#but now that we have plans to move next summer rather than living here for many years

[paradoxesofgalaxies]

Woke up this morning to being informed that the living room ceiling was leaking 🫠

[zyafics]

BROTHER'S RIVAL | 03

MASTERLIST (Series)

Pairing — Rafe Cameron x Female Reader .ᐟ

Summary — You and your brother were born Pogues, but once your family made enough to move to Figure Eight, you became a Kook. Unfortunately, Rafe doesn't welcome Pogue-born Kooks. It doesn't help that your brother is determined to steal the 'King of Kook' title from him. So, if your brother is attempting to steal something from him, Rafe will return the favor.

Content — 18+, smut, angst, and usage of drugs.

Rafe: i don't like being ignored after giving u the best orgasm of ur life

You didn't expect to see that message flash on your screen. Especially since you're with your brother, helping him load all the shit he bought from Heyward's into the back of his truck. You didn't even know he got a truck.

Lowering your brightness, you type back a haste reply.

You: don't type that shit Dean sometimes reads my text

Rafe: but it's true

You: that's an overstatement

Rafe: how about you come over here and we'll test that?

You: no, thanks i'm with my brother

Rafe: maybe he should fuck off

You roll your eyes at the message, just as your brother calls your name. Slipping the phone into your back pocket, where you are positive Dean won't be able to reach, you turn back to see him standing on the trunk of his truck with his arms outstretched.

"Did you hear me? Bring me the next case." He declares, his tone chipped with semi-annoyance at your distraction. You were about the grab the box, but with his attitude, you decided to put your hand on your waist and stare him down instead.

"Do I look like a dog to you? Say it nicer."

Dean sighs but doesn't argue back. Rather, he prepares himself to lunge through the next few words. "My dearest sister, the light of my life, the only person in the world who I would kill for, can you pass me the goddamn beer?"

Close enough.

You reach for one of the cases of booze set near your feet and hand it off to Dean, who easily takes it off of you and stacks it in the back of his cargo bed with the rest.

"I still don't understand the plan here." You confess, picking up another box and starting a momentum. "You're going to host a party, so what? What does that gotta do with anything?"

Your brother decided that he wanted to start hosting parties at your house. Since now he's intersecting himself into more Kook spaces, he wants to also start stripping away the pride of certain members too. According to Dean, Rafe is the top host for the grandest parties on the island—his containing a multitude of wild nights and adventures, all oozed out of his all-expensive paid amenities.

But you, for the life of it, don't understand how this has anything to do with his goals. Dean confirmed, after your little encounter with Rafe on the golf course, that he did have plans on taking the title of Kook King from Rafe. That Rafe's hatred of him was not unwarranted. However, he didn't tell you why.

All you know is that for the duration of this summer, your brother is going to do everything he can to convince the rest of the Kooks to follow after him.

Dean sighs, approaching you at the far end of the tailgate, crouching down till his face is to your level. "It's simple. Kooks are superficial and flimsy. They are only loyal to the Camerons because they have money. So, we need to shift the tides."

You are not getting in the middle of this.

"We—" you gesture to yourself, then to your brother, "are not doing anything. You are trying to do something with something we don't have a lot of. AKA, money."

While your brother does have a cushy job that pays better than most living in The Cut, and your mother secured herself as a respectable accountant who works with several high-profile Kooks—your family is nowhere at the levels that the Camerons is.

Dean chuckles. He finds it humorous that you're trying to distance yourself from this ongoing rivalry, drawing a line that you would not cross. Though, he knows, you would choose his side if it came down to it. "I know," he agrees with a nod. "But that's not the only way we can even the playing field. We can get power elsewhere."

"You do realize that this is just a meaningless feud between the Kooks and the Pogues, right?" You remind your brother. You know that he's competitive and stubborn; when he sets his mind on something, nothing you can or do can change it. "That it's not going to matter in the long run?"

His jaw locks and it takes several beats before he answers. "It matters to me."

Your older brother pushes himself back up to his height, jumping off the trunk onto the ground, and starts carrying the boxes himself. Without your assistance. You feel like you pushed a button you didn't know existed, and step back timidly.

"Fine, tell me," you announce after a few minutes of unbearable silence, trying to retain Dean's attention. "How are you planning on getting power?"

"No, you don't care."

You grab your brother's arm before he hauls the next case onto the cargo bed. Finally, he turns to you. "But, you care," you rectify, in a small voice, "so that means I care too. What is your genius plan, Lucky?"

Dean lights up at the nickname you used. An inside joke between the two of you. When you were children, you two were obsessed with the film Lilo & Stitch—so much that you had adopted the nicknames as your own. However, for the better part of your childhood, you had a difficult time remembering it was Lilo. You kept calling it Lucky. In turn, you kept calling your brother 'Lucky.'

"Alright." He sets his current case on the tailgate, turning back to give you his full attention. "Y'know how Kook doesn't just party? They do a lot of other shit too. They smoke. They do drugs. They fuck one another on the off-chance that they could gain something from it—a job, an inside scoop, maybe even the life of a housewife."

You raise your brow at his example. "Men can't be the sluts?"

"Can you let me speak?"

You raise both your arms in surrender. He cuts you a playful annoyed look before continuing on his mastermind.

"So, that means, Kooks change loyalty based on whoever has most access to the things they want. The drugs, the alcohol, the parties. Everything. If I can take that away from Rafe, they will shift their loyalty."

You cross your arms, considering his words. "You can't honestly believe that's true. They have more loyalty than that."

"I don't think so," he shakes his head, the firmness in his voice makes you wonder how he's so confident about it. "They're not like Pogues. Loyalty isn't the only thing they have left."

You don't respond. Instead, you remember. You can't shake off the rising guilt in your gut, knowing what happened the other day with Rafe—your brother's enemy—and how your brother still doesn't know. While you don't consider yourself a Pogue anymore, you know you are loyal to one thing.

Dean.

Your family.

This, you are certain.

In that moment, you decided that you need to put some distance between yourself and Rafe. That whatever happened that night was a one-time thing, a flunk in the system, a brief moment of vulnerability.

Your phone buzzes in your pocket again and this time, you pull it out, expecting to see another text from Rafe.

Unknown: come on, don't ignore me

You swallow hard, clenching your phone in your palm. Dean has returned back to lodging his cases onto his trunk, picking up his own routine without you.

"Hey, Dean," you call out, to which your brother hums in response. "Have you talked to... him?"

It takes a moment for your brother to register who you are referring to, and his whole body goes rigid. "No," he says with gritted teeth, not bothering to hide his discontent. "I blocked that bastard months ago."

He glances down at your phone clutched in your hand. "Didn't you?"

You know you should. You know it would be better for you. But, something in you just doesn't allow it to happen. That you wonder, for a moment, if he would ever change and need help. To get back on his feet. To make amends. You couldn't let that happen without you.

"Yeah," you lie, "I was just curious."

—

The party is full of Kooks. You didn't expect this many people to show up, especially knowing that they're supposed to be resenting you and your brother, but somehow you were proven wrong. Perhaps it's because Dean went all-out that drove them, or because Kooks didn't like to miss out on something on their own street, but they're here.

You wonder, for a split moment, if what your brother said has some merit.

The party wasn't just Kooks. He invited the Pogues too. Unlike you, where your friends dropped you upon learning that you were moving to Figure Eight and you didn't care enough to keep in touch—Dean carefully kept in contact with his childhood buddies. Because, at heart, Dean still sees himself as a Pogue.

You didn't care. You took advantage of it. Dressed in your best party outfit—a skirt that barely covered anything, a top with such a large cut that practically revealed your cleavage—and a fuck-it attitude, you descended to the party and have fun.

You drank, danced, and even grind against a couple of guys on the dance floor.

That's when it hits you. Where is Dean? Usually, by the time the second guy got too handsy with you, he would appear out of nowhere to shove the guy off. An overprotective streak that you can't help but roll your eyes to, it's also a measured move that allows you to know when and where your brother is at all times.

Taking the final sip of your drink, the liquor of mixed fruits and vodka slipping down your throat with a burn, you separate from the guy to search for your brother. He wasn't outside, where most of everyone is, lounging around the lit pool; he wasn't on the roof, where Kooks were jumping off the ledge into the water below; he wasn't gone—his truck was still here. When you went inside, you searched the first floor to find him nowhere in sight. That's when you head upstairs. Opening the door to your room, you didn't find Dean.

You find Rafe instead.

"What the hell?" You exclaim, your words slightly slurred as you step into your bedroom and lock the door behind you. Rafe turns around, his previous attention paid to the various frames decorating your walls now pins onto you. "What—what are you doing here?"

"I heard there was a party," he shrugs, his demeanor completely casual while his hands rested inside the pockets of his khaki shorts. "Thought I'd check it out."

"The parties downstairs,"

"Huh," he hums, feigning innocence. "I must've gotten lost."

You aren't satisfied because, despite your intoxicated state, you can clearly see through his lies. Crossing your arms over your chest, you accuse, "thought you gave yourself a house tour the other night?"

"I did," he chuckles, closing the distance. His height towers over your own, and as he meets your gaze, a smirk rises over his face. "I got distracted."

You swallow hard, your heart skipping several beats knowing exactly what he's alluding to. It doesn't help that Rafe carries the same look behind his eyes—the same glint he had when he made you come.

"You know," Rafe begins, trailing down the length of your body, causing heat to bloom under your skin, before meeting your eyes again. "I talked to girls before and none of them has ever made me work as hard as you."

He's referring to the fact that, while you're replying to his texts, after your talk with Dean, they've been mostly monosyllabic answers. One-sided attempts at a conversation. You thought he would take the hint to leave you alone.

Once again, you're wrong.

You cross your arms and challenge him, "Go talk to one of your girls, then."

"Nah."

You don't know if it's the alcohol or his words, but your entire body is buzzing. You should leave, and go back to your search—what were you looking for again?—but something made you stay rooted in your spot. Rafe takes note of your internal battle and takes advantage of it.

Moving even closer, until he's nothing but a breath away, Rafe lowers himself to your level, his mouth right beside your ear. "You know what I can't stop thinking about?"

"How you can't seem to take no for an answer?"

"No," he chuckles, his breath fanning the crook of your exposed neck. "You and your little moans as you called out my name."

Your legs squeeze together, arousal stirring in the pit of your stomach as your mind flashes to the vivid memories of that night. Of Rafe touching you and making you come with the skillfulness of his hands. You can't help but imagine what he could do with his tongue.

Pulling together whatever little restraint you have left, you set a hand on his chest. "Well, cherish it. Because it's not going to happen again."

You're proud of how steady your voice sounds. It's almost believable.

But Rafe doesn't look completely convinced. A cocky smile forms on his face, his eyes diligently scanning your features, picking you apart under his scrutiny.

"You don't believe that."

"I—" You begin, stuttering. Goddammit. "I do. I'm serious."

His hand raises to cup the side of your profile, the pad of his thumb drags across the plump of your bottom lip and they part unconsciously. His smirk broadens.

"Look at you opening up for me. Showing me how much you want me."

You internally groan. He's so infuriating, hot, and obnoxious, that you can't believe you're falling for any of it. You need to do something. Flattening both hands on his firm chest, you give him a light shove, forcing him to release.

Turning, you head for the exit when Rafe captures your wrist, spins you around, and crashes his lips onto yours.

Everything zeros into this moment. All those nightly fantasies of Rafe kissing you finally come to life as he groans against the taste of you. His hand travels to the nape of your neck and holds it tight, using it to steady himself as he presses closer, pulling you in, needing to feel nothing but skin-on-skin.

And you allow it. You don't know if it's because of the vodka mixers you had, or because Rafe is just an incredible kisser, but the way he sucks the plump bottom of your lips draws out a breathy moan, and your skin buzzes with fervent heat. His free hand descends down to grab yours, before placing it against the hard bulge under his pants.

"Do you feel what you do to me, princess?" He murmurs against your vodka-stained lips. "I fucking need you."

Your eyes connect with his, but meet nothing but the pitch-black of his dilated pupils. "You're drunk," you say breathlessly.

His tongue swipes across your bottom lip, leaving tingles in its place, before he confesses, "Not enough."

Then, his mouth meets yours again.

Without breaking for air, Rafe steps forward, causing you to step back. It becomes a two-person dance, and it doesn't end until the back of your heels hits the frame of your bed, tumbling you onto the mattress.

Rafe is immediately on you. Your back flattens against the sheets, your heart thundering, as Rafe parts from the heavy kiss to lay wet ones on the side of your throat, teasingly, nibbling the tender skin until he leaves a mark, before moving down to the valley of your breasts.

Half of you wish you weren't wearing such revealing clothes. The other half wished they were already gone.

Your core aches as Rafe's hands fall between your legs, skimming the short skirt, until he feels the patch of your panties. "You're so gorgeous," he confesses, before chuckling at the slickness collecting on his fingertips, "and wet."

He tells you to lift your hips and you oblige. Removing your skirt, he toss it to the floor, and his eyes zoom into the red pair of panties you decided to wear tonight.

"Did you know red's my favorite color?" Rafe asks. You shake your head softly. "Do you know why?"

"Anger issues?"

He grins, his thumb gently stroking the drenched spot in a way that causes your hips to buck off the bed. But he pins you back down. "It's because it's a good color to fuck to."

"Never knew you were the type of guy to set the mood."

"Didn't need to. You did it all for me."

You open your mouth to retort when his thumb massages your clit in such a sensual manner, a moan rips from you. Rafe watches the way your eyes flutter from the ounce of pleasure, how easily stimulated you are by his touch, and he revels in that feeling.

"You want me," he murmurs, full of confirmation this time, but you don't answer. Rafe watches the way your teeth sink to your bottom lip, embarrassment flushing your face as you refuse to accept it. "Say it."

"You want me," you correct, changing the subject as you arch into his hand.

His fingers stop their magical strokes, and you whine. "No, princess, you want me. I want to hear you say it."

Desperation seeps. Your core aching, pleading for stimulation, and he is right there. You have half a mind to push him off and finish the yourself, voyeurism included. But, you don't. As your eyes connect with him, you breathe out with reluctance, "please make me come."

It isn't exactly what he wanted, but he takes it.

His fingers slip under the band of your panties, pulling them off and discarding them. You thought he would do the same methods as the other night, his fingers finding your sweet spot, but he surprises you when he lowers his mouth and finds your swollen nub.

"Shit," you whisper breathily, his mouth suctioning the clit in a manner that causes your back to arch. Your hands go to find his hair, threading your fingers through his roots as you grind on his face. "That feels so good."

"You taste so fucking good," Rafe growls, the vibration of his words causing your stomach to tighten. When he sees how responsive you are to him, he slips two fingers into your pussy, feeling your walls immediately fluttering around his digits.

He fingers you, as he sucks on your clit. The double stimulation causes your head to spin and your heart to hammer out of your chest, your stomach coils with the familiar pang of pleasure.

"Oh my god, Rafe," you moan, gripping his hair tighter. For a moment, you're afraid of hurting him, but it's quickly dismissed when he flattens his tongue against your slit.

"Say my name louder."

"Rafe."

"Would you do anything I say to come?" Rafe asks, taking the opportunity to get something from you. And you're willing.

"Yes," you whimper, tipping your head back against the bed. "Anything."

"Moan louder for me, baby."

You do.

"Play with your tits."

Your hands push up your top till your breasts are exposed, using a hand to grope the flesh, brushing your fingers through your perked nipples. Groaning from pleasure, it arouses Rafe further, his fingers penetrating deeper and faster into your cunt, while his mouth returns to your clit.

"Oh, god," you moan, chest rising and falling in rapid succession as your pleasure crescendos through your body. Your legs attempt to squeeze close from the sensitivity, to push Rafe out, but with one strong arm, he widens them instead. "Please don't stop."

Rafe doesn't respond but you can feel him grinning into your pussy, flattening his tongue across your slit as your core pulses around his digits. Nothing at this moment could be more perfect, the slow-burning building to your orgasm, the pleasure rippling through your veins.

Nothing can ruin it.

Until you hear your brother calling out your name.

"Shit," you swear, your heart rate spiking through the roof, and a hand slips between your thighs to push Rafe away. But he doesn't move. "Rafe—fuck," a clever roll of his tongue against your heat causes your mind to short-circuit, and you limp back onto the bed as Dean's voice grows louder.

Like he's outside your door.

"Rafe, please," you beg.

"Please what?" Rafe taunts, lifting his head from between your thighs, the lower half of his face dripping with your arousal, while his eyes gleamed that same mischief he had the other night. "Make you come? Or stop?"

You don't know what you want either, and it doesn't help that Rafe continues to stroke your cunt, his thumb rubbing your clit to make up for the absence of his hot mouth. Your legs twitch from the act, again, attempting to close around him, but he pushes them further apart.

Your door rattles. And Dean calls out your name again.

"Are you in there?" He asks, "are you okay?"

No, you want to rasp, but nothing comes out. Rafe grins devilishly, before lowering himself back onto your clit and sucks harder—quickening the arrival to your blinding climax.

"Rafe," you whisper roughly, your mind caught between two forces. The door continues to rattle as Dean tries to force the lock open, a protective trait of him needing to make sure you're okay, while Rafe has you in the most compromising position.

With the worst person.

"Go out with me."

"What?"

You think you heard him wrong, that Rafe definitely isn't asking you out while he's between your legs. But you didn't. Rafe lifts his head and repeats the question once more. "Go out with me."

"I—"

"Come on," Rafe soothes, his fingers fastening their strokes, your walls clenching around him. "Go out with me. Or else, your big brother's gonna come in and see you mid-orgasm."

"W–What do you mean?"

"I know you don't want me to stop," Rafe taunts with a smirk, "And I know your brother probably got some way of getting that door to open. So, you got two choices: either accept my date and come, or your big brother is gonna see me between your legs."

"I—" Your breath shudders as Rafe's signet cool ring presses against your heat. "You're despicable."

"Yet I'm here," Rafe lowers himself back on your clit, sucking languidly as if you don't have a threatening force outside your door, seconds from being let in. Your heart piercing out of your chest. "Come on, princess, go out with me."

Your mind is caught in a tailspin. Half of you want to tell him to fuck off, that you can't believe Rafe is using your moment of weakness to coerce you into a date, but the other part is wrapped in the absolute pleasure of your onslaught orgasm. The white-searing hot power that's coursing down your spine.

"Fuck," you say breathily, eyes fluttering shut from the way Rafe suctions on your clit. "Fuck, fuck, okay, okay. I–I'll go out with you."

You don't see it, but Rafe is grinning between your thighs. He goes faster, harder, pushing you over the edge as you slap a hand over your mouth to muffle the loud moans leaving your lips.

And just in that moment, the locks disengages.

With whatever mental capacity you have left, you quickly shove Rafe onto the floor and throw your blanket over your body. Dean barges into the room, blinking out his drunken haze, while his eyes scans the space for any disruptions.

"Did you hear me?" He asks with a subtle slur, scanning your face to see you comfortable in bed. He doesn’t know what got you here. "I've been calling out to you."

Your heart is hammering, and you pray that Dean doesn't approach the bedframe or look on the floor to find any semblance of his enemy hiding out. Rafe, thankfully, doesn't make a sound—though, you’d imagine he's hiding behind a cocky smile at the situation he's in.

"I—" you don't know how to answer him, "I was listening to music. Sorry."

"Oh," Dean says, taking the excuse as acceptable. He glances back at the door. "Why was your door locked?"

"It—it's a party," you explain, surprised at how easy the lie is flying off your tongue. "I didn't want drunk people to stumble up here and have sex on my bed."

"Right, right, smart," Dean nods, and he turns back around. "Alright. I'm going back down. Sleep tight."

You hum back in response as Dean stumbles out of your room, and you finally feel like you can expel a breath. The moment the lock clicks, Rafe lets out a rich laugh, straightening himself into a sitting position as he turns his head and connects his gaze with yours.

"Nice lie."

"Fuck off."

"Can't, you promised me a date," Rafe grins cheekily, pulling himself to his feet while he holds out something in his hand. "I think this belongs to you."

Your panties.

You snatch it from him, heat flushing your face as you want to nothing more than to bury yourself into your sheets. Well, you technically already did. Regardless, Rafe takes one final look around the room, at you, before he says, "I'll text you." And before he leaves, he gives you a sharp look and a reminder, "And actually respond."

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Navigation — Part 02 | Part 03 | Part 04

[tin-wufborf]

Tin's Favorite Sterek Fics (Part 12)

Hello party people, and welcome to part 12! This installment is brought to you by my summer cold because there's nothing quite like having a cold when it's been 100+ degrees all weekend!

Again, thank you all for all of the support you've shown this series. Before we move forward, I just want to give you all a little heads up that we are now entering my "anti-Scott McCall" era (which I have yet to leave, tbh; I just read less Bad Friend Scott McCall fics than I used to). There aren't a ton of them on the list, but there's enough of them that I feel like a warning is a good idea, and I know there will be more moving forward. Okay? Okay.

No more rambling on for me. I'm working against the clock in terms of when my sinus pressure kicks in for the day, and I want to get this out sooner rather than later so I can get back to simulated trucking.

Smoochies and squeezies!

List and links to previous/next part(s) below.

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DISCLAIMER: This is me warning you all that some of the fics I've included in this list may cover explicit, dark, and/or "taboo" subject matters. I cannot express enough how little I care what anyone thinks about any of that; all I want is for you to use caution when reading anything I've listed here and to please review and heed whatever tags the authors have provided in order to keep yourselves safe. Your experience from this point on is your own responsibility, not mine and not the authors'.

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Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15 | Part 16 | Part 17 | Part 18 | Part 19 | Part 20

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You and the Night by Hyperion327 (E | 1/1 | 9,634)

Stiles has a secret. Ever since he was ten, there's been... someone who appears in his night from time to time, someone with glowing gold eyes that no human being could ever have. His shadow has been there for years, keeping watch in the darkness. He should be scared, should have told his sheriff father about the intruder from the beginning, but he can't. Not when the shadow has been the one who's comforted him on the lonely nights. Even if he can't see him, he knows one thing for sure: He trusts him absolutely.

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Oblivious Misadventures, and Other Such Tales by Little Spoon (JaydenNara) (M | 6/6 | 11,240)

Going to college was exciting and new, a chance for new friends and a fresh start, and the best part was, there was a supernatural fraternity on campus, meaning Scott finally had the freedom to be himself.

Then he met the resident human who came with a stalker alpha. What was the point of a supernatural fraternity if he still had to pretend to be human. And seriously, did Stiles ever fall asleep somewhere normal?

--

(aka - Five TImes Scott Found Derek and Stiles Sleeping, and the One Time He Didn't)

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Theory of Overprotective Canines by rosepetals42 (T | 1/1 | 11,798)

Stiles is totally looking forward to living alone in his super cool apartment off-campus. He is. He is also very excited to bike to school every day, ready to set up an awesome game room, and definitely over his crush on Derek Hale. Completely over it.

Or at least he is until Derek decides he's moving in with him. And then turns out to be the perfect roommate. And then starts attending all his classes. As a wolf.

This is not going according to plan.

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Throw Me to the Wolves by skoosiepants (T | 1/1 | 13,493)

He feels the physical embodiment of devastated, his already too strung-out mind struggling to wall up all the hurt, the rejection—he takes a deep shuddering breath and looks down at the shredded skin on his arms, at the sluggish way they’re weakly healing.

There is nothing, nothing he wants more than to have Derek sweep in and make everything all better. He should have known, though, that something like that would never happen to him.

OR -

Stiles accidentally gets bitten, and everything goes to hell.

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Where We Belong by thecheekydragon (E | 1/1 | 16,548)

Derek rescues a little werewolf girl and takes on the responsibility of caring for her. Stiles helps.

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And The Moon Shined A Little Brighter by LuneFaitLaFolie (T | 1/1 | 17,952)

It’s not in the same spot, it’s over his left shoulder blade, almost like it’s over the back of his heart, but it’s just as big. It isn’t black either, so it also doesn’t match any of his other rune tattoos, which Stiles can say with confidence without looking, are either black or blue. No, it’s a deep red, the same colour as Derek’s alpha eyes.

It is though, a huge ass matching triskelion permanently on his body, and he has no clue how the fuck to tell Derek about it.

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Safe Place to Land by Green (T | 1/1 | 19,298)

The Hales have been tracking a group of hunters who've targeted small packs with the help of a magic user. When they finally attack the hunter compound, they aren't expecting to find Stiles, a Spark who's practically a slave, and his young werewolf son. Derek isn't expecting the Spark to be his mate, either.

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Foolish devouring things, build your castle in me by LunaCanisLupus_22 (E | 1/1 | 23,181)

“I will marry you,” he declares. “But should any more harm come to my father or my people, I will raze the earth itself until I feel the lifeblood drain from your corpse and paint my skin with it.”

It is not an idle warning, but from the princeling it has none of the desired effect. Derek feels no fear, but in this instance at least diplomacy triumphed over the spilling of more blood. It is all the same to him anyway. But Regent Peter was most insistent they avoid a drawn-out, gruelling war.

“Then we have reached an accord.”

Or the barbarian sterek war AU that nobody asked for.

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She Walks in Beauty series by breakaway71 (2 works | G-T | 29,144)

1. Innocence (G | 1/1 | 964) Claudia wonders, sometimes. 2. All That's Best of Dark and Bright (T | 1/1 | 28,180) It's not a gender identity crisis if you've known all along what the problem is. If you've been purposely trying to ignore it since you were old enough to consciously make that choice. But what happens after that, when you finally learn how to let go?

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No Rest For The Wicked (Love is Kind) by midnightcas (G | 11/11 | 31,328)

When a homeless, scared for his life, kid attempts to hold up Stiles Stilinski's bakery, the last thing he expected was to be offered a muffin...or a job. . . . "I have a feeling that you don’t want to be a felon on the run from the cops your whole life. Especially over such a stupid thing like robbing a bakery. Murder I’d get, but this?”

“Well," his eyes fall to the gun, "I might murder you.”

Stiles swallowed.

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The Accidental Hale Brood by Julibean19 (M | 1/1 | 42,370)

“I know, I just…” Derek trailed off, rubbing his forehead with both hands, frustrated that the right words weren’t coming to him.

“What?” Stiles asked honestly, pulling on one of Derek’s wrists until he could see his expression again.

Derek’s heart pounded in his chest so loud he figured even Stiles could hear it. He inhaled deeply and let the air out slowly through his nose, trying to keep his voice even. “When we take them places, and spend time with them, and make them smile… it feels like…”

“It feels like they’re yours,” Stiles finished for him, licking his lips before snagging the bottom one between his teeth.

“No,” Derek said, taking Stiles by surprise. “It feels like they’re ours.”

“Oh,” Stiles said simply, mouth still slightly open while he contemplated Derek’s words.

Or, the one in which Stiles and Derek have been BCPD partners for years when they are assigned Halloween duty and run into a couple of kids from the orphanage. One fake marriage and two real adoptions later, they somehow become a family.

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Ain't no rest for the wicked by MBlack93 (E | 8/8 | 46,463)

''What the hell happened, Stiles?!'' He hisses.

Stiles tries not to flinch from his dad's tone, but he fails miserably.

''I don't know, I don't know, I don't know, I - I woke up and everything in my room was in flames, even the bed, dad, I - I don't know what is happening.''

As soon as he said it, his dad's face closes off.

''You're telling me that you don't know? You didn't remember? Is it possible that you're - you're poss-''

''NO! No, no! No! It can't be. It just can't.''

''But you don't remember Stiles. You don't know what happened.'' His dad remembers him. His eyes are boring into Stiles's.

Stiles falters because no, he doesn't remember, he doesn't know what is happening, but the Nogitsune is gone, he saw it happening, he knows it's gone. He can't be possessed any more.

''Dad-'' before he can finish his sentence, his dad lets out a weary sigh. And a sob escapes his dad when he looks at the burning house.

''I - I don't know if I can deal with this son.'' His dad confesses. And - and that's it. Stiles stops doing anything for a moment until a sob escapes him, and he can feel his heart break into a million pieces.

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I'll be right back (in 24 years) by AnaIsFangirling (Ana_K_Lee) (T | 35/35 | 48,190)

When Derek thought about time travel – and he did, a lot – this was not what he'd had in mind. He'd thought he would see his younger self, tell him to leave Paige alone and NEVER trust Kate Argent. He'd thought he’d get to come back once that was done and everything would be perfect. He never imagined having to relive his entire life.

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Those Are The Days That Bind Us series by s_a_m (3 works | T-M | 63,389)

The series follows Stiles as he struggles to deal with the trauma, heartbreak and betrayals that cause him to run away from Beacon Hills, and the adventures that come during his time away.

[Subsequent parts are in progress and will be posted upon completion.]

1. Those Are The Days That Bind Us (M | 5/5 | 52,171) His father wasn’t stupid. He was an officer of the law, trained to look for patterns. He confronted Stiles about werewolves and they shouted and Stiles tried to explain but his father was so, so, so mad, more mad than Stiles had ever seen him, ever in all his life and then his father looked at him and said, “It’s like you’re not my son anymore.” And Stiles broke. 2. You Have One New Message (T | 1/1 | 5,093) A flash in the corner of John’s eye caught his attention. The home phone had a message. He hit play. ‘You have one new message.’ “Uh, hey Dad. It’s uh, its Stiles.” 3. Himmelfahrtskommando (M | 1/1 | 6,125) She can’t help but laughing at the growing knowledge that her whole life has likely just been one long suicide mission.

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stuck in reverse by crazyassmurdererwall (smartalli) (E | 1/1 | 65,656)

Look, Derek is the worst. Everyone knows that. Their fearless leader is a total and complete failwolf.

Which means the rest of them? Are kind of the worst too. They’re a ramshackle, slap dashed, sorry excuse for a pack that’s about a half second away from getting one of them killed. And this is a problem, because Stiles would really like to survive high school. Thanks.

Still, nobody deserves what Derek has gone through. Nobody.

And it’s about time somebody told him that.

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Just the Same by foxlavender (G | 7/7 | 68,066)

Something is seriously up with the captain of the lacrosse team. There's just no way Derek Hale is human. *** “I was wondering if you're even human. You move so quickly. I mean, it's ridiculously fast. No human should be able to move that fast, y'know? It's unfair for us. I mean, it's obvious you work out, and I don't, so that could be why, but like...I was just wondering if you were human, that's all.”

“Stop talking, Stilinski, or I'll—”

“Put me on the bench all season?” Stiles asks knowing full well that Derek Hale can't threaten him with shit.

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The Fox & The Wolf by Dexterous_Sinistrous (E | 10/10 | 79,151)

The war between the fox and wolf clans has raged for centuries, ignited in a time before anyone can remember. Now both clans—tired of the bloodshed and hate—are searching for a way to end the war.

Crowned prince Stiles Stilinski—heir to the fox clan—has agreed with his father to meet with the Hales, the ruling royal family over the wolf clan. Under the counseling of the Druids, both clans are presented with a solution to the war: unite the Stilinski and Hale clans through marriage. To quell their people's anger, both Stiles and Derek—eldest living Hale Alpha—are urged to accept the other as an equal; as their mate.

For the sake of their people, both houses make the ultimate sacrifice by choosing duty over love. But, out of what was first assumed to be compromised, quickly turns to be a better match than either could have hoped for. But not all is easy for either clan, as some members refuse to believe that the war could end so easily.

[Update: I'm stating here, because some people aren't reading the author note at the beginning, this story was inspired by/based on Amelia Atwater-Rhodes' Hawksong]

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Didn't See That Coming by knittersrevolt (E | 43/43 | 83,838)

Stiles leaves Beacon Hills in the dust after he catches his husband cheating on him.

He finds his way to New York where he starts working for the Hale House Nursery, accidentally adopts a werewolf baby (through no fault of his own thank-you-very-much), and somehow starts training to be an Exorcist Emissary. So, in general, life was going good.

Then he hears that demons have found their way into his hometown. Can he face his inner demons and go back to save the day?

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I know that you love me, even when I lose my head by LunaCanisLupus_22 (E | 13/13 | 135,585)

“We’re not mates, Cora,” he insists. “I mean look at him-“

“Ouch,” the kid says, no longer pushing that shit eating grin.

“He’s- he’s,” Derek tries, at a loss of how to explain why this can’t be possible. Why it shouldn’t be possible.

Or the one where Derek gets attacked by hunters, ends up with amnesia and forgets Stiles is his mate

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Manipulated by DearDaisy (Scribblesnpaws) (M | 30/30 | 221,251)

Nine years ago, Scott kicked Stiles out of the pack. Stiles left and never returned. But now his dad has been hurt, so Stiles returns to take care of him. No one knows the truth of what happened back then, not even Scott or Stiles. But that's about to change.

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

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

WIBTA for using my cousin's weed habit to convince my dad to let me go live on my own, making him pay higher rent? Hi so this is kind of a silly idea i had but wanted to see if it would be assholeish. Also it is not the only way out or anything, just a bit of a thought experiment. So i (24x) moved from mexico to the usa for grad school (2 years). For this first year i've been living with my cousin A (23F), A's college friend B (23F) and A's childhood/family friend, C (25F). Now they're lovely and really fun roommates, but honestly not very good to live with on an everyday basis. B and A are really messy (leave everything lying around - dirty plates, clothes, trash, you name it), and none of them are very clean. Other than them occasionally wiping the kitchen counters, emptying the dishwasher, or taking out the trash, i've done all the cleaning so far on my own (kitchen, 2 bathrooms, living room, hallways). I've made my frustration pretty clear (and even gone on strike lol, but i can't deal w a dirty toilet for more then 2 weeks), but nothing changes!! At this point i'm really fed up, and want to move elsewhere next year, preferably to live on my own. The problem is that we live in san francisco, and rent is... well, it's pretty expensive. Sorry californians you really got it rough. However, i've looked into the university's accommodation for grad students and it could be an option. I would be paying about $250 per month more than right now, but i would save on utilities (about $40 per month). The thing is, my dad is the one whose been paying for my living expenses ever since i went back to school. We used to have a rocky relationship (he was really frustrated with me not meeting his expectations; coming out as a homo, being a leftist, doing some weed as a teen...) and i think he sees this as 'making it up to me'. I really appreciate the way he has been trying to fix out relationship, and i'm obviously extremely thankful for the economic support. So i feel really guilty asking for more than he is giving me. Here is where my plan comes in -- my dad haaates drugs, and my cousin A has a pretty intense weed habit. WIBTA to complain about it ('waa the house smells like weed, theyre blazing it all day every day') to my dad, in order to convince him that me moving to the grad dorms is a good idea? EXTRA INFO: Would my cousin get in trouble? - not really i think. Its legal, and her parents are aware of her indulgences (i dont think they're happy with the amount she smokes, but they're pretty chill). I worry that if i complain to my dad, he would tell his sister (A's mom) and make it a huge deal, but as I said A's parents are pretty tolerant, and know of her 'addiction' anyway. Don't i have any money of my own? - not anymore lol, at least not enough to pay californian rent. I'm getting a job over the summer, but with visa restrictions (half time) i doubt i would make enough to make a difference. Working during term time is not possible for me (personal limitations). Also the increase in price would not bleed my dad dry or anything. Can't i just sort it out w my roommates? - they've proven to be admirably immovable objects on the cleaning issue. I mean, i can tough ot out, but at this point it's also the spirit of the thing that is pissing me off so much, rather than the cleaning itself. Do they just dont care?? T-T Do i have to 'manipulate' my dad? - um idk. It's definitely the easy (perhaps cowardly) way, but that's why i want to see if its too assholeish. Thanks for reading! Lay it on me

[filthyjoetini]

Love is in the Air(BnB)

a/n: This one was a bitch to write. It took me a while. Sooooorry! The usual thanks goes to my lovely beta-reader as well as my kick ass editor (hehe) @barfightzanddiscolightz ! Also, Wes is back in action!

warnings: none

wordcount: 5.5k

part 1 - Friday night - part 2 - Saturday - part 3 - Sunday - part 5 - Tuesday - part 6 - Wednesday - part 7 - Thursday -  Epilogue

Monday

“Hello there, love.”

You let your shades-covered eyes move up and saw Wesley standing in the doorway between the living room and balcony, looking like he had just gotten out of bed. You were sitting on a lawn chair, feet tucked under your bum, sipping your tea while you enjoyed the warm sun. The weather really meant well for you the past couple of days and today should also be warm enough to finally wear proper summer clothes. You were used to London’s sky being covered in clouds, foggy alleyways, and rain-soaked pavement. But not this time; this time you were graced with sunny skies and warm air. You pushed your sunglasses up to your hair and greeted Wesley.

“Good morning…. Or rather noon, Wes.”, you corrected yourself after glancing at your wristwatch, which showed you that the time was 12:18pm., “Did you sleep well?”

He nodded and sat down in the chair next to you, rubbing his eyes.

“Yup.”, he yawned. “Like a log…Do say, what’s on your itinerary for today? Planned anything exciting?” He turned to you with a small smirk on his lips.

You didn’t really have an itinerary for this trip. The only thing you really had planned was the play you wanted to see, which you did last night. Other than that, you would just do things spontaneously.

“Not really.”, you replied honestly, “I thought I’d hit the city to do some light shopping, you know?”

“Yeah, I know. Except you won’t.”

Wesley’s statement made you look at him in confusion. He wasn’t even looking at you, he just picked at his nailbeds and stared across the rooftop of the house next door.

“I won’t?”, you questioned him with one eyebrow raised, “And why is that?”

“Because!”, he turned to you, a big grin on his face, “It’s my day off and you’re coming to the lake with me. Joe will be joining us later in the afternoon and the guys and Becky will also be coming after they’re done with work for the day.”, he explained as he suddenly got up to lean against the balcony’s railing. “I usually go alone and just wait until everyone arrives but you’re here now so you can keep me company. I really hope you packed a swimsuit.”

For some reason, unbeknownst to you, you did in fact pack a bikini. You remembered holding it in your hand whilst packing and almost putting it back. Something within you told you to pack it so you threw it in your suitcase.

“I packed one, yes. I don’t have a towel though.”, you remarked.

“No worries, you can borrow one of my beach towels.”, Wesley replied as he let go of the railing and walked over to you. Stopping next to you, he motioned for you to get up. You slowly untucked your feet, letting them down onto the ground. You placed your hands on the chair’s armrests and pushed yourself up. Your movement made a small clang sound which made both Wesley and you look down to where it came from. It was the wooden beaded bracelet you had put on while exploring the flat yesterday.

Wesley narrowed his eyes at it and then moved his glance to your face.

“Hey…where did you get that?”

“Uhm”, you started, suddenly worried you had done something terribly bad by putting on the bracelet. You swore to yourself you would put it back again, but it had slipped your mind that you were wearing it. “I…I found it on the commode in the hallway. I swear it was never my intention to keep it. I just…forgot about it. Sorry.”, you clarified, a small frown grazing your lips as you slid it off your wrist, holding it out for him to take.

Instead of grabbing it, Wesley suddenly burst out laughing which irritated you to no end. He was such an unpredictable man. One day you’d get sweet and caring Wesley; you experienced that Wesley on the evening you arrived as well as the day you had to move to the living room. The other, you get the jokester who was just waiting to catch you off guard like on Saturday. Today must be yet another jokester day. You really hoped Joe wouldn’t catch Wesley’s mood and team up with him, as he was a bloody menace on his own and you had already blushed enough for a lifetime.

“I’m just taking the piss, love!”

Oh, I figured, you thought while he was still howling with laughter. He finally took the bracelet from you but instead of keeping it, he put it back on your wrist. “Christ, you should’ve seen your face. All worried.”, he giggled and took his hand in yours. “I’m sorry, but I had to…also, keep it. Consider it a token of our friendship.”, he winked and let go of your hand to walk inside the flat again. You were just standing there, looking at the bracelet with a soft smile on your face. Friendship… Wesley considered you a friend.

“ARE YOU COMING?!”

You heard him yell from inside the flat which startled you a bit.

“COMING!”, you shouted back and stepped inside the living room, closing the French doors behind you.

---

Huge beach bag slung over your shoulder and the opposite hand holding onto a cool box, Wesley and you exited the supermarket next to the train station. He was carrying two shopping bags filled to the brim with drinks, snacks, and foods to put on the grill in the evening. The group had decided to throw their first barbie of the year at the lake and had appointed Wesley as the designated food-and-drinks-provider. He had a list of everyone’s favourites on his phone and even asked you what you wanted. When you had said you’d eat anything, he got offended and forced you to tell him your preferences. At first your stubborn arse didn’t want to be a burden, but he just kept on bugging you until you caved in.

The beach bag, whose weight was currently pulling you down, was almost bursting from the number of things you had packed. You usually packed lightly, but Wesley insisted on taking basically half of the swimming inventory they owned. Apart from the towels and sunscreen, he demanded you also put in a deck of UNO-cards, a half-tent, snorkelling equipment, flippers, and even sand toys. It was beyond you as to why they even owned sand toys, but all he had said was that you would see, while grinning like a maniac. You assumed there must be a patch of sand at the lake.

Wesley led you into the station’s building where you got your tickets. He had explained that the lake was a little outside of London and taking the train would be the fastest way.

Once you got off the train it was only a five-minute walk until you were able to spot the lake. It was surrounded by a park-like setting with a playground, a children’s pool, barbeques, picnic tables, and changing facilities.

Wesley led you away from the facilities to an area almost at the end of the lake underneath a huge tree. It was the perfect size and even lent some shade so you wouldn’t be completely exposed to the sun. You put down the cool box close to where Wesley had placed the shopping bags. He immediately started to fill it with the ice he had bought and placed everything that needed to be kept cold inside.

You busied yourself with unpacking the beach bag. Once everything was placed around you, you called Wesley over.

“Where do you want all this to go?”

“Uh…. the half-tent can go by the shore, it doesn’t need to be under the tree.”, he explained whilst grabbing the sand toys and bringing them to the cool box, where he crouched down and placed them neatly next to the paper plates, plastic cups, and disposable wooden cutlery. What the hell is he doing with those?, you asked yourself and eyed him suspiciously. “Everything else, we don’t need yet. You can put those back in the bag.”, he instructed and got up again, hands now on his hips while grinning at you.

You took your eyes off him and shook your head, starting to put the snorkelling equipment and UNO-cards back into the bag. Suddenly, a hand shot out next to you and grabbed one of the beach towels that were lying on the grass next to the beach bag. You knew it was Wesley because no one else had been there with you, but he still made you jump a little.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.”, he apologised, balancing the folded-up beach towel in one hand. The towel was a well-used The Lion King one from the 90s with thousands of loose threads, seams that were coming apart, and frayed corners. Back in the flat, whilst packing, you had asked him why he still had it and didn’t just throw it out. He explained that it was the first thing he had ever bought with his pocket money and that’s why he kept it. Then he wanted to impose an ancient Princess Belle beach towel on you which he explained belonged to his older sister. You had declined his offer politely with your nose scrunched up while he was laughing his arse off. You ended up opting for a simple one with a pretty shell pattern.

Grinning you accepted his apology. He then smiled at you softly, turned around, and placed his towel on the ground a little further away from you, making himself comfortable.

You decided to place yours next to the beach bag and took off your shirt and shorts and stowed them away in it, leaving you dressed in only your bikini and the sunglasses on your nose. Just as you wanted to lie down on your towel, a shirt was thrown at you followed by the word catch!

“Christ, Wesley!”, you exclaimed in feigning frustration. Picking up the shirt and scrunching it up in your hands, you got into position to throw it back at him when he held his hands up in surrender. Instead of going through with it, you let it drop into the bag and stuck out your tongue at him. He mirrored your childish gesture while laughing wildly before he planted his bum back on his towel. Laughing almost maniacally yourself, you finally lay down on your back to soak up some rays of your own.

---

Joe joined Wesley and you shortly before 3:00 pm. You saw him slowly approaching. He was dressed to the nines in slacks and a dress shirt. He had ditched his suit jacket, which now hung limply from his arm. In his other arm he held his own towel, swimming trunks, and a bottle of sunscreen. As he was passing by you, he looked you up and down over the rim of his sunglasses, clearly checking you out. You acted like you didn’t notice but your squirming body betrayed you. Yesterday’s bathrobe incident and his very obvious arousal because of it was still fresh on your mind, so you tried to cover yourself up a little. Joe though, picked up on your movements and grinned to himself as he made his way over to Wesley, who had his ear-buds in. He bent down to his knees and flicked his best mate’s nose with his fingers and pat him on his shoulder. Wesley, acting like the nose flick had hurt him immensely, flipped him off before he pushed away a giggling Joe who stood up again and made his way back to you.

“Hi.”, he greeted you as he placed his towel right next to you.

“Hi.”, you replied, smiling., “You look like you just came from a photoshoot...”, you continued, sitting up a little whilst pointing at his attire.

“Well.”, he said, “I actually just came from one...and an interview also. May I put my things in here as well?” He held up the beach bag in his hands.

“Ohhh...right. I keep forgetting what your actual job is… sorry. And yes, you may. It’s Wesley’s bag after all.”

He thanked you, stuffed his jacked inside, and placed it back on the ground.

“I’m going to get changed real quick.”, he stated and pointed towards the facilities, “I’ll be back in a second.”

Before you could answer him, he took off and disappeared into the changing room. You lay back down again and studied the tree’s foliage above you for a little bit before you turned your head towards Wesley. Eyes closed, he seemed like he was totally engrossed in his music or whatever media he was consuming. Since you didn’t want to bother him, you turned your head in the other direction and kept your eyes on the door, which Joe had just gone through.

After about three minutes, not that you had counted, he stepped out into the sunlight again. Bare-chested, swimming trunks on, and sunglasses covering his eyes, he strolled over to you.

As you were gawking at him, your almost-collision in front of his bathroom on Saturday morning crept back into your mind, making your face heat up again. As he got closer you couldn’t help but stare at his groin. Luckily, he had a towel around his waist that day, otherwise you would have probably fainted on the spot because he was packing. As much as you wanted to, you couldn’t tear your gaze from him. You fortunately were wearing sunglasses, so your ogling wasn’t that obvious…at least you hoped it wasn’t.

As Joe approached you, he threw his clothes haphazardly on the bag and his bottle of sunscreen on his towel. Then he sat down on it and turned to you.

“My eyes are up here.”, he declared, grinning at you. You slowly peeled your eyes from the lower part of his body and lifted your head up to his face. Motherfucker, how did he even notice?, you thought almost panicky, while the heat that threatened to creep up your neck to your face now did exactly that.

“I could see your eyes from the side of your shades.”, he commented, as if he had been able to read your mind, which made you cover your face with your hands in shame.

He let out a chuckle and you suddenly felt a hand on both of yours as they were peeled away from your face with a soft tug. You looked over and saw Joe’s face dangerously close to yours.

“Don’t be ashamed…we all constantly stare at other people. It’s just what people do.”, he whispered. “And…some stares bother me, and some don’t. Yours sure as hell don’t. So, keep on staring, darling.”

All you could do was nod and let out a choked-up chuckle. Joe let go of your hands and you pushed yourself up once again, almost headbutting Joe in the process. Joe leaned back a little to avoid getting hurt and you gasped out an apology, which made him giggle softly.

“Uhm…you have some sunscreen on your cheek…here, let me.”, you breathed, bringing one of your hands to his face, gently rubbing your thumb over his left cheek. Your tender touch made him close his eyes and lean into it. You both stayed like this for a while, not daring to move.

“Speaking of sunscreen,” Joe suddenly spoke up whilst you still had your hand on his cheek. “Would you mind helping me with my back? I couldn’t reach all parts of it.”

“Sure.”, you replied, slowly taking your hand from his face and sitting up straight. Joe turned around so his back was toward you and handed you the bottle. You squeezed a good amount of it onto your hands and then slathered it across his back. As you were thoroughly spreading the sun protection on his back, you noticed that he had freckles on his shoulders and neck. A little further down were a couple of birthmarks and moles. Mesmerized by his back, you started to massage the white liquid into his skin which elicited a mixture of a groan and a moan from his throat. The sound made you stop your motions momentarily and you felt a small flicker of lust forming in your lower abdomen. Pressing your thighs together you quickly finished your task.

“All done.”, you announced taking your hands off his back and rubbing the leftover cream onto your arms. He thanked you with a grin, turned towards you, and held the sunscreen bottle to you questioningly. You shook your head.

“I’m not due for another round yet. Wesley just helped me a couple of minutes before you joined us.”, you explained.

“Alright.”, he replied, dropping the bottle onto the pile of clothes which sat on top of the bag. Then he lay down onto his towel and slightly turned his body towards your still sitting one. “If you need another round, let me know. I’ll gladly help you.”

---

Breaking through the water’s surface you threw your head back and with it your hair. The water was still very cold, and you kicked your legs to keep warm and afloat. Swimming closer to the shore you heard someone yell at you.

“WHOOO! YES ARIEL!”

It was Wesley, who was still sitting on his towel, clapping enthusiastically at your show. He then said something to Joe you couldn’t hear, got up, and walked down the narrow dirt path where the playground and other amenities were located. You chuckled and shook your head as your feet found the lake’s sandy ground and waded out of the water. Joe who had moved his towel around to always get the most amount of sun, ended up next to Wesley when you had decided to take a quick dip in the lake. Now he was just putting it back down next to yours and made his way towards you.

“It’s freaking cold.”, you warned him when he came to a halt in front of you.

“Is that so?”

“Yes! Look!”, you retorted, teeth clattering. You quickly grabbed his forearms with your cold and wet hands, and he let out a small yelp.

“Fuck, darling. A warning would have been much appreciated.”, he chided faintly with a frown on his face, and you let go of his arms. Then suddenly, his expression changed into a mischievous one and you started to panic.

“What are you doing?”

“Me? Nothing. Why do you ask?”

“Joe…please…what ar ̶ AHHHH”, you screeched as he picked you up by your waist and slung your body over his shoulder with an oof. You slid down his back, head almost hitting the ground below you. Fortunately, he noticed and pulled you up a little before he started running towards the water.

“JOE!”, you shrieked, as his body slowly submerged into the water. “LET GO OF ME! I SWEAR TO GOOOO ̶ “

Before you were able to finish your sentence, he pulled you off his shoulder, wrapped his arms tightly around your waist and took a dive.

When you both re-emerged you were coughing and spluttering, and your hair was covering half of your face. Joe was cackling like a mad man, breathing hard. You had your body wrapped tightly around his with your thighs around his waist and your arms around his shoulders. To keep you up, Joe had placed his arms under your bum, holding onto you.

When your coughing didn’t subside, his laughter stopped, and his face turned serious.

“Are you alright, darling? You’re holding onto me like a spider monkey.”

Still coughing, you shook your head. One of his hands came up to your face to wipe your hair from it. Your eyes were closed when he gingerly rubbed his thumb across your cheeks.

“I’m sorry.”, he apologised cautiously, moving his hand to your neck and shoulders to continue rubbing there.

The pressure on your neck felt nice and you let out a small whimper as you took deep breaths. When your breathing returned to normal, you opened your eyes and saw Joe’s worried chocolate ones.

“It’s OK.”, you whispered, fearing your voice would crack. Then you suddenly grinned at him, pushed yourself off him, and dunked him under water by his shoulders.

Cackling like a maniac you swam away from him to the shore. Joe quickly came up again and shouted, “You cheeky minx!”, and came after you. To your misfortune he was a better and faster swimmer, so he caught up to you rather quickly. Just as you wanted to run through the soggy ground out of the lake, he grabbed you around your waist and swung you back. You shrieked with laughter, begging him to put you down.

Wesley came back just as Joe lifted you up, followed by Rebecca, Dan, Felix, Oliver, and Jack.

“Have they kissed yet?”, Jack asked Wesley to which he shook his head.

“Ugh, I wish they’d had. It’s annoying how they tiptoe around each other.”, Wesley replied, rolling his eyes. Cupping his hands over his mouth he took a deep breath and shouted:

“Hey! Lovebirds! The party’s full! Time for supper!”

Joe and you promptly halted your movements and let go of each other, protesting Wesley’s collective nickname for you.

With Joe hot on your heels, you stomped out of the lake towards your towel to dry yourself off. When you picked up the bag with your belongings, Joe’s clothes fell to the ground.

“Shit. I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine.”, Joe said and picked them up, putting on his dress shirt without drying off first. You slung the bag over your shoulder and picked up your towel. Then you turned to the others.

“Hey guys! Becky! Nice to see you.”

They greeted you back in unison, each of them had a huge, suspicious smile on their face. You scrunched up your face in confusion and then turned to Joe again.

“Uhm, I’m gonna go get changed. I’ll be back in a few.”

Smiling, he nodded at you, and you walked off.

---

You returned to the group about 15 minutes later, freshly showered, dressed in your shorts and a t-shirt, your hair hung loosely and almost fully dry off your shoulders.

When you placed the bag back down on the ground, you saw that everyone was sitting in a circle, the sand toys and the UNO-cards laying in the centre of it. Confused, you joined them and sat down next to Joe. You looked up at him with questioning eyes.

“It’s a drinking game.”, he explained as he picked up his hand of cards, “You basically play UNO and when someone wins, the others have to drink. The person with the most cards in their hands has to drink out of the bucket, the person with the second most out of the castle mould, and so on…Do you also wanna play?”

“Oh, yes, that sounds fun.”, you answered as Oliver handed you your cards.

After a couple of rounds everyone had a good buzz in. Some more, some less. You were on the ‘some less’ side of the group and giggled at the ones who tottered around after what Wesley had decided was the last round. Joe, who was equally as tipsy as you, grabbed you by your arms to pull you up, when Wesley walked over to the both of you.

“Hey, Wi-Fi. Can you come help me with the food, please?”

“Wi-Fi?”, you asked, giggling, turning to Wesley.

“Yeah. Look at his fucking forehead, man. A bloody Wi-Fi signal… it’s not that strong, but it’s there.”, Wesley explained as Joe slapped the back of his head.

“Shut the fuck up, mate.”

“WI-FI!”, you yelled as you burst out laughing, holding onto Joe’s arm with both of your hands, swinging it back and forth.

Following Wesley, Joe pulled you with him since you hadn’t let go of his arm. You insisted you also wanted to help with the food. Eventually you let go of him so he and Wesley could handle the barbie while you, with Becky’s help, were setting the picnic table which was located a bit further away.

“Soooo, tell me. What is going on with you and Joe?”

Becky’s question made you stop in your tracks, pulling the stack of paper plates to your chest.

“Uh, nothing.”

“Ah, stop lying to me. I can sense that there’s something between you two from a mile away.”, she replied smirking, not buying your answer. You blushed lightly at her statement, and she walked over to you and rubbed your shoulder gently.

“Go for it.”, she encouraged you.

“I can’t. I’m going home soon…how are we supposed to make it work?”, you asked, frowning deeply.

“You’ll make it work.”, she explained, rubbing your shoulder once more. “If you don’t make a move, I will force him to.” Her voice changed from encouraging to threatening in an instant and you chuckled and nodded nervously.

“Good.”, she said as she finished placing the last of the wooden cutlery on the table. Without further ado, she walked off to join Dan, Felix, Jack, and Oliver, who were all trying to pile themselves into the half-tent. She yanked them out of it one by one and scolded them, demanding they all go sit at the table. You quickly finished setting the table before any of them could sit down and walked over to Joe and Wesley who were just finishing up at the grill.

“Hey there, love.”, Wesley greeted you as he placed sausages and burger patties on the platter Joe held out to him. “What were you and Becky talking about?”

“Nothing.”, you replied nonchalantly.

“Hmmm…”, he hummed. “Alright…didn’t seem like nothing.”

“It really was nothing. Just girl talk.”, you firmly answered, ending the conversation. Wesley placed down the tongs and held up his hands in defeat, lips in a thin line.

“Alright. Sorry.”, he apologised and walked off towards the table sitting down between Oliver and Jack with Felix on the far end of the bench.

Joe, meat platter still in his hands, still stood next to you, a concerned look on his face.

“You alright, darling?”

You gave him a quick nod and made your way to the table as well. The only two spaces left were next to Dan and Becky, so you sat down next to Becky. Joe followed you quickly and placed the platter in the middle of the table. Before his behind had the chance to touch the bench, the guys were already grabbing various meats off the platter and Becky chided them loudly, even slapping their fingers away. You came to the conclusion that Becky was most certainly the mum of the group and without her, nothing would get done.

Joe’s thigh brushed yours as he finally sat down, and it made you jump a little. Automatically, he placed a hand on your thigh to keep it from bouncing up and down and you instantly stiffened. Becky, who was sitting right next to you noticed the change in your body language and smirked to herself, looking down at your thigh where Joe’s hand was still positioned. You looked at her and she had the audacity to wink at you. Swallowing thickly, you tried to relax, which you eventually did. Joe rubbing his hand slowly up and down your thigh also helped, and you felt yourself zone out a little.

“…Sausage, burger, or chicken skewer?”

“Huh?”, you asked looking to the person who asked you the question. It was Joe who pointed to the platter with one hand, while the other one still unconsciously rubbed your thigh.

“Oh, uh…I’ll take a burger, please.”, you answered softly. He took his hand off your thigh to shovel a burger patty onto your plate and then helped himself to two of them. You pushed up a little and helped yourself to the various sauces and salads that were scattered around the table.

Dinner went by smoothly with lots of laughter, jokes, and more alcoholic beverages. By the time everyone had finished eating, it got quiet around the table and the temperature had dropped significantly. Joe had even put on his suit jacket again. When he noticed you shivering next to him, he took it off and placed it around your shoulders. Perplexed at first, you eventually wrapped it around yourself, soaking up his body warmth and smell.

To set the after-dinner mood, Wesley had put on some low music to be played in the background. Becky put Felix and Jack in charge of cleaning up and throwing away the disposable dishes and cutlery. After much resistance, moaning, and threatened punches, they eventually started cleaning up under Becky’s constant observation.

Joe, lit cigarette dangling from his lips, was immersed in a conversation with Wesley, Dan, and Oliver. You didn’t really understand what they were talking about, so you just sat there, watching everyone silently.

As you sat there, lost in thought, your earlier conversation with Becky came to your mind again. Joe and you had gotten really close over the past couple of days. The touches, the hugs, the soft kiss to your hair, the teasing, the way he held onto you in the lake this afternoon, hell you even kissed him on the cheek last night, that must mean something, right? Well, to you it did. You weren’t sure if he felt the same though. Maybe it was just playful banter for him. But if it was, he wouldn’t act this way, right? As if he were in love.

Frustrated with your thoughts you let out a deep sigh.

Excusing yourself, you got up which made Dan, Oliver, Wesley, and Joe stop their conversation. Wesley noticed the pout on your face and frowned.

You walked towards the lake’s shore where you sat down on the small patch of sand between the grass and the water. Digging your fingers deep into it, you let out a defeated groan as your eyes welled up with tears.

At the table, Wesley stared at Joe and nodded in your direction.

“Mate, go after her!”, he hissed, Dan and Oliver mouthing go, go, go as Joe put out his cigarette and got up, almost jogging after you.

You heard footstep behind you and looked up to see who had followed you. It was Joe. When he saw that you had tears in your eyes, he frowned deeply and sat down next to you.

“Hey. Are you alright?”, he asked, pulling your fingers from the sand, and taking your hands in his. You shook your head slowly, tears now flowing freely down your cheeks and dripping off your chin.

“Whoa, hey. Darling, what’s wrong?”

He tried to pull you into his lap, but you resisted and pushed him back a little, so he let go of your hands.

“I don’t know what to make of you.”, you replied honestly, and confusion set on his face.

“What? What do you mean?”

“I…”, you started, letting out a shuddering breath. “I’m not sure what you want from me, and it’s driving me insane.”, you continued, wiping the tears off your face. “The way you tease me, the touches, the embraces…your eyes. Oh my God. Your eyes. Joe, they hold so many emotions and I just can’t pinpoint them exactly. I’m scared…”, you rambled on, voice barely a whisper.

Joe stared at you, mouth hanging open, unable to answer you.

“I’m scared, because I’m leaving in a couple of days, and I don’t want this to just be a fling. And I’m scared that if we give this a go, distance will tear us apart. I’m scared Joe, so fucking scared, because I’m slowly but surely falling for you.”, you kept explaining in a whisper, still wiping your face. “Hell, I don’t even know if you feel the same. I am really putting my heart on the line here…”

Joe, totally stunned by your confession, scooted closer to you. Then, all of a sudden, he grabbed your tear-stained face in his hands and leaned in close.

“Babe, if I didn’t feel the same, would I do this?”, he asked, pressing his lips to yours. You immediately kissed him back and slung your arms around his shoulders and he finally pulled you into his lap. As your kiss grew more passionate, he let his tongue swipe across your bottom lip, and you slowly opened your mouth to let him deepen it. You kept on kissing until you ran out of breath and both your lips were bruised and swollen.

He reluctantly pulled back and grinned against your lips, wiping away the last of your tears with his thumbs.

“You’re such an idiot for ever thinking I wouldn’t feel the same.”, he whispered against your lips, pecking them softly. “A total and utter idiot.”, peck. “The biggest idiot of all idiots.”, peck.

“I got it, I’m an idiot.”, you giggled against his lips between pecks.

“FUCKING FINALLY!”

Wesley was shouting, pumping his fist into the air whilst the others where whooping and hollering behind him.

Joe lifted his hand and flipped them the bird before he leaned in to capture your lips with his once more.

---

Taglist:

@ohmeg @daleyeahson @lma1986 @palomahasenteredthechat​ @mandyjo8719​ @aysheashea​ @eddiebaemunson​ @xlilithb​ @freakymunson​ @sidthedollface2​ @i-wont-run-this-time​ @plk-18 @avatarghost666 @kylakins88​ @deadspellz @thehillzhaveeyez​ @kayleeelena97​ @foreverjosephquinn​ @punctualhowell​ @icallhimjoey​ @ghostinthebackofyourhead​ @siriuslysmoking​ @hollster88​ @cancankiki​ @definitionwanderlust​ @eriancrow 

the ones who are crossed out are the ones I can’t tag, soz

[padfootagain]

Love in Verses (XLIII)

Chapter 43: ‘The whole world depends on your pure eyes and all my blood flows into their gaze’

Hi! Here is a new chapter! Some cuteness, some cuteness!!

I hope you like this chapter! Tell me what you think!

****

Pairing: Hozier x fem!reader (professor!AU)

Warnings: slow burn, angst, hurt, hurt/comfort, tooth-rotting fluff in later chapters, some scenes in later chapters will have heavy sexual themes even if it’s not explicit nsfw description, so no minors here

Summary: Your life seems perfect. You're engaged, your career is thriving as you become an assistant professor at Trinity College, and this Andrew Hozier-Byrne you're sharing an office with seems to be a nice guy you hope to call a friend soon. Life seems to be smiling at you... until everything goes sour. When your fiancé breaks up with you, your perfect world shatters. And when your colleague also gets his heart broken soon after, your shared office seems to be a curse rather than a blessing. But Andrew seems determined to mend your broken hearts... Will things finally go according to plan?

Word Count: 4472

Masterlist for the series – Hozier’s masterlist – Main masterlist

The curve of your eyes winds around my heart, A round of gentleness and dance, Halo of time, night cradle and safe, And if I no longer know all that I’ve lived It’s that your eyes haven’t always seen me.

Leaves of day and foam of dew, Reeds of the wind, scented smiles, Wings shading the world of light, Boats brimming with sky and sea, Hunters of noise and sources of colour,

Scents bloomed from a brood of dawns That still rests on a bed of stars, As the day depends on innocence The whole world depends on your pure eyes And all my blood flows into their gaze.

Paul Eluard, Capitale de la douleur, 1929

Summer. Emerald waves tainted the sea with white foam. Warmth. Rest. Vacations. Rain…

… it was Galway, after all, rain was never far away.

Andrew was getting frustrated. He was so excited to go on this vacation with you, you had spent so much time planning, and talking about it, and awaiting this trip…

… and now it was raining. It was cold. You were lost. In the middle of fucking nowhere. Stuck behind some bloody sheep…

Only in Ireland, really… It was fucking August, for God’s sake…

He heard you letting out a long exhale, feeling your frustration creeping through every corner of the car, your negative energy matching his.

He knew you would end up fighting. It didn’t happen often, but every couple fought from time to time. It had never been important, never been anything you couldn’t get passed in a matter of minutes. Your fights had always grown out of frustration over situations, like this one iteration of everything going wrong…

On the back seat, Elwood was growing restless. Andrew could hear its heavy breaths, the noise of his fur moving against the fabric of the seats. Even him was getting annoyed now.

“You should have turned left.”

There it was. Andrew knew you had longed to voice that sharp remark. To be fair, you were right, he was the one who had insisted to turn right at a previous intersection, hence getting the three of you lost.

He was not in the mood to be a reasonable adult and recognising his wrongs though.

“Next time, you’ll drive, so you can take all the bad decisions, and I can do the blaming. You had the map…”

“We have a fucking GPS…”

“Which is not currently working in this godforsaken land…”

“And I told you to turn left, and you didn’t listen!”

“Again, just take the fucking wheel then!”

You exchanged a glare, your eyes sparkling with thunder, before you huffed and looked at the time on your phone.

“We won’t catch the ferry. We should turn back.”

“We can still catch it.”

“It’s leaving in less than half an hour…”

“We can still catch it.”

“Andrew! We have no fucking clue where we are! We’re stuck behind those bloody sheep! We will not make it to the ferry, so let’s just… go back to the house.”

“You’re getting defeated…”

“No, I’m realistic. We’ll never get there on time, and especially not with these bloody sheep!”

“And what am I supposed to do about it?!”

You stared at each other for a moment. And then you did something Andrew had not predicted.

You unfastened your seat belt, opened the car door, and left.

You climbed out of the car, forcefully slammed the door shut. And you started walking across the road, walking ahead without so much as a glance in his direction. You had barely managed a few steps that you were already soaked.

As he stared at you walking under the rain, walking away from the car, walking away from him, all traces of anger left Andrew’s body. Instead, an old fear came back, raging, blurring his world for a second.

You were leaving…

In the span of a handful of seconds, mere seconds, his brain raced to the worst scenario possible. His thoughts stopped being logical and were filled with his worst fear instead.

You were sick of him. You regretted moving in with him. You wanted your ex back all over again. You would have been happier with Frank than with him. You were leaving, dumping his arse, it was over…

God… how could he survive that? You were… you were… he couldn’t…

But then you did turn around.

“ANDREW! HELP ME OUT FOR FUCK’S SAKE!”

He frowned, unable to move.

“ANDY! COME HELP ME OUT!”

That was when he finally realised what you were doing. You weren’t leaving. You weren’t walking out of his life. You weren’t breaking up with him, you were…

He saw you moving your arms in the air, calling through the heavy rain towards the scattered sheep, and he finally understood that you were trying to gather them all on the side of the road, towards an open field.

He tried to regulate both his breathing and his heartbeat while he climbed out of the car, securing his coat around his frame to protect himself from the cold rain.

He was panicking over nothing. You weren’t leaving. You weren’t leaving. It was fine… he was fine… all fine…

He longed to hurry to you, but his body couldn’t. It was a strange mixture of tiredness, frustration, remnants of anger, and fear. Mostly fear.

He had to stop overthinking everything. You weren’t like that. You loved him, and he knew that, deep down… it was just difficult for him to believe he was that lucky sometimes. He couldn’t help it…

You turned to him as he approached.

“We need to get them out of the way,” you said, your voice still shaking with anger.

You were visibly surprised when he wrapped his arms around you, held you in a fragile embrace. He felt you instantly relaxing, your body growing numb into his arms as you reached up to hold him as well.

“I’m sorry I got mad,” you mumbled under your breath, although you were still frustrated.

“I’m sorry too.”

“We should go back.”

“I’m sorry. You were excited about this trip.”

“It’s okay. It’s not your fault.”

“It is though.”

“It’s okay.”

“I love you.”

“I love you too, honey.”

You didn’t hesitate a second to say it back, to pick up on one of his pet names again. And he ought to stop overthinking everything, but he couldn’t…

“Let’s go back to the car. You’re soaked, love. You’ll catch your death. Come on,” he prompted you towards the car, and you followed him.

Andrew made a U-turn, drove back to the small cottage-like house you were renting during your two weeks in Galway. The drive back was quiet, but the silence was comfortable and warm again. All traces of frustration seemed to have disappeared from your features by the time you reached the cottage. It had stopped raining too, so you didn’t get even more drenched as you walked from the car to the front door.

You heaved a relieved sigh as you stepped inside the warm house, you wiggled happily as you took off your coat.

“We can try to get to the ferry again tomorrow,” Andrew started, his tone cautious.

You surprised him with a shrug.

“We could. We’ll see.”

“I thought you wanted to…”

“Andy… it’s alright. I don’t care. Don’t overthink this. It’s just an afternoon, it was just an activity. We can stay here today, relax, enjoy each other’s company. I don’t mind if we don’t go see the Arans. I don’t mind at all. I promise.”

Andrew forced his shoulders to relax.

“We can still go later this week.”

You nodded, a playful glimmer shining in your eyes.

“Although, next time, we’ll turn left,” you quipped, teasing him while gently pinching his side.

He rolled his eyes, but a smile was back on his lips. If you were joking around, it meant that you weren’t mad. Good… that was good…

“You should take a shower, love. You’re freezing,” Andrew spoke in a quiet, warm voice, the one he knew always soothed you. He let his knuckles brush the sharper edge of your cheekbone, hated the coldness of your skin, longed for you to be warm and content again.

You nodded, taking off your jumper and wet jeans as you made your way to the bathroom.

“Actually, I think I’ll take a bath. We can take our time today, relax.”

You turned around, tilted your head a little in a tempting way as you spoke again. Andrew was having a hard time looking at your eyes instead of the length of your naked legs…

“Want to join me?” you smiled.

He gave you a suggestive look.

“In the bath? Or in bed?”

You bit down on your lower lip, and Andrew was gone for good. God, you had him wrapped around your finger… were you aware of the extent of his need for you?

“Hmm… bed first, then a bath? After all, we did fight… Some make-up sex is in order, no?”

He hummed, nodding his head as he walked closer to you. This time he didn’t refrain his urge to let his gaze travel down your legs, marvelling at their perfect curves, his fingers tingling already at the thought of touching them, feeling the softness of your skin, your warmth spread through his palms…

When he stopped, right before you, and looked up at your eyes again, there was something inviting in your gaze. He knew this look very well by now. It was the one that granted silent permission, the one that said I want you too, you can touch me…

His heart swelled at the thought that you were granting him the right to be this close to you now. That you were allowing him, even inviting him, to touch you. To kiss you. To worship your body… and he would. For the coming hour, he planned to do nothing but worship you, in the hopes that you would read in his adoration how much he loved you. How much he cared. How much he needed you.

You were staring right into his eyes as your hands slowly rose to his chest, as you peeled his cardigan off his body. There was so much tension in the air then, electric, as heavy as your stammering breaths, while you slowly unfastened the buttons of his white shirt. One button at a time. At an excruciatingly slow pace…

He let you do it though, do as you pleased with him. He loved it, the way you were setting a pace now. The way you were taking control. There was a quiet tenderness in each of your touches that told him he was safe with you, that you would never do him harm, that he could lay his heart, his body, his life into your hands, and despite that power over him, you wouldn’t destroy him.

He needed to stop overthinking everything…

He helped you slide his shirt off his shoulders, let you rest your palms on his undershirt, one hand on of each of his breasts.

“I love you.”

He grinned at the tender confession.

“I love you too.”

When you reached up to kiss him, it felt like breathing after a lifetime without air, like relief, like being alive…

At last… at fucking last…

This ought to be heaven.

After your pleasurable reconciliation, you opted to take a bath together. An hour spent in pleasure was incredible, but also exhausting, and both of you longed for rest now. Sharing a bath offered the warmth and quiet perfect for your tired bodies, and the intimacy you both craved after sex.

Andrew smiled at the memory.

Incredible sex, actually…

You heaved a content sigh as you readjusted your head against his shoulder, nuzzling into the crook of his neck. His brain was fuzzy with a happy static, the kind he had never experienced before. A strange sense of peace, contentment, happiness… but that felt better than all of that combined. He couldn’t explain it. He felt it only with you, that was for sure…

“Your skin is so soft,” he mused, trailing his fingers across your waist and hip, speaking without thinking.

It felt so soothing to have you in his arms like this. There was something grounding, reassuring, and delightfully vulnerable in lying here with you, naked, sharing a bath and cuddling. You seemed to have a special power, one that made his busy brain grow quiet.

You chuckled at his words, kissed his chest as a reward.

“Yours is soft too,” you nodded, caressing his chest as if to stress your words.

Andrew shifted his legs, unfolding them to prop his feet on the edge of the bathtub, making the water and its bubbles shift with his movements. You had added some scented salts, and he liked it. It was soothing. It felt so nice.

Loving you was so good…

You giggled, making him look at you again.

“God… even this gigantic bathtub is too small for you…”

He laughed then, bright and happy with your teasing. He wiggled his toes for good measure, making you break into laughter once more.

“Can’t help it,” he shrugged.

“I love that about you. That you’re really tall.”

“Do you, now?”

You hummed in response.

“It’s sexy.”

He chuckled, his cheeks turning a brighter shade of pink.

“Oh… so I’m sexy?”

He wiggled his eyebrows, making you laugh.

“Of course you are,” was your only answer, offered as if it was obvious.

Sometimes he forgot that you loved him this way. Like it was easy. Like there was nothing more natural in the world. That was how he felt for you; loving you felt as natural as filling his lungs with air, blinking at the bright sun, moving his leg over yours in bed. It was easy. Obvious. Ineffable.

You said that you felt like that, too. If it were a truth, it was a hard one to believe in. He wanted to though, longed for the safety of certainty.

He looked up at the ceiling, let out a long exhale as you nuzzled into his neck again, ran your fingers across his chest in such a soothing way, he almost closed his eyes.

He needed to stop overthinking this. You were here, in his arms, naked, loving him… it ought to be proof enough that you truly wanted him.

This fear he had felt in the car, seeing you walk away, this… uncontrollable dread that you could leave… He had to stop thinking about it, but he couldn’t.

What if you left?

He tried to picture his life without you in it. There would still be Elwood, his parents, his brother, Alex, his friends, his classes, his writing, music, poetry. He could find someone else, eventually. He hated every part of it…

When he pictured you in the same scenarios, everything seemed brighter. His life was better simply because you were in it. He tried to think of his life in a year, in five years, in ten years, in sixty years… Every time the life he wanted had you in it. He couldn’t picture a future that was happy without you being a part of it.

He had never felt like that before. Even with Sam. He had thought he would always love her, and yet, there were bits of his life that he didn’t picture her into. He could imagine living on his own, he could imagine his career, his friends, his family… without Sam in it, and still be content.

Not with you. All these lonesome pictures felt wrong. You were missing…

He thought of his life, the one that awaited him, that laid at his feet, and he didn’t want to live it without you.

“What are you thinking about?”

Your voice was quiet, warm. When he looked down at you again, if there was puzzlement in your gaze, there was infinite tenderness too.

He wanted this to last forever. You. Him. Forever…

He never wanted this to end. And somehow, he just knew then. That the reason why he couldn’t picture a happy life without you, was simply because you were the one for him. You were the love of his life. And his heart would always be yours.

He thought he would be scared by such a realisation, but he wasn’t. He reckoned the feelings had been in his heart for too long, had become a part of him. He was simply putting words on what he felt. You were the love of his life. He was so happy it was you…

He wanted to believe that you felt the same, but he wasn’t sure. It was okay. One day, perhaps, he would be. If he loved you for long enough, if he let you love him fully, perhaps, one day, he would stop being afraid of losing you.

Instead of answering by any of these thoughts, he cupped your cheek, gave you a tender smile.

“Nothing important. I love you, that’s all.”

Andrew was on the porch, you could hear him play the guitar. A soft melody you didn’t know, perhaps it was his own. You encouraged him to write full songs, but he kept on claiming he didn’t really want to. Poetry was enough. Music was enough. The two entities didn’t need to mingle. Sometimes he did play some guitar, hummed a melody to match one of his poems. Which you called ‘writing a song’, but he called it ‘exploring a theme through different media’. You rolled your eyes at him every time.

After the heavy rains of the afternoon, the evening was sunny and surprisingly warm. Outside, the sun was setting, kissing the hills goodbye as it lingered on their tops, flashing its golden hues into the sky before it would grow dark. You walked out with a cup of warm tea in each of your hands, took a moment to watch the beautiful colours in the sky, all golden and orange fading into red. It was quiet, you had rented a small house as an AirBnB in the country side, and there was no one around. Your closest neighbours owned a farm about a kilometre away, the road leading to the cottage was rarely used. You let your eyes travel across the fields, the green of grass, the deeper shades of bushes, the winding lines of stone walls. It was magical, in a way. There was something anchoring to this land, that made you feel like you belonged there.

The soft melody resumed on Andrew’s guitar, you turned to him. Elwood was lying at his feet with his eyes closed, but the movement of his tail told you he wasn’t asleep. Andrew was sitting on a wooden bench, right under the window of the kitchen, his legs stretched before him and taking up the whole width of the porch. His fingers danced on strings, he was humming every now and then. His notebook was by his side, open on a page stained with black ink. It was the notebook you had offered him the previous year, for his birthday. He never went anywhere without it. He seemed so peaceful, a content smile tugging at his lips. His long hair was tight in a messy bun, and he was gorgeous in an old pair of jeans and a blue plaid shirt, his skin and hair bathed in the golden light of the sinking sun. Beyond him, hills rolled, green and gorgeous. Andrew was all you could see.

You remained standing there, motionless, like a fool, staring at your partner with awe written all over your features. It was such a mundane, simple sight. And yet, it struck you then. The depth of your feelings for him, your longing for this never to end, for him never to leave.

It was silly… so silly… to realise that truth just by watching him, in casual clothes, playing mindless melodies on his guitar. And yet, that was the moment when you admitted to yourself that this was the life you wanted. You. Him. Forever. You never wanted this to end.

And God, he told you he loved you daily, showed it even more in a thousand actions and attentions he had for you each day. And yet, a part of you was still afraid he would leave, that you could lose him. What would you do without him?

You hadn’t noticed the music fading, too busy getting lost in the green of his eyes as he turned to you.

“You’re alright, love?” he asked, accent thick on his tongue with the fondness of his words, while he tilted his head.

You shook yourself, walked over to him.

“Yeah, yeah… I’m okay,” you smiled. “Made you some tea.”

“Oh, thanks!”

He accepted the cup you offered, moved his notebook so you could sit by his side. You didn’t mean to pry, you knew Andrew would not want you to read his writing unless he offered to tell you about it, so you looked away from the notebook as soon as you caught the title of his new poem.

That You Are.

“It’s about you,” he explained, noticing your glimpse at the notebook.

“I didn’t read…”

“I know. I trust you.”

You exchanged a smile.

“Are you really writing about me?” you asked, feeling shier now.

He chuckled, kissed your cheek.

“Who else could I write about? You’re my partner…” he answered, bending slightly in search of your gaze.

“I don’t know… your mistress…”

He laughed, shaking his head.

“You’re right, she’s hiding in the trunk of our car.”

“Can she breathe in there?”

“Bottle of oxygen.”

“Clever.”

He shook his head at you while laughing, but when he spoke again he was serious once more.

“It’s not quite finished, you can’t read it for now.”

“That’s okay. Do you want to tell me more about what it’s about?”

He shrugged, blushing.

“It’s about… being in love with you. And… wanting to be where you are all the time.”

He stared at you, and you couldn’t help yourself when you reached up to cup his jaw and kiss his lips.

“What about the music?”

“Just…something I’ve been thinking about. To go with the poem.”

“So… you’re writing me a song now? Am I about to be serenaded?”

He laughed, shaking his head.

“You’re insufferable,” he mumbled, before shushing your unspoken teasing with a quick kiss.

“I like it when you sing.”

“I know.”

There was something emotional shining in his eyes, but he didn’t speak more about it, and you let him draw the conversation away.

“What have you been up to?” he asked, taking a sip of his warm beverage while he put his guitar away.

He always asked these kinds of questions. At the end of every day he asked about how your classes had been, how was your research, how you were feeling. What had you been doing during the hours you had spent apart? It wasn’t prying, if you didn’t want to tell him, he didn’t insist. He just… genuinely wanted to know how your day had been. And you did the same for him. You remembered a time when you had settled for less than that simple, daily gesture. What an idiot you had been…

“I was just checking the weather for the coming days. It should be sunny on the Arans in a couple of days, so perhaps we could stay on the main land tomorrow. Perhaps a nice trek? It should rain early in the morning, but it’ll clear before noon.”

Andrew nodded, sipping on his tea, readjusting his glasses. At his feet, Elwood was now napping for good.

“We can drive to the national park, it isn’t far from here” he offered, looking at your phone as you showed him a page that referenced some paths across the wilderness of Connemara.

“Yeah, I thought we could walk around a lough.”

You studied the maps for a while, decided which path you would take the next day. Once the plans for your little adventure were sorted, Andrew gave you a mischievous smile, turning around and swinging his long legs over the edge of the bench. You fondly smiled as he moved to rest his head on your laps. His knees were bent over the edge of the bench, but he didn’t seem to mind.

“Can I?” you asked in a quiet, tender voice as you lightly tugged on his hairband. He merely lifted his head a little as a response, so you could free his long curls, letting the chestnut strands cover your laps.

You took off his glasses too, secured them by your side. He let his eyes close with a relieved sigh as you ran your hands through his hair. You felt his body relax, the tension in his muscles disappear under your soft touch.

“This is so nice,” he hummed.

“It is,” you nodded, softly scratching his scalp, and he let out a long breath in response.

“I know that we had to wait until August to leave for our anniversary, instead of celebrating properly at the right date… but it was worth the wait!”

“We did celebrate on the date, though.”

“Yeah… but this is the actual celebration. Like… the real gift.”

“Hmm… yeah, you’re right. And I agree, it was worth the wait.”

“We outdid ourselves with this trip.”

“Yeah, we did.”

“It feels so nice to be just the two of us. To not have to worry about the usual, daily problems for a while.”

“Yeah… I reckon we both needed this.”

He took one of your hands in his. While you kept on running your fingers through his hair, he brought your other hand to his mouth, pressed it to his lips for a long kiss, intertwining your fingers together. He brought it to rest on his sternum next, stroking your knuckles.

You wanted to tell him, then. That he was the one. That he was the love of your life. That you never wanted him to leave…

But you couldn’t. You didn’t have neither the courage nor the strength. It had been a year, it was too soon. You knew, but he probably didn’t. Why scare him off when you could stay quiet and stare at his handsome features while the day ended and a new night was born out of the sun’s absence? It was safer this way…

“I love you so much, Y/N. You know that, right?” he asked in a whisper, and you noticed by how his voice had quietened that he was beginning to drift off to sleep.

You offered a tender smile he couldn’t see.

“I love you too, Andy. More than anything.”

He gave your hand a squeeze, and a moment later, his lips were parting, and he was asleep, your hand still in his, resting on his chest, and his head on your lap. You kept on looking at him, admired his peaceful expression as he slept, every detail of his face, making sure to commit each of them to memory. You didn’t pay much attention to the dying sunset, despite the colours it shone onto the world. Only when it was getting too dark for you to see Andrew’s features did you notice the passage of time. But then again, he was beautiful like this, and his hair was so soft, and the weight of his head on your lap was reassuring, grounding…

Five more minutes…

[glitterypin]

for the past ten days the thought had been returning to me that the boyfriend I broke up with last summer is probably going to spend Christmas in his flat by himself.

I mean, I hope he didn't, I hope he went to his aunt's or something but I know his immediate family live elsewhere now and that he wasn't planning on visiting with them before next summer. And also, he's kind of like that; he's the kind to spend Christmas by himself for lack of anything better to do.

Our communication right now is limited to sending memes with minimal commentary in a group chat we share with one of my friends. So, I didn't ask. Because it's not my business, not anymore, and he's made it clear that we can't actually be friends, at least not yet and not for a while. But the thought that come Christmas I'd be laughing and eating and exchanging gifts with my folks and he'd be by himself, now excluded from the festivities he'd been attending for years and years, made me incredibly sad. Such is life. We've been through this.

Yesterday (Christmas Day) was slightly disappointing, to be honest. My sister-in-law's kids didn't come to the lunch, had a last minute change of plans, my nephew fell ill and my mother was rather subdued because of her own recent health issues. It felt like the gifts were too few and the exchange was over too soon. I even cried a bit when it was just me and my siblings. It all felt pointless.

What I mean to say is: I missed him. The knowledge that breaking up with him was the right thing to do and that a huge weight has been lifted off my shoulders ever since I did keeps tricking me into underestimating my own sadness at this. It only started registering with me emotionally that I was sad over breaking up something like two months later. And it keeps getting me by surprise. "He'll be sad and lonely on Christmas, boohoo", for all I know he could have gone to a party and had ten times more fun than I did yesterday. "I fucking miss him because we've spent the last eight Christmases together and I wonder what he would have gotten me as a present this year and three times during this lunch I thought of the jokes HE would have made if he were here", yeah, that sounds about right. THAT sounds like a proper reason to be sad. Let's be sad about this for a little while and then move on. In a week I'll be thinking back on 2024 and what I have to show for it and his name will be repeated again and again in a mess of emotions and pain and half of it will be "I don't regret being with him, I love him, I miss him" and the other half will be "I can't fucking believe I stayed with him for eight years, I can't believe what I endured and how much I repressed myself because I took his criticism to heart and hated myself". The truth will be somewhere in the middle. The only pertinent fact will be that I missed him this Christmas.

[avelera]

1589 - 1689 - My rough timeline for how Hob Gadling went from a knighthood to penniless in "Giving Sanctuary"

So this came up in the Discord I'm in for how exactly did Hob go from, presumably, landed gentry with a knighthood to completely penniless by 1689.

Now, obviously a huge factor in this is, y'know, the bleak depression Hob fell into after losing his family, but I'm talking logistics here because 80 years is still a really long time. I'm clarifying that it's for Giving Sanctuary because, obviously, I can't speak for canon nor do I think this is canonical. Indeed, there are many astoundingly good fics that cover this same period differently than I choose to, such as "waking world" by qqueenofhades, and I designed my own so as to not simply copy that one because it's so damn good as to feel basically authoritative.

Content Warning: It gets rather dark in this timeline, guys, this is Hob in the 1600s. Alcoholism is, by far, the lightest thing discussed below the cut, albeit in abstract terms, but please be mindful of your own experience here.

Anyway, without further adieu, a rough breakdown specific to "Giving Sanctuary" as to how Hob went from Sir Robert Gadlen in the White Horse in 1589 to how we meet him in 1689:

~1587/1588: Hob marries Eleanor and purchases and/or moves into the town where he will reside for 40 years as Sir Robert Gadlen. In the summer of 1588, the Queen sleeps at his house.

Fall, 1588: (Ok I lied, we're going back a little further) - Robyn Gadlen is born. I specifically put his birth in the fall so we can semi-realistically have a portrait of him as a rosy cheeked toddler by June 1589 and be 20 years old in the spring of 1609 for it to be exactly 80 years since Hob's life went to shit.

1599: Eleanor and what would have been their second child die. This is the most arbitrary of the dates I picked, as it's actually a bit unrealistic that Hob's wife at say, ~30 years old died in childbirth after only their second pregnancy (though in theory there could have been other failed pregnancies before). Mostly the idea was that Robyn was around 10 years old, able to remember his mother and keenly feel her loss, and Hob's next century started off not with a bang, but a whimper.

1599-1609: Hob raises Robyn as a single father on the Gadlen Estate and refuses to foster him out to other noble families out of a desire to keep him close to home. During this time, the two grow incredibly close, Robyn knows the truth about his father, and their relationship at times resembles that of a very close elder and younger brother more than father and son due to the fact Hob never ages. At age 20, it was not uncommon for Robyn to invite his father out to drink with him and his friends but, on the occasion of the tavern brawl that ended Robyn's life, Hob refused, in favor of working on the accounts of the Gadlen Estate.

Spring, 1609: Robyn dies in a tavern brawl at age 20. Hob's horrible 80 years begins.

1609 - 1629: Hob doesn't go out much after his son's death. Having already planned to fake his death and move to a new identity as a distant uncle to Robyn's children and his grandchildren no later than 1619, Hob instead loses track of time and, in the mounting hysteria over witchcraft in the first decades of James I's reign, his longevity is noticed and the town turns against him.

1629: After 40 years, roughly, of living in the town where he intended to raise his family, Hob is dragged from his house, put on trial for witchcraft, and sentenced to death by drowning. He's swept downriver and, eventually, manages to free himself after being thoroughly traumatized and left with nothing.

1630-1637: Hob makes his way back to London. He assumes the identity of a Gadlen family offshoot, the usual play when faking his own death, and returns as his own nephew to call upon Hob's rich and powerful connections in London. He pleads that his uncle, who left everything to this nephew in his will, was wrongfully accused of witchcraft and, at the very least, this nephew deserves his inheritance. However, most of Hob's connections in London were dead or disinterested in him by this time, as he did little work at maintaining these connections over the last 20 years of his mourning.

Still, Hob manages to scrounge together a little goodwill and regain some personal items, like Eleanor's portrait, under this guise. The rest of the property has been confiscated but he is invited into the business of some of his connections to help rebuild his wealth. Unfortunately, one of those investments happens to be Tulip Mania, which a still shaken and traumatized Hob sees as his best bet for rebuilding his former wealth in a hurry. By 1537, when the tulip market crashes, he's lost it all again.

1637-1645: While Hob lost the bulk of his money in the tulip crash, he wasn't totally without assets or connections willing to lend him money and he sets about rebuilding once more, this time with fewer associates and less goodwill as the last of his rich friends as Sir Robert Gadlen pass away or lose interest in this newly impoverished nephew. Hob manages to scrounge together a few more risky bets and uses his last ship to deliver a cargo of fine silks on behalf of an associate, in exchange for a huge cut (at his own expense) of the profits. However, an unlucky storm leads to his ship being wrecked, and while the crew survived, the cargo was totally lost.

1645-1655: Debt collectors begin to call on Hob, who had overextended himself in that last gamble. He spends the next decade in and our of debtors prison, a poverty trap where his debts only mount further. He attempts with his final wealthy connections various schemes such as gambling his way out. However, with his instincts shot and his desperation mounting, none of these attempts pay off and indeed, he ends up further in debt until finally, at risk of being imprisoned "for life" in a way that would certainly give away his secret, and already 25 years into this identity, Hob fakes his death and cuts ties entirely with the Gadlen name.

1655 - 1666: Hob's fortunes continue to slide. He makes some last attempts at an honest living under a new, more modest identity, but the stress, PTSD, and depression from his losses continue to compound and he falls deeper into alcoholism to self-medicate, making it difficult to hold down work. He tries his hand at a return to banditry and theft but rusty instincts and substance abuse reduce his effectiveness and he's wary of being imprisoned, limiting such efforts.

What little he manages to scrape together is lost when the Great Fire of London tears through the city, leaving him once again with nothing except a growing sense that the world itself has turned against him.

1666 - 1689: With nothing left and longer living at the margins, Hob goes thoroughly under. The highest point of his fortune is probably when he serves as a guard at a brothel, where they don't mind his drinking nearly so much as more honest businesses, and provide him a bed for those hours during the day when he's not working. This money is padded further when Hob, seeing no reason to refuse, accepts overtures from certain clients of the brothel to offer his own services. However, the misery of this work only compounds his dive into the bottle and before long he can no longer hold down that job either. He has various short stints after that in jail for debts, or public drunkenness, brawling, prostitution, and even a short stay in Bedlam when he tried to tell others the truth of his immortality. Those could be considered the only time he had a steady roof over his head.

In the final decade before his meeting with Dream in 1689, Hob realized he was truly out of options as far as any sort of last, desperate bid to regain his fortune or even stability before Dream arrives, since Hob didn't dare risk leaving London, unsure he'd be able to afford to come back in time, or to risk any sort of grand scheme that could see him imprisoned long term or have him deported as an indentured servant. Forced to live along the margins, out of sight, Hob fell to begging for enough coin to stay properly drunk and to eat, and then, when that failed, simply to eat and then, for long stretches, he could not meet even those needs. On more than one occasion, Hob was forced to defend the little he had by killing his attacker. The last years before 1689 are a blur of starvation and desperation and frequent nightmares until their meeting on June 7th.

[jxtina-86]

Enjoy The Ride

Hidden away from the rest of the world, with only the sun, lake and hills for company, it's the perfect time to switch off and enjoy. DeanAmbrose/Becca. See here for the rest of the series/order to read.

Warning: Hints of smut. Language

Rating: MA

I push open the sliding door slowly, wincing as it squeaks on its rails. Cool air hits my face and I breathe in the freshness as I step out onto the balcony and survey my surroundings. The leaves on the trees whisper in the morning breeze, parting to offer me a breathtaking view of the lake beyond, bathed in a soft yellow glow from the rising sun. I glance back inside at the stairs that lead up to the loft-space where Dean is still fast asleep – I'm half-tempted to wake him, to drag him downstairs, to out here where we can both watch the sun rise. But I remember the tired look in his eye when I picked him up from the airport, the way he only managed a half hour before he fell asleep in the car, snoring for the rest of the journey whilst I quietly sang along to the radio.

He only stirred awake when I pulled off the Interstate three hours later, a dazed expression on his face as he took in our surroundings. His voice was rough from sleep as he shook his head and shifted in his seat, his hand reaching out to squeeze my thigh. And when we pulled up outside the cabin, the first thing he did was lean across the centre console, his fingers pushing a strand of hair behind my ear as he kissed me. It was only late afternoon, plenty of time to explore, walk down to the lake and take in the sunset, but any vague notion of setting foot outside again disappeared the second the front door clicked shut and Dean's hand crept under my shirt.

I snicker to myself as I pull the sliding door shut behind me and settle onto the sun lounger, curling my feet underneath me.  Despite the summer month, the morning air still has a faint chill to it and as the breeze picks up again, I'm grateful for the blanket I snagged from the couch on my way outside which I now wrap loosely around me. I snuggle down deeper, my nose brushing against the neck of Dean's shirt that I just so happened to swipe from the bedroom floor. My heart pounds as his scent surrounds me and I wonder if that feeling will ever go away. I hope it doesn't. Eighteen months is just around the corner and I still get a rush every time I see him, every time he touches me, innocently or otherwise, every time he says my name or smiles at me.

Or when I open our apartment door on Wednesday evenings and find him in the kitchen preparing dinner or lying on the couch, beer in hand with take-out already ordered and on its way. I love being able to walk over and wrap my arms around him, press my cheek to his back or lean over him and kiss him in greeting, grinning as his hand sneaks around the back of my head and holds me to him. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't nervous about moving in with him. I haven't lived with anyone since college and despite the fact that we seem to be spending more time together when he was back in town than apart, we still had the option to have our own space if we needed it.

We'd planned to move into the new apartment when he was back in town. But then my schedule changed and the previously well-devised plans of moving his stuff on one day and mine on the next were shattered. Instead, it became a clunky process of Dean moving his own stuff in and half un-packing before he went back on the road. I arrived back on the Saturday morning and spent the entire weekend surrounded by boxes, completely unsure of where to put anything. It felt strange to go through boxes of his stuff without him there. I felt like I was invading his privacy, despite all the items that I unwrapped being completely familiar from his old apartment. I tentatively arranged our belongings, fretting whether things were in the right place or not, attempting to keep each living space neutral rather than over-load it one way or another.

Yet when I arrived home and found him in the apartment for the first time, I realised I was worrying over nothing. Although I always find it a struggle to concentrate or worry about anything else when Dean's arms are wrapped around me, his mouth on mine, his fingers deftly undoing buttons, zips and bra clasps. The way I had arranged books or put his clothes in the closet seemed irrelevant when he was bending me over the couch, my moans muffled by the cushions as he pressed a chaste kiss to my back before slamming into me hard, causing my legs to shake uncontrollably. And my anxiety had completely disappeared by the time he rolled me onto my side so he could kiss me as he sunk back inside me, slow and steady as he groped at my hip, my breasts, his fingers inevitably slipping between my legs whilst I cupped his sweaty face and held his gaze for as long as possible until my vision went blurry and his eyes squeezed shut and we both came with a shout and a gasp.

The one thing I dreaded was saying goodbye to him every week. Both Lex and Siobhan had warned me about how that was the hardest part for both of them. I thought I was prepared but I was so wrong. The apartment felt empty when I came home that first Friday night, but there were reminders everywhere of Dean. From his dirty laundry in the bathroom, to a pair of sneakers by the closet door. From a handful of mail in his name to his last read book on the couch. He was everywhere, yet I couldn't reach for him. I went to bed and felt cold, missing the extra body warmth that he would usually provide. I missed rolling over in the middle of the night and colliding with his solid frame. I missed waking up beside him, listening to him snore softly, watching him slowly wake and give me that sly, early morning smile he always gives me before he pulls me into his arms and presses his lips to whatever skin of mine that he can find.

And sure, I missed all of that when he wasn't in my apartment. But that felt different, like I knew I couldn't depend on that forever. Yet in a fully shared space? It felt like it should have been the norm and the reality was that it would never be like that. At first, it was frustrating – I was angry with myself for ever imagining that it would be that way, that it would be perfect. But after the first few weeks, it started to feel... Well, normal. It didn't make it any easier, but it felt routine, like this was our sense of normal, of perfection. And let's be honest, it's not like any part of our relationship has been exactly normal in the conventional sense. 

Take the night we all found out about Lex and Roman's impending new arrival. One year into a relationship and two people who have never gotten further than a couple of months with anyone else are suddenly discussing the possibility of a future beyond just having dinner plans and how they'd like to fuck the other person senseless. Or more precisely, having a conversation about the former after just completing the latter in spectacular style. It still makes me giggle how Dean somehow managed to compare a blowjob to a conversation about having a family together. A giggle that slowly turns into disbelief about how he didn't even bat an eyelid at my confession that sometimes, perhaps, maybe, I thought about what we could have together further down the line.

I had never really thought about what I wanted before Dean casually dropped into my life out of nowhere. I was always there for the moment, living in the now, never looking ahead. My career had always been a sticking point in the past. I grew to accept that I was forever meant to spend my life flitting from one guy to another, keeping it casual because I knew that they'd be turned off by the idea of only seeing their girlfriend for a few days a week, even if we were way past just dating. Before I met Dean, I was having some well-deserved me-time. I was bored of the dating scene, exhausted even. I was tired of guys giving it the big talk and then whining a few weeks later when they couldn't see me when they wanted.

Dean was a breath of fresh air. He was relaxed and easy-going, but still exuded confidence in a way that I can only put down to his line of work. Sure, he was cocky and cheeky but it wasn't an act or a charm-offensive – it was just him. He asked me questions and was genuinely interested in my answers; there were no glazed expressions I had come to expect from previous dates. And whilst we took it slowly, inching along an untrodden path, my mind occasionally started to wander to what our destination might be. At first it was wondering if this was love and after that mind-blowing realisation on both our parts, I started to think what was next. What milestone was next on the horizon?

Trust Lex's surprise pregnancy announcement to make us both confess what we wanted. I can remember Lex and Siobhan's faces when I shyly announced that Dean and I were moving in together – there was no surprise, no “are you sure?” It was like everyone else had realised that Dean and I were both headed in that direction before we'd even realised it ourselves. But I decided to keep the rest to myself. The rest being the very abstract possibility of creating a family with Dean. I wasn't ready to publicly admit that we'd discussed that particular gem.

My words to Dean had started out so innocently. An absent-minded comment that turned into so much more the minute the words slipped from my lips. I realised in a fraction of a second how they would sound to him. I wanted to back-track, rewind to moments before when all we were doing was discussing our friends' happy news and leave it at that. I scrambled to correct myself, to make out I meant something else when it was so damn clear that I meant exactly what I said. I stood in that bathroom and I knew I had fucked up. I had destroyed everything we had with one stupid comment.  

What I didn't expect was him to be wrapping his arms around me a few minutes later and telling me that it was okay to think about our future together because he did too. I almost had to pinch myself. I never thought that he'd say those words to me. I have never doubted since the moment he told me that he truly does love me. But I had convinced myself that was it. That's all I needed and deserved. Asking for more was selfish and I was stupid to think that anyone could want anything more than that with me. A small voice in the back of my head was constantly telling me that one day, he'd get fed up like all the others and leave, no matter how much of a good thing we had going on.

How wrong could that little voice be. And I can't even begin to express how grateful I am about that fact.

The sliding door creaks open and I glance over to see a dishevelled Dean blinking in the sunlight. There is something completely adorable about how he looks in the morning – the ruffled hair, the scruffy stubble, the way his muscles ripple as he stretches and yawns before his long fingers chase away an itch on his stomach or shoulder.

He catches my eye as his arms lower. “I thought,” he starts, closing the gap between us, “that we were on vacation.”

“You thought correctly,” I grin as he nears me, raising my hand to shield against the sun so I can still see his face amongst the glare.

“So why are you down here and not back upstairs in bed with me?”

“You were asleep.”

“And?”

“I didn't want to wake you.” I smile softly at the image of him splayed out on the bed, the covers pushed down to his waist. It took all the strength I had to let him sleep and not to push them any further south.

He leans down, fingers brushing across my cheek as his face hovers inches above mine. “You're too good to me.”

“That I am,” I mumble against his lips as he kisses me once, twice, my hand slipping to the back of his neck, making him linger for a moment longer before he pulls back.

“Room for one more?” he gestures at the sun lounger and I nod, moving so that he can sit behind me, his legs stretching out either side of me. His arms wrap around my waist and he pulls me back to him, our fingers tangling as we both attempt to arrange the blanket over us.

I smile contently as I feel his head drop forward, his face in my hair for a brief second before he sighs and leans back again. His hand reaches for mine, tugging it up until his lips brush across my knuckles and a warm shiver runs through me.

“You okay?” he murmurs as he settles his arm around me again, my hand still firmly clasped in his.

“Yeah.”

“You watch the sun rise?”

“Sort of.”

He chuckles. “Distracted?”

I smile to myself. “Maybe.”

“By what?”

I chew my lip for a second. “You.”

“You do wonders for my ego, darlin'.”

“I think your ego does enough for itself,” I shoot back with a giggle as his head rocks forward again and his teeth nip at my earlobe in retaliation.

“She gives with one hand, takes away with the other,” he sighs forlornly, but when I glance up at him, an all too familiar grin is gracing his face. “So, what were these thoughts you were having about me?”

“Don't get any ideas.”

“Me? Ideas? Never.”

I laugh. “I know how that mind of yours works, Mr Ambrose.”

“Mr Ambrose?” he pauses and then I jump slightly as his warm breath hits my ear. “Almost sounds as good as Officer Ambrose.”

I swallow hard, my mind immediately clouding with the memories of that particular evening. Throughout all the late night chats we'd had about my fantasy, we'd never actually discussed when or where. When I opened the door to see Dean standing there decked head to toe in uniform, I almost lost it. Not that I wanted to back out at any point, I was just overwhelmed by his commitment to fulfil my desires. Some guys may have taken advantage of the situation, pushed things further than agreed. Not Dean. He stayed well and truly within the boundaries we had clearly discussed beforehand, as well as being quick to notice any signs of hesitation from me. And not once has he ever tried to introduce what we did that night into our normal antics without a direct request from me.

Dean's fingers slip from mine, reaching to push the hair away from my neck instead. “Another fantasy you got playing on your mind?” he whispers.

I cock my head to the side so I can look up at him. “You're the one who liked the sound of Mr Ambrose. I think it's you that's harbouring a secret fantasy.”

“Such as?”

“You tell me.”

He shakes his head with a smile. “I'm not the one with the over-active imagination. Plus,” he drops his head low, his mouth close to mine. “I enjoy listening to you describe exactly what you want me to do to you.”

“Enjoy is a bit of an understatement.”

His finger trails down my throat, making me shiver as he holds my gaze. “Perhaps.” He inhales slowly as his finger reaches the collar of my shirt. “This mine?”

I nod. “Want it back?”

“Is that an invitation?”

I don't respond. Instead, I sit up and slowly ease myself around until I'm straddling Dean's lap. He holds my gaze steadily, his eyes only flickering south once as I reach for the hem of the shirt and start to drag it upwards.

“Not here,” he mumbles. “Inside.”

“Here.”

“Becca...”

But all words and thoughts of moving are long forgotten as I drop the shirt behind me. He groans softly, his arms winding around me as he pulls me back to him, his mouth desparetely seeking out mine as I slowly rotate my hips and feel him arch beneath me.

His hand cups the back of my head, fingers in my hair as he tries to pull me down into a kiss, but I hold still, taking the time to watch the lust wash over his face, his eyes now unshamedly darting to take in my bare breasts that brush teasingly against his chest. Steadying myself, I reach out to brush my fingers over his forehead, pushing back the messy curls.

“Happy vacation,” I murmur before I let him take over, his responding growl rumbling through my body as he kisses me hard.

**

I pull two beers from the fridge and place them on the counter before starting the hunt for where Dean might have placed the bottle opener. It's the first time I've ventured into the kitchen without him, having previously been banned from the area whilst he cooked dinner. Although that was possibly down to the fact that when we had tried to cook breakfast together, food ended up being the last thing on our minds.

Instead, I was manouvered to the other side of the breakfast bar, out of reach whilst he concentrated on cooking and I pretended to read my book whilst really taking in the sight of his bare back and trying to hold it together everytime he turned to offer me a taste of the spaghetti sauce. All the reasons why we came here have been quickly forgotten, replaced by activities that we could quite happily carry out in our own apartment – eating and sex. Because that's what the entire day has been lost to. Not that I'm complaining. As we laid on the sun lounger this morning, our naked bodies shielded from the rest of the world by the blanket, my stomach started to rumble. We giggled our way back inside, only stopping to re-dress in the essentials before we attacked the kitchen for a breakfast that turned into something far sweeter. Back upstairs, a tug of war with the sheets escalated quickly beginning with Dean pulling me up to straddle his face, taking his time to explore me with his tongue until I collapsed forward over his head to clutch at the sheets. I was in a daze as he pulled me back down his body, one hand gripping my ass as I rode him, the other clutching my wrists behind my back.

We exchanged thoughts on heading outside, but I onl got as far as pulling out fresh panties from my case before Dean's hands were on my hips again and I found myself beging bent over the large desk in the bedroom. Despite the position, it was slow, Dean's hand guiding me back on his dick at a measured pace, his lips on my shoulders as I wound my hips in a teasing circle until we were both panting and clamouring for our release. When we finally made it back downstairs, we promised each other that we would definitely explore our surroundings tomorrow, beyond just fucking on the balcony again.

But the teasing continued throughout dinner, Dean next to me at the breakfast bar, feigning interest in his food whilst his hand crept onto my thigh and threatened to unravel me once more. No matter how many times I shifted in my seat, trying and failing to move away from his long fingers, he was determined to stoke the fire within me. As he pushed his empty plate away, I was expecting him to pull me back upstairs or at least towards the nearest large-enough surface, but instead, he just pressed a chaste kiss to my temple and started to clear away the dishes.

As I started to help, he suddenly smirked, a devious glint in his eye.

“You okay to finish these?”

“Why, where are you going?”

“Upstairs.” His hands brush over my hips as he pulls me to him.

“Again?”

“You'll see.” His fingers slip in the waistband of my panties, snapping the material sharply against my skin. “Bring beer.”

With the bottle opener finally in hand, I make my way up the stairs, peering around the bedroom door first and finding it empty.

“In here.”

As I push open the bathroom door, I can't help the snort of laughter that erupts from me. Dean scowls up at me from the bathtub, which is threatening to over-flow with bubbles. His upper body is completely covered, his hair slick at the tips and starting to curl, his face shiny with sweat. The air is hot and humid, the mirrored walls and high windows starting to mist.

“It's not funny,” he gripes as I close the door behind me, still giggling. “I swear I only put a drop or two of bubble bath in here.”

“Whirlpool bath,” I point out as I offer him one of the beers, watching in amusment as he shakes excess bubbles from his hand to take it. “You're not supposed to use normal bubble bath with them.”

“Well, I know that now,” he frowns.

“It's okay, you look cute in bubbles.”

His frown deepens and I laugh, reaching down to tug my shirt up and over my head. The bath is big enough for two, shaped for one person on either side, but as soon as I step in, he's reaching for me and moving me to sit between his legs, my back against his chest.

“Good job you look cute in them too,” he growls in my ear, his hands coming to rest on my shoulders, his thumbs working slow circles across the base of my neck. My head slowly rocks back against him, my eyes fluttering closed as his hands slide down my arms and tug my hands up out of the water.

He's quiet as he works his fingers through mine, slowly twisting our hands together before drawing them up to kiss my finger tips.

“Thank you for dinner,” I murmur as he laces my hands around the back of his neck and presses soft kisses to my exposed forearms. “I've missed your cooking.”

He scoffs. “You go out to dinner multiple times a week for work, at some of the best restaurants in the country and you miss my cooking?” He presses his mouth to my ear, his voice low and tempting. “You gotta stop it with the compliments, darlin'. My head is getting mighty big.”

“You love it really,” I shoot back. “And anyway, the best restaurants in the world won't let you eat in them in just your shirt and panties. Or let you watch the chef cook topless.”

He chuckles, reaching for his beer and taking a swig before handing it to me. But the second I pass the bottle back and he's set it down, my hand is guided back to behind his neck and he resumes his barely-there kisses along my arms.

“I thought you might drag me back to bed,” I comment after a moment of silence.

“Drag you? I hardly think you need persuading.”

Touche.

“But I figured you might want to take a bath or shower at some point today,” he continues.

“Are you saying that I stink?” I twist my head to look up at him.

He chuckles, his face dipping down to mine. “You smelt of sweat, sex and me, darlin'. And you know damn well that's my favourite combination.”

“So you want me clean so you can start over again?”

“Maybe,” he winks. “Nothing like a fresh canvas...” His fingers trail across my cheek, his thumb pulling my bottom lip down gently before releasing it.

“So does this mean that you'll be keeping your hands to yourself until we're done in here?”

“Now you know I can't make promises like that.” His voice drops an octave, causing a shiver to whisper up my spine. “And you know damn well that if I did make a promise of that nature, you'd make sure I broke it as soon as possible.”

“I would do nothing of the sort.” I mock-scowl, slowly arching my back so that my breasts start to break through the bubbles. I watch with a smirk as he blinks, struggling to keep his gaze up and on my face. “What kind of girl do you take me for?”

“My kind of girl,” he groans, his fingers working their way down my throat, scurrying across my chest to pluck at my exposed nipples before I can sink back into the water again.

“Flattery will get you everywhere,” I sigh happily as he curls his arms around me and pulls me back to him.

The bubbles softly pop around us as he shifts again to pick up his beer and once again, we share the bottle.

“Roman text me earlier,” he murmurs. “He asked if we could go to Tampa in a few weeks, help out with setting up the nursery. Or rather, I think he wants you and Shiv to get Lex out the house so that she doesn't try to help.”

“I though the last time you three put together furniture, it ended in disaster?”

“Hey, that wardrobe of theirs is still standing thanks to mine and Seth's careful construction.”

I peer up at him. “That's not how Lex tells that story.”

“It's not how Roman tells it either, but it's the truth.” He chuckles. “Anyway, he couldn't give a shit – all he wanted was for us to get out the house as soon as possible.”

“I wonder why,” I grin. “I'm sure if we had moved into the apartment at the same time, nothing would have been unpacked in your presence.”

“I don't know what you mean.” But his lips are twitching as he raises the beer bottle. He swallows and wipes his mouth.

“Innocent doesn't suit you.”

“Funny,” he breathes. “It doesn't suit you either.”

“Isn't that why you love me?” I look up at him.

“One of the reasons.”

His eyes are soft at the edges as he stares down at me, all joking pushed aside. His hands caress my stomach under the water, his fingers splaying out across the soft flesh and I feel dizzy as I remember what we once talked about in another bathroom months ago. My tongue darts out to wet my lips, but I don't know what to say, unformed words catching in my throat as Dean ducks his head down and his nose brushes against mine.

“Hey,” he whispers against my cheek. “You okay?”

I nod slowly, still trying to think of how to respond to his words, his actions. “It is easier.”

He gives me a puzzled look. “What is?”

“Thinking about us. Now that we live together, I mean.”

His eyebrows slowly rise in realisation. “Okay.”

“I... I just thought I should tell you that.”

He nods. “Is that what you were thinking about this morning?”

“How–”

“I told you before, I can tell when you're thinking about whether or not to tell me something.” He kisses my cheek. “It's okay to tell me things like this, Becca.”

“I know. I just...” I try to find the right words. “I just feel a bit lost sometimes. And you seem so sure of what we have.”

“Aren't you sure of it?”

“That's not what I mean,” I struggle to correct myself. “What I mean is that you never seem worried or anxious about where we're going or what we're doing.”

He shrugs. “Sometimes you just gotta sit back and enjoy the ride and not worry about those things.”

“But don't you worry about those things?”

“Sure,” he concedes. “Sometimes. But not at this moment.” He takes in my frown. “Darlin', I think it's great that moving in together makes it easier for you think about what's in store for us later down the line. But right now, I reckon we should just enjoy it. Moving in together was in no way supposed to pressure you into thinking that I wanted to move any faster than we already were. I am more than happy to continue at this speed and all I want is just to spend more time with you where possible.”

“I'm sorry.”

“What for?”

“Over-thinking.”

“No need to apologise for that,” he tells me with a shake of his head. “Hell, there are times were I do exactly the same. But I'm just saying that maybe we should enjoy tonight and tomorrow before we have to re-join the real world.”

“Okay,” I agree. “I'm still sorry though.”

He rolls his eyes. “Yeah and why's that?”

“Ruining the mood.”

“That's easily rectified.”

“How so?”

He doesn't reply, not out loud anyway. His lips crash against mine, bubbles floating through the air as he twists me in his arms and then backs me back against the edge of the bath, raising me up until I'm pressed against the wall instead. Gazing down at him, I watch as his eyes travel south, wet hands following as he parts my legs and slowly starts to kiss away the bubbles.

**

Dean's arm wraps around my shoulders, his lips brushing against the side of my head as we make our way down the dark path towards the lake. It's late but neither of us care about that or the early start we have tomorrow to get back to the airport so that Dean can fly out to the next house show and I can go back home for the rest of the weekend.

Despite the decision to leave the condo at some point, our plans were only midly threatened with long, never-ending kisses followed by Dean pulling me back into bed every time I attempted to leave. It was almost mid-morning by the time we stepped outside, but it was worth it to climb high above the complex and take in the lake and surrounding area. Determined not to let our over-active sex drives get in the way, we headed out for lunch, followed by a walk around the small harbour before we finally headed back to the condo.

And then I had the wise idea of going back out for dinner rather than cooking. A decision which I regretted the second we sat down in the resturant and Dean's fingers trailed up my thigh under the table. Situated in a corner booth and away from prying eyes, his hand steadily pulled my maxi skirt higher until his fingers could brush over my bare skin, his face neutral as he watched me stammer out my order to the waiter.

“You're going to pay for what happened back there,” I tell Dean, not for the first time this evening.

He snickers. “It was worth it.”

“You're a bad man, Mr Ambrose.”

“There you go with the Mr Ambrose again. Are you sure you're not the one with the fantasy?” he ducks away with a laugh as I take a failed swipe at this head. He turns to face me, walking backwards, the shingle of the lake beach crunching under foot. “And anyway, isn't me being bad why you love me?”

“One of the reasons,” I mimic his response yesterday and he offers me a small smile in the darkness.

“Anyway, I would say you're the bad one right now. Luring me down to the lake late at night. I mean,” he pauses, waiting for me to close the gap between us. “What kind of man do you take me for?” His arms wrap around my waist, his fingers plucking at the hem of my shirt. He leans down, his face inches from mine. “Late night trips to a lake only mean one thing in my book,” he murmurs.

“Yeah and what's that?” I lace my hands behind his neck, holding him to me as his hands finally find their way under my shirt and spread across my lower back.

“Skinny dipping.”

“Dean!”

“What?” he grins. “Fine, what was your reason for dragging me down here?”

“There wasn't one.”

“Liar.”

“And 'dragging you down here?' Like the way you 'drag me to bed?'”

“Oh, so you do admit that you don't much persuading after all?” he chuckles. “I knew it.”

I pout stubbornly. “Can't a girl go on a romantic late night walk by a lake with her boyfriend?”

“Sure. But since when did we do romance of the conventional sense?”

“I would say this trip was straight out of the romantic's playbook.”

“Perhaps. But don't tell anyone,” he stage-whispers with a furtive look around. “It'll ruin my image.”

I pinch the back of his neck and he hisses. “That bad boy act has never had me fooled. You're a sap through and through.”

“Only for you.”

The water laps at the shore as I pull him to me, my lips meeting his in a slow, yet passionate kiss. His hands run up my back and he growls into my mouth when he realises I'm not wearing a bra.

“Let's go back,” he murmurs against my lips as we draw back for breath, but I shake my head. “Becca... C'mon...” His hand reaches for mine, turning back towards the path, but I pull him back.

“No.”

“Darlin',” he groans, his arms circling me once agin. “All I wanna do is take you back to the condo and fuck you till you scream.” He lowers his voice. “That bad boy enough for you?”

“You could do better.”

“Oh, really?”

I nod behind me at the lake with a sly smile and watch as his eyes widen. 

“Becca, I was kidding.”

“I'm not.” I pull back from him, turning away and heading towards the lake. Pausing at a bench near the shoreline, I kick off my shoes and start to unzip my skirt. Turning back to face Dean, who is still frozen in place, I let the skirt fall to the ground before crossing my arms and pulling my shirt up over my head as well. It's too dark to see his face, but as I turn back to face the water, I grin as I hear a muttered 'fuck' followed by the crunch of pebbles.

“If we get caught–”

“What happened to living in the moment?” I remind him as I take a step back towards the water.

“Becca–”

“Whose over-thinking now?”

He groans as he unbuckles his jeans and then: “Hey, that's cheating.”

“What is?”

He steps towards me, his fingers reaching out to pluck at my panties. “These aren't allowed.”

“Then neither are these,” I do the same to him, but I freeze when all I feel is bare skin.

“One step ahead of you,” he chuckles. He snaps the waistband of my panties against my hip. “Get rid of these. Now.”

“For someone who was just worrying about getting caught, you sure are a stickler for the rules,” I grumble as I remove my panties and throw them towards the bench with the rest of our clothes.

“If you're gonna do it, might as well do it right,” he murmurs, closing the gap between us and slowly manouvering me back into the water.

But I dart out of his grip, splashing water back at him as I make my own way further into the water. I glance over my shoulder, laughing as I see him wading furiously towards me, jumping into the dark depths as he catches up with me. His hands grope at my waist, my legs, my arms, but I squirm out of reach, my laugher echoing around in the darkness as I watch the water ripple violently as he dives under water.

And then I'm being pulled down, drawing in a deep breath of air before the water covers me and Dean's mouth latches onto mine. My hands lock around his neck as he cocoons me in his arms, our legs kicking lazily as we fight our way back to the surface, gasping for air before our mouths crash together again.

“You okay?” he mumbles against my lips, his hands moving to push wet hair back from my face.

I nod.

“Cold?”

I shake my head. Sure, I can feel goosebumps rising on my skin, but it's not from the water.

No, it's the way he's looking at me that makes me shiver. The way lust and love covers his face in equal measure, the way his concern for my happiness, my well-being is just as important as the way he makes me scream and beg for more in the most sinful ways possible. It's the way his hand cups the back of my head as we continue to float in the water and his mouth meets mine with renewed fever. It's the way he growls my name as I nip at his bottom lip and then dip down to bite and suck at his neck as he fists my hair with one hand and grabs my bare ass with the other.

“I love you.” His voice is a rough whisper that tears through the air loud and clear as he hooks my legs around his waist. His forehead presses against mine as he steadies himself, his feet finding purchase on the lake floor.

I clutch the back of his head, my fingers working their way through the wet curls of hair as I feel my heart pound and my response threatens to stick in my throat. “I love you too,” I eventually gasp as he slowly eases me up and down.

“Don't think,” he murmurs against my throat before he pulls back, a familiar glint in his eye that makes my stomach flip. “Just enjoy the ride.”

Fin x

[actress4him]

June of Doom 2023

Previous | Next | Masterlist

Taglist: @painful-pooch , @robinbugbanned

Day 11 - “We’re out of time.” | Firearm | Backseat | Self-defense

Day 12 - “It’s no use.” | Explosion | Fainting | Trembling

Also qualifies for @whumpawoman ’s Whump Girl Summer Day 7 - Sisterhood

Contains: lady whump with male whumper, captivity, gun violence, mild blood, death mention

.

.

“He left a chain out.”

Isa raises her head from where she’s curled on her side, blinking wearily at Lainey. “What?”

“Look!” She picks the chain up off the counter with a loud scrape and rattle, dangling it in the air for Isa to see. “He forgot to put it away before he locked the cabinet!”

Frowning, Isa lies back down, clearly not grasping the enormity of the situation. “Okay.”

“No, Isa look, it’s…” She crosses the room quickly, ignoring all the aches and pains that always accompany every movement, and crouches down next to the other girl. “This is finally something different. He’s never made a mistake like this before. There could be something we could do with this!” She examines the chain carefully, mind churning.

Isa wrinkles her nose. “Like what? We’re not going to chain ourselves up, he does that plenty.”

Lainey rolls her eyes. “No, like…this is heavy.” She hefts the metal in her hand, an idea beginning to form. “Especially the manacle part. What if…what if I could swing it at his head and knock him out?”

Now she’s got Isa’s attention. She picks her head up again, an incredulous look on her face. “What? No, Lainey, that’s the worst idea I’ve ever heard in my life.”

“Is not.” She huffs in frustration, swinging the chain like a pendulum. Isa doesn’t believe they can escape, she gets that. But why can’t she see this possibility when it’s literally right in front of her face? “Look, this thing is a weapon. He’s left us with something we can actually use to gain the upper hand here. I’m telling you, this could very easily knock somebody out if used the right way.”

“If.” Isa rolls over onto her back, grimacing as some part of her body apparently protests, and rubs her face with her hands. “You’re not as strong as you used to be, you’ve said it yourself. And if you missed, or you didn’t hit him hard enough the first time…do I need to explain to you how bad it would be?”

“Do I need to explain to you how bad it is, staying here for the rest of our lives and doing nothing to try and fix it?” Isa’s right, failing at this would be…catastrophic. But that’s why she doesn’t plan on failing. And if somehow she does…she’d rather get punished for trying to escape than sit on her butt and not try.

“I’m going to do this. You’re not going to talk me out of it. And I could really use your help, so I’d like it if you quit arguing and just accepted that this is happening.”

Isa shakes her head slowly. “How am I possibly gonna help your madcap plan?”

Grinning, Lainey jumps to her feet. “By using your magic! You can tell me when he’s coming so I can get ready. I’ll hide over here…” She strolls toward the alcove, where she’ll be out of sight of the stairs if she stands against the wall. “Oh, and maybe you can sit right here, at the corner, so he has to walk over here! Then you can give me some kind of verbal signal, we’ll have to decide what that should be, and I step out and swing it right at his head!” She demonstrates the action, rather poorly and awkwardly, unfortunately. The way the alcove is set up, she’d have to use her left hand to swing a direct path toward the man. Frowning in concentration, she moves back and forth a few times, trying to decide if there’s a way to use her right hand and get the same momentum.

“So not only are you going to get yourself punished for trying to hurt him and escape, you’re going to get me punished, too, for participating and using my magic.”

“No, I’m going to get us both out of here. Can you please have some faith for once?”

“No! Because this is a ridiculous plan that’s never going to work! And I’ve told you before, you’re not bringing me along on any wild escape. If you happen to somehow be able to knock him out and run, go for it. I will cheer you on and wish you the best. But I’m staying here, so that you have a better chance of actually making it.”

Lainey turns to face her squarely, fists clenching. “And I’ve told you before, I’m not leaving without you! So if you’re going to refuse to even try to run, I might as well give up this plan now. Put the chain back where I found it and pretend I never saw it.” The thought makes her want to scream and cry, but not as badly as the thought of making it to safety with Isa still trapped here. She doesn’t care what she says about finding help and coming back, she can’t trust that she’d still be alive and in one piece by the time she returned.

Slowly, painstakingly, Isa pushes herself up off the floor, propping herself up with her hands. “You’re seriously going to give up? Because I can’t come?”

“Because you won’t come,” Lainey corrects. “I know you think you can’t. But I swear we can figure out a way. I’ll carry you if I have to, just…please, Isa. Please let me help you.”

“You can’t carry me,” she deadpans. “You’re not much better off than I am.”

“I’m not in great shape, but I can do what it takes. And you can too!” She points straight at Isa, her frustration and desperation growing every moment. “Why won’t you just try and save yourself?”

“Because I’m scared!” The cry hangs in the silence that follows it. It’s not like neither of them knew that it was true, but having her say it out loud is different. More heart-wrenching.

Isa curls in on herself, hugging her legs. “I’m scared, Lainey. I’m scared of what he’ll do, I’m scared of you not making it out, I’m scared of me not making it out, I’m scared of one or both of us dying.”

Lainey stares down at the floor for a moment before replying. “I know.” Then her own admission - “I am, too. I’m scared of all those things. But either of us choosing to stay here scares me more than anything else.”

She’s quiet for another minute, rubbing her fingertips along the cool metal of the chain. “I’m going to practice. Will you…keep an ear out for him?”

Isa nods slowly, eyes on her feet. “Yeah.”

For the next while, Lainey practices stepping out from behind the corner and swinging the chain at an imaginary head over and over again, until her arm muscles are burning with that good, familiar soreness she used to thrive on at softball meets. She tries to think of different scenarios, of him passing the corner and seeing her before she can step out or him not coming far enough at all, tries to pinpoint how tall he is compared to her and how high she’ll have to aim.

Isa stays silent the whole time, but eventually she struggles to her feet and crosses the room to sit where Lainey had indicated earlier. She takes that to mean she’s planning to help, at least, which gives her a renewed sense of determination. Now she just needs to do her part, and convince Isa to run with her.

“Are you sure this is going to work?”

Lainey stops what she’s doing at Isa’s quiet words, looking down at her. “I’m positive.” Or at least she’s refusing to acknowledge the parts of her mind that aren’t so sure. “I’m going to at least stun him, which will give me plenty of opportunity to hit him again and knock him out. And as soon as that happens, we run for the stairs. You can even start heading that way before me, to give yourself a head start.”

Isa sighs. “Lainey…” Before she can say anything further, she stiffens, eyes cutting toward the stairs. “We’re out of time,” she whispers frantically.

Her heart suddenly pounding, Lainey dives behind the wall, pressing her back against the concrete blocks. Sure enough, the locks begin to creak seconds later.

“If I do this and you just sit there and refuse to come, I promise you that I will stay and take the punishment for it,” she whispers in a rush. Maybe it’s blackmail, just a bit, but she doesn’t care. She’ll do whatever it takes.

His footsteps sound on the wooden steps. The hand holding the chain is sweating, but she doesn’t dare adjust it, trying to hold everything completely still so it doesn’t make the faintest clink.

He pauses at the bottom of the stairs. “Where’s the other one?”

Too late, she realizes that they never came up with a cue to use. She’s just going to have to rely on Isa and whatever she can hear.

“In the corner, resting.”

Immediately her heart lurches at her hiding place being revealed, but she takes a deep breath and calms it back down. It’s fine, this is good. He needs to come over, he needs to know where she is. There’s not really another place she could be, anyway.

“Thinks she’s too good to bother getting up for me now?” Footsteps again. He’s coming her way.

“She might still be asleep,” Isa mumbles, but that doesn’t make sense as a cue, right? She’s on edge, weight on her toes, waiting, trying not to give into the urge to jump out too early and ruin everything.

Then it comes, short and straightforward - “Lainey!”

Just like she’d practiced, she pivots her body around and brings her arm forward with all her strength. The look of shock on his face just before the manacle makes contact is golden. Unfortunately, he’s a bit taller than she’d anticipated, and it smashes into his jaw instead of his skull.

Still incredibly satisfying. But not enough to knock him out.

He stumbles sideways, a string of curses spilling from his lips. “Go!” Lainey shouts, and to her immense relief she sees Isa scramble to her feet out of the corner of her eye.

She can’t focus on her right now, though. Switching the chain to her right hand, she steps forward again. She hadn’t practiced with her right arm. But it’s her dominant side, she’s more confident in it, and her left hand is so sweaty she’s afraid that the chain will slip right out of it. Besides, it’s much easier to hit a target that she can actually now see. Seconds after the first hit, the manacle slams into him again, this time squarely on the back of his head.

He falls forward, just barely catching himself against the wall where Isa had just been sitting. It’s clear that he’s disoriented, but just to be sure, Lainey swings the chain at him one last time.

It’s too bad that she can’t stay to watch him hit the floor, but she still hears him fall and internally cheers as she books it for the stairs.

Isa has only made it three-fourths of the way up, clutching the stair rail, when Lainey passes her. “Keep coming! I’m gonna look for keys!” If they can take his car, their chances of escape will be so much higher. Especially for Isa.

Throwing open that cursed door is a momentous occasion that she can’t stop and enjoy. Instead she plunges into the house - more like a cabin, from the looks of it - searching for the way out and for where car keys might be kept. It’s disturbingly…normal. A bachelor pad, obviously, with little in the way of decor or extraneous furniture, but otherwise just a normal cabin where a normal person would live. No one would ever guess walking in that there were two women being tortured in the basement.

The good news is that it’s small, so it doesn’t take long to find what seems to be the only door leading outside. And hanging on a hook beside the door is a car key.

“Got it!” she shouts, snatching it up. This is actually going the way she planned. This is actually working. They’re going to get out of here, she can feel it.

She hears the basement door shut and jogs back that way. Isa is leaning heavily against it, meticulously sliding and turning all the locks into place. Part of Lainey wants to urge her to come on, to leave it be, but the triumph of being able to lock him in the basement for once wins out.

As soon as the last lock is done, though, she grabs Isa’s arm and throws it over her shoulders. “Come on, let’s go! I’ve got the car key!”

Isa is silent as she half-drags her back through the house and out the front door, but Lainey can hear her harsh breathing and occasional bitten-back noises of pain in her ear. She’s torn between feeling bad for causing her pain, knowing it’s for her own good, wanting to slow down for her, and wanting to push her faster than what already feels like a snail’s pace. Her own body is holding up fine for now, the adrenaline doing its work as she’d predicted, but it’ll all catch up with her in a little while. Which is just another reason that they need to get going fast.

The car is parked out front - an older model grey sedan, nothing special. A wave of memories of being locked inside the trunk washes over her, but she forges ahead regardless, escorting Isa to the passenger side before running around and yanking the driver’s door open. The interior smells like must and stale food. As Isa falls into the passenger seat, panting, Lainey jams the key into the ignition and turns it.

The engine sputters, but fails to turn over. “No, no, come on, don’t do this to me, we were doing so well…” She tries again with the same result. “Come on!” A third time, pumping the gas pedal, and it finally roars to life, the radio immediately blasting out country music. “Yes!”

Isa swats at the radio dial while Lainey shoves the gear shift into reverse, throwing her arm behind the other seat so she can turn and see out the back as she swings the car around. Gravel flies out from underneath the skidding tires. “We are getting…the heck…out of…”

“Lainey!”

The strangled gasp from Isa has her spinning around to look out the front at the cabin. The door is opening. He’s stumbling outside, a stream of bright red blood trickling down the side of his face.

“Shoot! Crap, crap, shoot, dang it!” Her hand fumbles at the gear shift, finally managing to throw it into drive before slamming her foot down on the gas pedal. The driveway leads off into the woods, disappearing down a hill only yards from the house. Freedom is so close.

“It’s okay, it’s fine. He can’t get us, we’ve got the car and he’s got -”

A loud crack splits the air, making both of them jump and duck instinctively. “A gun,” Isa chokes out, hand gripping the door with white knuckles. “He’s got a gun!”

“Shoot!” She winces at her poor choice of words, glancing in the rearview mirror as the car careens down the narrow road. They can still get away. They have to. She just has to drive, and drive fast, and get them out of harm’s way.

Another shot rings out, and the car jolts, swinging out of control sideways. Isa cries out, she’s not sure if it’s from pain or pure fear. She doesn’t have time to check. She’s trying desperately to keep the car straight and moving despite the way one of the back wheels is now dragging, but then the back windshield shatters. Both girls jump again, screaming, and Lainey loses the tenuous control she had. The car nosedives off the side of the road into a bed of leaves and brush. Lainey’s hands scrabble at the steering wheel, her foot pumping the gas, but all she gets in return is spinning tires.

“Lainey he’s coming, he’s coming!”

The terror she feels is reflected in Isa’s voice. She jams her foot into the pedal one more time, flinging mud everywhere, then throws open her door. “It’s no use, get out! We’ve gotta go, get out, run!” There’s no way they can outrun bullets. Can they? Maybe if they head straight into the forest, dodge behind the trees…

She nearly falls out the door in her haste. Isa is stumbling out her side, and Lainey spends precious seconds debating whether she should go to help her or just start running. He’s coming up on them way too quickly, striding across the gravel like he’s confident that he can catch them without having to run.

Isa is starting toward her now. “Go, go!” She waves her hand frantically at Lainey, who does start running but stays sideways, looking back at Isa and the man.

“Come on!” She should go back. Isa’s not going to be fast enough, she’s trying her best but he’s gaining on her. Making a split second decision, Lainey changes her course, darting back toward Isa to see if she can drag her along.

She can’t let her get caught. She promised she’d help her, that they’d get her out of there no matter what kind of shape she was in. If she gets caught now, after going against her instincts and putting her trust in Lainey…she’d probably never forgive her. Besides the fact that he might kill her.

She’s running, but somehow it feels like she’s making no progress. The man’s eyes are trained on Isa. The look on her face is desperate and pained and terrified, but the terror takes over completely when his hand reaches out and snatches her backwards by her shirt. Her scream imbeds itself in Lainey’s chest.

Her feet skid to a halt of their own volition. “Isa!”

“Go!” His arm slings across her chest, pulling her back into him, but she leans into it with all her might, sobbing. “Lainey run!”

No, no she can’t, she can’t! He has Isa, she can’t just run off and leave her! That’s the one thing she swore she wouldn’t do!

Another gunshot makes her jolt, hands automatically covering her ears. Isa’s scream this time is strangled. She crumples in his arms and he lets her fall, and Lainey’s thoughts freeze.

He shot her. She doesn’t even know where, couldn’t see where the gun was pointing, but now she’s on the ground, what if she’s dead? Did he kill her? Right there, right in front of her?

The gun swings upward, points straight at her. Lainey takes one step backwards, then two. Run! her instincts are shouting, but Isa is right there…

Isa gasps a shuddering breath and turns her face up toward Lainey. “Go! Get help!”

Her heart feels like it’s tearing from her chest, but she turns and flees into the forest just as a bullet whizzes past her shoulder.

[enchxanting]

our love is god [ethan landry x reader] pt. 9

read part 8 here || all parts

pairing: ethan landry x fem!reader

warnings: graphic depictions of violence, literary gore, major character death

a/n: we are winding down on this series, so if you have any requests or suggestions please leave them for me! i need some inspo for my next story, but I'm also gonna do some short stuff in between.

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

I’ve been sitting outside of Mindy and Chad’s place for way longer than appropriate. I know that they probably know I’m here, but I can’t make myself get out of the car.

It’s not that I don’t want to see them. I really, really do. I want to see them so badly that I swallowed my grief and guilt and got cleaned up for the first time in days. I just can’t shake the way Ethan looked at Chad and me earlier. I clench the steering wheel tighter. I’ve never seen that kind of rage, like he wanted to–

No. I push that thought away. It’s time, anyway, for me to stop being a baby and go inside. I double-check one last time that I have my bag, keys, and phone, before stepping out onto the sidewalk.

I can hear music coming from the house, even though the door is closed. The twins have a habit of blasting their speakers, which the neighbors hated until they moved away over the summer. Now, Mindy and Chad can destroy their eardrums whenever they please. 

Letting myself in, I drop my bag in the mudroom before following the sound of voices to the kitchen. Chad is hunched over the stovetop, and Mindy is sitting at the kitchen island with her chin in her hands. She perks up when she sees me, giving me a signature Mindy smirk.

“Well, look who decided to show up, huh?”

Chad throws me a smile over his shoulder. “Hey, leave her alone, Minds. She’s just in time for dinner!”

“Thanks, you guys,” I say. “What are we having?”

“Only my original pasta dish, of course,” Chad steps aside to reveal a mess of tomatoes, Parmesan containers, and empty plastic sleeves of bacon, for some reason. “It got a little out of hand. But it’s delicious!”

I laugh, and Chad smiles even wider. It fills me with something I haven’t felt in a while: contentment. There is literally nowhere else I’d rather be right now.

Mindy and Chad usher me to the dining room table, which they actually set with real cloth napkins and placemats. I’m impressed. Usually, my dinners at the Meeks-Martin house have been chips and cold pizza at 3 AM during sleepovers.

The food is perfect. I don’t know what Chad put in it, or where he found the recipe (if there was a recipe), but the food puts me in a good mood. We laugh and talk until we’ve finally stuffed ourselves. Chad is the last one to tap out, and he immediately retires to the living room to digest, claiming chef privileges that exempt him from cleanup.

“Clear the table with me, Y/N?” Mindy asks.

“Of course.” I grab a couple plates and silverware and follow Mindy back to the kitchen. I start folding placemats as she loads the dishwasher.

“Thanks for the dinner. You got all fancy for me, I see,” I tease. “Where are your parents, by the way?”

She rolls her eyes. “Whatever, you love that we’re spoiling you. They’re at a friend’s house tonight or something. Won’t be back until later.”

“What about Anika? I thought she’d come for sure.”

“Nah, her parents have her under house arrest. They’re spooked by– um. You know. Even though it wasn’t some psycho this time. It was just… Tara.”

I go quiet. Mindy is choked up again.

“I just can’t believe she’d do it,” she whispers.

“I know,” I say. “I guess sometimes it just gets to be too much–” “No, that’s the thing though,” Mindy interrupts. “It wasn’t. I was just talking to her about the attacks last year, right before. She said she felt like she was finally free, finally moving on. And it’s like I said, we were making plans. Real plans. She started an application to college. And she was looking for summer jobs, trying to save money for room and board. These aren’t things suicidal people do, Y/N.”

My throat feels tight. “What are you saying?”

She puts a hand over her forehead and takes a deep breath. “I’m saying that something isn’t right. What if some, like, freaky Ghostface disciple actually killed her?”

“Jesus, Mindy, are you serious?” I turn to see Chad in the doorway, a pained expression on his face. I didn’t hear him come in. 

“This isn’t one of your horror movies,” he continues, and I hear his voice trying not to break. “Sometimes life is just unfair.”

“But think about it!” Mindy continues. “She was partying, she was living. Yes, she was mad at Sam, but she got in those fights all the time! And the report said she hadn’t deadbolted the door that morning, and I know she hadn’t cracked that copy of The Bell Jar they found– she was just saying she had to SparkNotes the whole thing for class.”

“Enough, Mindy, I’m fucking serious.” Chad’s voice is raised, louder than I’ve ever heard it, But Mindy doesn’t back down. She turns to me, expectantly.

“You were basically her best friend, Y/N.” Her voice is low and intense. “Seriously. What do you think? You know that Tara wouldn’t do that.”

I look between their faces, and all of the guilt I thought I had started to let go of rises to the top. I have to tell them the truth. 

I shut my eyes tight and a tear rolls down my cheek. “I can’t do this anymore.”

“Y/N, what are you talking about?” I feel Chad put a hand on my shoulder. It’s getting hard to breathe again. 

“I- I-” I stammer. “Me, and Ethan, we–”

But I’m cut off by the sound of strangled screaming. I open my eyes and my blood goes cold.

Mindy’s throat is slashed, dripping blood down her neck onto her t-shirt. Behind her is a figure in a black cloak and a white mask: Ghostface.

Ghostface lets go of Mindy, and she sinks to the floor. Even though I can’t reach her to check, I feel in my bones that she’s gone. My stomach turns into knots. I back up towards the countertop. Dear Diary: This can’t be happening. This can’t be happening.

Chad fumbles for a weapon on the knife block, but all of the knives have been removed. He grabs a meat tenderizer from the counter. “Fucking run, Y/N,” he roars, and I’m snapped out of my trance.

Ghostface lunges towards Chad, but he gets one hit in with the kitchen implement, hitting him in the chest. He stumbles backward, and I make a break back towards the dining room. I hear the sound of plates hitting the ground and animalistic sounds of exertion, but I stop dead in my tracks when I hear Chad screaming. Out of the corner of my eye, I see the glint of a knife as it plunges in and out of Chad’s chest. Chad coughs up blood as he falls to his knees, but Ghostface doesn’t let up. He raises his knife and delivers one last blow, clean into Chad’s heart.

I let out a guttural scream. Ghostface turns towards me, wiping his knife clean between his robed fingers. I’m paralyzed with fear. Any survival skills I might have picked up from watching countless horror films are gone– I can’t even run.

He stalks towards me, and I close my eyes, preparing for the worst. But the blow never comes. Instead, I’m enveloped in an embrace of fabric.

I open my eyes to see the eyes of the blood-stained mask staring right at me. Slowly, the figure raises their hand, grabbing the base of the headpiece. My breathing quickens, and I can feel my heart beating out of my chest as he slowly pulls the mask off to reveal a mop of brown curls.

No.

No.

Ethan gives me a big toothy grin. “Hey, beautiful.”

I don’t understand. I don’t understand anything. He must be able to tell, because he lets out a throaty laugh. “Surprised?”

“How– how could you?” I manage to choke out. “Why… would you do this?”

“I did it for you, Y/N. For us. Do you know how close that freak Mindy was getting to figuring out the truth? You heard her. And then we’d both be in prison. Separate. Alone.”

“But Chad,” I sob. “Why would you hurt him?”

His face darkens. “Now that one, I have to admit, was fucking selfish. He wanted you, I know it. He fucking wanted you, but you’re mine.”

I can’t say anything. I’m shaking with fear, anger, confusion, everything. 

Ethan frowns. “I worship you, Y/N. I'd trade my life so you can live. I killed them for you.”

“No, no, I didn’t want– I never asked–”

“I love you, Y/N,” he growls. “Tell me you love me.” His grip grows tighter, and I finally notice the tip of the knife at my back.

What else can I say?

“I love you too, Ethan,” I concede, voice wavering.

He relaxes, and the knife clatters to the floor. “Good,” he says. “Let’s go home.”

He grabs me by the wrist and leads me out the door. As we travel through the kitchen, I shut my eyes tight. Ethan stops us. 

“Look,” he growls.

I force my eyes open and choke down my nausea at the sight of the twins’ bodies. Ethan grabs my face and pulls me into a deep kiss.

“For you, Y/N. All for you.”

taglist: @miawastakens

[female-malice]

According to Liz Hume, the executive director of Alliance for Peacebuilding last year, “When women are part of the peace process, [those peace outcomes] are 35 percent more likely to last beyond 15 years,"

Another study indicated that including women in peacebuilding efforts increases the probability of ending violence by 24% because they

"bring a more comprehensive peace plan to the negotiating table by addressing societal needs rather than solely focusing on what will make the warring parties happy.” 

One of the crucial movements in the peace space in Israel/Palestine now is the historic partnership between Women Wage Peace and Women of the Sun; the latter organization was founded in the summer of 2021, and is comprised of Palestinian women working for peace in the West Bank and Gaza. Women Wage Peace was founded after the Gaza war of 2014, is comprised of Jewish and Arab women who live inside the State of Israel, and has the two primary objectives of 1) Getting Israeli/Palestinian peace negotiations going (and to eventually achieve a "bilaterally acceptable political agreement") and 2) guaranteeing that women are part of the negotiation process

WWP and WotS write in their partnership pact:

After over 100 years of conflict which for the most part was managed by men, Israeli and Palestinian women say “enough”…Our shared goal is what unites us and motivates us to dedication, persistence and determination. The responsibility we feel for the future of our children enables us to move forward despite the difficulties.

In fact, heartbreakingly—only three days before Hamas’ brutal attack on October 7th of this year, Women Wage Peace and Women of the Sun held a joint march from Jerusalem’s Museum of Tolerance to a promenade with a view of the Old City.

Then, Reem Hajajr, a founder of Women of the Sun, said,

“more and more women join the movement, women who want to protect their children and prevent them from being the next victim....We started out as a movement with a few lone women and now we are thousands from the West Bank and Gaza. We no longer take the back seat and are determined to act persistently to end the cycle of bloodshed and to achieve freedom and a just, honorable life for Palestinian and Israeli children.”

She said those words exactly two weeks ago.

And so many wails, so many tears ago.

More tears than can be counted.

One of Women Wage Peace’s founders, Vivian Silver, is one of the 150 or more people that were kidnapped by Hamas, as well. I can’t not mention that. May she and all of the other captives be returned swiftly and safely.

May no other innocent lives be lost. Not one more.

May there be an end to the bloodshed soon.

May this be the last moment of horror before the creation of a new, whole tomorrow for everyone.

May everyone be safe.

Women Wage Peace’s statement on October 15th said, in part:

For 9 years since the end of “Operation Protective Edge”, we, Jewish and Arab mothers have been telling the leadership in Israel – enough! We must turn every stone in order to reach a political solution. This is our obligation for the future of our children. This is our obligation to both Israeli and Palestinian children. They deserve a future of security and freedom, not a future of death, war and destruction. More wars, bombings, assassinations, arrests and a never-ending cycle of bloodshed will not allow us and our children to live here as normal people. All conflicts in the world have been resolved by peace agreements…. Every mother, Jewish and Arab, gives birth to her children to see them grow and flourish and not to bury them. That’s why, even today, amidst the pain and the feeling that the belief in peace has collapsed, we extend a hand in peace to the mothers of Gaza and the West Bank. We mothers, together with women from all over the world, must unite to stop this.

(continue reading)

[angstmongertina]

leaves rustle above us

Trying to get back into writing regularly in 2023 through prompts. Feel free to send me a kiss prompt from here!

A non-tumblr friend sent me ArtemRosa and 38, and I had to. I’m so sorry. A companion of sorts to my one fic inspired by Entwined Fate.

Title taken from Pim’s The Life We Could Have Had.

TW: a highly romanticized version of death, terminal illness.

38. A kiss… because they’re running out of time

It comes on quickly.

It almost always does, the doctors say, in cases like this one. She is still young and vibrant, has not reached the age of screening and examinations, and there is no reason to believe that anything could go wrong, so they have never seen a need to check. Until now.

Until it is too late.

She is still young, they say, and though they are solemn and professional, the best in their field, for something as important as this, in their eyes he can still see the pain, the compassion. She is young, too young, for this, her life meant to be unwinding for years, decades, by his side. She has—they have, because they are partners, in work, in love, in life—two young children, they know, who love their mother. Who need their mother.

She is still young, but even so she smiles, that brave, warm smile that has always shone anywhere she goes, his compass, his guiding light, and squeezes his hand without saying anything, for what words can be said, can possibly express everything that must be running through her head in this moment.

He squeezes back.

She is still young. She can survive this.

She must.

And for a spell, for a month, for two, it seems like she will. Life continues on. She refuses to put everything on hold, refuses to act like anything has changed, and how can he do anything else, when she is still blazing forward like the star she is? She continues taking cases, putting every drop of motivation into fighting for justice, a legacy to carry into the future. She spends time with their children, connecting with him, loving them in a way that seems to come so naturally to her. She keeps living and he doesn’t allow himself to wonder what will happen next, because she is still young.

The signs are small, at first. She seems more tired, but surely it’s from work, from the extra energy needed to take care of two children now, rather than one. Her appetite wanes, but that is typical for the treatment, and means nothing else. Can’t mean anything else. It is only a setback, only temporary.

That winter, wrapped in blankets by the fire, they make plans to go to Cloudbreak Temple again in the summer, to bring their second child, to introduce him to the old master and relive those warm memories from years past. He smiles, kisses her gently, and agrees.

They don’t make it.

By spring, she is housebound, only managing to move about through a combination of his help and sheer willpower. She still smiles at him though, softer, more fragile, more tremulous, but it still shines all the time, and he commits each one to memory as best he can. Her smile, her laugh, her warmth. He knows, even before she says anything, that they will have to last him a lifetime.

The next appointment, her hand ensconced in his, she tells the doctors that there is no point in fighting the inevitable.

He squeezes back and doesn’t argue.

As the days warm, she grows increasingly bedridden. His mother stops by to care for the children; he does what he can, but he cannot manage them as well as he ought, not when he can barely leave her side. He thanks her, and pretends not to see the sorrow and sympathy in her gaze. Instead, he focuses on her, holds her cold little hand in his and tells her about the fluffy clouds, the birds outside, the newly budding leaves on the old oak.

He sees the look of longing on her face and does not let his heart break, not yet.

In late spring, she greets him with a bright, warm smile, calls their daughter to her side, and promises them a day out. She hums as he tells her about the sunshine, cheerful and spirited, and she looks so much like she used to that his chest is painfully tight when he agrees to her request.

He carries her, wrapped snugly in a soft quilt, outside and does not notice how easy it is now; she has always been slight, but the last year has seen her grow wispy, as substantial as a warm breeze, but she smiles at his expression and kisses him, warm and solid and real.

They sit together under the tree, their little family, her head light against his shoulder, fine hair tousled by the gentle spring breeze, their son in her arms, warm and content, while their daughter runs around, soaking in the warm sunlight, breathing in the cool fresh air. She laughs, nestles herself more comfortably against him, and when he leans down to kiss her, to enjoy the moment, he can almost pretend that nothing has changed.

As the sun sets, she calls their daughter over, embraces her with a kiss before sending her off to find her grandmother. The air is cool now, enough to make her shiver, and he pulls her closer, until there is no space between them, feels the slight weight of her against him as their lips brush, soft, slow, and incredibly tender, as her head rest against his chest, over her heart, and her eyelids droop and close.

“I love you.”

She smiles, gentle and warm and wonderfully, impossibly beautiful, and, as he hums a quiet lullaby, falls asleep safe in his arms.

She never wakes up.

[mikkythehamster]

GOOD OMENS 2 SPOILER RANT

YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED by church crowley ! (ALSO JFC PEOPLE THE SHOW CAME NOT EVEN A WEEK AGO AND UR FILLING THE INTERNET WITH SPOILERS LET PEOPLE SEE THINGS AT THEIR OWN PACE I HATE YOU ALL)

I can't stand people saying the "breakup" between crowley and azi was out of nowhere or that is was badly done. BITCH they are the living proof that gays be having breakups without even dating. I LOVE IT! i think it's perfect, neither of them have expressed directly what they want and sure you can say "what about the kiss", well crowley only kissed azi when he was surely to depart, that seems like a desperate declaration rather than a good hearted developed confession and discussion about love. It would have been very cheap if they just solved all their issues with one kiss.

Besides come on, you have been swallowing heterosexual misunderstanding/breakup stories for years and now the gays do it and it's suddenly wrong? shut up. Besides clearly metaton had something to do with azi's mood change, many people have pointed out that metaton can influence people's minds, control and also AZI DOESN'T DRINK COFFEE! and you could say he accepted due to fear of metaton but what if he was counting on that and put something in his coffee? in the scene before the elevator we hear a miracle queue sound and suddenly azi's face change. Other theories point out to OMELAS (oat meal latter with almond syrup) "The Ones Who Walk Away from Omelas"  is a 1973 short work of philosophical fiction by American writer Ursula K. Le Guin. With deliberately both vague and vivid descriptions, the narrator depicts a summer festival in the utopian city of Omelas, whose prosperity depends on the perpetual misery of a single child. <-. tho i must admit this was very obscure lmao

Azi was heavily promoted with TEA! i feel it was a weird thing he just accepted coffee like that and how much emphasis they put on the coffee

So idk i feel it was all too in the nose to be just a coincidence personally. BESIDES neil said that this was always had planned to be more than just 2 seasons so honestly if it ended here it would have been shit, like oh just a kiss and its done? NO FUCK THAT. we didn't watch centuries of mutual pinning for it to just suddenly get together like that NO SIR. that would be boring as shit, there is so much more to develop and i am happy with how things ended, i am a sucker for hurt comfort so the next season will truly reveal if i am happy with the story or not cuz so far i am very happy.

idk why you all mad idk man you want fiction to be boring and predictable or characters to not have growth. CROWLEY finally did the first step now they need to develop that romanticism , that human love. they must otherwise its just cheap and easy. Azi didn't say "you move too fast for me crowley" for you to want him marrying him after 1 desperate kiss god damn. anyway i love aziraphale stop slandering him, why do you think this was out of character for him? THIS IS SO IC FOR HIM! (i am only a series watcher i haven't read the book so i will base him off that only). Aziraphale has always had issues verbalizing feelings,needs and understanding underlying wants. What me and my friend call the angelic autism of aziraphale. He won't sit there and take a "there is no nightingales" as a sign that he hurt crowleys feelings and neither can he say i love you too so instead he says i forgive you. It was perfectly in character for him to do and react the way he did. I love them i am very happy personally i am just sad we have to wait so long for another season because ofc you must respect the writers and actors strike and production takes long anyway.

-- edit

if there is one complain i have is that i wanted to see more of beelzebub and gabriel i hope s3 gives us more of them because that i felt it was too quickly resolved i need more.

[somethingusefulfromflorida]

I was spoiled last summer because I got to go on 3 trips, essentially 3 vacations, the first vacations I'd taken since my cousin's wedding in 2018.

For my birthday in May, I went to Busch Gardens and a youtuber boxing match with some friends. In June I went to a week-long family reunion in DC, Maryland and Pennsylvania; we had a memorial for my Grammy who passed away in 2021, visited some of my mom's cousins I'd never met before, spent a whole day at Six Flags America with my own cousins, and toured the National Mall/Smithsonian. In August, I had a longshot job interview at a library in the city I want to move to, so I took time off work to bus up, crashed with my sister, and aced the first round with flying colors; I spent a congratulatory week in town looking for an apartment, then headed home with some promising leads and absolutely BOMBED the second round, evaporating my best chance at getting off the godforsaken rock I've been stuck on since I graduated college.

This year, I don't have any real plans. I finally bought my own car, but now I have to start the whole job and apartment search from square one with severely diminished savings. I wanted to quit my current job last weekend, but I chickened out because I need the money. If I leave sometime this summer and find an apartment to sublease, I'd have to move out in August anyway because all the leases expire just in time for the fall semester. Move-out and move-in are a week or two apart, so I'd have to come back home anyway while I was between leases, assuming I was even able to secure a full year lease when I'm competing with something like fifty thousand college students in a town with a population of less than 150,000. It seems like every new building being constructed up there is an apartment complex, but they fill up almost immediately and rent never goes down.

I can't stay in the Keys much longer. There's nothing for me down here. If I can't move until August, I at least need to take a break from work and travel before my student loans inevitably come due because the nazi bastards on SCOTUS think only rich fucks deserve debt forgiveness and the measly poors have to prop them up. I want to enjoy my summer, because it's all downhill from here. The economy is on the verge of collapse and we're heading into another dumpster fire of a presidential election (it feels like every cycle is worse than the last). I need a distraction. I need an outlet. I need to take advantage of the freedom my car affords me before shit hits the fan and I'm forced to come crawling back to a job I barely tolerate on an island I despise with every fiber of my being. If I don't get out soon, I don't know when I'll get my next shot.

Next April I'm going on a roadtrip to Ohio to view the total solar eclipse, so I at least have that to look forward to if nothing else. Just 11 months to go.

Who am I kidding? I won't survive down here another year. This place is eroding my mental health. It is absolutely imperative that I move before summer ends, lease or no lease. I'd rather live out of my car for a while than be stuck here indefinitely.

[victorluvsalice]

Welcome to Summer Saturday in the Chill Valicer Save, where my original plan was to do a "store day," but like so many plans, it didn’t survive contact with “the enemy” (aka me getting distracted trying to get through a bunch of other stuff in the game). But the trio did still get out and about, and they did still have a good Summer Saturday.

But we'll get to that in a minute, because first – house update! Yes, before I started playing, I made a few updates to the gang's house, and I am here to share them with you. So here we go –

-->After doing a quick check of my mods (couple of things to update from Lumpinou) and making back-ups and all that other fun stuff, I popped into the game, looked at the crafting barn, and went “well, I can’t figure out how to add a basement to the MAIN HOUSE, but HERE…” So I drew out a room under it, added some nice slat stairs with one of the new Horse Ranch railings going down (under the ones going up to Smiler’s party barn area), gave it a solid wooden floor and some nice stone walls (also both from Horse Ranch – that pack has some solid Build/Buy stuff, I must say), sold the woodworking bench that got kicked into the household inventory when I added in the new stairs (I wasn’t using it anyhow, honestly – Alice’s jewelry-making bench is now in its place) and voila – one barn basement! It’s rather sparsely furnished at the moment – kind of hard to furnish a room when you don’t have any working lights in it (the farmhouse is set up so the lights only go on when someone is in the room to conserve power, and my attempt to get Victor to turn on the ceiling lights I scattered in there only worked until I actually moved an object in there, whereupon they went right out again), but I also wasn’t entirely sure what I wanted to put down there, beyond the nectar maker and a few nectar storage racks to help with aging. Ended up moving Victor’s cauldron down there as well, since that way I could free up the middle of the barn again – I could move the SimsCo canning factory down there too, I suppose, and make it for food and drink production? Kind of like the basement processing center at the store? I will ponder this. But yeah, currently what’s down there is the nectar-maker, the nectar storage racks (with the nectar Smiler’s already made inside one), Victor’s cauldron (and the cool stone circle underneath), and the yellow couch from the back porch. Why is THAT down there, you ask?

-->Well, because I ended up putting their new chess table in its spot! :D Yes, remember how Smiler actually successfully hosted a gold-tier Weenie Roast over in Copperdale last update, and thus got a nice wooden chess table (the one where the top is a partially-unfinished slice of a log) as a reward? I decided that it should go on the back porch because that’s where the chess lights were. :) I used the special camping chair (the one with the fish pattern) that they unlocked with their Silver Weenie Roast a while back for the seats, then moved the VIP bucket that was sitting on the side table next to the couch over to the counters by the barbecue, and the candy jar that was on that counter over to the side table. Because that felt more logical now. :P I also ended up moving the cooler they got for the original Weenie Roast here at the house over to the porch near the barbecue as well, then deleted the campfire in the yard entirely. Because they don’t really use it, and thanks to fun with “Simple Living,” they can’t even use it to roast weenies. *shakehead* I love that lot challenge but it comes with some BIZARRE restrictions.

I also BRIEFLY experimented with pulling the porch forward so I could make the kitchen a bit wider, in an attempt to fit more stuff into it – but then I realized “oh shit, that means I’m going to have to pull out the side of the house upstairs too, and that is going to be a whole thing and – yeah, that’s more than I want to deal with right now.” So everything went back to the way it was before. *sigh* Damn kitchen restrictions – though I suppose I could try widening it the OTHER way? Be a little less of a ballache, and all it would do is make the spot for the pet obstacle course a bit smaller, and they don’t use that much…we’ll see what I decide later!

-->And the final bit of Build/Buy fun before I started the playsession proper – getting a sign for the farm! :D Because while I was going through all the Horse Ranch stuff, vaguely looking for anything relating to mini-sheep/goats (I thought they had a special bed or something like how chickens have coops and cows and llamas have sheds – appears not), I suddenly remembered this pack came with ranch entrance signs and that I’d wanted to put one over the front path to the Van Liddelton farmhouse. So I found the one whose aesthetic matched the farmhouse the best and plopped it over the front path, then decorated it with some metal signs for a cow, a chicken, a cowplant, and a freezer bunny. Oh, and a longhorn skull for the center. XD It looked really cool –

But while I was looking for those entrance signs, I found ANOTHER beautiful entrance archway that was included with the pack, made of wooden beams with flowers (I believe morning glories) and string lights wrapped around it. I was like “!!! I can’t NOT use this,” but at the same time, I really wanted the “official” sign –

And then I decided “screw it, I’ll put this in front of the greenhouse.” So that’s what I did, moving over the wheelbarrow with the gnome and the little cart currently there and putting the new archway in front of the door, with the dark wood and yellow flowers since I liked that swatch best. :) It looks really nice! I like it as an extra bit of detailing for the front. Lots of good stuff in this pack, glad I got it!