#blue suede couch

[vieformidable]

The ONE time a blue suede couch works in a library. 😂😂

Okyuraxarie

[coolwyous]

┈─★ 𝘪 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨'𝘴 𝘨𝘰𝘯𝘯𝘢 𝘣𝘦 𝘢𝘭𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 ( 𝙮𝙤𝙪'𝙧𝙚 𝙢𝙮 𝙜𝙤𝙡𝙙𝙚𝙣 𝙝𝙤𝙪𝙧 .) / pt ii.

         ⊹ ࣪ ˖ a few years after the worst heartbreak you've ever known, you're back at the ranch for one week to pay your respects after your grandfather suddenly passes away. you're convinced you're over the stupid farmhand that made you swear off love— until of all people, megan skiendiel shows up at your door, same hat, same boots, same sad brown eyes.

         ˎˊ˗  🌾  ⊹ ࣪ ˖  🔓୭˚.  ⠀ ᵎᵎ ⠀ 🗝️

   ➴ pairing: cowboy! megan skiendiel x f!reader

          ➴ genre + wc: 12k, modern cowboy!au, exes to lovers, jealous + protective bf megan wahhh, explores themes of grief, slice of life, small town vibes, MILD angst, we KILL the cowboy (jk happy ending i swear!!)

   ➴ you might want to tune in...: 𝗢𝗦𝗧: golden hour - kacey mustgraves. ♫ 𝗔𝗖𝗧 𝗜: i don't trust myself (with loving you) - john mayer. ♩ 𝗔𝗖𝗧 𝗜𝗜: still your girl - gamma skies. ♫ 𝗔𝗖𝗧 𝗜𝗜𝗜: wait by the river - lord huron. ♩ 𝗘𝗡𝗗 𝗖𝗥𝗘𝗗𝗜𝗧𝗦: superglue - role model. ♫

          ➴ 𝗽𝗮𝗿𝘁 𝗶 can be found here. ᵎᵎ

  cw:// suggestive scene, mentions of death (parent/grandparent.)

your skin crawls being there. same place, 3 years later. 

“sorry we couldn’t get you from the airport,” your uncle apologizes.

“it’s okay. the train wasn’t all that bad.”

“it’s so nice to see your face round here again. wish it was under better circumstances.”

you’re not quite sure how to respond. when your grandfather passed away suddenly, your parents did nothing but argue about who would come to represent your family at the funeral. both insanely busy with their own jobs, the role fell to you, much to your protest. but considering his money was what was going to fuel you through your future goal of med school, you had little room left to argue.

(after all, you’d also promised yourself you’d never mention a word of what that summer did to you, and that was a promise easily kept.)

now here you are, back at the place you swore you’d never return to, trying to get through the week unscathed.

“who are they?” you ask, motioning to the two random boys working together to take your bag into he house. they stumble over themselves, struggling to get the handle to tuck away.

“just some sorry excuses for cowboys,” old pete spits. “ever since the kid left, we needed the hands. but they ain’t much help.”

the implication isn’t lost on you. they needed two guys to do what megan did by herself. 

“y/n,” your aunt’s voice cuts in, sounding worried. “your uncle should tell you-”

“i don’t want to talk about it,” you cut her off, knowing already by the tone where this is headed.

“she doesn’t want to talk about it,” your uncle reiterates, shrugging.

-

you’re napping on the sofa by the open window to enjoy the mountain air breeze when a rustle outside stirs you. you hear the crunch of gravel, some footsteps making their way up to the porch, and a thud as someone sits in the old rocking chair.

“use the truck as long as you’re here, you get that old thing to run better than anyone. thank you again for coming,” your uncle’s voice is muffled against the hum of the cicadas. 

“don’t mention it.”

you feel a jolt through your spine. you know that stupid voice.

(worse, you remember that stupid phrase. her first words to you.)

you leap off the couch and see her clearly through the window.

she’s leaning against one of the posts of the patio fence, arms crossed over her chest, a suede jacket and blue jeans with those stupid boots and that stupid fucking hat.

you feel immeasurable rage bubble up and out of your chest, and before the sense can kick in, you’re racing past the front door and pushing her backwards full force, sending her toppling backwards off the railing and onto the dirt.

those brown eyes look up at you, wide and full of confusion as she processes what’s going on, and you feel instantly sick to your stomach as you take her in. three years weren't enough to forget every feature of her face, and you ache realizing that her eyes are heavier, the creases between her brows deeper, and her smile lines faded.

(she’s older now, and granted you are too, but years ago, you were dreaming of being the one to grow old with her.)

“you’ve got some fucking nerve showing up here,” you spit.

if you were half a screw more unhinged, you’d slap her then and there, but a part of you knows a girl who takes beatings from thousand-pound cattle or pissed off horses would probably hardly even flinch at you.

she rises to her feet slowly, the patio fence the only thing between the two of you. she dusts off her jeans and eyes you with uncertainty. you want to be in her face again, but she mirrors your movement like a wrangler watching a bull, careful and calculated. for every bit you lean to move towards her, she leans away.

“y/n…” your uncle tries to quell you, standing up from the chair.

“you didn’t even go to your mom’s own funeral and you’re coming to my granddad’s, who you barely fucking knew?” you blurt, barely able to contain yourself as you stumble over your own feet. “what kind of stupid fucked logic is that?” 

her jaw goes hard, and she pulls the brim of her hat down to cover her eyes from your view. she waves curtly to your uncle and makes her way over to the truck, and it fills you with rage to see her drive away down the road so easily. 

“i tried telling you–” your uncle starts, but you don’t want to hear it. you sprint back upstairs into your room and lock the door, trying to calm your racing heart.

it’s just a week, but it might as well be another summer in hell.

-

they know not to ask you about her. 

“i wouldn’t recommend the fields tonight, stay here,” your aunt tells you gently, seeing you pull a jacket over your shoulders as you make your way downstairs, having been holed up in your bedroom since last night’s interaction.

but if anything, that pisses you off more, this stupid girl won’t be the reason you’re stuck inside all day, and you take a horse out through the property to clear your mind. 

(maybe you’ll be less stubborn next time.)

you recognize her instantly once you see her in the steer pen, beer can in one hand, crushed cans littering the fence post where her jacket is hanging and the horse is tied to. your first instinct is to turn around, but your hands stay firm on your horse’s reins instead of backing the two of you out of there. 

you can see her outline faintly against the sunset. she’s waving her hat in the steer’s face, taunting the beast intentionally, dipping out of his way as soon as it starts to run towards her. 

a one-man bullfight. 

as soon as you get your horse finally turning, deciding you’ve had enough, you see her trip over the heel of her boot, slipping and landing back-first into the ground. the steer, seeing red, starts to run directly towards her.

you feel your stomach lurch. as angry as you are, a half ton creature crushing her is probably not the revenge you were seeking.

you dismount quickly and run straight up to the fencing, waving your hands wildly.

“hey! hey you!” you scream at the bull, the desperation in your voice apparent. it breaks the silence between the bull and megan, and breaks his concentration briefly. he turns to look at you, realizing you’re behind the fence, and then turns back towards his previous victim.

but megan, as much as you hate her, is quick on her feet to scramble out of the pen and roll underneath the fence post, her chest heaving as she escapes the near-death experience. 

she’s wobbly as she gets to her feet, breathing heavily still. she grabs her hat off from the ground and dusts it off.

“thanks for rescuing me.”

“you’re selfish as shit, for so many reasons, but getting yourself killed by a cow on the week of my grandpa’s funeral would be another notch on your stupid belt.”

“not my best idea,” she wrinkles her nose, and you feel rage boiling from beneath your skin. 

“drunk, stupid cowboy.” you shove into her, feeling the hot tears threaten the corners of your eyes. 

“you loved this drunk, stupid cowboy, once,” she bites back immediately, faster than you had ever expected, and her voice is strained, as if she’s been screaming or yelling. 

or crying. 

you say nothing and turn around, mounting back on your horse to leave. 

she says nothing, but you hear the crunch of the metal beer can beneath her boot. 

-

“you said she stopped living here,” you tell your uncle over dinner that night. you try to be calm, but your tone changes the words into an accusation instead of a comment. 

“she did,” he tries to reassure you. “she came into town for the service.”

“is that where bruce went?” you question, having noticed only tilla’s presence on the property. “you let him leave with megan?”

“who’s bruce?” one of the replacement farmhand boys asks dumbly, and old pete simply slaps the back of his head to chastise him for interrupting.

“she needed him more than we did,” he insists. “i felt bad splittin’ the two up. she sends me pictures of him every week.”

“you guys still talk?” you feel the back of your neck light on fire. isn’t your family supposed to have your back? “is that how she found out about grandpa?”

“your grandpa loved that kid, said she respected the land, understood it,” old pete interjects, seeing your uncle clearly drowning under your line of questioning. “they talked even after she quit workin’ here.”

“the service is on sunday, like he would have wanted, and then they read his will on wednesday when your cousins all get here,” your aunt reminds you, as if it’s supposed to offer you comfort. 

“i don’t want to be stuck seeing her.”

“that might be hard,” your uncle rubs the back of his neck, avoiding your gaze. “she agreed to come help out on the property for a few days, just while we arrange everything—”

“you’re joking,” you blurt. “but those new boys are living in her old room.”

“she’s staying in the old log cabin up the road by the stables. you aunt never let us go in there cause of how cold the nights get, but meg figured out the wood stove and where the smoke was leaking from, that damned kid. always so sharp.”

“y/n, you leave in a week, and it’s not like she’s living in the house and having family meals with us. i know it’s not ideal, but…” your aunt tries to console you, but you’ve already stood up by the time she trails off.

you take your plate up to your room and finish dinner with your book in silence. your aunt’s words ring in your head. just get through the week.

-

the next day, thursday, you’re going stir-crazy by mid-day. you’re tired of being holed up in your room since the sunrise. 

if you run into megan, you’ll simply walk away. free will, or whatever. you deserve the right to go explore and find closure, and then never think of this place again.

and somehow, despite the hundreds of acres the property owns, you’re reading up against the fencepost, trying to enjoy the summer sun and the smell of the clean mountain air through the tall grass, and you hear a quiet hum. that gentle, soft hum that had once calmed every pressing worry in your body.

megan’s words ring through your ears.

you loved her, once.

“y/n,” she breathes, recognizing you as she walks along the trail, hands in her pocket.

“what do you want?” you ask, watching as she approaches cautiously. 

“i owe you an apology,” she tells you, kneeling down to be at eye level, still keeping a fair amount of distance between the two of you. her statement catches your attention.

you don’t owe her forgiveness, but part of you needs the closure. 

“i’m listening.”

she takes a deep breath, her eyes avoiding yours. her hands wring together, as if she’s rehearsed this and is nervous to forget her lines. 

and then she opens her mouth, and your heart sinks.

“i took advantage of you that summer, when you were lonely. that was shitty and irresponsible of me. i should have known better. i’m sorry.”

you feel the bile rise up in your throat. you weren’t sure what to expect, but surely this was the worst possible thing to come out of what she could say. that was the last possible perspective you’d have taken about that summer, the way you two grew closer by equal parts proximity and shared time getting to know each other, like two opposites discovering just how much they balanced the other out.

“that’s how you’re looking at this?” you ask in disbelief. 

“i was the only person around your age for miles,” she shakes her head, still avoiding your gaze. 

“you are so full of shit,” you breathe, completely unable to say more than that. “my god.”

“sorry, y/n.”

“you know, i was hoping when my uncle said you’d left, that you’d gone and done some reflecting and growing and there would be even a chance at closure with you.” you stand up, worried if you stay seated any longer, you might pen up too much energy and try to push her again. “but you haven’t changed at all.”

you’re half expecting her to defend herself, but instead, she simply tilts her head looking up at you from where she’s still sitting.

“what, like you’ve changed?”

you scowl at her. “i’m a completely different person than i was back then.”

“tiger can’t change its stripes,” megan says simply. “people don’t change.”

“but they grow,” you cut back quickly, feeling the anger threatening to boil over. “and if you don’t grow, you die sad and alone, which is what’s going to happen to you while i go off and live my life.”

you see megan’s brow twitch.

“and i’ll go off and live it with someone who isn’t scared to be in love with me, ‘cause that’s what i deserve, and that wasn’t you,” you continue, before turning on your heel to start walking away. you’d give anything to make sure she doesn’t see you cry. “i don’t deserve someone who minimizes it or writes it off or runs away from it.”

you hear the crunch of her boots against the dirt as she gets up and catches up to you easily, her voice ringing out from behind you.

“sorry for minimizing it.”

“it’s fucking gross for me to talk about it, but i’m not afraid to admit it like you are. i loved you so much and i genuinely pictured the future with you, and to hear you talk it down to me just being lonely and young— i hate thinking that’s what you think of me.” you stop briefly, trying to shake your head to stop the tears from continuing. “you ruined everything.”

but then she reaches out to grab your wrist, and the contact makes your whole body illuminate with electricity. her grip is gentle, but so unbelievably strong. her eyes are finally seeking yours, her gaze hard and serious, as if she’s flipped a switch.

“did you find someone else while you went home?” she asks, her voice low.

“who cares if i did?” you yank your arm out of her grasp. “i wanted it to be you.” 

“i care,” she says weakly, and you decide you’ve had enough. 

whatever version of megan you might’ve loved is long gone.

“no you don’t care. all you care about is protecting yourself.” you leave your book there, deciding you’ll come back for it another time, and turn on your heel to walk back towards the lodge. “i’m leaving. i’ll see you at the funeral, then i can’t wait to never fucking think about you ever again. bye megan.”

-

one of the trees by the creek catches your attention as you walk back to the lodge, trying to clear your head of thoughts of the ginger. 

there’s a little notch carved into the side of it, like a tally mark.

you turn around the tree and notice that the whole thing is notched. carefully scratched tally marks as high as you can reach, down to the very bottom, made by a hunting knife or a swiss army knife or something.

you keep walking straight back to the lodge. you could swear you hear something like your name being called out behind you, but you chalk it up to the wind and leave it where it lays.

-

friday morning, two days before the funeral service. you’ve managed to find a rhythm where you move fast enough around the property to not get caught up enough to run into megan again. this time, you’re rustling around in the wooded area by the field, hoping to figure out where the hell your book ended up.

you hear the faint rustle of leaves, and then a quiet set of yips and yelps. your legs go numb as you recognize the pattern— megan had taught you how to recognize the noises of different animals, and coyotes sound an awful lot like what you’re hearing around you.

“hey pete?” you call out, trying to see if your sounds can potentially scare them off. “pete?” 

“not funny,” you yell a little louder, your voice shaking slightly. you hear the yelps getting louder, a bit closer, and you try to ramp up your yells, clapping as well. “get outta here! go!”

the noises only come closer, and you wish you would have come prepared with some bear spray or something to get out of this, but before you can worry too much, there’s a rapid sound of crunching twigs through the woods.

someone is running to you.

you can only hope it’s pete, or your uncle, but the ginger hair is quickly colliding into you, landing the both of you into the dirt. you can’t hear the animals any more, and figure it was megan’s chaotic racket that scared them off. 

“you okay?” she asks quickly, her arms holding her up to hover over you.

“get off of me,” you huff, trying to push off her shoulders.

she steps away, and you see the fresh rips in her jeans, the scuffs on her boots, and the briars all stuck to her.  

you look back from where she had run– a thicket of bristles, and you see the barbed wire just a few yards behind.

“what did you do?” you question, trying to piece it together.

“i might’ve gotten caught up in one of the wire fences when i heard you. came running, probably should have been more careful,” she admits, staring down at her ruined pair of levi’s.

“don’t do that again,” you threaten, but your heart abandons you. the near-miss with the bull was enough. you can’t risk unpacking the pain of something happening to her.

“okay,” she breathes simply. she searches for something in her back pocket, and retrieves your book. “this is yours.”

she leaves the book next to you, and turns to disappear back into the treeline.

-

friday evening. you’re face to face with the pond. the air is sticky, oppressively hot even as the sun comes down, and you decide you’re not afraid of anything if you’re able to face all these memories of megan and make it out in one piece.

you don’t exactly want either of the new boys watching you strip down to your underwear, so you tell yourself you can teach yourself how to swim without supervision as long as you stay with your head above water.

admittedly, you’re getting more and more confident with each stride. it’s easy enough to think you’re getting the hang of it when you’re only torso deep, and the water is still. you wade in a tiny bit further, enjoying the cool water against your skin.

your foot slips on a rock much too smooth for you to grip, and you feel yourself slip under the water by accident. you miscalculated just how deep this thing is.

you don’t have enough time to gasp a final gulp of air before you feel the water in your mouth, in your lungs, your limbs flailing to try and get a grasp of something nearby to pull yourself out.

you feel the strong hands, much too familiar, wrap around your waist and heave upwards to get your head above the water. you gasp a breath and feel yourself flailing, but her grip is so strong on you, so firm, you go limp as she kicks backwards to get you back to shallower water.

the two of you collapse on top of each other at the shore of the pond, and she lets go of you immediately.

“you okay?” she asks, those too-familiar brown eyes scanning over you, brows knit together. her clothes are completely drenched through, the fabric clinging to her.

you shove her away, trying to build distance between the two of you, as you reach for your flannel to cover yourself up. “fucking hate you.”

“quit saying that,” she grimaces, her nose wrinkling as she turns to look away from you, as if she’s pained by your statement.

“leave me the fuck alone, megan,” you nearly scream, exasperated.

“you were drowning,” she says back, as if in disbelief.

“i don’t want you near me, what part of that do you not understand?”

“i’m not looking for you,” she snaps. “but i keep finding you.”

“somehow,” you snap back frustratedly.

“somehow,” she echoes, but her voice is softer, and you see her face change. 

you feel your heart thud. you can’t handle whatever is about to come out of her.

“don’t–” you try, but the stupid cowboy is always too fast.

“i tried calling you,” she blurts, “every day, all of fall season after you left.”

“that’s all i meant to you, the fall time? three months?” you shove her further away. “sounds about right.”

she grabs your wrist, again. you freeze, her gaze locking into yours as her voice drops.

“y/n, for a split second, you meant the rest of my fuckin’ life,” she tells you firmly, her voice unwavering. “after the fall time, i called you every friday morning for a year.”

your heart nearly stops in your chest. your fridays in town together. 

it clicks, faintly. the mystery phone number that always called during your friday 8am class, you always let go to voicemail, and it never left a message. you thought it was a spam number and blocked it after three weeks.

“please don’t get back in there,” she starts, motioning to the pond. “if you got hurt…”

she trails off, biting down. you can see the tears welling in her eyes. 

you feel yourself eager to bite back, eager to wound her and make her feel half of what you feel.

if i got hurt? do you know what you’ve done to me?

you’re not cruel enough to drive the point home. you know she knows the damage she’s done. she gets up off the ground and wrings her shirt out before she walks in the opposite direction, leaving you alone without another word.

-

you burst through the door of the ranch house and lock eyes with your aunt, who is at the table peeling onions for tonight’s dinner.

“did megan actually try to call me the whole fall season?” you rush, the words bursting out of you faster than you could think them through.

“why are you wet?” your aunt asks in shock. “y/n, look at the state of you!”

“please,” you press, and you see her face twist. she lets out a sigh and shakes her head. 

“after you left, i could tell something was off. she’d take bruce and make the drive out to town every damn morning before anyone woke up just to try and use the pay phone.” she stands up and wipes her hands on her apron. “blew half her pay a week just on gas alone. she said she didn’t trust the cell service up here on the ranch.”

“every morning?” you question, but your aunt has never been one to exaggerate. 

“then it was just the fridays, like when you two’d go to town and run your errands. when that stopped working for whatever reason, she got it in her head to start writing on the porch and she’d stay for hours writing these letters. she’d go up to the mailbox every morning, then just turn around without putting it in. i think she thought i didn’t see her, but god gave women a sixth sense for these kinds of things.” she shoots you a pointed look. “sneaking about things.”

“oh,” you say simply, the back of your neck burning.

“she lost something when you left,” her tone softens, reaching out a hand gently onto your arm. “kid wasn’t the same after that. never seen her angry before, but i assume that’s what it was– anger. tried to hide it but you don’t just smoke a pack a day and work yourself to the bone without it going noticed, y’know?”

“sorry,” you say simply, blinking as you try to make sense of it all.

“sweetie, your uncle is simple, and old pete doesn’t know anything.” she shakes her head again, as if she’s letting you in on a secret. “and i’m not the type to tell anyone how to live, much less an independent, smart girl like you. i’ll let you make your own decisions.”

she walks away, and you assume that’s the end of it, but she emerges from the pantry with a small box, heaving it with both hands. she drops it on the table in front of you, and you see it’s taped shut.

“but do i believe these are for you.”

you hesitate, but take the box upstairs into your room. you change into some dry clothes and peel back the tape to open the box.

in it, filled to the brim, are little envelopes, no dates, no addresses, no anything. you fish down to grab one from the bottom and slip a finger under the seal to take the letter out. you sit on your bed, taking in the handwriting. 

i think of you every time i go to the rodeo. did you know that’s when i asked for a sign from god? that night was the first time i didn’t beat my own record. every other time, i lasted longer and longer, and the one and only time you came with me, i fell short. i think it was my mom telling me that there’s something else out there that feels better than just winning stupid shit.

you blink, setting the paper down. you read a second, then another, and another. you don’t realize you read through the night until your eyes droop and you fall asleep, pile of papers surrounding you. 

(somehow, her voice rings even louder in your mind.)

-

saturday evening. you slept in til the mid-day to catch up on how late you were up. you’ve spent too long that day reading all her letters, leaving a few of them to save for later that night, your eyes strained from focusing all day. she talks about her mom, about loss, about mourning, about her regrets and her fears.

and she talks about you. every letter, a new memory you didn’t know she had treasured, catalogued away in that supposedly empty brain of hers— a new way to look at each memory the two of you had made that summer. 

your fingers slip one in your back pocket, one of your favorites, one that had validated the experience the two of you had shared. 

we had dinner on the porch today, because the cicadas were singing so beautifully. it made me think about you and the time you sat and kept me company in the rocking chair while we peeled potatoes for dinner. that was the first day i pictured us getting old and grey. i realized i didn’t need the ranch, i just needed you.

you shake your head and try to empty it of thoughts of her. whoever this version of megan was, it was gone, and the one you have now is what you have to accept.

your stomach twists at the thought. you need to focus on anything but the ache in your chest of reliving all these moments, knowing how she felt on the other end of it.

“can i take auntie’s car into the town?” you call out to the house.

“be safe on the road. you don’t usually drive it alone, it can get tiring,” your uncle calls back to you. “her keys are on the mantle.”

you find the keys, and take your aunt’s vw bug out of the garage and onto the dirt road, starting the hour-long drive out to the town. familiar, but never one you’ve done alone, you figure it’s the easiest thing you can do to get out of your own head.

you end up at the bar, the only other thing open past 9pm in this god forsaken small town. you’re used to a bustling night life in your city, but forget that things are much much slower up in the mountain. the parking lot is full of familiar-looking trucks and old cars, clearly a town celebrating the freedom of the weekend. 

you enter and take in the old country bar: neon signs, mounted animal heads, and hundreds of framed photos of people and places around the town. couples dance to the music, others play pool at the tables nearby, and some are getting rowdy near the mechanical bull ride.

you let out a quiet breath and sit yourself at the bar. you feel the crinkle in your back pocket. a letter you forgot to take out before you had left the house.

before the bartender can even get to you, a mustached man posts up in the seat next to you, resting his elbow much too far into your bubble.

“the niece from the city,” he says simply, and you realize you might not be a stranger to these people after all. “let me buy you something.”

“no thank you,” you nod politely. whatever his intentions are, your focus was to spend the night alone in a new place, and considering you weren’t even old enough to enter the bar last you were here, this is your best bet at making a memory in this town for yourself, without megan’s hands on it.

(and how predictably rude of this man to ruin it…)

“i insist,” he pushes, flagging for the bartender to come over. 

“i promise i’m okay,” you press back, rolling your eyes. nothing good can ever exist outside of a man ruining it.

but then he’s taking a strand of your hair in his dirty hand, and you feel yourself tense.

“pretty hair, on a pretty girl,” he tells you, playing with the lock within his fingers, leaning in much too close for your comfort. “how’re you likin’ the countryside so far?”

you feel yourself try to move away but you freeze at how imposing he is in your space. you’re sure any other interested girl would swoon being in your position, a confident man making it clear he’s interested, but this is quite possibly the opposite of what you’d want in this moment right now.

your mouth opens to protest, but there’s no sound. his hand is suddenly yanking backwards, and you see his body swing back out of the chair. you realize he’s been shoved away from you. 

you smell it before you see her. pine and campfire. 

and in an instant, she lands a punch to his face, square in the jaw. 

“sorry sorry, my hand slipped,” she apologizes to him lazily, shaking out her wrist from what you can assume will be an impact bound to bruise. she takes a quick look at him, and you’re shocked when she spits on the ground next to his head, her eyes narrowing. “i’d stay down there if i were you, my hand might slip again.”

“out,” the bartender growls, whistling towards the two of you and pointing to the door. “now. come back when you’re sobered up, kid.”

“what the fuck?” you scowl at her, before a random pair of hands are shoving the two of you out the door and into the parking lot, the chill of the night air nipping at your nose.

megan doesn’t seem the least bit unphased, her eyes wide but focused on you.

“did you get a lot of people flirting with you back home?” she blurts, almost breathlessly. you can see her hand already start to swell, but she’s paying it no attention.

“why do you care?” you jab back. 

“i can’t–” her face twists, her eyes scrunching shut. “i can’t stand the idea.”

you can’t give any thought to her rambles right now. “how the fuck do you keep finding me?”

“i am kinda–” she pauses, wrinkling her nose, “a little drunk. no liquor store so the bar is the only option when the gas station closes. came here and wanted to forget about you.”

you stare her down, contemplating what comes next. the choice is easy.

you sprint right over to your car and lock yourself in, megan irritatedly following behind you and knocking on the glass that now separates you. 

“open,” she grunts, testing the door handle. 

“go away.” you scowl at her through the glass. “i’ll scream, and someone will come and beat your ass.”

“don’t drive an hour home when you just drank like that,” she pleads, her voice softening slightly. she slumps against the car, leaning her face near the window to be able to look you in the eyes. “i’m gonna stay as long as i need to fix this. i’ll stay all night if i have to.”

her eyes are so warm and inviting, even through the barrier of the glass. you have half a mind to kick the car in reverse and let her go tumbling over the hood.

“i don’t want to be around you, what part of that is not getting through your skull?” 

“i hurt you and i ran away instead of running towards you,” she says suddenly, pressing her forehead against the window. you’re shocked by how tender her voice sounds, a world of difference from her apology on the ranch. “i was scared to love something that deep and have it ripped away from me, and i ran away from it instead so it’d hurt less.”

“but it didn’t hurt less,” she continues, her eyes avoiding yours. you see her lip tremble, but she hardens her jaw to steady it. “it left something.”

“i was angry with you. i was angry for the first time in my adult life,” she admits. “i had gone numb after my mom, and then you show up, and it’s like everything was back to full volume after being silent for so long. being up here, it gave me a routine to fall into. it made me stop thinking, and then you showed up, and all i wanted to do was think about you, and the future, and the beauty in everything. you put something back in my head, and when you left, it made me angry.”

“i didn’t leave you on purpose,” you finally manage, silent throughout all of this. 

“you could have stayed. we could have kept everything the same, and you had to go off and leave me,” she pushes back, but her voice is small, barely audible now across the glass.

“the same?” you question.

“we could have lived on the ranch and lived so easy, y/n.”

“i tried to bring you with me–”

“and i wasn’t ready. and that will haunt me forever.” her lips press into a fine line, and your heart thuds as she lets out a quiet breath. “i’m sorry i wasn’t ready to love you how you deserved.”

the apology. a real apology. 

with that, you feel it rise from the gravel, the summer you had burned and buried, the feelings you had worked so diligently to try and rid yourself of before they destroyed you. you can close the chapter where you hate her, and move away from it all. 

“i guess we were just kids,” you breathe after a moment.

“i’m sorry,” she reiterates. you roll the window down, and she leans on the frame, her head poking into the car. “i am really truly sorry.”

“no.” you don’t want her to grovel and ruin the moment, waving her off.  “you gave me closure. done being angry.”

“you are?” her eyes light up.

“i leave wednesday night, and it’ll be easier not having to seethe with rage every time i see you,” you offer as a truce. 

“i’m more than good with that,” she nods, and you feel the next chapter writing itself.

“i’m hungry,” you say simply, and she arches a curious brow at you.

“the diner is 24/7,” she offers.

“dinner, at the diner?” you ask, pointing up the street.

“i need to sober up before i try driving back to the ranch, and so do you,” megan says. “it’s a five minute walk. we can get the cars after?”

you nod and the two of you walk together to the diner, keeping a cautious distance in between yourselves. you ignore the crumple of paper in your back pocket, the letter begging to be read.

she orders a black coffee and watches you the whole time you eat your pancake platter.

you watch her back. your heart echoes something each time your eyes meet silently, but you do your best to quiet it as you make small talk about the town. 

home.

-

sunday finally comes. the service is beautiful, and they bury your grandpa next to your grandma.

“they get to be together even after all they’ve been through,” your aunt says, something like admiration in her voice.

you look at megan, and she’s fixed her eyes on the hole in the ground, biting down on her bottom lip to stay anchored. you can already tell what she’s thinking of and what this brings up for her.

before you can stop yourself, you reach for her hand. she takes it and squeezes it, and doesn’t let go.

-

that night, after the service, your uncle insists on taking the whole family out to the bar, saying it’s what his father would have wanted. your grandpa was a big character, and it’s not out of the picture to think he had asked for something like this to lighten everyone's spirits.

(you don’t mention having been kicked out last night. luckily, nobody asks.)

“you know, when god shuts a window, he opens a door,” your great aunt says, motioning to the couples all paired up for the dances.

“slim pickings,” your cousin wrinkles his nose, motioning to the local singles at the bar.

“oh your generation— i was married at your age. stop being such a pill. just find someone good looking and go from there,” she huffs.

“bet you $20 that you won’t go walk up to the best lookin’ person in this room right now and give ‘em a dance,” he teases you. his side of the family have always been bolder and brasher than you have, but with a newfound sense of confidence, you don’t feel quite ready to step down.

you bite back. “bigger stakes. i want grandpa’s truck.”

“no chance!” he gawks, but the mischievous grin tells you he likes your mettle. “i know for a fact he signed it to me in the will. you’ll see wednesday.”

“no money. i get a dance, and i get them to last longer than 30 seconds on the bull,” you push, upping the stakes.

“ha! i’d like to see what idiot can last past 10.” he laughs and shakes you on it. “truck’s yours if you can do it.”

“the both of you are so crass,” your great-aunt scolds. “we laid him to rest not hours ago and you’re already pawning off his belongings!”

“i want that truck,” you emphasize, before throwing back one more shot to try and muster the courage to do this. 

you scan the room of the people who aren’t family, and your cousin is right. not many options left to try, much less people who seem strong enough to be able to win you that mechanical bull bet.

your eyes land on the tall figure, leaning up against the wall, in that same stupid hat and those stupid boots. you hear the echo in your ear again, but push it away as you approach her.

“hi,” you breathe, wrapping your arms around her neck much too easily. her eyebrows arch nearly off her forehead in surprise, but her hands take to your back with far too much ease.

“hi.” megan says back simply, her nervous eyes looking over your shoulder and then back down at your now-swaying bodies. “is there a reason why your great-aunt looks like she wants to kill me?”

“no,” you grin, and megan can instantly tell you’re up to no good.

“sure it has nothing to do with two girls slow dancing?” she questions, narrowing her eyes suspiciously. she’s so steady on her feet, swaying the two of you along to the song playing over the speakers.

“might,” you continue with the short answers, trying not to give yourself away.

“i figured.” she shakes her head and lets out a snort, but before either of you can question it, her hands are dipping down from your back to the dip of your waist. you want to correct her grip, but you can’t find the words to tell her to move her hand. it feels much, much too comfortable there, like the grooves were made for her strong hands to hold onto. 

“if she’s mad about this, she’s gonna hate watching you beat all my boy cousins at riding that mechanical bull,” you laugh.

“what? i’m not getting on that thing.” she wrinkles her nose, motioning over to the bucking machine. “no self respecting bull rider would.”

“i can’t convince you?” you bat your lashes up at her, though the thoughts of the bet are starting to fade from your memory as you look into those perfect brown eyes.

“convince me?” she echoes, laughing. “you want to convince me?”

“maybe i just wanted to see if i’ve still got it.” you’re not sure where this sudden rush of boldness comes from, but you chalk it up to the drinks and the lively vibe of the bar party.

“oh, like you don’t have suckers for you back home?” megan teases, though her voice waves and drops the slightest bit. “i’m sure you’ve got a line waiting out the door for you.”

“i might,” you goad on, curious about her shift in tone.

“please tell me you’re not interested,” she insists, eyebrows knitting together, and part of you buzzes at the way her voice shifts in the slightest. 

“not many cowboys in the city to pick from.”

“is that your type?” she inquires, and you feel her grip on you tighten slightly.

“maybe it was, at one point,” you hum, trying to stop yourself from playing with the baby hairs at the base of her neck. “but only the cowboys who’d do anything for me.”

“hm,” is all she says, her eyes searching for something in you. you’re about to say something more, but the song ends and megan lets go of you, excusing herself with a nod of her head. you wonder if you’ve pushed her too far. 

you head back to the bar to grab another drink. you’re barely getting the cup from the bartender when you hear an obnoxious rise of cheers from the other end of the room. you look up at what’s causing the ruckus, and feel yourself smile against your will.

stupid megan, riding that damn mechanical bull, her knuckles white as they grip onto the handle and her face tensed with focus. the timer on the wall with big red numbers keeps ticking up, up, up, until she’s set the new bar record without so much as a slip. 

“fuck!” you hear your cousin scream from across the bar, throwing his drink angrily into the wall.

you offer a slow clap of congratulations as megan fans herself off with her hat and comes marching up to you.

“hope that’s proof you’ve still got it.” she points a playfully menacing finger in your face. “please don’t go testing any other cowboys. this one will do just fine.”

you feel something pluck at you from deep in your chest. those eyes that know you. those hands that make you feel safe. that voice that unnerves you and comforts you all at once. 

the feeling from the diner comes back. home.

“drive me back to the ranch, cowboy?” you ask suddenly, reaching out to her. “i want to get out of here.”

her eyes widen, clearly caught off guard. you can see the debate in her eyes, the pause between the two of you, the quiet, hesitant swallow she takes before opening her mouth again.

“of course,” she nods, grabbing her jacket off the barstool and handing it to you, out of habit. you see her freeze and start to pull her hand back, her uncertain eyes meeting yours.

you grab the jacket from her and step ahead of her into the parking lot, slipping the worn denim over your shoulders. you take a deep inhale. pine and campfires. home.

-

the drive back up is mostly spent with you listening to her hum along to the radio, your first time listening to country music in god knows how long. her voice is soft as it’s always been, melodic and peaceful, and you’re focusing on the moonlit grass as the truck finally makes it to the trail leading up to the property.

“i— um, thank you, for today,” she breaks the silence, avoiding your gaze to focus on the road.  “i’m sorry it wasn’t the other way around.”

“don’t be. i knew my grandpa was at the end of it,” you reassure her. “i’m sure it wasn’t easy for you thinking about your mom.”

“it was easier with you,” she says softly. “thank you again.”

there’s a heavy pause between the two of you. you don’t know what possesses you to speak up, but you do.

“i read your letters,” you blurt. “i think all of them.”

“oh,” she blinks, eyes widening.

“thank you for writing them like you said you would.”

“of course.” she lets out a quiet breath as the truck takes a familiar turn up the road. “thanks for reading them, i guess. never thought they’d see you.”

“is this the cabin where you’re staying?” you wave for her to stop the truck, wanting to get a better look at the tiny log cabin off by the pasture. “my uncle said you fixed the stove in there, got it to heat up.”

“you know me,” megan shrugs dismissively. “still no good at much else but fixing and wrangling.”

you swing the truck door open and step out, wanting to get a closer look at it. it’s tiny, likely only one room, but it suits her somehow. you can picture her so, so cozy here.

“you could come in, and see how the stove works,” megan offers slowly, her eyes hesitantly following yours.

you know it could be a clean end, to ask her to drop you off at the lodge and go from there, but something is calling you to her, and you can’t seem to quiet that voice this time. you nod, and she fidgets with her keys for a moment to get the door open, grabbing a log from the pile in front of the door.

you enter behind her, and she’s tending to the woodfire stove that warms the whole cabin. it’s tiny, exactly how you’d imagined, but the roar of the fire and the coziness of the space makes you admire how megan had managed to make this old abandoned cabin seem like a home.

(or maybe, that’s just megan’s touch.)

“what are you thinking about?” you ask, noting how she keeps her gaze fixed on the stove, her hands in her pocket as you two stand on opposite sides of the fire to warm yourselves. 

“just felt nice to dance with you again,” she breathes quietly, as if it’s a confession.

“reminded me of that night in the field,” you admit, without thinking. you notice her brow twitch, and you take a careful step closer to her, tilting your head to try and meet her gaze. your voice quiets. “did it remind you?”

“it did,” she confesses.

the way her voice shifts is stirring something in you. you reach out, gently wrapping your index finger around her pinky, as if to test her.

“i think you should leave,” she breathes quietly, looking down at your now-laced fingers.

“why?” you ask gently, carefully.

“i can’t tell you why,” she answers quickly, something worried in those big brown eyes.

“i want you to tell me why,” you press, and you can feel it in your chest, bursting against your ribs, begging to be spoken out loud.

megan gives you a look, a look of hesitation, and you try to meet her eyes with your own pleading gaze. 

“i want to ask you to stay,” she says slowly, “and then it’s going to crush me when you go.”

“so then i just don’t leave,” you whisper back, taking another step closer towards her.

“i can’t keep you here forever.” her brows are furrowed, and you can tell she’s debating something within herself.

“be brave enough to ask,” you press again. 

“please stay the night,” she pleads, reaching for your entire hand, eyes sincere and voice shaky. “and then stay forever.”

you feel the thud in your chest multiply into a thunderstorm. 

“do you remember my birthday?” you ask, holding tighter onto her hand.

“of course.”

“i wished for you,” you admit. “that i’d get to stay with you.”

“oh,” she says simply, her eyes softening.

“and then you promised me you’d take care of me for the rest of my life, and i felt like i was dreaming.”

megan bites her lip. “i broke any chance of that, didn’t i?”

“i want you to ask me again,” you press one last time, and megan doesn’t leave you waiting.

“i’d like a chance to fix it.” her eyes, wide, pleading, warm, dig into yours. she takes your hand and presses it against her cheek, scanning over every inch of your face. “all of it.”

“i need to hear you—” you start, but she cuts you off quickly. this stupid cowboy, who knows you like the back of her hand.

“i love you, y/n,” she beats you to it, your hand still caressing her face, but she pulls at your belt loop to bring you close, her strong arms pulling you in to press you into her. she presses her forehead into yours, her eyes scrunching shut as if the confession pains her.  “i love you like you wouldn’t believe. loved you then, love you now, think i’m gonna be stuck loving you until i’m old and grey.”

you don’t need anything else, and a part of you thinks megan knows that. you pull at her jaw to kiss her, a kiss to make up for each one she’s owed, and the echo silences itself as she kisses you back forcefully, eagerly, her strong arms wrapping around you to lock you in place against her.

back in megan’s arms, you are home.

-

“i missed you,” she breathes into your neck, sliding your shirt over your head much too easily, the kisses she plants along your collarbone sending shivers through your entire body. “a lot.”

“mmhmm, less talking,” you hum playfully, one hand grasping the back of her neck to keep her close as the other trails off under her shirt and up the hard planes of her stomach.

“i’m serious,” she pushes, nearly a growl. you haven’t heard her voice like this, low and gravelly in your ear, and it sends a twinge through every nerve in your system. 

“i know you missed me. you punched some stranger in a bar just ‘cause he tried buying me a drink,” you tease. you pull her hand away from your belt and point to her swollen, bruised knuckles as if to prove your point.

“i punched him ‘cause he touched you,” she blurts, stopping her movements to hover over you in the bed and meet your eyes. her dark eyes are taken over by something that makes your heart race. “i saw red. i couldn’t even look at another person after you left.”

“the whole time?” you ask breathlessly, wanting to squirm beneath her but she has you trapped beneath her strong arms as she simply stares, looking you over. “were you waiting for me to come back or something?”

“i felt sick thinking about anyone else,” she grimaces. “and i felt sick thinking about you with anyone else.”

“i didn’t think i was ever going to see you again,” you confess, and you feel her pause, connecting the dots.

“did you think of me?” she finally asks, eyes searching for something in you.

“all i could do was wish they were you,” you admit.

there’s a heavy pause, megan still hovering above you, but you see something flip in her, those dark eyes unrecognizable. she sits up, pulling her own shirt over her head in a swift motion before she runs a finger along your bottom lip, her calloused thumb tracing your teeth. you’re eager to beg for her to do something, anything at this point, but the moment you try to sit up to kiss her back, she pushes you back down by the sternum, her hand staying pressed against the base of your neck. her forcefulness makes your brain go numb.

“each of them, all i could do was wish they were you each time, megan,” you repeat desperately, seeing the effect it had on her the first time. your wish is granted, and she leans back down to nip a quick, forceful kiss into your neck. 

“that’s my girl,” she murmurs into your ear, before stepping back next to the bed to stand and let you watch her undo her belt buckle. you feel your mouth go dry at the sight, your pulse racing at the clank of the metal and the impending zip of her jeans. 

“yes i am,” you grin, before she reaches back for you, strong hands pulling at what’s left of your clothes to reclaim what belongs to her.

-

the next morning, you’re back in time 3 years and reliving the summer romance with the wrangler. you know your timeline is shorter now, but that doesn’t make it any less thrilling to be back in megan’s arms.

she’s carrying you on her back as you two wade through the pond, your arms wrapped around her neck as you bury your face into the crook between her neck and shoulder. your whole near-drowning thing had traumatized her, and she refused to let you near the water without her present. you don’t mind– you’re enjoying the feeling of her strong back, admiring her pretty face and slicking her hair back from the water our of her eyes.

“why did you quit the ranch, when you said you’d stay?” you ask curiously. there’s two days left with her, and you want to use it making up for lost time, unpacking everything left unanswered. 

“found something that i loved more than i loved the ranch.” she says, as if it’s that simple. she splashes at a dragonfly along the surface of the water. “it hurt too much to keep thinking of you everywhere i looked.”

“you missed me,” you repeat from the night before.

“if only you knew half of it,” she hums.

“what did you do to that tree out there?” you point to it, the cut up one by the water. “it looks like a wolverine mauled it.”

she hesitates for a split second, before a sheepish smile takes to her features.

“i told myself i couldn’t keep driving myself crazy, so i’d make a notch in the tree for every day i still felt like i missed you. i promised myself that once i stopped putting tallies in there, i’d be officially over you.”

you wait for the resolution, but it never comes.

“i killed the tree. too many notches,” she says flatly. “the days i’d missed you didn’t end.”

“that’s a lie,” you laugh, splashing water onto her face.

she shakes her head and turns to look at you from over her shoulder, her gaze serious.

“y/n, i never got over you. you took a part of me with you,” she breathes. 

“i’d like to take all of you with me, this time around,” you tell her quietly. 

“as you wish,” she smiles, and you reach for her jaw to melt into a kiss over the song of the cicadas and the frogs.

-

tuesday comes, and you’ve spent every moment with megan, to the point that it’s your first time coming back to the lodge in almost 24 hours to pick up fresh clothes. 

“you plannin’ on staying the rest of your trip up there at the cabin with the kid?” your aunt asks, arching an eyebrow at you as you run into each other by the stairs.

“maybe,” you eye her hesitantly, but she waves you off quickly.

“don’t play coy, i’m not bein’ nosy,” she rolls her eyes, pushing you by the shoulder as a reprimand.  “i need to know if i can give your room to your other cousin when she finally gets up here tonight.”

you smile faintly. “that should be fine.”

moments later, megan shows up on one horse for your two person trail ride, and you realize all notions of keeping this to yourselves are good as gone. your aunt gives you a look after she spots the ginger out the window.

“i’ll have the boys take your stuff over to the cabin while you’re gone.”

“thank you,” you nod.

megan spots you through the window, and breaks out into a giant smile as she tips her hat down at you. you look up to see your aunt witnessing the entire thing.

“i’m glad you came back, y/n.” she says simply. “i think we all are.”

“i am too,” you finally admit. she waves you off, and you slip out the door to go run into your cowboy’s arms.

-

the night before the will-reading, you get an email that your flight is delayed til thursday, and it gives you an extra few hours with megan. you change your train ride to thursday morning, and the two of you spend the extra time locked away in the cabin. 

“i owe you a real apology,” she mumbles, pressing her lips into your shoulder blade from behind as she spoons you. her voice is soft against the combination of evening crickets and curious owls. “i’m sorry about everything.”

“you already apologized,” you shake your head, watching the flames from the oven cast shadows against the wall, outlining her face into the wood. “i forgive you. i owe you an apology too.”

“you have nothing to be sorry about,” she says back quickly, her fingertips dragging along the skin of your thigh and up to your hip.

“i tried to push you to heal sooner than you were ready for. i thought i could fix you.” you had done your own reflection, and granted, it doesn’t excuse how things ended, but you know there’s no moving beyond this without accountability.  “i wouldn’t know what it’s like to miss someone like that. i judged you for something unimaginable. i’m sorry.”

she kisses the dip between your jaw and your ear, her nose pressing into your neck.

“it used to be easy to just run away, but i think i’m healing confronting it head on,” she says quietly.

“proud of you,” you murmur back, reaching to pull her hand to your lips and kiss along her almost-healed knuckles.

“i wish you could have met her,” she says suddenly, her lips still against your neck, and your heart aches for her. 

“i’m sure she was perfect,” you say simply, and megan nods in approval.

“she would say the same about you.”

-

wednesday. the will reading, which they decide to do on the porch of the ranch, as your grandpa would have wanted.

your cousin is less than thrilled when the attorney reads off the list of allocations and indicates that grandpa’s truck is indeed in his name. he gives you the keys as soon as they’re handed to him, and megan’s eyes widen in surprise.

“the old ford?” she questions, her voice quiet to not disrupt the rest of the proceeding. “it’s your uncle’s favorite.”

“uh, it was your favorite if i remember correctly,” you laugh. “you spent so much time fixing that stupid thing up.”

“i fucking loved that thing,” she beams, and you realize maybe that was your motivation this whole time. “you’re so cool.”

your cousin’s whining voice bursts you and megan out of your bubble.

“y/n’s not even listening, and she’s got the ranch in her fucking name!” your cousin bemoans.

you feel your heart fall into your stomach. “excuse me?”

“i told him i’ll take care of it until i’m tired, but i won’t turn into old pete and waste my life wrangling cattle til i’m grey.” your uncle dusts his hands on his jeans, getting up from the rocking chair where he was seated. “we don’t have kids. i saw this coming. he said you were the only person who saw it for what he saw it for.”

“but med school is–” you start, but he waves you off.

“i’ve got a few more good years left in me. do what you gotta do, then sell it when the time is right.”

“that’s all in your name,” the lawyer nods at you as a dismissal, and you immediately turn to meet megan’s wide eyes.

“holy shit,” she says simply in disbelief, and you hear your great-aunt grunt in disapproval. 

“you could give it to the kid,” your aunt suggests, motioning to megan. “we all know she’d take care of it like nobody’s business.”

you look at megan, who stares back at you, dumbfounded.

“what would you want to do with it?” you ask.

“baby, it’s the fucking ranch,” she gapes. you take her hand and pull her a few steps away to hide out inside, away from the ears of your family.

“do you want to stay and watch it with my uncle, while i’m gone?” you ask her gently, holding both hands in yours, offering her the solution you feel she’s been waiting for. “you could go back to your old life.”

for some reason, the offer feels like you’re letting her go. but you know how much this property meant to megan, and something about her coming back to claim it as its steward feels so, so right.

but instead, she looks at you with determined eyes. she shakes her head.

“i’m not making the same mistake twice,” she nods, assuring you. she gives your hands a squeeze. “i choose you, and everything else will turn out alright.”

“i don’t know if you’d be happy in the city,” you sigh, brushing your fingertips across her sun-kissed cheeks. 

“not running from anything any more.” she grabs your hand off her face and presses a kiss into your open palm. “i’m happiest where i’m with you.”

“okay,” you breathe. “so we let my uncle keep going til he retires. does that mean you’ll come with me now?”

“i’d need to get brucey,” she says hesitantly. “and he doesn’t fly very well.”

“i’ll go with you to get him.”

“you will?”

“let me fly home, then i’ll come to wherever you are. we’ll road trip, move you out, grab bruce. when is your lease up?”

“i’m monthly, work for lodging and pay.”

“okay. so we get bruce, you move in with me in the city. i start med school, you…”

you pause, seeing the look in her eyes. the planning, the talking about the future so concretely, it scares her, you know it does. the last time her face changed like this was your last day, that summer. you feel yourself want to vomit. 

but megan knows you, and she can sense your apprehension. she reaches for your hand, pressing a gentle kiss to your knuckles. 

“i can work on cars,” she offers gently, a smile on her lips. “until you’re done with school.”

“that’s an option.” you nod, beaming at her optimism. they feel like shaky steps towards you, not away. your eyes water at the thought of a happy future with her, one you had imagined was ripped away from you.

“or work with animals.” she grins back.

“or go to trade school,” you build on her idea.

“the future, it’s scary,” she breathes. “but it’s gonna come whether i’m ready or not. might as well get ahead of it.”

“and then i finish school, do a fellowship, and once i’m finished, we come back.”

“really?” her eyes light up brighter than anything you’ve ever seen. “you don’t want to sell it?”

“i don’t need a busy life. just a rewarding one,” you tell her, smiling. “small towns need doctors too.”

“i don’t want you to give up your dreams,” she says worriedly, tilting her head in concern.

“you taught me how to slow down. please don’t expect me to be helping wrangling baby cows every morning, but i wouldn’t mind you still being a cowboy. it’s what you live for.” you reach up to tilt her chin back up, reassuring her as you fix her hat. “it’s not giving up. it's a beautiful compromise.”

she grins back at you, and takes the hat off her head to fix it on your own head.

“i like compromise with you.”

-

your final night before your 6am train ride to the airport, she takes you camping in the fields. 

she explains the concept of a harvest moon— a full moon so big and so bright, early farmers could work all night collecting their harvest by moonlight alone. 

the fire she’d built starts to dim down, and you feel the exact same way. you could watch her in the moonlight for the whole night. 

“that’s sagittarius.” she points up an arrangement of stars, her feet crossed and her head propped up on a backpack she’s using as a pillow. you’re laying so comfortably cuddled into her, your head resting on her chest, lulled into a cozy haze by the song of the mountain and her perfect voice in your ear.

“no way,” you drawl, forever impressed by her knowledge.

“and that’s asparagus.”

you blink quickly in confusion. “what?”

“and that’s me getting a headshot in fortnite.”

“you’re stupid.” you push into her shoulder, laughing. “i knew you were full of shit.”

she smiles back and presses a sweet kiss into the top of your head, letting her lips linger against your hair.

“i’ll see you in a week?” you ask, and the question doesn’t feel as heavy as you had thought it would.

“yes you will.” she kisses your head again, humming into your hair. “that’s a promise.”

“thank you.”

“i had you once, and that meant everything to me,” she tells you, breathing you in once more. “i think i spent my whole life waiting for you.”

“i’m here now,” you remind her, cuddling in closer.

“never letting you go again,” she reassures you. 

(you believe her.)

-

“hey baby, the neighbor is asking again when you’re going to sell him the truck,” you call out, pushing past the door into the apartment.

you’re kicking your shoes off in the hallway, giving a quick rub to bruce’s head as he greets you. you hear the rumbling from the kitchen, and you pop in to see the jeans and a vintage tshirt, with her head and torso under the sink, doing something to the garbage disposal.

“he can kiss my ass. that thing is staying in the parking spot that i pay for until the end of our lease,” she threatens back, sliding out from under the sink and washing her hands before hitting a switch. in an instant, the same garbage disposal that was broken this morning is magically back and working. “i’m not driving anything smaller.”

you laugh, reaching out for her. “you and your stupid ego.”

“hey, everywhere i’ve ever lived, lifted trucks are like, the shit,” megan grins, wrapping her arms around your waist to pull you in for a greeting kiss. “it’s the biggest thing we work on at the shop.”

“oh, i bet you’re the number one lifted truck modder in the city,” you nod playfully.

“i’m alright.” she shrugs, wrinkling her nose, but she’s fixed on the topic of her damn truck. “thinking about how sad you’d look getting dropped off by some rizzless loser in a cowboy hat and boots, in a fucking minivan or something. just wouldn’t sit well with me.”

“yeah, all my classmates think the coolest think about me is you,” you gripe. megan’s insistence on taking you to class every day, in the truck, wearing what she always does, has made you quite the talking point among your first year med school classmates. 

“so crazy, ‘cause i think you’re the coolest thing about me,” she grins, looking down at you with a glint in her eyes. “y’know what else i’m thinking about? summer time.” 

“that’s still 2 months away,” you laugh at her eagerness. your last summer break before medical school fully takes over your life, planned to be spent on the ranch with megan, rotting away without a care in the world. 

“we could get married up there,” she suggests out of nowhere, but her voice is so so sweet, it makes your heart melt.

“what is this, farmer needs a wife?” you tease, arching a brow at her. “i thought it was supposed to be a vacation.”

“okay, okay,” she holds her hands, clearly playfully displeased with your response.

“hold your horses, there,” you goad on, and she narrows her gaze at you.

“oh, now you’re just being a pain.”

you grin. “if the boot fits.”

“enough with the puns,” she groans, rolling her eyes, grabbing you by the waist to swing you easily over her shoulder and whisk you into the bedroom, your scream laughs filling every corner of your apartment.

-

your summer vacation comes, and the chilly montana nights welcome you both back with open arms. 

she slips her jacket over your shoulders, and the motion feels as natural as breathing. you see the front pocket is still full of the flowers she picked for you along the trail, meant to press into your book along with a few of the letters she had written you. you keep your favorite letter one in your back pocket, eager to read it to her in between chapters of your book.

you’re walking behind her, following her steps as she confidently leads you two through the field. she’s singing something mindlessly to herself, her voice filling the air comfortingly.

you tuck your hand into the pocket, trying to warm your fingers, and feel yourself freeze. your fingertips trace along the edge of the object, the edges too wide to be her swiss army knife, the top being the wrong texture to be a pack of cigarettes she might be hiding– 

your pulse quickens as you realize inside the pocket, you feel a little box. small, velvet, that kind of box.

“where are you taking me?” you ask quickly, the realization striking you.

“don’t worry about it,” she waves you off. you can’t see her face, but you can hear the grin in her voice, and you can’t tell if you finding the box is part of her plan or an innocent mix up. with megan, it could quite frankly go either way, and you can’t tell which one makes your heart swell more. “ain’t anyone told you that it’s bad luck to question a cattle wrangler on a full moon?”

“you’re making that up.” you try to keep your voice even, not wanting to ruin her plan as the two of you keep walking, but you feel the back of your throat go dry. 

“maybe,” she shrugs playfully.

“stupid cowboy,” you try to bite back, but you feel your voice shaky, and she simply reaches back behind you for your hand. she grabs you, and the two of you keep walking, her paces strong, steady, keeping you alongside her easily. she smiles knowingly, and tips her hat down, her eyes fixed on the skyline.

“i love you too, city girl.”

(the letter rings through your ears, your favorite one out of all of them, etched into your memory at this point so deeply, you know it by heart.

i don’t know if you’ll ever read these, but i fell in love with you that day that you read to me. which one? your smart ass is going to ask. not the one by the creek, or the one by the cows. it was the one on the roof, where you told me to quit smoking. i realized that day i have something really, really beautiful i’m excited to live for. i really, really love you, y/n.

-your cowboy, forever.)

[notapradagurl7]

Christmas Slump.

Black Fem! Reader x Lando Johnson.

Tv Show: All-American Homecoming.

Summary: You were spending Christmas with your friends, Cam, Simone and J.R. in your house, you had seasonal depression, they decided to help you and your boyfriend Lando wanted to see you.

Taglist: @lavnderluv @soft-persephone @harmshake @westside-rot @siqueth @liatreads @thecookiebratz @thecapodomme @mypointlessdays @keyera-jackson @satoruya @planetblaque @hxneyclouds @hoodbarbiesims @glitterperms @amplifiedmoan @avoidthings @judymfmoody @justhornyyme @life-in-the-slut-house @sageispunk @megamindsecretlair @sweettea-and-honeybutter @nahimjustfeelingit-writes @slippinninque @galaxybam2 @briathecreator @babybratzmaraj

A/N: happy holidays! currently going through some seasonal depression and decided to write it away, don't forget to leave a like, comment & reblog to support, feel free to ask for a request! ❤️

Warnings: +18, dirty talk, fluff, praise,( male receiving) mention of seasonal depression, protected sex, voyeurism, comfort, the reader being sad but was comforted, soft Lando, submissive Lando, AU where Lando and Simone never dated but remained friends,

—————

The tall green Christmas tree shone brightly of red, green, blue, white lights with the smell of warm Christmas sugar cookies wafting through the air while you sat on the light green suede couch, a mug of warm cocoa in your hand. Taking a sip from it and allowing the chocolate to seep into your tastebuds. The four walls surrounding you are painted in chocolate brown decorated with pictures of you and your friends.

Simone stood by the Christmas tree while decorating it, smiling at the decor. Until her eyes landed on you, a distant look in your dark brown eyes. She walked over and sat beside you.

Cam and J.R. were speaking to each other about his position in baseball and Cam with his music club.

Unfortunately, you were currently going through seasonal depression with classes expecting more of your effort, and the stress overwhelmed you.

Honestly, you couldn't wait for the New Year to arrive already.

Your knotless ginger box braids tied back in a ponytail with your melanated skin shone brightly under the recessed circle snapped lights, dressed in a toffee-colored sweater and black sweatpants, white socks and slippers on your feet.

Thankfully, Simone started a club where black women on campus could have a safe space, to vent about their problems and find solutions. They can feel safe and secure in it.

In the space of your house giving you solace, you were equable and had no problem telling your trustworthy friends about your problems. You were tired of putting on a brave face.

If you could immure the emotions completely and throw away the key, you would do it in a heartbeat.

Your emotions were important, as was your mental health and well-being, not only to you but also to your friends, including your boyfriend Lando, with whom you've been in a relationship for three years.

“Hey, are you okay, girl?” Simone asked softly, her face softened in concern while lips fell into a frown.

You shook your head, your face resting in your palm as you turned around to face her, she gently plopped on the couch beside you.

“The holidays haven't been so merry for me Simone, It's the classes, the stress and expectations of being perfect.." you admitted softly, your voice trailing off.

“I felt the exact same way when I was going through my treatment, tennis and trying to keep it together, as a black women we can have a safe space. Y/N”

You smiled at her words of encouragement, you stood up and hugged her tightly and she reciprocated the warm gesture. “Thank you, Simone,”

“Anytime, that's what I'm here for,” Simone reassured softly, her hand rubbing your back.

With the help of your friends, you danced to music, baked cookies, and binge-watched classic Christmas movies.

But a special someone else was missing in the picture, Orlando. He noticed that

A knock on the door caught your attention, taking a bite of the pink Christmas tree cookie in your hand before swallowing and folding it in a napkin. “I'll get it!” you hollered,

You hurried your way toward the door, when you opened it. There stood your boyfriend Orlando, with a warm smile and bags of gifts in his hand.

“Orlando! I missed you!” you exclaimed, pulling him into a hug just as tightly as he held the gifts.

“Surprise!” Lando exclaimed, stepping inside and wrapping his arms around you in a tight embrace.

Orlando hugged you back, as the gifts were taken by Simone, J.R. and Cam with gentle smiles toward you and your boyfriend hugging each other.

Hey beautiful, I missed you more,” Orlando smiled, kissing your forehead.

“Lando, you didn’t have to come all this way,” you said, your voice muffled against his chest. Your head lifted and looked up at him.

“Of course I did. I know you’ve been feeling down, and I wanted to be here for you,” he replied, pulling back slightly to look into your eyes.

The familiar scent of his cologne enveloped you, offering a sense of comfort that you hadn’t realized you missed so much. He closed the door behind himself and kissed your forehead sweetly.

You smiled at his words, feeling a flutter in your stomach. “You’re the best Christmas gift I could ask for,” you said, your heart warming at his thoughtfulness.

“Speaking of gifts I figured we could make this a little more festive,” Lando declared, winking playfully as his hand hold yours.

Simone, Cam, and J.R. peeked from the living room, their expressions shifting from surprise to delight. Giving their friend some dap and pats on the back.

“Lando! You made it!” Simone cheered, rushing over to give him a hug.

“Good to see you, man,” J.R. added, giving him some dap.

“Merry Christmas, brother,” Cam chimed in with a smile.

You resumed to watch movies, laughing and playing games in the company of your friends and boyfriend. Making the gloom fade away.

Afterward, you bid farewell to your friends and classmates, they walked out of your house, heading toward Cam’s car and drove away.

Finally leaving you alone with Orlando. He sat beside you with the gift he brought for you in his hand. “And this is for you,” He spoke warmly, handing you the present.

You raised an eyebrow, curiosity piquing as you accepted the beautifully wrapped gift adorned with a shiny red bow. "You really didn't have to, Lando. Just being here is enough," you said, your heart swelling with affection.

"Just open it," he urged, a playful smile spreading across his face. You grinned back, the warmth of his presence making the holiday gloom fade again.

With a flick of your wrist, you tore into the wrapping paper, revealing a sleek, simple necklace that sparkled under the lights. "Oh my gosh, Lando, it's beautiful!" you gasped, holding it up to admire the intricate design.

“I saw it and immediately thought of you, it reminds me of beauty and I want you to wear it and remember you're not alone, during times like these,” He

“Thank you,” you whispered, blinking back tears.

You felt a warmth radiate from your chest, and as you leaned in closer, your lips brushed against his.

The kiss was sweet at first, a gentle exploration that quickly ignited into something more passionate.

His hands found their way to your waist, pulling you closer as the kiss deepened. Your hands rested against his back. “Let’s head into my room,” you announced boldly.

The both of you stood up from the couch, made your way to your bedroom. You've been trying to become bold when it came to your desires.

Gently pushing him, his back touched the soft sheets of your bed, his breath hitched. “Someone’s getting bold,” he teased, his eyes on you hovering over him making his dick harden in his sweatpants.

“You good with this?”

“Let’s make this night all about us,” he promised, his hand trailing down your body. You could feel the tension melting away, replaced by a warmth in the room.

You undressed him carefully, he did the same for you, clothes littered across the floor. Reaching over the bedside dresser, grabbing the small box of condoms. You picked one up, as you looked back at Lando.

With a teasing glance, you let your hand trail down his thigh. You wrapped your fingers around him, feeling him grow even harder beneath your touch. “I'm gonna take care of you,” you moaned softly, moving your hand up and down his dick with a firm yet gentle grip.

His groans, muffled grunts filled the room, “Y/N, that feels so fucking good..” he groaned again,

Encouraged by his reaction, you picked up the pace, using your thumb to roll around his sensitive tip. “You’re so good to me, so handsome, so

Your eyes locked onto his, watching his face contorted in pleasure from your precise touch. “Right there, baby,” he praised, Every sigh, every mention of your name spurring you on, his hips pushing into your hand.

After teasing him, his thick jets of cum spurted out and poured down his dick and your hand, your tongue lick his dick clean and your hand. you gently slide the condom on his dick and hover over him again.

His hands gripped your hips and aimed his length at your entrance, sliding yourself down on his thick dick. Every inch filled you completely.

“Oh fuck..baby,”

Your hips moved at gradual pace, your hands rested on his chest, pleasure flowing through every part of your body. Your walls choked his dick tightly, his teeth dug into his bottom lips.

The room was filled with the sounds of your breaths mingling, the soft slapping of skin against skin, and the little gasps and moans escaping your lips. You could feel the pressure building inside you, the familiar knot of pleasure tightening.

As you picked up the pace, Lando's hands moved to your thighs, pushing you down harder against him. "That's it, just like that, You're taking this dick so well." he encouraged, his voice a mix of praise and raw need.

You leaned down, capturing his lips again, the heat between you two radiating off the bed as it creaked. Lando's fingers dug into your skin, guiding you as you found that sweet spot, the one that made your head spin. “Oh..fuckkk! Lando!”

He watched your cum ooze down onto his, your ass clapped against his pelvis,“I love it when you mess on my dick,” he moaned raspily, his eyes rolling back.

“Baby, I'm close,” he warned, his voice strained.

“M-me too,” you admitted breathlessly, the tension reached its peak. You could feel that familiar wave crash over, and you wanted to take him with you.

His thumb rolled your clit in circles, you screamed out his name, your body shaking underneath him and fell onto his lean body, your nipple brushed across his, his lip trailing along your neck.

“I love you,” he groaned in your ear.

“I love you too,” you panted heavily with a smirk.

You collapsed onto him, rolling beside his body. Both of you panting heavily as the room falls into a peaceful silence. Lando brushed a braids from your face.

“You okay?” he asked in concern, his eyes softening as he looked at you.

“Better than okay, Thank you for being here for me, knowing how to make me feel loved” you replied, a grin spreading across your pretty face.

Lando picked you up in his arms, carrying you to the bathroom, and settled in the warm water with soapy foam, cleaning the both of you clean.

Lando helped you out, changed into some comfortable attire for sleep, he changed the sheets and blankets, he laid by your side with blankets warm from the dryer. The lemon scent aired the fabric, Kissing your forehead lovingly.

Your heart lifting at the sight of him, his dark curls framing his face perfectly, his warm brown eyes sparkling like the lights on the tree behind you.

————-

[chiquita99]

*PMS-ing*

Summary: it is that time of the month

⚠️Warning⚠️ None

_____________________________________

You were cozy on the cream suede couch with a fleece blanket and some chocolate, watching The Vampire Diaries.

You had popped some extra strength tylenol and it just started numbing the pain.

Finally some relief ugh.

Your husband wanted to get frisky last night but you couldn't allow that level of intimacy due to pain.

The first day is always the most brutal.

The sound of the front door opening, made you turn your head, even though you knew it was your husband.

"How was your day babe, do you feel better?" Michael asked as he entered the house and removed his jacket.

"I'm alive" you sigh and lay into your soft body billow.

He comes over and kisses the top of your head, then hands you a pack of Hershey kiss chocolates.

"Thank you hun" you smile softly.

"Anything for you sweetheart" he smiled back and sat in the spot next to you.

He wrapped his arm around your shoulder and pulled you into his side, making you let go of your pillow.

He looked at the scene on the TV and asked "what team are you? Damon or Stefan?".

You hummed and then replied " [your choice] ".

"If I were a girl, I'd be team Damon" he smirked.

"Really? Why?" You quizzed and looked at him with your soft eyes.

He gave you a quick peck on the lips.

"Damon would burn the world for his woman. I would also"

You snuggle more into his side and he rests his head against yours.

You both shared a few moments of silence. Taking in the day.

"How was work?" You ask him.

He hummed in thought before responding, "it was pretty okay. I was going over blueprints for a beautiful Mediterranean tower a husband wanted to build his wife"

He looked down to his cheek and gently moved a piece of hair that fell into your face.

You smile at the romantic gesture. It was sweet to see what a person would do for another.

"What would you like for dinner babe?" Michael asked.

"I think I have chicken in the fridge" you tell him and get out of your comfy spot.

"Oh babe, you didn't have to worry about it right this minute" Michael said and got up with you.

He followed you into the kitchen.

You opened the fridge and quickly skimmed the contents.

"Oh f**ks sake" you curse in frustration.

You forgot to pull the chicken from the freezer to thaw.

"What is wrong??" He asked in confusion.

You face palm and shake your head in anger.

Tears then start falling from your eyes.

Michael is stunned and doesn't know what to do.

His eyes glued to you.

"Babe" he says.

"Babe"

He wraps his arms around you and pulls you into his chest.

You start balling and sobbing into his blue dress shirt.

He cooes you like you would a baby, and he strokes your hair.

"We will get chinese food. We can get starbucks. Do you want pizza?.....um do you need a burger?" He starts babbling.

You shake your head no into his chest and cry some more.

"I'll get your chocolate from the livingroom" he says and goes to grab your chocolate in a rush.

He returns in a jiffy and is unwrapping the foil on the chocolate to give to you.

You push his hand away that carried the chocolate.

He still had a bewildered look on his face.

He looks into space before undoing his belt.

"Is it sex you need?" He asked, fumbling the buckle.

Your tears stopped pouring and you couldn't help but let a giggle slip.

"I heard sometimes women get upset when they need more sex. I mean, I can give it right here on the counter"

You put your hand on his and he stops.

"No baby, it is just hormones" you tell him softly.

"I'm sorry" you sniffle.

"Don't say sorry baby. I understand" he tells you and pulls you into a hug again.

"It's a build up of not feeling good last night, forgetting things, and the extra feelings that are present at this time of the month" you say.

"I understand what you're saying" he assures, "pick out delivery, we'll finish your show, do some cuddles and kisses, and if you're up for it.........." he winks at you.

He plants a sweet kiss on your lips.

"Yes, I need some papi time" you giggle

[hometoursandotherstuff]

I thought that this Windermere, FL home was built around the 1920s, but it says 2006. Apparently, the architect, Mark Nasrallah, is known for Art Deco style. The 5bd, 9ba mansion, called "Overjoy," has been on the market for 551 days. Asking price: $11.955M + $400mo. HOA. Take a look. I think it's beautiful.

Marble floors, and the house gets tons of natural light.

Not that you really need a fireplace in Florida, but it looks pretty, especially with the blue surround.

The living/dining room has a magnificent view of the pool and Lake Butler.

The pool has a waterfall that you can enjoy while you're in the jacuzzi.

They placed the dining table here, but it's not particularly close to the kitchen. (Not that they care about how far the staff has to walk.)

Next to the living/dining area is a smaller dining area and a family room.

I'm so fascinated by hidden kitchens. Very rich people must hate cooking so much, they hide the kitchen.

I like the peachy color of it, though. When you put Swarovski crystal insets, and no exhaust hood, over the cooktop, you're not the one who cleans the kitchen.

I'm guessing the double doors on the left are the fridges.

The primary bedroom suite has marble flooring, a view of, and access to, the pool.

It has a sitting room right in front of the pool and doors to the patio.

Bathroom with a sunken jetted tub and fireplace.

And, 2 closet/dressing rooms.

Then, this is the spa room for the massage table.

The home theater looks plain, but it has sueded walls and a Kaleidescape media system.

Kitchenette off the theater.

Behind the purple couch in this sitting area there's the floating glass 4 person elevator that goes up to the 3rd level.

The primary bedroom is on the main floor, but the other suites are on the upper levels.

Covered full outdoor kitchen with a door to completely enclose it. (It rains in Florida.)

Covered sitting/dining area with a fireplace and a view of the lake.

Outdoor sitting area and the boat dock.

.93 acre lot.

https://www.zillow.com/homedetails/11301-Bridge-House-Rd-Windermere-FL-34786/82084477_zpid/

[rosecoloreddesire]

Not A Lie ~ Elvis Presley

Summary: You could never imagine THE Elvis Presley to show up in your little diner. How can you tell your parents that…he’s your fiancé??

Note: IM BACK! I’m going to be graduating in February so I’m hoping I can get some writing out! I’m so sorry if this is a bad come back? I haven’t proofread yet! But I think it’s good 💙 missed you all so much!

Warnings: FLUFF!

“Y/N, you gotta stop lyin’! You know how much your daddy loves Elvis!” You huff out as you chase your mom around the kitchen island.

“Mama! Just listen to me! I’m being honest! I am enga-“ she put a finger to your lips as you both hear the front door unlock, opening to your daddy whistling a soft tune of Blue Suede Shoes.

“Not a word in front of him, got it?” You sigh loudly not wanting her to put you down.

“But mama! He’s comin’ ton-“ she cuts you off with an ice cold glare. You finally let it go, walking past your father to your room.

“God damn it all! Why won’t anyone ever listen to me?” The small phone in your room begins to ring, picking it up you sit on your bed. A certain southern drawl cheers you up.

“Hey there, lil’ lady. How’s my girl doin’? I’ll be there soon I promise. My parents are wantin’ us to get together and do some photos here at Graceland for the family album.” He chuckles while you heard his grandma in the back.

“Hi grandma! Um, pictures? Like engagement pictures?” You nervously hum, twirling the phone cord around your finger.

“Well, I did get you that pretty rock on your finger. And I think that means your stuck with lil’ old me, baby.” Your cheeks flush as he lowly whispers.

“I’ll see you soon. Lest your flirtin’ make my face flush!” His giggles are cut off as you hang up. Your face aglow. Your phone rings once again.

“Elvis Presley- if you don’t stop-“

“Elvis Presley?! I knew it!” Your best friend Amelia was on the other line….her screams of joy influence you to push the phone as far away from you as possible. You wince as she continues.

“Amelia Jones! You needa keep it down! What’ll you do if your mama says she won’t be gettin’ you into my mama’s salon this Thursday!” The other line dies down.

“You know your mamas the only one you can actually do my hair and make it look good!” You chuckle as she tries to explain herself.

“Yes! That’s why when I tell you the boy I’ve been datin’ all year and last year is Mr. Elvis Presley.” You state confidently as she squees softly.

“That’s why you wasn’t impressed when we saw him for the first time! You were kissin’ him!!!” Her giggles and squeals made you roll your eyes. Amelia was always into the whole romance and love at first sight tropes in the movies.

“Y/N! Get down here! Your mother and I need to have a talk with you!” You grumble and hope your mom hadn’t told your father about the whole engagement.

“Gotta go, Ames! Bye!” You hung up, smooth your skirt and make your way down the stairs.

“You know the policy we have on lyin’, young lady.” Your daddy was sitting on the couch with your mother.

“Daddy, I ain’t lyin’ to you! I really am-“ your mothers laugh breaks you off again.

“We are supposed to believe that Elvis Presley is coming tonight to meet us after askin for your hand?” She fans herself. Your mom usually was so supportive but you do have to hand it to her. This was kinda crazy.

“I ain’t! He’s really sweet! His mama and daddy are arranging a photo shoot for us to be in the Presley family album! I’m gonna be a Presley, daddy!”

“I wanna believe you but how did you even meet?”

—

“And will that be all for you today?” The man in front of you was clearly flirting as you wrote off his receipt.

“Uh actually this is gonna sound weird but are you an angel?” You rolled your eyes, waving your hand.

“Hm, I’ve actually never heard of that one but I am very aware thank you. Bye!” You spun around on your heel and grabbed a new pad and paper. You fixed your hair in the reflection of napkin holder.

“You handled that well, Darlin’.” You jump a little. The voice was low and oddly familiar. You turned with a flush to your cheeks.

“ yeah well creeps like that don’t like the word no so-“ you paused as you finally saw the person speaking to you.

“It’s a shame cause he ain’t wrong. But he forgot to say you look like a goddess.”

“You’re-“ you stuttered holding your hand to your chest.

“Your future boyfriend I hope.” You must have looked like a tomato with how warm your cheeks were getting.

“Uh- are you serious? Is this a prank?.”

“Here’s my number. Use it wisely.” And with a wink he was gone as fast as he came.

——

“I’m supposed to believe he came to our family restaurant when your mama and I were gone?” You nod desperately. You take your mothers hand and show her your ring.

“Oh my god, Y/N. That’s a real ring! How did you-“ your doorbell is going off before you can explain.

“Do you want to get that, daddy?” You ask softly, praying to whatever god that Elvis was standing at the door. He huffs as he sits up, making his way to the door.

“Afternoon- OH MY GOD. You-“ Your father brings your fiancé into a bear hug. Your father squeezes the poor boy as you giggle. Your skin flushing at the display.

“It’s really Elvis! What in the hell?” Your mom grasps your hands tightly as the boy walks into the house, more like pulled. You giggle as he finally sees you, a bit frazzled. He detaches himself from your father as he makes his way to you. His lips soft against your cheek as your body warms.

“Uh, mom, dad, this is my fiancé.” You spout awkwardly as Elvis slips his arm around you. Your father gleams with excitement.

“I understand why you didn’t ask for my blessin’, son! You can marry my daughter!” You’ve never seen your father so ecstatic in your life. Except the one time he won a ticket to see Elvis. Or the one time he heard Heart Break Hotel on the radio in his car. Huh….you are sensing a running theme…

“I really do love your daughter. It’s jus’ been rough tryin’ to get a time together to meet y’all.” He smiles boyishly at your parents. Your mom still reeling in the fact that you were telling the truth.

“D-did ya enjoy our family diner?” Your mom stutters out. You stifle laugh placing your hand over your mouth. You look at Elvis awaiting his answer.

“Of course, ma’am! Great atmosphere, great food, and even greater waitresses.” He bumps you with his shoulder as you blush.

“Well, don’t be a stranger, Mister Presley! Come on, we were just gettin’ ready for our meal!” Your father pushes Elvis to a chair at the table. You shakily sit next to him as your nerves still haven’t fully settled.

“Why our daughter?” Your breath hitches as your mom starts to plate the food.

“Lord, where do I start? She looks as if she walked right out of a Hollywood movie. An absolute starlet.” Your skin flushes as his hand drifts to your thigh.

“I wish! We met up with some of his Hollywood buddies and they were super sweet! They think Elvis has a real shot of hittin’ it big!” You smile as he laughs. His gaze focuses on you the whole time. How could he have found the most amazing thing to have come out of him having to hide from fans in a local diner? His eyes never leave your lips as you continue to sing his praises.

“I really think it’s a great idea to see you two married! Can you believe it, honey? We’d be related to the Presley’s!” Your dad claps as he excitedly dug into his food. Your mother still seems a little hesitant.

“What’s gonna stop you from chasin’ other girls around town? My daughter hasn’t even dated before you!” Your eyes widen as you take a bite of your dinner. You hadn’t really had that conversation with Elvis yet…

“I’m your first boyfriend?” You wince at his surprised tone. You turned to face him.

“Uh, yeah. I, uh, never really thought about the whole dating thing. Until you kissed me at that charity concert…I-“ his lips are soft against your cheek. Your hand shaking in his hand.

“You don’t need to explain nothin’, darlin’. Thank you so much for the lovely dinner but I best be goin’ soon I only had a it of time to spare.” He began to get up as your father rose from his seat.

“How about you go with him, sweetheart? Your mom and I are gonna have a talk about all this.” You nod, hugging him quickly. You all but ran up the stairs to get away from the tension.

“How cute. Pink really fits you.” Elvis smirks as his fingers traced your bed sheets. You scoff as you pack a small bag.

“I haven’t gotten to change my sheets since I was like 10, E. Give me a break. Do you really want to do this?” Elvis’ hand caresses your face, pushing a few stray hairs out of your face.

“I want you. Every day. Afternoon. And night. You are all I think about.” His voice just a bit above a whisper. Your eyes were heavy as you stare at his lips.

“Can I be yours forever?” His lips were soft as he pulls you close. The kiss was delicate but passionate as he grips your hair slightly.

“If you’ll let me.”

[xxfaithlynxx]

Into the Unknown

Word Count: 6k (6087)

NOT PROOFREAD!

Please DO NOT steal or plagiarize my work. Much appreciated! As always.

Ω ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶̶ ̶ ̶ ̶̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ Ω

Chapter 6:

Holding the slim brick of technology in hand, he stared down at the device. Never in his wildest dreams did he expect a phone call like that today. Swearing under his breath, he pushed off the counter he’d needed to lean against when he saw the caller ID minutes prior.

It’d been over half a decade since he’d heard that voice, the weight in his chest felt like lead as he tried to compose himself, swallowing several times around a dry mouth before he raised his eyes to the parlor of his salon. Pocketing his phone, he stepped on to the floor and bee-lined to the back of the building, directly to the staff room, where he knew someone who would need to hear the news was currently taking a lunch break. Thank Goddess we’re slow today!

Bursting through the door. Xavier in his shock, bounced to his feet, fists held up front of his shocked face—clearly ready for an attack. When his blue eyes calmed upon seeing the intruder, he released a breath, seeing that it was Rafayel who’d appeared, he unclenched his fists and ran them through his hair. “Fuck, Raf.” He paused, lowering a hand to pick up the fork he’d nearly tossed across the room when Raf had entered, spearing a chunk of steak off his plate, he was halfway to bringing the food to his mouth when his eyes lifted on Raf again, just now seeing the expression on his friend’s face. “Raf? Dude, looks like you saw a ghost.”

Raf snorted out a laugh before flopping himself on the low-profile blue suede sofa against the wall. “I’m not so sure I haven’t seen—heard from one, man.” He paused, leaning his head back against the headrest of the couch, the hair he had pulled back to his nape pinching uncomfortably in its elastic, grounding the purple haired man in his shock. “Fuck, Xav. You’re not going to believe this, guess who I just got a call from!” He grinned at the ceiling, before shifting his bi-colored eyes to the other man in the room.

Xavier looked down at his friend, eyes widening at the stunned expressions that masked Raf’s in a repeating loop. “Goddess, man. Take a breath first, how’ bout we start there?” Xavier lowered himself on to the other end of the couch, one arm stretched over the headrest, while the other rested against his knee as one of his legs folded beneath him.

Raf’s far off gaze slid to Xavier’s increasingly worried look, and he grinned. “Sy, man. Fucking Sylus.”

Xavier’s eyes blew wide, eyebrows disappearing beneath his hair, hitting his hairline. “What the… why? Did he say? Is he coming back? Is he okay? Where is he?” The quick-fire questions had Raf waving a hand in the air.

“Slow down, dude. One thing at time. Goddess, I need a damned drink.” Raf pushed himself off of the couch and turned halfway to look back at where the shaggy blonde still sat frozen. Raf shook his head, a drink would have to come later—he couldn’t go to the pack club right now. “Okay, first of all—yes, Sy is coming back.” Raf smirked, “Second, he’s not alone.” Xavier was silent behind him, which made Raf snicker, “I know, right?.” Raf grinned over his shoulder at the silky haired blonde, but then his expression fell, his ecstatic feeling replaced with an itch that egged at Raf as his thoughts slowly turned to Zayne. What would our current pack leader think of this?

Sy had explicitly asked Raf not to tell Zayne the news, at least not until he got there, but Raf wasn’t in the position not to tell the man Sy himself had put in charge, as Zayne’s Beta… he had to tell him, right? The idea of telling Zayne something his Alpha had told him not to made bile suddenly rise in his throat, but he forced it back down, Sy hadn’t directly commanded him not to, which caused another feeling to roll his stomach—guilt. Could he willingly break the trust of his Alpha and best friend? Rafayel flinched and froze with his hand over the doorknob, grim-faced and pallid.

“Fuck…” He ground his teeth, his train of thought having brought him to that abrupt halt from leaving the room and heading directly to Zayne. Shit… I can’t do it. I can’t tell Zayne. Sometimes Raf really hated the pack dynamic. He hadn’t realized that even with Zayne at the top of the pyramid right now, Sylus still outranked him, so what he said—even after all of these years—goes. No matter the tone, no matter the request… Sylus was the true Alpha of the pack, not Zayne.

“What’s wrong? Isn’t Sy coming back, I dunno, good news?” Xavier had finally found his feet and was standing next to Raf now. The two men stood there for a moment, Xav watching Raf go through his internal battle.

“Will you be able to keep this from Zayne? At least until Sy gets here?” Raf turned to face Xavier, looking between his friend’s blue eyes in that moment. Through those baby blues, Raf saw the sincerity as he nodded, the blonde’s wolf, Lux, flashing over the deep blue with his much lighter rivaling color.

“Want me to cross my heart too?” Xav smirked before reaching up to brush a hand through his hair, pulling the longer strands from over his forehead to the side, a habit he’d recently picked up. Raf wasn’t sure if it was out a new nervous habit, or just because the length of his bangs bugged him. Between the three men; Zayne, Rafayel and Xavier—they all sported similar hairstyles to their former pack Alpha. Shoulder length wolf cuts with feathered tips up the back of their heads. Rafayel had gotten Xavier to dye some of the tips with a deep teal and a deeper shade of purple to his natural color, which made him stand out dramatically. Although, Raf’s wolf, Kai, had harumphed disapprovingly at the time.

Xavier had taken the occupation of hairstylist, which Raf knew would make Sylus laugh—near uncontrollably once he found out. Raf worked out of the same salon as both stylist and tattoo artist. He’d been just barely dabbling in the tattoo side of things when Sylus left, and now… Raf looked down at his arms, and thought about his neck. He had a single half sleeve. Wisps of foaming waves coiling around his right arm, red and blue fish swam in tandem on either side of his bicep while over his shoulder blade, he’d had a mermaid done, she was positioned just so that it looked like she was singing to the ocean, and the ocean was responding. Over his neck were images of what looked like thick fishing nets, stretching right up to the spots behind his ears. Raf knew that Sylus would be shocked when he saw them. Things had changed drastically in the several years his Alpha had been gone.

Their ears perked when they heard the telltale sound of a bell jingle from the main parlor, and both men sighed, gave each other a smirk before exiting to continue their day like their lives hadn’t just been potentially turned on their heads thanks to a simple phone call.

Ω    ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶̶ ̶ ̶ ̶̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶̶ ̶ ̶ �� ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶      Ω

I’d woke with the worst headache I’d ever had. What happened? I remembered waking up next to Sylus in that cot, and then… a haze.

As my eyes slowly cleared, and proper sensation returned to my body as the sleep slid away from me. Something seemed off. I sniffed, inhaling through my nose. What? Scents I’d never even dreamed of tickled my nose and my senses. Strange new smells that had a part of my brain malfunctioning with its desire to get closer. Other scents that had my stomach turning or grumbling hungrily. A strange sensation settled over my chest as I inhaled again, suddenly becoming aware of the solid mass pressing into not only my chest, but between my legs as well. The stretch of my thighs. What the…. Blinking, I looked around, my vision still not cleared entirely, but becoming very aware that I was no longer in the Pens, and I was very much not alone.

“Welcome back to the land of the living, sweetheart.”

I knew that voice. That honeyed, seductive, gravelly timbre. I blinked a few more times, just for good measure before opening my mouth, trying to speak around the desert that had, at one point, settled over my tongue. I coughed lightly and tried again. “Sylus?”

My head buzzed, why did it feel like I’d been asleep for months? Continuing to blink away the sleep and the daze, the world around me swam into focus. Trees? Are we outside? The sensation of being near weightless made me look around, flinching slightly as something brushed across my face. The fuck was that?

“Keep squirming like that and I’m going to drop you.” His voice seemed amused, but the grunt he’d made as a jarring bounce of my body had me freezing in place.

After a few solid moments of silence while my brain tried to catch up with what was happening, as well as allowing my vision and my senses to even out. I took in my surroundings, realizing far too late that, that weightless sensation I’d felt was Sylus carrying me backpack style. His hands gripping my thighs as they’d been crudely wrapped around his waist, my arms slung over his shoulders, rough fabric keeping my wrists together, so I didn’t fall if I slipped back. What I’d felt brush over my face had been the strands of his white-silver hair that stuck out randomly.

We were indeed outside. My gaze swept over our surroundings. We were surrounded by trees, bushes, flowers, and ferns of varied species. Glancing up but immediately regretting it as the sun speared my retinas, lancing my brain with pain. I inhaled again, and another plethora of scents and smells assault my brain, and I couldn’t help but revel in the moment. What happened?

I blinked, yeah… what had happened? I looked down at the back of Sylus’ head, that silky white hair shifting idly as he walked. “Uh. Sy, what happened? Where are we?” I swallowed, my eyes refusing to stop blinking as I tried to recall something, anything from after I’d woken up next to him on that cot in the Pens. I heard him sigh as he came to a stop.

“I’m going to put you down; do you think you can stand on your own?” My brows pulled together, as I felt his grip on my thighs loosen.

“Way to avoid the question.” I grumbled as I felt myself begin to slide down his back. A choked sound hit my ears as he suddenly knelt, pulling me back down over his back with a shriek. “Ah!”

He coughed, and then chuckled, “Shit… forgot I tied your wrists.” He untied my bonds before freezing in place, he cleared his throat. “Ahem… sorry, sweetie.” I felt a blush rush into my cheeks as I felt the muscles of his back shift against my chest. Covering his shoulder blades with my hands, I pushed myself off of him and nearly tripped back from the momentum. I felt my feet shift automatically, steadying myself before I fell on my ass. Okay, seriously… what the fuck. I knew then that something wasn’t right at all. Normally, I’d be flat on my back or bouncing on my ass if I’d pulled a stunt like that.

As he stood back to his full height, I felt my eyes widen. I knew he’d been incredibly handsome before, but… why did he looked so much more now? My eyes smoothed over the planes and ridges of his bare shoulders. He was wearing a black athletic wear muscle shirt, with a red crow and an upright figure eight emblazoned over his left pec. The fabric pulled taut over his pectorals and his well-defined abs. I felt saliva gather around my tongue as my stunned gaze swept further down, where black satin shorts hugged his lean thighs, hanging down to the middle of his thighs. Those are altogether TOO short… but my Goddess… this man! Pure sex appeal! If I didn’t know any better, I’d think he was letting me take all of him in, for how silent he was. I tried to make my eyes stop their wandering perusal, but they flat out refused. I will take all of him in, even if it kills me! I felt another blush sprint up my neck into my cheeks, even in my head that didn’t sound good.

His bare legs, my goddess… I’d never seen such well proportioned or muscled legs in my life. Even after he’d shifted back to this form, covered in blood—how had I not noticed? Oh yeah… I’d kept my eyes on the ceiling! I’m a fool. This man didn’t have a stitch of fat on him… by looking at him, he was pure muscle. “Okay, sweetie. You’ve looked long enough.” The chuckle he loosed sounded amused, but it was also something else, but it wasn’t angry. I bit my lip, trying not to focus on how the tone of his voice made a shiver run down my spine.

I inhaled, trying to regain my focus—right, we needed to talk. Why were we here? Where was ‘here’? Looking back up at his face, I saw the warmth in his eyes, the way his pupils dilated, and I saw Stayrus’ eyes flash before settling back. “Alright,” I huffed, crossing my arms over my chest, “Go ahead. Talk.”

He shifted on his feet, leaning heavily on his right before he lifted the arms he’d had hanging at his sides to grip his hips. His eyes went to the sky as he took his own deep breath in, tipping his head back down, those crimson eyes met mine and he opened his mouth, “You might want to sit down.”

My brain went numb. What? Sit? What the fuck happened that he’d tell me to do that?! I blinked, before crossing my ankles and lowering myself to the ground. Fear settled in my stomach, the bees whipping around, making the back of my throat go cold from the rolling of my stomach. “Sylus… what the fuck happened?”

He crouched; his elbows braced against his knees. The index and thumb of each of his hands tapping together in an agitated fashion, making the growing fear inside me swell further. His eyes were locked on me, but I could see something in those clear ruby-like eyes. Nervousness. “Orien… Ori… you,” his mouth hung open for a second before he stood and paced a couple feet away from me, I swallowed around the nausea as I watched him. He’s never said my whole name before…. He spun, came back to crouch in front of me before his hands reached out to grasp mine. His red gaze piercing as the next words fell from his mouth in a rush. “Ori, you presented.”

Did I hear that right?

No…

What?

How?

What?!

“I’m sorry…” I shook my head, “I must have something in my ears.” I went to slip one hand from his, but he tightened his hold.

“No… you heard me right, sweetie.” He leaned forward, getting right in my face so I had no choice but to look at him as he repeated himself. “You presented.”

A myriad of thoughts bombarded my mind. All following a similar pattern of ‘How?’ and ‘Why?’ I could feel my mouth opening and closing like a fish, my eyes darting around as panic replaced the fear in my gut, the nausea escalating until I felt the chill at the back of throat hit a new high. I tore myself away from him with a grumbled, “I think I’m gonna throw up” before I near commando crawled to the nearest bush to empty whatever was left in my stomach.

My mind raced as I tried to focus on something, anything else as I dry heaved, but the focus train had sailed. How could I have presented? I’m wolf-less for fuck’s sake! It’s impossible! Right? Why did I pre—My thoughts came to an abrupt halt as a memory crawled through the haze of my mind. Soft mewling sounds, moans, skin brushing together, the taste of salt as my tongue trailed up a certain man’s neck. Oh Goddess… I didn’t….

A hand came down lightly against the center of my back, the pressure and warmth settling my stomach from its tumultuous rampage. His warmth seeped into my side as he knelt behind me, waiting for me in silence.

When the convulsing finally tapered down, I pressed my palms into the soft moss-covered earth, trying to find something to ground myself. Something that didn’t remind me of… Oh Goddess, oh no, oh no…. Slowly, I leaned back on to my heels, reaching up to wipe my wrist across my mouth. Staring into the foliage, a single question—that I think I already knew the answer to but wanted him to confirm—came to mind, the images of skin and warmth drifting away as I released a shaky breath and asked. “What… did I present as?”

A soft sigh came from the man behind me as he shifted to my side, coming into view of my peripherals. “Ori, you presented as an Omega.”

A hysterical laugh escaped me at the word. Of-fucking-course. What a Goddess-damned surprise! I suddenly thought of my twin sister. Cassi… the Delta. I guess I really am at the bottom of the totem pole. I could feel the heat growing behind my eyes, and as I looked down at my hands folded on my lap, I nodded solemnly. What else was new….

----

He never did tell me where we were going… just that we’d left. I could take a fairly accurate guess as to why. It was because… Caleb would’ve made sure I ended up at the breeding pens if he found out I had presented as an Omega. I’d been told the majority of my life after my sister and I turned thirteen, that I—specifically—would end up as a breeder regardless of rank or title. I had a rank and title now, and if I’d stayed, it wouldn’t’ve made much difference. Except, now… as both a presented Omega and a twin… my body would be nigh impossible not to impregnate and potentially bare the packs next generation—genetically the possibility of baring multiples at once was high, as an Omega—it was now a guarantee.

I’d chosen to walk on my own, arms crossed tightly over my chest as I sunk deeper and deeper into myself with every step. I could tell Sylus was worried. Hells, deep down—I was worried. I didn’t know the first thing about presenting, or about being an Omega. Ephraim and Caleb squirreled the Omegas away from the pack. I knew that Ephraim’s pack had a minority population of females, so he’d set up the breeding pens, and I’d been terrified of being sent there, even at my age—I was partially thankful he’d kept me as the house lapdog for so long—and then had sent me to the Pens.

I looked up through the fallen hair over my forehead. I would’ve never met Sylus if Ephraim had sent me to the breeding pens. So maybe I was a little thankful that the unstable Alpha had prompted the Pens deployment instead.

Sylus wasn’t too far ahead of me—but those legs of his could take him much, much further if he wasn’t trying to match my speed. He’d strapped a black leather duffle across his shoulders, I’d seen him bring it in on one of his nightly escapades, the thing looked full to bursting. Idly I wondered what he’d packed away in there. Food… clothes probably.

I sighed, looking down at the ground as we walked. I wasn’t sure when, probably before we left, he’d changed me into a slim fit black t-shirt with the slogan ‘Remember When I Asked For Your Opinion? Me Neither’ printed in thick white letters across the front, and a pair of royal-navy blue jeans with tears and whiskers across the thighs. They hugged my hips nicely; I had to give the man props. He knew fashion. My feet were clad in a pair of black and white high-top converse. Somehow he even got the proper shoe size. Not that anyone in the past cared about that. Sandals and flipflops were everyone’s go too when I’d need shoes. Opening my mouth, I looked up at the back of his head, “Thank you… for the clothes.”

He stopped and turned to face me, the tips of his ears tinted pink but a smirk pulled the corner of his mouth up. “Least I could do. Couldn’t very well bring you out here naked.” He winked down at me before facing forward, walking again. I blinked furiously, feeling the heat from both his words and that wink surge into my cheeks. Oh Goddess… I pinched my eyes shut as I dropped my chin to my chest and fell in line behind again. I’m going to have to bring that up eventually. I knew I did.

Better rip off the proverbial band-aid. “Uh… … I didn’t—we didn’t… um … I hope I didn’t do anything.” Fuck why is this so difficult. Damnit! I reached up to pinch the bridge of my nose, “Fucking Hell… I didn’t force myself on you, did I?” Oh fuck, I can’t believe I just said that!

He froze mid step, his shoulders bunching slightly. I could see the blush in his ears darken. Please don’t face me, please don’t face me! I chanted in my head, but when was I ever that lucky? Of course, he turned to face me. Those red eyes locked on me, and a boyish bashfulness made his demeanor seem much younger than what he was. “No… not exactly.” I felt my eyes blow as wide as saucers. Fuck! “You tried to.” He cleared his throat and reached up to shove one of his burley hands through his hair. I think he saw the petrified look of embarrassment on my face because he took a step towards me, “It’s okay, Ori—”

“Okay?! How is trying to force you to fuck me okay to you?! Oh, my Goddess….” I began twisting around on the spot, hands reaching up to run through my own hair. “Is that how an Omega presents? She tries to physically assault incredibly attractive males in her presence?” When I glanced back at him mid-turn, his expression brought me to a stop. “What?”

“You think I’m incredibly attractive?” Oh, for fucks sake… of course that’s what your egotistic brain latched on to. I grumbled inwardly at him. I twitched a brow and glared at him.

“So, what if I do? Does that excuse the fact that I couldn’t control my reactions to you? Forgot that I even tried to do that until now?”

He pushed his bottom lip out a bit, full on pouting at me. “I suppose not, but it makes me feel good.”

He went to turn away from me again, but I wasn’t done talking so I found myself bounding forward and positioning myself in front of him. One hand reached up to press against his chest, my feet spread to accommodate his height and weight if he tried to push forward. “Hold on, bucko. I ain’t done talkin’.” I poked his chest, prompting him to glare down at my offending finger.

“What more is there to say, sweetie.” He reached up to grab my wrist before taking an almost threatening step towards me, causing me to stumble back. “You scented me, licked my neck, bit my chin. You rubbed yourself up against me. It took every ounce of control I, and Stayrus could conjure to not do what you were asking us to do.” He wrapped his free arm around my waist then, pulling me flush against his chest, “I wanted to, sweetheart. Fuck, I wanted to.” His eyes bore into mine, the reds of them burning as he stared at me.

I swallowed loudly around a dry mouth, “Why didn’t you?” What a dumb question….

He smirked as he shook his head in clear disbelief, his eyes dropped down to my lips, before moving back up to my eyes, “Because you were scared.” His voice had adopted a lower tone, lower than normal. “I didn’t want to force a bond that you’d regret when you were coherent.” The hand he had around my wrist loosened, but not before I felt him brush the pad of his thumb over my knuckles. “I didn’t want to shackle you to me when you didn’t even understand what was happening to you.”

All very valid points. The heat of his arm around my waist loosened as well, allowing me to step back and breathe clearly. A whorish thought intruded on my mind as I watched him take a heavy steadying breath as his eyes lifted to the sky. Valid or not, having this glorious male as my Alpha might not have been so bad… technically he still could be. I turned away from him then, biting my lip. Were these normal reactions as an Omega? I’d had some pretty tasty thoughts about Sylus before, but this was just absurd. Are all Omegas this horny? If they were, I was in trouble….

I felt a hand on my shoulder and looked up at him, he was looking behind him. Back the way we came. I watched him cant his head slightly, his eyes closing for a brief moment before they popped open and slid to me. “Get in the trees, find somewhere to hide. Now. Go.” He twirled me in place and shoved me to the closest thicket of trees. I stumbled  past the small bushes and eased my way through the underbrush. As I moved, I could hear him behind me, knowing he was there kept me from hyperventilating. What did he hear?

Suddenly a hand wrapped around my wrist again and I was yanked backward, a soft shriek escaped me as I fell back against a hard, warm surface. Another hand came up to cover my mouth as I looked up to find Sylus, glaring back in the direction we’d fled from. He lowered his head just so to whisper in my ear, “Not a sound.” I gave a feeble nod from behind his hand and turned my eyes back to the clear path we’d been walking on.

Seconds ticked by, but before long—I heard it. The unmistakable sound of an engine.

Sylus slid an arm around my middle, pressing me up against him hard. My breathing faltered at the feel of his broad chest molded against me. His warmth seeped into me, and I felt a low rumble vibrate against my spine just as a recreation vehicle sped by, the higher pitch of the engine making my ears ring. I froze, stiffening in his embrace. I’d recognized the two individuals in the side-by-side.

Ephraim and Caleb.

Sylus’ voice cut through my panic as he whispered, his lips brushing the shell of my ear, “We need to go, now.” He released me, pushing himself to a stand as quietly as he could before helping me up. “No more paths or roads for us.” His voice was angry, and something inside me wanted to flinch, but I pushed past that reaction and nodded back at him. I couldn’t fall apart, not right now.

Keeping to a crouch, he’d grabbed my hand and started hauling me through the woods. How the man, as tall as he was, could stay so low to the ground was beyond me—I was even having trouble staying as low as he was, my back and knees protesting angrily.

----

I was getting increasingly annoyed. I glanced above us, through the canopies of the trees, I could see the orange glow of the sunset. We’d been tromping through the trees, crouched for what had to be hours judging by the time of day—or evening. I whisper growled at him, my legs, lower back, and arms screamed at me for a rest, “Sylus! Can we please stop! This is getting ridiculous!”

He didn’t answer, in fact it didn’t seem like he heard me. He seemed far away, even as he—quite quietly—pulled me through the trees, the smaller willows, the young saplings, and groups of berry bushes. It took an effort to tug on his increasingly heavy arm. I tried to listen, I really did—but I wasn’t used to these new senses yet, so I couldn’t hear a bloody thing. “Sy-lus.” I yanked back on his arm, pronouncing his name with two hard syllables. “I can’t go any further… I’m dying.” The exaggeration was there, but my legs were noodles beneath me and I could feel the pinch in my side forming. My hand slid free of his, only then did that seem to pull him to the present.

He turned as he stopped, looking down at his hand before leveling his crimson stare at me. “Seriously… I don’t know how you’ve managed to do this…” I collapsed on the ground, “fuck… I can’t feel my feet. I’m starving and I’m thirsty.” I paused, trying to focus my hearing—and failing. “Do you hear anything? Cause I sure don’t.” I pointedly kept my voice low, but I was too tired to care about whispering.

I heard him grumble before closing his eyes and tilting his head up a fraction. I watched, fascinated. Wondering if it was Sylus’ senses panning the area, or Stayrus.’ I suppose they’re the same, aren’t they. He seemed to garner something positive from the silence, because the next thing I knew he was moving to settle his big frame next to me. His garnet eyes were more Stayrus than Sylus when I looked closer. Had he purposely allowed his wolf to the surface?

“Should we gather kindling? Or would that attract unwanted attention?” I asked, fiddling with a twig I’d picked up. I could already guess his answer, wolves had a keen sense of smell as well as an incredible sense of hearing… they’d smell the burning wood from miles away. Which—didn’t bode well for dinner if we needed to cook anything.

As if on cue, my stomach growled. A long-drawn-out sound that had me pressing a hand flat against my stomach and closing my eyes. A soft chuckle sounded off beside me. Opening my eyes once the gurgling had stopped, I peaked over at Sy and found him unzipping the duffle bag and rummaging through it. “You should be happy I tried to think ahead, sweetie.” Pulling his hand free of the bag, he handed me a full package of candied salmon.

My mouth fell open, “Where the Hell did you get this?” When I took it, the packaging was still cold! He must’ve nabbed an icepack or something.

“My last outing, you were still sleeping so, I ransacked Ephraim’s larder and cold room.” He reached over once I’d torn some of the saran wrap aside and plucked a chunk for himself. Smiling at me when I pouted at him, popping it in his mouth. I pinched a small piece between my fingers, feeling the softness of the oil coat my fingertips before I brought the treat to my mouth. As soon as the salmon touched my tongue, I couldn’t hold back the soft moan that escape between my lips. It had a pleasant flavor to it. Salty, yet sweet.

“He always was a greedy bastard. Keeping the good stuff for himself.” I nicked another bite before Sylus took the package from me and grabbed more for himself. “I don’t even think he shared with his mate. Hell, not even Caleb got anything. Last time, I think, he shared anything worth while from his personal stash was with my sister when she agreed to be Caleb’s future Luna.” I recalled the time I saw Cassi munching on one of those chocolate oranges a person could get during the holiday season, it was right after our sixteenth birthday. Ephraim had asked Cassi if she’d accept the role as Luna when Caleb took over, and she’d said yes—I’d assumed he’d given her the orange.

“He sounds like a piece of work, for sure.” Sylus handed the package of fish back to me, pausing briefly to watch as I dug in for more, “When that vehicle went by, you recognized the driver or the passenger, didn’t you.” It wasn’t a question.

I nodded, “Both, actually.”

“Oh?” He quirked a brow, his lips pulling down in a frown. “Who were they?”

I pressed the back of my hand to my mouth as I chewed and swallowed the mouthful of fish I had, “It was the Alpha and Caleb. They do, sometimes, go on routine patrols of the boundary lines, but Ephraim looked pissed….”

Sylus sighed, “They must’ve gone to the tunnel then.” He nudged my shoulder with his, “How did you know we were following a boundary line?”

I paused, narrowing my eyes at him in confusion, “I… don’t know. It just… smells different.”

His eyes widened, “Smells different? How so?” He tilted his head.

I stretched in front of him to place the remainder of the candied salmon atop the duffle before shifting. Facing him as I crossed my legs in front of me. I gripped my shins as I thought about it. Could try that eye closing method you saw him do? So, I did, I closed my eyes and slowly breathed in. “It’s hard to describe… but it smells like there is more plant and animal life in that direction, while in that direction, it smells more like shifter.” I’d lifted each corresponding hand to point in their appropriate directions. When I opened my eyes again, he was just staring at me.

“Ori, do you hear anything in your head when you push your senses out like that?” His voice was soft, curious.

“Hear anything? Like what?”

“A voice? Or, more accurately—do you feel a presence? You’d feel it right about here.” He reached out and pressed two fingers to the base of my skull. A small chill rippled over my skin, causing the hairs to stand on end.

I immediately closed my eyes again, slowed my breathing and tried what he said, pushing my senses outward. As I did, I could feel things becoming sharper. The smells of the shifted dirt beneath me, the bitterness of the poplar leaves, the weirdly minty scent of the pine needles. The rough earth heavy scent of the bark of the oak we were sat near. A squirrel that slept within that same oak, the smell off its fur settling inside me, latching there like a label for use later.

Tilting my head a little, I relaxed my shoulders and pushed further. As I did, sounds prickled at my eardrums. The ants scurrying across the leaves and small pebbles, spiders haunting about looking for their next meal with their uneven eight-legged steps. Further away there was the evening sounds of frogs singing, and a larger mammal drinking, the sound of its tongue lapping over the surface of the water.

How far do I push until I hear something? I asked myself, scrunching my nose in frustration.

“Don’t overexert yourself, you would’ve been able to hear something right away.” When I opened my eyes and looked up at him, he looked almost crestfallen. Why?

“Was I supposed to hear anything?” I asked softly, giving him a worried look.

“Your wolf.”

Ω    ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶̶ ̶ ̶ ̶̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶      Ω

[kuwajima]

@demonslayedher posted an amazing Akaza pillow concept, which prompted me to make this prototype. And after more trial and error, I think I finally have a pretty decent pillow!

I can’t decide if he should live on the KNY couch or hang out with the face pillows on the KNY bed…decisions, decisions.

Unlike the prototype, this one has less polyfill stuffing which allows the rounded blue pattern to look more accurate to Akaza’s designs. The fringe is also suede rather than my DIY acrylic fringe from the first attempt! It’s a tag bit too stiff, but that’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make for a more accurate color and length.

I didn’t realize how weird Akaza’s color scheme was until I tried to find a fringe color to match it. This specific one is listed as “watermelon” and it’s pretty close to the Akaza towel I was using as a reference guide.

Overall I think it’s cute! Now that I’ve made kny food and kny home decor, I need to find another project…

[arthistoryanimalia]

#TwoForTuesday: how many different critters can you spot on these purses? 🔎

1. Purse, Japan, early 18th c. Leather covered w/ embroidered linen w/ silks, lined w/ suede, silver; 4x4cm

2. Purse, Japan, c. 1890 Embroidered felt, silver, ivory; 4x4cm

V&A T.124-1964, T.383-1977

Description of #1:

“Leather purse covered with linen embroidered with coloured silk & cord in laid, couched & raised work with some satin stitch. The purse is bound with leather & lined with brown suede. The division inside & the sides outside are made of green suede stamped with a repeating geometrical pattern in white. The purse has a silver fastening in the form of two butterflies. At the top are series of silver chains for suspension which end in a heavy round ivory button containing a silver plaque decorated with chrysanthemums.

Embroidered decoration consists of background of clouds worked in couched circles of cord in blue & buff, against which various creatures appear. On the front flap are a dragonfly, a butterfly & a small fly; on the main part of the front a praying mantis & a moth; on the back a frog and a horned beetle.”

(Note: praying mantis isn’t visible in photo, and the “moth” looks like a cicada)

Description of #2:

“Purse of felt with an all over embroidered pattern of flowers [note: they’re actually butterflies] and dragonflies. It is in shape of an envelope with a cast silvered metal clasp shaped like a chrysanthemum and a metal chain with belt suspension loop with an ivory washer. Felt ground is pressed with stencilled pattern. The inner pocket fastens with an incised bone tab and loop.”

[writer-or-whatever]

Sleight of Hand

The other piece of HorrorComedy flash fiction that I wrote semi-recently and finally posted (find the other here). Read under the cut or on AO3.

Summary: Caroline moved to the foothills to have an escape. She gets to work nine to five and then the world is her oyster from five to nine—that’s what the real estate agent promised. She hasn’t been on a walk once in the six months that she’s lived here. Today that changes.

Rating: T | Word Count: 1.5k | Horror & Humor

It’s a nice night for a walk. The air is cool and fresh with the rain of the morning, but the evening sky is clear, with no sign of the clouds that did nothing but drizzle over the earth all day. The fresh air and crisp smell of early fall coaxed Caroline out of the house and into the woods behind it, not that it was hard.

She’s been caged in all day, running furiously on the corporate hamster wheel from the comfort of her couch. There is no boundary between work and home—everything is just a maudlin slurry of exhaustion. A rat race with no finish. But the trees out back know nothing about that kind of existence. They have been there longer than she’s been alive, even the saplings. They stand firmly in place—tall and steady with deep roots—and they do not let Jane from Accounts Payable bully them in a conference call. They call to her every time she glances out of the window and sighs. Come take a walk. It’s good for you. Touch some grass. Please, we’ve plenty of it. Come and play.

It’s hard for her to say no.

Caroline moved to the foothills to have an escape. She gets to work nine to five and then the world is her oyster from five to nine—that’s what the real estate agent promised. She hasn’t been on a walk once in the six months that she’s lived here.

Today that changes.

She pulls on her jacket and her hiking boots—brown suede and red laces just like in Wild—and grabs a water bottle. She’s going to enjoy herself. This will be good for you; that’s what all the books say. “I hiked the PCT! It saved my life!” “I used to be a corporate drone, but then I discovered the wonders of nature!” “Henry David Thoreau was right! Returning to nature is the only way to fix us!”

Caroline is full of gusto and grand poetic notions for the first mile. She is going to do this every day! It is gorgeous and refreshing! She has been wasting her life away behind a screen—man was not meant to live under the yolk of a machine!

The second mile passes in a more subdued manner. She appreciates the birdsong and the lichen, and she has realistic expectations. Probably not every day, but some of them surely. Once a week is probably doable.

She doesn’t take in any glorious wonders of nature in the third mile. She’s too busy thinking about what Jane from Accounts Payable meant when she called her “endearing” before she shot her proposal down. She checks her watch, the little rectangle glows faintly blue back at her: 6:15. Caroline hasn’t logged off this early in months. Her coworkers are surely all still pecking away at their keyboards. Her boss is probably still online. They’ve probably had another meeting and were confused by her absence. They’re probably having another right now. About her. She has to go back and check. She’s wasting precious time out here. She has to work harder if she ever wants a chance to retire. She’ll be forced to work until she dies if she doesn’t get back online right this minute. She–

She can’t find the way back. She has been following a trail, hasn’t she? Caroline looks around. There is no trail. The ground beneath her feet is indistinguishable from that around it. There is no path. Surely there was a path?

She can’t remember. The siren song of the woods was so strong—she followed it right out to shore and now it’s dashing her against the rocks. She’s going to die here. She has no wilderness skills—she got bored halfway through the drive to her first Girl Scouts’ camping trip and made her mom turn right back around—what made her think she could just go gallivanting off into the woods?

She turns back the way she thinks she came. She pulls out her phone and opens the compass app that came pre-installed; she is facing southwest. Caroline doesn’t know which way she came from, and this does not help. She tries walking this way anyway. It’s a complete 180 degrees from where she was going, so it must be from whence she came.

She makes it one mile. She doesn’t remember if she’s seen this tree before. Maybe that rock looks familiar?

Another mile. The trees don’t look any thinner. Did they close in around her slowly on the way out? Or was she deep in the thicket from the start?

Another half mile and she needs to sit down. Her water bottle is empty. She is so tired. What was she thinking? There is a log just a little further. That will be as good a place as any to rest for a minute.

She sits down on the log, and it’s not as hard as it looks. It has moss growing over it, and the wood is soft and damp. She pulls at the bark absentmindedly and it comes away easily. Nothing like the hard trees that tower around her. Will she be this soft and pliable when she returns to the Earth?

Before she can do something stupid—like lay down and let the forest grow over her—she spots movement from behind one of the trees in the direction she’s been walking. Help at last! Thank god!

It’s probably one of her neighbors. There are other cabins and cozy little houses on the edge of the wilderness out here. She hasn’t met any of the other residents, but she’s seen the lights on in their windows. Maybe she can introduce herself now—find a hiking buddy. Isn’t that what all the true crime podcasts recommend? Never wander into the woods alone.

A figure emerges from behind the trees. Its arms are long and spindly, like the branches around them. Their face is obscured by a hanging curtain of dark hair, which goes undisturbed by both wind and breath. The wind is cool where it rustles Caroline’s hair and coaxes wisps of it out of her ponytail. She stares at them, paralyzed. She can’t even blink.

But she must have, because in the space between one moment and the next they’ve disappeared. And she didn’t see it. She must have closed her eyes—in fear or in disbelief or in prayer, she doesn’t know, but she must have had them closed because the figure is gone now and things don’t just disappear. Maybe it wasn’t ever there. She’s stressed, she’s lost, she’s tired. Weirder things have happened. Brain chemistry is odd like that.

The figure emerges from behind another, thinner tree much closer to her. It is too big to have been hiding there. But there it is, peeking its head out from behind it. Looking at her.

She still can’t see the face—dark hair is still hanging in the way of it—but that doesn’t matter. She can feel the weight of its eyes on her. The hair on the back of her neck stands on end. How is it hiding there? And how did it get so close. It moved more than 100 yards in that fraction of a second. This isn’t real. It’s not happening. She’s imagining it. She should shut her eyes and take a deep breath. She can’t.

If she takes her eyes off that thing she is going to die. If she makes even the smallest movement, it is going to get her. If she keeps looking at it then she’ll be okay. It cannot get her if she does not let it.

It ducks back behind the tree again. She can’t see it—it moved faster than the first time. Caroline is going to die, she’s certain of it. This thing is going to get her. She won’t even see it coming. The feeling of being watched comes again from her right. She doesn’t want to look. She doesn’t want to know. She turns her head anyway.

It is sitting next to her, the soft wood of the log creaking underneath the added weight. It’s sitting shoulder to shoulder with her, as close as it can get without touching. It’s roughly the same size as she is, though she swears it was taller before and thinner beside. Now they’re both midsize. The lanky hair that still covers its face is Caroline’s bright box red and the roots are her honey blonde.

It reaches one of its hands toward her face, and the fingers are spindly but slowly shrinking and reforming. The sound of bones snapping and crunching makes her stomach churn. They’re bringing that rippling hand toward her face. She can’t move—she can’t even blink—she is going to watch as it reaches right into her. The hand skirts around to the far side of her head at the last second and hovers near her ear. Then it pulls its hand away quickly and she screams.

There is something in its hand. A coin. This thing, now wearing her face, grins back at her, smiling with far more teeth than she’s ever had. It hands her the coin.

“Ta da!” It says. It has her voice.

[intrikatie]

♡ Pairing: Minho x Jisung ♤ Genre: Mafia AU, Romeo x Romeo ♢ Chapter Warnings: Angst, foul language throughout, mentions of: alcohol use, poor mental health & psychological coercion / emotional abuse, allusion to murder ♧ MINORS DNI🔞

♤ ♡ TASTE Synopsis & Chapter List ♢ ♧

<< Chapter 3 - Broken Compass ♤ ♡ ♢ ♧ Chapter 5 - Comflex >>

Inspirational Quote:

Now this is the Law of the Jungle — as old and as true as the sky; And the Wolf that shall keep it may prosper, but the Wolf that shall break it must die.  As the creeper that girdles the tree-trunk the Law runneth forward and back — For the strength of the Pack is the Wolf, and the strength of the Wolf is the Pack.

Rudyard Kipling - The Law of the Jungle

Chapter 4: The Wolf & His Pack

Jisung heaves off his boots as soon as he enters the apartment, adding them to the pile at the door. He flops onto the faded blue threadbare couch of the untidy lounge. Sighs as he watches little dustmotes dance in the sunlight.

This place is a lifestyle away from Minho’s.

Slightly cramped, stuffed with mismatched furniture and comfort. Everything exuding practicality and affordability over style. A pile of books occupies one corner, acting as a lamp stand whilst his neglected guitar leans against the other. The bamboo coffee table in front of him is littered with the previous nights take out containers. The armchair across from him is a green suede wingback affair that had been rescued from a skip. The couch he’s currently sitting on was left behind by the previous owners.

The apartment is basically a place for abandoned and unwanted things. Which is probably why he feels so at home here.

But Minho had made him feel wanted. 

Even now he can’t help thinking about him.

Maybe it’s because he’s wearing his hoodie, which smells like him. It’s a clean scent, like cotton. Fresh, like a spring sea-breeze. 

He idly twirls the drawstring around his finger, brings the collar up to his nose, closes his eyes and inhales. In his mind's eye, he can clearly see Minho’s slightly crooked front teeth. His full top lip curled in a dark smirk. His sparkling cat-like eyes and his too-long lashes. He can almost feel his muscular shoulders under his palms. His broad chest and how his heart beats through it. Can almost trace the tributaries of veins over his strong and gentle hands. Can recall the warmth of his lips, the scrape of his teeth, the texture of his tongue– 

A rush of pleasure courses through him and he covers his face, giggling into his hands whilst his feet kicks out the giddiness he feels in his stomach. 

It had all been so perfect. Minho had been so perfect.

But more than that, Jisung had been himself. Truly, properly, entirely, himself. He hadn’t intended to let himself go so completely. But something about the way Minho looked at him, touched him, held him, kissed him… it was easy to let his guard down. Give in.

All his life, he wore what he was told to wear, spoke how he’d been taught to speak and had done… horrible things in the guise of upholding the family's honour and reputation. His whole life he’d been Han ‘jag-eun kal/ Little Knife’ Jisung, obedient son of the Lobos. His whole life, he’d been a marionette. Until last night.  

Last night, Minho had cut his strings. 

A short sharp pain at the back of his head, brings his happiness to a full stop.

“OW!”

Changbin is standing over him wearing a black tank-top and basketball shorts, bare feet pushed into foam flip-flops. His big arms crossed over his broad chest, glaring down at him with a murderous glint in his eye.

Rubbing the spot, Jisung snaps, “What the fuck was that for?”

“Do I need to slap you again?” Changbin asks, “What the fuck do you think that was for? Where the fuck have you been?”

Jisung drops his hand, “I know I should have called,” he sighs, “mian.”

Changbin’s eyes narrow as he grabs Jisung’s chin, tilting his head to the sunlight. “You’ve been fighting again.”

Jisung pulls his head away, tucks his bruised hands into the sleeves of the hoodie. “It’s nothing.”

Changbin does not look convinced. “I’ve had Chris on my back all fucking night. Your phone’s been off. You ended at least a dozen of mine and Chris’s calls this morning before you finally told Chris you were just heading back, so explanations are needed. Where have you been?”

Jisung thinks quickly. 

“And don’t tell me you were with Jon, because I will know you are fucking lying, since I already spoke to him and he wasn’t quick enough to provide you with an alibi this time.”

Damn it, Jon! Jisung stops thinking. “I went to a club, that’s all.”

“Yeah?” Changbin tugs at the collar of Jisung’s hoodie, “Official merch is it?”

“So I stayed out, for fuck’s sake, it’s no big deal. I had a night off. I am an adult. I can do adulty things!” He’s incredibly conscious of the fact that he doesn’t sound particularly adult-like when he says it. 

Maybe if Changbin didn’t look like he was ready to commit fratricide, Jisung would tell his brother that he’d actually experienced one of – no, the best night of his life.  

Changbin wipes a hand over his mouth. By the way his biceps tense, Jisung can tell he’s trying very hard not to throttle him. Jisung’s grateful for his effort. “Look, I have no problem with you crashing here until you get your shit together. But I do take issue with you telling me you will be back by such-and-such time then going fucking AWOL I almost started calling the fucking hospitals.”

Jisung shoves his hands into the pocket of the hoodie. He’d already said he was sorry. Changbin is just rubbing his nose in it now.

Changbin sighs, sniffs. “I hope your latest conquest was worth it, because Chris is on his way here, so I think that was your last hurrah for the foreseeable future,” he claps Jisung on the shoulder, smirks.

“For fuck’s sake,” Jisung groans. Chris is the last person he wants to see. “Why?”

“Why?” Changbin drops on the couch beside him, adding to the cloud of dust in the air. “His younger brother, who’s been acting a bit weird recently, went fucking missing.”

“I haven’t been acting weird.”

“You’ve been far from normal for a while now. Ever since you turned up to my door with a bag of clothes in one hand and a guitar in the other and asked if you could stay on my couch for a few nights,” Changbin drops his hands onto his own knees. “That was seven weeks ago, Hannie, and I still don’t know what triggered it and I have never fucking pushed it because I thought that you might tell me when you felt you were able to.”

“You want me to move out–”

Changbin groans, “No. I’m not asking you to move out. I’m glad you’re here. But you have a habit of disappearing into yourself and distancing yourself from the people that care about you when you’re struggling with stuff. But none of us know what you’re struggling with, because you aren’t telling us and we don’t know how to help. I was bloody worried about you last night. We all were.”

There’s no way to even begin to try and make them understand. “I didn’t mean to make you worry,” he chews on the thought that he hadn’t expected them to notice him not being there but Changbin is on a roll.

“You haven’t been to the office for over a month now–”

“– yeah, because I’m such a valued member of the team–”

“–I can’t remember the last time I saw you sleep–”

“–there’s no chance of me sleeping now that I know you’re watching–”

“–you’re out all hours and you’re starting fights–”

“–I didn’t start the fight! There was this girl and–”

Changbin raises a hand, ploughs on, “and you’re drinking more.”

Jisung groans now, “I don’t have an alcohol problem.”

“I didn’t say it was a problem now, but I think it’ll become one if you don’t address it soon.”

“Is this a fucking intervention?”

“Will you stop getting defensive and just listen for a second?” Changbin says, “Whatever happened between you and mum is your business and believe me, I get it. Fuck knows I get it. I know exactly what she’s like. Which is why I live in this little palace. But it’s not a valid reason to burn the bridges of the people who actually give a shit about you. I want you, we need you, to start looking after yourself for a–”

Jisung pushes himself off the couch. He’s endured enough of this.

“Where are you going now?”

He is at the door, shoving his feet into a pair of trainers. “Out.”

“You just got back! Hannie! You can’t keep running away when things get a little bit difficult–”

Little bit difficult? “You’re fucking clueless.”

“If I am, it's because you don’t talk to me!” Changbin’s voice is rising, but it’s more out of exasperation, maybe a little bit of desperation, than that of anger. “Just fucking talk to me–”

Jisung has the door open, his head turned to face Changbin, a scolding retort on his lips and his foot hovering over the threshold, when a hand seizes him by the throat, pushes him back into the hallway, slamming him against the wall, his feet kicking at the air as they search for the floor.

Chris looks fucking homicidal shouting up into his face, “Where the fuck were you? You realise how fucking stupid you are? Do you have any consideration for us at all? I’ve been driving around all fucking night looking for you!”

“Chan-hyung, let him go,” Changbin says tiredly, trying to step between them, his hands on Chris’s forearms. “He can’t breathe. Let. Him. Go.” 

Coughing, his feet back on the floor, Jisung catches his breath, rubs at his throat looking over the top of Changbin’s head at Chris.

There are dark circles below his eyes, his face paler than usual. And he is Pissed. Capitalised. A tired Chris is somewhat manageable, but a tired and angry Chris is a dangerous combination anyone with common sense and a will to live, tries to avoid. If he’s this angry about him staying out without prior notice, how angry would he be if he’d known what he’d helped his mother to do? Jisung’s pleased that Changbin is between them. 

Jeongin peers over Chris’s shoulder. Waves. Smiles. “You’re alive then.”

He doesn’t sound too disappointed. Which is touching.

“Jisung, go and sit on the couch,” Changbin says. “Hyung, the armchair. Innie…wherever.”

Chris and Jisung continue to exchange death glares.

“Now.”

Jisung moves first, not bothering to remove his trainers. He slouches over to the couch, drops down and crosses his arms. Chris, suited and booted and every inch representing what a perfect son should look like, steps inside, unbuttons his jacket before settling onto the armchair. Jeongin sits on the arm beside him. 

In their elegant tailored suits and fine shirts and perfectly placed ties with gold clips, they look like two respectable businessmen. But Jisung can see past the outward appearance. Past the con. He knows Jeongin is wearing a knife holster on his shoulder over his grey waistcoat. He knows the black leather belt of his trousers is more than just a fashion item, holding a knuckle knife at the back. Jisung knows about the second switchblade tucked into the top of his Chelsea boot. 

Chris is holstered too. Jisung can just about make out the outline of it under his jacket. He carries a silver coloured pistol, the black grip has a stylised silver wolf head on it. It had been a gift from the three younger siblings for his twenty-fifth birthday. Jisung has only ever seen the gun a handful of times when Chris has cleaned it. But Chris has never actually used it. He's never had to. His name and his reputation, has always outweighed the necessity. If Bahng ‘neugdae/The Wolf’ Christopher ‘Chan’, eldest son of the Lobos family, tells you to do something, you fucking do it. He doesn’t even have to list the consequences.

And that’s Chris’s real strength. The strength of their pack leader. The strength of their pack.

Changbin closes the front door, sniffs and sneezes into the crook of his elbow. “Fucking allergies,” he says to no-one in particular. “It’s too early for hayfever season, isn’t it?”

“You’re probably allergic to this one's bullshit,” Chris says, looking pointedly at Jisung who rolls his eyes maturely in response to the jibe. 

Changbin sits on the couch beside Jisung. Sniffs.

They are sat.

They are seated.

The air around them full of dust and tension, enough that Jisung wonders if an electrical storm could form above their heads.

No one says a word, until Changbin sneezes again. Jisung, Chris and Jeongin automatically say, “Bless you,” in unison, then half smile at each other.

“For fuck’s sake,” Changbin says, rubs his nose, sniffs. “What is this?”

“What happened to your face?” Chris asks, nodding his head at Jisung.

“Sorry we don’t share the same DNA. It’s called good genes,” he doesn’t want to be facetious, it just happens naturally.

Chris half smiles at that, raises an eyebrow. “And the cut lip?”

“Really good, really rough sex. You should try it sometime. Might release some of your pent up… manliness,” he gestures at all of Chris when he says it. 

Changbin nudges Jisung in the ribs, shakes his head in warning. Jeongin chuckles.

Chris drops his head to look at his clenched hands, but Jisung can tell he’s holding back a smile. As much as they hate each other, there is love there. You just have to squint, really hard. Okay, maybe not really hard. The truth is he’d do anything for his brothers. He’d had to. Mostly, he had no regrets about doing the things he’d done in order to protect them. But there was one thing he’d done that was unforgivable. One thing he couldn’t reconcile in his own heart. There is no way Chris could forgive him for what he’d had to do.

The blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb. 

God, please. Please let that be true.

When Chris lifts his head again, the anger has almost completely dissipated, but he still looks tired, “You had us worried.”

Jisung sighs. The guilt trips keep coming. And he can’t really handle them coming from Chris.  “I’m sorry. My phone broke. I didn’t realise the sim card was loose until I checked it this morning.”

“Then you didn’t answer our calls.”

“I was in the middle of something,” he lets it hang in the air about what something could mean and hopes it’s enough to move on from it. He’s still a little bitter about how he’d left things with Minho.

Chris sits back and absently scratches at the silver white scar line that cuts through his left eyebrow. It looks pretty badass, though Chris is conscious of it. 

It’s been three years since Freddie gave it to him after Chris caught him stealing gear from a container at the docks. Freddie wasn’t seen after that. Rumours vary as to what happened to him. Some say he is still in the Han River. Some say he’s propping up the overpass on route to Incheon. Others say he had the common sense to flee the country. All are probable. Jisung never cared about Freddie enough to ask Chris what actually happened to him. He was pleased to see him gone. Some people are like that. Like clouds. Things are brighter when they are no longer there. Freddie was a dark cloud. Good riddance.

But anytime Chris got anxious, or concerned, he’d scratch at the scar Freddie had given him. It’s a ‘tell’ Jisung is familiar with and he’s already braced for bad news when Chris says, “Mother has called a family meeting. Today. At the Manor.”

Even this is enough for Jeongin to stop smiling. The groans from Jisung and Changbin seem to harmonise. 

Changbin sneezes. “For fuck’s sake,” he pushes himself off the couch, his flip-flops slapping against his heels as he crosses to the kitchen. “What does she want now?”

Chris raises his hands level with his shoulders, “Don’t shoot the messenger.”

Jisung snorts, because that’s what Freddie had been. 

Changbin opens a cupboard and pulls out a small basket where they keep medication. He finds the antihistamines, fills a glass with water. Necks a pill. Sneezes. Swears. “Which one of you bastards has been near a cat?”

Jeongin and Chris shake their heads, look at Jisung who has sunk a little lower into the couch. He’d totally forgotten about Changbin’s allergy to cats, which in his defence is understandable, since the list of things Changbin isn't allergic to is considerably shorter. Changbin glares at him.

“I’m sorry,” Jisung says, but he’s giggling. “In my defence it was a very cute cat.”

♤ ♡ ♢ ♧

Jisung wipes the palms of his hands on his trousers, puffs out his cheeks, his breath fogging the passenger window. 

“Gwaenchanha?” Chris gently pats his forearm. 

Jisung pulls his arm away, nods. He can’t trust himself to lie confidently. Can’t bear Chris’s kindness.

Changbin seems to be struggling too. Even sitting behind him, Jisung can see the tight lines in his shoulders and he hasn’t spoken since they left the apartment. Jeongin had given up trying to make small talk with him about ten miles ago. 

The further they drive out of Seoul, the greener everything gets. It’s pretty, but unlike the many city dwellers who enjoy a visit to the country for rest and relaxation, Jisung hates it. The further they drive, the fresher the air gets, the more his muscles tighten. Returning to your family home shouldn’t feel like this.

After a few more miles, Jeongin exits the freeway, and a couple of miles after that they are climbing a winding road. The trees outside are growing larger, clumped together on the hillside, their leaves scattering the sunlight. Too soon, there it is, Wolf Manor. A large, imposing stone building that would look more at home in the English countryside than in South Korea. A monstrous grey stone building three stories high, with large south facing windows, stone steps and huge oak doors. 

Even before they approach the main gates the security guard is waiting in front of them. A black fearsome looking german shepherd at his heel, its muzzle doing nothing to make it look any less threatening, or muffle its barking.

Jeongin lowers his window, then his sunglasses and the man nods at the small security hut and the gates swing open. 

“You’d think they’d just look at the licence plate,” Changbin says, shoving a stick of gum in his mouth. “How many S-Class BMW’s are coming to the arse-middle of nowhere.”

“Cars can be stolen,” Jeongin says simply as he drives towards the house. “And GPS can be used to show frequently visited locations.”

“If I’m clever enough to steal a fucking luxury car, I’m not driving it to the places on the fucking GPS,” Changbin says.

“Well, we all know you’re not clever enough,” Jeongin mutters back.

“Bin,” Chris says, “Don’t take it out on the kid.”

“Don’t call me a fucking kid,” Jeongin says at the same time as Changbin says, “It’s fucking ridiculous the security she has on this place.”

Chris sighs, looks at Jisung.

Looking away, Jisung digs his nails into his palm. 

None of them are happy to be here and the fact that they had been summoned without cause or notice had them all on edge. 

Minders are already on the steps waiting for them as Jeongin swings the car round. Their black suits, openly displayed weapons and in-ear pieces make them look like secret service agents. From here, Jisung can see security with large dogs walking the perimeter fence.

Jeongin kills the engine and the minders are already at their doors, opening them as one, the cool air immediately flooding the car and chilling Jisung to the bone. 

They step out of the car. Jeongin and Chris buttoning up their suit jackets whilst Changbin shakes his out, tugging it over his shirt. Jisung helps him fix his collar. 

When Jisung had left, he didn’t bring his suits. His area of ‘expertise’ in the family, negated the necessity for him to wear them too often, but his mother liked to have her sons ‘properly dressed and befitting’ when in her presence. Now, he is wearing a soft blue jumper over a plain white t-shirt and a pair of black chinos. He’s sure mother will have something to say about his attire. But, well, tough shit. 

Jisung takes a deep breath, follows his brothers up the steps. 

“Sirs,” Kangdae, the head of the house and his mothers confidant and advisor, bows as they enter. He looks like an ex-marine, stuffed inside a suit, which is exactly what he is. A round face and neatly trimmed dark hair. The closest thing any of them have to a father figure. 

He’d taught them everything, from self-defence, to how to make hot cocoa. He’d taught them how to ride a bike and how to pick locks. He has a noticeable white scar on his chin from when he’d been teaching Jeongin how to drive, and Jeongin had crashed the jeep into the old oak tree. Once, when he’d been drunk, he’d even shown Jisung how to roll a cigarette. He smells vaguely of shoe polish and woodsmoke and is the only nice thing about this place.

“Where is she?” Chris asks, idly scratching at his scarred eyebrow. 

“The office, sir,” Kangdae says, holding a hand in front of Changbin.

For a second Changbin just looks at him.

“Spit is out,” Kangdae instructs. “You know your mother hates gum chewing.”

Rolling his eyes, Changbin spits his gum into Kangdae’s palm. 

As Jisung passes, Kangdae drops a heavy hand on Jisung’s shoulder. Smiles, “It’s good to see you.”

Jisung smiles, “Thanks, you too.”

“She’s missed you. She’ll be glad you’re here,” Kangdae winks, drops his hand.

Jisung wonders briefly whether she had been wholly honest to Kangdae about why Jisung had left all those weeks ago. Wonders if he knows their mother as well as Jisung thought he did. Smiling tightly, Jisung jogs to catch up with his brothers.

Their mother is sitting with her back to the open door. She only looks up when her two doberman pinschers get to their feet with a low growl. “Haemong, Yuryeong, down.”

The dogs, Nightmare and Phantom obey, though they seem to watch Jisung with hungry eyes. 

Their mother swivels her chair round, laying papers on her grand oak desk. She smiles widely at them and stands. She’s wearing a cream coloured suit over an emerald green silk blouse which matches exactly the colour of her shoes. A glittering white gold and diamond encrusted wolf broach on the left lapel. 

Today her silver hair is swept up into an elegant chignon. Despite her hair colour, she’s not that old. Lobos family members all got silver stripes in their hair from their early twenties. It’s a genetic thing - something that he and his brothers would never have. Though Chris does have a grey streak at the nape of his neck hidden beneath his black hair, earned from too much stress at a young age. 

Their mother, though, had gone entirely silver at the age of fourteen after something that had happened. Jisung isn’t entirely sure of the truth of the story, but he’d once overheard his grandfather tell a corrupt diplomat that it had something to do with the Clowder family. Something they had done to her. 

Lobos ‘the Silver Wolf’ Jade had been born the day her hair lost its ebony shine. Though these days, she went by ‘the Wolf Mother’.

“My boys!” she smiles widely, stepping round the desk, her arms outstretched to Chris. She hugs him, kisses him on each cheek. Jisung can’t watch it. She does the same for Changbin, then Jeongin, then she’s standing in front of Jisung, looking up at him. “Hannie,” she strokes the tops of his shoulders, feeling the fabric of his jumper between her fingers. He can tell she’s judging him. Assessing him. “You’ve lost weight.”

“I don’t think so,” Jisung lies. 

His mother gently takes his chin in her fingers, inspecting his cut lip. “I hope you made them pay for hurting you.”

“I did,” despite himself, he can’t help feeling pleased that she said ‘them’. He’s reminded that she knows him. She knows that one-on-one the opponent would have difficulty cutting him. 

She smiles, before she kisses him on his cheeks. “My good boy.” She gestures to the three cream coloured sofas at the centre of the room. “Boys, let’s take a seat.”

Jisung sits on the one nearest to the door, Jeongin at his side. Chris and Changbin sit opposite. Their mother sits in the centre of the third sofa, smiling at them.

Jisung gets a sinking feeling.

“Mum, what did you call us here for?” Chris asks.

She looks to the door they entered through. “Kangdae, could you give us some privacy?”

Their mother has a way of making orders sound like a polite question, but Kangdae has been around long enough to know the difference. He’d seen what happens when she’s misunderstood. Bowing, Kangdae retreats, closing the heavy wooden door behind him.

After a few moments, their mother speaks. “I won’t keep you long. I know you all have matters to attend to,” Jisung doesn’t miss how her eye lingers on him a beat too long when she says it. “But I want to understand why I’ve had the head of the Choi family demanding reparations after his son was separated from his index finger?”

“His little finger,” Jeongin says. “Because he was being a dick.”

“How so?”

Chris looks at Jeongin, a silent ‘don’t say another word’, before he turns to their mother, “He was caught undercutting our shipments of microchips. We lost ten containers worth of business to his fathers own shipping line.”

“Ah,” Their mother sits back. “Is that all?”

“No,” Chris says slowly. “When we went to discuss the matter with him, he became… disrespectful.”

“He called you a whore,” Jeongin says. 

“Oh!” Their mother laughs in a low trill. “Oh, well now, that makes sense. Only his little finger, Yang? I thought I’d be worth more than that?”

Jeongin smiles, “You are, of course. I’ll take his balls if he says anything about you again.”

“Take his eye son,” their mother smiles. “I will look forward to my next conversation with Choi-ssi. I’m very much looking forward to it,” she is grinning devilishly. Jisung has a moment of empathy for the Choi family. They’d live to regret their son calling their mother a whore. “These older families seem to think we’ve become soft just because our business is legitimate these days. I would hate for there to be any other misunderstandings. We’re wolves. Don’t let anyone forget that we still bite.”

They all nod.

“Is that all?” Chris asks after a moment. 

“No, actually. It’s not,” she rises to her feet and walks to her desk, where she lifts a black folder. She holds it out to Chris, who takes it, flips it open. Frowns at the pages contained within. She sits down again, “I want that resolved by the end of the week.”

Chris nods, “Of course,” he closes the file, “Any recommendations on how you would like this handled?”

“Personally and permanently,” their mother smiles.

Chris nods again, scratches at his scarred eyebrow. He’s not happy about whatever he’s holding. 

“Have we had any more meetings with the Panthera?”

“None recently.”

“You may want to brush this past them. I don’t want any misunderstandings of our actions, especially if the need to cross lines arise,” she settles back against the cushions, “I understand Il Gatto is back from service?”

“Hmm, more than four months now, but he’s remained inconspicuous.”

Jisung has never come into direct contact with any Clowder family member. But he knows of them by reputation. None of them were to be trifled with. Clowder ‘Il Gatto d’oro’ Minho, is the most notorious son of the Clowder clan. A man who Jisung has heard described as a marble statue. The stories of the things he’d done are legendary, even to the Lobos and their associates. He’s someone you don’t want to get on the wrong side of. Him, or his brothers. Allegedly, he’d taken the eyes of a man who had looked at his brother, ‘The Artist’ Hyunjin, the wrong way. Once, he’d caused the leader of a drug cartel to piss himself, merely by looking at him. Such is the power of the eldest Clowder son.

Jisung isn’t sure how many of the stories he’s heard are actual truth or myth. But, legend or not, Minho, the golden cat, is one cat he hopes never to meet.

“You’re still dealing with the other one? What’s his name again?”

“Nikko. He goes by Lynx/Seurasoni. I don’t mind dealing with him. He’s pretty reasonable, for a Clowder.”

“Nikko?…Nikko?…he’s the legitimate one isn’t he?”

“Yes. The nephew.”

“That’s it. I remember now. Terrible what happened to his mother,” but she is smiling. “So you haven’t met the others?”

 “Lynx occasionally brings one of the youngers, um, Seungmin I think his name is. A really smart kid.”

“The Gambit,” Changbin supplies. “I think he’s their numbers guy. Does a lot in the background on their accounts and stuff. Nothing frontline. Bit of a rose, if you ask me.”

“Petals of a rose may bruise easily, but they still have their thorns,” their mother says. “If he’s attending some of these meetings, it means that they want and respect his opinion on matters. He may be one we need to be keeping a closer eye on.”

They all nod.

“As he’s bringing this boy with him on occasion, I would suggest that means you’re entitled to the same courtesy. I don’t like the idea of you being outnumbered.”

Jeongin smiles expectantly.

“Take Han with you, for your next meeting,” their mother says.

“Me?”

“Him?” Jeongin says.

Their mother smiles at Jisung, “It will be good for you. Just to observe,” she turns back to Chris, “That's okay with you, isn’t it, son?”

“Uh, yes, ofcourse.”

 “Let’s hope Il Gatto stays out of the game for a bit longer. Things have progressed smoothly with this Lynx,” she sits forward a bit. “I think that’s all for now, unless you have anything you want to raise?”

Everyone shakes their heads. Chris tucks the folder under his arm.

“Why don’t you grab lunch before you head back?”

It sounds like an invitation, but it’s not really. They all stand. 

“Hannie, you can remain for a moment.”

His brothers glance at him. Chris’s eyes asking a thousand questions. Jisung can’t bear to look at him. As they leave, Jisung sits back down, wipes his palms on his knees. 

He hasn’t been alone with his mother for several weeks.

She sits where Chris had been sitting. Closer, but not too close. She smiles, “It’s so good to see you. I’ve been worried about you.”

Jisung doubts this. “What did they tell you?”

His mother smiles with something that could be mistaken for motherly affection. “That you’re out a lot, drinking. Yang says you haven’t been to the office in a while, Seo says you’re not eating or sleeping and Bahng is sure you’re avoiding him.”

Betrayers, all of them.

Jisung can’t help himself, he scoffs. “I wonder why that is?”

“We discussed this,” his mother says. “That woman–”

“That woman?” Jisung can feel a burning in his eyes. “You mean his birth mother?”

“Lower your voice,” His mother isn’t smiling now. She inhales. “That woman,” she spits out the word, “gave up the right to be considered his mother the moment she gave him to me. I am his mother, just as I am yours, and Yang’s and Seo’s. I am the one who raised you. I am the one who fed and clothed you. None of the women who gave birth to you could have provided the life that I have given you.”

He inhales deeply, his eyes stinging. “Why do you call us by our birth family names? When you adopted us, why weren’t we ever made Lobos?”

“What have I always told you? Blood is thicker than water, Hannie. You weren’t mine to begin with, but I wanted you as my son. Never forget that I chose you. It’s important to me that you know where you originally came from.”

Until a couple of months ago, he had believed her. Had believed that his own mother was a drug using prostitute who chose her next fix over her son. Had sold him for a high. A high that had led to her death. Then the woman claiming to be Chris’s birth mother had changed all that.

He can still see her. The way she had looked up at him. The way her eyes were exactly like Chris’s as Jisung brought the knife down.

“He believed she was dead,” Jisung says, trying and failing to keep his voice level. He’s held this secret too long. “He has always believed she died when he was a child!”

“And now she is dead,” his mother says emotionlessly. Her words are like a cold slap. 

“And what about mine?” Jisung asks, and he doesn’t attempt to swipe the tear that falls or clear his throat. “Did she die like you said she did or did you end her life when she came looking for me too?”

His mother sighs, “I may have exaggerated the truth with Chris’s woman. And I may not have been honest with you about how your woman died. But she is dead.”

“How?” Jisung asks. “How did she die?”

“What version do you want, Han?” and his mother is finally losing her cool. “The version I gave you; that she died in her sleep after an overdose, in a warm motel room, where she was found the next morning by the cleaner, or the real version.”

“I want the fucking truth!” It is the first time he has ever sworn at his mother. 

She whips her hand across his face and Nightmare and Phantom rise to their feet, low growls in their throats.

Jisung stares at his mother. 

“You want the truth? She died in an alley, with a needle in her arm and the semen of several men all over her beaten and bruised body. She lay there for ten days before binmen came across her. It was seven months before they could properly identify her. She had lost most of her teeth, so there were no dental records. The DNA report returned several aliases that she’d used in an attempt to lessen her long criminal record, all to do with theft, prostitution and drugs. She was finally identified by the serial number on a pin she had in her arm which she broke when she was your age. Eleven months after she broke her arm, she had given birth to you and three months after that she sold you to me for a bag of heroin. That’s how much you meant to her. It took her less than a year after that to die. No one missed her. No one looked for her. She died and no one noticed because no one cared about her. Is that what you wanted to hear?"

The sob that escapes Jisung fills the room. He collapses forward, the heels of his hands pressing into his eyes, trying to stop his tears. For the past couple of months, he’d had a glimmer of hope that his mother, his real mother, was still out there. Was looking for him too.

“My boy,” his mother sits beside him and wraps her arms around his shaking shoulders. Holds him, squeezes him and despite everything Jisung leans into her. Wraps his arms around her sobs against her. It’s the action of a child who doesn’t know any better. It’s the action of a child who wants to be comforted by their mum. “My darling boy.”

She strokes his hair as he cries. 

When his tears are finally spent, Jisung sits up. His mother gently strokes his cheeks with her thumbs. Looking at him with something that could be interpreted as love. 

“You do not tell Bahng about that woman,” she tells him. “He won’t understand why you did what I asked you to do and I would hate for him to hurt you.”

Jisung nods.

“That’s my boy,” she strokes the hair from his eyes and kisses his forehead. “My very good boy. My darling, precious boy,” his mother says, hugging him tightly.

Jisung looks at Nightmare and Phantom over her shoulder. They eye him suspiciously. Noses wrinkling, baring their teeth. He wonders whether they know.

He wonders if they know that he intends to kill their mistress.

♢ ♧ If you made it this far, thank you for your support! ♤ ♡ please consider leaving a comment, like or reblog ♤ ♡ ©2024Intrikatie ♢ Ao3 ♧ Quotev ♤ Wattpad ♡

dividers by the talented @firefly-graphics

TASTE M.List & Sypnosis

Chapter 1 - Parley

Chapter 2 - The DLC

Chapter 3 - Broken Compass

Chapter 5 - Comflex

[notapradagurl7]

method man again soon ?

Let Me In.

Black!OC x Method ManWerewolf!

Summary: On a snowy night, you discover that your old flame has transformed into a werewolf, you rescue him from the storm.

A/N: Yes, here you go! it’s been a minute since I wrote for this fine man, I do love black fantasy and hope to see more, Don't forget to leave comments, likes and reblogs are welcome to support, drop a request if you like, they're always open! ❤️🫡

Warnings: fluff, smut, wolf transformation, piv, heavy dirty talk, angst, filth, biting, breeding kink, fictional, not real, kinda like a blurb.

Taglist: @megamindsecretlair @satoruya @planetblaque @playgurlxoxo @becauseimswagman1

@pocketsizedpanther @beenathembo @brattyfics

@hxneyclouds @kaylalb

@yassbishimvintage @blackgrlmagic

@nahimjustfeelingit-writes @nayaesworld @ovohanna24

@novahreign @writingsbytee @avoidthings @kimuzostar @slippinninque @keyera-jackson @theblacklewinsky

@euphorichappiness10 @life-in-the-slut-house @miguelspvssy @liatreads @kaylaahisthebestest-@tforpresz

@uniqueoutlierblog

@dxddykenn @dpennedit @euphorichappiness10 @life-in-the-slut-house @miguelspssy @liatreads @kaylaahisthebestest- @tforpresz

@uniqueoutlierblog

@dxddykenn @dpennedit

@secretlifeoofmarpessa

@westside-rot @mymindisneverhere @mind-somewhere-else

@kindofaintrovert

@5starr-staciii @pickuptruck01 @henneseyhoe @irlvampfairy

@browngirldominion @madamedantes

@chaoticcoffeequeen

@valarghoulis @jazziejax

@saturnville

@enchantedillumination

 ———-

Sitting cross-legged on the suede red couch, your brown pupils on the Garamond font printed on the white pages of the book in your right hand with the soft sound of jazz playing from the jet-black television across the room. Using the same remote to lower the volume, you sat surrounded by vintage red floral wallpaper, in the medium-sized living room where you were relaxed and at ease, chilling like a villain in your little sanctuary.

The small flakes of white snow descended from the thick,  cumulus clouds without a shade of blue showing up above, December arrived quicker than she thought every time of the year, she wanted to stay in your relaxed home where it was warm and safe.

The scent of mint filled the air while she had just finished placing a few candles in the room. Curling up with a cherry red blanket and a red mug of hot chocolate in her hand, tiny marshmallows floating at the of the brown beverage, she snuggled deeper into the couch.

Simone closed the book with a gentle snap, her gaze caught something outside the window in the white snow. Putting her mug and book down on the coffee table, she made her way toward the window, her palms pressed against the cold glass.

Tightening her gaze, she tried to make out the figure from the distance, it was a raven-haired werewolf. "Oh, Is that a wolf? I gotta go save it." she muttered to herself, feeling a twinge of sympathy. Without a second thought, she rushed towards the front door.

Why was there a werewolf in a snowstorm all alone without anyone noticing or saving it?

Clothed in a bright red coat, matching pants, her raven box braids swayed with her movement and snow boots as she crept toward the werewolf. With each step, the crunch of her boots mixed with the creature's growls echoing through the chilly air.

Simone slowly approached the werewolf, and blood dripped from its wounded arm. Simone spoke in a soft tone, her eyes on the creature's slow movements. "It's okay, I'm not gonna hurt you," she reassured, cautious not to frighten the beast or become its next prey.

The melanated woman gently caressed the wolf's head, its golden eyes fixed on her hand as she hears a soft whine. Moving her thumb back and forth in a soothing motion, She comforted, "You're safe with me, don't worry." The wolf was just the right size to be lifted by Simone - not too big, not too small.

After entering her home, Simone secured the door behind her pushing it with her clothed back. The wolf, still cradled in her arms, was gently placed onto the plush, brown chocolate-colored carpet. "I'll be back okay?" she reassured the animal, before getting a First Aid Kit from underneath her sink in the white cabinet.

Carefully treating his wound using peroxide and white bandage tape, locking eyes with the wolf's eyes again. "You did a great job, you're quite familiar—What's your name?" Simone asked him, raising her brow.

She remembers seeing the same wolf in the woods while she was outside gathering firewood for her house, is the wolf an old flame of hers? Clifford.

Cliff and Simone were dating a few years ago until he began acting strange, the irises of his eyes changed to golden, and his teeth were sharper, she remembers that day when he told her he was changing but she didn't think he would be a werewolf. Maybe that's why he ran away, he didn't want anyone especially her to see him as a monster or be heckled and shunned by the townsfolk.

Simone listened closely, a voice suddenly spoke to her in her thoughts. "Hello, Simone. It's me Cliff," the voice said. The wolf's ears perked up at the sound of his deep, masculine tone through Simone's mind like an echo. She knew without a doubt that it was him.

"Cliff what happened to you? I thought you were dead or—wait can you change back to a human?" She asked him, needing to see if it was really him.

A crimson-red glow, its thick tendrils swirling before her eyes. When the light scattered, a naked and vulnerable man sat before her. She quickly grabbed a large navy blue towel from the nearby suede couch, draping it over his shoulders to cover him. Her face turned red as she buried her face into the towel. Cliff chuckled at her reaction, grateful for the warmth of the towel.

"What's wrong baby girl?" Cliff asked, raising a brow, his voice still deep yet more human-like. Good thing he couldn't see her blushed face with the towel around him and her chin resting on his shoulder. "You're naked Cliff, I'm gonna get you some clothes okay?..." she told him, the closeness between their bodies made her heart thump out of her chest, she missed him so much.

Cliff chuckled, "Yeah, that would be a great idea." He turned around to face her with their eyes meeting, their bodies still close. "I missed you," he softly told her, his eyes locking onto hers intensely.

She felt shivers run down her spine at his words, her heart racing even faster. "I missed you too," she replied with a warm smile, blushing again.

As she stood up from the plush brown chocolate carpet, she sauntered through the cramped hallway and loomed into the exposed doorway of the medium-sized room with the vintage red floral wallpaper. With a faint blush, she gingerly opened the closet door and rummage through the hangers of clothes, finding the perfect outfit for him.

She gave him some baggy clothes that fit him perfectly, The black sweatpants and plain sweatshirt once belonged to her older brother. Cliff quickly changed into the clothing, feeling more at ease and less exposed. "Thank you, Simone," he thanked her. Grateful to be saved by her from the snowstorm.

Simone smiled warmly at him, feeling a sense of comfort in his presence. "It's no problem, baby. I'm just glad I could help," she replied, patting his shoulder gently. "But we need to talk about what happened to you. How did you became a werewolf?"

Cliff sighed deeply, his eyes darkened as he remembered the night that had changed his life forever. "It was a full moon night, and I was out in then woods walking with some friends. We stumbled upon a pack of werewolves, we tried to run away but every single of them attacked us baby," he said, taking a seat on the couch.

He paused, taking a deep breath. "I thought I was going to die, but then something strange started happening to my body. I felt my bones shifting, my muscles bulging, and my senses becoming stronger and then I transformed into this." his hands gripped the fabric of the sweatshirt so tightly that he trembled uncontrollably.

Simone's heart softened as she saw the pain in his eyes. She decided to comfort him. "Come here, Cliff," she said in a soft tone, gesturing him to her embrace. He leaned in, burying his face into the crook of her neck, inhaling the sweet scent of her mint perfume.

Their hearts flutter in sync, Despite his werewolf senses, he resisted the urge to take control and simply snuggled into her warmth. a feeling he hadn't experienced in a long time, and a sense of peace washed over him.

Cliff regretted leaving her behind when he transformed into a werewolf yet here they were in her living room, why couldn't he have told her? He was too scared. Simone held him close, rubbing soothing circles on his back as he let out a few quiet sobs.

Her black sweatshirt absorbed his tears one by one, "You're not a monster, baby," she whispered, her words giving him a glint of hope.

The old flames sat in silence, the only sounds were the crackling of the fireplace, he quickly pulled away from her embrace as he wiped his tears away, "Thank you..I'm sorry for leaving you Simone.." Cliff apologized, his voice laced with regret. His thumb traced her jawline lovingly.

Her palm cupped his breaded face with her brown pupils on his dark brown ones, "It's okay, you had to leave. I understand."

Cliff nuzzled his nose against her palm, gently kissing her handprint while letting out a low growl of contentment, "No it's not, I promise i won't leave again baby.." he calmed, hearing the sincerity in his tone.

She pulled him in by his shoulders to bring his face in, making him into her brown eyes. "Then don't leave...stay here." She replied to him with a soft tone, He leaned in closer, his lips against brushing hers.

His lips pressed onto hers in a steamy kiss. It was like they were making up for lost time, their bodies pressed together as they deepened the kiss, quickly undressing and preparing for their sensual act.

Her naked back rested against the plush, brown chocolate-colored carpet with his big hands latched on her hips as he rested her legs on top of his broad shoulders, giving her every inch of thick dick, he was much bigger this time that she felt every vein of his dick pulsating inside of her wet walls.

Clenching around him so perfectly, stretching her out after each jagged stroke, His fingers dug into her skin, leaving marks while he pulled her closer to him. Simone squirmed beneath him, their low eyes locked with his forehead pressed against hers.

Her arms draped his neck pulling him in closer with their bodies pressed against each other while he lowers his head to suckle on her neck and his sharp teeth grazing on her melanated skin earning a moan from his lover, Cliff plunges deeper into her, "Oh fuck! Cliff!! Deeper!!" Simone chanted out, her fingernails leaving bloody scratches on the delicate skin of his shoulder blades which made him hiss through his teeth.

Cliff quickly stood up from the carpet with him quickly pulled out of her as he carries her to the grey suede couch with her hands on the headrest of the couch while he gripped the back of her thighs hiking them up to his slender hips as he slipped back into her from behind with a soft moan leaving her lips, "Is that deep enough for you baby?" he groaned lowly, ramming into her causing her dainty hands gripped the headrest for dear life.

His low eyes fixated on her face twisting up in pleasure with her fingernails gripping the carpet and her toes curling into a ball from his animalistic thrusts sending her over the edge while her vision became dotty with tears cascading down her rosy red cheeks, he was making up for the lost time, the distance between them that crushed them, he couldn't run away from her again, "You're so beautiful.." he told her, his teeth sunk underneath his lips.

Their melanated bodies were covered in sweat and glistening from the dim lighting above the chandelier adding to the wet squelching noises and the skin-to-skin slapping aired out in the living room, "Y-yesss! Y-you're so deep!!" she cried out to him, throwing her ass back on him while he throw his head back from her clenching and creaming on his length, "Fuckk..you feel so good." Cliff groaned raspily, kissing up her arch passionately.

His dick twitched inside of her walls with her legs shaking weakly in his clutch feeling the shockwaves of pleasure flowing through her body, giving her more than a few sloppy strokes seeing her wetness trickle down in between her thighs as he dug her out, "I-i'm cumming...c-cum in me please.." she moaned lowly in between his strokes, by her request.

Her essence gushed on his dick completely, He unleashed his huge load of his nut through her walls, he grunted lowly, filling her up. Moaning at the same time.

Cliff caught her body in his arms while he seated her on his lap with the lovers breathing heavily, "i love you.." he told you, his hands gently caressing her thighs lovingly as he pecked her forehead.

Enjoying the silence between them, "I love you too.." she replied back, smiling with heat creeping on her cheeks.

————-

[twenty-one-fics]

Cobwebs and flies

Tyler Joseph x reader // requested

(No warnings)

————————————————————————————————-

Sundays are your favorite days, for multiple reasons. However, mostly because you don’t have to work and you never make plans on Sundays so you have a wide open 24 hours to do whatever you want with. Whether that be baking, gardening, drawing, or reading, or perhaps all of the above.

Today you started your morning with a lovely hot mug of coffee made your favorite way. You smiled to yourself as you carried your ceramic baby blue cup of goodness to the living room where you planned to watch YouTube and rot until it was time for bed.

With a sigh you grabbed your remote and took a sip of coffee as you settled in on the plush, inviting couch. It was a beautiful suede wrap around that your parents got you for Christmas that year. You scrolled through suggested videos on YouTube until you found something of interest. ‘A day in the life of a medieval peasant’ you hummed to yourself with amusement and pressed play.

Knock knock knock

Your eyes shot to your door. Who the heck is that? You’re certain you made no plans today. You never did, it was a personal rule. you set down your coffee and reluctantly made your way to the door. It couldn’t be your parents they’re out of town until next week. None of your friends would even be awake yet , let alone standing at your front door. Your heart rate began to quicken at the prospect of something being wrong or someone you loved in trouble.

You gripped the door knob , sent up a quick prayer and pulled the door open. your jaw dropped. A mix of emotions pooled In your chest and you felt a lump form in your throat.

“Tyler..”

Your voice was nothing More than a light whisper , you weren’t even sure what you said had been audible.

“Hey”

Tyler smiled shyly with a small wave of his hand. His grin grew wider as a yell escaped your lips

“TYLER?!!”

You ran out the door and flew in to his arms, your tense shoulders relaxed at the warmth of his body flush with yours. His chest rising and falling with his quickened breaths. His fingers digging in to your sides like he was afraid if he let go you might float away. You felt like you might.

“What are you doing here?? I thought you guys were on tour”

You smiled into his neck , inhaling his familiar scent. You haven’t seen him in almost a year and you missed him everyday. Tyler was one of your oldest and best friends, he was your partner in crime all through highschool. He was there for everything , your first boyfriend , your first failed test, your first soccer tournament, your first job , first highschool dance … everything. the memories flooded back to you as you looked into his chocolate brown eyes. They shimmered with…. What was that? Happiness? Adoration? Perhaps just relief , sometimes it’s just nice to see an old friend.

You pulled away from the hug first , holding Tyler at an arms length, his gleaming teeth bared as he smiled down at you , eyes searching every inch of your face.

“We are still on tour but we have a week or so in between shows and we’re in town and … I just couldn’t pass up the opportunity to see you… so surprise!”

He laughed as he did jazz hands

You just stood there smiling at him , you were in awe. Your Ty guy was home and took time out of his ,what you could only imagine is an insanely busy schedule, to come see you.

“Oh my gosh this is my favorite day , come on come in I’ll get you something to drink”

You all but squealed with excitement as you gestured for him to follow you inside , and he did so with a small chuckle. He was happy to see you and it was written all over his wonderful face.

“Do you have any-“

Tyler began to ask as you led him to the kitchen

“Red Bull?”

You finished with a smile , he returned the gesture with a nod

“Yes redbull”

He smiled coyly leaning against the marbled white and gray counter top , his head cocked slightly to one side as he took in his surroundings. He’d been here many times before of course , but you’d made a few small changes to the place since he’d seen it last.

“No I don’t , that stuff is literally poison for your body”

You replied with a grimace

“Still on your health kick?”

He asked , now stepping towards you as you stood in front of your refrigerator.

“Itsssss not a health kick Ty , just called taking care of yourself”

You giggled, he always picked at you about your constant strive to live a healthy lifestyle, but you knew he didn’t mean any of it , he actually admired the care and attention you put in to taking care of your body and your self.

“Always such an inspiration aren’t you?”

He chimed reaching in the fridge and grabbing a cold pressed juice

“I’ll bet you made this yourself”

He added holding up the bottle of red liquid.

You scrunched your nose at him

“So what if I did”

You retorted grabbing a water for yourself and closing the refrigerator door.

“It’s beet juice by the way , you’ve been warned”

Tyler chuckled

“I knew it”

You rolled your eyes and nudged his ribs with your elbow gently.

“Come on let’s go outside and enjoy the nice morning “

You perked up at the prospect of a cozy morning on the porch with your dearest friend. You had so many questions and wanted to know absolutely everything about all the wonderful places he’s been in the last year. You grabbed his hand without even thinking about it. You felt his fingers twitch like he was going to pull away but then he gripped your hand tightly and allowed you to pull him outside.

You both sat on a chair and just took a second to look at eachother

“You look so good Ty!”

You smiled letting your eyes fall down his figure and back up , his face reddened slightly and he waved off your comment with a small laugh that barely bubbled over his mauve lips.

“So do you (y/n). You really do”

He replied looking In to your eyes, his tongue flicked over his lips and your eyes flew to his mouth and then away again. You felt your cheeks heat and shifted your position to play off the fact that you were flustered.

“I wish you would have given me a twenty minute warning or something, I just woke up, I look like hell”

You gestures to your outfit: grey sweats and a white t shirt from highschool that had a few holes in it and splashes of paint here and there. Your hair was in a high bun and it was far too early for makeup.

“You look beautiful, wouldn’t have you any other way than you are right now. This is my favorite version of you”

He chimed, his voice was quiet but his eyes never left yours as the words left his mouth. For a moment you were speechless , for some reason this felt different. Tyler had complimented you before , tons of times but it felt heavier this time , like there was more behind it.

was it due to the fact that you hadn’t seen him in so long ? You know what they say , absence makes the heart grow fonder.

“Tell me everything”

You demanded with an excited smile as you leaned back in your chair. Tyler beamed at you and shook his head.

“But I want to hear about you (y/n) how are you? What have you been doing? How’s Max?”

Tyler’s fired off questions, leaning toward you his elbows rested

on the tops of his thighs. For the first time since he’d been here , your smile fell.

Max.

How does he not know? Had you really not spoken to him about it?

“What’s wrong?”

Tyler asked , immediately picking up on the change in your demeanor.

You blinked and shook your head slightly

“Oh nothing , max and I aren’t together anymore”

You let out a sigh , like the words were heavy on your heart and saying this out loud to Tyler lifted their weight off of your shoulders.

His face fell with concern

“What happened?”

He questioned , syrupy sympathy dripping from his words.

You waved a hand in the air as if to play down the statement that was about to leave your lips

“I found him with another girl.. it was stupid..”

Your voice broke on the last word and you cursed yourself for getting emotional. This wasn’t what you wanted , you didn’t want this to still hurt you, it had been a few months now and for the most part you’ve been okay. You’ve learned how to be alone again, but saying this to Tyler, finally talking with him about it , made your heart ache and realize how much you’ve truly missed him.

You didn’t look at Tyler , you couldn’t bring yourself to do it because you felt so stupid. Tyler had had his reservations about Max when the two of you first got together, but of course you brushed his concerns off. You didn’t want to go in to your relationship with Max on negative thinking.

But Tyler’s intuition was right and you felt so so stupid.

Tyler didn’t say anything just looked at you, he didn’t know what he could say and he wasn’t the type of person to say ‘I told you so’

“I feel so stupid”

Was all you managed to get out. Your voice was hoarse and you were trying with all your might not to cry.

“Hey… no”

Tyler said standing and moving to you, he crouched in front of you and grabbed your hands , resting them in your lap.

“You’re not stupid. He’s stupid. This isn’t your fault (y/n) none of this is your fault”

He stroked your hand with his thumb , it was consistent and gentle. Tears raced down your hot cheeks, you hadn’t cried about this in a while , but Tyler always made you more emotional, he just had that affect on you. He made you feel things so intensely when he was around.

“How come my relationships never go right? Is something wrong with me?”

The question was rhetorical but Tyler held your hands tighter , he had a broken despondent look in his eyes as he gazed at you.

“Of course not, you’re perfect… I’m so sorry he did this to you (y/n) I’m so sorry, you’re the last person on this planet that deserves that. You’re such a warm and compassionate person, you’re living sunshine and the kindest, most selfless person I know , and you’re painfully beautiful. Inside and out you are absolutely beautiful”

He soothed , his voice was low and Earnest. His hands moved up to your arms as he stood and pulled you up to him wrapping you in another time stopping hug.

You let yourself cry, you let yourself be an absolute mess on Tyler’s shoulder because this is exactly what you needed to finally let go of the pain that max instilled on you.

Tyler was what you needed.

His hand moved up and down your spine with purpose , his touch was gentle and warm. You shook lightly as you sniffled wiping your eyes with the back of your hand.

“Oh … I’m a mess”

You sighed , before letting out a pathetic self deprecating chuckle.

Tyler didn’t let you go , his lips brushed your ear as he spoke sending a jolt of hot awareness down your spine

“You are too good for him (y/n)”

He looked down at you as you swiped more tears from your eyes, trying to clean yourself up and stop all this nonsense crying. Max was done and over with , this had happened months ago and you didn’t even have feelings for him anymore. The tears were more or less therapeutic, especially here with Tyler. You needed this, this was the nail in the coffin of yours and Max’s relationship.

You lifted your head , giving Tyler a watery smile

“I needed that”

You admitted as his hand caressed your back.

“I think I did too, It’s been too long since I’ve seen you, I don’t want to wait that long ever again.”

Tyler stated as he eyed you carefully. His eyes narrowed and his brows creased slightly. You knew him long enough to know that was his thinking face.

“What are you thinking about?”

You asked poking his chest. neither of you had made a move to step away from each other. You just stood there in his arms , letting him soothe you.

“I’m here for a week, and then we’re leaving for Europe..”

Tyler began, watching you as each word left his lips. You nodded your understanding, waiting for him to continue. A slow smile curled his lips , brightening his eyes before he spoke again

“Come with us”

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A/N: hello! I hope everyone enjoyed this short one shot, I’m actually considering doing a part two but I haven’t decided yet! Please let me know if you liked it or not I love any feedback anyone has. The person who requested this was anonymous but whoever you are thank you for the great prompt.

If you would like to send in a request for me to write a fic for you please send it to my ask box

Thank you again for reading!

-💌

[slocumjoe]

How the Companions would decorate their homes

...and how I would lose my goddamn mind wrestling with Tumblr's formatting nightmare hellworld.

sorry to anon who requested this, I deleted your ask while fighting for my life :[

Cait; The punkest of punk design; whatever the hell makes her happy. Would take interest in things she previously never cared much for, like music, or tinkering, or model making. So, you'll have posters and vinyls of her favorite bands and artists everywhere, tools and materials strewn about flat surfaces. Lots of reds and plaid/flannel. Likes big couches you can sprawl out on and thickly-knit, chunky blankets. Think of pop art with darker colors, chaotic patterns. Loves warm, bright lighting, dim areas remind her of the Combat Zone. Her spaces are messy, but freeing and charismatic. Her style is best described as rocker college dorm room. Reminiscent of Chloe Price's room, but more mature and with less teen melodrama. Would have lots of candles. Has a statement shelf with feature lighting for unique alcohol bottles.

Codsworth; Post-modern. Modern is medium-toned, neutral colored, and somewhat minimalist. Post-modern likes colors, soft shapes, having art as part of the house itself. Bright wood paneling, one-line artwork wallpaper, multiple colors in one room. It's very birds of paradise in color pallet. Brown suede couches are a classic. Lots of plants. It's inspired by 1950s, but with bouncier aesthetics, where 1950s can feel stiff. Codsworth wouldn't want anything too out there, though. Dani Dazey is kinda close to what he'd enjoy, but tone down the amount of color, go less crazy with the decals. But otherwise, bright colors, patterns, textures—that's the vibe. Just a less plastic 1950s, and it doesn't have the Great Depression's fingerprints all over it. I would have said something Colonial, or classic British, but I didn't want to think exclusively about his accent. Codsworth is chipper, he's friendly, he invites people over. Something fun, welcoming, and optimistic is up his alley.

Danse; However he got the house/apartment, it would stay that way. Danse does not provide for himself like that. It wouldn't be until he made friends that his residence would have personality. Nick gets him an orange-patterned bedspread that's a lot more neon than it looked in the store. Cait gets him a retro CD player and wall-mounted CD case displays. Preston and Deacon team up to repaint everything minty green and install walnut wood paneling. The furniture is gone the next day, replaced with lodge-style log-and-leather. Everyone pitches in something different, something from their own tastes. As a result, Danse's space would be a constant visual reminder that he's loved, and gaudy as fuck. Nothing matches. The colors are everywhere. Textures? A nightmare. You could kill Ty Pennington with this house. There's a giant mural of cats having mimosas and he isn't sure how or when it got there. Loves it, but...who...why...

Curie; I really struggled with Curie. I first went with French Provincial, then French Farmhouse, French Country, Rustic Glam, Scandinavian, Flemish, bauhaus, pastel bauhaus...I felt like I was trying to convince myself of everything. Nothing fit her. Eventually I settled on girly vintage. The thing with vintage is that technically, 'vintage' has like 70 years of vastly different styles. So...you get a little bit of Victorian-esque, a little bit of art deco, Hollywood Regency...imagine a really nice Barbie dollhouse. That's the vibe, just make everything blues, greens, and purples instead of pink. Curie has a bit of an older grandma vibe. Floral quilts, Wedgwood china dishware and cabinets, antique paintings. I imagine she'd repaint or reupholster her furniture, if not get it new. Definitely has white or blue painted furniture, rather than open wood. Ornate vanity, seashell wallscone lighting, embroidered curtains, kidney desks, corner cupboards...Curie's style is elegant, a little outdated, cherubic, and somewhat saccharine. Would have naturalistic wallpaper with flora and fauna.

Deacon; Like Danse's, but intentional. He's extremely fond of furniture made to look like other things. Mushroom ottomans. Fried egg light switches. Wall-mounted shelving/hangers that are open, grabbing hands. Toucan table lamps. Surrealist thrifter in style. Goes to yard sales, estate sales, those sales put by storage unit owners when a tenant doesn't pay. Grabs the weirdest shit he finds. A McDonalds sign from Thailand. A taxidermied rabbit. A Bigfoot track mold. His walls are never the same color or wallpaper. The kitchen is mint green, the living room is pink and orange, his bedroom is black and blue. Maximalist. There's a story behind every item in his space and good luck figuring out which are true. The least chaotic room is the bedroom, decorated simply with space/star aesthetics. Most chaotic? The empty hallway filled with wall-phones. Only one of them is real. The others go off only when the real one does. He won't tell you this before housesitting.

Gage; You'd think it'd be a Male Living Space. No. Gage is a mean, old, materialistic [sexuality redacted] man. He has tastes. He has standards. Will act like it's a Male Living Space keep up appearances, but his place is probably one of the more expensive. It's fine, money isn't an issue for him. Favors greens, yellows, browns, lots of swampy colors. Steals streetsigns and hangs them up. Weaved and leather furniture, linens, animal pelts, mounts. Worn teak wood, cream walls, travertine floors. If this sounds luxurious, consider that Gage lives here. Unclean. Has no bed frame, only a mass of sheets and pillows. The most pristine places in his house are the coffee maker's counter, and the spaces for his pet lizard, who roams freely like a small dog. The lizard is the only thing keeping him from smoking indoors. So many fucking books everywhere, all dog-eared to death. Has stolen something from every party he's ever been to. Keeps them on display. Has a worrying amount of wedding cake toppers.

Hancock; Psychedelic culture-nerd hippie meets a grizzled ex-starlet who moonlights as a show girl. Think Whimsigoth, without the victorian influence and a lot more drippy shapes. All light sources are lava lamps. Conversation pit that you could meet God in. Many colors, most of them moody and 'sleepy'. Stereo system through the entire space. Paints on his walls whenever he's feeling creative/high, they're constantly changing. Has to scrape off the paint every so often. Collects movie memorabilia, particularly horror movies. Has masks, outfits, props. His kitchen/dining room is unintentionally Japanese-eqsue in style, in that the table is low, and you sit on beanbags. Really not into dealing with chairs in the morning. Hancock's ideal furniture is made of moldable jelly, him being a cat in spirit. His office is a complete divorce from the other rooms. It's entirely 1700s luxury Colonial in style. Dark mahogany woodwork, deep reds and blues, a (electric) chandelier. Big library.

MacCready; Eclectic. This style is defined by maximilism, mismatched everything, lots of tchotchkes. The core tenent of it is that it takes whatever looks good from other styles. It's magpie core. It's how the gremlin thief in your DnD campaign would style a home. So, lots of different kinds of fabrics, many shelves for trinkets, posters of all kinds on the wall. You ever make a wall with just the posters, signs, etc in your settlements? That's what he does. In canon, MacCready likes midnight blue and leopard print, but I can see olive greens as well. Very messy and busy. Raw wood furniture seems like it would be a good fit for him. Would have a big entertainment center, very nerdy space. I think Rodrick Heffley's and Eddie Munson's bedrooms are a good way of getting an idea. Kind of basementy, kind of glamrock. He's 22, what do you want from him? Very much "baby's first place." Duncan's room would be more child-friendly, lighter colors and softer furniture. His drawings always get hung up wherever there's space.

Nick; Also struggled with this one...I didn't want to just make him Victorian/Gothic, that felt too obvious. But...it's obvious because it's correct. It just is. His name is Valentine. He has a neon pink sign with hearts on it. This man is modern Victorian meets dingy alleyway in a Hollywood noir film. So, we're looking at victorian settees and woodwork (which is when the walls are carved all fancy, by the by), lots of dark colors, leathers, a fireplace to stare into broodily with a glass of whiskey. We'll also need a bit of industrial to blend the Modern Victorian and Urban Night vibes, so some dark brick/stone, perhaps? Or industrial light fixtures. In terms of materials, the aforementioned leather, but also velvet and dasask fabrics, marble, and rosewood, possibly treated to bring out the red, or be made darker. This space is mostly dark and black, with pops of pink, purple, and blues. Would definitely need an LED indirect lighting for mood setting. It's not as dark like X6-88's home, though, it's more intimate and warm. Heavier emphasis on coziness and inviting auras. Nick's home is an older queer man's home, so obviously it's a little extra, a little theatrical. Has a sweet cocktail bar setup, will make you a martini while you unveil your tragic backstory.

Piper; Also eclectic, but brighter and with some intellectualism. So, more vintage, but bolder and more assertive than Curie's vintage. The best thing I can do it point you towards Arianna Danielson's blog, and ask that you imagine most of those pinks to be darker, or just red. Similarly, Dani Klaric and Tay Beep Boop's viral design. That vibe of confidence, a little bit of feminine rebelliousness, and generally just spunky. A crucial item would be book paper lighting shades. It clashes but Piper would be into it. I imagine she'd want the place to be fun for Nat, satisfy that little girl urge for Maximum Colors. Piper would have a messy as hell writing room, papers everywhere, red-string corkboards, coffee cups. Collection of vintage newspapers, lots of plushy rugs and pillows, probably has weird little knickknacks hidden about. The type to have rubber ducks in her fridge and refuse to elaborate. Don't question the writing process.

Preston; Walnut, shiplap, rattan, navy blue. Reeves Connally put me on this combination and now I'm spreading the propaganda. People have feelings on rattan but it deserves more respect, just like Preston. His style is best described as hygge with a beachy edge. Hygge is all about neutrals, extremely soft and squishy fabrics and furniture, warm ambient lighting, and worn wood. Fairy lights everywhere. Cozycore, really. Blue and shiplap walls, walnut flooring, rattan furniture. Blues + white + sandy + rich brown. Best combo. Fucking fight me. Chunky wool blankets, velvet for more decorative cloths, like drapery or the fabric of the seat cushions. For decor, you're looking at handdrawn maps, paper light fixtures/shades, plants kept in colored glass vases, nature photography, a reading nook filled with historical fiction and textbooks. I can also see hanging greenery. Preston's space is refreshing, energizing, but not bombastic. I imagine he has a kitchen island with stools, but no dining table.

X6-88; Dark modernist, hands down. Crucial item is the Zaha Hadid moon sofa, in black. Steel, concrete, and sparingly, brass/brassy wood. Blacks, greys, and with the brass, an inoffensive pop of color. It's a minimalist style that, when darkened, takes inspiration from Gothic and industrial styles, but doesn't lean into them. Also has some futurism elements. X6-88's home is clean, elegant, sharp. It's designed to not be overstimulating, like the Institute's stark white plastic and fluorescent lighting is. LED indirect lighting + metal-caged hanging lights, velvet and taffeta fabrics, glass tables. There is no better kitchen for him then the Modern Kitchen 2020 from Burak LACFI on Behance. For the bathroom, Anna Kolos' work, also on Behance. His bedspread, the Ithaca Sateen set from Sleep by Sānti. I spent three years designing this man's home for a 40k word fanfic and I will hear no opposition.

[iwritesometimesiguess22]

I Will Not Send This Letter

“Growing up and seeing your parents' flaws is like losing your religion.” 

- Nicola Yoon, The Sun Is Also a Star. 

I’m lying, remember that.

The time you cried in front of a desktop computer in the basement and I followed the choking sounds like I was marching to war, seven. I didn’t think I had to ask if you were okay because, like my father’s, my instinct was to fix things before I had to look at them.

“What happened?”

“I’m sad.”

“Do you want a hug?”

“Yeah.”

I had last hugged you as a toddler, but somewhere I had understood that it was possible to squeeze a heartbeat from one body into another. And you, sitting in the black mesh office chair with the fabric torn and flapping like a lowered flag, were shorter than me for the first time. 

My arms awkwardly wrapped their way around your neck, plagiarised blocking from watching the school drop off line. I stayed longer than I wanted to, tilted on my axis to squeeze a heartbeat into my lowered mother’s body. 

The time in elementary school, I can’t remember the year, when you drove me to school without my shoes on and I cried the whole way in the passenger’s side of the stone gray backseat. We pulled up to the drop-off line, arms around necks in the car before us, and you locked the doors of the sky blue Toyota we would later decide was named Bubbles. Said something about how you had warned me to be ready on time and what would my friends and teachers think when I went to school without shoes on? That this is what happens. And what was I going to do tomorrow? That’s right, be on time. And I was what? I was sorry? Again, louder, and without the attitude. Yeah, that’s what you thought. And wipe that look off my face.

You pulled a folded pair of white socks and tennis shoes out from where they had been hidden from me beneath the passenger seat and handed them to me like you were delivering the shovel I would use to dig a grave, mine. Presenting exhibit A to a jury. You were pulling a prop out from behind a set piece in a grand reveal. Delivering the mic-drop line to end act one:

“Next time I won’t bring these, and you really will go to school barefoot. Do you understand?” 

The time one of your closest friends died of stomach cancer. You wore your new church shoes to the funeral, grey suede ankle booties with silver buckles and pointed toes. I put my arm around you in the church pew without actually touching you, just resting on the wooden back of the bench and trying not to make it creak too much. I couldn’t hug you the right way at seven, but at fifteen I had figured out that a few inches of buffer space would cover my ass. Would help me pretend to be chivalrous.

I’m still lying, remember? I swear to capitol G God that I am. Don’t forget. 

To be clear, I wasn’t lying about the chivalry. Pretending and lying are different things, ask any artist. Or twenty-something-year-old. But I think you know that’s not something I lie about because when there’s snow and ice on the ground you go for my arm, not my sister’s. Not the wall that’s closer to you and more sturdy than me. Who doesn’t want to feel useful? And it’d be a shame to waste these broad shoulders I went to therapy to learn to have a neutral opinion of. So I offer my arm like the dyke of an oldest daughter that I am and you latch around my bicep and rotator cuff. And it feels sharp from builder gel nails and slender finger bones the perfect length for playing piano.

The time, sitting in Bubbles after school, a storm bowed the trees around us into the ground. Weather channels had warned about it for a day or two, it wasn’t unexpected. Rain struck, Bubbles rocked, you rubbed your temples, my sister had just fallen on the concrete of the school yard and split open her head, Grandma Meyers had died. Your grandmother, the one who taught you to love music and god and bleach, had died on her couch, found by a neighbor in her one-bedroom apartment in Swissvale. Every time we visited her there I would ask how long we had to drive, always the carsick liability. You told me it was as long as an episode of Dora The Explorer. 

With Bubbles fighting against nature, homework for me to cry about at the dining room table later, my sister bleeding into a towel next to me, an ER to drive to, I had what I couldn’t comprehend was a panic attack, neither my first nor last in that backseat. So you called my father who, months before, had held a knife to his own throat and threatened to use it if you left him. You kicked him out that night, anyway. But now you called him and told him to talk to me, calm me down. He didn’t do anything you wouldn’t have done, asked me how I was feeling in the kind of monotone that said he was annoyed to have seen your name on his phone screen. You called him because you didn’t know what else to do. Because, by that point, you knew him as well as 12 years of marriage would allow. Knew that, if anything, he would pretend the role of a father. Pretend, that is, not lie. Different things remember? Remember.

Do you remember whether you’re lying or not? See, mom, the secret to the lying is that you have to play along. Like when I used to make you play dolls with me. I'd make up stories, give you a script with lines nabbed directly from Disney Channel melodrama. You played along. You were a theatre kid, I know. 

Or maybe the secret to the lying is remembering you are, in fact, lying. But we remember the lying, you and I, not as a rule but as a choice. We circle it like vultures, wondering, descending. Are you lying? Am I? Does it matter, now? I can’t decide. But I know for sure that I take my tea stronger than you because you always had to tell me not to use two teabags or we would run out too quickly. That can’t be a lie because we both remember it. The act of remembering actualizes the lie.

We’re both sopranos but I have a lower register than you. We both got married at 22, but only my marriedness is a debate worthy of the Supreme Court. Because I am your daughter I cry easily and often. Because I am you I’m a nervous driver and an over-confident left turn taker at the same time. 

Tell me not everything is a metaphor and maybe I’ll believe you, since metaphors are just different kinds of lies. But there are things, mom, that I’ve chewed and not swallowed leaving a trail behind me where I’ve spit them on the ground like tobacco. More and more, the older I get, I feel you following it like you’re tracking a scent. You’re a hunting dog, you know that? For all your love of cavaliers, you’re the one with hunting instincts. You trail after me like you don’t actually want to catch me, just witness me. My adulthood has turned me into the fish that is caught just to be thrown back.

[ob-writes]

A cute short one shot

Prompt by @me-writes-prompts Those nights when they come home late and see you asleep on the couch and they come, pick you up and tuck you into bed with a kiss on your forehead. .

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Silas hated how late he had to stay at work this evening. It was nearly, no it was midnight.

As Silas shut the front door to his home, the fear of waking his two toddlers at midnight had his muscles tensed. His wife would murder him if he were to wake the children. A sigh of relief escaped from his lips; the door was near silent. All tension left his body with the sigh. He carefully let his bag slide off his arm and placed it next to the shoe rack.

Dimmed blue light filtered in from the living room, his wife Emilia wasn’t usually awake at this hour. Curiously he stepped further into the house.  Silas mouth quirked up into a smile. His gaze warmly glided over his wife’s sleeping body. Her arm was raised over her head, partially hanging over the arm of the suede couch. The other rested on her stomach tucked under the oversized t shirt she stole from Silas’s side of the closet.

Emilia stirred as Silas slowly lifted her off the couch, his arms holding her legs and her shoulders. As if on cue, she nuzzled her face into Silas’s cotton button-up. For a moment he stood there, holding his sleeping wife, savoring the warmth that radiated from her. A gentle kiss was pressed to her freshly dyed white hair, the smell of her lavender shampoo filled his nostrils.  

“You didn’t have to wait for me, sweetheart.” Silas kept his words near silent, the trip to their bedroom was short but it did pass the nursery.  Occasionally, Emilia would attempt to stay awake during his late work nights. Every time Silas told her she didn’t have to, but the offer did make him smile. She was the kindest, most hardworking woman he had ever met; and in his opinion, she deserved a full night’s sleep.

Gently, he placed his wife on her side of the bed, pulled the covers over her and placed another kiss on her forehead.

“I love you, Emilia.”