across the dance floor and towards the exit.

Once we got back to the main hallway, I let him go and stared him down with my arms placed on my hips, “What was that, Arman?” I gritted out, trying to be as calm as I can without blowing a fuse.

“Give me a minute.” He panted, “It’s so damn hot, ugh.”

“What are you saying, you’ve only been in there for less than twenty minutes.” I looked at him confused but then clearly saw the heavy perspiration forming on his skin, “Hey...you’re sweating really bad.”

“I’m sorry, Sonya.” He apologised, breathing large gulps of air while leaning on the wall, “I’m sorry you had to cover for me back there.”

My gaze softened as I stood beside him, “It’s nothing…”

“I know I really screwed up for not being careful, but I swear—Sonya, I swear I didn’t take any drugs.” Arman gripped my arms, looking me wildly in the eyes.

“Don’t worry..I believe you.” I assured him, wiping the sweat off his forehead, “It might’ve been that stuck-up date of yours, did you notice him touch your bracelet while you were together?”

He opened his mouth and then clamped it shut, a deeply disturbed expression slowly contorted his features, “Yeah...Yeah, he did.”

I let out a rough exhale, controlling the rage that sweeped me off, now twice as strong, “If I ever see that fucker—“

A hand on my shoulder pulled my attention back as I faced Arman, letting him see the murderous expression on my features.

“The appointment.” He reminded me softly.

“...Right…right. Are you sure you’re okay now?”

He pushed off the wall and gave me a tiny smile that broke my heart.

“...You know, you’re giving Tilly a run for her money—I mean, showing up to a sponsor’s meeting high? Not even she has the balls to do that.”

Arman chuckled, a dark look passing his expression as he bitterly said, “I bet that they’re expecting us to attend already intoxicated.”

I hummed in agreement, “So, our first sponsor’s a drug enthusiast, huh?”

“Ready?”

“Yeah, let’s go.”

TBC

(A/N: I WAS SUPPOSED TO INCLUDE MEETING THE BOSS BUT ITS TOO LONG wowowow, these prompts are now integrated into my story, I swear I didn’t mean for it to turn out like this—but ANYWAYS. I’m kinda living for this unhinged oc of mine, and this duo?? I had so much fun writing about theit dynamic. However sad to say, this will be the last of them for now... as it goes, i must move on to other ignored ocs PEACEEE)