#banging my fists on the table bouncing off the walls throwing myself into the fucking sea

[bitsandbobsandstuff]

The Midnight Coconuts

Summary: Bucky and his girl take a trip to the grocery store. Several things are involved, including coconuts, a 25cent gum-ball machine, Avengers branded Jell-O, chocolate milk straight from the jug, and tampons.  Characters: Bucky x Reader Words: 3k Warnings: Some swearing. Insane levels of fluff. Dangerously adorable Bucky. One (1) random reference to Not Another Teen Movie. 

A/N: Listen, I will never be over silly domestic Bucky! I originally started this story before TFATWS came out and when I imagined Sam had a niece, so just go with it. Part of me wrote this, because I needed to convince myself that I love grocery shopping (one can only eat takeaway and Trader Joe’s Orange Chicken for so long) and the other part wrote this because I firmly believe domestic routines can be the most romantic adventures out there.

When the doors to the grocery store whoosh open with a gust of stale manufactured air, Bucky skids to an abrupt and dramatic stop.  

“WAIT!”

Behind him, you stumble in panic, fumbling with an armful of reusable grocery bags. Instantly you’re imagining spilled blood and stab wounds and clean ups on aisle three and god dammit, how can there be a problem? This is a grocery store at midnight on a Wednesday. Shouldn’t the forces of evil be sleeping? Why is it so impossible to get a day off work? Don’t they know you need rest? And peanut butter? And that you’re dangerously low on toilet paper?

The forces of evil are the worst.

Raising weary fists, you huff.

“What? Where is it?”

Bucky sidesteps toward a row of small red and green machines beside the entrance, falling to his knees and smushing his nose eagerly against the glass. Reaching a hand behind him, there are several impatient grabby motions, before he glances back.

“Babe, can you give me a quarter? I need a gum-ball.”

Planting a sneaker clad foot on his ass, you shove. Hard.  

“Bucky, we talked about this. Remember how you agreed to lower the drama and keep things in perspective? I thought we were under attack.”

���If I don’t get a green gum-ball,” he declares dramatically, “there will be an attack.”

Throwing the cloth bags at his face, you stomp off to retrieve a shopping cart, plunking your purse in the front and hunching over the handlebars.  

“I thought you said you were a millionaire now. Buy your own gum-ball.”

Bucky rolls his eyes.

“Like I carry loose change,” he scoffs. “C’mon, just one quarter. Please?”

This time, he gives you the Look. That patented Bucky Barnes stare, with the wide eyes and full pouty lips and faux innocent expression, and if this man wasn’t the love of your life you’d quite happily stab him in the heart.

Instead, you open your purse and fish out a quarter, flinging it at his frustratingly pretty face. It bounces off his forehead and he scoops it up with a grin.

“So just to clarify. You came to the grocery store covered in knives, but you forgot to bring money?”

Giving you an indulgent smile, he jams the quarter into the slot. With a twist and shake, a gum-ball rattles free, and Bucky crows with delight when he sees the green candy. He pops it in his mouth. 

“I didn’t forget. I made a conscious decision to remove the temptation. If I bring cash, I’ll spend it. You know I ain’t great with that whole self control thing.”

“How encouraging to hear, from the man with knives pouring out his ass.”  

Jumping to his feet, he throws an arm around your shoulders. 

“Ass knives sound painful.”

“Depends on how sharp they are,” you mumble, pulling a carefully folded sheet of paper from your jacket.

“Excuse you? My knives are always perfectly sharpened, thank you very much. What kind of expert assassin runs around with dull knives? Damn baby, it’s like you don’t even know me.”

Ignoring him, you flatten out the paper and smooth the edges, sighing happily at the block letters and structured diagrams drawn in deep blue ink. 

Here it is, your masterpiece. A monument to productivity. The gold standard by which all optimization models should be benchmarked. This isn’t just any list, this is The List.

Everything is grouped, first by aisle, then by product location within the aisle, and then from top to bottom shelf order, to maximize efficiency. This is the dream list. The kind that inspires jealousy. The kind people hold up at TED talks when they talk about time management techniques. Marie Kondo wishes she had this list. 

Bucky snorts when he sees the carefully printed boxes.  

“God, you’re such a square,” he says adoringly. He plants a sugary wet kiss on your temple and you grind an elbow into his ribs.

“We discussed this, Bucky. Don’t mock my lists.” 

“Sorry babe, I ain’t mocking. Your lists are beautiful, they always get me all hot and bothered,” he agrees, dipping lower to lick behind your ear. “And I really love that list you keep with all those dirty, filthy, sex things you wanna do to me.”

“I don’t have a list like that.”

“Yeah, I know,” Bucky sighs, “and I don’t know how many more hints I can drop here.”

Reaching under his shirt, you rub his belly consolingly. “Okay then. This weekend I’ll sit down and make you a special list. One so disgusting and dirty and depraved, it would make Wade Wilson cry.”

Bucky laughs and squeezes you tighter. 

“About damn time honey. I’m equally parts terrified and horny. So where’re we headed first?”

“Produce,” you answer promptly, plowing forward, Bucky still chuckling beside you.

The whole scenario was ironic, actually. There was no need to grocery shop - automatic ordering mechanisms  across the Avengers tower rendered the task meaningless - but sometimes it was a welcome relief to partake in such an ordinary thing. Unable to sleep after one particularly terrible mission, you found yourself wandering the aisles of your 24-hour supermarket, dressed in pineapple adorned pajama pants and one of Bucky’s rattier sweatshirts, searching for ice cream. The unexpected symmetry of products arranged along the shelves, the rainbow hued produce, the hint of baking bread wafting from the ovens, all those everyday trappings of normality, they washed over like a soothing balm. Soon enough, the boiling bad thoughts simmered to nothing more than a cache of blurry memories.

When you got home, sleep came fast, deep and dreamless.

One month later, the idea struck again.

After 36 hours of Bucky tossing and turning, dark shadows bruising beneath weary blue eyes, you took his hand and led him down the dark street for a midnight adventure. He was skeptical, disbelieving that something so simple could chase away the insomnia. But he dutifully followed you, strolling aimlessly through the aisles, throwing odds and ends into the cart. 

The tension gradually eased, he began to relax, and suddenly? 

He was hooked.

An hour later, after arguing the health benefits of frosted Cheerios over oatmeal, poking each hunk of cheese in the display, and loading the cart with every single flavor of spaghetti sauce on the shelf, the heavy weight of remembering began to ease. When he collapsed into bed, he slept for eight hours straight.

I don’t know what that was, he swore the next morning, munching through his third bowl of frosted Cheerios, but it was magic.

And with that, a midnight ritual was born. Sometimes you make the trek alone, sometimes Bucky does the same, but whenever life permits you go together. This small slice of domesticity brings a warm comfort to this strange life.   

There is no doubt, this is your favorite area of the entire store.

Barrels filled with tart oranges and smooth red apples. Tables piled high with bananas, some just shy of yellow, others sunshine perfect, and a few with speckles of black (which are the best). Shelves lining the walls, overflowing with bundles of herbs and lettuce, all coated in a fine layer of mist. 

Bliss. 

Heading straight for the apples, you plunge into the Gala pile, rummaging until you come up with ten perfect ones. Peaches follow, fingers rubbing along the delicate pinky-orange fuzz. Squeeze, smell, squeeze, smell. Five are chosen for a pie (Sam pleaded shamelessly until you agreed to make him one), and in the cart they go. Heading toward the wall of herbs, you’re reaching for the basil when a metallic bang makes you jump. Spinning around, you find Bucky lobbing coconuts into the cart.

“We need these.”

“We really don’t, Buck. I hate coconut, it tastes like suntan lotion.”

“They’re not for eating,” he grabs an apple, wipes it on his shirt, and takes a juicy bite. “They’re for security.”

Sticky juice drips from his lip, catching in his beard. When you reach over to swipe it away, he nips your finger with a grin.

“Explain please.”

“See it’s like this. We’re just here shopping, doin’ our thang -”

“Don’t say thang.”

“- when someone attacks. What happens? BAM. One of these furry beauties breaks their face. Problem solved.”

Giving him a slow perusal, you raise an eyebrow.

“Were the 47 knives you’re carrying not enough to deflect this attack?”

Finishing off the apple in three sloppy bites, he carefully tucks the price sticker in his pocket so he can scan it before leaving and sets the mangled core beside your purse.

“Babe, these are my back-up plan. A good soldier always has a back-up plan.”

While you grab a bottle of extra-pulpy orange juice, Bucky picks two jugs of chocolate milk, snaps one open and takes a swing. Ever the thrifty shopper, he pulls a familiar bag from his back pocket, fishes out a crumpled piece of newspaper, and dangles it before you.

“Found a coupon for this,” he says gleefully. “Buy one, get one free. It’s called a BOGO. A BOGO. Hilarious, right? Fuck me, I love the future.”

Still laughing, he takes another long drink of chocolate milk and smacks his lips.

It was a lazy Sunday morning when you discovered this particular habit. Walking into the living room, you found Bucky buried in a sea of Sunday newspaper, tongue between his teeth and scissors in hand while he clipped coupons. He wasn’t picky, if it was remotely interesting, it went into the YES pile. It was one of those random things that brought him inordinate levels of joy, so of course you encouraged it. On his last birthday, you gifted him with a green zippered bag decorated with angry looking owls and official looking letters stitched across the front:

Bucky’s Coupon Bag  Thriftn’ Machine Since 1917

He laughed for five straight minutes and then stuffed it full. The bag accompanies you on every trip and the sight of Bucky excitedly rifling through his wad of coupons still makes your heart swell.  

Setting aside his BOGO, Bucky continues down the aisle, leaving you to pause in front of the yogurt. While you contemplate the merits of blackberry vs strawberry, Bucky slides over holding three cans of Reddi-Whip. 

“Are you actually planning to eat that? I thought you said whipped air is for, and I quote, ‘spineless, tasteless trash heathens’?”

Bucky shakes the can of spray whipped cream and wiggles his eyebrows, leveling you with a sultry stare. 

“Hell no I’m not eating it. This is for the bedroom. Last week I watched this god-awful movie where some blond guy - who looked exactly like Steve, by the way - made himself a whipped cream bikini for his girl. Decided I’m gonna do that for you. You’re welcome.”

“That sounds gross and unsanitary.” 

“If by gross and unsanitary you mean spicy and sexy, then yes. Yes it does.”

Whistling what sounds like the theme music from a bad porn, he adds two tubs of honey swirled Greek yogurt, pats your butt, and strolls ahead, throwing a roughish wink over his shoulder. Imagining the melted whipped cream soaking into your bedsheets, you mentally add more laundry detergent to the list.

“Hang on, turn here.”

Tugging the cart behind him, Bucky stalks toward the feminine hygiene display. It takes him a minute to scan the products before squatting down to the bottom shelf. Grabbing two jumbo boxes of tampons, oddly enough the brand you prefer, he pops back to his feet.  

“Dare I ask why you need these?”

A faint pink flush crawls up his neck.  

“Well, you know, two reasons. They’re really great for stopping bloody noses, you know? Just poke ‘em up there and they soak it all up.”

 He mimes the execution and adds a thumbs up.

“And the second reason?”

Squinting at his boots, he shuffles his feet a bit. The pink flush deepens. 

“Um, you know - I know you’re out, since I stuck the last one up Steve’s nose last week, and yeah. Anyway. It’s about that time. Of the month. For you.”

Clearing his throat, he reaches for his chocolate milk, but you grab his wrist.  

“You know when my period’s going to start?”

He shrugs self-consciously and fiddles with a loose thread on his shirt.  

“Well yeah. You think it’s just a coincidence when all your favorite candy shows up every month?” Looking up, he shoots you a crooked smile and leans over the cart to kiss your forehead. Grabbing a fistful of his shirt, you haul him in for a real kiss instead and his startled laughter tickles your lips. When you break away, those bright blue eyes are shining. 

“Thank you, Bucky,” you murmur.

“Anytime, sweetheart,” he whispers. 

This is the aisle where the cart officially explodes.

Lasagna noodles.

Egg noodles.

Spaghetti noodles.

Penne.

Linguine. 

Fettuccine.

Literally one of every noodle is selected, because Bucky Barnes is a self-proclaimed noodle slut. 

As you organize the boxes and search for orzo, you see him furtively add an extra bag of elbow macaroni. A quiet cough hides your laughter.

The last time Sam’s four-year-old niece came to the tower, she and Bucky spent hours making glittery elbow macaroni necklaces, which they ceremoniously gifted to everyone. When Sam casually mentioned her enthusiastically telling everyone at pre-school about her friend Bucky and how much fun she had visiting him, Bucky ran to a craft store and bulk bought supplies of glue, string, paint, and glitter, just in case she comes over again.

Months later and the entire team are still finding puddles of glitter all over the tower, but the delight on Bucky’s face anytime someone mentions that arts and crafts afternoon? 

It’s worth the mess.     

Gathering up brown sugar, instant oats, and chocolate chips, you turn to drop them in the cart when Bucky makes a strangled noise. Glancing over, you find him bouncing on his toes, vibrating with excitement.

“Babe. Babe. Are you making monster cookies?”

Adding a can of raisins, you search for the good vanilla. The kind that actually tastes like vanilla, not a cheap car wash air freshener. 

“I promised I would,” you remind him. Bucky plasters himself against your back, wrapping you in an enthusiastic hug and nuzzling his face against your neck.

“I love those fucking cookies,” he declares. “They’re my favorite thing ever. Next to you I mean.”

Finding the vanilla, you spin in his arms and return the squeeze.  

“I know you do. But you have to share them this time, okay? You can’t just eat them all yourself like the last two times. Agree?”

“Agree…to disagree. They’re wasted on other people, no one else loves as much. It’s for the best when I eat them all, it’s proof how much I love you. I’m doing it for you. I’m supporting you. Because I love you.”

“You’re completely full of shit,” you reply.

“I swear I’m not! Just listen!”

The excuses grow longer and wilder as Bucky outlines his rationale against sharing, walking backward and dragging the cart with him as he pleads his case. He’s diving into the science of super soldier metabolism levels and caloric requirements and the fact that his sister never shared anything with him, when he bumps into a tall display. 

He pulls up short, eyes narrowing. Plunking his fists on his hips, he growls a disgruntled sigh and glares at the rows of packaging. 

“You’ve gotta be shitting me.”

Lined up in neat rows, you see boxes of Jell-O organized by color and flavor. On the cover of each are an assortment of familiar images.  

“Are these Avengers themed Jell-O?” you ask, picking up a box with Sam’s image and the words Wild Berry Wilson. The rows extend further, filled with Lime Green Hulk and Blue Raspberry Rogers and Black Cherry Widow and Strawberry Lemon Stark. Exasperated, Bucky grabs the Sparkling Orange Spider flavor. 

“Is this for real? The kid gets one and I didn’t? Someone in PR is getting fired.”

“Well there’re only so many flavors, Buck,” you point out practically, but Bucky’s not in the mood for logic. Instead, he swipes an entire shelf of Jell-O flavors into the cart.  

“I swear to god, I have to do everything around here. Fine then. I’ll make my own flavor, Blackberry Kiwi Soldier or Winter Watermelon Rainbow, or something.” He pauses thoughtfully. “Anyway, I’ll work on the name. But I’m bringing it to dinner tomorrow night and everyone is gonna eat it.”

He dumps in a bag of mini-marshmallows and grabs sprinkles for topping, before marching down the aisle. Cringing at the volume of sugar in the cart, you make another mental note to schedule a dentist appointment.

“Go do your manly duty and find the meat. We need two 5lb rump roasts.”

“I like your rump roast,” he instantly responds and reaches over to smack your butt again. Anticipating the move, you catch his arm and twist it behind his back. He barks out a breathless laugh and you slap his ass in return.

“Your innuendos are tragic.”

Releasing him with a gentle shove, Bucky snatches up his three coconuts and ambles away, laughing while he juggles them. When he returns, he has the requested rump roasts, several packages of bacon, and a bundle of cocktail shrimp.

“If my innuendos get better, then can I touch your butt?”

“Maybe. But they better be real good.”

An added benefit to shopping at midnight? Not a soul in line.

Loading everything onto the conveyer belt, you automatically organize for bagging. Boxes together, produce together, meat together. Bucky adds a pack of batteries, a tin of mints, and some trashy magazines.

The last three items in the cart are his coconuts. They rattle around until you toss them at him, motioning back to the produce department. 

“We made it out alive. Go put them back.”

Still chomping his tasteless green gum-ball, he shakes his head and plops them down. 

“Nah, I have another idea for them. Got all those craft supplies at home, I’m gonna make you something.”

“Should I even ask?”

Bucky blows a huge, wet bubble and looks you up and down.

“Have you every worn one of those coconut bras? Like on TV, with the ladies in grass skirts? I’m gonna make you one. I already have string and glue. And glitter.”

“I think you may be overestimating your crafting abilities.” Digging out your credit card, you wait for the final tally. 

“Well, if it’s terrible then you’ll just be naked. Either way, I win.”

Shaking out your grocery sacks, he packs everything with Tetris-like efficiency and slides all of them up the vibranium arm.   

“How about I make you a deal. I’ll wear a coconut bra, if you’ll make yourself something to wear as well.”

Bucky blows another sugary bubble, pondering the idea.

“Like a coconut man thong?”

“Exactly like a coconut man thong.”

“Deal. Add it to that special dirty list you’re making me honey. We got loads to do.” 

Outside, the night air smells sweet and cool, the barest hint of a spring rain and fresh grass lingering on the breeze. Already, your eyes are feeling heavy, tonight’s quiet adventure ushering in that sought after peace. 

In your right hand, the three coconuts swing gently in their plastic sack. Humming under his breath, Bucky yawns, reaching for your other hand. His warm, calloused palm squeezes tight, his thumb stroking lightly over your skin.

He turns to you with a sleepy, lopsided smile.

Midnight and coconuts.  

It always does the trick.

***

[teenwolffan-with-nolife]

Mistakes

Word Count: 1,713

Characters: Derek Hale, Scott McCall, Stiles Stilinski, Reader, OC Characters

Pairings: Eventual Derek Hale x Reader

Warnings: ANGST, Derek being an asshole, TW: drugs, overdose, death

A/N: this will have mulitple parts, either 2 or 3, so nothing too long lol

Masterlist

“I don’t care! Keep looking!” Derek paced around the loft, while Stiles and Scott sat on the couch, bounding their legs nervously. Allison, Lydia, and Isaac were out with Argent, all looking for you. 

“People don’t just disappear,” Stiles shook his head.

“Yeah, no shit,” Derek replied.

“Okay, just think. What did she do all day? Did she go anywhere o-or something? Has anyone seen her all day?” Scott asked.

“She was with you guys last. Her phone’s right here,” Derek held up your phone, before exhaling harshly.

“Maybe it’s time to tell your dad, Stiles. He can help us,” Scott suggested.

“Maybe I should, yeah,” Stiles got out his phone, before hearing the loft doors open. 

The three of them froze, looking at the door cautiously as you stood in front of them. 

“What’s going on?” you frowned slightly.

“What’s going… What’s going on!?! Everyone has been looking for you for the whole day! Where the hell were you?” Derek yelled at you.

“I was on a hunt, I-I forgot my phone, I meant to text you-” you started.

“Stiles, Scott, get out. Now,” Derek clenched his jaw as he kept his glare on you.

The two boys nervously stumbled out of the loft, not wanting to leave you alone with Derek.

“Did you not think it was important to let someone know where you were?’ his voice was calm, but the anger was still evident in his face.

You hated when he would act like this. Ignore you for 40 percent of the time, yell at you for 60. You had grown tired of it.

“I forgot,” your voice was low.

“We wasted the entire day looking for you,” he crossed his arms.

“And I never told you to look for me. If you’re just gonna get mad at me, then I’d like to go now,” you replied.

“You’re unbelievable, you know that? If I had it my way, you wouldn’t be in the pack. You’re less important than Stiles,” you always felt hurt by his words, yet never showed any emotions.

“Yeah, I’m unbelievably useless, as you keep reminding me,” you sighed.

“I don’t understand why you can’t just…” you cut him off, before running your fingers through your hair.

“Why I can’t just listen? Why I can’t just stop being useless? I’m a fucking mistake and you keep reminding me every single second you get. Don’t you think I know by now? If I could change, I would. You refuse to give me the bite and so does Scott. I’d leave Beacon Hills if I could, leave instead of forcing you all to live with the burden of knowing me,” you were already exhausted from your day, and Derek pushing your buttons didn’t help one bit.

“I never said that,” he started.

“You don’t have to. I see the way you look at me, I see the way you all look at me. I have nothing more to say to you, Derek, so if you don’t mind, I’m going home,” he stayed silent while you walked out of the loft. You felt a tear fall down your face before wiping it away, heading back home.

---

“Mom, I’m home,” you placed your bags aside as you pulled off your jacket.

You walked up the stairs, kissing your younger brother’s forehead.

“How’s Mom?” you asked him.

“She said she was feeling better but I don’t believe her,” he replied.

“Thanks for being a strong kid and looking after her while I was gone,” you gave him a small smile before patting his back.

“Go eat your dinner, I’m gonna go check up on Mom,” you said, before making your way up to her room.

“Mom?” she was sitting up in her bed, holding a cigarette in her hand.

“Mom! You can’t have those!” you yanked it out of her hand, throwing it aside. 

“Why not? I feel fine,” you could see dark bags under her eyes, while her skin was visibly paler than earlier that day.

“Did you take something?” you asked.

“What do you mean?” she shook her head.

“I’m talking about drugs, Mom! Did you take any drugs?!” you yelled.

“That’s none of your business,” she crossed her arms.

“Except it is. Do you not remember what happened last week?” you scoffed.

“Last week was a mistake, it’s different now,” you shook your head, remembering her near overdose.

“No, it’s not. You need to get clean, Mom. For yourself, for Sam. Are you forgetting who found your body in the bathroom?” you ran your fingers through your hair as you sighed, thinking of your brother

“Sam should have left with his father,” your mom scoffed.

You felt chills go down your spine, at the mention of your dad.

“Well, Dad’s gone, and he’s an asshole. Mom, please. I need you to start taking care of yourself. I already dropped out of college and I can barely keep us afloat,” you begged her.

“You only started college a month ago,” your mom frowned.

“Yeah, I know. But our family is more important. When we’re stable, I’ll start college again. But in order to do that, you need to promise me, no more drugs,” you said.

Your mom nodded her head before you wrapped your arms around her. You could hear her snoring within a few minutes while you chuckled softly, slowly putting her back in bed before flipping off her lights.

You frowned, feeling your neck and arm bugging you from the hunt, before you rubbed your eyes, yawning.

“(Y/N/N)... I need some help with my homework,” you heard your brother’s voice as you held in a groan.

“Sure, kiddo, Come on,” you led him to your room, before closing the door, making sure not to awake your mother.

---

“Scott, you’re joking,” you exclaimed.

“We called partners like 20 minutes ago! You weren’t here and no one picked Derek,” Scott groaned.

“Yeah, and for good reason. I don’t understand why I can’t be by myself,” you shook your head.

“Because it’s dangerous,” Scott said.

“It’s a vampire!” you exclaimed.

“Exactly!” Scott replied.

You squeezed your fists before exhaling sharply. 

“Fine, where’s the douche-bag?” you sighed before Derek walked to you, rolling his eyes.

“Well, let’s go then.”

---

You rolled your eyes, visibly bored as you and Derek sat in silence. The two of you sat in the car, waiting for any suspicious activity while you watched people walk in and out of the restaurant.

You turned on the radio, before Derek pushed your hand away, turning it off. You glared at him, before taking out your phone.

“Get off your phone,” he said.

“I’m bored,” you replied.

“And we’re on a stakeout mission. Get off your phone,” he said.

You turned it off, before hearing it ring. He glared at you, while you gave him a look, checking your texts.

You felt your chest aching as unbuckled your seatbelt.

“I have to go,” you said quickly.

“What? Why? (Y/N), you can’t leave me-” he started.

“I’m sorry, I really have to go,” you could feel tears rushing from your eyes as you pushed out of the car before he grabbed your wrist.

You pulled away from him, running off into the night.

---

Your brother sat in a chair at the hospital, bouncing his leg nervously.

“Sam,” his head shot up as you called his name.

He ran to your arms, burying his head into your chest.

“I-It wasn’t… It wasn’t an accident this time,” he cried out.

“What happened?” you bent down to his level, putting your hands on his shoulder.

“W-We were watching… We were watching a movie, a-and then she got up, a-and… she didn't come back,” your brother stumbled with his words, holding in his cries.

“Shh, it’s okay. It's okay,” you wrapped your arms around him tightly, before shutting your eyes tightly.

She was getting better, it has been a week since your conversation with her, and she was trying so hard.

“(Y/N) (Y/L/N),” you heard the doctor as he walked towards you.

“I’m so sorry…” their words drifted off as you bit your lip, tears rushing down your face as you held onto your brother tightly, holding in your cries as you shut your eyes tightly.

She was gone. She died.

---

You held onto your brother as the two of you made your way back to your house, biting back a sob.

“H-Here… I need you to… How about you go to y-your room?” you said.

He nodded before walking upstairs. Your body began to visibly shake, while you cried, holding in your sobs so he wouldn't hear you.

You leaned against the table, breathing shakily as more and more tears escaped from your eyes.

You heard loud knocking, banging at the front door as you wiped your face, before opening it.

You were met with Derek’s angered face as he gripped your arms tightly.

“What the hell is wrong with you?!” he yelled.

“I-I,” you stuttered.

“No! Shut up! The vamp killed three people before I could do anything! Do you have any idea how big of a mistake you made?! Why did you leave?! What was so important that it couldn't wait till later?!” he yelled.

“I’m sorry,” you started.

“You little…What is wrong with you?!” he yelled.

You pushed him away from you, as you clenched your jaw. He only walked closer to you, before you swing your fist, punching him in the jaw, only angering him more.

His eyes glew red as he pushed you against the wall. You could see his claws coming out of his hand, digging into your arm.

“Derek…” your voice broke.

“(Y/N)?!” you heard Sam crying loudly, standing by the stairs.

Derek’s class retracted, his face softening.

“Who the hell is that?” Derek asked.

“Get the hell away from me! You want me out so bad?! You got your fucking wish! Leave!” you screamed at him.

You punched him back, kicking him out of your house before locking the door behind you.

You fell to the ground, sobs erupting from you while Sam ran to you, burying his head in your lap.

“I-It’s gonna be okay,” you cried softly, running your fingers through his hair.

“It’s gonna be okay.”

[let-me-love-you-loki]

An Ending Within--Ch. 17

Chapter 17

           It was dark. Rain lashed against the windows. Underneath it all, the whimper of my daughter and the soothing tones of my husband’s voice.

           I couldn’t remember the last time I’d left the bed or held my child. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d said a word to anyone. The last time I’d eaten.

           My eyes burned. Raw and hot from tears. I was empty, hollowed out from the inside. Everything hurt. But I couldn’t really feel anything at all.

           I closed my eyes and tried to breathe through the tightness in my chest. Sitting upright in the middle of the bed, I stared into the blackness of the room, doing my best to think and simultaneously not think at all. Time had lost meaning. I couldn’t remember what day it was, or how long it had been since I’d run into her backstage at Raw. When my whole being forgot everything except for the feeling of my life slowly slipping away into blackness.

           The door opened, spilling slices of stark light across the carpeted floor. I didn’t have to look up to see Seth standing in the doorway. “Are you going to eat?”

           My shoulders rose and fell. I didn’t care. I couldn’t make myself care, no matter how hard I tried. Guilt rushed through me, even though I couldn’t gather the strength to deal with it. I hated myself more every second that I couldn’t get myself together.

           “Llane, please…” he whispered, stepping closer to the bed. In the back of my mind, I wondered if he was going to sit on the edge of the bed. If he was going to try to put his arms around me, to tug me close and try to talk me out of my depression. I wished and prayed and hoped that he didn’t.

           It didn’t matter that I wanted to—more than anything I’d wanted in a log time—there was no dragging my mind through the blackness that still covered me like tar.

           I could sense him standing there, waiting, watching, trying to figure out what he could do. I hated that there wasn’t anything that would change it. After another minute or two, he turned and walked away, shutting the door softly behind him.

***

           Time slugged by. It raced around the edge of a black hole and compressed into every moment in every history. I’d lost track, and I couldn’t grasp its flow any longer. There wasn’t any meaning left in it for me. And some part of me liked it that way.

           It was daytime—the light streaming in the windows was evidence of that—but there wasn’t much more I could figure out. I didn’t know what day it was. My phone was dead, having sat on the bedside table unplugged for God knew how long. An ache settled in my stomach. My vision swam with each move of my head. Moving required more energy than I had.

           Noise filtered from the rest of the house. Echoed and reverberated and grew louder as it got closer. The door banged against the wall.

           “Alright, dollface,” Jon said from behind me. His voice was almost too loud in my ears. His ever-present frenetic energy made my skin crawl and itch. “I’ve had just about enough of this.”

           He rounded the bed and stood over me, his eyes flashing like blue chips of ice. I blinked slowly. He ran his hands over his close cropped hair. “Get up.”

           I blinked again. Tried to roll away. Ended up flopping in a contorted position that made my neck throb.

           Jon kicked the bedpost with his steel-toed boot. “Sophie Weston Lopez. I said to drag your ass out of this bed right now.”

           Movement flickered in the corner of my eye. Seth standing at the doorway, our sleeping two-year old against his shoulder.

           The bed jerked again. The sound of steel on wrought iron echoed again.

           “Alright,” Jon snarled, “that’s it. I’m sick of this shit.”

           He leaned over the bed, scooping me up into his arms and practically draping me over his shoulder. The world tipped and swayed as he walked. He brushed past Seth. I caught sight of his face—part terrible sadness and part complete relief. Sefina shifted against his shoulder, wrapping her arm around his neck.

           A moment later, I was plopped unceremoniously at the table. A bowl of cereal and a full glass of water sat just a few inches away.

           “Eat,” Jon said from right beside me, pointing his finger angrily at the food. “Now.”

           I drew a breath. My chest ached with it. I wanted to cry, but didn’t have the tears.

           He moved around the table, pulled out a chair. Turned it backwards and straddled it. His mouth tipped into a frown.

           “Eat,” he repeated, more angrily than before.

           Seth crossed in front of me. I glanced up, met his gaze, begged somehow for him to drag me out of whatever this was. He smiled softly but shook his head. It seemed like I was on my own.

           My fingers shook weakly as I gripped the spoon and maneuvered a bite of cereal to my mouth. I gasped in a breath after each bite, even as I felt a little bit of awareness creep in as sugar flooded my system.

           Jon wasn’t satisfied until I had eaten every bite, slurped down every drop of milk left in the bowl, and drank every ounce of water in the glass. I felt full and sluggish at the same time as my nerves started to jitter with sugar rush.

           “Good,” he said at last. He stood, arms crossed over his chest. “Now get up. Let’s go.”

           “I don’t want to go anywhere,” I murmured barely loud enough to be heard.

           Jon leaned forward, bracing his fists on the table. Fire snapped in his eyes. He stared me down ferociously. “Let’s. Go.”

***

           The lights were too bright. Every sound echoed painfully through the empty room. Dust motes danced in the light as Jon half pushed half dragged me across the room toward the training ring in the corner of Black and Brave’s gym. We were alone in the silence.

           “Get in the ring.” Jon gave me a firm shove between the shoulder blades. “Right now.”

           I fetched up against the apron, folding forward and resting my head on my forearms. Whatever energy I’d gotten from the sugary breakfast had swept out of me in the walk from the kitchen to the car and the car to the ring.

           “I can’t.” The words came out in a weak moan. “I can’t, Jon.”

           The ring rattled and bounced as he swept in beneath the bottom rope. I could sense him hovering over me. In the next moment, Jon grabbed me under the arms and yanked me up to stand on the apron. He barely gave me time to get my bearings before he hefted me over the top rope and pushed me into the corner.

           Turnbuckles dug into my back. I couldn’t quite find my balance. Vertigo made my head spin.

           “You can’t?” Jon whispered frustratedly. “Can’t or won’t?”

           I whimpered. “I can’t.”

           He walked a few steps away and leaned against the ropes. “Huh. That’s not the woman I know. You’re weak.”

           Something like shame and anger burned in my chest. My brain wanted to fight him, but my body didn’t have the energy. I didn’t even think I had it in me to argue with him.

           Jon paced across the ring, bounced off the ropes on the other side. I watched him with a detached disinterest. Like there was a thick glass that separated me from him. From being able to care.

           “You should have stayed out of the ring when Ronda put you down,” he said, his voice stern and cold. “She did you a favor really. All of us. So we don’t have to watch you anymore.”

           Anger burned bright in my chest. Every word out of Jon’s mouth was an echo of the doubts and fears that had plagued me from the moment I’d returned to wrestling. They were the nightmares that shocked me awake at three in the morning, sweat making my clothes stick to my skin.

           I hated myself for every whisper of those doubts. And God knew, in that moment, I hated Jon for repeating them.

           “Fuck you,” I spat.

           He grinned, one corner of his mouth tipping upward. “Bringing you back was a mistake. Giving you another title was a pity move. Because they knew you wouldn’t last much longer. ‘Let’s give her one more run, she’ll be on the shelf soon.’”

           “Fuck you, Jon,” I snarled back. I balanced myself with the ropes, putting my feet firmly beneath me. Anger boiled in my blood. “Fuck you for every word you just said.”

           He chuckled. “What are you going to do about it? You left whatever was good about you in the ring when Ronda almost broke your neck because you fucked up.”

           I sucked in a breath and let out a scream that echoed against the rafters. My feet pushed me across the canvas before I consciously thought of it. Blood pounded through my veins. Adrenaline flooded my limbs.

           Jon and I slammed into each other in the center of the ring. He caught me by the head, snapping me into a side headlock. His bicep crushed into my ear. Fingers locked as the pressure made me feel like my skull was going to explode.

           I wriggled, pain lancing along my face as I squeezed out of his hold. I ducked under and ran toward the ropes. Bounced off, swerved away out of his reach, and kicked out with the top of my foot against the back of his thigh. He swore and limped for a moment. Then he turned back toward me, a playful grin on his face.

           “Now,” he said with a chuckle, “are you done feeling sorry for yourself?”

           My limbs buzzed with electricity. Being this close to Jon drew out some of that frenetic energy that always crackled when he was around. I felt a smile rush over my face as I crossed over to him, throwing my arms around his waist.

           “Thank you,” I whispered. I felt his lips brush the top of my head. “You always know exactly what I need.”

           He laughed. “What was it Seth called me—I’m your emotional support Jon.”

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[charged-wanderlust]

a beautiful hurricane, pt. 2 | jett slater x mc x remy chevalier

OK THIS IS NOT TURNING OUT HOW I ORIGINALLY PLANNED BUT I LIKE IT TOO MUCH TO CHANGE IT SO BARE WITH ME.... these fics literally write themselves i have no say in it i just start writing and black out and boom its done. anyway here's the next part of the piece commissioned by @mcira it's very jett-centric but remy will have his turn in the last part ok. it'll go out with a bang. literally. ALSO SIDE NOTE ik the s1 heists were like. quick. in the canon. but i took some creative liberties and said its taking months bc its more realistic for them to fall in love this Deep in that time ok? ok good lesgo

“You can’t do that.”

“You can’t tell me what to do!”

Heat flares up beneath your skin, which wasn’t uncommon around these particular handsome scoundrels, but this time it was more akin to an angry boil than a pleasant simmer. How dare they? You may be new to the Poppy, but you’re competent on your own and definitely capable for the task at hand.

“You don’t get it, MC,” Remy sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose - you try not to deflate at the lack of his usual pretty nicknames. When has hearing my own name from his lips make me distraught rather than elated? “You can’t let your guard down just because you’re getting closer to him. He’s a conman too, and a good one- besides, would you really leave Jett to handle the break-in alone?”

“Yes I would, actually!” You flash back, hands clenched into fists. “Because unlike you, I realise that Jett is fully capable of doing things on his own, and I don’t tell him what he can and can’t do! You said it yourself - I’ve exceeded your expectations repeatedly since arriving here. So why can’t you trust my judgement and let me do what I set out here to do in the first place?!”

Remy rolls his eyes so hard he probably got a glimpse of his brain, while Jett bangs his fists on the table. “It’s not even a matter about helping me get the painting or not, MC- it’s the fact that you’ll be alone with a notorious conman on a yacht, isolated from any witnesses, who need I mention - is definitely into you and likely will try something?!”

“Oh I’m sorry, I thought you said you weren’t the jealous type!” You hold your ground, arms crossed with frustration. “We already know the Lumiere film is on that yacht. How do you suppose we get it, if I’m not even allowed on the damn boat?!”

“Through a plan,” Remy says decisively, giving you a look that has no room for argument. “We can get him to invite both of us on board, I’m sure. Plant a camera on him to figure out where it is and any security codes… there’s ways, MC. Ways that don’t involve throwing yourself head-first into danger. You know it’s a bad idea when even Jett Slater is saying it’s a bad idea! He literally only ever comes up with bad ideas!”

“Yeah, throwing myself into danger is my job!”

“Says who?! This is just a straight up double-standard; it’s okay if Jett does it, but not me? Cause what, he’s experienced? How am I meant to get experience if you don’t let me?”

“Cause I’d rather get hurt than see you hurt, MC!”

…

…

…

“...what?”

“Fuck!” Jett flings his hands up in defeat, then stalks off to his room and slams the door shut, reverberating throughout the penthouse. Remy seems at a loss for words, too, his guard up and expression unreadable.

“You haven’t seen how dangerous this line of work gets, ma cherie,” Remy sighs, plopping himself down on the couch and running a hand through his hair to calm himself down a little. “We don’t want you to find out. You didn’t sign up for that.”

“Didn’t I, though?” You settle yourself next to him, tentatively placing a hand on his shoulder, hoping it’ll ground him just a little. “I knew you were criminals, I knew we were doing dirty work. If I hadn’t expected things to get dangerous, I’d have been even more naive than you thought I was. I’ve spent months preparing, Remy - I’ll get the location of the film and I won’t let him lay a hand on me.”

He shivers. “The thought of that… that bastard anywhere near you is enough to make me want to punch a wall,” he growls, “He doesn’t deserve you. He doesn’t even deserve to think he does-”

“Remy.” You squeeze his shoulder gently, snapping him back into reality. “I personally think it’s more satisfying to feed into his delusion of deserving me, then pry that out of his hands and leave him aching. Besides - this is for the heist, right? I think getting that film is more important than anything relating to Parker. I mean, the first ever kiss recorded on film-”

He cuts you off with a laugh that kisses your ears like a finely tuned guitar, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you to his side abruptly.

He’s trying to hide his face…?

“You go from beautifully cruel to brilliantly passionate so quickly, cherie. That’s what I like about you.”

Oh. Oh. Okay. My heart better calm the heck down before he hears it-

Before you could even formulate a coherent thought, let alone a reply, he pulls away, getting up and making for the door. “You’re right. You’re not something - not someone I can control. You’re… something else.”

Shrugging on his coat, he’s halfway out the door before he adds, “Talk it out with Jett. He’ll come around now that he’s had a moment to cool down.”

It’s jarring - he was so angry just moments before, but once the heat faded, it became clear; he cares. He cares far, far more than he lets on - than he wants to, even - and Jett does too. Nodding to Remy, you go for Jett’s room, noiselessly slipping in under the cover of his loud punk music.

Jett’s language is physical touch, that much you know. So instead of calling out to him, you approach him carefully from behind while he’s fixated on an explosive painting full of hot, blazing colours, and lay a hand on his shoulder.

Much like Remy, he instantly softens, turning to look at you with wide eyes that if you squint, were flecked with remorse. You withhold a smile - had you just cracked the code to these men? Just touch them gently and they’re all good again.

“MC, I-”

“Jett.”

He stills, letting you talk. He’s done yelling at you, done fighting; so he listens. And just like before, he’s a surprisingly good listener.

“Look. I know you’re worried for me, and… honestly I’m touched. You’ve been encouraging me to break out of my shell this whole time, and I’m really starting to embrace it. This life, too. I know I can do this because I know myself now, and… all I ask is for your to trust me. Trust that I won’t let Parker even so much as breathe in my direction without me wanting him to, trust that I can secure the location of the film at least-”

“Are you kidding? I’ve always trusted you.”

His reply catches you off guard, his face genuine, body language open. You’re silent for a moment in your surprise, so he takes that as a sign to continue.

“We wouldn’t have picked you for this if we didn’t trust you, MC. You’ve proven yourself over and over again. Just because you can do this doesn’t mean we want you to.” He sighs, collecting himself. “Maybe Remy and I were being a bit of a wet blanket. But you see where we’re coming from, right? This is your first con, and this is practically throwing you into the deep end.”

“Being thrown into the deep end is the quickest way to learn,” you explain calmly, dipping a finger in his paints and dabbing his nose with it. He snorts, but a smile is creeping across his lips and it makes something dance in your chest.

“What if something goes wrong?”

“What do you usually do when something goes wrong?”

He grins, going back to his painting and making a few quick strokes of gold across the horizon line. “I blow shit up, usually.”

“Then give me some of your bombs.”

Jett’s eyes nearly pop out of his damn hand, twisting in his stool to gape at your incredulously. “Are you serious? On a yacht? You’d sink the ship- unless it was a controlled explosion, just enough to cave in a door… or a flashbang, to stun him… or a smoke bomb…”

You can almost see all the ideas popping up in his head, his knee bouncing up and down with slowly increasing excitement. It’s contagious - you find yourself grinning right back at him, mischievous.

“I’ve always wanted to blow something up.”

“It’s settled, then!” He sets down his paintbrush and stalks over to his workbench, grabbing some things and getting to work. “You’re really full of surprises, aren’t you, love? I can’t say I don’t love it, though.���

There it is again, you think, gnawing at your lower lip. All these heartfelt compliments said so casually. How the hell am I meant to know where I stand?!

It’s almost as if the universe answers - or maybe your subconscious knew all along.

Ask.

...Deep breaths, MC.

“You sure throw around the word love a lot, Jett,” you point out, trying your best to sound casual about it. His back is facing you, and you immediately notice his body freeze over at the sudden cold shower of your words.

After a moment, it passes, and he gets back to work. “Yeah. And?”

“And?” You scoff, not believing he’d be oblivious enough as to not get the hint. “I knew you were bad at communicating, but wow-”

He shrugs it off, still not turning around to look at you. “What do you want me to say, MC? You’re Remy’s wife.”

“Fake wife.”

“Might as well be his real one at this point,” he scoffs. “Do you see the way he looks at you? Like you put all the stars in the sky?”

“We’ve literally been practicing the way we look at each other for the con, Jett-”

“I was his husband for a con, once, and I’m telling you he never looked at me the same way he looks at you.”

His voice lowers, and you’re slowly starting to piece everything together. How even his stubborn ass would agree with everything Remy said, how he’d teased you and Remy for being a good couple even more than the rest of the Poppy combined, his joking comments about joining in-

“You’re in love with Remy, aren’t you?”

His silence answers you louder than any words could, and he knows it, too. He chokes out a distraught laugh, finally casting a look over his shoulder to meet your gaze. His is glossy, and you gasp, just as a tear rolls down his sun-kissed cheeks.

“Shit. How could you tell?”

Your instinct is to go over to hug him, and he doesn’t protest, instead going back to tinker with his smoke grenade.

“I mean it when I said I’m not the jealous type, really. It makes me so happy to see you two together. So happy - even if you aren’t really together, I haven’t seen Remy smile like that in a long time. You deserve each other - and I’m glad I can see the two people I care about most-”

“-both of us?”

His voice cracks mid sentence, and he twists around in your embrace to place a gentle kiss to your forehead. “You were a more recent development. But this doesn’t have to make things weird between us - I’ll just need some space.”

You shake your head slowly, cupping his face. “Why are you so convinced that we don’t like you back? You haven’t seen the way he looks at you when your back is turned.”

Just like that, his entire world got flipped on an axis, with you at the center. Struggling to rationalize this new perspective, new information, he starts to ramble. “B-Because you haven’t- I mean he hasn’t- I wasn’t meant to share this, but he’s been in love with you since you first met. Before you even knew you met. He disguised himself so he could talk to you at a coffee shop while you were painting and-”

“Jett,” you laugh, looping your arms around his neck. “Stop talking.”

He puts a finger to your lips before they meet his, the single digit the only thing keeping you apart.

“We should talk to Remy first,” he breathes out. “And- and promise me. If you’re wrong, and he doesn’t feel like that about me - don’t let me get in the way of you two. Please.”

You nod, kissing his cheek instead. This time, he doesn’t flinch, and he doesn’t pull you in for more.

“Let’s go talk to our favourite Frenchman, then.”

He smiles, wild, wide and breathtaking.

“Let’s.”

[dastardlydandelion]

Please post the sickfic prompt turned corpse disposal. 😂

sure! that one’s p bloodless, i can post that one. 

ao3 link 

content warnings: implied/referenced child abuse, implied/referenced spousal abuse, minimally described fresh dead body, illness description 

Billy isn’t sick.

Billy doesn’t get sick. He really doesn’t. Hasn’t had so much as a cold in years, albeit he’s claimed one as cover here and there whenever coke overuse made him maybe sorta sniffly and Neil started to eye him up like he might be suspicious.

Billy isn’t sick.

If he’s feeling achy, well, he’s just sore because Neil laid the belt on him pretty hard two days ago after he got sent home from school midday Monday, written up and suspended. If he’s coughing, well, it’s just because he’s been smoking more than usual. Neil’s been stressed out lately, so that means Billy’s stressed out too.

“No,” his father says sharply when Billy takes a seat at the breakfast table.

And Billy blinks at him, confused but careful.

“You’re not going to sit with us and cough all over the food like a human biohazard. I raised you to show more courtesy than that.” Neil gives him a stern look. “Go back to bed.”

“I’m not even—“

“Go back to bed, Billy.”

Billy hears the warning heighten in his father’s tone. He doesn’t argue. He hauls himself back to his bedroom and it’s whatever. He wasn’t really hungry anyway.

* * * 

Okay, so Billy is sick.

He got himself suspended because he felt something coming on. He knows his body. He was feeling off kilter and sluggish, uncomfortable in the chest when he inhaled too deeply. So he put his boots on the desk in history class and flipped the teacher the bird when she asked him to sit properly. Even went the extra mile and sneered, told her to blow him when her jaw hit the floor.

He figured it’d buy him enough time to recover without having to call in sick, or get in trouble for skipping class. A suspension was one indiscretion and only likely to invoke one punishment. Skipping multiple days would’ve been multiple indiscretions and more likely to invoke multiple punishments.

In retrospect he should’ve just called in sick because the whole point of avoiding that route was avoiding having to admit it, but he can’t really hide it. Whatever he’s got came on hard and fast, doubled-down by Monday evening. It hasn’t gotten any better. Billy feels bad all over, the cough is near constant, and he’s shaking with chills. Puts his leather jacket on before he buries himself under the blankets and still can’t get warm.

And the coughing, ugh, the fucking coughing. Billy knows he’s being loud. He tries to hold it in but he just can’t. Spasm after spasm squeezes his lungs until they’re aching for air. His chest feels like it’s full of swamp muck and all he can do is ride it out, clutch at his ribs until he makes it to the oxygen on the other side.

Billy should get up. He should make himself get off his ass, go buy some cough drops or at least refill his glass of water. He’s going to make it happen. He’s definitely going to make it happen…just maybe not yet.

He never really gets around to it. Spends most of the afternoon slogging through coughs and trying to get comfortable even though it doesn’t really matter which way he tosses or turns, he’s still cold to the bone, chest stabbing with every burdened breath. The day drags and Billy catches snippets of the other members of the household moving about, knows it’s evening when Neil sticks his head in.

“I dug this out of the cabinet for you,” he announces, holding up a blue container. “Vapor rub. It’ll calm your cough down. Help you sleep.”

“Thanks, Dad.”

His father pads across the carpet, sets the container down on Billy’s nightstand, right within reach. He hovers uncertainly, eyes narrowed. Opens his mouth to say something and maybe he does, but Billy doesn’t catch it, snapping upright to bury another flurry of coughs into his closed fist. It’s a forceful fit and before he knows it, his father’s thumping him on the back. He’s probably trying to help but the heel of his hand connects with one of the bruises the belt buckle left and Billy can’t stop himself before he flinches.

Neil retracts his hand, leaves without another word. Billy rakes in breath at the coda of the coughs, air scraping against his roughshod throat. He goes as deep as he can even though it hurts, snatches the container of vapor rub.

Billy begins to unscrew the lid and notices some of the ointment is crusted under the lid. It flakes off. This stuff looks old. Billy checks the date on the label. Sure enough, it’s been expired for close to a year.

He throws it across the room in frustration, watches it bounce off the wall. Lies back down and pulls the covers up to his chin.

At some point Neil bangs on his door and demands he cut out the racket, probably thinking Billy rebuffed his generosity. Billy’s too exhausted to bother explaining the shit’s expired. Instead he turns his face into the pillow and smothers his fits into the fabric, hoping it muffles the sounds.

* * * 

Sometime later Thursday morning, Susan knocks on his door. Billy contemplates pretending to be asleep. Really, he wishes he was. He’s feeling pretty rundown but he can’t seem to get more than a wink before he wakes up coughing.

But if he doesn’t answer it now, she’ll probably just bother him later. So Billy plods to the door and pulls it open.

“What?”

“Um,” Susan begins eloquently, blinking at him as she fiddles with the thin object in her hands. A thermometer.

“Neil tell you to do this?”

“N-No, but, uh. It’s probably a good idea to check your temperature. No offense, Billy, but you don’t sound so good and you’re awfully flush…”

“If I cared, I’d check myself,” he snorts irritably. “Try to stick that under my tongue and I’ll break it in half. Save your mother hen shit for Max.”

With that, he slams the door in her face. They’ve no love for each other. On infrequent occasions Susan will forget this and make some half-assed attempt to get closer to him. Billy’s always quick to remind her where they stand. It doesn’t take much.

Afternoon rolls around without Susan bugging him anymore. Billy isn’t a big reader but he doesn’t feel up to much else between increasingly productive coughing bouts that leave him hacking up gross, greenish globs into his small wire mesh trashcan. So he flips through some music magazines and the book he’s supposed to read for english class until he gathers enough energy to kick himself into gear.

He didn’t bother changing out of his clothes yesterday so he doesn’t need to change now. Just sprays himself with some cologne, figures he probably smells because he’s sweating nonstop. Discomforting drenching cold sweats like getting caught outside in icy rains, an experience Billy was blissfully unfamiliar with until Neil decided to leave sunny California behind.

He browses the small medical selection at Melvald’s, grabs a couple bags of cherry flavored lozenges  and a bottle of cough syrup. Covers a couple fits with the crook of his elbow on the way to the counter. He swallows the gunk that comes up because there’s nowhere to spit it into and scrunches his nose in disgust, feels like freaking slime sliding down his throat.

It’s the town cuckoo who rings him up. Or that’s her reputation anyway but she doesn’t seem particularly nutty to Billy. Hell, seems less weird than Susan does when she’s doing shit like talking to the spiders she takes outside.

“Time to go, Little Creepy Crawly,” she’d singsonged last week, shaking a daddy longlegs out of her tissue on the front porch. “Go be free.”

“You need fucking friends,” Billy had told her after the fact. Sound advice, he’d thought. Susan only ducked her head and disappeared into the next room.

Town Cuckoo gives the amount. Billy digs through his wallet and comes up two dollars short. Ugh. Fucking brandname linctuses. Shit’s a ripoff but there was no generic equivalent on the shelf.

She tells Billy it’s on the house, forehead crinkling just a bit as she studies him, eyes all melty with sympathy. Screw that shit. Billy isn’t anybody’s charity case. He gives her a pointed glower as he stamps a five down on the counter, takes the two bags of lozenges, and leaves.

He eats through half of the first bag until his throat tingles with menthol and artificial sweetness, and actually manages to sleep for a few solid hours. He knows it’s been hours because when he wakes himself coughing, it’s dark out. Nighttime.

Billy curls inward with the spasms, tries to catch his breath between stabbing pains. This sucks so much. He’s hacking up more gunk. Attempts to rub some of the discomfort from his heavy, congestion leaden chest to no avail.

He just keeps coughing and coughing and he knows before long, Neil’s going to get in his shit about the noise so he forces himself to throw off the covers. His bruises are still healing. He doesn’t need any more.

Billy crams his feet in his boots and drags himself down the hall. To his surprise, Susan’s sitting at the kitchen table. She’s crying. The sobs wrack her whole body the way the coughs wrack his and her cheeks are blotched cherry red just like his lozenges, tear tracks shining under the kitchen light. It throws him, really. He’s lived with Susan for years and he doesn’t think he’s ever seen her cry. She just. Doesn’t show much emotion at all, let alone displays like this.  

Billy watches it the way he’d watch a car crash. Susan doesn’t even notice him until he’s coughing again. He curls his fist around his mouth, muffles them as best he can. Fumbles for his car keys when he’s made it through to the other side.

“Where could you possibly be going?” Susan asks, her voice thick, like there’s a bubble in her throat.

Maybe Neil hit her. Billy’s seen it so he knows it happens sometimes even though he’s pretty sure it’s not often. Not like how Neil hits him. Or hit his own mother. Susan is probably Neil’s favorite, obedient like a well trained dressage horse following all of his cues. Isn’t anything like his own mom who defied Neil like a wild mustang he couldn’t tame, who went braless and smoked hash with the hippies, screamed her lungs out at Neil in furious harpy volumes and called him names no matter how mad it made him. Who did her best to give back as good as she got even outmatched, even if it made him madder, throwing things or fists or swinging Billy’s Little League bat.

Susan is submissively behaved and tepid tempered, always wears her bra under the clothes Neil buys her in the fashions he prefers her in. Susan speaks softly and sweetly, never stays out unscheduled and doesn’t smoke anything at all, always smells like floral perfumes and lotions, never ever, ever like cigarettes or marijuana or other men’s cologne. When Neil hits Susan she goes slack and sloth and silent, and does not lift a finger to fight. It is the only thing she and Billy have in common.

“Nowhere,” he answers. “Gonna sleep in the car before Neil gets on me about making noise.”

“Billy, it’s too cold for that…besides, Neil isn’t going to wake up yet.”

“How do you know?”

What, does Susan think she’s a fucking fortune teller now?

Sure enough, she doesn’t have a straight answer for him. She stumbles over syllables that don’t shape into sentences and the last thing Billy feels like doing is indulging her.

“Pfft. That’s what I thought. By the way, you’re ugly when you cry.” Billy glares at her until she turns away, timid, bowing her head. He heads out to the Camaro, gets in the driver’s seat and pulls it back.

Yeah, it’s cold out but he can’t get warm inside under the blankets anyway. Neil’s already in a bad mood. He’d only barked about the racket last night but his father’s bite is worse than his bark and Billy knows better than to expect a second warning.

* * * 

Friday morning, the frosty air scrapes Billy’s throat raw and makes him cough so, so hard. He’s beyond done with this shit, fuck everything. He takes shallow breaths to avoid the pangs of going too deep. The coughing still brings up gunk he spits out and he can feel the congestion crackling in his chest like thick, goopy molasses drowning his lungs, sticking between every rung of his ribcage.

It’s actually. Kind of. Beginning to concern him.

Is being sick normally like this?

Billy hasn’t been sick in so long, he seriously doesn’t know. But it’s been days and he’s not feeling any better. He feels worse. He really does. Breathing has become a grueling travail. Even to his own ears, his exhales sound wet and ratty. The coughing was a nuisance when it first came on but now it’s just downright exhausting.

But.

Well. He’s gotta be okay. He’s too young to be like, seriously sick. It’s probably just one of those things where it’s going to get worse before it gets better. A lot of things are like that, right?

Everything gets worse before it gets better. He’s fine. He’s definitely fine.

Billy goes inside. Everyone’s at the breakfast table and he doesn’t take a seat because he’s a biohazard and Neil already looks dour. Susan’s pouring him coffee. Max nibbles at a piece of toast. She has a cut on her cheek that wasn’t there when Billy saw her yesterday. Doesn’t look bad, just a simple scratch stretched under her eye, but when he peers closer is that…is that a bruise?

Yes. It’s pretty small. Faint. He would’ve missed it entirely if the thin red thread of her cut wasn’t so stark against Max’s pasty skin.

He’s smart enough not to ask in front of Neil. He doesn’t say anything. Gets the juice from the fridge and pours himself a glass. He’s two sips in before he has to set it aside, covering his mouth as another fit takes hold.

Neil is glaring when he makes it through. Right. Don’t cough around the food. Billy isn’t even sitting with them but whatever. He’s not gonna poke the bear. Heads off to Max’s room and waits.

Eventually she comes in to get her backpack, frowning at his presence. “What’re you doing in here?”

“What happened to your face?”

“Geez, Billy, you sound terrible.” Her nose crinkles.

“I asked you a question, Max.” Billy impatiently twirls his finger, slightly annoyed. He already knows he sounds bad, doesn’t need to be reminded.

Max turns away from him with a shrug, starts stuffing her textbooks into the bag. “I fell on the pond yesterday when I was playing with my friends. Where I fell…the ice wasn’t smooth. It was rough and it scratched.”

Billy narrows his eyes and measures her up. It isn’t a particularly unlikely story. But he wants to be sure.

“You’d tell me if it was Neil, right?”

“…of course I’d tell you if it Neil.” Max looks up from messing with her stuff and faces him with clear resolution in her gaze. “Neil hits you all the time so if he hit me, you’d be the first person I’d tell.”

Billy keeps his eyes on her as he goes over what she said. She doesn’t look like she’s lying. She doesn’t sound like she’s lying. Besides, Neil’s striking hand probably would’ve left a bigger bruise and he can’t place anything on it that would’ve scratched her skin like that. Neil’s fingernails are short and blunt, smoother than Billy’s, which get jagged when he bites. He doesn’t wear rings beyond his wedding band, and his is smooth silver, no shiny rock cut in the middle like Susan’s.

“Alright,” he concedes, turns to leave.

The coughing fit hits heavy, like a wrecking ball to the chest. Billy hangs onto the doorframe with one hand, covers his mouth with the other. It’ll pass. It’ll pass. It’ll pass.

Christ, he’s sick of being sick.

It passes. Billy keeps his grip on the doorframe as he works on drawing in air.

“You okay?” Max asks from behind.

And he can’t actually answer that just yet, still catching his breath.

“You sound really gross, like you’re literally dying.”

“I’m not…I’m fine…even run you to school, if you want.” Billy relaxes his grip on the doorframe and turns back to her.

“Oh.” Max perks up at that, eyes bright. “Yeah, can you?”

She lowers her voice as she adds, “I’m mad at my mom. I don’t really wanna ride with her.”

Billy doesn’t ask what for. It’s probably something stupid. Susan getting after her for not zipping up her coat or touching yellow snow or some other dumb shit. He’s too tired to care, really.

“Sure I can, s’what I just said, isn’t it? Finish getting your stuff together, bus leaves in five.”

* * *

Billy does’t go home for a long time. After dropping Max off, he just sits in the parking lot for awhile, rests his head against the steering wheel while the heat blasts from the vents. He’s got it all the way up and he’s so sweaty his hair’s plastered to the back of his neck, but he’s still freaking cold.

He doesn’t know what he did to deserve this.

Or.

Okay, maybe he does.

Eventually he pulls out of the parking lot, drives around listening to music just to be doing something. Winds up in another lot, an empty lot, where the rumor is they’re going to build a mall next year. Billy hopes so. Hawkins is mind-numbingly boring. Sometimes he just wants to scream about it, set fire to the fucking cornfields and scream at the top of his lungs.

His lungs aren’t really up to screaming right now though. Neither is his throat, really, tender from coughing spasm after coughing spasm tearing it up. Billy doesn’t know if he’s even been this sick.

He’s even considering bringing it up to his dad, maybe even. Asking Dad for help. And that.

That means he’s either desperate or delirious, and neither is a particularly reassuring thought.

Fuck.

Billy despises the fact it even crossed his mind. He can’t go to Neil. He won’t. That’s stupid. Neil would probably just dig him out some more expired vapor rub. Definitely wouldn’t take him to a doctor, at least not until the bruises heal. Maybe he’d compromise and get him the cough syrup Billy didn’t have enough cash for…

Between musings, Billy finds himself squeezed in another fit that pummels his chest like invisible fists. It’s so bad he’s left battling for just a breath of air, so forceful for one very scary second he’s even worried he won’t get it. That the coughing will go on and on, and he’ll never take another breath again. That they’ll find his body right here in the empty lot where maybe the mall will be one day.

Except the coughing eventually does subside and Billy does manage to get some air. But the fit spooks him a little. Takes enough out of Billy that he decides he’s probably going to have to go to Neil. Shit.

He puts it off as long as he can. Doesn’t even go home until he knows everyone is done with dinner. To his surprise, Neil isn’t watching tv. Billy heads down the hall. The light is on under Max’s door. The light is on under the master bedroom door too. Billy hesitates before knocking.

Does he really need to go to Neil?

Maybe he was exaggerating when he was worried earlier. Billy’s hand retracts from the door. It's promptly clamped around his mouth for what must be the hundredth time. He’s hacking hard into his palm, chest throbbing.

He doesn’t actually mean to open the door. But he grabs the knob for support and jerks when the metal is shockingly cold under his fingers. The next thing Billy knows, he’s stumbling over the threshold.

Susan whips toward him, eyes as wide as dinner plates and mouth frozen open in horror. At first Billy thinks it’s him. She’s so disgusted she’s horrified by him and his biohazard germs and any second Neil’s going to pick his head up from the bed and bark at Billy for intruding without so much as a knock, and then—

Then his eyes fall to the long bloodied baiting needle in Susan’s suddenly trembling hands.

“S-Self d-defense,” she quavers, backing away, that needle outward in her shaky, shaky hands almost like she thinks Billy’s going to advance on her. “It was s-self defense, B-Billy, I had to.”

Because Neil’s still motionless, facedown on the bed even though his son’s still coughing, making a racket and expelling biohazard bacteria in his very bedroom. He’s still coughing, fuck, his eyes are watering, but they aren’t so watery he can’t see what’s right in front of him. Billy plants a hand down against the dresser and tries to breathe.

“Self defense,” he rasps at the end of the fit, blinking at the acupuncture kit open inches away from his hand on the dresser.

“S-Slightly preemptive self defense,” Susan amends, swallowing. “Make no m-mistake, I had to. I had to, he— he was right on the verge of a b-blowup. You know your father, Billy.”

That is true. Billy knows his father well. He doesn’t speak to Susan as he shuffles up to the bed. Gulps down some of the gunk in his throat, grazes his father’s cheek with his fingertips. There’s blood welled up in a hole at the base of his skull but he’s warm, kinda, so maybe Susan didn’t kill him after all. He moves his fingers to feel for a pulse.

It isn’t there. Neil’s dead? Neil’s really dead?

“Dad?” he tries. It comes out a hoarse squeak. He clears his throat and tries again. “Dad? Dad, c’mon.”

Billy jostles his father’s shoulder. It yields no response. The bare skin is still warm, deceptively so. There’s not so much as a flicker of life beneath it.

“Holy shit,” Billy gasps.

Susan presses back against the wall, eyes still very wide, clutching that baiting needle so tight her knuckles are blanched. Her hands shake and shake.

“What are you going to do?” she asks in a whisper.

“What am I going to go?” Billy echoes. “I— I don’t know! What are you going to do? Call the cops?”

Because even if her self defense was preemptive, to use her description, maybe it’d still fly. Billy has bruises. Maybe Susan has some too hidden under that deep cranberry dress.

“Cops?” Susan’s mouth tightens as her head gives a firm shake. “Of course not. Don’t you know what police are like? Your father would’ve fit right in.”

Billy considers this as he coughs, stuffing them into the sleeve of his leather jacket. He can’t say his own experience with the law has ever been positive. And Neil was a security guard. What’s a security guard if not a wannabe cop?

“You planned this,” Billy heaves out when he’s done coughing.

“I’m….I mean, y-yes, but I—“

“What was your plan?” Billy interrupts. “Where were you going to go from here?”

“I didn’t expect you to show up,” Susan says, soft and frowning.

“I live here,” Billy points out and he laughs. Strange, strained laughter peals out of him until it triggers another bout of coughing because. What. The. Actual. Fuck.

“Oh, Billy…do you want some water? Maybe you should sit down.”

“Where?” he rasps between coughs. “Next to my dead dad?!”

“Keep your voice down,” Susan urges, waving the needle like a conductor’s baton. “Max is still awake.”

Billy wipes the perspiration from his forehead with the back of his hand. Stares at Susan as he does his best to take even breaths.

“You’re wheezing.”

“You’re deflecting,” he fires back. “What are you going to do?”

“Um, uh…chop him up,” Susan admits quietly. “I’d p-planned to chop him up.”

“That’ll make a mess,” Billy blurts out, blunt.

“Messy, yes, but it’s the easiest way. I can’t exactly carry him.”

Billy touches the small of Neil’s bare back, skims his fingertips between hair thin acupuncture needles. He probes at the small of his own back, winces when dull pain pulses through the bruise. His throat is thick with something other than phlegm and his heart is racing rabbity fast. In this moment, Billy makes a decision.

“Not by yourself.”

Susan gapes.

“Where we taking him?” Billy asks.

“I…I honestly didn’t have an exact location mind, but farther away. Not here in Hawkins, the town is too small.” Susan swallows again and tugs at her sleeve. “I planned to bag his parts in pieces and drive a few hours out and spend the night disposing of the bags in different areas.”

That makes sense, he thinks.

“Sometimes I go to this gay bar about two hours away. Pretty big dumpster in the back.”

Billy tries to hit it at least once a month, if he can save up enough of his allowance for gas. Sometimes he collects enough chump change from idiots at school who forget to close their lockers, and isn’t above duping people outta their dough by turning on the charm, either. His interest in girls isn’t exclusive, he finds a helluva lotta guys interesting too. It’s just nice to get out of fucking Nowheresville even on the nights he doesn’t end up fooling around with anybody.

Susan looks absolutely bewildered.

“Gay bar,” he repeats slowly. “You know. Pride pub, homo hub?”

“I know what a gay bar is, Billy. Why on earth are you going to one?”

“Gee, I don’t know, maybe it’s because I’m secretly a drag queen bingo champion,” Billy scoffs in annoyance and it turns into a cough. The one sets off a fit.

“Billy, um…I don’t, um. I’m not judging your preference in partners or your private life, but you’re too young to be going to the bar. Any bar. It’s not legal, you’re a teenager.”

Jesus, he can hardly breathe. He feels like he’s going to fall over. Maybe he actually should’ve sat down next to his dead dad.

“Oh dear. I’m— I’m going to get you some water.”

Billy doesn’t fall over. He has good stamina. He’s hard to knock over, prides himself on that fact. He makes it through the fit upright. His chest is sore from the stabbing and he’s a little dizzy, perhaps from fatigue or breathlessness, but he’s steadfast.

Billy accepts the glass Susan holds out to him upon her return. Her fingers feel like icicles as they brush his and he suppresses a shiver. Takes slow sips and finds a little relief. Eventually sets the glass down on the dresser when he’s done.

“Technically, it’s not me who goes to the bar. You’re right, I’m not twenty-one yet. But Jason Scott on the other hand, well, he’s twenty-five.” Billy fishes his wallet out and frees his fake ID from its fold. “Looks pretty legit, right?”

Susan silently studies the piece of plastic and worries her lip between her teeth.

“But we don’t actually have to go into the bar to put my dad’s body in the dumpster anyway. I mean, going inside would really be a pretty bad idea…”

“Indeed it would, but I’m glad you showed this to me. It wouldn’t be smart to put Neil anywhere you or I associate with at all. But if you’re not actually associated, it’s an option.”

“It’d take less time than the way you were gonna go about it. Cleaner too.”

Susan nods her agreement. “However, I still might…mm, Billy. I’m not sure if you’re going to like this. But in order to prevent him from being identified, I think I’m going to chop off his head…and his hands. Well, perhaps those I’ll just burn with the clothes iron, um. Either way, his fingerprints need to be destroyed.”

Billy’s gut lurches as he soaks it in. It sounds logical. He can’t deny that, but something about the idea of his dad’s decapitation doesn’t sit. Kinda gives him the heebie-jeebies. And that’s weird. That’s really weird because he’s okay with everything else.

Well.

Okay, maybe he’s not okay with it, but. He understands it. It’s Neil. Of course he understands the bruises she may or may not be hiding, the fear in her heart regardless.

“Do you have to chop his head off? Can’t you just smash his face in?”

“I considered that,” Susan says, nodding again. “Those cast iron lion bookends on the shelf are nine pounds each. I weighed them this morning.”

Billy likes the sound of that better. Neil is going to be dead and disfigured either way. He’s not sure why it makes a difference. Maybe it doesn’t, really. He thinks he might have a fever. Maybe the fever’s just getting to him, making him a little loopy and pulling his thoughts in less than rational directions.

“I could do that part,” he offers. It’d probably take him less time to bash Neil’s face in than it’d take Susan. He has more physical prowess, after all, more power to put behind the blows.

“Are you up for that?” she asks, eyeing him skeptically.

“Yes,” he snaps, somewhat defensive. He’s sick but he’s not helpless.

Billy’s claim isn’t undermined by the brief bout of coughing that overtakes him. He halts the reflex to clutch his ribs. Not now, not in front of her. Especially not with what they have to do.

“There’s two bookends,” Susan points out, seems a little nervous as she watches him cough. “We could take turns.”

With that, she disappears from view. Billy hacks some more gross globs into his hand and for convenience’s sake, just wipes it off on his jeans. When Susan comes back, she has one of those big black contractor trash bags. Spreads it out on the bed beside Neil’s form.

They roll him together and Billy doesn’t know what to make of what he feels when he actually sees his father’s face, features devoid and dead. Very, very dead. Tears do not sting his eyes. They just well up watery because he’s coughing again, battling for breath again, so, so wrung and exhausted, lungs like sodden sponges sopped with sputum.

Then he’s holding the bookend, cast iron artistically sculpted, the maned king of the jungle bearing his teeth in a roar. Billy looks at his father’s dead face and hesitates for only a heartbeat. When he brings the heavy object down, he puts all the force he can muster behind it and it makes an utterly atrocious noise Billy will never forget, but—

Some part of him has always wanted to do this. For that part of him, it is the only thing he’s ever truly wanted. And when Susan takes her turn Billy watches her face and realizes, oh, going slack and sloth and silent with the taste of Neil Hargrove’s hand isn’t the only thing they share at all.

* * * 

They wait until late to don gloves and roll Neil up in the shower liner. They stuff him in the bed of his own truck for transport. Billy takes the torso end because it’s heavier, Susan hefts him under the legs. Billy drives because he knows the way even though it’s the last thing he feels like doing.

It goes mostly okay. He only has a paroxysm bad enough to make him pull over once.

Susan reaches across the seats and rubs his shoulder. Billy’s too busy getting his breath to shrug her off.

“I’m sure you’re not going to love this idea, but I think it’s time to see a doctor. This could be bronchitis, Billy, or even pneumonia.”

“Pneumonia isn’t real,” Billy grouses tiredly. “It’s like the boogeyman. Just some story old people made up so their grandkids wouldn’t play in the rain and track mud all over the house.”

“Uh…um.” She blinks owlishly, forehead creasing. “No, that’s not quite accurate…”

“I’m screwing with you, Susan.” Because that’s easier than conceding to her.

It would’ve been one thing with Neil. As fucked up as things were, Neil was his dad. Neil was supposed to take care of him.

But Susan. Susan is different. Susan is mostly Max’s weird mom who displays about as much emotion as a mannequin whenever she isn’t (wasn’t) dancing on Neil’s puppet strings or talking to the spiders as she shakes them free from soft tissues. Albeit tonight is a game changer. They’re very literally partners in crime now.

“We could even go to the ER after this,” she suggests uncertainly, wary edge to her tone.

“That’s for emergencies. I can wait.”

“If you’re sure.” Susan hums in her throat and draws her hand away.

They have good timing. The bar’s been closed for almost an hour by the time they get there and all the cars have cleared out. Billy backs up to the dumpster so he and Susan can stand on the bed and lift Neil in that way, rather than having to drag his deadweight out and struggle to raise his cumbersome bulk up over the side.

He doesn’t want to be out here any longer than he has to. Whole thing gives him the heebie-jeebies. He feels like a cop is about to pull up any second now and frankly, it’s cold as fuck. He’s cold as fuck.

Not as cold as the unearthly chill that seems to pierce through the plastic liner when Billy lifts his father’s trunk for the second time tonight.

“Do you feel that?” he irresistibly asks Susan, watching her adjust her grip on Neil’s legs and searching her face for the eeriness he’s feeling.

“Feel what?” Susan asks, frowning.

Death itself? Billy doesn’t know.

“Nothing, it’s…just cold, I guess.”

“Oh, Billy, I think you have the chills.”

And he knows he does but it’s not the same thing. He doesn’t comment any more on it. Together they get Neil up on the metal rim of the open dumpster, push him over. Garbage crunches and crinkles beneath his deadweight. Billy feels another coughing fit coming on and manages to suppress it until he gets back inside the truck.

“Do you want me to drive home?” Susan asks.

“No. I know the way better, it’s easier if I do it.”

“You could, um. I mean, you could direct me if I get a little turned around. You’re looking pretty tuckered out.” It’s dark but Billy can hear the frown in her voice.

“Alright,” he sighs out. “Fine.”

Because she’s not wrong. He’s drained at this point. Shoving his dad’s body in the dumpster spent the last store of energy he had. He and Susan swap places. She doesn’t have much trouble once she actually gets back on the main road.

“Thank you,” she murmurs eventually. “If I had to do this myself, I’d still be in the middle of it.”

“Yeah…sure thing, I guess.” She killed his dad. No big deal. Billy blinks, isn’t sure what else to say.

“…so, um…you like the fellas, huh?” she asks, voice light and not a bit unkind.

“Uh-huh." He shrugs. "Guys, girls, I mean, I'm not that picky. A hole’s a hole, a mouth’s a mouth, fingers are fingers.”

Susan chokes on a scandalized gasp and Billy gets a chuckle out of it, even as it turns into a cough.

“That’s, uh. T-That’s certainly crude.”

And it’s funny really, that Susan seems more creeped out by a boorish comment than she did by holding his dead dad’s corpse legs.

By the time they get home, Billy’s so beyond spent he knows he can’t even make it to his room. Doesn’t bother to try. Collapses on the couch cushions without attempting to take his boots off. Smothers what has to be the goddamn millionth round of coughs into the throw pillow.

When he picks his head up, Susan’s standing there, fiddling with the thermometer again, fretful expression on her features. Oh, fuck it. Fine. Billy bites the bullet and takes it from her, begrudgingly jamming the thing under his tongue.

[okk--maaan]

Bad Kitchen Dreams

Hi. This is very dumb. But I couldn’t help myself when @ellelaconi​ threw out a Pale Kitchen Nightmares AU. So here you go. Feel free to imagine him in a blonde Matt wig and chef’s coat with a British accent.

WC: ~1.7k (whoops)

CW: you’re a really bad chef, Pale degrading you because you’re such a bad chef, pussy eating, fingering, PIV, brief drug mention, OSHA violations

Pale has traveled all over the country doing this. Helping desperate restaurant owners resurrect their businesses from the ashes. But in his twenty years, he’s never seen a situation as dire as this. As dire as yours.

When he pulls up in his big black car, he can tell the restaurant isn’t open. “Who the fuck ain’t open at one o’clock in the afternoon? Fuckin’ bullshit,” he mutters to himself. And sure enough. When he tries the front door - locked. He bangs on the glass and yells, “Hey! Hello! Anybody in there?!” After like five fuckin’ minutes of this, you finally appear -- wearing a dirty disgusting chef’s coat, your hair haphazardly pinned up, shit on your face. You wipe your hands down your front, smearing something orange across the little bit of white left on your apron.

As soon as you turn the lock, Pale pushes his way through with his big body. Without the barrier of safety glass, he can really get a good look at you. Even with all the mess, you’re pretty fuckin’ hot. Stunning really. Makin’ his cock twitch in his dark jeans, with your soft fuckin’ eyes and lips and shit. But he can’t think about that right now. He’s got work to do. Clearly.

He sticks a fat hand out and greets, “Hey doll. The name’s Jimmy. But call me Pale. Everyone calls me Pale. Hate that fuckin’ name in fact. Jimmy. Only person call me that is my fuckin’ wife.” You’re flustered with how quickly he rambles, but you take his hand and introduce yourself. “Well let me ask you something. Why the hell ain’t you open? It’s the middle of fuckin’ lunch,” he wave his hands all over the place like this is the most atrocious thing. And honestly, in his opinion, it might be. “Uhh well no one’s in here,” you try to explain. He scoffs, “Yeah no shit. Kinda hard for people to get in with the door locked and all.” He did have a point there. You wring your sweaty palms together, trying to fight the utter embarrassment. “Thank you for agreeing to help me, Jimmy - uh Pale. Please tell me what I need to do to fix this.” He leans in real close, jabs a thumb behind him, “Why don’t you unlock the fuckin’ door first?” You chuckle nervously and walk past him. Pale can’t help but glance at your ass as you do, just can’t help himself. And damn. You look just as good from the back as you do from the front. And again, his dick agrees.

With the restaurant officially open, you give Pale a tour. But the condition of the dining room is so deplorable, he doesn’t want to go any further. “Nah doll. I ain’t going in that kitchen. I got half a mind to even let you cook for me,” he throws his hands up in protest. He pulls out the cleanest chair he can find and plops down. Dusting off the tiny table in front of him, he asks, “So what kinda food you serve here?” “I create Mexican Italian fusion dishes,” you respond quickly and proudly. But that pride is short lived, with the way he’s staring at you. “Huh. Fusion. Well I’ll be the judge of that,” he purses his lips as he opens a cloth napkin and sets it in his lap. You take that as your cue to bring out his first course.

“Here we have a baby squid, steamed with lemon and capers,” you say in your best chef’s voice. Steamed? Squid? Pale thinks - knows - what’s sitting in front of him won’t be good. But you’re too fuckin’ pretty for him to flat-out refuse. He wishes he did a bump before coming in this place. By the way he has to stab the fish with his fork, he instantly knows it’s not cooked. “Look, I ain’t eating this. This squid is so raw, I can hear it telling Spongebob to fuck off.” Hot tears prick at your eyes. And he can see it. “No. Come on now. Don’t start that shit. Just - just bring me the next course,” he dismisses you.

You set two overly stuffed enchiladas in front of Pale. They look better than the squid, but his hopes aren’t too high. When he finally musters up the courage to take a bite, he wants to spit it out right away. “These are the worst fuckin’ enchiladas I’ve ever had,” he throws down his fork. You go to remove the plate, but he grabs your wrist and pulls you to his eye level. “Look doll. I know I said I didn’t want to go into that fuckin’ kitchen, but you’re going to take me back there. Right now. Show me with the fuck you got going on.” The way his breath blows over your face and his eyes bore into you, you can’t refuse. “Oh-okay,” you stutter.

As you walk to the kitchen, Pale follows, and you can feel his gaze locked on you. And he is truly mesmerized by the way your hips swing. As soon as he crosses the threshold, he demands any and every other employee leave. “Go clean something. And don’t come back in her til’ I say so. Got it?” All life - including the cockroaches - scatters. Except for you. And him. He stalks over to you liek a wild animal. And you’re his prey. Your ass back up against the metal counter, where he cages you between his strong arms. “How’s this sweetheart. Your restaurant is disgusting, your food is even worse. This place ain’t gonna stay open another month. But you? You’re the best damn thing I’ve seen this side of the Hudson.” He steps in even closer, pressing his hot hot body to yours. “Pale, I-” your eyes drop between your bodies. You can feel the bulge in his pants, insistent on your stomach. Before you can choke out another word, his fingers are digging into your soft hips. In one swift instant motion, he lifts you to sit atop the cold counter and mashing his mouth to yours. Demanding. Hungry. You part your lips for him without protest, let his tongue slide against yours. Your fingers comb and twist into his slicked back hair. He moans and thrusts into you when your nails scratch at his scalp. A sudden burst of confidence implores your hands to move to work at undoing his jeans. But he swats you away, pinches your cheeks between his forefinger and thumb. “Nuh uh doll. You’re not ready for my big cock yet.” When you nod in agreement, he releases your face and finds your own waistband, yanking down your pants and panties at once. With those around your ankles, he spreads you open and admires your glistening cunt. “God. Are you always this wet for every Joe Blow that walks in this joint?” You can feel your face heat up at the comment, but Pale ain’t paying not attention. He’s too busy dropping to his knees and wedging himself between yours. And he wastes no time diving in. You gasp and hiccup at the sudden contact. He licks and sucks at your silky folds, drinking down everything you give him. Occasionally, his proud nose nudges your stiff clit, sending shockwaves down your spine. He grunts and pulls away with a wet pop, “Finally something edible. Finally some good fucking pussy.” Fuck he really wishes he had some coke or a cigarette or a drink, something. He’s already too worked up and he doesn’t want to wait anymore.

So he doesn’t.

Pale stands back to his full, towering height and makes quick work of his belt. He uses one hand to free himself, while he coats two fingers on the other in your slick. “Are you ready to take my big cock sweetheart?” he asks before shoving his thick digits deep into you. You inhale sharply and groan at the intrusion. “Yes Pale. Please.” He shakes his head, his dick now in his hand, where he strokes it slowly. “Nah doll. I want to hear you say it.” It takes every last brain cell not focused on the sensation of his burning hand pumping into you to find the words. “Yes - ah fuck - yes. Please fuck me. I’m ready to take your big cock.” Before you even finish your sentence, he’s lining up and thrusting into you. Hard. Deep. Your head falls back and knocks the steel service pass at the same time his cock head knocks your cervix. “Fuck. Fuck me. I like the way you beg sweetheart.” As he sets his brutal pace, the only sounds you can return are moans and whimpers and gasps. Your sounds of pleasure mix with his grunts and groans and curses and the delicious sound of bare skin smacking on bare skin. The symphony you create together bounces off pots pans plaster walls. “Fuckin’. This tight little pussy is gonna make me bust. Mmnh - fuck. Play with yourself doll. Make yourself cum. Make yourself fuckin’ cum on my cock.” You think you nod your head, but you’re not really sure. Either way, you brace your weight on one hand and use the other to draw perfect tight circles into your needy clit. The extra stimulation, added to Pales’ filthy words and steady driving driving into you, pushes you right over the edge. “Unnhh Pale. I- I’m gonna cu- I’m gonna-” “Yeah. That’s right. Cum on my cock. Cum on my cock in your dirty kitchen. Add to the mess. I’m gonna fuckin’ add to the mess. I’m gonna cum all over you. Fuck it’s disgusting in here,” he babbles and rants. You don’t even care that he’s continuing to insult your restaurant, even when he’s balls deep in you. You don’t even care because you can feel your cunt tightening around him and that ball of fire tightening around your insides. He fucks into one, two, three times more and everything explodes. You lurch forward, eyes pinched tight, cum with a shout. He follows right behind, pulling out of your still convulsing cunt, fucking his fist fast. Shooting sticky thick streams of cum onto one of your thighs, your exposed belly, and the counter. As he groans through the end of his climax, he smacks your undefiled thigh and grunts, “Shut it down doll.”

And you do.

You never enter another kitchen. Never cook another meal.

And never hear from Jimmy - Pale - again.

-------------------------

Tagging a couple other pals who expressed interest for some reason lol @direnightshade​ @poetic-solo​ @blackredrose27​ @find-me-with-orion​

[itoshit]

Everyone was connected with headsets as we navigated into the building. Gun shots quickly reached my ear but strangely enough, I haven't met anybody yet. My knife and my gun in my hand, I was on guard, ready to shoot. A door opened quickly behind me, and turning around, I saw her. Natalie. She hasn't realised I was here yet so i kept silent, ready jump on her. Looking behind her frantically, she sighted and finally, walked ahead, right on me. Head connecting with my chest, she raised her eyes, and I could see it. The fear. Smirking at her, I just gave her enough time to do a 180°. Giving her the impression of being able to escape, I waited. But soon after I took a fistful of her hair, and forcefully banged her head against the nearest wall. I didn't care anymore, I was mad.

Please I-

Shut. Up.

Pinning her against the wall, arm choking her, I approached my face and observed the blood running from her nose. Pouting, I patted her cheek.

Did I hit too hard? My bad baby.

Hearing some loud noise from my headset, I listened attentively.

Manjiro? We found your girl. Our sniper shot the fucker right in time, he was ready to blow her brains out. The guys are gathering now, where are you?

Hiding my relief from Natalie, I answered quickly.

Will come later. Take care of her.

Don't do anything stupid yeah?

Taking the headset off and tossing it away, I smiled smugly.

You're gonna come with me Nat. Have some surprises for you.

Dragging her by the hair to the empty room she came from, I pulled my gun out and pointed it at her.

Sit on the ground

Leaving her no room for discussion, i watched her kneeling.

You wanna know where you fucked up? I'm gonna explain it to you briefly. Your father died months ago, his body was found in Tokyo's Bay. Well, more like parts of his body. Then...

Tapping the tip of the gun on my chin, feigning reflexion, I snapped my fingers.

Then you assumed I would fall for your trap, giving me Vee. That would have been convenient for you yeah? I'm sure you didn't even know I would come that early. Lemme tell you something sweetheart, I want Venus. And not only for her body. What you failed to acknowledge is the fact that I could get attached. Unfortunately for you, it happened. So now, what I'm gonna do, is bring you back. Vee will decide what to do with you, you were one of her best friends after all, weren't you?

Why didn't you... didn't you tell me for my father...?

We were going to, but only after destroying Yamaguchi-gumi. If you would have waited a bit more, you could have had opportunities to buy yourself a dignity. I was gonna play nice, not telling you the state we found your father in. But no. You were so impatient.

Crouching at her level, I tugged at her hair harshly, making her head go backwards.

You're lucky Vee is still alive. I would have feed you to my dogs if she wasn't. Stand up.

Hearing her sobs made me want to throw up. Now she was playing the victim?

Stop crying, you're the one who took all the bad decisions. Don't make me laugh with your acting.

Pressing the knife on her throat and restraining her wrists, I exited the room. Directing myself to the exterior, I was cut by rapid footsteps behind me. Throwing Natalie on the ground violently, I drew my gun from my holster, turning off the safety.

I was wondering when you would show yourself, Yami.

Eyes focused on him, I pressed the gun on his forehead. Raising his hands in abandon, Yami smiled at me.

Oi oi oi Sano! You should relax. Why couldn't we-

I knew it. It was expected. Bending his arm and hitting my hand with his elbow, Yami picked up my gun in the air. But before he could aim at me, I took my knife and stabbing if strongly in his palm, I took his head and kicked him with my knee. Blood staining my black pants, I smirked at him.

Don't fuck with Bonten, traitor.

Shooting him in both of his knees, I slammed my foot on his face, surely breaking his nose in the process. Hitting him until making him faint, I was panting, a maniac smile on my face. I was enjoying the cracking noises and the whimpers. Red splashing all over my body, I stopped when I assured he was out.

Turning back to Natalie, I dragged her by her hair, ready to finish it. After a long walk in the dark hallways, I eventually found the exit. Opening the door, I was met with my men, Dante and his subordinates.

Sanzu, go find Yami. He's laying somewhere in the corridor. You'll deal with the interrogation.

No one commented on my physical state. I assumed I had blood all over my body and face. My hands were all red so I figured it was the same for the rest.

Now, where's Venus?

-Mikey

I was so slow I couldn't find the right words so I might have made grammar mistakes with verbs and stuff 😭 how are you today ?♡

i’m good, actually have to go out later tonight so I have to get ready for that but how are you?? and ps you’re fine!!! this was so good!!

My eyes were shut tight, not wanting to stare my certain death in the face. I waited for it, breath held and head foggy.

Say goodnight! Koda laughed madly, then there was a bang so loud it rattled my head. Something thick and viscous splattered around my face, making me feel dirty as it dried on my skin. My hearing went in and out, ringing in loud blares. Is this what death was?

Clearly it wasn’t, because the next thing I felt was being untied. I slowly peeled my eyes open to a a heterochromatic man with a scar across his face, gazing at me with equal worry and relief. My heart raced. Mikey’s men were here.

…alright? His voice came in and out as I tried to regain my senses. Venus, are you with me?

I let out a loud groan that must’ve pleased him. The second I was free I was hoisted into his arms, carried out to where the rest of them were. In and out of it, I saw many unfamiliar faces, but they all more or less exuded the same amount of power. The same authority. Bonten executives, perhaps.

Where’s the medic? My savior gruffly asked. Perhaps they pointed, because I didn’t hear an answer, lightly bouncing around in his arm with every brisk step he took. He lowered me on a table that was metal and cold; I shivered the moment my skin made contact with it. The doctors immediately got to work on me, combing through my hair and shouting things like concussion and head injury from the car accident.

But something was happening to me that I couldn’t quite speak on. All I knew was that I was cold, freezing even, but I could also feel the sweat soaking through my clothes. My head was dizzy. My body felt like it weighed tons.

A doctor noticed my state, and went to patch up my thigh, thinking the wound was responsible for it. I could barely feel as they patched it up, but I sent what I hoped was a grateful smile toward them. Then I heard them talking again, speaking about how my condition wasn’t stabilizing.

It doesn’t make any sense, we cut off the blood loss, one said. Other than her head and minor scratches on her face, she’s without injury. She should be showing signs of bettering.

The other one questioned the person who took me out of the room. What was in that room? Any gas? liquids?

Nothing but the corpse, a gun he didn’t get to use, Venus and the knife in her thigh.

I could hear the frown in the doctor’s voice. She was in that torture room for atleast two hours and they only used a knife? That’s absurd why would they… shit. Poison. Check if the dagger is poisoned!

There was silence, a pretty bad one I supposed. The doctors started spewing orders rapidly. Get Mikey! Quick!

Mikey? I raised my head at the name, smiling loopy. I like Mikey, I muttered mindlessly. I could barely see now, black dots swimming in my vision. I waved a hand toward where I think scarface was, pulling him down to meet my lips. Tell Mikey, t-tell him that I—

I’m glad to have met him. I can’t wait to see him. I-

My body fell limp right before I could finish the thought.

[taetaesbaebaepsae]

BTS Reaction to Accidentally Coming Inside You

Summary: is it hot in here? I'm sweating buckets

Warnings: total filth, unprotected sex (obviously), THIRST

Word Count:2602

Namjoon (RM)

You were on top, riding him hard

Namjoon usually had total control so you weren't pressed when you realized you were out of condoms

Since you'd been together so long, he pulled out half the time anyway

This was the first time since he'd been on a world tour, though, and your moans on Skype and his fist couldn't compare to the real thing

Your breathy moans in his ear, tits bouncing, cunt clenching around him as you rolled your hips, chasing your orgasm

He is watching you in awe, mouth open, praising you

"Look at you, baby, you're so fucking beautiful. Do you know how much I missed this?"

You give him a sly smile, knowing how he enjoyed the show, and throw your hair over your shoulder

Then you lean back, still rolling your hips and take your nipples in your fingers, biting your lip

It sends an ache right down the length of his cock and he's close

He throws his head back against the chair and lets out a low moan

"Baby, you have to get off me, please-"

His voice is a low whine of desperation and that just makes you hotter so you go faster, sweat gleaming on your body, thighs aching, bracing your hands on his chest

Namjoon knows he should stop you but you feel so fucking good and his hips are bucking beneath you involuntarily

His orgasm hits him like a freight train and he grabs your hips with bruising strength, thrusting into you and groaning your name, coming harder than he ever has in his life

When he collects himself enough to look at you, you're staring at him, wide eyed

"Guess we should go buy the morning after pill," you say, smiling, and he laughs and groans against your neck

"You're too fucking sexy on top like that, baby, better let me do all the work next time."

Jin

It's barely even daylight when your boyfriend pokes you in the lower back with his morning wood after you had fallen asleep with him after he got home from tour

You wake up to him moaning against your ear and thrusting against you

When you lift up your leg to let him slip inside you without even opening your eyes, he grabs your waist to pull you closer, arching your back so he can thrust into you from the spooning position

He has full access to your neck and shoulder in this position and he's groaning loudly as he nips and bites your skin, kissing the marks he was making, open mouthed and wet

He's talkative this morning, voice husky with sleep, "You feel so fucking good, sweetheart. I missed you so much,"

Jin is rarely this slow and sweet so you enjoy yourself, pushing back against him and bringing your arm around to stroke the hair at the nape of his neck

The stimulation of his slow, even strokes is too much for him, though, and he's groaning against your neck soon and moving as fast as he can in this position

He can feel every inch of you squeezing along his cock, you're so tight with your legs squeezed together around him and he's close in a matter of moments

You hear his breath speeding up and the intensity of his moans against your neck and shoulder

"Better flip me over, babe," you warn, but he's too far gone, he grabs your right breast so hard it almost hurts, toying with your nipple between his fingers and you squeeze your thighs together tighter from the pleasure it brings

He's so loud you're sure your neighbors will be banging on the apartment wall in a minute

"Oh, God, you're so fucking tight; I missed this cunt so much-"

His orgasm hits him mid sentence and he bucks into you so hard you almost come off the bed and bites down on your shoulder, his long groan my against your skin, leaving a neat row of teeth marks

You twist your head to look at him and he's got his mouth open, hair disheveled, and you can't help but laugh and he does, too

"Aw, this is no fair! You can't sleep naked when you look like that and expect me to control myself. Now we have to go to the drugstore, look what you've done, you beautiful temptress, you."

Hobi (J-Hope)

Teasing your boyfriend was an art you had perfected after dating him for just a few weeks

He loved the way you looked up at him while you lie between his legs on the bed, his cock in your hand, your tongue licking slow stripes up towards his tip

He's been busy in the studio and it's been so long since he's touched you so when you take him completely in your mouth, tongue swirling around his head like you knew he liked, he groaned low and loud and pulled you off him

You released him with a pop and looked up at him innocently, making him groan and chuckle at the same time

"I love your mouth but I want you, babygirl," he says and you grin happily and scramble up beside him on the bed

You look so beautiful, wide smile, skin flushed from the foreplay and he wants to make you feel as good as you make him feel every day

He knows exactly how you like it so he thrusts into you hard and when you cry out he fucks you hard and fast for a few moments and then slow, long strokes until you're keening beneath him, arching your back and moaning his name

He's so busy watching you to see when you're close that he doesn't realize how close he is until he's stroking slow again, and suddenly he can feel you clenching around him, muscles tightening around his length

He's coming before he knows it, mouth open in surprise, bucking into you hard for one or two final strokes before shouting your name and burying his face in your neck in embarrassment

You're laughing and stroking his hair and you tell him you've got some Plan B for backup

"Thank God. What have you done to me, babygirl? I've never come so fast in my life. You're a menace, you know that?"

Yoongi (Suga)

Yoongi has always been totally in control and so you never worried about using condoms

But you didn't usually end up with you on top after switching positions, but you were so needy for him after he'd finally returned from tour that during foreplay you'd hopped on top of him in frustration

He'd raised an eyebrow and given you a slow smirk. "My girl is desperate for my cock, yeah?"

You nod, moaning his name and rolling your hips, and you see him grit his teeth as you start to move

"It's okay, love, I missed you too."

He grabs your hips tight, tongue licking the corner of his mouth

You can't get enough momentum, though, so you lean up on your toes and slam your ass down on him and you've never seen Yoongi react so viscerally in all the time you've been dating him

He throws his head back on the pillow, growling low and loud

You smile slyly and brace your hands on his chest, doing it again and again, your pelvic bone sure to be sore afterward

He grabs your hips to try and stop you, eyes dark and flashing with lust and warning

"You better stop that, baby, or I'm gonna-"

You cut him off by doing it again and again, swiveling your hips to adjust the angle and he groans louder than you've ever heard him and bucks beneath you, letting loose a string of curses

Your thighs are burning when you give him an innocent look

He frowns at you and when he starts speaking he's grumbling but it results in him kissing you passionately

"This is your fault, you know, I'm making you pay for Plan B. You dirty girl, making me come inside you like that. God that was so fucking hot, come here."

Jimin

Jimin is so focused on making you scream his name that he doesn't realize how close he is

You'd been arguing about how he'd seen your social media pictures with your ex while he was on tour and you were yelling that he was just your friend when Jimin stuck his hand down your pants and kissed your neck

So now your ass is on the kitchen island counter, sweatpants and panties balled up on the floor and Jimin is doing his best to make you forget your ex's name, fucking you so hard you're sliding across the marble

You look fucked out already, hair falling out of a messy bun, hands gripping the counter for dear life

"Never forget me while I'm away again, yeah?" He's grunting, watching your face contort in pleasure

When you look him right in the eye and let go of the counter with one hand to touch your clit and moan, "You're gonna make me come so hard, baby," with your lip between your teeth he feels like he's about to explode

He groans loudly and slides his arms up your back, pulling you closer

"I have to stop for a minute, baby, I can't-"

You let out a low moan. "Just another minute, please, you're fucking me so good."

He grits his teeth, determined to please you, but the second you cry out his name and clench around his cock he's coming hard, sliding you across the marble as he cries out his release

When you grumble that you'll have to make a trip to get Plan B, he apologizes

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, God you know how much I love it when you scream my name, baby. You're too fucking sexy, this is why I don't want you hanging out with your ex, yeah?"

Taehyung (V)

Taehyung is almost always controlled and gentle with you, but you've rewarded him with a fishnet body suit after tour

You first see him when you meet all the boys for dinner, and you're wearing a skirt with a shirt buttoned all the way to the top

His eyes widened at your legs in fishnets, and while the boys were ordering food you caught his eye and pulled your collar aside to show him the netting went all the way up

He had to stifle a moan, going instantly hard beneath the table, and he's uncharacteristically quiet through dinner and the ride home

"I can't believe you wore that to dinner with the guys," he's grumbling as he unzips your skirt

You giggle at that and slide out of your clothes, reclining on the bed and spreading your thighs so that he could see the bodysuit was crotchless

He groans loud and low, unbuckling his pants and pulling out his thick cock

"Look at that cunt spread open just for me. I want to taste you but I've been hard enough to cut diamond all night," he says almost sheepishly and you smile at him

"Come and fuck me then, Taehyung," and he's up on the bed hovering over you in a flash

"I'm not gonna last long," he admits, eyes roving over your body hungrily. "God, look at your nipples poking through this net, do you want me as bad as I want you, Jagi?"

He lowers his mouth to your nipple and when you moan he huffs out a frustrated breath and slides into you in one slow stroke

You're already wet and ready from his hungry gaze on you all night and you cry out his name

He's praising you in a low growl while he fucks you faster than normal, "I forgot how tight you are, Jagi, so wet and warm. I want to fill you up so bad," he is looking at you so intently

He always says stuff like this, you know he is just dirty talking but with how desperate and whiny his moans are getting, you're worried

"You can come on my tits, baby, ruin this pretty netting," you moan, hoping to entice him

You're close, too, and you forget about warning him when you start to come around his cock

He means to pull out, he really does, but he's wanted you so bad all night and you're so hot around him, almost burning, and he's so grateful you're all his, dressed up like this

He grips the base of his cock to pull out when you clench around him hard, head thrown back moaning his name and he can't help himself from fucking you through your orgasm, managing a few more strokes before he's spurting inside you

"Kim Taehyung, did you just-" You scold him and he murmurs an apology against your neck, collapsing still inside you

"Now I'm gonna have to get Plan B," you grumble and he lifts his head with a frown

"Aw, come on, Jagi. I'm sorry; you teased me all night, you know. Would it be so bad? You all round and full of my baby? You'd look so fucking beautiful, and think about how cute they'd be with your eyes!"

Jungkook

Jungkook was always eager when he came back from a long tour, but this time he came prepared

He'd surprised you with a pair of crotchless vibrating panties that he could control with a remote, and since he was all smiles about it, you were willing to try it

It turns out to feel amazing, him poised behind you, stroking his cock while you were up on all fours, legs shaking as he turned up the vibration

He'd planned to tease you for a while but he was so hard looking at your ass and your dripping cunt as you begged him to fuck you that he was about to give in

You were too desperate to wait, moaning his name and you rolled your hips back to fuck yourself against him

He was in awe of how you were swiveling your hips, taking him in and out of you painfully slowly, begging for him to go harder

He watched you do it for a while and then he couldn't take it anymore, threw the remote on the bed after turning it up full blast and grabbing your hips hard, slamming your ass against him

He felt his release coming and his hips stuttered because you hadn't come yet

You let out a frustrated cry. "Please don't stop, baby, I need you to fuck me so bad," and your voice was so husky and needy, your ass bouncing against him as you fucked yourself on his cock

He couldn't help himself, he bucked into you hard, bruising your hips and crying out curses when he came inside you hard

You didn't realize he had come because you were so desperate for your own release and he was still hard inside you

You managed to fuck yourself against him until you finally found it, mewling into the pillow

When you realize the wetness pooled between your legs isn't just you, you hit his shoulder with the heel of your hand weakly. "Now I gotta make my legs start working so I can go get Plan B, you jerk!"

He's all huffy and red faced

"Don't blame me! You were trying to kill me, weren't you? Where did you learn to do that? Nevermind, I don't want to know. Come kiss me before I get mad about all the tricks you learned before me."

[thoughtsoftheantagonist]

A Song For You

A/N:I know its been a long while but im back. After losing my mother in march then my brother in December of last year it took alot out of me and i had to find a new way to live without them. Thank you all for sticking with me and i hope you enjoy. alot of other things to come as well. 

To catch up my A Song For You  Masterlist is right HERE

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Juan's Pov

There are many things he has learned in his life, most recently he has learned how to be a man, and how to love a woman like his wife. Strong and wild as a hurricane he remembers one of the best pieces of advice he had gotten the day of his wedding. As his best man Chibs had pulled him aside and gotten him to calm the fuck down, apparently he had been annoying the fuck out of the guys all day with his squirrely behavior and Chibs gave him a blunt and a beer. Once his nerves had released him he stood with his brother and was heading back to the set up area when Chibs stopped him. "Let me tell ya one thing to always remember when it comes to a woman like Joy." He nods and gives Chibs his full attention "Love her but keep her wild. She is a woman and we all want to protect our women but at the end of the day she is a force of nature that granted you the privilege of standing close enough to be in awe of her and live." 

When Chibs walked away he stared out across the reservation where he stood, Chibs was right, he wasn't worried about how any of this went. He was more worried about his wife coming to her senses and taking off in the other direction then he was standing but that was his old doubts about himself. But like Chibs said, Joy was a force of nature, and she chose him to pour her love, life and energy within. Why the fuck was he looking that gift horse in the mouth? He grins as he stares at his wife as she throws her leg over her Dyna in their driveway, she doesn't see him move to lean on his bike and looks back at him over the top of her ray bans. "You ok handsome?" He shakes off his nostalgia and walks over to stand at her side, his hands automatic coming up to braid one side of her mane of wild curls while she does the other. "I'm fine babe. Just a lot of thinking. Must be getting old."

He chuckles when his father in law slaps a hand down on his shoulder as he passes him, having spent the night in the guest room "Shut the fuck up you toddler." He puts the hair tie around the bottom of his wife's pig tail braid and kisses her temple as she snickers. Pinching her thigh in retaliation and jumping back as she swipes at him, climbing into his bike he shoots her a wide grin before putting his helmet and glasses on, peeling out of the driveway with her on his tail. Catch me if you can baby.

Joy POV

She heads up the stairs to the second floor with Bobby on her heel. Once again asking the age old club question…..what the fuck are you wearing kid. She speaks over her shoulder to the older man " I couldn't help it that my  good taste offends your eyes. But i refused to sacrifice that to the all black of the club colors." Apparently that had tickled bobby as they marched up the stairs to grab their hiding leader. Jax had called them all here and wasn't even down stairs. But she knew where he would be. She knocks on the door and peeks inside with a grin. " everyone is here brother." He nods and stands, she sees him pocket his small journal, walking by her he grabs the side of her head and places a kiss on the top of her head. " Hmmmmm apples. Not bad." She snorts and shoves him, then he gives her a loaded look as his blue eyes scan her face. "You ok? Sleep alright." She knew he meant the nightmares, she sighs with a nod "Yeah Juan had me smoke two blunts myself and I was knocked the fuck out." He chuckles and looks between her and Bobby "Let's get the day locked down. Gonna be a huge one. Bobby anything from Galeen?" She and Jax move to leave but Bobby's voice stops them " Meeting is at two. Something we gotta Handel first." She arches a brow "What's up?" He doesn't look at her, speaking only to Jax "Bringing Clay to the table." She feels her hand twitch at the look on Jax's face. "Excuse me?" Bobby continues "He is gonna admit what he did with the nomads. Too Joy and Tara, all of it and we vote." She is stunned, he went behind Jax's back. Knowing what it could mean he went to Clay anyway. She clenches her fists, hissing through her teeth "Bobby what are you doing?" He glances at her as he moves to go down the stairs "My job kid."

She and Jax share a loaded look, this wasn't fucking good. They practically trip over each other as they head down stairs. She doesn't get time to tell her father or Juan what is going on before they are seated, but the way her husband is gripping her thigh, and the way her dad is trying to get her to look at him and not Clay at the end of the table leads her to believe they have an idea something isn't right. She can't take her eyes off of him as he speaks "I was lying in a hospital bed, thinking about all the shit I lost. I wasn't ready to let it go. I reached out to Frankie Diamonds. He was the one that suggested the home invasions. We figured we could rattle some of the folks close to the club, make it look like the MC was gonna hurt Charming and that Jax couldn't protect his own. Frankie pulled in Gogo and Greg. I promised to split my percentages when I got the gavel back." She grind her teeth, her hand clenching hard into fists at her side she knew her nails were drawing blood as Bobby talked, his eyes on the table " And attacking Unser at your house took the focus from you?" Clay nods, she snarls, her now bloody palms slamming down onto the wood of the table, making everyone jump as she stands, her voice like a sonic boom off the black walls. "And what about me Clay? Diamonds shot me point blank in the fucking stomach. If that had been Rita, her and the life of her unborn baby would be on your fucking head that I would gladly rip off your fucking shoulders given the smallest chance! Juan get the fuck off me!" She struggles as her husband yanks her down onto his lap, his arms locking around hers to keep her from struggling to much as Clay speaks directly to her "I didn't know you were buddy buddy with Eli's old lady, when they picked up the East Dub crew, I thought that was a good way to put the attacks on to Pope. And now with Jax working with him, I figured I could use it to help sway the club my way. I never wanted anybody to get hurt." She knows the sound of her half manic cackle bouncing off the walls isn't helping the situation. But she just can't believe the horse shit coming out of his mouth, Juan grabs her bloody hands in one of his and slaps his hand over her mouth she freezes through as Tig speaks for the first time since Clay started speaking " But they did. You hurt a lot of people." Seeing the pain in Tigs eyes as he looks over at her she lets the fight drain from her body, feeling the change Juan lets go of her mouth and just holds her in his lap. His grip is tight but comforting as Clay replies.

"You know, I-I don't expect anyone to believe this, and I ain't saying it wasn't 'cause of my pride and my greed, 'cause it was, but the main reason I was trying to push out Jax was because I didn't think he was ready to lead. This cartel shit, the pressure with the Irish, I didn't think he could handle it. I was wrong. He's proving to be a better leader than I ever was. I'll be in the garage." She watches him walk out, her eyes narrowed as the door closes. Moving from her husband's lap she yanks a black bandanna from her bag by her feet. Wiping at the bloody crescent shaped marks on her hands she listens to Jax "We heard his story. Vote has to be unanimous. Does anyone else have anything they'd like to say? All in favor of Clay losing his patch?" The vote is a solid yes across the board. She looks up as Jax says his next words "As far as the mayhem goes let's hear pros and cons." She is shaking as her eyes scan the table, her eyes locking on Chibs as she speaks " He's a traitor. I ain't buying this humble, "for the good of the club" bullshit. He's done." She nods, tears welling up in her eyes and spilling over as she grabs her husband's hand on her thigh. "I want to see the life drain from his eyes Jax. I can't fucking sleep at night without doping myself up because of the shit he set in motion almost killed me. If I don't I wake up screaming for my dad and husband because I'm scared they are next. Hell my god damned husband wakes up in cold sweats and shakes me awake just to make sure I'm not dead. I want him dead so this butterfly affect he started can fucking die with him." She rests her head on Juan's shoulder, his lips pressed against her forehead as she tries to slow her breathing.

Jax stares at her for a moment and nods "All in favor of Clay Morrow meeting Mr. Mayhem." Six yea, she looks to Bobby and her whole body goes numb as he speaks "No." She stares at him for a moment as Jax's bangs the gavel, barely hearing Chibs as he goes to get Clay. She stands. Bobby turns to her, his mouth open to speak but her hand claps against his cheek, some blood she had missed on her hand now on his reddened cheek.. She shoves him out of the way. Not realizing Jax was right behind her along with her husband, she almost runs into Clay as him and Chibs come back. She feels more then sees Jax move past her and fly into Clay, watching the two men grapple she feels her blood pump, standing back she doesn't move to help Chibs as he tries to yank Jax off Clay, the dull thud of Jax fist against the side of clays face gives her a sick kind of satisfaction. But it's cut short, she curls her lip as Chibs and Tig successfully yank Jax away from Clay. She walks over to Clay as the others are preoccupied with Jax, standing over the man she sees blood dripping from his temple and arches a brow "Looks like it hurts." Before he can speak the heel of her boot comes down and the sound of his nose breaking makes her smirk before she is yanked up off her feet by her father. " Enough Mija." She nods, she got her lick in, and the way the bastard was clutching his face made her anger levels drop somewhat. She feels Jax's hand on her arm, she lets him yank her away from the others and back into the clubhouse, looking back she gives her husband a look as he tries to follow. Jax needed her, only her it seems. He releases her as he shoves the doors to church back open, he all but collapses into his chair, she watches him with narrowed eyes as she closes the double doors behind her gently. The sound of her docs on the floor almost painfully loud as she makes her way to her seat.

Sitting she stares at Jax as he twirls a gold lighter between his fingers. She doesn't speak, and neither does he for the longest, but as she feels the silence about to swallow her and him whole the door opens. But as the person enters she wishes they would have stayed out if she was honest. She feels her whole body tense as Jax's chest starts to rise and fall rapidly, his body tense as his voice sends an uncomfortable chill down her spine. "You made a deal with him behind my back." She almost jumps as Bobby tosses Clay's jacket onto the table, she watches him with a heated glare. He refuses to look her way, keeping his eyes on Jax "We couldn't prove shit. We both know that. And there's no way that you could let Clay sit at this table. Me either. The shit he's done. He needed to go away, and if I didn't make this deal, you would've killed him as soon as we were finished with Gaalan." She slams her hands down, making their gaze jump to her "Wrong Bobby. You seem to think you're the only one who is looking out for Jax. I would do it because I want to watch his insides bake on the concrete outside." Bobby sighs " But kid Do that once, next time just becomes a little easier, and before you know it, this thing that we have is pointless. I stopped jax from becoming the guy that you both wanted to kill. All your doing is being his god damned dog on a leash like Tig was for Clay." She almost leaps over the table to get at Bobby's throat, no one talked about Tig infront of her…..no one. But Jax's hand on her tattooed arm stops her. "You think this vote protects Clay?"  She moves her arm out from under Jax's hand. Bobby looks between her and Jax, and for the first time she really looks at him. He looks tired, worn down and her anger slowly drains from her body. "You want him dead. Seems like the only choice today. But I know you, Jax. The right thing settles in."  

She jerks as Jax's voice echos off the wall. Making her grind her teeth "And how is letting him walk the "right thing"?" Bobby holds Jax's gaze "I know you see it as betrayal." She feels her nose wrinkle and her eyes sting as he looks at her across the table "i know you both do. And I took that risk because I love you, both of you. And this club needs you two. We're broken." She clenches her eyes shut, trying to stop the tears, but Jax's next words rip a gut wrenching sob from her lips, " I've had a hard time feeling any love or brotherhood since Opie died." She slaps a hand over her mouth, her other hand resting on her stomach as she tries to keep it together. "You're just lost your way a bit, brother." She angrily swipes at her eyes, not caring if she looks a mess now, she sees Jax's eyes, bright and wet as he locks eyes with her and shakes his head "No, I found it, finally." She sniffs as he turns to Bobby "Opie was right. The gavel corrupts. You can't sit in this chair without being a savage." She feels like her world is crumbling as Bobby stares a Jax, tears in his eyes as he sighs "I know." She reaches across the table, her hand gripping Jax limp one as he sniffs. "You don't know shit." His grip slowly tightens on hers as he continues, the tears falling from his eyes make her heart break for him. "You counsel from fear. You want me moving in comfortable, cozy circles, and I can't do that." By the time he turns away from Bobby and releases her hand his grip was painfully tight on hers, turning the skin of her hand ashen gray from lack of blood flow. She turns her damp eyes to Bobby, staring at him hard for a moment she clears her throat, still flinching slightly at how raw her throat feels. "You should go."

She watches Bobby as he leaves, turning her eyes to Jax once the door clicks shut. His cheeks are wet and his eyes red. But he has no more tears now, she reaches into her bag, grabbing the pack of make up wipes she yanks one from the pack and scrubs at her face. Seeing Jax watching her with an odd look she glares and tosses it at his face, making him jerk a little and toss it off his chest where it fell. She couldn't help but chuckle, locking eyes with him again and she fell silent, her hand coming down to rest over his for a moment. "I'm with you brother." He nods, moving his hand out from under hers he pats it and turns to the door as it pushes open. Seeing her favorite Scott's men she gives him a weak grin, he nods to her and leans his hand on the chair in front of him. "Jackie boy. Sorry to bother you but August just called, and Pope wants a Meeting at Charming Heights." Jax turns to face Chibs. "When?" The Scott sighs "Now." He nods and turns to her "I need you to stay, chibs is going to come with me. I want you to get the guys ready for the deal later with Lin. He is closer to you than me so I want you at my side for this. Not Bobby." She nods, getting to her feet she leans down pressing a kiss to the top of his blonde head she pat Chibs on the arm as she passes. She needed to see her husband.

He wasn't far, she found him on the swing set. She leans against the gate as he stares off to the side, a blunt hanging from his lips, his hand grip the chains on either side of his head as he swings slightly, the sun gleaming off the multiple rings on his fingers, she glances at his eyes, seeing them already low lidded so she knew it wasn't his first one. He doesn't even notice when she takes the seat beside him, but when her fingers glide along his forearm to his hand he grips it tightly, letting them fall between them to swing. Turning to her he gives her a small grin. His dark brown eyes scan her from head to toe and she felt it like a warm caress. He brings her hand in his up to his lips, using his other hand he hands her the blunt while he kisses the back of her hand. " You've been crying." She nods, taking a deep pull she holds it, holding it back out to him he shakes his head, keeping her hand by his lips he presses kisses to her wrist and fingers. Making her smile. Her sweet husband, trying to heal her pain with good weed and kisses. What a man. She giggles and he smirks, his teeth biting down on her thumb playfully. Making her rip her hand back with false and over dramatic out rage, forgetting she was on a swing she shrieks as she falls back into the wood chip ground with a grunt, her calves resting where her ass used to be in the swing "Jesus Joy!" Her husband scrambles to get to her, kneeling on the ground next to her he lifts her head onto his lap. He calms when he realizes her body is shaking from laughter, he grins and picks wood chips from her hair as he tries to not wheeze as she starts to snort she was laughing so hard.

"I sometimes forget how much of a klutz you are until you do shit like this." Her giggles intensify as her free hand comes up to smack at his shoulder. The other one bringing the blunt she somehow managed to not drop to her lips with a smug grin. "Didn't drop the blunt though that's talent " his eyes locked with hers for a moment and he gave her a leering grin. "No what you do with your tongue that's talent." She stares at him gobsmacked before she is on him, forgetting about the blunt she drops it and starts smacking at her husband, cursing in rapid fire Spanish. And that's how her father found them when it was time to go. Never a dull moment for the Ortiz/Lowman bunch.

Henry Lin's Warehouse (Joys pov)

As her bike pulls to a hard stop in the Lin warehouse she grins, she remembered so many deals here. She also remembered unloading a good amount of the legal shit here as well. Everything she ever did before the club was to be ready for redwood. Every odd job, everybody she dropped had been to be here, standing full circle with Henry across from her this time. She accepts his hug and waves to the others behind me, receiving nods and grins in return. She steps to the side as Jax beings Romeo over "Henry Lin, Romeo Parada and his  associate, Luis Torres." She take her place against the far dock door, pulling a pack of cigs from her her back pocket she watches Henry work, letting out a whistle of appreciation at the hardware his men were uncovering not being able to stop herself for speaking along with Henry "Russian Kornet with articulating tripod. Thermal sight, 9M133 missiles." Everyone turns to her, she shrugged, her guys grin and turn back to the deal. She stares off to the side, her mind wandering, keeping her focus somewhat on what was going down, until she hears two words that made her want to throw shit. " Three months." She tilts her head back, tossing her cig out the open dock door. She didn't even have to look at Romeo to know that was not what he wanted to hear.

She sighs, her eyes watching Romeo's back from behind her shades as he speaks lowly to Torres for a moment before turning to Henry "Ten Kornets. Hundred missiles. Two dozen Brownings, two dozen KS-Vs with quick-release silencers." Henry nods, everyone turning to watch Torres as he speaks, a black duffle in his hand "Once you figured out the Hamas express, we'll want drops every two weeks. Mayans MC will handle the transport. 250 down payment. Just let us know the balance." Henry shakes bother their hands " Absolutely. Looking forward to doing business with you."  Romeo nods "You should. We're gonna make you rich."  She is about to get on her bike as Romeo and Torres head towards Jax, Bobby and herself but Jax's hand grabs the back of her cut, keeping her in place. Asshole. Romeo locks eyes with herself for a moment then Jax "Galindo's getting pushed on two fronts by Lobo Sonora. We just lost Tubutama; we can't wait three months for them Kornets. We're gonna need another shipment of RPGs from the Irish before we kill that tie." She sighs, her hands on her hips, she stares past the guys, plans forming in her mind, possible outcomes of how this could work. That Irish fuck head will not be happy to hear about Clay being out, and when he does he might not give them what they need. She is shaken from her thoughts when Romeo's voice shakes her "Is that a problem? " She is about to yell yes but Jax beats her "Shouldn't be. I'll ask Gaalan at the pickup." Romeo shakes his head, a hand coming down on Jax's shoulder, making her hand twitch for her glock "Don't ask him. Tell him."

As the two men walk out and away she drops her mask of indifference and curses, her head falling back as Jax combs his hands through his already slicked back hair, his eyes wide and moving around rabidly as he thinks almost as if he was seeing his own thought process before his eyes. Her husband comes to stand next to her, his hand going up the back of her shirt to rest on her lower back. His warmth was a slight comfort. Jax finally nods and turns to the rest of the group. "All of us need to head back to the shop. I want Chibs and Bobby to get this shit rolling. Joy, can you go check on Tara for me let her know what's going down." She nods, turning to her husband as the guys head for their bikes, wrapping her arms around her husband's narrow waist she sighs, her cheek resting on the warm leather of his vest. His chin rests on her head. "You ok baby girl?" She nods, leaning more into him as one of his hands brushes down the back of her head in soft swipes, over and over again. "I'm ok. Just thinking about it all. Once I get it all cleared in my head I'll give you a peek inside. Ok?" She feels his chin brush her head as he nods. His lips pressing to the top of her head before he releases her reluctantly. She gives him a half hearted wave and sighs as he and the other drive off, turning to Henry as she sees them heading out as well. She nods her head and moves towards her bike, time to check on Tara.

The Hospital

She is laid back in Taras office, her body draped across the beige couch as she scrolls through her phone waiting for Taras break. When the woman in question sees her she smiles. "Joy. I see your making yourself at home." She smirks at her phone screen. "I have the amazing power of not giving a fuck where I am. I'm always comfort." Tara chuckles and walks over, gently pushing the other woman's legs from the seat so she could sit next to her, joy shoves her phone into the inner pocket of her cut and grins at Tara "So Jax got the deal locked down with henry and the cartel." Tara nods but she see the slight pinch in joys face and sighs "I hear an invisible but in there." Leaning back into the couch she sighs, closing her eyes she blurts out everything, just ripping it off like a band-aid. "But the guns won't be here for a while so now Jax has to meet with the kings and get them to drop a load of guns out their tight freckled fists one more time. And with clay not here that means Galaan will bitch so this might not go well."

When she doesn't hear a groan or even a sigh she peeks one eye open seeing Tara looking at her blankly she opens them both. "Don't look at me like that. The past few days haven't been exactly conductive mentally for either of us so forgive me if i expected a violent reaction….ass." Tara snorts and looks off to the side. "Sorry to disappoint you with not having another mental break down. My body just doesn't have it in it right now." She snickers and nods, but stops when Tara gets a nervous look on her face. "I know that look. Talk. What's wrong." She is surprised when the normally stand offish woman grabs the hand closest to her and holds it tightly. Joy is more worried than ever, her other hand resting on top of the on gripping hers. "I have still been working on the papers for the other hospital. And through all this and talking to the club lawyer today something occurred to me. If something were to happen to me or….to jax."

The hitch in Taras voice makes her pat her hand, as much and no one ever wanted to think about their family or partner dying that sadly never helped. All it did was make you more lost when it happened. "If that happened i don't know who would have Able and Tommy and Joy that scares me. I have no other blood family and I won't let Gemma raise them i won't. And with blood Wendy could possibly take Able and I don't want that either Joy. " She nods. No Gemma might have the deepest love to give like any other mother but hers had long been tainted by something inherently Gemma….something wrong. And wendy would have to take Able from her cold dead arms. When Tara turns her face to joy she sees tears in the woman's eyes and she yanks her hands from taras, her fingers wiping at the woman's pale cheeks, not understanding how to help. Until Tara's next words make everything click into place. "So talking with the lawyer i have named you and Juan as the people who will be their guardians." She feels the hot tears as they glide down her cheeks. Her hands move from Taras face to her own as she swipes at her cheeks roughly. Looking over she sees Tara watching her closely and she realized Tara actually thought she wouldnt want them. She sniffles and shakes her head. "I already love them like they were mine without overstepping. I would open my house and heart to those boys and Juan would too Tara. They would need or want for nothing because both of us would do anything to keep them happy. So if this gives you peace, do it. I already know Juan would be overjoyed, shocked but overjoyed." The woman's smile is bright and right there She sees the woman Jax sees all the time. As stern and logical as Tara was she was warm and beautiful when happy. Leaning over joy kisses her cheek with a nod. "Yeah. I have not one objection to that. But just know. Me and Juan might never leave here hun. Your boys would grow up here. Are you ok with that honestly?"

Tara stands, turning she leans back against her desks and sighs. "I know that. And if i'm honest it was one of the reasons i hesitated, and if i'm honest the only reason. But then i remembered how you grew up. Knowing about this life, it was never hidden like a secret or something shameful. And despite what you say about yourself your not a monster. Your good to my boys and everyone in that club who deserves it. And you dont shield able from it you let him know this isn't for him right now and send him on his way like the morning after Otto. So no.....i wouldn't mind them growing up here with the right mother and father besides Jax and myself." She stares at her rings as she twirled them around her fingers. She didn't realize the others knew she struggled with her nature. Sure Juan and maybe her father but to know on some level it was plain as the nose on her face made her want to hide away. Like a piece of her armour had been knocked off in battle. She speaks to Tara, her eyes still on her rings. "I struggle everyday with what i do for this club and to survive. Im not exactly martha fucking stewert. I don't know shit about kitchen knives but i know what blade to use to flay a man…..but i swear i would always love those boys and do right by them. Not manipulate but always have my hand out for them to grip on for balance. And thank you….it means alot to me." Tara is about to continue when her burner goes off, pulling it from her cut she sees Jax's name. Opening it she speaks "Im coming." Into the phone before hanging up and standing. Walking over to Tara she presses another kiss to her cheek." I love you Tara." She doesn't give the woman time to answer as she leaves, she had to slam down the gates on her emotions. The day isn't over yet.

The Barn

She gets to the barn just as the truck pulls up, she almost falls off the bike as shs skids to a stop in front of Jax and the other. Her prez was obviously worried she wouldn't make it, He practically yanks her off the bike as he hugs her. "Cutting it close sis." She pats his side as she hooks her sunglasses in the collar of her shirt. "I know. Got caught up talking to Tara." They make their way inside, she winks at her husband as he passes behind her. Smirking when his hand pats his ass as he does. She moved to follow him but Jax grips the back of her cut, keeping her on his left with bobby on his right. She sighs. She should have just kept the god damn patch at this point. "Where's Clay?" She and Jax both turn a sharp eye to Bobby. Clay would fucking be here and useful for once of bobby hadnt done what he did this morning. Bobby tosses the duffle of money on the ground between themselves and Gaalan. "He turned in his patch.It's been coming for a while."

Gaalan arches a salt pepper brow, his eyes bouncing between her and Jax. "He's out of the club?" She sees Jax sigh before finally speaking, her hand coming to rest on his back out of sight from the group before them. But very visible to their club behind them. "Look, Gaalan. I know you blame me for Kellan's death. And you're right, events in Belfast spun out of control.I just want to say, I liked the priest. He loved my dad. He sacrificed himself for my son-- I know that." She nods. She was proud of how level jax sounded. She tilts her head, a teasing lilt to her voice as she speaks makes Gaalan zero in on her. "And after you and our dear prezs little game of grab ass and your rambo impersonation i was personally hoping it might ease some of this tension." The man chuckles, she sighs. Her hand falls from Jax's back and she speaks plainly to Gaalan.

"Look Gaalan dispite what you might think about me i fucking hate the cartel. Mexican or not they are fucking up our day to day we all hate them.Romeo wants this shipment, one more. We give him that and we're done. No more them and everyone in our shit. Just The MC and the IRA can go back to business as usual. Sound?"

She wasn't surprised at his look of surprise at the use of irish slang. Her mom might not have raised her but she did her own research about the other half of her heritage. And as much as she might dislike Gaalan as well, a part of her felt kindred to him, his and chibs heavy broug as different as they might be, made her want to watch the old videos of her mother when her father would pick at her about her strong accent. She is shaken from her melancholy as the older man nods "Aye. Tis sound lass. For a little halfling your not all bad are ye." She opens her mouth to curse him but the doors on either side of the bar open. Both glocks are aimed on either side of her before they fully open and she starts cursing internally as Jax speaks to Romeo, his hands gently pushing her arms down. She doesn't put her guns back though. "What is this?" Romeo sighs "Talked to Damon Pope. Heard all about Clay. Thought we should come by and make sure the deal was moving forward. “I told you I would handle it."  Jax’s tone was very obviously pissed but neither irish or catel cared as they glared at each other.

Luis eyes Gaalan with a curl of his lip "We know how stubborn the Irish can be." Gaalan turns to look at the other man with a wide wicked grib "And we all know how ignorant you muppets can be." Romeo practically growls as he points to the gun crates "Put the guns in the truck." Gaalans voice echoes off the wooden walls "Don't touch the bloody guns." She grunts as she elbows jax back behind her towards her father and husband. Knowing if shit got wild they would yank him behind cover. Her voice is practically a hiss as she speaks pointedly to luis and romeo “We all want the same thing here! You two pendejos aren't helping for shit. We had this under control until you put your size twelves in it pulling this macho man shit." Having not listened to shit she said Romeo instructs the man closest to Luis to grab a crate. She sees the gun in Gaalans hand just as he fires it. She doesn't think, turning to Jax she rams into his chest. Knocking them both back into her father and Juan. Her father yanks Jax down next to him. She presses tight into her husband's side as bullets fly over his head. She sees her father and Phil book it outside to safety. She sees a blur running towards bobby and jax and she roars "Bobby get down." The man hits the floor as she lays out one of Galindos men. All fire stops and she looks over to see Gaalan at gunpoint. She shoves her guns back into their holsters and watches with narrowed eyes as Romeo snatches up the duffle of money. Yelling for the man to put the crates in the truck, he grins at her and Jax who was radiating pissed off like a furnace. "This buy is on the MC. For killing my guys, and the inconvenience of our wait. We'll call it even." Jax yanks her back as she lunges for Romeo. He had no idea what he had set in motion, the kings won't let this slide.

As luis yells for Gaalan to get his pasty white out of there Gaalan passes her and Jax. Giving Jax a loaded look he stops "This is on you, boy." Jax just nods, as prez it was his mess. Didn't stop her from moving to shoulder herself between him and Gaalan. He wasn't an ally anymore. He turns his jade eyes to her, his gaze grows harder. It wasn't in her favor that she looked so much like the men currently holding him at gunpoint "Sons are gonna feel this on both continents Lass. Know that." She nods as he leaves, her body slightly shaking from the adrenaline drop as she and Jax turn, both of them coming face to face with a wary looking bobby. She cant help her angry at him, a part of her doesn't want to put it all on him. But if clay had been here. If the meeting had ended moments before the cartel showed. Maybe things would have been different. But they weren't. Like Jax she shoulders her way past bobby outside. The guys following behind closely. She and Jax glare down the men loading the truck for the next ten minutes, a cig hanging limp between her lips as she locks eyes with Romeo. Dead eyes. She inhales deeply for the last time and tosses it to the side. Turning as Jax marches back behind them to the group of men she turns to watch as he paces for a moment. Walking closer she leans against the precut logs chibs was sitting on as he too watches jax. When he sees everyone is close,he starts pushing out orders, his eyes bouncing between her and chibs. "Lock down the shop and alert families." She and chibs nod. He would take care of teller morrow, all she had to do was send a text to one person and the phone tree would set on fire. She had spent months making plans for anything. Deaths to club threats but this was the most ambitious, she made sure everyone involved in the club only had two people on speed dial. The person next on the list and her. Once each call was made she would get a text to confirm until the last person on the list confirmed the texts kept going. Opening her phone she sends a message to Lyla a simple phrase 'Start the fire.' She puts her phone away as jax turns to Tig his voice raising the more frustrated he gets "Get Tacoma down here." Tig walks off without a word and Jax steps closer to chibs and herself. "Gaalan is gonna try to hurt us." He was right. Gaalan didn't seem the kind of man to make idle threats. Jaxs puts his hand on chibs shoulder "I need you find Gemma, you have her call me. Ok everyone roll out and get packed. Be in by lock down or be locked out. She quickly heads for her bike her husband and father hot on her heels all of them stop as Jax calls Juice back. "Juicy, I need you for something. Sonshine go get his shit packed, we will all meet at the club house." She hesitates for a moment as her dad heads off with a nod. She lets her husband pull her tight to his chest as he kisses her forehead. "Go baby. You know what to pack. Get sonny ready and i'll be there before you have time to miss me." she snort, pressing a kiss to his shirt covered chest. "Too late." She pulls away from him and locks eyes with Jax. "Keep my husband safe." He grins "always darlin." She rolls her eyes and walks off as the man laughs. These guys wouldn't know safe of it gave them head.

Clays house (Juan pov)

He and Tig had decided to give Clay, Miles and Rat and escort back to the shop. Well Tig wanted to do it and Juan didn't want him alone. As they make it to the cabin Tig knocks, he hangs back his shade covered eyes watching their surroundings. The irish were sneaky bastards. Once the door is open he and Tig quickly file in and lock the door. Walking over to rat and miles he sighs "Fuck the rest of his shit. Galindo fucked up the Irish deal and no Son is safe anywhere. Get his clothes and ill pack his guns, i know what he uses. Get moving we don't have much time until lock down." He watched the guys split up and he looked around as Tig and Clay talked about what happened. Seeing Clay's gun bag he opens it up and freezes. He sees the reaper holster, the nine and he grins. He is shaken from his memories by Clay's voice "You always did like it." He nods, watching clays large hands pull the gun from the holster. Bright silver with the black reaper handle. Shit was as beautiful as he remembered.

He watches clay aim it towards the wall before putting it back in the holster. "Piney gave it to me for my five year. I always thought I would give it to opie." He nods, his throat closing up, he clears his throat to fight back the sight of opies face. Not now, stay focused. He sees the gun being held out to him. "Clay come on." He shoves it back but the man passes his hand and presses it to his chest. "I get I'm not like a dad to you no more kid. Things i did to joy and you destroyed any of that but least i can do is give someone something i cant use anymore. So take it. Hell give it to the kid. She might put it in a shadow box with the day i died on it." He smirks and shoves the gun and holster into his inner pocket. "Or kill you with it." The older man chuckles. "Looking forward to it." He snickers and grabs the gun bag, and heads for the van. Making sure everything is in he heads for the bike. Lock down was approaching fast and if he knew his wife he knew she would shoot anyone who tried to close it with him outside of it.

Teller Morrow Garage

She volunteered to watch the outside as her father, Chucky, Unser and her father got the grill hot, with the amount of people here best idea was to have a potluck and bbq. Old rap plays from her phone next to her, her head bobbing and lips moving as her eyes scan the still open gate and full parking lot keeps her hands on the table under her, both her glocks next to each hand. She hears the bikes before she sees them. She smirks as Tig and her husband pull up in front of the van holding Miles and Rat. As Tig and her husband pull their bikes into the line. She nods to the guys as they pass her and go into the club house. When her husband and tig walk up with clay not too far behind her smile drops. Her husband kisses her cheek with a chuckle, his lips brushing her skin as he whispers "Down cujo. Gaalan called him on the way here." She arches a brow over her husband's shoulder to clay as he passes them without a word. "Fine….but he breaths wrong im playing baseball with his kneecaps." She lets her laughing husband pull her inside as miles and rats come back out to take over her watch duty.  

Everyone had been here for about an hour now and despite the reason for being here it was fun and everyone laughs all around. She hugged a few of the Tacoma boys she recognized, Kozik being one of them. She had missed him when he went back but he seemed to be keeping on the straight line where drugs were involved and she was so proud of him. She was watching her father talk to Lyla with a grin, he was leaning back against the pool table as Lyla lined up a shot. When the ball hits the pocket she smirks at one of the Tacoma prospects who thought she had been an easy target, poor kid. She bumps fists with Nero before turning back to talk to Happy. She feels her husband come up behind her, his hands snaking around her waist to rest low on her stomach. She turns her head to the side, kissing the side of her husband's stubble covered cheek as he rests his chin on her shoulder. "Why are you grinning like that beautiful?" She giggles, taking her bottom lip between her teeth. She places her hand on the side of her husband's face, making his gaze line up with hers. She knows he sees them too when he hums. "Now that's different. But oddly enough would make sense." She smirks. "exactly. I doubt much will happen for now. With Opie and all which i agree with, grive fully and never rebound. But i see something….something good in that possible future." She closes her eyes as her husband presses kisses to her cheek. "Look at you. Little miss matchmaker." She snorts and turns in his arms, wrapping her arms around his neck she gets on her tiptoes to press a kiss high on his cheek. Beaming up at him she says "Matched myself up with you didn't I?" He nods with a grin, his hands rubbing her ass before he surprises her and yanks her up by the thighs. She shouts as he heaves her body up his torso, her thighs clinch his sides as he carries her through the crowd of laughing sons, her protests and threats of body mutilation falling on deaf ears. When he plants her on the pool table she goes to swipe at him with her nails but he catches her wrist and holds it to his chest as he catches her lips.

All the fight leaves her body, her free hand gripping the side of his cut she yanks him closer. The world falls away as he surrounds her, his hand gripping her now limp wrist moves to the back of her neck. But their moment is short lived as one of the balls from the table hits her left thigh making her jump and look that way. Seeing a smirking Lyla with a chuckling nero and Happy over her shoulders. She nero's her eyes at her father. "Et tu, Brute?" Her father shrugs and grabs the pool cue from Lyla as Nero pats her shoulder "We're currently hiding the corner pocket Leona." She smirks at the nickname, Lioness. Well played Nero. She slides off the table Jax walks by them but she clenches her eyes as he freezes next to her, the venom in his voice makes it obvious who he is speaking too. "Why is he here." She pecks Juans lips one more time before turning to plant herself next to Jax. Clay looks even more broken than she remembers. Hunched over be tilts his head at Jax "Gaalan reached out to me. He wants the guns or the money or wendy is dead." She whips her head around to stare wide eyed at chibs, he makes a snatching motion and she sighs. She must have been at the hospital, she would grill him about it later. "Does Gaalan know wendy isn't Jax's wife?" Clay chuckles "Believe me kid i could hear wendy in the back shouting that and a lot of other stuff about Jax to prove as much. He says do it anyway or Able will be going back to Belfast." She snarls, jax holding his arm out in front of her to calm her. But her anger and frustration builds as Bobby chimes in "four hundred and seventy five thousand dollars. We pay back the Italians and Nero we ain't even close." She moves to stand behind chibs as Tig adds on "And there is no way we are getting the guns back from Romeo." She plants a hand on Chibs shoulder, his hand comes up to pat her. Chibs always knew how to center her, help her pull herself out of panic. Even without a word. Forever her mentor and guide.

She looks up as Nero clears his throat, pool cue in hand, his eyes bouncing around to lock eyes with them all before settling on Jax "I'm sorry. Couldn't help but overhear and I may have a solution." She locks eyes with Jax. She sees him tossing thoughts around and finally his eyes clear and he nods his head to the door before looking at Clay, she heads for the door as Jaxs tells Clay to get out. She sees her husband off to the side, headphones in his ears as he works on a few hard drives on the table before him. Leaning against the far wall she watches him from afar. He was deep in his tech mode and she refused to break that trance. She smiles as his lips move rapidly as he raps along to something she can't catch from how fast his lips move, but his grin is amazing. She feels someone at her side, the scent of clove and sandalwood makes her arch a brow. "Tiggy. Do you trust me?" Tigs arm lands around her shoulder as he leans on the wall next to her. A beer in his hand he takes a deep pull before replying. "Without question kid. Why?" She tilts her head to the side to look up at him. "I know none of us but Clay will be delivering that money when we get it." Tig nods, people doubted him so much but he was quicker than people gave him credit for. "Go with him. I don't trust him alone, let alone around Gaalan. So if he goes. Go with him. If not for the club or Jax. For my peace of mind?" Tig thinks on it for a moment before pressing a kiss to the side of her head and heading off into the crowd. She knew he would, she hated putting him so close to Clay so soon. But Tig was Clay's right hand for years. Clay wouldn't think twice of Tig going with him. She scrubs her face with her hand before pushing off the wall she sighs. So much to do and only so many hours.

Many hours later (Teller Morrow)

Wendy had been rescued and left twenty minutes ago in a huff, muttering to herself about fuck knows what. The last of the Sons from the lock down had hit the road and she was currently restocking the bar and her husband and father talked behind her. Something about new ink for Juan. Tara and Jax had yet to come down and that worried her. Turning to grab another bottle of turkey she sees Jax and the look on his face makes her pause. He speaks to Nero and Chibs for a moment before locking eyes with her. He shakes his head, she nods and gets back to stocking the bar as her father speaks to Jax. She feels someone at her side a moment late. She knows its jax from the scent of Marlboro and that damned hair gel he used that was a little too spicy for her nose. Once the shelf is stocked full she turns to him, he is leaned next to her and watching everyone. "You know I believed you earlier today." She arches a brow and chuckles "I said a lot of shit i meant earlier today. Refresh my memory brother."

She leans her upper body down on to the bartop. He stands next to her and copies her, their arms touching as he stares at the movement around them. "When you said you were with me. I know you are Joy. I don't doubt you on any front. I just…" She wants to look at him, but she knows it won't help. Bless these tough men they didn't understand how to communicate without showing fierce emotion. "I just don't know how to work this all out without Opie. I could say any idea or do any dumb thing and he would be there to help me realize why it was dumb in a way that would get through to my thick skull. And now that he is gone. Im worried about the gavel joy…." It took her a moment to understand what the last part meant. Then she remembers in church with Jax, Bobby and herself. The Gavel corrupts. Saying a mental fuck it to pretending this wasnt a serious conversation she turns to Jax, even as he refuses to do the same she speaks direct at him.

"The gavel will change you Jax. It's a hard and heavy weight that can crush a weaker man or woman. And you werent ready at all and didnt fucking want it. But  jax the way you're doing this. Getting it spread out among the other groups so everyone can get some food in their mouth. It's amazing Jax. Be proud of that." He nods, having enough of him not looking at her she moves around the bar to stand before him, grabbing his face between her hands to stop him from moving. Hazel meets blue as she makes sure he understands her "And trust that I will keep one of my last promises to Opie. Too keep you grounded, to be a solid wall to slam against when you cant fucking stop yourself. Always know that i have no issues stopping you." She gives him a grin "Even if i have to break a few bones. You'll live to redeem yourself in my eyes." he gives her a very weak grin and pulls her hands from his face. Grabbing the back of her head he pulls her in to kiss her forehead. "I'm sorry in advance for breaking your heart sonshine." She remembers what she said to Tig and Chibs. "But you all wouldn't be mine if you made it easy to love you." He nods, looking past her she turns to see Chibs with a phone in his hand. "Heres Tig Jackie." Jax grabs the phone from him and heads towards the doors to church. She sighs as Bobby goes to stop him, she leans back against the bar as Bobby calls to him when he refuses. "Jax we gotta talk this shit out." The way Jax halts his steps set her on edge. And the face that turns to greet bobby isn't Jax. It's their new president, a man she is only just beginning to learn was a whole other man all together. "I said no." He closes in on bobby and she shakes off chibs as he goes to stop her. She wasn't letting shit slide anymore, she was done running. As she closes in on them she hears Jax loud and clear "Im sure the right thing will settle in. But right now if i'm alone with you VP i'll tear your goddamn head off." Getting next to them she places a hand on Jax's arm holding the phone. Keeping her eyes on Bobby who is currently watching her with dark narrowed eyes "Go talk to Tiggy jax. I got this." She felt Jax's arm tense under her hand but didn't ask why. It wasn't the time. She makes sure the door is closed behind her firmly before she speaks to the older son before her.

"Did you honestly fucking think he would want to talk? Not hours after your screwball set a shit ton of butt ugly on our heads?" The man just stares hard at her, refusing to reply. "You are obviously not thinking through shit bobby. You want this club to be better, I get that but the way you did it. Behind his back out the gate fucked up any possible trust in you as his VP." She expects him to see reason, if not the main reason Jax is angry. The new prez had fought his way through the lies of his family, the people meant to never wish you harm, found a plot to kill the mother of his children and also the possibility that his father was also murdered. By the same man. He had hoped to find a new family, build from us a family that wouldn't l harm him. That would support and the first act of his new VP is a plan behind his back. Another scheme. It was the act and the person it saved that was the hardest part to swallow for Jax. She got that, maybe Bobby just couldn't. He steps into her space, his voice the angriest she heard directed at her before. "Don't presume to tell me what I should do, Joy. At the end of the day you gave this patch up willingly to me. So stand down."

Pressing her pink nailed hands to his chest she shoves him back hard, he didn't expect it and falls back into the pool table. Her husband and Chibs make their way over as she speaks directly to Bobby. "Don't speak to me like a goddamn child Elvis. I gave that patch to a man I thought would do right by not just the club but the man who stayed to keep us all out of jail at not just his expense but his wife and children's as well. Man the fuck up and speak your fucking mind next time you have opinions. Don't pull that shit again Bobby or I swear to god I'll take you back to the table for my god damn patch back and to save trouble I'll tear it from your cut while it's still on you!" Her husband, having heard enough, wraps his large arms around her middle, locking her once waving arms to her side. She wasn't done though.  "Because I'll be damned If you hurt him or this club again." She lets her husband drag her out, the cold air makes her overheated skin break out into goosebumps. She stands next to her father's ink station in the garage. Juans hands rub her upper arms as she watches her father pull on his black gloves, her body slowly losing its tension as the machine comes alive and the buzz is a soothing note in the air. She sees two guns and arches a brow, looking at her father again she sees him holding a pair of gloves out to her and she smiles. She had learned to do tattoos by watching her dad do them. Her first tattoo she did on a body was on her father. Around his collar bone area there was a phrase "I live, I die, I kill for my family." The letters were blocky and some funny looking but he let her do it without thought and she loved him more for it then he would ever know.

Pulling the pink velvet scrunch from her wrist she holds it behind her to her husband as she grabs the other low roller chair next to her dad. Pulling on a pair of gloves like her dad he points out things and asks her to name it just to make sure her knowledge on the subject hadn't slipped. Once she proved herself to her father he goes back to setting up the ink cups. Everyone looks up as the garage office door opens, she hadn't realized the guys had trickled in during the pop quiz her father gave her. The garage was filled with sons. All eyes on Clay as he makes his way to the chair between her father and herself. When he plops down he glances at her, looking down at the black kabar on her thigh before locking eyes with her again. With a roll of her eyes she slides the kabar from its sheath and flips it mid air, grabbing the blade loosely she hands it to Clay and watches as he slides the strap of his black tank, revealing the reaper on his shoulder blade, he stabs her blade roughly into the wooden table top and she arches a brow but says nothing. No one spoke as she and her father went about roughly blocking out the reapers on the older man's skin. Blood and black ink leak onto the black gloves on her hands, making the once matte latex glint in the light. Once her part in all this is done she put the gun down, her body felt as if it had been drained, any rage or possible sympathy she felt for the man before her was gone. Seeing the once proud man reduced to a black ink splattered shell soothed a lot of the pain she carried around recently. Pulling the gloves from her hands she stands, walking over to her father she kisses the top of his tattooed skull, locking eyes with Bobby she stands to her full height. Now that the rage wasn't pounding in her ears like a heartbeat she could see the conflict and lost look in Bobby's face. She walks over, knowing her husband wasn't far behind she kisses the older man's bearded cheek and walks away. As good a sorry as she could give knowing that everything she said had truth to it. She had a sinking feeling that another change was coming. How big would that change be? Only time would tell.

Next morning (Joy Pov)

Warmth, that's the first thing she feels as she wakes, and when she finally reaches full consciousness she realizes why. Looking to her side she sees Juans pillow is missing its namesake. But looking down she sees a lump where her stomach is, it makes her grin. For a moment she looked pregnant until the lump moved and she pulled the covers up slightly and could not help but feel her heart melt a little. Her husband's head was resting below her breast, his arms curled under her back as he clutched her in a tight but comfortable grip. Watching him sleep she takes in the beauty of him, his soft skin being revealed bit by bit as she pushes the covers off of them. Making her husband curl into her more to steal more of her warmth. She brushes her fingers along the tattoo on the left side of his scalp, she knows he is slowly waking because he is nuzzling his face into her stomach. A poem comes to mind and when he looks up at her with sleepy, heavy lidded eyes, a small smile is his gift to her. She smiles as the words spill from her lips. "You're next to me and I'm half asleep, wondering what I did to deserve this moment - to deserve you. And while you're here, breathing easily. All I can think about is what I can do tomorrow to be better for you then I was today."

He gifts her with open mouth kisses along her belly button and hips over her boy shorts, his hands having pushed her sleep shirt up to her chest to get access to more bed warm skin. "Fuck i love when you do shit like that." She giggles as he speaks into her skin, his hands sliding under her lower back, forcing her to arch and her legs to fall open more as his kisses move upward. His hands shove her shirt over her head. Tossing it off the side of the bed he hovers over her as she tries to get her hair out of her face. Looking up at him she sees his once sleepy eyes are watching her. The smile on his face is blissful and only for her. Reaching her hands up she holds his face between them, the way he leans into the gentle touch pulls at her heart. Her beautiful strong husband was such a gentle man, she hoped this life wouldn't rob him of that. She would give up her humanity to protect him if she had too, as long as he was always going to be here, like this. His lips on her forehead wash away her dark thoughts like rain water.

Her eyes, which she hadn't realized had closed to prevent him seeing the pain in them blink open, seeing him watching her. "Welcome back." She cant help but sigh, which quickly turns into a gasp as he rolls them, his strong grip on her hips keep her from toppling over as he now lays with her straddling his lean hips. The way he folds his hands behind his head and smirks up at her makes her bite her lip and her cheeks flushes as his eyes take in her bare chest, even after living with and being with him he still made her body heat with a look. Moving her hair over one shoulder she lays her chest flat against her husband's, her head under his chin. His hands are now combing over her head and curling her hair around his fingers. For a moment they are still except for his fingers curling into her hair and her body rising and falling as he breathes deeply. She is slowly falling back asleep when the chest under hers vibrates as her husband speaks "Jax is up to something involving clay." Curling a fist under her chin she uses her other hand to grab the discarded blanket and pulls it back over her now naked back. "What makes you think that." He isn't upset she questioned him, in fact it made him grin. "When Jax asked me to stay behind the other day after the irish he only wanted to ask me a favor. 'I need clays gun. No questions right now. I need it.” she lifts herself up enough to get more comfortable, stretching her legs out she moves to his side to rest her head on his shoulder, looking into his eyes she arches a brow. "The one currently at the shop wrapped up in a shirt." He smirks and kisses the tip of her nose. "Yes nosy shit." She snickers and smacks his chest, he laughs and rubs the sting away. "He wanted me to get it to you. I don't know why but he wants you to put it in his side saddle on his bike." She sighs, he was plotting alone again. She was getting so fucking tried of this behind closed door shit that had been going down since the cartel popped up. She can't say Jax wasn't doing good things but the way he was doing them was gonna make her go grey. "Your right. I'll see whats up but if i'm honest we won't know much until shit pops off and we all have to drag his ass out of danger." She cups her husband's cheek and pulls him in for a kiss when her phone rings from the nightstand. She growls under her breath and reaches back for it.....let the games begin

Time Jump

Once she got to the shop things had been crazy. She barely had time to do what jax asked her but she did it. And now hours later she stood beside Nero as he spoke to the shop owner "Nero they fuck up my shop, come in and take anything they want and now Dante says we have to pay triple two for protection?!' The pretty hispanic woman sighs "I mean we all know you split but what are we supposed to do now?" Nero sighs and holds up his hands “Okay. I get it, Carmella. I'm sorry I let this happen but i'm here now. I swear." He grabs her hands and holds them "We will handle Dante, Mi vida." She tosses her cig to the street as Nero walks over to them. "So what's the plan boss man." He brushes a hand down his face. "We need to cut off the goddamn head. Dante, he's running out of a rag warehouse, two blocks, at the end of Palm. Fights are in progress." She nods, Juans hands squeezing her shoulders. "Is he there now? Anyone scooping him out?" The man next to Nero shakes his head"Not sure. All of our faces are too well known around here to play double o seven" she snickers, looking over to Jax when he taps her arm as she is the main one next to him. "Ok let the white boys and slightly tan girls." She hisses at him and smacks his shoulder. "Tan!?!? I am a light sepia goddess. You redneck Tarzan." He grins but ignores her, he continues on. "let us go in, just a few fight fans. We'll see what we're dealing with."

Nero nods and she walks over to her bike, she strips off her cutte, her black lace up side high waisted jeans cover her lower stomach, but the cute pink halter crop top with the words 'brat' shows enough of her stomach to keep her cool on this hot day. bobby asks "How big is this crew?" Nero tilts his head for a second before replying "Last i knew fifteen." She is shooting off a quick text message as the man next to him shakes his head. "Nah they have been busy. More like twenty." She is pulling off her thigh and chest holster as hands her guns to her husband since her outfit wasn't loose enough to hide anything. Nero replies "If that's true with just us it's a little light." Her phone goes off and she yanks it from her back pocket with a grin. "Think again." Everyone turns to see her waving her phone with a grin "Cholo Calvary is inbound." Her husband smirks and reaches over to pat her on the ass. "That's my girl." Making the guys chuckle as she smiles brightly, her hips doing a little wiggle at the praise. Her father reaches over to yank her head close enough to kiss her temple.

Once they get to the place and on the lift of the building the sound of dog barking makes her reach out for the closest hand. Tig grips her hand back just as hard as Bobby opens the lift door. The others scatter to different corners but she and Tiggy don't release each other as they watch with Horror as the poor dogs tear each other apart. Her mind flashes to sonny. Her sweet little prince in the dog's place and seeing the raging bloodlust on the shouting mens faces makes her stomach roll. The fight is over quick and she watch a dark skin man lift the wounded white dog and walk away. She knows what happens next. Tapping tig are rapidly she whimpers "Tiggy. We can't let him." He nods and he gives her hand a reassuring squeeze and they both follow behind them man. Not realizing the others saw them. They make it to the back and her legs give out as she sees the trash cans filled with the bodies of precious dogs. All torn and slaughtered. She doesn't realize Alex has left her until she hears him say "I'll blow your goddamn head off." Her husband and father see her on the ground and rush to her. She points to the trash cans and her husband curses and helps her off the ground. Standing between her and the trash cans he holds her face in his hands "I know baby. But we can't help them now. But you saved one. Come on." She nods and lets him drag her around the corner as Tig points behind her and Juan as Jax grabs his head to make him focus "Look at this shit its so wrong." Jax nods "I know but it's not what we are here for." Walking over she grabs Tigs gun from him gently. He locks eyes with her and she nods to the beautiful dog in the kiddy pool by her feet who was licking her father's hand as he spoke softly to it. "Watch her." He nods and she walks over to the man knelt on the ground. Pressing the gun between his eyes she arches a brow "One question dickbag. Dante. Where is he?" The man points behind him "Through there. Uses the supply room as an office." She nods and hands the gun to Tig. "Piss off. And leave the dog." The man takes off as she kneels down to gently hold the dogs face in her hands. Smiling as the dog licks her cheek. "Hello love. My friend phil here is gonna carry you to your ride ok. Your not gonna fight anymore." The dog keeps licking her face and Jax taps her arm "Let's go mother pupresa. We got work to put in." She nods to phil and takes her glocks from her husband as she stands. Making her way in she sees Chibs break the lock and all hell breaks loose. Her father levels a man rushing them and she holds her guns on Dontae as Jax yells. "Put the guns down!" Dante just stares and she smirks, getting in front of him she holds one gun to his head the other to his dick. "Cough wrong. Give me a reason." He curls his lip but tells them to lower the guns she hears Jax yell and she naturally runs, smart move on her part as the room floods with Dantes crew as he yells

"I WANT THE BITCH. KILL THE OTHERS!" Making it outside she sees the gate bust open. And moves to the side as Nero and his crew take out of a few of the men following behind. The remainder of Dante's crew are quickly held down by the Mayans. She laughs and they roll through on their bikes whooping and shouting. "Fucking love you crazy bastards!" Her joy is short lived as Dante and another man run back inside and lock the door. She takes off at a full sprint as she yells over her shoulder "Dantes running. TAKE DOWN THE REST." It's quiet as nero,chibs, jax and herself move around the high stacks of boxes. All of them take different paths she is just about to turn down another way when the sound of a punch makes her take off back behind her she sees Chibs as he stabs the man who was with Dante. Using all her body weight she shoves him against one of the boxes, her fists crack against his cheek and temple. He grabs her by the hair making her shriek but the pain is short lived as he is yank off of her by Jax. She watches with glee as the man's face is shoved into a bag of nails. His screams making shudder at the agony in them, but her mind flashes back to the trash cans of dogs and she feels nothing again. They all jump into action as Nero's voice fills the warehouse "He's running!" They take off towards the sound. Shs stares at Neros back as he takes off after Dante and finally catches him at a window. She releases a short burst of laughter as Nero laughs as he pushes Dante through the window. Mother fucker was nuts. Once they all get through the window she sees a woman yanked from her van. But lucky her own dog was inside. And currently using Dante as a chew toy. Nero holds the door with his body and she leans next to him with a smirk. "That's gonna leave a mark." She leans down to watch the dog as Jax chuckles, punching her arm as she coos at the dog "Whos a good protector. You are. Good doggo." Nero heaves a sigh, his lip twitching as he tries not to laugh "We should probably let him out yeah?" Chibs smirks "That would be the good catholic thing to do." She snorts and shakes her head "I'm neither good nor Catholic so i guess he is puppy chow." All the guys around her laugh.

Back at Teller Morrow

When they got back to the club house phil, tig and herself went straight to the pool table with Dr.Chibs. She laid on her side on top of the pool table as the dog rested next to her, she gently brushed a hand over her ears and head as Chibs worked on the animal's leg wound. Her husband's hands grip and rub her thigh as he stands behind her. He knew she was shaken seeing so many dead animals. Killer his wife may be but when it came to animals. She was so sensitive to them. Thats where her and Tig bonded alot. She reaches down to grip one of her husband's hands in Silent thanks as she coos to the dog as it whimpers. "Its ok baby. Chibs is just gonna make you all better. I know it hurts." Tig pats her arm as Jax walks over "So that was one of Nero's boys. He found the breeder who is supplying the dogs. Wants us to shut it down." She nods and sits up as Tig replies "I'll gut that bitch." She grabs her bowie knife of the coffee table "i call his balls." The guys all shifted a little at that, knowing she wasn't joking. She and Tig grab their weapons of choice on the table and head for the door. Just as Chibs speaks "Lets go." Jaxs stops him "I'm gonna take Tig and Joy." Chibs shakes his head "Notta chance. You don't know what your walkin into." Jax stands firm and soon enough they are pulling. Up to a warehouse. She and tig strip off their helmets and walk ahead of Jax just as she hears a gun be cocked.

She reaches for her own but Jax's voice stops her making her turn to see the one thing she never wanted to see. One gun trained on her, another on Tig....and Jax holding both. Her face pales as Tig tries to move towards Jax and Jaxs hisses at him "Dont fucking move. Either of you." Her hands shake as she holds them up. He locks eyes with hers and nods "All weapons down. And kick yours away Joy your aim is too good to trust." She and Tig follow instructions. She keeps quiet as Tigs breathing picks up and he finally yells "What is going on Jax!?" She hears the approach of a car and her eyes narrows at the unmistakable Rolls Royce kicking up dirt and it all clicks into place. How they got out, how tig made it out with them. Jax was gonna go in but Opie some how did it first......Tig was always the chip. Because of what happened with clay. Forcing Tig to take action and kill Pope daughter. To do what he thought was right. Once again Clays lies were catching up to them.

Her rage is violent as she yanks Tig back behind her and Snarls at Jax "I'll kill you if they touch him. Ill fucking kill you all." Tigs arm wraps around her shoulder as she shakes, Gripping his arm she eyes the men getting out of the car as Tig groans. "Jax no. Come on man." Jax shakes his head "I'm sorry." She seethes "No. But you will be." Pope snaps and two men appear next to them. She and Tig are ripped apart and she shrieks, she is held back as the other man searches Tig. She is then searched herself before being tossed back at Tig. She wraps her arms around his middle. Gripping onto the man for dear life, her body shakes as Tig combs a hand over her head. Trying to calm her in a moment when she should be comforting him "Your really gonna give me to him Jax? After what he did to my Daughter. Its could have been Able, fuck it could have been sonshine here if hap had done it you bastard!" Jax yells at Pope to shut tig up and she crumbles to the ground with Tig his kidney is hit from the back. Using her legs she kicks out at the man who hurt Tig "Leave us alone you Bastard i swear to god ill bathe in your entrails for this." She is dragged away from Tig by her legs, she lands a kick and crawls back to him sobbing. He holds her on the ground with him as Jax speaks to Marks. He rocks her "Don't cry kid. Please kid don't cry." She grips a hand into his cutte. Whimpering when she and Tig are both pulled up from the ground. "Tie him up on the garage." She shrieks as he is being pulled away but Jaxs stops him "I want the Cutte." She growls and jerks in the arms holding her back. "Have you not taken enough from him Jackson for Christ Sake!?" The man approaches Tig and she struggles more "Please." The men stop, staring at the shaking and sobbing woman, for once looking her young age and her Golden eyes lock with Pope. "Let me take it off him. I'm all he has left." She was surprised when pope nods. Walking over on shaking legs she looks at the two men on either side of Alex. He reaches up and holds her face in his hands. Giving her forehead a hard kiss he whispers. "i love you kid. Best friend i ever had." She whimpers and slides the Cutte from his shoulders. He is instantly jerked away from her and into the warehouse. Her legs give out and someone catches her, apart of her knows it's Jax and she wants to struggle but she can't. Crushed under the weight of losing another brother all she can do is sob "Alex......Tiggy." Jax buries his head into the side of her hair and she hears him talking. She tries to stop sobbing and shaking to hear him "Trust me. Its hard but trust me ill fix it i promise." She pushes him away and stands. Clutching tigs cutte to her chest she watches Jax with narrow and tear swollen eyes as he walks over to his saddle bag and something clicks. Clays gun. As tumblers fall into place she watches Jaxs in slow motion as he paints the side of Popes car red with brain matter. Seeing him race into the warehouse she uses the hand not clutching the cutte to grab a silenced glock and runs after him. Seeing him take out one of Pope men she kills the other. Tig, who was thankfully alive, rams Pope as he tries to shoot them. Falling his gun lands at her feet, holding her gun on him she grins wildly "Do it. I dare you." He jerks and Jax appears at her side to grab the gun on the floor. She watches Jax as he hands Clays gun to Tig. Pope growls at Jax "You redneck bitch. Do you have any idea what will happen to who ever kills me?" A small smile ticks up Jaxs lip "Im counting on it."

She moves away as Tig blows Pope brains out the back of his skull. Walking over to Alex she wraps her arms around him. His arm not holding the gun grips her cutte. Hearing movement next to her she lifts her head, her gun held between Jaxs forth and fifth rib. "Give me one reason not to kill you prez. One."  He holds his hands up "I couldn't tell either of you. He would have picked up on it if Tig was off or if joy wasnt like she was. You know that." She did but the Image of Jaxs holding a gun on her still made her gun hand shake "He could have shot him right away Jax. Then what!?" Jax nods "But he didnt. I know that's not the best thing to say but he didnt and the plan worked. Im so fucking sorry to do that but i had to be done. We would never be free. Tig wouldn't get closure." Logic, sense, it was shooty but planned out. Pope dies at the hands of a man she and Jax want dead more than anything. And with Pope being an OG the bounty would be set and Clay would be dead before his hearing. Releasing Tig she lets him hug Jax, their eyes locked over the man's shoulder. Today something changed. Today she saw how far Jax was willing to go on his own. And she didn't know how to feel about it

The club house

Sitting across from her husband in their old room he stares in wild eyed shock as she nods, her wet hair dripping onto the sheets. She had felt so dirty when they got back that she had passed everyone and went upstairs to shower. Now dressed in some cotton shorts and a hoodie she lights up a blunt, inhaling deeply. She told him everything, her father would be next but she needed Juan right now. "Jesus baby. I didn't know he was going to…..i.....i never would have let you go with him alone if i knew." She lets him yank her onto his lap, her legs thrown over the side as She held out the blunt for him, he tilts his head and lets her hold it for him as he inhales. His hands to busy rubbing and gripping her legs, sides, her face as he tries to calm himself. Holding his inhale he replies "I love you baby. Im so fucking sorry you had to live that. Fuck i could strangle him. Was Opie not enough?" She exhales the smoke along with him. Filling the room with the smell of gas and apple wrapping paper "Apart of me knows he was right. Pope would sniff out a fake performance for a mile. But i feel so hollowed out. I know tig is alive, i know Jax didn't really betray either of us but i still feel it." She waves a hand "Maybe it's that i feel used by him. And that alone makes me feel dirty."  He nods and presses his lips to her forehead. Taking the blunt from her he takes another hit. "And your allowed to feel how ever the fuck you please. Jax knew what might happen if he did this. Trust and loyalty only go so far until the broken pieces just don't fit right anymore. So your going to heal from this. And i'll be right here if Jax has anything to say i'll handle him." She cant help but grin watching her husband blow smoke off to the side, his jaw tight and sharp she cant help but draw her tongue along its shape making him look at her with wide eyes. "You have no idea how hot you look when your angry daddy." he chuckles and shakes his head, taking in her low lids and dopey smile. "And you're cute when you're a high and horny baby." She snorts as his hands and rests her head on his shoulder as he takes the last deep hit from the blunt before tossing the roach into the ash tray to break down later. She uses her hand to turn his head as he gets ready to blow the smoke out. He smirks and fists a hand into her hair, his other hand palms her bare breast over the hoodie as he blows the smoke into her mouth.

*She couldn't hold it as she moans, her skin was sensitive and her mind was only focused on his hands. She scrambles out of his lap and crawls up the bed, but she doesn't get far as quickly grabs her ankle and yanks her back with a chuckle. "Where do you think your going?" She takes her bottom lip between her teeth as she tries not to smile. He yanks his shirt over his head and crawls over her, her fingertips ghost up his sides as he claims her mouth. She could taste the weed on his tongue, and that ever present mint. She groans as his lips leave hers but she arches as he pushes the hoodie up to expose her bare chest to his eyes. Leaning down his tongue circles one nipple before blowing on it, making her still shower warm skin break out into goosebumps. He presses his face into her sternum and drags his tongue along the anarchy A that rests there as his hand slides down onto her shorts, she feels his grin when he finds no panties in his way. She is hot and slick as he slides two thick fingers inside. "Yes touch me!"

He lays on his side, his arm propping his head up as he watches her writhe and moan as his pace picks up. Pressing his nose against her temple his lips brush her ears as he speaks lowly. "Do you have any idea how sexy you look like this?" She shakes her head, her eyes wide and glazed as she stares up at the ceiling, one hand rolling her own nipple, the other gripping his forearm, the feel of his muscles moving under his skin as his fingers fuck into her driving her higher. "Legs spread wide for me. Wet little pussy gripping my fingers like you never want me to stop." She shuddered and groans "I don't want you to stop. Please daddy. Fuck me?" He smirks and removes his fingers much to her dismay. As she turns to pout her mouth falls open as she watches him suck his cum covered fingers into his mouth. She quickly strips off her shorts and reaches for his pants and belt. He chuckles at her enthusiasm and she swats his stomach making him curl up and laugh harder. She giggles and stops trying to strip him. "Your such a dork Juan." He nods and reaches down to quickly undo his own pants, sitting up he leans his back against the headboard and shoves his pants down enough to free himself and yanks her onto his lap. Holding his cock steady he lets her slide down onto it, watching her face as her eyes fall closed at the stretch. Her hands gripping his neck and shoulders as she grinds down onto him. "Jesus you feel so good."

His hands slide up the sides of her smooth thighs to her waist, the hoodie pulls up with his hands until her lower half is exposed, her rocking hips in full view, using his hands he slowly starts to set the pace. His eyes taking in the image she made. Sun streaming through the window made her bronze skin glow, her wet curls bounced as she rode him. Lips red and kiss swollen from his lips. One of his hands leaves her waist to grab her jaw making her blink her eyes open.. "Open your eyes baby. I want to see them as you cum." Her brow is drawn and she can't control the sounds falling from her mouth, but she nods. Her hands claw at his shoulders and he gives in, needing to hold her closer, his arms wrap around her yanking her to fall into his chest. She places her hands on the wall next to his shoulders and starts to quake over him. Her lips trimble and he releases her hips and grabs her face in his hands. "Your close aren't you baby." She nods, a whine falling from her lips. She watches him watch her as she rides him as hard as she can. Her body was so close but she couldn't reach it. "Juan.....can't."

He grins and moves a hand down between them, his thumb strokes her clit and she shudders with a cry. "Come on baby. Want that pretty pussy to come. Come Joy." She groans and her bodie tenses, her thighs quivering against his hips as she arches. His thumb keeps up its circling. Making her jerk and dig her nails into his shoulder, with a growl he jerks up into her hard. Forcing a breathless cry from her.

"Do that again I'm gonna get you pregnant." He says it through clenched teeth and closed eyes but the way her fingers freeze for a second before digging harder. His head jerks up and he stares at joy. Her eyes were glazed and her lip was between her teeth as she slowly rolled her hips down onto him. Her body jerked every once in a while as his thumb pressed down hard. He watches her for a second and he smirks. "You want my baby inside you Joy?" She nods and he growls, his hands hold her waist as he pushes her back. Keeping himself inside her as he gets her on her back. His forearms hold her legs back as he pounds into her, her head is tossed back as she screams. The thought of pumping her full, watching her stomach grow. Fuck he was close. Looking down at her he he groans "Look at me." She whimpers and forces her eyes open. The hazel eyes staring up at him look so gold in the light from the sun outside and he pants. "I want my baby to have your eyes."

Her back arches violently off the bed as her whole body quakes under him, a flood of her juices soak his cock and her grip is so tight he can't hold off as it milks him. Shooting inside her he groans, laying on his side he rolls her to join him.* His lips brush her forehead as they both pant, he watches the light slowly fade from the room. His mind clear and his body lax he barely hears his wife as she whispers. "I want them to have yours Juan." He grins, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "Guess we are spending the night. Good thing Tig got Sunny from the house. He will be good for Tigs dog i think." She nods, looking down at her body and his she giggles at his boot clad feet on the pillow. "No shoes in bed you street rat." He chuckles and slowly pulls away from her, his limp cock sliding from her making her hiss and narrow her eyes at him. "Don't give me that look. No shoes in bed." She rolls her eyes and reaches over the side of the bed to get her discarded shorts. Pulling them on she shoots a text to Tig to  feed Sonny for her and plugs up her phone to charge.

Curling up she drifts until Juan returns and from the smell of his skin he showered, but she doesn't have much time to think more on it as she finally slips under. She jerks what she feels isn't a moment later but when she opens her eyes she sees nothing. Pitch black and the sound of Juans snoring and her phone going off. With a groan she grabs it and rolls onto her back. "Hello?" She sits up straight at the voice on the other line, making Juans arm draped across her stomach fall off. Waking him with a grunt as he looks around. "We have a problem Joy." She feels a cold feeling settle in the pit of her stomach as she replies "Jax what's wrong?"

Jax's House

Their bikes couldn't move fast enough, she barely puts down the kick stand before running towards the house, she stops short as she hears her name being yelled. Looking over she sees Tara and she races for her, her eyes stinging as Tara looks up at her with bright wet eyes. "What do you need me to do." Tara looks past her for a moment, she was worried she might have gone into shock but when Tara looks back at her she is all there. Her lips move and Joy focuses on them to read her lips and her face hardens as she gets what she says "Protect them from her." She nods and brings her fingers to her lips to press a kiss to them before smacking them on the window and walking towards the house shouldering past officer's as she went, hearing Teddy stop them from grabbing her. She pats his arm as she passes into the house. Finding Jax sitting at the kitchen table, Able rushes to her side and she lifts him up and sits him on her hip as he presses his wet face against her soft hoodie. Juan presses a kiss to the side of Ables head before going to get Thomas who was crying in the back room.

She bounces on her feet to rock Able, the hand not holding the child up is rested on Jax's shoulder as he holds his head in his hands. "She gave me papers...naming You and Juan guardians of our kids, if something happens. I signed them as they knocked to come get her. What are we going to do Joy?" She sighs, resting her cheeks against the child's cheek. "What you are going to do is leave this to Lowen. This is her area, do what the fuck she and Tara ask of you. Tara isnt stupid, she knew what this life meant when she stayed Jax. All you can do is stand by her like me and her did for you and Juan while she is inside. Stay the course, and get the fuck out of Charming the second you can. You hear me?" He nods, his hand reaches up to grip hers. If he had looked up he would have noticed her eyes weren't on him, but the door. Locked in the gaze of another woman. Gemma glares at her and she stands her ground, she wasn't scared of Gemma. But Gemma should be scared of what she has just done, because karma is a bitch. And she was its Messenger. Gemma would answer for this if it was the last thing Joy did.

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That’s this new chapter. Im working on the next one as we speak. again thank you all for hanging with me. 

[danielcooperrp]

Terror

As much as he loves being around his wife, like, all the time, these days, he’s grateful for the little pockets of time he gets one-on-one with their daughter. Just over the six month mark, Anna tells them something new about herself every day, and the chance to see it, to be the first one to discover that she gets the hiccups when she eats too late or that she’s afraid of the leprechaun on his Celtics sweatshirt, feels like a personal triumph. So when Ally told him that she was going to take a long weekend and help Nat out on a service mission in Ecuador, he sent her off with a kiss and a wave of the baby’s chubby fist, ready for some quality daddy-daughter time in the city. 

Around noon on Saturday, after a lazy morning snuggling in bed, Daniel sets them up in the living room, queuing up the Patriots’ 2001 AFC Divisional Playoff game on the TV. “Okay, Jelly Bean,” he says, lowering her into her Pack ‘n’ Play, “if we’re gonna get you caught up on Patriots history, we’re gonna have to start you early. The Snow Bowl is a perfect entry point, so pay attention.” She blinks up at him with wide eyes. "Just be glad I’m not starting you with Red Sox history, little girl. It’s much longer and much more depressing. You don’t need to learn about Bill Buckner ‘til you’re older.”

He settles on the couch with a mug of tea and hits play, and soon he’s narrating the game to Anna. “So the false start means that a set offensive player crossed the line of scrimmage before the ball was snapped. Can you say ‘scrimmage’?” She shrieks, shoving a stuffed bulldog into her mouth. “Fantastic.” 

Just after the start of the second quarter, a familiar odor pervades the room. He pauses the game. “Uh-oh!” He grins at the baby. “I think someone needs a diaper change, and since Uncle Connor isn’t here, I have a guess who it might be.” 

He bends down to scoop the offender into his arms, dramatically pinching his nose to make her giggle. He carries her into the nursery—what was once Jonathan’s room—and sets her up on the changing table. It takes him longer than strictly necessary, given his penchant for singing operatic ballads to narrate everything he’s doing, much to his audience’s delight. She cackles as he dances the wet wipe in front of her, giving it an impossibly deep baritone. 

He’s just finished snapping the closures on her onesie (navy blue and red, for the occasion) when he hears what sounds like exploding glass from the living room. Confused, he picks Anna up and, cradling her against his chest, tentatively leaves the nursery. It takes him a few moments to see what happened—the room looks more or less normal, the usual insane amount of baby toys strewn all over the place, his mug of tea where left it on the coffee table—but before he can register the glittering sea of glass on the floor, something flies across his field of vision. 

“Fuck!” he shouts, ducking back into the nursery. He slams the door shut, and the baby starts to wail. Over her cries, though, he can hear the telltale sound of tires screeching on the street below. 

“Shh,” he whispers, bouncing her more anxiously than is probably helpful. Anna’s face is growing red, so he presses nervous kisses to her cheeks, murmuring, “It’s okay, baby girl. It’s okay, I’ve got you.”

He sets Anna in her crib, giving her a random stuffed animal to occupy her, and then he edges carefully to her window, which also faces the street. It’s completely clear, not a person in sight, so he guesses it’s safe to go back out. 

When he reenters the common area, he nearly vomits; the front window is entirely shattered, glass shards everywhere, and sitting on the floor in front of the TV, guilty and shocking, is a brick. He stares at it, unblinking, unable to comprehend what happened. It’s like all those years of education suddenly vanished, and he’s left with the mind of a child: Where did that brick come from? Why is in the apartment? What happened to the window? 

Stepping carefully in his socked feet, he ventures further into the room, heart pounding in his ears. He peers closer at the brick, like it’s a bomb that could explode at any moment, and something new catches his eye. There’s something in Anna’s Pack ‘n’ Play, something much different than the array of fluffy animals and wooden blocks she’d been playing with earlier. When he sees it, his stomach drops, leaving him woozy: a second brick, right where his baby girl had been sitting just a few minutes earlier. 

All caution abandoned, he stumbles forward, skin crawling, itching over his bones, to snatch his phone up from the coffee table. He scrolls frantically for his phone app, ready to call the one person he can think to need in this situation—but pauses, finger hovering over the dial button. No. Panicking is not going to help. There’s a way to handle this, and it involves a different contact. He scrolls again, and makes a call. 

“You need to come into the city,” he says flatly, quietly. “Now. Tell no one.” He hangs up. 

He moves mechanically back to the nursery, touching as little in the room as possible. He’s vaguely aware of pain in his feet, but he ignores it. He closes the nursery door again once he’s inside and picks Anna up out of her crib. He can’t imagine putting her down again, couldn’t think of not having her directly in sight. He sits stiffly in the glider that they uses to rock her to sleep, bouncing her automatically in his arms. She’s mostly stopped crying at this point, having now worn herself out. She wanders in and out of sleep, her eyes opening and closing with no real sense of reason. They sit in the quiet, her little chest rising and falling, his almost perfectly still as he barely breathes. 

He doesn’t know how long it takes, though it feels both like forever and like no time at all. There’s a mechanical crash in the living room—that stirs the baby—and a familiar voice. “DANIEL! ANNA!”

“In here.” He doesn’t even know if his voice is audible.

But it must be, because half a moment later, the nursery door is banging open, and Anna wails in his arms. “What the fuck happened?” Tony demands, suit deconstructing around him. “It’s like a war zone out there.” 

He has to work hard to pull himself together into something resembling a human person. “They threw bricks. Through the window. Two of them.”

“Who?”

“No idea.” His eyes fall down to Anna, who’s gripping the front of his shirt in one tiny fist. “One of them landed in her Pack ‘n’ Play.”

Tony staggers to the side. “Jesus Christ—is she—”

“She’s fine. We were in here when it—” He takes a deep breath. “But she had been in there just minutes before.” He finally looks back up at his father-in-law, eyes brimming with tears. “It could have killed her.” 

Tony runs a hand over his face. “I don’t understand. Who—why the fuck are people throwing bricks into your place?”

“Did you see them?”

“No, why?”

The words are burned on the inside of Daniel’s eyelids. “They’ve got ‘Die, muties’ written on them.”

The silence echoes, filling the nursery until Daniel thinks the walls are going to collapse. 

“You’re hurt,” Tony says finally, voice croaking. He nods to Daniel’s feet. “You’re bleeding.”

Daniel nods. “I know.”

“Does Ally know? Is she on her way back from...Columbia?”

“Ecuador. And no. I haven’t told her. And I’m not going to.”

Tony frowns. “Uh, hate to break it to you, kid, but I think she’s going to notice the massive hole in your window.”

“No, you’re going to help me get that fixed and this place cleaned up before she comes back.”

With a sigh, Tony says, “Look, kid, you can’t keep something like this from her—”

“I’m not going to lie to her,” Daniel snaps, and then quickly adjusts his temperament when the baby starts to fuss. “I’ll tell her everything when she gets home. But I’m not calling her back here early when there’s nothing she can do, and I’m not going to have her coming home to a terror scene. Besides, if she finds out now, she’ll go through every anti-mutant bigot in this town until she’s arrested or dead.”

“And what’ll stop her from doing that once she gets back?”

Daniel looks him straight in the eye. “You will.”

Tony snorts. “Have you ever tried to stop my daughter from doing something she wants to do? I’m a billionaire but I’m not god.” 

“She’s not going to find the people who did this because you’re going to find them first.”

Tony blinks in surprise. “Daniel, kid, listen, I get that this has been a shocking experience—”

“A shocking experience?” Daniel laughs derisively. He pushes himself up out of the glider, ignoring the stabbing pain in his feet. Tony winces. “What’s shocking is that this is the first time this has happened. What’s shocking is that we weren’t better prepared for it. What’s shocking is that I let myself drop my guard for five fucking minutes.”

“Daniel—”

“You think this is the first time something like this has happened to me? I was four when I first heard someone call my dad a kike. Walking out of Fenway, first home win of the season, we were floating on air, and some skinhead shouts it at him from across the parking lot. I was seventeen when a group of grown men chased me and Connor with bats through downtown London because they saw us leaving a gay club. I’ve been called a fag more times than I could count, and I’ve been with Ally when she’s had to walk past anti-mutant protesters all around town. Shocking? Tony, this is our fucking lives. And it almost cost my daughter hers.” 

He crumbles back into the chair, wiping furiously at the tears on his cheeks. He brushes away the curls from Anna’s face, his heart racing.

The silence is long, ended only when Tony clears his throat. “I can have the window replaced by the end of the day. We’ll get something stronger, bulletproof, brick-proof, whatever. I’ll get F.R.I.D.A.Y. to start scanning the internet for chatter about an attack on you guys, see if we can’t get a lead.”

“You can take the bricks to Detective Shannon McInerney at the station on Myrtle. She owes me a favor, can run fingerprints under the table.”

Tony tips his head to the side. “Why does a BPD detective owe you a favor?”

Daniel shrugs. “I introduced her to her wife. Tell her it’s for me.” 

Nodding, Tony turns to head out. “Take care of your feet, before you bleed out.” He’s almost out the door before he stops and turns back. “What’re the odds?”

Daniel’s barely listening, his attention turned back to the fussing baby he’s holding. “Hm?”

“What are the odds that these asswipes would choose to do this when Ally, a mutant who could easily kill them without breaking a sweat, happens to be out of town by herself for the first time in...god, forever.”

Daniel freezes, considering Tony’s words. He’s not wrong. Ally never goes anywhere for an extended period of time without him, especially not since the baby was born. The only reason she went on this trip at all was because it was only for a few days, and it was all logistical on-the-ground stuff, no actual superheroing required. The chances of them picking a random Saturday to throw bricks through their front window and hitting the one when she wasn’t home...

“What does it mean?” he asks quietly. “Why threaten a mutant if the mutant isn’t there to receive the threat?”

Tony chooses his next words carefully. “Unless the mutant they were intending to threaten wasn’t Ally.” 

The words rush over him like an icy river. His eyes widen as he stares at his daughter, petrified. No one knows, of course, whether or not Anna will end up being a mutant, but if there’s one things bigots hate more than mutants, it’s mutants making other mutants. Anna poses an existential threat to the anti-mutant agenda: the daughter of a powered superhero, the granddaughter of an Avenger, and possibly part of the next generation of mutants. 

The bricks were meant for her.

He nearly vomits. 

“I’ll take care of it,” Tony says quickly. “You hear me? You stay here, you stay with her, you get yourself cleaned up. I’ll have this all sorted out before Ally gets back, I promise you that.”

“And what will you do once you find them?” he asks, devoid of emotion. 

Tony pauses. “What needs to be done.”

A beat. “Good.” 

Tony nods, and then closes the nursery door behind him. Daniel continues to gently rock back and forth, humming tunelessly until Anna’s eyes flutter shut again. He can’t stop looking at her, can’t help but think himself in circles about what he almost lost today. Despite his diatribe to Tony, he is in shock. He’s shocked that despite everything he’s been through, he’s still able to feel the razor-sharp fear of this, the choking panic of how close he came to having his still-beating heart ripped from his chest. There have always been stakes before, the uncertainty of someone else’s behavior, the fierce anxiety of what could be done to him or to Ally or to Connor and Jonathan, but this, this little, impossible thing in his arms, all rounds edges and eyelashes, this is without a doubt going to be the thing that breaks him. 

He presses the softest kiss to her forehead. As much as his body is itching, his limbs aching to get up and run, to stash his little girl somewhere the rest of the world could never hope to touch her, he lets her sleep, breath coming slow and even, lost in a dream where only those who love her most can find her. 

[saturnjae]

maybe ~ l.j.n

word count: 2.1k

💌 requested:

‘Hello :)) i would like to request a Jeno smut scenario (if it's okay with u ) !! Where Jeno and reader are roommates and y/n accidentally walks in on Jeno masturbating, Y/n gets all flustered because it's her first time seing a d shdjcnxjwkds it's fine if u don't make this i'm just hoping, Hope u have a great day !!’

> i kinda wrote this jeno smut to cheer myself up,it might be shitty idk. please enjoy, i really liked this request as well.

includes: masturbation, fingering, protected sex, first time, i attempted to make it a little soft,,,

:::

it was a friday night and like most college students you were going out to blow off some steam. you didn’t go out every week, but you decided to go since your friend had invited you. it took you forever to pick out an outfit and get your makeup done to a standard you were satisfied with, but eventually you got there and admittedly, you looked hot!

you walked out, through the living room on your way to the front door.

“looking good, y/n.” said your roommate, jeno, sitting on the sofa. all of your other roommates were out, but him of course. though he was pretty popular on campus, he wasn’t the type to party or even go out much; he got attention for his good looks and talents, you weren’t sure why he never took a chance with one of the girls among the crowds throwing themselves at him.

“thank you!” you said flipping you hair. though you didn’t like to admit it, you had a big crush on jeno, like any other girl, so his compliment had butterflies fluttering in your stomach. “you should come out sometime, too.”

“not my thing,” he laughed, switching the tv channel. with that, the brief conversation ended and you were out the door. however, just as you were about to enter the elevator, you got a message from your friend.

~~~

[jihyun]: so sorry y/n, but something came up with my boyfriend… i can’t go :’(

~~~

you couldn’t believe her. she no doubt had ditched you to hook up with her boyfriend, which wasn’t at all a surprise. on the other hand, you had never had never hooked up with anyone, maybe that’s why you didn’t understand her obsession over it.

a huff of frustration left you as you stomped back to your apartment and opened the door, but you were greeted by a deep grumbling sound.

“y/n,” it echoed the apartment, though you had a difficult time making it out, you were sure it was your name. and then it happened again, to your innocent ears, the strain put into the word sounded like something close to anguish, desperate even. like a cry for help! was jeno perhaps hurt, calling for you to help him?

hesitantly, you approached his room, your hand stalled at the door handle, but when you heard his cry for help, this time a little clearer, you knew you couldn’t let him suffer any longer; you opened the door carefully, but when you walked in, you realised he was far from pain.

jeno’s perfectly toned form was sprawled out on his bed, a light sheen, from sweat, bounced off of his milky skin. his bangs were matted down onto his forehead, brushing just above the tops of his eyes, which were screwed shut, drawing your attention to the open mouth. of course you couldn’t forget the main attraction: the painfully red cock his fist was vehemently pumping - the fact your innocent eyes had never seen one increased the scene’s shock value - you had a perfect view of this all as you stood there frozen.

his eyes cracked open slightly, he could make out the shape of your legs. surely, he was just imagining this, but it looked so real. he followed them up to the hem of that sinfully short, black dress you had left in, your name left his mouth again. he eyed the way the dress perfectly framed your curves, how he wanted to rip it right off of you. he was so close to cumming, but then his eyes ventured further up and were met by you beady eyes, wide with shock, and at the speed of light he threw a blanket over himself, snapping out of his lusty daze.

“shit, i thought you left!” he yelled out, a crimson tint spread over his face and chest as you stared at each other; after what seemed like forever, you snapped out of it.

“sorry!” you squeaked and turned away, before jeno had the chance to explain himself. he asked you to wait, but you ignored, speeding up your steps.

“i’m sorry, y/n.” he chased after you. halfway to your room, a strong hand gripped onto your wrist and turned you around.

“i’m fine! i think i’m fine? first time seeing a dick, should be fine though.” you blurted out, trying to control your breathing. the image of what you’d just seen played over in your mind.

you trained your eyes on the floor, but when you dared to look up your eyes were met with jeno’s chest, his body up this close was a sight to behold; he was such a potato couch, you forgot the only time he went out was to go to the gym. your eyes trailed up to meet his eyes, they burned with an emotion you weren’t quite familiar with: lust?

“i didn’t want you to find out like this but,” he gulped, taking a pause to build the courage to tell you his next word, “i like you.” the words you had dreamed of hearing from him, too afraid to tell him yourself. though the circumstances were a little different to you imagined, it still made you melt. unable to respond verbally, in that moment, you decided to pull him into a kiss.

you moved your lips against his, hoping to convey just how much you liked him back. he moaned into you bringing his hands to your hip and guiding you, until your back was against a wall, trapping you. one of his hands came up to your face and he lightly caressed your cheek with his thumb, deepening the kiss slightly. his tongue swiped along your lower lip and you immediately provided it access. the feeling of the hot, wet muscle on yours had you moaning out to him, jeno could feel himself throbbing under the blanket wrapped around his waist, but wasn’t sure how far he could take it.

“i want you so bad,” he muttered, peppering kisses on your jaw, “can i have you, y/n?” he pulled you closer and you felt his erection poke at you hip.

“i haven’t done it before, so be careful.” you looked up at him, the pure, timidity in your gaze drove him wild. he picked you up, wrapping your legs around his waist, letting the blanket fall, and brought you back to his bedroom.

he set you down, ghosting his way behind you. his hot breath fanned against the nape of your neck, as he leaned forward to lay kisses on it. slowly, he undid your zip and slid the dress down your body, letting it fall to the floor. he turned you around, caressing your hips as he gawked at your body. thankfully you had worn a nice set, since your dress was pretty tight fitting.

“so fucking beautiful,” jeno groaned, the skimpy, black lace sat just right on your body. then, his lips crashed against yours as he backed you up to the foot of his bed and fell onto it, without parting from him. his hand snakes up your body to massage your breast causing you to moan out loudly, you felt a fire ignite in your core. unconsciously, you bucked up into him and pulled away, a trail of spit still connected you.

his chest heaved as he sat up. the dim light from his lamp illuminated his lean physique, you couldn’t help but trail a hand from his chest, stuttering at the his belly button.

“can i touch it?” he took your wrist pushed it down to his base, telling you to go ahead. you had never seen a dick this close before, it was fascinating. you brushed over the soft, dark hair, the sensation of your faint touches gave him goosebumps. your hand slid down his thick shaft and it twitched slightly, startling you. jeno chucked at your dramatic reactions, but when you brushed your thumb curiously over his tip, his breath hitched.

he pushed his hips forward slightly. you wrapped your hand around the hot member, like you had seen him doing before, and slid it down all the way to his base. his whole body shuddered and his brows furrowed. you repeated the action and a grunt rumbled from him; you couldn’t help but giggle, speeding up your movements.

“shit, you’re gonna make me cum.” his hand ceased yours from moving and pinned it back on the bed. “i’ve wanted this for so long.” his whispered, removing your bralette and putting his chest against yours. he straddled your thigh and peppered kisses against your collarbone, while his hand slithered down to your heat.

“wet already,” he groaned tracing his fingers over the moist patch on your panties. he pressed down, eliciting a moan out of you, then he started to rub at it. the lazy circle he made on your nub, in conjunction with the friction the fabric caused, had you gripping at his shoulder. he pushed aside the soaked fabric and pushed in a finger, the feeling of your tightness around it made him anticipate how it would feel around his cock, drawing a moan from him.

after he felt you were ready, he put in a second digit; the slight stretch had your nails digging into his bicep. he thrust them in and and out of you steadily, soon speeding them up. when he curled them up, they hit something that had your back arching.

“jeno!” you mewled, you felt him smirk on your skin and he drove it back into the same spot. a knot began to tightened in your core. he scissored his fingers before doing it again. your breathing picked up, you could barely take it; you were almost there, but then it all stopped. a whined fell from you as you bucked your hips, in search for more.

“i want you to cum around me, babe.” he reassured you, looking into your eyes, his brown orbs overflowed with affection. he reached into his bedside table for a condom and rolled it onto himself. “are you ready?” his thumb made circles on your hips as he positioned his tip at your entrance.

“i need you jeno.” you pleaded and he proceeded to carefully push himself into you, his fingers were nothing compared to the stretch of his cock. you had never had the pleasure of taking another one, but you could tell jeno was big. your hands found purchase on his back and clawed at it. after what seemed like a lifetime, he had fully submerged himself into your searing heat, feeling it pulsate around him, needy for the orgasm he had previously deprived you of.

“please, move.” you begged once adjusted to him; quickly, he obliged with delicate and purposeful thrusts: he didn’t want to hurt you, he wanted to make you feel good.

“so tight,” he droned, burying his head into the crook of your neck. curses and the most beautiful moans came from him, he didn’t hold them back and it encouraged you not to as well. his pace picked up, you felt yourself building up again. he took one of the hands you were clutching onto him with and laced his fingers between yours.

“fuck, i’m close” he pushed deeper into you, he could tell by the way your walls were suffocatingly constricting, you were very close.

“me too, jeno, please!” he began to jerk into you faster. the pleasure was unbelievable. both of your moans grew in volume, releases ever so close. you’re sure his hand went numb from how hard you were gripping onto it and then, it happened.

the crash was more laborious than the build, your whole body went weak as your release took over. each nerve in body lit up as you shook under jeno. your vision went white and your ears were buzzing, you could barely hear the guttural moans coming from jeno, due to the feeling of your convulsing walls, over your near screams.

jeno’s thrusts grew sloppy, he chanted out your name between grunts; as he came, his mouth hung open and his whole body tensed. when he drew himself out of you, an empty feeling consumed you. longingly, you watched him clean himself up and fetch you a shirt to cover yourself with.

“are you okay? did i hurt you?” he asked concerned.

“i’m okay, thank you!” you pulled him up to you and snuggled up close to him. “i didn’t say it before, but i like you too.” you smiled into his broad chest. just as you were about to fall into a deep slumber you felt him lay a soft kiss on your forehead; you drifted off, maybe understanding jihyun’s obsession, now you had a boyfriend...

:::

again, i hope you enjoyed! i have a break from school, i’ll try and burn through requests, so i can open them again.

[dememarquette]

Stockholm

It has been a rough year. Complete Hell, actually, but we made it. We're home. Home. 2018, where the leaves are turning red, cable can be paused, and our old record shop exhausted itself into extinction.

That's all I needed. After death, my standards dropped through the concrete. I found gratification in the mundane. I appreciated the small things. I enjoyed the understated conversations, the intimate ones, the quiet. Just- Any time absent of violence. Pain. When I didn't have to worry about the orders being screamed at us, or the anxiety living under the heel of someone much bigger and nastier. Was it a lot to ask? Generally, no. Following a thwarted attempt at societal collapse? Maybe. We made it back half a year ago. That was six months on the run. We were fugitives. 'War criminals.' We avoided trouble by bouncing back and forth from Hell, running missions, training, and staying on the move while ensuring Buné's new order- Point is, I've been exhausted. I leaned against our apartment. I lost track of what city we're in but when you're anarchists of the divine, it stopped mattering. I didn't want to think about it. I didn’t want to think at all. I let my world fall into serenity and I took peace in as cars passed. I felt the breeze on my skin, the procession of life outside the damned. There was normalcy in the city. I offered smiles to the pedestrians that walked by. I reminded them of a preacher, the charismatic one they used to watch every Thursday night. I obviously wasn't the same guy. I was a disheveled, sadder version, but some smiled back- Before a loud crash sent them running. "Son of a BITCH." Metal clanged against stone. One girl dropped her umbrella. She ran. Her rubber boots beat the pavement until she turned a corner, a block away. "Mother. Fucker. LIED." Adria kneed a recycling bin. "I should have known this would happen. It was too fucking easy." "Too easy...?" "No one gets promoted that quick! Doesn't MATTER if you do all his dirty work," The bin split. "Start an apocalypse," Glass shattered. Garbage blasted down the asphalt. "Beat the new guys in!" I had no idea what part of the last few months had been anything short of excruciating. I just knew better to argue. I picked up the discarded umbrella, shaking off the puddle. "Is it off the table, then?" I asked, spinning it. "Obviously not! I'm up here aren't I?" "Why, then?" She violently bucked her leg. A tenacious grocery bag that clung to her boot. "He wants another job! Another fucking errand before I can prove myself, get OFF! Stupid-!!" She dislodged it, but not without throwing out her calf. The cops would be here in fifteen minutes. In twenty, she would be destroying our wall instead. We weren’t getting that security deposit back. "I thought that's what Glenshollow was."  I shuttered the umbrella's canopy closed. Peace was over. "Proving yourself." "Yeah well, it wasn't enough!" "'course it wasn't." It never would be. There was always more hoops, more grunt work. She punched a trash can into the street. It launched past me, aluminum warped. When her fist whipped back around, it specked the wall, corrosively leaving hissing black holes in the brick like the spray of a Tommy. "One more." She huffed. "Just- one more. He says I'm close." "When you're immortal everything is close. What if he never promotes you? What if he is a liar, like he's always been?" "Shut up." My brows furrowed. "Adria. What's the point in trusting him if-" "Shut up. This was the limit. I knew it. There was no reasoning with her. She glared, shoulders heaving with a finality saying I was a much more satisfying target than a garbage bin. I let it drop. I receded to the street in silence. Back against the wall, I stood at my post: Protecting the outside world from Adria. - - - The attack on Delgado yielded over 200 casualties. Months of preparation amounted to a twelve hour skirmish. Powers above squashed the epidemic in no time. It was an incursion controlled by dinner yet the effects rippled through the decades. History was made. It was covered up, then made again, but Buné never cared about petty tragedies and coverage above the surface. He cared about what happened after. It was a victory, not a failure. Overnight, his army doubled. They arrived onto his doorstep in droves. Marked. Branded by their wrath, the shambling husks were primed soldiers. Their consciousness’ were forever crippled into malleable potential Buné can use. Due to her stellar efforts, Adria earned respect, boons, and prestige. Just not the title. Her notoriety made her optimal for missions back in the present. He turned a blind eye to her angelic compatriot, and gave her a team. None of whom she cared for, but she thought maybe her parade of volatile dumbasses was a start to prime her for the big leagues. It wasn't. 'Lieutenant' was a bar being raised higher, and Adria's patience was burning out. Having a team didn't mean jackshit if she was still at the bottom. There was no repose to be had under someone else. While I also yearned for a delusionally quiet life- It just wasn't feasible. Details arrived the following morning. "What is this?" I wandered into the kitchen to find Adria pouring over blueprints. They were three feet by one thin drafts of paper, and full of intricate blocks with barely legible text. I'm by no means an architect or mechanic, but ‘boat’ was a safe bet. She was sitting there, nails knotted in her bangs, reviewing them like she had any idea of what they meant. "His assignment." "And this is what will supposedly get you promoted?" I said, skeptically. "It better." 'Or else what?' I wanted to ask. "And this is supposed to be harder than zombies?" "It's not supposed to be harder. It's finishing what we started." "How does that make sense?" I said, picking at another sheet. I didn't trust our 'team' to go get milk without fucking up, much less a heist? "I do what I'm told so I can get out of this shithole." While I intended to correct her on the ‘we’ situation, of that we could agree on. No matter how far this rabbit hole goes, I was sure there was something to be found at the end of it. Call me an opportunist. I hopped onto the counter. Tilting my head, I realized if you removed the claws, fangs, subterfuge, this felt familiar. I imagined a kitchen. Countertops crowded claustrophobically with congratulations and community love. A bare room that felt like bustling potential and a new lease on life rather than a pit stop. I scooched closer, crossing my legs to wedge between an imaginary dinette set and unpacked vacuum- She knew me by now. Too well. I could see it when her shoulders tense, her eyes snap to meet mine. ’Don’t-’ All that mattered was that her subconscious beat her to it. “So if you're promoted soon…” I rehearsed. “How are we going to celebrate?" Finding no room there, he crossed his legs instead. She was unpacking a mess. An obstacle course of bins, stacked impossibly high. There was no space except the marble. Adria had a hard time throwing anything vaguely sentimental out, and the collective town of Ashwater sent her off with enough supplies to stock a bunker. In lieu of helping (as he had invited himself over to do) he read over her acceptance letter to the Modena Police Academy three times over. He had the message memorized, and its creases too. The edges were folded from her happy dance, and the text smeared from her tears. How many Shakespearean ways could he recite it to her? How many ways could he decree her new title? The answer was a lot. But when that stopped being fun, he asked. "Soooo with this new promotion.” He slid closer. “How are we celebrating?" This came after a mandatory lunch. 5 box milestone. 15 minute break, then a ten. Finally dinner, and now a catch-all celebration. She looked up at him grinning, arms full of silverware. She was hopelessly behind, and would’ve had the place done at noon on her own, but what could she say? "How about we celebrate by...unpacking the kitchen?" "C'mon dep- oops." "Detective." “Detective Kyriakoulopoulos.” He waggled his brows. “It’s time to party! One does not become the most esteemed detective of the wild, formidable city of Modena every day.” "Not yet!" She swiped the letter. Before he could protest- talking with his hands, like he always did- she grabbed them, effectively silencing him. He was pulled to the floor, where his strategy switched. He hooked both arms around her waist, pulling her in. She’d weakly protest. "Come on,” She said, not fighting it. “I need to make it look like I got something done. My family is coming over tomorrow." "And they're going to be real disappointed if they don't have anything to unpack.” He grinned. “Think of Basil and Elyse, all bored. They want to help." “And you don’t?” "...Champagne?" When she came to I was off the counter. It'd been days since her last episode. Weeks. So few and far between, on days where she was kicking some guy’s teeth in, I worried they were gone for good. But she blinked. I held my breath for the fallout. Only she saw these memories, but I felt them. I lived in them every time her eyes went dark, when her lips twitched, and I knew she was following the subtitles. In those quiet moments where the pit of venom in her heart receded, Adria crawled back from her grave. Always in painfully brief snapshots, but she was there. These were the tick on her EKG, the surge in hope telling me she was still alive, under all the cruelty and malice. She didn’t receive them as well. She never did. They hit like a jackhammer. No matter how light, they weren’t her life, they were fake, and she didn’t give a shit about them. Getting as worked up as I did was a small betrayal but one I couldn’t resist. She hated me for it- But still. She was quick to tell me how useless I was when she didn’t oblige. How I would mope for weeks if she couldn’t recite this ‘stupid fantasy’ back. It was the only thing I had, despite promises I’d made to the contrary. We never said it, but we both knew. "What did you see?" I asked, breathless. She dug the heel of her palm into her eye socket, burrowing into it like she’d scrape it off her retinas. “No.” She growled, low. "Adria..." I begged. “NO, Demetrius.” She snatched the blueprints. “I don't have any time for this shit today! I have work to do." “Please.” "Mission. First. Are you going to come with me or not?" The answer was a given. - - - Under the cover of night, we hit the docks. I wasn't given the specifics. That wasn't to imply they did, because they didn't. Wrath demons maximized their shadiness. We never had any idea what we were walking into because Buné expected us to handle it- especially his aspiring lieutenants. There was no hand holding. We had a location, a number, and a time limit. Be a good soldier, and that's all there was to it. Adria corralled us to a neighboring container ship. The ship Buné marked- The Sandfly, an antiquated naval cruiser- bobbed beside us. We were to board, grab our shit, and leave. Casualties didn’t matter. Fifth didn’t care about getting dirty if you had something to show for it. Even so, sneaking past enemy lines didn’t mean a thing when there was friendly fire. She and her ‘team’ had been trading blows the whole way here. One lost a tooth, another revived an ancient blood feud, and a third tried for Adria’s head in a manner that was custom. He was promptly put down. "ENOUGH," Adria slammed him into a metal wall. Spines chipped on impact, and the wall buckled. It wasn’t the first time she cracked a bone on her own soldiers, and she never laid hands on them without leaving something to remember. His wound audibly sizzled and but it was so routine no one revelled in the example. "ALL of you are idiots, but if you want to live, get your shit together NOW. Buné does not care about you stupid peons, and I don’t even remember your names! Do you understand? You're fucking expendable." Three grumbled reluctant acceptance. The forth hissed from the ground. Her patience was thinner than mine. I stood idly by, impassive to the petty demon squabbles. They tended not to mess with me. Not seriously, anyways. They didn't care for me being here. I couldn’t escape errant comments but I never cared about hecklers. Adria abraded anyone who tried harder, and operating under her coriaceous wing meant I learned how to defend myself. Procedural power-grabs out of the way, we moved as a group to board. Those with the spare limbs to do so glided to the bridge with no problem. I needed the extra help- not without snide remarks but Adria shut them up with a heel through their feet. We convened on the other side, up to five injuries before mission start. "I go in first.” She debriefed after egos were bruised, and rebellious spirits squashed. “On my command you will join, one at a time! Any sooner I'll kick your ass back down to Hell. I want us in and out, no showboating. Understood?!" "Yes." They said. No one was ignorant of how important this mission was to her career. She told me on the way here she’d bury anyone who stood in the way. But I was the one interrupting this time. "No-" I said. "Wait." I held a hand to the wall. Nonsensically I felt comfort since boarding- and not because Adria held me by the waist to fly me over. I felt warmth. A metaphysical type. One that replaced the ever-present rotting in my chest I've come to associate with Adria (it’s an acquired taste, psychologists would claim). Whatever this ship was emitting- this cloying homesickness- couldn't be good. My disruption was met with the usual scorn. Special privileges meant I could speak out when others got a boot to the face. She took any input from me during these missions seriously. For reasons that were obvious- I didn't talk much otherwise. "What?" I moved my palm with the wave of energy. The feeling persisted down the entry hatch, and upward, as if part of the ventilation. “Let me go in first. I think it's a trap.” "Of course it's a trap. What else would it be?" The other demoness on our team spat. "Since when is your pet calling the shots?!" "He's going to get us killed." It wasn't unusual for members of her meathead party to be disgusted when I said anything. Perks of sleeping with the boss; I had seniority, even if it didn't align with their thug rules. One bland look and she threw out their objections. "Back off!” She snarled, slapping them behind her.“He's going first." "But-" "No arguing!!" I dipped inside. Their fragile hierarchy devolved into fighting. Stealth was never part of their operation but Adria had been in the game long enough to hold off all four. I padded down the corridor, unconcerned, and tracing the path. The ship was a relic of the past. The whole thing was corroded ceiling to floor, suffering a carmine splattering of rust. Stairs were welded grates, and the doors were embedded with port holes too scratched to see through. It was an asbestos goldmine but I wasn't looking for the ways it'd kill a person. Where the heat ended, the nauseating rot of corruption was back, even if I knew our team was far behind outside. Demons. "-Two of them are in." A radio transponder scratched. Sound feed bounced off the metallic halls. Luckily, I'd been quiet. "She's not." "What's she doing?" Said the room's inhabitant. "Standing guard?" I slid around the door frame. His back was to me. He flicked a lighter in his hand, reclined all the way back in a dubious office chair. On, and off went the flame, prompting me to look above. What I was feeling above was the sprinkler system- conveniently blocked in this room. As tempted as I was to trip a holy water shower, knowing she'd be safe, I knew better. "Yeah." Said the radio. "Seems like it." “She's not one to be a pussy.” "Well she is tonight!" "Maybe she needs encouragement.” He hunched over the command station. It wasn’t modern enough to be outfitted with anything more than ham radio and inscrutable dials. I approached from the behind. I wasn't armed. I never carried anything on me because I never came on these missions to do anything but protect Adria. Anything that could truly hurt her was beyond a pistol or rusty shank. “Shake down one of her lackies, make it real loud. She'll come running." "While you're in there and I'm out here?" The conspirator barked a laugh that crossed the feed like a spike in static. "Hell no. She isn’t known for her patience. Give her time." I wasn't going to. I gripped the back of his chair. Using all 150 pounds to my name, I tipped it. It's wheels spun out from under him. He crashed into the floor, the collision ringing out like gun fire. I took advantage of his momentary disorientation to stomp on his wrist. "What was that?" The disarmed radio chirped, fuzzy. "Was that them? Are they in?" It earned a good kick under the desk. Volume whirred as it spun, revolving on the tile, but safely dispatched. By the time I turned to him, he'd gotten to his feet and was bracing for me. Rigorous training meant I knew how- in theory- to respond to hand-to-hand combat. I was no natural. I didn't have the years of combat these guys did. I didn't have to fight my way out of a sewage pit to survive. I had the eye for one move at a time, not chains. I thoroughly leaned on what she taught me. Eye which foot was forward, recognize where he was putting his weight, while minding my own. So while I was able to lean away from the first hook he threw my way, that's where my advantage expired. The second his fist whirred through the air past me, his leg compensated for the dodge and lobbed the office chair into my knees. No matter the power behind it, in our cramped space with plush seating, that move was good for nothing except bruised knees. She taught me to be skeptical- so as I stumbled awkwardly back, my hands flew up to my face. He hopped the chair. Feinting for another hook, his opposite hand drove heavy punch to my gut. The small, obstacle-ridden area did not give him much of a charging period for momentum but he wasn’t exactly lanky or baby-soft. It hurt- God, it hurt- but pain meant a lot less when you could habitually heal faster than the damned. My block fell to latch onto his forearms. I grabbed him before I could go down. I was winded but he was wailing. I fired them up- I pumped wave after wave of bright energy into his forearms, clinging for dear life. Contrary to the way I set this fight up, I have nothing flashy. Months under her tutelage taught me none of her instinctual killer moves, technique, or style. Maybe for a lack of trying but this was it. My God-given and only finisher- it never failed me before. Why would I stop now? My ribs just stopped aching when he bucked. He took three solid jerks to try to rip my arms out my sockets. All failed when I kicked at knees, and hung off his arms like my next kick was going for his gut. It didn't- he'd drop me, and Adria swore that loss of balance is deadly. Instead I bowed and jumped, headbutting for his jaw. He tucked his head to protect his throat. I got his nose instead, but noted from pitch of the swear, I was doing a whole lot more damage from the arms. I seeked to remedy that. Before I could go for another, he dissolved the height difference and dropped. He twisted- twirling under my arms like a grade school dance. Just when my arms were at the apex (having never let go- his arms were gruesomely soggy in my grip) he jutted up. I arched across his back, then over his shoulder, into the air, and then on the floor. I crashed into the ground dazed, lifting my head just in time for his spined tail to pull a filing cabinet drawer into my temple. It was a miracle I stayed conscious. The collision whited out my vision. Pain lanced through my brain like an electric volt, my head humming. But I didn't need to see him when I could feel him. Those senses worked on another level. I blindly reached out. I found his leg, one hand after the other. Forgoing healing, I devoted every spare bit of Holy power into a lateral pull-up that caved his calf between my fingers. The splitting headache motivated me beyond precedent. His flesh squished, bowing with the pressure fingers exerted like memory foam that didn't bounce back. He collapsed. The muscle was rendered useless, and his cry was ear-shattering through the cellar, and the only thing that pierced the intense ringing in my skull. The lighter fell out of his opposite hand. I swatted that under the desk, too, to join the radio paging frantically for updates. They were right; she would come running when she heard us. I felt her now. "You were going to kill her." I pulled myself to a slouch, hand slipping on the rustle of papers and demon grease of my palms. “You were going to kill her.” He was emerging blearily through the spots in my vision. His hands hovered over his disabled calf, unable to tend to it after I shaped it into an apple core. "What do you care?” He half-cried. “For fuck's sakes, you're the fucking laughing stock of the whole circle. The bitch calls you her pet-" She did that in front of me. "She thinks you're wrapped around her finger!" And she does. Glow from my hands reached my elbows, reflecting in his inverted eyes like cataracts. "Remind me why you care about our relationship?” "Relationship? Is that what you call it?" His leg wobbled. While one arm reached for leverage, the other was after something in his back-pocket. "She's using you. She doesn't love you." She says that to keep up appearances. I followed him to his feet, unconcerned that my vision hadn't fully returned. This fight wouldn’t last much longer. "You were going to kill her." I repeated. "What happens when you fall, huh? What happens when this catches up to you and you aren't worth shit to her anymore? When she has no use for y-" My eyes flicked upward one second before her hand plunged through his neck. Knowing just the way to circumvent his spine, four fingers wiggled through the opposite end of his windpipe. Venom bubbled out his mouth before blood did. Poison seared canals through his lips. Chips of his eroded teeth landed in his lap. His body tipped. "What's with you and talking to them?" She snarled, irritated. She flicked excess onto his back. His final syllables gurgled into the tile, and my power guttered with it. "You were wasting time. You should have taken care of that!" "Sorry," I said, still. I got around to healing my temple, clearing up the humming. Just in case she had anything to refute about what she heard. She didn’t. "What's I say? No time for playing around. Let's go." - - - Shortly after taking care of the riffraff, we had the cargo. It was delivered back to Buné at once. Theoretically this was supposed to prove Adria was competent at not just societal overthrow, but leading too. I didn’t care enough to join that meeting back. I went straight home to cook dinner and mentally prepare for disappointment. When she returned, she slammed the door as per usual. I had dinner on the way, and was wrestling a can opener for dessert. She wasn’t immediately razing the town so it must’ve been good news, despite the firm set of her brow implying the contrary. “What’s the word?” I asked, confused. "My coronation is tomorrow." “...For lieutenant?”

Her promotions thus far have been unceremonious. ‘Now you don’t have to live in the mire,’ ‘Now we won’t beat the shit out of you,’ ‘Now you don’t have to work minimum wage to support a zombie apocalypse.’

"I didn't picture Buné to be one for fanfare." "Yup." "That's- that's great! Isn’t it?" "All that's left now is to get rid of everything holding me back." I frowned. She said it so cold. So sterile, and she hadn’t made eye-contact with me since she walked in. She just threw down her brass knuckles and kicked off her boots under the table.. "-Me?" She snorted. "No, not you." For the barest of seconds I felt relief. With the way fifth worked, that probably meant axing some a big cat, or turf-war over a street above ‘sea level.’ It concerned me as much as any of her new hobbies. But that relief turned to restlessness, and that restlessness to desperation now that we were both here, back in our quiet kitchen, absent of screaming and bloodshed. It was 2 AM and this time was traditionally ours. “What did you see?” I asked. “Earlier I mean.” She glared, snapping out of whatever she was daydreaming about. “You think you deserve that?” I didn’t respond. “You didn’t even take care of the scraps today. You acted like that guy was going to make you cry.” I looked back at her. Looking at her like this used to make her face fall. Back when she felt things like remorse or concern. This Adria held her ground, yielding only when dinner was going to burn. “Whatever. You can make it up to me tomorrow.” “For your coronation…?” “Yes.” She knew how I hated going to demon things. “It’s not going to be in Hell.” She elaborated, when it must’ve been apparent on my face. “Where then?” "Ashwater." I stopped, pot boiling behind me. "...What? How is that what’s holding you back? You want nothing to do with it." "Buné's orders. He wants to make sure. You coming or not?" "Of course.” I said, my conscious late to catch up. Funny how it deteriorates with disuse. “It’s not going to be a team thing, is it? “Nope. You and me. Just how you like it.” “Good.” - - - That night when she showered, I stole her phone. This was double suicide. She'd kill me if she found out, and she'd kill who I was talking to for good measure. If that happened she'd rot in Hell forever, and they would never have a chance. She'd never have a chance. I ducked outside, and shut the sliding glass door behind me. I cowered behind the curtains. Finding the number required an incognito tab. I punched the number through the cracked glass, and prayed for an answer. "C'mon, c'mon, c'mon-" I beat against the balcony rail. It was several painful seconds of ringing, but at the third note, I had an answer. "Hello!" She answered, drowsy. "Ashwater Cottage, Margie speaking!" "Margie!" I cradled the phone with both hands. "I need you to pass on a message. Now." "Huh-?" Her sleepy customer service persona dropped. In the background, a Gilmore Girls rerun muted. "Who is this? I don't understand-" "Get the Kyriakoulopoulos' out of town. I don't care how you do it. I don't care where they go. But get them out of Ashwater. All of them." "What-?" "They are in danger," I swore, wishing she could see my face. I couldn't intone the right amount of peril. Not with Adria listening one thin motel wall away. "But they're in danger if you tell. Trust me on that." "Who is this-?" "It doesn't matter." "Deme...?" She faltered, in disbelief. "Deme? Is that you?" I squeezed my eyes shut. "Just do it. Please. It's their only chance. I don't care if Theo has a gun. It won't help, not against this. It will only make things harder. This is your only warning, for the love of God listen. You're the only one who can help. I trust you." "But, this is- I?" I hung up and blocked the number. - - - The following day we made the drive out to Ashwater. I rode backseat, arms wrapped around her waist. If I had to pick any aspect of our new life to love most, it was this. The very concept of a motorcycle was terror before immortality was in the equation, but this was a way to be close. I learned to love it: it was a way to hang onto her that felt organic. Nothing at all like the way she touched me now. It was a two-hour journey that breaked thirty minutes outside Ashwater. She'd nearly toppled the bike when she jumped off. I held it in place, as she hit up a gas station. She pulled two cans from the saddlebags, and kicked the machine until it caved. It spilled gasoline over her fingers in exchange for a crumpled twenty. "What's this?" "Preparation." I lifted the glass of my helmet. "Preparation?" "Buné says I can't commit without burning some bridges." "Literally, huh." Not necessarily a novel concept in our lives. "Sort of like the hideout?" Her head whipped to me- indignant, before letting it go. Cyrus was never on the discussion table. Any proximity to the subject was too close, but whatever was on her mind disarmed the usual backlash. It gave me a little hope that this is what he meant. Lord knows I'd be more than happy to burn down an elementary school if it meant I was wrong. “Help.” “On it.” Together we straddled four full tanks on the bike. But instead of the compound, our first stop was her old police building. Their town never needed more than two people. It was no surprise when there were no cruisers out front. Cameras were new but our faces were shielded by a thick plate of black plexiglass of our helmets. They wouldn't know how to explain what they saw if they saw it. Demetri and Adria were gunned down at the corner of Lancaster and Franklin. They had a monument in their honor, maybe some ghost stories, but they have been dead for years. Dave, too. She doused the front. She sprayed their unfunded equipment with gasoline.. We watched it burn from the tool shop across the street. Kitschy knick-knacks aside, tourism didn't change the town integrally. Ashwater was asleep by ten. The fire alarm blared, but no one was around for miles. Assistance in arson was no small sacrifice but it’d been gutted of Adria from the inside out. I wondered if she realized the irony of this- burning away a past she supposedly didn't remember. “Why does Buné care about the police station?” I asked, as the front buckled. Electrical equipment I helped fund popped, shooting sparks into the flames. She crossed her arms, staring into the flames. Her expession, unreadable. Adria was never a mystery when it came to her face- I was reading too much into it. There was just nothing there. “It’s not why he cares. It’s why I care.” “You care?” “Not anymore. Come on,” She said, kicking back into gear. “Next stop.” When we moved out to Modena, we didn't leave anything behind. I wondered if she remembered her house on the edge of the property. In her false timeline, it was never hers. She hit the road as a delinquent. In reality it was probably repurposed since her move. Perhaps sold, or given to Celia when she graduated. I wasn't volunteering its existence, and she seemed to ride past it without incident. My gut rolled as we pulled up to her parent's place, though. I was right- even though I was hoping we'd detour. I'd love to burn Cyrus' shit a second time, spit on his memory. I would be just as ecstatic as she was- But she stopped out front, kicking the stand, and parked. No cars lingered in the driveway. There was the daunting possibility Melina's van was in the garage but I needed, needed, to believe Margie worked her magic. "Stop, no." I followed at her heels. My charade broke after she marched up to it in grim determination. "This isn't necessary." "'Isn't necessary'?" She jerked the gas can at the house. Three years ago we enjoyed pie and coffee on the stairs. We listened to Celia's poetry where the gasoline splattered the wood. She was spitefully through, going as far as to break a window for further access. "Those people never cared." "Then why does it matter?" I arced around her as a bodyguard of the front door. "Fuck them. Fuck them all, let's just go. You think he’ll double check a small town in the middle of nowhere? " Tension was heightening. Something snapped. She pitched the empty gas can at the porch, breaking the glass inches from my face. I flinched "SEE? This is what I'm talking about!" She stabbed a finger into my ribs, knocking me back. "This bullshit is why I couldn't get promoted! It's you! It's fucking you! You haven't learned since Mark!" "Me? You said it wasn't-" "Yes, you! You and your stupid, insane sentimentality! This fake life you’re holding onto!" "How is it- NO" She struck a match. I snatched the end in my palm, snuffing it. "Don't." She slapped my hand, grabbed my arm. Bending it in a way it didn’t belong, she slammed me against the door. "What's your hold up, huh?! Spill it.” She threatened. “Give it up. I don’t give a shit about any of this- why do you!" I squirmed. How do I explain? It’s the one thing that’ll bring her back. It’s the last enduring piece of her life that’ll exorcise this monster she’s become. "They cared.” I kept my hands up, placating. "I know you don't want to hear it but they did. J-just go inside. Once. I can see it from the mantle-" I'd burn my whole arm if I had to, I'd throw myself into the fire to spare it. "You'll see the pictures- you don't even go that far ! The halls are covered, Adria. Covered. They have a shrine for you. Remember the school play-? Tree number four? That's how I knew about it." "I DON’T CARE what you think you know! That isn't a thing! It's not a fucking thing, Demetrius!" God, just look to to your left. In the window, where she was smiling. She was missing teeth in a family portrait from the 90's. “LOOK-” "No." Her grip loosened. She lit another, holding it outside of my range. Her nails narrowly clipping it together. "Y-you don't even have to!" My voice cracked. In a spark of courage, I pried her claws and jumped past her. I grabbed the knob. It was locked but that barely can be considered an obstacle compared to the Hell we'd been through. I'd break a window. I'd throw my shoulder out, I'd bust the door in. I'd rob their house, dragging every knickknack onto the lawn like a fucking yard sale to get one memory out of her. Her unhappy childhood wasn't real if there was photos of her playing the recorder at six. She wasn't dead if I could prove she tripped across the stage at her high school graduation, and she wasn't a thug if Melina had clippings framed every time she made the paper thereafter, a hero in their smalltown. "I'll find them for y-" "Don't even think it," she said, icy. "You don't have to come! I'll show you. Buné doesn't have to know-" "NO," She wrenched me inches from her face. "Walking through that door means you're attached to a fucking lie. Are you?" She shook me when I didn't respond. "Are you?! Are you wasting my time?" "No!" "She's dead. You said you understood that so prove it. Prove it, Demetrius." But why are you ignoring the truth? Aren’t you even curious? Don’t you want to see? The look in her eyes said it didn’t even matter. My fingers twitched on the handle. I knew I didn't care if she lit the building with me inside if it meant I had proof. A piece of our past. Hers was a family of love, encouragement, and support that created the most perfect being I knew, but this Adria didn't understand that. Her eyes were heartless and black through the tinted glass. She didn't care if anyone was inside. She didn't check. She’d be just as quick to dismiss cold hard proof as planted evidence of my delusions. Either that, or that Adria was never something she wanted to go back to. I swallowed and let go. My arm dropped to my side. "So." I said, numb. “What's the plan?" She knocked me aside. I stumbled to the other side of the porch. "We get rid of it. Just like the police station." "Great." I said, hollow. "Not so fast." She jammed a tank in my chest. I looked down at it. The acrid scent burned my eyes, even through the helmet. "What?" "This is a test for you." "I don't understand-" "You care a lot more than I do. Clearly." She started at me, cold and hard. I was one wrong answer from failing. “...Fine.” Without taking the time to acknowledge what I was doing, I shook the gasoline over the house. Thinking about it meant I’d see my Adria smiling back. In her uniform, at attention from the living room. My heart twisted. I dropped the light. It went up in minutes. Heat buffeted my face when I lifted my helmet. I hoped physics of some sort would spare the pictures in the frames, maybe a magnet on the fridge but in truth I wasn't looking at them right now. I staggered back to where she was sitting in the dirt. Legs crossed, she watched it burn. We answered everything with fire. It wasn't a stretch to want something out of this. The optimist, opportunist in me says it can't be a waste. I needed something. Anything. Anything that reassured me I didn't sever my own past in the process. I needed to know I wasn't throwing away all physical evidence. Everything that could bring her back. Her memories took shape in the stupidest things. Like a touch at the theater or stupid joke in the car. I pleaded for her to see something . But she watched on with no emotion. No bitterness, no remorse- Nothing. Perfectly blank. Perfectly alien. Her head tilted as we smelled the rubber dripping of Damon and Elyse's bikes, leaning against the side. I breathed in the ash of her destroyed home. I buried my head in my arms. shutting my eyes tight. There was numerous moves I could make here. So many callbacks to the formative flames that made us who we were- 'Fancy meeting you here.' 'Just like that?' Just any time we won. How we reacted with humor, conquest, and of course. Fire. But this wasn't the same. We stayed. We sat there until the roof crashed into the lawn. "Did you wanna know what I saw?" she said, after I'd gone quiet for too long. The smoke in the air was turning to a different scent. Chemical. I imagined this meant the kitchen was up in flames. with it, all of the kid's art, and Melina's recipes. "Yes," I answered, muted. She had removed her helmet. Her green eyes reflected the fire monstrously, until they adopted a brownish tint. Her braid- dark, but not black, fell across her back. Messy, but in the way I remembered it. My heart skipped- the first real thing i felt in a solid hour. "It was a small one." She said. "The first time you held my hand." I picked my head up from the grass, confused. That was not the set-up I used. I brought up her promotion. Usually prying was hopeless. She didn't delve deep into these things, as they were never her life, but I had to try. "Tell me about it." I said, quiet She watched the burning building, hugging her knees. For not remembering her old life, she sure was mimicking it. She looked softer as she tried to recall. But too soft- it was forced. "It was easy.” She said. “I just remember how easy it felt. Carefree." The first time I held her hand I was on a lot of morphine. We both survived a grievous monster attack. Carefree was a funny way to put it. I stayed quiet, before I noticed she wasn’t going to go on. "At...the hospital?" "Yes," she said, too keen. "At the hospital. And what happened after. What she said to you then." My eyes slid to hers, suspicion clawing. She must've known how hard it was to look at her. How much this felt like a continuum of her sick trial. "...The first time she accepted a date, to Jo's? Once we were both patched up?" "Yes." My breath hollowed within my chest. "Yeah." I said, dead. "We always were saying how she had the best coffee in town, didn't we?" "Yup." I buried my face in my hands and laid on the ground, wishing I could sink into the dirt. It took salt in the wound to realize this isn't who I was. I wasn't a man who lived in the past. There was always something new and exciting ahead. I thrived in the moment, and I planned five paces ahead, but this is where I've been months. Disjointed. A fraction of my former self, whittled down into core needs brought out of my by Adria. I am not who I should be and this wasn't who she should be. I needed to go. I needed to cut the dead weight and leave. Today was the last straw- that sick joke was it- She's not there anymore. She was gone. My Adria, the one who always knew what to do, my loving, compassionate, spitfire Adria- would be as disgusted by this monster as I am. And the monster I've become, chasing it. This house was a pyre. A testament to the last chance l had. Adria died in Mark’s basement but I was the one who took every last trace and cremated it. But if there was nothing left for me down here, why was I here? I was doing more harm than good. I could have left her memory in peace. I could have treasured that golden smile, those fond memories, and the way she got high of danger- not sadistically drunk off it. I could have mourned, at left her be in her prime. Instead, those memories were being replaced. They were overwrit by violence. How many times could I watch this Adria cave in a head, before I forget how she'd kiss mine? How many times can I watch her lose her temper, felling the world into destruction behind her before I forgot how she'd cry at pound commercials? How many times can I watch her callously disregard the innocent, before I started to forget how she'd stop at nothing to save them all? At what point is there nothing left of Adria, and I am just as complacent in her murder? The answer should have been never but it was already starting. I aided in the apocalypse. I accepted her deal. I torched her parent's house. I didn't know if she knew what I was thinking or if it was some twisted reward for playing by her rules but she leaned into my shoulder. Her lips were parted, enough to feel the heat of the threat without the intention. I looked to her mouth. Fangs she forgot to hide pressed against the bottom, the pitch black shine reflecting the flame before she licked away the venom. I wasn't looking at my Adria's face. I was staring at a choice: what felt nice versus what was right. But what felt right and what felt right didn't co-exist outside of us. It was learned- and she taught me that yet this year of living off scraps took it back. Without Adria I regressed to where I started: selfish man driven by whims. If I held onto nothing but the way she make me felt, I could have saved her. If I remembered how her embrace was rough, but tender I'd know this Adria was an imposter. If I had held onto nothing except the way she felt against me, I'd reject this monster that gripped me obsessively like a vice. But I didn't. In these long months I forgot it all. I couldn't bring myself to do without, because even a cheap imitation was something. And eventually- everything. I collapsed on the grass, dragged by her hold. She held me against her, rolling until her wings blocked out the firelight. Until the smell of Hell replaced the Melina's singed garden. Until the possessive traction of her lips made me forget I was kissing this demon on Adria's grave I was never going to leave.

[flatstarcarcosa]

our love has found its way into our mouths before

Summary: Three months ago, Slade died. Four days ago, he seemingly returned to life. Van quickly finds that something is amiss, and that strangers can wear familiar faces.  Ship: wilson and wilson at large  Warnings: Mentions of death, suicide, drug use, mentions of/allusions to sex (not direct smut)  Word Count: 2800  Note: tumblr fucked up my formatting yea boooooooiiiii, i’ll fix it later, lmk if it’s Too Bad Too Be Readable 

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The man in front of Van is not Slade.

They know this, logically. He's not their Slade, at least. He looks like him, sounds like him and moves like him, but he's not. He may as well be a stranger, but every time they seem to settle in with the idea of that, they catch him watching them with something so familiar in his gaze that it all goes right out the window. It's been four days since he barged into the house, only to stop dead in his tracks and drop his helmet at the sight of Van standing in the middle of his bedroom. They were wrapped up in one of his sweaters, brushing their teeth and flipping through the early morning news. It took just a few minutes for them to realize something was amiss. As soon as this Slade mentioned his Van being dead, it all made sense. He hasn't said where exactly he's come from, an alternate timeline or simply the future, but Van's leaning towards the former. Why he doesn't want to tell them is beginning to eat at them, but it's not surprising he's being evasive.

It turns out a Slade is a Slade is Slade. He's currently drumming his fingers on the tabletop, one hand holding a beer mug as he tries incredibly hard not to look at them. Van stirs the straw in their rum and sighs, reaching for a cigarette. “So, how'd I do it?” they finally ask, flicking the lighter.

“Do what?” he asks, brow furrowing.  “You said your Van is dead,” they say, “and we both know there's only one way and only one reason why that is.”

“Actually...there's more than one,” he says. Van blinks as he continues. “My Joey is dead, and Rose hasn't been around in ages. I was...not around, either. Ignored a phone call, came back to find the house tore up, a message scrawled on the wall...” “That sounds exactly like when Joey got kidnapped,” Van says. 

“It was eerily similar, yes,” he says. He takes a swig of beer. “You and Joey got along, and Joey used to come over for 'surprise' visits if I was going to be gone for too long. Because I got him killed, he wasn't. Because Rose hates me, she wasn't. And I...”

Slade trails off, turning his gaze and lowering his head a little. Van taps ash into the ash tray and takes a sip of their rum.  “The fact that it wasn't an ambien and benzo cocktail that did me in is the most unrealistic thing you've said so far. But you'd find a way to blame yourself in that scenario, too.”  Slade frowns.  “I'm glad you think it's funny,” he snarls. “Really, it's balm for the wound.”  “I'm not wrong, though,” Van says. “Admit it, you're surprised too.”  “I'm not going to admit to being surprised that you were murdered rather than death by suicide!” he snaps, voice raising and catching a few glances from the other bar patrons.  “Oh, well,” Van says, lacing the words with sarcasm, “excuse me for being unbothered by a different version of me dying! I never expected to live to see 21 in the first place, so you know, I'm not too worried.”  “I know,” Slade growls, “you never fucking were which is why you never listened to me.”  “Still don't, by the way.” They knock back the rest of their rum, and then suddenly start laughing. Slade blinks, confusion clear on his face as they speak again. “Do you realize we're sitting here having an argument about the most in character way for me to end up dead? Like, what kind of next level dumbassery is this?”  For a moment, Slade says and does nothing, seeming to freeze in his anger. Then it eases out of him, and his face softens. He snorts, raising his beer.  “At least it's on brand,” he says.

The almost-laugh is like hearing music, and it crashes down on Van just how empty the last few months have been. They weren't bereft with grief when Joey and Bill had come home to say that Slade was dead-- shot in the head with a Titan's arrow-- because they'd known that he had died before. They weren't around when it happened, but hell, he'd been in the process of faking his death when the two of them met and entered into a relationship. Van's response to the news had been to say “he'll be back”.  Technically, they were right.  Technically, they were also so, so wrong.  They'd been waiting for Slade to walk back through the door. For him to collapse onto the sofa, or the bed, or whatever surface he found Van occupying. They'd been waiting to hear the low groan he'd make in the back of his throat when he came home exceptionally tired, the only warning they ever got right before he passed out so his body could repair whatever damage he'd done to it.

They'd been waiting for so much, and instead they got a stranger wearing a familiar face that pulled a knife on them and demanded they stop playing tricks on him. To top it off, neither Joey nor Bill are answering their texts or calls. They didn't bother to elaborate on the situation, something in their gut is nagging at them to let this play out on its own.  Van sighs and leans back in their chair, staring up at the musty ceiling and willing the rum to work its way into their system quicker. Luck of the Irish, I guess...

If they think about it too long, all they can come back to is that it isn't fucking fair. Maybe it's selfish to disregard the Slade in front of them for being different, but they don't care. They want their Slade, the one they've been side-by-side with for six years, not the one they've only known for four days.

“Now that I think about it,” they say, looking back at him, “how long was your Van around? Here it's been six years.”

“Eight,” he says.  “Ooh, did y'all still meet in Florida? OH, did I still have my car?”  “Stop fishing,” he says, “but yes. And yes. I still have your car.”

“Excuse me for being curious,” they say. They pull out their wallet, tossing the money for the tab on the table before standing. He takes the hint, draining his beer and following them. He watches as they light another cigarette.  “You'd stopped smoking, though,” he says, idly.  “That sounds fake, too,” they say.  “Why would I lie about it?!” he asks, and Van sighs. He's so short tempered. Slade never had a very long fuse to begin with, but this?

They don't know what this is.  “Slade, jesus,” they sigh, “it was a fucking joke. You remember jokes? I do them professionally on the side? Often about your cranky old fucking ass?”  There's venom in the words, and Van has no idea where it came from. Slade feels it too and they both stop walking. The heavy silence between them wraps itself around their necks, threatening to choke them both until nothing remains.  “I'm- this is...” Slade runs a hand down his face, exhaustion tainting every movement.  “It's not fucking right,” Van says. “It's not your fault, even you don't know how you got here, but it's not fucking right. I'm the only one that didn't think you were dead, but more importantly, I'm the only one who even cared enough about you to think that you'd be back. Everyone else was almost relieved to say 'Slade's dead', because it meant they could wash their hands of you without feeling guilty. You push everyone away, constantly, and I'm the only fucking person that doesn't let you get away with it. I'm the only goddamn one that loves you enough to deal with it, and then you go and you fucking DIE on me because you can't leave Damian the fuck alone!”  It's all coming out at once. Van hadn't even realized it was bubbling over this much, and now the top of the pot has blown off to fly in Slade's direction.  They're just happy they can excuse it with the fact that it's not really him.  “I fucking hate you sometimes,” they say. They throw their cigarette at his feet. It bounces harmlessly before fizzling out. “I worked so hard to bring you and Joey together, not for you, but for him. Because I care about him, because I'm never going to and have never had a father and I could see it every time I looked at him how desperately he wanted a relationship with you. I worked so fucking hard to give him something I'm never going to have and then you go and you FUCK his FIANCE.”

Van reaches out and shoves him with as much force as they can muster. He steps back, and they don't look at him.  “Not only do you fuck her behind his back, and mine, but then you have the unmitigated gall to tell him to stop overreacting. You couldn't just be normal, you couldn't just sit him down like a goddamned adult and tell him she was spying on him, you had to play your fucking games. Everything is always a fucking game to you and I hate you for it. Worse, sometimes I think it's myself I should be hating, for being fucking stupid enough to always play into your bullshit because sometimes you smile at me and laugh at my jokes.”

They go to shove him again, their anger getting the better of them at the last second and instead they end up punching him in the chest. They bring a fist back and punch him again, and again, and again and for his part, he lets them.  “Then you just fucking die, because of course you do!” They're screaming, in public, and they don't care. “Why should you ever face the consequences of your own fucking bullshit, right? That's what you keep all of us around for! Acceptable causalities.” Slade says nothing. He doesn't even move.  It makes Van angrier.  “Say something!” They bang their fists against his chest.  He doesn't.  They don't have the energy to hit him again. He cups their face in his hand, a calloused thumb brushing against their cheek and it feels alien and familiar all at once.  “I'm sorry,” he says. “I...I never told you enough. I never told anyone enough but you're the only one it would have counted for.”  “Yeah well, I'm dead, remember?”  “So am I.”  God, what kind of fucked up irony.  Van finally looks up at him as they reflexively lean into his touch. The weighted silence is still there, it's grip loosened just enough to allow them both to breathe for a bit. Enough to breathe, not enough to think. If they were thinking, they would know what happens next isn't going to end well for either.  Then again, maybe they do know. Disregarding common sense to plunge headfirst into fleeting whims has always been one thing they have in common.  Slade presses his lips to Van's and they offer no resistance as he pulls them flush against him. There's a deep, ravenous hunger in his actions that they're all too eager to fill. It occurs to them that when he'd answered eight years in response to how long his relationship with his Van had been, he didn't mention how long it's been since his version of them had died.

Too long is their only guess.  Van doesn't take notice of how they get back to the house, but they know it's enough steps and enough time to pump the breaks. They also know they don't want too. They don't care now, they don't care that it's not their Slade. They don't care that this Slade seems so much more damaged, so much more raw than the one they had just a few short months ago.  All they care about is that it is some form of him. They care that he smells the same, that he moves the same, that his weight feels the same on top of them. He explores their body as if he's never seen it before, leaving a trail of marks in his wake. He scrapes his teeth against their skin, giving a notation here and there about the differences from the last time he'd seen his version of them.  His fingers trail over their pelvis, and they feel him grin.  “No hysto yet, huh?”  They let out an annoyed huff, digging their nails into his shoulder blade.  “That's what you're worried about?” they ask.  “You feel a lot better after, is all,” he says, gripping their thighs and nudging their legs apart. It doesn't take much work on his end for Van's mind to fade into static, but then again, it never did. He always knew how to get their ever-collapsing thoughts to settle into place, even if only for a few hours.  This time, they don't remember falling asleep. One moment they're awake, pressed into the mattress and near tears as hormones and emotions flood their system and the next they're waking up to the sun piercing in through the window. They find themself wrapped in his arms, snuggled into the crook of his neck and their first thought is no. 

No, they don't want to be awake, and no they don't want time to move forward and no they do not want to deal with the situation they've created. They want to go back to sleep, and they want to go back to sleep with the knowledge that he's here and he's him and that nothing is wrong-- no matter how false the knowledge may be.

They can't. 

They know they can't, but the desperate burning need for it is enough to bring tears to their eyes and for a moment they wonder what life would be like if the damn dog had never taken off that day so many years ago. They wonder where they'd be right now if they'd never had a reason to take notice of his presence in their building. 

If wishes and buts...  Finally, reluctantly, they disentangle themself from his embrace. They pull his discarded shirt on and pick their cellphone out of their jacket. It's time to elaborate now, it's time to get some outside help. What good the help might be they have no idea, they just know they shouldn't be trying to handle this alone. Joey's phone goes straight to voice mail, and frustration begins bubbling in their gut as they listen to his greeting.  “Joey,” they choke out, padding across the living room and into the kitchen. “I don't know what's going on with you, or Bill, or Rose, but I need one of you to fucking call me back before I lose my goddamned mind. It's about your dad...it's about Slade. Something--” they pause to take in a breath, dragging their hand through their hair-- “something's going on and I need- I need one of you to please...help me.”  Van ends the call and tosses the phone onto the kitchen table. Joey not getting back to them is starting to get to them. Whether it was fate, or just luck, Van and Joey got along from the minute they met. They like to think if they'd met him under different circumstances they'd have still ended up friends. All these years and they've always tried not to drag Joey into any problems with Slade, but this is most definitely extenuating circumstances.  It worries them as well. Joey's been through a lot lately, and the longer they go without hearing from him, the more they worry he's relapsed.  “I can't deal with this,” they mumble. They decide to busy themself for the time being, and dig out the coffee maker. They shuffle around the kitchen, pulling out the grounds and the filters, and they get a nasty surprise when they pull out the pot and find they forgot to wash it the last time they used it.  Slade was always the one that double checked that. They blink away new tears as they scrub at it with more force than necessary.

They're leaning against the counter, watching the coffee drip into the pot when a pair of arms wrap around their waist to pull them close enough to nuzzle their hair. Before Van can react they hear a familiar, truly familiar exhausted groan in their ear.  “Next time I run off to get myself killed, I'll let you know beforehand,” Slade says.

He presses a kiss to the top of their head and reaches around them for a coffee mug, leaving them blinking like a dazed animal caught in a pair of headlights. Slade fills the cup and steps away, falling into a kitchen chair and frowning over his drink. He's staring at them with two eyes, and there's not a trace of his usual beard on his face. His hair hangs over his ears, the shaggy locks nearly touching his shoulders and looking nothing like the buzz cut that he—the other him has been sporting.  “What's wrong?” he asks. What's wrong?  What's wrong?

Oh... so many, many things.

[catsundercherryblossoms]

A Christmas Kiss// HFP special ❣️🎄

Summary: The 104th cadets have a little celebration… a little too much celebration.

*Note: You don’t have to read my series/fic to understand this. It can be read as a stand-alone Eren x OC imagine. For those of you who have read HFP, this takes place somewhere between chapters 2-3* 

And of course, I’m late for everything, so I do apologize that its already been 3 days after Christmas... oops!

Happy reading (:

//Christmas morning//

“So… what do you want for Christmas, Jo?” Reiner asked.

We were sat at the lunchroom, in the middle of breakfast. I looked up from my porridge and raised an eyebrow. “Isn’t it too late to be asking that?”

Reiner shrugged. “Eh, I can still pull some strings. Just tell me what you want.”

“Some peace of mind.” I put simply. The idea of people getting me a gift was… weird. This has got to be the first time someone proposed getting me something for a special occasion. Jean is the only person to have made such a gesture like that in the past. Usually for Christmas or Valentine’s day, he’d make me a flower crown out of random wildflowers he’d find around town. Back then we were kids and we couldn’t afford anything better. I loved each and every one he made for me, though. Then, of course, we signed up for the cadet corps, and he hasn’t done it ever since.

Point is, I don’t know how to accept kind gestures from people.

Reiner waved me off and turned to Annie. The kind of wave that hints he’s not ready to give up yet. “What about you, Annie?”

She didn’t even look at him. “For Christmas?”

“Yeah.”

“I want you to stop being a—“

BANG! The doors flew open, slamming against the walls.

“Ho, ho, ho!” A woman I’d never seen before in my life strolled in. Everyone’s eyes were on her, confused. She wore glasses, carried a large red sack over her shoulder, and walked forwards with a bounce in her step.

I didn’t know who she was. I just knew it was too early for someone to be this cheerful.

“Hello, cadets! Wow, good turnout this year. Lots of fresh faces!” She said loudly, “I’m Hanji Zoe, a squad leader in the brave and mighty Survey Corps! I’m sure you’ve heard of them.”

“We’ve heard the death rates.” Someone— probably Jean— mumbled a few tables away.

She either didn’t hear him or decided to ignore it. She continued like nothing, “Anyway, I’ll be Santa Claus this year. I’ve got hand-knitted gifts for each of you to keep you warm! But first, I’ll be introducing you to my elves!”

“Elves?” I muttered. No offense to this lady, but it doesn’t take an idiot to know this was all a publicity stunt to promote the Survey Corps and get us interested in joining them. It’s like luring a baby with candy. Except the candy is death. And babies don’t like death.

“C’mon!” She beckoned to a presence outside, which turned out to be four people. They were dressed in elf costumes, the tips of their floppy hats jingling with a shiny gold bell. What was priceless was their faces. It was blatantly obvious that they didn’t want to be here.

Snickers spread across room. I heard Jean wheezing and banging his fist on the table.

“This is Eld, Gunther, Oluo, and Petra.” The lady, Hanji, indicated to each as she said their name. She then turned to us with an exaggerated pout. “Humanity’s Strongest, also known as Corporal Levi, was supposed to be here today but I’m afraid he couldn’t show up because of unexpected paperwork—“

“He didn’t come cause he didn’t care.” Oluo interrupted dryly.

“Shhh, you sourpuss! They don’t need to know tha—“

“Hanji,” Gunther said, nodding towards us as a whole. “They’re waiting.”

“Oh, right.” She set down the red sack and opened it. “Presents!”

Hanji and her four elves went around the lunchroom giving out presents, which consisted of mittens, scarves, and sweaters. Oh and you could tell they were hand-knitted, alright. They were lumpy, deformed, and the sweaters were especially scratchy. Some thought the gesture was cute, others held their items awkwardly like they didn’t know what to do with them, and others excused themselves from the table before the elves could get to them.

Hey, I’m not one to let myself be buttered up this way, but I at least pretended to be listening while Hanji listed out the “benefits” of joining the Survey Corps. Stuff like “you’ll be fighting for humanity” and “helping create a better future”, completely skidding around the fact that you’re most likely going to die while doing it.

Needless to say, Eren was the first to put his sweater on. What a tool...

“Well? What are you waiting for?” Reiner said once I had received my sweater, wrapping his own blue scarf around his brawny neck. He obviously thought this was very funny.

“Not a chance.” I said, holding the sweater in my lap. It was three sizes too big and a blinding red, with gold accents. I’d look like a ridiculous ornament in it.

“Oh, don’t be like that. Pleeaaasee? For me? Look, Bert’s got his mittens on.”

I looked at Bert, who was currently —and nervously— trying to free a finger he had gotten caught in the stitching.

“Annie, where’s your scarf?” Reiner asked, trying to find a good example.

“I fed it to Sasha.”

“What? Sasha doesn’t eat— you know what, never mind. I wouldn’t be surprised...” Reiner shook his head, turning to me again. “C’mon Jo. Have a little Christmas spirit.”

“I think that’s asking for too much. We both sold our souls.” Annie said, giving me a subtle wink.

I looked at Reiner helplessly. “She’s not wrong.”

“Heh.” Someone scoffed behind me.

Ugh, what now? I turned around and saw none other than Eren Jaeger, looking down at me in disapproval. He folded his arms over his chest stuffily. “I can’t believe someone can be so arrogant as to not accept a gift.“

By now, Hanji and her Survey Corps elves had packed up and left unnoticed.

“Who says I’m rejecting it? I just don’t want to wear it right now.” I said irritatedly. God, he had a talent for getting on my nerves.

He wasn’t buying it. “Oh please,” he said exasperatedly, “there’s no need for charades. Just admit you and Jeanie-boy have a superiority complex.”

“Hey!” Jean perked up.

That’s it. I slammed my hands on the table, getting up. “You got a problem, Jaeger?”

“Only with stuck-up people who worship the military police!” He fired back.

I stepped closer, not fazed by the fact that he was a foot taller. “I’ll beat up your ass one more time, suicidal blockhead.”

“Is that so, egotistical midget?”

“What will it take for you to believe me?”

“I don’t know— prove it!”

“Fine!” I took the damn sweater and pulled it over my head, letting it drape down to my knees. By now the whole lunchroom was watching as I angrily stepped onto my chair to gain some height, facing him smugly, itchy and with hair all ruffled from static. “There. Happy now?”

One giggle. Two giggles. Next thing I know everyone is gushing, saying stuff like awwww and so cute! I looked around in disgust. Do they think this is amusing? What the fuck am I, some kind of baby zoo animal?

Eren just stared at me in surprise, mouth agape. Strangely enough... a blush tinted his cheeks.

Don’t tell me... ugh, not him too.

I rolled my eyes and took off the sweater, balling it up and throwing it back on the table. How embarrassing.

The doors flew open again. “Alright, you maggots!” Instructor Shadis said, “Out on the courtyard! FIFTY LAPS!”

Everyone started streaming out the door, making noises of complaint. Eren walked away without another word and I did too, heading out with Annie by my side.

“Say goodbye to people taking you seriously as a soldier.” Annie smirked.

I groaned, knowing she was right.

*

*

*

//Later that night//

We waited anxiously for Sasha to come back. Connie chewed his nails, probably planning out his eulogy for his friend’s funeral, which was sure to happen if she got caught.

We didn’t think it was possible, but Sasha actually managed to come up with her stupidest idea yet. This exceeded all her other stupid moments, including eating a potato in front of the Instructor’s face. The girl manages to beat her own record every day.

Sasha proposed we stay up past curfew and have a festive gathering in the girls dormitory. Oh, and steal a liquor bottle from Instructor Shadis’s office. Everyone tried to convince her to calm down, but she was dead set on us having some holiday fun, so she went ahead and left on a mission to get that liquor.

It’s been fifteen minutes since then. And here we are, already mourning.

The boys were here too. Those who were invited made the brave journey and, surprisingly, did not get caught by the Instructor’s nightly patrol. Who were they exactly? Bertholdt, Reiner, Marco, Connie, Jean, Armin, and... Eren freaking Jaeger.

I didn’t look at him and he didn’t look at me. It was better that way.

We heard footsteps and a light knock on the door. If it’s the Instructor... we’re all in deep shit. Nobody moved, nobody breathed. Mikasa carefully pushed aside the curtain and peered through the window. “She’s back.”

Connie and Krista scrambled towards the door, unlocking it and opening it wide for Sasha. The brunette walked in casually as though she had just gotten back from a midnight stroll. She smirked and raised the liquor bottle high and proud for us all to see. Several people whooped and cheered. Annie and I just shared glances. Well... at least she was safe.

Sasha popped the cork off the bottle. “Who’s up for a round of truth or dare?”

//One Hour Later//

What started out as one round turned into seven rounds. Everyone seemed to be enjoying the game. Me, not so much. Watching other people enjoy the game was good enough entertainment for me, but I refused to participate and get dared to lick the bottom of my shoe, or worse, lick somebody. So I remained comfortably nearby with Annie and Mikasa, watching people make fools of themselves, taking a swig of the raunchy liquor whenever the bottle was passed around.

“Truth or Dare, Ymir.”

“Truth.”

“Is it true you like girls?”

“... Do ya’ll hear sumthin?”

That night was the night I discovered I could handle alcohol with no problem.

It was also the night I discovered Eren is a lightweight.

“My turn,” He hiccuped. “Truth or dare.”

“No, Eren. We ask you truth or dare.”

“Oh yeah.”  

Eventually, we moved on to a game of spin the bottle, seeing as some people kept mixing up truths and dares. This one I was forced to sit through. Literally. Sasha forced me to sit in a circle with them and we spun the bottle. Fifteen minutes in, and everyone had kissed or slapped pretty much everyone. Except me. Luck appeared to be on my side because the bottle hadn’t landed on me once. Thank goodness...

“There it goes...” Connie said as he spun the bottle.

The bottle slowed down to a stop, pointing towards Eren and Jean.

“Alright, Jean.” Connie yawned. We were all getting tired. “You have to slap Eren. Or kiss... you know, whatever you’re into.”

“Gladly.” Jean said and he pulled back his sleeve, about to swing.

Realizing he was a little too enthusiastic, it took a few of us to hold him back, and so we skipped them and spun the bottle again. This time it landed....

You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.

“Ooooh, now thats the kind of stuff I wanna see!” Connie said deviously. “Eren! You have to kiss or slap Johanna!”

Such a proposition made Eren snap out of his drunken reverie and look sober again. “What? I can’t slap—“

“Hell no. Don’t even try it, hotshot.” I said, trying to sound tough despite feeling my face heat up.

“Oh pleeeaaaseee?” Krista said, putting on puppy eyes. “Just one little kiss, it won’t mean anything!”

“Yeah, I wouldn’t mind seeing this.” Annie said with a shrug. Mikasa nodded in agreement.

The peer pressure surmounted and next thing I know, people were pushing us closer together. I’m sure my face must’ve looked like a tomato at this point. Maybe if it were anyone else it would be easier. But its Eren loud-mouth suicidal blockhead Jaeger…

Things were getting out of hand. If the commotion got any louder we would get found out for sure, and Instructor Shadis would make us run until our legs snapped in half.

“Fine, fine!” I huffed and looked at Eren, who seemed ready to shit himself. “Just get it over with.”

He leaned in. My stomach fluttered and I closed my eyes.

WHUMP!

A loud noise startled us all. Eren and I jumped apart, the moment officially ruined.

Sasha was on the floor face-down. We looked at her and then at the bunk beds, absolutely bewildered. Did she…

“Sasha, what the hell?” Ymir said. Her and Krista helped the brunette get up. “Did you dive off the top bunk?”

“I wanted to see if I could fly…” she whined, leaning on them for support. Looks like Eren wasn’t the only lightweight here.

Connie sighed. “Well, the party animal has been defeated. I think its time we call it a night, guys.”

Everyone agreed and in a manner of minutes, all the boys had said their goodbyes and Merry Christmas’s, filing quietly and stealthily out of the dormitory. I pretended not to notice, but I could’ve sworn I saw Eren steal one last glance at me before closing the door. Whatever… I tried not to think about it too much.

“Oh, well. Looks like the perfect Christmas kiss was between Sasha and the floor.” A ginger-haired girl, Hannah, said and stretched. We were all exhausted and eager to go to sleep.

“Yeah.” I said with a little smile, slipping into bed. Thanks to Sasha, I guess tonight was kind of fun.

The second my head hit the pillow, I felt an odd lump. That’s weird… I sat up and lifted my pillow, confused, only to find an unexpected surprise.

It was a flower crown. Adorned with baby’s breath, poppies, and daisies. My heart melted a bit, knowing exactly who it was from. He must’ve slipped it under my pillow sometime during the game. I unfolded the note besides it.

Its been a while...

Merry Christmas,

-Jean